The One That Kills Him

Spike

Spike leaned on the side of the store, smoking a cigarette in hopes of sobering up enough so the night clerk would sell him more booze. The pain in his chest subsided, but he still felt like spending the night at Clem's, just in case the basket case tin soldier decided to pay him another visit. From the looks of it, he and Buffy were in a clinch and he didn't want to be there for the bloody aftermath.

As on cue, he saw her approaching, cold fury preceding her hurried step. He moved into the shadows, but she spotted him easily, eyes shooting daggers. He blamed Slayer senses, his masking skills top of the game.

"If he's not giving me answers, you will", she snarled, standing next to him with crossed hands. "And fast."

"Wish I could help, love", he replied slowly, putting out the cigarette. "But I'm not getting sucked into your bloody melodrama. Go bother your little friends for that."

He tried to move, but she side-stepped him, seconds from resolving to violence. "Why'd he stake you?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her, taking in how bothered she was. If he couldn't leave, might as well have some fun at her expense.

"'Cause he can't stand competition." He waited for the inevitable show of disgust and outrage, but it didn't come. Instead, Buffy just paused slightly, as if ticking something off an internal list.

"How'd he get himself bitten?"

He had to outdo his own insults now? "'Cause he's an insecure cornfield boy with a strong women complex."

She hit him fast, straight between the eyes, not impressed. "Spike, you know where you can shove your opinion. Why wasn't he killed?"

She said it like she wished he was and it got him interested. "There is a place." He studied her reaction, recovering from the punch. "Humans bring in the money, they get consensual action."

Her eyes widened. "And what, you met him there!?"

He scoffed. "No." He would rather starve than lower himself like this. "I followed him there." She looked away, accepting the explanation, suddenly deflated. He was stalking her house at nights, all the cigarette butts she was finding, and it made disturbing sense.

"Way to play your cards." She moved away from him, holding her hands behind her neck, but she wasn't leaving and it put him in notion.

"You look like you could use a drink, Slayer." She was vulnerable and he was too far gone to care.

"Yeah?" He recognized her expression - it was heartbreak. "And you could use a safe house, but both these ideas are terrible."

They stood in silence for a minute and she caved with a heavy sight. "If you want me to drink, grab something that won't make me gag. Oh, and milk."

---

It was already late at night when they made it back to her house. Willow agreed to babysit Dawn, so Buffy entered silently, only switching on a small lamp in the kitchen. After she took off her coat, though, she saw Dawn standing at the bottom of the stairs in her pajamas.

"Dawnie", she approached her, a pang of guilt rising in her throat. "I didn't mean to wake you. Uh, hope you don't mind him-" She gestured to Spike, but Dawn just went straight to the vampire for a hug. He hugged her back, shooting Buffy an apologetic look.

"Sorry to hear about your mum, Niblet", he whispered, petting her hair. She nodded, moving away from him.

"I can't sleep when you're not here", she turned to her sister. "So just keep it down now, I have school tomorrow." She went back upstairs and Buffy looked after her, lost. Spike put two bottles on the kitchen island and she turned to him, sitting down heavily.