The world came rushing back to them, dizzyingly, causing in them a vertigo much like that which comes from looking over a steep cliff or down from the roof of a very tall building.  Buffy stumbled slightly as sensation returned; Spike tightened his grip on their linked hands even as he turned to face her, reaching out to steady her with the other. 

Looking around they quickly recognised their location; they weren’t far from Spike’s crypt in Restfield Cemetery. 

“Well, at least we don’t seem to have gone far,” Spike commented. 

“Great, all that and we end up here.” Buffy looked around them, “Home sweet home.” Her brow creased, “But why would he bring Dawn back to the cemetery?” she mused quietly. 

“Don’ know, love. My guess is we’ll find that out when we find the Nibblet.” Gazing up at the clear night sky he added, “Stars are different, though; more like early spring than mid-autumn.” 

Buffy stared sceptically at him. “Ok, see… now, you’re scaring me.”  

Spike laughed. “Knowin’ the position of stars in the sky is just second nature, pet. Guess I’m showing my age, yeah?” he asked, his laughter faded to an uncertain smile. 

It was Buffy’s turn to laugh when she saw his uncertainty. “Yeah, you are. But you know,” she continued, running her eyes appraisingly up and down his body, “you look pretty good for someone who’s, like, ancient,” she teased in an attempt to lighten the mood and put paid her companion’s sudden insecurity. 

“Ancient, am I?” Spike growled. “I’ll show you ancient, little girl.” He lunged for her, fingers wiggling as he threatened to tickle her, and she squeaked and made to run off only to be captured and pinned tightly against a hard, muscular chest. “Looks like I caught myself a slayer,” he purred against her ear. “What should I do with her, I wonder?” His agile fingers worked teasingly across her vulnerable ribs, tickling slightly and threatening further retribution. 

“Don’t. No, Spike, lemme go!” Buffy pleaded helplessly. “’kay, you win. You’re not ancient. Now, please, Spike, lemme go!” she begged through her laughter. She may have supernatural strength, and be Chosen to save the world from all that is evil; despite all of that, however, Buffy was incredibly, unbearably, debilitatingly ticklish. 

Spike released her, his hands skimming lightly down her waist to her hips as he reluctantly dropped them. The happy smile faded from his lips as he recalled the reason for their current situation. “Right, love. Best we see about trying to find the Nibblet, yeah?”   

Buffy sobered instantly, the brief moment of enjoyment quickly brushed aside for more pressing matters. “Yeah, I just... don’t know how. I mean, I kinda figured we’d pop in wherever she was. I guess it’s not going to be that easy, but then again, when is it ever? D’you have any ideas?” she asked hopefully. 

Spike closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, searching for Dawn’s scent on the crisp, cool night air. A faint trace of her, clearly recognisable despite its weakness, tickled his nostrils. “This way,” he indicated, setting off in the direction in which his keen vampire senses told him his charge lay. 

They set off through the cemetery towards the industrial side of town, with Spike pausing every now and then to test the air and make certain they were still on the right track. 

As they left the grounds by a rarely-used side gate, a slight disturbance in the air—just the faintest hum and a warning prickle along the back of her neck—caught Buffy’s attention; in an instant, she reached out, grabbing Spike and pulling him towards her as the crossbow bolt flew with a sickening whirr through the space his heart had occupied only seconds before. 

The vampire and the Slayer quickly adopted fighting stances, covering each other’s backs as their eyes scoured the shadows for their attacker. 

Buffy’s voice came to them from the darkness below the left hand wall. “Don’t move.” The command was barked sharply in a voice slightly rougher and harsher than Buffy’s own. A figure stepped into the moonlight; the woman before them was clearly Buffy Summers, although a much leaner, more muscular version.  This version was certainly absent the more prom queen of Buffy’s tendencies; her hair was tied back tightly, and her face was pinched into what appeared by the deeply etched lines to be a permanent scowl of displeasure. 

“Spike,” she stated, her voice flat, devoid of emotion as she held the crossbow levelled at the vampire’s heart. With one hand she reached into the pocket of her jacket, fishing out a cigarette and placing it in her mouth before reaching once more for the lighter. She took a long, slow draw on the cigarette, releasing her breath in a cloud of smoke as she continued. “Now, I know I dusted you years ago. So, would you like to explain to me how it is that you came to be here, in my town, again? And what’s with the slayer-wannabee vampette?” she sneered as a parting shot.  

“Vampette? Slayer-wannabe?” Buffy glared indignantly at her doppelganger, “Why, you cheap knock-off...” 

“Easy, Slayer,” Spike interrupted, his words directed at his slayer while his eyes never left the other. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a bit of a situation here, pet. An’ somehow I don’ think you’re gonna be helping matters going off all slayer-on-a-mission. How’s ‘bout we all just take a deep breath, an’ start again, yeah?”  

“You don’t breathe, fang-face.  Remember?” the less-friendly Buffy snapped. 

Taking a long, steadying breath, Buffy conceded that Spike was probably right; there was no point in escalating the situation any further. “Look,” she reasoned with her counterpart, “this isn’t your Spike.  He’s not from here; we’re not from here. We’re from another dimension. This big, ugly, dimension-skipping demon kidnapped Dawn, and we’re just trying to get her back, ‘kay?  So you know, how bout a little less of the John Wayne routine? Just let us get on with the whole rescue thing.” 

“John Wayne used guns, pet, not arrows. Now if you’d said Ton…” 

“Spike! So not helping here!” Buffy snapped, cutting him off sharply. 

“’m just saying,” the vampire mumbled sulkily.  

“Ok. That’s enough,” the other slayer growled, raising the crossbow further. “You seriously expect me to buy this dumb and dumber routine?” 

“Ok, I have so had it with you and your insults,” Buffy shot back, grabbing Spike’s arm and, in a furious burst of speed, slinging him into the shadows and out of the crossbow’s deadly sights.  That accomplished, she flung herself sideways as the lethal bolt whistled past; recovering quickly, she threw herself into the fray. 

The first blows were exchanged in a blinding flurry of motion: punch, block, and kick, repeat, mix up the combination and start again.  The two slayers were seemingly evenly matched as they sized each other up, each searching for a weakness, some kind of opening that would give her the advantage over her sister-slayer.

Buffy’s came in the form of one mightily pissed-off blonde vampire.  Blue eyes that of late had shone with tenderness or danced with barely suppressed mirth were instead hard and cold as he moved silently, intently, easily closing on the two combatants as they concentrated fully on battling each other. His Buffy landed a kick that had the other slayer spinning, staggering towards him as she attempted to recover from the blow. With all the speed and agility of the deadly predator that he was, he struck. 

“Spike, no! The chip!” Buffy’s warning came too late, leaving her to watch in horror as Spike’s fist connected with her double’s cheek. To both her surprise and the vampire’s, the anticipated pain didn't eventuate. With a resounding roar, Spike smashed his fist once more into the other slayer’s face, a satisfied smirk firmly in place as her knees buckled and she slumped, unconscious, to the ground. 

tbc