Buffy wore a scarf the next day to cover the wound on her neck. She hoped her mom wouldn’t notice, and luckily the scarf had evaded mention at the breakfast table. Her friends did notice, however, when they met at Giles’ that afternoon. Xander and Giles wouldn’t stop staring at the black piece of cloth wrapped around her neck, and Anya loudly voiced her suggestion to use a glamour to make it less obvious.

“I don’t do glamours,” Buffy replied. “I’d probably make my whole neck disappear, anyway.”

“So,” Giles had said, whipping off his glasses as if to signify the turn in their conversation. “This Leech creature. Are we sure it’s out of the way?”

“Willow removed its head,” Buffy answered frankly. “Apparently Spike snapped its neck, but she and Tara took it off just in case. Why didn’t Spike do it?” she asked, turning to Willow.

“He left,” she replied. “After he killed it, I mean.”

“So, that’s it? No more demon?” Anya asked, sounding bored. “Can we go now?”

“What about Spike?” Giles asked, glancing at Buffy before focusing on the two witches sitting on the barstools. “He won’t be a problem, will he? Should we consider eliminating him?”

“No,” Buffy answered quickly, but calmly. “Spike did what we asked him to. Besides, hat’s the point of killing him when we put so much effort into saving him?”

Giles averted his eyes. “Good point.”

“There’s a thing you might want to know about,” Willow replied, looking to Tara before she continued. “Before Spike killed it, the Leech turned into Buffy.”

“What?” spilled from several people’s mouths.

“What do you mean, it turned into me?” Buffy asked.

“W-well,” Willow replied, “it shape-shifted, or did a glamour. I think it was trying to fake Spike out or something. But he… he killed it anyway. Even though it…”

Everyone bowed their heads as they took in this information. Tara spoke up. “Um, it didn’t change back after he’d killed it, though. So… so th-that’s why Willow cut its h-h-h-ead off.”

Buffy’s eyes widened as she realized the gravity of that statement.

“Oh my God,” Xander muttered, looking at Willow in shock. “You… you cut off her… you…”

Willow swallowed and nodded. “It wasn’t her.”

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” Buffy told her, understanding now her friend’s emotional reaction to seeing her again last night. “But I’m glad to know that you can.”

“What,” she replied in disgusted shock, “cut my friends’ heads off?”

“No,” Buffy replied evenly. “Do what needs to be done.”

They remained silent for several minutes before Anya insisted that she and Xander leave. He patted Willow on the hand as he walked out the door. Giles remained seated at his desk, staring into space thoughtfully.

Buffy stood against the kitchen doorway with her arms folded across her chest, unable to think about anything except how it was all her fault. She wasn’t trying to be Guilt Girl; she was just recognizing the truth for what it was. If she hadn’t gone to Spike’s crypt, if she hadn’t insisted that they help him, then Willow wouldn’t have had to go through what she did last night. Then she, Buffy, wouldn’t have been bitten.

But Spike might be dead, and so might several others if the Leech hadn’t been killed. Buffy knew how the image of killing her affected Willow, and she could only imagine what Spike was feeling. Most likely glee and a sense of victory in getting as close to killing the Slayer as he could. She moved from the doorway.

“I’ll call you later,” she said to no one in particular as she made her way to the door.

It was time to check on Spike again.

 

* * * *

This time it was different. This time she wasn’t just pleading with her eyes, she was begging vocally.

“Please,” she whispered as his grip tightened on her hair. “Don’t hurt me.”

“I’m supposed to,” he replied gruffly, pulling her closer.

Buffy sobbed, a reaction he wouldn’t imagine for the Slayer even if she were in this situation. Begging, yeah. But sobbing?

“If you kill me,” she said; her voice suddenly calm. Her eyes were filled with tears yet her face was dry, as if he hadn’t just watched the tears spill down her cheeks. “I’ll stop.”

Spike stared at her, his gaze softening. He didn’t want her to stop. He wanted her to keep going and going like the bloody battery bunny with the sunglasses. But she had to know, didn’t she? On one good day, every Slayer stops.

The crunch was louder this time when he snapped her neck, but she didn’t fall. She stopped in midair as if frozen in time, her eyes staring unblinkingly at him.

Spike scrambled into a sitting position as the door to his crypt flew open. The sheets gathered around his waist, hiding his nudity from the Slayer as she entered his crypt, her eyes full of life.

“It’s still daylight, you daft bint!” Spike growled as the sunlight poured through the open door and towards the sarcophagus he’d made his bed on. “Close the bloody door.”

Buffy rolled her eyes before kicking at the door behind her, causing it to slam shut with a bang. “It’s noon. The sun’s above our heads, not on the other side of the door.”

“Still,” he said, sitting up straight. “Can’t be too careful.”

Buffy was surprised to see that he still looked sickly. His eyes were rimmed with yellow, and his lips were the same shade, as if the vampire had come down with a case of jaundice. It was disconcerting, seeing him this way, since his appearance rarely changed. She could only think of the one time, after he’d been starved for days and had come running to them for help. It’s not like he didn’t deserve what had come to him, but Buffy still felt like the Initiative was wrong for what it did to him, and possibly several other vampires.

She’d always wondered what the chip was for. The most obvious explanation was that it was used as a muzzle, so that they could do their experiments on them without the human doctors being harmed. Buffy was glad Spike escaped. Killing demons? She could relate. But experimenting on them was wrong.

“Didn’t hurt your sense of hearing, did I?” Spike asked.

Buffy blinked. Spike had been talking. Somehow she’d missed that. She’d also missed him putting on a pair of pants and moving to stand in front of her.

“What?” she asked.

Spike rolled his eyes. “I asked if you were okay.”

Buffy gave him an odd look. “I’m fine,” she replied sharply, as if his question was some sort of accusation. “I guess it’s easier the third time around.”

Spike’s jaw flexed, and Buffy sensed something primitive about him. Almost possessive. She stepped back, realizing for the first time how close he was to her.

“Willow told me what happened.”

She was about to clarify, but there was obviously no need. Spike averted his eyes quicker than she thought humanly possible. That could be attributed to his vampire status.

“That right? I suppose you’re angry or something.”

“Why would I be angry?” she asked. “You killed it, like we asked you to.”

“Didn’t do it ‘cause you asked me to,” he argued. “Did it ‘cause the blighter had it comin’, didn’t he?”

“The same could be said for you, given that logic,” she replied.

“Same goes for you,” he argued, earning himself an eyebrow raise. “Yeah.”

“I deserve to be killed by a demon?” she asked icily.

“You kill plenty yourself, pet. Only seems fair,” said Spike with a slight shrug.

“Yeah, but the difference between you and me is that I don’t do it for my personal enjoyment. It’s my job.”

“Right,” said Spike with a hesitant laugh. He didn’t know what he could get away with when it came to the Slayer. Then again, part of him wanted to set her off. Like usual. “Like you don’t enjoy it. Night after night, jamming that piece of wood deep inside the baddies.”

Buffy’s face contorted with disgust. “Oh, gross. You just went to a perverted place, didn’t you?”

“Admit it, you like killing demons.”

“I like saving people. If by doing that I have to kill demons, then yes, maybe you’re right.”

“No,” he insisted, stepping closer to her. “I’m saying… you like it.”

Buffy glared at him before raising her eyes to the ceiling. “Why am I surprised to hear this from you?”

Spike caught sight of a tiny red dot on her skin, peeking over the black piece of fabric wrapped around her throat. He raised his hand and tugged it away from the mark he’d made on her neck.

“You liked it when I bit you,” he said in a low voice, his fingers grazing over the tiny marks.

Buffy gasped and stared at him with wide eyes, as if she couldn’t believe that he’d just touched her there. But she didn’t move. Spike’s fingers continued to move over the mark, just the barest hint of contact as his fingers gently raked over the raised flesh.

“Can’t say I enjoyed it much,” he replied honestly, his eyes zeroed in on her lips. He meant to look at her neck, but he couldn’t stop staring at them. Slightly parted, revealing a glimpse of the pearly white teeth behind them. “Not with hundreds of volts of electricity coursing through my brain. Still hurts. But I’d do it again…”

Suddenly he was sprawled on the floor with the Slayer straddling his waist, a strong hand gripping his forearm while the other held a stake firmly over his heart.

“Wow,” he replied in a tight voice. “You had that handy.”

“Don’t make me do it,” she growled, and Spike could tell that she was physically restraining herself from shoving that piece of wood into his chest. It was digging into his skin, and her wrist was shaking as she attempted to control the urge to kill him right there.

“You gonna kill me, Slayer?” he asked, raising his chin.

“If you can do it, I can.” She shoved the stake hard into his chest, but not enough to go through, just enough to break skin.

Spike hissed. “That’s not fair, Slayer. I can’t help that it decided to look like you.”

That rage and power he’d felt pulsating through her disappeared quickly and she sat up, glaring at him, while at the same time pulling the stake away from his chest. He raised his head off the ground.

“Why did it change into me, Spike?”

The question was more like an accusation. Spike thought he knew the answer, but he wasn’t going to share that little revelation with her. Though she might find out quick if she scooted backwards a bit.

“How the bloody hell should I know? Probably thought it’d be intimidating, like I wouldn’t try to kill something that looked like the Slayer.”

“But it changed into me before it attacked you,” she pointed out.

Spike didn’t recover in time from that one. “How did you know that?”

“You just confirmed it, for one. Plus, there was something you said when I first talked to you. Something about me doing something to you. After what Willow told me happened last night, I put two and two together.”

“And here I thought your arithmetic was lacking,” he replied dryly. Spike looked her up and down. “So, you gonna kill me, or are you just sitting on me for the sheer thrill of it?”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she shot off of him, and Spike instantly regretted the loss of contact. Suddenly he couldn’t get enough of her. He stood and reached for her arm, grasping her elbow and pulling her close. Spike didn’t even think before doing this, and before he knew it he was against the wall, the stake pressed against his chest once more. He was getting tired of this game, so he grabbed her wrist and tossed the stake aside before twirling so that he had her against the wall. He hadn’t meant to vamp out, but he knew that he did by the terrified look in her eyes.

Buffy froze, even though she knew he still had the chip. He’d bitten her last night with it, she reminded herself. Spike didn’t seem to mind snapping the neck of something that looked like her, either, so she couldn’t help that small moment of fear, during which she became acutely aware of the small holes in her neck.

Spike felt the pull to her neck, like the mark was calling to him, but something happened. Instead of going for her throat, he went for her mouth. He was kissing her. Spike had the Slayer pinned against the wall and instead of ripping her throat out he was giving her a good snog, fangs and all. It was lasting a bit longer than he thought it would, once coherent thought returned to him. That had taken awhile, too, so either Buffy had gone completely catatonic or she wasn’t fighting him for some other reason.

Maybe that’s because she was kissing him back.

“Ow!” Buffy whimpered, pulling away when one of his fangs scraped the inside of her lip. Spike pulled her lower lip into his mouth and sucked on the blood that formed there.

Buffy pulled away from him in horror. She wasn’t afraid of what he’d just done, it was the fact that he’d just hurt her without his chip firing that registered. She pointed this out when he didn’t seem to catch on.

“You hurt me,” she whispered, as if saying it louder would make it happen again.

Spike’s brows knit together as he gazed at her bleeding lip. “Right,” he replied. “Sorry about that.”

“Spike, the chip.”

His eyes widened, and before he could fully process that realization, both of their eyes fell to his hand, which had found its way to her breast at some point. He pulled away quickly, from her and the wall.

“I didn’t mean to, you know,” he said defensively, pacing back and forth. His eyes fell to the stake on the ground. “So, don’t kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

Spike stopped moving. “What does this mean?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “But if you hurt anyone else before I find out what’s happening, you will die.”

The door slammed shut behind her.