"Never Again"

It had been less than twenty four hours since he last saw her — since she had allowed him to give her comfort. Spike wasn't sure when exactly he'd see her again. He supposed he could go seek her out, but he had the feeling that she needed time, or distance really, from him.

After she allowed him to hold her, she fell asleep in his arms, comfortable and content. The sound of her and Dawn's combined heartbeats eventually led him into a peaceful slumber as well, and when he woke up in the dark, cool cave, she was still there, in his arms, looking at him.

He wondered how long she'd been awake, and was about to ask her, but once they locked eyes with one another, she pulled away, saying that it was safe to get Dawn home now, and that she needed to check on Willow anyway. Tara was to be released early that afternoon, and Buffy wanted to be there for moral support.

Spike walked her and a half-awake Dawn through the tunnels and back up to his crypt's door. With an unreadable expression on her face, Buffy told him "thank you" before turning away, and heading out into the sunshine. Spike thought perhaps she wouldn't bother to acknowledge what happened last night—how she had let him in.

But then he thought that it was okay. The fact that she let him in in the first place was a true sign of progress. He could be patient—he would see her again, eventually.

Again turned out to be much sooner than he thought.

He was lounging in his easy chair in front of the telly, enjoying a bag of Flamin' Hots with his glass of blood, when Buffy came in, looking worried and distraught. He stood up, swiftly closing the distance between them, concern evident on his face.

"Buffy?"

"I need your help. Glory knows Dawn's the key, and...we have to leave. We have to leave town."

"So the psycho bitch isn't around right this second?" he asked, noticing how Buffy was much too calm if Glory was literally on her heels that very second.

"No. She got hit by a mack truck, and me and Dawn took off. But I don't know how much time we have before she comes to or whatever, and I don't plan on sticking around to find out. We aren't safe here— none of us are. Hence the fleeing town."

"You...want me to come with you?"

"Well, yeah. I mean...she knows where you are, Spike. If you stay here, you're as good as dust."

Spike swallowed, looking down as he nodded absently.

She cares, he thought to himself.

"What is it you need, Slayer?"

"For starters, a vehicle that can fit all...eight of us. Can you manage that?"

"For you, anything," he said with no humor or sarcasm in his voice.
She nodded solemnly at him, waiting.

"Well, come along, Slayer. We have a vehicle to nick, don't we?"

She followed him to the lower level of the crypt and through the tunnels, unaware that Spike was leading her to a parking garage full of possibilities.

When they found one large enough, and covered the windshield with foil, they drove down the streets of Sunnydale to the front of Xander's building to pick up the Scoobies. Spike was honestly quite shocked at the poor reception he received from the two men of the group. Surely they and the Slayer had powwowed it all out about Buffy using Spike's assistance in their utterly dire situation?

"What's he doing here?" Giles asked tersely.

Apparently not.

"Just out for a jaunt. Thought I'd swing by and say howdy," Spike replied, attempting to deflect the attention and overt accusation from the Slayer, and bring it all onto himself.

Come on, Rupes. Lay it all on me, Spike thought.

"Out," Giles commanded darkly.

"He's here because we need him," Buffy answered, looking up from her place at the tiny table.

"The hell we do," Xander retorted.

"If Glory finds us, he's the only one besides me that has any chance of protecting Dawn," Buffy tried to reason.

"Buffy, come on—"

"This isn't a discussion!" Buffy yelled, jumping up from her seat, shocking the hell out of everyone.

Spike wasn't sure who was shocked more—him, or Giles and the boy.

"He stays. Get over it."

Spike couldn't stop the smirk that grew to gargantuan proportions from the pride growing within him at the way Buffy shut down her friends.

For him.

It was almost as good as being allowed to hold her all night. In some ways, it was better. Buffy defended him to the people she loved and trusted most in the world. Spike knew in that moment that he was officially added to her short list of trusted individuals.

In spite of the fact that they were all in danger, and trying to avoid yet another apocalypse, he felt pretty damn good.

Could it get any better?


148 days later...


Of course the Niblet would just scamper off in the middle of a dire situation.

Wait until ol' Spike's distracted, and then I can play my damsel in distress routine.

Spike wasn't angry—frustrated and scared shitless would be much more accurate.

Concentrating, he picked up her delicate scent in the air, and followed it, desperate to find her before someone—or more likely something else did.

Judging by the trail her scent had left behind her, Dawn's movements seemed almost manic, an illogical series of zig zags, and doubling back from where she had already been. Was she purposely trying to confuse him—leave him worrying? Spike growled as he continued to track her.

Maybe she's pissed at me for refusing to give up watching—well, babysitting her as she put it. Well, too soddin' bad if she doesn't like it.

Spike had made a promise he had every intention of carrying out. He would watch over Dawn until she was an old lady surrounded by fat, pink grandbabies whether she liked it or not.

Spike's thoughts of Dawn-watching instantly dissipated as he saw where her trail had led—the tower. The ill-fated, wish it had never been built in the first place fucking tower. Only, it wasn't a tower. Not any more. Now, it was just a pile of wood planks and steel beams. Someone broke it down—not that it was all that stable to begin with, being built by crazies or what all.

Spike wished it had been him. It could have been very therapeutic, getting his anger and sadness out on the large inanimate object. His mind wandered off, re-visualizing his powerful Slayer, suspended in mid air, and trapped in a ball of bright, electrical energy as he watched, lying beaten and broken in places he never knew existed atop a pile of bricks.

Should've been me. Should've been...

But it had not been. It was Buffy who had died. She would never again grace him with her divine presence. Spike was surprised at the gentle wetness lingering on his bottom lids. He'd thought he was all cried out. Seeing her motionless form, unable to hear her wondrous heartbeat, at first he hadn’t thought he'd ever stop grieving all that he'd lost. He thought that maybe their one night together could sustain him, could help to ease the pain of it all.

It didn't, of course.

In fact, he came to the realization that it made it all the more painful, to come so close to touching heaven, and then lose it all within the same night. Hell crept in where heaven had once resided, and stayed there.

The pain was nearly unbearable. Almost. He still had...

Dawn.

He had to find Dawn. He had to find her, then shake the living daylights out of her.

Spike was awfully glad he didn't have a heartbeat to fret over, ‘cause it'd have been a mighty shame for him to keel over and kick it from a massive coronary before he could find the remaining Summers, and miss his chance at yelling at her in reproval. Lucky for her (as well as his peace of mind), the trail ended back home on Revello. The Bit was safe.

Her scent was tinged with an earthy smell, and a bit of blood. Spike wondered if she'd fallen and hurt herself on the way up the front porch steps or something, but was relieved that she was home. He would have been more concerned if there was an actual blood trail, but there wasn't, so he figured it couldn't have been much.

Well...good, then. A little scrape shouldn't hurt too much, but hopefully, it'll teach her a lesson about minding me next time.

Spike sighed, dropping his head as he turned the doorknob, wondering if his love for the young girl as well as his fear of losing her in any shape or form would eventually reduce him to ashes.

Probably.

"Dawn! Dawn, are you there?"

He could hear her moving around upstairs. Unfortunately, she wasn't moving fast enough—not nearly, and his patience wore out.

"Dawn!"

"I'm here!" she called back down to him.

"Thank God. You scared me half to death...or more to death. You—I could kill you." Spike glared up at her as she descended the stairs with the bot close behind.

"Spike," she said softly, but firmly, staring at him intently. But Spike was so far gone with anger and relief, he couldn't see clearly.

"I mean it. I could rip your head off one-handed and drink from your brain stem," he said darkly.

"Look."

Spike scoffed, looking warily at the bot. It was hard to look at it once Will fixed it upon Giles' request, saying that it could be used as a ruse for the demon world as well as to Dawn's advantage in order to be able to stay in Sunnydale. What made it even worse was that from time to time, the bot would still come on to him. Willow promised she'd fix it, but it had been months. Spike was sure she was toying with him for some reason or other.

Or not.

It just really pissed him off that the bot would still do that. It reminded him of everything he didn't have.

"Yeah? I've seen the bloody bot before. Didn't think she'd patch up so..." Spike trailed off at the sound of two heartbeats finally registering in his mind. The earthy scent. The blood. The scent that was purely his Slayer was all there. It was her. She was back.

She was alive.

Dawn was saying something, but he couldn't hear her. All he could hear was the melodious sound of her heartbeat.

"Spike? Are you okay?"

"I'm...what did you do?" he whispered in awe—too shocked to move or think beyond the words "alive- Buffy's alive."

"Me? Nothing."

Spike tilted his head, watching as Buffy glanced at him with curiosity as she tried to button up the rest of her shirt, then gave up, instead opting to clutch the two sides together with her bloody hands.

"Her hands."

Buffy lowered them at that, putting them behind her back looking uncomfortable.

"Um, I was gonna fix 'em. I don't know how they got like that."

Spike looked off to the side for a moment, as his brain began to fully function once again. "I do. Clawed her way out of her coffin, that's how. Isn't that right?" he asked, looking at Buffy.

"Yeah, that's...what I had to do," she answered softly. She stared at him as he continued to stare at her.

But for some reason, his brain did that whole shutting down thing again, and for a moment, he was fully convinced it was all a dream. But then he snapped back to reality, mentally shaking himself. Buffy needed help, and he would be there for her.

"Um, we'll take care of you. Come here," he said softly. She came down the steps, and relaxed as his hand found its way onto her shoulder. It was obvious that her ability to walk was just fine, but Spike just had to touch her somehow; he had to make sure she was in fact there, and not an illusion his desperate mind created.

"Get some stuff, uh, mercurochrome, bandages," he told Dawn, not even bothering to look at her, and almost completely missing her response of "okay" because his rapt attention was so completely focused on Buffy. She led him into the living room, sitting down on the sofa. Spike sat on the coffee table, facing her, taking her hands gently in his. Feeling her eyes on him, he looked up.

"How long was I gone?"

"Hundred forty-seven days yesterday. Uh... hundred forty-eight today." He smiled at her a bit. "'Cept today doesn't count, does it?"

As she remained silent, he looked over her hands once again before looking back at her. "How long was it for you...where you were?"

"Longer," she answered softly, causing Spike to slightly tilt his head at her, gazing at her in wonder. He absentmindedly began stroking the unscarred tops of her hands with his thumbs as he stared into her eyes.

For the first time in nearly six months, the gnawing emptiness in his gut seemed to drift away until it finally dissipated into oblivion.

And all it took was for the impossible to occur—for the woman that he loved that had been long gone from the world to return to him.



A/N: Okay, so I have no idea when I'm going to update this, although I do where I want to go with it (mostly). Anyway, I have to update WIP, and somehow finish ATWATS, though I'm not sure how. Muse, for whatever reason, wanted to do this first before the other two. Hope you liked ;)

"Spike, you have to eat something. You aren't healing, and you're wasting away. Furthermore, I'd like to have the chance to be able to sit on the couch in my own home at some point."

"Why--so you can enjoy the gigantic plasma in your living room? Oh wait... Leave me be, Watcher." Spike's sarcastic response came out dry and scratched from his latest bout of crying. It had been two days since the funeral, and he hadn't moved one inch since lying down on Giles' couch.

Although he would never have admitted it to them, however, he had to hand it to Giles, and to the rest of the Scoobies, particularly Harris, for trying to help him deal. It was hard on them all, of course, because they all loved her in their own way, but Buffy's death seemed to hit Spike and Willow the hardest. The hours following her death were particularly hard on the platinum blonde and the red head--their inconsolable sobs seemingly warring with each other, until a sad realization had dawned on Willow.

No one had told Angel.

Willow had taken personal responsibility for telling the souled vampire. However, when she called and received no answer, she seemed to become even more distraught, but remained determined just the same.

She had insisted on going to L.A. first thing in the morning to tell him personally of Buffy's demise. Spike, along with the others, assumed it was mostly because the now fragile redhead couldn't bear to help with, or even discuss, the arrangements of Buffy's funeral and burial. Those tasks were left to the rest of them.

Anya had chosen her dress. Long, black, somber…Boring.

Giles added a simple gold cross to adorn her neck.

Her surrogate father was also the one who chose "Beloved Sister, Devoted Friend" for the first part of her headstone, while Xander added "She saved the world." Dawn completed it with adding "a lot" to the end.

Hell, it was true.

Spike insisted on doing the obituary, dictating to Tara how he thought her life story, the Slayer aspect of it anyway, should be told. His words were elegant, and did his Slayer justice. Dawn, with the aid of Giles, worked out her early years.

Two days passed, and the day had come to finally lay her to rest.

Spike, though he still couldn't walk, demanded that he be allowed to go. No one argued with him. In fact, it was Xander who procured him a wheel chair so that he could travel with ease to her funeral. He even attached a golf umbrella, insulated with foil to protect Spike from the sun.

Spike was stunned speechless, and nearly started up with the water works again. He was torn between gratitude to Harris for being so thoughtful to him, and disdain at having to ride around in a wheelchair again. But he'd gladly do it so that he could be able to...so that he could...

Say goodbye.

Any torture or bad memories would be worth being able to see his Slayer…to see his girl off.

Funny thing, that.

He managed to get inside of the bloody funeral home, with Harris wheeling him in, but when faced with her open casket, he couldn't bear to look at her. His golden goddess--vibrant, beautiful, and…dead. It was a hard thing to accept. She was cold, lifeless, still. It wasn't his Buffy. It couldn't be. He couldn't look.

Instead, he gazed longingly at the color photo depicting her smiling face on the cover of her obituary, causing a small smile to flit across his own. Then he frowned when he realized that no one had taken care to put the actual dates of either her birth or her death. He sighed, looking up as the funeral director closed the pearly white casket (for the director knew all except one were in attendance to the very private and secret funeral) placing the bouquet of flowers atop it.

He listened intently as Tara's soft, steady voice read Buffy's obituary at the podium.

She didn't stutter once.

"Her movements were like liquid fire--swift, deadly, precise, and with a flare strictly hers. Buffy was truly one of a kind, and there will never be anyone able to touch even the barest hint of her grace, or have half her heart. In the end, the only thing that could take her from this world was not in demon form, but in the form of love. Love for her sister, and for the world we all have to live in. She sacrificed herself so that the rest of us could live to see another day. Her act, her bravery, and unconditional love were, are, and always will be, an inspiration to us all."

Then the moment came when the director (a close acquaintance of Giles', and owed him a favor or two) asked if anyone wanted to share a fond memory. Because her death was to be kept secret, the only ones there besides her core group of friends and kid sis were the cheerleader, Cordelia, and her other Watcher, apparently, by the name of Wesley.

Good thing too. Otherwise, that part of the funeral might have been awfully quiet.

"It's no secret how much of a bitch I--oh, sorry... Is that bad to say? Here, I mean?" Giles chuckled silently to himself, while Xander nodded in encouragement at the now flustered Cordelia, to continue.

"Well, I wasn't pleasant to most in those teen years. I'm over it now. Anyway, um, there were times, many times, when we didn't get along. Like when we ran against each other at Homecoming, or the time I tried to steal Angel away from her, or any one of the many various insults I gave to her, or her friends. But that never stopped her from saving me. I couldn't even tell you how many times that girl came to my rescue."

She paused, giving a watery smile as she turned to glance at the casket before facing the room again. "There was even one time, when she didn't even have her Slayer strength, and tried to come to my rescue when this huge cretin was being rough with me. But that was Buffy--she was a hero, unbelievable physical strength present or not. The girl must've had a complex or something. I'm glad she did, though, 'cause otherwise, I'm willing to bet that none of us would even be here." She sniffled, and nodded at them all in the front row, though frowning slightly at the vampire with the dark shades in the wheelchair on the side.

The tear tracks that bled through the rim of his large glasses were not lost on her.

She walked back down the aisle several rows back to her seat next to Wesley.

Anya, giving a comforting hug to Xander, stood up, and walked to the podium to speak. She cleared her throat, taking out a little blue note card.

"I've been around for over a millennium. And in all my years, I've never seen anyone inspire the kind of loyalty from people, from mortals with so much to lose, like Buffy did. Do you guys even realize how truly amazing that is? Most people would probably go, 'hey, I'll support you, from way over here. Give me a ring if you need any help,' or something like that. Everyday, you guys, her friends, who are of no blood relation, stood beside her, risking your own lives, because you cared about her so much. And sure, we all want to do good things, and be good people, but I think the only reason that we all do what we do, and will continue to do in her stead is because we had the chance, and the honor to walk with a hero--a champion. Our friend."

As she walked back to her seat, Xander stood up to meet her, pulling her to him, and hugging her close. After a brief inhalation of Anya's comforting scent, and a deep sigh, Xander walked up to the podium.

"I honestly don't know what it is to say or add about Buff that you guys don't already know, or haven't said. That she was beautiful, smart, a good friend, a hero... and even that's not enough. I don't think that there's even enough adjectives in the English language that would even begin to scratch the surface of what was...Buffy Summers. My uh, my sophomore year in high school, Buffy became my best friend. And this was after, of course, the many times she saved my life as well, and would come to my aid time and again many times after. But Buffy, she...she wasn't just the muscle. She wasn't just the Slayer. She was funny, and kind...forgiving. And here I go with the lame adjectives again. But whatever it was she did, she put her whole heart into it. She was unselfish like that.

“For a long time, I thought she was invincible, somehow. She got drowned by the Master, and all she needed to do was cough up some murky water. She gets nearly drained of her blood, and then she's up hours later to lead us in a fight in the latest apocalypse. Crazy robot, demony thing that seems to be unstoppable, but Buffy holds her own until we did a little chant, and she reaches into his chest cavity and kills his power source. Spike was right--the only thing that could stop Buffy was…well, Buffy. I just hoped...I just wish she had more time, ya know? Being so young and..."

And suddenly, it was all too much.

Xander broke down, face scrunched up in grief before he walked away and sat back down next to Anya. She held him, rubbing his back gently.

Giles stood up, ignoring the boy's quiet sobbing, and walked stiffly to the podium. His face seemed to be devoid of any emotion, though his eyes were glassy. He looked downward as he began to speak.

"Buffy was not just my charge, or just a Slayer to me. As much as the Council wanted me to, I never could, never did just view her as a weapon. She was the closet thing I ever had to a child. I felt as if...she were my daughter just as much as she was Joyce's. She was truly, um...I..." Slowly, Giles turned around, fully facing the casket.

"You, you deserved so much better, Buffy. I'm sorry that I failed you," Giles whispered, walking up to the casket. He collapsed on top of it, sobbing openly, repeating over and over how horribly he had failed her, begging for her forgiveness. It was Willow who went to him moments later, assisting the broken man back to his seat.

And then it was time for the final viewing.

Spike simply could not not look any longer. It would be his last chance to really see her, even if she wasn't...even if it was just her body.

Spike made sure that he was last. She looked peaceful as she lay there. If Spike hadn't known any better, and been without his vampiric abilities, he might have been able to delude himself that she was only sleeping. But as it was, he couldn't hear her heartbeat. He knew that she was room temperature.

She wasn't really there at all.

Though it was a dangerous trek in the bright sunshine, Spike made it through the cemetery with Xander's help and his foiled umbrella. Thankfully, Buffy's final resting place was under a large oak tree, creating a blanket of shade over the spot. Spike wondered if that was a coincidence on the Scoobies' part, or if they chose such a spot knowing that the Slayer might receive vampire visitors in the daytime.

Not that Angel actually came. Wanker.

Everyone seemed to be holding up better at that point. Wesley began to read a passage from the Bible upon Giles' request.

But as the casket began to be lowered into the ground...

The Bit finally broke.

Tara tried to hold her, console her, but it wasn't enough, not nearly.

Dawn broke away from her embrace, and launched herself onto Spike, sobbing into his neck. Even though her frame was slight, it hurt like hell to have her weight bearing down on his still broken legs in such a way. But he didn't care. He'd be there for Dawn no matter how much pain was involved. And not just because of his promise either--Dawn was his to protect.

He loved her.

Xander seemed to notice Spike's grimace of pain, though, and gently pulled the sobbing girl off him.

And then it was all over.

Time to leave, and perhaps congregate at the Summers' home for the repast, as was tradition. Only Spike hadn't moved. He had continued to sit, watching as one of the caretakers began shoveling dirt atop her pristine coffin. The caretaker managed to get in six full shovels of dirt before Harris made his way back over, attempting to wheel Spike away.

“Come on, Spike. It's time to go."

“No," Spike protested, gripping the wheels, which put his pale hands dangerously close to the sun's deadly rays. "I wanna stay. It's no harm in staying."

"That's debatable. It's still bright out, in case you haven't noticed. And besides, Dawnie's worried about you. Wanted to make sure that you were coming back," he said softly.

"No, I'm soddin' well not gonna hurl myself into the sunshine, if that's what you all were thinking."

Not that he hadn't considered it, briefly.

All right, extensively.

But he always ended up not attempting it. He still had Dawn to consider. He couldn't leave his girl.

But it didn't seem worth feeding anymore. Or at the very least, he didn't think he could stomach it right at the moment. He could tell from the smell that Giles had even added a bit of otter to coax him into taking the steaming mug, but even that wasn't swaying him.

But as he began to think back on leaving the cemetery, and how the others kept glancing at him in concern, wondering if he would end it all by allowing the sun to touch his flesh, wasting away by refusing blood that would help him heal wasn't a better option, and would eventually end with the same result…his turning to ash, as well as his failing Dawn, once again. He couldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't let the days continue to pass on by, laid up on Giles' sofa just because the Watcher was suddenly too nice to not push him off it.

Still feeling quite stubborn, Spike kept his back to Giles, and instead opted to hold his hand out, waiting for the mug full of nourishment the Watcher had already prepared.

"Thank you," Giles said, placing the cup in his hand.

Spike nodded absently, bringing the cup to his lips, vowing that he wouldn't run away--not literally, nor through death. It wouldn't be easy, not hardly, but he'd find a way. He always did.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Spike couldn't contain the anger and frustration building up within him.

They had known.

No, not only had they known, they had planned Buffy's resurrection, and hadn't told him.

Bloody soddin' hell, he was furious.

And yet ecstatic as well.

Buffy was here; she was back. But what did that mean? Was she all right? Was she hurt? Did she need anything? Anything at all?

Unfortunately, he wasn't around long enough to find out. Spike felt beyond betrayed at not being told, and honestly, he didn't know how to accept it. It was such an incredible blow. All of the trust and camaraderie he thought they had built over the summer had apparently meant nothing to them.

And by them, he meant Xander, Willow, Tara and Anya.

It was obvious that the Bit was totally clueless to what they had planned, and Giles as well, since he wasn't there. He never would have left if he had known...

And for Xander to have the audacity to accuse him of stalking Buffy again was beyond a low blow. In that moment, he hadn't even cared about whether or not his chip would fire when he slammed the boy against the large tree he just happened to be leaning against, facing away from Buffy's window, mind you, crying silently to himself.

He couldn't stay there a moment longer--he just couldn't.

At least, not while they were there.

By the time he got to his crypt, he realized that he couldn't leave it like that. Sure, it was about three in the morning, but still...he had to check on her, and make sure she was okay. And even if she was, he needed to be sure she had a decent night's rest.

He hopped off of his newly acquisitioned motorcycle a block away, and walked it the rest of the way to the front of the Summers' home. He didn't want to wake the ladies. Taking out a fag, he leaned against his tree, and settled in for the rest of the night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

As much as she tried, she couldn't sleep. Seeing the photo of her and her friends morph into corpses really didn't help. So, Buffy lay there, in her room, staring at the ceiling, feeling incredibly bored. She turned on her side, staring out of the window. Her brow furrowed as a potent scent reached her nostrils--it was coming from her pillow. Though it wasn't unpleasant, she just wasn't sure what it was. She turned her head, her nose inhaling deeply. As the strong scent assaulted her nostrils, images began filtering through her mind's eye.

The night she...her room...just the two of them...

Spike.

The leather, the cigarettes, the bourbon...It was comforting.

She inhaled deeply again, playing out the memories of their one night together. God, how she wished he was there with her. She needed...she wasn't sure what she needed.

She wasn't sure of anything.

As she lay there, lost in thought, she thought she heard the sound of metal clink together. No, in fact, she was sure of it. Thankful for finally having a reason, she got out of bed and looked out her window. She looked across the street before finally looking down and seeing the top of a platinum head.

"Spike?" she called out softly.

His head snapped up, lit cigarette dangling from his lips, and eyes wide in shock at being caught.

"Oh. Hi. I was just, uh...why aren't you sleeping?"

"Tried. Couldn't."

"Oh." Spike shifted on his feet uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

The gesture almost brought a smile to Buffy's face.

Almost.

"Wanna come up? I'm bored? You're...well, wanna come up?"

He looked up at her, tilting his head slightly.

"Uh, yeah. Okay." Spike flicked his cigarette to the ground, stepping on it before starting to walk to the front porch.

"Wait!" Buffy stage whispered. "Just come through the window--I don't want to wake anybody."

Spike arched an eyebrow at her. "Right. But just so you know, I'm fully capable of sneaking into a house. Vampire stealth, and all," he said, but did as she asked. Seconds later, he crawled through her window, stumbling over the sill, and falling not so gracefully to the floor.

"Vampire stealth, huh?"

That earned him a smile. Well, it was more of a smirk. All the better to tease him with.

Spike was just glad he was incapable of blushing.

"Well uh...just been off, is all. No worries," he explained awkwardly. "So, what's the problem, Summers?"

Buffy sighed, shaking her head as she walked back around the bed, sitting down at the foot of it.

"I dunno. I just... It's weird, being here."

"You're bloody tellin' me." She looked up at him, a question in her eyes.

"I mean...you're all there. You're...you're perfect,” he said, getting that look of awe in his eyes again. “Usually spells of this caliber...I don't know what Willow did, but whatever it was, she did it right." He lowered his eyes, looking away from her. "I mean, I...never expected to see you again, love."

"They didn't tell you what they were planning."

"No. They didn't."

"I heard you and Xander earlier. You've been here all summer," she stated. She already knew, of course. As soon as she saw him at the bottom of the stairs earlier that night, she knew.

Spike nodded at her, before looking around her room, his eyes landing on her closet. He strode over to it determinedly, yanked the door open, and reached towards the top shelf, pulling something down with ease. He closed the door, and turned so she could see.

It was Mr. Gordo.

"Here," he said, holding the stuffed pig out to her. "Hold this. Thought maybe it could help, with the sleeping," he explained.

This time, she did smile; gratefully.

"Thanks," she said, scooting backwards so that she could lie down. "Will you stay? I'd...find that comforting too. Like a double threat of comfort. But when you think about it, that's a bit of an oxymoron."

Spike, looking incredibly bashful, nodded at her. He took off his coat and hung it on the hook on her closed bedroom door, and began to sit on the floor.

"No--I mean... Do you mind sleeping here? Can you...hold me? Triple comfort," she explained, feeling none too comfortable as she said it, but meaning every word.

"Of course, Buffy. Whatever you need."

The line took her back to that fateful day when she told him they needed to leave Sunnydale. Yes, she had no doubt that Spike would be there for her for whatever it may be that she needed.

Or wanted.

Her eyes almost instantly closed once she felt his arm wrap around her waist, his hand resting on her stomach. The pig with its plastic eyes lay clutched against Buffy's chest, staring straight ahead at the wall on the opposite side.

Yes--that was much better.

"Sweet Dreams"

It took approximately five weeks for him to regain the proper use of his legs again. Spike had been determined. Not just because he knew he was needed on patrol. No. Spike had a particular flight of stairs he was in desperate need of climbing.

He hadn't been to her room since...since the night she invited him in.

Since the night they made love.

The house was quiet that evening, just as he knew it would be.

Willow and Tara, who moved in with the Bit within a week after the world didn't end, had taken Dawn out to dinner and a movie. Quality girl bonding time—full of pampering and molly coddling, he was sure.

Spike needed to be alone for this—didn't need anyone else's prying eyes.

First, he went down to the basement, replacing all of the pictures he had collected of her.

Didn't seem right, keeping hold of them. Especially after...everything.

Then came her clothing.

He climbed the steps to the first floor where all the bedrooms were. He dreaded opening her door, though, wondering if their mingled scents still permeated the room after all that time.

He turned the knob slowly, pushing the door open. He gritted his teeth as his keen vampire nose collided with her smell, stale and tainted with Time.

He stopped breathing.

Because that would have made it all that much harder.

He neatly folded and put away the few articles of clothing he had of hers—shirts, bandanas, cute little undies...

Spike sighed, wearily sitting down upon the bed they had shared once, after his task had been completed. He grabbed her pillow, the one she favored most to lay her head on, and finally inhaled deeply. He shuddered internally before breathing in again, and again, hugging the pillow close to him.

And then he wept.

He would go through this ritual of crying and inhaling her scent almost daily, whenever he had the chance to be alone in the Summers' home. It was only after he had tainted each pillow with his scent, to the point that it nearly overpowered hers, that he finally stopped.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He simply couldn't come to grips with the fact that she was really there. He had to be dreaming...

Only he wasn't.

It was real. She was really there, and allowing him to hold her, to give her comfort.

Spike silently sobbed to himself, soon after Buffy fell asleep in his arms. They were tears brought on by happiness, of course, though he still couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed of them, dripping once again onto Buffy's pillows, and a bit onto the back of her shirt as he held her close.

A few moments later, he pulled himself together, and realized that she was tense in her sleep—her body rigid, as she drew her feet up, clutching the stuffed pig to her.

She was cold, he realized.

Spike slowly released her, easing off the bed. He grabbed his duster hanging on the hook on the back of her door, and laid it gently over her sleeping form. He contemplated if he should stay until morning, or not. His girl was asleep, safe and warm. But she had asked him to stay, admitting that his presence brought a bit of comfort.

Decision made, Spike walked over to the window, closing its curtains before taking off his boots. Cautiously, almost reverently, he reclaimed his position beside Buffy, and wrapped his arm around her waist.

Once he was asleep, Buffy turned around in his arms, subconsciously seeking him out, abandoning the pig to hold him close to her. Feeling her arms wrap around him, Spike purred in content.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Try as she might, Dawn simply couldn't fall asleep.

She spent the better half the night tossing and turning, pulling the covers up before flinging them off in frustration.

She knew what the problem was, of course. She had spent the last five months missing her sister horribly, and nearly every night since secretly curling up at the bot's side for comfort.

All the night's she didn't, she spent at Spike's crypt.

Dawn hated being alone.

But neither were there—the bot was destroyed, and Spike had stormed out several hours earlier. She briefly entertained the idea of going to him for about a second, before the thought that her real sister was in fact back home resonated through her mind.

With a sharp intake of breath, Dawn rolled out of bed, quickly landing on her feet before briskly walking to her door, opening it quietly, and walking down the hall to Buffy's room.

She hadn't shared a bed with her sister since...well, since they first moved into the house on Revello, actually. Dawn had been scared, sleeping in her new room the first week or so, and would sneak into Buffy's room in the middle of the night. She supposed it should have bothered her, not going to her mother instead, but she knew that Buffy would be the one to protect her from whatever Boogie Man might be lurking in the shadows.

Stupid monks.

Dawn scowled, twisting the knob violently on Buffy's door, then stopped dead in her tracks as she saw the back of her sister's sleeping form, wrapped in Spike's leather duster. Though his face was hidden from view due to the position of Buffy's head, she could still see the top of his curly, platinum head, and his pale arm wrapped securely around her sister. Dawn gasped, her throat constricting, as she took in their serenity.

And though she could see neither of their faces, she knew without a doubt that they felt at peace.

Dawn dropped her head, slowly closing the door as she backed away, the unmistakable pain and heat of jealously pinpricking her innards.

As Buffy's door softly clicked, Dawn realized that earlier that night, without her knowledge, she had already been shut out.

Just when she thought she had her sister back, she was losing her all over again.

But this time, it was to Spike.

Dawn choked back tears, as she slid down Buffy's closed door to the soft carpet of the floor, and realized that coincidentally, she was losing Spike too.

It was almost comical, really. She'd been trying the last few weeks to get rid of him, kind of.

She just thought that she was holding him back—that he needed some Spike time, or to hang out with people other than her at any rate.

Now, he had his chance.

Dawn knew that he would now devote all his time to Buffy. How could he not? She knew that her best friend would be lost to her.

And as for Buffy, well, Dawn could only hope that she wouldn't forget about her.

Duh--of course she wouldn't...

Would she?



~*~*~*~*~*~

Late the next morning, Buffy grudgingly awoke in her darkened room to the sight of a peacefully sleeping Spike before her. Her mouth slowly parted as she gazed at him in wonder, fingers ghosting over the sharp planes of his face, taking in his look of contentment as well as the dried tear tracks beneath the dark lashes against the pale skin of his face.

She briefly entertained the idea of him as a fallen angel. If he was, then maybe that was why the prickling of loneliness in her heart seemed to ebb when she was near him.

But as she continued to stare, it suddenly dawned on her that he had been crying. She realized in that moment that Spike had grieved her, though why he would be sad now was beyond her. She didn't know what to make of it.

"Spike?" she called out softly, but he didn't stir.

"Love..." he mumbled, arm tightening slightly around her. His eyes were still closed, and Buffy was almost certain he was still sleeping. She sighed, gently extricating herself from his tight, albeit gentle, embrace.

She was damn thirsty.

She got up, taking his duster that had kept her warm all night with her. She put it on, clutching it to her body as if it were an oversized, leather bathrobe.

She made her way to the kitchen, where she overheard her friends' low murmurings from the backyard.

They were discussing her, and the fact that some demon hitched a ride on her soul.

From hell.

Buffy knew that she should probably go out there, and discuss what exactly was happening, but she didn't feel the need. No research--no slaying any baddies. Right now, all she wanted was--

"And on top of all that, Spike was sleeping with her? I mean, was she even aware? Of course she wasn't. Maybe it was just another apparition?" Xander questioned. The others paused before slowly agreeing that perhaps that was the case.

"I mean, Buffy wouldn't...I mean..." Willow trailed off, unsure of how to phrase her thoughts. Anya cut in eagerly at the opprotunity the lapse in conversation presented her with, for she felt completely under utilized with it came to such matters. They hardly asked her about anything.

"She just got back from hell and said she wanted to be alone. That doesn't mean 'wrap me in the pale arms of my once mortal enemy.' But then again, having orgasmic sex can fight off the doom and gloom of depression. For awhile, anyway."

"Um, they were fully clothed, so..." Tara trailed off.

"You do realize you don't have to be completely naked to have sex, right?" Anya asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. Xander cut in before anyone could answer her.

"But we can't be sure it wasn't the apparition, ghostly thing, right?" Xander asked.

"It could've been. I mean, that'd make more sense. We can just ask Buffy when she wakes up," Willow suggested.

Buffy had heard enough. Not only did she not feel like explaining, but she was certain they wouldn't get it. And anyway, she couldn't really even explain last night to herself. But an explanation was not needed or mattered.

It was comfort. He was comfort. That was all she needed to know.

Quietly, she went to the fridge, grabbed a carton of juice, and headed back upstairs to her room. Buffy's eyes widened when she saw her empty bed, and she became stunned into brief immobility once her eyes locked on her open window.

She cursed the front of her house for facing West.


A/N: Please don't be pissed...Lengthy, explainy update to come shortly :P