Spike howled, hand clapped to the gash in his cheek, while Tenobit twisted with a shout and punch. Dravind knocked Buffy's sword away with a swift kick. The slave chittered and scuttled in a circle around Spike's legs, tangling him up and sending him to the ground at Tenobit's mercy.

Buffy started in Spike's direction, but Dravind came at her with a wicked knife he'd acquired from somewhere, and a set of brass knuckles. She withdrew her backup knife from her boot, hoping that the vampire could take care of himself. Then again, if he didn't… would it be that much of a loss?

To her surprise, the thought of Spike being dusted wasn't a perfectly happy one.

Maybe it was because she couldn't quite wish for his death after all they'd been through, working to keep each other alive.

Or maybe it was because if anybody was going to kill Spike, it was going to be her.

Dravind lunged for her, his quickness with a blade proving he'd been well-chosen for his position as a bodyguard, and Buffy had no more time to muse on the nature of her feelings towards Spike. Which was more than fine by her. She lost herself in the rhythm of battle – kick, punch, duck, parry, kick, slash, evade… The fight ranged up and down the block, until at last she'd kicked his knife away, sending it skittering under a parked car. Dravind resorted to pure brawn, charging at her like a bull, and Buffy fled down the street towards the streetwalker's now empty sidewalk and then around the corner, Dravind on her heels. She leapt for a streetlamp and used it to swing around, perpendicular to the ground and boot heels aimed squarely for the demon's face.

She connected with a grunt, the jolt shivering from her ankles up her legs and through her spine to the base of her skull. Dravind flew backwards, skidding along the pavement, and Buffy followed. She plunged her dagger into his chest, once, twice, thrice, and sat back on her heels, catching her breath. The demon lay still, oozing dark blue blood from the multiple stab wounds, and Buffy got to her feet to head back and see how Spike was doing. Since Tenobit hadn't joined the fray, it probably meant the vampire was holding his own, but seeing as Spike hadn't joined her yet either…

And there he was, strutting around the corner with a few new bruises and cuts, but otherwise in one piece.

"Buffy!" Spike shouted just as she sensed something coming at her from behind. "Look out!"

She spun and ducked, Dravind's brass knuckled-fist whooshing over her head. The demon staggered to one side, clutching at his chest.

"Catch!" Spike called. He lobbed the sword she'd lost earlier at her, sending it spinning end over end.

Buffy caught the hilt and swung, sending Dravind's head tumbling with one swift stroke. She planted the sword in his body and leaned into it, letting it support her for the moment.

Spike came to a halt in front of her, grinning his approval at the corpse between them.

"Tenobit?" she said when he looked up.

"Dead. And the slave."

Buffy nodded. Her heart was still pounding, her blood still fizzing with adrenaline. "So it's over?"

"Yeah, guess so." He rubbed the back of his neck. "There's still Tenobit's pissant spawn, but he'll get his before the night's out. I can take care of him myself, even blindfolded and with both hands tied behind my back."

"Okay, good," Buffy said. That was good. She was in no way disappointed that Spike didn't think he needed her help, because that would be crazy. She'd be crazy to want to spend another second with him. She loathed him.

Also crazy: Spike had just helped save her life. He'd finished the demon lord off and hadn't needed her anymore. He could've let Dravind bash her head in, or could've run her through with her own sword instead of tossing it back to her – but he hadn't. Was he having second thoughts about that whole mortal-enemy-battle-to-the-death thing too?

From the way he was shuffling his feet and not attacking her, Buffy could almost believe he was.

It was crazy, but then so was Spike. Not in the Looney-tunes Drusilla way, but in the Spike was completely unpredictable way. Who knew what was going through his head?

"So…" she said.

"Right. Guess this is where we part ways, Slayer."

"Yeah. You've got that whole leaving-the-country-for-good thing to do."

"After I fetch Drusilla. And after my car's fixed," he reminded her with a little half-flap of his hand.

"Right. Okay, well… good luck with that."

Spike sniffed. And didn't make a move, either towards or away from her.

Buffy didn't know what to say or do. She should kill him, she really should – evil vampire, hello! – but it felt dishonorable to break their truce if he wasn't going to. And after the intensity of the past few days, it seemed anticlimactic to just turn around and walk away. They'd – bonded, insane as it was. Road tripped, worked together, saved each other's lives. Shared jokes, even.

Then again, what would any of that mean to a soulless demon? A cold-blooded killer? Nothing. Buffy'd learned that lesson well; she wouldn't repeat it with Spike. She would be a complete idiot to think their time together had been anything more than a means to an end for him.

Now the end was here. There was no point in making a thing about it.

"I'll see you around, Spike. In the sense that I'd better not, ever again."

"Believe me, Slayer, if I never see you again it'll be too soon."

He took a few steps backwards, still facing her, sketching her a little half-salute as he did.

Choosing to just walk away.

She could do that too.

Buffy wrenched her sword from Dravind's corpse and spun on her heel, blade over her shoulder as she marched away, nothing but glad that this weird and unpleasant interlude in her life was finally over. Within a block, she'd put Spike out of her mind and focused on a to-do list for the rest of the week: find a job, find an apartment…

Even so, the tap on her shoulder and Spike's voice behind her saying, "Just one more thing, Slayer," wasn't much of a surprise.

Somehow, the left hook to her face was.

She staggered backwards, off the sidewalk and into the street, wiping at the blood welling in the corner of her mouth. "You couldn't just walk away, could you?"

"Well, I promised," Spike said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He stepped into the street after her. "What kind of man would I be if I didn't keep my promises?"

Buffy dropped the sword in favor of her fists. She wanted to pound that smug face in. "Yeah, you're so honorable." She drove forward with a left cross and a roundhouse followed by an elbow to his gut.

He oofed. "Can be, when it suits." Spike returned her blows, grinning wildly as they circled around each other.

"That's not honor, Spike." Honor wasn't something you turned on and off, to suit your needs. "But then, why would you know anything about honor?" Buffy swept out a foot, sending him stumbling to her left, and followed it with a rapid one-two kidney punch.

Spike whirled and cracked her across the face with an elbow. "Judgmental little bitch, aren't you? Make you feel better about killing my kind, does it?"

"No." Buffy smashed her fist into one cheek. Then the other. Then his mouth. "Just doing what I should've from the start." She'd been stupid to let Spike live, just like she'd been stupid to only kick Angel in the nuts instead of killing him when she'd had the chance. Maybe someday she'd figure out how to be nothing more than a cold-blooded killer. One who didn't care that she'd had to kill the man she loved to save the world.

Probably the same day Spike figured out how to be something more.

Not that she was going to let him live that long. Buffy kicked high, sending him into a sprawl that he turned into a roll, springing to his feet with a laugh.

"Now this is more like it!" he said gleefully. "Nothing like that pathetic excuse of a fight you gave me last time. Still, should've let me train you. Would've made this even better, you know?"

"I'm not here to indulge your fantasies," Buffy said with a furious glare. Was he really so delusional he still thought she couldn't take him? "The only thing on the agenda is ridding the world of pond scum like you." She slammed into him a parked van, denting the door, and Spike flipped them around and drove his fist at her face. She ducked under his arm and his hand went through the window.

Buffy winced. Hopefully the van's owner had insurance.

He spun to kick at her hip with bruising force, then pummeled her with a left-right to the face, a piece of glass between the knuckles of his right hand. She gasped as it sliced her.

Spike grinned, tongue dancing over his teeth and eyebrows wagging. "Can't fool me, love. I know you've dreamt of this too."

"Being rid of you for once and for all?" Buffy twisted away from his next punch and trapped his arm so it bent straight out behind him, then drove the heel of her hand into his upper arm with all her strength. His humerus broke with a sickening crack, and he howled and fanged out.

"B-bitch," he panted.

Blood dripped into her eye, half-blinding her. Ignoring it, Buffy whirled around and planted an elbow to his sternum and a backwards kick at his knee.

Spike caught her with his good arm, banding it around her waist from behind like a lover. He pulled her in closer to whisper in her ear, the lisp of his fangs made worse by the damage she'd done to his mouth, "My offer still stands. I'll make it sweet for you, love, won't let it hurt a bit."

Buffy bashed her head backwards, forcing him to let go.

She shook her head, both from the pain and from the recollection of that first fight. Another time she'd been stupid. She'd dropped her weapon to fight him, only to have to be saved by her mom. Her eyes welled up at the memory of her mother, axe raised high, so fierce and loving and protective.

Mom –

If you walk out of this house –

She brought her foot down on the hilt of her sword, popping it up so she could kick it upwards and grab the hilt. Buffy whirled and drove the blade into his gut, all the way to the hilt, repeating what she'd told him then. "No, Spike, it's going to hurt a lot."

He stared down at the sword in shock, then back up at her, ridges receding and yellowed eyes fading to blue. The look of surprise on his face, achingly familiar, knocked the breath right out of her.

Angel staring down at the sword in his gut, eyes wide in shock and confusion, and then looking back up, hand outstretched in supplication –

Buffy yanked the blade back out. Spike fell to his knees, gasping, one hand clutched to his stomach and the other arm dangling uselessly. She let the sword clatter to the pavement, some small part of her upset that she'd run Spike through after working so hard to patch him up only days ago, the rest of her lost in the memory of Angel and Acathla.

Her hand moved automatically to her stake, even as her mind played out its unending loop of Angel being sucked into hell. Moving on autopilot, she booted Spike in the face and sent him sprawling backwards to the ground.

Buffy crouched over him, stake to his heart, but it wasn't his face she was seeing beneath her.

Oh god, Angel –

Like a switch flipping off, she went limp, the fight drained out of her. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a shaky breath.

When she opened them again, Spike had taken advantage of her distraction and scooted backwards, putting several feet between them. Now he stared at her through swollen eyes, bruised and battered and thoroughly beaten. When she didn't say anything, he rolled to his side, coughing up blood. He lurched to his knees, panting, and then to his feet. Good arm around his middle and other dangling at his side, he coughed and spat out more blood. Buffy stood too and raised her stake, aiming to finish him off for good.

He shuffled backwards a step, wavering on his feet, eyes locked on hers.

She couldn't do it. She didn't know why – if it was the truce or that she was just so sick of having to be a killer or something else entirely – but she couldn't dust him. It was stupid, and would come back to haunt her, she was sure of it, but she still couldn't do it.

He took another cautious backwards step, and Buffy tucked the stake back into her waistband. "Just – go," she said, voice heavy with exhaustion and sorrow. "Leave the country, and don't ever come back."

Spike blinked at her in confusion. He searched her face for a long moment, hesitant and unsure, before stumbling away.

Buffy watched him stagger down the street, turning to shoot her wary looks every few steps, as if she might change her mind and stake him from behind. Maybe she would've if she were a real Slayer. But she wasn't a real Slayer, never had been, hadn't her track record already established that?

Real Slayers didn't let vampires go.

They didn't make truces with them or save their lives. They didn't fall in love with them or sleep with them. They didn't unleash them on their friends and family, they didn't let them torture their Watcher or kill their sister-Slayer, and they sure as hell didn't just kick them in the nuts when they had the chance to dust them, hoping against hope that maybe they'd give up evil and remember they loved her.

Buffy hoped her replacement was a real Slayer, because Spike was her problem now.

When he turned the corner, she slumped, eyes closed and head bowed. She stayed like that for a long time, trying to breathe through the ache in her chest. Breathe in, breathe out. Again.

Eventually she sighed, shoulders slumping lower, and stooped to pick up her sword. It dangled from her hand, feeling far heavier than it should have. Buffy looked up and down the street, getting her bearings, then at the building in front of her.

Helen's Kitchen proclaimed the sign above the door in big, red block letters. Help Wanted, said the sign in the window. Apply Within.

She would. But not until tomorrow. Not until the sun was out and vampires were once again nothing more than half-forgotten remnants of a previous life.

Buffy let out a long, slow breath and turned opposite the direction Spike had taken. One foot in front of the other, she trudged down the street.

.

.

The End