Completed December 17, 2001

Why are we still singing? The spell's been broken, but here we all are.

I break out of the chorus line, and none of them seem to notice when my voice drops away.

I don't feel like singing. All I can feel is where his hands grabbed me, keeping me from dancing myself to death.

He'd stopped singing before I did, and I followed him out. He deserves, at the very least, a thank you for stopping me.

It doesn't hurt that it's a good excuse not to stay in a room full of people who just found out where I'd spent my afterlife. It would have to be dealt with, but not now. Anything, just to buy another second before the inevitable 'talk me to death about my death'.

And then there's Spike, who has known all this time and didn't say a word about it to anyone. He's getting a little too good at keeping his promises. Or maybe, the problem is more about the kind of promises he's keeping.

This world would make so much more sense if Spike would just betray me. Stab me in the back, or something. I'm not sure I'm ready for—

And there he is. Lurking outside. Almost as if he knew I'd follow him.

We're talking, and the thank you just isn't finding its way out of my mouth. He's pushing me away, trying to send me back to my friends, but I can see through it.

I feel a twinge of happiness, that he doesn't really want to push me away like he sang to me, but it's gone as quickly as it came.

See, it's fine to want Spike around when he can help me protect Dawn, or when he can keep his overactive mouth shut long enough to back me up in a fight. But this hanging out, like we're friends...well, it's just insane.

Then I look at him, and even though I can feel the crazy karaoke spell is gone, my song tears its way out of me again. And he's singing back, and walking toward me, and one word echoes in my head.

Run.

But I don't.

We're walking closer and closer, and he's staring a hole through me, through the fortress I've raised around myself to keep everyone out.

All I can think of now are the guilty fantasies I'd been having the past few weeks, and I want, just once, to feel him kiss me when we're both in our right minds.

Well, not right minds. But, at least, not under some supernatural influence.

What would it feel like to have someone kiss me who wants me the way Spike does? How does he want me, anyway? Is it dark, like the dance he insists we've been doing for the past four years? Or is it...something else?

I don't know. I don't know about any of it.

But I want to taste what he feels. Maybe if I taste him, maybe if I let him show me, I'll understand.

Maybe it could all make sense.

Just this one time. I need this. I need to understand. Just this once, and then I'll be done.

There he is, a foot away, and then just inches. I still don't believe any of this is happening, is real, even when I feel his lips touch mine.

We're a little unsteady at first, but I can feel him. His hunger. His desire. Even his surprise, his fear. His feelings flow through me, filling the empty spaces.

His hand grabs my shoulder, pulling me closer to him, and I feel something. Inside me. I feel something, and not just the emotions Spike's loaned me.

I want to pull him closer. I want to keep kissing him. I want this never to stop. But the most remarkable part of it all is—I want.

For one brief second, it warms me. I'm comfortable.

But things can't be that simple, can they?

The comfort turns to pain. I'm strangling on it. I'd become used to feelings being a distant memory. An echo, a whisper from the past, best left in the past.

My throat constricts, and I feel my breath cut off. I'm drowning.

I break away from Spike, and I glance at his face before I can look away.

Spike's shocked, sure. But I hadn't anticipated how...content...he'd look.

His hand, still on my shoulder, starts to pull me back. But the constriction in my throat, my panic, finally catches up with me.

The only way to keep breathing is to get away. Away from here, away from Spike. It's too much. What he feels—what I felt—it's just too much.

"I—I've got to go."

"Buffy—"

"I can't. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."

"Buffy, wait. It's okay."

Spike's hand catches my forearm, but he can't keep me from leaving. All I have to do is circle my arm away from him to break his grip, and then push him away. Hard. He stumbles back, catching himself after a step or two.

"I said, I have to go."

Spike's hands go up, as if he's surrendering.

I feel ridiculous, running—sprinting—away from him, but I don't stop running until I'm back in my own room.

I shut my door and pull the curtains closed, shutting the world out again. I take off my clothes and climb under the sheets, hugging myself as I pull the pillow over my head.

I almost feel isolated again. Safe from the expectations, the needs of everyone else.

Eventually, everyone else returns home. I listen to the sound of the front door opening, the milling in the hallway, their tired voices, the bedroom doors opening and closing.

Dawn knocks, and then comes in even though I didn't answer. I play asleep, slowing down my breathing, just like I used to do when I was little and I wanted to fool Mom.

Not now, Dawnie. Just go, please. Just let me pretend to be asleep.

And she does.

I half-expect Spike to show up in the middle of the night, coming to demand an explanation. Or an encore.

But he doesn't.

Hours later, when sunlight first begins to peek around the edges of the drawn curtains, I wonder.

I wonder why he stayed away.

Here I am, on the ground. Getting my ass kicked by a vampire.

This is supposed to be the other way around.

Somewhere, far away, I can hear Spike. Spike's yelling my name.

You know, the name I really have. Which isn't Joan. Joan, the have-fun-with-it, that-was-cool girl, she doesn't really exist. Sorry, world. You get me, instead.

I'm still gathering my breath and clutching my stomach (where that vamp got about a thousand more kicks in than I should have let him) when I realize Spike's trying to help me up.

No, no. I'm not doing this again. First he touches me, then he pulls me up toward him, and the next thing you know, I'll be in his arms. Kissing him and drowning in him again.

And that was a one time deal.

I pull myself to my feet without his help, ignoring the kicked puppy look he gives me.

He will not affect me. There's one way I can be sure of that.

I walk past him, leaving him behind me. And I keep walking.

As stealthy as Spike is, I can still tell he's not following me. I don't know why, if it's because I've hurt him, or if he's just too surprised to recover quickly enough to come after me.

And I don't care.

It's a couple of minutes later when I realize I'm walking toward the house, which is the last place I'd like to be now that I've got my memory back. I know Giles will probably wait for me there until the last possible second before he has to leave for the airport, and I just can't...anything...with Giles right now. I need to change directions. I need to be someplace so loud, so busy, that no one will even notice me.

The Bronze.

I used to come here to be with people. To be with Willow and Xander. To belong. And now, I come here to blend in. To disappear.

It's crowded, and I'm glad to see it. There's an empty space at the bar, and I grab it before anyone else can take it.

The bartender looks me over, then asks if he can get me anything. I just shake my head, and he gives me a look that makes my mood seem almost sunny by comparison.

I guess it's not very good for his bottom line to have a non-paying, non-tipping customer taking up precious space at the bar.

I start to think about Giles, and about being Joan for the night. Spending a few hours free from my own head should have been a nice change. Part of me would give anything to forget it all and start all over again.

But to forget, only to remember again, that's what broke me into little pieces.

Just...don't think about it. Think about something else. Think about...what? Something. Anything.

It sure is unseasonably chilly recently. And kinda windy.

I close my eyes, feeling ridiculous for having an imaginary conversation with myself about the weather, as if I'm trying to pass the time in an elevator with a stranger.

I open my eyes and stare at the wall in front of me, and wonder if it's brick underneath, or wood, or something else. I wonder if Xander would be able to build something like that.

And then I notice something dark and broody looming next to me.

Why, why did I come to the first place where Spike would think to look for me?

No. I'd just started to distract myself, and here's Spike to remind me again.

He's looking at me, and I see it. The one thing I can't take.

I wish he was annoyed, or angry, or even smugly self-congratulatory for saving me from the vampire who'd kicked my stomach inside out earlier.

But he isn't. I look at him and see concern, need, and a little confusion. He's open and sweet, willing to give everything he can to me, willing to take anything I can give him in return.

No. I can give you nothing, Spike. I can't even afford to take anything from you. Because that would make me feel, and that would make things too complicated. I just want to go back to making the bartender angry and wondering about wall construction.

I can see he's holding his breath, and just for a second, I feel guilty. I wish I could let him down easy, but I'm not sure I can say the words. I'm not sure I can say the words and mean them.

All I can do is turn away from him. I feel pinpricks of tears threatening at the corners of my eyes, and I will them back.

I will not cry. Not when I'm just sitting here thinking about the finer points of the Bronze's construction. What is there to cry about?

He lets out the breath he's been holding, and then I hear him walk away from me.

I hope he's angry. Maybe he'll leave me alone, and he won't force me to argue with myself like this again.

Because I want to go after him. I want to kiss him again, to forget being careful, to forget about guarding myself.

I still feel dead, but a dead man has the power to make me feel alive.

My hands push me away from the bar before I can think myself out of it. I thread my way through the crowd, scanning for his blond curls, that stupid leather coat, but I can't find him. I'm becoming more and more sure he'd finally gotten the point. Maybe he'd given up on me.

Leave it to Spike to actually listen to me the one time I wish he wouldn't.

I need to know I've made the right decision. I need to find him, prove to myself that it was a fluke, a one-time curiosity thing. I'll kiss him, and we'll both see how not right it all is. Just one more kiss, and then I'll be done.

I'm about to give up when I see him leaning against one of the pillars supporting the metal staircase. He's playing with a cigarette, passing it between his fingers and staring at it as if he was trying to move it with his mind.

"You can't smoke in here, you know."

He looks at me, and I can almost hear him deciding what to say.

"Listen, I'm leaving. You don't have to bother your pretty head coming over here to throw me out, right? I know where I'm not—"

I catch his chin in both hands as he starts to move past me, and I pull his head toward me. He doesn't need much coercing—or any at all, really—and he's kissing me. His left hand settles on the small of my back, and he pulls my body to his. His right hand squeezes my shoulder, just as he had during our last kiss.

I'm really starting to like that.

He circles around me, and pushes my back against the pillar he'd been holding up when I found him.

I can feel people brushing past us, and there's something about kissing him here, where so many people can see us.

My hands just won't settle anywhere on him. I brush against his arms, his chest, his face. I can't decide what to do first; I want it all at once.

The kisses are gentler, deeper this time. Our first kisses, after the sing-a-long from hell, were frantic and more than a little uncoordinated. Now, it almost seems like choreography. The kisses are longer, and we move together almost in unison. We stop only for me to take in a gasp of fresh air, and I notice he does too, even though he doesn't strictly need to.

I'm getting dizzy, and I lean more of my weight back against the pillar. As soon as Spike notices I've moved away, he clutches at me, pulling me closer. I'm forced to choose between leaning on him or falling over, and I actually consider the options for a second before I allow him to hold me steady.

I can feel his arms tense to hold me up, and my hands snake up to his neck. I feel like I'm hanging from him.

Oh, God. I can feel the muscles in his neck tensing as we kiss. I trace down the line of one of those muscles with my finger, and he shivers.

Which would have been fine, but it made him stop kissing me for a second. And that was a second too long.

His tongue teases my mouth, but it's not an invasion. It's more of a polite guest, like the kind that brings a bottle of wine when you invite them over for dinner.

He's seeping into me, back into all the places I'd decided were best left empty. We break for another breath, and this time he whispers my name.

I'm not sure I've ever heard my name like that before. No one says my name the way he does. No one calls me anything the way he does.

I try to imagine leaving the Bronze and walking with him back to the crypt, and I don't have any illusions about why we'd be going there. Part of me needs the gentleness he's promising me with every brush of his lips against mine, but just the thought of going through with it terrifies me.

My hands slide down from his neck to his chest, and I push back from him. I would have fallen into a heap on the floor in front of him if I hadn't landed against the pillar.

Spike doesn't say anything. Not out loud. But his eyes are screaming at me. Don't do this. Don't run from me again.

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

He steps away to let me past him, and I take the opening and leave. Leave before I change my mind.

How screwed up is this?

I can't imagine being frozen in a big...freezy block like that guard was. What if he's awake under there? What if he can think under all that ice? What if he feels trapped? He can't move, can't feel anything. He's just stuck.

I feel a chill go through me, and I realize that standing with the other onlookers isn't getting me anywhere. Maybe I should just sneak in a window or something while everyone's gathered around the front entrance. I'm sure I can find something in there we can use to find out what's behind all this.

I push my way through the crowd again, and start to walk around the side of the museum. I wonder if those windows are hooked up to an alarm system—

Oh, for the love of...how does he always know where to find me?

"Great," I say out loud, before I can stop myself. I should have just ignored him.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to show up."

"What are you doing here, Spike?"

What did I say that for? I don't care why he's here. Back to the original plan. I ignore him, and keep on walking. He's saying something about why he's here, but I'm not listening. That's right, Spike. I can't hear you.

"...I mean, as a team, we—"

Okay, so I am listening to him. And I can't let that 'team' thing go.

"Yeah, that never really ends well, does it?"

"It did the other night," he says, and I look at him. I'm expecting the smirk, but he just looks...curious. It's a good look on him, actually, his eyes kind of—no, no, I'm so not going there.

He's really not getting the point. Those kisses didn't matter. In fact, I'm not thinking at all about...what your lips felt like, how you make me feel strong and vulnerable all at the same time, what your body feels like when it's pressed up against mine—

"You really seem awfully fixated on a couple of kisses, Spike."

That's right, Spike. Take that. It was nothing. It was one bad impulse I should never have acted on.

Just keep walking. Go right past him. I'll give him the heavy, will-you-please-let-this-go sigh, and show him how completely unaffected I am by the whole—

"And you seem awfully quick to forget about them..."

The tone in his voice stops me. He sounds...hurt, and I find myself thinking what I'd never imagined I would. Spike doesn't deserve this.

"Look," I begin, trying to think of a way to let him down easy. "I'm sorry...okay? I'm sorry if you thought that it meant more." And I mean it. I really am sorry.

Maybe he'll let it go at that.

"But," he says, quietly demanding some further explanation.

"But," I start, not sure what I'm about to say, "when I kissed you," I stall, "you know I was thinking about Giles, right?"

I actually surprise myself sometimes. I hadn't even thought of that excuse—uh, reason—before I heard it come out of my own mouth.

"You know...I always wondered about you two." Spike says, and he looks at me as if what I'd just said has answered some kind of long-standing question he's had, and oh my God, he thinks—

"What? Oh, gross, Spike!" I squeeze my eyes shut at the thought of Giles and I doing...anything like the things Spike was obviously thinking. "He left. I was depressed. Ergo, vulnerability and...and bad kissing decisions." I look him directly in the eye, and try the same 'sincere' look I used to use on Mom before she found out about the whole Chosen One thing. "Okay? But, that's all it was. You have to let it go."

Somewhere in the middle of my 'I miss Giles' speech, he'd started smiling at me. And I just want to smack it right off his face.

"Did it work?" Spike asks me, tilting his head back, looking at me as if I'd just made a mildly amusing funny.

"What?"

"Did you convince yourself?"

It hits me all at once, what a total lie everything I'd just said to him was.

How dare he do this to me, after everything I've been through. Can't just one person pay attention to what I say I need, instead of deciding what I need for me?

"Please, stop," I tell him, and although it sounds like an order, I'm begging him. Spike, you were the only one who seemed to understand me when I first got brought back. Give me this one thing, have just one more moment of insight and see how much I don't need this.

I turn away from him again, before he can see how much his insistence is tearing me up.

Why did I ever do this? Why did I give him hope? I should have known he'd never give up, as long as he thought there was a chance I could see him—

"A man can change," he says, simply, and I can hear how serious this has become for him.

I have to stop this, and I have to stop it now. If he still has hope, then that's what I'll have to take away.

"You're not a man," I say, turning back to him. "You're a thing," I finish, and I turn from him before he figures out how unsure I am of exactly what he is to me.

"Stop walking away," he says, and his hand falls on my shoulder to stop me from leaving.

I flash back to our kiss at the Bronze, how much I loved the way his hand felt on my shoulder then. It had begun to seem like a habit, to have his hand on my shoulder, holding me close to him.

"Don't touch me!" I yell, and I punch blindly at him as he turns me back toward him.

Everything goes white for a second, and then I find myself on the ground. The left side of my face is tingly, and my jaw feels tight.

When I hear Spike yowling in the background, I realize he must have punched me back.

Serves you right, Spike. I hope it's the kind of headache even Evil Excedrin can't fix.

I started this thing, and I have to end it. There's only one way he'll leave me alone.

I get up, grit my teeth, and backhand him hard enough to get the point across. After he goes down, I'm ready to say the words that I hope will have more effect than all the crosses and garlic I could possibly throw at him.

"You're a thing. An evil...disgusting...thing."

And I walk away, trying to convince myself that I don't care if I never see him again.

Xander can't know, can he?

He can't be talking about me.

I know he's talking about Willow. But sometimes, people are really talking about you when they talk to you about someone else.

He can't know. About the Spike kissing. I mean, I guess someone he knows might have been at the Bronze. Or maybe he came in looking for me, to tell me Giles was leaving for the airport, and he saw us. But then why hasn't he said anything? Wouldn't he have said something?

Maybe I'm assuming too much.

And hey, look! The phone! It's ringing. Thank you, phone, for giving me an excuse to do something else.

"Hello, Magic Box."

"Slayer," comes the deep, rough voice at the other end.

Is that...it couldn't be...

"Spike?"

"Meet me at the cemetery. Twenty minutes. Come alone."

This doesn't make any sense. Of all the reactions I would have expected from Spike, this hadn't even made it onto the menu. Maybe it's someone else.

"Spike?" I repeat, and realize I'll feel pretty dumb if this is the diamond-eating frost monster calling, and all he thinks I can say is, 'Spike'.

"Bloody hell," says the voice.

Ah. It's Spike.

"Yes, it's me," he says, in his regular voice. Which was still pretty sexy actually, when you think about it, but no, I'm not thinking things like this anymore.

"You're—calling me on the phone?" I just can't picture Spike with a phone in his hand.

"Just be there," he says, sounding exasperated.

When had this become 'order Buffy around' day? And what about that last conversation gave him the impression that I would just come running the next time I heard his voice?

"Why?" I ask, and I realize suddenly that Xander and Anya can hear my half of the conversation. "Are you," I start, trying to think of some way to pass off the conversation as something natural that happens every day, "helping again? Do you have a lead on this frost monster thingy?"

"Something like that, yeah," he whispers into my ear. "Thought you might be up for a little grunt work."

"Wha—" Grunt? Where had that come from? A mental picture of me with Spike, both of us naked and groping at each other, flashes through my head. I lower my voice to a whisper, "No. No—no grunting."

There's a pause on Spike's end, and I'm sure in real world time it's actually fairly short. But in Buffy time, there's time to sing the Star Spangled Banner. Twice. And still have time to forget most of the words.

"I was talking shop, love, but if you've got other ideas..." his voice drops down low again, and I picture him ripping my clothes off. "...you, me, cozy little tomb with a view," and his voice trails off suggestively.

No! Too close to what I was thinking. Time to go. I hang the phone up hard, as if Spike would be too encouraged if it's not abrupt and loud enough.

"So, what did Captain Peroxide want?"

My head snaps around at the sound of Xander's voice. How did he know it was Spike? Can he tell by how flustered I am?

Or maybe it's because you said his name, like, a hundred times, brainiac.

I can do this. I can be cool. Diamond-eating-frost-monster cool.

"Nothing!" I say, and I imagine that Xander can see right through me. "You know, he just, you know, wanted to see if I wanted to patrol for, for the monster. But I told him that I...would...not." I hear my voice go up at the end, as if I'm asking a question.

Pathetic.

I open the book in my hands and start to read. Well, pretend to read, anyway.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Xander shrug, and then he goes back to research. But Anya, Anya's narrowed her eyes and she's still staring at me.

"Found anything, Anya?" I ask, without looking up.

It takes her a second to respond, as if she's not sure whether she should say what she's thinking or not. I mentally cross my fingers that Xander's training in 'keeping your mouth shut' has finally sunk into her.

"I bet you our frost demon is in that book Giles took. This is exactly why—"

"Anya," Xander says, a mild warning tone in his voice.

"Right. I'm reading. I'm not saying a word. About anything," she adds, and pointedly looks at me.

I turn a page in my book, pretending I haven't noticed.

"We're not getting anywhere," Xander says, slamming his book closed. The puff of dust the book kicks up starts him on a coughing fit, and Anya responds by whacking him on the back a few times.

"Xander, breathe!" Anya tells him, as if he's choosing to choke on a cloud of dust.

"Okay, okay," he chokes out. He swallows, and the worst seems to have passed. "First, I meant that to be about a hundred times less hacking and wheezing. Second, stop with the hitting me. And third, I think we should go home. We're getting nowhere."

"Yeah, it's getting late," I admit, and let out the yawn I've been holding back. "All the words are scrambling around into alphabet soup."

Something occurs to me as we start toward the front of the store.

Something like, none of these things really add up to 'demon'. Well, sure, you know, popsicle guy. And a human can't do the freezy thing, can they?

But the other stuff. The bank robbery, the diamond. I've got a weird feeling. It seems familiar. It's just like the feeling I got when I realized those two guys were muggers and not vampires, earlier. None of this seems particularly demony.

I tell some of what I'm thinking to my research pals on the way out, and Xander seems to agree with me.

And I'm just starting to think, 'maybe we're on the wrong track', when I find Spike standing in front of me.

Speaking of wrong tracks.

"Slayer," he greets me, and he's so angry, I'm surprised he's not in vamp face.

I am so not in the mood.

"And so, my night is now complete." I'm just going to walk past him. He'll get tired and go play somewhere else. Eventually.

"You never showed," he says, and he actually sounds kind of surprised.

"Sorry. Little busy actually doing stuff." Can't hurt to remind him that, unlike me, he has no particular purpose anymore. Other than to distract me from mine.

"You shouldn't be so flip, love."

"What are you gonna do," I look at him in a way I hope he'll interpret as 'mocking', "walk behind me to death?"

"I'm just saying things might be a little different."

He crosses in front of me to block my escape. I actually feel trapped enough that my Slayer instincts kick in and start looking for ways to get away from him.

"You ought to be careful," he continues, but I cut him off before he can finish.

"Enough." I start to walk past him, but he moves to block me again. Hello, trapped feeling flaring up again. "Get out of my way." I actually feel myself smile a little. He's acting like I'm supposed to be scared of him. Maybe he's forgotten how things work around here since the Initiative got their hands on him.

"Or what?" he dares me, as if he can keep me here against my will.

Whatever. I honestly thought he would have gotten the point after the talk we had at the museum, but I guess some vampires need to be persuaded with fists instead of words.

I pull my arm back and hit him, not even that hard, just hard enough to get the idea across. He absorbs the blow, his body barely moving, and then...

He hits me back. Hard. The force spins me around, and I actually stumble back a step before I catch myself.

And he doesn't even flinch.

He's breathing hard as he says, "Oh, the pain! The pain. Is gone," his jaw clenches as I try to take in what's just happened. "Guess what I just found out? Looks like I'm not as toothless as you thought, sweetheart."

"How?" What am I supposed to do? Should I just stake him? Unless I'm missing something here, the rules just changed again. I try to picture pulling out the stake I'm carrying and jamming it into his heart, and I know in an instant that I can't do it. Which makes me a complete failure, Slayer-wise. Not that this is a first.

"Don't you get it? Don't you see?" he asks me, and I just stare back at him, my mouth hanging open. I can hear my heart beating in my ears as I realize he's about to tell me how he got the chip out. "You came back wrong."

Me? How could Spike's chip not working have anything to do with me? He's gotten some whackjob to cut that chip out of his brain, and now he's trying to make me think it's just about me. Well, if you think I'm going to let you go back to your life of evilness, you've got another thing coming.

I advance on him, and I know I have to stake him if I get the chance. If the old Spike is back, none of us is safe—probably. God, I don't know. I don't know anything about him anymore. I'm punching him, kicking him, and he's just taking it. He stumbles back with each blow, and I start to think it's all been one big fluke. Why doesn't he fight back? Is the chip working? What the hell is going on here?

I start to punch him again, but he catches my fist in his hand. Before I can duck, his other arm backhands me, sending me face-first into a chain link fence. I turn around as quickly as I can, because I honestly don't know what Spike will do if my back is turned.

"It's a trick. You did something to the chip. It's a trick."

"It's no trick. It's not me. It's you. Just you, in fact—that's the funny part." I realize the most frightening thing about this is that, for the first time in years, I have no idea what he's about to do. He senses my guard is down, and punches me again. "'Cause you're the one that's changed," he punches me a second time, "That's why this doesn't hurt me."

He starts to punch me a third time, but I've regained my senses enough to block him. I try to punch him, low, a stomach shot. I hope it'll drop him long enough to give me the upper hand in the fight. But he blocks it easily, and our eyes lock.

"You came back a little less human than you were." He smirks at me, as if this is some kind of happy occasion. Like you can walk into any Hallmark store and buy a card for it.

But as much as I try not to absorb what he's said, it starts to sink in.

And it makes sense.

"You're wrong," I say, more to myself than to him. I start to feel sick, starting in the pit of my stomach and moving upward, and I continue the fight to take my mind off of it.

I kick him, sending him backwards, but he recovers quickly. He comes back at me, but he's not getting set for another attack. He's just moving back into position so I can hit him again.

I see him smile right before my punch lands, and I realize he's enjoying this. The fight, sure, I knew Spike would get off on a real fight between us. But it occurs to me that he's also enjoying my reaction to what he'd come here to tell me, and it throws me for a second.

Instead of beating Spike senseless while he's down from my last punch, my confusion gives him time to get up. I push him backward, and he disappears into an abandoned building.

Oh, no. He's not getting away that easy. I follow him into the building to end this thing, once and for all.

We trade blows, knocking each other all over the house. My thoughts start to blur as I focus on the fight, and I realize it's been a long time since I've been in a fight as demanding as this one is.

I pursue him into the room I've just knocked him into, and—did he just call me a little lost girl? I'll show him a—

And then I'm picking myself up off the ground, and I realize he's used the chandelier to kick me in the face.

"She doesn't fit in anywhere. She's got no one to love."

From the floor, I can see him striding over to me. Oh, no, Spike. It's not gonna be that easy.

I get to my feet and get set. I'm through with the punches; I just grab him by the arms and throw him across the room. He breaks right through a banister and lands on an old staircase, which makes the most satisfying crunching sounds as Spike struggles to regain his footing.

And I hope he doesn't think he's the only one who can get away with name-calling.

"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 advance on him as I taunt him, although every fighting instinct I have tells me to wait for him to come to me. I should let him give himself away so I can block him, but I don't really see the point. He's out of breath and looking a little ragged, and I don't even have a scratch on me. Let him take his best shot.

Turns out his best shot isn't so great, and it occurs to me that his heart doesn't seem to be in this anymore. I duck his next punch easily, and get in that stomach blow I tried to land earlier. He doubles over, and I grab his arms and throw him again, this time demolishing the fireplace on the far wall of the room we're in.

I can't resist trying to hurt him the way he went out of his way to hurt me tonight. He thinks there's something wrong with me? Pot. Kettle. Black.

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

I wait for him to deny it, to find some way to turn it all back on me, like he always does.

"I'm in love with you," he says, barely holding himself up to look at me as he says it. He actually doesn't sound any happier about it than I am.

Well, if neither of us wants to be here, why are we doing this? He doesn't want to love me, and I don't want to be loved. Spike, I'm about to do you the biggest favor. I'm about to give you a way out.

"You're in love with pain. Admit it. You like me," I pause, letting him get up so I can say the rest to his face, "because you enjoy getting beat down. So really, who's screwed up?"

"Hello? Vampire," he responds, as if I've forgotten. As if I could ever forget.

He throws another punch, but I block it, a little too easily. I counter-punch, but he manages to grab my arms.

"I'm supposed to be treading on the dark side," he shakes me, and his fingers dig into my arms so hard I'm sure it'll leave bruises. I feel him throw me across the room, and I land against the wall on the far side of the room.

Plaster rains down on me as he grabs me by my clothes, and then I'm flying across the room again. I roll to a stop on my back, and open my eyes to see him standing over me. He grabs me roughly by the lapels of my jacket and holds me up, off the ground. I can feel his hands shaking.

"What's your excuse?" he asks me in a voice I don't think I've ever heard from him. It's raw and dark, and he's so insistent, demanding, that my anger flares again.

I reach up and push against his face with my palm. I just want to force him to let go of me, but I'm a little shocked at my own strength when I see how far he flies across the room. For the first time since the fight began, I can feel how out of control I am.

Spike gets up, and I've lost all my finesse. I could incapacitate him in any number of ways, end this fight nice and clean.

But I find myself launching my body across the room, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him back. We roll away from each other as we land, and we both get to our feet.

Spike makes the first move, closing the distance between us almost at a run. He drives me back, into the staircase, pinning me there. I feel a wave of panic as he starts to choke me, and then he laughs.

He laughs.

I punch him to wipe the smirk off his face, which works, but I get a punch back for my trouble.

He pulls me away from the staircase, looks me in the eyes, and everything starts to change.

I want him.

Not because of the fight. Well, sorta because of the fight. I'll admit that to myself even if I can't admit it to him. But I've wanted him ever since the first kiss. It never went away, no matter how much I wanted it to.

"I wasn't planning on hurting you," he says, and I can see just a hint of sincerity under the sarcasm. "Much," he adds, which should disgust me, but it doesn't.

"You haven't even come close to hurting me," I reply, just to be contrary.

"Afraid to give me the chance?" he asks, and I'm not sure whether he can tell how right he is, or not. I've got to get away from him, before he can see. Spike can see right through me, and if he sees this, I'll never get a moment's peace from him again.

I pull away from him and throw him to the adjoining wall, more to break the lock he's got on my eyes than anything else. Now, let's see how he likes it when the tables are turned.

I shove his back against the wall, and his eyes find mine again. He starts to say something, but I can't hear him anymore. All I can hear is the voice in my head, a voice from the past telling me to take what I want, to stop denying myself.

There's no turning back this time. I'm not running away. I have to know what this is like, what he's like, why he won't get out of my head.

I just want this one night. Just this one night, and then I'll be done.

I stop him mid-sentence with a kiss. He shows no surprise, as if he knew where this was going all along.

I can't get close enough to him. Our bodies are pressed against each other, but I'm still clutching at him, hooking my arms around his neck and squeezing him to me.

We're still throwing each other around the room, but we don't stop kissing. We struggle with each other—remnants of the fight, maybe. I lose track of who's pushing who up against the wall.

Doubt flits in and out of my mind, but every time he touches me, he chases it away.

Why should I not do this? I want to do this. He wants to do this. The chip still works on everyone but me, so who else is going to be affected? No one ever needs to know.

Couldn't I have this one thing, just this one thing that's mine, and that's exactly the way I want it? I'm so sick of everything being decided for me, everything being about 'destiny' and 'duty'.

His arm is strong around my waist, and I feel him lift me off the floor.

I push away the last glimmer of uncertainty as I hook my legs around his hips. He's using both of his hands to hold me up, but I can sense that he'd still wait for me to commit first, to be the one who goes past the point of no return.

Our lips don't even separate as I reach in between us to remove the last things holding us apart. My fingers find the buckle of his belt, the zipper on the front of his jeans, and they just seem to fall open under my touch.

The slit down the side of my skirt is a godsend all of a sudden, and I fling its billowing fabric aside. Then I use all the leverage I can to move us closer.

I can feel him, right before he enters me, and the last part of me that believes I can still take it all back dies.

I pull my face away from his, because I need to see him. I can't believe what he's giving me, how nakedly the emotions play over the sharp angles of his face. I can see all of what this means to him, what a gift he feels I've just given him. It's too much, and it's also not enough.

Just for a second, I'm not sure I can do this. I'm not sure I can handle him, his intensity, his honesty. It's violent and sweet all at the same time, and I can't take it.

But my body takes over, and I feel myself moving against him. I try to keep watching him, but his mouth takes mine again. His tongue moves in and out of my mouth, matching the rhythm we've already set, and I start to feel dizzy.

My legs feel weak, and my hands clutch at his back to keep me upright.

Spike senses that I've lost control, and he turns us so my back is against the wall. It feels solid behind me, and I relax against him. He takes over the pace, driving into me with such force that I have to reach my hand back and brace myself to keep my head from banging into the wall.

I can feel how close I am, and I know I've never been this close this fast before. I break my mouth from his just long enough to cry out, and my voice sounds strange as it echoes back to me. Like sobs, cut off as he interrupts them with his kisses.

And then, oh God, I can feel it. I can feel my muscles clenching, my whole body tensing. My head falls back as it overtakes me, and I can feel his face against my chest, holding me close to him, protecting me as I surrender completely to what he's given me.

I feel the oddest falling sensation as I start to regain my senses, and I suddenly realize we are falling; Spike must have lost his balance.

We fall for what feels like forever, but then we land, together, my body covering his. We're both gasping as I bring my face to his, close enough to kiss, but we don't. We just...look, and I've never felt more exposed to anyone in my life.

I can feel him, inside me, and I start to move over him. I feel my strength coming back, and I can see his is leaving him. I want to see him at his most defenseless, as he's just seen me. I know I won't understand this—him—until I do.

He reaches for my head and pulls me into another kiss, which he combines with a half-hearted attempt to roll me onto my back. Oh, no. Not this time. I'm in charge.

I brace my hands on his shoulders and push him into the floor, hard enough that anyone else's bones would crumble under the pressure. He looks at me in surprise, as if he thought he would forever hold the upper hand where I was concerned.

No, for once, Spike, it really is all about you.

I slide my hands down his chest, sitting up as I go. I shrug out of my jacket, tossing it behind us. It feels like I'll never need it again, like I'll never leave this time and place.

My shirt follows it, and then my bra. His hands dance up and down my arms, as if he's afraid to touch the skin I've just bared to him. I take his hand in mine and guide it to my breast. I have to know how he'll touch me.

It's nothing like I would have imagined; he's gentle and possessive. His fingers brush over my nipple and air rushes into my lungs. I arch my back, pushing against his hand, and he makes a noise I can't describe. It's not a growl and it's not a moan, but some weird combination of the two.

When did I let him take control of this situation?

I start moving again, faster, taking him deep inside me, then letting him go almost completely before I start again. I can tell from the look on his face that I've taken him by surprise. He almost looks...shocked.

His head tilts back, and he's saying my name, over and over until he doesn't have the breath for it anymore. He starts to push his hips up to meet me, and then I feel it. He's pulsing inside me as I look down at him and I feel powerful, fulfilled.

His hands grip my arms and it hurts. Something about the combination of pain and the feeling of him moving inside me pushes me through an invisible barrier, and I'm lost again. Lost and soaring high above the world, far from the suffocating burdens I've carried for so long.

I fall to his chest, gasping for breath and clutching the fabric of his shirt in my fists. I feel him stroking my hair while the other hand holds my shoulder in that way I've grown too used to.

And that's how I fall asleep. For awhile, anyway.

The second I move to get up, his arms hook possessively around my back.

"Spike, I should go. Dawn's at home, and she'll—"

"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. You're sexy when you're asleep, you know."

I can feel the heat on my face as I struggle to resist him. This was just supposed to be a one time thing, and now I'm supposed to go.

"Spike, I can't—"

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

He let me go, as if to illustrate how free I am as far as he's concerned.

He slips out of his jacket and the blue button-down shirt as he looks at me, and I realize how odd it is that he's still almost fully clothed. I feel like I've learned him inside and out, but the clothes make him seem oddly hidden from me.

I reach out to yank at his shirt where it's still half tucked in, and he raises his arms so I can pull it off him. I settle next to him, pulling at his jeans, sliding them over his hips and legs, sighing in frustration when I have to tug off each of those ridiculous boots of his before I can get him out of his ever-present uniform of black.

"That's a little more fair, don't you think?"

He gives me an evil look and hooks one finger under my underwear.

"Doesn't seem fair to me, pet."

Wasn't I supposed to be leaving? I wonder if I should be looking around for my clothes instead of taking more of them off, but that thought doesn't even seem relevant now that he's looking at me.

I start to push at the fabric, but he grabs my arm and stops me.

He nudges me onto my back and moves over me, his knee settling in between my legs. He slides slowly down my body, kissing my collarbone, my breast, and then my stomach before his teeth close over the fabric around my hips.

I feel him pull downward, growling as he passes by places where I imagine he'd rather linger.

When he's done, I feel him kiss my ankle, which is strangely sexy. He kisses his way further up my leg, pausing when he reaches my knee. He takes my calf in his hands and pushes it gently toward the ceiling, and I wonder what he could possibly be up to.

His mouth closes over the hollow on the back of my knee, and then he pulls away, blowing a stream of air over my skin. I shiver with the exoticness of it; no one has ever been so attentive to every inch of my body.

I get a picture of what we must look like in my mind's eye, and it's everything I've ever promised myself I wouldn't be. I try to pull my leg away from him, and the thought of leaving comes back into my mind.

"Shhhh, love. It's okay. Relax," he whispers against my skin. His hand runs lightly over the inside of my thigh, and just when I'm sure his hand is about to settle between my legs, he pulls away. I can feel myself trembling, shaking against him as he continues to nip and kiss at the back of my knee.

My head falls back and my eyes close, and it feels like the only places still alive on my body are where he's touching me. But he's lingering in the same place, and my impatience is growing. I need him everywhere, to breathe the life back into me, to awaken me in a way Willow's spell just hadn't.

I pull at his shoulders, clumsily grabbing at him, and he lifts his head, giving me a long, searching look.

"Tell me what you want," he says, his hand still teasing my thigh.

"Spike, I—I just need—"

"All you have to do is say it. Say it, and I'll do it."

I can't. I can't even think, and he wants clear instructions out of me?

I gulp in some air and try to pull a sentence out of the images flashing through my mind. Basic words arrange themselves into a group, and then I just have to find the courage to say them out loud.

"I want," I begin, and I'm afraid to finish. I'm afraid to say it, I'm afraid to mean it, and I'm afraid he'll laugh at how stupid I sound.

"It's okay," he tells me, and takes my hand into his.

"I want you inside me again," I say quickly, before I can change my mind. I feel him lift my hand to his mouth, and he kisses it, like he's congratulating me.

"How, love?"

Of all the most irritating, infuriating—

"Now," I said, and then added, "Right now."

I pull him toward me and my leg hooks over his shoulder. I feel the muscles in my hip strain as we test the boundaries of my flexibility.

His face is level with mine again, and I'm not even sure how he's holding himself over me.

I watch his eyes as he enters me. He moves slowly, kissing me when he's filled me completely.

"Do you want to know what you feel like?"

He whispers the words against my lips, and then dips his tongue into my mouth before I can answer.

"Yes," I reply, as soon as he lets me.

"You're warm," he begins, whispering into my ear, and sucks on my earlobe when he pauses. "You're so warm, I think I might catch fire. But I wouldn't care." He kisses my neck, and then I hear his voice rumbling against my throat. "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."

He illustrates his point by pulling almost all the way out, and then slowly flexes his hips to fill me again.

"Tell me what I feel like," he says, and I feel my heart start to race.

No, I can't possibly do that.

I can't—

"You're strong," I hear myself say, "and so hard, and so deep." His eyes roll shut, and I continue. "I want to feel you moving inside me, hard and fast until you make me scream."

Okay, maybe I'm not very good at this, but it seems to be good enough for Spike.

Because suddenly, he's moving over me, moving with such force that I have to brace myself against the ground with both hands to keep us in place. The muscles in the leg I've hooked over his shoulder are screaming with pain.

There's something about this angle, about the way the circular motions of his hips push him into me, and I'm close again. I'm so close, and I start to whimper in anticipation.

"Look at me," I tell him, and his eyes, wild and feral, bore their way into mine. "Change," I order him, and I watch as the confusion plays over his face before he understands.

I hear the beast within him growl as his face contorts and his fangs descend. There's something about seeing both sides of him, seeing all of him while he's inside me, and it sends me over the edge.

I scream so loud, it sounds like someone's trying to kill me. It feels like he's trying to kill me, because I'm not sure I can take much more of this and still come out of it the same person I was before.

I idly wonder if he'll take advantage of my unguarded neck and bite me.

He doesn't, but part of me wishes he would. Not to drain me completely, just to taste me. I want part of me inside him, the way he's inside of me.

"Bite me," I whisper into his ear.

He doesn't respond right away, but catches my mouth in a kiss just as I feel his climax coming to an end.

I slip my leg off his shoulder, and we both roll to our sides. He's lying behind me and we're pressed together. His arms surround me, and his left leg moves over mine, possessively.

"Why didn't you—"

"I wasn't sure you knew what you were saying, love."

"I didn't mean for you to turn me."

"I know. I just wanted you to be sure."

"Is it...weird, that I asked you?" I'm not sure of anything anymore. For all I know, I've breached some kind of vampire etiquette.

"Not at all, pet. I just didn't want to get myself staked." He nibbles on my throat with his dull, human teeth.

"I'm tired," I said, and punctuated it with a yawn.

"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."

"Spike! You—"

"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."

I can feel him, against my back, how ready he is to do all the things he's telling me about.

"Maybe I'm not as tired as I thought," I say, and I turn enough to look at him out of the corner of my eye.

He tilts his head and looks at me, and then he rolls me onto my stomach. It catches me off guard, and I'm not able to block him before he's pinned me.

"How're you gonna get yourself out of this one, Slayer?"

His hands firmly hold my hips as he pulls us out of the wrestling hold he's put me in, and I'm on my hands and knees with Spike behind me.

I should protest, this seems so...bad.

But now that he's inside me again, it doesn't feel wrong at all. His hand slips around to pinch one of my nipples, and then it slides down my stomach until he finds what he's looking for. His fingers move in slow circles, lighting me on fire and carrying me away again.

Just when I can't take it for one minute longer, I feel his fangs scratch across my back, hard enough that the skin breaks. His tongue laps at the blood filling the cut, and the whole world explodes.

Again.

I want to kill him.

Of course, maybe I should thank him. My one night of Spike insanity is truly over now, all the depravity, the things I still can't believe we did.

That line about how the only thing better than killing a Slayer is f—

I can't get out of here fast enough. If he thinks he can just pull me back into the gutter with him, he's severely mistaken.

This was one night. Now the sun is up, I've stopped with the crazy, and I'm done with this.

I don't even look back at him before I climb out of the wreckage of the house we knocked down.

"Back so soon, Slayer?" he asks me as I throw open the door to his crypt.

"I came to thank you."

"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."

"I've barely seen her since you got back."

"But she still knows you care about her."

"I'll always care about her."

"Well, that was all I came for."

"You sure about that, pet? Sure you didn't come here for another taste?"

"Why do you have to ruin everything?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing, pet."

"I'm leaving," I announce, and it occurs to me that I should probably at least start to walk toward the door.

"You'll love me someday, you know," he calls after me, but I keep walking.

I spin the stake in my hand as I walk through the graveyard, and I'm looking for a fight.

Any fight.

I just need to get my hands on something and kick it senseless.

I look longingly toward Spike's crypt, and I know if I walked in and told him I needed a fight, he'd oblige. I know he said he was done letting me kick him around, but I'm pretty sure that's not strictly true.

What I'm really afraid of is that I won't feel like fighting at all once I'm around him, and that we'll find another way to drown my sorrows.

Well, no.

A movement behind a gravestone about twenty feet away catches my eye, and I wonder if the green, scaly demon I see there thinks I haven't noticed him. I decide to keep walking and let him jump me, which should make the fight a little more interesting.

I can hear the demon stomping behind me as it goes from one hiding place to another, trying to sneak up on me.

Why won't he just get on with it?

Finally, I feel him grasp my shoulders and try to roll me to the ground, and it's begun.

I let him throw me to the ground, but I use the momentum he's given me to roll in a different direction. I pop to my feet behind him, and I punch him in the small of the back. The force of the punch makes him fall to his knees, and I start to circle around him.

Before I can get there, Spike appears from behind a tree and jumps onto the demon. Spike's in game face, and I could swear he yelled something about 'getting my back' while he was airborne.

Spike wrestles with the demon until he's got the demon's arms pinned behind his back, and then he turns toward me.

"I've got him, Buffy. Take care of him!"

I don't move, I just stare at this spectacle of overactive testosterone syndrome, shrug my shoulders, and roll my eyes.

"Are you all right? Did he get you?" Spike's voice is full of concern, and he snaps the demon's neck, ridding the world of him in one smooth gesture.

"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?"

"I'm not injured and I'm not impaired. I'm perfectly—"

And then I burst into tears.

"What's wrong, love? Can't you tell me?"

His arms are around me, and the front of his shirt is soaked where I've been crying into it.

This is the last way I wanted things to end up.

"Come with me," he says, brushing my hair away from my face.

"That's not going to fix anything," I choke out between sobs.

"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."

"If you try anything—"

"If I try anything, you have my permission to stake me."

With his arm around my shoulders, he leads me back to his crypt. I choose not to protest when he leads me down the ladder and into the bedroom he's made for himself.

He walks me to the edge of the bed, and the gentle pressure of his palm against my back encourages me to lie down.

I curl into a ball on top of the covers, and I don't even flinch when Spike arranges himself around me, pulling me into the circle of his arms.

"Shhhhh," he whispers into my hair. "It'll be all right."

Something about his gentleness sends me back into the kind of sobs that take over my whole body. I can't take in enough breath, and I start to cough. It only makes me cry harder.

Spike stays next to me, his chest hard against my face.

"Is it Red, pet? Is it the witch?"

"No," I manage to say in between coughs. "It's nothing like that."

"You don't have to—"

"I can't make it," I say, and it sets me off again.

Spike kisses me on the top of my head, and he waits a beat before he answers me.

"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."

"What happened, love?"

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

"Are you messing about with magic?"

"No," I whine at him, annoyed that he doesn't just know what the problem is. "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."

"Forgive my confusion, but all this is over a sodding pan of chocolate?"

"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—"

I'm crying again, clinging to him, and his arms squeeze me so tightly I have trouble breathing.

But it feels good. It feels right.

When I open my eyes, I realize I've woken up next to Spike for the second time this month.

He's actually dozing this time, taking in slow, unnecessary breaths and still holding me in his arms.

"Spike," I whisper, shaking him lightly, but he doesn't stir.

I guess that's why they call it 'the sleep of the dead'.

"Spike," I said, pulling out of his arms and shaking him harder this time.

"In awhile, love. I'm too tired right now. Just give me a couple of hours."

"I want you to be conscious when I leave, so I can say goodbye."

Spike sits up, completely awake.

"Goodbye? What do you mean by—"

"I don't mean goodbye. I just need to go," I tell him, and hesitate before I finish my thought. "But I will never forget this."

I lean over and kiss him on the forehead, and his eyes shut while my lips touch his skin.

He doesn't fight me when I pull away from him and stand up, and I can't bring myself to look back before I ascend the ladder to start my way home.

What did they do to me?

The last thing I remember, Spike and I were confronting Warren and his geek pals.

Now, I'm on the floor, choking on my own blood.

"Stay still, Buffy. I'm going to get you out of here," I hear Spike say, and I figure his plan is better than anything I'm coming up with at the moment.

I feel him wrap something around my left arm, some kind of bandage, and he ties it tightly. I whimper in protest, and he squeezes my shoulder—so like when he used to kiss me—to comfort me.

"I'm sorry, love. I have to stop the bleeding before...before we go."

"Where are they? Did they get away?"

"This is my bloody fault," I hear him say to himself. "I'm no use to you in a fight against humans."

A memory of Spike, screaming with pain from the chip as he lunged at Jonathan, comes flooding back to me.

"Are you okay? Did they get away?" I try to sit up, but his hands hold me down.

"I'm fine. And they did get away, for now."

I throw my head back in frustration, an action which rewards me with a shooting pain down my neck when my head hits the ground.

"What's wrong with me?"

Spike hesitates, and I wonder how bad the injuries must be for Spike to try to keep it from me.

"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." He brushes the back of his hand against my cheek, and I can tell he's sugar-coating it.

"Tell me all of it."

"Blasted stubborn wom—" His voice breaks off, and I can hear how close to crying he is. "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." He cleared his throat before he continued, "But the rest of you seems all right. I think you ducked away from the worst of it."

"Why did they run?"

"I think they were afraid of what I'd do to them, love."

"Spike, I—"

"Whatever it is, we can talk about it later. I'm getting you to the hospital."

"How?"

I watch as he slides one arm under my knees and the other around my back, then lifts me from the floor.

"The hard way."

I'm starting to feel sleepy, but something tells me that being unconscious is exactly what I don't need.

"Spike, I don't feel—"

"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."

Suddenly we're moving much faster, and it occurs to me that he must have started running. My good arm finds its way around his neck, and it's not just for stability. I push my face into his chest, wincing after getting my first good look at my injured arm.

"I'm sorry, Spike."

Spike's face is a study in confusion as he lets himself look at me for a second.

"What are you—"

"For everything. I had no right to drag you into...all that stuff, last month." It sounds lame, the way I've said it, but I hope he'll understand what I mean.

"Don't think about that now. Just keep talking to me. Keep me company."

"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..."

"Buffy, don't. I don't think you—"

I smile a little against his chest as the familiar thought comes to mind.

I'll tell him just this once. Just this once, and then I'll be done.

And for the first time, I understand how much I don't mean that.

"I love you, Spike."

end

Read the Spike version, The Beast.

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