Disclaimers: BTVS belongs to Joss Whedon along with all the characters--these are sued for entertainment. Lyrics by Sarah McLaughlin, Building A Mystery.

Spoilers: "Smashed" Season 6

Summary: Set some fifty years after "Smashed", Spike died about seven months after the episode aired. Buffy being not truly human is more of an immortal; she's alone in this earth and her life does an 360 degree turn when she runs into Rocco in a bar one night. Rocco is somewhat the reincarnation of Spike's soul. B/S, some B/Rocco.

Rating: Strong R

Distribution: Please do not take without my permission. The only sites that have my pre-approval to post my stuff is Carnal Sins (cause it's mine), Death-Marked Love, and any affiliate/soulmate of mine.

Feedback: Please! bih80@yahoo.com

Author's notes: If you've read 100 yrs of Solitude and enjoyed it you will like this, think Spike in 100 yrs, reversed to Buffy. Special thanks to my Betas Allison, Ophelia and Hilary;o)--they're wonderful *xoxoxox*

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You come out at night
That's when the energy comes
And the dark side's light
And the vampires roam

He caught her before she could fall, her jelly knees gave out and strong familiar arms wrapped around her but all she could do was stare. Stare at that face, those eyes, that mouth, that nose, that chin, those eyebrows.

Either she was completely gone and she needed help, or she should cut down on her drinks.

"Well, I've always wanted to have that effect on a beautiful woman," he said and chuckled and he easily picked her up and sat her on a nearby stool.

The small blonde girl was just staring at him, large beautiful hazel eyes studying him like there was no tomorrow.

"Hey, not that I don't mind, but with the staring—make it stop, luv," he said as he sat across from her.

She gaped at him and before she knew it she literally jumped on top of him, sobbing and kissing him.

She held him so tight that he yelped when her strong arms cracked two ribs. Pain laced through him as he tried to get her off him.

"God, Spike—I've missed you, baby, I've missed you so much. How did you do it? Never mind, all it matters is that we're together."

She heard him yelp and heard the clear cracking of the bones.

He was human.

He gasped and pulled back. "You're human." She stated.

The man glared at her. "Yes, I'm bloody human, sodding ell—what you get for trying to buy a girl a drink."

She studied him more carefully as tears began to flow down her cheeks. "You're not Spike."

The man winced as he stood up. "I think I need a doctor."

She realized what she had done. "Oh my god—I'm so sorry!" She looked around the bar wildly—the patrons glaring at her along with the female bartender. "I've gotta go."

She ran out of the bar in full speed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

You strut your rasta wear
And your suicide poem
And a cross from a faith
That died before Jesus came
You're building a mystery

She ran as if demons were following her, she ran like all that she had left depended on it. She ran so hard she lost herself somewhere. Lost behind black alleys that stunk of filth—dark and dirty alleys that she loathed yet loved.

"Hey!"

She could hear his voice far away, that same ghostly haunting voice that made itself carnal before her eyes.

"No—you're dead, you're deadI saw you die," she whispered to the wind.

They had literally seven seconds from the time the portal was opened until it had to be closed—if kept opened for longer they would all die.

She battled the minion before her, kicking it in the head and sending it against the wall of the underground tunnel.

"It's opening!" She could hear Anya screaming.

This wasn't supposed to happen—they had to prevent the opening, if it opened it meant

She had seven seconds.

Seven seconds to see her life disappear.

She turned to where she knew he would be. He knew she would turn.

Their eyes met and through them flowed unspeakable words. Words that spell regret and love and passion and all the times she wished she could hold in a glass capsule and live them over and over.

She saw the words form in his lips as he grabbed the orb in front of him. That orb that would burn him to the core—the killer orb that would turn him to ashes.

Dust to dust.

"I love you."

She saw the words form in his lips and then all she saw was light. Bright green light that blinded them and they all fell to the ground except that slayer.

She screamed.

"NO!"

Her gut seemed to come forth as she screamed—this was all her emotion, all her life—that building energy within her wanted to take those seconds back and re-live them.

She hadn't realized she has been screaming and crying and running to where his ashes lay.

Slumping herself on the ground and bathing herself with the fallen black soot.

"No, no, no, no" the words evolved in her lips and became mindless babble in her tongue.

It was three days later that she realized he was gone. Spike was dead. Her lover was not coming back.

She ran away that night.

"Hey! Wait up!"

She looked up wildly and there he was. A shadow of her pain—that black malignity that made her what she was now.

She shook her head and stepped back. "You're dead"

She backed up until she hit the hard brick wall and slumped down to the floor.

"Hey! Justcalm down, pet, no need to panic." He stopped and raised his hands to try to calm her down.

"Stop!" She screamed. He took a deep breath.

"Look, pet, I'm stopping..."

"Stop talking like that!" she cried and buried her face in her hands her small body shaking and rocking back and forth.

"I..."

He watched her for a while; she had stopped crying but was shaking uncontrollably, her eyes wild and hollow, the thinness of her showing through her hollow cheekbones.

He cautiously approached her, squatting before her.

"I didn't mean to get you upset."

She looked up to that face she knew so well--face that hunted her in dreams and face that she still loved.

"Who sent you?" she asked coldly.

The man was taken back. "What...listen, I just wanted to buy you a drink. Then you come and throw yourself at me, calling me Spike, breaking my ribs..."

"Who sent you?" Green eyes demanded and he could feel the power flowing out of her.

"No one. Here on my own--in LA that is."

She starred at him for sometime almost trying to read him and almost trying to lie to herself into thinking that this was her Spike.

But it wasn't him. He didn't have the swagger, the look, that mischievous naughty grin of his. This was not her Spike.

"I need to go." She whispered.

He nodded and watched her stand. He winced as his cracked ribs rubbed against each other.

"Ah, could you point me in the direction of a hospital?"

Buffy studied him. "I'm sorry about your ribs. Wrap them up, they should hear in about four weeks."

"I could have internal damage." He protested.

She rolled her eyes.

"Take it off," she told him, glaring at him.

"Listen slayer, I don't need you to look out for me." Spike protested, but the small blonde slayer reached out and basically ripped his shirt off.

He arched his eyebrow at her. "Like it rough, don't you. Well I knew that already."

She placed her hands on her hips and starred at him. "Do you have to have a sexual comment for everything?"

He moved up to her. "I think it gets you all hot and bothered."

She placed her small hot hands against his chest and pushed him back. He yelped as the broken ribs poked him internally.

"We agreed to stay friends--remember?"

He glared at her.

"Fine, get on with it."

"Sit down--facing the wall. This cut back here is really nasty."

He obeyed, sitting on his bed, facing the crypt wall.

She gently pressed the alcohol soaked cotton against the open wound on his back making him wince. If you didn't insist on following me around--this wouldn't happen." she murmured.

He gritted his teeth together and glared at her over his shoulder.

She continued cleaning his wound and then moved in front of him to wrap his chest with the long strong gauze.

"Lift your arms," she said quietly.

He complied and she reached around him to wrap him up. He could smell the shampoo of her hair and the soft musk of her perfume.

It was taking all his energies to keep himself from grabbing her and crushing his lips against hers.

She was also feeling the nearness, the cool firm skin of his chest and all those bruises she wanted to kiss away.

She tied the gauze's end together on the side and patted his wrapped chest smooth.

"There--all done," she said.

He watched her and she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his chest.

"Buffy..."

"Thank you," she said softly.

He grabbed her hands and rubbed them--making the cold of her fingers go away.

"Spike, I..."

He placed his finger against her parted lips and their eyes met. "Friends, remember?"

"You don't have internal damage," she told the man before her.

He arched an eyebrow and looked at her. "And how would you know that? Are you a doctor?"

She took out a cigarette and lit it, trying to control her nerves. "You ran after me, squatted down and stood back up. If your lungs had been punctured you would be spitting blood, if you had internal damage you would be crying, plus--I only put three pounds of pressure on you which means you have a splintered bone--not a cracked one. Go home--wrap it up."

You're building a mystery
You live in a church
Where you sleep with voodoo dolls
And you won't give up the search
For the ghosts in the halls

She turned to walk out of the alley, blonde hair blowing lightly in the wind.

"Hey!"

She groaned.

The man that looked like William the Bloody walked up to her, smiling. "You see that's really impressive, luv--aside from your amazing strength and your emotional problems you're really something else."

She eyed him carefully. "What do you call yourself?"

"Huh?"

"A name--a name you call yourself, do you have one or should I make one up for you?"

He smirked at her sarcasm.

"I think you already did that."

She glared at him and turned to walk the opposite direction.

She could feel him next to her--like a leech.

"Hey, I was kiddin', luv. Just wanted to make conversation. Don't be so hard on a bloke."

She stopped and glared at him.

"I still have a long night ahead of me, I still need to get drunk and I've gotta be home before the crack of dawn," she said quickly.

He eyed her up and down. "Didn't peg you for a partier."

"There are other things to do than Bronze all night."

"Bronze?"

"Never mind—nice meeting you."

He watched her leave. "Rocco."

She turned around. "What?"

"Rocco, my name is Rocco."

Lying in bed here was wonderful. His chest against her bare back, if she felt hot during the night all she had to do was touch him and the coolness of his skin would burn right through her.

His arms tightened around her waist and he placed a gentle kiss on her bare shoulder.

"What are you thinking of?"

She smiled and turned to look at him. "How I feel like I've gotten my life back."

He gave her one of those smiles that he reserved specially for her and Dawn and pecked her lightly on her lips.

"Same here." He whispered.

"Tell me something you've done that I don't know about—but something bloodless and gutless."

She could feel him smirking behind her.

"Something recently?"

"Doesn't matter." She answered and brought one of his hands to her lips and kissed it.

"Ok—wellnow promise not to be mad."

She giggled. "I promise."

"Wellright after your mum died, I went over to her grave to say my condolences since I knew I wouldn't be invitedhad to say good-bye on my own."

She turned to look at him. She starred at him for some time. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "You had every right to be angry—I see that now."

She ran her hand down his sharp cheekbones. "So what happened?"

He took one of those unneeded breaths that she thought funny. "Well I ran into the Nibblet doing some type of mumbo-jumbo on top of mum's grave."

Buffy sighed. "At least she wasn't alone. I thought she was over at Willow's."

"Well she was all intent on bringing zombie-mommy back that I told her I could help er." He could feel her glaring at him but he decided that this had to come out. "I took er to this demon bloke I knewhe ended up being the bastard that fucked everything up."

She could feel him getting tense and angry and she placed her small hand on his chest. "Spikecalm down."

He placed his larger hand over her smaller one and squeezed in appreciation.

"Should've know that demon was twisted, he even said I he knew me from somewhere—called me Rocco."

"Rocco?"

He looked down at her. "Told you he was weird and off—said I had different hair color, liked Dominos and was human."

"A human you with brown hair," Buffy mused.

He arched his eyebrow at her. "Would you follow tail after the pansy?"

"Well" she started playfully. "I do like Dominos."

He playfully growled and attacked her middle section with his fingers. She squealed and thrashed in bed. "

"No, Roccostop!" She laughed until she turned red.

He paused to stare at her flushed face. "Rocco, eh?" he attacked her again.

In the other room Dawn sighed and smiled, taking her earphones from her night table.

Rocco had no idea what hit him. One moment he thought he might be getting somewhere with the blonde the next she had backhanded him hard and was now pinning him against the alley wall, by the shoulders.

Her fiery green eyes were wild with rage. He could only stutter and plead.

"Who the fuck sent you?" She hissed.

"I. just" he stuttered on. "buy you a drink"

She pounded him against the wall again. "Stop with the pick up bullshit!"

"What do you want me to say? I saw you at the bar, you looked lonely, you looked good, I wanted to ask you outwhat's wrong with that?" He cried.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders and he winced as his ribs rubbed against each other. "Really?"

He nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, that's all!

She cocked her to the side and studied him. "No twenty-something male human goes to a demon bar to pick up a girl who looks too lonely for his own comfort, who lets her breaks his ribs and have her all over him, calling him a different name. Then runs out of the bar into the night, follows her and still asks her out, broken ribs, tears and all. And to top it all your name is Rocco."

"Well, I'm not crazy about Rocco either, but my mother named meit was post-revolution."

She smiled. "Tell whoever you're working for that I'm not afraid of them or whoever wears the pants in your company."

"What? What the bloody ell are you talking bout?"

"And drop the phony accent, and the William the Bloody looks—do you think I was born yesterday?" She pressed him harder into the wall. "Do you think I wouldn't know?"

Rocco stared back at her blankly and confused, she met his eyes—something she hadn't done in almost fifty years.

She let him go abruptly. "You're not working with anyone?" She asked confused.

Rocco straightened out his turtleneck and glared back at her. "Like I said, just wanted to buy a pretty girl a drink'."

"We've started out in seven different bad feet. Why don't you go your way and I go mine?" she asked him quietly.

He looked up and the whole visage of the strong proud woman had dropped.

"Hey," he said softly. "No biggie—we can still do that drink."

She chuckled and shook her head, looking back up at him. "You don't give up, do you?"

"Not really—not when I've lived for twenty-six years and never met a girl like you. Beats you up the day you met her and showers you with kisses."

She looked back down and picked the fuss in her coat. "Sorry about thatlike I said, I thought you were someone else."

He clutched his mid section that was screaming in pain. "Should I be worried about the other guy?"

Buffy looked up to him quickly and started to walk away. "This is when we say goodbye."

She turned and started walking out.

"Touchy subject, I see."

She looked at him over shoulder. "And you'd do good to let it be."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

You wear sandals in the snow
And a smile that won't wash away
Can you look out the window
Without your shadow getting in the way
Oh you're so beautiful

The docks were cold with the fall whether that clashed over the coast.

Fine California morning, the 3am fog was filling up the land making the trees still and the air thicken.

The boat had arrived about half an hour ago, everything had been quiet for fear of alarming the local Coast Guard.

The entire dock was silent until the long limousine came driving up the pebble pathway. Tinted windows and slow menacing speed accompanied the long black car.

As it stopped in front of the entrance of the dock house, men started filtering out. Coming out from the boat, the boathouse, and exiting the car.

They talked business, and exchanged business-like' exchanges, pretending to care about each other's wives, business, and kids.

They didn't notice the crouching shadow behind the bushes, next to the car.

The shadow studied them and locked its view on the man dressed in the fine Armani silk suit. The one who was surrounded by all of the men—jumping to his commands.

Buffy watched them, she knew they were talking in Greek, she'd been there for a couple of years. She understood the basic language—she was never the one to learn more than what was necessary.

She took out her Sniper kit that she carried in the small book-bag. She was almost grateful that they weren't as long and heavy as they used to be---she remembered when she used to carry a suitcase. It was in her starting days—days she was glad she was over with. She no longer needed to prove herself, they knew who she was.

She assembled the weapon and held it daftly in her shoulder. She targeted it to the black-suited man, the head—it never failed, plus it was bloodier.

Finger on the trigger, eyes on his head, entire body silent, anticipation running through her veins.

"Hey!"

She literally jumped, grabbed Rocco's mouth and held him until her was still and completely quiet. She was hardly breathing.

"I heard a sound over here, check it out." She heard them say.

"The place is clean—me and my boys made sure of that."

"Check it out again—don't want no stinker mucking it up, yu' hear?"

"Yeah, boss. C'mon boys—bring the flashlights and dogs."

Buffy turned Rocco to face her. His eyes were wild with fright. She motioned him to be quiet, taking her gun she pointed to the path they came from.

Crawl' she mouthed.

He nodded and started to crawl out, the slayer in tow.

They were getting away—she could hear their voices and sniffing dogs further away.

That was until Rocco placed his hand down something slimy. Something cold andlong.

His eyes went wide when he saw it was a snakea snake that hissed and bore it's fangs to him.

He screamed and jumped up.

Buffy quickly grabbed him and pulled him down before bullets started to shower them. Taking out her jungle knife that she carried on her boot and sliced the snake's head off, leaving a shaking Rocco behind.

Then she turned to look at the direction of the bullets—they were coming in fast, shouting in Greek and not in pretty colors.

She turned to look at Rocco and shook him out of his trance. "Run!"

They both reacted at the same time, jumping up and running for dear life—well she was more dragging him since he was clutching his ribs and literally shaking form head to toe as they dodged bullets.

Over the road, and through trees, and over small puddles and broken twigs.

The men ran after them until they were in the outskirts of the town. Buffy dragged the hurt man into a packed bar that was playing some seriously hard rock music. Bodies were jumping, sweat pouring, beers clinking.

Perfect place to hide.

She took him to the dance floor and pressed their bodies together. She could see that Rocco was more than confused.

"Just blend in." She hissed at him.

The men in suits and guns came barging into the club and looked around.

She pressed her face into his neck and his arms went around her.

"This is not coping a feel."

He nodded and held her tighter, ignoring her warning.

With an edge and a charm
But so careful
When I'm in your arms
'Cause you're working
Building a mystery

She watched the men look around the club, grab a couple of couples before giving up and walking out.

She let out a sigh of relief then pulled herself from Rocco's embrace, glaring at him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You could've gotten yourself killed!"

"I didn't know you were an assassin!"

She placed her hands on her hips. "I am not an assassin!" She screamed over the music.

"Then why the hell were you trying to kill that man?" He yelled back her.

He could see the blood rushing to her cheeks, and her eyes narrowing.

She turned and walked out. Rocco watched her go and sighed. "Why does she keep doing that?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Holding on and holding it in
Yeah you're working
Building a mystery
And choosing so carefully
You woke up screaming along
A prayer from your secret god

Buffy looked around making sure the goons were really gone, she was relieved to see that they were. She eyed over a motorcycle, it was there—no attendantall alone.

"I am not ridding that bike," she told him.

"What? You've ridden it before, pet," Spike as he mounted his bike.

She glared at him. "I was drunk and not thinking straight."

He smiled. "You seem to do that a lot around me, don't you?"

"Get drunk?" She asked.

"No, think straight," He said and turned on the bike. "Get on or you walk homeby yourself."

Buffy thought quickly. She had decided to keep her distance from him since theincident in that old crumbled house.

Her legs made her decision as she jumped on and held on to him.

He smiled and placed his hand over her clasp ones on his waist. "Hold on, baby."

"I though you were taking me home!" she protested.

"I ambut let's have some fun first."

The bike sped off and she shrieked as he took a sharp turn, almost dipping them to the ground.

She could hear the rumbles of his chuckles as she held on and decided not to look by burying her head on his back.

"Enjoy the ride, Summers," He told her and she tentatively lifted her head.

She asked herself how long she had been hiding, cause she recognized where they were. By that lake in the outskirts. The full moon shone above, sparkling its glow to the glassy lake. The breeze was soft and cool, making her lean further into him.

"It's beautiful!" She exclaimed. He smiled as he brought her hand to his lips, kissing it.

This was not bad, not bad at all. Here, ridding with the man shewas involved with?

"You should let me show you a little fun once in a while."

She glared at the back of his head. "Last time you said that I puked my insides out."

He chuckled again. "Nothin' like a barfing slayer."

"I hate you," she hissed.

"Yeah—whatever you say, Buffy."

She pushed those memories to the back of her head and climbed on the bike, expertly crossing the wires until she heard the loud motor and the tremble between her thighs.

The last thing she expected was a body, much like that one she had loved so long ago, climb behind her and urge her to go.

"Bitch, that's my bike!"

Rocco's arms went around her as she sped off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

You feed off our fears
And hold back your tears
Give us a tantrum
And a know it all grin
Just when we need one
When the evening's thin
Oh you're a beautiful

She stopped the bike in front of her apartment building, leaving it on the curb to catch the morning rays.

"Why do you keep doing that?" She asked Rocco as he dismounted the bike.

He was still holding on to his midsection. She sighed.

"C'mon—bet you've never broken ribs before."

She didn't pause for him to answer, instead she jogged to the fourth floor and took out her card. He was trailing behind and got there when she went into her small, unfurnished apartment.

"This is your place?" he asked.

She lit a cigarette after she had shed her coat. "For now—yeah."

He looked around, one sofa, one small TV, one glass table that held the lamp and her keys.

He watched as she walked to the kitchen, letting her hair down. From the bun he had seen her in all night to the long—waist length mass of gold waves. He gulped as he finally saw the figure that lay under the bulky coat.

Her back was bare—she wore a tube top, leather, with leather pants and spiked boots.

Deadly in black.

"Wanna drink?" She called from the kitchen. He painfully shed his coat then sat on the worn out couch.

"Yeah—scotch if you got any."

"Sure," she answered and soon was coming back with two styrofoam cups filled with dark liquid.

He eyed them. "Thanks."

"Let me get my kit—try to take off your shirt."

Again he watched her leave, admiring the curve of her thin hips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

A beautiful f***ed up man
You're setting up your
Razor wire shrine
'Cause you're working
Building a mystery

Buffy looked over the contents of her supply cabinet quickly.

There would be nights were she had to hold a stake between her teeth as she pulled bullets form her scared body, or times when she had had to pop her bones back into place.

She grabbed what she thought useful and closed the cabinet, placing the mirror right on her face.

"Doesn't it sadden you that you can't see yourself?"

Buffy was hearing the conversation of her little sister and her boyfriend in the bathroom.

Spike shrugged. "After a hundred years it becomes miscellaneous."

Dawn frowned. "How do you get your hair done—or get dressed. Is that why you wear the same outfit all the time?"

Buffy could hear Spike chuckling, she had no idea how he had so much patience with her.

"Hair's easy—just slick it back," he told her as he ran the comb through his wet hair.

"Buffy likes the bed hair look, she told me so."

Buffy would've screamed at her only she didn't want he presence known.

"Dawn!" he scolded. "How do you know about bed hair, bit?"

Buffy wanted to chuckle at Spike's parental tone.

Dawn ran the brush down her long locks. "Well you guys scream for no particular reason in the middle of the night and the headboard hits the wall making a thumping noise, then there's the moans and the "oh Spik"

"Ok!"

Dawn was having a ball.

Buffy was dying of embarrassment. No more fucking Spike until Dawn was at her friend's houseshe would need to stay often.

She could hear Dawn giggling and could only imagine the embarrassment in the vampire's face.

"Soshe said she liked the bed hair, eh?"

She turned around and away from the mirror, taking the supplies in her hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Holding on and holding it in
Yeah you're working
Building a mystery
And choosing so carefully
'Cause you're working
Building a mystery

It had been fifty years since the last time she held his body in her hands, fifty years since she had been held by him—those cool, caring arms that comforted and challenged her—nourished her and made her live again. Was her guide when Giles was gone, was her lover in cold nights, was her friend and lending ear—he was everything at once.

It had been almost 20,000 nights—20,000 lonely nights since the last time she has slept with a man she loved. All others since then had been fucking and slapping bodies that were too drunk for satisfaction.

All of her lovers had the same body frame—not much taller than her, lean and well-muscled, compact sort. It gave her comfort—if she closer her eyes tight enough, if she focused her mind she could imagine it were his arms that were around her, his lips that kissed her trembling shoulders, his shoulder that she laid her head on.

For 20,000 nights she had diluted herself into thinking that she could find him in the arms of any stranger, she believed that he lived inside of her, that it was up to her to make him real, to make those arms belong to him, to make that chest be still of human rhythm. To make them Spike.

And now as she stood on the entrance of her living room, watching this man she had just meet but could pretend she had known him—in the ghostly faces of the past, she was not prepared at all.

He was Spike. From his strong arms, to the curve of his back, to the taunt abdomen, the long masculine fingers, to the pale neck

She took one big gulp and commanded her hands to stay were she told them to. She commanded her eyes not to bulge, her eyes not to roam, and her mouth not to water.

They all disobeyed her.

"I think I might have more than one broken rib," he said as he winced.

She saw the dark bruises forming on his pale alabaster skin and had to hold herself from doing what she did to Spike. Kiss them away—that wouldn't have gone good.

"Let's check," she said quietly.

She sat next to him and her sweet smell hit him like a thousand bricks.

She smelled of soft vanilla and musky oils. Like a wild-child.

"Sit up straight," she said.

He gritted his teeth but complied.

Gentle she ran her hands down his chest and sides causing him to catch his breath at the feel of her soft hands.

She was trembling. Instinct told her that he only had three broken ribs, but to feel that skin again was glorious. She got shaken out of her dreamland when she felt his heart pounding on his chest.

As if scorched by fire she pulled them abruptly away and made them busy with the bandages.

"You have three broken ribs, sorry about that," she mumbled.

He studied her for a second. Her golden hair caressed her bare shoulders and she had scars—plenty of scars. One in her upper cheek, another in her forehead and about three of them in her arms. This girl saw many tough nights.

"Lift your arms," she told him and he obliged.

She was going crazy, he even smelled like Spike. She just wanted to beg him to at least pretend to be him and stay here with her, wrap her up in his arms and love herbut somewhere in the small part of her that still had a conscious she couldn't demand that from this man. He would love her and she would love a memory.

"Done this many times, I see," Rocco commented and smiled down at her.

Buffy shrugged and continued her task, making the skin contact less and less.

"I've seen worst—seen worse on myself," she said and bit her lip.

He wanted to brush the fallen strand from her face, tuck it behind her ear and tell her she didn't have to go through it alone.

"There—all wrapped in mummy gauze," she smiled.

"Well, she does have a sense of humor," he smirked and brought his arms down, brushing their fingers together slightly.

She pulled quickly away.

"I forget how to use it sometimes," she chuckled darkly.

He watched as she took out an alcohol pad and took his face gently in her hands. He could feel the dry calluses on the palms of her hands, rubbing their rough surface against his sensitive skin.

"How did you get this cut?" she asked him, indicating the gash above his eye—right on his eyebrow.

"Hmm," he winced as she disinfected it. "I think it was when you pushed me on the ground to avoid getting shot."

She dimly recognized that he was going to scarin the same place Spike had.

"It's gonna leave a scar," she said more to herself than to him.

Rocco smiled. "Maybe it'll give me a more thuggish look, don't you think, luv?"

She couldn't help herself; she leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Rocco's blue eyes went wide as she pulled out. He took a deep breath as he looked back at her.

"What was that for?" he asked in a shaky voice.

She blushed and ducked her head, putting away hurt-kit', like she liked to call it.

"For a rough night."

He nodded and looked over at her. He wanted to do it again—do much more. This woman had brought out such life in him, and the feeling he got around her was so strong and familiar that it was killing him.

"So are you ever going to spill who this guy, Spike is?"

Buffy's head shot up and he could see the pain in her eyes.

"Old flame?"

She took a deep breath and shook her head. "Old love."

He nodded. "That's a big difference."

"Oh yeah—the gap is alarming."

"What happened, did he leave you? If he did I can say that he missed out on a lot," Rocco said, smiling down at her.

"He" she looked for the right words. "He dieda long time ago."

Rocco's mouth made the o' statement and gapped her like a fish.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She nodded and gave him a sad smile. "Sorry is all we can be."

"How did he die?—if you don't mind me asking." He asked her gently.

Buffy picked the skin around her nail—dimly reminding herself how Spike had hated that.

"It's ok—it was a long time agohe died saving the world, and trying to save my sister." Her eyes watered up—she had never talked about this to anyone. Not even to Xander or Willow or Tara or Giles.

"What happened to your sister?"

Buffy cocked her head slightly to the side. "You know—I hardly remember her, there are little moments when I can see her face, or a wind swims by and I can smell her hairbut the memories—they've been fading."

She was crying and she didn't realize it.

"What happened to your sister?"

Wide green eyes looked back up at him.

"She died—he couldn't protect herhe died trying to protect her." She whispered.

Holding on and holding it in
Yeah you're working
Building a mystery
And choosing so carefully

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

TBC