Alright, here comes another four chapters:) Thanks girls!

A.M.L, Annie.

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Not the Usual

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The next morning Buffy stayed in bed until noon. She watched the sunlight fall through the curtains of her room, into which she had moved, spreading warmth and a healthy glow around. She thought it was strange how a room that was so threatening at night, could be so utterly different simply because it was daytime. She knew she had to go see Giles, but didn't really want to. She admitted that the whole Slayer business put a whole lot of things in perspective... but...

Finally she threw the covers off, took a shower and dressed.

She walked slowly, coming across the playground from the previous night and finding herself thinking of Spike. She wondered why he acted the way he did around her. What had she done to him to make him dislike her in the way he did?

She reached Giles' apartment and stood hesitating before the door she had stormed through only a few hours earlier, and then she knocked. It didn't take long before it was opened.

"Buffy," Giles said and she could tell he hadn't been expecting her. "Come in."

She stopped by the kitchen counter and turned to him.

"So," she said.

"Yes," he mumbled.

"I'm here."

"Yes," he nodded.

"So... what now? I don't have to wear some dorky outfit, do I?"

"No," he smiled.

"Thank God." There was a pause before she continued: "So this thing's in my blood? The slayage?"

"Slaying," he corrected, then nodded. "Pretty much in your blood, yes."

"And I... what? I take one of those pokers and go out and wait to be attacked? Will the 'reflexes' reflect as they should? What if they don't? How long have I actually been doing the slayage... –ing? Do you think what I've learned is still in there somewhere, or do I have to start from scratch? Man! So typical! Finally get a break from school and whatta you know – back behind bars even before I get a chance to smell the fresh air."

She seemed to stop her rant there, sinking down on the same chair she had been in the night prior. Giles removed his glasses and watched her thoughtfully before he said:

"You have been the Slayer for a little over three years now, and I do believe the knowledge is in your brain somewhere. It may be buried too deep to extract, but in a fight you should do as well as you did last night. You will need proper training, of course, until we figure this thing out and get you back the way you... were before. I think you should minimize exposure to danger. Don't stay out too late, don't walk the streets alone – simple things like that will help you."

"Simple?" Buffy muttered. "And I don't see how sitting in my room could possibly 'help' me."

"Perhaps you will if your life is threatened again. I should say it would be better not to risk it, but..."

She grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout.

"Well, this sucks," she stated firmly.

"Willow and I are working on what could have brought you into this state. We will find a solution. Now, do you wish to know more about your heritage?"

Buffy looked at him, then shrugged. Encouraged he sat down and began to tell her.

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Against her will she did understand that Giles was right. She made sure to be home by seven the following three nights, to have dinner with her mother after which she stayed inside the house, fighting every urge to go out. Her mother was seemingly in seventh heaven. They played silly board games and watched TV together, eating popcorn and snuggling up on the couch. But once Joyce went to bed and the house grew filled with silence, Buffy lay awake, staring at her ceiling and having the most unquenchable need to go somewhere, to run, to let her body stretch to its full capacity.

On the third night she lay perfectly still until the clock on her bedside table struck one, and then she simply couldn't take it anymore. She donned a pair of jeans, a sweater, jacket and comfortable shoes and on her way out the window she snatched a stake – she had learned the correct word over the few days of sparring, which she had spent with Giles – and held it tightly in one hand as she jumped to the ground.

"Quite a climb," a voice said behind her and she spun around.

"Do you always appear out of nowhere?" she asked, her heart in her throat as the bleached blonde emerged from the shadows.

"As apposed to what?" he asked back and she raised her eyebrows.

"Been a while," she said with a sudden smile. "Been up to anything worth retelling?"

He thought of the unfortunate game of kitten poker he had played at Willy's; of the three vamps he had killed the night prior and of the rumors he'd heard that something big was brewing beneath the city.

"No," he then replied. "Nothing worth retelling."

"Me either," she sighed. "Is it just me, or is this town completely dead?"

"Well, not completely ...But I get your point."

She started walking and he hesitated before he followed, casting an eye on the weapon still in her hand. He could almost hear the wood creak from how hard she was holding onto it. He smirked.

"On the hunt for nasties, are we, love?" he wondered.

"No. Just a precaution... Giles' ghost stories seem dull coming out of his mouth, but swimming around with the other fishies in your head they begin to make mischief."

Spike's smirk widened.

"Sharks in calm waters?"

She looked at him, then smiled as well.

"Trouble is, I still don't know exactly what the sharks are supposed to look like. Giles tried to draw me a picture, but God, am I glad he didn't choose that as a profession."

Spike struggled to summon a need to vamp out and grab her, give her the scare of her life. But something was lacking and he couldn't see any sweetness in a situation like that, no real reward. It was more fun listening to her chattering on, getting a clearer picture of her; than it would be to alienate her. He was closing in on weaknesses, he knew it. Just a little while longer now.

"Did you hear something?" she asked.

He strained his ears, but heard nothing but the wind ruffling through leaves.

"No," he shook his head. "Why? A little jumpy, are we?" he teased and she gave him a friendly glare before taking a small step closer to him, looking over her shoulder.

"Where do you live?" she asked and he almost choked, his eyes growing a tad. "I've never seen your place and... it's a bit chilly, don't you think? Please, let's just go there."

"I could be a serial killer for all you know," he said, rather baffled at her carelessness, but she fired off such a bright smile at that that he nearly found the corners of his mouth beginning to twitch in response. "My place isn't... the usual."

"Spike, you're not the usual, why would I ever think your place was?" she remarked and he could no longer hold down the smile, something which rather startled him.

"Fine, Slayer," he then murmured. "Let's go."

They walked in silence for a while, nearing the cemetery hosting his humble abode. Entering the graveyard Buffy furrowed her brow, but kept quiet. Spike led her up to the door of his crypt and opened it up for her. She had stopped dead in her tracks and now she stared at him.

"Seriously?" she asked, voice hesitant.

He merely made a gesture for her to move forward and after another moment she squared her shoulders and did as he wanted. She walked through the door, him following. He began to light the candles he had managed to get hold of as she walked around inspecting the place. It was rather desolate, he didn't mind admitting it. But it was all he needed. He shook the match in his hand and threw it to the side before facing her.

"Wow," she said, looking up at the ceiling. "When you said unusual... And look, your very own spider to spin webs for you."

He smirked, once more in spite of himself.

"Want a drink?" he asked, checking himself as she was about to answer and saying: "Better not."

She frowned, then sighed.

"Fine," she muttered, sinking down in the tattered armchair which was the only piece of furniture the place boasted.

The soft light of the candles danced over her profile and he wondered, briefly, what a girl like her could possibly want to be doing in a place like his.

"Why are you here, Buffy?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She turned her head to him, meeting his eyes and holding them. Then she smiled a little.

"Curious, I guess," she answered.

"About what?"

"You," she admitted slowly.

"What about me could make you curious, pet? I'm no mystery."

Then he remembered – everything written about him, everything she had been told, she had forgotten.

Bloody hell.

She smiled again.

"How about that drink?" he grumbled, walking into the provisory kitchen and grabbing the whiskey bottle there.

He got two clean glasses and filled them to the brim, heading over to where she was sitting and shoving one of the glasses into her outstretched hand before raising his. He didn't say anything for a toast, merely tilted his head back and swallowed the strong liquid. She gaped, then closed her mouth and glanced at the glass. She took a small sip, feeling like a juvenile girl and bracing herself before she put the edge of the glass to her mouth. Just as she was about to swallow it down, however, it was taken out of her grip and she opened her eyes again.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I mean... Not... Bleeding..."

Turning from her he kept muttering incoherently to himself as he put the glasses down on a nearby sarcophagus. She observed his back for another few moments and then she said:

"Why are you so nervous?"

"I'm not nervous!" he spouted, facing her again.

She met his so suddenly burning gaze without flinching, and then she smiled. He glared at her at first, then he took a step forward, putting his hands on either armrest as he leaned forward, the motion not stopping until his face was leveled with hers. She drew an unexpected breath, her eyes not leaving his and questions tumbling through her brain as she watched the anger on him.

"You don't know who I am," he stated.

"So tell me," she replied, wondering why she felt so calm, even under his malignant stare.

His gaze hardened, and then he straightened up, shaking his head.

"You'll kill me," he grumbled and she blinked. "Not now," he added at her doubtful look. "Later. When you're not... this. You. When you're not this you."

"Even if that's true..." she said tentatively, "why would I kill you over telling me who you are?"

He didn't know just what to answer to that, but had a searing warning at the back of his neck not to take this any further or it would come back to bite him.

"I'm a selfish being, Slayer," he said finally. "That's the one and only sodding time you'll hear me say it, so you'd bloody well store those words somewhere safe. You can't stay here. And it's not for you I'm saying it – it's for me. Swear to God, unless you leave something not so pleasant is bound to happen to my limbs once you're back to your old self."

She thought that over, neglecting to take into account the still hidden reason she might have to actually do a deed such as that, and then came up with a piece of logic he shouldn't be able to find a way out of.

"How do you know I'll remember then? My brain hasn't been all oh-and-ah since I got here... Maybe it won't be when I leave – or come back – either."

He tilted his head just a little to one side, a characteristic she found utterly cute, though she had a feeling she shouldn't disclose that to him. He eyed her, and then a small smirk drew over his mouth. She returned it easily.

"Besides," she said, standing up and looking around the place, "you seriously need my help."

"Right. I'll let you prance in 'ere and change my décor!"

"Spike, natural habitants don't count as décor."

"Look, if you're gonna be a buggering girl about it you might as well go."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I'm talking baby steps! A dash of paint, a throw rug, some things to make it more... homely."

"This is homely," he assured, grabbing the still full glass of whiskey he had taken from her and downing it easily. "And," he then continued, "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

She laughed, then her eyes landed on the armchair and her smile died as she slowly shook her head.

"This looks like you found it on the street," she remarked.

"That I did."

"You must be seriously pulling both my legs! I know people who are practically penniless, but they'd rather die than furnish their home in something someone else has seen fit to throw out! If you don't have enough money, just get something second hand."

"Right, 'cause that's not something people have seen fit to rid themselves of."

"Now, no one love's a smart-ass."

"Was that some sort of hint for me to start feeling bad for you?" he shot and she gave him a push, which wasn't meant to, but actually sent him stumbling into the mantelpiece, almost losing his balance.

He regained it smoothly and she looked regretful, though there was no way for her to smother her smile.

"Still getting used to that," she said.

He watched her as she began to walk around the space of the room, dragging one finger on one of the sarcophaguses and frowning as it was covered in a thick layer of nearly white dust. He ventured trying to get himself to push her out the door and shut it tight right in her face, but this was fun in the most macabre way and he wasn't so sure it would be that easy to give it up.

We'll be back to cutting each other's throats soon enough, he thought to himself. Right now it's not really... her.

That addition, however, disturbed him on so many levels that he reached for the alcohol and took a swig right out of the bottle, telling himself over and over that above all he could not forget who he was dealing with; could not forget who he was dealing with.

She had circled the small room and now landed right back before him.

"And why are you staying here again?"

"I like it; it's homely, if you recall."

"Spike..."

"Slayer, I'm not moving – so don't push it."

"I wasn't... You know, I'm not a ditz. There's something..." She trailed off, looking at him for a moment and then taking a seat in the armchair again, folding her hands on her lap and then saying: "Tell me what brought you here... I mean, what do you do? Disregarding where we are; you seem like someone who probably has a really neat job..."

"Yeah," he agreed, turning back to her and eyeing her for a long while before coming up to her, squatting down before her to make sure she was paying attention. "I kill for a living," he stated, and the absolute graveness on his face made her feel a shiver run through her. "I'm not one of the good guys. Since you have to have it pointed out, I'm making a point – you can't trust me."

She met his gaze unabashed before she reached out a hand and touched his cheek.

"I think I can," she said.

He clenched his jaws together.

"I'm not human," he stated and she looked so disbelieving that it spurred him on in his decision and he changed appearance right there, her soft hand still against the side of his face.

The fear in her eyes caught him off guard, and he wondered why. He had been expecting it.

Buffy felt like she had just dived into ice cold water. The blue eyes she had come to know pretty well had been exchanged for a wicked yellow. His facial features contorted just as Giles had tried to explain to her when he described the vampire's appearance. Where human teeth once were, fangs had taken their place.

She was trembling, but barely noticed it.

She couldn't believe it.

She closed her eyes, drawing a breath to steady herself. She didn't open them until she felt ready, her hand all the while resting against his cheek. Finally she eased her lids to part and rested her gaze in his once more. Her fingers gently slid up to the lumps between and above his eyebrows. Then down his nose to his mouth. He was staring at her, the surprise not concealed by the yellow. She finally removed her hand and sat back.

"Thank you," she said. "For showing me."

Once more all he could do was stare; utterly taken aback by this response. What was she doing! He felt a wave of frustration move through him as he straightened up into a standing position, stripping the vampire exterior and turning from her with a low growl. She giggled.

"Did you just growl at me?" she asked and he let hear a louder one as an answer. "Okay, then. You're a vampire. But that's clearly not all you are"

"It's not how it works," he said, swiveling back around to face her. "I try to kill you, you try to kill me, then I try again, you cower..."

"I do not," she stopped him, rising to her feet and crossing her arms over her chest.

He looked at her again, saying:

"Alright, you don't. You charge. You do not sit in my bloody chair telling me there's more to me than...!"

"Than? Are you saying there is more to you?"

"Is this what we're gonna be discussing all night?"

"What do you wanna discuss all night?"

"If you're such a bleeding know-it-all, why don't you tell me?"

"How to better the relationship between good and evil?"

"Didn't know there was a... what did you call it?"

"I think it needs bettering," she underlined, overlooking his query. "Especially if you're gonna flip every time I try to pay you a compliment! You're wound up pretty tight, there, aren't you?"

He clenched his jaws together, and at his tightened stance she smiled again. It took a few moments, but then he seemed to relax, defeated, before he gave her a half smile in return.

"Do you have a blanket...? Something to sit on so we can... sit down," she asked and he hesitated, then replied:

"Have a bed. 'S downstairs." She cocked an eyebrow, obviously hesitant and a wide smirk spread on his mouth at the sight of it. "Honey, I'm not into you that way," he reassured. "You're perfectly safe."

Her other eyebrow rose as well at that, and as she walked passed him to where he was showing she remarked:

"This from the vampire who said he wasn't to be trusted."

As she began to climb down the ladder leading her to... well, she really wasn't sure... she had to question herself. What was she doing with him? She couldn't help it. It was an inexplicable want to dig deeper. Her curiosity was awoken. She couldn't walk away now. She wasn't in any danger, no matter how much he tried to make her think she was. She could sense it.

Spike brought one burning candle with him and as they both had descended he lit the ones in his bedroom. Buffy was pleasantly surprised to see a big and comfortable looking bed in the room. Or... cave. It was hard to tell.

"Is this standard for vampires?" she asked as she walked up to the piece of furniture and took a seat on it, watching him walk about, still putting wicks on flame. "This... lone wolf... I'm so bad... don't-mess-with-me crap?"

"I wasn't always alone," he snapped and her interest was sparked immediately. "And it's not crap," he muttered, dripping some wax to fasten the candle he had in his hand before coming up to her.

He sat down a few feet away from her on the edge of the bed. There was silence for a little while.

"Who was she?" Buffy wondered and he glanced at her, then looked at his hands. "Was she a vampire? ... Beautiful, I bet." He gave her a rather appreciative look. She smiled. "Yeah. Everything you ever wanted."

"She was," he agreed. "For a really long time... she was."

He grew thoughtful and she observed his profile.

"And she loved you."

He gnashed his teeth, then smiled weakly to himself.

"Not enough," he said.

"What happened? Did she leave you?"

"She bloody threw me out. Or something. Told me I was..." He looked at Buffy and furrowed his brow slowly. "Insane," he stated and she looked wondering. "She was insane," he clarified. "Crazy as they come. No use getting stuck on anything the bird said."

"And you ended up here?" she asked.

"Yeah... Funny how things work for you or against you. Seems like everything's against me, doesn't it?"

"Why?"

"Well, fate spinning me around, taking me straight back to where my strongest enemy has set up her own little posse just so I can get a bleeding chip in my head making me not be able to feed, making me not be able to kill anything but my own kind and – in shame of all that is evil – actually join her buggering side!"

Buffy stared at him.

"That's me you're talking about, isn't it?" she asked silently and he turned his gaze in hers. "That's who I am... or what I am. Your enemy."

She had the strangest feeling near her heart speaking of righteousness and destiny, as though she had just hit the mark with such a simple statement; and yet it sounded so wrong to another part of her that she found herself frowning. Enemies. It couldn't be true. Though...

"Well," she said, rising to conceal the evident emotions on her face, "it's only natural, right? Here's the Slayer, there's the Vampire. And you said that we fight... I just didn't think..."

She stood with her back to him and he frowned.

"Buffy...?"

"God, I'm so fifteen," she muttered, swallowing and getting a hold of herself, turning back to him. "Look, I just wanted... I don't know what I wanted. To know you, I guess. But if this is that weird, then..."

"It's not," he stopped her, getting to his feet as well. "Come on, I have the Slayer in my bedroom, we've moved well beyond weird."

She smiled at that, and he returned it, satisfied that he'd been able to produce it, and then quickly turning himself away from that feeling. This was business and nothing else.

"So... it's okay if I stay? You're sure?" she wondered and he nodded.

"It's fine," he said.

She came up to him again, still wearing the smile as she sat back down, feeling slightly self-conscious as he sat next to her. She lay down on her back, stretching out and linking her fingers together above her head as she looked up into the dark ceiling.

"You know, some nice pieces of fabric would really brighten this place up," she said as he lay down beside her.

"Just nothing yellow," he said and she smirked.

"Reds and blues and greens," she stated.

"Just nothing pastel-ish."

"I cannot believe you just said pastel-ish," she giggled and he glared at her before he rolled his eyes.

"I'll tear them down," he warned and she settled, smiling broadly.

"Whatever you say. Nada pastel-ish." She paused, then yawned. After a few seconds she inquired: "Spike, how old are you?"

"Old."

"Is it true that vampires are immortal?"

"Yep."

"So you can't die?"

"If I stay clear of stakes through the heart – nope."

"That's freaky."

"Yep."

"You don't think it's freaky!" she stated, rolling over on her side to get a better look at him. "You're used to it! You're old!" He smiled, simply nodding. "Are you strong?"

He put up a hand and she looked at it, then reached up hers and took a hold on it. She tried to pull the arm down, but it didn't budge. She began to put all her strength into it and she could feel how the arm was beginning to shake. She smiled, not giving up for another ten minutes, and then gnawing out between clenched teeth:

"Call it a draw."

"Sounds good."

They both relaxed and Spike finally met her gaze, his blues being laced with a, for once, unhidden respect. She smirked and gave him a push with one elbow.