Gods And Monsters

Chapter Forty-eight:

Barging into Spike's room, Buffy unceremoniously shoved him out of bed. He rolled right off the edge, toppling onto the floor with a thump and a winded "oof".

"Did you kill her?" She demanded, cutting right to the chase. Beating around the bush simply wasn't her style.

He propped himself up onto his elbows, bewildered. His groggy mind was reeling, struggling to clear away the lethargic haze of sleep and decipher her reason for being there. "What?"

"The girl, last night." She added curtly. If looks could kill, he would have been staked, buried, dug up and then staked again for good measure.

"What girl?" Squinting up at her through the dim lighting, he outstretched his hand to switch on the bedside lamp. "What are you talking about?"

"I caught the first act. I missed the curtain call." She made her way around to the other side of the cot, arms folded across her chest. "Did you kill her? Did you turn her? Is she one of your kind now?" Buffy snapped disdainfully.

"D-Did you—" Spike stammered, caught off guard and half-awake. "Are you following me?"

"Answer the question. Where is she?"

"Who knows?" He stood carefully, testing the alertness of his legs. "I talked to her is all."

"Really? Looked like more than talking to me."

"Well, I certainly didn't off her." He scoffed, turning to retrieve a shirt from his small collection of clothing in the far corner of the room. "Where are you getting this? You know I can't."

"Right. The chip."

"No, not the chip! Not the chip, damn it." He glared at her in disbelief. "You honestly think I'd go to the end of the underworld and back to get my soul, and then—" He shook his head with a sharp sigh of exasperation. "Buffy, I can barely live with what I did. It haunts me. All of it. If you think that I would add to the body count now, you're crazy." Slipping one arm into his black T-shirt, Spike began tugging it on.

"So, what, you just troll the promenade looking for drunk co-eds 'cause you're hungry for conversation?"

Rolling his eyes, he scoffed again at her accusation and pulled the hem of his shirt down to the waistband of his black leather trousers.

"This vampire I killed last night told me."

He advanced a step or two towards her. "Told you what? That I go out? Yeah, I talk to people. Women. This chip, they did to me. I couldn't help it. But the soul I got on my own."

"I know. But Spike, this vampire told me you sired him." She explained.

"That doesn't mean—"

She interrupted his defence. "He said you killed him. Dumped him in a parking lot somewhere."

"And you believed him? Vampires aren't—"

She cut him off a second time. "I did follow you last night. And you know what? You didn't look casual to me. You looked like you were on the prowl."

"You can't know that." He argued.

"So then tell me." Buffy challenged. "Tell me what happened? You— You talked to her? Then what?"

Spike placed his hands on his hips defiantly. "We talked." He said vaguely, his own memory of last night rather lacking. "That's all I remember."

"All you remember?"

"I don't know. I go out." Turning his back on her, he stalked to the back of the room. "I talk to people or I don't. It's boring. It all bleeds together."

She shrugged her shoulders dismissively. "Well, if you seem to forget that much, then—"

"Not that. The taste of human blood?" He arched an eyebrow pointedly. "That I'd remember."

"You were camped out on the Hellmouth, talking to invisible people. Recently. How can you be sure of—"

"No! You are wrong!" Spike erupted, infuriated by the ease with which she seemed to conveniently forget all he had done to redeem himself. "You've got an accusation from a pile of dust and not a shred of proof." He jabbed his index finger in the direction of the door indignantly.

"So I'll get some." She resolved sternly. After one final stare down, she turned and stormed from the room. Buffy brushed past Hel, who was just stepping out of the bathroom.

Frowning, Hel strode into Spike's room and shut the door behind her. "What did I miss?"

"Buffy is accusing me of killing again."

She nodded, towel drying her freshly-washed hair. "I see." Seating herself on the bed, she sank into the mattress and leaned against the wall. The damp towel was balled up in her lap. Her long, wet hair hung in black tendrils on either side of her face, cold patches blooming where it touched the black cotton of her sleeveless top.

"Aren't you going to ask if it's true?" He asked gravely, sitting down beside her.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Innocent until proven guilty."

He turned his head, meeting her eyes. "And if I am guilty?"

"Then you're guilty."

He fell silent.

Without saying a word, she rested her head upon his shoulder. Tentatively, his arm snaked around her back and his hand settled at her waist.

Spike smiled a little. "I'm glad you crash landed in Sunnydale that night."

"What makes you say that?" Hel inquired.

"Meeting you has made me want to be a better man." He replied quietly. "You're the strongest, wisest person I know."

She smiled wryly. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Chuckling softly in spite of himself, he tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.