Gods And Monsters

Chapter Forty-six:

Slipping out from under the pale blue bedsheets and off of the bed, Spike took special care not to awaken Hel. He then yanked on a long-sleeved, brown T-shirt over his head and approached the door.

He hesitated, gazing down at her. She looked so peaceful when she slept. Smiling fondly and tilting his head to one side, he marvelled at her exceptional beauty. Spike studied her elysian features, the stark contrast of her black hair against her pale skin. Words alone would not do her justice. She was a work of art, a true masterpiece.

Tearing his eyes away, he strode from the room and left Xander's apartment in pursuit of fresh air.

Hours later, Hel awoke to a loud, fervent knocking. It was followed by the thumping sounds of Xander stumbling out of bed.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming." Xander grumbled, throwing on a black crew neck T- shirt. "I'm up, it's four thirty in the morning..." Staggering out of his room and across the apartment, he placed his hand flat against the door. He leaned forward. "Who is it?'

"It's me." Came a familiar voice.

He unlocked the door to let Buffy in. "Buffy?"

Her pale grey, cable knit jumper was smeared with dust and dirt, as were her dark jeans and denim jacket. Her golden blonde hair was smoothed back into a low bun. "Where's Spike?" She demanded.

"Spike?"

"Spike. Xander, is he here?" She rushed over to the open doorway of Spike's temporary sleeping quarters.

"No, he's out. At least he was when I got home."

Hel sat upright, alone in his bed. "What's going on?"

Buffy spun around to face Xander. "Any idea where he went?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Creature of the night, Buff. He's probably out creature-ing."

Frustrated, she turned and strode briskly over to the full wall of windows.

"Why? What happened?" He took a few steps towards her. "Is he in trouble?"

"I hope not." She replied softly, staring out into the night through the slats of the window blinds.

Hel emerged from Spike's bedroom just as Xander finished brewing coffee for Buffy and himself. Joining them in the kitchen, she helped herself to the pot. "What are you accusing him of?"

"We think he might be killing again." He answered grimly.

"Spike can't be doing this." Buffy disagreed. "He couldn't if he wanted to."

"Why not?" Propping his elbows upon the countertop and leaning forward, he gripped his mug of coffee in both hands.

"Well, for one thing, pain chip, remember? He can't hurt anyone."

"Maybe the chip's not working anymore."

"No, it's working. I've seen it." Buffy's reply, although truthful, lacked conviction.

"Is it? Or is that what Spike wants you to think?" He retorted.

"You think it's an act?"