Caterpillars and Butterflies

I hate myself for loving you
Can't break free from the things that you do
I wanna walk but I run back to you that's why
I hate myself for loving you
I Hate Myself For Loving You' by Joan Jett

Giles stood by the door and stared at the room number, then down at the piece of paper he held. They matched. Hesitantly he knocked with his free hand, the other clutching a bag of magic supplies.

A stunned looking woman opened the door and stared at him. Her black hair hung around her face perfectly, and her dark eyes widened.

She continued to stare, no sign of her hearing him registered on her face. He looked at her imploringly for a second before becoming concerned,

She stepped back in silence, revealing a plush hotel bed behind her. On the bed, slumped with his blood soaking into the cream sheets was a tall balding elderly man. Scrawled on the wall above the bedposts in rusty drying blood was; ITS NOT OVER.

***

Buffy quickly broke down to just walking again. But she was furious with herself. Why the hell had she not staked Spike, or both of them. Standing around watching like some swooning Belle as gentlemen slapped gloves for her honour. Pathetic.

She marched through the streets, stake still clutched in her hand. The few people who were out so early dodged out of her way for fear of coming into contact with the obvious psychopath with a large splinter.

She should just go back and stake him now, that would settle things. But the problem was that she didn't know why she hadn't dusted him in the first place. He'd been all ready to chow down on her blood a few moments before and yet she still hadn't killed him. What was wrong with her?

For some reason she was more angry with herself for not staking Angelus, than Spike. She didn't know why but it wasn't a really good time to analyse the mysteries of Buffy's brain. Her head must just be overloaded with recent events.

The image of Angel and Drusilla coiled together haunted her, and made her stomach roll several times. Sure it wasn't really Angel, but it was becoming increasingly hard to tell the difference between the two. If Angelus remembered everything Angel had done, shouldn't he feel as responsible as Angel had for Angelus's actions? What separated them?

If she hadn't been walking down an open populated street then she would have slapped herself. Angel had a soul. Angelus didn't. Soulless things had no conscience, and would do bad things. They should be killed. Buffy found her mind wandering to the very beaten-up Spike who she had let go.

The Slayer's jaw set with resolve and she turned on her heel, stake raised in front of her. She made her way back to the graveyard, hoping that he was still there.

***

Who was he?

Jenny's eyes flicked from Giles to the bloodstained bed before returning to her coffee.

My uncle.

The drink was unappetising, but Giles had insisted upon her having some. The heat seeped through the mug she was holding painfully, and that at least she was glad of.

Do-Do you know who did this?

Jenny lifted her head, hair tumbling back onto her shoulders. She stared at Giles for a moment before answering.

Isn't it obvious? she questioned, It was Angelus. her eyes darted back to the blood-painted message on the wall, He doesn't like my family.

Giles breathed, feeling numbing rage suffusing his body. Who else, really? Jenny looked back down at her coffee before she spoke again.

Rupert? What--

Jenny. I came to apologise. Giles stated, the words that he had been dreading saying now just tumbled from his mouth, For everything that I said to you. When I said that I didn't know you, that was true. But it doesn't mean that I don't want to.... He sighed, I came to say that I.. I forgive you. It sounded even lamer than it had in his head.

Jenny leant against him slightly. She knew that it had probably been a huge step for him to come and say that. But she was just too preoccupied to deal with it right now. So she just took comfort in his still form and rested her head upon his shoulder. To his credit he didn't try anything. But had she really expected him to?

What do we do now? she asked quietly.

Rupert replied, We kill him.

***

She didn't see him at first. Why would she? She'd been searching for a shadow-hugging bleached Vampire, not an unconscious bloodied one. She'd forgotten just how thrashed he had been.

The Vampire was slumped at the protruding roots of a large tree. He was lying in an uncomfortable position, and blood still wept from his injuries. Weren't Vampires meant to heal quickly? What is this, Buffy, twenty questions, just get it over with.

She walked forward, vaguely aware that the sky was lightening above her and that the grass was already collecting dew. Buffy knelt down before the Vampire, Spike, and rolled him over so that she had better access to his chest. For staking. Hmm.

He didn't ever stir, which was disappointing. She was just in the mood to kick his ass a bit more before she dusted him. As she raised the stake she felt her stomach roll again. Tears collected in her eyes as her hand descended. But it was only in a weak gesture as it returned to her side, stakeless.

She didn't understand, and the tears leaked from her eyes. It wasn't the incomprehension of Math class, or Giles's lectures, it was true conflict of... everything. She was the Slayer. She killed Vampires. She was Buffy. She was attracted to Vampires. Or rather, a Vampire. More tears fell from her eyes and a soft laugh escaped her lips. She wasn't attracted to Spike, so why couldn't she dust him and move on. It was all so confusing.

Buffy pressed two hands to the Vampire's still chest and felt his heart-not-beat. See. Dead. But the combination of human features and clothing stalled her again and more saltwater dropped from her eyes. Suddenly she wasn't crying for herself, or for Spike, but for Angel. He was gone forever, and she loved him so much.

Would she ever be able to let go? Or stake a Vampire without it having his face. She couldn't help but keep questioning herself, she just wanted to make sense of it all.

Without analysing it too much she pulled Spike up into a sitting position. Then, pulling his arm around her shoulders she hauled him to his feet. Still unconscious and strangely heavy Spike hung in her arms, his head lolling to one side. It was a good thing she had Slayer-strength.

Buffy dragged him though the Cemetery, well-aware that they were leaving long tracks in the wet grass behind them. She didn't look at him as she pulled him across the ground, simply staring around for a suitable sun-proof place to drop him off.

A crypt swung into view and she sighed with relief. And it was open as well, wasn't this just her lucky night. Buffy rolled her eyes skywards for a second before making her way towards the open doorway. The sky was turning an attractive shade of blue-grey, and birds were beginning to sing out the dawn chorus.

Though she was tempted just to drop him just inside the door and rush home before mom noticed she was gone, she pulled him all the way inside and hauled him up onto a convenient sarcophagus.

She was about to go, but the look of him slouched in an ungainly way on the stone made her sigh. Buffy walked closer and in a businesslike way positioned his limbs for proper comfort. Once he was lying on his back she paused just to look at him. It wasn't too late, she could still stake him now. Curse herself for dragging him halfway across Sunnydale, but be rid of one Vampire. She glanced around for her stake only to find it no longer on her person. She leant over Spike and checked to see if it had fallen into pocket in his clothes or something. The Vampire's eyes opened.

he questioned vulnerably as she moved closer to him. Their eyes locked, blue and hazel. Her face was just inches from his. How had that happened?

At first it was just a quick brush, but then their lips touched solidly. She curled one hand over his shoulder as his arm snaked up to hold the back of her head in place. Their lips pulled apart for the briefest of seconds before meeting again. His lips parted and his tongue flicked out against her lower lip tantalisingly. She opened her mouth and invited his tongue inside. He pushed past her lips gently and engaged with her tongue in a soft battle within both of their mouths. His fingers were curling around her hair and hers were stroking his chest absently. The kiss seemed to last forever, drawn out sweetly as their bodies responded to each other.

As their lips pulled apart once more they both stared at one another. It took a moment for the fuzzy haze to lift before Buffy brought a hand to her mouth.

Oh God.

She turned and fled and Spike was left wondering, once again, what the hell was going on.

(Author's Note: I'm sorry for the lack of action in this chapter.)