Lying Eyes by DreamsofSpike

Chapter #1 - Scared to Life

Sheer, utter exhaustion. That was all that she felt as she made her way very slowly down the deserted, dimly lit city sidewalk, toward her tiny apartment a couple of blocks away – once again disgusted with herself for her failure to ever learn to drive – one of many failures, she sighed. And the reason why she was *walking* back to the apartment from her long shift waiting tables. Most girls would have been afraid to walk home alone down the streets of L.A. She was not like most girls. *That shiny little card with a really unflattering pic of me on it would come in really handy right about now,* she thought. *Well…if I actually had something to drive.* All she wanted was to get to her apartment and collapse into her bed. Maybe if she was feeling *really* ambitious, take a shower first. With every step she felt more certain that the shower would be put off until the morning. *Shouldn’t have volunteered to work that double,* she reminded herself wearily. Her hand went unconsciously to her pocket, closing around her meager earnings for the evening. $47.52 for sixteen hours of grueling labor. It hardly seemed worth it. But then, nothing in her life these days seemed worth the sacrifices she had made. There were times when the whole world didn’t seem worth the sacrifice she had made. And with that thought, she remembered why she had volunteered to work so many extra hours. She hated working at the diner. She hated the smell of stale grease and fried foods and cigarette smoke. She despised the disgusting, lecherous overweight middle-aged men who frequented it and called her “Baby” and “Sweetheart” and “Doll” affectionately as if they actually knew her, and then checked out her backside the moment they thought she wasn’t looking. She hated not doing or saying anything about it when she knew that she could, just because she had decided it was best to keep a “low profile”. She hated the long, hard hours of difficult, fast-paced work for what little she made in tips. The diner was busy, and hectic, and rushed…and left her no time to think. And that was the single reason why she stayed, why she asked for extra hours until her back and feet and head ached and she was too exhausted to think of anything but sleep. Thinking…well, it was not so much of the good anymore. She knew too well that if she stopped to rest, even briefly, if she gave her mind time to reflect on all she had done, all she had left behind…then, then her past would catch up with her. She was half a block from her apartment when she felt it. A familiar feeling that she tried to block out these days – that sense that *something* was there, in the shadows – following her. She knew it wasn’t her imagination or her fears running away with her mind. She wasn’t afraid. She knew that whatever was lurking in the darkness should be afraid of *her*. She could take on anything or anyone that came against her, and destroy it before it could touch her – of that she was certain. *You’re good at destruction,* she reminded herself, fighting back bitter tears at the memory that somehow crept its way into her consciousness in spite of herself. *You destroyed the only one you ever loved. Couldn’t do it when he hated you, when he was trying to kill you…but when he loved you, when he trusted you? That’s when you killed him! Because you’re *so strong* that you’ll do anything you have to do to save the world!* She shuddered with a feeling of self-disgust. Should she be proud of herself for what she had done, that had kept the world spinning, everything going on as it always had? Should she be proud that she had sacrificed the only person she’d ever loved to save that world? She felt sick. She didn’t even want to think about it, and shook her head so emphatically at no one but herself that anyone who saw her would have probably thought she was drunk or on something. But she didn’t want to think about the past, the past she had come here to escape. She wasn’t what she had once been. She was trying her hand at being a normal girl. Well…a normal girl who had killed her boyfriend to save the world and run away from home, leaving all that was familiar behind her forever. *Let’s face it,* she thought ruefully. *I’m just no good at ‘normal’.* When the tingly feeling at the back of her neck was suddenly accompanied by the sound of soft footsteps a few dozen yards behind her, she stopped in her tracks, not turning. Whatever it was, it was refusing to be ignored. She glanced around the street. Deserted. She shrugged slightly, and then turned slowly, taking her time, not wanting to give the false impression of fear. Because she was really and truly not afraid. She was sure that she could defeat any monster that tried to attack her. And if she couldn’t…well, the truth was, at the moment she really didn’t care much which way it turned out. She saw no sign of anything behind her. Of course, her dramatic little stop and slow turn had given whatever it was ample time to hide itself. “Okay. I know you’re there,” she said in a tired, bored tone. “And you really, *really* don’t wanna mess with me. I don’t care who or what you are, I can take you. I am tired and dirty and sore and totally in the mood to beat the crap out of something. So either get out of here and leave me alone or get out here and let’s get this over with.” She waited for a few moments. Absolutely nothing. Whatever had been stalking her had obviously thought better of it and taken off. She found herself oddly disappointed by the fact that she would not have the opportunity to kick the crap out of something as she turned around… And opportunity knocked for a second time. She jumped in spite of herself in surprise…and then shock, as she recognized the person who stood just behind her, smirking at her reaction of fear. “Nice speech, love,” he drawled. “Very intimidating. Sure it works very well on small children.” Her anger at the realization that he had been standing right behind her during her little speech, silently mocking her by his mere presence, and waiting to frighten her when she turned, momentarily overwhelmed the shock of seeing him, after all this time. Then, her mind was overwhelmed with painful memories that she had shut away, released again by the sight of the familiar face in front of her. That night, almost a year ago, when they had joined forces against her lover-turned-enemy to save the world. Fresh anger came over her as she remembered how in the end, he had left her to the battle and run off with his skanky nutcase girlfriend, leaving her to fight Angelus alone. She was not so deep in denial as to blame him for Angel’s death. She knew that either way, he would have had to die. But maybe – maybe if Spike had stayed around long enough to help her…She felt tears well up in her eyes at the memories that assailed her, and fought them back, focusing on the rage building in her as she met his startlingly blue eyes with her own steely emerald gaze. Maybe if he had helped her…she would have at least had to kill *Angelus*…and not Angel. “Oh, good,” she said in a mockingly pleasant voice with a too-wide smile. “And I thought I was going to miss out on that ass-kicking after all.” “Oh, no, pet,” he smirked right back at her. “If an ass-kicking’s what you’re after, then by all means I’ll bloody well give it to you.” His smile faded a little and his eyes hardened as he reminded her in a softer voice, “Our little truce is long gone, love. Ancient history. Nothing between me and you now but good old-fashioned hatred.” The smile slowly fell back into place as he allowed his true face to show and added in an almost jovial tone, his voice lower and thicker with the physical changes in his face, “As it should be.” “You got a death wish or something, Spike?” she asked him, preparing herself for the fight that he obviously wanted as badly as she did. “Coming *looking* for me after you ran out on our deal like you did?” The anger behind the question fueled her as she lunged toward him, her fist swinging to strike. “Hello?” he sneered, disbelief clear in his expression, as he stepped back and easily dodged the blow. “What did you expect, love? I’m a bloody *vampire*! You had to know I was just gonna grab Dru and run!” He ducked quickly under her next blow and aimed one of his own at her jaw. His aim was true, and she staggered backward under the force of the blow, tasting her blood in her mouth. She wiped her mouth hastily with the back of her hand, trying to gather her wits about her. She was obviously more exhausted and sore than she had realized…and a little out of practice. It began to dawn on her that if she was not careful this encounter could claim her life. Somehow, the thought didn’t bother her. “You’re right, Spike,” she informed him. “I never expected you to really help me at all.” She gave a little half-shrug as she advanced cautiously on him again. “I just thought I’d have to hunt *you* down to stake you. Didn’t figure on you coming around *begging* for it!” His golden eyes flashed anger and he lunged for her. She side-stepped his attack and grabbed him as he passed her, slamming him into the nearest wall with all the strength she could muster. Obviously it wasn’t much, because he was back on his feet and ready for more in seconds. “Funny, that, Slayer,” he said, his tone light. “Doesn’t look much like you’re into hunting *anything* down lately. Seems like you’re more in a duck-and-cover kind of frame of mind!” Fury overcame her at his words which were painfully close to home. “Shut up, Spike!” she snarled, striking out at him with her fists, indiscriminate blows falling on his face, shoulders, chest, as she backed him toward the wall again. “You don’t know anything about me! You couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to watch someone you love die because of *you*! To have everything you know…everything you…” Her voice broke off with pain, and she paused before going on. “How dare you even…” But that was as far as she got. She saw the menace and hatred in his eyes the moment before he lunged for her, slamming her down against the concrete, hard, before she could react. She struggled against the hard hands that held her there as he straddled her stomach, pinning her to the ground, and realized as her efforts proved futile just how terribly out of form she really was. He had obviously been toying with her the whole time, allowing her to believe that she was giving him a good fight – but now, he held her effortlessly to the ground beneath him, and she couldn’t seem to break his grip no matter how hard she tried. Barely restrained fury in his flashing eyes, he leaned down close to her face and said in a low, menacing voice, “You don’t know *me*, either, Slayer. You’ve no bloody idea what I can understand and what I can’t. At least I’ll still *fight* for me and mine, pet. Look at you,” he sneered in disgust, releasing her arms but not getting up. She didn’t try to move, too stung by the truth of his words to react for a moment as he went on. “Just lying down to die. Like there was nothing worth living for for you anymore.” He shrugged as he stood up, and she struggled to her feet, facing him warily as she tried to get her breath. “But I guess there really *isn’t* anything for you, anymore, is there? Your almighty soul-boy is gone to hell…your family and friends, well…” He paused, laughing softly. Buffy’s eyes, downcast during his little speech, shot up to his, a new fire in them at his words. Doing her best to conceal the dread she felt, she advanced on him a few steps. “What about my family? My friends?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “What are you talking about?” She paused, her tearful green eyes boring into his. “What do you know?” she asked, her voice low and intense. He just shook his head at her, with a sort of sad smile. “Nothing you can do anything about. Seems you’ve been replaced already, Slayer,” he smirked. He frowned, puzzled for a moment. “Thought they could only do that when the last Slayer died. Hmm…” His features slowly shifted back to his human guise, as if to show her how little he actually feared her, that he did not need his extra vampire strength or fangs to defend himself against her. His piercing blue eyes met hers with a challenge in them as he added softly, “Guess you just might qualify, love.” She glared at him, even more furious because she could find no words to counter his claim…she hated to admit that he was right, at least in part. At barely eighteen, she had given up on life. But of more concern to her right now was what he was telling her about Sunnydale. “Not me,” she informed him scornfully. “Kendra. A new Slayer’s been called to replace Kendra? And she’s in Sunnydale?” “*Someone’s* gotta run that place, keep the Hellmouth in line, yeah?” he smiled at her, an odd light in his eyes. “Course…that leaves a little room for interpretation…the Slayer’s own…personal way of doing things.” He shrugged. “Either way…don’t really see as how Sunnydale needs *you* around mucking up the works.” He gave her a derisive up-and-down look. “Seems to me you wouldn’t tip the scale either direction, as it is.” “What are you saying?” she demanded impatiently, tiring of his too-accurate assessments of her current condition, which were painfully similar to her own view of herself at the moment. “Could you just *try* to make sense for a change?” “I am making sense, love,” he said, further insulting her power by deliberately turning his back and walking away from her. “Seems to me *you’re* the one who’s confused?” And as he slowly walked away, she was too stunned and worried by his cryptic words to even think of going after him. Not that she could have *really* done anything if she had. She never carried even so much as a single stake with her anymore these days. She realized suddenly with a shock that he could have very easily killed her several times during the unexpected little encounter. He had had the best of her several times, and when he had her pinned to the ground, it would have been a simple matter to go in for the kill right then and drain her dry where she lay, helpless beneath him. And her…the Slayer…with not even so much as a stake in her pocket for defense! Maybe he was right, she thought, her heart heavy and her mind racing as she hurried the rest of the way toward her apartment. Maybe she had really not even *wanted* to survive the encounter. But in the space of a few moments, everything had changed, subtlely, but quite clearly. His mysterious comments about her friends and family and this new Slayer with her own way of handling the Hellmouth had her more than a little worried about her loved ones back home. She knew as she ran up the stairs and into her apartment, dragging the single duffel bag she had brought with her from home off of the top shelf in her closet, that she could not stay here if there was even the slightest chance that they were in danger. As much as she hated to admit it, the encounter with Spike had scared her…badly. It had scared her to life

Chapter #2 - Since You've Been Gone

Nervousness was quickly approaching terror as the little redhead made her way quickly down the sidewalk, toward the house. It was quickly growing dark; she had not meant to be gone this long. She had made the routine trip to the grocery store to get supplies for the household for the coming week, only to find the store packed, the lines much longer than she had expected as dozens of people waited impatiently, in a hurry to get home before the sun set. People were finally catching on to the key to survival in the town -- you had to beat the darkness home. So it was that when she finally left the store, the sun was already setting in the distance. She had at best fifteen minutes to walk the quarter mile or so back to the house before the vampires came out in full force -- and she had two very heavy sacks of groceries to carry. As the last faint rays of light disappeared over the horizon, the house finally came into view. She desperately tried to quicken her pace, slowed down by the weight of the bags she carried. Just as she reached the walkway up to the porch, a dark shadow fell across her, stepping into her path, and she dropped the bags, fearfully trying to prepare to defend herself. "Well, what have we here?" the vampire in front of her sneered. He was big, with dark greasy hair and dressed in an old Aerosmith t-shirt and tattered jeans. "Aren't you out a little late, little girl?" Glancing around, seeing no one nearby to help her, realizing that he had just cut off her path to the warm safety of the house, the redhead let out a little whimper of dismay. "J-just a *little* late," she pointed out with a grimace, her voice coming out as a pleading little squeak. "Late enough," the vampire laughed, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her closer to him. She struggled, but he was far too strong, and she could not break his hold as he lowered his fangs to her throat. *This is it,* she realized with rising panic. *After all this time, it's really over. I am really going to...* The thought was not even completed before the bruising grip on her arms vanished in a cloud of dust, revealing the anxious face of her best friend, hastily replacing his stake in his back pocket, where the vampire had stood only moments before. "You okay, Will?" Xander asked her urgently, moving forward to take her arms in much the same way the vampire had done -- but with much different intent. Trembling with the shock and terror of what had just happened, Willow nodded hurriedly. "Come on, let's get inside," Xander urged her gently, giving her a light push toward the open door, glancing warily around as he leaned down to pick up the forgotten groceries. He followed her quickly up the walk, asking, "Just the one this time?" "Yeah. I don't think there were any more," she said, beginning to get control of her emotions again. "There will be," he said ominously, pulling the door firmly shut behind them as they entered the safety of the house, where whatever lurked out there in the darkness was not welcome, and therefore could not follow. "What happened?" a small, frightened voice asked them from the bottom of the stairs. "It's okay, Dawnie," Willow quickly told her, as they turned to face Buffy's little sister, staring at them with wide, serious eyes. Willow's own fears were forgotten in an instant as she hurried to reassure the shaken twelve-year-old. Dawn had lost far too much in the past year, and was constantly afraid that something else was going to happen to once again shatter her fragile world. It had all started when Buffy had left. Her sister had taken it very hard, as had her mother and -- well, everyone, really. And they had not known it at the time, but Buffy's disappearance was the beginning of the end. The next to go was Giles. Only a few weeks after his Slayer vanished into thin air, the Watcher's Council had arranged for his deportment back to England. He had of course wanted to stay; Buffy had not been the only one he watched over for a very long time. But there was no option, no choice in the matter. What the Council wanted, they made happen. Period. That first change had been hard on the Scoobies, but not so difficult for Dawn, who hadn't even known the Watcher. Then the Slayer that had been called to replace Kendra had shown up in a blaze of glory, during one of the hectic disasters that were the Scoobies' feeble attempts to patrol in Buffy's absence. She had leapt into the fray and with a frenzied blur of black leather and a couple of expertly wielded stakes, easily dispatched the gang of vampires that had surrounded them. At first, Faith had seemed like the answer to their prayers. She had immediately gotten right down to business with the slayage, making short work of several large vampire nests that had sprung up when word got out that Buffy had left town. But gradually, her attitude and demeanor seemed to change, and Buffy's friends began to notice aspects of her personality that were quite disturbing. Faith seemed to enjoy the thrill of her supernatural power just a *little* too much. Still, they were just so grateful to have someone there to help protect them and the rest of Sunnydale that they did not realize how dangerous she was becoming. Until she stopped *slaying* the vampires and started *recruiting* them instead, allowing them to do as they pleased as long as they did what she said. Until she started using her power to *take* what she wanted, whenever she wanted, beginning her own little reign of terror over the entire town. Until it was too late. Now, Sunnydale was not safe for anyone anymore, unless they were in line with Faith and her desires. Innocent citizens were forced to keep to their homes after dark to avoid the vampires in her service that freely roamed the streets at night in packs -- often led by Faith's right-hand man, so to speak -- a familiar enemy who had returned to Sunnydale shortly after Buffy had left, and had somehow managed to get into the good graces of the new Slayer. Spike. Besides Faith, it was Spike that they held most responsible for so many of the losses they had faced since Buffy had left. The first had been Cordelia. She had been late coming home one night and was set upon by one of Faith’s gangs. Her lifeless, violated body had been found the next morning, left heedlessly lying in the street for anyone to see; they had not even bothered to try to hide it. They *wanted* it to be found – a powerful message to Sunnydale’s citizens of just who was in control now. Xander had been beside himself, heart-broken with grief – and blinded by rage. After a brief little planning session between him and Oz, they two had decided to storm the old house on the edge of town where Faith had set up headquarters. Oz was angrier than Xander had ever seen him, he somehow noticed through the haze of the pain he was in. He could see in the older boy’s eyes that he was thinking of how he would have felt if it had been Willow and not Cordelia, slain without mercy for no crime at all. It was the night of the full moon. Xander had taken with him a few weapons he had “liberated” from the army supply with the rocket launcher the year before – weapons he had procured with Cordy’s help, he remembered with tears streaking his face as he loaded and prepared them. He had never take a human life, but he intended to that night. Faith was going to pay. They had blasted their way into the mansion, just before sunset, shooting indiscriminately at the vampire gangsters that guarded the doors. They had used the element of surprise and sheer force fueled by rage to make it through the huge house to where Faith and her second-in-command were deep in discussion. Confusion had taken control when Oz had changed, becoming the wolf and falling upon the nearest object of his rage – Spike. He had put up a terrific fight, while Xander went after Faith, showering a rain of bullets on her vampire minions who tried to protect her. It didn’t kill them, but it did put them temporarily out of commission long enough for him to whip out a stake and finish them off, one after another. In the wild melee, Xander simply saw red, and was as wild a creature as Oz, releasing a violent fury in the wake of which only he, Faith, and Spike were left standing. Oz was dead, still in his wolf form on the floor. The vampire had snapped his neck. His rage temporarily sated, Xander had realized that he did not stand a chance against the Slayer and the vampire master he now faced. In his fear combined with the shock that his friend was actually dead, he had fled the mansion, not daring to look to see if he was being pursued. Just outside, he tripped over a fallen figure, bleeding from a bullet wound in the chest. A still, silent…*warm* figure. *Warm*! Xander realized with a painful jolt that not all of Faith’s henchmen were vampires – and he had taken this one’s life! Panicked as much by that fact as by the threat of his own death, he had stumbled to his feet and run desperately back to the house. Willow had met him at the door, a terrible fear in her eyes, made worse to his eyes by the fact that he knew he had to confirm what she feared to be true. He was shaking violently, gasping for breath and trying to calm the terrified thoughts that circled around and around in his head. *Oz is dead…Oz is dead! I killed a man. Oz is dead! Oh, my *God*, I killed someone!* Overwhelmed, unable to bring himself to tell her the truth under the awful burden of facing it himself, he broke down in deep, painful sobs that racked his body. Automatically she put her arms around him, her eyes widening in shock as her mind took in the details her heart would not let it process. The blood that stained Xander’s clothing, the stricken look of devastation in his eyes – and worst of all, the unexplained absence of the man she loved. They had both fallen to pieces in that moment, on the floor just across the line of safety into the house, with the door still open revealing their pain to anyone who might happen by. They clung to each other, each mourning their own terrible loss as well as that of the other, unbelievable devastation in the space of a single day in which each of them had lost their first love. Dawn had taken it hard, too, when they had finally told her. Oz and Cordelia had both been around enough for her to grow comfortable with them and feel a certain bond, though she really barely knew Oz, and thought that she despised Cordelia – until she found out that she was dead. The little girl had gone to her room and locked herself in, not coming out for hours, not answering her mother’s attempts to enter and comfort her. But Joyce told them later that she had been able to hear her soft, frightened sobs though the closed door, and knew that she was wondering what piece of her ravaged world would be snatched away next. Just when it seemed that they had nothing left to lose… They found out the hard way that they did. A few evenings later, Xander got a phone call from a very frightened Dawn, calling from a pay phone outside her school. It was already after six o’clock, and the sun would be setting soon – and Joyce had not shown up to pick up her youngest daughter. Xander had rushed to pick up Dawn and had taken her home, going in with her to see if Joyce was there and okay. If he had been thinking beyond the simple worry that consumed him at the behavior that was very unlike Joyce of leaving Dawn at school, he would have thought to check the house before allowing Dawn to go in. For the rest of his life, he would regret that careless mistake. Because Joyce was indeed there. And she was not okay. The horrific sight of her mangled, brutalized body lying on the living room sofa in a mockery of rest would haunt Xander to his grave. He could not even imagine the devastation that it wrought in little Dawn. She had absolutely lost it. Before he could stop her she had fallen on top of her mother’s cold, lifeless body, pulling her against her chest and screaming, sobbing for her. She begged her to be okay, not to leave her, trying desperately to rouse her though it was obvious from her open, lifeless eyes and the massive amount of blood surrounding her that she was already gone. By the time he could gather his wits enough to drag her away from the body as gently as he could, she was soaked in her mother’s blood, and half out of her mind with shock and grief. Near Joyce’s body was a note, reading simply, “If you mess with us again, the kid will be next.” Thankfully, Xander, not Dawn, found the note, which marked the incident clearly as retaliation for the minor damage he and Oz had done to Faith’s ranks a few nights before. A furious but impotent rage filled Xander, for he knew who had done this, but knew that to do anything about it would be to risk Dawn’s life. The deep puncture wounds on Joyce’s throat confirmed his assumption that it had been a vampire that had done this. Only one vampire currently had an invitation to the Summers’ home – the vampire that Buffy had foolishly invited in before she had left, and that they had neglected to uninvited, for some reason, not even really remembering that Buffy had invited him until now, when it was too late. Spike. Then and there, Xander decided that he would wait for his chance. Prepare. Watch. And one day, he would get the opportunity he craved. And Spike would die, slowly and in agony, and begging for the death that Xander would gladly grant him. After Joyce’s death, the remaining Scoobies, Willow and Xander, had moved into the Summers’ house with Dawn, because she was alone now and her father could not be reached, and also because they felt that they would be safer together than separated. It was unspoken but understood between them that the wisest thing to do at that point was to just lay low for a while, not to draw any unwanted attention from Faith and her thugs. They stayed in after dark, and kept to themselves, and took care of Dawn, who now had no one left in the world but them. And the evil that Faith allowed, embraced even, ran rampant over Sunnydale. The police were a thing of the past. What use were guns and bullets against an army of vampires? Anyone with any sense had fled Sunnydale at the first inkling of what was going on. But there were enough brave or foolish souls remaining to keep the little town functioning – barely – under the façade of living that filled the days, to make up for the sounds of screaming and terror that they tried to ignore at night. And though it also went unspoken, Willow and Xander knew why they were among them – why they didn’t just take Dawn and get as far from this nightmare as they possibly could. They held a secret hope between them, though they knew it grew less likely with each passing day that denied it. They secretly, desperately hoped, that someday Buffy would return.

Chapter #3 - Good Intentions

The Slayer leaned back in her chair, her fingers interlocked behind her head as she smiled to herself, looking around in satisfaction at her spacious, luxurious bedroom, only a tiny part of the huge, amazing house she now lived in. After spending most of her life existing with next to nothing as far as material possessions, this was a *very* pleasant change! She had quite the little set up here, she congratulated herself as she thought of how well she had put her own personal philosophy into action over the past few months. *Want…take…have.* It was simple, really. As the Slayer, she had almost limitless power. If she wanted something, there was no one who could tell her it could not be hers, and actually back the words up with actions. Why should she do anything but exactly what she *wanted* to do? Her watcher had warned her. Blah, blah blah, responsibility…blah, blah, blah, consequences…blah, blah, blah… Bye-bye, Watcher. No one was going to tell her what to do – especially not some British stuffed shirt with no sense of fun. Why should she change anything she was doing, when she had all she wanted right here simply *because* of what she was doing? Anything in this town that she wanted was hers. People respected her…feared her. She had dozens of loyal minions who did her bidding without question, no matter what. That kind of loyalty was hard to find. Well, except at the point of a stake. It hadn’t taken Sunnydale’s rather large vampire population very long to realize that going along with whatever Faith wanted was their best option. This Slayer, in the opinion of most, was even scarier than the last, because she didn’t seem to play by any particular rules, and had a mean sadistic streak that found an outlet whenever one of them crossed her. Defiance was generally considered to be out of the question. As for the idea of killing her, which would have probably occurred to any vampire at some point or another…that idea was driven from any foolish mind that might have held such a notion by the realization that a Slayer who allowed them to have a basically free reign over the town was infinitely better than whoever her successor would be. With Buffy no where to be found, they soon saw that it was in their best interest for this Slayer to be alive as long as possible. *Yeah,* she thought, rising from her chair and pacing idly across the room toward her bed. *This town is mine!* She heard the door open, and turned to face it, a slow, sexy smile on her dark red lips. *Among other things,* she mentally added as she unapologetically gave the vampire who had just entered an appreciative up-and-down look. “Hey, hottie,” she flirted. “How’d it go?” He approached her without returning her smile, without responding to her flirtations. He appeared to be in an extremely foul mood. “Not well,” he replied shortly, biting off the words with barely controlled anger in his voice. It stunned him how quickly her mood seemed to change when she heard his response. When he had entered the room, she had seemed to be fairly content and in a positive frame of mind. The instant that she found out that she heard his answer to her question, however, her smile faded with the unusually good mood. Faith frowned, anger and disappointment clear in her dark eyes and the slight pout that rose to her lips. “She’s still alive?” she said in irritated disbelief. He did not respond. “Why?” she demanded, and he could hear something dangerous creep into her tone. *Careful,* he warned himself, well aware that dealing with Faith was always a perilous matter, but never more so than when telling her something she did not want to hear. “Yes,” he said quietly, making sure that his own voice expressed his annoyance and anger at his own “failure”. “She’s alive.” She waited, but he did not offer any further explanation. “So what happened, oh mighty Slayer of Slayers?” she demanded, her voice taunting, her hand resting on one swinging hip as she took a few casual steps toward him. “It was *your* idea to kill her in the first place! She too tough for you?” God, how he hated her! “As a matter of fact, yeah!” he snapped. “Seems our former Little Miss Sunnydale’s been training. Working out her slaying skills on a tougher breed of vamp on the mean city streets.” “So what happened?” Faith pressed, and he could see the deep-seated anger that was ever-present in her as it rose to reveal itself in her eyes. She was still moving toward him. He cautiously noted the diminishing distance between them, and her darkening mood, but he was weary of bending to her whims and moods and was in no state of mind to take anything from her at the moment. Except maybe her life. He wouldn’t have minded taking that. “We fought. I lost. End of story, pet,” he sighed impatiently. The fewer false details he had to come up with for her, the better. “It *was* my idea, wasn’t it?” he reminded her, unable to keep a slight edge from his voice, despite the fact that he knew better than to deliberately push her. “Don’t see how it much matters to you, then.” She was facing him, only a couple of feet between them by now, and she stood there for a moment, a slow smirk coming across her face as she dropped her gaze as if giving in. Suddenly, she took his arm and shoved him, hard, back against the wall, her body pressed against his, her head lowered and dark eyes glittering up at him as she spoke in a voice of amusement, but mingled with hints of both menace and seduction. “I’d be careful, Baby. You just lost a fight with a Slayer and lived to tell about it. You might not wanna start another one. You just might be due some *bad* luck, so you probably don’t wanna try yours!” The anger and lust in her dark eyes belied her light tone. He could see the dangerous gleam in her eyes, could sense the suspicion that her voice did not betray, and knew that to push her much further would be taken as a challenge. If worse came to worse, he knew that he could handle himself in a one-on-one fight with the Slayer and at least have a strong, fighting chance of beating her. Problem was, he knew better than to think that the fight would *stay* one-on-one any for any longer than she was winning. At any point if she thought she was *really* going to lose, she would call in her minions to help her. He was confident, but he was not so daft as to risk taking on an enraged Slayer *and* a dozen or so of her vampire gangster types. He had seen what had happened to the dozen or so hapless vampires over the past few months who had thought that they could take the new Slayer down. A lucky few had been dusted in the attempt. The others were *still* suffering in the basement beneath the old mansion, where Faith held them captive, as punishment, as an example to others who might follow, but mostly for her own personal amusement. He remembered that basement very well. But during his own time spent as a prisoner there, he had developed a plan to make this Slayer pay for what she had done, to him – and to Dru. He had offered to go into her service, employing every skill of persuasion he had, using every convincing turn of phrase he could think of, to get Faith to accept his offer. Then, he had managed to work his way into her inner circle, all the time subtlely planting suspicions in her mind about the others in the small group of vampires she had placed a small amount of trust in. Before he knew it, they were dust – and he *was* the inner circle. Faith told him things about her plans that she didn’t tell anyone else, even going so far as to ask for his advice on some things, and she made sure that the others treated him with respect. They saw him as her second-in-command. Still, she made it very clear to everyone that *no one* was above punishment – not even Spike. No, he would not “try his luck” today. He would wait for his chance – his “one good day” – and this was not it. The Slayer was in a foul mood, ready to fight and looking for an excuse to beat someone down. “Maybe there’s a reason why she didn’t dust me,” he forced a light tone with a disarming shrug as he made a point of meeting her eyes. “A ‘higher purpose’, maybe?” He was joking, trying to lighten her mood, maybe even make her laugh, somehow distract her from the bloodlust he saw raging in her eyes, just looking for a victim. Or maybe that was just *regular* lust, he thought as she dropped her gaze to give him another slow, suggestive once-over before meeting his eyes again. “Maybe so,” she said with a predatory smile, as her hands somehow found their way to his hips. Her eyes glittering wickedly, she suddenly yanked him forward against her, and slightly off balance from the unexpected motion. “I think I found it,” she smirked, gripping the back of his head and pulling him into a kiss so forceful that it would have bruised a mortal man. But Spike just returned it, equaling her intensity easily. His enhanced vampire senses revealed to him just how badly she wanted him right then. He was very grateful that she did not have the same senses to reveal to her how very much he did *not* want her. From the very first time she had approached him like this, a week or so after he had started working for her, he had instinctively known that to deny this very unstable Slayer would be seen by her as rejection, an insult – and would probably result in serious physical harm, and at the very least, the loss of his relatively elevated status. He felt nothing for her but sheer disgust, and hated kissing her, touching her – hated the feeling that really, he had no choice in the matter. After all, this Slayer took what she wanted – and what she couldn’t have, she destroyed to keep anyone else from having it. He did not want her, but he had learned how to make it appear that he did, how to make his body respond to her advances and deceive her into thinking he was anything but repulsed by her. All he had to do was imagine the painful, bloody ways in which he could kill her. She felt his arousal against her, and perceived it to be evidence of his desire for her. She gripped the lapels of his duster and slung him around so that his back was to the bed, then slammed him down onto it beneath her, not sparing her strength. Faith liked to be on top. As he went though the motions that would secure his position of influence for a little while longer, allowing him the nearness he needed to the Slayer to eventually destroy her, he closed his eyes and drifted into his memories, drawing out the image of his lost love. *Dru,* he thought, his throat constricting with sorrow at her memory, seeing her clearly in his mind’s eye, her dark eyes accusing and full of tears. *I’m sorry, love. It’s all for you, I swear, love. I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll always love you.* he pleaded in his mind for her understanding – but she was only a memory to him now. Because of Faith. She had stolen his Dark Princess from him, reduced her to nothing but ashes and memory. If only they had never come back to Sunnydale at all! But Dru’s visions had told her of the Slayer’s disappearance, and that a great darkness was about to fall over the Hellmouth. For whatever reason had struck her fancy, she had insisted that they return to Sunnydale. Whatever dark power inspired Drusilla’s visions, it failed to warn her about the new Slayer, and the fate that awaited her on the Hellmouth. He would kill Faith one day. He had sworn it to himself, and to Dru – no matter what sacrifices he had to make in order to keep that promise. A metallic snapping sound drew his attention out of his memories and back to the sickening present. He glanced up, only slightly surprised by the sight of the handcuffs that bound his wrists to the bedpost over his head. He had been so caught up in his memories that he had not even noticed what she was doing – until it was done. He lowered his eyes to meet her cruel smile. Faith liked to play rough. She leaned down over him with a deadly, seductive smile, and said softly, “Remember what I said about luck, Baby?” He nodded slowly, his expression calm. “Which sort of a turn did mine just take, love?” He backed up his light tone of unconcern with a lascivious grin, boldly meeting her gaze without fear. “You’ve been a very bad boy,” she said, lowering her voice, and it was not clear whether the threat in it was playful or genuine. “I’m gonna have to punish you,” she informed him as she unbuckled his belt and yanked it free with a single powerful pull. The tone and demeanor did not match his memories, but the words reminded him again of Dru, and the games that *they* used to play. This sort of thing could be very enjoyable, he knew, when done with someone whom you trusted, who was your entire world. But this was nothing like that had been, not in the least. Faith did not love him. He hated her. And neither of them really trusted the other at all. If only, just once, she could summon the trust in him to reverse their roles in her little game, to allow *him* to be in control – it would be all he would need to reveal his true feelings about her, and wreak his vengeance upon her. Sometimes he pictured that scenario during these times with Faith, and it only helped make his performance that much more convincing. But Faith did not trust anyone that much – certainly not him. One time, when she had gotten out the handcuffs, he had caught her by surprise and cuffed *her* to the bed, thinking that this was his chance – Faith was going to pay. She had immediately called on her minions, who rushed in to restrain him and free her. She had been furious, but he had managed to convince her that his intentions were absolutely the purest intentions that anyone could have when chaining someone else to a bed – that is, that he had not intended to hurt her – before she had been able to do him any serious damage. Faith never stopped watching her back, never allowed herself to trust anyone. She even kept a stake on the nightstand beside her bed while they were sleeping together. So he just waited. All he needed was one moment in which she let down her guard, turned her back…and he would take his chance and punish her. Still, he knew it would never be enough to make up for what she had taken from him… The love of his life, his world…his everything.

Chapter #4 - With a Vengeance

It was a little after six o’clock when Buffy stepped off the bus at the Sunnydale station. Her heart was pounding and her stomach felt like a million butterflies had just set up residence there. No. Not butterflies. This was no normal case of stage fright variety butterflies. Birds, maybe? *Big* birds? She could not remember the last time she had felt so terrified. She glanced around apprehensively, not really sure why she expected to see some visible sign of the trouble Spike had hinted out. On the surface, everything looked the same as it ever had. Sunnydale’s citizens went about their business all around her as she made her way on trembling legs out of the station and started down the sidewalk toward her house. No. Not her house. Not anymore. Her mother’s house. *Oh, God. Mom,* she thought, choking back a sob. She missed her mother terribly and a part of her was desperate to see her. But another part of her was terrified, remembering her mother’s final words to her before she had left, wondering if her mother would even be happy to see her after all this time. Now that she was actually here, it hardly even seemed real to her, she had been gone for so long. Everything she saw along the well-known way toward her old home was both familiar and foreign to her. She could hardly even imagine talking to her family, her friends, who had not been a part of her life for so long now. And yet her memories of happier times seemed at times to have happened only days ago, so vivid they were in her mind. But the simple fact was, it *was* real, and she was really here in Sunnydale, and about to see them all again. She stopped on the sidewalk, staring with a sense of shock up the walkway to the house. She was here. And she could not seem to make her feet move up the path to the front door. But Spike’s troubling, cryptic words to her echoed in her mind, and a new fear drove her up the path, nervous and wanting to prove to herself that everything was all right, that her family and friends were okay, and Spike had just been playing his ridiculous mind games with her, trying to freak her out and make her lose the fight so he could kill her. Except that by that point, they hadn’t been fighting anymore…just talking. And by that point, he could have killed her already if that had been what he wanted…but he hadn’t. And how weird was that? She shook her head, calling her thoughts back to the present as she forced her frozen feet to propel her the rest of the way to the front door. She stood there for a very long time, drawing deep but shaky breaths, trying to settle her nerves. A couple of times, she almost turned and walked away. *I can’t do this, I can’t do this,* she told herself, fighting a sense of overwhelming panic as she made her finger descend on the doorbell and press it down before she could lose control and flee. Her heart did a strange little flip-flop at the sound, and she imagined that she felt and heard its beat increase in speed. Oh, God, she was going to hyperventilate! She couldn’t do this, she had to leave, had to get… The door opened, and her thoughts froze in place as she waited, breathless and terrified. She was very surprised when not her mother but Xander answered the door – with a stake in his hand. For the millionth time in the last hour or so, she felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of her friend, standing in the doorway, staring at her as if he could hardly comprehend that she was really there. He probably couldn’t, she realized with a pang of guilt. She had just taken off, not said a word to anyone, left the Hellmouth unguarded and her friends to face…what? “Buffy,” he whispered, his voice sounding stunned, almost awed. His mouth hung open a little once the single word had passed his lips as he just stared at her for a moment. Wordlessly, he pulled her inside, his subconscious remembering that it would only be safe for her to be outside for another couple of minutes, while his conscious still struggled with the fact that she was actually, really there! He closed the door behind them, locking it, and turned to face her again, still wide-eyed in shock. Then, a moment later, he threw his arms around her and pulled her to him in an almost desperate embrace, his arms hard around her, but trembling, and she felt something wet fall onto her face and realized that he was crying. And then she realized that *she* was crying as she opened her eyes and couldn’t see him through the blur of tears. “Xander,” she gasped. “Oh my God, Xander!” “Buffy!” he cried. “I knew you’d come back!” For a few long moments they just held each other and cried. There were so many questions each of them had for the other, so much hurt that needed to be expressed and forgiven – but in that moment, all of that was eclipsed by the tremendous relief of simply being together again. When they slowly pulled apart, Buffy looked up at him through red, tear-filled eyes. “W-where’s my mom and Dawnie?” she asked softly, her voice trembling. She frowned a little, confused, then said with a nervous little half-laugh through her tears, realizing how rude her next question would sound, and also that he would not take it that way. “Why are you here?” She had expected him to laugh with her, but in an instant the joy at her return was gone from his expressive dark eyes, and he looked down, not meeting her eye. At that moment, she heard a soft sound from the stairs, and turned to see Willow, standing there, frozen at the sight of her. She didn’t move, didn’t speak for a moment, just stared at her in stunned disbelief. “Will,” Buffy said, her voice coming out as a broken whimper, as she went to her friend and put her arms around her. She was so relieved to see her, so caught up in the emotion of the moment, that she didn’t even notice that her friend did not return her embrace. She just stood there, motionless, allowing Buffy to hug her, but making no move to respond. After a moment Buffy noticed, and pulled back, guilt mingled with the hurt in her eyes. But Willow didn’t see it; she was staring at the floor. Why could neither of them meet her eyes? she wondered with a dark feeling of foreboding. “I – I’m sorry, Willow,” she said softly. “I should have told you I was going…I shouldn’t have just taken off like that. I have so much to tell you, and so much happened that night, I just had to get away. But I should have told you…” Suddenly Willow’s eyes snapped up to hers, and Buffy’s words cut off as the anger in Willow’s eyes took her breath. “You should have *been* here!” Willow snapped, correcting Buffy’s assessment of her mistakes in the situation. And suddenly, a cold feeling swept over Buffy as she remembered again Spike’s warning to her about what had been happening in Sunnydale while she was gone. She still didn’t know, not really, what he had been talking about. But judging by the expressions on the faces of her friends, by Willow’s unexpected fury, he must have been telling the truth. And it must be even worse than he had said. “W-where is everyone…else?” she asked suddenly, looking anxiously between her two friends. “Why are you two here, and no one else? Where’s my mom, and Dawn? And…” Her voice trailed off, as she noticed for the first time the pain and heartache that filled both of their eyes. Xander had still been looking at her, his expression heartsick at Willow’s harsh words, the expression of her pain, understanding the reasons for it but knowing how it must have hurt Buffy, and wanting to see how she was taking it. Now, however, when she began to ask about what had happened, his eyes fell as well. “God, why won’t either of you *look* at me?” Buffy demanded, not realizing she was raising her voice in her fear, some part of her already understanding that what they were not telling her must be more terrible than she could imagine. “What’s happened?” “What hasn’t happened, Buffy?” Xander said quietly, sadly, still not looking at her. “There’s – there’s just so much…and…it’s bad, Buffy. Really, really bad.” “Then tell me,” she insisted slowly, emphatically, her voice trembling with unshed tears and anger. “Tell me what’s going on, so I can do something about it!” “You can’t *do* anything about it!” Willow snapped, angry tears streaking her own face. “It’s done, Buffy! The time when you could have done something about it is past, okay? But you weren’t here during that time. And now it’s done, and there’s no going back…so why did you even bother coming here?” Willow’s words hurt her more than she could express, and only served to feed the steadily rising fear in her. “You have no idea what happened to me that night, Will!” she shot back angrily. “I *couldn’t* stay! I couldn’t! You know, I might be the Slayer, but I’m human, Willow! And *anybody* would have taken off after…after what…” She stopped, trying to control the sobs that rose in her at the memories that she had forced back for so long, brought back to the surface by the very emotional confrontation. “Okay,” Xander said quietly, stepping forward and between the two girls, realizing that he was going to have to be the one to take control of the rapidly deteriorating situation. “Okay, guys. This is hard. A lot of stuff has happened…to you, too, Buffy, I know…” he added, looking at her as he spoke, and then back to Willow pointedly. “But we all just need to calm down.” He looked back to Buffy. “There’s a lot you need to know about Buffy. A lot of bad things…” He swallowed hard, fighting with his own emotions, struggling to keep them under control, because Buffy and Willow were at each other’s throats, and Buffy still had no idea about all that they had lost, all that *she* had lost, and if *he* lost control right now, too…. Willow slowly looked down again, beginning to gain control and realize her mistake. The anger was still very much there, but she was trying to hold it back, understanding that there was a very important, very painful conversation that still needed to be had. Xander looked at her, until she looked up at him, carefully avoiding looking at Buffy. “I’m going to fill Buffy in on what’s happened while she was gone,” he said slowly, firmly, his tone much more authoritative than Buffy remembered it, leaving no room for argument. “You go upstairs and talk to Dawnie. Tell her…tell her Buffy’s home.” “I want to tell her,” Buffy protested, heading for the stairs. “No!” Willow snapped, anger and accusation again clear in her eyes. “Do you have any idea what it did to her when you left? What’s happened to her *because* you left?” she demanded tearfully. “Will,” Xander warned her, quietly but urgently, and she stopped. She was obviously struggling with her own anger as she looked away from Buffy again. When she spoke again, her voice was low and controlled. “This is going to be a big shock for her, Buffy. I’m going to tell her…break the news to her easy. Then if she wants to see you…” “If she *wants* to see me?” Buffy repeated incredulously, stepping forward again. “She’s my *sister*, Willow, and if you think…” “*Stop*!” Xander suddenly raised his voice, and both girls froze, not looking at him but waiting in silence for him to go on. “Willow’s right,” he finally said, giving Buffy a look that was only slightly apologetic. “If you just go up there, Dawnie’s probably gonna freak out. Let Willow let her know you’re here first. Then you can see her. There’s some things I need to tell you first.” As he spoke he reached out a gentle hand and caught her arm, and though they both knew that she could have broken his grip in an instant, could have shoved Willow out of the way and insisted on going up the stairs to see her sister like she wanted to…she didn’t. She forced herself to relax the tensed, confrontational stance her body had taken on, and allowed him to lead her into the living room to the sofa while Willow went on upstairs. “Why does *Willow* have to tell her?” Buffy asked, and the look on her face, the frightened tears in her eyes, told Xander that she was not being spiteful. “Where’s my *mom*, Xander?” He forced himself to look her in the eyes, as he slowly began to explain the sequence of events after she had left, avoiding her question at first. He told her about Faith, and how everything had been great to begin with, until she had started building her vampire gangs, terrorizing innocent people, taking whatever she wanted from whoever she wanted and allowing the vampires to run rampant through Sunnydale and do whatever they wanted. “What about the police? The authorities?” Buffy asked, frowning with concern, hardly able to believe what he was telling her. “What can the police do, Buffy?” he said, a hopeless note in his voice. “Most of them were the first to go – one way or the other,” he went on, darkly. “The ones who *did* try to stand up to her got killed. The others took their families and got out of town as fast as they could. A lot of people did.” “So…is there like *any* city government or authority in Sunnydale at all right now?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. “No,” Xander replied sadly. “Right at the start, the mayor stood up against her and was telling everyone how she was dangerous and evil and the biggest threat to family values since ‘Ellen’.” He paused. “But one of her gangs took him down. He’s dead. Along with anybody else who stood up to her.” “No one can even leave their homes after dark anymore without getting attacked. The vampires are totally in control. They do what they want. Kill who they want.” He paused for a moment, looking down at the couch, and when he looked up his eyes were full of tears. “They killed Cordy.” “Oh, no!” she gasped, her eyes widening in horrified sympathy for her friend, and she reached out to pull him into her arms. “Oh, Xander, I’m so sorry!” Her own eyes welled with tears. She and Cordelia had never really been on the best of terms, but she knew that she had meant a lot to Xander, and the thought of her actually being killed by vampires was still a painful one – she *knew* her! Xander allowed her comforting gesture for a moment before pulling away, and she knew he had more to tell her. A lot more. “Oz and I – we weren’t gonna let them get away with it,” he began slowly. “It was the full moon, and we went down to her headquarters at sunset to take them all down.” Buffy’s eyes grew wider at the thought of calm, sensible Oz deliberately choosing to unleash his wolf-self on Faith and her minions. “We did a lot of damage,” Xander went on, with a soft ironic laugh, staring down at the couch between them. “We killed all of her vamp lackeys that were there. Except one.” His eyes narrowed in hatred as he looked up at her. “Spike.” “Spike? Spike’s working with Faith?” she said, stunned. In a way she was not surprised, but in another way it just didn’t make sense. Why would he come to LA and tell her about what was happening here in Sunnydale if he was working for Faith? Unless he was just incredibly stupid and was just trying to rile her in the midst of their confrontation, not thinking about the consequences. Yeah, that pretty much sounded like Spike. Xander’s next words pulled her out of her wondering thoughts. “He killed Oz.” “What?” The word came out in a shocked whisper. “Oz – Oz is dead?” She turned her head and gazed up the stairs, her eyes stricken with sudden understanding. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Spike killed Oz. And I was gone…and if I’d been here…” She stopped, shaking her head. Suddenly she looked back up at him with a horrified, almost panicked expression. “And Cordy! Oh my God, Xander, I’m so sorry!” “No,” he said softly, not meeting her eyes, and she could tell that although he was trying to comfort her, he had been thinking the same thing. “It’s not your fault, Buffy,” he said, but the words sounded weak. “You couldn’t have known what would happen. And…” he added hurriedly before she could protest, knowing that he had to get the rest out while he still could. “And there’s more.” She swallowed hard, sensing that this would be the hardest blow yet, and bravely forced herself to meet his eyes. “What is it?” she prompted when he didn’t speak. “Xander, *tell* *me*.” “After – after we went down there – and killed all her guys,” he began, his voice trembling and hesitant. “They – they wanted to retaliate. They – they…” He stopped. He simply couldn’t do this. He couldn’t find the strength to speak the words and tell her what had happened. But she was beginning to understand. “Xander,” she said, her voice trembling and her wide eyes focused on his. Her words were slow and even as she went on, “Where is my mother?” Xander flinched, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, fighting for control. “Buffy,” he began softly, trying to find the words. But his tone said all she could bear to hear. She stood up suddenly, still staring at him and shaking her head slowly in denial as she took a couple of backward steps away from him. “No,” she whispered in a trembling voice full of fury and pain. “No…tell me that she’s…tell me she’s not…” Xander did not say a word. He couldn’t. Tears streaked his face as he stared at the couch, swallowing back a sob. “No,” she repeated, refusing to accept it. “No, no it’s not true…” her voice rising with every word. “No, you’re lying, she’s alive, no I won’t believe that, *no*!” The last word was a scream of anguish as she stepped forward aggressively, demanding with her body if not her words that he take it back, that he tell her he was lying, tell her anything, but just tell her that her mother was alive. He flinched instinctively at her aggressive advance, only to have her collapse to her knees on the floor in the next moment, sobbing brokenly as she wrapped her arms around herself, as if physically trying to hold herself together, to keep from falling to pieces. He left the couch and knelt beside her, tentatively reaching to put his arms around her. “I’m so sorry, Buffy,” he began, sobbing with her. “I’m so sorry…” She sobbed in his arms for a few minutes, shaking and rocking slightly, moaning softly in pain and disbelief. “No! Mom! Oh, mom! Mommy! No, no, no!” she sobbed until her voice broke and she dissolved into deep, shuddering sobs. He just stayed there with her, holding her for a few minutes. Suddenly, she broke out of his embrace, staggering to her feet. He looked up at her, alarmed, because she still seemed terribly shaken and unstable. “Buffy,” he began cautiously, slowly standing up himself, as he took in the sudden change in her demeanor. Her face had transformed. It was still tear-soaked, and her lips were trembling, but her eyes had hardened with fury and blind rage. He recognized that look in her eyes, and he knew what it could lead to. “Are there any weapons here?” she asked him, her voice low and full of fury. “Buffy, you shouldn’t…” “Where are the weapons, Xander?” she demanded, in a tone that did not allow for argument. Wordlessly he pointed to the chest against the wall by the stairs, and watched as she threw it open, and began to quickly arm herself with several large stakes, and a wicked-looking curved dagger. She turned back to him, meeting his eyes with her own blazing with fury and determination. “Who did it?” she asked him flatly. “Who killed my mother?” He looked down at the floor for a moment, wishing for some way to dissuade her from what could very well be a suicide mission. But he thought back over all the times he had seen Buffy fight before, and remembered that she could hold her own. Why had they so longed for her return, if she was not capable of taking on Faith and her followers? And now, with her awesome power further fueled by the rage of her grief… He looked up at her, a new fire in his own eyes. “Spike,” he replied simply. “She was – she was here. And it was a vamp. No other vampire could have gotten into the house.” Her eyes widened for a moment in surprise. She knew that Spike was a vampire, evil, soulless, without conscience or remorse. But somehow, after their truce the previous year, after inviting him into her home, after he had sat there and talked with her mother while she was on the phone, she had never expected him to harm her family. No wonder he had made that comment about her family, she realized with new fury coursing through her body. He had come into her home, mercilessly killed her precious mother, who had never hurt anyone, the most important person in her life…and then had the nerve, the cruelty, the utter inhumanity to actually find her just to gloat about it and throw it in her face. She determined in that moment, with a firm, unyielding resolve: she would make him suffer for the devastation he had wrought in her life, for taking the life of her mother. Without another word, she turned and stormed out into the dark, forbidding night. Her friend had warned her of the evil that controlled the night in Sunnydale these days, but she was not afraid. The evil things that lurked there, tonight of all nights, should tremble in terror of *her*! The Slayer had returned to Sunnydale…with a vengeance.

Chapter #5 - Confrontation

Buffy roughly brushed the tears away from her eyes as she stormed down the walkway and onto the sidewalk. She had to be strong right now; she had to take down the evil creature that had taken her mother’s life. Still in a state of shock, a red haze of fury filling her mind, all she could think about at that moment was revenge. Her mind tried to process the fact that her mother was really gone, that she would never see her, talk to her, touch her, ever again. It was just too painful to conceive of, too devastating. She shoved the cruel thoughts out before they could take root in her mind. She just couldn’t think about that right now; it simply hurt too bad. So instead, she focused on avenging her mother’s death. It was as if she had put a wall up in her mind, closing out the pain and focusing on the anger and hatred. She didn’t have time to think about it now; she had to punish her mother’s killer. The part of her that was the heart-broken, devastated girl shut down, and allowed the hardened, vicious Slayer to take control. She was halfway down the sidewalk when she realized that she really didn’t even know where Faith’s headquarters was located. Xander had said something about an old mansion on the western outskirts of town, but that was all the information she had, and she did not intend on going to back to the house before she had done some serious slayage. It didn’t matter, she realized. According to Xander’s story, Spike often led one of Faith’s gangs in their nightly activities on the streets of Sunnydale. Finding the mansion would not necessarily lead her to her prey; she would be more likely to find him by doing exactly what she was doing – walking the street, looking like a helpless victim. “Hey, there, Baby,” she heard a taunting male voice behind her, helping to support her theory. She slowly turned to face the owner of the voice. She already knew by his voice that it wasn’t the vampire she sought, and a look at the group of about a dozen that now stood behind her revealed that he was not among them…but that didn’t really matter to her all that much at the moment. She was after Spike, but she had more than enough rage to spare for any other vamps that got in her way. She could use a warm-up. “Whatcha doin’ out here all by yourself, Baby?” the vampire continued, approaching her with a menacing leer. He obviously had no idea who he was dealing with. He thought she was just a foolish girl who happened to have been caught out alone. Her eyes were cold, but she put a flirtatious smile on her face as she sauntered boldly a few steps closer to the vampires. “Looking for some action,” she replied suggestively, drawing even nearer to the one who had addressed her. Much like a hormone-addled teenage boy, he glanced around at his friends with a knowing grin, before turning to face the girl again. His eyes never even came to rest on her again; before he could even turn the rest of the way around, the Slayer had taken one of her stakes from her pocket and plunged it into his heart. As his ashes settled around her, she turned toward the others with a smile. “Now *that* was exhilarating. Who’s next?” The others seemed stunned for a moment, surprised that she had dispatched their leader so easily. But after a moment they seemed to recover, assuming that she had just managed to get lucky with her flirtations that had allowed her near enough for the killing blow. The thought that this might be the missing Slayer never occurred to them. She was just a girl, and what could one girl do against a dozen vampires? She quickly showed them just what *this* one girl could do, and within minutes the lot of them were dust. She continued on her way down the sidewalk, keeping her eyes open for any sign of her prey. When she reached Main Street, in downtown Sunnydale, she saw another group of vampires a few hundred feet from her. They were armed with baseball bats and clubs and were smashing in the windows of a convenience store. Among them she could clearly make out a distinct platinum blonde head. Fury in her eyes, her gait, every facet of her being, she strode purposefully toward them. They did not notice her as she caught up to them, catching a couple of them who were still outside the store and staking them within seconds before storming inside. Inside the store, the vampires were behaving like a bunch of juvenile delinquents, taking a few things like liquor and cigarettes, but mostly just smashing things and creating general destruction. She wasted no time, grabbing the nearest vamp by the back of his shirt and plunging her stake into his heart, then moving forward toward the next nearest one to her. As soon as they realized what was happening, the rest of them surrounded her, thinking, like the last group, that they had found an easy meal. She didn’t say a word as she simply set to work, wiping them out with deadly efficiency. The entire time, she watched Spike out of the corner of her eye, surprised that he did not join the fray. He simply stood there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, watching in an almost bored fashion as she took out his group, one after another. Soon, she was down to two vampires who seemed a little larger and a little more skilled than the others, and they were working together, doing their best to corner her. She fought well, but the truth was that she *was* still out of shape, and had been working on sheer rage thus far. But her rage could only carry her to the limits of her physical strength, and Buffy was beginning to tire. Finally, she saw an opening and lunged toward the larger of the two, her aim deadly in its accuracy. But before the dust had even settled, the other one had grabbed her from behind, gripping her right wrist in his hand and wrenching it backward, hard. She let out a little cry of pain as the stake fell from her hand, struggling to free herself, but he was much stronger than she was at the moment. The vampire threw her to the ground, hard, and before she could recover, turned her over, gripping her wrists and pinning them over her head as his fangs descended toward her throat. She thrashed and struggled against him, but could not seem to break his hold. She was cursing herself for her weakness, for allowing herself to get so out of shape and out of practice, certain that this was it, and wondering if the next Slayer would be able to take out Faith and save this town or not…when suddenly the weight of the vampire on top of her vanished, and she nearly choked on the disgusting dust cloud that settled over her. Coughing and wiping her eyes as she pushed herself up on her arms, and stumbled to her feet hastily, not sure what threat she might face next, she was amazed to see Spike, standing there watching patiently as she recovered, his arms still crossed and her fallen stake in one hand. “That, Slayer, was bloody pathetic,” he informed her matter-of-factly. “Yeah?” she said, with a cold smile, taking her other stake from her back pocket. Suddenly, she was feeling her strength return as her fury built again at the sight of her mother’s murderer standing before her, so smug and derisive. “Let’s see if I can make up for that.” His eyes widened in surprise, and he dropped the stake in preparation to fight her…too late. He had not thought that she would go after him, not after he had spared her the last time and saved her only moments ago. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized that he had honestly not expected her to attack him, and the thought shocked her. But not enough to distract her from her purpose. She unleashed her fury upon him, not giving him time to recover in between as she rained blow after powerful blow upon him, until she had him backed up against the counter. She gripped his throat with one hand and slammed him back against the counter so that he was bent backward over it, raising the stake in her other hand to strike. He really had not expected the Slayer to try to kill him. Not after the last time when he had easily bested her, and then on top of that, allowed her to live. In truth, he had not expected her to be *able* to kill him. But this girl was obviously not the same broken, indifferent person he had seen in LA only a few days ago. She fought with a fire and fury that was far beyond what he had seen in her even at her best, when he had fought her before. But what was most chilling was the cold hatred in her eyes. He knew that this time, she was out for blood, and would not stop until one of them was dead – and truth be told, either way that little scenario could play out would not be to his liking. He just barely managed to catch her right wrist in his hand before her stake pierced his chest, holding her back with all his strength, which he could feel faltering due to the incredible power of her attack, and the utter lack of leverage his position left to him. “I thought you owed me one, Slayer,” he choked out, struggling for all he was worth to push her off of him with his free hand. But her rage-fueled strength at the moment was simply too much for him. “I gave *you* a free pass,” he reminded her. Her eyes widened in incredulous disbelief, as she snarled in a disgusted, furious voice, “All I *owe* you is pain, Spike.” “Not the way I see it,” he ground out, gritting his teeth as he felt his grip slip a little and the stake come another perilous inch nearer to his unbeating heart. “I could have killed you in LA, Slayer. I didn’t. *And* I just killed that bloke that was about to make you his bloody dinner…could lose my soddin’ job for that, pet. I’d say that means you owe me a little more than the business end of your stake.” His calmness, in the face of his impending death, in the face of what he had *done*, only infuriated her further. “You know what?” she said with a wide, false smile, raising her stake hand away from his heart, pulling it out of his grip, but not releasing her relentless, pinning hold on his throat. “I think you’re right. I think I owe you more than just the point of my stake.” And with that, she turned the stake around and smashed it down hard across his face before leaning in close again to add, “I think I owe you a *lot* more than a quick, easy death, Spike.” As the stars faded from his vision and he tried to focus on her, his eyes widened in disbelief, absolutely stunned by the intensity, the brutality of her attack. They were mortal enemies, right – he could understand that. But the fury, the malice she was displaying seemed to go deeper than that. She seemed to have some personal affront against him, and he did not know why. Struggling again uselessly to rise, as she pressed the stake to his chest again, the point digging into his flesh just above his heart, hard enough to draw blood, but still a good several inches from his heart, he gasped out, “Just what is it you think I’ve done, Slayer?” “Don’t play dumb with me!” she snapped, and he winced as the stake dug in a little deeper. “You killed my mother, you bastard!” He was absolutely stunned by her words, and suddenly he understood why her attack held so much more power than it usually did – than it ever had, really. Somehow she had gotten it into her head that he was the one who had killed her mum, and that had fueled her strength to an unbelievable degree. Suddenly, he was also absolutely certain that he was not going to make it out of this alive if he could not convince her that he was not the one at which her vengeance should be directed. “No,” he protested quickly. “No, Slayer, you’re wrong! I never touched you mum, I swear it!” “Liar!” she hissed, dragging the point of the stake downward a bit from his heart, tearing through his flesh with the weapon. He bit back a cry of pain as he gasped, “No! I’m telling you the truth, I know someone killed your mum, but I swear it wasn’t me!” He raised his head and met her eyes, desperately hoping that she would see that he was telling her the truth. She glared down at him. The sincerity in his eyes made her falter for a moment. “You’re the only one who could get into my house, Spike,” she insisted in a voice trembling with anger and confusion. “It couldn’t have been anyone else.” That came as another surprise to him. “Maybe they tricked her. Maybe she invited them in herself, pet. I don’t know,” he spoke quickly, just guessing at possible scenarios, seeing his chance and seizing it. “All I know is I didn’t bloody do it.” He felt her ease the pressure of the stake in his chest, and knew he was getting through to her. He cautiously raised his head to look her in the eye more directly. “I wouldn’t have done that,” he insisted. “I liked your mum. She was a good lady. And I swear I didn’t know a thing about it until it was done.” She looked down for a moment, unsure, her eyes welling with tears, her lips trembling. Suddenly, those green eyes hardened and focused on him again as a new thought occurred to her, and she pointed out in a voice of steel, “But you do now. If you didn’t kill her, you know who did.” It was a statement, not a question, and he did not deny it. “Tell me,” she ordered coldly, and once again he felt the wooden stake digging into his injured chest. She never knew if he had intended to answer her, because suddenly she felt a hard hand around her throat yanking her up off of him, spinning her around and slamming her back against the counter. Immediately she sprung back to face her attacker, a large vamp with a long, wicked-looking knife in his hand. Glancing around, she saw that there were about a dozen more with him. There was nothing for it. She had to fight them, and she fought hard, taking them out in a matter of minutes. But when she turned back toward the counter, and glanced around the store, there was no sign of the vampire whose interrogation and death they had so inconveniently interrupted. Spike was gone.

Chapter #6 - Suspicions

Spike waited and watched long enough to be sure that the Slayer was going to defeat this latest of Faith’s gangs to attack her before he slipped out the door into the night. Not only did he want to be sure that she survived, but he also did not want to leave any of the vampires alive to report back to Faith with the tale of his own unusual little encounter with the Slayer. Just as she had been poised to finish off the last of the group, he had made his escape. He had never been one to back down from a fight, almost always fully confident that he could take on any opponent that might come his way. And in the past, he had relished any opportunity he had to engage the fiery blonde Slayer in combat. Faith was quite the fighter, but he had never seen the equal of Buffy Summers in full-on slay-mode. She was the greatest challenge he had ever faced, and he fully intended to one day defeat her – something he had yet to actually accomplish. That once in LA didn’t count, as far as he was concerned. *That* pitiful display was nothing like the Slayer he remembered, and hadn’t been a challenge in the least. Hardly seemed right to take credit for that. But everything about Buffy tonight – her renewed aggressive fighting style; the cold, calculated menace in her voice, the merciless look in her eyes as she had accused him of that ultimate crime against her – all worked together to tell him one thing beyond all doubt. He would die if he tried to fight her tonight. He had seen that furious fire of rage in Faith’s eyes from time to time – always immediately followed by the dusting of some unfortunate minion. And he had seen it once before in Buffy’s emerald gaze – that night at the church, when he had nearly killed Angel in his effort to restore Dru. That night, she had been determined that he would pay for hurting the vampire that she loved. She had only left him alive that night because she had been certain he would die in the fire that consumed the church. He had been getting through to her, he was sure, just before they were interrupted by the other vamps, but that did not mean that he would have gotten out of there alive, if it was left up to the Slayer. That out-of-control fury he had seen in her had just been aching for an outlet, and there was no guarantee even if she believed him, that he would not be the lucky recipient of that fury. Especially since he had no satisfactory answer for the question she had been asking at that last moment. He had been furious when he had heard about the murder of Buffy’s mother, though he had had no idea why at the time. He had only met the woman once, and she had seemed like a nice enough lady, polite and kind to him, despite her misgivings about the whole Slayer/vampire thing. But when Faith laughingly told him about the “retribution” her vamps had wrought on the Scoobies for attacking her headquarters, he had found himself hard-pressed not to make an attempt to rip out her throat then and there – an attempt that would have been certain to fail, due to the five or six other vampires who had been in the room at the time. He was a vampire; over the years, he had taken the lives of many, many of them probably mothers like Joyce. But somehow, it seemed so underhanded and low to kill the Slayer’s mum in her own home, while said Slayer wasn’t even there to attempt to defend her. It was only after he had calmed down that he wondered why he was making it about Buffy – when to Faith, it had nothing to do with the other Slayer that she assumed was long gone, and everything to do with punishing the friends she had left behind for their rebellion against her. From that point, he had begun to think more and more about the other Slayer, the rightful Slayer of Sunnydale, and the beginnings of a new idea began to occur to him. He knew beyond all doubt that if she knew what was happening here, what had happened already, she would return from wherever she had vanished to, ready and willing to take down who or whatever was responsible for her mother’s death. Which, ultimately, was Faith. It was then that he had decided that he needed to somehow get the Slayer to return to Sunnydale. Once she saw for herself the devastation that Faith had caused not only for the town but for those closest to her, he knew that she would not rest until she had taken Faith out. And while Faith was distracted by what would surely be the fight of her life, struggling to save her very life against the other Slayer, out for vengeance -- her semi-trusted second-in-command would move in behind her for the kill. He had not, however, counted on becoming the object of the vengeful Slayer's wrath. He had told her the truth when he said that he did not know about her mother's murder until after it was done, and even now, he did not know very much about the events of that horrible night. That was why her accusation had come as such a shock to him. But the more he thought about it, the more he began to wonder -- who *had* killed Joyce Summers? He made his way quickly back toward the mansion, intent on having a little chat with Faith, and finding out just exactly whose place he had almost died in tonight. He briefly considered whether or not to inform Faith of the presence of the other Slayer in Sunnydale again, and realized that the disappearance of about thirty of her minions in one night would be enough to tell her that *something* was up. Besides, he seriously doubted that Buffy intended to lay low while she was here. Better to tell Faith himself about Buffy's arrival, and appear to be the helpful, loyal subordinate that she *sort-of* thought he was, than to be accused later of withholding the information from her, and be dust. He prepared himself for another exercise of his ever-improving acting skills as he entered the mansion and made his way upstairs to the section of the building that was off limits to all but him and Faith. He stopped by his own room to get a new shirt, since the Slayer had destroyed the one he was wearing. Then, he went into the bathroom, wanting to get cleaned up a little before going to talk with Faith. It wasn’t as if he could have hidden his fight with the Slayer if he had wanted to, he realized, reaching a hand up to gingerly touch the swollen area around his eye. There was scarcely a vampire in Sunnydale who would dare to touch him, and those fools that would couldn’t possibly actually do any damage before he could show them just what a master vampire was capable of. There was no way that anyone but a Slayer could actually injure him as Buffy had tonight. Maybe his injuries would work in his favor, he thought suddenly, as he carefully cleaned the puncture wound in his chest with a soft, damp cloth. Perhaps it would help quell any questions Faith might have about the truth of his story of the last fight, to see how badly Buffy had apparently beaten him this time. “What happened?” her voice suddenly asked from the doorway, uncharacteristically soft as she watched him. She had surprised him, but he did not look up, did not give any indication of being startled. “The other Slayer happened, pet,” he replied grimly, looking up to meet her gaze, making his own serious and concerned. “She’s here?” Faith raised her eyebrows in surprise. She paused, looking away as she considered that new turn of events, before looking back at him. “What’d she come back for?” “Well, apparently someone sent her word about her mum, ‘cause she was all fired up about it and ready to get some revenge,” he explained, returning his attention to his injured chest. “And for some reason, she thinks I’m the one she needs to take it from.” Faith didn’t respond for a moment, her expression pensive as she moved closer to him. “I thought no one knew where she was,” she pointed out, her voice calm and even, and even before she spoke her next words, he felt an apprehensive chill go down his spine. “No one except us…right?” He turned slowly to look at her, studying her expression. “As far as I knew,” he responded slowly, meeting her gaze with a challenge in his eyes. “Obviously we were wrong.” She laughed softly, shaking her head a little, as if realizing the foolishness of her own suspicions, and as she replied softly, “Obviously,” he looked away from her again, turning his back. Which was a mistake. In one lightning motion, she moved up behind him, gripping his free arm and pinning it so that he couldn’t move it, her other hand snaking around him to sink cruel fingernails into his tender, bleeding flesh on his chest. Before he could stop himself, he let out a groan of pain as she leaned in close and said in a dangerous tone, “Or maybe we *weren’t* wrong, Spike. Maybe there *were* only two people in the entire world who knew where she was. Considering that she just got a visit from one of those two people and now she’s here…I don’t think it’s that hard to figure out. Do you?” she demanded, increasing the pressure on the wound. He fought back the cry of pain that rose to his lips and insisted in a pained but controlled voice, “It’s not that simple, love. I didn’t say a word to her about her mum. Didn’t say much at all, actually. Was too busy trying to kill her!” As she pressed yet again harder, he stifled another groan, his hand reaching up in an attempt to pull hers away, but she only dug in deeper. How he longed to attack her right now, fight his way out of her strong hold and throw her to the floor, choke the life out of her, snap her neck, drain her dry… But her obvious suspicion of him told him that she would not be without help nearby, waiting in case of just such a scenario. Once again, he was forced to go along with her little games. “Were you?” she asked innocently, turning her head to look him in the eye. “How hard did you try?” she demanded. “Obviously not hard enough,” he snarled, his own anger getting the better of him. “Because she’s still alive enough to nearly kill me tonight, and then *you* think you’ve gotta finish the job!” Maybe matching her anger would cause her to back off, help to convince her that she was overreacting. Maybe not. “No, Baby,” she corrected him patronizingly, and quick as a flash her hand moved and returned, this time with a stake in it as she pressed it hard against his chest. “I’d need one of these to ‘finish the job’.” In spite of himself he felt his stomach twist inside him at the surprising – and frightening – move. He swallowed hard, realizing that the situation had suddenly taken a very dark turn, and that Faith was not playing a game this time. “And I will,” she assured him, meeting his eyes with a blazing fury in her own. “If I have to.” He paused, waiting to see if she would say more. When she didn’t, he said in a carefully calm, quiet voice, “You *won’t* have to.” She looked at him for a moment longer before suddenly releasing him and stepping away, smiling again. “Hope not,” she said lightly, putting the stake away. She turned to leave the bathroom, pausing in the doorway. “Can you meet me in about twenty minutes?” she asked. “We need to figure out what to do about our new problem.” As if nothing had happened. He nodded silently, and for the sake of his pride, waited until she had disappeared to release a furious growl of frustrated anger and pain as he clutched at his abused chest and glared at the spot where she had been. He had to gain control of his rising rage before he went into the meeting with her. He had to keep a clear head, as there were many questions he had for her, and he had to present them in such a way as not to further arouse her already growing suspicions. He had to find out the circumstances of Joyce Summers’ death, if he was going to stand a chance of getting Buffy to help him at all. So, he thought with a wince as he re-tended the aggravated injury, he would have to keep himself together, not giving any indication of his hatred for her, at least long enough to get the information that he needed. “And at some point after that,” he muttered to himself with a cold, sarcastic smirk, realizing even as he said it that it would probably be a very distant “point” in the future, “I’m going to rip her bloody throat out!” Faith returned to her room, frowning, deep in thought as she locked the door behind her and went to the phone, dialing a familiar number. “Hello?” a deep male voice spoke after a few rings. “What are you doing?” she purred into the phone, her voice pleasant and disarming. “Watching Buffy, like you said,” he replied, casual and unconcerned. “Pretty boring at the moment, though.” “Is it?” she went on innocently. “What’s she doing?” “No clue. She hasn’t left her apartment all day.” Faith’s tone changed in an instant. “That’s because she hasn’t been *in* it, you moron! Buffy is here!” she informed him. “In Sunnydale!” She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was calmer, but still angry and threatening. “And you’d better be, too, as fast as you can. I need you here.” And she slammed the phone down hard, sitting down on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands. She had not expected the Slayer to come back to Sunnydale, and definitely not this soon. She had been wondering why several of her groups had not reported back to her on time, but she didn’t wonder now – the answer was clear. And then there was Spike. It seemed like much more than a coincidence to her that Buffy had suddenly shown up in Sunnydale, mere days after Spike’s trip to LA. She did not know what to make of his story. The injuries he had taken from the other Slayer – and that part she believed, as no one but a Slayer could do that much damage in a fight against Spike – did not tend to back up her suspicions that they were somehow working together against her. But then, that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She and Spike had been working together for months, and she had often done worse to him than that. For all she knew, they had *planned* the fight and the injuries to help back up his story. The only thing Faith was certain of at all, as always, was that she could not trust anyone. She let out a heavy sigh as she looked up, her mouth set in grim resignation. This could be a problem.

Chapter #7 - Holding On

Buffy let out an enraged roar of fury and frustration when she finally managed to dust the last of her attackers and turned to find that Spike had gone. She had slain over thirty vampires that night, and still it was not enough. Her rage seemed to know no end; she was still determined to make her mother’s killer pay. If Spike hadn’t killed her mother, then he knew who had, and he was going to tell her, no matter what she had to do to him to make him. Whoever it was, her mother’s killer was going to… Her mother’s killer…. Her mother’s… “No,” she moaned, sinking to her knees, heedless of the ashes that clung to her jeans, the remains of the vengeful fury that had fled her in an instant as the truth of what had happened struck her anew. “Mommy, mommy! No!” All at once it hit her, in the absence of anything left to vent her rage upon, and she was forced to face the reality, and the pain. She wept bitterly then, on the floor of the destroyed convenience store, for her beloved mother whom she would never see again, for her friends who had also lost loved ones, lost so much, due to her own selfishness, for her little sister who had lost absolutely everything in the space of a single year of her life… *Dawn.* She sat up suddenly, her eyes wide and stricken. In all her pain of finding out that she had lost her mother, her little sister had escaped her thoughts entirely until that moment. *God, Dawnie! What she must be going through right now…!* Suddenly all she knew was that she had to get to her sister, had to see her, talk to her. With their mother gone, Buffy was all that the girl had left. And Dawn was all that *she* had left. If she even still had her at all. She leapt to her feet and rushed from the deserted store into the night. Apparently, word had quickly spread that the original Slayer was back in town, because she did not face any more vampire attacks on her way home. She reached the porch and pounded on the locked door, desperate not in fear, but in her desire to get to her sister… Xander answered the door silently, and looked at her for a moment before stepping aside to let her come in. It was clear from her dirty, disheveled appearance and the massive amounts of vampire dust that coated her skin and clothes, that she had created an utter vampire massacre that night. She must have killed dozens of them! Xander realized, in a sort of awe. It was clear, however, from the lost and disappointed look in her eyes, that she had *not* killed the one she had sought. He wordlessly put an arm around her and led her into the living room, where Willow sat on the sofa, not looking up at her, just staring straight ahead. Tentatively, Buffy went to sit down beside her, carefully looking at Xander and not Willow as she spoke. “Where’s Dawn?” she asked softly, suddenly painfully aware that her sister might very well not *want* to see her. “Upstairs,” Xander replied quietly. “Taking a shower. She’ll be down in a little while.” Buffy nodded slowly, feeling drained. She wanted to ask how her sister had taken the news of her return, but then thought better of it. The answer might be too painful for her. Maybe it would be better to go in unprepared, than to hear an answer that would make her lose her nerve completely. Reluctantly, she turned her head to look at her other friend, slowly, terrified of what she would see in Willow’s eyes, yet desperate to make her see how sorry she was, to somehow attempt to make things right between them again. Suddenly, Willow looked up to meet her gaze, and Buffy fought to force herself not to look away from the depths of pain and anger that showed clearly through her tears. “You shouldn’t have left,” Willow repeated her earlier assertion, in a voice that was trembling with emotion, but controlled. “If you hadn’t…there’s a very good chance that Oz would still be alive. And that makes me want to hate you, Buffy.” Buffy flinched from the calm, matter-of-fact statement. Angry, raging shouts could have been spoken in an emotional outburst and not really meant; Willow’s certain demeanor told Buffy that she meant every word with everything in her. She opened her mouth to apologize, to explain, but Willow held up a hand to stop her. “But,” she went on with a heavy sigh, then paused for a moment. Her eyes softened a little and welled with tears as she whispered, “You couldn’t possibly have known that. You didn’t know what would happen if you left. You must have had your reasons for leaving, and…and if it wasn’t for you, I – I wouldn’t have lived long enough to even *meet* Oz.” She paused for a moment to let her meaning sink in before reaching out a cautious hand to close tenderly around Buffy’s as her tears fell to streak her sorrowful face. “I’m angry, and this – this…*hurts*,” she struggled to get the words out, stopping again for a moment before going on, “But I *love* you, Buffy. And we’re gonna get through this.” Suddenly, the unexpected gentleness and forgiveness was too much for Buffy, and she found herself in a fresh bout of tears, this time of tremendous relief and gratitude that mingled with her profound sorrow. After her initial reaction to Buffy’s sudden return, she had not expected Willow to forgive her so soon – maybe even not at all. When Buffy dissolved into tears, Willow immediately moved forward to take her into her arms, holding her gently but silently until her tears began to subside again. Willow had told Buffy exactly how she felt, and while a part of her could not help but blame her friend for so much of what had happened, a very strong part of her could not sit by and watch as Buffy suffered under what was probably the deepest loss of her life thus far. Xander stood hovering anxiously beside the couch where they sat, unsure if he was needed to do anything for either of them, but wanting to help in any way he could. The whole situation was just so much bigger, so much more intense, than anything they had ever faced before, and they were all quite simply at a complete and utter loss. After a little while, once Buffy seemed to have regained control of her emotions, he sat slowly down in the empty spot on the sofa beside them, and asked her softly, “Did you find Spike?” Buffy was silent for a moment, sniffing back the last of her tears – for the moment, anyway – before nodding. “I did.” When she didn’t seem about to volunteer anything further, he prompted her gently, “And?” “We fought. But another vampire attacked me, and he got away,” she grimaced at the memory. “Well, actually…more like a *dozen* other vampires attacked me.” “Just like Spike,” Xander muttered, anger and hatred seething in his voice. “Coward. He’s got no problem attacking helpless people in their own homes, but give him a *real* fight, and he takes off.” There was silence for a moment as Buffy considered how much to tell her friends, before beginning cautiously, “He said he didn’t kill her.” Xander gave her a disbelieving look, as she had expected. “Buffy…” he began patiently, “…of *course* he said he didn’t do it. You were probably on top of him holding a stake to his heart! Right?” Buffy frowned, considering the validity of his point. “Actually…yeah,” she admitted. She paused. “I mean, he’s still a vampire and he’s still working with Faith, so either way, it looks like eventually I’m gonna end up dusting him,” she pointed out. Her expression became solemn and intense as she met Xander’s eyes and went on, “But if he’s *not* the one who did it…I don’t want the vampire who killed my mother to get away with it. I need to know for sure, Xander.” His dark brown eyes searched hers, nodding slowly, but he didn’t say a word. “He said…” Buffy began again, somewhat haltingly, as she tried to remember her conversation with Spike through the tumultuous thoughts and emotions that flooded her mind. “Is there any way someone might have tricked her? She might have invited someone into the house, not knowing they were a vamp? Is that possible?” she asked, looking between her two friends questioningly. “No.” Willow was emphatic. “We all talked about it, and she knew better, Buffy. She knew not to ever speak the words of an invitation to someone she didn’t know. There is no way she would have invited anyone in.” Buffy considered that for a moment, and then her eyes widened as a new thought occurred to her. She looked back at Willow and asked in a dark voice, “What about someone she *did* know? I mean, if you guys have been as isolated as it sounds like, we really have no way of knowing *who* they could have turned by now, do we?” Neither of her friends had any answer for that. It was something that had not occurred to them. Buffy sighed deeply, leaning forward and resting her head in her hands. “Maybe Spike’s telling the truth. Maybe he’s lying. I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice coming out in a choked whimper. She was simply overwhelmed by the unbelievable emotional trauma that this day had been for her. And it wasn’t over yet. At a slight sound of movement from across the room, Buffy raised her head toward the stairs, her heart skipping a beat and her breath freezing in her throat; she already knew who it would be. Dawn stood at the base of the stairs, staring wide-eyed and solemn at her older sister. She did not move or speak, seemingly stunned by the realization that her sister was actually there, after so long. She looked impossibly young and vulnerable in her soft cotton pajamas, her long, straight hair still damp from her shower. Slowly, still scarcely daring to breathe, Buffy rose to her feet and approached her sister, moving cautiously, as if approaching a small frightened creature that might bolt at any sudden movement. “Dawnie,” she whispered, holding her hands out in a gesture that was part comforting and part pleading as she drew nearer to the bottom of the stairs, where her sister still stood, watching her and not moving or speaking at all. “Dawnie, I’m so sorry.” She stopped a couple of feet from her sister, searching her wide, fearful eyes with her own tear-filled emerald gaze. “Please…” she whispered. “Please, I’m so, so sorry…” Dawn just stared at her, and to her dismay, Buffy could see overwhelming hurt and fury rising in her expression, as tears filled her eyes and her lower lip began to tremble with the emotions she tried to hold back. Suddenly, without warning, Dawn drew back her hand and gave her sister a hard, resounding slap across her face, hard enough to drive the older, stronger girl’s head to the side with the force of the blow. A loaded silence fell over the room with the impact of what had just happened. Willow and Xander sat frozen where they were on the sofa, understanding why Dawn had done what she had done, as her pain was an intensified version of their own – yet still hardly able to believe that she had actually done it. Neither wanted to move, make a sound, even breathe, aware that they were accidentally intruding on a very powerful, personal moment between the two sisters – if an extremely volatile one. Buffy stood there for a moment, not moving, not even turning her head back to look at her sister. The defeated fall of her shoulders, the pained expression on her face, said that she felt she deserved the blow. “I hate you,” Dawn said suddenly in a raw, pain-filled whisper, and Buffy flinched at the harsh words, infinitely more painful than the blow had been. For a very long moment, neither sister moved or made a sound. Buffy swallowed hard, her eyes closed against the pain of her sister’s honest feelings, and the overwhelming shame of her own sense of guilt and responsibility for what had happened in her absence. A single tear pressed its way out from one closed eye and fell down her cheek. And in the next moment, the powerful, capable Slayer had once again fallen apart, dropping to the floor, consumed by uncontrollable sobs of emotional agony. At that moment, Buffy truly felt that she had lost everything. For a moment, Dawn just stood there and looked on as her sister fell apart before her eyes, on the floor at her feet. Then, her fiercely resolute expression began to waver, and then crumpled completely, and the child fell to her knees beside her sister, throwing her arms around her and holding her, even as her own sobs shook her small body. “Buffy,” she sobbed. “Oh, Buffy, Buffy…” She couldn’t give words to the anguish she was feeling, the anger, the pain, the relief at her sister’s return, all mingled inside her into an indistinguishable, uncontrollable emotion. Instinctively, without having to think about it, Buffy raised her arms and wrapped them in turn around her little sister, and held her back. They knelt there on the floor together for a very long time, just holding each other, sobbing out their pain in each other’s arms. For beyond the burdens of anger, pain, blame, lay something deeper, and some instinctive thing in each of them recognized that at that moment, those painful emotions needed to be set aside. No matter what had happened between them, what failures and hurts lay in the past, they had to lay them down and support each other through this ordeal. They were all each other had left.

Chapter #8 - Dangerous Game

That night, Buffy and her sister and friends stayed up very, very late, talking about all that had happened during her long absence, both to them and to her, and planning what they needed to do now, where to go from here. Buffy decided immediately that she was going to begin regular patrolling again, every night. She was going to make it her personal priority to kill as many of Faith’s minions as she could, and drive the rest back into the shadows where they belonged. She wanted to make it safe – relatively speaking – for people to go out at night again. Her friends had agreed with her that when she put this into action, Faith would show herself. There would be no need for Buffy to seek her out, because it was certain that the other Slayer would come to her – and that would give Buffy the advantage. The fight would be on her terms, not Faith’s. As to the mystery that was still most important to Buffy – the identity of her mother’s murderer – she was certain that Spike knew the answer. She was determined to find him, trap him if possible so that he couldn’t get away this time, and somehow get the truth out of him. Another worry had occurred to her, however. *Not* killing Faith’s minions was not an option as far as Buffy was concerned. The sooner she could reduce Sunnydale’s vampire population back to a manageable level, the better it would be for everyone. But they were all well aware that Joyce’s death had been a direct result of an action very similar to her rampage of the night before. Attacking Faith and her followers was inviting attack. But that did not mean that Buffy was not going to do it anyway. They would just have to take extra precautions. None of them would go anywhere alone anymore, even in daylight. As Xander well knew, not all of Faith’s supporters were vampires, and the false sense of security that could be found in the daylight was just that – false. There was no reason why Faith could not snatch one of Buffy’s friends in broad daylight if she wanted. Dawn was not even going to attend school for a while, until Faith had been defeated. It was unspoken, but they all knew that if Faith wanted to get to Buffy, her best option was to go after Dawn. They decided that from that point on, the girl was always to be with at least one of them, never alone. Some of the measures they were taking may have seemed extreme to someone who had not seen the things they had seen – had not lived on the Hellmouth for so many years. But Buffy knew that the threat was very real, and very serious. And she was not going to back down until she had stopped Faith once and for all, and put an end to her reign of terror. The Slayer was going to war. “Okay, this is getting freakin’ annoying!” Faith snarled, standing up suddenly from the chair she had been sitting in, causing the battered, disheveled minion standing before her to stumble backwards a few steps in fear. He had had the bad luck to be the only survivor of the other Slayer’s attack in the convenience store, therefore having the unpleasant responsibility of relating the story to Faith. Two more of her groups had not come back on time, either, and based on this minion’s recounting of what had happened, she was fairly certain that she should not expect them to return at all. She was obviously becoming angered by his story, and he didn’t want to be any closer to her than necessary at the moment, just in case she decided she needed someone to vent her anger on. “I – I’m sorry,” he stammered. “She came out of nowhere! She was so – so fast! There was nothing any of us could have done…” He took another step backwards as she advanced on him, smiling cruelly. The Slayer had caught the scent of fear, and decided to play it for what it was worth. “Nothing you could have done,” she repeated in an overly patient, patronizing voice, as she continued forward, backing him into the wall. “Nothing at all?” Not sure what she was getting at, terrified as his back hit the wall and he realized he had nowhere to go, the vampire shook his head and whimpered, “N-no! She was just – just everywhere at once! She killed everyone! We couldn’t do anything about it.” Faith nodded sympathetically, her eyes wide and solemn, her pouting lips turned downward in a serious frown. “Of course not,” she agreed. “Except…there must have been *something* you could do…because…” She shrugged carelessly, and her eyes hardened in accusation, “…obviously you did it.” She paused and then clarified, as the frightened creature did not seem to be understanding what she was getting at. “You’re *here*, stupid,” she snapped. “Now what I’m wondering…is why *you’re* here…and the rest of your team is a pile of dust at the Seven-Eleven.” Her smile was falsely pleasant, her eyebrows raised expectantly. “I – I got away,” he began weakly to explain. “You *ran* away,” she corrected him immediately. She took a step back and raised both hands in front of her in a questioning gesture as she went on, “And who’s to say that just one more in the fight might have been what it would have taken to take. Her. Down.” Her voice became hard and angry as she moved in slowly again until she was right in his face. Her meaning was clear to him now, and he stammered out, “I – I’m sorry, I…if I’m dead, I can’t exactly be of any help…” “Shut up,” she ordered, taking out her stake as she continued, “If all you do when a big fight comes is turn and run away…I don’t think I need that kind of help.” And without another word, she plunged the stake into the heart of the unfortunate minion, smiling in satisfaction as he disappeared in a cloud of dust that slowly settled to the floor at her feet. “Really think you can afford to be doing that, love?” She turned to see Spike, standing in the doorway watching her with a smirk. She glanced back at where the minion had been and shrugged, “No loss. I need vamps who wanna *fight* Buffy, not run away and hide when they see her coming.” His smile widened as he approached her, a suggestive gleam in his blue eyes. “Then I guess that means you need *me*, eh, pet?” She sneered at his words, but he could see the softening of her expression as he drew nearer to her. “I don’t need anyone, honey,” she informed him as she turned her back. But not before he had seen that instant of vulnerability in her eyes. Faith was hardened and cruel and did her best to make sure that everyone around her knew it. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t have feelings. He knew, better at this moment than at most, that she didn’t trust him, didn’t have any deep feelings for him. But every now and then, like now, he could see it in her eyes, when he would tease or flirt with her or feign affection as he had just done – that light of pleasure and warmth and maybe even the slightest bit of affection in return. He relished it when he saw it… …Just waiting for the day when he would take advantage of that weakness he had planted and extinguish that and any other light from her eyes forever. “Of course you don’t,” he said lightly, throwing himself down on her large, comfortable bed, his hands folded behind his head as he gave her a lascivious look. “As to what you *want* on the other hand, love…” “Shut up,” she muttered, but she was smiling as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “We need to figure out what we’re gonna do about Buffy.” Her eyes were suddenly serious as she gave him an expectant look. “It’s gonna take a bit of thought, love,” he pointed out warningly. “I’ve tried twice to kill her and failed. The little chit’s a tough one, she is.” “Not tough enough,” Faith shot back with a smirk. “See, I think the problem is…” she began, giving him a slightly mocking look. “…she’s a vampire *slayer*. *She’s* built to take *you* out, Baby. Sorry, but it’s true,” she shrugged when he raised his eyebrows as if taking offense to her words. She looked away from him and smiled. “Maybe it takes something more than a former vampire master to kill a Slayer.” “Bloody well does not!” he muttered defensively, sitting up a little and glaring at her. “I mean,” he corrected suddenly, suddenly realizing exactly what she had said, “*Former* master my arse! I’ve killed two Slayers in my time, love, I’ll remind you.” He paused, leaning back again, calming down a bit as his smirk fell back into place. “And I’ve every intention of adding a third to that list.” *One way or another…* “Have you now?” she said, her voice suddenly becoming low and suggestive as she turned toward him, meeting his eyes invitingly. *Oh, bloody hell.* He was so not in the mood to pretend to enjoy being with Faith right now. As she approached him in what might have been a seductive way to someone who did not despise her with every fiber of his being, coming across the bed on her hands and knees until she was over top of him, he tried to think of a way out, as she trailed her hands up his arms until she was holding his hands in hers, leaning down to kiss him. He indulged the kiss, but then pulled back a little sooner than she wanted him to. “Come on, now, love,” he reminded her, smiling up at her apologetically as if he was every bit as disappointed as he thought she would be, as he began to pull his hands free of hers. “We’ve got a Slayer problem to figure out, don’t we? Plenty of time for this later, yeah?” Her eyes narrowed in irritation at his rejection, and her hands suddenly gripped his wrists and pushed them back down hard onto the bed, pinning him. “Plenty of time for this whenever I want,” she corrected, a challenge in her dark, flashing eyes. God, this was getting harder all the time. “Right, love,” he agreed with an easy smile. “We’ll just think about Buffy tomorrow. After she’s killed another thirty minions or so.” He held his breath for a moment, knowing that this was the point in the conversation where things could either work as he had planned or take a very dangerous turn. Faith’s smile faded into a pout, and she reluctantly released him and raised herself up off of him, turning around to sit down on the edge of the bed again. “You can be a real buzz-kill, you know that?” she informed him. “Yeah,” he replied dryly, his tone showing none of his tremendous relief. “So’s *dying*, love.” She looked at him, surprised. “So she’s killed a few minions. Doesn’t mean she can take *me* on,” she retorted, sounding just a bit defensive. He shook his head a little as he replied in a grim tone, “Slayer’s running on pure rage, pet. She just found out her mum’s dead, and she’s out for blood. Apparently her little groupies must have told her *I* did it…which means she’s out for *my* blood…and yours!” Faith shrugged, feigning indifference as she looked away. But she knew that there was truth to his unwelcome words. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slain thirty vampires in a single night. “She’s gonna be that much harder to beat as long as she’s after vengeance, love,” Spike went on. He paused, studying his fingernails casually, not looking at her as he added cautiously, “Maybe we should just give it to her.” “What?” Faith frowned, not quite following him. “I arrange to ‘run into’ the Slayer again,” he suggested, meeting her gaze. “I tell her the identity of the vamp that did it…she slays him…” He smiled wickedly and went on in a tone of evil satisfaction, “…and then she falls apart.” “Huh?” Faith was still confused. “Right now, revenge is her reason for living, love. It’s what’s keeping her going,” he explained with a cold smile. “Once she gets it – she’ll lose the will to fight like she’s fighting now – and she’ll have to face the truth.” His lips turned downward in a look of mock sympathy, his ice blue eyes sparkling with cruel laughter. “Her dear old mum is really gone!” he said with false sorrow. The smile returned as he added coolly, “She’ll be a lot easier to kill on her knees sobbing than on her feet fighting.” A slow smile came across Faith’s lips as she stared at him, amazement in her dark eyes. “Wow,” he remarked. “That is the most twisted, demented way of thinking I’ve ever seen.” He just smiled, pleased with himself. “I love it,” she added with a laugh. Then her smile slowly faded as she looked at him with regret. “Too bad I dusted him already,” she sighed, standing up and turning away from him so that he couldn’t see her face. “Would’ve been a great plan.” Faith was cruel, and devious, and could commit acts of torture and murder without blinking, for nothing more than her own personal pleasure. But she was a terrible liar. She was far too expressive for her own good, and Spike immediately knew that she was lying. Joyce Summers’ murderer was still alive, and she was keeping the truth from him for some reason, though he could not figure for the life of him how that might benefit her. “Who was it?” he pressed, keeping his voice casual and looking away as he spoke. His piercing eyes came to rest on her again as he went on, “Anyone I knew?” She turned her head suddenly to look at him, and he could see the familiar suspicions in her eyes, setting off a warning in his head to back off, *now*, while backing off was still an option. “I don’t think so,” she replied. “Why does it matter?” He shrugged indifferently. “Doesn’t,” he replied. “Just asking. You’re a bit touchy, lately, pet,” he commented, after a moment’s hesitation. “Something I should know?” She smiled, but her eyes were cold. “You know all you need to,” she replied pointedly. He was wise enough to know that he was not going to get any more out of her right now, and to press any farther would be foolishly dangerous. “Well,” he said, drawing a deep breath as he changed the subject. “I guess that idea’s out, then. What *are* we gonna do about Buffy?” Faith’s smile returned in an instant as she turned to face him. “I think it’s time I welcomed Little Miss Sunshine back home to Sunnydale, don’t you?” Spike just smiled, waiting for her to go on. “I’m going to pay Buffy a little visit tomorrow night. Wanna come?” she invited with a wicked smile. He met her gaze with his own patented smirk and replied in a low, dangerous voice of anticipation, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Chapter #9 - Confrontation

“Okay,” Dawn said nervously from the living room sofa, where she sat with Willow, across from Xander in the armchair. Her young eyes were wide and apprehensive as she looked to her sister’s friends, who had over time become her own, in spite of the age difference between them. “And we’re thinking this is a *good* idea for Buffy to go out there by herself because…” She shook her head, her voice trailing off as she looked to them for explanation. “Buffy’s the Slayer,” Willow said softly, reaching over to place her hand on top of Dawn’s. “She can handle herself. She’s killed hundreds, maybe thousands of vampires, she’s stopped the world from ending. *Multiple* times.” “Not a lot of people that can say that,” Xander interjected, giving her an encouraging look as he nodded. “Right,” Willow looked at him as she spoke and then back to the increasingly frightened girl. Her heart went out to Dawn. They all knew that Buffy could not just lie back and do nothing about Faith, but that did not make it any easier for Dawn, who had already lost both her sister and her mother in a single year, to watch her sister walk out that door again and know that it was possible that she might never come back. “Buffy can handle herself, Dawnie,” Xander said, his voice soft and even, but full of assurance as he looked her directly in the eye. “I’ve seen her fight, and she can beat Faith, she can beat anything that attacks her. She’s gonna be okay.” “Okay,” Buffy announced, coming down the stairs pulling on her jacket as she spoke, a little breathless in her excitement to put her plan into action – or possibly just to start the slayage. “Time to go kill some bad guys.” “Yeah,” Xander said. “And make one evil, psychotic Slayer really, really pissed off.” He was smiling, having fallen back into his usual pattern of joking to cover up for the intense feelings surrounding them, but she could see the worry in his eyes. “That’s fine,” Buffy declared, meeting his eyes confidently. “That’ll make two of us.” She frowned slightly, realizing exactly what she had just said. “Except for the…evil… psychotic…thing,” she corrected. Then her smile returned, cold and determined. “I can’t *wait* for Faith to come after me. I am going to have so much fun just kicking. Her. Ass.” At exactly that moment, the doorbell rang. They all looked at each other, more than a little apprehensive. It was 7:30, and already dark outside. The chances of it being anyone human, and their having made it to the door alive, were very slim. Unless of course… “Dawnie,” Buffy said, her voice low and even as she stepped slowly toward the door. “Go upstairs, honey.” “No!” Dawn protested immediately, her voice trembling as she stood up, glancing with wild, fearful eyes between her sister and the door. “Buffy, don’t open it!” “Go upstairs!” Buffy snapped, turning toward her, and her tone was an indication of her own fear. Not for herself, because she was certain that, especially in her current frame of mind, she could take on whatever came her way. She was more afraid for her little sister and her friends. Taken aback by her sister’s harsh tone, Dawn reluctantly obeyed, hardly taking her eyes off the door as she did so, however, and not going any further than the top of the stairs. No sooner had she disappeared from sight when a loud crashing sound drew Buffy’s attention back to the door…to see that it had been forcefully kicked in, and was hanging by a single hinge, splintered beyond repair. A pretty, dark-haired girl with dark lipstick and an arrogant smirk on her face stood in the doorway. “And I’m guessing you must be Faith,” Buffy said, a cool smile on her lips, her expression not revealing any fear she might have felt. “Good guess,” Faith said, her smile widening as she stepped through the door, revealing Spike standing behind her. He came forward as if to enter, and found himself stopped by the barrier of the disinvite spell Willow had performed immediately after Joyce’s death. Buffy gave him a cold, angry smile, her eyes flashing with fury and menace strong enough to make him wish for a moment that the barrier worked both ways. “Looks like this is gonna be a one-on-one match, Spike. Sorry,” she smirked. Faith laughed. “I like her,” she announced, sounding surprised as she looked back to Spike. “She’s got style.” She looked back to Buffy, her tone and smile still keeping up the pretense of civility. “Sorry ‘bout your door, B. Got just a little impatient.” Buffy shrugged. “No big,” she replied. “I know what that’s like. I’m a little tired of waiting myself. Let’s do this.” Her expression hardened as she adopted a fighting stance. “Aw, come on, B,” Faith argued with a mockingly wounded look. “I thought we could talk this over, you know? We could do the whole girl talk, sharing thing? I could tell you how miserable and traumatic my childhood was and why I’m such a bad girl now…and you could bawl about your poor mommy for a little while. Sound good?” Her smile was vicious as Buffy flinched slightly. A part of Buffy’s mind knew that she was only trying to get to her, and told her not to let it work. But the insensitive reminder of what she had lost sent a new stab of pain through her heart, and she fought back tears that sprang to her eyes. “That’s it, bitch,” she announced, her voice trembling with rage. “You’re going down.” “That’s really original…Buffy,” she spoke her name for the first time, her tone mocking it with her tone and her smile. Then her smile faded into a menacing look as she took a step toward Buffy, preparing to fight her, and added, “But I think I thought of it first.” And with that the dark Slayer lunged at Buffy…and chaos took over. Willow and Xander just backed off, trying to stay out of Buffy's way as the two Slayers went into battle. They realized, wisely, that attempting to help her would only make matters worse. Faith lunged at Buffy, knocking her backward onto the stairs, slamming her fist into her face. But Buffy grabbed a handful of Faith's dark hair and yanked her head sideways, knocking it against the banister with a sound of splintering wood. The banister gave way under the force of the blow, and Faith pulled Buffy down with her onto the floor among the broken pieces. Buffy got to her feet first, as Faith was still a little stunned by the blow to the head. By the time she had gotten up, Buffy was ready for her and met her with a hard punch to her face. Faith recovered quickly, however, and came at Buffy with a series of quick, sharp punches and kicks, backing the Slayer toward the front door. Buffy's eyes widened as she suddenly realized why she was doing it. Spike was outside, unable to join the battle at the moment for lack of an invitation into the house. If Faith could get Buffy outside, it would no longer be a fair fight. It would be Buffy against Faith *and* Spike. She spun around quickly, and Faith moved with her so that now Faith's back was to the door. The fight went on for a little while with no apparent end in sight; the two were almost perfectly matched. Both were strong, aggressive and skilled warriors. But gradually, Buffy seemed to be gaining an advantage. Faith was clearly beginning to tire -- and Buffy was as determined as ever to take down anyone responsible for her mother's death. Finally, Faith stumbled, and Buffy took advantage of the opening, lunging at her and knocking her to the floor beneath her.With a desperate burst of strength, Faith threw her off of her, over her head, and Buffy landed on the porch on her back. She scrambled to her feet and turned to go back inside, not because she was afraid, but because she was not finished with Faith. But a strong hand caught her arm and slung her back around, throwing her off the porch into the grass. Spike. Buffy felt a rush of adrenaline in anticipation of fighting him, her eyes glittering with a savage light as she rose quickly and launched herself at the blonde vampire heading toward her. He aimed a punch at her face, which she easily avoided and countered with her own. The powerful blow rocked him backward, and she took advantage of it to land a couple more solid blows to his chest and stomach. While he was still recovering, she lunged at him and threw him to the ground under her, straddling his waist and pinning his arms at his sides with her powerful thighs. She shrugged. "This works," she smiled down at him as he shook his head to clear it, a little dazed. "I'd rather be fighting you anyway." He smiled, recognizing his own words coming from her lips, but instead of responding in turn as she had expected, he said in a lowered voice, "Well, actually you were my *second* choice, pet." She drew back a bit, surprised -- and strangely offended. "This is gonna make me feel *so* much better!" she informed him, taking her stake from her back pocket. His eyes widened slightly, but he gave no other indication of fear as she raised the weapon over his chest. He smiled boldly up at her, and she found herself for some reason hesitating, even before he spoke. "Maybe. Won't help you find you mum's killer, though, pet," he said softly, careful to keep his voice outside of anyone's hearing but hers. She froze, stake poised in mid-strike. Her eyes narrowed and she gripped the collar of his coat in one hand, holding the stake to his chest and yanking him up toward it. He winced slightly at the pressure, as she demanded coldly, "What do you know?" She was infuriated when he just laughed at her. "We've been here, done this, pet. Doesn't work that way, remember?" "What I *remember*," she countered, pressing the stake down harder, "is that you never got a chance to answer my question last time. You were too busy running away like a...a little...scaredy...baby," she struggled to find a suitable thing to call him. A single, sarcastic raised eyebrow was his only response to her poorly worded insult. Suddenly, Buffy felt herself being pulled away, off of Spike, and before she could react she was thrown a few feet away onto the grass. Buffy looked up to see that apparently Faith had recovered, because she was now standing between Buffy and Spike, who was slowly rising to his feet. “Hey!” Faith said in a voice of mock reproach, her dark eyes dancing with laughter. “Get your own vampire! This one’s mine!” Faith’s back was turned to Spike, so she missed the disgusted look on his face at her belittling comment. But Buffy didn’t miss it. A smirk came across her face as she pouted mockingly, “Aw! But I always wanted my own pet vampire! Why do *you* get all the cool stuff?” Spike gave Buffy a venomous glare for a moment, before a smirk began to slowly spread across his face, and he responded softly, “You had one once, remember, pet? All soulful and domesticated?” His eyes narrowed and his smile became cruel as he added, “You’ve got to be careful with that particular breed, pet. Sometimes they turn on you.” Buffy felt a dark fury rising up in her at his pointed comment, painfully bringing the memory of Angel and all of the pain of the previous year back to her mind. Her green eyes glittered with hatred in the moonlight as she glared at him, trembling with rage. “I’m going to kill you,” she informed him in a voice of quiet surety. It was not a threat; it was a statement of fact. “Took the words from my lips, pet,” he replied, not bothered in the least. There was a moment’s silence as they stood there, each of them taking in the stand-off they had found themselves in, Buffy facing Faith and Spike, no one moving. Buffy and Faith had proved to be perhaps *too* equally matched, at least this time. Each was exhausted, and neither felt confident that they would be able to beat the other right at that moment. For his part, Spike did not doubt his *ability* to kill Buffy, despite the fact that she had bested him within seconds the last two times they had fought. He just didn’t *want* her dead. It didn’t suit his purposes. At least not yet. “This isn’t over, B,” Faith told her, smiling calmly, breathing hard with exertion from the fight. “You’d better watch your back, Sweetie. Cause sooner or later -- *you’re* the one who’s going down.” Buffy did not respond, not willing even to acknowledge Faith’s threat. She just glared at the other girl with a challenge in her eyes, as Faith turned her back and started to walk away. Spike stood there for another moment, just looking at her, as if he had something he wanted to say – but he didn’t speak a word. “You’d better go,” she told him, her eyes wide and innocent as she nodded toward Faith. “Looks like she’s leaving you. Wouldn’t want that.” He gave her a patronizing smile, as if he thought her intended barb utterly immature, and as if it did not bother him in the least, and then turned to go without a word. “Run along home, like a good little pet,” she added slyly, watching for his reaction. He stopped suddenly, his back to her. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, and she smiled in triumph, very pleased with herself. That last comment had gotten to him – bad. He was about to turn around and face her, fight her right then and there, rip that savage, vicious tongue right out of her pretty head, all his careful planning be damned! He was no one’s pet, and he did *not* have to put up with her… “Hey! Let’s move it, Baby, come on!” Faith called from a little ways down the sidewalk, her tone commanding and impatient. Behind him, Buffy snapped her fingers a couple times and made a soft whistling sound, like calling a dog. He felt his face flaming with humiliation, and was grateful for the darkness that hid it from Buffy’s eyes. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to follow Faith down the sidewalk. This would be a bad time to anger her, right after the failure of her plan to kill Buffy, and actually killing Buffy would not be in his best interests anyway, no matter how appealing the idea seemed at at the moment. Another, more realistic part of his brain reminded him that it was probably not even possible at that moment. As he had warned Faith, Buffy *was* at her peak fighting ability at the moment, due to the intense, passionate desire for vengeance that was driving her. Taking her on right then would have been extremely stupid. Against his pride, against his intense desire to do otherwise, he slowly walked down the sidewalk to meet Faith.

Chapter #10 - Subconscious Desires

Buffy stood there for a moment, watching Faith and Spike walk away down the sidewalk, before returning to the house. She glanced at the broken door and asked Xander flatly, “I don’t suppose the hardware stores stay open after dark anymore, do they?” He shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll be in too much danger, though. The only one who could actually get in, door or no door, just left. And I don’t think she’s coming back tonight.” “I don’t know. But we’re gonna keep watch tonight, anyway,” Buffy informed her friends, and her sister, who had just crept back down the stairs, and was standing at the base, her hands gripping what was left of the splintered banister as she watched her sister with wide eyes. “I’ll sleep on the couch, and we’ll take turns watching. That way if someone tries to get in, whoever’s watching can wake me up fast.” They all walked back into the living room, and began almost automatically cleaning up what they could of the mess that had been made by the fight. Once they had put everything that was salvageable back in its proper place, and stacked the broken pieces of furniture in a pile near the door to be thrown out the next morning, Dawn went to bed for the night, and Buffy sat up in the living room to talk with her friends. Slumped in exhaustion in the armchair across from where Willow and Xander sat on the sofa, Buffy said with a weary sigh, “Okay. So Spike knows who killed my mother. For sure.” “Probably because that would be…um, *himself*,” Xander pointed out, his voice slow and cautious, but still revealing a hint of impatience. He was still firmly convinced that Spike was the one who had killed Joyce, and felt that Buffy was wasting time looking for someone else. And really, Buffy reminded herself, she had no evidence whatsoever to indicate that Spike had *not* done it. Only his word – the word of an evil, deceptive vampire who had been in fear for his unlife at the point of her stake at the moment he had given it. “I don’t know. Maybe. But either way, he knows who did it,” she insisted. “He told me tonight when we were fighting.” “Let me guess,” Xander said in a slightly sarcastic tone, “Once again…right before you were about to stake him?” Buffy paused for a moment, then nodded slowly with another sigh. “Yep.” “That’s convenient,” Xander commented, a note of anger creeping into his voice. “He just *happens* to have this very important information for you at the exact moment you’re about to kill him.” “Buffy,” Willow spoke up hesitantly. “I know you want to know for sure who killed your mom, and this is just my humble opinion, but I think that if he *didn’t* do it – he probably doesn’t know anything, Buffy. Or if he does, he wouldn’t tell us.” Her tone and expression were apologetic. Xander nodded. “He was just trying to keep you from dusting him, Buffy.” Buffy was silent for a moment, taking in what they had just said – thinking. It *did* make sense, she had to admit. “Well,” she said finally, her voice calm and quiet, but with a dangerous gleam in her eyes, “if he *doesn’t* know anything, he’s going to wish I *had* staked him.” She paused. “And if he does…I need to know. And I think I may have thought of a way to find out.” For the next few minutes, the Slayer outlined her plan for her friends. It was really very simple, and they agreed with her that it should work out well. Buffy went to bed that night with a sense of satisfaction. No matter what it took, what she had to do – her mother’s killer was going to pay. “Man, Spike, is that how you fought her the last two times? ‘Cause I think I’m beginning to understand why she’s been kicking your butt so bad,” Faith sneered at him as they made their way back toward the mansion. “Had it under control, love,” he replied, forcing himself to keep his voice low and controlled, though he was growing more furious by the moment. The anger that had started with Buffy’s snide comments and taunting was being fed by Faith’s derisive attitude. Buffy’s words had forced him to face what he had allowed himself to become, and Faith’s condescending treatment of him only served to drive the point home. “Right,” Faith shot back sarcastically. “You were just about to pull off some killer move and keep her from slamming that stake through your heart. If I hadn’t come out there, you’d be dust in the wind right now, Baby! Admit it!” He did not respond. He knew that Buffy had not been going to dust him; he had already prevented that, not with his fighting ability, but with his carefully placed words. He knew that the blonde Slayer would not stake him as long as she thought he knew who had killed her mum, and although at the moment he had no idea, he had managed to convince her that he did. So, really, technically, Faith had not saved his life. He could hardly explain that to *her*, though. So he just said nothing, and she took his silence as a grudging agreement. “I think you’re losing your edge,” she smirked as they entered the mansion, and at that moment he wanted to kill her so badly that it took all his effort not to throw her to the floor right then and there and sink his fangs into her throat, tear her to pieces. But he knew that if he tried, he would most likely be stopped within moments, if not by her, then by her minions – and then she would make him pay for that rash decision. Better to wait for a sure thing than to risk everything on a not-so-great chance. “Man, that got me all worked up,” she said, sounding slightly breathless, as they made their way up the stairs. “A good fight always gets me horny.” He knew exactly where she was going with that sort of talk, and was absolutely *not* in the mood for it. He ignored her, pretending not to understand what she was talking about, and when she stopped outside her bedroom door to unlock it, he started to go on toward his own room. Within seconds she had caught his arms and slammed him back against the wall next to the door, pinning him there with her body uncomfortably close, one hand still gripping his arm, the other braced against the wall by his head, preventing escape. “Where do you think you’re going, Baby?” she asked softly, her eyes dancing with mocking laughter. She loved the control she held over him, and he hated her for it. “I’m a bit tired, love,” he said, his voice quiet and even as he fought not to reveal to her his anger or his utter disgust at her very touch. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just turn in.” He pulled his arm out of her hand and tried to push past her toward his own room. She just shoved him back against the wall easily, still smiling as if the whole thing was nothing more than a game to her. “And if it’s *not* all the same to me?” she asked him, her eyebrows raised questioningly. Her tone was light and her expression was teasing, but he could see the dangerous light in her eyes that lay beneath the façade. He could feel his anger and helpless frustration boiling up inside of him, knew an instant before it was too late that he was not going to be able to hold it back this time, and snarled at her, “Then I suppose you’ll do whatever the bloody hell you want anyway, won’t you, pet? ‘Cause it’s all about what *you* want, in’nit?” Her eyes widened in shock, and she took a step back, stunned that he had actually spoken back to her like that, for the first time in months. He considered taking his chance while she was too startled to react. There had not been any minions within sight on their way up the stairs, and chances were that she would not be able to recover control soon enough to stop him if he just took the opportunity right then and there. But just because he hadn’t *seen* any of her minions did not mean that they were not there, and he hesitated a crucial moment, unsure if this was the right moment or not. And in the next moment, the choice was taken from him, as he could see the shock fading, being replaced by sheer rage, in the Slayer’s dark eyes. And then she pulled back her fist and backhanded him, hard, across the face, knocking his head back against the wall. The double impact of the blow, her fist to his face and the wall to the bck of his head, was stunning, and he fought not to black out as she leaned in closer to him to speak, a cold smile on her dark red lips. “Yeah. It kinda is, Spike,” she replied softly. “See…you chose to work for *me*…and that kind of means that it *is* all about what I want. I say jump, and you say how high. Is that too difficult for you to understand?” As the dark curtain that had fallen in front of his vision with the blow began to slowly fade, he became aware that she had brought her stake into play, when he felt the pressure of it against his chest. The time for action on his part had passed, he realized, and she was back in complete control. *Bloody blew it this time, mate,* he told himself. *Right, then. Time for some damage control, and right quick about it!* He nodded quickly, meeting her eyes and hoping that his own expression appeared apologetic and affectionate. “Sorry, love,” he murmured softly, reaching out his hands tentatively to touch her arms, trying to ignore the oppressive contact of the stake in her hand. “Of course, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to upset you, pet. Not your fault. Just a bit agitated still over everything. Things didn’t quite go as either of us wanted over there, did they?” Faith visibly relaxed a little at his placating tone, his gentle touch, both of which served to begin to undo the effect of his rejection a few moments before. “No, they didn’t,” she admitted with a heavy sigh, her lips falling downward into a pout as his words called her attention back to their failure of the evening. She met his eyes with a calmer, less threatening expression in her eyes, pulling the stake back, but not yet putting it away. He knew he was on the right track, and although he hated it, he knew what he had to do. “You’re right,” he forced himself to say, although everything about the words went against everything in his nature. “I’ve not been quite up to form lately, and it’s got me a bit edgy. Didn’t mean to take it out on you, pet.” She sighed, and finally put away the stake, and he exhaled slowly in relief. “That’s okay,” she relented. “I’m a little on edge myself.” She paused, looking down for a moment before looking back up into his eyes, a little smile playing about the edges of her lips. “Wanna make it up to me?” He steeled himself to do what he knew was expected, though he hated it with everything in him. He pulled her closer to him, kissing her deeply as he pulled her backward toward her now open bedroom door. As she pushed him down on the bed as usual, roughly, urgently tearing his clothes away from his body, he tried to call up the images that usually served to prepare him for these sessions of theirs. But strangely, instead of the usual imaginations of him fighting and killing Faith, all he could bring to mind were images of the fight that night between the two Slayers. For some reason the memory was exciting to him; some small part of his mind was conscious that he was not really sure which would bring him more pleasure – for Faith to kill Buffy or for Buffy to kill Faith. And suddenly, it was not Faith that was fighting Buffy, but himself. As the tiny, blonde Slayer in his mind threw him to the ground, those impossibly strong legs pinning him beneath her, he could feel his arousal heightening at the thought of how easily the amazing, powerful girl had managed to overpower him. His body responded even more strongly as he pictured himself breaking her grip and reversing their positions, slamming her down underneath him, every inch of his body in contact with every inch of hers, feeling her steady, pulsing heat beneath him, as his face changed, and his fangs descended toward her throat. He hardly even realized when the fantasy shifted, and he was no longer biting Buffy, but kissing her, as he was kissing Faith in reality. In the image in his mind, the blonde Slayer returned his kiss, pulling him urgently closer, needing him, wanting him… Suddenly it struck him all at once just what he was thinking, and his eyes shot open wide with a start. Faith’s head was moving steadily down his chest, alternatingly kissing and biting him, and she did not see his reaction of shock…but she felt it, and he felt her lips form a smile against his skin, as she thought that the little jerk of his body was due to her efforts. *What the bleedin’ hell?* he wondered, almost frantically. Why was he thinking about Buffy while he was with Faith? Usually his thoughts of revenge against Faith were enough to ready him for being with her…occasionally he let his memory drift to his time with Dru, and allowed those memories to help him along. He could understand when it had started, the thoughts of fighting and biting her; tonight he was furious with Buffy and wanted nothing more than to drain her dry, to make her pay for the insulting blows to his ego she had dealt him. But to imagine kissing her? Taking her, in any way besides the one most natural to him? He couldn’t understand it. The very idea was very troubling, confusing, even frightening to him. “What’s wrong?” Faith suddenly asked, raising her head a little from his chest, and he realized that his worrisome thoughts of the moment were probably doing nothing to help his performance. “Nothing, pet…nothing at all,” he assured her, closing his eyes and emphasizing his denial with a little gasp of feigned pleasure as she lowered her head again, working her way slowly downward. He could psycho-analyze his own sexual fantasies later, he told himself. At the moment, he was in bed, underneath a deranged, psychotic killer who had threatened his life only minutes earlier, was deeply insecure and set off by any sort of rejection, and would most likely take it in a highly personal way if his lack of desire for her was revealed. At a crucial time like that, a bloke was best off to go with what was working and reason it all out later. He allowed his mind to play over the images that swept through it again, picturing himself entangled in the embrace of another Slayer, and was amazed at the effect the thoughts had on him. It was not long before he was on the edge of losing control completely. When they both lay spent, entangled in the damp, rumpled sheets, Faith raised her head to look at him, wide-eyed and breathless. “God, that was good, Baby,” she gasped, laying her head down to rest on his chest, rising and falling rapidly with unnecessary breath. “What got into you tonight?” she asked, not really expecting an answer. He did not provide one, except for in his mind alone. *Wish I knew, pet. Wish I knew.*

Chapter #11 - Deception

“This is getting ridiculous! She’s killed like, a hundred of my vamps already, in three. Freaking. days.” Faith’s angry voice carried through the hollow door to her bedroom. Spike stopped for a moment in the hallway outside the door, debating whether or not to go into the room and distract her attention from whichever unfortunate minion was bearing the brunt of her wrath this time. No, he decided with a shrug and a smile. She was only hurting herself by hurting or dusting her own minions. The fewer she had, the more vulnerable she would be to the other Slayer. And to him. But the pause after her words, before she began speaking again, obviously in answer to a question he had not heard, told him that she was on the phone, and not face to face with her chosen victim of the moment. He stopped, turning so that his ear was to the door. Faith rarely used the phone; most of the people she would need to talk to were usually near enough to her to see in person. Who was she talking to? he wondered. “Yeah, but that’s not the point! If my minions are constantly busy turning people just so I don’t run out of minions…that’s kind of pointless, isn’t it?” Pause. “Yeah, except, she was never supposed to get out of LA! You were supposed to take care of that for me, remember, honey?” the terse, patronizing voice of the Slayer went on. “And then when I became aware that you just weren’t going to be able to pull it off, I sent Spike in – and *he* couldn’t kill her either!” Another pause. “Yeah, I know, that’s what *I* thought! Slayer of Slayers and all! Pathetic.” He felt anger rising up in him at her disdainful words, and had to prevent himself from entering the room and giving her at the least a piece of his mind – at the most a taste of just what William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers was actually capable of. He realized the foolishness of that thought, however, as he really had no way of knowing exactly what might await him on the other side of that door. He thought she was alone, but he could be wrong. He somehow managed to restrain himself, and leaned in closer to hear what she was saying. Although what he had heard so far was both insulting and infuriating, he recognized the sound of potential useful information when he heard it. He wanted to get some idea of who she was talking to; he was sure that if he kept listening long enough, she would end up dropping a clue as to their identity. "Yeah," she scoffed suddenly. "*You're* one to talk! It's not like you did any better! At least he got up the nerve to even *try* to kill her. Unlike you, Mr. 'Never-Had-the-Right-Chance!'" Spike winced slightly at the words, as their relevance to his situation hit him. She could just as easily have been talking about him. Different Slayer whose death was in question -- same excuse for why she was still alive. "No, you can't come here, remember?" Faith went on after a brief pause, sounding impatient and irritated. "I wanted you to, but like *you* said, if Spike knew that you were here..." His ears perked up a bit at that, and he frowned in thought. Now he *really* wanted to know who she was talking to! "Please! You couldn't kill him any more than you could kill Buffy, honey! No, I don't think you're quite up to your old strength yet. For now, I just need you doing what you're best at -- lurking in the shadows and watching," she sneered, her tone that odd mixture of affection and mockery that she used so frequently with Spike. There was another short silence, before she insisted, "No! I don't *want* him dead. Not yet, anyway. He's still useful to me. Look, if everything goes according to plan, once all is said and done, you can do whatever you want to Spike. I don't care. But for now -- I don't want Spike or Buffy to know that you're here, or that you're working for me. That could only turn into a big mess. And as long as she's in the picture, making herself a threat to me -- I need Spike here." "Hey, what're you doing?" A high, annoying voice asked from behind him, and Spike spun quickly around to see one of Faith's minions standing there. The vamp, shorter than Spike by at least a head, skinny and weak in appearance, looked to have been quite the nerd during his life, and he was little more than a fledgling now. He glanced suspiciously between Spike and the closed bedroom door of his mistress. "Were you eavesdropping on the Slayer?" he demanded in an indignant, whiny voice -- a bit too loudly for Spike's comfort. "No!" he protested, an offended note in his voice. "What I do is none of your bloody business, boy!" he retorted. "Show a bit of respect for your superiors. Now be a good lad, and sod off!" He put as much menace into his tone and expression as he could, considering how he had been caught off his guard. "You were!" the minion insisted, wide-eyed and incredulous. "You were listening through the door to her conversation!" As Spike tried to think of a reasonable explanation, he suddenly became aware that Faith's voice on the other side of the door had suddenly become silent. At any moment, if she had not already, she would hear the disagreement taking place right outside her door, and come out to see what was going on. Spike knew that this pathetic little git would leap at the chance to get in good with Faith by ratting him out. He could not let that happen. He reached into his pocket and took out an unusual weapon for him to be carrying -- a rather small, light stake that he had taken to carrying lately. He did not trust Faith in the least, even less lately than in the past, and he knew that it would be a simple thing for her to have one of her minions stake him in the back if she thought that he was becoming a liability to her. And lately it seemed that that was a definite possibility. So he made a point of always being prepared to defend himself against his own kind, as well as the psychotic Slayer he pretended to serve. "Sorry, mate," he muttered, grabbing the smaller vampire and slinging him against the wall, raising the stake to strike. "Shoulda minded your own business." And with that he plunged the stake into the heart of the shocked vampire, too surprised to even attempt to stop him. As the dust settled to the floor, Faith's door opened, and she stepped out into the hall, frowning. "What's going on?" she asked him. Tossing the stake casually in his hand, Spike shrugged. "Caught one of your little lackeys out here eavesdropping at your door, love. Figured you don't need that kind of headache; dusted the wanker." She looked bemused and surprised at the stake in his hand, as she drew slowly closer to him, reaching casually to take it from his open hand, looking it over closely, testing its weight in her own hand. "You carry a stake around now?" she asked, meeting his eyes with a curious smile. "A fella's gotta be prepared, pet," he shrugged, his eyes on the stake in her hand, his calm expression and tone giving nothing away. "Might now seem like much to a powerful super-human being like yourself, love, but a lot of vamps would literally kill to take my place." His piercing blue eyes searched hers for any spark of recognition, any reaction to his words, as he remembered her discussion of his death and when it would be acceptable to her on the phone with what he could only presume to be just such a vamp as he had just mentioned -- one hoping to step in to take his place once he had dusted him. She just smiled, not showing any reaction whatsoever to his words. "Yeah, probably so," she agreed, tossing the stake in her hand. "Eavesdropping, huh?" she commented, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. "man, I *hate* that!" Suddenly, in a lightning fast move that he could not prepare for, she lunged at him, shoving him back against the wall, thrusting the stake forward toward his chest. He kept smiling, did not even flinch, and the forceful thrust stopped short less than an inch from his chest. "Nice," she commented with a smile, glancing appreciatively at the stake in her hand, as if she really had only been testing its worth the whole time. "If I'd actually wanted to dust you, you'd be dead already." He nodded, returning her smile easily. He knew from her own words which he had overheard on the phone only moments before that she would not actually stake him. "If you wanted to," he repeated with a smirk. "But that'd be such a waste, wouldn't it, love?" She just laughed, lowering the stake and placing it back in his hand; he returned it to his pocket as she spoke again. "Thanks for taking care of that eavesdropper for me -- whoever he was. They're all the same to me," she said dismissively, as she backed off to allow him to move away from the wall. She paused before meeting his eyes to add, "If *I'd* have caught him, he'd have gotten a lot worse than a quick dusting. I *hate* people I trust sneaking around behind my back." He could not tell if he was imagining the slight question in her eyes, the challenge in her voice. He just smiled innocently back at her and laughed, "Lucky thing then that you don't trust anyone, eh, pet?" “I don’t know about this, Buffy.” Willow’s voice was anxious and a little shaky as she turned her wide, worried eyes on her friend. “Why do I have to be the distraction? I’m not very distracting!” she insisted, shaking her head emphatically. “Nobody *ever* notices me!” “Don’t be silly, Will. You’re exactly the sort of girl a big, bad vampire *would* notice,” Buffy argued, then frowned as she realized just how very *not* helpful her words were to her friend’s frightened state. She reached out and took both of Willow’s hands in hers, looking her in the eye with an encouraging smile. “You’re going to be fine. I’m gonna be really close the whole time. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise!” Willow let out a slow, shaky sigh. “Okay,” she agreed reluctantly, her voice small and timid. “Let’s go.” Spike breathed out his mingled relief and frustration as he stepped out of the mansion and began walking down the sidewalk. After dealing with the increasingly irrational, paranoid Slayer, he needed some time away from her and all of her annoyingly pathetic minions, a little time just to be alone and think through his plan and the way things were going – and possibly to find a good meal, if he happened to run across any humans foolish enough to be out so late. He was so caught up in his own thoughts, as he walked along, not really looking around him, that he was oblivious to the instinctive danger signs he should have noticed. He could not stop thinking about the recent developments in his situation. What was that phone call about? he wondered again. Faith had been talking to someone who apparently knew him, and wanted him dead. Someone the other Slayer would also recognize. This person was in Sunnydale, but for some reason, Faith did not want him to know that. The dark Slayer had some little scheme in the works which she was hiding from him. And from the sound of the implicit permission she had given her unknown accomplice to kill him once everything went down – her plans in no way included him. He was not the least bit surprised. Hopefully, he would be able to maneuver his way into creating another confrontation between the two Slayers. He knew that Buffy, who was still half out of her mind with grief-induced rage, and at her fiercest as far as fighting went, would be able to overcome Faith eventually. And if she couldn’t – if it came to it and she needed a little help – he would gladly lend a hand to see Faith dead. And then he would kill Buffy himself. And that thought brought up a whole new set of worries. He wanted to kill Buffy. He *did*. Granted, she had been rather decent to him, all things considered, before they had all left Sunnydale the year before, what with the truce and all. She was the Slayer, and by rights should have been trying to dust him and Drusilla, as well as Angelus, but she *had* stuck by their agreement. But she *was* the Slayer, and he still wanted to kill her, he told himself. He was William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers. That was what he did – kill the Slayer. Not dream of her. Not imagine kissing her…holding her…her body pressed to his in a passionate embrace… *Bloody hell.* He was still pondering this confusing turn of his thoughts, when he got the sudden sensation that someone was watching him – from very close by. He was being followed, he suddenly realized. Cursing himself for allowing himself to become so distracted that he had not noticed it earlier, he whirled around to face whoever it was behind him. He found himself face to face with a trembling, wide-eyed young girl. He immediately recognized her as the Slayer’s friend. He glanced around, but saw no sign of anyone with her. He focused hard, but could not sense any other presence nearby besides hers. A slow smirk turned up the corner of his mouth as he tilted his head to one side curiously. “Well. What have we here?” he asked softly, his voice gentle and non-threatening – belying his true intentions. The girl let out a little half-whimper at his words, taking a step backwards away from him. “What’re you doing out so late, pet?” he asked her, advancing on her with the smooth grace of a predator, smoothly turning as he did, so that she was backing into a dark alleyway. Not that it really mattered. All parts of Sunnydale were equally dangerous these days. “L-looking for you,” she squeaked out, her voice shaking in fear. He stopped for a moment, frowning, taken aback by her unexpected answer. “Really,” he replied. “Hmm.” He paused, before shrugging his shoulders and heading toward her again, his smile back in place. This changed nothing. By now Willow’s back had hit the brick wall behind her, and she let out a surprised little cry of fright at the unexpected contact. Spike kept advancing on her, until he was standing less than a foot from her, his startlingly blue eyes gazing into hers with a look that was both terrifying and mesmerizing. “And might I ask why you were seeking out a big, bad master vampire all by yourself, pet?” he asked her slowly in a low, almost seductive voice, reaching out a gentle hand to stroke down the side of her cheek. She flinched away from his touch, but her eyes never left his. Despite her fear, the girl was fascinated. “The – the Slayer wants to talk to you…she s-sent me to…to…” Her voice trailed off as he leaned in subtlely closer to her, breathing in deeply the scent of her fear, and her blood, drawn near to the surface by cold and fright, as her heart frantically pounded it through the veins in her throat – so near to his lips. “And so she sent her little *friend* to come and find me?” he asked, slight laughter in his tone, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “To – what? Arrange a meeting?” Willow nodded frantically, swallowing hard before she spoke again. “Y-yes. Exactly.” He laughed out loud at that, shaking his head in disbelief – and a little disappointment. It didn’t seem like the Slayer to be so foolish. “Well, I’m sorry, pet, but it doesn’t quite work that way,” he laughed softly. “You can tell the Slayer that I’ll only talk to her if she can work up the nerve to come and find me herself.” “Wait…no.” He paused, frowning slightly in thought, before his face broke out into a smile again. “Scratch that.” He reached out a hand and gripped the back of her neck, tipping her head back and drawing her closer to him, and she let out a little whimper of fear, as he went on with a cruel smile, “She’ll have to figure it out for herself.” He leaned in to speak softly into her ear, “It was a *very* bad mistake, coming here alone.” “She’s not alone.” Surprised by the sudden familiar voice behind him, Spike released Willow and whirled around. Before he even saw who was standing there, only a couple of feet away, he felt a sense of fury at himself for not seeing the trap sooner. Why had he not sensed her coming? he wondered briefly as his eyes fell on the one who had spoken. The Slayer. He had only a split second to register the heavy piece of lead piping she held in her hand before she slammed it down into his head, hard, and his knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground. “She’s with me,” he faintly heard Buffy’s triumphant voice, echoing hollowly in his head, in the few moments before everything went black.

Chapter #12 - Power Play

As he gradually began to feel himself returning to wakefulness, Spike became vaguely aware of several voices in the room with him, hollow and distorted through the haze of semi-consciousness that still surrounded him. The next thing he became aware of was the splitting headache that was intensified by the annoyingly loud voices of…whoever it was. Where was he? he wondered, trying to open his eyes but finding it difficult against the pain in his head, and the light in the room, which seemed impossibly bright to him. He automatically tried to lift a hand to his aching head – and found immediately that he could not. He tried again, recognizing the cool, metallic feel of strong iron manacles around his wrists, holding them tightly together and behind his back. Testing the limits of his bonds, he found that he could not move his wrists at all. *Okay. This is not good.* He tried to focus through the slowly dissipating fog of pain and sleep that still clouded his mind. What had happened? Where was he? Just then, a familiar voice cut through the haze, dissolving it instantly as he remembered what had happened the night before, just as he had been about to drain that cute little red-headed bint…the Slayer! *Oh bloody buggering hell!* This could be more serious than he had thought, he realized. He forced himself to open his eyes, without lifting his head just yet from where it rested on his chest. Judging by the continued cadence of the conversation going on across the room from him, the Slayer and her little slay-groupies had not yet realized that he was awake. He did not move an inch as he glanced around to get some idea of his surroundings. It seemed that he was directly in the center of the Slayer’s living room, chained to a wooden kitchen chair. The light which had initially seemed so intensely bright to him was in reality quite soft, coming from a small shaded lamp on an endtable beside the sofa. He glanced sideways to see that his captors were not paying him any attention at all, engrossed in a quiet but intense conversation on the couch. The redhead and the boy were sitting on the couch, of course looking to Buffy, who was perched on the arm of the sofa, her arms crossed casually over her chest, one crossed leg swinging slowly as she spoke in a tone of triumph and authority. *Soddin’ smug little bitch!* he snarled in his mind. *Thinks she’s right clever, ambushing me like she did! Well, I’ll show her just what a bright idea *that* was…just as soon as I…can…* He strained uselessly against the bonds, and glanced down to see just why he had absolutely no freedom of movement at all. A length of sturdy chain had been run through the rings on the manacles at his wrists, and wrapped tightly around him and the chair he was sitting in – leaving him no leverage to work with. “Hey, guys,” the Slayer’s voice suddenly spoke a little louder, and he could hear the shift in its direction that told him she was looking at him now. “Look who’s awake!” Giving up the façade of unconsciousness which had clearly failed, he saw a smug smile on her face as she approached him with the enthusiastic glee of a child with a new toy. There was a sparkle of anticipation in her eyes as she approached him with a smirk. It was deeply disturbing. He determined right then not to let her get to him – and not to let her see it if she did. He forced a mocking smile to his lips in response to hers. “So what sort of a game is this we’re playing, eh, Slayer?” he asked her. “Holding me for ransom, are you?” She smiled as she leaned down close to him, in a way that he knew she intended to be intimidating, but he did not move back away from her, though his every instinct was on high alert at the Slayer’s nearness, and screaming for retreat. “More like torturing you for information,” she corrected him coolly, smiling directly into his eyes, and he felt a chill go down his spine in spite of his resolve to keep his cool. He could see in those deadly calm emerald eyes just how serious she was. “See…I think it’s time you and I had a little chat.” She stood up a little straighter, but stayed very close as she move around behind him, trailing a hand across his shoulders as she did. “I keep meaning to talk to you, but every time we get the chance, we seem to get…” She paused, leaning down close to his ear from behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders. “…interrupted.” Her hot breath on his ear sent an odd little tingle down his spine…and suddenly an image flashed into his mind, of their fight the other night…and what had followed it in his fantasy. Those powerful hands that were touching him now, drawing him closer to her in an intimate embrace. The tingling sensation suddenly moved lower, and he drew in a sharp breath as he felt his body beginning to respond to the images in his mind. *Keep it together, you git,* he snapped at himself, trying to put the thoughts out of his mind. *She’s talking about bloody *torturing* you here, and you’re getting off on thinking about her! And by the way if she happens to see *that*, then you’re *really* not getting out of this, mate!* Buffy misunderstood his reaction, the sharp intake of breath, and thought that she was having the effect she had intended on her prisoner. She smiled in satisfaction as she stood up straighter and came around to face him again. “I know you know who killed my mother. And you’re going to tell me. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick to death of the cryptic half-answers and evasive wording.” She leaned down close again to add in a tone that was almost flirtatious, “I like a guy who’s gonna be straight up with me.” *Getting there, love. Getting there.* He thought, fighting back a sense of panic as he tried to keep his eyes away from the generous view of the Slayer’s cleavage as she bent down in front of him. If she caught him looking down her shirt – or saw the physical evidence of the effect she was having on him -- he knew that he would be dust quicker than he could even enjoy it. Aloud, what he said was very different from his traitorous thoughts. All he could think of was trying to distract her from his obviously growing arousal – uncomfortably near to her, as she was leaning down in front of him. “Really,” he smirked. “So *that’s* what happened to you and Angel. And all this time I thought it was the whole you sending him to hell thing.” Buffy stepped back suddenly, her eyes wide and her mouth opening partially in shock. She seemed stunned at the words, and for an instant he saw a flash of hurt in her suddenly tear-filled eyes, his cruel words like a slap in the face. Which she swiftly returned. The Slayer drew back her hand and dealt him a blinding backhand blow across the face, sending a shower of sparks and colored lights raining down in front of his vision, as his head was snapped hard to the side by the force of the blow. Before he could recover she was back in his face, one hand gripping the hair at the back of his head hard and yanking his head forward, her face mere inches from his. “That was stupid, Spike,” she informed him, her voice soft and dangerous, her eyes glittering with hurt and rage. “The last thing you wanna do right now is make me any angrier with you!” She paused for a moment, clearly struggling for control of her own emotions, before loosening her grip slightly, but not releasing him, and pulling back just a little from him. He realized with a flash of fear that he had pushed her a little too far, and felt somewhat sobered, thinking for the first time since finding himself in this position of just what a dangerous position it was. He realized suddenly that if he was not careful, he could very well die here, at the Slayer’s hands. And yet…the scent of her anger and power was as intoxicating to him as it was frightening. “I want you to think about your situation for a second here, Spike,” she said with the calm, patient air of a teacher, her emotions back under control for the moment as she met his eyes with a smile of self-satisfaction. “You’re chained to a chair in the house of your mortal enemy. You can’t get away – can’t even move.” She leaned in close again, a soft menace in her eyes as she went on slowly, evenly, “Every person in this house has lost someone very dear to them…because of *you*, Spike…” “Now, just a bloody minute, pet…” Lightning fast, the Slayer’s fist shot out and caught him across the face again. As he struggled to recover from the powerful blow, she leaned in close again with a patronizingly disappointed frown, shaking her head slightly. “Shhh,” she reproved him. “I’m talking.” He didn’t dare continue his protest, and wisely kept his mouth shut as she went on. “Even if you didn’t kill them yourself…your boss is responsible for their deaths…and you know who *did* kill them,” she pointed out, her voice still chillingly calm. “And I think that pretty much everyone in this room is willing to hold you responsible for that, Spike.” She glanced back at her friends, and he followed her gaze to where they sat watching the scene. He was startled by the intensity of the hatred in the eyes of the young man sitting on the couch. Spike remembered well the utter, uncontrollable rage that had driven Xander when he and Oz had attacked the mansion that night several months ago, following the random death of a girl the Whelp had been seeing. He remembered the shock, the devastation in the boy’s eyes at the sight of his friend’s broken body lying on the floor at Spike’s feet. Now, however, he could clearly see that the shock and pain had turned to fury and hatred, and the boy’s dark eyes held a vindictive satisfaction at the position Spike was in. He shifted his gaze to Willow – and the disgust and hatred in her eyes was breathtaking in its intensity. There was a violence, a vengeful cruelty in her expression that stood in sharp contrast to her slight stature and usually meek and timid nature. The look on her face was positively chilling, and left no doubt in his mind that if she could, she would gladly tear him to pieces with her own hands. The Slayer smiled as she took in his reaction. “So you see,” she went on, her voice softening, “you really haven’t got a lot of options at this point. There’s a couple of different ways this can go.” He looked back up at her, meeting her gaze boldly. He was somewhat sobered by the tense, emotionally charged atmosphere that filled the room, but still determined not to let her see that his unease was beginning to border on fear. “You can tell me nothing. And I’ll assume that you *did* kill my mother. And I’ll have some fun with some of my favorite Slayer toys…a few crosses…some holy water…” She shrugged casually with a cold smile. “Kill a couple of hours before staking you.” He swallowed hard, but held her eyes as she went on, determined not to back down. “Or,” she continued. “You can tell me nothing, and I can spend some time finding ways to make you change your mind…see option number one, torture, etc…” she smirked. “And then when you finally *do* break…because I swear to you that you will…” she went on, once again invading his space intimidatingly, that unnerving smile inches from his face. “you’ll tell me what I want to know…and then I’ll stake you.” She stood up straight again. “And then there’s option number three,” she added in a brighter tone. “which I like to think of as your best bet – in which you tell me the truth, straight up, right now, who killed my mother.” She paused, shrugging before she admitted matter-of-factly, “And I still stake you. We just bypass the whole nasty torture thing.” Her expression suddenly hardened with her fist in his hair, jerking his head back as she glared down at him, and added, “Unless of course it *was* you who did it. In which case the torture would still apply.” *Okay,* he thought, trying to control his breathing, to steady his nerves. *We’ve definitely crossed the line from unease into fear.* “Look, Slayer,” he began cautiously, still looking her directly in the eye and willing her to see the truth there. “I swear to you, I did not kill your mum. I didn’t know anything about it until after it was done!” “But you know who did,” she interrupted in a hard, relentless tone, not easing her grip on his hair at all. “Who was it?” “I don’t know…” She released him suddenly, only to punch him viciously in the face, and when he recovered enough to look back up at her again, her stake was in her hand. “Yeah, love,” he muttered, his voice slightly slurred from his own blood that filled his mouth. “That’s the way to find out what you wanna know. Have fun interrogating a big pile of dust.” The Slayer smiled coldly as she put a hand behind his head to pull him closer to her, surprising and frightening him when she lowered the stake and pressed it sharply against his lower abdomen, leaning in close to whisper, “There’s a lot of places I could put this that won’t make you dust.” Breathing hard now with pain and fear, he gasped out, “Slayer, I swear, I’m telling you the truth…I don’t know anymore than you do about what happened to your mum.” He drew in his breath sharply as she pressed harder with her stake, before insisting in an almost desperate tone, “But I want to help you find out!” Buffy paused, drawing back just slightly, almost automatically at his surprising words. “Why would you want to do that?” she asked him, frowning. “Why would you want to help me? Aren’t you supposed to be helping Faith?” The stake pressing against his flesh and her threats of extreme bodily harm came to mind, but he had a strong feeling that that response would not impress her much. So he decided then and there that this was the moment to cast the dice and see where they landed. He had intended to use this Slayer to eliminate the other through manipulations, without her ever knowing how she had helped his plans along. But at this moment, he was fairly certain that the truth might be his only chance of surviving this encounter. He raised his eyes to look firmly into hers as he responded in a low intense voice full of fury. “The only thing I want to help Faith do…is die.”

Chapter #13 - Truth and Consequences

Buffy released him and took a step back, wide-eyed in surprise at his words. She seemed confused for a moment as she took in what he had said, thinking about it – and then her face broke out in a mocking smile. And then she laughed. “Do you *believe* this?” she looked to her friends incredulously, gesturing with one hand toward her prisoner. She looked back to him as her laughter suddenly faded and her eyes hardened again. The hand that she had waved in his direction, now inches from his face, shot out to grip his hair again as she leaned down close to him. “*I* don’t,” she said softly, angry emerald eyes meeting his with menace. “How stupid do you think I am, Spike?” Spike fought with everything in him not to say the words that sprang to his mind, and would certainly end with his being dusted, and instead insisted desperately, “I’m telling you the truth, Slayer. I’m not lying. I *hate* Faith…and I am *not* trying to help her!” “Wow! You’re doing such a good job of it for not even trying!” she remarked with a wide, false smile. She moved in closer, her face inches from his, as she jerked him even closer to her and snarled, “No more games, Spike. You are *not* going to distract me with your stupid stories. What you are going to do,” she went on, raising the stake in her hand and pressing it again to the already bruised flesh at the base of his stomach, “is answer my question. Now.” “Slayer…please…you need to listen to me! I swear I’m on your side! I want nothing more than to see Faith dead!” he insisted, gasping with the pain and fear of the weapon in her hand. “You know,” Buffy went on, utterly unaffected by his desperate claim. “I saw you two together the other night, and I wasn’t really getting an ‘I want to break your neck and drain you dry’ vibe so much as an ‘I want to jump your bones and screw you senseless’ sort of impression.” Yet even as she spoke the words, the image of Spike’s expression of irritation at Faith’s possessive, belittling comments that night found its way through her anger into her memory. She wondered suddenly if there could be any truth to his words. He *had* actually seemed quite disgusted with Faith that night. Either way, she was not ready to let Spike see that she was even considering his words. Her intimidation tactics were working too well to stop yet. She gave him a falsely innocent, almost sympathetic smile as she commented lightly, “What is it with you and psychotic ho bag skanks, Spike?” There was a cruel gleam in her eyes as she shrugged casually and admitted, “At least Faith doesn’t *look* crazy. Most of the time. Guess you’re moving up the food chain a little, huh?” She had intended the words to cut him deeply. However, she was still surprised by the flash of intense hatred she saw in his eyes as he replied. “Bitch,” he spat out in a voice of quiet rage. “How dare you…” As he had spoken, Buffy had slowly risen to stand up straight in front of him, and now she cut him off with another brutal blow across his face. “No, Spike,” she snapped. “How dare *you*! How dare you sit here in the very room where my mother died and play your little head games and tell your lies when the only thing that ought to be coming out of your mouth is my. mother’s. killer’s. name.” Her voice had lowered in volume and risen in intensity with each word, as she slowly moved forward, placing her hands on the arms of the chair and leaning in until she was right in his face again. “I don’t think you really get it, Spike,” she went on, her voice taking on a note of sadness, though it was still full of menacing fury. “See, you can’t possibly know how serious I am right now…how much danger you’re really in…because you don’t know what it’s like to love – to *lose* someone you love. The rage – the determination to make their killer pay, no matter what it…” “She killed Drusilla.” The three simple words, spoken quietly but with a powerful force of emotion behind them, silenced Buffy’s rant instantly – at least for the moment. No one moved or spoke as Buffy and her friends all took in the impact and relevance of what Spike had just said. As angry as she still was, as much as she still wanted to blame Spike and take out all of her grief and rage on him, her heart recognized the aching pain in his voice as he spoke those few words – recognized it as not all that different from what she was feeling. And suddenly…it all seemed to make sense. Still, she was reluctant to accept his words. Uncertain, she looked to her friends for confirmation of his statement. Willow did not respond at all, her eyes still focused on Spike, not softened in the slightest by his words. Xander looked at Buffy and shrugged helplessly, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Buff. First time I saw him here after you left, he was alone. We haven’t seen Drusilla since… since last year,” he finished carefully. “We just assumed they weren’t together anymore.” “We *were* together when we got here,” Spike broke in, glancing with a sense of urgency between the Slayer and her friend. He could sense that he actually had a chance of getting through to her here. “Until Faith killed her. That’s why I want to help you take her out. Can’t do it on my own,” he admitted. “She’s too well protected all the time. And she’s tough. Near as tough as you, Slayer.” Buffy was not offended by the comment; she had fought the other Slayer herself and knew that he was right. Faith had given as good as she had gotten during the fight, and Buffy had a sneaking suspicion that if she had not been as fired up as she was, she could have easily lost to the other girl. When she didn’t say anything, Spike pressed ahead. “I know things, Slayer. I know a lot about her plans…she keeps me in the dark on a lot of it, but I hear things. I know her strengths and her weaknesses. I can help you beat her.” Buffy just stared at him, thinking hard. His surprising revelation of Drusilla’s death at Faith’s hands put a whole new spin on the situation, one she had not considered before. The more she thought about it, the more sense everything made to her. She glanced at her friends again. After everything they had gone through in her absence, after all they had witnessed of what Faith had done, with Spike at her side the whole time, she felt that she owed them at least a little consideration. “What do you think?” she asked, her tone grim. Neither said anything for a moment, both regarding Spike, Xander with speculation and uncertainty – and Willow with nothing but sheer unbridled hatred. Finally Xander spoke, his voice firm and decided. “I think he’s lying, Buffy. I think he just wants to get his third Slayer, and he doesn’t care which one it is. He wants to play the two of you against each other.” “That’s not true…” Spike began to protest. “Shut up,” Buffy snapped, raising her hand in a warning of a blow, and he immediately shut up. “No one is talking to you, Spike,” she informed him sharply. “When I want you to talk – believe me. You’ll know it.” She returned her attention back to her friends. “Will?” she asked, a little hesitantly. “What do you think? Do you think he’s lying?” Willow glared at the bound, helpless vampire whom she saw as the source of all of her misery and loss of the past year. Already, he was bruised and bleeding from the Slayer’s ruthless interrogation, and at the moment did not appear to be a threat to anyone. And what he was saying *did* have the ring of truth to it. As she studied his expression coldly, she became sure that he was telling the truth about Drusilla’s death. And if the emotions that vampires felt were anything like those of humans, she could definitely see that he would want to seek vengeance for her death – as she had wanted to for Oz’s death…and still did. Yes, he probably was out to get Faith, and probably was willing to actually help Buffy to do it. After all, he had worked with Buffy before when it worked to his advantage. And none of that mattered to her at all. “Will?” Buffy prompted. “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Willow stared with cold, hate-filled eyes at the nervous vampire in the chair before finally answering her friend. “I think it doesn’t matter.” Buffy felt a little chill run down her spine at the vicious anger in her friend’s voice, even as she was reminded with a shock of just why Willow was so upset. Throughout the entire affair, Buffy’s focus had been on finding out who killed her mother, the severity of Spike’s fate, in her mind, resting on whether or not he was guilty of Joyce’s death. She realized now, as she looked into the cold green eyes of her best friend, that none of that mattered to Willow, not really. She *knew* that he was guilty of *Oz’s* death. Buffy looked back at Spike, her eyes narrowing in suspicion and anger. “She’s got a point,” she informed him coolly. “My mother’s not the only one we’ve lost.” She moved in closer to him and said in a softer voice, “I really think I could handle Faith on my own, Spike. And you still have to answer for other things.” He glanced fearfully between the Slayer and the redhead, realizing that things were teetering precariously on the edge of going very badly for him, very quickly. “Now wait just a second here,” he hurriedly spoke, not even sure what he was going to say before he said it. “You can’t blame me for that…” “Can’t *blame* you?” Willow’s voice was incredulous, trembling with disbelieving rage, and despite the fact that they all knew she could do little to actually hurt him, she took a threatening step forward. “Can’t *blame* you for killing him?” “It was self-defense!” Spike insisted, his voice rising defensively. “*He* attacked *me*! Would you expect a bloke to lie down and *let* him tear me limb from limb?” “He wouldn’t have attacked you if you and your gang hadn’t killed Cordy,” Xander interrupted, his own voice louder now with anger at Spike’s daring to defend his murder of their friend. “I never even met the little bint!” Spike insisted, his own voice trembling with anger at the accusation. “I don’t even know who she is, and I didn’t kill her!” “Maybe not,” Willow broke in, her voice unusually high with the intensity of her emotion. “But if it wasn’t you, it was vampires working *with* you. You know that they never would have gone there that night if not for what *you* and Faith were doing! Don’t try and act like you’re innocent in this, because you’re not!” Xander nodded emphatically. “That’s right. As long as you and your kind are terrorizing the streets, no one is safe. And I say we need to put a stop to it. Starting right now.” He took a step toward Spike, reaching for his own stake which he kept in his back pocket, a determined anger in his dark eyes, and Spike knew suddenly that the boy really meant to dust him. His eyes widening in fear, he drew back slightly against the chains that bound him, as Xander moved swiftly forward with his stake raised to strike. “Wait.” The Slayer’s voice finally spoke, the only calm voice in the room. She had been standing there, quietly listening as the conversation had progressed to an argument, and the argument to violence. Even as she took it all in, her mind was still going over all that had already been said, and although she could not decide from what little she knew whether or not Spike was telling the truth – she knew that she needed to hear more. “Guys…I have a few more questions for Spike. But right now, everyone’s getting kind of worked up, and if things go on like this we won’t learn anything,” she explained calmly, her eyes focused on Spike’s with an expression he could not read. “He’s not gonna tell us anything useful, Buffy. He’s just stalling to save his own sorry unlife,” Xander said, sounding tired and disgusted as he reluctantly lowered the stake in his hand. “Oh, he’s gonna tell *me* all right,” Buffy insisted with a dark little laugh that sent a chill down Spike’s spine. She looked back at her friends, meeting their eyes one at a time and hoping that they would understand. “But I think I need to finish questioning him alone.” “No,” Willow snapped, her voice trembling as she shook her head. “No, we need to be here…” “No, you don’t,” Buffy argued gently. “I know you *want* to be…” Her tone returned to a subtle threat as she glance back at Spike with a slight smirk and added, “but I think I’ll get a little further with our friend here if I don’t have to worry about grossing you and Xander out. You know. All the blood and stuff.” Willow did not return Buffy’s tentative smile. “I really don’t think it would bother me.” “Will,” Buffy tried again, her voice softer as she met her friend’s eyes earnestly. “Please. I really think I’ll get further this way.” She could tell that Willow was very unhappy with this turn of events, but after searching Buffy’s eyes for a moment, she let out a weary sigh. “Fine,” she said flatly. “Whatever you think is best. You’re the Slayer,” and she turned toward the stairs, Xander following her. As always, he would go along with whatever Buffy decided was the thing to do. As they headed up the stairs, Buffy turned back to Spike, who was watching them as they left, his relief obvious in his eyes, as for a few moments there, they had appeared to be a worse threat to him than the Slayer herself. Buffy walked slowly closer to him again, and he turned his head to see that she was leaning over him again, meeting his eyes with her own cold, arresting gaze, a predatory smile just slightly turning up the corners of her mouth. He found that he could not meet her eyes for long, and looked away. He had been wrong, he decided. *No one* was a worse threat to him than the Slayer. “Now,” she said in a very soft voice, reaching out a deceptively gentle hand to lift his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes again. “Let’s talk.”

Chapter #14 - Common Ground

Spike jerked his head away from the Slayer’s touch, fighting off a rising sense of panic. “I’ve *been* talking, you silly bint!” he snarled at her, finding fury a less embarrassing emotion to show than terror. “If you’d just listen for a bloody second…” She drew her hand back in preparation for a powerful blow, her mouth twisting into an expression of cruel determination, and he stopped talking, flinching back and instinctively turning his head away from what would surely be a devastating impact, taking in a deep, sharp breath and holding it in dreadful anticipation. She smiled at achieving her desired result, and lowered her hand, crouching down beside him and reaching a hand to turn his face back toward her. This time he did not pull away from her unsettlingly gentle touch, and he did not dare say another word, just looked up at her through wide, fearful eyes, his breath coming shallow and shaky, a sure sign that she was definitely getting to him – especially since he did not need to breathe at all. *I’m better at this than I thought,* she realized with a sense of pride…and then dismay that she felt the pride. *Do I *want* to be good at this?* Pushing her thoughts to the back of her mind to be dealt with later, she turned her full attention back to her captive and his interrogation. “There we go,” she said, her voice deceptively soft, almost gentle. “That’s better.” Deeply unsettled by her chillingly calm, controlled demeanor, Spike could not hold her gaze and looked down. She paused, her intense emerald gaze drawing his eyes back up to hers and holding them there as she went on. “I want you to listen to me, Spike. Okay?” The edge to her tone and the menace in her eyes demanded a response. He nodded hurriedly, drawing a slow, deep breath. “Okay,” he whispered, sounding considerably more subdued now. “It’s just you and me now. Alone. No one to interrupt us,” she smiled a cruel, sarcastic smile. “The only people who have any idea where you are…want you dead,” she reminded him, her expression hardening. “And I can give that to them if I want to. There is no way out of this…except to give me what I want. No more games. No more lies. You are going to start at the very beginning and tell me the absolute truth. All of it. Do you understand?” “Yes,” he said quietly. “If I think you’re lying,” she warned him, her tone darkening as she reached up to once again yank his head back, emphasizing his vulnerability as she sent another jolt of pain to his already abused scalp, tossing her stake casually in her free hand, well within his line of vision. “you’re gonna beg me to use this. Well…” she corrected with a little shrug, “you’re gonna beg me to use it to *kill* you.” Her fist in his hair softened suddenly to a caress that was a mockery of affection, as she gave him a wide, false smile and asked, her tone suddenly light, “We clear?” He nodded, swallowing hard and closing his eyes for a moment. “Yeah. We’re clear,” he replied. “Good,” she said, standing up straight and leaning back against the arm of a recliner near the chair he was bound to, crossing her arms over her chest and regarding him coolly. “Start talking,” she ordered. “Right,” he began nervously. “The beginning.” He thought for a moment, trying to go back in his memory to the best point to begin, well aware that he had only this one shot to make the Slayer see the truth…and spare his life. “Me and Dru…went to South America, when we left Sunnydale. Hadn’t a bleedin’ clue what had become of you lot…til Dru had one of her visions,” he began, meeting her eyes with his gaze unusually sober and intent, willing her to see that he was telling the truth. “She saw that you’d left…and that some new sort of Big Bad was on its way to Sunnyhell.” He allowed himself a soft little laugh at the memory, looking away from Buffy for a moment. “So, of course, she just *had* to be there. My Dru never could resist a party,” he said in a tone that combined sarcasm and affection at the thought of his beautiful, mysterious, and absolutely insane former lover. Buffy looked disgusted for a moment, letting out a pointed, slightly exaggerated yawn, tapping the stake impatiently in her hand. “Getting bored here. I’d suggest you try to hold my interest.” He glared at her for a moment, yanked rudely from his memories, and continued without comment. “Well, we got here, and who was making herself at home, rallying the vamps around her and all that, but our little Junior Slayer. Already had herself a pretty impressive gang of vampires *and* humans,” he informed her pointedly, smirking slightly at the genuine surprise that crossed her face at that. “That’s right, pet,” he sneered. “We supernatural types haven’t quite got the market cornered on evil.” “Just tell me what happened,” Buffy snapped, and he took a certain satisfaction in the slight defensive note that was mingled with the threat. He let out a slightly exaggerated sigh to express his annoyance before continuing, “So when she heard that a couple of master vampires of the order of Aurelius had swung into town, Faith decided to send us a little welcoming party.” Buffy noticed that his smirk had completely faded by now, and his eyes hardened with a cold, quiet anger as he continued in a carefully emotionless voice. “Could have taken any of them one on one…bloody hell, could have taken several of them at once…but the Slayer sent about a dozen of her best fighters to bring me and Dru to her.” He stopped suddenly, and Buffy frowned, impatient. “Go on,” she pressed him. It was only when she looked at him closer that she noticed with surprise the firm set of his jaw, the way his eyes were carefully focused on a spot directly in front of him, and realized that he was struggling to keep his emotions under control as he remembered the story. He did not speak for a few moments, in spite of her command, but Buffy did not push him any farther, sensing that the memory was a painful one – a fact which surprised her…almost as much as the realization that she cared if it was painful or not. Finally, he went on, and his voice was quiet and level, barely controlled. “Dru had one of her spells…she was having a vision, and the soddin’ wankers wouldn’t leave her alone. Kept trying to hold her down and such…” He shook his head, looking away for a moment before meeting her gaze with furious eyes. “You ever know someone mentally ill, Slayer?” Buffy was a little taken aback by the question, and a little embarrassed by the answer. “Well…I’ve been around someone…I mean…I guess…” “Did you ever *really* know someone, Slayer? Someone close to you?” Spike pressed, leaning forward as much as the chains would allow and searching her eyes in a challenging way. She shook her head slowly. “No,” she admitted. He looked down again, shaking his head in a dismissive response. “Then you couldn’t possibly know what it was like. Not really. But the more they tried to control her, the more…frightened, and…and confused she got…and Faith gave the order…she said…she told them to stake her.” He didn’t say anything again for a moment, and Buffy had not failed to notice the way his voice became quieter and more halting as the story went along. Still, she felt no sympathy for the evil creature before her. All she cared about at that moment was her mother, and seeing that her death was avenged. “Well,” Spike went on, his eyes wide and haunted with memory, beginning to lose himself in the story as he relived it in his mind. “I – I bloody lost it. I fought off the ones who were holding me and fought my way through the others. I took the stake from the one who was trying to kill her and I dusted him with it myself. Before it was over…they were all gone. Just me and Dru left…and her.” “She had a crossbow, and before I could move she’d fired. My first thought was that she’d missed.” He laughed then, a chillingly soft, bitter sound of misery. “She didn’t.” By this point, Buffy was engrossed in the story, in spite of herself, mesmerized by his hushed tone and the aching emotion in his voice, though she kept her expression neutral, not betraying any response to his words. “I woke up, and me and Dru were chained up in the basement of the mansion.” He smiled, but Buffy was amazed to see tears in his eyes. “Dru was laughing,” he said slowly in a tone of disbelief. “All a big game to her, it was.” He paused, his smile fading, his tone becoming dark. “And there was Faith. I made an impression, I guess. Dusting a dozen of her vamps single-handed.” There was no pride in his voice, and Buffy immediately recognized why, as it was a feeling she had felt herself. No matter how impressive the victory, there could be no sense of pride, when you had failed to save the one you loved. “She…she made me an offer. She asked me if I wanted to work for her.” The bitter smile returned to his face as he said, “Naturally, arrogant, cocky bastard that I am…I refused. Wasn’t gonna lower myself to be a lackey to anyone, least of all that little tart.” Buffy didn’t mention what they both were thinking of – the fact that he had indeed ended up lowering himself to exactly that level, and lower. As much as she despised him, even she knew that that would have been a low blow at this moment. “I told her to sod off. Said I’d rather die again than have anything to do with the likes of her,” Spike went on, a slight tremor working its way back into his voice as he went on. “So she says, ‘Fine. Have it your way. You’ve made your choice.’ My *choice*, she said!” Bitter tears streaked his face as he rolled his eyes in a harsh laugh. “My bloody choice. I didn’t know she was gonna…I didn’t…” His voice broke off, and he lowered his head, struggling not to break down completely. “She killed her,” Buffy finished for him, a small mercy, her wide eyes focused on him in a solemn gaze. “She killed her to punish you for blowing her off.” Spike lowered his head, ashamed, with a small, defeated nod. “I didn’t know what she was going to do. But she made sure I understood clearly,” he went on, and his hatred for the girl was clear in his voice. “She made sure I knew that if I’d agreed to work for her…she’d have let Dru live.” Into the heavy silence that followed, Buffy spoke softly, her words resounding clearly in the stillness. “She wouldn’t have. You know that,” she said, wondering even as she did why she was bothering to try, even so weakly, to comfort the vampire. But she knew, really, deep down. It was because now, *now* she *could* sympathize with what he was feeling. She might have a soul and conscience that he lacked; she might never have experienced what it was like to live with and love an insane person. But she knew what it felt like to watch someone you loved more than anything in the world die before your eyes. Spike seemed as surprised as she was by her feeble attempt at consolation, looking up at sharply, searchingly for a moment before responding with a heavy sigh. “I know. Doesn’t make it any easier.” He paused, and continued in a voice of steel. “Doesn’t make her any less dead. Or Faith any less about-to-be-dead.” Buffy said nothing at all; there was nothing to say. She knew now that he was telling the truth. She had been where he said he had been, and knew what it was like – and she knew that no one was that good a liar, least of all Spike. If he was lying about this, she was sure that she would know it. “You know what the worst of it was,” he continued softly, and he was no longer speaking just to satisfy her interrogation. He could not have stopped at that point if he had wanted to. “Was the look on her face.” Buffy frowned, confused. “Faith?” He looked up at her, and the stark pain in his tearful sapphire eyes took her breath. “Dru,” he corrected, his voice barely more than a whisper. With that one single word, Buffy felt a pain of memory so deep and agonizing that it was almost physical, as her mind flashed back to a single moment that had scarred her so devastatingly, almost a year ago. As she had done what she knew she had to do, knowing that the only alternative was to allow the world to be destroyed, and plunged the sword through Angel’s chest… And he had looked at her…. In a single, instantaneous look, so much depth of emotion…love and disbelief and betrayal and pain…that moment in which he realized what was going to happen, and that she was responsible for it, and desperately, achingly, asked her *why*? She forced the agonizing image from her mind, gasping for breath against the sobs that threatened to take her over, struggling for control. She looked back at Spike, blinking back her tears to see him clearly. He was staring up at her, a light of understanding beginning in his eyes. “You understand,” he said softly, a simple statement of fact. “That look…as if she was asking me…why I let it happen…why I couldn’t save her…and…and I didn’t…I *didn’t* save her. I loved her, and I would have died for her, but…but I didn’t save her.” Again, wondering why she was saying it, Buffy argued softly, insistently, “You *couldn’t* save her. You had no choice.” “But I did,” he countered, shaking his head. “If I’d have let go of my bloody pride, and done what the bint asked me to…Dru would be alive…” “No she wouldn’t…” “She *might*!” he argued, an almost desperate note in his voice. “If I’d have been willing to lower myself a little…but I didn’t…” “So you do now,” Buffy broke in quietly, with growing understanding, and no cruelty or intent to hurt in her words. “You do what you wouldn’t then. Hoping that one day you’ll be able to avenge her death.” He looked at her for a moment, nodding slowly, without a word. Buffy looked away from him for a moment; it was all just so terribly much to take in, and so painfully familiar to her that it hurt even to think about what Spike had just told her. After a long pause in which both fought to compose their wildly careening emotions, Spike looked back up at her, a faintly speculative look on his face. “So you believe me now, Slayer.” She nodded. “I believe you.” She turned slightly away from him before adding in a voice that another human would not have heard, but Spike did easily. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do about it.”

Chapter #15 - An Awkward Alliance

Spike pushed back the pain of his memories and looked up at the equally emotional Slayer, standing with her back to him a few feet away. He had to focus on the situation at hand if he was going to get out of this alive. He could see that he had finally gotten through to her, at least on some level. At least she accepted now that he was telling her the truth about what had happened to Dru, why he hated Faith, and that he genuinely wanted to help Buffy. The question of the moment was – would she *accept* his help? If she chose not to, there was a good chance that he would still end up dust before this was over. “I can help you, Slayer,” he told her, his tone low but insistent. “Like I said – I know all about her weaknesses – a lot more than she thinks I know. And I can find out more. We both want the same thing here – to take her down. I can help you make that happen.” Buffy was silent for a long moment, still working at regaining her composure after the painful memories that had assailed her for the first time in months. Oh, they were always there, in the back of her mind, but usually she managed to hold them at bay. Spike’s story, however, of what had happened to Drusilla, had brought it all rushing back at her, before she had time to prepare for it. Finally, she managed to put it out of her mind and focus on the situation at hand. She had to decide what to do with the tied-up vampire in her living room. When she turned to face him, her eyes were still shining with tears, but her expression was hard and determined again. She had a few more questions for her prisoner before she could make a decision. “So why do you need me, Spike?” she asked him, crossing her arms over her chest again and turning her deadly serious gaze on him again. “Why couldn’t you take her out yourself? You’ve killed two Slayers before her.” “She’s tough, love,” Spike shook his head slowly as he replied. “Always armed, and always watching her back. I’ve tried a couple of times; she always figured it out, and I had to do some bloody fast talking to convince her it wasn’t what she thought. Not to mention the fact that she’s constantly surrounded by her soddin’ vampire gangsters, ready to defend her to their own deaths.” “But you think I could take her on?” Buffy raised her eyebrows, surprised that he was willing to admit that she was capable of defeating an enemy that he did not think he could handle. “Well,” he admitted, with a little half-shrug. “I thought that at the very least you’d keep her distracted. If she was busy dealing with you, she wouldn’t have much attention to spare for *me*, now would she?” he pointed out. “I figured getting you two bints fighting might be my best shot at getting to her.” She could not help but appreciate his surprising frankness, realizing that if he was willing to openly tell her how he had planned to use her against Faith, she could probably trust most of the rest of what he was saying, but his words were still somewhat irritating to her. “So you were just going to use me to kill her off, fight your battle for you,” she filled in with contempt in her voice. “And if I happened to lose – if she killed me instead of everything going according to your little plan,” she went on dryly. “No great loss for you, huh?” He shrugged unapologetically. “I’m a vampire, you’re a Slayer, love. That’s pretty much the way it goes, in’nit?” She did not respond, but she had to admit he had a point. “But this could be so much better,” he insisted, his voice taking on a note of excitement in spite of his still-perilous situation. “If we work together on this, to take her out, she won’t stand a chance!” “Another truce?” Her expression was skeptical. She snorted. “You plan on actually sticking around this time?” In spite of the dark accusation in her tone, he felt a bit encouraged by her wording, which she was probably not even aware of. “This time”, as if she was assuming already, if only subconsciously, that she was eventually going to agree to accept his offer. “Hey! I helped you fight Angelus, and we won, too!” he protested, and she was amazed at the genuinely offended sound of his voice. “I kept my end of the bargain!” “You did not!” she argued, incredulous. “You were supposed to help me beat him, in exchange for me letting you take Drusilla and go!” “I *did* help you beat him!” “You left me there to die, and ran off while Angelus was still going strong!” she countered, anger flashing in her eyes again. “Oh, sorry, pet,” he smirked. “Thought you could handle yourself at that point. I’d even given him a good beating already by then, softened him up for you. If he was still too tough for you, I s’pose I underestimated him.” Spike shrugged. “Or over-estimated you.” Buffy’s eyes narrowed in anger at his mockery, and she stepped closer to him again, once again tapping her stake in her hand threateningly. “Where were we, again, Spike?” she asked, all wide-eyed innocence. “Were you trying to convince me to *help* you? Or stake you? I can’t figure that out.” “Sorry, pet,” he replied, his eyes focused on the stake in her hand, but his tone still casual, if somewhat less mocking. “Just saying – by the time me and Dru left, I thought you had it under control.” It was a complete and utter lie, but that was a moment in which the truth would get him killed. There was a brief pause before Buffy spoke again. “So when you came to LA – you *wanted* me to come back here…didn’t you?” she asked him suddenly. She had been wondering about that for some time; even long before any sign of discontent between Spike and Faith, Buffy had thought it odd that Spike would have let her live after their confrontation in LA, when he so clearly could have killed her in her weakened, apathetic condition. And it had been his words to her that had awakened her, and caused her to return home to the nightmare that Sunnydale had become. He nodded slowly. “Yes. I knew I needed your help. Couldn’t do it on my own, love.” The simple honesty of his tone struck her. She had expected many things from him, but a humble request for her help had not been one of them. “So what are you suggesting exactly?” she sighed, her voice heavy. She already had a feeling that she was going to end up accepting his offer before all was said and done. “I storm your hide-out, like last time, and you help me out when she’s not expecting it?” Spike laughed. “This isn’t as simple as last time, love. Faith may not be quite as sharp as old Angelus was, but she’s not as arrogant and over confident either. Angelus never would have seen that simple little plan of ours coming, for one simple reason, pet. No matter how badly he treated me, he’d never have expected me to actually turn on him. Sire bond and all that.” He paused, and his expression grew serious as he continued, “Faith, on the other hand… she never trusts anyone. Never. Couldn’t fool her with something as simple as that.” He didn’t think it wise to mention to Buffy how Faith had seemed to be becoming more and more suspicious of him lately. He didn’t want to say anything that might give the petite blonde Slayer the impression that he might not be of much use to her. He knew very well that his potential usefulness to her was the only thing keeping him alive right now. “And besides,” he went on. “she’s constantly surrounded by her soddin’ minions. Any time I’ve tried to take her out in the past…they’ve jumped right in and put a stop to it.” Buffy was quiet for a moment before she replied matter-of-factly, “So we’ve got to separate her from her minions.” Spike nodded. “I can work on that. Find a way to get her away from them, out somewhere with only me as backup, maybe. Pre-arranged to meet with you, so we can take her out.” Buffy nodded slowly, thinking. “That could work.” Suddenly she stopped, frowning, as she realized that she was making plans with Spike without having really decided whether or not she intended to help him. “Wait a second!” she said suddenly, suspiciously. “Hold on. I’m not so sure this is really a great idea, Spike. Just last night you tried to *eat* my best friend! How can I trust you now?” “Didn’t ask you to trust me,” he shot back with a smirk, his eyes meeting hers firmly. “Asked you to work with me. You’re a Slayer, there’d be something wrong with you if you *trusted* me, pet.” He paused, and then went on in exasperation when her eyes did not leave him and she did not say a word, “I mean, come on, what did you expect? I’m a bloody *vampire*!” “How can I know that you’re not gonna turn on *me* at the last second?” she demanded. “You know, Xander had a really good point. What if you’re just trying to score your next Slayer? One would be as good as another, wouldn’t she?” Her eyes narrowed and her eyebrows raised in suspicion as she gave him an expectant look, her arms crossed as she waited for his explanation. He just looked at her for a moment, meeting her eyes with a level, solemn gaze before he said quietly, “No. One’s *not* as good as another, pet. This is personal.” He paused, before going on, “Faith needs to die.” Buffy could see the truth in his eyes, knew that he meant what he was saying, from the clear pain in his sapphire gaze that so clearly mirrored her own. Still, she was not quite ready to give in. She did not like the idea of working so closely with Spike, and she knew that her friends were not going to like the idea either. “You know,” she said, “I think I could probably handle Faith on my own, Spike.” “Yeah, *her*…on her own. But with all the help she’s got…” he pointed out, shaking his head and rolling his eyes in contemptuous dismissal of her claim. “Love, you wouldn’t stand a chance.” “Well, I’ve got her right hand man right here,” Buffy countered, her voice softening dangerously as she stepped closer to him, and he felt his stomach do a little twist at the cool, vindictive smile on her face, as she crouched beside him again, holding the stake to his chest again and meeting his eyes with a questioning, challenging look. “I’d say losing you would be kind of a crippling blow for her…wouldn’t you?” “Not exactly,” he said, keeping his voice calm and even in spite of the unexpectedly renewed threat. “I’m the only one in her ranks who doesn’t bloody worship the ground the bint walks on. She might *think* it was a loss…but it wouldn’t be, not really. Because I’m not on her side, love,” he reminded her in a slow, even tone. “I don’t think it’d be much of a loss to me, either,” Buffy replied with a careless shrug, pressing the stake harder against his chest. “I think I’ll take my chances with her and her gang. Once I’ve eliminated Faith’s only master vampire…dealing with a bunch of fledglings is gonna be nothing.” Her cold eyes focused on his, watching for his reaction to her words, and he really could not tell whether or not she was bluffing. “It *would* be a loss, pet,” he argued softly, meeting her eyes boldly. “Because if you kill me and then Faith…you’ll never know who killed your mother.” Buffy’s hand froze, the stake still pressed painfully against his chest, her eyes narrowed in anger at his ploy. “You said you didn’t know,” she reminded him, her voice dark and dangerous, and he knew he was walking a very thin line. “I *don’t* know,” he assured her. “But I can find out. And that’s something you’ll never be able to do without me.” Buffy hesitated in frustration, having no argument for that point. She realized after a moment with dismay that he was right. Faith would never tell her, no matter what she did, and Spike was the only one in any kind of a position to find out any of Faith’s secrets. If she staked him, with him would die any chance of her ever achieving justice for her mother’s death. He could see that she was angry at being placed in this position, trapped in a sense into going along with his plan, but he knew that she would not actually kill him…because she knew that his words were true. “You’ll find out who killed my mother, and tell me?” she asked him, her voice hard, her hand not relenting with the stake just yet. He nodded. “Yes,” he assured her. “As soon as I can. And I’ll find out everything I can about her plans, about what she’s doing, any opportunity we might have to get her alone.” “And you’ll report it all back to me?” Buffy went on, her voice strong with a sense of the power that she still held over him. “Yes. I’ll come to you any time I find out anything useful to you, I swear it, Slayer.” He paused. “I may appear to be on her side, but you know I’m telling you the truth when I say I’m not. You know as well as I do that there’s no bloody way in hell I could be after what she’s done.” There was an earnestness in his voice that pulled at her heart in spite of herself. She could feel the truth of what he was saying, as her own pain responded to his. She nodded slowly. “I know.” “I know you can’t fully trust me…that’s all right, love, cause I sure don’t trust *you*!” he informed her with a cynical laugh. “But we’re both after the same thing, here. And I think that makes us allies for now.” Buffy was silent for a moment, thinking. Then she stood up slowly, withdrawing her stake and replacing it in her back pocket. “For now,” she conceded with another slow nod. She stood there, regarding him for a moment as he slowly let out his breath in relief. Without a word, she took out the key to the chains that bound him, and crouched down behind him again to unlock them. She paused suddenly, and added, “But Spike…if you so much as touch my friends, or my sister…all bets are off. And I won’t just stake you. We’ll have a repeat of tonight’s performance...” She gave him a wide, false smile, her eyes glittering with menace, “…only I won’t be nearly so pleasant next time. Understood?” Spike knew to take her threat seriously. This Slayer had proven herself to be a force to be reckoned with, more than once. “Understood. I won’t harm you and yours. That’d be kind of self-defeating, wouldn’t it, love?” “In every possible sense,” Buffy agreed with an emphatic nod, as the chains fell away from the manacles that still bound his wrists. He started to get up from the chair, which had grown terribly uncomfortable over the past several hours, but she held the manacles in her hand and jerked him back down. “Wait,” she commanded, standing up. It was clear that she did not trust him, and was certainly not going to allow him to be free and standing while she was still on her knees on the floor. Once she was standing again, she allowed him to stand and unlocked his wrists, raw and sore by this point, and stood facing him as he rubbed at them absently, looking her in the eye expectantly. “So we’re agreed, then,” she sighed. “Truce for now. You’ll tell me anything you find out, and we’ll work out a way to bring Faith down. And you *will* find out who killed my mother. But don’t kill them,” she ordered, and the dark menace in her tone was chilling to him, although he knew it was not directed at him this time. “Just tell me who it is and leave him to me.” He nodded. “Right. But on your end, Slayer,” he said in a warning tone, “you’d best keep your soddin’ Scoobies in line. I don’t fancy being staked in the back while we’re meeting one night.” “Speaking of,” Buffy sighed, glancing apprehensively up the stairs as she opened the door for him to leave. She was not looking forward to telling her friends about the deal she had just made. “You’d better get going.” As she closed the door behind him, she turned and faced the door resolutely, adding to herself with a heavy sigh, “This is gonna be a long night!”

Chapter #16 - Falling Apart

Buffy winced when she heard the sound of movement at the top of the stairs, just after she firmly shut the door behind Spike. Apparently, her friends had heard the sound of the closing door, because a moment later, she heard two sets of hurried footsteps coming down the stairs. She steeled herself for the inevitable confrontation, turning slowly around to face her friends. There was a long moment of silence as Xander and Willow took in the sight of the empty chair where Spike had been bound, the chains that now lay on the floor behind it, and their friend, standing by the front door with a determined resolve in her eyes. Xander was the first to break the building awkward silence. “Buffy,” he said, a slight tremor in his overly patient voice, “tell me you dusted him.” Buffy was momentarily tempted to do just that; the idea of explaining her decision to her friends was terrifying to her. She knew that they had much more reason to hate Spike and wish him dead than she did, and making them understand would be terribly difficult, if not impossible. But before she could venture any response at all, Willow was already shaking her head in denial to Xander’s suggestion, as she made her way to the chair and crouched down to pick up the empty chains in her hands. “She didn’t,” she informed him in a low voice of disbelieving anger and disgust. “The chains are *open*, Xander. They wouldn’t be open if she’d dusted him.” She dropped the chains and stood up straight again, turning accusing green eyes on Buffy. “How could you let that monster go, Buffy? After what he did?” “There’s more to it than that,” Buffy began slowly, cautiously. “He’s in a position to help us take on Faith and actually win, guys! He knows things – secrets, that she only tells him – and he can find out more…” “What makes you think he *wants* to help us?” Xander broke in, anger rising in his usually calm voice, and shaking Buffy worse than Willow’s reaction. She was used to Willow’s being emotional; Xander was supposed to be the calm, steady one. He was anything but calm at the moment. “Buffy, he’s a killer! He’d tell you anything he had to tell you to get you to let him go! The first chance he gets, he’s just gonna stab you in the back!” “No,” Buffy argued, her voice trembling but emphatic. She was terribly nervous about this conversation, which was going very badly at the moment, but she was still certain that she had made the right choice, regardless of the opinions of her friends. “I *know* that he’s against Faith. He wants her dead. That’s why I know that he’s going to help us.” “We don’t *need* his help!” Willow snapped, a vicious fury beginning in her voice, angry tears shining in her eyes. “Right!” Buffy shot back sarcastically, growing angry and defensive herself, under what she perceived to be an attack from her friends. “Because we’re doing *so* great at fighting her on our own!” “You can’t possibly trust him,” Xander objected, incredulous at his friend’s decision. “How can you possibly believe anything that creep tells you? Everything Spike says is whatever is gonna suit his purpose at that particular time, Buffy. He only helps *himself*.” “He helped me before,” Buffy said quietly, and neither of them replied for a moment. Then Willow spoke up, in a voice of barely bridled rage, “Before what, Buffy?” she demanded quietly. “Before he killed Oz? Before he started working for the person who ordered your mother’s murder?” “Will,” Xander began warningly, recognizing that his friend was dangerously close to crossing a line, in her heedless anger and grief. Tears sprang to Buffy’s eyes at the implied accusation in Willow’s statement. “He says he didn’t know anything about that,” she said, her trembling voice barely over a whisper. She glared defiantly at Willow through her tears and added in a slightly stronger voice, “And I believe him.” She paused. “He may be the only chance I’ll ever have to know who *did* kill my mother. And if that’s the case, then I can’t dust him until I know.” That effectively silenced her friends for a few moments, as they were stunned by the realization of her true motives for aligning herself with Spike. “So…that’s why you need him,” Xander said slowly, trying to be sure he understood. “Because only Faith knows who did it…and only he can find out from her…right?” Buffy nodded silently. There was silence for a moment before Willow went on, her voice considerably calmer with the revelation of Buffy’s motives. Now that she understood why she had made the decision she had made, she found it easier to sympathize with her friend – although she was still certain that she had made the *wrong* decision. “So,” she began slowly, only a slight tremor in her now calm, even voice, “once you find out who killed your mom…you *won’t* need him anymore…right?” Buffy frowned slightly, bothered by the direction she sensed that her friend was taking this, and bothered by the fact that it actually bothered her. “Right,” she conceded cautiously. Willow was silent for a moment before nodding slowly, resolutely. “Fine,” she said quietly. “He gets to live that long.” Her calm, quiet words were chilling to her best friend, who had never before heard such underlying violence in her voice. Willow had always been so meek and soft-spoken, gentle in nature, from the very moment that Buffy had first met her. But she had changed since losing Oz. Xander had been there as the change had gradually taken place, and thus was not as surprised by her words as Buffy was. Buffy, however, was deeply disturbed by the hatred that her friend had allowed to become so powerful in her heart. “Buffy,” Xander broke in, hesitantly. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea. You can’t trust him.” “Don’t worry,” she assured him, her voice quiet and sure. “I don’t.” She turned to Willow, who seemed to have calmed herself somewhat, and searched her pain-filled eyes, her own gaze compassionate but urgent. “I need you to go ahead and do a disinvite spell for Spike again, okay?” “Gladly,” Willow assured her, heading up the stairs to get her supplies. Buffy turned back to Xander, who was still watching her with troubled, dark eyes. “Xander…it’s gonna be fine,” she insisted gently. “I’m watching my back…I’m not trusting him. The first sign I get that he’s trying to pull something – he’s dust. Okay? But Spike’s not opposed to helping his enemy, if it works out to his favor, and right now it does.” Xander nodded reluctantly, watching her as she went on. He could see her point, but was not quite ready to concede that she had made the wisest choice. “He wants to help us,” Buffy went on. “Because we want to get rid of Faith. And she killed Drusilla. He’s out for revenge.” “Well, he’d better watch *his* back,” Xander said ominously with a sigh, as he glanced up the stairs where Willow had disappeared. “Because he’s not the only one.” Spike made his way back to the mansion in the darkness, slowly and painfully, exhausted and aching from his brutal interrogation at the blonde Slayer’s hands. *Little bint’s bloody ruthless,* he thought resentfully as he trudged down the sidewalk, realizing again with a deep, shaky breath just how lucky he was to even be undead at that moment *She could give Faith lessons.* That thought brought up a whole new set of worries, he thought with an uncomfortable feeling. He really wasn’t sure exactly how long he had been gone, but he knew it had been at least one full day. It had been late evening whenever he had cornered the little redhead in the alley, and now it was nearly midnight, at least the next day – if no more time had passed while he was unconscious. *Wouldn’t be surprised if it was longer,* he thought. *She nearly took my soddin’ head off with that pipe!* He was surprised to realize that mixed in with his resentment toward the ordeal Buffy had just put him through, was a certain measure of grudging respect. He had been impressed by the Slayer’s fighting skills in the past, and had seen her as a more than worthy opponent, the greatest challenge he had ever faced in battle. But he would never have thought her capable of the control and authority that she had managed to convey disturbingly well during their little confrontation. It made him see her in a new light. And it made him want to see her again. *You stupid wanker!* he berated himself. *She just nearly killed you! And here you are wanting to go *back* there?* But now, with the threat of death no longer hanging over his head, his mind was free to think about other aspects of his little stay at the Slayer’s house. Her soft yet powerful hands as she had run them over his body had fulfilled her intent – to intimidate – but also had accomplished much more than she realized, bringing about a very different reaction in her intended victim. *Just lucky she didn’t notice that or you’d never have gotten this far,* he reminded himself. It would not do to let himself be distracted and become careless because of a foolish attraction to a Slayer, and especially such a dangerous Slayer as this one. He remembered the sense of power he had felt just rolling off of her in that living room, as she had stood over him, arrogant and proud and utterly certain of her complete control over the situation. It only made him want her more. “Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head in mild self-disgust as he entered the mansion. “You’re gonna get yourself dusted yet, mate.” “Probably.” Faith’s voice from right beside him startled him and he jumped slightly, inwardly cursing himself for the show of weakness when he turned to see the little smirk on her face at his reaction. “You startled me, love,” he laughed wearily, putting on his best smile for her. “You can’t go around doing that to a bloke…especially when he’s as bloody worn out as I am, pet.” Her mouth turned downward in a sympathetic pout as she drew closer to him, but he could see the mocking mirth in her sparkling eyes. “Aww,” she murmured. “poor baby.” She reached him and took his arms, pulling him closer to her and giving him a seductive smile. “Want mama to make it all better?” He supposed that telling her how completely un-sexy that particular analogy was, especially when he was far too weak to defend himself, would be utterly foolish – but it was still a tempting thought. “Love,” he said softly, making his voice affectionate and entreating. “I’ve had a long night. I’m bloody exhausted and sore, and I really just need to rest.” He made a point of meeting her gaze as he spoke to her, and was relieved to see her eyes soften a little as she slowly, reluctantly, released her hold on him and stepped back to look at him. Okay, *that* might not be such a good thing, after all, he suddenly realized. Her eyes widened in surprise as she noticed for the first time the bruises that covered his face, and the bloodstains on his shirt where Buffy’s stake had pierced both the shirt and his flesh. “What happened?” she asked, a note of concern that almost seemed sincere in her voice. “Had a run in with the other Slayer,” he said with a slight shrug, keeping his voice calm and even, and putting an exasperated tone into it as he went on. “Still determined to pin her mum’s death on me.” He paused, shaking his head a little as he said, his voice quieter, “I barely got out alive.” Faith suddenly noticed something and reached down to take his arm just above his wrist, raising his hand to get a closer look. Spike fought every instinct in him to jerk away from her unwelcome touch, especially when he realized what she was looking at. Her eyebrows raised speculatively as she looked at the red, raw marks on his wrists from the chains that had bound him. “Never figured Buffy for the kinky type,” she commented dryly, and he did not miss the way her eyes darted shrewdly up to his as she spoke, watching carefully for any reaction that might give something away. That was something he was determined not to give her. “Neither did I,” he replied darkly, thinking fast. He had found that it worked best to keep his story as close to the truth as possible without revealing anything *really* important; that kept it convincing. But he really wasn’t sure how much to tell Faith, especially considering that she was already suspicious of his motives. “Little chit chained me up and started her own bloody inquisition. Kept insisting if I didn’t kill her mum, I knew who did.” He managed to keep his voice calm, though he was acutely aware of Faith’s hand holding his arm, her thumb slowly tracing along the line of the mark left by the chains in an absent way as her piercing dark gaze searched his eyes for any sign of deception. “Course, I didn’t, as I bloody well kept telling her…but she wouldn’t believe me.” He paused, shaking his head as he looked away from her. “Bloody lucky I got away.” “Yeah,” she agreed softly, glancing down at where her soft but strong encircling fingers imprisoned his ravaged wrist. “Really lucky.” “Yeah,” he said, raising his voice a little from the hushed tones of their conversation, in an attempt to close the discussion. “Well, I s’pose I’ll head off to get some rest now, pet…” he began, pulling against her hand to head away from her and toward the stairs. “Wait a second, Baby,” Faith said softly, her hand unyielding, holding him there, and he winced at the twinge of pain as her grip tightened slightly around his injured wrist. “I’ve got one more question.” He looked back at her expectantly, swallowing back the apprehension that rose in him, every instinct warning him of the unpredictable danger that so often presented itself when she was around. Without warning she slammed him back against the wall, pinning him there with her body, her hand now painfully tight around his wrist, and he bit back a moan of pain. “How *did* you get away from her?” Faith asked, her voice still deceptively soft, though her eyes were full of menace as she pressed herself closer to him. *Sod it all,* he cursed to himself. *As if one bloody psychotic Slayer in a night isn’t enough!* “What – what are you talking about, pet?” he struggled to respond, gasping in pain. “I got away. I waited til she wasn’t looking and I managed to…” “What?” she interrupted, lifting his wrist up between them, into his line of vision. “Break the chains that were tight enough to leave these?” she demanded, giving his wrist a vicious, wrenching twist that would have been severely painful if it *hadn’t* been injured already. He drew in his breath sharply, determined not to let her hear him cry out. He still had at least that much pride. “No,” he gasped. “I – I tricked her into taking them off. I lied and told her they were too tight – hurt too much – couldn’t answer her questions. She took them off to fix them and I made a break for it.” He was aware that the story was pitifully weak, but it was the best his pain-ravaged mind could come up with under the circumstances. “You know what, honey?” she said, her voice almost gentle as she leaned in closer, twisting his wrist again mercilessly as she whispered in his ear, “You’re a terrible liar.” She pulled back a little with a cruel smirk. “You think I’m gonna believe that she was dumb enough to fall for a stupid trick like that?” “That’s a bloody Slayer for you,” he forced a bold smirk through the pain, his eyes blazing on hers. “All bloody brawn…no brain,” he gasped out. She laughed softly, shaking her head a little and rolling her eyes at his nerve. She loosened her grip on his wrist a little, but reached with her other hand to grip his hair and slam his head back against the wall. Considering the severe head wound he had received the night before, the blow was enough to nearly knock him unconscious, and he struggled to stay on his feet, and would have collapsed had she not been pinning him there against the wall. “You know what I think, Baby?” she went on, her voice soft and almost soothing. “I think you’ve got a problem with that smart mouth of yours. You just don’t know how to keep it shut. That’s a little problem that could get you hurt someday.” She went on softly, speaking very close to his ear, “You know what I think happened? I think the Slayer’s too smart to fall for a trick like that. I think that you must have told her something that put her in a good enough mood to be willing to let you go.” She jerked his head closer to her and smiled menacingly as she whispered, “Am I getting warmer?” “Cold as ice, pet,” he insisted, breathing hard and fast in his pain and fear. “Think about what you’re saying, love,” he went on desperately. “You think she’s not gonna just stake me the second I told her what she wanted to hear? If I’d even *known* the answer to her bleedin’ questions? Which I didn’t? She would never have let me go on her own! I got away, just like I told you.” Faith was silent for a moment, frowning slightly. She had no answer for that very valid point, but she still sensed that something in his story was not quite right. She released her grip on his hair, stepping back a little, still glaring at him in a menace, before finally releasing his battered wrist with a final shove back against the wall again. She stepped close to him again, and he tensed in anticipation, not knowing what she intended, and still too weak, especially by this point, to fight her off. But this time, her powerful hands were gentle as she moved in close, placing a possessive hand behind his head, pulling his head down and closer to her. Her fingers ran lightly through his hair in a gesture that was deeply unsettling, in the wake of her violence of moments before, as she whispered in his ear, “You’d better be telling me the truth, Baby.” He nodded quickly, still trying to catch his breath. “I am…” “Shh,” she whispered, her hand tightening slightly on the back of his head, as she went on, “If I find out you’re lying to me…you’re gonna wish I’d staked you tonight. Got it?” He nodded again, his eyes closed and his head down as she released him and backed away, a self-satisfied smirk on her face, before turning to saunter up the stairs, leaving him alone to recover from her assault. *God, what is it with Slayers and their bloody fate-worse-than-death threats?* he wondered with bitter resentment as he slid down the wall to the floor, cradling his abused wrist in his other hand. As he sat there on the floor, trying to regain his composure, he realized two things. Finding out what Buffy wanted to know was going to be harder than he had thought, with Faith as dangerously suspicious as she was now. And despite that, he would have to do it quickly – before the tattered threads of the dark Slayer’s sanity unraveled completely.

Chapter #17 - Secrets and Lies

Spike pretty much tried to stay out of Faith's way the next morning. He was not sure how her mood would be after their dangerous encounter of the night before, but he was not quite feeling up to risking another such confrontation. His wounds from Buffy's savage interrogation had almost healed already, but he still felt weakened by the ordeal, far too weak to successfully take on another Slayer -- especially a deranged, paranoid, psychopathic Slayer. *You ought to just forget the whole thing and get the bloody hell away from the soddin’ Hellmouth and leave the two bints to off each other!* he told himself. A part of him knew that it was good sense, knew that he was at the point of a double-edged sword, playing a dangerous game for which there were too many ways that he could lose. The larger part of him simply did not care. Faith was going to pay for what she had done. He forcefully ignored the tiny voice in his head that told him that even if Faith was dead already…he would still be there, in Sunnydale. Images of the pretty blonde Slayer, in all her deadly, passionate glory the night before, wielding her power with boldness and authority, flooded his mind, and he wondered that he should find such images so appealing. After all, the girl had nearly killed him. And all he could think about was seeing her again. Later that afternoon, he was passing the closed door to Faith's room, when he once again heard the sound of a softly spoken conversation coming from the other side of the door. He recognized the quiet tone as one that she rarely used; he knew that for Faith to be speaking in that soft, hushed tone, there was only one explanation. She was trying to hide something. And he was determined to find out what. *Better get good at eavesdropping, mate,* he reminded himself grimly. *Might just be your best source of information after that little falling out last night.* "I don't believe a word of it," he heard her say, her tone angry and suspicious. "I mean, I guess there's really no reason not to believe him -- nothing I can put my finger on -- but I just get the feeling that he's lying about something." He felt his stomach drop a little as he realized that she had to be talking about him. He was not surprised, really, but it was a little frightening to hear it from her own lips, and know for a fact. So she had not really bought his story at all, then. As he had feared, she had stopped her brutal questioning of him the night before, not because he had convinced her that he was telling the truth, but because she could not prove that he was lying. "Yeah. It doesn't really matter." Faith let out a weary, frustrated sigh before she agreed with whatever the caller had just said. "I have almost everything I need for the ritual anyway," she went on, her voice brightening a bit. "It should just take a few more days to get everything ready -- and then *no one* will be able to stop me!" There was a chilling, dark triumph in her voice that sent a sense of foreboding through Spike as he listened. *Ritual?* he thought with growing apprehension. That was the first he had heard of any sort of ritual that Faith was planning. And whatever it was, this ritual was supposed to make her unstoppable? Mentally and emotionally unstable, deranged and psychopathic, and *unstoppable*? Well, *that* certainly did not sound good. "Yeah, I really don't care *what* you do to him at this point, Honey. Whatever. He's turning out to be more of a liability to me than anything else," Faith went on. "Go ahead. You know...if you feel like you're up to taking him on." He could almost hear the careless shrug that no doubt accompanied her words. Faith did not seem to care much more about what happened to her new consort than she did about what happened to him. "Oh, by the way," Faith continued, "Just so you know…Buffy is *so* out for blood right now." There was a brief pause before she laughed aloud. "Yours, dumb-ass. She just doesn't know it yet. She thought that Spike did it for a little while, for some reason.” Pause. “I don’t know, I think her friends told her that or something. I'm not sure, she might still think that he did it." Another pause. "Don't worry so much! She has absolutely no idea that you're even in town...even *alive*, for that matter...I don't think you're in any immediate danger, Babe," she assured the caller. Spike was trying to take it all in, filing away every word to go over them later and try to make sense of the cryptic conversation, when he suddenly registered a slightly longer silence on the other side of the door, just before Faith spoke again, suddenly, abruptly. "Hey, I've gotta go. I'll call you later," and Spike heard the suspicion in her voice before the sound of the receiver being set down quickly. Hurriedly he backpedaled away from the door and down the hall a bit, fully aware that being caught eavesdropping at a time like this could not possibly end well. If Faith knew that he had heard *anything* about her plans, which seemed to include a top secret ritual of some kind and his own death, he knew that he would be as good as dust. He stopped a short distance away from her door, turning to face it as if he had been heading in that direction, consciously calming his breathing and expression as he headed casually toward the door. When Faith opened it a matter of moments later, he was just walking up to it, calmly and in no hurry, and still a good ten feet away. She frowned suspiciously as she glanced up and down the hallway…but then smiled when she saw him. Obviously his little ruse had worked…this time. "Hey, Baby," she said softly, affectionately -- as if the events of the night before, her cruel abuse of his injuries and brutal interrogation, had never happened at all. As if she had not only moments ago given her permission to someone for him to be murdered. "Hello, love," he replied, forcing himself to match her warm, pleasant tone. "How are you?" She shrugged. "Five by five...now." A slow, suggestive smile crept across her lips as she spoke. She glanced back toward her room and then met his eyes with an invitation in her own dark chocolate gaze. "You busy?" she asked softly. It was an intense battle of will for the master vampire, as he looked at the Slayer who had viciously tortured him the night before, was now plotting against him behind his back, and had taken the life of his greatest love, not so very long ago -- and forced himself to return her seductive, inviting smile, moving smoothly forward to take her gently in arms that longed to choke the life from her body. For a little while longer, the detested charade had to go on. "Never too busy for you, love," he reassured her, his voice low and seductive, as she pulled him eagerly into her bedroom, her lips already claiming his mouth, as she kicked the door shut behind them and led him toward her bed. Buffy was frustrated. *Really* frustrated. She needed to kill something – and soon. She had been patrolling for over an hour, and had not come across even a single vampire. There seemed to be less activity on the Hellmouth tonight than there had been *before* she had left town. A part of her realized that this was probably a good sign, rather than something to be disappointed about. Her goal had been to thin Faith’s ranks, to take out enough of her vampires minions to weaken her forces and put the other girl on the defensive. And whether the lack of vampires for the dusting was because she had simply killed most of them already, or because they were all hiding from her – either way, it was a sign that she was making a definite impression. Sunnydale’s original Slayer had returned, and she was making her presence known. She was headed reluctantly home, disappointed with the utter lack of the violence that she had so craved when she had left her house that evening, her thirst for the kill left frustrated. Suddenly, she became aware of a familiar sensation, a slight tingle at the back of her neck, the physical manifestation of a sixth sense that she alone possessed, warning her of the presence of her prey. A vampire was nearby. She did not change her pace, or alter her breathing or movements in any way, as she continued casually down the sidewalk. She did not want to give any indication to her enemy that she knew they were there. Her well-honed instincts kicked in, and though she had not yet seen her stealthy pursuer, she was aware of his every movement as he stalked her down the street. She could sense him behind her, knew that he was drawing closer to her, preparing himself for his attack – probably completely ignorant of the danger that lay hidden in the deceptively small frame of the seemingly normal, helpless girl. Her hand slid down into her pocket, closing around the blunt end of the stake she kept there. An instant later, she sensed her enemy preparing to pounce, and whirled around, one arm shooting out to grip the throat of the vampire standing behind her, shoving him back against the trunk of a tree a few feet away, as her right hand drew back her stake to strike. Then, her eyes widened in surprise and her hand froze, a mere instant away from driving the stake through the creature’s unbeating heart. She let out a weary sigh of irritation – and a little disappointment at losing her imagined kill – rolling her eyes as she demanded of her captive in exasperation, “Spike – what the hell are you doing?” She lowered the stake in her hand, but did not yet release him, still eyeing him with suspicion. Xander’s warnings about Spike stabbing her in the back played over in her mind as she raised her eyebrows expectantly at the vampire she had pinned against the tree. He just flashed her an infuriatingly arrogant grin. “Looking for you, pet,” he replied, his voice a little choked by her hand still at his throat. Still irritated by the cruel twist of fate that made the one and only vampire she managed to find that night be the only one that she could *not* stake, Buffy rolled her eyes as she slowly released him, stepping back a little, but still not taking her eyes off of him. “You know, our deal that makes you exempt from slayage doesn’t really apply when you come sneaking up on me like that,” she informed him. “You almost got yourself staked there.” “That’s one way of looking at it,” he smirked, his blue eyes sparkling, mocking her, as he rubbed at his neck with one hand. “The other way is that you almost got yourself bitten!” Buffy’s eyebrows rose again challengingly at his words. “Oh, really,” she replied with a mocking laugh. “You know, I really don’t think so. I *so* would have had you staked *way* before you could have bitten me!” Spike’s smirk only widened as he laughed, shaking his head at her. “What?” she demanded, feeling suddenly a little defensive, unsure why he was laughing at her. “Not me, pet,” he explained. “*I* wasn’t going to bite you!” She frowned, confused. Only then, as his words sank in, did she look down to notice that Spike also held a stake in his hand. So he had *not* been the one stalking her down the street, sneaking up behind her to attack her. Once again, he had staked a vampire to save her life. “You know,” she remarked, recovering enough to return his smirk. “You’re kind of a weird vampire, you know that? Carrying around stakes and dusting other vampires? To help a *Slayer*, no less?” She frowned suddenly, realizing exactly what she had just said. “Not that I -- *needed* -- your help or anything…because I didn’t…I totally knew he was there and had it under control.” “Right. That’s why *I’m* the one that almost got staked,” he laughed. “Because your bloody Slayer senses are *so* finely tuned!” “Was there a *reason* why you were looking for me?” she asked him, crossing her arms over her chest, her annoyance clear in her stance, her voice, everything about her. “You know, besides the whole taunting thing?” His smile faded suddenly with the reminded of the business at hand. “As a matter of fact, yeah, love. Faith’s planning something. Something big. Some sort of ritual to increase her power.” Buffy frowned. “What kind of ritual?” Spike opened his mouth as if to respond…then hesitated, letting out his breath slowly before he admitted, “I haven’t a bloody clue.” “Gee, that’s helpful,” Buffy replied dryly. “I can see I *totally* made the right choice in not staking you.” He gave her a withering look before he went on, “She was talking to some bloke on the phone, someone who’s working with her. This guy was watching you while you were in LA. Faith had him keep an eye on you for her. And whoever it is, he’s got it in for me, too. And – and I think…” He hesitated for a moment, then met her eyes and rushed on, “I think he’s the one that killed your mum.” Buffy was instantly alert and focused on what he was saying. “How do you know?” she asked. “They were talking about it. She mentioned something about it. I’m sure that whoever it is, he’s the one that did it,” Spike assured her. “Only problem is,” he admitted with a little grimace. “Haven’t got a bloody buggering clue who she was talking to. But it’s someone we both know.” “Human?” Buffy wondered, questioning eyes focused on him. “It was a vamp that killed your mum, pet,” Spike reminded her, his voice uncharacteristically gentle as he mentioned the painful subject. “But you’re the only vampire I know,” Buffy muttered, a slightly petulant sound coming into her voice with her frustration. This just didn’t make sense. She suddenly gave him a dark look and corrected, “I don’t even *know* *you*…not really. At least I don’t want to.” Spike gave her a patronizing smile at her rambling attempts at being sure that he knew how little she thought of him. “Good,” he remarked. “Glad we’ve got that settled. Anyway, that’s about all I’ve got for you right now, Slayer. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, though, and let you know if I hear anything more. Right?” Buffy nodded slowly. “See if you can’t find out a little more about this ritual she’s planning…what sort of a ritual it is.” Spike nodded, and turned to go. “Spike,” Buffy said suddenly, almost as an afterthought, and he turned slightly without looking at her. “Thank you,” she added, a little awkwardly…as if she felt it was the thing to say, but still felt a bit odd saying it. He smiled with his back to her, gave a little nod, and walked away into the night. Buffy turned back toward her house, dark thoughts circling in her head as she made her way home. Magic rituals to increase a Slayer’s power? Why had she never heard of anything like that before? she wondered. Suddenly a thought occurred to her, and she stopped short on the sidewalk, her eyes widening with realization. “I need Giles,” she said aloud, to no one but herself, and took off again at a run toward her house, determined to find out from her friends what she now could not believe that she had not thought to ask. What had happened to her Watcher.

Chapter #18 - A Turn of Events

Buffy closed the door behind her quietly, and headed up the stairs, hoping that her friends would still be awake. She glanced at her watch with a little grimace; as late as it was, that was surely a futile hope. But she had a lot of questions that could not wait until morning …so her unfortunate friends were just going to have to deal. She paused for a moment outside the closed door to the room that used to be hers, but had become Willow’s in her absence. If she had decided to take it back, no one would have thought anything of it, but somehow, she felt bad about asking Willow to move out of it, so she had been sleeping in Dawn’s room with her since her return. Buffy thought about waking Willow…very briefly…and then decided against it. She still seemed none too pleased with her over her decision to work with Spike to defeat Faith. Although she was obviously trying hard to act as if everything was normal between them again, the chill that Buffy felt around her all the time now told her that Willow saw it as a betrayal – and Buffy simply did not feel like dealing with it right then. She went on to the room that had been her mother’s, where Xander now slept. He had made a suggestion the day before, about Buffy and Dawn moving into the much larger master bedroom that had belonged to their mother, and his taking Dawn’s smaller room, and Buffy appreciated the gesture, thinking that it was probably a good idea. Leave it to Xander to think of the comfort of others first, she thought with a warm fondness toward her friend, as she silently opened the bedroom door and looked inside, to see her friend sleeping soundly on his back, his head turned away from her. Xander’s forgiveness, his gentle acceptance of her return with sincere joy, had helped to make this painful transition much more comfortable for her. It was a very comforting feeling, in the midst of so much confusion and turmoil, to *know* beyond all doubt that he really and truly would be there for her, no matter what happened – no matter what she did. He had just proven it. “Xander,” she whispered, as she sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned down to shake his shoulder gently. “Xander, wake up! I need to talk to you!” A tousled dark head rose from the pillow slowly, and sleepy brown eyes struggled to focus on her. “Buffy,” he mumbled. “What…” Suddenly, he sat up in the bed, a startled look of alarm on his face. “What is it? What’s happened?” he asked quickly. “Nothing,” she assured him immediately. “I’m sorry, Xan, I didn’t mean to scare you. Everything’s okay. I just need to talk to you.” He looked at her for a moment, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, trying to read what little he could make out of her expression. “Okay,” he said, his voice even and supportive. “What do you want to talk about?” “I just – I was wondering…” She found herself hesitating, now, realizing all at once, only *after* she had awakened him, how non-urgent her questions might seem to him – certainly nothing, in his eyes, to merit waking him up in the middle of the night. Still, she pressed on. “I mean – no one said anything – what – what happened to Giles?” Xander stared at her blankly for a moment. “You couldn’t have thought about that another time? One that’s like, *not* two o’clock in the morning?” he grumbled good-naturedly, leaning his head back on the pillow and then glancing back up at her. He suddenly grew quiet, his teasing smile fading when he saw the fearful expression in her eyes. *Of course,* he realized, kicking himself mentally for not having realized sooner why the question was so important to her. *In this nightmare world that she’s just come home to, anything could have happened. She probably thinks he’s dead.* “He’s okay, Buffy,” he hurried to reassure her, sitting up again and reaching out a gentle hand to rest on her trembling arm. “I mean – I guess he is,” he amended with a shrug. “We haven’t heard from him in a while. The Watcher’s Council made him go back to England. They said he was becoming too personally involved with things here in Sunnydale.” He paused, then met her eyes as he went on. “That’s what he told us they *said*…I think what they really meant was…” “*People* here in Sunnydale,” Buffy finished for him, her disgust for the Council and their cold, compassionless way of viewing things obvious in her voice. “Namely you guys. Right?” “Right,” he confirmed. “He said that with you gone, they thought there was no need for him to be here anymore. That his emotions were getting too involved with people that he shouldn’t really have had anything to do with in the first place. So they had him deported.” Buffy’s eyes widened in horror and dismay. “Deported? You mean, as in, *can’t* come back deported?” Xander nodded, his dark eyes sad and serious. “He can’t legally come back in this country.” Buffy looked down at the bedspread, her eyes wide and solemn, hardly able to believe it. “Just when I needed him most,” she said softly, and her voice trembled a little. “Tell me about it.” The quiet, bitter sorrow she heard in her friend’s voice gave her pause, and she glanced back at Xander with concern in her eyes. In her own shock and pain at the thought of losing Giles, she had given no thought to how his leaving might have affected her friends, who had looked to her Watcher for guidance as much, if not more than she had. Xander, especially, trapped in an unhealthy, abusive home life, had looked to Giles as a father figure, to show him the love and concern that his own father had so cruelly withheld. Buffy looked down at the bedspread again, her mood darkening once more at the thought of all that they had lost – and all that they would not have lost is she had only stayed in Sunnydale after her fight with Angelus. Suddenly, a new thought occurred to her, and she looked back up at Xander, her expression hopeful. “You said *legally*, right? He can’t *legally* come back?” Xander gave her a dubious look, alarm clear in his eyes at the path her thoughts seemed to be taking. “Buffy,” he began warningly She sighed, her lips forming a little pout. Without his even speaking, she knew that he was right. “I know,” she admitted. “But – I mean – how am I supposed to do any of this without Giles? Sure, I’m all down with the super powers and the violence – got that much covered. But he’s research guy…” “Buffy…I want Giles back here as much as you do,” Xander said, his words slow, patient. “But Faith’s more of an action kind of girl, I think. I think the violence is probably a better bet against her than research would be. I mean, what’s to research? She’s a psychotic, mental slut with a bad attitude. Something tells me that’s not exactly Giles’ field of expertise.” “Okay, so maybe we don’t need research guy,” Buffy admitted, her voice grower small and a little scared as she went on, “But he’s also voice of reason guy…and…and security guy…and I – I *do* need him.” “I know,” Xander conceded quietly, looking away. “We all do. There’s just nothing that we can do about it.” Buffy’s expression hardened with determination, and she raised her eyebrows speculatively. “Maybe there is,” she said slowly. “Did he leave a phone number where you guys could reach him?” “Just at the Council – and they deny ever hearing from him, that he’s even in England. They even deny calling him back to England at all.” Xander paused. “Which was exactly what he said they would do.” Buffy frowned, thinking hard for a moment. Then she looked at her friend, a look of determination in her emerald eyes, dark and gleaming in the moonlight from the window. “I need that number,” she told him. “I’m gonna give the Council a call in the morning. It was all well and good for them to call him back to England when I wasn’t here…” “No it wasn’t,” Xander corrected her with a resentful note in his voice. “No, it wasn’t,” Buffy agreed. “But either way…I’m back now. And I’m still the rightful Slayer in this town. And I don’t care what those stuffed shirt, pompous idiots think about it – they’re going to send my Watcher home!” Hours after she had closed the door behind them, Spike woke up suddenly from a sleep he had not realized that he had fallen into, alone in Faith’s bed. He sat up slowly, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he glanced around. The Slayer herself was nowhere to be seen. He frowned, his mind troubled by the events of the past few hours. It was not so much the thought of what he had done – sleeping with a woman he knew wanted him dead, a woman he hated with every fiber of his being – as it was the knowledge of what it had taken to make him able to do it. By this point, the images that had originally fueled his passion, arousing him enough to allow him to satisfy Faith’s desires – the images of her bloody, violent death at his hands – had been completely and utterly replaced. And that would not have been so bad, either, he thought, in and of itself. Nothing wrong with a little variety in the mix; there were only so many ways he could kill Faith, and he had to admit that particular fantasy got a little old at times. There had been plenty of times that he had instead called memories of Dru to mind during these times with Faith. But it was not the memory of his Dark Princess that had flooded his mind this particular time – and every time before it for weeks now…ever since the other Slayer’s return. It was sick, and twisted, and wrong…in so many ways. There was no way that he should have been attracted to his mortal enemy, the one person – well, one of two – in all the world designed perfectly to destroy him. Yet there it was, a disturbing fact that he could not escape, no matter how hard he tried. His mind was simply filled with the pretty, powerful blonde Slayer. During the entire time he had spent with Faith, his memory had played over images of their last few encounters…the feel of her body on his as they had fought on her front lawn…the blazing fire in her eyes as she had stood over him in her living room, in all the ancient glory of all her predecessors…the Slayer, in all her power. She was bloody amazing. *Bloody hell!* he thought, his eyes widening as he realized suddenly that he was doing it again. *Got to get that little bint out of my head!* he told himself. This went beyond foolish…it was utter madness for him to allow these strange feelings, for the girl who had tried to kill him every single time he had seen her in the last few weeks, to grow in his mind. Insanity. Nothing less than suicidal. *What a mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time, mate,* he thought with a weary sigh, as he sat up on the side of the bed and rested his aching head in his hands. *Sleeping with one Slayer who’s plotting your death, for the sole purpose of plotting *her* death, to avenge the death of the girl you *really* love…all the while dreaming of *another* Slayer who’d as soon stake you as look at you!* *I’m a bloody idiot.* He glanced idly around the room, trying to think about something, *anything* besides Buffy. He wondered where Faith had gone, and how long ago. If she was going to be gone for a while longer, he realized suddenly, now might be the perfect time to do a little investigating in her room. He stood up, his eyes scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary, anything unusual, as he pulled his jeans back on. Everything seemed to be as it usually was in this room. Utter chaos. Faith’s bedroom was a disaster area. Clothes, dishes, weapons, all strewn about with no reason or order at all, left wherever she had happened to lay them when she had finished with them. Spike really found it utterly disgusting. His own room was almost always spotless, kept in perfect order. He might be evil, but that did not mean he had to live like an animal. Suddenly, his eyes fell on an item, in a corner half hidden beneath a pile of clothes – an item that seemed out of place in the room of a girl like Faith. It was a thick, old book, with a leather bound cover, and though he could not see the title from where he stood, he felt a tingling sensation of anticipation as he crossed the room to it. *Ancient ritual, anyone?* He threw aside the dirty clothes lying around it and picked up the book, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. No sign of Faith yet. As he leafed hurriedly through the book, he found that it was an old text on Slayer lore. Most of it was just history, stories of Slayers past, their techniques, their feats of glory… And then he found what he had been looking for. Quickly he scanned the pages, wanting to be finished before Faith returned to the room. His eyes widened in wonder as he read the words printed there in disbelief, and it began to sink in for him just exactly what the Slayer was planning to do. It was reckless, insane really, terribly dangerous even for Faith herself… But infinitely more so for everyone around her, if she should succeed. *Buffy’s gotta see this,* he thought, and made a quick decision, as he slowly tore the pages along the edge, removing the four or five sheets that were relevant and folding them carefully, putting them in his pocket as he stood up. And was immediately sent flying across the room, into the far wall, by a powerful blow to his back from behind. His breath stolen from the pain and the force of the impact, he struggled to pull himself back up, but found that his body would not cooperate. He only managed to get to his knees at first, as he looked up to face what he already knew he would see. Faith. She was standing there over the damaged book, lying on top of the pile of dirty laundry at her feet. One hand on her shapely hip, one sharp toed boot – probably the one that had slammed into his spine, he thought dully – pointed slightly forward as she faced him, her eyebrows raised in a challenging expression of disbelief – as if she simply could not believe what she was seeing. As he watched, helplessly, struggling to recover from the paralyzing blow to his back, she suddenly swept across the room, with a fluid, deadly grace, gripping his throat and yanking him to his feet with ease, shoving him back against the wall, hard. She raised her other hand, which held her stake, and rested it against the wall beside his head, a cruel smile coming across her face as she leaned in close to him to speak softly. “You know…I really hate it when people touch my stuff.”

Chapter #19 - No Turning Back

"Wanna tell me what you're doing, Baby?" Faith's voice was low and soft, deceptively gentle, as she pressed in closer to Spike, her cold, dark eyes flashing with a deadly anger. He could not even draw breath to answer, because of the tight hand gripping his throat, pinning him to the wall. That was actually not such a bad thing -- as he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say. He cursed himself silently for allowing himself to become so distracted by the shocking information he had found as to let her sneak up on him like that. And now, it seemed that he would pay for that carelessness. Faith smiled slowly when she realized his predicament, a patronizing, falsely sympathetic sound to her voice, as she said, "Oh, that's right. You can't, can you?" She removed her hand from his throat, to allow him to speak...only to deliver a stunning blow with her fist, slamming his head back into the wall with violent force. He felt his knees buckle slightly as stars danced before his vision against a backdrop of darkness, and he fought to stay on his feet and conscious. Faith did not give him time to recover, gripping his hair and yanking his head back up, hard, and slamming it back against the wall again, leaning in close with a cruel smile as she asked in a nasty, menacing voice, "How about now?" "Wait...please..." he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper, struggling to make his mind focus against the thick fog that fell in front of his eyes and the pain that blurred his thoughts and prevented him from coming up with a way of escape. Or maybe there just *was* no way of escape. "That's what I'm doing, Baby!" Faith laughed, shaking him a little by the hand that was fisted hard in his loose blonde hair. "Waiting! For you to tell me what the hell is going on here!" Her voice was almost pleasant, amused by his vain attempts to stall her, as well as by the precarious position he was in. "I was just...I mean...I..." It was useless. He stopped talking, unable to focus his thoughts enough to formulate a convincing lie. Truth be told, he had really not thought that far ahead. He had not planned on getting caught. *You're getting sloppy, mate. Gotta pull it together if you wanna stay alive,* he thought, then realized grimly, *Though it might actually be a little late for that.* "Let me guess," Faith said, that same cold smile in place as she met his eyes, her own glittering with menace. "You started feeling a little out of the loop...a little, oh I don't know...replaced, maybe?" The pointed way she spoke the word and the little lift of her eyebrows as she said it told him that she knew he had been listening to her phone conversations. "But, oh look! How convenient! There just happens to be a new Slayer in town for you to suck up to – you know, since you just *happened* to drop her a clue that *maybe* it’d be a good idea to come home. But on your way out the door...you figured you'd find out what I'm up to so you can take her a nice little welcome gift." She paused, leaning in closer, putting her stake back in her pocket and shoving her hand into the front pocket of his jeans, where he had placed the folded pages of the book, her groping touch deliberately more invasive than it had to be. “Am I getting warm yet?” she whispered, her hot breath falling on his face, her lips a bare inch from his ear. Feeling trapped, suffocated, and realizing that he was not going to get out of this situation with words, he tried to twist out of her painful grip on his hair, struggling to push her back away from him with one hand and raising the other to strike out against her. But he was weakened by the recent physical attacks he had endured, not to mention the hours he had spent in bed with Faith that very evening that had sapped quite a bit of his strength and left him sluggish and slow to respond. Faith did release his hair, and removed her hand from his pocket in order to have both hands free to be better able to restrain him. After a brief struggle, she managed to catch his arms, pinning them between them, immobile, her grip too strong for him to break in his weakened state, as she slammed him back again forcefully. A cruel smile on her lips, she brought her knee up between his legs, exerting enough pressure to elicit a deep, shuddering gasp of pain from the trapped vampire she held pinned to the wall. Her smile twisted into a smirk of sadistic satisfaction, as she met his eyes with a vindictive light in her own, a look that told him before she moved what she was going to do. He cringed in anticipation of the brutal move, just before she jerked her knee up hard, and he groaned in pain, doubling over as much as her restraining hands would allow, nearly collapsing with the agony of it. She leaned in closer to him again, to ask softly against his ear, "You gonna behave now, Baby?" The pain was unbearable, as she had not yet eased up a bit on the painful pressure she was exerting. He nodded quickly, desperately, gasping for breath against the agony she was inflicting. “You’re not gonna get out of this one,” she informed him softly. “You’re pathetic, you know that? The shape you’re in…you’re not even a challenge, Honey,” she smirked derisively. Then her expression grew more serious as she added, “But just in case I *did* need help…I’ve got a dozen men within hearing range to come in here and help me take you down if I need them.” She leaned in closer and whispered, “You don’t stand a chance.” His heart sank with the realization that she was telling the truth, and was probably absolutely right. "You're gonna tell me absolutely everything you’ve told her, aren't you? You’re gonna tell me everything I want to know," she prompted, nodding her head exaggeratedly, leadingly, in that same chillingly soft, patient voice. "You're not gonna give me any reason to hurt you any more than I'm already gonna, are you?" Her tone was cruelly mocking, and he knew she was speaking truthfully. No matter how cooperative he was with her, he knew there would be no escaping at least a certain measure of pain. And in the end, no matter what she told him, he knew deep down that once she felt she had learned all that he could tell her, she would kill him. They both knew that his usefulness to her had reached its end. His only chance was to stall for time, and hope that an opportunity for escape presented itself. He shook his head rapidly, his eyes on the floor. “No,” he whispered. “No, I won’t.” Her smile widened with satisfaction, and she said in a patronizing voice, “Good boy.” She finally eased the pressure of her knee, reaching one hand up to ruffle his hair in a mockingly affectionate gesture. “Now,” she said, glancing around the room as if looking for something she needed. “Let’s get settled in for a nice long talk, Baby.” She smiled at him in a predatory way, knowing that she had him right where she wanted him. “This could take a while.” Suddenly, her smile widened as her eyes lit up. “I know,” she said with the gleeful excitement of a child, made all the more chilling by the fact that the idea that so thrilled her was no doubt some brutal method of torture. Still pinning his arms with one of hers, she put her free hand behind the back of his neck, adding, “Don’t try anything stupid. You just cooperate with me, and do what I tell you. Got it?” He nodded again, his mind racing ahead, already alert to watch for any opportunity he had to escape. She jerked him away from the wall and over toward the bed, shoving him down on the floor beside it, half sitting, half kneeling, as she turned away from him momentarily to open the drawer of her nightstand, digging through the various little toys she kept there. As he watched her distractedly, glancing between her and the door, gauging the distance and the time he would need to get away, she laid several items on the nightstand, her cruel smile widening in anticipation. He found it terribly troubling to realize all the things she had kept so close to the bed during their time together, much of which he spent bound and helpless. She set a couple small vials of holy water; a small, vicious looking whip, and several other items whose use he could only guess at, on the nightstand, before turning toward him with a pair of handcuffs in her hand. The disturbingly cheerful smile on her face was a chilling sight… Which he fortunately only had to endure for a few seconds. As she turned, his foot shot out to knock hers out from under her, and she fell to the floor. Scrambling to his feet, Spike brought his doubled fists down across her upper back sharply, knocking her back down to the floor as she tried to rise. She was already calling furiously for her minions as he rushed out the bedroom door. He was immediately set upon by several vampires at once, and he was very grateful for the stake that was still in the back pocket of the jeans he wore. Though he was exhausted and weak with pain, he managed – barely – to dispatch every one of Faith’s minions that came at him in the hallway . As the last one within sight vanished in a cloud of dust, he whirled around to be sure there were no more waiting for him, to see Faith only a few feet away. “Very stupid, Baby,” she remarked with a smirk, and he noticed with dread that her stake was in her hand. Well, he had his stake, too. He watched her warily as she circled slowly around him, and he was suddenly aware that she was trying to close off his escape route down the stairs. “No, pet, sorry,” he said, his voice quiet and breathless with exertion and sheer weariness. “Stupid would be sticking around to just let you torture me and stake me.” She shrugged. “Some things you can’t do anything about,” she pointed out, her tone casual. Then she smiled. “You’ve only given me one more reason to torture you.” She raised her eyebrows with another shrug, “Hey,” she conceded. “I guess you’ve bought yourself a couple more hours. Can’t say you’ll enjoy them.” He circled around with her, not really having much choice, not willing to allow her to move out of his sight for even a moment. She was quick, powerful, and very, very dangerous. And he was in no condition to fight her. And the stairs were now effectively blocked, as Faith stood at the head of them, tapping her stake in her hand and smiling in satisfaction. “Sorry, Sweetie,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re not going anywhere.” “We’ll see,” he said, his voice low and grim, his eyes darting between her face and the stake in her hand, watching carefully for any opening. He edged closer to her – and the freedom beyond the stairway she was blocking, his stake ready. He would have to have a flawless aim to kill her with the stake, Slayer healing being what it was and all. But he hoped to at least be able to injure her enough to buy him some escape time. Luck – and Faith’s natural impatience – worked in his favor when he came almost within reach of the dark Slayer, and she lunged toward him, her stake raised. He darted out of her way, spinning around so that his back was to the stairs. It was tempting, but he knew better than to simply take off down the stairs. As weary and worn down as he was, he knew that he had to cripple her before he fled; otherwise she would easily catch up to him. She lunged for him again, infuriated by the failure of her first attempt, and again he dodged out of her way. Just as she was standing at the edge of the stairs, her back to them, he feinted to her left with his stake, and she instinctively pulled back to avoid the blow…and lost her balance, as he had known that she would, stumbling and trying for a moment to catch herself before she fell backward and crashed down the stairs, knocking her head on the last one with an audible crack. He did not wait to see if she would get up, rushing down and past her, just as she staggered to her feet again. *Buggering Slayer strength,* he thought to himself resentfully. The fall she had taken should have left her at least unconscious – and yet she was already coming after him again, though much more slowly than before, and limping a bit. She quickly gave up as he raced down the sidewalk away from the mansion, realizing that her pursuit was useless. “Damn it!” she swore in frustration, slamming the stake in her hand against the nearest available surface – then looking to see that she had just imbedded it in the trunk of a tree by the sidewalk. She knew that she would have to recover before she could go after him with any success. And although she had taken the pages he had torn from her book, he surely knew enough to take back to Buffy, and allow her to become a problem. It didn’t matter, she told herself. Within a couple of days the ritual would be performed, and then none of them would matter. She would destroy them all with ease, and they would beg her for mercy. She would make anyone who had ever hurt or insulted her pay. But in the meantime, she decided with a smile, she would have her minions on the lookout for her deceptive ex-lover. With all of the vampires in her employ throughout Sunnydale, Spike’s ability to hide from her would be very limited. Within the hour, she would have every vampire in town on the lookout for him; it would only be a matter of time before he was caught and back in her hands. And then she would teach him a lesson that he would never forget. He wouldn’t have time to, as he’d be dead within minutes of the teaching. She wasn’t worried about Spike. After all…where could he possibly go?

Chapter #20 - Revelation

Spike ran for all he was worth, just desperately trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the psychotic Slayer who now wanted him dead. His pride was not a factor, had ceased to be a long time ago where Faith was concerned. All that mattered at this point was making it out alive. After all, he couldn’t very well kill her if she killed him first, could he? He ran until the exhaustion and pain of the fight and the injuries Faith had inflicted on him during it finally caught up with him, and he simply could not run anymore. He staggered to a slow stop on the sidewalk, glancing around, gasping reflexively for unneeded breath, as he realized with surprise where he had unthinkingly run to. He was standing only a few hundred feet from the house of the other Slayer. He stood there, staring at the brightly lit front porch for a few moments, debating. *Out of the frying pan, into the bloody fire, it’d be,* he warned himself, thinking of the last time he had been in that house -- *another* occasion when he had just barely escaped with his life. He was not terribly thrilled with the prospect of turning to Buffy for help, but he was beginning to have a grim suspicion that he might not really have a choice. The Slayer – the non-evil Slayer -- was the only person who could even begin to think of taking on Faith, *when*, not if, she decided to come after him. And he had to have shelter of some kind, and there was no one else he could think of who would be foolish enough to invite him in. When he tried to think of other options, he realized with a sinking heart that he simply had none. As much as he hated to admit it – Buffy was his only hope. And that was only if she would even be willing to help him at all. He had serious doubts as to whether or not the Slayer would want him staying in the same house with her little sister and her friends. For that matter, he had his doubts as to whether *he* wanted to stay in the same house with her friends. The image flashed into his mind of the fury and hatred in the eyes of the little redhead the last time he had seen her. He was not eager to see her again. But he knew that it would only be a very short time before Faith would have managed to rally her minions to track him down. She may have already, he realized, and while ordinarily he could take on anything she could throw at him – with the possible exception of herself -- he was in no condition to defend himself against *anyone* at the moment. He would not be safe out here on the street for very much longer. There was simply nothing else to be done. Steeling himself, Spike headed slowly up the walkway to the Slayer’s front door. “Look.” Buffy’s voice was almost pleasant, her words coming calm and slow as she concentrated on just not crushing the telephone receiver in her hand. “You may not have much first hand experience with just what a Slayer is capable of – what with your main big talent being *watching* and all – but unless you want me to hop a plane to England so you can *watch* me use my Slayer strength to knock you into next Tuesday, you are going to let me speak to my Watcher. Now.” “As I have already informed you, Miss Summers,” the infuriatingly calm, loftily accented female voice on the other end of the line spoke. “The Council has had no word from Mr. Giles in nearly a year. We have no idea of his whereabouts. Otherwise we would certainly let you know.” “Oh, I’m sure! Because the Council is always *so* eager to help!” Buffy responded sarcastically, her tone growing angrier. “Look, I know you had him deported back to England, and I need to talk to him now!” She had not told the woman yet just *why* it was so urgent that she talk to Giles, and she really did not intend to. She did not want to give the Council any more information than she absolutely had to. If the Council for some reason did not know about the events in Sunnydale, she did not think it would be wise to tell them. In her experience, their attempts to help never ended well. “Miss Summers,” the voice responded, still calm but with an edge of irritation to his voice. “We have told you all that we know. There is nothing else we can do to help you.” At that moment Buffy heard the doorbell ring. She frowned, glancing toward the door as a sense of foreboding came over her. It was very late. No one in their right mind would be out this late. Except for the one possibility of a demented, criminally insane Slayer who would have no reason to be afraid of the various nasty things that kept normal people confined to their homes at this time of night. “Why am I not surprised?” she responded to the woman on the phone in a voice that was both sarcastic and distracted. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll find him without your help.” She slammed the receiver back into the cradle with much greater force than she needed to and looked again at the door. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after midnight, and her friends and Dawn were already asleep. That was of the good; less chance of their getting hurt, if it came to a fight. Her hand drifting to her back pocket and the stake it concealed, she cautiously approached the door. She rose up on her toes to look out the window in the door at the late night visitor. Spike. Why would he be at her door this late? It had not been that long since they had met; surely he would not have any new information this soon, and certainly nothing that merited a personal visit to her house. If he thought she was going to invite him in, he had another think coming! She took a deep breath, rallying the tiny shred of patience she had left after the frustrating conversation she had just had, and opened the door, her eyebrows raised in a question. In a tone of practiced boredom, she said, “Spike…what are you doing…” Her voice suddenly trailed off and her eyes widened as she took in the terrible condition he was in. His face was bruised, and he was bleeding from his lip and an ugly gash in his forehead. He was breathing hard, which was odd, since she knew he didn’t have to breathe at all, and he appeared utterly exhausted…and more than a little afraid. Immediately, she realized what must have happened. “You got caught,” she said flatly, her tone stating clearly how very unimpressed she was with his pitiful spying skills, one corner of her mouth quirking downward in a derisive expression. “Didn’t you?” “Slayer…” he sighed, his voice low and weary. He did *not* feel like dealing with her attitude right now. His pride was injured enough from the events of the evening without *her* adding her two cents in. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to walk away. Since draining the infuriating bint dry was not exactly an option. Too bad she was his only hope. “Invite me in,” he told her, glancing anxiously over his shoulder, as if expecting to be pursued. In spite of his injuries, which evoked a certain sympathy in her in spite of herself, Buffy could not help but laugh out loud. “Okay, yeah. *That’s* gonna happen. In my next life when I come back as a complete idiot.” “Ah…that would be this life, love,” he could not resist replying with his signature smirk. It was just too easy to pass up; the girl had left herself wide open. Buffy could not believe it…but at the same time, she was not at all surprised. Spike was standing on her doorstep, beaten and bleeding, asking her to let him in, in what was clearly a last resort – and still just as big with the sarcasm and insults as ever. Smiling cheerfully, she slowly closed the door in his face. But she stood there, not moving away from it. She had to admit, she was not altogether sure that she was going to leave it closed. At the very least, she was curious as to the events that had brought him here in the first place. “Slayer!” he called through the door, and she couldn’t help a little snicker at the anxious sound of his voice. “Come on, now, don’t be like that! I’m on the run now, for trying to help you!” he reminded her, sounding a bit resentful. “Her soddin’ lackeys could be here any second! Let me in!” She opened the door just a crack, just enough to let him hear her next words. She was still smiling, obviously enjoying the situation. “No, Spike. You’re on the run for being an idiot. And don’t worry,” her impossibly bright smile widened a bit. “There’s not a vampire in this town that would be *stupid* enough to get this close to my house. Except you.” She paused, shrugging carelessly. “Until the lights go out and they think I’ve gone to bed, that is. But you should be fine until then.” She started to close the door again. “I know what the ritual is,” he said suddenly, serious blue eyes meeting hers through the tiny opening in the door. “What she’s planning. I know all about it.” That took Buffy by surprise. After a heavy pause, she opened the door completely, all the mockery and laughter gone from her expression. “Tell me.” “Invite me in.” They stood there for a moment, in a silent stand-off. Buffy did not like the idea of inviting a vampire into her house -- *any* vampire. But especially not a master vampire who had tried to kill her and her friends more times than she could count. But then, she and Spike *did* have an understanding of sorts at the moment. And he would have to be a complete idiot to try anything in the condition he was in right now, when he obviously would not stand a chance against her. And considering that this was Spike, and complete idiocy was a possibility she had to consider, if he *did* attack her or the others, she could just stake him. She let out a weary, exaggerated sigh, before saying grudgingly, “Come in, Spike.” He hurried inside, as Buffy closed and locked the door behind him. “If you try anything,” she began in a warning tone. “Slayer…” he interrupted, his voice flat as he turned slowly to face her, then glanced down at his own battered body, shaking his head slightly as he met her eyes again. “Not gonna happen, love.” “Right.” She looked him up and down slowly before meeting his eyes again. “So what happened, exactly?” she finally relented enough to ask, sitting down in an armchair and gesturing with her hand for the battered, exhausted vampire to have a seat as well. He sank down gratefully onto the couch, leaning his head back against it in weariness. “What do you think?” he replied, without moving his head, his eyes closed. “Faith happened, love. She caught on to me. She was already suspicious, and she caught me in her room tonight, going through her things.” Buffy did not say anything, just stared at him for long enough that he finally raised his head to look at her. Her eyebrows were raised in a knowing expression as she gave him a disgusted, I-should-have-known-better sort of look. Defensive, he sat up straight. “Hey, now! I was trying to help!” “Getting caught is not so much with the helpful, Spike,” Buffy reminded him. “Yeah. But the information I found out *before* I got caught,” he countered with a smug smile. “That, on the other hand…” “What do you know?” she asked him immediately, her demeanor all business now. Gone was the teasing, almost light-hearted banter she had engaged in at the door. Now, all she wanted was to find out how she could defeat Faith. “Well, she had this book. Ancient history of Slayers and techniques and such. But there’s this ritual in it…I had the pages…she kind of…well, she took them,” he admitted. Buffy dropped her head forward in an exaggerated sigh before meeting his eyes again in exasperation. “But I do remember most of it, pet,” he reassured her quickly. Suddenly, his own startlingly blue eyes grew serious as they gazed into hers. “And it’s not good. Not good at at all.” “So what does the ritual do?” Buffy asked, impatience creeping into her voice. The overdramatic thing could be kind of fun in the middle of a knock-down, drag out fight, but right now she just wanted him to get to the information. Spike looked at her for a moment before speaking slowly, “It’s a ritual to be done to increase a Slayer’s power. If she accomplishes it, it will pretty much make her unstoppable. She’d be stronger than any vampire…stronger than you, pet. No force on earth would be able to stop her.” “How?” Buffy asked, frowning with confusion. “How does the ritual work?” “Well, for one thing…she has to have help,” he went on, a note of caution in his voice as he held her gaze. He knew she was not going to like the rest of what he had to tell her. “The help of a vampire.” Buffy was silent, her frown deepening slightly as she waited for him to go on. “You see, pet…the ritual…is very similar to the process of…of *becoming* a vampire,” he explained. He paused again before going on slowly, “It requires her blood to be drained by a vampire, and then for her to take the vampire’s blood in return – all while under the influence of a particular spell.” Buffy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean – she’s going to let a vampire turn her?” “For all intents and purposes – yes,” Spike replied with a slow nod. “Except that’s the thing…with the spell and all…she’d still be the Slayer. And she’d have all the strengths of a vamp…but none of the weaknesses. As far as the killing and feeding and super strength – yeah, she’d be a vampire. But as far as the sunlight and holy water and stake through the heart…” He stopped and just shook his head. He paused suddenly, frowning. “Except,” he amended thoughtfully. “Stake through the heart would kill a Slayer, too, wouldn’it? So I guess that part would still apply.” Buffy was still trying to take it all in. “Well, I guess *that’s* of the good. She’d be stakeable.” She paused for a moment, her eyes wide as she thought about what he had just told her. “So she’s planning on turning into some uber-powerful vampire-Slayer hybrid thing?” she finally said, disbelief in her voice. “And she’d be nearly unstoppable? You’re right. There is nothing of the good in that.” She thought for a moment, then looked back at him suddenly. “Why would any vampire want to help her with that?” she asked, shaking her head a little with a puzzled frown. “I mean – she’s not just gonna be dangerous to humans. She’s gonna be able to wipe out anything in her path.” “No vamp in his right mind would help a Slayer get so bloody powerful,” Spike agreed with a nod, following her train of thought. “So – who’s the vamp who’s going to help her?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to puzzle it out. “If I’d heard about this from anyone else I’d have assumed it was you. But since you’re now at the top of her hit list…” Her voice trailed off. “Someone she’s got wrapped around her bloody finger, I’d wager,” he replied with disgust. “Most likely sweet-talked him with promises of sharing her power and bloody rot like that. My guess would be her secret partner – the one she’s been talking to on the phone,” Spike went on speculatively. He hesitated a moment before adding, “The one that killed your mum.” Buffy was quiet for a moment. “So it pretty much has to be that particular vamp,” she concluded. “She couldn’t convince anyone else to go through with it.” “Yeah, but you haven’t seen her at her worst, love,” he reminded her with a little grimace. “Faith can be seriously scary. She could pretty much ‘convince’ any vamp to do what she told him.” “But what’s to stop ‘any vamp’ from just draining her dry when it comes time for the ritual?” Buffy pointed out. “I mean, by the time he’d taken enough to turn her, there wouldn’t be much she could do about it.” Spike frowned. “Right,” he realized. “Well, then. It’d have to be someone she knew would go along with it. Someone she’d managed to convince that he had something to gain from the ritual.” “So we’re back to mystery phone guy,” Buffy nodded decisively. Her eyes darkened with hatred as she added. “The one who murdered my mother.” “The best option is to take out Faith,” Spike went on. “But that’s gonna be a little difficult, as surrounded as she always keeps herself. So option number two…” “Find her partner,” Buffy finished for him, her voice so full of malicious intent that it sent a chill down his spine, and made him very glad he had managed to convince her of his innocence. “And kill him. Before they can do the ritual.” Spike nodded slowly, watching her carefully. “How do you suggest we do that, exactly, love?” His voice was low and cautious, not wanting to say anything to redirect her anger in his direction. She looked up at him, a grim smile on her face. “I don’t know. But we’re going to.” She paused, before looking away and speaking again in determination. “And I’m going to kill him.”

Chapter #21 - Consolation

"This is completely unnecessary, Slayer! How can you not get it by now, I'm not going to try anything!" Spike was still objecting -- a little too loudly for Buffy's comfort, considering her sleeping friends upstairs who still had no idea about this most recent decision-they-were-going-to-hate -- as Buffy fastened the manacles she had used the other day around his wrists. "Right," she said dryly, raising her eyebrows speculatively. "This from the one who not two days ago tried to eat my friend. If you think I am letting you run loose all night in my house with my sister and my friends, you're insane, Spike! Just cause I don't want Faith to kill you doesn't mean I trust you." "I think *I'm* in more bloody danger from your *friend* than she is from..." Spike stopped short, giving her a curious look. "You don't want Faith to kill me?" Buffy looked a bit put on the spot, as she answered with a defensive note in her voice, "Well...I kind of need you. For now. Because...you...know stuff. About Faith." She quickly changed the subject as she ran the chain through the links of the manacles and ran it around the top right post of her bed. "If you *have* to chain me up, don't see why you couldn't do it in the living room. At least there's a soddin' couch to sleep on there!" he grumbled. "Hey. I'm being nice giving you all those blankets and pillows and stuff anyway," Buffy informed him, a little huffily. "I could have just made you sleep on the floor with nothing. It's not like you get cold, anyway." "I just don't see the point, love." Spike just wouldn't let it go. Struggling with her irritation, fighting not to just hit the infuriating vampire chained to her bed -- and that was *so* not something she was comfortable with! -- Buffy explained, slowly and clearly, as if to a small, stupid child. "One more time, Spike," she said in a too-patient voice. "I want you close to me." She deliberately ignored his raised eyebrows and the suggestive smirk on his face as she went on. "So that if you *do* try something...I'll be right there to stop you. There's no way you're gonna get out of those chains without waking me up, with them attached right to my bed." "You're too bloody paranoid, love. I couldn't take a soddin' six-year-old, the way I feel right now!" he informed her, startling her with his honesty. "Don't see why there's a perfectly good couch going to waste. I don't fancy waking up with an aching neck and back -- anymore than I've already got, that is." "Well, do you *fancy* waking up a big pile of dust, if Willow happens to wake up in the middle of the night and decide to stake first, ask questions later? Cause I *sure* don't wanna have to clean your dust out of my upholstery," Buffy snapped. "Oh, right, then," Spike shot back sarcastically. "In that case, now that I can see that your concern is only for my well-being, I don't mind at all sleeping on the bloody floor chained to your bed when there's a perfectly good couch going to waste!" Actually, if not for the floor part, Spike would not really have minded all that much. In fact, the sight of the pretty blonde Slayer in her thin cotton pajamas was almost worth the discomfort of sleeping chained up on the floor. And the fiery anger in her sparkling green eyes was, if he was honest with himself, quite a turn on, actually. "If you don't like it," Buffy smiled insincerely. "You can always go back and sleep in Faith's bed." Okay...not so much with the turn on. He did not really have an answer for that comment, so he just heaved an exagerrated sigh of annoyance and lay down, trying to relax as much as he could on the hard floor with his hands chained above his head to the base of the bedpost. He tried not to stare as Buffy finished getting ready for bed in stony silence, seemingly determined to ignore his presence completely for the rest of the night, now that she had had her say. That was probably a good thing, he thought. If she was ignoring him she could not notice the way he could not stop looking at her, or the desire rising in his eyes -- and other places -- at the sight of her. He knew that this particular situation, while considerably safer than being anywhere near Faith (due to Buffy's being *not* psychotic) was still a precarious one. He did not want to give the Slayer any reason to stake him, especially while he was in such a vulnerable position. A part of him was surprised that Buffy had not decided to stake him already, in spite of the alliance they had made. After all, he had already told her everything he knew about Faith's plans. What reason did she have to let him live now? Buffy was asking herself the same question. After all, regardless of the arrangement she had made with Spike, he *was* a vicious, soulless killer. She had only made the agreement in the first place so that she could find out who had killed her mother. Now that Faith had turned on him completely, Spike was not likely to be able to gain any more useful information for her. She was the Slayer, and her instincts were telling her that this creature should be dusted. So why could she not do it? The sympathy she had tried to fight off at his injuries when he had shown up at her door was now joined by an annoying sense of guilt, because despite her denial, she knew that he was right. He *had* been injured in trying to help *her*. Of course, he had only been helping her in the first place to serve his own interests. All he cared about was killing Faith, avenging Drusilla's death. And in that line of thought, she realized suddenly, lay the real reason that she could not dust him. Her mind went back again to his painful recount of what had befallen him and Drusilla upon their return to Sunnydale. She could still hear the ache of sorrow and loss in his voice, that painful emotion that so closely echoed her own. If Spike was nothing more than an evil thing, with no true human feelings, she wondered as she slid under the covers of her bed -- then why was he still so relentless in his pursuit of vengeance on the one who had killed his former lover? Why now, months later, did he still clearly mourn for Drusilla? Those were troubling questions, questions that challenged her entire worldview, and suddenly, Buffy was just too exhausted to think any more about them. She reminded herself that, despite the physical evidence to the contrary, Spike *was* an excellent fighter. his presence could prove to be helpful in coming up against such a strong opponent as Faith -- especially if she managed to pull off the ritual before they could stop her. With an actual valid reason for the allowed presence of the vampire on her bedroom floor firmly in place, Buffy felt a little better about her decision, and turned her back on Spike, determined to put it all out of her mind and go to sleep -- completely unaware that the vampire in question was watching her with barely concealed desire, as she drifted off to sleep. After a little while, the overwhelming weariness from his night's ordeal caught up with Spike, and he too drifted off into a fitful, restless sleep. He awoke in almost total darkness, to find himself standing in a room that was both familiar and strange at the same time. The only light came from a door at the far end of the room, open only a crack to allow a thin shaft of light to stream into the room, and his eyes followed its path, widening in shock at where the light led him. He could see her, only a few feet from where he stood, shrouded in shadow, her luminous dark eyes gleaming in the faint light from the doorway. She was in chains, bound to the wall behind her. Drusilla. He had the feeling that he should know where they were, what was happening, and yet he could not make his mind process it. Though he was unclear as to exactly what was going on, he had the distinct feeling that they were both in terrible danger. He tried to move forward to go to her, and found that he was chained as well. His sense of foreboding, a prickling feeling of fear at the back of his neck, increased at the realization that he could not get to her. Drusilla, for her part, was not afraid, her dark, entrancing eyes dancing with mirth. She was laughing. “Dru!” he called to her, trying to get her attention, to get her to see the gravity of their situation. “Love, we have to get out of here!” She shook her head at him, wagging a finger at him reprovingly in spite of the chains that held her wrists. “Not yet, my Spike,” she said. “You can’t leave the party yet. The guest of honor’s only just arrived.” At that moment, the door to the room was flung open, flooding the room with blinding light. Spike could not make out the figure that swept across the room toward his Dark Princess, his eyes struggling to adjust to the painful brightness, but terror seized him at her entrance, and he knew in an instant that she was the Slayer, and that she brought with her the destruction of all that was dear to him. And then, Dru’s maniacal laughter turned to screams of terror. As Spike’s vision began to clear, his eyes came to focus on one thing – the deadly, wickedly sharp stake raised in the Slayer’s hand, poised over Drusilla’s chest. “*Dru!*” he screamed, in desperate anguish, straining against the chains that held him, madly struggling to get to her, to help her – in vain. Dru was staring into the face of her attacker, her dark eyes wide with fear – but also with rising understanding. Suddenly, her head whipped around and those piercing eyes found his, full of betrayal and accusation. “Spike,” she whispered, and the surprised hurt in her voice sent a stab of guilt and pain through his heart. “How could you?” She paused, shaking her head a little in shocked disbelief. “Not mine,” she murmured softly, still holding his gaze – for the last time. “Not anymore.” Those simple words smote him with a terrible sense of shame, though he was unsure of exactly what his offense was – only that it was an unspeakable betrayal of her love. And in that instant, the Slayer brought her stake down, plunging it through the heart of the only woman he had ever loved, leaving of her nothing but precious memories and ashes that drifted to the floor. “*No!*” he sobbed out in agony, and would have collapsed to the floor, his legs unable to support him, if not for the chains that held him to the wall. By this point, he knew who the Slayer was, who had destroyed his beloved, though he could only see her face in his mind. Dark, penetrating eyes that gleamed with pleasure at the anguish she caused, raven-black hair falling loose and wild about her face… The darkness drifted back down around him, as the Slayer turned and slowly approached him. Overwhelmed with pain, and a sudden sense of dread at her slow advance, he turned his head away from her, refusing to look at her as she drew near enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her body, hear the soft sound of her heaving breaths, smell the arousal awakened in her by the slaying…or by him… Hands that were gentle but strong as steel touched his shoulders, and he shrank back instinctively as she moved in close to whisper in his ear. “Look at me.” He refused, his eyes closed tight, deep sobs of grief rising in his throat. “Look at me, Spike,” she repeated, more insistently, her voice still soft, as she leaned a fraction closer, her warm breath a gentle brush against his ear, “Move on with me.” The cryptic words struck something deep inside of him, and he turned his head slowly toward her, his eyes still down, something in him afraid to face her, this cruel, merciless creature who had already wrought such devastation in his world, and held the power to decimate what was left of it with a single blow. “Look,” she repeated, her voice a gentle whisper. And he finally obeyed, looking up in surprise at the startlingly kind, tear-filled eyes that gazed at him with a soft, sympathetic smile. The vicious, heartless image in his mind had been replaced by the visage of an angel. Shining golden hair, over sparkling emerald eyes, set in the most beautiful face he had ever seen, that seemed to shine from within with some inner light. And her eyes were not cruel and hard as he had imagined, but full of love and compassion that he had never seen – not for him – in any eyes before. Not even Dru’s. *Dru.* The image of her accusing eyes, in the moment before her death, struck him suddenly, with a fresh wave of guilt. He was betraying her, with his desire for and fascination with the golden goddess before him. “No,” he protested, his voice coming out in a soft whimper of confusion and pain, as he turned his head away again. “No…no…I can’t…I can’t betray her…I’m sorry…I’m sorry, Dru…I’m sorry…” Buffy was roused from her light, uneasy sleep by the soft sobbing sounds of the vampire on the floor beside her. She looked up sleepily, trying to focus on him, wondering with some annoyance what was going on. *Stupid annoying vampire,* she thought. *Even when he’s sleeping he has to get on my nerves!* “Dru…Dru, I’m sorry, love…” Her heart skipped a beat, with a sudden pang at the words, and the heart-rending sorrow in his voice. In spite of herself, she felt her eyes well with tears of compassion for the hurting creature she had thought that she hated. Without thinking, she got up from the bed. “Spike,” she whispered. “Spike, wake up,” she urged him gently as she crouched beside him, her hands gently shaking his shoulders. “Look at me, Spike…come on, it’s just a dream…” He did not respond in any way, too deep in the dream and his inner torment to hear her attempts at comfort. “Spike!” she repeated urgently, her hand instinctively reaching up for his and squeezing it gently. “Come on, Spike, wake up!” He did not wake up. But he did squeeze her hand back, so tightly that it would have hurt badly had she not been the Slayer. As it was, it was terribly uncomfortable. But he seemed to find some reassurance in the contact, because the pitiful sobbing whimpers began to fade away, and he seemed to find some measure of peace. Once he had quieted, Buffy began to pull her hand away and go back to her bed. Spike’s hand gripped hers, in his sleep, pulling her back, with a soft little pleading, wordless cry, and it stopped her in her tracks. *This is ridiculous, Buffy,* she told herself. *He’s a vampire. Just pull away from him and go to bed. He’ll be fine. It’s not like he has any *real* feelings, anyway.* But in her heart, she knew that was not true. She knelt there for a moment, unsure what to do. She wanted to go to bed, but she could not bring herself to pull out of his desperate grip on her hand. In the end, Buffy reached up and over him to her bed to pull her comforter down onto the floor…where she spent the rest of the night, the hand of her vampire prisoner held firmly in her own.

Chapter #22 - The Morning After

Buffy's right arm was asleep. That was the first thing she thought upon waking. That -- and that her back and neck hurt. In fact, she ached all over. She had not expected the floor to be *this* uncomfortable. Suddenly her eyes opened wide with surprise. Why was she on the floor, anyway? She pushed her blanket back with her free hand and leaned up a little, glancing around, a bit disoriented. Suddenly she remembered the events that had brought her here, and at the same time became aware of the cause of the numb, tingling sensation in her arm. At some point during the night, her hand had slipped from Spike's to rest more comfortably at her side. She realized with an awkward sense of guilt that the position she had made him sleep in, with his hands over his head, was quite uncomfortable -- and Spike did not have the option of shifting his position, as she had done. He had however, at some point, nestled closer to her in his sleep, drawn instinctively to the warmth and softness of her body -- a great deal of his weight now resting on her arm. She glanced at the clock quickly. It was a little after seven. Everyone would be waking up soon, as Willow and Xander both had daytime jobs -- as did everyone in Sunnydale, since the nights had been stolen from them. She wondered anxiously if the vampire, oblivious now to the fact that he was resting literally in the Slayer's arms, had awakened at any point during the night, to find her on the floor with him. At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do, the only thing to do under the circumstances -- to provide the physical comfort that Spike needed in the midst of his haunting nightmares. Now, she just wanted to get up and away from him before he woke up and realized what she had done. She felt her face flush with embarrassment at the softness that she, the *Slayer*, had shown toward the soulless vampire, and it was suddenly very important to her that he never know about it. Come to think of it, she did not think that *he* would be too pleased, either, to realize that he had needed such comfort -- and that he had accepted it from *her*. She gazed down for a moment at the sleeping form of the master vampire. His platinum hair fairly glowed in the faint light that filtered in through the drawn curtains, and his face was peaceful…almost…innocent…in sleep. *Innocent. Hah.* She needed to get up. Now. She tried again, slowly and cautiously, to pull her arm out from under Spike's body while somehow managing not to wake him. If she could just make it back to her bed – or at least a few feet away from him – before he awakened, then he would never have to know anything about this. Spike, like any creature accustomed to being constantly in peril for his very life, was a very light sleeper. At her movement he instantly awakened, momentarily forgetting where he was and the fact that he was bound, and jerking against the chains at his wrists, as he instinctively tried to pull as far away from the unexpected presence at his side as he could, panicked and disoriented. "Spike!" she said urgently, trying to calm him, reaching for his shoulders to still him long enough to allow him to actually see her. "Stop it, Spike! Spike, it's just me!" The sound of her voice seemed to snap him out of the remnants of whatever dream terror had followed him into the edges of wakefulness, and he finally stopped fighting her, looking up at her with eyes wide with fear and confusion as they settled on her face. As recognition began to dawn in his gaze, Buffy found herself startled by the intense blue of his eyes, that she had never noticed before. *He's actually kind of...* she began to admit in her mind, and then suddenly stopped herself abruptly, her eyes widening at the realization of the words that had almost formed in her mind. *No! Evil, soulless vampires are *not* cute -- not hot -- not breathtakingly gorgeous, and -- *No!* Stop it, Buffy! Bad!* she ordered herself again sternly, trying to focus on the situation at hand, and not the mesmerizing gaze of the vampire staring into her eyes. The fear and confusion had faded from Spike's eyes, as the cloud of sleep left him, and he remembered the events of the night before that had led him to this place. *Right...the Slayer's house...bloody bint couldn't go to sleep in peace without chaining me up,* he remembered with brief annoyance at the recollection of their argument the night before. She'd left him chained up on the floor without a second thought and gone to sleep in her nice, warm bed... He frowned as a question occurred to him. So why was she...? His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he continued to hold her gaze, studying her intently. The Slayer was on her hands and knees on the floor, hovering anxiously over him, trying to be sure that he was done with his little freak-out. Her hair was disheveled from sleep... and her bedspread was on the floor beside her. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that she had… "What the bleedin' hell are you doing, Slayer?" he demanded, his eyes wary, his eyebrows raised as he waited expectantly for her response. *This had better be bloody good!* "I -- you..." Buffy stammered, a strangely guilty expression coming over her face, her emerald eyes wide and trapped as she obviously struggled to come up with a suitable answer. "You -- were having a nightmare," she admitted finally. "You woke me up with all your yelling and moaning and stuff. I was trying to wake you up." There was a certain about of resentment and derision in her tone; after all, she couldn’t allow him to think that she actually *cared*. She told him most of the truth; she only left out the part where she had failed to wake him and instead just cuddled him through the nightmare, ending up spending the entire night at his side. She also left out the fact that her attempt to wake him had been hours earlier, and in no way accounted for her presence on the floor *now*. The image that her words painted in his head was a most embarrassing one; the memory of his vivid nightmare flashed across his mind, and he cringed inwardly. He hated the idea of appearing that vulnerable in front of this Slayer. "I was not!" he argued defensively. "Yelling and moaning and such. You're bloody making that up, Slayer!" "No I'm not!” Buffy was indignant. He just had to challenge the part of her story that was actually *true*! “You were too!" "Was not!" "Were too!" "What I wanna know," Spike demanded suddenly, seeing the futility of that path of discussion, "is why you're down here practically on top of me while I'm sleeping and chained up and helpless! Got an explanation for that, Slayer?" "Oh…please!" Buffy scoffed, but her voice was trembling and sputtering and a little too defensive. "Like I'm going to be sneaking around, just looking for my chance to…to *violate* you in your sleep!" she sneered. "Get over yourself, Spike!" Spike's eyebrows raised pointedly, and his slightly surprised expression made her heart sink. "I was thinking more along the lines of your staking me in my sleep, love," he informed her, his mocking tone making her flush red with embarrassment. He gave a little half shrug, as if considering her words as he went on, "But…since that's where *your* mind seems to be focused...you *are* the one who insisted on chaining me to your bed!" "I did not chain you to my *bed*!" Buffy hissed, her voice a loud whisper lest anyone who was already awake and getting ready for the day in the next rooms might happen by in the hallway and hear this utterly humiliating conversation. Spike laughed in disbelief, making no effort whatsoever to be quiet about it, and nodded toward his wrists, still fastened firmly above his head to the bedpost. "Looks to me like you did, pet." He shrugged casually. "Might have slipped your mind while you were trying to decide how best to make use of me!" he went on with a smug grin, his tongue flickering out in a suggestive gesture that made her heartbeat quicken. With anger! she told herself indignantly, trying to build up a good sense of outrage at his suggestion. Nothing else! Her racing heart and the little flutter low in her stomach had absolutely nothing to do with that little gesture of his...or the thought of "making use" of Spike... No! It was just sheer, furious anger at the thought that he would have the *nerve* to think that *she* would *ever* want to.... Oh, God. She didn't...did she? "You're a pig, Spike," she snapped angrily, unable to disguise the little tremble in her voice, as she stood up and moved away from him. Suddenly she was beginning to think that it was a very bad idea to continue to be down on the floor with him. "You are so disgusting!" "Yeah," he sneered. "I'm so repulsive that the very thought of me is making you hot right now!" There was a smug triumph in his voice, a surety in his piercing eyes that seemed to look straight through her, and sent a pleasant little shudder all through her body and.... And suddenly, she remembered what she had learned about vampires' senses, how acute was their hearing, vision...their sense of smell... *Ugh,* was her first thought. Followed immediately by *Oh, God.* As she saw the slow, knowing smirk spread across his face as he gave her an innocently questioning look, she was glad for the dim lighting which might serve to mask her hot flush of mortification at the fact that he *knew* beyond all doubt that he was right. "Get over yourself, Spike," she repeated, aware that she had already said that, making it a weak response at best. But considering that she had barely been able to manage a response at all, she did not think she was doing all that bad. Then she recovered enough to add, her tone a little bolder, putting on a smirk of her own, "The only thing about you that gets me hot is the thought of finally staking you, and making my life a whole lot simpler." But her words lacked the impact of an actual threat, and they both knew that she would not actually do it...not at this point in the game...not unless she had to. She strode purposefully toward the door, glancing at her clock again. "Seven thirty," she announced. "Time to go make sure the rest of the house is up so they can all yell at me at once for letting you live...and then try to convince them not to stake you themselves," she told him with a tight, grim smile. She was not looking forward to this conversation. Spike’s eyes suddenly widened at her words, in very real fear, the smug smile vanishing in an instant. "Wait just a second, Slayer! Let me out of these chains first!" he demanded, his voice rising a little with urgency. "Why should I?" she asked him, her eyes sparkling with malicious mirth. It felt good to have at least a *little* power, after the way he had relished making *her* squirm for the past half-hour. Her eyes narrowed and her smile turned slightly suggestive as she added, "Maybe I like you there." Two could play his little game. "And what if one of your little friends decides to get stake happy before you can explain everything?" he asked her, and he was clearly not playing at the moment. He was genuinely afraid. "I ought to be able to defend myself!" Buffy raised her eyebrows in mild disbelief and let out a soft snort of laughter. "Yeah," she said sarcastically. "I'm gonna let the vampire free so that if one of my little *human* friends comes at him with a stake, he can rip their arms off in *self-defense!*" Spike could understand that she saw him as a much bigger threat than her friends, and did not have any intention of giving him the opportunity to hurt them, but he could just picture the little witch rushing into the room in a fury and staking him before Buffy could stop her. It was not a pleasant picture. "Buffy..." he insisted, his voice softer, almost pleading, "They hate me." "They deserve to," she countered, her voice colder than it had been during the whole conversation, as she met his eyes, daring him to contradict her. He did not. Buffy stood there for a moment, considering. She honestly thought that her friends would better accept Spike's presence, at least at first, if they felt like he was rendered completely harmless and absolutely could not hurt them. In fact, part of her reasoning for not taking the chains off yet was for *his* safety. Yet, in spite of herself, she could understand his fear. She had not forgotten the look on Willow’s face that night, either. "I won't let them stake you, Spike," she told him softly, firmly. “I promise.” He paused, searching her eyes intently for a moment before looking away in resignation and replying flatly, "And I'm just supposed to trust you. With my life." Her eyes met his again in a question, and she commented quietly, "I thought you were *already* doing that." And with those words, she left the room to go find her friends.

Chapter #23 - Coming Clean

Faith was in an utterly foul mood. Moreso than usual. She had had a miserable day the day before, having her suspicions about Spike's unfaithful loyalties confirmed, and then losing him completely when he had managed to escape her. She had been denied even the satisfaction of punishing him for his treachery. And she had had so many fun ideas, too, she pouted. At the time, unable to pursue him because of her own injuries, she had told herself that it did not matter. He could not get far, and her minions would find him soon enough. Now, however, she was starting to feel otherwise. For all the utter reckless abandon with which she seemed to live her life, she was terribly paranoid and afraid, almost all the time, of falling victim to some unexpected attack, most likely from someone she had begun to trust. Therefore, she liked to know that those around her were under her power. Variables outside her control made her nervous. Spike had become a variable outside her control. She picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. "Hello?" "It's me," Faith said shortly, aware that she would need no further introduction to the person she was speaking to. "Listen. We've got a problem." Her silent partner listened as she explained the events of the night before, recoundint how she had caught Spike going through her things, and what he must have discovered, judging from the crumpled papers she had retrieved from his pocket, which she now held in her hand. "That could be a big problem." Her partner's voice was very unhappy. "Yeah," Faith replied dryly. "No kidding, genius." Her tone brightened a little as she added, "But no worries, Sugar. I have an idea. I think it's time you paid our golden girl a little visit? Don't you? I bet she's really missing you right about now." There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. "What? Don't you wanna go see your girl?" Faith's voice was innocently mocking. "Well...yes," he admitted. "I can't think of anything that would bring me more pleasure." There was a malicious glee in his low voice. "But -- how should I explain my just suddenly turning up at her door?" "Not a problem," Faith's tone was smug and sure. "I've got it all worked out. Now here's what you need to tell her..." "Morning, Will!" Buffy's voice was a little too bright as she met her friend at the doorway to her bedroom, just as Willow was on her way to the bathroom. "How are you feeling?" Willow's sleepy eyes narrowed on her friend's innocent, hopeful smile, and her forehead crinkled slightly in a frown. "Tired," she replied. "Confused. A little suspicious," she admitted. "What's up, Buffy? What's going on?" She was *that* obvious already? She was totally screwed. "Um, Will," buffy said, hesitantly, looking away from Willow's penetrating gaze. "I -- I need to talk to you about something..." *There is absolutely no way I'm going to be able to find a way to tell her...* Suddenly, a shrill little scream sounded from down the hall and around the corner, where Buffy's room was located. A moment later Dawn rounded the corner, wide-eyed and shaking. "Buffy," she began in a voice that was timid and hesitant, and still trembling slightly. "Why is there a half-naked vampire chained to your bed?" *That oughta get it done,* Buffy thought with a sigh of grim resignation, wondering desperately why Faith could not have decided to try to kill Spike at some time when he was wearing more than just a pair of jeans. Slowly, anxiously, she raised her eyes to meet the rising anger and realization in Willow's glittering green eyes. At just that moment, a bright-eyed, smiling Xander stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist -- then stepped back quickly in surprise at the sight of the three girls gathered in the hallway just outside the door. "Oh! Um...hey, guys..." he mumbled sheepishly, blushing visibly. "I'll just, um...go find some...clothes." He started to move awkwardly past them down the hall, then stopped when he noticed the tension that surrounded his friends. "Is...um...is something wrong?" he finally ventured to ask. "Nope. Everything's just fine," Willow replied with a bright smile to rival that one that had just faded from Buffy's face. As she spoke, she took out the stake she always carried with her now, even when she was sleeping, and started purposefully toward Buffy's bedroom door. Just as Spike had feared. Buffy was stunned for a moment by the immediate violence of Willow's reaction, but then sprang into action, quickly catching up with her friend just at the door to her room, grabbing her raised arm and spinning her around to face her. Willow's eyes widened, startled that Buffy had actually physically moved to stop her, an outraged accusation in her eyes. "Buffy, why is he here?" she demanded furiously, pointing a trembling finger through the open doorway at Spike, who was now sitting up as best he could with the cuffs around his wrists, watching the tense scene warily, his eyes wide and more than a little fearful. "Will...calm down," Buffy said, keeping her voice calm and quiet. "Just calm down and let me explain." "Calm *down*?" Willow's voice rose even higher, with her anger. "That's a *murderer* in there, Buffy! He *killed* the man I was in love with, and you're telling me to calm down about the fact that he's in your bedroom?" "It's...not like that," Buffy replied softly, haltingly, feeling a flush of shame creep up her cheeks. She was telling the truth...and yet, she had the strange feeling that in a way, she was not. "Now, just a second, here," Xander broke in, coming to stand between them, holding up one hand in a gesture to halt them, his other hand holding his towel closed. "Will -- Buffy's right..." Willow turned a disbelieving look on him, incredulous, before he went on firmly, "She *does* deserve a chance to explain. Now...Spike seems to be chained up pretty securely -- even if it *is* to Buffy's bed for reasons I do not want to attempt to comprehend..." His raised eyebrows and speculative tone told Buffy that he was not completely without his own suspicions. "So he won't be hurting anyone in the very near future. Okay? So let's everybody just chill out." He paused for a moment, looking between them carefully, releasing a deep breath when neither girl said a word or made any move toward the other. "Now, why don't you guys just go downstairs to the living room. I'll, um...put some clothes on," he said with a small, nervous laugh at the awkward situation he was still in, "and when I come down -- we can talk about this. Okay?" Once again, Xander was proving to be the voice of reason and fairness in a very volatile situation. Buffy was grateful that he was willing to actually hear her out before he started making judgments, unlike Willow, who seemed to be extra-judgey lately, she thought with no small resentment. She just hoped that Xander's non-judgeyness would continue *after* he heard her explanation. "And don't start without me," Xander ordered with mild sarcasm as the girls headed down the stairs, considerably more subdued. "I wouldn't wanna miss this or anything." He paused before adding, "And I don't want you two to kill each other while I'm not there to stop you." It occurred to him with a shudder as he returned to his bedroom, that if the Slayer and the increasingly powerful young witch really wanted to kill each other, there would be nothing he could do to stop them. Fortunately, that did not seem to occur to either of them, as they obediently made their way down the stairs and to the livign room to wait for him. By the time he joined them ten minutes later, in a clean, dry t-shirt and a comfortable pair of jeans, his hair still damp from the shower, both girls seemed to have calmed down quite a bit. They were seated on opposite ends of the sofa, each wearing her own sullen expression. Dawn -- who had not been upset to begin with, once the initial shock of the whole "half-naked vampire chained to her big sister's bed" thing wore off, was eyeing them warily from the armchair across from the sofa. Xander sat down on the edge of the coffee table, facing his friends and drawing in a deep breath. "Okay. Buffy," he began in a carefully even, calm voice, looking at her expectantly. "Why is Spike chained to your bed?" Dawn made a little clearing sound in her throat, and he sighed, looking down for a moment, before adding, "While not fully dressed?" His tone was even and patient, like a schoolteacher speaking to a child. Buffy had the insane and utterly terrible urge to laugh out loud. "God, why is everybody making such a big deal about the whole shirtless thing?" she demanded in frustration. "It is *so* not a big deal! That's how he was when he got here! And he is *not* chained to my bed! He's chained to the bedpost, on the *floor*!" she corrected emphatically. "You guys make it sound like some weird, kinky...vampire bondage...fetish...thing," she finished the awkward statement -- awkwardly -- distracted suddenly by the mental image of a kinky vampire bondage fetish thing involving Spike. Quickly she forced her wide eyes back to Xander. "Which...it's so...not!" she informed them all, a note of defensiveness in her voice. "He came here because he found out about something that Faith is planning. Something *really* big," she told them, a little calmer, and felt gratified and relieved when their attention was diverted from the vampire upstairs to the much more important -- and less humiliating topic of Faith's evil scheme. Quickly, she filled them in on exactly what Spike had found out. "We *so* need Giles right about now!" Buffy added at the end of her account, with a heavy sigh. The others were quiet, still taking it all in. Xander nodded his agreement. "That still doesn't explain why he's chained to your bed. Post," Willow amended with an irritated roll of her eyes before Buffy could object. "Well," Buffy began with a slight grimace. "he kind of...got caught. Taking the information. Faith tried to kill him, and he barely got away." "So he came *here*?" Willow's voice was incredulous. "He expects *us* to protect him?" "He must be *really* short in the friends department at the moment," Xander shook his head with a short humorless laugh of disbelief. "He expects *me* to protect him," Buffy amended Willow's comment calmly, a firm resolve in her voice. "In exchange for his help." "What help?" Willow asked in exasperation. "He can't find out anything else. He got caught," she pointed out. "He's an experienced fighter," Buffy replied immediately, hoping it didn't show that she had thought out this explanation carefully the night before. "He's almost beaten me many times. And he knows Faith's operation inside and out. He can tell me how she's gonna react -- help me anticipate her next move." She paused, then went on, encouraged a little by their silence. "He can be useful to us. We have to take Faith down. And it that means working with Spike to get it done -- that's just what we'll have to do." There was a short silence before Xander finally spoke. "As much as I hate to admit it -- because you know I hate Spike as much as you do, Will..." He turned apologetic eyes on his friend. "...she's right. If she's going up against another Slayer -- a very dangerous, psychotic one at that -- it might be a good idea to do it with someone else to back her up -- someone who can fight and wants to take Faith out as much as she does." Despite her hatred for the vampire upstairs, and her overwhelming desire to just go up there and stake him right then and there, Willow had to admit that Buffy did have a point. She did not admit it. She did not say a word. But her silence was her grudging consent. "I didn't want you guys to not be safe," Buffy went on quietly. "That's why he's chained up in my room. I wanted him where I would know if he tried to get loose or anything. As long as we're working with him, I promise, he's either gonna be with me, or chained up," Buffy assured them. *Or both,* a wicked little voice in her head suggested, a voice that sounded surprisingly like the low, seductive voice Spike had used with her earlier. *No!* Buffy emphatically told herself. *There will be no fantasizing about the gorgeous vampire chained up in your bedroom!* And she managed to stick to that resolve. For about ten minutes. Once Willow and Xander left for work, Buffy let Spike free of his chains, and the two of them sat down to do some strategizing. She thought it was best to wait until her friends left, for the safety of all concerned. While they had grudgingly accepted her decision, she knew that it would not be wise to push things by forcing them to interact with Spike when they did not have to. Dawn seemed very uncomfortable around the vampire, despite the chains, and his battered appearance, and kept to her room once Buffy unchained him -- with the warning that if he so much as *looked* at her sister she would rip his heart out with her bare hands and stake him with a toothpick before his very eyes. Slowly. By the time afternoon rolled around, they were simply waiting for darkness to fall. It had been decided that Spike would accompany her on her evening patrol. It could only be of the good to have *two* excellent fighters instead of one, Buffy thought. All they had managed to come up with that day was a list of the vamps that Faith had had working for her, whom Joyce might have known and invited in, unaware that they were no longer the people that she had known. Buffy was shocked by the number of people she had known -- teachers, fellow students, friends of her mother -- that had been turned under Faith's reign of terror. "So much death and destruction," Buffy said quietly, a troubled frown on her face as she shook her head slowly. "So many friends -- gone." Spike said nothing, just nodded slowly in acknowledgement of her pain. Her eyes were suddenly fixed on him, accusing. "And you helped her." "I only helped her in order to destroy her, love. I was never really on her side," Spike reminded her calmly, not raising his voice or becoming defensive. "I only did it to get close enough to hurt her." "And all the time -- you just *watched* her kill all those people, or have them killed..." "I couldn't have bloody stopped her, pet," he broke in. "She's got a lot of vamps that *are* on her side -- and I'm sorry, but all of them against one of me didn't sound terribly pleasant, love." Buffy could not argue with that, though she had her doubts as to whether or not he would have cared to help Faith's victims, had the odds been stacked more in his favor. She was silent for a moment, looking away in thought, before she glared back at him sharply, her eyes angry. "And Oz?" He suddenly understood where this was going, with a very uncomfortable feeling. She was looking for something to blame him for -- some reason not to trust him, to break the fragile, tentative alliance that they had formed, though he had no idea why she had to look for a reason to mistrust him. As if being mortal enemies was not enough. "Look, pet," he spoke up suddenly, just a slight edge to his voice at last, his tone expressing much more courage than he actually felt. "If you don't want to do this, I'll just be on my merry way. Take the chit on by yourself. Won't bother me. I'll be on the road out of Sunnyhell for good." He shrugged, trying not to let her see how much it *did* bother him. He knew that if he walked out that door alone, he would not last ten minutes. He could try to make it out of town once and for all -- but he would never make it to the city limits. Buffy stared at him for a long moment. The truth was, she knew that she needed him, as much as she hated to admit it. What she really wanted was not to blame him, but to find some reason not to -- some explanation for the offenses that made her friends despise him so much. And the reason why she wanted so badly to be able to absolve him of guilt was troubling to her in and of itself. No...she most definitely did not want him to leave. She had just opened her mouth to respond to his challenge -- clearly a bluff, as he had nowhere else to go -- when the doorbell rang. She sighed as she rose to answer it. "*That's* never good," she muttered as she neared the door, reaching for the stake in her back pocket automatically. She opened the door, thinking that it was really a little early for Faith and her gang to be out in force, and actually a little grateful for the distraction from her troubling thoughts. And then all thought flew away in a moment of mingled shock, joy -- and an incredible sense of utter relief -- as her breath escaped her in a single whispered word. "*Giles!*"

Chapter #24 - Scheming

Buffy stood frozen in the doorway for a long moment, staring in disbelief at the very person she had been longing for that very day -- the one who had loved her and guided her, so much more than her natural father ever had -- the one whose very presence here at her door made her suddenly feel so much safer -- like now that he was here, she could be sure that in the end, everything would be all right. She could face anything now. Her Watcher had returned. He just stared back at her for a long moment, before his eyes welled with tears and he moved quickly forward through the doorway to take her into his arms, enfolding her in a trembling embrace. "Giles!" she sobbed, surprised as much by the tears of joy and relief that suddenly overwhelmed her as she had been by his tears. "Oh, God, Giles, I'm so glad you're here!" "Buffy..." he whispered, one hand lifting to rest gently at the back of her head in a gesture that was nothing if not fatherly. "Buffy...I need to breathe..." Immediately Buffy drew back, laughing through her tears. Some things never changed. "Oh my God," she gasped, shaking her head, wiping quickly at her tears. She babbled on as Giles released her and walked past her into the living room. "I didn't think I'd be able to find you! How did you know? I mean...oh, just come in here and tell me all about..." Her words suddenly cut off as Giles crossed the room in an instant, gripping the throat of the vampire sitting on the sofa and shoving him back against it, taking out a stake with his free hand. "Giles, no!" Buffy yelled, hurrying forward to stop him. Before she could reach them, however, Spike had changed into his game face with a vicious snarl, easily shoving the older man away from him, sending him staggering a few steps backward, menace blazing from his glittering golden eyes. Buffy stopped Giles just as he was about to move forward again, pulling him back and taking the stake from his hand. "Giles, wait," she told him firmly, stepping past him to turn her attention to the furious master vampire, facing her with defiance in his eyes, his entire body trembling with barely controlled rage. "Spike," she said slowly, a note of warning in her calm, even voice as she shifted the stake in her hand to get a better grip on it, without even realizing she was doing it. "Calm down. Okay? He was just...um...surprised to see you here." *Understatement of the century.* "The bloody git just tried to stake me, Slayer!" Spike spat out, his eyes still blazing with fury, as he took an angry step toward the Watcher. "Don't bloody tell me to calm down!" Giles eyes narrowed in anger at the unspoken threat, and he advanced again as well, retrieving a second stake that he had concealed in his inside coat pocket. In response, Spike bared his fangs and stepped aggressively toward the man, ready to attack. The Slayer stepped firmly between them, holding out both hands and commanding sharply in a voice of unquestionable authority, "*Stop*!" She was a little surprised when they both immediately complied, halting in their tracks at the single word, but still glaring at each other over her head. Reassured that she had at least a little of their attention, she went on slowly, emphatically, "The next one who moves a hand...or a fang...or any other part of his body toward the other...will *lose* that part. Is that clear?" She looked closely at each of them in turn, her eyes blazing with a fire of angry determination that told them that she was dead serious. Giles released a deep breath and nodded slowly, taking a deliberate step back. Spike grudgingly did the same, shooting the Watcher another vicious glare before looking away sullenly. "Okay," Buffy said, her own voice softer now, a little optimistic. "This is good. Everybody needs to just calm down. Giles, we'll explain everything...just no more attempts to kill each other. Okay?" Giles gave her a long, searching look, obviously very confused by the accepted presence of the vampire in her house, before nodding again slowly. "Your weapon," Buffy said firmly, holding out her hand and giving him an expectant, no-nonsense sort of look. His eyes never leaving hers, he placed the stake in her hand. Buffy turned to Spike, who was glaring at Giles again, still in game face. "Yours, too," she told him pointedly. "Like bleedin' hell..." he began slowly with a disbelieving sneer. "Spike." Her voice was low and held the beginnings of a threat. "*Now.*" He just glared at her for a moment longer, fury and frustration raging in those unearthly golden eyes, and for a terrible moment she thought he was going to refuse. Much to her relief, he finally relented and shifted back to his human guise with a sigh of resignation. "Thank you," Buffy said softly, trying with her piercing gaze to get him to look at her again. She felt an unexpected rush of sympathy at the look in his eyes when he finally did, much easier to interpret on his expressive human features. The demon's scowl had revealed his anger at being threatened yet again, but those impossibly blue eyes glaring resentfully at her revealed his pain and fear -- and utter weariness of feeling both. He finally spoke, his voice low his words measured, as he struggled to control his temper, his eyes focused on the floor at her feet. "I am bloody well sick to death of all you bloody humans trying to stake me, or beat me senseless, or push me around..." His voice was trembling with emotion as he spat out the words, and Buffy could tell that he was getting himself worked up again. "...and I swear, Slayer, the next soddin' human who tries to bloody *touch* me..." His declaration came to an abrupt stop when he felt the touch of strong but gentle hands on his arms. “Spike,” Buffy said quietly but firmly. “Let’s just sit down and explain everything. Okay? No one’s trying to hurt you right now. All right?” Buffy did not notice the odd look her Watcher was giving her behind her back, frowning slightly at the kindness Buffy was showing to this vampire who had once been her greatest enemy. “Yeah,” Spike muttered resentfully, still refusing to look at her, though somewhat calmer now. “How long’s *that* going to last?” Buffy felt a slight irritation mingling with her genuine sympathy for him. He was behaving like a petulant child. “Look, you’d be a little freaked out, too,” she reminded him, stepping back and crossing her arms over her chest, giving up her attempt to soothe him. “Since the last time he saw you was when you and Angelus were torturing him!” “Correction, pet,” Spike shot back. “Angelus was torturing him. I saved his bloody life, whether either of you ever knew it or not! And he repays me by trying to stake me! Well, I’ll tell you this, love, if he so much as…” “Spike.” Her voice was flat, exagerratedly patient. “Sit. Down.” There was a moment’s silence, in which no one moved or spoke, before Spike finally sighed in defeat, and dropped down onto the sofa. Once he was seated, Giles warily took a seat in the armchair across from him, never taking his eyes from the still-very-angry vampire. “Okay,” Buffy began, not feeling safe to sit down herself just yet. “Giles. Spike is fighting on *our* side. At the moment.” She proceeded to explain to him all that had happened while he had been gone, but was interrupted twice for excited, tearful reunions, when Willow, and then Xander, arrived home to find Giles there. Somehow, eventually, she managed to get through the whole story. “I knew that something was wrong,” Giles admitted. “When I overheard the Council’s secretary talking to you, and telling you I wasn’t there. So, naturally…” He paused, with a calm smile, “I took the necessary measures to return as quickly as possible.” “How did you get here so fast?” Buffy asked. “I mean – I only called yesterday.” Giles hesitated a moment, a puzzled look on his face, but before he could speak, Xander raised a hand slowly, a sheepish smile on his face. “I – kind of called the Council before you did, Buffy,” he admitted with a little shrug. “As soon as you got back, actually. I knew you’d need Giles here.” Buffy felt a warm rush of affection for him, and flashed him a grateful smile. “Erm, yes,” Giles went on, a slightly uncomfortable smile on his face. “I suppose it could have been Xander the secretary was speaking to. I only knew that you had returned to the Hellmouth.” The look in his eyes sent a warm feeling through her heart, telling her plainly how pleased and proud of her he was that she had returned. The disappointment that she had left in the first place seemed to be eclipsed by his joy to see her after all this time. Giles had never been overly expressive with his emotions – but his eyes said it all. His smile faded a bit into a little grimace as he added in a dry tone, “It took longer than I had hoped to get here, actually. Human smuggling rings are not the most expedient method of travel.” Buffy could not completely stifle the giggles that rose in her throat at the thought of Giles being smuggled into the country in the back of a produce truck, or some other ridiculous means such as that. It was just so funny to imagine Giles being smuggled into the country as an illegal alien. It was also incredibly touching to her. Even through her laughter, Buffy thought that she might cry, to think of her very proper, very *British* watcher, enduring the danger and discomfort of re-entering the country illegally, just to be able to be there for her through this. “So what does the Council think about all this?” Xander asked, as he took a seat on the sofa, as far away from Spike as possible. “I’m surprised they haven’t sent a special strike force down here to eliminate Faith completely.” “Well, quite honestly,” Giles admitted, idly removing his glasses and wiping them clean as he spoke, and once again Buffy was nearly moved to tears by the simple, oh-so-familiar gesture, “My conversation with Buffy just now is the first any of the Council have heard of the recent events here in Sunnydale. It seems that Faith managed to deceive us quite thoroughly.” “How’s that?” Spike asked, frowning, ignoring the dirty looks shot his way by everyone in the room *except* Buffy. *As if I haven’t got a bloody right to speak!* he fumed. *Like to rip the lot of them to shreds!* Giles directed his response to Buffy, as if Spike had not even spoken. “Faith and her Watcher were originally assigned to guard the Hellmouth in New York City…” “There’s a Hellmouth in New York City?” Xander interrupted in surprise. “Really?” “This comes as a *shock* to you?” Spike asked sarcastically, his eyebrows raised when he realized the boy was sincere. Buffy thought about it for a moment, and shrugged casually. “Makes sense. So. How did she end up here?” She frowned. “And where’s her watcher?” “Dead,” Giles replied bluntly, after a moment’s pause in which he replaced his glasses on his face. “There was an explosion. Nothing was heard from either of them afterwards, and no bodies were found, but ash taken from the site was tested and proven to be human remains.” “Eww,” Buffy wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Instant incineration. *There’s* a lovely thought.” “Her Watcher?” Spike guessed, and as Giles turned a scathing look of disgust on him, before turning back to face her, Buffy wondered why he kept trying. Neither her friends nor her Watcher were going to accept his presence in the house any time soon. They were tolerating it for her sake. Barely. Giles spoke to Buffy when he continued, “We had no DNA samples on record from either Faith or her Watcher, no way to prove conclusively…but when no word arrived from either of them, they were presumed to be dead.” “Well, the bloody Council of Wankers was only *half* stupid,” Spike muttered from his seat on the sofa, earning himself another triple death glare. Buffy could feel the tension mounting again in the room, and gave him a warning look herself, to which his response was to roll his eyes in irritation. She could see that he was becoming agitated again by the open hostility pouring off the others and directed his way. “Didn’t they think something was up when no new Slayer was called?” she asked Giles, becoming desperate to keep the conversation going, to prevent any further conflict from arising. “For the first couple of weeks, no,” he admitted. “Longer lapses between the loss of one Slayer and the discovery of the next have occurred. But in my honest opinion,” he paused, giving her a slightly apologetic look. “I don’t think that the Council was terribly eager to recover Faith. You see…she had already displayed a great deal of her…” “Homicidal tendencies?” Xander suggested. “Well…precisely,” Giles agreed reluctantly. “I believe they are of the opinion that she was more of a danger than an asset, and previous attempts at – at eliminating her – had proven unsuccessful – well, quite simply, I believe they *wanted* to believe that she was dead. Your…erm…death, Buffy, however brief, somewhat altered the lineage of the Slayer, and there were those in the Council who were very much inclined to use that fact to explain away the absence of a new Slayer.” “And they’re paying for it now,” Buffy finished grimly. “We all are. We have to take her out, Giles. I know she’s human, and a Slayer. But she’s dangerous as any demon I’ve ever faced. She has to be stopped. And *fast*.” She quickly outlined the ritual Faith was planning, being careful to describe it just as Spike had explained it to her, not wanting him to have any reason to join the conversation again. She thought that the less “communication” he had with Giles and her friends, the better. When she had finished, Giles was wide-eyed, stunned, and began cleaning his glasses again. “Good Lord,” he said softly, an almost awed hush about his voice. “We have to find her partner,” Buffy told him. “But I have no idea where to begin.” “Will,” Xander said suddenly, hopefully looking to his friend. “Is there something you could maybe do? Like, hack into her phone lines? Or…or maybe something magic?” Willow was staring at Spike, lost in her own thoughts. “Magic?” Buffy was surprised. “Will, are you that good?” she asked honestly. When she had left, Willow had just been beginning to develop her interest in magic. Willow looked up at her suddenly, distracted. A slow smile came over her face, possibly the first Buffy had seen on her face since her return. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Yeah, I am, actually.” Her frank confidence in her own abilities took Buffy by surprise, not sounding very much like the timid, insecure girl Willow had been when she had left. “So you can come up with something to figure out who Faith’s partner is?” Buffy perked up a little at that. Willow’s expression grew thoughtful as she looked away, and then nodded slowly, the smile beginning again at the corners of her mouth. “I have some ideas,” she said softly. Spike had felt a growing unease, from the moment Willow’s magical ability had been mentioned. Magic in general was something he knew should be handled with great care, dangerous even under the best circumstance and with the best intentions. In the hands of someone who intended to do someone else harm – say for example, in the hands of a teenage dabbler who had managed to achieve a certain level of power and was out for revenge for the death of her lover…against *him*… The very thought was terrifying. “Good,” Buffy said with a decisive nod, unaware of Spike’s rising concerns. “You can work on that, and let us know what you come up with. I still need to patrol, try and keep her numbers down as much as possible…” As Buffy went on planning, Spike’s suspicions were confirmed, and a cold chill ran down his spine when Willow’s eyes rose to meet his, gleaming with malicious intent, a sly smile on her lips. The rest of the conversation was lost on him, as troubling thoughts consumed him. What was the little witch planning? he wondered. At the same time that the thought frightened him, it also infuriated him. As he had told Buffy, he was getting sick and tired of bearing the brunt of everyone’s rage and revenge, for things which were mostly not even his fault. The wolf-boy had attacked *him*! It hardly seemed fair that he should suffer the effects of whatever gruesome hex Red was concocting for a simple act of self-defense. And that was *if* the Whelp or the Watcher did not stake him before she could carry out her plan. His sanctuary was looking less safe by the moment. He just sat there in silence for the rest of the impromptu planning session. His worries had taken the fun out of attempting to irritate the Slayer’s friends – and had also made the idea of annoying them seem a little unwise. So for once he held his peace, and just sat quietly waiting for the Slayer to call a halt to things for the evening, and the others to go their separate ways for the night. Then, he and the Slayer were going to have a talk.

Chapter #25 - Losing Control

The original plan for the evening, for Buffy and Spike to patrol as soon as darkness fell, was abandoned completely as the Scoobies ended up spending the evening planning and catching up with Giles on all that had happened in his absence. Buffy was relieved that Spike seemed to see the wisdom of…well…shutting up. Every word out of his mouth so far had only served to provoke her friends to greater hostility toward him, and for a minute there she had been afraid that another violent confrontation might take place. Spike had come to her for protection from Faith, but she found that she was spending most of her effort protecting him from her friends. “Well, guys, this has been fun,” Willow said with a yawn, sounding more pleasant and cheerful than he had in a very long time. “But I think I’m going to go ahead and turn in for the night. I have a lot of research to do, and an early day tomorrow.” The others took their cue to follow suit. Spike rose from the couch to allow Buffy to begin to make up a place for Giles to sleep. Almost immediately, Xander volunteered to take the spot on the couch instead, leaving his bed free for the older man. Amidst the bustle of preparations, Willow quietly slipped past where Spike stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Good night,” she said quietly, in what might have been mistaken for a genuine attempt at getting along – had he not known better. Then she added with a little smirk, “Sleep well.” *Vicious little bint,* he thought resentfully, suppressing a shudder that suddenly ran through him. *She knows full well there’s not a bloody chance of that now, thanks to her!* Finally, much to his relief, once Giles had headed up the stairs to go to bed, and Xander was settling down on the couch, Buffy gestured for him to follow her up the stairs to her room. That in itself was a good sign, he thought, surprised that she had trusted him even enough to turn her back on him at all. But then, he reminded himself with cynical realization, why should she not feel perfectly safe? She was the only thing standing between him and the many terrible fates that Faith, or Buffy’s friends, could imagine for him. The Slayer knew very well that he would not touch her – well, not in that way, he amended with a little grimace. He made himself look away from the enticing view of the Slayer’s rear end as they reached the top of the stairs, knowing that to be caught looking would mean a quick, dusty end to all his problems. Buffy was beginning to be a little unsettled by Spike’s unusual silence. It had seemed like a good idea while her friends were around, for him to keep his mouth shut. Buffy was convinced that whenever Spike *did* finally run out of luck and end up dust in the wind – it would be because of his mouth. But now that they were alone, the silence bothered her. It seemed – unnatural, and was a little on the disturbing side; she wished he would just say something. She did not have long to wait. The moment the bedroom door was closed, he quickly walked around to face her, his mouth set in a line of grim determination. “Slayer – we need to talk.” Buffy arched her perfectly shaped eyebrows speculatively at his words. “ ‘We’ do?” He ignored her sarcastic tone, not reacting at all as he pressed on. “I’m not gonna be much help to you if your friends dust me before we can stop Faith, am I, Slayer?” he pointed out, an angry edge to his voice that surprised her. She rolled her eyes, pushing past him to go to her dresser and get out her pajamas. “That’s not going to…” Her words were stopped short when he suddenly gripped her arm and spun her forcefully around to face him, his blue eyes flashing amber for a moment as he snarled, “*Don’t* bloody *do* that!” She jerked free of his bruising grip, her own anger rising. It did not matter to her that technically, she had pushed him first. She could not believe that he had actually dared to retaliate. “Don’t touch me!” she snapped. And so did Spike. Eyes blazing, he grabbed both of her arms tightly and slammed her back against the wall, hard “Why not?” he demanded in a low, intense voice, barely controlling the rage that was welling up inside him. “You don’t seem to have any bloody qualms about laying your hands all over *me* whenever you bloody well feel like it, do you, pet?” She knew that she could break his grip in a heartbeat, knew that she was stronger than he was, especially now, when she was at the top of her game and he was still recovering from the results of several brutal beatings over the course of only a couple days. A part of her was furious that he had dared to attack her like this, tossing her around like a rag doll, and that same part of her wanted to throw him off of her and show him just what a bad idea touching her had been. But he was speaking to her in that low, mesmerizing voice, a strange, haunting music that sent shivers down her spine…and his strong hands, on her arms, unsettlingly cool, reminding her of just what he was… Why did that thought, which should have repulsed her, only make her heartbeat quicken with a feeling that she dared not name – though it was definitely not fear. What was he saying, anyway? she wondered distractedly, trying hard to focus on his words rather than his rich, enticing voice. “You and your little slay groupies, you’re all the same. You think because I’m in a bit of a spot here, can’t do much against you at the moment, you can threaten me and push me around. Well, sod that, pet! I swear if any one of your little friends touches me again, I’ll rip their bloody throats out, and take on Faith myself. You think I *need* you to…” He suddenly stopped his rant, his eyes widening in surprise as he stared at her, and she felt her face flaming with embarrassment as a slow, knowing smirk began to spread across his face, and she knew that he had once again caught the unmistakable proof of her desire for him. “Well, well,” he remarked, his low voice taking on a seductive quality which in no way helped her situation. “Our little Slayer seems to have a fetish for vampires, yeah?” The words “vampire” and “fetish” brought back the image that had popped into her head earlier when she had insisted so strongly to her friends that Spike’s being chained to her bed was not a “kinky vampire bondage fetish” thing. Again – a memory that was not particularly helpful to her attempts to control her arousal. “I do not!” she snapped at Spike, finally finding the strength to break his grip on her arms and push him back a few steps. But her body refused to agree with the lie her mouth was telling. “I do *not* have a vampire fetish!” Spike’s smug smile widened, and he moved toward her again. “That doesn’t exactly seem to be true, love,” he pointed out, his cool fingers once again finding her arms and trailing slowly upward to her shoulders. She knew that she should pull away again, should not let him touch her like this, but the light brush of his cool fingertips over her hot, flushed skin was sending delicious little tingles from where he touched, all through her body. Some part of her mind was still stunned at his nerve – but that part was silenced when his thumb brushed lightly over the side of her breast in a move that could have been accidental, although she was sure that it was not, in the part of her mind that was still capable of coherent thought. Before she could stop herself, she gasped at the pleasurable contact. Spike smiled, and repeated the touch, a little harder, as his hands continued to move on her arms. “Shall we test it? See just what sort of fetish you *do* have, love?” he murmured in her ear, his cool breath sending a shiver down her spine. So strange, she thought, for his breath to be so cool, as her eyes drifted closed and she began to lose herself in his touch. Suddenly her eyes snapped open again, as the thought reminded her of just exactly what it was that she was doing. Her hands rose to rest on his arms, as she appeared to be still allowing herself to enjoy what he was doing to her, her hands trailing slowly up to circle his wrists. Suddenly, she jerked his hands off of her, spinning around to reverse their positions and slamming *his* back into the wall, pressing close to him, pinning him there, her hands still holding his wrists between them. His wide blue eyes stared at her in surprise as she turned her own gaze, darkened with mingled anger and lust, on him, and spoke in a low, dangerous voice, “I said don’t… touch…me.” To her great frustration – and greater arousal – he was not the least bit intimidated by her words. He smiled wickedly at her and replied in a low, dangerous tone to match hers, “Is *that* what you said? ‘S not what I heard, love.” As he spoke, he took advantage of their close contact to swivel his hips slowly toward her, grinding the hardening bulge at the front of his jeans against her, hard enough to make her gasp in pleasure and shock. Encouraged by that response, his hand pressed between them found its way to her breast again, his thumb stroking a slow circle over the soft cotton of her t-shirt, and she bit back a soft moan, struggling not to lose control. *Stop him, Buffy!* she ordered herself sternly. *Stop him – stop – stop – don’t – stop – oh, don’t stop!* She was caught off guard, surprised to find that his hands were suddenly free again, and he took her arm and swung them around, so that her back was to the wall again. He then returned his hand to continue his expert caress, his other hand drifting down to lightly stroke over the front of her jeans. Gazing intently into her eyes, searching for some sign of acceptance, invitation, he finally lowered his mouth to hers boldly. Her lips were slightly parted already in a gasp of pleasure at his touch, anticipation of the kiss, and he kissed her firmly, thoroughly, possessing her with his lips, his tongue, before finally pulling back to allow her to breathe. “See, it’s okay, love,” he whispered, gazing into her eyes, his own wide expressive blue eyes revealing how close he was to losing control of the game that he had started. He sounded more than a little breathless himself, and he did not even *have* to breathe! “Nothing wrong with having a thing for vamps,” he assured her softly. His low voice took on a suggestively teasing note as he added, “I’ve clearly got a thing for Slayers, now haven’t I?” As Buffy eagerly pulled him down for another kiss, thinking that she had had more than enough time for breathing – time for more kissing now – a part of her mind thought absently that his comment did not exactly make sense. After all, he had *been* with Faith, but he had not really wanted to be. *She* was the only Slayer he had ever really wanted… Unbidden, a memory invaded her thoughts, flashing through her mind, words spoken by her Watcher long ago… *William the Bloody…fought two Slayers…killed them both…* With a shock she drew back sharply from the kiss, her eyes wide with a stunned suspicion as she stared at him in disbelief. He gave her a puzzled, wondering look for a moment, confused and a bit alarmed. Why had she…? The next moment, his thoughts were interrupted by the force of a powerful blow across his face. “You – you *pig*!” Buffy snarled, and he was surprised to hear an almost hurt sound behind the anger in her voice. “You – you disgusting…” He was rubbing his sore jaw, when she raised her hand for another blow, but he caught her wrist quickly, gripping her other arm with his free hand and shaking her slightly. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you, woman?” he demanded, furious. “Why’d you do that?” “I’m just like those other Slayers, is that it, Spike? Just another conquest, like the ones you killed?” Her voice was trembling with anger and pain, and he was stunned…and softened…by the tears that filled her shining green eyes. He stared at her for a long moment, dumbfounded, his eyes slowly widening in understanding of just exactly what it was that had upset her so. *Bloody git,* he chided himself. *Always gotta say the wrong thing.* “No,” he said, shaking his head, his tone gentle. “No, love. Not at all.” She was trembling with indignant, wounded rage, as he cautiously approached her again. He reached for her, but she shook his hands off again as he went on, persisting and reaching out to take her arms firmly, searching for her eyes. “Then what did you mean by that?” she demanded angrily, but she did not pull away from him again. He was silent for a moment, gazing down at her, the Slayer that had fascinated him from the moment he had first seen her – and amazingly, even to himself, he actually told her the truth. “It’s not the challenge – not the hunt – that draws me to you, love. It’s…your strength. Your beauty. It’s – it’s *you*, love.” Instinctively he pulled her nearer to him, feeling the pull he spoke of even as he described it her, finding it a struggle not to lose himself in her eyes. “There’s…something about you that – that *calls* to me. That keeps me coming back here, no matter what the cost. Because of you, Buffy. I want you,” he said softly, leaning in slowly as if to attempt another kiss. Buffy had heard enough; he could not have said any better words to convince her at that moment. A part of her was still warning her away from what she wanted to do – what she knew already that she was *going* to do – but her desire for him was overwhelming by this point – intensified by his revelation of his desire for her. Before he could move forward to kiss her, she had taken the step herself, plunging forward and covering his mouth with hers, her hands on his shoulders pushing him back against the wall again, with an intensity but without violence this time, kissing him hungrily, desperately. He could feel his body responding to her urgent advances, and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her nearer. This was the stuff of his fantasies…his dreams…from the moment he had seen her, though he had not been able to admit it to himself until recently. His anxious, seeking hands clutched at her waist and pulled her in tighter to his aching need. She gasped in pleasure at the contact, and he felt his own desire deepen at the sweet sound. He needed her! He wanted her so badly! Suddenly, unexpectedly, she pulled away from the kiss. He tried to follow, to pull her back, but she firmly removed his hands from her and stepped away without a word. *What the bleedin’…* “What the bleedin’ hell do you think you’re doing, Slayer?” he demanded breathlessly, his eyes wide with disbelief as she walked calmly across the room to the other side of the bed. She did not respond, just reached down and begin fiddling with the chains that had bound him the night before, testing their strength in her hands. “Oh, I don’t bloody think so, pet!” he declared, his voice trembling with anger and frustration as he stalked indignantly toward her. “You can’t mean to say that you’re gonna take things this far, get a bloke all worked up and desperate and then just stop… just go back to chaining me up on the floor again, after what just happened between us! I don’t bloody…” His voice trailed off and he frowned in confusion when he noticed what she was doing. She had taken the chains and wound them tightly around a few bars in the middle of the headboard, tugging them tight with a smile of satisfaction, leaving the manacles that had bound his wrists hanging down onto the top of the mattress. When she turned slowly to face him, the seductive, teasing light in her shimmering green eyes stole his breath away, and his eyes widened in realization, a moment before she spoke, her voice soft and both dangerous and inviting. “Who said anything about the floor?”

Chapter #26 - Hush

Spike just stared at the Slayer for a long moment in utter shock. Had he really heard her correctly? Surely she didn’t really mean… But she was still giving him that wicked, enticing smile, a challenge in her sparkling green eyes, as she lifted one of the chains and dangled it playfully in her hand. “Well?” she said expectantly, her eyebrows raised. *It must be a Slayer thing,* he thought absently, mesmerized by the lustful look in her eyes and the powerful scent of her arousal that filled his senses. *Who would have thought little Goldilocks here would have a thing for bondage?* he thought. *Or vamps, for that matter!* But he could hear her heartbeat speeding up as she waited for his response, toying with the chain in her hands, and the look on her face told him that she was not the least bit afraid. The thought of chaining him to her bed, having him at her mercy to do whatever she wanted with him, was clearly exciting to her. It was exciting to him, too. A small, rational part of his mind acknowledged that it was a terribly reckless, foolish thing to do. The Slayer was much stronger than he was at the moment, he had to admit. And he knew from the night before and his futile attempts, that the chains in her hands were too strong for him to break. For him, William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, to willingly allow himself to be bound and helpless, at the mercy of a Slayer with whom his relationship was volatile and precarious at best, whose particular fantasies and desires were as yet unknown, and who would then be free to do absolutely anything she wanted to him, with him unable to do anything about it – it was utter insanity. He had done it before, he shrugged inwardly…and *that* Slayer had been criminally insane! With a suggestive smirk, he made his decision and stepped deliberately toward her, holding out his wrists to her for the chains. Her smile widened, and she dropped the chain, turning to face him completely. Then she grabbed him without warning and slung him around, forcefully throwing him onto the bed on his back. The mattress was soft, but the sheer speed of the move was dizzying, and before he could recover enough to even realize where he was, she was sitting on him, her knees on either side of his chest as she leaned over him to lock his wrists firmly into the manacles. The close-up view of her body through the thin cotton t-shirt she wore as she leaned over him, the intoxicating scent of her desire, so near to his face, and finally the cool feeling of the metal snapping around his wrists, knowing that it was done…there was no turning back now...it was pure sensory overload, and he felt himself hardening with his desire for her. Once she was satisfied that he was firmly restrained, she smiled down at him wickedly. “Well,” she said, her voice a low husky whisper, as she raised up off of him on her hands and knees, reaching a hand down to trace the bulge in the front of his pants with her fingertips, in a torturously slow, light contact that made him gasp for breath, desperate for more. “Now that I’ve got you where I want you…what ever am I going to do with you?” “Buffy!” he gasped out, groaning with mingled pleasure and agony at the soft, barely there touch of her fingers over the straining fabric of his jeans. “Oh, God, *Buffy*!” Her hand stopped moving instantly, and she leaned back up over him, her other hand covering his mouth tightly. “Shhh,” she whispered sharply, a dangerous light in her eyes. “This has got to be our little secret…if the others knew…” Her smile slipped a little at that thought, but then she forced a careless shrug. “Well, we just can’t let them know, can we?” Her question was leading, and he shook his head no, fighting back a moan at the very thought of the secrecy she was requiring -- which somehow made the whole thing that much more exciting – and the soft, hot touch of her hand on his lips. Even so, he knew that a part of her was serious about staying quiet, and he knew that she was right. For anyone in this house to hear them, to discover what they were doing, could only end in disaster. Buffy might be disowned completely by her friends and her Watcher, and he would most certainly end up dust. So the idea of this little rendezvous taking place in complete silence was actually a very wise one. But Buffy did not make it sound as if any of that was on her mind. “No matter what happens,” she whispered with a little smirk, suddenly beginning the slow movement of her other hand again, but applying more pressure this time so that he had to fight not to cry out. “Don’t make a sound.” She paused, her smile widening slightly as she added suggestively, “Or I just might have to punish you.” *Bloody hell!* He wondered what Buffy’s idea of “punishment” would be, but he was more certain by the moment that he would not be able to last the night without finding out. Still, he nodded his agreement with her command, and she removed her hand from his mouth, rewarding him with a slow, deep kiss, her warm hands roving over his chest as she did, occasionally scraping her long fingernails across his skin, sending shivers down his spine with every touch. Buffy slowly pulled back from the kiss, giving him a warm, seductive smile as she moved down the bed to rest on her knees, just below his aching erection. She took her time, unbuckling his black leather belt and sliding it out of the loops of his jeans, taking a moment to regard the strip of worn leather, doubling it over and snapping it quickly in her hand, as if testing it. She smiled and arched one perfect brow at him suggestively. She set the belt down carefully to the side, as if wanting to remember exactly where she had put it, and then set about unzipping his jeans and sliding them slowly down over his hips and off his legs to toss them onto the floor. She smirked, raising her eyebrows, but not really surprised, to find nothing under the jeans. “Hmm…” she murmured, her voice barely over a whisper; she knew that he could hear her just fine. “I’m not surprised you’re a commando guy,” she teased, tracing her finger lightly around the base of his throbbing member, leaning up to whisper with a teasing sparkle in her eyes, “Slut.” At that exact moment, she allowed one perfectly manicured nail to scrape against his sensitive flesh, and he could not help releasing a low moan of pleasure. Immediately her left hand was over his mouth again…and more importantly her right hand was *off* of his dick, as she raised up to look him in the eye and say in a voice that was both slightly threatening and seductive, “I thought I told you not to make a sound. I’d hate to have to punish you.” His eyes automatically drifted to the belt she had laid to the side, and he felt a little thrill of mingled pleasure and fear to see that her fingers idly, unconsciously trailed up the leather as she spoke. “Or,” she shrugged casually, her voice a husky whisper, her eyes flickering down to his rigid, engorged member for a moment before she smirked back up at him. “I could just… stop. Completely.” He shook his head almost frantically at that idea, his wide blue eyes focused on hers. “Okay…so you’re gonna be quiet now?” she asked him, slowly and a little patronizingly, nodding her head leadingly. He nodded his silent response. She had him now; he would do *anything* she said to keep her from stopping at this point, and the cruel little gleam in her desire darkened eyes of jade told him that she very well might carry through with her threat. Satisfied for the moment, she resumed her slow torture of light, delicate touches that drove him closer and closer to the edge, while refusing to give him that last push that he needed. He wanted to tell her what he wanted, bloody hell, *beg* her if that was what it took…but he dared not make a sound. As she slowly increased the pressure she exerted with her right hand, she caught his eye with a slow smile as she reached with her left to begin unbuttoning the buttons of her shirt. He watched, mesmerized, as she slid the shirt back over her shoulders, arching her back slightly to give him a better view. When she removed her hand to take the shirt completely off, and to unfasten her bra, a small whimpering sound escaped his throat, for only a fraction of a second, at the combination of the sight of her, and the loss of contact. Her eyes shot to his, and he felt his stomach drop at the look in her eyes that was both wild and severe; he shook his head slightly at her to indicate that he would not make another sound. She regarded him for a moment, as if trying to decide what exactly to do to him, and then a slow smile spread across her face and her eyes lit up. He felt a chill go down his spine and a rush of heat to his groin in anticipation of what she would do. She rose to whisper in his ear, her fingers running slowly through his hair, her nails grazing his scalp and sending pleasurable little tingles all through him. “You want me to touch you, Spike? Is that what you meant?” He hesitated, then nodded desperately, urgently. “Then maybe you should have behaved yourself,” she teased him, tugging lightly at his hair before releasing him and sitting up, straddling his waist now. “Now…you’re just gonna have to wait.” She leaned down over him, her hands resting on the mattress on either side of his head. “My turn,” she whispered. “I want you to touch me, Spike.” Her firm, supple breasts were inches from his face, taunting and tantalizing him with her nearness, and his inability to touch her. “Oh,” she said, looking at the chains that bound him as if surprised. “You can’t use your hands, can you?” She shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to make do with what you’ve got. And if you do a *really* good job,” she smirked. “*Maybe* I’ll forgive you.” He ached for her hands to finish what they had so heartlessly started, and then abandoned, leaving him desperate and longing, and he strained against the chains that bound him, wanting to break free and grab her in his arms and take her, sod the bloody game! But the chains were too strong, and besides, her breasts were hovering above his face, inviting and tantalizing him. It was her turn to let out a gasp of pleasure as he took her left breast in his mouth, gently suckling at her, using his talented tongue and teeth to make her moan with pleasure, unconsciously thrusting downward against his stomach beneath her. He smiled briefly and gave her a light, teasing little nip that made her draw in her breath sharply. “Spike…oh…” she gasped. “Oh, God…” After a few moments, she pulled back, her eyes wide and a little shocked, her wet, glossy lips trembling slightly, and he flashed her an impish grin, pleased that he had managed to reduce her to such a state, from the relatively powerless position he was in. After a few seconds she managed to recover enough to smile shakily and comment, “Wow. You’re forgiven,” with a soft laugh. As she slowly lowered herself back down his body, her hot, wet center hovering over his throbbing erection, he realized with dismay that she was still wearing her skirt, and thought with despair that if he had to wait for her to take it off… But she simply slid it up around her waist, and he realized with surprise that the Slayer had come prepared as well, and wore nothing under her skirt. He raised one eyebrow at her in a patented smirk, silently mocking her. And then, not so silently, as he repeated her teasing comment from a few moments before upon discovering his similar condition, and whispered, “Slut.” She smiled, and he could tell that she was suppressing a laugh, as she sat up and reached for the belt, picking it up and looking at it closely for a moment, before bringing it down behind her back, sharply against his thigh. The light, stinging blow, carrying very little of her actual strength, sent a rush of pleasure through him, and she smirked in smug satisfaction when she felt his already erect member twitch beneath her. “Shhh,” she ordered in a whisper, setting down the belt and going back to her hands and knees, positioned directly over him again. “You’re being very, very bad,” she murmured in a voice of mock severity, allowing her slick opening to brush lightly over the tip of his erection, eliciting another unconscious gasp from his mouth. “See?” she whispered, shaking her head. “You just keep it up, don’t you?” A teasing glint in her eyes, her mouth turned downward in a pout, she said, “I don’t know if you deserve your reward.” She repeated the motion, lowering herself just slightly onto him again before pulling back, and he bit back the cry that rose to his lips. “Now that’s better,” she murmured. “Maybe if you try really hard…” She smiled wickedly, and gave him a wink. “Or maybe…” she whispered. “…if you ask really nice…” His eyes widened with the realization of what she was saying, just before she brushed against him again, and he groaned, “Oh…God…oh…Buffy, Buffy, please! I need you now, Buffy…I need to be…inside you, oh…oh God, please, Buffy!” As he spoke, she continued her teasing to the point of desperation. For both of them. Driven to the point of no return herself by his desperate plea, Buffy finally complied, yielding to him the contact that he craved, sheathing him within her, and in that moment of connection, they each had to fight back the cry of pleasure that would have drawn the attention of the people sleeping on either side of them. They moved together in perfect unison, driving each other higher and higher, all the while fighting to maintain control and keep back the uncontrollable sounds of pleasure that rose within them. Their muffled gasps and whimpers, the enforced silence, only served to intensify the feeling for both of them, until at the exact same moment they reached their climax in an explosion of intense pleasure that overwhelmed them. Buffy collapsed down onto him, gasping for breath, struggling to recover from the incredible force of her orgasm. Spike was obviously having a similar reaction. “God!” he gasped. “Buffy…oh, Buffy…” She raised her head quickly to face him, her eyes wild with passion and desire. “Shut up,” she whispered, putting her hands behind his head and pulling him close to silence him with a kiss.

Chapter #27 - Forgotten

Buffy woke up in the dark several hours later, a bit disoriented, not remembering falling asleep at all. She raised her head and looked around quickly, and then suddenly became aware of the cool, solid form lying asleep beneath her. And it all came rushing back. Her eyes widened as she stared down at him, remembering the events of the night before. *Was that real?* she wondered, a little disbelieving. *Did I really do that?* She did not know where that side of her had come from; had not even known it existed until the day before, when she had awakened on the floor beside Spike and she had realized that the sight of the gorgeous vampire in chains on her bedroom floor had actually turned her on. Her only sexual experience to this point had been with Angel, and that had been passionate, but…simple. Ordinary. Angel had been slow, and gentle, and concerned with not hurting her, aware that it had been her first time. And for her part, Buffy had just been concerned with not being “bad” at it – with pleasing him. But all day the day before, the idea had been there, in the back of her mind. She simply could not get the idea out of her head, no matter how hard she tried. She realized at some point that, on some level, she had always been attracted to the cocky, platinum blonde vampire. Even when they had been trying to kill each other, she had always been almost pleased to see him show up – because she knew that among all the pathetic fledglings and inexperienced opponents that she faced every day, here was someone who was a true challenge, a warrior who was her equal. And that was what had truly attracted her to him – the knowledge that here was a man without the human frailties that would hamper any relationship she might have with a mortal man. She had allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to actually have a relationship with someone who would be able to fight with her, to understand the violent reality that was her life. *I guess I do have a thing for vamps,* she admitted grudgingly. So it was that when Spike had angrily confronted her in her room, slamming her forcefully into the wall, his voice low and menacing, she had been a bit embarrassed – but not really surprised – when the aggressive act had aroused her rather than frightened her. And from the moment he had realized that as well – there had really been no turning back. She glanced suddenly at her door, wide-eyed, hoping that she had remembered to lock it. The thought of someone walking in to see her in this compromising position, lying on top of the sleeping vampire who was, this time, definitely chained to her *bed*, made her feel a little sick. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw with relief that she had locked the door, and relaxed back down against Spike's chest. She realized how reckless the decision had been, how out of control -- but that was how her life felt lately. It was something that she never would have done a year ago. But then -- she had been a completely different person a year ago. She had come home to find that while she had changed drastically, so had everything else that was a part of her life. The losses that had befallen her without her knowledge, without her there to prevent them, made her feel so lost and helpless, and very much alone. The night before, with Spike, had been about finding her power again, regaining some sense of control that she had lost, and maybe -- just maybe -- easing the ache of loneliness that seemed to constantly plague her since her return. She raised her head again to look down at Spike, sleeping peacefully beneath her, though his wrists were still chained to the headboard. She noted with slight surprise how truly beautiful he was, how in his sleep he appeared almost angelic -- though she knew *that* was far from the truth. He suddenly shifted in his sleep, unconsciously pulling against the chains that bound him as he moved, and she was surprised at the renewed desire that coursed through her body at the sight, the reminder that for the moment, he was hers, to do with as she chose...he had willingly placed himself at her mercy, for their pleasure. But in the next instant, when Spike realized upon trying to move that he couldn't, that he was bound, a frown creased his peaceful expression, and he let out a soft whimper of obvious fear, jerking against the restraints that bound him, unyielding. Buffy's arousal was quickly made secondary to her concern as she remembered the night before, and how the vampire had been tormented by nightmares. "No," he moaned, his voice rising enough to send a sense of alarm through her, as she began to be afraid that the others might hear him. "No -- *stop*!" he cried out. "Spike!" she whispered, trying to wake him, shaking his shoulder urgently. "Spike, wake up!" "Please!" His voice was even louder now. "Don't -- don't -- no..." Through the thin wall Buffy could hear the soft sound of a bed creaking as its occupant tossed restlessly, and knew that it would not be long before his incoherent cries drew the attention of the whole household. Desperate, almost panicked, realizing that it would probably not help with his fears, but not knowing what else to do, she covered his mouth with her hand, leaning up over him and speaking his name as loudly as she dared. "*Spike!* Wake up, you're just dreaming! Wake up!" He struggled just a moment longer, and then his eyes suddenly shot open, wide and panicked, as they met hers for the barest instant. Disoriented and dazed, his dream melding with the reality he found himself in, he knew only that he was chained beneath her, her hand preventing him from crying out, and the scent of her arousal unmistakable around him. His wild desperate struggles resumed, though uselessly, as he tried to pull away from her restraining hands, frantically trying to cry out around the soft, firm hand that prevented it. "Spike -- calm down!" she hissed anxiously. "Stop it! Stop it, I'm not going to hurt you, Spike!" Almost as suddenly as he had begun to fight her, he stopped, realizing that he was not going to be able to get away and freezing beneath her, a cold shudder of terror running through his body beneath her, as he turned his head away, his eyes closed tight. “Okay,” she said, releasing a deep breath of relief, but not yet removing her hand. “If I move my hand, are you gonna be quiet or are you gonna freak out on me again?” He shook his head slightly, his eyes still closed, not looking at her. She slowly, cautiously moved her hand, and he did as he had promised, the only sound to break the silence his harsh, gasping breaths that she knew he needed for comfort, if not for life. But he was still trembling beneath her, and she knew that whatever terrors he had faced in his sleep had not completely left him yet. “Okay, Spike. So far so good,” she whispered softly, soothingly. “I’m gonna take these chains off, okay?” He nodded quickly, still not looking at her. “Okay,” she said with a deep breath of resignation, taking the key from her nightstand and turning it in the lock. “Just don’t like…try to bite me or anything, okay? I know you’re a little freaked out, but…” Her words were cut off in a yelp of surprise as the moment his hands were free, Spike grabbed her arms and flung her over onto her back under him, pinning her, as he instinctively changed into game face, with a menacing snarl. But behind the threat in his fierce golden eyes, she could see the fear that had motivated it. "Spike," she whispered. "It's okay. Calm down. It was just a dream. I'm not gonna hurt you, Spike, just settle down..." *Yeah, Buffy. I think he knows you're not gonna hurt him.* She almost rolled her eyes at her own words. *You're the one pinned under him this time!* But she continued to murmur her soft words of comfort and reassurance, keeping her tone calm and even, and finally, she saw recognition beginning to rise in his eyes, and realized suddenly that he had not even been seeing her at all, but some nightmare figment from his dreams. And it was true. The nightmare that had haunted him every night for weeks now, of betraying Dru by his feelings for Buffy, had been intensified by their actions of the night before. What made the dream different this particular night was that the game they had played had called to mind the crueler, more vicious games that Faith had liked to play. There had been many times in Faith's bed when he had been in genuine fear for his life; it had not only been the thrill of power, but his fear and pain, that had brought Faith pleasure. In his nightmares that night, the angelic image of Buffy's face, comforting and reassuring him, had mingled horrifyingly with a cruel, menacing image of the other Slayer, and had suddenly gone from soothing and enticing him to brutally torturing him, mocking him and accusing him all the while, whispering cruelly that he was weak, a traitor, undeserving of the love he had turned his back on -- the love whose death he believed himself to be guilty of. But now, staring down at Buffy's carefully calm features, her eyes full of compassion and concern, no threat -- but a little fear -- the events of the night before began to come back to him, and he remembered how he had come to be chained in her bed. Some of the tension eased from him with the realization that he was safe, and he felt his body begin to tremble with sheer relief. He drew a couple of deep, shaky breaths as he slowly released Buffy's arms. "I -- I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to..." Buffy shook her head, the fear fading from her eyes, as she reached up a gentle hand to stroke soothingly through his loose, dishevelled hair. "It's okay. Don't worry about it." Her voice was surprisingly gentle, reminding him of the angelic vision she had been in his dreams -- until last night -- and he lowered his head to rest on her shoulder, still gasping for breath, trembling all over. "Buffy," he whispered, unable to find any other words, shaking his head, at a loss. "Buffy..." Buffy's other hand rose to rest on his back, moving slowly up and down in a gesture of comfort. "It's okay," she whispered. "Shhh, it's all right." She paused, a little surprised herself by the compassion that had seemed to automatically rise in her, twice now, when faced with the pain of this creature, once her sworn enemy. "That must have been some dream," she commented mildly, not pressing him to talk about it, but wanting to leave the door open a crack, just in case he wanted to. "Yeah," he sighed heavily, sounding a little steadier, but not raising his head, and not volunteering anything else. After a moment, he added quietly, "I'm sorry I -- if I scared you, love. I -- thought you were someone else." Buffy was silent for a moment, thinking. "Faith?" she finally guessed, her voice soft and cautious. "Yeah." He nodded against her shoulder. She paused for a moment. "Same dream as last night?" "Yeah...mostly." This time he did not deny the nightmare as he had done the first time she had mentioned it, the day before. "It's always the same." He still did not look at her as he spoke, and she wondered if it was easier for him to talk about it that way. She was actually surprised that he was opening up to her at all, allowing her to see his vulnerability like this. But then, she supposed it would be hard to get much more vulnerable with anyone than he had been with her last night. He did not volunteer any more information, but the heartbroken words she had heard him sobbing the night before suddenly sprang into her mind. *Dru...I'm so sorry, love...* Buffy hesitated for a moment before she spoke. “You didn’t kill her, Spike.” He looked up at her sharply, his impossibly blue eyes wide and startled, speechless at her unexpected perception. “Dru,” she clarified softly, in case he had misunderstood her. “It wasn’t your fault.” He looked away from her, troubled eyes focused on the headboard beyond her. “Believe it or not,” she went on cautiously, her fingers still stroking idly through his hair, “I know what you’re going through. And you can’t help but blame yourself. For a while. But you have to realize – there was nothing you could have done differently. It was not your fault.” She was well aware as she spoke of the irony of the situation; she had yet to follow the advice she was giving him. He did not speak for a long moment, and when he did, it was not a direct response to her words. He looked back at her suddenly, and the stark pain in his eyes took her breath away. His voice was a choked, tormented whisper, his eyes somehow pleading for a forgiveness that was not hers to offer. “I – I *forgot* her.” Buffy frowned, confused, but feeling a pang in her heart none-the-less at his haunted, lost voice. “What?” “Just – for a few minutes. I – I forgot her. That first time I saw you again. In LA. I was *there* for her – to help avenge her. To get you to come so that Faith would pay. And then – I looked at you – and – and all I thought of – was you.” The agony of guilt she heard in his voice, the simple, honest confession, broke her heart. But before she could speak, he went on haltingly. “That moment – and every moment after that. Every time I saw you. I didn’t even think about her. Not once,” he admitted, his eyes wide and shock, aghast at his own imagined crime. “I loved her for over a hundred years. And I – I just let her go.” “Spike,” she began softly. “You still *do* love her. You always will. But – that doesn’t mean you can never be with someone else. Never – care about someone else – again.” She knew that she was speaking to herself as much as to him. “You want to hold onto her forever,” she went on softly, her voice thick with unshed tears. “But – at some point – we have to move on.” She was surprised when his piercing blue eyes darted back to hers, widening in stunned disbelief, and she wondered for a moment if she had gone too far, crossed the line. “What – what did you say?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper. “I said – you have to move on. Eventually,” she repeated, a bit uncertainly. “You have to let yourself get past – losing her.” “Is *that* what we did?” he asked, his voice heavy with emotion. “The two of us? Moving on?” Buffy nodded slowly. “Maybe.” Something else occurred to her suddenly, and she gave him a questioning look. “When you woke up, you said – you thought I was…” He looked away quickly before she could finish, but not before she could see the shame that filled his eyes. And suddenly, she understood the connection. “You and Faith,” she said with dawning understanding. “Like we did last night.” He did not respond, did not look at her, but then, finally, nodded his admission. She remembered his terrified reaction when he had realized in his sleep that he was chained, remembering his cries that she had been so desperate to silence, and felt sick at the realization of their cause. And furious. She was surprised at how angry the truth made her. “She hurt you,” she stated, her voice hard. The anger in her voice surprised him, and he looked up at her quickly before looking away again. He shrugged carelessly, trying to appear unaffected. “I let her,” he informed her, his tone expressionless. She frowned, puzzled for a moment. “But you didn’t want it.” “Sure I did,” he argued, his tone forcedly light, but with a bitter note that he could not conceal. She studied his expression for a long moment, before a sad smile came over her face. “Because you thought you deserved it. It was your – penance.” He looked up again, shaking his head in disbelief, with a soft, joyless laugh. “Bloody hell, Slayer! What are you, a soddin’ shrink?” She looked away for a moment with a shrug. “No. I’ve just…I did it, too. Only – I did it to myself. I wanted to – punish myself. For – for…” “Angel.” She nodded slowly. “But – there was nothing else I could have done. It wasn’t my fault. Any more than what happened to Dru was your fault, Spike.” His eyes dropped again, and when he spoke, his voice was trembling, guilty. “If I’d have just – if I’d only…” She could see that he was clearly on the verge of breaking down, and pulled his head gently back down, cradling him gently in her arms. “Shhh,” she whispered, as a deep, agonized sob silently escaped his lips. “It’s all right.” For a long time she just held him in silence, as he released his pain into the weighted silence that shrouded them. In her arms he found the comfort he had not known he was seeking. She was one who could truly understand what he had done – and therefore could truly offer him absolution. Buffy’s heart was aching with an unspoken agony, brought to the surface by Spike’s painful remembrances. She wanted to speak, but did not dare interrupt his much-needed expression of his pain. Finally, when she felt his body begin to relax into her, felt the shaking sobs ebb away, Buffy spoke clearly into the stillness, a simple confession. “I forgot, too.” Spike raised his head slowly. “What?” he asked softly, puzzled. “Angel. When you came to LA.” Buffy paused, meeting his eyes with her own open and vulnerable. “I forgot, too.” Her lips were trembling with emotion, her eyes welled with tears, and he longed to give her the comfort she had just given him. “We both did,” he whispered, his hand lifting to brush away a single tear that slid down her cheek. “But in a way – we never will,” he assured her. The thought that had haunted her for so long – that no matter how long she lived, she would always remember the painful story of her first love – was now somehow comforting to Buffy. The warmth, the tenderness, unexpected in those piercing blue eyes that saw right through her, drew her in, and she found hersle leaning up toward him slowly, almost desperate with need for the solace he could provide her. That same need was in his eyes, and he responded, lowering his mouth to capture hers in a tender, intimate kiss. And for a little while – all but the two of them was forgotten.

Chapter #28 - The Secret

“Buffy! Buffy, wake up! Buffy, are you okay?” The high, slightly shrill voice that broke into Buffy’s dreams was followed by a series of loud, hard knocks on her bedroom door. She tried half-heartedly to rise to answer it, but found that she could not. Spike was still on top of her, and sound asleep. The sound of someone trying the handle – however unsuccessfully – jarred her immediately awake with a sense of alarm, and she looked at the door, remembering with relief that it was locked. “Just a second!” she called, her voice still a little croaky and hoarse with sleep. “Be right there!” But that was going to be easier said than done, she realized with dismay, due to the weight of the sleeping vampire above her, still effectively pinning her to the bed. “Spike!” she hissed frantically. “Wake *up*!” His only response was a low moan that made her eyes widen in dismay. “Buffy,” he mumbled, much too loudly, in his sleep. “So…so hot…touch me…please…” In spite of the situation, she felt a warm, tingling rush of desire at the need in his voice, even in his dreams, for her. But there was no time to enjoy it now; she had to deal with the very perilous situation at hand. She wondered anxiously if her friends had overheard his words. *Better safe than sorry,* she thought ruefully. Then she rolled Spike off of her and onto the floor with a loud thump that she *knew* the others could hear. Spike immediately awakened, looking around and blinking in confusion at finding himself suddenly, rudely, shoved to the floor. “Buffy,” he began, sounding a little dazed. There was no telling what was about to come out of his mouth, so she quickly broke in. “I’ll *touch* you all right, you disgusting…vampire!” she said, loudly and forcefully. “And that’s ‘Slayer’ to you, you…evil…thing!” The look in her frantic eyes begged him to understand what she was doing. As he got slowly to his feet, watching her warily, the look in *his* eyes asked if she had completely lost her bloody mind. “Buffy! Is everything all right in there?” Giles’ anxious voice spoke, muffled through the closed door, and Spike’s eyes shot to the door. Then he slowly looked back at her, a smile forming on his lips, as he finally understood. Without warning, he suddenly rushed her, grabbing her arms and spinning her around to push her back against the wall with an audible thud. Before she could react at all, his body was pressed seductively against hers, and he made his voice fearful as he said loudly, “Ow! I’m sorry, Slayer, please! Please don’t hurt me!” flashing her an impish grin even as he spoke. She was amazed at how convincing he sounded, and a smile spread slowly over her face, to match the cocky smirk on his. Then, all thought momentarily left her when he pressed in even nearer, one hand cupping her naked breast, as he whispered close to her ear, “Hurt me, Slayer…hurt me good,” and squeezed gently, his thumb tracing the sensitive underside of her breast as he spoke. Buffy gasped in shock and pleasure at the touch, and the tantalizing words, then remembered the others outside and fought to regain enough control to keep up her part of the charade. “Oh, I’m *gonna* hurt you, Spike!” she said in an angry, threatening voice, her eyes dancing. “I’m gonna teach you a lesson, you bad, nasty, evil vampire!” As she spoke, she reached between them to take his manhood firmly in her hand, pulling him close to her in a clearly dominant gesture that took him by surprise and elicited a little cry that very well could have been of pain, and would surely be mistaken for such by their listening audience – but it was not pain that Spike was feeling, as Buffy’s strong hand slowly ran up and down the length of his rapidly hardening member. “Oh…God!” he let out a strangled moan. “Slayer…please!” His slightly parted, trembling lips, were simply too much for her to resist, and Buffy plunged forward to kiss him with an almost savagely possessive intensity, even as she did, remembering the façade they were engaged in. She pounded her unoccupied fist into the wall behind her to resemble the sound of a blow, then again, harder, as Spike’s expert fingers played over the sensitive flesh of her breast, his other hand rising to mimick the first for a few moments, before sliding down to her hip and jerking her forward, her aching center suddenly against the swollen evidence of his desire. In response, her fingers ran in alternating light and hard touches around his engorged member, occasionally using her nails to lightly scrape the sensitive skin. “Don’t…stop!” Spike gasped, breathless – but not with the pain the others probably supposed – as Buffy slammed her fist back against the wall again in reaction to the sudden rush of sensation that flooded her as he thrust unconsciously against her, bringing the tip of his erection into closer contact with her throbbing, sensitive body as he lifted her slightly, her back braced against the wall. Her eyes glittering with a wild, feral desire, she said in a harsh, forceful voice, “I’m not *about* to stop, you dirty, nasty vampire! We’re just getting started!” And with those trembling but angry words, accompanied by a wicked smile and wink, she placed a firm hand behind his leg, just below his rear, and jerked him forward to bury him in her hot, wet center. He released a moan at the sudden contact. “Oh, Bu – Slayer!” he cried out, nearly forgetting the game in the intensity of the moment, as all his mind could scream out was her name. “Buffy! Is everything all right in there?” Willow’s anxious voice demanded, calling Buffy’s desperately distracted, pleasure-drunk mind back to the pretense she and Spike were trying to keep up. “What’s going on?” she heard Xander’s voice, softer, in the hall. *Great,* she thought. *We’re giving the whole house an audio show.* “Y-*yes*!” she gasped out, as Spike thrust hard into her without warning, slamming her back against the wall. “Yes! Oh -- *yes*! Everything’s -- *gah*! – under control,” she managed somehow to get the words out, breathless and quickly losing control. Spike gasped with the pleasure of being encased in her intense heat, but managed through it all to gain enough composure to lean in and whisper, “You don’t seem very much in control to me, pet. But we can’t let them see that the Big Bad’s the one who’s really in charge at the moment, now can we?” Through the wave of sensation washing over her, Buffy managed to regain enough control to return his cocky smile through lust-glazed eyes. “That’s because he’s not,” she informed him in a soft, seductive tone, a wicked gleam in her eyes of jade. In the next moment, she exerted her Slayer strength, clenching her powerful inner muscles around Spike’s shaft, giving him an explosion of intense sensation as her grip became so tight that the pleasure bordered on excruciating. He let out a strangled cry, throwing his head back in ecstasy. “*Oh!* *God!*” “Who’s in control, now, Spike?” she demanded, her tone hard for the benefit of her listening friends, but her eyes sparkling with teasing, triumphant laughter. He did not respond, not out of the defiance her friends assumed, but because he was simply too overwhelmed to speak, lost in the throes of intense passion. “Who’s in control, Spike?” she demanded again, clenching her muscles tighter around him, so that he moaned aloud in a heady rush of pleasure-pain. “You! You are, Buffy!” he cried out with abandon, forgetting the ruse entirely, swallowed up in his need for her. A warning thrust of her hips toward him, her body still a vice around him, reminded him of it, and he amended in a hoarse, desperate voice, “*Slayer!* Oh, *God*, you are, Slayer! Only you, only you!” The words, the raw, desperate sound of his voice, intensified the feeling for Buffy as he thrust into her again. “*I’m* the one!” she declared forcefully, lowering her voice to gasp, “The one you want – the one you need – only me – only me, Spike…” “Yes, Slayer, yes…yes, Slayer…” he cried out, his desperate hands clutching her hips as he plunged himself deeper within her. To those who could not see the scene, it sounded like a pained plea, a submission to her power. But in truth, in was an admission of his devotion, declaring her claim to be true. “Buffy…Buffy…” he whispered. “I want you…want you…want you, Buffy…” he chanted breathlessly as their motions became faster, almost frantic. “God…Spike,” she gasped. “I need you…so…hot…*God*!” She felt herself swiftly approaching her climax, and gasped out, urgently, pleadingly, “Spike…now, please….*now*!” With a final, powerful thrust, Spike gave Buffy that last push that she needed, and she fell tumbling over the edge into an intense ecstasy of pleasure. Her muscles spasmed around him suddenly as she came, and his orgasm followed in the wake of her, intense and powerful. “Oh…bloody…*Buffy*…God!” he cried out incoherently, not remembering to call her by her title, and screaming out her name. He could only hope that the Slayer’s friends thought he was screaming her name in agony rather than the overwhelming pleasure that fille dhim. Buffy did not have the luxury of screaming. If she was supposed to be presenting the illusion of giving Spike a brutal beating, the only explanation for the sounds they had heard that would satisfy her friends, then there was no reason for her to be screaming. In fact, such a sound would only make her friends panic, thinking that the vampire had gotten the upper hand in the struggle – which in some ways, he *so* had, she thought with appreciation, through the wave of sensation that overpowered her. But if they thought that she was in trouble, they might try harder to get in. And then they might actually succeed. And that would be very bad. So, forced to silence, Buffy choked back the scream of release that rose in her throat, pounding her fist back against the wall furiously over and over until the wave of passion ebbed away, and they slumped together to the floor against the wall, gasping for breath. In the total silence that followed, even from her friends outside the door, Buffy had the sudden urge to laugh. “They probably think I killed you,” she whispered to Spike, barely suppressing her giggles. “Bloody well nearly did,” he retorted in a whisper with a smile. “Guess I’d better get that door eventually,” she said with a regretful glance toward the door. “I’ll be right there, guys!” she said, louder. “I’m all right.” “Um…pet,” Spike whispered, pulling back to allow her to rise and yank her bathrobe down from the door of her closet beside them. “Don’t you think…I mean…after all that violence,” he smirked, “…shouldn’t I be a bit more, well, beaten up?” Buffy stared at him blankly for a moment. Then her eyes widened in alarmed understanding. “Oh, shoot!” she hissed. “You’re right! Um…okay, get down on the floor by the bed,” she thought fast. “I’m not gonna let them come in, I’m just gonna open the door a little. They won’t be able to see you.” He quickly complied with her suggestion, which was the best they could come up with under the circumstances, and Buffy smoothed her robe – forgetting her hair – and went to answer the door. Taking a deep breath to ready herself, she opened the door just a little. She was met with the worried eyes of every member of the little makeshift household, staring at her in various stages of panic. “Hey, guys,” she said in a small, timid voice. “Buffy!” Willow gasped, relief clear in her eyes. “What happened in there? Are you okay?” “Yeah!” Buffy insisted in what she hoped was an innocent voice. “Um…Spike…tried to escape.” Her friends stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to go on. “I stopped him,” she assured them with a nod. “Um, Buffy…” Xander began cautiously, glancing past her into the room. “Where is he?” As he spoke, Willow tried to enter the room, pushing the door back a little, and Buffy was hesitant to stop them, knowing that would appear even more suspicious. She glanced around the room self-consciously, noticing what exactly her friends would see. The rumpled bed, the cracks in the walls beside it – and the motionless bare feet of the vampire on the floor, the rest of his body hidden from sight by the bed itself. “He’s, um…he’s unconscious,” Buffy replied matter-of-factly with a nod and a casual shrug. Willow glared at all she could see of the “sleeping” vampire. “Did he hurt you, Buffy?” she asked with concern. Buffy laughed, and the sound came out a little – well, a little maniacal. “Hardly,” she smirked. “I can kick his pathetic ass any day of the week!” “Are you quite sure you’re all right, Buffy?” Giles pressed, frowning in concern – and maybe suspicion. “Perhaps I should take a look…” “*No!*” Buffy objected, too loudly and forcefully, and then repeated in a more normal voice, “No…I just really need to take a shower, get dressed, all that. Then I’ll come downstairs and you can all see that I’m really all right for yourselves. Okay?” Her friends reluctantly agreed, and she gratefully closed the door with a sigh of relief. “You can kick my pathetic ass any day of the week, can you?” Spike sneered, standing up, giving her a challenging smirk. “Care to test that theory?” But Buffy was ignoring him completely, staring in absolute horror at something just to the side of him. He followed her gaze, and his mouth dropped open in shock, just before their eyes slowly met in silent communication. “Oh, God…” Buffy moaned, putting her head in her hands. “Maybe they didn’t notice,” Spike suggested hopefully, trying to help. Until that moment both of them had completely forgotten – the chains still attached to Buffy’s headboard.

Chapter #29 - Power

Buffy took the chains off of her bed and stuck them in the farthest corner of her closet, out of sight completely. She was well aware that she would be taking them out again that night -- floor or bed, either way she still planned on keeping Spike chained up at night -- not because she thought he would actually hurt her, but because she knew that if her friends found out he was free, there would be hell to pay. *It's just because I have no choice,* she told herself firmly. *No other reason. Certainly not because he's so attractive and sexy and the thought of him chained to my bed and at my mercy is just so freakin' hot that I wanna just...* "Thinking of me?" Spike's self-satisfied voice broke into her runaway thoguhts, and she turned to face him, her face flaming at the knowing smirk on those full, perfect lips. Caught again. "Has any girl ever told you that the whole smelling her thing really icked her out?" she asked him, irritable with her embarrassment. "Actually...no," he informed her, rising from where he sat on the edge of her bed to move toward her in a way that was both predatory and seductive. His voice was softened slightly as he reached a hand to stroke back a stray lock of golden hair, lowering his mouth to hover inches above hers as he spoke, low and enticing, "Heightened senses are usually not a cause for complaint, love." God, she wanted him...desperately...*now*. When he leaned down to kiss her, she accepted it hungrily, intensely, pulling him closer for a few moments. But finally, she pulled away, pushing him gently back. "We can't," she said breathlessly. "Not right now. I have to go..." "Go where?" he demanded, and those enticing lips formed just the slightest pout...and for a moment, she had no earthly idea *where* she had to go. "Um...I..." Suddenly she remembered. "Dawn! I have to take Dawn away from Sunnydale today." She and her Watcher had discussed it the night before, during the planning session that Spike had mostly tuned out, too focused on the witch shooting him death glares to pay much attention. They had decided that, just in case Faith managed to pull off her scheme, and they ended up fighting an incredibly powerful, psychotic vampire/Slayer, it would be better if Dawn was somewhere safer than Sunnydale. At this point, anywhere was safer than Sunnydale. Buffy knew where her father lived, just outside of LA, though he had not returned any of her phone calls, and she and Giles intended to drive up that day, and leave him no choice but to take in his youngest daughter -- just for a few days, Buffy reassured herself -- until Faith was no longer a threat. Dawn had not even argued -- a fact which worried Buffy terribly. She knew beyond all doubt that her little sister hated the idea of staying with their father, who had had little to do with either of them since their parents had divorced. Buffy hated the idea, too. But she knew that it was better than Dawn's being hurt in what would certainly be a fierce and dangerous battle. It would not be fun, but they could deal with the separation for a few days. Buffy felt reasonably safe leaving Spike alone for the day while she and Giles went on the trip. Willow and Xander were both already at work, and she did not think that Faith would know yet that Spike was here -- so there was little chance of her coming home to find a big Spike-shaped pile of dust. Which, to her own surprise, was her main fear. It was unspoken but understood between them, in the wake of the drastic turn that their relationship had just taken, that Spike would not try to hurt her friends. Of course, she knew better than to think that, if backed into a corner, the vampire would not defend himself; and her friends had shown a strong tendency toward wanting to hurt Spike. All things considered, she was glad that he would be at home *alone*. The only better arrangement would have been for him to go with her and Giles; but that was prevented by Spike's "sun allergy", as Buffy wanted to get back from LA before dark. She did not feel comfortable leaving the Hellmouth -- or her friends -- undefended after dark. "I wish I could go with you," Spike said, and the sincerity, the open affection in his voice, touched her heart. The whirlwind events of the past night and morning, though unexpected by either of them, had served to birth a fledgling trust between them. Each knew instinctively that the other would not hurt them, although it was in their very nature to destroy each other. Somehow they just knew that what they had found, in such an unlikely place, was a kindred spirit, someone who could truly understand the ghosts of guilt and lost loves that haunted them -- and not hate or condemn them for the failures they tormented themselves with. Buffy felt a warm feeling of affection as she looked into those clear, expressive blue eyes. "I know you do," she said apologetically. "But we can't wait until dark. We have to get her out of here as soon as possible. But it's a three hour drive, and it's ten now, so I should still be back before everyone gets home." Spike sighed in resignation and nodded his acceptance, his eyes down, his fingers leaving her hair to trace down her cheek as he looked back up at her and spoke in a voice full of tenderness, though his eyes were laughing wickedly. "And I was so in the mood to shag you senseless." "You would have done that in the car?" she gasped, her eyes wide with mock horror. "With *Giles* driving?" "He already heard the bloody soundtrack, love. Maybe he'd like to see the movie, yeah?" he teased her. "Eww, Spike," she replied darkly, but she was trying hard to hide a smile. He leaned down to kiss her again, and she kissed him back, tenderly, parting finally from him to gaze up into his eyes again. "God, that was stupid!" she remarked with a laugh, shaking her head at the memory of what had taken place less than an hour ago. "Yeah," he chuckled, eagerly claiming her mouth again, kissing her deeply until she broke away, gasping for breath. She rested her forehead against his for a moment, breathing deeply, before meeting his eyes again. She paused for a moment before admitting, "But, God, that was *hot*!" He smiled at her observance for a moment, before repeating more enthusiastically, "Yeah," and kissing her one last time to send her on her way -- and make her want to come home sooner. The afternoon passed in peaceful solitude for Spike, enjoying the quiet contentment of feeling truly safe for the first time in nearly a year. He had spent the past months, ever since Drusilla's death, looking over his shoulder, constantly expecting to be taken by surprise and punished for the treachery he had chosen to engage in. Now, it felt good to finally have the secret out in the open, to be at a distance from the unpredictable, ever-present danger that Faith had been in his life. Of course, he knew that if Buffy's friends had been home, he would not have been able to feel such a sense of safety. He wasn't so sure about Xander; the whelp seemed to go along with whatever Buffy said, generally. The witch on the other hand -- there was a dangerous darkness hidden under that sweet, unassuming exterior, a bitter well of hatred and vengeance waiting to be poured out -- and at the moment it was all directed at him. But for the moment, the large, comfortable house was empty except for him, and he wanted nothing more than to rest and *not* think about the many people who still wanted to see him dead. At least Buffy was no longer one of them, he thought optimistically, with a sort of softness falling over him as he sat down on the sofa, thinking of her. He turned on the television and flipped carelessly through the channles, but all he saw was Buffy's face. Surprisingly trust-filled emerald eyes gazing into his own -- trembling lips, red and swollen with kisses -- that perfect golden skin that was as flawless as the sunlight that had colored it. He only hoped Buffy's glow would not consume him as quickly as that sunlight. Already he knew that he would never hurt her, would not hurt her friends or her Watcher, because *that* would hurt her. if he was truly honest with himself, he knew that he could fall in love with this amazing, tender, powerful woman -- if he let himself. He thought back on their conversation of the night before, about moving on and loving again after losing your first love. Suddenly, a vision from his dreams, of Drusilla's dark, hurt-filled eyes, accusing him of his betrayal, flashed into his mind. With a weary sigh, he laid his head back against the sofa, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. He realized that he had really gotten very little rest the night before, what with the bloody mind-blowing sex with Buffy, followed by the terrible nightmares, and long intense conversation, followed by *more* bloody mind-blowing sex with Buffy. And that was the last thought that went through his mind before he fell into a deep but troubled sleep, plagued by yet another revised version of the nightmares that haunted him. This time, he was the one who stormed into the room in a violent fury, intent on killing his bound lover, whose face kept shifting from Dru's to Buffy's and back again. he was seized by painful indecision, unsure what to do, why he was even there. Then, the chained beauty's face stopped changing, and was simply Buffy, gazing up at him imploringly...trustingly. Suddenly, his dark princess was behind him, her haunting, musical voice a seductive whisper in his ear, "Kill her, my Spike! Kill her for princess!" Though a part of him screamed out in horror at the idea, he lunged forward and rammed the stake in his hand through the heart of the blonde angel before him, who exploded not in a cloud of dust, but in a million glistening shards of sunlight, singing his flesh where they fell on him -- and melting away the false face of his love behind him, revealing the cruel face of his enemy, laughing in heartless triumph at the success of her deception. The quiet sound of the television in the background had lulled him to sleep, and it was the sudden silence that yanked him from the dream, with a startled jump, to see Willow standing back up straight after turning it off. He stared at her, a little dazed, as reality drifted back to him. Willow gave him a small, false smile. "Bad dream?" she asked, the forced sympathy in her voice making it appear that it would have pleased her if he had said yes. He did not. He shook his head. "No," he lied. "You just scared me, is all." "I scared you?" she repeated, that unsettling smile still in place, and the pleased tone of her voice was a little frightening in itself. "No," he objected again quickly. "*Startled* me," he amended, pausing before adding pointedly, "You *don't* scare me, Red." She stared at him, her expression not changing, for a long moment before she said quietly, matter-of-factly, "I should." Despite the way his stomach dropped at the calmly spoken words, Spike kept his expression unconcerned, suddenly wondering what time it was, and if Buffy was home yet. "5:30. She's been home since before I got here." Willow spoke quietly, an odd light in her green eyes. Spike's eyes widened in disbelief, and he unconsciously raised a hand to his head, as if trying to protect the private knowledge there. When he realized he was doing it, he quickly lowered his hand, swallowing hard, staring at her hard, sobered. "Like I said...you should be scared," Willow smirked. Spike suddenly wanted desperately to be absolutely anywhere but here, with Willow. Trying to appear unaffected by her demonstration of power, he stood up. "Yeah. Over a little parlor trick," he said sarcastically. "Sorry, not buying. Is Buffy upstairs?" he asked her dismissively as he moved to walk past her toward the stairs. The last thing he noticed was the odd little flick of Willow's wrist, just before he found himself slammed forcefully back down onto the couch. He tried to rise, but found his arms pinned to the seat as if by a heavy weight, completely immobile. "Yes, she is," Willow answered his question without missing a beat or raising her voice. She smiled. "And you're down here. And we're talking." "No, we bloody well are not!" he declared in a slightly trembling voice, struggling uselessly against the unseen force that held him down. He tried to quell his rising panic, but felt his fear getting stronger as Willow watched him impassively. "Let me go, Red!" he demanded in as threatening a voice as he could muster. "*Now*!" Looking toward the stairs, he called out, "Bu..." Before the word could leave his mouth, Willow had somehow silenced it, with a mere wave of her hand. His mouth was moving, he was speaking, but no sound left his lips. He was amazed -- and terrified -- at the power he had not known that the girl possessed. Uselessly he tried again to rise, to call out for Buffy's help, to no avail. Willow shrugged, obviously pleased with herself, and stepped slowly closer to him. "Well -- *I'm* talking," she amended as she reached him, her eyes dark and mesmerizing, with a glint of some dark power in their shining depths, captivating him so that he could not look away. "And you're paying attention," she went on softly, leaning in even closer, her eyebrows raised, her lips pursed with suppressed laughter as she added, teasingly, "Think you can handle that one on your own, or should I help?" He felt a cold chill of fear at the thought of what she might feel necessary to hold his attention, and shook his head rapidly, immediately ceasing his futile efforts to move and speak. The timid little girl of a year ago now held the power, and he had no choice but to submit. She smiled in satisfaction. "Good," she said quietly, that same calm in her voice that was so chilling to him. "That's better. Now, I've got some things I wanna get off my chest. That okay with you?" He nodded slowly, his wide eyes never leaving hers, and swallowed hard, his mouth dry with fear. Willow was silent for a moment before her smile faded and she stated simply, "You killed the man I loved." Spike automatically opened his mouth for a pleading explanation that he knew she would be able to hear, despite his forced silence, but stopped, flinching, when she raised a soft hand to brush lightly over his lips, leaving a small shock of pain where they touched. "Shhh," she ordered softly. "Don't interrupt me. That's rude." He fell silent again with a small nod, waiting for her to go on and pass her judgment, withholding his chance to give his defense. As far as she was concerned, he had none. "You killed him. And you deserve to die," she said matter-of-factly. "The only reason you are alive is because Buffy thinks she needs you. And if she's right -- and I kill you now, and Faith wins," she paused, shaking her head slightly, her lips a firm line of resignation, before she looked back at him with a sad smile, "...well, I couldn't live with that. So...you live. For now," she stated, her voice soft and solemn. "But the moment that Buffy *doesn't* need you -- the first clue I get that you're not being straight with us," she warned him, a menacing glare breaking into an infinitely more frightening smile of anticipation as she explained in a secretive tone, "I've got *lots* of little 'parlor tricks' up my sleeve, Spike!" She was quiet for a moment, moving in closer, her face only inches from his now. "You ever wonder what it feels like to be dusted, Spike? Oh, I know you must all the time," she waved her hand at his puzzled frown, smiling when he flinched at the this time innocent flick of her wrist. "But I mean, *really*, what it *feels* like -- like *moment by moment*." Her wide eyes held his, fascinated and terrified by the child-like excitement he saw there as she talked about her ideas, and he knew that she genuinely had the power to carry them out. "I've always wanted to see a staking, like, in slow motion," she confided, her voice lowered to barely above a whisper. "One...tiny...frame...at a time." His breath was coming fast and hard now, his fear intensified by the fact that it made no sound. She could do anything she wanted to him at that moment, and he could not resist her, or even cry out for help. he watched in helpless horror as she slowly brought her hand to rest lightly over his heart, her touch gentle, but so deadly. "I could make it happen, Spike," she assured him, though he already had no doubt of that. "Imagine...the exact moment when the stake pierces your skin...and each instant as it bores slowly deeper and deeper..." He could feel the heat of her hand on his cool skin, and he imagined that her touch was burning him. He shook his head slowly, closing his eyes, unable to hold back the silent whisper, "Please...please..." Only in his nightmares had Faith ever been able to reduce him to pleading, but Willow in this moment was infinitely more frightening than Faith had ever been. "Shut up." For the first time in the whole encounter, her voice was hard, threatening, reminding him of how much she hated him, how little pity she would show him, and he immediately obeyed. Willow’s voice immediately returned to the soft, almost gentle cadence she had used before. “Then – in the moment when it pierces your heart – you’d feel the heat flow out from there through every…single…cell of your body…literally burning you…to *death*. One…moment…at…a…time.” Now he knew that he was not imagining the intense heat that radiated from her hand through his chest, now aching under her touch. She lifted her hand away suddenly, leaving the burning sensation just as strong, her hand poised in the air, a beat away from carrying out her threat. “Do you want to feel that, Spike?” she asked him, deadly serious. “No,” he whispered, soundlessly, shaking his head, his eyes focused on her hand in frozen terror. “No.” “If you do anything to hurt Buffy…or any of us…if I think you’re lying about anything – you will, Spike. Is there any doubt in your mind about how serious I am?” He shook his head, his eyes wide and riveted to her hand. “Watch closely,” she whispered, with a sly smile, and suddenly waved her hand emphatically in front of his eyes. He drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, expecting the searing pain to begin…but instead, he felt the invisible weight lift from his body, and heard the ragged, shallow sound of his own rapid breathing. At that moment, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and Willow smiled at him, putting a finger to her lips before turning to meet Buffy, on her way down. “Hey, Will, I thought I heard you come in.” Buffy’s voice was cheerful. “Yeah,” Willow returned her friend’s smile, seeming in a better mood than usual. “I’m going upstairs to do some more studying on ways to stop Faith.” “Okay,” Buffy chirped, slipping past her and toward Spike, her smile fading into concern at the look on his face. “What happened? What’s wrong?” she asked him, starting toward him, forgetful of the fact that she was not supposed to care. Beyond her, behind her back, Willow paused on the stairs, her back to both of them…waiting, with a soft smile on her lips. “Nothing, pet…just a…a dream,” Spike managed to get out in a voice that sounded somewhat normal, after a long pause. “Just a dream.”

Chapter #30 - The Enemy Within

Buffy’s eyes were filled with concern as she went to sit beside Spike on the couch, glancing toward the stairs to be sure that Willow had gone before she put a gentle arm around his shoulder and pulled him slightly closer to her. “Another nightmare?” she asked sympathetically. “Are you okay?” Spike was very much *not* okay. He could not remember the last time he had been so utterly and completely terrified. His freedom of movement and speech had been restored, but the helpless feeling of knowing that Willow could take them away again any time she wanted to – the horror of her vicious threat, that he knew all too well that she *could* carry out – the hot sensation in his chest where she had touched him – all still remained to torment him with fear. Buffy’s comforting touch only made it worse, because he wanted desperately to tell her what had happened, but was afraid of whatever creative retribution the witch’s vengeful mind might come up with, should he disobey her silent command, and reveal the encounter that she wanted kept secret. Badly shaken by said encounter, he was defensive when he responded, pulling away from her touch and snapping at her irritably, “I can handle a soddin’ nightmare, pet. ‘S nothing for you to concern yourself with.” *But, God, I *want* you to!* he added desperately in his mind. *Buffy, you’re most likely my only bloody hope! Maybe – maybe I *should* tell her…* He wondered if Willow could hear his thoughts – and kill him with hers – even from her room upstairs. Buffy did not take offense; she could clearly see the fear behind his anger, though she did not know its true cause. “O - kaaay,” she said slowly, her eyes seeking his, which he kept carefully averted. Persistently, her hand reached out and took his, not allowing him to pull it away when he tried. It was only a half-hearted attempt to pull away, anyway. He craved her comfort, but was afraid that accepting it would lead to his confessing the truth to her – and confessing the truth to her would lead an agonizing death. Buffy frowned; his hand was like ice – even colder than usual – and trembling under her own. “Yeah,” she went on with mild sarcasm. “You’re just fine. That’s why you’re shaking so hard the whole *couch* is moving, and you won’t even look at me, right?” Spike jerked his betraying hand out of hers and rose quickly from the couch, putting a few feet of distance between them. “Look, I said it’s nothing, love, and it’s nothing. I had a bloody nightmare, ‘s not like it hasn’t happened before. I’ll deal, I just…just…” “Spike,” she interrupted him firmly, rising to move toward him. “It’s all right…” “I bloody well know it’s all right, that’s what I’m *telling* you, so why can’t you jut bloody let it be, Slayer! I’m not…” His words came to an abrupt halt, on the edge of losing control of his spinning emotions, as her soft, strong hands came to rest on his arms, their soothing warmth both steadying him and making him want to fall apart. “Spike,” she said softly, a gentle invitation in her tone, “you wanna tell me about it?” He shook his head, not looking at her. “Can’t,” he muttered. “Sure you can,” she pressed gently. She glanced toward the door, aware that Xander would be coming home from work any minute now, and while Giles had gone into the kitchen to study for a while, she knew that he could come back into the living room at any time. As much as she wanted to comfort Spike – she did not want to be *caught* comforting Spike. “Come on,” she said firmly. “Let’s go upstairs to my room.” “No,” he objected, and she did not miss the flash of fear in his eyes at the suggestion. “I mean it, Slayer, I’m fine!” he insisted, aware that the uncontrolled tremor in his voice was not terribly convincing. “I’m not going up there.” “Yes, you are,” she said firmly, moving behind him to guide him gently toward the stairs. “You’re my prisoner, remember?” she reminded him, and when his eyes met hers in surprise, he saw only compassion, mixed with a bit of kind teasing, in their emerald depths. “And I say we’re going upstairs. Where we can actually talk.” The firm tone melted into a softer, sweeter sound as she added, “Okay?” He wanted so badly to tell her what her friend had done; but he was absolutely terrified that the witch would hear their conversation from the next room, or that Buffy would not believe him, or that the decision to tell her would backfire on him in some other horrible way. But the look in her soft, certain eyes was calming to his battered nerves, and he began to allow himself to think that maybe she could actually help him. After all, he realized, Willow seemed to be planning to kill him regardless, once all was said and done and Faith was defeated, and Buffy did not “need” him anymore. If he tried to leave, he would face Faith and her lackeys – and violent, gruesome torture and death. If he stayed, he was faced with Willow and her thirst for vengeance – and violent, gruesome torture and death. And in the midst of all the confusion and fear – there was Buffy. In the darkness that saturated his life, that surrounded him with a world of fear and pain, she was the radiant light that scattered it all, bringing back a sense of peace and safety that he had not felt for a very long time. Suddenly, he made his decision. He would tell Buffy what had happened. If anyone could help him at all, it would be her. If there was anyone who could find a way to stop the powerful young witch who wanted so badly to make him suffer, it was the Slayer. Not that he was at all sure that anyone could do either. But if he did nothing, he was certain that he was going to die, either way. That was the one thing that he was sure of. He met her eyes with a tentative resolve, nodding slightly. “Okay,” he relented in a low, trembling voice. Fortunately, they did not pass any curious Scoobies on the way to Buffy’s room. Buffy carefully closed and locked the door, then turned back to face the anxious vampire standing behind her. “Okay,” she said softly, walking to him and leading him to the bed to sit down beside her. “You wanna tell me about this dream that’s got you so shaken up?” He did not meet her eyes for a long moment, as the image of Willow’s cruelly smiling face, warning him against what he was about to do, flashed through his mind. “Buffy,” he began cautiously. “It – it wasn’t a dream. I mean – there *was* a dream, but – that’s not what happened.” Buffy frowned, confused. “What happened, then? *Something* has you really freaked out.” As she spoke, her hand raised unconsciously to stroke through his hair once in a gesture of tenderness and concern that he found very encouraging. “I – it was…well…Red,” he admitted in a rush, before he could change his mind and stop himself. Buffy looked absolutely dumbfounded. “*Willow*? What could Willow possibly do that would have you so scared, Spike?” She paused, thoughtful. “I mean, I know she doesn’t like you much. Okay, she hates you,” she amended at the incredulous look he gave her. “But – come on – it’s *Willow*!” “Keep your bloody voice down, Slayer!” Spike hissed in a loud whisper, glancing anxiously toward the wall between Buffy’s and the adjoining bedroom – where Willow slept. “If she knows I’m telling you this, she’s gonna…well…she’ll…” Buffy’s eyes widened in amazement and disbelief. “She’s gonna *what*?” she persisted. “This is *Willow* we’re talking about. She’s not exactly the scariest person around,” she pointed out in a loud whisper to match his. “Yes,” he replied immediately, his voice flat and his eyes searching hers, begging her to believe him. “She *is* exactly the scariest person around, Buffy. She *is*.” Buffy just stared at him for a long moment, as if he had completely lost his mind. Much to his dismay, he could see her mouth twitching slightly as she tried to suppress a smile – or a laugh. In a quiet explosion of frustration and fear, Spike leapt up off the bed, throwing his hands in the air in a helpless gesture, as burst out in exasperation and despair, “I *knew* I shouldn’t have bloody said anything, ,’cause you don’t even believe me, and since you obviously think there’s nothing to it, you’re just gonna go running your head to *her* about it, ha bloody ha, let’s have a good laugh at the delusional vampire, before you ram a bleedin’ stake through his heart, in bloody slow motion just for kicks! And she will, you know!” he informed her, turning from his frantic pacing to point an accusing finger at her, his voice rising with each word, but still hushed, mindful of possible listening ears in the other room. “She will!” he insisted. “For telling *you* about it! She’ll laugh with you, isn’t it soddin’ hilarious, big bad vampire being scared of little ole me – and the first chance she gets she’ll kill me for it. I shouldn’t have said a word, not a bloody word!” he declared, turning his back on her, shaking his head in disgust at his own actions as he went on, “ ‘Cause the witch is out for blood, pet, and she’s gonna get it, one way or the other, because I killed her bleedin’ wolf-boy, and it doesn’t seem to matter to anyone in this bloody house that it was *self-defense*! He would have killed me if I hadn’t done it, and I don’t know why I don’t just bloody give up, because if *she* doesn’t kill me, then your Watcher will, and if *he* doesn’t, then Faith will, and I am just so bloody sick and tired of *running*, and…and being on the edge of death every soddin’ moment of my bloody unlife, and…and…” His voice faltered slightly as Buffy reached him, her gentle hands slipping around his waist in a gesture that was protective and comforting, and made an odd lump rise in his throat that made it hard to speak. “I – I just can’t – I…” he tried, his breath hitching slightly as he lowered his head, closing his eyes. “Shhh,” she soothed him softly, reaching a hand up to touch his face in a feather-light caress, her thumb tracing over his trembling lips. “It’s all just too much for you,” she summed his whole emotional rant up neatly. “I understand, it’s okay…” “No, it’s not,” he argues, a bit more subdued now that he had managed to get some things off his chest, but still upset and afraid. “You don’t believe me, and…” “I never said I didn’t believe you,” she reminded him in a tone of gentle reproof. “You never even finished telling me what happened.” She paused, searching his downcast, glistening blue eyes for a moment before cautiously pressing on, “What happened?” He raised his eyes to meet hers with a weary sigh, and said in a voice barely over a whisper, “If she knows I told you – she’ll kill me, pet. ‘S that simple. Right?” “Right,” Buffy conceded reluctantly. She really had a hard time imagining that Willow could really pose *that* much of a danger to Spike. After all, she was just a rather small human girl, and he was a master vampire. As long as he watched his back, there should not have been any way that Willow could have managed to actually harm him. But for some reason, he was very genuinely terrified of her, and if he did not want her to tell Willow about the conversation, she would promise not to tell her, if only to appease him. And if she thought there was actually any real threat to him, she would actually keep that promise. In a halting, hesitant voice, Spike recounted the story of what Willow had said and done in the living room, from reading his thoughts, to her silent instruction not to tell Buffy about the encounter. When he had finished, he forced himself to raise his eyes back to hers, afraid of what he would see there. She might very well not believe him at all. And if she *did* believe him, he reminded himself dubiously, with an uncomfortable feeling, what was to say that she would even take his side over that of her best friend? Would she even *care* what Willow had done? Against all his fears and misgivings, he lifted his wide, apprehensive eyes to meet hers. Buffy’s mouth was open slightly, her eyes wide in an expression of shocked disbelief. “*Willow* did that?” she whispered, and the fact that she remembered to lower her voice was encouraging. “I mean – someone can actually *do* things like that to someone else?” “An incredibly powerful witch, like Red – yeah,” he affirmed, his expression dark and serious. “But…Willow’s not even that serious about the whole magic thing,” Buffy protested. “I mean…she just kind of plays around with it, you know?” “Maybe she *did*,” he countered. “before you left. But, now – she’s doing a lot more than playing, pet. She’s managed to develop quite a bit of power since you’ve been gone.” “Spike,” Buffy began, and the hesitance in her voice made his heart sink, knowing before she even spoke what sort of response it would be. “Are you sure…are you sure it wasn’t…well, part of the dream? You said you *were* dreaming. Before it happened…” “Buffy, I’m sure, all right?” he interrupted impatiently. “This really happened! Believe it or not, your meek and mousy little friend has grown up a bit while you were away. She’s got quite a talent for magic, it seems, and she’s aiming it all in *my* direction!” Buffy sighed, the troubled look in her eyes telling him that she really was not sure what to believe. It just seemed so unreal to her, to think of sweet little Willow, having so much power, and wielding it so ruthlessly. “Look,” she said wearily, turning away from him toward the door. “I’ll talk to her…okay? I’ll make sure she knows not to…” “No!” he objected, more forcefully than he had intended, following her toward the door. “Don’t say a bloody word to her, pet, or she’ll…” His voice trailed off when he noticed that she was not paying attention to him at all anymore. She was staring at the door, a frown of confusion – and rising apprehension – on her face. “I know I…I…” she began, her voice soft and thoughtful, shaking her head a little. His eyes followed her gaze with a cold feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, as she finally finished her statement. “I know I locked that door!” The door to her bedroom was not only unlocked, but standing an inch or two open. The sick feeling in Spike’s stomach intensified, as he turned away from the door, raising one hand to his head, feeling suddenly completely overwhelmed by the whole situation. “Bloody hell,” he whispered, shaking his head. He stood like that for a moment, his head in his hand, before he looked up at her, his blue eyes fearful and uncertain. “Secret’s out, then, pet.” She looked at him, wide-eyed with disbelief, but growing understanding. “You don’t think Willow…” “No, love,” he broke in impatiently. “I *know* Willow! I know she did that. She must have heard us.” He looked away and muttered, “Just no telling exactly how *much* she heard.” He paused for a moment before looking back up at her, with a sort of grim acceptance in his eyes. “Maybe you’d better have that talk with her after all.”

Chapter #31 - Broken Trust

"Okay," Buffy said, turning back toward Spike, keeping her voice deliberately calm and even, very much aware that he was on the edge of completely freaking out already. "Obviously she knows what we were talking about..." She glanced back toward the door, with a worried frown, as she went on, "...and obviously you were right about the magic. So there's really no choice about it. I need to go talk to her." "Buffy...Buffy she's gonna kill me," Spike told her, his voice trembling and imploring as he stepped toward her, taking her arms and searching her eyes fearfully. "Maybe you could talk to your Watcher. He's got all the bloody magical knowledge, doesn't he? Maybe he could think of a way to...to stop her..." "Maybe," she conceded, nodding slowly. "I'm gonna talk to Will first, see if I can calm her down, reason with her. If we need to, we can see if Giles can do anything to help." What she did not tell him was that she was not very sure that Giles would be interested in helping Spike at all. Next to Willow, Giles was first in line for the Most Likely to Stake Spike award, and she knew that it would take a lot of convincing to get him to do anything against Willow, to help Spike. Besides, she was certain that it would just take a few minutes of conversation with Willow to figure out exactly what was going on, and get her to back off, if necessary. She knew that Willow hated Spike, and she had to admit that it was understandable, but she was sure that if she could just talk to her she could convince her to leave Spike alone – at least for the time being. "She's not gonna listen to reason, pet!" Spike insisted, desperation coming through in his voice and his pleading eyes. "That's *not* going to work!" "Spike," she said softly, reaching up a hand to rest at the back of his neck, gently massaging in an effort to soothe him, "it's gonna be all right. I've known Willow for years. Trust me." Spike did not respond, searching her eyes intently for a long moment, desperation clear in his own. Finally, he dropped his gaze, with a weary sigh of defeat. No matter how hard he tried, he was not going to be able to convince her that her sweet, shy best friend was truly dangerous. And with that realization went his last hope. With a rising sense of despair, he let her go and went to go and sit down on the edge of her bed, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands. “Whatever you say, love,” he said in a flat, weary voice. "Just stay here and wait for me, okay?" Buffy instructed quietly, her tone even and calm, but not without compassion. "I'm just going to go talk to her, and then I'll be right back." He nodded wordlessly, refusing to look at her, absolutely sick with fear. She stared at him for a moment, wanting to broach the wall she had just felt spring up between them, but thinking that anything she could say right now was not really going to help. With or without good reason, Spike was terrified, and the only way to really settle his fears was to work out the situation with Willow. Steeling herself for what was certainly going to be a very uncomfortable conversation, she took a deep breath and walked out into the hallway. She walked down the hall a few steps until she stood just outside Willow's room. She hesitated just a moment before knocking on the door. "Come in, Buffy." Willow's voice sounded a little muffled from the other side of the closed door. Buffy felt an odd chill go down her spine. *Okay, *that* was weird!* Still, she fought back the strange sense of foreboding that settled over her and opened the door and walked inside. *It's just Willow,* she reminded herself, a little uneasily. *Spike's little freak-out just has me a little jumpy, that's all. Nothing to be scared of here.* "Hey, Will," she said casually, careful to keep her voice non-confrontational, as she closed the door quietly behind her and approached her friend. "Can I -- talk to you about something?" Willow was lying on her stomach on her bed, a thick, intimidating-looking book open in front of her, with an open spiral notebook and pen lying beside it. She was obviously deep in research mode. She smiled at Buffy as she entered -- that same guileless, disarming Willow-smile that Buffy had come to know -- and trust -- so well. "Sure, Buffy. What's up?" she asked, the slightest hint of a frown creasing her brow at the look on Buffy's face. "Is something wrong?" "Yeah...um..." Buffy hesitated, looking into the wide, innocent eyes of her best friend. *This is ridiculous. This is *Willow*. She's so not dangerous!* she thought. "It's...nothing, really. I just -- well -- it's Spike." "Oh," Willow nodded knowingly. "Yes. Still not dusty. Yep. That *is* a problem." There was no malice in her voice, just her usual mildly sarcastic joking tone, that way she had of making her feelings known about something without being too aggressive about it -- easing the blow of her opinion by wrapping it in a joke. At the moment, however, remembering Spike's terrified face, the very real fear he held at the moment of Willow's making him "dusty" for real, took any appreciation for the humor of Willow's comment right out of Buffy. "Will," she said in a gently reproving voice, without the hint of a smile. "Okay, okay," Willow relented, rolling her eyes slightly before giving Buffy a grudgingly apologetic look. "Sorry. What's the trouble?" she asked, focusing on Buffy dutifully, all wide-eyed attention. Same old Willow. "Well -- this is gonna ound really silly...I almost hate to even mention it, in fact. But -- well, um -- he's a little -- scared of you, Will," Buffy admitted sheepishly. "He says you -- threatened him. Threatened to use your magic. To kill him." Buffy was not sure how she had expected Willow to react. Shock, disbelief, denial -- maybe even incredulous laughter? The last thing she expected was the reaction that she got. Willow's face took on her typical guilty look, flushing red with embarrassment and not quite meeting Buffy's eyes. "Well," she began with a little grimace, her voice small and timid. "I didn't exactly *say*...'kill'...exactly..." "Willow!" Buffy was astonished. “Okay!” Willow admitted sheepishly. “I threatened him. I did. I just – Buffy…” She hesitated, looking down at the bedspread for a long moment before she raised her tearful eyes to meet her friend’s. “I don’t trust him…obviously. He killed Oz, Buffy. And I know that you think he can help us beat Faith, I understand that, I really do,” she went on, her wide eyes open and searching Buffy’s for understanding. “But I just wanted to get the standard disclaimer out of the way. You know. If you hurt my friend I’ll subject you to the most painful fate you can imagine…that sort of thing.” Buffy was starting to feel a little better already, listening to her friend’s explanation. The way Willow told it, it sounded much more like something that her friend would actually do. “Will – that sort of thing is usually just for dating situations,” she pointed out dryly, congratulating herself on making that comment with a straight face and no hints to her perceptive friend of what was *really* going on between her and the blonde vampire. Willow shrugged. “Well, ya know. I thought it might also work for the whole mortal enemies working together scenario, too. Just in case he’s – well, in case he’s not really on your side, Buffy.” “I understand that, Will,” Buffy conceded. “But it really wasn’t necessary. He’s totally freaked. He’s thinking you’re gonna go in there and stake him with the power of your mind for even telling me about it.” At that, Willow gave the disbelieving laugh that Buffy had expected earlier. The laugh faded into an apologetic half-smile. “I guess I was a little *too* convincing, huh?” she guessed. “I mean…not that I didn’t mean it,” she clarified, her expression suddenly serious. “Because Buffy, if he *does* do anything to hurt you…I *will* stake him. Most likely with the power of my mind,” she informed her matter-of-factly. Buffy actually smiled, not at the thought of Spike being staked – after all, she knew he was not going to do anything to hurt her – but at Willow’s steadfast loyalty. She should have guessed that this was what had really happened. She could not really fault her friend for trying to protect her – even if she did not really need protecting. “You can do that?” she asked, a little awe-struck. “With your mind?” Willow gave her a modest smile, and nodded. “Yeah.” “He told me you made it so he couldn’t move and couldn’t talk…all with just a wave of your hand.” “I did,” Willow admitted. She gave a little half shrug. “That might have been taking it a little far, I guess.” Buffy laughed softly. “I think it was,” she agreed, trying to keep her expression serious. “Really, Will, he’s not going to do anything to hurt me. I’m the only thing standing between him and Faith right now. It’s not in his best interests to hurt me.” She paused. “So…that sort of thing is really not necessary. Okay?” “Okay,” Willow agreed with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Buffy. I was just trying to help.” “I know,” Buffy smiled at her reassuringly, feeling an immense sense of relief. She had just known that the whole thing was not nearly as sinister as Spike had made it sound. Of course, from his end, she could certainly understand why he had been as shaken by it as he had been. But now that she had talked it out with Willow, she knew that he could rest easier; Willow would leave him alone. The hard part was going to be convincing *Spike* of that. “So…that little freezing spell or whatever…to make it where someone can’t move…” she went on slowly, a sudden thought occurring to her. “You could use that on Faith…right?” Willow’s face lit up. “Ooh! Yes! I could!” Her voice was enthusiastic as she went on. “Maybe if you guys could lure her into a fight…and then I could freeze her…and…and then…well, I’ll leave what would happen next to your judgment. That’s kind of your department,” she said, grimacing in distaste at the thought of what might need to be done to Faith at that point. “That’s a really good idea.” Buffy could feel her spirits rising at the first small inkling of progress they seemed to have made at all. “So…see? Some good came out of this whole thing!” Willow looked tremendously relieved, her guilt face fading away at Buffy’s words. Buffy could not imagine how Spike could have been so scared of the timid, unassuming girl. Just then, she heard the doorbell ring downstairs. “I guess I’d better go get that,” she said with a sigh, heading toward the door. “I’ll let you get back to your studying. I’m sure you’ve got lots of stuff you need to do.” As she walked out the door with a lighter step, having allowed herself to be reassured from the very uncomfortable thoughts that had been introduced to her in the past hour, Willow watched her leave with a small, private smile. “Yep,” she muttered to herself as she rose from the bed. “Sure do.” Spike sat on Buffy’s bed, in exactly the same position he had been when she had left, trying to control the rising sense of panic that was trying to overtake him. He just knew that this was not going to go well. The witch was going to convince her that he was lying, or delusional, or that it was no big deal, and then the first chance she had to get him alone… He shuddered. Just then, he heard the sound of the doorbell ringing, followed a few moments later by a familiar set of footsteps heading down the hall, and then down the stairs. He wondered how much of the conversation Buffy had managed to have before being interrupted by the doorbell. Anxious, he rose from the bed. He had no idea exactly how much Red knew, but he knew that if Buffy had talked to her at all, she was going to be seriously pissed off, and the last place he wanted to be was anywhere alone at that moment. He decided in a moment that he would go downstairs, and stick with Buffy from that moment on. He had no intention of being alone with the witch, from that point on. He headed for the door, eager to get back to Buffy, and the fragile sense of safety that surrounded her. “Where ya goin’?” a casual, friendly voice that struck terror through his heart spoke from behind him. He whirled around to face Willow, standing a few feet behind him, her hair – was it darker than usual? – blowing in a wind that should not have been in the room, her eyes dark and full of malice. Unable to respond for the fear that consumed him, he took a couple hurried steps backward away from her, toward the door. Suddenly, the door, which had been standing partially open, slammed forcefully shut behind him, and he jumped, turning halfway to stare at it with wide, shocked eyes, before turning again to face her. She shrugged, with a little giggle that was chillingly malicious. “Hmm,” she mused, stepping closer to him slowly. “Guess you’re not going anywhere, huh?” Buffy could not believe how much better she felt as she hurried down the stairs toward the door. She was so glad that she had talked to Willow and gotten everything straightened out. Now, she just needed to talk to Spike and calm him down. She would just see who was at the door, and then go right back upstairs to talk to him. In a precautionary gesture that was habit by now, she took out her stake as she moved toward the door. It *was* after dark, and she could not be too careful. Of course, she reminded herself, a vampire could not actually get into the house anyway, so the stake was a pointless comfort. Like a vampire would just walk up to the door and ring the bell anyway. *Unless it’s Spike,* she reminded herself with a soft smile of amusement, remembering when he had first turned up at her door a few nights ago. She opened the door…and froze in her tracks. She stopped breathing completely for several long moments, and she was quite certain that her heart skipped a few beats. A vampire had indeed come directly up to her door and rung the bell – a vampire in much worse condition than Spike had been when he had come to her door. Apparently, the creature had barely had the strength to make it to the door, and had collapsed on the porch after ringing the bell. He was dirty and disheveled, in tattered clothes and covered in many terrible cuts and burns and other injuries that Buffy did not even want to try to identify. He looked as if he had been through hell. He had. She suddenly remembered she was still holding her breath, and gasped in a deep, much-needed breath, as she dropped to her knees in the doorway in front of the battered creature on the porch, heedless of the danger that surrounded them just outside her door, overwhelmed with emotion. She let out the breath she had drawn in a ragged sob, tears streaking her face as she finally spoke in a broken, disbelieving whisper. “*Angel*!”

Chapter #32 - Helpless

Buffy did not know how long she stayed there on the porch, just trying to make her mind process the fact that Angel was really there. Her heart, her mind, everything felt numb – as if this was not real, not actually happening. A surreal, dreamlike feeling surrounded her, as her mind repeated over and over, trying to make it real, *Angel is here…he’s come back…Angel is here…* Finally, it occurred to her shell-shocked mind that at the moment they were both in very real danger; she needed to get him inside, and fast. He was conscious, but unable to rise from the ground where he had fallen, so she lifted him effortlessly into her arms and carried him into the house, lying him gently down on the sofa. He moaned softly, turning his head toward her. Then, those deep, dark eyes that had mesmerized her, haunted her dreams, for so long, slowly opened, gradually focusing on her face. “Buffy,” he whispered, relief in his feeble whisper, and so much emotion in those eyes…. Buffy lost her breath in that moment, and felt a stab of pain in her heart at the memory of those eyes, nearly a year before, staring at her in disbelief and betrayal, not comprehending the choice she had been forced to make. For the next few minutes, she forced herself to go into Slayer mode. The swirling emotions that were threatening to take her over would do nothing to benefit either of them; she tried to shut out every distraction and just focus on the task at hand – tending to her injured ex-lover. She could only guess at what turn of fate had brought him back from the hell she had sent him to, but he was here now, and he clearly needed her help, badly. He was bruised and bleeding; apparently having recently received a vicious beating; she realized suddenly that he needed blood, or he would not be able to heal. She suddenly remembered the bagged blood in the kitchen that she had brought home with her that evening. She had brought it back for Spike, declaring firmly in her fiercest Slayer voice that as long as he was in *her* house, it was the only kind of blood he would be consuming. *Spike.* The thought of the blonde vampire upstairs waiting for her gave her a moment’s pause. When she thought of the night they had just shared, the bond they had formed over their shared feelings of loss and comfort, and then looked down at the barely conscious vampire on the couch that had held her heart in his hands for so long, she felt overwhelmed with confusion and uncertainty. She knew that she was very attracted to Spike, cared for him, and could easily love him if she allowed herself to – so where did Angel fit into all this? Certainly not in the realm of her memories alone, where he had remained during the past few painful months. She had thought that he was out of her life forever – until she had opened her front door to find her painful past laid at her feet. She did not have time to try to figure it out right then; she did not even know how Angel had come to be there at all, and would not until she could help him recover enough to tell her what had happened to him. Some instinct told her that the beating he had taken had occurred *after* he had returned to this dimension. And if that was the case, then nine chances out of ten, Faith was probably involved somehow. After she had managed to get a little of the blood down Angel’s throat, he seemed to revive a little, becoming more aware of his surroundings. He struggled to pull himself up on his arms to face her, seeming a bit disoriented and confused still. Then, his eyes settled on her, focused and alert this time. “Buffy,” he gasped, a wealth of emotion in his voice, weak, but so familiar to her. “Angel,” she whispered, tears flooding her eyes, and before she knew what she was doing her resolve was crushed, and she lowered her head to his chest, sobbing. “Angel, I’m so sorry!” “Buffy,” he whispered, and she could hear the tears in his voice as well. “Oh, Buffy…” That was all he could manage to say, but she could hear the warmth, the compassion in his voice that told her that he did not hate her, even after all that had happened. It was a long time before Buffy could regain control of her emotions enough to lift her head and meet his eyes…and even then it was a struggle. Every time she looked at him, she was taken back to the moment of the betrayal she had been forced to commit. She dropped her eyes after only a moment, her hand clutching his tightly; she had no idea how it had come to be holding his in the first place. “What happened?” she asked in a whisper. “How did you – get back?” He was silent for a moment, seeking her eyes, aware that her guilt was placing a distance between them, but not knowing how to broach it. “I – I don’t know,” he answered quietly at last, his voice a little stronger as the blood began to do its work. “A couple of months ago, I just – just found myself back here. In Sunnydale.” “A couple of months ago?” she frowned, confused. “Then – where…?” It hurt her to realize that he had been back for so long, and had only now sought her out. She had longed to see him for so long, it was painful to think that he had not wanted to see her. *Of course he didn’t want to see you,* she reminded herself. *You sent him to hell, Buffy. Should you be surprised that he didn’t drop by to say hello the moment he got back in town?* Still, she could not keep the hurt from her voice as she asked, “Where were you?” Angel was quiet for a moment, before he answered, “Buffy – I was in hell. That sort of thing changes you.” The sarcasm, the accusation, in his voice was faint – but it was there, and she flinched to hear it. When he saw her reaction, he looked away. His voice was softer when he went on, still not looking at her, “I – wasn’t myself. I guess I was – half crazy, Buffy. Wild. What humanity I had was…” He stopped, shaking his head, searching for words. “Gone – or buried. I wasn’t even the same person I was…before.” “What happened?” Buffy gently pushed him, her eyes still downcast, when he did not go on. He was silent for so long that she ventured a look up to see his haunted eyes, gazing at the coffee table between them, lost in painful memories. Just when she thought that he was not going to answer at all, he whispered, “She found me.” A chill went down Buffy’s spine, and she knew without asking who “she” was. The thought of Angel in Faith’s cruel hands, already driven out of his mind with suffering, rekindled the smoldering fury that had ignited when she had learned of Spike’s abuse at those same hands. *That’s it,* she determined suddenly. *That little bitch is going down.* “She – she helped me,” Angel went on haltingly. “At first. Helped me get better. Told me who I was – said I was -- *destined*.” “Destined for what?” Buffy frowned. He looked at her, his eyes distant with memory. “To help the Slayer,” he replied simply. “She said – she had a – a special calling, greater than the other Slayers – and I was destined to help her fulfill it.” Suddenly, Buffy understood. “Did she tell you what exactly that entailed?” she asked darkly, thinking of the ritual. He looked down again. “Eventually,” he said softly. There was a bitter sarcasm in his voice as he went on, “once she thought I was too grateful to her, too much under her control, to object.” He paused, before adding in a voice of steel, “She was wrong. I refused, as soon as I knew what it was she wanted to do. No Slayer in her right mind would want to do a thing like that.” He shook his head slightly. “Only someone as demented and power-hungry as Faith.” Buffy nodded her agreement. “What happened then?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the rest of his story. “Well…the difference in her was like night and day after that,” he continued, his eyes down and his voice trembling with the painful memories he was recounting. “She tried to – to convince me – to help her anyway.” His eyes looked so lost, so haunted. Instinctively Buffy squeezed his hand tighter, reassuring him with her presence. “But you got away,” she reminded him gently, trying to pull him from his dark reverie. “Eventually,” he said again. He looked up at her suddenly. “We have to stop her, Buffy. It won’t take her long to find some other vamp foolish enough to go along with her. I hate to say this – but I think we need to take her out, Buffy. For good.” Buffy looked at him for a long moment, then nodded grimly. “I’ve been afraid of that for a while now,” she admitted. “We should hurry, too,” he went on, urgency in his dark eyes. “I think she may already have someone lined up to take my place.” “Anyone I know?” Buffy asked, her eyebrows lifted in surprise at that news. Angel nodded, with a slight grimace that said she was not going to be thrilled with his response. “Spike.” Buffy felt her stomach drop – and also the very inappropriate urge to laugh. “Um…Angel…” she began cautiously. “There’s something you should know…” She knew why Angel would make that assumption. If Spike had been acting the part of Faith’s loyal paramour in front of Angel, it was only a natural conclusion to reach. How was she going to be able to explain to him that Spike was actually working against Faith, and she had invited him into her home – not to mention her bed? Suddenly, a thought struck her, and she looked back at Angel, a startling question rising in her eyes with a strange realization. Long before her battle with Angelus, she had rescinded Angel’s invitation to her home, for the safety of her family and friends. And she had never extended a new invitation, having no cause to, assuming that he was gone forever. A few moments before, when she had found him at her door, the thought of any danger he might pose had been the farthest thing from her mind. She had not thought, in her shock and disbelief at seeing him at her door, and had simply lifted him across her threshold and into her home. Without extending a new invitation. Her eyes widened with surprise and suspicion, and she unconsciously moved back a little from him, her mind racing as she thought of possible scenarios which might have led to Angel’s current “welcome” status in her home. Angel’s eyes were innocent and startled at her reaction, as he stared at her, his tone confused and a little defensive as he spoke. “Buffy…*what*?” In desperation, Spike backed against the bedroom door, trying the handle, though he knew already that the door would not open. When his fears were confirmed, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gain control of his emotions, shaking his head in denial of his helpless situation. Willow laughed at his reaction, taking her time as she advanced on him; they both knew he had no escape. “That’s not gonna make me go away,” she mocked him, as she came to stand a few feet in front of him. With a cold smile, she ran the back of her hand lightly across his forehead and down his cheek, and he flinched back hard, hitting his head on the door in the process. She smirked, and suddenly he heard her voice, not in his ears, but as an echoing intrusion in his mind. *Who would have thought…the big, bad vampire who took down a werewolf with his bare hands…afraid of a little magic?* The hatred, the underlying fury in her taunting voice, was intensified by the fact that she was speaking only in his mind, her violent emotions that accompanied the words a tangible force that he could feel for himself. “Get out of my head, witch!” he ground out, his voice low and trembling with mingled anger and terror at her violation, as he pulled away from her touch. She stepped back, regarding him with a smile for a moment. But then, her features twisted in rage and he could feel her power invading his mind again. He tried with everything in him to shut her out, to close his mind to her, but with a sudden violent surge of anger she delivered what felt like a vicious backhand blow – without touching him. His whole body slammed hard against the door, rattling it loudly, but the sound was drowned out for him by the roaring of the powerful voice once again in his head. *I’ll leave when I’m *ready* to…murderer!* she snarled, and the pure menace in her mental voice was terrifying. Suddenly, she was right back in his face, her hand resting on the wall beside him, closing him in. He was shaking so hard that he thought his legs would cease to support him from sheer terror, and the power of Willow’s magic, still invading his body and mind, as she spoke again in his head, her voice once again soft and almost gentle. She seemed pleased that he was no longer resisting her at all, mentally. *There we go,* she spoke in his mind, her voice clear and unhindered. *That’s so much better. See? You don’t have to make everything so hard.* His mind was racing, desperately trying to think of a way out, panic rising in him with the realization that she could hear his every thought, know any idea he came up with as soon as he did. He wondered suddenly if anyone had heard the sound a few moments ago, when she had slammed him into the door so hard. Desperately he hoped…surely someone must have… *No one heard it,* she cut off his hope with a cruel smile, her hand once again trailing down his cheek in a disturbing caress. *The spell’s on the door this time – not your mouth. I don’t mind if you beg for mercy this time. In fact…* She leaned in close, and he jumped, startled, when she whispered aloud in his ear, “I think I’d like it better if you did.” “B-buffy,” he tried, despising the obvious fear in his voice. “If you stake me, she’ll…” “Believe anything I tell her,” she interrupted in a tone of calm triumph, emphasizing each word separately, as she produced a stake out of thin air, tossing it in her hand and catching it neatly as his eyes widened in fear at the sight. “Can I help it if you attacked me? A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.” She shrugged with a sly smile, as his eyes widened in terrible understanding. “And fortunately for me…there won’t be anyone to contradict my story.” She pressed the stake against his chest, her cold smile widening as he cringed. “Go ahead,” she told him. “Scream if you want to.” She shrugged. “No one’s gonna hear you.” Her voice lowered to a chilling whisper as she leaned in to add, “And you’re *gonna* want to!” Panic seized him; it did not matter that he knew he didn’t stand a chance against her. Everything in him focused on not letting her carry out her horrific threat. With a sweeping motion of his arm he knocked the stake out of her hand, sending it clattering across the floor. She was distracted enough by his actions that he was able to lunge at her, hurling her to the ground under him. Before she could react he slammed his fist down into her face with desperate force. She couldn’t work any magic if she was unconscious. Unfortunately…she was not unconscious. With a weak but effective gesture of her hand, she threw him off her, and he landed a few feet away, feeling as if he had been kicked in the ribs by someone much larger and stronger than little Willow Rosenberg. Willow struggled to her feet, wiping blood from her mouth, her eyes blazing with fury. With another wave of her hand, before he could even begin to rise, she threw him violently into the far wall, with a breathtaking, bone-crushing impact, where he slumped to the floor against the wall, unable to rise. “Okay…*now* I’m mad,” she snarled, advancing quickly on him, stopping for a moment to pick up her stake. He could do no more as she reached him but to shrink away from her against the wall. He was hopelessly trapped, unable to fight or run…helpless. “Don’t,” he said softly as she crouched down in front of him, turning his head away from her cruel smile of triumph. “Please…don’t…” “You know,” she said calmly, her penetrating gaze drawing his eyes back to hers. “I think I changed my mind.” Without warning she hit him with another vicious jolt of power that slammed his head back against the wall, at the same time leaving a deep, bleeding gash across his cheek. Kneeling in front of him and pressing the stake to his chest again, she ordered in a menacing whisper close to his ear, “Shut up.” Slowly, she backed off a little, removing her hand from the stake carefully – and to his horror, it remained suspended in the air, rotating slowly, its tip pressed painfully into his flesh. Desperate, knowing that she was about to kill him, he tried to move, to fight her off, even knowing that he would fail – and found himself pinned helplessly as before, to the wall behind him, unable to move an inch. His wide, terrified eyes met hers, cold and merciless, full of cool triumph, as she held her hand up in front of his face to be sure he saw what she was doing. After a weighted pause, she snapped her fingers, the click resounding with a fatal clarity in the silence that had fallen over the room – and he felt the stake at his chest press just slightly forward. He bit back a cry of pain as its jagged point pierced further into his skin, its slowly spinning tip tearing his flesh. Willow leaned in from the side, gripping his hair and yanking his head back to whisper with chilling glee, “This…is gonna be so…cool…” It was in that moment that he knew there was absolutely no hope. He was going to die. Suddenly, the door that Willow had magically sealed and soundproofed burst open, flooding the room with light from the hallway, and momentarily obscuring the figure who stood in the doorway. But the pure power radiating from him was unmistakable, even before Spike could make out his face. Rupert Giles. “Willow,” the Watcher spoke calmly as he slowly entered the room. “I think you’d better stop.” Willow slowly stood, a smirk on her face as she looked the Watcher up and down with bold contempt for the power she could not have helped but sense. “I think you’d better stop me,” she sneered. Giles gave the girl he had mentored and loved for years a sad, regretful smile. “As you say,” he replied softly. And without a move, without a word, apparently simply by his thoughts, Willow suddenly slumped to the floor in a dead faint. Spike’s relief was only partial. After all, he still could not move, and the deadly stake was still boring into his chest. Of course, at the rate it was moving it would have taken hours to actually dust him – which had been Willow’s intent – but it was still unbelievably painful. The Watcher crossed the room and stood over the helpless vampire, regarding him for a moment as Spike looked up at him in apprehension. He was not so certain that Giles was the lesser of the two dangers. With a simple wave of the Watcher’s hand, Spike felt the binding pressure on his limbs disappear, and the deadly stake dropped to the floor with a soft clatter. Spike collapsed forward, his hand pressed to the bleeding wound in his chest, gasping back sobs of relief, with the release of his terror of the past few minutes. He gave the fallen witch a wide-eyed, sideways look, then looked back up at Giles. “Is she…did you…” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “What did you do?” he finally managed to get out. “She’s quite all right,” Giles assured him. “When she awakens, she’ll be considerably calmer.” “Not that I’m doubting you, mate,” Spike said between deep breaths, his eyes still on Willow’s unconscious form. “But on the off chance she’s *not*…” “She’s been stripped of her powers,” Giles interrupted calmly, his eyes also on the girl. Spike looked up at him in surprise. “For how long?” “Until I feel it’s appropriate to return them.” Spike was impressed, and did not bother trying to hide it. After a moment, he looked back up at Giles as he struggled to get to his feet. “Not that I’m not grateful,” he choked out, “because I bloody well am…but…I can’t help but wonder…if you didn’t save me…just to have the soddin’ pleasure of staking me yourself, Watcher,” he said frankly, stumbling, falling back to one knee from the pain in his ribs. “Quite the contrary, Spike,” Giles spared him a small smile as he moved forward and reached out a hand to the injured vampire. “I rather think I want you alive at the moment.” Spike cast a dubious look between his face and his outstretched hand, unsure whether or not he could trust the man at all. There were precious few people he could trust lately. “Come on, now, take it,” Giles urged him, impatiently, but not without understanding. “I’m not going to hurt you, Spike…” “Yeah,” Spike muttered, but he took the Watcher’s hand and allowed him to pull him to his feet. “I’ve heard that song before…” “As much as it pains me to admit it,” Giles went on, that odd little self-deprecating smile still in place. “I rather think we need you at the moment.” “And what’s brought about this little change of heart?” Spike asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Giles’ smile widened slightly. “Come,” he said, walking toward the door with a beckoning wave of his hand, presumably leading the way to his room down the hall. “Let’s talk.”

Chapter #33 - More Secrets and Lies

Spike followed Giles down the hall to his room, and closed the door behind them. Giles sat down in the desk chair, turning it around to face the vampire – who was leaning against the door, his eyes closed, as he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The reality of the terrible fate he had so narrowly escaped was just beginning to hit him – hard. Giles regarded him for a long moment, a speculative look on his face, before rising and crossing the room to stand directly in front of him. Spike opened his eyes, giving the Watcher a wary look. “Allow me to take care of that for you,” Giles said mildly, gesturing toward the bleeding wound in Spike’s chest from Willow’s stake. Spike frowned in confusion, and then his eyes widened as he realized what Giles meant. “Thanks but no thanks, Watcher,” he replied in a dark tone. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not so very fond of magic. And that’s not just since the witch decided to play bloody pin the stake in the Spike! That’s since…” He paused, then shrugged as he admitted, “Well, since – since *ever*.” “You know, Spike,” Giles smiled calmly. “Magic *does* have its *good* uses – in the hands of someone who respects its power and uses it wisely.” “I’m sure you’re right, that’s all well and good,” Spike muttered dismissively. “But those uses *don’t* include anything to do with me!” “Spike,” Giles’ voice was soft and though his smile was one of amusement, it was not mocking. “Trust me.” Spike met his eyes with a searching gaze for a moment. “Not quite there yet, Watcher,” he stated frankly. “But I’d like to know just what it is that’s changed your mind – that makes you think I’m suddenly so necessary to this whole thing when you were ready to stake me yesterday – and what you’ve got in mind yourself, because I can tell you’ve got *some* bloody scheme in the works!” “Right to the point, then,” Giles nodded appreciatively, a surprised and impressed expression on his face, as if he had not expected Spike to pick up on that so quickly. “And as for the bleedin’ magic,” Spike added, giving him a slightly suspicious look. “Have you always had so much power lying about, not using it, or is this something new?” he asked with a sarcastic smile. Giles smiled, looking away thoughtfully. "A bit of both would be the truth I suppose," he replied before looking back at Spike, his smile fading. "A person doesn't become as...involved...with dark magics as Willow has apparently gotten...or as I was at one time...without holding on to a bit of it from that point on, whether they want to or not." Spike was surprised at that revelation about the Watcher's past. "Never knew you went in for any of the dark arts, mate," he commented casually, his piercing eyes focused on Giles' face. "I have done quite a lot of studying, and know very much about your history...*William*..." Giles said pointedly with a smile, as he returned Spike's challenging look. "...but it seems you know very little of mine." "Seems so," Spike conceded with a slow nod. "Don't s'pose you'd care to enlighten me?" Giles smiled, a little sadly, his eyes distant with memory. "Suffice it to say that there was a time when I did not take magics as seriously as they ought to be taken," he said simply. "And, as always...there were consequences. I *did* manage to overcome it, became a Watcher, and so forth..." he went on, his tone a bit brighter at that part of the story. "But there's a bit of that darkness that remains to this day." "Can't say that's a bad thing at the moment," Spike said dryly. "'Least from my perspective, Watcher." "It's not the darkness in me that was able to stop Willow, Spike," Giles informed him, his expression serious, meeting the vampire's eyes with an expression that told him it was very important that he understand what he was saying. "If I'd gone into a confrontation with her holding only the remnants of the dark power I had as a young man...she'd have merely taken it from me and used it to kill us both, I dare say." Spike frowned, confused, giving Giles a questioning look but not saying a word. “When I returned to England last spring,” Giles went on. “Well…a Watcher without a Slayer doesn’t have a lot of responsibilities – not much to fill his time. I spent a lot of mine studying magics while I was there, and became quite proficient.” “Obviously.” Giles smiled. “Yes,” he conceded. “Obviously. I managed to obtain a great deal of power in my own right,” he admitted modestly. “But I have been very careful about the sorts of spells I’ve performed, and the circumstances under which I’ve performed them. Magic should only be used of necessity – not as a cure-all for any little problem.” “Yeah – tell that to Red,” Spike muttered. “I hardly think she sees you as a ‘little problem’,” Giles pointed out. “She sees you as an enemy in the camp, Spike.” “What a coincidence,” he shot back sarcastically. “Feeling’s mutual, witch,” he muttered to the girl whom he knew could not hear him…not anymore. Thanks to Giles. Which brought him back to the original question, and he looked up to the Watcher’s eyes again. “And how about you, Watcher?” he asked. “What size problem do *you* think I am?” “I don’t believe you’re a problem at all,” Giles laughed softly. “I rather think that you may be a tremendous asset in this battle.” “How’s that?” Spike asked, his eyes focused on Giles, with a sense of expectation – and a little apprehension. “You have first hand knowledge about Faith – logistic information about the layout of her lair; tactical information such as how many followers she has, what positions they hold, her plans – not to mention other information of a more…personal…nature.” Spike looked up at Giles sharply, trying to gauge from his eyes and his tone what sort of underlying message lay beneath the casual comment. But Giles’ expression was unreadable as he looked back at him and went on without missing a beat, “Her motives… tendencies…weaknesses…” Spike studied the Watcher’s face for a long moment. “Something tells me it’s a bit more than that, in’nit?” Giles seemed pleased and impressed that the vampire had so easily picked up on the fact that there was more he was not saying about his reasons for rescuing him. “Aren’t you the perceptive one,” he remarked mildly. “As a matter of fact, I *do* have an idea – in which you would play a key role -- of how to stop Faith…once and for all.” Spike was silent for a moment, taking in his grim expression, before he corrected bluntly, “By ‘stop’ – you mean kill the bloody bint…ain’t that right?” Giles grimaced at the frank words, but nodded reluctantly. “It’s beginning to appear that there is no other way. The Council would have no trouble dealing with a rogue Slayer if she was one they had identified prior to her calling, trained and conditioned to follow their guidance. A girl like Faith, however – not discovered until late in her teens, having already grown up under…well, very undesirable circumstances…she’s developed a certain…well…” “She’s street smart,” Spike supplied, catching on to what he was saying. “Tough. Doesn’t trust anyone. She’s not an obedient little drone like other Slayers have been, and she’s unpredictable – so they can’t find a way to trap her.” Giles turned serious eyes on him and nodded slowly. “Precisely.” “And what makes you think that we’ll fare any better?” Spike raised his eyebrows, curious. His own carefully thought out plans to kill Faith had ended in disaster. If he could not trap her after coming as close to earning her trust as anyone ever had, what could the Watcher possibly have in mind that might actually work? Giles’ expression was grim as he said softly, “I believe the girl is getting desperate…and with desperation comes carelessness.” He paused. “I didn’t mention it to Buffy. I didn’t want to discuss my study of magic and such at that time – but I knew about the ritual. Before she told me about it.” “How’s that?” Spike asked, surprised. “The Wanker’s Council’s bloody seers?” “Spike,” Giles pointed out with a patient smile, “At my level of magical proficiency – I’ve no need for a seer.” “You *are* a seer,” Spike concluded flatly, understanding dawning in his eyes. “That’s why you trust me, in’nit? You *know* I’m telling the truth!” “In a manner of speaking…yes,” Giles admitted with a hint of pride in his voice. “I knew when Faith came here – and I knew when Buffy returned. I was never even at the Council when Xander or Buffy called – because I was already on my way here.” “I *knew* something was off about that!” Spike smiled, with a knowing nod. Giles nodded as well. “And I knew when Faith started planning this ritual. I think it stands to reason that she was likely hoping to convince *you* to aid her in her plan.” Spike let out a derisive snort. “Not bloody likely. The psychotic little bint’s nearly killed me enough as it is! Why would I want to help her become a bleedin’ super Slayer?” “Indeed,” Giles’ smile took on a sly edge as he added, “It *would* require…the proper persuasion…to convince *any* vampire to go along with such a scheme.” “Where exactly are you going with this?” Spike asked slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he watched the to-all-appearances older man slowly pace the floor, his hand moving unconsciously to cover the wound in his chest, still bleeding, though slower now, and still painful. Giles turned to him, an excited sparkle in his ice blue eyes at the idea he had formulated. “Perhaps the greatest loss of ground our side has suffered in this whole thing is your being found out by Faith. Her believing that you were on her side was possibly our best opportunity to stop her.” “I know, Watcher, I bollixed it up,” Spike admitted irritably, though his irritation was with his own failure. “What bloody difference does it make now? There’s nothing to be done about it.” Giles’ smile was secretive as he met the vampire’s blue eyes with a challenging look. “What if there was?” Spike frowned; the idea of going back undercover was not the least bit appealing to him. But the Watcher was right…they were running out of time, and options. “I’m listening,” he said slowly in a low, even voice. “Of course…” Giles told him cautiously. “It would require…a certain level of… sacrifice.” “Just what do you mean by ‘sacrifice’?” Spike asked with a little grimace, his hand pressing harder over the wound in his chest, which seemed to be growing more painful than when it had first been inflicted, rather than lessening in intensity. “Let me tell you what I have in mind,” Giles went on, then seemed to suddenly notice the way Spike was holding his chest. “Spike…” he said, his voice patient and gentle. “Please allow me to heal that for you.” He placed an almost fatherly hand on his shoulder, and urged him kindly, “Come now, I’m not going to hurt you.” Looking into his eyes, Spike wanted to trust him. He had felt so very alone for so long, being able to trust no one – and the pain was so severe… “Right, then,” he nodded with a sigh of resignation. “Go ahead,” surprised even himself when he agreed to allow it. But the Watcher’s open blue eyes were sincere and genuinely concerned – and he *had* aid he needed him – and his arguments made sense… He only flinched a little as the Watcher placed his hand over the wound – over his heart – and he felt the warm rush of the magic as it began to flow through his body. While Spike and Giles were having their discussion, Buffy had been in the living room tending Angel’s wounds. Now, twenty minutes later, she had just had her startling revelation about Angel’s invitation – the invitation he shouldn’t have had. Her mind raced, wondering who had invited him into her home. It couldn’t have been her friends; they would have told her if they had known he was back. And it had to have been someone who lived there, anyway. Buffy had been in LA; Dawn would never have invited Angel in, she had always seemed a little afraid of him. There was only one person it could have been. Her mother. A blind rage consumed her, all she could see as she looked at the man she had once loved with all her heart, and saw only a monster. The hell she had sent him to must have somehow claimed his soul again, she thought – but it did not matter how, or why. All that mattered was that her mother’s killer was here, sitting across from her, acting as if he had done nothing wrong at all, seeking refuge and acceptance from her. All he would get from her was death. She lunged at him, grabbing for his throat with one hand and her stake with the other, releasing a roar of fury as she attacked. “Buffy!” he gasped. “Buffy, what the…” “You murdered!” she snarled, releasing his throat to punch him in the face, again and again, unleashing her rage. “Evil…soulless…killer! You killed my mother! I hate you!” Suddenly, Angel leapt up from the couch, throwing her off of him, rising to his feet with a snarl, his vampire features firmly in place. He should not have been strong enough to push her off like that – not if he was really hurt as badly as he had appeared to be. Buffy’s rational mind quickly realized that she could be in danger if she was dealing with Angelus. “Spike!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Spike, help!” A little help couldn’t hurt. In a matter of moments, the vampire came rushing down the stairs, her Watcher following in his wake. No sign of the injuries Willow had caused marred his face or his chest. At the sight of Angel – or Angelus, no difference as far as Spike was concerned – in game face, snarling menacingly at Buffy, Spike rushed him without hesitation, morphing into his own game face and throwing his grand-sire back against the wall. Angel tried to knock him back, but Buffy was there in a heartbeat, pinning his arm back before he could strike. Between the Slayer and the master vampire holding him down, Angel couldn’t move an inch. Spike reached into his back pocket to retrieve his own stake, more than ready to dispatch the vampire he despised once and for all. “Wait.” Buffy’s voice stopped him, hard, but calmer than it had been moments before. “I want him to say it. I want to know from his mouth.” Leaning in with fury joining the tears in her eyes, Buffy bit off the words in Angel’s face, “I want you to tell me how you killed my mother.” “Buffy!” Angel gasped, dark eyes searching hers, imploring, as he shifted back to the human features she had once adored. “Buffy…I didn’t! Why would you think…” His words were cut off in a groan of pain as she plunged her stake without warning or mercy into his shoulder, inches above his heart. “Liar,” she hissed, and looking at the light of cold hatred in her eyes, Spike was very glad that she no longer suspected him of the crime. “How did you get in here? You didn’t have an invitation,” she pointed out, twisting the stake in her strong hand and eliciting another muffled cry of pain from her prisoner. “Until my *mother* invited you in. Isn’t that right?” “Buffy…please!” Angel gasped with pain, and Spike could not help but feel a certain amount of pleasure. The last time he had seen his grand-sire he had just gotten out of a wheelchair where he had spent months, suffering humiliation and abuse at Angel’s hands. To see Angel suffer was not in any way an unwelcome sight. “Buffy…I didn’t hurt your mother! I swear it!” Angel insisted. “Then how do you explain the fact that you’re here? In my house?” Buffy demanded calmly, a cold smile on her face, menace in her glittering green eyes. “She – she *did* invite me,” Angel admitted. “But we talked! I didn’t kill her, I swear!” Buffy stepped back a bit, surprised at the admission, and withdrew her stake. “When?” she asked, her voice low and full of pain and anger. “Right when I got back,” Angel admitted, his eyes downcast. “I – I *did* want to see you, Buffy. Bad. I was – scared, and – and alone – and hurt. And your mom let me in.” There was surprise in his voice, even so long after the events of which he spoke. “I wouldn’t have thought that she would have, especially as out of it as I was then. But – she did.” He paused. “*She* didn’t know where you were, either.” There was a heavy silence over the room, until Buffy spoke, her voice considerably calmer, “And this was *before* Faith found you?” Angel nodded. “What?” Spike frowned, confused. “Faith?” “Let him go,” Buffy spoke to Spike while still looking at Angel. “For now. Angel – tell them what you told me.” She was not sure what to believe yet, but Angel’s story did seem to make sense, and she could not know for sure that he was lying. As Angel finished his story, Spike was already shaking his head in distrust. “No,” he said firmly. “No. I would have known. I would have known if you’d been there, *Angelus*.” He spoke the name with contempt. “That’s what *I* thought,” Angel said quietly, his eyes suddenly meeting Spike’s. “*William.*” Spike just glared at him. He didn’t believe a word Angel had said. “Buffy,” he said, not taking his eyes off Angel. “I would have known.” Buffy looked between the two vampires for a long moment, then let out a weary sigh. This was just too much to deal with, on top of everything else. But she realized it was going to be up to her to come up with a solution. “Okay,” she said flatly. “We’ve got to figure this out. Maybe Willow could do a – a truth spell or something.” Spike and Giles exchanged a discreet look. “Perhaps,” Giles said. “We’ll have to ask her in the morning. She’s already gone to sleep.” His tone made it clear to Spike that he did not want his secret revealed, not yet, so he said nothing, following his lead for the moment. “Oh,” Buffy sounded disappointed. “Well – for tonight, I guess it’ll have to be a different vampire in the chains.” Spike shot her a warning look, and she barely suppressed a smirk. “In the basement,” she clarified casually, much to Spike’s relief. She was surprised at how she just naturally rushed to reassure him, when only minutes before, she had been wondering how Angel’s return would affect her feelings for Spike. Something about the possibility that Angel might have hurt her mom, even if it turned out not to be true, brought back the memories of Angelus, and how he had hurt her and those dear to her. It took any affection for him out of her in a moment. She knew that he had gotten his soul back before she had sent him to hell, and at the time that fact had made all the difference in the world. Somehow, now…it didn’t matter. Spike, unsouled, had already demonstrated such a huge capacity for love and devotion. The way he had come running to help her when she had called, attacking Angel without hesitation at the first inkling that she might have been in danger – it filled her heart with warmth and affection for him, and made her choice between the two terribly easy. And, well…it made her hot. Spike went with her to the basement to chain Angel up, and the protective, if unnecessary, gesture only served to increase her attraction. She met Spike’s eyes as she closed the cuffs around Angel’s wrists with an audible click, the corner of her mouth turning up in just the hint of a smile, gratified when his eyes widened and he swallowed hard. “Um…Buffy…about what happened last spring…” Angel began tentatively, trying to catch her eye. His voice was tender and earnest, as if he wanted to tell her something he had been waiting to say for a very long time. Not looking at him, her eyes focused on Spike as he gave her a long, lingering look before heading toward the stairs, Buffy said quietly, “Good night, Angel,” and followed Spike up the stairs and into the kitchen. The moment the basement door was closed, noting that there was no one around to see, Buffy suddenly grabbed him around the waist and pushed him forcefully against the wall, one leg pressed between his. She was pleased and surprised to find that he was already ready for her. *That’s right,* she remembered. *Heightened senses and all. So he already knew I wanted him…and it made him want me. Well, let’s see if I can still surprise him…* As she rubbed her leg lightly against the coarse fabric that covered his swelling erection, he gasped and reached his hands toward her waist to pull her close to him. She caught his wrists and pinned them quickly together above his head, leaning up to whisper in his ear, “Don’t worry about the chains…I have a spare set upstairs.” He stifled a low moan of pleasure at her words and her touch, straining toward her to touch her, to kiss her, before she slowly pulled away, sauntering toward the stairs that led to her bedroom, with a seductive backward glance. He would have followed her anywhere at that moment, and was right behind her. Giles met them at the top of the stairs, and Buffy jumped guiltily in surprise. “Oh! Hey, Giles,” she said too brightly. “A word with you, Buffy,” Giles returned her smile calmly, heading toward his room and beckoning for her to follow, casting Spike a knowing look that told him that he was going to fill the Slayer in on their plan, and thought she would probably take it best from him alone. Dejected, Buffy obeyed, glancing over her shoulder to give Spike an agonized look and mouth, “I’m sorry!” She shook her head emphatically. “I *won’t* be long!” she told him soundlessly. Frustrated beyond belief, he walked into the bedroom, muttering to himself, “*Better* not be long, you sadistic little tease, getting a bloke…” His voice trailed off when he looked up to see Willow, standing across the room glaring at him balefully. Despite the fact that he knew she was powerless at the moment, the sight of her standing there in silent fury was a chilling surprise; he had forgotten that they had left her here. And the look on her face said that she had some things she wanted to say. He heaved a weary sigh and steeled himself for the conversation with the sarcastic thought, *Well, *this* oughta be fun!*

Chapter #34 - Silent Scream

“What did he do to me?” Willow demanded angrily, stalking toward Spike with menace in her eyes…and a stake in her right hand. He was absolutely, completely unafraid. He gave her a pointed smirk that he knew was sure to infuriate her further – which was pretty much the point – sparing a derisive glance toward the stake in her hand. “I think that’s obvious, pet,” he replied with a laugh. “No more bloody power trips for you, little girl!” he said in a mockingly severe tone, frowning and wagging a finger at her. “You play too rough!” “I’m gonna kill you!” she snarled, furious at his mockery. “You murderer! You killed Oz, and I’m *gonna* make you pay for it once and for all if it’s the last thing I ever do!” She was in angry tears by the time she finished, and she lunged at him with the stake raised. He effortlessly caught her wrist, twisting it enough to make her drop the stake, and then caught the other one as well when she drew her fist back to strike out at him. She struggled in frustrated fury for a few moments, yelling and cursing him, until he flung her away from him in irritation, sending her flying back into the bed. “Look here, you daft cow!” he snapped, his own temper rising. “I only killed your bleedin’ puppy because *he* attacked *me*! What do you want from me? I can’t undo it. You want me to say I’m sorry? Well, I’m *not* sorry, you silly bint! It came down to me – or him – and if I had it to do over again, I’d still – choose -- *me*. Get the bloody hell over it!” She was speechless with disbelieving rage at his blunt statement…but only for a moment. She was already screaming at him again when he stormed out the bedroom door, slamming it hard behind him. The slamming of the door made absolutely no sound, and her screaming rant was instantly silenced the moment the door closed. Spike froze, turning slowly to look at the door with a frown of confusion for a moment. That was when he remembered… *The spell’s on the door…not your mouth…* It seemed that the Watcher had neglected to undo one of Willow’s little tricks. A slow smile spread across Spike’s face as an idea occurred to him. He had restrained his impulse to give the girl a good scare, to teach her a lesson for what she had done to him, for Buffy’s sake. But this was simply too good an opportunity to pass up. A wicked gleam in his eye, he stalked back toward the door, opening it again and then closing it firmly behind him, sealing any sound inside once more. It was time for him and the witch to have a confrontation. When she saw him return, Willow stood up quickly from the bed where he had thrown her, ready to begin her tirade again. But before she could, without warning, he grabbed her by the arms and swung her around, slamming her into the sound-proofed door forcefully enough to take her breath. He drew very close to her, menace in his eyes now, their positions a mirror of the ones they had taken earlier that evening. Willow was wide-eyed, silent, stunned by his unexpected actions. “Go ahead,” he said near her ear, his voice low and almost seductive, a smirk on his lips. “Scream if you like. No one’ll hear you.” Willow’s eyes widend further with recognition of the sadistic words she had spoken to him less than an hour earlier, and it seemed to suddenly hit her that she was alone in this sound-proof room, utterly powerless, with a very strong, very pissed off master vampire. Well…all but the sound-proof part. Willow screamed. She screamed as if her life depended on it…and Spike had not quite decided yet whether or not it did. He was patient for a few moments, allowing her to express her absolute terror at having the tables turned on her. After all, he *was* pretty scary in his own right. Couldn’t blame the chit for being a little bit… “All right, now, stop!” he snapped suddenly in irritation. When she did not, he covered her mouth with his hand, muffling her panicked cries for help. “That was irony, pet, I’d really rather you *didn’t* scream. Sensitive hearing and all that,” he explained with a sarcastic mimickry of patience. Willow just kept trying uselessly to scream under his hand. “Will you bloody *shut up*!” he finally yelled in frustration. It finally seemed to sink in, when he raised his voice with no concern for who might hear, that the door was truly sound proof and no one would hear her. Willow shut up. “That’s better,” Spike said, removing his hand and giving her a smile that was patronizingly patient. “Now, listen here, pet. I’ve got some things I want to say – and you’re going to listen. And I’m feeling a mite testy at the moment so you might not want to make me angry. We clear, love?” Terrified, Willow nodded hurriedly. “Good.” Spike nodded in satisfaction, letting out a deep breath of relief that she had stopped screaming and appeared to actually be listening. “First things first. You might not like it, but I happen to live here for the moment, pet. So like it or not, you an me are just gonna have to find a way to get along.” He shrugged, “Now, me, I’ve got no problems with you, personally, so long as you follow a few simple rules.” He released his grip on her arms and leaned back slightly, calmly counting off on his fingers, “Rule number one…” Suddenly he was right back in her face, slamming his fist into the wall an inch from her face, and she whimpered and jumped in fear. “Don’t. *Ever*. Bloody. Touch. Me,” he snarled, biting off each word in a low, threatening voice. The flash of golden fire that passed through his sapphire eyes told her that every part of him was very, *very* serious. “Right?” he prompted her agreement, eyebrows raised in a challenge, daring her to refuse. Her mouth was set in a thin line of hatred and repressed fury at being forced to comply, when she still wanted nothing more than his bloody, torturous death – but she nodded slowly, her eyes glaring resentfully, defiantly, into his. “Fair enough,” he nodded back, fully aware that even after this conversation, he would still need to watch his back around her. “Rule number two. If and when the Watcher decides you’re ready to be a good little witch again and gives your mojo back – no bloody spells anywhere near me. Got it?” Another reluctant nod. “Right…that ought to about cover it,” he nodded in satisfaction, starting to turn away as if finished, but then suddenly spinning around to corner her against the door again. “Oh, right…one more thing.” He leaned in very close to her face, his voice low and intense as he added slowly and deliberately, “You stay the bloody hell *out* of my head. Is that perfectly clear?” The sheer rage in his eyes at the memory of her recent violation of the most personal, private part of him – his very thoughts – was terrifyingly clear to the powerful witch who was now nothing more than a cornered, helpless, very frightened girl. “Yes,” she whispered, looking away from him with resentment in her voice and her expression. “Good,” he muttered, pulling back from her with one final warning look, still not turning his back on her as he stepped away from her toward the bed, allowing her to move away from the door. “You know Buffy’s not gonna be too happy about this,” she informed him as she stood to the side of the door and reached to open it, a spiteful look in her eyes that told him she had every intention of running right to Buffy with the tale that he had just threatened her, hurt her, tried to kill her. He knew that after her talk with her Watcher, Buffy would not believe a word of it. “No,” he commented casually, leaning against the bed and regarding her with a smirk. “Probably not. No happier than she’s gonna be when she hears about your little power trip. How you threatened me…tried to kill me…after she told you how important it was that you…well, that you *not*…” He stood up again, his eyes focused on her intently, an expression of calm triumph on his face. “I’d wager she won’t be too thrilled to hear about how out of control you just got…how you lied to her, and were so bloody willing to do it again to cover for yourself after you’d staked me,” he went on, stepping slowly closer to her until he was standing right in front of her again. His hand reached out to close over hers and the doorknob, pushing the door slowly shut again, as he leaned in very close to her and whispered softly, “I don’t suppose you really want for her to find out about all that.” Willow glared at him, but she swallowed hard, and he could see the underlying fear in her dark green eyes. He knew he had won this little battle. “No,” she muttered, grinding out the word as if it physically hurt her to say it. “I don’t.” “That’s what I thought,” he replied in that same low tone, with a note of smug satisfaction in his voice. Suddenly, he shrugged, raising his voice to one of casual disconcern. “Too bad,” he said, his face breaking into a smile. “Since the Watcher’s likely told her everything already by now.” He relished the look of shock and fear on her face when she realized that he was telling the truth…and he had just been toying with her the whole time. Still meeting her eyes victoriously, his hand over hers moved to pull the door open deliberately. “On second thought…go ahead, love. Tell her whatever you like. Don’t think it’ll matter much at this point.” The trapped expression on Willow’s face slowly gave way to helpless fury, and she began to stalk away, stumbling awkwardly when she forgot that her hand was still on the doorknob under his. He laughed at her as she tried to jerk her hand away, holding it there for a moment longer, just because he could. Then he released her, allowing her to storm out of the room, his triumphant laughter ringing in her ears. He was immediately aware when Giles got to the part of his conversation with Buffy where he told her what Willow had done. Apparently the sound-proofing spell on the room only worked one way. He could clearly hear the Slayer's furious voice through the thin wall that separated the two rooms. "She did *what*?" Her angry exclamation was followed by soft, hushed tones that were presumably Giles attempts to calm her. "No...no, where is she?" Buffy's voice demanded, and Spike smiled to himself. He had not really expected Buffy to get *that* worked up over what Willow had done to him. A moment later he heard pounding, angry footsteps approaching the door, and it was suddenly, violently kicked open, revealing the Slayer in all her furious glory, one hand on her hip, her eyes blazing with rage. He suddenly remembered the little problem she had left him with when she had gone to talk to Giles. It was suddenly not so little anymore. Buffy stalked into the room, slamming the door behind her, oblivious to his rising desire. She glared around the room, obviously looking for Willow. When she did not see her, her eyes finally came to rest on Spike. "Where is she?" she demanded, her voice low and trembling in anger. "Buffy...calm down, love..." he murmured, moving slowly forward to take her arms in a soothing gesture. She yanked away, giving him a warning look as she demanded again, "Where is she, Spike?" He was silent a moment, searching her eyes, a slow smile forming on his lips at what he saw there, before he answered slowly, cautiously, “Most likely hiding from *you*, love.” Buffy stared at him for a moment, breathing hard, and he noticed that her lower lip was trembling, and there were traces of fear in her eyes. Could it actually be as he suspected? Could the Slayer really have been *afraid*…for *him*? She seemed to suddenly realize how much she was revealing, because her expression became guarded, her mouth set firmly as she turned without another word toward the door. “Buffy,” he gently urged her back, reaching to take her arm and turn her back around to face him. He was surprised that she actually allowed it. “Buffy…love…wait. Just calm down a bit.” Buffy turned to face him fully, no longer trying to hide the tears brimming in her eyes. “She tried to kill you,” she stated unnecessarily, her hands rising almost without her knowledge to rest on his arms, almost as if to reassure herself that Willow had not succeeded…that he was not dust. “She almost did.” “But she didn’t,” he assured her softly. “ ‘M still here.” He paused, meeting her eyes intently as he went on with a smile, “I had a bit of a chat with the little chit myself. Don’t think she’ll be bothering me again any time soon. Nothing to worry yourself about.” Her relief obvious, Buffy leaned her head against his chest, breathing deeply. “And you *were* worried…weren’t you?” he asked softly, with a sense of wonder about his voice. “About me?” “Spike,” she whispered, her breath still coming hard and shuddering with the passing of the fear that had come over her when Giles had told her what had happened. “I just – I can’t…go through that…again.” “Go through what, love?” he asked her, puzzled, reaching down a hand to tilt her chin up so that she was looking him in the eye, her own wet and shining with tears. “What is it?” “I just can’t…” she sniffed, looking away. “I can’t…lose you too.” A feeling of absolute awe came over him with her admission. “You didn’t,” he reassured her in a hushed whisper, his mouth lowering to within a couple of inches from hers. “You won’t. I’m not going anywhere, pet.” She looked up at him again suddenly, an almost frantic urgency in her eyes to believe what he was saying. And in the next instant, her lips sought out his, her hands running up and around him, clutching, pulling him closer against her, as she drew him with each second nearer, deeper, into the kiss. “Oh…God…” he gasped, pulling away slightly as her hand slid back around him to cup the front of his jeans. “Buffy…I…I need you…love…” She let out a low moan of pleasure at his words, capturing his mouth again in another urgent kiss, her other hand slipping down to the waistband of his jeans, tugging him with her toward the door. She did not want to separate from him even long enough to turn the lock. Once that was accomplished, she pushed him back toward the bed until his knees hit the edge, and they tumbled down together onto it. At the loud creak of the springs under the weight of their bodies, Buffy pulled away from the kiss, staring at him with wide eyes as she gasped, “Gotta be…quiet…” He started to nod, then stopped suddenly, his own eyes widening in realization, and a slow smile coming over his face. “No we don’t,” he whispered…unnecessarily, as he shook his head slowly, a sparkle in his eyes as they met hers playfully. She arched one brow at him, pulling away for a moment to regard him speculatively. “We don’t?” she asked him in a dark, doubtful tone, her heaving chest against his deepening his desire for her. “No.” He shook his head, breathing hard though he didn’t need to at all. “Witch soundproofed the door. Watcher didn’t know it; it’s still sound-proof. No one can hear anything from in here.” Buffy’s eyes widened in outraged disbelief, her mood momentarily broken. “She sound-proofed the room? Like, psycho killer from a horror movie, ‘we’re out here where no one can hear you scream’ sort of thing?” she asked in horrified, disbelieving voice, hardly able to believe that her friend had had the chilling foresight to take such a precaution. “Well…yeah,” he conceded with a little half-shrug, meeting her eyes again. “Exactly what she said as a matter of fact.” He affected a casual, unaffected look as he added, “Not that I would have. Screamed. Wouldn’t have given the bloody bint the satisfaction.” Buffy thought about that for a moment, looking away from him, her eyes serious. Then, slowly, her eyes rose to meet his again, a wickedly teasing sparkle in them as the corners of her mouth turned up in a seductive smile. Her hand lowered to once again tease his sensitive flesh through the fabric of his jeans, and he gasped at the sensation. The fingers of her other hand reached of to twine through his loose blonde curls and she yanked his head back in a forceful gesture, causing him to moan at the pleasure-pain sensation as she rose up to whisper in his ear suggestively, “Think *I* can make you scream?” The words alone, spoken in that seductive whisper, her hot breath on his ear and her expert touch on his body, served to heighten his desire to an unbearable level, and he knew that he had lost the little challenge already. He would be screaming her name before the night was over…and no one would hear him, just as the witch had said. He smiled slightly to himself as Buffy’s hand reached for the zipper of his jeans. He doubted that the witch had had anything like this in mind when she had performed her little spell. *Thanks, Red,* was his last smug thought, before Buffy’s hand freed him from the constraints of his clothing, taking him boldly in her firm grip…and the capacity for rational thought left him completely.

Chapter #35 - Betrayed

Spike took a deep breath to settle his nerves, as he stepped out the front door of Buffy’s house into the gathering darkness. He was unusually quiet as he followed Giles down the sidewalk toward their destination – a place he had hoped to never go again – lost in his own troubling thoughts. The way that Giles had described his plan to him, it really seemed that it might work. Spike had been surprised to find that the Watcher had actually put a lot of thought and effort into this plan, and had been laying the groundwork for parts of it for a very long time now, since long before he had returned to Sunnydale. Spike was actually quite impressed. But the plan was still tricky, one that could easily end in disaster if they were not extremely careful. And when Giles had warned him that it would require sacrifice on his part – well, he had bloody well meant it! *It’s worth it,* Spike told himself firmly. *To take Faith down – to make her pay…* A determination came over him, as he added mentally, *…to protect Buffy.* He still wanted his own personal vengeance against Faith, but now, he was beginning to find that it was not his only reason for doing this. He knew that a large part of him would always love Drusilla, always cherish the memories of the century they had spent together. And that part of him still cried out for justice on her behalf, still longed to avenge her death. But now, against his better judgment, he had to admit that he was slowly, tentatively, relinquishing his heart to someone else – of all the bloody bints in the world, a Slayer, no less! Never had he expected to find comfort and healing for his ravaged heart in the arms of his mortal enemy. But he was finding himself each day more and more concerned with Buffy, her opinions, her feelings – her safety. At this point, he realized, he was going along with Giles’ plan to defeat Faith as much for Buffy as for Dru. An uneasy feeling settled low in his stomach, and he began to wonder again just what form his sacrifice would end up taking. He had the general idea down, but there were so many variables, he thought with a sense of dread forming in him. Whatever it was that he would be required to do, he just hoped that Buffy would understand. Giles turned and gave him a calm, speculative look as their destination came into sight. Spike only met his thoughtful, penetrating gaze for a few moments, before looking down, self-conscious under the quiet, perceptive scrutiny of the Watcher. “Spike,” Giles said softly. “This is going to work.” “I know.” Spike did not look up as he replied, his voice low and dark. “It won’t last long,” Giles reassured him. “But it’s got to be done. It’s our best chance at defeating her…quite possibly our only chance…” “I *know* that, Watcher,” Spike snapped, giving him an irritated glare before looking away again. Giles studied his face for a moment, the tense carriage of his body, the troubled expression in his averted eyes. When he spoke, his words froze Spike in his tracks. “How long have you and Buffy been involved?” Spike looked sharply up at him, his eyes wide and incredulous…and a little bit afraid. “Why would you think…I mean, what would give you the idea…oh…bloody buggering hell…” he gave up, resting his head in one hand for a moment before looking back to the Watcher, meeting his piercing eyes with resignation. “A week? Less…a few days is all. But I’m not going to hurt her, Watcher! I really care about Buffy, so you can stop trying to think of which soddin’ spell in your arsenal is the most bloody painful to use on me! I’m not going to…” “Spike.” The single, softly spoken word stopped Spike’s nervous rant short, and he met Giles’ calm, laughing eyes with his own, anxious and uncertain. “Buffy is an adult. She can make her own decisions. I’ve no intentions of harming you.” Spike let out a deep breath he had not realized he was holding. “At least not until Faith is dead,” Giles added evenly, his back to Spike as he started walking again. Spike had started to follow him but stopped short, staring at him dubiously. “A joke, Spike,” Giles said, turning back to him with a patient smile. “Just a joke.” “Bloody well better be,” Spike muttered, as they made their way up the walkway. “Here I am risking my bloody unlife and limb, just to *save* the Slayer and her soddin’ Scoobie gang who mostly want me dead anyway…*really* dead not just…” He was again cut off, this time by a simple raised hand from the Watcher, and he looked up to see that they had reached their goal. Spike slowly drew in a deep, shaky breath as he looked up at the rather intimidating door before them, that was unfortunately very familiar to him. They had arrived at their destination. Faith’s mansion. His voice low to disguise the slight tremor that had risen in it, Spike went on as Giles boldly rang the doorbell. “This had better work…I don’t fancy going through all this just to have it blow up in our…” “Spike,” Giles said patiently, turning to face him. “Look at me.” Spike obeyed with a puzzled frown. “Why? What…” With a smile, Giles raised a hand and ran it quickly across Spike’s forehead, murmuring a few brief words in Latin as he did. Spike immediately stopped talking, a look of confusion coming across his face as he searched the Watcher’s calm blue eyes, then glanced around, seeming a bit puzzled. “What…why did you…?” he began slowly. “Quiet,” Giles spoke in a tone that was soft but authoritative, turning away from Spike toward the door, just as it was opened by a suspiciously frowning minion. And Spike was quiet. The minion who answered the door looked incredulous at the nerve of the older man who had dared to simply walk up to the door and ring the bell, and looked on the verge of laughter…until he saw Spike standing there beside him. He moved forward as if to attack, but his progress was instantly halted by Giles’ raised hand, erecting an invisible barrier that sent the vampire staggering backward with a little cry of pain. He righted himself and stared at the older man standing there, who was obviously not as harmless as he seemed. “You’d be wise not to try that again,” Giles said calmly as, followed by Spike, he stepped right through the doorway – and the invisible barrier that had stopped the vampire – and into the foyer, with a confident air about him that said he was not the least bit afraid. Faith’s minion couldn’t quite say the same for himself. “Y-you can’t just come in here!” he protested feebly, well aware that he could not do much to stop the stranger and his magics. “You can’t bring *him* in here! The Slayer’s gonna be really mad!” The vampire sounded pathetically like a small child threatening to tattle. “On the contrary, I’m sure she’ll be quite pleased to see us both,” Giles smirked a little as he headed directly up the stairs toward Faith’s personal quarters. The vampire took a step forward as if to make a token attempt to stop them, but then faltered, realizing it was useless – and he really was not all that eager to tangle with what was apparently a very powerful wizard. Unimpeded, Giles and Spike made their way directly to Faith’s room, where Giles knocked boldly on the door. “Yeah, just a second!” Faith’s voice snapped from the other side of the door, sounding to be in a slightly more irritable and nasty mood than usual. After a few moments, she yanked the door open, a challenging look on her face as she looked at her visitors. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of them, looking between the Watcher and her ex-lover turned enemy slowly, with disbelief. Then, her expression slowly changed from surprise to satisfaction, as her features relaxed into a sly smile. “Giles,” she greeted him with a nod. “Come in.” Spike stood there in the doorway for a moment, a puzzled frown on his face as he watched the Watcher calmly enter the room. Giles turned slightly to see him still standing there and said quietly, “Come on in, Spike.” His movements automatic, Spike obeyed, stepping through the doorway, his eyes expressing alarm as he looked closely at the Watcher. “What…how does she know…?” he began hesitantly, the words coming out halting and with a bit of a struggle, as if he was trying to think through a dense fog that clouded his mind. “Silence,” Giles spoke calmly, dismissively, looking immediately to Faith without even waiting to see if Spike obeyed. He did. Faith’s eyebrows raised in surprise as she took in Spike’s very un-Spikelike behavior. She leaned back slightly, her head tilted slightly down as she gave him a slow up and down look, her smile widening at the confusion in his eyes. It seemed as if Giles’ actions had taken him completely off guard; his expression was one of question…but he did not say a word. Giles had ordered him to silence. “Wow,” Faith remarked, unable to keep from sounding impressed. ‘That’s some spell, man. So he’ll do absolutely *anything* you tell him to do?” As she spoke she slowly circled the vampire in a predatory way. Spike just stood there, watching her warily with wide eyes, the confusion in them quickly changing to fear. Giles nodded, a cold smile of satisfaction on his face. “Yes, just as I said. Until I repeat the incantation and deactivate the spell, at which point he will not even remember any of this. Then, when I want him to be subject to my will again, I simply repeat the incantation and re-activate the spell. His cooperation from this point on should not be a problem.” Spike’s gaze shifted suddenly from Faith to Giles, a look of shock and betrayal in his eyes. As slow realization of the Watcher’s deception seemed to sink in, fury mingled with fear and he started toward Giles menacingly. “Stop,” Giles ordered without hesitation, a flash of anger the only change in his calm expression. “Stay right there.” Immediately Spike halted in his tracks, his expression one of helpless, frustrated fury. Everything about his body language, his face, said that he wanted nothing more than to tear the man who had just betrayed him to pieces…but could not overcome the magic that bound him to that same man’s will. Faith’s eyes widened in disbelief for a moment, and her smile became a genuine laugh. “*That*…is freakin’ *awesome*, man!” she admitted to Giles through her laughter, shaking her head a little as she looked at Spike, standing there, breathing hard, a trapped expression on his face as it seemed to slowly sink in just how thoroughly buggered he really was. “This is so cool!” she exclaimed, actually bouncing a little on her heels like an excited little girl. “So, the ritual’s gonna be no problem, because he’ll do anything I tell him to do…” “Anything *I* tell him to do,” Giles corrected her mildly. She shot him a look, her eyebrows raised in challenge, opening her mouth to speak. Suddenly, she seemed to think better of it and looked back at Spike with a shrug. “Whatever,” she said. “Either way. Gets the job done, doesn’t it?” Giles nodded slowly, turning his attention toward Spike as well. “That it does,” he conceded quietly. “Of course,” Faith mused, her voice low as she stepped slowly toward Spike, her eyes meeting his with a cold, vindictive smile. “You could always tell him to do what *I* say…that could be fun…” As she spoke she reached a hand to lightly stroke down his cheek, and Spike jerked away from her, his jaw set in anger and defiance that he could not enforce – because although he pulled away from her touch, he stood as if rooted where he was, frozen by Giles’ order not to move from that spot. “Oh, yes,” Giles replied with mild sarcasm. “Quite amusing. Until you order him to turn on me.” Faith’s smile faltered for a moment, her eyes darting to the older man for a moment, before returning to Spike, trying to cover for the fact that she had considered doing just exactly that. “Now why would I want to do that?” she asked softly, most of her attention still focused on the vampire she was tormenting, as her hands slipped around his waist, pulling him closer to her. He shoved her hands away vehemently, but could do little else to resist her. “Indeed,” Giles agreed. “As with my death would also end the spell that binds him. And you would no longer have a compliant, controllable vampire to carry out your ritual.” Faith’s eyes shot back to his, anger flashing there with that revelation. So she really could not kill the man, as she had intended – not and have her plans work out as she wanted. “Not to mention the fact that I could dust him with a thought before he could touch me,” Giles reminded her casually, but his eyes were hard as they met hers. He was telling her clearly that he was not a man to be trifled with. Faith returned his gaze for a moment before shrugging and turning back to Spike. “Exactly,” she replied. “So there should be no reason why you wouldn’t let me…test out this little spell.” She ran her hand through Spike’s hair enticingly, and he pulled away, until she gripped it hard, holding his head in place, her mouth set in anger at his continued resistance. Spike could not speak, could not move, but his eyes met Giles in a beseeching look, pleading silently with him not to grant Faith’s request. “No, no reason,” Giles agreed with a smile. “Except that you might be inclined to lose your temper…and if you do so and slay him, then you lose your willing consort for the ritual.” “You could always make me another one,” she pointed out. “Not exactly, my dear,” Giles corrected her. “For this particular control spell, the vampire must willingly allow the magics to be used. I managed to convince Spike to allow it,” he remarked with a smile at the remembered deception. His smile faded as he shook his head and warned her, “It might not be so easy to convince another.” Her mouth formed a pout as she argued, “So I won’t stake him. Plenty of other ways I can teach this bad boy a lesson.” Her voice was a low, menacing purr as she leaned in close to him to speak. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Faith,” Giles said quietly, his smile disappearing completely, a note of impatience in his voice. Faith turned toward him, releasing Spike suddenly, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why not? If this spell is really as complete as you say it is, it shouldn’t be a problem. Unless there’s something going on here that I don’t know about.” Giles did not say anything, but he drew a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before looking at her again with an expression of forced patience. “There is nothing wrong with the spell, Faith, I assure you. The moment we leave here and I deactivate the spell, he will not remember any of this. Therefore your wisest option is to allow him to go on, presumably in Buffy’s service, until the time for the ritual. She’ll continue looking for the vampire who’s helping you, and never realize that he’s right under her very roof the entire time.” He paused for a moment before repeating slowly, “There is nothing wrong with the spell.” “Then let me see that for myself,” she said slowly, her mouth forming a sly smile. “I’ll have him run along home in the morning.” She paused, turning back toward Spike with a cruel smile. “Just for one…night…” She looked up at Giles, still facing Spike as she spoke in a harder voice, “Just to put my mind at ease.” Her suspicion was clear in the set of her jaw, her dark eyes flashing fire. Giles stared at her for a moment before letting out a weary sigh. “Very well, then. But don’t send him home. He’d still remember tonight when next he saw Buffy. I’ll return for him in the morning.” And without a backward glance he turned to go. “Um…Giles?” she said, stopping him, and he turned to face her curious smirk. “What?” he frowned, puzzled. “Oh…oh, yes…um…Spike, do as Faith says,” he gave the order in an offhand, careless way, then turned again to go. Faith’s smirk was triumphant as she turned back to Spike, whose eyes were closed in bitter acceptance of the fate that had just been cast on him, and called over her shoulder to Giles, “Thanks. You didn’t let me down, man. You delivered my vampire, just as promised.” Giles’ expression was dark as he walked out the door, closing it with a cold finality. “Yes,” he muttered to himself. “Just as promised.”

Chapter #36 - Trapped

“Where’s Spike?” Buffy frowned as Giles walked through the front door, just before sunset – alone. “He told me he had a personal matter to attend to. He said he’ll be back before dawn,” Giles replied, his back to her as he carefully locked the door behind him. “Personal matter?” Buffy echoed, worry bordering on fear in her voice. “A personal matter that’s going to take him *all night*? Did he tell you what he was going to be doing?” Giles turned to study the expression on her face, taking in her clear concern for Spike’s safety, much more than it would have been for someone she was simply forced to work with by circumstance. “He didn’t,” he replied quietly. “But…Buffy…” He hesitated for a moment, looking away from her. “What?” Her tone was urgent, impatient, as she stepped forward to look him in the eyes, with a fearful question in her own. “Well, I would think that it would be – quite difficult for him, actually – Angel’s being here,” Giles admitted cautiously. “I’m sure he needs some time to – think things through.” For a brief instant, a guilty expression flashed across Buffy’s face, but she quickly covered it and said innocently, “Well, I know that there was a lot of badness between him and Angelus – what with Angelus sleeping with Drusilla and all – but I wouldn’t think that would make him…” “Buffy.” The single word spoke volumes, telling her with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that her Watcher already knew much more than she had hoped. She lowered her eyes, falling silent. There was really nothing to say. “It’s a bit more than that, isn’t it?” Giles gently prodded her, and she found herself feeling encouraged by the lack of judgment in his voice. “How long have you known?” Buffy asked him quietly, still not able to bring herself to look at him. She was afraid to, unsure of her Watcher’s reaction to the affair she had kept secret, with yet another vampire, this one unsouled and therefore unrestrained. “Come now, Buffy,” Giles’ voice was soft with patience and affection for her, and she chanced a look up to his face. “You and your friends have always enjoyed reminding me of how ancient you see me to be, but I was young once too, and I’m not blind, you know. It’s been quite clear to me since shortly after I arrived here that there was something happening between you and Spike.” Buffy flinched a little. There it was, out in the open. “And you’re not – mad?” she asked in a small, hesitant voice. “Disappointed?” “Buffy…you are quite capable of making your own decisions,” he replied in a steady, reassuring voice. “I trust your judgment.” Buffy looked back at the floor. His words were intended to make her feel better, but they only made her feel ashamed. She could not imagine how they could be true – not after her disastrous decisions the previous spring, when she had chosen to abandon them all to the mercy of her psychotic successor. Before she had to come up with a response, Giles went on. “I’ve spoken with him about you.” She looked up at him quickly, her eyes wide and startled – and increasingly curious. “And?” she pressed, her voice barely above a whisper. “And he cares for you very much, Buffy. The arrival of Angel – knowing what he meant to you – well…” Giles seemed to be having trouble putting what he wanted to say into words, and he laughed softly at his own struggle. “…well, as a man, Buffy – I can tell you that he probably needs a bit of time alone at the moment. Can you understand that?” A slow frown began to form on her face as she took in what he was saying. “Yeah,” she said with gradually rising anger in her tone. “Yeah, I understand that! He’s jealous! He thinks that just because Angel’s suddenly back, I’m gonna drop him like a bad habit and start mooning over Angel again!” Giles did not respond, but the look on his face told her that that was exactly what he thought. “*God!*” Buffy exploded in frustration, throwing her hands up and turning away from him for a moment before turning around to look at him again, her eyes blazing. “No offense, Giles, but sometimes you men are so *stupid*!” “None taken,” Giles’ voice was mild, and he just let her go on, knowing better than to interrupt her. “I can’t *believe* that! I mean, I know Angel got his soul back before I stopped Acathla, but that doesn’t change the fact that the last time I saw him he was trying to kill me! I’m not exactly ready to just jump back into a relationship with him…I’m not so sure I could *ever* be in a relationship with him again! And at the moment I *do* happen to be in a relationship with Spike…” She stopped suddenly, her eyes widening with the realization of what she had just said. Giles met her eyes firmly, waiting for her to go on, but did not say a word. She stood there for a moment, just letting her own words sink in. “I am,” she said slowly. “I am in a relationship with him. And I *care* about Spike, Giles – I really do.” She paused for a moment, looking back up at him as her anger began to overcome her sense of shock at the truth she had just allowed herself to admit. “But he just doesn’t get that, because the moment Angel shows up here, he just *assumes* that I’m gonna dump him for Angel! So what does he do? He has to go all stupid, death-wish macho guy on me and run out there alone to get himself killed!” She stalked to the foyer, grabbing her jacket on her way, declaring, “I have to go find him, Giles. Faith and all her thugs are on the look out for him. He won’t last ten minutes out there alone, he’s gonna get hurt.” “Buffy.” Giles caught her arm before she could open the door. She stopped, looking up at him in surprise. “What?” “He’s going to be fine. I thought of that already. I – well let’s just say I *loaned* him a bit of my power. Just enough to protect himself should he be attacked,” Giles admitted, almost as if confessing to some minor crime. Buffy *was* surprised that Giles had been willing to place even that small amount of trust in the unsouled vampire he had attempted to stake a few days before. “Why would you do that?” she asked softly, turning away from the door and toward Giles, her intent eyes never leaving his face. “Because he *does* care about you, Buffy. I know that he’s not going to do anything that would – well, that would jeopardize your feelings for him.” Giles paused a moment before going on firmly, “And just trust me when I say that he *does* need some time alone, Buffy. Any man would need to sort out his thoughts on an issue like this.” Buffy looked at him for a moment. She could not understand what the big deal was; she knew by now that she was not going to reject Spike for Angel – why couldn’t *he* just know it? But Giles *was* a man – even if he *was* practically ancient – and he probably knew what he was talking about. And if Spike was protected by a hefty dose of Giles’ magical power, he was surely not in any danger. She might as well let him go do the jealous broody guy thing for a while. “Well, isn’t this nice.” Faith’s voice was mocking, full of cruel satisfaction as she circled her victim, looking him over in a way that was invasive and violating without even touching him. “You and me -- together again,” she smirked as she drew very close, slipping her arms around his waist and pulling him against her. Spike had never felt so utterly helpless in his life. He could not tell her to stop, could not move away from her, but he still tried to shove her away, although he knew that it would prove to be a futile effort. Just as he had expected her to do, she caught his wrists tightly, pulling them down and behind her, jerking him closer to her and snarling in his ear, “Don’t fight me. You can’t stop me, no matter how bad you want to. Like it or not, tonight you’re *all* *mine*…you got that?” He immediately froze in response to her command, a look of helpless, frustrated fear and anger on his face. He was fighting off an overwhelming sense of panic; he could not move, could not defend himself in any way, subject to her every whim – and he knew that her whims when it came to him were not going to be very pleasant. Faith smiled. “This is just too perfect,” she laughed, shaking her head and taking a step back to look him over again. “Thought you got away with it, didn’t you, Baby?” she sneered. “Looks like you were wrong.” Her smile slowly faded into a hate-filled glare, and he knew what she was going to do before she did it – he just couldn’t do anything to stop her. She drew back her fist and struck him a powerful blow across the face, sending him stumbling backward to the ground, though his feet remained in the same place where Giles had ordered him to stand. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing hard as he struggled to rise, dazed from the blow. Faith smiled, pleased to see that he was still bound by the command he had been given. She stalked over to stand directly over his head, crouching down to grip his hair painfully and jerk him up, hard. “Aww, need some help, Baby?” she asked him, her eyes wide and her lips forming a mockingly sympathetic pout as she stood, yanking him to his feet with her. She seemed disappointed when he did not cry out, did not make a sound or say a word, although she had obviously hurt him. Then her eyes widened with genuine realization, and a slow smile spread over her face. “Okay,” she said brightly, releasing him suddenly. “You are *not* gonna fight me. You aren’t gonna try to escape. But you *can* move. And you can talk,” she said, counting off her rules on her fingers as she spoke. Suddenly she leaned in, her hand at the back of his head as she whispered suggestively in his ear, “You have to be able to talk to be able to beg.” He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking with a mixture of fear, and the release of being able to move again. “That’s something you’ll never hear from me, bitch,” he declared in a low, trembling voice. “You can do what you bloody well please, I won’t beg you for anything.” She stepped back, her eyebrows raised in surprise, her expression more amused than angry. “Really,” she remarked mildly with a smirk, before she leaned in suddenly, assaulting his mouth with a forceful, punishing kiss that he was powerless to resist. When she finally pulled away, with a cold smile of satisfaction, she whispered, her mouth inches from his, “I think you will…if I tell you to.” His heart sank with the realization that she was absolutely right. He waited breathlessly for the cruel command that would bring about more humiliation – but it didn’t come. Instead she just backed off a step or two, giving him a challenging look, waiting for his response. So, he decided, what the hell? Things couldn’t exactly get any *worse* -- he would bloody well give it to her. He shrugged. “Might be true. You might be in control at the moment,” he spoke with conviction, his voice trembling with rage and defiance. “But you’re not gonna be forever. I’m gonna find a way around this soddin’ spell of yours, and you’re gonna pay for this, you bloody bitch – you’re gonna pay for everything! Doesn’t matter what you do to me, when the other Slayer – the *sane* Slayer,” he sneered. “…finds out about this, she’s not gonna rest until she’s taken you out.” “Right,” Faith shot back sarcastically. “She’s gonna fly into a furious rage and come hunting me down just because I…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes widening in understanding, then narrowing with fury. Spike suddenly thought that maybe it would have been wiser to leave Buffy out of it. “You’re sleeping with her,” Faith stated, her voice soft but very dangerous, a look of controlled surprise on her face. Spike’s silence was all the response she needed. She stepped back close to him. “You think she actually cares?” she demanded mockingly, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyebrows raised in a challenge. “She’s only screwing you because I did. It’s – territorial, honey. A Slayer thing…you wouldn’t get it,” she said with a mocking, dismissive sneer. She paused, leaning in close to him with a triumphant smile. “She only wanted you because you were mine.” “Right,” Spike laughed in her face, giving her a derisive up and down look before he began counting off his points on his fingers. “Because with all her loving family, devoted friends, intelligence, good looks, and bloody *amazing* body,” he chuckled softly as he added that last one, shaking his head a little at the memory, just because he knew it would get to her, “she’s just *so* bleedin’ jealous of a whorish, psychotic little trollop like you with no friends, no family, no *nothing* but an inflated ego and possibly a mild case of schizophrenia? Oh, and by the way,” he added almost as an afterthought. “I never *was* yours!” Her expression did not change, but he could see the flash of rage in her eyes. “Are you finished?” she asked softly, not moving, a cold smile on her lips. His eyebrows raised and he gave a little half shrug before replying, “Actually, *no*. You’re also a…” His words were cut off by a savage fist across his face, followed by one to his stomach, doubling him over in pain. She grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head violently into the wall, releasing him to drop to his knees at her feet, coughing and choking as she glared down at him cruelly. “Yeah. I think you’re finished,” she remarked coldly. “Not quite,” he gasped, defiant even as he drew back slightly against the wall, as she crouched down in front of him with a menacing smile. “You’re not gonna win this one, Faith. You have no idea what you’re up against. Buffy…” She hit him again, forcefully silencing him before she leaned in to speak softly next to his hear, finishing for him, “…has absolutely no…idea…about…any of this. And she won’t. Because her clueless little friends who mean so much to her don’t know anything about my plan, and couldn’t help her if they did. Even the little witch is powerless now, thanks to – oh, yeah…” She went on in a voice of mock surprise. “…the one she trusts more than anyone else, who also happens to be on *my* side.” She laughed softly. “And then there’s you,” she went on, her voice almost gentle as she ran a hand lightly through his hair. “And you’re not even gonna remember this tomorrow. You’ll be just as clueless as the rest of them.” He jerked his head away from her, but she caught his hair and yanked him painfully close to her, refusing to allow his resistance. “Guess what, Baby?” she whispered in his ear, no smile or laughter now masking the cruel menace in her eyes and voice. “I win.” She released him with a jerk that knocked his head into the wall, and he closed his eyes in despair that he did not want her to see, breathing hard with fear, having absolutely no response to refute her claim. She stepped back, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Get up,” she ordered. He had no choice; he struggled to his feet, still not looking at her. There was an evil, suggestive glee in her voice as she said, “This is gonna be fun. You know, there’s an awful lot of things I’ve wanted to try for a very long time. You know the only thing that I’ve been missing?” When he realized that she was waiting for his response, he shook his head, still keeping it bowed and his eyes averted. She leaned in close, trapping him between her body and the wall, as she lowered her head, seeking his gaze until he reluctantly met her eyes. With a sadistic smile she answered her own question. “A willing partner.” “That’s still something you haven’t got,” he said quietly, his voice trembling, struggling for control of his emotions, but still determined not to break completely before her campaign of terror. “No matter how you try to fool yourself, you sick little bitch.” “Is that so?” she smirked, pressing in even closer, running her hands invasively over his body; he shuddered but did not pull away from her. Her smile faded into a thin hard line that said she was finished playing – or maybe that she had just begun. “You don’t seem to be offering much resistance, Baby,” she mocked him. He did not dignify her comment with a response; they both knew he couldn’t resist. “Don’t worry,” she said in a mockingly soft, reassuring voice. “It’ll only last one night, and in the morning you won’t even remember any of this.” A part of him hoped desperately that she was right, but Spike had a very hard time believing that he would be able to forget. His heart sank with despair as she went on in a voice of cruel triumph and sadistic intent. “So I guess we’d better get started, huh?”

Chapter #37 - Ghosts and Shadows

The knock on Faith’s bedroom door came far too soon for her sadistic pleasure, somehow still unsated at a bare half an hour before dawn – but it was nowhere near soon enough for Spike. Faith had indulged all of her twisted fantasies, the ones that even while he had been playing the part of her dutiful lover, Spike had never been willing to consent to. The long hours had passed in a mercilessly slow haze of agony and humiliation for him, helpless in her hands, the vicious, psychotic Slayer free to use him without restraint to satisfy her basest urges. And for Faith – that was saying a lot. When the soft, polite knock sounded on the door, Faith was playing with a wickedly sharp, jagged-edged dagger. She ignored the knock at first, intent on the cruel design she was creating on the stomach of her victim, as she straddled his hips on the bed. He fought back a cry of pain, straining uselessly against the bonds that held him to her bed. She had long since removed the order not to fight her, finding his absolute lack of resistance boring; she had opted instead for her old standby of ordinary bondage, of the non-magical variety. The knock sounded again, louder, more insistent. “Just a second,” Faith snapped, smiling slyly, still intent on her torment of the vampire who had dared to reject and betray her. She tore the jagged tip of the blade through his flesh again, with a vindictive smile at his feverish moan of pain – though by this point he was almost beyond feeling the pain anymore. “*Now*, Faith,” a familiar voice spoke impatiently through the door. With a pouting glance at the clock, Faith sighed. “Nearly sunrise already.” She leaned down over Spike, who weakly, instinctively, tried to pull away from the threat of her very presence so near to him. She put her hand behind his head and pulled him closer to her, relishing the panic in his eyes before he closed them, turning his face away from her in fear and shame. “Time flies when you’re having fun,” she murmured close to his ear, a cruel smirk on her face as she met his eyes. “Maybe I should ask Giles for another night…you think?” He could not hold back the little whimpering sound that escaped his throat at that thought. Surely the Watcher would not allow her to control him for another hellish day and night…but then, he had not thought that Giles would have allowed this, either. When he had agreed to the plan Giles had told him about and left the house with him the night before, he had never thought that he would end up subjected to Faith’s brutal torture again. Faith laughed softly at his obvious dread at the thought of having to stay there for another day. It was as close as he had come to the begging she had wanted at the beginning of the evening. It was a matter of her pride that she never had ordered him to beg her for mercy, as she had threatened. She had been determined that he would do that on his own; and while he had not, his obvious terror now was gratifying to her sadistic nature. With a smug smirk, she rose from the bed to answer the door. Suddenly, as an afterthought, she turned back purposefully toward the bed, and Spike could not help but tense at her approach, expecting more of the suffering she had inflicted on him all night. But she merely leaned over him and unlocked the chains that bound his wrists, smiling coldly into his eyes. "Don't think Giles is much for the kinky stuff, do you? Don't wanna shock his elderly system too bad," she sneered, keeping her voice low so as to not be heard by the Watcher on the other side of the door. Spike thought that Faith had to be delusional if she thought she was going to keep the Watcher from knowing exactly what she had been doing. The smell of blood and sex was so overwhelming that he knew, even without the enhanced senses of a vampire, Giles would not be able to miss it. He was naked and covered in terrible wounds from head to toe; the man would have to be a fool, or deliberately blind to it, not to know what she had done to him. But then, Faith grabbed him and jerked him off the bed onto the floor at her feet, and he realized that her words were just a malicious excuse to further abase and degrade him. He stayed there, too weak to move, gasping with the pain of too many cuts and bruises to count coming into sudden contact with the cold, rough wooden floor. Faith crouched down in front of him, and he drew back against the bed, his breath coming fast and shallow as she ran a hand down his side to his hip in a casually suggestive way. "Maybe I'll just have Giles leave the spell on you," she mused with a cruel smirk. "After the ritual. Could be fun to keep you around for a while -- my own personal toy." He flinched, horrified by the suggestion, trying not to show it -- and failing miserably. Faith laughed, standing up and walking to answer the door. Giles' expression was one of shock, disgust -- and finally anger -- as he took in the scene before him. The blood-stained sheets, the vicious tools of Faith's torture -- and the devastated vampire on the floor by the bed. "Sure I can't keep him for another night?" Faith wheedled, smirking at Spike's involuntary shudder at her words. He was clearly terrified of that possibility. Giles' voice was low with barely restrained fury as he answered simply, emphatically, "*No*." "Aww," Faith pouted. "You're no fun," as Spike nearly sobbed in relief. Ignoring the deranged Slayer's comment, Giles turned his attention to Spike, reaching down to help him up with surprising gentleness. Despite his weakness, Spike jerked away from the man's hand, shooting him a look of bitter accusation as he choked out, "Don't touch me!" The sheer pain and rage in his voice was breathtaking. Giles stepped back, looking at him with pity -- and regret, that he quickly tried to cover -- as he said softly, "Very well." From where he stood, he murmured a few Latin words, waving his hand over the fallen vampire. Spike was surprised to feel his pain begin to ease, fading away until it was gone completely. As he watched in amazement, the wounds that Faith had inflicted closed up and disappeared before his eyes, and he felt his strength returning. "Get up," Giles ordered softly, and Spike unwillingly obeyed, a war between gratitude and intense hatred raging in his heart for the man who had just healed him of the horrific abuses that would not have been possible if he had not allowed them in the first place. At least -- he had *physically* healed him. The memory of the torture and violation he had experienced at Faith's hands was still there. For the moment. "Come on," Giles ordered, his voice low and troubled. To Faith he said quietly, without looking at her, "We'll return when it's time for the ceremony." "See you Saturday," Faith nodded, her tone flippant as she flopped down on the filthy bed, soaked with the blood of her victim. But then, she was covered in his blood as well, he thought bitterly, so what difference did it make to her? Spike followed the Watcher silently down the stairs and out of the mansion. No one hindered their progress; apparently Faith had made it clear to her minions that these two were indeed welcome in her mansion. Spike walked behind Giles, keeping a distance between them, despite his attempts to slow his pace and allow the vampire to catch up with him. A distant roll of thunder sounded in the gray morning sky, indicating that the sun would not be an issue for a while yet; a storm was rolling in, echoing the mood between the two men. Finally, Giles stopped altogether, and turned to face Spike, who had also stopped, several yards away from him. He wanted to be nowhere near Giles at the moment, but knew that that was not really an option. Giles still had the power to stop him with a single word if he wanted to. "Spike," Giles began with the tone of an apology. "*Don't*," Spike interrupted him, his voice low and trembling, on the verge of furious tears, as he took a backward step away from him, shaking his head. "I didn't have a choice, Spike." Giles spoke evenly, quietly. "If there was any other way..." "Any other way to *what*?" Spike demanded, his voice rising with his emotions at the Watcher's calm dismissal of what he had done. "To -- to *betray*..." His voice broke off, choked with tears that he did not want to shed in front of Giles. "As hard as it may be for you to believe at this moment, Spike -- I haven't betrayed anyone," Giles said softly. "I have only done what I had to do." "And what *you* feel that *you* need to do -- that comes before everyone and everything else, doesn’t it?” Spike snapped, his eyes blazing golden flashes of fury. “Doesn’t matter the cost to those around you!” “I told you that there would be a cost,” Giles reminded him, a sad smile on his face that did not quite reach his eyes, his words nearly carried away completely by the rising wind around them. “A *cost*!” Spike repeated in a violently trembling voice of bitter disbelief, clearly on the edge of breaking down. “You never told me that you were going to – God, you let her…” His voice broke off, as great wrenching sobs took him over, and suddenly he no longer had the strength to stand. Physically healed, but emotionally devastated, he sank to his knees on the ground. A loud peal of thunder heralded the breaking forth of the rain that had threatened, and as it began to fall hard around them, Giles stepped slowly closer to the trembling, sobbing vampire, his own face streaked with rain or tears, and unexpected compassion in his blue eyes. Spike did not move, seemingly no longer aware of the Watcher, as he collapsed completely into his pain – until Giles knelt in front of him on the cold, wet sidewalk, stretching a cautious hand toward his head. When he had nearly touched him, Spike jerked back violently, his voice coming out in a roar of defensive rage and pain, “*Don’t* bloody *touch me*!” Giles withdrew his hand, and just stayed there for a long moment, watching in silence as Spike struggled to regain his composure. Finally he spoke softly, “I need to reverse the control spell, Spike.” Spike did not respond as his sobs slowly faded into silence, but he did not pull away, when Giles reached toward him again. “So you had to go do the broody guy thing last night, huh?” Buffy asked Spike casually as they readied themselves for bed in her room that night. “What?” Spike frowned, his tone slightly offended as he informed her pointedly, “I do *not* brood. What are you talking about, love?” Buffy climbed into the bed beside him, where he already lay waiting for her. She was amazed at how natural it seemed now, after just a few nights – sharing her bed with Spike. It was just assumed between them now that as long as he was staying in her house, that would be the sleeping arrangement. Besides Giles, however, her friends still thought that Spike was spending his nights chained up on the floor, and Giles had been sworn to secrecy by Buffy. “What would I have to brood about anyway?” Spike questioned, a little defensively, putting his arm around her as she settled in beside him. “I’m here with you, pet.” “Sweet,” Buffy remarked, his comment earning a smile. “But not distracting enough, Mister. As far as the cause of your broodiness – oh, I don’t know – could it be something tall, dark and annoying with oh-God-what-was-I-thinking hair?” Even as she spoke, Buffy was amazed at how drastically her feelings for Angel had changed recently. She had spent most of the day in the basement, trying to figure out what he was up to, if anything, trying to judge whether or not he could be trusted, and while she had tried to question him, he had done nothing but try to talk to her about resuming their doomed relationship, and talk her into unchaining him. She wondered why she had never noticed before how over-dramatic and impressed with himself he always seemed to be. It had taken her forever to find out anything useful from him at all. She had finally left the basement convinced of two things. The first was that she was over Angel. Once and for all, whatever feelings she had once had for him were gone, for some reason -- *most likely replaced by Spike-obsession,* she mused. The second thing that she was sure of was that Angel was not being straight with her. His answers were vague and evasive, and there were holes in his story – things about the timing, and other details, that just did not make sense. How had Faith known so many details about Angel’s past, his relationship with Buffy even, in order to tell them about them as he claimed that she had, when he had come back from hell half out of his mind and not remembering them for himself? According to Angel, Faith had given him details that even Spike could not have known about the events of the previous spring. How had she known? And that raised another question – why had Spike been unaware of Angel’s presence, if he had been there the whole time, in Faith’s dungeon? Angel had no satisfactory answers for any of her questions, and Buffy suspected that he was indeed Faith’s secret partner. But she was not certain – and that was what was keeping Angel from being dust, for the moment. In spite of everything, after all that had passed between them, she could not bring herself to actually dust him unless she was completely sure. And she was not. But there was one thing she *was* sure about. Spike. “You know you don’t have anything to worry about, right?” she asked him softly, rolling over onto her stomach, half on top of him, leaning up to kiss him gently on the lips. “You’re the one I want.” His crystal blue eyes softened at her open affection, and he ran his hand lightly through her loose, disheveled blonde hair. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know. I’m not worried about the big pouf,” he assured her. “He’s the one chained up in the basement – and I’m the one up here. Aren’t I?” “Mm-hmm,” she replied lazily, reaching up to kiss him again. He gently wrapped his arms around her, and she allowed him to hold her for a few moments, deepening the kiss, before reaching behind her to pull his arms down onto the bed, breaking the kiss with a vixenish smile into his eyes. “Wanna play?” she whispered, her fingers entwining with his as she raised his hands in hers over his head, holding them there as her mouth trailed soft kisses from his lips down his throat to his chest. He gasped at the sensation of her hot mouth on his cool flesh, arching up against her gently restraining hands. “God – Buffy!” he whispered, his voice husky with desire. “So – hot…” The sound of pleasure and need in his voice heightened her arousal, and she gripped his wrists in her hands, her tongue darting out to trace slow, tantalizing circles on his chest. When her teeth closed lightly around his nipple, scraping down slightly as she moved back up his chest toward his neck, he released a moan of pleasure at the unexpected intensified sensation. “God! Buffy – need you – love,” he gasped for breath, straining against her hands on his wrists. “Uh-uh,” she whispered, rising to his ear, nipping at it lightly before going on. Her voice was tender and her eyes shining with affection as she told him in a soft, teasing murmur, “I’ve got you right where I want you, Baby. Don’t fight it.” And then something happened that Buffy had never expected. Though her words had been playfully commanding, there had been nothing but tender intent behind them. She had wanted to use this night to show Spike how much she cared about him, how much she wanted to give *him* pleasure. But at her whispered word -- *don’t fight it* -- he suddenly jerked against her hands at his wrists, letting out a strangled cry that startled her. It took her a moment to realize that he was really struggling in earnest. “Let me go!” he gasped. “Let go! Don’t!” he cried in a desperate whisper, his eyes closed as he fought to escape her grip. She just lay there for a moment staring at him blankly, not moving, before she finally could gather her wits enough to release him, cursing herself silently for her slow reaction. He scrambled out from under her, and she quickly backed off, staring at him in shock and concern as he moved to the head of the bed, sitting up against the headboard, panting, as his eyes, distant and panicked, gradually came to focus on her again. “Buffy,” he whispered finally, staring at her as if just recognizing her. “I – I’m sorry,” he said in a voice of dismay, as he remembered how he had just acted with her. She shook her head firmly, though her eyes were still wide and shocked. “Don’t be,” she insisted. “You were really freaked out, Spike. I would think it was another nightmare – except – that would have to mean that you were asleep.” She gave a little pouting frown, her eyes revealing some insecurity as she added, “which under the circumstances, is not a very flattering thought for *me*.” He didn’t even smile, shaking his head solemnly. “No. No, I was awake, love. Just – just like you said,” he confirmed her words when he could find none of his own. “Just a little freaked out.” “Okay…also not so very complementary to me,” she pointed out with a little grimace. “Was that like – like some kind of flashback?” she guessed, her eyes filled with concern as she slowly went to sit beside him at the head of the bed. After a moment’s pause, he nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, that – that must be it,” he agreed, his voice still distant, his eyes seeming to focus on some image that she could not see, in his memory or imagination. Encouraged by his not shrinking away when she approached him, Buffy cautiously put a hand on his shoulder, drawing nearer to look him straight in the eyes. “Spike – you know you’re safe with me, right?” she asked him anxiously, searching his eyes. “What?” He frowned, puzzled. “I mean,” she looked down suddenly, oddly embarrassed, after everything they had done that had *not* embarrassed her. “We play around and stuff, and – and I act all controlling and everything, but – but you know that I’d never – I mean – we’ll never do anything – you don’t want to. You know that. Right?” Once she had managed to get her point across, she looked up at him with open, vulnerable eyes. His eyes widened in surprise. In spite of everything, since that fateful night when everything had changed between them, he had never been afraid of Buffy. “Right. Of course, love,” he assured her. “I know.” Buffy looked at him for a moment longer, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth. Satisfied, she nodded slowly as she backed up off the bed, rising suddenly and walking to the closet. “What are you doing, love?” he asked her. She did not respond as she dug around on the floor of her closet for a few moments. When she turned around, his heart sank a little when he saw what she held in her hands. So that was why all the questions about trust and all, he thought. As much as he *did* trust Buffy – he was really not up to their usual little games at the moment. He thought that if she tried to put those chains on him right then, he would be sick. But he knew that if she wanted to – he would. Buffy was smiling a little shyly as she approached him, and he could see the desire in her eyes. Stifling a sigh, he made himself return her smile, holding out his wrists to her in an exaggerated pose. He was surprised when she frowned, pulling the chains back. “What’s wrong, pet?” he asked her, and was absolutely stunned by her next words, accompanied by a seductive smile, as she walked forward to deliberately place the chains *in* -- not on – his hands. “What? Don’t *I* get a turn?”

Chapter #38 - Surrender

Spike stared at Buffy for a long moment, not quite believing what she had just done. He looked down slowly at the chains in his hands, then back up to her face, his eyes wide and questioning. She was smiling, a wicked, teasingly seducive little smirk, as she slipped the spaghetti straps of the slinky little nightgown she was wearing down over her shoulders and wriggled out of it, baring herself to him boldly, her eyes never leaving his the whole time. "Buffy," he whispered, shaking his head slightly, even as he could feel his desire for her rising at the sight of her, and the way she was so willingly surrendering herself to him. "Are -- are you sure this is what you want?" She walked slowly to him, not the least bit self-conscious of her naked body -- and why should she be? he thought...she was bloody perfect! -- and wrapped her arms lightly around his neck, pulling him in for a tender but sensuous kiss. She pulled back from him slowly, gazing into his eyes, her own slightly glazed with her desire for him. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm sure." She pulled away from him, very deliberately, holding her wrists out in front of her invitingly. "You trust me that much?" he asked her, in spite of the arousal she was causing in him, his eyes still serious, seeking. She nodded, her smile fading a bit into a solemn expression. "Yes," she assured him. He frowned slightly, even as he moved toward her. "You shouldn't," he said softly, but there was a slightly challenging note in his voice. "I -- I could be lying. Me and you -- these past few days -- this could all be an elaborate trick. I could be deceiving you -- I could be Faith's partner, like -- like Angelus says..." His eyes searched hers deeply, his expression troubled. She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she said in a lightly reproving tone, "Eww. Don't mention him." Her expression became more serious as she added, "And you're not." Her voice was soft and reassuring. "Once you're chained up -- you'd be helpless. And last week -- you and I were mortal enemies, pet. That doesn't bother you?" She smiled, her piercing eyes seeing through his words to the fears and insecurities beneath them. "No. It doesn't." He stared at her for a moment, the challenge in his eyes fading away, revealing a vulnerability and uncertainty that few ever saw in him. "Why not?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. She moved in again, capturing his mouth in another kiss, thorough and intense, an attempt to express to him all the things that neither of them could find words for. When she pulled back this time, she met his eyes and replied softly, "Because this isn't last week." She smiled. "I trust you, Spike." He wanted her, desperately. She could see it in his eyes, could feel it in his touch as his hands ran slowly up and down her arms, unconsciously pulling her closer to him -- but his expression was still troubled. "You shouldn't. Trust like that could get you killed, pet." "Only if it's in the wrong person," she pointed out. "What if it is?" he shot back. "Let's find out." She reached between them and held up the chains, her eyebrows raised in a question and an invitation. Seeing the need that remained in him, she leaned in close, her face barely an inch from his, and whispered slowly, firmly, "I trust you, Spike." He held her gaze for a moment before looking down at the chains she was holding, and reaching to slowly take them from her hands. Suddenly, he tossed them behind him onto the bed, turning back to grip her in a fierce embrace, yanking her naked body against him and capturing her mouth in a kiss of almost violent intensity. She returned it with a desperate yearning, his aggression heightening her arousal as she had only imagined that it would, her hands sliding around his waist, tugging him closer, longing for more contact. Suddenly, his hands hardened on her arms, pushing her back at arm's length for a moment, and the wild, almost feral need in his eyes took her breath away -- and made her arousal that much more intense. Without warning he swung her around and threw her down on the bed on her back, pouncing on her in the next instant, his hands gripping her wrists and pinning her to the bed. Buffy felt a little thrill of mingled fear and arousal at the sudden loss of control, and the reckless desire in Spike’s eyes as they met hers with a wicked smile. She pressed up against his hands as if trying to get away, but she was returning his smile – and she wasn’t really trying very hard to break his grip. Spike knew very well that if she was trying, she could easily throw him off of her. Bloody hell, if she was *trying*, she could throw him through the soddin’ wall and into next Tuesday! But Buffy was willingly placing herself under his power, relinquishing control of the situation – and herself – to Spike. The realization gave him a feeling that was somewhere between disbelieving awe – and the overwhelming desire to utterly ravish her right then and there. But he kept the impulse under control – for the moment. He intended to take his time with her tonight. He slowly brought her wrists together over her head and pinned them with one hand, then reached up to wrap the chains tightly around the rails of the headboard, as she had done that fateful first night between them. She giggled, quietly mocking him, at his struggles to situate the chains using only one hand. He responded with a playful warning growl, just as he managed to get the chains as he wanted them, meeting her eyes again as he gave a sharp tug to test their strength. The chains rattled against the rails, and the headboard gave a tremendous creak – but the chains held firm. Buffy smiled, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Good thing we’ve got a nice soundproof room,” she commented suggestively. “No need to hold back.” That thought alone was enough to drive him beyond desire to desperation, but he maintained his cool smile, as his hand suddenly reached down, cool fingers pinching one bare, erect nipple, hard enough to hurt a little, and she yelped in surprise – but a moment later, he knew beyond all doubt that the action had only served to heighten her arousal. “Shh,” he whispered, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “No talking.” Buffy frowned. “But no one can hear us. We can be as loud as we want. We don’t have to be quiet.” “No, *we* don’t,” he conceded pointedly with a smile, and as understanding began to dawn on her, her eyes widened. “*You* do.” He shrugged carelessly, his hands trailing down her sides, as he added with a sly grin, his eyes studying the flawless skin his fingers were caressing, “Unless of course – you fancy being punished.” As he spoke, one hand slid inward, finding her sodden center, and he smiled as she thrust unconsciously up into his touch. When he finished his statement, he gave another little pinch to the silky, sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she gasped at the painful pleasure of the contact. “Spike,” she whimpered, her hands sliding around him instinctively. “No, no,” he reprimanded her in a soft but stern voice that sent shivers down her spine, his hands capturing hers and raising them above her head again, toward the chains he had prepared for her. “I said no talking.” He locked her wrists into the manacles, then gave her a mischievous wink as he added in a whisper, “Guess you’ll just have to be punished.” He surprised her then by bringing his hand down sharply on the side of her bottom, hard enough to sting. She let out a soft little moan, closing her eyes and losing herself to the mingled sensations of the stinging blow and the expert ministrations that his other hand had now resumed. The sound, encouraging and pleadingly wordlessly for more, was punished – or rewarded – by another sound smack. He chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement, when she let out another little cry. “Seems as if you *want* to be punished, pet,” he smirked, cool fingers closing again around her nipple and giving it a little twist. He was not surprised when she gasped at the sharp twinge of pain, or when the gasp was accompanied by a rush of liquid surrounding his working fingers. What did surprise him was when it was followed by a mischievous little giggle. He drew back a little, regarding her for a moment with one eyebrow arched dubiously. It was not his experience to have his partner laugh in reaction to his touch, but something told him that might not be a good reaction. “And what’s so bleedin’ funny, Missy?” he demanded, a slightly defensive note in his voice, though he kept his tone light. This only brought another girlish giggle from the Slayer beneath him, as she raised her head and opened her eyes to meet his with a teasing smile. “You ask too many questions,” she informed him in a playfully petulant tone. “I’m being very bad, in case you haven’t noticed. Aren’t you going to punish me?” So *that* was the joke, he realized, his own face breaking into a slow smile. The Slayer *did* want to be punished. “Of course,” he replied with a smirk, pausing weightedly before he added, “In time.” With that, he removed his hand from between her legs, raising himself up off her and settling beside her on his side, his elbow on the bed and his head in his hand as he smiled down at her calmly. “They say it’s better if you let the anticipation build before meting out punishment. More – effective,” he murmured, meeting her eyes with a smile that was both mocking and affectionate, as she squirmed uselessly, trying to get back into contact with him. His fingers moved indulgently to trace light, teasing patterns on her thigh, maddeningly near to the throbbing source of her need he had abandoned. She moaned softly, whispering, “Spike – please…” gasping for breath. His smile widened slightly. “Please what, pet?” he asked her, though he clearly knew the answer already. The Slayer side of her was extremely displeased with being dominated like this, and she released an angry sound that was almost an actual growl, straining against the chains that bound her and causing the headboard to creak dangerously again with her efforts. Spike only laughed softly at her, shaking his head as he reminded her, “Might not want to do that, pet. No one can here you, right – but you’d have a bloody hard time explaining a splintered headboard to your little friends in the morning.” “I could tell them I needed a stake and I needed it in a hurry,” she shot back in a dark tone, still fighting to free herself for a moment before finally seeming to give up, slumping back down against the mattress in defeat, her body still demanding what she had no power to give it. Finally she looked at him and repeated in a desperate whimper, “Please, Spike – please…” “Please…what?” he repeated, slowly, deliberately, smiling as his fingers edged tantalizingly nearer to the desperate ache that was consuming her. “Touch me,” she whispered, gasping sharply at the intensified contact. “Thought I was touching you, love,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her softly on her neck, the cool brush of his breath on her hot, flushed skin only serving to make her need him more – as he had known it would. “Spike…I need you,” she whispered. “Please…I need you…” The raw sound of her voice that told him she was speaking the truth – she *needed* him – caught him off guard, sending the desire that had been steadily building in him to a suddenly new level, and she was no longer the only one in the situation who felt the need for contact. “Buffy,” he whispered, leaning down so that his chest came into contact with hers, his hand slipping behind her neck to pull her into a slow, intense kiss. “Buffy, love,” he gasped when they parted. “Spike…please…I want…I…I need…” she gasped, finding it difficult to say the words, to tell him what it was that she wanted from him. But despite his own heightened arousal, intensified by the renewed contact, he was determined to make her. “What, Buffy? What do you need?” he asked her in a low whisper, thick and trembling with desire. “You,” she whispered desperately. “I need you, Spike – I need you – inside me…” The pleading sound of her voice, the knowledge that in that moment she was his – no one else could fulfill the need she was proclaiming – it was *him* that she wanted more than anything else in that moment – it all served to give his control that last little push over the edge. “Yes,” he whispered softly, rising up to lower himself down again over her. “Buffy, love – want you so much….” As he spoke, he granted her plea, plunging down hard into the solace she offered him. The Slayer let out a soft, strangled little cry of pleasure and pain, gasping out his name. “Spike! Oh, God…*Spike*!” She writhed against the chains that held her, her frantic movements under him heightening the pleasure for him with every new contact of her soft, hot skin against his cool flesh. “Buffy…Buffy,” he found himself just repeating her name in a desperate whisper, as they moved together in perfect rhythm, each finding their needs met in the other. The feeling of giving up control, of leaving her pleasure, her very self, in Spike’s hands, was liberating to the Slayer, who had felt intensely the pressure of responsibility for the safety of her friends, her sister, and the terrible burden of knowledge of the great battle looming before them. It gave her a sense of freedom to, if only for a few moments, place utter and complete control in the hands of the vampire that she had come to trust so fully, just surrendering herself to the sensations only he could give her. And for Spike, emotionally and psychologically worn down from constantly fighting and running for his very life, surrounded by a dangerous world full of people who had not only the desire but the power to hurt him, the sense of control was empowering. It had been so long since he had felt in control of anything…and the previous night of terror had left him feeling vulnerable and weak. The sensation of total control, wielding the power for once instead of being at someone else’s mercy, was a strength and a relief. The explosion consumed them both at exactly the same moment, and the Slayer let out a primal cry of passion as pleasure washed over her; above her, Spike cried out her name in the moment of his release, before collapsing on top of her, her own arms slack against the restraints, both exhausted and sated. After a few moments, Spike raised up slowly, meeting her eyes with a tenderness that was somehow not a contrast to the wild, primal force that had consumed them moments before. He leaned down to kiss her again, and she pulled against the bonds, wanting to put her arms around him, whimpering softly against his lips when she could not. He pulled back, reaching up to unlock the chains, then wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to relax against him for a few moments, before she reached her arms around him to return his embrace. She raised up slightly, smiling at him pensively, and he gave her a questioning look. “What?” he asked in a low, husky whisper, searching her eyes. “Nothing,” she murmured, smiling into his eyes. “Just thinking.” “Thinking what?” he pressed, impossibly curious now. She was silent for a moment before she responded, her hand tangling gently in his disheveled blonde hair in preparation to pull him in for another kiss. “That it looks like I was right.” “ ‘Bout what?” he whispered, offering little resistance, though he still wanted an answer, as she pulled him down into a long, thorough kiss. She pulled back, meeting his eyes with her own shining with affection as she replied. “I picked the right person to trust.”

Chapter #39 - Preparations

Saturday morning dawned with a sense of expectancy over Buffy's home. Everyone in the house knew that whatever was going to happen, however things were going to turn out, it was going to happen that night. Buffy had filled Xander and Willow in on the plan that Giles had related to her, which really seemed to be their best chance of defeating Faith once and for all, and they had accepted it without any argument. Everything was in place, and they were ready for the events that would unfold that evening. Well -- as ready as they could possibly be; the entire situation was unpredictable, and would stay that way right up until the moment when the plan was carried out. Only then could they know for sure that the nightmare Faith had brought to their lives was over once and for all. Buffy awoke before Spike, carefully disentangling herself from the arms of the sleeping vampire. She would let him sleep for a while longer; he needed his rest for that night. She stood there beside the bed for a moment, studying the fine, smooth lines of his face, peaceful for once in slumber. She frowned slightly with concern; so many nights that flawless face was marred by the terrors of his nightmares. Her eyes were wide and serious as she watched him with a rising sense of affection in her heart, and a lump in her throat; so much rested on his shoulders tonight. The success or failure of their plan was based on his actions. Really, the only reason she was even going to be there at all was in case something went wrong. If all went according to plan, she would not have to do anything at all. Spike was going to be the hero of the hour. Buffy slipped silently into her soft bathrobe and headed down the stairs to see if anyone else was up yet. The house was quiet, and at first Buffy thought that she was alone in the living room, until she noticed Willow, curled up in a corner of the couch. She was wrapped up in the comforter from her bed, a steaming cup of tea on the end table beside her, and a thick book open across her drawn up knees. When she saw Buffy approaching, Willow quickly closed the book, with a self-conscious glance between it and her friend. The trapped, guilty expression on her face told Buffy what sort of book it was that she was reading. Willow was trying to find a way to get her powers back. Buffy had been trying to be forgiving with her friend about the whole trying-to-kill-her-boyfriend thing, considering that Willow did not know that Spike was her boyfriend, and that Spike *had* killed Willow's boyfriend, even if it *was* in self-defense. Willow had come to her the day after and apologized, and had dutifully kept her distance from Spike after that, so Buffy had tried not to make an issue of it any more. However, the realization that the girl was trying to get back the magical powers she had used to terrorize and almost kill Spike made Buffy's anger rise anew at the memory of what Spike had told her of what had happened. "Buffy!" Willow spoke in a voice that was too bright, too cheerful. "You're up early! Good morning! What's up?" "Drop it, Will," Buffy said shortly. "I saw your book, I know what you're doing, and forget it. There is no way that you're getting your magic back until Giles is sure that you're ready." "But -- but Buffy I *am* ready!" Willow insisted when she realized that she was caught, leaning forward on the couch and looking her in the eye earnestly. "I understand, I can't use magic for selfish purposes, etc., etc., and I'm gonna respect the forces of nature and all that. But I -- I need to have my powers back, Buffy!" The flippant, careless way in which Willow stated her new found "respect" for magic told Buffy clearly that she was *not* ready. "That'll be up to Giles," Buffy repeated firmly. "But I can't help you at all this way, Buffy," Willow argued. "If I had my magic back..." "*Will.*" The redhead was silent, subdued, looking at the floor at the Slayer's feet. Buffy's voice was softer, gentle when she spoke again, but it was clear that there would be no changing her mind. "It's not my decision. It's up to Giles." Her tone was a little on the cool side, but not unkind, as she turned to head toward the kitchen, in search of some major caffeine. If she was going to have to deal with Willow this early, she was going to need an energy boost. Could she help if she found it difficult to act completely at ease, as if nothing was wrong, with the girl who had just tried to kill the man she -- was beginning to care about? "What if Spike backs out at the last minute?" Willow asked, and a resentful note resounded clearly in her quietly stubborn voice. "What if he decides he wants to switch sides on you? It'll be too late then." Buffy felt her anger flare up again at those words. She was trying to be a supportive friend, but she was getting sick and tired of Willow and her Spike-issues. At this point, she trusted Spike more than she trusted Willow, and it irritated her for Willow to even suggest that Spike might turn on her. She knew in her heart that he never would. She turned around quickly to face her friend, green eyes blazing with fury. Willow visibly wilted, stepping back and lowering her head a little as the Slayer stepped toward her, opening her mouth to speak. But before Buffy could say a word, someone else broke the tense silence that had fallen. "That's not going to happen." Spike's low, clear voice spoke with quiet certainty, and the girls turned to see him standing at the base of the stairs. Buffy froze, a sudden anxious feeling coming over her. She had not said a word to Spike about it yet, but she was not quite ready to reveal their relationship to her friends. Once everything was taken care of and Faith was out of the picture, then she could allow herself to think about working out the mess that *that* revelation would be. She was not ashamed of him, and had determined that she was going to be with him regardless of what her friends thought, but she felt that at the moment the little band of unlikely heroes needed to be as united as possible -- which was already a stretch. The revelation that she had been sleeping with and developing a relationship with (in precisely that order) someone that her friends held responsible for most of their great losses over the past year -- well, she thought grimly, one apocalyptic level battle at a time was about all she could handle. But she had not discussed any of this with Spike, not yet. Actually, the night before, they had done very little talking at all. And judging from the look on his face, the certainty in his voice, she was suddenly very much afraid that he was about to let the secret out, quite a bit earlier than she was ready to. He walked slowly toward them, his eyes meeting Willow's as he came to stand by Buffy and went on, "I want to see Faith pay for what she's done. There is no bloody way in hell that I'm switching sides at this point in the game, pet." Buffy's relief was almost palpable as she released a long, slow breath, turning innocent, expectant eyes toward her friend for her reaction. Willow could not -- or did not -- suppress her disgust at the pet name that fell so casually from Spike's lips, but she looked at Buffy as she spoke, her voice low and controlled, but still revealing her anger. "Fine. Whatever you think is best, Buffy. I hope it works out for you." The bitter tone of her voice gave Buffy the chilling suspicion that Willow would actually feel a sense of gratification if the plan did not work out, failed in some way. That way she would be able to say, "See, I told you so...if you'd have only given me back my magic..." *God,* Buffy thought, shaking her head slightly in disbelief as she caught Spike's eye and turned back toward the stairs, allowing him to head up ahead of her. *What's that old saying...with friends like these, who needs enemies?* As she followed the blonde vampire who had until very recently fit into that latter category, allowing herself to casually enjoy the view on the way up, she smiled to herself. *Looks like *I* do.* The day wore on with agonizing slowness, as the little group waited for the sun to set and the time to arrive for Faith's ritual to begin. Buffy had already made it very clear that she expected Willow and Xander both to stay home. She knew that there was very little they could do in a combat situation besides causing a distraction and unintentionally being a hindrance to the plan -- and she wanted to know that they were safe. The plan was for Spike and Giles to go alone to where the ritual was to be performed. Buffy would be going along also, a little bit after them -- but would remain at a distance, not allowing herself to be seen by her deranged counterpart. Angel was to be kept chained in the basement. Buffy still was not sure as to where he stood in this little battle, but as long as he was locked up out of the way, she thought, it did not matter how he had intended (or not) to help Faith. He would not be able to play any part in the proceedings, good or bad. And for now, Buffy thought that was best. "Bloody hell, pet, when is the bleedin' sun gonna go down?" Spike muttered, pacing anxiously across Buffy's bedroom floor, glancing occasionally with irritation toward the dim rays still refracting through the drawn curtains. “We need to get this bloody show on the road…” Buffy rose from where she sat on the bed, watching him with a smile of affectionate amusement. “Hey,” she said softly, moving to catch him in mid-stride, taking his arm and turning him to face her. “Come here for a second. You’re making me dizzy.” Her tone was gentle, coaxing, as her hands trailed lightly up and down his arms, in an attempt to draw him in and settle him a bit. He reluctantly came to a stop, allowing her to pull him closer to her, but not looking at her. She realized with concern that he was trembling under her hands. “Spike…this is gonna work,” she reassured him. “We’re gonna stop her *tonight*.” He nodded quickly, releasing a slow deep breath, but still not raising his eyes. “Right, love. I know.” “Then what’s with the hyper-active bit?” she pressed him gently, tipping her head and looking up at him, trying to catch his eye. “You’re wearing holes in this carpet, and it’s not even that old.” When he did not respond to her little joke, she went on insistently, firmly, “This plan is basically fool proof. It’s *going* to work, Spike.” “What if it doesn’t?” he asked her, looking up suddenly to meet her eyes, his own wide and anxious, and she was surprised by the intensity of his gaze. “What if she manages to figure it out before we can pull it off?” “Then we’ll take her out anyway,” Buffy replied without hesitation, her voice and eyes hardening. “I’m gonna be right there the whole time. I know this is dangerous and there’s a definite risk involved, for all of us, but mostly for you. But I am *not* gonna let her hurt you, Spike. The first sign I get that something’s not going right, I’m jumping right in and taking her down.” He nodded, drawing in another shaky breath. “Right. Okay,” he spoke, his tone revealing that he was trying to convince himself. “It’s gonna be fine. Everything’s gonna be… gonna be fine…” The uncertainty, the fear in his voice surprised her. She had never known Spike to show fear easily; even when she had thought he knew who had killed her mother, and had interrogated him, putting every ounce of menace into her act that she could, he had still given her nothing but bravado and arrogance, until the memories of his lost love had broken through his defenses. Why was he getting so nervous now at the prospect of facing Faith, when he had been longing to take her on and defeat her for so long? “Spike?” she said, a tentative question in her voice. “What is it? What’s got you so shaken up over this?” “It – it’s nothing, love,” he replied, a little too quickly, looking away from her self-consciously. “It’s just – this has been a long time coming, yeah? It’s a bit – bit to take in is all.” Buffy studied his face for a moment, feeling certain that he was keeping something from her, but not wanting to push him – not now. He was already such a bundle of nerves, and the last thing he needed before the confrontation he was facing was anything to get him any more upset. “Spike,” she whispered, and the change in her tone drew his eyes back to hers. “I know you can do this. I – I believe in you.” His eyes widened in surprise at the heart-felt words he had never thought to hear from the Slayer’s lips. And then, her lips proceeded to tell him what her words could not, as she leaned in and captured his in a tender, intimate kiss. After only a moment, he began to return the kiss in earnest, his hand rising to cup the back of her head, pressing her closer to him, as his tongue explored her mouth, urgently, almost desperately. When they finally parted, both were breathless. “Buffy,” he whispered, and she was gratified to hear relief in his voice. “God, Buffy…I – I love you…” She felt as if in that moment, her heart stopped beating. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared at him, shining emerald eyes wide in shock. She wasn’t even sure how the words made her feel, they came as such a surprise. Her lips parted slightly, as if beginning to speak, but she said nothing, her eyes searching his. “You – you don’t have to say anything,” Spike quickly moved in to fill the silence, his eyes focused on the floor, his hands still holding her arms. “That’s not why I said it. I know it’s fast, and I know you probably don’t feel the same – not yet – but I know what I feel, Slayer. I loved Dru for over a hundred years, and – and believe it or not, I know love.” He paused, earnest blue eyes rising hesitantly to meet hers, so open and vulnerable with the admission of his feelings for her. “I was all set to kill Faith – for love of Dru. Because of what she did to her. And – a part of me will always love Dru, like you said. But – but I’m not doing this tonight for Dru, Buffy.” He paused, gazing at her intently, willing her to see the truth in his eyes. “I’m doing this for you. What I do tonight – I’m doing because – because I love you, Buffy. I love you.” Buffy’s heart felt so full in that moment, as her mind tried to catch up and take in the enormity of the words he had just spoken. “Spike,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly as her eyes welled with tears, though she could not have said what emotion had birthed them. “Spike, I…” At that moment, the door suddenly opened, and instinctively the secret lovers stepped away from each other, casting guilty sidelong glances at the door. Giles gave them a smile that was knowing and a bit amused. “Impromptu planning session I see?” he commented lightly. Buffy gave him a death look, knowing that he knew enough to know exactly what they had been doing. “What else?” she said dryly. “What is it?” She tried to keep the impatience from her voice, but it was difficult. She needed to finish this conversation with Spike. “As much as I hate to interrupt – it’s nearly time to go,” Giles told them, gesturing toward the window. The sun was down. “Spike, I need to speak with you for a moment before we go,” Giles told him, his tone all business. The events of the evening were too important, as far as he was concerned, to be put off by a lovers’ rendezvous. “Right, then,” Spike sighed, not looking at Buffy, ducking his head slightly as he stepped past her toward the door. Giles was waiting expectantly for him, and only stepped toward the stairs when Spike reached the doorway. “Spike.” Buffy’s voice stopped the vampire in his tracks. He swallowed hard, drawing in a deep breath, closing his eyes, but he did not turn around. She came up quickly behind him, taking his arm and spinning him around, pulling his head down into a kiss that was very brief – but intense. When she let him go, his head was spinning. She rested her forehead against his, staring deep into his eyes as she whispered. “I love you, too.” And with that, she gently pushed him out the door and closed it behind him, turning to prepare herself for the evening, her mind racing with the impact of what had just happened between them. As he headed down the stairs, Spike was deliriously happy. He had known that the events of this evening were really not carved in stone, and could still go a number of ways. He had not expected the Slayer to return his sentiments, but he had known that he could not go off, possibly to his death, without telling her how he felt. To have her say the words back was more than he had ever hoped for. As he rounded the corner into the living room to face Giles, he could not keep the silly smile from his face. His mind was on anything but the Watcher and whatever it was he had to say. That was why he didn’t realize what Giles was doing when he stepped toward him with an outstretched hand, and never saw the spell coming until it was already cast.

Chapter #40 - A Test of Trust

Spike stared at Giles for a long moment in shocked silence, before he burst out angrily, "What the bloody hell did you just do to me? I told you no bleedin' magic, you soddin' wanker!" He took a menacing step toward the Watcher, though he knew full well that there was little that he could actually do against the man, as powerful as his magic was. Confirming that thought, Giles ordered sharply, "Stop," and Spike stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as he stared down at his feet, which now refused his command in favor of that of the Watcher -- he was fully under Giles' control. He looked back up at the Watcher, his eyes wide and revealing his fear as he realized exactly what he had done. "No," he said softly, the anger gone out of his voice, replaced by dread, as he shook his head, his eyes pleading. "No, you said..." Giles' expression was patient, sympathetic, as he opened his mouth to speak. "Spike," he began, then suddenly stopped when they heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Spike hoped that it was Buffy...if it was he would tell her everything, get her to help him, to stop Giles from... "Silence." The quiet order from the Watcher's lips dashed his hopes, as they both watched to see who would come down the stairs, and Spike was helpless to do anything but obey the command. It was only Willow, anyway, and she just gave them both a hateful, glowering look as she passed them on her way into the living room, flopping down on the couch and grabbing the television remote control, obviously intent on ignoring them until they went away. She did not have long to wait. "Come on," Giles ordered softly, and Spike had no choice but to follow as he headed out into the cool night air. The moment they were away from the house and the ears of its inhabitants, Giles turned to Spike and said softly, "You may speak." Resentfully, Spike kept silent for a few moments, loathe to speak just because the Watcher had granted permission. His stubborn, defiant nature made him want to keep his mouth shut, just to spite the man. After all, nothing he could say would change anything at this point, anyway. He would not say a word; it would not do any good. That lasted about twelve seconds. "I can't believe you would do this, you bloody wanker! I trusted you! I trusted you and you betrayed me!" he snarled, and as he spoke, Giles stopped walking and turned to face him. "You promised me that you wouldn't do any bleedin' magic without my consent. And last I checked, this soddin' plan of yours didn't involve my being under any kind of spell." He paused, his eyes narrowing in undisguised suspicion on the man. "Unless of course," he added in a low tone of disgust, "this hasn't got a bloody thing to do with the plan. 'Less it's part of a different plan altogether." "Spike," Giles spoke in a quiet, tired voice, his impatience clear in his tone. "We do not have time for this. I understand that you are upset, and I'm sorry. I know I told you no magic without your consent, but I simply have no other choice. You're just going to have to trust me." "Trust you!" Spike repeated, his voice trembling with anger and disbelief. "Trust you, after you lied to me! After you tricked me into being under your control! After you didn't even give me a bloody choice..." "Spike," Giles interrrupted, and the clear sound of authority in his voice caused Spike to stop as he went on, "We *don't* have time. We've got to get on with it and get to the ritual. Now I'll ask you once more to drop it and be quiet...and then I'll *tell* you. There's your bloody choice, Spike. Do you understand?" Spike swallowed back the fury that rose in him at being forced to submit. But he knew that he would rather be quiet of his own choice than be magically forced into complete silence, until Giles decided to release him from it. And the quiet anger in the Watcher's voice told him that he would certainly do it if pushed too far. Spike did not say another word as they made their way toward the confrontation before them. "There you are," Faith's soft, smooth tone belied the relief in her eyes as she watched the Watcher and the vampire step into the little clearing she had chosen as the site for her dramatic transformation. "I was starting to think you might be backing out on me." "Hardly," Giles smirked. "This is a momentous occasion, my dear. You and I are making history tonight." Faith returned his cold, smug smile. "Or ending it," she shrugged carelessly. She turned her attention to the vampire standing a few steps behind Giles, clearly unwilling to be there, but having no choice in the matter. She smiled to herself; she loved the fact that he was nothing more than a pawn in all of this, forced to help her carry out the scheme that would eventually give her ultimate power. He did not want to do it, but he was helpless to stop it, and he knew it. Spike would not even look at either of them, as he stood there, sullen, his eyes downcast. *Well, we'll just have to do something about that,* she thought with a smirk, stepping past Giles and closer to Spike. Still looking at the vampire, she addressed Giles, "Go ahead. Give him the command to obey me." Her smile widened as she leaned in closer to him and he took a step back away from her. She gripped his hair and yanked him back close to her, her other hand hard at the small of his back, relishing the sound of his sharp, ragged breathing, and the feel of his trembling under the power of her oppressive nearness. She lowered her head to catch his gaze, her dark eyes glittering with malice as she added softly, "I'm soo ready to get started!" Giles' face was expressionless as he regarded the Slayer and her victim. "Spike, you are to do as Faith commands you," he ordered, his voice cool and devoid of any compassion or pity, even in the face of the vampire's obvious terror. Faith's smile became triumphant, and she pulled him closer, pressing her body suggestively to his, laughing when he shuddered and tried to pull away. "Stop it," she ordered softly, still smiling, and he immediately obeyed. "Hmm," she mused. "I don't know if I'm convinced." She paused, her eyes wide and serious as they met those of her victim. "I'd hate to get in the middle of the ritual and find out he's not really under my control. Maybe a little...test?" Her tone made it clear that she really had no doubt as to whether or not he was really under her control; she was just enjoying toying with him. "I was under the impression that the other night was to serve as your test, Faith." Giles' voice had a hard note to it that the Slayer seemed to miss, as she was so intent on her torment of Spike. "That was then, Honey," Faith countered, her own voice hardenig and her smile fading a little. "This is now." She released Spike suddenly, stepping back away from him a couple of steps. She regarded him for a moment, and the silence seemed to drag on so long for the helpless vampire that he finally ventured a look up to her eyes...and wished that he hadn't. There was a cruel pleasure there that told him that whatever she had planned for him was certainly not going to be pleasant. "On your knees," she ordered coldly, her smile fading, her eyes deadly cold as she glared at him. He immediately dropped to his knees on the ground before her. No hesitation. No protest. Just simple, immediate obedience. "See..." Faith pointed out to Giles, raising one finger, nodding with satisfaction. "...that's not something he would ordinarily do. Not on his own." She reached down and placed a deceptively gentle hand under his chin, lifting his bowed head to force him to look at her. "Then you're convinced? Let's get on with it, then." Giles was clearly impatient with her sadistic little games. "Hold your horses, cowboy," Faith smirked. "I didn't say I was convinced. Not yet." She smiled down at Spike for a moment as she released him, and he remained staring up at her through wide, fearful eyes -- having no idea what to expect from her next. Without warning, she slammed her fist down across his face, rocking him backward, almost off his knees. "Let's see," she mused, circling him with the slow grace of the predator she was, stopping behind him to grab him and jerk him up to his feet again. One hand snaked around his waist, pulling him back against her, her other hand running down the side of his face gently, "What can I make you do -- that you would never, ever do of your own free will?" A chill went down his spine at the sadistic amusement in her voice, her dark eyes laughing at him as she turned his face to look him in the eye, her hand moving from his face to his leg and slowly tracing upward suggestively. "Stop!" he gasped, his voice harsh with fear bordering on panic. "Don't! Don't touch me!" He tried to push her away, but she only yanked him closer, whispering in his ear, "Be still, Baby. Don't...move." He was forced to comply as her soft touch became hard and violating, her eyes holding his cruelly until he dropped his gaze in shame. She laughed, removing her hand, and he shuddered, letting out a slow ragged breath of mingled horror and relief. The relief was short-lived. She moved slowly around in front of him, never breaking contact, raising her hand to the back of his head as she ordered softly, "Look at me." He obeyed, and the anguish in his eyes was sweeter than candy to her sadistic nature. The cruel light in her eyes told him that she had decided what she was going to make him do, and his heart dropped with dread. "I want you to kiss me, Spike," she whispered, her voice a seductive breath inches from his face, a mockery of genuine desire. "Like you mean it," she added with a smirk, but her voice was still soft as she met his eyes again. "Like you kiss Buffy." Her smile became hard and vicious as she leaned in close to his ear to add softly, "Like you kissed your vampire whore." Anticipating the violent reaction that rose up in him she ordered immediately without any pause, "Don't fight me. Just do what I tell you." And then, compelled by the spell, he obeyed, his lips covering hers, his tongue gently, tenderly invading her mouth with a soft intensity that had only ever before been shared with those he truly loved more than his own life -- and it was worse than anything she had ever done to him. Fury, shame, agony of memory and the violation of what she was doing to him mingled to overwhelm him completely. When she finally pulled away with a satisfied smile, he dropped back to his knees on the ground, fighting back sobs, gasping for breath he should not have needed. Smiling cruelly, utterly unaffected by the devastation she had wrought, Faith stepped away from him to face Giles. “Okay,” she said smugly. “Now I’m convinced.” She moved back to Spike, the seduction gone, all business now. She grabbed him by his arm and his hair and yanked him hard to his feet. She could have simply ordered him up, but she always had preferred the violent approach. “Come on, Baby,” she said with a smirk, dark glittering eyes inches from his making him turn away. “Let’s get this show on the road.” Xander came down the stairs from his bedroom, took one look at his friend sitting on the couch, and knew that he really should just turn and go directly back upstairs. Willow’s mood was obviously not one that would make hanging out with her very much fun at the moment. Still, he moved to the couch in silence and sat down beside her. He agreed with Buffy; the story of what Willow had done to Spike had horrified him, not so much because he really cared what happened to Spike, as just to think that his best friend was capable of such cruelty and intimidation. And if Buffy felt that they needed Spike – as she clearly did, and as was now evident – then Willow’s grudge could be very dangerous to them all. “Hey, Will,” he said softly, giving her a tentative, cautious smile. Her eyes stayed focused on the television as she answered flatly, “Hey.” He was silent for a moment before taking a deep breath and venturing, “You know…Buffy and Giles are only doing what they think is best for you, Will. They don’t want you to…to get hurt, you know?” “Just…stop, Xander,” Willow cut him off, closing her eye momentarily, impatience and frustration in her tone. She stood up suddenly from the couch, tossing the remote control down in her seat. “I don’t wanna have this conversation. Watch whatever you want, I need to go feed Angel.” Buffy really had asked her to be sure that their prisoner in the basement did not go hungry, but it was really just an excuse to get away, as Willow stalked into the kitchen, banging things around unnecessarily as she prepared a warm mug of blood for the vampire. When she was still on the stairs, Angel could smell the fury on the red-headed witch as she stalked toward him. A few days ago he might have felt fear, but there was not the slightest inkling of power about her now. “Here,” she snarled, thrusting the mug toward his manacled wrist, just within his reach. His wrists were chained to the wall, but he had been given enough freedom to move a few feet from where he was bound, and his hands were free enough to feed himself. He accepted the mug in grateful silence, drinking it quickly down, his eyes staying focused on the little redhead, who waited to take the mug away again. “Thank you,” he said quietly as she took it and headed for the stairs. He hesitated as she turned to walked away, then asked tentatively, “Where – where’s Buffy?” Willow let out a little hiss of derision. “Off with her new best friend, saving the world. If he doesn’t get her killed first.” “She’s with Spike?” The concern in Angel’s voice made Willow turn to look at him again, frowning. “Yeah. Faith’s ritual is tonight, and they went to stop her.” A cold smile crossed her lips as she added bitterly, “She couldn’t be bothered with having her *real* friends along.” “Willow,” Angel said urgently. “Spike is Faith’s partner. I know it! I – I can feel it. He’s gonna turn on her at the last minute and take Faith’s side! Buffy’s in danger!” Willow’s eyes were wide, the anger fading into fear as she turned to face him fully. “How can you be so sure?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Spike’s my childe, Willow. Family. I – I know that doesn’t mean much to a human – you couldn’t understand it…but trust me when I say I *know* he is *not* on Buffy’s side.” “But – but she trusts him completely!” Willow gasped, staring at him in fearful disbelief. “Are you saying he’s leading her into a trap?” “Probably,” Angel nodded grimly. “Willow, we have to stop him…we have to help Buffy.” Willow nodded slowly, a stricken look on her face when she raised her eyes to meet his. “But – but Giles took all my powers away! I can’t do anything to help her against another Slayer and a powerful vampire like Spike!” Angel stared at her for a moment, his dark eyes solemn. “No, you can’t,” he agreed softly. “But I can.” She gave him a questioning look, in her panic still not quite grasping what he was saying, until he clarified it for her, his voice low and urgent. “I’m strong enough to help Buffy. There’s only one way, Willow…you have to let me go.”

Chapter #41 - Shift of Power

“You know, this is just too cool!” Faith’s tone was smug, satisfied, as she dragged her unwilling assistant in her transformation toward the center of the clearing. “I just can’t get over how perfect this is.” She stopped a few feet away from the circle of mystical sand that Giles had already prepared for the ritual. Facing her captive, she held him by the collar of his coat with both hands and pulled him closer, so close that his face was mere inches from hers. “Mine,” she gloated, her voice a soft, menacing whisper, a light of cruel triumph in her dark eyes. “You’re all mine, Spike.” He was trembling, frightened, his eyes downcast to avoid hers. He knew that he was helpless against her. Even so, he shot back in a voice of quiet defiance, “I’ve never been and never will be yours, you bloody whore. So you can just sod off, cause no matter what you do, you can’t make me…” Her brutal fist across his face broke his words off right there, sending him reeling backwards, but still held in place by her other hand. She followed that blow up with another one that dropped him to his knees, and then a solid kick to the ribs that doubled him over in pain, gasping for breath. But Faith was not finished. “We’ll just see about *that*, you little piece of shit!” she snarled, infuriated by his defiance. She yanked him back up onto his knees, drawing back her fist for another devastating blow. “Faith.” Giles’ voice was steady, even, as he tried to calm her, stepping forward to place a hand on her arm. “Remember, you need him conscious for the ritual.” Faith was breathing hard, trying to regain control, as she stared down at Spike in hatred. “Right,” she muttered between breaths, still glaring at him, and it was clear that she wanted nothing more than to hit him again, and was hard pressed at the moment to remember her goal in bringing him here in the first place. “The ritual.” Spike was struggling to rise from his knees, dizzy from the beating she had just dealt him. Before he could manage it, she grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back and holding him there on his knees, her cold eyes narrowed in menace as she spoke softly, looking him directly in the eye with cruel promise. “As soon as this ritual is over,” she told him slowly, emphatically, leaning in very close to his face so that he could not miss a single word. “I’m gonna have Giles make this spell permanent, Baby. Make you permanently mine. And then – we’ll see what I can and can’t make you do!” The cold menace in her eyes sent a chill down his spine, at the thought of being permanently enslaved to her, forced to fulfill her every command, robbed of his very free will. The very idea was terrifying; he knew what sorts of things Faith would demand of him. He looked away from her hard, penetrating eyes, struggling to control the rising fear building inside him. “We might as well do it now,” Giles spoke suddenly, with a tired, impatient tone that said that he really just did not want to be bothered with Faith and her demands anymore -- and Spike’s heart dropped down to his stomach. “Do what now?” Faith was puzzled, turning her eyes on him, but not releasing her hold on her captive. “I don’t need to control him anymore after this. I may as well transfer control to you *now*, make the spell permanent – rather than having to be bothered with it after the fact,” Giles explained, irritation obvious in his impenetrable ice-blue eyes. “No,” Spike whispered, searching the Watcher’s eyes, his own wide and desperate. “No – please…” A slow smile spread across Faith’s face at the idea he was suggesting, and she turned her eyes slowly back to Spike, clearly enjoying the terror that the suggestion brought out in him. "I would imagine that afterwards, we'll be a bit – preoccupied – with other affairs," Giles pointed out with a cold smile. “And quite honestly, I really don’t want to be bothered with it later.” "Yeah," Faith nodded slowly, her eyes glittering with sadistic anticipation. "Yeah, let's get it done." "Don't," Spike said in a desperate, trembling voice as the Watcher approached him. He tried to pull away from Faith's hands, but could not break her grip. "Please! Giles! Don't do this!" Faith smiled cruelly, moving around and crouching down behind him, wrapping a firm arm around his shoulders and holding him down on his knees as Giles reached him. She leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Just a few more minutes -- and you're gonna spend the rest of your life doing every...thing... I ...tell you. If I tell you to ram a stake through your own heart -- you'll do it -- because I *tell* you to." She shrugged. "But I wouldn't do that," she assured him. "That'd be no fun." Her face lit up with evil inspiration as she added, "I know! I was planning on taking out your new little playmate, Baby -- but it could be so much more fun to make *you* do it. I could make you kill Buffy." Her eyes narrowed with malice as she leaned in even closer, her lips brushing his ear as she added, "You're good at killing the women you love." Her aim was deadly accurate; the words were devastating to him. "No," he whispered, closing his eyes against the tears that sprang to them, his voice trembling with the anguish of her words and the terror they inspired. He nearly added, "please", but bit back the word at the last second. She would never hear him beg, no matter what she did to him. He was determined not to give her that. Faith did not miss his near-slip, and smiled coolly at him. "Don't bother, Baby. You're gonna be begging me for mercy soon enough." She paused. "It's gonna be so much fun -- breaking you again," she sneered, malice in her eyes. He started to speak, then stopped, frowning. "Again?" he questioned. "You *never* broke me to begin with, you bloody bitch! And you never will!" he declared defiantly. Faith laughed at some private joke of her own, her hand rising to run through his hair in a mocking gesture of affectionate tolerance. "Yes, I have, Honey," she informed him in a patronizing tone. "You just don't remember it." "*What*?" Spike's voice was full of confusion. "Side effect of this little control spell is that you don't remember being under it when the spell comes off. You don’t remember any of actually. So -- we've actually been through all this before, and a lot more -- you just forgot all about it." His eyes widened slowly with gradual understanding. She leaned in closer, her voice a whisper of seduction as she whispered, "And Baby -- the things I did to you! You begged me to stop -- over and over -- and you will again, Spike. And I...can't...wait!" He flinched at the menace, the cruel suggestion, in her tone, as she nodded to Giles. "Go ahead." Spike was ordered to stay on his knees, ordered not to resist, as the Watcher closed the slight remaining distance between them. He cringed with a gasp of terror as the Watcher began his Latin incantation, then closed his eyes in despairing resignation as he passed his hand across his head. Suddenly, Spike's eyes snapped open, and he stared up at the Watcher, wide-eyed with shock. He opened his mouth to speak, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. "Silence," Giles ordered softly, piercing blue eyes boring into Spike's in wordless communication. "I bloody well will not!" Spike snapped in an angrily trembling voice, stumbling hastily to his feet. "I am bloody sick of your..." "Shut up," Faith ordered suddenly, her voice hard and cold. And Spike instantly obeyed. Faith’s smile widened as a look of devastated understanding passed over the vampire’s face. He no longer had to obey Giles – but he had to obey Faith, which was so much worse. And this time, it was permanent. “Sweet,” Faith remarked in satisfaction. Her smile instantly disappeared as she ordered, “Now on your knees.” Spike obeyed, wondering with rising apprehension what she would expect of him next, knowing that he would have no choice but to do it, no matter how degrading or humiliating it was – and it was sure to be both. Faith was too intelligent to allow Giles to make any changes at all to the spell that had bound him without performing another “test” to be sure that she would still be safe once the ritual began. She walked slowly to stand directly in front of where he knelt on the ground. “You’re mine now,” she declared. “And as your first act of obedience – to prove your submission…” she went on with a smirk. “You’re going to clean my boots. With your tongue.” He stared at her in indignant disbelief – which was quickly replaced with helpless hatred as he bowed his head to obey her command. The instant before his mouth reached her boot, she drew back her foot, lightning fast, and kicked him viciously in the face. He fell back, gasping and choking on the blood that filled his mouth. Faith dropped to the ground beside him, putting her hand behind his head and pulling him back up to his knees, steadying him. The expression in her eyes was mockingly sympathetic as she pulled him closer to her. He was shaking, gasping for breath from the shock of the unexpected brutal blow. Not giving him time to recover, Faith leaned in close to whisper, “Kiss me.” His eyes revealed his disgust, but he submitted to her command, her tongue ruthlessly invading his mouth. When she finally pulled back, her full lips were smeared with his blood. She slowly, sensuously licked them clean, smiling into his eyes. “Not so bad,” she shrugged carelessly, a wicked glint in her eyes. He was a vampire, but the sight of her blood-stained smile -- *his* blood on her lips – made him sick. “Okay,” she said, her tone lighter, and satisfied, as she rose to her feet. “I’m convinced. Let’s do this.” As she turned and headed toward the circle for the ritual, she failed to register the fact that her newly enslaved vampire rose to follow her – without her command to rise from his knees, where she had ordered him. She also missed the knowing look that passed between the vampire and the Watcher, as each of the three prepared to carry out the plan they had been waiting to perform. Xander sighed as he flipped quickly through the television channels with the remote control, morosely wondering how everything had fallen apart so badly, so quickly. He hardly knew the vengeful, bitter girl who had somehow taken the place of his best friend. Willow blamed Spike for all she had lost – but Xander knew that really, Spike was not the one who deserved to bear the brunt of her wrath. Only one person was responsible for the damage that had been done to their lives, and that was Faith. Not Spike – not really. And certainly not Buffy. She had had no way of knowing when she left what would happen in her absence. She could not be held responsible for the results a simple human mistake. Yet, Xander knew that at least subconsciously, whether she realized it or not, there was a part of Willow that blamed her friend for what had happened. He knew because there was a part of him that did as well. Suddenly, he began to wonder what was taking Willow so long down in the basement. She had been down there for a very long time. A feeling of apprehension came over him as he stood slowly from the couch, turning down the volume on the television to listen. The house was silent. He slowly walked into the kitchen, looking at the closed door leading to the basement for a long moment. If Angel had somehow managed to get loose – and if he was as dangerous as Buffy suspected that he was – he shuddered to think what he might be capable of. The thought of Willow down there, alone with Angel, was enough to spur him on to action, no matter what the results might be. He took a deep breath and reached for the handle of the door. He nearly screamed out loud when the door opened before he touched it, and he suddenly found himself face to face with an equally startled Willow. “Will,” he gasped, stepping back. “God, you scared me!” Willow laughed – and the sound struck him as off somehow, considering her mood when she had gone downstairs. He immediately noticed, however, that it was a nervous laugh, louder than normal, and her eyes were too wide – guilty. “Why did I scare you? I mean,” she rambled. “Why were you scared – by me? I’m not – not scary, not at all – I mean…” “Will,” he cut her off, his voice soft, but full of a rising suspicion. “What’s going on down there?” He glanced past her toward the stairs, his suspicions confirmed when she stepped quickly into his line of vision. “Nothing!” she insisted, too emphatically. “Nothing’s…” But he had heard and seen enough to know that he needed to see more. Xander pushed past her and made his way down the stairs, with Willow protesting frantically as she followed him down. Her words broke off as he stopped short at the foot of the stairs, disbelieving of the sight that met his eyes. Angel was gone. Buffy made her way quickly through the woods on the outskirts of Sunnydale, her finely honed senses leading her nearer to the master vampire and her sister Slayer that she sought. Despite her gentle reassurances to Spike earlier, she was starting to feel very apprehensive. After all – it was all well and good for her to try to make him feel better, to keep him from being afraid, but Spike was the one who was really putting himself at risk in all of this. Their plan was by no means fool proof, dependent on Faith’s reactions to their actions. And Faith was nothing if not unpredictable. She quickened her pace as she felt a familiar tingling at the back of her neck, an instinctive knowledge that her natural enemy – in this case her closest ally – was nearby. She could see the clearing in front of her, and ran the last few yards to its edge, stopping short just out of sight of the players in the little drama unfolding there. Her breath caught in her throat, and she was certain that her heart skipped a beat, and she froze in her tracks at the sight that met her eyes. A fierce, protective rage rose up in her at the sight of the vicious, dark Slayer manhandling and abusing *her* vampire! The rage began to build as a series of memories played through her mind – Spike’s battered, abused body the night he had come to her for refuge from Faith, who had almost killed him that night – the nightmares that had haunted him, the terrors that seized him unexpectedly when some small action or word reminded him of the cruelty that Faith had inflicted on him. As she watched him, trembling, on his knees, helpless against the Slayer who stood over him, a single thought filled her mind. *It’s not worth it.* She could not allow Spike to suffer any more at Faith’s hands. Forget the plan. She would march in there and take Faith out herself – and *anyone* who tried to stop her, as well, she thought glancing at her Watcher, who was doing an awfully good job of appearing to be friendly with Faith at the moment, and at any rate would surely not approve of her decision to abandon the plan. It didn’t matter, she decided with firm resolve, stepping forward decisively. Faith was going down. * *Nobody* messes with *my* man!*

Chapter #42 - Struggle for Mastery

"I can just *feel* the power already," Faith exulted, as the little group made their way to the center of the clearing. She was forcing Spike to walk ahead of her, and she suddenly grabbed him from behind as they reached their destination, pulling him back against her to sneer close to his ear, "Can't you?" He had been ordered to silence, so he did not respond, but he did give her a derisive smirk that let her know that he would have plenty to say if she allowed it. She frowned, irritated by the unexpected reaction. Shuddering in terror, shrinking away from her touch -- she had expected. Smirking at her with mockery in those stunning blue eyes -- not so much what she had in mind. She released him with a hard shove forward onto his knees, walking slowly around in front of him and regarding him for a moment, a cold, angry smile forming on her lips. "You got something to say, smart ass?" she snapped. "Say it." He was silent for a moment, and she repeated impatiently, "Go on, tell me what’s on your mind! That's an order!" "All right then," he shrugged. She had given him an order, hadn't she? "I was just going to say that all I *feel* from you is your pathetic desperation to get *some* kind of control, since you bloody well can't control *yourself*. This..." He gestured around them to indicate the ritual they were about to perform. "...this isn't power. This isn't *real*!" he informed her in a disgusted, derisive tone, then met her eyes boldly to finish, "This is a pathetic, useless little girl trying to work out her -- I don't know -- abandonment issues? Daddy issues? Control issues?" He paused, giving her a mockingly innocent questioning look. "Is there a bloody issue you *don't* have?" Faith's eyes widened in utter disbelief – after all her efforts to break him, after all the pain and terror she had inflicted on him, that he would dare to speak to her that way! Never mind the fact that he had really had no choice, as she had ordered him to speak his mind. That did not even occur to her – not that she would have cared if it had. The truth was, his words had hit just a little too close to home for her liking. "I'll kill you," she declared in a low, dark voice trembling with rage. "You worthless little piece of garbage, I'll -- kill -- you!" she snarled, punctuating her ranting words with vicious kicks to the kneeling vampire's stomach and face, doubling him over in pain, gasping for breath, as she went on, her voice rising in pitch as she poured out threats and insults. Spike realized through the pain that he had taken it too far; the Slayer was on the edge of losing control completely. She very well might forget all about the ritual and just kill him. "Faith." Giles moved forward to stop her, more alarm in his eyes than should have been if the ritual was his only concern. "Faith, stop." He took her arm to pull her back, but she just shoved him back away from her, hard, sending him staggering a few steps. "Wait," she snapped, her furious eyes never leaving Spike, who was doubled over in agony on the ground, struggling just to get back to his knees. She grabbed him and yanked him relentlessly closer to her, her menacing face inches from his as she spoke again. "You wanna see power?" she demanded, shaking him. "You wanna see power, you worthless little piece of shit?" Her voice became low and soft, and all the more frightening for it as she went on, "Once this ritual is done, and my transformation is complete, I'm gonna have so much power, *this*..." Without warning she punched him with her full strength, right in the face, and he fought to stay conscious against the explosion of pain that rocked him. Her full, pretty lips formed a cruel smile of triumph as she finished softly, "...is gonna look like a love tap, Baby! You're gonna..." Her words were cut off suddenly when a powerful hand unexpectedly gripped her arm and threw her backward, away from her victim, who sank to the ground, barely conscious, unable to stay up any longer when her hand ceased to support him. Faith turned indignant dark eyes toward the person who had dared to interrupt the punishment she had been meting out. A slow smile came over her face at the sight of the blonde Slayer, facing her a few feet away, standing between Faith and her captive with her arms crossed over her chest, and a look of fiery determination in her blazing green eyes. "I told you already, B," Faith smiled, her voice deceptively soft, full of menace mingled with amusement as she slowly sauntered toward her, shaking her head. "This vampire's mine. Go find your own toy." "Hasn't anyone ever taught you, Faith?" Buffy countered quickly, with a cold, tight little smile of her own. "If you play too rough with your toys – you’re gonna get them taken away from you." Faith's eyes narrowed in anger; she had had enough of banter -- especially since she had no response to that last comment. She had always been better at *physical* battle than verbal, anyway. She lunged toward the smaller girl in fury, her eyes blazing with deadly intent. One look at her face made it clear that she did not mean to stop until Buffy was dead. Buffy was ready for her, and launched herself at the other girl with a pure rage, born of her love for the fallen vampire behind her. The Slayers met in a clash of primal power so intense that for a moment, the Watcher was stunned, staring at them with a sense of awe and wonder. His magically enhanced senses could feel the power rolling off them in waves as they fought desperately in the clearing, feet and fists flying as each strove to keep her prize from the hands of the other -- one to protect him, the other to destroy him. The Watcher wondered momentarily if he should use his magic to intervene, to help his Slayer. But although they were almost perfectly matched, she was holding her own and not losing any ground to the other girl – and there was a good chance that if she was careful, she could gain the upper hand. He knew that as focused on her goal as she was at that moment, the other would have to kill her to stop her. If she could defeat her enemy here and now – then the plan would no longer be necessary. But neither girl seemed really able to gain much of an advantage in the battle. Just as the last time they had fought, they were simply too equally matched to make much progress either way. The blows fell fast and hard between them, but each was returned with equal intensity, and neither seemed able to gain any ground, as they ducked and spun and feinted their way away from the center of the clearing, toward the woods at its edge. Through the haze of pain that shrouded him, obscuring his vision, past the roaring in his ears from the savage blow to his head, Spike could sense the presence of his Slayer there, in the clearing near him. Over the scent of his own blood that filled his nostrils, he could just barely catch the scent of her fury -- and fear. He struggled to open his eyes, fighting weakly to rise from the ground where Faith had struck him down. He had to get to Buffy -- he had to help her! Suddenly, he felt a strong hand under his arm, helping him to his feet, and looked up to see Giles, standing beside him. He wrenched his arm out of the grip of the Watcher, with much more effort than it should have taken, and then took one halting, staggering step toward the dueling Slayers, nearly collapsing as his head spun with the motion. "No, Spike." Giles' voice was gentle but firm as he stepped forward to take his arm again. "You're too weak. You won't be any help to her this way. You'll only get her hurt if she's worrying about your safety while she's trying to fight Faith." Though he desperately wanted to help her, Spike knew that Giles was right. He was in no condition to fight anyone at the moment. He watched as the two warriors grappled for control of the conflict, seemingly unaware of the pair watching them intently. "What the bleedin' hell does she think she's doing?" Spike asked, exasperation joining the weariness in his weak, trembling voice. “We were about to take her out – why’d she jump in like that at the last minute?” Giles smiled softly as he watched his fierce Slayer strike a powerful blow that knocked her enemy to the ground. It was an impressive move, even if Faith *did* get right back up again immediately. “As usual, I believe that Buffy lost patience, and did not want to wait for the ritual to stop her,” Giles replied in a voice of quiet affection. After a brief pause, he clarified softly, “I believe she was unwilling to allow you to – sacrifice – any more to stop Faith.” Spike felt a strange prickling sensation at the backs of his eyes, and a lump rose in his throat as he realized exactly what Giles was saying – Buffy had joined the fight, casting the plan aside, simply to stop his suffering. “She could get herself hurt,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Faith’s a bloody good fighter…every bit as good as Buffy, though I’d never tell *her* that.” He paused. “And Faith’s power hungry. She’s been working on this ritual for months. She’s all the more dangerous at the moment, because she’s fighting for something that means more to her than anything else in the world.” Giles smiled again, a slightly secretive smile as he replied softly, “So is Buffy.” Across the clearing, Buffy delivered a powerful backhand punch that knocked Faith backward, slamming her back into a tree. “You know what they say about bullies, Faith?” she asked, her voice calm, conversational, as she took a few slow steps toward her. “They say that people who are bullies really have very low self-esteem, and they beat others down to make themselves feel better.” “Don’t psychoanalyze me, you little bitch!” Faith snarled, springing forward off the tree and lunging for Buffy again, delivering a solid punch to her face, followed by another, backing her up a few steps. “You wanna know why I’m beating you down?” she sneered, giving the girl a shove that knocked her back a few steps. “Just because I like it!” Buffy’s lips turned down in a mock sympathetic frown as she ignored Faith’s argument and proceeded with her chosen method of taunting. “It’s not working for you, is it? Not building your self-esteem very much to act all big and tough and lord it over people not as strong as you?” She shrugged with a smirk. “Oh, well. I guess you’re right. In your case, low self-esteem is just…good common sense.” She paused long enough to deliver a powerful blow with her fist, spinning around to follow it up with a lightning fast side kick that sent Faith sprawling to the ground. “And by the way,” she added with a satisfied smile. “You’re *sooo* not beating me down!” Faith quickly scrambled to her feet, and Buffy noticed with satisfaction that she was breathing hard, seemed to be wearing down a bit. “I’m gonna *show* you a beat down, B,” Faith vowed with a cold smile. “And then, I’m gonna finish this ritual – and I’m gonna show your little boyfriend a beat down, too.” She paused, then corrected herself with a smile of false wide-eyed innocence, “Except…I guess he’s not really yours anymore, is he? Now that he’s mine to command any time I want to!” “Yeah,” Buffy sneered. “Cause that’s the only way he’d *ever* touch *you* again!” That last comment brought out a fury in Faith that took Buffy a bit by surprise, as the dark-haired, taller girl threw herself at her and knocked her to the ground, grappling for her throat in an attempt to choke her. Buffy struggled to keep her hands away from her neck, knowing that that would give her an advantage – and possibly the battle. “Must have – struck a nerve,” she muttered as she struggled with Faith, trying to flip her over so that she was the one in control. “You must know the only way you’re ever gonna get a man like him – is by force.” But her words, intended to throw the impulsive, reckless Slayer off her game, only served to make her fight with a new intensity, fueled by rage at what she saw to be an unforgivable insult. She pulled one hand free from Buffy’s grip and drew back to strike her a stunning blow across the face. While she was trying to recover, Buffy’s grip on Faith’s other wrist slackened, and the other Slayer took advantage of it to grip her throat tightly, crushing her windpipe in a hard fist. Buffy struggled to break her grip, gasping and choking for breath, but Faith pressed her advantage as far as she could. Buffy fought for all she was worth, knowing that her life hung in the balance, forcing herself to put everything in her into breaking the choke hold that the other girl had on her. She knew she was close to success when she saw the panic beginning in Faith’s dark eyes when she realized that she was losing her hold – her advantage. Frantically she looked around for something – a weapon of some kind – that might help her to hold onto the edge she had gained. Her eyes focused suddenly on a small object a few inches to the right of Buffy’s head. She reached out with her free hand and grabbed it, lifting the heavy rock she had found over her head. Buffy saw what she was going to do, and her eyes widened, fear finally revealed in them, in the instant that she realized she was not going to be able to get away, not going to be able to stop her. And then, Faith brought it down hard against her head, and flashing colored lights danced before Buffy’s eyes against a backdrop of black, slowly rising to swallow up the lights and everything else around her, as her eyes drifted shut. The last things she heard before she lost consciousness was Faith’s nervous, disbelieving laugh as she rose up off of her – followed by an anguished cry from across the clearing, a dear familiar voice screaming out her name. “*Buffy*!!” And then, the blackness consumed her, and there was simply nothing. On the cool grass at the edge of the clearing, the blonde Slayer lay still.

Chapter #43 - Fighting for Vengeance

"Buffy!" Spike's injuries did not matter to him. He knew that he was weak and did not really stand a chance against Faith as it was; but none of that mattered. All he could think was that he had to get to his fallen lover across the clearing. Giles caught his arm, pulling him back, speaking in a quiet, urgent voice, "Spike... *Spike*!" The vampire turned toward him, staring at him with wide, panicked eyes. "Let me go! I have to help..." "You *can't* help her, Spike. There is nothing you can do for her right now," Giles said in a voice that was calm, firm, breaking through the fear that seized the vampire and helping him to see the truth. "*I* can, and I will...but we have to go on with the plan. We have to take our chance to stop Faith!” He glanced anxiously toward the dark Slayer, standing over her defeated enemy in a mixture of triumph and shock, her back to them, oblivious to their hurried conversation. “As soon as her attention is no longer on me, I will help Buffy…like I helped you after Willow attacked you…remember?” Giles’ piercing ice blue eyes met his with an arresting gaze, willing him to understand the necessity of what he was saying. Spike’s desperate eyes lit up with hope at the memory. “Right,” he whispered, nodding quickly, realizing that the Watcher was right. He took one more look at Buffy’s prone form across the clearing, and a chill went through him. She was so still! But he knew that, as Giles said, there was nothing he could do to help her at the moment, but Giles, on the other hand, was capable of healing her. “Right, then. Let’s do this.” Giles searched his eyes for a moment with concern, then nodded slowly in satisfaction, glancing again toward Faith, who was crouched beside Buffy, her hand at her throat to check for a pulse. “Right. Back on your knees, Spike. Must keep up the act.” The Watcher’s voice was low and gentle, aware that Spike’s attention was mostly focused on Buffy at the moment, but needing him to carry on as planned if it was going to work. The vampire quickly complied, dropping to his knees with his head in his hands, just as the Slayer turned and headed back toward them, a smug smile on her face. He knew that Buffy was still alive – if she had been dead he knew that he would have sensed it -- and that in a few minutes she would not even be injured, but he also knew that Faith would be suspicious if he did not seem upset. It was not a difficult act to carry off. “She’s alive,” she informed them with a shrug in a voice of unconcern. “So it looks like I’ll get to watch you kill your girlfriend, after all, Spikey,” she sneered, as she reached him, jerking his head up and back to smile cruelly into his tearful blue eyes. “Just as soon as my ritual is done.” She looked up at Giles. “So we ready to go then?” “All is in order,” he assured her, nodding. “Go ahead and take your positions in the center of the circle, and I will stand a fair distance back to recite the spell. We’ve no way of knowing exactly what will happen once the spell begins, and it may not be safe for anyone but the two of you to be too close. As soon as I begin the incantation, go ahead and begin the ritual.” When the Watcher went to stand about thirty feet away from the circle, halfway between it and the unconscious blonde Slayer, Spike knew that his words about safety and keeping his distance had only been excuse to work his way closer to Buffy. Faith jerked him up to his feet and dragged him into the circle, where she turned to face him with a triumphant smirk on his face. “Here’s where it all begins, Baby,” she said softly, her eyes shining with eager anticipation. “As soon as Giles starts the spell, you’re going to follow the ritual, just exactly as I told you before, remember?” The soft, patronizing patience in her almost gentle voice was chilling to him, knowing the cruel intentions she had for him and the woman he loved. He almost preferred her violence to that deceptive kindness, soft and gentle, yet masking such ruthless designs. Almost. She jerked his head back painfully hard when he did not answer, snarling in his face pointedly, “*Remember*?” The threat in her eyes was clear, and he knew he had to respond. He nodded, his eyes closed, his face a mask of anguished resignation. Satisfied for the moment, Faith released him with a little shove and a smirk. “Good. Now as soon as I tell you – go ahead and begin. And do *exactly* as the ritual requires. You will *not* drain me completely. You are going to do only what the ritual requires you to do.” Spike opened his eyes, keeping them downcast as he nodded his unwilling submission. At this point to look Faith in the eye could be dangerous. He did not want her to see anything there that might make her suspicious. Out of the corner of his eye he glanced across the clearing to where Giles stood, ready to begin on Faith’s cue. This was it. All the planning of the past few days came down to this – the fate of Sunnydale and possibly the world resting on what went on in the next few moments. If his heart could have beat, he knew it would have been pounding; every nerve in his body was on edge. If all went according to plan, within a few short moments the threat of Faith would be nothing more than a distant memory. And then, Giles began reciting the Latin words for the spell – but Spike recognized immediately that they were not the words of the spell that Faith intended. Faith, not being as observant as Spike was, did not recognize the words – the exact same words that Giles had spoken in her room a few nights before, when he had healed the injuries she had inflicted on Spike without even touching him. But Spike recognized them, and had to suppress a smile as he realized that the Watcher was already beginning to help Buffy. Right, then. In that case, it was best to hurry up and get Faith good and distracted. “Well, go on, then!” Faith’s impatient voice urged him, and he looked up at her through wide, serious eyes. “Do it!” *She bloody well asked for it!* he thought with a grim sense of satisfaction that he did not allow his face to reveal, as it shifted smoothly into his natural vampiric features, feral golden eyes gleaming with anticipation that he knew Faith would not recognize, his fangs glistening as he leaned forward and placed a hand behind her neck, pulling her closer to him. The Slayer did not resist, though her heart was pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. This was what she wanted, and there was no chance of her actually being hurt. After all, the vampire was completely under her control. Still, every instinct in her screamed at her to fight or flee, not to let this creature of darkness sink his fangs into her vulnerable neck. He could see a momentary fear, indecision in her dark eyes. And then, she closed her eyes and threw her head back, baring her throat to him, her breath coming fast and shallow as she waited, every muscle tensed and ready. *Easy,* he warned himself. *Slow, careful – don’t act like you want to – don’t get too eager…* Slowly he lowered his mouth over her throat, sliding his fangs through her smooth olive skin as easily as he could, though he longed to rip through her flesh with a savage intensity that had been building inside him for the past year, culminating with the abuse she had heaped on him over the past few days. But he knew that if he hurt her too badly right at first, did anything to make her afraid or suspicious – she might change her mind and abandon the ritual. At this moment, he was physically not strong enough to take her in a fight, and they would lose their best chance of beating her. So, as much as he longed to tear her to pieces, he knew it would have to wait. For a few minutes, at least. As his fangs pierced her flesh, she let out a soft gasp of shock, and a little pain. It always hurt a little, though if it was someone that you loved, the pain could be exquisitely pleasurable. Spike had no desire to give her pleasure of any kind; she had taken all that she ever would from him, and now it was time for him to take something back. As the hot, sweet taste of her blood filled his mouth, the coppery liquid flowing down his throat, he felt it immediately begin to go to work on the wounds that covered his body from her beatings and abuse. As he drew harder from the puncture wounds in her throat, he felt her body weaken, and she started to slip. He caught her in his arms and lowered her to the ground, his hands pinning her arms by her head as he felt the Slayer’s strength pour from her body – into his. As the world spun around her, the images before her eyes growing blurry around the edges, Faith realized that she was hovering on the edge of consciousness from the extreme blood loss, and panicked, beginning to struggle against his restraining hands. Strengthened and healed by the Slayer’s blood coursing through his veins, Spike was easily able to hold the weakened Slayer down against the hard ground beneath them. And that was when he knew that their plan had succeeded. He withdrew his fangs from her throat, drawing back to meet her gaze, his golden eyes flashing with triumphant fury. She stared back up at him, her eyes widening in gradual understanding – followed by horror, and strangely enough – betrayal. None of it phased Spike. In fact – he relished it, as a slow, cold smile spread across his face. “Just for the record, pet,” he said in a low voice that would have been seductive under any other circumstances, “if this is what you meant by ‘power’ – I’m not impressed. And as for me killing my girlfriend…” He paused, leaning in close to whisper in her ear, “I think you had the wrong Slayer in mind.” She struggled uselessly against his hands at her wrists, desperate panic in her eyes. “Let – go!” she gasped, trying to pull away, to no avail. “Not likely, pet,” he sneered. “You don’t control me anymore – in any way. And unfortunately for you, Slayer – I remember *everything* about the past few days – and I’m going to make sure *you* never forget it, either!” His eyes grew serious, and his voice deadly cold, on the end of his statement, and she could see the bitter rage in his eyes at the degradation and violations she had committed against him over the past few days. And that was when Faith realized the truth -- she was going to die. Across the clearing, the disoriented, disheveled Slayer rose to her feet, a bit confused as she glanced around her, trying to remember what had happened – but unhurt. Her eyes fell on the pair on the ground a few yards away, engaged in a struggle, and she started automatically forward to go to Spike’s aid. Her Watcher’s hand caught her arm and stopped her, pulling her back. “Let *go*!” she snarled, turning on him with such ferocity in her glittering green eyes that the older man took a couple of steps back. “Buffy – look,” Giles spoke cautiously to her, gesturing with his hand toward Spike and Faith, his eyes gazing into hers with a hesitance, an insecurity that only served to confirm her suspicions. There were things about this plan that he had kept from her. She stared at him for another long moment with bold contempt in her eyes, her expression making it clear that she knew he had, to some extent, deceived her, before she reluctantly turned her eyes toward the pair struggling on the ground. It only took her a moment to realize with a great sense of relief that Spike really did not seem to need any help. Just as they had planned, once Faith had allowed Spike to nearly drain her, for the sake of the ritual, she was too weak to fight him off. And with the absence of the control spell that Faith thought was on Spike – that Buffy now suspected *had* been on him, at least at some point – the vampire was free to take his vengeance on the girl. She watched as her lover drew back from his victim to speak to her quietly, the look on his face, even from this distance, mockingly triumphant. She felt a chill go down her spine with the realization that this was more than saving the world to him – this was a moment he wanted to savor. She could not say that she blamed him, after what Faith had done to Drusilla. Suddenly, Buffy’s eyes were drawn away from the pair by a movement, caught out of the corner of her eye, on the edge of the woods on the opposite side of the clearing. She looked quickly to where she had seen it, but it was gone. “Someone’s over there,” she said quietly to Giles, who followed her gaze with an alarmed look in that direction. “Faith’s consort?” he guessed. “Most likely.” Buffy’s voice was grim. “Well, I guess that rules Angel out,” she said with some optimism as she scanned the edge of the woods for any further sign of movement. “I suppose it does,” Giles agreed, his voice distant as he, too, watched for whoever or whatever it was that they had seen. At just that moment, in a stroke of poetic irony that Buffy could not quite bring herself to appreciate, the figure they had seen stepped into the clearing, rushing toward the fallen Slayer and the vampire above her. Even from this distance, Buffy could see that he was intent on the destruction of the latter, as he made his way with lightning speed toward them. She could also see that Spike was too caught up in the moment of his retribution to even be aware of the presence of this new danger, an opponent much more capable of actually causing him damage than the fallen, weakened Slayer who was all but defeated already. His focus on the one who had caused most of his suffering over the past year, he failed to observe the approach of the other – his enemy. His sire. Angelus.

Chapter #44 - Retribution

"You tricked me!" Faith snarled in helpless fury, struggling frantically against the much stronger vampire restraining her, no signs of her earlier abuse of him now visible on his body or face. "Let -- me -- *go*!" she gasped as she tried uselessly to pull away from his grip. Spike just laughed at her, effortlessly holding her down. "You know, I seem to recall making that request of you a few times over the past year or so, pet." His smile faded, and he leaned in closer, his voice becoming low and hard, and his eyes flashing with vindictive rage as he went on, "Perhaps -- if you can tell me *one time* when you actually *did* -- I *might* consider it." He paused, a mock serious frown coming over his face. "No...wait. Don't bother," he shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I'll kill you either way." With a wicked smile he slowly lowered his fangs to her throat again. But before they could actually connect with her flesh, something slammed into him with a stunning impact, knocking him backward off of the fallen Slayer and landing on top of him. When the spinning world came into focus again, he was stunned to find that the "something" above him was actually *someone* -- Angelus. He had no idea whether or not the poof had lost his soul, had not had time to notice, but regardless, he would always be Angelus in his mind -- "Angel" was just a facade his sire had taken on to make the sins of his past easier to deal with. At the moment, however, those sins did not seem to matter much to him; he rather seemed to be attempting to add to the list. It only took a few moments for the surprise of the sudden attack to wear off, and Spike lunged upward at his sire with a vicious snarl of fury, one fist flying up to slam into the larger vampire's face with a strength even Spike had not expected, knocking him backwards off of him. Apparently the Slayer's blood he had consumed was rapidly taking effect. Spike scrambled to his feet, quickly readying himself for the inevitable second attack, watching warily as Angelus shook his head, wiping blood from his mouth, as he recovered from the blow. The older vampire gave the younger a cool, appraising look, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Well, William. Looks like you’ve picked up a few new tricks.” As he spoke, Angelus moved slowly around to circle his childe in a predatory way, his eyes never leaving Spike’s face. “It’s Spike,” he corrected, a low warning growl beginning in his throat as he moved with Angelus, watching him cautiously, unwilling to turn his back on him even for a moment. He was feeling much stronger from the heavy dose of Slayer’s blood he had consumed, but he knew from very personal experience just how dangerous Angelus could be. “And no, no new tricks actually – the old ones seem to be working bloody well enough on you, don’t they?” “Too soon to tell, boy,” Angelus smirked, feinting toward him suddenly, laughing when Spike tensed and dodged the blow that never fell. The smile suddenly faded, but his eyes were still full of mocking laughter as he went on in a patronizingly smug voice, “You know I can’t let you do this, right, Will?” “And I can’t let you stop me,” Spike countered softly, meeting the eyes of his sire with unyielding resolve. “You might not have a choice,” Angelus pointed out with a cold smile. “See – if you’re over here fighting *me* -- how are you gonna kill Faith?” His voice was taunting as he gestured with his hand toward the place where the dark Slayer lay. Or – had lain. Spike turned slightly to see that while Faith had been weakened by his assault, she was still conscious, and was climbing with difficulty to her feet, glancing anxiously at him over her shoulder as she took a stumbling step away from the vampires’ face-off. As she did, she fell to her knees again, but then struggled back up, at this point intent on nothing more than flight. Her survival instinct was, apparently, stronger than her pride. “Then I guess I’ll just have to make this quick,” Spike said with a careless little shrug as he turned back toward Angelus. But before he could fully face him again, Angelus seized his opportunity and lunged at him, hurling his greater weight into him and knocking them both to the ground. Grinning wickedly down at his childe, Angelus sneered, “That’s funny. I was just thinking how I wanted to see how long I could make it last!” Angelus barely had time to register Spike’s glance up over his shoulder at something behind him, as the younger vampire smiled cheerfully and shrugged, “Fine, then,” he said carelessly. “Have it your way.” An instant later Angelus was forcefully lifted away from Spike, and thrown violently several yards away, where he fell to the ground with a groan of pain at the impact. He staggered to his feet to face a furious blonde Slayer, standing a few feet away from him, directly between him and his intended victim, her arms crossed over her chest angrily. “When will you people get it through your thick heads? Messing with Spike -- *so* not a good idea. ‘Cause when you mess with him – you mess with me.” She took a menacing step toward the vampire who had once been her lover, a cold smile on her face as she went on, “And that’s *not* a smart thing to do. You do *not* want to fight me.” “Buffy,” Angelus spoke her name in a patronizingly patient way, his smile a mockery of affection as he looked at her. “Buffy, my love – what do you think I’ve wanted to do more than anything for the last – well – I suppose it’s only been a few months to you, hasn’t it?” His smile vanished into a hard look of bitter retribution. “It was quite a bit longer for me. Time moves a little differently in a hell dimension.” Buffy flinched slightly at the reminder of her failure. After all, she had at one point loved this creature with everything in her young heart, and would regret until the day she died the tragic choice fate had forced her to make. But not that she had made it. “I – I’m sorry,” she began, swallowing back the hard lump of tears that rose in her throat. “You’re *sorry*?” Angelus scoffed in a trembling voice of disbelieving rage. “You sent me to *hell*, Buffy! I lost absolutely *everything* because of you!” “Including your soul?” Buffy shot back, glaring at him through tears of hurt and anger. “did you leave that behind in hell too?” Angelus laughed, and it was a sick, bitter sound that sent a chill down Buffy’s spine. “See, that’s the really funny part, Buffy. I came through hell with my soul still intact. My conscience, that sense of right and wrong that tells me what I should and shouldn’t do?” He nodded, smiling. “Still there,” he assured her. “The part of me that *cares*, on the other hand?” He shrugged before adding matter-of-factly, “burned right up. Right along with any feelings I ever had for *you*.” He paused, considering, before smiling at her coldly. “Except hatred. Wanting to kill you. I remember *those*, and they’re still there.” Buffy’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief. It had been almost a year since her affair with Angel; she was in love with Spike now. It should not have hurt her so badly. But it did. Even as she registered his words, realized that the savage creature before her now was not the same one she had first given her heart to, an overwhelming sense of guilt came over her, combined with the pain of the seething hatred he so clearly held for her now. She had not mistaken the obvious adoration in his eyes in that remembered moment, that look she would never forget, when she had plunged the sword through Angel’s chest and sent him to hell with Acathla. But by that act, she had driven that love from him forever, and with it any trace of goodness and morality he had once held in such high regard, sought after so earnestly. The vampire she had sent to hell had returned – but Angel was lost to her forever. But everything changed for her in the next moment. Her guilt, sympathy, grief – all were immediately scattered like the dust she envisioned of the vampire before her, when Angelus spoke his next words. “But even more than I want to kill you – I want to *hurt* you, Buffy. I want to take everything that means anything to you – like you did to me.” He gave her a mockingly reproving look. “You came home too early and ruined the surprise. I only got halfway finished. Your sister was supposed to be next!” Buffy’s eyes widened in realization at his proud, hateful confession, his cruel pleasure in the shocking revelation he had just made. She had suspected it, but had hoped that it was not so. She had been so relieved a few minutes before when she had incorrectly assumed that Angel was still chained in her basement, thus absolving him of guilt. The thought that someone she had loved more than her own life had come into her home and brutally slaughtered her helpless mother, leaving her torn, decimated body to be found by little Dawn when she came home from school… In that moment – the Slayer saw red. With a primal roar of fury, she threw herself at her opponent, her stake raised in her hand and ready to strike. Angelus just laughed as he dodged out of her way, although he just barely missed her killing blow. Buffy spun around to face him again, eyes blazing with violent intent, one goal imprinted in her mind. Angelus was not going to leave this clearing alive. Spike knew that Buffy could hold her own when it came to Angelus; as for himself, he had a Slayer to deal with. As soon as Buffy had distracted Angelus’ attention from him, Spike quickly overtook the injured Slayer, still making a pitiful attempt to get away. He caught her by the hair, a hard fist in disheveled dark curls, and threw her back down to the ground on her hands and knees, moving to stand in front of her, blocking her escape. “Going somewhere, love?” he asked in a voice of honey tinged with malice. She just glared up at him in hatred, not saying a word. She had to know that at this point, nothing she could say would do her any good, not after all she had done to him and those he loved. “I don’t think so, love,” Spike answered his own question with a satisfied smirk at the girl who had abused and abased him so viciously, and was now at *his* mercy. He leveled a hard kick to her chest that knocked her backward and sent her sprawling on the ground. In an instant he was upon her, crouched over her and jerking her head up again by the hair, bringing her already damaged throat nearer to his razor sharp fangs. “I’ve been waiting for this. For a very long time,” he informed her in a soft, deadly voice. She was coughing, gasping for breath from the brutal blow to her chest. As he lowered his mouth to her throat again, she managed to get out in a weak gasping whisper, “Always figured you – for more of a sportsman than this – this can’t be – much of a – a challenge…” He drew back suddenly to meet her eyes, his own blazing with outrage at her words. Still, his voice was chillingly calm and controlled as he replied, “No…but neither was Dru, was she? Chained up and out of her mind – less defenses at her command than you’ve got now – but you slaughtered *her* without a second thought. Didn’t you?” He shook her slightly, becoming enraged when she just laughed at him, although it was weak laughter. “Wasn’t very bloody *sporting* to play your vicious little games with *me* when I was either chained up or under a spell or – or helpless, now was it, love? You just knew you could only get away with it if I couldn’t fight back!” She shrugged her admission to his claim. “Sure was fun though,” she whispered, catching her tongue between her teeth in a suggestive gesture, smirking at him in spite of the pain and helplessness of her situation. Fury coursed through him at her nerve. Despite the fact that she was at his mercy, despite the fear he had clearly seen in her eyes, she seemed determined to anger him further, almost as if she *wanted* him to… His eyes narrowed with sudden understanding. “Bet you’d like for me to rush things up and end it for you, wouldn’t you, pet?” he smiled coldly at her, a calculating light in his cruel golden eyes. “Bet you’d like to get off that easy – ain’t that right?” The trapped, startled look in her eyes told him that he was right, and his smile widened with cruel anticipation. “Again, love – I really don’t think so. I’m going to make sure that you get every bit of what’s coming to you for what you did to Dru – no matter how long it takes.” The wicked gleam in his eyes sent a chill down her spine, to realize the malicious intent he held to not only kill her, but to cause her as much pain as he could in the process. There was no doubt in Faith’s mind by this point that she was going to die. She was too weak to fight or defend herself; her only all, Angelus, was unlikely to be any help. He was unlikely to even *survive* the fight he was engaged in with the other Slayer. She was still convinced that her only hope was to anger Spike to the point of just taking her life, quickly, and bypassing the torture he had planned for her, that he seemed so intent upon. She forced a cold, mocking smile as she murmured with a smirk, “Is that what this is about? The crazy slut?” The fire of rage that rose up in Spike nearly consumed him, nearly had her desired effect and drove him to grant her the fast, relatively easy death that was now her goal. Somehow, he managed to force it back, pasting on a tight, cold smile. She did not deserve an easy death. And Dru deserved so much more. “Get over yourself, Slayer,” he advised with a smirk. “Not everything’s about you!” And with that, he plunged his fangs into her throat again. She gasped as she felt the pull of his drawing her blood from her body again, as stars began to invade the landscape of her vision, and she thought with grim relief that she had managed to win at least this small battle for the last shred of her dignity. Until his fangs suddenly tore down through her flesh, moving slowly, but viciously, driving any notion that she had won anything in any way out of her mind with a searing jolt of agony coursing through her body. Fierce golden eyes rose to meet hers, holding eye contact with her as his fangs continued their slow torturous motion from her throat down her shoulder. The expression in those eyes left no doubt in her mind that he meant to draw her suffering out as long as he could, and despair overwhelmed her. And Faith’s screams of fear and agony rang out clearly into the night.

Chapter #45 - Justice and Vengeance

The Watcher stood off to the side, doing just as his title suggested, as his Slayer lunged for the vampire who was now taunting her mercilessly about how he had killed her mother, how easily he had gotten into the house, how trusting and helpless Joyce had been, how desperate for any word of her wayward daughter, that she had let the known vampire into her home. Giles was enraged himself by the cruel things that Angelus was saying, and longed to destroy the vampire himself, but he knew that he could not. If his Slayer appeared to be losing ground, he could and would use his magic to help her – but as much as possible, he wanted to leave this fight to Buffy. He knew that defeating Angelus would provide the closure and – to an extent – the redemption that she needed as the cure for her grief and guilt over her mother’s death. “You’re going to be sorry you ever touched her!” Buffy informed the gloating vampire in a voice trembling with rage and hatred. “You know,” Angelus sneered. “I already am. She wasn’t even worth it.” He shrugged, a cruel, nasty smile coming over his face as he advanced cautiously on her. “The screaming was nice, though. That part was fun. I just wish you could have been there to hear it, Buffy. It was a once in a lifetime experience!” With a roar of fury the Slayer lunged for him again – and once again Angelus spun out her reach, barely missing the point of her stake. In her rage and the violence of her attack, she had put a bit too much force behind the blow, over-extended a bit. Angelus took advantage of that and immediately moved in to give her a hard kick to the stomach as she stumbled to a stop in the place he had just been. Buffy doubled over, the breath knocked from her body by the forceful blow, and Angelus took his opportunity to hit her with his fist in the face, knocking her back a few stumbling steps. Pressing his advantage, Angelus rained several more savage blows upon her while she was dazed from the first one, not giving her time to recover from one before the next fell. He backed her up with his assault until her back hit the trunk of a tree near the edge of the clearing. “Buffy, Buffy, Buffy,” he sneered softly, pinning her small frame against the tree by her arms, as she shook her head, trying to clear it from the fog that filled it from the beating she had just taken, muddling her thoughts and dulling her reflexes. “You’re too focused on the vengeance,” he advised her with mock concern. “It’s gonna cost you the fight.” Incredulous, disbelieving, she demanded in a voice of outrage, “You killed my mother! What do you *think* I should be focused on?” A wicked smile on his cruel face as he leaned in toward her throat, fangs bared and ready to strike as he hissed, “Winning.” “Oh,” she replied in mock surprise. “Is *that* what my problem is?” One powerful leg, which he had foolishly failed to consider, shot out to connect sharply with his ankle, causing him to lose his balance with a yelp of pain, as he did loosening his grip on her arms. She took the opportunity to jerk her arm free and deliver a hard punch to his face, knocking him backward away from her. She advanced on him, following up that first powerful blow with several more, expertly reversing their positions of before as she forced him to back up with her steady assault, ending the volley of blows with a powerful fist to his stomach that dropped him to his knees. “Thanks for the tip,” she smiled. “But I think I’ve got it under control.” She paused before adding with a smirk, “The vengeance-focusy thing seems to agree with me.” As she spoke, she shifted her stake in her hand, advancing for the killing blow. It was time for her mother’s murderer to pay. But as she rushed forward, Angelus leapt back up to his feet, furious determination in his eyes. She could see in his expression, his posture, as he slowly circled around with her, neither willing to turn their back on the other, that he realized this little drama had come down to its deadly conclusion. He tried a couple of quick little feints, trying to throw her off guard or off balance, but her only reaction was a cold smile. “Come on, Angelus. You know I’m better than that,” she said matter-of-factly, her tone not arrogant, just stating a simple fact. “Are you?” he smirked, lunging for her again. She dodged to the side – but he moved with her, his full weight hitting her with staggering force and knocking her to the ground beneath him. She struggled against his hands on her arms again, pinning her once more, but this time to the ground. Her stake was still in her hand – but did her no good without the use of her arms. The position she was in left her no leverage to work with. She fought against him furiously, but in her anger her efforts were more clumsy – and predictable – than they should have been, and Angelus just laughed at her. “Like I said, Buffy,” he smirked. “Your greatest weakness is that you’re acting out of anger. You’re not focused on winning the fight; you’re just focused on hurting *me*. It’s your anger that’s your problem.” She smiled up at him still struggling futilely against his grip, writhing beneath him as she strove to break free. She managed to maintain the smile despite her disgust, when she felt the evidence that told her that her struggles were arousing him. “You know what’s *your* problem, Angelus?” she asked sweetly, suddenly ceasing her struggles beneath him and meeting his eyes, her own sparkling with laughter. He should have been wary at her unexpected reaction, but he just smiled in return, a mocking light in his dark eyes. “What? Tell me,” he said in an indulgent tone, as if speaking to small child he was humoring. She smiled up at him slyly, her voice lowering as she raised her head to be closer to him, as if sharing a secret. “You’re just too…damn…” Without warning she brought her knee up sharply between his legs, smashing with brutal force against his rising erection and causing him to collapse on top of her with a moan of agony. As utterly incapacitated as he was by the pain, she easily threw him off of her, getting quickly to her feet and standing over him with a smug smile as she finished her thought. “…cocky.” She shrugged with a smirk at her own little double entendre. “Always was your downfall.” Angelus was gasping for unnecessary breath, nowhere near recovering from the pain of the Slayer-size blow to the most sensitive part of his body. “You know,” she said in a quiet, thoughtful way, “If I was all about *winning* -- I don’t think I’d be satisfied with dusting you this way. Not enough of a challenge. You all helpless and in pain on the ground,” she shook her head, frowning with mock sympathy as she crouched beside the reeling vampire, fisting a hand in his thick dark hair and yanking his head back to force him to face her in spite of his pain. “Good thing I’m all about the vengeance,” she said softly, her eyes growing dark with rage and vindication as she raised her stake to strike. “My mother was helpless. There was no way in the world she could have fought you and won. No challenge whatsoever. And you killed her anyway.” Angelus looked away under the power of the hatred in her blazing green eyes, still not able to resist, his hands still instinctively covering his aching groin as he stared helplessly into the face of his destruction. “See,” she went on softly. “Since *vengeance* is my goal – I see this as the *perfect* way to kill you.” She shrugged. “Guess my way’s best after all.” And, still holding the gaze of the one who had been her first love, and become her most hated enemy, she drew back her stake and plunged it into his cold, unbeating heart, leaving in a single instant nothing but ashes of the love and memories once held between them. And then, she fell to her knees from her crouched position, and there, in the dust of her fallen enemy – the Slayer wept. As Buffy was finishing up with Angelus, Spike was *not* finished with Faith -- not even close. As he tore into her with his vicious fangs, he remembered every single time that she had mercilessly tortured him, reveling in his suffering and helplessness. Every time he had longed to fight back, to stop her, but had been forced into submission to her agonizing little games, flew through his mind, hardening him against her pitiful cries of pain. The Slayer was drained almost completely by this point; her screams had faded to feverish moans and finally away completely as she lay there, unable even to move by this point, only her eyes revealing the pain she was still in. "This the transformation you were hoping for, love?" he asked her, not really expecting a response, as he withdrew his fangs and glared down at her in pitiless hatred. "The power you were after?" He paused, his smile fading to a serious, thoughtful expression. "Didn't quite work out as you planned, did it?" He smiled again, a wicked grin of vindictive triumph. "That's the funny thing about power, love. It can turn on you like *that*!" He snapped his fingers by her ear, wanting to be sure that the dying Slayer could hear him. "And when the power ends up in the hands of the ones you've hurt -- that's when you're bloody well buggered, pet.” “And the part that would be tragic,” he went on, “if it wasn’t so bleedin’ hilarious – is that you *had* the power, pet. More power than most girls ever dream of. You’re a bloody Slayer.” He smirked down at her as he remarked, “In more ways than one. But you could have gone on the way you were going and ruled this city until the day you died – naturally,” he clarified matter-of-factly, “not bleeding and in agony like you are now.” “But you had to get greedy, didn’t you? And it’s bloody well cost you, pet. Look at you now – dying in the dirt you’ve spent your life rollin’ in.” Faith was barely hearing him by this point; her head rolled back, her eyes began to drift closed, and he realized that she was nearly gone. He shrugged carelessly. “Right, then. Time to end this little show, in’nit?” He leaned down over her, gripping her shoulders in his hands, and she opened her eyes weakly, as he began to speak again. “There’s just one more thing I want you to know, beyond all doubt – as the last drop of blood is drawn from your body – I want you to know – that this would not be happening to you if not for what you’ve done to those that I love.” He paused, speaking clearly and distinctly, meeting her distant eyes as he said with a careful calm, “This is for Dru – and for Buffy – and for *me*.” He saw the faintest glimmer of comprehension in her glassy eyes, knew that through all of the agony, she understood what he was telling her – and he was satisfied. He lowered his fangs to her throat for the last time, burying them deep in her flesh and draining the last of the Slayer’s life’s blood from her body. Across the clearing, as Spike was still carrying out his vengeance, the Slayer rose from her grief, her eyes red with tears, and looked across the distance at her lover, lost in the retribution he was taking on the woman who had murdered his first love and abused him so viciously. She was starting to think that there had been more to that abuse than she had been led to believe. As he sank his fangs into Faith’s throat and began to complete the act of draining her, Buffy started toward Spike purposefully, wanting nothing more than to support him through this powerful moment – something told her that he *was* going to need her when all was said and done -- and then, to know the truth about the whole affair. Giles’ hand on her arm stopped her momentarily, and she turned to face him with accusing eyes. He looked away immediately from her intense gaze, speaking softly, “Don’t – don’t stop him, Buffy. He – he deserves – he *needs* to…” His voice broke off, unable to bring himself to put his thoughts into words. Searching his face, though he would not meet her eyes, Buffy saw the confirmation of her suspicions; her Watcher had deceived her. As she looked back and forth between his guilty expression and the brutal vengeance that Spike was wreaking on the fallen Slayer, everything began to slowly fall into place for her. That evening when Giles and Spike had left together to set the plan into motion, to carry out the “act” to convince Faith that he was under the control spell – and Giles had come home alone…the next night, when Spike had reacted with such terror at the idea of being restrained and controlled. When she had walked into the clearing tonight, she had gotten the distinct impression that Spike was not merely pretending to be under a spell, as Giles had told both of them that he would be. And suddenly – it all made sense. Giles had wanted to be absolutely sure that Faith trusted him, that the spell was believable, so as not to leave any room for failure in their plan. And in his mind, the only way to make the spell believable – was to make it real. The only problem with that theory in her mind was that she did not think that Spike would ever allow himself to be controlled like that. She felt a sudden chill go down her spine at the horrifying realization. Giles had not bothered to get Spike’s consent. He had placed the spell on him without his knowledge or permission, and then – judging by Spike’s absence that night and reactions later – left him at Faith’s mercy, just to prove himself to the dark Slayer. Who knew *what* Faith had done to Spike, while he was powerless to do anything but what she told him? Buffy’s eyes narrowed on her Watcher in anger as all the pieces came together in her mind with shocking clarity. Now, after all that she had just come to know, his apologetic demeanor and weak advice to her to allow Spike to take his vengeance – the vengeance she had had no intention of denying him – seemed much too little, too late. “Yeah. Let’s let him tear Faith apart for raping him…torturing him…whatever else she must have done to him, with your seal of approval!” she shot back with cold, angry sarcasm. “Better her than you, right? Bet you’re hoping he’ll work all his anger off on her and not have any left for you by the time he’s done, right?” She turned away from him, yanking her arm free. “You *better* hope he works it all off, because if he doesn’t, I’m *not* stopping him!” she declared, giving him one last furious, disgusted look before she headed across the field toward Spike. Just as she did, he dropped the lifeless body of the corrupt Slayer to the ground, leaning back away from her on his knees, to regard the destruction he had left of her – which was no greater than the devastation she had left of his life. He stayed there on his knees for a long moment, feeling a sort of numb, empty feeling come over him in the wake of his carefully planned revenge. He had made a point of not letting his emotions control him, making sure that he did not allow his anger to make it any easier on her than it should be – and now…he still felt nothing. Maybe he was afraid to. Then, he felt the touch of two soft, gentle hands coming to rest on his shoulders – and the simple affectionate touch instantly, effortlessly shattered the walls he had built around his emotions, and he felt the tears streak his face, mingling with the blood of his retribution. As his vampiric features shifted back to his human guise, and his shoulders began to shake, his blonde angel, his light, sank to the ground beside him and took him in her arms. He turned into her embrace, as great, wrenching sobs shook him, burying his face in her shoulder and pouring out the pain and helplessness of the past few days – the past year, in fact – in the arms of the woman who loved him. And for the first time in longer than either could remember – they both felt truly safe.

Chapter #46 - Aftermath

"Buffy! Buffy!" Xander's panicked voice rang out across the clearing as he ran up on the closing of the evening's dramatic events. "Angel," he gasped out, coming to a stumbling stop in front of Giles, who was standing at the edge of the clearing, staring out across it with a pensive, sorrowful expression. "Giles -- Angel's..." "Dead," Giles supplied quietly, distractedly, his attention focused on Buffy and Spike rather than on the frantic young man before him, now bending over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "Oh!" Xander froze, his eyes widening in surprise as he stared at the older man for a moment, before following his gaze to the kneeling, embracing couple in the middle of the field -- and the still, lifeless body of the defeated Slayer beside them. "Oh," he repeated, his tone heavier, as he began to piece together at least parts of what had happened, based on Giles' words and the scene that now stood before his eyes. One thing was clear, though he had missed all the action, and you couldn't exactly tell it by looking at the victorious heroes. They seemed to have won. The sound of her friend's voice drifting toward her ears reminded Buffy that someone besides herself and Spike actually existed, and she looked up to where Xander stood, carefully ignoring Giles as she did. Some part of her mind knew that her Watcher had intended well with his misguided actions, but his decision to sacrifice Spike's well-being, his dignity, without his consent, for the sake of victory, was something that she was not able to forgive. She looked back down at the vampire in her arms, who had become quiet and still, and now just clung to her in silent need. She pulled gently away from him, to see his face, as she whispered his name cautiously, "Spike?" He looked up at her, his eyes red and still wet with tears, but clear and sharp as ever, as a shaky smile rose to his lips. "It's over, pet," he told her, with a sense of awe in his words. "It's really over. We stopped them." He paused, lowering his eyes, as he added softly, "Maybe now they can rest easy." She frowned slightly; it took her a moment to realize what he meant. Then, a lump rose in her throat and fresh tears to her eyes as understanding hit her. He was talking about Drusilla -- and her mother. They had both avenged their loved ones this night -- leaving them free to move on with their lives, though they would never be forgotten. She returned his smile, slowly rising to her feet and taking his hands to pull him up to his. She glanced back over at Giles, and her expression darkened. Spike gave her a questioning look before following her gaze, surprised to see such a dark anger focused on her Watcher. Then his eyes widened as he realized that she must know more than he had thought -- more than he had wanted her to. When her eyes turned suddenly back to him, smoldering and intense, he looked away, uncomfortable and ashamed. "We need to talk, Spike," she said softly. Her face was gentle, compassionate, but very firm. He knew there was no way he was going to talk his way out of having this conversation. It was the last thing he wanted -- but he knew that she deserved to know the truth that both he and the Watcher had kept from her. Giles had deceived her because he had known that she never would have allowed it had she known what he was planning, while Spike had done it to protect her. Still, he knew that he could not keep it from her any longer -- no matter how painful the telling would be. He nodded slowly, his eyes still downcast. He felt a vague sense of unease settling over him, dreading the coming conversation, and what her reaction might be to the truth. He would not be surprised if she wanted nothing to do with him once she knew the extent of the deception he had at the very least allowed -- not to mention the things that had happened that night at Faith's mansion. He would not blame her if she never wanted to touch him again once she knew. He was surprised and utterly caught off guard when she suddenly reached out to pull him close to her, kissing him deeply, thoroughly, without regard for the situation they were facing or the fact that her Watcher and her friend were openly staring at them. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were still troubled, but she gave him a reassuring smile, trying to let him know that his fears were unfounded. "No matter what," she whispered, her face still mere inches from his. "I still love you, Spike." He was speechless. Breathless. Utterly disbelieving of the words that had been the last thing he had expected. The negative, pessimistic part of his brain that had too many times been the victim of love's more painful side was quick to remind him that she had not yet heard the truth, and might feel differently about him once she had. But one look into her eyes silenced that inner voice, and he felt his fears begin to melt away as she took his hand in hers and headed toward their observers standing at the edge of the woods. As they reached the spot where Xander and Giles stood, Buffy still made a point of ignoring the older man, addressing only Xander as she asked, “How did you know about Angel coming here? How did he get away?” “Willow did it,” Xander was quick to reply, his own irritation clear in his voice at his friend’s careless actions that had almost ended in disaster. “She was saying something about how he wanted to help you – and Spike was planning to kill you…” His voice trailed off as he glanced down at their joined hands. “Obviously not,” he added. Buffy did not even smile. “So she just believed him and let him go.” Xander felt a little twinge of fear at the dark expression in her eyes, terribly relieved that he was not the cause of it, and hoping that Buffy would remember that and save her anger for the one who was actually guilty. “She has so little respect for my judgment – she is so convinced that she knows what’s best for everyone around her more than they do – that she would set my mother’s killer free so he could come here and try to kill me, too. She almost ruined everything and got all of us killed.” There was a cold disgust in Buffy’s voice as she summed up – bluntly but quite accurately – just what Willow had done. “We – we need to see about getting the girl some help,” Giles broke in tentatively. “I have connections with a coven in England. If she could spend some time there…she needs to learn how to deal with her power – how to respect it and manage it…” “*You*,” Buffy suddenly interrupted, whirling on him with eyes blazing with fury, so quickly and angrily that he flinched back a bit. “need to stop talking about what *Willow* needs to learn and start thinking about your *own* disrespect of magic! Who are you to try to teach her anything after what you’ve done? You call that respect? You used your power to violate someone else’s rights – because you *could*, and you *thought* it was for the best! So you just made the decision for everybody, without even considering that there might be another way!” She paused, letting go of Spike’s hand and stepping closer to her Watcher in a way that could only be described as menacing. “You don’t get to *decide* what’s best for me, Giles,” she informed him in a cold, soft voice. “You’ve helped me a lot; you’ve been there for me through a lot, so I’m cutting you a break. But the next time you do anything to hurt Spike – the next time you do *any* magic whatsoever anywhere near him – I’m going to forget all about the no-hurting-humans rule.” She stepped back, easing the pressure of her powerful presence, and shrugged. “You have to qualify as a supernatural being anyway, as powerful as you are.” Her eyes narrowed as a new thought occurred to her. “In fact, if you’re so incredibly powerful, I don’t know why you couldn’t just kill Faith like that,” she snapped her fingers, “instantly. If you *had* to make with the life-altering magic. Instead of putting Spike through all that.” Giles’ eyes were downcast, as he answered quietly, “I couldn’t. I – I had certain – limitations – placed on my power. I can’t use it to kill anyone. I thought that if I had the power to kill, I would be capable of too much damage…” A cold smile came over Buffy’s lips as she interrupted, “And look how much damage you managed to accomplish, anyway!” She paused. “I hope you’re proud.” She was through talking, through dealing with Giles completely. With those words, she turned to take Spike’s hand again, turning away from her Watcher with a finality that told him that he would be wise not to press the issue, though he clearly did not want to let it go at that. But the Slayer was obviously barely reining in her fury. Giles thought it wise to let the matter go for the moment. She looked back to Xander and asked, “So where’s Willow now?” Suddenly Xander looked sheepish. “Um…I was kind of panicked…when I saw that she’d let Angel go. And she was all trying to pull me back, trying to keep me from leaving. She kept saying that Angel was going to help you, but I really think she was just scared for you to find out what she did.” He paused, meeting Buffy’s eyes for a moment before looking away again uncomfortably. “She actually tried to get in my way and keep me from leaving the house – like, blocking the door…and for all I knew, Angel could have been trying to kill you right then…” “He was,” Buffy inserted with a matter-of-fact nod, looking at him expectantly. “So…I hit her,” Xander admitted. “So that I could leave. I had to get here and – and let you know. I – I didn’t mean to hurt her, I just panicked, thinking about you being in danger, Buffy, and she wouldn’t let me past – it was the only thing I could think of to do – I’m sorry…” His voice trailed off, and a frown of surprise came over his face at the looks on the faces of the blonde couple. They were exchanging odd glances, and it almost looked as if they were trying to keep from -- *smiling*! Before he could even ask them about their odd reaction, Buffy looked back at him, her eyes wide and innocent. “Is she okay?” she asked in a voice of false concern so obvious it was laughable. Spike nearly *did* laugh. “Well,” Xander grimaced. “I – I guess I hit her pretty hard. I – I think I knocked her out. She was – unconscious when I left.” He winced, expecting that surely *someone* would reprimand him for his act of violence against the defenseless little redhead. The defenseless little redhead who had nearly killed Spike before, and nearly killed all of them tonight, with her foolish, selfish actions. No one seemed terribly troubled by what he had done. In fact, his statement seemed to be the last straw for the Slayer and the vampire, who were struggling desperately not to laugh. It was just that final thing that broke their resistance, and they *did* laugh, aloud and nearly hysterical before they were finally able to regain their composure. After the unbearable tension that had built throughout the evening’s events, they desperately needed a release. The thought of Willow, thinking she knew what was best for everyone, as always, trying to block Xander’s exit through the front door, and getting decked for it, was simply too priceless. It was exactly what they needed. Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes as she finally managed to regain control, Buffy shook her head. “Well,” she sighed wearily. “I guess you’d better go make sure she’s okay.” She looked at Giles, the laughter fading completely from her voice again. “And while you’re at it, tell her to pack her things. I think it’s a good idea for her to go to England, like you said, Giles.” Her voice became cold as she added, “And I think you should be the one to take her there. I don’t think it would hurt *you* to spend some time learning to respect the use of magic – not to mention learning to respect other *people* -- too.” Giles stared at the Slayer, absolutely stunned by the reaction she was having to what he had done. He had done it all for her own good, to help her, to defeat Faith. He had never expected her to reject him so completely because of it. But the look in her eyes was unyielding, and he knew that she meant every word. She was not about to back down. And if he really admitted the truth to himself – he knew that she was right. “As you wish, Buffy,” Giles said softly, realizing that there was nothing more to be said at the moment, on either side. And with that, he turned toward the path leading back to town. Xander stared after him for a moment, then back at Buffy, confused. He had no idea what had happened to make Buffy so angry with Giles. But when he looked to her for an answer, he found that she was already focused on Spike again, the tenderness and concern in her eyes stunning. He had never wanted his best friend to get involved with another vampire, especially not after the way everything had turned out with Angel – and especially not Spike, the vampire that he had seen as responsible for all the horror of the past year. At least – he had thought so, until recently. He had begun to wonder when Spike had seemed to be genuinely wanting to help them, to defeat Faith. And now, though he did not know exactly what had happened, the battle was over, and they had won – and Spike appeared to have been truly on their side, after all. Though the Slayer’s blood he had consumed had already mended his wounds to a great extent, most of them were still visible. It was obvious that the blonde vampire had taken quite a beating – and he had done it for Buffy. Xander had a lot to think about. “Well, um, you guys look like you need a little time, and – and I *really* don’t feel good about the idea of heading home alone, so – I think I’m gonna catch up to Giles. I think if I’m gonna run into any vampires in the dark, I’d rather be with Mr. Wizard when I do.” He paused, thinking, before he added, “Unless of course there’s some reason why I should be more scared of him than the vamps – because you’re kind of acting like *he’s* the enemy.” His last statement caught Buffy’s attention, and she looked at him again, a little sadly. “No,” she said softly. “He’s not gonna do anything to hurt you. Go ahead and catch up with him. I’ll explain everything later, Xander.” Her eyes turned back to Spike, solemn and serious. “We’ve got some things to take care of.” Xander nodded silently, taking in her expression before making his decision and taking off after Giles. Shifting awkwardly on his feet, *really* not wanting to have this conversation, Spike looked away from her. “Right, then,” he said, his tone brisk. “Things to take care of. What say we go back to Faith’s mansion, let the vamps know there’s a new Slayer in charge, yeah?” “Spike…” “It’s about time somebody put ‘em in their place. They’ve been ruling the streets around here,” he went on, his voice too fast, and agitated, still not meeting her eyes. “My adrenaline’s flowing, Slayer, after all that. Let’s go do some major patrolling, take back the town so to speak, shall we?” “Spike,” she tried again. “Right,” he nodded decisively, as if she had agreed with him, and took off down the street toward the mansion. She stood there watching him, unsure if she should press the issue or not. He stopped a few yards down the path and turned to look at her, giving her an inviting smile. “Come on, then, Slayer, what’s the problem? Let’s get moving!” His voice was almost cheerful – almost. It would have been, if not for the note of desperation she heard in it, just below the surface. He was desperate to avoid this. She would let him – for now. He had been through a nightmare, most of which she did not know about – although she intended to. But she would not push him, she decided. She would give him time to deal with what had happened. He was right, she knew. Their work was not done. Now that Faith was defeated, her gangs would be easily slain and dispersed. Buffy really was looking forward to “taking back the town”. And then there was the whole problem of Willow and Giles, and figuring out what to do about them, and what Xander was going to do now, and bringing Dawn home. All of that was very important, things that absolutely had to be handled. So was the conversation with Spike – too important to be rushed. She would wait until the other matters were taken care of, until they could be alone, and take their time, and get everything out in the open. “Ain’t gonna let me show you up, are you, Slayer?” Spike called back, from several yards further away, she noticed. “First come, first serve,” he warned her playfully, turning to face her but still moving away, backward, down the path. “Might not be any vamps left to slay by the time *you* get your bloody arse moving!” A smile rose to her lips in spite of her serious thoughts. No way was she letting Spike show her up. She took off at a run to catch up to him. Maybe a good “spot of violence” was just the thing for the moment.

Chapter #47 - Waking Up

The rest of the night passed in a blur for the Slayer and her vampire lover, as they set about trying to make right all the things that Faith had made wrong about Sunnydale. Spike still refused to talk about what had happened, but he fought like a mad person, and between the two of them they made short work of Faith’s minions at the mansion. They emptied the place in a matter of minutes, dusting dozens of vamps, and leaving a few alive to flee, and carry the story of the recent shift of power to the rest of Sunnydale’s vampire population. Then, they proceeded to take their slaying spree out into the streets of the town, eliminating as many vampires as they possibly could in a single night that would be infamous among Sunnydale’s vampires from then on. By the time they were finished, they had accomplished their purpose of effectively “taking back the town”, driving the vamps that remained back into hiding in the darkness and shadows. By the time they got home early the next morning, just before the sunrise, the rest of the household had been asleep for hours already. Xander was asleep on the couch, but woke up when he heard the sound of the front door opening, and their hushed voices. “Buffy,” he said sleepily, sitting up immediately in spite of his exhaustion, eager to know the details of the drama he had missed. She sighed wearily. She was dirty, and tired, and wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a good night’s sleep in Spike’s arms. But the look on Xander’s face told her that he was not willing to wait. And she had to admit, in his place – she would not be either. She looked at Spike apologetically; he looked every bit as weary as she felt. He gave her a tired smile and squeezed her hand in his as he said, “I’ll just head on up and take a shower, love. Think I’ll just turn in after that. Take your time.” She nodded, returning his smile. “I won’t be long,” she assured him, sitting down on the couch in the spot Xander had just left open for her. “I’m all covered in vamp dust,” she remarked with a little grimace, staying on the edge of the couch, not wanting to dirty the furniture or Xander’s bedding. Xander couldn’t have cared less. His eyes were still focused on the retreating form of the vampire on the stairs, headed toward Buffy’s bedroom. “So I take it Deadboy Junior’s not spending his nights in chains anymore,” he commented, his tone flat and even, and utterly non-confrontational. Buffy looked up at him for a moment, startled, before realizing what he was talking about and relaxing a bit, hoping that her reaction had not been visible to her friend. Since his eyes were still focused on the now-empty stairs, she figured she was reasonably safe. *Not *all* of his nights,* she thought, but kept that response to herself. Xander’s freak-out factor was probably already at its maximum for one night. Aloud, she said simply, “Nope.” Her friend had already learned the truth about her and Spike. There was no sense in trying to hide it anymore. “When did *that* happen?” he asked her, his voice still mild and non-accusing. She was surprised at how well he seemed to be taking this, actually. She would have thought that he would have been a lot more upset about her new relationship with yet another vampire. He had never made any secret of his opinions regarding her decisions in the past. Of course – she had not let him in on many of her decisions in the first place lately. “It was all kind of – sudden,” she admitted softly, leaning back on the sofa in spite of her dusty clothes, realizing that this was going to be a lengthy conversation whether she wanted it or not. “I really wasn’t expecting it to happen…” She tried to put into words so that he could understand how everything had come about between her and Spike. She told him how they had had that moment of connection when he confided in her -- at the point of a stake, but still requiring an element of trust, she thought with a shrug -- about what had happened to Drusilla. She tried to make Xander understand how in the confusion and unfamiliarity that her world had become in her absence, Spike had been someone who could truly understand the pain of losing Angel, as he had been through a similar loss himself. She told him how she had been so alone, and so had Spike, and they had sought comfort in each other – comfort which had slowly but surely turned into more. “Okay,” she admitted when he gave her a dubious look. “Maybe *not* so slowly – but definitely more.” Her eyes were wide and almost pleading as they met his. “I really care about him, Xander. And I know he’s a vampire, but he loves me. And he hasn’t hurt anyone since we’ve been together, except Faith, and she…” “She doesn’t count,” Xander inserted, and she was surprised at his stealing the words from her mind, the words she had thought would be too shocking to actually use. “No,” Buffy said in a dark voice. “She really doesn’t. But,” she looked back up at him, her voice and eyes softening as she went on, “he *won’t* hurt anyone, Xander. Not as long as he knows I don’t want him to.” Xander was quiet for a moment, searching her eyes. “So he’ll ‘be good’, basically. Because he – he loves you.” He could not really deny that, after seeing for himself some of what Spike had suffered for Buffy’s sake. But there was still a question in his eyes as he added, “And that’s good enough for you.” Her eyes were serious and thoughtful as she nodded slowly, “Maybe it shouldn’t be. But it is. And I really think that he can do it, Xander. He – he told me – about when he first became a vampire. He had to *learn* to be a killer, Xander. Angel – Angelus and Dru – they taught him.” She was quiet for a moment, allowing that to sink in. “And if that’s so – then he can learn to be good.” Xander was genuinely thinking about it – she could see it in his dark, expressive eyes. They were troubled when he looked back up at her. “That’s not how Giles made it sound,” he began. “He said that vampires are…” “Yeah, well – Giles doesn’t know everything.” There was no missing the bitter note in her voice as she cut him off. “I’m beginning to think there may be a lot of things he’s told me wrong about – whether he meant to or not.” “What’s up with that, Buffy?” he asked her, her words reminding him of the tension he had witnessed between her and her Watcher in the clearing. “What did Giles do?” “It’s a long story, Xander,” Buffy sighed heavily, leaning her head back and closing her eyes for a moment. “One that I don’t even know all the details of yet. But let’s just say that his judgment is not always the best. He used his magic in a way that he intended to help beat Faith – but it got people hurt. And he just -- *decided* -- to do it on his own, without asking the people it involved.” She was quiet for a long, weighted moment before she finished, a hurt, lost sound in her voice. “I can’t trust him anymore.” Her words were stunning to Xander, who could hardly imagine Giles in the light that Buffy’s words put him in. He had been like a father to all of them for so long, until last year when he had left. But Buffy seemed so sure of what she was saying. She noticed the hurt, uncertain look on his face, and said softly, “He meant well, Xander. As hard as it is for me to see that, he did what he did to protect me. To protect *us*. He really did mean it for good.” “So did Willow.” His quiet words caught her off guard. It was exactly what she had said to Giles in the clearing, and she believed it, but she had not expected Xander to see it so clearly, so quickly. She nodded slowly. “Exactly.” Xander turned his head to stare at the stairs again, lost in his own thoughts for a few moments. “This is really throwing me, Buffy,” he said at last. “I mean – I thought I knew – who were my friends, and who was the enemy. But now…” He shook his head. “I just don’t know what to think, Buffy. I don’t know *anything*…” Her gentle hand on his knee stopped his halting words, and he looked up at her with a lost look in his wide brown eyes. “*I’m* your friend,” she assured him gently, compassion in her eyes. She knew how hard this was for him, because she had been going through a lot of it too. She considered for a moment, and then added softly, “And so is Will. She really did mean well – mostly. She allowed her feelings to get in the way, and it made it easier for her to believe Angel – but I really think that when she let him go, she really thought he wanted to help me.” “That doesn’t make it right.” “No,” she agreed. “It doesn’t. And she needs help.” “In England,” Xander remembered what he had heard Buffy and Giles talking about in the clearing. “Giles is gonna take her there?” “I hope so,” Buffy nodded. “I guess I’ll talk more with them about that in the morning. But I think it would be good. For both of them.” She was quiet for a moment before she said, “I need to go get Dawnie in L.A. Tomorrow, hopefully. I miss her.” “Me, too,” Xander smiled in spite of himself at the thought of the little girl, on the edge of teen-hood, who had become like family to him during Buffy’s absence. Buffy studied him pensively for a long moment, not missing the subtle change in his expression, the sadness and uncertainty. “Xander,” she said suddenly, thinking that she understood what was causing it. “You know you’re free to stay here as long as you like, right? I mean – you won’t *have* to anymore, now that Sunnydale’s gonna be safe again – and Spike will probably be staying here now – but…you have to know that you’re still welcome here, no matter what. Okay?” He nodded with a little laugh that was an attempt to sound surprised, “Of course, Buffy! I know!” he assured her, but his relief was obvious in his eyes. Buffy looked at him for a long moment before she spoke again, her voice quiet and serious. “I messed up. Really bad, last year. When I came back – I didn’t blame Will and Dawnie for being mad. I wouldn’t have blamed any of you if you’d hated me forever for leaving you all here to face Faith…” Xander started to protest, shaking his head, but she held up a hand for silence and went on. “You still trusted me. You accepted me back, and forgave me, and trusted through all of this that I was making the right decisions – even when they probably didn’t make sense to you.” Xander shrugged, a little self-conscious. “You were right, weren’t you?” he pointed out. “Everything turned out like you thought it would.” “You had no way of knowing that, and no reason to believe in me after I let you all down like I did.” She paused. “But you did anyway. You’re a true friend, Xander. And that means the world to me. I – I just want you to know that.” He smiled, her words warming his heart. “Thanks, Buff,” he whispered, a little choked up, looking away in slight embarrassment. He opened his mouth to go, to say more. The words never left his mouth. Before he could speak, they both heard a soft moan of fear coming from up the stairs. Both stood up, alarmed, and headed for the stairs, Xander a little bit ahead of her. Buffy caught his arm and pulled him around to face her, her eyes solemn and sad. “No,” she said softly. “Everything’s okay, Xander.” He stared at her, bewildered. “What if someone’s hurt? What if Willow’s…” “I know exactly what it is,” Buffy interrupted him, stepping away from him a bit, clearly anxious to get upstairs. “I’ll handle it.” Another soft cry came from up the stairs, and this time, from the base of the stairs where they stood, the voice was clearly recognizable as Spike’s. Xander began to understand, as Buffy gave him a sad little smile and hurried past him up the stairs. When she entered her room through the partially open door, Spike was tossing in the bed, moaning feverishly, obviously caught up in one of his nightmares. She moved quickly to his side, shaking his shoulder gently, trying to rouse him. “Spike…Spike, honey, wake up!” she urged him, running a hand through his disheveled blonde hair and shaking his shoulder again. “Wake up, you’re dreaming, honey…” His eyes finally opened, and he stared up at her with an expression of pain and panic for a long moment, then suddenly turned his face away, an unexplained look of shame on his face. It took her a moment to realize that he was silently crying. “Spike…it’s okay. Come here,” she whispered, pulling gently at him to get him up into her arms. “Come on, it’s *me*, Spike. It was just a dream. Come here, Baby.” Not having any success with that method, she climbed carefully over him and sat on the other side of the bed, pulling him gently closer to her, trying to pull him up into a sitting position, and he finally responded, lowering his head on her lap, trembling hands clinging to her. She would have preferred that he actually look at her, but she could see that she was going to have to settle for the moment. “Was it that same dream, Spike? About Faith?” she asked him softly, her fingers running a soothing, gentle path through his loose, damp curls. He nodded soundlessly, without looking up at her, still unable to face her, but desperate for the comfort of her touch. “She’s gone now, Spike,” she reminded him gently. “That dream is not reality for you. Not anymore. You’re with me now – not her. I’m here with you, and I’m always gonna be. Okay?” He nodded again, unable to bring himself to tell her the truth, unable to shake the devastating images in his mind from the ever-changing, ever-the-same nightmare that haunted him. How could he tell her that *both* Slayers had been in his dream? As usual, Faith had played the role of his tormentor, threatening and degrading him as she tortured him – telling him what a traitor he was, unfaithful to his first love, and thus undeserving of any other. But Buffy had been there, too. And this was not like the other dreams, where she had come to his rescue, comforting and reassuring him, delivering him from the evil menace of Faith. In this dream, she had not been kind or gentle or loving, not helped him at all. She had made no move to come to his rescue, but had simply stood by watching as Faith had hurt him. Laughing.

Chapter #48 - Healing

“Spike,” Buffy spoke soothingly to the vampire, trying again to get him to raise his head and look at her. “Come on. This is *me*. Don’t hold back on me here, just talk to me! Tell me what this is, Sweetie.” He could her the genuine concern in her soft voice and her gentle touch, tenderly encouraging him to open up to her, and he longed to, desperately. The horrifying memories, still so fresh in his mind, of his time at Faith’s mercy, the torture and abuse he had suffered at her hands, were tearing him up inside, and he yearned to pour all the pain and shame out to someone who loved him. Buffy had told him that she loved him. She had then gone on to prove it with her actions, and the manner with which she was treating him now was one of such compassion that he wondered if he should just give in and tell her everything. He could let her know exactly what it was that he was dealing with, so that she could help him get through it. But the memory of her mocking, derisive laughter in his nightmare made him hesitate. Would she still love him once she knew about the horrible things Faith had done to him? Or would she see him differently then – see him as weak, pathetic, disgusting – as he now saw himself? He pictured her sneer of disgust from his dream, regarding his broken, tortured form as something far beneath her and unworthy of anything but her contempt. “Spike,” she persisted, and a warm, gentle hand smoothed back his hair from his forehead. “Sit up here. Look at me.” She could tell that his tears had stopped for the moment, and there was a firm determination in her voice as her other hand pulled gently at his shoulder, trying to get him to sit up. She intended to make him face this – whatever it was. He cringed inwardly at the thought of facing her, sure that she would see the truth in his eyes, and despise him. But he was simply too worn down, physically and emotionally, by this point to resist her gentle urging anymore. He sat up slowly beside her, but kept his eyes down, fighting not to break down again, and not wanting her to see the fear and confusion in his eyes. Her hand rose to touch his face, wiping away the dampness of a single remaining tear on his cheek, and he flinched almost imperceptibly, his body tensing at her touch as he closed his eyes, still refusing to look at her. She frowned, troubled by his unconscious reaction, though she knew he was not really afraid of *her*. Her hand slipped around to stroke slowly through his hair, and she leaned in closer to him, seeking his stubbornly avoidant eyes. “Spike – honey,” she whispered. “You’re safe now. Okay? It’s over.” He nodded, his eyes still closed, a sense of relief coming over him at her incorrect assessment of his fears. He knew very well that Faith could never hurt him again, and did not expect her to – but if Buffy thought that was the problem, then he could play along, let her think she had set his fears to rest, and escape having to reveal the truth for now. “But that’s not what this is about – is it?” she asked softly, and he was startled into meeting her piercing emerald gaze, stunned at how easily she saw through his attempts at hiding his secret pain. *Bollocks.* He looked away again quickly, pulling self-consciously away from her touch. “Buffy,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Please…I don’t wanna talk about this, pet.” There was a pleading note in his soft, miserable voice. “I know,” she conceded gently, understanding how he felt – and determined to do what was best for him regardless. “But I think you *need* to, honey. I don’t know what this is that’s got you so upset, but – but I can see that it’s just tearing you apart. And it hurts my heart to see you like this.” He closed his eyes on the tears that had formed there, swallowing hard, feeling his control slip a little at her compassionate words, as she slipped her arm around his waist, pulling him gently but insistently closer to her. “I love you, Spike,” she reassured him quietly. “I want you to be able to talk to me, Baby.” She paused, as she felt his resistance to her touch slip a little, before she asked very softly, “What happened, Spike? What did they do to you?” He was surprised at the dark, protective anger in her voice, and the fact that she seemed to be blaming Giles nearly as much as she blamed Faith, lumping his actions in with those of the cruel Slayer, without hesitation, regardless of his motives. She did not care if the Watcher had meant well. He had hurt Spike – and that seemed to be all that mattered to her at the moment. It amazed him to think that she would take his side over that of her Watcher – and it made him feel safer to tell her the truth. “God, Buffy,” he whispered, his wide stricken blue eyes raised to meet hers at last, the raw pain and desperation in them taking her breath away and sending a stab of pain through her chest. “Please,” he begged her in a gasping whisper. “Please don’t – don’t hate me – I – I didn’t want to – I didn’t…” His voice failed him as his sobs overwhelmed him, and she immediately gathered the shaken, distraught creature in her arms, leaning back against the headboard and cradling him close to her, whispering soothing nonsense sounds as she gently rocked him while he tried to regain control. “It’s all right,” she told him quietly, her voice calm and soothing. “It doesn’t matter what happened, Spike. I love you. I could never hate you, honey. I just want you to talk to me.” She reached down with a gentle hand to lift his face to look at her through tear-filled eyes. “Can you trust me that much, Spike?” she asked him softly. He stared into her open, honest eyes for a long moment, caught off guard by her choice of words as much as by the tenderness in her searching eyes – and his resolve was lost, as he lowered his head to rest against her breast, releasing a soft sob of relief. He knew that he was going to tell her the truth, but he could not quite bring himself to speak just yet, so he just nodded slowly against her. Her hand rose to play comfortingly through his hair again, as she released a slow breath of relief of her own, grateful that she seemed to have finally broken through his defenses. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s all right, Baby, just take your time.” This was clearly very difficult for him, and she had no intention of rushing him. She was quiet for a while then, allowing him time to regain his composure. Finally, after a minute or two, he raised his head, still not meeting her eyes, looking just below them, too afraid to risk seeing her reaction to the dreadful things he was about to tell her. She kept one arm around him and reached down with the other to take his hand gently in hers, wanting to offer him as much support as she could. “I – I thought we were just going to *act* like I was under a spell – under Giles’ control,” he began in a halting, hesitant voice. “Like he told us here.” He glanced up at her anxiously, and she nodded her understanding, her thumb lightly caressing the hand she held as she silently encouraged him to go on. “But – when we got there – he worked some kind of bloody mojo on me right at the door, before I could stop him, and – and the next thing I know – I couldn’t move – couldn’t speak – couldn’t do a bloody thing unless he told me I could.” She could hear the fear and utter helplessness of that situation in his trembling voice, and it set a little ache of sorrow and sympathy in her heart for him. “I couldn’t even ask him what he was doing, and – and he didn’t explain. He just ordered me to silence and – and made me go – up to – to her room.” His eyes were wide and haunted as he stared past her at the images of past traumas that he could still see so clearly in his mind. He suddenly looked down for a moment, with a soft, mirthless laugh. “He was bloody convincing. Had *me* convinced for a while that he was actually on her side. But – but apparently he thought – the act wasn’t enough.” His voice lowered to an aching whisper on the last few words, and he struggled to keep his composure, as Buffy’s arm tightened instinctively around him in response to the difficulty he was having. “She – she said she wanted to – to be sure the spell would work. That I was really under his control. She asked him to order me to obey *her*. And he did. And then she – she asked him to – to leave me there. With her. All night.” There was a breathtaking sense of shame and vulnerability in his soft words, before he finally stopped, struggling to go on at all, looking down at the bed as his tears began to flow again. “So he did,” he finally managed to finish in a flat, emotionless whisper, as his tears fell from his face to form tiny dark circles on the bedspread. Buffy felt an overwhelming sense of outrage and fury at the Watcher, for daring to leave Spike in such a terrible situation. She would never have thought Giles was capable of something so cruel, so heartless, as to abandon him, helpless, to the sadistic whim of the vicious Slayer who hated him and had already tried to kill him before that night. “Excuse me,” she said softly when he did not – or could not – go on. “Can we take a break while I go kill Giles?” Her tone was light, and he knew she was joking, but her eyes were dark, angry and serious. Her words had their desired effect, and in spite of his pain, her startling question made him laugh a little through his tears, and the fierce defensiveness he heard in he voice – for *him* -- made him feel safe, secure, though, he reminded himself, she had not heard the worst of it. Not yet. He did not want to think about what her reaction might be when she did. “I really do think he meant well, pet,” he whispered. “I really don’t think he knew – what would happen. What she would do.” *I don’t think he cared,* was the bitter thought that sprang to her mind, but his words caught her attention before she could voice it, and her eyes grew very serious as she asked him gently, “What did she do, Spike?” He flinched at the question, and she wondered if she had made a mistake, as he did not look up or respond for a long moment. Finally, however, he whispered, “She had all night to do whatever she bloody wanted. I was absolutely at her command. I mean – I didn’t want to – I h-hated it,” he choked out, again on the verge of breaking down. “…but if she said it – I had no choice. I did it. I – I couldn’t help it, Buffy!” He looked up at her in pleading desperation. “I really tried – not to – but…” He could not get any farther; that was where he fell apart. He leaned toward her, his head bowed pleadingly as he sobbed, “Please…please believe me, Buffy! I didn’t want to…I tried not to…” He could not go on, lost in the agony of his memories, and the terror that she might reject him for the things he had been forced to do. Seeing the direction his thoughts were heading, aghast that he could even think she might misunderstand that fact of the situation, might think that it was anything but against his will, Buffy pulled him close to her again, gently but firmly pushing his head down onto her shoulder. “Spike,” she spoke softly into his ear, her voice quiet but firm. “This was *not* your fault. You had no choice. She forced you, Spike. She – she *raped* you,” she whispered, the very word tearing her heart with the knowledge that it had happened to the man she loved. “That’s what it was. And there is no way that I could *ever* blame you for that.” She felt his body relax against her at her words, could feel a guarded relief in the way his hands clung to her, the way he buried his face in the crook of her neck, sobbing out the pain and humiliation. “Please…” he gasped. “Buffy – I need you! I know you need – a man who – won’t…you need…” Suddenly, she realized with alarm and not a little anger just where this was going, and pushed him quickly back, holding him firmly by the shoulders and seeking his eyes, which he still kept downcast, still crying softly. “Look at me,” she gently commanded, and he could not help but obey. Her eyes were soft with compassion but firm with determination as she met his unflinchingly and went on. “What I need – is *you*, Spike. I need *you*.” She paused for a moment, allowing him to take that in before she went on. “What she did to you – what Giles *let* her do to you – was wrong, Spike. And you had *absolutely no control* over it. There was nothing you could have done differently. There was no way you could have stopped it. You were under a spell. How could I ever blame you for that?” He looked away, wanting desperately to believe her words, but afraid to. “No, look at me,” she said firmly, and he reluctantly raised his uncertain, pain-filled eyes back to hers, stunned by the depth of love he saw there. “The only people who should feel ashamed about what happened to you are Faith and Giles. Not you. You didn’t do anything to deserve that, and you didn’t cause it. The ones who make me sick – the ones I blame for this – are them. Not you. Never you.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in as she kept holding his gaze firmly. “I don’t care what anyone’s told you before. I don’t care how you thought I’d feel about this. But absolutely *nothing* has changed, Spike. Okay? I…*love*…you. I love you. No matter what.” He stared at her, barely daring to believe what she was saying, a light of hope shining in his glittering sapphire eyes. “I love you, Buffy,” he whispered. “I love you so much…” “I love you, too,” she repeated, pulling him closer to her. “I always will.” She paused, a question in her solemn green eyes. “Do you believe me?” He nodded slowly, feeling a sense of peace wash over him at the release of the fears he had carried around since leaving Faith’s house that morning. The memory still hurt, still made him absolutely sick at the very thought of it – but the fear was gone. He knew that no matter what – Buffy loved him. Whatever hurt he might face, whatever he would have to deal with from this point, she would be right there, dealing with it with him. She smiled slowly in relief and satisfaction at his response, leaning in to tenderly kiss him, holding his gaze intently until their lips met, and she closed her eyes, losing herself in the moment, drawing him into it with her. And she knew in that moment that he had taken the first step down the path of healing from the ordeal he had experienced. And she would gladly do what she could to lead him the rest of the way.

Chapter #49 - Painful Truth

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Spike slept deeply and peacefully through the night, without the faintest trace of a nightmare. Instead, his dreams were of Buffy -- kissing her, holding her -- influenced by the reality that was her warm arms around him, holding him through the night and infusing even his dreams with a sense of security and strength he had all but lost. The next day was going to be a difficult one for all of them, they already knew. And sure enough, the first thing Buffy heard upon waking was the sound of Willow's furious ranting downstairs, interspersed occasionally with Xander's attempts at talking to her, which were unfortunately shut down by more hysterical yelling. "Guess we'd better go rescue Xander," Buffy mumbled sleepily, reluctantly leaning up on one arm and looking down at the blonde vampire lying on his back beside her. He was completely unresponsive. "Spi - ike," she sing-songed teasingly, tracing her fingertips softly up his arm, then back again. "Wake up, Baby." "Don't wanna," he murmured, rolling over onto his side, away from her, but not before she saw the incredibly tempting pout that had formed on his full, perfect lips. *Okay. That's it. There's no way I'm resisting *that*!* She smiled as she took his arm and pulled him back over onto his back, amused by the little frown of protest that creased his ivory brow. She leaned up to kiss him slowly, sensuously, taking her time, savoring the taste of his lips, his mouth, as she eased him gently into wakefulness. After a few moments she pulled back to see that his frown had melted into a lazy smile of contentment. "You wanna get up *now*?" she whispered, her mouth moving down to place soft, light kisses along the line of his neck. "Mmm...not yet," he whispered, a smirk crossing his lips, his eyes still closed. The kissing seemed to be having its desired effect, so she kept it up for a few moments. "Now?" "Not quite there yet, pet. Keep trying." There was no mistaking the slightly mocking note in his voice, although it was playful and mild. Buffy raised her head, one eyebrow raised as she regarded him for a moment, trying to decide if he had meant those words as the challenge they sounded like. She shrugged as a sly smile came over her face, completely missed by the vampire, whose eyes were still closed, still feigning extreme sleepiness. Intended or not -- she was taking his challenge. Slowly, Buffy slid one silky bare leg over his, the touch of her soft, strong body awakening his desire -- and effectively pinning him to the bed. Her hands moved to his waist, slowly sliding up and down over the hard planes of his chest, raking her nails lightly against his skin at random intervals, eliciting a soft moan from his lips. her kiss silenced him, one hand rising behind his head to press him closer, deeper into the kiss. His hands lifted to wrap around her, urgently pulling her closer to him, his teasing challenge forgotten. *Sod it all,* he thought. *She's won the bloody game already!* She pulled back from the kiss, ignoring his little whimper of protest as she rolled over completely on top of him, catching his wrists and pulling his hands off of her, pinning them to the bed, clasped in hers. She smiled down into wide sapphire eyes dark with desire. "Ready to get up *now*?" "*God*, no!" he gasped, straining against her hands, yearning to touch her, her soft husky voice and gently restraining touch driving him wild with need. Buffy grinned wickedly as she rubbed her leg slowly over his growing erection, but did not release him to touch her, earning another moan of mingled pleasure and agony. "Could've fooled me," she murmured. Suddenly, they heard a loud pounding on the door. "Buffy!" Willow's shrill, nearly hysterical voice cried. "Buffy, I need to talk to you!" Buffy pulled back a little, releasing his hands as she looked at the door, torn. This day held so many important things that she had to do -- she really did not have time for this little interlude that she wanted so desperately. Spike startled her by using his sudden freedom to grab her arms and pull her back down roughly on top of him, so that her parted lips hovered inches above his. "Don't you *dare*," he growled at her, his blue eyes smoldering with need for her. Buffy felt a delicious little shudder go through her body at the low, rumbling sound -- and at that moment, she could not have found the strength to get up if she had wanted to. For this -- she would *make* time. "*Buffy*!" Willow went on. "This is important!" A michievous glint in his eye, Spike met the Slayer's gaze as he called out loudly, "She can't deal with your neediness and bloody power issues right now, Red! She's just about to shag me senseless, so you'll just have to wait a couple of hours -- or days..." The look of wide-eyed horror on Buffy's face as she stared at him, seemingly convinced that he had just lost his mind, made him laugh out loud -- reinforcing her sudden insanity theory. "Soundproof room, love. Remember?" he reminded her with a smirk. Understanding began to register in her sparkling green eyes, as she looked slowly between the door and Spike, a slow smile spreading over her face. “Oh, no, Will, I’m sure it won’t be *that* long,” she said loudly, then looked back down at Spike with a smug smirk to gauge his reaction as she went on. “I plan on wearing him out *way* before that!” Spike gave her an offended look, and she realized the – completely unintentional – implications of her words. She had meant to comment more on her own prowess than on Spike’s level of stamina. After all, he had amazed her during the last couple of weeks with his seemingly insatiable hunger for her. Maybe it was because he was a vampire – though she tended to doubt that was the case – but the sexy blonde never seemed to be able to get enough of her. But the adorably pouty, uncertain look on his face was just too much for her to resist, and she added, “Give me seven minutes, Will!” sticking her tongue out and winking at him as she finished, just to let him know she was only teasing. On a *slightly* more serious note, this whole soundproofing thing definitely had its potential, she thought. The sudden silence on the other side of the door made them both freeze, holding their breath, as a terrible thought occurred to them – the door *was* still soundproof, wasn’t it? It was Spike’s turn to look horrified, his eyes widening – and flashing golden for a moment – at the thought of Willow’s having heard Buffy’s last comment. Buffy nearly wilted under the power of the glare he shot her, giving him a nervous, sheepish little smile. Just then, they heard Willow’s voice again – approaching from a distance – and realized with relief that the silence had meant that she had left the door. Unfortunately, she had come back – with Giles. “Willow, would you just let them be?” he said irritably in a ridiculously loud whisper just outside the door. “I highly doubt that they would in any way appreciate your intruding right now! They are quite exhausted from the battle, and just need their rest! You can wait to discuss this with Buffy until she wakes up on her own!” “It’s after noon already!” Willow protested, and Buffy wondered if her voice had always been so shrill and annoying, and she just had not noticed because of her affection for the girl – affection she felt none of at the moment. “Xander told me that they were patrolling until nearly six o’clock this morning, Willow. And besides, Buffy’s decision is the right one, there’s no sense in arguing it with her. She’s made up her mind. So for the last time…” Willow did not let him finish. “What if she’s not sleeping?” she asked, the new argument just occurring to her. “What if that evil, soulless *thing* in there with her has killed her already?” she snapped. And so did Buffy. In seconds she was out of the bed, and across the room, determined to put an end to Willow’s pompous, self-righteous attitude once and for all. Before her hand could touch the door, Spike was suddenly beside her. He caught her wrist gently but firmly, trying to turn her around. Furious, she yanked out of his grip and reached again for the doorknob. She knew he only wanted to protect her from doing something she would regret, but he was not going to stop her. And she was not going to regret it. “Pet,” Spike spoke softly to get her attention, and something in his tone made her turn to look at him, though flames of anger still blazed in her green eyes. He was very glad to know that it was not directed at him. Her expression softened a little when she saw that he was holding up her robe in his hand, smiling softly at her. In her rage at her “friend’s” cruel comment, directed at the man she loved, she had forgotten her current state of undress. In another moment she would have humiliated herself far worse than she intended to shame Willow. She swallowed hard, unexplainably touched by the simple gesture on his part, thinking of her dignity when she did not, as well as by the simple honest devotion in his eyes. She leaned forward spontaneously to give him a brief but passionate kiss, pulling back to smile into his eyes, whispering in an affectionate tone, “Thanks.” He had given up so much for her, done so much to protect her in so many ways – and she was not going to let anyone put him down again. She took the robe from his hand and shrugged into it, pulling it closed around her and tying it tightly, while he found his jeans and pulled them on, not wanting any more than she did to be naked in front of Willow and Giles. Once they were both ready and he was standing at her side, she reached for the door to open it. “Willow, I’m telling you, you need to stop this and go back downstairs right now…” “Don’t tell me what I need to do!” Buffy threw the door open, and the arguing pair grew silent, staring at her with trapped, guilty expressions. Though she was much smaller than either of them and dressed only in her bathrobe, Buffy still managed to strike a very intimidating figure. Her eyes were blazing with fury, and it only took one look at her to know that she was on a mission. Both fell silent, neither daring to say a word, as she stepped into the doorway, nearer to Willow. Behind her, Spike stopped in the doorway, wanting to be able to witness the confrontation to come without getting in her way. “Don’t you *ever* talk about Spike like that again!” Buffy snapped, her voice low and trembling with rage as she glared at the redheaded witch. Willow’s eyes widened with surprise and alarm, and she took a step backward away from the very angry Slayer. “But – but Buffy – I was just – worried about you…” “No, you just found out about England, and you wanted to gripe me out about it and tell me why you think it’s a bad idea,” Buffy stated flatly, sparks still shooting from her glimmering emerald eyes. “And as for that ‘soulless killer’,” she went on furiously, indicating Spike in the doorway, “he saved *all* our lives last night! If Faith had succeeded, don’t you think for a minute that any of us would have survived! And Spike stopped her, for good. Even though he could have been killed. Even though he nearly was.” She paused, and Spike dropped his gaze, his expression flat and emotionless, not wanting to betray anything or cause any distraction from Buffy’s words. “You owe your life to him, Willow. So don’t you dare talk about him like he’s somehow *less* than you! Like you are something so special, and he’s the dirt beneath your feet!” Buffy’s voice was filled with disgust as she stepped closer to the wide-eyed frightened redhead, backing her up against the wall. “You know who almost killed me last night, Will?” she asked softly with a cold smile. “I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t *Spike*!” Willow’s eyes dropped to the floor as her back hit the wall. “Angel…” she whispered, regret in her voice. She knew that Angel’s actions would not have been possible if not for her own. “Wrong,” Buffy responded, almost before the word left her lips, right in her face and meeting her eyes as she said softly, “*You* did, Willow. Because you couldn’t stand the fact that Spike was the one helping me, and you were sitting here at home stripped of your powers. You wanted to feel like a big hero – so you let the vampire who killed my mother free to try to kill me too – and he almost did.” She was silent for a long moment, just staring at her friend in anger – and sorrow. Willow’s downcast eyes welled with tears. Both Giles and Spike just stood there in silence, their eyes respectfully averted from the intensely personal scene playing out before them, though neither wanted to leave it completely. It did not matter. Both Buffy and Willow had forgotten, for the moment, that anyone else was even in the house. Willow finally began to speak in a hesitant whisper, “I – I’m s…” “Don’t,” Buffy cut her off harshly. “Don’t bother, Willow. You still think you did nothing wrong in all this.” Willow flinched, hurt by the harsh words, however true they might be, and Buffy felt a sad little pang in spite of herself. Willow *had* been her best friend for a very long time. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, as she stated simply, “You need help, Willow. You need to get control of the magic, instead of letting it control you.” Willow looked up at her, her face tear-streaked and ashamed, but still somewhat defiant at those words. “You can’t make me go, Buffy,” she stated in a quiet, stubborn voice. "To England -- no," Buffy conceded, her eyes serious. "Out of my house -- yes." Willow's eyes grew shocked as Buffy went on quietly, "You don't have to go with Giles to England. But if you don't, I know that you don't really want to change. And you're a danger to those I love -- including yourself. You won't be welcome here." The lost, disbelieving look in Willow's eyes hurt Buffy to see it -- but she knew that she was right -- and she knew immediately that Willow's decision would be to go to England, rather than to lost her closest friends. Maybe there, she could learn that she didn't have to be all-powerful to feel safe, and that it was not her right to decide what was best for everyone around her. Buffy turned back toward the bedroom, leaving the witch and the Watcher sobered by her words. At the door, she turned back toward them, slipping her arm around Spike's waist in an unmistakably intimate way. "And by the way," she added softly, in more control now, a slight smile playing about her lips. "Spike and I are together now," she stated plainly. "And anyone in this house who has any problem with that -- needs to get over it. Or get out." And with that said, she turned around and led her lover back into their room -- closing the door behind them with a very distinct click that echoed in the silence of the hallway.

Chapter #50 - Epilogue: Coming Home

“I can’t believe the nerve of her!” Buffy fumed as she closed the door forcefully behind them, shutting the rest of the world out for just a little while longer. “To say something like that about *you* after what *she* did…” She looked at Spike for his reaction. He was surprisingly silent, pensive, his eyes averted as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Frowning slightly, she walked over to him, standing between his legs and wrapping her arms gently around his neck, lowering her mouth to his and kissing him softly, searchingly, before pulling back and looking into his eyes with a piercing gaze. “What is it?” she asked gently. He looked up at her, and she was startled by the intense, serious expression in his eyes. “She’s not wrong about *everything*, Buffy. I *did* kill her wolf. Can’t really blame her for being angry.” She raised her eyebrows, giving him a look, and he considered for a moment before shrugging slightly and saying, “The whole psycho-witch routine she pulled – twice – unleashing Captain Forehead on you – yeah, I’ll bloody well blame her for that. But not for being angry.” His solemn eyes belied the light tone of his words as he met her eyes again. “If I were her – I’d hate me, too, pet.” Buffy frowned for a moment as she puzzled out that comment. Then she shook her head slightly. “It was self-defense,” she said softly. “It wasn’t like you had much of an option.” “S’pose not,” he replied quietly, looking down again, thinking. Suddenly he looked up at her again, a hopeful question in those gorgeous blue eyes. “Did you really mean that, pet? What you said out there?” “Which part?” she asked, smiling into his eyes as she leaned down to steal another quick kiss, unable to resist the appeal of his slightly parted lips. Drawing back she added, “Not that there was a part of it that I didn’t mean – so – yes, I meant it.” She paused for a moment before asking again, “But which part?” A shy sort of expression on his face, he looked down again. “Part where you said you and I – are together, and – and anyone against it could bloody well sod off?” Buffy’s eyes softened with affection at the vulnerability in his voice, and she gently pulled him closer to her with her hand at the back of his neck, gazing into his eyes as she whispered slowly, emphatically, “Every. Word.” Eagerly, she leaned down to kiss him again, trying to prove her words. When they parted and she drew back to look at him again, she could see that although there was relief and joy in his eyes – he was not quite completely convinced. There was still a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. Smiling secretively, she unwrapped her arms from around his neck and walked slowly toward the door, making a deliberate show of locking it before turning to face him again. Holding his gaze with a little smirk of seduction, she untied the belt of her robe and let the garment slide off her back onto the floor – revealing herself completely to him. His eyes widened and he stared at her, unable to take his eyes off her as she moved slowly, sensuously toward him, and he slowly stood, taking a few slow steps toward her without even realizing he had moved. He realized after a moment that his mouth was open and he was dangerously close to actually drooling. He closed his mouth, swallowing hard, desire-darkened blue eyes drinking her in as he whispered in a low, hoarse voice, “Buffy…” “Shhh,” she whispered as she reached him, her hands sliding around his waist for a moment before moving back around to unfasten the button of his jeans. He smiled; she had forgotten again. “But love,” he murmured. “the room’s…” One hand rose to tangle in his hair, pulling him close to her and silencing him with another kiss, leaving him breathless in the wake of its intensity. He could not have spoken if he had wanted to. All words left him, as her free hand cupped the front of his jeans, giving him a gentle squeeze before moving to unzip his jeans. He groaned with pleasure and anticipation at her touch. “God…Buffy, love…” he whispered as she slid the jeans down over his hips, her warm, smooth hands taking their time and moving over his body as she knelt before him, removing the jeans completely. She paused for a moment, on her knees in front of him, and he looked down at her – and nearly lost it completely. She was staring up at him with a smoldering look of desire in her dark green eyes, her parted lips less than an inch from his swelling erection, her hot breath on his body making him groan with need for the touch she was, as of yet, still withholding. He nearly whimpered as she slowly, gracefully rose to her feet and moved past him to the bed, lying down on her back, giving him a sultry little smile of invitation. It was all the encouragement he needed. He approached the bed with a sense of awe that was almost reverence, his thirsty eyes drinking in the sight of her perfectly bronzed skin, bared completely to his sight. She was stunning, breath-taking perfection, a golden goddess of light – the angel of his dreams. “Buffy,” he whispered as he got onto the bed beside her, a question in his open, searching eyes. “What…what is this, love?” She smiled reassuringly at him as she put her hand behind his head, her fingers idly playing through his hair, her nails lightly scraping across his scalp, sending the pleasurable sensation all through his body at her touch. “Exactly,” she whispered, with an amused little smile, and it took him a moment to realize what she was saying. “I love you, Spike. I love you so much.” He stared at her, hardly daring to believe. “Don’t…” he whispered, hesitant, looking away from her for a moment. “Don’t feel like you – like you have to…I mean…if it’s too soon…” “Spike,” she interrupted him softly, a gentle reassurance in her eyes. “I…love…you.” She kissed him again, then pulled away slightly to look into his eyes again. “Get that through your head, Baby. ‘Cause it’s not about to change anytime soon.” He stared at her, awed and overjoyed by her words. He still could not quite process what she was telling him. Those three precious words were ones he had never heard in his life before Dru – and had never thought to hear again when he had lost her. And yet, here was this beautiful, incredible woman who had swept back into his life in a fury and turned everything on its head, laying herself out before him, giving him the gift of not only her priceless words, but of her very self. Echoing his thoughts, Buffy whispered softly, “I’m yours, Spike. All yours.” The open, trusting look in her eyes, the low, throaty purr of her voice, quickened his need for her, and he found himself leaning down over her to claim his mouth with his kiss, his hands ghosting up and down her body in the lightest of touches. “Buffy,” he murmured, pulling back for a moment to look her in the eye. “Buffy, I’m yours too, love. I love you so much…” She gasped at the sensation as his cool lips moved down the plane of her throat, his mouth stopping over her throbbing pulse, gently worrying the spot with kisses and gentle nips at the sensitive flesh. “Spike…Oh -- *Spike*!” she moaned softly, as his teeth closed slightly harder over her neck, sending a delicious little thrill of pleasure and pain through her. Her hands gently but urgently tugged him closer to her, onto her, wanting to feel him as near to her as possible, surrounding her, inside her. “Spike – I need – need you,” she whispered, as his lips moved down her throat toward her shoulder, and she was surprised by the sense of loss she felt at the movement. Her eyes suddenly shot open in shock, as she realized what it was that she was craving – though it was something she had never felt before. Only partially understanding her words, Spike complied, lowering himself slowly down into her, gasping as her hot center surrounded him, her hands running down his back to rest on his rear, pulling him deeper into her. “God – Buffy!” he gasped. “So – hot!” “Spike – I need you!” she gasped, desperate with a need she did not fully understand. “I need you – inside me!” He frowned slightly. “Kind of – thought I was, love,” he gasped as her muscles clenched around him, drawing him yet deeper in and heightening the intensity of his pleasure. Wordlessly she placed her hand behind his head and pulled him down so that his mouth was to her throat. “I want – yours, Spike – I want you to…” she gasped, her words swallowed up in a little cry of pleasure as he thrust slowly into her. He stopped for a moment, pulling back to meet her eyes with a shock as he realized exactly what it was she was asking for. He stared down at her, her request stunningly powerful for him. That she would offer him that much trust, as to place her life in his hands; and that much love, as to offer him her very life's blood! It was a revelation that filled him with elation, his heart singing with happiness more complete than he had felt in years. But -- he had to know that *she* was sure. "Buffy," he whispered her name, searching her shining emerald eyes. "Buffy, love -- is this what you want? You're sure? I -- I don't want to hurt you, and if you're at all -- scared, or unsure, it might..." There was a serenity mingled with seduction in her voice as she smiled wickedly up at him. "Why would I be scared?" she asked teasingly, her hands trailing down his sides to rest on his buttocks again. "Looks like I've got you where I want you," she whispered with a little smirk at her own double entendre, just before she simultaneously pulled him deeper inside her and clenched her inner muscles tightly around his swollen member. Whatever cautions he had been about to express fled his mind, along with the capacity for any coherent speech whatsoever, as a low moan escaped his lips, and his hands lowered instinctively to clutch her to him, as he thrust into her in response to her actions, moving in rhythmic unison with her motions. "Spike," she whimpered again after a moment. “Please – I need you to – I need you – please.” Her nearly incoherent plea nearly broke down the rest of his resistance, shattering his reservations with the knowledge that she *did* want this – craved it – needed it – as much as he did. He lowered his lips to her throat again, teasing her with kisses when she longed for so much more. “Please, please,” she chanted in a breathless whisper of desperate anticipation, her hands rising to tangle in his hair as his mouth continued its all-too-gentle ministrations, their bodies still locked together in the primal dance. Why was he waiting? She wondered almost franctically. He raised his head slightly, and murmured in a low husky tone that made her melt inside, almost as if he had read her thoughts, “Don’t want to scare you, love. Don’t want to hurt you,” before resuming his gentle kisses, caressing over her throat. “You won’t,” she gasped out, breathless with the pleasure he was giving her, yet yearning for more. “I want you to – I – I trust you, Spike!” Those beautiful words were exactly what he needed to hear at that moment, heightening his pleasure as he changed from his human guise to his vampiric features, still kissing her tenderly along the line from her throat to her shoulder, his hands roving over her body and his hips thrusting slowly against hers. She moaned softly at the strange sensation of his shifting features pressed against her neck, the odd little brush across her highly sensitized skin sending a little tickle from the spot whre he touched her, all through her body, straight to her very core. He could feel the soft fluttering of the muscles of her hot channel pulsing around him, and knew that he had already brought her very close. He was close too, and knew that the power, the absolute connection, of what he was about to do, would take them both over the edge. Her hand was trembling as it stroked through his hair, sliding down to caress the now-rough skin of his cheek. Instinctively he turned his face away as he continued to kiss her. It was simply a fact of who he was, this terrifying visage that would have sent a normal girl fleeing for her very life – and would certainly not be attractive to the chosen killer of his kind. He did not feel ashamed of it exactly, it was simply who he was – he just did not want to risk spoiling the moment for her with a reminder of *what* he was. But after the events of the night before, Buffy was far more in tune with Spike’s emotions and insecurities than she had been before, and felt the way he subtlely avoided her gentle touch against the rough ridges of his face. She tried again – and he discreetly dodged her again. She raised the hand that had been resting at the base of his spine, holding him to her as the continued to move together, and used both hands to raise his head from her neck to meet her eyes. He froze, staring into her eyes, his own full of so much emotion that Buffy thought her heart would burst. She had never known that the wild, feral eyes of a vampire could be so open and expressive. The ceaseless motion of the dance in which they were caught up *did* cease, then, for a moment, as he waited breathlessly, with no idea what her reaction would be to seeing him like this. Yes, she had seen this face before – when locked in combat, both with and against her – but never in her arms, never as the face of her lover. As her sparkling green eyes widened, taking in every line, every nuance of his face, he braced himself for the moment when the Slayer would realize what she had invited into her bed and cast him out. But then, the Slayer’s fingers on his face stroked lightly down his cheek in a tender caress, and her face fell into a soft smile of affection, as she whispered three words which completely stunned and amazed him, her voice soft with awe and wonder. “You’re so beautiful.” She stared at him unabashedly, drinking in the features both familiar and strange, of the man she had given her heart to, before drawing his face up gently to hers and slowly kissing his lips, her tongue pressing for entrance, then playing carefully over the deadly fangs inside, as they naturally fell into the rhythm of their union again, slowly building the intensity up again between them. When they finally broke the kiss so that Buffy could breathe, her eyes were wild with passion, driven to the edge of ecstasy. She met his eyes with a passionate intensity, and gasped out, “I love you, Spike! I love you!” What she was trying to say was clear in her eyes. She loved *him* -- all of him. Everything that he was, she not only accepted but cherished and wanted, desperately. She let out a little cry as his movement inside her grew deeper, stronger, in response to her tender words, and she threw her head back, gasping out, “Spike – Spike -- *now*!” He needed no further reassurance; he was already intoxicated by the feel, the sight, the smell of her – and longed to taste her as well. Razor sharp fangs slid into her flesh, but she felt no pain – only a heady rush of pleasure as he began to draw the sweet essence of her life from her veins. The feeling of connection, of intimacy beyond anything she had ever experienced, was so intense and powerful that neither of them could hold back any longer. The explosion hit them both at once, and they tumbled over the edge together, consumed in the throes of ecstasy. Spent, they collapsed together on the bed, still locked in a lover’s embrace, trying to catch their breath and recover a bit from the powerful experience they had just shared. Buffy watched with fascination as fierce shimmering golden eyes faded to sparkling sapphire blue before her eyes. Her fingers idly played about the lines of his lips, his face, as he stared down at her, wondering at her thoughts. She shook her head slightly, and whispered, “I just can’t decide,” as she finally withdrew her hand and laid her head back on the pillow wearily. He gave her a puzzled look. “Can’t decide what, love?” he asked, moving carefully off her, onto his side beside her, his eyes searching hers. She rolled over onto her side to face him, smiling into his eyes as she kissed him again briefly. When she drew back she whispered, “Which way you’re more gorgeous.” His lips parted slightly in incredulous wonder; he was absolutely speechless at her words. She pouted teasingly, “I’m jealous. I’ve only got *one* pretty face. You’re got two.” He recovered enough to smirk back at her, his affection for her shining in his eyes. “Good thing yours is bloody breathtaking then,” he pointed out. “If you’re trying to keep up with the hotness that is me!” He rolled over on his back, his hands joined behind his head in an exagerratedly cocky pose. Buffy’s eyes narrowed and she smirked back at him. “Get back over here, hotness,” she growled playfully, leaning down over him to kiss him again. Buffy could not remember the last time she had felt so contented, as her incredibly sexy, talented boyfriend put his arms around her again. Faith was defeated, her minions scattered, and Sunnydale was as safe as the Hellmouth ever got. Willow and Giles would soon be on their way to England to get the help they needed, and Xander would be leaving for work in a little while. That left them there with a good six hours to themselves before sunset, when they would head for LA together to pick up Dawn. Their problems were not all resolved – nowhere near it yet. But they knew that they could face the rest of what was to come – now that they would not be facing it alone. Each had found a love they had thought they would never have again, and that love would get them through the trials of the present and the future. Each felt that at long last, they had reached the end of a terrifying, painful journey. In each other’s arms – they had come home.