Cold Comfort
Author: Miss Bry
Summary: Buffy can't keep away from Spike. But is he still the vampire she always loathed? Set during season 6.
Disclaimer: I own the plot. Not the characters. K?

Cold comfort.

Buffy chuckled, unwinding herself from Spike's embracive hold, and ran a hand through her dishevelled hair. For the millionth time, it seemed, she wondered what she was doing here. Here in Spike's crypt, where the air was as dank as a cave, and the scenery not exactly sophisticated… lying on a four poster bed next to a vampire. A naked vampire.

She stretched her limber arms, and a yawn escaped her lips. She heard a stirring behind her, and closed her eyes in anticipation.

"Up already, love?" said a husky voice, thick with an English accent. Cool arms wound around her small body. For a moment she felt herself surrender to him, just wanting to feel love. To feel anything.

She leaned against his muscled torso, and was ironically jolted back to Slayer mode at the lack of heartbeat. She whipped around. He looked at her in confusion, blue eyes intense, dark brows furrowed.

"Spike…" she began, her eyes automatically searching for the escape route.

"Don't tell me," he smiled wryly, "This is wrong, I'm a dirty thing, not worthy of her Highness. I get the message, Slayer. Sing me a new one some time,"

"That's not what I was going to say," the lie slid from her lips. She was used to lying nowadays.

"You can't fool me. I know you… like no one else knows you,"

"You are a sick, Spike. And this is wrong. It will never happen again," she spun on her heel, and began to march towards the ladder.

The chilly air hit her skin.

"I just need to get dressed first,"

The hot water ran in rivulets down her tanned arms, down her lean legs, and disappeared into the drain in the corner of the shower. With every drop that left her, it took a little part of her shame with it. Or so she would have believed.

She should feel dirty, sickened by what she had been doing. But she didn't. She felt oddly satisfied and for the first time in weeks a small smile spread across her delicate features. She turned the shower off, and wrapped a large fluffy towel around herself.

Wiping the mirror clean of fog, Buffy gave herself a long, hard look. She looked different. Changed, somehow. Her lips had a little quirk to them, turning up at the left side, and her eyes held a hazy contentment in them. Buffy was completely taken aback. Letting her hair dry in its natural waves, she sat down with a book to read.

Buffy, a book?

Ah, but this wasn't a regular book. This was a Sweet Valley High teen romance book; one of Buffy's old friends. After a while, her mind began to wander. To certain places. To certain vampires. To certain situations she would definitely not mind being in right now. She glanced at her watch. 12.30pm. It was too soon to go crawling back, not after her exit this morning. It would just be ridiculous. A few sighs and a cup of chocolate later, and she was grabbing her jacket and leaving for the cemetery.

Spike was watching the TV when a determined Slayer grabbed him by his jacket and slammed him against a wall. He barely had time to blink as she crushed her lips to his and wound her arms around his neck.

"Buffy, luv," he muttered through feverish kisses, "What's the matter?"

She shook her head at him. Shut up.

This is all rather inappropriate, a voice said.

"Gah!" he pushed her back, clutching his head.

"Spike…" she said cautiously, "what's wrong?"

This couldn't be right. He must've imagined it.

"It's nothing, Slayer," he looked up at her meekly from his point on the floor. Buffy raised a wary eyebrow, but made no objections as he led her to the bed.

The second time today… way to go, Buffy.

Her eyes rested upon the sleeping vampire. He was, despite the heart lackage, perfect. She found her herself gazing fondly at his ruffled platinum hair and his sunken cheeks. His face was as familiar to her as her own nowadays, and she didn't really mind. Spike loved her. Being loved was as essential to Buffy as breathing, and she couldn't help getting the fuzzies now and again at the thought.

But she kept hurting him, punishing him for loving her. How dare he? When she was this vulnerable, this susceptible. She didn't know what she was doing; she was a crazy girl. A crazy girl with a vampire for a rebound guy.

Buffy wondered what Riley was doing right now. She imagined him, his heavy build and surfer-boy looks. His dreamy smile and his intense eyes.

"He's a bloody wanker, that's what," Spike said.

With dawning comprehension, Buffy realized that Spike was right.

Hang on a second.

"Great, you're in my thoughts now?" she asked the now-awake vampire, exasperated.

"I could tell. You had that hopeless look about you, the 'I'm in love with a cretin' one."

"You'd know all about being a cretin, wouldn't you, Spike?" Buffy retorted. Oh, God, that was lame. She inwardly groaned.

"Unlike Captain Cretin, you're not in love with me," Spike said frankly.

"And with good reason," Buffy shot back.

"Here we go again, luv…"

This couldn't be happening. He hadn't been William for over a century. Oh, what a blissful time that had been.

"Get out of my fucking head!" Spike yelled, and threw his beer bottle at the wall. It smashed satisfyingly against the wall and Spike sunk into his arm chair.

I can't believe it.

"Buffy!" Dawn called up the stairs. She waited a few seconds.

"…Yeah?" came the bleary reply from her sister's room.

"Spike's here and he says it's urgent!"

The vampire behind her grinned. He loved to try and guess how Buffy would react to things. He had weighed up the possible outcomes, and was now stuck between "flustered and furious" and "stake-happy".

Not that they were usually that different.

His facial expression softened as Buffy alighted the stairs. She was, as ever, radiant. The hair that fell to delicate shoulders appeared to be embodied with sunlight, those captivating green eyes always watching, always thinking. It was as if…

Oh, sod off, William.

"Cat got your tongue, Slayer?" he remarked, silently delighting in the way she automatically assumed a defence at his words.

"I wouldn't lower myself to talking with you," she spat back.

"You seem to enjoy—"

"GET OUT, SPIKE! Dawnie, go upstairs,"

Dawn looked prepared to argue, but at the furious look on Buffy's face she sighed resignedly and trotted up to her room.

"If you don't want to know what I've got to say, then fine," he held up his hands as if to say 'no trouble to me'. He turned to go to the door.

"Wait!"

Oh, this was so predictable. She always came—

THWACK!

Spike fell to the floor, his hands covering a bleeding nose.

Okay, maybe not so predictable.

"You don't do me any favours, Spike. I beat them out of you. Now tell me what I need to know."

Spike groaned as consciousness hit him. He hurt. Almost immediately a pair of small, strong arms lifted him up and put a cup of blood to his lips.

"Buffy…?" he whispered. Then he saw the long, brunette hair and bright blue eyes and knew it was the Nibblet.

"It's me, Dawn. Buffy's too ashamed to come down," she said easily, eyeing him to make sure he drank all the blood up.

The events of last night flooded back to him and he remembered pain. Blood. Lots of blood. He tried to laugh but it came out as a sort of cough and brought Dawn's youthful face to his puffy eyes.

"Is she alright?" he asked.

"Of course she is." Dawn said, surprised. "You didn't even touch her,"

"I meant…"

"Oh!" she realized, "Mainly ashamed, embarrassed, feeling thoroughly rotten. Not that I blame her. Well, I do blame her for hurting you. She has no right to vent on you that way," her disjointed teenage-speak continued, "It's not your fault she has mondo-issues."

"Big Sis is going through a lot of stuff, Nibblet. I don't blame her one bit."

"Why?" Dawn's eyes widened, "If it was me I would be all 'hey, vampires have feelings too, ya know. Don't think you can do that to me'."

"The point is, Dawn, she's the slayer. I'm a vampire. Things aren't always simple. Oh, bollocks, there I am with the deepness again. Shut up!" he hit his head in frustration.

"What's wrong, Spike?" her eyebrows deepened into a confused frown.

"It's that stupid ponce, William."

"Who?"

"The bloke who had this body before I did,"

"Oh,"

"He was a right pansy, always going on about his beloved Shakespeare and writing the most truly GOD awful pieces of rubbish I've ever heard." He grinned, and then winced as his split lip opened, "I took the liberty of going through his stuff once I was turned. He was a right sentimental bloke. A real tosser."

"You mean, he's in your head?"

"No, not exactly. I've just…"

The door of the basement flew open and Buffy sauntered down the stone steps, to where Dawn and Spike were sitting. She looked taken aback at the sight of the bloodied vampire, mutated by her own design.

"I…" she began, her lip quivering. Dawn shot her a derisive look.

"Save it, pet," Spike began, his voice hoarse through cracked lips. "I don't mind being your punch bag when you need to let it out."

"I had no right…" Buffy whispered.

"That much is true," Dawn shot back, "I think you owe Spike an apology. At least."

"You're right," Buffy said, her sister's words and tone wounding her, "You're absolutely right. And I… I am sorry."

"But if we went back to that same situation, you'd do it again," Spike said frankly.

"No, I wouldn't," she realized, "I wouldn't,"