Disclaimer: Spike, Buffy,  not mine, but oh how much happier they could be if they were. Just, er, apparently, not in this fic. Yet.  Joyce and Giles not mine cuz I sure as hell wouldn't want them – too much hassle trying to keep 'em away from police cars.shudderDemon guys are mine tho', all mine. I use them to do my chores y'know…tidy my room, wash the dishes, shift the consciousness' of my friends around for the greater good, that kinda thing.

Summary for this and following chapters: Just as Buffy realises how much she needs the type of contact with Spike that she had at the party and at the Bronze, the two get caught up in a spell which gives them a totally new perspective of each other's worlds, but the sacrifices needed will push their relationship to the brink.

Note: The plot of the following chapters (as yes, there will be more)was originally going to be  a separate piece, but  the feedback after the first posting of 'Someone to need me' was so positive, I decided to continue it on. Just in case you wondered why the slight change in direction.

This takes place approx four/five days after Chap 1, which would be Triangle week- admittedly ignoring that, due to my protest at Buffy's behaviour in it etc.etc.

"For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart.

 It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul."
-Judy Garland

"The doctors say I can go home tomorrow". Joyce's happiness couldn't be hidden, even by her exhaustion. Giles, sitting by her hospital bed smiled, relieved.

"That's wonderful news."

" And long-awaited. I swear, I'll never be so happy to give up 24-hr full maid service. The novelty wears off after a few days of them bringing you nothing but jello." 

Giles laughed,"I'm sure Buffy and Dawn will still volunteer their services as soon as you get back. And of course, we're all here if there's anything you need." She waved away his concern. "You've been too wonderful already. Cancelling your trip to England, that was too much."

Giles gave a hesitant smile. The truth was, that until a few days ago Buffy had been urging him to go, for Dawn's sake. The more information they got on Glory the better. But then, after Riley's sudden departure, and a day of her defiant, self-sufficient behaviour which though strange, still seemed to indicate that the Summers could manage without him, things changed.

  Buffy suddenly became very quiet.  She was spending more time on her own, with her friends looking after Dawn every night while she went patrolling alone. Dawn didn't seem to mind, having fun at Willow and Tara's, or Xander and Anya's, and all were so eager to help that they often let Dawn stay the night, so that Buffy had more freedom to patrol when and where she liked.

    But that meant Buffy was spending every night wandering the streets, or sleeping in a deserted house. She had not discussed her thoughts or feelings for days, but merely listened to others' conversations, offering a vague comment or a small smile occasionally. Giles was worried. So worried that he had cancelled his trip. Buffy had thanked him, and said nothing else about it. Not one objection.

 And why hadn't she protested? Buffy knew that the trip to the Watcher's Council could have given new information to help the fight against Glory. That was the point. She didn't want more information right now. Life was complicated enough as it was. She was content to live in ignorance at the moment on the Slayage front.

  In all her years as the Slayer, Buffy had done two things when life got tough. Most of the time she had increased her committal to her duties, channelling all her energies into finding the bad guy and killing it. That took her mind of her personal life, and gave her a chance to vent her anger and frustration. That pattern had only been broken twice. After  'killing' Angel, she had run away, hidden away from her duties and the world for months, while still trying to escape from her own thoughts.

  And now, once more, she only wanted to be on her own. Not to think ,exactly, about her problems. Just to get away from the pressure of having to work, having to get some energy together to fight the evil, go to school, do the housework. She just wanted to curl up in her room, and sit in uninterrupted solitude and peace.

   An onlooker might notice that patrolling every night doesn't exactly come into this category. It didn't, and she knew that, which is why she had stopped. Patrolling was just her excuse for getting Dawn off her hands. Some part of her recognised that this was wrong in so many ways, but she honestly didn't care at the moment.

    When the heart is confused, and in pain, it overrides all other immediate concerns, no matter how important. It cuts to the core of your being, and is always there, on the edge of your thoughts, that dull aching pain that begs to be acknowledged. It wears you down.

If you give in to it, you become so introspective that everything else loses its importance.

This is what had happened to this fragile, twenty-year-old girl.

   Slayer duties, Dawn, her mom, they were all contributing factors. But Riley's betrayal had been the fatal blow. She felt that she had been so unsatisfying, both emotionally and sexually, to him, that he had to get his kicks from that repellent place. The she had let him go. And then that party…

…she felt dirty and nauseous when she thought about it. Not since Parker had she felt so confused about love and sex. At a time when all she wanted to do was be held by strong arms, comforting her and telling her how it was all going to be okay, that she didn't have to deal with the world on her own, she felt her loneliness keenly. And she believed she'd brought it all on herself. She must have done something to loose four boyfriends, two of which she had needed with all her being.

  Now she lay on her bed again in the dark. She had been in this position since before sunset, after she had left Dawn at Xander's, so that she could 'patrol'. She'd just sat here, letting the world grow dark, a mug of coffee, still in her hands, long ago gone cold. These had all been the thoughts going around her head.

   And then came the feeling that she kept returning to, on these long solitary nights. It was always there, but mostly she could ward it off, even forget about it for long periods because it was so  repulsive – no, that wasn't the right word. It was just….unexpected. And different. Very, very different. Now, when for a brief moment she felt the chill of a draft blowing through the half-open window, it came again.

   It was the memory of Spike's hold on her – firstly from the party. His firm, yet tender hold of her arm, and his voice by her ear, as he sat next to her in all her shame and pity. And just when she tried to dismiss those things as mere gestures, momentary meaningless acts, she remembered how he had brushed a stray lock of hair away from her tear-filled face.  An act of such kindness that it had caused of pang of something in her, more than appreciation, for this creature that had changed so much recently.

   Sitting in the chilled darkness she recognised now why she had let him lead her out onto the dance-floor at the Bronze the next night. It wasn't just shock, or surprise, being off-guard. It had been, deep down, unacknowledged before now, the desperate longing to have him hold her again. 

  Thinking this Buffy realised in the detached part of our mind that guides and checks our trains of thought, that if she stepped back form this memory now, repelling it in disgust she would forever be in denial. No more running. She closed her eyes and tried to bring back the memory.

  When he had  taken her hand, so firmly, even with that hint of aggression that she could still barely admit to liking, and led her out onto the floor, some part of her  was crying in gratitude. She had given into that when he had taken her in his arms and held her close, swaying to the music oh-so-slightly. She had been held in strong arms, supported by someone who took the weight of the world from her shoulders, and gave her peace.

   But when the music stopped, she had forgotten that. Reality had come crashing down around her, painful in its bitter truths.She had forgotten the contentment.

Until now.

Her eyes opened, and slowly, without mental determination, only fuelled by a yearning for this feeling she had caught a glimpse of, she got off the bed, and walked towards the door.

She couldn't let this one go.

--------------------------------

Spike walked slowly through the cemetery, his boots crushing the grass underfoot. Some of the older demons could go on and on about prowling the night, evil feeling comfortable to stalk the shadows yada yada yada. Spike knew that the night was no friend to him; it would always be too still, too cold and dank  and dead. There wasn't even the appeal of the cover of darkness anymore, now that he had no need to stalk and drag away unsuspecting teens to feed on unseen. But the night was all that he had. He had known nothing else for far, far too long. There had been that brief walk in the day though, when he had the ring of Amara, and at times like this, all alone, that memory of the sun on his skin came back to him.

   He was alone, heartbroken, confused and desperate, and had not even the sunlight for company. The night doesn't hide the harshness of life like the sun can, strangely enough. There's only the cold, hard concrete of the roads and buildings, the depressing false light of the neon sides of the stores, and the  glow of the streetlights only making the darkness deeper.

   It was certainly not comforting then when the silence of the night was broken by an eerie chanting. He stopped short, listening with his vampire hearing that he had never fully appreciated.  After a few seconds the monotonous voices were broken by an impatient tone, with just a hint of aggression:

 " No! No. I've said this before, brothers.  Intonation. It is vital. There is only a few minutes before midnight. Again!."

 There was something of fatigue in the sighs that followed, but with a little nervous hesitation, the chants began again. It was strange, guttural, and seemed to inexplicably thicken the air with a sense of foreboding. Nevertheless, Spike's face lightened up slightly. A spot of demon-slaying  would certainly give him a chance to pound out some issues.

  As he  walked in the direction of the disturbance , he estimated that there were only about three present - four if the one who had spoken wasn't joining in the chanting. He came to the corner of a crypt and peered around it.

 He had guessed wrong.

   There were four chanters, pathetic looking horned demons, only about four feet high, dressed in cheap dirty clothes, and standing at the side of a grave. Their leader didn't fare much better, except that he had a pretty expensive looking medallion on and was holding a few ragged scrolls of paper. But there was a fifth person there. He had rags on alright, and a dirty appearance but he was defiantly human – a homeless man by the look of it. His arms and legs were bound and he was on the ground, looking out of it, but still alive.

  Spike's yes narrowed as he took in the scene. Some sort of sacrifice perhaps? Whatever it was, and however pathetic the whole scene, this had become more than a chance to vent some frustration. He could save a human, which still somehow registered in his mind as the right thing to do by Buffy, despite all that had happened.

   Then of course, that medallion  was probably worth a fair bit of cash.

   The High Priest, as he liked to refer to himself, was getting very agitated. The chant was long, and had to be said precisely, before midnight,  which was drawing close. His master had left specific instructions as to how to raise him, in this very unusual way, should he be killed. Now they stood by his graveside, with the host body. Admittedly it wasn't a prime choice, but once his master had transferred his consciousness from his decaying  body in the ground, into this one, he could soon have it cleaned up.  This way too, there would be no friends or relatives who might wonder at the human's disappearance…

   He looked mercilessly at the homeless man. The pathetic excuse for humanity had no idea that any minute now his mind would have no home except a rotting corpse, which, he understood, pretty much meant death for humans.  The whole method of transfer was quite ingenious, and highly coveted by his Order, depleted as their numbers were. Their master was a sorcerer of types, a human-demon half-breed, whose return would hopefully  hail a new era for them.

 If only these imbeciles could put a bit of feeling into it. Anyone would think-

  His irritated thoughts were lost though, as the medallion round his neck began to glow faintly. Just on the edge of hearing, more felt, than heard, were crawling whispers, invocations. The others hesitated momentarily, but continued their chanting with a frantic gesture from him. The spell was beginning.

Whatever was happening it couldn't be good. It certainly didn't feel good,Spike realised as he involuntarily shivered. Time for some action.

   He had taken out one of the chanters before it even knew he was there, and after a brief struggle another's neck was broken swiftly in his grip.   As the third one faced him in pure horror, Spike's attention was diverted by  the leader's gasping cries of "You mustn't stop chanting, the spell must be directed!!"

  The vampire suddenly snarled though, his full game face appearing as the final chanter struck him forcefully on the head with something before rushing by him at a surprising speed.

 A quick glance at the back of the fleeing form told Spike he could never catch up. And besides. He thought, as he turned to the one wearing the now-glowing medallion. This guy looks like more fun.

"What the-?!"

Buffy felt the wind knocked out of her as a small blurred form crashed into her. As she regained her balance, she looked around for what seemed to have been a demon, from the brief glimpse of horns and green flesh she had seen. She was rewarded only with the sight of the swiftly moving figure already exiting the cemetery.

  She sighed, rubbing her side distractedly where the demon had collided with her.

  Now was not the time to get with the slayage.

 The demon had knocked her out of her mindless stride, as she had let her feet carry her along the now very familiar route to Spike's crypt.  Now, there was a moment of doubt, confusion as to what she was doing. It was late, it suddenly felt unnaturally cold for this time of the year, and more importantly, she was an emotional wreck. She was confused.

 The Slayer closed her eyes and sighed.

Why the hell are you out here looking for Spike?

 But then she remembered that feeling she had grasped. The safety, the contentment, the sweet relief of being held in his arms. The gentleness of his gaze, his voice, and the  passion and violence that she could sense in his touch, beneath his pale skin. She wanted that back.

  Her eyes opened. God, did she want it.

 Hugging her light coat around her she walked on, at a quicker pace now through the rows of graves, cold, silent and dead.

She was running by the time Spike caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. Just as he was tearing the medallion from the neck of the demon -still chanting, desperately, in a crescendo of maddened nonsensical syllables.  Unseen by the vampire holding him in his grip, the demon pulled a long jagged stake from the folds of his robe.

 And as Spike turned to look in puzzlement at the glowing medallion in his hand, which suddenly seemed incredibly more real, Buffy was there, breaking the demons neck with a sickening crack of bone and a tearing of flesh.

 As the demon fell, Spike tore his eyes away from the medallion, seeing his surroundings as if in a daze. Buffy grabbed his arms forcing him to look at her.

 "Spike, what-"

And then the light blinded their minds, their screams joining in a chillingly beautiful harmony.