Scenes from a Revelation: The Beast

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Rating: NC-17
Timeframe: Starting mid-Once More With Feeling, continuing through Wrecked and beyond
Spoilers: Up to and including Wrecked
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own it all. No trademark infringement is intended.
Thanks: I'd like to thank my friend J, who came over to watch football with my husband and didn't notice I was sitting in the same room with them, writing this. Also, as always, thank you to willa for the beta.

I welcome any and all comments. Really.

I'm leaving. There's a bottle of bourbon in the crypt that can keep me company until it's time for me to get some sleep.

"Hey," is all she says, but it's enough to stop my escape. She doesn't belong out here with me, in the cold.

"You should go back inside. Finish the big group sing, get your kum-by-ya-ya's out."

"I don't want to," she says, sounding like a spoiled five year old who's just been told she has to go to bed.

"The day you suss out what you do want, there'll probably be a parade. Seventy-six bloody trombones," I tell her, knowing I'll be the one leading that parade.

I don't even know why she's here. I'm not her friend or her confessor, and I'm for bloody sure not her boyfriend. She should stop giving a man hope just to snatch it away at the last second.

She interrupts me with her song, and I'm suddenly under the spell again. Not the demon's spell, but hers.

I can feel what's coming, but I just can't let myself believe it. I've barely finished singing when we've both closed the distance between us, and I'm kissing her.

Her hands find their way inside my jacket, around to my back, and she pulls me closer to her.

She's so desperate, so hungry. Her mouth is demanding against mine, pushing me, challenging me.

I want her so much. I want to pick her up and carry her away from here, away from her friends, the ones who've yanked her back to this torture chamber of a world.

I feel her shoulder tense under my hand, and I'm a fool, but I'm hoping it's not because she's about to—

Please, please tell me she just wants to ask if we can take this somewhere else.

"I—I've got to go," she stammers, and I can see how much she needs to get away.

"I can't. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..." her voice trails off, and she starts to back away from me.

"Buffy, wait. It's okay," I want to tell her something, anything that will keep her from leaving me. I'm struck with the sudden truth that if she leaves me now, she may never come back. Not to me, anyway.

I catch her arm as she turns, and I realize it could literally be the last act of a desperate man. She turns around, and I hope her other hand doesn't have a stake in it.

She wrestles her arm from my grip and pushes me back, and I can tell she's not messing around. I try to catch myself, but can't, and I stumble for a step or two before I regain my balance.

I pull back from her, ready to defend myself in case I've brassed her off enough to take a piece out of me.

I'm playing through the whole affair in my head as I walk home, and I still can't see where things went south.

We're kissing, right, and I know none of them have kissed her like that. Not Angel and not soldier boy, and certainly none of the other bit players in her life.

I know she could feel it. The way she kissed me, the way she touched me, she wouldn't do it if it was meaningless to her. She doesn't work that way. It's taken me a long time to suss that one out, but that's not her.

Maybe she didn't want her pals to catch us. I'm not exactly the kind you take home to introduce to the family. The watcher would just as soon stake me as look at me, and he's actually one of my bigger fans in her group.

Sometime since I'd set out, my direction had changed. I'm a block away from her house, and I don't see any reason to stop now.

Soon, my back is against the old, familiar tree in her front yard, and I can still see the remnants of cigarettes under my boots from my previous visits.

Dawn's voice cuts through the silence, and I duck around to the far side of the tree just in time to hide myself from them.

They stream into the house, chattering about the events of the evening. I guess I'm the only one who remembers that Xander's little spell caused a couple of deaths before everything worked itself out.

But that isn't what makes me want to kill the stupid boy. It's his spell that forced Buffy to reveal her secret to them, that made her explain just how profoundly they'd destroyed her.

"I was going to have some hot chocolate before I went to bed. You want me to bring you some?"

"Nights when I almost get shanghai-ed to the underworld to be some bumpy guy's child bride are always curfew-free."

"Something tells me Buffy wouldn't agree with you," I tell her, and I smile when she scowls at me.

"Why don't you come in? We can watch old black and white movies and eat popcorn. I'll even let you put chili powder on it, even though that's really gross."

"It's a tempting offer, Morsel, but I should probably be on my way," I turn to leave, hoping I can get away before it occurs to Dawn to wonder what I'm doing here.

"Can I stop by after school tomorrow? Just for a little while? It's not like you can go anywhere else then anyway..."

"What's up with the two of you, anyway?" she asks me, and I mentally take back all the nice things I've just thought about her.

"Not a thing. I just stopped by to make sure they got you home safe. And here you are, so I'll be on my way."

"Okay, but you're making me watch Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House alone, and you're going to have to make it up to me later."

I'm not a vampire with a soul, helping the helpless and all that rot. Makes me want to gag that I ever said that out loud. I'll leave the brooding superhero thing to Angel, thanks.

But that is Buffy down there on the ground, getting herself stomped on by one of the shark's misfits. And if there's one thing that stayed constant between being Randy and Spike, it's how I feel about her.

"Buffy," I yell, hoping it'll wake her up, get her back to her feet and kicking ass, like she should be.

But look at her. She's not moving, except to wince when he kicks her in the stomach.

The uglier of the two vampires jumps me, cutting me off before I can get through to her. Now I've got to get through this one before I can take care of the one on Buffy.

I punch Ugly, which gets the attention of his friend. That's better. Why don't both of you come at me and leave her alone.

They're both completely inept, and I'm just sick at the thought that I ever ran from these two poofters. They both charge me, but I catch them and knock their heads together. They fall to the ground on either side of me, with dumb, dazed looks on their faces.

"From dust," I say as I stake the first, "to dust," I finish, staking the other.

The shark and I have words, and I get the feeling now that he's watched me dust the muscle he hired, he's not so sure he should be pursuing me anymore. I tell him something just to get him to go away, because I'm more concerned with Buffy than anything else.

I just don't understand it. She remembers who she is and it just takes all the fight out of her. I could murder the witch for bringing her back just to put her through this suffocating misery of a life.

Except for one thing. Having her back is the only thing that makes my existence worthwhile.

I hold out my hand to help Buffy up. Even with the Slayer strength and quick healing, she's still got to be sore from the beating she took.

I feel like it's my stomach that's been kicked in when she ignores me, gets herself to her feet, and brushes past me like I'm not even there.

And I just stand here, like an imbecile, staring after her. I don't even move until she's completely disappeared from view, and even when I do start walking, I'm not sure where I'm headed.

We happen to be walking in the same direction, is all. It's a free country, last I heard, and if a man wants to duck into the Bronze for awhile before going home, who is she to tell me I can't?

It's clear she needs someone to talk to, but I'm probably the last one she'd consider for that duty. Now, if there was some big-hairy-ugly after her sister or one of her pals, mine'd be the first door she'd knock on.

But she doesn't own the Bronze, now does she? I'll just go in, get myself a drink or ten, and then see what trouble I can get into on my way home.

I take a deep breath, sure she'll kick my ass the minute I walk onto her precious hallowed ground.

Once I'm inside, I catch myself looking for her against my better judgment. It doesn't take me long to find her. There she is, sitting at the bar and staring off into space. More than a couple of the boys who walk past her barstool take a second, and sometimes a third look.

Can't blame them. Even when she's miserable, she's beautiful, and there's really no debating it.

I carefully approach the barkeep and carry out a silent transaction, my crumpled money for his beer. I don't know why I'm being so careful not to disturb her highness, but I'm successful. She shows no signs that she's spotted me, so I find a dark corner on the other side of the room where I can drink in peace.

The beer slides down my throat, bitter and cold—and not the least bit fulfilling.

And I realize, even though I can't see her, I'm still staring directly toward her. I have been ever since I came in.

There's really no use pretending, is there? I know what I came here for, and even if she shoots me down, I still have to try.

I walk across the room to stand next to her, and that's all I do. Stand there, like a statue. I'm trying to think of something to say, but I'm not even sure what I'm doing here. The chances of saying the right thing are, well, let's just say I have a better chance of finding myself in a pleasant conversation with the almighty.

I wish I could tell her she can tell me anything, she can just sit and say nothing, she can pound on me if it'd make her feel better. I want her to know I'm not here to demand anything of her, I'm not here to make her life miserable.

The expression on her face doesn't even change as she turns to look at me. It's like I'm not even there. She turns from me as if my presence has mildly inconvenienced her, and she'd simply rather not have to look at me.

And I'm back to being the one kicked in the stomach. I draw in a breath and hold it, letting it out in one big puff before I leave her again. I'm heading for the door, but something keeps me from leaving. I'm livid with myself, but the faint glimmer of hope that she might change her mind keeps me here.

I find a staircase to lean up against, and my hand closes over the pack of smokes in my pocket. I could use a little nicotine, actually.

Bugger. I can't smoke in here. This is bloody California, after all. Sure, I could light up, but then some burly college bloke would decide to kick me out, and I wouldn't be able to lay a hand on him. Nothing more humiliating that getting bounced out of this place by some oversized—

"You can't smoke in here, you know," she says, shifting her weight from side to side.

I can't quite believe she followed me, and it takes me a second to gather my thoughts together to say anything. I really shouldn't expect too much. She's probably just here to tell me to go.

"Listen, I'm leaving. You don't have to bother your pretty head coming over here to throw me out, right?" I started to walk past her, figuring I've just saved her the trouble of telling me for the millionth time to leave her alone. "I know where I'm not—"

Suddenly, her hands are on my face, pulling me toward her. I'm still trying to figure out what kind of strange fighting moves that watcher's been teaching her when I feel her lips touch mine.

I recover from the shock quickly, which is good, because this probably won't last long. I don't have too much time before she comes to her senses.

I'm afraid to touch her at first. I don't want to do anything to make her leave me.

But then she clutches at me and moans against my mouth, and it makes me forget about scaring her away. I have to touch her, have to hold her. I can't feel her this close to me and not hold her.

I slide one hand to the small of her back, and I can feel the gentle curve of her waist through her clothes. My other hand has already found its way to her shoulder, and I imagine for a second that I can hold her here, keep her from running away from me this time.

She feels amazing. Much better than every fantasy I've ever had about her, combined. It seems obscene to think of the 'bot, even just to compare it to the real woman. Nothing can substitute for the genuine article.

This is even better than our last kiss, because we know each other now. I know what she reacts to, I know what makes her clutch at my clothes, and I know what makes her go limp in my arms.

Her hair brushes against my hand when she moves her head, and it's unbearably soft against my skin. I suppress the urge to bury my face in it and learn how her scent mixes with the shampoo she uses.

We break the kiss to stare at each other, and I'm afraid this is when she'll tell me she has to leave. I can't believe it, but I don't see the impulse to run away in her eyes. She guides us back into a kiss before I can consider it any further.

I feel her pull back from me a little, leaning against the pillar, and I'm jealous. Of a bloody inanimate object. I tighten my arm around her back and urge her to lean against me, instead, and she does.

Her hands slide up my back and link at the nape of my neck. It presses her body close to mine, and she feels soft and inviting against my chest.

Her finger runs down the length of my neck, and it sends a slow wave of pleasure through me. I have to break away from her to take in a quick breath, and I hear her sigh in frustration at the sudden lack of contact.

I tease her lips with the tip of my tongue, and her mouth opens against mine. Everything feels like it's moving at half speed around us as I explore the inside of her mouth. Her tongue shyly meets mine, and I think she might have just driven me mad.

Her hands move to my chest, and just when I start to enjoy the feel of her there, she pushes against me. I'm knocked back, more out of surprise than from the force she used.

My eyes fly to hers, and I'm desperate to change her mind. Don't leave me, Buffy. Not when it was just starting to feel right.

"It's too much, Spike. I can't do this. You're—you're not what I need right now."

It always comes back to this. I'm a monster. I'll never be good enough for her. She'll never see the changes I've made to be the man she wants me to be. She'll never let go of my past.

Defeated, I take another step back to let her know I'll do nothing to block her escape.

I silently blessed the telly on the way to the museum I had seen on the evening news.

This was the kind of thing that had 'Buffy' written all over it. Pretty obvious this was the work of a demon, though it's not one I'm familiar with. I wish it was. That way I'd have information to offer her, which is a good excuse, as excuses go, to be around her. But I've got nothing, other than my sparkling personality.

I arrive at the museum and see a crowd gathered near the front doors, where the ambulance is waiting to take the poor frozen bloke off to the hospital.

I spot Buffy right away, and stifle back a laugh as I watch her jump in the air to try to get a better look over the crowd. Apparently, it isn't working, because she ends up having to push her way to the front.

She doesn't stay long, and soon she's walking toward me, taking an occasional glance up at the windows lining the side of the museum wall.

I'm sure she's not going to be happy to see me anyway—that she'll admit—I might as well allow myself to tease her a little. She flushes in the sexiest way when she's angry at me, and I can't say that I'm not looking forward to it.

She tries to walk past me, but we're not done yet. I fall into step beside her, my mouth moving two paces ahead of my brain, as usual.

"Uh, you know, as long as we're both here, you might as well tag along. I mean, as a team we could—"

I think it's been ending pretty bloody spectacularly, myself. All up until the part where she runs away.

"It did the other night," I answer, and it comes out much more seriously than I'd hoped it would.

Couple of kisses? Those weren't a couple of kisses. Those were profound, life-altering experiences, and she knows it as well as I do. She's walking past me again, and I'm forced to call after her to keep her from escaping again.

She stops, and I'm not sure whether it's what I've said or the way I've said it.

"Look. I'm sorry...okay? I'm sorry if you thought that it meant more." Her eyes brim with sincerity, and, just for a second, I catch myself believing her.

"But," I say, trying to draw out whatever excuse she's decided explains away our little snogging habit.

I barely suppress the urge to snicker at her. She obviously doesn't realize what it just sounds like she's said.

"You know...I always wondered about you two," I say, deadpan, and then wait for her to figure it out. The look on her face at the moment of realization makes it all worthwhile.

"What? Oh, gross, Spike!" I wonder what kind of mental images she's trying to ward off. "He left. I was depressed. Ergo, vulnerability and...and bad kissing decisions," she says, as if she's explaining everything to a very young, very stupid child. "Okay? But, that's all it was. you have to let it go."

I can't help it this time. I can't keep the expression on my face as neutral as I'd like. She can't possibly think I'll believe any of this rot, just because she's decided to believe it herself.

"What?" she says, and there it is. I can see how flustered she's become, what with me not going along with this conversation as she's rehearsed it in her own mind.

"Please, stop," she asks me, and I can hear just how much she needs me to do just that.

And I wish I could, but pretending none of this ever happened isn't going to resolve a sodding thing. I realize, as I watch her turn from me yet again, I've got to say something, do something to keep her talking. Good or bad, we've got to have this out, even if it ends with me as a fine layer of dust covering the grass under her feet.

"A man can change," I say, and wonder what I was thinking when I said it. There had to be some less pathetic way to keep her from leaving.

"You're not a man. You're a thing." And she turns her back on me again, as if I mean nothing at all to her, as if I'm not even worth despising anymore.

"Stop walking away," I insist, and my hand catches her shoulder. The moment I touch her, I realize it's all I've wanted to do, ever since the last time I saw her.

Her hand connects with my face as she turns around, and before I can stop myself, I punch her back. Reflex action, one I'll pay for with one bugger of a head—

My brain struggles to hold onto something, but I'm reeling. What in the bloody hell is going on?

Buffy's starting to get up, and it hits me all at once. I'd better deliver one spectacular performance here, or brace myself to get staked. There's nothing in this world that would keep her stake out of my heart if she knew the chip...

I scream, holding my head and watching her out of the corner of my eye for any sign she's seen through it.

She backhands me, and I don't have to work to make my fall look good. She wasn't messing around.

"You're a thing," she says, carefully pronouncing each word. "An evil...disgusting...thing."

You know what? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I can't change. Maybe I've just been fooling myself.

Maybe neither one of us will be free of this curse until I come back to my senses. Something has seen fit to return me to my old self, turn off this blasted chip and free me. It's got to be for a reason, right? A purpose.

Because I'd really started to believe I'd changed. I'd really wanted to be the man she needs, instead of the monster I was.

They're just food. You're different from them. This is the natural order of things. Just pick one, and get on with it.

Oh, and she's heading for the alley. Bloody wonderful. You know, if the humans in this burg didn't insist on all those shortcuts through dark alleys, Buffy's job would be a whole lot easier.

I take a different alley, then duck into the one Blondie's chosen from the opposite end and hide in the shadows. Now I just have to wait for her. And ignore the steadily-growing, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I hear her shoes scraping against the pavement as she draws closer, and I emerge just as she reaches my hiding place. She screams, which should be music to my ears.

Blondie tries to get past me, but she can't possibly think I'm going to allow that to happen. I block her, and watch the horror and fear register on her face.

"Creature of the night here, yeah? Some people forget that," I say, more to myself than to her.

"She thinks I'm housebroken," I rant, trying to take my mind off what I've decided to do. "She forgot who she's dealing with."

"Just 'cause she's confused about where she fits in—I'm supposed to be too?" I ask, ignoring her plea before it breaks my will. "'Cause I'm not. I know what I am." I start to pace in frustration. My first feeding was easier than this. "I'm dangerous. I'm evil."

"I...I'm sure you're not evil," she says, and I find myself wishing her voice was Buffy's.

"Yes, I am. I am a killer," I say, and close in on her. "That's what I do. I kill." I can feel the uncertainty creeping in again. "And, yeah, maybe it's been a long time, but—it's not like you forget how. You just...do it."

I will my face to change, force myself to descend on Blondie. She screams and I ignore it, closing the inches between my fangs and her neck.

"This might hurt a little," I tell her, just before I close my mouth over her jugular.

But then the familiar, shooting pain courses through me. I'm dimly aware of the sound of her running away.

The pain starts to die away, and I realize the rules are even more bollocksed-up than I thought.

If I don't get this girl out of my head, I'm going to wear a hole in the floor of this crypt from all the pacing.

I struggle to remember anything I've done to Buffy since she got back that might have made the chip fire, and there's nothing. It's probably been this way ever since her resurrection, but tonight is the first time I've done anything to illustrate the point.

My thoughts return to that night, 148 days since the day she'd died, when I first saw her again. How I tried to tell that Harris whelp that Buffy could have come back wrong.

I remember what I said, that if any part of what came back was Buffy, I wouldn't let anything happen to her. Wouldn't let the witch clean up her little mess.

Whatever she is, the chip doesn't recognize her as human. Or I'd be nursing an even bigger headache than I already am.

I shouldn't tell her. If I tell her, she's got every reason to stake me. I've tried to kill her more times than I'm sure either of us can count, and she'll believe I'll try it again now that I've got the chance.

Never mind that I wouldn't be able to do it. I've lived in a world where she was dead, and I'm in no hurry to experience it again.

But she should know. The rest of them know exactly what they've done to her, what they stole from her when they brought her back. It doesn't seem fair that Buffy doesn't even know how much they've botched the job.

I'm not thinking of telling her for self-serving reasons. But if she did know that she's more like me than she is like her friends, that we're not that different anymore, she might be able to—

Stop. I can't think that way. She has a right to know where she stands, simple as that.

I'll let her draw whatever conclusions she wants. If that sends her back into my arms, well, that's just icing on the cake, isn't it?

How can she not be patrolling tonight? I've looked everywhere, but she seems to be taking the night off.

All right, it's not exactly my style, but it's probably more effective than walking around all night.

I feel around in my pockets, hoping some change will magically appear, but I'm as broke as I thought I was. I take a quick look around and see that no one's in sight, then I jimmy the bottom section of the phone open and quarters spill into my hands. I put a stack of them on top of the phone, and get ready to make some calls.

I push a quarter into the slot and dial 0, like I've seen people do on television.

"Couldn't you make an exception, just this once?" I'm in a hurry, and I can't be standing here dialing numbers all night.

"I need two numbers, come to think of it. First one, for Summers, S-U-M-M-E-R-S."

"Joyce," I say, and then I realize, belatedly, that the bill won't be in her name anymore. I take a second to miss her, because she was kind to me on several occasions. Even when I didn't deserve it. "Actually, come to think of it, the bill is probably in a different name. Buffy. B-U-F-F-Y."

She read the number to me, and I memorized it. Who knows when it might come in handy in the future?

There's one ring, and then two, and I'm ready to bail out if anyone other than Buffy answers. What am I going to do, ask them, 'Is Buffy there?' and wait for them to hang up on me?

"Hello, Magic Box." Her voice floats through the phone and I can't believe my luck. Right, first try.

She thinks I'm such a monster, I may as well play up the idea. She'll show up just to kick my ass.

Bugger all. Doesn't she have any imagination? Of course it's me. Who else would call her and talk to her this way? Has she got vampires lined up as kissing partners all over town?

"Why? Are you helping again?" She raises her voice, yelling into the phone loud enough that I decide to hold the earpiece a little further away. "Do you have a lead on this frost monster thingy?"

"Something like that, yeah," I say, and I can't resist baiting her a little. "Thought you might be up for a little grunt work."

"I was talking shop, love, but if you've got other ideas," I say, as if the thought hadn't really occurred to me until now, "you, me, cozy little tomb with a view..."

There's a violent sound on her end, followed by a dial tone. I finally let out the laugh I've been holding as I set off for the crypt to wait for her. There's no way she'll refuse an invitation like this.

My 'twenty minutes' ultimatum has come and gone. Now that it's over an hour later, it finally occurs to me.

I blow out the candles I'd lit in anticipation of her arrival, and set off for the magic shop. If she's still there, there'll be hell to pay.

I duck low, peering through the window at the front of the store. There she is, surrounded by books, wearing a troubled expression.

She really is taking this frost demon seriously. Hasn't she realized by now that any demon in town worth fighting will seek her out?

I back away from the store and look around, trying to figure out which way Buffy's likely to go when she finally decides to go home. There's a side road, more of an alley, really, that leads directly toward her house, and I decide that's the best place to wait.

Eventually, I hear a door open and close, then their voices cut into the silence before they part ways. Buffy's footsteps get louder and louder, and I know I've picked the right place to wait for her.

She's distracted as she walks toward me, so distracted she might bump into my chest before she notices me.

"You shouldn't be so flip, love," I say, wondering how long I'll have to hint to her that I've got breaking news, here.

"I'm just saying, things might be a little different." Part of me is reluctant to just tell her, straight out. If I don't play this just right, she could turn around with a stake in her hand, and it'd all be over. In more ways than one.

"Enough," she says, and tries to walk past me for the second time. I block her, and I can see her annoyance is quickly becoming anger. "Get out of my way," she orders me.

I'm getting a little angry, myself. If I didn't know better, I'd say she prefers me this way.

She punches me, just as I thought she would. I take the blow, and give her one in return.

"Oh, the pain! The pain," I say, as I mimic holding my head in agony, "is gone. Guess what I just found out? Looks like I'm not as toothless as you thought, sweetheart."

"How?" she asks, and I she's asking the same thing I did, at first. 'What's wrong with the chip?'

This is all wrong. This isn't how I wanted to tell her at all. But, in my defense, she's the one who fell back on the violence. All I wanted to do was light a few candles and break it to her gently.

"It's no trick. It's not me. It's you. Just you, in fact—that's the funny part." Her mouth is hanging open in shock, and I can see she doesn't even believe the chip doesn't work, not yet. I punch her just to show how unaffected I am by it, the kind of punch she should barely feel. She lets it turn her to the side, and she's slow to recover. "'Cause you're the one that's changed," I punch her again, more to wake her up than anything else. "That's why this doesn't hurt me."

When she blocks me on the third try, and I know that Buffy, my Buffy, is back, at least for now. She tries to counter-punch, but I'm ready for her. I think she may have forgotten how good I used to be at this.

"You came back a little less human than you were," and I try not to show how intrigued I am by it. She'll be repulsed at the mere thought of having lost any of her bloody humanity, and she'll just hate me more if she thinks even part of me is happy about it.

I can see it's just starting to make sense to her, it's just starting to answer all the questions she's had about herself since the night they brought her back. I want to say something, but what is there to say?

It's about time for her to need a punching bag, someone to use to get out her aggression. I stand there and let her take it out on me, and she doesn't disappoint. She's lost all her finesse, but she's throwing raw power at me, which is impressive. Her attacks send me to my hands and knees, and I just get up and let her come at me again.

She puts both hands on my chest and pushes me back, and I can't catch myself before I stumble up the stairs behind me. When I regain my footing, she's already pursuing me, and she grabs me by the coat and throws us both into an abandoned building.

I decide to start fighting back. She'll eventually tire of beating on me if I don't.

Although, being honest with myself, I have to admit I'm enjoying it. No one fights like her. There's just no substitute, once you've gone up against her and lived to tell the tale.

We each get in a few punches, nothing spectacular, but we're really just warming up. She gets some distance from me, then kicks me hard enough to send me flying into another room.

"Oh, poor little lost girl," I say, taunting her into pursuing me further. When she moves into the center of the room, I swing on the chandelier over our heads, kicking when I reach her.

She grabs me again and sends me flying. As I'm trying to recover, I see how much broken wood there is around me. I'm drawing a breath to tell her to watch it, but she interrupts me.

"Me? I'm lost? Look at you, you idiot! Poor Spikey. Can't be a human, can't be a vampire. Where the hell do you fit in?"

I struggle to my feet before she reaches me and try to get in the first blow. She ducks me, easily, and lands a blow in my midsection, folding me in half and incapacitating me. Then she throws me again, and I find myself under a pile of bricks.

"Your job is to kill the Slayer. But all you can do is follow me around making moon eyes."

That's all this is to her, isn't it? It's just me, choosing to fixate on her because the chip's keeping me from killing her.

I try to get up, but my arms fail. It's all I can do to prop myself up so I can look her in the eye when I make my confession. It probably won't make any difference, won't change her mind at all, but I haven't got any choice. It's all I can think of, it's paralyzing me. Maybe if I just say it—

"You're in love with pain. Admit it. You like me because you enjoy getting beat down. So really, who's screwed up?"

"Hello? Vampire," I say, as if I'm introducing myself to her. "I'm supposed to be treading on the dark side." I grab her arms and throw her against the wall. Once she's landed, I throw her again, this time to the middle of the room.

She shoves me back, and I've barely gotten up when I feel her whole body collide with mine. It propels us to next room, where she rolls to the right, and I roll to the left.

We're both back up quickly, but it looks like I've got a plan, and she doesn't. I run at her, pushing her against a staircase, pinning her against me. My hand finds her neck and I press, but not enough to hurt her.

She's enjoying this. She's enjoying this the same way she accused me of earlier.

We're a lot more alike than you think, love. The thought makes me a little giddy, and I laugh.

Apparently, the Slayer doesn't get the joke. We trade punches again, and I decide we've had just about enough of this. We're not getting anywhere.

"I wasn't planning on hurting you," I say, breaking the silence. I sound a little too sincere, so I add, "much," and leer at her.

"You haven't even come close to hurting me," she replies, although she doesn't seem completely unaffected by our little brawl.

She grabs my arms and throws me against a nearby wall, then uses all her strength to hold me in place. I'm not sure I could break out of it if I tried. But I don't want to, because this is the closest I've been to her since she ran away from me at the Bronze.

We're just staring at each other now, and I'm not sure what's coming next. I've got to say something, break her out of the stalemate.

This makes our other kisses look like chaste pecks on the cheek. Our bodies press together, and it's like my world just went from black and white to color.

We're still shoving at each other, but somehow we manage to stay connected. I could swear that I heard something crash to the ground behind us, but it's forgotten as her tongue slips into my mouth. My hands span her waist and I lift her, just to feel the full weight of her against my body.

I almost choke when I feel her hands slip in between us, fumble with my belt and my zipper, and then—

She's touching me. She doesn't linger very long, but I'm not sure I could take much more.

She's wrestling with her skirt, pulling it aside, and I finally realize what she's doing. I hadn't even dared to consider that she would want this.

She braces herself against me, and I feel her legs flex as she moves herself into place. I try to hold her the best I can, but I'm not sure how much help I can be, as shocked as I still am.

I still don't really believe it's all happening, not until I feel her lower her body onto mine, taking me inside her.

Our eyes lock together as she starts to move, and I die every time she pulls away from me. It's too much, feeling her everywhere around me.

I kiss her, dipping my tongue into her mouth, matching each of her movements. She starts to feel a little unbalanced in my arms, so I turn, putting her back against the wall to steady her.

Something about the new angle seems to have caught her by surprise. Her eyes close and her head falls back, and I feel her tense around me. I hold her to me, resting my head against her breast as I try to comprehend what's just happened.

It's too much, being buried inside her, her willing body, soft and beautiful, pressed against mine so tightly I think I'll go insane. I feel my feet go out from underneath me, and we're falling, falling much further than I thought was possible.

We smash into the ground, my body landing under hers and absorbing most of the impact.

I'm not sure she even notices. She moves her head close to mine and searches my eyes again, and I'm not sure what she's looking for. Is she looking for a lie to tell herself, something to use to explain this away later? Or is she finally seeing me?

Staring at her almost makes me forget that I'm still inside her body, but when she starts to rock against me, I'm reminded of it in the most wonderful way.

I feel an urge to turn her onto her back, ravish her until I can hear her moan again. When she leans down to kiss me, I nudge at her shoulder.

Her hands cover my collarbone, and she pushes me firmly into the floor. Clearly, my Buffy has other ideas.

The muscles in my chest twitch under her fingers as she sits up, and then I watch as she reaches for her jacket. She makes quick work of removing it, and the gauzy white shirt she's wearing underneath. She steals a quick look at me as she reaches around her back to unsnap her bra, and I'm afraid to tear my eyes away from her face to look at her body.

But then her hand finds mine, and she silently invites me to touch her. I let my fingers cup around the curve of her breast, then move to brush lightly over her nipple. She pushes against my hand, arching her back, and it pulls a growl from my throat.

She looks at me through heavily-lidded eyes, and I could swear she's annoyed at me. Not brace-yourself-for-a-staking annoyed, but ticked, nonetheless.

She starts to move again, faster this time. If this is my punishment, then label me a sinner who deserves plenty of it.

I try to stay even, just enjoy the feel of her, but I'm rapidly losing what's left of my control. I battle up until the last second before it all finally overwhelms me. And it's her name on my lips as I feel her follow me.

She collapses onto me, her chest heaving with deep, exhausted breaths. I hold her gently against me, marveling at the softness of her hair, her skin, as my hands caress her.

Her breathing slows, and her body goes limp in my arms, and I realize she's fallen asleep.

And then it hits me. She's asleep, and she knows the chip doesn't work on her. She actually trusts me enough to leave herself completely defenseless around me.

I pull her closer, careful not to awaken her, and my arms close around her back. Nothing in this world will ever harm you again. Not if I'm around to stop it.

But I'm ready. My arms move to hold her close to me again, just to give me enough time to talk her out of it.

It might be an excuse, but it's actually a good excuse. I don't want any harm to come to the Bit. And Buffy knows it, damn her. But what about her pals? Surely they've got to be able to guard a fifteen year old for one night, can't they?

"You've got half the population of Sunnydale living in that house with you. She's safe, I know it. I can feel it. Just...stay."

"Have you slept at all, or have you just been lying in wait for me to wake up and want to leave?"

"I don't sleep during the night, love. I've been watching you," I say, and realize that might make her a little uncomfortable. "You're sexy when you're asleep, you know," I add.

But her face doesn't say 'I can't' at all. It says, 'I want to, you just have to talk me into it.'

"Yes, you can. That's what this is all about, love. You can do whatever you want, with me."

I let go of her, and sit up once she's left me, watching her carefully for any sign that she's made up her mind one way or the other.

I pull off my jacket, and the blue shirt follows it. I catch her watching me, and just as I'm starting to wonder what she's thinking, she's pulling at my t-shirt. Her hands are deliciously impatient against my chest as I raise my arms to help her. My pants come next, and I smile as I hear her swearing over my boots as she struggles to pull them off my feet.

"That's a little more fair, don't you think?" She slides back up to my chest, bare skin brushing against bare skin, and I want more.

My finger strays under the scrap of fabric still covering her hips. These have got to go.

She starts to pull them off, but I've got other plans. I roll her gently to her back, keeping a lock on her eyes as I cover her body with mine. I bend my head to kiss her neck, and though I think she'll flinch, she doesn't. She trusts me not to bite her, I realize, and I'm stunned at the revelation.

I slip a little lower, covering the tip of one breast with my mouth. Her body tenses when my tongue explores her nipple, and I'd like to stay, love, but I've got other places in mind.

My hand splays over her taut, flat stomach, and I kiss the skin I find there. I drag my lips across her skin until I find them, the last barrier, and I tear myself away from kissing her to close over the fabric with my teeth.

I start to pull, slipping them away from her, down her legs, and then away. I tilt my head, studying the soft curve of her ankle bone. I could become obsessed with the most mundane details about her. I could spend a hundred years learning every inch of her and never tire of it.

I can't resist kissing her again, and I brush my lips against her ankle, followed by a soft line of kisses up her leg.

I reach down to take her leg in my hands, caressing the firm muscle in her calf as I urge it upward, giving me access to the skin hiding on the other side.

I kiss her there, then pull away and blow a stream of air over the area my mouth has abandoned. I feel her shiver against me, but she doesn't let herself enjoy it for long. Her body tenses as she tries to pull her leg out of my hands, and it makes me angry. Angry for her sake.

She's been through so much, and yet the world only seems to have taught her how wrong it is to enjoy something.

"Shhhh, love. It's okay. Relax," I say, barely lifting my mouth from her skin. I feel her relax a little, and I resume kissing her. My hand trails absent-mindedly over her thigh, where I can feel her shaking beneath me.

Her face clouds over with frustration, and I can see how difficult this is for her.

You've got to give yourself permission, Buffy. Trust yourself. You deserve the things you want.

I kiss the hand I've been holding, heady from hearing the words I thought I'd never live to hear. I want more.

She pulls me to her, leaving her leg hooked over my shoulder. She fights against the muscles in her hip as they resist the pressure, but soon we're face to face again.

She looks deeply into my eyes as I enter her with one smooth, slow thrust of my hips.

"Do you want to know what you feel like?" I whisper to her, after kissing her again.

"You're warm," and I pause to take her earlobe into my mouth, another new delight I've just discovered. "You're so warm, I think I might catch fire. But I wouldn't care. I can feel you surrounding me, holding me inside you. It kills me to pull away, even though I know I can come right back."

I hear her draw in a slow, shaky breath, and I have to know. I have to know what she's feeling.

"You're strong," she says, her voice almost inaudible, "and so hard, and so deep. I want to feel you moving inside me, hard and fast until you make me scream."

My thoughts are a blur as my need for her takes over, and I'm doing just what she's asked. I move inside her, over and over, and I'm slowly being driven mad by the quiet whimpering sounds escaping from her mouth.

"Look at me," she says, and I struggle to keep my eyes on hers. "Change," she orders, and it takes a second before I understand.

I do what she asks, though this makes it much harder to resist the urge to sink my fangs into her neck and taste her. I don't want to drain her, I just want to take enough to know her.

The silence is broken by her voice, transformed into a scream, interrupted only by her gasping breaths. I can feel her tensing around me, and she speaks two more words to me before she loses the capacity for speech.

"Bite me," she whispers against my cheek, and I realize how close she's put her neck to my mouth.

I'm tempted again, just for a second before I push it away. Knowing she wanted me to sends me over the edge, and my head drops to her chest as I thrust into her a few more glorious times before it's over, and I'm beyond exhausted.

After a time, she rolls to her side and I settle behind her, hugging her closely to my chest. The shoulder I'm leaning on is burning with pain. One of those tumbles across the room during our fight did something to it, and bearing the entire weight of my upper body for the past half hour hasn't helped it a bit.

I can hear the trepidation in her voice. She thinks she's shocked me, which would be amusing if I wasn't distracted with other thoughts.

I'm afraid I've figured it out. Why she asked me, why I resisted. Actually, I am a little upset she asked, come to think of it. I'm afraid she wants me for the monster, that she's only here with me so she can beat herself up about it later. I'd been pushing the thought away ever since the violence turned to...something different. I want to believe that she's begun to see who I am, what she's made me into, but I've never been one to lie to myself.

I didn't bite her because I didn't want to. I didn't want to be the thing she still thinks I am.

"Not at all, pet," I answer, trying to keep my tone light. "I just didn't want to get myself staked."

"Go to sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up. I'll just tell you all the things I'd like to do to you as you drift off."

I want so desperately to make her see how much I want her, how much the man in me wants her, but I've got to face facts. It's the monster she wants, and I know I'm not strong enough to deny her.

"I still haven't tasted you, pet, and I'm not talking about your blood. I'll do things you've never even thought of. There are so many positions we can try, and some of them will let me get so deep inside you...I'll make you scream until you can't talk, until you can't think of anything but what I can do for you."

"Maybe I'm not as tired as I thought," she says, turning her head to favor me with a look of interest.

Without even a twitch of warning, I grab her and roll her to her stomach, pinning each of her arms and legs to the floor.

I don't give her time to answer before I grab her by the hips and pull her up until she's on her hands and knees. I take a second to hope that I'm someday in a situation where my life flashes in front of my eyes, because this is a sight I know I'll want to see again.

I can't wait for very long before I bury myself inside her. I watch as her body absorbs the impact each time I fill her, but the sight of her isn't enough. I need to feel her under my hands.

I reach around to cup her breast in my palm, lingering a second before I pinch her nipple, hard, and I don't stop until I hear her gasp in pain. Then I slide my hand down her stomach, coming to rest between her legs. My fingers circle around the sensitive skin I find there, teasing her...until an unwelcome thought enters my head.

I call the demon out again, and bend my mouth to her back. My fangs scratch across her skin until thin, red tracks appear. My tongue runs down the length of the cut, and I hate myself just a little more when I realize the taste of her blood in my mouth has pushed me past the point of no return, and I'm calling out her name again, our voices mixing in the stillness of the night.

When she'd started to show signs she was willing to spend the daylight hours here with me, I thought she still wanted the 'disgusting thing' she'd decided I was.

I was wrong. Turns out all she wanted was to leave me behind, along with everything we've said and done over the past eight hours.

I'm not daft, no matter what else you'd like to say about me. I knew this was coming, eventually. I just hoped it wouldn't be so soon. The worst part is that I let my temper get the best of me, lashing out with taunt after taunt when I realized just how much she wanted to be away from me.

'Just what do you want from me,' I'd wanted to yell. I can't read her mind and see that what she taught me last night doesn't apply this morning.

You wanted the beast, Buffy. You proved that to me just a few hours ago. But now, you've decided to hate me for it.

I don't need this, I lie to myself, as I plan out some way to get back to the crypt without turning into a charcoal briquette.

I'm too weary to do anything but lie here and stare at an old movie, after the night I've had.

I think I'm the only creature on the planet who wasn't shocked when Red went and put the Slayer's sister in mortal danger. I've seen it coming for awhile now, not that anyone who may have been interested in the information would have believed the likes of me.

I'd wanted to snap the witch's neck with my bare hands and watch the life blood drain away from her when I saw what she'd done. Getting involved with the likes of Rack, and then having the gall to act surprised when everything's gone wrong.

But I was the fool who sent Buffy back to get her, taking Dawn to the hospital by myself until Buffy could finally tear herself away to join us. I'd had to lie and tell them I was her uncle so they'd let me stay with her. I couldn't take the idea of her sitting there alone, crying, as she waited for them to examine her.

I promised her it would be okay, that everything would work itself out. Even when she asked me if the old Willow would ever come back.

A lifetime of lies hadn't prepared me to deliver that one. She's a smart girl, my Bit, and I know she saw right through me.

Then Buffy arrived at the hospital, sending me on my way without so much as a thank you.

The sound of the crypt door being thrown open breaks me out of my thoughts, and my spirits leap. That can't be just anyone. Only Buffy would show up here like that.

"I came to thank you," she says, and I can hear the conflict in her voice. I allow myself to hope, just for a second, that she's starting to come around.

"The Bit has already seen to that. She thanked me after they took care of her arm at the hospital."

"She was glad to have you there. Things have gotten so complicated for her, and you've been her only constant."

Guilt washes over me when I hear her call me Dawn's constant. I've been so focused on this thing with Buffy...I know I've neglected her sister.

I can see she hasn't got an answer for that one. I wonder if it's because she can't really imagine me caring about anything other than myself.

I have to know if that's why she's come. I'd like to think I'd have the strength to turn her away.

"I'm leaving," she says, but she doesn't move right away. She stares at me, as if she's trying to figure something out.

I watch her, walking amongst the headstones and memorials, idly toying with a stake.

She looks around from time to time, but I'd hardly call her 'alert'. Mostly because I see something sneaking up on her. Poorly, I might add.

What is she? Deaf? She should hear this one coming from a mile away, but it's right behind her and she hasn't even turned around yet.

I watch him grab her and throw her down, and she's hardly reacting at all. She gets in a punch, but she really should have had him by now. This is a two-minute fight for her, but she's struggling with it.

"I've got your back, Buffy," I yell as I launch myself into the hard, scaly back of the demon. I grab his arms and use them to hold him steady.

What's wrong with her? She's just standing there. Don't tell me she's already hurt.

"Are you all right? Did he get you?" I ask, breaking the demon's neck so I can go to her, see if she's okay. And damn the girl, she still hasn't said a word.

"Buffy, you're not answering me. First you let him sneak up on you, and then you let him keep the upper hand once he's jumped you. Are you injured?"

Her whole body is shaking as I hold her close to me. I feel terrible for enjoying having her so close to me again, but I'm a starving man where she's concerned. I have to get the most out of the few scraps she throws to me.

"That's not going to fix anything," she answers, between her gasping, sobbing breaths.

"It's not like that. You shouldn't have to do this out here. Let's go back to the crypt and you can tell me all about it."

I take her back to the crypt, but there's nowhere she'll be comfortable on the ground level. There's the bed downstairs, but she'll get the wrong idea.

She doesn't protest as I help her down the ladder and over to the bed, and she settles herself on top of the covers as if she does it every day.

I decide to take another chance, and I slip out of my jacket and lie down next to her.

"Shhhhh," I whisper, looking into her eyes as her head rests on my chest. "It'll be all right."

It only seems to make her cry harder. I'm not sure what to say, but I think I need to know what this is all about before I can do anything to help.

I can feel her starting to hyperventilate again, and she's just not ready to talk about it.

She's given up hope. I should have known this would happen, that her agony would someday turn into a real death wish.

"I know things seem hard, Buffy, but you have to keep trying. You shouldn't come out here, waiting to lose a fight so you can go back to—"

"That's not it. I would have won that fight. I just wanted to use it to get out some of this, this, whatever it is."

"I told you. I can't make it. I followed the instructions in the book, and it didn't work. I failed."

"No. I tried to make it, the way Mom always did around Christmas. And the fudge, it just didn't work. It was a mess, a great, big, gloppy mess."

"No, it's about me being a failure. I'll never be Mom, I'll never be able to do what she did. I miss her so much, Spike. I miss her so—"

She cries as if her heart is breaking, and I know there's nothing I can do. Nothing but hold her, let her know there's someone here with her, that she's not alone.

I hear my name, but it can't be time to wake up. What could possibly be important enough to get me out of bed when I can feel she's still in my arms?

"I don't mean goodbye. I just need to go." She stops, sitting on the edge of the bed, and looks at me. "But I will never forget this."

She kisses me on the forehead, chastely, and it feels right to have her near me again.

I watch her leave, this time, with the hope that this might not be the last time she comes to me.

It looked like something out of a 1950's science fiction movie, and because it was held by a human, there was sod all I could do about it.

"Stay still, Buffy. I'm going to get you out of here," I tell her, not at all sure that I can help her in time.

I rip off my jacket, and then shrug out of the blue shirt I'm wearing underneath. I can get a few good bandages out of it, use them as a tourniquet, maybe.

She moans as I tie one of the scraps of my shirt around her arm, and I'm trying not to look at the way her shredded skin is hanging off of her. She whimpers as I tighten the knot, but I have to do it. It won't help at all if it's not tight enough.

"I'm sorry, love. I have to stop the bleeding before..." I stop myself from saying, 'it kills you', "before we go."

As usual, she's all business. I don't care if Warren and his sidekicks are burning Sunnydale to the ground. All I can think about is—

I really shouldn't tell her. We shouldn't even still be here, I should have left with her already.

"You've—you've lost a lot of blood. And your arm is broken. I think you bit down on your tongue when it happened."

I finish with the last of the bandages, and I start to look for the best way to pick her up.

"That...whatever it was...they used on you, it tore your arm to ribbons. I think your arm's broken in a couple of places, and I can see the bone, down here, near your elbow. But the rest of you seems all right. I think you ducked away from the worst of it."

"The hard way," I say, and I pick her up, supporting her legs with one arm and her back with the other.

"Don't worry about anything. I'll have you there before you know it, and they'll patch you right up. You just wait and see."

She feels solid in my arms, and I can't stand how long this is taking. I start to run, being careful to cradle her head against my chest.

"I was so scared, Spike. Scared I was doing it all wrong, that we're nothing but violence and pain to each other. But when I saw you, ready to die for me...again..."