A/N: Much grateful thanks to the wonderful Megan for betaing and support.

Thank you to all those who have been kind enough to review. Hope you will continue to do so.



Chapter 3

Lightning split the sky, breaking the darkness enough for Buffy to see the face of the monster she now held pinned to the grass verge. It was in its human face and, for a moment, looked almost familiar. Hair fell over the left side of its face where blood still flowed from what looked to be a cut on its eyebrow. The eyes, the sharp cheekbones reminded her too much of another vampire. ‘Get a grip, Buffy. Stop with the wishful thinking. Spike is gone.’

Shifting a hand to pull the stake from her jacket pocket brought to her notice the blood coating her palm. Glancing down, Buffy could just make out the dark patches that liberally marred the clothes …the clothes that were all of the strange. Not to mention the smell. A cocktail of odours that reminded her of fireworks and fires, mixed in with a heavy dose of sickly sweet blood.

His groan was lost in a deafening crash as thunder erupted above, making him wince as the burning pain in his back was joined by the agony lancing his sensitive ears. He wanted nothing more than to clap his hands over them to block out the continuing crescendo, twisting his head so that at least one ear was protected by the ground beneath him.

Buffy jumped at the sudden noise and swallowed convulsively as lightning once again burst forth from the ground, nearer now - too near. In the momentary illumination she saw that he’d turned his head, his eyes screwed tight in pain. ‘Damn, but he looks so much like…’

“Spike.”

The stake she’d fumbled for from her pocket hovered uncertainly above his chest. Apart from the turn of his head, he hadn’t moved - or tried to - since she’d torn him from the road and the inevitable squishing that had been on the cards if that speeding car had hit him. Her tinglies made no secret of his vampire status but his acquiescence and lack of demon face made her hesitant to finish him. ‘Why would I have all those dreams about one vamp? Hardly the Big Bad here. What made me want to save him if I’m only gonna dust him?’

As the rain chose that moment to descend from the heavens with stinging force, Buffy also made a choice. Rising to her feet she grabbed one of the vampire’s wrists and hauled him upright, catching him as he immediately started to fall back to the ground. Another too close for comfort fork of lightning disclosed pain-filled eyes locked on hers. Rain washed the blood from his face even as it plastered his long hair flat against his skull. An urge to push his hair away and caress his cheeks was firmly repressed as Buffy gripped him firmly about the waist and turned into, hopefully, the direction of the drive.

It seemed to take forever to get back to the cottage. The tree lined drive had transformed into an alien environment in the throes of nature’s buffeting. Rain still lashed from every which way, coming from all directions as the capricious wind twisted continuously. Twigs and branches seemed to hurl themselves from the trees as the two soaked beings struggled to keep their feet in the shifting gravel turned stream.

Spike did all he could to help the Slayer. It appeared that his hell was to take the form of constant torture from a demonic slayer. His pain addled mind supposed it was apt at that. If this tempest was a harbinger of things to come, he would surely need what little strength he had left to endure even the lightest dose of the torment that was coming his way. ‘Please don’t let me cry like a baby. Let me be a man.’ He feared that too soon he would prove Angelus right, would prove himself to be a worthless creature and a coward to boot.

Buffy bumped into the cottage, literally. Totally blinded by the rain that had soaked through her thin summer clothes - clothes that now chaffed with every step as they clung coldly to her trembling body - she’d been trying to find the welcoming light in the darkness. It took only a moment to understand that the electricity must have been knocked out by the storm. ‘And the good just keeps on coming.’

Fumbling along the wall until she found the door, Buffy opened it with numb fingers and stumbled through, letting her burden slip gently to the floor. In the intermittent light provided by the storm she made her way into the kitchen and rummaged in one of the drawers to find candles, matches and a torch. Grabbing a tea towel, she swiped at her face and hands roughly, drying just enough to let her focus on finding the candle holders. “Damn, where did Rose say they were kept?”

Slamming her way through a couple of cupboards, Buffy emerged triumphant with a handful of old-fashioned pewter candle holders before proceeding to stuff the thick candles onto the small spikes in the centre and use the matches to light them. The noise of the storm was slightly muffled inside the thick stone walls of the cottage but still loud enough to make it hard to hear oneself think. Just as well then that Buffy intended to let her instincts lead her right now. Time for thought later. Taking one of the candles and the torch, she returned to the hallway and the vampire that had toppled in her absence to sprawl gracelessly on the flag floor. The flickering light from the candle allowed her to see the puddling blood that seemed to be escaping, primarily, from a deep wound on his back that stretched from his right shoulder down to his left hip. ‘Shit. No wonder he hasn’t put up a fight.’.

Placing the candle holder on the floor, Buffy turned him as gently as she could, vaguely surprised when his eyes fluttered open to meet hers.

“Slayer.” Almost a whisper, which she strained to catch.

So, he knew what she was. Not all vampires did; memories of stupid fledglings in Sunnydale’s many cemeteries stood testimony to that.

“Vampire,” Buffy replied, unable to quite stop the small smile on her lips. “Your name?” She held her breath in silent expectation, in hope.

“Aren’t you s’posed to be torturing this information out of me?” If possible, he slumped even further. Buffy quirked an eyebrow at him, not realising the vision she made in the dancing candlelight.

Her hair hung in dripping tangles to frame one of the most beautiful faces he had ever seen. The dim light prevented him from seeing the colour of her eyes; nonetheless they were gorgeous, and so very alive. He tried to keep his gaze from straying further down her body, knowing already that it was compact and strong from his intimacy with it as they battled their way to this stone building. But he couldn’t stop himself from one quick glance at the clinging material that only just concealed her perfect breasts, peaked nipples easily visible through the thin damp cloth.

His silent inspection had not gone without her notice. Buffy was somewhat amused, even as she was surprised by his mention of torture.

“Do you want me to?” she asked, curious. It was getting more and more difficult to keep her hands from touching him, so much did he look like her Spike. She silently damned the noise from the storm which interfered too much to let her discern his accent.

“’S’not a matter of what I want, it’s what happens in Hell. Eternity of torture and all that, now I’m dust.” Despite his best efforts the loss of blood - and his multitude of injuries - were making his struggle to keep conscious desperately hard. He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, nor could he hold back the groan when her strong hands shook him.

“Your name.” Not a request anymore, a demand.

Before his awareness abandoned him completely, he gave the Slayer what she wanted. “Spike.”

Darkness swallowed him once more.

***

There were many who took one look at Buffy Summers and dismissed her as a blonde bimbo. It was an impression that she sometimes courted. The truth was that she was pretty intelligent but intellectually lazy, what with the slaying gig and all. Not tonight, though. Tonight she put her grey matter through its paces. For a nanosecond she was tempted to call Giles, so ingrained was her response to anything out of the ordinary. Find weird, call Watcher. But that was dismissed almost before the thought had formed. No way was she going to involve the Council of Watchers.

This Spike was not her Spike. Duh. His mention of being dust and hell gave her clues, as did his clothing and the pretty disgusting smell that had not been entirely washed away by the rain. If she were to make an uneducated guess, because she was pretty much uneducated girl, Buffy would put forward the premise that he had failed in his attempt to kill his first slayer. So, he might not be the Slayer of Slayers then. If that were true, neither would he be a master vampire.

He was, however, bleeding and unconscious. Biting her lower lip in an effort to direct her thoughts along more practical paths, Buffy haphazardly linked together random facts and reluctantly left the vampire to see if she had scored a bullseye. ‘Too much with the darts playing down the pub.’

Leaving the candle beside his unmoving form, Buffy made her way back into the kitchen and picked up another before going through the door and into the extension at the rear. The utility area held a washing machine and a freezer. Not being one for cooking, Buffy had not touched the freezer since her arrival. But wouldn’t watchers want to have a ready supply of blood handy for vampires? Maybe frozen? She hoped that they would. If not she would have to be the donator. Lifting the lid of the chest freezer she peered inside, moving trays about until she reached the lowest level. “Bullseye.”

About twenty packs of frozen blood were stacked neatly at the bottom. Buffy leaned in and pulled out half a dozen to take with her. The thaw from lack of power hadn’t set in yet. Now she had to decide how she was going to prepare them with no electricity, the microwave being out of the equation. It looked as though she would have to face a daunting challenge – using the Aga. Back in the kitchen she put three pouches into the fridge, wanting to keep them cool until she was ready for them, before pulling out the instructions that Rose had left for her. More lip chewing ensued as she muddled her way through until she managed to light it. Tearing through the plastic, she emptied the remaining frozen blood into a large pot and placed it on top of the stove. She offered a silent prayer that her non-existent culinary skills would not prevent her from providing sustenance for Spike.

“What next? First aid kit.” Buffy found that saying things out loud helped her to concentrate. The first aid kit was in the bathroom and was one of the most comprehensive she had ever seen. If she took Spike up there she could kill two birds with one stone; clean him and tend to his wounds. So far she had only been away from him for five minutes; it felt like hours.

Taking three of the remaining candle holders, Buffy glanced once at Spike’s unmoving body before taking her main source of light and placing them at intervals leading up to the bathroom before hurrying back to the hallway and gathering him gently into her arms. Even with Slayer strength it wasn’t the easiest of tasks; she was getting tired herself and longed to get out of the cold damp clothing that stuck uncomfortably to her body. In minutes she had him laying on the tiled bathroom floor, surrounded by candles and with first aid kit at the ready.

It was difficult not to get distracted by looking at him, studying him for the similarities and the differences. Take away the hair and his face appeared almost the same, only the scar that had always marred his otherwise perfect brows was now a fresh wound. The hair, though, was a mile away from the peroxide pest she’d loved too late. As it started to dry it was turning into floppy curls, light brown or dark blond as far as she could tell, and longer at the back where it was tied in a dark red band. Pulling her attention back before she lost herself in contemplation, Buffy found a pair of scissors to cut away the dated clothes, snipping carefully until she had stripped his shirt from the top part of his body.

“Damn, she cut you up pretty good, my Spike,” Buffy unconsciously murmured as she worked, cleaning out the myriad wounds on his chest and arms. She applied ointment and steri-strips as required, and they were required a lot. Before tackling the large wound on his back, Buffy dashed downstairs to check on the progress of the blood. She gave a heartfelt sigh of relief to see that, so far, she hadn’t managed to jinx Spike’s next meal. On impulse, she took one of the wooden chairs back to the bathroom with her.

The wound on his back was bad. The slash was deep, exposing muscle and, in places, bone. Buffy muttered to herself constantly as she dabbed further inside his body than she ever wanted to again. It would need to be sutured. The little book contained in the first aid kit held instructions, which she faithfully followed to the letter as her sometimes trembling hand made with the little knots the length of his back.. By the time she had finished, Buffy was exhausted and cold. Carefully wrapping Spike in one of the plentiful burgundy towels, she staggered down the stairs once more and caught the blood just before it started to boil. Pulling out two large thermos flasks, she quickly rinsed them under cold water before emptying the contents of the pot into them. Pushing her hair away from her face, Buffy trudged once more up to the bathroom.

Bright eyes fixed upon her. Spike was with the living, unliving, again. She knelt beside him and carefully poured some blood into a mug before propping him up and bringing it to his lips. “Drink, Spike.”

She was stunned when he turned his head away without touching it. It didn’t take a brain surgeon, thankfully, to know he had to feed. And, after all her hard work, she was not too pleased to see her best ever cooking effort dismissed. “What’s wrong with it? Too hot?”

“Human.” As if that explained everything.

It was some unearthly hour of the morning and Buffy was both cold and tired. The ongoing storm was starting to give her a headache and a vampire was refusing to drink human blood. Life was back to the strange that was normal for her.

“You’re a vampire, right?” Buffy used her most patient voice. And received a small nod for her trouble.

“You feed on humans.” She felt him stiffen before he turned to regard her with piercing eyes.

“Not me.”

Buffy digested this slowly. Spike, who did not feed on humans. ‘Now, I wasn’t expecting that!’

“What do you feed on then?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral. Giles would be fascinated, if only he knew.

The smallest of shrugs before he spoke again. “Pig’s blood, usually.”

Curiouser and curiouser. “By choice?”

A nod. Nothing more.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any pig’s blood. I can probably get some tomorrow, but you need to feed now. It’ll help you to heal.” Buffy shuddered as the chill from her wet clothes seemed to spread to the marrow of her bones. Nothing in her previous experience could have prepared her for his next words.

“You’re a devil slayer and I’m yours to torment. But you’ll have to force that blood down my throat before I’ll drink it willingly.” The vampire closed his eyes and waited, sure that strong hands would be forcing him to do just that.

Buffy was stunned, again. So definitely not her Spike. She needed time to think and she couldn’t do that until she felt warm again. Pouring the blood back into the flask and sealing it, she laid the unusual vampire back down and turned to the faucets of the bath. The oil-fired heating should be exempt from the vagaries of the storm, and even if they were, there should still be plenty of hot water left in the tank. Adjusting the temperature, she turned the lever that secured the plug and watched as the tub quickly filled with warm water.

Unable to resist any longer, Buffy stroked the hair from Spike’s face and let her fingers softly trace the outline of his jaw. His eyes flew open again to fix upon her, wary and vulnerable with a side order of pain. “I may not be a saint, but I’m hardly a devil. Just want to make you better, stupid vampire.” Sighing heavily, Buffy turned to stop the flow of water into the tub. “I need to get warm before I catch a damned cold. Turn your eyes away if you’re going to get offended.”

Without waiting for his decision, she started to strip from the sodden clothes that were chilling her body. Once, a lifetime ago, she would have been embarrassed to exhibit her body so openly to the eyes of her other Spike. But somewhere along the line of the meaning of life, she’d realised that she was giving nothing of herself away, and anyhow, her body wasn’t so bad that she needed to be ashamed of it. With a grateful sigh, Buffy stepped into the bath and lowered her shivering body into the welcome warmth. Smiling slightly she asked, “Did you peek?”

A hesitation, before a whisper; “Yes.”

Buffy chuckled, turning her head to look at the vampire on the floor, surrounded by flickering candles. “Were you offended?”

Spike blinked slowly but held her gaze. “You’re beautiful.”

Her smile reached from her mouth to her eyes. “Thank you, Spike. You’re not so bad yourself.” Grinning when he turned his head away. “This isn’t hell, you know. I’d tell you so much right now, but I’m just too tired. I wish you’d drink. The blood was all donated and no one died in its collection.” A pause. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

Silence. Spike turned to look at her again before whispering, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” Buffy could see the pain in his eyes and mentally kicked herself. “I want you to trust me, but I know I’m going to have to earn it. If you can, please drink.” ‘Otherwise I might just have to buy a pig and drag it back here for you.’

Spike’s hunger fought with his deep rooted abhorrence for hurting humans. This beautiful creature who had rescued him from the devil might be nothing but a temptress, but he was almost more than half in love with her. Her voice and kindness called to something within him that he’d closely guarded for so long. Hesitantly, he reached for one of the flasks and, with shaking hands, poured out a small measure of blood. Grimacing, he swallowed it down before pouring another, and another, until both flasks were empty. He could not deny the healing effects that were already taking place within his damaged body.

The sound of draining water alerted him to the slayer stepping from the bath. A towel hid most of her gorgeous body from view, and he contented himself with admiring her ankles and shoulders before she dropped the towel and threw a robe around her. It was the first time he’d ever seen a completely naked woman in the flesh. It took his unneeded breath away.

Buffy had cheered inside when he’d started to drink. His wounds needed more than pig’s blood if they were to heal quickly. There was only one more thing she wanted to do before falling into bed; wash the blood and stink from his hair.

Dipping down to kneel beside him, Buffy let him know as much. “I want to wash the smell from your hair before we go to bed. Will you let me?”

At the mention of ‘we’ and ‘bed’, Spike couldn’t prevent the reaction of his cock. The recently consumed blood had replaced all that he had lost, and more. The pain from his back was lessening by the minute. He estimated that he would be completely healed in less than an hour. It was an unexpected benefit from a normal diet of pig’s blood; human blood was just that much more effective. Spike nodded at the Slayer and tentatively pulled himself to his feet.

Buffy picked up a couple of the candle holders and placed them on either side of one of the basins. Filling it with warm water, she turned to the silent vampire then stopped abruptly. Turning back, she stared into the mirror. ‘Oh my God. He has a reflection.’

Before she could say anything a cool finger gently pressed against her mouth.

“Tomorrow, yeah?” His eyes pleaded with her to agree.

Swallowing, Buffy nodded. The finger disappeared as he used both hands to release his hair from the band at the nape of his neck. Soft curls fell about his face down to his shoulders. ‘You are so beautiful, Spike. So beautiful, my love.’

A wave of her hand prompted the vampire to lower his head into the basin. He almost purred as warm water was poured over his head before a sweet smelling concoction was gently massaged into his scalp by the slayer’s strong hands. More water rinsed the suds from his hair and the basin was emptied before being refilled. Something else was gently caressed into his hair, and now he couldn’t stop the purr from resonating through the room in competition with the storm outside. Once rinsed, a soft towel was wrapped around his head as her hands lightly rubbed away most of the moisture before pulling away.

Opening his eyes he looked down into hers and found them studying him intently, tears forming and giving in to the pull of gravity as they fell down her cheeks. Unthinkingly he raised a thumb and brushed them tenderly from her face. Whatever happened tomorrow, one thing wouldn’t change. He loved her. This beautiful, compassionate slayer had his heart in her hands.

With a tremulous smile Buffy caught hold of his hand. “Come to bed, Spike.”

He followed her. Anywhere she went, he would follow.


A/N: Feedback gratefully accepted and all will be responded to. Oh, but not necessarily anonymous reviews! Thank you for your time.