Part Four: Lonely and Dirty

Spending a day in a crypt was not fun. Reasons why? It's lonely and it's dirty—two things Buffy decided she was very against. But as the sun rose after leaving Angel, she knew she had few options on where she would spend the daylight hours.

The dirty part of the crypt was what struck Buffy first off—dust and cobwebs had settled comfortably among the stone statuary and the large stone coffin. She noticed that there was an entrance to a lower level, probably one that led to the sewers. But that looked very dark and even dirtier, so Buffy decided to suck it up and lay down on the sarcophagus. "This is not how I pictured spending my afterlife," she declared with a pout.

Buffy slipped into a dream state as smooth as blood slipping out of a human's throat. She was with Angel, but his embrace was fleeting—she was watching him, standing among fire engines, turning his back on her for good. She was a girl trying to open a jar of peanut butter—she hadn't the strength to do it herself. She watched Faith, maniacal grin, slipping in a knife, slipping in a stake, that look of horror with a knife in her own gut—Faith kissing her forehead. Buffy was kissing another girl on the forehead, someone she didn't know, right before Buffy jumped—it was her gift.

Images seemed to be running faster, skipping important things, until she was left with one image, one voice. Spike, standing in the crypt with her, saying ever so tenderly, "I love you. You know I do...I always want you..."

If anything of her dreaming stayed with her when she woke at dusk, it was that last scene, though that too was hazy in her mind.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me."

It was then she truly recognized the loneliness of her situation.

Spike wasn't hard to find. It was safe to say he was a fairly high-profile guy, what with the drinking and the brawling, the weeping and the self-pitying, and of course the searching for a very rare map that led to the gem of Amara. Buffy smiled to herself as she stalked his lair—the guy loved his gimmicks, whether it was the Judge or the gem.

Spike had taken over an old abandoned cabin in the woods as his base of operations, outside of Sunnydale but not far from it. Buffy circled it, through the evergreen trees, a scoffing part of her none to happy to be out here in the forest, yet loving the game, a new game—anything to push away that nagging loneliness and get ready for the real cannon she had aimed.

"Shouldn't be wandering the woods alone, a little girl like you," his words came mocking and seductive, his body a shadow at her back. "Slayer," he added, that word coming out imbibed with so many meanings, and Buffy knew she was right. Spike was in love with her, in lust with her, fascinated with her. Wouldn't that be easy to play?

"Oh, come on," she playfully whined, "I think I can take you on, don't you?" Buffy turned and tilted up a pretty head. From his sharp cheekbones to his appraising icy eyes, Spike's face was pointed to her, threatening yet nowhere near thinking of the kill. Poor guy still didn't realize what he'd won.

"'Sides, not the slayer anymore," lilting laugh, "Now I swing for your team." Eyes widen and he finally gets it.

"Well, bloody hell," and now it's his turn to laugh. "That's just—neat."

"Isn't it though?" Breaking the spell, Buffy turns away, takes a step, and faces Spike again. "Remember what a good team we were Spikey? So good in fact, Dru dumped you over it, didn't she?"

I HATE you

And I'm all you've got

Yes, that and memories Buffy's not privy to.

You're covered with her...I look at you, and all I see is the slayer.

"I remember," Spike answers gruffly. "You got a plan to take over Sunnyhell, pet?"

"Take over? Nah." Silly Spikey. "Torture maim and kill? That we could do..." And she's back to him, her open palm pressed against his chest. "After we seal the deal."

Everything denied was now okay. The Hellmouth getting you down? One to many humiliations among the Scoobies? That pesky slayer kicking your ass, glowering at you, dancing in a crowd of people, and only you know she's yours?

Spike lifted Buffy up at her hips.

Dr. Buffy has the cure.