Chapter Two
True to his word, Spike was back by three PM the following day, bursting through the kitchen door with a smoking blanket over his head. He dropped the blanket on the floor and quickly stamped out the small sparks covering it.

Joyce, of course, as befitted someone whose child had died, had not gone into her gallery that day; telling her employees only that something very bad had happened to Buffy and she needed to stay home with her. She felt that covered her either way the evening went. If Buffy rose and was herself, she would explain that she’d been very sick; if she didn’t, remaining dead as Joyce feared would happen, then she would tell them that Buffy had died in an accident.

“How is she?” The first words out of his mouth were for his new childe, and Joyce smiled at the concern she could read on his face.

“The same,” she answered with a whisper. “I…I’ve been afraid to touch her. She’s so cold and still…”

Spike held out his hand and waited until Joyce took it with a puzzled frown.

“That’s what she’s going to feel like from now on, Joyce. Room temperature. She’ll be a bit warmer after a---“ He stopped himself, suddenly remembering that he was talking about a souled Slayer who was unlikely to be getting her meals from warm, living victims. Trying to recover, he said quickly, “A warm mug of blood – which I should have thought to bring with me.”

“I…I went to the butcher and got some earlier today,” Joyce admitted sheepishly. “I thought you might be hungry and…”

Spike felt a sudden attack of an emotion he finally recognized as guilt when he thought about the two men he’d eaten last night. Giving himself a mental shake at his weakness, he growled, “That’s very thoughtful of you, but I’m fine. Slayer will need it though – soon as she wakes up and—“


He looked hard at the woman in front of him and saw that she was barely holding herself together, in spite of the appearance she gave of being in control and comfortable with what she’d asked him to do.

“I think,” he said gently, “that I’d better be the only one she sees when she rises. I’ll need to let her drink from me again to calm the blood lust before she sees you. I don’t think you’d want to see that, and I doubt she would want you to.”

“But—“ Joyce stopped herself in mid-argument as she understood what he was saying. With a shudder, she agreed quickly, promising to stay downstairs until he called her.

After telling her he would let her know when to come up, and reminding her to bring a warm mug of blood with her when she did, he gave her a reassuring smile and went up the stairs and into the room holding the girl who had been the bane of his existence the entire previous year. Staring down at her seemingly dead body, he wondered how he’d gotten himself into this. Instead of killing what was meant to be his third Slayer, he’d let this one take his blood as a way to keep her in the world where, he was sure, she would continue to make his life miserable – if she allowed him to live.

He shrugged out of his duster and stretched out on the bed beside her and waited for a sign that she was awakening. While he waited, he studied her face, wondering what it was about this little girl that made her so much more than just another Slayer. He caught himself running his fingers through her still silky hair and snatched his hand back with a growl.

(Bloody hell, letting her drink from me must have affected my brain! Got to admit, she is a pretty bint, though…)

Catching sight of the corner of the sheet she’d been wrapped in, he realized that Joyce hadn’t touched Buffy since they had put her in her bed and he sat up, wondering if she was still as naked as when he’d snatched her from her slab in the morgue. Moving carefully, he lifted the edge of the blanket and saw that she was still trussed up in the hospital sheet. Knowing that waking up was going to be traumatic enough, even without a grave to dig out of, he tried to pull the tight sheet out from under her body.

Realizing that wasn’t going to work, he reached over her, lifting her body up until he could unwind the sheet and toss it on the floor. That left him with an armful of naked, dead Slayer. A naked, dead Slayer whose eyes were now open and fixed on him with bewildered rage.

“Spike? What the hell are you doing? And why am I naked?” Buffy’s voice went up an octave when she looked down at herself and saw that not only was she being held by the vampire she hated most, she was stark naked and said vampire was staring at her breasts.

“Stop ogling me!”

She shocked them both when her shout turned into a snarl and she went into vamp face. Forgetting about the vampire still holding her loosely, she raised a shaking hand to her face, feeling her wrinkled forehead and running a cautious finger along one sharp fang. As though the transformation had thrown a switch, her eyes focused on his neck and her tongue came out to lick her lips. She threw a questioning look at the equally surprised vampire and, at his silent nod of permission, leaned forward and sank her new fangs into his jugular.

Spike gave an involuntary groan as, with a hungry whimper, she began to take long, deep pulls of his blood. Pulls that he felt all the way down to his rapidly hardening cock. Buffy surged forward, pressing her body into his and growling softly as she swallowed the borrowed blood that he had had the foresight to stock up on the night before.

Spike let her drink until he felt himself begin to weaken, then he tried to push her away only to be met with a furious growl and a tightening of the arms around his body. As wonderful as it felt to have an armful of naked Slayer – he refused to admit to himself exactly HOW good that felt – he knew he had to make her stop before she left him too weak to hunt.

Using a sire’s voice he hadn’t even known he owned, he snarled back at her, “Leave off, childe!”

Buffy immediately let go, sinking back on her haunches and poking out her lower lip in a pout. As her face smoothed back out into its normal human guise, the blood lust faded and she realized what she’d been doing. Her face crumpled and she moaned, putting one hand over her mouth, tears starting from the eyes that met his in horror.

“Spike…what did you…how could you…what happened to me?”

Without thinking, he pulled her into his chest, relieved when she didn’t push him away and reach for a stake. He held her while she sobbed, murmuring into her ear that it would be alright, that he would explain, that she shouldn’t be upset. He ran his hands over the smooth skin on her back, rubbing small soothing circles as he tried to calm her. Her sobs finally tapered off and they were suddenly both very conscious of her nudity. Refusing to meet his eyes, she sniffled as she pulled away and tried to cover herself.

Moving quickly, Spike jumped off the bed and yanked the blankets to where she could reach them and pull them up to her neck. She looked around the room, seeing nothing to indicate it wasn’t really her own bedroom, then back at him. Gradually, the frightened fledgling was replaced with an angry Slayer and she said firmly, “Tell me what happened to me. Now.”

Spike sighed and sat on the little stool in front of her dressing table, his hands dangled between his knees as he leaned forward and asked, “What’s the last thing you remember, luv?”

Buffy’s face crinkled in thought as she tried to remember what she’d been doing the last time she was conscious. He could see the instant her memory caught up with the events of the previous evening and her eyes filled again as she gasped, “Angel? Angel did this to me?”

Spike shook his head, looking around quickly to see if there were any stakes within easy reach of the stricken Slayer.

“No, pet. All that bloody wanker did was rip your throat out and drain you. Dumped you at the ER in front of your mum and your watcher and told them ‘sorry’ before walking out for a round of brooding.”

“So, then, why am I not dead…er, deader?”

“Your mum, she was so…and I said ‘no’, but she…and then I said you’d hate us both…and she…” He saw the gradually dawning of realization on her face and said simply, “I’m sorry, pet. I just couldn’t tell her ‘no’.”

“It’s a small word, Spike! NO! N.O. You hate me that much?” her voice had trailed off to a painful whisper.

Forgetting his fear for a second, he slid off the stool on to his knees in front of her.

“No, pet. No. It wasn’t like that. I would have let you go. Would have let you have that reward you’ve got coming. I would have, I swear. Mind you, I’m not saying I wouldn’t have missed you. Fighting against you – hell, fighting WITH you – it’s one of my favorite things. But I…I wouldn’t have done that to you. You’ve got to believe me, Slayer.”

His eyes pleaded with her and she looked down to see him kneeling in front of her, the truth of what he was saying plain to see. Her expression softened just enough for him to draw a deep breath and continue, “But your mum…she was destroyed. And she asked me…and I…I just couldn’t tell her ‘no’, Buffy. She’s always been so good to me. Always fixes me hot chocolate…tells me I’m too good for Drusilla…treats me like a man, your mum does. I just…I wanted to make her happy, luv. I’m sorry.”

He dropped his head, ready to bolt or fight if necessary, but heartened by the lack of lethal response on her part. He waited quietly until she reached a shaking hand toward his face, then looked back up into her searching gaze.

“What—what now?” she asked in a trembling voice. “I’m a vampire, Spike. What’s going to stop me from killing my own mother? Who’s going to protect my friends from me?”

“You are, Buffy,” he answered with more certainty than he actually felt. “You still have your soul, pet. It’s why nobody in their right mind turns a Slayer. The first thing she does, usually, is dust her sire.”

“First thing, huh?” She looked at him with the faintest trace of her normal humor. “So, is that like a tradition or something?”

“Not one you need to feel obligated to continue,” he said, peering at her from under his long eyelashes.

“So, I’m not going to want to kill everybody I know? Present company excepted, of course. No offense.”

“None taken, Slayer,” he responded with a genuine grin. “I don’t think so. Your mum’s waiting downstairs with some nice warm pigs’ blood – although I think I need it more than you do right now. You almost drained me.”

“Uh, sorry?” She smiled sheepishly, clutching the covers to her breasts.

“’S alright, pet. It’ll make you strong – that much sire’s blood. I’ll just go tell your mum that you’re awake and you can get dressed and come down when you’re ready, yeah?”

“Okay,” she responded slowly, already dropping the blankets and standing up. She heard Spike catch his breath with a gasp, and glanced at him briefly before walking to her closet. “I guess you’ve already seen it, so there’s no sense being modest in front of you is there?”

“Oh, yeah there is, there most definitely is.”

His strangled voice brought her attention back to him and the look on his face froze her. The expression on the vampire’s face as he visibly struggled to control himself, brought her modesty back in a hurry. She felt her face heat up and wondered briefly if it was possible for a vampire to blush. A quick glance at her empty mirror was a painful reminder that she would only know the answer to that question if someone told her about it.

She tried to cover herself with her hands, then spotted his duster where he’d dropped it earlier. Grabbing the coat, she wrapped herself in the soft leather saying, “Why don’t you go downstairs and get some blood for yourself. I’ll be down as soon as I get some clothes on.”

“I’m gonna be needing m’ coat, luv,” he said mildly.

“Don’t be silly, Spike. You don’t get cold and you’re inside, anyway. I’ll bring it down in a minute. You don’t need it.”

“I do need it.” he said firmly. “Not going down to your mum like this.”

“Like what?” She scanned his face, then ran her eyes down his body trying to see what made him think he needed his coat right that minute. Her gaze slid down his chest, the muscles clearly visible beneath the tight tee shirt he was wearing and past his belt buckle and lower abdomen to his strong thighs. Before her eyes could travel any further down his legs, she gasped and her eyes shot back up to the large bulge in his tight jeans. Once again she felt her face trying to flush.

“Oh,” she squeaked. “Okay, just a sec…”

She quickly ducked behind her closet door, holding his coat out at the end of one slender arm and shaking it lightly.

“Here you go. Take it. My mom definitely does not need to see that coming out of my bedroom!”

Spike bit his tongue to keep from pointing out that her mother would probably much rather see him coming out of her room with hard-on than entering it like that. Fear that she was still contemplating staking him kept his mouth uncharacteristically shut, but the smirk gave him away. A pair of furious green eyes peered around the corner of the closet door at him.

“And stop thinking what you’re thinking!” she growled. “Go away. I’ll be done in a couple of minutes.”

Wrapping himself in his coat, the vampire smirked again, then left the room, meeting her anxious mother at the bottom of the stairs and taking her arm to steer her towards the kitchen.

“She’ll be down in a few minutes, Joyce. Let’s go to the kitchen. I’m a mite peckish after all.”

“Is she…?”

“She’s awake, she’s fed,” he pointed at the ragged bite on his neck, gratified when Joyce went immediately to get the first aid kit, “and she’s getting dressed.”

“Is she angry at us…me?”

“She was a bit upset at first, but I think she’ll be alright. I ‘spect it’s going to take her a good while to get used to it, and she’ll probably cuss us every time something reminds her, but I’m not dust yet, so that’s a good sign.”