Bring Me to Life by Sweetie

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Chapters 11-15

Chapter 11: Understanding

"So, I got you these clothes," Spike began, rummaging through the large, plastic bag.

Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap. "What do they look like?" she wondered.

"Uh..." He pulled out a sweater. "This one's sort of a pink-ish color. Maybe peach. Has some colorful bears on the front."

She raised an eyebrow. "Colorful bears?"

"Yeah, so?" He looked at the tag. "They're Care Bears. Heard of 'em?"

"Care Bears?!" she asked incredulously. "I'm almost twenty years old!"

Spike frowned. "Okay?"

"I watched that show when I was five!"

"Never heard of it," he shrugged. "'Sides, it's fetching enough."

"Yeah, I'm sure it's adorable," she rolled her eyes.

"Hey, now. I did you a favor. You could at least be grateful."

She sighed. "As long as it's not Barney..."

He pulled out another shirt. "Well, this one has a purple dinosaur fellow on it..."

"Spike!"

"Kidding," he smirked.

Buffy huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Really not humorous."

"I thought it was funny."

"Yeah, you would."

"Here," he said, handing her the Care Bears sweater. "Put it on. No one will see it, anyway."

She took it and stood up. "Thanks to being held hostage in a crappy hotel room."

Spike watched as she entered into the bathroom to change. "Thanks to that," he said softly.

Buffy closed the door behind her and stepped out of the pajamas Spike had gotten her. She reached for the embarrassing sweater and slipped it over her head in a flash. Hmm, comfy... she thought to herself. She then pulled her blonde hair out of the collar and combed it with her fingers. Sighing inwardly, she tugged on the shirt, trying to pull it down farther. It was long enough to cover up her private areas, but she still felt kind of naked. She sighed and decided to worry about pants until after she brushed her teeth.

Only as she stepped forward, she tripped over something and went down fast. "Oof!" She quickly held her hands out, so her nose didn't shatter on the hard tile. Holding back a howl of pain, she lay there for a moment trying to collect herself. Her ankle throbbed mercilessly.

Buffy felt around the cold floor to see what had tripped her. She felt a piece of upturned tile, and assumed that was the sinister object. "Ugh," she complained, pulling herself up. She rubbed her sore ankle, trying to ease the dull ache.

"You alright?" Spike appeared in the doorway.

"I fell," she muttered, embarrassed. "I, um, think I sprained my ankle.

So, what do I do now? he wondered. Help her?

"Can you... ?" She blushed and tried to prop herself up on her own. "Nevermind. I got it."

She felt Spike's hands before she even heard him move. His touch was surprisingly gentle, in contrast to his usual roughness. He picked her up off the floor and stood her straight.

But not before a flash of pink caught his eye. Pink panties. He groaned.

Buffy didn't notice. She wobbled on her left foot, trying not to put pressure on her right, and inadvertently leaned her body weight against him. "Thanks," she said.

Spike simply nodded and helped her to the bed. She quickly crawled in, unnerved by his carefulness.

"You trip or somethin'?" he wondered.

"Yes. I'm not sure on what though. I think it was a piece of broken tile or something."

"Wouldn't be surprised. This place isn't exactly elegant."

"I'll take your word for it."

He looked at her, head slightly cocked to one side. "The shirt looks good on you."

Buffy's eyes widened a bit. Was that... a compliment? From Spike? She gulped. "Oh. Um, thanks."

He shook his head, as if he were trying to erase what he just said. Then he changed the subject. "Uh, lemme get you some ice for that ankle. I'll be right back."

She listened as he left the room.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Spike leaned against it, looking up at the ceiling with a frustrated sigh. He could feel his jeans becoming more restrictive by the second. God! What the fuck is wrong with me? No woman had affected him like this before. Not even Dru. He closed his eyes once, twice, and then went in search of the ice machine. Five minutes later, he was back in the room.

"Here," he told her, approaching the bed.

She frowned. "Why are you being nice to me?"

Spike's brow furrowed. "I don't bloody know..." He tossed the ice pack at her and disappeared into the bathroom.

Buffy flinched at the familiar slam of the door.

"Bloody... fucking... damnit!" He knew she could hear him, but he didn't care. He just stripped off his clothes and turned the shower on full blast. Within seconds, water was pelting his face as his hand stroked his hard cock. Don't think of her... think of Cameron Diaz. It didn't work. Buffy's slick, slender body, all soaped up in a sweet-smelling lather invaded his mind, making it impossible for him to concentrate on his usual wank-off material. What was it about her? What made him so hot?

She was beautiful. Feisty, yet quirky. Stubborn, yet soft.

His mind trailed off to one of her earlier assessments. "... You like what I stand for. You like what I am. Uncorrupted. Innocent. Naive... You like that I'm not like them."

Yeah, that was it. Because deep down, he knew it was true. No matter how much he tried to deny it, Buffy wasn't like them.

Spike swallowed, leaning back against the cool, tile wall. His hand continued to pump his shaft, while his mind conjured up various images of the blind girl in the adjacent room. He pictured her doing things that she's probably never even heard of. He pictured himself fucking her as she came around his cock, gripping him like a vice, and convulsing beneath him. Because that's all it was about. Attraction. He wouldn't think of things like her smile, or the way she said his name.

He began to pant, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. He stroked himself faster, remembering how her hand felt, rubbing him through his pants. Seeing her in the shower. Her pink panties.

"You have a thing for me."

Her words echoed in his mind as he came, the ropey liquid shooting into the air and hitting the tub, eventually vanishing down the drain. He swallowed hard and slid down the wall, until he was resting at the bottom of the bathtub. Only when the water turned cold and finally numbed the threatening warmth that invaded him, did he turn the faucet off and step out.

When he entered the room, Buffy was curled up in bed. They had only woken up a few hours ago, but he shrugged anyway and climbed in with her to take a nap. But before his eyes closed, Buffy's voice broke the silence.

"We were drunk," she began.

Spike sat up and frowned, about to say something. She cut him off.

"We shouldn't have been," she continued. "I mean, we shouldn't have gotten into the car, anyway. Riley insisted that he knew what he was doing and I was just gullible and drunk enough to believe him."

He listened intently to her tale, wondering why she was suddenly opening up to him.

Buffy had a glazed look in her eyes as she spoke. "I don't remember much before we hit. I think I told him to slow down once or twice. It's kind of a blur. But... I do remember the sounds, the screams, the blood. We were both propelled through the windshield and I lost consciousness almost immediately. It's like I could feel my skull cracking, as my head hit the ground. Riley landed only a few inches away from me." She paused for a moment before she added, "The last thing I ever saw was my boyfriend with a shard of glass sticking out of his eye."

Spike just stared at her, unsure of what to say. "Buffy, I--"

"We hit a tree," she said.

He just nodded, wondering why she felt that was important.

"I was so scared. I almost died that night. Riley did die. And sometimes...." She closed her eyes. "Sometimes I just wish I died with him."

"Buffy, no. You..." Why am I trying to comfort her? Laugh at her pain! Laugh, damnit! "You didn't deserve to die."

"Didn't I?"

"Of course not."

She opened her eyes again and they were coated with fresh tears. "Someone seems to think so."

"Then they obviously don't know you."

"And you do?"

"I know enough. And I know fear, Buffy. I've tasted it just like you."

"Then why are you causing me more of it?"

Spike opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. What could he possibly say to that?

"Do you want to know what I think of you, Spike?"

"If they're synonyms to "sadistic monster", I think I'll pass. But thanks," he rolled his eyes.

"I think you're just as lost as I am."

He glanced at her. "Not really a revelation, love. I'm fucked up. I know this."

Buffy sighed. "Me too."

"That works out nicely then."

She arched a brow but didn't say anything. What's that supposed to mean? Deciding not to dwell on it, she turned over, her bare leg accidentally brushing up against his own bare leg. She gasped. Is he naked under there? "You're wearing clothes, right?" she asked, awkwardly.

Spike grinned. "No."

"That's great. That's really... comforting."

"No need to get all skittish. I won't try anything."

"Even more comforting." She pulled at her shirt again, remembering that she forgot to put on pants.

"Not unless you ask me to, of course."

"Ugh. That's a laugh."

Buffy turned over quickly, the small smile that graced her lips, unbeknownst to him.

Chapter 12: Whisper

"Any leads?" Joyce approached the officer warily, wringing her hands together.

"I'm sorry," he admitted. "If your daughter was indeed taken against her will, the kidnapper is doing an impeccable job at covering his tracks."

Hank gritted his teeth together. "This is insane! You're not trying hard enough."

"We're doing the best we can, sir."

"Well, do better!"

Joyce placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

The officer continued, "We're currently interrogating all of your employees, Mr. Summers. Since you've made it clear that Buffy doesn't have any enemies, the list of suspects is only so broad. And since you are, in fact, a very wealthy business man, work-related suspects are always at the top."

They nodded solemnly.

"We're also bringing an Angel O'Neil in for an interview later. I take it he knows your daughter?"

Joyce audibly gasped. "Angel? He's a good friend of Buffy's... and ours. There's no way he could be behind this."

"So far it seems that he's had the closest contact with Buffy, outside of the family. We're not blaming him for anything, or even suggesting he had anything to do with her disappearance. But he could know something--Buffy could have confided something in him."

"Confided? What could she--"

"That's what we're trying to find out," he interceded. Then he added, "But the reason I came here today was to inform the two of you that you have an opportunity to make a public statement."

"You mean, like on the news?" Joyce wondered.

"Yes. Is this something you would consider?"

Hank immediately answered. "Absolutely. Anything to help this case. Anything to bring Buffy home to us."

"Good then. I'm Officer Brooks. I'll be in contact--remember to keep the tracking device on your phone at all times and let us know as soon as any new evidence surfaces."

"Of course. Thank you, Officer," Joyce smiled softly.

He gave a curt nod and left the house.

"It'll be alright," Hank told her, wrapping his arms around his wife's waist. "Buffy will be alright."

~~~

"No, I'm not alright!" Buffy yelled, unconsciously crossing her legs underneath the covers.

"Well, what's wrong then?" Spike wondered, curious as to why she was suddenly all fidgety.

The embarrassed blonde swallowed, unsure of how to tell him. "It's nothing. I-I just... I..."

"Out with it, love."

She sighed. "IthinkIhavemyperiod," came her jumbled response.

Spike frowned. "Come again?"

"My period," she told him, blushing profusely. "I-I think I have it."

"Umm..." He had no clue what to say to that. "You think?"

"W-Well, I'm pretty sure. I mean, I feel..." Buffy was positive this was the reddest her cheeks had ever gotten. "You know what I mean."

He let a half-grin surface. "Think I got it. But are you sure you're just not turned on by my sexy self?"

Her eyes widened at his meaning. "I'm definitely sure. In fact, I think this rates number one among all the things I've ever been sure about."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Well, what do you 'spect me to do about it?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'll need... well, I need..." She sighed. "I need tampons."

"Bloody hell."

"I can't help it!"

"Damn, buggering..." he continued to grumble. "Fine. I'll get your bleedin' thing-a-ma-bobbers."

"They're called tampons," she corrected him. "Or pads, if you must."

Spike got up and slipped his boots on.

Buffy added, "With wings!"

He growled and disappeared out the door.

~~~

"Better?"

Buffy emerged from the bathroom a half an hour later, carefully making her way back towards the bed. "Good as new."

"Good to hear."

She sat down Indian-style, still clad in her Care Bears sweater (but newly pants-wearing), and faced him. "I'm bored."

Spike sighed. "S'not like there's much to do around here, pet."

"Tell me your story."

"What?" he frowned.

"I told you mine, now it's your turn."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?" she whined. "You said there was nothing else to do."

"No, I said there's not much to do. But anything's better than that."

"What are you so scared of?"

He regarded her with a cold stare. "I'm not scared. Just not something I fancy discussin' is all."

"And like I actually wanted to tell you about what happened to me?"

"I didn't force you to. And speakin' of... what made you tell me, anyway?"

Buffy lowered her gaze. "I don't know. It seemed right, I guess."

Spike swallowed, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to share his past with her. "Alright then," he finally said. "What do you want to hear first? 'Bout how my mum shattered my dignity or how Drusilla shattered my soul?"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say there was a poet in you." She blushed a bit off his silence and quickly answered, "It's up to you."

"Right," he nodded, still wondering where the poet comment came from. But he shrugged it off and began his tale. "I used to love my mother. She was kind and giving--always smiling and makin' me laugh. Hell, everyone loved her. She was... perfect."

Buffy listened intently as he spoke.

"But then everything changed," he continued. "My father left us when I was six and Mum started drinking a lot. Her personality--everything about her became different. She was always yellin' and cursin' up a storm. It wasn't long before she started takin' that anger out on me. I didn't understand, of course. Figured I was bad and deserved it. I mean, I reckon I did. Could never seem to do anything right. I got picked on a lot by the other kiddies, my grades were slipping, my room could never be clean enough. I guess my mum thought that I needed to be punished." He paused for a moment, trying not to let the memories overtake him. "So, she punished me. Her favorite was this whole match routine. She'd tie up my wrists and throw burning matches on my bare chest. That's where most of the scars came from. But there were other things, too... she'd withhold food from me, lock me in a closet for days, and just beat me 'til I was black and blue. I went to sleep on the basement floor every night, just prayin' that I wouldn't wake up the next morning."

Buffy's mouth was slightly open, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Spike, I..."

"Don't need your pity tears, Buffy," he said almost bitterly, holding back his own tears, himself. "I mean, the torture ended eventually. She ended up getting so drunk one night, she fell down the stairs and broke her neck."

"Still, that doesn't mean--"

"No," he agreed. "It wasn't over. Those memories haunt me to this day and I suspect they always will."

"Have you ever told anyone about this?"

He snorted under his breath. "Yeah, Drusilla. And look where that got me. Fired and alone."

"Fired?" she wondered, still in shock from his horrifying admission.

"Long story. I used to be a cop and that's where I met Dru. I think I loved her the minute I saw her--she was beautiful. All bewitching and dark goddess-like. I guess she liked me, too, because we started dating almost immediately," he told her. "I mean, I'd never really fancied any women since what happened with my mum and all, but there was just something about her. It's like we were made for each other. But the thing I didn't know was that Dru was a bit of a heroin addict. She ended up telling me that she was in recovery, but I wasn't that stupid. I eventually was able to tell that she was lying. And not only about that, but about other things, too. Such as sleeping with half the blokes that we worked with." He sighed. "Anyway, there was this random drug check at the station one day. They were scopin' the whole place out, after hearin' a rumor that one of the officers was using. So, Drusilla took the liberty of stashing the drugs away in my locker, to save her own ass. Needless to say, they found them and I was fired on the spot. That's the day she left me." He gritted his teeth together. "And pretty much the day that I gave up on women in general."

Buffy swallowed. "We're not all like that, you know. I mean... you haven't exactly had the best of experiences, but--"

Spike laughed bitterly. "Save it, blondie. I don't even know why I bloody told you. Or why you even care."

She could tell he was about to stand up, so she grabbed his arm. He faltered in her grasp and she whispered softly but poignantly, "You didn't deserve it."

The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched, tears stinging and biting at his eyes. He studied her, watching as the conflicted emotions played out across her face. "How would you know?"

"You were just a child, Spike. How can you think for one second that you deserved that kind of abuse?"

"I told you. I--"

"Right. You could never do anything right. Your grades weren't up to your mother's standards and your room wasn't sparkly clean. Is that it? Is that why you deserved to have your flesh burned off of your helpless body?"

He swallowed back the lump in his throat, wondering why she was saying this. Why she was pretending to care. "Buffy, please. Don't--"

She cut him off by reaching out and resting her hand upon his face.

Spike instinctively drew back. "What are you doing?"

Buffy ignored him and once again placed a gentle palm on his cheek. This time he didn't pull away, and instead stared at her with confusion and uncertainty.

They both said nothing, as her hand began to move, discovering him for the first time. His cheeks were sharp and angled, yet soft and smooth at the same time. She trailed a finger down his jawline and back up again, scooting closer to him in the process. Her hands traveled into his hair, feeling silky curls grace her fingertips.

"What color is it?" she asked, making her way back towards his face again.

"It's, uh... bleached," he replied, his voice low and breathy.

"And your eyes?"

"Blue."

She nodded. "I thought so."

As her fingers were about to come in contact with the most intimate part of his face, he caught her wrist slowly, his heartbeat steadily increasing. His purpose was to tell her to stop--to not go any further--but words were somehow lost to him.

Buffy understood the gesture, but his grip on her wrist was loosening considerably. So she took the opportunity to reach out and press two fingertips against his parted lips. She traced them lightly, swallowing hard, and feeling his hot breath on the pads of her fingers. Part of her was asking what the hell she was doing--what she was trying to accomplish. But she wanted to know what he looked like. And for her, this was the only way to capture a vague image of his physical features.

She was about to pull away from him, when his tongue suddenly poked through parted lips to taste the salty skin she was offering him. She gasped as her eyes widened a bit at the contact, and a sudden surge of moisture flowed between her legs.

Which was definitely not of the bleeding kind.

Although horrified at her own body's betrayal, she couldn't bring herself to do anything about it. She couldn't bring herself to move away from him.

Spike wasn't thinking. Because if he were, he would most likely stand up right now, take the gun, and shoot himself with it. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be sitting there, making love to Buffy's fingers with his tongue.

But he was. And she was letting him.

His eyes were fixated on her flushed face, as he wrapped his lips around her two index fingers. She was staring ahead of her, eyes full of confusion and lust, and chest heaving with every breath she took.

Spike couldn't take it anymore and he whispered desperately, "I want to kiss you. Let me kiss you, Buffy..."

And that's when reality all come tumbling back.

"No," she said, finally pulling away from him. "No, we--we can't..." She paused for a moment to gather back her wits. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

Spike reeled as if slapped, mentally kicking himself for being so stupid. "Me?" he countered, deciding to place the blame on her. "Where the hell do you get off touching me like that?"

"What? I was just..." She took a deep breath and scootched off the side of the bed until she was standing on shaking legs. "Don't touch me. Ever. Again."

He frowned, as fire danced in his eyes.

Buffy didn't wait for a response, and quickly took off towards the bathroom. Her only thought was to get far, far away from the man on the bed.

Spike watched her go--watched as the door slammed in his face--and stood up. With a frustrated growl, he kicked over her box of clothes as hard as he could. T-shirts and jeans flew every which way, as he ran his hands through his mussed hair.

"Fucking bitch," he seethed, tugging at the delicate strands. Without another thought in mind, he raced over to the adjacent desk and took the gun out of the drawer.

This had to end.

Chapter 13: Wash It All Away

He weighed the weapon in his hand, studying it carefully. Sweat formed upon his brow, and he realized that his knees were shaking. What the hell was he about to do? Is this what he really wanted?

Of course it was. He was miserable--and most likely dead no matter what the outcome. All he had to do was pull the little trigger and all of this would be over with. No more feelings that he had no business feeling.

Gulping back the dry taste of fear in his mouth, he raised the gun and positioned it at his temple.

... and then the bathroom door clicked open. Spike instinctively dropped his arm, not wanting her to see.

Then he remembered that she couldn't. He could stand there all night with the pistol to his head, and she would never know. She could never stop him--not until it was too late.

He swallowed, the weapon wavering in his quaking hand. Her gaze was leveled with the floor, as if she didn't want to make eye contact with him, even though she couldn't. Her faced was still flushed and her arms were crossed defensively across her breasts.

Spike looked away and raised the gun to his head again. You can do this, mate. It's easy... it's--

"It's getting late," her voice broke into his thoughts. "I'll take the floor tonight."

He shut his eyes, trying to concentrate. "Yeah, alright."

Buffy sighed. "Not like you'd care if I slept on the hard, dirty floor with rats and bugs and--"

Click.

She stopped and her head shot up. She knew that sound. She knew that sound all too well.

When Spike cocked the pistol, he was hoping Buffy wouldn't hear. But she obviously did because her voice broke off and her eyes were now wide with fear. "I can't do this anymore," was all he said.

Buffy swallowed. "Spike, please. You don't want to do this. You... what happened back there was just... I mean..." She choked back a sob. "Please don't kill me."

"Bullet's not meant for you, love."

She frowned. "What?"

"You heard me. I'm doin' myself in. 'Bout bloody time, too."

"Are you crazy?"

"I'm holding a gun to my head. What the hell do you think?"

Buffy knew she should be thrilled with this new turn of events. If Spike was dead, she was free to go. This would all be over.

Then why was "stop him" the only thing running through her mind?

"I think you need to put the gun down and just chill out, okay?" she finally replied.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't know."

"Well, whatever. I've made my choice. 'Ta, pet."

"No!"

He closed his eyes, counted to ten. "Buffy, just shut up and let me do this. You hate me, remember?"

"I..." She stood frozen in her place, conflicted. She had no idea what to do. She did hate him to an extent--hated what he was putting through. Resented him for confusing her. But... did she really want him to die?

"Well?" he prompted.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why do you think?" he demanded. "Even if I don't do it now, I'm sure to get it after all this is over with. So, what's the point? Why torture myself by sitting in this room with you, waiting for the inevitable?"

"I'm sorry my company is so painful that suicide is your only other option," she responded, dryly.

Spike shook his head. "You don't get it. I'm supposed to hate you. I'm supposed to hate everything you stand for. But now suddenly I want to fuck you. What the hell are you doing to me?"

"I'm just being me."

"And that's our problem exactly."

Buffy continued to stand there, because what else could she do?

"Look," he sighed. "I've never been anything, Buffy. I've never been happy and I've never been loved. Without that, what's the point in living?"

She finally took a cautious step towards the sound of his voice. "Life," she simply said.

"What?"

"Life," she repeated. "Life is why we live... and it's worth living. Which says a lot coming from a blind chick."

"But you had people to help get you through it all. I've never had anybody."

"Maybe because you don't let anybody in?"

He frowned, but lowered the gun anyway. "How would you know?"

Buffy sighed. "When you spend three years of your life unable to see, you put all that unused sensory into other things. Like reading people--getting to know them in different ways. It takes time, but I've learned to really see people. Not physically, but mentally. Emotionally."

"And what do you see right now?"

"Someone who just wants to be loved."

He tilted his head to the side, as if to study her in great depth. "Yeah, well. I could say the same for you."

She shrugged. "I wouldn't deny it."

Spike set the gun back in the drawer and closed it tightly. "Doesn't make us too different then, does it?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But then again, I'm not the one with a gun to my head."

"Neither am I."

Buffy felt a sense of relief and accomplishment wash over her, but she didn't say anything. Just stood there and waited for him to make the next move.

He did, and approached the refrigerator. "Drink?"

~~~

"I-I don't know," Buffy hesitated, sitting across from him on the bed. "I haven't had alcohol since..." She put her head down. "I promised I'd never have it again."

Spike shrugged. "It'll be fine. You're in a hotel room--"

"--with someone I don't particularly trust--"

"--and the worst that could happen is you get so drunk you pass out, and finally get a good night's sleep for once."

"That's insane kidnapper logic."

"It's the truth."

She sighed. "I don't know..."

"Here," he said, taking her glass and pouring a decent amount of bourbon into it. "Just have a swig or two."

"What is it?"

"Bourbon."

"But I hate bourbon."

Spike rolled his eyes and poured rum into another glass. "Then take the rum."

"Straight up?!" she asked incredulously.

"I've got Coke and ice. Will that help?"

"Maybe."

He went over to the fridge and made her drink. "Now will you take it?" he handed it to her.

She reached out and Spike placed it in her grasp. Then she closed her eyes and tipped her head back.

"That's a girl," he grinned, watching as she took a sip of the alcohol.

"Ack!" she sputtered. "It's sickening."

"It's good. You'll get used to it."

"Yeah, right..."

"You will. Just nurse it for a bit."

Buffy shrugged and did as instructed.

And after almost an hour went by, she was on her third drink.

"So, then!" she bellowed, slapping his knee with a chortle. "Angel was like, "Please! Just one date!" and I was like, "No!" and Angel was like, "But I love you!" She then made a very unfeminine snort. "He said he loved me! Isn't that the funniest?"

Spike chuckled, amused by her antics. "Hysterical."

"I know!" She sighed and then paused. "Am I drunk?"

"We're both a bit sloshed," he decided, gulping down his last sip.

"Cool!"

"Yeah. Want another?"

"Okay."

He poured more of the amber liquid into her glass and she immediately took a big swig. "Careful, now. Don't want you tossin' your cookies all over my bed."

"I haven't had any cookies! You didn't buy them, remember?"

He smiled a bit. "I remember." He then poured himself another glass, not nearly as drunk as he'd like to be.

Another half hour went by, and the two were still sitting on the bed, laughing over pointless babble.

"That's great!" Spike blasted, the liquor finally taking its toll on him. "His face must've been priceless!"

"Oh, my god, it sooo was!" she giggled. "I've never seen my dad so upshet."

"Upshet, eh? Don't think I know that word."

"That's because I made it up!"

They both laughed.

"So, you wanna call it a night, pet?" he asked, wobbling as he rose to get up.

Buffy sensed him leaving and quickly grabbed hold of... his ankle. "Where ya think you're going, buster?"

He was about to respond, when she suddenly crawled into his lap.

"I wanna have some fun!" she declared, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Fun? Let's save the fun for when we're not seein' double, alright?"

"Double the fun! Hehehe."

Spike groaned when she started to bounce up and down in his lap. "Stop that..."

"Bouncy, bouncy fun!" she continued.

"Bloody hell." His cock hardened at her actions. "Buffy..."

"Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy..."

He attempted weakly to push her off, but she held on tighter, bouncing faster on his erection. She was obviously unaware of what she was doing.

"Wheee! Ride, pony, ride!"

"You might..." Pant. "... wanna stop..." Grunt. "... doing that, love."

"But you're my pony," she frowned. "Don't you want me to ride you?"

That's it. She was on her back in a second.

"Hey!" she squeaked. "That was--"

Her words were cut off as Spike's hungry mouth descended upon hers. He moaned in delight when their lips first met, deepening the kiss almost instantly.

Buffy naturally opened her mouth to him, moaning herself when his tongue pushed inside to tangle with hers.

"God," he groaned, stroking her tongue with his and nibbling eagerly on her bottom lip. "You taste wonderful, baby."

"Mmm..." was all she could get out, as he plundered her mouth.

The kiss continued to intensify, as Spike's hands took on minds of their own. They wandered up her shirt and caressed the smooth skin of her stomach, enticing several incoherent sounds from her. They quickly found her breasts and she arched up into his touch, while he ran his thumbs over her hardened nipples.

"Oh, god," she breathed, grinding her aching center against the hard bulge in his jeans.

"Fuck.." The combination of the alcohol and her feverish kisses were making him dizzy. Common sense was lingering in the back of his mind, but somehow kept getting pushed aside by burning lust and too much rum. Eventually though, he pulled away from her swollen lips.

"Hey..." she tried to pull him back to her, but he resisted.

"What are we doing?" he asked, in between heavy pants.

"Making out."

This time she succeeded in bringing his mouth back to hers again. Their tongues reunited and common sense no longer existed.

But suddenly, there was a frantic knock at the door.

Spike shot up. "What do you bloody well want?"

"It's Vince," the man said, his voice quaking slightly. "You might wanna come down here."

He sighed. "And why is that?"

A gulp could practically be heard on the other side of the door before Vince replied, "There's a cop here to see you."

Chapter 14: Exodus

Spike froze.

Buffy continued to writhe up against him, uncaring (or possibly unaware) of the danger that loomed on the other side of that door.

"Gotta go, pet," he told her, his heart racing faster than ever. "Just stay here, and... don't move." Thank the bloody lord she's drunk, he thought to himself.

She pouted a bit, but eventually turned over and dug her face into the pillows.

Spike gulped and stood up, his vision still a bit blurred from the alcohol. How the hell was he going to get out of this one? And how could the cops have possibly found him?

With a backward glance at Buffy, who was lying still on the mattress, he headed towards the door on wobbly feet. When he opened it, Vince was standing on the other end sweating up a storm.

"H-He says he's checkin' every place in this here state. Wants to have a chat with all the customers about the Summers girl's disappearance."

"You'll cover for me, right?"

"What the fuck am I supposed to say? He's sure to check your room. And the little bitch is passed out on your bed as we speak."

"Just... think of somethin', alright?" he said, walking down the hall and down the steps. The officer was leaning against the counter, chewing on a piece of gum. When he noticed Spike emerge, he held out his hand and introduced himself.

"Officer Brooks," he greeted. "And you are?"

Spike swallowed. "Spike. Spike Tyler."

"Nice to meet you, Spike Tyler. I take it you've heard about the Buffy Summers case?"

"Uh, right... chit disappeared or some rot?"

"Kidnapped. Or so we're assuming. So, I hope you don't mind if I ask you a few questions. Maybe check your room..."

"Don't mind at all, Officer."

"Great. Did you ever have any sort of contact with Buffy Summers?" he interrogated.

"None at all."

"What about her family?"

"Never heard of them."

"And you haven't seen her at all since her disappearance?"

"Can't say as I have."

Officer Brooks nodded. "Mind if I... ?" He gestured up the stairs towards his hotel room.

Bloody fuckin' hell... "Go right ahead." Spike pretended to search his pockets for his room key. "But, uh... I think I might've left the key in my room."

Vince spoke up from behind the desk. "I can make you another."

Spike frowned, desperately hoping that Vince wouldn't sell him out. "Alright. Thanks, mate."

The heavyset man made the key and handed it to him. "Room 118..." he said, absently.

Spike sighed in relief and took it gratefully. He then led the officer up the small staircase and to the room in question. "Here we are," he said, opening up the door. "Take all the time you need."

Officer Brooks stepped inside, and surveyed the room. It was obviously occupied, considering the bedsheets were in disarray and some dirty clothes adorned the carpeted floor. He browsed through a few drawers and a fairly large closet, searched the bathroom, and even glanced under the bed. "How long have you been staying here?" he questioned the blonde in the doorway.

"Uh, 'bout three days," he answered.

"Can I ask why? This isn't exactly the swankiest place in town."

Spike racked his mind for a believable lie. "Got in a bit of a tiff with my girl. Thought it best to spend some time apart."

The cop seemed to buy this and nodded. "I understand." He then sighed and began to exit the room. "Well, Mr. Tyler, I think we're done here. I appreciate your cooperation--it's precautionary measures we take to make sure everyone and everything's been thoroughly checked."

"Not a problem, Officer. Glad to help. And, uh... I hope you find the girl."

He gave a tight smile and left the room.

Spike promptly let out the huge breath of air in his lungs and silently thanked whoever was listening.

~~~

"How long have you known Buffy Summers?"

Angel shifted in his seat and regarded the Sheriff. "A long time."

"Please be more specific, Mr. O'Neil."

He sighed. "Ten years, maybe?"

"And have you always been close?"

"Absolutely."

Sheriff Brinkman nodded, slowly. "It says here that you're father is friends with Hank Summers. Is this true?"

"Yes, sir. It's how I came to know Buffy," Angel replied.

"Were you and Buffy ever involved in a romantic sense?"

The broad-shouldered man frowned. "I, uh... no, not really. What does that have to do with anything?"

"We have to approach this from all angles, Mr. O'Neil. Many things can cause a person to lash out and do something extreme... such as money, rejection--"

Angel immediately stood up from his chair in anger. "How dare you insinuate I had something to do with this!" he seethed.

"Please calm down, Mr. O--"

"I would never hurt Buffy. Never!"

"And I was making no such accusations. So, please, calm down."

He breathed heavily through gritted teeth, but finally took his seat. "I was told that this was just a standard interrogation."

"It is," the Sheriff agreed. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that, but everyone is labeled a suspect until we can find some leads. And considering you've had the most contact with Ms. Summers, it's only natural to take these kinds of precautions."

"Well, you can rule me out. I love Buffy, and would never dream of harming her."

"You love her?"

Angel backpedaled a bit and answered, "As a friend."

Sheriff Brinkman scribbled down some notes. "Did Buffy ever confess any desires to run away? Or anything along those lines?"

"Not to me, no."

"Did she ever seem unhappy?"

"With what? Home, friends--"

"In general, Mr. O'Neil."

He shook his head. "Not really. Going blind sort of put a permanent damper on her mood, but I never noticed any drastic changes in her personality."

"And no odd behavior?"

"No."

The Sheriff sighed again, as he continued to write. "One more thing before I let you go. I was told that you ran off to find Buffy the moment you heard what happened. Where exactly did you go?"

"Around. Just to some places I hoped she might be."

"What made you think you would have more success in finding her than the police department?"

Angel shrugged. "Because I wanted it more."

"And you don't think we want to find Buffy as well?" he wondered, curiously.

"You're doing your job, sir. You're looking for Buffy because you have to. I'm looking for her because I care."

His eyes narrowed. "Interesting," he said, before dismissing Angel. "You're free to go. Thank you for your time, Mr. O'Neil. And be sure to let us know if you find anything."

Angel nodded and stood up. "I will," he replied, and then exited the Sheriff's office.

~~~

Buffy opened her eyes and was promptly hit in the head with a baseball bat. Or so it felt like.

"Oh, ow," she groaned. "Huge, massive ow..."

"Headache?"

She blinked a few times and turned to face the familiar voice. "The worst."

"Got some Tylenol," he offered. "Figured you might be needin' it."

"Really do."

Spike got up and fetched her the medicine. He returned a few moments later with two pills and a glass of water. "Here you are."

Buffy reached out her hands and he gave her the items. She quickly swallowed the pills. "Thanks," she replied.

He regarded her, wondering if she remembered what happened earlier in the day. It was already past midnight and Buffy had slept the entire time. Spike, on the other hand, couldn't sleep at all.

"How long was I out for?" she wondered.

"Ten hours, I'd say."

"Crap. See? I told you what alcohol did to me."

Spike sighed and grumbled, "You and me both."

"Did I do anything regret-worthy?"

"Uhh.. depends on what you classify as regret-worthy," he opted with.

"Well, did I dance on any tables naked?"

"No."

She sighed in relief.

"Unless you consider that desk over there a table..."

"What?!"

Spike grinned. "Kidding, love." Unfortunately.

"Jerk."

"That I am."

Silence then washed over the room and Spike decided to flip on the TV. Random television shows played out across the screen, none of which captured his interest. He was about to switch it of, when a "Special Report" caught his eye.

Buffy gasped when she heard her mother's desperate pleas echo in her ears.

"Buffy? If you're out there... it's Mom and Dad. And we just want you to come home, sweetheart. Please, come home to us. We love you and miss you so much. Whoever has our daughter... just let her go. We'll do anything--we'll pay anything. Just, please. Let her come home. We love you, Buffy. Always know that..."

The news broadcaster's voice cut in. "That was Joyce Summers, mother of Buffy Summers, who has been missing for almost a week now. The blind nineteen-year-old disappeared last Friday around ten o'clock. If anyone has any leads on--"

The television flickered off.

Chapter 15: Going Under

"Mommy..."

Spike had never heard a word said with more anguish and pain. It made his insides twist. "I'm sorry you had to hear that," he told her, his voice low and almost inaudible.

Buffy didn't answer him. Her throat was too constricted, her thoughts too jumbled. She knew that if she opened her mouth, a heartbreaking sob would pass through her lips. And she didn't want him to know just how hopeless she felt.

"Buffy?"

"I-I can't," she finally answered him. "I can't do this."

"Do what?"

"Be here! I miss my family, Spike. I miss my mom's hugs and my dad's jokes. I miss my warm bed and Mr. Gordo." She sighed, and hung her head. "Are you really going to kill me?"

Spike frowned and looked away from her. "I have to," he said.

"No, you don't have to. Do you want to?"

"I don't know anymore."

"Well, you better figure it out. Because I want to go home."

He swallowed and reached out a tentative hand to touch her arm. "Buffy..."

She immediately pulled back. "Don't touch me. I don't want you anywhere near me."

"Fine!" he growled, offended. He stood up and started pacing the floor. "You know, if you hate me so much, why did you stop me from killing myself?"

Buffy didn't know how to answer that, so she countered his question. "If you hate me so much, why did you ask to kiss me?"

"I haven't been with a woman in years. Now, suddenly, there's a beautiful girl stuck in a hotel room with me. You do the math."

"I'm not beautiful. And besides, you hate women."

Spike turned to face her, only hearing the first part of her response. "How can you say you're not beautiful? You're gorgeous, pet."

She blushed, strangely warmed by his words. "If you're just trying to get into my pants, you might as well stop while you're ahead."

"I'm not. I'm..." He sighed and sat down on the bed again. "I'm just bein' honest with you."

"So am I."

"You don't take compliments too well, do you?"

"Never had a lot of practice," she said, softly.

Spike was incredulous. "How is that possible?"

She shrugged, wondering why it even mattered.

"You're beautiful, alright? Accept it."

"Why are you telling me this? If it's not to get in my pants, then why?"

He stopped before he let his mouth run away with him again. Because it's true. Because somewhere deep down... I might actually care about you. "I don't bloody well know. I guess after that news report, my conscience decided to catch up with me."

She sighed. Figures. Not because it's true or because he actually CARES about me... no. Guilty conscience is all. "Yeah, well," she began. "I know a real good cure for that. It's called letting me go."

Spike scoffed. "Not likely, pet."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm going to sleep."

"You just woke up."

"I don't care. I'm tired."

He rolled his eyes and flipped off the lamp. "Suit yourself."

Buffy turned over, facing away from him, and closed her eyes.

~~~

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, opening her eyes with a start.

"Shh," he whispered. "Just relax."

Buffy's heart was pounding, as his fingers traced lazy designs across her bare stomach. She had no idea how long she had been sleeping, but she figured it was still late. "Spike, no..."

He ignored her and continued his ministrations.

"Spike, stop it."

"Don't try to fight this, baby. You know you want me."

"I don't..."

"Your body contradicts your words," he said. "It burns for me."

"I--"

His hand was suddenly up her shirt, palming her breast. "Don't talk. Just feel."

She gasped, and instinctively arched into his touch. This is wrong. God, this is so wrong... But somewhere, deep down inside, it felt right. It felt good. And Buffy let the words slip before she even had time to think about them: "Kiss me."

She felt him stop what he was doing, felt his warm breath suddenly on her face. And when his soft, full lips began to caress her own, Buffy knew that this is what she wanted.

Her own lips parted, welcoming him inside, and his tongue entered her immediately. She felt her shirt being pushed up again, his hands on her breasts. And when his mouth left hers, it was to wrap around her nipple, sending a million little lightening bolts through her body. She moaned, holding his head to her chest. "Yes..."

Spike's fingers then moved south, and slipped into her jeans.

Buffy stilled. "You can't... I-I have my period..."

"I don't care," was all he said, and continued the agonizing journey.

And as soon as his hand was fully inside, cupping her mound and rubbing her clit, Buffy realized she didn't care either.

"Oh, god," she moaned, moving her hips in time with his hand.

"I want to make you come," he told her, inserting a long finger inside and pumping gently. "Will you come for me, Buffy?"

"Yes, yes," she replied, mouth open in ecstasy. "Please..."

His movements quickened, and Buffy felt herself teetering on the brink. She felt herself falling--falling faster and faster into a deafening spiral of passion and confusion. And as soon as she was about to scream out his name in pleasure...

... she sat up in bed with start, sweat beading on her forehead.

It took a moment for her to catch her breath, and she raised a hand to her chest, as if to still her racing heartbeat. "Oh, my god," she breathed out, swallowing hard.

She quickly reached her hand over, trying to find the body next to her. She felt him, and he flinched a bit at her touch.

"Bugs Bunny..." he mumbled in his sleep. He then promptly rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow.

Buffy pulled her hand away and ran it through her damp hair. I had an erotic dream. I had an erotic dream about Spike. If there were ever a time I wanted him to kill me, it would be now. Oh, god.

Taking one last, quivering breath, she laid back down. And for her own sanity, kept her eyes open until the sun peeked in through faded curtains and Spike stirred awake beside her.

~~~

"I'm gonna head out to run some errands. You'll be alright here?"

Buffy just sat on the bed, obviously lost in her own little world.

"Buffy? Earth to Buffy." He approached her and gave her a gentle shove. "You awake in there?"

She finally shook her head, as if to clear her mind. "Um, yeah. Sorry. I guess I'm just kinda spacey this morning."

"S'alright. But yeah, I'm gonna pick up some more food and make a stop at the dry cleaners. Figure it's cheaper than buyin' us new clothes all the time."

"Sure. Sounds good."

Spike took a moment to study her. She looked worn and tired, and he definitely got the vibe that something was bothering her. "You sure you're okay?"

Buffy quickly nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Swell, even."

He sighed. "Alright then. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Okay. Bye."

With one last look in her direction, Spike turned around and left the room.

~~~

Bloody lines. Spike had already been waiting at the dry cleaners for almost a half an hour, and he still hadn't reached the counter yet. There was currently a middle-aged woman arguing with the manager about a coffee stain. Spike bounced impatiently on the heals of his feet and glanced at his watch for the hundredth time.

"This line is insane, huh?"

Spike glanced at the tall, dark-haired man behind him, not really in the mood for conversation. "Yeah."

"And considering you probably have patrols that need to be taken care of..."

He turned around then to face the man. "Beg your pardon?"

"Well, it's just that I recognize you. You're a cop, right? You gave me a ticket once," he laughed lightly.

Spike's brow furrowed. "Oh. Right, yeah. I'm a cop."

"Don't worry, though. I don't hold it against you."

"Uh, thanks."

"Yeah," he smiled, then said more to himself, "Buffy was freaking out. It was an interesting day."

Spike was about to nod and turn back around, when he realized who he said. His mouth went dry. "Buffy?"

"Yeah, she's my girlfriend. She's amazing."

"And you are?"

The man smiled and held out his hand. "Angel."

"Sir, can I help you? Sir? Sir!"

Spike jumped. "Oh, uh... here," he said and quickly handed the bag of clothes to the woman behind the counter. Then he turned his attention back to Angel. "Buffy... that name sounds familiar."

"Yeah." His features hardened. "She was kidnapped. It's all over the news."

"Right. I heard about it. What a shame," he swallowed, trying to keep his cool.

"She's okay though," Angel informed him.

"Really. How do you know?"

He looked him in the eyes. "I just know."

"Sir?"

They maintained eye contact for a moment, before Spike faced the woman at the desk again. She was holding out a gold piece of jewelry to him.

"This was attached to one of the items of clothing you brought in," she explained. "I thought you might want it back? It looks rather expensive."

Spike took the trinket and studied it for a moment.

Angel froze, as his eyes narrowed. Wait a second... He looked at the gold object in Spike's hand and recognized it immediately.

It was the pin he had given Buffy for her seventeenth birthday.

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