Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Website: http/members.

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. Takes place after Wrecked, but turns into an AU future Season 6 fic from there.

Author notes: This was originally posted as a WIP (work in progress) at but this is the final and complete version. The title and lyrics come from the Duran Duran song "Ordinary World", as a way to set the tone of the story. And most importantly, thanks for taking the time to read the story--hope you like it as much as I had fun writing it. :)

Disclaimer: Yeah, I hear there's something called a "copyright", along with the notion that Buffy and Spike aren't real and are actually owned by someone. What's that all about?

Chapter 1 - The Worse for Wear

"But I won't cry for yesterday

There's an ordinary world

Somehow I have to find

And as I try to make my way

To the ordinary world

I will learn to survive"

Spike listened to the sounds of Buffy training from the Magic Box alleyway, the muffled thuds of her fists hitting the sandbag, the mild grunts and cries she gave while holding back her true wrath on the poor, innocent sack of sand and leather. Not even it could withstand the force of her true blows...unlike him.

After the sex--the amazing, great, wonderful sex, Spike mentally added--he and Buffy had shared, she'd gone into some sort of retreat. He was fine with it for several days, waiting for her to finally come to him and admit to her feelings. What he hadn't counted on was that when she turned to him at last, nothing much had changed. She was still wanting him only in the physical sense, and he found his own resistance had atrophied in the span of days, as well.

The second time, or rather, the second set of times had been just as marvelous. Even better, since it was at his crypt and not an abandoned warehouse. But once again, the morning after left her ashamed, and him angry for letting himself be used again in a moment of weakness.

He knew better, he really did. They couldn't go on this way, pushing each other away only to come back together, no better or worse than before. Maybe he was doomed to love a woman that didn't love him back...maybe it was his own personal gypsy curse, he thought sourly.

Lost in his own thoughts, he tamped out the cigarette and sighed in resignation, completely unaware that the sounds of Buffy's fists hitting leather had long since died away.

"What are you doing here?"

Spike jumped at her voice, clear and strong in the quiet of the alley. She might have been angry, but it barely showed; fatigue and tiredness had won for this night.

"I'm just having a smoke. Which I've finished, and so now I'll be moving along." He started to leave, but hesitated at the lack of bitchiness and venom being thrown his way. Fear trickled in, and he wondered if she'd been finally pushed too far, to the point of apathy.

"Anything wrong? You look and sound mighty tired," he offered casually, as if it wouldn't hurt him if the answer was a flat 'no'.

Buffy sighed deeply, resigned, then replied, "I miss the simpler times. When it was 'you, enemy, me Slayer', and I knew what to think of you. You were annoying Spike, nasty Spike, vulgar Spike...and then, you were ally Spike. Comforting Spike. I had you all figured out, and in my nice little mental filing system you were under 'Vampire Who Helps Out A Lot'." She smiled briefly at that, and he wished it could have stayed for awhile longer.

"Then you fell in love with me, and it threw everything out of whack. I didn't know what to do, or if I could trust you...I wasn't sure of anything, anymore. But you were right, earlier. Things did change after that. And when I came back, you were there, protecting Dawn like I asked and helping my friends with slaying. I felt like...here's the Spike I know. This is the guy I can deal with. And I went back to the old pattern of relying on you. This time, however, it was more complicated--I just wanted to believe that it wasn't. That things could go back to the simpler times.

"But they can't, of course. Especially not now," Buffy said, the look on her face unreadable. "We've had sex, multiple times. But in the end, that's all it was."

He narrowed his eyes, "Not for me it wasn't, love. And as much as I think you'd like to believe it, it wasn't for you, either."

She blinked first, her arms crossing in a defensive posture he knew all too well. "You wish."

"Oh come on, Buffy. Don't tell me that wasn't the best you've ever had--"

The back door swung open, revealing Xander standing in the opening, stunned at finding the two of them outside. With a bit of confusion and a hint of anger, he asked, "Don't tell him what was the best you've ever had, Buffy?"

A deer in headlights would've looked less shocked. "Uh...Tandoori Chicken. We, um, were arguing about take-out from a few days ago."

At her quick yet withering glance, Spike decided discretion was the better tactic, after all. "Uh, yeah. That's it. She won't admit it how good it was."

Xander looked at her as if she was a fool for arguing about something so tiny, and Buffy found herself replying, "Okay, fine. It was good. It was great, it was amazing...Tandoori Chicken. But a gal can't live on a diet solely comprised of Tandoori Chicken, because...because it's just not healthy!"

"I'm not asking you to live off of it forever, pet. I like variety, same as you. There's other things besides...Tandoori Chicken, you know," he answered back, just barely able to keep from rolling his eyes at the spectacle they were making.

"Your selection of restaurants leave something to be desired, Spike."

"O-kay!" Xander interjected. "You know, as fascinating as this is, I just came out here to let Buffy know that Dawn called to ask if she can go study at Melissa's house."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But no later than 9:30, since it's a school night."

"Thank you," Xander replied a sigh of gratitude, and headed back into the magic shop, leaving the two alone.

"That was a disaster narrowly averted," Buffy sighed, sagging against the alley wall.

"Yeah, heaven forefend that your mates find out about us," Spike muttered, not able to look at her. "Your stellar reputation would be ruined, wouldn't it?"

Buffy narrowed her eyes, definitely not pleased. "What are you implying?"

"Well, you aren't Miss Prim 'n Proper, no matter how you like to think you are. There's no shame in it, love. Hell, Harris and his ex-demon are shacked up together, Will's on the other side of the tracks now that the werewolf left, and you're all upset about feeling something for a vampire? Compared to this bloody town, I'm downright normal!"

"I'm not grading on a curve, here," Buffy replied, wondering why that sounded so familiar.

"You seem to forget that the only thing keeping you from being pegged the freak is by living in Sunnyhell," he answered bitterly. "If you settled in Nebraska somewhere, you'd be the one on the outside, Slayer."

"I already am," she said distantly.

Whatever he'd been about to say died on his lips. Spike looked into her eyes, finding the hurt and pain there, and felt his own pain at seeing her so distraught. "I know what it's like, to be on the outside looking in. It's never fun."

"Not by half," she mused. Were they bonding, now? It was hard to tell, with the way their relationship resembled the weather in London. Wait five minutes, and it changes.

Spike seemed to take a moment to collect his thoughts, then ventured, "If you're done with punching something that doesn't punch back, maybe we could get in some real fighting?"

"Huh?" Buffy blinked, trying to decipher the double meaning inherent in nearly everything he said. "I hope you mean patrolling."

"Well, yeah--what else would I...oh," he stopped, thinking back on what he said. "So, what do you say? Nice night for a good round of slaying."

Buffy sighed, wondering at how twisted her life had become when patrolling for demons and vampires in a cemetery, with a vampire lover for company, began to sound good to her. "Sure. Let's go."

This particular night ended up being rather quiet--No big surprises, no alarming trends. The new villain in town was only a Draaku demon, which had a penchant for talking a bigger game than it could deliver. Most of his subordinates fled at the sight of the Slayer and a leather-clad vampire busting in on their meeting, disappearing into the tunnels beneath the crypt they'd used for a headquarters. Those who didn't ended up lying in a pool of their own blood, and the Draaku found that Spike wasn't any less of an opponent than the Slayer, much to his mortal chagrin.

After dumping the demon bodies in a far corner of the cemetery, Buffy decided to head back home before she started thinking that a stop-over at Spike's crypt wouldn't be so bad, if he suggested it. Or maybe even if he didn't. It wasn't like there was anything else for her to do tonight, and she felt a powerful urge to act on her idle thoughts. She just as quickly squashed them as she recognized that dangerous yet exquisite path, and headed to the entrance of the cemetery in all haste.

Spike noticed her retreating form as he contemplated taking a wicked looking scimitar, then discarded it as too flashy for his tastes. He wiped the last of the demon blood from his coat and hands before following, only slightly annoyed at the fact that Buffy hadn't bothered to wait for him.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, seething, then called out after her. "Buffy! Wait--"

His sentence was cut off by the well-placed kick to his lower back. He fell and rolled into a better position for defense, shunting the pain into a corner of his mind. His eyes widened when he counted his foes. Not one, but five vampires came out of the shadows around the crypt, carrying pipes and various weapons, and he could sense three more coming from behind.

Damn it. If there were eight on him, how many on the Slayer...? He spared himself a second to glance her way, but couldn't see her. Maybe they didn't know she was here. He swallowed his impulse to yell out, tell her to run for it, in case he was right.

"Well, isn't this cozy? I almost feel important," he tried, and received a lead pipe to the stomach for his trouble.

"Grab him," one of them ordered, carrying a sword in his right hand and a small dirk in his left, looking very much the picture of the newest Big Bad in town. Spike noted he wasn't any larger than the others, but he had the charisma of a vampire who'd been around for more than a couple decades.

The fight was messy and ended quicker than Spike had hoped. He fought valiantly but futilely against his attackers, until the numbers overwhelmed him and his arms were pulled behind his back, held in the powerful grip of more than a couple vampires.

The numerous arms holding him pushed forward, until he was forced to kneel on the ground in submission. His thoughts scattered--this wasn't a snatch-and-grab, so it only left one possible outcome. And if Buffy was gone, there was no one coming to his rescue. No one.

Spike's gaze was fixed on the long blade. So, it was going to be a beheading, was it? He almost chuckled nervously at his dilemma. He'd never thought he would go this way...there wasn't any blaze of glory, no fist and fangs in a dark alley. Just a vampire mob who'd gotten fed up and decided to gang up on him. It didn't seem fair.

"What's with all the posing, Ash? Let's kill him already!" A minion on Spike's right asked, and he smiled when the leader gave the loud-mouth a cruel look. If Spike's nom de guerre was considered unorthodox by vampire standards, this bloke's name was downright scandalous.

Ash sheathed the sword in a scabbard slung over his shoulder and took out a small glass vial from his jacket, filled with a green liquid that gave off a faint glow in the darkness. Spike frowned in confusion as he noticed the heavy work gloves the other vampire was wearing, then balked as the vamp leader poured the glowing liquid onto the blade of the dirk, making sure it was coated thoroughly.

Now completely baffled, Spike gave another try at pulling free, but was still stuck tight in the grip of his vampire attackers.

"Do you know what this is?" The leader taunted him, holding up the near-empty vial in one hand. Spike shook his head, hoping to draw this out farther. Maybe Buffy noticed he wasn't following, and doubled back...

The vampire named Ash looked as if he was about to explain, then shrugged and tossed the vial at one of the minions. The vampire dodged it in a panic, as if it were holy water or flaming pitch.

What would make a vampire flinch like that? As the leader tightened his grip on the dirk, Spike realized with a sickening horror that he was about to find out. The tip of the dirk pierced his skin just below his neck, and the vampire trailed it across, cutting a shallow line into his flesh. The green liquid oozed into the cut, causing him to feel odd, disconnected. A light flared, then a throbbing pain began to blossom, creeping out to every nerve ending. He gritted his teeth as the pain increased, hoping this wasn't the way they planned to kill him.

Ash laughed at his reaction. "You're feeling it already, aren't you? Well, don't worry--the experience isn't going to last long."

The vampire pulled the sword back and hefted it, as if in preparation for a swift, plunging movement, then illumination crossed his ugly visage. "Hold on, boys. I just had a better idea. Why let all that blood go to waste?"

Spike blinked in confusion, until he felt a warmth suffuse through his entire body...and then a bizarre pulsing started from within his chest. His eyes widened, as he realized too late what the vampire leader meant.

"No..." he whispered, despair trickling in and taking hold. "Buffy!"

The leader's hand wrapped around his neck tightly, the sword and dirk forgotten in the thrill of Spike's fear. "Now, we'll be having none of that," Ash growled triumphantly, narrowing his eyes at a leftover streak of blood, a reminder of the partly-healed gash. "Human."

Spike gurgled for air, trying to break free, but it was useless. The vampire leader's fangs sank into his neck, and he tried to scream, as fire and ice burned through his veins and he recognized the feeling that he was dying, all over again.