Adult-FanFiction.org : Buffy

Out of My Head	By : agalaxyinblueeyes Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Het - Male/Female > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 2790 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-out of my head
- 2-part i
- 3-part ii
- 4-part iii
- 5-part iv
- 6-part v
- 7-part vi
- 8-part vii
- 9-part viii
- 10-part ix
- 11-part x
- 12-part xi
- 13-part xii
- 14-part xiii
- 15-epilogue
- 12
- 13
- 14
Taken from “Intervention”
and are used solely for the purpose of getting this damned thing to make
sense. More or less. Heh.

Out
of My Head

...part XII...

Two terrified demons managed to drag a snarling,
extremely pissed-off master vampire with snapping jaws into the
room, even though his arms were securely tied behind him. Upon
noticing, Glory dropped her magazine, standing up off the couch
and gawking.

“What the hell is that and why is his hair
that color?” she asked, the disgust obvious on her face.
Jinx and Murk struggled to right Spike and stood up straight,
gazing up at the goddess.

“Stunning one, we believe he is the
Key!” Murk began, Jinx echoing the last two words while
Spike looked back and forth between them and Glory in annoyance.

Glory’s eyes lit up and she smiled.
“Really? That’s fantabulous!” she exclaimed,
walking toward them. The light dimmed as she approached Murk and
shoved him. “And impossible.” She eyed Spike, then
began to circle him like a shark. Spike watched her cautiously.
“He can't be the key, because, see, the key ... has to be
pure.”

She stopped in front of him and began sniffing at
him like a dog at a fire hydrant. Spike grimaced, backing away,
thoroughly uncharmed by her apparent need to see if he had that
nice, fresh feeling. She righted herself and looked at him.
“This... is a vampire.” Spike’s eyes widened in
alarm. < Bloody hell, she can tell what I am by sniffing
me? > She glanced at him again, then glared at her
minions. “Rule number one, vampires equal impure.”

He was beginning to see why Glory was insane. She
was acting like Dru -- sweet and seductive one second, and ready
to claw your face off the next. Either way, he was starting to
freak out. “Yeah, damn right, I’m impure. I’m as
impure as the driven yellow snow! Lemme go!”

Glory ignored his request. “You can't even
brain-suck a vampire,” she sighed, patting Spike on the
chest. “He’s completely useless.”

Spike nodded quickly. “So I’m just
gonna let myself out.” He attempted to dart away but was
stopped by the smug, grinning, ugly little face of Murk. He
grimaced and backed away.

Jinx gave Glory a confused look. “But, your
holiness... we observed the Slayer. She preferred the company of
this one above all the others.” Glory looked over her
shoulder at Spike, who was glaring at Murk and eyeing her
carefully. “She treated him as precious.”

“Really? Precious?” Glory asked, the
final consonant of the word becoming a hiss. She tilted her head,
pushing Jinx aside and walking over to Spike again. Looking him
up and down, she said, “Let’s take a peek at you,
precious.”

Spike managed to muster up some of his trademark
insolence. “Sod off,” he growled softly, scowling at
her.

Glory raised her eyebrows, and laughed.
“Oh...” The amusement disappeared and she grabbed the
front of Spike’s shirt, bringing him in close to her face.
“Watch what you say, sweet cheeks. Didn’t anybody ever
tell you not to piss off a god?” With that, she hauled off
and punched him in the nose. Spike went flying, catapulting
backwards until he hit the wall. He moaned softly in pain as he
slid down it., blood trickling out of his nose and down over his
lip.

Glory walked toward him and tilted his head up,
forcing him to look at her. She sighed. “He doesn’t
look very fancy to me,” she muttered, then grabbed
Spike’s bottom lip, lifting him up.

Spike yelped. “Hey! Watch the lip!”

Glory continued. “But if the Slayer protects
him, maybe appearances are deceiving.”

She threw Spike onto the circular mattress that
was her bed and grinned in approval when he landed on his bound
wrists, crying out in pain. She followed and climbed on top of
him, straddling him, then trailed one long, perfect red nail down
his chest. She looked up and caught his eye. “Maybe
there’s something on the inside.”

With that, she thrust the finger into
Spike’s stomach, laughing in pleasure when Spike screamed
out in agony. Leaning over him as she twisted and wriggled her
finger inside of his stomach, she brushed his chest with the
other hand in a comforting gesture. “Shh... What do you
know, precious?” She jabbed at him once, harder. “What
can I dig out of you?”

Spike writhed in anguish.

At the same time, about two hundred feet outside
the apartment, Buffy screamed and dropped to the ground, grabbing
at her stomach. Giles rushed over immediately, bending down to
help her up. “Good God, Buffy, what is it?”

Xander stared at them in confusion. All he knew,
all he could see, was that something was hurting Buffy, but...
there wasn’t anything around to hurt Buffy. Maybe it
was cramps. “What’s wrong, Buff?”

Buffy moaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut.
“It’s the claim. Something’s going on, Glory,
somebody, is hurting Spike,” she groaned. Taking a deep
breath, she managed to get to her feet with Giles’ help,
then wrapped her arms around her stomach, pushing against the
pain. “Oh... Christ, we have to get to him!”

She began walking off toward the apartment
complexes again, holding her own quite well despite the pain she
was under. Xander and Giles exchanged a look, then raced after
her.

Earlier plans had been nixed, and Buffy had sent
Willow and Anya ahead of the group to discover where any
impossible magicks had taken place. The Slayer had given them
directions to a slightly posher part of town, to a few apartment
complexes where several weeks earlier, she had found what Giles
had called the Sphere of Dagon. The rest had gone after weapons.
Now, they stood outside the very building where Spike was being
held captive. A loud scream pierced the air, and Anya jumped,
then jumped again when Buffy echoed it, keeling over into Giles.
Willow’s eyes widened.

“Oh, no. Oh, no, it’s the claim,
isn’t it? Oh, no, what are we going to do, what can
we do, huh, Giles? What can we do to help her, this is not good,
not good at all, what’s going to happen if the Slayer is
under assault injuries that haven’t even happened to her,
huh, Giles, what’s going to--”

Buffy stood straight up, cutting off
Willow’s sentence by holding her hand up. “I’m
fine, Will. But right now...” she swallowed hard, squeezing
her eyes shut. “Right now, we have to get to Spike.”
Sucking up every ounce of sheer will and strength she had, she
forced the effects of the claim away and drew a deep breath. She
looked toward the buildings, then turned her head to the side in
Xander’s direction. “Xander?”

The dark-haired boy instantly recognized the
unspoken command and began unloading the weapons they had taken
from the shop from a duffel bag that hung at his side. Buffy had
attempted to leave by herself earlier, and he’d run out,
trying to talk her back in, convincing her that a sloppy Slayer
was going to get Spike killed. He’d brought her back in and
they’d sorted through weapons, and now Xander pulled out two
crossbows, handing them to Willow and Anya, along with several
bolts. He offered the Slayer a machete and a crossbow of her own,
and she fingered the trigger impatiently as Xander gave the
Watcher a longsword. He himself took the handle of an axe with a
very large, very sharp looking blade, and yet another crossbow,
which he slung over his shoulders.

Buffy slipped the machete onto her back, then
mimicked Xander’s actions, slipping the crossbow around her
shoulders. She glared hard at the room where Spike was apparently
being tortured.

“Move out,” she growled in a tone that
would very much rival Spike’s own. She stalked toward the
buildings, gold-colored fury building in her eyes. The Scoobies
swallowed at her tone, but nevertheless followed the Slayer.

They arrived inside the building and Buffy again
became into general. “All right, here it is: Anya, Willow,
stick together, search the second floor, Xander, Giles, explore
the lobby, I’m going up to the third floor to see if I can
find Spike. Go!”

She began moving up the staircase, Anya tailing
after her and Willow pulling up the rear. Only they heard her
quietly utter, “Bitch is gonna pay.”

In her head, Buffy’s subconscious echoed
that sentiment. < Yeah, she will. And so will you if you
don’t get to him in time. >

Willow watched Buffy as she continued up to the
third floor of the building, stopping off at the second floor
with Anya. The former demon was looking around nervously, and
jumped slightly when Willow cleared her throat. She turned to the
witch.

“Could you not do that, please?”
she hissed. “There’s a god somewhere in this building,
torturing Spike, and I really don’t want her to get
torment happy with me, too.”

Willow shrugged. “Sorry... But do you think
this is worth the trouble of... of saving Spike?”

Anya turned her gaze on the red-head. “What
are you talking about? There’s no question about it, Spike has
to be saved, otherwise everything goes ker-plooey. And not only
that, but he’s claimed Buffy. So if he dies, she is going to
be in some serious physical pain.”

Willow chewed her lip as they began to walk
carefully down the hall. “I-I know, but... but what if Buffy
doesn’t get there in time? A-And Spike tells? Having a god
torture you can’t be all that fun and, and Spike wasn’t
very reliable in the past anyway. What if he tells Glory about
the Key?”

Anya glared at her. “Spike wouldn’t
tell. He, he couldn’t tell, have you even seen
the way he is with Dawn? And he’s crazy about Buffy, so if
he told, heh, well so much for the lovin’ there.”

Willow sighed. “Again, I know. I’ve
seen how he looks at Buffy. He’s in love with her, and she
told me that she feels the same way. But still, this is
Spike we’re talking about. He’s the one that held a
broken bottle at my face and threatened to cut me two years ago,
he’s the one that started a massacre at the high school on
Parent-Teacher Night... Maybe he has changed, but torture
could make him unchange in an instant. I know he loves Buffy,
but...” She looked up toward the third floor as another
pained, very Spike-sounding scream rang out. She glanced down at
her feet. “What if it’s not enough?” she finished
quietly.

Anya followed the Wicca’s gaze up the steps
and frowned, worrying her lower lip.

If that wasn’t enough, then oblivion was
imminent.

SO not a good thing.

Glory was having way too much fun. She
couldn’t help it. She hadn’t tortured someone since
she’d been banished from her home sweet hell and hooked on
to that stupid brat, Ben. And that had to have been, given
Ben’s age, around 25 to 27 years ago. Maybe less, but who
was counting, really?

Point was, she had her very own vampire to maim
and break and cut, and sooner or later, he was going to give in.

And if he didn’t, she would make him.

The vampire, at the moment, wasn’t talking
though, and that was just pushing her along. Oh, god it
was fun trying to weasel the info out of him. Her minions were
standing in a circle around them, in order to keep him from
escaping, which was pointless since the little bloodsucker was
chained to the ceiling, his boots barely touching the ground.

The demons were watching in eager fascination.
Well, not so much fascination as it was apprehension. Glory knew
that they realized that this could happen to them if one of them
pissed her off the slightest bit. She was proud of that fact.

Glory was insane, but she wasn’t to the
point of humbling herself.

Spike, meanwhile, was fighting unconsciousness.
Mainly for the reason that he feared what the psychotic deity
would do to him if he did conk out. He’d already
endured so much from her. For starters, his nose was broken.
Again. Glory had taken an interest in his face, and he had two
black eyes, both so swollen that he could barely see save for
squinting. Glory had gotten extremely brassed off and frustrated
at one point, and there were scratch marks across his face to
show that, dark, bleeding furrows dug deep by her claw-like
nails. He could barely see from the blood that was trickling down
through his eyes.

His chest was beaten to a pulp, black and blue
bruises all over, and there was one, perfectly circular,
perfectly ugly wound where Glory had pushed her finger into him.
Glory finally turned away from him, and he allowed himself to
relax a bit, unable to do much else besides hang there. He’d
been attached to a chain that had been looped around something in
the ceiling, and all his muscles were straining downwards. Any
second now he was sure they were going to rip right off of his
bones.

Oh, god, what was it going to take for her to
stop?

Oh, right. That.

Glory turned around again and Spike raised his
head, swallowing hard and tensing up when he saw her hands behind
her back. Whatever was coming next could not be good.
Christ, this woman was worse than Dru was when at her best.

This could not be happening.

Glory walked up to him, an innocent, sweet smile
on her face, and Spike shied away from her wearily, unable to get
very far due to his suspension. Casually, the goddess brought out
her hands and Spike’s eyes widened in fear: a stake in one
hand, and a long, ornate silver dagger in the other. He
wasn’t sure which one was worse. The stake had its up side,
because she could stab him, and the pain would last but a second.
On the other hand, she could push the thing in as slowly as
possible, and torture him even further. Besides, he really
didn’t want to die.

And then there was the dagger. And he knew -- he knew
-- that Glory would use the sharp blade to every single
advantage, and he’d look like a demolished Rose-Phase
Picasso painting as a result. But at least he couldn’t die
from it. Well, unless he lost all his blood.

Either way, he was now scared shitless.

Glory smiled at the terrified look on his face,
and pretended to dither between which weapon to use, then slowly
put the blade down. Walking up to him, she gently pushed away the
scraps of his destroyed T-shirt and lightly trailed the tip of
the very pointy, very lethal wooden stake over his chest. Spike
let out a soft whimper, trying to push away from her, and Glory
reached up to touched his cheek.

“Shhh... I know, precious, I know,” she
said in a soft, kind voice. “Do you want the pain to
stop?” Spike nodded his head desperately. Glory smiled.
“Then it will,” she continued, running her hand from
his cheek to his pecs. “All you have to do is tell me who
the Key is. Then the pain will stop for good, and I promise that
I’ll let you go.”

She said it sincerely enough, but Spike was
looking in her eyes, and he knew instantly, as well as from
common sense, that he would die even if he did decide to
give up Dawn.

His hesitation was quick to irritate Glory, and
her impatience rose. She moved the stake up toward his heart,
settling it in about two inches above the vital, un-beating
organ. “Now, now, baby doll. Tell me who the Key is. Unless
you actually enjoy the feeling of wood going through your
skin.”

The stupid vampire still wasn’t talking. She
scowled and pushed the stake in, pressing it into the same area
that Riley had staked him in just a few weeks before. Spike threw
his head back and cried out as she pushed it in one, two, three
inches. The stake was now lodged above his heart, right between
his shoulder and collarbone, and blood was seeping out of the
wound, drenching the wood and running down his chest.

Glory scowled. Either this guy was really loyal,
or he was really stupid. He was still refusing to talk. She
yanked the stake out violently and that caused him more pain than
it had with the stake going in. Blood gushed down his
chest from the injury like a waterfall, and Spike kept his head
down, shuddering and whimpering in pain.

Glory sighed and tossed the stake over her
shoulder, unknowingly beaning one of her demons on the head with
it. She walked back to where she left the knife, then moved
behind Spike with it. “I have a riddle for you,
precious,” she began, stroking his face with her free hand.
Grabbing the back of his head, she pulled him backwards until he
was suspended horizontally, his legs hanging limply in the air,
then rested her cheek against his, smiling. “How is a
vampire that won’t talk... like an apple?”

She moved up her dagger-occupied arm, then
pressed the blade into his skin, dragging it viciously down his
chest. Spike moaned in agony, tears of frustration running over
his cheeks and bloodying up his vision and features even more.
The blade ran cleanly through his skin, cutting it up like
butter, digging through the muscle, and it was all he could do
not to give in to the beckoning oblivion. Glory grinned, proudly
displaying the large ‘G’ that she’d carved into
his torso. “Think I can do you in one long strip?” she
asked, positioning the knife horizontally, preparing to slice
down.

That was it. He couldn’t take anymore.

“Enough. No more,” he wheezed weakly.
“I’ll tell you who the soddin’ Key is.”

Buffy winced and knelt to the floor as another
scream sounded and a sharp pain ran though her chest. She’d
barely been given a few moments before another, sharper pain ran
along her stomach.

< Great, thanks for the claim, Spike >
she grumbled inside her head. It took all her willpower to stand
up once again, one arm pressed against the pain in her stomach,
the hand of her other arm pressed against a section near her
shoulder. She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut until the pain
faded away, then sighed in relief. She wiped her hand across her
face, then frowned as something somewhat sticky, with a coppery
smell to it covered her skin. She looked down at her hand.

Covered in blood.

She looked at her other arm.

Yep, that one too.

Glancing down at her shirt, her eyes widened in
horror. The pain in her chest had taken the form of a circle, and
blood was seeping down her front like she’d been wounded.
Further down, on her stomach, blood had pooled out into the form
of a letter ‘G.’ Quickly, she pulled the shirt up and
searched for any wounds.

Nothing.

And the same went for the circle on her chest.

“Okay, this is getting a leeettle too weird
for my tastes,” she said out loud. No wounds, but she was
bleeding. The same way the pains appeared even though nothing was
around to cause them. It was Spike’s claim. It had to be;
there was nothing else it could be.

Which meant that Glory was starting to get
stake-happy.

Buffy’s eyes widened in panic at the
thought, and she raced up the rest of the stairs. She passed a
window in the hallway as she ran, noticing that the sky was
beginning to lighten, signifying morning. They’d been out
all night.

If she didn’t get Spike back by the time day
broke, she was never going to forgive herself.

Glory sighed as the walking and talking corpse
panted and gasped, asking for water. Snapping her fingers, one of
her minions ran off to the kitchen, and was back within a second,
wielding a glass. This was the second thing the vampire had asked
for since breaking for her, and Glory’s impatience was again
getting the best of her.

She took the glass and lifted it to Spike’s
lips, carefully tipping it as he swallowed rapaciously. Blood ran
down his face and into the water, but Glory really couldn’t
care less. He was a vampire -- one, he drank blood, anyway, it
didn’t matter if it was slightly diluted with water, and
two, he was nothing but an informant to her. Why the hell should
she be hospitable?

When he was done, she pulled the glass away, and
put on her tender, loving face.

“Is that better?” she asked gently.
Spike coughed softly as a reply. She smiled softly. “Do you
think you can try to talk again now?” Spike nodded slowly,
swallowing and exhaling his breath as he looked up at her.
“Good.”

The women seriously needed anger management. She
whirled on him. “Because I’m tired of these
games!” she yelled, smashing the glass into his face. It
shattered into pieces, hitting the floor. She turned away,
throwing her hands in the air. “’I need time, I need a
drink,’ you’re a very needy little bloodsucker,”
she accused, flopping onto the sofa and crossing her legs.
“And it’s not very attractive.” Spike
scowled at her, mentally stirring up ways to maim and torture her.
Of course, she was a god, and he was a vampire.

It wouldn’t work.

“So start talkin’,” she continued,
folding her arms.

Buffy crept up to the door she’d seen open.
Crashing noises had sounded from it, as well as the sound of
Glory’s eternal bitching, so it was obvious that this was
the place. Peering in, she caught a glimpse of a room overflowing
with satin pillows, silk sheets, and cashmere drapery. And in the
middle of it all was Spike.

< Oh my god > she thought, eyeing
his body. He’d been brutalized. Glory had truly gone
overboard.

Unless, for Glory, this was only five steps away
from overboard.

How had he managed to survive thus far? It was
impossible! Had he been human, Spike would’ve either been
dead or in a coma. Of course, it probably helped that he was dead
already, but still... Christ.

Something caught Buffy’s eye on the floor of
the room, and her eyes widened in alarm. She had just come pretty
damn close to losing her lover.

It was a stake. And by the looks of it (the small
puddle of blood around it probably gave it away), it had been
thoroughly used on Spike. He had a big hole in his chest, in the
same position that the circle of blood had appeared on
Buffy’s shirt, and it was looking pretty damn bad.

Oh, and how about that? Glory had put a little
claim of her own on Spike. It should’ve been obvious when
that big ‘G’ had shown up on her shirt.

Buffy stopped and listened when she saw Spike
begin to talk.

Spike nodded. “Yeah. Okay. The Key.
Here’s the thing...” he began, fiddling with the chain
binding his wrists together. He was weak, but it was worth a shot
at getting away anyhow. He twisted them around, trying to loosen
them. “It’s that guy... on TV...
what’s-his-name?”

Glory frowned at him, not comprehending. “On
the television?”

Spike nodded again. “That show... the prize
show... where they guess what stuff costs?”

Murk, who had approached Glory with Jinx the
moment she’d sat down, tilted his head. “The Price Is
Right?”

Jinx’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Bob
Barker!"

The demons twittered excitedly, and Murk stepped
forward. “We will bring you Bob Barker! We will bring you
the limp and beaten body of Bob Bark --”

Glory jumped up angrily. The demons instantly
shrank back. “It’s not Bob Barker, scabby
morons! The Key is new to this world...” She turned to
glare at Spike. “... And Bob Barker is as old as grit.”
She smiled. “The vampire... is lying to me.”

Spike suddenly broke into a case of weak,
hysteric giggles. “Yeah... but it was fun. An’ guess
what, bitch?” He tried tugging at the chains again,
desperate to free himself before Glory could really do some
damage for what he was about to do. “You’re never gonna
get your soddin’ Key. ‘Cos you might be strong, but in
our world?” He leaned forward and glared at her.
“You’re an idiot.”

Buffy’s face could’ve cracked; she was
grinning so hard that the Mona Lisa would be envious. True, Spike
was doing something incredibly stupid by baiting and extremely
pissy hellgod, but then again, this was Spike. He
wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t; he was
practically known for doing incredibly stupid things.

Glory was getting beyond pissed, she could tell,
and Buffy officially had Spike to thank for that. The second they
got out of there, the moron was getting a kiss.

Well, a kiss was all she could offer at the
moment. It wasn’t like she could throw him down and rape
him. Vampires liked pain when it came to sex, but not in the
situation Spike was in. That was too much. And besides, they
would be in the middle of a battle, and she couldn’t abandon
her friends. Couple fun would have to wait.

For now, though, Buffy just sat up and enjoyed
the show.

Glory’s eyes widened. This, this thing,
this mere vampire actually had the nerve to insult
her? “I am a god!” she yelled, jaw clenching.

Spike snorted. “Yeah, the god of what, bad
home perms?”

Glory’s jaw dropped and her hand went up to
her hair, patting it defensively. “Shut up!” she
yelped, moving forward menacingly, and wondering exactly why the
vampire didn’t seem to be scared of her anymore. “I
command you, shut up!”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, sorry,
but I just had no idea that gods were such prancing
lightweights.” < You’re pushing it, you are really
pushing it... > he thought. Glory scoffed at him in
disbelief. His voice dipped down to a threatening, vicious note
as he stared at her. “Mark my words, hellbitch... My girl...
is going to kick your skanky, lopsided ass... “ <
Oooh, good one, Spike. > Glory’s head turned and she
checked out her ass, still unwilling to believe that his fear had
disappeared and that he was actually talking to her that way.
“...Back to whatever place would take a... “ He looked
her up and down and scoffed, glaring at her, his upper lip
curling in disgust. “... A cheap... whorish... fashion
victim... ex-god... like you.”

Each word had been said with Spike’s biting
malevolence, accents being placed on each and every syllable in
order to spite her.

And it worked. Perhaps too well.

Glory’s rage took advantage of the
situation, and spun around, delivering a devastating kick to
Spike’s middle. He winced as he heard something snap,
realizing full well that the bitch had just broken three or four
of his ribs. The chain binding his wrists gave way, and he flew
backwards, crashing into the hallway outside the door. Doing a
back-somersault, he slammed into a chair, splintering it.

Inside, Glory stared stonily at the chain that
had been holding Spike before she’d literally kicked him
out. Her demons surrounded her, looking up questioningly. Glory
stayed silent for a moment, then said, in a dangerous voice,
“Bring him back.”

Buffy jumped when Spike flew past her into the
wall, and she scrambled over to him, still toting the crossbow
and machete. He groaned, muttering, “Good plan, Spike,”
then looked up, startled, when Buffy grabbed his arm and pulled
him up. “Buffy?"

She nodded quickly, looking behind her at the
minions, then back at him. “Yeah, baby, it’s me.
I’m gonna get you out of here, I swear I will.”
Together, they ran down the hallway toward the open elevator
doors (well, Buffy ran; Spike sort of ran-walked-limped) as the
hordes of little hobbits-with-leprosy charged after them. However
the doors closed before they could get inside, and in a fury,
Buffy shouted, “Fuck!” and slammed her foot into the
door.

Spike moaned softly and slid down the wall,
looking up at her. Buffy spared a glance at him, then looked
behind her. Abandoning the task at hand for the moment, she
grabbed the crossbow, aimed, and pulled the trigger, shooting one
of the charging demons in the chest. He let out a funny little
‘eeee’ sound and flew up, landing on his back with his
feet in the air, instantly dead. His comrades ignored their
fallen man and continued after the Slayer as Buffy pried open the
doors, shoving them apart.

She bent down to Spike and cupped his chin.
“Spike, I need you to get down there, can you do that for
me?” Spike gave a soft whimper that broke her heart but he
nevertheless grunted and turned over on his stomach, sliding into
the elevator hatch. Grabbing the machete off of her back, Buffy
slashed it across the face of one of the demons nearing her, then
jumped down the hatch with Spike, being careful to avoid his
already heavily injured body. Opening the latch at the top of the
elevator, Buffy gently lowered Spike into it as Jinx and another
demon watched them from the open elevator doors. She peered up at
them, then lowered herself in as well.

He stood up shakily and Buffy caught him in her
arms before he fell over, brushing her fingers over his face.
Reaching out her other hand, she took his and squeezed gently.

“Can you run?” she asked. Spike wobbled
again and Buffy grabbed at him, wincing. “Whoops, guess
not.” The elevator ‘ding’-ed and the doors opened,
revealing the demons, led by Murk and Jinx, running down the
staircase. Anya and Willow had run back down to the lobby at the
sound of their descent, and now all of them stood at the ready
for the attack.

Murk started toward the elevator as Jinx
initiated the war. “You do not insult Glory by
escaping!” he called out. Buffy and Spike scowled at him and
simultaneously thrust up their middle fingers. Murk seemed
surprised by this reaction; apparently, he’d been expecting
them to be quivering in actual fear. Buffy jerked the crossbow in
front of her again and fired a bolt, purposely hitting Murk in
the right-of-center of his chest. The little demon cried out as
he flew back, his eyes widening at the clear sight he now had of
the short, powerful blonde girl. “Slayer!” he cried
out.

“That would be me,” Buffy muttered
under her breath, then turned toward Spike, pressing a kiss to
his forehead. “Stay in here, you’re too weak.”

Spike fell back against the wall feebly, lifting
one arm to try and clutch at her. “Buff --” he choked,
then squeezed his eyes shut as an overwhelming stretch of pain
assaulted him, finally succumbing to senselessness. Buffy
swallowed hard, fighting the tears that were trying to force
themselves down her cheeks and ignoring the angry voice inside
her head that said that she had caused this to happen to him.

Convincing herself that he would be safe inside
the elevator, she ran out toward the action. Xander saw her out
of the corner of his eye and took a moment to wave. “Hey!
Welcome to the chaos!” he called out. Buffy shot him a grin
and saluted, then dove headfirst into the fray.

Anya was standing on the final step of the
staircase, shooting the bolts from her crossbow wildly at the
demons that were attempting to attack her, at times taking the
crossbow itself and smashing them over the heads with it. Willow
had discarded her own crossbow in favor of her rapidly advancing
witchcraft. There was a circle of absolute calm surrounding her,
and as her chanting reached a crescendo, her head shot up and her
already green eyes glowed even brighter, almost blindingly so.
She threw her arms up, capturing the twenty or so demons that had
been surrounding her barrier. She slammed them into the ceiling
before throwing her arms toward the right and sending them flying
out the windows in a rain of broken glass.

Xander spun around as a demon lunged toward him,
catching the little bastard with the axe and flipped him over his
shoulder, then whirled around just in time to brace an attack
from another demon.

Buffy looked around and snatched her crossbow up,
taking out another demon, until Murk, who had removed the bolt
from his chest, advanced on her and kicked it out of her grasp.
She spun to look at him and received a punch to the face.
Recovering quickly, she kicked Murk down to the ground, then
ducked as another demon decided to attack. Kicking Murk twice
more, she punched the second demon, then spun around and kicked a
third.

Leveling the handle of the axe like a
quarter-staff, Xander smacked a demon in the face with it, then
fended him off before swinging around and stabbing a second demon
in the chest. The first demon recovered and attacked him again,
punching him twice. The first demon made an attempt to punch him
a third time, but Xander ducked and caught him on the chin with
the axe handle. Smacking him a few times, he shoved the blade
into his belly and jerked upwards before retrieving it and
spinning around.

Murk shot back up to his feet and assaulted Buffy
again, aiming a fist at her face. Buffy blocked the punch,
brought her leg up in a snap-kick, then ducked another punch.
Pulling her arm back, she snapped her fist at him, a punch which
he blocked. Knocking him upside the head with a foot, she punched
him twice more, catching him fully off guard. Then, spinning, she
thrust her foot out and caught him on the side of his head,
sending him flying.

As he slashed yet another demon, one more of the
little bastards snuck up behind him, catching Xander in a
headlock and pointing a very sharp knife at his throat. Xander
gurgled and let out a strangled cry. Giles, who had been slashing
demons left and right with the longsword, heard him and rushed to
his side. Lifting his sword above his head, he brought the hilt
down hard on the demon’s head. He fell backwards and Giles
brought the blade of the sword down, stabbing the little monster
in the belly. Free now, Xander gave Giles a grateful grin, then
dove headfirst toward a reviving demon, tackling him to the
ground. Straddling said demon, Xander began punching him
gleefully.

Now he knew why Buffy enjoyed this so much. It
was a kick-ass stress-reliever!

Finally, he grabbed the dagger that he had swiped
off of the other demon before he’d been set free and drove
it down into the demon he sat on. Xander stood up and brushed
himself off, glancing around. He spotted Jinx and Murk running
back up the steps and called out, “Buffy!” before he
was tackled from the side by another demon who hadn’t had
the smarts to escape with the ones that had gotten away.

The Slayer jerked her head up in time to see Jinx
and Murk retreating, then rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Her
head twisted in Anya’s direction, the former demon shrieking
as one of the few demons left began grabbing at her. Buffy darted
toward the girl and struck a blow to the back of the demon’s
head. Grabbing either side of his face as he turned around to
her, she twisted, snapping his neck cleanly.

Looking around to Xander, she saw that the demon
he was now combating with had his arm wrapped tightly around
Xander’s throat. The boy jabbed his elbow into the
demon’s stomach, then turned and began punching him in
retaliation. “Xander!” Buffy called out, hefting her
machete up in the air. Xander turned and, seeing what Buffy had
planned, ran and hid behind Giles. The Watcher turned and scowled
at him.

Buffy threw the machete, watching grimly as the
sharp silver metal flew through the air and embedded itself into
Xander’s assailant. And suddenly, all was silent. Buffy
looked around and noticed that the lobby was now littered with
nothing but dead demons. Her eyes latched onto the elevator and
she rushed down the steps. “Giles!” she called out.
“Get that piece of shit off of my machete, I’m not
leaving it here!”

Hurrying toward the elevator doors, she sank to
her knees and crawled in, taking in Spike’s face. She
wasn’t sure what was worse: that he was so bloody that the
red cascade hid most of his serious injuries, or the fact that he
had serious injuries underneath the blood. She drew a deep shaky
breath, then pulled him into her arms, grunting softly as she
lifted him. It was easier picking him up when he wasn’t
unconscious, mostly because he helped her boost up, but carrying
a sack of one-hundred forty some-odd pounds of dead weight
vampire was putting a serious strain on her muscles.

She carried him out of the elevator, staggering
slightly under the weight, and walked to the middle of the lobby,
viciously kicking aside one of the dead demons, as if it was
redemption for what their master had done to her lover.

Xander, who had otherwise been occupied (Anya had
thrown her arms around him in relief a few seconds earlier and
had a grip like an octopus at the moment), stopped kissing his
girlfriend and froze in absolute shock at the sight of
Spike’s battered body, Willow and Giles parroting him with
their silence. Anya glanced at him and held her hand over her
mouth, her skin tinting a bit green and hinting at nausea.
“Oh, my god,” she whispered.

Buffy remained quiet for a moment, studying his
face. She’d been incredibly close to losing him, and the
last thing he would have remembered of her was her voice calling
out his Sire’s name. How incredibly stupid was she,
exactly?

She lifted her head and peered out the doors of
the apartment building, eyeing daybreak wearily. She turned
slightly, protectively hiding Spike from any stray rays of the
rising sun. She glanced at her mentor. “It’s morning.
I’m not gonna let him fry. We need to get him out of
here.”

Giles stared at his charge quietly for a moment,
examining the girl’s despondent face. Carefully, he removed
his coat and placed it over Spike, draping it over the
vampire’s torso. Buffy looked up at him slowly and he smiled
gently at her. “I’ll go collect my car,” he said
softly.

Buffy returned his smile with a weaker one of her
own. As he turned to leave, she called out, “Giles!” He
turned slightly, looking at her. She bit her lip. “Thank
you.” Giles smiled, nodding his head, and continued walking.

Buffy lowered her head, returning her gaze to
Spike. She shifted him slightly and sat down cross-legged on the
floor, placing him in her lap. Willow moved over and wrapped an
arm comfortingly around Buffy’s shoulders, and the Slayer
allowed her shoulders to shake from her sob. Anya pulled away
from Xander and moved to sit in front of Willow, murmuring
something to the witch about a healing spell. The ex-demon placed
a gentle hand on top of Buffy’s, and gave the Slayer a tiny,
brave smile. Buffy sniffled, but managed a smile back. It
wasn’t very often that Anya expressed sympathy. Buffy had a
feeling that Anya knew about her emotions concerning Spike.

Xander quietly stood back, gazing at his three
women. Willow, his best friend since diapers; Anya, his other
half, his girlfriend and lover; and Buffy. Jesus, what could he
say about Buffy? She’d been his crush, his best friend, his
consort, his muse, his saviour (more times than he’d like to
admit)... most of all, she was his idol. He’d stood by her
for so long, and watched every single torment that she’d
ever been put through, saw her fly through each and every
opposition with ease. She’d had her heart broken more times
than California law should have allowed. She’d been put
through the ringer because of her duties, and once, four years
ago, she had even died because of those same duties. And yet, she
just kept going. She amazed him with every breath she took.

He watched her now, staring at her face; took in
her distraught form, cradling Spike so close, so protective of
him. She looked utterly devastated. Yeah, he hated Spike, but the
truth was, the blonde jerk had grown on him. He’d begun to
anticipate their barb fights and pool matches, the name-calling
competitions and what-not. And as much as he hated to admit it...
ever since Buffy had dumped Riley, ever since Buffy had latched
on to Spike... He had never seen the girl happier since before
Angel had become Angelus. And it really grieved him to
realize that it was Spike’s doing.

He had followed her on patrol once when he’d
noticed her extra-perky behavior -- he and the others had deduced
that she must have been seeing someone but the relationship was
still too new to thrust the guy past her attack-dog friends. He
had stayed at least two-hundred paces behind her, but followed
closely enough to have a good view. When Spike appeared the
instant she stepped on to the cemetery’s grounds, he’d
expected Buffy to become cold and distant, telling Spike to just
get the hell away from her. Instead, he’d had to turn away
when Buffy had grinned and thrown her arms around Spike,
obviously euphoric to see the bloodsucker.

He hated the idea of Buffy being with another
vampire. This girl had become like his sister (his little
sister if he wanted to be technical; she was younger than
him), and the thought of any harm coming to her from another
vampire, after all the chaos that Angel’s evil twin had
caused, drove him crazy. She was worth so much more than that,
his Buffy.

But the thing about Buffy was that she’d
always had things in common with Spike. The ones that stood out
the most in his mind were both being as stubborn as asses, both
challenging tradition in every which way, and both loving with
all their beings.

Xander hadn’t forgotten Drusilla. He wished
he could, the damn psychotic bitch, but he’d been there when
Spike had returned to Sunnydale after the whole Acathla mess.
He’d seen how empty and hollow Spike had been because the
looney had broken up with him. And he’d seen Spike the year
before, almost always giddy when in the company of his beloved
Princess. He’d adored Drusilla, worshipped the earth at her
feet.

Buffy had likewise adored Angel, though not to
the same extent. Angel had been her first everything, almost. She
had loved that damn vampire with every part of her being, and
unfortunately, it had nearly killed them all. But it hadn’t
been her fault. All she’d done was love him -- she
hadn’t known anything about the repercussions of his curse.

He thought back to past times that he’d seen
the two together. Thanksgiving last year; the horrible
Willow-spell-gone-awry that had convinced them that they were
engaged; their intimate little dance at the Bronze a few weeks
ago, and countless other times. Spike was enamored with the
blonde Slayer, and Xander knew now that Buffy was just as
enamored with Spike.

He didn’t like it, and he probably
wouldn’t for the rest of his life. But Spike made Buffy
happy. And if Spike was what she needed, then Spike was what she
was going to get.

He walked over as Willow and Anya moved about a
foot away -- probably to do a spell -- and slipped off his
jacket. He sat down next to Buffy and gently nudged her arm. She
looked up at him and he smiled slightly as he spread the jacket
over Spike’s bottom half. Buffy’s eyebrows furrowed in
confusion. He shrugged.

“Hey... somebody’s gotta stay around to
beat me shamelessly at pool,” he explained. The tiniest of
grateful smiles cracked Buffy’s face, and she openly sobbed,
resting her head on his shoulder. Xander sighed softly and
wrapped his arm around her slight form, resting his head on top
of hers as she cried softly.

About ten minutes later, a honk signified
Giles’ return.

Buffy had kept her word to Dawn. She had pulled
an E.T. and phoned home to alert her sister that Spike had been
recovered. She’d needed to hold the phone about a foot away
from her ear when Dawn shrieked, and Buffy had heard a very
distinct thump and crash! She assumed that her
sister had gotten overly excited, had Dawn-bounced either her
mother or Tara and knocked them down, dragging a vase or lamp
along in the process. The thought amused her.

But not by much.

Anyway. That was why her mother, Dawn, and Tara
were all standing at the door impatiently when they arrived.
Joyce clapped her hand over her mouth at the sight of
Spike’s prone body under Xander and Giles’ coats.
Dawn’s eyes widened when Buffy entered with Spike, Giles,
Willow, Anya and Xander in tow. Tara immediately went over to her
girlfriend, looking at Spike wearily, her eyes filled with
trepidation. She exchanged a glance with Willow, but the
red-headed Wicca shook her head, remaining silent.

A hysterical scream cut through the air when
Giles and Xander removed their coats and Dawn’s eyes fell on
Spike’s bloody form. “Oh my god! Spike, oh my god, what
happened to him, what did she do to him?!” the teenager
shrieked, rushing towards Buffy and grabbing at the body of her
protector.

Buffy jerked away from Dawn desperately, trying
to keep a firm hold on her lover. “Dawn! Dawn, stop,
otherwise you’re gonna make me drop him!” she cried
out. Joyce, her jaw dropped in dismay, walked up behind Dawn and
wrapped her arms tightly around the girl, turning her face away
from the gruesome mess of Spike’s face.

Buffy looked around uneasily, her movements jerky
and unsure. She focused her gaze on her mother. “He needs to
stay somewhere. I won’t leave him alone in his crypt.”

Joyce responded immediately, pushed on by the
heartache she felt at the sound of her youngest daughter’s
sobs and the fear and worry she saw in Buffy’s eyes.
“He can stay in my room, however long it takes. I’ll
use the sleeper couch until then.”

Buffy gave a small, curt nod and looked around
before starting up the steps. Giles followed behind her, quietly
speaking to her about heavy blankets for the windows.

The Scoobies and the remaining two Summers women
watched as the three disappeared, and finally Willow sunk heavily
onto the couch, her face in her hands. “I feel awful about
Spike, and horrible for Buffy, I really do... but what if he told
Glory about the Key?” she asked quietly.

Xander wrapped his arm tightly around Anya,
stared up the staircase quietly, then looked back at his best
friend of twenty years. “He didn’t, Will. Don’t
know how I know. He just didn’t.”

Willow nodded.

Giles had helped her clean him up as best he
could. Now she wasn’t sure why they got rid of all
the blood. Because honestly, Spike looked worse without the gore
running over him. Her lover was now sporting two, blue-black
shiners on both eyes. His lower lip had been busted open. His
nose was broken. Deep, red furrows covered his cheeks.

The brand new stake wound in his chest was bright
red and throbbing, no where near healing; it had only now just
started clotting, and the slightest movement would break it open
again. Bruises covered his arms and chest. There was a big, ugly
round wound in his stomach. She assumed that had been the first
claim-affect wound she’d felt, outside the apartments. From
the looks of his middle, he had a few ribs broken. And there was
that big, hideous signature Glory had left on his torso.

She had insisted that they wrap him up to get rid
of it faster.

Her Watcher had stayed a little longer to toss
some heavy winter blankets over the windows of Joyce’s room,
and they’d spread a canvas sheet out on the bed to keep the
blood from damaging the covers. He was gone now, as was most
everybody else except Willow and Tara. Willow was downstairs,
explaining to Dawn what had happened.

Buffy herself had been up here since she’d
come home. That had been about two hours ago. Eight-thirty AM,
the most ungodly time in the world to be up. She hadn’t
closed her eyes once in the last twelve hours.

She was standing at the door now, a cup of tea
that her mother had brought her in her hands. She was gazing at
Spike silently. What else could she do? He was only
unconscious... but if he were human, she would be staring at a
corpse right now.

Okay, so she already was. An unanimated
corpse, then. Nothing inhabiting his body. Just a raw, bleeding,
dead body.

She was the biggest bitch in the world.

She had allowed fear of past relationships get
the better of her, and had done something she had never thought
she was capable of -- she’d broken Spike’s heart.

What kind of woman did that to the man they were
in love with?

< A bitchy, cold-hearted, insecure one >
her subconscious responded in a reproachful tone.

Flesh-and-Blood Buffy lowered her head and stared
into the tea cup. Chamomile, with just a bit of eucalyptus and
lemon, something to help soothe her, her mother said. Soothing.

Pfft. Yeah, right.

She was wound up tighter than a spring. Spike
hadn’t moved once in the last -- she glanced at the alarm
clock -- two hours, fourteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds.
Not even to moan or shift. He was dead to the world.

Dammit, there was that word again. Dead. Dead,
dead, dead. That was what Spike would have been if she
hadn’t gotten there in time. That was what she would
be if Spike ever woke up and reverted back to hating her.

She liked when he loved her a lot better.

But she knew she deserved whatever was coming to
her. An Angry Spike was fun to mess with, a Drunken Spike was
amusing to watch, but a Heartbroken Spike was a force to be
reckoned with. She wondered briefly just what kind of torture it
had taken him to win Drusilla back from that Chaos demon. He had
obviously gotten her back, and then she’d dumped him again
for a fungus demon. According to that chatterbox moron Harmony,
anyway.

She wondered what sort of torture she would be in
for when he was feeling good enough to repay her for her cruelty.

Of course, there was one tiny little upside in
this. Back at Glory’s lair, Spike had been insulting Glory,
doing his best to rile her up. He’d mentioned something
about ‘his girl’ kicking Glory back to her little
hellhole. That had to be good, right? He was referring to her as
his girl?

Unless ‘his girl’ was Dru or Harmony,
which she truly doubted since Dru didn’t seem to care enough
about her boy anyway, and Harmony was... well, Harmony.

She might be in the clear after all.

She looked toward the bed again, and jumped in
barely contained excitement. He was waking up. She darted to his
side, sitting on the edge of the bed and grabbing his hand.
“Spike?”

The vampire’s head turned slightly to the
right, and when his scratch marks met the cool pillow, he hissed
in pain, grumbling under his breath. “Bitch,” he
muttered, his hand shrinking out of Buffy’s grip.

Buffy looked down at her empty hand. Then again,
maybe she was screwed for all life, because she had driven the
man who loved her away. She sighed sadly. “I deserve that. I
am a bitch. I’m so sorry, Spike, I... I was just
scared...” Spike grunted softly and shifted again, and Buffy
nodded. “No, you’re right, that’s no excuse. I
should have talked to you, told you. I shouldn’t have said
all those awful things to you. I’m so, so sorry,
Spike.” She bit her lip and decided to try her luck.
“Can you forgive me?”

He growled softly, then gave a soft
‘hmph’ and cracked his eyes open. “First off, luv,
I was talking ‘bout the hellbitch. I wanna know where she
went so I can fuck her up for doing this to me.” Buffy gave
a tiny smile.

Which disappeared in the next second.
“An’ second, I’m not so sure I want to
forgive you. That was absolute bullshit what you pulled back at
my crypt, Slayer.” Ooh, ooh, bad, he was back to calling her
‘Slayer.’ He only did that when he was truly pissed at
her.

She sighed. “I know, I know, I never
should’ve--”

“Bloody right, you shouldn’t
have!” he snapped. At the sight of her shrinking back, his
gaze softened and he sighed, his voice taking on a plaintive,
pleading tone. “Why would you do that to me, Buffy? You know
how I feel about my sire. It wasn’t enough that the jackass
had to lose his soul and take Dru away from me, but how do you
think it feels to know that his poofier, self-righteous half was
the one you loved? He was your first love, Buffy,
how in the bloody fuck can I compete with that? Then to hear his
name come out of your mouth when...” He trailed off and
turned his head away.

“I wasn’t thinking about him,
Spike,” Buffy said, catching his hand again. “I was
thinking about you... nothing but you... I couldn’t think of
anything else. You... I don’t know what you do to me, Spike.
But I like it. Because it makes me feel... because it makes me
happy. I didn’t have that with Angel. I never had
that with Riley.” Spike grunted at the use of the
soldier’s name. Buffy smiled and continued, reaching up and
touching his cheek. “So why do I feel happy with you? I
guess that’s the major extra-credit question. And I think I
know the answer to it.”

Spike’s eyes quirked upwards to it with
barely disguised interest. Buffy leaned forward and kissed the
shell of his ear. “I love you,” she whispered.

About a second later she had to use every ounce
of Slayer strength to keep Spike from leaping out of bed and
mauling her with kisses. She pushed him down onto his back
gently, then tilted her head, pressing her lips softly to his.
“I love you, Spike,” she murmured again, smiling.

Spike stared up at her, looking as though he had
something to say, but he remained silent for the moment. Finally,
he sighed and looked away. “I still don’t know if I can
forgive what you did. You can’t just do that, luv,
whether you love me or not.” He sighed again. “Give me
some time to mull it over. Alone.”

The smile dropped off of Buffy’s face, and
she looked down, stinging tears pinpricking her eyes.
“Right. I understand. I’ll just... leave you
alone.” He nodded absently, and Buffy sighed walking towards
the door.

She was halfway out when he called her back.
Frowning, she tilted her head at him. He quirked his lips to the
side in an imitation of his renowned sardonic smile and shrugged.

“Had enough time to think it over. An’
to be honest, I’ve never been much of a thinker. More of a
‘get up an’ do-er.’ Point I’m getting at is,
I’m a sorely whipped, fluffy little puppy, an’ I’m
yours. You’re forgiven.”

Buffy stared at him for a moment, not
comprehending. Then one of the little voices in her mind kicked
her ass into gear. A smile grew across her lips and she exhaled
in astonishment, then gave a soft, happy,
‘I-can’t-believe-it’ laugh and ran over to him,
hugging him as hard as she could without stirring any of the
wounds under their gauze and dressings. “Thank you,”
she whispered, kissing his neck. “I’m so glad
you’re all right.”

Spike glared down at her. “All right? You
think this is all right? Woman, go get your top
checked!”

Buffy grinned and scrunched her nose up at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this happened to you,
Spike.”

He gave a one-armed shrug. “Not your fault.
Don’t worry ‘bout it. Now stop saying you’re
sorry.”

Buffy nodded quickly. “Right, you’re
right. Sorry.” He growled. She giggled. “Okay, okay,
last time, I’m sorry for being sorry!”

“Slayer!” he barked. “Knock it
off!”

Buffy nodded. “Right. Sorry.”

He turned an irritated gaze at her.
“Buffy...”

She giggled. “Okay, I’m done, I
promise.”

He grunted. “Good. Now get over here an'
gimme a kiss.”

Never one to disobey -- actually, always
one to disobey, but not when it came to certain things in
relationships -- she leaned forward and covered his mouth with
her own.

And oh, the world of Spike-kissage. Probably the
only thing better, according to him, would be kissing her.
Or a few other things that he clearly enjoyed doing. Soft, warm,
melty kisses that turned her insides to mush and if she was
standing, she probably would’ve had to lean on him for full
support.

From his point of view, this was just the first
step toward the pinnacle of All Things Buffy. She was so warm, so
hot, so scalding, her nimble, impertinent little tongue dashing
in and out of his mouth, quirking his lips, tracing his gums and
reaching nearly to the back of his throat.

Which reminded him. He needed to have that little
mouth on areas other than his own lips more often.

The sound of a throat being cleared from behind
them made Buffy jump and break the kiss. She turned around,
startled, then scowled at the tall, lanky form of her sister.

Dawn stood at the door, blue eyes mischievously
bright, and pink little mouth quirked in an amused little curl.

“Busted. Is Buffy being good to you, Spike?
Anything I need to call her on?” she asked, turning her gaze
to the slightly-frustrated vampire on the bed.

He looked at her, and his gaze became
affectionate. He lifted his arm, wincing slightly at the pressure
it placed on his ribs, and wrapped it around Buffy’s
shoulders. “Actually, big sis here isn’t such a bint
after all, Pint-size. Second 'fore you came in, she was admitting
to being a bitch and lowering herself to apologize to me.”

Dawn’s eyes widened. “You mean Buffy
came off her pedestal? And I missed it? Dammit!”

Buffy glared at her sister. “Watch your
mouth. And that qualifies for a hey. Hey!”

Spike chuckled and motioned to Dawn.
“C’mere, Nibblet.”

Dawn happily bounced over and wrapped her arms
around him, burying her face in his neck. “I’m so happy
you’re here!" she mumbled into his skin. "I don't
know what I would've done if Buffy hadn't gotten you back."

Spike closed his eyes and smiled slightly.
"Well, I'm here. In helluva lot of pain, but here. No
worries. I'll heal."

Buffy tilted her head. "Are you supposed to
be up here?"

Dawn immediately became defensive. "Mom's in
the kitchen making Spike hot chocolate and warming up some blood;
she didn't say I couldn't come up here, she just said I
had to be on the couch when she got back!"

Buffy grinned. "Then you should get back now.
Mom has a Spidey sense, too, y'know. The one that tells her when
her daughters aren't listening to her?"

Dawn grimaced, then nodded. "Right."
She turned and headed toward the door. "Now, no channeling
the Discovery Channel bunnies, okay? Unless you want Spike to
strain a few different muscles," she said slyly, looking at
her sister.

Spike shot up and reached for her, regardless of
his injuries. "Why you cheeky little--" The
repercussions of his actions caught up to him and he slithered
back against the bed in pain, whimpering. Dawn giggled and ran
off down the hallway.

Buffy smiled down at him, stroking his forehead.
"No moving, Spike. You'll start to bleed even worse."

The vampire grunted and glared at her. "Yes,
Mum."

Buffy's grin grew wider and she squirmed onto the
bed next to him, her hand still attached to his, and rested her
forehead against his.

Spike smiled, and sighed, breathing in the sweet
vanilla of her skin and the aromatic lavender of her hair. This
was how it was supposed to be. This was where he belonged. With
Dawn running around the house, taunting them and humiliating
Buffy like a good little sis would. With the woman he loved
cuddled up next to him, loving him back -- and he had no doubt
that she loved him now, not after what she'd done to get him
back. And Joyce was downstairs in the kitchen making him some hot
chocolate and blood, for Christ's sake!

Granted, it was going to take a while for Joyce
to get used to the idea that her daughter was in love with
another vampire, and vice versa after all the shit that poor
woman had gone through. First Angel, who'd been pretty much
normal in all aspects (except for the obvious one). And now him.
Granted, Joyce liked him better than she'd ever liked Angel --
enter a smug grin here -- but he had
once been hell-bent on killing her daughter. His mind called up
his first meeting with the brave, brazen older woman -- more
particularly, an especially painful axe to the head, and a
vicious "Get the hell away from my daughter!"

Now he saw where Buffy got it from. He had never
expected the Slayer to have friends and family on her side.

But yeah, Joyce probably wouldn't be too happy
that a vampire was putting the life-time commitment-y thing on
her eldest. But he could prove himself to her. Once again --
Spike, not Angel. Joyce liked Spike -- not Angel.
And anyway, she would have to get used to it. He supposed that
this was his home now, after all. Buffy had dragged him in, and
he was pretty sure he was never going to come out. But still --
Joyce -- the matriarch of the small family, the one who fixed him
hot chocolate with the squishy little marshmallows in it, who had
comforted him when Drusilla had broken his heart. Dawn -- the
inquisitive little twerp, the snoop, the one with the
college-level vocabulary and the sarcastic dry-wit; she truly was
a Bitty Buffy.

And then, of course, his Buffy. His Slayer. His
enemy. His lover. His everything. The beautiful woman with a
heart of gold, the Slayer that had broken all the rules by
falling in love with a vampire, the Slayer who had actually been
brave enough to quit the Council, and in his eyes, the greatest,
most powerful Slayer to ever walk the face of the earth. She had
eternally tainted him. Not that it wasn't a good thing. Very,
very good, in fact. No other soul-less demon could claim that
they'd fallen in love with the Slayer and had her love him back.

Angel absotively, posilutely did not
count!

Hey... he actually belonged somewhere, now. He
was welcomed with open arms into the Summers' household. He was
respected and treated as an equal by Joyce, Dawn adored and
admired him (and he could swear the little chit held quite a
fancy for him, too), and to Buffy... he had suddenly become the
world. He was her happiness, her joy. And Buffy herself had given
him so much already. Just by trusting his love and loyalty, and
allowing him to freely enter her home for four straight years,
she had given him... everything.

She'd given him a family.

She'd given him a home.

She'd given him a reason to live.

Hell... that was a lot more than he'd
ever been given before.

And as for the whole evil thing...? Well, he was
pretty sure there were other areas in and around the house where
he could truly unleash it on Buffy in his own creative way. Up
against a wall, the doors, the bathroom, the washing machine...

The thought brought a truly blissful grin to
Spike's face.

< Heh. >

---------------------------------------
Author's
Note: I realize that my version of Spike's
torture is more severe than in "Intervention," but it
had to be, for the sole-specific reason of making Buffy feel even
more guilty than she already did for the stunt she pulled. In my hopeful little
fantasies, Buffy realizes the exact magnitude of what Spike did for her, and
kicks herself for not realizing how much in love with him she really is, and how
much of an utter bitch she was to him. *grumbles* Stupid wishful thinking...
- 12
- 13
- 14
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Out of My Head