EIGHTEEN

* * *

Her fear of graveyards had vanished long ago.

But that had been a different fear, a different kind of fear. That had merely been a fear of death, of things crawling up out of the ground to tear her throat out.

Death. Been there, done that.

No, now her fear was deeper.

She wondered if perhaps it was a fear of life.

Perhaps. She only knew that he brought it on.

Once, he had been her enemy. In a way he still was. In a way he was more dangerous now than he had ever been. Why do I need him this way?

The door to his crypt was easy to open and she slipped inside. He was watching television, the sound of a sappy soap opera echoing slightly in the chamber. He didn't turn his head as he spoke.

"Well, well. Look who's here."

Her voice sounded hollow as she spoke.

"I need your help, Spike."

A pause then, as he stared at the flickering television screen. A commercial came on for the latest SUV, rumbling through hill and dale. He turned then, regarded her.

"Always with the help these days, eh, slayer?

"Spike, I don't have time for this."

He rose, still watching her. "You never have time, do you, slayer? That's your bloody problem. There's always some important mission for you, and then you come running to old Spike."

"Willow is missing. I need to know what you know."

He raised an eyebrow.

"That's it? No oh-my-God-Spike-the-world-is-ending-please-help-save-us? The witch is a big girl."

"No. There's something wrong, Spike. We need to find her."

"Maybe she took a bloody vacation. You all need one, you know."

Buffy turned, threw her hands up in frustration.

"God! Why do I keep coming to you?"

He chuckled and stepped forward. "I've got something you want."

"No. Not that. Not anymore. Not ever. Is that clear?"

He smiled, tapped at the side of his nose.

"Every time you say that, love, I know you still want it."

"Do I have to hit you, Spike?"

She took a step toward him and he laughed.

"Relax, slayer. I'll ask around. The witch is a big name in some circles, even if she's on the wagon. They'll know if there's anything."

Buffy nodded. She moved toward the door of the crypt, toward the light of day. She had to get away from him as quickly as she could.

But then she felt his hand, on her shoulder. She felt the burning singe of his touch as it shot through her body, and she quivered. His voice had changed, just a bit.

"Wait, slayer. Don't go."

#

It was a hard day today.

Stupid stupid stupid girl! Ugly! Ugly! Stupid stupid crazy crazy crazy girl!

She was in her chair, in the office with him. She kept tapping at her forehead with her palm, tugging at her hair.

He was trying to talk to her.

"Buffy?"

"Stop it!" she cried.

"Can you hear me, Buffy?"

"Stop it stop it stop it!"

Stupid stupid ugly whore! Whore whore whore whore!

She was crying now, the world spinning in impossible triangles of shattered air. Because the voices were right. She was dirty, incapable of love. She wanted only release, and she gave herself willingly to a monster, again and again, but it never came.

Whore whore whore whore!

"Please stop!" she cried. "Please ...."

But it did not.

#

It was night now, and home was far away.

I have to get home. I have to get home but it seems so far.

How far? From his crypt to my home, how far?

I don't know. To the end of the ward, to the desk where they give us our meds?

No. Not here. Here is Sunnydale. Here I have to get home because I have to be there for Dawn.

Then a hand, gripping her, throwing her to the ground. An unfamiliar face as she looked up; not human, not quite. It bared teeth and came for her.

#

Her foot, lashing out. Then hands closing around her limbs. Voices.

Crazy crazy crazy crazy crazy ....

Things, gripping her wrists, her legs. Herself, screaming. Other voices.

"Get her down! Morris, get her down!"

She fought, but there was no strength, not the strength she knew she had.

She was no slayer, but the monster was near.

#

Run. Run. Like in a nightmare she ran. Because he was big, this vampire was,
close behind her in the darkness. Big and strong and it was impossible to fight him because she was not, because she was weak and insane and suddenly not the slayer.

Not the slayer as he cornered her in the alley.

She knew this alley, remembered it.

Angel. He had followed her in here, so long ago. He had given her the cross that had saved her life. Angel had looked at her in that way, that annoying way, that irritating way, as he had turned and walked off.

She heard a laugh and turned.

The vampire was there. He watched her, his face forming an obscene smile as he bared his fangs.

"Yes, run. I love the taste of your fear, slayer."

"Please ...." she begged.

He advanced. She backed away, felt the wall behind her.

And then his hand had closed about her throat, and he drew her close.