Breaking a Slayer

Breaking a Slayer: Chapter 4 Breaking a Slayer: Chapter 4   Disclaimer: I don't own them.   Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Buffy/Spike/Angel. (Oh, and Spike is Angelus's childe. He said he was several times before the censors freaked about the homoerotic nature of the sire/childe bond and Joss had to change it to Drusilla. As if she had the mental wherewithal to sire a rock…NOT!)   Distribution: Sure, just let me know.   Feedback: Is always nice.   Rating: NC-17 with warnings for violence, slash, blood play and just general angst.   Angel pressed urgently against the barrier, gazing at her in shock and dismay. Buffy was covered in dried blood and had made no attempt to clean herself up. Barely recognizing his mate, Angel blurted out, "Buffy, have you been eating at all? My god, you look so…thin." *Cadaverous was more accurate,* he thought, but that was hardly going to calm her down. She was shaking and wide-eyed, looking from him to Spike and back with confusion. "May we come in, Buffy? Please?"   Buffy stared at them from her corner, wordlessly nodding her assent to Angel.   "Buffy, I need more than that. May we come in?"   "Yes," she answered in a shaky voice. She wouldn't look at him, eyes flitting wildly around the room, finally coming to rest on her shaking hands,tchetched tightly in her lap.   Angel paced quickly inside, pulling Spike with him and shutting the door behind them.   "Nice place you got here, Slayer," Spike sneered, glancing with disdain at the dingy room. "I've seen crypts that looked better. Ooff!" he huffed as Angel elbowed him sharply in the ribs before walking forward to kneel before Buffy. "Try for a little more tact, you idiot!" he hissed.   Angel covered her gory hands with his own, trying to calm their palsy with soothing strokes. "Buffy, it's ok, everything is ok now. We have your clothes, let's just get the rest of your things and we'll leave this place." Buffy flinched from his strong, cool grip…retreating further into the corner. She tucked her small, bloodstained hands under her arms. His touch was icy to her screaming nerves; he was too close and she curled in on herself, pulling her stocking cap down further and refusing to meet his eyes.   Antooktook the hint and eased back a bit, giving her room as he glanced at Spike to see if he'd caught the Slayer's reaction. Spike gave his sire a knowing look, glaring darkly at the one man who truly held the power to break Buffy be rep repair.   "Angel, you…you have to take me to the police." Buffy's broken voice grated, rusty from screaming and a month of disuse. "I killed those men. I'm a murderer," her voice broke on the last word and she shuddered, bloody and sng ing in a miserable ball of agony.   "Slayer, it was self-defense. Not your bloody fault, y'know." Spike slunk to her corner and crouched, reaching one white hand out to her. His concerned eyes looked deep into her frightened gaze. "'Sides," he licked his lips lasciviously, "they were right tasty. Best meal I've had in ages." He'd meant to lighten her mood, and was unprepared for her reaction.   Buffy recoiled from his reach, gagging, and ran to the bathroom grasping her belly. The unmistakable sounds of retching echoed outward as she lost the meager contents of her stomach into the toilet. *Guess that answers my question about her hunting for me. Oh, well….*   Angel stood and kicked Spike viciously in the ribs. "Nice going, boy. Now look what you've done. You have the common sense of an ass!" Angel was royally pissed - at Spike, at himself, at the situation. Clearly, Buffy was not going to be sensible about coming with them. She di see seem to be able to tolerate their slightest touch, which worried him tremendously. She was obviously far more damaged from the rape than he'd anticipated. He'd hoped she could snap back to her usual self, but this emaciated, nervous wreck of a girl was nothing like his vivacious, self-assured mate. Just what had he wrought with his cruel words and self-involvem Had Had his failure to provide her with any comfort convinced her that she was somehow to blame for what had happened?   Buffy flushed the toilet and rose shakily to her feet, leaning over the sink, to rinse the foul taste of bile from her mouth. She was shocked by the blood-soaked stranger who looked back from the scratched and filthy mirror. Who was that beaten girl? Bludgeoning two of her rapists nearly to death hadn't provided any sense of satisfaction or peace. She hadn't done it consciously. She'd reacted like a cornered animal. That's all she was, these days…an animalral.ral. Uncontrollable. She deserved to be locked up - needed to be. She shook the water from her face and hands, pink streaks running down her neck into her already blood-stained shirt. Even the gray couldn't hide all of this. Slowly, she walked out of the bathroom, wiping her still-trembling hands on her drying blood-spattered jeans.   "Angel. You need to take me to the police station now, so I can give myself up." She looked up at him emotionlessly, no feeling at all in her dead eyes.   Angel shook his head in violent negation. "I'm not turning you over to anyone," he growled. "You're mine and you're coming with me…now!" He paced over to her, looking hurt when she jerked away from his touch yet again. He gazed imploringly at Spike, begging with his eyes for his childe's help.   Spike strode to her other side, not even attempting to touch the skittish girl. "What good would it do to give yourself up, Slayer? You didn't kill 'em, you just hurt 'em. I was the one that finished 'em off. No bodies to investigate, just a missing chair and a broken window. That shit happens all the time in these parts." He grinned at her confusion and shrugged his shoulders. "You know how pesky those corpses can be. Must have scarpered off somewhere else while you weren't looking." He chuckled and winked at her. "Now, let's us get the hell out of this dive before dawn. I don't wanna be stuck in this shit hole for a whole day."   Buffy looked back and forth between the two of them. Angel met her eyes and added gently, "Buffy, please, let us help you. You owe it to yourself. Let's leave this place." He smiled at her, his chocolate-brown eyes filled with compassion and love. She ducked her head, refusing to meet his gaze, and nodded reluctantly.   Spike grabbed her weapon bag and threw few few possessions into it. "Good thing you travel light, Slayer," he muttered. "The great Pouf here packed enough for a bloody army." He slung the bag over his shoulder and opened the door, jumping over the railing and down from the balcony in one lithe leap.   Angel walked to the bathroom and retrieved Buffy's other things fro, th, then gestured for her to precede him from the shabby little room. Buffy complied, not looking back on her home of almost two months. She climbed into Angel's car, staring straight ahead and not speaking to either vampire.   Angel drove through the false dawn to the mansion in silence. He was not fool enough to mistake Buffy's compliance for any true desire to be with them. She was simply too broken to react to much of anything short of an attack. He recognized the shock and post-traumatic stress that had provoked her earlier behavior at the laundry. He winced to think that his thoughtless words back in LA might have pushed her further down this dark road of self-hatred. Her soul was a roiling cauldron of angst, rage and despair that he had no clue how to ease.   Perhaps Spike could help - though Angel was downright perplexed by the dysfunctional bond that had suddenly appeared between them - she actually seemed more comfortable with Spike than him. He didn't even want to think about that. Sharing any part of her with his childe was out of the question…wasn't it?   They arrived at the garage to the mansion and Angel pulled his convertible in next to Spike's disreputable DeSoto. Angel shivered at the sight of that car. Last time he'd seen it, Angelus had been in control of his - their? - body. The demon raged under the surface of his skin, fiercely aroused by the smell of blood on its mate and desperate to claim her as he'd never allowed it to before. It took all his concentration to keep his game face buried as he climbed from the car and strode to the trunk, grabbing his bags and Buffy's things.   Spike retrieved Buffy's laundry basket from his own car and stalked ahead of Angel into the mansion. Angel turned to see what Buffy was doing and found her gazing vacantly at the windshield. "Buffy," he said sharply, disconcerted by her mindless stare. "We're here, Buffy. Come inside now."   She glanced up at him catching his eyes with her dead gaze before dropping it and climbing slowly from his car. She closed the door anrnedrned to follow him silently as he led the way into the mansion.   Angel walked through the great room, glaring darkly at Spike for the state of his leather sofa…now dirtied at one end with tell-tale boot prints. He gestured abruptly for Spike to lead Buffy upstairs. "Keep yer pants on, Peaches, the dirt'll brush off. Ponce!" Spike muttered as he strode upstairs with Buffy treading quietly behind him. He picked the airiest of the bedrooms for her and plunked her clothes down near an ancient armoire. "Got a great view here, Pet, but do me a favor and don't peek till I'm out of the room. Sun's up."   Buffy looked at him vacantly, clearly at a loss. "Luv, why don'cha strip out a those dirty clothes and take a hot bath? Do you good. Peaches kept the water and power goin' here even after he left and I think Dru…" he thought better of finishing the sentence, but found the bubble bath he'd been searching for on a shelf near the tub.   Spike walked to the center of the huge bathroom and quickly ran water into the sunken marble tub, rinsing away the dust that had settled there, as everywhere. Satisfied that the tub was clean enough for the Slayer *Satan knew, she didn't look as if she was too choosy these days,* he poured a heaping cup of bubble bath into the tub and began filling it with hot water. He called her over, grinning at the thought of himself as lady's maid. Wouldn't be the first time he'd performed those duties, and this lady could certainly give the others a run for their money. "Lemme help you off with those things, Pet." He pulled the stocking cap from her head and gasped. "Slayer, what have you done to your hair?"   Buffy flinched from his touch and self-consciously raised a hand to her cropped curls, then scowled at Spike. "It's easier to get clean like this, besides, it doesn't matter what I look like." She turned her back on him and shucked off her jeans, body covered by her voluminous flannel shirt. Spike's eyes widened as he realized that she wasn't wearing any panties with the jeans.   Buffy sank into the tub, back still to him, and yanked both shirts off over her head, throwing them in his direction as she disappeared under the copious bubbles. Her head surfaced after a moment and she growled, "Go away, Spike." Quickly beating a retreatore ore she decided that his presence constituted a threat, Spike closed the door to her room and headed back downstairs to see Angel.   His sire was pacing the floor in front of the massive fireplace in distraction, brooding before the flames he'd kindled there. "Did you get her settled in?" he growled, still agitated about his mate, and unsure how to help her.   "What am I, the sodding butler?" Spike sneered back, frustrated at his all too fleeting glimpse of Buffy stepping into the bath and itching for a fight to take his mind off his unrequited lust.   "You're whatever I say you are, and don't forget it, Boy," Angel ground out, demon close to the surface and pushing for a fight of its own.   "I'm a master now myself, you great pouf, I don't take orders from a sniveling, soul-wracked pansy who can't make up his bloody mind what he wants." Spike snarled in response. "Serve you right if I take the Slayer for my own…she fancies me, you know…I've smelled it on her." He slid into game face and gave Angel a come-on stare as he licked his lips suggestively. "She smells so good when she's been fightin' me…all hot and wet and strong, just luscious…beggin' for a taste. I bet fuckin' a slayer is even better than killin' one." Spike's head snapped brutally to the side as Angel's huge paw swiped across his angular face.   Spike lashed out in retaliation, getting in a hard left jab to Angel's square jaw, followed by a vicious right hook that knocked his sire back a step or two. Angel shook his head, game face sliding on and violent glee suffusing his features as his demon came to the fore. His eyes lit with gold and he lunged for Spike, who met him with outstretched hands and a lunge of his own. They grappled, tossing each other across the room, growling, striking, kicking, advancing, and recoiling from each other faster than human eyes could have followed. They rolled to a stop before the fire, on Angel's fur rug.   Angel pinned Spike's hands roughly to the floor and straddled him, leaning forward and glaring hotly at his unruly childe. "Are we clear now on who the master is?" he growled, staring into Spike's golden eyes in a dominant display.   Spike glared back, pride fighting with self-preservation before he finally dropped his own gaze andded ded reluctantly. "Fine, you're still the master, even if you are all soul-whipped. Now get off, wanker, you're heavy…."   Angel half-smiled, game face fading into his handsome human countenance. He gazed deeply into his childe's now-blue eyes and purred, "'Get off'…sounds delightful, William. What did you have in mind?" One large hand released Spike's wrist and stroked through his tousled white-blond curls before snaking its way down the side of his cheek and gliding sensuously and firmly over the sensitive skin of his neck.   Spike would have blushed at the knowing look from those chestnut eyes, had he a pulse and blood to make his skin flush. "Don't call me that. I didn't mean it like that," he choked, closing his eyes against the rush of lust that swept through him like a wildfire.   "Then I'll just have to make you mean it, Most-Favored-Childe," Angel purred, dipping his head to lick at Spike's neck precisely where he'd stroked his sensitive fingers moments before.   Spike strained upwards, whether to get closer to that cool mouth or to escape, he didn't know. No one could do this to him but Angelus. Not even Drusilla could wring such heady responses from him with the slightest touch. Spike gasped, pulling in unnecessary air as Angel suckled roughly at his jugular, tonguing it with expertise before gnawing with blunt teeth. Spike moaned as his cock jumped to life against Angel's equally ere erection. Angel smiled and ground his pelvis into Spike's, moving to his mouth for a long, hard kiss.   Their tongues stroked and tangled as Angel searched out every lingering taste of blood from Spike's cool mouth before breaking away to gasp for breath that he didn't need. Spike smiled at his sire's discomposure, pleased that Angel was equally affected by their passion.   Taking his own path from Angel's luscious mouth, Spike lapped at his sire's neck, chewing at the corded muscles before laving Angel's jugular with long, slow licks. He bit, lightly at first and then harder, sighing against his sire in appreciation when Angel moaned his pleasure. "You always did like pain, you twisted bastard," Spike muttered before biting again, hard enough to bruise.   Angel ground his aching cock into Spike's pelvis, drowning in lust fos pes perfect, vicious childe. He sat up and pulled Spike's black t-shirt off of his lithe body, throwing it to one side. Leaning over his childe's muscular chest, he took one flat nipple into his mouth, rasping his tongue roughly over it until it hardened. Angel bit lightly, forcing a groan from Spike's panting mouth. Reaching lower, Angel unbuttoned Spike's jeans, sliding them roughly down his lean legs. Angel pulled Spike's boots from his feet, then slid the jeans off, as . Wi. With his childe crouched naked and erect in front of hAngeAngel reached for the fastenings of his own clothes.   Spike gazed up at his sire and reached for his pants as Angel removed his black silk shirt. Angel toed off his shoes and kicked his feet free of his pants, brushing Spike's face with his rigid cock. Spike knelt at Angel's feet and reached for his sire's dick, grasping it firmly while his tongue lapped at the dripping end. Angel groaned in anguished abandon as Spike engulfed his cock in his cool mouth. Sucking avidly, Spike moved back and forth taking in more of his sire with every thrust.   Finally Angel could stand it no longer and grabbed Spike's head while he battered the back of his throat with his hard cock. Spike clenched his practiced throat muscles, pulling on his sire's dick with ease. "Gods, childe…yes…I'm coming…ah…yes!!! Angel threw back his head and howled his pleasure, uncaring of who heard him. It had been so very long since he felt this bliss. He collapsed to his knees, pushing Spike ge fro from him and gazing with affection at his favorite childe.   "No one will ever match you, Will," Angel growled, leaning forward to plunder his childe's mouth with harsh, lustful kisses. Spike moaned, desperately in need of release, but waiting for permission before attempting it. Angel broke their kiss as Spike groaned again, and flipped him to his stomach in front of the warm flames, spreading his legs and reaching around to tug at Spike's rock-hard cock. Their bodies had taken on an illusory warmth from the fire, which set them both racing again. Angel pushed gently against Spike's ass, inching his way with torturous slowness into his childe's waiting hole. Spike groaned again as Angel began stroking his cock in time with his own thrusts deep within Spike's ass.   Leaning his head back on his sire's shoulder, Spike gazed deep into his eyes, consumed with lust and something more. This feeling, this connection, was what had been missing for so long, for the century since Angel's soul was restored. Spike might very well be a master vampire, but he needed his family in an almost human way. Being dominated and caressed by his sire connected him, reassured him of his place in the family, and made him feel loved, though he'd never admit it.   Spike felt Angel bite down on his neck as he began to l anl and the intense pain/pleasure of his sire's bite catapulted him over the edge himself. Falling into ecstasy, he screamed out, "ANGEL!" and came in his sire's skilled hands. Angel pulled out of his childe's ass and turned Spike to face him, guiding his childe's mouth to his own throat.   "Drink, Will, drink and be mine again," he crooned. Spike needed no further invitation and slid into game face, sinking his fangs into his sire's throat with no hesitation. The rich, delicious blood was even stronger than he remembered and for a moment he was on the brink of unconsciousness from the decadent pleasure of it. Then, Spike realized with a start, that it was Buffy he tasted in his sire's powerful blood. Buffy had increased Angel's strength by ten-fold with her gift of blood to save him from Faith's poisoned arrow. Sighing in languorous satiation as he lapped at the closing bite marks, Spike almost missed Angel's whispered words, "I love you, Will."   *   Buffy was warm and clean. And very, very tired. She climbed slowly from the sunken tub and padded, dripping, into the bedroom. Rooting in her laundry basket, she grabbed a freshly laundered towel. She began drying herself, trying desperately not to think of what she had left behind at the laundromat, but images swirled uncontrollably in her head.   *Huge men towering over her…her black boot smashing into a man's eye…she was forced down on a pool table…her muscles flexing as she beat a man with a metal bar…she was crawling - bloody and beaten - through an alley.* The chaos of memory thundered sounds, smells, textures and images through her head and she fell to the floor, clenching her eyes shut and keening in grief and confusion. Shuddering from head to toe, Buffy curled into a fetal ball on the dusty floor, weeping for the innocence now truly lost to her.   *   Angel moved reluctantly away from Spike and stretched luxuriously before the fire, reveling in the warmth that soothed his cold body. Technically, he didn't *need* to be warm, but he took hedonistic pleasure in it regardless of true need. He pulled his pants on, sighing in splendid satiation, then ran a possessive hand appreciatively over Spike's tight ass, chuckling as his child arched into the gentle touch. The last time he'd felt this relaxed was, gods, probably when he'd nearly drained Buffy dry right in this very room. And that had not ended nearly as well, he thought in chagrin, remembering his mad dash to the hospital to savr lir life.   Spike grinned lasciviously at Angel as he rolled away from his sire to get his t-shirt. "Not that this wasn't bloody marvelous, Peaches, but what're you gonna do about the Slayer?" Spike asked with a sardonic ce ace at his sire as he cleaned himself with the shirt.   "I'm not going to tell her anything right now. The last thing she needs is me trying to explain the sexual dynamics of the sire/childe bond to her. Rupert never told her anything about it, and she was too young to understand back when I…." Angel growled, not wanting to think about Buffy's likely reaction to his renewed intimacy with Spike.   "Back when you seduced her barely-past-16-year-old body, Sire? As it happens, I wasn't askin' 'bout *us* you pouf. Meant what're you gonna do about her. She's broke, Sire, and nobody's lining up to fix her. Leastwise, not that I've seen." Spike dropped the dirty shirt and pulled his jeans on, angry for the slayer's sake that none of her friends were even there to help her. "Chit could'a killed me when I got chipped. Didn't. I wasn't bloody easy to live with either…did all I could to make life hell for her and her Scoobs."   "Spike, at least some of the problem is the way I treated her after the rape. I have to make things right somehow, have to help her any way I can. I can't stand to see her so…" his voice trailed off and he grabbed the t-shirt from the floor to clean his hands, dropping it to shrug into his silk shirt. "The real question is, what are you going to do now, Spike? Besides pick that up off my floor, that is," Angel added pointedly. He gazed thoughtfully at his childe while buttoning his shirt. "You don't have a soul limiting your actions and there are plenty of ways around the chip; indirect violence, for instance."   Spike chuckled, "Thanks for the tip, Sire. I'll keep that in mind. Not that it's not occurred to me before, ya know? I'll stick around for a while and help you with the Slayer. Looks like you're gonna have your hands full with the chit. Then you can get me unchipped and I'll scarper off somewhere's and wreak some long-overdue havoc." He grinned and slapped Angel's ass as his sire leaned over, picked up the discarded shirt and thrust it at Spike with a growl that changed into a yell…"Buffy?!?"   Spike heard her too, now, and they raced for the stairs together, unsure of what they'd f The They pounded to Buffy's room and knocked the door open and stopped, transfixed by the sight of her, naked and dripping on the floor. She cried - huge gut-wrenching sobs - keening in grief and despair. Angel could see every rib and vertebra in her thin back and he winced at the sight.   "Hell's bells, Slayer, now what's the matter?" Spike asked plaintively as he pulled Buffy to her feet, tucking the towel around her gently. She was cold and shivering violently, her teeth chattering as she continued to sob.   "I…I k-k-killed two men, Sp-spike," she stuttered. "I've killed d-demons before, but never humans. I c-can't stop seeing them in my head. Seeing what I did to them. Now I know what Faith felt like." She glanced up at Angel for a moment meeting his eyes reluctantly, then looked down in shame.   "Come down by the fire, Buffy, you need to get warm and eat," Angel said quietly. "Don’t think right now. You're shaking like a leaf. You need to take care of your body first. We'll deal with the other stuff later." Angel stepped to the armoire and pulled a not-too-dusty blanket from its shelf, cucooning his mate in its soft folds. He lifted her into his arms and carried her downstairs to the fireplace, setting her on the rug. He crouched behind her and ran gentle fingers through her golden-brown curls, smiling in surprise at their soft texture. "I like your hair this way," he chuckled. s prs pretty."   Buffy flinched from his touch, not meeting his eyes. "It's short. Easy to clean. Stays out of my way," she said stoically as she brushed surreptitiously at the tears still drying on her face.   Angel reached a gentle hand towards her, smoothing the tears away and cupping Buffy's face in a tender grip. "Buffy, please, I won't hurt you. Can't you even bear to let me touch you? I love you, you know. I'll never stop."   Angel nestled next to the fire and Buffy curled away from him like a broken child. "You didn't want me before, Angel. You told me so in the sewer. I'd only ever been with you. And now…you said it yourself. Now, I'm dirty," her voice broke. "I wash and wash, but I can still feel them on my skin. They won't go away. And every morning, when I lay down to go to sleep, they're waiting in my dreams and they use me again and again and I can't fight them. I can't escape." Her voice rose hysterically, and she began shaking again as she pulled further away from him and curled into a tight ball.   Angel growled helplessly, demon rising in anger at what those thrice-damned men had donehis his mate. What *he* had done to her, with his selfish, jealous and thoughtless words. "Shush, baby. It's ok. Shush now, love. It's not true, Buffy. You're not dirty. They can't touch you, not the real you deep inside." He pulled her shuddering body into his arms, and held her for a long while, stroking her back and crooning nonsense syllables to her softly as she cried out her anguish. Finally, her shudders began to ease.   "Here, mate, get some of this into her," Spike muttered, as he crouched down to hand Angel a mug of hot cocoa. I even got little marshmallows for you, Slayer, just like your mum used to give me."   "Buffy, love, can you drink some of this for me? You need something in your stomach." Angel caressed her softly through the blanket, eyes never leaving his mate's distraught face.   Buffy shook with grief, flinching at first, then gradually relaxing into the comforting arms of her lover. He held the mug to her lips and she took a hesitant sip of the warm liquid, sighing in pleasure at the rich chocolate. "Mmm, this is good, Spike, thank you," she smiled at him and took the mug from Angel as Spike knelt by her side, stroking her shoulder companionably and settling in beside her.   "Course it's bloody good, Slayer," he replied in mock indignation. "What'd you think I'd nick the cheap kind?"   Buffy grinned at him and shook her head. "Thank you for your exquisite taste in pilfering, then, Spike."   "S'ok, Slayer. I'll take it outta yer hide later, count on it," he grinned, relieved to hear her laugh a bit. He reached a hand out and tousled her curls appreciatively.   *She didn't flinch from *his* touch,* Angel thought jealously, then chided himself inwardly. *Grow up, idiot, maybe that will help us.*   "Peaches is right, Buffy, this suits you. Maybe I'll let mine grow out, too. We'd be bookends," Spike laughed.   "Don't get too domesticated, Spike," Angel smiled. "No one would know who you were. I haven't seen your natural hair color for over a century." Buffy rolled her eyes at them, sipping cocoa and relaxing a bit more into the warmth of the fire and the comfort of her mate's arms.   Spike looked at the slayer seriously. "Buffy, I've seen this before, you know. Girls getting hurt and such. 'Course, none of 'em had your splendid way with their fists, but still…you gotta start talkin' about this, you know. Keepin' it all bottled up inside you, well it don't work. It'll only break you when it finally does come out." Spike thought bitterly of Drusilla, tortured and teased by Angelus for so long that she was no longer able to separate pain from pleasure. It all became the same to her. His dark princess, so beautiful and broken. Spike couldn't stand to think of Buffy descending into that madness. She was as violent as the sun's surface and just as golden, shining through the dark like some glowing star.   Angel glanced at his childe, knowing instinctively of whom he was thinking. "Spike is right. Buffy, what happened at the laundry wasn't your fault. They cornered you and you reacted instinctively to the danger. But that doesn't mean you can ignore the pain and bury it inside you. What will happen the next time you're in a situation like that? You need to deal with this," he said seriously.   Buffy sipped pensively at her cocoa and glanced at him before looking down into her mug. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just that…when you hold me…it feels good, but then it reminds me of everything we did…before and then…I feel them again and the touching is bad and it's all tangled up together inside me now. It's easier with Spike," she muttered. "He never did anything but hit me, so there isn't all that…other stuff in there messing with my head."   Spike rolled his eyes at her. "Happy to oblige, Slayer, you just get this chip outta my skull and I'll hit you all day long," he grinned, winking so she'd know he was fooling with her.   Buffy smiled back at him. "I don't think that cis gis going anywhere just yet, Spikey. Wouldn't want to have to kill you before you can make me more cocoa," she chuckled.   "You should eat more than that," Angel said. "You're way too thin, Buffy. Let me cook for you. We all need to eat." Angel tucked the blanket around her more tightly and rose, padding barefonto nto the kitchen.   "Mmm, true, Peaches. I seem to have worked up an appetite…" Spike leered at his sire suggestively, then leaned into Buffy. "So, Slayer, can I have a taste, can I, huh?"   Buffy laughed up at him. "In your dreams, Spike. Go have some pig."   Spike grinned back at her, but looked away. *In my dreams, Pet, it's not just your blood that I'm having.*   "Spike, where is the number for that grocery that delivered? You remember, we used to order in food for…" Angel's voice trailed off as he thought of what they'd used the food for. They had kept humans chained in the cellar for Drusilla when Angelus didn't want to be bothered to hunt with her. She was too unstable to be allowed out alone.   "It's in the top drawer by the phone, same place as always, Peaches," Spike called, then turned and rose, hoping Buffy didn't notice his sire's awkward pause. They didn't need to go into the Angelus angst again right now…plenty of Buffy angst to deal with. Gods, how in the nine hells did he get himself roped into this again? Who the fuck did they think he was, anyway, Oprah?   "I'm gonna get you some clothes, Slayer. You're still too cold. Can't have you catching a chill," he said, pushing himself to his feet. He darted upstairs and into her room, grabbing a wrinkled but clean shirt and pants for her and trotting back downstairs with them. He handed them over and grinned at her when she scowled and gestured for him to turn his back.   "Geeze, Spike, peeping much? Turn around so I can put these on." Buffy grumbled as she pulled the warm black flannel shirt on. "Hey, where are my…didn't you grab any…" her voice trailed off in embarrassment as Spike turned and looked at her.   "Whut? Brought yer pants and shirt, Slayer. What else d'you need?" Spike turned and looked questioningly at her as she buttoned her shirt hastily, pants still on the floor.   "Um, something to go under them?" Buffy raised an eyebrow at him as she stepped into the too large jeans and pulled them quickly up under her loose shirt, turning her back on him to fasten them.   "Knickers? Didn't think you were wearin' 'em these days. Leastwise, you didn’t have 'em on when you got into the bath a bit ago…" he leered cheerfully at her.   Buffy shook her head and laughed at his expression. "C'mon, Spike, hello laundry day…I didn't have any clean ones. That's *why* I was doing laundry. Duh!"   "Well, your high-and-mightiness, some of us do wash *before* we run out of knickers, not after. Not me, I mean…never wear 'em, myself…" he added proudly, then chuckled at her flushed cheeks and downcast eyes.   "Eeww, way too much information here, Spike. Bad mental pictures, bad…ick….Speaking of which, where is your shirt, anyway?"   "Got dirty," he said, settling himself with no self-consciousness next to the fire again. Buffy stared in fascination at his pale white chest as she curled herself back into the nested blanket. He wasn't as broad as Angel, but he was cut; with muscles that just begged for someone to reach over and touch them.   He caught her looking and she glanced away, flustered. He leaned over and tousled her curls, running his fingers gently through the golden-brown hair as Angel returned from the kitchen. He curled up to the other side of Buffy, smiling at her as he stroked one wayward curl back from her face. She flinched a little and he frowned, pulling back from her. "Buffy, can't you stand to even let me touch you a little bit?"   She whispered, "I'm sorry, Angel."   He just sighed. "I understand, love. I can wait. We'll both be here for you while you heal." Angel smiled at her, briefly stroking her shoulder.   Buffy turned and looked at Spike and he grumbled snarkily, "Gods, how the mighty Big Bad has fallen…cuddling in front of the fire with the Pouf and the Slayer. Just stake me now…"   Buffy laughed, feeling absurdly better about everything. The warm fire was making heowsyowsy and the men on either side of her were oddly comforting. Spike smelled of leather and cigarettes while Angel's scent was clean soap and incense, with his hair gel mixed in. Their cool bodies and familiar scents were soothing and she slowly dropped off into sleep, secure in the knowledge that no humans were near her. They left her there, curled in front of the glowing embers, warm and safely wrapped in the soft woolen blanket, as they crept away with the stealth of the true predators that they were.   Spike looked back on her fondly, wondering at himself and his insane desire to comfort and protect this small enemy. Her laugh had sent tingles of pleasure through his undead body. This was wrong. He couldn't truly care about her…he just wanted to taste her. He headed up to his room, grabbing the dirty t-shirt from behind the couch as he went and NOT thinking of making love to a little bit of a girl who only loved his sire.   *   *Buffy was crawling, trying to get to safety, but huge boots kept kicking her, splintering bones and tearing muscles. For every inch she managed to move forward, she received another volley of brutal kicks. She cried out for help, but she was alone in the dark with her assailants. Unable to find any safety at all; unable to stand and defend herself, she finally curled into a ball, trying to protect herself as best she could. She screamed for someone, anyone, to find her in the darkness.*   "Slayer! Buffy, wake up. It's just a dream!" Spike slapped her very gently across the face to get her attention, then stroked her hair and looked deep into her tearful eyes. "Buffy, are you awake now? You’re all right, Pet. Angel just went out to get us some blood, he'll be back soon. Shush, shush, you're ok," he crooned, hugging her close to his cool skin and rubbing her back slowly.   "Buffy, does that happen every time you sleep? Is that why you look so…" he paused for a moment attempting some kind of tact, then gave it up as a lost cause and blurted, "shitty?"   Surprisingly, it was the right thing to say. It galvanized the slayer to shake off whatever demons were haunting her dreams to answer him back, snarkily, "What kind of comfort is that? I look shitty? Thanks a lot, Spike."   "Hey, didn't mean to trod on your delicate seilitilities, Slayer. But you could pack for a week with those bags under your eyes," he jeered gently at her, glad that she was snapping out of her quiet depression and bickering with him. "So, you gonna sit on your ass and make us wait on you all night and day, or you gonna get up and do something? Early slayer catches the fledgling, and all that rot."   Buffy laughed, the last of her night terrors dispelled at the image of herself as the early bird. "All right, you wanna come patrol with me, Spikey?" She grinned as he winced at the hated nickname.   "Betcha I get one before you, little miss slacker." He pulled her to her feet and they headed for the weapons chest against one wall.   "Ha, you're on, oh Chipped Wonder…I can slay with one hand tied behind my back." Buffy boasted, grabbing two stakes and a mini-crossbow from the chest.   "Ooh, didn't know Peaches had taught you anything about bondage, Luv. Did he use those nifty fur-lined handcuffs on you?" Spike snorted with laughter at her look of absolute shock and embarrassment. "I'm guessing that's a 'No,' Slayer. When will you learn that you can't best me on the one-ups?"   "No comment, not thinking about what you just said. I heard nothing…" muttered Buffy as images of Spike naked with fur-lined handcuffs and Angel doing…what? to him filled her unwilling, but intrigued head. She'd never thought about them that way…but they *had* been together for decades. What hadn't Angel told her?! "Just shut up and let's go kill something
k?" k?" The two hunters headed out into the night, both nonplussed at the camaraderie that continued to grow between them.   To be continued…