Wrecked               

In the rubble of the ruined building, we see feet.  Pan up past the debris, and suddenly Buffy sits up with a gasp, clutching her leather skirt to her chest.  She looks around her, a little frightened, a little appalled.  Beside her, Spike stirs.  She leaps up.  Looks around at the destruct-o-rama.

"When..."   She looks close to panic.  "When did the building fall down?"  She's scratched and bruised, maybe from falling through the floor, and...maybe not.  I'm guessing NOT.  <G>

Spike takes in the destruction, gives her a grin.  We see a bruise on his jaw, one on his chest, other scratches.  "I don't know," he says. "Must have been some time between the first time and the..."  He makes a noise in his throat, remembering.

She realizes what he's talking about.  "Oh," she says, and then it really hits her.  "Oh, my God," she whines.

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                                  *                *               *

Buffy's dressed, mostly, except for...  "Shoe.  I need my shoe," she says, looking for it.

"What's the hurry, love?"  He's still stretched out on the floor, one arm behind his head, and he's almost purring, his voice deeper than usual.

But she's not having any.  "The hurry is I left Dawn all night," she says.  "And don't call me 'love.'"

He gives her a knowing smile.  "You didn't seem to take issue with that last night," he says, stretching.   "Or with any of the other little nasties we whispered."

She cuts him off.  "Can we not.  Talk," she spits at him, , finding her shoe and putting it on.

"I just don't see why you have to run off so quick," he says, a hair away from wheedling.  "I thought we could..."  He lifts an eyebrow, suggestively.

"Not gonna happen," she says.  "Last night was the end of this freak show."  She starts to walk past him.  He catches her, pulls her down into his lap.

"=Don't= say that," he says, stung.

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"What did you think was gonna happen?" she says, "We were gonna read the newspaper together?"  From his expression, that thought had crossed his mind.  She goes on:  "Play footsie under the rubble?"

He reaches under her skirt. "Not exactly what I had in mind," he says, as his fingers work and  her eyes close.  For a second she lets him, then she shoves at him.

"Stop!"

"Make me," he dares her.

"No," she says, and grabs him, kisses him.  He pulls her closer, kissing her back, but after a moment she pushes away.  "No," she says, not sounding terribly convinced, "No.  I...I have to..."

"Stay," he says, breathless, wanting to kiss her again.  "I'm stuck here.  Sun's up."  She hesitates, and he leans in, kisses her hard. She moans, pulls him down on top of her.  He kisses her, moves to her neck.  The side where her bite scars are.  When he puts his mouth on the scar, she moans again.  More kissing.  He pulls back, panting.

"I knew," he says, exultant, "I knew the only thing better than killing a Slayer would be f..."

She pushes him away, hard, not letting him get the word out. "What?!"   She jumps up, scrambling to get away from him.  "Is that what this is about?  Doing a Slayer?"  SO not happy with that...

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He laughs.  "I wouldn't throw stones, Pet.  You seem to be quite the groupie yourelf."

"Shut up!"  She spits, wipes her mouth on the back of her hand.

"I'm just saying," he goes on, "vampires get you hot."

"A  vampire got me hot," she says.  "One!  But he's gone.  You're just..."   She casts about for something to say, something that will hurt.  "You're just...convenient."  Her voice breaks on the last word.  She stands there, looking down at him, holding back tears.

He looks at her.  Does she really believe that's what it was?  He huffs out a small "oh" of disbelief.  She continues to stare.  He gets up, finds his pants.  She averts her eyes as he puts them on.

"So," he spits, doing up the zipper.  "What now?  You go back to treating me like dirt until the next time you've got an itch you can't scratch?"  He's scornful, angry.  "Well, forget it!  Last night changed  things."  He does up his belt, being rather more forceful than necessary.  "I'm done being your whipping boy."

"Nothing's changed," she says, desperate to believe it.  "It was a mistake."

"Bollocks!"  There's hurt showing underneath the anger.  "It was a bloody revelation."  He advances on her, that hipshot, slouchy stalk. "Now, you can act as high and mighty as you like," he says, and then, his voice softening, "but I know where you live now, Slayer.  I've tasted it."  He leans in, and she backs up.

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"Get a grip," she says.  "Like you're God's gift."

He laughs.  "Hardly," he says, biting his lower lip.  "It wouldn't be nearly as interesting, now would it?"  He leans in again; she pushes him away, slips past him.  He cuts her off.

"No!" she says, "Let me go."

He reaches out, locks his fisted hands behind her head, holding her there.  "I may be dirt," he says, the anger coming back, "but you're the one who likes to roll in it, Slayer.  You never had it so good as me, never."

She breaks his grip, steps away.  "You're bent," she snaps.

"Yeah," he says, just shy of a sneer.  "And it made you scream, didn't it?"

"I swear to GOD," she says, furious, "if you tell anyone about last night, I will  kill you."

He just looks at her.  She's sooooo full of it...  "Right," he says, pretending to be convinced, and reaches into his hip pocket.  He pulls out her very skimpy panties, holding them up so she can see. "You gonna want these, too?"

She punches him in the nose, snatches the drawers, and stalks off.

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                                   *                *               *

Waking him up at his crypt:

Spike is asleep in the bed, barechested, the sheet over his lower half.  Suddenly a large white candle lands on his stomach, and he starts upright with a gasp.

Buffy is standing there, putting a red candle back onto a table. "God, do you sleep through anything?" she says.  "I was, like, yelling, and...nothing."  She sounds the teeniest bit defensive, as though what she'd really been doing was watching him sleep.

"I'm a bit knackered," he says, giving her a lascivious grin. "Had a long night."  He sits up, pushes off the sheet, obviously naked under there. "Someone should teach you how to use candles in foreplay, love."  His pants come flying at his head.

"Get dressed," she says, wasting no time.  "Dawn's missing."

"Again?"  He shakes his head.  "Ever think about a lojack for the girl?"  He tosses the pants aside, sighs. "What's the story?

"She went out with Willow."  Okay, that didn't sound so lame in her head...

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Spike grins.  "Willow?"  he says.  Well, well. "It's kind of  a sorry excuse to come by. You want the touch, all you need to do..."

Buffy cuts him off.  "Spike.  Willow's into something, okay, her and Dawn have been missing for hours. There's some guy named Rack--"

Spike is all attention, now.  "Rack?"

"Yeah, he's some sort of--"

He doesn't let her finish.  "I know who he is. He deals in magic--black stuff. Dangerous."  He's starting to look a little worried.

Buffy's worried, too.  "I've been all over downtown," she says,  "and I can't find his place."

"Because he cloaks it," Spike says.  "You can't feel it unless you're into the big bad-- A witch or a vampire..."  This is so not good...

"So let's go," Buffy says.  He doesn't quibble, just gets up to put on his pants.  She turns away, averting her eyes.

"Oh, that's right," he says, a little peeved.  She didn't mind looking before...  "Hide your blushing eyes."

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                              *                 *                  *

Buffy and Spike are walking down the dark streets, looking for Rack's place.  "Anything?" she asks.

"Not yet," he says, starting to get exasperated.  "I might pick up on it if you stopped asking me about every 2 seconds..."

"Spike, if you're dragging this out..."

"What?" he says, stopping,  "So I can linger near your precious self? Get a grip."

She gives him a Look.  "Like you've never drawn things out before."

Okay, she's got him on that one.  "Maybe," he admits, "but we've been through this, haven't we? Things have changed."  Hello, remember last night?

So don't want to go there...  "Will you quit that?" she says, obviously not for the first time.  "The only thing that's different is that I'm disgusted with myself. That's the power of your charms. Last night...," she searches again for the wounding words, "was the most perverse, degrading experience of my life."

But they backfire.  "Yeah," he says, smiling, biting the bottom lip, happy in the memory, "me too."  He walks past her.

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She hurries to catch up.  "That might be how you get off, but it's not my style," she says.

"No," he says, amazed at her.  "It's your calling. Gave me a run for my money, Slayer."  He looks down at his boots, not quite sure he wants to give her ammunition.  "Now, I admit it, you've had me by the short hairs," he says.  "I love you; you know it. But I got my rocks back. You  felt  something last night."

"Not love," she says,  not mean about it, just making sure he knows.

He does.  "Not yet," he says, "But I'm in your system now, you're gonna crave me like I crave blood, and the next time you come calling, if you don't stop being such a bitch, maybe I =will= bite you."

Oh, that is the outside of enough.  Eye-roll.  "That's it," she says, "I want you out of my life, out of my work, out of my home..."

"Too late for that," he says.  "You invited me in already."  He doesn't mean just into her home... "And as for your work, you need me...like tonight."

"I'll find Dawn myself," she says, determined not to need him for anything.

He makes a frustrated face.  Is she =listening= to herself? "You really gonna put your little sis in danger just to spite me?"

And of course, she won't.

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                                 *                  *                 *

The last scene, in Buffy's bedroom.  Garlic hangs in the windows. The lights are off, and Buffy, fully clothed, is sitting on the bed, holding a cross.  She wraps her arms around her knees, looks around the room, listening for a sound that doesn't come...

--

Dori  

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