ANs: Some might say that Buffy's channeling Faith in this one, but I see quite a few parallels between Faith and Buffy. There styles are different, sure, but underneath that there are so many similarities, based on the situation. Food for thought:) Also, still looking for a beta, y'all. Anyone? Anyone? If you see any serious spelling or grammar issues, please email me so that I can fix them, K? Hugs! sita:)

Safe

Westchester, NY

August 1, 1998 11 PM

Buffy had been caustic and unpredictable for weeks. Logan had tried to get through to her. He'd tried to be patient. But each time he talked to her, it seemed to make her angrier than the last. He decided that she was safe enough during the day. After all, he thought, she was at the school surrounded by teachers and students; what's the worst that could happen? But at night she escaped the mansion and roamed all over town, looking for demons and vampires to kill, looking for absolution and peace in the destruction of servants of the dark. So he decided to follow her. He only wanted to keep her safe. He didn't have a plan to accomplish his goal, but he pursued it just the same.

When she'd left the house wearing a tiny red scrap of silk and impossibly high heels, he knew he was in serious trouble. As was his habit, he let her go, waited fifteen minutes, then followed her trail. But this time it was the wrong thing to do. Too late he realized that she had arranged for a cab to pick her up. So he drove through the streets of Westchester for almost an hour, finally remembering the club where he had watched her dance with Angel.

He got out of the car and walked into the place. They were fairly busy and he picked up traces of her scent, but she was not there. He decided to check out back in the alley. Maybe she was slaying tonight after all, he thought.

When he stepped through the back door and looked down the alley, shock and fear locked his legs in place. For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. She was almost two blocks away behind a grocery store, and she was allowing a vampire to bite her. The creature's teeth were almost touching her neck. Finally, it dawned on him, she was trying to die by putting herself in the hands of a killer. He started running. His heart pounded against the barrier of his ribs, as he ran as hard as he could. She was so far away. He knew he wasn't going to make it.

At the last minute, she reached beneath her skirt, pulled a small stake from her thigh-high stockings, and dusted the vampire. Panting, he halted abruptly in front of her, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her. Looking into her eyes, he realized what had happened.

Buffy was miserable and was trying to escape the pain, but nothing her subconscious tried had worked. She was completely drained and she just wanted it to be over. And suicide was a mortal sin. Without realizing it, on some level, she was trying to get into hell. She was trying to get to Angel. He grimaced. Her Slayer instinct for survival won the battle for her soul tonight, he thought.

"Come to watch?" she accused.

"I think you like to watch." She pushed him roughly back against the wall, then lifted herself up on her toes, slipped her fingers into his hair and pulled his lips down to hers.

"I think you like to watch me," she whispered, brushing her lips slowly back and forth across his. Sliding her tongue over his bottom lip, she asked, "Do you like to watch me?"

Logan was dizzy. Something was telling him that he had to get out of there. He shouldn't be there. She didn't really want him anyway. He licked the place where her tongue had been. It tasted faintly of bourbon.

"Buffy," he began, but was quieted by her delicate tongue licking his lips again.

"Buffy... Buffy, please. Please. My... God, you smell so good... No, we can't. Don't do this..."

"Stop me," she muttered softly, grazing her face down his cheek and neck, kissing his clavicle, as she unbuttoned his top button.

Then against the side of his neck, and just behind his ear, she kissed and tasted and whispered again, "Stop... me... Don't... Don't... stop... me. Don't. Stop. Me. Please don't stop me."

Slowly, it registered in his mind there were tears on his skin, Buffy's tears. Buffy was weeping and kissing him at the same time.

Damn, Logan thought. How did I get myself into this?

"Shh... come on, Buffy. Let's go." Reaching down, he lifted her up in front of him. Automatically, she wrapped her arms and legs around him like a child, and he started walking toward the car.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home."

When they arrived at the Mansion, Logan carried a sleeping Buffy all the way to her room. He laid her down on the bed and removed her stockings and shoes. Opening her chest of drawers, he found her night clothes. Then he slung them over one shoulder, lifted her up until she was leaning against him in a semi-standing position, and unzipped her dress. He eased the straps off of her shoulders and the dress fell to the floor. Forcing himself not to look, he slid the tank top over her head, then each arm and down her torso. He considered trying to put the pajama pants on her, but that didn't seem like such a good idea. He pulled back the covers and tucked her inside.

Just as he turned out the lights, Buffy called out to him, "Logan?"

"Yes," he said.

"Stay with me?" she asked.

"I don't think that's such a good idea. You've had a lot to drink and I..."

Buffy interrupted, "Please Logan, I promise not to attack you." She rolled over and faced away from him. "Just stay?" she whispered.

Too tired and worn to deny her, he undressed down to his boxers and tshirt, and slid between her sheets. Still facing away from him, she lifted up so he could slip one arm beneath her neck. Then, he wrapped both of his arms around her, and planted a soft kiss on her shoulder.

"Logan?" she said.

"Yes."

"This is the first time I've felt safe in ages. Ice ages, even."

He smiled against her hair, "I'm glad, baby."

Both fell asleep almost immediately, and while Buffy's dreams were sweet for the first night in months, Logan's were troubled by images of captivity, the hiss and smell of molten adamantium, and the words 'He won't remember' playing over and over in his head.

Then, he watched as Striker walked in to his cell. It was a small, cold, dark room. It was a cage.

But instead of pain and torment, this time Striker brought him hope.

"I have a little present for you, animal," Striker said, and he reached out and laid a small, soft pink blanket in Logan's hands.

Logan pressed the fabric to his face and inhaled the most heady, softly feminine aroma. It was so sweet and spicy, he could almost taste it. There were a myriad of scents clinging to the fabric: detergent, powder, and the sweat and skin cells from Striker's hand. But underneath all of these, he found the one that appealed to him most of all. It was human, but not. It was like him.

His voice was a little rusty from screaming for days at a time, but Logan managed to croak, "Mine?"

"Yes. That's right," Striker smirked, jerking the blanket away from him. "We've selected a mate for you, mutant. She's a little young now... just a baby, really. But soon, if you're a very good boy, we'll arrange a little get together. You'd like that wouldn't you."

Through the heaviness of sleep, he spoke to her. He whispered against her hair, "Buffy... Mine."

(end chapter)

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