Title: Breaking a Slayer 1-4

By Rhi

Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, well, let's just say Angel wouldn't be yearning for Cordy and Dawn would never have existed.

Spoilers: This is loosely based on BtVS "Who Are You" and "This Year's Girl" with lines from those and from Ats "Sanctuary," however, I would call it AU because I've played bloody hell with the timelines. Dawn doesn’t exist, Buffy hasn't slept with Riley yet, Spike's feelings are more pronounced, and events happen quite a bit differently than they did in either series.

Distribution: Sure, just let me know.

Feedback: Is always nice. Email Feedback to DarkRhiannon@aol.com

Rating: NC-17 with warnings for non-consensual sex, torture, character death, other kinds of sex, slash and just general angst.

Author's Note: I'd like to be extremely forward and dedicate this to Laure Alexander and Mayaan, who inspired me.
 
 

"This Year's Girl"

Buffy: "It doesn't have to be like this, you know?"

Faith: "You took my life, B. Payback's a bitch!"

Buffy: "Going for the boyfriend again? That's tired."

Faith: "Just something to remember me by once I've moved on."

Faith countered with another roundkick, this time hitting Buffy and knocking her down. She quickly reached the fireplace and grabbed something off the mantle. It was the Mayor's present to her and she slipped the rings of the device on her thumb and fourth and index fingers, keeping the small device in place in her palm.

"Trust me, B, this will hurt you more than it hurts me, even if it *is* only temporary!" Before Buffy could hit her again, Faith grabbed her hand and held it tight, the small device between their palms. A glowing light emanated from their hands as the device activated. Then both young women fell to their knees, dazed.

[Faith] looked at their clasped hands then raised her eyes and seemed surprised as she looked at [Buffy.] [Buffy] pulled back her fist and hit [Faith] hard in the face with a right hook, sending her to the floor unconscious.

Joyce hurried into the living room. "You okay?"

[Buffy] looked down at the strange device she was holding in her hand with an awed expression on her face. "All things considered."

Joyce looked at the device in [Buffy's] hand, "What is that?"

[Buffy] glanced down at it, "Weapon of some kind."

She threw it down on the floor and stomped her boot on it. There was a flash of light as it was crushed. "Didn't work whatever it was."

There was a loud pounding on the door. "Ah, the police," said Joyce.

[Buffy] looked at the front door then down at [Faith,] lying on the broken coffee table. "She's their problem now."

Joyce nodded, "You're sure you're okay?"

[Buffy] considered the question as she looked down at [Faith.] "Five by five." She tilted her head slightly as a grin formed on her lips.

***

Buffy was in Faith's body. *What did I do to deserve this? C'mon, we saved the world. We averted the apocalypse…again. What do we have to do to catch a break here, anyway?*

There was no one to turn to in Sunnydale once she'd escaped the Watchers' hit squad. The Scoobies had been so relieved at [Faith's] capture, they'd scattered for the summer. Giles had left for a retreat in England so very excited to have been invited again that he was polishing his glasses non-stop. Willow and Tara left for a summer semester abroad and Xander had hit the road, as well. She was on her own. She snuck home through the trusty bedroom window, stole some money from Mom's wallet and took the bus to LA. Surely Angel would be able to see that it was really her.

Dejected and alone, Buffy walked the long blocks from the bus terminal to Angel's apartment. It was creepy, walking alone in the dark in the wrong body. Everything felt slightly…off. Her hearing and vision were different in subtle ways she couldn't even grasp and the body still felt weak from the switch. She knew Faith was stronger than this, but that strength was hard to reach. She desperately wanted her own body back. God only knew what Faith was doing with hers.

***

Faith was having a marvelous time at the Bronze. First, she celebrated with a little dancing of the slutty variety. When that got old, she headed for the bar. Spike walked out from under the stair case and bumped into her.

"Ooo!" Faith exclaimed.

Spike sighed in exasperation, "Oh, *you.*"

Faith had no idea who he was. She paused for a moment, "And you."

Spike glowered at her. "What? Are you keeping tabs on me? You're gonna give me a hard time now?"

Faith blinked at him questioningly. "Um, do I usually give you a hard time?"

Spike was not amused. "Very funny. Well, you don't have to worry about me drinking." He raised his beer bottle. "Unless you're here to protect innocent beers."

He walked back to stand under the stairs. Faith followed him and leaned an arm against a support. "You're a vampire."

Spike glared at her. "Was. And as soon as I get this chip out of my head, I'll be a vampire again. But until then, I'm just as helpless as a kitten up a tree. So why don't you sod off?"

Faith looked at him nonchalantly, "Okay," she said as she started walking away.

Spike was pissed. "Oh, fine! Throw it in my face!" he groused as she turned to face him again. "Spike's not a threat anymore, I'll turn my back! He can't hurt me."

Faith gasped, "Spike?" She recognized the name as the light dawned. "Spike." She started to smile as she stepped closer to him, until she was standing right in front of him. "William the Bloody with a chip in his head. I kind of love this town."

Spike scoffed at her, "You know why I really hate you, Summers?"

Faith smirked cheerfully at him. "‘Cause I'm a stuck-up tight-ass with no sense of fun?"

Spike faltered, "Well…Yeah, that covers a lot of it."

Faith continued blithely on, "‘Cause I could do anything I want, and instead I choose to pout and whine and feel the burden of Slayerness?" She shrugged, "I mean, I could be rich. I could be famous. I could have anything….Anyone." She stepped even closer, putting her hands on his chest, until their faces were only inches apart. Spike backed up until his back was against a support and Faith stayed close. "Even you, Spike," she grated in a sultry tone. "I could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up. I've got muscles you've never even dreamed of. I could squeeze you until you pop like warm champagne and you'd beg me to hurt you just a little bit more. And you know why I don't?"

Their lips were very close. Spike was suddenly consumed with desire, as his fascination with the Slayer shifted from killing her to…other things. She'd given his Sire a pretty ride, but he'd never have thought that she'd offer to do him. He hadn't even thought of her in that way. Until now. She was a gorgeous piece, and a fascinating adversary, that was certain; and her promise of pain piqued his interest…and other things. He shifted uncomfortably in his now tight pants and leaned in closer to hear her answer.

Faith chuckled at him knowingly, "Because it's wrong." She stepped around him, backing off, and Spike glared at her with lascivious eyes as she grinned back at him.

Spike hissed menacingly at her. "I get this chip out…you and me are gonna have a…confrontation."

Faith replied just as menacingly, "Count on it." She walked away. In silent rage, Spike turned in frustration and hurled his bottle against the wall where she had been standing just a moment ago. Still angered, he turned and stalked across the club towards the door, stepping between a young couple, and shoving them roughly aside. Before he could take another step, the implant in his head sent pain shooting through his skull and he raised a hand to his head. As the pain subsided he continued on the way to his crypt. Surely there he could get these inappropriate thoughts about the Slayer out of his head.

***

Faith stood in Riley's room. "You miss me

Riley smiled at her. "I did, actually. Everything's ok?"

Faith walked forward. "Everything's great."

Riley looked concerned, "What about Faith?"

Faith sat on Riley's lap, straddling him suggestively. "Faith has a won a fabulous trip to England, and I got the consolation prize, which is you."

Riley looked at her, "So I don't have to worry about Faith showing up? Though I have to admit, I was kind of curious to meet her."

Faith grasped Riley's hands and leaned back, still straddling him.

Riley gulped, "Or I was until about 30 seconds ago."

Faith sat up and leaned into him, "Oh, you wouldn't have liked Faith. She's not proper and joyless, like a girl should be. She has a tendency to give in to her animal instincts." She kissed Riley and nipped at his lip.

Riley looked at her for a moment, "Door's open."

Faith looked him up and down suggestively, "So?"

Riley gazed back, "So my fantasies don't tend to include a bunch of marines staring in at me."

Faith laughed and kissed his neck, "Oh, I didn't want them to watch, I wanted them to join in, baby. Hey, boys," she called out, "you want a piece of this action? So...how do you want me?" She crawled on the bed looking away from Riley and turned around.

Riley looked nonplussed, "How do I?"

Faith grinned wickedly at him, "Yeah. what do you wanna do with this body? What nasty little desire have you been itching to try out? Am I a bad girl? Do you wanna hurt me?" She wrapped her arms around him.

Riley was confused, "What are we playing at here?"

Faith took her arms off him, "I'm Buffy."

Riley responded, perplexed, "Ok. then I'll be Riley." Faith huffed, "Well, if you don't wanna play…" she started to leave and Riley held onto her.

"Right. I don't wanna play. He kissed her very gently and she responded as he kicked the door shut.

***

Faith climbed from Riley's bed, stretching luxuriously as he slept on. That had been fun, but hardly the ride she was expecting. Then again, miss goody two-shoes Slayer tight-ass probably loved it. Faith, however, was ready for more fun and the night was young. She dressed and strode across the campus towards the tell-tale sounds of a fraternity party. Women were more than welcome and she waltzed right on in.

The entire Phi Beta Epsilon fraternity was beer-dazed and waiting for her. Faith picked out a tall black guy and sauntered up to him. It took barely a minute to convince him that she'd *love* to see his room. Once there, she quickly divested him of his clothes and smiled in appreciation at his toned body. This should be fun. She threw her clothes to the floor and climbed onto him for a ride. He finished all too quickly, so she tossed his button-down shirt on and went after more prey. Soon, she had fucked at least half of the boys. They were amazed at her stamina. She was amazed at Buffy's body. Who knew, maybe blondes did have more fun! Even if it wasn't natural, she thought, glancing down at the boy pounding between her legs. Unfortunately, the boys were just that…boys. Not very experienced in the sack, and way too beery to be more than a few minutes ride. No danger. Boring.

Once she'd finished off the frat boys, Faith decided to head for some more serious action. She grabbed B's weapons from the dorm room she'd scouted out earlier and jogged towards the cemetery. Sure enough, plenty of vamp action tonight. She caught one fledgling just rising and dusted him in seconds. As the stake plunged home, she sent a mental thank-you to B for taking such good care of her body. The muscles moved sleekly under her tanned skin and slaying felt almost like a ballet to her with the graceful dance of death. An older vamp waiting for his minion to rise snarled fiercely at her and leaped to attack with his fangs and claws. Faith ducked the first swing, countering with a roundhouse followed by a swift uppercut and a darting jab with the stake in her right hand. Dust. As the minion rose, Faith plunged the stake into her with a swoop and continued on her way.

A sign at a biker bar known for its rough customers blinked an enticing neon at her and she obeyed its summons, stuffed the stake in her back pocket and entered. This looked like her kind of place. The dimly lit interior was full of bikers, at least twenty, drinking, shooting up and playing pool. Faith strutted to the pool table and grabbed a cue, caressing it suggestively with long slow strokes of Buffy's tiny hands. She licked her lips suggestively, and gave one of the pool players a come-on stare. He walked obediently over to her and placed one meaty paw on her stomach. "Hey, baby," she cooed, "you look like you could give me a ride to remember, wanna hop on and try me?"

He laughed, tossing his cue to his opponent and kissed her lustily. "You came to the right man, little lady. John'll ride you till you scream for mercy." He ripped open her shirt, sending buttons flying across the sticky floor and grabbed at her breasts with all the finesse of a 14 year old. Luckily, she was hot enough not to care, as he pulled her jeans off and tossed them away, leaving her clad in nothing but white cotton panties and bra. "You sure look cute in your skivvies, baby, what's your name?"

"Buffy," Faith replied, "and I can ride every man in this place till he screams for mercy."

John laughed and ripped her remaining clothes from her. She wiggled lasciviously at him and waited as he undid his belt and opened his pants. His leather chaps were worn and dusty against her legs as he leaned forward to paw at her breasts. He leaned down and took one hard nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue as he reached between her legs to probe her wetness. Satisfied that his entry would be easy, he dispensed with the foreplay and shoved his medium sized dick into her hot cunt. She moaned, more from frustration than satisfaction and hoped he'd be done quickly so she could move on to someone better endowed. John proved satisfactory in that respect, coming in mere minutes and quickly disengaging from her. Faith leaned back against the table and asked the rowdy room in a loud voice, "Ok, studs, who's next?" Three more men surged forward, bumping and pushing to take their turns with the enticing blonde. Faith was loving this.

Six men later, Faith was feeling a delicious soreness between her legs and starting to rethink taking on the whole bar. Buffy's body was lithe and supple, but clearly unaccustomed to this kind of misuse. Faith was too smart to try to leave, though, she knew that her play could easily turn into something a lot uglier if she tried to walk away now. Instead she strutted over to several men shooting up in the corner. Grabbing their fifth of Jack Daniels, she chugged the remaining two thirds and then leaned over to offer her vein to the biker with the needle. "Give me a little something, baby, and I'll give you the ride of your life," she offered.

She felt the rush of the heroin fill her body with pleasure, mixing with the JD to fuzz her senses. She leaned over and unbuckled Needle Guy's pants, then slid to her knees to take his hard cock in her mouth. She sucked hard, pulling at the skin with her teeth and cupping his balls in her hands. Faith stroked him with long hard pulls until the initial buzz from the hit wore off a bit, then she straddled the biker's body and lowered herself onto his slick, fat dick, groaning in painful pleasure as he stretched her sore hole. Suddenly, she gasped in shock and stopped moving as the world spun around her and everything went cold.

***

Buffy gasped in shock as she fell to her knees in the street outside Angel's hotel. She flinched as her body, no Faith's body, suddenly seemed to chill and shrink. Then she realized that she was outside of the body looking down on it. She could feel a tugging pulling her away from it, first slowly, then faster and faster. In a blink, she was yanked out of the city and back into her own body in Sunnydale. Shock kept her still for a moment and she shook her head as she realized that once again she was back in her own body, then she began to scream as she felt the cock ripping into her flesh. Slap. A huge hand bashed her across the face.

"Shut up, Bitch. I didn't share that expensive junk with you to have you go all ape-shit on me." The biker flipped her onto a table below him and continued his frenzied humping, spilling his seed into her as he bellowed, "Right, I'm all done, who's next to ride this pretty little thing?"

Buffy moaned pushing him off of her and trying to stand. The body switch, booze and, God, did he say heroin? coursing through her veins made it impossible to focus. She stepped away, looking around the dim bar, seeking an exit or someplace to run, but just as she saw the door and moved in that direction, another huge man grabbed her arm and twisted her around. "Now, where do you think you're going, missy? You said you'd take every man in here for the ride of his life and I'm holding you to that promise, baby!" She pushed him away, frightened and confused by her surroundings and the shock of being back in her own body in such a strange place. Her cunt throbbed painfully and she could tell that the previous man wasn't the first to have her. "I changed my mind, I was wrong, please let me go now," she pleaded as she tried in vain to pull her arm from his grasp. Her strength wasn't returning and the shock left her weak and disoriented.

The biker turned her around and pushed her face down onto the pool table with one beefy hand as he unclasped his belt with the other. "Sorry, bitch, can't change the game now," he laughed as he thrust his rock hard dick into her aching hole. She screamed and tried to writhe away, until he bashed her head into the table a half dozen times. Dizzy and nauseated, she groaned in pain as he continued thrusting. "This one likes it rough, Sam, maybe you should ride her next," he shouted to a giant of a man drinking beer at a table nearby. He stood up and walked towards them, unbuckling his belt and opening his pants as Buffy's rider came with a howl. He pulled out and she fell to the floor and retched uncontrollably.

Seemingly unconcerned with the state of his victim, Sam grabbed her by her long blonde hair and pulled her to her feet. She moaned as he slapped her across the face, and tried to block with her left arm. He hauled off and belted her across the right side of her head, sending stars swirling across her vision. Then he grabbed her aching head and pushed her to her knees in front of him. She gasped for air and he thrust his long cock into her mouth, bruising the back of her throat and making her gag. He pumped in and out of her unresisting lips, hitting her throat on every thrust. She gagged and gasped for air as her pounding head ached in time with his thrusts. After what seemed an eternity, he came, filling her throat and mouth with foul-tasting cum. He pulled out and she fell to the filthy floor, gagging and retching until her empty stomach ached.

She lay there in a daze, grateful for the momentary respite until she noticed a pair of dirty black boots in front of her. She looked up to see another huge man staring down at her with an evil grin on his face. He grabbed her now dirty hair and pulled her up to stand shivering in front of him. She flinched as he traced each bruise swelling on her face. He trailed his meaty fingers down her battered and painful rib cage pushing roughly on every contusion. She moaned helplessly, too spent to even try to resist him. Everything was hazy and indistinct to her tired eyes, everything, that is, except the pain pounding in nearly every inch of her tormented body.

Grinning, the man turned her around and threw her onto the pool table again, face down. She heard the zip as he opened his jeans and felt his hands spread her aching legs. Without warning, he plunged his dick into her virgin ass, ripping through the outer ring of muscle with one violent thrust before pushing himself as deeply into her body as he could reach. Buffy screamed in helpless agony, momentarily shocked from her daze by the extraordinary pain in her now bleeding ass. She screamed again, as his hands reached around to grab her bruised nipples, twisting and pinching them until pain rocketed from them to her cunt and back again. He used her breasts as handles, pulling her toward him and then thrusting again and again into her ass until he was slick with her blood. She prayed to pass out from the pain, but he kept her just this side of unconsciousness, seeming to savor every hoarse scream she uttered. Finally, when she had screamed her throat raw, and couldn't utter a sound above a low, pain-filled moan, he came, filling her bloody, abused ass with scalding cum and pulling out at last.

He dropped her to the floor, kicked her once in the ribs and yelled, "Let's ride." As they strode from the bar into the early dawn light, the bikers kicked her until she was covered in bruises from head to toe. Blissful unconsciousness seized her finally, and she passed out before the bartender tossed her battered body into the back alley to live or die as she saw fit.

***

Chapter 2

Author's Note: Many many thanks to Laure for betaing Chapter 1 for me. Any mistakes are mine, but the story is much better for her criticism.
 
 

"Out of My Mind"

Buffy stalked into Spike's crypt. "I'm done." She took a stake from her back pocket and walked toward a surprised looking Spike. "Spike, you're a killer. And I should'a done this *years* ago."

Spike looked her in the eye. "You know what? Do it. Bloody just do it."

Buffy looked at him in surprise. "What?"

Spike glared at her. "End...my...torment. Seeing you, every day, everywhere I go, every time I turn around. Take me...out of a world...that has you in it!" He yanked off his shirt and threw it aside. "Just kill me!"

Buffy stared at him, then raised her stake and lunged. Spike winced, but she stopped at the last minute. They stared into each other's eyes. Suddenly Spike grabbed Buffy by the upper arms and kissed her passionately. She returned the kiss. It went on for a moment and then Buffy pulled back with a little noise of dismay, bringing her hand to her mouth. She stared at Spike and he stared back, both panting. The stake was gone from her hand.

Slowly Buffy dropped her hand from her mouth and walked back to Spike, putting both her hands to the back of his head and pulling him down toward her. They kissed again, very passionately. Spike brought his hands up to clutch her back, kissing her cheek and the side of her neck.

Buffy panted, "Spike...I want you."

Spike moaned into her neck, "Buffy, I love you," then pulled back. "God, I love you so much."

Spike sat up in bed with a gasp with Harmony sleeping next to him. He looked horrified, while Harmony continued to sleep.

Spike groaned, "Oh, god, no. Please, no."

***

Spike was strolling along, trying to get his too-real dream out of his mind so he could properly enjoy the early twilight and the fifth of Jack Daniels in his hand when he smelled familiar blood. Peering into the alley behind Rudy's Bar, he saw a naked and badly beaten figure crawling slowly toward the street. He stood, interest momentarily piqued, while he tried to place the scent. This held possibilities. Once it died, he could drink before the blood cooled, though it looked as if a lot of it was already lost. As the pathetic figure neared the light, he realized with shock that it was Buffy. She looked like death. One eye was beaten completely shut, caked with blood, swollen and black. The other wasn't much better, though it was open, at least. Her naked body was covered from head to toe in vicious bruises, many seeping blood and from the telltale rasp of her labored breathing, at least half her ribs were broken. He flinched in disgust at the myriad scents about her body - sickness and blood combined with cum, booze and drugs in a sickening haze. She didn't seem to know he was there, continuing her mindless progress, crawling forward one halting foot at a time.

"Slayer?! What the hell happened to you?" He knew it was a stupid question - clearly she'd been raped. He couldn't reconcile this broken girl and the earthy, flirtatious, female he'd run into yesterday.

Buffy froze, her already thready heartbeat quickening as she turned her head to look at him out of her good eye. "Spike," she rasped through a throat that had clearly taken its own abuse, "I bet this is a dream come true. Enjoying yourself?"

Spike stood transfixed, trying to process the sight of his now-helpless nemesis. He should feel victorious, he knew, at the very least, amused. This was, if not precisely what he'd wanted to do to her, close enough that he should feel something other than…Satan's balls…was that pity? No, hell no, he didn't want to help her, he thought, as he tossed his JD and cigarette to one side with a crash and somewhat spectacular burst of flame and whipped off his duster. He crouched to lay it softly over her battered form. He lifted her gently into his arms and she groaned in fresh agony as her ribs grated audibly. "Shh, Slayer, it's all right. I'm just takin' you to hospital," he whispered and started walking the 4 blocks to the hospital. "Slayer, who the hell did this to you. You weren't fighting demons last night." The combined smells off of her were making him sick; his skull pounded with pain, the chip humming to life as his demon tried to surface and finish the job that others had nearly completed. In between surges of migraine, his bloodlust warred with his conflicted heart, and he flickered back and forth in and out of game face until he got himself under control.

Buffy snorted a laugh, which turned into a blood-filled cough. The pain in her ribs flared with each gasping breath. "No, Spike, demons didn't do this, men did," she wheezed. "With a little help from my sister slayer."

Light dawned on Spike. "Faith! That was her I saw last night, not you, wasn't it? Her in your body?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"Oh, God, did she, did I…did we…?" Buffy coughed to a stop, unable to finish. She looked away from him with her one good eye then closed it wearily as blood dripped from one corner of her bruised mouth to run down her chin.

"Don't worry Slayer, apparently I'm the only man she didn't fuck last night. From the smell of you anyway. When did you get," he felt her flinch in his arms and realized he'd struck a nerve. "Oh, shit, she switched back before they were done, didn't she?" Buffy met his eyes with her one good one for a moment, pain and shame flashing across her battered face, before she looked away, too humiliated to say anything.

"Buffy, it wasn't your fault, it's not as if you chose this," Spike listened to himself comforting her in disbelief, not comprehending why he was even doing it, except that seeing her pain and shame did something to him. He didn't want her like this, not brought down by cattle, for fuck's sake. He wanted to be the demon she bowed before, not the one picking up the pieces. *Gods, I really am love's bitch,* he thought to himself disgustedly as he held her close.

"She must have taken drugs along with the alcohol," Buffy whispered. "Even after the shock of the switch was gone, I still couldn't focus to fight…everything was fuzzy and I felt sick…and…they wouldn’t stop…they wouldn't…they just kept going and going and it hurt so much and…I couldn't get away and…" her hoarse voice rose in hysterical sobs as she shook in Spike's arms. Tears leaked from her abused eyes, running down her filthy face and mixing with the blood and cum dried there.

Spike was saved from having to respond to the increasingly upset girl by his arrival at the hospital. He carried her into the ER, yelling, "Oi! Get me a doc over here, now! Found this chit in an alley, she needs help now!"

A matronly nurse bustled them into an alcove and shooed Spike away as she covered Buffy with a warm blanket. A moment later she handed him his duster and pulled him aside. "Where did you find that poor girl. Are you a friend of hers? She's been terribly hurt."

"A friend, um…ah, I guess…yah, I am," Spike finally blurted out. He wouldn't feel this concerned about her if he wasn't something, right? And all her scoobs were gone for the summer - he vaguely remembered - he'd been gloating about it earlier in the week, planning to hit her while her defenses were down. "I found her in the alley behind Rudy's Bar."

The nurse nodded, "I'm amazed she's alive, they're usually dead when they dump them there. Well, she's going to have to go through the rape kit, which will be a while. Is there someone else you can contact for her?"

Spike shook his white-blonde head. "No one but me. Can I stay?" he asked uncertainly.

"That would be good," the nurse said. "She needs all the support she can get right now, poor little thing. I'll call you when you can come in and see her."

Two hours later, Spike was ushered into a semi-private room off of the ER's main floor. Buffy, cleaned and bandaged up, looked considerably better than she had earlier, but still worse for the wear. Clearly her Slayer's healing was kicking in. Both eyes opened now, though one was still blood red. She looked up at his entrance. "Spike…" she paused. "I just wanted to say…thank you. You could have left me there to die. You could have handed me off to another demon to finish. I don't really know why you didn't. But, thanks anyway." She looked down at her bandaged hands, then up at him. "You were there right when I needed you. You're always there. I don't understand it. But I'm grateful."

"Don't want your gratitude, Slayer," Spike mumbled, glancing down from her soft eyes. "Wouldn't have been cricket to kick you while you were down. Least not tonight. Like you better all feisty and bitchy anyway," he grinned wickedly at her for a moment.

"Spike, I need another favor. I'll really owe you for this, but…I've got to get to LA. Tonight. Faith is there…it's where I went in her body. I have no idea what she's going to do, but I'm sure she'll try to kill Angel. She hates him almost as much as me. I can't reach him on the phone…I'm really worried. Will you take me…please?" She looked earnestly up at him and he felt his world tilt on its axis.

"Slayer. Buffy, have you taken a good look at yourself? You're not going to offer her any kind of a fight in this shape. Hell, they probably won't even let you leave in this condition. What good can you do the great pouf like this?" He wasn't jealous of the obvious love shining from her eyes. He wasn't! Was he?

"I have to try, Spike. I have to stop her. She's my responsibility. And even though he left me, he's still…" her voice trailed off as she looked down for a moment.

"He's still your mate, Slayer. Spike muttered. "He marked you, you'll be his mate till you die. I can sense him in your blood, even now." Buffy looked up at him in shock, then down again, disturbed that something she still didn't understand was so obvious to him.

"Not anymore. He doesn't want me. Anyway, it doesn't matter what you call it, Spike, I have to help him if I can. Will you drive me?"

"Yah, Slayer. I'll go get the bloody DeSoto. And some clothes from your room. You figger out how you're gonna get the hell out of here." Spike stomped out of the hospital, lighting up a fag as soon as he cleared the doors and wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into now.

***

"Sanctuary"

Angel caught the quarrel Faith shot at his back. Faith smirked at him, "This is going to be fun!"

*

Faith collapsed in Angel's arms. "I'm bad. I'm bad! I'm evil! Please just do it. Just kill me. Just kill me."

*

A wet and slightly beaten up Faith and Angel rode down the elevator to his apartment.

Angel turned to her. "Faith. Come on. He led her over to his bed and Faith sat down, arms wrapped around herself. "It's okay. Rest here." He wrapped a towel around her shoulders. Faith slowly laid down and Angel covered her with a blanket. "You rest now." He picked up Faith's backpack and put it on a chair next to the bed. "I'll put your stuff here. I'll be close." He turned and started to leave.

Faith looked at him, "Angel."

Angel turned back, "Yeah?"

It was impossible for Faith to say what she needed to. "Nothing," she said.

Angel left.

**

Angel came down with the box of doughnuts to see that his bed was empty and made.  He looked around, calling, "Faith?" before he saw her leaning against the wall leading into the kitchen. "I have doughnuts."

When she didn't react he put the box down on a chair and slowly walked closer. "I understand what you're going through, and I want to help...but there are a few things you have to do. First, I need you to give me that knife." He held out his hand.

Faith looked down at her hand.  She slowly lifted the big butcher knife she was holding, hesitated for a moment, then handed it to Angel handle first.

Angel looked at her in concern. "You should be resting."

Faith glared at him. "I've been asleep for eight months. You rest." She sat on his bed. Buffy's voice echoed in her head, "Faith no!" She saw herself staking Finch, saw his blood-covered hands, and then flashed on Buffy again, saying, "You killed a man." She heard herself respond, "I don't care." She got up and packed her backpack.

Angel walked in. "Faith."

Faith just looked at him then went back to packing.

Angel gazed at her, "You're in no condition to leave here. You walk out that door now and you'll be running for the rest of your life. And my bet is it'll be a pretty short run."

Faith walked past him. "You know what? It doesn't matter."

Angel stepped between her and the door. "It does matter. It matters to me."

Faith glared at him. "Why are you doing this? Why are you being nice to me? Just…stop it. You gonna step aside or do we throw down? I mean, am I your prisoner here?"

Angel said, "No.  You're not my prisoner."

Faith glanced down. "So I'm free."

"I don't know about that," Angel said, sliding the door behind him open, "but the door is open."

Faith walked past him.

Angel said to her, "Where are you gonna go? Back out in that darkness?" Faith hesitated then kept walking. "I once told you that you didn't have to go out in that darkness." Faith slowly stopped with her back to Angel "Remember? That it was your choice. Well, you chose. You thought that you could just touch it." He walked slowly closer to her. "That you'd be okay. 5 by 5, right, Faith? But it swallowed you whole. So tell me," he stood behind her, "how did you like it?"

Faith turned and slugged him, hard. He didn't retaliate, just slowly turned back to look at her. Faith stared for a moment then looked anywhere but at him. "Help me?" she said hesitantly.

Angel replied, "Yeah."

*

Faith was leaning on the microwave in Angel's kitchen. The box of doughnuts was sitting on top of it, still closed.  Angel came in.

Faith looked at him, "So, how does this - work?"

Angel stood there. "There is no real simple answer to that. I won't lie to you and tell you that it'll be easy, because it won't be. Just because you've decided to change doesn't mean that the world is ready for you to. The truth is, no matter how much you suffer, no matter how many good deeds you do to try to make up for the past, you may never balance out the cosmic scale. The only thing I can promise you is that you'll probably be haunted, and may be for the rest of your life."

Faith gestured to the microwave, "So how does *this* work?"

Angel blinked a couple times, then walked over to program it. "Uh…power level, time, start…Sure that popcorn is gonna be enough for you?"

"Yeah. I can live off the stuff. Tell Cordelia I'll pay her back." She said.

"Actually I think it belonged to Wesley," said Angel.

Faith grimaced, "Oh, maybe we…just don't mention it then."

Angel stopped. "Maybe we do."

Faith blanched. "Are you saying I got to apologize?"

Angel asked, "Think you can?"

"I don’t know. How do you say 'Gee, I'm really sorry tortured you nearly to death?'" she was trying for flip, but it fell a bit flat.

Angel said harshly, "Well, first off I think I'd leave off the 'Gee.' And secondly I think you have to ask yourself, are you?"

Faith: "What?"

Angel: "Sorry."

Faith just looked at him. "And what if I *can't* say it? There are some things you can't just take back, no matter how sorry you *are,* right?"

Angel agreed, "Yeah, there are. I've got some experience in that area."

Faith nodded at him, "Right. And you've been doing this for a hundred years! I'm not gonna make it through the next ten minutes."

"So make it through the next five, the next minute," said Angel encouragingly.

Faith said, "I don't think I can."

Angel argued, "Yes, you can."

Faith walked away. "God, it hurts. I hate that it hurts like this."

Angel followed her. "Oh well, it's supposed to hurt. All that pain, all that suffering you caused is coming back on you. Feel it! Deal with it! Then maybe you've got a shot at being free."

Faith let out something between a laugh and a sob. "I've got to be the first Slayer in history sponsored by a vampire."

Angel smiled ruefully, "Yeah, well, I've got some experience in that area, too."

Faith stopped suddenly. "Oh god. B! How am I ever going to make things right with her?"

Angel said, "Faith, this isn't about Buffy."

"All my life there was only one person that tried to be my friend, went out of her way when I had no right or reason to expect her to. And I screwed her. Not to mention her boyfriend, only, him literally, and I left her body there in the bar…shit!" she cursed.

Angel said, "Faith, you and I never actually..."

Faith interrupted, "No, not you. The new one." Angel stared for a moment then looked down. "Oh, my god. Angel, I'm so sorry I..."

Angel choked out, "No, there. You *can* say it. That's good." He turned away. "Good."

Faith was eating popcorn while flicking through the channels on Angel's TV. Something scampered by behind her, unnoticed. A wet and steaming Angel stuck his head out of the bathroom. "Is everything okay in there?"

Faith sniped at him, "It was touch and go for the four minutes you left me alone, but somehow I got through it."

"Listen to me Faith," said Angel. "You're safe here. You hear me? You're safe." The thing hanging on the ceiling picked that moment to drop down on top of them. It threw Angel away from Faith, then tossed her onto the sofa, overturning it, when Angel came back at it. The thing tossed him toward Faith and he pushed her into the kitchen to get her out of harm's way then took ahold of an overhead beam and swung both feet into the thing's face. In the kitchen, Faith grabbed the big butcher knife and hurried back to the fight. Angel went sliding past the opening to the kitchen. The thing was charging him as Faith came up behind it and stabbed it with the butcher knife.

A few blows later the thing lay dying on the floor. Faith was staring at the bloody knife in her hand as Angel picked himself up. "No." She dropped the knife and stared at her hands, gasping and shaking her head.

Angel crooned quietly, "Hey. Hey. Hey. Shh. Hey." He lead her over to the bed "Sit down. Shh. It's, it's okay." Faith wrapped her arms around Angel's neck, careful not to touch him with her bloody hands. "Hey. It's gonna be okay. Okay?" Angel held her gently. "Shh. Alright?"

He looked up as Buffy came haltingly down the stairs. "It's Buffy. Buffy," he looked at her while he slowly stood, backed away from Faith, and buttoned his shirt. I didn't know you.…" He stopped, staring at her bruised face and slow walk. He inhaled, and his eyes glowed gold for a moment, before he turned his back on Buffy and faced Faith once again.

Buffy limped further into the room:  "What..." She looked from him to Faith still sitting on the day bed staring at her bloody hands, then back to Angel. "How... What are you doing?"

"She…we were attacked," Angel said.

Buffy choked, "We? You and..."

Angel filled in, "Faith."

Buffy paused, "You and Faith."

Angel looked guilty, "Oh, it's not what you think."

Buffy looked at him, "You actually think that I can form a thought right now? I thought that, that she tried to kill you."

Angel said quietly, "That's true."

Buffy grated, "So you decided to punish her with a severe cuddling."

Angel asked, "Is that why you're here? To punish her?"

Buffy stared at him, "I was worried about you."

Faith looked up, "Buffy. Oh, god."

Buffy walked haltingly closer to Faith, trying not to limp. Faith cringed away from her. "You didn't think I was going to find you, did you?" Buffy asked.

Angel tried to calm the situation. "Buffy, let's talk."

Buffy spat, "Oh, I don't think talk is in order right now."

Angel said, "She needs help."

Buffy whipped around to face Angel, then hissed as her broken ribs protested with shooting pain. "Help?" she choked out, "Do you have any idea what she did to me?"

"Yes," he said, thinking of the "boyfriend" and the others he could scent on her and trying to keep his demon in check.

Buffy asked desperately, "Do you care?"

Angel said solemnly, "She wants to change. She has a chance to..."

Buffy was so angry she could barely speak. "No. No chance. Jail."

Faith slowly got up. Angel said, "You think that'll help?"

Faith:  "Buffy..." Buffy whipped around to face her, wincing at the pain in her battered rips. "I'm sor..."

Buffy gritted, "Apologize to me and I will beat you to death." Buffy clutched her side, trying not to let on how badly she still hurt.

Faith said quietly, "Go ahead."

Angel stepped in front of Faith. "This is not gonna happen."

Buffy looked at Angel, "You're gonna stop me? Because you're gonna have to."

Faith shook her head, "Don't do this."

Angel said, "Faith, go upstairs, now."

Buffy couldn't believe this was happening. "You think I'm gonna let her out of my sight?"

Angel said tersely, "Buffy, just back off."

Buffy glared at him, "There is no way I'm letting her out of my sight."

Angel turned, "Faith, go!"

Faith went toward the stairs and Buffy moved to stop her. "Don't you move a..."

Angel caught her arm and she turned to punch him full in the face. It lacked her usual oomph. She hauled back to hit him again, but Angel blocked her fist and hit her across the face in return. Angel stepped back as Buffy stared at him with a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Buffy said disbelievingly, "You hit me."

Angel spoke quietly, "Not to go all schoolyard on you, but you hit me first. In case you've forgotten, you're a little bit stronger than I am."

Buffy clutched her bruised jaw. "You did it for *her.* She's playing you.  She tried to kill you!"

Angel paused. "That was just - that was just a cry for help."

Buffy laughed bitterly, "A cry for help is when you say 'help' in a loud voice."

Angel tried to reason with her. "I know Faith did some bad things to you."

Buffy was so angry she could spit. "You can't possibly know."

"And you can't possibly know what she's going through," Angel muttered.

Buffy glared at him from her bruised eyes, "And of course, you do? I'm sorry.  I can't be in your club.  I never murdered anybody."

Faith looked at her, "Angel said there was no way you were gonna give me a chance."

Buffy screamed at her, "I gave you every chance! I tried so hard to help you, and you spat on me. My life was just something for you to play with.  Angel…Riley…my body…anything that you could take from me…you took. I've lost battles before…but nobody else has -ever- made me a victim."

"And you can't stand that.  You're all about control." Faith yelled. "You have no idea what it's like on the other side!  Where nothing's in control, nothing makes sense!  There is just pain and hate and nothing you do means anything.  You can't even…" She left.

Buffy yelled "Shut up!" at Faith's retreating back.

Angel looked at her earnestly, "I needed more time with Faith. I'm not sure."

Buffy was dumbstruck. "You needed…Do you have any…idea what it was like for me to see you with her?"

Angel said angrily, "Buffy, this wasn't about you! This was about saving somebody's soul. That's what I do here, and you're not a part of it. We stay away from each other."

Buffy said, "I came here because you were in danger."

Angel growled at her, "I'm in danger every day.  You came because of Faith. You were looking for vengeance."

Buffy glared at him. "She's my responsibility."

Angel:  "Not in my city. Buffy, Faith told me everything. She knows she's done bad things, but she's really sorry now and I feel that we should all forgive her. None of us are innocent, we've all made bad decisions here."

Buffy stared at Angel in disbelief. "What? You think…huh?"

Angel looked sternly at Buffy, "I know she hurt you, but you hurt her too. Let's not act like spoiled children here, she deserves a chance to redeem herself."

"She got that when she woke from her coma, Angel. I can't believe you're taking her side against me."

Angel glared at her in a fury. "Buffy, you come in here bloody and reeking of drugs and booze and twenty different men and expect me to act rationally? Their scent is all over you. Gods, I'm sick even smelling it. What, was Riley not enough for you?" He stalked over to her, looked her up and down with a sneering glance and inhaled, running his nose an inch from her hair as he moved down to her neck before scenting her breasts through her shirt, as well. "God! I smell Spike on you too," he growled, enraged. "Vamps have more stamina, is that it? He'll need it to keep up with a slayer," he sneered. "I left you to find life in the sunlight and Spike is what you've sunk to?" His game face slid on as he spoke and the demon glared at her through her soulmate's now-golden eyes, furious at the smell of other males on his mate. "I can't believe that you have the nerve to stand in front of me like this," he growled. "It's disgusting. This makes me want…god, just get out, get out of my city, go back to Sunnydale and stay there, ok? I can take care of Faith."

Buffy's face blanched white as she stepped back from him in shock. He was disgusted with her? He thought she was dirty?

Angel growled, "It's nice you moved on. I can't. You found something new. I'm not allowed to, remember? I see you again it cuts me up inside and the person I share that with is me! You don't know me anymore and I certainly don't know you. The Buffy I knew would never have done this. So don't come down here with your great new life and *expect* me to do things your way. Go home!"

She looked into his angry golden eyes and saw the disgust and pain in them. God, he was right, the quick wash at the hospital wasn’t enough. They were still all over her and she had to get away and hide. Her skin crawled with the need to get their touch, their scent, their cum off of her. Now. Shaking with self-loathing, Buffy looked at Angel for a moment then limped to pick up her jacket, while he walked over to the wall and braced his hands against it.

"Faith wins again," she whispered.

Angel spoke in a cold voice without looking at her:  "Go."

She backed away and stumbled up the stairs from his apartment, limping away as fast as she could. After a moment, Angel slammed his hands against the wall and sighed.

Tears of pain and shame poured from Buffy's eyes and sobs racked her tiny frame. She stumbled away from the surprised and curious eyes of Wesley and Cordelia, who were nursing bruises of their own from Faith.

Crying hoarsely, Buffy threw herself into Spike's DeSoto, begging, "Please, Spike, don't say a word, just take me home now." Curling into a small painful ball, she sobbed the entire way back to Sunnydale as her heart broke. Spike was blessedly silent, concentrating on the road to distract himself from the myriad scents on the Slayer. She was his enemy, damn it, he wouldn't feel sorry for her. He kept telling himself that, over and over until they reached Sunnydale. He pulled into her driveway and she thrust a handful of money at him. "Thank you for the ride," she whispered hoarsely, as she limped from the car into the early morning darkness.

Inwardly kicking himself, Spike dropped the bills to the seat and got out of the car, following her slow progress to the door. "Slayer," he paused as she looked at him wearily from her bruised and battered face…"Buffy, do you need…help?"

She cringed from his concern. "I'm that pathetic, huh, Spike. Even you can't kick me when I'm this down…is that what you said? Don't worry about me. I'll heal this in a couple of days once the drugs and booze are completely gone from my system." She unlocked the door and walked into the house as he hovered in the doorway.

Spike turned to leave, thinking, "Bloody idiot, how stupid are you anyway, like she wants your bloomin' help," when suddenly he hear Buffy scream, "Mom? Mom? Mommy!!" He sprinted back into the house, momentarily surprised that she hadn't spelled him out again, and raced into the living room where Buffy was clutching Joyce's hand and screaming. He could tell in seconds that Joyce was gone. 126 years of life and unlife left him with great expertise in death. Joyce was as cool to the touch as he himself, clearly she'd been dead for a while.

Buffy was frantically attempting to perform CPR on her mother as Spike called 911, but he could tell it wouldn't work. As the sirens wailed their way closer, he wondered what would happen to the Slayer now.

***

Angel was happy. He sat for a moment, savoring the unexpected feeling. Things had been going so well. Wesley had stayed on with them and used his connections to beg, borrow and finally bribe an ancient manuscript from a local dealer It held a spell to finally anchor Angel's soul. After a blood fast for an entire uncomfortable fortnight, Angel had drawn the circle, stepped naked into the pentagram, and said the spell on Beltane eve. It wasn't complete yet, he still had to observe the other solstices, but it was a start to possibilities he'd been unable to even contemplate after Buffy's disastrous 17th birthday. There was no one he wanted but Buffy anyway, and she had noticeably moved on. Even if she wanted him back, he knew he couldn't fit into her new world of university classes and dating. If that was what they called it these days. He still had trouble believing that the passionate but chaste virgin he'd loved so tenderly was fucking that many different men. Perhaps it wasn't her fault, maybe she'd had too much to drink. He knew how pent up she was after slaying. He'd sent a note and some flowers to her house, but hadn't heard anything back. She definitely needed to straighten out her life. He hoped that some of his comments to her had made her stop and consider what the heck she was doing. If things just stayed quiet here for another week or so, maybe he could go to Sunnydale and talk to her.

"You stupid hells-forsaken paddy! Were you tryin' ta make another Dru or do you just have this effect on all women? Gods, you make me fuckin' sick, you bastard…"

Angel looked up in surprise at the bleached blond whirlwind storming into his dark office. His last few weeks since doing the spell had been remarkably easy. Simple demons to dispatch; occasional brooding; visiting Faith in prison. She was adjusting fairly well, all things considered, and he'd been commending himself on a job well started, if not done. What the hell was Spike doing in LA, anyway, and what on God's green earth was he yammering on about?

"…if you think I'm stickin' around to watch her self-destruct, you got another bloomin' thing comin'. I'm evil!!! I'm not pickin' up the pieces again for you, you bloody poof. I'm out a this bollixed up excuse for a country soon as I come to rights, ya hear me?!"

Spike had certainly worked himself up into a lather, but who was he talking about, anyway? It sounded like Dru, but then again, Angel thought he'd already mentioned his other childe.

"Spike, hold on, what are you going on about anyway? Why are you here? What pieces?" Angel was genuinely confused.

Spike stopped abruptly, mid-tirade. "What? D'ya mean you have no bloomin' notion? You're dumber than I thought, you pillock! The Slayer! That's who I'm talkin' about. You have no idea? What the hell do you think's been goin' on anyway?"

"Spike, I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't seen Buffy for almost two months. I know we didn't part on good terms, but why would you think I…"

"You stupid bastard. You destroyed her. She got up out of hospital, against her doc's orders, made me drive her all the way here 'cause she was so worried about you and what that bitch might do to you. I don't know what the hell you said to her, but whatever it was, she believed you. She didn't say a bloody word to me the whole way back to Sunnyhell. Just sat there and cried, bruised and bloody and hurtin'. Last time I saw her, at the funeral, she told me she didn't deserve me takin' care of her. ME! She won't see me, and her stupid wank of a Watcher is back in merry old England for the summer. Her friends scarpered off to parts unknown for holiday and with her mum gone, she's all alone. And she won't take my blinkin' help." Spike's tirade wound down like a listing top as Angel stood there, dumbstruck.

"Joyce is…"

"Dead. Yah. And Buffy can't even seem to care. She just slays. I doubt she's eaten more than a bite in weeks. She's, I dunno, broken or something. And it's to do with what Faith did to her. And what you did to her after."

"Spike, I didn't do anything to her. I mean, I hit her once, yes, but nothing she couldn't handle. She's stronger than me. I know she and Faith fought and Buffy looked pretty beat up, but I told her that Faith deserved a second chance and that maybe we were to blame for some of what happened…" Angel's voice dropped off at the expression on Spike's face. He didn't think he'd ever seen his childe more enraged, and that was saying a hell of a lot considering all the situations they'd been in together on the same or opposite sides.

"You WHAT? You fuckin' bastard. How could you?!" Spike lunged for Angel's throat, game face on and hands reaching to tear into his sire's throat. Angel jumped backward in shock, backhanding Spike away with long-practiced ease.

"What the hell is your problem, Boy?" he roared, thrust momentarily back in Sire-mind and incensed that his childe would dare go for his throat.

Spike slugged him across the face, and then shot a right to his chest before Angel grabbed him. "They barely fought. That's not how Buffy got hurt. Buffy told me Faith stole her body and fucked half a fraternity with it, not to mention that wanker Riley. Then she went to Rudy's and taunted the entire friggin' bar into raping the Slayer on a god-forsaken pool table while she switched back into her own body and came here for you, you stupid poof. And that's what you told Buffy didn't matter when she came here to save you? You drank her, you marked her, you left her, you betrayed her, you hit her and then you sent her away so's you could play nursemaid to the one who poisoned you in the first place. You make me friggin' sick." Spike was crying now, tears of rage and pain, as he sagged in front of Angel. "She's dropped out of university. Can't show her face there now with all the bastards who've had her. Bank took the house, cause she's got no money, she can't stay at the dorm now that she's dropped out. She's livin' in some hole and only comin' out at night to slay with no one to help her…" he trailed off and growled his anger at his obtuse sire.

"Raped? But… I didn't know. She didn't tell me…" Angel trailed off remembering what else he'd said to Buffy that day.

"What, has the soul bollixed up your sense of smell as well as your brain, Sire? Couldn't you smell 'em all on her? It was near to makin' me hurl in the car on the way here and back. But she said there wasn't time to wait 'cause she was all a scared since she couldn't ring you on the phone."

Angel blanched. "I didn't know. I smelled the drugs and booze on her. I, I…thought she'd moved on, found someone, something else to…."

"What? She was a friggin' virgin when you had her. Did'ja think she'd just gone out for a friendly gang-bang on her own?!" Spike's tone was incredulous as he looked into his Sire's eyes. "You did! You bloody idjit. She wouldn't even let that corn-fed Iowa boyfriend of hers do more than kiss her and you thought she'd gone out an screwed three dozen men. Satan's balls, you make me sick. You bloody bastard."

"God. I told her she disgusted me. I said…" Angel trailed off, remembering the hateful things he'd spouted at his soul-mate. "I have to see her, I have to help her." He pushed Spike out of his way and strode to the safe. "Damn. I've got to finish up a few things here before I can leave for a long while." Opening the safe and removing a stack of money, he thrust it at Spike and closed and locked the safe. "Take this and help her with it, Childe." He flipped through the files on his desk, muttering to himself. "That one's done, this'll wait, this is done. I have to talk to Cordy and Wes before I leave, but he should be able to take over for me. He's wanted an excuse to stay anyway. You go back tonight and I'll come tomorrow as soon as it's dark. I can stay at the mansion. Do you know where she's living?"

"Hank's motel. The same one Faith lived in," Spike growled in a surly voice, unsure now whether fetching his sire had been a good idea. Hells, it couldn't be worse, he didn't give the Slayer more than a couple weeks the way she'd been going. He turned to leave.

"Spike, wait…I…I may need your help with her. Will you help me? Please?" Angel's chocolate-brown gaze focused on his childe. "I know I don't deserve it, but she…she may need us both."

Spike scowled at the floor for a moment. Helping meant admitting that his feelings for the Slayer were not all an enemy's should be. But hell, he was love's bitch and he'd already admitted it. "All right, you great poof, but don't think you won't owe me big time for this. I want this bloody chip out of my head, and you're payin' for it."

"I accept," his sire said solemnly, looking at his childe with grateful eyes. "Now go take care of her. I'll follow you in a day."

***

Buffy woke at dusk. It had been over a month since her mother's death. Buffy deliberately didn't think about what else had happened before that. If she hadn't gone to LA, she could have been in the house with Joyce when the aneurysm hit. She could have saved her somehow. The doctor's assertions to the contrary didn't faze her. Buffy knew that she had failed. Despite her injuries, she should have been there for her mother. Failed as a daughter, failed as a student, totally failed as a lover according to Angelus. It didn't matter anymore. It was stupid of her to think she could have those things, anyway. She was the Slayer. She wasn't going to fail this time. She would kill every vampire in Sunnydale, or die trying. She didn't go out in the day anymore unless she was roasting a nest., there was no point to it. She rose at dusk, ate a quick meal of ramen noodles or canned ravioli, and went out to slay. Living in the seedy motel had its advantages. It was cheap. Someone else changed the sheets and cleaned up once a week. And no one bothered her. She didn't speak to anyone, even the cashier at the convenience store when she bought her weekly groceries. It was easier that way. No one to talk to anyway.

Spike's rough attempts at comfort after her mom's death and funeral had completely thrown Buffy. She didn't, couldn't understand the bond she felt with him. She knew that she didn't deserve his help and couldn't figure out why he'd offered it anyway. His pity made her uncomfortable and he'd brought her close to breaking down in his arms more than once. She couldn't do that. She had to be strong to Slay. Finally, she'd told him to leave her alone, feeling guilty for being so mean, but relieved that now she could sink back into the fog which increasingly surrounded her.

She pulled on some baggy sweats, a t-shirt and a flannel shirt and pulled her lank hair back into a ponytail. She was cold all the time, and when she bothered to look in the mirror, she knew why. She was past thin and well into gaunt now. Her cheekbones stood out more than Spike's these days, and her breasts had all but disappeared. That was ok. Not looking like a girl meant no one would be interested in her. She refused to think about why that was important. Nothing mattered except slaying. Nothing happened except slaying. She was the Slayer. That was all. She wasn't a girl who could be hurt or used or broken. If she kept thinking that, surely it would be true, right?

When the bank had taken the house, she'd had to sell pretty much everything inside. Her flirty little dresses and high heels were the first to go to the second hand shop. She'd barely gotten anything for them a piece, but the combined total from the sale was enough to feed her for two weeks now. She kept her jeans and bought more sweats and flannels to camouflage her diminutive frame. The more layers between her and the world, the better.

Buffy grabbed her bag and headed out for patrol. The vamps had been really quiet lately, and she'd taken to patrolling the sewers as well as the cemeteries, to hunt out new nests. She didn't consider the danger in hunting the sewers alone at night; after all, it was her job to keep the hellmouth safe. Buffy found three rather weak vamps in a small nest in one unused maintenance tunnel and staked them quickly. She climbed a ladder and moved the manhole aside to jump out. Sunnyrest was nearby and she'd seen a new grave waiting to be filled last night, so she wanted to stake that out and see if anyone rose to play.

She settled herself comfortably against a nearby headstone after giving the rest of the cemetery a once-over. Buffy didn't have to wait long before the tell-tale stirring began and a fledgling appeared. She staked him and moved on. No banter necessary these days. She never spoke. She did her job and kept moving. She didn't know that her eyes were more dead than her enemies'.

*

Wearily, Buffy trudged back to the apartment as the first rays of dawn stretched over the horizon. She was chilled to the bone in the early morning damp and wanted nothing but a hot shower and some soup. She entered the dingy room and shucked off her filthy clothes, dropping them into the cheap plastic basket sitting by the single grimy window that she kept covered with ancient gray curtains. The basket was filling again. Almost time for another trip to the laundromat. Buffy sighed as she entered the bathroom. Climbing into the off-white tub, she turned on the rickety water faucet and smiled in pleasure at the hot water sheeting over her face. She washed with dispatch, knowing the exact duration allowed before the hot water ran out. Stepping out of the tub, she dried herself with one of her mother's purple towels, one of the few possessions she hadn't sold when she lost the house.

The money from her mother's life insurance had finally arrived, so she'd gone ahead and put it into mutual funds. She lived frugally off the money she got from selling the car and all the furnishings. Her mother's taste in art had certainly helped. Pieces that Joyce had purchased years ago for little money had been worth considerably more when sold in the gallery. Buffy knew that Joyce would have been sad to sell them…just one more way she had failed her mother.

Buffy pulled on her flannel pajamas and trudged to the kitchen, opening a can of soup and pouring it into a small pan. She heated it over the hot plate and took a carton of orange juice from the small refrigerator. Pouring some into a glass, she put the carton back and sat at the tiny table to wait for the soup to heat. Grabbing the pan with a potholder, she took a spoon and slurped the soup up directly from the pan, feeling Joyce in the back of her head telling her to get a bowl and eat like a young lady instead of an animal for a change. "Less to clean up this way, Mom," she muttered to herself, "sorry." Rinsing the pan in the sink and scrubbing it halfheartedly with a sponge, Buffy upended it on the drying rack, offered the spoon the same brief wash and chugged the oj, rinsing and washing the glass as well.

She made her way back to the bathroom, brushed and flossed her teeth *gotta keep these in good shape, Summers, god knows when you can afford to see a dentist* and climbed wearily into bed. Another night over. Good. One day at a time. She drifted off into sleep, clutching Mr. Gordo to her like a lifeline and refusing to cry.

*Rough hands held her down as huge dicks pummeled her while their owners laughed. She was helpless against them and Angel and Riley stood by the side and watched as she was used over and over in every orifice. Finally she crawled over to them, covered in blood and moaning for help. They looked down at her with blank eyes and then turned away in disgust. "You're dirty, Buffy," Angel sneered at her as he glanced back in game face. "I can smell them on you." She reached for his hand and he pulled her up by her hair to spit his words into her face. "You make me sick, you're disgusting," he growled throwing her back to the floor. He left her alone, disappearing into smoke as he had at graduation.

She looked up imploringly at Riley. "Buffy, I'm sorry," he muttered, looking away again, clearly embarrassed at her lack of clothing. "But I just can't be in a relationship with someone who would sleep with half a fraternity of guys right after she left my bed. I thought I meant something to you, but now I see I was just a toy. I go to church every Sunday, I'm an upstanding member of the U.S. military, and as a psych TA, I have to tell you that I think you need counseling to deal with these issues. Have a good life." He walked away from her and she was left alone and aching in the dark.

Suddenly it was light and she was walking through the campus, naked. "Hey, Summers, great job at the party last weekend, I swear you can suck like a Hoover," called one boy in a Phi Beta t-shirt. A small group of guys surrounded her by the door to her dorm, slapping her ass and grabbing for her tits. "Yo, Buffy, you were fantastic last weekend, what are you, a Pro? How much for a repeat? Or are you still giving it away?" They laughed cruelly, and continued to mock her until she backed against the wall, flinching from their hateful comments and pawing hands.*

Buffy gasped and sat up, sweating and panting with fear. Dirty, she was dirty, no matter how she scrubbed it wouldn't come off. She darted to the shower and turned on the water as hot as it would go. Dumping her pajamas unceremoniously on the floor, she grabbed the scrub brush on the edge of the tub and lathered it up. She tore into her arms and legs with it, rubbing and rasping to get the dirt off, but it kept coming back. It was everywhere. She scrubbed her vulva, hissing in pain as she tore the delicate skin. She didn't stop until long after the water had run cold and the bottom of the tub was covered with bloody foam from the brush. Rinsing the brush, she put it back on the side of the tub and mechanically rinsed the bottom of the tub out before shutting off the water and toweling off. She shook with cold and her skin oozed blood from her arms, legs, stomach and mound. Maybe now she was clean. She looked into the mirror at the hair that had garnered her so much attention. Attention was bad. She grabbed a dull pair of scissors and hacked at her hair with them. When the bright blonde strands were laying in a pile on the floor and nothing remained of her hair but a few inches of sodden light brown curls, she stopped. She looked like a malnourished twelve year old. No one would notice her now. If no one could see her, maybe she could rest. She dropped the scissors next to the sink and trudged out of the tiny bathroom. Curling up under the covers, Buffy huddled in the center of the bed, crying in exhaustion and despair as she fell into fitful sleep once more.

***

Chapter Three

Spike arrived back in Sunnyhell nearly an hour before dawn. He drove past the crappy little hotel that now served the Slayer as home, but the light in her room wasn't on. Not back from patrol yet, he imagined. Her routine was unwavering these days. She functioned more like some mindless automaton than a flesh and blood person. He'd watched her slaying in Sunnyrest cemetery one night, absurdly appalled by the lack of any discernable emotion on Buffy's face as she slew vampires with nary a quip or comment. It was unnatural. She'd always been so full of life and bad puns, now it was as if he was looking at a ghost. Hell, she was fading away before his eyes. It was the only reason he'd gone after Angel in LA.

Driving swiftly to his crypt, Spike threw his scanty possessions into the DeSoto and zipped over to the mansion with time to spare. Let Angelus collect artwork and first editions, Spike wasn't interested in toting around any of that crap. Besides, he'd always been able to take whatever he needed from Angelus or his own victims before this. Not that anything from Angelus came without a price. Made dealing with Soul Boy doubly odd, in Spike's mind. The sire/childe bond was there, but the link felt tenuous and strained because Angel had never called upon it after the soul restoration. Felt like there were empty rooms echoing in Spike's head, waiting for occupants who'd never arrive.

The mansion doubled his discomfort as the physical manifestation of his mental state. He was thinking too bloody much, was the problem. Walking in here didn't bring back pleasant memories, but if he and the bloody poof were going to work together, it made sense to be in the same place. He staked out a new bedroom and tossed his things into its forlorn emptiness, trailing footprints through the dust with every step.

Housekeeping done, at least for the moment, he returned to the great room and kicked back - boots propped up - on one of Angelus's expensive leather couches to suck down a tepid bag of blood before curling up to rest. Damn he was tired. He lay on the couch, half asleep already and thought of Buffy. Not the poor broken thing she was now, though, but the vibrant, in-his-face Buffy he'd so relished fighting and pissing off. She'd burned with an inner fire like nothing he'd ever seen. Now, she was barely alive. He couldn't stand to even look at her these days…it was why he hadn't fought harder when she told him to get lost. Closing his eyes, he conjured up the old Slayer, stroking his cock to unlife as he imagined her on her knees in front of him, begging him to spare her….

*"Spike, I'll do anything, just don’t kill me. I'm not ready to die, Spike," she crooned at him as she unzipped his jeans with her tiny hands. He hissed as she stroked his length, taking him into her inferno of a mouth, licking the end of his dick enticingly with her red-hot tongue before laving his balls. She stroked his cock firmly with her tiny fist, fingers not meeting around it as she licked lower, nipping at his perineum before rimming his ass with that talented tongue. He groaned at the intense pleasure, nearly spilling right then and she pumped his cock harder, tongue still lapping at his asshole. "Shit, Slayer, I'm gonna cum," he groaned, and she pushed one tiny finger into his sopping ass, capturing his dick in her mouth as she skillfully stroked his prostate with the perfect pressure. He screamed, "Buffy!" as he came, filling her avid mouth with cool dead semen and falling back onto her bed.*

Spike screamed, "Buffy!" as he spilled his cold cum into his hands and across his belly. Grabbing his dirty t-shirt, he wiped himself clean, then curled under his duster on the couch to sleep away the day, finally relaxed enough to do so.

*

Angel paced, trapped in the hotel lobby until sunset and hating every moment that he wasn't on the road to Buffy. He had no idea how he'd let things come to this. He'd thought he was doing the right thing in leaving, and her new relationship had seemed to prove it. Even this last time he'd seen her, when they'd said such terrible things to each other, he could have been resigned, if not happy, that she was out in the world experiencing life, as she should be, with its mistakes and lessons. But now, knowing what she'd gone through completely alone, or alone except for Spike - and Powers only knew *what* was up with that - he realized that by removing himself from her life, he'd taken the only person she could really tell anything to. Giles loved her as a daughter, but his duties as a Watcher would always conflict with what was best for Buffy. Her friends had their own lives and had apparently started living them with a vengeance. She didn't get that option. He didn't understand how they could have abandoned her to slaying until he thought about the way he'd rationalized his own actions to himself. He was hardly the one to be casting stones.

Finally the interminable day was over and he could throw his bags into the car, fighting traffic to get to Sunnydale and Buffy, while dreading what he would find there. He prayed to whomever might listen that Spike had exaggerated the situation.

*

Buffy struggled to breathe around the stench of the Rathlar demon she was fighting. It was strong, but slow, its horrific smell generally enough to do in its prey without a need for speed or finesse. It had vastly underestimated its choice tonight. With a final roundhouse kick and a quick stab of her new knife, Buffy finished it, watching as it disintegrated into noxious slime that oozed into a fetid puddle near the edge of the cemetery.

Sighing and cleaning the befouled knife carefully on her filth-encrusted jeans, Buffy continued on her rounds, scaring up nothing further but a raccoon, out on a nocturnal patrol of its own. Finally, she gave up and headed back early to the motel, plodding along in an apathetic fog, senses alert for danger, but mind diffuse and focused on nothing in particular.

She climbed the stairs to her room, entering quickly and closing the door behind her. As she walked in, she realized with a sinking feeling that this time she couldn't escape - she had to do laundry *today.* She had no underwear left at all and was down to her very last pair of wear-ably clean jeans once she took off the goo-covered ones drying into stiffness on her legs. Blech. First things first, though. Shower-time.

Buffy stripped and walked to the shower. Turning it on, full strength, she stepped under the stinging hot spray, tossing her golden-brown curls under the water to rinse away the filth and sweat of her night's work. The hot steam melted into sore muscles, loosening the ever-present tension that pained her thin body. She scrubbed the shampoo into her scalp, relishing the pleasure imparted by the clean warm water. Rinsing quickly as the warm water began giving way to tepid, Buffy turned off the shower.

Climbing out, Buffy toweled her hair dry with a quick rub before drying the rest of her body. She finger-combed her hair, looking at the sharp-featured stranger with short curly brown hair gazing out of the mirror. She didn't see much to recognize herself these days. Even her eyes, which she remembered as a murky green, now seemed more brown than anything else. Everything about her was dull and drab to her cynical eyes, from her hair to her too-pale skin and bony frame. *Nothing of interest here,* she screamed with every aspect of her being. Screamed as if anyone were listening, when in fact, no one was.

Gathering up her towels and filthy clothes, she dumped them on top of the loaded wash basket and strode to the broken down dresser listing drunkenly against one wall. She pulled out her last pair of clean jeans - well, cleaner than the other pairs, at least - stepping into them and sliding them up over her naked ass. Like all her clothes, they were too loose, hanging on her newly bony frame. She threw on a tank top, followed by her last clean flannel shirt - an indeterminate gray. Nice thing about short hair, she thought as she crammed her stocking cap on her head - it dried quickly, and it was out of her way for slaying. She'd worn it long since her unfortunate Dorothy Hamill days, and was vaguely surprised at the curls that had sprung to life once the weight of the long hair was gone. Didn't much matter anyway, since she wore the cap every time she left the motel.

Grabbing her room key, soap and change, she hefted the laundry basket and stepped into the pre-dawn gloom. Sun wouldn't be up for at least two hours, more than enough to wash her clothes without needing to see anyone human. She alone frequented the 24-hour laundromat at these hours, at least, in her experience. She walked across the street in the silent darkness, once again thankful that slayer hours minimized human contact. Striding to the far back of the room, she quickly heaved her clothes into two huge washers, feeding quarters into the slots and dumping in the soap. Buffy turned and sat in a particularly hideous day-glo-orange plastic chair and watched the water fill the washer and the cycle begin. It was easy having all dark clothes, no need for separation, she thought idly, mesmerized by the hypnotic swish of the water and soap against the glass. She sat and stared as the machines cycled through to rinse, thinking of nothing in particular. There was a comforting mindlessness to laundry. She could go through the motions of living, following the set routines of adult life, without the complexity of emotion to bog her down.

Buffy rose and moved the clean wet clothes across the room to the dryers, feeding the voracious machines her last few quarters and switching to a lime green chair to continue her vacuous perusal of her clothes, unaware that she was being watched.

*

Sam and Joe had stumbled out of Rudy's relatively early that night, bored and itching for some fun. They strode down the dark streets of Sunnydale encountering no one until they passed Mom's Scrub-a-Dub. Inside, at the far end of the laundromat, Sam saw a diminutive girl, staring vacantly at the dryers. *This could be fun,* he thought and elbowed Joe in the ribs to get his attention. They entered Mom's and split, Joe stalking slowly parallel to the washers while Sam approached their prey on the dryer side. "Why, look what we have here, Joseph, my man," Sam sneered as he stopped in front of the girl, gazing down at her tiny frame with lust-filled eyes. "I always had a taste for chicken, and this one's just aching to be plucked, in't that so, sweet thing?"

Buffy's senses had come alert as the men entered the laundry, uncomfortably aware of their presence and her vulnerability. She looked up at the huge man leering at her and reluctantly made eye contact. "I don't want any trouble," she whispered, shaking with fear at his proximity. Then she felt a hand on her right shoulder and knew that the other man was behind her, cutting off that exit and forcing a confrontation.

Joe pulled her bonelessly to her feet and glared down at her, pulling at his belt buckle with his right hand while still holding her shoulder with his left. "Well, Sam, I figger' we should give the girl a chance…says she don't want trouble, after all…and I could use a good knob job tonight, what about you?" A wave of nausea rolled over Buffy as his scent and voice echoed through her head. She'd seen that belt before, had seen what lurked beneath it, as well. She shuddered uncontrollably in his grasp as adrenaline flooded her system and Slayer-senses snapped into focus.

As his right hand finished with the belt and reached for his zipper, Buffy snapped her left hand up to grasp Joe's meaty arm in a wrist-lock, wrenching his left hand off of her shoulder and twisting it behind him as she jumped quickly to her feet. Screaming wordlessly, Buffy pulled sharply up on Joe's arm, snapping both the radius and ulna in a single, brutal, motion. Joe screamed in surprise and anguish as Buffy dropped his now-useless and bleeding arm and shifted her weight to her right foot, catching him in the kidney with a vicious side kick. His gaze was ripped from the bloody bones protruding from his flaccid arm by the blinding flash of pain caused by the splintered ribs slicing into his kidney. He could feel the blood begin to pool in his abdomen before he hit the ground, almost unconscious and in shock.

Sam lunged at Buffy, who blocked with her left arm, then delivered three quick jabs to his scruffy face, breaking his nose and knocking two teeth halfway down his throat. Sam staggered back, coughing and spitting blood, then roared in rage, jumping forward to grab Buffy. She kicked the unfortunate lime-green chair directly into his legs and followed up with a roundhouse kick to his left orbit, shattering it and pulping his eye with her dirty black boot. He screamed incoherently in anguish, clutching his battered face with one hand.

*

Spike was bored. Bored, bored, bored. He'd gone looking for Buffy at dusk, but she must have been one cemetery ahead of him the entire night. He smelled the stinking remains of a Rathlar in one area and knew she'd been there recently. Finally, he decided to stake out the motel. Her room was dark, but sooner or later she'd return. He walked to the alley across the way, hoping she wouldn't notice him next to the laundromat. Suddenly he heard a commotion coming from inside.

*

Sam pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, drawing a wicked-looking butterfly knife from his pocket, and flicking it open with a practiced motion. He advanced slowly, glaring at Buffy from his good eye. Buffy backed away warily toward the front of the laundry. He staggered towards her at a bullish trot. Buffy centered, then knocked the knife from his hand with a graceful sweeping block with her left, stepping fluidly into a right-leg sweep and throw. His legs no longer beneath him, Sam sailed through the air, momentarily defying gravity, before he crashed head-first through the large window in the front of the laundromat.

Buffy turned and kicked a metal leg on the lime-green chair until it snapped off, then advanced on Joe, who had regained some semblance of consciousness and was groaning and attempting to claw his way up the side of a nearby dryer. He muttered, "I'm gonna rip you apart, Bitch," more in an effort to rally himself than to intimidate her. Buffy clubbed him in the head, screaming wordlessly as she struck over and over. Blood spattered her face and hands as she continued to bludgeon the fallen man.

Stepping over the unmoving Sam, Spike stuck his head through the shattered plate-glass window to see what the ruckus was about. His eyes were quickly drawn to the scrawny figure beating a man to the floor near the back of the place. At first, it looked nothing like Buffy, but then he got a look at the face. It was her. A feral, starved Buffy, but her nonetheless. Spike paused for a moment, wondering if he should try to stop her, but then thought of what Angel would say about his childe letting Buffy beat a man to death. The whole chip deal would be right off, that was clear.

The Slayer was totally around the bend, no humanity at all showed in her blood-spattered face. Spike grabbed the metal bar from her and yelled in pain when his chip flared as he jostled her inadvertently. She instinctively threw him across the room into the washing machines. He climbed warily to his feet, dropping the bar and backing slowly away as she advanced on him. "Slayer?! Buffy! I'm not gonna hurt ya! Buffy, it's me, Spike. Remember me, Pet? Got a chip in my brain? Can't hurt you? Can't fight back? Slayer?"

Buffy continued to advance on him, fear-crazed eyes recognizing nothing but another male threat. She cornered him at the end of the room, wall at his back and no escape in sight. Buffy raised her hands and Spike grabbed her arm. She growled like a predator, entirely immersed in Slayer instinct and looking around for wood, anything to attack this vampire in front of her. She found nothing.

Spike was actually beginning to get scared. This wasn't his violently intimate dance partner of the past…the woman who turned him on with every stake she thrust in his direction. This was a primal being, completely intent on his immediate destruction. He watched her flex her hands, and knew that if he let her, she'd rip through his stomach and pull his heart out that way. He'd seen her do it to a fledgling who made the mistake of trapping her with no stakes available. It wasn't a pretty death, not that any were. Desperate, he tried the one thing she'd never expect. He leaned forward slowly, dropping his hands non-threateningly to his sides, and kissed her oh-so-gently on the lips.

Buffy jumped in surprise, her consciousness waking up abruptly. *What was I…? What was I doing?* she wondered and then blinked, staring into Spike's deep blue eyes.

She shrank back from him and he held his hands up, saying, "Whoa, Slayer, you in there? I'm not comin' any closer, not hurtin' you. Just wanted to make sure you're ok." He didn't want to set her off again, Satan knows what she'd do to him, a sworn enemy, if she'd do this to humans. Spike slid past her and paced slowly to the man lying in a puddle of blood near the dryers, keeping his eye on the Slayer all the while. He caught a scent off the man that tweaked a memory. Scent memory was amazingly strong in humans and even more so in vampires. Spike could vividly recall the smells of kills from over a hundred years ago. This man…this man's scent was on Buffy the night he'd driven her to LA. That was the connection. He looked up at her, realization dawning. "Buffy…did he…did they try to hurt you again? He's one of the ones from the bar, isn't he?"

Buffy looked frantically around at the destruction she had wrought. Blood covered her hands and shirt and there were two men….She looked at them and the realization of what she'd done to them washed over her. She backed away, trapped by the carnage of the scene in the same corner she'd pushed Spike into. Her hands began trembling uncontrollably and she shook her head back and forth in denial of the havoc she'd wreaked. "I…I w-w-was out of clean clothes," she stuttered. "I was just washing my clothes…. God, Spike, are they dead? Did I kill them both? Oh, God!" She bolted, running for the motel as if the hounds of hell themselves were at her heels.

Spike made no move to follow her, knowing that he could never catch the Slayer at full speed if she didn't want him to. Instead, he crouched over the broken figure on the floor. This one was dying for sure. He turned the beaten man's head towards himself and began licking the blood from his face and neck. Buffy had left him quite a meal, and he chuckled delightedly to himself as he savored the ambrosial warmth of fresh human blood for the first time in months. *Mmmm, nothing like it!* He raised the man's broken arm to his lips, sucking hard at the ends of the broken bones to pull the bloody marrow into his rapacious mouth. When he'd wrung every scrap of blood from the now-dead corpse, he turned his attention to the man lying impaled on the window glass scattered across the sidewalk. Spike stalked towards the man, pausing to pick up a lovely butterfly knife he nearly stumbled over. Nice toy. He flipped it expertly shut and tucked it into his pocket. Might come in handy sometime.

The man was still alive, but looked as if he'd nicked an artery on the shards. Spike ripped off his dinner's shirt and lapped his blood like a hungry puppy, chortling with glee and practically dancing in place. He'd been wrong to leave the Slayer alone…these were the best eats he'd had since he could remember! *Hmm, maybe she'd like to hunt for me now? Prob'ly not. Too bad.* He pulled a large shard from the man's neck and locked his lips around the welling hole. *Perfect aim, Slayer. Thank you!* The man's blood and life flowed into Spike's avid mouth and he sucked harder on the unconscious guy's neck, moaning in pleasure as the warmth spread through his undead body. This was how it should be. Fucking Nirvana. He was a predator, not some pinch-thief stealing blood bags from the bank. He had to get that twice-damned chip out of his skull. *Oops, that means helping Angel with the Slayer. He's prob'ly gonna want to know where she went….* Finishing off his impromptu meal, Spike dropped him to the sidewalk and walked inside to gather Buffy's clothes from the dryers. He carried the basket to the DeSoto, tossing it inside. He glanced up at the room where Buffy had been staying and saw a light behind the flimsy drapes. Bingo. He settled in with a smoke to wait for the Pouf to arrive from LA.

*

Angel returned from the ramshackle manager's office with the information they sought. Buffy was indeed in room 214. She didn't like visitors and was decidedly unfriendly, according to the night manager. The leer with which he imparted this information indicated that he'd attempted to breech that unfriendly exterior with little success. Angel's audible growl had intimidated the man into shutting up before Angel had to kill him, a fact for which he knew he should be more grateful than he was.

Angel stomped outside with none of his usual stealth, peering through the dark for his childe. Spike left his car and joined Angel on the stairs as they climbed slowly to the second floor balcony. "So, what's the plan, then?" his irrepressible childe asked as he lit up yet another cigarette, blowing the smoke in Angel's face.

"I just want to see her, talk to her. Make sure she's ok…" he trailed off, as Spike snorted his disdain.

"Bloomin' idjit," he cursed. "Chit's not ok, not even close. I told you what she did in the laundromat."

Angel sighed. "Well what would you have me do, Spike? If any of this is my fault, I have to help her. I'm all she has left now with her Watcher and friends away for the summer."

His broody look grated on Spike's nerves. "Well, better you than me, mate. Why am I here again? Can't be moral support - I don't have any morals. Certainly isn't 'cause I wanna be here. Oh, yeah, I remember, you're paying me. Right, let's get it over with then…." He knocked on the door and shouted, "Oi…slayer, you in there?"

Buffy crouched in the corner, eyes screwed shut and hands over her ears, unfocused and terror-stricken at the pounding on her door. It must be the police, here to take her to jail for murdering those men. She was covered in drying blood and shaking like a leaf, too hysterical to form a proper thought. She considered fleeing through the back window but couldn't summon the energy to even try to run. She rocked back and forth in the corner, refusing to answer the increasingly loud pounding on her door. Finally she looked up as the door crashed open from the outside. Standing there was the last person she expected to see.

Chapter Four

Angel pressed urgently against the barrier, gazing at her in shock and dismay. Buffy was covered in dried blood and had made no attempt to clean herself up. Barely recognizing his mate, Angel blurted out, "Buffy, have you been eating at all? My god, you look so…thin." *Cadaverous was more accurate,* he thought, but that was hardly going to calm her down. She was shaking and wide-eyed, looking from him to Spike and back with confusion. "May we come in, Buffy? Please?"

Buffy stared at them from her corner, wordlessly nodding her assent to Angel.

"Buffy, I need more than that. May we come in?"

"Yes," she answered in a shaky voice. She wouldn't look at him, eyes flitting wildly around the room, finally coming to rest on her shaking hands, clutched tightly in her lap.

Angel paced quickly inside, pulling Spike with him and shutting the door behind them.

"Nice place you got here, Slayer," Spike sneered, glancing with disdain at the dingy room. "I've seen crypts that looked better. Ooff!" he huffed as Angel elbowed him sharply in the ribs before walking forward to kneel before Buffy. "Try for a little more tact, you idiot!" he hissed.

Angel covered her gory hands with his own, trying to calm their palsy with soothing strokes. "Buffy, it's ok, everything is ok now. We have your clothes, let's just get the rest of your things and we'll leave this place." Buffy flinched from his strong, cool grip…retreating further into the corner. She tucked her small, bloodstained hands under her arms. His touch was icy to her screaming nerves; he was too close and she curled in on herself, pulling her stocking cap down further and refusing to meet his eyes.

Angel took the hint and eased back a bit, giving her room as he glanced at Spike to see if he'd caught the Slayer's reaction. Spike gave his sire a knowing look, glaring darkly at the one man who truly held the power to break Buffy beyond repair.

"Angel, you…you have to take me to the police." Buffy's broken voice grated, rusty from screaming and a month of disuse. "I killed those men. I'm a murderer," her voice broke on the last word and she shuddered, bloody and sobbing in a miserable ball of agony.

"Slayer, it was self-defense. Not your bloody fault, y'know." Spike slunk to her corner and crouched, reaching one white hand out to her. His concerned eyes looked deep into her frightened gaze. "'Sides," he licked his lips lasciviously, "they were right tasty. Best meal I've had in ages." He'd meant to lighten her mood, and was unprepared for her reaction.

Buffy recoiled from his reach, gagging, and ran to the bathroom grasping her belly. The unmistakable sounds of retching echoed outward as she lost the meager contents of her stomach into the toilet. *Guess that answers my question about her hunting for me. Oh, well….*

Angel stood and kicked Spike viciously in the ribs. "Nice going, boy. Now look what you've done. You have the common sense of an ass!" Angel was royally pissed - at Spike, at himself, at the situation. Clearly, Buffy was not going to be sensible about coming with them. She didn't seem to be able to tolerate their slightest touch, which worried him tremendously. She was obviously far more damaged from the rape than he'd anticipated. He'd hoped she could snap back to her usual self, but this emaciated, nervous wreck of a girl was nothing like his vivacious, self-assured mate. Just what had he wrought with his cruel words and self-involvement? Had his failure to provide her with any comfort convinced her that she was somehow to blame for what had happened?

Buffy flushed the toilet and rose shakily to her feet, leaning over the sink, to rinse the foul taste of bile from her mouth. She was shocked by the blood-soaked stranger who looked back from the scratched and filthy mirror. Who was that beaten girl? Bludgeoning two of her rapists nearly to death hadn't provided any sense of satisfaction or peace. She hadn't done it consciously. She'd reacted like a cornered animal. That's all she was, these days…an animal. Feral. Uncontrollable. She deserved to be locked up - needed to be. She shook the water from her face and hands, pink streaks running down her neck into her already blood-stained shirt. Even the gray couldn't hide all of this. Slowly, she walked out of the bathroom, wiping her still-trembling hands on her drying blood-spattered jeans.

"Angel. You need to take me to the police station now, so I can give myself up." She looked up at him emotionlessly, no feeling at all in her dead eyes.

Angel shook his head in violent negation. "I'm not turning you over to anyone," he growled. "You're mine and you're coming with me…now!" He paced over to her, looking hurt when she jerked away from his touch yet again. He gazed imploringly at Spike, begging with his eyes for his childe's help.

Spike strode to her other side, not even attempting to touch the skittish girl. "What good would it do to give yourself up, Slayer? You didn't kill 'em, you just hurt 'em. I was the one that finished 'em off. No bodies to investigate, just a missing chair and a broken window. That shit happens all the time in these parts." He grinned at her confusion and shrugged his shoulders. "You know how pesky those corpses can be. Must have scarpered off somewhere else while you weren't looking." He chuckled and winked at her. "Now, let's us get the hell out of this dive before dawn. I don't wanna be stuck in this shit hole for a whole day."

Buffy looked back and forth between the two of them. Angel met her eyes and added gently, "Buffy, please, let us help you. You owe it to yourself. Let's leave this place." He smiled at her, his chocolate-brown eyes filled with compassion and love. She ducked her head, refusing to meet his gaze, and nodded reluctantly.

Spike grabbed her weapon bag and threw her few possessions into it. "Good thing you travel light, Slayer," he muttered. "The great Pouf here packed enough for a bloody army." He slung the bag over his shoulder and opened the door, jumping over the railing and down from the balcony in one lithe leap.

Angel walked to the bathroom and retrieved Buffy's other things from it, then gestured for her to precede him from the shabby little room. Buffy complied, not looking back on her home of almost two months. She climbed into Angel's car, staring straight ahead and not speaking to either vampire.

Angel drove through the false dawn to the mansion in silence. He was not fool enough to mistake Buffy's compliance for any true desire to be with them. She was simply too broken to react to much of anything short of an attack. He recognized the shock and post-traumatic stress that had provoked her earlier behavior at the laundry. He winced to think that his thoughtless words back in LA might have pushed her further down this dark road of self-hatred. Her soul was a roiling cauldron of angst, rage and despair that he had no clue how to ease.

Perhaps Spike could help - though Angel was downright perplexed by the dysfunctional bond that had suddenly appeared between them - she actually seemed more comfortable with Spike than him. He didn't even want to think about that. Sharing any part of her with his childe was out of the question…wasn't it?

They arrived at the garage to the mansion and Angel pulled his convertible in next to Spike's disreputable DeSoto. Angel shivered at the sight of that car. Last time he'd seen it, Angelus had been in control of his - their? - body. The demon raged under the surface of his skin, fiercely aroused by the smell of blood on its mate and desperate to claim her as he'd never allowed it to before. It took all his concentration to keep his game face buried as he climbed from the car and strode to the trunk, grabbing his bags and Buffy's things.

Spike retrieved Buffy's laundry basket from his own car and stalked ahead of Angel into the mansion. Angel turned to see what Buffy was doing and found her gazing vacantly at the windshield. "Buffy," he said sharply, disconcerted by her mindless stare. "We're here, Buffy. Come inside now."

She glanced up at him catching his eyes with her dead gaze before dropping it and climbing slowly from his car. She closed the door and turned to follow him silently as he led the way into the mansion.

Angel walked through the great room, glaring darkly at Spike for the state of his leather sofa…now dirtied at one end with tell-tale boot prints. He gestured abruptly for Spike to lead Buffy upstairs. "Keep yer pants on, Peaches, the dirt'll brush off. Ponce!" Spike muttered as he strode upstairs with Buffy treading quietly behind him. He picked the airiest of the bedrooms for her and plunked her clothes down near an ancient armoire. "Got a great view here, Pet, but do me a favor and don't peek till I'm out of the room. Sun's up."

Buffy looked at him vacantly, clearly at a loss. "Luv, why don'cha strip out a those dirty clothes and take a hot bath? Do you good. Peaches kept the water and power goin' here even after he left and I think Dru…" he thought better of finishing the sentence, but found the bubble bath he'd been searching for on a shelf near the tub.

Spike walked to the center of the huge bathroom and quickly ran water into the sunken marble tub, rinsing away the dust that had settled there, as everywhere. Satisfied that the tub was clean enough for the Slayer *Satan knew, she didn't look as if she was too choosy these days,* he poured a heaping cup of bubble bath into the tub and began filling it with hot water. He called her over, grinning at the thought of himself as lady's maid. Wouldn't be the first time he'd performed those duties, and this lady could certainly give the others a run for their money. "Lemme help you off with those things, Pet." He pulled the stocking cap from her head and gasped. "Slayer, what have you done to your hair?"

Buffy flinched from his touch and self-consciously raised a hand to her cropped curls, then scowled at Spike. "It's easier to get clean like this, besides, it doesn't matter what I look like." She turned her back on him and shucked off her jeans, body covered by her voluminous flannel shirt. Spike's eyes widened as he realized that she wasn't wearing any panties with the jeans.

Buffy sank into the tub, back still to him, and yanked both shirts off over her head, throwing them in his direction as she disappeared under the copious bubbles. Her head surfaced after a moment and she growled, "Go away, Spike." Quickly beating a retreat before she decided that his presence constituted a threat, Spike closed the door to her room and headed back downstairs to see Angel.

His sire was pacing the floor in front of the massive fireplace in distraction, brooding before the flames he'd kindled there. "Did you get her settled in?" he growled, still agitated about his mate, and unsure how to help her.

"What am I, the sodding butler?" Spike sneered back, frustrated at his all too fleeting glimpse of Buffy stepping into the bath and itching for a fight to take his mind off his unrequited lust.

"You're whatever I say you are, and don't forget it, Boy," Angel ground out, demon close to the surface and pushing for a fight of its own.

"I'm a master now myself, you great pouf, I don't take orders from a sniveling, soul-wracked pansy who can't make up his bloody mind what he wants." Spike snarled in response. "Serve you right if I take the Slayer for my own…she fancies me, you know…I've smelled it on her." He slid into game face and gave Angel a come-on stare as he licked his lips suggestively. "She smells so good when she's been fightin' me…all hot and wet and strong, just luscious…beggin' for a taste. I bet fuckin' a slayer is even better than killin' one." Spike's head snapped brutally to the side as Angel's huge paw swiped across his angular face.

Spike lashed out in retaliation, getting in a hard left jab to Angel's square jaw, followed by a vicious right hook that knocked his sire back a step or two. Angel shook his head, game face sliding on and violent glee suffusing his features as his demon came to the fore. His eyes lit with gold and he lunged for Spike, who met him with outstretched hands and a lunge of his own. They grappled, tossing each other across the room, growling, striking, kicking, advancing, and recoiling from each other faster than human eyes could have followed. They rolled to a stop before the fire, on Angel's fur rug.

Angel pinned Spike's hands roughly to the floor and straddled him, leaning forward and glaring hotly at his unruly childe. "Are we clear now on who the master is?" he growled, staring into Spike's golden eyes in a dominant display.

Spike glared back, pride fighting with self-preservation before he finally dropped his own gaze and nodded reluctantly. "Fine, you're still the master, even if you are all soul-whipped. Now get off, wanker, you're heavy…."

Angel half-smiled, game face fading into his handsome human countenance. He gazed deeply into his childe's now-blue eyes and purred, "'Get off'…sounds delightful, William. What did you have in mind?" One large hand released Spike's wrist and stroked through his tousled white-blond curls before snaking its way down the side of his cheek and gliding sensuously and firmly over the sensitive skin of his neck.

Spike would have blushed at the knowing look from those chestnut eyes, had he a pulse and blood to make his skin flush. "Don't call me that. I didn't mean it like that," he choked, closing his eyes against the rush of lust that swept through him like a wildfire.

"Then I'll just have to make you mean it, Most-Favored-Childe," Angel purred, dipping his head to lick at Spike's neck precisely where he'd stroked his sensitive fingers moments before.

Spike strained upwards, whether to get closer to that cool mouth or to escape, he didn't know. No one could do this to him but Angelus. Not even Drusilla could wring such heady responses from him with the slightest touch. Spike gasped, pulling in unnecessary air as Angel suckled roughly at his jugular, tonguing it with expertise before gnawing with blunt teeth. Spike moaned as his cock jumped to life against Angel's equally hard erection. Angel smiled and ground his pelvis into Spike's, moving to his mouth for a long, hard kiss.

Their tongues stroked and tangled as Angel searched out every lingering taste of blood from Spike's cool mouth before breaking away to gasp for breath that he didn't need. Spike smiled at his sire's discomposure, pleased that Angel was equally affected by their passion.

Taking his own path from Angel's luscious mouth, Spike lapped at his sire's neck, chewing at the corded muscles before laving Angel's jugular with long, slow licks. He bit, lightly at first and then harder, sighing against his sire in appreciation when Angel moaned his pleasure. "You always did like pain, you twisted bastard," Spike muttered before biting again, hard enough to bruise.

Angel ground his aching cock into Spike's pelvis, drowning in lust for his perfect, vicious childe. He sat up and pulled Spike's black t-shirt off of his lithe body, throwing it to one side. Leaning over his childe's muscular chest, he took one flat nipple into his mouth, rasping his tongue roughly over it until it hardened. Angel bit lightly, forcing a groan from Spike's panting mouth. Reaching lower, Angel unbuttoned Spike's jeans, sliding them roughly down his lean legs. Angel pulled Spike's boots from his feet, then slid the jeans off, as well. With his childe crouched naked and erect in front of him, Angel reached for the fastenings of his own clothes.

Spike gazed up at his sire and reached for his pants as Angel removed his black silk shirt. Angel toed off his shoes and kicked his feet free of his pants, brushing Spike's face with his rigid cock. Spike knelt at Angel's feet and reached for his sire's dick, grasping it firmly while his tongue lapped at the dripping end. Angel groaned in anguished abandon as Spike engulfed his cock in his cool mouth. Sucking avidly, Spike moved back and forth taking in more of his sire with every thrust.

Finally Angel could stand it no longer and grabbed Spike's head while he battered the back of his throat with his hard cock. Spike clenched his practiced throat muscles, pulling on his sire's dick with ease. "Gods, childe…yes…I'm coming…ah…yes!!! Angel threw back his head and howled his pleasure, uncaring of who heard him. It had been so very long since he felt this bliss. He collapsed to his knees, pushing Spike gently from him and gazing with affection at his favorite childe.

"No one will ever match you, Will," Angel growled, leaning forward to plunder his childe's mouth with harsh, lustful kisses. Spike moaned, desperately in need of release, but waiting for permission before attempting it. Angel broke their kiss as Spike groaned again, and flipped him to his stomach in front of the warm flames, spreading his legs and reaching around to tug at Spike's rock-hard cock. Their bodies had taken on an illusory warmth from the fire, which set them both racing again. Angel pushed gently against Spike's ass, inching his way with torturous slowness into his childe's waiting hole. Spike groaned again as Angel began stroking his cock in time with his own thrusts deep within Spike's ass.

Leaning his head back on his sire's shoulder, Spike gazed deep into his eyes, consumed with lust and something more. This feeling, this connection, was what had been missing for so long, for the century since Angel's soul was restored. Spike might very well be a master vampire, but he needed his family in an almost human way. Being dominated and caressed by his sire connected him, reassured him of his place in the family, and made him feel loved, though he'd never admit it.

Spike felt Angel bite down on his neck as he began to spill and the intense pain/pleasure of his sire's bite catapulted him over the edge himself. Falling into ecstasy, he screamed out, "ANGEL!" and came in his sire's skilled hands. Angel pulled out of his childe's ass and turned Spike to face him, guiding his childe's mouth to his own throat.

"Drink, Will, drink and be mine again," he crooned. Spike needed no further invitation and slid into game face, sinking his fangs into his sire's throat with no hesitation. The rich, delicious blood was even stronger than he remembered and for a moment he was on the brink of unconsciousness from the decadent pleasure of it. Then, Spike realized with a start, that it was Buffy he tasted in his sire's powerful blood. Buffy had increased Angel's strength by ten-fold with her gift of blood to save him from Faith's poisoned arrow. Sighing in languorous satiation as he lapped at the closing bite marks, Spike almost missed Angel's whispered words, "I love you, Will."

*

Buffy was warm and clean. And very, very tired. She climbed slowly from the sunken tub and padded, dripping, into the bedroom. Rooting in her laundry basket, she grabbed a freshly laundered towel. She began drying herself, trying desperately not to think of what she had left behind at the laundromat, but images swirled uncontrollably in her head.

*Huge men towering over her…her black boot smashing into a man's eye…she was forced down on a pool table…her muscles flexing as she beat a man with a metal bar…she was crawling - bloody and beaten - through an alley.* The chaos of memory thundered sounds, smells, textures and images through her head and she fell to the floor, clenching her eyes shut and keening in grief and confusion. Shuddering from head to toe, Buffy curled into a fetal ball on the dusty floor, weeping for the innocence now truly lost to her.

*

Angel moved reluctantly away from Spike and stretched luxuriously before the fire, reveling in the warmth that soothed his cold body. Technically, he didn't *need* to be warm, but he took hedonistic pleasure in it regardless of true need. He pulled his pants on, sighing in splendid satiation, then ran a possessive hand appreciatively over Spike's tight ass, chuckling as his child arched into the gentle touch. The last time he'd felt this relaxed was, gods, probably when he'd nearly drained Buffy dry right in this very room. And that had not ended nearly as well, he thought in chagrin, remembering his mad dash to the hospital to save her life.

Spike grinned lasciviously at Angel as he rolled away from his sire to get his t-shirt. "Not that this wasn't bloody marvelous, Peaches, but what're you gonna do about the Slayer?" Spike asked with a sardonic glance at his sire as he cleaned himself with the shirt.

"I'm not going to tell her anything right now. The last thing she needs is me trying to explain the sexual dynamics of the sire/childe bond to her. Rupert never told her anything about it, and she was too young to understand back when I…." Angel growled, not wanting to think about Buffy's likely reaction to his renewed intimacy with Spike.

"Back when you seduced her barely-past-16-year-old body, Sire? As it happens, I wasn't askin' 'bout *us* you pouf. Meant what're you gonna do about her. She's broke, Sire, and nobody's lining up to fix her. Leastwise, not that I've seen." Spike dropped the dirty shirt and pulled his jeans on, angry for the slayer's sake that none of her friends were even there to help her. "Chit could'a killed me when I got chipped. Didn't. I wasn't bloody easy to live with either…did all I could to make life hell for her and her Scoobs."

"Spike, at least some of the problem is the way I treated her after the rape. I have to make things right somehow, have to help her any way I can. I can't stand to see her so…" his voice trailed off and he grabbed the t-shirt from the floor to clean his hands, dropping it to shrug into his silk shirt. "The real question is, what are you going to do now, Spike? Besides pick that up off my floor, that is," Angel added pointedly. He gazed thoughtfully at his childe while buttoning his shirt. "You don't have a soul limiting your actions and there are plenty of ways around the chip; indirect violence, for instance."

Spike chuckled, "Thanks for the tip, Sire. I'll keep that in mind. Not that it's not occurred to me before, ya know? I'll stick around for a while and help you with the Slayer. Looks like you're gonna have your hands full with the chit. Then you can get me unchipped and I'll scarper off somewhere's and wreak some long-overdue havoc." He grinned and slapped Angel's ass as his sire leaned over, picked up the discarded shirt and thrust it at Spike with a growl that changed into a yell…"Buffy?!?"

Spike heard her too, now, and they raced for the stairs together, unsure of what they'd find. They pounded to Buffy's room and knocked the door open and stopped, transfixed by the sight of her, naked and dripping on the floor. She cried - huge gut-wrenching sobs - keening in grief and despair. Angel could see every rib and vertebra in her thin back and he winced at the sight.

"Hell's bells, Slayer, now what's the matter?" Spike asked plaintively as he pulled Buffy to her feet, tucking the towel around her gently. She was cold and shivering violently, her teeth chattering as she continued to sob.

"I…I k-k-killed two men, Sp-spike," she stuttered. "I've killed d-demons before, but never humans. I c-can't stop seeing them in my head. Seeing what I did to them. Now I know what Faith felt like." She glanced up at Angel for a moment meeting his eyes reluctantly, then looked down in shame.

"Come down by the fire, Buffy, you need to get warm and eat," Angel said quietly. "Don’t think right now. You're shaking like a leaf. You need to take care of your body first. We'll deal with the other stuff later." Angel stepped to the armoire and pulled a not-too-dusty blanket from its shelf, cucooning his mate in its soft folds. He lifted her into his arms and carried her downstairs to the fireplace, setting her on the rug. He crouched behind her and ran gentle fingers through her golden-brown curls, smiling in surprise at their soft texture. "I like your hair this way," he chuckled. "It's pretty."

Buffy flinched from his touch, not meeting his eyes. "It's short. Easy to clean. Stays out of my way," she said stoically as she brushed surreptitiously at the tears still drying on her face.

Angel reached a gentle hand towards her, smoothing the tears away and cupping Buffy's face in a tender grip. "Buffy, please, I won't hurt you. Can't you even bear to let me touch you? I love you, you know. I'll never stop."

Angel nestled next to the fire and Buffy curled away from him like a broken child. "You didn't want me before, Angel. You told me so in the sewer. I'd only ever been with you. And now…you said it yourself. Now, I'm dirty," her voice broke. "I wash and wash, but I can still feel them on my skin. They won't go away. And every morning, when I lay down to go to sleep, they're waiting in my dreams and they use me again and again and I can't fight them. I can't escape." Her voice rose hysterically, and she began shaking again as she pulled further away from him and curled into a tight ball.

Angel growled helplessly, demon rising in anger at what those thrice-damned men had done to his mate. What *he* had done to her, with his selfish, jealous and thoughtless words. "Shush, baby. It's ok. Shush now, love. It's not true, Buffy. You're not dirty. They can't touch you, not the real you deep inside." He pulled her shuddering body into his arms, and held her for a long while, stroking her back and crooning nonsense syllables to her softly as she cried out her anguish. Finally, her shudders began to ease.

"Here, mate, get some of this into her," Spike muttered, as he crouched down to hand Angel a mug of hot cocoa. I even got little marshmallows for you, Slayer, just like your mum used to give me."

"Buffy, love, can you drink some of this for me? You need something in your stomach." Angel caressed her softly through the blanket, eyes never leaving his mate's distraught face.

Buffy shook with grief, flinching at first, then gradually relaxing into the comforting arms of her lover. He held the mug to her lips and she took a hesitant sip of the warm liquid, sighing in pleasure at the rich chocolate. "Mmm, this is good, Spike, thank you," she smiled at him and took the mug from Angel as Spike knelt by her side, stroking her shoulder companionably and settling in beside her.

"Course it's bloody good, Slayer," he replied in mock indignation. "What'd you think I'd nick the cheap kind?"

Buffy grinned at him and shook her head. "Thank you for your exquisite taste in pilfering, then, Spike."

"S'ok, Slayer. I'll take it outta yer hide later, count on it," he grinned, relieved to hear her laugh a bit. He reached a hand out and tousled her curls appreciatively.

*She didn't flinch from *his* touch,* Angel thought jealously, then chided himself inwardly. *Grow up, idiot, maybe that will help us.*

"Peaches is right, Buffy, this suits you. Maybe I'll let mine grow out, too. We'd be bookends," Spike laughed.

"Don't get too domesticated, Spike," Angel smiled. "No one would know who you were. I haven't seen your natural hair color for over a century." Buffy rolled her eyes at them, sipping cocoa and relaxing a bit more into the warmth of the fire and the comfort of her mate's arms.

Spike looked at the slayer seriously. "Buffy, I've seen this before, you know. Girls getting hurt and such. 'Course, none of 'em had your splendid way with their fists, but still…you gotta start talkin' about this, you know. Keepin' it all bottled up inside you, well it don't work. It'll only break you when it finally does come out." Spike thought bitterly of Drusilla, tortured and teased by Angelus for so long that she was no longer able to separate pain from pleasure. It all became the same to her. His dark princess, so beautiful and broken. Spike couldn't stand to think of Buffy descending into that madness. She was as violent as the sun's surface and just as golden, shining through the dark like some glowing star.

Angel glanced at his childe, knowing instinctively of whom he was thinking. "Spike is right. Buffy, what happened at the laundry wasn't your fault. They cornered you and you reacted instinctively to the danger. But that doesn't mean you can ignore the pain and bury it inside you. What will happen the next time you're in a situation like that? You need to deal with this," he said seriously.

Buffy sipped pensively at her cocoa and glanced at him before looking down into her mug. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just that…when you hold me…it feels good, but then it reminds me of everything we did…before and then…I feel them again and the touching is bad and it's all tangled up together inside me now. It's easier with Spike," she muttered. "He never did anything but hit me, so there isn't all that…other stuff in there messing with my head."

Spike rolled his eyes at her. "Happy to oblige, Slayer, you just get this chip outta my skull and I'll hit you all day long," he grinned, winking so she'd know he was fooling with her.

Buffy smiled back at him. "I don't think that chip is going anywhere just yet, Spikey. Wouldn't want to have to kill you before you can make me more cocoa," she chuckled.

"You should eat more than that," Angel said. "You're way too thin, Buffy. Let me cook for you. We all need to eat." Angel tucked the blanket around her more tightly and rose, padding barefoot into the kitchen.

"Mmm, true, Peaches. I seem to have worked up an appetite…" Spike leered at his sire suggestively, then leaned into Buffy. "So, Slayer, can I have a taste, can I, huh?"

Buffy laughed up at him. "In your dreams, Spike. Go have some pig."

Spike grinned back at her, but looked away. *In my dreams, Pet, it's not just your blood that I'm having.*

"Spike, where is the number for that grocery that delivered? You remember, we used to order in food for…" Angel's voice trailed off as he thought of what they'd used the food for. They had kept humans chained in the cellar for Drusilla when Angelus didn't want to be bothered to hunt with her. She was too unstable to be allowed out alone.

"It's in the top drawer by the phone, same place as always, Peaches," Spike called, then turned and rose, hoping Buffy didn't notice his sire's awkward pause. They didn't need to go into the Angelus angst again right now…plenty of Buffy angst to deal with. Gods, how in the nine hells did he get himself roped into this again? Who the fuck did they think he was, anyway, Oprah?

"I'm gonna get you some clothes, Slayer. You're still too cold. Can't have you catching a chill," he said, pushing himself to his feet. He darted upstairs and into her room, grabbing a wrinkled but clean shirt and pants for her and trotting back downstairs with them. He handed them over and grinned at her when she scowled and gestured for him to turn his back.

"Geeze, Spike, peeping much? Turn around so I can put these on." Buffy grumbled as she pulled the warm black flannel shirt on. "Hey, where are my…didn't you grab any…" her voice trailed off in embarrassment as Spike turned and looked at her.

"Whut? Brought yer pants and shirt, Slayer. What else d'you need?" Spike turned and looked questioningly at her as she buttoned her shirt hastily, pants still on the floor.

"Um, something to go under them?" Buffy raised an eyebrow at him as she stepped into the too large jeans and pulled them quickly up under her loose shirt, turning her back on him to fasten them.

"Knickers? Didn't think you were wearin' 'em these days. Leastwise, you didn’t have 'em on when you got into the bath a bit ago…" he leered cheerfully at her.

Buffy shook her head and laughed at his expression. "C'mon, Spike, hello laundry day…I didn't have any clean ones. That's *why* I was doing laundry. Duh!"

"Well, your high-and-mightiness, some of us do wash *before* we run out of knickers, not after. Not me, I mean…never wear 'em, myself…" he added proudly, then chuckled at her flushed cheeks and downcast eyes.

"Eeww, way too much information here, Spike. Bad mental pictures, bad…ick….Speaking of which, where is your shirt, anyway?"

"Got dirty," he said, settling himself with no self-consciousness next to the fire again. Buffy stared in fascination at his pale white chest as she curled herself back into the nested blanket. He wasn't as broad as Angel, but he was cut; with muscles that just begged for someone to reach over and touch them.

He caught her looking and she glanced away, flustered. He leaned over and tousled her curls, running his fingers gently through the golden-brown hair as Angel returned from the kitchen. He curled up to the other side of Buffy, smiling at her as he stroked one wayward curl back from her face. She flinched a little and he frowned, pulling back from her. "Buffy, can't you stand to even let me touch you a little bit?"

She whispered, "I'm sorry, Angel."

He just sighed. "I understand, love. I can wait. We'll both be here for you while you heal." Angel smiled at her, briefly stroking her shoulder.

Buffy turned and looked at Spike and he grumbled snarkily, "Gods, how the mighty Big Bad has fallen…cuddling in front of the fire with the Pouf and the Slayer. Just stake me now…"

Buffy laughed, feeling absurdly better about everything. The warm fire was making her drowsy and the men on either side of her were oddly comforting. Spike smelled of leather and cigarettes while Angel's scent was clean soap and incense, with his hair gel mixed in. Their cool bodies and familiar scents were soothing and she slowly dropped off into sleep, secure in the knowledge that no humans were near her. They left her there, curled in front of the glowing embers, warm and safely wrapped in the soft woolen blanket, as they crept away with the stealth of the true predators that they were.

Spike looked back on her fondly, wondering at himself and his insane desire to comfort and protect this small enemy. Her laugh had sent tingles of pleasure through his undead body. This was wrong. He couldn't truly care about her…he just wanted to taste her. He headed up to his room, grabbing the dirty t-shirt from behind the couch as he went and NOT thinking of making love to a little bit of a girl who only loved his sire.

*

*Buffy was crawling, trying to get to safety, but huge boots kept kicking her, splintering bones and tearing muscles. For every inch she managed to move forward, she received another volley of brutal kicks. She cried out for help, but she was alone in the dark with her assailants. Unable to find any safety at all; unable to stand and defend herself, she finally curled into a ball, trying to protect herself as best she could. She screamed for someone, anyone, to find her in the darkness.*

"Slayer! Buffy, wake up. It's just a dream!" Spike slapped her very gently across the face to get her attention, then stroked her hair and looked deep into her tearful eyes. "Buffy, are you awake now? You’re all right, Pet. Angel just went out to get us some blood, he'll be back soon. Shush, shush, you're ok," he crooned, hugging her close to his cool skin and rubbing her back slowly.

"Buffy, does that happen every time you sleep? Is that why you look so…" he paused for a moment attempting some kind of tact, then gave it up as a lost cause and blurted, "shitty?"

Surprisingly, it was the right thing to say. It galvanized the slayer to shake off whatever demons were haunting her dreams to answer him back, snarkily, "What kind of comfort is that? I look shitty? Thanks a lot, Spike."

"Hey, didn't mean to trod on your delicate sensibilities, Slayer. But you could pack for a week with those bags under your eyes," he jeered gently at her, glad that she was snapping out of her quiet depression and bickering with him. "So, you gonna sit on your ass and make us wait on you all night and day, or you gonna get up and do something? Early slayer catches the fledgling, and all that rot."

Buffy laughed, the last of her night terrors dispelled at the image of herself as the early bird. "All right, you wanna come patrol with me, Spikey?" She grinned as he winced at the hated nickname.

"Betcha I get one before you, little miss slacker." He pulled her to her feet and they headed for the weapons chest against one wall.

"Ha, you're on, oh Chipped Wonder…I can slay with one hand tied behind my back." Buffy boasted, grabbing two stakes and a mini-crossbow from the chest.

"Ooh, didn't know Peaches had taught you anything about bondage, Luv. Did he use those nifty fur-lined handcuffs on you?" Spike snorted with laughter at her look of absolute shock and embarrassment. "I'm guessing that's a 'No,' Slayer. When will you learn that you can't best me on the one-ups?"

"No comment, not thinking about what you just said. I heard nothing…" muttered Buffy as images of Spike naked with fur-lined handcuffs and Angel doing…what? to him filled her unwilling, but intrigued head. She'd never thought about them that way…but they *had* been together for decades. What hadn't Angel told her?! "Just shut up and let's go kill something…ok?" The two hunters headed out into the night, both nonplussed at the camaraderie that continued to grow between them.

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Breaking A Slayer 5 - 8