The graveyard was swarming with vampires tonight, all freshly risen,
all eager to taste Slayer blood after learning that one of them had
nearly drained her the night before. Buffy felt herself grow stronger
with each kill as if she was absorbing their power as their bodies
disintegrated. Her movements were smooth, assured, her body responding
to every challenge without hesitation. Spike had been fighting by her
side but she was having so much fun that he gradually eased out of the
conflict, leaning against a tree and watching her thoughtfully. As the
last fledgling was dusted he went over to her, applauding ironically.
She flushed, tossing her hair back. “Okay, I know. They were easy
kills.”
He shook his head. “They were still dangerous. You did well.” He bent
his head and kissed her, loving the way she responded. After a fight
like this, she lost all her reserve, overwhelming him with the
intensity of her passion. He held her close, burying his face in her
shoulder, turning to nip at her neck, making her shiver with arousal.
Suddenly she pulled away. “What’s up, love?” Spike asked.
“I hear someone.” Buffy looked around and began to run towards a nearby
crypt, Spike at her heels. The cries of pain filled fear were beginning
to die away as she reached it. A vampire held a young girl pinned
against the stone wall. Buffy felt an odd sense of deja vu and realised
that the vampire and his victim were mirroring what she and Spike had
just been doing. The all important difference was that the vampire was
tearing the girl’s neck with his fangs, not kissing it, feeding
greedily, carelessly. He raised his head as he heard them approach and
Buffy relished the spark of fear in his eyes as he recognised the
Slayer. This was no fledgling, foolishly seeking to prove his strength.
He had fed and that was enough. Thrusting the body of his victim into
Buffy’s arms to slow her down, he darted into the shadows.
Buffy’s lips thinned. “Spike,” she said flatly.
“Right.” He sprinted off after the vampire, following the scent trail
of fresh blood through the darkness.
Buffy looked at the dying girl in her arms, regret and guilt flooding
her. “If I’d been just a little quicker -”
She sank to the floor, cradling the girl’s head in her lap. The girl
sighed out a final bubbling breath and died, her eyes still shut as if
the monsters would vanish if no one was looking.
Buffy was still on the ground when Spike came back. She looked up at
him, tears glimmering in her eyes. He nodded in answer to her unspoken
question and reached out a hand to help her up. Sliding the girl gently
to the ground, she took it and stood up.
“We have to go and tell someone -” she began, dreading the phone call
she would have to make to the police, blurting out the bare details of
a young girl’s death in terse, concise words before hanging up in the
middle of their inevitable questions. She paused and looked at Spike.
“What’s up? Did he hurt you?”
Spike was staring at his hand and she realised that it was coated with
blood, as was her own. With a shudder, she bent to the grass, using it
to clean her hand as best she could. The vampire had shredded the
girl’s throat as she struggled and blood had sprayed out. It wasn’t
usually messy when a vampire fed and Buffy wondered how much blood she
had on her clothes.
She got up again and saw that Spike was hunched over, holding his
wrist. “Spike?” His head twisted slowly around and she saw that he was
in game face, golden eyes glinting, lips pulled back in a snarl.
Buffy did not flinch. “Spike,” she said again, softly, firmly, holding
her position.
“Want to taste it.” His voice was plaintive. “Smells like you.”
Buffy’s mouth twisted as she guessed at his conflict. Fresh blood,
carrying with it the heady scent of fear, mixed in with her own scent
which would be brimful of violence and arousal after the fight... a
cocktail so tempting that the demon within Spike had surfaced to feed,
like a shark at a shipwreck.
As she watched, he raised his hand to his lips and she saw him start to
lick it clean, growling softly as he tasted human blood for the first
time in months. Her thoughts were chaotic. He was harming no one by his
actions and no matter how much he thirsted for blood, the chip
prevented him from hurting anyone - but she felt deep sorrow that he
should be acting like this. He had changed so much it was easy to
forget what lived within him.
Spike felt her eyes on him, looked up and saw her shocked face. He
squeezed his eyes shut in pain, his demon face melting away as she
watched. When he opened his eyes again, they were blue, filled with an
aching regret. She stood still, not knowing what to say, and watched
his face grow cold. Wordlessly, he turned and left her, moving so fast
that when she tried to follow him, he was already out of sight.
Buffy felt the hot tears begin to slide down her face as she went to
report the girl’s death.
***
Spike had recovered his outward composure by the time he got to the
demon bar. His mind was full of confusion but his voice was steady as
he asked for a whisky and sat down to drink it in a quiet corner. It
burned his mouth and throat, washing away the taste of blood and he
felt a mixture of relief and regret. The blood had tasted so sweet, so
potent. It had left him feeling whole, cemented the fragmented parts of
his personality that the chip had smashed apart. But it had hurt Buffy
to see him taste it and that turned it bitter in his mouth. He
wondered, distantly, if she would ever speak to him again; ever see him
as a friend. Had he lost everything in those few seconds? He felt anger
rise within him. She didn’t understand how it felt to live as he did.
It was like a sighted man spending his life in the dark, like drinking
nothing but water after tasting wine. Blood was not simply nourishment
for his kind; it was a distillation of every dark desire in every rich,
hot droplet. Blood was life and to the undead, there was nothing more
precious.
A group of vampires came in and he realised with sour amusement that
Buffy hadn’t dusted every fledgling in town after all. They swaggered
to the bar, drunk with the thrill of a few kills, thinking themselves
at home in this new world. One of them noticed Spike and nudged the
vampire closest, whispering in his ear. Both began to laugh and Spike
sighed. What was going to happen next was so predictable that his jaw
ached with the desire to yawn. Yes, here he came, right on cue.
“You’re the Slayer’s pet aren’t you? How does that feel, lapdog?”
Spike stared at him and took another sip from his drink.
“Hear she nearly got bitten the other night but you came to the rescue
like a cute little guard dog.”
“Did you now,” Spike said, his tone polite yet bored.
“So, what I want to know is why you think you can come in here like you
belong with us?”
“You want to make me leave?” Spike asked mildly. The missing word,
‘try’ hung in the air.
“Oh, you can stay,” the vampire said magnanimously. “But you got to
tell me one thing. You’ve offed two Slayers - or so you say- why are
you sniffing round this one instead of making it three?”
“A good question,” said Spike. “And one that only someone with the guts
to ask it should hear the answer to.”
He beckoned the vampire close and motioned for him to put his head
down. Spike whispered in the vampire’s ear for a second and then sat
back, a grin spreading over his face.
“Really?” said the vampire, grinning back. “I never would have -” He
paused and looked down. A stake was firmly wedged in his heart.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Spike drawled. “Did I forget to say that if I told
you, I’d have to kill you? My mistake.”
He stood up, brushing aside the dust that soiled his coat, and looked
at the handful of silent vampires who had learned that immortal doesn’t
mean invulnerable. “Anyone else like to ask me any questions? I’m
feeling in a sharing mood tonight.”
He waited while heads were shaken slowly and then left, burying his
hands deep in his coat pockets to hide their trembling.
***
Buffy made the call from a pay phone and stepped away. She had to go
home and shower. Finding Spike was important but going to him reeking
of blood wasn’t going to help. It was a good plan but it was ruined
when she reached her house to find Spike waiting in the shadows.
“Slayer,” he said calmly.
“Spike. I was just going to -”
“Save it, Slayer. It’s over. I’ve shown us both I can’t trust myself
around you. So, best if we stay away from each other. Think we both
knew this past week’s been strictly short term.”
“That’s silly,” she blurted out. “The chip -”
He threw his head back. “Oh, that’s rich. You think you’re safe because
of the chip? You don’t say you trust me because I love you. Guess that
proves my point, doesn’t it?”
“I do trust you! But the chip’s there as well. I’m just saying you
don’t need to worry.” Buffy felt confusion and misery spread through
her body and she shivered. Spike’s presence by her side had become part
of her life even before she’d admitted she loved him. She couldn’t
imagine him going away.
Spike took two steps and punched her face, not hard, but hard enough
for the chip to trigger under normal circumstances. Buffy put her hand
up to her cheek and watched as Spike stood quite still, obviously
feeling no pain.
“The chip doesn’t work on you now, Buffy,” he whispered. “Didn’t you
ever wonder why we could get up to some of the things we’ve been doing
without it triggering?”
Buffy blushed as she realised what he meant. “I let you do it,” she
said. “It doesn’t count.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You’re not as kinky as all that, Slayer. You got
a kick out of experimenting but by the end you were begging me to stop
and I don’t think you were playing.”
“So, are you telling me that you’re killing again?” she asked, her
voice shaking as she imagined his body exploding into dust, his eyes
imploring or full of hatred as her stake pierced his heart.
He stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. “No! Don’t look like
that! I’m not, I swear. I went out, picked a fight with some loser in a
bar. Hit him hard enough that he didn’t get back up and came this close
to joining him on the floor, it hurt so much. Chip works fine. Just not
on you.”
“I have to find out about this,” she muttered, turning towards the
house, her eyes blind with tears.
He reached for her again. “Buffy - I’m sorry. Sorry I couldn’t -”
“I’m sorry too, Spike,” she said, her voice breaking. “But not for the
same reasons as you.”
She left him standing there, a puzzled frown on his face. After a
moment, he turned and walked away, head down, shoulders slumped.
***
When Buffy arrived at the crypt two nights later, Spike was too drunk
to stand. He watched her approach, a smile plastered on his face. It
slipped as she back handed him hard, knocking him out of his chair.
“S -slayer? What the hell?”
Her foot drove into his ribs and he curled up into a ball, whimpering
slightly. Rolling her eyes as she took in the bottles strewn around the
crypt, she knelt beside him and forced his eyes to meet hers, her
fingers digging into his chin. “I’m ready for you now, Spike,” she
said. “You always said once that chip was out, you’d come for me. I
saved you the walk.”
He shook his head, trying to clear it, focusing on her with some
difficulty. “But that was just talk,” he protested.
“Was it?”
He felt her contempt and a flame of anger kindled deep in him, burning
away the alcohol and the pain, giving him the strength to stand and
look into those scornful, beautiful eyes. “No. I meant it. I think.
Haven’t wanted to for a long time though. You know that.”
“Maybe I can change your mind.” Her fist landed in her favourite place;
his nose. Blood started to drip down his face. He put a hand to the
source of his pain and studied the wetness.
“Going to lick that up too, Spike?” she taunted. “Going to show me what
a disgusting little blood sucker you are?”
He shook his head, bewildered and hurt. “No. I’m not. Listen, Buffy -”
“Sorry. All done talking.”
Fists. Feet. Nails and teeth. She used them all on him and it took him
a while to realise that the tears were pouring down her face as she
methodically took him apart. When he saw them, he reached up and laid
his hand on her for the first time, cupping her cheek and letting the
tears trickle down onto his hand.
She stopped then, mouth working as she tried to hold back the sobs that
were forcing their way out of her. Slowly, he touched his wet hand to
his torn, bleeding lips, eyes locked on her face.
“A Slayer’s tears,” he said hoarsely. “Shed for a vampire’s pain.
There’s a first.”
She shook her head wearily. “I cried for you before this, Spike. When I
came to find out what you’d told Glory and you looked as bad as you do
now. I kissed you, I walked away and I cried as I left.”
She sighed and pulled him up, ignoring his moan of pain as his body
protested the sudden movement. “Let me help you downstairs.”
She got him onto the bed, brought him some blood from his supply and
watched him drink it. Then she turned to leave.
“Hold it, Slayer. Think I’m owed an explanation.” His voice was hard
but Buffy met his angry gaze calmly, arms folded across her body.
“And I think I was owed the truth. Guess we’re both going to have to
learn to lower our expectations.”
“You’re mad because of what I did, that girl’s blood -”
“No! God, how stupid are you? You’re a vampire, Spike. That blood was
your food for decades, it called to you and you listened. It didn’t
hurt the girl, you didn’t even try to feed off her, or attack me.
You’re in control, totally. I trust you with my life.”
“Then what the hell was all this about?” he said, his voice low and
dangerous. “Because I really don’t appreciate the return to form.”
“I wanted to make you see it and I knew you wouldn’t listen. You didn’t
once try and hit me back, didn’t once go into game face. Doesn’t that
tell you anything?”
He shrugged. “Seems like a funny way to tell me you love me.”
“Trust you, Spike. Not love. I never said I loved you.”
His head tilted as he considered her. “Now, we’re getting to it,” he
remarked. Pushing up so that he was sitting he looked at her bleakly.
“Buffy, you’re pissed. Want to tell me why with your mouth, not your
fists?”
She jerked her head to the side, studying the wall of the room
intently. “Buffy.” His voice was compelling, the effect somewhat
spoiled when he started to cough, holding his ribs and wincing.
“You didn’t tell me.”
‘Tell you what? About the chip? It didn’t make any difference. I found
out I was still chained up, knew I wasn’t going to have the Scoobies
baying for my blood, so what difference does it make? Even if it had
stopped I wouldn’t have killed anyone. I still want to, a bit, but it’d
mean losing you. Not worth it. So what’s your problem?”
“Me! What about me?” She was shouting now, her voice rising with her
anger. “You can’t hit humans. You can hit me. Do the math. There’s
something weird going on with me, a spell, a curse or something and you
didn’t care enough to tell me! Willow found out why, it’s because of
the spell she used, but you didn’t know that.”
He looked at her, his mouth open. “Oh,” he said as enlightenment
finally came. “That.”
Buffy screamed incoherently, frustration spilling out. “I hate you and
I never want to see you again,” she said with a stunning lack of
originality. “You were going to leave me, just like they all do, for a
stupid, stupid reason. I trusted you -”
“Not to hurt you?”
“Not to leave me,” she said. “Not to ever leave me, ever, no matter
what I did, no matter what was best for me, for us. I trusted
you.”
He thought for a moment. “No. You insulted me.” He lay back and rolled
away from her. “Get out, Slayer.”
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