Post NFA. Somewhere between R and NC-17. Written to answer a prompt from Eurydice and fondly dedicated to her.



Indulgence

I checked the address scribbled on a bit of paper once more, even though I had read it so often that I had it memorized. The note pointed to the apartment 603, and it was the same number right in front of me, the golden all but faded from the numerals, leaving them a dull iron color.

Even as I knocked, I had a feeling that no one would answer. Call it Slayer instinct, intuition from knowing him for so long, or just plain common sense – it was a little before midnight; he had to be out and hunting. Still, I knocked, and waited a good minute before very gently forcing the door open.

I felt guilty as I stepped in, and the feeling was strange. I had entered his home many times without his express consent, usually without knocking first, and it had never bothered me. This time, though, it did. I guess I had changed, since I had last seen him. Seven years will do that to a girl.

I turned on the lights and walked around the apartment, touching things here and there with just the tips of my fingers, careful not to disturb them. A ceramic mug with the traditional ‘I ♥ NY’ had been left on the partition wall separating the kitchenette from the living room; its inside was coated with dried blood. I didn’t even think twice before moving it to the sink and filling it with hot water. There was a take-out menu stuck on the fridge with one of these advertisement magnets companies send in the mail; a quick look showed two codes circled, one for hot wings, the other for a blooming onion. I couldn’t help it; I grinned.

The living room was, unsurprisingly, very sparsely furnished. The battered sofa, worn out rug and antique television seemed straight out of his old crypt. In contrast to that, the DVD player on top of the television looked like the state of the art. Dozens of DVDs filled a shelving unit almost as tall as me. I read some titles at random. TV shows, old movies, brand new releases… there was anything and everything in there.

At the foot of the sofa, an ashtray was overfilled with cigarette stubs. It sent a wave of nostalgia through me that gave me pause. I had never particularly enjoyed his smoking habit, and I might even have bitched about it a few times, like I had bitched about everything that was him, simply because it was him. But if I’m honest with myself, I can admit I had never minded that much. And during the last seven years, every time I had smelled cigarette smoke, a little part of me had expected him to come out of the shadows with his usual cocky smirk. He never had.

The bathroom smelled of antiseptics, and there was a first aid kit next to the sink. I wondered how often he had to use it; not too frequently, I hoped. He didn’t need to take care of anything but the most serious wounds. Although with what he spent his nights doing, serious wounds might have been common. I gave an automatic look at the mirror before leaving the bathroom, pushing a stray strand of hair back behind my ear. I didn’t like the weary look in my eyes, but then, I hadn’t liked it for years. The scar running along my jaw had healed quite well, and it was no more than a white line now. I briefly wondered if he would notice it, before dismissing the question. Of course he would. He was one of the most observant people I had ever known. He would see every single way in which I had changed seconds after he laid his eyes on me. It scared me, a bit. It had always scared me how much he could see just by looking at me.

The last room was, predictably, his bedroom. As in the living room, heavy drapes covered the window. The bed wasn’t made, the sheets and comforter tangled in an indescribable mess. The only pillow was on the side of the bed rather than at its head, positioned just right for someone to hold it when going to sleep. I could tell; my own had been in the same place every morning for six years.

Still in snooping mode despite a lingering thread of guilt, I opened the first drawer of the dresser; it held a handful of black t-shirts. It was all I could do not to pick one up and try to detect his scent on it. The second drawer held shirts, the last one, jeans. Incredibly organized for him, I thought, smiling a little. Coming to sit by the side of his bed, I pulled open the nightstand drawer and grimaced. Adult magazines, a bottle of lotion, and an innocuous box of matches. I took out the matches and lit the pillar candle on the nightstand. The gleam of metal drew my eyes as I was returning the matches to their place, and, curious, I lifted the magazines to see what was beneath them. I almost laughed out loud when I saw the handcuffs, and just had to take them out of the drawer. The metal was cold in my hand, heavy. Just like I remembered it. And it wasn’t the only thing I remembered. Funny how some memories hide for years before ambushing you without warning.

“That’s what the cops use to take away trespassers.”

His words startled me just as much as his amused tone, and I jumped to my feet, the handcuffs escaping my grasp to clatter loudly on the wooden floor. I hadn’t heard him come in, nor had I expected him to be amused at my snooping – not that I had intended to let him catch me. But he was here, now, and smirking as he looked at me, and I couldn’t find anything to say other than—

“Hey Spike.”



When I first got a hint of her scent climbing up the staircase, I thought I was imagining things. Hell, it wouldn’t have been the first time my mind had played tricks on me. But when I found my door unlocked, I knew. I just knew, as clearly as I knew that I needed blood to survive, or that sunlight was deadly. It was one of these deep certitudes that leave no place for doubt, and offer hard yet simple choices. Animal blood, or human. Stay away from sunlight, or walk into it. Talk to her after seven years that felt like as many centuries, or turn away.

I walked in.

I looked around the living room and kitchen, certain that something would be different. Something had to be different. She was here, after all. But the apartment was the same as always, and I followed her trail to the bedroom. I stood by the door for a moment, watching her. She had lit a candle, and was playing with the handcuffs. She looked utterly comfortable, grinning at the metal in her hands; she looked like she was home. Or maybe that was just me imagining things again.

I should have been pissed off that she had invaded my home, my privacy like this. I didn’t know why, and I still don’t to this day, but I wasn’t pissed off. Rather, I was a bit amused. I had once been the snooping one, with her drawers as my playground. Turnabout was only fair.

She still hadn’t noticed me, and it surprised me almost as much as her presence there. A Slayer as oblivious to a vamp’s presence as she was wouldn’t live long. Except… how old was she, now? Seven years since I had last talked to her, she had been twenty-two by then, so she had to be coming close to thirty years old. Longest living slayer ever, I would have bet my soul on it. She didn’t look one day older than twenty.

I pondered how to catch her attention. I almost said her name, but I didn’t trust myself to do so. I could have pretended to be offended by her poking around my stuff, but I honestly didn’t care all that much. It wasn’t like I had anything to hide. Still, I had to say something.

“That’s what the cops use to take away trespassers.”

She started at my words, standing abruptly and looking at me with wide, deer in headlights eyes. The handcuffs were loud as they fell to the floor.

“Hey Spike.”

As far as greetings went, I’d say hers was as lame as mine. She was facing me, now, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was the same as I remembered her – and yet, she was also completely different. Her hair was as short as when she had cut it to spite me, but darker. She didn’t look as starved as she used to, and the look was good on her. I had to clench my fist to suppress the urge to go to her and touch that long white line along her jaw.

“I’m sorry,” she added when I didn’t say a thing, “I didn’t mean to pry…”

“Of course you did,” I interrupted her with a shrug. “You wouldn’t have forced the door if you hadn’t meant to discover all my dirty secrets. Found anything worth staking me over?”

“Not really. Although…” She picked up the handcuffs, and, holding them toward me hooked on her index finger, she arched an eyebrow at me.

“Souvenir,” I replied her silent question. “Cop found me in a warehouse right after I had cleared out a nest. Tried to take me in.”

She answered with a small smile and a shake of her head, and slid the cuffs back in their drawer.

What I didn’t say was that the officer had never gotten as far as to take his gun out of his holster, let alone used handcuffs on me. I had knocked him out from behind, and picked up the cuffs from his unconscious body. I couldn’t have explained the impulse at the moment I stole them, but when I had held them in my hands, later, the memory had returned as clear as though it had only happened the day before. The handcuffs were a souvenir. They were, even though they weren’t the same ones she had used in my memories.

I wouldn’t have admitted it if she had asked, but being in the bedroom with her wasn’t particularly comfortable, and I walked back to the living room, taking off my duster and throwing it on the back of the sofa. As I had hoped she would, she followed me. Her question wasn’t one I would have expected. I think she was just making small talk.

“So, you do that often, then? Clearing out nests?”

Hopping onto the kitchen’s partition wall, I pulled out my cigarettes from my shirt’s pocket and lit one. She was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a perfect image of calm. Except, I could hear her heart thundering from where I was.

“If you knew where to find me,” I answered her after taking my first hit of nicotine, “I bet you know what I do with my nights too. So why don’t we skip the niceties and go straight to the reason why you’re here?”

I expected her to tell me of a coming apocalypse and how she needed all the troops she could rally. I would have played hard to get, claiming I didn’t care, and finally agreed because, let’s face it, killing assorted demons and vamps on a nightly basis can get a tad boring after a while, and a nice little apocalypse would have been an interesting distraction. But there was no apocalypse in her answer. No promise of a fight either. And it took me a long while to process her words.

“I just wanted to see you,” she smiled.



I had prepared this whole speech about how Giles had insisted for me to step back from slaying and had given me Watcher duties instead. There were four active Slayers in New York, plus two kids we were keeping an eye on until they’d get a bit older, so a second Watcher in town had been sorely needed for a while. My speech would have ended with me offering Spike to join in, making it three of us to observe and help when needed.

But as I stood there in front of him, all my carefully planned words dissolved in the wariness of his eyes. He deserved the truth.

And the truth was, I was the one who had decided to come to New York. It wasn’t until I had announced it to Giles that he had mentioned the Watcher there had requested some help. And I hadn’t accepted the job yet. I hadn’t refused it either. I had just told Giles it would depend on whether I’d stay in town or not. He hadn’t asked – he’s learned not to pry in my private life – but I’m pretty sure he had an idea of what was going on. He knew just as well as I did Spike was in New York. We had read the same memos.

So, I threw caution to the wind and gave Spike a plain and truthful answer, with the somewhat uncomfortable thought at the back of my mind that I had never been so frank with him before.

“I just wanted to see you.”

It was hard to smile when I didn’t know how he would react to that, but I managed to, barely. And then, I waited for what felt like forever.

“See me,” he repeated, so quiet I barely heard him, then said more loudly, opening his arms wide in a dramatic gesture. “There I am. Hope you’re enjoying the show.”

There was something in his voice that I couldn’t quite name. It felt a bit as though he had been mocking me – except, he sounded like he was mocking himself too.

“You haven’t changed,” I said, aware that he could interpret that two ways and curious which he would choose. He took the less complicated route.

“Vamps tend not to, thought you knew that. Perks that come with the fangs. I’ll be as good-looking the day I turn to dust as I was the day I died.”

I rolled my eyes at that, adding an “As cocky, too,” under my breath. He took the bait, of course. He had never been able to resist such an easy lead. I couldn’t help watching as he hooked a thumb at the waistband of his jeans and rested his fingers against his crotch.

“Another perk,” he agreed with a leer.

Thinking back on all of it, I realize that I had been both right and wrong when claiming he hadn’t changed. Wrong, because his attitude from these few weeks before the end of Sunnydale, subdued and walking on tiptoes around me, was gone. Right, because this was the Spike from the last few days before the battle; the Spike from before our affair. The same Spike I had hoped to find when I had stepped on that plane. And to be in front of him, suddenly, was both exhilarating and scary.

“Would you like to have coffee with me tomorrow night? I’d offer to go now but I’m still on Rome’s time and I’d probably fall asleep in the middle of a sentence or something.”

I’m not sure if it was the offer itself or the bit of humor I tried to put into my words that confused him most. But yeah, he was confused. He stared at me for a moment, his forgotten cigarette turning to ashes in between his fingers.

“I don’t get it,” he said at last, sliding off his perch with a shake of his head. He seemed to remember the cigarette then, and got rid of it in an ashtray nearby. He didn’t speak again until his eyes were back on me. “The last time we saw each other, I burned. Seven years pass, I never heard from you, and now you want to have coffee with me?”

“Mostly, I want to talk,” I shrugged, feigning calm when I was as tense as before a fight, “but I figured it’d be easier with coffee. Or a drink. As for seven years… your stunt as a ghost didn’t last long, or so I’ve been told. You could have picked up a phone yourself. Or stuck around a bit longer when you came to Rome with Angel.”

I could practically hear the wheels turn in his head. Yes, I had known he was back to the world, known about his corporeality problems, and then his encounter with sweet, crazy Dana. I had known, after the fact, that he and Angel had come to Rome. Of course I had known.

“I could have,” he admitted, poker faced. “And you could have done any of these things too.”

I inclined my head, conceding his point, even though it wasn’t that easy. If I had run to him when I had first heard he was back, things would just have been a terrible mess. I hadn’t been ready. I don’t think he had been either.

“So?” I pressed on. “Coffee? Drink? Tomorrow night?”

“Drink,” he said blankly. “A few of them. At least for me.” He added the last with a slight grin when I grimaced.

“I’ll come back by nightfall,” I promised on my way to the door, and turned back to look at him. He hadn’t moved, still standing by the half-wall, still looking at me, still not really believing I was there, I think.

“And, Spike?”

He arched an eyebrow at me.

“I did enjoy the show.”

He was laughing when I closed the door behind me; I’d never have thought it would make me feel so warm to hear him laugh.




I laughed for a while after she had left. In truth, her words hadn’t been that funny. I think I was just still surprised that she had come to me, for no other reason, apparently, than her desire to talk to me.

Once I had calmed down, I plopped myself on the sofa and turned the telly on. I had no idea what was on it though, lost as I was in my own thoughts.

When I was turned back from a spook to a real vamp, I thought of going to her. Of course I did. But I never was able to. She had told me she loved me just as I had been about to die; I was pretty sure she hadn’t meant it. I had a lot of time to think about it while I haunted W&H, and I came to the conclusion that she had cared enough to want to give me a parting gift. Caring didn’t guarantee she’d welcome me back in her life with open arms if I went to her. Since I wasn’t in any rush to be rejected once more, I stayed in LA, and secretly hoped she would hear about me. Come to me. Then we got word that she was dating the Immortal… I can take a clue.

I thought about going to her again after that bloody battle in LA. I had nothing else to do, really. No attaches and no place to crash. But Peaches had been hurt enough to go past his pride and ask for my help to get back on his feet. And I accepted. By the time we got on each other’s nerves enough to say goodbye – which took a surprisingly long time – I went as far as New York, intending on taking a plane to Europe. And then… I never took that plane. I’m not sure why.

I regretted it, sometimes, during the years that followed, but not enough to do something about it. For all I knew, she might have been dead. Or married. Or a dozen other things that would have hurt like hell.

Because, yeah, as much as I tried to convince myself to move on during these seven long years, it didn’t work like that. I tried not to think about her. Tried being the operative word. I would go a week, a month without giving her a thought, and then something, anything at all, would remind me of her, and I’d be back to another round of introspection. I thought back on everything that had happened between us, from the night we first met behind the Bronze to the instant I went up in flames. I came to some hard conclusions and blinding truths about us, about her, and about me, too. What I never doubted was how much I had loved her. And I never questioned myself about whether I still did.

But now… now that she had finally come to me, now that it wasn’t a hypothetical, ‘what would happen if we ever met again?’ but a very pressing, ‘what will happen tomorrow night?’, all these reflections, all this thinking seemed rather meaningless. Because I had picked up one thing from her short visit: she wasn’t the same Buffy I had known. That Buffy, I knew it, would never have come to me. This Buffy had.

And I was a bit afraid, I’ll admit it, to discover how much she had changed. To discover she had changed too much. Or maybe, not enough.

More than afraid, though, I was excited. Hell, you don’t think about a woman for seven years and then feel nothing when she shows up on your doorstep. I didn’t know what would happen, I didn’t know if anything would happen at all beyond drinks and talking, but that was good enough. Or at least, it was good enough at that moment.

I didn’t sleep much that day. I tossed and turned in my bed, and then turned and tossed some more. Thing is, her scent was all around the room. I could have stopped breathing, and it would have made things easier, I suppose. But I knew her scent was there, and I couldn’t resist it. Just like I couldn’t resist taking care of my slight hard on problem. Can’t deny I had wanked to her image too often to count in the past seven years; it was different this time, though, because it was the new her in my mind. I could imagine quite well what her curvier body would look like naked. Gotta say though, my imagination didn’t do her justice, but I couldn’t know that yet, of course.

When I got tired of not being able to sleep, I decided that, maybe, it was time to change the bed sheets. And it was a complete coincidence that the only clean ones I had on hand were satin.

I cleaned up the apartment a bit, then myself. Dressed. Smoked. Fed. Smoked some more. Picked another shirt. Waited.

And right on cue when my senses told me the sun was going down, she knocked on the door. I passed a hand through my hair and went to open to her. And I stared until her small smile turned into amusement and happiness.

The previous night, she had been wearing jeans and an oversized pullover, both a bit rumpled, I suppose, by her trip, and she had honestly looked as though she had just stepped out of the plane.

This time… she had dressed to kill. Dainty sandals with heels that made her almost as tall as me, little black dress that molded all of her curves perfectly before flaring just a bit, bright red lipstick that made her lips full and scrumptious without giving her a sluttish look…

I stared because she was gorgeous, but also because I had just realized something. She hadn’t just asked me to have a drink with her.

She had asked me out on a date.



I could tell, when he opened the door, that the afternoon spent shopping hadn’t been a loss of time. I had realized earlier that day that I hadn’t packed up anything remotely nice, and after a slight bout of panicking and calling myself names I had gone out to shop, Council-issued credit card in hand. I honestly didn’t have plans beyond a coffee – or drink – and talking, and I could have showed up to his door in jeans and t-shirt for that, I suppose. But the effort to dress up was worth it when I saw the look he was giving me.

“’Evening, Spike,” I said when a good minute had passed and he still hadn’t said a word or moved a muscle. “Am I coming in or are you coming out?”

He blinked, and, still slack-jawed, gave me a little frown that clearly spelled “Huh?”.

“Are you ready?” I tried again.

Another blink, and his mouth finally shut with an audible snap.

“Just a sec,” he mumbled, and went to retrieve his duster on the sofa. I watched him put it on in a fluid movement, and for a second, it was as though I had stepped into the past. He was wearing the same black jeans and t-shirt, the same unbuttoned red shirt, the same leather duster that he always seemed to have on in my memories – when he was clothed. He hadn’t dressed up like I had, but I didn’t mind.

I remember, back when he started trying to woo me, he once ditched his clothes and got a new look. And he did the same thing when he came back with his soul; he called it a costume, said he was trying to hide behind it. I would have been disappointed if he had played the same game now. I had come to know what kind of man he was, and whether time had changed him as it had me. Somehow, the fact that he had the same attire as ever was comforting, like the menus on his fridge, the overfilled ashtrays, and even the handcuffs.

“After you, then.”

I gave a start at his words. Caught in my thoughts, I hadn’t realized he was now ready and waiting for me.

The staircase was too narrow for us to walk together, so I took the lead, intensely aware of his presence behind me, my mind still playing with the idea of what his clothes meant. I almost tripped over my own feet at a sudden thought; he had, more than once, tried to disguise who he was by dressing differently. Was it what I was doing with my pretty dress and new shoes?

I dismissed the idea instantly. I had crossed an ocean because I believed I was ready to have a mature relationship, and because Spike had remained in my mind these past years with the regret for things that could have been. Could still be, maybe. Hiding behind a costume wasn’t part of any of it. And even if I had truly been hiding, I know Spike could have seen through the act. He always had.

“Where are you taking me?”

We had reached the street and I had instinctively turned right, the same way I had arrived. Spike was by my side immediately, asking his question in between two hits of nicotine. And I suddenly felt rather dumb. I had invited him out, but I had no idea whatsoever where to take him. All I knew of New York was my hotel, his apartment, and a couple of shops between the two.

“Well I… don’t know,” I admitted. “Is there a coffee place around? Or a bar? Anything?”

I watched a small smile play on his lips, and he nodded. “This way.”

All right, I’ll admit that I half expected him to take me to a demon bar or something. So, I was more than a little surprise when he opened the door for me and I stepped into what looked like a more than decent establishment. There weren’t many people at this hour. The bartender was sitting behind a long bar of polished wood, a crosswords book and pencil in hand. He looked up at us and gave Spike a nod, and immediately put down his book to grab a glass and a bottle.

“Cigarette, Spike,” a waitress called as she was passing near us on her way to a table. He rolled his eyes, but he did put his cigarette out in the ashtray by the door. He led me to an isolated table, and held the chair for me before taking his own seat. It felt… strange. But good, too.

We didn’t have time to say a word before the same waitress who had called on him about the cigarette brought the glass the bartender had prepared. I’m not sure what it was; whiskey, or scotch maybe. Obviously, it wasn’t the first time he had come there, and I might have felt a flash of something very much like jealousy when he thanked her by name and she flashed him a smile.

“And for you?” she asked when she turned to me and gave me a very thorough, somewhat suspicious look.

I ordered my coffee, and it seemed that I had passed whatever inspection she had been doing, because her smile to me was as bright as the one she had given Spike. “Sure thing, sweetie.”

She was back in seconds, and left us with our drinks. With each other.

I hadn’t been that nervous in a long, long time.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Spike asked after taking a sip of his drink, and I looked up from my coffee to catch a very vulnerable look on his face. It disappeared right away, but I had seen it. He was as nervous as I was. Somehow, it gave me a bit of courage.

“How about you tell me what it was like to fight a dragon?”



Even once the shock had faded, I kept playing with the notion in my mind. I was going on a date with the Slayer. It felt extremely peculiar. We had done a lot of things together, but never that. As a matter of fact, I had never been on what could be called a date. There’s a first for everything, I suppose.

And because it was a first – because I was so completely clueless as to what she expected – because I wasn’t too sure what I expected either – I was nervous as hell. Put me in front of a dozen demons, armed only with my hands, and I can deal. Sit me at a bar table with a dolled up Slayer, and I’m little better than William at the height of his foolishness.

There were two positive things in the whole situation. First, the bartender and the waitress knew me well enough that I had a scotch in front of me seconds after I sat down. Next… Buffy was clearly as nervous as I was. That was a bit reassuring. I wasn’t the only one in unknown lands.

“So what did you want to talk about?” I asked her when silence started becoming uncomfortable. Her answer took me, once again, by surprise.

“How about you tell me what it was like to fight a dragon?”

There was a spark in her eyes that said she really wanted to know; more than that, though, it said that she wished she had fought the dragon herself.

“You’d have to ask Angel,” I replied, looking very closely to how she would react to the name. “The wanker claimed the dragon for himself and wouldn’t let me help.”

I might have said Gunn didn’t let me help for all the reaction I got out of her; she did smile, though.

“And you let that stop you? I’d have thought it would make you rush to the dragon even faster.”

“Yeah, well, I might have tried if there hadn’t been a few thousand more demons lined up and begging to be killed.”

She had raised her cup to her lips, and barely took a sip before putting it down again. “If you had called us, we would have helped,” she said simply.

I shrugged. “The plan fell into place so fast, there wasn’t time. And it would have ruined the effect of surprise I suppose.” Another shrug. “Not my plan, not my decision.”

“Well, it was your decision to fight, “ she said, rather pointedly, and I looked at her with a frown, trying to understand where she was going with that line of thought. She took the scrutiny in stride, and added: “Like it’s your decision to continue fighting now.”

Belatedly realizing that my glass was empty, I turned to catch the waitress attention and asked for a beer this time. Something was telling me I needed to keep my head clear.

“So, why do you? Still fight, I mean.”

I’ve got to say, this wasn’t what I had expected a date would be like. I had the neat impression that she had a list of questions to shoot at me, and a list of appropriate answers to go with it.

“Why do you think I do?” I asked after a second, and had to forcibly remind myself that Maria, the waitress, would kick me out if I pulled out my cigarettes.

She took another sip of her coffee before she answered; her eyes remained on me the whole time.

“I used to think the only reason you played on our side was to get into my pants.” There was a strange tint of bitterness to her words. “I believe I owe you an apology about that too.”

More than the apology part, it was the ‘too’ that caught my attention. What else did she feel she had to apologize about? I voiced the question and she took yet another sip of coffee. I realized at that instant that she was stalling. Bringing the cup to her mouth and down again gave her time to think. Which brought the question, why was she so careful with what she was saying?

“I think I should apologize for thinking your soul made you different. And for treating you differently because of that.”

Each word was said cautiously, almost as though she were afraid I would react badly. I didn’t react at all, mostly because I wasn’t sure what she meant.

“It took me a while to understand it,” she continued after a moment, still as cautious, “but the only difference was that you were completely out of your mind for a while. After that… it was you, I think. The same you as before the soul. Except, you didn’t know how to act with me because of what had happened before you left. So that was where the difference came from. The soul didn’t change you, you did that, all on your own, and by the time you got it, you were for the most part the same man I’ve got in front of me today.”

She squirmed a little on her seat under my stare. Her hands were almost as white as her coffee cup from holding it too tight.

“Am I making any sense?” she asked, sounding slightly worried.

I honestly didn’t know what to answer. On one hand, I wanted to say that yes, it did make sense, because it meant she could finally see that the vampire she had slept with had been as worthy of her respect as the one she had called a champion. On the other, it left the incident that had directly caused me to go hunt for a soul to be dealt with. If I was the same man now I had been then, did it mean I was still capable of forcing myself on her? Was that what she thought?

If it was, I didn’t know why she was even there. And I told her so.



I hadn’t planned to go that fast into the thick of things, and now that I had, I was afraid it had been a mistake. Spike stared at me, his face completely unreadable; I had this awful feeling that I had just broken any remote chance we might have had.

Still, I believed each word I had pronounced.

I could still hear myself, seven years earlier, repeating ad nauseam to whomever would listen, ’He’s different, now. He has a soul’. But as time had passed, as Spike had learned to deal with the soul and gotten rid of the First Evil’s hold on him, my words had held less and less conviction as it slowly became clear to me that Spike hadn’t changed all that much, if at all. And if he was the same… Hypocrisy, thy name is Buffy.

“Am I making any sense?” I eventually asked, unable to bear his silence anymore.

His eyes were cold, as was his voice. “If you think I’m the same man who tried to rape you, I don’t know why you’re here.”

That wasn’t what I had wanted him to take out of my words, but I could see how he had come to that particular point. I guess it wasn’t something we could just sweep under the rug and pretend hadn’t happened. Seven years worth of introspection pointed all too clearly that when I had told him no, that night, it hadn’t been the first time – just the first time I had meant it. But I doubted he had any interest in hearing me make excuses for him. He had owned up to his mistake the best way he had known how, by getting the soul he hoped would make him better, and to even partially excuse him now would have been the same as denying the worth of his effort. And that was the last thing I wanted.

“What I truly think,” I said quietly, looking into his eyes and hoping he would see I really meant every word I pronounced, “is that you are the same man who stopped before he went too far. The same man who felt so guilty about what he had tried to do that he did what no other vampire had ever done before him and sought a soul of his own accord. And that is why I’m here today.”

He made a sound that seemed a bit skeptical before taking a deep swig of his beer. Almost automatically, I picked up my coffee, and realized I had finished all of it. I raised my hand to catch the waitress’ attention. I changed my mind at the last second, requesting a beer rather than another coffee. Maybe Spike had the right idea. Wound up as I was, a bit of alcohol might have helped me loosen up.

“So, why did it take you all that time to find me, if that’s what you think?”

His words held as much cynicism as they did pain, though I doubt I was supposed to recognize the latter. His fingers were tapping restlessly on the table, a quick staccato that spelled out I wasn’t the only one who was on edge.

“It took me a while to sort through my life,” I replied truthfully. “I lost everything I had when Sunnydale disappeared off the map. Everything I was, too. I wasn’t the Slayer anymore, just one of them, and it felt weird for a while. And then you… you had died, and I heard you were back, and I thought you’d come to me and tell me you had lied when you said you didn’t believe me…”

His gaze fell to the bottle in front of him at that, and he took a sudden interest in the label. I wanted to ask him if my words had been of any comfort to him, when he had burned to ashes, but I didn’t. Too much time had passed, and it didn’t really matter anymore if I had meant the confession I had finally offered him as he was dying, or if he had believed it.

“It took you a while,” he snorted at last. “’S that why you fell into bed with the Immortal?”

I’ll admit I had expected that particular question, and I had an answer ready.

“Ever heard of the term ‘rebound guy’?”

He blinked twice, and then let out a quiet laugh. Picking up his beer again, he raised it toward me. I did the same with a grin, and our bottles met with a slight chime to celebrate the end of yet another one of my relationships. It had been a little more than five years since I had dumped the Immortal. I had very rarely spared him a thought since.

I took my first swig of beer; it was cool and strong, and it sent a flash of warmth through me. It was enough to remind me that alcohol didn’t agree with me. Enough, also, to make me pronounce what I said next with more amusement than any other emotion.

“At least, I didn’t fall for Harmony.”

Despite his shrug and the mild tone of his voice when he replied, I could tell that he was a bit embarrassed. And as far as I was concerned, he should have been.

“What can I say, I was desperate. After not being able to touch anything or anyone for weeks, I’d have shagged anybody.”

Silence fell between us, and we both drank some more. I looked around at the bar. Without my notice, it had filled somewhat, and the buzz of the voices added to that of the alcohol. I will swear to my dying day it was the combination that made me ask: “You’re corporeal, now. Why don’t you have anyone in your bed?”

Blind shot. I didn’t know for a fact that he didn’t have a lover, or lovers. I just suspected. And judging by the way his face closed off, I suspected right.



I had taken the taunt about Harmony in stride without questioning it, maybe because I’m not that proud of my stints with her, but Buffy’s too offhand comment about the state of my sex life struck a nerve.

“You’re corporeal, now. Why don’t you have anyone in your bed?”

I had been asking myself the same thing for a while, actually. It had been many months since I had last had someone in my bed. Even more than that since I had known the girl’s name. Vamps aren’t supposed to be celibate; my demon was screaming for soft flesh to sink into, fangs and cock, but there was just no one I was interested in. At least, no one I could have. And to be reminded of my not so willing celibate state by her, like that, had the same effect on me as being doused in holy water. Pain and fury. I struck back.

“Is your own sex life so pitiful that you’ve got to get your jollies by spying on mine?” I spat at her, eyes probably flashing gold as it was all I could do not to shift to game face. “D’you have Watchers standing guard over me? Counting how many times I wank in a month? Do you have pictures, too? ‘Cause if you don’t, that can easily be arranged!”

“Spike! Calm down!”

Only with her urgent whisper did I realize that I was practically shouting, and most of the bar patrons were looking at me curiously. Maria, in particular, looked at me with wide eyes. I didn’t care all that much to tell the truth, except maybe about her, but it broke my tirade, and Buffy managed to get a word in.

“Of course I don’t have anyone spying on your sleeping habits!” she hissed, indignant. “Why would you think…”

“You knew where I live,” I cut in, calmer now but still angry. “And you knew I patrol at night. What else do you know?”

“Nothing. That’s all I know,” she insisted, her voice almost trembling with intensity. “It was just wishful thinking on my part, I suppose. Giles has been keeping an eye on you and Angel for years, but your… sex life is no one’s business but yours.” She had stumbled a little on the word sex. Some things never change. “And I’m sorry for even breaching the subject if it’s such a sore spot for you.”

“It’s not…” I started, before snapping my mouth shut. Of course it was a sore spot. I wouldn’t have reacted like that if it hadn’t been.

The silence was very heavy, after that. I kept my eyes on my now empty beer bottle, and from what I could see in my peripheral vision, I could tell she was doing the same. It had been too easy until that moment, I suppose. The past was catching up with us. We had never been able to talk so easily, so plainly, and it certainly violated some fundamental rule of the universe that we had even tried. And then she surprised me.

“I haven’t had anyone in my life for four years, now,” she said, so quietly that I could barely hear her over the noise of the bar. “And even before that, it… sex was never that good. I mean, not as good as it was with you.”

I looked up at her, then, but couldn’t read much on her face as she kept contemplating her bottle. I didn’t really know what to think about that, because our relationship, if I can call it that, had been nothing but sex. And if that was the reason why she had come back to see me, even as much as I needed to get laid, I wasn’t going to be a happy vamp.

“And for a while,” she continued after a brief pause, still quiet, “I thought that it was the whole secret affair, illicit sex part of it that made it special. But the more I thought about it…” She dared a look up, and immediately looked away when she saw I was watching her. “That wasn’t it. Because if it had been all there was to it, that last night I spent in your arms wouldn’t have felt so good.”

And the hell if I knew what to answer to that.

I remembered that last night, too. I remembered being so angry after seeing her and Angel together. Being so surprised when she had called me a champion. Being so grateful when she had simply lain down next to me.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who remembered. And I didn’t know what to do with that knowledge. I was afraid to add up the clues, I guess. Afraid to be hurt again by her care. There’s only so much a bloke can take.

And still, I dropped my defenses, and asked again: “Why did you come here, Buffy?”

This time, when she looked up, she didn’t shy away from my gaze and instead stared straight into my eyes. It felt as though she had been opening herself to me. I honestly don’t think she had ever done that before that night. It was a bit like looking straight up at the sky, and discovering more stars there than you even suspected existed, and I felt the same kind of awe, of fear and wonder, all at once.

“If I told you those three words today,” she said, her voice shaking a little, “would you believe me?”

I didn’t have to ask which words she meant. It was all too clear. Our whole discussion had led to that particular instant, it seemed. Our whole lives. And because of that, I didn’t have to think about my answer, even if the words that passed my lips terrified me.

“I think… I would want to believe,” I admitted, dropping my gaze to where my fingers had found hers on the table and easily, almost too easily, had tangled with them.



My first reaction was one of joy, complete with happy butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Spike wanting to believe me if – when – I told him I loved him was good. Very good. Just as good as his hand seeking mine on the table. It was the first contact, the first touch, since our hands had burned together. I wished that this time, it’d never stop.

And then it dawned on me that Spike hadn’t said he would believe me. He had said he’d want to. As in, it wouldn’t be that easy to believe. As in, maybe he wouldn’t manage to.

It wasn’t difficult to understand why. After all, it wasn’t as though I had given him many reasons to believe me, as far as our relationship was concerned. And after years of silence, I guess it was normal for him to be wary. He had no idea what I was like, whether I had changed or was still the same Buffy. I needed to reintroduce myself to him. I needed to show him that when I’d say these three little words – because after talking to him like this for the past hour or so, I was pretty sure I would end up saying them – I would mean them completely. I needed time. And so did he.

My fingers tightened over his a little, and I struggled to find something to say. My head felt light from the beer, the noise in the bar, our words and his touch. We had said a lot already, in so little time. Maybe we had said enough for one night.

“I think I’d like some fresh air,” I murmured, knowing he would hear me despite the loud voices around us. “Care to have a walk with me?”

He considered me for a moment, then nodded. I started letting go of his hand to open my purse and pay for the drinks, but he held on to my fingers, squeezing lightly as he stood and pulled me after him. A few words to the waitress to ask her to put our drinks and her tip on his tab, and he was leading me outside, our fingers still entwined.

“I invited you,” I protested lightly. “I should have paid for our drinks.”

He shrugged. “T’s okay. You can pay next time if you want to.”

And just like that, the butterflies were back, although this time they were as nervous as they were happy. There would be a next time. He had all but promised so. And how many next times after that?

“Ever seen New York by night?” he asked casually as he managed to light a cigarette without releasing my hand.

I shook my head. “Show me?”

“Sure thing. We’ll stick to the safe places tonight, and maybe next time you can pack a stake or two and I’ll show you a bit of fun.”

Again, these same two words. Next time. They were fast becoming my favorite words.

“Sounds good,” I smiled.



I showed her the town, or at least the bits of it I thought she’d like. It was nice. Very, very strange, but nice. I’d never have thought I’d ever do something as simple with her. I’d never even thought I would want to do something as simple with her. Walk around. Talk. Laugh. No more hard topics now, we had had enough of those earlier. Just small talk, the kind of small talk we had never shared before. The kind of small talk I had never realized I’d enjoy so much to share with her.

After a couple of hours, her shoes were killing her, so we sat down in a bench in Central Park and talked some more. Eventually, we both fell silent, and it was all right. It was the good kind of silence, the kind that’s comfortable and warm and leaves you simply content to be with someone else.

I can’t say I had known such a silence existed before that night.

Eventually, one of us commented that it was getting late, and I walked her back to her hotel. On the way, I asked her how long she would stay in New York.

“I’ll start looking for an apartment tomorrow.”

My overactive mind translated that into, “As long as you’ll want me here.”

I don’t think the translation was too far off.

“It’s… nice,” I answered rather stupidly, and she gave me a shy little smile.

“Maybe I could find something close to where you live.”

I nodded, but couldn’t find a thing to answer to that. It was all too much, too fast. Just a day earlier, I had been convinced I would never see her again. And now, she was here, in my town, in my life, gently pushing at my boundaries to make a place for herself. To this day, my own reaction surprises me. I was wary of her, of course; I had reasons to be. But as I had told her, I wanted to believe. And it was surprisingly easier to believe than I would have imagined. Call me a fool if you want, but I had fallen for her again. As fast, as hard, as unexpectedly as the first time around. Or maybe I had just never stopped caring for her.

Never stopped loving her.

We said our goodbyes in front of her hotel, and she pressed her lips to my cheek. It was nothing, really. Just a goodnight kiss, with barely enough pressure for me to feel her mouth. But it made the world crash down around me. It made my demon weep, and my soul sing. It made me smile. And yeah, it made me hard, too.

When she backed away, I finally let go of her hand, for the first time since we had left the bar. I missed the contact more than I could have said. And I missed her just as much every second until she showed up on my doorstep the next evening.




As I opened the door and stepped in, my mind returned to the first time I had done this, almost five months earlier. The differences between then and now were flagrant. For one thing, I now had a key, and an open invitation. There were differences in the apartment, too. A small coffee maker on the kitchen counter, which I had bought for my own use. More food delivery fliers on the fridge, with my own favorites circled. A less pronounced scent of cigarette; I hadn’t asked him anything, but Spike had visibly cut down on his smoking, at least when I was around.

Walking on tiptoes, I went to his bedroom. Usually, when I dropped in during the day, he would wake instantly. But the last few times, I had managed to slip into the bed, and into his arms, without waking him.

The first time, it had happened by accident. We had had a long night helping one of our Slayers clean up a big nest, and he had made me sit on the side of his bed to clean a scratch on my arm. Exhausted, I had fallen asleep right there, and had woken up only the next morning, Spike’s arms around me. I hadn’t slept that well in more than seven years, and I had told him so. Still half asleep, he had made a joke of saying his bed was open to me whenever I wanted; judging by his expression the first time I took him up on his offer, he hadn’t expected me to take it seriously. I had started coming to him every few days. I’d just arrive in the afternoon, slide into his bed and sleep for a couple of hours. Nothing more.

Nothing more, until today. I would never have thought, when coming to New York, that we would keep our relationship platonic for so long; and yet, we had. Five months, and all we had done was share a few kisses, cuddle on his sofa while pretending to watch movies, and sleep in the same bed. I was ready for more; more importantly, I believed he was.

He was still sleeping when I came to the side of the bed. It was just a proof of how comfortable he was with me that I could enter his bedroom without the predator in him waking up at the closeness of an enemy. I undressed, keeping my eyes on him the whole time. The room was dark, but enough light was seeping from around the drapes for me to see his features.

Even asleep, his body instantly sough mine when I slid between the sheets. Usually, I remained clothed, and on top of them. He nudged me to my side, his arm draping around my waist and holding my back pressed to his chest. Naked as we both were, I could feel his cock hardening against my ass, and it was all I could do not to turn around and rush things.



Ever woke up with the object of your dreams all naked and warm in your arms? I highly recommend it. It can be disconcerting, at first, but your body usually catches up quickly.

“Slayer?” I mumbled, still sleepy, once I had realized that she was indeed there and it wasn’t only a dream. “Why’re you naked in my bed?”

“If you object, I can leave,” she replied with the hint of a laugh in her voice. I reacted without thinking and tightened my arm around her. To have her come to me the last few weeks had been nice, but this new development was telling me we were moving on past kisses and flirting – and I wasn’t opposed to the idea, far from it. I had been ready for more than solitary wanks less than a week after she had come to New York. The wait since had been torture.

“If you’re that afraid I’m going to leave,” she said after a couple of minutes, “maybe we can find something to reassure you.”

I kept my arm very tight around her, but she managed to reach inside the night table and to pull out the handcuffs. Turning in my embrace, she dangled them above us. She didn’t add anything, but it was all there, in her eyes, and in both our memories.

“I don’t have keys for that,” I said, a little overwhelmed, and pulled back slightly. She took the opportunity to snap one of the cuffs around her left wrist.

“Who cares?” she asked, and I could have sworn her eyes were sparkling.

Something clicked in me at that gesture and everything that it meant, and I rolled over her to plunder her mouth. It wasn’t one of these teasing kisses we had exchanged in the past months anymore. It was all my desire, all my lust, all my love, everything that I had ever felt for her, all wrapped into one kiss. She was panting when I drew back.

“You’re sure?” I asked her, my voice rough from restraint.

She nodded and brought her arms together above her head, the loose cuff hanging between them. I took it in my hand, and without hesitation, snapped it over my right wrist. She looked surprised for a second, but then she smiled, clasped my hand in hers, and drew me back down with her free arm for another kiss.

Even after all these years, I knew how to play her body as well as I knew my own. She hadn’t forgotten a thing either. We rolled on the bed, kissing and nipping, caressing and stroking, and when she finally guided my cock inside her, when she sighed and held me close to her for a few seconds, I knew.

I knew that this time, it was real. I knew that it had been worth it, all of it, even the most painful parts. I knew that now, she did love me. And when she whispered the words, I believed her.




~~ the end ~~



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The characters and names used in these stories do not belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No profit is made from this fanfiction.