Chapter Two

"Cold, Dark Basements"

Buffy placed her hand over the tiny gold knob, her fingers twitching over the cold metal. Should she? It had almost been three hours since they got back. The girls were asleep. The house was silent. Would it make a difference? She shook her head. Too many questions. Just go.

The knob twisted, opening the door on creaky hinges. As she looked down the damp wooden steps, she saw his shadow, moving slightly in the soft lamplight. Right. Night animal. Like owls and cats. She smiled at the comparison. Spike as an owl? Not too appealing.

She silently crept down the steps, making sure her boots didn't make too much noise. But it didn't matter. He could hear her from miles away. Probably could hear her heartbeat from all the way up the stairs. His shadow stopped moving, it's long black gloom centered in the room.

She finished the decent, stopping on the last step and grasping the banner for support. She gave an inward smile as she took in his appearance. He was shirtless and bootless, just wandering around in his black jeans smoking a cigarette. He cocked a half-hearted smile and looked sideways at his smoke.

"Somethin' on your mind, Slayer?" he asked, the playful air in his voice now gone. Buffy took in a deep breath and watched as he turned around. The ugly stab wound at his side was just that, ugly and painful looking. Buffy sought words, but all she could find were the stupid ones always on the end of her tongue.

"You should…um," she stopped, moving a bit closer. "You should have let me look at that." She made a vague motion to his stomach. Spike cocked his head and pursed his lips in the usual mock-shrug.

"Don trouble yourself." He replied, putting out the smoke in an ashtray near the cot. "So, is 'at it? Come ta check on me?" he asked sarcastically, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, arms resting on his knees. Buffy looked down. Again, the words didn't want to come out of her mouth.

"I actually," she began, still searching her vocabulary list. "I wanted to…I'm sorry about what I said." With a downward sigh, Spike nodded knowingly. He clasped his hands for a moment, then stood up, chest thrust forward as if he were trying to make himself look larger.

"Look, Buffy, I already told you I know what you meant. 'Sides, you got bigger problems than worryin' 'bout me." He pointed up the stairs. "You got handfuls a girls up there countin' on you. You don have to come an make nice everytime you say somethin' I don like."

"Spike, I…"

"Buffy. I'm fine. I promise." He turned his back to her, sinewy muscle clearly visible in the lamplight. He was a terrible liar, he always had been.

Buffy didn't say anything, only turned and headed back up the steps. She tried. She failed. But as she reached the top step, she heard him heave a small sigh. She stopped and looked down. He was looking up with questioning eyes.

'Why'd you come after me? Save me?" he asked, pulling out another smoke and lighting it. Buffy closed her eyes for half a second. Just long enough to pull out some more of those damned vocabulary words.

"We've been through this, Spike." She said coldly, walking back a few steps. She didn't look at him. "I came back because I need you."

"Right. The big fight against evil." He mumbled, dragging in the smoke to his lungs. Buffy huffed so loudly that Spike looked up in alarm.

"No. Not the fight, Spike. It has nothing to do with fighting."

"Then why? S'clear your mates don't care for me," he rethought what he had said, then rephrased his words. "Alright, so they never did, but..."

"I came back for you because I need you.." She replied softly, eyes flashing over his face. His expression showed the amount of questioning he held inside him, but he didn't say anything else. So, Buffy opened the basement door and left, shutting it with a dull click behind her.