Ok, I found out… I can't write touchy feely mushy lets all contemplate life stories. I can't wait to get back to the gore and beatings.

Also, just a reminder, this story is AU and is rated M. So far it has been rated M for violence. I hope to change that soon.

Conversations with the Dead part 2

Over the next three days Spike saw more of Buffy in the basement than he would have expected after their fight. When she had left her eyes were wide and moist, like a person about to cry, while her face had remained rigid and vacant. Spike had wanted to see how far he could push the Slayer. He had thought he reached her limit, but the repeated daily appearances told him otherwise.

Early every morning she came down with a glass of blood, leaving it at his knees so he would have to struggle to pick it up with his teeth. Buffy was always gone before then and he would toss the glass in a corner. When she got back from where ever it was she went to in the morning Buffy would come down the cellar steps, and sit, just off to the side so Spike could only see enough to know where she was. Buffy stayed down there for hours, flipping through magazines or just staring at the wall. When she was hungry she'd grab something to eat then come right back down. She didn't try to engage Spike in a chat anymore; instead she waited for him to instigate the next conversation. After three days of passing time in silence Spike finally broke down and spoke first.

"Leave." He let out with a grunt.

"No."

"It's awkward having you staring at my back. Why the hell you come down here now?"

"It's my cellar."

"You have a whole bloody house what makes this so special?"

"This was my training room until I tossed you down here. Now I have to leave every morning and workout somewhere else." Buffy acted indifferent to the conversation.

It was quite for a few more minutes except for the sound of Buffy flipping through a book. Spike became curious. Buffy did not seem the studious type. She had looked baffled when he had quoted Hamlet.

"What you reading?"

"A story about you."

"That special am I?"

"It says real name William. Date of birth unknown. Born in England. Was called William the Bloody because you tortured people with rail road spikes." Buffy read the story of his life like she would a grocery list.

This pissed Spike off. He was so much better than a few blurbs, he thought. His afterlife had been glorious, but of course those lousy sods would never get it right.

"Sounds boring, just like the watchers. They are forgetting all the love affairs, juicy gossip. The cries of entire families as they are gobbled down. No emotion at all. Don't even mention my good looks." He sniffed his indignation.

"What is it? The emotion. What's your story?" Buffy asked with a hint of longing.

"Like I'd tell the likes of you."

"I just thought you might like to set the record straight." Then she had an idea.

Buffy slipped around the circle on her knees so she was eye level with Spike. Looking at him, her head began to reel with thoughts. Her smile, if you could call it that, was lustful. Her voice when she spoke was enticing.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Sitting back on her knees she looked intensely at Spike her eyes betraying her hunger and need for the truth.

"It would be more interesting than staring at the wall." Spike sighed.

"Good! I'll start. I was the most popular girl in school."

"Modest too I see."

"Shut up." Buffy playfully wrinkled her nose and narrowed her eyes in mock anger. "I was a cheerleader, Fiesta Queen and Prom Princess. All before I was 15. Then the dreams came. Women fighting, always alone, no one ever helping them as hordes of things, cuz I didn't know what they were at the time, came after them. A stranger followed me home one day, said I was the chosen one. I've fought evil every night since then."

That might have been the worst story he had ever heard. Spike shook his head. If she could give just the facts then so could he. Fuck her.

"You know that jacket you took off me? Belonged to a slayer I killed. Snapped her neck. All those people I tortured with railroad spikes? Pleasurable."

He sat back further on his knees, the muscles in his abdomen flexing under the new position. Spike smiled, licking a canine as he noticed the Slayer shifting uncomfortably.

"I mean really what did you think? You share a bit about yourself, I'd go all sappy and spill mine? Doesn't work that way luv."

No it doesn't, Buffy sighed to herself as she pushed off the ground to linger above Spike. She had to close her eyes to keep her balance while a wave of dizziness subsided. Damn it, why do I always feel funky down here lately. Absently she clutched a cross hanging just above his head. I have no one to blame but myself. I tortured him, yelled at him then wanted to hear his life story. I didn't even try to tell him mine. Not even Willow, my best friend knows my story. We are enemy's our relationship does not work that way, but friendship can.

With a snap the cross broke off its chain. Spike watched the Slayer absently stroke the pattern in a circular motion with her thumb before she asked.

"I need air. You need air?"

In a storm of splintering metal Buffy yanked the religious icons off their bindings and proceeded to toss them in a corner. When that was done she turned her attention to Spikes chains and pulled the pins to release the shackles from his arms and legs. When she was done untying his hands she stood back folding her arms over her chest.

"You might have to crawl, but when you get up there some blood will be on the table."


2 hours later

Thump

Thump

It might take him a while but he was going to make it up these stairs Spike told himself as he grabbed each step then dragged his body along. He had just been on his knees to long and needed to get the feeling back in them before he could properly stand. At the last step he got to his feet by pushing up on the floor. Still shaky on his legs he reached for the counter and caught the sink before his right knee buckled. He turned resting his back against the top. Just like she had promised a glass with blood was waiting on the table. He grabbed it, selfishly swigging it down. Like he had done with all the others he tossed it in the sink to shatter.

"That was my last glass." Buffy's voice could be heard from the other room.

Spike limped over leaning on the wall between living room and kitchen. The house was so small he did not have far to go. He looked around wondering how a Slayer lived. Her surroundings where sparse, nothing hanging on the walls and it appeared she could not afford a light bulb. In the middle of the room on the only seating available Buffy sat on a love seat watching some kind of program.

"You letting me go?" Spike asked a little winded.

"Don't be foolish."

"Why then?"

Buffy put the remote down to concentrate on her guest.

"Do I need a reason? It's pleasurable," she said in a mocking tone he had used with her before. Only she hadn't wanted to be rude. She wanted to gain his trust. So in an unpretentious tone she added "Somehow when I'm here with you… I forget what I am. I forget I hate you."

Spike considered her words and decided it would be useless to further the conversation. Nothing this chit said made any sense to him.

"I was about to watch a movie. You pick between "Steve McQueen" or "Brad Pitt"."

"No horror?"

"To close to home for my taste. I hate it when they get it right." Ever since he had been forced into her basement not once had Spike heard the Slayer sound cheerful. This caused him to reexamine her.

For the first time Spike looked at Buffy as something other than a meal or an adversary. The person who was supposed to put fear in the hearts of monsters everywhere was heartbreaking in her faded cotton pants and yellow tank top. Her legs bent to touch her chest, while her chin rested on her knees. The Great Slayer seemed small on her couch.

"I'll ask one more time. Why?"

"I need information."

"I told you there is no plan."

"Do you remember the Slayers you killed? I want to know more about them."

"Shouldn't they be in those books of yours?"

"Giles says the watchers are not allowed to write about the slayer."

Fucking watchers, wankers all of them.

They had told him she'd ask something like this. Now all Spike had to do was point the Slayer to Angelus, send her on her merry way and leave town a free man.

So why was he hesitating? Maybe because nothing he had done in the past, not even killing children had made him feel as disgusted as he felt now having to carry out orders from the council. However to not carry out those orders meant betraying his kind. If nothing else Spike was loyal. So he sucked up his pride.

"We keep records too." Her head shot up. "Angelus has a copy of the first recording of the slayers."

Buffy rose from the couch cautiously taking a few steps towards Spike.

"I'll make a deal with you Spike. You give me the information I need to get this book. I'll let you go. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."

"Sure you can live with that deal? All the people I'll kill and it will be your fault." He couldn't believe he was trying to talk her out of it.

"It's not my fault bad stuff exist in the world. I'm not responsible for what bad men do."

"The mansion just off of Main Street. It's locked up in the library."

"So… front door, back door?"

"Window, left side there's a tree leads right to it." Damn it, why was he being helpful? He should have told her back door, get her all lost. Still why help Angelus and the watchers? Why not make it a little harder to kill her?

"If you come across a chap named Angelus… Just don't get caught by him."

Buffy inched closer, never taking her eyes of him. Spike took a step back uncomfortable by her proximity, but she kept coming forcing him back. Her slender fingers crept around his wrist, her sturdy grip compelling Spike to keep from moving further. Spike felt another hand touch the back of his neck. He felt the weight of her chest against his, but he could no longer see her. His vision was blurred by the oncoming sight of her lips toward him.

He wanted to push her away, vamp out, bite her. The nature of his daemon screamed in outrage at what she was attempting to do, but his body had slowed down, while hers seemed to move faster. Never taking her eyes from his she kissed Spike, not softly, however with a jolt as their mouths touched. The force sent Spike back another step, only instead of the firm linoleum floor of the kitchen Spike found his foot touched only air. Buffy broke from the kiss and let her hold of Spike go as he fell down the stairs.

All Spike heard when he reached the bottom was the loud slam of the hatch and a lock clicking.

"You get out when I get the book."

Spike lay at the bottom, a hand on his throbbing head.

"Bitch." His free hand touched where she had kissed him. His lips where still warm and her lip gloss lingered against his mouth. Then he felt something sharp. His fangs where out. So he had vamped out. Only was that before or after he fell?

No wonder the council wanted her dead. This slayer was barmy.