Title: No Vacancy Author: kindred Disclaimer: Buffy and Spike belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and other corporate interests. My thoughts are my own. Rating: NC-17 Feedback: Always gratefully received Summary: Alternative S3 'Anne'. After sending Angel to hell, Buffy disappears into anonymity in a dusty Californian town until a little piece of Sunnydale finds her... 13. "It'll be good, Slayer, you'll see," his soft promise hushed through her body as he initiated gentle measured strokes. Buffy began to tremor dangerously. Her torso and head shook. Spike stilled his actions when he realized she was crying. He tried to withdraw from her body but she clung to him like a parasite. Her legs wrapped convulsively around his waist and her fingernails dug into his neck and back. Such a response would normally have driven him wild with lust but he did not respond in that way. His body chose an action before his brain could evaluate options. Bracing his feet he pressed into her and held on. Wave after wave of catastrophic grief poured out of her. She wailed in horror and loathing, in need and rage, in sorrow and anguish. Mucus poured from her eyes, nose and mouth. Spike thought briefly that she might actually explode. Buffy had taken his hatred, his arrogance, his bragging and his testosterone fueled 'Fuck King' man crap for hours. She had felt the raw surface sensations flow over and through her with impunity. But softness, genuine tenderness and a lilting voice in bed, even against the shower wall was too much. It dug deeply into her, past her well barricaded exterior. Spike pried open the door that Anne had slammed shut. Buffy's denial ripped through her and spiraled down the drain. She had destroyed her world, not Acathla. She didn't even deserve a pitiful plastic dress and the loose coins left on her tables. Spike held on and grounded her through her hurricane. Tears had always been a problem. Drusilla's tears flattened him almost to nothing while the tears of his victims always hardened him to stone. It was a difficult juxtaposition. The tears of this girl in his arms cut into him. He had not anticipated such a reaction but he steeled himself. In this sanitized bathroom Spike simply pressed Buffy to the wall so she wouldn't spiral down the drain as well. Everything ebbed away as her tears gradually lessened. Her face swelled as if she had been beaten, and still Spike held her. Eventually he moved her under the water again and tenderly washed the ruminants of sorrow from her tanned skin. She shuddered and hiccuped and looked into eyes that, amazingly, reflected compassion and concern. Then her mouth was on his saying with actions what she never would in words. He had succeeded in opening her. The build up of emotional placque that had clogged her mind had been released and rinsed clean. She could face the day again, face the past, the present and the future. She could finally begin to face her decision, with what she had done and be the Slayer again. All because of Spike. She owed him for the chance of a fresh start. Buffy swept her tongue softly across his. The games were finished. The taste of fog was long gone. There was clarity and stillness now that the storm broke. She tasted of silks and velvets. Her Devon custard tongue ignited their shared need once more. Something changed, something small yet vital had shifted. He no longer knew where he was or what he was doing. Where was this place? This pause in the cosmos? He wanted nothing more than to be inside her, to be beside her, to be filled by her. To be hers. Spike established a slow rhythm as he thrust deeply and lyrically within her. His hips murmured a softness she absorbed with a sumptuous response. Their skins blended to new flesh. Their eyes locked, never wavered and barely blinked. This was her gift of thanks and he felt it singing through him, overtaking him. Completely unaware of what he had done for her he felt her body lulling his, wanting him wholly. It was an intimacy that shook him and grounded him. For the first time in a century he saw himself reflected in a face that was not Drusilla's. Spike had always been her perfect beast. In the eyes of the Slayer however, he saw something else entirely. Something he could not ignore. He saw the shadow of a man reflected in the features of his enemy, an enemy no longer. It took an adversary to reveal once again the man inside the demon to the demon inside the man. Buffy gave him a vision of what might be...what could be. Spike on the road to Damascus. He had a choice of a new direction as well, if he chose to acknowledge it. This realization shocked him. Found anew it never occurred to Spike that he had ever been lost. He didn't quite understand it but it was a tantalizing possibility he did not want to discard. Just to hold it in his mind was an exquisite luxury. Buffy was as oblivious of her gift to Spike as he was of his gift to her. He came hard and helplessly into her welcoming body and eyes. Buffy never spoke a word. * The whir of the blow dryer filled the small bathroom as Buffy caught sight of something unusual. Her uniform hung on the back of the bathroom door. She stared at it dumbfounded. It was yesterday's uniform but the motor oil stain was nowhere to be found. When exactly did that happen? Spike must have scrubbed it clean sometime during the night while she slept. She couldn't quite get her mind around that bizarre notion but there it was, damp and drying on a hanger and no longer stained. Try as she might the dots defied connecting. Do you scrub a stubborn stain from the clothing of your sworn enemy? Somebody should have told her. Perhaps that was included in one of Giles' thrilling yet sleep inducing lectures when she zoned out in favor of more pleasurable thoughts, such as the latest sale at the galleria. Maybe that tidbit was something to be found in the elusive slayer handbook, perhaps under the heading: vampires, domesticity and; or vampires, unusual battle tactics. She really needed to get her hands on that little treatise if this was the kind of information she was missing out on. Without reference to the handbook, Buffy needed to check the Webster's definition closely. 'Enemy' didn't quite describe what she and Spike were to each other now. She wondered briefly if they had a word for that? Nemeses interrupted? No, that's two words. She dressed quickly and checked the clock. 11:30 a.m. That was just enough time to get to work and have a juice and a muffin before her shift. Buffy exited the bathroom and saw the sated body of Spike sprawled across the bed, naked and relaxed in a manner illegal in half of the states in the union. "If you're still here when I get back, I'll stake you." Despite her body's unconscious reaction to his continuous state of undress, Buffy lied and flashed him her best slayer glare. She struggled to keep her eyes away from his. She wanted nothing more than to dive back into that bed, into his mouth and body. "Yeah, I had a nice time too, pet." He grinned lazily from the bed and stretched wantonly before her. "Hey Slayer, you ever think about Hawaii? What about Paris? You may need a vacation." His tone was one of seriousness. He'd been doing some thinking in that regard. It could be a business trip. He knew there were plenty of vampires in Paris that needed killing, certainly a number he could name personally. They could have fun there: the Eiffel Tower, the shopping, the little cafés, the night life. Spike could already see them set up in a small anonymous turret bed-sit shagging themselves stupid for a year or two, with emphasis on the shagging part. He'd been mulling over a number of possible scenarios while she dried her hair. Entranced for a moment by the thought of Spike on a moonlit Hawaiian beach, Buffy pulled on her jacket and opened the door carefully. "The Slayer doesn't get a vacation." The dead weight of her words hung in the air. He detected a note of regret in her countenance. Ever the optimist, Spike soldiered on with another viable scenario. "So maybe I'll need to vacation in, say, Sunnydale?" Spike caught the subtle smile that escaped her lips. Oh yeah, Sunnydale was definitely the preferred vacation destination, and a certain hot-blooded slayer's body the resort of choice. Buffy grabbed the 'do not disturb' sign and slipped it over the doorknob. It was a small gesture but Spike noticed and nodded his thanks and a silent farewell. She let her eyes caress him one last time as the door closed. Spike slept soundly all day. Drusilla never once entered his dreams. Over the years he'd often thought he was incapable of thinking of anything but her, even asleep. This was a momentous day, indeed. This day his dreams filled with the tiny merciless fists of the Slayer, her heady gasps of passion released and the sweetly scented elixir of her flesh. When he woke, feeling refreshed for the first time in years, Spike straightened her demolished room. He left long before she returned in the evening. She was a little disappointed when she returned and found him gone. Buffy gave her notice at work the next day. She said that a family emergency called her back home. Millie was saddened to lose the best employee she'd had in a decade. The last day of work was her best one. Buffy smiled honestly at all her customers and chatted up the regulars with wit and patience. Jokes she'd heard a dozen times suddenly made her giggle. The 'good-bye Anne' tip jar overflowed with generosity. Her eyes darted frequently outside to marvel at the sunlight glinting off the leaves on the tree lined street. She could hardly believe it, there were leaves on the trees, shimmering like jeweled ribbons in the breeze. It was a wonder to behold. She'd never even noticed them before. The End There you have it. My aim was a hopeful ending. You'll have to decide for yourselves if I succeeded. For everyone who read this story, thank you. I appreciate having the opportunity to share it with you. As always I am deeply thankful for those of you who took the time to send me your thoughts and encouraging words. A particular thank you goes out to Marla and Tallgent...you made me pause and think and smile.