A/N: WARNINGS: Some dark stuff in this chapter.



His lips were cold. Everything about him was. Just another thing they had him common. Buffy tried not to think about that, or anything, as she kissed away her self-reliant facade. The rain didn’t slow; it bucketed down, soaking her to the bone and beyond. She ignored it, she ignored everything, and just relished in the feeling of being touched. Being a person again, after being treated like less than human, like a leper, for so long. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be kissed; to just lose yourself in the touch of another.

His hands were gripping her biceps hard, his mouth working against hers forcefully, pushing her lips open as his tongue slid against hers. He tasted of stale cigarettes; once upon a time she would have cared, now she really didn’t. The pain, from her injuries seemed to dissipate and she was left feeling blissfully okay. Just okay. It didn’t sound a lot, but to Buffy it was everything. She hadn’t felt anything close to okay for a long while.

Spike pushed her away suddenly and she stumbled backwards, slipped on the wet ground and fell straight on her ass. Blinking, she looked up at the vampire. He was looking back at her, his face a picture of confusion and unease. It was then that it hit her. She had been kissing Spike, overall bad guy and asshole extraordinaire. Not to mention he was a vampire, and that never ended well. Or, even began well. What the hell had she been thinking? Her face burned with abject embarrassment and humiliation. She couldn’t look into those staring blue eyes any longer. Buffy scrambled to her feet and turned, running from the alleyway.

The Slayer nearly slipped over several times in the puddles that covered the ground, the raindrops were falling in her eyes and coating her eyelashes making it hard to see where she was going. It wasn’t just that weather that was making it so hard, it was her confusion. Her mind was racing, scolding her for her idiotic and downright disgusting behaviour.

She had kissed Spike and he had rejected her.

This was a new depth, even for her. Buffy considered Spike to be the lowest of the low, and if even he wasn’t interested in her then she really was worth nothing. She had already considered that to be the case but this had really just hammered it home.

Buffy sprinted down the streets of Sunnydale, her clothes were sopping wet, her hair was matted to her head and tears burned in her eyes. She wouldn’t cry over this. That would be useless and far too pathetic.

In her haste to escape Spike, herself, the world – in which order she wasn’t quite sure – she slipped over again. This time she fell forwards but managed to catch herself on her hands. The impact sent painful vibration running up the bones in her wrists and arms. Buffy winced, breathing deeply, as she just rested there in the middle of the sidewalk on her hands and knees. Briefly, she laid her forehead on the concrete below her, it was wet and cold. She closed her eyes, let out a shuddering sigh, and pulled herself back up. Buffy was up and running again soon enough, telling her mind to just shut the hell up.

She didn’t need the torment that her own brain kept brewing up, about how it had felt to kiss that soulless thing. About how she had needed it, wanted it, and now had to pay the consequences. Buffy had had enough of consequences. She found herself outside of her house without even realising she was subconsciously heading in that direction. Thankfully, her mother’s car was gone. This meant she could do what needed to be done alone and in peace. Small mercies.

Buffy entered the house shedding her shoes, and yanking the wet sweater off leaving her in her jeans and camisole. Blood was sluicing down her arm, through the makeshift tourniquet, and dripping on the carpet. She padded silently into the kitchen, her movement methodical, not really thinking too much about what she was actually doing. She took a glass from the kitchen cabinet and filled it with tap water. She limped slightly over to another cabinet; the wound in her leg was giving her hell. She reached up to the top shelf and pulled the pot of Methadone down. Strictly, it was supposed to be for easing the pain in her back but it would work for this purpose too. Buffy downed a couple of pills, sipping the water to get rid of the dryness and cardboard taste.

Looking down at the vial of pills that lay on the counter, she hesitated a moment before picking it up, and shaking out another couple. She swallowed those just as smoothly as the first two. Buffy hobbled over to a stool and sat down on it, her hand shook slightly, making the pills rattle against the side of the bottle.

She tipped a couple more into her trembling hand.

+ + +

Spike didn’t understand women, at all. That had always been painfully obvious to him. He was a self-professed love’s bitch. However, when it came down to it he knew he understood Slayers. For a vampire to successfully kill a Slayer, they had to understand the inner workings of their minds their strategies, their weaknesses, their strengths, and their loneliness. He’d bagged himself two Slayers, simply because he knew what made them tick.

Then, of course, Buffy Summers had to foul it all up. She had always defied convention and had always kept him on his toes, been a real fucking challenge. It had exhilarated him at first, made him want to be the vampire worthy enough to take down the best of the best.

Truth was, she was too good for him. He’d given it everything he had that first year in Sunnydale and she hadn’t even broken a sweat. So, naturally, this had pissed him off. Leaving Sunnydale, on a misguided attempt to win back Dru, he had also set out with the knowledge that he would get better, he would learn how to fight harder, faster, and with more skill. He would re-learn how to slay a Slayer. This was why he had come back. He knew he could take the bitch down now. It was only a matter of time before she fell at his hands. It was inevitable.

As usual, Buffy disobeyed the fates. They were all betting in favour of her grand death, and she was giving them the finger the whole time. It was glorious, if he really thought about it. She was glorious. He had dreamed of killing her, had even managed to capture her and then...he had let her go. It was the scars. If it wasn’t for those fucking scars he would have finished her off. He could have been taking a bath in Slayer’s blood right now. The thought sent a delicious shiver up his spine. Instead of that, instead of painting the town red – killing, shagging, and rioting – he was slogging down a rain soaked street in search of the bint in question.

He wondered why the guy upstairs hated him this much. Sure, he was a murdering soulless demon but surely the punishment should fit the crime? And worrying about the bloody Slayer was so far beyond an acceptable punishment for his deeds.

You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer.

Spike had hated Dru for saying that. It was ridiculous. Him enamoured with the fucking Chosen One? Not a chance. He was William the Bloody, he was Spike, he killed Slayers, he didn’t love them. That was Angelus’ thing.

Still...that kiss. Christ, he had no idea what must have been going through her mind to do such a thing. One thing was for certain – Buffy was well and truly fucked up. Not that he minded, quite the opposite. She was ripe for the taking; he could seduce her and kill her. He’d get a decent lay and an exquisite meal out of the deal. Not to mention bragging rights for at least the next century, maybe the next two.

Oh, yes? Then why didn’t you do just that? Why did you push her away, let her go, again?

A nagging voice sounded in the back of his mind sounding a lot like Drusilla. He didn’t have an answer. Maybe it was the shock of her kissing him, but he didn’t think so. Another part of him, a part he didn’t like to listen to, told him he had pushed her away because he didn’t want her to sully herself with him.

That was a load of bullshit.

He was evil. He was all about the sullying. Especially if it meant Princess Buffy, her royal high and mighty bitch, was taken down a peg or two. It had to have been a moment of insanity. Yeah, that was the only explanation for letting her go again. And he wasn’t trying to find the Slayer because he was worried about her, no; he wanted to find her so that he could rip her throat out. Spike smiled, “It’s good to get things in perspective.”

The Slayer’s house was just up ahead. He didn’t see a car in the driveway, or any lights on, but that didn’t mean no one was home. He’d been tracking her scent since he came to his senses in the alleyway. Spike felt his fists clench at his side, the smile on his face widening. He’d wanted this moment for so long, he couldn’t delay it any longer. He walked quietly up to the house, keeping in the shadows as much as he could, and keeping an eye out for the Slayer. She was inside, he was certain of that now. Spike stomped up the porch and stopped in front of the door. Should he just barge in? He’d looked pretty stupid if she had put the no-invite barrier up again, and he’d lose all element of surprise.

Spike rapped on the door politely and stood slightly to the side of the door so she couldn’t see him through the window. Nothing happened. Charming, he thought a vampire tries to be polite. Spike shrugged and kicked the door in. It slammed into the wall nosily and bounced back towards him. He pushed it aside, and stepped into the Slayer’s house. No barrier. Spike smirked. That girl was monumentally stupid. She deserved to die.

“Nice to see you can still welcome an old friend, Slayer,” Spike called, hands behind his back.

The house remained strangely quiet, just the wind howling outside breaking the silence. Spike wondered for a moment if he was wrong and she wasn’t in the house.

He entered the living room cautiously. Pictures of Buffy and Joyce cluttered the tables and shelves, none of them recent. Slayer wasn’t too fond of cameras these days, he expected. Spike frowned and moved into the dining room, always on alert. He couldn’t hear any movement from downstairs or upstairs.

The kitchen was next up and he stopped in the doorway. There she was. The Slayer was slumped over the counter, arm thrown over her face, sleeping. Spike chuckled to himself. How she could sleep through the racket he had just made he didn’t know.

“Wakey, wakey, morning glory!” Spike chorused, expecting her to jump up, startled.

She didn’t move. A strange heavy feeling settled in his stomach. He crossed the floor quickly and strode up beside her. Spike gave her a light shove on the shoulder. Buffy’s head smacked against the kitchen counter.

Spike grabbed her shoulder and shook her hard. She didn’t respond. He could still hear her heartbeat and breathing, but they were slower than they should have been. He should have noticed before. His eyes darted around the kitchen and landed on the bottle of pills that had spilled over the counter at some point. “No,” He whispered, the sound carrying through the silent kitchen “No!”

Spike grabbed her again and shook her harder this time, causing her head to loll around on her shoulders limply. Letting go, he ran to the sink, instincts kicking into overdrive. He grabbed the nearest cup and filled it up with water. Panicking, he began to open all the cupboards throwing food and drinks everywhere in his search. Bottles and cups smashed onto the floor and dry spaghetti rained all over him, he almost slipped in a puddle of custard.

“You stupid bint! You stupid, stupid bint!” Spike yelled, still rooting through the cupboard “You don’t get to go out this way! The Slayer doesn’t go out this way!”

Finally, he found what he was looking for. The salt canister. Ripping it open he poured a large quantity of it into the glass of water. Rushing back over to her side, he lifted her head up and put the glass to her lips. She made a slight sound of protest.

“Open you bloody mouth, Slayer!” Spike growled, his face vamping out “Open it now!”

Buffy struggled weakly against him as he forced the liquid into her mouth. It sluiced down her chin and throat, salty like tears. Her body reacted mechanically, trying to spit the foul stuff out. Spike clamped a hand over her mouth and nose. The need to breathe won and she swallowed the concoction, coughing and gagging almost immediately. She turned her head to the side and vomited onto his boots.

He barely noticed, as he lifted the glass to her mouth again. Buffy tried to fight it harder this time, knowing what was going to happen. She flapped at him weakly with her hands. He ignored it and forced more down her throat, using the same method again to make her upchuck. Spike did this until there was nothing else to come up and then he let out a sigh of relief as the Slayer flopped forward again onto the counter, breathing, heartbeat erratic but strong.

This moment of calm was replaced by one of pure rage. He grabbed up the salt canister and hurled it as hard as he could into the wall. It exploded and covered the floor in the stuff. Spike let out a primal roar followed by a string of curse words.

Spike took a couple of breaths, a force of habit, and turned to look back at Buffy. She was completely zonked out. “Moron,” Spike murmured, he glanced down at his ruined boots, “Oh, bloody marvellous!”

Grunting, he reached over and picked up the Slayer. Carrying her in his arms, Spike walked into the living room and laid her down on the couch where her mum could find her. Joyce would know if she needed hospital or not. She looked pained, her skin was an unsightly grey and sweat beaded at her forehead. Not to mention the rank stench of sick that seemed swathed around her. All in all the Slayer had seen better days. Spike reached down and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear before turning and walking back out into the kitchen.

Buffy was going to have a hell of a job explaining this to Joyce. Oh well, he thought to himself, that wasn’t his problem. He walked to the back door and pulled it open, about to leave. Then he stopped. Slowly, he turned back around to face the room again. Rolling his eyes, Spike walked over to the counter and quickly scooped up all of the spilt pills. He placed them back in the bottle and then placed the bottle back in a cupboard. The Slayer’s mum didn’t need to know what had gone down tonight.

Spike still wasn’t sure why he gave a toss about the Slayer or her mum, and he doubted he’d ever fully understand why he had just saved her life when his plan had been to take it. “Hell of a night,” Spike pondered, as he left.