"Buffy!" Xander yelled as he watched Spike topple her to the ground. He jumped out of his seat, the rest of the gang following quickly after.

Giles moved to the weapons chest and pulled out a stake. Xander grabbed an axe from under the couch.

Spike's fangs plunged into her neck, and Buffy bucked against him in pain. She felt her blood trickling down into her hair, but she was more concerned for her attacker's safety.

"NO, Giles!" she cried as she saw him advancing on them. Her Watcher paused uncertainly, watching them with wary eyes.

Xander paused as well, just behind the older man, and behind him, Willow lowered her hands, her half-chanted defence charm dying on her lips.

Buffy's eyes hardened as she concentrated all her strength on pushing Spike off of her. She firmly grasped his arms and pushed upwards. He grunted in exertion as he tried to keep his mouth latched onto her.

His hands clawed at the floor as she used her legs and forearms to propel him off of her and over her head. Her skin tore as his fangs were ripped from her throat, but she ignored the pain and faced her opponent.

Spike landed flat on his back, slightly stunned at the sudden change of position. His game face contorted into a grimace of frustration. Behind him, Buffy rolled onto her knees and clutched at her wound. Her eyes flashed angrily.

"You wanna fight, vampire?" she taunted. Slowly, she rose unsteadily to her feet, and she watched him carefully as he did the same.

"Would you like some assistance?" Giles asked through gritted teeth. His hands clutched the stake so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

Buffy shook her head shortly. "It's me he's been turned against. He has no interest in you. I want to keep it that way."

The Slayer and the Vampire began circling each other, her studying his feral movements, him being driven mad by the scent of her blood. Suddenly, Buffy turned on her heel and ran, Spike close on her heels.

The pair ploughed through the Scoobies. Buffy flung the front door open and leapt down the stairs. Spike followed her outside, but he jumped onto the porch railing and used his higher position to fling himself onto her back.

Giles, Xander and Willow ran onto the porch, weapons at the ready. Dawn and Anya parted the curtains so they could watch the action.

Buffy sensed Spike before she felt him, and managed to drop her shoulder just enough so that when they hit the ground together, his momentum set them into a roll.

He gripped her shoulders, nails digging into her and leaving crescent-shaped marks on her skin. She threw her legs out and managed to stop them with one foot and one knee planted firmly on the ground.

Spike wasn't so lucky. When her body stopped, his didn't, and he slammed into her back. His grip on her loosened, and she managed to shrug him off. He crawled to his knees, but she was already standing, and her boot connected with the side of his face.

He fell to the ground again, and she kicked him twice quickly in the stomach before backing away. Slowly he staggered to his feet, his yellow eyes watching her warily.

Buffy's hair was a mess, strands flying helter-skelter out of her ponytail. Bits of grass clung to her sweaty skin, and blood continued to pour out of her open wound to stain her shirt. Her cheeks were pink from both anger and the heat of the fight, and if Spike had been in his right mind at that moment, he would have thought her to be the image of a goddess.

He swung at her, his closed fist connecting solidly with her jaw. Her head flew to the side, and she was knocked slightly off-balance. Spike used this to his advantage and stepped in close to her to deliver another punch and kicked her squarely in the midsection, sending her flying.

She slammed against the tree he had stood under for so many nights. Her head cracked against it and she felt the jagged bark cut into her back. Buffy struggled to remain conscious. She could hear him stalking towards her, but her feet didn't want to support her weight.

Just as she was about to fall, cold hands grabbed her shoulders and forced her back against the tree. Spike's primal growl echoed in her ears and made her blood run cold. He ran his tongue across her puncture wounds, making her shiver uncontrollably in both disgust and in ecstasy.

Buffy felt like throwing up, felt like scrubbing her skin till it was raw, felt like giving herself to him, felt like letting go with wild abandon. She knew he was going to kill her because the First was in control of him. She knew she didn't want to die - not until she'd kicked it's non-corporeal ass to wherever it was it came from; probably Hell, she thought idly.

Over Spike's shoulder, she saw her friends running down the steps. Dawn's face in the window, wide-eyed and frightened. The moon hanging low over the house. The SiT's running down the stairs, wanting to see what the commotion was about.

Everything was moving so slowly, Spike's tongue, Giles' legs, Willow's mouth, her own mind. She knew they'd never make it to them in time. Spike would tear her throat out faster than they could blink. Her life was in her own hands.

She went limp, and dropped heavily to the ground, pulling him down with her. Her body landed first, and she used her knees to guide his body to the side. She rolled with his fall, and when he landed, she straddled his chest.

Buffy wasted no time in pummelling him. She would hit him, and his head would bounce off the ground, coming back for more. Her fists connected with his flesh over and over until he lost consciousness.

She sat upon him, staring down at his battered and bloody face. It slowly morphed back into it's human visage. Giles placed a hand on her shoulder, but she ignored it. Buffy was too wrapped up in Spike's face.

You always hurt the ones you love…

Slowly, she rose from him, eyes never leaving the bruises and cuts on his face. Distantly, she knew the others were talking to her, shaking her. But the world was a dream. A false reality. The only thing real to her at that moment was her guilt and fear.

She stepped away from his limp form and forced herself to look Giles in the eye.

"Clean him up," she said quietly, "then shackle him downstairs." Buffy took the stake from his hand and headed out into the street.

She felt their eyes on her back, and heard them calling her name.

"Buffy? Buffy! Where are you going?" Willow, Xander, it didn't matter.

Because she didn't answer. She just kept walking, stake in hand, blood on her knuckles and her neck and her shirt…probably other places, too, but she was too far gone to care.

The only thing that mattered was to make someone pay.

So she could forgive herself.

****

The vamp never knew what hit her. Mr. Pointy was poking out of her chest before she even realized someone had snuck up from behind.

Buffy was taking out her anger on a nest. As her first unlucky victim exploded into dust, eleven pairs of eyes stared through the ashes at the pissed off Slayer.

"I'm having a really bad night, guys," she began as she advanced down the stairs into the warehouse basement, "but it's beginning to look up."

Buffy flew at them in a flurry of kicks and punches. Bodies zinged left and right under her powerful attacks, and the vampire dust didn't even have a chance to touch the ground before she stepped through it to reach the next one on her hit list.

By the time the last vampire had met its end at her hands, Buffy was dirty, tired, and no more bloody than she had been when she'd arrived. Her stake felt light in her hands after the rush of the fight, and though her body screamed for rest, she ignored it.

Stepping into the night, she used her Slayer senses to feel out another unlucky vamp for her to punish. All she could think of was destroying enough evil to make up for what she had done to Spike tonight, that night, all those nights.

There. Around the corner. Buffy crept down the alley towards it. Her nostrils flared in anticipation, and she raised her stake. As she approached the sidewalk, she could see it's dirty brown sleeve in the lamplight.

Silently, she stalked it from behind, closer, closer…

It turned slightly, hearing her strong heartbeat. It sniffed, and she knew she'd been caught. The vampire turned and ran for his life, and she chased after it.

People stared at the tiny woman chasing the tall man down the sidewalk, but no one intervened. They never did.

The vampire turned a corner, and Buffy realized it was heading to the Bronze. Safety in numbers.

It ran full tilt down the alley, but Buffy's speed was no match for it. She grabbed it's arm and swung it into a wall. One hand gripped it around the neck, the other raised her stake.

She looked up once, and that was her mistake. It was a male; pale, like all the others, but he was relatively young, not much older than herself when he had been turned. But it was his eyes that stopped her. Blue like the sky, like the sea…like Spike's.

Seeing her pause, he grabbed her weapon and spun them so that she was now pinned against the wall. He growled at her, demon to the fore, and leaned in for the kill.

"No," she whispered, and kneed him in the groin. He doubled over in pain, and she plunged her stake into his upturned back. The wind pulled the dust down the alley, twirling it, tossing it, like a desert storm.

Buffy sank heavily to her knees. Mr. Pointy clattered to the ground. She touched her neck, where Spike's mark would forever be, and looked up at the stars that sparkled happily in the sky.

Tears poured down her cheeks, and she wiped futilely at them. They dripped onto her stained shirt, onto her pants, onto the cold hard concrete beneath her. She hiccupped a little sob, and tucked her stake into the back of her pants.

Buffy stood warily, digging her fingers into the grooves of the brick face because she wasn't sure her legs would be able to support her.

She leaned against the solid wall, grateful for its support, and explored the textures of the brick and mortar with the tips of her fingers. Her hands were weapons, she knew, and her body was built for destruction.

She was a warrior, THE Warrior, and that was her duty. She understood that.

But after killing twelve vampires to ease her own guilt, she also knew she had been using her duty as an excuse for violence. An excuse to behave like the monsters she was chosen to kill.

Wearily, Buffy wrapped her arms around her body and decided that she would not give in to the darkness of her power. She would have to learn how to harness it, use it to her advantage.

And what better way to do that than by taking the girls on a hunting excursion? Tomorrow night, she vowed, she would take them out and teach them what being a Slayer really is.

Tomorrow.