At last, Spike moved, the jerk being his first sudden show of life in almost an hour. After not breathing for a long time, he sucked a deep breath into his lungs, causing Buffy to jump slightly. She looked over at him, and could see he was clenching his jaw. He sighed and looked around, his eyes eventually falling on her. Her heart picked up speed when the events of the night came back to her. A spark of hurt and anger caused her face to flush. Spike either didn't see it, or he ignored it. With a predatorial and unnatural grace, he rose to his feet. The crypt was cold and dark. He walked over to the fallen bottle of jack and picked it up, placing it and the remainder of its contents on top of the television. Taking a Zippo lighter from the pocket of his black jeans, he lit about a dozen candles that were strewn about the place, bringing a gentle light to the room.

"You just gonna huddle there, or are you gonna tell me when the fuck you're doing here?" he asked emotionlessly, taking a cigarette from a box in his back pocket and lighting up. Both vampire and slayer moved their gazes to the abandoned crossbow on the floor.

"What's wrong?" Buffy asked, repeating her original question and ignoring his. She rose slowly, unsure what was going to happen. Anger flared in Spike's eyes, though outwardly his demeanour didn't change.

"S'none of your business. Get out," he ordered, his tone devoid of feeling. He turned away from her not wanting to face her. He was mortified anyone had seen him like that. The ache still burned inside him, but it wasn't so bad now. He wondered if it would continue to lessen, until it became nothing more than a distant memory. He was grateful he hadn't gotten that feeling in a life or death situation.

"Were you…feeling guilty?" Buffy asked, though she didn't think that was it. Spike turned around, a bittersweet smile on his lips.

"For what?" No, Buffy knew. Of course he wasn't guilty. For anything. She couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"Never mind. So if it wasn't guilt, what was it? You weren't crying in the corner because I violated you, that's for sure." Flashes of the ordeal hit Buffy, and her heart ached with pain, humiliation and love. Spike smirked. "I can't wait to tell my friends that you're a big baby. Or your friends, for that matter." The smirk vanished from Spike's lips as he realised that she could make him even more pathetic in the eyes of his peers than he already was.

"What happened here never leaves this room. Not a single peep of what you just saw will ever pass your lips, understood?" Spike threatened, deathly serious. Buffy frowned and raised one questioning eyebrow. Spike sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes. "And in exchange, I'll tell no one about that little tryst in the alley." Secret relief flooded over Buffy. That was a fair trade, though she thought she could squeeze a little more from him.

"Sweeten the deal just a little, and we're in business." Spike glowered at her. "Tell me what just happened to you."

"Why do you want to know? Why are you suddenly so interested in my life? You came here to kill me, why didn't you? Why the hell don't you!?" he roared, slamming the whisky bottle into the wall beside Buffy, showering her with glass. Seeing her unflinching resolve to find out, he deflated, collapsing in his armchair. "Just…put me out of misery. Tonight has been both the best time I've had in decades and the worst night of my life…it's been...shit, I don't know. Don't care. Not right now...not since...Dru." Buffy perked up at the mention of his sire. She hoped she was getting somewhere. He made a good point though: why did she want to know?

"After what he just put you through? What the hell is wrong with you?" Those voices were really starting to piss her off. Sometimes they were pro-darkness, other times not. She wished they'd make up their mind. Her mind, she corrected. "I'm do not have multip-Forget it. Just…focus on Spike." Seeing Buffy become so interested, Spike just let go and decided to tell her. He hadn't a clue why, but he just didn't care as much as he knew he should.

"Drusilla…she's dead. I don't know how…I just…felt this feeling," he began, not looking at Buffy. "It was like the floor vanished from underneath my feet and I fell into an abyss. I've never felt like this before in my life. Well, 'cept-" he shut his mouth furiously, snapping to Buffy, daring her to ask. She didn't.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Why? You should be glad! A deranged monster is dead, and I'm in pain. I thought you'd be dancing."

"Do I look like I'm dancing?" Spike didn't reply. A silence just hung over them; one Spike wasn't comfortable with.

"So I ask again, slayer: why are you still here? Unless you're going to finish the job you started, I suggest you leave." For some reason, she didn't want to. She wanted to comfort him like he'd let her do for the last hour, though come to think of it, had her presence been a comfort at all? Seeing her reluctance to leave, a small grin spread across Spike's face. "Oh, I get it. I've given you amor e morte, eh? Want a little more? See, I told you. Now, thanks for your time, your pussy and your blood, but get the fuck out."

"Amor e morte? It that some kind of STD?"

"Now!" he yelled, not feeling like joking around. Sensing she was no longer welcome, Buffy backed up, grabbing the cross bow, and left. She went straight home, milling over what had just happened. She had a tightness in her stomach that made her feel ill. She had let Spike bite her. She'd pressed him for sex. She'd loved it. She tried to put all this in perspective, and when she did, she saw how colossally screwed up the whole charade was. Her warped obsession with Spike had fast led her to an even more dangerous love affair with pain. How far would she take it? When in perspective, she knew she had already come too far, but when she stripped that perspective; when she focused on the desire itself, all she knew was she wanted more. She wanted to return to that place where Spike had taken her, and she wanted to stay longer and explore it more deeply.

"Next time you might die. But then, it's the might part that makes it so appealing, isn't it? He was right. Death is your art. You want to know what it feels like. You think you know what you are, what's to come? You haven't even begun. Remember these words? Well, you've begun now, haven't you?"

Buffy reached her house and stepped inside. She went straight upstairs, eager to slip out of her top, which was sagging under the weight of her blood. She didn't even see the still figure of her mother on the sofa. Going to sleep, she dreamed of death yet again.

A/N: I've decided to be a bit looser when it comes to following S5, starting here. I found it too restricting to character development. Thanks to my reviewers! Also, know the chapters are very short, but they won't all be. I'm finding that if I just let the chapter decide its own length it turns out better than if I force it to be long.