A Spark of Love

Chapter Seven


Previously: Buffy and company save Spike from Glory, but a minion reveals that they kidnapped Spike because they saw him leaving Buffy's bedroom (for a smoke). Xander and Giles stage an intervention, but Buffy insists that they're just platonic partners. Willow takes care of Spike, but then she catches him and Buffy kissing. Buffy agrees to take just a small nap with the drained Spike.


She rolled over drowsily, letting out a deep sigh that turned into a yawn. Yeah, this is comfy. Spike stirred next to her, but the vampire didn't wake. She nuzzled a little closer to him, enjoying the cool touch of his skin.

Then just as she was about to drift back off to sleep, her eyes caught sight of the clock. Or, more specifically, the time on the clock. Buffy cringed, leaped out of bed, and rushed downstairs without so much as a second glance back. Well, okay, maybe a second glance, but a really short one.

God, I am the worst person ever! She thought, a little frantic as she rushed into the living room.

Dawn, sprawled on the sofa with a bowl of microwave popcorn, looked up at her with evident amusement. "Everything okay?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mm," Buffy said, still feeling a little woozy and shell-shocked. Or maybe, more accurately, Spike-shocked. It was strange to think of him still sleeping peacefully in her bed. Would he miss her warmth? Did he know she was gone?

Suddenly starving, she grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into her mouth. She immediately gagged. "What did you put in this?" she demanded, making a face.

"Chili powder. And cinnamon," her sister said matter-of-factly, stretching back against the couch. "It's delicious."

She coughed a little, but it didn't quite get the weird taste out of her mouth. "Did you finish your homework?" Buffy asked, leaning on the back of the sofa and trying to sound appropriately responsible and not at all like someone who had napped away most of the evening.

"Yes, mom," Dawn replied sarcastically. A second passed before she realized what she had said and cringed. "Sorry," she mumbled, picking apart a piece of popcorn.

Buffy's heart panged. "It's okay," she said softly.

"So how's Spike?"

Cuddly. "He'll be fine. Just needs, you know, blood. And time."

"That was really brave, what he did," Dawn said, looking at the TV but obviously expecting a response from Buffy.

Oh yeah, she was fishing for something. And it was time to get over the denial, wasn't it? She'd sort of fessed up to Willow, anyway. But Dawn was different. Spike was practically family to her – admitting whatever she could admit to Dawn would make it real.

Finally, Buffy nodded. "Yeah, it was." Nothing wrong with saying that, anyway. It was brave. Her appreciation of that fact had nothing to do with that squiggly stomach feeling she was developing whenever she saw the vampire.

Her sister eyed her suspiciously, resemblance to Joyce suddenly uncanny. Buffy felt kind of squirmy and guilty, even if she hadn't done anything wrong. Cuddling with vampires who saved your family wasn't wrong. Probably. "Was what Xander and Giles were saying – was it true? About you and Spike, I mean. You can tell me if it is."

On the other hand, lying to Dawn's face wasn't really a viable option. "Um…yes," she said lamely.

Dawn crunched obnoxiously, clearly savoring the moment. "So you guys are…'lovers'?"

Ugh, so not the word she wanted to hear from her kid sister. "I hope I never have to hear that sentence from you again. Until you're at least forty-six, anyway. And no, we're not – "

"But you're a thing." Dawn smirked. Had she always done that so much? Definitely too much quality time with Spike. "And again I say: I told you so."

Buffy took another handful of popcorn, screwing up her face as she did so. It was pretty bad, but gross food trumped no food, and her stomach was still screaming for nourishment. She probably should have made real dinner. Now that she was up, she should probably also heat up more blood and bring it to Spike. How much would it take for him to feel like himself again? The only time she'd really had to nurse Angel back to health this much was when that whole poison thing went down, but that was Slayer blood and she wasn't going down that path again. Unless he was poisoned, maybe, but she would have enough sense this time to drain the blood herself and give it to him in a glass or something. She'd spent enough time at the hospital for like five lifetimes.

"Do you love him?" Dawn asked suddenly.

She blinked. Somehow, that question coming from Angel had seemed totally normal. Predictable, even. The jealous vampire crap was practically the norm in her life. But a game of soul-searching twenty questions with her little sister? Not so much.

In a creeptastic, psychic way, Dawn replied quickly, "You know, I'm really way older than you. Also, if you don't tell me, you'll still tell Willow, won't you? And - and she'll tell Tara, and Tara will totally tell me. So you might as well spill now and cut out the middleman."

Buffy sighed. "Dawn, it's – and I know this is like cliché times a million – complicated."

"More complicated than my algebra homework?" she asked sardonically, kicking the textbook that she was using as a footstool. "I think not. C'mon, Buffy, I'm not asking for all the deets. It's a simple question."

"I don't have a simple answer for you," Buffy said flatly. "And you need to go to bed. You've got school tomorrow."

Her sister mumbled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously insulting, but Buffy decided to slide since Dawn actually got up and put the empty bowl in the kitchen. She slumped down against the couch and sighed. The little nap she'd taken hadn't done anything to alleviate the crushing tiredness that was currently making her grouchier than the Grinch at Christmas. She glanced at the clock. It wasn't too late to call Willow, but what was the point? She'd just ask more questions. Questions that Buffy didn't have the answer to.

It was funny, she thought a little crossly, how everybody seemed way more concerned about her current feelings toward Spike than he was. He wasn't asking her if she was in love with him or pushing anything with her. In a way, it made it easier to be with him, as wrong as it still felt. Those weren't butterflies in her stomach – more like squirming worms.

Buffy began heating up some blood, stirring it absentmindedly. Whose business was it what she did, or who she chose to do it with? Nobody, that's who. All they'd done was kiss, but it wouldn't be her friends' business even if they'd been spending every spare second having kinky public sex.

She contemplated this righteous anger as she poured the blood into a mug. If Spike had been well enough to protect Dawn, she would have been out in the fray right now just working off all of this unexpected tension.

Unbidden, Spike's voice came to mind. "There are other ways…"

Buffy shivered slightly and ascended the stairs, but every step just made that voice a little louder and little more tempting.


The smell woke him up before his brain even had a chance to register her voice calling his name. The scents were intoxicating: warm blood (even if it was pig's blood, he was so bloody starving he would have drained rats like Angel if any were around), cinnamon, and best of all, Buffy. He inhaled and let out something like a strangled groan. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with the beautiful sight of Buffy. She was blushing a bit for some reason he was too knackered to analyze as she held up a crappy-looking black mug with a straw.

No point wasting the good stuff, I suppose. At least it doesn't say "Kiss the Librarian", he thought with some amusement. Helluva lot better than my time spent at old Ripper's. Think Slayer might have enjoyed handcuffing me, though.

Like she was reading his mind, she ducked her head and reddened a little more, looking away from his gaze. "Uh…here." She thrust the mug toward him, and he gratefully took it.

Well, hell with it. If she was going to act like some bleeding blushing bride and not look him in the eyes, he was going to give her something to blush about. Spike swiped his tongue over the straw sensuously, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. After he took a small sip of the blood, his groan of pleasure was real, if exaggerated.

He heard her swallow and it took all of his damn self-control to keep a grin off his face. Spike opened his eyes, keeping them half-lidded, and regarded her. "Thanks," he said, sighing a little.

Buffy looked at him. There was something a little different in her eyes, not what he'd expected at all. The blush was gone, and she definitely wasn't looking all timid now. Nah, this was full Slayer mode. Scary and sexy all in one, his favorite combination. She was like a wild animal about to pounce, and if she was about to kill him he'd go down fighting and loving it.

Quietly, she took the mug from his hand and set it on the bedside stand. She was too still. Unnatural, what it was. Buffy was full of movement, full of life, full of fire –

But that was when he stopped thinking because her lips were on his again. She was warm and passionate, bearing down on him with all of her strength. It hurt – in the good way.

Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the pain. Really wasn't that bad compared to earlier, and there wasn't a witch around this time to interrupt the good fun. (No offense to Red, but that was some of the worst timing he'd ever had the bad fortune to witness).

He tangled his hands into her blonde locks, enjoying the moan she produced against his lips as he did so. She was fully on top of him now, tiny frame in a stance more suited to attack than love. Course, with them, there wasn't much difference, was there?

"You," she said between fervent kisses, "are. Such. An. Asshole."

He chuckled, shifting his focus to her neck. She gasped as he pressed a deep kiss to a pressure point. "But you love it," he murmured, closing his eyes. For a second she did nothing but tremble against his touch

But she wasn't about to be submissive for long. She pinned him down, forcing him away from her, and began to tear at his shirt. It was all he could do to just enjoy the feeling of her scraping her fingernails against his skin as she pressed her lips against his again, and he mumbled his praises and curses into her mouth.

"Buffy," he managed as her lips moved down to his neck and chest. "The hell are you doing?"

"You're the one with a hundred years of experience, you tell me," she said breathily.

"Did you tell your little gang about us?" he heard himself saying.

Spike was really beginning to hate himself. Full-on Angel levels of self-loathing, even. Why wouldn't his mouth stop saying these bleeding idiotic words? He vaguely remembered the feeling of vomiting as a human. That's what this felt like. His words didn't usually come from his brain that much anyway, but this was insane. Had she drugged his blood? It was the only possible explanation for him being this much of a wanker at this very inopportune moment.

Obviously frustrated, she sat back and looked at him. "Why does that matter?" she asked quietly.

It doesn't, the part of him that wanted her so much it hurt prompted. But another, poncier part of him that he absolutely hated at this moment, said, "Why not?"

Buffy was silent for a minute, and something suspiciously like guilt swept him. He shouldn't have put that look in her eyes, that far off look. Chit had it hard enough without him complicating things. Really, being here at all was wrong. She'd hate herself if she shagged him, on account of being all righteous and chosen, but she'd hate herself now if he had to be the voice of reason. Should have just kept his mouth shut, gotten out of the fix with Glory himself and crawled back to his crypt. He could have taken care of himself. Wasn't that bleedin' pathetic.

"It's none of their business," she said finally, still not looking at him.

He sighed. "Couldn't agree more, love, but I'm not sure you believe that."

"I do," Buffy said firmly, placing her hands back on his chest like she was convincing herself of something. "It's none of their business and it's none of Angel's business. Just forget about it."

Angel. Some kind of alarm went off in his mind.

"Thought you said you told Angel – something."

"I did."

She wasn't looking at him again, but her hands were still on him. "Come to think of it," he pushed a little more, sitting up to face her better. "Why didn't the Great Poof come on over to put a stake in my heart? Can't imagine he was pleased about that news."

"I told him not to," she said quietly.

"Right, 'cause that always works so bloody well," Spike said sarcastically. "Like when you told him to let you make your own decisions and he spends Thanksgiving stalking you. I'm not buying it, Buffy. Can't even blame him – I did nearly kill you a dozen times. What made Angel believe I wouldn't again? How did you convince him that I've – changed?"

God, he didn't want to hear her answer. He didn't want to have gone down this road at all, but it was too far to turn around, and although she was still touching him it was no longer with lust. Her grip had slackened, and it seemed like she was only there because she'd forgotten where else too be.

Buffy took a deep breath and he steeled himself. "I might have told Angel that you had your soul back."


She had completely expected him to be pissed off. Buffy had anticipated yelling, probably. Glaring, definitely. Trying to get up and do his old-movie-villain angry-stalking-around-the-room thing, almost certainly. She didn't expect this quiet response. Spike looked like he'd had the wind knocked out of him – well, except for the fact that he didn't need oxygen to survive.

Buffy felt a little like crying, but she wasn't going to give him that victory. She had done what was best for both of them, and she wasn't going to apologize. She told him that.

"Wouldn't expect you to," he said, barely above a whisper. "God, Buffy, I knew you'd be ashamed. Know I'm not good enough for you, I'm not a complete idiot. But you want to make me into something I'll never be. I'm never gonna be the guy you friends will like or that you can show off as a prize to your bleeding ex. If you're so ashamed of me, you should have just kept your mouth shut."

"I didn't tell him that because I'm ashamed," she protested.

She wasn't entirely sure that was true. Why had she told Angel that? Well, for one, she knew that if she told him the truth he would totally lose any semblance of maturity and go after Spike then and there. For another, she'd already let her feelings slip, and even if Angel didn't succeed in making Spike into a dust-bunny, he would definitely have told the others. Mostly Giles, which hello, she did not need.

And part of it, yeah, she kind of did want to pretend. She couldn't exactly pretend they were some normal couple, but she could at least pretend that they could be a real couple.

Because they couldn't. She knew that, suddenly, with astounding clarity. He knew that too – or she hoped he did. He'd wanted her for a long time, apparently, and she wanted him now, but she couldn't have him. They couldn't have each other. That much was clear.

God, the look in his eyes. She didn't want to do this, didn't want to be tender. Didn't want him to see through her like this. And most of all, she didn't want to care so much about his feelings.

"I did," she said slowly, and oh God, she was starting to cry. Was she crying for herself or for him? "I did what I had to."

"So you had to lie about me, eh, Slayer? Had to pretend for a little while that it was all sunshine and roses?" He was fuming now, with that dangerous edge to his voice. She hated it. She hated him, suddenly, all over again, more fervently than she ever had when they were enemies. Because this time, she actually cared. "Couldn't accept for one bleeding second that I could have changed on my own, that I could do something better than that wanker ever could?"

"You haven't changed at all," Buffy found herself hissing, and she sprung away from him like he was going to bite her. Ha. Maybe if he hadn't had a leash holding him back he would have. He looked angry enough, almost feral. She felt the same. "I was right before. You're not moral, Spike. You can't be good without a soul."

"Maybe not," he said, setting his jaw and staring into her eyes. The look he got when he was being deliberately hurtful. She remembered it well. "But I was good enough for you, wasn't I? Good enough to save your life. Good enough that ten minutes ago you were just dying to jump into bed with me, wrap those skinny little legs – "

She wasn't sure if she was going to burst into full-fledged tears or actually stake him if he said another word. She just knew she couldn't take another second.

"Stop!" she said, nearly gasping the words out. It hurt, more than she had ever expected it to, and some of it was on Spike's behalf. This was wrong, and she didn't know who was more to blame. The worst part was that even now, as he breathed useless, angry pants and glared at her with those burning eyes, she still wanted him. Some part of her was screaming louder than ever for his touch and his kiss, and her disgust with herself almost outweighed her hatred.

"Just stop, Spike," she said, more quietly, as she tried to push those wayward thoughts from her mind. "I can't do this right now. I just can't."

Some of the fire in his eyes faded and the tension in his jaw slackened. "Buffy," he pleaded. "Don't do this."

Neither one of them seemed to know exactly what he was asking for. His expression was too much – like a lost little boy. Everything was just too much and the room was too small for her pounding heart. Buffy crossed to the door, hands shaking.

"I'll see you in the morning, Spike," she said, and walked away. He didn't try to stop her, or if he did she didn't hear his weak protests in the midst of her own cacophony.

She didn't have the heart to slam the door. The anger, pain, and hatred were melting into something she couldn't quite name, a sort of mix between longing and grief. Buffy leaned against her bedroom door, wishing she could still hear him breathing. She needed some sort of confirmation that he was still there, that this hadn't broken whatever they had.

Then, slowly, she turned and walked to her mom's room. There was still a dull rush of pain when she opened the door, confronted by all the familiar belongings. She collapsed on the bed, refusing to cry anymore.

But what else can I do?

It wasn't even about the Slayer/vampire thing at this point. Well, maybe it was, a little bit, but that conflict was mostly unconflicted by now. That was so 1998. There was the soul issue, of course, which was obviously problematic for a million reasons. The worst, thought, was just thinking maybe this was them. Buffy and Spike – William, even. Something in their beings that resisted each other.

She rolled over. If we could just resist each other completely, my life would be so much easier, she thought. Less interesting, maybe. But easier. She'd have a nice, normal boyfriend, perhaps – not a vampire, not even a monster hunter. Just a boyfriend.

Instead, she had these confusing feelings for a man (and a monster) who she couldn't even be sure was capable of real compassion, empathy, love. She had come to believe in his feelings for her, but that didn't prove his humanity. He had obsession, passion, caring, even self-sacrifice - for her. Perhaps Dawn as well, but they were made out of the same stuff (literally).

How could he even love her, when Angel (Angelus, she reminded herself) couldn't? Which one of them was flawed? Which one was wrong: the one who had, according to his nature, attempted to kill her and make her miserable as soon as he was set free; or, the one who defied all notions of what he should be, declared his love for her at every opportunity?

She didn't have to consider which one of the two vampires scared her more. Angelus she could take. She'd killed him before. That was an external threat. But Spike had wormed his way into her very being, and the thought of losing him – hurting him – was amazingly painful. Even as she burned up with hating him, wanting him, loathing him, loving him, she couldn't imagine losing him.

Yeah, this was pretty much the worst.


Spike hadn't felt this rough since Dru had left him that last time, when he knew it was really over. Sure, he'd been brassed off and miserable when the Slayer had rejected him, but he'd been all self-righteous about that incident. Lying in the dark, he wasn't at all sure this wasn't his fault.

Why do I care so damn much, anyway? He thought bitterly. Not like they had some bright, gleaming future. Not like she could ever care about a monster like him. Not like he'd ever had a chance in hell with her. A chance in her bed, dark corners, alleyways, and moonlight? Yeah, maybe. But not a chance by her side, holding her hand, facing the world.

He'd wanted crumbs, but not like this. He didn't want her to give him things that would make her as miserable as he was. If she wanted to keep him her dirty little secret, fine. Not like he gave a damn about what the Scoobies thought.

This was more than that, though. She wanted to turn him into sodding Angel 2.0 is what it was. Strip away Spike, strip away William, strip away the little boy at his mum's skirts and the hardened killer all in one and leave – what? Buffy wanted his danger, but rejected his demon; she wanted his tenderness, but refused his love.

He didn't have anything left to give. Nothing that she'd want.

And the worst of it was, maybe she was right. Maybe he was nothing without a soul. He'd always been a screw-up, a fool, a moron. Following his heart, and sometimes another organ that wasn't his brain. Wasn't much bad at evil, wasn't cut out for it. Even after Angelus broke him, he still had pity sometimes, and mercy. Still loved Dru more than words could say. Would've died for her. Nearly did.

Then he fell in love with the Slayer and that really bollixed things up for him. He tried to be good, and wasn't much good at that either. Too selfish, too caught up in her to remember the periphery. He'd stopped practicing compassion except when it suited him, and it was a hard habit to pick back up.

What was left for him? Didn't know any gypsies to piss off for her, and besides, that whole no-banging clause wasn't his cup of tea. Could try continuing to change, being a little better bit by bit until she could accept him, love him. Might take years. Long enough that she'd find some other moron who was utterly dedicated to her and settle down. Humans were hasty like that. By-product of the short lifespan, he supposed.

To hell with it. He wasn't going to lie here in her bed, fretting about their so-called relationship that resulted to nothing more than a few pity kisses. If she wanted him, she could come over herself and find him.

Buffy still thought he was a monster, that was easy enough to read from between the lines. Well, he might as well act like one. There was no point sticking around waiting for the Slayer's worldview to do a 180. He couldn't prove to her he was worthy (which he didn't really believe, so good luck convincing her of that). Leastaways, he couldn't do any of it tonight.

As tempting as the thought was, Spike wasn't going to burn her house down. He wouldn't even leave a note. If she really cared, if she could still value him for what he was, she could spit out her bloody pride and come over. Not like she didn't know where he lived.

And as for the Bit, Buffy was tough enough to take on the baddies by herself. He'd keep an eye out, of course. But remembering her eyes when she said those words – he couldn't just stay here and pretend like it didn't affect him. Maybe she was right and he was a monster. Maybe this wasn't love. But if not, it sure hurt a hell of a lot for "passion" or "obsession" or whatever rot the Scoobies wanted to call it. He nearly died for her, and would gladly risk it again.

Just not tonight. Not until he could at least halfway figure himself out, and her out, without wanting to get into a riproaring tussle that would give him the migraine of the year. Maybe if they could still fight each other they'd get along better, he mused vaguely.

She didn't want him, and sticking around was just going to make things worse for both of them – he was clearheaded enough to know that, at least. He knew he couldn't stay away from her, and if she was going to come all seductive-like to his bed (well, her bed, but he was in it), he might not have the same self-control as before. Part of him didn't mind the idea. Sure, it wasn't love, but it'd at least ease some of the tension he had regarding her.

That is, if Buffy didn't stake him the next morning. No, he didn't have much pride, but he wasn't going to stay here tonight to be the man she wanted him to be. Spike was sick of playing Angel.

He slipped out of the window like he knew she'd done a thousand times. He'd seen her do it, back when he would wait out by that tree and smoke and watch her. Watch out for her, he called it.

Maybe he would have been better off staying out there. The night wrapped itself around him easily, and he climbed onto the tree with little effort. Thanks to the amount of blood he'd consumed, the pain was only slightly mind-numbing as he dropped to the ground.

He stopped only to blow a single, somber kiss to the window. If he was lucky, she'd miss him in the morning. If not, well, Spike was used to being alone by now. He wrapped his arms around his cold body and walked away.