Spoilers: Season 5. This story takes place directly after "Crush"
Rating: PG
Content: Spike/Buffy
Disclaimer: They are Joss's! All Joss's! I'm just *cough* borrowing them for a bit.
Feedback: Your words are literally keeping me writing on this one. I need all the help I can get! Thanks!



Chapter Seven

"I'm going to kill him," the Slayer grumbled as she kicked the stone door open. Her plaid miniskirt rustled about her thighs as a gust of wind blew into the room. "Just give me one itty bitty excuse, Spike. Please. Just one little excuse. Is that so much to ask?"

Buffy snorted in disgust as she glanced about the room. The vampire was no where in sight, but his prized leather duster lay on the recliner, which meant Spike was somewhere nearby. He never went anywhere without that thing.

"Great. Just delightful," Buffy mumbled as her eyes automatically found their way to the metal plate which marked the entrance to the catacombs. God knows what he was doing down there, she thought against her will. Her cheeks flushed vividly as several rather risque ideas popped into her head.

"Spike?" she called out weakly as she tore her eyes away from the gleaming metal to only have them fall upon the bed.

"Oh, don't go there," Buffy told herself firmly as she raised her eyes to the safety of the vaulted ceiling.

"Oh, lookie. A spider," she said in a rush as she tried to force her thoughts away from the vampire and his undoubtedly nefarious deeds. Spike. He has to be down in the catacombs.

"A tiny little black spider," Buffy continued, her treasonous thoughts wandering back to the more intriguing topic of Spike. What was he doing in the catacombs?

"Awww! He's making a web," she cooed enthusiastically, almost as if event were completely novel. "How cute!"

With a deep sigh, her eyes flittered back to the cover.

"Get a grip, Buffy," she commanded herself through gritted teeth. This whole deal with Spike had her on the edge. Spike! Of all people.

Over the last year or so, there had been no escaping Spike. She couldn't go anywhere, do anything, without coming across the vampire. But it really hadn't been so bad, she had to admit. After all, in a fight, every blow the vampire took was one less the Scoobies would. Plus, he had the added benefit of being a decent enough fighter. Okay, maybe it was more than that.

She *knew* him. What he was capable of. What to expect.

Or at least, she thought she had.

But this whole deal with his crush just totally blew her mind. His crush. On *her*. That wasn't the way it was supposed to work. It was like saying goodbye to their rather shakey truce and a great, big hello! to all the angst in the world. Like she didn't have enough of that junk already.

Spike. He was supposed to just pop in, snap off a few semi-amusing quips, trade a few punches, then leave. That was it. It was like a tidy little business deal. And now, he had to go screw everything up by deluding himself. The whole idea unsettled her the more she thought about it. And for some reason, she *couldn't* stop thinking about it.

After all, she never hid who she really was around him. It wasn't like she cared what he thought. For the first time in her life, Buffy had felt completely comfortable saying whatever was on her mind around another person. She had nothing to prove, didn't have to worry about saving his feelings. And the truth was, it felt *good*. And it felt even better to know that out of all the people she's ever known, only Spike would ever respond in kind. No lies. No promises. Just the brutal truth.

And sometimes, "brutal" was just the word to describe it. The thing was that the Scoobies never seemed to understand in their hurry to protect her: she wanted to know the truth. No matter how horrible it was. She needed it as much as she needed air and a piece of carved wood. It was essential to her life. After all, an uninformed Slayer was a dead Slayer.

So what happened now? Their truce was destroyed. Their mock battles and verbal sparring would become a thing of the past. It was over. And that little fact hurt her more than she was willing to admit.

Her mother didn't understand just how embarrassing it was to be here. In Spike's place. Asking *him* for help to find her own sister. Like she couldn't do it herself. After everything that's happened. Knowing him, he'd read it as interest.

And she certainly wasn't interested. She could already feel his smug looks, his sardonic comments as he seized on her weaknesses. Or even worse, he'd be nice. And do everything he could to please her. That, like the others, he'd tell her everything he thought she wanted to hear. That things would be okay. That when things came down to it, she'd beat Glory. That Riley would come back. That her mother really was okay.

How could she ever trust him again? The next time she needed him to take care of her mother and sister, how would she know he meant it when he said he'd protect them? That one time Dawn had run away when finding out she was the Key, Spike had told her she would find her. And Buffy had believed him because it was *Spike*. And Spike never lies. As incredible as it sounded, in an odd way, she really trusted him. But now, he had to go screw up everything by lying to her.

By telling her he loved her.

Her nostrils flared as she regarded the thin piece of metal on the floor. With a toss of her head, she stamped over to the object and pushed it off the opening. She closed her eyes for a split second as she listened to the cover clatter on the stone floor.

"Spike!" she growled, the anger at the whole situation boiling through her veins. She'd be damned before she played any more of these stupid games. Enough was enough.

"Answer me, dammit. I don't have time for this. Dawn is missing," she called out. Her brow furrowed curiously as she received no answer. Reluctantly, she peeked down through the opening, her eyes immediately finding the wall where the vampire's creepy little Buffy shrine had been as her long, blonde hair dangled quietly in the air. A small smile inched up on her lips as she remembered the satisfying crash that had resounded through the tomb when she had sent the vampire tumbling right into the middle of the display.

Her smile soured as she noticed all of the items had been packed away. Like he had forgotten her. Already. Probably moved onto the next bimbo, she thought grouchily. She should dust him as a public service to the females of her species.

"Spike. Where are you?" Buffy snapped as her eyes suddenly refused to look at That Wall anymore. Her eyes slowly roamed around the catacombs.

He was no where in sight.

"Spike?" she called out again, feeling slightly unnerved as her own voice reverberated off the walls. With a troubled frown, she pulled herself up from the opening and sat on the floor of the crypt. Buffy's gaze fell back upon the black duster lying so innocuously in the recliner.

"He never goes anywhere without it," she said aloud in a dull monotone as she slowly pulled herself to her feet.

Her light brown eyebrows knit together as she finally looked around the room. Without warning, her knees gave out and she fell back upon the neatly-made bed. Who would have ever thought a vampire could bleed so much, she thought in wonder as she noticed the bloody handprint on the stone wall and the drippings on the overturned coffin.

She drew her rebellious knees up to her chest as she surveyed the damage. How could she have possibly missed it before? Even the damn bolt which ... the damn wooden bolt lay on the ground by the door, covered in blood. She would have had to step over it to even enter. How did she miss it the first time?

Buffy closed her eyes as the strong smell of congealing blood assaulted her senses, the putrid scent so potent that she could taste it on her tongue. It was almost as if all the air had been sucked out of the room only to be replaced by a dead man's blood.

It took all of her willpower not to throw up on the prettily made quilt.

So much blood. How did she miss it? How *could* she miss it? The smell was so strong. Overwhelming. Really and truly overwhelming.

Her hands trembled as she reached over to the nightstand beside the bed. Frantically, she pulled it open, searching inside for anything that would take away the brunt of the scent. Nothing. She yanked hard on the bottom drawer, pulling it out of the casing and sending it tumbling to the floor.

"Sorry. Sorry," Buffy breathed in horror as she looked at the mess. Silently, she fell to her knees, her hands moving in a blur as she replaced the odds and ends back into the drawer. She lifted the drawer and placed it carefully upon its metal track, but she paused before she pushed it home. She knew she had opened the drawer for some reason, but couldn't remember why.

Shaking her head slowly, she rose to her feet as she kept her eyes averted from the blood which decorated the room so liberally. Before her brain had time to even process the thought, she was standing over the recliner, shrugging into the cool black leather.

Buffy closed her eyes as the duster brushed against her bare ankles, the caress of the leather strange and foreign, but not unwelcome. Gripping the lapels tightly, she pulled the duster up and inhaled its musty but pleasant scents. Frowning as she felt something crinkle, Buffy reached hesitantly into the interior breast pocket. She withdrew a small sheet of folded paper, the creases darkened with sweat and dirt.

She frowned as she considered the paper, her eyes glued to it as if it contained the world's most sacred answers within. The Slayer came to the decision quickly and carefully replaced the paper back into the pocket, pausing only to pat it a single time as she quickly strode to the door.

With a gentle hand, she closed the stone door as she left the crypt, her face as pale and immobile as the marble cherub above the doorway.





Her bare feet were bleeding.

Joyce stumbled on, willing herself to ignore the pain as she reached the gallery's door. Biting her lip, she bent low and retrieved the spare key from beneath the flower pot. Her hands trembling, she struggled in the dark as she fumbled with the key.

He was nearly upon her.

The lock finally gave way and she pushed through the door, only to immediately turn and slam it in the face of the enraged vampire.

She laughed in relief, wiping the tears from her eyes as she regarded the door.

"I didn't survive a divorce, a brain tumour, and raising two teenage girls to be taken down by some two-bit vampire!" she called through the door, her momentary euphoria causing her to disregard her better sense.

Joyce grinned brightly as she heard the vampire bang on the thin wood repeatedly, his roars a testament to his outrage at being outwitted.

She closed her eyes as her energy suddenly fled. Leaning against the door, she half-listened as the vampire on the other side cursed her out.

"Huff and puff, Big Bad Wolf, but *this* little piggy isn't going anywhere," Joyce muttered as she looked around.

Too dark.

She flicked the houselights on, only to wince as the general spookiness of the silent room seemed to multiple tenfold as an eerie, flurouscent glow settled over the area. The shadows seemed to dance from every corner, hiding under the curves and sharp edges of every sculpture and painting.

Joyce shivered, her arms wrapped around herself as she considered the room. With a shake of her head, she walked quietly to her office.

She threw herself down into the black cloth executive chair, her legs immediately crossing at the ankle as she regarded the phone.

The woman lifted the handset thoughtfully, her gazed locked onto the innocuous white buttons of the phone. She tapped a long, manicured nail on the base, frowning as she deliberated on paging her eldest.

"Hope you aren't planning to call the police," the vampire looked down at her with an amused look in his cloudy eyes. He stood arrogantly above her, his long, frayed dredlocks flowing to his muscular waist.

"Hope you aren't threatening the Slayer's mother," Spike said, his tone bored and dry as he leaned against the wall lazily.

"Spike," the taller vampire growled, his eyes widened by the sudden appearance of the master vampire. "Well, if it isn't the old turncoat."

"Turncoat, mate? Lemme guess. You've been watching Nick at Nite, right? Thought so," the blond vampire rolled his eyes to the heavens as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Spike?" Joyce asked quietly, her face pale as she looked from vampire to vampire. "How did you two get in here? I didn't invite..."

"Don't need an invite for a public place, Joyce..."

"You are on a first name basis with a mortal?" the young vampire asked incredulously, his demon visage melting back into that of a human.

Spike sighed impatiently as he considered the fledgling. "It's taken you this long to figure it out, mate?"

"But a *mortal*," the vampire protested.

"Really, Joyce," Spike started conversationally as he turned away from the vampire. "The kids nowadays. Bunch of morons, they are."

Joyce just nodded dumbly as she watched the scene unfold.

"Tell you what, mate. I'll be nice this round. You leave. Leave now. Don't come back. And I won't kill you. Got it?"

"But..."

"You are still here?"

"But..."

"Your funeral, mate. Nibblet! Stake him!"

"Aw. Can't we torture him a little bit first?"

"Dawn! Sweetheart! I've been worried sick! ... um. Torture?"

"Um. Torture?"

"Sounds fair enough to me, luv."

"Oh, cool. I always wanted to try my hand at it, you know. They made us watch something on the Spanish Inquisition at school. That Torquama-something guy... Wow. I wanted to see if ... Aw! Where did Grrr-Guy go?"

"Dawn! Where have you been? We've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Maybe next time, Bitty Bad," the vampire said affectionately as he reached out a torn hand and ruffled her hair. Spike looked somewhat aghast as he realised what he just did.

Dawn just looked at the vampire with sad eyes and shook her head.

"Young lady, I'm waiting for an explanation..." Joyce demanded, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "Why didn't you call? And *you*! You just let that.. that *creature* go?"

"Sorry, Joyce."

"Sorry, Mom."

"If someone doesn't start explaining ... Oh, goodness" Joyce slowly came to her feet, wincing as the wounds ached with the pressure.

Spike's lips quirked as he regarded the woman in amusement. "Don't worry, Joyce. Just a flesh wound."

"Flesh indeed," the woman frowned as she grabbed at the vampire's hands. "Oh, dear. These are just terrible."

"Yeah. You should see the one above his heart, Mom," Dawn smirked as she watched Spike flinch at her words.

The woman pushed the vampire into her chair, frowning as she kneeled and considered the wounds. "Some scuffle."

"You should have seen the other guy," Spike mumbled, his face even more milky white than typical.

Dawn frowned as she looked towards the door.

"He'll be coming, Spike. We got to get out of here," she breathed urgently, the strain beginning to show on her pretty face.

"Who will...?"

"The 'other guy', Joyce," the vampire sighed as he lifted his hands to the light. "Bloody hell. Did quite a job on these, didn't he. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit."

"Spike..."

"Sorry, Joyce. Been one hell-- heck of a night," Spike frowned as he considered his wounds. "Aw, hell! I just *painted* these things!" he grumbled in exasperation as he waved around his destroyed manicure.

The older woman's lips pressed together in annoyance as she carefully examined the vampire's injuries.

"Really, Mom. We'll explain. But it's not safe here," Dawn said softly, her eyes darting to the door.

"As much as I'd like to agree, Dawnie, we aren't going anywhere. I don't really think it would be wise to move Spike," Joyce sighed as she lifted the handset.

"Mom?"

"It's okay, sweetpea. First aid kit is in the lower drawer of the cabinet to the left of the sink. Get it for me, baby?" Joyce smiled comfortingly at her daughter as she pressed a series of numbers on the old, yellowed phone.

"'Kay."

Spike winced as he recognised the number Joyce dialed.

"She's going to kill me," the vampire sighed fatalistically.

"Oh, don't worry," Joyce patted the vampire on the shoulder comfortingly. "She fully intended to. After the ... Incident."

Spike groaned in pure embarrassment as he lowered his head to his broken hands, the misery emanating from the injured vampire nearly tangible.

"What *is* it with you Summers women? You aren't going to let me forget it, are you?"

Joyce smiled kindly as she covered the head of the handset with a dainty hand.

"Of course not. What fun would there be in that?"

"Aw. Bloody. Hell."