by Megan

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [Epilogue]

Chapter 16

It was so light, so early that it made his eyes hurt and his heart ache. An early morning wakening of the like he hadn’t really appreciated—not only in the past few weeks he had been immune to the sun, but since he was a beauty inspired poet in the human world. A ponce for all colourful sunsets and romantic gestures.

The dappled beauty of his Buffy in the morning light hit him hard in the gut, though, and being a ponce for the glory of life suddenly didn’t seem like such a bane. She glowed, and how that was possible in the natural harsh light of morning was beyond him. Her inner light should have clashed with the sun, but it shone so hard the pain in his eyes went all the way through his body. It was one of those moments where Spike was hard pressed to dampen William’s creative enthusiasm. So for once, he let it go.

And admired. He basked in the heat on his skin, the different shades of colour that could only be appreciated during the day, and loved his girl.

At last, his girl.

If there was a tear in his eye, he ignored it. Let the feelings play out without guilt or fear. The happiness he felt—Buffy in his arms and safe from hate and harm—made him so grateful for the foolishness that was his mouth under the influence of some strong spirits. And grateful to Harris—God be his witness. If the ignorant git could dump a woman like Anya on her wedding day then he deserved whatever vengeance the newly demonised Anyanka could convince someone to dish out.

Except he was getting kind of fond of the younger versions of these people he’d spent the past few years being hated and tolerated by. And if not exactly fond in return, he thought they might at least like him this go round.

Buffy moaned and curled up against him, her arms entwining around his neck and bringing him flush against her. Her heat scorched him from neck to toe and his lips tingled with the irrepressible desire to make love to her body. Know her in a way that Angel only thought he had. If there was one thing Spike was willing to stake his new millions on was that the poof never gave Buffy a good first experience. The brooding sod wouldn’t have a clue on how to make his girl scream in pleasure. He’d seen the glorified walking hair gel advert in action—and it wasn’t a pretty site. Even if he did really use mousse.

His girl.

The declaration just wouldn’t leave him, wouldn’t let his tortured memories alone. It seemed so unfair that he hadn’t been neutered in this time and yet, each olive branch he offered to this demon-fighting clique offered him a tree in return. Though the Buffy of his time would rather plant the stick in his heart and kick his ashes about. How could he help but feel nervous?

His future Buffy had expressed often enough his place in the scheme of things. He was beneath her; she emphasised it with nasty barbs and flinging fists. She wanted nothing to do with him, could never, would never feel anything for him other than his convenience.

How could he help but feel like he was taking advantage? Young innocent Buffy wanted him, and God help him if he was so weak he couldn’t say no. Was so evil he sought her out and made the moves to have her be his.

Now his imbalance of right and wrong were coming back to push him into a premature no soul-having quandary. His need to have Buffy be his—have her return his love—had brought him four years back to the past. If he had been thinking with his head rather than the other, more single-minded head, he would have left her alone. Taken his family and gotten the hell outta Dodge. Forced his sire and grandsire to seek hope somewhere other than the Hellmouth and allowed Buffy to fall in love with someone as innocent as she.

But her smell, her hair, her heart—he could never turn his back on her and her fight. And to be so close to her was to want her. And how many times did he have to keep reminding himself he was an evil vampire who shouldn’t give two tosses whether he was ruining her life by being in it.

How could he resist the sleep-warmed leg that slid over his, her tantalisingly bare inner thigh resting against the emerging bulge of his cock? He nearly groaned low in his throat—but wanted her to sleep for a little while longer. Her thigh rubbed him in her slumber, her slow heartbeat enough to convince him her little torture show was not consciously planned. Yet he couldn’t help the hand that reached under her top to rub gentle circles around her nipple.

He bit his lip as he felt the fever between her legs heat his groin, pushing him beyond the limits of his jeans. His overeager fingers released the zip and he held back the desire to throw caution to the wind and kiss her into carnal knowledge right then and there. As it was, he nearly combusted as her thigh rubbed against the exposed rigid flesh of his cock, the agony so sweet he was nearly sick.

Turned toward each other he captured her lips, her leg now slung over his hip as she worked her centre over him—and still she slept. Kissing hungrily in a projected dream. His hand left her rock hard nipple and drifted down the back of her sleep shorts, stroking her rump and pushing her wetness against him in a way that was almost wringing the tears of frustration from his eyes.

He never woke up in the morning with his Buffy. This one was a dream, gave him so much more than his heart had ever hoped to receive, and he nearly jumped right back into that other reality when a small hand grasped him. With a little wiggle of her hips she encouraged him to slid his hand down and dislodge her pants, encouraged him to make her naked and ready for him.

As their kiss turned frenzied with a need that knew it was time—that waiting for birthdays was just a romantic girls dream—as the gyrating rhythm of their hips began to shimmy the sheet down to uncover their actions, there was a loud throat clearing behind Buffy.

“Bloody hell,” Spike yelled in panic, falling backward off the side of the bed with his dick flapping in the air. Rolling away from the bed and toward the now mocking sun—now that it had shed its light on everything—he quickly zipped his aching length back behind hard, durable fabric and bit his tongue to stop from releasing a torture bellow.

The giggles from behind him—both of the embarrassed kind—helped to cool his frustration. Only now that his senses weren’t filled with Buffy did he scent her. That addition of woodsy flavour—of nutmeg and earth that shouted out to him of an unwanted presence in his bed.

“I know you’re into girls, Red, but this is fuckin’ ridiculous.”

The amusement stopped in one moment of shocked confusion.

“I what?” the redhead eeped in frantic disagreement.

He had the decency to look sheepish.

“Er, sorry bout that. Was thinking of some other Red.” Which really did nothing but dig a deeper grave for himself as Buffy’s eyes murdered him in jealousy.

“You know another Red?” she asked with eyes flashing like strobe lights. “How is that even possible?”

“You know what, pet? You’re right. Was a Blue was thinkin’ about. Just got a bloody shock, didn’ I! Making out with my girl,” he stressed. “Was in the moment, yeah? Bleeding well forgot about the little interloper. Thank you poofy grandsire,” he said to the air as he rolled his eyes and slumped back to lie on the floor. The perfect picture of thwarted manhood.

“Sorry?” Willow squeaked and he couldn’t help but let his lips quirk in an indulgent grin.

“S’okay Red. Not your fault Angelus tried to scare the bejeezus out of you. S’what we brought you back here for. Didn’ want the big Brood to snack on your pretty neck.”

Double doses of ewww reached his ears, and he grinned wider.

“Right then, little ladies. Must be time to tuck into some pop tarts, or whatever you bints fill yourselves up with for breakfast. I need to see me a man about a removal van.” He paused, wondering what it was he was going to move into his new place. Everything he had in this world was at the Watcher’s place, and he wasn’t in any rush to barge into that little encampment. Wasn’t like he had much anyway. Still, it was time to move out and get the girls moving on the disinvites aplenty.

“Actually, might just enlist Harris. ‘M sure he’s probably feeling a mite anxious about Ang…has anyone told the whelp about Angelus?”

Buffy and Willow exchanged a glance and guilt shadowed their return worried negative.

“Right, I’ll fill him in; tell him no more unaccompanied nightly excursions. Not that the wimp goes anywhere unless he is half an inch behind the Slayer anyway,” he teased, enjoying the light flush that spread across Buffy’s smooth skin.

Everything about her was luscious and even with an obvious witness he could feel himself getting hard. Yeah, he’d always had it bad for her, and even now nothing was going to change. He may be evil, but he was also a man, and a man in love at that. She wanted him, and God help him—though the deity had never held much appeal—he was going to let her have him. He’d think about the ramifications of his soulless possession of her later. Consider what he owed her later. When he could start thinking with his other head again.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The Harris place gave him the jitters. Brought back to a time when he was willing to surrender to forever in hell, just because he could no longer snack on real bait. Just because he was reliant on humans to keep him safe. And had to suffer their intolerance and hatred while doing so.

Harris’s basement had seen the first and only time he had ever tried to end his existence. Buffy had in recent times pushed him into wanting to try it again, but luckily she hadn’t pushed her advantage, leaving him instead to go poof into the past to make them all different. Hopefully change for the better…though that was a raging impossibility with cursed vamps and vengeance demons running around trying to cock it all up to hell.

He stood in the sun while he waited for his knock to be answered. The father he had avoided like the plague while he had been holed up in the damp basement squinted out the door at him, the sun in his eyes. Spike smiled at the little bit of evil that seemed to already be punishing this man—a splitting headache if the glass of spirits in his lazy hand could indicate.

“Yeah,” was the slurred greeting and Spike felt himself tense angrily at how this idiot was ruining lives. It felt peculiar to care, but for some reason this earlier version of Xander Harris was making the Big Bad feel all protective. He let his face slide to demon advantage, felt his fangs itch at the widening of the other’s eyes and growled low in his throat when the glass hit the floor.

“You’ve splashed your booze all over m’ boots,” he accused while still in take-down mode, his face shifting back to his human face. The sun had remained blinding in its shine, so he knew the elder Harris could never say for certain what he’d seen, but it gave him a sense of satisfaction that he might have given the irresponsible git something to think about. Something to be afraid about.

The other man said nothing, stood there in a perplexed stupor the likes he had no patience for. Leaning around him, Spike took no notice of the statue-like git as he announced his presence loudly to the interior of the house. Within minutes he could hear booted feet pounding down some stairs and the tousled hair of the brunette he was after popped up from seemingly nowhere. His smile was hesitant, a bit wary, but he continued to the door as if he had been expecting Spike.

“Willow called,” he offered as he grabbed his coat, bypassing his father without even a glance.

He preceded Spike down the path, watching with interest the silent standoff before Spike turned with a swish of his ever-present coat and strode to the door of his Desoto.

“Hop in, Whelp. Got us some organising to do.”

Within seconds they were both inside and Spike roared down the street, darting occasional curious glances at the apparently sullen passenger in his car.

“What the bleedin’ hell is eatin’ you up? Thought we’d had a beer together, saved the Watcher…pals and all.”

Xander looked a little nonplussed at the memories, guilt crossing quickly over his face until he settled into a determined mask of affected indifference.

“It’s…I mean…Look, you’re still a vampire, and I hate vamps. Pure and insanely simple.”

Spike’s eyes flew off the road to hit him with offended purpose.

“Is that right?” he drawled, the hurt only minimally evident as he tossed the change around in his head. He thought he’d made progress, broke the code that held this one of Buffy’s friends away from his attempts to atone. “An’ why is that then?” he asked, his voice tired, resigned to some in-depth diatribe about how he had hurt them all, tried to kill them all in the name of love and evil. Except that wasn’t this time, he hadn’t done it all again, had done things the right way, the good way—unless his idea of good was so skewed he had even yet stuffed the bloody thing up.

“Vampires killed my friend Jesse. The year Buffy came to Sunnydale, we found out about vamps and demons and your fabbo relative Darla took a bite and made him one of you. He wasn’t so loyal to the friendship after that and I had to kill him.”

The dead tone to the voice and the knowledge he’d never been privvy to startled Spike so badly that he pulled to the side of the road and shut off the motor.

He thought for a moment, contemplated that kind of blind hate, tried to focus on an act that had formed his judgment by leaps rather than degrees.

“A woman completely obliterated my heart when I was human. She devastated me and put me in the way of Dru and bein’ vamped. Doesn’ mean I hate women forever more now. My Da was killed in the Crimean war, left me with a slight intolerance to the Russians. What ‘m tryin’ to say is, I get where you’re comin’ from. You lost a friend, and that’s pretty rough.” Spike stopped talking to actually take a breath and contemplate the necessity of what he was about to say—to himself as well as the slightly tainted and judgmental youth in his car.

“’M sorry.”

The stillness in the car was like an electric current that held them electrocuted to the spot. Only difference was the untouched quality of their hair. Still, the buzz implied a change and it made Spike hope. Hold unneeded breath for the sign that said his point had hit its mark. They were only words—two words he wouldn’t have been able to spit past his lips a month or so ago. Words he couldn’t have aimed at the carpenter and mean it. Until now.

He could see the process of thought plainly on the brunette’s face, and he waited. Waited for fate and hard work to end their battle and declare sides.

Spike was right—they had shared beers and trauma like two guys out for a friendly time. Only when he’d returned home did his mind start to twist the events, see vampire faces merging with each other. Sure, one had been vengeful, heroic in his attempt to save Giles’s life, while the other had dripped blood from her teeth, eager to dive back into the throat that had been ripped off the prongs.

So, he’d concluded that he was thinking too hard about repenting demons, and instead focused on his lost friend. The one who he’d not taken the risk of his life to endure, to offer a chance at life. He’d seen the demon that had taken over his friend and had reacted. Only once the dust had settled at his feet did the childhood memories flood into his mind and he balked at what he had done. His mind had closed, hated anything with a ridge and fang in complete alliance with Buffy and the others.

There was no argument. Vampires were bad, were evil—unless they had souls. And even then they seemed to be the harbinger of death and prophetic crap.

Xander couldn’t help but cringe into the silence of the interior. He was so conflicted about Spike. His actual deeds didn’t add up to the ones in Giles’s books, so how in Hell’s name was he supposed to know which was the real vampire?

Two words held the answer to it all; a sentiment that Angel—as broody and consumed with guilt that he supposedly was—never even attempted.

William the Bloody had said he was sorry that Jesse was taken, turned to the side of bad. And the little bump of roughness in the voice that had spoken the apology belied more than a speck of truth. More than a grain of honest feeling for his pain. Xander was shocked out of his brain, but strangely reassured as well.

“Thanks,” he muttered at last, answered by a relieved exhalation from vampire lungs. “It means a lot that you’d apologise for something you weren’t responsible for.”

Spike nodded and left the truce at that. It was time to get onto other things, other worries that he hoped didn’t counteract the hurdle he’d just cleared.

“Red tell you about our other little problem?”

“Angel doing the spooky evil stalker impression? Yeah, she filled me in. Quite a night you’ve all had.” His voice was a mixture of tease and hurt—Spike could only assume because he’d been the last to know.

“Nobody thought he’d come for you; never been in your place, yeah?”

“Still, might’ve been nice to know. I hate it when I get left out of the loop.”

Spike offered an ironic snort. He knew all too well what it was like to be kept out of the loop by this lot—particularly by the one currently at his side.

“Anyway, always thought Mr. I-Brood-Better-Than-You, Hear-Me-Roar would break the soul train eventually.”

Spike looked at the boy with new admiration at his coolness under pressure and thanked him again for being such a loser in his unamended future as to rend him opportunity of this little jaunt in the past.

They drove a street in silence, broken when Xander had thought of another oddity to add to the list he was compiling mentally about Spike.

“So, why am I your new pet project all of a sudden?”

Spike answered him with a cocky grin that showed a happiness that had been absent from his unlife for way too long.

“Harris, with the role models you’ve got, you need all the help you can get to be the kind of man who…” He stopped as memories bombarded him. Visions of when Buffy hadn’t been cruel or hateful, when she had actually treated him with the kind of trust that would leave him to care for her sister. “You need help to be a man—unless you’re beggin’ to be like your ol’ man or Rupert.”

Xander’s eyes widened in comical alarm, and they both snickered in agreement. Not the best of options. Way far from the coolest.

“And you think you’re the man to do it?” Xander yipped, incredulous at the turn of the morning—and his life.

The grin bolstered the human’s confidence and Spike continued his new effort at flashing his teeth.

“Seein’ as how I only recently was taught the right path of how to be just the right kind of man, I figure the lessons might still be kinda fresh. I’m game if you are, mate. Can speed along the learnin’ curve together if you want.” The fact that the boy would be learning about not leaving his girl for any reason couldn’t be a bad thing. The insecurities that he’d held, contributing to the break-up of his wedding could only be helped if Spike took this mission seriously. Xander needed to know that he was in no way like his deadbeat father—so when he decided to take that leap with Anya, he would have the confidence to know it.

It was out and out hilarious, and Xander just loved the idea of it. A dysfunctional teen and a formerly evil vamp along the road to manhood. It had too many opportune moments for hilarity to pass up.

“You’re on,” he committed, just as Spike rolled to a stop outside the mall. “What? You gonna buy me my very first hammer, dad?”

Spike rolled his eyes at the good-natured ribbing and opened the door, hesitating still only slightly at his renewed journey in the full sun.

“Picked up the keys and signed contracts. New place is ready to be moved into. Thought maybe should fill it up with something, you know. Otherwise I’ll be livin’ in a rather depressingly empty space. ‘Sides, need a fridge at leas’ for my blood.”

Xander grimaced, but followed faithfully as they made their way through the throng of people that never seemed to ever leave the place.

“Right Whelp, battle plan. Get in, get out. Any questions?”

Xander laughed at the wary scanning of the crowd Spike was making, and not even once wondered if the vamp was sizing up meals. As a man, he took for granted the horror at needing to shop for anything as fast as possible.

“So, you’ll need some furniture…”

“Not too much,” interjected the vamp. “Thought Buffy might like to pick out some things,” he mumbled, almost embarrassed that he had seemed more and more like his poncy human self the longer he stayed in the past and his humane side was coddled.

“Paper plates and cups and cutlery should do it. No washin’ up. Vamps are allergic to dishpan hands.”

Xander lit up with the excitement of easy—what trouble could they have picking out regulation paper plates. He slapped his hands together and bounced on his heels.

“Hand over the cash, Bleachboy, and I’ll get onto the supermarket. You eat food and stuff? I'm on it.” And he was off before Spike could open his mouth and offer any advice about what he might like to reside in his cupboards. The money hit Harris’s palm and the boy was gone.

“Meet you back here in an hour.” He had the fortitude to call before the boy disappeared completely amongst the crowd. Only the back of a hand waving in the air reassured him the instruction had been agreed upon. He had the feeling he was going to end up with a pantry floor to ceiling with Cheetos.

With a small niggling sense of apprehension, he stepped into a store and quickly picked out a decent sized refrigerator. Next stop, he needed a bed. Not usually very fussy, he found one he thought Buffy would like and put in his instructions for immediate delivery. He added pillows, comforters, and then got lost in the huge display of bedding.

His fingers slid over black satin, getting lost in the dream of it draping Buffy’s golden skin. He tossed the package on the pile, passing by a display of the palest pink sheets in the same sheen. Giving up to his normal habit of impulse, he grabbed up a set and added it to his embarrassingly well considered purchases.

The salesperson at the register raised a brow, more than impressed that a man who looked like he bordered on gothic extremes could pick out such delicate bedding and have everything match so prettily. As she tallied and the pile switched sides, she smiled, for buried under the splashes of feminine pink she found the completely separate set of sheets, blankets and the like in black and the deepest of reds. The total made her eyes cross, and she smiled in extreme good humour as he handed over more cash and left the instruction for everything to be delivered together, paying extra for the privilege.

Then he was off in a whirlwind of black leather and she couldn’t help but swoon. Some woman out there was an extremely lucky lady.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He let her up, finally. Skin tarnished by dried streaks of her own blood, she looked like a priceless work of art, all torn and cut and bruised. To him, she had never looked more beautiful as now—punished and now forgiven for her crimes. He would spend the night showing his gratitude for her bringing him back, returning him to the life he was killed to live.

He felt amazed at how differently things felt. How fresh and fragrant the fear felt now that he was geared to enjoy rather than grieve it. His darling childe was responsible for it all, for saving him and allowing him to enjoy the smorgasbord of the Hellmouth. This time it was better, so much better. He had far more appreciation for the kill, for the opportunity to tear lives apart with his fangs—far more artistic appreciation for the colour red in all its pretty hues. Scarlet, ruby, garnet, cerise: they all told his story in the most evil detail that he couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

Dru was weak; he could see the damage his fangs had wrought on her and a small twinge shook him—a left over perhaps from being his disgusting alter-ego. However, the guilt-laden idiot had spent weeks getting his childe all healthy on sire’s blood, and in one night of frenzied punishment, he had lost most of it from her body.

It felt kinda fun, though. Like baptism of his renewed unlife in his own blood. It was more than fitting, and it tasted so sweet. But now his only family was left almost drained, and he found weakness abhorrent; disgusting. It was unfortunate, but he had a fondness for Dru. And even more, he had a need. She seemed aware of secrets from their little William that he would do himself no favours to ignore.

“Come here, my sweet. Time for Daddy to kiss all Dru’s lovely bruises better.”

She hummed and cried as her body shook the few steps to stand before him. She was naked, her blue eyes shining with a vacancy he could feel nothing but proud of.

“That’s my girl.” And that cut to the crux of the matter. She was his and the only one he had left of the all important inner four. Somehow he thought it would be impossible to coax Spike back to their side, the pest’s soulless decisions confounding Angelus till his canines buzzed. Not that he would want the impetuous upstart barrelling in when his feral newness could possess Dru totally, destroy this town properly, and kill his grandchilde’s lady-love painfully.

He pushed her back on the bed and positioned her kneeling while he stood before her. As he claimed her lips in a show of slow and gentle she had not experienced in over a hundred years from her sire, he ran his hands through her hair and allowed himself to grieve for the lost members of his family.

His own hand had deprived them of Darla, the most stunning blonde he had ever laid eyes on and so much more—his maker. The soul had ripped her from him while his loyalties had been misplaced. While he had been controlled by an unnatural restraint that sucked the proverbial life out of him.

And William, the one who had always dragged them into some trouble or other because he couldn’t control his homicidal tendencies. Secretly, he was kind of proud of Spike. If the idiot hadn’t brought them to the brink of dusting over and over again he would have even told him so. But the fool kept causing situations that saw mob after angry mob track and chase them down. A vamp liked his quiet life—and Spike did nothing but continually compromise it.

As Dru’s hand found her way to his cock and gripped him hard, those small feelings of loss passed beyond him and he succumbed to her mouth, her luscious lips showing him a new existence. A fresh new tomorrow that would see them smashing their way through Sunnydale. If Spike wanted to act all soul-like without the benefit of having one, then Angelus was happy to let him watch as he bled the Slayer dry. Preferably while claiming the fuck weak little Angel had been deprived of with the shock emergence of Spike.

He lifted Dru and allowed her to wrap her legs round his waist and sink over his cock, soothed with the feel of her cold passage as it massaged his lust. He allowed her to move him for awhile, noticing with such lackadaisical fashion that her body was slowing, becoming more frail. With a gentle nudge he aimed her face to his neck, laughing out loud in amused bursts as her fangs were sunk in his throat and some of the plasma he had stolen from her was returned.

When he came it was with a few more vicious thrusts, an anger and strength for killing overcoming him. He threw his childe off his cock and back on the bed before bending over and grabbing his pants. In a rush he was dressed, looking down at a whimpering Dru with impatient irritation.

“Go clean up, Dru. Its time we left and find a new place to call home.”

He watched as her shudder turned into a full-blown vibration, her body thrumming with some kind of news that allowed his eagerness to be gone, to fall aside so that he could wait and share in its destruction.

The smile that broke through her vacant and slackened expression impressed him with its complete lack of goodness. Everything about his childe thrilled him; she reeked of evil intent and he felt his cock harden with the need to see her once again in action, remind himself how she could subdue a terrified victim with nothing more than her eyes. It was simply the most delicious thing he had ever witnessed, and he couldn’t believe how excited he was to see it again.

“I see it like it was Daddy, all stone and flowers…so pretty.” And she spoiled the enthusiasm with a pout. “But it’s all wrong this time. Naughty William will spoil the party before it’s even begun. Daddy must find somewhere new, somewhere even the nasty Slayer can’t find us. Somewhere with streamers and cake. Miss Edith doesn't like gardens...they need water to grow, and nothing ever grows for me.”

Angelus watched her with a frown creasing his usually smooth face. “So what you’re saying is, the gorgeous and empty mansion I already decided to move us to, is not such a good idea?” He began to pace, not even looking at Dru for an answer. He was well-versed enough to know that when she said something, explanation be damned, he’d want to listen. “Damn. Was a really nice spot, too. Okay, think. Need another place.”

On a pivot he saw Dru still collapsed and curled into a shivering ball on his bed. “Go clean up, Dru. It’s beyond time we were getting out of here. Move before the little Slayer comes along to attempt to dust us!”

His smile was cold as he continued the pacing. “Needs to be big enough to house the minions. Glam enough to fit the image. It’s fine, Dru. I’ll just eat the neighbours. They won’t think to look for us right next door.” It sounded satisfying enough, a little lunch with his new hideaway. But he was experienced enough to know that killing someone and taking over their place couldn’t be permanent—someone would come to call and he’d have to kill them too. Then another and another. Best he find somewhere as deserted as the original place he’d intended, keep them as far under the radar as possible till he could work out what his return to his demon roots would mean for him and Dru.

Despite having to alter his plans on the fly, as well as being stuck with the least capable of his get—weakened to the point of his own irritation—he felt like he was in an amazingly good mood. He felt like singing. Only songs he could think of were by some dickwad called Manilow—and that was so far from his current image he almost wanted to barf.

When he turned and still saw Dru wailing softly on the bed, he rolled his eyes in an attempt to tamp down his impatience and anger. Obviously words weren’t getting through to her. Lifting her from the bed with an uncharacteristic gentleness, he nudged her on her feet to the small bathroom, and set to checking out his souled existence in this place. Nothing bore reflecting on; nothing was of enough consequence to carry over into his new experience of undeath.

It was a timid Dru that exited the bathroom, still a little wet and dripping, fresh clothes covering the healing ruin of her skin. Angelus smiled as he enveloped her in his arms, rubbing his cock against the fabric covering her crotch.

“That’s much better. Now, go sit in the corner like a good little girl while Daddy looks in the classifieds and finds us a new home.”

She did as he said, dived into the corner like a mouse who had been trained by too many nasty zaps. But rather than subordinate in misery, she rocked back and forth and smiled. The pictures flittered in and out of her inner eye, and though her naughty Spike thought he could save the girl from her darling Daddy, he was too wicked and would be punished. With whips and chains and knives and the cruelest of water. Her daddy would make their wayward child bleed, would bring him home and make him stay. He might have forgotten who he was, but she knew the truth, and together, they could help him return to the dark.

Naughty boys that wandered in the light would always end up burned to a crisp.

Chapter 17

Breakfast without her vampire was a very pouty experience. As good as it was to share toasty pop-tart goodness with her best friend, spending it getting up to naughty things in the kitchen would have been equally as fun. Still, Buffy was feeling a little neglectful, and after the experience of soulless Angel last night—if the cool arms of Spike couldn’t protect her—commiserating with Willow was a really good second choice.

That Willow wasn’t interested much in the discussing of said evil soulless vamp was pretty much a huge giveaway, what with the almost blinding smile she hit Buffy with as soon as she had dressed and made her way into the kitchen. No traumatised teenager entered under a cloud of fear and worry. Oh no. Willow was after some form of pleasure by proxy tale. Buffy’s return grin was enough to tell the redhead that gossipy goodness was more than willing to be shared.

“So, that Spike has got some pretty smooth moves,” she began, and equal recall of his awkward and exposed tumble to the floor brought back that hideous outburst of girlish giggles that had driven him from the house in the first place.

During one of her gasps for breath, Buffy suddenly pictured in depth certain appendages that had been rather blatantly on display, and her eyes narrowed on her friend. Rather than expose her budding jealousy that her friend had seen Spike’s package—an appendage that she was becoming increasingly possessive of—she turned to the bottle of juice and replenished their glasses.

“So, things looked kinda hot between you two,” Willow ventured, despite the hot flare of blush that crept from her chest and neck to make her face flame.

Buffy’s flush was internal as her body reacted to the hotness that was Spike. Every single second she spent in his presence turned her heart to a thumping mess, so eager for his touch that she was clouding her logic with sensual fireworks on a daily basis. Then again, the mere thought of what she had gotten up to with his appendages steered her right into explosive territory.

Sometimes it was difficult to remember that she was still just sixteen, even if her birthday was looming in the nearish future. Recall of what she had asked of him, to take her finally—be her first, and hopefully her last—kept her skin buzzing with the prayer that the days would pass faster and faster until that date she had set for her deflowering was upon her. The day when she had decided to be shown that being bitten was not all about the muscles relaxing and drowning in a couple centimetres of dirty puddle water.

The truth was, every time Spike touched her was some kind of sensory overload. She was sure that if things didn’t reach some kind of natural conclusion soon, her whole body was going to disintegrate from frustration. The parts he touched always ended up satisfied—and big yay for the mature manliness that made certain he was a perfectionist in that regard—yet there were other parts, ones from the inside that she was beyond patient waiting for him to inflame.

“Will, do you think I’m a raving hobag if I say ‘I want his bod in all kinds of ways and all kinds of places right the hell now?’”

The widening of Willow’s eyes elicited a groan—torn from a throat that was desperate to say a varied combination of words, but as yet only relegated to crash around in her brain. I want you now. Get on your knees and beg. Tell me where you want my tongue. Be my everloving man-bitch.

I love you.

And that sentiment stopped her cold.

Sure, she had told him—and rather emphatically—that she was his girl. How could she consider anyone else when Spike consumed every cell of her body, every thought in her head, every beat of her heart? Since the second he touched her in the high school, she had been his. Nothing had ever felt so right in her life. Not even the comfort of holding a smooth stick of wood in her fist.

But he seemed so unsure of her. She might not have told him the words, but couldn’t he see it shining from her eyes, capturing him in her web of affection and drawing him in further and further until all she could see was a future with him by her side—loving and holding her and making her alive?

“Er, that was a rhetorical question, right?”

The smile on Buffy’s face was pure girl, enthusiasm for an event that all teenagers want to experience at one time or another. On this occasion, Willow took up the position of envious best friend, adopting her stern face to bring the seriousness closer to the surface.

“So, beyond cozy…I’m assuming you haven’t done…you know…’cause hey, best friend here. I’m meant to be the one you rush to with news of all the much having of the lusty moments. Which I’m seeing the evidence of muchness here. But not the ultimate moment, right?” Between her mix of embarrassment, shyness and rabid curiosity, Willow’s face was as red as the fuzzy top she was trying to wear with confidence.

Buffy was nodding enthusiastically. “Much having of the lusty moments, but no…no big one yet. I told him on my birthday.” Her mouth was opened, poised on the brink of spilling about her hopes for his fangs to make her his, when the thought that something like that might just freak her friend out too much.

“Birthday?” Willow squeaked before calming down within the topic and took a rather desperate swallow of the last of her juice. “You think you’ll be ready…for that…on your birthday?”

“Arrgghhh!” screamed Buffy before banging her forehead down on the surface of the kitchen island. “I’m ready now, Will. Every sweep of his fingertips on my skin puts me in another timezone. Every time that sexy voice says my name I want to attack him with kisses.”

Buffy chanced a glance at her friend, wondering what the reception to all her girly crush sentiments was. Other than a slight widening of shocked eyes, Willow’s demeanor was accepting, if not a little eager. The redhead leaned forward, chin resting in the palms of her hands as she struck the pose of the giddily excited.

“So, you think you’re ready? Really?”

Buffy zoned. Images of naked Spike running his hand over her, undressing her, sucking on her nipples ran like a fast-forward video. Blazing fire hit her right between the legs and she almost moaned as she clamped her knees together, pushing her weight down into the kitchen stool so as to relieve the pressure she had unwittingly inflamed.

“Will, its like…” She licked her lips while looking beyond her friend, trying to skip over the triple x-rated movie in her head to focus on his smile, just the sweet curve of his lips and the raspiness of his throat when he said her name. The way he spoke to her, the way her name seemed torn from his heart, melted her into goo. It struck a nerve so deep within her that she was left gasping—left wondering what she had been thinking in her childish crush on Angel. Sure, that relationship might of worked, might have been wholly satisfying if Spike had never entered her world, or if he had remained an evil bloodsucker she was committed to kill.

He hadn’t though. He’d presented himself to her as a semi-evil vamp with an amazing capacity for change, and for love. There was nothing about him that confused or scared her. She was completely confident in his feelings for her and so waiting any longer to share her body, share her soul with him seemed redundant.

“It’s like I can’t ever be complete without him. I…I really care about him and I want to show him that. He’s really sensitive and vulnerable.” Her voice was quiet as she set the word in stone. Admitted to the air and friend around her that Spike was exactly what she wanted. And as romantic as waiting to give him her virginity on her birthday may be, the fire that raged every time they touched—the danger that circled them at every turn she took around a graveyard—dictated that the time was too far in the distance. They needed to share this now before normal Hellmouth duties took the chance away from her.

And she needed to tell him how she really felt. Not just proclaim herself to be his like some schoolgirl asking to go steady. Every part of her belonged to him. It was elemental, and it was spiritual.

And the morning was passing too fast without him.

When she finally fell out of her daydream—images of writhing sweaty sex making way for nice innocent dancing, sharing laughter at a funny movie, or just walking while holding hands on patrol—it was to the very focused amusement of her friend.

“He’s vulnerable?” Willow teased. “But he’s like, a master vampire. And he’s evil. How can he be vulnerable?”

A chill crept along Buffy’s spine as she wondered the question. He was so atypical to everything she had been taught. What had altered his path so much that he was now completely devoted to her and was terrified she would question his motivations for being with her?

“Yeah, he has this intensity…it scares the crap out of me. It’s like he knows everything that’s to come, and he is so scared of it—of me—that he can’t believe that I really love him.”

Willow’s eyes shot open in surprise, and the girly buzz of gossip hit an all time new level.

“You love him? Are you sure? How can you tell? When did you know? Have you told him yet? Ha—”

“Whoa there, Will. That inspired a whole lot of stuff I’m not ready for. Don’t suppose you would accept it was just a slip of the tongue?”

Willow frantically shook her head, her lips clamped so as not to barrage the blonde with another onslaught of desperate questions. Hoping her silence might just precipitate some pretty juicy answers.

Buffy sighed at the giddy light sparkling in Willow’s eyes and knew it was hopeless. She’d let too many cats out of her bag of a big mouth and she would have to unload before the excitement of knowing she was in love killed her.

The decision made, a smile of epic happiness lit up her face and the thrill that came with sharing animated her whole body. Arms were flung and giggles were caught in pockets of air; passionate longing tinged her skin and joy played havoc with her composure.

“Nah ah,” Willow responded with her own burst of high. Excitable hormones lent the kitchen a kind of buzz of expectation and Buffy let her mind wander, thoughts of timing and experience flitting through her mind’s eye.

Thoughts of protective Spike lodging there firmly. Yeah, it so was love when she couldn’t distance him from even her most mundane thoughts.

“Yes, I love him. I do.” Buffy exhaled in the dreamiest fashion of romantic sappiness she was capable of.

Willow clapped, excitement racing through the pair of them till they both were bouncing and giggling on their stools—breakfast long forgotten in favour of other, meatier fare.

“Oh, that is just so wow. And you trust him completely? Not that I think you shouldn’t trust him. And he is pretty gorgeous…”

“Hey now…” Buffy interrupted with a steely eye. “He’s my gorgeous…you go find your own gorgeous.”

Willow crumpled slightly, but her smile still beamed across to her friend.

“I don’t know. Xander isn’t interested, no matter how many little hints I give him. Maybe I’m just too much of spaz for boys to like me.” Willow revealed her fear in a little girl voice resigned to be one of those girls left on the shelf.

“Oh, pffft!” Buffy exclaimed with a swat of her hand in the air. “It’s Halloween tomorrow. We’ll make Xander take notice.”

“We will?” the redhead squeaked, suddenly sitting up straight with an eagerness sparkling in her green eyes.

“Oh yeah, we so will. We’ll make both of those boy’s eyes pop out of their heads.” She paused. “Well, boy and man, ‘cause Spike is so not a boy.”

“Uh huh,” Willow enthusiastically agreed and the rest of the morning was lost to nervy, embarrassed giggles.

It was shaping up to be a good day; Angelus completely pushed to the back of their minds as crush objects inspired steamy thoughts.

With a bit of luck, thought Buffy, it would be the day.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Spike watched in amazed horror as Xander shoved his pantry full of ‘crispy goodness’ and useless caloried food. Cans of soda and various other non-perishables that would be better in the fridge waited on the kitchen bench for the equipment to be delivered. Spike flung the set of keys onto the bench beside a UHT carton of milk, and looked around with undisguised pleasure.

Uncovered windows allowed the entire living area to be bathed in sunlight, the subtle shade of yellow making the place warm and cozy. It was so opposite to what he was used to in the crypt that he felt momentarily stunned as his eyes prickled a little with his feeling.

“Not too shabby, Dad. Not shabby at all,” garbled Xander around a mouth full of chips.

Spike couldn’t help raise an eyebrow, wondering if he could get away with bestowing a thorough thrashing on the by who just wouldn’t quit with the ‘dad’ analogies.

“Would you just leave it alone?” he said in exasperation and watched in fascination as the irritated tone of his voice actually halted the whelp’s jaw from munching.

“Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

Eyes of mahogany scanned the empty space with interest, slowly lingering on the doors off the room that led to bedrooms and Spike swallowed. He’d had an idea—sort of an unknown effort on his part to make it up to the boy he was quickly beginning to like for all the ugliness of their past relationship. Or at least his past, as how things stood now Spike was certain the animosity they routinely threw at each other was long gone.

It was an idea that held much merit, in more ways than one, yet he seemed hesitant to bring it up. The kid’s age was an issue, and despite living in that hideous basement, he really hadn’t had the opportunity to venture upstairs and mingle with his hosts. But he’d had enough of the elder Harris’ to know—their son would live in a basement!

“Look, I was wonderin’…” He paused, couldn’t go on as the words suddenly caught in this throat. Did he really want to do this? Was it fair on the boy, or even on Buffy? It would curb some of his plans, but it would also solve some problems, and make his place the thing he had set out to provide for all of them. A safe haven. Being a vamp, and as the sole inhabitant, it wasn’t immune to allowing unwanted visitors of the undead variety past his doorway.

Gritting his teeth in determination, and not a little hope, he opened his mouth and allowed the words to spill from his lips.

“’S two bedrooms, right? Was thinking, if it won’t cause you trouble with your family, if you’d like one of the rooms. You know, to live in.”

As Xander opened his mouth, shock obvious on his face, Spike raced on. He was suddenly eager to postpone whatever objection the brunette could verbalise, and threw out phrases and conditions till he ran out of things to say.

“An’ it wont be like you’ll be sittin’ round and partyin’ all day. You’ve still school to get through, an’ I can probably help with that if you want. An’ there’ll be none of this constant fatty calories—we’ll learn to cook. Chips as a snack only, yeah? I won’ get in your hair s’long as you bloody stay out of mine.” He stopped as soon as he saw Harris’s eyes glaze over while staring at his hair. “I meant it figuratively, boy. You’ve got some serious learnin’ to catch up on.” Spike couldn’t help but grin.

Xander’s lips flapped open and closed, the fish impression the one endearing him to Willow if he but knew it.

“Thanks,” he struggled out at last as his hand dived into the packet of crisps again and he smiled his agreement. “I’ll talk to the ‘rents about it after Halloween.”

“You’ll be doin’ us all a favour, mate. Place isn’ protected with just a vamp in ‘ere, and I want all you lot to think of it as a safe place if ever you need it.”

Xander nodded dumbly for a moment and an awkward silence stretched to minutes, only broken by a knock on the door. Spike let the deliverymen in and his new bed, mattress and fridge started their journey into his home. His eyes followed the workers, glancing again at the empty space he was hoping Buffy would help him fill. It was all for her, after all, and he wanted her to be cozy. Would be a bit awkward with her friend living right under their nose, but the rush of something in his gut made him feel happy for doing a good thing. A right thing that he thought could hopefully benefit the boy in time to come. As long as he could get rid of him occasionally, the company should be good.

And God, did he say it was Halloween? The most bloody useless day on the calendar. Oh well, he could get busy helping the gypsy girl tackle the soul restoration spell while he kept the bint alive.

He just hoped she wasn’t stubborn.

Deliverymen left, Harris gone home—another packet of crisps firmly in hand—he set to making the bed. His hand lingered over the pink sheets, hesitating for only a fraction before he kicked them under the bed and seized the black. Minutes had him a nicely made bed and fluffed up pillows, just in time to hear the little cough at his door and the small voice calling out his name.

“Spike?”

And then there she was, glowing in the dimming sunlight of his living room with the prettiest smile he’d seen.

“’Ello, love,” he greeted as he slowly made his way to her, his stride sexy as his shoulders rolled.

When he reached her and ran his hands down her arms, he clued in to the goosebumps that roughened her skin and he sniffed, scenting finally her apprehension mingled in with a subtle scent of passion. He was immediately caught in her spell, unable to control the descent of his head as his mouth yearned to possess hers.

She made no move to resist as his lips consumed her, her coat and bag hitting the floor as she wound her arms around his neck. Still close to the door, Spike allowed a hand to seek the hard surface of the wood and slammed it shut, moving forward and taking her backward to make sure it was locked before crushing her against the surface. His tongue dived into the warmth of her mouth, teasing her own into play and he moaned low in his throat.

God, she drove him wild. Drove him to want too much. Drove him to insanity while he tried to wait for her to grow up. As lips smoothed over each other, caressed each other into surrender, his hands held her. Cherished her as he told her with his heart in his throat and his lips against hers how he felt.

And as the gentleness of it continued, he felt she knew.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

There was nothing for it but to pat himself heartily on the back. He’d outdone himself and the fact that Dru was strangely quiet—no whimpering or laughing—left him with a supreme sense of satisfaction.

Angelus led his only acknowledged family up the small flight of stairs and swept her inside. It was pure genius really, and he couldn’t help but smile with the most manic of pleasure as he took in the bare entry. Stone, stone everywhere. It was blissfully flame retardant, and he just loved it. Without words he led her through to the back, delighting at her gasp. The flowers of the garden wound around everything, and again the place was abundant in stone fittings.

“But my Angel, it’s the same, yet safe. Tea parties and gatherings we will hold aplenty here. Our wayward William will even hang from the walls to be back with us. It’s very wicked what you have done, Daddy.”

Completely chuffed, Angelus puffed out his chest and rocked back on his heels, his eyes sweeping his new home. He noticed the emptiness and his eyes twinkled.


“Billy boy left behind his possessions, Dru. Not the best clean up he’s ever done. Best you wait here while I go out and round up the help. If we set it all up quickly, then I promise you a night of dancing and blood.”

Dru giggled, her arms pulling herself in tight as she became lost in her mind. Things were so very different this time, and yet Spike had no clue. She could see them delving and diving though his memories until they could break him. And break him was even her goal, because even though Daddy had arisen and taken his patriarchal rights of the household, naughty William should never have turned toward the light. Nothing could excuse his messing with fallen angels when Daddy was all of the heavenly messenger they needed.

The darkest of princesses spun in a wide circle, momentum pulling her arms from her sides until she was dancing gaily amongst images of her childe as he bled, as he mourned the death of the light, as he was pulled back under their influence. He’d been theirs once—had floundered in his future—but she would make sure it wasn’t too late.

Her William would be one of them, even if Daddy did not expect or want it.

It would never be too late to welcome her childe home.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~


She knew it. Leave a guy with a new place and a girl to entertain, and he’ll race right out and buy a great big monstrosity of a bed. That she had her back flat on some rather sumptuous bedding meant little to her right now. What mattered was that Spike was not making with the smoochies. Well, not the x-rated smoochies anyway. Sure his tongue was avidly searching her mouth, and she was feeling lightheaded from the mind-blowing kisses, but now that she had made the decision, did she have to initiate it too? It wasn’t like she offered her virginity everyday, so the etiquette of passing on the news was just a little intimidating. It wasn’t like he’d ever had trouble taking it several levels above where they were right now every other time they got within a metre of each other. He touched her in the nice places; it was what he did.

His hand innocently coasted over her clothes, light touches mapping out her curves, but nothing was being removed, and as naïve about such things as she might be, Buffy was pretty sure that the first step to losing said innocence would be the removal of clothes.

So it was up to her, then. Not like she hadn’t been the hobag of the century with him recently, anyway.

His fingers twirled strands of her hair as she pushed the length of her body harder against his, feeling the rigid length of him against her thigh. Just the thought of what she was about to do, about to experience set her body preparing for the hoped for invasion. The room was dark, the sun finally submitting to rest over the other side of the world. And she felt consumed within her bubble of love for this man. This being that was so much more man than vampire.

As Buffy sucked on his bottom lip, licking the skin captured between her teeth, her hand wandered up underneath the back of his loosened t-shirt. The taut strength of his muscles turned her into a quivering mass and she practically melted into the surface of him—leaving hardly a patch of her front not touching him. Her leg curled around his thigh, dragging his pelvis to brush against her heat and she moaned.

Not that the kissing hadn’t been nice, but usually the passion had been ratcheted up a few paces by now, and Buffy was getting impatient. But just those two little moves to get closer had sparked a difference and the message of their embrace changed. Just like that Spike inflamed every molecule of her body.

She nearly started screaming as he started to rub against her crotch, her moisture levels increasing the bolder the movements became. She’d worn a skirt today—specifically hoping for such an eventuality, and now it was bunched up uncomfortably around her hips. Thanking God for the invention of elastic waistbands, she shimmied quite erotically against Spike’s aroused body and finally got it around her ankles.

Being gloriously male, Spike didn’t realise what Buffy was up to with her erratic little dance against all his good bits until his hand brushed against completely bare skin. His heart in his eyes, he pulled back to watch her. He saw the lustful haze that robbed her of sense, could smell how her hormones had control of her body, and his heart dropped. He loved her so much, and yet he was repeating history by making her lose her head through passion. Though in his future he had savaged Buffy into a fighting fuck, this time he had clouded her judgement with sensory overload.

It left a heavy weight of fear in his gut.

God, this opportunity just tore at him. What decision did he make? Her age, who she was, what they could be together all ripped him apart so that his general sense of what was right was completely askew. It was difficult at the best of times and he usually relied on doing the opposite of what he had done before to guarantee a different outcome.

But this…situation with Buffy was completely beyond his reason. His experience with her was so diverse and yet none of it seemed to be able to guide him. He’d done good things for her and received promises of consideration in return, only to be smacked in the balls and have his nose broken the very next opportunity she had to see him differently but didn’t.

He loved her.

It was as plain as night and just as irreversible. Yet he was terrified of going down the wrong track, of making the wrong bloody call in this situation. If he was his normal evil self he’d take her, read her body for the screaming harlot it was emulating with no questions asked and no sense of guilt or feelings in response.

But this wasn’t the body of experience. It was one of adolescent curiosity and one he didn’t want to defile in that way. This was a body and a woman he wanted to cherish for the rest of her life. Wanted to lavish with gifts of beauty and strength for as long as she could tolerate his presence. But the writhing and heat she was stirring him with was reaching a breaking point and he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Wrenching his lips away, he removed her leg from over the top of his and rolled to his back, gasping unneeded breaths while he desperately tried to think. Her whimpers struck his heart but he knew better than to suspect anything but thwarted desire. The scent of tears as she rolled to her side away from him and covering herself with the blanket at the foot of the bed was his first clue that he’d already started with the mistakes.

“Buffy, luv. What’s wrong?” His heart lodged firmly in his throat while he waited for her to answer. The gentle shake of her shoulders confirmed it—he’d fucked it all up again. He was inept at trying to do this human thing. Without a soul to guide him he just didn’t have a clue, couldn’t even train himself to have a clue no matter what he did.

If he wanted her he would have to change. There was no other way of looking at the situation. The time had come for him to face the fact that his Buffy had always been right about him. He was a soulless monster and would always wallow beneath her if he didn’t have the last piece of humanity stamped within him. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t risk the pain that it would cause both him and her.

“Buffy, whatever I did, I’m sorry, pet. Please don’t cry.” He curled into her back, his lips finding some bare skin on her shoulder around the straps of her skimpy top. His hand found one of hers and he laced their fingers together as he swallowed against his own lump of emotion.

Everything about his relationship with Buffy hurt. The not knowing how to go about loving her in the way she deserved. The inability to take the step back and let her grow up before he pushed her. He’d always thought he could read her well, but since facing the blunt punch to the nose on too many occasions, he’d lost the confidence that came with being the cocky Big Bad.

In his arms she shuddered, allowing the silent tears to reverberate through her body rather than let the sobs out to be heard. Hopelessness lent her head a weariness that had her burying her face in her free hand as well as the one joined to him. Her heart hurt, the rejection far more impact for something that had never been voluble in offering, still the ache was agonising all the same. Without the security of his loving arms she felt bereft, cast adrift in a swirl of confusion. She didn’t have the maturity to handle the weight of these feelings. She felt the deep power of her love for him, but couldn’t find the place that would help her deal with his lack of wanting her.

And then he was kissing her shoulder and the affection she felt for him rose again with her hope. Her body sparked with little splinters of fire, and the tears dried up as she arched her back into him. Only then when she had begun to banish the panic from her heart did she take in the meaning of his words. Words that cast a disconcerted air around their reclining bodies. Words that dove deep within her and made her feel the reality of the situation.

She’d wanted her first time with him to be momentous, and he was telling her with his fear and gentleness that it was also for him. It would be a moment for both of them to treasure, and she had made a mistake by not sharing words with him first. Not thinking that such a situation deserved a clearheaded go ahead for the vamp that held off and never allowed them to go too far.

Taking the chance—yet terrified her heart could end up shredded—she rolled back to watch him. A finger traced over his sharp cheekbone as she took a dive into the clear blue of his eyes.

“I’m ready, Spike. I don’t want to wait to be with you anymore.”

The awe he revealed in the way his shining eyes couldn’t move from hers was the answer she needed. He felt it too, felt everything her young body was rejoicing in and more.

“Are you sure? I thought you wanted to wait for your birthday. You’re still so young…”

She cut him off with her lips, the taste between them salty and wet but a move forward from before. It was short this time though, a promise of what was to come if only he would trust her mind and heart on this issue.

“But why, luv? Why now? We can wait; don’t do it just because it feels good.”

Something cold and nasty clenched his heart as he thought those words, memories of being used to feel tearing through his body and almost having him back from the bed in remembered hurt.

Her eyes studied him in a way she had never done before; saw things he’d always been able to hide from his future Buffy. The vulnerability that had always been there had been relatively easy to mask from a Buffy who had no interest in his feelings. But this one needed them, needed to be able to tell how much he felt for her was real. The sincerity was enough, and she smiled.

“It isn’t hormones, Spike,” she grinned, feeling far happier than just a short time ago.

He blinked unintelligently at her. She was trying to tell him something, but the twist his head and heart were in he was incapable with implicit messages.

“You’re gonna have to tell me, pet. I’m all out of bloody interpretive abilities right now.”

The dark atmosphere lifted from the room and she heaved a big sigh of relief. He wasn’t rejecting her; he was scared, too. And seeing fear on a being over a century old was rather humbling.

Buffy flung the blanket aside, bearing her legs to him. She was covered now by just her panties and the little blue halter top and she could already feel the burn on her skin as his eyes swept her figure from head to toe. She curled a fist into the hem of his black tee and rubbed her inner wrist against the cool skin of his belly.

“I know I’m ready for this, Spike.”

His raised eyebrow encouraged her to continue, to tell him in words why she believed she was ready despite the hum of his body at her sensual touch.

“I’m ready because I love you. I want to belong to you.”

His harsh indrawn breath frightened her for a moment, but then the shine of his eyes as he watched her with pure emotion shocked her out of worry.

“Oh Buffy, please say you mean it.”

His head, it spun as he watched the world spin around her face. It was like absent circulating blood thundered through his veins until the haze behind his eyes was red and swirling. Her words, her voice offered him paradise and he couldn’t bear the intensity, couldn’t take the fear that something would rise up and steal it away from him.

Her hand scooted under the fabric of his shirt and skimmed his flesh right up to his chest. She caught him in her gaze before offering him her own watery worship.

“I love you, and I am totally sure. I want you to make love to me. Please,” she asked shyly, and that was all it took.

His mouth fought hers ferociously as he held his hands back, wanting the kiss to betray the depth of his fervor for her as he took the time to reach some sense of calm. He needed to find gentle before he took their touching further, needed to not make her first time a frenzy she would be frightened of.

“Oh Buffy, I love you so much,” he whispered in the husky, sexy voice that drove her wild. “Gonna show you how much, baby.” And then words were too much, only stood in the way of the sensation she was dying for.

Every thought shot out of Buffy’s head when she at last felt his hands on her skin, skating lightly over her torso as he lifted the hem of her top and much too slowly over her head. Chilled air hit her exposed nipples a second before his cool lips closed around one; the other teased to agony by his fingers.

Her leg found its earlier position, slung across his thigh, and as she lay against his still clothed body while she was almost completely naked she whimpered in sensual misery. The removal of his shirt had her almost weeping in distraction, every inch of her skin on fire from his touch, from his lips as they searched out every one of her hidden spots and teased them to a fury.

Her eager hands cupped the bulge in the front of his jeans, squeezing almost too hard before undoing the stud and lowering the zip. Between them both he was naked and the jeans flung across the room, landing in a disorganised pile with both their shirts near the door.

It left her sodden panties, pretty pink cotton that was a little on the skimpy side but chosen exactly for that reason. Because he made her feel sexy, made her feel wanton and she thought she would die if he didn’t stop staring at them and take them off her. There was no innocent flush to her skin; she was so eager to feel his hands and lips on her body that the frantic need sidetracked her and she forgot her shyness.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered reverently before ducking down and teasing the side straps with his teeth and tongue. He traced the line around her thigh, reminiscent of the night they had first met in the school, and it brought a rushing spasm of excitement to her belly.

Finally he hooked his finger into the strap and slowly dragged them down her legs and off. They fell off his finger to the floor beside the bed, both their eyes following the descent.

Then his lips burned a path across her flesh as he made it back to her own, the desire he blasted her with almost separating her spirit from her body.

“You are mine. I love you with all that I am. My body will possess you with all I can be. Together we will fight everything in our path, and I will never let you lose your way. I will never let you go.”

Buffy felt the words in her womb, the clenching of both wonder but a mounting worry at his possessiveness. But it wasn’t a surprise. She’d known he would be like this, that if she gave him her heart it would mean that she accepted the nature of his beast. His demon.

“Spike? How can you love me? Without a soul, how can it be possible?”

He knew it would come, that lack of knowledge would yank his balls. Bloody hell it was tiring, and he was about to push himself from her without explanation when he felt her soft fingertip smooth over his eyebrow, soothing the demon that had emerged in his distraction.

“It’s not rejection,” she promised in her scared little girl voice. “I just want to be sure that all of you loves me, the man as well as the demon. I couldn’t bear it if it was just half of you and someday you left me.”

His relief was almost incapacitating.

For the first time he succumbed; he wept into her collarbone as his demon face faded back into the background. God, he couldn’t deal with how much he loved her. Couldn’t resolve how tender she was being to him when all he’d been dealt from the other Buffy was her anger and hate of him. It couldn’t be real. That he have this and her heart too. How the fuck could it all be so different?

Courage. It raced through him like raging floodwaters and he finally lifted his head. It was there, as plain as day—her love shining as glorious as the morning sun.

“It’s all of me. How could I love you with anything less than all of what I am? It’s not bleeding possible. Demon loved you first, pet.”

“Oh,” she said, stunned into speechlessness. There was no other option but to bring his lips back to hers, and begin the dance that she never wanted to give up. She wanted him to always be there, always touching and holding her like this. In the back of her mind she knew it mightn’t be for long; a Slayer’s lifespan wasn’t lengthy, but for however long she had she wanted to be his. To dance within his arms and his heart till they could be no more.

They moved against each other, moist skin transferring to the cool body above it while Buffy’s tongue battled his into a submissive love. A love where she offered her strength and commitment. Gave him her heart to protect and hold forever as she would never need it back. Not from him.

She loved him, and that made everything they were doing now right. Making her age irrelevant in the number of years. No sixteen year-old could be so sure of whom her partner was, of where her life laid in the scheme of the world.

His lips broke the pattern to drag across her jaw, drifting down until he caught her nipple again. His tongue teased and flicked her into a mass of nervous need, his hands busy crushing the curls between her legs. Desire taught her to part her thighs, and as she did his fingers delved into her heat, slicking her around her pussy lips and missing her aching clit.

“Spike,” she moaned, tangling her fingers in the stiff curls, her grip tightening painfully as his lips diverted down to seek more. And then his mouth clamped around her hardened nub, sucking and stretching it deep into his mouth even as he rolled her hips against his direction. Buffy writhed in ecstasy as his tongue flicked a rhythm against the sensitive nerve and she felt the tension build from her pussy, up, up until it screamed from her throat in a hoarse cry of devotion.

Immediately he was back at her mouth, furiously licking up the tears she hadn’t even known she’d shed as he rubbed the head of his cock against her increased wetness. Her leg gripped his hips as she tried to haul him in closer, moaning as the bell-shaped tip brushed continuously over her sensitive nubbin.

“Please, please,” she sobbed against his lips, and hissed as he moved fractionally forward, stretching her outer lips to an accommodating cover.

“Ssh,” he soothed as he so slowly asserted his place within her, her slickened walls squeezing his girth as he pushed against them, engulfed in overwhelming heat and fluid. He clenched his jaw as the molten feel of her passage strangled him. Only half in and he was about to explode.

It was so different to what he knew; was so more meaningful that he hadn’t had to fight for this possession. Didn’t have to bring down a building to experience the exquisite torture of having her.

He would never have believed that the difference of her love would be so monumental. He thought having her in his bed, knowing she felt for him—even if she refused to allow the sentiment past her lips—was as meaningful as he would need. But as he reached the barrier that surrendered any argument of being her first, as he swept it aside with the minimal tear of pain, he realised that her eager love made all the difference.

And then he was fully rested within her, deep breaths alarming him with the need to draw in air, the need to feel more like a virginal man than even William probably had. It was beyond different, this. He felt her tentative movement against him and he steadied her, wanting the sensation to be prolonged for just a few moments till he could grasp his sanity back. Know the true meaning behind devotion before he taught it to her.

Buffy couldn’t hold still a second longer. No matter how she tried her hips began to circle, the little sparks of sensation driving her impulses. Every tiny sensation made her feel like she was going to die. She whispered kisses against his eyelids, his temple, his nose and jaw before finally releasing some of the tension in a drugging kiss that stole her breath and her mind. Her arms were desperately wound around his head, holding him so close that she could feel the bruise forming under his hipbone.

She parted her legs wider and wound both around him, urging with the subtle lift of her pelvis that she needed more, craved more. When he slid out a short distance Buffy felt a swoon build up as blood drained from her limbs. Her muscles were tightly wound, and then he was moving, a back and forth riff with a background moaning and screaming song that leapt from her lips.

His shoulders rolled against her grip as his lower body pumped his cock into her, the pace increasing as the blistering heat spread throughout her body. Nerves built in tension, the tearing sliding sensation of his girth stretching her overeager muscles that even she could feel were involuntarily strangling the reason out of him. Her nipples stung, her belly buzzed and at last she felt it. The seizing of everything ready for a fierce, life-altering explosion. Her body arched into him, her back off the bed as her head reared back, nails clawing at his back to hold him as close to her as she possibly could.

His cock began to pulse within her, nudging at the spongy walls that kept him tightly in place and he pounded her hard, knowing that the end was so near but torn about how much he wanted it. The journey had been such exquisite pain and he was afraid that he might lose it completely if he finally let himself go.

“Oh Spike,” Buffy cried and he felt another restraint snap and his control compromised. “Please, please, please,” she panted against his lips, emotion curling and transferring to both of them and lodging stubbornly in two throats. Her fingers rubbed at his brow, teeth nipping at his lips until the scent of his own blood rushed to his senses and his fangs pricked at his gums.

“Buffy, stop it baby.”

“I want you. I love you, Spike. Please,” she sobbed, emotions so out of control that reason had finally escaped her.

It was coming. The end speeding within a tidal wave of lust, and love and passion. And she was guiding his fangs to her throat.

“No,” he whispered huskily, voice breaking with the violence of his feelings. “Birthday, Buffy. Will share it with you on your birthday…this too intense…enough…Jus’ let me love you.”

Her accepting nod was the sign he had been waiting for and with a cry of euphoria he bit her breast with human teeth. He shoved himself in her hard and let it all go, feeling the hard vibration of her walls against the rigid need of his cock as he spent himself to a mental and physical drain. Everything went black, and not just from the darkness that had spread out in the room while they were busy. Every sense he had was spent and he could do nothing but collapse into his girl’s shuddering arms.

Time passed, Spike’s head cradled against her breast where he could hear her thundering heartbeat slow and finally settle into a more natural rhythm of rest. He felt lost, useless bar for the finger he trailed the path of his breath across her belly. He was almost too afraid to lift his head and see how what they had done affected her, but as her body began to shift in discomfort he slid unwillingly from her body to curl her against him and on their sides facing each other.

Spike chuckled at the giddy grin that lit up her whole face, stealing her lips for a sweet, gentle kiss.

Without words, Buffy rested her head in the crook of his arm, blinked sleepily and closed her eyes. She kissed his chest, rested her palm at the curve of his hip and relaxed at last into slumber, Spike watching her angelic face till he could feel himself drift off.

His final conclusion was that coming back in time had been more than worth it.

Buffy was worth everything.

Chapter 18

It was a completely different Willow that exited the Summers’ bathroom, arms wrapped in trepidation around the gaping sash of skin bared at her middle. She waited—knowing that Buffy was all friendy and not likely to burst out laughing at her sex-kitten interpretation gone bad, but still not completely sure what impulse might wring out of a person. If Buffy laughed, well…say hello ghosty costume from the costume shop.

Buffy smiled and Willow was stuck. Was this an on-the-edge-of-laughing kind of smile, or something else? Something kind of approvaly? Her complete lack of experience in this kind of situation just left a shuddering line of confusion, not able to risk one side of the possibility for fear of taking the wrong step. And making that step when she felt close to naked.

“You look fantastic, Will,” Buffy gushed in enthusiasm, all the while hiding her own minor embarrassment at her choice of costume.

“Oh,” whooshed out of Willow as the tension relaxed and her body slumped against the doorframe. “You too,” the redhead rushed in to add as the veil of her awkwardness was lifted fractionally. And Buffy did look pretty awesome.

“Thanks. It’s kind of hard to do Xena without the threatening cleavage. And the…you know…height.”

“But you do the brunette thing really well,” assured Willow, admiring the sleek thick hair of the wig.

Buffy grinned as she pulled Willow into her room and in front of the mirror. They stood staring at their reflection completely speechless, stomachs hurtling to the floor in a rally for returned propriety.

It took Buffy several swallows before she bucked up and got courageous.

“I guess we both know how to get sexy and wild with no repercussions.”

Willow smiled nervous encouragement, raising her fist to wave it uncertainly in the air.

“Yay, go us.”

Buffy giggled. “You are so going to make Xander’s eyes pop,” she told Willow gleefully. If there was one thing guaranteed to put a smile on her friend’s face, it would be Xander’s interest.

“Buffy, I-I don’t think I can really do this. I mean, it’s just not me.”

Buffy arched a brow. “And queen of the naked Amazon wannabes is my kick? I mean, do you actually see my cleavage?”

Willow snorted. “Oh yeah. Do I!”

Buffy rolled her eyes as she elbowed Willow in the ribs. Her friend rubbed the contact spot with a pout on her lips.

“Ow.”

“Come on. If I have to bare myself to all of Sunnydale, so do you. And I think I hear Xander at the door.”

Their light feet on the steps showed a hesitation about the coming confrontation that neither girl showed. Their smiles may have been a little forced but their determination never wavered. Even though Buffy knew better than to expect Spike at the door—having already agreed to his spending the early part of the night with Giles and Ms. Calendar to help in translating the soul curse—a little sliver of disappointment caught her off guard. The first hour of being dressed up was always the best. As the night wore on, so did the make-up and clothing. Right this minute, in front of Xander’s adolescent approving eye, she was fresh. Fresh and bulging from her costume.

Buffy pouted in a flash of discontent with the night’s plans. Then took a good look at her only male friend.

“Private Harris reporting for... Buffy! Lady of Buffdom, Duchess of Buffonia, I am in awe! I completely renounce spandex! Skin tight skimpy leather is without doubt my truest friend.”

He caressed his toy rifle like it was the leather incasing Buffy’s body. Or some other implement he would rather be reassuring with his touch. She felt herself flushing red, managing to stay still and not inspect her rather obvious display of skin for the altered complexion only through will and eagerness to showcase her other blushing friend to the object of her affections.

“Why thank you, kind sir.”

The Slayer stepped aside, allowing Xander’s first unobstructed view of his childhood play pal. Despite descending the stairs with Willow right behind her, Buffy was irrationally relieved to find her still there, still in the same skimpy outfit that she had exited the bedroom wearing. Somewhere in the back of her head, Buffy had half expected the redhead to race back to the room to retrieve her packaged ghost costume.

“Well, Private Harris is now split right down the middle, though the leather of the skirt variety still makes me Mr. Happy Man.”

Buffy smiled knowingly at Xander’s slight hitch in breath and grabbed her coat before leading them out of the front door.

“Now, Giles said that tonight is actually kind of dead for the undead. But now we have Angelus all explory and vengeful, we need to keep an eye out. Bonus though for keeping the vamp population indoors. Makes the search less of the needle in the haystack variety.”

Her friends stayed quiet despite her rousing speech about their current evil, eyes for nothing but each other.

“I am so glad we managed to bypass Snyder and not get saddled with a ton of kids while I have to keep a look out.”

Again she was met with distracted grins before attention quickly went back to admiring each other rather than her.

“What am I, chopped liver?” she huffed, her pout firmly in place.

“Oh, sorry Buff. Just a bit distracted.” Xander slung his toy rifle over his shoulder and straightened his back, looking for all the world like a confident soldier of years of experience.

“Of course you were,” Buffy agreed and giggled as he quickly ducked his eyes to look at the ground and Willow attempted to stop her face from blending with her hair.

She surrendered all attempts at conversation then and just walked. One foot in front of another until her pace meant she was leading the trio, the other two lagging further and further behind her sturdy pace. And so she walked and watched out, feeling miserable to be the one in front; the one aware of surrounding evil and yet lonely and bereft for the loss at her side. Stupid Spike for not wanting to walk with them anyway.

When Giles had mentioned the complete deadness of the Night for the Dead, Buffy had almost choked on her disbelief…until Spike had stepped in and agreed that the nasties liked their one night off in the year to rest up and be unpredictable. Her vision now was spotted with little scary people, all costumed up to scare their neighbours into coughing up the candy and filling their little sacks. Buffy found a smile tugging at her lips and she felt a release of tension. Maybe Giles was right and they wouldn’t see Angelus tonight. Maybe she’d gotten all dressed up in the skimp mode of seduction all for nothing.

Thoughts of Spike and the things he had made her body do and receive brought the rush of red back to her entire body and she grinned at the real reason she had adopted the Halloween tradition. She may have seized a leather wonderbra and leather wrist cuffs to emulate the buxom heroine, but she was dying for Spike to be her Hercules tonight. To take her back to those perfect moments in his arms when she could have sworn he’d taken her to a place they could exist forever—as long as they were together.

By the time Buffy twigged to the changes going on around her—pulling her out of the fertile imagination she had in regards to the joining of their naked and sweaty flesh—things had become slightly chaotic. Willow and Xander had lagged a decent distance behind, and once she had turned to locate them, Willow was standing back and pleading with Xander about something—she holding her hands up against his raised rifle. Without thought, Buffy had turned back and ate up the path to return to them. After a few mystified minutes, both she and Willow managed to work out that Xander no longer knew who he was or who they were. He swung his rifle around at each terrified scream that filtered through the night like it was his business to protect everyone from the monsters that dwelled in the shadows.

As miniature monsters jumped out from behind bushes; as altered children terrorised Sunnydale after dark, the girls could do nothing but rush their friend back home. In their panicked backtracking they managed to snag a ravaged Cordelia in a skintight catsuit.

Barricading the front door, Buffy took a few breaths and tried to work out what could possibly be wrong. Little groups of mini-monsters were rampaging gardens and letterboxes up and down the street, as well as some adults that Buffy recognised as some of the parents that had taken their children out—introducing them to the delights of the holiday celebrating the supernatural.

Preventing Xander from firing his rifle at menacing passers-by seemed to take all her energy and Buffy was so far at a loss. As she wrestled the door from him once more, fiercely wrenching the gun from his hands, she directed him forcefully to a chair.

“You’ll have to give me back my weapon, ma’am. You are not authorised to handle it and I will have to use whatever methods necessary in order to regain it.”

“I’d like to see you try, Soldierboy!” she huffed, rolling her eyes in irritation.

And when Xander set upon her to indeed relieve her of the weapon, she found herself involved in a fight fueled with confusion. Should she knock him flat on his ass so she could rest and think the situation out? Buffy hated to think of using her power against her friend, but the alternative left her occupied when she needed to be free of hassle and knee deep in finding out what the freak had happened to her night. And hopefully all without having her costume or hair altered in any way at all.

Sighing loudly, she overpowered her friend, bundled him into the basement and tied him to a chair.

“Where’d you get the nice shiny weapon, Xan?”

“It’s standard army issue, ma’am. You are in violation of the US Army. Untie me right now and I’ll consider not turning you in to my commanding…… officer.”

Buffy turned to Willow. “I thought this thing was a toy, but it looks like nice killing type bullets that’s he’s firing out there.”

“Oh no. I think he bought it from that costume shop. Ethan’s?”

Buffy frowned as she remembered having a quick look in there when she was looking for the perfect costume to knock Spike on his ass.

“The place that had that early era pink satin dress?”

Willow giggled at the memory. “Yeah. The one you said covered up too much flesh and you didn’t think you could wait how long it would take Spike to get it off you in one piece so you didn’t lose the deposit.”

“Oh, yeah,” Buffy admitted with a blush. “And Xena was so right for the flesh and skimpy…”

“Oh don’t worry, Buffy. It’s very sexy.”

They stopped at a snort from tied-up Xander.

“No man in his right mind would let his girl walk around in an outfit like that. That is a bedroom kind of costume. I can practically see your nipples.”

“Xander!” exclaimed Willow and Buffy together, the sixteen year olds suddenly feeling the need to cover up.

And nipples on display or not, Buffy felt an urgent need to get away from Xander’s roving eye.

“Cordelia,” she shouted back up the stairs, not quite believing the girl would agree to soldier-sit but knowing that she might need Willow to help her think out this mess.

The brunette argued herself hoarse about what Buffy asked of her, but settled in near the tied up Scooby like she was prepared for a long stay. Buffy raised a brow and hoped that the snark wasn’t covering an interest that might cause Willow pain. Right now she didn’t have time to worry about love lives or even friends.

She had a night to save.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It felt weird for Spike to sit in front of Rupert and help a woman he hadn’t even met with a spell his own Dru had encouraged murder to stop. Admittedly, back then he’d been proud of Dru’s violent impulses towards Buffy and her friends—had even slightly admired Angelus for his creativity in his torment. The extent of his change made him sometimes wonder if he was really Spike. He didn’t have a soul, yet what behaviour he exhibited to these Scoobies and toward Buffy seemed to imply that it wasn’t so much necessary as already developing.

He had always been a nonce for the power of love, but giving Buffy the credit for changing an evil yet displaced vampire into a veritable do gooder white hat seemed like a stretch. Without doubt he loved her, would do anything to keep her safe and happy and alive. But was he mocking his own ability to know right from wrong and crave against his demon for smiles instead of screams?

Buffy had started it; he had no doubt about it. If not for his altered feelings for the Slayer he might have just continued to find a way to get the chip out and return once again to Dru. It might have taken him another ten years or more of being dumped by his dark princess before he realised the import of what she had said.

The Slayer was all around him. And now she was in him, over him, consuming him until there was little left of the old Spike. Of the inherently and mindlessly evil Spike. The monster was in change only. When he took on his altered features it was more out of curiosity than need. He put himself on show for Rupert and Jenny, allowing the bones in his face and skull to crack and grind and let his fangs drop through pink fleshy gums. He swam in the scent of their fascination and fear, feeling the euphoria of that power rush through his body searching for the vicious need to tear them apart.

Only, his demon refused to surface in that way. Somewhere along the way, the primitive evil that had been with him for over a century had shrunk back into acceptance—and even approval—of the life he had forged alongside his lover.

He shook his head as he fell back into the conversation with the two human adults—a major breakthrough in the translation of the curse leaving room for Giles to begin questioning about a future that Spike felt in his gut he had changed beyond his wildest dreams. And not only that he was Buffy’s first love. That he had taken Angel’s place as the love she might never be able to give up. Despite missing his history, missing the moments that had led him to getting drunk in the presence of the newly re-demonised Anyanka, he couldn’t let go of this remaking of his past.

He had been spinning tales of what he remembered from the year that he had first come to Sunnydale, apologise in a wanky fashion for not warning them of the possibilities of Dru—as both a healthy and strong vampire, along with her gift of sight. He was beyond an idiot to not work out that she had seen glimpses that first night he’d gone back. The night he had dusted the Annoying One for Buffy.

That they didn’t hold his lapse against him he brought down to the simple fact that Jenny Calendar was now alive. Living and sharing comforts with Rupert Giles in a way she hadn’t had the opportunity to do in the other timeline. If he was truthful to himself, Spike could admit that this little result made him feel pretty chuffed. He almost wished that Anya could reappear out of whichever dimension and show him how he had changed things.

Overall, they didn’t even seem to mind the childish glee he adopted in his retelling of his confrontations with Buffy. That Rupert could even find the laugh in each situation was a great relief to Spike, because despite the first years spent wanting to kill the Slayer, he could see now that he had always just wanted her—to be around her, fighting her. The end result was always clouded, and he couldn’t say for sure that his love for her had been sparked even back then, but something had. Some kind of admiration that made him seek her out again and again.

As point of fact, “Actually, Rupes, Halloween was a bloody good night. She was all dressed up in this costume, wig and dress right out of the pages of the 1700 who’s who and best dressed. Was a bloody riot. The chit had no idea if she was Martha or Arthur. Didn’t have a bleeding clue that the Big Bad was there to do her in. ‘Cept I didn’t…took so long talkin’ and procrastinatin’….again! Wasn’ much of a bloody vamp with her even then. Was sort of cute her not knowin’ she was the Slayer, all kittenish and weak…”

The eruption of screams outside brought his story into focus with alarming direction onto his inability to put fact to fact.

“Oh balls,” he sighed, a slightly amused smile teasing his lips as he watched Rupert’s alarmed eyes widen. “It’s bloody Halloween, innit?”

Giles and Jenny nodded dumbly.

“Do you, er, happen to remember what caused Buffy to lose her memory?

“If I rightly recall the stories you lot spun about it later, it was some wanker you knew from your Ripper days. Did some spell to turn people into their costumes.” His own eyes widened as he thought of the implications. “Dawn told me that Buffy wore that dress to attract the Poof. You don’t think she would have gone there for a different costume or something? Know she was gonna be out an’ about lookin’ for any sign of Dru and Angelus. Would be just like them to buck convention and go out to snack on a bunch of littlies.”

He missed the flinch from the gypsy, but had his own cringe going on. The thought of mini-snacks no longer tempted him, yet he thought his feelings on the topic were all academic. Saying it so matter of fact though, stung just a little. It was a visual he didn’t want in his head, didn’t want on his tongue, and the thought of his Nibblet on the receiving end—or even any other child now—was more painful than he ever thought possible.

Giles leaned against his window, frowning at the random violence occurring around his building as short monsters run amok.

“I don’t suppose you happen to remember where he conducted the spell from?” Giles inquired, his voice betraying his rising anger at a foe Spike had only a passing association with. Right, best to leave the Fyarl demon situation for later.

“Was a shop downtown. Had his name in the title. Edward, Elmer, Edwin…”

“Ethan,” Giles corrected, his jaw locked in fury. “That pillock just doesn’t learn. It would suit him; coming to the Hellmouth to spark off chaos. Let’s go, Spike. I think I just might let you eat the little rotter.”

Spike grinned, though not for the promise of real pumping blood. He hungered to see Ripper in motion, wanted to see the anger and hatred aimed at someone other than himself.

Before they left, Spike caught sight of the dark woman heading back to her computer console. “Oi,” he called to her, waiting till he had her full attention. “Don’t leave this flat. For no reason. Even if it’s burning down.” He spied a phone sitting beside her keyboard and swooped down on it, hurrying. “Anything happens, you call us. Watcher should outfit all of us with one of these. Could save a lot of time.” His focus was so hard it almost bruised her with the force. “Angelus could be behind this little set up. No way of knowing. He could just take advantage of the confusion, like I did. Speakin’ of, call Buffy an’ make sure she stays in her house.”

The swish of his coat saw her nod and the men were gone, leaving a suddenly shaky woman who had forgotten that her blood was sought by those who would do her harm. After calling Buffy and telling her Spike’s message, Jenny hung up and stared at her computer screen. Her own safety depended on this curse. On her translation and the hopefully soon act of re-ensouling. Spike’s dire warning—being burned out of a building—had seriously never occurred to her before, and seemed to place a whole new urgency on everything. Living with this fear every day was crippling. The only ways for it to end were to either finalise the words of the spell—or die. And now she was placed within the walls of one Rupert Giles, the loss of her life was not something she could accept easily.

Jenny buried herself back within the text on the screen, fear and newfound love fuelling her deciphering skills.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It was a strange lack of resolution when things were set back to rights. Particularly as the angry kick at the plaster bust had been a stroke of good fortune, an accident rather than the well thought out interruption of the spell.

Ripper was flashing on Giles’s surface, nothing to punch and threaten in the empty shop. The signs of a struggle indicated a fight of some kind, but one obviously inspired by a motive other than ending the spell on the town. The replacement of threatening growls with the cries of children seeking the familiarity of their parents on the outside in the street was the only clue that the key to destroying the effects of the spell lay in the destruction of the head of Janus.

“Hit me,” Spike offered, seeing the need for the Watcher to relieve some frustration in a more hands on manner.

“I beg your pardon,” came the furious reply, hands balled into fists as his body felt overwhelmed by the sense of animosity.

“I said ‘hit me’. Get it out of your system.” Spike tilted his chin waiting for the first blow.

“Are you out of your bloody mind? What the hell is wrong with you? I’m angry, yes, but I’m not likely to just go about thrashing innocent people to make myself feel better.”

It was a punch harder than a fist could ever likely have been. Not used for that release—humanity showing him that he didn’t have to be the resident punching bag, just because that was how Buffy had always chosen to use him. To see him. It made her wrong. Made her actions cruel, unjust.

And it made him feel afraid.

Spike’s face twisted before Giles’s eyes, the onslaught of emotion knocking his wild and youthful alter-ego right out of him in a rush of concern for the vampire. In the scheme of things, Giles knew that there was a lot more to Spike’s story of his return to his past that he had neglected to tell or elaborate on. It didn’t take several university degrees for Giles to work it out, though.

Spike had withdrawn, shocked within himself for the sole reason of not being used violently to allay someone else’s spirit. It was no jump to surmise that—along with his bad relationship with all the Scoobies, including himself—Buffy lay at the crux of the vampire’s ill-thought out wish to return and do it all over. Buffy was his focus, was his obsession. Was his passion. Everything was all about Buffy, which didn’t in any way cheapen all that the former Big Bad had done for the rest of them. He’d extended the life of his own love, had given Xander a refuge and a hope of learning to grow in a care that had been so far denied to him by his own family. He had given caution in introducing Willow to magic and had brought about an amazing confidence in his Slayer. And after all this, he still expected to be punished.

Giles completely deflated, and in an action completely unbecoming from a British male, he clapped Spike on the back before subjecting him to a brash hug.

“There you go,” Giles told him, swallowing hard on his embarrassment. “None of us are the same people you knew, Spike. I don’t believe any of us would want to hurt you for our own benefit. An inanimate bag filled with sand would do just as well. Now come, let’s find Buffy and make sure all is well.”

Spike nodded slowly, his moment of realisation making him quake. Despite having had Buffy in his bed, having her whisper words of love all over his skin, he didn’t really expect that it would be different. Didn’t think a few minor changes could divert acts and personality so far from their path.

For this moment, Rupert had proved him wrong. He needed to be in Buffy’s arms to feel its truth. To once again drown in her love.

And bloody Harris snoring in the bedroom next door.

Life was turning wonderful and ordinary.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Dru giggled into her hands as the man was thrown to the floor, wrists bloodied from his battle with the ropes.

“Hmmm, Daddy. He smells so powerful. Can’t I have a little sip?” she implored, her eyes dancing with the lighted fire in the grate.

“Let’s talk about drinkypoos with the little magician later, Dru. Right now, I have an offer that he won’t refuse.” The smile was menacing and left Ethan struggling with his bowels.

The silence was left to fester the fear on purpose. Images of chaotic Halloween mini-monsters had appealed to his sense of justice. So he’d followed the news of Ripper’s whereabouts; watched his Slayer to the extent that even now he felt disappointment at failing to convince her to purchase any of his costumes. A demonised Slayer on All Hallow’s Eve held a sense of the irony that should have had him in stitches. Instead he was tied up, no confrontation with Rupert or the Slayer, but a potential vamp meal for a crazy girl and her Daddy. This kind of chaos in his own life he could have done without.

“Ooh ooh ooh, he’s thinking of her,” Dru grinned and bounced as her plan fell into place. “He wants them to suffer, to tear down their tower till then hang by their nails. I like him, Daddy. His heart is as black as mine.”

He’d been momentarily lost in her hypnotic way of speaking, but froze as she predicted the last. A black heart would normally have been laughed off if not embraced with pride. But a spark of humanity squeezed said blackness to an uncomfortableness he wanted to cling to.

“I can’t think what you can possibly want with me. Untie the ropes, that’s a good man, and I’ll get right out of your hair.”

The blood in his veins seized and turned icy as he was confronted by the cold, sinister smile of one and the abrupt maniacal laughter of the other.

“You’ll not be going anywhere. Didn’t you hear me mention the offer you won’t be turning your back on?” And just like that the dark humour fled from the monster’s eyes, evil face in place and ready to terrify into submission. “I thought you’d be all about taking the Slayer and her pets down. Now don’t disappoint me…Ethan.”

The Brit flinched at the mocking laughter and nodded his head. Despite being afraid for his life, there was no way he could deny the spark of interest that had him leaning forward to hear their plan, to relish in the pain they wanted to cause. For now he would ignore the killing part of the equation. He wasn’t a murderer, well…not really. But the promise of causing major upset to his long time enemy was definitely worth considering. The added incentive of keeping life was well worth it as well.

His nod was what they had been waiting for and a loud clap of hands from the minions surrounding the trio echoed through the high walls of the large room.

“Good decision. Now, to reward you, we give you a choice.”

His blood was already chilling in his body, but a block of ice just buried his heart and he felt the decrease in beats as he waited in terror for what the choice would be.

“None of that,” his new ally ordered. Angelus smiled, before reaching through the rules of speed to grab him by the throat and raised him to suspend dangling in the air.

“We can turn you right now, bring you a delightful young thing to break in…or just break, or…you can stay human, safe within your very own vampire hub.”

The room reached a frightening hush, and despite disbelieving how genuine the offer was, he clung to his life with the claws he was rejecting.

“I’d rather…” he rasped, the choke hold on his neck crushing his voicebox and causing his access to air to peter out. “Stay human, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Courageous. And admirable. Though monumentally stupid. But I did say it was a choice so…” He turned to the demon-faced crowd and bellowed his instructions to keep fangs off of human necks until otherwise informed differently.

When the cold hands left his throat before placing his feet back on the ground, he fell with a yelp to the floor, immediately focusing on the pain in one ankle.

As safe as a man could be while surrounded by hungry fanged vamps.

Chapter 19

It was anticlimactic.

Pounding down the pavement, sidestepping minor as well as major skirmishes as she led Willow to Giles’s. Then more deflation as they were told to come in and wait, that Spike and Giles knew what the problem was and were off in their heroic way dealing with it. Buffy pouted as she sat on the sofa, losing Willow to the excitement of a computer program designed to collar the wayward Angel.

In the end, Buffy decided the neglect didn’t matter. It freed her up to daydream about steamy moments with Spike, letting her newly initiated passion run free with her imagination and desire for experiences with him. Thus, here she sat in her enticing Xena costume which left too much skin bared and puckering as an open window rushed a cool wind through that tickled her skin. Sexy she-warrior without her Hercules to drag her off to the bedroom.

Buffy pouted some more. It was their last night together before Xander moved in with him and she was all go-girl for taking advantage of that fact. ‘Cause wild monkey-lovin’ with one of your best friends next door? Kind of on the inhibiting side. Even though she could see the wisdom of Xander being there; there was no way she wanted Spike exposed to the possibility of Angelus and Dru’s retribution for his rejection of them. It kind of put a frustrating halt to her love life.

She was forced out of her introspection by the loud arrival of Xander and Cordelia.

“Where is it? I’ll kill it. Tear its eyelashes off and plait a noose to hang it with. How dare I be made someone’s butt monkey again?”

“Xan, nice idea. Creative even, but if there was any monster out there responsible for this, it would have decapitated you before you even got close to plucking out its eyelashes.” Buffy stood with the girls as they each struggled to hold themselves aloof, a fuming Xander doing a mocking version of the snoopy dance as he tried to find words.

And then he deflated and the girls smiled at him. Cordelia even offered him the comfort of her usual snark.

“Face it, Harris. You’re just bummed because a girl could steal your gun.” And she smirked as her eyes swept over his body. “Not that that’s even worth stealing.”

She trounced over to the door, limp cat ears torn and a little to the side. “I have to go and get changed. I obviously can’t go to the Halloween party at the Bronze like this.” And she was gone, disappearing into an uncertain night as the rest waited for confirmation from Giles that the villain was caught and disarmed.

And then the spirit of the irrepressible Xander defunked as he focused on the cheerleader’s words. “Hey,” he shouted, bouncing on his feet with new and vigorous enthusiasm. “Bronze. Party. Are we still on for scary goodness?” His eyes found an unexpected target in still skimpily dressed Willow and his vision glazed.

“You betcha,” confirmed Buffy, hoping that it wouldn’t take her long to ditch her friends and convince Spike they needed to inspect his bed for loose screws. Buffy giggled to herself, finding it beyond amusing that everything she thought about now was tainted with the recall of Spike and the yummy way he bathed her with his tongue.

Her agreement coincided with the drooling return of Xander’s eyes to her heavily revealed cleavage and Spike’s entrance through the front door. There was silence as Buffy stood still, unconsciously pushing her breasts out as Spike’s hungry eyes swept over her get-up lustily.

“What’s that, luv?” His voice had lowered to almost a growl as his eyes caught on the circular shape of each breast cup of her skimpy leather bustier, burning the strips of flesh poking out from beneath the protection of dead animal flesh with his cold heat.

Buffy felt her face light up, felt her body shudder with the intense tingling of little piercing pricks of desire as his eyes roved all over her. She felt hot and itchy and instead of moving, instead of answering him, she made plans with her eyes. Making up her mind, she grabbed her coat from where she had flung it earlier over the sofa arm, and stepped forward to grab Spike’s arm.

“Why Spike,” she addressed him, naughty things heavily suggestive in the low husky rumble of her voice. “You’re not even dressed for Halloween. Have to be all dressed up for the party at the Bronze,” she emphasised to him rather boldly, sneaking a peak at her surprised friends over her shoulder.

“Obviously Spike forgot about the Bronze,” she told them all while pushing him hard toward the door. “I guess we’ll just have to go and look through his wardrobe to see what we can come up with.” A final shove and Spike slammed into the closed door, clipping Giles with the propelled arch of his elbow.

“Oops, sorry Giles. Didn’t see you close the door. Gotta go. Hurry up, Spike.”

“What’s you’re bleeding rush, Slayer? I’m not gonna be dressin’ up in some pansy costume when I can just flash a bit of fang and be all authentic like.”

She stopped just as the door was flung almost too violently against the wall.

“You have to dress up, Spike. It’s the rule.”

There was no more time for confrontation. Slayer hands pushed him back through the doorway and rushed him out into the night, grumbling about bloody women and stupid expectations all the way. Behind them a quiet gathering pondered the display, before figurative heads were scratched and plans formed. It was not a surprise when Willow and Xander left immediately for the Bronze and Giles and Jenny struggled anew with the soul translation.

It was a night divided.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Not one step out of the complex and Buffy had Spike pinned to the outer wall with her lips sucking the life out of him.

“Been wanting to feel you all night,” she growled against his lips, her hand urgently seeking his hard flesh under the tightness of his tee. “Missed you at my unveiling.”

Spike wrenched away from her, a naughty gleam in his eye tickling her insides to a butterfly frenzy.

“Might’ve missed me, pet, but I’m bloody certain nobody missed you.”

She pouted her hurt. “You didn’t miss me?”

Spike’s eyebrow rose to brush a stubborn curl that had fallen from his gelled cap. “Didn’ say that.” His obvious lack of missing her right now poked into her belly as he seized her again, and the real meaning of his words burned strongly onto her face.

“Xander said it was a bedroom costume. Said he could almost see my nipples.” She giggled as an angry vampire crushed her lips with his, mashed against teeth and drawing small sips of blood.

“Xander is to never see your nipples. No bloke is to ever see your nipples,” he whispered harshly against her as he tugged one of her leather-clad breasts free, the nipple pointed straight to his lips. He obeyed the command and sunk onto her, sucking it agonisingly hard into his mouth, his cheeks becoming concave as he sucked the engorged nipple deeper into his throat.

She moaned against him. The feeling of the erotic in a vampire supping blood from her lips and wishing he would take more from her, secretly cursing herself for putting the date of her birthday out there for the final breach of her Slayer. Breaching it further by being exposed to all who passed as he tugged and sucked her breast into his mouth, teeth scraping bluntly against the bulging flesh beyond the areola. One leg climbed over his hip, clamping him against her as she rubbed her dampened crotch against his. The short leather skirt flared around her hips, her ass naked bar for the tiny strip if fabric that dived between her ass cheeks. She felt so hot she thought she’d combust, not caring in the slightest about whoever could possibly cop a free show.

The lusty haze around them dissipated a little as they heard voices, recognising Willow and Xander as they left Giles’s and closed the door with a distracted thump. Buffy pulled Spike into the shadows cast by a tree and delved her hand into his pants, feeling the rush of knowing she was about to feel naked hard flesh against her eager hand, even as her friends came closer to them.

“Want you,” he whispered against her lips, biting his lip as her hand drove a frantic beat into him, cupping his balls and sliding her fingers over the full length of him to the tip. The slow steps of her friends as they paused, doing the gentle trip to flirting had them hanging around for a lot longer than Spike was happy with, but the fireball in his arms didn’t seem to be letting it affect her need. He hissed sharply as she pulled him fully out of his pants, his arms useless bar for holding her as she suddenly slung a leg back around him, swept her panties to the side and teased her slit with his throbbing head. Her slippery juices quenched a little of the fire, but the rapidity of it all thrilled him so much and he had to bite his tongue from groaning louder and alerting her friends to what they were up to. His damaged Buffy would have done this, but not with the freedom of her heart as she made love to him in the open. If her friends caught them, she’d be embarrassed and probably do a lot of giggling. But the other Buffy, the one he was slowly letting go, would punch him in the nose, be disgusted with herself for being caught loving another vampire and race home, contemplating all the while whether she should dust him despite knowing she needed him.

All thought ceased, however, as he felt her determined push down on him, allowing the head of his cock to nudge at her opening and spread the entry wide, pausing in that place as she cried out high in her throat. He kissed her hard, desperately, unable to bear the thought of being caught now and having to stop. She bounced a little and he slipped a tiny bit more, quickly placing his hand around the top of his cock so she couldn’t get him in any further. She pumped him slowly; just that small part of him surging into her entrance and building up the sweetest tension that craved something so much deeper.

“Did you hear something?” Willow’s nervous voice almost made him want to shout, but he held the leg around him, kept kissing Buffy until she was mindless and allowed his hand to fall a finger back so a little more of his length felt the wet heat of his love’s pussy. Buffy didn’t even react, just kept gyrating her hips over him, her hands clamping around his head as she held him to her, one breast exposed and rubbing against fabric.

“Nah. Probably just some more of the little monsters heading home from trick-or-treating. So Will, Buffy help you pick out the outfit?” And Spike zoned out, an aggravating swirl starting in his balls. He slipped his grip further back again, now half of his cock free to give his girl pleasure. His other hand had been stroking her back, falling against the zip that held her bustier together. As slowly as he could he lowered it, allowing her breasts to fall from the toughened leather as he turned then and braced her back against the trunk of the tree.

Releasing her bruised and puffy lips, he whispered in her ear. “Quiet now, pet, or they’ll hear. Don’t want to have to stop now, do you?” Her frantic shake in the negative won a smirk, and he buried his mouth against her breasts, still pumping his half mast into her as her hands reached behind to grip the tree and she lifted her other leg up around his waist.

She tugged the hand away that was preventing her from having all of his hard strength inside her, slipping down finally so that his balls slapped her gently on the ass. One arm clung to the tree behind her as the other came up to cup her free breast, twisting and pinching the sensitive bud between her fingers. As she plucked it and rolled it, Spike nipped the other with his teeth, all to the melody of their friend’s voices as she slid up and down, her wet passage sucking against him in hungry passion.

Buffy could feel her whole body tingle, little shivers building to a deeper vibration that had her break out in a heated flush. The girth of him stretching her, pushing her pussy to its outer limits was a sensation like no other. His coolness tipped her over an edge she had never expected, turning her lubrication into an icy fire that scorched her as well as him. As his tip found her spot down deep she writhed, biting hard on her lip to stop the need to cry his name from tearing from her lips and getting them caught. Her insides buzzed, echoing a trail through her pussy, to her belly, to shoot glorious tingles to the tips of her nipples, her flesh releasing a sweat from too much tease.

“Spike, Spike, Spike, Spike…” Her lips formed the words but she was a good girl and kept the volume and intent to herself, her body beginning to bracket itself against the tree as she squeezed her muscles hard, massaging Spike’s cock into a throbbing pain. He attempted to pull out only to be gripped in some form of punishment, the fire in his balls beginning to pulse in some angry objection to how long he was taking to empty himself. She relaxed and he seized the chance, pumping her hard enough to have splinters embed in her back, their mutual pleasure too much to expose them yet to the reality of pain or accident.

With a gurgled incomprehensible word, Buffy felt herself flying off some kind of ledge, her arms falling forward and nearly crushing Spike’s face to her neck as she pumped him relentlessly, startling stabs of intense pleasure screaming through her blood until her artery pounded in her throat. She needed his fangs so much, wanted to feel that piercing in her neck so badly that she almost wept when Spike shot viciously within her, his come slamming into her core in decisive bursts. The head of his cock pulsed against her constrictive walls, and yet there was not even a nick in her flesh from his teeth. Heavy pants frightened her tiny hairs on end as he gasped into her throat. Though disappointed that she still didn’t know the pleasure of his bite, her rapid breathing told the truth of how much pleasure he gave her. She kissed his neck in many tiny butterfly touches and held him to her tight, all the while listening to her friends as they finally reached the end of the courtyard and left.

“Sweetheart, you can dress up like Xena whenever you want to. In fact, leave that little costume at my place. Might come in handy some time.” His breath into her neck caused little shivers to run in delight through her body and he squeaked as she hugged him hard.

“I’m sure you can think of lots of costumes we could try out.”

Spike’s mind flew down memory lane, remembering a time when Xander and Anya had delved into the fun side of love with nurse uniforms and the like. He grinned, wondering what the boy was likely to make of the demongirl once he was through crafting him into being the kind of bloke that could properly appreciate a lady like Anyanka.

“I’m more’n happy to go home and hang that costume in my closet right now. ‘S already half off.”

“Oh,” Buffy eeped as she hurriedly pushed him away, almost falling to her feet as she rushed to reposition her outfit. She turned and gave him her back. “Please,” she asked and he became captivated by the bare expanse of her back. She wiggled her ass at him to snap his attention back from wherever he had disappeared to, and almost sighed into another round of hot tree sex at the feel of his hands on her flesh.

“Every little piece of you is so erotic; from the tan of your skin, to that little mole near your pussy, to that little snub of your nose. You take my breath away every time I look at you.” He whispered it into the naked expanse of her throat, his fingers itching to tear away the brown wig that hid the extent of her light.

She turned and told him everything that words couldn’t express just with the glitter of her eyes.

“You know how I kinda told you I love you when we…you know?”

His heart froze, an agony so deep piercing the very depths of him as he waited for the inevitable—the retraction that would make so much more sense than what he had received from this angel so far.

“Yeah.” His voice was nothing more than a croak, lost to the sensuality of the night while he waited for his heart to be broken yet again. Either she didn’t see the pain that dwelled in the deepening navy of his irises, or she just ignored it. Whatever she was feeling left a smile tugging at her lips as she ran a light finger over the jagged scar of his eyebrow.

“It’s not enough to really tell you how I feel. I adore you and how you make me feel. Wanton and special all in the same beat. You make my skin prickle just from thinking about you. You make me feel so strong from knowing you’re there by my side. I,” she cast her eyes downward, suddenly embarrassed about how deep this little smutfest had gotten. She could have been arrested for almost nude sex against a tree in a semi-public place and she was shy about telling the vamp she loved that what she felt so far surpassed that that it terrified and invigorated her at the same time. “I don’t ever want to lose you. You are in my heart, in my soul, in me so deep that I don’t ever want to let you out.”

“Buffy?” The awe in his eyes was not new; he guessed it was the same look he had given the night he had found a resurrected Slayer afraid on her own staircase. But this time it was for him as well—he’d gained something so monumental in coming back that it scared the arse out of him while he waited for Anyanka to pop back up and offer to take it all away again. And what was with that? How could things be anything but better for the little ex-demon now that he’d taken Xander into his influence?

But for this moment now, he had tears in his eyes—a dearth of emotion already clogging his throat and drowning him in eternal promises. And then he was kissing the life out of her, claiming her lips in a rush before they slipped away to utter inconsequential clap-trap about the Bronze and her friends. He wanted this moment to cherish, to hold in his head until the moment he was dusted and could hold it no more. Because for him, this was it, that tiny second when he knew that what he’d done would make it all come out right. He’d saved her; he was certain of it. Given her such a different outlook that offers of making her death be anyone’s gift would no longer be considered. Not contemplated.

She didn’t know, just accepted his happiness, kissed him quick before finally pulling them away from the tree and to the Bronze. Nothing could get in the way of Halloween night at the Bronze.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Willow spotted them the second they walked through the doors. With Buffy falling out of her costume and Spike emulating himself—the Big Bad. The redhead wore a miserable defeated smile as she greeted them, desperately sucking the last of her cola through a distressingly mangled straw.

Buffy and Spike shared a concerned glance before sliding into seats beside each other and contemplated what could be wrong. One quickly diverted look to the dance floor in search of Xander and Buffy’s eyes bugged.

“Oh, Will,” she sighed.

Spike took a second to catch the view that Buffy did but when he saw the brunette couple grooving to the beat he found it impossible to beat back a smile. So, despite the little flirty tête-à-tête earlier while he had been seeing to his girl, the whelp still fell back into a certain pattern. All bode well for Anya then. Spike suddenly had visions of Anya arriving on the scene—all newly humanised—only to encounter a Xander firmly ensconced in a relationship with Willow. All the bad connotations of that though made his head hurt.

“Red, he’s not the one for you. Got much brighter things in your future. Keep them pretty eyes open and you just might run into one right soon like.” With a parting grin, he grabbed Buffy’s hand and pulled her into his dance embrace and tucked her head under his chin, all the better to get caught in sensual fantasies inspired by the cocktail of her hair.

“Thanks.”

Spike pulled back a fraction, having no clue what he was receiving a thanks for but happy enough to accept it now that all the feel goods were flying around in his favour.

“Why’s that, pet?”

“For trying to make Willow feel better about Xander dancing with Cordy.”

Spike’s smile hid secrets, but he bundled her back in close to his chest and thanked whatever Powers that had given him this.

“It’s all true; little Red has bigger things comin’ her way if she only opens her eyes. Bein’ together would be wrong for those two. Take a look, luv.” He jerked his head in the direction of a couple in the middle of the floor, the boy doing wild and whacky moves that had all that surrounded him stepping back to protect themselves. Cordelia was slowly distancing herself, a humiliated smile of forbearance claiming her lips as she encountered amused glances.

Buffy giggled. “Yeah, those two look pretty cute together.”

And that was what this moment was all about. Being together; holding each other until there was nothing of life left to cling to. Waiting to outlive eternity as long as they held each other close. It made Spike feel warmed and loved and wouldn’t you just know it had to be the moment he felt the pull of his blood.

His body tensed as he tried to block it out, instantly knowing that as much as he’d given away his right to be with Dru, he could never ignore her when she was close. It wasn’t a Siren’s call exactly, but a call for obedience. A call for acknowledgment that he took time willing himself to overlook.

And then that nasty taste was in his mouth, seeping over his tongue of the displeasure of his family. The cold fury of their perception of his defection crept over his skin until he felt like ice to the touch and Buffy flinched away from him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked in concern, feeling the alteration in him and seeing in an instant the change of his eyes to the amber glow that meant he was forcing himself to stay at her side.

It was a shock, to see Spike’s demon teetering on the edge of something she couldn’t even pretend to understand while she stood beside him not knowing if her world was about to come crashing to the ground or if Spike’s control was being compromised in some way.

Even a sombre yellow turned on her failed to force her back, and when he closed them tight against something, his hands holding hers in a grip so desperate it scared her for him rather than of him.

“Spike?” The tears trapped in her throat hurt, made it difficult to swallow and as she concentrated on that—on trying to breathe and again talk—she failed to notice the altered state around her.

Willow had her eyes trained on a member of the band, but to Buffy there was no sound around her except for the rough rasping breath squeezing past the emotion that was swamping her heart and right up to her throat. Xander pushed Cordy just that little bit too far and she stalked off, flinging the usual insults of inadequacy over her shoulder as she headed for the back door.

Then some long buried sense kicked in and she felt it—welcomed the rush of knowing exactly what was here and destroying her smoochy time with her honey. Spike had not yet recovered, still clung to his steadfast position—but now Buffy knew.

“You don’t belong to her anymore,” she hissed at him angrily and his eyes flew open, sapphire blue cooling her with a complete grip on sanity that she immediately sagged against his chest and felt like weeping.

“I know. ‘M yours, Buffy. To do with what you will.”

And right now she willed great things, wanting to stamp her foot when she wasn’t transported away from there and into naked playtime in Spike’s new bed.

“What do they want?” she asked instead, knowing she had no choice but to go out and find them, stop them from killing when she was but a step away.

“They want us. You to torture and kill; me to torture and well, torture would be my guess.” His lips looked like the smile he wore was new to his face, so marked with age all of a sudden that he looked almost another person.

So the game had begun and Buffy wasn’t going to settle back and let them have the first round.

“Where?” She was decisive, the Slayer an edge of steel despite her usual temperance with her inner girl.

Spike nodded toward the back door and something clicked in Buffy’s mind.

Cordy was outside.

The knowledge gripped her with cold fingers of dread. Buffy reached for her stake and took off for the door, the metal making a very loud and startling bang as it bounced off the wall.

Her feet kept her momentum forward as her mind began the scream—not again. She couldn’t do this again. Watch a friend—someone she knew lose their life because of knowing her. Cordelia lay almost limp in the arms of Angelus, blood dribbling to his chin as he released his fangy grip to flash Buffy a triumphant grin.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my little Slayer. How’s it hangin’, Buff? Oh that’s right, you’ve got yourself a new set of balls by the name of William.”

“Shut your gob, you tosser. Can’t play fair so you attack the Slayer’s friends. Shoulda known you’d come out with the obvious tactics. Not like you’ve got the brain capacity in that overloaded noggin’. Can hear your bloody brain rattle as soon as you shake your head.” Except it wasn’t the poof’s brain that was rattling. Spike was plenty shaken that one of the Scooby group was being supper for his hated grandsire.

Buffy’s eyes locked on the dazed ones of Cordelia as she implored her to come to her rescue. Weakness was obvious in her limbs as she succumbed to the vampire’s grip, not able to even stand on her own anymore through loss of blood.

Before Buffy or Spike could move—before Angelus had turned his head and indicated the presence of Dru at his back—Xander came flying through the same abused door.

“Let her go you big coward,” he screeched in panic, faltering only slightly as Angelus laughed sardonically, holding his food tightly around the shoulders and lifting her up and down to show the balance of power.

“Not likely, little guy. But I’ll leave her body here just for you.” And he bent his head, about to relatch his fangs to her already marked throat in an effort to finish her off. Feeding in front of them was to show no fear, to put them so far off balance that it would render Buffy too emotional to fight well.

It didn’t.

It produced a hard rage that spread throughout her body and settled in the fist that held her stake.

She pounced.

The second she got close, Angelus thrust Cordelia’s lax body at her in an effort to distract her and get away. Buffy caught the cheerleader—just as Angelus grasped Dru’s hand— tossing her again back to Spike and lunging at the fleeing pair. She kicked the tall brunette in the back, his hand almost tearing from the strong grip he held with the darker vampiress.

It wasn’t until facing the furiously calm face of Drusilla that Buffy felt the ice patch splinter inside her and she found herself drifting forward and lowering her stake. Then Spike held her in his arms, shaking sense back into her limbs and the fight resumed, her warrior beside her. He stood off against Dru while Buffy returned to the less creative in a fight—Angelus. She struck against his face and chest and gut a number of times, excited each time he seemed to falter in his retaliation.

Receiving a punch from the recently desouled Angel did more than hurt. Buffy felt it beyond weird to find herself on the vicious end of his fists as she ducked and dived his not quite precise attacks. But her mind voluntarily shut down as the fight continued, preserving her against the devastation of having to kill someone who had long been her protector, her friend, and almost her lover.

“So, you like your men cold, Precious. How nice. Might get me a bit of ass then, too. What d’ya say?”

“I say no dice. Isn’t it obvious? I have discerning taste in vamps. To be my lover you have to know how to use it, Big Boy…I’m betting you have even less skills in bed than you do with your fists.”

He held in his reaction but Buffy could see the cold hard reality of her hit in the way his beady eyes burned yellow. It caused shivers from all the way inside, even if she was proud of herself for not rising to the bait.

“Ah well. Who needs to climb on top when you’ve got everything on display anyway. Nice costume, Buff. Where’d you pick it up? Slutbombs-are-us?”

Buffy spoke with her feet and grinned savagely as they connected with his chest, satisfaction hurting her heart as Angelus flew away from her and slammed into a pile of garbage. And he was finally down, Buffy rushing over to take advantage of the moment of stunned immobility. Just as she was about to thrust her stake into the evil heart, a fist enclosed her wrist, pulling her away from the reclining body.

Buffy followed the arm with confused eyes, wondering why she had been stopped from ending this situation now. Spike offered nothing, just watched as a moaning and terrified Dru gathered Angelus up and hurried him out of the alley. The female looked her well-dressed best. No blood dripped from her face, no cuts or bruises marred her ‘perfect in death’ complexion.

Buffy almost swayed on the spot as she realised while she had been beating the crap out of Angelus, Spike had been what? Chatting with his sire and catching up on all the goss?

“Tell me why she isn’t dust?” Buffy snarled furiously through clenched teeth. “Better yet, explain to me why Angelus isn’t blowing in the wind?”

The controlled bubble of rage radiated throughout her body and she felt something hot and indescribable as she took in the guilty shrug of her lover. Blood pooled in the corner of her mouth as hurt prickled her eyes. He’d stopped her from killing them, and as that realisation began to take hold, her body reacted with a persistent shake.

Spike remained speechless, his hands reaching out to take her hand but she pulled it away, glaring at him with such deep pain that he flinched and took a step back. As he did so her eyes fell on the collapsed forms of Cordy and Xander and she rushed over to see the extent of the damage.

Xander was insulting up a storm, Cordelia tossing very weakened barbs back as she struggled to stay awake.

“We should get her to the hospital, Xan. Just to make sure.”

“I’m fine, really,” she protested as she stumbled to her feet, her hand hesitantly touching the still fresh wound on her neck.

Tears were gathered in her eyes as she looked at Buffy and then Spike. “That bastard bit me,” she informed them, the obviousness of the observation making the speaker giggle in delayed shock. Her eyes glazed for a moment then began to clear, the tears pushed away for a moment when she didn’t have such a big audience.

In the face of his fear, Xander just continued with what he knew. He bit sarcastically at the object of his rising lust and hoped she was well enough to keep receiving them. Strong enough to keep insulting him back.

“That’ll teach ya for having the hots for a vampire, Cord. They’ll go for ya throat every time.”

“And when I get enough blood back in my veins, I'll make sure I hit you with double the putdowns, Xander Harris." She slumped against his body and he caressed her shoulder, hugging her in a way that made her sigh.

Buffy flinched, closing in on herself even though her mind objected the point. Spike had never gone for her throat—despite her numerous offers—even though his betrayal right now felt like the most savage bite.

For his part, the blond vampire seemed to collapse into himself, knowledge in this situation a double-edged sword. He couldn’t tell, couldn’t make her see. Was left with nothing but the hope that sense would reason with her as she considered his explanation.

“He’s a good vamp when he’s souled, Pet. I thought he deserved a chance to make good.” It stuck in his throat to defend the one he hated above all else, but the truth of it was that Angel fought for the side of good, had the Powers That Be in his ever-widening corner and would probably bring him back anyway.

“And in the meantime, my friends are at risk.” She raised her eyes as the full extent of this fight—or lack thereof—finally hit her. “You didn’t even hit her, did you?”

His surprised step back was her answer and something dug a trench inside and allowed her heart to hide.

She took a step towards him, hating that he was answering her with silence and hating more the answers.

“She was calling you from inside and you wanted to go, didn’t you? What did she do out here? Try and convince you to go back? Are you going back, Spike?” Her voice cracked on the last question, not knowing anymore what was truth and what was fear but feeling the scalding tears as they made tracks down her face. Knew the agony of a breaking heart as he continued to lack answers for her.

“Tell me,” she demanded while barely a step away from him now.

Spike saw the change and fear held him captive. He was almost too scared to watch the play of emotions on her face, too terrified that he’d done it after all. Cocked up his second chance all because he didn’t let her waste Mr. Hair Gel himself. The irony of it caused him to smile as he shook his head. And that action finally seemed to release his tongue.

“Buffy, we need to give him back his soul. I wasn’t tempted to go back to Dru. Was just tellin’ her to back off and take the poof out of here. I can’t kill her, if that’s what you mean. She’s my sire…” He was interrupted by three derisive snorts.

He clenched his jaw, wishing he could do the big reveal and tell them all the good that Peaches does in LA, telling them that the cheerleader ends up bloody useful for a change by going off with him. And then the impact of the night hit him and he fell to his knees. He’d been so hell-bent on changing everything that he had almost sacrificed one of Buffy’s own.

Cordelia could have died tonight. Could have drained dry or been turned while he’d buried himself in the bliss of loving Buffy.

“Oh God, I’m a bad man,” he moaned into his hands, shuddering with a more human reaction. “I’m sorry, Buffy. You’re right, we should have dusted him.” He raised his eyes and she could see the pain, feel the sorrow that was as genuine as the tear that he tried to hide.

Her trench refilled and her heart was back where it should be—loving the vamp in front of her that shone with his humanity.

“It’s okay. You were right. We should give him a chance with his soul. But if I find him snacking on someone else, I have to do it.” She fell to her knees in front of him, pulling him unresisting into her arms and rubbed his back as he grasped hold of her tightly.

“I love you,” he told her shoulder and she smiled. Knowing with all that she was that it was true. Knowing that whatever reaction he’d shown here tonight, that feeling for her hadn’t faltered, had probably even guided him in preventing her from destroying a once strong warrior of light.

“I love you, too,” she answered into the hard slick of his white curls, needing for there to be no confusion, even if his response to his sire still rocked her confidence. “We’ll get Ms. Calendar to hurry with the spell. But we’ll have to do something about Dru. I can’t leave her to go around killing people.”

He nodded into her chest, and it buoyed Buffy no end for him to give even that discreet agreement. He accepted it, and hopefully could live with it. Buffy couldn’t bear the thought of him returning to the evil skank. Her eyes glittered dark and dangerous, her mind already plotting the various ways she could make the deadly vampiress pay for trying to control Spike. He was hers, and would stay hers. She couldn’t let him go if her life depended on it.

That bitch was so going down.

Chapter 20

He’d offered Giles ‘the talk’ when he was ready but had ignored the plan for weeks in hopes his demon would talk him straight. Had altered his belief in himself in such a zigzag of confusion that it seemed better to contemplate nothing at all, block the option right out of his head until the unimaginable happened and everyone forgot. Accepted him so thoroughly on his face value that they dismissed his need of a chain, a bond to keep him on a guarantee that he didn’t want to give.

Except that was a lie. His demon did want it. Did want to leash himself in a way that was almost embarrassing. But to be fair all around, all of Spike had wanted to belong to Buffy for years now. That his demon was pushing him up to the plate, pushing him into finally getting that info and presenting it to the Watcher, was suddenly a priority that no part of Spike felt like he could ignore.

It didn’t help that Buffy had been watching him. Keeping her eye on every one of his moves, succumbing to his embrace with a nervous twitch and a quick look around them in what he could only assume was a protective action. Her trust in him had been compromised by the confrontation with Angelus and Dru. The call that had enticed Spike to his sire for that short moment had crumbled Buffy’s confidence in him, and it wasn’t taking much for him to admit that he needed to do something to get it back. Do something to make her feel safe and loved—trust him again. He needed to trust himself again.

Dru had always been a dark, magical lure through the horrors of the night for him. That night at the Bronze, the night her rite of possession called and tempted him to return to the fold was not long enough ago. It had caused question marks to appear in Buffy’s eyes—this time she was far too aware of the influence evil still had on him in the guise of his sire, where last time she had been too consumed in herself and her hatred of him to see the threat. This Buffy was more sensitive to his moods, to his movements—and she loved him. Held him with the strongest bonds available in the world-—heartstrings. So, unlike the last time this happened—when the evil filtered into his conscience and let him think it was okay to chain up the one he loved and offer her as a snack to his sire if she refused such kinky affections—this time she had clear eyes. Concerned eyes. This time she saw the threat and was damaged by it.

Frightened by it.

He wandered through the darkness and uncertainty of time, gathering and discarding information as it came to light—interpreting beyond the malice of which the news was offered. He was hated in this time, passing amongst them with not even the excuse of a chip for turning on his kind. But still he had enough ferocity left in his reputation to hold the demon world loyal and respectful, and so he got what he needed over a time and was finally ready to present it to the Watcher.

He ended up at Rupert’s door, much more nervous even than he’d been when he first found himself in this time; first found himself cast adrift in a world where Buffy wasn’t yet fooled into love with someone cruel and selfish.

His knock was short, to the point and was answered in almost the same manner. Jenny Calendar stood looking at him, the flecks of her fear waning a fraction each time she was confronted with his presence.

“Have something I want to chat about with Rupert. He about?”

Jenny stepped aside, an indulgent smile curving her dark painted lips. “He’s researching. We’ve been up all night with this curse translation. We’ve almost completed it though the end is a little tricky. But it’s made us all fired up for the end, so…no sleep.”

Spike grinned, knowing exactly what the watcher was like when he was on a roll with something. He knew better than to expect the older man all well dressed and polished. Giles was a man unkempt; a man whose clothes showed how much time he’d been slumped in a chair through the dark hours.

“Get anything done then, Rupes?”

Giles shot him an annoyed glare over the top of his glasses, not having yet noticed they’d slipped rather far down the end of his nose.

“Yes, well…well rested then, are you?”

Spike smirked at the surliness, rejoicing in all the faces of the watcher he had been privvy to this time around. With pleasure he picked apart their characterisations, glorying in everything he’d missed the last time he’d swished his way through their lives with little on his mind but how to get rid of the chip so he could eat the hand that fed him.

His countenance turned solemn so suddenly that Giles blinked, momentarily forgetting that he’d been elbow deep in the race to the final key of the curse; after over two months of research and they were finally reaching the point where they could ensure a little bit of peace to their world again. The pressure had been building on all of them. Giles had taken particular notice of the strain on the vampire’s face, wondering again and again why he stayed with them and helped—kept Buffy safe when she patrolled and provided himself as a more mature and caring mentor for Xander Harris than the watcher had ever thought possible. It was a job he’d not thought himself capable of, and that a soulless, formerly evil creature had taken up the task while so obviously in love with his Slayer was the most bizarre event he had ever not read about in any Watcher’s resource at the Council.

“Promised you a while back to come talk to you about what I’d need to do to get my soul back.”

Giles blinked. Here was Spike, a master vampire, powerful in strength and loyalty, bringing him—a lowly human—information that would help permanently restrain his evil impulses. Would render him with no excuse about not knowing the difference between wrong decisions, immoral decisions, and right.

Spike didn’t look like an all-powerful vamp right now. He looked like a nervous man, worried about his life and afraid of making too many wrong moves. He was a quandary that Giles still hadn’t wrapped his head around.

“Yes. So you did. What have you found out?” Giles asked as he indicated Spike take a seat. His interest focused his attention once again and he pushed the slipping glasses back up his nose.

“There’s a demon, in Africa.”

Giles waited patiently for several minutes, wondering about the wrench it seemed to be for Spike to talk about this. He couldn’t see any evidence of struggle, couldn’t see any breaks of Spike’s demon pushing its way to the fore to wreak havoc on those trying to leash its behaviour forever. After witnessing the great differences between Angel and Angelus—only after meeting the unsouled Spike in an atmosphere that rendered fear unnecessary—Giles was more than sure that vampires were as varied in their behaviour and attitudes as humans. It was his opinion, then, that a soul would have very little impact on Spike.

He had asserted that he hadn’t witnessed any degree of challenge on the part of Spike’s demon. But if he was honest, he had noticed minor struggles going on. Ones where Spike was finding his way in the human world and trying desperately not to make mistakes. In Giles’s mind, he’d been, for the most part, successful.

When the silence stretched out too long, he decided a diversion might be needed.

“Tell me about the Spike that existed in your time. Would he have ever thought of getting a soul for the woman he loved?”

The watcher in Giles was fascinated by everything he’d already learned of this other incarnation of Spike. Was chilled at his own blinkered reception of the vampire knowing that he had indeed changed and instead of helping him and learning from him, he’d settled back into his learned behaviour and primed his own Slayer for a life of mistrust and dishonesty. As confusing as it was knowing that the vampire suffered at his hands, at Buffy and the Scoobies hands, he couldn’t help but be very pleased that things had occurred in such a way as to bring the peroxided vamp into their lives in this new way.

Still, his question seemed to have struck a nerve and he felt a small sense of regret that he’d pushed Spike into a painful memory.

“The other Spike was a thoughtless vamp who just wanted to be loved.” His voice was low, filled with hurt and remorse. “Forget it, Rupert. Nothing I did back then could have helped. She kept throwing the fact that I wasn’t like Peaches in my face, but even if I did go and get myself all shiny and soulful, it would never have been enough.”

“Oh surely that’s not—“

“Don’t try and deny it, Rupes. You and I both know that if she’d loved the Poof first she would have been ruined for souls forever. Big Brood-o-matic shot her to pieces before I ever got my act together enough to know what I felt. There was never any chance of her falling for me. Her heart wasn’t in it. Not for Soldierboy, and not for me. But if she needed me to do it, if it would have made her trust me, I’d have done it.”

Giles nodded sadly, not really in the position to refute what the vampire said, but wishing he’d had a less awful experience of it in that time.

“So, now you know of a demon. What must you do?”

“Trials,” Spike seemingly choked out, his eyes not once raised from his fixation on the carpet. “Pretty serious trials to prove yourself worthy. Pass those and I get to wish myself a shiny little soul.”

There was nothing for Giles to do, but nod in understanding.

“So, what do you want to do about it, Spike? Do you plan to go and do this, or wait a bit longer? I think it might be wise if you stayed and helped in case Angelus strikes and Buffy could do with your help. Or even yet, there is this spell. Surely we can investigate it further and adapt it to suit your needs—”

“No bloody way, Watcher. You’re not puttin’ the whammy on me. Not havin’ the same as the Poof. Who knows what that thing did to him? Don’t want to be cursed. Decision’s mine.”

“Of course,” Giles agreed, not wanting to make this any harder and not wanting to push an act into impetuous disaster.

“Don’t tell the Slayer,” the vampire instructed, finally raising his eyes and imploring the other’s cooperation. “I’ll wait for now. Jus’ wanted you to know.” And he was on his feet, the thick heavy tread of his boots making small indents in the carpet even as the sound was swallowed.

He left the room in a morose acceptance, a sense of wondering if it was the right move, if his direction was straight and correct. Giles looked at Jenny’s tired face, and felt his own body slump.

He climbed to his own feet in a state of exhaustion, removing his glasses for a weary eye rub and then nodded as a silent agreement they should catch some sleep, and then made his way slowly to his bed. The puzzle of long lost soul curses and redemptive soulless vampires left for another day.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~


“Hey, Will. Whatcha doin’?”

Perky Buffy was in control today, her hair all fluffy and lips all glossy. It was an excellent portrayal of the Buffy that had been newly crushing on Angel, but it was not the usual Buffy that had been falling wildly in love with Spike. As a result of the abrupt change, Willow frowned.

“I know you’re all with the smiles and the happy, and hey, with ya on the happy, ‘cause happy is so what we need around here—” The redhead stopped and giggled nervously, her own smile slipping along with Buffy’s. “But what’s wrong, Buffy? I know that something’s really got you worried or you wouldn’t be trying so hard to be the Buffy you used to be. You know, before all the soul missage with Angel and the oogyness of all that.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I am so not caring about that, Will’s. So he lost his soul? No biggie. I’ll do what I have to do. If Giles and Ms. Calendar can get his soul back then it’s all of the good, but if not, we’ll deal.”

Willow contemplated Buffy’s speech and saw no artifice behind the words, saw nothing that should be worried over or heard with disbelief. It was just fact, and Willow smiled in relief. Buffy would take care of it. Before he killed them all in their sleep, Buffy would deal with him and everything would be fine.

The girls continued walking toward Revello in silence. It had been a typical day at school—boring lessons topped with even more boring homework. Once upon a time Buffy would have given it a cursory glance before she escaped out her window to patrol, but now with Spike on the scene, he had her finishing and actually reaching the asking questions stage. If she didn’t know better she would think he was trying to turn her into an academic. Which was just funny, because everyone knew that Buffy was as far from being Willow brainy as…well, maybe not Xander but in her own estimation, she had to be close.

Just the thought of that brought a wide genuine smile to her lips. She maybe couldn’t count on that comparison anymore either, not with the way Spike jumped Xander’s ass as soon as his homework made it within the door.

It was weird being with Spike now, knowing that one of her best friends was sleeping in the room right next door. Not that that really mattered when his gorgeous full lips met hers and he made her forget there was a world beyond his closed door. He loved her and he showed her in so many ways. It broke her heart that she felt that he was holding something back. Was lying to her in some way that she just didn’t understand.

She was sure he loved her. How could she doubt it when he so easily lost himself in looking at her, never losing that look of awe that took her breath away every time she saw it?

But she knew he held a secret. Kept something important from her and it hurt. In her innocence she had just fallen into the happy love that being with him meant to her, something so deep and beautiful she hadn’t even stopped to remember he was a vampire and that maybe, just maybe, there was more behind what and who he was than he was telling her.

She purposely blocked from her mind his reaction to being around his sire. Ignored the pull of that link she didn’t have with him. That link that was formed and renewed often with a bite. Deep inside, she wondered if allowing him to bite her would be the end of that link with Drudsilla; if perhaps it would take what they had to a higher level and make them as strong as a couple could be. Her seventeenth birthday was so close now, and that promise burned in her throat whenever she thought about it—at least three times every day. The desire to feel him in that way had been so strong—was still that strong—but she now feared that he was keeping something from her, something too important to their relationship for him to hold the truth away from her. How could she trust in him when he kept holding back? She had taken that step, given him her heart and soul and he seemed unable to do the same. It was confusing and painful, and she really needed it resolved.

“So, what turned that smile into a frown?”

She was jolted from her thoughts by Willow’s concerned question, the redhead watching her with an intelligent spark in her eyes. As confident as she was at being right about Spike, she wasn’t ready to share those thoughts, didn’t want her friends to start distrusting him when she had no clue about what the nature of the secret really was.

“Just thinking ‘bout my birthday. Sort of hoping it’s not like last year’s on the scale of suckage.”

Willow giggled. “I’m sure it will be way better than last year. At least you can give massive hints to your millionaire boyfriend for something pretty and know he’ll probably get it for you.”

Buffy melted inside. “Yeah, he probably would, wouldn’t he? I think I’d suit emeralds. What do you think?”

“Oh no,” Willow objected. “I’D suit emeralds. You can have diamonds.”

The girls discussed different styles and cuts as they continued on their way, looking forward to snacks of ice-cream and a little relaxation, before the Homework Monster descended on them. At the very least her mom loved Spike for his diligence with the homework issue. If only he was the same with the honesty.

Buffy ducked her head and ignored her suspicions in favour of a major pig out. She could work the rest out later.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~


“I need to go out.”

They had been working silently for hours. Arisen from sleep little rested, a cup of coffee fortified one while the other drowned his exhaustion in tea, and they set back to work.

“Everything else is easy to get, and once we’ve finished the translation we’re good to go. But we need something to hold the soul before it is transferred. I should be able to pick it up at the Magic Shop.”

Giles had already stopped listening. His eyes were trained on the odd letters and symbols, feeling his brain on the edge of a collapse even as he knew in his heart they were close. Very close to making decisions and ensuring the stability of one they had missed but would probably always now fear.

So he missed her as she gathered her bag and coat and didn’t hear as she clicked the door closed behind her. Just scurried around looking for his pencil as another small clue fell into place and he could decipher another small phrase. He smiled and looked up to share his news, finally seeing that Jenny was gone and feeling a twinge of guilt that he hadn’t even noticed. Not able to do anything but wait, he stuck his nose back in the text and hoped for more breakthroughs.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Her heels clacked in a marvelously delicate rhythm on the stone floor as her dancing swept her in circles. Round and round until the dizziness stole the unpleasantness from her head. But it left her feet unsteady and she slipped, feet crossing until she landed in a muddle at the feet of her Daddy. She slumped, moaning and crying as the confusion ebbed and the glorious images of death and blood were squashed to the side—replaced by realities of grief and remorse that had no right to be touching her. She’d been such a good girl, had paid the price of taking initiative and bringing her sire home. Letting him back across to the place where he could be hers again, and not through guilt but because of such a dark need to own and possess his little girl.

But now it was all going wrong. She’d received so many glorious moving pictures in her head when she had delved into Spike’s brain. Only short moments that brought her so many vibrant images. They’d confused and frightened her, left her needy and clinging to the earliest promises of the visions. Daddy. Having her Daddy home to hold her hand and share her meals. Having him to bite and fuck her until she screamed from the security of having him again.

So, to cling to that, she’d discarded many of the others, forgotten about the other things she’d seen in her Spike’s muddled head and focused on the ones she could make happen. All the while accepting that it would only be a short time before the three of them would be back together and finding pleasure and blood in the goriest of places.

But this now, she hadn’t seen. Or else she had blocked it out with the others as something she had been too unwilling to understand. And this moment, as she sobbed at the feet of Angelus she poured out her fears, gave voice to the things that she had thought to never have to live through again.

No longer sick, Drusilla did not end her meltdown in a weakened and pitiful state. Instead she regained her feet, her nails extending as she worked her mind around it, considered avenues to travel to prevent it. Things must happen now or it would be too late. They would lose the end and the victims would rise and overpower them once and for all. She would be torn once again from her sire’s arms and left bereft and careless.

“I see gold around her neck, hair as dark as my Knight. I hear girls all a twitter in verse and swirly skirts all in a circle. They come for you, my love. Wanting to stuff that evil conscience back in you deep, tear you away from the glory that you are and bury you in the light so that Princess can never find you again. Please, we must kill the raven girl. She’s bad, will finish it all and that nasty Slayer will take you both until there is nothing left for me.”

“The curse, Dru? Is the gypsy going to return the soul?”

The vampiress nodded miserably, but felt buoyed by the resounding laugh that bounced from the walls and into her head. She echoed the confusion with her own cackle, feeling enormous with the power of knowing she was to kill.

It had to be done.

“Well, well, well. We have ourselves a little focus. What do you see, Dru? What does the little witch need to make my miserable self behave again?”

“A little glowy ball, your essence all a flutter in its middle. She needs it and will get it from the market seller.” Dru swung her head from side to side, becoming lost in the images that were once again flashing behind her eyes.

“I-I think I might know what she means and where the one you’re worried about might go to get it from.”

Angelus had ignored the human prisoner up to now, having had no idea of what to do with him so far. But now a plan was being formed and the malice in his grin made the other’s body go tense and coldly alert.

“It’s time to go a hunting, dear Ethan. Time to catch us a Magic Shop owner and make him bleed.”

Ethan swallowed hard, cherishing chaos and the possibility of death as long as he didn’t end up with said blood literally on his hands. But he was no longer in a position to argue, his own existence precarious. And so he followed, left with no other control but his grasp on causing chaos.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The jangle of the shop’s bell was a comfort. As much at home as she felt in such a place, the atmosphere in this shop was a little creepy, and Jenny found herself grateful that enough of the outdoor sun shone into the depths of the shop to keep her safe. Even still, she was hesitant as she made her way to the counter and the man behind it.

Just a step from where she needed to be to be polite, she stopped, becoming spooked by the subtle shifts in the shadows. It was a warning, though, and so she made to casually stroll to the shelves bathed wonderfully in sunlight. And from here she derived comfort from the rays; she found security against the things that she knew would be seeking her end. So, from the distance she smiled, hoping that the shopkeeper wouldn’t think her too odd and would serve her with enthusiasm and quickness. This place was giving her the creeps and she wanted to get out as soon as possible.

“I’m looking for an orb of Thessula,” she told him, giving him her needs even as she turned from the darkness of his look and scanned the shelves in front of her.

“Ah yes, the orb. These little lovelies could well put my kids through college.”

The joke he cracked both startled then settled her fears and she took a small step closer to him.

“Ah, you’re British. My friend is British, too.”

“A few of us about I’d imagine. Now, about that Orb. I just got a new crate in. Let me have a look out the back for you.”

She nodded gratefully as he stepped awkwardly back from the counter, almost tripping as he turned and disappeared behind some curtains. She heard his footsteps as they receded to the back and became quiet. The eerie presence of evil had dimmed a fraction with his absence, and Jenny sighed in discomfited relief.

Ethan was breathing heavily, his heart thudding hard in his chest as he stumbled over the extended leg of the dead shopkeeper and hurried out the back of the shop. His clammy hands slipped around the glassy surface of the orb and he nearly dropped it as the darkness crept up behind him.

“Fucking bitch won’t get out of the sunlight. I can’t kill her like this, and she’ll see me too fast and move back into it even if she does take one little princess step into the shadows. You’ll have to do something to that orb thingy so it won’t work when they go to use it.”

“I can create a fissure on the inside and destroy its purity?” He flinched even as the evil face lit up in glee.

“Perfect. That’s the trick. Do that.” And then he stood there, fangs at the ready as he watched and listened to a couple of odd Italiany type words stutter from his captive’s dry and cracked lips. Or maybe it was latin? As if he cared as long as the deed was done.

A small flash of swirling red and yellow lit up the dimness of the room and then went back to stillness. The Brit stood in a relieved satisfaction that the incantation worked and now the orb was corrupted, useless for whatever purpose Rupert and the gypsy girl wanted it for. The simplicity of it made him smile and he forgot his fear as he gloried in the approval from the other.

“Now, get out there and sell some orb.”

He received a none too gentle shove and he was back to seeing the dead person on the floor, wondering if the blood would ever disappear from his memory.

“Ah, here we go,” he said with a smile as he offered up the orb. “I’ll just pack it up for you, shall I?”

Jenny nodded gratefully, a huge sigh expelled now that she was closer to ending this threat to her life by returning a devil his soul. She took the box, delivered an awkward smile and left the shop, rushing into the safety of the sun as if hell were on her heels.

Eager to return home so she could render hell with one less instigator of its will. Shed the light back on a creature that deserved his road to redemption, even though he wasn’t going to take it on the road with Buffy.

A tremulous smile settled on her lips for her walk back to Rupert’s, the box held firmly in her hands.

The end felt so close. As much as she was loving living with Rupert—and her sexy negligees were going to such a good cause when they actually prepared for bed at night—getting back to her own life and being able to date held a merit she was eager to resume.

Yes, the end was a good place to be heading these days. She just prayed she got there in one piece.

Chapter 21

When Buffy finally learned Spike’s secrets, it hit like a monster blow and destroyed her faith in herself, in her love and in her lover. As like any other cliché, she walked in on them, heard the tail end of a conversation that tipped her beliefs on their side and made her world go black.

He’d given her a key. Not surprisingly as he loved her and wanted his home to be her home, and it was, even if Xander wouldn’t budge from the couch as he watched sci-fi crap and munched himself out of junk food. But a key meant that she didn’t have to give notice, and until this moment, she never thought she would need to give it. Never thought she would need to screen her boyfriend’s visitors so that he wouldn’t be caught in a way that would destroy their relationship.

A woman’s voice floated out of the bedroom as Buffy stood terrified just inside the front door. As her heart slowed in fear, she took those vital steps closer so she could hear every vile sound and word that was already in the process of tearing her world apart.

“But Spike, you have to go back. Things have changed too much. You’re destroying my life by being here.”

“Oh, that’s rich, Anyanka. ‘M not goin’ back. Buffy loves me here. In the other time, she dumped me and everything was miserable. You were miserable. So how the bloody hell have I mucked things up?”

“Look, I can’t tell you, all right. All I can say is that if you stay in this timeline you’ll ruin everything. You’ll do more damage to Buffy by staying than you will if you go back.”

“That’s complete bollocks. Only life I’m doin’ damage to would be yours, and you chose to be a vengeance demon again and you know Harris won’t go with a demon, so you were well on the way to ruin before I ever made that stupid wish—”

“Ooh, see! You called it a stupid wish. If it’s so stupid you won’t mind going back. So what if Buffy is all damaged from digging herself out of her own grave, she might take you back if you end the wish. You just don’t know—”

“I bleeding well know that the chit hates me and uses me. Here she loves me, like I always wanted her to. I’m not bloody going back, so stop trying to make me.”

Buffy had made it to the doorway, had confirmed that those talking were clothed, if not decent. The words, words that told her nothing was as she thought it had been; that he was more different than she thought. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she watched him, saw his eyes darken in fear as he took her presence in and looked quickly to make sure Anya was still really in his room and arguing that he return to the original timeline.

“Who is this?” Buffy pushed through tight lips. Lips in pain already from the loss of Spike’s kisses.

He opened his mouth to reply, his voice coming a fraction too late to complete the task when Buffy waved her hand and cut him off.

“Never mind, I don’t really want to know. You said Vengeance demon, so I’m guessing some kind of payback is her job. Was coming back in time and making me fall for you your payback for my other self using you? I guess if that other me hates you then she doesn’t treat you very nicely. Are you like this there? Or are you a lot more evil, more like a soulless demon is meant to be like?”

She felt a spark of hope as he cringed at her words, his fear escalating as she took steps back from him.

“Buffy, love, let me explain. It isn’t like that. I loved you there and I love you here. That isn’t the point. Lots of things happened differently in that other time and I accidentally made a wish that brought me back here and I thought if we tried at this time, before you had your heart broken by the poof then—”

“So you intentionally changed my future so that it benefited you? How could you do that to me and say you love me? It sounds like you were using me this time. What a fantastic use of your vengeance girlfriend.”

Spike’s eyes went round. “She’s not my girlfriend. Buffy, I only love you. For ages, it’s only been you.” He tried to rush her, take her in his arms and felt his heart shrivel as she backed away from him, her hand raised and silently telling him to keep his distance.

“No. I don’t believe you. I don’t trust you.” Her body shivered at his stark expression, the hurt on his face at her words. But she was in so much pain, was crumbling with her confusion and couldn’t deal with his arms around her. Arms that had always made her feel safe and loved and as if there was hope that she might survive longer than the average Slayer.

“So much of my life you have kept from me. You’ve lied to me about myself. I feel like you’ve taken advantage of me and made me into something I wasn’t meant to be.”

“NO! That’s wrong. I made you into what you COULD be. I made sure the things that could destroy you in your future don’t even come near to hurtin’ you. Come on, just sit down and we can talk this out, yeah?”

“No.” She backed away even further, turned her haunted green eyes on the girl whose words had started the tumbling collapse of her world. She was pretty. She could see how Spike would go to her, and demon! They could live together forever, where she would probably only have a couple of years to be happy with him.

“Just stay away from me. I don’t want to talk to you, or see you right now.”

And she turned her back and ran, left behind the one place where she had found a sanctuary, and felt her heart tear as she said a quiet goodbye to Spike.

She should have known it was too good to be true.

~*~*~*~*~

“Eureka!”

Jenny jumped as Giles shouted his satisfaction, quickly surmising that he had finally cracked the curse. She felt the cold that had existed within her from the moment she knew her life was in danger slowly being to seep out and warmth replace it. They were done, had completed the job and now had the opportunity of making everything right again. Set everything back on track in each of their worlds and make Angel the safe and redemptive vampire that he had sought to be.

“Are you sure?” Her voice was filled with relief despite the questioning. She believed in Rupert. Other than herself, she trusted no one else to have deciphered the long dead curse but Rupert. And now it was complete and all she could think to do was rush and get the implements that would guarantee a little bit of safety in her corner of the world again.

At his nod she jumped to her feet and retrieved the collection of herbs and the ever-important orb.

He was grinning like a loon when she set it all in front of him, giddy with his success and the power of what they were about to do.

“Oh, I do hope you didn’t waste any money buying one of these. I have an orb at the library that I use rather efficiently as a paperweight.”

Jenny smiled at the image and shook her head, happy to let him think she must have had a spare lying around also.

It took time to set everything up, to set out the papers and read carefully through the whole translation to be sure everything made sense and was in order. Right on the brink, candles lit, and Giles’s door flew open and slammed against the wall.

The two adults blinked at Buffy as she ran through, tears heavy in her eyes and her lips trembling passionately in grief.

“He’s been lying to us, Giles. Everything was just him playing with us. A vengeance demon, wishes, how can I trust him now? How can I believe in anything? How can I love anyone again? I can’t do this. I can’t even look at him. I don’t want anyone else. But how could he do that to me, Giles?”

“Oh Buffy. I’m sure it wasn’t meant like that.” Giles watched his feet and wondered if maybe he could assuage some of his own guilt with a pot of tea, quickly discarding his own needs as Buffy continued her miserable recount of loss and disbelief.

“Then how was it meant? I just don’t know what to do. I can’t believe in anything anymore. Why did he stop me from dusting Angel? There could be another reason. An evil reason. I don’t know what to do, Giles. I don’t think I can go out there and fight anymore. How can I trust what is going on around me. Is he evil or good? I just don’t know.” She collapsed on his sofa, sobbing brokenly in her hands and completely painful to watch. “What’s real, Giles? I don’t know what’s real.”

She was building herself up into a mess of fear, allowing herself to be consumed with useless distrust and becoming weak with her lack of faith in the world.

Giles looked at his charge helplessly, then back at Jenny and the spread out preparations for the spell. Then he came to a decision.

“Th-there is something…in the Watcher’s Diaries. A quest. It might take a day or two. I-I could perhaps take you and you could seek some answers.”

He expected witty comebacks about Holy Grail quests and the like, but her emotional confusion was such that she was silent, her soft sobs the only noise against her agreeing nods.

“Can we go now? I need to know what’s going on, what the real truth is.”

Giles looked again at the ingredients and silently asked Jenny if she could cope with it on her own. She nodded hesitantly and looked longingly at him even as he turned back to his slayer. Even she could see that the girl was in no shape to fight, to stand up and defend them against demons and threats of the night. Whatever it was that Rupert could find to get her back on track and answer whatever it was that had devastated her, then it was something they needed. Not just Buffy, but all of them.

Giles made a quick trip around his flat, gathering some things and changing his clothes, and then took the distraught Buffy by the arm and led her outside and to his car. Jenny was left to contemplate her array of herbs and the dull and empty orb before sitting cross-legged on the floor and beginning.

It was a tumultuous time for all of them, but if she could take out just one of the complications, rid them of just one of the scary nightmares, maybe, just maybe they’d be okay.

As long as she didn’t leave the flat until the spell was done, as long as she didn’t take any risks while Rupert was gone, she had her thing to do.

She could only try.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“How was I supposed to know she was snooping behind the door? You’re the vamp, why didn’t you do any of that gross sniffing and know she was here?”

“Because I was bloody distracted by your unreasonable requests.”

“Unreasonable. Unreasonable? Huh! I hardly think that my trying to prevent you ruining my future is unreasonable.”

“An’ what exactly am I doin’ that is so bleeding wrong? I think it’s time you left and found some other poor sucker who needs to cause some pain. You’ve more than filled your quota here.”

He turned his back and missed her frustrated foot stomping before she teleported out of his bedroom. But he could smell the magic, and even if he couldn’t smile at having her gone, he could sigh his relief.

It was just typical. He’d gone back years into his past to prevent this kind of emotional trauma. He’d hurt Buffy. By keeping the real circumstances of his existence from her, he’d caused more damage, hurt their relationship. How much he didn’t know, but by the way she ran out of his place, by the look on her face, he was guessing quite a bit.

Before he could grab his duster and leave, Xander came barreling through the door.

“Hey there majorly unscary Vamp Man. What was wrong with the Buffster? She shot out here like you were trying to burn her booty.”

“Nothing you need to worry ‘bout. Where you think she’d run to these days when she’s upset?”

“No clue. Come on, Captain Clairol, how about I help you with the searching.”

Spike locked the door behind them and they started looking for Buffy.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~


It was chilly. Giles had parked in the middle of the desert. It looked like there was no car park, only endless miles of sand and wind. Pulled up on a dune with nothing but a scraggly bush and a tree for a break in the scenery.

She was struggling to care, feeling more like everything in her life had suddenly broken down and took on the ominous shade of dull grey, almost like clear static on a television. Drab. Lifeless. Empty.

But it was a struggle. She needed for Giles to think she wasn’t finished, wasn’t surrendering totally to the devastation she felt by having Spike’s lies rip her heart out. So she tried to be Buffy for him, tried to see some meaning in this little trip she found herself on. Even if she didn’t believe it could possibly get her the answers she needed to move on from this.

She didn’t want to have a life without Spike. The weeks, months had bound her heart to him, but how could she ever trust him now? How could she believe in him when he was obviously not who he had pretended to be?

Her cheeks seemed to be perpetually wet, crying out endless tears of loss. And then Giles was at the trunk of the car—no explanation of what she was here to do, of where they were or how they would go about receiving these answers he had promised her.

“What’s in the trunk?” Her natural Slayer curiosity took over in an effort to hide her from the pain that was not dimming at all as the minutes dragged by.

“Supplies.”

“Supplies? I was wondering about that. Like, food, water, maybe a compass?” For the first time since she’d walked in on Spike’s little conversation, she felt a weak smile tease her lips. It strengthened a little as Giles straightened up with his armful of resources.

“What about a book, a gourd, and a bunch of twigs?” he offered as if it were the most normal gathering of items ever.

“I don't think I'll be that hungry.” Inwardly she was laughing, just outwardly the unusual situation just made her want to cry some more.

“They're for me. Come on, this way.”

And they were off; heading further in a direction that Buffy was just as lost in. Her boots were all scrunchy in the sand. She sank in a ways and took step after step into dry nothingness.

“Well, this is kinda good for the calf muscles, and as good as that is, it’s not all with the answers.”

“Ha ha, Buffy. You see, the location of the sacred place is a guarded secret. I can't take you there myself.”

Buffy stopped short and looked at the endless sand, the heat haze that did little to disguise the fact that there was just nothing hidden that they didn’t already see.

“Uhuh,” Buffy said, her voice filled to the brim with her disbelief.

“I'll have to perform a ritual to ... transfer my guardianship of you, temporarily, to, to a guide. This'll do.”

Abruptly they stopped, unsurprisingly in a small expanse of sand that again held no answers to secrets. Giles began putting down his burden as Buffy’s eyes slowly looked around, took in the dry nothingness all around her and trying to sense this mystical guide that Giles seemed almost ready to surrender her to.

“A guide but no food or water. So it leads me to the sacred place, and then a week later it leads you to my bleached bones?” She thought about that for a second and her shoulders slumped miserably. “On second thoughts, that sounds good to me.”

“Oh good, because it takes more than a week to bleach bones, Buffy.”

She couldn’t help but crack a grin as Giles kneeled in the sand and began arranging his little armful of twigs in a circle around himself.
“So, how's it start?” Her natural curiosity was taking over the pain she still felt in her heart. It felt good to grab hold of something else and try to forget, block it out and find something of interest that could direct her elsewhere.

“I, uh, jump out of the circle and then jump back in it, and then, um ... “ He cringed a little and shifted from foot to foot in embarrassment. “I shake my gourd.”

It was impossible to resist.

“I know this ritual! The ancient shamans were next called upon to do the hokey-pokey and turn themselves around.”

His dirty look almost put her in her place. It might have worked if she had been anyone but the slayer.

“Go quest.”

Giles looked more than cute as he sighed and rolled his eyes, taking up his important position beside the circle of twigs and then jumped in, and out, shaking his gourd after a very short wait. He looked at Buffy, knowing without question he hadn’t ended yet his humiliation.

“And that’s what it’s all about.”

It didn’t take long for Buffy to become jealous of Giles. She was one for all the action usually, and now all she had to do was to stand around and wait for her guide. She watched with diminishing interest as he sat within the circle and began to read from his book. It sounded like something weird, perhaps Swahili, though it wasn’t like Buffy could tell. Whatever it was, it didn’t look like it was happening fast. She was left with no choice but to wander, try and find somewhere she could rest and think over her day, sort out her options and decide how far she could run away before no one could find her.

Giles’s voice began to fade as she wandered further away, venturing into the vast distance of sand that she feared she could disappear in forever. It matched everything she wanted in answer of her day. A mental numbness where she didn’t have to think, didn’t really need to see because unless she closed her eyes she was unlikely to come across something new.

Except she did see something new, something unexpected, but it wasn’t even as shocking as what it could have been. The mountain lion lying out so relaxed on the sand seemed like a gift to her frame of mind and she welcomed its presence with a mix of seeking an end to her pain from whatever means worked.

“Hello, kitty.”

Buffy followed the big cat as it rippled its powerful shoulders and moved the big fleshy paws along the sand. Out of nowhere appeared a passageway of rocks, a pass for her to encounter the secret place that she would never have found on her own. It was all set out, a big comfy rock all conspicuous in the middle of a spread of sandy desert and small bushes and spindly trees.

“I know this place.”

And she did. She knew it from somewhere so deep inside herself she never had a clue it was hidden there. Something so fundamental to the slayer within her that she could be nothing and no one else. She knew it so deeply that her comfort allowed her to drift, to fall into that abyss where she was always safe. Where she always knows. And where she always is.

When she awoke it was to face heat. More heat than before—a burning furnace of a fire that raged under control in front of her. She could only stare at the first Slayer as the image of her dark painted skin shimmered through the flames.

It numbed her mind. Her eyes were drawn to the darkness of the First Slayer’s and she found meaning in the connection.

“I know you. You're the first Slayer.” She paused, confused at the inherent knowledge. “ How do I know that?”

“This is a form. I am the guide. All will be clear. Be patient.”

“I have a few questions…about Spike. About who he is. About who I am and what he took away from me.”

“You think he took away your rightful path. Fooled you into a love that was not real.”

Though the flames obscured the person, the words hit Buffy hard; put into a form of finality the fears of what advantage he had taken by being in her future and coming into the past in order to manipulate it to his favour.

“Yes,” she admitted painfully, never letting her eyes fall from the figure of her guide despite the blur that was making everything a see of red and yellow.

“You’re afraid that the vampire has made your life a lie. Has changed your path to something not deserving of your power.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda it exactly.” The tears were gathering in her eyes and Buffy was ready to just give in and jump into the fire, allow it to take her over and put an end to the pain. It hurt so much, lanced so cleanly and yet stung until more tears brought even more tears.

“Look into the fire. Embrace the pain and see what your vampire has taken from you. Be one with who you would have been and feel your power over the soulless.”

And her eyes were drawn to the banked flames; fell into the roar of it as she became one with herself.

Became who she was always meant to be.

The flash within the orb had been fractured. Jenny looked at it now as the light faded back to darkness and realised that the spell had failed. She knew it in her gut and so sat tight where she was, not moving a muscle as the fear she had staved off for the past months began to seep deep into her psyche.

The overwhelming feeling of not knowing what else to do came over her as she tried to stop the shaking of her body. She felt a buzz from the magic, but it was minimal due to the spell’s failure. She was lacking the high that always settled with the success of achieving the goal, yet somewhere in her depths of magical knowledge she knew that it wasn’t the spell itself that failed. Nor did the reasoning fall amongst a lack of power on her own behalf. There was something wrong elsewhere, and as all the rest of the magic lay in the herbs and the beginnings of the soul capture had begun, it seemed reasonable that the fault lay in the orb itself.

A few subtle words and she revealed the crack. The burst of destructive magic from within that had destroyed their chances. Had made her efforts nothing but time wasting and twiddling thumbs.

But at least it wasn’t the spell. Wasn’t the words that had been recovered from over a hundred years of being hidden. Everything was still possible, was still to go as soon as she retrieved another orb. The orb that protected Rupert’s stack of papers from flying around his office.

But it could wait for daylight. They could wait another day.

Jenny Calendar could wait another day.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They’d searched most of the night and found no trace of her. Her scent had faded from all the places both Spike and Xander had thought to look, and instead they were left with little but frustration.
In Spike’s heart, though, he didn’t think she was in trouble. Just finding distance to protect herself. Not like he could blame her. He’d screwed it all up, and how bloody predictable was that? He should have known, done more than suspect that it would happen eventually.

There was nothing he could do now but wait. Wait and hope that when she was ready to be found, she would let him. Would allow him to let her in on exactly what he’d done and maybe forgive him for it, if she couldn’t find it within her to continue to love him.

He’d almost got the boy home when he felt them. Felt the insidious cold that always came with their presence, though he’d never noticed till now. Calculating their closeness as closing in, he grabbed Xander’s arms and pulled him faster up the stairs to their door. Over his shoulder he could see a blur of black and he dived for the door to his flat, holding both arms of his unlikely friend and shoved him hard through the door. The wood buckled under the weight and the boy ended up sprawled painfully on his back on the floor amongst splinters of wood.

When he regained his sense, Xander looked back to the open space where his front door used to be and saw Spike being torn apart by the combined efforts of his own sire and grandsire. Knowing Spike’s family tree only made the sight more chilling as he watched the vampire be torn to ribbons—too fast for the gem to heal him instantaneously—coating the hall in the red of his borrowed blood.

He did nothing, stayed in his bruised position on the floor while his landlord was beaten and taken. It seemed only minutes as Spike was overwhelmed and then carried away, feral snarls keeping Xander behind the safety of the vacant doorframe. Never before had he been so grateful to have moved in with Spike and made his place a sanctuary from evil.

But now Spike was in trouble, and they couldn’t find Buffy. Spike had prevented them entering Giles’s place earlier as the overpowering scent of magic wasn’t quite strong enough for him to rule out the lack of presence of Buffy or her watcher. He didn’t know what else to do. He’d have to go out and hope he could find Giles. In the dark. While vamps roamed around and looked for dinner.

He’d be best to just sit and wait a bit. He couldn’t help Spike now.
He needed Buffy.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She melted into the arms of her lover and felt the depth of his feeling for her. Felt it all as he coddled and loved her into womanhood before destroying her heart with his evil. She moved on to his death, swirling in his darkness until her sword found his chest and hell was denied access to her world once again.
The images rushed her—the face of her love, of her denial, of her choice and her failure. The ones that left her, her mother as well as the new men that hurt her more, made her hide behind the walls of her heart until there was nothing left for her to give out.

Spike. She saw him as he was and as he could have been, saw him as he loved and hated her. Saw him as he fought her, called her dance and then tied her up to make her still, to make her listen to his protestations. Make her see him, and ignore him, and yearn for him while all the time denying him.

The blood of that other Slayer, the future that had been denied to her flowed from one existence to another until every experience belonged to them both. Both had held him in betrothment, broken his nose in hatred and irritation. Kept him as far on the edge as reality would allow while ignoring everything about him, denying his ability to be, to love, to feel.

She shook as it all flowed into her, crossed into her body and became her new existence. It was all that she was, all that she was being right now.

Her death rocked everything and it all became clearer, the violence and the trauma of denied love even as she wanted it. Wanted to submit to him and let him be everything to her that he’d promised. Knew that he could but she was so warped, so broken in her heart and head to accept it.

Her previous existence was damaged. Spike came back and retrieved her innocence, gave her back a strength and belief in herself that she should never have been robbed of
.
It was clear and yet muddied at the same time; two existences lived even as one was eradicated. But merged and meaningful and wondrous and painful. And it was all filled with Spike, with Angel turning his back to her as Spike opened his arms. As Angel balanced on the edge of evil and Spike tipped toward salvation.

But now she knew. What belonged to her and what was out of her reach. What she truly loved and what she had conned herself into believing through youth and gullibility. Spike hadn’t ruined anything. Hadn’t taken anything from her. He’d tried to spare her pain, tried to heal wounds that were too deep to happen in the first time around. Tried to save her from death, but now she felt it. Now she owned that pain though it was tempered by the rationality of a more balanced experience of life.

And she had Spike to thank for it.

Had Spike to believe in.

Had Spike to love.

“Death is your gift. You are both. Your second death you were returned to life. This gift is returned to you. Now you have it for always, so you can be with the one you love forever. Use him wisely and hold him carefully. His heart is vulnerable and he hurts real pain—like you or your kin. Now you are both. Be wise, sister. Be the Slayer.”

And the fire was gone and her guide disappeared. And Buffy had a vampire to love.

Chapter 22

By the time he decided he was relatively safe from attack or capture, Xander was shaking so hard he could barely gain his feet. Before he’d met Buffy, he had very carelessly wandered the Sunnydale streets in blissful ignorance; once he had met her, he was traipsing around the Hellmouth under a misappropriation of bravery. With Spike, he’d become cocky and confident when he had no real right to. Now he was alone, no super-strength friends to get him through the night in one piece—unmarked and unbloodied.

Xander felt his head slowly turn and seek out the reassurance of the phone and felt the sweat drip from his top lip as he rejected the easy out. He wasn’t made for it—being the wimp. As useless as he might actually be to Buffy’s nightly fight, he’d never hide in the dark while his friends were hurt. No way. Not him. And Spike was his friend, and boy was he sure the vamp was in way of a world of hurt.

But it would be beyond dumb to wander the streets looking for Buffy without at least equipping himself with a weapon. If only he had a semi-automatic, he’d feel relatively safe. Even if the rational part of his brain argued that it would have no affect on those already dead. Too bad he lived with the practical vamp—the one who hunkered down over a huge stash of axes, swords and stakes. Still, he was sure to find something that might add a little testosterone to his form as he raced around emitting a powerful scent of fear.

His hands swept over handles, discarding many before grabbing the sword from under the couch that he knew Spike was looking forward to giving Buffy for her birthday. It was impressive and the night was influenced with the heaviness of disaster, but he even now couldn’t take this one. Couldn’t rob the pleasure Spike had been feeding on when he nightly took it out and polished it up, just waiting for the night when he could pass it on to its new owner. See Buffy bond with such a powerful weapon.

Even if Spike didn’t make it, this was his last link to Buffy and Xander wasn’t going to do anything to deprive the vampire of that gift. He left the sword gently on the couch and covered it with cushions, his eye quickly sweeping over the leftover weapons to locate another. Then his focus shifted to an axe and he felt all torn up inside about what would be the best weapon for him to choose. On the one hand, the axe could do some major damage, but it required a powerful arm or one thud into his victim would be it before he succumbed to an attack. The sword was lighter and had a different trajectory through his potential demon victims and he was much more likely to be able to wield it without needing more strength than he had. So, he picked up the sword.

Decision made, Xander loped toward the door and then stopped, his heart racing with too much adrenaline and the urge to take flight rather than stand and fight. His fingers were slick on the hilt of the sword and he could feel the sweat bead between his brows. Breaths were coming in gasps as he readily admitted to himself that he more than likely wasn’t going to make it out in the night on his own. In a sudden desperate move, he snatched up two large pieces of splintered wood to use as stakes should he need them.

He only hoped he wouldn’t.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Buffy fell back on the rock with a gasp, hand clutching at her heart as she struggled to breath against the resuming onslaught of visions. How could this be? Her one body braced itself against the experiences of two. Her skin shuddering to keep it all in as she met the truth head on and took it all inside. It only took minutes and she was done; different. She was sixteen and twenty-one. Once dead yet twice. The Slayer in love with Spike, and the one that could do nothing but deny him as anything good.

Buffy winced as she rolled to her knees and finally regained her feet. She had some serious sorting out to do of the vampire variety. What had she been thinking with the whole hang up on Angel, the taking of pleasure and comfort from one who loved her so fully while letting her friends dictate to her what she was allowed to do, to feel. She was brimming with supernatural power and strength, yet amongst them she was powerless. More of a child than they were.

Tears gathered in her eyes as she stumbled a few steps, taking that journey back to Giles and home. Compiling words of apology in her head that would make it all better. Hopefully.

Even in the dark, the sand glowed white, reflected the moonlight in a way she’d only ever found one thing to do. Spike—his hallmark hair that told her where he was, where she should be. A watery smile teased her lips as she felt her heart tear from being apart from him. But it wasn’t sixteen-year-old Buffy’s heart. This was the heart of a suffering Slayer. One who had discarded what she wanted and needed for something that was far from right. She’d loved him even as she’d turned her back, left him watching the shimmering purple of her top as she forced herself to take the steps away from his loving comfort, refusing to see the pain her decision caused him.

It was mature Buffy combined with the girl who had accepted the vampire in her bed with love and trust. Experienced Buffy who could see his potential now that he’d gone back to save her the pain of Angel’s love. Taking away that tall brooding obstacle had allowed her a view that had been shrouded in unreality before. Brought a vampire in focus that didn’t need a soul to be good. Didn’t need a soul to love and be loved. Didn’t need a soul to make the right decisions. To learn from the bad ones. Older Buffy saw it all with a wiser, untarnished eye. Spike could have loved her, did love her without the benefit of being trapped and cursed. He was pure in the most elemental sense.

And he was hers.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Giles was sipping coffee from a thermos when she finally made it back. He’d lit a small fire from his sticks, his gourd balanced precariously on his knee. He looked up, his eyes bleary from keeping himself awake with nothing but the shimmering moonlight on the sand and the mesmerising view of his fire. It was obviously very late and Buffy felt a little guilty, despite knowing that what had just happened to her was essential. One look at his commiserating smile and she felt the tenseness from their initial drive return.

“You knew,” she shot at him in powerful accusation. ”You knew where Spike had come from and all about me, didn’t you?” Her voice held the touch of fury she often had when kept out of something that was important and affected her.

“Yes. From the night Drusilla bit me. The vengeance demon that granted his wish popped in trying to convince him to go back.”

“Anya,” Buffy confirmed quietly. “I wonder why she is so desperate for him to go back. I personally kind of like this timeline much better.”

He looked at his charge with confusion shadowing his eyes.

“Why is that exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Buffy flopped down onto the sand as she thought. A warm smile curved her lips and she felt her body melt as she thought of the loving first time she’d had with Spike. That night with Angel had been way more than nice—absolutely no doubts. But even her teenage heart could tell the difference between what felt so right and what could only be wrong. Deep down she’d always felt Angel wasn’t the one. But he destroyed her morning after, made it a living nightmare so that by the time she’d recovered and the pieces were all put back in place—albeit more than a little on the damaged side—she’d talked herself into believing the only reason she’d withstood the trauma was because she loved him. Loved him so deeply and with so much of her heart and soul that no other was ever going to replace him. It was a child’s dream of fairytale proportions.

Ironically, Spike was more the fairytale hero than even Angel could possibly have been. He’d kissed her awake from her nightmare sleep after death. Made her live and feel in ways she’d not experienced—even before she’d succumbed to her misunderstood gifted death.

“Because here you all believe in Spike, trust him. And I can let him hold my hand and kiss me and feel reasonably secure that neither you nor Xander will try and remove his head from his shoulders.”

Buffy giggled at Giles’s affronted spluttering and then quickly enveloped him in a hug. “It’s so good to have you around, Giles. I’ll always need you, so don’t go thinking I don’t. And even if I…die…again, the gang need you too. Even Spike.”

She felt a warmth blossom at his small nod of agreement and then followed him as he pushed himself to his feet, hokey gourd clasped tightly in his fist.

“Ready to head back then, are you?”

Combined Buffy’s felt deep inside the anticipation to be back with Spike, feel him once again within arms that wanted to be truthful to him. Hold him tight in love and acceptance.

“Oh yeah. Homey goodness is just what the Watcher ordered for this Slayer. Home, Giles.”

Heart steadied and beating with a rhythm of merged happiness, Buffy helped dust out the fire and then managed to get in the car, slamming her door in a display of her eagerness.

Home was just what she needed, and home was where she was going to stay, even if he tried to kick her away. He didn’t need to breathe, so he could just deal.

The wheels spun up clouds of grainy sand as the car sped away, out of the desert and back to the highway. Buffy sat silently putting it all together in her head, resolving herself to two sets of experiences and memories. And then she grinned at it all, so forgiving and needful for the man that made it all possible to heal her. To return her to a life free of pain.

To return her to her life.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

His body hung limp and battered from the chains on the wall. His face was bloodied, broken, blind and he had to resort to his hearing to know what wandered around him. His eyes were filled with the blood of his body and he felt his flesh shudder against the strain of his hanging vertically and spreadeagled against the rock of the ornamental wall. It was a cacophony of sound, yet he felt every single strain of it separated and identified in his head. Dru cackling in her insane way, shooting threats of doom and gloom at him as if he was a stranger and didn’t know her tricks, didn’t know her strengths and had learned to resist them over a century of being with her. Angelus, harsh and cruel as he whispered his own brand of evil threat—promises of pain and torture to the one Spike loved and wanted with all the world to protect. And someone new—a toff that had no balls but plenty of power.

It was power that he muttered almost incoherently against the force of Spike’s invulnerability and kept the blood running and the wounds open. The gem had less and less effect as the new little addition with a heartbeat magicked him open and allowed his own family to torture and maim him in ways he’d never thought they could. Holy water singed his skin and the insides of him as Angelus set up clamps to hold him open. The gem pushed through the mutilation eventually, but it was becoming a slower process of healing each time Spike was savaged.

If he’d not gotten used to this kind of torture the past two years he might have buckled by now. Angelus might have played him well in his vampiric youth, but over the past century he’d gone soft. Sure he was hard and fierce, but in the ways of vengeance he’d lost his edge—not that he’d ever really had one. Not compared to Angelus. But Spike couldn’t let them get to Buffy. Never to Buffy.

And now it was quiet, yet his eardrums still rung with the pain of earlier noise.

The poof knew about the ring, and Dru’s insane prattling was gonna get it for him. Spike felt nerves tighten his skin and he could feel his stomach revolt at what he suspected would happen. They’d cut him, freed his blood and made large holes while they searched. Spike tried to blink against the blood even as his weakened limbs pulled against his bonds. It was hopeless for him to escape. Hopeless to protect the ring even though he’d thought it would be safe on his insides.

He was about to resort to the sobs of defeat when he felt the crack of ozone in the air and Anyanka stood in front of him, staring in smug satisfaction.

“Believe me now? Your situation here is hopeless. Buffy will never trust you and you are just making things worse by staying here. Just take back your wish and everything will go back to how it was.”

How could he not consider the offer? There she stood, all brunette and polished and pain free. He was tired of always being the one beaten to an inch of dusting. Always being the one who got the bloody hell tarred out of him for no real reason.

He raised bloodshot eyes, his vision a little cleared as he watched her, feeling a cough squeeze his throat dry as it hacked through his body. A tickle of amusement kept it lingering, spluttering through him until he’d coughed up a substantial amount of blood. When at last he looked up, she was staring at him with a nasty turned up nose and a look of revulsion on her face.

“Just what did I screw up, luv? Did the Whelp actually go through with the wedding this time?”

His amusement died with the tears that rose in her eyes. “No,” she sniffed. “He doesn’t even meet me. Things go really well with Cordelia, he never cheats with Willow and so they all live happily ever after. No vengeance wish, no Anyanka.”

“And what?” Spike gasped. “Now you want to give the boy ‘nother chance? Forget he humiliated you and take ‘im back?”

“Exactly,” she beamed through the tears, feeling at last that she was going to get what she wanted.

Spike felt remorse for ruining that part of Anya’s life, and he hung his head in dejection, knowing that there was nothing he could do.

“Wish I …no, not doing that. ‘S not possible, pet. Even if I could do it for you, help Buffy. Would be a disaster this time. If I leave, then unchipped Spike is hanging from this wall with an invulnerability ring in his gut.” Even as he remembered he could feel his wounds healing, a little slower than they’d been doing earlier in the night and he felt a rising fear that he was in for another round of torture. He was losing so much blood, replenishing none and undergoing bout after bout of beatings. Even the power of the ring was faltering when he had no strength to replace what he was losing with every cut, every open wound.

“An’ even if Peaches were too stupid to find the thing and take it, an invulnerable Spike to this Buffy would be too strong for her. This chit wouldn’t be expecting me to turn on ‘er. An’ worst case scenario, the poof does get it. My girl will need someone on her side to fight him.”

He was arguing against the angry stomp of her foot, the selfishness of both the demon and the girl that wanted Xander—if not to punish then to love. But then her eyes softened and she conceded his point, knew that she was defeated and Xander would never again be hers.

“Well, well, well. Looks like we have a little visitor. What can we do about this, Ethan?”

The little man—finally finding his feet in this outfit—clicked his fingers and found his hand filled with the glittering pendant formerly around Anyanka’s neck.

“Why, how pretty,” he commented even as Anya’s face drained of colour and her eyes were riveted to her missing necklace, hand clawing uselessly at her neck.

“How?”

“Luck of the draw I guess, petal.” His grin was filled with malice, even though he had no knowledge of who she was, only what she was. With one seemingly callous moment of clumsiness, the stone fell from his fist and his heel slammed down on the gem, fragmenting the solidness and letting it flash away its power.

Their was a gasp of outrage as Anya once again felt the frailty of humanity take her body over and Spike braced himself against the end of his wish, his brave new world, and being shuttled back into a world where he was hated. He closed his eyes against the swirling haze of dissipating vengeance.

Silence greeted his ears and it took minutes and many tears sliding down his cheeks before he found the courage to open them, not once connecting that his body was still strained within the metallic prison of chains. Once his wet lashes parted and he could see his captors watching him with rising fury, he succumbed once again to confusion.

“Pet, thought you wanted me to take back the wish? Wouldn’t that mean that you hadn’t granted anymore since mine?”

Even in the face of danger, she huffed. “Yesss,” she hissed. “But I did, and then I had to strike a deal with Hoffy about reversing it, except now I’m stuck, aren’t I?”

“And now you’re food, little girl. Tie the useless bitch to the wall. Spikey can eat her once we convince him that he’s on the wrong side.”

Anya’s fear induced whimpers was the only thing to replace the snarl of thwarted vengeance from Angelus’s lips, and with a cold grin he kicked Spike in the side and left his minions to do as he’d ordered. Ethan followed behind, his disappointment clear by the slump of his shoulders and the slowness of his step. For the first time since being captured, Spike smirked and spat at their parting entourage.

“Fuck you, Angelus. I’d rather dust than eat the demon bird. She’s quality stuff, unlike what you usually drum up to eat.”

When none turned back to challenge his fighting words, he sighed in relief. Just what he didn’t need was for the raving poof to go all competitive and eat the girl in front of him. No, for now they were left alone and Spike slumped against the metal cuffs around his wrists.

“What now?” Anya whispered, fear heavy in her voice.

“Now we’re well and truly buggered.”

And as Anya took in his not so sexy remaining wounds, she couldn’t help but agree. They were definitely that word. Well and truly. And screwed, too. She was going for screwed.

“On the plus side, if we get out of here you’ll get to knock Harris’s socks off. But no shagging under my roof. Got it?”

“Oh, absolutely. But how about your car?”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

As Harris luck would have it, he’d rounded one corner with his sword outstretched and run into a crowd of feuding vamps. His feet had moved faster than he thought possible to get away, feeling that pit of dread in his belly as he felt the light pursuing footsteps intent on hunting him down. Completely non-Xander luck had them pass him by as he crouched under a discarded pile of boxes.

Once they’d left, he’d been slow to surrender the hiding spot, not even once wondering why they’d not been able to trace his fear or hear his thundering heartbeat. They were gone and it was all that mattered. All he’d let himself concentrate on.

One block from Giles’ place and he stumbled upon another group of vamps, this time already feeding and throwing between them the body of a man who’d once held life in his hands. There was no argument within Xander to take again to a hiding spot, and as the vamps got comfy around where he was hidden, he allowed himself to get comfortable, hoping he could soon calm himself enough that they’d not even know he was there.

It seemed to work as he slowly drifted off, lulled by the feral growls outside as the vamps swelled to a gathering and entertained themselves. He had no hope against such a number and had nothing to do but sleep. He was stuck; unable to kill those that threatened his existence and prevented him from seeking help to save Spike. He was so consumed with panic and fear he could think of nothing else to do but hide within himself, and for Xander that meant succumbing to sleep.

And hide he did, oblivious to the roar of vamp jealousies and challenges around him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Giles dropped Buffy off at Spike’s place just as dawn was breaking through the sky. She stopped at the front entrance to the building and just took stock of what all this meant. She wouldn’t be meeting him as the Slayer who’d overheard about his wish that catapulted himself into her impressionable youth. She wouldn’t be the Slayer who had fucked him into oblivion for the majority of their fling, even as she turned her back and denied him his outlet of love.

She was both, yet neither.

A new Buffy that had the enthusiastic flush of youth and inexperience that allowed Spike to steal her heart, as well as the wizened, twice dead and damaged Buffy that had now merged with the one with lesser pain. She was filled with verve for life, filled with understanding and tolerance, and most of all, love. She was freer than she had ever been in her own existence.

Two whole, completely different Buffys now existing in one body, yet merged in a way that made her the same. And she was completely in love with Spike. All parts of her. The relief of knowing this finally had her almost crawling through the door, had her heart thumping with the anticipation of their first kiss. The hope that he would notice the change and see the acceptance from his abuser. Recognise the Buffy he had escaped from in making that wish, but who she secretly hoped he’d missed despite having this Buffy fall for him and offer everything she’d always been too afraid to.

Her feet hardly felt the stairs as her desire carried her all the way up, happiness still clinging to her body even though she was forced to come to a swift stop when she found his missing doorway, the barrier now in pieces on the floor inside the apartment.

The chill that overwhelmed her was colder than the desert air she had just escaped. Penetrated deep into her bones so that she feared nothing could ever make her warm if it wasn’t encased in black leather and had fingers dangling out the end of the sleeves. Experienced Buffy felt the well of doom as it curled in her belly and tears gathered in her eyes as she begged she wasn’t too late. Whatever had happened, let it be anything but too late. She couldn’t come to her senses only to miss her chance.

And where was Xander? Was he safe? She stepped over the demolished front door and felt her breath catch in her throat. She blocked out the splattering of blood over the frame and in the hallway as she looked for signs of hope. She found it in the open weapon’s bag Spike kept near the couch. That had to be good, right?

It gave her a place to start. An understanding that whatever it was that had done this damage, she needed more than her bare hands to protect herself and fight the evil. Falling to her knees in a desperate speed induced by panic, Buffy swept most of the weapons aside. Nothing felt right; nothing fell into her hand like it was meant to be there. She felt restless and tingly with the need to grab and slash, but what could she do if it wasn’t right?

Buffy could feel a hum around her as she stood again in the middle of the room, the furniture swirling around her in an escalating pace until she fell sideways, grabbing her head even as she collapsed on the couch. The weakness disappeared almost as suddenly as her palm brushed against something hard and cold. She gasped as her fingers tingled and her palm burned against the metal, even as her hand curled around it and pulled the sword from its hasty cover of cushions.

It made her feel euphoric, more confident than she’d ever been. She felt invulnerable, powerful. She felt like the Slayer in need of her mate. And that thought brought back all the fear that had hit her as soon as she‘d gained the top of the stairs.

“Spike.” She could barely push his name through lips gone stiff with terror.

She’d felt this before, this numbing panic that she wouldn’t be able to do anything, despite who she was.

Dawn.

Her baby sister being taken by Glory and Buffy’s all-consuming fear that she’d killed her own flesh and blood by not being able to protect her. Deep in her gut she knew that this was all down to Angelus. Her former had taken her lover and gifted him to his insane ex. Buffy couldn’t let them win, couldn’t let them take away the one man who truly did love her. The one man that had healed her heart and been there for her when everyone else hadn’t been.

The power of the sword surged through her again, like a reminder it was there, the simple jewel pattern that adorned it sparkling even in the dark. It gave movement to her feet and she felt herself move with determination to the door, then through it and down the stairs, back into the receding night.

First, she had to get to Giles and find out what happened about the soul restoration spell and Jenny, then it was on to save her lover. Save her vampire. His new classification made both incarnations of Buffy smile. Even as the damage from resurrected Buffy had faded with the merge, those memories had lingered and made her smile more difficult to utilise. But it was Spike, and knowing that he was hers, theirs, deserved the biggest smile she could come up with.

All he had to do was hold on and wait. She was coming for him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He’d blocked it all out. The cackling of his evil ex got on his nerves in a way that had never happened to him before, and as she giggled away while Angelus tore out throat after throat of a multitude of victims lined against the wall, all stripped naked so he could cut them, fuck them, make them bleed and scream in the way cowards like best, Spike closed his eyes and ears and tried to think of Buffy.

He felt sick. This had been him, only a few years ago. Maybe not to the degree of torture and depravity, but he’d fed from humans for over a century. The thought of it now, of treating people in the way Angelus was right in front of him, made him want to lose everything in his stomach. That in itself said a lot as he hadn’t eaten for days.

Only blood—crimson strength that had steadily vacated his body with every slice, despite the almost immediate healing. He was back to looking pretty, but it was his heart that hurt now. Hurt for the pain this would have on his Slayer, the knowledge that even if she now hated him she would still march to the rescue, if only to take out Angel. And Spike was past defending the poof. He’d been just as vicious when he’d lost his soul in Spike’s original timeline, but being still evil and consigned to the status of invalid, Spike had hardly batted an eye. Now he knew intimately the beating hearts that his sire and grandsire were eager to snuff out with a well placed bite.

Anya was crying silently along beside him, no doubt counting the minutes down of her life.

“You won’t really eat me, will you, Spike?”

He looked at her, incredulous that she could even think what the great walloping wanker had threatened was true.

“O’ course I bloody well will. You’re a right tasty looking bint. ‘Sides, your continuous yapping about getting me to take back a wish THAT WASN’T EVEN BLEEDING WELL POSSIBLE is what got me in this mess in the first place. That neck of yours deserves a good chew.”

He slumped back on the wall and hung his head in irritated defeat. Who was he trying to kid? He wasn’t even fierce enough to scare the willies out of a dog these days. Still, he took comfort in Harris’s demon bird’s sniffles as she took his bravado to heart.

“Oh God, I’m going to die and I didn’t even get to have one more orgasm with Xander. He’ll go on living having many, many horrible orgasms with Cordelia because Buffy will kill Angel and Cordelia won’t take off for fame and fortune in LA. Which you know is code for her being a loser and ending up working for Angel, don’t you?”

For a moment Spike was amused. “Yeah, code. Sure. That’s what it was.” His chuckle came to a painful end as he felt nails dig into his gut, the skin parting in screaming pain as more blood flowed between Drusilla’s delving fingers. It was too much like Glory, and hurt as much of a bitch as that time.

“Dru! Get your dirty claws out of me, you bitch,” he hissed at her, too overcome with tearing pain to do anything with more impact

“Oh tut tut, you bad dog. Miss Edith said you were all shiny inside. She whispered it to me while I poured her tea, but she was too excited about seeing you sparkle to drink.” Dru pouted at him, her fingers twitching as they searched blind.

He felt her fingers latch onto the curve of the ring, tug it from the gristle of muscle tissue and blood that held it safe no longer. It tore as it left him and he could feel the overwhelming pain as his insides were ruined, treated like he was just meat on a hook to carve and form in whichever way was needed.

Dru giggled as she stepped away, leaving her childe hanging limply as wounds that had almost healed broke open and began to bleed again to the floor.

“Daddy, I’ve found it. My Spike thought it was hidden but Miss Edith could see behind his lies. He must be punished, grrrrr.”

Angelus snatched the ring impatiently from Dru’s hand and slid it over his big beefy finger. There it sat, a green jewel that glowed for its new owner.

“How did it go, William? Can walk in the sun, can’t be killed? I think I’m gonna love getting to know the world in the daylight. Far more little brats out and about. Succulent and the fear….oh, but a vamp can’t help but love the fear.”

“You truly are a sick fuck.”

Angelus stared at Spike hard, surprise completely taking over his distracted enjoyment of his new prize.

“Well, yeah. Is your demon defective or something? It’s what we do, William. What we are.”

“It’s Spike, you pillock, and I’ll never be like you. Only a raving lunatic could be as cowardly and cruel as you are, and you’ve already got her hanging off your every word.”

A grin of pure malice curled the thin lips belonging to Angelus as he caressed the ring before drawing back his fist and punching Spike hard in the chest. The hurting vamp grunted as he slumped heavier in his chains, almost feeling the indentation of his smashed ribcage. Then a handful of his hair was twisted hard, almost springing free of his scalp as he strained his head to follow the pulling action of his captor.

“’Bout time you remember who your family is, Boy. I’ve no time for your idiot word games. We’ll torture this love crap out of you yet. That’ll make Dru happy to have her baby boy back.” Angelus released Spike’s hair with a final thrust forward, smashing his grandchilde’s skull into the wall behind him. He walked away as Spike began to cough up blood, his body trembling against the abuse.

Dru stepped up and let her nails wander over the flesh of his chest, giggling all the while as blood beaded on his skin and began to flow.

“Let him go, you crazy bitch.” Anya swallowed hard as the brunette did let go of her prize catch and diverted her attention to the new girl.

“Foolish girls can easily lose their tongues.” Dru clicked hers at the again ex-demon before swirling her skirts like a child as she spun before them, stopping suddenly and skipping after her daddy.

“Not wise to put yourself in the firing line, pet. You bleed now. Try’n remember that, yeah?”

Anya nodded, even as her tears began to flow anew and she waited again for the inevitable—her time to die. In the time between when Spike disappeared in the eyes of the Scoobies and when he began to change the timeline, she’d seen Tara die and things go to hell. It had been days, and then things began to change, but still, that feeling of death was too fresh. She’d been there when they’d all mourned the passing of Joyce, and then so soon after Buffy, and now she couldn’t help but feel like it was her turn and what had she done? Got herself stranded in a world that didn’t know her. With a Xander that didn’t love her as well as think her a stranger.

She had no one to mourn her human existence.

She would die most likely, and no one would care.

“I’d care, luv. Don’t fret. We’ll get out of this somehow.”

Anya blanched as Spike spoke through his dribbling blood, but she smiled at the sentiment, only realising with his affirmation that she wouldn’t be a nothing when dead that she’d spoken her fears aloud.

And who could blame her for clinging to his suggestion of rescue? It was all she had in this time. She was going to hold onto that hope with both hands.

And pray for Buffy’s swift arrival.

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