She blinked slowly before opening her eyes, wishing she’d never woken up once the pain registered. Buffy groaned and reached to the right side of her neck, her fingers brushing over the thick bandage there. She sat up in bed when she remembered how she’d received the wound, only to fall back down as a rush of dizziness overwhelmed her.

“Buffy,” Xander greeted her as he entered the room. It was just then that Buffy realized she was in the hospital. “You’re awake, thank God.”

“What’s happened?” she asked urgently. “The Leech, has it killed anyone else? What about Spike?”

Xander shook his head. “I don’t know. Willow and Tara set up a tracking spell for Spike when you were still out; they’re following him right now. Will wants to make sure he kills this thing, especially after we let him…” He trailed off, unable to say the words. His eyes fell to the bandage on her neck.

“They’re going alone? What if this Leech finds them? It could kill them before Spike gets a chance to do anything.”

Buffy was straining to sit up again, but this time Xander held her down.

“Relax, Buff. They’ve got magic on their side. And, while I don’t doubt that Spike would skip town rather than help us out, he’s got his own reasons for killing this thing. Plus, we know how much he likes violence.”

Buffy sighed in frustration. She didn’t want to be lying in bed, but she still felt too weak for strenuous physical exertion, which is what she planned for after leaving the hospital. Soon the Slayer healing would kick in or finish its business or whatever, and Buffy would be out there, doing whatever she could.

She looked up when she felt Xander’s fingers lightly brushing the bandage on her neck. “We didn’t have to do this, you know.”

Buffy pulled his hand away. “It was the only way.”

“Oh really? You didn’t have to be the only one, you know. We all could’ve given him blood without having to resort to Slayer Bitefest 2000.”

“Do you really think he would’ve healed that fast if it wasn’t my blood, the blood of a Slayer? It wasn’t just blood he needed, it was power. I was the only one who had that.”

“Right,” Xander conceded. “You know there’s nothing you can say that’s going to make me okay with all of this, right?”

“I’m not exactly okay with it myself,” she replied, staring at the bracelet on her wrist. “I’m supposed to slay the vampires, not feed them. But I’m also supposed to protect people from creatures like this Leech thing, and Spike’s the only one who can kill it.”

“So, you feel that by giving him your blood you’ve indirectly killed the demon?”

“I don’t like sitting back and doing nothing. Besides, I wasn’t about to let one of you get hurt.”

Xander sank into the chair beside her bed, all the while watching her with suspicion in his eyes. Buffy knew that he was right; that allowing Spike to feed from her wasn’t the only the only way to restore him. Now that she thought of it, Spike probably could’ve snacked on that headless guy without even having to worry about his chip going off.

But she had been so sure in that moment, when they were all at a loss for answers, that she had to save them. She was the Slayer, it was her job. And part of her wanted to save Spike as well, even though she didn’t know what that meant. Maybe she was just used to having him around, or maybe he now qualified as the helpless she was supposed to protect, but the need to help him was real.

She just hoped that Spike killed this thing before it hurt anyone else, or she’d stake him without blinking an eye.

 

* * * *

He smelled it before he saw it. Spike could sense its age, far older than he was, and he could also smell its power. It didn’t really belong to it, he realized, remembering how it had had almost sucked the immortality out of him. The Leech had stolen all of its life-force from other creatures. While Spike could understand taking a life in order to survive… taking another’s power? That was wrong, even in the demon book of morals.

But apparently this thing was older than morals, and uglier, too. Big, black and slimy. Spike found it in one of the other cemeteries, crouched over someone’s grave and digging into the earth above it. Not only did it suck blood and bite off heads, but it robbed graves, too. This thing really was a nasty. If Spike wasn’t so angry for the way the thing had almost raped him of his unlife, he would’ve been somewhat impressed.

He had to admit, he was somewhat intimidated by the creature. It was much older and much more complex than he was, or maybe less so. Depended on how you looked at it. Spike reckoned the Leech hadn’t done its digging back in the other cemetery due to the challenge Buffy had presented when she’d fought against it.

So, Spike was to kill this thing. He didn’t have a weapon, but the need for his hasty departure from the crypt had prevented him from grabbing one. Spike had a feeling that if he hadn’t left as soon as he did that Harris would’ve done him in for sure. He couldn’t have that. Dying at the hands of the Slayer? There’s honor in that. Hell, he’d rather have died when the Leech attacked him. But allow a wanker like Xander Harris to take him down? Not a sodding way in hell.

So there he stood, obscured by the bushes, watching the thing that had attacked him earlier digging a hole in the ground. What was it going to do with a body, anyway? Eat its flesh off? Maybe they should call it a Maggot. All capitalized and whatnot, like that made it any more impressive.

“Oi, you there!” he called, sauntering towards the beast from behind the bushes.

Better get this over and done with.

The creature looked up at him quizzically. Spike knew that it probably didn’t understand English, but it should recognize an adversary when it saw one. Leech should also be thrown by the fact that it thought Spike had been defeated, and here he came a-sauntering in, all smirks and swagger. Well, his swagger was a bit off, due to the fact that he was still somewhat weak, not just from the Leech’s earlier attack, but the residual pain from when his chip had fired. Spike reckoned he’d have a headache for the next week, at least.

“Yeah, you ugly brute. Thought you did me in, didn’t you? Oh, and not to hurt your feelings, but I’ve had better snogs from a leprechaun with herpes.”

Spike smirked as the demon growled at him.

“Ah, seems I have hurt your feelings. Don’t particularly fancy touching you, as I’ve got issues with slime. Guess it’s unavoidable, since I’ve got to kill you, and you’re all covered with it.” Spike shucked off his coat and draped it over a nearby tombstone. “Don’t want to ruin the leather.”

And then he started swinging.

 

* * * *

“Are you sure it can’t see us?” Tara asked nervously as she watched Spike approach the Leech.

“Well,” said Willow, turning in her spot to look at her girlfriend. “Unless it stole Superman’s X-ray vision I think it’s safe to say it won’t see us hiding behind the crypt. Unless it comes over here, that is, and then we run.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got to make sure Spike kills this thing. O-Otherwise…”

“Otherwise we kill him,” Willow said coldly, turning back to watch as Spike threw the first punch. “I still can’t believe we all just stood and watched while he drank her.”

“Buffy made him, though. It wasn’t like he attacked her.”

Willow sighed. She’d always been a big defender of Spike, even though he’d tried to kill her more than once. She couldn’t help it; he was an underdog. Willow had a soft spot for the underdogs.

Spike seemed to be coming out on top during his fight with the Leech, however. Willow and Tara watched in silence, both transfixed by the vampire’s movements. He was almost as enjoyable to watch as Buffy was, but it was kind of weird to see him kicking and punching without the swirl of black leather at his heels.

“Wow, it looks like this might be easier than we thought,” Tara commented. “He’s got this thing on its knees.”

 

* * * *

Spike grinned down at the fallen demon, ready to snap its neck. His hands and his boots were covered in slime, but Spike didn’t care. The thrill of the fight seemed to rejuvenate him almost as much as the Slayer’s blood.

“All right, you nasty git,” he snarled, standing over the beast and gripping its head tightly. “It’s time I send you…”

Spike not-so-clever pun died on his lips as the black slime melted into soft and golden hair. He blinked and stared at the frightened hazel eyes turned in his direction.

Damn it, he’d forgotten about the shape-shifting. Spike now held what appeared to be the Slayer’s head in his hands, his fingers curled into her soft hair as she sat on the ground, her tiny legs curled beneath her. Tears welled in her eyes and her lip trembled, and Spike felt something tighten in his chest. He had her. He finally had the Slayer in his grasp…

No, but this wasn’t her. Even so, Spike experienced a small thrill at the thought of having her in such a compromising position. Greater, though, was the sudden urge to remove his hands from her and back away.

Damn it, what the hell was wrong with him? Master vampires did not have soft spots for Slayers. Especially not the ones of the whiny blonde variety.

“Oh, you think that’s gonna save you, do you?” Spike asked through gritted teeth, tightening his hold on her hair to show how much the sight of the Slayer’s vulnerability did not affect him.

It let out a whimper that sounded so much like Buffy that Spike froze. Frowning against his instincts, he bent lower and roughly pulled the creature’s head towards his, looking it in the eye.

“You may’ve gotten to me before with this little costume of yours, but I’ve dreamt of doing this for the past three years.”

Spike caught a glimpse of black in Buffy’s eyes before he snapped the creature’s neck and her body crumpled to the ground. He waited for it to revert to its natural form, but it never did. Instead he was left standing over what appeared to be the Slayer’s corpse. Despite rationality, Spike started to panic.

Its eyes were still open, and they still looked like hers, except they were staring lifelessly at his slimy boots. Golden hair draped across its twisted neck, and small, deceptively fragile looking hands were curled at its sides.

Spike stepped away from it. He didn’t know why the sight of Buffy’s dead body disturbed him so much. She was a right bitch, and he hated her entire existence. Wished her dead for years. And now, in some way, he’d gotten his wish.

“Oh my god, Buffy!”

Willow ran towards the fallen form of her friend with tears burning in the corners of her eyes. She knew it wasn’t really Buffy, but seeing Spike twist her neck and watching her crumple lifelessly to the ground? God, she was going to be sick…

Willow met Spike’s eyes, almost shocked by what he had done. That could’ve been Buffy. If she had been here, and he didn’t have that chip, Willow could’ve just seen her friend die.

In a way, she did.

“Didn’t…” Spike began, his mouth unusually dry. “Didn’t know you two were watching.”

Willow turned at looked at Tara, who had run up behind her. She wanted to say something to Spike, to be angry at him for what he’d done, but he didn’t do anything wrong. He did exactly what they’d asked him to do. And if she wasn’t mistaken, he looked sort of guilty. But Spike couldn’t be, could he? Only vampire’s like Angel could feel guilt, because of the soul. Right?

“I suppose you were here to make sure I got the job done,” he said with sudden smugness. “Well, as you can see,” he said, looking down at the body. His smug expression died away and his voice got softer. “I did.”

Willow only nodded. Spike did the same to her and turned to retrieve his coat.

“What are we going to do with it?” Tara asked, looking down at the demon which was still wearing Buffy’s face. “I don’t think it’s gonna go poof.”

“Spike,” Willow called, stopping the vampire just as he’d finished sliding back into his leather coat. “We need to get rid of it.”

Spike’s eyes fell once more to the body lying on the ground, and something unreadable flashed in them. Apprehension, maybe? “I’m not touching it. My job is done.”

Willow’s eyes widened when she realized that Spike was walking away. “Wait, Spike! You can’t just…”

He was gone before she could finish her sentence. She turned horrified eyes towards her girlfriend. “I can’t.”

Tara nodded. “Maybe we can find a way to reverse the glamour, so w-we won’t have to…”

Even Tara couldn’t say it. The thought of hauling something that looked like Buffy’s corpse and burying it or throwing it in the river…

Willow couldn’t hold back the small sob that escaped her lips.

Why the hell did this thing turn into Buffy, anyway?

 

* * * *

Buffy was released from the hospital shortly after one in the morning. The doctor had been very surprised at her quick recovery, given the amount of blood she’d lost. After checking her blood pressure and finding it in a normal, healthy range he dismissed her, and advised her to drink lots of fluids.

Doctors always said that. You could break your leg and they’d tell you to drink lots of fluids.

Buffy had dressed in the bathroom, pausing briefly to look at the bandage on her neck and the small flecks of blood on the collar of her t-shirt. She wanted to peel back the bandage and examine the bite mark, but if she walked out of there without the bandage on and her wound had healed quickly like she assumed it had, she would definitely attract the doctor’s attention again. She could always just place it back…

Buffy had her fingers on the edge of the gauzy tape when there was a knock on the bathroom door.

“Buffy?” a voice called desperately. “Giles said you were okay.”

She sighed and opened the door to see Willow and Tara standing on the other side. Willow’s eyes went wide and it was the last thing Buffy saw before the witch wrapped her arms around her.

“Easy, Will,” she said with a slight laugh. “I’m okay. Slayers heal fast, remember?”

Willow pulled back. “Yeah,” she replied shakily. “Yeah, I knew you’d be okay.”

“So, did Spike kill it?” Buffy asked.

Tara nodded. “It’s dead.”

“Are you sure? I mean, it sucked the immortality out of him. Which kind of makes you wonder how he’s still walking around all demony.”

“W-w-we thought of that,” said Tara, large eyes darting from Willow to Buffy. “We, um, removed its head… j-just in case.”

“Oh,” said Buffy, unaware of what the creature had looked like before Willow had swung the axe. Twice, since she didn’t completely sever it the first time. Both witches were relieved when the corpse reverted back to its demon form once the head had been removed. “Are you okay?” Buffy asked, seeing for the first time the redness of her friend’s face.

“I’ll be okay,” Willow replied. If she told Buffy that she’d been crying, more specifically why, she’d start all over again. She expected a good night’s rest would prepare her for the inevitable conversation.

Even though she fully expected to have nightmares about swinging that axe at Buffy’s neck.

 

* * * *

Spike sat in his armchair, staring at the axe Willow had returned to his crypt just minutes before. Apparently she’d borrowed it while he was still walking the streets, and Spike had an idea of what she used it for.

He felt bad. Guilty. Why the hell did he feel guilty? He’d been having little nagging feelings lately, but never this strong, and never all at once.

Knowing that Willow had to swing an axe at her friend’s head really got to him. He knew that the body had to be disposed of, but he couldn’t do it. Not after drinking from her.

Not after killing her.

He didn’t really kill her; it hadn’t been her neck he’d snapped. It hadn’t been the Slayer that came to his crypt earlier with that gleam in her eyes. God, but he’d wanted it to be. Maybe that’s why the Leech appeared to him in her form. Maybe it knew how to get to him, how to get his guard down so it could feed off him without much of a struggle.

But why would the Slayer get his guard down? If anything, his guard was up whenever she came around, ready to punch him in the nose in exchange for information. Maybe it was the feel of her tiny hands sliding up his chest and stopping gently at his neck. Maybe it was the sight of her lips, so close and so lush.

No, these were bad thoughts. These were weird thoughts.

It was better than thinking about what she looked like when he killed her. God, that was hurting him. Those big, watery eyes watching him in fear; knowing what he’d do. Her lips had trembled just as he’d always hoped they would, and her neck had snapped with a crack and fallen with a thud. That was a vampire’s dream, and yet to Spike it was becoming the thing of nightmares.

Spike’s eyes widened when it hit him.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I’ve fallen in love with her.”