Chapter 1

Buffy pushed the food around on her plate, not hungry in the least, but attempting to hide her lack of appetite from her mother. Nearly a month had passed since Spike had left town, and in that time, she’d done her best to wear her “slayer” face while around her friends and family. Claiming that she was glad Spike had left, since it had probably saved her a broken nail or two when she fought and inevitably staked him. Him and his – she shuddered to think the word – girlfriend. 

In truth, though, she was upset. Upset and not a little bit heartbroken. Even though she’d told him to go, to take Drusilla and leave Sunnydale. 

Somewhere deep inside her, she’d carried a small, niggling hope that Spike would kiss Drusilla goodbye, give up being evil, and stay with her – fighting at her side. Which was completely insane. 

Spike was one of the bad guys. 

It didn’t matter that he’d make an exception of her. She wasn’t concerned about her welfare; she could look out for herself. She was the slayer; it was her job to always be on guard. 

It was the rest of Sunnydale’s population she’d been worried about. 

Buffy glanced up and caught her mom staring, a concerned look on her face, mouth open as if to say something. Forcing a wan smile to her lips, Buffy lifted a forkful of food to her mouth and took a bite. Kept on smiling as she chewed and swallowed, until her mom – thankfully – turned back to her own plate, whatever she was going to say forgotten. 

She lasted another five minutes before pushing her chair back and excusing herself, citing an early research meeting with Giles before she was due to patrol. Leaving through the kitchen door amid calls to be careful and not too late since it was a school night. 

‘Like I have any choice in the matter,’ Buffy snorted. But then, her mom was coping with things in her own way, treating her like a normal girl, rather than the Chosen One. It was nice, if a bit surreal. 

As she stepped outside, she took note of the setting sun. In another hour it would be dark, and her work would begin. But first she had to meet up with Xander and Willow and find out from Giles if there was an impending apocalypse on the horizon. 

Things had been awkward at first between her and her friends. Willow had been apologetic in the extreme post her “ordeal”, not realizing the true extent of the stones’ power; there’d been an offer of homemade cookies. Xander had grumbled under his breath about all the things he would have done to Spike if the vampire had harmed one hair on her head, well, would have done if he’d suddenly developed super powers. Giles had watched her with eyes like a hawk; the brief story she’d given about her and Spike’s temporary truce had been met with incredulous sputtering and furious lens cleaning. 

When asked why she’d not staked Spike before she’d escaped from the club, she’d stammered for a bit and struggled to hide her blush. Finally telling Giles that she’d just been honoring the terms of their agreement. And, it wasn’t like Giles could complain since Spike had left Sunnydale as soon as he was able. 

Angel had also turned into a no-show after she’d managed to escape the stones’ magical influence. Questions as to his whereabouts prior to that had been met with indifferent shoulder shrugs from her friends, though something had rung false with Giles’ own denial of Angel’s whereabouts. 

It was almost a week before she finally saw Angel again. 

She’d been out patrolling, hoping to take out her frustration, her anger – her hurt – on a few unlucky vamps, and perhaps lighten her mood. Angel had interrupted her nightly rounds, shy in his request to help with patrol, or so he’d claimed. He’d been several feet away, having just emerged from the woods at the edge of the cemetery, and then suddenly he was beside her, tearing the scarf from around her neck and nearly choking her in the process. The scarf that had hidden the blatant bite marks Spike had left on her throat. Marks that had been immune to her slayer healing. 

“He bit you!” he’d growled, and Buffy had been unable to comment, surprised at the anger in his voice – something she’d really yet to see him exhibit. The fact that Angel had somehow been able to sense that Spike had actually bitten her without actually seeing proof the bite marks existed made her wonder just how keen vampire senses were. 

She’d tried to blow the whole thing off, claiming that Spike had gotten lucky when they’d been fighting before she’d had a chance to activate the stones; he had, but those marks had disappeared thanks to slayer healing even before she’d left the club behind. Angel had seen through her small fib, however, shaking his head before she’d even finished her explanation. 

Rather than dig herself even deeper, she’d closed up and refused to discuss it further. 

Needless to say, the night had gone downhill from there. And if she hadn’t known for a fact that Spike had indeed left Sunnydale, then she would have had cause to worry about his welfare; Angel had seemed pretty upset about the entire matter. Grumbling under his breath about disrespectful childer who overstepped their bounds, as he stormed off barely an hour after he’d joined her. 

Since then, she’d been patrolling by herself, or occasionally with Giles when he needed to record her progress in his diaries. After mentioning Angel’s return the next night to her friends, she’d waited for him to show up and lend a hand. She’d waited in vain, however. Angel had remained conspicuously absent, something her friends – and Giles – couldn’t help but notice and for which she had no answer when asked. 

Xander was happy that Angel had seemed to disappear and continued to be a no-show, if the snide comments he made at times were any indication. Apparently, he’d yet to get over being used as bait. 

And secretly, she was pleased too. It meant not having to explain Spike to Angel when she didn’t even really understand things herself. She did know that the budding whatever she had for Angel was gone. 

In its place was an unhealthy obsession for an evil vampire. A thankfully absentee one. 

Sighing, Buffy trudged through yet another cemetery, frowning at the lack of activity – vampiric or otherwise. The last several days had been that way, nothing for her to slay and no way for her to expend her restless energy. Nighttime activity in Sunnydale had become like the calm before the inevitable storm and questions to her watcher about what that could possibly mean had been met with an equally stumped expression. 

There was no looming apocalypse, no dire prophecy. 

Absolutely nothing. 

Just a freakishly quiet hellmouth. 

The only benefit of the strange situation was that she was able to go home early and actually finish her homework on time instead of trying to cram it in during her morning classes. Her grades had even improved… marginally. 

An hour later, Buffy gave up for the night. Sunnydale was deader than dead. No fledges rising, no demonic activity – not even a human fight for her to break up. As she made her way home, she let her mind wander, and as it did, thoughts turned – inevitably – to Spike. She wondered where he was and what he was doing, if he was still with Drusilla. 

‘Probably,’ she thought, somewhat snidely. 

Rather than take the streets, she cut through the cemetery closest to her house, again hoping something would jump out at her. When something slammed into her back though, it took her completely by surprise. She went limp and fell with her attacker, but only for a moment. The second she made impact with the ground, she kicked out, thus freeing herself, and flipped backwards into a crouch. Her stake came out of its hiding place and her eyes zeroed in on the thing that was about to get its ass kicked. 

She smiled, actually looking forward to the coming fight; it had been quiet for far too long. 

“You picked the wrong night and the wrong girl, buster,” she muttered. 

Buffy launched forward and slammed her fist in her assailant’s face just as he turned her way. She gasped and froze as Spike’s face recoiled from the hit, toothy grin splitting his face as he swiped the blood from his busted lip with the back of his hand. 

“Nice shot, luv.” 

“Thanks,” she replied automatically. 

“Thought you might have gone soft with nothing to do these last few nights, what with me following you for the last half hour and you in your own world. Rather sloppy of you, Slayer, come to think of it. You should always be on your guard.” 

“I was. I am. I got away from you, didn’t I? And what do you know about my patrolling? Have you been spying on me?” She very nearly put her hands on her hips as she demanded an answer, but remembered the stake she held. 

“That you did, luv. Got me good, you did. But then, it’s not like I’ve been able to keep in proper shape taking care of the little beasties you’ve got running around the hellmouth.” 

“That was you?” 

“Of course. Just getting in a spot of violence. Child’s play, really,” he replied. Somewhat smugly, Buffy could see. 

“You? But why—?” 

“Had to have something to do to relieve the boredom. ‘sides which, can’t have your watcher thinkin’ the worst of me when I show up on his doorstep askin’ for his help.” 

“Help?” 

Buffy knew she was sounding like a parrot, but couldn’t help it. Spike was back, was calmly standing in front of her and telling her he was the one responsible for how quiet Sunnydale had become lately. It was something straight out of the Twilight Zone. 

In a nervous gesture, her free hand reached up to rub at the scar on her neck. She watched, entranced, as Spike’s eyes flashed and his nostrils flared. Then he was there in front of her, pushing her hand out of the way, leaning into her neck and inhaling deeply. At the brush of Spike’s lips against her skin, Buffy’s legs went weak, and she collapsed against him, thankful when he snaked an arm around her back and held her close. 

“Let me, luv,” he murmured against her throat, practically begging for permission to bite her again. 

In answer, her head fell back, telling him without words that it was alright. She felt his face shift and then the pinprick of his fangs piercing her skin. Her breath caught, then left her on a slow exhale that was his name as he began drawing her blood into his mouth. Her stake fell unheeded from her hand, leaving herself completely vulnerable. 

She didn’t even realize her pants were undone and the zipper lowered until she felt the cool touch of his fingers against her stomach. Then they were delving into her panties. Further still until they encountered the curls covering her sex. When one finger pushed its way inside her, she went limp in Spike’s arms. 

On sensory overload, she could do nothing but give herself over as she was taken to the brink of unimaginable pleasure and then sent hurtling over its cliff. Crying out as her body experienced its first climax. Vaguely hearing Spike’s own guttural moan. 

It was some minutes before Buffy felt Spike gently swipe his tongue along her neck then give one last kiss to the fresh marks he’d made. He leaned back and she opened her eyes to see him pull his hand out of her pants and put his fingers in his mouth, sucking on each one thoroughly before reluctantly releasing them to redo her pants. She stood docilely through it all, oddly calm in the wake of her orgasm. 

“Bloody hell, but you taste delectable, pet,” he murmured against her ear when he drew her close again. 

Buffy didn’t know if it was her blood he was referring to, and she wasn’t about to ask. Just thinking about it, or where his hand had been and what it had done, was enough to cause her to blush, and she buried her face against his shoulder. 

“Come on, luv. I’ll walk you home.” 

She nodded and did her best not to melt when he stepped back and slung an arm around her shoulder as he more or less guided her back to her house. That he apparently knew where she lived was such a small blip on her freak-o-meter as to be nonexistent. Not with everything else that had just happened. 

At the door, he turned her to face him, and it was on the tip of her tongue to invite him in for a minute. The finger to her lips silenced the invitation, however, as did the negative shake of his head. 

“Later, pet. I’ll come round tomorrow night, yeah? Figure out how we’re gonna tell your watcher I’m back.” 

Buffy nodded, displacing his finger in the process. 

“Go on then. Get some kip. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Ok.” She turned to go inside. “You’re not doing anything that’s gonna make me stake you, are you?” she called out over her shoulder, having finally managed to find her voice. 

Spike was halfway down the walk, but stopped and turned around. “Not in the habit of baggin’ it, Slayer.” Then adding when she opened her mouth to object, “But I’ve been a good little vamp since I’ve come back. Blood bank’s down a coupla’ pints, but figured you’d take thievin’ over killin’.” 

Buffy bit off a retort. Spike was right, better stealing than what came naturally. She nodded reluctantly, then called out a shy goodnight. 

“’night, luv.” 

Then he was gone and Buffy was left standing in the open doorway, wondering why Spike was back – and what he needed help with. 

It was a long while before she fell asleep, her mind too busy replaying her time with Spike to settle down.

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