Disclaimer: Owned by Joss Whedon, Marti Noxon and a bunch of other
incredibly talented people.
Spoiler: For "Wrecked"
Author's Note: Because I could hear the Buffy Bashing starting already.
So it wasn't a dream, is all you can think. You did this. You had sex with
Spike, and you were so much into it that you didn't even notice the
building falling down around you. And there he is. Looking like he had the
time of his life. Don't look at him. Don't look at him.
Clothes, now. Think about this when you're away, when you're alone, because
if you try to figure out this now, what it means, it'll all start again,
and you're messed up already as it is. Sex with Spike. You came back wrong,
he said, and that was when you started to lose it. You always suspected
there was something wrong about you. Dreamt about it, that weird time the
First Slayer came to visit, when the man who was and was not Adam told you:
"Aggression is a natural human tendency, though you and I come by it
Another way, right. Like that way you and Spike slammed each other against
the walls last night, like the way you made short work of his zipper,
something you never did, ever, before. Certainly not with Riley, who would
have been shocked. Wrong. You came back wrong. No, don't think about this.
Get your clothes, and get out.
"Shoe. I need my shoe", you say, and every time you hear your voice which
is still your voice, as if nothing has happened, your panic increases. You
have to appear normal, when you return to the house. Normal Buffy equals
clothed Buffy. With shoes. The last time Dawn saw you without your shoes
was when you had just returned from the. no. Don't think about that.
Thinking about that will lead to thinking about Spike again, who was there
that night as well, and that was when this whole weirdness started. Think
about Dawn instead.
"What's the hurry, love?" he purrs. Do men purr? He's still stretched out
on the floor, one arm behind his back. Scratches on him, too, just as they
are on you. This is so not good. Don't look at him.
"The hurry is I left Dawn all night," you reply, and this, too, becomes
real while you say it. Left Dawn, who is still in misery about the
Willow/Tara breakup, and was probably waiting an eternity for you to return
from patrol. What kind of irresponsible person would do that? Only one who
came back wrong and had sex with a soulless vampire who'd still be trying
to kill you and all your friends if it weren't for a chip and the fact he
fell in love with you. You're sick. "And don't call me 'love.'"
He smiles at you, and though you thought you've seen every variation of the
Spike smirk before, this one stirs something in you. You can't decide
whether it is the urge to punch him or jump his bones again. Sick. You're
sick. "You didn't seem to take issue with
that last night," he says, stretching. "Or with any of the other little
nasties we whispered."
Stop it, you think, more and more aware what power you've handed to him
now. Years ago, when he was still your enemy and you made one of your more
hurtful blunders with Parker the Jerk, he was there to watch it, and you
remember very well what he taunted you with then. 'Did you bruise the boy'
he had sneered, and gone in to speculate about your almost non-existant sex
life. Well, now he doesn't need to speculate any longer.
"Can we not. Talk," you snap at him. There's that shoe. At least one
thing which goes right this morning. Put it on. Then get out.
"I just don't see why you have to run off so quick," he complains, sounding
for all the world like a little boy whose sweets are taken away. Makes you
feel vaguely guilty, because a part of you thinks it's cute. Spike isn't
cute. He's messed up, and you're messed up. It's one big mess, and you have
to get out of there, like, now. "I thought we could..."
He lifts an eyebrow. Spike's eyebrows should be R-rated, you think, and
slap yourself mentally again. Get a grip, girl.
"Not gonna happen," you shoot back. "Last night was the end of this freak
You head to a way out of the rubble, but he catches you and pulls you down
into his lap. Which feels like you shouldn't think what it feels like.
"Don't say that," he exclaims, sounding hurt. Come on, Spike. Surely it's
blindingly obvious the two of us aren't exactly Sunnydale's Finest. Didn't
we say so to each other? Wrong. Everything about this is wrong.
"What did you think was gonna happen?" you say, sharply. If he doesn't stop
with the snuggling soon, you'll lose it again. So not what is needed right
now. "We were gonna read the newspaper together? Play footsie under the
With a nonchalance you can't believe, he reaches under your skirt. "Not
exactly what I had in mind," he says, and touches you. Just where you want
to be touched. Except it's wrong. Wake up, Buffy. It's not the night
anymore. Face the new day.
"Stop!" you hiss, and shove at him.
"Make me", he challenges. And suddenly you don't care anymore. Just one
more kiss, and then you begin your new life as sensible Buffy, who
remembers that you don't share your body with soulless killers, even if
they protect sisters and pulled one back bit for bit to reality.
"No," you say, grab him and kiss him. Which is, oh so good. He's kissing
you back, and with the taste of him come the memories of last night. Dawn,
sensible Buffy inside her screams. And where is your self respect, girl?
Can't you keep a resolution about Spike for longer than a minute?
So you push him away again. "No," you murmur, trying to remind yourself.
"No. I...I have to..."
His breathless voice makes you quiver inside out. "Stay. I'm stuck here.
And would it be so terrible, really? Just one more hour to indulge in
madness. You didn't dream about waking up in your coffin last night. Every
night since you came back, but not last night. So maybe you smashed a
building between the two of you, but you were free, free of the horror, and
also the guilt which wears you down every time you are around your friends
and your sister. The silent accusation in their eyes, the disappointment
about how you are not at all what they expect and want you to be. Cheerful,
normal Buffy. Spike doesn't expect you to be normal.
His next kiss is harder. Spike doesn't expect anything you can't give,
right? He knows you don't love him. You told him so. But he has a way of
getting under your skin. He always had, it's just that in former times you
were safe because he wanted to kill you, and you could just hate him
without inhibition. You certainly didn't think about how he makes your skin
Somehow you're on the floor again, with him on top. Strange, how familiar
his body feels, after only one night, but then, you fought him often enough
to remember every pale, sinewy inch of it. And he's there, he hasn't
disappeared. He's just like he was the night before, and the night before
He knows you, too. Could it be that wrong to trust him? He knows your
fears. He won't consider you inadequate and go away. And he certainly knows
your body. His lips unerringly find the scars on your neck, and he kisses
you. So good. So what if it's wrong? Nobody ever said Slayers had to be.
"I knew," he says, gleeful, triumphant. "I knew the only thing better than
killing a Slayer would be..."
And reality crushes down on you once more.
You pushes him away with all the force you can muster. What an idiot. Not
He told you, remember? If you ever became weak, he'd slip in and have
himself a really good day. You were an utter and complete idiot to believe,
even for one moment, that it was anything else.
You jump up and scramble to get away from him. "Is that what this is about?
Doing a Slayer?"
Idiot Buffy. Stupid Buffy. Of course that is what this is about. You knew,
you always knew, how obsessed he was with Slayers. "I could have danced all
night with that one", he had said about the Slayer who died in New York,
was killed by this man whom you've given access to your body. No, worse,
whom you've thrown yourself at as if you couldn't get enough of him. You
betrayed her, and the Slayer in China, and all Slayers before them. You
betrayed her, and for what?
You never learn. You never, ever learn.
Right now, he's laughing. Of course he does. He got his third Slayer, after
"I wouldn't throw stones, Pet. You seem to be quite the groupie yourself."
You can't believe this. That you let him touch you. You wipe your mouth on
the back of your hand.
"I'm just saying," he continues, "vampires get you hot."
Now he's done it, again. Mentioned the other. But two can play this game.
You're not that girl anymore, Buffy at 17, who didn't know what to say
while her love cut her heart out and trampled on it. You aren't even 19
anymore, getting told by Spike that Angel told him you weren't worth a
second go. So Spike thinks he can hurt you? Well, you can hurt him, too.
Just wait and see, Spike.
"A vampire got me hot," you return, making your voice as cutting as
possible. "One! But he's gone. You're just..." Find a word, find a word
now. The most hurtful word possible.
Take that, you think, and are even more disgusted with yourself because
your voice is trembling. What do you care what Spike thinks? He's nothing.
Nothing. This is just about showing him you're not weak, not anymore. This
Slayer is not done yet.
He stares at you, and you look back. Is that hurt you can see? Good. You're
done with Spike looking vulnerable. He looked all vulnerable in his crypt,
too, when he was singing that song. While all he wanted was to do his third
He gets up, and starts to put his pants on. There is rage now in his
movements. Good. This is how it should be. He hates you, you hate him.
You're enemies. Everything else is an aberration.
"So," he spits, and the sound of the zipper almost makes you flinch. "What
now? You go back to treating me like dirt until the next time you've got an
itch you can't scratch? Well, forget it! Last night changed things. I'm
done being your whipping boy."
"Nothing's changed," you say, then realise he might misunderstand what you
mean, so you clarify. "It was a mistake."
The anger comes stronger now, and you welcome it. Of course you do.
"Bollocks! It was a bloody revelation." Now he's closing in on you again.
Revelation indeed. This is so like him. All which is missing is him
demanding of you to tell him how much better then the other he was. So who
has sexual hang-ups?
Well, both of you. And you're an utter, utter fool. There is no word for
how much of a fool you are.
"Now, you can act as high and mighty as you like," he goes on, and lowers
his voice again, "but I know where you live now, Slayer. I've tasted it."
No way he's leaning in for another kiss. After what you just told him?
After what he has just told you? He's truly sick, same as you, and you have
to get out of here post haste.
"Get a grip," you say. "Like you're God's gift."
And just look at his love life anyway. There is Drusilla, who is nuts and
preferred to do it with Chaos Demons. And Angel, which is so much not the
issue right now. Then there's Harmony, who despite her airs in High School
never had had a boyfriend, and whom he treated like a doormat. Really
impressive, Spike. But you know if you bring this up, he'll just start with
insults on your lovers, and the undeniable fact none of them wanted you
enough to stay around. So you keep quiet.
He laughs and bites his lower lip. "Hardly. It wouldn't be nearly as
interesting, now would it?"
This is unbearable. It's like being naked again, with no clothes in sight.
Damm him and his insight and his vicious tongue and his pretensions of,
well, you won't even think the word, which made you trust him. There he is,
leaning in again, only to be pushed away by you. You try to get past him,
but he catches you again.
"No!" you say. "Let me go."
Now he locks his hands behind your head, not letting you, and you stare
into his eyes. Blue, without even a hint of grey, unlike your eyes which
are a hopeless muddle of colours and could never settle down on one.
"I may be dirt," he throws at you, "but you're the one who likes to roll in
it, Slayer. You never had it so good as me, never."
You never hated him as much as now.
Breaking out of his grip, you retort: "You're bent."
He refuses to blink. "Yeah," he drawls. "And it made you scream, didn't
You never wanted to kill him as much as now.
"I swear to God, if you tell anyone about last night, I will kill you."
Put that stake into your heart, watch you become a pile of dust. Would you
still be looking at me while I was doing that, Spike? Probably. They all
do. You might have done your third Slayer, but you'll never boast about it.
"Right," he says, and reaches into his hip pocket. You don't believe it.
Your panties, and suddenly you're reminded again of what you found in that
bizarre shrine he had build last year. Makes you sick. But these, you've
torn away yourself. Torn away to have sex with your enemy of enemies, who
kindly reminded you of his true colours again. Mess doesn't begin to
"You gonna want these, too?"
You permit yourself one punch, just one, before you snatch them and go.
Once you've left the remnants of the building behind, you run.
So it wasn't a dream, is all you can think.