Willow Rosenberg took a deep breath and stared at the door leading to a bedroom she passed by every day, but seldom visited. Was she doing the right thing? She couldn't be sure, of course, but it SEEMED right. She clutched the book she had in her left hand and knocked lightly before she started to open it.

"Spike?" she said softly. "I'm coming in, OK?"

It had been five long months since Buffy Anne Summers, Vampire Slayer, sacrificed herself for her sister, Dawn ... and for the world. Of course, the lives of all who had loved Buffy had been shattered. But two were completely decimated—the blond vampire Spike, who had regained a piece of his humanity after he fell in love with Buffy, and that young, emotionally fragile sister whom Buffy had told to live for them both.

Rupert Giles, Magic Store proprietor and a member of the British-based Council of Watchers, had called in every favor he had to keep Dawn out of the clutches of the state's Social Services. Specifically, he came up with fake papers for Willow's lover Tara Maclay. Since Tara had no roots in Sunnydale, California, it was easy enough to pass her off as Dawn's older 'cousin' and temporary guardian. She and Willow then moved into the Summers home.

Hank Summers, Dawn's father, was living in Europe with his trophy girlfriend. He was more than happy to go along with the charade, especially since it didn't interrupt the mid-life crisis he had going for himself. Joyce Summers, Dawn's mother, had herself died several months before Buffy. Her passing was attributed to natural causes.

A couple of evenings after Buffy's wake, Spike arrived on the Summers' porch asking—no, make that demanding—that he be allowed to stay at the house to better look after Dawn. Buffy had entrusted him to protect the teen-ager, and he told Willow that he was determined to do just that, even if it meant keeping a vigil on the porch every night.

Tara had objected to allowing him stay, but Willow believed it was something that Buffy would want. Besides, he looked like a reject from Hell itself. He was haggard, wild-eyed and obviously had been on a continuous bender since the wake. Willow feared that without the responsibility of looking after Dawn, he just might do himself in, and she knew Buffy wouldn't want that.

Buffy had died for them all. Including Spike.

So, that was it. Where once daughter and mother, Buffy and Joyce, had lived alone, now a very different 'family' resided: Two college-age Wiccans. A teen-ager who was a ball of energy known as the Key little more than a year before. And a 120-year-old vampire who slept on a cot in the basement.

Granted, they weren't the Waltons, but it worked.

After a couple of weeks, Willow came to appreciate Spike's company. He got his act together and actually helped around the house. He did laundry, took his turn in taking out the garbage without complaint and was very handy in lifting furniture when it was time to vacuum under it.

And, most importantly, he was a lifesaver to Dawn. When no one else could get her to care, Spike could. When no one else could get her to smile, Spike could.

Yet, when Dawn was not around, he lowered his own facade of normalcy, and a profound sadness enveloped him. Every weekday afternoon, for a couple of hours before Dawn got home from school, the black-clad vampire would go to Buffy's bedroom and close the door. Willow didn't know what he did in there, but whatever it was, the room was never disturbed after he left.

This day, Willow opened the door to his own inner sanctum a little wider and again said, "Spike?"

As she peered inside, there was Spike, the vampire who once had boasted that he would kill the Slayer and dance on her grave. He was sitting on the end of Buffy's bed, clutching a pink pig toy and staring blankly into eternity.

Willow softly sat down beside him. "I see you've met Mr. Gordo."

Spike looked confused as he turned his head to her. "Wha'?"

"Mr. Gordo," Willow said with a slight smile. She pointed to the stuffed porker. "He was Buffy's favorite."

"Yeah," said Spike as he looked down at it. "Figured as much. Her scent's still mighty strong on it."

Willow was apologetic. "I ... I'm sorry to disturb you like this. I know this is your 'alone time.' But I found something really important in one of these spell books you brought me from Doc's."

Ah, Doc, the bastard! He was the reptilian-like demon responsible for Buffy's death. He had cut Dawn. The spilling of her blood started a ritual that opened the portal that would lead to a blending of dimensions and the extinction of the human race. Buffy had leapt into the abyss, substituting herself and her magnificent beating heart for Dawn's in order to head off the apocalypse.

After Buffy's burial, Spike and Xander Harris—another of Buffy's friends, who was recently engaged to an ex-vengeance demon named Anya—had gone back to Doc's place to see if they could find any trace of him. They wanted to pummel him and then chop him into tiny pieces to ensure that he was dead, real dead. But there was no Doc. They decided to torch the place, which was situated in an abandoned block in Sunnydale, in the only measure of revenge they could savor.

Before Doc's place went up in glorious dance of spitting orange flames, however, Spike removed a few of the demon's books. He figured that Willow, being a witch and all, might find some of the spells useful. Willow was surprised by him in that way—he truly did pay attention to details and try to do little things for those he liked. He was a far cry from the evil vampire who, in what now seemed like the long-distant past, had twice threatened to kill her. She was impressed.

At any rate, it had taken her months to crack the code in one book that looked particularly intriguing. And after she did, she could hardly believe what she read. And this is what she now needed to tell her new friend.

"Umm ... anyhow, Spike, there's something in here I think you ought to know. It's about Buffy ... well, sorta."

Spike looked up from Mr. Gordo, and shook his cobwebs loose. "What do you mean, Red?" He reached for the book. "Buffy? How?"

"It's Swahili, and in code, too," she explained. She opened the book to the place she had marked and pointed to the cryptic lettering. "It talks about summoning the spirit of a Slayer and restoring her to a human vessel! M-maybe we could get Buffy back that way," she said excitedly.

Willow was a bit surprised, however, when Spike failed to share in her enthusiasm. "Yeah, I miss Buffy much as you do. Probably more 'an anyone other 'an Dawn. But zombies, Will, it's bad mojo, especially after all this times she's ..." Spike started to choke on the words, "... been in the ground."

"Oooooh, no, no zombies. Completely on board with you there. Zombies are not of the good," she said, gesturing with her hand and the book. "But this is a restoration spell. The soul is restored in a reconstituted vessel. She would be new again, Spike. Reborn!"

The words sunk in slowly with Spike. Buffy, alive again! He started to tremble. It would mean so much to Dawn ... and to him.

"What all is needed?" he asked, becoming more interested by the second. "Is it a complicated ritual?

Willow shook her head excitedly. "No, it's not. That's what's so amazing. A little incantation around the fire at a sacred spot. Ooooh! I think the place in the desert where Buffy went on her Vision Quest would be perfect. I can figure out where it was exactly. Those Watchers can't keep secrets from me, hacker girl-cum-witch! Then, a few things I already have around the house. There is one other thing it needs." Willow hesitated for a moment.

She and Spike both said it simultaneously: "Blood."

"Whose and how much?" he asked, dreading the possibilities.

"Good part. Not much. Nobody gets drained. Nobody gets dead. Just enough to mix two sources together—blood from a relative and blood from someone who has already lifted the veil between the living and the dead and crossed over," Willow said. "So, we're talking about Dawn and ... a-a vampire, I think."

Spike became quiet and absent-mindedly stroked Mr. Gordo's head. "So, you'll be goin' back to L.A. to get Angel for it, then?"

Willow looked at him, and irritation arose in her voice. "Oh, right. I am going to L.A. to get Angel. That's why I'm sitting here in Buffy's bedroom with you—and—and a stuffed toy! I was talking about you, Mister. You were the vampire at Buffy's side w-when she died."

"I mean," she continued as the blood rose in her face, "if I were lost, you wouldn't go after Oz to find me. You'd get Tara, right? "That's the way it was with you and Buffy."

Spike smiled ruefully. "Big difference there, Red," he said. "You and your Dumplin'. The Slayer and Mr. Poof. There's mutual love. Me and Buffy..." His voice trailed off. "She'd want the man she loved to help get her back. Not mentionin' the fact I fell on my face—literally—last time I tried to get all hero-like and help her. Yeah, look at the hero bloody sittin' here weepy-eyed like some Nancy-boy."

Willow pouted her lower lip. "Spike, listen to me. Things were pretty rough for Buffy those last couple of weeks. Her world was collapsing around her, and she wanted the people whom she could count on to be there with her to fight the good fight. She never called on Angel. That means something."

The witch gently placed her left hand on top of Spike's, which were now resting on top of Mr. Gordo. "You told me about how Buffy asked you to protect Dawn. Why do you think she did that?"

Spike shrugged. "Dunno. Probably because I'm strong and could defend the kid the best. That's all. Nothin' more to it than that."

Willow raised an eyebrow. "I hate to take a big ol' pin and burst your balloon. But I'm more powerful than you are now. If that's all there were to it, then she would have asked me."

The vampire started to regain a little of his old snippiness. "OK, Will. Then you tell me. I'm immortal. Got all the time in the world."

"Buffy had trust issues," Willow began, ignoring his tone of voice. "Especially with men. Now, Giles and Xander. D-don't get me wrong. They were great. They kept her from completely losing it. But there were so many others, starting with the first man she adored and the first to leave her, Hank Summers." Willow sighed. "Then there were a string of others ending with Riley—last seen getting all GI Joe-y and flying away to parts unknown."

"Do you know what that's like," Willow asked, "to freely give your heart to someone and have it thrown back in your face?"

Spike winced at the memory of his sire, Drusilla, forsaking him for another. "Yeah, I know a bit o' that."

"The more Buffy was hurt, the less she was willing to give of herself to any guy ... u-until she came to trust you," Willow explained. "And she asked you to protect Dawn, who meant the most to her. She gave you what she considered the very best part of herself."

The witch then put the book on her lap and crossed her arms. "If that isn't love, I don't know what is. Now, are you in, or do I need to go buy a bus ticket to L.A.?"

Spike didn't—couldn't—really believe the logic just laid out before him. But, he still had enough fight in him to want to do right by the person Buffy did love—Dawn.

He smiled sheepishly at Willow and placed Mr. Gordo beside him on the bed. "Right, then. Let's have at it. One thing, though. I don't think we should say anythin' to the Nibblet right away. Maybe you could do some cross-checkin'? See if you can find this ritual written down anyplace else? Let's not get the kid's hopes all up and then find out this is rot."

Willow emphatically shook her head. "Agreed. The ritual can wait a couple days more."

"No, it can't," came a voice from the doorway. "We do it tonight."

********

Spike pulled his 1959 black DeSoto to the street in front of the Summers place. Willow and Dawn came out the front door and locked it behind them. The witch would have liked more time to research the restoration ritual. But once Dawn realized they might be able to get Buffy back, she was insistent that they try immediately—and Spike would deny the girl nothing.

Without speaking, Willow stowed two bags on the back seat. Then, Dawn and she both crawled into the front with Spike.

Usually, the teen enjoyed swiveling the classic car's front passenger seat in and out. Tonight, however, she was all business. As Spike put up the armrest to make a seat back for her in the middle, he noticed she was clutching something in her hand.

"Whatcha got there, Lil' Bit?" Spike asked.

Dawn unrolled the paper to reveal a pencil sketch of her and Buffy. It was quite good. Obviously, the girl had inherited Joyce's talent for art.

"I did it in fourth period art class. I'm giving it to Buffy as a present when she comes back," Dawn said matter-of-factly.

"Of course you will." Spike replied, trying to sound as confident as she did. He swore to himself that before the night was over, the kid would get her sister back. He didn't care what it took to do it. He didn't care what it cost him.

He pressed the button on the left of the dashboard to shift the car into drive, and it lurched forward.

As they drove toward the outskirts of town, Willow spoke up. "I-I left a note for Tara under my pillow."

Spike flashed her a sardonic smile. "Ain't that sweet!"

"No!" Willow exclaimed in mock embarrassment. "N-not THAT kind of note." She reached across Dawn and gave Spike a playful swat. "It's ... well, in case things don't go right." She looked at the girl. "Not that they won't go right. See, I'm wearing confidence face."

Dawn stared straight ahead and said in a grim tone, "You mean in case we don't make it back, you want someone to know what happened."

"Hey now," Spike said. "Don't be talkin' like that. Willow is one powerful witch. She'll get everythin' straight and away."

Willow sat up a little taller in her seat. "Yes, I will. A-and Tara will just have to accept it."

Spike frowned at her and gave her a head tilt to indicate he didn't catch her drift.

"See, Tara has certain Wiccan ethics," Willow continued. "Part of it is that 'thou shalt not alter the natural order.' Tara has a lot of 'thou and thee' thingies," Willow said with a tired sigh.

"Ethics!" Spike spat out the word. "Just 'nother fancy way to say 'rules.' Just 'nother fancy way o' controllin' people. Well, lucky for our Slayer, rules don't hold out much attraction to us, eh?"

The two passengers looked at each other, then Spike, then answered simultaneously, "Right!"

Willow added, "Darn those ethics!"

Their blond driver stuck out his tongue and licked his lips. "Right, then. To 'ell with rules. Let's go get Buffy!" He gunned the accelerator to the floor and blew right through the last red traffic light on the road out of Sunnydale.

********

The trio didn't talk much during the ride to the desert. The fact that the windows were blacked out to protect Spike from the daylight's sun gave the car an eerie, surrealistic feel. And, as Sunnydale receded into the distance, each was lost in his or her own thoughts.

For Spike, this represented a chance to set things right, to live up to the trust in which Buffy place in him. She had been COUNTING on him, and he failed up there on that platform when 'grandpa' threw him off. Oh, sure, Doc really was a demon, not an old man. But Spike had taken on plenty of demons before. How could he have let a wanker like that best him?

For Willow, she longed for her best friend. Tara was her soulmate, her reason for rising each morning. But Willow and Buffy shared a bond that only the closest of friends could understand or attain. Buffy was her hero, and you held tightly to those because they seldom came around more than once in life.

For Dawn, it was simple. She needed her sister to anchor her to this world in which she didn't really belong. She missed Buffy's easy laugh. And she even missed her nagging. The girl swore to herself that she never would complain again when Buffy badgered her about homework, if only her sister were back. Alive.

Out of nervousness, Dawn began to fiddle with the dial on the car radio, which blared out boring talk radio shows and sports programming. She whined about the fact it had no FM band for a Top 40 station. And she certainly wasn't interested in hearing anything from Spike's collection of punk rock on the 8-track tape deck he had mounted under the dashboard.

"Kids today," Spike said with the shake of his head, "no appreciation for the classics!"

"Tragic," Willow said, nodding her head in agreement.

Dawn just rolled her eyes at the two fogies.

********

Once they arrived in the desert, Willow used the information she gleaned from hacking Giles's PC in a remote access hookup with her notebook—and from employing a locator spell—to find the spot where Buffy had made contact with her Spirit Guide the previous spring. Using flashlights to guide them, they trekked a short distance when Willow exclaimed, "Guys, this is it!"

Willow unzipped the first of her two bags and began to set up the components necessary for the ritual. Meanwhile, Spike and Dawn gathered driftwood for the sacred bonfire, which Spike lit with his cigarette lighter.

As the witch laid out everything before her, Spike noticed the second bag was unopened. "What's in that?" he asked. "Somethin' else be needin' for the ritual?"

"Ummm, not exactly," Willow said. "See, like I told you back in the house, Buffy will undergo a rebirth into a new vessel. That means she'll come back in a clear body without, well, for example, scars or fillings in her teeth."

"B-but she will still look like Buffy, right?" Dawn asked with some new apprehension.

"Oh, definitely," Willow said. "At least, I'm pretty positive she will. But anyhow, like I was saying, new body ... uh ... no clothes. Buff in the buff. So, I brought some. Those are her gym sweats in the other bag."

Spike's eyes widened. "Buffy will be all nude-like?!" A sly smile spread across his face.

"I'm expecting you to be a gentleman and avert your eyes," Willow said sternly.

"Oh yeah, completely on board with that," Spike said, but a grin remained.

********

Willow combined the components for the ritual. She held out what looked like a petri dish as she sprinkled something into it and chanted in Swahili. Spike and Dawn sat cross-legged on either side of her. Spike had a working knowledge of at least half a dozen human languages, but Swahili wasn't one of them, so he had no idea what kind of magic the witch was invoking.

Finally, she finished the first part of the ritual and looked at Dawn and then Spike. "It's time for the b-blood." She pulled something out of the bag that was covered in a white cotton cloth. She slowly unwrapped it and revealed a knife. But it wasn't any old knife.

Dawn gasped, and Spike got a pain in the deepest pit of his stomach. No, not any old knife—THE knife. This was the one Doc had used to stab him in the back and then cut Dawn. All of those feelings of guilt came flooding back over Spike. He had failed Buffy. That message throbbed in his head. He had failed at the one thing in his whole miserable existence that he desperately had wanted to do right.

Willow saw the horrified looks on her friends' faces. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you. But the knife was there in the end, so I thought it would bind the ritual tighter for Buffy's new start. OK?"

"Fine with it," Spike said curtly. "What we need to do?"

"Uhh, slice a bit of your finger—just enough to bring some blood—and we mix all of this together, and it's put into the fire, Willow explained. "'Out of the smoke, the Slayer shall rise,'—that's what the book says anyhow."

Spike took the knife, looked at it with seething hatred and then made one quick slice on his right index finger. He squeezed some blood into the petri dish.

He handed the knife to Dawn, and she proceeded to do the same to her left finger. Although it must have hurt her, she shed no tears. 'Good for you, Nib,' Spike thought to himself, with appreciation of the girl's courage and determination.

Dawn looked at Willow and asked the question she had held inside until now. "Could we try to bring Mom back, too?" Her blue eyes pleaded with hope.

Willow bit her lower lip and then replied, "I'm sorry, Dawn. The ritual works only on Slayers. Not regular people like your mom."

The teen sadly shook her head. She understood.

Willow quickly mixed everything together and resumed the incantation. Her eyes went black as her head jerked upward. She emptied the contents of the dish into the fire. There was a tremendous plume of smoke.

Spike strained to see through it. If his heart had been beating, it would have skipped one when he caught a glimpse of someone on the other side of the fire! In anticipation of Buffy, he smiled ... but then it drained from his face.

Staring daggers at him was a crouching woman. She had white paint smeared on her face, her body was encrusted with mud and her hair was matted. She appeared to be some kind of aborigine.

*******

Spike shot a questioning look at Willow, whose eyes and demeanor had returned to normal. This sure as hell wasn't expected.

"Uh-oh," the witch said.

"What does THAT mean?" he asked, warily eyeing the creature on the other side of the fire. "Who's the bint?"

"T-that's the First Slayer," Willow said. "She's kinda grumpy."

"Meanin'?"

"Well ... she tried to suck the life out of me once  ... when I was dreaming."

"Oh, bloody hell!" Spike said. "Innit just perfect? Instead o' the last Slayer who died, we get the first one. Well, send 'er on 'er way. Not the right Slayer. Try again."

Suddenly, Dawn started to speak. "~Silence!~"

Spike and Willow were stunned.

"Dawn, hon," Willow asked, "what's the matter?"

"~I have no voice. She speaks for me. Why am I here?~"

Spike was alarmed for Dawn's sake. "Will, is she bein' hurt?"

"No, I'm sure she's OK," Willow said. "She's in a trance. It's just that the First Slayer is a Primitive; she precedes the spoken word. She needs someone to give voice to her thoughts, her emotions. And ... she picked Dawn."

Willow looked back the First—who was still crouched and peering through the fire—then to Dawn and back again. "No, we d-didn't summon you. But, oh ... not that I'm not glad to see you again."

Spike looked grim and flatly stated, "Let me handle this, Red."

He stood up and walked toward the First. "Look, we don't want you. Go away. We want Buffy. So, if you'll kindly leave and let us 'ave Buffy back, we'll all be peachy. Right?"

"~No!~" said the First Slayer through Dawn. "~She is us, and we are her.~"

Spike walked closer. "We can do this nice, or not-so-nice."

"~NO! Leave this sacred place. We live in the kill. In justice, not mercy. We are one.~"

"Guess that means not-so-nice," Spike said with a tight smile. He lowered his head, closed his eyes and looked as if he were straining. And then it happened. He morphed into Game Face, complete with ragged teeth and veins popping from his wrinkled forehead.

Willow actually gasped. It had been so long since she had seen Spike that way, she had practically forgotten about his demon side.

Spike spat at the First. "Bitch, I'm tired o' askin'! Don't suppose you know who I am. Name's William the Bloody ... and I've personally offed two o' your kind."

"Uh, Spike," Willow said, with alarm building in her voice. "This might not be the best time for getting all boasty!"

The vampire ignored his friend. He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, knocked a fag out, lighted it and inhaled deeply.

He became calmer and his voice more sing-songy. "Yeah, the first one I killed was a little thing. 'Bout this high," he said, as he held his hand out to measure her height. "And she tasted so sweet." He licked one of his fingers slowly. 'Nothin' better 'n Slayer blood,' I always say."

"~Silence!~" the First Slayer again demanded.

"Oh, right. Gonna listen to you," Spike said with a demented laugh. "Sod off." And then he blew a ring of cigarette smoke right in her face.

"Now, the second one. She was right smarter and stronger. But she wanted it, too. She wanted it bad. I drew it out, baby ... and then ... I gave it to her." And with that, as if the Subway Slayer's head once again was in his hands, he twisted an imaginary neck until it snapped and made a clicking sound with his tongue and teeth.

"The best part 'bout it," Spike continued, "was 'er coat. He dramatically unbuttoned and opened up his black leather duster, performing a little pivot as a model on the runway. "Like a second skin to me. And I look a sight prettier innit 'an she did."

The First Slayer's black eyes started to blaze. "~Vampire. Evil. Die.~"

Spike's yellow vampiric eyes glowed back in reply. "Yeah, that's pretty much the long and short o' it, eh?"

The First began to circle around the vampire as a cat stalks its prey. Spike kept pivoting on the balls of his feet to meet her gaze. Almost simultaneously, lightning flashed in the sky, followed shortly afterward by the slow, deep boom of thunder.

"I'm evil, through and through. You can smell it on me. The stench o' the soulless, the unpure," Spike continued. "I got the blood o' untold numbers on my hands. Can't wash it off ... ev'n if I wanted to. The world be better off without the likes o' me.

"But Buffy, the Slayer. The world needs 'er. It needs its hero. Its defender. A lady who keeps my kind in their place," Spike said, as the First rolled a stake between her two hands. "She died before 'er time. We know that, you and me."

Spike realized that appealing to the First's better nature concerning Dawn would do no good because the Primitive had no better nature. But she might be swayed by the argument that Buffy was still needed for the hunt, to maintain the balance between the forces of good and bad on Earth.

Wind was starting to whip up the sand on the desert as the lightning played in the sky like a Fourth of July display over the Potomac. Willow crawled to Dawn, still in the trance, and put her arms around her to offer some protection.

"So, here's the deal," Spike said. "Me in exchange for the Slayer—the Buffy Slayer, that is. "Won't put up a fight. Just stake me good, right 'ere, right now."

"No, Spike, don't!" Willow screamed out as she held on to Dawn. The witch understood the sacrifice Spike was trying to make. It's just that she feared his goading would lead to nothing but his own demise. The wind was too fierce, however, for her to make any kind of move or even to cast a spell. All she could do was sit there and watch the drama play out.

"Take me, Bitch!" said Spike, as he thrust his arms open in a sacrificial stance. "And give Buffy back to the world!"

The First Slayer wetted her lips with her tongue. She smiled hungrily in anticipation of the kill. She raised the stake to plunge it into the vampire's heart. Spike morphed back into his human face and waited for the end—eyes staring straight ahead without fear or regret—as the stake came down toward his chest.

At that moment, it seemed that a bomb exploded in the desert. The sand swirled so thick before Willow that she couldn't make out what was happening.

And then, just as suddenly, it was over. Everything was very still. Too still.

Dawn revived from the First Slayer-induced trance. "Willow? What happened?"

"I-I'm not sure Dawnie," Willow answered honestly. Both started hacking from inhaling sand. "Spike?" Willow cautiously called out as they stood up, and she took Dawn's hand and led her around the now-defunct fire's embers.

There was, however, no sign of the vampire—save some dust where he had stood.

And where the Primitive had been—now lay the prone figure of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer.

********

"BUFFY!" yelled Dawn as she ran to the spot where her sister was. Willow quickly followed behind with a flashlight.

Buffy arose to her knees. But she was shaky and disoriented.

Dawn gleefully hugged her and kissed her repeatedly. "You're back! It worked! You're alive!"

"OK," Buffy said, as she tried to shake the confusion from her head. "Two questions: Where the hell am I? And why don't I have any clothes on?"

Willow rushed back to get her bag with the sweats, "I've got you covered, Buffy," she said as she returned to Buffy. "Get it? It's a pun. Covered ... clothes?" When Buffy didn't smile, Willow added, "This is me being quiet now while you get dressed." Willow made a zipper motion across her lips.

*******

Dawn and Willow found that Buffy had no recollection of the past five months. Wherever her spirit had been hanging out since her original body expired, it left no traces with her conscious self.

She wanted to know about the rebirth ritual. Willow explained about Doc's book, how she had cracked the code and how they had come out to the desert.

"So, let me get this straight," Buffy said. "You and Dawn came out here all by yourselves to perform the ritual?

"Oh, no. Spike drove us out," Willow said. "And then he stood up to the First Slayer—whose grooming habits haven't improved since the last time we saw her—and ...

Before Willow could finish, Buffy asked, "Spike?" She looked around. She surprised herself at how anxious she was to see him. "Where is he?"

Willow sheepishly looked to the spot where his bootprints—and some dust—were. "H-he told the First Slayer to take him, stake him, in exchange for bringing you back. Buffy, I don't think he wanted to live anymore in a world that didn't have you in it. Then there was a big boom and ... poofy ... no more Spike."

"Poofy?" Buff repeated in a little girl's voice as she started to feel moisture pooling in her eyes, in spite of herself. She looked over to Dawn, who was violently shaking her head in the negative.

"NO! HE'S NOT DEAD!" she screamed. The teen snatched Willow's flashlight and started running out farther into the desert before Willow or Buffy could stop her. "Spike? Where are you? Spike, answer me! PLEASE answer me!"

As Buffy and Willow ran after Dawn, they heard her yell out the vampire's name again. As they caught up with her, they saw where she was shining the light. There on the ground was Spike, who must have been directly hit by the lightning bolt and knocked several yards away from where he was standing. He looked like one of those cartoon characters on TV who had stuck his finger into a socket: He was flat on his back. His hair was sticking straight up. He had dark circles under his eyes. And what was left of his leather duster was still smoldering.

Buffy knelt down beside him as Willow asked, "Is he dead? I mean, deader than he usually is?"

"I dunno," Buffy said as she pick up a limp wrist and then left it fall back in to the sand. "How can I tell? It's not like I can check for a pulse or breath." She was going to slap his face with the back of her hand and tell him to snap out of it. Instead, Buffy found herself lightly rubbing his cheek. She just couldn't understand this vampire. She had come to understand that his love for her was real, but she still didn't "get" why he fell in love with her. Why did he care? Why did he do stupid things like this and imperil himself—all for her? And ... had she ever thanked him ... for anything?

She looked up at Willow. "Is there something magic-wise you can do?

"Sorry," Willow said. "Vampire resurrection is w-way out of my territory."

Dawn knelt down beside her sister. "Buffy, maybe it's like a fairy tale."

Buffy gave her a "Huh?" look.

"You know," Dawn said. "Everyone thinks Sleeping Beauty is dead. But then, the Prince comes along and wakes her up with a kiss."

Buffy smiled sadly at the teen. "I'm afraid fairy tales are only in books. And besides, Spike is no Sleeping Beauty. Right, Willow?"

The witch shrugged. "W-well, it couldn't hurt ..."

Buffy looked at one and then the other of her companions, and then down at Spike. She wrinkled her nose, hesitated and then bent over him and gave him a quick peck on the lips. All three looked down at him and waited. Nothing happened.

Dawn spoke up. "Maybe you didn't kiss him deeply enough."

"OK," Buffy said to both of them. "Certain parts of my memory are still hazy. But I distinctly remember that I did not give Spike any tongue."

Just then, they heard a cough and a voice coming from the sand. "You know, Summers, I just wish that someday when you decide to give me a snog, I'll be mobile ... and fully conscious."

Buffy looked down at Spike, "Welcome back, cutie," he said with a lopsided smile.

********

The three females helped Spike to his feet. As he rose, what was left of his coat disintegrated into the sand. "No big deal," he said. "Been meanin' to get me a new one for some time now."

He started to ask Buffy how she was doing, but Dawn dragged her away, over to the car to show her the sketch of the two of them that she had drawn in art class.

"D-don't worry, Spike," Willow said, as she saw the disappointment in his face. "You'll get a chance to talk with her ..."

Just then, they saw two cars approaching from a distance, beeping their horns and flashing their headlights.

"... but maybe not right now," she finished.

As it turned out, the cars belonged to Giles and Xander. And by the looks on the faces of Giles and Tara as they got out of the car, Willow's lover had found her note about the rebirth ritual, and they were not amused.

Giles' face was red as he approached them. "Have you two lost your bloody minds? Trying to resurrect Buffy? Do you have any idea how dangerous that could be? Well, Spike, here, I could expect him to do something reckless. But I had certainly expected more from you, Willow. And to drag that poor girl up here under the pretense that she might get her sister back, it's just cruel and ..."

"Uh, Giles," Xander interjected.

"Yes, Xander, what is SO important?" Giles asked the young man who was facing him but looking over his shoulder.

"You might want to turn around," Xander said, in utter amazement. "Oh yeah, you really need to see this. Now."

The Watcher slowly glanced over his shoulder and saw Buffy, standing there as big as life with her hands on her hips. "Geeze, Giles. I would have thought you wanted me back a little bit more than that!"

"Buffy!" Giles whispered. He took off his glasses, cleaned them on his handkerchief and looked again.

"Yep," she said. "It's hard to keep a good Slayer down."

With that, Slayer and Watcher rushed into each other's arms. They were quickly joined by Xander and Willow in a group hug. The Four Musketeers together again.

Spike smiled. He envied the easy way they interacted with one another. The frequent hugs. The mutual support. Oh, vampires did form alliances. Sometimes they even stayed together for stretches of time with those in their bloodline, as he did with Angelus, Darla and Dru. But the dynamics of vampire society were all different. These humans trusted one another with their lives. You could never trust another vampire, not even your sire or your mate. And with that gloomy thought, he sighed.

After Giles regained his composure, he started planning all the things they needed to do to get Buffy's paperwork straight and away so that she was officially 'alive' again in the eyes of the law. Willow offered to do a general 'forget-Buffy-was-dead' spell, but Tara quickly interjected:

"H-honey, let's let Mr. Giles do it the old-fashioned way. I think you've done quite enough magic for one night."

Willow rolled her eyes at Spike. "Oh, boy. I can feel the Wiccan ethics lecture coming on."

"Needin' some earplugs? Think I have a pair in the car," he replied.

"Thanks, but no. I'll be hunky-dory," Willow said, and then she lowered her voice to a whisper. "Tara has a weakness for foot massages. Once I start working on the pressure points on those puppies, she'll be putty in my hands!"

"All right, then," Spike said, and then added something he needed to say. "And Will, thank you for your help. I mean that."

"Thank you, too ... Will," Willow said, with a smile at her own cleverness.

She walked over to Dawn and whispered something to her. The girl looked at Spike and then Buffy and grinned. She called to her sister, "Buffy, I'm going to ride home with Giles and Willow and Tara. I'll see you there."

"Yes, quite," Giles said, again in full control of his Watcher demeanor. "We have a full day ahead of us. We all need to get some rest. Goodnight, Buffy. See you bright and early tomorrow."

"Uh .... not too early," Buffy called out as she waved good-bye to the four heading off in the car.

Xander was still grinning ear-to-ear at the return of one of his dearest friends. "This was one of the bestest, Buffiest nights ever," he said. "We've got a lot to catch up on tomorrow. It's just so good to see you ... not dead."

Buffy smiled and shook her head. "It's good to be seen not dead, too."

He started to walk to the car and then realized Anya was not following him. He turned around and called to her. "Anya, sweetie," Xander said. "It's time for us to go."

His fiancée, however, did not budge. She looked at Spike and Buffy and said pleasantly, "I guess now you'll have Welcome Home sex and howl like the coyotes in the desert!"

Buffy's jaw dropped, and Spike looked like he had been hit by another lightning bolt.

"Anya," Xander said again, this time more insistent. "We REALLY need to go." He walked over to her, tugged at her elbow, and looked apologetically to Buffy and Spike.

"You would have Welcome Home sex with me if I came back from the dead, wouldn't you?" the ex-demon demanded to know.

"Yes, dear," Xander said. "And I'd howl like a bitch in heat. But ... see car. Leave now." He pushed Anya in the direction the vehicle and waved back over his head. "See you two kids in the mañana!"

********

As the pair drove off, Buffy and Spike finally were alone.

Spike spoke first. "Buffy, I need to ... to apologize. All my fault. If I 'ad done a better job on the night you ... you fought Glory ... this ... "

Buffy raised her index finger and pressed it against his lips and shook her head back and forth. "Shhh! It's not your fault. None of it is. Things just happened that were beyond anyone's control. Look at Giles with all his book knowledge or Willow with all her witchy-power. They couldn't get it done either. I had to do what I did to stop the madness. I ... I'm the one who's sorry so many people got hurt in the aftermath. I dunno. Maybe I had to go through this so that I'd stop regretting what I didn't have and learn to appreciate what I do."

Spike shrugged. He tried to take comfort in her words.

Then, Buffy did something totally unexpected. She hugged him, just as she had her other friends earlier. She slipped her left arm around his waist and her right arm around his neck and decided to say what she should have long before this. "Thank you, Spike. Thank you for everything you've done." She whispered the comforting words as her lips nearly touched his ear.

Spike could feel her soft breath warm him. He was honored that she treated him like she had the rest of the gang. He raised a shaky hand and gently petted the back of her now-light-brown hair. Still, even with her kind words, he half expected her to pull away in disgust.

Buffy felt Spike's hand on her head, and it was ... right. She was exactly where she should be. Where she wanted to be. She buried her face in his chest, eased both arms around his waist and pulled him tighter to her. When she felt his muscular arms wrap around her in response, she purred her approval.

Spike replied with a sensual growl. This was nothing like he ever had with Drusilla or Harmony ... or that hideous robot. Those embraces were heartless and dead cold. This was alive and real. Then, he looked down at how exposed Buffy had left herself. From long years of experience, he knew a certain point on a woman's neck—the softest and most susceptible ...

Buffy gasped when she felt Spike's lips caressing her neck—on a line right to the nape, where the tender part meets the hard part of the skull. Her entire body shuddered with pleasure.

The Slayer had had two long-term boyfriends, Angel and Riley, in her short life. They had both loved her. She had no doubt of that. But they also were sponges; they absorbed her until she was dry. Angel needed her continual validation that he was not a monster. Riley needed her constant assurance that she returned his love. Ultimately, they both left her. For different reasons. But the effect was the same.

The last time Buffy spoke with Spike before she died, he asked for nothing. He stayed by her side. In fact, it was he who did the giving—he gave to her the assurance that Dawn would be protected—and that helped her to make her peace with the decision to leap into the portal in place of her sister. As these thoughts danced through her mind, Buffy finally "got" it: She and Spike shared a profound connection, and her feelings ran far deeper than mere gratitude to this vampire. This man.

Spike sensed a change as Buffy totally relaxed in his arms, and that's when he knew. He closed his eyes in contentment and rubbed his cheek against hers. Then, they just stood there in an embrace under the moon in the middle of a desert.

Over the ages, philosophers have pondered the great questions of life: What makes us what we are? Is there some higher power guiding us? Is it a universe of randomness? Are some born under a lucky star?

When it comes right down to it, though, it matters less which star you were born under than which one you decide to follow. That had been a lesson long in coming for both Vampire and Slayer.

********

Spike was the first to speak. "Guess we'd better be gettin' back to Sunnydale. Nib's gonna be wonderin' what 'appened to us."

Buffy smiled as she reluctantly broke the embrace. "She's smart. I think she'll figure it out."

"Probably right," Spike said as he opened the passenger's door for Buffy to get in. He cocked his head and looked at her with appreciation while he hung on to the door.

She picked up the sketch of her and Dawn that the teen had drawn and smiled at it. "I'm going to have it framed and put on my nightstand."

Spike suddenly remembered he had something for Buffy, too. He reached over her and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a pink stuffed pig with a yellow ribbon crudely tied around its neck. He tossed it to her. "Welcome back, Buffy."

"Mr. Gordo!" Buffy squealed with delight and hugged her old sleeping companion. She fingered its new adornment. "Yellow ribbon, Spike?" she said with a wink.

"Bloody Tony Orlando," Spike replied with a roll of his eyes. As Buffy started laughing, Spike got an impish grin of his own.

"You know, Buffy, I'm lookin' forward to gettin' back to Sunnydale. Takin' a shower and relaxin' in my own bed in your basement."

As Spike shut the door, he could hear Buffy say, "Excuse me?! YOUR what in MY what?"

He laughed heartily and gave the fender a good swat as he strode around the front grille and toward the driver's side.

"Yeah, baby! Gonna be one fun ride home."

The End