The Slayer favored her crossbow. Even when she had stakes at hand, her first move was for the weapon strapped to her back. The way it slid easily into her hands told of a familiarity that went beyond that of a favorite weapon. She trusted the crossbow, relied on it in a way that other fighters might rely on a partner. It could have been a weakness, had she not been able to sling it back behind her when hand-to-hand fighting rendered it useless.

It wasn’t anything new to Spike, but to walk into a fight standing at her side rather than being her adversary, or even a non-participating witness, gave him a new perspective on what he had already observed. He had watched her fight from a distance before he had approached her in Cleveland, and he had been on the receiving side of those high kicks and punches more than once. But this angle was unique, and even as he summarily dusted the vampires that were foolish enough to stand in his way, he took full advantage of the opportunity to study her fighting technique. He would kill her, there was no doubt whatsoever in his mind about it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t add to his knowledge of how she moved and fought.

The position by her side gave him an unprecedented view also on how many risks she took. If he hadn’t known any better, he could have believed that she was trying to get herself killed so that she would rob him of what was rightfully his. She was fighting too well for that however; if she had been suicidal, it would have been easier, consciously or not, to strike just a little slower, to jump not quite far enough out of a tenacious vamp’s reach. No, this wasn’t a deliberate attempt on her part to get hurt. It was just the way she fought when surrounded by two and a half dozen enemies.

If he had been paying any attention to the way he fought, Spike would have realized he was taking as many risks and leaving as many openings as she was.

When he had first stepped in alongside her, he had noticed the confused looks some of the vampires had thrown at him. They had caught on to the game pretty quickly however, and there were now shouts of ‘traitor’ as they lunged at him. Fledglings, all of them, or close enough to it that it didn’t make much of a difference. Maybe the Slayer would have managed to clean off the lair without his help, maybe he could have just taken a step back and watched her without doing any of the dusting himself, but it was more fun this way.

He almost didn’t see the Master before it was too late.

The old bastard had to have heard that something was going on, and Spike could imagine him striding out of his ‘chambers’, ready to call his precious Xander and Willow to report to him before understanding who the girl decimating his clan was.

Caught up in his own fight, Spike’s eyes left the Slayer for a minute, no more than that he was sure; when he looked at her again, the Master was striking at her face with two blows, one right after the other, that seemed to stun her. The next second, the Master’s hands were cupping her cheeks in a deceptively gentle gesture. Spike had seen him kill that way, twisting his victim’s neck and breaking it off in an instant. That instant had never seemed as long as when Spike rushed to the two of them, plunging his stake through the Master’s back.

For a moment, Spike thought he had missed the heart. The immediate turning to dust part of a staking wasn’t happening. But slowly, too slowly, the Master crumbled, leaving behind a skeleton. Spike frowned at the bones at his feet, wondering whether all old vamps left that part of themselves behind. He had never heard about it before.

The disappearance of the Master had the consequence that a few of the vampires who had witnessed it ran away, almost tripping over each other in their haste to leave, while a handful remained frozen and incredulous. Spike didn’t pay them much attention though as he returned his eyes to the Slayer. She hadn’t moved save for bringing a hand to her cheek, where one of the Master’s nail had cut her and left a hint of blood. She still looked dazed, and it occurred to Spike at that instant that it would be easy to take her now. The fight here was over, or just about, so technically the truce he had offered her did not need to last any longer. He wouldn’t twist her neck as the Master had been about to do; he would take her blood and savor every mouthful. For Dru, but also for himself.

Except… If he did it now, he would always wonder whether she had still been stunned by the Master’s attack or whether he had bested her in a fair fight. He had two glorious battles etched in his memory already, two fights to the death that he had won on his own merits. This one would be the same.

“Well?” he demanded harshly. “You’re going to stand there all night long or finish the job?”

The words seemed to bring her back to her senses and she snapped her head up, staring at him for a second before she spun to face an approaching attacker. She had lost her stake while fighting the Master but she pulled another one from inside her jacket’s sleeve. Satisfied that she would survive against minions, Spike turned to his own future victims.

The air felt thick with dust, and Buffy wasn’t sure whether she was imagining it or whether she was indeed breathing in the thirty odd demons she had dusted. Or rather, the demons she and Spike had dusted. As much as she remained suspicious of his help, she could concede that he had not merely stood by and watched her work. He had taken down his fair share of the vampires, and even now he was finishing off a couple of them on the club’s stage. He didn’t need her help, she decided, and turned her back on that fight to explore the club. She had freed a couple of humans, some of them so weak they had stumbled on their way out; there might be more to set free in other rooms. There might also be some vamps left, hiding and waiting for her to leave before coming out.

Holding her stake firmly in one hand, she advanced cautiously, making sure her boots made as little noise as possible. The sounds from Spike’s fight faded as she stepped past a heavy velvet curtain and found herself in what seemed to be a throne room, if the heavy chair in its center was any indication.

For a few seconds, her thoughts returned to the Master and the feel of his hands framing her face. It had been a close call, much too close for comfort. That she owed her life to Spike left a bitter taste on her tongue that had nothing to do with the dust in the air.

With a shake of her head, she chased the thought away; Spike had helped her – saved her – to have the chance to kill her himself, and she refused to feel anything even remotely close to gratitude toward him.

There was an open door at the back of the room and Buffy approached it, still as silent and vigilant as possible. Slipping in, she lowered her raised stake when realizing that, other than her, the only person in was locked in a cell and chained to a wall. The man was shivering as she inspected the area.

“Buffy.”

Her name, breathed no louder than a murmur, brought her attention back to the chained man. His eyes seemed to focus a little more when they met hers, almost as though he recognized her.

“It's you,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I mean... you don't remember. How could you?”

More crazy talk. There had been Cordelia earlier that night, and now this guy. She was beginning to think there was something in Sunnydale’s water that made people say strange things.

“How did you know my name?” she demanded, standing behind the cell’s door.

From hopeful, the man’s features fell into exhausted. “I waited. I waited here for you. But you never... I was supposed to help you.”

Snorting, Buffy kicked at the padlocked door. It flung open with a resounding clash of metal on metal and she strode in.

“You were gonna help me,” she huffed. “Funny how everybody wants to help me since I’ve come to this town. Giles, his kids, now you. Even…”

“Spike.”

His face rippled to that of a vampire when he spat out the name, and Buffy took an involuntary step back. She had been about to free the guy and hadn’t even imagined for a second that he might be a demon. What was wrong with her? Couldn’t she use common sense anymore?

The sharp click of a lighter being opened and the rising scent of cigarette smoke had Buffy glance behind her to the vampire she knew was there.

“You know him?” she asked, tilting her head toward the chained up vamp.

“Yeah,” Spike replied in an exhalation of blue smoke, his eyes flicking from the other vamp to Buffy.

“Why is he chained up?” she asked when he didn’t add anything.

He shrugged. “From what I heard, he tried to play for your side.” His lips curled up on a cruel smile. “A bit like me,” he snickered. “Except that he meant it. Wanker.”

Looking back at the vamp on the floor, but more on her guards than ever with Spike at her back, Buffy considered the pitiful creature. Held captive by his own kind, even tortured if those marks just peaking out from where his shirt hung loose were burns. He was now glaring at Spike for all he was worth, but not moving a muscle, as though he couldn’t manage to do as much.

“What should I do with him?” she wondered aloud, flexing her hand over her stake.

Spike answered her with a surprised half-laugh. “You’re asking me?”

Blinking, she faced him again and fought the heat that tried to rise in her cheeks. “Of course not,” she denied immediately. “I was just thinking out loud.”

The look he gave her was almost mocking. “Right. Thinking out loud. I can do that too.” His features hardened as he returned his eyes to the other vamp, who slowly stood as Spike approached. “This bastard’s name is Angelus. I used to call him my sire. He didn’t make me a vamp, but he made me the vamp I am. Made Dru what she was, too. It’s his fault my princess was completely batty.”

For a brief moment, Spike’s voice had softened, taking hints of reverence when he mentioned Drusilla. But the weakness didn’t last, and the rigidity Buffy was more familiar with came back in the way he stood, in the swing of his fist into Angelus’ stomach, in the growled words he spat as he walked out of the cell.

“Know what, Slayer? I don’t give a damn what you do with him. Just get on with it.”

Buffy watched him go until he had disappeared before turning her frown back to Angelus. An arm curled around his body where Spike had struck him, he watched her with urgent eyes.

“You mustn’t trust him,” he said almost feverishly. “Spike killed Slayers before you, all he want is your blood.”

She let out a cold laugh at that warning. “Who said I trusted him?” Her eyes cold, she considered him thoughtfully. “Who said I trusted any vampire?”