Author's Note: Thanks so much to All4Spike for being such an amazing beta!

Dialogue borrowed heavily from Fool For Love, written by Douglas Petrie, also some lifted from Smashed, written by Drew Z Greenberg. Any and all BtVS dialogue in this fic is not mine. If you remember it from the show, I didn't write it.

As a reminder, Spike is soulless in this fic and still struggling with it. He's evil, he likes being evil, but he likes Buffy much much more.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 37

Sleeping with Buffy had been a revolutionary experience.

It wasn't like sex.

It wasn't like Dru in her illness, when she would push him away to lie there and writhe as he stroked her hair in worry, or, in healthier days, the way she'd sometimes liked to leave the cold, stiff bodies in the bed with them when she'd finished drinking, all knees and elbows and gore to the side of them as they curled together.

It was something entirely foreign. Not bad though. Not bad at all.

Fella could get used to this.

Buffy was warm, fluttering breath against his collarbone and legs tangled up with his and a heartbeat that lulled him to sleep. And this time it was her arm around his middle and a hand curled into his shirt, her hair tickling his cheek, her blood on his tongue. The scent of her tears and his mingled together in a briny aroma that made his eyes wet all over again and had him burying his face in her long hair to soothe the pain. It was seeing her relax, slowly and reluctantly, as sleep took her away from the horror she'd faced not hours before.

To be so close to someone—so bleeding close—even after that terrible night, was enough to render him contented as if drugged. The fresh memories niggled at him, but he tried to push them away, to just bloody be with her, the way she needed him to be.

The only problem now was that he couldn't bring himself to wake her up.

Spike had been up nearly three hours unable to do it—busying himself with popping to the corner market across the road before sun up and trying his hand at the two burners built into the counter that passed for a stove and staring at the blank TV—because for the first time all night, she looked peaceful, even with a torn mouth just beginning to heal and flecks of blood on her golden skin and the pillow case. He frowned and smoothed a hand through her hair and she sighed.

"Buffy," Spike whispered. He sat at her side, trying to rouse her and hating himself for it.

She opened her eyes and looked straight into his. They lit up upon seeing him—which made his chest ache—but clouded all too quickly as the events of the night before sank back in. She raised a trembling hand to the raw, red cut on her lips and clenched her jaw, but did not cry.

It looked like she needed to.

Buffy pushed herself into a sitting position with a soft "ow" and wrinkled her nose, likely at the smell of burnt food.

"Oh, right," Spike stood and went to the kitchenette, returning with a slightly blackened plate of eggs that had gone a little cold. He should have woken her earlier. "Made you something. Can't rightly cook, but I thought…Thought you might be…" He gave up trying to explain it, a tickle of embarrassment in the back of his mind, and held out the offering to her.

Buffy shook her head, but took the plate anyway and set it on the bedside table. "Thanks."

Spike nodded and sat beside her, and she leaned into his side, welcoming an arm around her shoulders, but her eyes stayed cast to the floor.

"I have to call her sister. My aunt…She needs to know what—what happened to her. And my dad," Buffy said, the flat tone that had taken over her voice only beginning to dawn with realization. She looked to the ceiling with a soft, disbelieving scoff. "I have to tell my dad."

And so the aunt, Darlene or Arlene, he couldn't bloody remember which, had flown in from Illinois and whisked Buffy off to California with Joyce's body in a tow for a proper funeral.

Now here he sat, drunk off his ass in a dingy bar that he was certain had a few health code violations under its grimy belt, filled with regulars. He'd seen a vampire or two tucked in the corners, and some commuters from the airport likely figuring their way out of town.

The airport, Spike thought, downing a shot. Where he'd dropped Buffy off with a tearful kiss goodbye. She'd clung a little tighter than usual before leaving, not breaking the connection until their fingertips parted.

She didn't want to be alone.

And neither did he.

Without Buffy there, he'd been living in limbo. Worse than the last time he'd gone too long without seeing her. Now that Malum was gone, any and all remaining lackeys were hiding out or skipping town, and the demons were scarcer, scared out of their wits of the Slayer who had just taken out the big man of these parts.

Spike didn't know what to do or what to kill and he was itching for a spot of violence, or maybe just some bloody purpose—Bollocks. That was a bit much to dwell on at the moment. He knocked back another shot.

The thought crossed his mind that the sodding Council had got her now that Malum and his ilk were gone. Picked her up and taken her someplace else. What if they'd sent her to the other side of the world, or even worse, that rotten mess down in Sunnydale?

I'll find her, he thought. Find her and…

Stay with her. That was the answer. He needed her. He was missing her and grieving for Joyce and—

The shot glass shattered in his hand.

"All right, buddy, I think you've had enough," the bar tender said. He'd been raising his eyebrows at Spike's inhuman constitution all night and seemed pleased that he'd finally hit some sort of stopping point.

Spike growled, "Piss off," and stood to go.

Grieving for Joyce.

That was the kicker. But there was pain and it was harsh and sharp and swollen in his chest. And why shouldn't he grieve? Joyce had been a good mum and nice to him and kept up with the same soaps he did and Buffy had been so bleeding happy to have her back that Spike found he actually liked having someone who would act near like a mother to him too, and that was—

Not what vampires should feel. He was bad, evil, and grr and, bloody hell,when had those thoughts started to feel so half-hearted?

Before Buffy…never would have…he thought with a sniff and a low noise in his throat. What's she done to me?

He hadn't eaten properly, hadn't had a sodding meal that didn't come in a sterile, plastic bag in so long.

He didn't know who he was anymore.

Joyce's body and Buffy crying and her bleeding mouth—he snarled and tried to think of anything else.

Spike stumbled on his way to the door and caught himself on a table.

"Oh!" A brown bottle toppled, spilling the remains of the beer into the lap of a nervous-looking woman with a Rapid schedule spread out before her and a duffel bag on the floor beside her chair. Her pulse fluttered in her neck with her shock.

And all it took was one half-sincere, accented "sorry", a soft look from under long lashes, and a few well-placed words for her to follow him outside.

Like riding a sodding bicycle.

"A-are you sure this is the way to the train?" she asked, an anxious hand ruffling through her hair.

"Yeh…" Spike muttered, head foggy and words on the cusp of slurred. "Come on…"

Too bloody easy.

Made me care. Lost my rocks, I…

The woman stopped just within the alleyway and held her duffel protectively, eyes liquid and huge in the dimness of a streetlight. "I-I think we should turn around."

"Yeah," Spike said and did just that, fangs out, brow ridged. She screamed and he grinned. "Good idea."

He caught her, even as she tried to struggle. Her face contorted in horror and fear, mouth gaping, brow twisted. He knew that look, it was familiar. She screamed. That was familiar too.

Then why doesn't it feel—?

"Come here." Spike pulled her closer by her hair and caught her arms. "Think I don't know what I am anymore, is that it?"

She tried to escape him, but it was no use. Her neck arched and the tendons stood out in relief from her terror. Veins like guitar strings. Dru used to try and make them snap. Good, that was good. He should concentrate on those memories.

"Know who I am. I'm evil, you see? I'm evil. This is what I do."

She screamed. Spike jerked her closer and his mouth met her throat almost hesitantly as she went limp with fright.

Her pulse kicked against his lips.

Buffy. Joyce. Blood. Death. Joyce's body on the lawn. Buffy's lips. Buffy's kiss. Buffy's blood. Slayer.

Buffy.

With a snarl, Spike threw the woman away from him. She held herself up shakily against a wall, a hand clamped to her neck as if amazed the skin hadn't been broken.

"Go," he said, sniffling. "Bugger off."

"What—what are you—?"

Frozen to the spot, she panted, still staring at his vamped out face.

Something in him snapped. "What the bloody hell's wrong with you, you stupid cow? Get away to where nothing can eat you. Go!" he shouted. She ran, tripping over her feet in her hurry, face screwed up in horror. Spike laughed hollowly as sobs wracked his chest.

Sod it all.

His back hit the wall. He slid down and held his head in his hands. Pathetic. He was so sodding pathetic. He couldn't even bring himself to do the one bloody thing he was supposed to. His mind was only filled with the sight of Joyce's neck, bleeding out fatally onto the Watcher's lawn.

"Bollocks," he muttered, digging in his coat pocket for a cigarette and trying for bravado even as his hands shook.

He'd nearly broken a promise to Buffy. Worse, he'd nearly broken the promise to Buffy. Spike clenched his jaw and hit his head back against the brick wall.

Not going to, he thought and took a long, slow drag before tossing his fag aside.

With a deep breath, he pulled a stake from his coat pocket and inhaled shakily before setting off.

Spike walked faster, with some kind of bloody purpose. He was going to dust every fang-toothed poofter he came across, rip the throat out of every demon. Then he was going to hop on a plane to bleeding California if he had to and help her in any way that he could.

Got a purpose, he thought. Had one this whole time. The big bad is back and now—

Someone grabbed him by the lapels and threw him into the shadow of an arch before a restaurant door and raised a stake.

"Spike?"

Well that didn't take long.

"Hello, pet."

Buffy didn't hesitate. She grabbed his face and kissed him everywhere, it seemed, before settling on his mouth over and over again like she was drowning and his kiss was her one shot to breathe.

It took Spike little time to respond, wrapping his arms around her and giving back everything he got.

He was still so shocked, so sure he might be dreaming, that he barely took in the fatigues she wore or how low she'd whispered his name or—

"Ow." She pulled back, a hand to the shiny, dark pink scar still healing on her mouth. "Set myself up for that one, didn't I?"

Spike ran his thumb alongside it in apology and she kissed the pad of it.

"You know you smell distillerific, right?" she whispered with a quiet laugh, but she didn't seem bothered and leaned in close.

God he'd almost ruined this. He'd been this bloody close. If she'd found him a few minutes earlier, checked that alley…

Buffy frowned and cupped his cheek. "Hey, what's wrong?"

His heart swelled and he settled his forehead against hers. She was good, so good. If she'd seen him she would have done what she had to do, killed him then and there, and it would have cut her deep. Could have bloody destroyed her. He'd been selfish, so selfish. He wasn't going to bollix this up.

Not going to, not going to, he thought again and again.

"Spike? Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry…" Spike said quietly. "Bloody hell, love, didn't know you'd be back tonight or I would've—"

"Shh." Buffy silenced him with a hand over his mouth, pushing him further into the shadow of the door. She was suddenly alert, her whole body tense as she glanced out into the street.

He made a muffled noise of confusion against her palm.

"Spike, I have to go, okay? My Watcher is patrolling my patrolling. Listen. Do you hear?"

Spike heard the hum of an engine just down the street, moving slowly. He nodded and Buffy released him.

"Watcher?" he repeated.

"We can't let her see you," Buffy explained with a nod, her eyes darting toward the street. "If she does, it will fall under the category of 'catastrophically bad'."

Spike frowned, eyes searching her face. "Thought you told her to bugger off, cut ties with the lot of 'em."

"Well, apparently the ones in England didn't get the memo."

Spike shook his head in confusion.

"I'm back in her house," Buffy explained in a low voice. "Some kind of legal what's-it."

"What about your dad, love? Thought you'd be under his roof by now."

Buffy raised an eyebrow and it said enough.

"Wankers," Spike said under his breath.

"Pretty much," Buffy answered, his still darting between his face and the empty road. "She's England-bound tomorrow night to explain what happened to…and how I killed Malum."

"Sounds a bit excessive for a little recap, pet."

"Well, the Council is nothing if not thorough," Buffy said. "Anyway, she'll be gone all week."

Spike nodded.

"Come over. Tomorrow," Buffy said. "When she leaves, okay?"

"I'll be there," Spike said, still dazed by her sudden appearance. Buffy kissed him again, ignoring any pain and holding his face in both her hands.

"I gotta go," she whispered, but didn't move to leave.

"I missed you…" Spike murmured against the corner of her mouth.

Buffy's expression softened. "Spike, I…"

The unmistakable sound of approaching tires met their ears. She shook her head and was off in a flash.

Spike watched from the shadows as the Watcher woman stopped and said something to Buffy through the open car window. Buffy got in the backseat, not giving him a backwards glance.

He didn't care.

She was back. She was home.

Buffy fiddled with her cross as Ms. Davies drove silently to the next patrol site, tracing the twisting pattern of the metal absently, her boots propped up against the back of the passenger seat.

Cleveland felt colder than usual, now that she was home from…home.

The funeral had been beautiful. Nice, daytime service and flowers and plenty of sun. Buffy's chest felt heavy at the memory.

It had been weird being back, gut-wrenching seeing her Aunt Darlene—sobbing and questioning why a wild animal would be in a Cleveland suburb—awkward seeing her dad—talking on his new cell phone nonstop—and completely Bizzaro-like seeing her old friends again.

And all their endless questioning. If burning down the gym hadn't destroyed her sunny, California girl reputation, her wicked new scar had definitely done it. It didn't even feel that weird to admit that, yes, 'I have a boyfriend and his name is Spike'.

Buffy played with a loop on her pants. All platoonish and olivey.

"This is how you should have dressed from the start,"Ms. Davies had said upon Buffy moving back in, with only one of her old outfits to her name. The rest she'd left in her mother's house—it was still too much to go back—wondering when her dad would step in like he was supposed to, to move her in, put the place up for sale. That 'when' was quickly becoming an 'if'.

No such luck so far, Buffy thought.

Dad was off to Europe for something he said was work related, which seemed to have more to do with vacationing with his new secretary.

Really committing to that stereotype, dad. Way to prematurely mid-life.

Being back in the Watcher-fold was even worse than watching her father live out his shiny, new, Buffy-free life, with how hard Ms. Davies was coming down. Giving her the M*A*S*H clothing, driving her on patrol, monitoring her every move.

It was almost as if she suspected something.

She couldn't, Buffy thought. She'd been careful. Spike had been careful. There was no way Ms. Davies could know she was seeing a creature of the night in her spare time, especially now that she had barely any time to spare.

She's just being extra her-like, Buffy thought. Not like that's much better…

"I think a last sweep in Shaker Heights should suffice for the night. Have you memorized the patrolling schedule I gave you?"

"Yep," Buffy said in a blank voice. She tapped her temple. "It's all in there, stored away."

"I do hope so. I expect you to know the routine while I'm away and to stick to it diligently."

"I know," Buffy said, refusing to give her a direct answer.

"Miss Summers…" Ms. Davies began. She met Buffy's eyes in the rearview mirror, gaze unreadable, if a little less severe. "I am very sorry, about your mother."

She'd tried to keep mom away. If she had then maybe she wouldn't have…

A lump formed, hard and stubborn in Buffy's throat.

"I'm sorry too," Buffy said softly, but it wasn't to Ms. Davies.

"Yes, now we must put our energy into honing your skills," Ms. Davies said curtly. Apparently that was the end of sympathy-time. "Ah, Shaker Heights. Next right."

The still-healing scar on Buffy's lips tingled. She raised a finger to it and traced the messy line. She'd been good in that fight. More than good. And yet…

It was close. Once or twice, he nearly got me. And Spike…

Next she met something like Malum, she would be ready.

Spike waited in the backyard. The sun wasn't quite set yet, but he was impatient to see Buffy again and if that meant ducking through the shadows all the way to the Watcher's house and waiting for her departure, it was worth a few smoking patches on his skin. Least she has trees. He heard the rumble of her engine and waited until the car was far enough away before jimmying the lock on the backdoor.

The house was cold and quiet, he'd forgotten just how much. Without the promise of Buffy's mum coming back, it felt even more so.

Spike sniffed and frowned, heading for the stairs that led to the basement training room.

Buffy slammed her fists, over and over into a dummy, eyes concentrated, breathing hard. He watched from the landing as she attacked it, unyielding, and grinned.

"Love watching you do that," he said.

Buffy stopped before her next hit and wiped her forehead with a rough exhale and a shrug. "Love doing it."

She leaned in to begin pummeling again.

He nodded, but cocked his head. "Everything all right love?"

"Yeah, everything's…" Buffy stopped and ducked her head, pulling off the wraps on her hands and tossing them aside. "No."

She sat on a mat, gaze stuck to the floor. Spike followed her there and sat beside her, scanning her expression and trying to meet her eyes.

"What Malum said to me, what he did…I was thinking about it and…" Buffy stopped herself, her fingers curling into her palms. She looked up and there was a hard intensity behind her eyes. "Slayers, you killed two of them."

"I did," he said softly, unsure of where this was coming from.

Buffy nodded her mouth a grim, set line. "I want you to show me how."

Spike had hesitated, but one look from Buffy and he'd given in. Now they circled each other in the center of the training room.

"All right. First girl was all business. Knew every bloody move by the book, crossed her t's, dotted her i's," Spike said. He watched her twirl a thin sword. "Well, in a manner of speaking. Didn't know a lick of English, but nearly got me more than once."

He gestured to his eyebrow. "Gave me this."

"Still healing?" Buffy asked. She charged him, but he deflected the hit and the sword ended up deep in the dummy's middle. Buffy adapted immediately to the loss of her weapon, pulling a stake from her waistband, but kept herself loose, going through the motions of Xin Rong's final minutes as if by instinct.

Spike faltered a moment, but came back to himself. "Blessed sword. Hurt like a bugger too."

He ducked Buffy's next few punches.

"Now this one, I got lucky," Spike said, letting her force him back and corner him. "Explosion outside and—" He knocked the stake out of Buffy's hand. When she tried to reach for it, he caught her arm and jerked her back into his grip, lips to her throat.

"It was all over," he whispered against her skin.

She inhaled sharply when he ran his nose along her throat and gave her earlobe a gentle nip. Spike felt her shiver, her heartbeat against his chest, hips pressing back against his as if she could guess what had happened next when Dru walked in, then she twisted out of his hold, fists raised, back in control. "How'd you kill the second one?"

Spike shrugged and pushed himself back to his feet. "You ready?"

"Give it to me."

Spike swung but she dodged each throw. "You wanna know how I beat 'em?"

Buffy kept her fists up even as he stalled. "Obviously."

"You're asking the wrong questions. The question isn't 'how'd I win', but 'why'd they lose'."

Buffy swept his feet out from under him, straddled his hips, and held him down on the mat. Christ, he had a cockstand and he could hear Buffy's heart pounding. Her hands were hot where she gripped him.

"There's a difference?" she asked, breathing hard, breasts brushing his chest.

"There's a big difference, love." Spike's hands crept around her thighs.

Buffy grabbed his wrists and pinned them by his ears. She spoke through her teeth. "Show me."

"All right, went a bit like this." Spike kicked her up and off of him, throwing himself back into the fight. "Nikki had a touch of your style. Kept me on my toes, never knew what she'd do next. God, she was good. Cunning, resourceful. I could've danced all night with her."

That one seemed to set her off just a tick and she went after him a bit more ferociously.

"But the thing about the dance is, you never get to stop," Spike said.

Buffy made an angry noise in her throat, but her fury was ebbing away to give way to something else.

"You fight, day after day after day and there's only one bloody end in sight. You're done with it all when you take your last breath," Spike said. "I know what's on your mind, Slayer, I always have. The question haunts you every day and now more than ever. 'Is today the day I die?'"

"Spike stop."

"They wanted it, in the end," Spike said. "Didn't have to say a thing, you only had to look at them and know."

"So what?" Buffy said, anger flaring up. "You honestly think that about me? God, you know me better than anyone and you think…"

She punched him. Hard. Harder than she had in a good long while. That was gonna leave a bruise. But Spike caught her and held her shoulders still.

He sank to his knees and kept on as if he hadn't heard her. "They gave up, Buffy, the both of 'em, whether they meant to or not. Wasn't a punch they didn't throw or a kick they didn't land. Had a death wish and I was the one to dole it out. You never get to rest. Never. Not until you're dead. Slayer…" Spike's voice went soft. "Love, don't give into it, no matter how rough it gets, no matter how much you may feel like you've got to let go, you have to keep fighting."

Buffy exhaled roughly and he saw a thousand thoughts on her face. That anger fueling her was quickly dissolving into something else, something deep and familiar.

"Don't stop," he said again. "Never give in." With sudden urgency, he squeezed her hands roughly, angrily. "Say it."

Buffy's lower lip trembled and the depth of her pain seemed to play out behind her eyes, hard and afraid all at once.

Spike felt his expression soften and he released her. "I'm sorry, I didn't…"

"I hurt you…" she said and touched the tender spot on his cheek, her eyes huge.

Spike winced, but gave her a sly smile. "Wasn't the first time. You've given me worse."

Buffy let out a breathy laugh that still held a note of guilt.

"You know I didn't mind it," he said in a low voice.

Buffy swallowed and seemed to catch his meaning. "I know."

He grinned at her change of tone and nearly kept going down that avenue, but stopped himself and stood. She was still hurting. "Let's go upstairs, yeah? Have a cuppa?"

She nodded and took his hand, pulling him to his feet and then gently behind her, stopping on the landing.

"I won't give up," Buffy said. She furrowed her brow and said with certainty. "I don't wanna die. I am not going to die. But can you promise me something? You don't die either."

Spike kissed her brow. "I can do that."

Author's Note: This chapter was pretty angst-heavy, but the next few will be much lighter :) Ms. Davies is gone for an entire week after all. Thanks again for reading!