Post-episodic BtVS fic – "Goodbye Iowa"
by Lisa Y. Drexel

The phone rang at two a.m.

Buffy thought offhandedly how she wished it had woken her up, because that would mean she had been sleeping instead of lying in bed, desperately trying not to think of Spike and how his lips had felt against hers...all the while she was trying to force her mind to think of Riley—to worry about him—obsess about him.

Riley was safe whereas Spike wasn't.

Unfortunately, her mind, like her body, hadn't been cooperative as of late—insisting on going over and over again how it had felt when Spike kissed her the night before or even worse, how it had felt when they made love nearly three months ago.

She was never going to get any peace, was she?

Groaning, Buffy turned over in bed and snatched the offending object out of its cradle before it woke Willow up.

Maybe, if she was lucky enough, it would be Riley and she could hyper-focus on him instead of herself.

"Hello?"

"Buffy?"

Her mother. See what you get, Buffy, for praying? "Mom?"

"Yeah, it's me, sweetie. I'm sorry to call you so late, but I've got a problem."

Oh Goody—Mom will do on the spot! Mom is good. Cool! she thought to herself as she sat up in bed. "What's wrong?"

She heard her mother sigh and take a deep breath. "Spike's what's wrong. He—"

Oh fuck me! "What happened?" she asked, unable to hide the weariness in her voice.

"Well honey, he showed up here just a few minutes ago—bleeding. It looks like someone beat him up real badly—"

Shit! Buffy silently cursed as she stood up and picked up the phone and walked over with the it in her hand to her dresser and pulled out a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt. Lady Luck must really hate her, Buffy decided. "I'll be right there. I have to stop and pick up some blood too. Do you have enough first aid stuff?"

"Yeah baby—I'll leave it on the kitchen counter. He's passed out on the couch right now—he mumbled something about waiting for you and told me I could go ahead and go to bed."

Figures. "Mom, it's okay—you're safe, if that's what you’re worried about. If he's in a lot of pain, there's no way he'll risk more of it." Buffy slipped on her pants and picked up the shirt. "I'll be over there as soon as I can."

Her mother bid Buffy good-bye and disconnected the call. She hung up the phone and for just a moment, just sat there on her bed cursing her fate. It seemed no matter how hard she tried to stay away from all things Spike, he always came back to her. Why was she even bothering with Riley anyway?

Because if he didn't have that stupid implant, Spike would be planning your demise—not trying to get into your pants, her slayer-side snapped at her.

Sighing softly, she slipped on her tee shirt and quickly began lacing her tennis shoes when she heard Willow stir.

"What happened?" her friend asked, sitting up in bed. "Is it a slaying thing?"

Buffy shook her head. "No, it's a Spike thing. I've got to go over to my mom's—he showed up there all beaten up. So, don't worry and go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"Wills, one of us should get a good night's sleep."

Yawning, her friend fell back into bed. "Okay, if you're sure..."

"I'm sure," Buffy whispered as she grabbed her slaying bag, wallet and left the room.

An hour later, Buffy slid her key into the front door and went inside her mother's home. Instantly, she saw Spike—passed out on the couch and her mother was nowhere to be found. Good, she went to bed, Buffy thought to herself. Her mother was the one person she didn't want to see when Spike was around. Joyce had radar or something when it came to Spike and she would know instantly that something was going on between her daughter and the vampire.

And until Buffy figured out exactly what was going on, she didn't need her mother adding her two cents in. Especially considering her reaction to Angel.

She went over to the blond vampire and crouched in front of him, holding the bag of blood.

Even asleep, beaten and bloody, he was sexy.

What was she going to do about him? No matter how hard she tried with Riley—no matter how much energy she put into their relationship—as fraught with problems as it was, she couldn't let go of that one night she and Spike had shared on Giles' living room floor.

Every night when she lay in bed, eyes closed—sleep near—she could almost feel the cool caresses his fingers made as they danced across her skin. Or how his mouth made love to her. Or how his fingers, cock and tongue brought her more pleasure than she ever had experienced before. Not to mention how wet she became every time she remembered the feel of his fangs in her breast—claiming her for him.

She could feel herself getting aroused just thinking about it now.

Shaking her head, she reached over and nudged his shoulder. "Spike, wake up," she whispered. "I've got some blood for you."

His uninjured eye cracked open as he let out a small chortle. "Slayer," he whispered. "Thinking naughty thoughts again?" He smirked as his eye shut once again.

"Fuck you, Spike," she said softly as she held up the bag of blood for him. It was no use denying it to him—not when he had that super-vampire sense going for him. Damn vampires, she thought to herself. "It's human. It'll help you heal. Do you need help sitting up?"

He nodded and opened his eye when she grabbed his arm and slipped her other arm around his back. Suddenly he hissed, his face changing.

"What?"

"Ribs," he said, wincing.

She nodded, and moved the hand that was on his back upwards to his shoulder and then pushed him into a sitting position. "All right now?"

He rolled his eye at her. "Got me real good, they did. At Willie's."

"I'm sorry," she said, looking down at the bag in her hands.

She felt his finger tip her chin up so he could look at her. "You are, aren't you?"

She frowned at him. "Of course I am," she snapped as she handed one of the bags of blood to him. How one person could make her so mad and so horny at the same time was beyond her. Half the time she wanted to curse the day she ever met Spike, William the Bloody and the other half of the time she just wanted to jump his bones. Even as she watched his true face emerge and he bite into the bag with care—Spike was still sexy. A minute later he handed her the empty bag. "Thanks."

She nodded as she stood up. "Do you need another one? I got you four bags. I can go heat one..."

He grabbed her hand to stop her. "Slayer—"

Her heart clenched at the tone of his voice—her eyes shutting as if she could deny it—the need—the want.

"Yes?"

His thumb caressed her palm—sending every hormone in her body into a spin. As if she wasn't aroused enough as it was.

Damn him.

"Don't go."

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She turned her head and looked down at him—the wounds on his face already healing. But she saw the blood on his shirt and pants and knew he needed to be treated.

And she also knew she had to get out of that room before she said the hell with it and had sex with him on her mother's couch, in her mother's house.

That would not go over well with Joyce Summers.

Sighing softly, she gave him a small smile. "I'm just going to get the first aid box. Mom said she left it in the kitchen. I'll be right back."

He nodded, his blue eyes piercing hers, and slowly let go of her hand.

Biting her bottom lip, she picked up the plastic bag containing the rest of the blood and quickly left the room before he could stop her.

She stopped at the doorway and turned back to him. "Can you take your coat and shirt off for me? If not, I'll do it when I come back."

His scarred eyebrow lifted. "I think I can manage it," he said, in that low, sexy voice of his.

She groaned softly as she shook her head. God, she really hated him, she thought to herself as she left the room and went to the kitchen.

What was she going to do? And what was he going to do? That implant was going to be the death of him—one way or another. And as idiotic as it sounded coming from a slayer, she didn't want him dead.

The world was a lot more interesting with Spike in it, then with him gone.

She had all of last year to attest to that.

Why did he let himself get beat up? Was it humans? She asked herself as her mind once again went over the clientele of Willie's. There were never that many humans in Willie's, so it had to be demons.

Why did Spike let demons beat him up? She'd seen him fight—take on a hoard of vampires—ugly, huge-ass demons and two slayers at one time and he let demons beat him up?

It just didn't make any sense.

Yeah, but when did Spike ever make any sense? she asked herself as she grabbed the dark wash cloth and porcelain bowl her mother left on kitchen counter and took them to the sink. After filling the bowl with warm, soapy water she dropped the cloth into it and turned the water off and just stood there—staring out the window into the night.

What was she going to do?

If the implant were removed from Spike, then he would be free to kill again. Not only would her life and the rest of the Scooby Gang's be at stake, but also anyone else's life that he chose worthy to be his next meal, would be at risk. But if he didn't get the implant out, most likely he was going to be dust within the next six months.

Such an easy decision on the surface; just let him die.

But how long had it been since anything been that black and white? God, she wished there was a way she could get him to work with her without the implant. For a while—from Acathla until this fall when he showed his sexy face back in Sunnydale—he had seemed less evil—if that were possible. Less inclined to kill and maim for the sake of killing and more concerned with other matters—life, love, the pursuit of happiness. He could've easily killed Xander and Willow last year and yet he didn't. Only one dead body could be attributed to his little visit. For Spike, William the Bloody, childe of Angelus—that was definitely an improvement.

Maybe she could talk to him—find out what had pissed him off so bad to make him so hateful when he returned this year. If she could find that out, maybe she could find out if the change last year was an anomaly, or if his old evil self was.

"Slayer?"

"I'm coming, Spike," she called out as she closed her eyes in frustration. If she were really honest to herself about the whole situation, it wasn't just the implant that bothered her. It was everything. From the night they made love to their alliance nearly two years ago to how she never seemed to be able to get the upper hand when dealing with him. Everytime they fought, it was to a draw. And now, they were at a crossroads. He could choose to live and stand by her side or say the hell with it and kill her the next chance he got.

And the sad thing about it was that Buffy wasn't sure if she had in her to fight another person she cared for. Angelus and Faith had been enough; they had nearly killed her.

"Slayer!"

Groaning outloud, she lifted the bowl out of the sink, turned around and set it on the counter so she could get a better grasp of it with one hand. Once satisfied, she picked up the first aid box with her free hand and left the kitchen.

It was time for her and Spike to talk and deal with this.

"What took you so long?" he asked as she sat down on the coffee table and placed the bowl and box on either side of her.

"I was thinking," she answered as she faced a bloody, shirtless Spike.

"About what?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the couch—their knees touching.

After she rung out the washcloth, she nodded at him. "This—you. The implant...everything," she admitted, her eyes shutting for a moment. "What happened?" she asked once she opened them again.

His face instantly changed as he let out a soft growl. "Bloody demons have me on their hit list. If I'm seen with you and your merry band of helpers ever again, I'm dust. At least according to them."

She lifted the rag up and began cleaning his face. "Didn't this happen after Acathla too?" Maybe if she got him to see her point...

"Yeah," he scowled.

"What was the difference, Spike?" she asked, ignoring his hiss as she dabbed an especially deep cut by his eye. "Why are you taking it now and you didn't then?" She could hear the irritation in her voice.

She should've been prepared for his reaction.

He scowled, shooting up off the couch, wincing as he clutched his ribs. "Fucking hell, Slayer. I was in the right with Acathla! The bloody fools wouldn't have had a playground to fight over if I hadn't helped you! Short-sighted pricks—the lot of them!"

"Spike! Hush! My mother," she whispered harshly.

He growled at her. "But this time, they're right," he said in a normal tone. "I am a traitor, Slayer! Just like Daddy!"

Buffy couldn't help but roll her eyes at him. "That's bull, Spike. You're a demon who can't kill living things. You don't have a soul—like Angel. You still have to kill—it's your nature. So, where does that leave you?"

"Fucking leaves me a traitor, Slayer," he whispered. "If Dru could see me now," he said, letting out a harsh laugh. "Ah shit, that hurts!" he said, clutching his side.

"Get back here and let me wrap those ribs," Buffy said, feeling her patience begin to wane. He shot her a dirty look and reluctantly walked back over to his spot on the couch in front of her. After sitting down, she picked up the roll of gauze and knelt down in front of him to begin wrapping his chest. "If Dru could see you now, most likely she would be in the same spot as you. The only reason they haven't caught any other master vampires is because I've killed all of them except you, Dru and Angelus. There weren't any for them to capture! And just like you, Dru would've gotten out and found that she couldn't bite either!"

She dropped her hands and looked up at him. "I don't know what to think about this. If you got the chip out, you would be the good little vampire and maim and torture again, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Why? Is it because of Dru? Angel? Me even? Why?"

"Why do you care, Slayer? You made your choice. You got your soldier boy—"

She threw her hands up in the air and groaned. "I'm not even talking about that!"

His arm shot out and caught hers, yanking her over to him, pulling her flush against his chest. "Maybe I am!" he said seconds before his lips smashed down on hers—his tongue invading her mouth, sending her hormones in a tailspin.

Damnit, she thought to herself as she felt her body instantly respond to his—remembering how his lips felt gliding across her hot skin—making it sing. Oh God! Just when I was getting my body back under control.

He broke the kiss, pulling back just far enough so his lips could move. "Maybe the Ring of Amara wasn't so I could rule the bloody world with Harmony—" he stopped, chuckling softly. "With Harmony by my side, but so I could be...bloody hell, drop it, Slayer!" he growled, pushing her away.

She fell to the floor, her back hitting the coffee table. "No, I'm not going to drop it!" Her head fell into her hands as she began rocking back and forth. "I don't want you dead, Spike. And either way, I'm damned. If you don't care enough to fight for yourself, you're not going to survive six months with this stupid implant in you. And if you get the damn thing out, then everything goes back to the way it was before. And if that happens, once again we'll be fighting each other...and one of us will end up dead...probably both of us in some stupid stunt of yours that goes haywire and gets both of us killed," she said looking up at him as she laughed softly. "I've been down this road with Angelus and I don't want to go down it with you." She shook her head and leaned it back against the table—looking up at the ceiling. "A normal life, he said. A normal life. I can't—I can't do this anymore," she said as she pushed herself upwards. She walked over to the front window and looked out. "What am I supposed to do, Spike?"

She didn't even know that he had moved until she felt his hands rest on her shoulders. "Make a choice, Buffy," he whispered in her ear. His cool tongue lapped at her neck, circling her scar.

"So, what are you saying?" she asked as she turned around to face him.

His hands dropped to her waist and pulled her body tightly against his as her hands rested on his chest—enjoying the coolness of his skin. God, she still wanted him and it never stopped. Would it ever stop? Or was this the cruelty of her fate? To find herself always drawn to those she was destined to kill?

Or to be more specific, to Angel and Spike?

His eyes shut as he let out a small groan. She could feel his hard cock pushing against his jeans—molding itself against her abdomen. Her sex tingled in anticipation, ignoring the voice of reason that was screaming in her head...don't do this...don't do this...

"You have to decide who you want, Slayer. Me or the soldier boy," he said, his eyes opening as his arms slipped around her back, resting on the slope of her buttocks.

Her hands slid upwards to his neck as she laid her head against his chest. "And if I choose you?"

"Then I'll choose to live with the implant. And once the bloody thing's gone, I'll fight by your side and stay with you forever..."

She lifted her head to look up at him and gauge his reaction. He was serious. She could tell by the set of his chin, the deep, darkened eyes—Spike was telling her—what?

What was he telling her? Was he saying that he loved her?

"Do you--?" she stopped, suddenly unable to ask it—fearing and longing for the answer in equal parts. Tears filled her eyes as her head on his shoulder. "And if I don't choose you? And I choose Riley? What then?"

He growled in her ear. "Things continue as they are now, love. And when I get the implant out—I don't know. Slayer—I—"

"What?" She looked up into his eyes.

He pulled away from her and began pacing the length of the room. "Do you want me to say it, Slayer? Would it make you feel better? Would it make you choose me if I say it?" He stopped and turned to face her—his eyes searing her. "'Cause if I do, I'm betraying everything that I am. You think it was against nature for Soulboy to be with you—imagine the flack you'll get if you're shagging a soulless vampire. The watcher may kill you yourself. And me as well. But if it'll make you choose me, then I'll do it—'cause I don't have anything to lose. I've lost it all. My reputation, my face, my ability to bite...everything I am. And without you, I don't really give a fuck," he ended with a whisper.

She swallowed hard as his words sank into her. He did love her. He didn't say it—but he meant it. She felt like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to jump. If she did jump—the ride would be fun and thrilling and might never end. But..."How long, Spike?"

He walked back over to her and cupped her face, his thumbs wiping at her tears. "For so bloody long that sometimes I wonder how I survived this long without you. Since I saw you dancing with Red and the whelp at the Bronze over two and half years ago. I can still see you there—your body moving—your essence calling to me. Fucking hell, it took everything I had not to just claim you—the demon way." He bent his head and touched his lips to hers. "Half the time, I didn't know what I wanted—to kill you, turn you or just plain fuck you. But that spell did me in. Before it, I had managed to put it away—lock it up, you know?"

She nodded slightly, afraid to break his spell.

"But with Red's magic, I finally got to taste you and touch you and make love to you and I realized, I couldn't turn my back on it anymore. It wouldn't let me lock it away," he whispered, his lips touching hers. "It wouldn't let me deny it any longer." His tongue slipped out and tickled the entrance to her mouth. "It wouldn't let me go—you wouldn't let me go." His mouth came down onto hers—making her heart flutter as she moaned into his lips. His tongue sought out hers as one of his hands drifted downwards to her waist, pulling her tightly against him. After he pulled back, his eyes pierced hers. "Love me, Slayer. Love me like I love you."

Buffy felt her head spin as his words penetrated the beautiful web he had spun around her. He loved her.

Spike loved her.

And suddenly that made all the difference in the world. A rush of tenderness and love filled her and she realized what she had been doing—desperately trying to rein in those pesky emotions for the vampire and channeling them into her relationship with Riley.

Because it was safe. Riley was human and Spike was a vampire and well, she knew all too well what had happened the last time she followed her heart when it came to a member of the undead. Friends were killed, her heart was broken and the world almost ended.

Would this time be different?

But even as she asked the question, she knew it would be. If there was one thing she knew about Spike was that he, demon and vampire that he might be, knew how to love and did it very well. With him, there would be no soul to lose, no happiness clause and no undying guilt to bring them down. It would be Buffy and Spike and their love. With him, nothing else would ever matter.

Her heart fluttered, her toes tingled and her stomach was beginning to roll continually, reminding her of the joy she used to feel as a kid when she would ride the roller coaster rides at the amusement parks...

He loved her and boy, if the last two and half years was any indication, life with Spike would be one hell of a ride—filled with ups and downs—heartache and joy—devotion, adoration...anger, passion...love and hate.

All of it and ironically, it was just what she needed and wanted.

Even before she said the words, she felt her body respond to his, molding itself against his—needing to feel protected, loved and challenged—all the things that Spike would guarantee to do for her...so much more than Riley or any other male ever could.

"Oh what the hell," she said laughing, loving the feeling of freedom that letting go was giving her. "The hell with everyone and everything that tells me I'm being a stupid fool...just love me, Spike...just love me like I love you."

"I think I can manage that," he whispered right before he smashed his lips against hers, pulling her into a passionate kiss.

Hours later, wrapped in his cool embrace, Buffy stared at the cement ceiling of the basement and sighed in contentment: she had made the right choice.

She knew it in her soul.

The End

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©2000 Lisa Y. Drexel