Fool For Love

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<><><><>

The stake had come swiftly, slicing into her gut as if her body had opened
wide to swallow it. Pain- intense. Blood- acrid. Fear-consuming. Vampire-
winning. As she lay on her back in the bed, she replayed the scene over and
over in her mind. Where had she made the first wrong move? Was it when she
had to get one last quip in? Was it when she leaped over the headstone, not
guarding the arm that was extended? Was it because she took for granted that
it would be an easy kill?

Or was it because she was struggling so hard not to let her true nature come
out that she had quelled the actual Slayer. She had done no better than
Willow would have done. By fighting off the urge to be savage with the
vampire, she had been nothing more than an average girl with a large
splinter in her hand.

And then in her stomach.

She had fainted. That was the most humiliating part of it. Riley, average
joe, had been her salvation and while he wasn't actually guilty of gloating,
she had seen him puff with pride when he deposited her on her bed and began
cleaning her wound. It was hard to tell which was hurting worse. The big
hole in her side or her pride.

As she sat up, she decided that it was definitely the big hole in her side.
She groaned, then whimpered and pressed her palm over the thick wad of
gauze. For weeks she had been on top of her game. Hell, just a few days
before she had wiped out an entire cave full of Megock demons and hadn't
even gotten a scratch. Of course, she had given herself over to the slaying
and hadn't consciously held herself back, but still -

When it overtook her, the hunt- the kill, she was usually defenseless to it.
Her body moved instinctively, her hunger to destroy became more powerful
than anything she'd ever experienced. Lately, she had grown quiet in her
resolve, save for a low growl in the back of her throat, vibrating up out of
her with every cunning move. But last night she had made a million jokes,
gotten careless, and was very aware of Spike's words. 'You tell your
watcher! You tell him or I'll tell him.'

She'd held back and look at what it had gotten her.

No, it wouldn't happen again. From now on, it was hunt and destroy. The next
time the power inside of her spoke, she would listen and surrender.

She would kill and she would relish the feeling that washed over her in the
aftermath.

<><>

In his fury, Spike had mangled the mannequin head. It was probably a good
thing that Harmony had cleared out of his crypt by the time he had returned.
If she had been there, with her blond head and big eyes, he would have
mangled **her** head, which probably would have been more satisfying. As it
stood, the Slayer mannequin was bald, scratched, and had a dented torso.
He'd have to repair her later.

Or break it to pieces once and for all.

Sliding the top of the tomb to one side, he chose a bottle of whiskey from
the various selections he had piled on top of the rotted corpse, and opened
it, drinking deeply. His very own wet bar with his very own bartender.
Disgusted with himself, he slid the top back in place and hopped onto it.
Just looking at his surroundings made him miserable. But luckily, he didn't
have the inclination to wallow in self-pity because of his home.

He was quite occupied with wallowing in self-pity because of what the Slayer
had reduced him to. He hated her for it. Right into his gut, he hated her.
But a gut really didn't matter when your heart and mind were both fighting
on the same side. She was everywhere, all around him, inside of him; yet
she'd never been further away.

And then she was there, standing in his doorway, hair lifting in the same
breeze that was blowing her scent his way. He hopped off the tomb, started
to say something, anything, but she cut him off, slamming him against the
wall.

"Ow!" he cried. "Wait, not ow. You feeling all right, Slayer? This stuff
usually hurts."

He felt the Slayer's hands on him, yanking him around to face her, but she
wasn't as forceful as she usually was. "Don't even start, Spike," she said
through clenched teeth.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you want?"

"Slayers," Buffy replied. "You killed two of them."

-Bloody hell, she's here to exact revenge!- "I did," Spike said warily,
wondering what she'd do next.

The grip on his arm tightened as Buffy's gaze hardened. "You're gonna show
me how."

<><><>

For nearly two hours, Spike talked almost nonstop. He told her everything.
Cecily, his bloody awful poetry, his turning, the Slayer in China,
everything. Buffy was a rapt listener, he could tell because the muscles in
her body tensed, and coiled as he described the fight with the Chinese
Slayer. It was almost as if she were living the moment in her mind's eye.
Her delicate nose wrinkled, her eyes grew large, and he thought he saw her
chin tremble a time or two. All in all, it was fun making her squirm.

In the dim light of the Bronze, he watched her jaw tighten as he described
his first sexual experience with Dru, rolling naked in the Slayer's blood,
the sweet smell drowning their senses until they were frenzied. He spared no
detail, left nothing to her imagination, and felt a sense of male pride when
she blushed prettily at his choice of wording.

Eventually, the conversation had taken them outside, where he re-enacted the
killing of the Slayer in New York. He had chosen an in-your-face approach,
wanting desperately to make her see that she wasn't immortal. She wasn't
perfect. She wasn't invincible. She was capable of failure and she was
capable of craving the darkness, the sting of death and the ease of peace
that conquered the body with its hunger.

She hadn't moved as he told her that death was her art. She never argued
when he told her that every Slayer had a death wish, even her. And her face,
the tense lines, the blood draining from her features, the way she struggled
to remain impassive, it made him lean forward, desperate to kiss her.

That was when she had delivered a blow so powerful that it had knocked him
to the ground. Literally and figuratively.

"You're beneath me," she said, repeating the very words that Cecily had
chosen to rip his heart out.

And as he sat on the ground, tears stinging his eyes, Spike knew he had
completely lost her to the darkness that he had been desperate to save her
from.

<><>

Sitting on her back porch steps, arms crossed against the chill, Buffy
wondered exactly where the day had gone so wrong. First there was Spike, who
had the uncanny ability to see into her and put her in her place. And then
there was her mother, the only person in the world that she knew she could
count on for a bowl of soup and sage advice, and she was sick. Sicker than
any of them had imagined. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she leaned
forward, covering her face with both palms.

It was insane. How could Spike be so right? How could he know that sometimes
she wanted to die? Sometimes she wanted to surrender, to let the claws rip
her open, the horns gouge through her, and the weapons batter he completely.
Sometimes the thought of sleeping endlessly sounded much better than
sleeping for fifteen minutes and then starting her day again. It was so
tiring, the life of a Slayer. It ached, and it bruised, and it cut to the
quick, and even the rapid healing abilities didn't cover the invisible
scars. The emotional ones.

And if she lost her ties to the world: her mom, her friends, her way ...
would she finally give in? Or was she already giving a little more every
day? She could feel the changes inside of her, the way her body seemed to
work on its own and her mind completely shut down during the kill.

It was too much. Slayer or not, she was defenseless to the doubt and the
insecurity that was flying through her with razor wings. She was the
strongest person in the entire world, but she was too weak to save her
mother, to make her heal, and too ashamed of what she was slowly becoming to
admit it to anyone. Even herself.

She was about to break down completely when a twig snapped. Lifting her
head, she saw Spike standing over her, a rifle in his hands. "What do you
want now?" she asked through clenched teeth.

Spike had come prepared. The gun was loaded, his jaw was firmly set, and he
had convinced himself that he'd be doing them both a favor by killing her.
She was too far gone to be helped. The blood tasting, the walk on the
darkside, it was apparently stronger than he'd imagined, because only
someone truly gone would have gutted him so completely. But the second he
saw her face, saw the real tears and the pain etched across her features, he
thought again. A small flicker of hope welled up in him. Maybe it wasn't too
late. Maybe she wasn't unreachable. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Buffy said, looking off into the distance
at nothing.

Spike lowered the gun and wracked his brain for anything of comfort he could
say. "Is there anything I can do?" When she ignored him, he slowly moved
forward and sat next to her, laying the gun at his side. Slowly, almost
nervously, he reached a tentative hand out and patted her on the back. She
stiffened and he withdrew, clasping his hands between his legs.

It felt like they sat there in silence for hours. The only sounds were her
occasional sniffles and the wind rustling in the trees. He started to speak
a million times, to ask her what had happened, because a part of him, a very
slim part, wanted to believe that she was crying because of what she had
reduced him to in the alley. He needed to think that she realized how much
her words had cut him. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "Are you
cold?"

"A little," she replied, still staring out over the backyard.

"Do you want to go inside?"

"I feel like I'm suffocating in there."

"Okay." Spike slowly peeled his jacket off and settled it around her
shoulders. Before he could move away, she leaned her head against him, and
he slid closer, wrapping an arm around her. "Tell me."

"My mom has to go into the hospital," Buffy said in a tight voice. She tried
to keep it from cracking, but it was no use. "She's been having headaches.
They want to do a Catscan and stuff."

"Oh." Spike put his free hand over hers, rubbing her soft skin. He had been
a fool to think that it was about him. She wasn't in love with him. She
loathed him. "Well, it's probably a good thing that she's getting it done.
You shouldn't worry until you know the results."

"That's impossible." Buffy sniffled again, closing her eyes. Why was it so
easy to talk to him? Why was it so easy to take comfort in his strong arms
around her? "What if she dies? She's one of my ties, and maybe I am in lo-"
She trailed off, swallowing hard.

"What?" Spike sat back slightly lifting her chin. "Finish what you were
saying."

"Maybe I am in love with death. Just like what you said. I mean, it's not
enough to see it anymore. I have to taste it, " she said in a small voice.
"I was drawn to that dead monk. I just- I couldn't stop looking at him. He
looked so peaceful, so happy and content and I haven't felt that in years.
Maybe I haven't felt that in my entire life and part of me craves it. I want
to stop fighting and struggling and being what I am."

"Aww, hell." Spike shook his head. "I was just talking. I was trying to get
to you and-"

"And you did." Buffy stood up and leaned over him, picking up the rifle he
had laid beside him. "You did."

Spike made a lunge for it, but Buffy stepped off the stairs and into the
yard. He held out a hand. "Give me that."

"Were you going to kill me?"

"No." And he knew it wasn't really a lie. Even if she had come at him with
stakes blazing, he wouldn't have harmed her.

"What? You were deer hunting? It's off season." She looked down at the gun
in her hands, tears welling in her eyes again. "If something happens to my
mom-"

"She'll be fine." Spike watched her finger the rifle, delicately caressing
the worn wooden handle and the cool metal of the trigger. If she made a move
to point it at herself, he'd tackle her.

"You can't know that. I- I wouldn't want to live anymore if she died. You
know what I found out? I found out that Dawn- that this whole life I thought
I had- that- that my entire world - is- is-" She broke down into fresh
tears.

Spike held out his hand. "Give me that gun right now, Buffy."

"Take it," she countered through her tears. "Come and take it."

Wordlessly, Spike stepped forward and wrenched it out her hands. He laid it
aside, then grabbed her by the arms. "You're scared for your mom, and I get
that, but you're not gonna slip on my watch."

Buffy's forehead wrinkled in confusion as she looked up at him. "On your
watch?"

Spike could have kicked his own ass. Instead, he pulled her into a hug and
buried his face in her hair. Only God knew why he wanted her so badly.
Actually, God had probably seen to it that he'd want her so badly as
punishment, which was working. Since he'd realized his feelings for the
Slayer, he hadn't stood a chance where she was concerned. "It's going to be
fine."

Buffy inhaled the scent of him, so familiar and - comforting. And sexy.
Leaning her head against his chest, she recalled their meeting a few days
before, when he'd been invisible and had driven her insane with his touches.
He'd wanted her and she had turned him away. And then tonight, he'd made so
much sense, walking her through his life and telling her the secrets to the
Slayer's deaths and she had turned on him. She had no doubt that the gun had
been meant for her, but instead of using it, he was currently stroking her
hair.

She was ashamed of herself.

Stepping back, she looked up at him. "Spike?"

"Hmm?"

"What I said to you tonight - when we were in the alley - I- I was wrong."
She felt her eyes fill with tears again and tried, unsuccessfully, to blink
them away. They rolled down her cheeks, hot and thick, but she didn't rub
them away. "You just - no one has ever known me the way you do ... or if
they did, they were too scared to expose me the way you did. The things that
you said- Spike, I don't know how or why you understand my life so much, but
I had no right to say what I did. I'm sorry." She bit her bottom lip,
searching for the right words.

He knew her too well. It wasn't right that the one person she shouldn't be
with should know her so well. And just as much as it infuriated her, it also
drew her to him like a moth to a flame. He'd been right when he'd said she
wanted to dance. With him. What scared her most was that she wasn't quite
sure which kind of dance she desired more.

Death or sex? One meant the ultimate surrender, and the other? The other
could very well consume her just as easily. His very nearness was already
causing her body to react on its own. There was no denying the music that
played each time he touched her, each time he said her name. And in the
aftermath of discovering her mother's illness, she wanted desperately to
lose herself for just awhile. It wouldn't hurt to dance just this one last
time, would it? It wouldn't be a complete surrender, she told herself.

Spike had stiffened at her apology, and she knew that he hated her even
mentioning what she'd said. Possibly hated her. But he wanted her too. And
that was all that mattered. "Spike?" she whispered. "If you want ... I could
be beneath you. I want to be beneath you. Dancing..."

"Don't play games with me, Slayer."

"I'm not playing. Not this time. I want you, Spike."

She turned her gaze toward the large shed on the edge of the property. Built
by the former owners, the outside was fashioned like a miniature house,
complete with shutters and a little porch. A child's playhouse, which Dawn
had promptly taken over for her very own. As she outgrew the dollhouse
aspect of it, she turned it into a clubhouse, a place where she and her
friends could gather and talk about boys. It was big enough for what she had
in mind, and not much more.

Buffy turned questioning eyes toward Spike, and nearly melted at the heat of
his gaze. Taking his hand, she lead him across the yard and into the small
house. There were tiny glow in the dark stars all over the place, casting
everything in a neon green glow. Buffy squinted and saw the battery-powered
lantern that Dawn had pitched a tantrum for in the corner. She turned it on
low, and turned to glance at Spike, who suddenly seemed very large in the
tiny house. "Sorry, it's kinda cramped."

"It's very seductive, Slayer," Spike said unconvincingly, glancing at the
various NSYNC posters on the wall and the Barbie dolls that lined several
shelves. He sat down in the floor, leaning against a pink beanbag and
grinned at her. “Very seductive.”

"I knew you'd think so." Buffy was on her knees and slowly slid one leg over
Spike's so that she was straddling him. With her hands on his shoulders, she
lowered her head and kissed him hungrily, tracing the curves of his lips
with her tongue. Her efforts were rewarded with a growl from deep inside of
him, and something ignited within her that she had never felt before. It
vibrated inside of her, making her quake with need.

Spike slipped his hands under her shirt and lifted it over her head. Her
breasts were level to his face and he tugged one of her nipples with his
teeth. She threw her head back, and if he hadn't known better, he would have
said she answered with a growl of her own. One hand traced the curve of her
back, while the other worked busily at unbuttoning her pants. His hand
brushed against the bandage that had been taped against her side and he
paused, “Slayer, how bad are you hurt? Maybe-“

“It’s fine,” she said breathlessly. “Don’t stop.” She moved his hands back
to her pants and smiled.

When they were unfastened, he ushered her to her feet, then moved to his
knees. As he slid her pants down her legs, he kissed almost every inch of
the flesh he exposed, delighting in just grazing the apex of her thighs each
time he moved from one leg to the other.

Buffy was almost ready to plead with him when he stood completely. She
looked stunned, but he wasn't leaving, he had only stood to pull off his own
clothing. Buffy took the hint and yanked off her boots, then stepped out of
the pants that he had pushed to her ankles. Standing nude, she stared at his
body in the dim light. It was perfect. Pale and tight -- almost as if he had
been carved from the finest oriental alabaster.

Spike said nothing as she looked him over, but he did grin when her eyes
fell on his hard shaft and grew round. He took the opportunity to drink her
in as well. He had seen her naked, but not like this. This wasn't as primal
as it had been before, wasn't as animalistic. It was almost - normal. Her
hair fell over one shoulder, partially draping her breast, which was rising
and falling with her heavy breathing. Even a few feet away, he could hear
her blood screaming through her veins and he smelled everything she was
feeling. Lust, pain, desire, anger, and **need**. She needed to forget, even
for a while, what the future may hold.

And he needed to be lost inside of her before he exploded just from looking
at her. "Come here," he said in a low voice.

She complied, stepping over her discarded clothing without hesitation.
Standing toe to toe, she swallowed hard, her entire body reacting to the
nearness of his and the promise of what lay ahead. She had been there, she
knew what it was like to be with him, but this - this was somehow different.
When he grabbed her under her arms and lifted her, she instinctively wrapped
her legs around his waist, never gasping or crying out in shock. The power
of his embrace left her breathless, almost choking on her own need.

Spike kneaded the supple flesh of her backside, cupping it as he slowly
pressed her against the wall. She hissed when her heated flesh came in
contact with the cold wood, but she quickly forgot as he buried his face in
her neck, licking and nipping the slopes and curves. She pulled him closer
with her legs, grinding her core against his stomach, seeking some kind of
relief. When he felt what she was doing, he pulled back and shook his head.
"My, my, aren't you bold?"

Her reply was a soft whimper and he turned, lowering her to the blankets. He
hovered over her, suckling her breasts, then kissing her ribcage and pelvic
bone until she finally bucked against him. He caught her legs, spreading
them, and lowered his mouth to her dripping mound. His tongue slid easily
against her, into her, then he concentrated on her clit, scraping it with
blunt teeth and sucking at it until her fingers tangled in his hair and she
was writhing beneath him.

Beneath him.

With a growl, he gave her clit a final rough suck and she came, crying out
his name. He wasted no time. Crawling up her body, he slipped into her,
trying to maintain some form of control as the flame between her legs
engulfed him, compelling him to slam against her in fast, needy thrusts. It
would have been so easy to lose it after a few strokes, but he wouldn't let
himself go. Instead, he slowed his movements, trying to prolong the
inevitable.

Buffy pushed against him, already on the verge of a second orgasm. When he
stilled her hips with his hands, she shook her head. "This is **my** dance."

He leaned back, staring down at her. "What?"

"My rules." Without warning, she flipped them, coming to rest on top of him,
upright with her hands on his chest. She leaned back a few inches and moved
a hand between her legs as she bounced lightly.

"That's cheating." Spike caught her hand and moved it to the side, then
positioned his thumb over her clit, rubbing in a small circle.

Bracing her palms behind her, on his thighs, she rocked back and forth, her
breath catching in her throat. He knew exactly how to touch her, because
within seconds, color exploded behind her eyelids and she was collapsing
over him. Weakened by the power of her release, she stopped moving
completely, only to have him grip her hips and slam up into her. She had
almost collected herself enough to take charge again when she felt his cold
seed shoot into her and he growled her name. "Ahhh, Buffy-"

The sound was like music to her ears. The music of the dance they'd just
completed, the dance that had been rhythmic, timeless, and in tune with the
beats of her heart. He was motionless under her, no breathing, just cool
against hot, firm against soft, and content to listen to her breathing, for
neither said anything. Finally, Buffy slipped to one side and lay in the
curve of his arm. One leg was thrown aimlessly over his and he lowered a
hand, caressing the curve of her knee. "Slayer?"

"Yeah?"

"What time are you going to the hospital tomorrow?"

"Nine in the morning."

"Is the niblet going with you?"

"Yeah."

"How about your friends?" He really meant Riley Finn, but couldn't bring
himself to ask about him directly.

"You're the only person who knows."

< She called me a person. > Spike pushed a tendril of hair off her forehead
and kissed it. "Do you want me to go with you?”

"No. There's the whole sun issue working against you, and also, I think it
would be best if it was just us, you know? I think maybe Dawn needs my full
attention." She propped herself on her elbow and smiled at him. "But thank
you. For everything."

Spike simply nodded. "The sun will be up soon."

"I know."

"I should go."

"Or you could stay here. The windows are covered with blinds."

"I could do that too, I suppose. Though why I should lower my standards and
stay in this nice little house instead of my dirty crypt, I'll never know,"
he replied with a chuckle.

"Just don't behead any of the dolls or anything. Dawn's a collector."

"I'll just undress a few, do kinky things. She'll never know."

"Let me take a moment to say ewww. Ewww." Sitting up, Buffy stretched and
yawned. "I need to go inside and get ready."

He caught her by the hand. "Come and tell me what they find, yes?"

"I will." Buffy stood and pulled on her pants and shirt. In bare feet, she
headed toward the door, then turned and looked at him again. "Hey Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I guess you could take that whole 'beneath me' comment a new way, huh?"

He grinned. "I guess so."

"I like that better anyway."

"Me too." He watched her leave and rolled to his side. The scent of her
covered the blankets, covered him, and before long, his eyes closed, and he
dreamed.

He dreamed of the Slayer.

Smiling at him with blood on her lips.


-Fin

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