“The Watcher said something about your mother, too. Said she was in town and raising hell to get to you.”

Her legs threatened to buckle and Buffy sat back down, hard. She had tried so much not to think about seeing her mother the previous day that hearing Spike talk so casually about her was a shock. A nasty one. The prospect that her mother had talked to Giles was hardly any better.

“What did Giles say?” she asked. Her throat was dry, suddenly, and she found herself wishing that she had not finished her tea. Spike observed her curiously from across the table. She could tell that he had questions, and she expected they would come soon enough, but for now she needed to know how bad it was.

“Well?” she prompted when he hadn’t answered after a handful of seconds.

“The Watcher didn’t say much, really. Mostly that she knew you were staying with him, and that she wants to see you. The cops might have been mentioned, too.”

Buffy’s stomach started rebelling against the food she had ingested, and for a moment she thought she would throw up. If her mother was threatening Giles with the intervention of the police, Buffy couldn’t go back to him, whether or not he had truly convinced the Council to let her stay in Sunnydale. She wasn’t even sure she should leave the apartment at all. She knew what would happen if she was caught, and the idea was making her sick. They would know how much to drug her to keep her inoffensive, and she’d be sent back. There would be no chance for another escape. She’d spend the rest of her life there, stoned days and nights, dreaming with her eyes open of demons she should have slain and people she couldn’t save.

“I’m not getting used to it,” Spike said out of the blue.

Buffy started; she had almost forgotten where she was for a moment, lost in her visit to memories better left untouched.

At her blank look, Spike explained himself, rubbing at his nose absently. “Fear. You reek of it. You going to explain why your mum scares you like that? She can’t be worse than the demons you kill every night.”

With a joyless laugh, Buffy made an effort and stood. “She doesn’t believe in demons.”

She was about to add that she wasn’t afraid, but she doubted Spike would believe her, not when Spike claimed he could smell her fear. The idea made her grimace as she walked back to the room where she had spent the night. It was icky, there was no other word for it. And who knew what else he could smell on her.

Distracting herself with thoughts of her host, she closed the door behind her, and carefully placed the chair back against it.

And immediately regretted it.

In the small room, there wasn’t much for her to do other than ruminate on the news Spike had given her. She still had trouble believing the Council would leave her to do what she pleased, but even worrying about them did not chase away thoughts of her mother, and what would happen if she found Buffy. Not if, when. How could she not, when she had tracked Buffy to Sunnydale and to Giles? How had she known? That phone call home had probably been a bad idea, but there had to be more if she had gone straight to Sunnydale High and to Giles.

In the hope of calming her reeling mind, Buffy lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, breathing in slowly as her first Watcher had tried to teach her. It didn’t do much for her mind, but after her bad night, it wasn’t long until she fell asleep.

The asylum felt smaller, the walls tighter around her. She watched herself walk through room after room, looking for air and enough space to breathe, arms wrapped around her to keep herself from shaking. Everything seemed blurry around her, softer on the edges, and from that alone part of her knew that she’d just been drugged. They always doubled the dose on visit days, though in her dazed state she had no idea that it was visit day. She found a window, at long last, and leaned against it. The glass was cool against her forehead. Behind it, she could see green forms, and beyond that a bit of gray that she knew was a wall. Beyond the wall, her life waited.

The first voice was masculine, soft and cajoling as it called her name. Buffy turned sideways, keeping her temple against the glass. Her father smiled at her and raised his hand to caress her face. The smile and hand disappeared when she recoiled sharply, hitting the back of her head against the window frame.

Her mother spoke next, leaning in close, murmuring words that ought to have been comforting. Words that promised, always promised, air and blue skies and home. But Buffy had learned not to believe the words anymore. Even drugged, she knew better than to believe. Refusing to listen, she faced the window again, and softly, not to hurt herself but rather to drown the sound of the treacherous words, she started banging her forehead against the glass.

Buffy awoke with a jolt as the banging in her head was echoed by the loud knocking on the door.

“What?” she called out, a hand to her chest as she willed her heart to calm down.

“Dinner’s getting cold,” was Spike’s improbable answer.

Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she looked around the room for a clock and found nothing. She couldn’t believe that she had slept that long. And yet when she stepped out of the bedroom, wary and her heart still pounding from walls being too close around her, the clock on the kitchen wall claimed it was almost seven. Her stomach growled at the sight of the pizza box on the table, so it wasn’t so unlikely after all.

She didn’t sit down at the table, but she did open the box to find a plain cheese pizza. She pulled out a slice without much enthusiasm. Maybe she ought to tell Spike what she liked, for next time. If there was a next time.

“Had a nice nap?” Spike asked from behind her.

She half turned to look at him. His words had been too casual, and the lack of feelings reflected on his face made her wonder how he knew she had been sleeping, or what she smelled like to him now, with the nightmare still clinging to her.

“Yeah,” she answered wryly, not bothering to hide the lie. “Nice nap.” She gestured to the pizza box with her freehand to get his attention off her. “You’re not eating?”

His eyebrow cocked as though something amused him greatly. “I had my dinner already.”

Too late, she remembered what it was that constituted his diet, and as she pushed what remained of her lone slice down her throat, she tried very hard not to wonder if the delivery guy had left with his life on top of a tip.

“So, you’re going to stay in tonight?” Spike asked when she turned to the sink to gulp down a large drink of water. “Stay out of sight in case your mum—”

“No.”

The word slipped out before she even thought. The walls had seemed closer around her since she had awakened, and she couldn’t imagine staying cloistered in all night. She could imagine even less what she would do, trapped in the apartment with Spike.

“I’ve got to go patrol.”

She would have thought he’d suggest she shouldn’t, or that he’d remind her again that her mother might very well be out there, or someone who worked for her. Instead, he threw something at her, and only when she caught it, by pure reflex more than real interest, did Buffy realize what it was. She raised her gaze from the small key to him, and he shrugged at her silent question.

“In case I’m not here when you come back.”

She wanted to claim that she wouldn’t be coming back, that he was a vampire and that anything was better than to get that close to the enemy. She wanted to leave the key on the table, grab her bag and just leave. But when she did walk out of the apartment, the tiny sliver of metal was in her jeans’ pocket, where she could feel it with every long stride she took. And the idea that she had a place to go back to before morning, a place where she could sleep again once she had chased the nightmares away with a long patrol, a place that wasn’t cold, or wet, or smelly – well, that idea was much more comforting than it had any right to be with Spike stuck somewhere in the equation.

Spike counted three minutes after the Slayer had left before he followed, locking the door behind him with a spare key. It wasn’t hard to find her trail, not when her scent was such a unique mix of panic and determination.

He had almost asked her what it was she had been dreaming about all afternoon. The moans of protest and whimpers that had filtered through the door had been hard enough for him to bear, but her scent when she had emerged from that bedroom had screamed “nightmares” too loudly for him to ignore it. As skittish as she was, though, still watching him as though wondering whether to leave or stake him first, she probably wouldn’t have taken too well to a question about what beasties haunted her sleep. And after the way she had reacted to mentions of her mother, Spike could make a good guess anyway.

If she had been in her right mind, she would have noticed him at once, he was sure of it. But with her distraction, all he had to do was stay far enough and he could observe her as she dusted one vamp after another without her usual games or lame jokes. The fear that still hung in the air around her was the best bait to attract vamps. Spike wondered if she even realized that, and started worrying whether she would attract more vampires than she could handle. The feeling – worrying for a Slayer – wasn’t anything he’d have ever thought he’d feel. Then again, he would never have imagined he would ever be sheltering his sworn enemy either, or waiting for her to relax around him before he made his move. The more he thought about it, about how warm she had been in his arms, how soft beneath his fingers, the more he regretted not having taken her the night before. Even if she had been scared, he could have made her forget that fear, forget everything and just want him. He knew he could have. And trying to understand why he hadn’t was killing him.

Distracted by thoughts of naked limbs wrapping around him while he teased at the scar barring a fiery little mouth, he got too close to her while she was fighting a couple of vamps. As soon as they were dust falling at her feet, she whirled toward Spike, her stake raised and the expression on her face deadly. She remained like that long enough that Spike thought she’d attack before she slowly lowered her arm.

“What was the point of giving me a key if you’re going to follow?” she asked, and Spike couldn’t have told whether she was amused or annoyed.

He tried to think fast – telling her he was worried about her was simply not an option. “Just thought I’d take you shopping,” he said as nonchalantly as he could when a minute earlier he had been thinking of burying himself in her body. “Unless you plan to live on eggs, tea and pizza.”

She didn’t answer to that, or at least, not verbally. Instead, she fished the apartment key out of her pocket and threw it at Spike. He caught it easily enough and looked a question back at her.

“I can’t do it,” she said as she shook her head. “I can’t live with you when I know you killed the apartment’s owner, or when I wonder whether the pizza guy was your dinner. You’re a vampire, I should dust you, not live with you or let you cook for me or kiss—” By the way she cut herself short and flushed, she hadn’t planned to say that last part. “Anyway, it lasted too long already and I’ve got to stop thinking you can help because you’re part of the problem, not the solution.”

Spike waited a few more seconds to make sure she had finished her piece, and then he raised a finger.

“The previous occupant of the apartment was a vampire. Didn’t know you cared if I killed those.”

A second finger went up.

“If I killed the delivery guy, how would I get a delivery next time I want some wings? And where exactly would I stash the body and not have the building infected by cops?”

Third finger.

“I don’t see how you starving yourself or sleeping on a bench will make you a better Slayer. And kissing me…” He let his eyes trail over her body for a moment. “Kissing or anything else for that matter… It doesn’t hurt anyone, now, does it?”

He thought he would get a smile, but at a waggle of his eyebrow she turned away and took off in an all too familiar fashion. Lighting up a cigarette, he watched her leave, knowing better than to go after her now. With a shrug, he started walking and was soon out of the cemetery.

There was a convenience shop on his way to the apartment, and the cashier had learned not to bother asking him for money on his way out. It would have been easier with the Slayer there, of course, but by plucking random food items from the shelves he figured that he was bound to pick up at least a couple things that she actually liked and earn himself some gratitude. And if by some chance it didn’t work… he wondered if it would be worth trying to remember how to bake scones.