DISCLAIMER: Unfortunately, these intricate beings known as "my" characters are not my own. Hell, even the story isn't my own. In fact, I don't even own a stick of gum. It all belongs to Joss, Mutant Enemy, UPN, etc etc etc. Giving credit where credit is due, folks. Don't sue me... I relinquish any creative thoughts to them.

SPOILERS: Post season 6. Rumored spoilers involved, might be confirmed, might not. Everything has happened (from Normal Again and beyond).

AUTHOR'S NOTE: First two or three chapters a little pedestrian, I'll give it that. Think of it as the exposition, it DOES get better. Please, just hang on and "suffer" through it. Please?

P.S. Am Review hog. BIG



Chapter One

There was this hollow ache in her heart that night--no, not just that night, but every night for the past few weeks--which seemed to lead to an ever deeper slough of despair. Of course, she couldn't just pin the emptiness on just one thing. Where to begin? Tara, who had so recently become her confidant was gone--gone gone. Not "out for a stroll, I'll call her later" gone, but dead. The harsher shade of gone.

Willow; she was gone too... gone as in taken leave of her senses. After her black-magicked rage brought on by Tara's sudden death had subsided, all that was left was a broken shell of her best friend. Buffy knew Willow blamed herself for not being able to bring Tara back and also believed that it was what kept Willow under.

A lump rose in Buffy's throat at the thought of Willow, now so cold and frail. Each day came harder to her as machines pumped artificial life into an otherwise lifeless body. The person who was once a pillar of strength to her now relied on a respirator for her own. Buffy became a helpless victim to the tears which slid down her cheek unabashedly.

She knew that no amount of patrolling would fill up the gaping void in her heart (she had been counting on a filling sense of duty), but here she was anyway, at her favorite haunt (pardon the pun), the graveyard.

Her awareness flared up almost too late; she spun on her heel to avoid an attack she felt coming and was nearly unsuccessful, dodging just below a heavy, bladed... Fish?

Regaining her balance and alertness, Buffy skipped backwards, shifting to the balls of her feet, staring openly at her newest foe. A creature thrice her height and easily five times her weight was spinning dead fish in her direction as one might wield dual scimitars. She squinted again. Yes, the fish (rather large ones to, easily a foot and a half...not in fish-story terms) did appear to be adorned with jagged metal pieces, perfectly equipped for ripping human flesh.

Since when did the Hellmouth breed weird? Buffy wondered for a moment before the irony sunk in. Groan-worthy, really. All thoughts of her friends, or disturbing lack thereof recently, flew out of her mind as she contemplated the best way to take on a fish-bearing, over-bearing, bear of a demon. And to think Giles had never prepared her for such a thing.

"Alright, Mr. Fishy, I can improvise," she mumbled to herself.

Kick, parry, duck, lunge, punch, fly--fly!? And yet, there she was, soaring through the air until the air seemed to solidify into a large, stone mausoleum.

She groaned and dreaded the thought of getting up on the on-chance she'd be wailed on again. She just didn't feel like her normal "I can kick your ass and maybe mine too!" self that night.

Then the adrenaline kicked in, and it was a rush!

Using the stone wall to the crypt as a backboard, she flipped herself to her feet, eyeing the creature doubtfully. It didn't seem that bad, right?

Or so it seemed until the demon grinned (or simply bore its teeth--hard to distinguish a grin, really), allowing her full view of the most disgusting mouth since the time when Dawn decided to stop brushing (at age 5). Buffy mentally shrugged. Why should she only fight the demons on a dental plan? Kind of judgmental, right?

Once again, she utilized the wall, reaching one foot up to propel her forward while ripping a knife from her jacket's interior pocket. Buffy angled the point at the Fish Man's grungy teeth, ready to slash through the dentist's nightmare until she realized that the demon was attacking at the same time.

The thing put both fish into its mangy left hand and now wielded a dagger in its right. It lunged with both, leaving Buffy in such close range as it was inevitable not to hit her with one.

Greatly preferring the blade to the bladed fish (a double insult), she received a shallow gash on her forearm as she skittered away. She came up quietly behind the monster, readying to plunge her knife into the back of its neck. However, the thing was aware of her presence and viciously swung the fish behind its own back, sinking into her stomach and sending her flying. Again. To hit the crypt. Again.

"Alright," she repeated, staggering to her slightly wobbly feet. "Let's try this again, only this time I'm gonna--"

An arm reached out from inside the crypt, cutting off her weak retort and dragging her through the tiny opening just before the Fish Demon came head-on towards her.

To top off the confusion of the night, she was in a familiar place. Not all that strange, as most of the crypts in Sunnydale were familiar to Buffy, but unnerving. The tattered curtains, the broken chair, and--Oh God--the television set.

"Spike," Buffy breathed, finally taking note of her "rescuer;" namely, the person she least expected to see. Still, there he stood, taller than she, brooding and dark, emanating a confidence that wormed its way into his walk until it became a swagger. He looked the same as always, dressed in black with contrasting white-blonde mussed hair, but his eyes seemed softer, cooler, calmer.

His pale hand still grasped her forearm where he had pulled her in, and at that moment, both seemed acutely aware of its presence.

"Slayer," he nodded, dropping his arm. "Heard you bang a'gainst my door." Hmm.. Bang. Banging. Shagging. "Figured to let you in... Unless you've got some'un out there keeping you company?" A slight smirk of a smile tinged the edges of his lips as he spoke.

Buffy, on the other hand, was still back on Spike. Spike here. Not gone. Here. Now. Spike.

Almost as shocking as Riley's candid appearance.

"Last time I came here, Clem was crypt-sitting for you. He said you'd gone to Africa to--" reality sunk in and Buffy ended her sentence in a soft "oh."

"Your chip," she noted, her voice dripping with accusation, "You went to become what you were before all this. Before..." Me, was the silent ending. The anger was an obvious mask over hurt, however; even the undead heard it scream to him. Spike's features became soft and surprisingly compassionate, the way they did whenever he saw her hurting.

His silence, his lack of denial, fueled her pain and she snapped. Anger was always preferable to hurt and tears (as she had so recently become accustomed to). She yelled, berating him, accentuating each word with a harsh blow. But this was no lumbering, fish-wielding demon, untrained in the more useful martial arts. Spike carefully deflected her stunning advances, checking to keep her unhurt.

Kick, parry, duck, lunge, punch, and no flying. Irrational rage had her now; he became a punching bag--the only tangible thing on which to take her troubles out on.

But as much as it had happened in the past, Spike was no longer her punching bag. He sidestepped and danced around her and at the point when she came flying towards him in a feral leap, he crouched, catching her foot on her way over.

The fall to the ground was sobering and even embarrassing. The world which had vanished in the masking haze of fighting came crashing back around her and she was helpless to defend herself against that kind of onslaught. It was funny--the only time she really felt alive was when she was beating Spike up or...

"Don't mind me if I'm a bit confused right now, pet," Spike drawled, characteristically lighting a cigarette as he spoke, a rare talent, mind you. "Haven't been in the Buffy-loop for a while. Forgot what a whirlwind it was. Not quite sure where that li'l outburst came from, but yes, I did go to get this soddin' chip out. Life works funny, though, don't it, luv? Does things you don't expect, things you wouldn't see coming." He snorted at the disgruntled pile-o-Buffy on the ground, seating himself in his favorite decrepit recliner.

"Take this for example. Never expected myself to be back here, `less it was to rip out your throat and bathe in your blood. Oh, and believe me, I wanted to. Even when we had each other, I wanted to because I knew it was the only way I'd ever have control." If only he knew what control he had, Buffy though wryly. He continued.

"And still, here I am, drawn to the very place where I was neutered." He looked over to Buffy, still on the floor, looking very much the same as when she landed. Blank.

"Luv," he prodded gently, crouching close. "Don't you even want to hear my story?" At the sight of the tears welling up in her eyes again, he gathered her close, Buffy posing no resistance. He sat like that, arms softly stroking her back in reassurance, until she fell asleep.

"I'll take that as a 'later'."