“So you lied to me?”

Spike watched as Buffy snorted and strolled up to her wardrobe, pulling a top out and holding it against her body. It was long sleeved and plain, not at all revealing or intended to entice. Spike had a feeling her whole clothing selection was much the same. It made him feel a little nostalgic for the Buffy from a couple of years a go who had kicked his arse and bared a whole lot of flesh while doing it. Not that it really mattered. He’d seen all of her flesh now. He nearly smiled until he remembered he was supposed to be angry.

Buffy put the top back. “No, I didn’t lie to you. It’s not like we made plans, Spike.”

“Thursday night is shag night. It’s a tradition!”

She rolled her eyes. “Every night is…‘shag night’ to you. Well, you’ll just have to get yourself off some other way.”

Spike flicked the ash of his cigarette out the window. He was currently perched on the windowsill, having been told that smoking in the Slayer’s room was a stakeable offence. This was his compromise. He watched as she continued to search for something to wear. Spike mostly wanted to see her out of clothes but he’d been denied that pleasure for tonight. No matter how charming and persuasive his arguments were, Buffy was not budging.

“Why’s this so important to you anyway?” He asked, curious.

“Because it’s Oz’s birthday,” she replied without even glancing at him. “I always thought he was too cool to…you know…age. Apparently not.”

Spike crushed the cigarette out on the window frame and chucked it out. “This is Red’s boy, yeah? Wouldn’t have figured you to be a man stealer.”

Buffy did look at him then, scowling. “Is that all you think about? He’s a friend.”

“I thought you didn’t have friends anymore.”

She didn’t reply and he didn’t push it any further. Spike just sat and watched her as she got ready to meet her ‘friends’ at the Bronze. He could hear Joyce making tea downstairs and singing along to the radio. It made him smile slightly. He’d always liked Buffy’s mum, she was a decent sort and had never been unkind to him. Except for the axe incident but, considering he was trying to eat her daughter, he had deserved that.

Spike’s smile widened as he recalled the other night when he had finally gotten to taste the Slayer. Her blood had tasted sweeter than he had imagined. He’d had Slayer blood before but this was something else. Maybe because she’d given it willingly, maybe because there was an extra sexual edge to it, or maybe it was just because she was Buffy Summers. Maybe it was all three. Whatever the reason Spike found himself craving her even more now.

He straightened and sidled up behind her. She didn’t see him behind her as she looked in the mirror with disdain. The vampire slid his arms around her waist lightly, chuckling as she jumped in surprise. Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on the mirror. He knew that she was wondering what they would look like together, if only he had a reflection. Spike kissed the top of her ear, hands attempting to wander up her shirt.

Buffy pulled away and turned around, shaking her head. Spike grunted. She really would not be distracted tonight. Bugger.

He found himself vaguely bored at watching her continuing plight to find the right outfit, so he brushed her aside and started rooting around in her wardrobe himself. Buffy made a sound of protest but eventually just folded her arms and sighed. It didn’t take him long to find something he liked. All the good clothes were stuffed at the back, rumpled, and smelling faintly of dust. He held up the silk halter top for her consideration.

“Nooo,” Buffy shook her head, grabbing the top and balling it up. “Not a chance.”

Spike put his hands on his waist. “And why not?”

“It’s backless,” she said as though it were a dirty word.

“So…?”

Buffy shot him a look, as though she though he was being cruel. Spike snatched the item of clothing back from her and laid it down on her bed, smoothing it with his hands. Then he went back to her wardrobe and pulled out a skirt. It was short, black, split up the thigh. Perfect. He laid it down beneath the top.

“There you are, love. If you tell anyone I just picked out an outfit for you like a right royal poofter, I’ll rip your throat out,” Spike announced cheerily.

The Slayer cast her eyes over his choice. “No.”

“Give me one reason why not.”

“I’ll give you two – that top is backless and that skirt barely covers my ass,” she pointed at the offending items and then at him.

Spike nodded. “Your point being? Oh, come on. You’re not still worried about your scars are you?”

“I’m sorry if I find them kind of hard to forget,” Buffy spat.

“Then use them. Cause a stir, make heads turn. That’s what your style used to be.”

Buffy looked away. “I used to make heads turn for the right reasons, Spike. I don’t want to be some sort of freak show.”

Spike tsked. “Buffy Summers, don’t be a silly cow. You can either let the scars destroy your self-confidence or you can use them to rebuild it. So people look, people whisper? So what? At least they notice you. You’re not some wallflower, love, you’re like me. We stand out. We get noticed. And if you wear those scars like you’re proud of them? It’s like a slap in the face to all those bastards who would make you feel small. You’re the Slayer. Show them how strong you are.”

Buffy watched his face for a long moment. He didn’t know what she saw there and he didn’t want to wager a guess. She sighed and scooped up the clothes from the bed, brushed past him and out of the room. Spike stood in the centre of her room feeling wholly out of place with all her girly things. He went back to the window, leaning his hands on the sill and sticking his head out into the warm night air.

The vampire felt suddenly very tired. No, not tired – drained.

“He's no good but I'm no good without him…” Joyce wailed, in the kitchen.

Spike wondered when exactly it was that his life got so complicated. But that was an easy question with an easy answer; the moment he had laid eyes on the Slayer. He sighed to himself, eyes scanning the view of suburbia he was presented with. It wasn’t his style. He could never understand why people would want to live packed as close together as ants with identical houses and identical lawns. He supposed it was so they didn’t have to be alone. But they still were. No one knew anything of substance about their neighbours. It was bloody tragic – not in woe-is-me Shakespearian way – but tragic nonetheless.

He didn’t have much pity for humans, in general, but he was self-aware enough to know that he was getting himself dangerously attached to one. And he would only hurt her in the long run. Spike would never stop killing. It was a part of him he couldn’t deny. He wasn’t Angel, he didn’t have a sodding soul to hide behind and blame his past deeds on. He didn’t want one. He was proud of the mayhem he’d wreaked. He wore his conquests as surely as he wore his duster. Spike was content with himself and didn’t need nor want to change.

But he feared he might start to if he hung around Buffy enough.

And that wasn’t an option. He had to get out of town before she reeled him in completely because when he fell for a woman he fell hard.

Spike nodded to himself, resolutely. He would leave tonight. No goodbyes. Just blow out of town and move on. It had always been his style but something about it didn’t seem right anymore. Spike chalked it down to his raging libido. Leaving town would mean leaving behind the opportunity to have it off with the Slayer any time he wanted (except on her friend’s birthdays, evidently).

He managed to convince himself it was purely for the physical gratification that he had stayed this long…for about five seconds. Spike wasn’t an academic by any means, but he knew the onset of infatuation when he felt it. Best to get out while he still could. It might hurt her but he’d end up hurting her a lot worse if she found out about his lies. Lies always surfaced.

It was time to go.

“I can’t wear this…”

Spike jumped, hitting his head sharply on the window frame. He cursed loudly and repeatedly as he turned around. Buffy looked back at him, her face twisting in a way that made it clear she was trying not to break out into hysterical laughter.

“It’s not bloody funny!” He cried, rubbing his head.

Buffy’s smile broke and she managed to splutter; “Your face…” before the laughter took over.

Spike folded his arms and glared at her as she shook with laughter, the sound filling the room and drifting out into the street. It wasn’t long, however, before he rolled his eyes and half-grinned. It was just nice to hear her laugh like that. She sounded happy.

Spike’s smile fell. I have to go.

“You look wonderful,” he said softly, a little sadly.

And it was true – she did. The halter clung pleasantly against her breasts, exposing long lines of pale but perfect skin, catching the light prettily. The skirt showed off her great legs with a good deal of thigh on display. She’d get the attention of any red-blooded bloke within half a mile.

“I do not,” Buffy shifted from foot to foot.

“I’m all aquiver.” He smiled, taking her hands.

She let herself be pulled into him. “I really can’t wear this.”

“You really can and you will,” he insisted, glancing at the window. “I have to go.”

Buffy frowned. “Go where?”

Spike leaned in and kissed her softly on the mouth. Pulled away. Climbed through the window. He smiled at her. “Have a nice night, Buffy.”

“Okay…” she called back. “I’ll see you tomorrow…?”

He jumped down to the backyard without answering and left. He didn’t look back.


+ + +


The music was so loud that Buffy could barely hear herself or her friends speak. They sat around a table by the dance floor, Oz with a purple party hat perched on his head. He didn’t look uncomfortable about it, since he never looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t exactly seem perky either. The werewolf was surrounded by gifts. Willow had brought him a new T-shirt, which he wore dutifully. It was yellow with a picture of the moon on it and ‘Midnight Moonlight’ scrawled underneath in faded writing. The blow-up werewolf doll Xander had purchased was watching guard over the table, and the Pink Floyd ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ vinyl from Giles was in pride of place in the middle of the table. Oz kept eyeing it to make sure it was still there.

Buffy kind of wished she had been let in on the whole werewolf theme everyone seemed to go on for their gifts. Instead she had bought him something she thought Oz had been lacking his whole life – a copy of ‘My Stepmother’s a Vampire’. No one else around the table had understood but Oz had smiled at her in a knowing way.

Now, here she sat listening to Xander tell another joke and feeling kind of hot in her cardigan sweater. She’d worn the outfit Spike had picked out for her. She had simply added the cardigan as a way of accessorising…and totally defeating the point he had been trying to make. Buffy sipped on her coke and watched as Willow kissed Oz gently on the cheek, his arm slung around her shoulders easily.

Buffy doubted she and Spike would ever be that comfortable with each other. She couldn’t see them going grocery shopping together and doing the dishes. Domestic bliss wasn’t on the cards for them. It was okay, though. She didn’t expect that and she didn’t expect a fairytale this time, either.

“I like your skirt, Buffy,” Willow smiled, pointing at her.

Xander nodded rapidly. “You’re rocking that outfit. Oz was gonna wolf-whistle but he didn’t want to live up to the stereotype.”

Buffy smiled, embarrassed. “Thanks. It was just something I threw together…”

“You look hot.” Giles observed.

“Giles,” Xander’s eyes widened, “you finally noticed the hotness of the Buffster!”

Giles scowled at him. “That was incredibly uncouth even for you, Xander.”

“Uh…thanks?”

Everyone at the table laughed but Buffy was just glad the subject had been dropped. She could almost get used to wearing the skirt, even if she feared she was baring more than she intended, but what the hell had she been thinking wearing a halter? Now she was practically sweltering but she couldn’t remove the cardigan and reveal the scars beneath.

“S’cuse me, I do hate to interrupt, but I had to come over and say hello,” a familiar voice said from behind her.

Buffy turned and looked over her shoulder as her friends stared at the newcomer. Jeremiah waved at her jollily, a bright smile lighting up his chiselled face. Buffy gaped like a fish. He was back? Already? And obviously not shy. His clothes were different too, blue jeans and a plaid shirt, much more in keeping with his southern hottie image.

“What are you doing here?” Buffy managed to utter. “I thought you’d left town.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, well, that. Yeah, I was halfway to New Mexico but then I just did the darndest thing; I turned around and came back. Crisis of conscience, you know?” Jeremiah moved up to the table and held his hand out to her friends, greeting each one in turn. “Nice to meet you, I’m Jeremiah.”

Buffy held her hand up. “How? What? What – about Eloise?”

“She ditched me back in Arizona. Broke my heart really,” he turned back to Buffy. “May I have this dance, Miss Summers?”

Buffy just gaped at him again. What was he doing? He was a vampire and he was asking the Slayer to dance? In a crowded nightclub? In front of her friends? That was a new kind of evil, she decided. She caught Willow giving her the thumbs up and Buffy thought she might die of embarrassment right then and there. Giles was eyeing Jeremiah up carefully and Xander was just openly staring.

She shook her head. “No. No dancing for us. None.”

“I just need to talk with you for one minute and then I’ll be gone – really, this time.” He looked at her intently then made to sit down. “Or we could just talk right here…”

“Dance it is!” Buffy jumped up.

The Slayer grabbed his elbow and dragged him to the corner furthest away from her friends. She didn’t know if he would bring Spike up or not but either way she couldn’t take the chance. Jeremiah took her hand and pulled her in close, putting one hand on her waist, the other taking her own hand. It reminded her of dancing with Spike in the alleyway, away from the rest of the world. Now, here she was, with a whole club full of people around and her friend’s eyes boring into her. She could feel a hot flush creeping up her neck and had to resist the urge to bolt out of the room.

“Jeremiah, what the hell do you want?” she demanded.

He swung them around jauntily. “I want to make sure you know what you’re gettin’ yourself into.”

Buffy looked up into his blue eyes. “You mean Spike?”

“That I do,” he nodded, his fingers playing with the hem of her top. “I know you’re not stupid and I know you can take care of yourself but I can’t help but think that maybe you’re being a little naïve in regards to him and his…hobbies.”

“Just say it, Jeremiah.”

He leaned into her ear. “He’s not off the juice. We vampires…we kind of like the taste of human blood. It’s like our thing.”

“He’s not killing,” she pulled back to look into his eyes again. “He’s not.”

“Are you convincing me or yourself?”

Buffy started to move out of the circle of his arms but he held on tight, she whirled back to face him, angry. “Who the hell are you to tell me this? I’ll tell you – you’re a vampire. A vampire I barely know. A vampire I don’t trust. I trust Spike.”

“Why?” He asked simply.

“Because I do,” was her equally simple answer.

Jeremiah sighed softly and tilted his head. “Well, I tried, Buffy. Remember that I tried.”

She didn’t know what he meant by that and by the tone in his voice she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Buffy again tried to extricate herself from his grasp but he didn’t let go and she got the impression that he wanted to finish the dance. She was half tempted to slap him and storm away but that would cause too much of a scene and he didn’t really deserve it. Despite the fact that he was a vampire, he seemed to be a vampire that cared about her. Why he cared, she couldn’t fathom and she didn’t trust him but she didn’t dislike him either. He was weird and jolly and random and totally unpredictable but he was Jeremiah. Whatever that meant.

He smiled down at her, cold hand entwined with hers. “Never thought I’d get a chance to dance with the Slayer. You’re a good woman, Buffy. I hope you realise that.”

“I’m not so good,” she sighed and looked at his chest to avoid eye-contact. “But you’re an okay guy too. For a vamp.”

Jeremiah chuckled as he whirled them across the dance floor energetically. “High compliments, indeed. I can’t help regretting something, though.”

“What’s that?” she asked warily.

“My timing. If I’d gotten into town just a few days earlier, who knows, it could have been me and you doing the horizontal waltz,” he waggled his eyebrows.

Buffy rolled her eyes but smiled good-naturedly and he scrunched up his nose and pulled a strangely adorable face, causing her to laugh a little. The music slowed and so did they until they came to a stop. He held onto her for a moment before releasing her. She held his eye contact as he tried to convey some deep message with just the power of his mind. After a moment he reached up and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Look after yourself,” Jeremiah insisted. “And if you ever feel like tasting my gumbo, just whistle and I’ll come a-running.”

Buffy snorted. “Tasting your gumbo? Is that some kind of euphemism?”

Jeremiah laughed. “Goodbye Buffy.”

And then he left. Really, this time.


+ + +


Spike leaned against the side of the Desoto, smoking a cigarette. He was staring at the Sunnydale sign. ‘You are now leaving Sunnydale, come back soon!’ He’d been staring at it for the past half an hour. Spike sighed, took one last puff of his cigarette then crushed it out underneath his boot.

“Bugger,” he murmured to himself as he climbed back into the car.

He drove forward, knocking the sign over, then did an abrupt u-turn and headed back into town.