Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Title borrowed from Lewis Carroll.

Written in response to an April Fool's day challenge on Elysian Fields that ended up focusing more on the "craziest premise" part of the challenge than the holiday.

Expect a lot of role reversal. Expect mind-bendy AU characters. A bit dark in the middle, but no more so than the show. Expect the mixing of sex and a Slayer's deathwish. (ENJOY XD).

Spike drops his bag onto the library table and spins the chair around for a backward straddle. He sucks at his teeth obnoxiously. "Got something for me, Watcher Botcher?"

Behind the checkout desk, dressed in her usual conservative blouse and skirt combo incongruous with hooker heels, Darla closes her Vampyre book. "And just where were you last night? Why didn't you report?"

Spike shrugs. "Got busy. And not in the fun, horizontal way." Shame that. On the bright side, steam should be coming out of his Watcher's ears any minute and that'd be something Spike would hate to miss.

"Doing what, exactly?" Darla has a way of making even small and unassuming words bite like daggers.

"Doin' who, more like," Spike mutters, previous night's patrol still fresh in his mind. "Ran into more of those Scoobies, dusted some of their minions. Sounds like they're wanting to hold some festival here in good ol' Sunnyhell."

"Why the hell would they do that?"

"Probably in celebration of that Ripper bloke dusting. Never let it be said that vamps don't know how to love and honor their family."

Darla taps her chin. "Ripper was the master of their clan for nearly half a millenia. Removing him from the seat of his throne last spring would certainly mean a shake up in the ranks."

"Buggers could just send me some cash prize instead of coming here to party and messin' up the lawns." Spike inspects his black paint-chip nails. "I accept cash as thanks any day."

Darla comes around to lean against the counter with crossed arms. "Tell me, William. What happened last night?"

"Oi! How many times-"

"Would it kill you to give me a straight answer for once!" Darla snaps. "I'm trying to keep your ass in one piece, Pratt. Heaven knows why I bother. Maybe you want to dive bomb into the earliest death possible. Well honey, there are plenty of deaths out there waiting for you."

Double doors swing open and in walks Clem and Dru. "Whoops, uh, we're not interrupting are we?" Clem's round face is a welcome sight.

Darla's lip curls when she sees Spike's two friends. "Actually? You are. It's a miracle you two survived last year. I won't have your blood on my hands. Find somewhere else to be."

"They're in it for the long haul, Darla Rue," Spike drawls. A vein visibly throbs in Darla's temple. "Give it up." He pops to his feet. "We've got that school thing to do tonight, don't we?"

Darla huffs. "What kind of brainless idiot do you take me for? You don't do extracurriculars, Pratt. Don't try to pull this with me now."

Dru touches a hand to the cross she's always worn around her neck, for as long as Spike has known her. "Tonight's parent-teacher night, Ms. Aureli. Snyder's asked us to volunteer."

Darla pauses. "Little toad," she finally says, tone gratifyingly scathing. "You have patrol. Bow out."

Spike raises an eyebrow. "What makes you think I can sodding bow out?"

Darla sniffs. "This is ridiculous. Attending school is ridiculous. You should be privately educated during the day then slay at night."

Spike shrugs. "Tell those Council wankers to pay me and I'll drop out."

Spike shoves the latest notice from school into the trash where hopefully his poor mum won't find it, and runs up the stairs. Halfway to his room, Spike stops, cocks his head, then cuts across the hall to the smallest bedroom.

He quietly slips through the door and creeps up behind the fuzzy chair where his lil sis is sprawled. Loud music blares:

"It's the way you love me

It's a feeling like this

It's a centrifugal motion

It's perpetual bliss

It's that pivotal moment

It's, ah, unthinkable-"

Spike picks up the chair and dumps it upside down over the little girly bed. Dawn shrieks, limbs flailing. "Spi-iiike!" Her cheeks go red as she untangles herself from the sheets. "I hate you! Get out of my room, you freak." She bounces off the bed and pushes against Spike's belly with all her might. Spike pats her on the head, not budging an inch.

"What's that Pidge? I can't hear you over this god-awful racket."

Dawn screams through clenched teeth.

Downstairs, the door closes. Dawn stomps over and turns her music down. Spike smirks and beats it out of there. On cue, darling little sis wails, "Mom!"

Preteen drama. Nice distraction. Spike loves takin' the piss out of Dawn. She's such an easy mark. They may only be half-siblings, but they've actually always been close. Spike can pull this kind of shit with Dawn one day, and be her bleeding hero the very next. 'Specially since she found out about the slaying and all. They taunt and tease, but Spike can still remember the look in Dawn's eyes the first time she walked in on him patching up his injuries after a particularly vicious fight. First thing the next day, she told him: "Morning lamebrain. Love you."

Nice words to hear after a long night of patrolling. And from someone in his actual life who actually cares about him. No matter how much he ticks her off the day before, Dawn repeats it every single morning.

Dawn might just be a lil nipper but even she's cleaved onto the notion that someday there'll be a morning Spike won't be around to give those words back to her anymore.

The day he finally bites the big one.

For some reason, Spike suddenly remembers the sexy blonde in a long leather coat from the Bronze the night before. His would-be assassin.

"Saturday, I kill you."

Buffy. Slayer of Slayers. And Spike, her newest target. Her intended third mark. Ripper last year, that'd been a close call. And there've been plenty of vamps and beasties that have given Spike a run for his money in the past. But there's just something different about this one.

A thrill shoots through him. Spike loves a good fight. Best thing about the whole chosen one gig, really. He's got a feeling this Buffy will be a real challenge. Of course, Saturday is still days away. Spike has time.

Spike changes clothes, switching to ripped black jeans and a faded Ramones shirt. Combat boots complete the look. Can't show up to greet the sodding public looking less than his best after all. A smug smirk stretches his lips. He hopes Snyder sees and regrets this with every ounce of his petty little heart, ordering Spike to volunteer for-

"William." Spike's head snaps over to his open doorway. Anne folds her hands in front her, loosely. Spike unconsciously straightens, even as he stuffs a spare switchblade into his back pocket.

"Yes?"

Anne gazes at him with clear blue eyes. "Don't tease your sister."

"She started it," Spike mutters. "Lettin' that Faith Hill bird warble all over the house."

"Dawn is having a bad day. She found out her friend is moving to Texas next month."

Anne doesn't specify which friend, and she doesn't have to. Dawn's only made the one since the Pratts packed up and moved in a shameful hurry away from LA and ashes of Spike's high school gymnasium. From a crime that Spike took the fall for.

Well, technically, he did set the fire. For a good cause though. Too bad he'd used his own cigs and lighter to do so, allowing the investigators to trace the arson straight back to him.

"So, William, I'd expect a little kindness would go a long way. Dawn looks up to you so much. It wouldn't surprise me," Anne moves closer, brushing a hand over the mess of Spike's belongings on the dresser. "If she would be greatly cheered by a friendly chat with her big brother."

Spike shoulders his bag, not meeting his mother's eyes. "Pff, maybe. These days, she doesn't want a thing to do with me. Anyway, I've got places to be tonight."

Anne plucks up one of the several parent-teacher night reminders Spike had half-ass hidden. "As do I."

Eyes wide, Spike gulps. "I was gonna tell you all about that."

Anne tsks. "Where did I go wrong? You hide this from me, but you feel comfortable sharing all the details of your higher calling." Anne's eyes sparkle, and Spike realizes she's amused. "Priorities, William."

Shamefaced, Spike grumbles, "My priorities are straight. Let you know about the dangerous one, didn't I? This is nothing, just hoops to jump through."

"Well," Anne says, cool and calm as ever. "Then I suppose I better be there to cheer you on."

On the way out the door, Spike drops a sloppy kiss to the top of Dawn's head. She swipes at her hair in irritation, but sneaks pleased little looks at him from under her arms.

"Hello handsome!" Buffy licks her lips as she sashays closer. "Aren't you looking yummy this evening." She tips her face up to the darkened school ceiling, as if deep in thought. "Almost good enough to eat."

"Oh god. Get to the actual killing. I can't take much more of this," Spike says with a dramatic sigh. Pretty, for a vamp, and scary too. But holy hell, where were these lame puns coming from?

"Gladly," Buffy sing songs. She's on him in an instant.

Spike isn't ready for her speed. Instinct is what saves his life in the next heart-pounding seconds. The two combatants are a blur of motion across the empty cafeteria. At one point, Spike slams Buffy against a lunch table and gets his hand around a stake, but she scissor kicks him off and lands back on her feet like a cat. A feral grin slashes across her features. For some reason, this girl hasn't vamped yet. It'd be a lie to say it isn't messing with Spike's head a bit.

He attacks. She parries. Spike sweeps her down with a low kick, but Buffy springs up off the floor and pins him to the floor a second later. Her knees trap his hips and her green eyes burn into his in triumph.

Maybe it's the fact she never vamped. Maybe it's how close to death he is this time. Maybe it's how Spike first wanted to take this girl home before he realized she was a vamp.

He's turned on. And sitting astride him the way she is, Ms. Slayer of Slayers notices. Her hands relax in brief surprise before tightening against his collar again. Buffy's deadly expression has turned coy and amused. It transforms her face.

"Somebody's enjoying themselves." Without breaking eye contact, Buffy slowly wiggles her hips side to side.

Friction is the last thing Spike needs in his predicament. "Don't usually fight this way, love." Spike tries for conversational, willing his body back under control.

"Me neither. At least not with the other Slayers." Buffy leans in, offering a truly fantastic view down her top. "Although, I've got to say I've always wondered what would be more...satisfying. Killing a Slayer, or fucking one."

"Uh...maybe we should start over," Spike says, starting to feel flustered. His groin is flush with hers and even though her pin is tight, there's enough wiggle room for some grinding. Which is, unbelievably, what's happening.

"Maybe I can do both," Buffy's eyes flash amber. "Do you, then do you."

"I vote no."

Buffy laughs. "I know, greedy me. I guess I already know how the one part goes." She slides a hand down his chest. "Maybe I'd like to know the other. What do you say, huh? No strings attached. We do this for purely," Buffy tosses her hair. "Educational purposes."

Spike groans at yet another terrible pun and also the sensation of her moving against him.

"Well?" she asks, after a couple minutes pass.

"I'm thinking it over, alright?"

"Think faster." Buffy slides against him, and even through his jeans and her leather pants? Pretty damn good.

"There's a downside to this," Spike reasons out loud to himself, not able to see of one.

"Hellfire and damnation, probably," Buffy agrees. "We could keep this between us. I don't want to ruin my rep, you know."

"We do this, and you'll leave town right after?"

Buffy stares at him then throws back her head and laughs. "Romantic, you are not."

"Not for you."

Buffy kneads his arms, half restraining, half titillating. "I can't believe you're actually considering this."

"Join the club."

Buffy looks down at him with hunger in her eyes. Which, you know, vampire. Probably not good. "I knew there was something about you from the first moment I saw you. I wanted...I wanted…" She lets go of one arm to stroke his cheek then up to grasp his bleached hair. "Look at you. Sex on a stick. I didn't know they made Slayers like you."

"They don't," Spike pants, exhilaratingly aware of how his throat is exposed to Buffy. "I'm just a bloke who drew the losing ticket. But becoming the Slayer didn't give me a lobotomy, no matter what the bloody Council might wish."

"Hmmm. Bloody Council, huh? You're not from around here, are you Billy?"

Spike pouts. The battle with his assassin is at a standstill, they're humping like bunnies on the cafeteria floor, and this bitch calls him Billy.

"The name's Spike."

"Ooooh." Buffy scoots back on his thighs, hand trailing after. Down his stomach and lower. Spike gasps. "Fitting," Buffy strokes with a firm hand.

In the back of his mind, Spike remembers that his high school is on lockdown and that someone could walk in at any time. "I killed your minions," he says, heart pounding. Buffy stops.

"You did."

"All of them?"

Her teeth glitter in the half-light. "All gone, Spike. You were pretty darn thorough."

Spike sits up in a flash. Buffy's fangs descend for the first time. They freeze, faces a hairsbreadth apart.

Spike licks his lips. "Let's get out of here."

Buffy dashes ahead and Spike gives chase. They run behind the school, through the practice football field and into the woods. Buffy jerks to a full stop just beyond tree cover. Spike slows until he's right in front of her.

Wet grass is stuck to his boots. It offers a sort of familiar sight and smell that breaks Spike out of his temporary insanity. His mother is back in that school, safely locked in the library with his Watcher and friends. Dawn is home alone. God knows how many vamps are crawling all over town tonight. And what is he doing? About to get down and dirty with a vamp who minutes ago wanted his neck as her chalice. He's eighteen for chrissakes, his hormones shouldn't be controlling him this much-

Buffy slides her long leather coat off her shoulders to puddle at her feet, revealing slim muscular arms. "No stakes," she says.

"No fangs," Spike answers without a second thought. He drops his stake to the dirt. Buffy draws a finger across her full bottom lip like a zipper closing. She reaches for him, pulling his shirt up and over his head.

Panic surges in him for the few seconds his arms and vision are blocked by the fabric but Buffy doesn't press her advantage. She fondles his chest and abs. "Mmm. I bet that Slayer strength makes you all sorts of virile."

Spike pants in short bursts. "Look...I, uh, I change my mind, alright? This seems like it could be a real good time but it's also a terrible fucking idea."

Buffy grips his hips and shoots him the most intense look. "Bet you'll never have it as good as this. Who could keep up with you, huh? Poor Slayer, all the strength in the world and no one to dance with."

"Not much for dancing, love." Spike says, transfixed.

"You've never had the right partner." She tries to push him down to lay on her coat. Spike balks at letting a vamp get him on the ground, letting her have the top position. He steels his legs.

"Why are you so keen to do this? I know my own reasons but this could just be a trick on your end. Seduce me and kill me. That'd be an embarrassing way to go."

Buffy stills. "Boy, do you talk a lot."

"S'fair question."

Her face tightens with reluctant restraint. Buffy's eyes rove over his face. "Maybe I've got my reasons too. Look," her fingers slide into the back of his jeans, making Spike's mouth go dry. "I've been hunting you ever since I found you. Nothing about that's changed. I've just decided I want you in a slightly different way."

Buffy chokes when Spike grabs her throat. "You know I don't need that stick to kill you, right?"

They pause. With the right application of force her head could come right off her shoulders.

Spike lets her go. She shoves him to the ground, grabbing his wrists and holding them above his head. "What might kill you makes you hotter, isn't that right? I could smell how hot you were getting, fighting my little distractions and then later with me."

Beneath his bare back, Buffy's coat is butter soft.

She tears her shirt off. Literally rips it in half. Spike waves goodbye to the logical side of his brain.

Naked from the waist up Buffy writhes against him. "Let's keep this simple. I want to fuck you. You want to fuck me. Neither of us gives a damn about what we're supposed to do. So let's do this."

Spike turns that over a couple times, finding it to be true. He's resented slaying from the moment he was called. What could have been a neat superhero gig is, in reality, more about hiding his freaky abilities, dancing to the Council's tune, and watching his life fall to pieces. After LA, Spike said to hell with the Council. After Ripper suffocated him last year and killed his girlfriend Harmony-simple, accepting, loyal, Harm-Spike said to hell with following the rules. Listening to that prophecy is what let Ripper get the upper hand, killing Harm and technically Spike too. If Dru hadn't been there to breathe new life into him, Spike would be six feet under right now.

Maybe he isn't quite over that whole thing yet. Maybe death doesn't inspire the same awe it used to. Maybe Spike doesn't mind playing with fire just to feel the burn.

He drops his arms and passively lets Buffy divest them of the rest of their clothing.

Spike's no virgin but this feels like the first time all over again.

He's never been with someone like Buffy-and it's not because she's a vampire. What's different is how naturally she assumes control. Holding him down, straddling him and setting the pace. No questions, no fumbling. Spike's getting fucked into the ground before he quite knows what's happening.

Lights burst behind his eyes and he gasps with every gripping thrust. Strong! Strong everywhere-

"Hot," she gasps against his mouth. "Oh yeah!" They clutch and claw at each other like wild animals, rutting in the dirt.

It's bloody perfect.

Perfectly matched, perfectly attuned. When he wants something, she's there giving it to him before he can think to try for it.

Buffy moans, loud and unabashed. This works Spike up even more.

He flips her, pulling her legs up and driving in. Full force now.

Buffy's green eyes are bright with excitement. "That's it-ungh! Come on baby, let it go, let it go-"

The world spirals and breaks apart.

In the aftermath, Spike sprawls over Buffy's cool body, face tucked into her neck, languid limbs tangling together.

"Good," Buffy slurs beneath him, unbothered by his full weight. "That was good."

Spike can't form words yet.

She pushes him off to the side and he drops like a bag of rocks. "Good," Spike repeats, dumbly.

Buffy pets him. "You're so damn pretty. I want to keep you."

Implications of her words hit Spike and force him to sit up. "I'm not gonna let you turn me."

Buffy stays prone on the ground. She strokes his arm. "Nah, I think that'd ruin you. I like you like this. Blood pumping away. God that was hot."

Spike's blood is cooling and his head is clearing. "Time for you to go."

Something like hurt flashes across Buffy's face. "Just like that."

Spike's never been a callous lover. Stomach twisting he says, "Well, yeah. Figured you'd be heading for the hills by now. Got what you came for, didn't you?"

Buffy is quiet. She gets up and dresses. Her shirt gapes open from the rip, exposing her beautiful chest to all and sundry. "Sure did."

"What were your reasons?" Spike blurts.

Buffy's eyes are shuttered. "Looking for love in all the wrong places."

"Love? That's not how vampires work."

"Oh, and between the two of us, you're the better judge of that?" Buffy shakes her hair out and slips her leather coat back on. It should look silly, her with her bare breasts and hard nubbins poking free between the shreds of a shirt and the lapels of a leather coat.

It really really doesn't.

Spike trips over himself as he pulls his pants on, hyper aware of Buffy watching his every move with hooded eyes. "You're not gonna ask me why?"

Buffy shrugs. "You're looking for death. Not that complicated. Although, you're probably the first Slayer to take it to this level."

Spike must have a funny look on his face because Buffy grins. "Don't worry. I won't be giving it to you. Not your death anyway." She sighs. "You were right. Terrible fucking idea. Felt good though."

"Yeah…"

"Shit, you're young."

Spike frowns. "I'm eighteen, bitch. With an ancient soul."

Buffy's lips quirk up. "I suppose." She walks up to him and helps him straighten his clothes and hair. Fusses with him.

Spike tries not to blush.

Buffy grabs his face and forces eye contact. "I would strongly recommend against screwing any other vampires, Spike. You're not always gonna get such a happy ending."

Some cocky impulse makes him smirk. "What's wrong, love? Afraid you might get jealous?"

Buffy's face stays serious. "No. Just took a liking to you is all. I'd hate for someone to fuck you up." She lets go and backs off.

Spike hears sirens in the distance. Sunnydale PD finally arriving on the scene. He glances over his shoulder to see the flashing lights. When he looks back, Buffy's gone.

"Your heart is heavy," Dru says. Her soft dark eyes probe his. Dru is a new age-y, spiritual type. Her parents are super religious, but she has this hippie vibe going on that Spike can really get behind. She's also one of the most insightful people he's ever known. Unfortunate, in this case. Spike doesn't want to talk about what's making his heart heavy.

"Probably from all those bloomin' onions," he deflects. "I'm sure I have clogged arteries full of grease and fat."

They watch Clem toss a frisbee to his dog. All three friends came to the sun drenched park to soak up some much needed Vitamin D. Spike drops dark sunglasses over his eyes. Smack dab in the middle of California and his eyes can't take the sun anymore. How sad is that? The adjustment is almost worse than when he and his mum first moved to the States from gloomy London, years ago.

Dru hums a sad note next to him. "I don't think the onions are at fault."

Strange little Dru. Friendless, but for her neighbor Clem when Spike first started school. Now the three of them form an odd little misfit pyramid.

Spike rips at the grass under their legs. "No, not the onions. S'always about a girl, isn't it?"

Dru's mouth turns down. "Harmony?"

"No. Not about Harm either. Least she got what she wanted. She couldn't wait to get out of this shithole town and now she's gone."

Dru doesn't say anything to that, just slides a long piece of her dark hair through her fingers over and over. Hand over hand. She peeks up at Spike through long lashes.

Curse Dru and her confess-to-me face!

"I didn't mean that," Spike mutters, looking away.

Dru pats his knee.

Kids shout as they chase each other at the bottom of the grassy hill. A soccer ball zooms over Clem's head and he hits the deck to dodge it. Clem staggers to his feet and waves sheepishly up at Dru and Spike. Dru waves back merrily.

"I just...I slept with someone. It was a mistake, but it didn't really feel like it." Spike finally says to the cloudless blue sky.

"Moving on can be difficult," Dru says.

"It's not like Harm and I were in love," Spike continues, feeling his cheeks burn hot. As the lone bloke in a family of women, he's not unaccustomed to sharing his feelings. But he feels like a fool anyway.

"You were connected."

Spike squirms. "Well yeah. That was pretty much the basis of our relationship."

Dru adds, "She supported you."

Harmony had supported him. Every decision, every bright or stupid move he made. Harmony cheered him on regardless of whether or not it was a good idea. That hadn't been totally great, in retrospect.

"This really isn't about her," Spike says.

"Oh. Will we get to meet the new girl?" Dru asks.

"No. Emphatically no."

"Too bad," Dru murmurs. "You're smitten."

"Am not!" Spike protests.

Clem jogs up to the duo. "What aren't you, Spike?"

"Smitten," Dru says, dreamily.

"Oh cool. New girlfriend, man?"

"Argh! Forget it." Spike hops up and stalks away. He hears Clem ask in the distance, "Was it something I said?"

Buffy picks at the cover of her newly acquired movie. Some chick flick. The kind of thing she used to love to watch.

She tosses it into the burn pile. Riley grins at her from the other side of the fire. "Melted plastic, Buff? You're gonna boil our brains."

Buffy ignores her ex. Riley has been getting on her last nerve lately. Safer for him if she pretends he isn't in the room.

Maybe someday he'll get the hint and quit following her around.

"Where's your boy, Buff?"

Forced into conversation and all the more sullen for it, Buffy flicks her eyes over to Riley's hulking form. "On the hunt. Where you should be."

"Me? What about you? Say, why don't we cruise this town, the way we always used to, baby? I'm in the mood," Riley licks his fangs. "For something sweet. How about it?"

"Already ate," Buffy lies. She pushes past him. "I'm going to bed early. First one to disturb me loses their arms."

Buffy continues on her way, unmolested. In one of Crawford Mansion's most secluded rooms, Buffy shuts and locks the door. She flops on the bed with a huff. Seeing her duster draped across the bedspread, Buffy nabs it and buries her face against the cool leather.

Mouthwatering. Slayer. Sex. Combined scents of lust and satisfaction. The current reason Buffy can't wear her favorite trophy around the others. She groans into the material and rolls to the side.

Spike's scent is soaked into the very seams. Buffy isn't sure she could get it out if she tried. And she doesn't really want to try.

Lazily, her hand rubs against her lower belly as she thinks back to the night in the woods, Spike beneath her, his mouth slack in surprised pleasure.

Buffy's hand dips into her panties. Mmmm.

Scent memory, slick teasing...it keeps the yawning emptiness that howls inside Buffy at bay, but not for long. After her limbs stop shaking from a rolling self-directed orgasm, Buffy lays still and quiet. Dissatisfaction claws at her.

No amount of drinking, killing, fucking, or partying can keep it away. The closest to truly sated she's felt in ages came to her in the Slayer's arms a few nights ago. Buffy's not sure what to do with that information quite yet.

All she knows is that she can't leave the Hellmouth until she figures it out.

Spike strolls through darkened residential streets, making a wide loop that takes him by Clem's place. Spike's never actually been to Clem's neighborhood before. Not good as far as slaying goes. Vamps don't only haunt cemeteries and nightclubs after all.

Spike slows as he nears what he knows to be Clem's house. He hears the dog barking in the backyard and pulls his chin up over the tall privacy fence to investigate. Clem's sitting in a lawn chair, capri sun in hand, playing fetch with his pup.

It's midnight.

"Now I know you aren't hanging about outside alone at night," Spike says, hooked onto the fence-top by his armpits.

Clem jumps in his seat, squeezing the juice out of his drink. "Ack! Spike, you scared the crap out of me! Dude, what if you'd been a vamp or something?"

Spike kicks against the other side of the fence. "Exactly mate." He heaves himself over to drop soundlessly into Clem's yard. "Can't sleep?"

"Nah. You?"

"Sacred duty. Blah dee blah."

Clem smacks himself on the forehead. "Oh duh, Clement. Where is my brain tonight?"

Spike can see his friend's shirt is soaked in sweat under the pits and collar. Clem is just a sweaty guy. Part of why he drives people away. Dru's an exception, of course. Spike is half-convinced that Dru can't see past the spiritual aura to the physical body anyway. Spike's an exception too, apparently. Maybe it's because of all the horrific things he's seen, but sweaty dudes just don't unnerve Spike the way they used to.

Clem's hound dog bounds over to lick Spike's hand. Spike rubs the dog's head, bunching and smooshing its droopy skin.

"Good boy, Pupzilla!" Clem praises. Spike stops.

"Tell me that's not your dog's name."

"Of course it is! Doesn't it just suit him perfectly?" Pupzilla raises sad soulful eyes to Spike's. A breeze flaps the pup's ears like tiny war banners. Spike smothers a grin.

"If ya squint, maybe."

Glass shatters somewhere in Clem's house. Spike stiffens and shoots his friend an alarmed look, but Clem's focus is on folding his juice box into a bitty square.

Spike hears raised voices. Clem's parents, having a row.

Both guys stare at the dog.

"Slow night?" Clem asks.

"Hit the hot spots," Spike says. "Just checking the places in between now."

A woman's voice crescendo's in a vicious tone. Shadows pass in front of a dimly lit curtain.

"Wanna patrol with me?" Spike asks after a minute.

"Sure, sure!" Clem says, all smiles. Friendly as can be, like Spike only offered because having Clem around would be doing him a huge favor, slay-wise. "Let me just change my shoes real quick."

While Clem pops inside, Spike thumbs his belt loops and glances down. "You've got a big name to live up to," Spike tells Pupzilla. "Gotta be a giant amongst canines."

Pup whines a yawn and lays down on Spike's boots.

Clem hurries back out.

"Where do you think you're going this late?"

"Walking the dog!" Clem calls back.

A man's voice answers the woman's. "Let him take out that fat dog. Then they both can get some damn exercise."

Clem power walks to the gate and pats his leg. Pup hops up and trots after his master. "Well, evil's afoot, isn't it? We better get going, Spike. I sure don't want Darla on my case if she finds out you're skipping patrol to chat with little old me."

Spike follows Clem back to the street. He silently hands off his blade to Clem for protection. Spike doesn't intend on letting his friend return it.

Buffy stalks the night. She circles cemeteries, the wharf, downtown Sunnydale, even by the school again.

Where the hell is he? Dead of night, a slayer should be out slaying. So where is he?

Knowing it's hours until sunup keeps Buffy's stride leisurely. She keeps her ears open and scents the air for Spike's unique signature.

She finds him by the zoo. Following her nose, Buffy creeps closer, not wanting to chance Spike sensing her before she can get a good look at him-au naturel.

First thing she sees is the gleam of moonlight on his slick bad-boy bleached hair. Buffy settles in the deeper shadows of a nearby tree grove to observe him fight.

He's beating on a couple of fledges outside the locked zoo gates. She watches Spike rear back his staking hand then throw his whole body into the killing blow. Motion uninterrupted, the Slayer springs through the dustburst to knock down the second fledge.

It's over in a matter of minutes. Behind Spike, a heavyset young man holding a dog on a leash cheers. The potential dinner? She sees Spike jump into a lively discussion with the boy, complete with grandiose gestures.

Buffy wonders if the Slayer knows the guy or if he's always so personable after saving a walking blood bag.

She's just considering ways to separate the wolf from the lamb when an undesirable voice cuts through the night.

"I'd give that a nine out of ten, Slay-man."

Buffy's childe, Xander, struts up to the Slayer and human with obvious bloody intent. He halts a short distance away.

"I hate to do it, but I had to dock a point for style. Don't you ever have fun with your kill?"

Spike steps in front of the human boy. "When the mood strikes me."

A basset hound, hunched low to the ground, starts to growl.

Xander's smile shows off all his teeth, obviously recognizing the protective move on Spike's part for what it is. "Well, I hope you're feeling it, cuz I think I wanna play now."

"Alexander!" Buffy steps onto the moonlit path, making the rest jolt in surprise. Xander, the fool, should have been aware of her proximity. "Stand down."

Xander's face pinches. "Buffy-"

"No. You know who that is?"

Xander's eyes dart between Spike, who's poised and ready to strike, and his sire. "The Slayer," he mutters.

"That's right," Buffy draws out the words, as if speaking to someone much younger than Xander. "Which means he's mine to take on."

Xander sets his shoulders, dark eyes snapping. "Who put a bee in your bonnet?"

"I like you Xand, but I won't stand for disrespect. Scram." For a second, she's not sure he'll listen, which is a world of bad that Buffy doesn't want to deal with right now. But Xander caves and backs away, hands held high. He melts into the shadows and disappears.

Buffy meets Spike's eyes. He's practically vibrating with the desire to go after Xander and end him before the vamp can kill anyone. Buffy puts herself directly in his way. She'd turned her friend to share the wealth of immortality. Buffy won't let Spike dust Xander. No matter how yummy he might look doing it.

Spike's lip curls. He's in full Slayer mode tonight and seeing it makes Buffy's thighs tremble.

They're saved from conversation by the human's question.

"Why isn't she attacking?" the boy whispers behind Spike.

Buffy crosses her arms. "Because she's already set a date with the Slayer, that's why. Saturday," Buffy says to Spike. "Remember?"

Tomorrow.

"A date?" asks the boy.

"To kill me," Spike says through gritted teeth, blue eyes wary. Buffy smirks. Let him wonder. It's not like she's actually decided yet anyway. "Til then, she's all talk. Let's go. S'bit too lively out here for you, friend."

"Hoo boy. And I thought you already hit the hot spots!" The boy starts edging away. Spike stands his ground. Buffy blows him a kiss then saunters off.

Butterflies flutter in her stomach when she turns her back on him, and he withholds his stake.

Buffy hears a little girl screaming. Not an unusual sound in the mansion, but an especially grating one. After a while, Buffy groans, capping her nail polish, and leaves her bedroom to investigate. In the old dining room, a location that has more than lived up to its name, Buffy sees a couple fledges fighting over a little girl with long brown hair. The girl's face is scrunched up, horrified. She's staring at a drained and dead homeless man in the corner.

"Not enough of her for the both of us!" one fledge is saying.

"Well I'm not going out again, I'm the one that found her. Get your own dinner," the second fledge snarls. They look like they're seconds from an all out brawl. Buffy rolls her eyes and pushes through.

The fledges part like the Red Sea. "Buffy! Ma'am," the dopier looking one stutters. Buffy flicks an uncaring hand at the guy. They fade into the background, still arguing in angry mutters.

"Took too long, now we'll both have to hunt again!" The fledges disappear, not wanting to get between a master vamp and her intended dinner.

Buffy drops into an ornate wooden chair. The girl glares sullenly from the floor where the fledges chained her down. Kid still has her bookbag. Nabbed after school? Buffy's rock low opinion of the idiots in the other room raises slightly. "What's up, Buttercup?" Buffy asks, blowing a cool stream of air over her nails to dry them.

"My name isn't Buttercup," Little Girl says. "And I know what you are, so you better watch out. I could s-stake you or dust you and you'd never see it coming."

Buffy perks up a bit. Little Girl has a little backbone. She grins. "Really. And what do you know about it, hmm? Did'ya watch a lot of movies about vampires? Think you can whip out some garlic and drive me away?" Shit, she smudged her pinky nail. Buffy pouts at her left hand.

Little Girl straightens as best she can from the floor. "I wouldn't use garlic. I'm thirteen, not stupid."

Buffy flicks a casual glance at the ripped knees of the girl's jeans and delicately inhales the scent of slow-seeping blood. Mmm. Oddly delicious. Why does this girl's blood smell so good? Buffy doesn't usually go for children, even the taller ones. Buffy's type is more along the lines of big hunky dudes who think they're about to score with her. A shiver of remembered satisfaction touches the back of her neck. Oh yeah. Surprise and domination. Big strong manly men are the most fun to take down, by far.

"So, are you gonna bite me or what?" Little Girl blurts. Buffy snorts, amused in spite of herself. So impatient, even to die. Had Buffy been like her at that age?

"I haven't decided yet," Buffy answers honestly. Little Girl frowns, lines puckering her brow, mouth set in a stubborn line. Buffy blinks, taking a good look at the girl. For a second there, she looked kind of familiar. But nah, never met her before.

Abruptly, Buffy springs to her feet. "Well, let's go. What's your name, kid?"

Little Girl leans way back as if Buffy were right in her face instead of several feet away. "Huh?"

"You're whiny and annoying," Buffy says. "But I admire your guts. Gotta say, there are some around here who'd admire those tweeny guts in a more literal sort of way. So. Tell me your name and I'll let you go."

What good is being a master vamp if you can't be spontaneous and unpredictable? Buffy likes keeping her comrades and underlings on their toes.

"No." Little Girl glares fiercely.

Um, what? "You can't be serious."

Long hair swinging around her face, Little Girl shakes her head, hard. "You're a stranger AND a vampire! I can't tell you my name."

Is this kid for real? "Oh, for the love of…" Buffy's gonna have to redo her nails anyway. She strides over and rips the chains out of the wall, making the girl jump and squeak. "Come on, nameless Jane." Buffy squints at the girl's neck. "Dawn?" The girl's hand flies up to cover her name necklace. "Okay, dramatic. Get out of my space before I change my mind."

Dawn blinks at her. "Really?" Suspicion clouds her face. "Are you gonna chase me as soon as I leave? Cuz I'd rather you just bit me now. I don't wanna run for it."

Some people are just meant to die. Buffy's about to give the girl up to the fledges as a lost cause when Willow wanders in. "You found the key," she mumbles, black eyes fluttering. Buffy frowns at her old friend. Willow obviously just took a huge hit of some kind of magical supplement. Weirdly enough, getting all drugged up usually clears Willow's head, but makes her say all kinds of crazy things.

"Actually Wills, I found a not-very smart snack."

The redhead sways and shakes her head, fingertips sparking where they rest against her temples. "The girl is the Key."

"Key to what?" Buffy asks, not really expecting a logical answer.

"Everything!" Willow collapses into a chair. "All the doors. I can see it-wow." Willow's head lolls like it's too heavy for her neck as the witch melts bonelessly in her chair. She smiles at Dawn, who looks totally spooked. "We should keep her."

...yeah, no. The last thing this family needs is Willow hopped up on her black magic playing Open All the Doors with some kid.

"Sure, Will," Buffy lies through her pearly whites. "But I'm gonna get some air with her first, kay?"

"Mmmhmm." Willow's off in lala land already. Buffy snags the girl and shushes her as she drags her out the back way where hopefully no one would be around to make a fuss.

"What was with that lady?" Dawn asks. The chains ripped away easily enough, but Buffy couldn't pry off the metal rings from girl's wrists without breaking bones. Not worth it. The unlikely pair walk side by side down the dark and deserted street.

Buffy laughs. "Willow? She's the poster child for don't do drugs."

"Was she a vampire, too?"

"Nah."

"She didn't look human." Dawn looks confused. "Her eyes were all funny."

"Willow doesn't look human because she isn't anymore." Buffy swings her ax in merry arcs by her side. Technically, she's supposed to be clearing out any unsavory competition before the rest of the Scoobies can gather on the Hellmouth over the next weeks. Buffy and the others have been admittedly lax on that front. Too many pleasing distractions to be had on a hellmouth. Especially this one. Images of burning blue eyes and killer cheekbones float through Buffy's mind once again. Pretty, pretty Slayer. Buffy wants to bump into that distraction again before things get too crazy around here.

...and maybe she should consider entering the lottery because who should appear around the bend, but a scrumptiously disheveled Slayer. Spike's white-blonde hair is stuck up in erratic tufts like he's been running his hands through the short locks all night. Something sweet and deep in Buffy throbs at the sight. His wild blue eyes land unerringly on Buffy and her human tagalong.

Dawn stiffens by her side. "Relax, would you?" Buffy chastises without tearing her eyes away from the Slayer's approach. "He's not gonna bite." Buffy finds herself adjusting her posture in a way that she knows draws attention to her breasts.

"I know," Dawn says. "Hi Spike," she calls with a sheepish wave.

Spike shoves past Buffy and grabs Dawn up in a bear hug. Buffy frowns. What the hell?

"Hello? Mortal enemy, here."

Spike ignores her. "What happened? Dawn, you scared the shit out of me!"

Dawn scuffs her shoe. She only has the one left. Buffy honestly can't remember if she had both shoes on at the mansion. "I wasn't paying attention after I left Janice's and these guys pulled me into a car with tinted windows and drove me to some creepy old house. But, um, they were vampires. I'm okay."

Spike, kneeling in front of her, seems to run a whole gamut of emotions. Finally, he says, in the scariest voice Buffy's ever heard a Slayer use: "Did anyone touch you."

"I mean, they chained me up."

Spike's lips pull back to show all his teeth, like an animal. Buffy feels her eyes glaze over as she ogles him shamelessly. "You know what I mean. Bad touching."

Dawn's shoulders almost hit her ears, they tighten up so fast. "Oh, ew. No. No way." Face red, she ducks her head away from Spike's earnest eyes.

Obvious relief relaxes the tense line of Spike's back. "Best color I've ever seen in your cheeks." He touches Dawn's face, where all that hot blood is rushing fast to deepen her embarrassed blush. "Not hurt, then?"

Dawn shakes her head. "Just scraped my knees. They dropped me."

"Don't sound like gentlemen, do they?"

"Ick. Not at all." Spike peers at Buffy over Dawn's shoulder.

"What's this about?"

Buffy's trying to figure that out herself. "One of my fledges brought her back to the lair."

Dawn leans into Spike's embrace. Buffy scowls at the dirty look Spike is throwing her. Like she controls her minions' every move.

"She got me out of there, Spike. And broke my chains and stuff. She's a total bi-atch, but she saved me."

Spike's eyebrows shoot up. "Saved you," he says to Dawn, while staring steadily at Buffy who feels tingly under his gaze. Geez, she shouldn't be so affected. Buffy tries to keep her expression unreadable.

"Why?" he asks, suspicious and soft all at once. So much of the snark is gone, Buffy almost feels like she's meeting someone new all over again.

"I don't know why." Honesty is the best policy apparently. Spike mouth and eyes lose their tension. He looks so much younger, sweeter.

"Well...thanks. Whyever you did it." Spike finds his feet and wraps an arm around Dawn's shoulders. "C'mon, Pidge. Let's go home." They turn to leave.

Buffy pulls up even with the pair. Spike narrows his eyes. "I'm giving you a free pass tonight, on account of my sister. But don't push it, Summers."

Ooooh, he looked up her stats? Smug now, Buffy licks her lips, all but eye-fucking him over the girl's head. "So Slayer," Buffy rolls the syllables off her tongue like honey. "You're only sparing me on account of your sister, hmm?"

Panic widens Spike's eyes. He subtly shakes his head at her. Between them, Dawn glances back and forth, puzzled.

Hang on. "Sister?" Buffy asks, mostly thinking out loud. "I guess you're too young to have a daughter this old." Buffy bites her lip, slanting a curious look at the Slayer. "Since when do Slayers stay with their family?" And what a coincidence, running into her. Buffy's glad she didn't leave Dawn for the fledges. Probably would've put a damper on the sexual reunion Buffy's been planning for herself and the Slayer with the hottest death wish ever.

Spike looks like he's regretting this entire conversation. "Since me. Now shove off, I'm busy."

Ass!

Buffy swings around in front of the siblings, forcing them to halt. "It's Saturday, Slayer."

He freezes. Buffy wishes she could crawl inside his skin and hear his thoughts. She settles for listening to the accelerated rate of his heart, watching the color drain from his cheeks. Cynicism returns to him. She watches it fall over him like a cloak.

"Lemme walk her home first." Spike's voice is unexpectedly rough and earnest. He clenches his fists, one arm still slung around Dawn's shoulders. Yellow street light glints off his silver thumb ring.

Buffy shrugs. "I'll keep you company."

"Do you know her?" Dawn stage whispers to Spike. He glares at Buffy, eyes warning her to keep mum.

Oh, how delicious. He doesn't want baby sis to know that her big bro had nasty sex with an evil demon. In the dirt. In the middle of an attack on his school. Pretty damning, actually, the whole sordid ordeal. Buffy never once imagined Spike would have people around whose opinion he cherished. The way he acted that night...Buffy didn't peg Spike as a guy who cared about much of anything anymore.

What a strange and lovely surprise. A wicked smile quirks Buffy's lips.

Should she, shouldn't she? "We're casually acquainted," Buffy tells Dawn.

"Okay…" Dawn peeks up at Spike. His jaw is tight and he's breathing deliberately through his nose.

Buffy sidles closer. With a quick yank, Spike pulls Dawn to his left side, placing himself squarely between Buffy and the girl.

Oh yeah. This bothers him. Buffy catches Spike's hand. He stops walking. They all do.

"You've got a little…" Buffy traces her fingers through the blood coating Spike's knuckles. He and the girl watch wide-eyed as Buffy paints the blood across her own lips like she's applying lipstick. Buffy purses her mouth in a gentle air kiss.

Dawn makes a face. "You're the weirdest vampire ever."

Spike looks murderous. And a little turned on. And way wigged out.

Buffy runs a tongue across her lips and barely resists moaning like a wanton hussy. Slayer blood. God, she hasn't tasted anything like it since that Irish Slayer back in 1977. Mmm. And boy did she suck that Slayer dry. Buffy reminds herself to have patience. So many more possibilities with Spike.

Spike, who's all but dragging his sister down the street. Buffy prowls after them, keeping her distance, hands stuck in her back pockets.

Soon enough, the pair turns onto Revello Drive and they climb the porch steps of an idyllic family home.

This is where the Slayer lives? Scourge of the underworld? Boogeyman to all vamps and demons?

Buffy watches Spike duck his head under a hanging flower pot.

The porch light is on. All the lights are on, the house is blazing with welcoming light. An older woman opens the door and pulls the girl, Dawn, into a tight hug.

At the edge of the property, Buffy stands stock still, hands loose at her sides.

She's their mother. The woman kisses the Slayer's cheek. He twists to clap his eyes on Buffy briefly, before giving the woman a one-armed hug in return.

A sick twist lurches Buffy's stomach. Mother. Family. Home.

The emptiness inside yawns as wide as it ever has. Why did she think this was such a great idea again?

Spike and Dawn's mother steps away from her children and smoothes her hands down her skirt. Calm blue eyes meet hers. The woman tilts her head, kind and curious as she studies Buffy.

For a horrible moment, the woman's face blurs into a younger one, with lovely curled golden hair and a wider smile.

Mom. Tears, quite unexpectedly, blur in Buffy's eyes. Mortified, she flees the scene.

Preternatural speed takes her away from the quiet street. Buffy's senses prickle in warning of a predator in pursuit.

She zips off the main road and swings herself over a tall chain fence, barely slowing down. She hits the spongy green of Sunnydale's Country Club Golf Course and keeps going.

Buffy hears the harsh panting breaths of her pursuer. A quick glance over her shoulder lags her pace enough for Spike to cross the distance between them in a flying leap.

Slamming down, face first into the green open space of the empty golf course, Buffy snarls and bucks like a wild cat.

Spike flips her and pins her, stake whistling as he stabs it down just over Buffy's heart.

They both freeze. The pointy end of the stake brushes the swell of Buffy's breast. Spike makes no move to press harder.

His face twists. "What the bloody hell are you playing at?"

"Me? Look at you, you idiot. Vamp at your mercy and you wanna chat it out? Please. Why don't you put that stake down and let me give you what you're begging for-"

Spike backhands her. Buffy stills, beneath him, face forced to the side. She feels blood trickle from the corner of her mouth.

When she meets the Slayer's eyes, he looks conflicted. "Why don't you just leave town, huh?" He reaches out with his free hand and brushes away the blood from her chin. Buffy opens her mouth and slips two of his blood coated-fingers between her lips. She massages her tongue over and between the digits, eyes guileless on the Slayer straddling her stomach.

Spike's mouth has dropped open, still panting lightly...well heavier now. Eyes glazed with lust and hatred and confusion. His fingers curl a little in her mouth.

Buffy sucks harder. She feels his cock hard against her belly. His stake hand has gone loose, weapon no longer aimed at such a dangerous angle.

Enjoying the view, Buffy's eyes take in the black wristband, his lean muscled bare forearm, the black short sleeve shirt. The silver chain that dangles out of Spike's shirt collar the farther forward he leans.

Buffy slowly, with obvious intent, reaches her free hand up to hook a finger in that chain necklace and drag him closer.

The stake rolls to the ground with a soft thud. Neither of them really notice. Eyes half-mast, Spike ruts against her through their clothes. Buffy releases his fingers with a wet pop. A string of saliva connects the digits to her lips for one final moment before Spike is up and off of her and staring at her like she's the devil incarnate.

"I should kill you," he says.

"You really should," Buffy agrees. "Gotta say, I'm a little offended you won't even try." She eases up, leaning on her elbows. "I can't figure out if you aren't taking me seriously or if you just really wanna die."

Stricken, Spike snarls at her. "I don't want to die."

"Really?" Buffy drawls, climbing to her feet. She circles him, observing how he's careful not to give her his back.

Buffy lunges. She slams into him, arms winding around to yank back his head, baring his throat. Buffy's legs wrap around his waist.

Spike grabs at her like he's gonna throw her off but stills when she puts blunt teeth on his neck.

Why not?

Her normal teeth elongate into fangs, piercing deep into the Slayer's throat. A flush of blood fills her mouth. Buffy slurps and moans, feeling rivulets escape down her chin. She drinks deeply. Spike begins to tremble and he sinks to his knees. Buffy can hear him panting in her ear, his shaking hands on her skin sparking pleasurably in her outer awareness.

Buffy drinks until Spike falls back, lightheaded and loose, prone on the ground. She pulls away, still straddling him. His blue eyes are wide and anguished in his white face.

Heat and power rush through her. Buffy slides a hand up Spike's shirt to rub his stomach. And, mmm. His cock strains against the front of his jeans. She fondles him for a minute, delighting in the hiccups his heart makes with every exploratory touch.

Spike gasps, glassy eyes pointing skyward now. His face scrunches up like he's going to cry.

"Oh, baby. You are twisted. Who fucked you up so bad already?" Buffy unbuttons his pants and frees him.

Get a little, give a little. Buffy really likes Spike. She wants to give to him now. With a shy glance up Spike's long lean bod, Buffy scoots back, hair trailing over his bare flesh and takes him in her mouth.

He moans, wretched and relieved all at once. Buffy can't see his face, but Spike's stomach-hollowing and gently rising again between his hipbones with each shallow breath-has her rapt attention. Buffy doesn't need to breathe. She doesn't stop until his hips stutter upward and he softens against her tongue.

Buffy kisses her way back up him. Groin, belly, chest, chin. She lays her head against his sluggishly beating heart and relaxes.

Or tries to. It's different this time. She still feels hollow, even in Spike's arms. Not that he's really holding her right now. Buffy scowls, nosing into his rucked up black shirt. Her fault, thinking about her freaking sire and getting all sentimental earlier. Mom. Yeesh. Buffy hasn't thought about her in years.

Buffy ends up carrying him home. She took a bit too much blood and didn't want to leave him for whatever vultures might be lurking around tonight. He's weak and delirious.

By the time Buffy drags his ass back to Revello, she's pissed.

Mostly, at herself. She doesn't like this broken version of Spike. Buffy feels uncomfortably like she just won a mind game she didn't know the rules to. She wants her anti-establishment Slayer back.

Really, Buffy didn't mean to prove her point so well. Once her fangs slid in, Spike didn't put up a fight at all. Someone certainly isn't on track for Slayer tenure.

Buffy kicks the front door. A sleepy Dawn opens up and gasps. "Is he hurt?"

"Yeah," Buffy says. "A vamp had a little snack, but he's okay. Just needs bedrest and fluids."

Dawn's face crumples at the sight of her unstoppable big brother unconscious in Buffy's arms. "Come in, but don't wake our mom up. Can you put him in his room?"

Face tightly locked down, Buffy hides her pleasure at the invite and follows Dawn to a bedroom on the second floor.

The stairway and hall are pretty unremarkable, other than for the extreme middle class suburbia feel of the place.

This is where the Slayer calls home.

Then Dawn opens the door to Spike's room. "Just get him on the bed, I can get him a drink and stuff. I've got him." Dawn's eyes are wide and solemn, but she takes a second to smile gratefully at Buffy before darting out of the room. For supplies, presumably. Buffy smiles wryly. That Dawn girl. Way too distrustful when Buffy intended on letting her go. Now, way too trusting when Buffy intends on abusing this invite as much as possible.

Dropping Spike onto his bed, Buffy takes a moment to admire the Sex Pistols poster pasted to the wall above the headboard. Shaking her head, she bends down to remove the Slayer's combat boots. Then she peels off his socks.

Tapping her lips, Buffy considers his limp form, legs dangling over the edge, upper body crossways on the narrow bed. Jeans can't be comfortable to sleep in. Buffy pulls them off-yum, commando-and slips a pair of soft grey cotton pants up over his hips. Nodding to herself, Buffy tugs the black bedspread over Spike's legs and stomach and brushes her hands together, like job well done.

All at once she's hit by her own actions. Buffy slaps a hand to her mouth and glances nervously over to the open curtains like the whole Hellmouth community might be peeking in, judging her for her care and dedication.

Buffy needs to get the hell out of here. Use him and lose him? Sure. Do him, then kill him? Even better. But what the heck is she doing? Spike was right to demand answers. What are you playing at?

Buffy has no clue. The walls feel like they're closing in. Buffy's just about to bolt when Spike rolls his head toward her on his pillow. "Don't." His eyes are slitted open, barely able to focus on her.

Buffy creeps closer. "Spike?"

His hand flexes and reaches for her. Drawn like a moth to a flame, Buffy sits on the edge of his bed and takes his hand. His fingers weave through hers. Buffy feels a weird flutter in her gut. She notices the blue tint to his lips and panics slightly. How close to killing him did she come tonight?

Buffy isn't sure what she wants, but it sure as hell isn't killing Spike. Not anymore.

Where's his sister? Maybe he should go to the hospital? Buffy bites her lip, ears straining to hear the quiet clatter of the girl downstairs, rummaging through cupboards. She shakes the Slayer. "Hey, don't sleep yet," she blurts, too loud.

Spike's eyelashes flicker against his cheeks and then he's fixing hazy blue eyes somewhere over Buffy's shoulder. "I'll never tell," he whispers, soft and desperate. "We'll figure this out." His fingers, much weaker than they should be, squeeze around hers.

He might as well have squeezed her heart. "W-what?" Buffy can't remember the last time she's felt so out of her element.

"I won't give up on you. Don't care about the lack of pulse." Spike presses his thumb to the inside of Buffy's wrist. "Love you."

His words thump her directly in the chest.

Tears fill Spike's eyes. "God, I'm so sorry Cecily."

The needle scratches off the record and Buffy blinks, breaking the weird trance she'd been in, listening to him say those words to her.

Barely awake, Spike sniffs wetly. The emptiness roars back and Buffy's throat burns with something she can't name.

Tearing her hand from his, Buffy stalks away from the man on the bed and glares sightlessly around his room until the pressure behind her eyes lessens.

Dawn enters, basket of medical supplies in her arms. "You can go. Thanks for bringing him home."

A few hours ago, Buffy would've taken issue with some kid giving her orders. Now...

Buffy hugs herself, mouth flat. She stares at the books piled everywhere . Overflowing bookshelves surround a smallish TV and gaming system. Notepads filled with scribbles. Black nail polish.

Spike paints his nails? She sneaks a look over at the Slayer's hands. Clean nails. Dawn is trying to coax down some water, but he's too out of it. The liquid runs down his chin and soaks into his pillow.

Dawn shoots Buffy a concerned look. "Is he gonna be okay? Should I call his Watcher?"

Buffy listens to the rush of blood in Spike's veins.

"He's healing on his own," Buffy tells herself as much as the girl. "Got a bandage for his neck?"

Dawn nods furiously, seemingly glad to have a job to do. She digs through her basket for gauze.

Buffy turns away, inspecting photos that have been pinned to the wall above Spike's desk.

It's hard to focus. Buffy's eyes jump around, taking in the pictures in bits and pieces. Too much heady Slayer blood.

Too much.

There's one picture of a younger Spike, hair curly and only bleached on the tips, arm around a young brunette woman. Both of them are smiling. He looks happy and in love. He's wearing a white long sleeve shirt and glasses.

Buffy rips the photo off the wall and looks closer. Red lipstick kiss on the bottom corner: Love you, Will.

"Is this Cecily?" Buffy shoves the picture in Dawn's face.

Dawn blinks and moves her head away, as she tapes down the last of the gauze on her brother's neck. "Yeah. She's dead." Dawn frowns. "Did Spike tell you about her?"

Dark squiggles bleed around the edges of the room. If Buffy moves too quickly, color sparkles in her vision's wake. Blood's really setting in now.

"Is she in Sunnydale?"

Dawn appears younger than ever and disturbed. "No! I just told you. Cecily died in LA." Her little girl face scrunches up. "Why are you asking this stuff?"

Photo crumpling in her fist, Buffy doesn't answer. She pushes her way out of the house and runs all the way back to Crawford Street without a backward glance.

Spike wakes up and regrets. The pain in his neck, throbbing headache, and heavy limbs are nothing compared to the fear he sees in his mother's face and his sister's eyes.

Close call, he tells them. Spike doesn't mention giving up to Buffy, letting her drink him near-dry without a fight.

Spike doesn't listen to the voicemails left by his Watcher and his friends. He sits in his bed, surrounded by his things, reveling in the fresh air and sunshine streaming through his open window.

At some point, Dawn crawls in bed with him and falls asleep, curled up against his side.

There's a black pit deep inside Spike that snarls and aches and asks: What comes next? What happens when I stops caring? How can I be free of this sodding duty?

For the first time, Spike acknowledges the pit. Acknowledges the death wish. Buffy had been right about that much.

With Dawn warm and trusting against his side and his mother clattering in the kitchen, both familiar and loved, Spike thinks, never again.

"Dru brought you that rock," Dawn tells him when the sun is low in the sky.

Spike picks up the jagged quartz stone from his bedside table. "Imagine that," he says. He'd have to ask his friend the meaning behind the stone. Dru always saw meaning in everything. "Did you mess with my stuff while I was asleep?"

Dawn frowns up at him. Her homework lays undone on her knees. "You mean while you were unconscious from blood loss because some stupid vamp got too friendly?"

Spike stares her down. Dawn rolls her eyes. "No, jerk. Why would I?"

"Dunno. Something looks different over there." Spike gestures toward his desk.

Dawn's mouth turns down. "Buffy took a picture off your wall."

Spike sits up. He'd heard his almost-killer brought him home, but he hadn't known she'd come inside. "You invited her in!"

Dawn recoils from his harsh tone. "Well, yeah." She peers up at him uncertainly. "I thought you guys were working together. She saved you too, right?"

In a fucked up manner of speaking, yeah maybe she did. If only by exercising self-control there at the end.

"Buffy is a vampire. You know the rules," Spike says as he gets up to pace.

Dawn looks distraught. "But how was I supposed to carry you upstairs? Or get you inside at all? You were totally out."

Guilt stabs through him. None of this situation is Dawn's fault. This is all on him. "Sorry," he mutters. "You did the best you could. We'll get Darla over here to fix things…" Spike's pacing brings him to the empty spot on his wall where a picture is obviously missing. Not just any picture, either.

Spike shoves his feet into his boots and says over his shoulder, "I'll be back in a couple hours."

"Are you even okay to patrol yet?" Dawn flings her school assignment aside and hurries over. "You look terrible."

"I'll be fine," Spike assures her. "I'm just getting my picture back." He slips a stake into his back pocket.

Dawn watches all this with a furrowed brow. "Are you gonna kill Buffy?" Her tone is weird.

"I dunno. Probably gonna tell her to leave town." Not like that worked last time, but he'll try again. Seems rude to start out trying to kill her with all that's passed between them. Still. Things could very easily turn deadly and Spike won't be caught unaware again.

He notices Dawn's expression. "What's wrong, Pidge?"

Dawn shrugs, eyes on the ground. "I thought you guys were friends."

Spike snorts. "What makes you think I can be friends with a vampire?" Although he can see the source of his sister's confusion. "We've just been friendly, that's all. Doesn't mean she isn't a killer. I don't want you trusting her, Dawn."

"Kay." Dawn hops back on his bed and straightens her papers across the comforter. "I'll wait for you right here. See you in a couple hours."

Impulse takes Spike over to Dawn and he hugs her. When she doesn't try to squirm away or tell him he smells bad, Spike holds her tighter. Shit. He'd really scared her this time.

Guilt upon guilt.

Spike finds Buffy outside the gates of Restfield cemetery. She's sitting on the curb, inspecting Spike's picture by glare of the streetlight.

Buffy smiles up at him, teeth gleaming. "She's pretty. I like how she signs with lipstick kisses, that's a nice touch."

Spike strides up and kicks Buffy in the face. The blow startles her into dropping the photo onto the street. Buffy scoots back and scrambles to her feet, blood trickling from her nose. Spike ignores her, picking up his favorite picture of him and Cecily and shakes the dirty puddle water off the corner.

"Rude, much?" Buffy mutters as she straightens her hair. "What flew up your ass and died?"

Spike's trying to uncrease the photo and it's not working. Agitation fuels his movements. He glares at blonde vamp. "Get out of my town. Last warning."

Buffy tips her head back to look at him with teasing, hooded eyes. "You've sung this tune before. Gotta ask, do you give this many warnings to all the vamps you meet?" Buffy looks thoughtful. "That would actually explain why it's so crowded around here…"

"You saved my sister," Spike interrupts. He frowns at her. "I don't know why, but I don't take that lightly. So yeah, you get a warning. One last warning. From here on out, I'll kill you if I see you again."

The good humor fades from Buffy's face when she hears the sincerity in his voice. "You're all bad moody tonight. What's up?"

Spike stares at her in disbelief. Did she really not know? "You almost killed me last night!"

Buffy rolls her shoulder. "Oh. That."

"Yeah, that! Kind of ended the cease fire between us, I'll have you know. Not to mention, you stole my shit."

Buffy blinks. "Hey, evil vampire here. I think your expectations are pretty out of whack."

"Agreed. I plead temporary insanity. But I've come to my senses. Vampires are meant for killing, not for conversation."

"Or for fucking?" Buffy adds dryly.

Spike winces. "That too." He pulls out his stake. "Here's your cue to hit the road, Buffy."

She swallows when he says her name. She raises her hands up, all innocence. "I don't want to fight."

"So leave."

Buffy bites her lip. "Hmm. Let me think about that...no. I have family plans, Slayer. I can't just up and leave. I'm sure there's a third option-"

"Leave and live or stay and die. Those are your options." Spike lifts his stake with clear intent.

Buffy's hand fly to her hips. "You can't try the hardass routine now. I know you. You're just pissed off for some reason-"

Buffy jumps back from the downswing of the stake. Spike advances. "I'm not playing around," he grits out. "And you don't know me."

Edging to the side so her retreat isn't so obvious, Buffy scowls. "What do you want, an apology? I'm sorry for taking things too far last night. I proved my point, the end. Now we can move on."

"Move on? To what?" Spike backs Buffy down the street. "What did you think was gonna happen the next time we saw each other?"

Buffy's mouth falls open, speechless for a moment. "I-I don't know. I thought maybe we could go to this club I know north of town. Have a few drinks. Maybe start a fight or just dance for a while."

Spike stops in his tracks. "You wanted to...hang out with me tonight. Is that what you're saying?"

Buffy nods, confidence returning and straightening her spine. "Yeah. If you'd put the stake away and let me talk without interrupting for once-"

"You can't be serious." Spike's stake arms droops a little. His eyes stay wide on Buffy.

"If that's not your thing, whatever. I'm open to suggestions."

"Listen to me!" Spike waits until he has Buffy's full attention. "I'm not interested in ever seeing you again." He lets that sink in, trying to ignore the hurt in her green eyes. "Now go away or I'll make you go."

They stare at each other in silence, Spike's last words reverberating between them.

"Fine," Buffy finally says, expressionless. "So long, Slayer."

Spike watches her leave, leather coat swishing around her legs. He narrows his eyes at her shrinking form. That was easy…

Spike trails her for a bit, but it really does look like she's heading for the town border. He needs to get back home. With one last look over his shoulder at the Slayer of Slayers, Spike aims his feet back to Revello Drive.

Buffy hears Spike turn around and smirks to herself. So. Clubbing, obviously not the Slayer's thing. Judging by the million books in his room, Spike might like a poetry reading or movie or cafe sort of scene instead…

Mulling this over, Buffy starts back for her lair, unable to get the Slayer out of her mind.

AN: That's it, folks! Hope you enjoyed. It was fun and mind-bendy to write. Thanks to Sunalso for the challenge, even though I sort of took it somewhere really weird :D