Death wish

She was punching the bag so hard he reckoned it wasn't long before it would burst. The tension coming off of her was so thick he could feel the air crackle with it. She spurned all contact from her friends, after the somewhat heated and loaded discussion earlier, preferring instead to take it out on the poor innocent punch bag. He had a much better idea.

"Doing that ain't gonna help."

"Shut up Spike," she grunted and threw another punch.

"You shouldn't isolate yourself like this you know," he chided as he strolled around to her side, "not good for you."

"Spike, seriously! I said shut…"

He grabbed her wrist, halting her next strike and in the next second her other fist was swinging for his head in retaliation. He dodged the punch but forgot he still held her wrist, as she wrenched it, sending him flying. He was on his feet in the next instant, sending his own strike at her, which she easily evaded, and just like that the punch bag was forgotten. Her movements were as harsh and frantic as they had been before he intervened. Several hard blows had caught him in the face and stomach, with not one of his landing (thankfully!). She seemed to have forgotten that he was an ally. All she saw was a vampire, an enemy, Glory. One well aimed punch and he lay bleeding from his nose on the floor. He propped himself up in his elbows and stared her down as she advanced on him, fists clenched and eyes hot with anger.

"What is with you? What kind of game are you playing? Don't you get it Spike? You – can't – hurt – me."

She stood over him and he didn't say a word, just calmly looked at her, waited for the next blow to try and dodge. She waited for his answer and he gave a small resigned exhale of breath.

"Maybe," he said slowly, as though she were stupid, "I'm not trying to."

He saw her eyes widen in surprise, saw the penny drop, saw the suspicion as she internally questioned his motives, and then she nodded.

She took a step back and unclenched her fists. "I told you to go away."

Spike eased up onto his feet, bracing his hands on his knees.

"…and I told you that it isn't good to isolate yourself right now." He looked up at her with a tilt of his head and smiled. "Whadda ya say Slayer? Wanna dance?"

She watched him for a long moment, weighing up what he'd said and then, to his surprise, she nodded.

"All right then."

She lunged and he barely had time to move out of the way. It was a dance. They were not trading blows but rather trading evasive manoeuvres. They would be close together and then far apart. The only contact was when one would grab the other to use their momentum against them. Fighting her was like an addictive drug. The adrenaline pumping through his body as they danced, the thrill, watching her as she spun and deflected. She was magnificent to watch and fighting her was something else entirely – guilty pleasure. It was the end of the world, again, and this was his chance to be close to her and admire her. She was never so attractive as when she was fighting and he could hear the roar of blood in her veins. He wanted nothing so much as to kiss her passionately as they fought – but he would settle for this.

Then he felt it. It was for one split second. The falter. The fractional mistimed move. His attack hit home, sending Buffy sprawling to the floor and pain screaming.

"Dammit!" he roared and staggered back, hands on his head.

Buffy was already getting back on her feet, slightly stunned, but otherwise okay.

"Spike?" She took a step towards him but he held up a hand to halt her, the other still on his head, eyes shut. The pain had subsided but left a sickening clarity.

Each of the Slayers he had encountered had been different in many ways but when they had finally surrendered to their death wish it had felt exactly the same. So even without the chip in his head he would have known when Buffy Summers finally succumbed to hers. As it was the pain nicely enforced what he already suspected.

He opened his eyes onto her slowly. "I hit you."

Buffy shrugged, "Yeah, it happens."

Spike straightened up. "No, it doesn't."

Buffy frowned, "So you got me and made your head hurt. What's the big deal?"

He took a few steps closer so he was looking down on her and could see her expression.

"You gave up." He levelled it as an accusation. A sudden flash of fear in her face before she closed it down, but he'd seen it, "And you know you did."

"Spike," her tone was pleading but he'd backed away from her, his face grim.

"You are going into a fight with a god," he murmured, "and you have a death wish."

"You are over-reacting," she was trying anger now. "You hit me once!"

"I felt it, Buffy!" he yelled and she took a step back in shock. "I felt you give up!" He jabbed a finger at her. "And let's be clear," he stalked up until their faces were inches apart, "were I the old me, without a chip in his head, I would have killed you."

"You can't know…" she sneered but he cut her off by holding up two fingers – two slayers – and lifting a third.

"I – would – have – killed – you."

She tensed her jaw in anger but instead of retaliating she looked away. Spike dropped his hands and took a step back.

"Well, that's that then," his voice dropped with disappointment. He pulled out a cigarette and his lighter, flicking it open with ease. "We're finished."

"No, we're not," she retorted, still refusing to look at him.

Spike blew the smoke out into the air.

"Seems like we are to me, pet." Internally he was screaming at her, desperate for her to keep fighting, to keep living. He knew the lifespan of an average Slayer – he'd cut two of them short himself – and the thought of anyone doing that to her made his insides crawl with fear. He'd warned her it would happen but he'd not really believed it would. Not to her.

Her head came up then, her eyes full of steel.

"I'm not going to let them hurt Dawn."

Spike studied her for a moment before responding.

"You had better pull yourself together then, because what you're fighting, we're monsters, predators by our nature, and we can always tell when the prey is about to give up. Gives us an extra kick of adrenaline." His voice turned low and earnest. "Buffy, if you aren't there to save her…the rest of us can try but..."

"I get it!" she exploded and he flinched back slightly. "I have to save Dawn and I can't save Dawn if I'm dead."

She looked so tired as she said it, worn out emotionally from the drawn out fighting, the constant fear, and death of ones she loved. "Stop looking at me like that," she chastised him. "We're going to save Dawn. I promise."

Spike held her gaze until he was satisfied with what he saw and gave a brief nod.

"Let me know what I can do," he offered as he prepared to leave and he saw the trust in her face as she replied.

"I will."

He left her to continue hitting the punch bag but dropped a word in Giles' ear once in the Magic Shop. He meant what he said, she shouldn't be alone.

If he had only known what she was going to do. He had never felt despair and desolation like this. If only he had saved Dawn. If only he had been faster, sharper, he could have prevented it all. She had said not all of them would make it – he hadn't thought it would be her – but he should have. He should have known because it was true what he had said to her that time. Every Slayer has a Death Wish.