**PART ONE**
CHAPTER TWO:
She drifted awake and smiled into the half-moment of bliss before she became aware of who or where she was. And then she remembered. Slayer. Dawn. Her Mother on the sofa. Emitting a low groan she squirmed as grief and alcohol-induced nausea simultaneously twisted in her gut. Writhing and struggling against the bedding that bound her she managed to free herself and blindly lunge towards the bathroom.
Panting, she leant against the side of the bath and sat with her clammy head in her hands, recovering from the involuntary exertion. After a few moments the surging and throbbing in her head had ceased enough for her to contemplate standing. Clutching the lip of the sink she weakly dragged herself up onto her feet and stared into the reflection in the mirror.
It took a moment for her to recognise herself. The red eyes sunk in a grey, pale and yet flushed skin, the thin and dry mouth pouting slightly. But there was an expression in her eyes, a sadness that she recognised only too well. She groaned and opened the mirror cabinet with only one thought in her head. (Aspirin.)
She chased the Aspirin down with half-a-pint of water and splashed her face with cold water, startling flashes of memory into the forefront of her mind. (Spike?)
On instinct she clutched at her neck. Nothing, still a pulse. She was still alive. She still had a reflection. (Which is what? Good? Bad? Weird?)
(Oh My God I fell asleep in his car?!) She didn't remember anything else past that and yet she was still here. (Here!) She'd woken up all unharmed, fully clothed and ... (tucked in?)
She became aware of an insistent, high-pitched noise and instinctively hunted down the source to the telephone in her room. She picked up the receiver and made an indistinct croak for a greeting. Her mind was still reeling from processing the jigsawed recollections and trying to fill in the many blanks with imagined scenarios ranging from the probable to the impossible.
"What?" She cut into the incomprehensible vocal noise that was coming over the line.
"Buffy?" Ah, a word she recognised, she still knew her own name. That was a start. Her eyebrows knitted as she concentrated on the voice talking at her.
"Giles?" (OK doing well, Buffy.)
"Are you alright Buffy? You seem a little bit, um, well, distracted. Is there anything wrong?"
"No, nothing." (Everything. Help me. Nothing makes sense. Is this what drink does to you? Or is it just a Spike special?) "Um, are you OK? I mean what's with the early morning call? I mean it's..." She glanced at the clock but failed to make sense of what the hands and figures were trying to tell her.
"It's afternoon Buffy. Twelve thirty-seven to be exact. Have you only just woken up?"
"Erm, yeah. Last night... Vampire problem." She said absently, pushing open a window in order to refresh the stale bedroom air that threatened to stifle her.
"Oh, anything particularly troublesome? Shall I call the others?"
"No." She replied almost too eagerly. She leant out of the window and inhaled deeply. That was when she saw it - The Desoto. Parked outside her house which meant -- "No it's OK... I'm on it -- Giles is there a reason for this call only -"
"Oh, well yes. You see I -- I had a call from Angel last night -"
"Angel?!" It was only one question but it encapsulated so many others - (What? How? Why? What did he say? How was he? Why not call me?)
"Um, yes. H-he -- it was purely business, Buffy. He merely called to inform us -- to warn us that we might be getting another visit from Spike."
"Spike?" The sound emerged from her suddenly tight throat as a strangled squeak and she internally reprimanded herself.
"W-well yes. Apparently he and Drusilla were in L.A. selling their own unique brand of mayhem..." She heard Giles take in a heavy breath. "Well to cut a long-story short Drusilla is dead, and in his own twisted way, Spike blames you."
Her heart stopped while her mind went into overdrive, dredging up Polaroid moments of the previous night and examining each one for signs of his grief. It was all there - the dark flint of pain that ran through his features at every mention of her name, the bitterness in his laugh, the pleading loss of his eyes. (He blames me?) She expected the panic to set in but somehow she couldn't even summon it. Spike was in her house and he had it in his mind to kill her! ... But then why hadn't he? (I was pretty much defenceless last night. He could have -)
"Buffy? Are you still there?"
"Yeah. I'm fine -- Look no biggy. I'll keep a look out OK? Bye" With that she hung up and forgot all else but one thing. One mission. Find Spike.
She charged down the stairs and was on her way into the kitchen when the same instinct that had found him last night drew her into the blacked-out lounge. Her heartbeat quickened as she crossed the threshold. Every time she entered the lounge part of her relived the experience of finding her mother's body. She swallowed down the ghosts of her shock and panic and with an about turn she focused upon the image of Spike sat there, closed- eyed, cold and rigid in the armchair.
She stepped closer to him, drawn in by his tranquil, breathless sleep. Instead of the starkly blank canvas of death his features were awash with a look of peace. Sank low in his seat, his legs were spread casually before him and his arms crossed, clutching an empty bottle of whiskey to his chest. It was then she noticed it.
The sound that emerged from her throat startled her. It felt so long since she'd heard it - Laughter that is. A quiet little giggle shook her shoulders but she caught it quickly. Calming her amusement she leant in to examine his chest closer. Nail polish, Dawn's nail polish - a garish shade of bright pink. He'd painted a heart-shaped target on his shirt with nail polish! She struggled to keep her face neutral should he wake up suddenly and straightened up, her eyes wandering to the table beside him.
She reached out with both hands, one grasping the stake and the other the piece of paper. She glanced at the stake and shook her head. Her first instinct was to toss it away but she reconsidered and deposited it in the waistband of her jeans, it fitting familiarly into the niche at the small of her back. She then turned her attention the barely legible words scrawled on the paper and read.
So this is not the way I imagined it. I always hoped for daring glory, a fight to the death but beggars can't be choosers and dying in your sleep can't just be a luxury afforded to old buggers.
Call it what you will: misguided sentimentality, pride, even suicidal stupidity but I always wanted my end to come by the Slayer's hand. Your hand. And all things considered I thought I'd be generous (or is that apathetic?) and make it as easy as possible for you.
You'll notice the target and the stake. Not that I'm questioning your aim but we want this as bloodless as possible don't we? Er... well maybe that's just me.
Failing that I've positioned myself directly in line so if were just to pull back the curtain a little bit then... well me having a slight sun allergy and all that.
Ever yours, Slayer
Spike. (William the Bloody Grateful.)
Coming to the end her smile faded. Pathetic as it was, she could still see it for what it was - a desperate plea for someone to end his torment. A glint of blue caught her eye and her eyes flickered back to his face. His eyes were closed but the peace had evaporated.
"Spike... Come on, Spike. I know you're awake." She kicked at his foot lightly but with enough force to cause a flare of pain in her bare toes as they came into contact with his hard steel-toe-capped boot. She cursed and momentarily reconsidered using the stake before he opened his eyes but it was too late.
He groaned and glared up at her with a deep frown. "Bloody hell, Slayer. I only asked one little favour of you."
"I let you leave town in a non-dusty state last time you were here. You're all favoured out -- Besides I've already vacuumed in here once this week."
"Remind me to leave you to the milkmen the next time you express a desire to sleep on the front lawn."
"What are you talking about?"
He repositioned himself and put the bottle down between his feet. "Took me a right job getting you in last night. You were falling about all over the place - landed face down on the grass out there," he motioned at the window. "And then you started threatening the poor, innocent daisies." He applied a mock scowl. "It was very disturbing."
She smiled sheepishly at the imagery wandering over her mind's eye like a slow-running movie-reel.
"Yeah in the end I had to carry you up to your room. -- No easy task, I can tell you."
She'd suspected as much but she couldn't help the streak of panic that flitted its way across her forehead.
"Not quite how I imagined getting the Slayer into bed but there you go -"
"You've imagined getting me into bed?"
"What, uh... No! I -" He averted her eyes and shook his head. "I was just speaking figuratively. -- Took me three tries to find your room. I see the little one takes-after her big sis in the tragic-bad-taste department. -- Where is the Bit anyway?"
"Slu -" She paused. (Wow them monks really did a thorough job.) "At her friends. Kind of a weekend long Slumber party. I figured it'd do her good to get away from here, have some fun. I mean -" She scanned the room, her eyes settling on the dreaded sofa.
"Bit of escapism?"
"Exactly." She whispered and when she looked back at him she knew they were both having the same thought. Their eyes met for the briefest moment. "So what about some breakfast? I'm all out of blood but I could rustle up some eggs and sausages."
"I'd prefer a healthy dose of Redwood to the chest but seen as that's not on the menu right now..." He stood and followed her down the hall. "I just hope you've got ketchup -- That way I can at least pretend."
"You're disgusting, Spike."
"What are you doing?"
"Making coffee. What does it look like?"
"No, I don't mean that. -- I mean what are you doing with me? You won't stake me - fine -- but why I am still here?"
She became almost too aware of his presence behind her and concentrated heavily on stirring the sugar into her coffee.
"I know. A-about Drusilla." She dare not meet his eyes but without turning round she could sense his countenance shifting, stiffening. When he spoke again his voice had taken on this forced harshness that cut through her so much she had to close her eyes for the duration.
"Oh. So this is what? Some kind of tea-and-sympathy pity session? If -"
"No -" She spun around to face him, her exacerbation matching his. (Does he have to keep questioning this? No, of course he does -- This should not be happening.) "It's called understanding. You... understand. You read me and I don't have to spell anything out to you... Or at least I thought I didn't."
He hung his head. "No, you don't. I'm sor- It's just this," he indicated the space between them. "It's weird."
"I know... I know. It's wigging me out on a major scale, but for some reason I-I don't want you to go." She brandished the spoon she was still holding at him. "So you can just stay there and shut up." She smirked before adding: "You're putting me off."
He playfully re-enacted his zip-up and step-back moves from the previous night and she turned back to her task. (Erm... milk, right. I need milk.)
She headed for the fridge, suddenly all-too-aware of her movements and his eyes on her. Getting the milk and closing the door she turned to face him. "OK, so it would appear that Silent-Spike is even more disturbing than Yappy-Spike. -- Maybe you should still be allowed to talk."
"What, do I have your permission to speak once more? Oh most omnipotent and bossy Chosen One."
"That's more like it. That's familiar." She smiled and upended the milk carton only for nothing to come out. She shook the carton lightly - she could have sworn it weighed like it had something in it. Another shake and its true contents were released. A mass of curdled lactose plopped into her cup, splashing brown liquid onto the work-top.
"Oh great!" She searched around for something to mop up the mess with when Spike handed her a wad of kitchen roll. Their fingertips connected when she took it from him and they locked eyes. "Again. Familiar."
"Yeah, deja-vu." His other hand came up as if to touch her face but he stopped short and they broke contact. She turned back to the coffee disaster and then paused. Last night was repeating itself only this time...
Facing him again she allowed herself to properly look at him, with her fingertips tingling slightly from the cold contact of his hand, she stared. So much had changed in her life the past two-and-a-half years and there he stood, a constant amidst all the chaos.
Maybe not so constant, she realised with a curious frown that the staple red shirt had gone. In its place was a new but similarly flattering acquisition, a black silk jacquard shirt loosely buttoned. The sharp contrasts of black against his stark, white skin and a slicked-back plane of platinum blond hair were startling. He stirred, uncomfortable under her gaze but she didn't relent.
His shifting caused the light to cast new areas of his face into light-and- shade relief, highlighting his cheekbones and darkening the hollows of his cheeks.
"Din't your mother ever tell you it was rude to stare?"
She started and they locked gazes once more. Only to glimpse another glint of that understanding she craved in those brilliant-blue orbs - the only colour in his entire being. She was transfixed and before she could stop herself she was reaching across the divide to touch him. His eyelids fluttered as her fingertips made contact and she began to trace the arch of his left cheekbone.
There was a ripple of the skin under her touch and when she refocused she saw that he had slid into game face. She knew what he was doing but, unrelenting she continued her exploration of his face, her fingers gliding over the ridges of his forehead and down his nose. There'd be no pretending where he was concerned, no pretending he was human. This was what he was, her enemy, but tonight...
"My, my grandma, what big teeth you have." She dared to meet his questioning yellow-eyed stare.
"All the better to eat you with my dear." His human features re-emerged with the same ripple and his she traced the outline of his mouth. She caught her breath as she felt the cool tip of his tongue meet her finger and draw her in. Teeth closed around the tip and his hand came up to seize hers. His eyes burning into hers as he withdrew her finger, bluntly scraping it against his teeth, she moaned in response.
"I wouldn't do that, Love. -- Not unless you want me to do something you're gonna regret."
"Like what?" She defiantly met his impassioned gaze to witness his features change again in the split second before he lunged for her, his weight forcing back against the wall and knocking the wind out of her.
Panic surged through her as his mouth found her neck. She reached round to the small of her back for the stake in the waistband of her jeans.
"Is this what you want?" He hissed against the junction of her jaw and ear lobe. "Something to make it all go away?" He touched the three scars on the other side of her neck, sending small shivers of anticipation down her spine. "I see you've been here before."
She made no response. She could make no response. Fingering the stake she waited for the inevitable, the sharp pain of fangs sinking into her flesh that she knew so well by now.
But it never came.
After a moment she realised that she was shaking but not from fear or pain, concentrating against the swarming confusion in her head, she isolated the source to the tendrils of pleasure that were fluttering from where he had begun to nuzzle at her neck. She gasped and as he nipped at her jugular vein with now blunt teeth.
His chest vibrated as he emitted a low chuckle and he pressed more weight onto her. His hard torso pinning her to the wall while his tongue and teeth sucked and bit at the tender skin of her neck. A hand smoothed its way down her side, finally closing over the one at her back and discovering the stake. But instead of disarming her, fingers interlaced with hers.
Her free hand snaked its way over his shoulder. Her fingers dancing over his shoulder blade and immersing themselves in the short curls at the nape of his neck. She closed her eyes to the bliss slowly billowing from her neck, every pore tingling with pleasure as...
She opened her eyes with a moan of protest as he suddenly stopped and pushed himself away. His palms flat on the wall beside her head. The arm around his neck reflexively tightened and prevented him from pulling away any further and she locked him in a wide-eyed, breathless stare. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she became aware of a pressure against her thigh.
"You feel that?"
She could only nod in response, struggling to control her erratic breathing.
"I was trying to make a point and believe me that was not it... This shouldn't be happening." He attempted to pull away again but she held him fast, ignoring the flash of anger in his eyes and the exacerbated sigh he emitted.
"No!" She gasped. "This isn't supposed to be happening... but I feel it... you feel it -" She smiled and pulled at his bottom lip with her index finger to reveal his lower teeth. "Hell - even this wall feels it." She released her hold of him, whilst still holding him prisoner with her eyes and began to work through his shirt buttons, exposing the smooth, translucent flesh beneath. He closed his eyes as she raked her nails down his chest. With the flat of a palm against his abdomen she sneaked her finger ends into the waistband of his jeans, the other hand grappling with his belt buckle.
"They'll be no -" He grabbed her hands to stop her and bore his gaze into her. "They'll be no ... pretending -- No pretending... I'm someone else."
She nodded. She understood. "Same goes for you."
Moving into her again, he buried his face into her hair and inhaled her scent. His hands working under her top, massaging upwards and sliding the material away so that the flesh of their abdomens met in an exhilarating fusion of warm and cool skin.
She clutched at his shoulders as he began to grind slowly against her, the friction of denim against denim sending shudders of stimulation along the length of her groin right to her core. Instinctively she opened her legs and arched into him, seeking more pressure as her entire body ached for him with a rising urgency.
His lips found her neck again and he began an excruciatingly slow ascent of butterfly kisses up to her jaw line as his hands found her breasts, catching her swollen nipples through the fabric of her bra. When her eyes shot open she looked straight into his.
His pupils were fully dilated, darkening his eyes and as their gazes locked there was a moment of mutual acknowledgement, a final assent before his lips finally descended upon hers.
--->