ov

The next day at the Magic Box:

“Giles, can I talk to you … in private?” Buffy asked quietly, casting a furtive glance at Anya, who was behind the counter.

“Certainly,” he replied, waving an arm at the training room.

Buffy led the way and Giles closed the door behind himself after following her in. “Are you alright? I hear … well … How’s Joyce?” Giles stammered.

Buffy sat down on the couch and sighed heavily. “I don’t know. We won’t know anything until tomorrow probably.”

“And, how did your meeting go with Spike?” Giles continued.

Buffy rolled her eyes dismissively. “Oh … you know Spike. If he got any more full of shit, his eyes would turn brown.

“I want to ask you something,” Buffy continued as Giles sat down next to her.

“Of course, Buffy – anything.”

“What am I?” she asked without further preamble.

Giles raised his brows. “Pardon?”

“What am I? What am I made out of? Where did I come from? Where does my power come from?” Buffy elaborated, speaking quickly – trying to get the words out before she changed her mind. Did she really want to know?

“I … well … you’re the Slayer,” Giles offered lamely.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Well, duh! I know that. What makes me the Slayer? Where does my power come from?”

“I … well … you’re Called and it’s endowed by … the Powers That Be, I suppose,” he guessed.

“You suppose? Is that like saying ‘I don’t know’ in Watcher-talk? The Council’s been watching Slayers for how long and there’s no little recipe card that tells how one’s made? You know, a pinch of sugar and a smidge of spice, a pound of snails and puppy dog tails, a still-beating demon heart,” Buffy asked incredulously.

“Well … errrr,” Giles stammered. “Perhaps there is, it’s simply never been shared with me. A still-beating demon heart?” Giles questioned, looking at her with concern.

Buffy shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind. I asked you about this before … you remember, after Drac came calling, and … well ... I ...ummm ... think I really need you to find out now.”

“Yes … well … certainly, I will make it a priority. Perhaps I can call in some personal favors at the Council,” Giles agreed. “Buffy, what’s got you wondering about this again?”

“Oh … well, I just didn’t want you getting in the habit of letting things slide,” Buffy hedged. “That’s a slippery slope, Giles,” she scolded. “First it’s one small research project, then, the next thing you know, you’re tossing all your books out in the street and setting them on fire. I’d just hate to see you go all ‘Fahrenheit 451’ on me. I mean … you may actually have to get a TV if that happened, and then where would we be? It may look like fun from the top, but those slippery slopes lead to nothing but badness,” Buffy warned.

Giles raised his brows at her skeptically. “Buffy, you know you can’t put any stock in what a vampire says … even Dracula,” Giles assured her.

Buffy pursed her lips and furrowed her brow as she shook her head in agreement. “Oh, yeah – I totally know that. I just … wondered, you know … idle curiosity and … I wouldn’t know what to do without the smell of musty books in here.”

**~**

A Week Later (after Listening to Fear):

Giles came out of his office as soon as he saw Buffy enter the Magic Box. “Buffy! Are you alright? Joyce? Dawn?”

Buffy nodded tiredly. “Yeah, we slayed the snot monster from outer space. You wouldn’t think snot monsters would be so hard to kill, would you? For once Spike lurking outside my house actually paid off.”

“Spike helped you slay it?” Giles questioned, cocking a suspicious brow.

“Yeah – he heard it from outside and just came barging in. Of course, then Riley and all his commando buddies came barging in. It was a barge-fest. I’m surprised no little tugboats showed up. I don’t know why we even have locks on the doors,” Buffy sighed.

“And Joyce’s surgery is tomorrow?” Giles asked, concerned.

“Yeah, tomorrow morning. I have to get back home soon – I don’t want to leave her alone too long. My annoying guard-dog, Spike, can’t lurk in the daytime,” Buffy half-teased. “So, you have … something?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“Indeed,” Giles affirmed, waving a hand and inviting her into his office.

Buffy went in and sat down in one of the chairs and Giles followed, closing the door before taking his place behind the desk. He pulled some papers out of a folder and looked at them for a few moments, a rather dour expression on his face.

“What’s the up, Giles?” Buffy asked, leaning forward to look at the papers. Even though they were upside-down, she was pretty sure they weren’t written in English. She’d gotten fairly good at reading papers upside down during high school.

Giles took a deep breath and looked up at her. “I received these facsimiles this morning from a friend at the Council. The original book has apparently been lost somewhere along the way, but they had copies of it in their archives,” he explained. “It tells the story of the First Slayer and her … creation.”

Buffy waited for him to continue, but he didn’t say any more. “And … I’m guessing no puppy-dog tails,” she quipped dryly.

Giles gave her an indulgent smile. “No, I’m afraid not,” he agreed. “It’s written in ancient Sumerian, I’ve … taken the opportunity to translate the pertinent section.” Giles hesitated a moment, then handed Buffy a paper with his hand-written translation. Buffy took it and steeled herself. From Giles’ expression, there was probably no sugar or spice in the recipe, either.

~~

First, there was the Earth.

Then, there came the demons.

After demons, there came men.

Men found a girl.

Men took the girl to fight the demons.

Men chained her to the Earth.

Men endowed her with the power of the darkness.

She is the Slayer. She alone stands against the demons.

~~

Tears stung Buffy’s eyes as she read one line over and over: power of the darkness … power of the darkness.  She blinked them back frantically, then finally nodded, folded the paper up, and stuffed it into her pocket. “Ok, well ... thanks,” she offered hastily as she stood up.

“Buffy,” Giles stopped her, standing up himself. “There’s something else I found in the Watcher's diaries. A quest.”

“A quest? Like Monty Python … finding a grail or something?”

“Not a grail, and I'm fairly certain there will be no killer bunnies, but perhaps more answers. It would take a day, perhaps two,” Giles continued. “There’s a sacred place in the desert, not far from here.”

Buffy nodded. “Ok … well, I can’t leave Mom now – maybe later, when she’s better.”

Giles nodded. “This doesn’t mean anything. You are not a demon – you aren’t … There’s nothing wrong with you,” he tried to assure her.

Buffy nodded again and gave him a wan smile. “Yeah. I really need to get home,” she offered, turning and opening the door. “Thanks for getting this for me,” she called back as she strode out of his office.

Giles sighed as he watched her go out the back, through the training room. Perhaps he should’ve simply told her he couldn’t find anything … but didn’t she have the right to know?

**~**

Outside, Buffy pulled the door closed and leaned against the wall at the back of the shop. She closed her eyes as she continued to fight a losing battle with her tears. She was a demon. She tried to wrap her head around this unequivocal, sudden revelation. Or was it really sudden? She’d spent so much time over the last few years trying to convince herself that she could be normal, trying to prove that she was ‘just a girl’, that she’d failed to even notice the reason she had to work so hard at normalcy. She wasn’t normal. She was a demon. How had Spike put it? A demon ‘wrapped in righteous indignation’. If life was a box of chocolates, then she was that horrible one with grape jelly inside that no one wanted. She looked perfectly fine on the outside, but inside she was ... just wrong.

“Buffy?” a deep voice pulled her from her thoughts. She jumped slightly and her eyes flew open to find Spike smoking a cigarette as he sat on a pile of packing crates in the shade on the other side of the alleyway. “You alright?” he asked as he dropped the butt, stood up, and began moving towards her slowly.

Buffy sniffed back her tears and lifted her chin, pulling her ‘righteous indignation’ cloak back around her soundly. “Fine,” she lied casually as she pushed off the wall. She pulled the folded paper Giles had given her from her pocket and slapped it against his chest as she passed. “If you ever get tired of your career as a lurker, you could have a promising future as a Watcher. You wouldn’t even need any books.”

Spike clutched at the paper, grabbing it before it fell away, as he turned and watched her storm off into the sunlight. With a furrowed brow, he opened the note and read it. He looked up at her rapidly-retreating back and smirked a bit. She had been listening to him that night, after all.  “I’d ave to shove a cob up my arse ‘fore I’d qualify for that job, luv,” he called after her.

“Let me know if you need any help with that. It’d make a nice side-job for Mr. Pointy,” she called back, still walking away.

Spike followed her as far as he could – to the edge of the shade. “Did you just make a joke, Slayer?” Spike asked, shocked.

“Nope – just embracing the dark side, like you suggested. I hear they have cookies,” she called back.

Spike’s smirk returned. “May the Force be with you.”

**~**

A Few Days Later (Into the Woods):

Buffy ran faster than she’d ever run in her entire life. Her world was imploding; Riley was leaving in less than five minutes, and he would probably never come back. What had she been thinking, letting him go? How long had she expected to keep him at arm’s length and not expect him to turn away from her? How long could she keep her heart cocooned safely within herself and not expect everyone to leave? But what if he’d seen what was really in there? What if he took a bite of the piece of chocolate-Buffy and spit it out as soon as he found the grotesque jelly within? Not even she looked that deeply – she really didn’t want to know what was in there.

Spike had been right: she was made from darkness; she was a demon. What if that was all she saw when she looked inside: darkness? What if she was physically incapable of actually loving anyone? Spike’s words from the alley had been haunting her, filling her dreams with dark fantasies that mingled death and ecstasy until they felt synonymous. No matter how many vamps she dusted, no matter how many demons she slayed, the dreams wouldn’t stop.  How could she show her true heart to Riley, or even her friends, when it was full of such lurid shadows?

“Riley!!!” she screamed, coming up to the landing pad as the copter lifted away from the ground. The wind lashed around her from the powerful blades, sending dirt and debris blasting painfully against her face. Her hair whipped in a frenzy of gold around her head as she screamed his name at the top of her lungs, but he never looked back.

Buffy fell to her knees as the helicopter raced away; the wind lessened and finally died. “Riley! I’m sorry,” she cried to the empty night, burying her face in her hands as sobs wracked her body. “God, I’m sorry… what is wrong with me!?”

“Told ya before, pet. You belong in the dark, with me,” a voice came from the woods beside her. Buffy looked up as Spike stepped out of the canopy of trees and into the moonlight. He dropped a cigarette butt and crushed it under his boot before hooking his thumbs over his beltbuckle and staring at her. “He’d never be what ya needed,” Spike informed her. “Good riddance, if ya ask me.”

“YOU!” Buffy growled, jumping up to her feet. “This is your fault! Spinning my head with all that talk about a demon inside me! Then you had to take me to that … that … place! That … vamp whorehouse! You son-of-a-bitch! This is your fault!” she accused again, stalking towards Spike.

Spike shook his head and held his hands up in surrender. “You needed t’ know the truth of it. All I did was open your eyes to the truth of ‘im … and of you, Slayer. Makin’ a fool o’ you, he was, gettin’ his jollies with them vamps.”

“You’re a goddamned ass, Spike! What did you think, you’d tell me I was some kind of demon, get rid of Riley, and I’d fall into your bed!? You’re a conniving little weasel!” Buffy screamed as she moved swiftly towards him.

“Can’t deny that, pet, but everythin’ I said was true. It was for your own good,” Spike asserted, standing his ground.

When Buffy got within reach of him, she slammed her fist into his jaw, making him stumble backwards out of the clearing and into the trees. She stalked after him and hit him again, and again; a right, a left, another right. “I hate you! You’re a monster! An evil, sadistic, murdering piece of shit! I should’ve dusted you years ago!”

“That’s it, Slayer – let it out. Give it t’ ole Spike,” he invited, stumbling back further into the woods with each punch she delivered.

“Shut up! Just shut up!” she screamed at him, pounding him until he stumbled and fell onto his back. “I hate you!” she repeated as she dropped down atop him and continued to pummel his face with her fists. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

Spike didn’t defend himself, didn’t even try to get away; he simply lay there, his hands up near his head in surrender, and let her take every ounce of anger, pain, and frustration out on him. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth, his ears rang with each blow she delivered, and his eyes were quickly swelling closed with bruises.

“I’m nothing like you!” she contended as she began shaking him violently by the shoulders.

“No, pet … you’re worse,” he muttered through his split and swollen lip as she banged his head down against the hard ground at his back.

Buffy suddenly stopped and looked down at him through her angry tears, her chest heaving with exertion and overwhelming emotions. His face was a mask of blood and bruises, and yet the little she could see of his irises were just as intensely blue and bright as ever. Even in the dark under the canopy of trees, they seemed to shine up at her. He hadn’t even changed into the demon under her assault.

“Don’t say that,” she rasped out angrily.

“I know I’m a monster; I admit it … accept it. You got a demon inside. It’s covered up good and proper – even fools the chip, but it’s there. I know it. You know it. But ya won’t admit it. That makes you worse,” Spike continued.

Buffy screwed her face up in anguish as her tears came harder. She pounded her fists against his chest in frustration, but there was no power behind the blows. “No! I don’t want to be a demon! I don’t … I’m not evil! God, Spike … please tell me how to get rid of it.”

With great effort, Spike pushed up to sitting beneath her and pulled her into a hug. Buffy didn’t pull away, but melted, emotionally exhausted and physically spent, sobbing against his chest. Spike tucked her head under his chin and held her there on the ground as she cried. He wished he could take her pain away. He longed to be the man she turned to for help, for comfort and support – he longed to be her hero. At that moment he resolved himself to be just that. No matter what it took, he wouldn’t let her down. For the first time in a very long time, he felt William stirring somewhere deep inside him and, for the first time in over a century, Spike didn’t beat the little ponce back into submission.

Finally, when her sobs had waned and faded into deep, shuddering breaths, he said, “Can’t get rid of it, luv. All I can do is show ya’ how to live with it, if you’ll let me.”

Buffy shook her head against him as she snaked one hand between them and wiped at her eyes. “I don’t want to live with it,” she murmured so softly he might not’ve heard her if not for his vampire senses.

Spike pushed her back, holding her upper arms, and looked into her eyes, his jaw set in fierce determination. “You haveta’ live with it,” he insisted firmly, holding her gaze with his. “Your mum needs you. Your sis needs you. Your friends need you,” he admonished her. “The bloody world needs you, Slayer.” He wanted desperately to say that he needed her, but knew that would only send her scurrying away from him. If he could only get her to see for herself: see how alike they really were, see that he could be more than just a monster.

Buffy’s chin quivered as tears leaked from her eyes again. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Then let me help you,” Spike offered gently, wiping a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

Buffy shook her head and gave him a suspicious, half-smile, “By turning my legs to jelly and making my body quiver for hours?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Spike shrugged. “If that’s what it takes, then … I’d be willin’ to sacrifice m’self … for the greater good. Puppies and Christmas and whatall.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, but a small smile quirked the corners of her mouth as she wiped her tears away again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Spike wondered, confusion furrowing his brow.

Buffy snorted out a disdainful laugh. “Your face. I’m sorry … I … I know it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t make me what I am. You didn’t drive Riley away. I did.”

Spike shrugged. “No worries, pet. Anytime ya wanna hold me down and have your way with me, just feel free.”

Buffy rolled her eyes again and stood up, offering him a hand up too. Spike took it and got up to his feet, wobbling slightly. “C’mon, I’ll walk you home,” Buffy offered as she helped steady him.

“Now, don’t get t’ thinking I’m easy. A bloke’s got t’ have standards: dinner, drinks, a movie, flowers … maybe a nice box o’ chocolates. A bit o’ wooing goes a long way. I’m a romantic at heart. I been hurt, ya know. Don’t expect me t’ just jump into somethin’ with ya, Slayer.”

Buffy nodded solemnly. “I’ll keep that in mind … a romantic, evil vampire. Just my luck.”

**~**

Next Day:

Spike moaned as he rolled over in bed. Everything hurt. He tried to open his eyes, but the blood had dried and glued his eyelids closed. He pried them open with his fingers and sat up gingerly. He could still smell Buffy’s tears on his fingers and t-shirt and he inhaled deeply, relishing the scent of her. He was sorry it was tears, but the memory of her letting him comfort her warmed his unbeating heart. He looked over at the other side of the bed; Harmony was still asleep.  He sighed, got up slowly, and headed for the small shower in the corner of the basement of his crypt. The water was cold, but that was just as well.

Showered and dressed, Spike headed upstairs to get a pint and watch some telly until sunset.  Closing the trapdoor behind him, he turned and stopped short at the sight that greeted him. Atop the sarcophagus in the center of the room sat a bouquet of black calla lilies in a tall, crystal vase. Spike looked around suspiciously, but didn’t see, smell, or sense anyone else in the crypt. He moved forward slowly, not sure what to expect – perhaps they would explode when he got near them or spray holy water or something. He got right up to them and nothing happened. He looked around again – looked up overhead for a Wile E. Coyote anvil or a Carrie-style bucket of something (probably not blood, ‘cos … duh! Vampire!) suspended above him, but saw nothing. He quickly plucked the card from them and stepped back with it. He pulled the small card out of the miniature envelope and looked at it. It was Buffy’s handwriting – he’d seen it before when he’d been in her house.

Spike,

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It wasn’t your fault.

-Buffy

Spike read it again, just in case his eyes were deceiving him. It didn’t change. He walked back over to the flowers and looked at them more closely – they were fine. They were just … flowers. Black calla lilies. No booby-traps or bombs or exploding holy water. He lifted the card to his nose and inhaled: Buffy had definitely written it. He felt a wave of euphoria sweep through him. The Slayer had apologized to him! It seemed unbelievable, unfathomable. He looked at the card again; read it over and over. Then, with a sick feeling in his stomach, it dawned on him: she hadn’t done it for him – she’d done it to make herself feel better. She had done it to prove that she wasn’t a monster; that she wasn’t an evil demon – she was human. But still, it was something she wouldn’t have even thought to do not so long ago.

“Spikey!” Harmony exclaimed excitedly as she bounced up through the trapdoor. “You remembered!” she gushed, picking up the flowers and twirling around in circle with them. “Oh, I should’ve known my little Blondie Bear wouldn’t forget our anniversary!”

Spike hurriedly shoved the card into his pocket. “Right – course not. How could I forget?” he asked unenthusiastically. Worst day o’ my bloody life.

“Someone’s gonna get a nice, big reward for this,” Harmony purred, sidling up against him and wrapping one arm around his neck.

“Not now, Harm,” Spike growled, pushing her away. “Not in the mood. M’ bloody bones hurt,” he excused, moving over to the fridge to get a pint of blood.

Harmony frowned. “The Slayer beat you up again, huh?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

“We really need to find a way to kill her. With your brains and my good looks and sparkling personality, we should be able to do something to get rid of her!” she insisted.

“Yeah … maybe you could Mary Kay ‘er t’ death,” Spike suggested tersely.

Harmony frowned, her brow furrowed in thought. “She really could use a better skin care routine. Did you see her the other night? Her T-zone was way oily … and her cheeks were like sandpaper.  She has no idea how to moisturize.”

“I’m sure that’s ‘er number one worry,” Spike replied sarcastically as he poured some blood into a mug.

“Well, it should be!” Harmony insisted. “I mean, you’d think she’d want to look good now, while she’s alive! Who wants people saying, ‘Oh, she looks so good! Death really agrees with her,’ when you’re, like … totally dead and pasty in your casket!”

“Yeah, that’d be a bloody pisser alright.”

**~**

A Few Days Later (Blood Ties):

Dawn climbed down from her second-story window, forcing herself to go slowly and quietly, despite her anger and agitation with all the so-called adults inside the house. She wasn’t a baby. She could tell something was up with them; everyone was acting hinky around her. Fine – if they wouldn’t tell her what was up, she’d just find out on her own.  She dropped down off the trellis and turned around only to find Spike standing there. She let out a small chirp of surprise, then turned her fright into indignation.

“Geez! Lurk much?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.
 

“I wasn't lurking. I was standing about. It's a whole different vibe.”

“What is that?” she asked, eyeing a box he had tucked under his arm suspiciously. “Are you giving Buffy a birthday present? Oh my God. Weird. And chocolates? Lame. You know she'd never touch anything from you.”

“Says you!” Spike scoffed. “Buffy and I have … come to a bit of an understandin’ of late. She bought me drinks and dinner at the Bronze a few weeks back, offered t’ shove a stake up m’ arse just the other day … sent me flowers, too.”

Dawn laughed. “The stake, I believe, but you’re delusional about the flowers – unless they were those joke flowers that spray water and she filled them with holy water. Is that what they were?”

“Noooo,” Spike growled.

“Were you even invited to the party?” Dawn questioned, cocking a brow at him.

“Don’ need an invite after the first time,” Spike retorted sharply, either missing or ignoring her point. “Shouldn't you be tucked away in your beddy-bye? All warm and safe where nothing can eat you?” he asked menacingly.

Dawn giggled. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

Spike sighed dejectedly. “Little tremble wouldn't hurt.”

“Sorry, it's just ... come on. I'm badder than you.”

“Are not!” Spike retorted, insulted.

“Am too. You're standing in the bushes hugging a box of chocolates, and I'm…“

“What?” Spike prodded. “Sneaking out to braid hair and watch Teletubbies with your mates?”

“No. I'm breaking into the magic shop ... to steal things,” she boasted.

**~**

The Next Morning:

Spike sat on the sarcophagus in the center of his crypt painting his nails when the door burst open and Buffy stormed in.

“Morning, sunshine. If you've come around for eggs or sausage, I'm fresh out.”

Buffy grabbed the stone lid of the crypt beneath him and, with one furious yank, pulled it out from under him. Spike tumbled backwards into the tomb, landing atop the dearly deceased.

“Hey, careful! These are wet!” he objected, standing back up to face her and waving his nails in the air.

“How could you let her find out like that? From books and papers? Do you hate me that much?” Buffy demanded, her voice trembling with anger and hurt.

“OI! I was just along for the ride. Not like I knew the Niblett was the mystical glowy Key thingy. Didn’t get the soddin’ memo, did I?! Nobody keeps me in the bloody loop, do they?” Spike retorted, his own ire rising.

“You could have stopped her,” Buffy contended.

“News flash, blondie...” Spike growled, heaving the lid of the crypt up and away. “If kid sis wants to grab a midnight stroll, she'll find a way sooner or later. I just thought she'd be safer with Big Bad looking over her shoulder. If I had known there was a big secret lurkin’ about, I would’ve handled it differently, wouldn’t I?”

Buffy glared at him in silence for several moments, her arms folded over her chest. “She shouldn't have found out like that,” she choked out, trying to keep her emotions contained.

“Ya got no argument from me, ‘ave you? But you didn't think you could keep the truth from her forever, did you?

“You need t’ make up your mind, Slayer. Am I on the team or not? Ya come t’ me when you want somethin’ … when you need a special talent only ole Spike has.” Spike raised his voice in a girly-falsetto, mimicking Buffy, “Oh, Spike – tell me how you killed the Slayers. Oh, Spike, can you track this demon for me? Oh, Spike do you speak Fyarl? Oh Spike, can you watch over my mum and the platelet? You’re the only one strong enough to protect them.”

Returning to his normal, agitated baritone, he continued, “But the rest o’ the time, ya just leave me ‘ere alone in the bloody dark.”

Spike stepped out of the tomb and stalked over to where she still stood, arms folded over her chest in angry indignation. “You come t’ me and ask me t’ tell you the secret t’ stayin’ alive – I do. Ya ask me t’ help you get rid o’ the darkness inside you – I got no way t’ do that Buffy, but I can show ya how to live with it … but you never …” Spike’s voice trailed off and he ran a hand through his hair. “I won’t force my help on ya, Slayer – but ya gotta know that I know where you live.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows where I live, Spike – I’m in the phone book.”

Spike shook his head and stepped up even closer to her until she was within arm’s length. “Not what I’m talkin’ about, Luke.”

Buffy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Just like that night in the alley, the air had suddenly gotten heavy and thick with tension. It made it hard to breathe and her heart began thrumming faster in her chest. She felt an inexorable pull towards him; was it her demon seeking out company of its own kind, or was it something else?

Everything in her life was going to shit and she felt powerless to stop it. She felt like the Dutch boy trying to plug the hole in the dike with his finger … only there seemed to be more holes than Buffy had fingers. She needed help. She hated feeling like she needed help.

“Buffy,” Spike began, his voice low and calm. “Let me in. Let me help you,” he offered, as if reading her mind.

Buffy opened her eyes. His face was only a few inches away and her eyes met his across the short distance. “I don’t know what you expect from me,” she admitted quietly, shifting uncomfortably under his unwavering gaze.

Spike took another step forward and leaned in until his mouth was near her ear. When he spoke his voice was a low, rumbling whisper that sent a shiver down Buffy’s spine. “Don’t expect nothing from you, pet. Just let me in. I can help you tap that power … keep it fightin’ for ya,” he promised.

Buffy closed her eyes again and tried to get her racing heart to calm. All the dreams she’d been having of death and fighting mixed with ecstasy flooded her mind and body in that moment. Her skin tingled and her body pulsed with desire. She could again feel that physical pull between them, as if something inside her was reaching out and trying to touch something inside Spike. Was that her demon trying to touch his? Is that what this feeling was? 

“Don’t tell me you don’t want it, Slayer,” Spike continued in a low, growling rumble that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him. “I can feel it … can’t you? Your body knows, even if your mind won’t admit it. Ya trust your instincts with everythin’ else, why not this?”

Buffy steeled herself. This was crazy … absolutely insane. She’d come over here to tell him what an ass he was to have helped Dawn, and now she was standing here trembling with desire just from the sound of his voice. She finally opened her eyes and took a small step back so she could see his face. “I’m not sleeping with you, Spike,” Buffy asserted, meeting his eyes.

Spike cocked a brow at her and ran a finger gently down her arm. Against her will, an army of chill bumps rose up and raced down her skin, following the path of his finger. “Never said anything ‘bout sleeping, Slayer,” he agreed in a velvety, sensuous tone.

Another shiver ran down her spine and settled as a pulsing tingle below her navel. “Not … doing anything else, either,” she asserted weakly, knocking his hand away and rubbing the goose-flesh off her arms with her hands.

“I’m not some kind of … wild animal,” Buffy offered, looking past him, unable to meet his eyes as she said it. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or him.

“No,” Spike agreed, still standing directly in front of her, close enough to touch. “You’re a caged animal,” he continued in a silky baritone that seemed to penetrate her resolve and thrust doubt into her heart. “I can show you how to let it run free. You can drop the reins; let the dark beast run wild with me like you never could with anyone else,” Spike continued, lifting his hand to her arm again.

Sparks seemed to jump from his fingertips when he touched her skin. Sparks that ignited a flaming, dark desire in her that she’d only felt before in dreams. Buffy’s chest heaved with labored breath and she felt something inside her straining, as if pulling against chains that held it in check. Men chained her to the Earth.

She didn’t move, didn’t speak and, except for his fingers, which still caressed her upper arm like a warm, ghostly flame, neither did Spike. She could feel the darkness within her taking strength from Spike’s words and touch. What would happen if it broke free? Would she ever be able to control it? Would she become like him? Would she be a monster?

“Please … stop,” Buffy gasped out between labored breaths brought on by fear and passion and a deep, internal battle of wills.

Spike bit his bottom lip and nodded. He pulled his hand away and took a step back from her. Buffy immediately felt an empty chill wash over her, as if a part of her had been taken away with him. A shiver wracked her whole body and she fought to keep her teeth from chattering together. She longed to pull him back; something deep inside her screamed in fury and frustration. She couldn’t look at him; if she did, she would surely lose. She looked at the floor, instead.

“You’re putting me in a thrall,” she accused, her voice a raspy whisper. With great difficulty, she backed up another step.

Spike shook his head. “No,” he said simply.

She finally lifted her eyes to his. “Then what is it?” she asked, her voice still low and gravely.

“We’re …” Spike actually started to say they were soul mates, but stopped himself – how ridiculous was that? Soulless vampire, remember? “We’re cut from the same cloth, Slayer.”

“I’ve never seen a piece of calico try to reattach itself back onto the bolt of fabric it was cut from,” she contended.

Spike cocked his scarred brow and gave her a saucy smile. “Did you have the desire t’ attach yourself t’ me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Buffy scoffed, her face tingeing pink as she realized her mistake. “I just meant … that … never mind,” she stammered, backing up another step from him and waving a hand dismissively.

“So, you want to be in the loop … be a Scoobie?” Buffy asked, jumping back several subjects to safer ground.

Spike blinked, trying to follow that sharp turn. After a moment he realized what she was talking about. “PFFFT!” he scoffed. “A Scoobie? Not on your bloody life! Just need t’ be kept in the bloody loop, is all. Can’t very well help if I don’t know what’s going on, can I?

“I can help fight that Glory bird and whatever other beasties ya got hangin’ about. Got nothing better to do, anyway. Lurking don’t take all my time,” he offered, hooking his thumbs over his belt buckle and splaying his fingers out below it. “But I got t’ know the bloody score, don’t I?”

“So … you want to help. And how much would this help cost me?” Buffy asked suspiciously, trying to keep her eyes from settling on his hands and fingers and ... other things that resided below his belt.

Spike shrugged. “Wouldn’t say no to a carton o’ cigarettes ... a case or two o’ whiskey,” Spike suggested.

“That stuff’ll kill you,” Buffy stated disapprovingly.

Spike furrowed his brow and tilted his head as he studied her features a moment. “Is that another joke, Slayer? Bloody hell, better be careful, they’ll be takin’ your United Federation of Bitches card away from ya’ if you keep that up.”

Buffy sighed and turned to go. “I’m the President – they can’t kick me out that easily,” she called back over her shoulder as she headed out of the crypt.

**~**

A few days later… (Crush)

“Bleedin' crime, is what it is. Jackin' up the bar price to pay for fixin' up this sinkhole. Not my fault insurance doesn't cover act of troll,” Spike complained, sitting down in the seat next to Buffy. Buffy turned her eyes away from the dance floor where Anya, Xander, Willow, and Tara were dancing and scanned the damaged area behind Spike where Olaf the Troll had taken down the whole second story balcony at the Bronze a few days ago.

“I guess there are no special riders you can buy to cover living on a Hellmouth,” Buffy agreed, meeting Spike’s gaze. “Meant to thank you for your help with Olaf … and finding Dawn and … that fight with Glory at the hospital,” she continued. “Of course, you mostly just slept through the fight with Glory. It really would be more help to me if you didn’t get knocked out in the first five seconds of a fight.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “I’ll try t’ keep that in mind in the future.

“So, how’d the pow-wow with the Council of Wankers go, then?” Spike wondered.

“I … passed their test,” Buffy hedged. In fact, she’d realized that they needed her more than she needed them, and she’d made that painfully clear to them. “They reinstated Giles, gave us their research on Glory, and left.”

“Reckon I helped with that too, then,” Spike fished. “Poured on the charm and whatnot for that Watcher-bird that came t’ talk to me. Talked you up good and proper, I did.”

“Yeah, I should send you a box of chocolates or something, but I don’t know what kind your little skank-ho’ likes,” Buffy replied coldly, looking away from him as if distracted.

Spike furrowed his brow. “What are you on about, Slayer?”

“Oh, look! There’s Ben … from the hospital. I have to go,” she offered frostily, standing up and walking away from Spike without another word.

Spike scowled as he watched her walk over to a nice looking brunette who was sitting on a couch not far away. Spike rolled his eyes as she gave Ben her most dazzling, Colgate smile and sat down next to him. Something inside Spike lurched and his demon nearly rose right there in the middle of the Bronze. He had to use every ounce of restraint he had to keep that from happening. As he watched Buffy talking to Ben, he felt a hatred in the pit of his stomach the likes of which he’d rarely felt before. The loathing was akin to what he’d felt towards Angelus when he’d discovered him … with Dru the first time all those many years ago. He tried to look away from the pair, but it was like trying to tell a cat to stop looking at a mouse. Spike wanted to kill Ben – more than that, he felt an overwhelming need to.

“Hey! Evil Dead! You’re in my seat!” Xander informed Spike, hitting him on one shoulder and finally pulling the vamp out of his predatory trance.

“Sod off, Harris. Ain’t got your bloody name on it,” he retorted, still looking at Buffy and Ben. “Waitin’ on the Slayer – need t’ talk to ‘er.”

Xander followed Spike’s gaze and snorted a laugh. “You’ll be waiting a while from the looks of it. Why don’t you just shove off, I’ll give her your regrets,” Xander offered sarcastically.

Spike couldn’t actually argue with the git. Buffy and Ben were laughing and talking animatedly; it looked like they would be there a while. Spike couldn’t explain the deep-seated hatred that had sprung up within him like a bolt of lightning from the blue. Was it simple jealousy? He thought he and Buffy were getting on pretty well … until now. He’d helped her and her cronies with a few nasties the last few days. He helped with Olaf the Troll, helped her track Dawn down when the girl had run off one night, even helped fight that Glory chit – admittedly he hadn’t been much help with that last one, but he had tried.

Spike scowled again and stood up abruptly, nearly knocking his beer over as he did so. He grabbed it at the last second and stalked away from the group of Buffy’s friends that had returned from the dance floor.  With one last look back at Buffy, who was still fully engrossed with the brunette doctor, he headed out of the club in a foul mood.

**~**

“Harmony!” Spike bellowed as he entered his crypt a little while later. “Where the bloody hell are you, you barmy…”

“Spikey!” Harmony greeted him brightly as she came out of the trapdoor from below. “I thought you’d never get home!”

“You been talkin’ to the bloody Slayer?” Spike demanded. “I told you t’ leave ‘er to me!”

Harmony stopped and looked at him a moment, then lifted her chin defiantly. “I can talk to whoever I want. You aren’t the boss of me, Mr. Hitler!” she asserted, folding her arms over her chest.

Spike strode forward and grabbed her upper arms and shook her angrily. “What the bloody hell did you say t’ ‘er!?”

“Stop it! You’re hurting me!” Harmony whined as she tried to pull away from him. “Stop! Alright! I’ll tell you if you stop!”

Spike stopped shaking her, but didn’t release the hold he had on her arms. “Talk,” he demanded in a low growl.

“Well, I was minding my own business, you know, just getting a Mexican to eat … ‘cos, you know, I was craving something a little spicy,” Harmony began. “I’d been on a French kick, but I put on a couple of pounds – all those rich sauces, I guess, so I decided to...”

“Harm,” Spike snarled. “Find a point in this bloody century. What did ya say to the Slayer?”

“Oh. Right.” Harmony rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “So, I was just minding my own business behind the Taco Emporium the other night, having a little snack, when who shows up but the damn Slayer! She is so rude. I mean, you’d think her mom would’ve taught her some manners by now. You don’t come to a picnic without bringing a covered dish.”

“Harmony. You have ten seconds t’ tell me what you said t’ the bloody Slayer, or you’ll be fittin’ in a soddin’ covered dish,” Spike warned.

Harmony huffed out an exasperated breath. “I’m getting to that!” she defended petulantly. “So … I had to drop my meal and I turned to face her, to fight, ya know. But, then I remembered you said that you’d take care of it, so I was just gonna leave, but she saw the flower I had pinned to my sweater. That black calla lily really looked awesome with my red sweater … you can’t go wrong with black and red really.”

“Haaarm…”

“Right – so, she goes, ‘Where’d you get that flower?’ and I was like, ‘My boyfriend gave it to me for our anniversary,’ and she was like, ‘Spike gave it to you?’ and I was like, ‘That’s right, ho’ – he gave me a whole bouquet of them,’ and she was like …”

“You barmy bitch,” Spike growled at her. “Can’t do one little thing I say, can ya? Leave the bloody Slayer t’ me … but nooo, ya gotta go talkin’ to ‘er! Get the bloody hell outta my crypt!”

“What?” Harmony exclaimed in shock. “Just because I talked to the Slayer?”

“No, because you’re a bloody moron who I can’t stand t’ look at one more minute! Get out and don’t come back!” Spike screamed at her, shoving her towards the door.

“But … Spike,” Harmony begged.

“OUT!” Spike bellowed, taking a long, menacing stride towards her and bringing up his demon.

“Fine! I don’t need you anyway! You’re … mean and … and a freak! I’m gonna tell everybody you’re a Slayer-loving freak!” Harmony shot back. “I saw that shrine to her you have downstairs! You’re sick and twisted and …"

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Spike roared at her.

“I wouldn’t stay now if you begged me! You can kiss this ass goodbye!” she screamed back at him as she turned and stormed out of the crypt.

“Good riddance!” Spike called after her, slamming the door behind her furiously.

Spike grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the counter and sank down into his armchair. Just when he thought he’d had some kind of rapport going with the Slayer, Harmony had to go and bollix it up.  He pulled the small card from the flowers Buffy had sent him out of his pocket. He’d been carrying it for days, but he could still get the scent of her from it. He inhaled deeply and ran his fingers over the letters longingly. He’d just have to start over … try again.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Slayer?” he asked his empty crypt in frustration and jealousy. Hadn’t he shown Buffy that the demon inside her could never be satisfied by a mortal man? Why would she be fawning over that git Ben when she had t’ know it’d never work? Why couldn’t she see how perfect he, Spike, would be for her – how perfect they’d be for each other? He knew she could feel it, just like he could. What the bloody hell did he have to do to convince her that he was what she needed at her side?

Spike leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. His heart ached to tell her how he felt, how much he loved her. He knew he couldn’t though – not yet. That voice that had rung in his head a few weeks ago, his own voice, was still just as clear as it had been that night in the alley: she had to want it; she had to come to him; she had to invite him in. He snorted derisively as he wondered if that would ever happen. Why was he torturing himself like this? He should move on – put ‘er and her little band of misfits outta his mind. There were plenty o’ fish in the bloody sea – why did he have t’ pick the most crazed, insane bitches he could find t’ fall in love with?

Spike took another deep swallow from the bottle of whiskey when he heard the door to his crypt open behind him.

“Harm … I mean it. I’m in no bloody mood you barmy…” he began angrily as he stood up and spun around. Spike stopped in mid-sentence. He stood gape-mouthed, staring at the person in the doorway. The bottle of whiskey slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor at his feet, bringing him out of his reverie. “Drusilla!”

Dru smiled sweetly and seemed to float like a graceful apparition into his crypt. “Look who's come to make everything right again, pretty Spike.”

“Dru! What … are you doing ‘ere?” he stammered in shock. “You gotta leave – the Slayer’ll dust ya if she catches you round these parts,” he warned.

Dru clicked her tongue disdainfully. “I’ve come to help you finish what you promised me, my sweet, evil Spike. Don’t you remember? Promised to kill the Slayer for your princess, you did … chop her into messes. I’ve come back to make everything right, like lollipops at the circus … then we can be a family again.”

Spike swallowed hard. “Dru … I can’t,” he began to explain about the chip when he was interrupted by a small moan coming from behind Dru. “What the bloody hell?” he asked, stepping to the side to see.

Dru smiled sweetly and yanked a girl up by the hair from where she lay, barely conscious, on the floor behind the dark vamp. “Found 'er just outside, I did. Lovely green light, like Leprechauns' gold. She’s the key to our destiny, my William,” Drusilla purred, running a long, red nail across the girl’s throat. “Miss Edith whispered it to me.”

Spike’s eyes grew wide and he froze, as if rooted in place. “Dawn!”

**~**