Kay, I just wrote this this evening, and its major Fluff, with a bit of ABBA thrown in. But, oddly, probably one of the most unfunny things I've ever written. Go-on, give it a go, its pretty short. And, if I get REVIEWS not only would I be grateful, but I might stop writing my utterly non-fanfic fiction for long enough to write something good, and not 100 lame. Maybe I'll just change the names in my non-fanfic and say its fanfic, but AU. Heh, I suck. But yeah, reviews are of the great.

Just one look and I forget everything.

He's insane, in a basement, I can see the brown in his hair, his clothes are a tattered mess, and he tried to rape me.

So why do I just want to run into his arms and hold him tight?

He looks at me, and hold his hand to my cheek, stroking softly with his rough thumb. His eyes look like they're close to tears.

"Buffy…" He breaths, pronounced sadness in his voice. "Duck."

Duck? "What duck? There's a duck?" Ow! The janitor-zombie-man whacks me full on the occipital lobe (Thanks Willow), and I crash to the floor. Turning I sweep his legs from under him, even as he raises his pipe to hit me again.

I run in to the room behind me, where Spike is standing, laughing.

I bolt the door, and turn to him again. Without thinking, I let out a small sob and crash into his arms, tears pouring down my cheeks.

"How could you--" I gasp, "How could you leave me?"

He gazes down at me, and cracks up into laughter again.

"Leave?" He snorts "I didn't leave! I'VE BEEN RIGHT HERE THE WHOLE DAMN TIME!" He shrieks, tears now spilling from his eyes. "But… but… I had to… receive… fix… I had to take a trip to the mechanics, they needed to fix the, the, the, the, spark. But I wasn't broken then. But now…"

"Spike?" I whisper. "What's wrong with you?"

He cocks and eyebrow at me, and for a moment he's Spike again.

"I'm mad, cant you tell, pet?"

"Yes," I sob, "Course I can tell. Spike, your chest… what have you done?"

He looks down at his scarred skin.

"Cut." He replies. "Tried to cut it out."

"Cut what out, Spike? What are you doing to yourself?"

He begins to shake uncontrollably, and tear spring anew from his eyes.

"Cut IT out, Buffy! The guilt, the pain, The-- I tried to RAPE you… Get away! Get back! The soul! I tried to cut out the SOUL!"

"Spike…" I breath, reaching a hand to his cheek, caressing the damp skin I find there. "The soul?"

"For you…" He whimpers. "You were right… so right. I'm a monster… remorseless… Buffy… I don't want remorse. There's a fire within my soul…"

"What have you done?" I whisper, trying to keep him in this sad, calm state he's been lulled into by his confessions.

"Go now. Leave me here. Save Niblet. Manifest spirits controlled by a talisman. Fix it love."

Another tear falls down my cheek, and I nod, and turn away, dialling Xander's number. At the door I turn around. "I'll be back."

He doesn't respond, he rests his head against the wall, at turns away from me, fresh tears cutting tracks into the dirt on the wall.

I cant count all the times I've told him we're through. Heaps, anyway. And I've been betrayed by him, not quite so many countless times. Just the once, did he really break my trust. Because, if there's one thing that vampire always was, its trustworthy. But… he can say it, why cant I? The rape. I cant cope with that kind of betrayal. So why am I here again? Only a day later?

"Spike?" I call into the darkness, and he jumps out from behind the nearest corner, a wide smile on his lips and a school boyish glint in his crazy eyes.

"Shh!" He hushes, a finger raised to his lips. "Let me play."

He creeps across the room, eyes fixated on something I cant see. Suddenly he dives, and stands again, holding a large rat by the tail.

"Gotcha!" He cackles, and bats the rat playfully, for all the world looking like a jovial cat.

Fangs elongating, he bites down, and drains the poor rodent dry.

Throwing the carcass on the ground, he looks at me.

"Come on." I say, holding out a hand. He takes it warily. "We're getting you out of here."

"Why are you doing this?" He asks as we pass through the cemetery. He seems less crazy, which is great.

"Oh, Spike," I groan. "My, my, just how much I missed you."

"Missed me?"

"Of course. When you left… I still… I still needed you. I've been better. But you-- it was hard."

"Bint."

"What?" Did he just-- Bint is an insult, right? Stupid British euphemisms.

"Bint. You're a stupid careless bint."

"Well, way to make me wanna save your stupid crazy ass!"
"This has nothing to do with my arse."

"Rape then?"

"Yes!"

I don't know what to say. I cant find myself… I don't know, I don't hate him for it. Is that disgusting? I mean, he has a soul now. And, hey, big shock there! He mumbled the story to me on the way over here. Long journeys, trails, pain and insanity. Is it any wonder that kind of outweighs one attempted rape to me, in an abusive relationship such as ours?

And I don't know, I hate comparing him to Angel, because they're different un-men, but I cant go about with double standards, and I forgave ensouled Angel forthwith for everything he did. Or is that where I went wrong? I don't know, Spike is just one big fuzzy line. A line between trust and wariness, between love and hate, punk and sappy romantic git. And I just said git. Well, thought git.

"Spike…" I say, and I cant articulate everything I think. Its impossible. So I take a step towards him, and kiss him gently on the lips.

He stands still while I kiss him lightly, and then move back.

His fingers move to his mouth, and his eyes close, as if he's trying to wake himself up from a dream.

I can see a gathering of water near the bridge of his nose, and snort.

"If you cry again, you've crossed the line from in-touch with your feelings to Effeminate-Emo sap." I warn.

He chuckles, and opens his eyes, blinking repeatedly.

"What… what does this mean?" He asks.

That's what I hate about him. He likes to talk about things. Analysing, and picking at hidden agendas. But I'd rather let my actions do the talking. So I take his hand, and meet a compromise.

"It means what it means." I say simply.

He nods, and interlocks his fingers with mine, eyes still glassy as if he's convinced this isn't real.

We walk through the graveyard gates, and turn the corner into my street.

"We're such freaks." I comment, and he laughs in agreement.

I never want to let him go.

I don't want to jinx it… but I think it might turn out okay.