Stalk Her

“Thanks for walking me home.” Buffy told Spike, unlocking the door and walking inside. Spike followed her through and shut the door. He then moved to join her in the kitchen, where she was filling a kettle with water. Putting it on the burner, she then got two mugs and the chocolate mix out of the cabinet. She gave her full attention to the task, not looking at Spike as he sat down. Her hands were still shaking as she carefully measured the cocoa in the cups.

It wasn’t until she was sitting across from him, a steaming cup in front of them both, that she spoke again.

“What could have done something like that?” She asked, staring into her cup. She idly tapped the floating marshmallows with a nail.

“Human.” Spike answered simply, raising his eyes to meet hers. Sighing, he tapped he side of his nose as an answer to her unasked question. If possible, she blanched even more.

“How could a human do something so. . .”

“Evil?” he supplied when she faltered for words. When her eyes clashed with his again, she saw the anger swimming there.

“That’s not. . .”

“What? What isn’t it?” he challenged, his voice hoarse with some unnamed emotion. She was shocked into silence by the sudden venom in his tone. He had been so tender at the park, holding her hand while she talked to the police. He had forced them into asking him his questions while they were together, refusing to leave her side. And now, she couldn’t even say he was acting like Spike again, because she had never seen him this angry. Or maybe angry wasn’t the right word. “Need I remind you, that Dahmer was human? Or how bout the Boston Strangler? Jack the Ripper? Oh, here’s a fine example of the human race, Ted Bundy. He used to play gimp to get to his victims. Not to mention Hitler, and at least a hundred more. Sometimes I think you’ve been the Slayer so long, you forget that humans can be just as evil as demons if not more so. At least demons are straight forward about it.” He said, the truth in his words making Buffy feel properly put in her place. Which of course brought her own anger into the fray.

“So, what? I should go out and start slaying humans now? Because, after all, they’re the real evil in the world?”

“NO.” he spat, eyes flashing yellow. “But maybe you shouldn’t be demon specific.”

“My title is ‘Vampire Slayer.’ I’d say that’s pretty specific. They have cops for humans.” Her face was flushed, and her hazel eyes were shooting sparks. *Gods, she’s beautiful.* Spike thought, pleased to see the vacant look gone from her face.

“Mm, huh. And they are ever so efficient, aren’t they. Especially Sunnyhell’s finest. Everything around here is done by crazed PCP gangs.” Spike snorted at the thought.

“They do what they can.” She said, her chin rising in defiance. It sounded as lame to her as it obviously did to Spike, but she couldn’t back down now.

“Yeah. And if a demon maims and kills, or destroys, we get a right quick death, depending on whether or not you’re PMS-ing. If a human does the same thing? What does he get?” Spike raised his eyes to the ceiling as if contemplating, then snapped them quickly back to hers. “I believe the term is ‘three hots and a cot.’ Courtesy of the state, and paid for with your tax dollars. And if the bloke, or bird, should be unlucky enough to be convicted in a state that still has the death penalty. Well, that happy convict has the knowledge that he has at least 6 or 7 years of appeals left before he gets fried, or injected, or whatever the ‘humane’ thing to do is. So, basically, just because humans have souls and pulses, they get a right cushy deal. Demons, just get dead.” He picked up his mug and drained the contents, wishing it was something with a little more bite. Setting it down with a clack, he glared at her.

And found himself transfixed by the sight of her. Her chest was heaving in deep breaths, attempting to calm down. Spike found his eyes glued to soft mounds, and he felt himself heating up for a totally different reason than anger.

Buffy’s own skin heated up as she felt the air change around them. Electricity seemed to crackle from his eyes as he continued to stare at the rise and fall of her breasts. She felt her nipples pebble under the boldness of his gaze. Buffy’s inner voice was screaming at her to slap the wanton look of lust and love off his face. She couldn’t seem to move, her body tingling as she imagined the thoughts that must be running through his mind.

Spike’s erection pressed even more painfully against the zipper of his jeans when the scent of her arousal reached him. His eyes, now the color of midnight with want, traveled from her breasts along the smooth column of her throat, then up further to linger over her slightly parted lips. A groan rumbled from his throat when her tongue darted out to moisten them.

“Spike.” She wanted to sound strong, and reproachful. Instead, she sounded breathless and needy.

“Don’t.” The word was sharp, his voice thick. His eyes burned her when they met hers. “Don’t try to tell me you can’t feel it, Slayer.” Heat, desire. “I can smell you.” This was said in almost whisper, as he rose to his feet. It should have disgusted her, it really should have. But as she watched him advance on her, she couldn’t seem to figure out why. Her breathing picked up when he stopped within a breath of her, and her heart triple timed in her chest when his hand reached out to possessively cup her breast. She whimpered, despite herself at the feel of his cool palm over her heated flesh. He lowered his head until his mouth hovered just above hers.

“I will have you.” he promised, his soft accented voice drifting over her like a caress. Instead of crushing his mouth against hers, like she expected (wanted), he shifted and brushed a gentle kiss across her forehead. With one last, teasing squeeze to the soft flesh under his hand, and a quick flick of his thumb across her rock hard nipple, he stepped away. Her whole body screamed out in protest, willing her to jump him. She somehow managed to keep her seat, as she stared at him, her mind conjuring up images to go along with the promise of pleasure dancing in his eyes.

A purely male smile curled his lips as he took in her appearance. He tan skin was flushed, her breath coming in small gasps. Her erect nipples strained against the cotton of her tank top. Her eyes were wide and passion glazed. And she was instinctively leaning towards him, silently begging him to take her and make it good.

*Oh, I will.* he thought to himself, pulling out a cigarette. *And it will be.* He let the cigarette dangle, unlit, in his mouth. He wasn’t going to be her lap dog, like Peaches and Soldier boy. He’d regained some semblance of self on his short sabbatical from Sunnydale. He wasn’t going to toss it all away for a short tumble in the sheets that she would regret in the morning. No, when he finally did bury himself in her sweet, little body, it would be because she had stopped lying to herself, and admitted what had always been between them.

“Goodnight, pet.” he purred, his husky words washing over her. Then, he turned and walked out the door, pausing to light the cigarette. His head whipped up after the first drag, his nose catching a whiff of the scent from the park. It was faint, but it was there. He briefly considered going back in, but he quickly nixed it. Not only would to ruin a perfectly good exit, bet he figured she would have collected herself by now, and had probably worked herself up into a nice, hot rage. Swaggering a little as he walked, Spike strolled over to his tree and settled himself in for the night. He leaned back against it and smoked, confident that he had wiped the horror of the evening from her mind.

~*~*~

“Stupid vampire.” Buffy mumbled, placing the mugs in the sink a little harder than she had intended. “Cocky, self involved, EVIL, don’t forget EVIL, Buff. And soulless. Evil and soulless. Good things to remember.” She told herself, double checking the locks before walking up the stairs. “Evil. Soulless. Evil. Soulless.” She kept repeating it, over and over, trying to force the though through her over stimulated mind. It refused to take root, and her brain helpfully supplied new words to her diatribe. “Sexy, undead. Great hands. EVIL! Beautiful mouth. SOULLESS! And that ass!” He mind giddily tossed out the picture of her hands greedily clutching that ass as he pumped in and out of her, his strokes long and hard.

She groaned at the image, desperately trying to ignore the aching wetness between her thighs, and the almost painful feel of her sensitive breasts.

Just two seconds more of his hand on her, and she would have been begging him to fuck her.

With an angry yank, her shirt came over her head. She tossed it on the ever growing pile of laundry in the corner. A second later, her shorts and sopping panties joined the small mountain. She sighed in relief as the cool night air from the window drifted over her flesh.

Flopping on her back across the bed, she didn’t notice the black teddy bear resting against her pillows. It sat, holding a blood red heart in its stuffed paws, a silent voyeur as her restless hands slid across her heated skin. Her left hand teased and squeezed the hard peaks of her breasts. Her right hand coasted down across her abdomen, through the soft curls of her sex, to plunge two fingers deep into her dripping channel. A gasp escaped her as she worked herself, the heel of her hand pressing hard against her clit. She whimpered as she imagined it was him inside of her, his cool shaft plundering the depths of her slick core.

Her hips shifted on the bed as her hand pumped faster. She moaned in frustration as she desperately sought to ease the tension that had been building since their argument started.

With a sound caught between a sigh and a scream, she came. The waves crested and fell over her, her inner wall spasming around her fingers.

After she had calmed, she turned on her side, eyes closed. She had found her release, but she wasn’t fulfilled. She knew why. There was no denying it to herself anymore. She wanted him. Now she just had to figure what that meant.

Sighing heavily, she pushed herself off the bed and padded naked to the bathroom.

~*~*~

In a dark room across town, the man sat. The room was in shambles around him, a testimony to his despair. Hanging his head, he covered his face with his hands and wept. The sound of her voice calling that creatures name echoing in his head.

Chapter Five

Stalking silently through the night, a killer searched for his prey. Anger and hate raged through his body, fueling the need to kill. He had already taken a life this night. But the scene he had witnessed was forcing him to seek out another to punish. SHE was forcing it.

How could she? How could she touch herself, thinking of that. . .thing? That evil, soulless THING! He had no right to touch her, no right to be invading her mind, her thoughts. She was purity.

*How pure is she if she’s thinking about fucking Spike?* He whirled around as if the voice in his mind had come from behind him. Seeing nothing, he turned and started walking again. He passed the park were he had left his earlier masterpiece. Cops were milling around, bagging anything that could be used as evidence. An evil smile touched his face, knowing they wouldn’t find anything. He was thorough, and had left nothing behind.

It was unfortunate that she had been the one to find the body. He wasn’t ready for her to see. It would figure that Spike would be drawn to the scent of the blood. Guess with the chip in, he had to take human blood wherever he could find it.

Anger bubbled anew as he thought of the way the peroxided blonde had wormed his way into the Slayer’s life. Into her sisters confidence. So what if he had saved the younger Summers from the sharp end of a butcher’s knife. That didn’t change who he was. What he was. If this was allowed to continue, he would contaminate everything that was good in her. He was already affecting her body. What if her heart followed? This thought horrified him in ways that nothing ever had.

No, this had to be stopped. Now.

Turning onto the Main street in town, he glanced around, his darker self taking over and searching. There, just coming out of the movie theater. Young and fresh faced, blonde and petite. Yes, she would do nicely.

~*~*~

Spike shifted in his chair, flinging a leg over the arm in an attempt to get comfortable. He vaguely wondered why he just didn’t go down to bed. He was tired and cramped after spending the whole night under the tree in Buffy’s yard. Luckily, no sign of the owner of the elusive smell appeared. He puzzled over the oddity of the scent. It was human, but not. There was something altering it, almost as if the owner knew that he could be recognized by it.

Then there was the fact that he had smelled it at that lovely little display in the park, as well as outside the Slayer’s house. And the fact that the girl resembled the slayer, her body trussed up in the tools of her trade didn’t settle well with him at all. He’d have to talk to Buffy about it later, if she wasn’t back to wanting to stake him, that is.

A slow smile curved his lips as he thought of the scene in her kitchen. Grabbing his cigarettes, he shifted again, this time to alleviate the pressure that had swelled in his jeans. Pulling out the slim tube of tobacco, he lit it, inhaling deep. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift back over the events of the night before.

Finding that girl had not been on his list of fun things to do. Sure, he’d done his fair share of killing over the years. But nothing like that. That type of stuff was more Angelus’ style. Then the subsequent interview with the cops. Now there was torture for you.

Re-answering the same inane questions, over and over. Having the pillocks look at him like he had done the destruction to that girl. Buffy had kept a death grip on him the whole time they were being questioned. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was going to shatter. Luckily, being the Slayer helped her deal with a lot. It was the fact that it had been human that was throwing her.

Sure, he knew that she knew that humans could be evil. It just wasn’t something that she had to deal with. Her life revolved around demons, vampires, Hell mouths and prophecies. Things of nightmares. It was easy to forget that monsters could come neatly packaged with heartbeats, warm blood and souls.

Hence came his speech to her. It wasn’t that he was trying to get absolution for himself or any other demon. They were, what they were. But, it would do her good to remember that evil didn’t always come from a Hell dimension.

Of course, he thought with a smile, the argument hadn’t been all bad. He remembered the way her warm breast felt under his hand. The sound of her gasps in his ears. The sweet, tangy smell of her arousal tickling his nose. *Yeah, Slayer. Try to deny me now*

He took another drag, smoke curling around him as his mind happily merged memories of the night before and the day of Willow’s spell, right after he had gotten the bloody chip. A growl rumbled through his chest with the memory of her warm mouth and tongue sliding against his. The soft mewling sounds she’d made when he had teased her to the point of orgasm when the Watcher was fumbling around for more scotch. The sound of his name falling from her lips and through the open window when she had pleasured herself.

All of this combined together to make quite a lifelike fantasy in his head. He had just flung his cigarette across the crypt and had settled back to have some quality time with his hand, when a soft scratching pulled him back to reality. Scowling, he left the top button of his jeans undone as he got up to inspect the cause.

“Dammit, Sid. You certainly have crappy timing.” He said when he opened the door.

“Ruff.” was all he got in response.

“Well, come in then. Where ya been. Whoring it up again?” he asked the ratty, old, golden retriever as it entered. Careful to avoid the rays of the sun, he pushed the heavy door closed then turned to regard his guest. The dog was sitting next to his chair, head cocked to the side and tongue lolling out of his mouth as if smiling. His tail thumped lazily on the floor, raising decades worth of dust.

Smirking, Spike crossed to the animal and ruffled his scruffy head affectionately. The dog responded enthusiastically, his whole butt wagging.

“Ugly old thing.” Spike murmured. And he really was. His once glorious, golden coat was matted with dirt and who knew what else. A notch had been cut out of his left ear, a permanent reminder of the Cylok demon Spike had saved it from. He was missing most of his teeth, and those that were still there were worn down to nubs. He’d had a collar on that night, but the shape the dog was in had made it clear that he had been on his own for a while. So, when the animal had followed him home, not in the least fazed by the flash of fang and warning growl Spike had offered, the vampire had decided to keep an eye on him. Not that he was keeping the walking carpet as a pet, mind you. It just seemed a waste to save him from one demon, then leave him helpless for the next.

“Let’s see what we’ve got for supper, shall we?” Spike said, standing and walking to his makeshift kitchen area. Grabbing the jar of peanut butter off the top of the small fridge, and a jar of blood from the inside, he went back to the chair and flopped down. Opening the peanut butter, he set it on the floor in front of Sid, who happily began licking away. Smirking once more, Spike twisted the cap on his own jar and took a long drink, not even scowling at the taste of cold pig’s blood.

“Well, Sid. How was your night?” he asked the dog. When the only response he got was the steady swish of the dogs tongue against the jar, he shrugged a shoulder and reached for his cigarettes once more. “Right then. Let me tell you about mine.” Sitting back, he lit the fag and preceded to fill the dog in on the dead girl and the rather happy time with the Slayer.

~*~*~

Buffy groaned loudly as she twisted the key in the back door of the Magic Box. She was sooo tired. She tried cursing the vampire, but she knew he was only part of the reason that she didn’t sleep. Dreams of pale skin and white hair, interspersed with nightmare images of blood and death had combined to make sure that Buffy would be one cranky Slayer in the morning. But, she had gotten up and gone to work. Bills didn’t go away just because you didn’t get a good nights sleep.

Luckily, her boss had read in the paper that she had found the body, and had sent her home early. But, instead of heading home to get some well deserved rest, she was here, checking on the store and squeezing in a training session. Throwing her keys into her bag, and then tossing it aside, she moved to the tiny bathroom to change. A few minutes later she emerged, her sensible black slacks, peach sheath and black flats replaced with blue jogging pants, white sports bra, and white training shoes. She walked over to the supply closet and pulled out the tape to wrap her hands, and one of the scrunchies she kept there in case she forgot one at home.

She moved as if on auto pilot, twisting her hair around the scrunchie, then twining the tape around her hands. Her brain had been threatening to short circuit since she had stumbled out of bed, her dreams from the night before not giving her any relief in the day.

Spike and dead bodies. Those two should have gone hand in hand. But as she thought back now, she realized he had been just as upset by the scene as she. It was nothing in his face, or his words. It just seemed to emanate off of him.

Buffy moved to the middle of the mat, and began stretching her tired muscles. She had just leaned down and grabbed her ankle when she heard a loud crash from the front of the shop. She jumped, her heart slamming in her chest, but immediately set into Slayer mode. Grabbing a knife from the rack on the wall, she moved stealthily through the room to the door. Stepping carefully through it, she cast her eyes around, stretching her senses out to try to detect a presence.

A prickly feeling began on the back of her neck, and she spun around, dropping instinctively into a fighting stance. Seeing nothing, she turned to face the front of the store again. Her shoes made no sound on the tile as she rounded the stair case. Her fingers tightened on the knife, her eyes picked out the table and the counter. She walked all the way to the front door, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Sighing, she turned to head back to the training room, annoyed that now she was hearing things. But as she neared the table once more, she noticed what was sitting on top.

A book. Nothing unusual there. It was open. Again, not unusual. However, the long, rusty railroad spike impaled through the center was a touch on the odd side. Hell, it screamed ‘what the fuck?’

Buffy found herself saying just that as she walked over to it. She didn’t notice her hand trembling as she reached out and grabbed it, pulling it from the book. She didn’t hear her heart echoing in her ears when she dropped it to the floor with a clang. She didn’t realize it was fear that was turning her insides to ice while she extended her hands to grab the old volume. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought that Giles was going to be pissed that somebody had ruined one of his precious books.

Her wide eyes skimmed over the text, recognition of the contents making her ill. On the pages in her hand, was the very detailed life of William the Bloody, a.k.a. Spike. Starting two days after he was turned, the heavy tome detailed each atrocity that had been accredited to him, and others that they weren’t sure of. Each page reminded her of why she should hate him. Each word made her stomach turn. She had never read this before, had never felt the need to. Giles had told her everything she needed to know. But seeing it in print, made it seem all the more real.

“Buffy?” Her scream echoed through the empty shop, her fingers tightening once more on the blade in her hand. Wide eyes scanned the dark until they settled on the familiar form that now seemed like a stranger. “Are you alright?” he asked, concern etched across his face. Her brittle laugh only caused his brows to draw tighter together, wondering if she’d finally gone round the bend. “Pet? What is it?”

“Just seems strange, that you of all people are concerned about me.” She said, holding the book out accusingly. He took it from her and scanned the words, a frown forming on his mouth.

“So, decided to do some light reading and give yourself plenty of ammunition, huh?”

“Don’t even, Spike. If you hadn’t of done any of those things, I wouldn’t have anything to read.” She countered, hugging her arms around herself. “All those people, Spike. And you don’t care about a single one of them, do you?” she asked Spike’s eyes drifted closed before he answered her.

“Not in the way that you think it should. I care because it hurts you. I care because sometimes I lie awake and think, what if one of those people had been like Nibblet. Or Red. Or Glinda. Or you.”

“I’m the Slayer.” she spat, unnoticed tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Yeah, and I’ve killed two.” He told her, his eyes turning cold for a brief instant. His entire face softened, before he spoke again. “ You being the Slayer has nothing to do with why I love you. In fact, it should be the biggest deterrent. It’s your strength, your wit. The way you smile. Your laugh, when you let yourself. The way you protect the ones you love. It’s everything about you. It’s who you would be without the super strength. The fact that you ARE the Slayer only makes those qualities stand out more.” He hazarded a step towards her, heartened when she didn’t shrink back or attack. “I love you despite you being the Slayer.”

“You can’t love. It’s the chip. . .”

“Fuck that, and you know it. You and the rest of the Scoobies can spin that tale a thousand different ways and it still doesn’t make rot. I was with Druscilla for almost all of my existence, and I can tell you that it wasn’t for her conversational skills. She made me the man I was, you made me the man I want to be.” Buffy was having a hard time thinking, she so wanted to believe him. But that oh so stubborn part of her just had to keep opening her mouth.

“You offered me up to her for a snack if I didn’t give you a chance. The chip is the only thing that has kept you from killing me, yourself. As soon as its out it’ll be bye bye love, hello lunchable.” she insisted.

“Ya know what, luv?” he bit out, his jaw clenched. “I didn’t want to tell you like this, but. . .Newsflash Slayer. The chips out, and I still love you.” He tensed, prepared for her to strike. His face was a tight mask of pride and challenge. “If you’re going to stake me, do it now, cause I won’t give you another chance. If you let me walk out of here, that proves that you feel something for me, and trust me just a little, at least.” Her face had paled, he could tell, even in the dim light from the lamps outside. Her eyes were swirling with a thousand different emotions at once. Fear not the least of them.

“Have you. . .” she started, her voice trembling. She couldn’t finish the question, but he got the idea.

“No, I haven’t. Haven’t even tried. That’s not why I got it out”

“Why. . ?” Her brain and mouth didn’t seem to be working together any more, and she couldn’t find the words she wanted.

“Because, as long as it was in, you would never believe that I had really changed. I’d still just be a serial killer in prison.” that statement brought other, even less pleasant memories to the forefront of her mind. Pushing them away, she concentrated on the problem at hand. Chipless Spike.

“How am I supposed to believe that you haven’t fed?” She felt like the room was closing in around her, and she was having trouble breathing.

“That’s something you’re going to have to figure out on your own, pet.” he told her sadly. He looked down at the book in his hand, and started flipping through pages. Finding what he wanted, he placed the book back on the table. “While you’re thinking about it, here’s another history lesson for you. Read about some of your precious Angels’ exploits. You’ll see that I was never even half the demon he was.” He then turned on his heel, preparing to leave.

“He has a soul.” Her soft words stilled him once more. Without turning back, he answered.

“Because of a curse. He changed because he had too. I changed because I wanted to. You decide which is better.” with that, he was gone in a swirl of black leather. Buffy stared after him for what seemed like forever. With a weary sigh, she finally sank bonelessly into the chair. A thought suddenly struck her, and she couldn’t believe she had overlooked it. Somebody had left that book for her to find. The stake through the center had been left there to get her attention. The question was, who? And why?

With a shake of her head, Buffy got up to walk back into the training room, grabbing the book on her way. She didn’t give herself time to think of why she was taking it. She just knew that it would somehow make her decision easier. Picking up her stuff, she flipped off the light and left out the back door, making sure it was locked. Turning down the street, she made her way home to another long, sleepless night.

~*~*~

Letting himself quietly out the backdoor of the Magic Box, the man shoved his hands deep in his pockets. A whistle blew from his lips and there was a skip in his step. His plan had worked. He had reminded her of Spike’s true nature. And now that the vampire was chipless, it would only be a matter of time before her Slayer instinct kicked in and she sent him to hell where he belonged.

He had heard every word from his position below the air conduit in the basement. The blonde was apparently too occupied to notice the scent of another person, as he made his way in and back out of the sewer entrance. It was a happy coincidence that Spike had shown up. It would have made him even happier if she had dusted him the second that the vampire had revealed that the chip was out. No matter, the truth was out. He had confidence that Buffy would take care of him. She was, first and foremost, the Vampire Slayer. Her obligation to the safety of the masses would take back burner to any fuzzy feelings she had been entertaining about him.

With a light heart, he hurried towards home. His guest would be wondering where he had gone. And he couldn’t let her wait forever.

Chapter Six

Buffy flipped blindly through the channels on the TV., her eyes drifting every so often to the book sitting ominously on the coffee table. Sighing heavily, and shifting her body away from it, she tried again to focus on the pictures flipping by in front of her. After the third time through, she flicked the TV off and tossed to remote onto the cushion next to her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked at the book again, scowling.

*I am not going to read that* she told herself firmly, standing to go into the kitchen. Two seconds later she was back in the living room, staring at the dusty old tome as if it would suddenly rear up and bite her. *No* she turned again, walking to the refrigerator. When all she encountered was two eggs, a half a jar of strawberry preserves, and a container of yogurt that looked like it had made the move from L.A. to Sunnydale with them, she slammed the door closed. Resting her forehead against the cool metal, she closed her eyes. By the time she had made it home from the Magic Box, she had convinced herself that it didn’t matter what Angel had done in the past. He had a soul now, and THAT was what mattered. Spike was just pissed that she had remembered what a monster he was.

“He changed because he had to. I changed because I wanted to.” Spike’s words drifted back to her, and she groaned aloud. *What the hell am I supposed to do?* she asked herself. Spike was chip free now. The answer should have been simple. But when was anything with Spike EVER simple?

With a sigh of resignation, Buffy turned away from the fridge, and made her way back into the living room. Perching herself on the edge of the couch, she reached out for the book three times before finally allowing her fingers to close around it. Pulling it to her, she settled back into the cushions, drawing her legs up next to her. Running her hands idly across the cover, she debated internally if she really wanted to know. *No, but when has that ever made a difference?*

Taking a deep breath, and squaring her shoulders as if preparing for battle, she opened the cover and flipped to the pages Spike had indicated. The hole in the middle of the spine made some words difficult to make out, but she got the idea. She read until her eyes felt gritty from strain, and still she read on. Tears coursed silently down her face as she discovered just what a monster Angel really had been. Angel had killed anybody and anything. He knew no discrimination. He had even killed the entire family of a demon hunter, raping the wife first and turning the daughter.

When she was finished with Angel, she reread Spike’s. The difference between the two was immense. Whereas Angel killed for sport, Spike killed for survival. Not to say that he hadn’t participated in a blood bath or two. But further reading indicted that it was because Dru’s safety had been compromised. Prague being the worst example of how far he would go to punish the people that had hurt her. He was the only vampire in the book that HADN’T killed his own family (save Dru, but that was because Angel had taken care of that for her.) From what she could tell, the only reason Spike was in this book was because he had killed two Slayers. In the demon community that demanded a respect equal to nothing in the human world. Especially since he had sought them out. The other demons that had managed to have one good day, had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not Spike, he had looked for them. In a way, it made sense. Spike always liked a good fight. What was it he said, the night that they had taken down Glory? “Always knew I would go down fighting.” Or something to that affect. He would feel that anything other than a fight to the death would be a pitiful way to die. And who better to fight than a Slayer? Who better to take down the baddest of the Big Bad than the Chosen one?

Before she knew it, Buffy was through the whole book. Tapping her fingers against the cover, she looked around the room. Suddenly, she felt the need to know more about the creatures she hunted every night. And not just the Watcher’s Councils version. Turning her head, her eyes came in contact with Willows’ computer set up on the dining room table. Placing the book on the table, she strode to it. Turning it on, she went into the kitchen to get herself something to drink. She returned a moment later, a glass of soda in her hand. Once it was booted up, she signed onto the Internet, not sure if she would even find anything. As soon as the search screen came up, she quickly typed the word that had changed her life.

VAMPIRE.

~*~*~

Soundlessly, Spike staled through the cemetery, hoping to encounter something to kill.

*Stupid little chit* he growled inwardly, the image of Buffy’s pale face and wide eyes swimming through his mind. *Fuck.* He hadn’t meant to tell her like that. Had hoped to develop a level of trust between them before he had to. But, she HAD to read that bloody book. The accusation and distrust written all over her face had nearly done him in. He’d resisted all urges to turn into a babbling idiot and had managed to keep hold of his pride. He wasn’t going to snivel, or cry, or beg for forgiveness for what he had done. He was a vampire. Killing came part and parcel with the whole night creature bit. But, the past couple of years of being around the Scoobies ad given him a new perspective.

When he had emerged from the doctors office, newly chip free, he hadn’t wanted to try out his newly regained bite. That wasn’t why he had done it. Life wasn’t about blood and destruction any more. (Okay, it still had to be about blood, but not fresh from the tap, so to speak.) Even before it had come out, whenever he tried to fantasize about killing, the random person would morph into one of the Slayerettes. More often than not it would be Dawn or Buffy. But, occasionally, it would turn into one of the others. Even Xander.

After the first time it had happened, he had cursed and screamed. Sid had cowered in the lower level of the crypt, while Spike had systematically torn apart the top. Eventually, he had accepted that his days at the top of the food chain were over. Then finally, with their acceptance of him after Glory, the thought of doing it all had completely fled his mind.

As his memories drifted to that night, his heart clenched. He had pushed Doc off the tower before he had cut Dawn. Just as he was releasing her, Buffy had emerged at the top, the look of gratitude she gave him caused his undead heart to contract once (or at least he liked to think so). Together, they had gotten Dawn off the rickety tower, joining the rest of the Scoobies on the ground. He had stood, just of the outside of the circle of friends as they hugged and cried. Feeling a little out of place, he had turned to leave, only to be called back by the Slayer. When he had turned to face them again, he saw her outstretched hand, the look on her face telling him ‘you belong’. With a look of pure awe, he had reached out to take it, her warm fingers clasping around his cool ones. He had moved into the circle, ignoring the disgust rolling off Xander (he and that boy would never get along), returned the grudging respect from the Watcher, and basked in the warmth the women had bestowed on him. That was the night he realized he was truly home.

He growled again, the sound disturbing the crows sitting on a headstone to his left. Tonight, Buffy, hater of all things related to research, decides to crack open a book. He snorted as he fished through his pockets for his cigarettes. That girl was going to drive him crazy. She was going to succeed where a hundred or so years with Dru hadn’t. Pausing to light his smoke, a scent drifted to him on the air. Closing his eyes as he took a deep drag, his head hung low in resignation.

*Not again* was all he thought as he let the smell lead him to the cause. He didn’t hurry this time, knowing that what he would find would somehow make things click in his brain, And he wasn’t sure he wanted that. His brows drew together as he neared his crypt, stopping to determine if it was coming from inside his home. Relieved that it wasn’t, he still wasn’t pleased that it was so close. Rounding the back, he stopped short, his entire body stiff as he took in the little message that was left for him.

The girl was impaled on a tree this time, spikes through the shoulders taking the place of stakes. A cross hung low between the remains of her breasts, one side dipping into the incision down her torso. The culprit had only attacked her upper torso this time, or so Spike thought. At that moment, the moon moved from behind the clouds, allowing his yellows eyes to see even more clearly. Her mouth was frozen in that Mona Lisa smile again, but that wasn’t the worst thing about her face. Where her eyes should have been, empty sockets stared back at him. *See no evil* He didn’t know what made him think of it, but something about the wide open eyes with nothing there brought it to mind. He took in the color of her hair, and the size of her body, and just as he suspected, things started to click.

The sudden whine from next to him made him jump, and he looked around to make sure that nobody had seen him.

“Hey, Sid.” he said to the dog. Sid looked from him to the body on the tree, and whined again. “Yeah, I feel the same way.” He told him, digging into his pocket for his cell. Trying to hide his accent as much as possible, he called the police. Hanging up before they could ask for his name and address, he went to the crypt to collect some of his things. The cops would be milling around here for who knew how long, not to mention that they would probably search the surrounding area, finding that somebody had taken up residence not ten feet from the body. He wanted to be long gone before that happened,

Working quickly, he grabbed what he could, than turned to leave, casting one last look around the place that had been his home for the better part of two years. Calling Sid, he walked out into the night, determined to go see Buffy once more. Whether she wanted to or not, they had to talk.

~*~*~

Pacing restlessly across the floor, he kept turning his eyes to the computer screen. Several hours had passed since he had left his present, and she still hadn’t come upstairs to get it. It had been thrilling, sneaking into her house while she was home. Knowing that any second she could walk upstairs and he would be discovered. Then he had come home, waiting patiently for her to find her gift. He wondered what she could be doing downstairs for so long. Maybe he should have placed cameras through the rest of the house, too. She was probably just downstairs watching t.v. Nothing to worry about. Really.

*There is no chance that Spike is there.* he thought with a grin. Maybe that’s what was going on. Maybe she had found his gift while he had been on his way home, and she was out dusting the blond pest this very moment. That image pleased him immensely as he envisioned the vampire’s look of shock as her stake hit home. Then she would dust her hands, as she had done every time she did just this, than go home, without a backwards glance.

Yes, he decided, this is what was happening. A whimper from the bed drew him out of his thoughts, and he turned to look at his guest.

“Tell me something.” he started, looking at the figure. “What is it with women?” His tone was conversational, his posture casual as he asked this. When she didn’t answer, he continued. “I mean, WHY do they think with their cunt and not their brains? All your kind ever seems to do is choose the wrong man, the one that will hurt you in the end. Or, you throw away good ones because they aren’t ‘exciting’.” He paused to consider, staring blindly at the wall. “You’re always looking for the next best thing, never content with what you have. None of you. My mother was like that. Bitch.” he spat. “Always telling my father what a loser he was.” A sinister smile curled his lip, making his guest whimper yet again. He moved towards her now, his nude body illuminated by the moonlight filtering in through the window. His company started to squirm on the bed at the sight.

“See what I mean? Look at you, writhing around like a bitch in heat.” He shook his head in disgust, the bed creaking as he mounted her. Her squirming increased as he plunged into her, her scream muffled by the tape across her mouth.

“Slut.” He ground out through clenched teeth. She yanked against her bonds, blood seeping from the newly reopened wounds. Pain lanced through her, and she finally just went limp. A few seconds later, he grunted in climax, his pelvic bone bruising hers as he slammed into her the final time.

Rolling away from her, he immediately walked to the bathroom, so he could wash the stink of her off. The woman on the bed closed her eyes, revolted by the feel of his cum sliding out of her to pool on the bed. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she felt the last of her hope die in her heart.

~*~*~

Rubbing a hand over her tired eyes, Buffy again focused on the screen in front of her. She had been overwhelmed by the amount of sights that had been listed in reference to vampires. Of course, most of them had to do with movies, books, or cults. She had gotten frustrated quickly, but she kept trudging through, her eyes growing blurrier with each second. Finally, after much pointing and clicking, and not staying on any one sight more than a few seconds, she came across something. It was a tiny little caption, nothing distinctive about it all. The word vampire was written in lower case letters, and their was no description under the link. But something pulled her there. Her eyes widened comically after she clicked on it. Before her eyes was a search engine. A rather large search engine. The background was white, and the lettering purple. It wasn’t flashy or elaborate. It just listed everything in an index on the side, which apparently led you to different areas for research. Everything she could ever want to know about anything supernatural was laid out before her.

Scrolling quickly through the index, she clicked on vampires-myth, legend, lies and truths. It took a full minute for the page to load, and she had almost given up by the time it popped up in front of her. Buffy’s mouth dropped open as she began to read, learning more than she ever wanted to know about vampire mating rituals, clan hierarchies, and the complexities of childe/sire bonds. She was stunned to learn that Spike was not the first vampire to fall in love with a slayer. She didn’t know what bothered her more, the fact that whoever built this sight knew that, or the fact that this person knew what a slayer was.

She was also stunned to learn that her foresisters weren’t as opposed to the idea of mating with a soulless vamp as she was. Or as she had been. She didn’t know what she was anymore. Several had chosen vampire lovers, in the days before the Watcher’s Council was created. Afterwards, it didn’t happen very often, and the Watcher usually staked the vamp, believing that his Slayer was enthralled. But the fact that it had happened, knocked her world completely on its ass.

The Slayers who had vampire mates B.C. (before Council) lived well beyond the current age expectancy. The vampires they were mated to had completely jumped sides, fighting beside their partners until death did them part.

*Is this for real* she thought to herself, not really wanting to believe it. She searched the sight for one of those ‘contact me’ buttons, but couldn’t find one. Not knowing what to believe, she book marked the sight, and logged off, needing to give her tired brain a rest. To much sensory over load over the past couple of days was going to do her in, if she didn’t rest. Stretching, she turned off the computer. She’d have to tell Giles about the sight. Willow would be smug, she thought with a smile. She was always telling Giles that they had more uses than collecting dust. If this sight was for real, then they could use it in addition to his precious books.

Walking upstairs, Buffy pushed all thoughts of vampires, slayers and dead bodies away. All she wanted to think of now was a bubble bath and bed. With the promise of hot water and cool sheets, she pushed open her door and stepped inside. Flicking on the light, she turned towards the bed, her eyes falling onto the spread. She stopped short when she saw a package sitting in the middle of the bed. Letting out an annoyed sigh, she traversed the length of carpet and snatched it off the bed.

*Spike certainly doesn’t know when to back off, does he?* she said to herself. Yanking the bow away, and pulling off the lid, she gasped when she saw what was inside. Inside was a freshly whittled stake, it’s surface cured to a dark, blonde color. Sliding it into her palm, she tested it’s weight, liking the way it felt in her hand. She felt something rough against her palm, and she turned the smooth wood over. There, in beautifully sculpted letters, was Spike’s name. Buffy felt a giggle explode from her chest.

She’d always said she had a stake with his name on it, and now, she really did. Her giggle turned into a laugh as she pondered the sick sense of humor Spike had.