For Hope.

*****

He came back to earth slowly, the warm ache inside him fading slightly as he looked down at the Slayer, her eyes closed and breath shallow. He grinned at the small smile on her face and kissed her lightly. “Wakey wakey, Buffy,” he whispered. “Nearly dawn an’ I gotta go.”

Buffy scrunched her nose and moaned gently. “No. Wanna stay here, you’re warm.”

“Buffy. We’re lying on a tomb, naked, in a graveyard. Not a great place to be in daylight.”

Buffy opened her eyes quickly. “Oh. Right. No.” She smiled slowly and waited as he rolled off her and stood up, stretching. He grinned lazily and started pulling on his jeans, throwing Buffy her own trousers. She smiled quickly, suddenly shy, and tugged them on before finding her bra and blouse. Spike watched her openly and she blushed. Finally he bent down and pulled his Doc Martins on, then looked around for his T-shirt. He raised an eyebrow when Buffy coughed and pointed to a shrub ten feet away. He laughed quietly and fetched it. There was a silence between them, a peace where neither needed to speak. Spike desperately hoped she didn’t regret it, he couldn’t tell from her carefully controlled features. He himself didn’t really know what to say. Why had it happened? Why didn’t he feel.... wrong...? And more importantly, why was she being quiet. Shouting he could cope with. But not silence. Not this.

He couldn’t take it any more. “Buffy?” he asked softly. She looked at him like she’d been shot. “What?”

“Are you...um, alright, love?”

She looked at the ground. “Yep. Colour me happy.”

He lifted her chin with his finger. “What’s the matter?” he asked, heart sinking.

She stared at him. “What did *that* mean to you?”

Spike groped for the right words to express himself. “I-uh...it was....right.”

“And what do you think you feel about me?”

He thought for a moment, trying to put into words what he realised he’d been feeling for the last few months.

“I think I love you.” There was hesitation in his soft voice.

She stopped dead and gaped at him. “Huh?”

“I love you, Buffy. I always have, I think...ever since I saw you..”

“Oh my god.”

He frowned, confusion on his face, and looked at the ground. “I-

“No!” Buffy stopped him. “You say you love me? I say you can’t. You have no soul, Spike! And unless you can prove that you do love me...then I can’t love you. Never love you. You can’t have a love that is pure...and clean, or good!”

She pulled on her trainers and left abruptly, anger flashing in her green eyes.

*****

Spike stood for a moment after she left him, in the cold pre-dawn light, utterly lost for words. Slowly, an uncontrollable rage worked its way up through his body, making him shake in fury. That bitch! Thinks she’s too good for me? He growled low in his throat and pulled on his duster, still laced with the scent of her. With a vicious snarl, he turned and stormed back towards his crypt, trying hard not to think of the way her soft skin felt under his hands, the small gasps of ecstasy that had escaped her as she neared release.

He felt cold, a deep, bone-marrow chill that blocked out all emotions but rage and pain. She’d bloody pay for that rejection.

*****

He entered the crypt, not bothering to scent it out for intruders first, too angry and hurt to think of it. And that’s when they struck.

Strong, clammy hands pulled at him in the utter blackness, and Spike vamped out to get a clearer view of his assailants. He saw small, deformed demon minions, bulbous eyes grotesquely slimy looking, backs hunched and twisted, clawed, scaly hands pulling at him, scratching at his skin and drawing blood as they tried to drag him to the floor of his dusty home. He roared and fought back desperately, punching and kicking hard, ripping the throats from them as they jumped at him, all the while swearing fluently as he fought. But there seemed to be a never-ending stream of them; as he killed demon after demon, yet more appeared from the gloom to take their place, and Spike began to tire. The small demons were silent, never taking their disgusting, eerie eyes from his face, and Spike was unnerved.

There’s too many, Spike realised after fighting hard for ten minutes. He was tiring quickly, the strength seemingly being drawn from him by their clawed little fingers as they touched him and tugged at his hair. Weak, exhausted, he allowed himself to be brought to his knees. Defeated. They swarmed over his body, grabbing his wrists and binding them behind his back, making him wince as his hands and arms were scraped by the vicious claws.

His vision clouded with pain as they forced more blood from his body with their sharp, needle-like teeth, and began to drag him along the crypt floor, down to the second level and the sewers below. He felt his hair grow sticky with filth from the sewer floor before he finally let himself sink into oblivion, no longer caring if he lived.