Make that five chapters posted. First new chapter will be up tomorrow. Thanks to SlAyErGiRlkAl who left her mark before!

A.M.L, Annie.

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Lie to Her

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"So tell me," she said as Spike ordered in his second beer and she got her third drink, this one being nameless and carrying a distant scent of tropical fruit.

"Gonna need specifics," he replied, bringing out a fag and lighting it.

"Where were you born?"

"England, pet, thought the accent gave that away."

"Oh, I see, you need those sorts of specifics. The I'm-too-dumb-to-answer-simple-questions-so-ask-me-even-simpler-ones. Fine, then; where in England – what city or town or province or whatever the hell you have over there?"

"Whatever the hell? You want me to answer your questions, don't mock my home country."

"Proud to be a Brit, then?"

"Bloody right I am."

"Miss it? Your home country, as you so elegantly put it."

"Reckon I do, sometimes."

"So, what're you doing here?"

He leaned back, resting his head against the hard wood of the booth wall behind him and then he shrugged, flicking some ashes from the cigarette.

"Guess I would've gone by now, if I hadn't been chipped."

She had to smile at the phrasing and he smirked, though it carried a touch of melancholy.

"Is that all that's keeping you here? I mean, Riley and I seem to be pretty tight." Spike stared at her as she continued: "Maybe I could talk to him for you. You know, see if he..."

"You'd do that, wouldn't you?" he interrupted softly, his gaze warming so suddenly it made her need to take a breath.

"I would," she then assured. "But..."

She trailed off, self-conscious.

"What?"

"Well, then you'd... leave. Right?" He nodded slowly. "Don't know if this place would be the same without you."

He smiled, killing what was left of his smoke and leaning forward.

"True," he agreed, a smile spreading over her lips as well.

"And what if I'm stuck here forever and... no good nemesis's ever comes along again? Then I'd have to grieve over ever helping you go away and there would be weeping and wallowing and destructive behavior and an all around bad. Not too sure I'd want that."

"No," he said silently, "wouldn't want that."

She felt naked under his studying gaze and looked at the glass before her, containing her present drink. The liquid was tainted yellow with lime green at the bottom. It looked quite tasty and when she took a sip the pineapple was a welcome distraction from anything not fruity.

"So, where were you born?" she finally picked up the conversation.

"London," he answered.

"When?"

"October 17th, 1856." He grew quiet, then said: "Haven't thought about my birthday for... for a bleeding long time. Wouldn't have thought I'd even remember it. Funny things: memories."

"I agree," she nodded, continuing: "Like, I can't remember my first day of school except for this one thing; the way the sun fell on my mother's hair when she took me inside the building and we waited outside the classroom for the bell to ring. I remember I looked at her and I thought she was so beautiful, and how I wanted to go to school and learn all these great things so I could grow up to be just like her."

He observed her face, how her eyes lit up when she spoke of her mother, and he had the strongest memory of his own mother come into his mind; it make him speak even before he could consider whether he should or not.

"When I was five I sat in our drawing room and painted a picture for my father... Can't remember what it was, but I do remember that I'd spent all morning on that stupid thing. My mum came in once in a while to check how far along I'd gotten, and she'd say something nice... encouraging. Then she'd smile at me. At tea she brought it in to me and we sat together while the paint dried... waiting for my father. He was late... it had been raining and he was wet... his hair was damp... He took one look at the picture... and asked who the artist was. Said whoever it was should be paid handsomely. That we should frame the picture and hang it over the mantelpiece – which was an honorary spot in our house. My dad died a year later, but in that moment I remember feeling..."

He trailed off, his gaze in hers as he was brought back into the now.

"Feeling?" she asked and he shook his head. "Spike..." He didn't want to talk about it, though, and since she could so clearly see it she left it at that, instead saying: "When were you...?"

"Turned?" he filled in. "I was... twenty-four. 1880."

"Wow," she breathed. "I mean... it's really real. And you're... Wow, you're almost a hundred-and-fifty. Years. Old. I can't even begin to try to imagine what that'd be like. To live and to see the world change and evolve and... Has it been worth it?"

"Every single second, love."

"Why were you bitten?"

"Why? Not sure if that's the right way to ask it, but I'll humor you this once. Dru found me. Took pity on me. Changed my fate, she did. Delivered me. Saved me."

Buffy eyed him for a few seconds, then said:

"I don't believe that. I think that the only one who can really change your fate is you. In the end, it's your choice, right? Who you are, what you do. You chose to change into a vampire. You chose to leave mortality, and all that came with it, behind."

"But without her there wouldn't have been a choice to make."

"So what happened? My God. She was the one who bit you? In 1880? You were with her for over a century?" She paused, letting it sink in before she finished with: "What could possibly have come between you?"

He shook out another cigarette from their box and flicked on his lighter, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out before answering:

"Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head with, pet."

"You must have loved her."

He stared at the Slayer for a brief moment, his face going from astounded at hearing those words out of her mouth, to serious.

"I did," he then confirmed. "More than... myself, at times."

She smiled a crooked smile at that.

"That's what love is," she said. "What it's supposed to be. I bet you Andy wouldn't do anything for me."

"Andy?"

"This guy I've been... not seeing. Not yet. But trying to see. Was supposed to see, right before I was sent here," she explained. "Not that I'm complaining," she added with another smile and he returned it, not entirely sure why.

"Welcome to the dark side," he then said, holding up his beer bottle.

She raised her glass and clinked it against the bottle's neck.

"Let's see if we can brighten it up," she countered and he smirked.

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"I really don't have anything to say," she stated, finishing her fifth drink.

An hour had passed, not that they'd taken any notice.

"Come on, you cannot not have a sodding opinion about this," he pressed. "Lord knows you have one about everything else," he added under his breath.

"What was that?" she asked, squinting at him and he smiled, swallowing down a mouthful of beer and faking innocence. "I just don't think that it's really for me. All that walking and never knowing if you'll have a place to sleep."

"You've clearly never traveled."

"Hey!" she pouted. "Just so happens I've been to Miami. Twice."

"Really? Vacation?"

"Family," she muttered. "On my dad's side," she added. "And if you laugh...!"

He wiped the grin off as well as he could.

"What I'm saying," he then said, "is that backpacking isn't about the walking or the place you stay, it's about seeing stuff that's not in the guidebooks. Going somewhere no one else might ever have been. It's about discovering, experiencing. Culture and people and a world that isn't your own. 'Course, it helps if there isn't an angry mob on your bloody heel threatening to burn you into a pile of ashes, you get to see more if you don't have to rush it."

She gave him a half smile.

"I dunno if I'd like it," she confessed. "I'm Give-Me-Comfort girl. Don't really enjoy slumming it."

"Then why are you staying with me?" he asked and she smiled another bright smile.

"You're far from slumming it," she replied, her gaze soft in his and he blinked before looking away, pushing back the very real sense of pleasure traveling up his spine.

Across the room he spotted a familiar face, smiling at the woman just as Buffy's eyes followed his. She raised her eyebrows, taking in the skin tight leather the woman was wearing, her flow of red locks and the wicked twinkle in her gaze as she rested it in Spike's. Buffy soon decided she didn't like the stranger. At all. Thankfully the latter was soon out of sight and didn't seem to be reappearing.

"So, I take it you've traveled?" Buffy asked and had Spike's eyes in hers again.

"I've seen everything I've ever wanted to see. Twice."

"Hah-hah. You know, I've been wondering – why did you stick around here after Drusilla left you? I mean, I take it you didn't have the chip in your head when she broke it off, right?"

"No, I didn't. But... we weren't in Sunnydale when Dru left."

"You weren't?"

"No."

"Where were you?"

"...Brazil."

She looked disbelieving.

"You were on the other side of the world? Without a chip?"

"Yup."

"Without a chip and still you decided to come back here?"

"Yes, without the buggering chip! I heard of this old legend that could help me... That would've, if you hadn't... Bollocks."

"I'll go get us a new round of drinks and then you can tell me all about 'If I hadn't'," she said, rising and walking up to the bar.

He ran a hand over his face, massaging the bridge of his nose and wondering where all this truth was spilling from.

Lie to her, dammit, he told himself. Just lie to her.

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Two hours later those words still had difficulty sinking in, and since he rarely got drunk on mere beer he couldn't blame any sort of outside influence. He hated how she kept asking questions he couldn't resist answering. He hated how he kept asking questions wanting to know her bloody answer. This wasn't how he had pictured the evening, at all. Where had his upper hand gone? Where had his goddamn self-respect disappeared to?

Now she was giggling at a story she had been telling of Shawna something trying to hook up with Gary something and what a mess their children would be.

"Not that I judge," she said, still chuckling. "But between her frizz and while we're on the subject, who does your hair? I mean, doesn't it hurt bleaching it that white over and over and over... Because it grows, right? And you're... dark? Ever thought of changing it back?"

"Don't dis the blondeness, little one," a female voice said, its owner – the disgusting redhead – soon leaning her upper body against Spike's arm, one of her hands snaking around his neck, burying her fingers in his short strands. "Makes him stand out in a much too dull crowd."

He smirked, eyes in Buffy's until he turned his head to the other and his mouth met hers in a deep kiss. Buffy felt the blood drain from her face, her heart practically stop in her chest and her gaze slowly grow darker. Finally the kiss was ended and the woman smiled at the Slayer before giving Spike a final peck atop his head, then moving off.

Buffy wasn't completely sober, but the jealousy tearing through her was too poignant to miss.

Spike tilted his head a little to one side, observing the scathing look the youngster was giving the back of the lady moving away. Vampiress, of course. Happy little playmate, whenever he felt the need for one. He hadn't in a while, but wasn't about to confess that to the Slayer.

The latter now moved her gaze into his.

She easily read the smugness on him.

Bastard, she thought, knowing she didn't have the right and still getting madder and madder at him.

She rose, focusing all her energy on keeping herself from swaying, and then she proceeded to the bar. The place had filled quite nicely, she had to be able to find some sort of catch in there. Something to show that vampire that she didn't need him. That he could walk off with whatever trollop might stick her tongue down his throat if he wanted to.

She slipped herself gracefully up on a stool and slammed her hand onto the counter.

"Cosmopolitan," she said, Willy raising an eyebrow and then complying.

Buffy scanned the faces closest to her.

"Do seriously no humans come in here?" she asked as Willy handed her the drink.

"They come in and turn right back around," he winked; then checked himself and moved away from her nervously.

She frowned, about to take a sip when her eyes met the gaze of a young man across the bar. He smiled gently and she returned it. After a few more smiles and a subtle tossing of her hair he was on his way up to her. He was pretty handsome; dark eyes and broad shoulders.

"Hello," she greeted.

"Why, hello, there," he said smoothly, leaning against the counter next to her.

"I like your hair," she said, moving her fingers into his black locks. "Mind if I touch?"

"I'd mind if you didn't."

"Oh, cute," she smiled.

Spike watched the debacle, mildly amused. It was a vampire she was buttering up, did she even realize that? He observed her body language, the approving twinkle in her green eyes and the smile on her mouth and finally came to the conclusion that she didn't, getting to his feet he was soon at her side.

"Party's over," he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her off the stool.

"Spike!" she exclaimed. "Let go! ...I'm so sorry," she added to the dark haired. "He's in impatience management. Only he's not managing it very good yet."

Spike walked them back up to the booth, grabbing her coat and throwing a few dollars on the table before dragging her with him outside. Well there he almost ripped the coat in half putting it on her and then he grabbed her wrist again.

"That's it!" she yelled, tearing loose. "You really don't have to do this. I know you don't really want to. You only don't want to get staked later. Oh, yeah, I can get smartened up too! It's not like everything you say just whoosh go right by me! I don't need you to protect me from the scary, scary vampires. I don't want you to! Understand? Is it getting through! So go. I'll stay. Think I'm afraid? Watch me!"

He let her get halfway through the door before he caught her and lifted her into his arms.

"Put me down!" she screamed, kicking her legs.

"You can tantrum all you bloody well want, Slayer," he said, carrying her down the sidewalk and into the alley behind the bar.

He put her down, leaning her against the wall. She was breathing from fury, glaring up at him.

"I wish I had a stake right now," she stated and he smirked.

"Do you?" he asked, leaning closer.

"I do," she murmured, her eyes drifting to his lips and then jerking back up into his again, her annoyance as intact as ever.

"No, you don't," he said, voice lowered as he stepped into her, hand sliding to rest on her hip.

She swallowed, the suction occurring in her stomach once more and she frowned lightly, her hands slipping up his arms, her fingers finding their way into his hair as his mouth hovered less than an inch away.

"You're just jealous," he mumbled, her fingers becoming fists as she pulled down hard, getting his head away from her. "Ow," he protested and she let him go. He rubbed his neck, wearing a slight smile. "You good and ready to go?"

She walked passed him, buttoning her coat and shaking her hair to lay behind her shoulders as she continued on her way. He looked at her back, still smiling as he followed.

She didn't speak two words to him, merely marched on ahead.

"Where are we going?" he called out, but she only walked faster.

They arrived at the cemetery hosting his crypt and he caught up with her.

"Buffy, stop. Buffy!"

She twirled to face him, quizzical and demanding.

"It's still early," he said. "If you wanna go back there – do. But I'm not coming."

"Why are you telling me? Thought it was your style to skulk off into the shadows without so much as a whistle! And if you're going back to Willy's I'm not coming, 'cause... 'cause I don't believe in leaving a place and then all of a sudden showing up there again! It isn't... my style!"

"Why are you so bleeding upset! You've had fun tonight, right?"

"Have you?" she bit back, but her eyes told how real that question was and he contemplated it before giving a shrug.

"Wasn't the worst time of my life," he muttered and her anger seemed to melt away slightly. "Wasn't the best either," he added quickly. "Are you coming or not?"

"Where?"

"The Bronze, I guess."

"Fine," she said, beginning to walk again.

He came up beside her and once more silence reigned.

Her mind had cleared slightly of alcohol after their quick promenade, and she kept telling herself that it was a test, he was testing her. And all she really wanted to know was if she was passing, or failing.