Buffy combed through her long hair slowly, it was still wet from the bath she had taken a few minutes ago, and for once it seemed to be relatively free from tangles. She sat on the edge of her bed dressed only in her white fluffy robe. The material itched against her back but she tried to ignore it. Droplets of water fell from the ends of her hair onto the floor by her bare feet.

She supposed she should have been patrolling tonight but she couldn’t face it. The thought of going outside and exposing herself to danger and, worse still, people, was just too harrowing. So, this night was a Buffy Only Night. Alone in her own company. Her mother was downstairs watching soaps but Buffy knew she wouldn’t disturb her.

Sighing, she put the comb down on the nightstand and reached her hands up to her shoulders rubbing them firmly. Her muscles were tense, painfully so. Buffy leaned over to her nightstand and pulled the top drawer open. Inside was a tube of silicone gel. Generally speaking, she was supposed to have someone massage it into her back every day at least once a day. Her mother had attempted to keep to this routine in the beginning but it soon became clear it wouldn’t work. Buffy would flinch and squirm around every time she felt her mother’s hands on her scars. She plucked up the tube and held it in her hands, eyeing it disdainfully. It would make the itching stop and that in itself was a miracle. However, she was never very successful when she had previously tried to apply it herself.

That was the problem with burn injuries. You could never just take care of them yourself, they had to be seen, tended to, and touched. Buffy loosened the bath robe tie and slipped it off of one shoulder, making sure it didn’t expose anything indecent at the front. Not that anyone was looking, but there was a mirror directly in front of her and she didn’t need to see that. The breeze from the open window blew against her naked shoulder; it was pleasant against her irritated skin. She uncapped the tube and splurged some of the cold transparent gel onto her shoulder. Slowly, she rubbed it in, eyes rolled up to look at the ceiling. Anything to avoid her reflection.

She wondered if right now some innocent was being viciously killed all because she couldn’t stand to face the world. It was her duty to protect people, to do the right thing. She found herself not even caring. If some girl’s neck was being broken, if a guy was drained of all his blood, it wasn’t her fault. It’s not like she had asked to be the Slayer. It had never done her any favours. Even her Slayer healing couldn’t save her from the disfigurement.

They’d even tried magic. Her friends, that is. They wanted more than anything to make her better, to help her become Buffy again. The Buffy they loved. The Buffy they missed. It didn’t work. Willow’s spells were useless. She was no where near powerful enough to heal her. Afterwards they all just seemed to drift away.

Buffy slowly slid the other shoulder of her robe off, anxiously letting it fall to her waist. She applied the gel, massaging it firmly. Her muscles began to relax, the cool night air soothing her bare skin. Buffy decided that if she could reach the rest of her back she may even be halfway comfortable in her own skin. Even if that did feel like an alien concept to her. Instead, she slipped the robe back over her shoulders and tightened the belt.

That was when the tingle at the base of her neck started.

“Just when I was enjoying the show,” The deep voice purred from behind her.

She felt herself go rigid. Looking in the mirror she could see no one behind her, but then she hadn’t expected to. After all, Spike wouldn’t have a reflection. The heat rose to her cheeks as she tried to deal with the fact that he had obviously been there for a while and had gotten a crystal-clear view of her naked scars. Taking a deep breath, she turned to look over her shoulder.

He was perched on the windowsill like an over-grown gargoyle, hands gripping the sides of the window frame. The vampire climbed the rest of the way in, standing up straight, the black duster unfolding around him. His stance screamed casual as he leaned against the wall, watching her with obvious glee. The truth was Buffy had expected him to pay her a visit again sooner or later. After all, there would be no point in him stopping her from dying if he didn’t plan to witness her continued desolation himself.

She had know this...yet she hadn’t gotten Willow to do a de-invite spell. Hell, she hadn’t even told any of them that Spike was back in town. Buffy wasn’t exactly sure why she felt the need to keep his presence to herself, only that it was somehow important.

“What do you want?” she asked, voice low.

Spike gave a slow shrug, “I think the question is, Slayer, what do you want?”

Buffy turned away from him, looking in the mirror, “I want you to leave.”

Even with her Slayer senses she didn’t hear him move. Yet, suddenly, there he was sitting behind her on the bed. The very fact that Spike was on her bed seemed wrong. She should have staked him on the spot. Except that there wasn’t a stake handy, and she imagined if she made any sudden movements he would just nonchalantly snap her neck.

“Is that so?” Spike whispered, lips brushing against her ear, “correct me if I’m wrong, love, but it was you who kissed me.”

She stared at her lonely reflection, “That was a mistake.”

“Rot! I’m bettin’ you’ve been gagging for some play for a long time, Slayer.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, “And if you could hurry up with the whole plan to kill me, that would be good also.”

Spike shook his head, “Not here to kill you. I’ll save that for later.”

Buffy snorted, noticing how unattractive that looked in the mirror, “You mean you’ll try. Thing is, Spike, you’re just another vampire. Granted, a slightly more annoying vampire than usual but –”

“One that gets you hot.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, about to reply with a clever retort, when Spike’s hands landed on her shoulders. Any relaxation in her shoulders and back that she still had vanished and the Slayer found herself sitting ramrod straight. His touch was light, not threatening in any way, but that somehow made it worse. If he was about to fight her, she’d know what to do. Now, all logic and strategy seemed to fly out of the same window he had entered.

His hands slid slowly down her back, rubbing the material of the robe across her scars, making her grit her teeth. Her face felt hot, goose bumps covered her flesh in response to his proximity. Spike moved his hands around her waist, gripping her belt and slowly loosening it.

This is not happening...

But it was. It really was.

Her breath caught in her throat as he undid the belt completely and then pulled the robe from her shoulders. The sight of herself naked from the waist up in the mirror made her feel nauseous and she tried to grab the robe back, to put it back on.

Spike grabbed her wrist and growled, “Don’t.”

Oddly, she did as he said. Dropping her hand and gripping the covers of the bed, Buffy stared straight ahead at herself. Without a reflection Spike just wasn’t there. She could at least pretend she was alone and not completely exposing herself to a vampire she loathed. When his cold hand found hers, she realised pretending he wasn’t there was going to be impossible.

With all the thoughts running through her mind about what he was going to do next – kill her, kiss her, fuck her – she had never anticipated him gently taking the tube of silicone gel from her grasp. Buffy felt her back arch in response as he trailed a finger down her spine. A tremor ran through her, like an aftershock response.

She hated anyone touching her back, even hated having to touch it herself, but there was something different about this. He had seen her scars with glaring clarity and he was still here. His hands began to massage her shoulders, oiled with the gel. Buffy didn’t want him to be touching her, he was evil. He was a killer. But he made tingles shoot down her spine; he touched her like she was still a person and not just the Slayer. Cold fingers glided over her scars softly, searchingly.

Spike’s hands slid down her shoulder blades and back, moving around in slow wide circles, relaxing her muscles and making a slow sigh escape from her lips without her permission. She quickly clamped her lips shut to stop any more such noises. This was a whole new realm of strange – he was her enemy, and he was making her relax far more than any of her friends or her mother had ever been able to. So, she closed her eyes. She wasn’t willing to face up to herself and what was occurring.

Of course, Spike had other ideas. “Open your eyes,” he demanded, hands still dextrously working her back “I want you to see yourself.”

I don’t want to see myself, Buffy thought stubbornly, but nevertheless, found herself doing what he told her to. Looking at her reflection she didn’t recognise the expression on her face. Her cheeks were a pale pink, eyes half opened looking lazy and content – if she remembered that emotion rightly. The very fact that she was looking at herself naked and exposed and she wasn’t grimacing was pretty out of character for her these days.

“See that?” Spike whispered, kneading her lower back.

“Why aren’t you biting me?” Buffy asked suddenly.

“You see what you are, don’t you?” He continued, ignoring her as if she had never spoken, “That they don’t change anything. You’re still the Slayer –”

Her features darkened and she jumped up away from him, pulling her robe on and doing it up tightly. Suddenly feeling way too bare and thoroughly stupid for having let it get this far. Buffy turned to face him, sitting on her bed where he really didn’t belong. Her room was bright and girlish and he was sitting there dressed like some social deviant who had never gotten over the seventies. He was out of place.

But then so was she. She barely belonged here anymore, either. Being the Slayer meant she always straddled the world of humans and the one of demons but since she had been scarred she always felt sub-human. In the past she had desperately clung to the notion that being the Slayer didn’t make her different from other girls but it was clear to her now that she was. Even if she didn’t want to be, and Spike reminding her was just what she didn’t need.

“Have you ever thought that I don’t want to be the Slayer?” Buffy asked, eyebrows high, “no, of course you didn’t. That’s all I am to you. That’s all I am to anyone.”

Spike stood, making her take a step back. He didn’t try and touch her again though; instead he walked around behind her to one of the shelves packed with belongings she didn’t really consider to be hers anymore. Once there, he picked up Mr. Gordo her stuffed pig.

“I don’t think an all-killing, all-powerful Slayer would have a weakness for fluffy hogs,” Spike commented, eyebrow quirked, “I’m well aware that you’re not all Slayer. I’ve always known that. None of you are. You’re all still people. Doesn’t mean I won’t drain you dry though.”

Buffy folded her arms, regarding him, “So, why don’t you?”

“Because you’re not in the game,” he answered simply, “and there’ll be no pleasure in killing you till you are...okay, maybe there’d be a little. But still-”

She shook her head, “That’s not it. It doesn’t explain what you just...did.”

Spike shrugged with one shoulder, tossing Mr. Gordo onto the bed, “Just because I’m an evil vampire doesn’t mean I’m gonna pass up the opportunity to cop a feel of a good looking girl.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her face away from him, “I don’t fit into that category.”

“Oh, really?”

He stalked up to her and grabbed her hand. Before she knew what he was doing, Spike had shoved her hand up in between his legs. Buffy’s eyes widened as she felt his hardness in her palm. Her eyes flickered up and met his ice blue stare.

“You still do it for me, love.” Spike smirked.

Buffy opened her mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, her mother’s voice sounded from outside the door “Buffy? The Cutting Edge is coming on. Want to watch it with me?” She jumped at the intrusion.

Spike just grinned and leaning in, whispered, “Re-match, tomorrow night.”

And with that he left the way he came in, silently and swiftly. Buffy just stood, unblinking for a moment as she tried to come to terms with the whole evening. Re-match? He means a fight, right?

“Buffy?” Her mother called.

What if he doesn’t mean a fight?

“I’ll be there.”