In my heart there’s cruel war that must be waged
In darkness vile with moans and bleeding bodies maimed;
A gnawing hunger drives me, wild to be assuaged,
And bitter lust chuckles within me unashamed

- From “Peace” by Siegfried Sassoon

Sunnydale 1999

Xander’s back slammed into the cave wall so hard that an aftershock travelled up his spine. He groaned but barely had time to register the pain as the demon swung his own axe at him. He lifted his hands to block it, grabbing the handle of the axe and pushing against it, trying to keep the blade away from his chest and arm.

The demon in front of him was really strong and Xander Harris was just a high school kid. Sure, he’d been battling demons for three years now but it never got much easier. The demon opened its mouth and blew out flames in his direction. He ducked out of the way, feeling the heat on his cheek. Xander kicked out and managed to land a lucky kick to the creature’s nuts, assuming it had any. He gained control of the axe and as the demon stumbled backwards Xander swung it around in an arc and sliced through it. It fell to the floor and didn’t get up. Xander wiped his hand across his sweaty forehead and sighed.

He looked around the dark cave, lit only by the sunlight streaming in from the entrance. Buffy was battling the fiercest Incinerato Demon. It was seven feet tall and almost as wide. Xander had to pause and watch for a moment at Buffy’s fluidity as she whipped around and hit it with a kick to the face.

"Man, she is something," Xander said to himself, admiringly.

A cry sounded behind him. "Xander!"

He spun around and ran to assist Willow. The witch was throwing small boulders at a demon using her relatively newly developed telekinesis but she was tiring fast. He hefted the axe and ran up behind the demon, trusting Buffy and Giles could hold their own, wherever Giles was; and Xander was betting he was guarding the exit of the cave to make sure nothing demon got out.

Xander struck the thing in the back with axe; it screeched and whirled around, hitting him with its forearm in the face. He tumbled to the floor and skidded across the sandy ground, hitting his head against the rock of the cave. "That’s gonna hurt tomorrow…" He reached up slowly, rubbed his head, winced "Scratch that it’s gonna hurt right now" He sat partially up and heard a loud sort of whooshing sound that his brain couldn’t process in its addled state. However, it did understand the sound that followed right after that.

The most blood-curdling, terrible scream Xander Harris had ever heard reverberated through the cave. It was followed by several more, just as heart-stopping as the first. They all belonged to one voice. Xander blinked, his head seeming to turn in slow motion as if he didn’t want his fears to be confirmed.

There was a figure in the cave, right in the middle now.

And it was on fire.

And it was Buffy.

Xander heard Giles shout out and Willow scream but he kept silent as he watched his friend’s back aflame. He blinked again, took in a breath, swallowed. Her arms were flailing about as she continued to scream. He knew, in the deep recesses of his brain that he should be doing something, but sitting there in the sand, in a cave, he couldn’t move. He was numb.

Giles tackled Buffy to the floor, forcefully rolling her back and forwards to put out the flames, with no heed to his own safety in the matter. Willow ran over to help. The screaming still didn’t stop.

Xander stayed where he was, watching, transfixed.

Another scream…

 

Sunnydale 2000 (present day)

Buffy bit down on her bottom lip to keep the scream from escaping. Torture. As the Slayer she was prepared for pain, of course. She herself had been tortured many times. Nothing as bad as this. It felt worse this time then it had the last time. It seemed like they came up with new and inventive ways to hurt her. Worse part was that she let herself be subjected to the treatment. She walked willingly into it, undressed for them and offered herself to them as a slab of willing meat.

"Just a little longer, Buffy" One of them promised her.

She gritted her teeth. They always said that. Of course, a little longer always felt like eternity. Here, lying on her front, tears prickling the corners of her eyes. Degrading was one word for it. Painful was another. Useless, was Buffy’s favourite word to describe these little torture sessions.

It never helped. It never would. She knew that.

Yet she kept coming back for more.

A slither of flesh was ripped from her body and Buffy yelled out, grounding her teeth against her lips hard. She closed her eyes and tried to keep her body from trembling. It burned, the pain, all over. Running up and down the length of her torso.

"You’re doing so well, Buffy"

This voice was softer, a familiar comfort. Or, it used to be. A slender hand stroked the hair away from her forehead tenderly. Buffy turned her head the other way, moving herself out of her mothers reach.

The Slayer focused on her breathing, regulating the pain, not letting it own her. It never worked, of course. The pain always had possession of her.

Another, final, slash of pain and the feeling of her skin being peeled away from her body and Buffy’s shoulders began to shake. A single tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, quickly.

"Okay, Buffy," The doctor said "We’re all done here"

She pulled in a few long deep breaths and then nodded that she understood. A nurse moved to help her up but she shook her head. Buffy pushed herself up on her hands shakily, leaning all her weight on them. She got up to all fours on the gurney and pulled up her gown, covering her naked chest away from the prying eyes of the medical assistants.

The Slayer slung her legs over the edge of the gurney and held the gown in place, not able to reach back to fix it herself. The pain in her back was too fresh and if she attempted it then it was likely more of her flesh would rip and seep blood. The doctor, the nurses and the other people that worked there soon filed out of the room as they had become accustomed to doing. Then Joyce would help Buffy dress.

In some ways the Slayer hated this part the most. It was humiliating to have your mother dress you at her age. However, the quicker they got it over and done with the quicker Buffy could get back to pretending none of it happened. Joyce knelt on the floor and pulled Buffy’s socks on, smoothing them along her feet like she was a little girl. Buffy ground her teeth. Her mother stood and then helped her off the gurney to stand, the Slayer leaning her weight against the older woman.

Joyce then proceeded to dress the rest of her being slow and careful. They had to wrap bandages around Buffy’s torso, just until her back re-healed again. Only to be ripped apart again next month Buffy thought disdainfully. She had been having this treatment ever since that Incinerato Demon had burned her back beyond repair. Even her enhancing Slayer healing abilities hadn’t helped the scarring much.

Her back still looked like a mutilated, ugly, perverse thing.

Buffy shuddered just thinking about it. This racked pain through her body but she did her best to ignore it.

As her mother finished helping her slip her shirt on over the bandages, Joyce frowned, looking Buffy in the eyes "Oh, Buffy, you’ve cut your lip..."

The Slayer reached her fingers up to prod against the soft swell of her bottom lip. She took her fingers away and saw them stained with red. Must have bit down too hard against them. Not that it mattered. The blood looked vivid against her pale skin. After a moment she rubbed her fingers against her jeans.

Once the shirt was on Buffy proceeded to do the buttons up slowly. It still hurt to do even this but she couldn’t just let her mother take care of her like she was an invalid. She had too much pride for that.

The two of them left the hospital slowly. It was still difficult to walk this soon after but Buffy was determined to. The nurses knew by now not to even bother offering her a wheelchair; she always refused it.

Upon stepping outside Buffy squinted against the bright summer sunshine. There had been a time when summer was her favourite season. Now she despised it and everything it stood for. Heat. Warmth. Happiness. Melting ice creams and kids having hosepipe fights. She didn’t get out much any more. Not in daytime at least. Her skin was pale and washed out, compared to the bronzed Californian girl she had been.

As she shuffled towards her mother’s car Buffy felt the sun’s rays on her back and hurried herself. The warmth on her back just brought her pain. It triggered the memory of what it had felt like when her skin had been too warm. On fire.

She shuddered and slid into the passenger seat before her mother closed the door. The windows were black-tinted. Joyce had to have them installed after Buffy made it perfectly clear she would not travel in the car if it was flooded with such lovely Californian sunlight.

"I think it went better this time, don’t you, Buffy?" Joyce asked, starting up the car and pulling out of the lot.

Buffy stared out of the window "No"

"Oh, Buffy, I know it’s hard to keep your spirits up," She said, reaching across to place her hand on her daughter’s shoulder "But you have to keep hoping, Buffy"

She hated that. The way people kept saying her name over and over. Talking to her like she was a child and an ungrateful one at that. Naturally, she didn’t respond. Didn’t understand how her mother could still somehow be under the illusion that her back would be magically healed and that all would go back to how it was. It had been a year. No sign of improvement, not even after all the painful and humiliating treatment. Buffy wasn’t naive enough to think it would make the slightest difference, so why was her mother? The sooner Joyce realised her little girl wasn’t going to heal, the better.
 

A/N: Reviews please!

Chapter 2:

When night came Buffy felt like she was more in her element. She had spent a lot of time in the dark before, but now more than ever she felt comfortable there. She knew all its secrets; she thrived on it and relished it. Nightfall was her time. Time to slay.

She dressed much as she always did these days when going out. Jeans, sneakers, long sleeved shirt and jacket, buttoned up. It was too humid outside for the outfit but it didn’t matter to her. She grabbed up a couple of stakes and slid them in her jacket pocket. Then she picked up her crossbow. Trusty old thing. Buffy liked using it. Felt confident when it was in her hands.

The Slayer marched down the stairs. The house was empty. Her mother was working overnight at the gallery having to make up her hours that she missed by taking Buffy to the hospital. Buffy welcomed the respite from having to act like she was okay. Not that she made a great effort to even do that these days.

She walked out of the door and down the pathway to the street. The moon was full. Chances were she could find a werewolf. Shame. She was in the mood for killing something and it was against the rules to kill a werewolf. Still, a good grapple would have to sate her if nothing slayable came along. Slinging the crossbow up against her shoulder like a soldier with a rifle Buffy Summers started down the street.

She did a patrol of the town, slowing down as she reached the alleyway behind the Bronze. Music still pumped out of the club, typical sounds of partygoers and retching could be heard. A young couple stumbled out and Buffy melted into the shadows so as not to scare them. She was, after all, packing a medieval crossbow. From what she could see of the back of them the girl had long blonde hair, a slight frame and a very attentive boyfriend. He had his arm around her waist, his dark-haired head bent to kiss her bare shoulder.

Buffy leaned against the wall and watched, transfixed. Once upon a time this could have been her. Just a normal girl, dating, having fun. She couldn’t ever have that again. Part of this was because she was the Slayer but another, bigger, part was that she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone ever seeing her without clothes on. To be intimate with someone was something she couldn’t imagine. To see the look of revulsion on their face when they saw the scars. She shuddered just thinking about it.

When the couple were gone Buffy emerged again and decided to try one of the cemeteries that were renowned for being demon hotspots. She really needed a good slay now. She strolled down the dark streets, senses fully heightened, as she scanned every shadow and crevice for signs of trouble. It all seemed quiet. Buffy sighed. Quiet was not what she needed right now. She needed loud and obnoxious. She needed...

A scream cut through the silence.

She needed that.

The Slayer ran in the direction of the scream. She made it to the mouth of the alleyway it had come from. She looked but couldn’t see anything but shadows. Taking a breath and hefting the crossbow in front of her Buffy started carefully down the dark alley.

She was about halfway down the path when she heard a small noise behind her. Spinning around, Buffy was greeted with the sight of two vampires following her into the alley. She levelled her crossbow and was about to shoot when a growl came from behind her. Swinging the crossbow round as she spun Buffy managed to strike another vampire who had been attempting to sneak up behind her. He fell to the ground on his ass. He had a friend with him.

Four vampires. One Slayer. One narrow alleyway. The odds did not look good.

Buffy smiled. It was a different smile to one she may have had before. It was broken, a fractured smile. One that had seen pain and lived through it. It was a hollow grin.

The vampires all rushed her at once – it wasn’t like the movies when the bad guys waiting their turn to get smacked down.

She shot the crossbow bolt into the nearest one as it ran at her. The bolt hit home and moments later he was dust. She didn’t have enough time to reload the crossbow so instead she just used it as a club, hitting out at the vampire in front as she simultaneously kicked her leg backwards at one behind. She spun around and threw the crossbow at the last standing vampire. He went down. Buffy pulled a stake out of her pocket.

A vampire grabbed her around the waist and threw her against the wall. She recovered quickly and kicked him in the head then the gut and finished with a stake to the heart. Two down, two left.

They both approached her, faces feral and full of...distaste for her. Not hate. Distaste. She wasn’t even worthy of their hate anymore.

"Looking hot, Slayer," One hissed.

His companion nodded "Burning hot"

Of course, it was a well-known fact in the vampire and demonic community. After all, they all liked a good laugh.

She felt her eyes narrow. Lighting fast she shot both her hands up and hit each of the vampires in the nose with the heels of her hands. The bones in their noses shattered and splintered up into their brains. Whilst they were understandable distracted with that, Buffy staked them each in turn.

She stood in the newly dusty alley and pushed strands of her hair back behind her ears. Her forehead was glistening with sweat but not so much from the fight. It was hot out and she was over-dressed, but, again, that wasn’t the only factor.

It was the taunts.

After all this time they still got to her and the vampires knew it. Each time she met with one of their kind she was sure to get some kind of snipe directed at her. If they thought it would weaken her then they were wrong. It only made her stronger. The iron walls around her became reinforced with each barb. She stooped down and picked up the crossbow, sighed.

Making her way back out of the alley and onto the street Buffy looked around. The street was empty again. It had been a long while since anything apocalyptic had happened in Sunnydale and Buffy half wished some big brewing evil would hurry up and get into gear. It was foolish to wish that sort of thing upon herself but she still did.

It would be better than the constant numbing feeling of being useless. In the grand scale of things she hardly helped at all. One Slayer in all the world and it had to be her. Buffy believed that she was not the best person for the job. Surely, some girl, somewhere, could do this job a hundred times better than Buffy Summers of Sunnydale, California? She made her way back to the main streets intending to do another sweep of the town even though she knew she would find nothing. She never found what she was looking for.

Spike hated the Slayer. She was always bollocksing up his plans. She’d dispatched nearly half of his group already and all without ever even bothering to find out that her old pal Spike was back in town. That was rude and arrogant. Reminded him too much of himself. He’d sent four of his best fighters out that night to kill her. It was now almost time for the sun to rise and they weren’t back. Spike had to assume that they’d not make it back at all. So much dust blowing in the wind.

Well, it was to be expected. Buffy Summers was no ordinary Slayer. It wasn’t likely a bunch of half-assed attempts on her life would be successful. No, it was time to make it personal.

If the Slayer really did have no idea Spike was back then she was about to get a bit of a shock.

Spike grinned, taking a hit from his cigarette as he stood outside her house. She was walking up the path and made it up on the porch before she turned around, suspicious. Her eyes scanned the semi-darkness.

For a moment it seemed like she saw him but that moment passed and she trudged inside, shoulders weary from a hard night’s work he wagered.

"See you soon, baby," Spike whispered, turning on his heel to find shelter.

+ + +

A/N: Again, I ask you review. :)

She shed her jacket as soon as the door closed behind her. The pain was excruciating, but she only let it hit her once she was safely inside. Earlier, back on patrol, she had managed to keep back the agony that fighting took out of her. The doctors had told her, as they always did, that she was not to engage in any strenuous activity for the next five to seven days. They didn’t know that that wasn’t possible in her line of work. Take that many days off and someone, most likely a lot of someone’s, end up dead.

Buffy groaned at the sensation running up and down her back. It hurt like hell. She slowly started up the stairs, each step bringing throbbing pains to her back. As she ascended, the Slayer unbuttoned her shirt. By the time she reached the landing above she had it all the way undone. Trudging towards the bathroom she gingerly began to pull the shirt from her shoulders. The twinges were sharp, her skin felt hot and suffocated.

Biting down on her lip and keeping the groans to a minimum she finally managed to get the shirt off. Buffy held it up in front of her. The back of it was soaked in dark crimson blood. She tossed it carelessly to the floor.

Walking over to the tub, Buffy turned the shower on. Cold water, of course. She then started on unwinding the bandages that her mother had helped her with earlier. As she did this Buffy looked in the mirror over the sink. Her face was slightly flushed, hot. She wondered briefly how it had come to this. One minor patrol and she was ready to curl up in a ball and die. Her back felt so hot yet, at the same time, she could feel the blood trickling down.

When she finally had the bandages completely unwrapped, Buffy threw them to the floor as well. She slowly and carefully shed the rest of her clothes. Several treacherous whimpers escaped her lips, though she tried to quell them. Finally, fully disrobed she stepped gingerly into the tub. The water from the showerhead hit her in a cold spray. She gasped at the sensation. Her back seized with the sudden sensation, causing her to emit a small yell.

Once the initial shock of it was over, her body gradually relaxed and the cold water began to soothe her wounded back. Buffy wanted to reach up and touch the ruins of her once smooth skin but she knew it would only hurt her too much. In more ways than one. She closed her eyes and leant her head against the cold tile, the water beating down on her back. This was just too damn much. She couldn’t keep doing this. It was killing her.

But she had to.

One girl in all the world.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about leaving before. She had, many times. Over the course of the last year Buffy had packed her bags numerous times. Never went through with it, though. Too much of a coward. Couldn’t just up and leave. Her mother would miss her. Giles would miss her, Xander, Willow; all of them cared about her. It pained her that she didn’t return that feeling any more. She didn’t stay because she would miss her friends. She stayed simply because she had no where else to go. Buffy knew it was terrible to think like that but that’s the way it was.

Sighing, the Slayer turned the water off. Staying in the shower for eternity was not a luxury she could afford. She lifted her leg over the bath and to the tile below then started with the other leg. Unfortunately, she wasn’t careful enough. The floor was slippery and Buffy couldn’t stop herself – she fell. Arms flailing for anything to grab, but finding nothing, she tumbled to the floor. Her back hit the edge of the bath producing fresh torment. She screamed.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Buffy hissed through gritted teeth.

The Slayer squeezed her eyes shut and took deep breaths waiting for it to pass. She gripped the edge of the bath and the sink and used them to pull herself up, shakily. Several incoherent sounds and curses tumbled from her lips during this process. How was it possible for it to hurt this much? She was the Slayer, for god’s sake!

"Stop being such a wimp!" Buffy scolded herself.

She lifted her head, chin up, defiant glare in her eyes. This was nothing. Grabbing her towel she wrapped it around herself. The fibres on the towel were rough and invasive against her tender back. No matter. She was stronger than this.

Padding out to her room, stooped like a little old lady, the Slayer was glad that her mother wasn’t home. Buffy could just imagine the embarrassment of Joyce dashing in to rescue her invalid daughter. Finding Buffy sprawled on the floor like some useless little girl. Her jaw tightened just thinking about it.

She made her way over to the set of drawers. Pulling out some fresh pyjamas, Buffy laid them on the bed. Dropping the towel she turned around to grab her hairbrush. It was a mistake. She caught herself in the full-length mirror. Buffy hated that mirror. She had wanted to get rid of it but Joyce had insisted that she keep it. So she could see her beautiful face, her mother had said. Buffy had scowled. It wasn’t her face that made her want to retch.

Now here she stood, naked, vulnerable, in front of it. Her first instinct was to look away but some kind of perverse curiosity made her look back. She tried as much as possible to never see herself completely nude. When circumstances made it necessary, such as showering, she paid the least attention to it as possible.

Gazing at her body, Buffy was surprised. Front-on she still looked normal. She had lost weight, eating not really being a primary concern of hers. Her collarbone protruded slightly, as did her ribs beneath her small breasts. Her stomach was almost non-existent and her thighs were not exactly womanly. Buffy knew she would probably be considered waif-like; all skinny and pale-skinned, but at least she wasn’t hideous. Not from this side, at least.

Turning back around, the Slayer took in a deep breath before she glanced back over her shoulder. Buffy’s throat contracted at what she saw. It was worse than she had imagined. The usually coarse, mottled, and raised scars were now open, seeping wounds. Bits of her flesh looked pink and raw, others the deep red of scabs. They covered her whole back, starting at the very tops of her shoulders and trailing down over the top of her left buttock. She turned away, quickly.

It was enough to make her sick. The image now imprinted on her mind. Quickly she pulled on her pyjamas, ignoring the sharp, stabbing pains that protested. She had to cover them up. She had to cover herself up. She was frantic with the need to hide. It was so ugly. She was so ugly.

Buffy grabbed the pills she kept by her bed and popped a few, probably too many. Not that she really cared. The Slayer climbed into bed. Lying on her front she pulled the covers all the way up. No part of her exposed except her head, and the hands clutching at the sheet. It was a hot night but still she trembled and shook.

Buffy Summers closed her eyes tightly. That way she wouldn’t have to see. That was a lie, of course. In her mind’s eyes she still saw. Saw them as clearly as before.

The scars. Her scars.

A couple of days passed and Buffy’s back was healing well, thanks to the benefits of Slayer healing. She had taken it easy, not patrolling too much, letting Giles and the gang pick up the slack. They were happy to do it, to feel useful. She hadn’t exactly been big on the group bonding, recently. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her friends, she did. It was just that she couldn’t stand to be around them and see how easy their lives were. Willow was attending college, Xander had a job, and both of them were involved in relationships.

They had moved on with their lives and she was stuck with what she had. She didn’t have the time or motivation for college, paid work wasn’t an option, and she couldn’t even comprehend dating. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had offers from guys. Some of them didn’t seem to get the vibe that she put out. A vibe that said she was not to be approached.

Buffy was resigned to the fact that she was meant to be alone. That was what the whole Slayer mythology was about. The Slayer fights alone. The Slayer is alone. She sighed as she walked through the streets. Nightfall was approaching and it was still that kind of humid climate that was suffocating. The jacket she wore was light but still too confining. Briefly, she thought about taking it off. Then she remembered the sight she had seen in the mirror that night. Suddenly the muggy weather didn’t seem that important.

She approached the Bronze with every intention of just passing by. However, the cold shiver that ran up her spine stopped her in her tracks. There was a vampire inside the club. Possibly more than one.

Buffy walked to the door, finding no-one outside, she tugged on the handle. It opened. She took a deep breath and pulled it open completely.

Stepping inside she found the club was nearly empty. There was no music playing, no staff seemed to be working, and the dance floor was desolate. There was only one figure, sitting at the bar. A trail of ribbon-like smoke danced its way up from the cigarette he held in his pale hand. The black leather of his duster creaked as he shifted on the stool, and she heard the soft chime of ice hitting the sides of a glass. She knew who he was, of course. Had known as soon as she entered the building. He wasn’t easy to forget.

"You going to sit down and have a drink, or just stare at me all night?" Spike enquired, without turning around.

Buffy felt her fists clench at her sides, ready for a fight. She didn’t know why the vampire was back in town but the reason couldn’t be good. Spike had killed two Slayers’ in the past; no doubt he was here to try his luck with her again. Nevertheless, she walked slowly and calmly towards him. She reached the bar, keeping a safe distance as she looked the man over. He looked the same as he always had; the benefits of immortality. His white-blonde hair stood out even more starkly against the dark and dank ambiance of the club. His pale skin made him appear somewhat ethereal, the cheekbones still sharp as knives gave him a gaunt look to his chiselled face.

Spike turned to look at her, glittering blue eyes locking on hers. He motioned, with a casual wave of his hand, that she should sit down. She shook her head. He sighed, brought the cigarette up to his oddly sensual lips and took a drag. Buffy couldn’t quite figure out why she hadn’t already staked him. Spike was trouble. He killed without conscience and he revelled in the blood lust. Some sort of curiosity for what he was doing here made her just stand there and wait for what he had to say.

"Know what, Slayer?" His voice was heavy with smoke and liquor, his accent as harsh as she remembered "I’ve missed this place."

Buffy folded her arms, still on alert "What are you doing here, Spike?"

Taking a sip of whiskey, he shrugged, "Like I said, I missed the place. There’s a certain charm attached to a place such as this. Hellmouth underneath it, overrun by evil, witless Slayer as its only guardian. My kind of place"

"Witless, huh?" She arched an eyebrow "This witless Slayer has beaten you in a fight and will do again. Only this time, the ending will be more permanent"

Spike chuckled, genuinely amused "I doubt that, love. You see, I’ve noticed something ’bout you. You’ve not exactly been on top form, of late. I reckon I could easily get you to walk into an ambush"

Buffy felt her spine go rigid. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her eyes darted around the empty club.

"Oh, don’t worry," Spike said, taking another hit from his cigarette. "This isn’t an ambush. Just tryin’ to keep you on your toes. Proved my point though, Slayer. You didn’t even stop to consider this was an ambush. Careless, that"

She felt a flush creep up her neck "You shouldn’t have come back here, Spike. I told you if you ever did that I’d kill you"

"I’m already dead, pet," He grinned "Besides, how could I keep away? Sunnyhell’s my home. What with all the tasty treats walking about, it’s easy pickings. Nothing to stop me from painting the town red"

Buffy lifted her chin, glaring at him "There’s me"

He nodded, smiling "Right, right. The Slayer. Stuff of nightmares. Strange then, that I’ve been in town for a while now...and you haven’t even noticed"

The stopped her for a moment "Well...I guess you aren’t as big and as bad as you think you are, Spike"

"Maybe," The vampire nodded agreeably, pouring two chasers of whiskey "Or, maybe, you’re just not that good anymore"

With that he slid one chaser down to her. She caught it instinctively but did not drink from it. Spike smiled and downed his in one swallow. He let out a deep sound from his throat and poured himself another shot.

Buffy reached for the stake in her waistband, while he was preoccupied. She withdrew the weapon and held it down by her side. If she was going to move it would have to be now.

"Uh, uh, uh," Spike chided her, wagging a finger in her direction. "None of that. Honestly, a bloke tries to have a nice, civil conversation with a girl; what does he get for his troubles? A stake to the heart. I blame the feminists"

The Slayer just looked at him "No more games, Spike. I don’t want to talk"

"I always knew you were more of a straight-to-action girl," He licked his lips, suggestively "But let me ask you one thing before we get down to it"

She held her stake up "Sorry, but I don’t have heart to hearts with vampires"

Buffy lunged at him, stake aimed at his chest. Spike sidestepped her easily and kicked her in the back of her leg. Her legs gave way and she fell to the floor on her hands and knees.

"Now, what I was going to ask?" Spike mused, face now mutilated into the visage of the demon within him "Ah, yes. Is it true what I’ve heard? Angel left you?"

Buffy felt herself go cold. She gritted her teeth and stood, back straight, eyes deadened. The Slayer turned around to face the vampire. He was smirking arrogantly, like this was all one big party. She stared him down for a moment. Then she landed a snap kick to his chin, it was so fast it blurred. Spike flailed backwards but just managed to stay on his feet.

"So, that’s a yes then." He chuckled, reaching his hand up to his bloody lip "Not that I’m surprised. I mean, it’s not like you’ve really got anything to offer. Angelus told me himself that you’re a big disappointment in the sack"

The grip she had on the stake was so hard that her hand trembled, splitters bit into her skin, she ignored the pain.

Spike sucked the blood from his finger "Hmm. You really want to kill me right now, don’t you?"

Buffy remained silent but her face said it all.

"Well, before you do – remember that thing I said about this not being an ambush?" He smiled slowly; arms outstretched "I lied"

Buffy spun around and saw that there were three vampires behind her. She turned back and Spike had been joined by three others. Two more appeared behind the bar and several more were up in on the balcony.

Buffy heard a sound behind her, before she could turn a chain was wrapped around her neck. She grabbed at it but was yanked off her feet by whoever was holding the noose. The chain was pulled tighter and tighter around her neck, Buffy clawing at it. There were spots in her vision. Just before she passed out, Spike appeared in her line of sight.

He was grinning.

Spike finished lighting the candles all around his dark and somewhat dank lair. It was underground, nice and sheltered from the sun. The candles were not necessary, since his eyes were well accustomed to seeing in the dark, but he liked them. They made the place look more presentable; just because he was an evil vampire didn’t mean he wanted to live in squalor. Okay, so maybe he did most of the time. This was different though. He had company. He was nothing if not a welcoming host.

He glanced over at the Slayer, hanging from the ceiling by the chains his hired-help had attached to her wrists. He’d removed her shoes and jacket, had thought about removing more but decided he’d wait for her to be awake for that.

Yeah, he knew how to show a lady a good time.

Still, it provided him with a unique opportunity to watch the Slayer when she was defenceless. He was used to her defiant glare, her ice-maiden persona. Now, though, she was completely at his mercy. That was just the sweetest thing imaginable. Not that he had an abundance of mercy. He fully intended to kill her. After he had had some fun, though.

There were plenty of things Spike wanted to do to her. She had humiliated him in the past; beaten him, laughed at him. He wanted to claw out her heart. He wanted to drink from her delectable neck before he snapped it. He wanted to fuck her.

Maybe even in that order. He hadn’t decided yet. The night was, after all, still young.

As he was contemplating further games to play, Buffy began to stir. She let out a whimper, a pained one that made him smile. Her arms had to be aching; he had made sure they had got the chains just the right length and tightness to make it feel like her arms were being pulled from their sockets. Of course, the pain she was feeling might have been down to the chain that had been wrapped oh-so-lovingly around her slender neck. She still wore the indentation of it against her skin, like the phantom of some ornate necklace.

Whatever the cause of her pain was, Spike was just glad it was there. Bitch deserved it. He was looking forward to inflicting more of it.

Buffy’s eyes flickered open, took a few moment to adjust to the semi-darkness, and then fixed upon him.

“Ah, nice of you to join me, sleepyhead” Spike smiled cheerily, stepping into the pool of light created by a cluster of candles “Was worried I’d have to wake you up. I mean, the evening wouldn’t be very much fun if you were unconscious. No screaming, then”

The patented Buffy Summers’ glare was her only reply.

It made him chuckle “I think tonight will be good for our relationship. Bring us closer together as people. Help us grow and whatnot”

“Firstly, you’re not people” Buffy said coolly, voice raspy “Secondly, I don’t think you’ll ever grow a pair, Spike”

His eyebrows rose as he pretended to look distraught “So, you have still got some fire in you, Slayer. I’m glad. It’ll be much more fun to make you snivel and beg”

“Like you once said – I’m not the begging type”

“We’ll see”

Spike lit a cigarette and took a long drag as he watched her test the weight and strength of her bindings.

He began to pace, showboating “Guess what, Slayer? I’ve come to a realisation. You and me – we’re destined to kill each other. It’d be bloody and messy and soddin’ glorious. Problem is I don’t intend on ever letting you shove the pointy end of a stake in me. So, I have to off you before you off me. It’s a shame but there it is. You understand?”

Buffy was silent a moment “Trust me, Spike, if you keep on talking you won’t have anything to worry about. I’ll kill myself”

“I like it,” He nodded “You’re gettin’ it back. The attitude. The heat. I must be a good influence on you, love”

She snorted. Spike took another hit from his cigarette and walked slowly towards her. Bathed in the soft glow of the candles she looked like something out of one of those masterpieces – something painted by Da Vinci, or Michelangelo. Her skin was paler these days, nearly as pale as his, her hair like spun gold against the milky white. Bit too skinny, though. From what he could tell under the baggy clothes. Hadn’t been eating well, this one. Maybe even starving herself. A Vampire Slayer with an eating disorder?

That was just perfect.

He’d wondered briefly about the clothes when he had seen her at the Bronze. Spike was used to her dressing in all sorts of skimpy outfits. If you could even call half the stuff she’d worn outfits. Nothing more than scraps of material, some of them. She had known what to wear to get a man – and a vampire’s – juices going. Now, though, she seemed to lack the zest she’d had the last couple of years. Dressed in unflattering clothes, nothing fancy done with her hair. She was starting to look more and more like a Slayer and less and less like Buffy Summers.

Spike frowned to himself. He shouldn’t have cared about what fashion direction the Slayer was going for these days. Yet, for some reason, it bothered him that she’d let herself go. He shrugged to himself and continued towards her.

She watched him closely, like a predator. She had yet to realise she was the prey.

The Slayer kicked her legs out at him as soon as he was in striking distance. Spike caught one leg and knocked the other back down. He held her leg up at a painful angle, making sure she couldn’t kick up with her other leg again. “Such dainty little feet,” Spike mused, studying her foot “for a killing machine.”

Quickly, he flicked his tongue out against her big toe. He didn’t know why, he just felt the desire to do it and she was at his disposal now. So, he could do whatever he wanted. Buffy let out a sound and tried to jerk away from him. Spike held on tight, looked her in the eyes and grinned.

“Get the hell off of me,” Buffy warned, eyes narrowed “You ever touch me like that again and I’ll –”

He kept his eyes on hers as he slowly drew her toe into his mouth. Buffy started thrashing around wildly, rattling her chains like a spook. Her eyes held anger, confusion and discomfort but there was something else there too.

Strangely, she didn’t say anything. He expected another scathing comment; in fact he was quite looking forward to one. He tilted his head away, releasing his lips hold on her, and smiled arrogantly “Enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

Buffy’s scowl quickly returned and she tried to kick him in the face again. He released her foot and took a step backwards, out of range.

“But, you know the deal, don’t you?” Spike stepped back into the shadows.

She strained her eyes trying to keep sight of him in the darkness. He stooped down, picked up his fallen cigarette and stuck it between his lips. The glowing tip alerted her to where he was.

Spike watched her, the Slayer all trussed up in his home sweet home. It was a beautiful sight. A Kodak moment. He snickered at that. Maybe there would be Polaroid’s later. Could make one of the lackeys go and nick one. He had all the time in the world.

Shame she didn’t.

After one last drag he threw the fag to the floor and ground it out with his boot. He stepped back into the light “Deal is – you get pleasure, you got to have pain. Little something Dru and Angelus taught me” Spike withdrew the knife from behind his back. Her eyes fixed on it. “So, tell me, baby – where do you want to hurt?”

Buffy knew one thing for sure – she didn’t want Spike to come anywhere near her. The long knife he held in his hand glinted in the candlelight menacingly. How she had got herself into this mess, she didn’t know. Well, actually she did. She had been sloppy. What had she been thinking going into the Bronze when she knew there was a vampire inside? She hadn’t done a proper perimeter sweep, hadn’t kept close to an exit, hadn’t even had her stake out until it was too late. Stupid and careless.

She might have gotten away with it if it had been some minor vampire but, for all the cracks she used to make about him, Spike always came prepared. He always had minions, always had back-up. Something that she had lost in the past year. Her friends used to patrol with her a lot but after her increasingly anti-social attitude they’d all begun to leave well enough alone. She liked it that way, most of the time. Slaying was a time when she could be alone, could be quiet, could still feel powerful.

Now she was feeling the complete opposite; helpless. She was trussed up in a vampire’s lair like some typical damsel in distress. Buffy scowled, she was the Slayer. She could handle Spike. He was nothing special. Even as she thought that, a nagging little voice in her head reminded her that this so-not-special vampire had killed two Slayers in the past.

Buffy locked eyes with him, a mocking grin still fixed to his face. Slayer killer or not, she couldn’t wait to wipe that grin off his face. Rip his fangs out and ground them into the floor.

Spike took another step forward and she shifted backwards instinctively “Come on, Slayer, make your choice. What’ll it be first? A finger? An eye? Oh, how ’bout one of them little toes I was enjoying so much?”

Buffy grimaced at the suggestion. The way he had touched her earlier had almost made her throw up. The bile had risen in her throat, and did so again now at the memory. It wasn’t just that he was a vampire, and Spike, but that she didn’t completely understand how he could bear to touch her in that way. He was an evil, soulless, creature but surely even he would be repulsed at the very idea of her. He still had his looks; death hadn’t taken away the blueness of his eyes, the sleek curves of his cheekbones, the smooth marble of his skin.

She, on the other hand, had lost all of her vibrancy. Everything that made her real, tangible, alive. So much so that even a walking corpse like Spike had one over on her now. Buffy had never thought of herself as a great beauty or anything like that, but she had known she was pretty. Now, she couldn’t even remember what that felt like. So, why he touched her like she was still sexual confused and disgusted her.

“Get the hell away from me, Spike,” Buffy seethed through gritted teeth “I mean it.”

He just laughed, like he always did “Oh, well, why didn’t you just say? If you mean it then I guess I’ll just cut you down and let you go. Or, you know, not.”

She balled her fists, the chains rattling “You might as well just kill me then because I won’t play your games. I won’t scream for you and I won’t cry.”

“No? You think you’re that tough?”

“No,” Buffy shook her head “I think I don’t care enough.”

Spike frowned, running a finger absently down the blade “What’s that mean?”

“You can’t hurt me, Spike. There’s nothing left of me to hurt.”

He smiled slowly “Looks like there’s a fair bit left to me.”

“Physically, maybe,” Buffy pulled on her chains, loosening the fixtures in the ceiling “But that’s not enough for you, is it? You don’t just want my body you want my mind; my soul.”

Spike paused, as if thinking hard “Actually, I’ll settle for just your body,” he grinned.

Buffy shook her head “If that was the truth you would have started cutting me already. You want to play mind games.”

The vampire paused again before nodding in agreement. He started to pace, walking slowly around her in circles. Buffy tensed when he came around behind her. She couldn’t guard against any sort of attack from him and feeling his presence so close without being able to watch him was infuriating and, she had to admit, frightening. She wasn’t afraid for her life, but rather, for the last remaining shred of dignity she clung to.

Suddenly the cold blade of the knife was pressing against the back of her neck. Her spine straightened.

“You’ve got lovely long hair, Slayer,” Spike told her, his other hand gripping the ponytail tightly “I think maybe I’d like to keep it for a souvenir.”

Buffy’s jaw clenched “You think you’re powerful, but you’re not. I have all the power. I always have and I always will.”

A laugh came from behind her. “Really? You look sort of powerless from where I’m standing, love.”

“You might think you’re in charge, but you’re not,” Buffy told him, trying hard to keep her breathing even, “because you can torture me all you like but you’ll never get what you want.”

His chest was pressing lightly against her back as he whispered in her ear “And what, pray tell, is that?”

“My respect,” she said softly.

Spike laughed, his chest shaking against her “You think I want your respect? I couldn’t care less about what a little Slayer bitch thinks of me.”

“So, why haven’t you killed me then?” Buffy clenched her fists “I’ll tell you why – because you’re not man enough to do the job. You’re not a man, you’re not anything. You’re something that people wipe off their shoes. A piece of shit.”

“That so?” Spike growled in her ear, the blade suddenly pressing against her throat “Want to say that again, Slayer?”

Buffy swallowed, her skin grazed along the knife “You’re nothing to me.”

Spike yanked her hair hard pulling her head back till it was almost resting on his shoulder. He had morphed into vampire face and his fangs were sharp and gleaming, only inches from her neck. The vampire leaned in and sniffed her. Buffy closed her eyes. Then Spike stopped suddenly; his face melded back into smooth lines and blue eyes.

He smiled “I see what you’re doing. You think that by pissing me off I’ll finish you quicker. Oldest trick in the book, that. Can’t believe I almost fell for it.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t fall for it. You’re an idiot!” She spat, jaw tight.

Spike smiled; pulling her head back farther he looked in her eyes “You’re a peach, Slayer. Always keepin’ me on my toes. I might have to keep you around. You make a nice decoration for the lair. A party piece I can show all my friends.”

He leaned down, nestling his face in the junction between her neck and shoulder. Buffy frowned and tried to shake herself free. His contact was making her skin crawl. She assumed he was going to bite her but instead he licked a long, wet, line up her neck. Buffy let out a small scream and tried to pull away from him.

Spike took a step back, and moved back around in front of her, smiling “No need to make such a fuss, I wasn’t going to bite you.”

“What you were doing was a lot worse” Buffy replied angry and flustered.

He laughed “Oh, right, ’cos you’re too good for a vampire. Anyone here remember a certain dark-haired nancy boy of a vampire you gave it up to a couple of years ago?”

“I’m not too good for a vampire,” she sneered, her heart still hammering from his touch “I’m too good for you.”

Spike brandished the knife again “Well, then I suppose we’ll just have to bring you down to my level.”

Before Buffy even realised what was happening he slashed the knife down the front of her. She screwed her eyes shut and waited for the pain. All she could hear was her own heavy breathing and the pounding of her heart. After a few moments she opened her eyes and looked down. He hadn’t cut her but he had sliced her shirt open. Somehow that was even worse.

“Don’t.” She warned as a flush crept up her neck.

“Why not?” Spike asked, playfully “I’m likin’ the view so far”

Buffy felt her whole face grow hot. No one other than herself and her mother had seen her in any state of undress for the past year. The last person she wanted to be exposing her less-than-sexy underwear to was Spike.

He placed the blade lightly against her collarbone and slowly dragged it down. She knew that one sharp outtake of breath would be enough to cut her. The knife settled over her breasts and Buffy clenched her fists, pulling with all her might on the chains.

“You’re all skin and bones, Slayer” Spike noted eyes most definitely not looking in the direction of her face “What happened to all those lovely curves?”

She bit down on the inside of her mouth to stop herself from making some remark, or worse, crying. Buffy wasn’t afraid of dying, or even afraid of Spike. She was scared that she’d lost control over her own life; her own body. Control was a very important thing to her these days and hanging here like some scarecrow, her fate in Spike’s hands, she didn’t feel much in control. Despite her earlier words.

“Well,” Spike looked up into her eyes “Maybe it gets better. Let’s take off this top, shall we?”

“No!” Buffy practically screamed, then realised her mistake.

By giving Spike a reaction she had only provoked him further to do the complete opposite of what she wanted. He grinned devilishly. Throwing the knife to one side, perhaps sensing that she was more threatened by his bare hands then a piece of metal, Spike moved to undress her.

“Spike,” she breathed, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“Come on now, Buffy” He murmured his eyes skating over her collarbone as his hands went to her shoulders “What’s a little skin between sworn enemies?”

Buffy struggled harder then she thought possible, inching the fixtures out of the ceiling, thrashing like a caged animal to get away from his touch. He backhanded her and she saw stars for a few moments. It was enough to placate her long enough for Spike to begin pulling her shirt from her shoulders.

Her breathing doubled, her pulse was thrumming in her ears and every nerve in her body was telling her to away, to run.

She did what she had to.

“Please.”

Spike stopped and looked up, slowly. The expression on his face was slight confusion which rapidly turned to utter delight. His eyes sparkled as they surveyed her defeated expression, the pleading in her eyes. He tapped a finger against his chin “Hang on a mo’, is that the sound of a Slayer begging I hear?”

“Don’t do this,” Buffy swallowed, keeping eye contact “Kill me, cut me, but not this.”

“Hmm, let me consider”

Spike turned around, his back facing her. It lasted but a few moments before he turned back, wolf grin on his face “Nah!”

Buffy drew in a breath and when he took a step back towards her she lashed out at him with her feet, shaking and thrashing. Spike punched her in the stomach hard, grabbed her shirt and ripped it off. She was left with only a few shreds of material still clinging to her. The dank air rushed up against her bare back and Buffy’s head hung down low, defeated.

“There, now. Not so terrible, is it?” Spike looked her over “Not as bad as I thought. Bit skinny but then, so was Dru. Let’s have a proper look at you, shall we?”

Her spine straightened and her head rose back up. She met his face with a look of complete contempt. It was all she had left now. Spike seemed a little taken aback at first, though she didn’t know why, before his arrogant expression returned and Spike started to circle her.

He had to give himself credit; it had been surprisingly easy to break Buffy Summers. Easier than he thought it would be. Spike doubted she was completely down for the count but it would be soon. One more push would be all that was required.

Who would have thought that it wasn’t violence or threats of torture that finally fragmented the walls she had put up to protect herself, but sex? The promise of sex; the danger of it. She had never struck him as the kind of girl to be frigid about such things. Angelus had, after all, delighted in describing in detail to him and Drusilla how she had practically begged for it. Acted like a cheap whore, he’d said, who told him he could do whatever he wanted to her.

Either Angelus had been embellishing their little sexual encounter or something had changed the Slayer. Maybe both. Whatever the reason for it, Spike was glad. He wasn’t one to shy away from any aspects of sex, desire, and the power that both of those things held and he planned to use this to his advantage to tease her, taunt her, drive her mad. The anticipation of how many times he would break her over the coming days brought a lewd smile to his lips.

Coming up to her side, he ran a finger slowly across her ribs. She flinched away, her skin covered in goose bumps. He could smell her fear heavy in the air, and it smelt delicious. Spike leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek. Buffy turned her face away in disgust.

He took a step behind her and barely lingering, he started to move around to complete his circle before he came to a halt. It didn’t register with his brain at first, almost as though his mind tried to protect him from seeing that the Slayer he had, in some ways, put upon a pedestal had been tainted.

Ruined.

That was the only word that seemed to fit. She’d been ruined.

In his fantasies it was he who got to mark the Slayer. Slash her, stab her, burn her. Someone or something had beaten him to it. Yet it wasn’t even that which disturbed him as he looked at the ruin of her back. It affected him so deeply because he didn’t want to see her marred. For all his bravado and bragging about wanting to torture her, Spike couldn’t have done this. He’d kill her, he’d drink from her, but he wouldn’t leave her broken yet alive.

Even he wasn’t that sadistic.

Spike had an unspoken code of conduct when it came to Slayers, or even just plain old food. He wasn’t one for artistry or playing games in the name of a so-called “perfect kill”. He killed because it was necessary for his existence. Sure it was fun too, but he couldn’t remember ever having had the patience to break someone’s spirit, no matter how often Angelus had tried to convince him that it made the blood sweeter.

He didn’t understand how this could have happened to her in the first place. She was quick, agile, and full of fighting grace. She had almost seemed untouchable. Yet something had gotten close enough to inflict this on her.

Of course, it all fell into place now. The reason she wore unflattering clothes, the dejected attitude, the desperate plea for him not to subject her to this. Spike took a step closer and her back became completely rigid. He moved back again and the muscles remained tense for a moment before slowly loosening. She reacted instinctively like this to someone getting to close.

God, what had they done to her? This wasn’t the glory he had expected in taking down Buffy. He’d been ready for her holier-than-thou bitchery, her viper-quick quips, and her hot little body. He’d expected hate and heat and banter and bloodlust, and all he got was a broken mockery of a Slayer. Spike wanted to turn away, to forget he’d even seen it and pretend she was the same old Slayer. The one he had dreamed about killing so many nights. He tried to convince himself he could just carry on like normal. Keep up the torture, draw it out, and kill her. Except he couldn’t.

He found himself trying to speak “What...what did this...?”

Buffy laughed. It was full of bitterness and vile hatred and Spike didn’t doubt that there was no one on this Earth she’d rather kill then him right now. Her laughter was so soulless, it was barely human. Her head bowed forward, arms pulled above her head at a sharp angle, shoulder blades protruding obscenely from underneath the mass of scars and blisters.

Spike tried to imagine what her skin had looked like before. Smooth, tanned, the contours of her back rippling as she danced, or fought, or trained. He had imagined the Slayer in all her naked perfection so many times, the idea that he would never see it in reality brought a sharp twinge to his heart.

Staring at the welts, bumps, indentations and thin silvery lines that twisted across her shoulders, around and over her spine and down further, Spike felt his fists clench. In places her skin was pale and healed, in others it was pink and new, and in some it was red and angry. Old wounds had been re-opened.

“Why do you even care?” Buffy asked, voice scathing as she pulled on her bindings.

Spike blinked, he had almost forgotten his own question “I...don’t. I’m just curious.” His voice was dry and raspy as he spoke.

She yanked on the chains, rattling them “Well, I’m so glad I gave you something to stare at. I suppose this is just great for you. What you always wanted.”

It was far from that. What he had always wanted was the battle of a lifetime with a Slayer who seemed invincible. He wanted to trade punches, shove her up against a wall and bite her. He wanted to watch her as the life drained out of her and just before it did, kiss her with her own blood still smeared across his lips. That was what he wanted.

Spike’s hand reached out towards her. He couldn’t help it. It seemed unreal to him, and to make sure it wasn’t all just some ghost of a nightmare, he had to touch them. Had to feel her scars beneath his fingertips. He was surprised to see his hand was shaking as it got closer. He wanted to scold himself; he was a vampire, she was the Slayer and seeing her like this should have been sweet victory to him. It should have been what he wanted.

The tips of his fingers brushed against her rough, violated skin.

Buffy jerked away from him, shouting, “Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever touch me!”

It had been enough, though. They were as real as they appeared. Spike took a few steps back, and numbness enveloped him. He barely even noticed when she managed to rip one chain out of the ceiling. The strength of her fury didn’t surprise him; if this had happened to him he would have wreaked destruction upon anything and anyone in his path. Spike didn’t stop her as she pulled the other chain free. He just watched, detached.

Buffy whirled around to face him, her eyes hard and unforgiving, her face otherwise blank. They locked eyes for a moment before she lashed out at him with the chain attached to her wrist. He didn’t have time to block as it lashed across his face, ripping off a good portion of his skin, and sending him tumbling to the ground. Hot pain flashed across her face as he looked up in time to see her grab her jacket and run out into the sewer tunnel.

She didn’t look back and Spike’s eyes stared blankly after her.

“Oh god,” Buffy panted as she fell against the sewer wall “Oh god!” She took a few deep breaths that burned her lungs as she slipped her jacket on and buttoned it up tightly. She started running again, faster than before. It didn’t help that she had no idea where she was going. The tunnel was dark and she was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. She was hyperventilating, she knew that. She also knew that she had to get out of this place. Get out of the dark.

Buffy touched her hand against the wall to try and guide herself. Something slimy coated her palm and she yanked it back, disgusted. Her footfalls echoed loudly as her bare feet splashing through the ankle-deep raw sewage. The smell was pungent. She felt the need to vomit, but her need to get to fresh air was stronger so she pushed the rising contents of her stomach back down. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, but the one thought that came through loud and clear was get the hell out of here.

Buffy came to the end of the tunnel and saw there were two possible ways to go from here. She felt herself trembling all over, her heartbeat was thundering in her ears, the muscles in her legs were twitching from their impromptu sprint. Buffy had no idea how long she had been running – it could have been ten minutes, it could have been eternity. She looked left, then right. Neither option looked appealing.

The panic that had washed over her entire body meant she didn’t hear the loud footsteps behind her until it was too late. A heavy weight slammed into the back of her as she started to turn. Buffy fell forwards, the vampire still riding her back. She put her hands out to catch herself but slipped on the watery surface of the sewer tunnel. Her chin hit the metal, jarring her jawbone painfully. Worse still, the excrement all over the floor lapped against her mouth. The smell filled her nose, making her gag as she raised her head up.

The vampire clamped his hand down on her skull and pushed her face back down into the sewage. Buffy kept her mouth and eyes closed as she was submerged in human waste. She wanted to scream but feared what she might find floating into her mouth.

Her arms and feet thrashed around, splashing foul-smelling water everywhere. She had drowned once before but this was one hundred times worse. Death by shit. It just made her life complete.

Buffy reached up behind herself and grabbed the vampire’s wrist. She exerted all of her strength on crushing the bones to powder. By the shriek that reverberated through the tunnel, Buffy guessed she had succeeded. He let go of her and she instantly swept her head up and backwards, slamming it into his nose.

Another shriek and he fell off of her and onto his ass.

Buffy gasped large mouthfuls of air, using her hands to push loose strands of hair from her face. She looked down at her hands. She could only imagine how bad her face looked. Except she didn’t want to imagine, just get out of there.

The Slayer stood shakily, her clothes bogged down with the water, the stench thick in the air and Buffy felt the vomit rise in her throat again.

The vampire, it seemed, wasn’t quite as finished with her as she had thought. He grabbed the back of her neck and slammed her face-first into the tunnel wall. Pain exploded behind her eyes, but she was shoved again. This time her back hit the opposite wall. She let out a strangled cry of pain.

The vampire stood before her, blood sluicing down his face, amber eyes cruel and hungry. Buffy recognised him as one of Spike’s who had assisted in her capture at the Bronze. It was foolish of her to think Spike would let her go that easily. Buffy felt her anger rising again at the memory of him, she gritted her teeth against the pain and landed a snap kick to the vampire’s face. She had no stake so would have to settle for beating it into submission. She clenched her fists, the knuckles cracking. No problem there.

She slammed her fists into the vampire before he could even comprehend recovering. The punches became so fast and so brutal that they blurred into one. The meaty pounding noises of the blows hitting their mark sounded loud and marvellous to her ears. Buffy grunted, sweat pouring down her face and mixing with the other fluids that had soaked into her hair and skin.

Finally the vampire could simply not stand anymore and fell to the floor in a heap. Buffy looked down at him, panting with physical exertion. His face was swollen and bruised so badly that it didn’t even look like a face anymore, didn’t resemble anything human or vampire.

Buffy turned and ran. This time she didn’t care which direction she went in so long as it led her out. She felt blood running down her hands and didn’t know if it was hers or the vampire’s. Didn’t care, either.

A ladder appeared at the end of the tunnel and she let out a breath. She grabbed onto the rungs and climbed up as fast as her shaky legs would carry her. Her feet slid on the metal ladder several times. When she finally reached the top she pushed against the manhole. It didn’t budge. Buffy let out a small sob and pushed on it harder and harder, desperately. Finally, it moved. Only a fraction of an inch but it moved. With renewed vigour she raked her hands across it, dragging it slowly aside, her fingers bleeding from the effort.

Daybreak was approaching outside. She squeezed herself through the space she had made and flopped down onto the grass. The air had never felt fresher. The Slayer rolled herself onto her back, panting and took a moment, before she got onto her hands and knees and retched. The little remaining contents of her stomach spilled up past her lips and onto the green, green, grass of home. The acid burned her throat and mouth, pieces of semi-digested food stuck between her teeth and under her tongue. Splatters of vomit decorated her jacket and pants, mixing with worse things.
She had nothing left to vomit up but her body still tried. Dry heaving, her whole body shook, her ribs seemed to be pressing against her lungs. A thick, viscous stream of bile slithered out of her oesophagus and onto the ground. This made her want to gag even more, the deep, raw sounds escaping from her throat.

Eventually it slowed then stopped.

Buffy pulled in a lungful of fresh air, her throat still burning. Looking around she saw she was in a cemetery. Not a big surprise. She stood still long enough for her head to stop spinning before she began to trudge home.

It would be light soon and that would mean people would be out. People who could see her in this state. People who would be able to smell her from miles away. Her jacket was sodden but there was no way she was taking it off. She reached the street and with each step she took a squelching sound echoed around the empty street.

The Slayer had been humiliated many times in her life but this had to be the worst. It wasn’t just the shit shower she had just taken. In fact, that really didn’t seem like anything compared to what she had been subjected to earlier. The torture, the knife, the taunts. All that she could take.

But he had touched her.

Her jaw tightened just thinking about it, her cut and bruised fists clenching painfully tight. He had touched her back with those cold, dead hands. If she’d had anything left to hurl, the mere reminder of the feeling of his skin against hers would have brought it up. No one had touched her like that for so long. His fingers had felt cool and gentle against her spine.

Buffy ground her teeth together and carried on down the road as fast as she could. It was no good dwelling on how it felt to be touched again. She didn’t want to think about it because if she thought about, she would have to deal with it. She so didn’t feel like dealing with it at that moment.

However, it wasn’t like she could constrict her own thoughts and eventually they drifted back to Spike. Or, more accurately, his reaction. Laughter, teasing, overpowering joy...she had expected. He was, after all, a particularly vicious vampire bastard. Yet all he had seemed was saddened.

In some ways that pissed her off more. If Spike, of all non-people, was feeling sorry for her then she truly had lost every modicum of dignity. Buffy looked down at herself covered in shit and piss. No doubt about that.

A man appeared running up the street, an early-morning jogger. Buffy cursed inwardly. As he got closer he seemed to notice that she was soaked. Then he got closer and it hit him. His nose wrinkled up and he eyed her with disgust. Speeding up he veered out onto the road to run around her.

The Slayer clenched and unclenched her fists.

Her house loomed in the near distance. She wandered aimlessly towards it. Buffy had expected to feel relief but she didn’t really feel much of anything. Just tired and disgusted at herself. The physical exertion of her escape, not to mention her grapple with Spike and his cronies had started to take its toll.

She stumbled inside the house closing the door quietly behind her. Her feet were mostly dry by now but discoloured water and god knows what else still dripped from her onto her mother’s beige carpeting. Buffy ascended the stairs slowly, gripping onto the banister for support. Her heart-rate and breathing had both slowed but her muscles and joints burned and there was a dull ache coming from her head. Buffy reached the bathroom door before her mother called out.

“Buffy? Is that you?” Joyce’s voice was concerned, and half-drowsy from sleep.

The Slayer stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut as her only answer. Walking over to the bath she turned the shower head on. Her fists were clenched hard, her entire body shaking as she thought about the look on Spike’s face she had seen right before she had run.

Pity.

Pity from a soulless demon.

Buffy’s fist smashed into the bathroom tiles before she even realised what she had done. They shattered, pieces falling down into the bath with a loud clatter. Her hand started bleeding all over again, a shudder running up the bones in her arm. She was shaking again but this time it was from anger. How dare he feel sorry for her?

Pure rage coursed through her veins. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time. She hadn’t felt much at all for a long time. Funny, how it took sympathy from a vampire she hated to get her anger back. To get any kind of feeling back.

She undressed and carefully got into the bath. She felt too exhausted to even stand and so ended up sitting in the corner of the tub with ice cold water beating down on her. One thing was clear though, as she washed it all away – she would see Spike again, and when she did he was going to die.

Buffy watched as the brown water swirled around the plughole and disappeared.

The wooden chair shattered against the wall with impressive force. Spike didn’t know why he kept wooden objects around him, perhaps it was the danger of it all, but right then he didn’t much care. Wooden furniture was good for breaking, even if it did leave those nasty little murder weapons lying about.

He snatched up another one of the ugly chairs, his last in fact, and hurled it against the wall. It hit even harder this time. Spike threw his arms up in the air and roared, full on game face exposed.

The reason for his rage was obvious. Having had the Slayer in the palm of his hand he had let her go. She had run off on him and he hadn’t even attempted to give chase, and for his troubles he also got a lashing to his face. His lifted his hand to his cheek and pressed his fingers tentatively to the wound. It stung like hell, and Spike was more than sure that what he was feeling was his actual cheekbone. The bitch had ripped his skin clean off leaving the bone exposed.

What pissed him off more though was that he knew, given the chance to go back in time and do it all over again, he’d do the same stupid thing. He’d let her go, he’d get half his bloody faced ripped off in the process, and then he’d be left here throwing a hissy fit over his own idiocy.

Spike was pacing the room now, trying to work through it all in his head. It was her fault, of course. It was always her bloody fault. He’d had it all worked out before hand; he’d torture her to breaking point then he’d have a taste of her and she’d be dead. Simple. The Slayer would be dead and all would be right with the world. Sure, another one would be called, but Spike would bet money that she wouldn’t be as annoying, infuriating, patronising, and beautiful as Buffy Summers.

Except, was she still beautiful now?

The sight of her scars had floored him. He’d been rooted to the spot, gulping like a sodding goldfish. Spike shook his head, annoyed with himself. He should have loved it. He should have laughed his head off and taunted her no end about it. He should’ve done a lot of things. But, yes, he realised. She was still beautiful.

Not that that was the point, he reminded himself. He’d seen a lot of beautiful women over the years, she was nothing special. What was really important right now was what the hell was wrong with him. He was Spike, William the Bloody. He wreaked bloody mayhem, he revelled in death and carnage and...

“Oh, bugger this” Spike growled to himself.

A pep talk wasn’t going to cut it. There was only one solution to this dilemma.

With no more chairs left to break he set about the sturdy wooden table over in the corner. Tattered books, candles, and etchings lay on top of it. Spike swept the contents off the table and onto the floor then lifted it up. It was heavier then the chairs but still nothing to him.

“Sir?”

He heard the voice but couldn’t see who had spoken. Spike decided it was best to ignore them right now anyway. The minions could sod off. He had a lot more things to break before he would feel even slightly better. Spike hurled the table against the wall. The loud crash echoed throughout the room and down the sewer tunnel. The sewer tunnel she had escaped down. Spike felt his fists clenching. More damage was needed.

“Sir?”

“What!” Spike spun around, growling.

Two of the idiots that worked for him stood in the tunnel entrance. Well, one was really more slumped then standing, he had an armed wrapped around the other vampire. His face was messed up pretty badly, both eyes swollen shut, cheek bloated. Spike grinned. He looked like one of those fat sumo wrestlers. Funny the things that cheered him up.

“Sir,” The more able-bodied one said, “She got Jonas. She fucked him up bad.”

Spike’s smile dropped “She?”

“The Slayer.”

He felt his face morph back into his human visage “And what exactly was ol’ Jonas doing anywhere near the Slayer?”

Jonas tried to speak but it came out as just a series of gurgles.

The other vampire answered “He was tailing her”

“Why?” Spike felt his fists shaking.

“Because she was escaping,” he answered, as if it was a no-brainer.

Spike bared his teeth, taking a step forward “Did I tell you to get the Slayer?”

Jonas looked up at him, afraid. Spike grabbed him around the throat in a vice-like grip. He tossed the vampire across the room like he was a rag-doll. Jonas hit the wall and fell to the floor in a heap, whimpering.

“I’ve got no more furniture to break,” Spike announced as he stalked up to the fallen vampire “so, you’ve been upgraded to punching bag, mate.”

He stomped his foot down onto the vampire’s already unrecognisable face.

+ + +

Buffy sat at the breakfast table in the kitchen, reading the newspaper. Usually she just read the obituaries and scouted the rest of the articles for any heads up on demon activity. There was a small mention of a young couple dying of severe neck trauma, but this was such a common occurrence in Sunnydale that it wasn’t even considered front page news anymore. She wondered for a moment if it was Spike’s work; murdering a young couple sounded right up his alley. No way to tell, though.

Her mother placed a plate of pancakes in front of her. Buffy pushed them away absently, as she continued to pretend to be engrossed in an article about the Sun Cinema being renovated. Joyce had yet to mention the cracked tiles in the bathroom but Buffy was sure she’d seen them by now. Having a Slayer for a daughter was expensive when it came to household breakages.

Not that she had the excuse of fighting a demon and accidentally harming innocent bathroom tiles. No, this had been a deliberate attack on the poor dears and her mother knew it. She also probably knew about the stinking pile of clothes Buffy had set fire to in the back garden earlier that morning.

“Buffy,” Joyce said slowly and carefully “You should eat something. You’ll waste away.”

I wish. Buffy didn’t look up from the newspaper, just shook her head and prayed her mother would leave it alone. Leave her alone. Being a typical mother, she did no such thing.

“Where were you last night? Was there some kind of...demon?”

Buffy snorted “Something like that,” she murmured.

“Well, did you get it?”

“No,” she said quietly, “but I will.”

Joyce sighed, walking over to the sink and starting on the dishes. Buffy looked up from the paper to watch her for a little while. Her mother put up with a lot of shit from her, Buffy knew that. She was doing the best she could but there probably wasn’t a chapter in the parent’s handbook on ‘What to Do When Your Teen Gets Mutilated’.

She stood and folded the newspaper, leaving it on the counter. Glancing down at the pancakes she thought about eating some just to make her mother happy. Problem was having been floating around in a tunnel full of human waste only a few hours ago Buffy wasn’t really in the mood for any kind of food. Even delicious pancake-y goodness.

So, instead, she decided now would be a good time to get some training done. If she was going to take down Spike and his gang then she would have to get into shape again. Buffy left the kitchen and walked to the basement door, pulling it open.

She glanced back and saw her mother standing in the doorway, her eyes sad.

Buffy descended the basement stairs, shutting the door behind her.

After the high school had been blown up Buffy had found herself with no place to train. She had turned her basement into a temporary place for just this purpose. Only, it hadn’t turned out so temporary. The plan had been for Giles to find her somewhere more suitable but after her scarring Buffy decided this place was good enough for her.

The basement afforded her a quiet, dark, sanctuary where she felt she could be alone. It was a little small but she could deal with that.

She picked up a staff, feeling the weight of it in her hands. The Slayer doubted she’d be using this against Spike, but who knew? Maybe it was time to go all Robin Hood on his ass. Buffy smiled to herself. She twirled the staff around; the whistling of the stick as it cut through the air was the only sound to break the silence. Buffy started her shadow fighting, jabbing the staff, sweeping it up in quick, graceful, movements as if she were fighting an invisible opponent.

Buffy closed her eyes and imagined he was in the room with her. Spike came up behind her and she spun around, slicing the staff towards him. He slid out of reach with liquid grace. The Slayer turned and stabbed the stick out quickly in a jab aimed for his solar plexus. He knocked the weapon to the side and took a few steps back from the imaginary fighter.

Buffy slowed her breathing, readied the staff in her hands and shoved it forwards at him. She imagined him catching it and pushing back on her with equal force. They stood locked in this stalemate for a few long seconds before Buffy crouched down and swept her leg out, toppling him from his feet.

He fell to the floor and she charged at him with the staff but he rolled out of the way and all she hit was the concrete floor, sending painful vibrations up her arms. Spike was behind her suddenly and she whirled around and cracked the weapon over her head. He fell to the floor with a cry.

Buffy frowned. She opened her eyes, and they instantly widened in shock.

Giles was flat on his ass on the floor, glasses askew and clutching his head whilst groaning in very real pain.

“Giles!” Buffy blinked, concerned “Are you okay?”

He looked up at her, still holding his hand to his temple “I...think I’ll live...ow.”

“Sorry,” she replied.

He gave her a small smile. Buffy knew he wanted her to return it. So, she did. Giles sat up fully and held his hand out to her so she could help him up. She started to reach out to him but froze. Looking down at his palms Buffy felt a cold shiver run up her spine. The skin on his hands had healed mostly but the white scar lines were still visible, spread across the heel of his hand and up winding around his index and middle finger.

It brought it all back to her. That day when everything had gone horribly wrong...



“Buffy!” Giles called to her as she started to walk into the dark cave.

She turned back. He stood just behind her on the sand, with Willow and Xander. They all held axes or swords. Heavy duty weaponry. Buffy had insisted that she needed to come and clear out the nest of Incinerato Demon’s but Giles had argued that she couldn’t go alone, so they had come along. She’d been doing that a lot recently – being over zealous with her slaying. Ever since Angel had left she needed something to occupy herself with before college.

“I know, I know, ‘be careful’.” Buffy rolled her eyes, but gave him a wolfish grin.

“Well, yes,” Giles nodded peering up at the sun that was beating down on them all, “But I was going to say – that perhaps sometime this summer, maybe, we could all come down here for something other than demon slaying.”

She mock-gasped “Giles! Are you suggesting that I shirk my Slayer responsibilities?”

“I’m disappointed in you, G” Xander nodded sagely “You just haven’t been the same stalwart, stuffy Brit since the Watchers fired you.”

“Made me redundant,” Giles corrected “And, as you all know, I am simply between jobs at the moment. I was only suggesting that we have all been patrolling very hard recently, you especially Buffy, and that we could use some time to ‘chill’ as you might say.”

Willow frowned “I think the word ‘chill’ has been ruined for me now.”

Xander nodded with her, and they beamed goofy grins at Giles who looked, as usual, like he was dealing with a bunch of idiots. Buffy laughed as he rolled his eyes and tilted his nose to the sky in a show of mock-Victorian snobbery.

“You got it, Giles,” Buffy tilted an invisible hat at him “Soon as we deal with these suckers, we’ll go frolic. You Watchers’ do frolic, right?” She started forward into the cave again.

Giles was close behind her “I may be slightly older than you all –”

“Slightly?” Willow choked up a laugh.

“– but I have no doubt in my mind that you won’t be able to keep up with my frolicking,” Giles finished, readying his axe.

Xander slapped his hands together “Alright, so we’ve got ourselves two bodacious babes, me – the handsome cabana boy type, and Mary Poppins over there. It’s going to be quite the party. Giles, don’t forget your sombrero.”

“I don’t own a sombrero,” Giles looked aghast.

“Sure, you don’t!” Xander grinned.

Buffy’s smile dropped as they got deeper into the cave. It was dark, but she could hear well enough. A slight shuffling sound off to her left.

“Down!” She yelled hurling herself backwards into Giles.

They all fell to the floor as a gigantic flame whooshed over them. It was gone a moment later and a big, dinosaur-looking demon appeared in its place. Buffy flipped herself up onto her feet and sidled away from her friends. The demon seemed to be torn on where to keep its attention – her or her friends.

“Hey, Barney!” She called “Over here. It’s rude to keep a girl waiting.”

It roared at her and spat another stream of fire at her. She ducked and managed to hack her axe into its side.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Giles, Xander and Willow holding their own. Giles had retreated back to entrance of the cave to make sure none of the demons escaped. Buffy twirled around and ducked underneath the demon’s large tail. She swung the axe down and embedded it in the tail. The demon screamed and whirled around to face her, breathing fire all over the place. She flipped and ducked to dodge, until it turned into something of a game. Her movements were graceful and swift, like a dancer.

Buffy had to jump to move out of the way of its injured tail as it swept towards her. She dropped into a roll then leapt up, ready to go again.. Across from her Xander was fighting another, a slightly smaller, but still formidable Incinerato demon. She saw him get shoved into the wall and worried for him, but Xander ducked out of the way as the demon blew fire at him. He got his axe back and swung it into the enemy; it fell to the ground and stayed there.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief and turned around just in time to see a plume of orange fire hurtling towards her. She flung herself to the floor, then jumped back up and whirled around landing a solid kick to the Incinerato who had tried to incinerate her.

“Well, that was rude,” Buffy noted, dancing around the demon again “It’s just not done in polite circles. You wait for me to turn around and pummel your dinosaur ass.”

She twirled her axe around and motioned for the demon to come get her but it stayed put, eying her. The Slayer heard Willow call out Xander’s name, and she turned to see he had run to assist her. She turned back and swung at her demon. It dodged her blow and swung its large tail at her. Buffy jumped over the tail, smiling, “Come on, Barney, you’ve got to do better than that. Maybe –”

She never did finish her quip.

She heard the noise of the flames behind her, but couldn’t turn in time. The heat against her back was scalding and that was before the fire even touched her skin. She felt her shirt go up in flames first and then felt the burning against her skin, boils appeared within a second and popped just as fast.

All the while Buffy was screaming so loudly her lungs were protesting, but she didn’t even feel it. She flailed around; panicking, forgetting anything she had even learned about fire safety and instead could only think of the pain as it fired off what seemed to be all the nerves in her body.

Something barrelled into the side of her throwing her to the sandy floor. She was still screaming as Giles rolled her backwards and forwards over the ground, yelling her name. He used his bare hands to beat out the remaining flames, not even thinking about himself. Buffy couldn’t stop screaming. Then, mercifully she passed out. Her eyes fluttering closed....



She blinked, still looking down at his hand. Giles seemed to realise and pulled himself up, dusting off his pants and coming to stand in front of her.

“Buffy?”

She knew she still had a glazed over look in her eyes as she finally turned to look at him, “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

“Sure.”

Giles looked at her, sadly, “I worry about you, Buffy,” he said softly, “I worry, and I care, because I can’t help but do that. You seem so distant and lonely. You don’t have to be either of those things. I’m always here for you.”

Buffy looked back at him, silent for a long moment. “I’m fine, Giles,” she sighed eventually, “I was just getting a little training in.”

His shoulders slumped, “Oh, yes? Any new villains I should know about?”

Buffy shook her head, “No one new.”

+ + +

Spike laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. You could only beat someone up for so long before it started to take its toll on you. He walked over to the pile of broken furniture he’d left on the floor. Picking up half of a chair he snapped the leg off and walked up to Jonah.

The vampire deserved it. Taking matters into his own hands. No one was to go after the Slayer unless he said so. Spike staked the pitiful excuse for a vampire and dusted his hands off, turning to Jonah’s pal who he could never remember the name of.

“Listen...” He started.

“Spud,” The vampire filled him in.

“Really?” Spike arched an eyebrow.

Spud just shrugged.

“Okay. Listen, Spud,” Spike walked over to him, hands behind his back, “What do you know about the Slayer?”

“She’s short, blonde, and a pain in the ass!” Spud laughed.

Spike laughed along with him good-naturedly, “Anything, else? She got any injuries?”

“I don’t think so,” Spud shrugged, “Nothing ’cept those burns.”

Spike gritted his teeth, “You know about the scars?”

“Everyone knows.”

“I see,” Spike tilted his head “And none of you halfwits thought it might be a good idea to fill me in on this?”

Spud blinked, “We thought you knew. Everyone knows!”

“Not me!” Spike grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him up against the wall, “I didn’t know!”

He stared into the vampire’s scared eyes and knew one thing was obvious. He knew what he had to do with Buffy Summers. And it had to be done tonight.

“Spud, my old pal,” Spike grinned, letting go of the vampire and letting him slip to the floor, “Gather the troops. I want ten of our best. We’re going after the Slayer.”

“...you mean...?”

“Yep, we’re gonna have ourselves a feast.”

The sooner she was out of his life, the better. The bitch just confused him no end, and he couldn’t have that. He was a vampire, she was the Slayer. This was how it was done, he convinced himself. She had to die.

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