+part 8+

Spike was NOT happy.

The minute he'd walked into the house, still laughing at Buffy's little slip-up, Giles had practically attacked him, dragging him into the kitchen. When the rest of the gang had entered (and Spike hadn't failed to notice that Xander's eyes were still seething with hatred whenever the boy wasn't pretending to avert his eyes), Giles had already been well into questioning him about his trip.

He'd relayed the information the best he could -- after all, everything had gone a bit fuzzy since he'd received his soul. It was clearer now than it had been the first week, but it was still all hazy. Needless to say, Giles had been absolutely fascinated.

"Where did you hear of this legend? How did you manage to get to Africa? What was the name of the tribe that took you in? Where was the cave? What were the tasks you had to accomplish? Why aren't you dead?"

Actually, the last one had been from Xander, which had managed to earn him a dirty look from Buffy and Dawn both. And those were just a few of the many questions that he'd been bombarded with. Luckily, the doorbell had rung, announcing the delivery boy's arrival with the food, and Giles's interrogation had thankfully been cut short.

Thank the Lord that there had been a lot of really good food, and five extremely tired, extremely hungry White Hats there. By the time Spike had finished shredding his sweet-and-sour pork into tiny little pieces with his molars and incisors, Giles had nearly collapsed from exhaustion on the couch with a cup of tea (thankfully not in hand when he actually did collapse -- that would have been painful).

He sighed with relief when Anya and Xander shoved off, and the rest of the house went to sleep. Buffy hadn't been able to meet his eyes for the rest of the night, and though it amused him greatly when he remembered why, her actions were all-too-familiar, painful reminders of her attitude towards him... before. Naturally, he was more than happy to have some time alone to himself.

He still loved her; this was a given. He couldn't just unlove her, after all. But now it seemed that she had a thing for him, and he couldn't make heads nor tails of it. Granted, he'd known that she'd fancied him for quite a long while -- that pre-wedding couple-ness that Willow's spell had tossed them into... as well as the kisses... and the groping... had somehow managed to bombard his mind when he'd least expected it.

It would be a terrible, awful lie if he said that he hadn't enjoyed some of the... er, situations that his extremely creative imagination had placed them in after that. And he knew Buffy would be lying if she said she'd never thought about it. Ten to one, she'd imagined the feel of Spike's hands and body every time Captain America hadn't been able to launch her the right way. She should have just come to terms with it -- Riley, as a mortal, just could not live up to the sexual stamina of the Slayer. A couple of thrusts, and Riley would've been shot for the night, while (Buffy had learned not too long ago) Spike could, in fact, go all night long.

Ahem. Not gonna think about that. He mentally admonished himself. He was supposed to be trying to figure out why Buffy, after years of rejection, and mental and physical abuse, had suddenly decided he was the hot and yummy, perfect, loving boyfriend-type after all. Gah... the woman drove him absolutely mad.

<It figures, mate. You finally accept that the Slayer's not gonna get down an' dirty, an' actually love you, and here she goes, meddlin' things up again inside your head!>

ARGH! He HATED it when she did this to him! As if she hadn't tossed him in and out with the damned mind games last year!

He'd been wondering how to deal with the situation of his feelings for Buffy, should the circumstances ever have risen when he would come face to face with her. Well, he'd been face-to-face with her successively now, for the last seventy-two or more hours. And his decision was weighing even more heavily on his nerves. Usually it was Buffy who pulled the, 'I need to be strong, I can't live by my emotions' bullshit that usually got her a severe ass-kicking, but now it was Spike's turn. And he had no doubt that his feisty little girl wasn't going to be too pleased about it. After all, if Spike refused his daily routine Kick-The-Puppy job, who was that going to leave Buffy with?

Well, Harris, maybe, but he was human, for one -- wouldn't be able to take it. And second, he was still trying to get back into Anyanka's good graces in hopes she wouldn't build an 'I Hate Xander' fan club and use her powers to fricassee him. Although it would be enormously hilarious to see the self-righteous little prat run screaming down the street with his head on fire.

He shook his head and made headway for the kitchen. He needed something comforting, something soothing, something loving...

Sigh. He needed Joyce. The woman had always managed to be there for him... even though she hadn't exactly been pleased with the truth of Spike's feelings for Buffy toward the end. But still. She'd been as good to him as his own mum had been. Just then, he could have sworn his heart had suddenly, painfully pulsed with the desperate edge of regret for not getting the chance to smooth things over with her before she'd passed. He missed Joyce -- truly, truly missed her. The elder Summers woman had been one-of-a-kind and, though the Slayer and her friends hadn't deemed him worthy to be informed of her untimely, and unfair, demise, she had taken away a part of him. She'd taken away part of the humanity he'd still managed to have left inside of him, part of the humanity that she, and Dawn, and Buffy had managed to replace.

God. He really wished that there was a way to bring the woman back. He really needed to unload. And he really needed her hot chocolate.

What the hell was he bitching for? She'd shown him the recipe, for Christ's sake! He smiled wryly to himself. She'd shown her family recipe to him, so he could make it. She'd shown it to Dawn as well, the cocoa being the only thing the teenager could really make without somehow managing to set fire to the curtains all the way on the other side of the kitchen from the stove. But Joyce hadn't shown the recipe to Buffy. And frankly, he still couldn't understand why.

Gathering all the necessary tools and ingredients, Spike set to work, and within minutes, he was sitting down at the island, his head bowed, his hands around the warm, fulfilling mug.

Mentally, he asked himself if this was all worth it. All of... this, going to Africa in the first place, coming back to Sunnydale, coming here, to the Slayer's home, yards away from where he'd actually had the nerve to... "convince" her to love him, all to end up with his chip out of his head, and a soul that made him regret ever having been brought into the world.

The only reason he had stayed here tonight was because Dawn had batted those beautiful blue eyes at him, begging him to stay.

He smiled gently when he thought of Dawn. He wouldn't admit it out loud to anyone who wasn't her, or Buffy for that matter (and probably not even them), but he absolutely adored the girl. He'd been wary of her when Dawn had deemed him 'cool' and had started visiting him at the crypt, when he realized that she found him intriguing and knew she wasn't afraid. Oh, no, not his little Dawnie. Never afraid of him. He had a fond recollection (though he knew it wasn't real) from years ago of a pair of glimmering blue eyes, gazing defiantly at him as he set foot into the Summers' living room to plot Angel's downfall. Dawn, in typical rebellious twelve-year-old fashion, had turned her nose up at her mother's request for her to go to bed, opting instead to see "what the latest fashion crisis the Hellmouth decided to spit out now."

He chuckled silently when he recalled the indignant snort he'd given her, coming quite close to threatening to eat her before realizing that a very formidable duo of mother and Slayer were in the room, and that there were more pressing matters at hand.

When he thought of Dawn... it was worth coming back. It was worth the dirty looks Harris gave him, the furtive, unsure frowns Giles sent his way, the fishhooks that tended to curl Anya's eyebrows from memories of their last... meeting, the slight anxiety that radiated from Red, and Buffy's tentative glances and general uneasiness. Dawn was the closest thing he had to a sister, and she had been the only one that hadn't shunned him for what he physically was, aside from Joyce. Dawn was worth it. And he owed that girl a lot.

"Spike?" A soft, sleepy voice came from the doorway. The blond tilted his head up curiously, frowning slightly when he saw Dawn.

"Dawn-luv? What're you doin' up?"

Dawn shrugged, rubbing her left arm and yawning. "I wasn't tired," she said, directly after.

Spike smirked. "Is that so, pet?"

She grinned sheepishly. "Okay, so I wanted to come see you when Giles wasn't making an absolute lunatic of himself for information. Don't tell me you weren't glad to see him finally go to sleep?"

Spike held up his hands, smiling gently. "Caught me. What'd you wanna see me for, Bitlet?"

She stumbled toward him, cringing slightly as her bare feet came in contact with the cold kitchen floor. She plopped down with little grace onto a stool next to him before resting her head on his arm. "Just wanted to see how you were holding up. You looked fine when you first got here, but you got more quiet as Giles's interrogation went on." She smiled at him slightly, looking up. "He's always yelling at Anya for not having any tact, but it's kinda the pot calling the kettle black, you know?"

Spike sighed, shaking his head. "Better believe I do."

He became silent after a bit, for so long that Dawn thought he'd nearly frozen on her. Gently, she nudged him in the side. "Well? Are you?"

He glanced at her. "Am I what?"

"Okay. All right. Calm. Peaceful, serene. You know, the opposite of what Giles made you feel?"

Spike snorted. "Don't know if there's a full recovery from that, Bit. But yeh... 'm all right. Better'n I have been, last coupla weeks."

Dawn sat up. "Is it 'cos of being here, with me and Buffy? Or is it the soul?"

Spike raised his eyebrows, contemplating it for a moment. "Normally, I'd say it was the soul, full stop. Angel was one thing - I was something completely different. Angel was forced to accept his soul, I got mine back, my original one, on my own. I just figured... it might be different for me. I killed people, I know I did. An' I feel guilt, I do. But for all I've done, I was never as bad as Angelus. I had my moments, yeh, but I don' think anyone could've passed up Peaches in the evil department. But to answer your question, ducks, I think 's both. 'S more 'n common sense, you know. 'S... instinct, almost. Bein' here, 'round you, an' Buffy, bein' back here in this bloody Godforsaken little town... Makes it better. Just a little bit."

Dawn leaned her arm on the countertop to stare at him properly. "Spike? Are you glad you came back to Sunnydale?"

Spike smiled, reaching his hand up to muss up Dawn's already messy hair. "Nibblet. When I see you, an' when I see Buffy... I don't think I could ever be more glad." An enormous smile broke out over Dawn's face, and she giggled in agreement at Spike's next words: "I still bloody hate this town, though."

"I always expect you to," Dawn answered, eyes crinkling. She brightened slightly when she saw Spike's mug. "Is that Mom's hot chocolate? Is there more? Or did you drink it all?"

He waved vaguely in the direction of the stove. "There's more. 'S in the pan. Figured I'd leave some for you an' Big Sis, Red an' Rupert, but if you drink it all... well, more's the pity, eh? 'S not my fault."

Dawn snorted as she wandered to the cupboard, snatching out a mug before meandering toward the stove, and pouring whatever remained of the hot chocolate into it. "Oh, sure! Blame it all on me, it's my fault!"

Spike raised his eyebrow at her, nodding to the now-empty saucepan. "It is all your fault. You just snatched the rest of it, pet."

"Minor technicalities."

Spike leaned forward on the island, putting his head in his hands. "'m gonna have to make more, aren't I?"

Dawn grinned. "Yuh-huh."

"Get the milk out, Nibs," he ordered, pushing himself out from under the countertop, standing up and shuffling to the stove to continue slave labor. He heard another derisive snort and turned to the side to look at Dawn, whose arms were folded tightly across her chest.

"I don't wanna get the milk. I wanna pour the Hershey's. Then you can put in the milk and chocolate chunk bits," she announced clearly, head high.

Spike scowled. Okay. Maybe he hadn't missed Dawn all that much... "Dawn, just get the milk, 's not gonna kill ya."

"Yes, it will," she replied cheerily.

His frown deepened, and he moved toward a cupboard to get the chocolate sauce. "All 'm asking for is the bloody milk, Dawn. Now, be a perfect little love, and get it."

"Not with you ordering me around like that."

Spike closed his eyes as he pulled out the contents necessary, before standing up straight and squaring his shoulders. "I take it, then, that you want me to inform Buffy of a certain incident involving, say, your mum's old Jeep?"

That did it. Pretty eyes widened and Dawn raced for the fridge, dancing back to him with the milk carton in hand. "Got it!" she said, a painful-looking smile stretched wide across her face. Spike smirked, taking it from her and pouring the right amount of milk into the saucepan before handing it back to her. Dawn dutifully returned the container back to the refrigerator's cool confines, then remained silent and at attention at Spike's side when she returned.

After about a minute, while watching him break off pieces of chocolate, she spoke up again. <Pretty damn good. She lasted a whole fifteen seconds more'n last time.> "So... can I pour the Hershey's now?"

Spike snatched the bottle to his chest protectively. "No."

Dawn's eyes widened, and she immediately made a grab for it. "Please?"

"No! You'll bugger it up somehow an' I'll end up covered in it!"

Dawn tugged harder. "No you won't! You are safe from the chocolate sauce, I promise! Just lemme pour it!"

Spike held on as tight as he could, not noticing when the cap popped off. Dawn pulled the bottle to her slowly but surely, her feet slipping along underneath her, pulling her towards Spike. Spike gritted his teeth, tugging it back. It was amazing, really. Dawn was almost matching him in strength, and she didn't even have any of the powers of a Slayer.

Unfortunately, Dawn apparently really did hold a woman's prerogative to change her mind, and she suddenly decided that her arms were becoming sore from the impromptu tug-of-Hershey's-war. Which meant letting go of the bottle. Causing Spike to tighten his hold on it and stumble backwards, squirting himself right in the face, from slick blonde hair to muscular white neck. With chocolate. Room-temperature, sticky, brown, incredibly-hard-to-wash-out chocolate sauce.

Dawn's eyes widened. Not just from the incredibly huge mistake of inadvertently pouring chocolate over Spike, but... well... Chocolate-Covered Spike. It just had a really nice ring to it.

Spike scowled at her. "Safe from the chocolate sauce, eh?"

Dawn grinned sheepishly. "Well... you would have been if you'd have just let me pour it."

"Nibblet..."

"Sorry..."

"What's going on down here?" a new voice, laced with a wide yawn, popped out from the otherwise silent kitchen. Spike and Dawn both turned to witness a pink-jammies clad Willow, stumbling barefoot into the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes. She stopped still when she saw the brown liquid mass formerly known as Spike. For a second (through chocolate-smeared eyes), Spike thought he saw a tiny smirk quirk her lips. Then, slowly, without missing a beat, she turned and headed toward the living room.

"Buffy! Dawn melted Spike!"

+++++++++++

Buffy closed her eyes, her head resting in one of the hands she had leaning on the kitchen counter. After Willow's slightly amused summons, she'd raced down the stairs expecting to find a pile of ash on the floor, considering that when vampires melted... well, they didn't turn into a big puddle of formerly human goo. And it wasn't like she was really scared for Spike anyway. He could take care of himself; he didn't need the Big Bad Slayer to fuss and coddle him.

Okay, so really, it was no use trying to delude herself. The face must hide what the heart doth know. Or something like that. It was from Macbeth, she knew that much, and she probably got it wrong anyway, but what was wrong with a little modifying? Anyway, she knew very well that it was full-fledged terror that had been stampeding through her veins when Willow had called her down. She'd honestly thought that Dawn had somehow managed to light the vampire on fire, and she'd be seeing nothing but the really dusty version of Spike's impromptu attempt to Play Dead.

Instead, she'd gotten all worked up and scared, running down the stairs in a blind panic, only to find a chocolate-covered Spike -- so so not what she needed to see, especially the way she'd been feeling around him lately. Sex dream about Spike, coupled with the shock of seeing him looking <absolutely yummy> ridiculous covered in chocolate sauce kinda made things worse.

So now, she was trying to find a way to get back to sleep and trying to calm her frazzled nerves. Not that she'd been sleeping all that well in the first place. Spike knew about her dream, the smug bastard, and though he'd obviously been amused, he had (somehow unexpectedly) decided not to push it with her. He hadn't said a thing about it, and it was really, really... surprising. Well, it shouldn't have been, really. He was still Spike; he just had a soul now.

He must have inherited the tact he'd formerly had right along with it.

<Stop being mean!> the Pro-Spike side of her brain scolded. <If it wasn't for you playing push-and-pull with him, he could've been nicer without the soul. You forced him to get it, so now if he's all kind and gentle and nice and weepy, then it's your fault, so you get to deal with it!>

<She's got a point,> said the other. <Even if he is obsessive and freaky and downright scary sometimes, you pulled him further into it, and into your own messed up life. Suck it up and stop trying to trade it off already!>

Great. Even the Anti-Spike side was against her. <I thought you hated him and everything he stood for!> she accused angrily.

Anti-Spike sighed and rolled her not-really-there eyes. <I did. Till you warped him, and he got a soul. Plus, now that I think about it, he is pretty hot. I can see why you listened to her so much last year,> she finished, gesturing to Pro-Spike.

Pro-Spike jumped up and down, clapping her hands giddily. <I KNEW you'd see it my way sooner or later! Score one for me!>

Buffy's head jerked and she lifted her face up from where it had fallen into the table. Okay. This mental conversation was getting a little too freaky, even for She-Who-Hangs-Out-In-Cemeteries. Seven years of really crappy relationships combined with the paranormal and the abnormal, not to mention the whole slaying gig and constantly arguing with her inner self (or selves, in this case) was enough to make anyone beg for a lifetime in the local mental institute.

Fortunately, she wasn't completely there yet. She figured she had about one more apocalypse to go before she was allowed to be dragged in, kicking and screaming. It was times kinda like this when she wondered why the OtherWorld hadn't worked out. Then she remembered -- Big Stinky Demon with a habit of stabbing and filling someone with hallucinogens.

Apparently, she'd managed to bore Pro-And-Anti-Spike with her train-derailing-the-track thought processes. They were both crying out, in a subtle sort of way, for more Spike.

Well, they were just going to have to survive without any. Spike-thoughts were bound to make her head hurt. Not like it already didn't, but she was definitely feeling end-of-the-world sized migraine potential there.

"Pet?"

Strike that, make it universal annihilation.

Wearily, she glanced up, then jumped back when she realized just how close to her he really was. "God! Don't do that! It was annoying without the soul, and it still is with it!"

<That's it, be Snarky!Bitch!Buffy. Ignore the fact that the Blue Eyes from Hell are boring right through you. Don't pay any attention to the fact that his hair's all wet and mussed and curly. Stay away from the ideas that are popping into your head because he's obviously still wet from his shower. Don't look at the way that T-shirt is practically molded to his chest, and don't think about the fact that his jeans are so tight that -- Ack!>

Spike snorted mirthlessly. "Good to know 've still got what it takes to make you nervous." Buffy squawked indignantly, but Spike, rolling his eyes, continued. "Shut up, would you? I need to talk to you about something."

She had half a mind to squawk even more, and then punch him in the nose for telling her to shut up, but there was something in his voice that made her... well, shut up. She frowned. "What is it?"

Spike sighed, scratching his head. His little fiasco with the kitchen-ware and Dawn had tossed his mind right off the track it had been driving on... not like it had actually stayed there for very long when the AD part of his ADHD had kicked in... But he'd had enough time to himself in the shower to think about it now.

It was time that he started to think about things without Buffy obnoxiously shoving her way through everything he said and did. He had a soul now -- he really didn't want to be Depression Guy, and he'd stake himself if he got all broody like his grandsire -- and damned if he did, damned if he didn't, he was going to use it to its full potential. No more living life trotting after the Slayer as her lap dog. No more letting everyone else walk all over him, especially that pansy, Harris. He loved Buffy -- he would always love her -- but he was finally going to move on.

Considering he'd had over a hundred and twenty years of being 26 to grow up, he thought it was pretty damn amazing that he'd finally done it. Love's Bitch was no more.

" 'm over you."

+++++++++++

"Gwah?"

Buffy's jaw had flapped open. Vaguely, she became aware of this, and managed to snap it shut again, but words failed her, and her mouth began opening and closing like a trout gasping for water. Eventually, she managed to draw out something that was classified as human speech.

"O-Over me?" <As opposed to when you were under me? Ooh. Bad Buffy.>

Spike bit his lip. Eek. He looked nervous. This wasn't good. The only other time he had ever looked nervous was the first time he'd told her he loved her, and she'd rejected his pleas for a crumb with a resounding "No," and a punch to the face.

Crap. This meant he was telling her the truth. Not the snarky, 'Kick my ass if you don't like it' truth, but the 'I'm being as honest as possible, and I'm sorry' truth.

<Breathing. Calm. Don't hyperventilate. Maybe you misheard him. Over you? Pah! This is Spike! He doesn't get over anyone!>

"Yeah. 'm over you." The widening of her eyes, not to mention the stunned, murderous look in them aroused his self-preservation instincts and he instantly backed away, hands up in surrender. "It's nothing you did, pet, I swear it. I love you, I do, I always will." He looked up at her, biting his lip again. "Don't think I could survive if I didn't."

It was out -- that had been the first time he'd said he loved her since she'd discovered him at the crypt. He hadn't even told her that when he had relayed his journey to her. Buffy swallowed heavily.

This... this wasn't fair. He wasn't supposed to do this to her. She was supposed to be the one that always broke up with him, not the other way around! Not that they were together. Not together equaled no breaking up-age. But still... he was the one calling for the endage of their... non-relationshippy relationship... thing. It felt like her heart was being ripped out.

Spike was supposed to be the one who'd stay.

He seemed to be reading her mind. " 'm not goin' anywhere, luv," he murmured gently, coming forward again, kneeling in front of her. He took her hands and tentatively covered them with his own, relaxing a little when she didn't flinch, jerk them away or punch him. " 'm still gonna be right here in Sunnyhell. 'm still gonna be here whenever you an' Bitlet need me." He glanced up at her, his eyes begging and pleading. "But I can't wait for you anymore, Buffy. I can't just sit there anymore an' hope that everything you say or do in front of me is one day gonna magickally tell me that you love me."

Her world was shattering. "B-But..." <I do love you! Ask me! I'll tell you! I swear I will, just don't go! Don't leave me like the others!> she wanted to cry out. The best she came up with was, "Why? I mean... you know about my dream, so... why?"

A fond smile crossed his lips. "It's not the dream, luv, though 'm flattered you still think about me that way." He looked up at her then, solemnly, all his adoration and devotion still conveyed plainly in his eyes. His answer broke her heart. " 'S because I need to live. I love you more'n life itself, Buffy, more'n anything 've ever loved in this world. But 've got to move on. This thing... between us, whatever it is... 's not going anywhere. Never will, because you don't love me, an' I don't expect you to. I don't deserve your love." He took a deep breath. " 'm not leavin' forever, pet. 'm always gonna be one crypt away, whenever you need me."

He stood up, and suddenly, Buffy panicked. Despite his assurances that he wasn't leaving Sunnydale, that he would still be around for patrolling or for assisting to take down the next apocalypse, or hell, even for keeping a promise to Dawn for a game of cards, she desperately reached for his hand when he turned to leave the kitchen. The familiar electric bolt made itself known, leaping between their bodies with enough power to send them flying apart. Spike turned back, his lower lip trembling, with questioning eyes.

Buffy sucked her lower lip in self-consciously. She nearly withdrew her hand and reverted to Self-Righteous Bitch!Buffy, but all at once, Pro-And-Anti-Spike began bombarding her mind. <Say it! Don't let him walk away! Say it, Buffy, say it!> shrieked Pro-Spike, while Anti-Spike hollered <Don't you dare pull the bitch card! I will give you such a migraine if you even think of pulling the bitch card!> As if to reinforce that threat, she felt a twinge of pain along her temples. Jesus Christ, her voices were manifesting themselves.

Well, as long as they didn't turn her into Drusilla. They'd made their points loud and clear.

She swallowed hard, squeezing his hand gently. "Please don't leave, Spike?"

Spike's back went rigid -- she could feel him tense right through her connection with his hand. He straightened and looked down at her. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. "Give me a reason."

She frowned. "What?" Okay, weird. She'd thought that by simply asking him, he'd automatically turn back, scoop her into his arms and plaster kisses all over her face, telling her he wouldn't abandon her after all.

"Give me a reason why you want me to stay," he repeated. "I'm not giving you an ultimatum, luv. Not intentionally. I'm just asking... if you feel anything for me... at all. If you can even give me the slightest hint that one day, you could ever... care for me..." His gaze turned pleading. "Buffy, please. If there's any part of you at all that could ever love me, tell me now. Please. Don't let me walk away from you, I'm beggin' you."

It was so obvious he didn't want to leave her. She knew instantly, no matter what he said, that he would never, could never truly be over her. He wanted to stay with her, wanted to be given a reason to stay so he wouldn't completely break her, even if he had to wait for an eternity to hear something affectionate from her. He wanted hope, and at least the tiniest bit of kindness. That was all. And Buffy had the answer he wanted. Pro-Spike was hollering her head off now. <This is your chance! Tell him! TELL HIM! Tell him you love him!>

Buffy started to open her mouth... and nothing happened.

Spike swallowed roughly, taking that as his response. "Right." He ducked his head, refusing to look at her. "Shouldn't've gotten me hopes up." He smiled at the floor grimly, drawing a deep breath. "I mean, even with the bloody soul, 'm a horrible thing. Can't see why you would." He heard her draw a sharp breath and start to speak, but held his hand up. "Don't. Please, Buffy. Just... let me have the little bit of dignity I have left. Okay?" He looked up and smiled weakly. " 'S better this way, anyway. You wanted normal, right? Vampire who willingly got his soul back... not exactly normal."

He leaned down, kissing her forehead. " 'll see you 'round, sweetheart."

He walked out the backdoor, not looking back.

And Buffy stared in stunned silence after the man she'd just let pass her by.

+++++++++++

Spike had nearly made it to his crypt before he'd broken down. His shoulders began heaving and shaking, and he began breathing heavily, uncontrollably, nearly hyperventilating. By the time he'd made it to the cemetery gates, he was full-on sobbing, resting his head against the wrought-iron gates and gasping out his agony.

Leaving Buffy the way he had was most definitely the hardest thing he'd ever done. It had to be -- he hadn't cried this hard since her funeral. Now, telling her he was over her, accepting that he had to move on, was getting to be his biggest regret.

How could he ever move on from Buffy?

And, after all, if he was so over her... then why was his heart breaking into infinitesimal pieces on the ground?

When his sobs had slowed to whimpers, and the whimpers to sniffles, he entered the cemetery, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands furiously. He hated this -- he hated every single bit of it. Why couldn't the bitch come down off of her pedestal for just ONE second and admit what Spike had known since the minute he'd first laid eyes on her? Why couldn't she ignore her stupid sacred duty bullshit spiel and her even more idiotic friends' opinions about him for once, and just admit that she loved him?

But fine. If she didn't want to say it... well, he couldn't force her. Maybe, one day, she'd learn to think for herself. Maybe one day, she'd stop listening to everyone else's convictions and admit it, to him, and herself.

And when that day came... wherever he was, whatever he was doing, whoever he was with... he'd drop it or them in a heartbeat and race straight back for her. What could he say? He was a complicated man, but he did have simple needs and a simple life. There was only ever going to be one woman who could twist his heart around, put it through the grinder, before taking it out and soothing the sores, and succeed in only make him love her more. No one was ever going to take Buffy's place.

He was so intent on his thoughts that he walked straight past Clem, resulting also in not hearing his name being called by the good-natured, floppy-skinned demon the first, oh, ten times he'd shouted it.

It finally took Clem diving in front of him, springing his own version of a game face on Spike to make the bleach-blond stop in place, blinking in surprise. "Clem? What's wrong, mate?" he asked, frowning.

Clem panted. "I've been trying to get your attention for the last minute! Where have you been?"

Spike's eyebrows drew themselves together, creasing. "At Buffy's, why?" Then he grimaced. "Could you put away the tentacles?"

Clem shook his head frantically, retracting into his normal features, then looked at Spike worriedly. "I only went out for a half-hour, Spike, I swear. I don't know who did it, but the crypt is completely destroyed, I came back, and the whole place was leveled, nothing was standing straight up!"

Spike's eyes widened, and he spun, sprinting toward the general vicinity of his home. Vaguely, he heard Clem padding along behind him, trying to keep up, but he refused to slow down until he saw it for himself.

And yes -- there it was. Or rather, there it had been. He stepped forward, his eyes darting around frantically in hopes of seeing something that wasn't completely destroyed. Launching himself on to the rubble, he began digging, sifting the powder away until he found the hole in the ground that had led to his basement bedroom. Climbing down (for some reason, the ladder had been left intact), he stood still and gazed around in absolute horror.

It was all gone. Nothing had been left whole. Not one. Sodding. Thing. His home had been destroyed.

He was homeless.

He laughed bitterly at the cruel irony of it. He'd put out so many people, killed them, destroyed them, right along with their houses, and he'd reveled in it, reveled in their fear and grief... And now someone had done the exact same thing to him, short of killing him.

He'd nearly lost his sanity. He'd lost any ideals of a relationship with Buffy. He'd lost his home. He had nothing left. He'd lost everything.

He turned and climbed back up the ladder, scrambling over the remains of his domain, when he tripped, fell forward on his hands, and saw something half-hidden by the debris. If memory served him correctly, it had been taken by Willow sometime after the Birthday Party That Couldn't End last year. A week after Dawn had been set back down firmly on the straight and narrow, but only a few days before he and Buffy had broken up.

Shrugging off the bad memories, he smiled and picked up the slightly torn picture of himself and Dawn scowling menacingly at the camera, her wearing plastic fangs and monster make-up, and himself in game face, baring his teeth while Buffy raised her eyebrows and shook her head at them in exasperation, hands on her hips.

Well, okay. So maybe he hadn't lost everything.

He tucked the picture into his back pocket as Clem stumbled over to him. "Is there anything left?" the demon asked tentatively, tilting his head.

Spike pursed his lips together gently, patting his back pocket and sighing. Slowly, he nodded and smiled. "One thing." Suddenly, he frowned. "No idea who did this? Nobody new that has a grudge against me?"

Clem shook his head. "Not that I remember. I just came back from getting some chips" -- he held up the slightly crinkled orange bag -- "at the local demon-mart, and it was like this."

Spike shook his head. "Looks like 'm gonna have to go hunting," he said, a wry smile curling his lips. Then he frowned again. "Where the hell am I gonna stay?"

Clem scrunched up his face -- the only time that he looked more human than demon -- in thought, then snapped his fingers. "Why don't you try Buffy? She'd take you in, wouldn't she?"

Spike paused -- all physical motion and all mental thoughts came to a complete stand-still. Then he scowled and glared up at the sky, cursing the Powers That Be. "You bloody ponces think you're funny as hell, doncha?!" he roared. Clem stared at him in confusion until Spike shook his head. "C'mon, Clem. Looks like we both need a good home. Hope the Slayer doesn't mind a coupla strays." He scowled at the sky again. "Bloody imbeciles."

Clem shrugged, unfurling the bag of Doritos and pulling out a handful, feasting on them hungrily as he followed Spike back to Revello Drive.

+++++++++++

Behind the trees that surrounded the area behind Spike's former crypt, a pair of alarmingly bright green eyes followed the vampire and the floppy-eared demon's progress, an eager, wicked smirk curling her lips.

When she'd come across Angel, it had been absolute jubilation for her. Manipulating him had been non-stop pleasure.

It was going to be fun trying to see what would take down Spike. She had followed him all the way from Africa, the second she had sensed the glaringly obvious neon glow-in-the-dark 'I HAVE A SOUL -- TORTURE ME!' sign pointing at the vampire's head.

But Spike seemed stronger than that idiot Angel. Smarter, no doubt. It would be difficult trying to bring him down.

But she was going to try her damndest.

Now all she had to do was lure him in. Bit by bit. Before destroying every little bit of what made his pathetic life with mortals worthwhile. Crying over the Slayer of all people. Pah. Spike was a Vampire, a Master Vampire at that. The Slayer should be bowing down on her scrawny little legs, begging him to eat her and make it painful.

Well. She was around now. And she was going to make sure that Spike remembered what being a proper vampire was like.

Now. What to do about that pesky... soul.

She chuckled. "Oh my, my, my. This is going to be fun."
 
 

TBC...

Part 10

Buffy had stayed in the exact same position she'd been in for fifteen minutes since he'd left. She feared that her mind had been completely destroyed -- after all, Spike had just left. Spike, the one that had kept coming back to Sunnydale because of her -- and she knew he'd come back because of her, so there was no denying it. No one could hate their mortal enemy so much that they would keep coming back and getting their asses repeatedly kicked.

Then again, when had Spike ever been the typical mortal enemy?

Anyway, she'd been in her own little world, still trying desperately to believe that Spike had not just walked out, and that she was just dreaming a really bad dream, so it was only natural for her to jump nearly three feet off the stool and fall flat on her ass when the door to the kitchen was pushed open.

She turned and stared wide-eyed when Spike entered, Clem following behind docilely, munching on some chips.

She stood up and watched him quietly, succeeding in her efforts to remain cool and aloof. Not to mention her success in not throwing herself at him, kissing him, apologizing to him, and begging to give her another chance. Years of hiding her real emotions behind a blank stare and (usually) anger had made her the perfect little actress and she was pleased to see Spike nervously shifting at her glare.

"Spike. You're back," she said frowning, as if admonishing him for daring to reenter her home. Her eyebrows drew themselves together, and her eyes narrowed. "I thought you couldn't bear to be around me," she added mockingly, smiling to herself when Spike winced.

Spike, meanwhile, sighed. He'd known he was in for it the minute he'd seen his decimated crypt. Buffy was really the only person he could have gone to. First up: the demon community -- yeah, they weren't his friends. Most of them wanted to kill him, save for Clem and the kitten poker group. Second: the human persuasion -- the butcher was probably the only person that counted, next to Jake, the guy that had (temporarily) taken over Willy's job at the Alibi Room when the dirty, sneaky little weasel had gotten into a bit of trouble with his underground dealings. Both men were fully aware of his vampire status, as well as the current not-so-evilness of him, but neither would avidly offer him and Clem room and board together.

Boy, oh, boy, Spike sure got around.

So that left the Slayer's friends. Tara: God bless her and rest her poor little soul. She probably would have welcomed Clem and Spike, no questions asked and arms wide open into her apartment. But now, it was slightly out of the question.

So he'd thought about -- dun, dun, dun -- Xander. And nearly balked out loud, trying as hard as he could not to fall on the ground laughing. Xander Harris hated him. And though he'd taken somewhat of a liking to Clem, with Spike as part of the package I-need-a-home deal, they'd be rejected in an instant. No matter what Dawnie told Xander about Spike, nothing would ever make them friends. They had a common bond between them, however, and it was called intense loathing.

The next choice pretty much fell to... well, Anya. And then it bounced away. Far, far away. Though she would probably accept two more demons into her midst, Demon-Girl was a definite no-no, especially considering the circumstances surrounding their most recent... er... interaction. Wasn't it enough that Spike had killed Buffy's spirit with that tryst, but he'd embarrassed himself, apparently, with the whole group watching as he and Anya took out their grief on each other?

Damn it.

Anyway, moving on, he brought his attention to SuperWicca Willow -- then remembered that she was living with Buffy and, oh yeah, she wasn't so much with the SuperWicca anymore. So then he thought about the psychopath currently sharing the name Giles with Buffy's former Watcher -- and Spike remembered that he was living with Buffy, too.

Normally, if Giles was living somewhere else, Spike would have been all too grateful to accept another invitation to live with him, provided the bloody bastard didn't tie him up in the bathroom like before. Except that, with the way things had been lately, Spike was terrified that Giles would turn his brain into absolute mush from all his damn incessant questioning, and he'd run screaming from the house right into sunlight and go up into a brilliant, blazing fireball for his troubles.

So now, all that was left was Buffy -- who was going to kill him. He was really dreading imposing on her, especially now after his little 'I can't wait forever' speech. Oh, god, she was really going to kill him.

Or, hey, maybe she wouldn't. She didn't know why he was coming back, at least not yet, and besides, she liked Clem. If she allowed Clem to stay, then she had to allow Spike to stay, too, since Clem would be happier that way. And his Dawnie would put up the most hellatious raucous if Buffy tried to keep her away from Spike the way she'd tried to last year. And he was positive that Red would need a good bit of support, and a good while away from the well-meaning-but-otherwise-completely-insane Watcher. And Giles would love not having to hunt Spike down during the mornings, or waiting until evenings to study Spike like a lab rat. So really, things were four to one in his favor.

Okay, so maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but it was worth a bloody try.

He looked up at Buffy and took a deep breath. "Somebody destroyed the crypt," he said.

At once, Buffy's eyes widened, and her Slayer half came on alert. Destruction of property had apparently become her specialty. "What? How? Who did it, do you know?"

Spike shook his head, looking towards Clem. "Clem's the one that told me."

The wrinkly demon nodded his head, his lips -- or where his lips should have been -- covered in the orange cheesy dusting from the Doritos. "Came back from the market, and there it was -- the whole thing, completely leveled. Didn't see anybody around, but whoever it was did a real number on it. All that stone and stuff, everything from the inside out? It's all just dust now. Not even the basement-room survived."

Spike turned back to Buffy and gave her a wry half-smile. "Guess who's homeless, Buff?"

Buffy frowned. Well that sucked. She usually couldn't stand the crypt -- except for the basement and the memories of what had usually gone on down there was most definitely giving her the warm-fuzzies -- but she hadn't wanted the damned place demolished.

And poor Clem and Spike! Wait, wait, not poor Spike, she was mad at him. But poor Clem! He was homeless now, and unfortunately, so was Spike, and -- oh, no, no, no. That was why he'd come back. Spike thought he could get a freebie with the Head of House since he'd actively participated in banging her last year. She scowled at him. Of course, she'd thought he'd changed, but the smug bastard was just as sneaky and conniving as he usually was, of course, and naturally he was going to try to persuade her -- oh, damn it.

She really hated those stupid eyes of his.

Grudgingly, she sighed and swept her arm behind her. "Why don't you two stay here for a while."

Spike tried as hard as he could not to smile. "Oh, no, Slayer, we couldn't impose, we just stopped by to let you know that I -- or we -- have got ourselves a new enemy and --"

Buffy scowled. "Spike, shut up and come inside, would you? Come on in, Clem," she added kindly to the other demon, who had been watching Buffy and Spike's verbal and facial sparring, his head swiveling back and forth between them as though he was watching a tennis match.

Clem trotted happily inside. Who was he to argue where he stayed? So long as they had a TV and those nifty little Fritos scoop things, he was happy.

Spike followed at a slower pace, his smile disappearing as his handsome face took on a more serious tone. Standing in front of Buffy, he gently took her hand and bent down slightly to look her in the face. "Thanks for this, Buffy. Really. I don't mean to do this to you, but I just...," Spike paused, biting his lower lip, then continued. "I don't have anywhere else to go." He looked past her at Clem. "Neither does he. We need a place, and we didn't really have a lot of choices. I just hope things won't be awkward between us...?" he trailed off, gazing at her uncertainly.

Oh, god, she really hated those eyes. She bit her lower lip and shook her head sadly, giving his hand a squeeze. "No, Spike. It's no problem at all."

Spike smiled at her a bit, then leaned forward and gave her a tentative kiss on the forehead. Leaning back, he chucked her gently under the chin -- a father-like gesture that shocked the hell out of her since it came from Spike -- and sighed. "Thanks, luv. I really appreciate this."

He turned and walked out of the room without another word, presumably heading to the living room to crash on the couch.

Buffy's shoulders slumped heartbrokenly, and she blinked back the bitter sting of her tears. He really had gotten over her. He'd gone from giving her looks of love and longing, to chucking her under the chin and giving her forehead kisses.

And it was her fault, because she hadn't spoken up and told him that she wanted more -- that she wanted him.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she rubbed her shoulders and walked to the living room. Her eyes settled on the two new additions to the household, Spike stretched out on the couch, shirtless and just settling in, and Clem curled up on the floor like a dog, surrounded and sleeping on so many pillows that it looked like a failed attempt at a pillow fortress. She smiled slightly at the sight. Whenever Clem snored, his teeth showed, and he let out a soft growl right along with it -- though he looked as harmless as a puppy, he seemed to be Spike's guard dog.

Frowning, she looked up to see that the curtains were still open -- something extremely careless from Spike. She had just gotten him back (even though she didn't really have him) and she wasn't going to lose him because the damn curtains hadn't been drawn. Stepping around Fluffy Guard Dog Clem (and being equally careful not to get her legs anywhere near those damn sharp teeth), she leaned across Spike and drew the curtains shut, pausing only once when she saw a flash of gold. Frowning, she peered into the darkness more closely and, seeing nothing, pulled back. She looked down at Spike and sighed, then leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"Goodnight, love," she murmured softly before turning and heading toward the stairs. She snorted to herself, shaking her head. "Not a problem at all... pfft. Yeah, right."

As she walked up the stairs, Spike turned onto his back and watched her tiny figure silently, a tired, gentle smile crossing his lips. Yawning, he snuggled back into the fluffy cushions and let his eyes close.
 
 
 

++++++++++++

She watched as the blonde head appeared, glancing out the window. Snarling slightly to Herself in disgust, She just noticed when Her own eyes flashed a brilliant yellow-gold before She blinked and the effect disappeared. Instead, shaking Her black mane furiously, She seethed when the blonde leaned closer to peer outside, then closed the drapes when she saw nothing.

Turning away when She was in the clear, She loped across the yard, Her thin agile body moving with the grace of the shape She had taken -- a leopard. She was very, very close to releasing all of Her built-up aggression, but sadly, there was no one in sight to take it out on.

Transforming, She snarled to herself, leaning back against a tree. So... that was the little strumpet that had destroyed Her darling boy's love of destruction. She could hardly see what the big fuss was all about. Unfortunately, She knew full well that there was a great to-do about her, because the Slayer-Bitch had managed to bring three incredibly powerful Masters to their knees, and She meant to discover everything She could about the girl. Angelus had been absolutely useless when it had come to her, considering his ensouled self had been in love with her, and his uninhibited half had despised that love. She Herself thought it was incredibly pathetic. The once powerful patriarch of Aurelius' traveling clan had been reduced to a meek, love sick little puppy. And he hadn't exactly been that pleasing without that blasted soul, either.

Dracula had been another matter. It had been a given that there would be some awe when he'd introduced himself to the Slayer. Unfortunately, before She could get to him and convince him that killing the Slayer was for everyone's own good, he'd been recruited by those little monk twits to capture a mere pint of her blood. All so they could pull one over on a... She shuddered in disgust... on a hellgoddess of all things.

Dracula hadn't thought anything of it, and had just done the job (although She'd heard that he'd attempted to claim the girl and failed), but the problem with him was that he'd heard of the Slayer. Her name had been whispered in the demon underground for six years since she'd accepted her status from that heavy-set old man, Merrick, in Los Angeles. And to say that Dracula hadn't been as awestruck as the Slayer had been with him would be a great lie. This Californian Slayer had been the only woman to ever reject his seductive vampiric advances, as well as being the only one to completely throw off his thrall, and though it had pissed him off to no end, the Slayer had won a great measure of respect in Dracula's eyes after that.

Disgusting.

She'd had high hopes for Spike. She'd pretended to ignore all the lustful gazes he'd given the Slayer when they'd first met, ignored the hunger they'd had after each fight that had left the other panting in sexual near-desperation. She'd ignored the longing in Spike's eyes after the red-headed witch had broken a will-be-done spell and he and the Slayer had returned to normal. The desperate longing that had been carefully, but painfully hidden when the Slayer had come to her senses and acted how a good Slayer should at the touch of her enemy -- with undisguised abhorrence. She'd even ignored, and had been prepared to forgive, Her darling boy for the pathetic attempt of his to destroy the Slayer quartet with Adam -- and She'd been exceptionally reasonable in forgiving that last attempt of his to redeem himself with the group, by killing the demon that had gone after the Slayer's puppies.

All would have gone well -- until he'd had that dream.

She snarled furiously, spinning and kicking an enormous Mack-truck sized hole into a neighbor's wall. In love! How... nauseating. Her sweet, vicious Spike was in love with a Slayer!

She was going to have to work very hard to correct this great lapse in common sense. And -- She glanced down at her curvy, hour-glass shaped body, smirking proudly -- She would infiltrate the Slayer's home while she was at it.

Return Spike to his once glorious self -- and permanently put the Slayer, and her family, out of action for good.

Two birds. One brick.

How yummy.
 
 
 

++++++++++++

Buffy had spent all day surrounded by lunatics.

Giles, who was normally the calm and collected one of the group, had gone absolutely bonkers with joy when he'd heard that Spike and Clem would be staying at the Summers' house -- it meant easy access to the revolutionary vampire. And so, Spike had led Giles on a merry chase around the house all day, trying to escape what he knew was going to be a barrage of questions about his soul. Buffy had found herself wondering when exactly it was that Giles had gone from Psychotic Research Guy to just plain Psychotic.

Willow, on the other hand, had reacted with a calm cool that Buffy hadn't known was in her -- apparently, Wills had been remembering her time with Oz, and was channeling his monotonous exterior for the time being. Which in itself was just creepy.

Anya had arrived at the house about an hour before lunchtime, had shaken Clem's hand, then had looked at Spike (who at the moment had been safely hidden from Giles) in embarrassment -- which, hey, new from Anya.

And finally, Xander had come over at the end of the day, and had been about to raise the standard Almighty Uproar until he'd seen Buffy's face. Then he'd sheepishly backed down, wiggled his fingers hello, and sat down in front of the television.

And all Buffy had wanted to do was just crawl under her covers and die. Or at least let out a really long, really, good, really heartbroken cry.

She'd been kicking herself for her stupidity regarding the Spike situation all morning, so much so that even looking at him twisted her heart to pieces. She had really pulled the wrong one this time. And now she felt like that little lost lamb that stupid romance novels always talked about. She had a feeling that she was now living what Spike had been through since he'd realized he'd loved her, and it was pretty much breaking her apart. She loved him -- why couldn't she have just told him that? Why the hell did she have to be Stupid!Stubborn!Buffy all the damn time?

She knew why. She had told herself that nobody else was going to put Spike down, not now, not when she finally loved him, and she'd told herself that she wasn't going to listen to anyone else's opinions anymore, and she would think for herself. But the problem was that she actually had to work at that -- after all, you couldn't just snap your fingers and say, "I'm reasonable today!" and expect to be that way. Her friends' and Giles's opinions were still having an effect on her, and she, quite frankly, needed to screw up all the courage in the world to get them to leave her and her love life the hell alone.

If that was the case, then she should be kicking herself even more right now. Damn it, why hadn't she asked Spike for a little more time?!

Sigh. Anyway.

Earlier, Dawn had literally been bouncing all over the place at the news of where Spike's new temporary stomping grounds would be, until Buffy had pleaded with her to tone it down. Which for Dawn meant to revert to squealing. But it was when Buffy was being dragged down the sidewalk by an extremely ecstatic Dawn the next night, (Spike following behind, rather sedate in his humor) that they saw the giant hole in Mrs. Reubens' solid brick wall.

Apparently, not so solid anymore. And for some reason, that was all it took to calm Dawn down.

"Damn," Spike muttered below his breath, letting out a low whistle. "Did someone get too happy with a wrecking ball? Where's Harris? Maybe he'll explain."

Buffy paused in her frowning for a moment to give Spike an odd look, which Spike returned with a smirk, then shook her head and stared back at the wall. How she had not even noticed it this morning was beyond her, since she passed the damned place every day when she went to work.

Huh. Maybe that was why all the police had been swarming around, topped off with Mrs. Reubens' shrieks of vandalism. For a second, Buffy wondered if she shouldn't leave town until the wall was fixed -- the Sunnydale Police had had it in for her ever since the last explosion that she'd caused while on the job, and her record with them wasn't exactly spectacular since that whole wretched Acathla thing where she'd been framed for murder. Yeah, that had been a walk in the park.

Moving closer (after shaking her grip out of Dawn's magneto pull), she lightly touched the edge of the wall still intact from whatever had caused it. What the hell could have done this with the force of a wrecking ball, besides a demon? Unless Spike was right, and Xander had gotten a little carried away -- he couldn't hit Spike, so he took it out on the wall.

But what if something evil had done this? She shuddered at even the thought of coming face to face with the type of strength that could just kick a hole in a wall like it was nothing. Hell, she'd been sore for two weeks after just one fight with Glory.

Buffy groaned. "Noooo," she whined. "It's too early for apocalypse season! It's only November!"

Spike raised his eyebrows as Dawn's eyes widened. "You think that something caused this besides a construction crew?" the teenager asked.

Spike looked at her. "Well, it's really the only plausible explanation. A construction crew doesn' have any reason to leave a bloody twelve foot hole in someone's wall." Spike glanced at Buffy, nodding graciously. "Apocalypse, it is."

A strangled whimper escaped her throat. "Stupid Sunnydale. Stupid Forces of Evil that won't give me a holiday."

Spike chuckled to himself as Dawn moved toward her sister and mockingly patted her shoulder. Buffy raised her head from her self-indulging misery to give Dawn one good glare before pouting again.

Spike sighed to himself as he approached the holey brick wall. Buffy had been weaving in and out of moods all day, and once again, he knew it was his fault. She had said she was fine with his being over her -- like he actually was over her, like that actually meant anything these days! -- but once again, Buffy hadn't counted on the fact that Spike seemed able to read minds. Or if not read minds, then read feelings.

She'd been hurt.

He didn't bloody like it, but if the infuriating little wench would just step up and admit to what he already knew, he'd go trotting back to her like the sodding lapdog he knew he was. He'd take anything she threw at him, if she just admitted some semblance of feelings for him. But no, Miss Buffy had to be stubborn, and Miss Buffy had to be the leader and not let her feelings get in the way, even though she knew damn well that she could only get stronger if she had Spike right there by her side.

But no. This was Buffy's decision, and -- as much as it was driving him absolutely insane to watch her be miserable and not comfort or touch her -- Buffy had to work things out on her own.

He grinned to himself. But maybe a little persuasion couldn't hurt. Jealousy was usually ripe this time of year...

Since they couldn't really do anything about the gaping maw in Mrs. Reubens' wall (except fantasize about what sort of big nasty could be running rampant in Sunnydale this year), they continued on soberly to the cemetery for a quick patrol. Six vamps altogether that night, with Dawn only needing to be saved three times -- once by Buffy, once by Spike, and once by ducking and letting the stupid-ass following her run smack into a mausoleum wall. Naturally, she was eternally grateful to the wall, while bitchy and petulant toward Spike and Buffy.

Afterwards, Bitchy!Petulant!Dawn retreated when the two adults (one moreso than the other) treated her to a mini-Bronze night.

Of course, as usual, neither of them had anticipated the likelihood of future peril infiltrating their little group.

Spike had been at the bar, nursing a beer and watching Buffy and Dawn twist and giggle -- he really wasn't much for dancing, but god if Buffy would just scrape away the concrete that thickened around her skull --

"Hello."

Spike jumped, startled. Turning, he shook his head, sighing to himself. The voice belonged to a woman. < It starts, > he thought. < Well, so much for vampire reflexes. Maybe I can trade in this old model for a better one. >

He turned to tell the woman -- whoever the hell she was -- that he was more interested in being alone... but that was before he looked at her.

Holy Christ, the woman was beautiful. Bright green eyes beneath dark, thick lashes seemed to saturate the room, and locks of beautiful thick black hair fell to just below her backside. Pink, perfectly shaped lips pouted out at him, placed below a well-defined aristocratic nose. A strong, sensual neck gave way to slim shoulders, which arched into big, full, round, straining breasts, hidden beneath a black tanktop. A tiny waist and rounded hips curved down to strong, shapely thighs, covered in red leather pants. She could give a bloke a helluva ride with that body.

Too bad she didn't do anything for him.

Then again... His eyes flickered to the dance floor, where Buffy and Dawn were still living it up. Buffy had been peering over Dawn's shoulder every so often when she thought her sister wasn't looking, all her efforts straining toward Spike. And seeing a beautiful, luscious brunette hitting up on him was obviously not what she had expected to see. It did Spike a whole world of good to see that beneath her California girl tan, Buffy was going pale, and the hurt that invaded her usually stony features blossomed out for all the world to see. Hell, with the way Buffy had treated him last year, even just standing there with another girl made his chest swell with the fact that she actually did care.

Unfortunately, the sight of Dawn stopping and frantically asking her sister what was wrong, then turning around and spotting the black-haired woman hovering around him was not a good thing. He watched Dawn's lips tighten as she folded her arms, all the while thinking, < Oh, I'm in a world of trouble now... >

A thought that went away when Spike saw Buffy build up her wall again, ignoring his existence and continuing to dance. Spike growled to himself. < So that's how we're gonna play the game, are we? > Right then. Buffy would kick herself for trying to out-do the Master -- literally.

He turned his attention to the lovely brunette chit standing next to him and smiled invitingly. "'Ello, luv," he said softly. "Who might you be?"

The plush pink lips curved into a hungry smile.
 
 
 

++++++++++++

All too easy. It hadn't even taken Her much more than a hello to break past Spike's outer walls. Oh, sure, She'd seen the way he'd glanced at his little Vampire Slayer, as though asking permission from the ditz to speak to another female, and She realized full-well that Spike planned to use Her as a pawn in a little lover's game to make the Slayer jealous... But She could work around that.

Besides, if She played Her cards right, She just might get the invitation into the Slayer's house -- the one She needed to completely destroy... Buffy's life. The way things were going, Spike looked as if he'd do anything to see if his precious Slayer would cause a commotion over him.

Once She was in, then She could control. And when She controlled, then She would destroy.

And anyway, Her precious child was a handsome, feisty one. Any woman -- living, unliving, or demonic -- would kill to get a precious few hours alone with him. Could be the accent.

She smiled smugly to Herself when Spike tumbled right for Her. A sexy smile, and a purring growl colored his greeting. "'Ello, luv. Who might you be?"

Her own sexy smirk crossed Her lips and She pressed closer to Her little boy. Her tongue darted out, caressing Her lips in such sensuality that Spike couldn't help but follow its path.

He wanted to know who She was? Well, then. She'd just have to tell him.

"Lilith."
 
 
 

++++++++++++

Buffy, though she appeared to be carefree and wild to Dawn (and every other single horny male in the establishment -- except the one she wanted) watched stonily from the dance floor as Spike was completely bowled over by TurboSlut.

Spike had fallen for this type before. Spike had been in love with this type before. Spike had spent one-hundred-fucking-years catering to the every whim of this type before. And Drusilla hadn't exactly been an easy nutcase to crack -- or satisfy, no matter how high the body count.

So why the hell was he falling for it again?!

There he was, the big moron, staring up at that bloodsucker -- which was what she had to be in order to completely grasp Spike's attention like this -- with big old wide-eyed astonishment, as though she were the greatest thing he had ever seen. Buffy's inner voices came back to her -- or at least Pro-Spike did, and her voice was angry and admonishing.

< Looking at her like she's the greatest thing he's ever seen, eh? Hmmm, let's see... Oh! Buffy! Didn't he used to look at you like that? I can't ever imagine why. After all, it's not as if he loved you. Because if he'd loved you, you wouldn't have been a stupid moronic bitch, and you would have given him a chance. > Pro-Spike paused, and Buffy cringed at whatever she would say that was going to bite her in the ass. She knew it was going to be a kicker.

As always, she was right. Pro-Spike took a deep breath (as if she could), then screeched at the top of her lungs, < Oh, YEAH. That's RIGHT. HE DID LOVE YOU! Dumbass! >

Buffy could practically hear the angry stomps and the slamming-of-the-door after that. Pro-Spike had obviously retreated, pissed off at having anything more to do with her brainless creator.

Okay, okay. Buffy had screwed up. She could admit that, freely, because she knew full well that she'd screwed up. When she got the chance, she was going to pull Spike aside and let him know how she really felt about him.

But first, she had to do something about the previously dubbed TurboSlut. While Spike seemed to be in La-La Land over this chick, which was hint number one that Something Was Wrong In Sunnydale, Buffy could feel distrust pouring out of every opening on her body (and, ew, by the way. Distrust felt really gross.) This girl was practically wallowing in Untrustworthy. And Buffy was going to do everything in her power to find out why.

She watched the Spike-Makes-An-Ass-of-Himself Show for a little while longer, before growing thoroughly disgusted with her lover -- ah, former lover whom she was currently pining away for -- and grabbing Dawn, sauntering over there. She'd had enough of this wishy washy crap.

It had absolutely nothing to do with jealousy. Nope. Nothing at all.

She scowled darkly when She-Bitch-Tramp-Whore-VampSlut laughed and ran a hand down Spike's cheek. Spike smiled sweetly, grasped her hand, and began tenderly rubbing her fingers.

Okay maybe just a little jealousy.
 

TBC....

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