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PostMortem
by Steph
"So, " Buffy asked conversationally, " why aren't you all brain fried?"
Spike rolled over, eyeing her groggily. "What?"
"No. I'm just wondering why you don't have a raging migraine.
I've got
bruises on top of bruises."
"Poor Slayer. We'll play nicer next time, eh?"
Then, just as she thought he'd fallen back asleep, he answered her.
"Intent, pet. Weren't ever intending to hurt you. Fuck your
brains out,
definitely. Hurt you intentionally, nah."
"Spike, you sweet talker you. Tell me you wrote better than that."
"Sadly, no. I was a complete hack. A good man, but a terrible
poet."