Night insects fluttered dizzily around the flickering porch light of the old tenement. On the sidewalk beyond, a morass of humanity seethed, busy people with busy lives, passing quickly through this part of the city, driven by necessity, as they buzzed as erratically and aimlessly as the insects. None of them had any time for monsters that lived in the dark--for them; such things had been discarded into the foggy uneasiness of childhood.

Yet had any of these citizens had the time or inclination to look for such things, demons could be found just about everywhere. Even within the very building some of them passed each day, on the way to work. Monsters though, are the stuff of fairytales, and so the tenement was still safely housing the pair that had been living there, undetected, for the past week.

The apartment was small, but relatively well appointed, the stark, almost gothic splendor of its wrought-iron gables and heavy beams giving it an air of decaying dignity. At the time, it had suited Spike and Drusilla just fine, not a place to call home, but comfortable enough; enormous, heavy velveteen drapes blocking out every hint of daylight. Yes, it had been a welcome haven after their mad dash across the countryside, fleeing Sunnydale in the discomfort of the blacked out car. Arriving at last at this small outpost of antiquity sandwiched between low-cost slum dwellings in the heart of the city.

Tonight though, as the people outside went about their mortal business, and the other elderly tenants slumbered oblivious of their deadly neighbors, all was not well.

Miss Edith was not happy.

She spoke to Drusilla, constantly berating her, singing the songs she'd read in Acathla's stone, over and over. Sighing airlessly, Dru sat up, moving to the edge of the bed. Sleeping was useless, the whispers intruded, and sometimes they would not be Miss Edith at all. Sometimes she thought they were her Angel, and he was hurting. He wanted her with him.

Idly stroking Miss Edith's silky matted hair, Dru's gaze wandered blankly about the small room, voices fading to quiet humming in the base of her skull. All the walls were dark, but she could feel the sun pressing in against the curtains outside, it shrieked at her.

Or perhaps that was Angel again.

Her eyes flicked down to the floor. Her Spike lay there, blood staining the carpet. He had deserved to be hurt. Miss Edith had told her about what had happened back in Sunnyhell. She wouldn't talk to him since then, and that made him burn inside. She could see it, had seen it also when she was still with her Angel; like a furnace through his eyes, under his skin.

She snarled quietly to herself. Miss Edith had told her Spike lied to her, that Spike had helped the Slayer send her Angel away. She hadn't believed it at first, until she'd spoken to the moon, on their first night here. Its pale cold light reminded her of his skin, and she'd sung it a song, telling it how much she missed her Angel. Spike had been mad, but through his anger she could read the truth- it glowed in the lights of his eyes.

So now, she waited; Angel's voice, inexplicably high and sweet, playing in her head; waiting for him to tell her how to join him.

Spike groaned as awareness slowly returned, attempting to figure out where he was. It was late, the air biting at him with the chill of night; hunger gnawed ceaselessly at his stomach, and his eyes were full of sharp burning pain. Hesitantly, he touched a hand to his cheek, fingering wetness there. Everything was dark- were his eyes closed? Memory seemed blessedly insulated, full of vague warm nothingness. The moment he realized relief at this lack of recall, he also felt an intense sense of foreboding over whatever it was he couldn't remember. Fighting down the ominous feeling, he ran his hand over his face again. Snarling in frustration at the distraction the pain was causing in his thought processes, he sniffed the liquid on his fingertips.

Blood.

Ignoring the intense pain the movement caused, he attempted to lever himself up off the floor. In a sitting position, he cautiously extended a hand in front of him. Dropping his arm back down, he patted the floor around him, stopping short as he brushed against something long and silky. Winding the strands around his palm he pulled the object towards him. Traced its cool porcelain contours with a finger.

The grim wave of sickening knowledge crashed over him, finally breaking, memory returning with it. Trapping him in the darkness behind his eyes, the empty blackness now filled with vivid images...

No...

He'd awoken, aware of the emptiness beside him where she had lain. He dropped forward onto his knees, and turned around, wrapping his hand around the cool metal of the bedpost for guidance. Then he stood up, leaning against the bedpost for support. After a moment he sank down on the bed, holding his head in his hands. He sighed, and cautiously touched the back of his head. It was matted with blood.

"Dru..." The single word escaped his lips, almost a whimper. And then he abandoned himself to a dreamless sleep.

He woke up. Or did he still dream? Voices outside of his room had been the cause of his disturbance.

Slayer's voices. He groaned when he heard a hand trying the knob. She entered the room. He couldn't see her, but he could smell her- sweat and vanilla. He kept his head down, unwilling to admit his weakness.

"Spike?" Her voice was tinged with surprise and worry.

He nodded, not looking up.

He heard her cross the room; she closed the drapes.

"Slayer"- the word came out halting, harsh.

"Yeah?" She was in front of him now, probably with a stake... kneeling. He looked up at where she would be.

She was silent for a moment. Then a gasp. "Spike, how many fingers am I holding up?"

He blinked. "I-I don't know." He choked out.

Wood on wood told him that she had dropped the stake. Then her hands, touched his face. He jerked away.

"Stake me." He snarled. "I'm useless, now. A blind vampire! A blind master vampire! Who ever heard of that?"

"Spike..."

"Just do it." He told her, aware that he had vamped.

"I- I can't." She whispered.

"What do you bloody mean? Of course you can!"

"I can't explain... oh God."

She sounded genuinely distressed. He frowned, letting his human mask slip back into place.

"Buffy?" He asked, reaching out like a child for its mother. His voice was soft, uncertain. He heard water running in the bathroom, and then her footsteps behind him.

"Here, this might hurt." She told him.

The instant the wet cloth touched the cut on his head, Spike vamped. He felt like his head was on fire. Soon, though, he passed out from the pain. Buffy finished cleaning the vampire's wound, and bandaged it carefully. Then she set him on the bed, and sat beside him, studying his features.

She had no idea what the hell she was going to do. She was in love with vampire. Again.

Okay, folks, that's it for now! That was a teaser- gimme feedback!
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