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Battles
By Steph
The house. The bank. The job thing.
Buffy felt embattled on all sides.
Giles. The Scoobies. Dawn.
Each day, she fought to regain her life. And the battle was wearing her down. There had been a time when she had felt strengthened by the connections to friends and family. Now, they only drained her, left her feeling weak.
It seemed that the only one in the whole damn town she could stand was Spike. They took to sparring regularly after her little trip to see Angel, when she had returned jittery and 'off'. And the activity usually helped to calm the anxious buzz, smooth the ragged edges. But not tonight.
Jab, block, snapkick knocking him to the mat.
Tonight, they were closer to actually fighting than they had been since the advent of the chip. It didn't matter that he had understood about her hands, that she had confided in him about where she'd been, that they had a truce, if not a friendship. The concern he'd shown her been welcome at first. She'd actually found herself looking forward to his company, depending on his support. Then, as it continued, his solicitude began to rankle. It started to feel like- condescension.
Hook to the head, blocked. Knee to the ribs, unexpected and enough to send him backing away to regroup.
I don't need this and I don't need him, she told herself. I'm stronger than that. I'm stronger than he is. The longer she thought about it, the more furious she became. It made her want to hurt him, taunt him, make him face her with eager hostility. She wanted to see that look in his eyes- the one that spoke of banked rage, restrained ferocity. She was provoking him, she knew. Hitting harder, closer to sensitive places. And still he persisted. Blocking, feinting, eluding her with infuriating ease. She redoubled her efforts.
Bob, shuffle, roundhouse catching him on the shoulder, sending him flying.
*******
Spike wondered what had gotten into the Slayer. Funny, how he couldn't think of her as 'Buffy' tonight. Something was different. This skirmish was being fought closer, harder, and darker than previous. He could feel the difference in each blow, how hard she hit and where she aimed. He might have wondered what he had done to deserve this if he hadn't figured it out just minutes earlier. He'd clipped her at the end of defensive move, taken an instinctive step toward her in concern. Snarling, she'd side-kicked him in the stomach, then shoved him away with a ferocity she'd not shown since his pre-chipped days. It hit him then, almost as hard as she had. Their battle tonight was more than a sparring match. She was reasserting her dominance, reminding him that she was a Slayer, a force to be reckoned with. And, yes, it was something he'd done, he realized. He'd stopped thinking of her as The Slayer.
He'd been far to busy enjoying her company, had almost convinced himself that there had been some fundamental change. In him. In her. In their relationship. It terrified him to realize how close he was to believing there could be a sweet, poetic 'happily ever after' between them. As his teeth snapped together for the umpteenth time that evening, he realized how stupid he had been.
And so, that night, something else was going on. Something violent, dark, intimate; something that made the circles they made around each other gradually become smaller and smaller.
The next few combinations drove Spike back against the wall of the training room. The flurry of punches aimed at his face forcing him to duck underneath, move behind her.
"Running, Spike?"
"Eluding, Slayer."
"Same diff." she sneered.
"Not at all, pet. If I were running, I wouldn't do this." He lunged forward, ending up with an armful of angry Slayer. She kicked viciously at his legs, but he held on with tight fingers and crushed his mouth to hers. She whimpered, half protest, half surprise, then her lips opened, ever so slightly, just enough for his tongue to dart at the inside of her bottom lip. Then she bit him, hard, and shoved him back again, panting.
He snickered, bringing the back of his hand to his mouth. It came away with a smear of blood. He nodded at her, then licked his hand. She smirked and relaxed her body back into a fighting stance, and they began moving again. The battle was joined.
And so it went. Soon, Spike was dampened with Buffy's sweat, Buffy splattered with Spikes blood. Punches and kicks were met with holds and pins, and those with bites and scratches.
At last, after a particularly vicious blow, Spike remained on the mat, a cut along his cheekbone sullenly oozing blood. When he made no move to rise, she crouched next to him, fingers clutching his hair, pulling his head back.
"Beaten?" she asked?
"Finished." he said softly.
"Same diff."
She studied his battered face a moment, then leaned down, lips parting. She licked his cheekbone, tasting salt and copper. Then, bringing her mouth to his, she shared the blood on her tongue. And accepted his surrender.
Some battles, they realized, were not measured in wins in losses.
-end-