A/N: I don't own Buffy or Spike or any other characters of the universe, but I do own Eris.

There was an emptiness in me that grew each time he came to me. He never said a word; he never needed to. As soon as I sensed his presence in my room, I would yield to him. It was never at his place, always mine; he probably felt it would break the illusion if he brought me into his home. He never undressed me or himself, and he preferred the room pitch black, anything to preserve the fantasy. He left immediately after, not even bothering to wait until closer to morning. I was a means to an end, a method of release.

He didn't bother with foreplay, didn't kiss me, hardly touched me at all and no more than was necessary; often he entered me dry, pushing despite the protests of my unprepared, unyielding body. I never achieved orgasm with him. In the beginning, that didn't bother me. It was enough that he was there with me, and until the emptiness came I was satisfied with that.

I used to touch him, as much as he allowed; hands on his chest, his arms, his back, but never his face. As his visits became more frequent and his actions more violent, I stopped touching. I lay on my back against the mattress, motionless except when he moved me. Whereas I used to watch his face through the dark as he thrust atop me, I now focused on a single spot on the ceiling. He stilled, finished, and rolled off of me. This time was the most painful for me, not just emotionally. I stood from the bed, drawing his surprised gaze, and left him for the first time.

I made my way to the bathroom down the hall, fluid dripping down my thigh. Blood, my blood, mingled with his essence and my insides stung. Something tore this time. I made the shower water scorching and waited until the steam began to rise before stepping beneath the stream.

I almost didn't notice him in the doorway of the bathroom, lingering in the hallway. His eyes watched the blood; I waited a while before washing it away, my fingers exploring the extent of the damage. I flinched in pain, allowing my face to form expressions I kept hidden in his presence.

He left without another word, and I didn't see him for three days after. When he came back again, I could feel that something big was happening. It was the eve of the battle; I could feel the buzz of the darkness. Everyone else had left Sunnydale, the power was out, and I had spent the last three days curled in my bed waiting to die. The bed dipped when he sat on its edge. I didn't roll over to look at him. I simply waited.

A year of this. A year. In the beginning I allowed myself to hope, I actually thought someday he might–but no. He didn't. He never would. I could see that clearly now.

He had gone off and gotten a soul. Gotten a soul for her. It didn't bother me at first, not when I was living in la-la land, but now I could see how stupid and naive I was. Why would he want me anyway when he's had her? I wouldn't want me either. Why have human when you could have Slayer? Who wanted the reject Potential who wasn't activated, not even by the powerful magic of the Slayer's witch best friend?

I was the only one not activated. Why? Why me? What was wrong with me?

He leaned close to me over the bed; I had the sheets pulled up to my neck, and he put his hand on my arm over the fabric. "Get up, pet."

Pet. First time he'd ever addressed me as pet. He never gave me a nickname. That was for people he cared about; for the Slayer and the Key and the witch and–not me. My body stiffened, but not just because of 'pet'. I could smell her on him. Not in the way he could smell, but I'd been in the Slayer's house–that fucking perfume only belonged to one person. So that's where he'd been. He didn't need me anymore, not when she was paying attention to him.

"Get out." The words left before I could stop them. I was furious at him, I hated him–except I didn't. I knew I didn't, and that just pissed me off more.

"You're gonna want to get out of here," he said. "Big battle at the Hellmouth, potential apocalypse, death and destruction the whole bit. Best if you were good and gone before that."

"Get out, Spike."

I stood from the bed, throwing a shirt over my head. I leaned against the windowsill, finally facing him, with my arms across my chest. Adding that little extra bit of distance eased some of the pain in my chest. He was scowling.

"You even listening, pet? You hear me?"

"Loud and clear." I met his eyes evenly. That blue still made my knees shake, but with the sill and my anger bracing me upright, I was more stable than ever. "Really very noble of you, warning the reject. Absolves you of your sins if you save my life, right?"

"Look," he said, getting frustrated. "I don't wanna see you–"

"See me die? Awe, that's so sweet, Spike." I let my hands grasp the sill when they started to shake. "Don't you have something better to do?"

"Bloody hell, pet, if I knew you were gonna be this difficult–"

"Stop," I whispered.

"What?"

"Stop calling me that." I push off from the sill, start pacing. "You've never done it before, don't start now."

"What the fuck does that matter? I'm only tryin'a keep you from getting killed." He stood up, his leather duster sweeping around his legs. God, the smell of her perfume was going to make me sick. She always smelled like it, even when she was covered in dirt or blood or ash. It always clung to her skin as if it were leaking out of her pores, and now it clung to him the same way. Maybe I was just hypersensitive.

"I know I'm not strong enough, don't have to rub it in." He didn't say anything, and my voice cracked when I said, "You've been with her, haven't you?"

At least he had the decency to look apologetic. "Listen, pet–"

"Don't have to explain," I said. I shrugged, trying to play it off, but my entire body was trembling now. "Who needs the replacement when you have the real thing?"

"You're not–"

"Not the replacement?" I started laughing. "Don't insult my intelligence, Spike, by pretending you care, or that you ever cared." I stopped and looked at him, tilting my head like he usually did. "Why are you still here? You have a battle to get to. A pretty exciting one, it sounds like."

"Please." He was on his feet, towering over me. I was a small girl, and back when I first met him this stance had been intimidating. Vampire saying please, that's a first too. "Eris."

I felt the blood drain from my face, my jaw slacking. He finally said my name. I'd always been 'you'. Now in one night, I had gone from 'you' to 'pet' to my name.

"Get out of Sunnydale," he said, his voice so quiet I almost didn't catch it. "Be safe."

I was almost prepared to listen to him, until my eyes caught the shining amulet that hung around his neck, and I choked on my next breath. I hiccupped once, and then I was laughing again. I knew what the amulet was, what it meant.

"Oh that's rich," I said. "You almost had me believing–but no, you don't really. The Slayer's gone and made you her Champion, and that's why you're trying to be noble." I stepped back from him, eyes trailing over his face, the curve of his neck, the body I knew was hidden beneath that duster. I felt the all-too-familiar feeling well up in my heart; it stung like a freshly opened wound, and I stomped it back down. "Get out," I said again.

"Eris–"

My eyes blurred with tears and suddenly I was screaming. "Get out. Get out!"

He left me, and even though it was what I'd asked–demanded, really–it still crushed me. He always left first. Why the fuck did he always get to leave first?

A/N: Will be more than this if people like it. I have a plan for more.