Nemesis by Holly

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Part Eleven: Unforgettable

It was a good plan. Straight, one-track, and left little room for questioning. The only problem was the sudden and complete depreciation that had occurred the minute she reached the indicated room number. The door was open, swinging partially in the apartment building’s weak ventilation system, and presented a creepy film noir sequence of a gangster break-in. It was odd feeling her heart constrict in the momentary worry in the welfare of a demon, but it did at that.

Two details were immediately perceptible based on first-glance: the break-in was a hit, not random, and whoever did it had fun.

Buffy drew in a deep breath and crossed the threshold.

A lot of fun.

“Friend of yours?”

The voice cut through silence so thick that she immediately suspected its origin to be of her own conjuring. That lasted all of three seconds—before her vampire tinglies went ablaze. The Slayer froze in place, her insides wrenching. Good God, she hadn’t expected him to seek her out so soon. Not after the way they left things last night. And yet he was there. When she pivoted, he was there. Standing inside—inside—the dead demon’s apartment.

“Spike.” His head tilted curiously at the uncertainty in her tone, and the fire in his gaze brightened with perceptibility. “Uhm…h-how…how did you get in here?”

It took a few seconds, but his bemusement finally settled. He looked her over thoroughly from head to toe with a shine of something akin to adoration in his eyes. As though she was the cutest thing he had ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Then it was gone, and the mask of disdain was back. Spike arched a brow and held up a hand, counting off his reasoning. “One, this is a demon’s flat, pet. Don’ exactly require an’ invite. An’ two, in case it escaped your notice, he’s kinda dead.”

“Yeah, noticed the dead part,” Buffy retorted, trying to maintain a neutral façade. It wasn’t going to work if he came closer…like he was doing. Albeit it was only one step, but dammit, it was still distracting. “Your handiwork?”

Spike stared at her. “Right,” he said slowly. “’Cause since I bagged a slayer in the full-out physical sense, I must be a pussy-whipped demon-killer now.”

Her head reeled at the defensiveness of his retort. An aggravated sigh tickled the air when he gauged her reaction, and the vampire consigned a hand through his slightly ruffled platinum hair.

But he wouldn’t apologize; because they both knew he meant it.

“Well, if that’s the case,” she retorted coldly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Spike snickered and shook his head, reaching for his cigarettes as he ventured another step into the belly of the beast. “Dear me, aren’t we defensive? Noticing a pattern with this, luv. Seems every time I see you, you’re in a snit about somethin’ or other. Lemme guess: you an’ Angel played out another horribly overdramatic portion of your would-be love life. It makes sense, especially after last night. I’d’ve been up for a round or two of relentless boredom, myself. Well, that or laughter. Whichever comes firs’ in his case. To me, it depends on the day. An’ how broody he is.”

“Well, I guess that’s fair,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “But if we’re going to go into comparison, I gotta say that Angel’s only broody on the days that Drusilla is insane. And yet.”

A flinch at that—his outward to correspond with her inward. Buffy lent herself pause for a long, unmoving moment. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what she had decided. Wasn’t she supposed to be apologizing? Dammit. Apologizing was not a Summers strong suit, and Spike was helping out in that department.

He was giving as good as he got. Lousy pride.

The lapse only lasted a second. Frowning one minute and complacent the next. He arched a flawless brow as his cigarette hummed to life. “That’s lovely, pet,” he said disinterestedly. “But it has rot all to do with—”

“Not how I hear it.”

Okay. That was bewilderment. All out bewilderment. “Huh’s that? What’s not how you hear it?” He paused. “Did I miss somethin’?”

“You tell me.”

If anything, he became even more aghast, searing with irritation that didn’t know why it was being irritated. Spike drew a long hit off his cigarette and shook his head, allowing himself a long, dry chuckle as if it were a rich joke. “Buffy, start from the beginnin’. What does Dru have to do with anything?”

Buffy. He used her first name as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Its sound rolled off his tongue; it had been born there. She knew nothing else.

“Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.” Confidence was building slowly. Good confidence. She needed that. Only it didn’t seem to be getting her anywhere. Spike looked more confused than ever. “Xander dropped by the library today. Said that the word is out that you’re back in town.”

“Damn. An’ I went to so much trouble to keep it quiet,” he grumbled with obvious lack of concern. “Yeh, and? I s’pose there’s a point to this highly unsurprising turn of events. Please don’ keep me hanging.”

That drew her back from the line. Buffy scowled and crossed her arms. “Apparently, everyone thinks that the new and improved mopeyness that you’ve made absolutely no point to hide is because of Dru. They think you got dumped again.”

Spike just stared at her. “Hold up,” he said, raising a hand for a moment of requested clarity. “You think that’s it, don’ you? You think I’m back here because of her. Because—”

“What? I suppose you’re going to tell me that you aren’t?” The words sounded ridiculous enough in her head; breathing life into them made her want to beat herself to death with her own shoes. That small voice harbored deep inside simply wouldn’t let up—wouldn’t allow her defenses to fall. If she stood before him unguarded, there was no way to walk away unscathed. And Buffy couldn’t hurt again. Not after the trauma that was last summer. No way. Huh uh. “Come on, Spike. Five weeks is a long time. I’m sure you—”

“Are you completely daft? God, you’re a piece of work, Summers. I come all this way an’ you have the bloody gall to…” He trailed off when he saw the look in her eyes waver. An answering call that only he could provide. The first he had been granted since his return. Softer now, he lowered his head and regarded her with growing curiosity. “What part of last night din’t you understand? I came back for you, pet. Jus’ like you asked me.”

At that, Buffy fidgeted nervously.

“Seems as I recall, you were the one who thought it right timing to rip a bloke’s heart out,” he growled. “Now you’re makin’ with this cockamamie story as though it gives you…what? Grounds? Buffy, I’ve been in town for two nights. Two buggering nights. That’s all. Don’ really think the demon populace is on the up an’ up of what revs my motor these days. Not unless you’ve done your share of broadcasting to the world since our li’l…encounter.”

“Of course not!”

“Then don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Kinda impossible when you’re around.” The words were out of her mouth before she had the opportunity to consider the double-entendre. By the widening of his eyes and the consequent grin that spread across his lips, she could tell that he knew well that her slip had been anything other than intentional. “Oh stop it. You know what I meant. God, do you really think it’s something I’d brag about?”

A flash of hurt streaked across his features, but was gone the next instant with an indifferent shrug. “Know I would.”

“What?!”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Would, pet. Other way of sayin’: haven’t. God, the way you carry on, you’d think you din’t trust me.”

“Oh, score one for Mr. Perception!”

“What have I ever done to make you not trust me?” Her eyes narrowed and he grumbled in immediate concession. There was no reason to even deign that question with a witty rejoinder. “I meant since what happened, an’ you bloody well know it. Don’ get all preciously tight-assed on me.”

“I’m not—”

“Save it, Summers.”

“Just level with me. Did you go back after Dru?”

He stared at her incredulously. “You’re off your wagon.”

“Oh, come on, Spike,” she retorted. “You’ve been gone for weeks now. And it wasn’t like you bothered to hide how much of an inconvenience you believed your completely random and likely imagined or…or…” Buffy trailed off when he started taking steps toward her once more, his glower in full affect. Anger. Heat. Desire. Everything he wasn’t supposed to exhibit—not toward her. The full ridiculousness of accusation finally slammed into her, and she knew then that he had done anything but go back to Drusilla. There was no way. Not with him looking at her like that.

“Or what?” he growled. Oh, God. Dangerously close. “You really think I’m capable of somethin’ like that? That’d I’d…I’d bloody well turn my world, my whole buggerin’ existence upside down, halfway lose my mind because of what you did to me, then go weepin’ an’ crawlin’ back to Dru?”

Whoa. Be kind, rewind.

“What are you—”

“Maybe you’re capable of that, Slayer.” He chuckled humorlessly and stepped back, eyes rejoicing when she almost automatically moved to recover the granted space. “Maybe you can do what we did, feel what we did an’ go crawlin’ back to your former full of guilt an’ anguish an’ regret. Not me. It’s not in my make-up. What happened between us was a bloody revelation. I couldn’t go back to her if I wanted to. Not after you. I’m not like you in that, pet. I don’ have that sodding luxury.” A timely growl. He was pacing again. “An’ yeh, I’m right brassed off ‘bout it. Y’think you can do that to me? Jus’ feed me up, tie me down, gimme what you gave me, and bloody well shut me out when I come back here? I did exactly what you wanted me to do, Buffy! God, an’ here I thought I was pushin’ it returning when I did. Thought it was too soon. If I’d’ve thought that you’d forget everythin’, I never woulda left town. I never…”

That was it. Her heart was breaking and she was too stubborn to do anything to prevent it.

Her silence gave him reason, and Spike looked up. The blaze within his eyes intensified, then softened. As though he could see how torn she was. How utterly ripped apart. Granted incentive measured without words. The crumb he had been searching for since returning. The look was so concentrated that she had no choice but to avert her gaze. There could be no want of feeling when he looked at her like that.

“Buffy,” he said softly. “I know you’ve…I know it’s gotta be bloody confusin’ for you. Okay? I’m not a complete jerk. I know that you’ve been givin’ Angel the cold shoulder…an’ that’s gotta be difficult. I bollocks things up, sweetling. All the time. I know that…I din’t mean when I said that you’d…that it was easy for you to…” A sigh and he broke off, unable to look at her a second longer. “Jus’…I din’t mean it, all right?”

“Yes you did.”

Spike shook his head, eyes wide and desperate. “No, baby. I don’t wanna hurt you. I didn’t mean to…” He was three seconds away from covering the space between them, and they both knew it. Their night together had proven that alone: if he was enamored with a woman, he absolutely hated being the source of her pain. “I gave up wanting to hurt you…well, it was only that night, but God it feels like a sodding lifetime has passed since then. An’ believe me, vampire here, I bloody well know what a lifetime feels like. Please, I—”

“Spike…” There was resignation in her tone. “I can’t do this now.”

“I don’t think it matters if you can or not, luv. We’ve gotta chat this out.”

“I can’t. Not…” She gestured to the dead demon. “Not now. Not like…there’s important stuff going on now. Really important stuff and you…I can’t have this weighing in on everything else that I do. Don’t you…if you’re here, if you keep doing this, I won’t be able to…you’re getting in the way.”

“Oh, is that it? You think you can jus’ put me on hold an’ expect me to be at your bloody beck an’ call whenever it’s convenient for you?” His brows furrowed in disgust. “Did it ever occur to you that we could spare each other all the achies that this is apparently causing by bein’ honest? I’m tryin’ here, luv. You can’t expect me to make all the effort by myself.”

“I don’t expect you to…” Buffy sighed dramatically and gestured to their surroundings. “Look at this! Open your eyes! I’m the Slayer—I have to be able to focus on my job!”

His cast a pointed glance to the aforementioned deceased. “What? Protecting demons?”

“Yes—no! God, you’re insufferable!” Spike couldn’t help himself at that; he grinned and waggled his eyebrows. An irritated grumble rumbled through her body and drove his mirth away without hindrance. “Someone was…he had these books. These books of…whatever. And he was going to sell them to us. To me and Faith and the other Scoobies, but now something—”

“Faith?” Spike retorted, doming a brow. “You mean the nasty bird, yay tall—” He demonstrated a near-accurate measure of her height, “—dark hair, cute, biker chick attitude? The other Slayer?”

Buffy blinked. “Did you call her both nasty and cute?”

That prompted a grin. A suggestive one, at that. “There are two kinds of nasty, pet,” he reminded her. “You oughta know that one better than anyone in town.”

“You think she’s cute?”

“Hello. I. Am. A. Guy. I’m a guy who’s neither a poofter, nor blind. The girl’s got spunk.” He favored her with a condescending wink. “I like spunk. Oh, but speakin’ of her, I have some news that you’ll—”

She wasn’t listening. She was too angry. Of all the nerve.

“I’m gone,” Buffy announced coldly, forgetting her so-called assignment without further provocation.

Unfortunately, in order to be gone, she had to bypass a certain peroxided pest. Said peroxided pest was not about to let her leave on that note.

This was a lesson she would learn the hard way. Not two steps were made toward the exit before he grabbed stealthy hold of her arm and pulled her against him. “Don’t do that.”

There wasn’t a lapse. Not a delay. She immediately began to struggle. “Let me go!”

“Dammit, Buffy. You’ve gotta—”

“I need to—”

“—listen to me. I came here to tell you somethin’. Somethin’ important.” When she looked up, painfully close in proximity—his hands still wrapped tightly around her wrists, Spike released a heady moan and lost all front to reason. Only a night had passed since he held her this way, but it seemed like a millennia. For-sodding-ever just because of buggered pride. If her increased heart rate and the rapid heaving of her chest was any rejoinder to the obvious, he had to say that she was right there with him in assumption.

The moment was lost with the next beat. He made the mistake of swooping to capture her lips, and she had twisted from his grasp before he had time to miss her warmth.

By the angered look in her eyes, he had done something wrong.

“Oh yeah,” she spat venomously. “Real important. God, Spike. Just stay the hell away from me.”

“I din’t mean to—”

“Funny how often you feel the need to do stuff and say things that you don’t mean to.”

“Buffy!” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “This Faith bird, all kidding aside. She’s bad news, luv. She—”

The strain of warning broke off when he saw the look on her face.

Then she couldn’t help it; she laughed.

Spike frowned. “What?”

“Faith’s bad news? Faith? Thanks for the bulletin!” Her laugh turned bitter when she saw the confusion behind his eyes. “I know she’s bad news, Spike. She’s killed a man, and I mean a human. She killed a man not too long ago and all but killed me when I tried to keep her from jumping town, and—”

There was a blur of movement and suddenly he was on her, hands searching out all possible corners for injury, however aged. “That bitch tried to kill you?” he growled possessively. “Are you all right? Did she get you anywhere? Did—”

The insane blubbering stopped once she realized that his touches were becoming a bit too bold for his own good, even if the look he portrayed was worry. Truth be told, it was in all likelihood that Spike didn’t know what he had done wrong when she pushed him away, but she knew enough not to live on presumption.

“What?” he asked, genuinely curious.

A sigh coursed through her and her shoulders rolled with relaxation. All possible venues for anger had retired. It was unattainable when he got so damn…cute. But there was no way she was going to let him know that. “One,” she said, holding up a hand to count off as he had earlier. “I’m a slayer, I heal. It’s been long enough that even if I had any scars—which I didn’t—they’d be gone by now. Two, why do you care? Three—”

An indignant flush overwhelmed him. “Why do I—”

“And don’t give me that ‘because I worry about you’ bull—”

“Bull? Now it’s—”

“Would you please—”

“Stop. Can I—”

“Let me—”

“Finish my bloody sentence!”

That was it. The pivotal and final ‘it.’ Brought to a standstill, eyes locked in a heated moment of festering outrage. And then it was over. The wall between them finally collapsed and there was nowhere to run but to each other. It was mutual, almost simultaneous. Buffy was in his arms before she could register that any distance had been covered and all thought of protest abandoned her when his mouth covered hers. The touch matched his eyes with fire, nipping with blunt teeth until she opened up for him. As though they had been made to fuse together. As though they understood that there was no motive for winning so they might as well do this instead. A battle as always—they couldn’t stop battling each other if they tried. Through every taste there was a challenge, every nibble an answer. Soon the air was filled with sounds of aggravated irrationality when they got in one another’s way of further exploration. Buffy knew then with her hands in his hair that there would never be enough of this. Enough of what he made her feel, and how effortlessly he could make her feel it.

“Oh God,” Spike moaned, halfway in protest when he finally broke their kiss to allow her breath. His mouth immediately became distracted with the soft flesh at her throat, and he shivered when she mewled her encouragement. “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

Somehow that message squirmed through Buffy’s lust-addled mind and brought her attentions to a screeching halt. Her hands froze, tightened, and finally released him altogether. Her body tensed with unseeing reaction and caused his to do the same.

She bolted from his arms the moment she felt him draw in a breath to speak. Better. This was better. Safely on her side of the room where he wasn’t touching her. Where his lips weren’t getting in the way. Oh yeah. As far as ground for coherent thought went, it didn’t get any better than this.

Coherency. Right. Just as soon as she calmed down.

Her mouth tingled from kissing him. God, she wanted to kiss him again.

“You ass!”

Spike blinked. “What now?”

“Missed me? Missed me?”

He was still staring at her as though she was loopier than Drusilla. “Well, yeah. This entire forced-distance thing’s been killin’ me. Ever since…I can’t stop…I’ve missed—”

“No. You haven’t.”

Confusion was giving way to anger, and that was never good. “What?”

“You haven’t missed me, Spike. You’ve missed this.” Off his stupefied expression, Buffy clarified by motioning erratically between them. “It’s not…you’re just…”

The peroxide vampire’s expression softened and he exerted a needless breath. It was infinitely better to go with negotiable. “I’m still not following you, pet.”

“There’s more to me than sex,” she snapped, face flushing as though saying the word incriminated her in some fashion. It was something he would have found adorable were he not so busy being furious. “Hell, I don’t have to be here for this. I could be anyone and you’d still—”

A dissatisfied growl sounded through the air and he paraded forward once more, seizing her by the shoulders and giving her a good shake. It was like grabbing ice. “Don’ be daft, you silly bint,” he hissed. “God, ‘f that was all this was, don’ you think I could’ve found someone a li’l less you to scratch my itch for me? Lord knows I tried. Tried to get you outta my system, an’ that din’t work. Tried to forget you an’ that blew up in my face. Tried to—”

Evidently, they were back to the interruption game. That was just fine by him. “You tried to…but you said…”

A bitter snicker escaped his throat. “What? I meant every word of what I said. Never once went back to Dru. Never once went to some bird’s bed thinkin’ it was anythin’ but shagging. Never once said anythin’ but your name. An’ din’t that get me nice an’ slapped too many times for comfort. God, I tried to forget you. Tried to forget you a thousand times over. I—”

Okay. Shrill. “A thousand times? You were only gone for five weeks!”

He grinned somewhat sheepishly. “It’s jus’ a sayin’, luv,” he assured her. “There was a floozy or two. I’ll admit it. Nothin’ to be ashamed of. But it din’t work. I din’t forget you. I…” Spike released a heady breath and stepped forward again, deliberate and into her personal bubble. Closing his eyes and cooing softly—enjoying being close, even if only seconds had passed since she was willingly in his embrace. He ran a hand down the length of her arm and made to claim her mouth again, lips hovering just over hers. “I can’t. I can’t forget you. You’re everywhere. I—”

Buffy blinked and broke eye contact. While she was quite certain that he didn’t possess thrall, it was easy to believe at times. She exhaled slowly and flexed her hands as though to physically restrain herself from lashing out again. “No,” she protested softly. “It’s not…you don’t…God, Spike you don’t even know me. I don’t know what you missed, but—”

His skin felt so soft against her mouth, fingers caressing with delicacy. She was fragile and would break the minute he relinquished his touch. “I know you, Buffy.”

“Stop calling me…it’s wiggy and—”

Spike plowed right through the interruption. They had danced this dance at arms length for too long. “I know you,” he repeated softly. “Better than you could ever know. An’ I missed it all. Missed the way you laugh when you’re nervous. Missed how you can light up a room with that gorgeous smile of yours. Prob’ly would dust if I’d ever got a taste of your happiness. I missed your eyes. That look you get whenever you’re tryin’ to segue your way oughta sticky situations an’ scenarios. Missed the way you fight with me. Missed that look you get whenever you’re seriously brassed. Missed the way we can play twenty questions…even while…” His hand hovered dangerously close to her breast. Just enough for her to effectively feel its presence without feeling him. “Missed the way I can chat you up all night an’ never get bored. Missed your life.” At her ear now, his voice was dangerously low. “Those others, they were jus’ warm. Not like you, luv. You’re simply bursting with life.”

Find something! her mind cautioned. Don’t…can’t…mustn’t let him win…

When she found her voice, it was a gasping example of the human condition. She fought for the first strand of irrationality she could seize, and settled indisputably with jealousy. “There were floozies!”

Spike sighed in aggravation and pulled back. “You still on that?”

“Of the human variety!”

“Well, yeh. Had to replicate you somehow.”

“You’re telling me I shouldn’t be offended?”

“Offended? Luv, I was tryin’ to forget you. Obviously din’t work out to my benefit. Besides, I’m sure you’ve done your share of snogging with Peaches since I’ve been gone.” There was a momentary pause as he remembered something. “Unless you were lyin’ last night an’ really have been givin’ him the cold shoulder.”

Buffy’s eyes widened with comprehension. The pallid understanding Willow had given her that afternoon. The surprising lack of…surprise. All made perfect sense. “Willow,” she said softly, looking up. Spike regarded her with unease, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “You saw Willow last night.”

“I did not.” A moment of intense scrutiny and he floundered. “All right, I did. She ran into me as I was runnin’ into a streetlight. Or before I ran into a streetlight.” He frowned. “’m sure there was a streetlight involved. Somethin’ got real bright, that’s for sure. She talked me right through my drunkenness. Nice girl, Red.”

A momentary flush of betrayal coursed through her system. She couldn’t help it. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

The vampire shrugged indifferently. “The chit was worried ‘bout you. Said you’d been distant. Doin’ wacky things like…give Angel the cold shoulder. Hell, the li’l twig even got it through her thick skull that the reason was you missed me. That I wasn’t bloody forgettable after all.”

“Spike—”

“Kinda shows what state you’ve been in, luv, when Teen Witch an’ Big Bad can get together an’ share a load of achies caused by the Slayer.” He glowered at her relentlessly, arm twitching in unconscious demand for another cigarette. “Red meant no harm by it. She’s jus’ worried ‘bout you, ‘s all.”

Worried. Oh yeah, Willow was worried. So worried that she had to make like everything she heard that afternoon was a surprise. Like she was wrong for doing what she had done. Even if there hadn’t been perceptible judgyness, there were definite undertones to the wrongness that is Buffy. And it was too much. Standing here after such an emotionally pressing day, talking with the source of her pain while knowing there were places she had to be. Ascensions that she had to stop.

Places other than here that she had to be.

People other than Spike that she needed to see.

This was why a Slayer was not allowed a personal life. It got in the way of the big picture.

“I’ve gotta go.”

Spike took a step to the right to obstruct her exit. “Where? You know we need to chat this out, Buffy. Willow—”

“This isn’t about Willow. This is…” A sigh heaved off her chest. “I can’t…there are things that are about to happen. Big things. I can’t add you to the mix right now. I really, really can’t.”

Spike stared at her for a long, cold minute before his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Right,” he said coolly. “I got that. Really. But I could…I could help you. There are things—”

“Help me? This from he who said just recently that bedding a slayer wasn’t enough to turn you into some pussy-whipped—”

“I din’t mean that, an’ you know it.”

“Yes you did! God, Spike, you can’t just say things like that and expect a clean ‘I didn’t mean it’ to make everything better! Especially if…” Buffy met his eyes tiredly. His antics had moved toward the department of stalling and she was beginning to wear her very last nerve. “This, whatever it is, we can’t…it won’t work.”

His jaw tightened and the fire behind his gaze turned black. “Is that right?” he growled. “Kinda hasty, don’t you think?”

“Hasty?!” That phrase alone opened the door to a thousand angry reprimands, and she knew inherently if she took the bait, there would be no resolution to any of her larger looming problems. “No. No more of this. I gotta get out of here. Gotta find Faith, gotta find out who killed this guy, gotta find out if the Mayor has—”

“Wait—”

“No, Spike. I’m through. I—”

“It was Faith who killed the bloke! I thought you…” His words prompted her to stop dead in her tracks and pivot slowly to face him. The look on his face betrayed honesty but she had seen her fill of truthful façades. There was no reason to believe him.

Other than the fact that the suggestion made perfect sense.

Spike released a huff of air when he saw he had her undivided attention. “An’ there’s more. ‘S why I came here. You got this bloody awful habit of distracting me from—”

“How?”

“What?”

“How do you know that Faith killed the demon? What? Were you here with her?”

Yeah, that was kind of ridiculous. His arched brow did nothing but verify the same. “No…” he said slowly. “Her scent’s all over the place. Reeks of it…that an’ somethin’ I’m fairly sure that died in the bugger’s fridge. God, some demons jus’ don’ know how to live it up, I’m tellin’ you.”

Faith? Her scent? For whatever reason, that thought did not rest well. “How the hell do you know what Faith smells like?”

Spike paused for a long minute, the note of rising irritation in her tone singing sweetly to his ears. He took in her sight with lingering appreciation. That heaving chest. Those widened eyes. The luscious curves. Everything that compiled her into the Slayer—into Buffy—completely and utterly wrought with discomforted jealousy. So this was where he told her, right? This was where the motive for his assistance came shining through and all was revealed. Every ugly detail. Everything from her honey going bad again to the intimate workings of his new playmate. How he had watched them snog like hormone-driven teenagers. How he had listened to them plan Buffy’s demise with utter delight. How the other slayer had sat cast astride his grandsire’s prone and willing body as secrets were shared and everything but the actual physical took place.

This was the part where all was revealed. Right?

Jealousy flared in Buffy’s eyes. Jealousy over him. Because she thought he fancied Faith.

“Forget it,” she spat over her shoulder. “I don’t want to know. I don’t have time—”

Okay, maybe he was wrong in the ‘not telling her’ bit. Talented or no, if the Slayer rushed out unprepared, it could get her killed. There was no way she could fend for herself against Angelus and one of his playmates, especially if said playmate was another slayer.

“Buffy, wait—”

“No. I’ve done enough of that.”

“But there’s somethin’ you gotta…it’s about Angel. He an’—”

“Spike!” An angry final pivot, her eyes blazing with unspoken fire. “I. Don’t. Have. Time. I don’t have time to listen to you prattle on about Angel or Willow, or telling me about your floozies, or your feelings, or any of it. Do you get me? I have way too much on my plate right now to stop and deal with you. You’re going to wind up getting me killed, do you understand? If you cared for me at all, you’d back the hell off and let me do my job. Since you’re not, I have to—”

“I’m tryin’ to help you do your sodding job!”

“Don’t even give me that.” Her eyes were stormy when they met his. There would be no listening, and the sunlight outside meant that he could not follow. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

That was it. With a huff, a toss of hair, and angry spin, she was gone.

“Fine, you stubborn bitch!” Spike called futilely. The slightest phrase, the tiniest turn of her head, and she could reel him into misery so refined that it was a wonder he did not attempt to follow. The simple burden of nonexistence was going to destroy him someday. Him or her—likely both. They always destroyed each other. “Jus’ don’ come cryin’ to me when you wind up dead!”

A beat passed and he faltered with a long-winded sigh and defeated slump of the shoulders.

Wind up dead. Because of him? No. He couldn’t allow that. Better follow her. To find her before she found out. To risk her venom and warn her before Angelus took the liberty. Before he killed her out of retribution. Wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if something happened that he could have prevented.

“An’ you had the nerve to say you’re not whipped,” he muttered irately under his breath. “Bleedin’ wanker.”

She would be long gone by the time he reached the lobby. His slayer out there in the sunlight. Burdened with herself, with him, marching into territory that she was not prepared for. Readying herself to fight a battle that he could have…

The sewers for him. The sewers that he had once mocked Angel for using because he couldn’t stay away from watching his girl in the daylight. The sewers because he knew they would get him where he needed to go all the quicker. Lowered to that. Because if his selfish pride got in the way of her duty, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Because the world was more interesting with her in it. Enough to make the Slayer of Slayers shrivel with fear at the thought of her absence.

It was perverse. It was disgusting. It was unnatural.

And she drove him crazy.

Ain’t love grand.

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