Summary: Fred murdered Seider in 'Supersymmetry'; Spike got the chip out in 'Grave'. Lost and alone, they meet up in New York City and slowly come to discover that the emotions they had believed long dead can still be stirred back to life. And those who abandoned them don't have the final say in what's good and evil... A dark Spike/Fred saga. *WIP, begun August 2004* NC17

Author's Note: This is...not the fluffiest of fics. In fact, at times it'll be downright dark. But it's all going somewhere eventually, I promise. ~_^ It's set in an AU where Fred has to kill Seider in 'Supersymmetry' over on Angel, and Spike wins his trials in Africa in 'Grave', but instead of getting his soul, the chip comes out instead. Thanks much to Jypzrose, who agreed to jump in and beta this when I couldn't find anyone else. Also, I feel I should warn people that this fic is pretty much no-holds-barred against the other members of the AtS and BtVS casts. Those who are Buffy or Wesley fans, in particular, I'll warn. And off we go...

When Fred first saw him, she thought she was about to die. The vampire that attacked her had somehow managed to do something the previous half-dozen hadn't, and knocked her stake from her hand. That was no matter, however. Her years with Angel and his associates had taught her more than one way to beat a vamp.

But, before she'd had a chance, her foe had been a cloud of dust, and she saw him for the first time.

She'd felt cold and distant from the world in the two months since she'd left her old 'friends', fled LA, and moved to New York City. No better place on earth to hide yourself among the masses, or so she'd always thought. And she needed to hide now.

She could still see Angel's angry disgusted eyes, Gunn's love turning to cold hate, and Wesley... Well, Wesley had been the worst of all in his way. He'd helped her track down her tormentor, found a way to punish him even though Fred had had to deliver the final blow. So he understood the 'murder' that had turned Angel's favor. Wesley was able to forgive her for it. But at a price. That she would become the sweet innocent little doll he saw her as, and let him shelter her under his arm from the world – from life.

The thought still gave Fred the shudders. Some 'friends' they had turned out to be. Oh, they'd preached a good rant. Killing was evil, no matter that that bastard had sent her to the living hell of Pylea all those years. Forgive and forget. All said while Angel was making the associates at Wolfram & Hart vampire chow for his former family, and Wes was snatching babies, and Gunn – for crying out loud! – had been the one to stand in her way and give her no choice but to kill Seider. But little Fred got lectured and looked down upon for not being the pristine little angel they all saw her as.

So she'd left. She didn't need betrayal like that, accusing faces and cold stares. Whispered words about her behind closed doors.

She didn't need them. She'd survived Pylea on her own; She could certainly manage New York City. And it had been good for these few months to not have to worry or feel or have guilt thrust upon her. Just a silent specter in the masses. It was more cleansing than she ever could have imagined.

Until him.

Something inside her told her right away that he was different from all the other vampires she'd ever met. He was more instantly striking for one. Razor's edged cheekbones, shock-white hair, black leather coat, and piercing blue eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat at those eyes. There was a deep pain buried inside. Betrayal. Alienation. Distrust. Disassociation.

She knew those eyes because she saw them every morning in the mirror. And she knew they probably meant she would die. But somehow it seemed fitting. If she were to finally lose her life to one of the undead, he would be the killer she'd choose for herself.

"Not wise to be walkin' out at night by yourself, pet," he commented in a rumbling British droll. The fingers of his left-hand toyed absentmindedly with a cigarette, as if debating whether to have it or her first.

"I can take care of myself well enough," she shrugged disinterestedly.

He frowned at that, eyes drifting to where her stake had clattered to the ground beside her. Spotted the semi-death wish and understood it.

With long, quick strides, he pinned her back against the wall, and her gaze met his steadily, unflinching and unfrightened. It was all the verification he needed.

She gave him a curious look when he seemed about to move in for the kill, but instead reached down and picked up her stake for her.

"You dropped this."

"Right." She took it from him, feeling his icy fingers against hers for one moment. They felt surprisingly good in the sweltering late summer air. She made no move to raise the stake against him.

He nodded matter-of-factly at that. There was a quick flicker of light in the darkness, and he pressed the Zippo's flame up against the tip of his cigarette. Took several deep drags, making the burning tobacco at the end glow an orange so dark it was almost red.

"Where do you live?" he inquired, as if he had every right to know.

She shrugged and gestured north. "Two blocks."

"Nice place?"

"Pretty good."

He contemplated that for a moment. "Gotta name?"

"Fred."

A slow smirk curved the edges of his lips. "Somethin' you're not tellin' me, luv?" he asked, eyeing her breasts and skirt in turn.

She sighed. "It's short for Winifred. Winifred Burkle."

There was a flash in his eyes, as if he recognized the name. "Spike," he offered in return.

Fred's turn for recognition, then. "William the Bloody?"

"That would be me."

So this was the vampire that had caused Angel so many hours of agonizing, moralizing and spiritual hair-yanking. Fred approved and stepped away from him, heading down the street.

He watched her go for a few steps, continuing to smoke his cigarette.

She stopped after a dozen feet, turned back to look at him pointedly. "Coming?"

With a slow smile, he ground his cigarette beneath his boot before taking his place at her side.

The walk to her apartment was completely silent. Both had learned to live with endless quiet and solitude, it seemed, and it bothered neither anymore. Fred's apartment had once been an office, the fifth floor above a set of financial offices all over a small diner that took up the ground floor. No elevator, so they had plenty of time to listen to each other's footfalls as they climbed four flights of stairs. Hers feather-light and airy; His heavy but more spry than one would guess.

"Come in." The command was simple, offered without hesitation as she flicked on the lights to the office-turned-apartment.

He stepped over the threshold, glancing around at the surprisingly homey environment, broken only by the tangled mass of wires and electronic equipment in the room to his right. Like a den of twisted snakes and cold hardware, buzzing softly with the indifferent tune of technology.

He slipped out of his duster and folded it over the back of the couch. "You do know you're ten times more likely to end up dead once you've invited a vamp into your house?" he wondered casually.

"Absolutely."

"Shouldn't you been helpin' the Prancing Poof and his chums?" Boots were kicked aside.

"I left," she answered simply. "Last I heard, you'd fallen in love with Buffy."

"Yeah." A hint of golden anger glinted in his eyes. "I got over it." He yanked his shirt from his belt and began unfastening the buttons.

She just nodded and slipped her fingers under each shoulder strap of her summer dress. The patterned fabric fell from her body in one graceful movement, leaving her only in her panties.

His eyes darkened with desire at his first glimpse of her delicate body. Rough hands moved to his belt, unfastening it quickly and dropping his pants.

She studied his manhood with growing desire. In some strange way, this felt right to her. No emotions. No tenderness. No meaning. Nothing at all that could hurt her. Just the raw, primal coming together of two bodies that screamed their physical needs, even if their owners would've preferred not to give in to them.

Spike caught her up roughly in his arms, vamped out as clawed fingers ripped aside her underwear. They fell back onto the bed, his powerful body practically smothering hers. She hadn't ever really realized how strong a vampire was before. The corded muscles in his arms felt like steel ropes, and she couldn't have escaped him now if she wanted to.

But she didn't. Either he would kill her or give her pleasure. Maybe both. It really didn't matter. Those that lived cared about death; she merely existed. Felt nothing most of the time, really, and was perfectly content with that.

She certainly felt something when he thrust deep inside her, however. A gasp of pain escaped her lips, and her eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling as she held him to her and urged him on. He was anything but gentle with her. Bruised her inside and out, cut little rivulets of blood into her skin with his talons.

But, nevertheless, her body slowly began its long, drawn-out scream of ecstasy. God, it had been so long since she'd allowed herself anything, and he was large and very skilled, despite his violent sexual assault. With a gasp of release, she finally let her body escape into the bliss it so craved.

Wonderful, pure moments and white light. Nothingness overcome by raw pleasure for a few precious seconds.

And then she was back in her bed, trapped beneath one of the most notorious vampires in the world, and still uncaring of whether she would live or die in the next few minutes.