Freedom
by Icemink

Chapter 1:

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.
-Me & Bobby McGee by Kris Kristofferson

Excitement coursed through every inch of Spike's body as he watched the run down motel. If his information was right, at least five Watchers were staying there. He'd never met a Watcher, but what he knew of them made him suspect that they were mostly a cowardly lot, and they wouldn't have come anywhere near Sunnydale if they didn't have the Slayer with them.

The Slayer. The words made his mouth water with anticipation. Within minutes he could be facing off against his third Slayer. Some young girl who would be strong, fast, and deadly. Inside one of those motel rooms the perfect killer was waiting for him, and when they meet it would be kill or be killed. He had every intention of being the killer, of draining her dry of her powerful blood, but it wouldn't have been half as fun if he didn't know that there was a real risk that he would be dust before the sun came up.

The wait was nearly killing him, patience was not one of his virtues, but still he waited till his minions had made sure of which rooms to attack. Personally Spike would have been more than happy to massacre the entire motel, but the Master didn't want to tip his hand yet. Unlike Spike the Master was patient. He fully intended to rule the entire world, and if it took him centuries to do so, so be it. In the mean time, he didn't want the other vampire clans or demons to know how ambitious he was. A major slaughter outside of Sunnydale would draw undue attention.

Spike didn't care about that, in fact he really wasn't all that fond of the Master's new world order. As far as Spike could tell, the Master thought that if vampires were freed from having to kill on a nightly basis, they would develop some sort of high vampire culture. It seemed like a bunch of rubbish to Spike. Killing was what being a vampire was all about. What other culture did they need?

On the other hand, the Master's big plans were sure to attract the attention of the Council. They would send the Slayer to stop the Master, and Spike would be there to stop her. That was a big plus in Spike's book. In the last century, he'd only been able to track down two Slayers. Usually by the time he'd heard about a Slayer and made it to the part of the world she was in, something else had gotten there first and already offed the girl.

Not to mention sooner or later the rest of the demon world would figure out just what the Master was up to and they would have a hell of a fight on their hands. Spike knew that was the only reason the Master kept him around. As much as Spike tried to play nice, it was plain for anyone to see how discontent Spike was. Especially since the Master not only forbade him from wantonly killing, but the Master was enamored with Dru as well, and as the head of the clan had exercised his rights and took her to his bed as often as he pleased.

What was worse, Dru was currently quite found of the Master's attention. She'd been devastated when she'd felt her Sire's death and it was her need for family that had brought the couple to the Master. He was more then delighted to welcome them, since he'd lost his favorite fledglings in an uprising by the humans of Sunnydale. The irony was that the uprising had been lead by Angelus, who evidently had gotten a soul and gone all remorseful.

Tonight would be different though. When Spike killed his third Slayer, not only would he achieve a legendary status among vampires–he'd never heard of another vampire that had killed three Slayers–but the Master would have to give him whatever he wanted, and that was Dru.

Not that he would need Dru given to him. Dru had become incredibly amorous the last two times he killed a Slayer, he was sure this time would be no different. Hopefully that would cause her to be bored with the Master, and they would be able to move on.

Finally the minion returned with the information on which rooms the Watchers were in. Spike assigned each of the minions to a different room. One vampire for each Watcher, and he would take the room with the Slayer.

Eagerly they all moved forward. The vampires he'd chosen to come with him where all vampires like himself. Vampires who missed the hunt and the kill, who thought that the Master's factory blood was little better than raiding a blood bank. They were kindred spirits, and each of them was looking forward to a fresh kill as much as Spike was.

Almost simultaneously they kicked in the doors to the motel rooms, and charged inside. Luckily the Watchers weren't staying in a private residence so no invitation was needed.

As soon as the door was open, Spike realized he'd been wrong. There was no Slayer here. The woman had to be a Watcher. She was probably in her late twenties, too old to be a Slayer. Besides her reflexes were too slow. She froze for a moment before making a desperate grab for a cross that was inside the suitcase on the floor.

She grabbed the cross, but Spike batted it out of her hand, getting only the slightest of burns on the back of his hand. Then he grabbed her by the throat and forced her against the wall. She may not be a Slayer, but she was still a fresh kill.

"William the Bloody!" she gasped.

"You've heard of me?" he grinned.

"I-I-I wrote my dissertation on you," she managed to say as she gasped for breath.

Intrigued Spike loosened his grip on her throat just enough to let her get enough air to talk. He gave her his most charming smile, and pressed his body against hers.

"And just what did your research say I'd do to you?" he whispered seductively in her ear.

His free hand reached up to stroke her breast through the fabric of her tweed suit. He was rewarded with the scent of her fear increasing, but below that just the hint of arousal. He wished he had time to play with her, that the Master hadn't been so clear on the fact that they were to kill and get out. No playing with their food. Still Spike couldn't help but have a little fun. He kissed her neck, and licked the throbbing artery he found there. Again she trembled, but he could tell it was as much with excitement as fear. It was a real shame that he had to kill her so quickly, the Watcher obviously had a little kink that would be fun to explore.

From the room to his left Spike could hear screams as one of his minions killed one of the Watchers. The female Watcher stiffened in his grip; she heard it too. However, it actually seemed to give her a little courage.

"It doesn't matter if you kill us. We'll get to her. You can't keep her forever."

"Hmmm?" Spike looked her in the eye, wondering what she was talking about.

"The Slayer. If she doesn't free herself, we will get to her, no matter how many of us you kill."

He could hear the others finishing up, as much as he wanted to question the woman more, the Master's orders had been clear and he knew that none of his minions were really loyal to him. They would use any opportunity to curry favor with the Master and to diminish Spike's status.

So he sunk his fangs into her neck.

The hot blood flowed down his throat straight to his cock. He pressed himself and the Watcher against the wall, moaning with pleasure. It hadn't even been two months since his last fresh kill, and yet it seemed like an eternity. For the first time since he had come to the Master's court Spike felt alive again.

He let her lifeless body fall to the floor, and licked the blood from his lips.

"Don't worry pet," he told her corpse. "If the Master really does have your Slayer, I won't let him keep her."
Chapter 2:

The Watcher's words ate at him on the drive back to the factory. He started to review everything the Master had said to him since he and Dru had arrived on the Hellmouth.

There had always been a certain smugness in the Master's voice whenever the topic of the Slayer had come up. He'd always thought that it was the older vampire assuming that the younger didn't really understand the danger posed by a Slayer.

The more he thought about it, the less sense that made. After all everyone knew he'd killed two Slayers. True, until he'd killed the second slayer, many demons and vampires had assumed the first one had been luck, but not after New York. No, the Master knew Spike to be a capable and experienced fighter. That couldn't be it.

And the other made only too much sense. Everything he knew about how the Master worked and planned told Spike that if he could the Master would imprison the Slayer in a second. Killing her would only result in the calling of another Slayer, but imprisoning her meant that the Master could follow his plans without serious interference for decades.

As Spike walked through the halls of the Master's blood factory, he kept coming to the same obvious conclusion. She was here, somewhere. The Slayer was here, and the Master had been lying to him this whole time.

Spike felt foolish that this hadn't occurred to him before, but the fresh blood had cleared his head. As he looked around the Master's domain he saw nothing but softness. Vampires that had forgotten their true nature. The place sickened him.

He entered the Master's throne room and knelt before the Master.

"Well my boy how did it go?" the Master asked as he motioned for Spike to rise.

"The Watchers are all dead Master. There was no trouble. It all went smoothly Although one thing worries me."

"What is that?"

"There was no sign of the Slayer. Perhaps this was only a distraction to keep us from her real location."

"An interesting theory my boy. But I'm sure it was simply a reconnaissance mission. The Council probably doesn't want to risk their precious Slayer until they are sure of our strength. It was likely nothing more than a test of our defenses. Remember, the Council is nothing more than a group of fanatics, eager to throw their brief lives away in the war on good and evil. Still, if you think extra patrols are necessary. . ."

'Me thinks the Master doth protest too much,' Spike thought. But instead he said, "Yes, Master. I'm sure you are right. You must know the Council better than me."

The Master nodded, and gestured to let Spike know that he was free to leave if he wanted to. Spike bowed and left the Master's presence. If he'd had doubts before, he was sure now that the Master was hiding the Slayer.

Spike returned to his rooms, thinking over where the Master might be keeping the missing Slayer. The obvious answer was that she was somewhere in the factory. The upper levels of the factory were cages for the humans waiting to be processed.

Spike had only been up there once when he and Dru had first arrived and been given the grand tour by the Master. He remembered there being an old beat up door. The Master told him that the rooms beyond that was empty space waiting to be converted into more holding cells.

It was a long shot, but the most likely place Spike could think of to keep the Slayer was there. Besides, if he went up there and was wrong he couldn't imagine any reason he'd get in trouble.

Even so he waited until the sun had risen so that the other vampires who lived in the warrens below the factory would be asleep. He fought the natural drowsiness that came with the sunrise, and left his subterranean room for the upper levels of the factory.

As he entered the cages the minion on guard duty rose to challenge him. "Sir. There's no sampling, sir."

"Yeah, I know. Just like the smell of fear. Don't mind if I just look around a bit? Promise not to snack."

The guard shrugged and let Spike pass.

Once he was out of sight of the guard, Spike hurried through the rows of cages ignoring the frightened humans as much as was possible. He was surprised that his lie to the guard had worked. The place was full of the smell of fear all right, but it was almost overcome by the smell of human waste. It only took a quick glance to see that there was no working plumbing in the cells. Spike was even more disgusted at the bottled blood the Master provided them all with, knowing that it came from such filthy creatures. He'd rather drink pig's blood. At least pigs were clean.

He made his way past the cages to the old beat up door he remembered. It was still there, and no sign that anyone was planning any sort of construction project. Spike reached for the handle, and found that the door was locked.

"Now why would a door to nothing be locked?" he smiled and said to himself, taking it as a good sign.

He tried to break the lock on the door and was surprised when he found the lock was too strong for him. The Master was defiantly hiding something. For a moment Spike doubted what he was doing. What if it wasn't the Slayer? Spike could think of a number of things the Master might want to hide from his minions, most of which Spike could care less about. If something other than the Slayer was behind the door he could find himself in no end of trouble for snooping and he wouldn't have accomplished anything either.

Before Spike had the chance to further consider what he was doing the door was opened from the other side and he found himself staring at the barrel of a shot gun held by a vampire.

"Uh, Sir? You're not supposed to be here. I'm sorry the Master left strict orders."

Spike smiled at the minion. The fact that the minion had a gun told Spike that he was there to guard against humans, not vampires. Spike was once again sure that the Slayer was the treasure behind the door.

"Of course, I understand. Loyalties to the Master and all that. Must have made a wrong turn."

The vampire lowered the gun. The moment he did so, Spike grabbed the barrel and shoved the butt into the vampire's chest. After that it was easy to wrestle the shot gun out of the guard's grasp. A second hard blow with the butt to the guard's head and Spike was able to step over the unconscious body.

Spike looked around the small room. There was one other door. It was a sturdy looking metal door. At the base of the door was a smaller sliding panel.

The only furniture in the little guard room was a desk and a chair. Dirty magazines where lying out on the desk next to a small black and white TV. Spike peered at the screen. It was obviously hooked up to a surveillance camera and it showed a room that was mostly bare except for a small cot, a sink, and a toilet. As Spike watched, the figure of a girl did push ups in the middle of the room.

Spike was momentarily frustrated as he watched her. She was little more than a blur on the screen. He wanted to see her, but he wasn't quite ready to open the door and be rushed by a Slayer. Then he noticed how the door appeared on the screen. There he could see the other side of the same door he was looking at, but in front of it was another set of bars.

Smiling he pulled the body of the guard into the room, and searched him until he found the keys. Hesitating only for a moment Spike shoved the key into the lock, opened the heavy steel door, and really saw the Slayer for the first time.

She'd tucked her long blond matted hair into the back of her grey tank-top to keep it out of her face, but as she looked up the front strands came loose and framed her face. She jumped to her feet and Spike could see that she was a very small thing, but he had no doubt she was powerful.

'She might be powerful then the other slayers I've killed,' he thought as he noticed the well defined muscles on her bare arms. It occurred to him than that the cell was empty of anything other than the most basic necessities. All the time she'd been in there she'd had nothing to do but exercise and train.

His eyes flickered across her hands, and he saw the rough calluses on her knuckles. Out of the corner of his eye he could see blood, and minor dents in the door he'd opened. He could almost imagine this young girl, calmly, patiently beating at the door, with controlled measured punches. Unwilling to give in or give up. He had no idea whether that was lunacy or not.

He looked at her face and noticed that she had a wicked looking scar that cut across her mouth. What really drew his attention however, were her eyes. Wild, dangerous hazel eyes. They were the eyes of a predator and for several moments her gaze held him rooted to his spot.

Those eyes called to him with a promise of danger and death. Never before had Spike been less sure of whether he could kill an opponent, and never before had he wanted the dance quite as badly.

But then he thought of Dru, his Dark Princess. He couldn't take the chance that he would have to leave her behind.

He broke away from the wild green depths of the Slayer's eyes, turned, and started to walk away.

"Say something."

Her voice was so quiet, he almost didn't hear her.

"Huh?" he turned back to her.

"Say something. Anything. Please?" she repeated, only this time there was a little more strength in her voice, as if she'd found it again after putting it away for a long time.

He saw it then. The metal tray on the floor near the door, which still had the trace, remains of something food-like on it. He understood that for however long she'd been in that cell, she'd been completely alone. Her captors slid open the panel on the front of the first door to slide her food in and out, but no one talked to her. They left her, alone with nothing and no one but herself.

Those hazel eyes were wild with desperation and the first hints of madness. Who knew how much longer she could stand it alone in that tiny cell before she cracked completely.

'And then she'll be free,' Spike thought. Nothing would be able to touch her then, not once she'd gone completely around the bend. At least, that is what he thought, judging by his experiences with Dru's madness. He looked at her through the bars of her cage, and for a moment it seemed that he was the one in the cage and she was the one who was free.

The months of doing the Master's bidding, of begging for scraps of affection from Dru, of restraining his demon and avoiding the violence his whole being craved. All of it pulled him down as if they were weights wrapped around his body. And in front of him, stood this magnificent creature, wild and free.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked her without thinking.

"Yeah," was all she said.

Chapter 3:

As soon as the door to her cell was open the Slayer sprinted out of the room. By the time Spike caught up with her (after giving the unconscious guard a sturdy whack to the head for good measure) she was pummeling the first guard senseless.

For a moment all Spike could do was watch the beautiful violence unfold before him. There was no special grace to it. Nothing but pure brutality as the Slayer took out unknown months of frustration and imprisonment on the hapless vampire.

He walked slowly but loudly behind her, not wanting to startle her, until he could see that she'd pretty much pulverized the vampires head. Spike was tempted to wait and see if she could actually dust the guy by smashing his head in, but the need to leave before anyone knew she had escaped overcame his demon's baser instincts.

"Don't think he's going to follow us, pet," he told her softly, carefully reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder.

She looked at him as if she'd forgotten he existed. Then she nodded. Her eyes looked past him to the rows of cages with the frightened humans inside.

"Suppose you have some heroic need to help them?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Figures."

He hadn't thought of that. Of course he hadn't really been thinking when he'd let loose a Slayer who, even if she wasn't strictly insane, obviously had some issues to work through. Still, rescuing the humans wasn't an entirely bad idea. Although it would definitely destroy their chance for a stealthy get away, the chaos and confusion might be enough to cover their tracks.

Spike pulled the keys off the battered body of the guard and began to unlock the cages on one side. As he did so, the Slayer began to simply break the locks on the other side with her bare hands. Unlike her cell, these cages had been made to hold only normal humans. For a moment Spike wanted to follow her lead and toss the keys, just to show her how strong he was. He thought better of it however, knowing that if she caught him doing it, it would only make him look insecure.

At first none of the humans moved, unsure of what was happening. Then one person ran. As soon as the first person moved they flooded toward the doors, before he and the Slayer could finish freeing the last of them.

'It's going to be chaos all right,' Spike thought.

Once the last of the cages was opened Spike dashed for the stairs to the lower level pushing past the escaping humans. He made it to the stairwell and looked down. The prisoners were making a real mess of their rescue. They had madly rushed down the stairs toward the welcoming green light that promised "Exit."

Unfortunately the vampires had chained shut the old fire exit. The first people to reach the door had been crushed by those behind them. Luckily, for Spike at least, those who had made it down the stairs were so tightly packed around the door that there was a great deal of space clear on the floor opposite it.

Knowing it would take too long to fight through the mob, and that any moment his undead brethren would show up, Spike opted for the quick way down and leapt over the railing, his leather duster billowing behind him.

He hit the ground just as a vampire rushed into the crowded stairwell.

"Spike wha-" he didn't let the vampire finish. Instead he whipped the shot gun around and smacked the vampire in the head, momentarily stunning him.

Behind him he heard another thump and for a moment he worried that he'd lead the way for some sort of suicidal lemming leap off the stairs. It was only the Slayer however, who'd followed his lead.

"This way," he instructed her.

"But-"

"There's no way out that door," he snapped impatiently. They needed to get a move on before too many vampires were awake.

Reluctantly she followed him. Spike became apprehensive that it was too late, because in the direction they needed to go, half a dozen vampires were rushing towards them. Spike dashed straight towards them. As they closed in on them he raised the shot gun and fired, making a neat little hole in the lead vampire who stumbled back into the others, causing them to trip over each other.

What he had thought was inspired strategy to even the odds, ended up slowing them down. The hallway was narrow enough that the tangle of vampires on the ground blocked the way forward. The ceiling was too low for him to jump over the pile of bodies so he was forced to scramble over the undead obstruction. One of the vampires grabbed his leg, but the Slayer kicked that vampire in the head, and he let go of Spike.

Ahead of them another vampire mob was approaching. This time he and the Slayer simply barreled through them. Punching and shoving their way through the cluster.

Luckily once they were past this second group there was a side hallway that would take them to the parking garage. Behind them they could hear shouts and screams, but ahead of them was another "Exit" door, and this one Spike knew was open.

As they entered the underground parking lot Spike made a beeline for his DeSoto.

"Get in!" he yelled at the Slayer.

She obeyed, even if she did look skeptically at his baby.

As soon as they were in, Spike threw the car into gear and sped out of the lot into the nearly deserted streets of Sunnydale.

"Where are we going?" the Slayer asked slowly, still testing out her voice.

"L.A. Big enough we can get lost there."

She thought over that for a moment and then suddenly blurted out, "You're a vampire."

"Never said I wasn't."

"No, I mean why did you free me?"

Spike waited to answer her as he pulled onto I-5 and the DeSoto was swallowed by the early morning traffic. Now that they were away from the cages, and the mass of terrified humans, Spike could really smell the Slayer for the first time and he took a moment to learn her scent.

After the overwhelming crush of fear and bodily functions that had been the prisoners, her scent was refreshing. She smelled raw, no hint of soaps or deodorants, but she was clean. She smelled slightly of sweat but that only served to reinforce Spike's notion of her as a wild thing. He also noted that there was no hint of fear in her scent.

"What? You don't think I did it out of the evilness of my heart?" he asked.

She snorted.

"Well, actually I did. You know about the Master's plan?"

"Big factory, sucks blood out of victims. Seems kind of lazy to me."

"Bloody right it's lazy. Not just that, it goes against the natural order. Vampires hunt, vampires kill, vampires feed. That's the way it's meant to be. None of this canned blood crap."

"So what? You want me to slay the Master for you so that you can go back to killing?" the tone of her voice made it very clear that she had no intention of helping him in such a plan.

"What? No. If I was going to go after the Master I'd do it myself thank you very much. Don't need the help of a Slayer. Look I didn't have an actual plan. I only just found out last night that he was holding you."

"Still not seeing why you care."

"Look, I don't run from slayers. I'm not just any vampire, you know?" Unconsciously he puffed out his chest and straightened his shoulders. "I'm Spike. William the-"

"The Bloody?" she finished for him. "You've got to be kidding me," she said with disbelief.

"You've heard of me?"

"My Watcher warned me of Spike, sure. Vampire of the Aurelian clan, killed two Slayers. You expect me to believe you're him?"

He couldn't believe her. He'd saved her–seriously fucking up his own unlife in the process–and she didn't even believe that he was him.

"I am too, you bloody bint!" he snapped at her.

"Sorry," she said, as if she thought he was taking the whole thing too personally. "I just thought you'd be taller."

"Like you're one to talk," Spike muttered under his breath.

There was silence for just a beat or two, when the Slayer suddenly demanded "Say something!"

Startled Spike glanced over at her. The tough as nails demeanor she'd slowly been regaining since he'd freed her had melted. Now she was running her fingers through her long matted hair, trying to untangle it, and looking hopefully at him like a child asking for a treat.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything, I just don't like. . . I don't like for it to be quiet."

Spike nodded, then realized she wanted him to vocalize, "Yeah, okay. Umm. . . bollocks, I don't know what to say." He glanced around the car hoping a topic would present itself to him. His eyes alighted on the stereo. "You like the Sex Pistols?"

"Huh?"

He flipped on the tape deck. The sudden burst of sound startled the Slayer, but then she relaxed back into her seat comforted by the sound.

Spike had hoped that the music would keep him from having to talk to her non-stop. Instead he found that the Slayer was vastly ignorant when it came to music, so he set out to educate her properly figuring that the drive to L.A. should be just long enough for a brief introduction.

Chapter 4:

Spike parked in the most out of the way corner of the underground parking lot that he could find. As he got out of the car he popped the trunk. This was not the first time he'd had to make a quick getaway, and he always kept two emergency bags in the trunk; one for him and one for Dru.

He paused for a moment, looking at the two bags. What the fuck was he going to do about Dru? Even if he could get to her, there would be no telling what she would think about him freeing the Slayer. At least he knew she was safe. The Master took family very seriously. Dru might receive a beating for not keeping her Childe in line, but the Master wouldn't hurt her seriously.

He slung his bag over his shoulder leaving the other one behind. Even if he thought Dru's things would have fit the tiny Slayer, there was no way he would let her touch anything that belonged to his Dark Princess.

"This way," he absently told the Slayer as he led her away from the car.

They'd barely gotten five feet from the car when Spike suddenly smelled slayer blood. He spun around, half expecting to see an attacker and the Slayer fighting for her life. Instead she almost bumped into him. Seeing his reaction the Slayer instantly started to look for some sign of danger.

"What is it?" she hissed.

"I was about to ask you that. You're bleeding."

"Huh? Oh yeah, I cut my foot on something."

Puzzled, Spike looked down and realized for the first time that the Slayer didn't have any shoes.

"Bollocks!" he cursed.

"What's the big deal? It's just a scratch you know. Doesn't even hurt. Shouldn't we be moving? There is a plan right?"

"Yes," he replied impatiently. "There is a plan. And it involves a trip through the sewers. Not to mention, vampires and lots of other nasties track by scent. Rather not be leaving a trail of slayer blood behind."

While he was speaking, he'd dropped the bag to the ground, knelt down, and started to rummage through it until he found some bandages.

"Lift your foot. You can lean on my shoulder if you need to."

She snorted and lifted her foot as delicately as if she were a ballet dancer. She stood there, perfectly balanced and making a great show of the fact that she was not leaning on the evil vampire.

He grabbed her foot a little roughly, hoping she'd topple over, and bandaged her foot.

"Think you can make it the next three meters without sustaining any more injuries?" he asked her derisively.

She just glared at him and put her foot down gracefully.

When they got to the man hole cover Spike climbed down first. When the Slayer reached almost to the bottom he plucked her off the ladder into his arms.

"Hey!" she protested indignantly. "What do you think you're doing?"

'Does she have to make everything into a bloody battle?' Spike asked himself, ignoring the fact that they were mortal enemies.

"Sewer. Barefoot. Remember?" he told her.

"I'm not some girl, you know. I can handle a little slime."

"Funny," he said pointedly looking down the front of her tank top. "You look like a girl to me."

She blushed bright red, and quickly crossed her arms over her chest to hide her cleavage from him.

After chuckling for a moment at her reaction he explained, "Don't want you to get an infection."

"Didn't know you cared," she replied sarcastically.

"I don't, except that blood poisoning ruins the taste."

Before she could protest any more he headed into the sewers. They were soon enveloped in blackness. He automatically slipped into his game face and moved quickly and surely through the gloom.

As if on cue the Slayer blurted out, "Say-"

"Something," he finished for her. "Yeah, I know. Right then. . . so um. . . when you're not fighting for puppy dogs and Christmas, what do you do?"

"What do you mean what do I do? I'm the Slayer."

"Yeah, but you can't slay all the time. After all most of the beasties don't come out until it's night time."

She relaxed in his arms, uncrossing her own, to put one around his neck and resting the other on his chest as she leaned her cheek against him.

"I train and study."

"And. . . "

"And what?"

"Look, what do you and your mates do?"

"Mates?"

"Friends, kitten, friends," he explained.

"I know what mates means," she said in such a way that he imagined she was rolling her eyes at him. "I'm not stupid. I'm the Slayer. I don't have time for friends. I have a sacred duty."

"Sounds rather dull, well except for all the fighting. I suppose you do get a lot of quality violence in, though."

"Quality violence? What is that supposed to-"

"Here we are," he interrupted. "Feel in front of you. There's a ladder there."

She quickly found the rung of the ladder, and climbed up, pushing the sewer grate up above her head. He followed behind her. They came up under an overhang designed to keep the sun off of cars. The overhang was attached to a cruddy looking motel. He quickly got them a room, hoping for a chance to relax and figure out what the hell he was doing.

"So this is the plan?" the Slayer asked as she looked around the motel room he'd procured for them.

"For now," he said wearily, sitting on one of the beds.

It was almost afternoon, and Spike had been up since the sun went down the day before. All he wanted to do was get some sleep.

"And then?"

Unfortunately, he had an impatient Slayer on his hands. She was pacing around the room and generally being jittery. Suddenly, Spike had a great need to get away from her. This whole thing was madness. Looking over her ragged appearance, her matted hair, her dirty gray clothing, and her bare feet he thought of the perfect excuse.

"Look, we'll find a proper place once the sun goes down. Until then, I suppose you need some things. So I'll be back." He hurried toward the door.

She grabbed him by the arm, brining him up short.

"Wait. You can't go. It's too quiet."

Exasperated he tried to pull his arm out of her grasp, but the more he pulled the tighter she gripped his arm.

"Look, turn on the telly. That should keep you plenty entertained."

Her voice took on a special quality as if she was quoting someone else as she said, "Television is for people who have no purpose in life, and haven't the intelligence to read."

He just stared at her a moment as if a second head had sprung out of her chest. Then he smirked. "Scared Slayer?"

Her face fell, she let go of his arm, and sat down on the edge of one of the beds. "Yes. You should go."

"Huh?"

She wasn't supposed to admit she was scarred, even though they both knew she was. She was supposed to defiantly claim she wasn't and that she didn't care if he stayed or went.

"You're right. I'm scared." Then she adopted that other voice which struck Spike as vaguely British, "A Slayer must face her fears. She cannot allow fear to make her decisions if she wishes to survive. So go. I'll be fine."

"Right well. . . " he started for the door. "Um. . . what's your shoe size?"

"Six."

"Right, bye. Back soon," he promised, as he quickly left the room.

Chapter 5:

Spike hurried back to the motel, partly because he was afraid the Slayer would be gone, and partly because he was recovering from the horror that was shopping. Normally, he broke into places at night and stole what he needed. He'd never known the hellish masses of bargain shoppers that existed. Not to mention the overwhelming and arbitrary choices he found at the Mega-mart.

Luckily, he thought he'd gotten the Slayer everything she would need, at least for the time being. A change of clothes, toiletries, some chips, and chocolate ice cream to subdue her incase she'd gone completely crazy while he was out.

He was feeling rather proud of himself, when he realized that he'd forgotten to get her socks. Oh, well. There was no way he was going back to the Mega-mart. Ever.

As he approached the motel with his haul he opened his senses–as much as he could without vamping–to check for any signs that they had been followed. There weren't any, although he guessed roughly half the rooms were rented by people having nooners.

As he got near their room he could hear the TV playing. Right as he got to the door the TV went off and he could hear scurrying. When he opened the door he found the Slayer sitting cross-legged on one of the beds with her back to the TV. Her eyes were closed and her hands rested on her knees as if she was meditating.

"So what's on?" he asked her as he put the bags down.

"Huh?"

"The telley. Anything good on?"

"How would I know?" she asked primly.

"Come on, pet, I know you were watching. I could hear it before I came in. Vampire, remember?"

"I wasn't watching. I was listening," she insisted.

Spike snorted. "That's a pretty piece of equivocation. Sure you're not a bad guy?"

"Oo, equivocation. Kind of a big word for you isn't it, SPIKE?"

"You know, just for that, I'm not letting you have any ice cream after all. Gonna eat it all by myself."

He pulled the pint of ice cream and the plastic spoons out of the bag to prove there really was ice cream. The Slayer only shrugged. Not the reaction he'd expected, considering she'd been locked up for months, eating food most likely chosen not for taste, but to keep her alive as long as possible.

"You don't want any?" he asked, trying not to sound hurt. It's not like he had been under any obligation to be nice to her and buy her anything, much less ice cream.

"I don't eat ice cream. It's not good for you," she stated matter of factly.

He slammed the ice cream down on the bedside table. "Do you ever have any fun?" he asked exasperated.

"I'm the Sl-"

"Slayer. I know." He considered her for a minute; then he ripped open the package of plastic spoons and scooped out a spoonful of chocolate ice cream. "Eat!" he ordered standing in front of her holding it before her face.

She laughed. "You're kidding, right? What is this, some weird kind of torture?"

"Scared?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

"Please. You really think that's going to work? I'm not scared, I just don't eat sweets."

"Well, obviously you are scared." Before she could protest he continued, "What harm can one bite of ice cream do to you? None, unless you're afraid that you've been missing out on something so good that you won't have the will power to keep from eating more." He lowered his voice to add strength to his dare. "Are you really that weak willed Slayer?"

She glared at him for a minute. Then she leaned forward without breaking eye contact with him, and her lips encircled the treat. He looked down at her hazel eyes as she slowly drew her mouth back across the spoon.

The blood rushed in the direction of his cock as he suddenly found himself imagining the Slayer in a non-violent way.

She worked the ice cream in her mouth for just a minute before swallowing it down. A tiny bit of chocolate ran down one side of her mouth, and her pink tongue darted out to lick it up.

"Good isn't it?" he asked her, his voice a little huskier than he intended.

'She's the Slayer,' he reminded himself, as his mind refused to let go of images of her on her knees sucking his cock. 'She'd probably bite it off.'

But it was no use. The more he told himself that he should not be thinking of the Slayer as a potential fuck, the more he kept coming up with reasons like, how it would prove just how evil he was if he could corrupt someone as good and pure as the Slayer.

"It's good, okay. I admit it. Are you happy now?"

He sat down on the bed across from hers, and gave her his best pout. "It's just. . . I bought it special for you," he sulked.

"Well. . ." she eyed the ice cream, "I guess it would be impolite for me to turn it down."

He almost had to cover his mouth to hide his smirk. It was a small victory and Spike doubted the road to hell was paved with chocolate ice cream. But, since he had no idea what he was going to do now, spending his time trying to pull the Slayer off the straight and narrow seemed like as good an idea as any.

She took the spoon from him and took another bite of the ice cream.

Spike grabbed another spoon and started to get himself some when the Slayer protested, "Hey!"

"What?" he asked.

"You're a vampire," she mumbled through a spoonful of ice cream.

"Didn't we already cover that?"

"Vampires don't eat people food."

"They do if they feel like it–or if ungrateful slayers won't share the ice cream."

With that, he grabbed the pint from her and spun around so he was sitting with his back to her. He wrapped one arm protectively around the ice cream as he hunched over and started to shovel it into his mouth.

"Hey! I thought you bought that for me!" the Slayer whined.

He could feel the mattress shift under him as she leapt from her bed to his, and tried to reach over his shoulder with her spoon.

As he tried to shrug her off he told her, "You can't eat it all."

"Can too," she insisted over a mouth full of chocolate.

"It's bad for you. You'll make yourself sick."

"Argh!" the Slayer yelled in frustration as she shoved him off the bed. "I know it's bad for you!"

Spike couldn't help but laugh at the upside down, angry slayer sitting on his bed wielding a plastic spoon like a stake. Admittedly driving her crazy was probably not the smartest idea, but he did get a certain evil glee from it.

As he righted himself, he tossed her the carton, "Here I'm going to bed."

He tossed his spoon in the waste bin, threw his duster over a chair, and pulled off his shirt. He dropped the shirt to the floor and looked up to see the Slayer, who now sat holding the ice cream out to him with a sad puppy dog look.

"You can have the ice cream," she said apologetically.

He sat next to her, "Look kitten, I'm right knackered. I need to get some sleep before the sun goes down."

"But what am I supposed to do while you're sleeping?"

"Other than finish the ice cream. . ." He stopped unlacing his boots to look her over. "Don't take this the wrong way Slayer, but you really need a shower, not to mention to do something about this," he tried to muss her tangled hair, but it was a lost cause, "which will probably take you till sunset anyway."

She stuck out her bottom lip at him and he was suddenly tempted to bite it. Instead he nodded towards the bags. "Don't you want to see what I got you?"

She sighed and got up to rummage through the bags, making her lack of enthusiasm obvious.

He stood up as well and began to undo his jeans.

The Slayer held up the bag of chips. "I don't eat these eith-" she stopped when she looked up to see him with his jeans around his ankles. She blushed and looked down into the bags trying to busy herself with something.

He couldn't help but chuckle. He would have teased her about it, but he was too tired to start another confrontation. He slipped under the covers, and was just about to go to sleep when something occurred to him.

"Hey you're a good guy, right?"

"Yeah," she looked up slowly, until she was sure he was safely beneath the covers.

"Well, I rescued you, so no staking me while I sleep. Got it?"

"Yeah, okay. No biting me either. Promise?"

"Promise," he replied. It never even occurred to him to cross his fingers.

Chapter 6:

It was the combination of the world shaking and the pressure that was being exerted on his chest that woke up Spike.

"What the. . ?" he asked as his eyes opened.

Above him was a strange girl. She was the one pushing rather roughly on his chest, and causing the bed to bounce up and down.

It took him a moment to remember who she was and where he was.

"Sun's down," the Slayer announced a little too cheerfully. "Time to get up."

She was obviously in little girl mode. Spike wondered if her personality switches from tough-no-nonsense-Slayer to five-year-old, were a result of her imprisonment, or if she'd just always been crazy.

Still, she had cleaned up rather well. Her matted hair had been brushed out and now seemed to glow. She'd braided it back, and looking at the length of the thick braid, he wondered just how long her hair was.

She was also wearing the clothes he'd picked out for her, and he was glad to see he'd guessed her sizes correctly. The red cotton blouse that tied in front was just a little too small for her, as he'd planned, and drew attention directly to her breasts. It also revealed her flat stomach above the waistband of the black jeans he'd selected.

Under the cuff of the jeans, he could see the black leather boots he'd gotten her. They'd taken most of the cash he'd had, but he figured she needed something other than heels or flip-flops. The army like boots had thick rubber soles which he figured were perfect for slaying.

She was sporting black eye liner, which told Spike she'd rummaged through his stuff. That was a potential problem. He didn't have anything to hide specifically, but he didn't want her to know how much money he had, or rather didn't have. He'd used most of his emergency stash buying stuff for her. He wasn't worried about getting more money; he was worried about her asking questions about where the money had come from.

As he started to get out of bed, she quickly scrambled off and turned her back to him, but not before he could see her start to blush.

"So what's the plan?" she asked as he hurried to get dressed.

"Give me a moment, will you, kitten?" he asked. Not that he needed time to think. He did have a plan, an immediate one anyway. He just needed to find a way to distract her for a bit.

Once he was dressed he turned and asked her, "You got all your stuff together?"

"Yep. I put it in your bag. Well, except for my old clothes. I threw them away, couldn't find anything to burn them with."

Spike smiled as the distraction he needed presented itself. Then he dug into his pocket and tossed her his lighter. She looked startled.

"Go on, in the parking lot, or somewhere. Have some fun while I see about the room bill."

"But I was kidding I. . ."

"It'll be good for you. Give you closure, or some such."

She hesitated for a moment weighing the lighter in her hand, and then dug the grey clothes she'd been living in for who knows how long out of the trash and ran outside.

Spike grabbed his bag, and headed for the front desk. There was a middle-aged woman sitting there now, not the young man who'd been there when they'd checked in. Spike took it as a good sign that the next shift change wouldn't be for a while.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, bored.

"Just needed some change for the soda machine," he said holding out a twenty.

She nodded, not really paying any attention. The moment she had the drawer of the register open Spike leaned across the counter. He vamped and sunk his fangs into her neck, covering her mouth with his hand, and lifting her feet off the floor.

Normally she would have been too old to be on his menu, but he figured with the Slayer so close he'd have to take what he could get for a while, and the woman's blood was still superior to the factory blood he'd been living on.

Once her heart had stopped beating, he moved swiftly behind the counter and stashed her body. Luckily she was a small woman, but even if she hadn't been, Spike knew that bodies fit in much smaller places than most people supposed. If only you didn't mind breaking a bone or two.

Then he grabbed the cash out of the register stashing some in his pockets and some in the bag. He shut the drawer and went outside to find the Slayer.

She was off to one side, a look of intense concentration on her face as she tried to make the lighter work. She was holding the lighter between both of her hands, trying to work the wheel with her thumb in front of it, instead of to the side.

"Give it here." He held out his hand for it.

She gave him the lighter. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a minute to enjoy the nicotine rush. He just stood there and smoked until he was sure the Slayer was nice and annoyed. Then he dropped the cigarette into the pile of clothes.

"Like this," he demonstrated for her how to use the lighter then handed it back to her.

It took her two more tries, but she got a flame going. Then she bent down and lit the edge of a pant leg. They watched for a moment to make sure the fire caught, then Spike grabbed the Slayer's arm and pulled her away.

She pulled against him. "I want to stay and watch," she protested.

He laughed, "Quite the fire bug, aren't you? Sorry, kitten. Lighting fires is illegal. Wouldn't do to be caught by the cops."

'Cause you won't let me kill them,' he added to himself. Although fun as it might be, Spike didn't want to attract that kind of attention right now. Nothing too flashy that would make it to the news, and possibly the Master's ears.

Once she stopped resisting Spike took off at a quick pace, away from the motel, murder, and arson. As soon as he started to run, the Slayer took off after him, laughing.

She quickly outpaced him. Spike hadn't been running as fast as he could, preferring not to draw too much attention. He realized that was out of the question. The Slayer was running at full tilt. It was obvious by her laughter that she was simply enjoying the freedom of running. He doubted anything he could say would slow her down, so instead he increased his speed and tried to catch her.

He couldn't, however. She was quickly outpacing him. She looked over her shoulder, yelled, "Slow poke!" then turned down a side street.

"Fuck!" he cursed under his breath, thinking she was trying to get away from him.

The more he thought about it, the more he wondered why she hadn't left before now. After all, she looked presentable again. She could have simply disappeared into the human world while he slept, but she hadn't.

He continued to run after her, following her by scent as she wove in and out of the alleyways of L.A. Just when he thought he'd never catch up to her, he found her sitting on a bench at a bus stop kicking her feet.

She was breathing heavy, but she smiled at him. "What took you so long?" she teased.

He just looked at her like she was nuts, making sure not to breathe or look tired in any way.

"You're completely daft, you know that right?"

Her smile faded. "I'm sorry, I just. . . it was fun wasn't it?"

"We really have to improve your fun standards, pet. But yeah. Suppose it was."

She beamed at him. "So what's the plan?"

"First off, we look for a nest. Then-"

"What? You think I'm following you into some condemned building to get snacked on by your buddy's?"

"Okay, right. First off, when I kill you it'll be just you and me. I killed two other Slayers without any help, and I won't need any to kill you.

"Secondly, we're not looking for other vampires to help us, don't need the help, wouldn't trust them anyway. We're looking for a nest to kill them and take over their lair, got it?"

She nodded.

"So, now all we have to do is find a nest, and hopefully quickly. Get them all at once before they've fed and are fully up and about."

The Slayer smiled, "So I get to slay?"

He grinned; her enthusiasm for a good kill was contagious. "That you do, kitten. Just got to find you something to kill first."

"Oh, that's no problem. There're five vampires over there."

Spike looked to where she was pointing. They were in a fairly run down neighborhood. The sort where the residents didn't have enough clout to do anything about the old boarded up house that sat at the end of the block. Spike had to admit that the place did look promising. If there weren't other vampires there, they might just take over the place anyway.

"How can you know?" he asked her.

She sighed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I'm the Slayer. I can sense vampires. There are six in the immediate area. You're one, and there are five over there."

He considered her answer for a minute. For the first time, it occurred to him how little he knew about slayers. It made him a little nervous to wonder what other abilities she might possess that he knew nothing about. Despite his reputation for being reckless, Spike did believe in certain axioms of battle. 'Know thy enemy' was the first among these.

"Right then, let's go," he told her.

As they got nearer to the house, Spike became sure that she was right. First of all, the two-story house wasn't really in as bad a shape as it had first appeared. The boarded up windows made it look run down, when in fact it was in rather good repair. A clever group of vampires may well have boarded up the windows to keep out both sunlight and the curious.

They approached the raised porch quietly. Below the floor of the porch was a wooden lattice work. The Slayer quickly moved there and broke off two of the thin white sticks of wood. There was no avoiding the loud cracking-noise that it made, but neither of them was going to face a group of vampires without weapons if they had any choice.

She threw him one of the make shift stakes and he hid it behind his back just as a vampire opened the front door. The Slayer was crouched below the level of the porch and the vampire only saw Spike.

"Hello, mate," Spike greeted the other undead.

Cautiously, the vampire moved down the stairs, his eyes never leaving Spike.

"What are you do-?!"

The vampire never finished his question. He was halfway down the stairs when the Slayer sprang forward and plunged her stake into his back.

When the cloud of dust cleared, Spike found himself staring into a pair of smiling green eyes. But only for a moment. Before Spike could move or say anything, the Slayer turned and ran into the house, her stake held high.


Chapter 7:

"I know they usually have wooden handles, but are vampires really that allergic to brooms?" the Slayer asked.

Spike had to agree. The nest in the abandoned house was an incredible mess. The quintet they had dusted must have been the laziest vampires in existence. The floors were littered with junk that no one had ever picked up.

Still, it had running water and even electricity. Spike had even found a couple beers in the fridge. Also, since the vampires had never bothered to clean out the stuff belonging to the original human inhabitants, there was a small amount of canned food the Slayer could eat.

When they had first discovered the food, the Slayer had immediately started opening cans to find what she could, and would, eat. Evidently, she hadn't found the chips and ice cream he'd bought her very filling.

She was convinced that there were no other vampires about, so she had gone about making her supper while he'd done the last of the exploring.

Upstairs there were two bedrooms. Spike decided that the Slayer would be staying in the one that had pink wallpaper and unicorns. At least the vampires had drawn fangs in blood on the unicorns. Still, he couldn't believe that they'd been so lazy, they hadn't eventually painted over the pink.

The house had one final amenity. In the basement someone had installed some heavy chains, and the smell told Spike that the vampires had often kept victims there.

The place didn't have sewer access, but for once Spike was glad of that. It meant they didn't have to worry about the Master finding them and sending minions to attack them during the day.

He returned to find her eating what looked like beans in the dining room. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the door frame separating the kitchen and the dining room.

There was silence for a bit as she ate and he smoked. He was relieved that she no longer demanded noise at all times.

"What's your name?" he asked suddenly. For the first time it occurred to him, not just that she had a name, but that he didn't know it.

"Buffy," she mumbled with a mouthful of beans.

"What was that?"

She swallowed. "Buffy."

"No, really."

"That's my name."

"Buffy. . . the vampire. . . slayer?" He managed to choke out over his laughter. He dropped his cigarette to the floor and stomped it out, afraid that he might set himself on fire as he began to double over with laughter.

"What's wrong with my name, SPIKE?!"

"Doesn't exactly strike fear into the hearts of demons."

"My mother gave me that name," she insisted angrily.

However, her anger was completely lost on Spike.

"Oh, is that so? Was your mother sadistic or just daft?"

He heard her chair crash to the floor. Before he knew what had happened, he found himself knocked through the door into the island in the kitchen, blood streaming down from his nose.

"My mother loved me!" she shouted over and over like some sort of mantra.

"Bloody hell!" he yelled, dodging out of the way of her fist just in time.

For a moment, Spike was worried. After all he'd watched her stake four vampires earlier that night without breaking a sweat. After staking the first one outside, she'd rushed indoors and staked another before he was even through the door. She'd taken out two more, while he'd only gotten one of them.

During that fight she had been a well trained warrior. Every move carefully chosen. But now she was fighting with blind rage. Her swings were wild, if powerful. She was more like a small child throwing a tantrum than a skilled fighter. The fact that she was still yelling about her mother also reinforced the notion that she wasn't currently playing with a full deck.

He was easily able to dodge or block her blows. Taking a moment to consider the situation, Spike grabbed a frying pan that was hanging from a hook above the island and slammed it against her face with all his strength.

It was enough to stun her for a second, long enough for him to curl his fingers around her throat, lift her off her feet, slam her against the wall, and silence her ranting. Blood began to trickle down the side of her face, where he had cut her with the frying pan.

Her fingers clawed at his hand, as he squeezed her throat. Her nails drew blood. She tried to kick him, but she couldn't get the leverage to put any strength behind her kicks.

Her struggles became weaker but there was no fear. He could neither smell it on her, nor see it in her eyes. She fought because it was what she was trained to do, because it wasn't in her nature not to, but there was also acceptance in her eyes and a look of peace.

Her struggles became weaker and her heartbeat, which had been frantic, began to slow down. He measured the thumping of her heart and released her just before she passed into unconsciousness.

She fell to the ground coughing violently as her body sought to draw in the air that it had been denied. He didn't give her time to recover however. Instead, he grabbed her by the wrist and began to drag her roughly toward the basement door.

As he stopped to kick the door in she managed to scramble to her feet, but she was still in no shape to offer more than a token struggle as he pulled her down into the darkness.

She managed to keep her feet as he forced her down the stairs, though she bumped him more than once. Then he spun her around, so her back was against the wall. She hadn't been down here yet, and since he hadn't turned on the lights she could see nothing, all the while his golden eyes allowing him to see just fine.

Before she knew what was going on, he snapped one of the manacles around her wrist. When she felt the cool metal encircle her wrist and heard the clasp, she began to struggle against the bonds.

Even so, he could see and she couldn't. It was no trouble to maneuver the other shackle around her free wrist. He backed away from her, intending to leave her there to cool down.

As soon as he moved away she screamed, "No! Don't leave me."

She was sobbing and her voice sounded scratchy and ragged. The air was suddenly perfumed with the aroma of her terror. The scent mingled with that of her blood and called to him. He turned back to her and stroked the side of her face. When he touched her, she calmed a little, although her heart was still pounding in her chest.

"Please?" she begged. "Don't leave me here. I'll be good. I'll be good. I'll be good," she repeated over and over.

"Shhh," he whispered in her ear and she quieted immediately.

Then, he tilted his head to lick the blood from her face. Her sweet blood was flavored with fear. He moaned as he tasted it, sandwiching her body between the wall and his. He was hard with the combined elixirs of blood and terror and he pressed his erection into her stomach.

To his surprise she didn't pull away from his tongue, his body, or his cock. Instead, she seemed to lean into him and relax a little. He realized then it was the loneliness she feared. She couldn't see him, and unless he spoke, she couldn't hear him. But if she could feel him, she wasn't alone, and she didn't have to be scared.

"I could do anything I want to you. Kill you, torture you, fuck you. Does that scare you, kitten?" he asked in a seductive voice.

"No," her voice was still harsh from the tears and being choked.

He licked away the salty tears that had run down her face when she thought he was going to leave.

"But if I leave you. . ."

"Noooo," she moaned.

"Hush," he ordered, and once again, she obeyed immediately. "You're lucky, you know? That it's me, not my grand-sire. He would have left you alone. Except he wouldn't have really left. He'd stand, just out of reach, where you couldn't see or hear him. But so close that he could feel your breathing. You know what he'd do then?"

She shook her head.

"He'd jerk off to your fear. Get off on your going mad."

He hadn't really been planning the words, they'd just come. But they brought an odd thought to his mind. For the first time, he wondered what Drusilla had been like before Angelus had made her mad. He loved her madness, had never questioned it. But now, he wondered if his Dark Princess had been like this frightened girl at one time.

He wasn't Angelus however, and he had no interest in seeing how far he could push the Slayer's sanity before it snapped.

"Will you behave if I let you go?" he asked.

"Yes. I'll do anything," she promised desperately.

He chuckled and his hand reached up to stroke her nipple through the fabric of her clothing. "I may just take you up on that."

He was delighted with the feel of her breast in his hand. It was strange to think that any part of the Slayer could be so soft and yielding.

To his surprise she didn't pull away, or make a sound of disgust. But her nipple hardened beneath his thumb.

"Does this bother you?" he asked.

"It's. . . strange," she said with no hint of shame or embarrassment.

Confused by her answer, he pulled back from her and undid the manacles. Then he put his arm around her waist and guided her up the stairs.

Chapter 8:

As they emerged from the darkness of the basement, he noticed the color in her face. He had cleaned the blood off, but the left side of her face, where he had hit her with the frying pan, had begun to swell and she had a bit of a black eye.

The skin around her throat was an angry red. A bruise was forming; and around one side of her neck, he could see the outlines of his fingers on her skin.

"Your throat hurt?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Right. Let's go then." He headed out of the house.

Confused, she followed.

The night air was cool and brisk. Spike had to admit that it was nice to be outside, away from the confines of the Master's factory, motel rooms, or the strange house they had found.

Spike sniffed at the air, and found the scent he was looking for. He led her away from their new lair. They passed a small corner grocery, but it was already closed so Spike led her past that to a Doublemeat Palace. The place made his skin crawl, but it was the only thing open.

It wasn't very busy. Only a couple of tables had people sitting at them, and there wasn't a line. No one paid them much mind.

Hoping that the fluorescent lights didn't make him look too dead, Spike strode up to the counter.

"Yeah, a cone of chocolate ice cream," he ordered.

The Slayer perked up a bit at that. She'd been following him like a kicked dog.

"Uh, sir. We don't have ice cream." Spike was about to point to the picture, above the guy, of an ice cream cone, when the scrawny guy behind the counter continued. "We have frozen yogurt."

He didn't notice Buffy's face fall at that.

"Fine. Whatever." Spike actually wanted to slug the guy, but he had no idea which of the strange devices behind him contained the frozen yogurt, so he resisted the temptation.

They got the yogurt and sat down in a booth near the door.

"Didn't mean to say something bad about your mother," was all Spike gave her by way of an explanation.

She nodded and licked her yogurt. She was looking down at the cone and wouldn't meet his eyes. He leaned back in his seat and lit a cigarette.

"That make your throat feel better?" he asked.

Again she nodded, still not looking at him.

"Is something wrong, pet? Your ice cream not good?"

"It's not ice cream. It's yogurt."

"Don't you start," he said exasperated. "Does that really matter?"

She bit her lip, considering her answer. "Yogurt is good for you."

He laughed. "It's not re-"

"Excuse me sir," interrupted a very rude voice. Spike looked up to see a rather chubby Doublemeat employee standing over him. "You can't smoke in here."

"Do I look like I take orders from a guy with a cow on his hat?" Spike asked, he turned his attention back to the Slayer to make it clear that, as far as he was concerned, the discussion was over.

"Look, pe-"

"It's illegal. I'll call the police if you don't leave," the employee insisted.

Spike still didn't look at him. Instead he asked the Slayer, "If I killed cow boy here, would you try and stop me?"

She looked up at him startled, meeting his eyes for the first time since the fight.

"You can't threaten me," the employee squeaked and tried to move away but Spike grabbed his arm and held him in place all the while keeping eye contact with the Slayer.

"Yes." Her voice was still a little raspy, but it was also sure and deadly.

He smiled, seeing the life come back into her. "Why?"

"Because you can't just kill innocent people. It's wrong."

The employee was becoming increasingly nervous as he continued to squirm and tug on Spike's grip. He didn't understand why he wasn't able to break free from Spike's grasp, or even cause Spike's arm to move.

He chuckled, "How do you know he's innocent?" Before she could protest, he continued. "Have you looked in the mirror, kitten? Do you have any idea what you look like at this moment? What do you think she looks like," Spike looked at his captive's nametag, which identified him as the manager. "Matt?"

"I. . . um, She looks really pretty?" Matt sputtered.

"Like your women beat up, do you Matt?" Spike teased his victim.

A couple on the other side of the joint stood up and hurried out the door. Everyone else was making a great show of not watching what was going on.

"No!" Matt protested. "That is. . ."

"Shut up, Matt." Spike managed to make the man's name an insult. "Take a look, kitten."

He gestured to the window, where her reflection could be seen. As her fingers went up to trace the outlines of her black eye, Spike took another drag on his cigarette, and blew the smoke directly into Matt's face. Matt was looking a little pale as he looked into the window seeing Buffy and himself but no Spike.

"Now, I ask you," Spike turned back to Buffy. "If a bloke comes in here, looking the way I do, with a girl, looking the way you do, a person might leap to the conclusion that he had done that to her. That maybe this fellow was beating his girlfriend or wife.

"Now we both know what happened, but that's not the point. The point is that Matt here has threatened to call the police on me, not because I'm an abusive bastard. Not because I've beaten, killed, and raped who knows how many women, but because I'm smoking. So I ask you again, is Matt worth saving? Is he worth risking your life for?"

"You don't understand. . ." she searched for the words to explain to him why he was wrong.

Spike let go of Matt. "If you call the cops now, I'll use you as a human shield, and get you shot. If you call them once we leave, I'll come back and snap your neck," he told him calmly, but leaving no room for argument.

The manager stumbled backwards, nodding. Spike hoped fear would keep the fellow from calling the cops. He knew his appearance was distinctive enough, even if the man only remembered his hair and coat, and that might help the Master to track them down.

"How long have you been the Slayer?" he asked her.

"Since I was fifteen, almost three years now."

"So for three years you've risked your life, night after night. Not to mention all the time you spent in the Master's prison. And you did it for Matt the Manager. Not for some innocent sweet little thing. Is it worth it? Are these people, who don't give a shit about anyone but themselves, really worth giving up your life for?"

"You're evil. You have no soul. You don't get it."

He laughed. It wasn't like he was really trying to convince her. Just sow some doubt, make her wonder if maybe she should be a little more selfish.

"Well, you're right on all three points, although I'd work on your rhetoric. You want more ice. . . yogurt?"

"No." They got up to leave. "Were you really going to kill him?"

Spike was glad to get back outside, away from the smell of the Doublemeat Palace.

"Don't know. Wouldn't have bit him. Couldn't get through all that fat to a vein."

"Why didn't you kill me?" she asked. There was no hint of anger in her voice. Just curiosity.

"Wasn't ready to."

"No, the real reason. I want to know."

He studied her for a moment, wondering if she could deal with the real answer.

"Because you didn't care if you lived or died."

"I care," she whispered, but she thought about it as they walked back to their temporary home.

On the way back, Spike pointed out the market to her, and gave her twenty dollars so she could buy herself some food when they opened the next day.

When they got back, the Slayer was still deep in thought, so Spike turned on the television. He was disappointed to find out that the vampires had been too lazy to steal cable, so all they had were the broadcast channels.

She sat next to him on the couch, but she didn't say anything. He doubted she was really watching the telly either. She seemed lost in thought and he wondered whether she was thinking about whether being the slayer was worth it, or about if she really did want to live.

Eventually, she fell asleep. He lifted her up off the couch and carried her up the stairs to the room with the vampire-unicorns.

He laid her on the bed and unlaced her boots, slipping them off her feet. Her feet were a little red, and he could see blisters beginning to form. They would have to get her some socks.

Then he sat down next to her on the edge of the bed, and undid the knot that held her shirt closed. Underneath was the red lace bra he'd bought her, which did nothing to hide her breasts from his hungry eyes.

He licked his lips as the cool air caused her nipples to harden beneath the red spider-web flowers. He reached out his left hand, and carefully cupped her breast. She sighed and shifted in her sleep, pushing her breast more firmly into his hand.

He had to fight the temptation to fondle her breast, to circle her nipple with his thumb, or to suck it into his mouth.

Instead he unzipped the fly of his jeans, and began to stroke his cock. He held himself still so his movements wouldn't wake her. Only his right hand moved as it rubbed his aching erection.

His eyes were glued to her sleeping form. Once again, he had her completely at his mercy. He could do anything he wanted to her. He thought about quickly unzipping her jeans, and thrusting himself into her. He could do it before she was completely awake, and she would be helpless then. Strong as she was, he would have her pinned down, and he could plunge in and out of her. Her struggles would only make it better for him, as would her crying. Then, he would sink his fangs into her neck and kill her.

Or maybe he wouldn't kill her. Maybe he'd just take enough to weaken her. He would spend the entire night fucking her anyway it suited him. Maybe she'd beg him to kill her, but he wouldn't. He would keep her for as long as she pleased him.

He came with a shudder, biting his lip to keep from crying out. He took his hand from her breast and zipped himself back up. Then he pulled the blanket over her, kissed her on the forehead, and left.


Chapter 9:

Spike pulled the pillow over his head. Vampire hearing could sometimes be a real curse. Sometime in the late afternoon the Slayer had started thumping and bumping around the house. She'd been doing whatever it was she was up to for quite some time too.

Finally, Spike couldn't take it anymore. He threw on his jeans and stormed downstairs.

"What the bloody hell-" he stopped his rant half way down the stairs.

He looked around the living room. It was clean. All the junk had been picked up off the floor, and there was no sign of dust. A smudged Slayer came out of the kitchen, sponge in hand. There was no sign of the bruises she'd had the night before. She'd found some old clothes and was wearing some gray sweats and a t-shirt that was now covered with dirt and grease.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"You cleaned?" Spike was confused.

Sure he'd agreed the place was a mess, but he'd never thought of cleaning it. Minions cleaned. Evidently, Slayers did as well.

"Am cleaning," she corrected, and went back into the kitchen.

He figured as long as she was cleaning, he wasn't going to get any sleep. On the other hand, having the place cleaned might be worth it. He decided he was awake enough anyway that he couldn't get back to sleep, and it was only a little while till the sun would be up. So he went and took a shower.

Afterwards, he turned on the television and ignored the fact that the Slayer was still cleaning. He'd never cleaned in his life and he wasn't going to start now. Although, he was surprised that the Slayer never even asked him to help.

It started to bug him. Everything he knew about human nature told him that a teenage girl should not be cleaning a house of her own will. At least not without insisting that he help. Unable to take it anymore he stormed into the kitchen to confront her.

The Slayer was lying half-in half-out of the oven, cleaning it. The kitchen was actually sparkling.

"Careful there, Gretel," he commented.

"Huh?" she pulled her head out of the oven. "My name is Buffy, remember?"

"I know that. I meant, in case a witch pushes you in."

She gave him a blank look. "Why would a witch push me in an oven?"

"To eat you."

She looked at him as if was crazy.

"You know. . . Hansel and Gretel?" his voice taking on a slightly exasperated tone.

Still no sign that she knew what he was talking about. "Trail of bread-crumbs, house made of gingerbread. IT'S A BLOODY CHILDREN'S STORY," he ended up yelling.

"Sounds dumb. Witches don't eat people."

Spike jumped up and sat on the island.

"Didn't your mo- anyone ever read stories to you when you were a kid?" He didn't want to specifically bring up her mother since that had proven to be a sensitive subject.

"Why would Ms. Post read stories to me? I can read, you know."

"Ms. Post?" he asked.

"My Watcher."

"I meant your parents."

"Oh, I don't remember," she said a little sadly.

"Ah, didn't know they died. Still your Wa-"

"They're not dead!" she yelled.

Spike got ready to hop off the island, thinking that maybe he should have armed himself with another frying pan.

"Okay, sorry."

"When I was four years old, my parents gave me to my Watcher," she started to explain. She was using the voice that sounded like she was quoting someone. Ms. Post's voice, Spike now assumed. "They knew how important my duty as a Slayer was to the world. They understood that the sooner I began my training the better a Slayer I would be, and that I couldn't afford any distractions from my sacred duty. They were very proud of me."

Something about the Slayer's well-rehearsed explanation didn't sound right to Spike. But, he saw no point in arguing with her about it.

"So your whole life, all you've done is train to be the Slayer?"

She nodded.

"And that's why you've never eaten ice cream, or watched TV?"

She nodded again.

"Well, now I know why your sense of fun is so fucked up. You probably enjoy scrubbing the kitchen, don't you?"

"I don't enjoy it. But Ms. Post always says housekeeping is good exercise."

"I just bet she does. Right, then. We're going out, so get yourself cleaned up and dressed," he told her.

"But I'm not done cleaning the stove," she insisted. "A job left unfinished is a job that might as well not have been started."

"Look, Ms. Post, not here." He hauled her to her feet. "I am. And I say go clean yourself up." He slapped her lightly on the ass to get her moving.

She glared at him, but put down her sponge and headed in the direction of the bathroom.

When she came back downstairs she'd showered, but she was wearing an ugly olive drab polo shirt that was too big for her, along with the jeans he'd bought her.

"Thought I told you to get dressed?" he asked annoyed at the delay.

"I am dressed," she replied, confused.

"In that? I'm not being seen with you in that. What happened to the top I bought you?"

"It's red."

"So?"

She sighed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Red is bright. Makes you more visible. Plus, bright colors attract vampires."

"And you're what, the urban commando? Wouldn't attracting vampires make things easier for you anyway?"

He was a little offended at the idea that vampires blindly chased down people in bright colors, as if they were bulls in a ring.

"I don't wear red. I only wear subdued colors, so as not to draw attention to myself. The Slayer should pass through the world unnoticed, letting no one know of her existence," she said in the Ms. Post voice.

Spike was completely stumped.

"Where'd you get that rag anyway?" he finally asked.

"In your room. There's a bunch of old clothes in the closet and drawers."

"Right. Fine. We'll find something we both agree on then."

That turned out to be harder than he'd thought. The old clothes she'd mentioned had obviously belonged to the humans who'd once owned the house. The husband had boring taste that spoke of a life of conformity. If the guy had owned at least a dark button down shirt, it would have been a start, but Spike wasn't that lucky.

The closet didn't yield any better results. Holding up one of the dresses quickly told Spike that, although the lady of the house had been the same height as the Slayer, she'd been twice as big. Not to mention he didn't think much of her taste either.

Something at the back of the closet caught his eye. He pulled out a clear plastic garment bag that contained a wedding dress. It had a big three-layered, lace hoop skirt. The delicate bodice had been embroidered with clear shiny beads. It was made to be worn off the shoulder, and he imagined that it showed off a nice amount of cleavage.

It was the size of the bodice that caught Spike's eye. It was much smaller than the other clothes, and as Spike held it up in front of the Slayer, his suspicion was confirmed. The dress was her size.

"I am NOT wearing that," the Slayer stated firmly.

"Of course you're not. You think I'm traipsing around with you, letting everyone think we're newly weds?"

At first, he was surprised that there was no sign of longing in her eyes. No trace that, although she wouldn't wear the dress, she wished to have one like it someday. But then he remembered that she'd been raised to think of only one future–not marrying and having children, but fighting demons.

It made her a sort of alien creature. She really wasn't a girl, at least not any sort he was familiar with. He couldn't really imagine a girl who'd never once dreamed of her wedding day or imagined her prince charming.

"Point is," he continued, throwing the dress across the bed. "Once upon a time, the Missus was your size. She may have kept some other old stuff."

He grunted in triumph when he found a cardboard box at the bottom of the closet. He opened the box and found that it did contain old clothes that would fit the Slayer. Unfortunately, it was also a collection of the worst of the 70s. Paisley was far worse than what she was wearing now.

Determined, he continued to dig through it until he finally found something. Now if he could only find a way to get her to wear it. . . He turned to look up at her and found her sitting on the bed, staring a little sadly at the dress.


"Something wrong?" he asked her.

"I'd forgotten," she said quietly.

"Forgotten what?"

"It was at a wedding." She looked at him and seeing that he wasn't following her, she explained, "Ms. Post. She came and got me at a wedding."

They were both silent for several minutes. The Slayer lost in long forgotten memories and Spike filing away the information, trying to fit it together with the other things he already knew about the Slayer.

The silence began to get uncomfortable for Spike. He was a little too close to a touchy-feely moment with the Slayer for his liking.

"Right, well," he interrupted the quiet. "I found this for you to wear. I take it you do wear black."

"Black's fine," she agreed. "It has no sleeves," she said as she examined the article of clothing he handed her.

He fought to keep from smiling. It had been a long shot, but she obviously didn't recognize it for what it was. "Do you really need sleeves?" he asked.

"I guess not. Turn around," she told him.

Spike was more than willing to do so, not believing his luck. The top he had handed her wasn't a top at all; it was a black bustier. It wasn't decorated, just solid black fabric between the delicate boning. And there was no lace around the cups so it didn't scream "underwear," at least not if you didn't know what it was; and, he guessed that the Slayer's no-nonsense training had not included lingerie.

"How are you supposed to hook these things?" he heard the Slayer complain.

"Want some help, pet? I promise not to look."

"Alright."

Her back was to him, as he turned around, and she was holding the two sides of the bustier together since she'd only managed to hook the top most clasp.

She was beautiful. Her braid was over her shoulder, exposing the pale skin of her back and the curve of her shoulder blades. But it was her bare neck that had him most entranced. He wanted to lick and bite his way down that neck to her naked shoulders.

He stepped in toward her and began to fasten the hooks. He didn't peer over her shoulder to see if her breasts were visible while the bustier was loose, but not because he was a gentleman. Rather he was enjoying being teased by her. When he was ready he would take her, force her. Until then he could be patient.

When she turned around he decided it was well worth the wait. Her thick roped braid drew his eyes down to where her creamy white breasts peaked out from the black fabric, begging him to bury his face in her cleavage. Her bare shoulders made her look vulnerable, while the well-defined muscles on her arms hinted at her true strength.

She placed her hands on her waist and adjusted it. "It fits funny."

"It's perfect," he said, fighting to keep the lust out of his voice.

That's when he noticed that despite the plain clothes she'd picked out for herself earlier, she had once again put on eyeliner.

"If you're not a girl, how come you wear make up?" he asked.

"If you're a guy, how come you have make up?" she retorted.

He shrugged, "A little eyeliner brings out my eyes, or so I'm told. Can't put it on myself, no reflection. Dru usually does it for me."

He felt a momentary pang of guilt when he remembered that he should be thinking of a way to get Dru from the Master, and not playing dress up with the Slayer.

"Who's Dru?"

"My Sire. And don't try to change the subject." He wasn't comfortable talking about Dru with her. It had occurred to him that if worse came to worse he could trade the Slayer for Drusilla. "So what's with the make up?" He stroked a finger down the side of her ear, where he'd noticed a small line of scars. "Used to have your ears pierced too."

She looked down at her hands for a minute. Then she went and got the eyeliner. "Do you want me to put it on you?" she asked.

"Sure."

They sat on the bed facing each other and she leaned forward to begin tracing his eyes.

"We used to go to this rare bookstore, Ms. Post and I. The shop owner could find lots of rare volumes for her. He had a son, named Jason. Look up," she told him so she could line the tops of his eyes. "He was a couple years older than me, and really nice. We used to talk.

"I'd been called just a couple months earlier. There was this powerful vampire couple. I killed the male, but the female, Isabella was her name, got away." She finished with the eyeliner, and stared at the brush, nervously playing with it.

"One night, Jason knocked on my door. I almost. . . I almost invited him in. Even before I was the Slayer I knew better. She'd turned him, to get to me. He said all sorts of mean things. Told me I was a kid that my scar made him sick. How beautiful Isabella was and that she was a real woman and I was just a kid. All sorts of stuff like that.

"He was just a fledgling though. So I beat him up, until he told me where Isabella lived. I staked him, then I found her and killed her too."

She looked up at him, tears glittering in her eyes. "He was right, you know. She really was pretty, and I'm. . ." she looked down again at her hands. "She wore makeup like this, and she had all these earrings on one ear. After I staked her, I found her make up and her earrings. I started wearing them. Ms. Post didn't like it at first; she'd pull out the earrings and scrub my face. But after I kept re-piercing them every night she gave up. She told me if a demon ever ripped my ears off, not to come crying to her."

He put his hand under her chin, and lifted her face. Then he ran his thumb along the scar that crossed her lips.

"Vampires are evil. They lie, kitten. You're beautiful."

She blushed a little and smiled. "So does that mean you're lying?"

Without thinking, he leaned forward to kiss her. Before his lips could brush hers, she pulled back, a look of alarm on her face.

To disguise, from himself and her, the disturbing fact that he'd almost kissed the Slayer he quickly spoke, "So, um. You want to get your ears pierced again? I bet we can find a tattoo parlor that's still open. Get you some new earrings."

"Yeah, okay," was all she said.

She looked just as glad as he was to get off the bed and out of the room.

Chapter 10:

Spike had his arms crossed and had to dig his fingers into his arms to keep from growling at the guy who was piercing the Slayer's ears.

The Kid, as Spike thought of him, was a rather nice looking man with floppy brown hair, a goatee, several tattoos on his arms, and wore a Metallica t-shirt and ripped jeans. He was also practically drooling down the Slayer's front.

Spike couldn't believe the nerve of The Kid who seemed not to care that he was hitting on the girl in front of her older brother, as Spike had claimed he was. In fact, The Kid had even made a big deal about how he shouldn't be piercing her ears without proof that she was eighteen, but he'd make an exception since she had her brother with her to vouch for her.

Spike knew better, he knew The Kid was just hoping to get her away from him so that he could take advantage of her. The Kid even had the nerve to suggest that Buffy should think of getting something other than her ears pierced. Spike quickly put an end to that, conveniently forgetting that he'd made a similar suggestion before they'd arrived.

"There, that wasn't so bad, now was it?" The Kid said.

Spike wanted to hit him. Hadn't he noticed that his Slayer had never once flinched when the gun shot the metal through her ears? Three piercing in her right ear, and one in the left, and never once did she so much as blink. But The Kid couldn't see that she wasn't some girl, she was a warrior. Only Spike knew that.

The Kid had finished giving her instructions on how to care for her ears, and they moved to the counter to ring up the purchases. As The Kid continued to try and flirt with her, Spike pulled out his pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and purposely set the pack down on the counter.

He put the cigarette in his mouth when The Kid noticed him. "I'm sorry, man. There's no smoking."

The Slayer tensed, but Spike only smiled, put the cigarette behind his ear and shrugged. She relaxed, then her eyes noticed a calendar sitting on the counter.

"Is it really February?" she asked.

"Yeah. February 19th," The Kid replied.

"That mean something, kitten?" Spike asked.

"My birthday was a month ago," she told him. "I guess I really am eighteen."

"Well, Happy Birthday, kitten." Spike smiled sadly at her, knowing where it was she must have spent her last birthday.

"Isn't she your sister, man?" The Kid asked.

Spike ignored him. "How about a tattoo for your birthday?" he suggested.

She looked at him like he was crazy. "Please. Have you seen these things?" She turned to gesture at the walls which were covered in potential tattoos for people to chose from. "I mean they're all naked women, and snakes, and skulls. Or naked women sitting on a skull holding a snake."

"There's lots of roses and hearts," he pointed out.

"They're red," she stated firmly.

He sighed. She really was a stubborn thing.

The Kid walked over to her with a book, "We have a bunch of goth tattoos," he suggested.

But she wasn't paying attention to him, something had caught her eye.

"What is it, pet?" Spike asked. "See something you like?"

"It's not. . ." she moved closer to the wall. "It's just, I had a dress like that, when I was a little girl."

Spike looked where she was pointing. It was a small tattoo. A little blond fairy dressed in a pink ballerina's outfit. The fairy had a little wand with a star at the end, and delicate wings.

"My dad. He used to call me his fairy princess."

"Do you want it?" Spike asked her.

"No. . ." she said without any conviction.

Spike moved behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders as he whispered in her ear, "I bet you dad would be glad to know you remember. Bet he'd like for you to have something to remind you of him."

"I don't know. . ."

"A lot of women," The Kid broke in, "get that sort of tattoo right above their breast. It w-"

"NO!" Spike said firmly. There was no way he was letting anyone anywhere near her breasts. "It would look nice on your shoulder. You could cover it up then, if you ever want to."

"You think?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Okay," she agreed nervously.

The Kid quickly led her to a booth and prepared the needles. He tried to keep Spike out, but Buffy said that it was alright if he was there.

It wasn't that Spike was that interested in the procedure, it was that he didn't trust The Kid. Spike was sure that he was up to no good, and intended to molest her the moment he had her alone. So he stood guard over the Slayer as she got her tattoo.

When it was done The Kid put a bandage over it, and gave her instructions on how to take care of it. Spike paid and hurried her out of the parlor.

"So what do you want to do for your birthday, kitten?" he asked her once they left.

"It's not really my birthday."

"I know, but I'm guessing you didn't get cake. Do you want cake? What kind do you like?"

"I've never had cake."

"Right, I forgot. You know, I'm starting to wonder if there was any point in my rescuing you? We're going to find you cake. Maybe go out to a club or something."

Spike patted down his pockets, pretending to look for the cigarettes he had left in the tattoo parlor.

"Damn," he said. "Left my smokes back at the shop. Wait here, I'll be right back."

"It's okay, I can come with you," Buffy told him.

"Nah, it'll just take a minute, be right back. Think about what sort of cake you want."

With that he headed back down the street toward the tattoo parlor. As soon as he turned the corner and was out of the Slayer's sight he took off at full speed. He didn't want this to take too long.

He reentered the shop, a little bell ringing above the door as he did so.

"Can I help. .? Oh it's you again. Something wrong?" The Kid asked.

"Forgot my smokes." He picked up the package and lit a cigarette.

"Hey, I told you man, no smoking in here."

"Sorry about that," Spike said.

He took the cigarette out of his mouth, walked over to the The Kid, and put the cigarette out in his eye. The Kid fell to the ground screaming in pain.

"That's for looking at my girl," Spike said as he hauled him up by the back of his shirt and threw him across the counter. Then his fangs tore painfully into The Kids throat, ripping it open. Blood poured from the wound down his throat.

It was a quicker death than Spike would have liked to have given him, but he didn't have time for niceties like torture.

He dragged the body into the back, and washed the blood from his face. Then he turned out the lights in the shop, turned the sign around from open to closed, and left.

He ran back till he was almost to the street where he'd left the Slayer, then he pulled out the cigarette that had been behind his ear the whole time, lit it, and strolled casually down the street.

The Slayer was nowhere to be seen, but a few feet from where he'd left her, a cop car was parked.

Chapter 11:

The moment Spike saw the cop car, he broke into a dead run. He wanted to vamp out so that he could see into the shadowed windows of the car. It didn't look like anyone was inside, but he couldn't be sure. However, his demonic features might make a bad situation worse.

Then he heard a man's voice.

"Look, honey. I'm supposed to bring you in, but you seem like a nice enough girl, so if you just do a little something for me, I'll forget about the whole thing."

Spike found himself fighting to contain the demon that roared as it heard the man's words which were coated with insincerity and innuendo. Normally he would have simply let his demon free, but cops could be tricky to deal with even if you didn't have to worry about a Slayer interfering or getting shot.

"I don't understand," he heard the Slayer say just as he turned the corner, into the alley the voices were coming from.

Nothing could stop the growl from leaving Spike's throat. The Slayer had her palms on one of the alley walls, and her legs were spread so that she could be easily searched. But the cop wasn't frisking her. He was right up against her, and the sickening scent of his lust left no doubt in Spike's mind that the cop was pressing an erection into the Slayer's ass. The cops wasn't so much frisking her as groping her.

Spike must have lost the battle with the demon, because when the police officer turned to look towards the direction the growl came from, his face went pale, and he pulled away from the Slayer to reach for his gun as he yelled, "Shit!"

"No, wait!" the Slayer cried as she grabbed the officer's arm.

Spike was already moving down the alley toward them. There was a loud boom as the gun fired, but thanks to the Slayer's interference the bullet missed Spike.

Spike was on the cop then. Spike slammed him into the wall and was just about to start beating his face in, when the Slayer grabbed his arm.

"No! He's a cop," the Slayer told him.

"He's a bad cop," Spike corrected her.

If he hadn't suspected that she didn't really know what was going on, he would have lost all patience with her. So instead they faced off, Spike still holding the cop against the wall, and the Slayer restraining his other arm.

"I know, but you can't beat him because he wasn't going to file a report."

Spike's jaw dropped. He wasn't entirely surprised, but to actually hear her defend the guy was another thing.

"What about for the way he was touching you? And, oh yeah, the whole attempted rape thing."

"Hey," came the police officers unsteady voice. "No one was raping anyone."

Despite his anger, Spike chuckled at that. One of the great advantages of being evil was that you were not afraid to call the ugly things in the world by their correct names.

"He's right," the Slayer defended the cop. "I didn't like the way he was touching me, but I don't think it was rape."

Spike sighed, and relaxed the arm the Slayer was holding back.

"Look, kitten. It wasn't yet, but that's where it was going. What do you think he wanted you to do?"

"I don't know." Her earlier confusion returned.

"Why don't you tell her what you wanted?" he dared the cop.

"Look, Mr. Vampire." That drew a snort from the Slayer. "I didn't know she was your. . . whatever. How about we just forget the whole thing?"

The fear that rippled off him in waves told Spike what motivated the officer's sudden politeness.

"Tell her what you wanted," Spike told him firmly. "And don't lie, I'll know."

"A-a-a blow job," he sputtered.

The blank look on the Slayer's face told him that she wasn't sure what that meant.

"Oral sex?" Spike explained. Still there was no sign of understanding on the Slayer's face. "Please tell me you know what sex is cause I'm NOT drawing diagrams."

Although the idea of a little show-and-tell back at the house was appealing to Spike.

"Yeah, I know about sex," she said with just a touch of uncertainty.

It was enough for now, although he had a feeling that her education was rather limited.

"Don't you see, pet. This. . ." he ripped the badge off the policeman's uniform. "Gives him power. He thought you were some little lost lamb, who'd do anythi-"

"I get it," she interrupted him loudly and suddenly. "I get it," she repeated softly. "You can't kill him though."

"Why not? He's a bad guy. You stop the bad guys right?"

"He's human, I can't let you kill him," she insisted with a pained voice.

But he could see the doubt in her eyes.

"So we just what, let him go? Let him go on hurting other girls? Taking advantage of the weak?"

"I-I, don't know. . ." she whispered. Tears began to stream down her face and she hugged herself. "Please, I don't know. I'm not a good slayer."

Spike winced at her words. Until that moment, they had just been a vampire and some human he was playing with. If they let the cop live, he might repeat the word slayer. The wrong people might hear it.

"It's not you, kitten. It's the world, not as simple as they told you it was. Get his cuffs."

"Huh?"

"Hand cuffs. We won't kill him okay, just teach him a bit of a lesson."

It was an imperfect solution, but there was no good way out of it. Killing a cop, however personally satisfying it may be, tended to gather attention. He would just have to hope that the cop's instincts to cover his own ass would keep his mouth shut. Besides, he had a feeling he'd pushed the Slayer as far as she could be pushed for one night.

They handcuffed the policeman to a gutter pipe in the alley. With any luck it would be a while before anyone found him. As they started back towards the street, Spike caught a glimpse of the cop car, and suddenly had an idea. He went back to relieve the cop of his keys.

"Get in," he told the Slayer as he unlocked the car.

"What?" But he was already inside with the door shut, so she was forced to get in to continue the conversation with him. "Spike. You can't steal a police car!"

"Not stealing it. Borrowing."

"I'm not falling for that. I know they're the same thing," she insisted.

By this time he was already driving down the street, looking for a grocery store.

"No. Cause once we do some shopping, we're going to put it back. A police car just sitting there attracts too much attention. We want the guy to sweat a bit, right?"

"You promise we'll return it."

"Promise. Now let's get you that cake, and some movies to watch. Okay?"

She looked uncertain but she sat back and buckled her seat belt all the same.
TBC

A/N: Sorry guys, but the next update will be a little delayed, because I'll be out of town and won't have internet access.

Chapter 12:

The Slayer was smiling again as they walked back to their lair. She'd been nervous the entire time they had the stolen police car, but as he'd promised, Spike returned it to where the cop was chained in the alley.

In the mean time, they'd found a supermarket and bought a chocolate cake. They'd also rented several movies to watch.

Picking movies had been difficult, not because they couldn't agree, but because the Slayer had no opinion whatsoever. Spike found himself in the unique position of picking movies for someone who'd never seen a movie before.

His first thought was that she'd like martial arts movie. But they usually had ridiculous or hard to follow plots, and she would be the type to ask him to explain everything. He'd gone through every genre he could think of, and found reasons to reject each one of them.

Finally he'd selected three movies. He chose Casablanca because it really was as good as everyone said, even if he thought Rick was a bloody fool. Goldfinger because he figured, you couldn't go wrong with Sean Conory as James Bond.

The final choice had been a last minute decision. He saw that they had the newest Disney movie, Mulan. Dru loved Disney movies, but Spike had learnt the hard way that he had to carefully watch them before she did, because of the ideas they would put in her head.

After seeing Cinderella she'd spent the next several weeks trying to get rats to dance and sing. That would have been fine with Spike, except eventually the rats bit her, and then she bit them back, which gave her rat breath.

That was nothing compared to what happened after she saw Alice in Wonderland. Spike hadn't been able to drink tea since.

Besides, Mulan looked like it was about a girl with a sword, which should appeal to the Slayer.

The Slayer was carrying the cake, entranced by the little red flowers and the frosting, which spelled out "Happy Birthday Buffy", while Spike carried the videos. He'd given her his duster to wear, hoping that, it would keep any other men from getting ideas about her.

When they got to the house, Spike opened the door and walked straight into what felt like a brick wall. There was nothing but empty space in front of him.

"Bloody hell!" he complained rubbing his nose.

"What's wrong?" the Slayer asked. She was suddenly alert, searching the darkness for a possible assailant.

"You've fucking nested, is what's wrong."

"Vampires nest, not Slayers," she objected.

"Yeah well, obviously you do. Thanks to your little cleaning fit, I need an invite."

Spike found the words strangely painful to say. Spike had no idea why the Slayer was still here, with him. Why she didn't just leave. But now she didn't have to leave. All she had to do was walk through that door and neither he, nor any other vampire could touch her.

"Oh? Um. . . I've never done this before. I'm not supposed to ever invite anyone in."

Spike's heart sank. Of course he was standing between her and the door. If he could surprise her, maybe he could beat her into giving him an invite. It didn't matter how or why you got one. All that was important was that the words were said.

But she continued on right away. "I invite you in," she said formally. Then she giggled, dodged past him, and ran through the door.

Spike was stunned for a moment. She had easily overcome a lifetimes training. He had no doubt that one of the first rules drilled into a slayer's mind was to never invite any one in. Doubly so if you knew for sure they were a vampire. But she'd done it, with no reason, and no convincing. He hadn't even really asked.

Recovering, he dashed inside after her. The barrier gone as mysteriously as it had appeared. Inside he could hear her still giggling. He saw that she had put down the cake, and he quickly dropped the movies. Then he began to stalk somewhat comically through the house.

"Now where did that sweat innocent little girl go?" he called playfully.

He heard a giggle come from upstairs. Slowly, and making a great deal of noise, he ascended the stairs.

"Is she in here?" he asked as he pushed open the door to her bed room. He knew she wasn't; he could hear her trying to suppress her giggles in his room.

Spike never even noticed how easily he had slipped into the game of tag with the Slayer. It was the sort of thing Dru might have done.

He continued in the same manner through the other upstairs rooms, leaving his for last. Finally he pushed open the door and entered. He made a great show of moving methodically through the room, checking under the bed and behind the curtains that covered boarded windows.

When there was no-where left to check but the closet, he said loudly. "Well, she must have got away when I wasn't looking. Guess I'll have to find another snack."

Then he walked in place, trying to make it sound like he was leaving. After a moment he crept quietly towards the closet door. Just as he was about to open it, it flew open, and the giggling Slayer dashed past him.

He tried to grab her but she broke free and was out the door. He ran after her, and they both leapt over the railing of the stairs instead of running down them.

He chased her into the kitchen, where he cornered her. The island was the only thing between them, and they both made several feints to either side. The whole time the Slayer laughed, her smile infecting her wild green eyes.

She was the one who finally ended their standoff. She tried to dash past him, and this time he caught her by the waist. He tried to swing her around so that he was hugging her from behind, but she used her momentum to send them both crashing to the floor.

They rolled around on the floor for a bit, playfully wrestling. It ended with Spike lying on his back, and the Slayer straddling him as she pinned his upper arms. A position he was more than happy with. Even through both of their jeans, he could feel the heat of her body warming him as her weight bore down on his erection.

He stretched under her and put his hands behind his head. He smiled up at her, "Looks like you win, pet."

"Of course," she teased. "I'm the Slayer."

"So what do you want?" he asked.

"Want?"

"Yeah, you won, so what sort of prize do you want?"

"It's a sacred duty. You don't get a prize for slaying," she explained patiently.

"No, I guess the only prize is getting to live another night to do it all over again," he said solemnly. "Unless you consider violence to be it's own reward," he added playfully.

She put her hands on her hips and pouted. "Violence is not a reward."

"Says the girl who just wrestled her housemate to the ground."

She stuck out her tongue at him and got up, which was not what he wanted.

"So what do you want?" He asked as he stood up. "You didn't actually slay me, so I think it's alright if you get a prize."

"Like what?" she asked.

"I don't know. It's your prize."

"What would you want if you had won?"

He put his hands on her shoulders, and leaned in close to her, as if he was going to whisper in her ear. Instead, he kissed her neck, sucking the delicate skin into his mouth and between his teeth. He didn't actually bite, just made sure that she knew that he could.

She shivered but didn't pull away until he removed his lips from her neck. Then she stumbled back away from him. Her heart was beating rapidly and her eyes were wide with a combination of excitement and fear.

Spike couldn't help but smirk with male pride at the reaction he'd caused in her.

"That wasn't real fighting," she said defensively as she struggled to get her emotions under control. "You said if you killed me it would be because we fought," she accused.

"Wasn't going to kill you," he practically purred at her as he moved in closer. That forced her to back up, until she was against the kitchen wall.

"You were going to bite me," she insisted.

"Doesn't mean I was going to kill you." He placed his hands flat against the wall on either side of her head, and leaned in close. "Do you think vampires bite only to kill?"

"Yeah," she said.

She ducked under his arms, to get more distance between them. He chose not to chase her again just yet. Instead he turned to face her and held her with his eyes.

"They didn't teach you so well, did they Slayer? The bite's not about killing, it's not about death, it's about life."

His words and her curiosity drew her back, closer to him. As she came near, he reached out and caressed her neck. She leaned into his hand as his eager fingers found her trembling pulse.

"We're not animals that you hunt, Slayer. We're demons, mystical beings, and our power is in our fangs, and in our blood. The night I killed my first slayer was the best night of my life, but not because of her blood, and it was sweet, let me tell you. But because that night my Sire let me bite her as we made love."

Spike stopped, amazed at the words that had tumbled from his lips. He had been looking for words to explain something that was pure instinct, trying to explain something that was as natural to a vampire as breathing was to a human.

But he had never meant to tell her that. It was too personal. Even if she didn't understand, it was his great humiliation. Being allowed to bite your Sire was an honor. It was usually reserved as a reward for pleasing the Sire.

Over the years Spike had seen countless vampires rewarded for small things by their Sires. That night was the only time Dru had ever let him bite her. Even when he'd killed the second slayer, she hadn't let him. Instead she'd beaten him and yelled nonsense at him about how she was going to be killed by a bird: a sparrow, or a robin or something.

Bitterness towards Drusilla flooded him. To escape the disloyal thoughts he quickly changed the subject.

"So what is it you want, pet?"

"I don't want anything," she told him.

"There must be something. Never mind if I can get it for you or not. If you had one wish, kitten, what would you wish for?"

"The Master dead," she said coldly.

Spike almost told her he would do it for her. Then shame filled him. She was the Slayer, his enemy. He wasn't her champion, he was her enemy. He was Drusilla's champion, her black knight. He killed for her, and then returned to her whether she chose to reward him or not.

The poet in him was absolutely loyal and devoted to her. The poet knew that he belonged to Drusilla. It was she who had saved him from the horror show that had been his life and brought him into the glorious night. And now he was betraying her, if he hadn't done it through his actions yet, he had done it in his heart, which was worse.

He didn't want to fuck and rape this girl, he wanted to seduce her. The demon hungered not just for her body and blood, but for her love as well. The demon wanted the one thing he had never had, except from the slayers he'd killed. He wanted respect.

He growled, as his demon came forth. "What the hell are you doing here?! Why don't you leave?!"

He grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her and took out his anger at himself, on her.

Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't have anywhere to go," she whispered.

He let go of her arms, and like a puppet who's strings had been cut, she fell to the floor. He ignored her and started to storm out of the room when her words stopped him.

"She's gone," she said softly as she began to sob.

"Who's gone?" he asked exasperated.

"Ms. Post. I called. After I bought food, I took the change to a pay phone, and I called her. But the number was disconnected."

He stood there, not knowing what he should say to her. He could have comforted her, but anything kind to her would have felt like another betrayal of his Dark Princess.

"I know what I'm supposed to do," she continued, swallowing her tears. "It shouldn't matter. I should go back, face the Master. That's my duty. I have to stop him. And I would, but. . . What if. . . What if I don't kill him, and he doesn't kill me? I can't go back. I'm scared. I can't . . . I can't go back to that cell."

"You want some cake?"

She wiped the last of her tears away. "Yeah, okay."

Chapter 13:

They had finished their cake, and were sitting on the couch watching Casablanca. Spike was sprawled over one half of the couch, one foot propped up on the coffee table, while the Slayer was sitting primly with perfect posture, feet planted flatly on the floor.

Spike wasn't paying much attention to the movie. Instead he was caught up in his own internal struggle as he tried to decide what to do with the Slayer.

He was so involved with his own thoughts that he didn't really hear her when she spoke.

"Hmm? What was that?" he asked, grabbing the remote to pause the movie.

"I said, if I let you bite me, will you let me stay?"

There was a momentary pause as he repeated the words in his head to make sure he'd heard them right. Then, without another thought he scooped up her legs and positioned her so her back was against the arm of the couch and her legs were stretched out along its length. As he did so he placed one of his legs between hers, so that he was kneeling over her.

He smiled at her, licked his lips and his mouth descended to her throat. He could hear her heartbeat increase as she held her breath. Then she exhaled sharply when instead of biting her, he began to lick and kiss her neck.

She started to relax, but then her body stiffened and she complained, "That's not biting."

He pulled back to look into her wide eyes, "Patience, pet. I do know what I'm about, and it's not ripping your throat out."

Then he leaned forward and gently brushed her lips with his own. He reached down and pulled her hips up so that his leg was nestled tightly between hers. She gasped as his leg pressed against her, causing her lips to part just enough for him to slip his tongue into her mouth.

He slowly probed her mouth, careful not to spook her. At first she froze beneath him, but then she began to respond, feeling his tongue with her own. She cupped his face with her hands, and began to experiment with pressing herself against his leg. He helped her by grabbing her hips and starting to move her back and forth against his leg.

Finally, he allowed her to breathe. He watched her as her eyes traveled down his body to where his leg was wedged between hers.

"That feels good," she said mystified, as she pressed her body even harder against his.

In the space of their kiss the air had become heavy with her arousal. His cock hardened at her scent, the taste of her lips, and the endearing little sounds she was making.

"It's still not biting," she pointed out.

Spike decided the Slayer was thinking too much, so he leaned back and pulled off his shirt. Before he'd gotten it completely off he hard the Slayer gasp, "Oh!" and she began to move faster against his leg.

He smiled as he watched her hungry green eyes devour the sight of his bare chest. He could almost feel her tracing his muscles with her eyes. Her hands started forward but then she hesitated.

"It's okay, luv," he invited her. "Touch whatever you like."

It was his turn to gasp as her hot hands met his cool flesh and she began to explore him. That was when he decided that her movements were wasted on his leg, so he tried to push her legs apart so he could nestle his cock between them, but her legs had a vise-like grip on him.

"Need you to let go, pet," he told her.

"Don't wanna," the little minx objected.

He slid his fingers through her hair, behind her braid, and then pulled just hard enough to grab her attention.

"Be a good girl now, or I'll have to punish you," he teased her.

She froze, becoming deadly serious, and Spike realized too late that she didn't have the proper context to understand his innuendo.

"You're going to let me stay aren't you, and not chained in the basement?" she asked panicked, releasing his leg.

"Shh," he said, removing his hand from her hair, and gently caressing her face. "I'm not going to make you leave or chain you up." He smiled at her, letting the tip of his tongue show between his teeth. "Unless you ask me too," he added.

"Why would I-" he silenced her by kissing her again.

He used the opportunity to slip between her legs, groaning as he pressed his denim covered cock into her heat. She moaned in delight as he began to press his erection into her, and quickly found her rhythm again as her hands danced across his bare torso.

Once he was sure that she was completely immersed in the sensations he was offering her, he broke off the kissing her. His mouth moved to her neck, which he began to lick and suck.

It was only once she was no longer expecting his bite, that he extended his fangs and pierced the delicate skin of her neck.

She screamed, dug her nails into his shoulders drawing blood, and bucked wildly beneath him. Spike moaned as her legs squeezed him and she pressed herself so hard against him that he was amazed that his cock didn't burst through their jeans and penetrate her.

He held tightly to her shoulders, trying to keep his fangs buried in her so that he wouldn't tear her throat. As he rode out the throes of her passion, he promised himself that he'd enjoy her next orgasm with his cock firmly buried in her pussy.

Her body calmed and her grip on him loosened. Then he pulled out his fangs, causing her to clutch him all over again. Although he'd sunk his fangs firmly in her, he'd been careful to miss the major veins and arteries. He wasn't feeding from her, only enjoying her.

Once his fangs were out, he began to suck the wound, delighting in the taste of the blood. She began moaning and moving against him again. Her hands held his head firmly to her neck.

Her blood was like nothing he'd ever tasted. Strong, sweet, and spiced with her passion. The thought of slowly draining her dry was so tempting. To distract the demon from thoughts of killing her, he let his hands wander down to scoop her breasts out of the cups of her bustier.

He was overwhelmed by all the sensations of her. The scent of her arousal, the feel of her breasts, the sound of her moaning, and the taste of her blood.

Her breasts where ideal, he decided. Perfect handfuls of flesh, and she made the most wonderful noises as he pinched her nipples. He wanted to suck on that tender flesh, and he decided he had to bite her there as well.

He slit his own tongue on the edge of his fangs, and began to lick her wound, mixing his blood with hers. He did it partly to help close the wound, but mostly to mark her as his. The scars that would be left on her neck would tell any other vampire that he had claimed her.

"See, kitten," he said once he was done. "Didn't I tell you biting was about so much more than killing?"

He smiled and moved his hands around her back so that he could unhook the bustier. He was so intent on exposing her breasts to his hungry eyes that he missed the look of realization cross her face.

Next thing he knew, there was a sharp pain in the back of his head as he crashed through the coffee table and hit the floor. Before he could recover from his shock, the Slayer moved up his body, so that she was pinning down his upper arms with her legs. For a moment Spike thought she was simply deciding to play a little rougher. After all the position she was in, with her legs spread wide just in front of his face, was very alluring. Not to mention it bathed him in the scent of her sex.

It was the sound of her sobbing that caused him to look up from the denim covered treat spread before him, to see the tears running down her face.

"How many?" she asked, her voice deadly serious, even as it broke from crying.

"How many what?" he asked confused.

Her fist crashed into his face.

"Fuck!" he yelled.

"How many have you killed?" she repeated.

"What? Ever?" he asked incredulous.

"No," she said impatiently. "Since you rescued me. How many people have you killed?"

"Come on, kitten," he tried to reason with her. "Why do you think I've been killing?"

"A vampire does not actually require blood to live," she began to quote. "However nothing drives more of a vampire's actions than blood lust. The younger the vampire, the stronger the bloodlust. A fledgling will almost always hunt as soon as the sun is down, and often kills several people before they are sated. The older vampire, although able to control their blood lust better, will still hunt every night. After two nights without blood, hunting becomes their first priority. Slayer's Handbook, Chapter 8. You're not hungry. You weren't feeding."

"There's not really a handbook?" was all he could think to say.

"Of course there is. That's not the point. Don't distract me. How many have you killed? It was last night, wasn't it, after I fell asleep."

"Yeah," he lied. Obviously he wasn't going to convince her he hadn't been killing, so he figured it was best to go along with her assumptions, and pepper his lies with truth. "Two."

"I don't want to, but I have to kill you," she said sadly, as she reached down and picked up a piece of the wooden coffee table to use as a stake.

Chapter 14:

"I don't want to, but I have to kill you," she said sadly, as she reached down and picked up a piece of the wooden coffee table to use as a stake.

"So don't," he said simply, trying to keep all emotion out of his voice. It wouldn't do to let the Slayer know he was scared she was about to stake him.

"I have to kill you. You're evil, and you kill people, and it's my duty." She began to cry again.

"You only have to kill me if I kill people right?" he asked. Hoping he could bargain his way out of trouble. "So, if you keep an eye on me until sunrise I can't kill anyone. No way out of this house for me once the sun is up."

"But what about tomorrow night, and the one after that?"

"Afraid you won't be able to kill me if you don't surprise me?"

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. "I could kill you anytime. I won earlier, remember?"

He shrugged. Well actually he thought about shrugging since she was kneeling on his shoulders. "Sure when we were playing. Wasn't me that ended up chained in the basement."

She got up quickly, standing over him. "Get up," she ordered.

Inwardly Spike cursed. He'd only wanted her to lay off him a bit, and he'd thought her ego would be a good way to go. Fighting wasn't the sort of physical contact he wanted. From the look in her eyes, he wasn't going to have a choice, so as he started to get up, he kicked his legs out, knocking hers out from under her.

She let out a startled yelp as she fell to the floor. She caught herself, and was back on her feet at almost the same moment Spike had gotten to his.

"Cheater," the disgruntled Slayer said as they squared off.

Spike shrugged. He almost reminded her that he was evil, but since that wasn't likely to lead to a willing and naked Slayer, he simply replied, "All's fair in love and war, pet."

"Which is this?" she asked simply.

Her question startled him. He thought he'd simply used the first cliché that came to mind. As he started to consider the possibility that he might have meant something more, and that she might feel the same thing, her fist crashed into his face.

"Bitch," he snarled as he dodged a second blow and returned her punch. 'Not right for a bird to play with a fellow's emotions like that,' he thought. He resolved to take it out on her face.

That was easier said than done. This wasn't the irrational girl he'd faced the other night, or even the playful child he wrestled with an hour ago. This was the Slayer calm, collected, and in control.

It pissed Spike off. The look in her eyes, the easy and sure way she moved told him that she was sure she would win. Spike wasn't sure she was wrong, and that was dangerous.

There was also the fact that every graceful and powerful movement she made, every blow of his she blocked, and every punch she landed, only made Spike want her more.

Just as Spike was beginning to realize if he didn't get the upper hand soon, he never would, he managed to catch her fist before it could crash into his nose again. He twisted her arm, forcing her hand painfully behind her back.

His other arm swung around her neck, to choke her. He started to pull her around so that he could slam her face first into the wall, when she looked over her shoulder at him and their eyes met. He had no idea which one of them started it, but next thing he knew, they were kissing as fiercely as they had been fighting a moment ago.

Somewhere in the middle of the desperate kissing he released her so that his hands could concentrate on the more important task of removing her jeans. She tried to turn in his arms, but he held her still by wrapping one arm around her waist as his other hand reached down into her panties.

His fingers brushed past her curls to find her hot wet folds. She moaned as his fingers began to explore her.

"Has any one ever touched you here before?" he whispered in her ear.

"No," she moaned.

He pressed his erection into her ass, and began to rub against her, causing her jeans to slowly reveal more and more of her to the open air.

"Do you ever touch yourself here?" he asked, ghosting his fingers over her clit.

She bit her lip to stifle her cries, and shook her head no.

"What about this?" he asked as he thrust a finger inside her.

Her gasp and the tensing of her body told him that it had hurt her. He wasn't surprised, as he felt how tight she was.

"God you're so fucking tight and wet," he moaned in her ear as he let her adjust to the feeling of his cool finger inside of her.

"I'm sorry."

He laughed as he began to move his finger slowly in and out of her. "Don't be sorry, kitten. It's going to feel so good when I fuck you. It's gonna hurt you though, you want me to stop?" he asked, but only because he knew what the answer would be.

"Oh God, no," she begged as she began to move her body against his hand. "I'm the Slayer," she insisted. "Can take the pain."

He wanted to laugh again, she had no idea how much he could make it hurt if he wanted to. Only moments ago he might have done it too. But now she was so willing, so eager, that he resolved not to make it hurt, much.

Her jeans finally moved passed her hips, and the hand that held her in place momentarily released her to rip her panties away. Then he grasped her breast through the fabric of the bustier he had yet to manage to remove.

"Do what I say then, pet." She nodded. "Unzip my jeans."

Her hands reached clumsily behind her, as she fumbled with the zipper. It was well worth it however, when his cock sprang free and she instinctively grabbed it.

It was his turn to moan as she began to move her hand along the length of his cock from the base to the tip, completely innocent of what she was doing to him. When she reached the head her fingers began to trace its outline.

"It's big," she said as she gently squeezed him.

He bit her shoulder, stifling his moan, and keeping him from coming in her hands. Her body trembled with excitement at the slight pain of his blunt human teeth, but to his dismay, her hands vanished.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I didn't mean to hurt you," she apologized.

He kissed her shoulder, admiring the little pink half-moons his teeth had left. He held her close, and began to run the length of his cock along the crack of her ass.

"Oh no, baby," he told her. "That felt so good."

As a reward, he thrust a second finger into her. She gave out a strangled sigh and began to move against his hand. Her moaning and her motion felt so good that Spike was thinking it was time to end their foreplay. She was so wet she was practically melting in his hands, and his cock was practically demanding to be sheathed in her hot pussy.

He pulled his fingers out of her so that he could coat his cock with her juices. He had barely begun when she spun around and hit him in the face. Having been hit by her earlier, he could tell that she wasn't using her full strength, but it stung nonetheless and pissed him off.

"Ow! What the bloody hell was that for?" he demanded.

"I did what you said, and you stopped," she complained, sticking out her lower lip.

"Oh, pouty! Look at that lip."

He pulled her close and gently bit her lower lip. She melted against him and began to kiss him. The tip of his cock slid down past her curls and between her legs. She tried to hook one of her legs over his hip, so she could better enjoy the sensation of him rubbing against her, but her feet got tangled in her jeans, and she nearly fell bringing Spike with her.

"Now, now, pet. Why don't you take those off and lie down for me?"

Reluctantly she pulled away from him and knelt down so that she could take off her boots and jeans. As she did so she got her first look at his cock. Her eyes went wide, she swallowed, and licked her lips.

He smiled, and began to finish undressing himself. By the time he was done, the Slayer was lying on the floor wearing only the bustier her arms stretched above her head.

"Spread your legs," he commanded her.

She did so, and he unconsciously reached down to stroke his cock as he saw her delicate pink folds. He was on top of her a moment later, kissing her and rubbing against her. Her hips came up to meet him, as eager for the friction as he was.

After several minutes of battling her tongue with his, he broke off kissing her to look into her eyes. He reached down to position his cock at her entrance. His other hand grasped hers, their fingers intertwining.

He held himself there, savoring the moment before he took her virginity. She had other ideas however, and to his surprise she raised her hips, forcing the head of his cock inside her. What she had begun, his body quickly finished, plunging into her faster than he had meant to, tearing through her thin barrier until his cock was completely buried in her. She squeezed his hand so hard he thought she might crush it.

It was only then that he realized what he had done. As he looked at her face he could see her biting her lip and tears starting to form in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, kitten. Didn't mean to go so fast."

Although he had meant his apology sincerely, the Slayer managed to interpret it as a challenge. She released her lip and glared defiantly into his eyes.

"Shh, none of that now," he told her. "This isn't a battle."

He reached up with his free hand to gently stroke her face.

"What is it?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "Not sure. Two violent people trying to feel good?"

That's when he started to move inside her. Slowly, gently thrusting in and out. He did it slowly not just to keep from hurting her, but also because he was so overwhelmed by the sensation of her that if he went any faster he'd come too soon. She would never be this tight again, and he intended to enjoy her as long as he could.

It didn't help his self-control that he could smell her virgin blood. He tried desperately not to think about the treat that was waiting for him when he was done. So he was sure to bump her clit with each thrust, bringing little gasps of pleasure from the Slayer each time. It wasn't long before she relaxed under him, and began to match his rhythm.

"Does it feel good, baby?" he asked as he pulled her leg around his waist. "Do you like having the big bad inside you?"

"Yes," she cried.

Her hands were everywhere. Grabbing his skin, tearing it with her nails and moving on. It was as if she was desperate to find something to hold on to, but couldn't stop moving.

He kissed her again. He was lost in her. He thought this must be the most wicked thing he'd ever done, because nothing had ever felt so good.

He also knew his control was slipping. Any moment she would pull him over the edge, and he was determined to take her with him. He reached down between them so that he could stroke her clit with his fingers. She broke off his kiss as she threw her head back and screamed.

He reclaimed her lips and kissed her savagely as his cool fingers taunted her clitoris. She began to push harder and harder against him, and just when he thought he couldn't take another moment her legs clamped around his waist as she came.

Her legs squeezed him so tight that he thought he would have suffocated if he were human. Her inner muscles seemed to be squeezing him just as tightly. He screamed in pleasure and pain as she milked every inch of his cock.

He spilled his cold dead seed into her, collapsing on top of her. Her body still shuddered for a moment before she too was still. Slowly her body released him, her arms and legs unwinding to fall limply to her side.

He pulled himself out of her, and rolled onto his side, gathering her into his arms. He was surprised to find sadness in her hazel eyes.

"What is it, kitten? I thought that was bloody fantastic myself."

"It was wonderful," she agreed. "But I still have to kill you, and I don't want to. You're nice to me, and you make me feel really nice, although I'm kind of sticky. But you're still evil. And-"

He silenced her with a gentle kiss. "Shh. Don't think about any of that. Can't do anything evil while I'm here with you can I?"

"But I can't stop thinking about it," she complained.

He reached behind her to undo the hooks of her bustier, and get rid of the last of her clothing.

"Obviously I'm loosing my touch if you're still doing that much thinking. Let's see what I can do about that, hmm?"

He was a bit annoyed. Not that she was still dwelling on the fact that they were mortal enemies, but that she had reminded him. No matter which way he looked at it, only one of them was going to survive this, and he was determined that it should be him. Which meant sooner or later he was going to have to kill her.

To distract them both, he began to kiss her, starting at her neck and working his way down her body. He paused at her breasts to suck each nipple in turn, eliciting delighted sighs from her. But he didn't pay much attention to them. His goal was further down.

He continued his trail of kisses down her stomach until he came to the nest of curls between her legs. He spread her legs apart revealing the blood that stained her thighs. He licked his lips in anticipation and then began to lick the blood off of her thighs.

Her hand idly reached down to tangle itself in his hair. She gasped with surprise when his tongue moved to lick clean her folds. She began to squirm as she sought more contact with his tongue. He grabbed her hips and held her in place as he began to thrust his tongue in and out of her.

Spike was in heaven. He was bathed in the musky scent of her arousal. Her blood combined with their sex made a heady mixture that he couldn't get enough of. He licked around the edges of her entrance massaging her sore muscles with his cool tongue. Gently at first, and then applying more and more pressure.

She whimpered as she tried to break free of his grasp. "Please," she begged him.

"Please what?" he asked. "What is it you want, pet?"

"No, don't stop. I need. . . "

He smiled. "Poor little Slayer. Doesn't know what she wants. You want me to lick your clit?"

"I don't know. . . I-Ahhh," she cried out as he blew a blast of air on her sensitive bundle of nerves. "Yes, there," she told him once she was under control again.

"Don't know, pet. If I lick you there you might not need me anymore. Might decide it's time to dust poor Spike."

"No, please. I promise, just. My clit?" she stumbled over the unfamiliar word. "Please. . ."

The thought of making her beg more crossed his mind, but it was enough to know that he could make her beg. He bent down and began to gently lick her engorged clitoris.

"Yes, please more."

'She's a polite, little thing,' Spike thought idly as he thrust two of his fingers into her. That meant of course partially releasing her, and she eagerly thrust herself closer to him as she tried to get more of the contact she desired.

He gave into her, and sucked her clitoris into his mouth while he fucked her with his fingers. She screamed his name as she thrust against him, he continued his ministrations as her body heaved around him.

When she finally stilled, he crawled back up her body. He held the fingers he'd had inside of her in front of her face. "Have a taste?"

She opened her mouth and sucked her juices off his fingers.

"Now then, kitten. What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Huh?" was all she said, staring at him with glazed eyes.

He chuckled. "Never mind, pet. That's how it should be," he told her as he gathered her in his arms once more.

Chapter 15:

It was late afternoon when Spike moved in his sleep, looking for something. He wasn't sure what he was looking for at first, knowing only that something should be there that wasn't. As his senses awakened he realized what it was. The Slayer.

Spike groaned, his body was still tired and a little bruised. He wondered how the little minx could possibly move after the previous night. Once Spike had awakened her body to the possibilities of sex, she had become ravenous for it. She demanded not just that they do it over and over, but had the naive impression that she could learn every way to do it in one night.

Spike had done his best to oblige, taking her a different way each time. Not that he'd showed her half his tricks, but she had given over to his instructions completely, letting him position her however he wanted. Still there were things he'd reserved for later on.

He figured that as soon as the sun went down he'd take her to a sex shop, if nothing else he needed some lube. There was no point in hurting or forcing the girl when she was so willing and so eager to do what he wanted.

But where the hell had she gone? The warmth of his flesh, from where she had slept, told him that it wasn't that long ago he'd held her.

Grudgingly he opened his eyes, to look around for her. His body was so covered with her scent, and more specifically the scent of their sex, that there was no way he could use his nose to track her down.

He rolled to his hands and knees and looked around the room. They'd made a pretty mess of it, the couch was overturned, the tele was on the floor (he hoped unbroken) and several paintings had come down off the walls.

They'd made one attempt to move to the bedroom, but as the Slayer had turned her back to him, he'd simply had no choice but to fuck her from behind, and they never made it past the first few steps. Now Spike used the banister to pull himself up as his delightfully sore muscles protested.

He walked slowly up the stairs, towards muffled sounds he heard coming from above him. As he got nearer, it sounded as if she was struggling with something, and there was a strange rustling sound. He pushed open the door to his room, and stopped dead at the frightening sight before him.

The Slayer was wearing the wedding dress.

She was engaged in an odd sort of dance as she reached behind her to try and finish fastening it up. Unfortunately the thick beaded straps that were designed to sit just off her shoulder, were restraining her arms, and keeping her from being able to finish zipping up the dress.

When she saw Spike she asked sweetly, "Will you please help me?"

"Why?" he croaked.

He couldn't believe this. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen anymore. Girls weren't supposed to expect you to marry them just cause you'd had a little fun. Not to mention the fact that he was a vampire and she was a vampire slayer. Or was this part of some scheme on her part to house break him so she wouldn't have to kill him? Spike wanted no part of it.

"Because I can't do it myself," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I-I mean. . . What's with the dress?" he stammered.

Although there had been a look of intense concentration on her face as she'd struggled with the dress, there'd also been a general air of happiness about her. At Spike's words her face fell, the edges of her mouth twitching as if she was fighting a battle to keep smiling with some unseen force, which was tugging her mouth into a frown.

"I'm so stupid," she said quietly to herself, as she renewed her struggles with the dress. "Must look so stupid."

She made little whimpering sounds like she was about to cry and she struggled frantically now, not to get the dress on, but to rip it off.

'She's completely crazy,' Spike thought. Although he wasn't sure whether it was simply typical female insanity, or the clinical kind. In either case it was a little late to start requiring sanity in his women. Besides running from bridal Buffy wasn't going to get him laid, so he figured he just had to deal with it.

He moved closer to her, and she collapsed, sobbing, into a pile of lace. He knelt next to her and gathered her into his arms.

"Hey, now. Stop that. What's going on?" he asked as he stroked her hair.

"Nothing. Stupid." Was all she said, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.

"It's all right. You can tell me, kitten," he coaxed her.

She looked up at him with innocent green eyes, "I just wanted to be pretty, you know, like a girl. But I just look stupid and ugly, don't I?"

There was no hint of anything but pure honesty in her voice. She wasn't fishing for complements, he doubted she would even know how. She honestly didn't realize how beautiful she was.

"Oh, baby," he said as he hugged her and kissed the part in her hair. "You're giving me way too much credit. I'm an evil shallow man. Wouldn't have touched you if you weren't gorgeous."

She sniffed. "Really?"

"Really."

A bright smile lit up her face and she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He returned her embrace and bent his head to nuzzle her neck in the place where he'd bitten her the night before.

He stopped as he saw the scar. Not wanting to let her know anything was wrong, he quickly kissed her neck as he intended, but his mind was racing.

It wasn't so much the way the scar looked, it was the way it felt. He'd meant to mark her, to leave a feeding claim on her. It was really a routine sort of thing, he'd done it dozens of times. It let other vampires know to leave the human alone.

Although some vampires did find humans they found especially tasty to mark, most of the time humans who were helping vampires were marked. Spike had often marked humans in this way so that the human could report to Spike at his lair, and his minions would leave the human alone.

That wasn't what he'd done to the Slayer. The mark he'd left on her was far more powerful. He had marked her, not as a preferred meal, or as a helper, but as a potential Childe. The procedure was after all the same, it was the intent that mattered, and in his lust his demon had marked her as potential 'his forever'.

'Is this really what I want?' he asked himself. It was a terrifying and an appealing thought. To make this creature his mate. To have this beautiful warrior in his bed forever. 'And what about Drusilla?' William's voice whispered. 'She's your destiny.'

But before his mind could sort out his tangled emotions and the impulsive acts of his demon, the Slayer whispered in his ear, "So can we have more sex now?"

He laughed, "Can't get enough of me can you?"

He swept her onto her back so that he was crouching over her, and kissed her deeply. She returned the kiss, pulling him close to her as her hands roamed his body. She pinched his nipple, and he was forced to break their kiss as a delighted gasp escaped his lips.

"Nope," she giggled. "You're even better than ice cream."

He smiled devilishly at her, a wicked idea coursing through his mind. "You could have both at once, you know?"

"I can?!" her eyes lit up and a goofy smile crossed her face. "Show me!" she demanded.

Laughing they got to their feet, and she practically dragged him downstairs into the kitchen. Once there she ran to the fridge and pulled out the ice cream. As she held the carton in her hands a slight frown crossed her face.

"Something wrong with it?" he asked as he rummaged through a drawer for a spoon.

"They had all these different flavors at the store," she began apologetically. "And I didn't know what kind to get. So I got one that has different kinds." She held it out, waiting for his approval.

It was hard not to laugh at her as she stood holding the carton of neapolitan ice cream as if she'd done something wrong. He wondered exactly what was going on in her head that she was worried the flavor would effect the sex.

"That's just fine," he told her, biting his lip so as not to hurt her feelings by laughing at her. "You can use whichever flavor you like best or all of them."

He took the carton from her and opened it. He held the spoon over the stripped ice cream. "Which flavor?" he asked.

A serious look crossed her face as she considered his question. Having come to a decision she looked up at him and firmly told him, "Pink."

He scooped out a thin strip of strawberry ice cream. She looked at the spoon, and it was clear by the expression on her face that she thought she deserved more than that. Then she opened her mouth expectantly.

He chuckled, "Not like that, luv."

She closed her mouth and looked at him puzzled until he began to spread the ice cream on his cock. He shivered as he coated himself with the icy treat. Just because temperature couldn't hurt him, didn't mean he wasn't sensitive to it, and he delighted in the cold wetness that he swirled around his cock. He closed his eyes, and leaned back against the kitchen island reveling in the sensation.

His cock went hard and he screamed, "Fuck!" as a hot tongue began to eagerly lick the desert off of his erection.

His eyes sprang open and he looked down to see the Slayer on her knees in front of him.

She stopped to ask, "Does that feel good," although for once her innocence was an act. The twinkling in her eyes said that she had a pretty clear idea of what she was doing to him.

All he could do was whimper in reply. She quickly returned to licking him, carefully cleaning all the ice cream off of him. The contrast between the cold ice cream and her hot tongue was incredible. His fingers dug into the island and he could feel bits of it breaking off in his hands, as he fought to find some way to control the pleasure raging through his cock.

Although he'd shown her how to make him hard with her hands the night before, she hadn't gone down on him, he'd concentrated on keeping her pleased and distracting her from any vampire slayer thoughts she might have.

Still she had learned to interpret the reactions of his body, and every time he came close to coming, she would stop and enjoy whatever ice cream was on the spoon. After the strawberry, she covered him with vanilla, then chocolate. Finally she drew the spoon across all three flavors and tried them and him at once.

By this point Spike was weak with need and desperate for release. She had obviously learned from him the night before how to torture someone with pleasure and make them beg for more. Plus she was enjoying having him as mad with desire and desperate for release as he had made her.

"Please," he begged.

"Please what?" she asked trying to imitate his manner from the night before. "What is it you want, Spike?"

"Suck me," he moaned. "Please, let me come in your mouth."

He was too lost in his lust to even consider that his request might alarm a young inexperienced girl. But then the Slayer had no real preconceptions about sex, and without a moments hesitation she sucked the head of his cock into her mouth.

He moaned and gripped the island tighter to keep his hips from thrusting into her mouth. After a moment he trusted himself enough to let go with one hand, and place it on her head, gently guiding her into a gentle rhythm.

He looked down to see his cock moving in and out of her hot mouth and he began to rant incoherently. "Yes, oh fuck, yeah. Buffy. Like that. Yes, please."

He was lost in the feel of her. Every sense focused in on the beautiful warrior who was willingly on her knees before him. And so he didn't realize they weren't alone until he heard the distinctive clicking of a gun being cocked.

A/N: This chapter is unbetaed. My beta's life got to busy and she can't beta anymore, so if anyone out there would be willing to beta for me, I'd be grateful. Also I'm sorry for the long delay on updates. I had to finish a couple stories for fic-a-thons, plus I just moved so my life's been rather busy.

Chapter 16:

Spike grabbed the Slayer's hair, yanking her head back and throwing her to the ground, so he could move his body between her and the gun. There was a momentary pain when her teeth scrapped his cock as he pulled her mouth off of him, but he barely noticed since a moment later a bullet had torn through his lower back.

Snarling, he spun around to confront their attacker. It was a rather attractive middle aged woman wearing a tweed pants suit and holding a gun with both hands. When she saw his bared fangs and yellow eyes, she gasped took a step back, and her left hand began to reach for her neck.

It was not the reaction of blind terror he would have expected, but he was too busy reacting to worry about why the woman seemed more surprised that scared.

Before her hand made it to her throat, he was on her, twisting the gun out of her hand, and throwing her back into the wall.

The gun hit the floor, and he kicked it away from the woman and toward the Slayer. The woman was momentarily stunned and since the Slayer hadn't been hurt, he figured he could trust her to deal with the woman, because now that he'd been alerted to the fact there were intruders in the house, he noticed the sounds of two more people moving toward the kitchen.

The second Spike moved from the kitchen into the living room, a man yelled, "Vampire!" His 'a's and 'r's marked him as British.

The man was dressed all in black and carrying a military looking riffle. He had what looked like some kind of armored vest, and all sorts of gear as if he were some sort of secret policeman.

As soon as he saw Spike he leveled the riffle at him, but he only held it with one hand, as his other hand groped for something at his waist.

Spike dived for the floor, rolling towards the man. Although the bullets wouldn't kill him, they hurt like hell and he'd already been shot once.

it was only once the bullets started whizzing over his head that it occurred to him that if the man was shooting at him, he was also shooting at the kitchen and a stray bullet might hit the Slayer. If the man was concerned about hitting his female comrade, however he didn't show it.

A bullet grazed his shoulder, as the man tried to adjust his aim for the moving target, but he was having a hard time controlling the riffle one handed while trying to free something from his belt.

Spike's rolling had brought him to a crouch just in front of the man. He reached up to grab the muzzle of the riffle and point it at the celling. Spike could feel his palm burning as soon as he touched the hot barrel of the riffle, but he ignored the pain, as he got to his feet and wrenched the weapon from the man's hands.

The man had finally found what he'd been searching for, which appeared to be a canister of pepper spray. The man never got the chance to use it, because Spike had already ripped the man's throat open with his fangs.

The blood flowed hot and fast into Spike's mouth, and he knew it was already beginning to heal the gunshot he'd sustained earlier. The man was almost instantly dead, and his blood covered both Spike and himself. Spike held onto the man as if he was still feeding for he could hear the final attacker trying to sneak up behind Spike.

At the last moment Spike spun around, catching an upraised arm which held a jagged piece of wood. Spike recognized it as having been part of the coffee table the Slayer and he had smashed through the night before. That meant that although these people knew what vampires were, and how to kill them, they hadn't been expecting to find one.

Before Spike could process what that might mean, he howled, as the left side of his face exploded with pain like it had been hit by a thousand burning needles. It took only a moment for his mind to register the sensation; holy water. He responded, not by letting go of the man's arm, as his attacker had hoped, but rather he twisted it sharply, nearly pulling it out of its socket.

His attacker was not as used to pain as Spike, and dropped the small spritzer filled with holy water, similar to the one his companion had tried to use.

Then Spike was behind him, digging his fangs into the man's neck. He killed this one slower and less viscously but only so that he could drain as much blood as possible to aid his healing. It was done more by instinct than thought.

As the man's heartbeat faltered, Spike could hear only two more in the house. They Slayer, and the woman who had attacked them. For the first time since he had left the kitchen he refocused his attention on the two women. He could hear the Slayer softly sobbing which surprised him.

"The vampire, Buffy," he heard a woman's voice with a stuffy British accent say. "You must slay him. Quickly now. Before he comes back."

It all slid into place for Spike then. He still had no idea why these people were trying to kill the Slayer, but at least he knew who they were. Spike was willing to bet a hundred siamese that the woman was the Watcher, Ms. Post. Which meant that he had been wrong in assuming that the Slayer could deal with her.

Spike ran back to the kitchen. The Slayer and the Watcher were sitting together on the floor. Ms. Post was making a great show of trying to comfort the girl, but Spike could she that she was trying to position herself to get the gun back.

The next moments were a blur to Spike. He was trying to warn the Slayer and stop Ms. Post, while the Watcher ordered Buffy to kill Spike. He found himself struggling with the Slayer who was trying to stay between vampire and Watcher.

And then everything seemed to slow down. He could see Ms. Post's hand close around the gun. He saw her raise it and take aim. He tried to warn the Slayer, but she was determined to keep him from her Watcher, and all her attention was focused on him. The tiny blond was a formidable obstacle when she chose to be. Spike had given up on reaching the Watcher and was only trying to place his dead flesh between the Slayer's live flesh and the gun.

There was a loud boom, and then she wasn't struggling against him anymore. Her body jerked, her eyes went wide, and the demon observed the grotesque beauty as bright red blood seeped into the white lace. 'Like Snow White's mum,' Spike absently thought.

Then time seemed to return to it's normal speed. And Spike was simply trying to catch the Slayer's body before she crashed into the floor. As he gently lay her head on the floor he looked up to see the Watcher taking aim yet again.

This time Spike grabbed the hand with the gun with his, and twisted, snapping her wrist, and most likely breaking several of the bones of her hand. The gun fell to the floor.

Spike's anger had gone beyond passion into a sort of clinical detachment as if all of this wasn't really happening to him. He threw Ms. Post over his shoulder, and quickly ran with her down the basement. He chained her to the wall there. He was going to kill her. But later, and slowly. He would use everything Angelus had ever taught him. Not because he would enjoy it, but because it had to be done. It was as if there was a rule that she could die in no other way.

Then he was back upstairs, looking at the Slayer's body on the floor. She was gasping, and her eyes seemed to be searching for something.

"Baby?" he asked, trying to see if she could hear him. "It's going to be okay."

He began to tear the sating petticoats of her dress to make bandages. The bullet seemed to have gone through her shoulder. Spike couldn't know for sure, but he didn't think it had hit anything important. But there was so much blood, and Spike had a very good idea of how much she could loose and still live.

Despite the intense pressure he applied to the wound, it didn't want to stop bleeding. Her head flopped to one side, revealing the scars on her neck, and that gave Spike an idea, though he wasn't sure it would work. He got up and grabbed a kitchen knife, slicing through the skin on his arm. Then he let his blood pour into her wound.

He knew vampire blood could be used to stop the bleeding of the bites they left. But he didn't know if that magic would help here. He couldn't be sure, but he thought her bleeding did lessen, so he quickly bandaged her up again. Her body seemed cold, so he lifted her up and moved her upstairs into his bed, covering her with blankets.

She seemed tiny all of a sudden. She seemed to weigh nothing when he picked her up. She was like a delicate little bird. All too easy to snap and break. All of her strength seemed to be gone, and it was hard to believe that this fragile girl was a fierce warrior.

"It's going to be okay," he told her again.

He knew he had to get her to a hospital, but it was daylight out and he couldn't take her there himself. When they had first taken over the house, the lack of sewer access had seemed a blessing. Protecting them from unwanted intruders during the day. But that was when they assumed their enemies were vampires. Now that made the house a prison. Keeping Spike inside.

There were no working phones in the house, so he couldn't call 911. Then an idea hit him. He ran back down stairs and began to search the bodies of their attackers, hoping to find a cell phone. All he found were radios, and he was willing to bet that anyone on the other end was not going to help them.

Dejected he returned upstairs to watch over the Slayer. Her best hope now was that one of the neighbors had heard the gunshots and called the police. But it already seemed to Spike like the police should have arrived by now.

There was nothing he could do but wait, and watch her condition. Now that the bleeding had stopped she seemed to be doing, not okay, but she didn't seem to be getting worse. Her heartbeat was steady, if not as strong as he would have liked. And if things got to bad, there was one way left to save her, even if it meant killing her.

Chapter 17:

Spike leaned back wearily against the wall. Who knew cleaning could be so tiring? And the damn bloodstains didn't want to come up.

As soon as the sun had gone down, he had spirited the wounded Slayer to the nearest hospital. He'd been delighted to discover that the Watchers had arrived in a black van that they had conveniently left parked on the street in front of the house.

At the hospital he'd been forced to leave Buffy like an abandoned kitten. It wasn't as if he could answer questions about health insurance anyway. Besides, if she showed up as a Jane Doe, it would take longer for the Council to track her down.

So Spike had returned to the house they had appropriated. He had things to do, people to torture, and bodies to get rid of.

Torturing the woman, who did in fact turn out to be Ms. Post, turned out to be very unsatisfying. The woman had a very low tolerance for pain, and spending the afternoon chained in a dark basement by a vampire had not helped her courage. She had told him everything he wanted to know very quickly. Not that information was the main reason for the torture. It was because she deserved it, and because he'd thought it would make him feel better and make him forget about the Slayer he'd abandoned at the hospital.

It didn't. More than that, the things she did tell him turned his stomach. It's not that they were excessive in their evilness. He'd known human beings to do things to each other a thousand times worse. But Ms. Post was supposed to be one of the white hats, and it shook Spike's convictions to the core.

From the moment Angelus had first told him about slayers, Spike had seen himself as a player in an epic battle of good versus evil, and Spike was proud to be on the side of evil. It wasn't about winning. After all, if you killed one slayer, another one was sure to pop up. You fought because the battle was its own reward. You fought because someone had to–good vs. evil–what would the world be without that? The secret Spike had learned in death was that true beauty came from its contrast with ugliness. It was why he'd always been a bad poet as a man; he refused to see the dark ugly side of life.

But if the Watchers Council treaded so close to the dark side, what was the point of being evil? At least he could cling to the knowledge that the slayer was good. He'd faced three of them, and their goodness had been so clear you could almost taste it. It wasn't that they were saints–no, they were human enough–but they tried their best to do the right thing, and fought as hard as they could.

Something was wrong with the very nature of the world if these beautiful warriors were controlled by something as corrupt as the Council. It was almost more than he could stand.

That's why once he was done with Gwendolyn Post, he had desperately looked for something else to occupy his body and mind. He had started to clean, as if scrubbing away the bloodstains could scrub away the past. Besides, Buffy had worked hard to clean the place the first time. It hurt him to think they had come and messed up all her work.

Spike just hadn't expected it to be so difficult. In fact, he had spent most of the rest of the night trying to make the house seem normal again. The sun would be up soon, and he'd meant to return to the hospital to check on the Slayer, but now there was no time. So a hungry, tired Spike decided there was nothing to do but sleep.

That was easier said than done, however. Normally Spike had no trouble falling asleep, but now he was haunted by a hundred things he could have done differently. He wished he'd gone back to the hospital. If he had, he could have haunted the hallways, popping in and out of Buffy's room when the nurses and doctors were gone. He'd be there in case anything happened. Instead he was stuck here, in this horrible house where he'd been so happy just a short time before. Finally, exhaustion won over and he fell asleep.

When he was shaken awake, he first thought he was still dreaming and that the ghost of the Slayer had come to haunt him, wearing hospital scrubs.

"You killed Ms. Post," she accused.

"Yeah," he admitted, still trying to sort out whether he was awake or asleep. He finally decided he felt too physically miserable to be asleep. "She was trying to kill you," he explained.

The Slayer sank down on the bed next to him. She looked awful. She'd always been pale, because she'd been imprisoned away from the sun for months, but now her paleness had a deathly cast to it. There were bags under her eyes, and she looked as if nothing but pure will was keeping her going. Not to mention the fact that the hospital scrubs, which he supposed she'd stolen, weren't all that flattering.

"She wouldn't do that," she insisted weakly, but she didn't sound very sure.

"She shot you didn't she? And she's a Watcher, so why would she try and stop a vampire with a gun. Just pisses us off, you know?" He took a deep, unneeded breath and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Buffy's face. "Listen to me, pet. I know this is hard for you to hear, but you need to understand the Council's going to keep trying to kill you."

"No, they-"

He interrupted her. "Look, I talked to your Ms. Post before she di– I killed her." There was no point in being anything but blunt and honest. The Slayer was going to need to confront some hard facts. "They sent her, and the two blokes with her to check on you. They realized you escaped from the Master, and they sent your Watcher to evaluate you. To decide if you were still able to slay. They thought you might be too wounded, or maybe you'd gone crazy from being tortured or something. If you were no good as a slayer anymore, Ms. Post and the goons she brought with her were supposed to kill you so another slayer would be called."

He paused, carefully watching her features. She seemed frozen, as if she wasn't willing to react yet.

He continued, "When she saw us, she thought. . ." Despite the seriousness of the whole thing he couldn't help but laugh softly at the irony. "She thought you'd found some nice bloke and gotten married. She thought you'd given up slaying and were trying to hide from the Council and were no good to them any more. That's why she tried to kill you. You can't trust the Council any more."

She whimpered slightly, fighting to keep the tears from running down her face. "It's not true!" she insisted. But Spike was fairly sure she was trying to convince herself more than him.

"Look, I can show you what they really are, what they really did to you. But not now. Not till the sun goes down. Will you just. . . can you trust me until then?"

The tears were flowing freely down her face. "You're wrong," she said weakly. "But you can show me, tonight. You're wrong though."

He nodded. It wasn't much, but it was something. And when you looked at the big picture, she was alive, awake, and not trying to kill him. He only hoped the proof he needed was still out there after all these years.

Chapter 18:

They drove in silence. Since agreeing to give Spike a chance to prove his accusations, the Slayer had barely said a word to him. She had refused to spend the rest of the day with him, and had instead retired to her own room. All he had wanted was to hold her, to reassure himself that she was alright. But she wouldn't allow it.

So he had spent the rest of the day sitting in the hallway outside her room. Forced to content himself with listening to the sound of her heartbeat and breathing through the door.

Her silence and her refusal to let him touch her were killing him by inches. His heart was breaking piece by piece, which forced him to admit that somewhere along the way she'd stolen it.

Although she seemed to be doing okay, Spike was still worried. Not just for her health, but for her heart. She'd been betrayed by the person who'd meant the most to her, who'd been her entire world.

And Spike was also worried about what it would mean when Buffy came to understand the full extent of what he had done. He had acted only to protect her, but considering her refusal to admit her Watcher had attacked her, Spike doubted she would understand the steps he had taken to protect her from the Council.

More than once he nearly got up from his post by her door, to go down to the basement and decapitate the body of Gwendolyn Post, which was still chained to the wall, but he was too scared to leave Buffy. He felt as if the worst hadn't happened yet. If he left her, even for a moment, something even more terrible would happen.

Instead he had to settle for smuggling Buffy out of the house as soon as the sun had set. Finally, after driving for what seemed like an eternity, he parked the car.

"Why are we at the library?" Buffy asked, speaking to him at last.

"Easiest way to get online," he responded.

She looked at him suspiciously for a moment, and then shrugged and got out of the van.

They didn't have much time until the library closed, so Spike hurried her inside and sat her down in front of one of the public terminals.

He pulled up a search engine, crossed his fingers, and told Buffy to type in her full name.

She looked at him dubiously again, but did as he asked. To Spike's great dismay it turned out there was a Buffy Anne Summers who was a chemist in Ontario.

"Spike what is this?" she asked.

"Just give me a minute," he snapped at her. He felt like time was running out on him. It wasn't like he was very good at surfing the web. Spike tried to keep up with the times, but computers did make his head hurt a little, even if they were useful.

Then he realized his mistake. With a grin he shoved her hands off the keyboard, and letter by letter typed "missing children" next to Buffy's name and hit "Search".

His face lit up as the link he'd hoped existed popped up in front of them. He quickly clicked on it.

"What is this . . ?" Buffy's voice trailed off as the new page loaded in front of them.

The pictures were still loading, but the text was clear enough. Buffy Anne Summers had disappeared without a trace from her aunt's wedding when she was four years old. Her parents had been looking for her ever since.

The first photograph loaded, and there was Buffy, four years old and smiling. A pretty little girl with blond pigtails smiled into the camera. Next to it was a grainy picture that was labeled "Photo age-progressed to 16 years." It looked more or less like Buffy, only minus the scar and with really bad hair.

It was when the final picture loaded that tears began to run down Buffy's cheeks. This one was was labeled, "Taken on the day she disappeared." It showed Buffy in a yellow lace dress holding a white satin pillow and sucking on her fist. She was held by a beautiful smiling woman also wearing a formal yellow dress.

"Mommy," Buffy whimpered, stroking the face of the woman on the computer screen. "I don't . . . I don't understand," she said, turning to Spike.

Spike took her hands in his and was relieved when she didn't pull back. "Your Watcher lied to you, luv. Your parents didn't give you to her. They probably never even heard of a Slayer. The Council kidnapped you. They stole you so they could control you. So your only loyalty would be to them."

She buried her face against him, and he held her, stroking her hair and ignoring the looks they were drawing from the other library patrons.

He continued quietly, "Smart way to do it, too. At a wedding. Your parents probably thought you were safe as houses. A whole gaggle of relatives there to help keep an eye on you. But a couple strangers too, so that an unfamiliar face could slip in. Your mum probably just looked away for a second . . ."

He stopped his explanation to comfort her. It was obvious he'd made his point. After several minutes of sobbing, and Spike shooing away a concerned librarian, Buffy finally looked up again.

"I wanna see them," she said.

"Kitten, they could be anywhere."

"No," she said firmly and pointed to screen, and the number to call if you had any information. "Eight one eight. That's a local number. I've seen it on a bunch of the signs and billboards and stuff."

He looked and she was right. It was a Los Angeles number. They moved over to the pay phones and searched through the phone book. There they found an entry for H & J Summers. It was the same phone number as on the web page, and there was an address.

Buffy insisted that they go right away, and Spike could do nothing but agree. It had never occurred to him that her parents would be here. But then he'd never really given much thought to where the Slayer was from.

Once again they drove in silence. This time it wasn't because Buffy was angry with him, she was simply too lost in her own world to remember he was there.

As they got to the street where her parents supposedly lived, Buffy suddenly leapt out of the van without waiting for Spike to stop. She ran down the street, beating Spike to the address.

She knocked on the door and after a moment a woman answered. Spike was just pulling over on the side of the road, but he could hear the woman say with disbelief, "Buffy?"

Then there was hugging and crying, and the Slayer was saying "mommy," over and over.

The woman looked up for a moment and called out, "Hank! Hank come here!"

A man hurried from somewhere in the house to the door. "Joyce what . . ." He never finished his sentence, but found himself enveloped in the crying and hugging.

Spike's attention was focused on the woman's face. She was without a doubt the same woman depicted in the photograph, and yet at first Spike hadn't recognized her. It hadn't occurred to him that after fourteen years she would look different from her photo. But time had not been kind to Joyce Summers. Grief and worry had left their marks all over her face. Her hair was mostly grey, and despite her current joy, there was a weariness about her. To Spike it was as if he had seen her age those fourteen years in an instant.

Despite their current happiness, time was pulling these people apart, and would leave them all in tears. It was as if they were aging before his eyes. They were human, and he didn't belong in their world.

He put the van into reverse, and drove away. She deserved this, after all. Buffy deserved to have this time with her family. To be given back to them. All Spike could do was make sure that no one interfered in her new life.

Chapter 19:

The black Desoto sped angrily down the streets of L.A, driven by one pissed off vampire. Recovering his beloved car had been only one of many things Spike had done the night he'd left the Slayer at her parents' house.

He'd set several things in motion that night. Plans to kill the Master and destroy his factory. Plans to make sure the Council left the Slayer alone. The fact was, Spike had spent the entire last week busily ensuring that the Slayer would be able to live happily ever after with her mommy and daddy.

And how had the crazy bint repaid him? By hitting demon bars looking for him. As soon as word had reached Spike that the Slayer had been seen beating up the local demon population trying to find out where his new lair was, he had hurried out to find her before she got herself into too much trouble.

He was too late. He had gotten to the last place she'd been seen, only to find out that a vamp there had given her false information. He'd told Buffy to go to an abandoned warehouse where he'd claimed she'd find Spike. In actuality, the warehouse was the temporary home for several of the Master's minions who were in L.A. looking for the Slayer. In other words, she was walking into a trap.

The Desoto screeched to a halt outside the warehouse, and Spike ran inside. He could already hear the sounds of fighting. Then he saw the Slayer surrounded by four vampires. He was about to leap into the fray when she spotted him, smiled and waved, before catching the arm of one of her attackers and shoving a stake through his chest.

It was bad enough that Spike had rushed across town to rescue her, now she wasn't even asking for his help. If she was going to be that way about it, well, he would just stand back and watch. How often was he going to get a chance to simply watch the Slayer fight anyway?

Much to Spike's chagrin, she didn't need his help. She managed to dispatch the remaining three vampires all by herself. As her stake pushed its way into the heart of her final attacker, she called his name, ran through the dust, and before Spike knew what was happening, she had him in a tight hug.

Spike found it hard to maintain his anger with the Slayer's body pressed against his, especially when she looked up at him with those deadly green eyes and a smile he thought might set him on fire. Spike couldn't remember anyone ever being this happy to see him before.

"Hey," was all he could manage to say, although part of that was because her hug was preventing him from taking in the breath necessary for speaking.

"Oh! I didn't hurt you did I?" she asked with genuine concern.

"No, kitten. I think all my ribs are still intact."

She smiled again, and Spike was at a loss for what to say. Oh he'd planned out a rant as soon as he'd heard she was looking for him, but he couldn't remember a word of it now, or even exactly why he was mad at her.

She looked good. If he hadn't known she'd been shot a week ago, he never would have guessed it. There was more color in her face than he'd yet seen, she'd obviously been out in the sun. But she had reverted to her no-nonsense slaying clothes. She wore a black tank top that revealed the tattoo he'd given her as a belated birthday present. She put her stake away in a pocket of her khaki cargo pants and looked at him expectantly.

"So, uh, what brings you here?" Spike asked, wincing as he said the words. At least he hadn't asked her 'What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?' but he almost might as well have.

"I was looking for you. Why'd you leave?" she asked, and just like that her sunny happy disposition was gone and she looked sad and a little scared.

"You um, looked happy. With your mum and dad. They seemed nice . . . Aren't they . . . didn't things work out?" he asked.

"They're nice," she told him hurriedly. "And they love me, and I love them. But they . . . they think I'm crazy."

"Bloody hell, you didn't tell them about being the Slayer did you?"

"Well, yeah. Of course. I mean they asked me where I'd been, what happened, so I had to tell them."

"You didn't have to tell them the truth. Come on, couldn't that Slayer brain of yours make up something they'd believe?"

She drew herself up, crossing her arms. "I couldn't lie to them. They're my parents. And you shouldn't lie to anyone. Only bad people lie."

"Uh, huh. Well, I'm the Big Bad here, and did I ever lie to you?"

"No, but you don't make sense."

He chuckled at that. "How's that, pet?"

"Well, you don't lie, at least not directly. I mean you didn't tell me about the people you were killing. And you're really nice, and make me feel good and happy. And I like you better than anyone else, but you're evil."

"Really?" Spike asked. He tried not to smile by biting his lower lip, but he couldn't help being flattered by her strange assessment. "So is that why you were looking for me?"

"Sort of. I need your help." He looked at her quizzically. "I need you to help me kill the Master."

"And what makes you think I'll do that?" he said, trying to regain some of his composure.

"Well, you said you didn't like what he was doing. And he must be after you too." Then she looked down at the ground and added quietly, "And maybe you kind of like me, too?"

He didn't think, he just raised her chin and kissed her gently. Her mouth opened for him immediately, and a moment later their tongues were playing with each other.

When they pulled apart, she smiled at him and asked, "So you'll help me then?"

He closed his eyes, unable to look at her. "I can't."

"What?!" she exclaimed pulling herself out of his arms and shoving him away. "Why not? I have a plan, and it's a good one. You haven't even heard my plan."

He could see her fighting to keep from crying.

"I'm sure it is, kitten," he said reaching out for her, but she backed away. "But the two of us, we're not enough. There's just too many vampires between us and the Master." The Slayer was about to break in with an objection so he hurried to continue. "But don't worry. I got a plan too. I'm going to take care of him. The thing is, I have minions now, and they're part of the plan, and there's no way I could get them to fight with the Slayer."

"They will if I'm a vampire," she said.

Chapter 20:

"The two of us, we're not enough," Spike told her. "There's just too many vampires between us and the Master." She was about to break in with an objection so he hurried to continue, "But don't worry. I got a plan too. I'm going to take care of him. The thing is, I have minions now, they're part of the plan, and there's no way I could get them to fight with the Slayer."

"They will if I'm a vampire," Buffy said.

He laughed. "You're kidding, right? You're the Slayer! That can't be what you want."

It was too absurd a notion for him to take seriously. It was hardly the first time in his life he'd met a human who wanted to be a vampire, but normally those sorts of people were pathetic Anne Rice wannabes, who thought it was all dark, noble and tragic. He couldn't see his Slayer as one of them.

But she wasn't laughing; her face was serious.

"What I want?" she asked incredulous. "You're right, I'm the Slayer, what I want isn't important. I don't even know. . ." She shook her head, looking away from him. "All I know is, I don't know how to be the Slayer anymore. It's not just that I don't know who to trust, or being confused about. . . "

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, "I don't have a Watcher anymore, and the Council–it's not like they're going to send me another one now. My parents, it's not just that they think I'm crazy, it's that they don't believe me, it's that. . . if I'm living with them, I'm going to get them killed. Some demon will hold them hostage, or a vampire will follow me back to the house and they'll invite him in.

"And I can't do it on my own." She stopped, looking down at the floor as if she was ashamed. "They gave me this test, to see where I belonged in school . . . and I never went to school, Ms. Post taught me everything I know. I did really great on the reading, but on everything else. . . They said my math was only as good as a third grader, and I didn't know who the founding fathers are, or even what they founded. I mean . . . I know the Slayer's handbook backwards and forwards, and Latin, Greek, and two demon languages, and the history of Grishna'k wars. But none of that will help me get a job or take care of myself. And I'm scared."

Spike took advantage of the momentary pause in her ramblings to pull her into his arms and stroke her hair. She collapsed into him, grateful for the comfort until he whispered to her, "It'll be okay."

Then she pushed him away. "No, it's not," she insisted angrily. "I'm the Slayer. I can't be scared, not this scared anyway." She walked away from him, hugging herself tightly. "It never mattered before. I-I couldn't lose. I mean I could, but if I died, it just meant that another Slayer would be called, and there would be someone else to take over." She turned back to look at Spike, tears running down her cheeks. "But the Master changed all that. I can't go back to that cell. And if I slay, he'll find me, and if I don't, I'm just doing his work for him."

She hurried back to Spike and put her hands on his shoulders. He could feel her pulse trembling through the palms of her hands.

"But if you turn me, it won't matter any more. They'll be another slayer, and I can fight the Master, and not be scared, because . . . because he'll have no reason to lock me up."

"You'll be evil, are you really willing to do that?" Spike spoke without thinking.

Turning her was both everything he wanted, and something that terrified him. It had crossed his mind before, and not just when it would have been to save her life. But if he wasn't fully honest with her, if his expectations were too high, he was afraid she would end up like his mother. He was afraid that she would reject him when she opened her eyes on her new life. He couldn't bear that.

"I know," she sighed. "And that scared me some. I don't. . . I don't want to kill people. But when you think about it," she tried to sound positive, "there's hundreds, thousands of vampires in the world. One more doesn't make much difference. But there's only one Slayer. And if there isn't, that's a huge difference. I can't beat the Master the way I am, but if I were a vampire, I could make sure the slayer line was safe, that the next girl wouldn't have to worry about him. That's all the good that I'm sure of anymore." Then she paused, and looked at him seriously. "Unless. . . you don't want me."

"Oh baby," he cried, putting his arms back around her. "To be with you forever, I want it so bad." He tilted her head up so he could look her in the eyes, "I just need to know you really want this."

She sniffled and smiled at him and he brushed the tears off her cheeks. "I'll still like ice cream right? Cause there's this store that has thirty-one flavors, and I've only tried five."

He chuckled, "I still like food, so no reason to think you wouldn't too. That the only thing you want to know?"

She shrugged, "I know I'll still like you." Then her eyes went wide as a disturbing thought occurred to her. "You won't let me kill my parents, will you?"

"No, I promise, kitten. I won't let you hurt them. Except . . . your disappearing is going to be real hard on them, you know."

"I know, but it's better this way. I don't have to worry about the Council, or the Master, or anyone hurting them because of me now. It's better, really."

A silence fell between them then. Spike felt as if it were almost his duty to argue with her. To find reasons as to why she was wrong. He wanted her so badly, and was so scared that this would cause him to lose her. He couldn't bear that, not again. And the thought of seeing her dead–even if it were only temporary–sent a chill through him.

Finally she broke the silence.

"So are you going to kill me or what?"

"Well, not here." He straightened up and grabbed her hand pulling her out of the building. "Right, come on."

"Hey that's your old car," she said as she saw the Desoto.

"Yeah, well I'm not really hiding any more," he told her as they got inside the car.

"What if the Master finds you?" she asked.

"Oh, he already has. Sent a bunch of his minions to try and take me out. Killed most of them, the couple I thought I could trust I forced to join me. The thing is, the only way to get yourself a lot of minions without attracting notice is to turn them yourself, and I need better than fledglings." He reached over to squeeze her leg comfortingly. "Don't worry, kitten. I know what I'm doing and the minions, we'll need them, but they're mostly a distraction."

She nodded, and tried to stare out the window, except of course it had been painted over with black paint, so there wasn't much for her to look at. Spike reached over and put his arm around her, and she looked at him again and smiling shyly she snuggled into his arms.

After a few minutes of this he asked, "Aren't you going to ask me what the big master plan is?"

She looked up at him curiously, "You mean there really is a plan? Not like when you rescued me and kept pretending you had a plan?"

"What makes you think I didn't have all this planned?" he asked, indignant.

"Well, you could have warned me I was going to get shot," she said.

"I didn't mean. . ." he started in, before he glanced at her grinning face. "Are you trying to be funny?" he accused her.

"Not trying. I'm very funny I'll have you know."

He snorted. "According to who? Stick with your strengths, luv."

"Oh, and what are they?" she asked coyly.

Keeping his eyes, on the road, he reached down to take one of her hands, and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the palm. "Well, they mostly involve your hands, and that very strong grip of yours. Although, now that I think of it," he stopped to separate her index finger from its companions and suck it gently into his mouth. "You're pretty good with your mouth too."

She giggled, and pulled her hand away, snuggling back into his chest.

"Tell me it's going to be okay," she murmured softly.

"It's going to be okay, kitten. I promise," he reassured her.

Then he pulled his arm away from her so that he could turn the wheel. A few minutes later he was parked at the abandoned warehouse he'd co-opted for his new lair.

"Don't suppose acting is one of your skills?" he asked her.

She let him go and looked at him questioningly.

"If we just walk in there, with you healthy and hale, we'll have a fight on our hands. We'd win of course," he said smiling. "But then I'd have to go find more minions."

He reached out and gently stroked the scars he'd left on her neck. "I'll just take a little, but I need you to act like you're too drained to fight back. Can you do that, pet?"

She nodded, her smile gone. Then she leaned forward, tilting her head to better expose her neck to him.

Spike started towards her, then he changed his mind and leaned back. He put one finger under her chin and lifted her face until she was looking him in the eye. As soon as he had her hazel eyes locked in his blue ones, he vamped. She didn't so much as blink, but still he felt compelled to ask, "Are you sure? We go in there, and getting you out alive will be a bitch."

She knelt on the seat so that she could lean forward, and kiss the ridges on his forehead.


"I'm sure," she said, but Spike could hear a slight tremor in her voice.

Chapter 21:

Spike put one finger under Buffy's chin and lifted her face until she was looking him in the eye. As soon as he had her hazel eyes locked in his blue ones, he vamped. She didn't so much as blink, but still he felt compelled to ask, "Are you sure? We go in there, and getting you out alive will be a bitch."

She knelt on the car seat so that she could lean forward and kiss the ridges on his forehead.

"I'm sure," she said.

Spike could hear a tremor in her voice and sense just a hint of fear in her scent, but it didn't matter any more. He'd restrained the demon for too long. Her bare neck was there, in front of his eyes, and without thinking he leaned forward, grabbing her by the shoulders as his fangs sliced her throat.

He sucked at the wound, letting the blood flow not only down his throat but also down her neck and across his lips. Her heartbeat roared in his ears, and he could feel her power pulsing through him. He could hear her whimper, and the thumping of her heart told him that she was just a little frightened. Normally this would have only encouraged him more. But his mouth was directly above the scars he'd left on her throat, and the demon remembered. She wasn't just some meal; she was to be his mate.

Afraid that the clarity he was currently experiencing wouldn't last; Spike pulled himself away from her, flung the car door open, and stepped outside. The fresh night air helped clear his head a little, and when he looked back to see the wounded girl sprawled across his front seat he almost fell to his knees to apologize.

But he was aware of golden eyes watching him from the factory door. Instead, he pulled Buffy roughly from the car and into his arms. Her head fell back, as if she was too weak to support it herself, though he knew he'd taken only a little blood. That was one of the reasons he'd scratched her throat instead of biting her. The cut would bleed enough to look good, but would stop before it endangered her.

He stormed his way up to the factory door, and the minion standing guard picked up on Spike's mood and hurriedly opened the door. As soon as Spike strode through the door, several pairs of hungry demonic eyes turned towards him and the burden he was carrying. The powerful aroma of slayer blood filled every corner of the factory, and his minions began to close in on him.

On the drive over he'd thought of words to say to the other vampires. To make it clear she was for him alone. He forgot them all. His lips curled back and he snarled, meeting each set of eyes until they turned away one by one. Then he made his way upstairs.

The factory was one large open room, except for a manager's office perched above the employee bathrooms. This was where Spike had set up his room, so that he could both have privacy and be able to watch his minions though the large windows that overlooked the factory floor.

As soon as he entered the empty room, he pushed the door shut with his foot and laid the Slayer down on his bed. He crawled over her to cover her body with his. His tongue sought out her neck, and he began to lick closed the wound that was gently oozing blood. She sighed in contentment, and he could feel her body relax beneath him.

Once he'd staunched the shallow wound, he sat back on his heels to get rid of his duster and shirt. As he pulled his body off of hers, he felt a slight tremor go through her and her heartbeat increase.

"Spike?" she asked, confused and a little scared.

"I'm here baby," he said running a finger down her cheek to her chin.

Then he realized that although he could see just fine, the dark was impenetrable to her human eyes. He almost teased her about being afraid of the dark, but he knew what really frightened her was being alone.

"I'll light some candles," he whispered to her, but she grabbed his arm.

"Don't leave," she pleaded.

He dug into the pocket of his jeans until he found his lighter. Then he flipped open the lid and lit it, letting the flame dance just below his face.

"Look, you can see where I am," he told her.

She nodded, and he got off the bed to light the various candles that were scattered about the messy room.

Just before he lit the first candle, he tried to shake off his game face. But the demon refused to let go. Yet there was no bloodlust. He'd been waiting for it, expecting since he'd first tasted her blood out in the car, but it had been strangely absent. He had seen red for a moment, as the hungry faces of his minions had approached him, and he would have ripped the head off of any of them who had tried to touch her. But now that they were alone, Spike found himself oddly at peace.

She was his mate, or would be soon. His demon's lust ran deeper than blood. It was a comfort to Spike. At least one of his fears about turning her–that he would take too much blood, that he would kill her in a haze of blood lust before she could drink his blood–vanished.

He finished lighting the candles, and then pulled a dagger out of his desk and set it on the bedside table before settling back down next to his Slayer.

"Aren't you going to bite me?" she asked, disappointed, as she nodded toward the dagger.

"Of course I am, kitten. That's for me. I want you to drink from my throat, not my wrist, but I can't exactly bite myself on the throat."

Buffy nodded in relief, and Spike was encouraged by how eager she was for his bite. At least that part of turning her would be easy. He leaned forward and kissed her shoulder.

"Do something for me?" he asked, his mouth still hovering over the spot he'd kissed.

She nodded slightly.

"Take down your hair."

She looked at him like he was a little crazy, but she reached back and pulled the rubber band from her hair. Then her fingers pulled out the links of her braid. She shook out her hair, which fell in lazy kinks down her shoulders, tickling Spike.

He pressed his face into her golden tresses, inhaling her scent. That's when he realized that she was using all the same stuff he'd picked out for her their first night together. She must have had her parents buy her the same soap and shampoo.

"So beautiful," he murmured.

She laughed. "Silly, it's just hair. Look." She extracted his face from her hair and then worked a lock of his own hair free from the gel. She tried to pull it down in front of his eyes, but it wouldn't quite reach. "You have some too."

He laughed with her. Then he rolled on top of her, intending to tease her, but the moment their bodies connected, he found he could no longer hold his lust at bay, and he was kissing her passionately.

The next thing he knew they were rolling about on the bed, their hands desperately trying to reacquaint themselves with the others body.

Buffy's hands left their exploration of Spike's chest to lift her top over her head. Spike reached behind her to undo her bra and growled in frustration when he realized that the sports-bra she was wearing didn't have a clasp. She quickly pulled it off, but Spike made a mental note to have a talk to her about her utilitarian fashion sense. After all, how could a bloke impress a girl by undoing her bra with his teeth if she wore one without clasps?

That was the last clear thought he had as her hands descended to his belt and she began to unfasten his jeans. They both struggled to keep kissing as they divested each other of the last of their clothes.

Finally they were both naked, and their violent kissing slowed as they slid into place against each other. Spike's cock was tickled delightfully as it moved past her curls then rubbed against the wetness between her legs.

He had meant to start kissing his way down her body. He had fully intended to go down on her and make her come a couple of times in order to relax her for the turning. But all of that was forgotten as she reached between them and positioned the head of his cock at her entrance.

Spike moaned as their bodies came together, and just like that he was pushing into her, spreading her open as her hot depths welcomed him. He gave her a moment to adjust to him, even though he thought keeping still like that would kill him. He desperately need to move inside of her, to fill her with his seed, to make her his again.

Buffy didn't keep him waiting long, but began to move under him and they both cried with pleasure as he began to thrust into her. She laced her fingers in his hair and pulled his head to her exposed throat.

"Please," she begged.

"Shh, not yet baby," he refused.

She whimpered, and Spike knew he was doing something wrong, which he found hard to believe considering how wet and welcoming her pussy felt.

Then he realized what he was doing. He was selfishly drawing this out, afraid that something would go wrong and this would be his last chance with her. He had never really thought about what this was like for her. He was suddenly amazed at what it must have taken to bring a slayer to the point where she was willing to surrender to a vampire to be turned.

He realized it must be torture for her to keep up her resolve, to not follow her instincts and fight him. Not to mention that her death was looming over her, filling her with anxiety and dread.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, just before his fangs dug into her throat.

She cried out in pleasure, as he began to drain away not only her life, but her fear and anxiety.

Her body began to move more rapidly against him, and worried that she wouldn't have much time considering how rapidly her blood was pouring into his mouth, his hand descended between them to stroke her clit and bring her quickly to completion.

Her body convulsed around him, milking him until he came along with her. But he could feel the strength leaving her body, and hear the slowing of her heartbeat.

Spike groped blindly until his hands closed around the dagger, bringing it to the edge of his throat and slicing it, before tossing the dagger aside. He then lifted Buffy's head, bringing her mouth to the wound. As she began to suck on his neck, his cock began to harden within her again. He began to move gently inside her, not wanting to hurt his dying girl.

Soon her legs were no longer squeezing him tightly, and her arms began to let go of him. Then he could no longer feel her breath against his neck, and the flutter of her heartbeat stopped for good.

He gently placed her head on the pillow and pulled out of her. He licked the blood off of her lips, then arranged her in his arms so he could hold her from behind, and bury his face in her hair.

Spike's erection was quickly fading. Buffy was nothing more than a corpse now–a beautiful one yes–but whatever quality it was that so endeared her to him was gone for now.

He could only hope that when her eyes opened again she would still be his girl.


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