Harbingers of Beatrice

Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (For language, violence, and adult content)
Distribution: Sure. Just tell me where.
Timeline: Season 5 of BtVS: AU after Triangle. Season 2 of AtS: AU after Reunion.
Summary: Wolfram and Hart, host of the greatest evil acknowledged on Earth, attempts to restructure the Order of Aurelius, one vampire at a time. A soul hampers one, a chip harbors another, and a Slayer stands between them. The pawns are in place; it is simply a matter of who will move first.

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon. They are being used for entertainment purposes and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

An hour later, everyone was huddled outside the Hyperion, all jollity having been left behind at Caritas. With their departure returned the knowledge of why they had gone there in the first place, and naturally brought them back to the goodbyes that no one wanted to say. Even then, the finality of the arrangement hadn't truly sunk in until Spike dutifully pulled the Desoto up front and Tara expressed her enthusiasm about not having to take another taxi. It wasn't as though they had anything to pack; Buffy had borrowed some of Cordelia's trousers—older jeans that the Seer didn't want anymore and had yet to donate to Goodwill. They wore a little tall on her and were slightly big around the waist, but no one thought to say anything. The black cotton of Spike's shirt clung to her upper body with a sense of protection that she could get nowhere else.
Even Zack and Rosie didn't have much to take along. The demon hunter was obviously partial to a few weapons, despite the numerous reassurances that Giles had a collection that rivaled the size of a rather large arsenal. The girl had only insisted that Dr. Haller be with her; the infamous Barbies, she decided, were better left behind.

"Don't let Nikki drive you too crazy while I'm gone," Wright said with a thin grin after the Witch retreated upstairs to collect his sleeping daughter. "Trust me, if you think she's bad with supervision..."

Gunn rolled his eyes. "You're tellin' me she gets worse?"

He shrugged in turn. "What can I say? I taught her well. Be glad she likes you guys."

The other man glanced to Wesley with growing skepticism. "She likes us?"

"She likes everyone except Spike and Buffy," Cordelia offered. "Well, she doesn't really blame Buffy for anything, but being a vamp by default..."

The Slayer shrugged. "That's all right. Hell, just two months ago, that was me."

Gunn snickered. "Knowing your track record, she'll likely fall head over for Angel."

A smirk tickled Spike's lips. "Praise God. Those two bloody deserve each other."

Buffy rolled her eyes good-naturedly and jabbed him in the side before turning her attention back to the others. "Will you tell Lindsey thank you?" she asked, not caring who answered. "If you see him again...I know we didn't exactly become bestest buds, but he did help us where it counted."

"Oh," Wesley replied with a wry grin. "I'm certain we will see Lindsey again. Despite however much we try, our association with him never seems to alleviate. Even after Angel chopped off his hand."

"Angel's the one that did that?"

Cordelia nodded. "Among other things."

"Ouch," Tara commented with a frown, catching the tag as she cradled an immensely sleepy Rosie at her shoulder. The girl had been warm and snuggled in her bed, even though it was still considerably early to a group of reputed night owls, but they had to get going if they hoped to be in Sunnydale before dawn could fry any vulnerable flesh. The girl's small arms were curled snuggly around the Witch's neck, wisps of dirty blonde hair pressed to her forehead. "Not to anything specific," she clarified when everyone glanced at her curiously. It was a semblance of comfort how she failed to stutter at their sudden scrutiny. And even that would be gone soon. "I just like my hands."

Wright smiled gently and held out his arms for Rosie. The Witch scowled and shook her head, instead moving to the car after she had waved at everyone with a shy farewell.

Spike chuckled. "You're li'l girl's a bloody charmer," he observed. "She's stolen everyone's heart."

"She's one of those special kids who's actually special and not just so because their parent likes to brag."

Buffy arched a brow. "And I'm sure you never brag."

The demon hunter shrugged with a shameless grin. "Me? Brag?" He exchanged a conspiratorial glance with the platinum vampire. "Perish the thought."

Things grew silent then for a long minute. There wasn't much to say that hadn't already been said. Everything else was another cornerstone in stalling the inevitable.

Cordelia glanced up, gaze centered on Spike. "Are you sure?"

She was very careful not look at Buffy. While the two women had grown fond of each other since her botched rescue, they weren't close. They had a long road to tread before they could call themselves friends.

Spike, on the other hand, was everyone's friend. And it was going to be hard watching him leave.

The peroxide vampire exhaled slowly and glanced to the Slayer, having no such qualms. "Yeh, pet," he said. "'m sure."

"Well, then, come here, you big dope." The Seer opened her arms wide and took him into a massive bear hug. If she had possessed the strength, she would never have let him go. "Argh, you're gonna make my eyeliner run."

"So sorry."

"You know you're welcome back any time, okay?"

Spike nodded, patting her back with calm reassurance. "Yeh. An' trust me, I'll be takin' you up on that."

"We'll kick Angel out and everything." She pulled back, wiping her eyes with shades of self-irritation. Cordelia wasn't one to allow herself tears at the flick of a wrist, and the sight alone sent shards of recognition of what his leaving meant to her. "Not for good, you know. Just so you two don't kill each other."

"What happened to the group consensus idea?" Wesley demanded, though there was no ill intent behind his voice.

Wright shrugged. "I'm partner and I have one of our most valuable employees on our side. Fuck consensus."

"Make that three against one." Gunn flashed the peroxide vampire a grin. "'Sides, the missus isn't gonna let you up here all that often."

Buffy pouted. "Hey. I'm gonna miss you guys, too."

"I know, girl. Just hassling you."

"Stop hasslin' my girl," Spike berated good-naturedly. "That's my job."

"You're not helping, you know."

"Well, he's gonna have to come back," Gunn decided. "After what we saw earlier tonight, Lorne's likely gonna try to book you once every other weekend. Man, I still can't believe you finally did Billy—"

"'S not an original—"

"Still," Cordelia intervened with a shrug, "he does sing it, and you sang it in manner of him."

Wesley nodded his agreement. "Very well, I might add."

"Thanks ever so."

A grin sprouted across Buffy's lips and she wrapped an arm around Spike's middle in a manner of such noteworthy intimacy that his throat constricted with emotion. He didn't know if she realized the little everyday things that screamed levels of her affection in ways that words could never emphasize. The feel of her arms about his waist sent ripples of pleasure across his skin; not merely for the sensation, but for what he knew brought her there in the first place.

It was a pleasant distraction from the more palpable departure that loomed over him, growing in influential strength. With every second that ticked by, he dreaded goodbye with more severity than he had ever thought to experience. It wasn't as though he thoroughly abhorred Sunnydale—well, it was, but the town had given him a list of good to coincide with the never-ending bad. There was a certain measure of chaos that his nature demanded he respect. More over, the town had seen his introduction to the woman in his arms. In many ways, the good outweighed the bad.

In many more, it didn't. Los Angeles, in the time since his arrival, had managed to create more history in a few short weeks than Sunnydale had in four years. These people were his friends; the only beings that had accepted him in the long spans of his lifetime.

It was almost like having family. And that was something he had never truly been allowed.

He didn't want to leave. Not if he was truly honest with himself.

And they weren't making it easy.

"Hey," Buffy murmured, nudging him gently. "You okay?"

Spike forced a weak smile to his lips. "Yeh, luv. Never better." He nodded to the others, clearing his throat self-consciously. "Well, guess this is it."

Wesley's brows arched. "Don't feel the need to get overly emotional."

"I jus' don' do goodbyes very well." He offered the former Watcher a dry grin. "But I do...at the risk of makin' Cordy here even more blubbery than she is now—"

"I'm not blubbery," the Seer sniveled pitifully.

Spike's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not!"

"Right. But..." A sigh commanded his throat. "You...the lot of you useless wankers..." A mutual chuckle rang through the air at the melancholy note in the vampire's tone that made them all well aware that his words were intended in the very best fashion. If not, the wealth of his feeling poured through his eyes to satisfy any such qualm. After a few unsuccessful attempts at humor, his shoulders slumped and he gave up, wrestling instead for the plain truth. "Okay, here it goes. I...you all have been bloody great. 'S been...workin' with you..." God, he hated speechlessness, and his scowl plainly told them so. "Don' make me say it!"

"We know, man," Gunn intervened earnestly. "It's more than mutual."

"I wish there was some arrangement we could come to," Wesley observed. "You have proven more than just a strong colleague, Spike. You're a vital asset to the team as well. We've grown...accustomed to your face."

The peroxide vampire smiled and decided not to continue with the unvoiced 'I almost make the day begin.' He doubted anyone besides himself and the Watcher had ever seen My Fair Lady anyway. As it was, his throat had tightened even further. Never before had he considered himself a vital asset to anything, much less been told such at point blank. It only served to make everything harder. "Thanks," he replied numbly. "The lot of you haven't been half-bad, either."

Gunn sighed dramatically and shook his head. "Man," he complained, "you're throwing our entire system out of whack."

A scowl darkened Buffy's face. "Are you all trying to make me feel guilty?"

There were a few sheepish glances traded before a congenial series of nods and mumbled confirmations swept the night air.

"Is it working?" Wesley wondered.

"Yes."

Spike snickered and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Stop givin' my lady grief."

"That's your job," Cordelia replied with a weak grin.

"Bloody right."

The Slayer exhaled deeply, brow furrowing in thought. "Well," she said, "nothing is ever final, you know. I owe you all so much...more than a hasty decision about something like this, followed by 'end of story.' I...we'll have to talk about it."

The thought alone was enough to make the platinum vampire's eyes brighten with hope and love that would never know a limit. Even if nothing ever came of it, there was that promise of growth that he had forbidden himself from feeling. "'S a nice thought," he retorted genuinely in a manner that hardly broached his thankfulness for her consideration. "But I couldn't take you from your mates."

"So it's fair that I take you from yours?"

"She makes a good point," Gunn nudged encouragingly.

Wright nodded. "Very good."

"Very, very good."

It was Wesley's turn. He shrugged after he realized that all were looking at him expectantly. "I would add my encouragement, but I thought it would be highly redundant."

That didn't rest well with Cordelia, who pouted petulantly when her desire was not instantaneously appeased. "It's not like Sunnydale is that far away."

"Watch it," Zack warned, holding up a hand. "That argument can be used for either side." He turned to Spike with a wane smile. "We really better be going."

"Yeh. I jus'..."

"You're not getting away this easily," the Seer argued decisively. "We won't give up until you're on the payroll."

"'Preciate the sentiment, luv."

"It's not all sentiment." She turned to Buffy with shades of weary defeat. "You...you take care of him, all right?"

The Slayer smiled gently and nodded, despite the mock-offended look that overcame her companion at the notion that he needed a keeper. "Don't worry, Cordy. I know what I have."

"Good." The Seer hesitated at that, then offered a genuinely warm smile. "You're not as lame as I remember."

"You're not as bitchy."

"I can be."

Buffy grinned. "I don't doubt it."

"Good. You shouldn't." The brunette tilted her head considerately. "We could be friends, you know."

Gunn nodded. "Girl, you got some real muscle. I'm all down with the Slayer stuff and whatnot, but damn. It's gonna be rough adjustin' to you not being around."

Her eyes narrowed. "You haven't even seen me in action."

"Really, you haven't," Spike agreed. "She's bloody poetry in motion."

The other man shrugged easily. "All the more reason to come back, is what I'm sayin'."

"We don't need a reason like that."

"It's better than none." He favored her with a sincere smile and nodded as if to articulate his respect. "It's been fun gettin' to know you, Buff. You're everything he said, plus some."

A smile rose to her lips and she shifted self-consciously from one foot to the other. "Gee," she said, "you guys make it sound like we're never gonna see you again."

"With another apocalypse potentially on the home front, one can never be too sure," Wesley observed.

"Touché."

Spike nodded and wrapped an arm around the Slayer to steer her toward the car. "Speakin' of," he said. "We better be headin' out. Don' burn the place down or what all without my stunnin' guidance to keep the lot of you from makin' right asses of yourselves."

"Don't worry," Cordelia replied. "We'll have Angel back, soon."

He smirked in turn. "All the more reason to head out now rather than later."

"Well, if he doesn't come back 'cause of his guilt trip, you owe us one vampire," Gunn observed. "Any volunteers?"

Wright snickered. "You really don't mind pushing it, do you?"

"Not even a little bit."

He chuckled his appreciation before turning to face the whole of them. "I would say goodbye," he noted, "but I'm gonna be back soon, so there's really no point. Go in, kick some ass, get out. The norm."

"Sounds reasonable," Wesley agreed.

"Just don't take too long," Gunn added drolly. "We don't wanna have to deal with your little sis-in-law solo longer than needed, if you catch my drift."

The demon hunter smiled. "She's actually all right if you give her a chance to be. She learned right alongside me everything she knows. Give her something sharp and tell her where to aim it. That oughta keep her happy."

Cordelia offered a wane smile and stepped forward. "You sure this isn't just a clever way to escape?" she jested, ignoring the slightly shrill note in her voice that suggested there might be truth to neurotic accusation. "I mean, you get the world's most popular vamp, Rosie, and a bail-on-Nikki card. You're really coming back?"

He looked at her for a long minute as though contemplating the proposition.

It was evidently a beat longer than she had anticipated. The Seer furrowed with defense. "Zack!"

A wide grin broke across his rugged face, and he leaned in to kiss her breathless. "I'm coming back," he promised with a wink. "Gotta be here for all my girls, right?"

She made a face at him. "Whatever."

"Right." He nudged Spike to the car, and the vampire followed without any sense of whimsy. The hunter in turn took position at the back passenger side door and nodded his acknowledgement. "I'll be back."

"So you keep saying."

"I will be."

Spike snickered wryly and shook his head, breaking in a beat to wave. "Bye," he offered blandly. "Have fun, keep busy, don' die, an' all that rot."

"Yeah, man," Gunn retorted. "Love you, too."

"Aw, Charlie. I din't know you cared!"

The other man rolled his eyes. "God, it's gonna be worth it to get rid of you if only to not hear that—"

"See yah later, Charlie," Zack interceded with a wink, causing a roar of jovial approval to zest through his vampiric companion. "You too, Wes."

"Good luck," the Watcher offered in turn.

Spike and Buffy disappeared into the Desoto with a final wave before the goodbyes grew out of hand with sentiments of continued poignancy that no one wanted to dwell on. Wright turned to Cordelia and winked on the same note, nodding with his familiar cocky leer.

"I'll be back," he promised one last time. "'Cause I love you."

That was it. He had shut himself inside the car before the frozen look of astonishment had time to fade from her eyes. The engines were revved when she shook herself to her senses, and they had pulled away at an uncanny speed before she could scream her fury at him for his random revelation.

Gunn and Wesley, however, found the matter entirely too amusing.

"Trust him to pull a stunt like that," the former appraised, shaking his head.

"Bloody priceless," the Watcher agreed. "You all right, Cordelia?"

She didn't answer. She was staring at the abandoned path where the Desoto had sat just seconds before.

"Cordelia?"

Nothing. Then a slow, pensive blink. She turned to him with an arched brow.

"Everything all right?"

"All right?" she repeated incredulously. "All right?! That little sucker didn't even let me...I swear I'm gonna..." She stopped herself before a tangent could erupt from her lips, flexed her hands mechanically, and flashed a brilliant smile. "Oh yeah, I'm all right. But he's so gonna get it when he comes back."

"Yeah," Gunn retorted. "I'll bet."

"And not the good kind of 'get it'."

"Oh, I know. I learned not to cross you a long time ago."

She smiled and they turned as one back to the hotel.

The hotel that was emptier now than it had been for weeks.

"All right, guys." Cordelia brazenly tossed an arm over either of her colleagues' shoulders, falling into comfortable syncopation. This was what they did. This was what they were good at. The world on their heels at all times. And it never ended, despite the calls for home. "What's next?"

Oddly enough, they wouldn't have it any other way.

The highway was a dark blanket of endless wet pavement, glimmering to the occasional brilliance of selective streetlights. She didn't know when it had rained— possibly on the outskirts of town while they were kept at Caritas. Either way, it didn't seem to matter. All that mattered now was the road ahead. The one that irrevocably led home.

Home.

"Jodi Foster who was in Silence of the Lambs with Anthony Hopkins who was in Howard's End with Emma Thompson who was in Much Ado About Nothing with Kenneth Branagh who was in Love's Labour's Lost with Mathew Lillard," Wright proclaimed proudly, sitting back and shooting a triumphant look at Tara.

Spike's eyes flickered with lazy amusement to the back. "You do realize," he drolled, "that two of the flicks you jus' named were adaptations of Shakespearean plays."

The demon hunter shrugged easily. "Your point being?"

"That you're a wankerish poof."

"Hey, you knew what they were, too," the other man retorted. "I wouldn't be calling anything black, Mr. Pot."

"Are you insinuatin' what I think you're insinuatin'?"

Wright grinned. "Well, I am now, thanks to your paranoia.

Buffy shook her head with a short laugh. "You two are impossible."

"Yeh," Spike agreed. "We're gonna drive Harris up the wall."

"Everyone's gonna be so glad to see you," Tara voiced from the back, absently stroking loose strands of hair from Rosie's eyes and nodding at the Slayer. The child was still fast sleep, leaning on her father and emanating the occasional snore, but no one could deny the attention she beckoned to herself. She was a beacon of warmth in everything she did; it was impossible not to be drawn to her. "Dawn and Joyce...they've been so worried. And Giles..."

A long, forced sigh slithered through Buffy's lips and she offered a weak nod of similar regard. "It will be nice to see them," she said.

And it was true. Mostly.

True all except for the spool of dread that she had managed to push aside for the past few days. The same that was growing now with influential persistence that she couldn't abide. Her entire gut constricted with premonition.

As if sensing her sudden mood swing, Spike flashed her a concerned glance and reached over to squeeze her knee with intimate reassurance. Buffy felt her insides melting at the mere power of suggestion. She knew he loved her; he said it with practically everything he did. Every look he gave, every touch he indulged, every everything that made him who he was. It was easy to be with him: easier than she would have ever suspected. And she loved him completely in turn. Their relationship was casual and heavy on the same chord. He was the first man that had ever been in her life as a friend and a lover. He was the only one who wanted both sides—all sides—to her. The Slayer included.

He was the normal she had always wanted. The normal she thought she had with Riley, but didn't. Riley had loved her and wanted to play the friendship card as well, but the Slayer got in the way. The Slayer foiled their relationship. The Slayer was what separated her on the axis from ever having that craved normality. And now she had it with the least normal man on the planet.

"Buffy, luv?" he asked gently. "Are you all right?"

She blinked herself to the present and reassured him with a forced smile. The look of concern failed to dissipate from his eyes; he clearly didn't believe her, but nodded all the same, turning his attention back to the road.

They were going back. To Sunnydale. The town that was still there after all that had happened. To the life she had known for so long, yet seemed so detached from. Her room would be the same. Her walls would still flourish with all those teeny bop posters she had never gotten around to removing. Her bed wouldn't have changed. Her clothing would still be there, and she was willing to bet Mr. Gordo was nestled by the pillow where she had left him the morning before Darla and Drusilla blew into town and knocked her routinely stable, if not a little bizarre, life fully out of whack.

For the first time in days, her defenses crumbled and she saw Angelus has he had been. And her body ached with the thought of it.

It was the non-reality she had warned Wright about. And it was coming back.

Because soon, the reality she had left behind would be back as well. And her two worlds would collide on a battleground of showdowns. In the car were those she had with taken with her. Buffy the Vampire alongside her two sires, one in deed and the other in action. With the love of her eternity, the vampire that none of her friends approved of. The same that they didn't know because of their own prejudice. The prejudice she had instilled in them years ago.

Seeing them would make everything even realer than it had been. The scatterings of her life gathered in a field for the wind to play with. Her duty. Her never-ending duty. The calling that was supposed to relieve her with death. And Glory. Always Glory.

Always tied back to the same old.

This one fight wasn't in her anymore.

And still, there was Spike. Funny how the name had changed for her. The name, the view, the feeling behind it. No longer did she see him as a vampire; it amazed her now that she had ever. But the memories were there. Watching his approach with the customary role of the eyes, the quick-witted bash at his intellect and competence, always seizing the opportunity to accuse him of some fictitious crime with an equally fictitious motive. Ignoring him when he tried to help her. Hitting him when it pleased her to do so. Seeing him for the crime he committed rather than the man he was. And yes, while the monster part of her man was something she would always have to remember, she had seen true monstrosity now. She had been commanded to scream under its influence.

Spike had none of that in him. That was as clear to her as anything ever had been.

And he had become so important to her in such a short amount of time. She had never pictured herself a particularly needy woman when it came to men, and while the notion itself was distasteful, there was no other way to appease her senses. Without him, she would survive. That was what she did best. Survived. But her life would be something she didn't want it to be. It would harden her top to bottom.

She had barely escaped her relationship with Angel with the better of her emotions, and that hadn't even been love. This was.

The Buffy that had been taken from the safety of her routine would never have allowed Spike to touch her the way he had. To talk to her like a person. Like he mattered. The Buffy of Before would have resented the notion that he could ever mean any more to her than another potential dust-pile. She had already hated him for being there when no one else was, for listening when no one else would. For sitting on the porch with her in tacit comfort while she cried for her mother. For consoling her on a patrol when life was catching up with her. The Buffy of Before would never have made love with him the way she did. Never have let him see the love and respect she had glowing behind her eyes and similarly never known the same behind his. The Buffy of Before would have cheated herself of the real thing.

And now they were going back to where the Buffy of Before lived. The dread constricting her being doubled its influence. Though the notion impossible—so far beyond what she thought to feel that even the thought made her hate herself—she hoped to whatever it was that the Buffy of Before stayed in the past where she belonged. If Sunnydale had any dictation over what happened in her life, by sheer ambiance alone it might demand the return of everything she had left behind.

For her sake, for Spike's sake, she couldn't let that happen. She couldn't hurt him the way she had. The thought alone made her sick. He was the man she loved, and she would protect him from whatever it was that decided to utter a menacing word.

Even if it was herself.

Oh God.

It couldn't become like that. She forbade it. The man at her side had fought long and hard for her. To prove himself where he shouldn't have needed. Their relationship was not going to be hidden in shadows. He would not be her guilty pleasure. She would not let her intimidation dictate what she told her friends. Buffy was in love with Spike, and whoever didn't accept him didn't accept her, either.

A shudder curled her spine.

He had given up so much. His friends. Those that did accept him. The unlikely alliance he had formed with everyone at Angel Investigations. The friendship and affection he carried for Cordelia. The teasing humor he enjoyed with Gunn. The bookish intellect she had watched him secretly employ with Wesley. And Wright. The man in the backseat who was animatedly discussing the principles of a good football game. While she didn't know the whole of their relationship, she knew enough to understand that it had begun on unstable ground only to form into a true friendship. She hadn't known Spike to have any male friends, much less close ones. And while he jested at the notion that Zack favored him above all his other chums, she knew he was secretly thrilled to be viewed as so invaluable. To be that important to others—not because of what he was or what he could do, but for who he was.

He was giving up so much for her. Friends. Acceptance. All factors owning into his personal happiness.

Buffy bit her lip in thought, settling back against the seat wearily.

It wasn't fair.

"I spy with my little eye something that begins with an 'R'," Tara was saying when she finally snapped back to the present.

"Rosie," Wright and Spike answered in virtually identical monotones.

The Witch blinked as though it was surprising. "How did you—"

"Because you've been lookin' at nothin' else since we left the bloody hotel," the vampire retorted with a wry grin, flashing another glance into the rearview mirror. "I can see you, you know. The entire backseat of my car does pick up a reflection."

Tara pouted and sat back. "Cheater."

"Oi! How'd I cheat?"

"You forget that we don't have the comfort of a no reflection policy," Wright observed.

"Yeh, Zangy, aren't you s'posed to be on my side?"

The other man snickered. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Lorne did, actually," the vampire replied. "Said I'd already managed to conquer the bloody impossible. Got a righteous anti-vamp demon hunter to play the part of my best mate in My Life As A Sodding Sitcom alongside my girl, the now vampiric vampire Slayer who, beyond my yen, actually loves me back." He flashed her an affectionate smile that she returned best she could. There it was; that spark of concern once more. However, he did not dwell on it. Something in his eyes forewarned that whatever he wanted to say was best kept for when they were alone. "I won over Peaches's pals an' have a standing invite to crash their party, an' I got to be the hero for once."

"That's what he told you?" Tara asked.

The Cockney shrugged. "That was the jist. 'E basically whapped me upside the head an' told me it was real. Get bloody used to it. Guess I kept expectin' to wake up." He glanced into the rearview mirror again. "'E have anythin' to tell you an' Cordy?"

Wright shook his head. "No. Well, nothing I understood."

"Bloody figures."

"I think it might've been something akin to you and me getting identical tailored blue suits and going around on a perpetual Mission from God."

The vampire barked a laugh at that. "Sure thing, Elwood."

"God, have you seen every movie there is, or what?"

Spike offered a lazy shrug. "What can I say, mate? A hundred years an' a bloke gets bored."

Buffy fidgeted a bit at that but said nothing. Her companion glanced at her again; no words were exchanged, though no one could deny the concern burning in his eyes.

"You think we can pull off at the next exit?" Tara asked suddenly. "Potty break for us mortals?"

Wright's eyes widened as though he realized that he had been overdue for one as well. "I second that motion."

"Yeh, sure thing." The peroxide vampire tossed Buffy an amused glance and rolled his eyes playfully. "Sodding ninnies."

She shrugged in turn. "Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go."

"Amen, sistah!" Zack commended.

"And I gotta go," Tara agreed. "As soon as possible would be preferable."

Spike cast a weary eye to the upcoming mileage sign and didn't bother to suppress the groan that rose instinctually to his lips. "We're less than a half hour away from Sunnyhell," he complained. "Can't you two...y'know...hold it?"

"Hold it?" they echoed in horrified unison.

Buffy placed a neutral hand on her sire's wrist, earning a long look of concession. "Right," he grumbled. "Right. The two of you are lucky the lady's got a heart of bloody gold."

"Thanks Buffy!" Tara chirped.

The peroxide vampire smirked. "Yeh, thanks."

"Oh, hush. I haven't been dead as long as you have; I remember the pains of needing to go."

He grinned dryly. "Ah, well. Could use a bloody nightcap, anyway. Figure I need to be good an' sloshed before I try to face the Scoobs, right?"

The reminder sent more shivers across her skin, but she forced a smile all the same. "Oh yeah. There's a good impression. 'Hey, Mom? Remember the drunk, instable vampire that used to hang around and steal all our little marshmallows? Yeah, he's my boyfriend now.'"

Spike adapted the most ridiculously adorable façade of giddiness. "'Boyfriend,'" he repeated merrily. "I bloody love that word."

"You're such a dork," Wright complained.

"This comin' from the bloke who jus' used the word dork. How old are you again?"

Buffy's nose wrinkled and she twisted in her seat to look at him. "Yeah," she agreed. "That was a freakishly good impersonation of my sister."

"I don't care. He's a dork." The demon hunter shook his head. "I can't believe you're the same vampire I did so much reading on."

Spike waved a hand dismissively. "Books are overrated."

"They said you were one of the most dangerous vampires in history."

He began to reply before he caught the tag, and his eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas. "Really?" he demanded. "They said that 'bout me?"

Wright snorted. "Yeah. Sure. Right under 'infinitely pussywhipped.'"

"Zack!" Tara admonished.

He shrugged lazily. "What can I say, sweetheart? Goes with the territory."

"I believe I've been insulted," the Slayer observed.

"That's it," Spike grumbled. "'m rippin' your testicles off an' shovin' 'em down your throat."

"Hey! That's not nice!"

"Well, apparently, I'm not nice."

Zack rolled his eyes. "Yeesh. Mr. Snippy."

Buffy and Spike exchanged a long, amused glance before simultaneously imploding in a sea of rich chuckles.

"What?" the demon hunter complained. "I don't get it."

"Bloody hell, you've become Mr. Cordelia incarnate," the vampire gasped, laughing still.

There was an uncomfortable pause. "I have not."

"The next time we see him," Buffy added, "he'll be wearing heels and reading those magazines that she sent him all over downtown LA to find."

"I hear that, luv."

"I have not become Cordelia incarnate."

Tara scowled and covered Rosie's ears precariously. "Shh!" she hissed. "Sleeping child!"

Wright shook his head facetiously. "Don't worry about it," he replied. "That girl can sleep through anything."

"'S a good thing, too," Spike observed, pulling into the first fill-up station he saw off the exit ramp. "Buffy an' I can get kinda noisy."

"We know," the two in the back echoed together.

The Slayer merely flushed and didn't say a word. Her lover shot her a winning smile and everyone piled out of the car. The doors hadn't even had time to shut before Wright and Tara took off for the indoors in search of the much-needed facilities.

Buffy crossed her arms and seized the opportunity to stretch her legs. "You getting gas?" she asked, leaning onto the hood of the car.

Spike shrugged. "Might as well. We'd make it to SunnyD all right, but 's gonna need it here before long."

She must have gone rigid at the mention of their destination again, for the next thing she knew, she had been pulled into a protective embrace, soothing hands gently caressing her temples and neck. The sound of her own name reverberated with endless comfort through his chest, tickling the air with the full richness of his baritone before she realized that he was addressing her.

"Hmmm?"

"Sweetheart, talk to me. What's wrong?"

Buffy stilled. "What makes you think there's anything wrong?"

"Well, there's the fact that I've got eyes," he replied simplistically. "Even ears, 'f you can imagine that. Oh, an' there's that pesky li'l knowin' you thing I got goin' on. Plus, 's bloody obvious."

Her nose wrinkled. "How obvious?"

"So obvious that 'm willin' to wager that Zangy an' Glinda's bathroom break's gonna take a lot longer than planned, seein' as I rather doubt they needed to go that badly to begin with."

"They set us up?"

He shrugged. "'S jus' a guess. I think whatever 'business' they have to do inside coulda waited a half-hour. Bugger li'l things like comfort. Zangy's a demon hunter—he's trained for self-control. Tara fancies a bit of hocus-pocus every now an' then. You do the math." The cool comfort of his palm found her cheek, sweeping through her hair once more as his lips caressed her forehead. "Jus'...talk to me, baby. Please. We can't start this now. Tell me what's wrong."

A sigh trembled through her body. There was no sense hiding it. "I'm afraid."

"Yeh, that much I got." He kissed her forehead again, lingering a little longer this time. "'S it Glory?"

"No. I...it's everything." Buffy's eyes drifted shut and she allowed herself to rest against him. Against the fullness of his unvoiced protection and the completion of feeling. "It's becoming real again. Everything's becoming real. The closer we get..." She sighed. "I'm afraid of Sunnydale."

He paused for a second to digest that one and opted to rumble a humorless chuckle. "There's a bloody first."

"Not the town, Spike. The everything that goes along with it."

She felt him stiffen again, trying to decode her meaning and coming closer than anyone else in his position ever would have. The ripples of strength he poured into her were worth more than anything she could have been given, and she wondered if he knew that. "You're afraid of what the Scoobies will say," he murmured into her hair. "'Bout you an' me...an' us."

"The vamp thing will be blamed on you."

He shrugged. "I expected it."

"It's not fair."

"Luv, you din't turn you into a vampire."

"No. And neither did you. Zack did."

He snorted. "That won' fly with the lot of 'em, an' you know it. He kinda lacks the essentials—for instance, fangs an' a nasty aversion to sunlight an' crosses. Plus, he has a pulse."

"And even if he says he's responsible, they won't buy it."

"No, baby, they won't. But s'all right."

Buffy shook her head against him. "It's not. It's not all right. Nothing ever..." She paused to catch herself, everything rushing to her mouth at once. "I might have changed, but they won't. They never will. They'll always hate you, and they'll never shy to tell you how much. And I can't stand that. You and me and the 'together' thing, it's great." She felt his smile without needing to see his face. "It's more than great. It's...I love you."

"I love you, too. So bloody much."

"Enough to do this?"

Spike frowned. "Do what? I'm not followin'."

"This. You, me, Sunnydale. You and I have never done the 'you and I' thing in Sunnydale."

There was a long pause. "I might be a simpleton, but I think even a bloody rocket scientist would have trouble followin' you around that bend, luv. Are you sayin' you think I won' want you when—"

"No. Not that." She shook her head and cursed her lack of eloquence. "I'm taking you away from everything you want."

"Are you takin' me away from you?"

"...No."

"Then I don' see what the problem is." He pulled away slightly so he could meet her eyes. "Buffy, bein' in Sunnydale's not gonna change how I feel. I've felt this way for a long bloody time. Long before my relatives decided to muck with your life. I went to Wanker Investigations for one purpose: you. I got you. Hell, I got you in ways I never bloody thought possible. I'm a happy bloke." He paused in thought—the sort of silence that did not lend time for interruption. "Your mates won' be happy with this. I know that. They won' be happy that you're suddenly room temperature an' definitely when they figure out who's at the blame-end of that nightmare. They won' like that you love me, especially when news 'bout me bein' chipless hits the streets. 'S that what you're worried about, pet? Me an'—"

"No. I told you...as far as the chip goes, I trust you." She smiled gently. "You've gone to some pretty incredible lengths to keep me from getting hurt, Spike."

"An' you'd be hurt 'f I hurt someone else."

"You're a smart cookie."

"This 's what I'm sayin'."

Buffy looked at him for a long, complacent moment before her smile faded and she glanced down, nibbling thoughtfully on her lip. "And when the day comes that that's not enough?" she asked softly. "I have forever, and that's what I want with you. The fulltime commitment thing. I know that. And hey—talk about gun-jumping. We haven't even been together that long and I already want the full shebang."

"I—"

"But I'm not the long-haul girl. Everyone in my life has been pretty adamant on letting me know that." Without realizing it, her eyes had filled with tears, and she sniffled in vain, trying to turn to keep him from seeing what was plainly there in front of him. "I have forever to live, Spike. And forever's a pretty long time to be alone. What happens when you resent me for keeping you from what you want? What happens when you realize that I've done nothing but held you back? What happens when you don't love me anymore, and you leave me like everyone else?"

That was it. She had officially rendered him speechless. The look on his face was enough to attest to that. Morally shocked and offended, almost betrayed. As though she had spat and staked him, then bathed in his ashes.

When he finally did speak, it was with anger. The sort of anger that was protecting feelings and love too strong for words. "You. Daft. Bint."

"Don't. It's a valid question."

"The hell it is."

"Spike—"

"I don' know what you make of me, Buffy, but I am not one of the tossers you've known in the past. You say it's forever for you? It's bloody well forever for me too." He snarled unpleasantly, eyes threatening to go yellow at the mere implication. "God, you're infuriatin'. You really have so li'l faith in me? That I—"

"I'm not—"

"The long-haul girl. Yeh. Heard you the firs' time. An' you know what? Bull bloody shit. I was with Dru for a fucking century. You think anyone ever thought of her as a long-haul girl? An' what I felt for her was a bloody fraction compared to what I feel for you." He shook his head, seething in irritation. "Vamps aren' s'posed to be monogamous, luv. I am. Always bloody well have been. An' I don' do somethin' 'f I don' want to. 'F I'd wanted to stay in LA, I would've. Simple as that. You couldn't make me move 'f I din't want to. The only place I wanna be 's with you, an' 'f you don' get that by now, I don' know what to do." He paused and shook his head, laughing humorlessly. "An' here, you'd think I'd be the one worried that you don' take our relationship as seriously as I do. Unbloodybelievable. I love you, Buffy. I love you too fucking much to ever give you up. There's no place you could go that I wouldn't find you, an' no place that I wanna go without you with me. Bugger your friends, bugger my friends. They have nothin' to do with us. I won' let them intimidate me as long as you keep up your end."

"I—"

"Meanin', we do this, 's together. I'm not gonna be workin' for shit here while you sit back an' kick up your heels." He shook his head with conviction. "'S real, baby. Everythin' that happened 's real. But I won' let you go through it again. I'd wrestle the devil himself 'f it meant I could make it all go away. I can't. But I'm here. An' I'll do whatever it takes."

The underlying story in his eyes told her everything needed to know and more. There was something about a person's eyes that refused to hide anything of importance. He was like that; in words and passion. Perhaps had he the means, he would conceal what he felt. He couldn't, and she wouldn't have him so. There was a difference between knowing what one said and meaning it—he had them both.

And it dawned on her without anything else at all. The knowledge that she had been searching for since before she knew what it was that she needed.

This was it. Despite whatever happened from here on out, this was it. This was her it. The reason the others had left her layered with the understanding that she had never experienced the crucial it before. She had now.

He was still on his tangent when her eyes sparkled with the full of comprehension. With knowledge. He even got in a few muffled words after she pulled him to her and ravaged his mouth with everything she felt, tasting the full of him without abandon. It only took a second; he moaned into her with the rawness of feeling, sampling everything there that she had to offer. His. All his. The first means to an end either had ever known.

Strength now. They could do this. They could face the past and start a future. They could know heat in the middle of a winter storm. For all that was behind them, there was only the ahead to look to.

Spike pulled back and smiled into her eyes, caressing her cheek. "'The changes that she brings are without respite,'" he quoted softly. "'It is a necessity that makes her swift; an' for this reason, men change state so often.'"

The words were hauntingly beautiful, but they were kissing again before she could question their origin. It didn't matter. Another time.

The weight of penance bought with peace.

It began now.

The entire world could change several times over and still leave Sunnydale unaltered and sitting at the wayside of revolutionary recognition. True, not much time had passed in hindsight, but even the slightest points of commemoration remained as they had been. The Sun was still showing the Jim Carrey movie she and the others—except Xander and, by default, Anya—had boycotted. Her favorite strip-malls were exhibiting the same sales. The diner she and Willow often chose for coffee had the same worn specials scribbled on the front chalkboard. As though time had stopped the moment she was taken. Stopped and somehow gone on. Existed without existing.

The thought sent shivers down her spine.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder and she knew she must have been quivering with more enunciation than she realized. She tossed Spike a grateful smile and nodded, grasping his fingers with her own and holding him there as her life weight.

“So,” Wright said from the back. “This is it, huh? Home sweet Hellmouth.”

Tara smiled. “That’s actually what we call it.”

“Wow…that’s sad.”

Spike snickered and shook his head. “You’re tellin’ me.”

“So where’s the Casa de la Summers?” the other man continued, leaning forward as though such movement would grant him a better view of the town. “Your family have an extra room, or will I have to cough up enough to put me and Pigtails up for the night?” He flashed a quick glance at Tara. “I would ask you, but I think that’d be too forward.”

The platinum vampire tossed a mildly amused look into the rearview mirror. “What ‘bout me?” he demanded with a mock-pout. “You wouldn’t even deign to ask your best friend?”

“Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Not for this lifetime.”

“Well, anyway, pal,” he drawled, “I figured you were staying with your sweetie-pie, since you two have practically been joined at the hip since you…well…joined.” He made an unpleasant face and survived a well-deserved thwap from Tara, who blushed in their favor. “And since I don’t wanna be anywhere near that room of sin, I was just wondering if there was a spare or if the local motel has a vacancy for the night or few that we’ll be here.”

Buffy pursed her lips at that, hazarding a glance in her companion’s direction. “Actually,” she said hesitantly. “You can take my room.”

Wright’s gaze went wide and his hands came up in protest. “Whatever kinky sex games you two have planned, keep me out of it.”

“The Slayer’s stayin’ with me tonight,” Spike told him, rolling his eyes. “You only wish you could get that lucky, mate.”

Tara frowned. “Staying with you? I-in the graveyard?”

“It’s not as serial killer as it sounds,” Buffy said with a shrug. Then she paused with thought. “Well, not as much as it could be, I guess.”

The peroxide vampire favored her with a long sideways leer. “Your vouch of good faith is all a bloke needs nowadays.”

“Hey, give me some credit. Two months ago, even mention of a Thriller-style slumber party would’ve been stake-worthy.”

He grinned in turn. “That’s my girl. Always the picture of open-minded optimism.”

“Well, I wasn’t the nicest person to you—”

“We’ve already covered this, luv,” he objected coolly, holding up a hand. “All’s well that end’s well…an’ your end is definitely well.”

She smirked and whacked his arm, earning a loving gaze in turn.

“Might I observe that it hasn’t ended at all?” Wright volunteered. “We still have some mystic bitch to fight that you managed to go the entire trip without talking about.”

“It’s called avoidance, Zack. If I don’t see it, it doesn’t exist.”

Spike tossed her a mildly amused glance. “Tell me one time that philosophy has worked. Anytime will do. An’ isn’t that how that one bird turned into inviso-girl?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Angel tends to talk when he’s evil, as I’m sure you observed.”

“Yeah,” the Slayer agreed under her breath. “Amongst other things.”

The peroxide vampire instantly sobered, gaze going wide with regret and more than regret. There was such poignancy and pain behind his expression that it made her heart ache. “Buffy—”

She smiled neutrally, cutting him off with nothing more. “Hey, no big. It happens to the best of us.”

There was an uncomfortable beat of silence.

“A-about Glory,” Tara said boldly, turning back to Wright, “we’ll give you the basics and stuff when we get to Buffy’s. I’m sure Giles c-can explain it better than anyone here. Plus, the Council told us more after we arrived in England. A lot more.”

The Cockney and the Slayer traded another long glance. Unfortunately, their stealth wasn’t enough to deter the man in the back who was built for that sort of observation. The merest twitch could not go unnoticed.

“What?” he insisted instantly. “What’s going on? What do you two know that we don’t?”

Buffy nibbled her lip in thought and drew in a deep breath, turning in her seat. “Well, when we said that I’m staying with Spike…it sort’ve means I’m not going home tonight. At all. We’re just dropping you guys off, then we’re heading to his place.”

“You’re not going in?” the Witch demanded. “Not even to say ‘hi’?”

She shook her head. “I’m not ready…and I need tonight to get ready. Just one more night to myself.” There was a second’s hesitation before she reached over to take Spike’s hand in hers. “To ourselves.”

The two in the back exchanged a long glance.

“You know,” Wright observed. “This is gonna make them even more edgy. Are you sure you’re just not avoiding the entire thing purposefully?”

“No. That’s sort’ve the point.”

Spike tossed another annoyed look into the mirror, uncaring if it went unseen. “The Slayer’s made her decision, so drop it.”

Tara nibbled on her lip worriedly. “What happens when they ask where you are and why I came home with a strange man and not…well…you?”

There was another pensive pause at that; Buffy and her sire traded a long look, sharing more with a single look than hours of conversation could afford. When he flashed her an encouraging smile, she nodded in turn and inhaled with droll consideration. “Tell them I’m not ready to deal with everything just yet…and no, while I won’t be ready tomorrow, either, I do need this time to myself. Just to…to take everything in.”

The Witch nodded self-consciously. “Um…okay. And when they ask where you’re staying…do you want me to say hotel or—”

“No. I’m not gonna hide.”

Spike smiled but said nothing.

Tara blinked. “I didn’t mean to—”

“The last thing I am is ashamed, so I don’t see a need to lie to them when I have absolutely no intention of keeping this hush-hush. I know you and the others won’t be able to grasp that immediately, but that’s the way it is. And they’ll know that tomorrow. Tonight, they can play the guessing game.” The Slayer glanced to the platinum vampire once more, a smile stretching her face. “I’m spending time alone because that’s what I need.”

“Only you won’t be alone,” Wright said obviously. “And color me stupid, but that’s what they’re gonna object to, right?”

“Then tell them I’m with Spike and let them come to their own conclusions. All right?”

A long pause filled the air.

Tara shrugged with concession. “All right, Buffy. If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

The Witch nodded, pursing her lips considerately. “I know you don’t think I get it…but I do. I do. And just for the record…you two have my support. Spike, you can be scary—”

He beamed at that. “Thanks, pet.”

“—but you’re a good guy.” She grinned shyly. “You’ve been great these past couple of days. It’s really, really obvious that you love her very much.”

Wright rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, please.”

Buffy scowled at him. “Shut up. It’s sweet.”

It wasn’t physically possible for Spike’s grin to grow any wider. “Thank you, Glinda,” he replied earnestly. “You couldn’t be any more correct.”

“Awww…” The Slayer shimmied over to her lover, cuddling in an overly cute manner into his side and peppering his throat with soft kisses. “You’re adorable.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

There were duo groans from the back. “Oh, please.”

Spike grinned and arched Buffy a cocky brow that would have served to annoy if he could for one instant disguise his affection from glowing so emphatically. “Got more where that comes from then, luv,” he drawled, taking her hand and placing it on the crotch of his jeans. “’F you know what I mean.”

The look in his eyes had all the markings of a good challenge and sufficiently wiped away any sort of offense she could have possibly conjured up. Thus, with a belatedly wicked smile, she leaned forward to nibble suggestively at his throat while her hand squeezed a long, pitiful whimper into the air.

“Okay,” Wright said slowly from the back. “Officially scarred for life. I’ve seen a lot of things in my time that could do it…but this takes the cake.”

Amazingly, Tara didn’t look affronted at all.

“I take it you’re used to this sort of thing?”

“Oh,” she said with a dismissive wave. “You haven’t met Anya yet. This is nothing.”

“And yet the pussywhipped remark made your claws extend.”

“What can I say?” she offered with a shrug. “I’m versatile.”

Spike and Buffy managed to dislodge long enough for the former to pull into 1630 Revello Drive, not without observing the shudder that ran across the Slayer’s skin. Yes, it was still there. Like the rest of the town, her house had refused to adapt to the changes in her life. With a sigh, he killed the engine and nodded at the front door. “All right, kiddies,” he drawled. “This is it. Collect whatever baggies or small children you brought along with you an’ scamper off.”

“This is your house?” Wright asked, impressed as Tara scampered out to unpack the back.

Buffy nodded.

“Wow. It’s…a house.”

Spike tossed him an irate glance. “What’d you bloody expect, a cardboard box?”

“No, it’s just…houses. Haven’t had one of those in a while.” He offered a kind smile and patted the Slayer on the back with ceaseless encouragement. “We’ll fend the herd tonight, Buff. You get some rest.”

She nodded warmly at that. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. Get some rest. You know, that thing that’s not sex? No horse play.”

The platinum vampire pouted morosely at that. “Party-pooper.”

Zack chuckled, lifting the still-sleeping child into his arms and waiting as Tara collected her things. “Restfield, right?”

Spike arched a brow. “You’re the demon hunter. You tell me.”

“If I need to find you, I will.”

“Suuuure…”

“I will. And if I find any evidence of hanky panky, you two will be in big trouble.”

The peroxide vampire delivered a mock salute. “Aye, aye, cap’n. Everythin’ unloaded?”

Tara nodded, slamming the trunk shut. “Everything that needs to be.”

“Then we’re gone.”

“You know what to do when they ask you, right?” Buffy inquired, leaning over Spike to be heard out the window. Not that he minded, of course.

Wright nodded with a grim smile, running his hands through his sleeping daughter’s hair. “You’re downtown selling your body for drug money.”

“Ha ha.”

“Right,” the peroxide vampire said decisively. “We’re out. One of the Scoobies’ll be able to send you in the right direction ‘f your oh-so fabulous trackin’ skills fail you. ‘Course, that’s assumin’ you’ll need to find us in the firs’ place.”

The demon hunter’s smile turned into a smirk. “You’re a riot.”

“I try my best.” He nodded at Rosie. “Tell the Bit to not listen to anythin’ that wanker Harris has to say.”

“Gotcha.”

“Hey!” Buffy and Tara cried in protest. The vampire merely grinned.

“Right, luv,” he said, turning back to the Slayer. “You ready?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, but she nodded all the same, a resolute expression set in her features. “I’m ready,” she said. “Take me home.”

Spike looked at her with the kindest smile she had ever seen, and it touched her heart with more of the same. Home wasn’t a crypt—not to her, but wherever he was. And if that was where he chose to be, then by golly, that was where she would be, too.

Though the prospect of an apartment was sounding better and better.

“You got it, sweetheart.”

They were gone the next instant. Buffy had never been more relieved to turn off her street in the whole of her family’s duration in Sunnydale.

Tomorrow would be too soon, but it was one more day. One more chance to get ready for the inevitable.

But that was where the line ended. No more delays.

Thankfully she had tonight.

The door opened with the droll greeting of a blank stare.

“Whoa, Tara,” Xander drawled in surprise. “We send you for Buffy and you bring home a man. Talk about a first. Unless…” His eyes narrowed with artificial suspicion and he gave the demon hunter a skeptical once over. “You are Buffy?”

Wright and the Witch exchanged weary glances. “Let me guess,” he began, arching his brow at the other man. “Harris, right?”

“Ummm…yeah.” Xander frowned and stepped back, nudging the woman at his side with shades of paranoia. “How did he do that?”

“Well, let’s just say if Spike didn’t tell me enough, Cordy filled me in on the full nine yards.” The demon hunter shook his head with a wry grin, stepping inward and bouncing lightly Rosie in his arms. His gaze turned to the redhead with more of the same. “In fact…let me go out on a limb and say you’re Willow.”

“That would be some good climbing,” she replied lamely, eyes wide. Then she turned to Tara. “Who is this guy?”

A chuckle climbed up his throat. Too easy. “Sorry. The name’s Zack Wright. I’m a friend of Spike’s.”

Xander didn’t look convinced. “Spike has friends? Since when?”

“Don’t go there,” Tara interceded pleadingly. “Please.”

Zack’s gaze narrowed and he shook his head without breaking eye contact. “No, it’s fine. Really. After all, this was me not too long ago. And it’s not like we didn’t expect it.”

“Uhhh…” Willow began sheepishly. “Color me confused, but weren’t you supposed to bring home someone more…umm…Buffyish than this guy? No offense or anything.”

“None taken.”

“B-Buffy’s here,” Tara assured them, shaking lightly. “She’s here a-and she’s fine. S-she just d-decided that she needed some time t-to herself before she came home.”

Xander and Willow exchanged worried glances.

“Time to herself?” the latter demanded. “Is she okay?”

“Well, come on, Wills, of course she’s not okay. She’s been a vamp chew-toy for weeks.” Harris’s eyes narrowed. “Well, where is she?”

“She decided to stay at Spike’s tonight,” Wright answered, gaze sparkling with challenge. He knew instantly that the revelation was not what either expected to hear; their body language tensed on virtually the same beat and neither made any motion to guard their astonishment. Thus, on that note, he decided to toss in the kitchen sink. “She wanted to be somewhere where she feels comfortable.”

The other man obviously wasn’t buying it. “Are you sure you brought home the right Buffy?”

“It’s nothing—” Tara began.

“Look, she’s been through a lot,” Willow intervened, holding up a hand. “And Spike…well, he was there with her. Maybe she feels safe with him.”

“And we’re not rushing off to burst that bubble as quickly as possible…why?”

“Because she would kick your ass if you tried,” Wright replied simply. “She told me to tell you that.”

Xander favored him with a blank stare. “Who are you?”

“I’m just a guy who’s here as a favor to Spike and Buffy, all right? Something about a mega death-bitch you guys need help putting down.”

“Look, pal, the last thing we need is some guy who just shows up from nowhere and—”

“He’s the real deal, guys,” Tara said firmly. “The real, real deal. And he’s been doing it for a long time. Trust me, it’s a good thing he’s here.”

Willow frowned. “Doing what for a long time?”

“I’m a demon hunter.” Wright leered at Xander nastily. “A damn good one, too.”

“And yet you’re a friend of Spike’s.”

He shrugged in turn. “It’s a recent development. We met, I almost killed him, we fought, we ‘truced, and through some bizarre stuff that would give anyone nightmares, we ended up here.” An unpleasant smile colored his face. “And if you need any other proof, just give Angel Investigations a ring. Cordy’ll set you straight.”

“Cordy,” Harris repeated numbly. “As in the wonder-bitch.”

A dark wave settled over the hunter. “Watch it.”

“He and Cordy are kind of a thing,” Tara explained nervously.

“There’s also Wes and Charlie,” Zack continued. “And Lorne, but oh wait…he’s a demon. Nix that idea.”

Willow laughed apprehensively. “Well…you are a demon hunter…right?”

“An enlightened one, Red. I’ve seen things you can’t imagine…and a lot of them have been in the past month.”

“Anyway, he’s here to help.” Tara shrugged with a virtually identical nervous titter. “Where’s Giles, Joyce Dawn? They’ll want to know that Buffy’s all right.”

“Only we don’t know that she’s all right, do we?” Xander demanded.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Oh, I know. But still, proof is of the essence.”

Wright cocked his head challengingly. “She’s with Spike. End of discussion.”

“Can’t even begin to tell you how much that does not make me feel better.”

“Well, he did just risk his hide to save her. You’d think that earn him some leverage.”

Harris shook his head. “I don’t know what kind of demon hunter you are. You see, in Sunnydale, leverage equals bad equals dead you. And hello—Spike’s a nasty killer.”

“Trust me, boy, I know a whole lot more about nasty killers than you do.”

Willow turned to Tara, desperate for distraction. “Giles is at his house. We’re supposed to call him when you get in. Dawnie’s upstairs reading to Joyce—or she should be, and not watching television, but I haven’t checked up on them in a while. And Anya went for food. She didn’t want to order pizza…because there’s a delivery charge and you know how she is.”

The other Witch nodded her support. “I know.”

“Look…” Xander sighed diplomatically and shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose with tired exasperation. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s just…sit down and talk like normal people. We should call Giles—”

“I don’t see why,” Willow retorted. “If Buffy’s not gonna be here until tomorrow.”

“Then why don’t we go to Spike’s place and—”

“Were you not listening just a minute ago?” Wright snarled contemptuously. Without waiting for a reply, he shook his head and nudged Tara to his side so he could navigate Rosie into her embrace. “Take her and tell her when she wakes up that I’ll be by to pick her up around ten tomorrow morning, all right?”

The child in question murmured a bit but did not awake.

The blonde Witch nodded, confused. “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere where I’m not surrounded by hypocrisy.” The demon hunter snickered and moved for the front door. “Besides, I better go make sure they’re behaving themselves, right? Made them promise and everything.”

Tara’s eyes widened. “Zack—”

“I’ll be back. Tomorrow.” And that was it. With a disgusted shake of his head, Wright pivoted and disappeared, slamming the door heartily behind him.

Xander blinked slowly after he was gone, turning to Willow torpidly. “Did he say what I think he said?”

“It could’ve meant a number of things…”

Two sets of eyes fell on the blonde Witch expectantly, and she sighed nervously in turn.

“Oh, dear,” she said with an apprehensive tweak. “That did not go well at all.”

Spike’s hand came down on the table hard enough that one of the legs snapped, sending sawdust and splinters of wood across the floor of crypt. The impact of the blow provoked a shrill cry from Buffy’s throat and she jumped to her feet, scampering as far away from him as possible. Though the danger had always been there, she had not anticipated such a violent display so soon, especially given his promise of gentility.

It took a second for him to regain control. Slowly, their eyes met.

Then Buffy started laughing.

“Stop,” he pouted. “’S not funny.”

That didn’t seem to help. Her amusement intensified and her hands dropped to her sides, holding herself in some form of habit as her body wracked with the impact of her mirth. She made several ill-attempts to recollect control but only ended up laughing harder.

“What? I bloody well broke my coffee table. ‘S not funny.”

The Slayer drew to a silent beat at that as though the concept hadn’t occurred to her.

Then she was laughing again.

“Oh, that sodding does it.” Spike growled his discontent and jumped up, seizing her by the wrist and drawing her back to the sofa and into his lap. She cried with feigned protest and squirmed in a poor attempt to escape, only to provoke further moans from her companion and a tighter hold on her body.

“You…broke…the table,” she gasped.

The peroxide vampire glared at her for another full minute before allowing a hint of a grin to cross his lips, his head ducking to escape introspection. “I noticed,” he murmured, brushing a kiss over the nape of her throat.

“You broke it…playing Egyptian Ratscrew.”

Spike glanced down sheepishly. “It was bloody well askin’ for it. An’ ‘sides, you were gonna enact your bloody Slayer plus vamp strength. I had to—”

Buffy wiped her eyes with another blurb of laughter, shaking her head. “Why didn’t I see this side of you before?” she asked rhetorically, snuggling against him with a purr of satisfaction.

A grin tickled his lips as he gently caressed her back. “An’ what side would that be?”

“The real you, I guess.” She sighed happily and leaned back, pulling him with her. “Of course, you did try to kill me a few thousand times.”

“I was jus’ shy,” he explained, straight-faced. “I wanted to get your attention.”

“Oh, is that it?”

“’Aven’t you ever heard that boys are mean to the girlies they secretly wanna—”

Buffy slapped his shoulder, encouraging a rich chuckle. “Well, yeah. But I think you might’ve gone a little overboard with that.”

He nodded. “You think?”

“Just a little.” She murmured contentedly and stretched fully beneath him, running her hand across his face and smiled when he leaned into her touch. “So, what do you do for fun around here?”

“Watch Passions,” he replied with a shrug. “Plot world domination. Shag Harm.”

A scowl crossed her face and she whacked his shoulder.

Spike chuckled again and brushed a kiss over her lips. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“Me? Jealous of that vapid airhead? Puhlease.”

“What she lacks in smarts she more than makes up for in—”

“Finish that sentence and you’re never getting laid again.”

“So says you.”

“Spike!”

He was laughing in earnest now, prying fingers tickling her sides softly to coax a more neutral expression to her face. “I love you, you daft bint,” he told her. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“So you decide to make jokes at my expense about screwing other girls?”

“I’d never, an’ you bloody well know it. ‘Sides…” He leaned inward to nibble at her mouth again, suppressing a smile when she allowed him access without struggle. “I believe you’ve effectively ruined me for all women. After…everythin’. This is it.”

The most gorgeous pout he had ever seen crossed her lips. “I better have ruined you.”

“Trust me, pet.”

Buffy leaned back against the sofa and enjoyed his casual, lazy attentions that were never without the full of feeling. The sensation alone was something she had never experienced with any of her former lovers. The wealth of emotion conveyed with such magnitude through every touch. It was something she would never tire of. “Where is Harm, anyway?”

“Bugger ‘f I know or care. Maybe she took up with a nasty snot demon, or found a deaf vamp. Knowin’ her, she wouldn’t notice that he doesn’ talk back.” His hand ran down the length of her arm and crossed her abdomen slowly, trailing a feather light touch until her skin shivered under his influence. “Sorry this place lacks the finer luxuries, luv. But it was your idea to stay here.”

“I know. You see me complaining?”

He grinned wickedly.

“I mean now, and about the living conditions? You have a television, you have blood in the fridge, you have some food, though I think those last two have gone bad by now…” A sly smile broke across her face as her own playful fingers slid down his chest, skimming underneath his shirt and earning a low rumble of encouragement as she explored his skin. “You have a big comfy bed downstairs, and you have you. So I’m a happy girl.”

Spike sent her a smoldering look that made her toes curl in anticipation. “How happy?” he demanded huskily.

“I get the feeling you’re about to make me the happiest girl ever.”

“You’re insight serves you well…” His head dipped once more to her throat, dropping teasing nibbles across her skin as his hand slid beneath the waistband of her pants. His other hand crept up her side to cup a breast, and she arched masterfully under his attentions, rubbing herself against the hardness of his jeans and earning the same in turn.

“Mmmm…” he murmured approvingly as his fingers discovered her moist tenderness. “You’re magnificent.”

Buffy’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Thank you,” she managed awkwardly. “I try.” Before he could summon a response, she grasped him by the neck and brought him back to her, ravaging his mouth with hers. A low growl of encouragement coursed through him, touching her nerves with almost more power than his hands could entice, and they battled each other with passionate fury that had not known life before this moment.

It seemed fitting that Wright would choose that moment to interrupt their haven.

“Aha!” he cried triumphantly as the crypt door burst open. “I knew there was a reason to check up on you two. Didn’t I say no hanky panky?”

A start rang through the air with a beat of delayed realization. Spike and Buffy broke apart with difficulty—the response quick but uncomfortable. After a few fumbling seconds of rearranging clothing and smoothing out ruffled hair, they beamed virtually identical smiles of pure innocence in his direction.

“Hey, Zangy,” the peroxide vampire greeted, pulling his childe over his lap when he couldn’t find a throw-pillow convenient. Not that his humble home had ever been equipped with throw-pillows. It was a lonely matter of wishful thinking. “I see you found the place.”

The other man shrugged, stretching out his arms. “What can I say? Demon hunter.”

“Right.”

“We were playing Egyptian Ratscrew, and Spike broke the table,” Buffy blurted with embarrassment, her face tinting with the slightest hint of pink.

Wright arched a brow.

“It’s a game!”

“Well, whatever you kids are calling it these days, I distinctly remember telling you that sleep was your priority tonight.”

The peroxide vampire rolled his eyes. “Yes, mother.”

“It’s a card game,” the Slayer emphasized. “Though…yeah. Why should we listen to you, huh? That’s right. We’re both…adults. A-and vampires. Yeah, vampires And we could…you know…eat you and…stuff.”

Zack’s eyes went even wider.

“Not that way!”

Spike clamped a hand over Buffy’s, shaking his head and chuckling richly. “Sweetheart, quit while you’re ahead.” He turned back to his friend, gesturing to the empty chair that sat adjacent to the television. “So, they chase you off already?”

That was all it took. Immediately, the demon hunter dropped his teasing countenance and rolled his eyes, taking the proffered seat. “I don’t know how you put up with it,” he said. “And yes, while I realize that I was on their side not too long ago, I don’t think I was ever that bad.”

“I beg to bloody differ.”

Wright gave him a sharp look, but shrugged again all the same with a weary nod. “Okay, so I was an anti-demon son of a bitch…and I still am, don’t get me wrong. But I do have eyes and common sense—something that seems to be severely lacking with your friends.” He nodded at Buffy. “No offense.”

She opened her mouth to reply but settled with a nod instead. There was no sense in protesting the truth.

Spike shrugged. “Harris has always been like that,” he said dismissively. “Funny, though. We were actually on the road to gettin’ along before the full of this happened. ‘Course there’s every chance that the whole of that experience was a fluke. Or temporary insanity.” He glanced at Buffy with a weary sigh, smiling as though it didn’t matter. “’S nothin’ I din’t expect.”

“It’s not fair,” she murmured softly.

“’S not s’posed to be, luv.” He smiled gently and turned back to Wright. “Where’s the Bit?”

“Left her with Tara. I’ll be by in the morning to pick her up.” He made a face. “I might be willing to stay here, but I sure as hell am not gonna subject my daughter to it.”

“Oh, but you would make her stay in that pit of filth you called a motel in LA?”

“Better than here.”

“By your admittedly low standards, I guess.”

Zack scowled. “Buffy, tell your boyfriend to lay off.”

“Luv, tell—”

“Oh, give it a rest.” She shimmied forward in Spike’s lap, not doing much to heal his aching predicament. Both ignored the low whimper that hissed through his lips. “Come on. Let’s teach Zack how to play Egyptian Ratscrew.”

The demon hunter favored them with a worried look.

“It really is a card game.”

“I don’t even wanna get into the story about how I’m not falling for that again.”

There was another still pause. Sire and childe cast each other virtually identical evil looks.

“Again?” the Slayer demanded coyly.

“Huh uh. No way.”

“Come on, it’s fun.”

Spike grinned at them, eyes shimmering with amusement. “As long as no more tables get broken around here, ‘m up for it.”

Buffy smirked. “You’re also up for a few other activities.”

He snickered. “Right.”

“Guys!”

The peroxide vampire turned back to Wright deviously, shaking is head in amusement. “It is a card game, Zangy. Trust me, I like you, but I don’ like you. It goes like this…you shuffle the deck seven times ‘cause of some wonky folklore that we bloody well must take seriously ‘cause this is Sunnyhell an’ the slightest deviance from protocol could mean the end of the world. Then—”

“There’s hitting,” Buffy explained with a shrug. “You slap the cards to get them. Spike can explain the rest, but that’s the fun part. That’s also how the table broke. Some people just take the game a little too seriously.”

“Well, sorry, pet, but you were cheatin’.”

“I was not!”

“You were gonna. You have a bloody awful poker face.”

“Well, thank God we’re not playing poker!”

Spike rolled his eyes with a grin. “See what I have to put up with?” he asked Wright insolently.

Zack merely shook his head. “All right…deal the cards and start from the top. Any game that ensues a little violence has to be entertaining.”

“That’s my boy.”

The hunter smirked at him but pulled up a seat all the same. Of all the ways to spend long nights, this was preferable. Once more before facing the lion den tomorrow.

Such promise was more than any could imagine. It was just enough.

Despite the frequency of occurrence, Buffy wasn’t about to lose sight of the irony that ensured a day could start off with blissful laziness and end up all but wreaking of world destruction—and not in the literal fashion. Today was one such day. And it wasn’t appearing as though it would get any better.

Of course, she hadn’t been entertaining the delusion that all would go smoothly with the entire confrontation. Wright’s account of Xander’s temperament the day before was evidence enough of their unwillingness to see reason. However, she had hoped that whatever was said was enough to at least calm the raging sea before she set off in search for dry land. It wasn’t. And in all honesty, she was likely wasting herself in an effort to not be surprised.

The day had started off so wonderfully, too. Spike had awakened her with a series of lavish kisses that naturally led to an impromptu shagathon, exploring a touch of fast, slow, gracious, and passionate without changing whim. After much teasing, she finally explored the makeshift shower he had drilled into his crypt and reveled in the way cold water no longer affected her. Then they had awakened Wright—who noisily took up the full of the upstairs sofa—and enjoyed several more rounds of Egyptian Ratscrew before he volunteered to pick up blood and doughnuts. Then he was gone again Revello Drive to collect his child, and everything else was left for waiting.

A continuous exercise in making time standstill. While Spike offered to employ the sewer system he used to navigate the town during daylight hours, she was grateful for the excuse to stay put. They watched television, discussed the pros and cons of Spike Lee movies, and began idly arranging imaginary furniture for their future apartment.

It couldn’t last, though. The sun had inevitably set. And it was time.

Now she was sitting in her extremely unchanged living room on the sofa that had seen more drama than any soap opera. Her hand was entangled with Spike’s, their bodies pressed as closely together as possible without moving to fill his lap completely. The sea of stares their manifest intimacy procured wavered on the side of intimidating. However, every time she tensed, her sire would squeeze her hand with stanch reassurance, and that was the only reality that kept her from losing herself.

She didn’t know what horrified them more: the closeness between her former enemy or her newfound vampirism. And she hadn’t even sealed the punch line.

“I wondered why I had to invite you inside,” Dawn finally murmured, breaking the awkward silence with more awkwardness. “It was…weird.”

Buffy smiled weakly. “Yeah. It was.”

“So…this is it, huh?” Willow acknowledged, strengthened now that the quietude was severed. “No tricks. No candid camera. You’re really…a…you’re really a vampire.”

Spike squeezed her hand but did not interrupt.

“It’s obvious,” Anya observed with an indifferent shrug. “You really didn’t notice when she walked in the room? No human has skin that pale.”

“Honey,” Xander intervened with gritted teeth. “She has just spent the last few weeks under an evil law firm.”

“Yes, and most likely suffered massive blood loss,” the former demon agreed. “But there is a difference between sunlight-deprived and vampire sunlight-deprived. Believe me, I’ve seen it.”

From his position in the corner, Wright’s eyes widened comically and he glanced to Spike with newfound respect. “Okay. She’s scary.”

“Told you, mate.”

The Slayer shrugged as though the matter was of little consequence. “As far as the vamp thing goes, it’s really not as bad as all that,” she said lamely, ignoring the voice that screamed its protest within her chest. There were some truths that still had to be reckoned with. “I mean…definite transition. The entire blood thing still wigs me out…but if you pretend it’s diet soda, it’s better. And even flavorful.”

Xander blinked slowly as though just coming out of a daze. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, exhaled deeply, and nodded. “Okay,” he began. “Could you…repeat everything you just said and use very, very small words so I know I’m not having some very bad nightmare?”

Her expression hardened at that, as though the notion in itself was offensive. “You heard me.”

“Yeah. It’s the hearing part that has me falling off my seat.”

“How did this happen?” Willow demanded, flabbergasted. “I mean, I know the basics. The blood swap and everything…but if Angel knew that you would keep your soul, why did he even bother to—”

“He didn’t.”

The first two words to escape Spike’s lips drew the entire room to a horrid standstill.

Wright rolled his eyes and graced his friend with a narrowed glance. “Great. You couldn’t have eased into that at all?”

The peroxide vampire kept his gaze trained stealthily on Harris as though daring him to do something. He hadn’t even hazarded a glance to Giles yet, for whom he knew the reaction would be the direst. “What can I say, Zangy?” he replied quietly. “I like my cards on the table where I can see ‘em.”

“Wait a minute, I’m confused,” Joyce intervened. Everyone softened at that; the poor woman was still recovering from the revelation that named her eldest child as a vampire. The notion of something buried even further beneath the surface was not yet within the territory of comprehension. “Spike…are you saying—”

“I know perfectly well what he is saying,” Giles said coolly, gaze unreadable. “Spike is the one that sired Buffy. Angelus had nothing to do with it.”

Zack arched a brow. “If I may—”

“I wouldn’t call it nothin’, Rupes,” the vampire replied with an easy shrug, composedly breaking through Wright’s objection without tossing him a glance. The message, though, was perfectly clear. He would gain no friends by detailing his involvement in Buffy’s transformation, and all the more likely, none would believe it. “When I found her, she was all but dead. Peaches was given a heads up an’ decided to change the rules before Zangy an’ I could break her out. When I saw her, it was let her die or vamp her. I chose. So bloody bite me.”

Xander’s eyes flared and he leapt to his feet with a swift, angry motion that clearly stated Spike would be a pile of dust if looks could kill. “You expect us to believe that?” he hissed. “You expect us to believe that we sent William the Bloody after the Slayer and his only thought was how to bring her home, safe and sound? How many have heard that before, I wonder? Oh wait. You can’t ask them. They’re dead!”

A shadow crossed Buffy’s face. “That’s enough.”

Her objection warranted a sharp glare that was more betrayed than actually angry. “Why are you defending him?”

“Because he saved my life!” she snapped, clutching onto Spike’s hand as though releasing her grip would determine a complete loss of self. “Because he did more for me than anyone else has ever tried.”

“You know we would’ve come if we’d had the option, Buff,” Willow intervened with a frown. “But Dawn…and Glory…and your mom. We were going to come, but Spike showed up and volunteered. Do you have any idea how hard that decision was…sending someone you never trusted to rescue you from his own? Give us some credit here.”

“You did what you had to,” the Slayer agreed. “You really, really did. If you’d’ve come after me while Dawn was in danger, I’d’ve made snack food out of you by now.”

A still note settled through the living room.

Spike leaned forward, lips curling in a smile. “That’s a joke, kiddies. Bloody hell. She might be a vamp, but she’s still dear ole Buff.”

“Don’t bother trying to tell them anything,” Wright snickered, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen a more closed-minded group since those Church of Christers in the Midwest…and never went back again, I might add.”

The peroxide vampire quirked a brow and favored his friend with a skeptical leer. “What were you doin’ in the Midwest?”

“My job. Hello.”

“For the Church of Wankers?”

He shrugged easily. “There was a demon, they weren’t catholic so they couldn’t exorcise him properly. Good thing, ‘cause those type of demons only get pissed when you try to—”

Xander blinked, frowned, and held up a hand. “Is there any possible way you can not talk about this right now? If you didn’t notice, things of—oh say—importance are being discussed.”

The demon hunter gave him a long look before snorting in private humor. “Bloody,” he said without glancing away. “If you ever decide to fall off the wagon, I won’t stake you for killing that one.”

“I think the lady might, but the sentiment’s appreciated.”

“And I’m noticing that the Slayer in the room doesn’t come to my defense as her so-called rescuer plots my death,” Harris noted with a wry grin. “Thanks Buff. Knew I could count on you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop. He wouldn’t.”

“Oh really?”

Willow placed a hand of warning on Xander’s shoulder. And just like that, she understood. The observation, of course, did not go unnoticed by Wright, who chuckled briefly and arched his brows at his friend.

“You had your money on the redhead, right?”

Spike shrugged easily. “Her or Rupes. But I betcha anythin’ it’ll be Stay Puft who comes at me with a stake.”

Buffy scowled. “You two bet on this?”

“Had to keep it entertainin’ somehow, sweetheart.”

Zack nodded appraisingly. “I’ll say this, Buffy. Your boy’s very good at inventing random games to keep himself occupied.”

“Your boy?” Xander repeated. “Okay, will—”

“For God’s sake, it’s perfectly obvious what he meant,” Giles said with a groan. “Do you really need everything spelled out in large letters, or were you making an untimely joke?”

The other man frowned. “An untimely joke?”

“They’re having sex,” Anya said simply. “Lots of it, from what I can tell. Buffy has that satisfied look that I get after we have finished copulating, so I’m guessing they have also had sex recently.”

“Thank you, Ahn. Anything else?”

“It’s good sex,” she added, unhampered. “I can tell because Buffy doesn’t have that unsatisfied-and-still-horny look that she often had with Riley.” She flashed a winning smile at the snickering couple, completely stabilized by her revelation. “Congratulations and many happy orgasms.”

A long beat rang through the living room.

Spike nodded at her with a smirk. “Thanks, luv. We’ll get right on that.”

Buffy elbowed him but said nothing to the contrary, and her action earned a chuckle from Wright.

“Dawn,” Joyce said suddenly. “Go to your room.”

An affronted gasp strangled the air. “Mom!”

“Go to your room.”

“Come on. I go to a public school. I’ve heard the word ‘orgasm’ before.”

This time, her decree was supported by more than half of the house’s occupation. “Go to your room!”

“Ahn,” Xander said slowly after the teenager had walked off in a huff—stopping briefly to hug her sister and congratulate her personally on her relationship, which she had always secretly been rooting for. “You do know that the question was rhetorical, right?”

“Yes. I decided to answer anyway. It made things very amusing.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. They’re holding hands, Xan. You can’t tell me you haven’t seen that.”

“I have selective blindness, thank you.”

Wright sighed dramatically. “Your friends are crazy.”

Xander blinked. “Ummm…she’s the one having sex with Spike and we’re the crazy ones?”

That earned a disgruntled snicker. “I’m beginning to wish I’d stayed upstairs with Rosie and Tara. Suddenly, even Disney sounds like a fabulous alternative to this blatant double standard.”

“I—”

Zack rolled his eyes. “Your girlfriend is an ex-demon, for God’s sake! The only thing about her that isn’t demon is the lack of powers, and yet you attack my friend who has done nothing more than get your Slayer back as well as he could. Oh and by the way, before you mention it, the entire siring thing—”

Spike sat forward suddenly, gaze wide with warning. “Zangy, don’ do anythin’ stupid.”

“It was my fault, okay? I’m the one that made her drink.”

“Like that,” the vampire finished dejectedly.

The room again came to an effective standstill. Giles took a serious step forward, face grave. “You…how?”

“Simple, really,” the hunter continued, unfazed. “We found her, Spike ran over to her, she was all dead-like, I slit his throat and made her drink. It wasn’t his fault. Hell, it wasn’t even his idea. He had no control over what was happening until it was too late, and then he fucking chastised me for saving the girl he loves. So, there you have it. Chastise away. What do I fucking care?”

A low groan rang through the Cockney’s lips. “Zangy, you well-intentioned fool.”

“I had to tell them. It was annoying the piss outta me.”

Willow pursed her lips and glanced to the Slayer. “Buffy?” The blonde nodded. There was nothing else to do. The Witch took that in with a grain of salt, then turned her attention back to Wright. “Why? Why would you do something like that?”

“’E did it for me, Red,” Spike intervened softly, drawing attention back to himself. “Y’see, a few years ago, Zangy here lost his wife to a particularly nasty vamp. You might know her…name of Darla.”

Dead or not, mention of her brought a short shudder to the hunter’s spine.

“Darla,” Giles murmured, turning to Zack with newfound understanding. “There is an incident that the Watcher’s Council has yet to document but has always been well aware of. You did say your name was—”

“Her name was Amber Wright,” the man said solemnly. “And she wasn’t the only one. Darla killed my unborn son, too. It’s the reason I became a demon hunter.” His gaze fixed resolvedly on his friend. “Losing Amber killed me. When I saw Spike break down at Buffy’s side when we found her, I knew it’d kill him, too. It went against everything I…but it was worth it. They’re happy.”

Willow’s eyes went wide. “You…Spike, you—”

“I love her, she loves me, end of bloody story.”

“That’s the reason you went in the first place,” Joyce said, tears rolling down her face. “I should’ve seen it. I should’ve…you brought her home. Oh, how can I ever—”

Her prattling went on in the same manner. It was a typical Mom moment, but it had Buffy’s eyes watering all the same.

“Am I the only person who isn’t okay with this?” Xander wondered aloud.

“Yes,” Wright snapped.

“No,” Giles countered.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Bloody typical.”

The demon hunter snickered incredulously. “So, let me get this straight…he’s good enough to send after your Slayer, but when it comes to—”

Harris glared at him, raising a hand impetuously. “Can we vote him off the island?”

“Hey, I don’t have a problem with demon-bashing,” Wright snapped. “All I’m looking for is a little consistency. You hate demons? Fine. Don’t make exceptions, and especially, don’t date them.”

“But I want Xander to date me,” Anya argued.

Zack’s gaze widened and he gestured at her emphatically. “You see? She even knows what I’m talking about!”

“Ahn was a demon for a long time. She isn’t anymore.”

Spike met his friend’s irritated gaze and smiled. It was useless trying to preach this load of ‘heard that’s’ to a crowd that no longer listened, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. “That’s right,” he added helpfully. “Our Anya’s a good li’l girl now. Wouldn’t harm a fly. Ahn, tell the good people how much atonement you’ve gone through since you saw the bloody light. How many tears you’ve cried over the thousands of men you eviscerated over the centuries. ‘m sure Zangy’ll understand once he gets a picture of everythin’ you’ve done to make up for your naughty deeds.”

“That’s not fair,” Harris objected.

“You all better remember this,” Wright advised. “Ten years from now when you’re asked where you were when democracy failed, you’ll wanna give them a straight answer.”

“Look,” Buffy intervened sharply. “There’s no use fighting—it’s not like it’s going to change anything. I know you’re all worried about me—”

“Worried.” Giles blinked at her as though she had spawned another head that was singing Cantonese opera. “Why would you think we’re worried?”

Xander crossed his arms bitterly. “Other than the fact that everyone here is insane.”

“Look, this is Buffy’s decision,” Joyce snapped. “Spike saved her life—”

“And it looks as though he’s earning every penny.”

That was it. The peroxide vampire snarled to life, leaping to his feet as his eyes flashed yellow; he all but bounded across the room, ready to tear Xander’s head off. Buffy and Wright were instantly at his side, each grasping an arm to hold him back though their exercises seemed overly futile. For the moment, for all the outrage pumping the Cockney’s veins, even a sired Slayer and a demon hunter stood not a chance against his strength.

It was immeasurably enough. Buffy’s hand slid to his and her fingers laced with his own. The intimate contact seemed to draw him back to himself, and while his anger faded, the growl behind his tone remained steadfast. And the entire room was still.

“Look, you sodding ninny,” he snarled. “Attack me all you bloody want. I expect it from you. ‘ve been sayin’ the same to the Slayer an’ Zangy since we left LA. ‘S jus’ you, Harris. You an’ your small-minded unwillingness to accept what you don’ want to understand. An’ that’s fine. But ‘f you ever, ever make an insinuation about my girl like that again, I’m gonna bloody rip your heart out an’ shove it down your throat.”

“More over,” Zack added coldly. “I’ll help.”

A very cold beat settled throughout the room. Everyone favored Xander with a mixture of horror and appraisal—the signs of a marked man. Perhaps it was the knowledge of Spike’s newfound power, or the comprehension that they had lost Buffy’s protection where he was concerned. The look on her face read more of the same for her offense. She was hurt, and she had a right to be.

“You hurt Xander, and I’ll cut off your penis,” Anya threatened. “Then you and Buffy won’t be able to enjoy numerous orgasms.”

“Ohhh, you’re makin’ me quiver in my li’l booties.”

“Those issues aside,” Giles said neutrally, “we have some other concerns.”

“And I think violent outbursts is one,” Willow agreed, worry lines wrinkling her brow. “Honestly, Spike. We’re trying to get the full here, and yeah what Xander said was very, very out of line. Hell, he bypassed the line by several county marks.”

“Thanks, Wills,” the man commented with an ironic smile.

Spike growled again and the man quieted.

Wright shook his head heavily and broke for the door.

Buffy frowned. “Where are you going?”

“I need to kill something,” he explained, gaze leveling on Harris. “Now.”

The slam of the door enunciated his leave effectively. Xander tossed the Slayer a wry, insincere smile. “Gee, Buff. I sure am loving all your friends.”

“You provoked him, Xan.”

“An’ Zangy’s not the type of bloke you wanna provoke,” Spike observed wearily, allowing the Slayer to draw him back to the sofa, even if he refused to sit. He would never fault Wright for leaving, but his absence did resonate a sort of furthering of the already uneven odds throughout the room. All things considered, he preferred standing. “But he’s a man who stands by his convictions an’ doesn’ shy to admit when ‘e’s wrong.”

“Regardless of his nobility,” Giles began evenly. “He distracts us from the point. Spike…while I am sure—no, not even at that—you should have clarified your motive before you left. Had we known—”

“You wouldn’t have let me within fifty feet of the Slayer.”

“Damn right,” Xander mumbled.

“An’ she’d be all sorts of dead. Do you wankers have any bloody idea what it took for me to get as close as I did? Angelus barely trusted me to be in the city. ‘E wouldn’t have trusted any of you—”

“I am not saying that,” Giles corrected.

“Yeh, well your spokesman is.”

“Maybe it would be better if we talked to Buffy alone about this,” Willow suggested helpfully.

Anya shrugged. “That’s Laymen’s terms for ‘we want you gone so you’re not influencing her’.”

“You’re not getting anywhere with me,” the Slayer said calmly.

“Then you won’t mind our trying.”

She rolled her eyes. “I swear. And I thought you’d be more upset about the dead thing.”

“Call it all of the above,” Giles reasoned evenly. “We need to speak with you.”

“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of—”

The platinum vampire abruptly released her hand and walked out of the living room. The Slayer’s words choked her throat and her eyes went wide, the bottom of her stomach dropping as her eyes followed him—her legs granite. While his strength was some of the most potent that she depended on, his presence was nothing without his support. And when she opened her mouth to call after him, she berated herself for how unstable she sounded.

“…Spike?”

He turned then, caught her expression, and smiled with gentle reassurance. “Jus’ thought I’d give you an’ your mates a minute,” he explained.

“You don’t have to—”

“Nah. ‘S all right. Think the Bit’s sneakin’ down, anyway.”

Buffy watched, well aware that everyone in the room was watching with her. Sure enough, Rosie appeared in mere seconds, wide-awake and grinning when she saw him waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. They listened as the child explained Dawn and Tara had engaged in a heated argument about who was better: Bagheera or Baloo, and fallen asleep just seconds after the discussion ended. The movie was still playing, she said, but she wanted to see her father or Spike or someone and not watch television anymore.

“Your Pap went out for a nightcap,” the platinum vampire told her, smiling kindly. “Come on. You hungry?”

“Daddy doesn’t let me eat after nine o’clock.”

His eyes widened mischievously and he neared her with a grin that spoke of all kinds of mischief. “Daddy doesn’ have to know.”

The Slayer watched the whole of the brief exchange and it warmed her heart. Though he would protest until he went hoarse, Spike was surprisingly good with children. He knew how to make Rosie smile, which was something not many outside her admitted circle could claim. He knew how to exercise patience that seemingly came from nowhere. He was smitten with her girlish charm, such to the point that she wouldn’t be surprised if he volunteered to be her godfather.

The girl was more than his link to the Powers. She was the daughter of his best male friend. And he treated her like family.

No sooner had the pair disappeared through the dining room and into the kitchen did the Scoobies reinstate their campaign; everyone but her mother voicing a thousand different reasons why what she was doing was a bad idea. All things that she had already had time to take to committee, review, and retire. After all that had occurred, none of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was the road ahead.

This was what he wanted, he said. This was what he was willing to live if she willed it so.

“Buffy,” Giles was saying reasonably. “I understand your feelings of obligation. We all owe Spike a tremendous debt. But sires have strong holds on those they create. Exceptionally strong. What you’re feeling…”

“Let’s not forget the fact that he sired you,” Xander added. “As in, made you dead.”

“I was already dead,” Buffy replied, gaze focused on the vacant dining room. “I was dead long before Angel killed me. Spike came and he was there, and he asked for nothing in return.” She turned slowly to her family and offered a watery smile. “I love you guys. I do. And I know this is hard. I can barely understand it myself. But what I feel…it’s the real thing.”

“How can you know?” Willow asked softly. “I mean, if it is, go you. But the last time you did the vampire thing, it ended bad.”

“Very bad,” Giles agreed.

“So bad that he decided to kidnap you two years after he dumped you bad,” Xander finished.

Buffy glanced to her mother for the last, but all she had to offer was a neutral shrug. “We just don’t want to see you hurt. And…” Her gaze drifted to the dining room as well, a clandestine motherly smile crossing her face. “I think, after all we’ve seen, that we know he will not hurt you.”

Her words had barely had time to die before Giles was speaking again. Only the tenor altered drastically, and the look behind his eyes was haunted and still. The revelation itself was random, as though brought upon himself by shades of guilt. “I am so sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

“You didn’t—”

“We never prepared for the option of your turning, Buffy. You experienced vampirism briefly the first year that we met, but we never discussed it afterward.”

She shrugged halfheartedly, forcing a smile to her lips. “It’s really not as bad as I would’ve thought. I don’t love it, but—”

“What happened wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

She frowned. “Of course. And it wasn’t Spike’s, either. With what I saw, Giles, I wouldn’t have let him this close if he wasn’t the real thing. And I’m sorry to disappoint you—”

“You don’t,” he admonished instantly, eyes wide.

“We’re just surprised,” Willow added. “On all sorts of levels.”

There was a still beat before Xander stepped up to the plate. “There’s so much we don’t get,” he said, obviously making an effort to remain logical. “Think about it: the last time we saw you, you were…well, alive for one thing…and had the basic temperament of ‘Oh-I-Hate-Spike-Let-Me-Count-The-Ways-How-Long-Till-I-Can-Shove-Something-Nice-And-Wooden-Not-To-Mention-Pointy-Through-His-Chest.’”

The redhead nodded. “Maybe if we had seen it—”

“You’d be singing a whole different tune,” Buffy reassured him. “I know you don’t get it. Really, when we came here, it was big with the not-expecting-you-to. But you guys know me. You know me very well. And we were wrong…we were wrong about him. I don’t know why he changed, but he did. He’s completely different from the guy we thought we knew.” She turned to the empty dining room again, eyes shining with something unmistakable. Something she would have an eternity to enjoy. “He’s one of us.”

“Whatcha makin’?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“What are those?”

“Li’l marshmallows.”

“What are they for?”

“The hot chocolate.”

“Why?”

“’Cause you can’t have hot chocolate without the li’l marshmallows.”

“Why?”

“’S the law.”

“Says who?”

“Says the Hot Chocolate Police.”

Amazing how one could go from being one of the most feared and respected vampires throughout history and end up in a Slayer’s kitchen engaged in idle conversation with a nine-year old. The same hands that had ripped through human flesh without a flinch were tentatively stirring a sugary concoction for a girl he shouldn’t care two licks about. It was an unusual convergence from shades of realization. He remembered well his self-loathing for the manifest concern displayed in the alley the night they met. How he had felt himself overcome with anxiety in the namesake of a little girl he didn’t know, and likely would never see again.

It wasn’t enough that Buffy had made him fall in love with her. She had also made him a bloody humanitarian. The Spike of Old would never entertain the whims of a child. He would just as sooner rip her lungs out.

Now the thought of anyone trying to enact the Spike of Old made him see red.

Anyone who harmed Rosalie Wright had to answer to him, and he wouldn’t make it pretty. He would make them scream until their shrills were hit with a hoarse brogue.

That was it, then. It was official.

He was bloody tamed.

“I think you’re lying about the Hot Chocolate Police,” the child observed as he slid a mug-full of warm, chocolaty goodness down the counter.

“Yeh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I think you ask too many bloody questions.” Spike’s brows quirked in jest, a smile tickling his lips. “Whaddya say to that?”

Rosie studied him for a long minute before her eyes sparkled, rising admirably to the challenge. “I say…” she mused thoughtfully. “Why is the sky blue?”

“’Cause God was colorblind. Anythin’ else?”

She giggled sharply and took an appreciative sip of her drink. “You’re funny, Uncle Spike.”

“’m a bloody comedian.”

“You don’t look bloody.”

He smiled a thin smile, patting her head with affection he was almost unaware of. “Trust me, Bit.”

She looked at him for another tentative moment, indulging another drink. It was adorable watching her grasp the cup; though she was old enough to keep hold of it with only one hand, she employed both, betraying the impression of a much younger child. “Why do you call me that?” she asked finally.

“What. Bit?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…look at you.” Spike flashed a condescending grin. “You’re a tiny person.”

“I’m not tiny.”

“Well, you won’ be for long.”

“I hunt demons.”

Yes, he knew that much. Unbloodybelievable.

“Your Pap sure knows how to set a good example, doesn’ he?”

“Where is he?”

“Your dad?” Spike nodded at the back door, taking a long drink of his own mug. “’E got a li’l brassed with Buffy’s mates an’ decided ‘e needed to go stick it to somethin’ good. An’ since Cordy wasn’ around, he settled with the demon population instead.”

Rosie frowned. “Why would Daddy stick it to Cordy?”

Though he had practically gift-wrapped it and shipped it to himself, there was absolutely no way that listening to such an innocent tenor vocalize an inherently naughty question could result in anything other than a mixture of a choking/laughing fit. He had to spit a mouthful of hot-chocolate back into his cup before mirth overwhelmed him completely. When girl moved to considerately pat his back, he all but lost it again.

“Jus’ forget I said that,” he advised once he regained control of himself.

“I’m gonna ask him when he gets back.”

Spike’s eyes widened. “You incorrigible shedevil.”

Rosie merely shrugged and took another sip of her hot chocolate, basking in the limelight of feigned innocence. She was a smart kid—she knew there were things out there that she wasn’t supposed to know. It was her fortune that her innate sweetness outbid whatever ulterior motives her conniving nine-year old mind could imagine.

“Why did you leave the others?” she asked a minute later.

There was a difficult question. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t known the Scoobies would be this way, but a secret part of him had been hoping for a little break.

They were more upset about their relationship than her vampirism. How’s that for family?

“To give ‘em some time alone.”

“With Aunt Buffy?”

The moniker made his lips twitch in a shadow of a grin. “Yeh,” he replied. “With Aunt Buffy. Y’see, Aunt Buffy’s friends don’ particularly like me.”

The child look genuinely affronted at the notion. “Why?”

“’Cause I’m a bad man, Bit. Never forget it.”

“You’re not bad, Uncle Spike.”

The sad part was, she actually believed what she said. Deceiving such an intelligent girl made his insides coil in disgust.

“’ve done a lot of bad things.”

“I once stole a pack of gum from Price Cutter.”

He smiled again with droll amusement. “Naughty girl.”

“Nikki made me give it back.”

“I wouldn’t’ve.” The peroxide vampire shrugged and leaned back. “’F you were crafty enough to get it out of there without gettin’ caught, I say good on you. You’ve done more than earn the seventy-nine cents they mark it for on the shelf.” He sighed heavily and propped himself fully onto the counter, reaching for his cigarettes. “’ve stolen a lot in my time. Never gave a penny back. An’ I’ve done worse. Much worse. Trust me, Bit. Your Uncle Spike’s not a nice guy.”

A sad, unadulterated look overwhelmed her at that. “You’re nice to me,” she said quietly. “And to Aunt Buffy. And to Daddy. I’ve never seen you be mean to anyone good.”

“You haven’t known me all that long.”

“I’ve known you.”

Odd how such a small package could make him quiver so. There was true conviction in her words. As though she believed it. As though it was true. And then—perhaps it was. She was his guide, after all. The Powers had sent her to him to serve as his link. When Buffy was killed, it was she—not Cordelia—who provided the vision. She had been the one to first convey the Slayer’s love for him. The first he allowed close when everything was falling to hell. A child who knew him.

Amazing.

“You might’ve been bad, but you’re good now.”

“Watch it. I resent that.”

Rosie smiled. “No you don’t.”

They traded a long glance and ages past between them. Then Spike grew uncomfortable with the serious introspection and furrowed in an attempt to navigate the spotlight away from himself and his numerous instabilities. Instead, he nodded to the upper level and puffed furiously on his cigarette, relying on the strain of nicotine in ways he had never before exercised. “So Nibblet an’ Glinda fell asleep arguin’ ‘bout The Jungle Book?”

A giggle ruptured her lips at that. “Yeah.”

“Y’know, I’ve seen The Jungle Book. Several thousand times.”

She nodded. “Dad says you’ve seen every movie ever.”

“’E exaggerates. There are some musicals I’ll never watch.” At her skeptical gaze, he sighed and conceded. “Okay, more than twice. Before I met your Aunt Buffy, I had a sick woman who I took care of. She bloody loved everythin’ musical—cartoons were some of her favorite. The colors an’ what all. Distractin’. Prob’ly the same shade she was used to seein’ in whatever world she lived in.”

“Drusilla,” Rosie acknowledged.

Spike favored her with a sharp glance. Then grinned. “You know too much.”

“Daddy tells me everything he can. When we talked about you after you two became friends, he told me everything there was to know.” She shrugged as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “I know about Dru. And Darla. Darla killed my mother.”

“Darla was a nasty bint,” he agreed. “Your Dad sure let her have it.”

“Good.”

It was disconcerting hearing such cold ruthlessness from a child’s mouth. Of course, a fair percentage of what Rosie said was disconcerting, so he didn’t allow it to bother him.

“You know any songs from The Jungle Book?”

Sadly, yes. “A few.”

“Sing them for me?”

“An’ that’s a no.”

She pouted. “Why not?”

“’Cause I got dignity. An’ pride. An’…sod it. Knowin’ you, you already know that’s a bunch of bollix.” He winked at her and inhaled deeply. “‘When you pick a pawpaw, or a prickly pear, an’ you prick a raw paw; next time, beware.’”

A wide grin that somehow made it worthwhile had infectiously spread across Rosie’s face, and she suffered no ill pride in joining him. “‘Don’t pick the prickly pear by paw—”

“—‘when you pick a pear, try to use the claw,’” he continued. “‘But you don’ need to use the claw when you pick a pear of the big pawpaw.’” An inane chuckle rose to his throat. “Dru used to bloody love that.”

“You miss her?”

“Dru? No.” And it was true. He delighted in the tenfold of that understanding. For everything she had been to him, what he felt for Drusilla had long bitten the dust. “I love your Aunt Buffy more than anythin’ in this world, Bit. More than I thought I could. More than before I left to find her. I don’ deserve her, but she picked me. I’m jus’ a random lucky bloke.” Spike’s eyes narrowed teasingly. “Kinda like your Pap. ‘E doesn’ deserve Cordy, but he’s got her anyway.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” she observed.

“Yeh, well, whaddya gonna do?”

“Daddy’s coming back.”

The peroxide vampire drew to an impossible standstill and stared at her blankly. And the scent hit him two seconds before Wright threw the back door open, storming inward in a foul bit of temper. From the lack of goo or dust on his attire, it wasn’t difficult to observe that his hunting attempts had gone awry.

“Wouldn’t you figure,” he grumbled. “A fucking Hellmouth and not one fucking vamp to…” He glanced up two seconds too late, catching the bemused look on his daughter’s face. “Heya, Rosie Posy. And…what are you doing out of bed?”

She merely grinned. “Hi, Daddy.”

“What? Bedtime?” Spike turned to calculate the time based on the microwave clock, but it was flashing midnight like a perpetual VCR. “’m guessin’ ‘s nowhere near one in the mornin’. Isn’t that her normal bedtime?”

“Not anymore it isn’t. She’s gonna have school and stuff.” His eyes centered on his daughter. “Remember school? You gotta get up real early for that so Nikki can take you.”

The platinum vampire barked a laugh of interest. Typical.

Rosie nodded, evidently unbothered and sipped once more at her hot chocolate. “Spike knows Disney.”

A hoarse, fiercely defensive cough reached his lips the next second, coinciding wonderfully with the sound of Wright’s condescending chuckles. “No I bloody don’t!” he protested fanatically.

“He sang a part of ‘Bear Necessities.’”

“I bloody well did—”

The demon hunter was laughing richly, foul temperament completely pushed asunder. “I tell you,” he sneered. “No more making fun of the Barbies. We’re even.”

Rosie cocked her head thoughtfully. “He sang better than you do when you do ‘Under The Sea.’”

That was it. In one beat from sharp justification to laughing so hard he was grateful he wasn’t standing. The furious scowl depressing Wright’s features sweetened the deal all the more. “Kids,” he said, nodding appraisingly at the girl. “Gotta love ‘em. An’ no, Zangy. We’re not even. Come on. At least mine wasn’ from a poofy cartoon.”

Zack glared at him. “Two words. Egyptian Ratscrew.”

Spike paused and his eyes went wide, countenance sobering immediately. “Right. Right. We’re even.” He hopped down from the counter and stamped out his cigarette self-consciously.

They were still for a discomfiting moment—discomfiting for unknowing why it was discomfiting. An impasse that no one was ever to know about. Tacit in understanding and never referred to again.

“Uhhh…” Spike began self-consciously. “Back into the main hold?”

“Sounds good.”

“Gonna put the Bit down firs’?”

“Even better.”

The demon hunter hurried to scoop his daughter in his arms and turn back upstairs to see her properly to sleep, leaving the Cockney alone once more with his thoughts. It was strange how quickly people became relevant in his life. For over a century, he had crossed through countries, met a thousand or more wandering souls and killed his fair share without thinking twice. Zack and his girl were important to him, and soon they would be returning to Los Angeles. Soon, the life he had grown accustomed to over the past few weeks would be gone for good.

Those whose company he now enjoyed would sooner see him cast into a pit of fire than ever call him friend.

And yet, this was how it was. Though giving up acceptance for the woman he loved could well end up being the hardest thing he would ever do, it was worth it. It was more than worth it. His love for Buffy surpassed any form of happiness he could have found in Los Angeles without her. It was foolish to contemplate the woes of what could have been.

After all, this world wasn’t meant for having it both ways.

There was a feeling of resonating trepidation in the air even before Wright’s cell phone released its high unnerving shrill into the still of the encompassing silence. He tossed a cautious glance to Spike, who had a sleeping Slayer cradled in his arms; her body curled into his side on the sofa as the last of Casablanca ran its course. They exchanged a brief but meaningful glance, and the peroxide vampire nodded to the entry hall so she would not awake.

After the excitement had died down the day before, it had taken a long time for Buffy’s nerves to give her a break and allow an escape for even a catnap, much less an undisturbed night of rest. Never before had he seen her so overwrought—when she did fall asleep, she wasn’t able to remain comfortable enough for anything productive to come of it. Spike had held her, massaged her tensed body with calming hands, and even tried to lull her with the soothing notes of his lyrical voice. He made it through Berlin’s Count Your Blessings and the opening of Halleluiah before she nodded off, only to awake an hour later with a tremulous gasp that seized his heart.

Silly him. He had gone the sensual route when all it took was the opening credits of a classic Bogie film to do the trick. She had been sleeping soundly throughout the full of it, and if he had a say, she wouldn’t awake until it was time to get something to eat.

In the crypt, and even at the Hyperion, the inconvenience of telephones had never occurred to him. He had never had any use for them—while at the hotel, he was usually far and away when Angel Investigations lit up with any meaningful leads. Thus, the sound of Wright’s phone going off was the most unprecedented interruption he could have counted on.

Zack rose apologetically and quickly scurried to the entry, flipping the phone on and speaking in a fast, whispered hush. “Yo?”

The Cockney’s lips quirked. The man had been spending too much time with Gunn.

The next note to escape his friend’s lips was deadpan, completely void of jollity. And similarly, on the same accord, his cautionary tactic in maintaining the Slayer’s rest abandoned him. “Okay man, slow down and start from the beginning. Right…right… What? What? You’re shitting me. You’re fucking shitting me. Goddammit, when did this happen?” There was a meaningful pause, and his tone dropped even lower. “What? And it took this long to call me? Fuck that, do I sound like I care that it was…a fucking half hour, Wes! I could’ve been on my…no, from now on, something like this happens, I’m your first fucking phone call. I’m your first anything. You got it? No. I’m coming home. Well, hold the fuck off until I get there. No, if she’s in danger, I…” Wright drew in a deep breath and caressed his brow, breaking into a heavy pace without realizing it. “Well, find one. Find one now and have it ready. I’m coming home.”

By the time the call concluded, moving out of the room had been proven a fruitless activity. Buffy was awake—groggy and strangely alert at the same time—and reclined against Spike’s chest. She studied the hunter carefully, features depressing in concern.

There hadn’t been one sentence of that trade that anyone had liked.

“Zangy,” the peroxide vampire greeted darkly, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Anyone ever tell you that you swear like a sailor when you’re brassed? An’ loudly?”

Wright nodded, eyes absent. “Sorry.” He turned to the Slayer. “I’m really sorry.”

She waved dismissively. “Don’t pay attention to him. I’m fine. What’s wrong?”

A sigh rolled off his shoulders, and just like that, his reality crashed and sent trembles down his body in unsteady affect. “It’s Cordy.”

Spike sat up sharply, arm tightening around Buffy’s middle and pulling her with him. The sudden tension in his muscles spoke for every ounce of worry, but could not compare to the hurried emotion in his voice. “What happened?”

Zack ran a hand through his chestnut strands, his trembles coming harder. “You know that girl in her vision? The one we were pretending to chase across town when we were just trying to keep busy? Yeah. Apparently, she got sucked into Lorne’s alma mater about five years ago.”

“Five years ago?” Buffy repeated, confused.

“Yeah. It threw them…up until one of Lorne’s cousins punched through with some creature he was hunting. Trashed Caritas, by the way. Anyway, they tracked it, killed it, sent Lorne’s cousin back…and Cordy, in the process.” The tremors wracking his body became more pronounced. As though saying it aloud made it all the more final. “She’s gone.”

There was a long pause. Then Spike exploded.

“What? She’s gone? They’re jus’ gonna sit back an’—”

“No. Fuck no. I wouldn’t let that.”

“Better bloody believe it.” The peroxide vampire rose to his feet. “Well, tha’s it. We gotta go back.”

“No. I’m going back. You’re staying here.” Wright nodded to Buffy. “You got other things to worry about. Besides, I need someone to watch Rosie for me.”

“Glinda’ll do it.”

“She’ll want you.”

A growl climbed up Spike’s throat and his eyes darkened. “Are you meanin’ to tell me you jus’ expect me to wait here while my friend’s out lost God knows where? Bugger that. Otherworldly dimensions aren’t fun, kiddies. You’ll need—”

“You’re. Needed. Here. You have yours to protect.”

“The only thing I got here that matters to me ‘s Buffy, an’ she’ll come.” He turned to her, gaze suddenly wide and imploring. “You will come, right?”

There was no questioning that. “I want to help,” the Slayer agreed. “Cordelia did so much for us.”

Wright’s eyes widened. “God, you’re both insane! You have a hellgod to fight here. Didn’t either of you listen to Giles last night?” He turned heatedly to the peroxide vampire. “Look, I appreciate it. I do, and she does, too. But we’ve got Wes, Charlie, Nikki, and your bestest friend of all joining the hunting crew. Hell, Wes is even talking about recruiting that pansy-ass lawyer if he isn’t too busy. We have a big party going; we’ll find her.”

Spike arched a flawless brow. “How?”

“By—oh, I don’t know—looking. The hot spot the demon used to punch through has gone cold. They better have found another by the time I get back or there’ll be hell to pay.” The hunter exhaled deeply and attempted to regain control of himself. He was still shaking from head to toe. “I appreciate it…your offer, that is. But I can’t accept. You have too much to lose here.”

The meaningful gaze he sent Buffy was all the clarification he needed. And slowly, Spike’s furious glow faded, and he returned to himself.

There was no way he was going to put his girl in further danger. Not when he had drawn her from one hell into another. And Zack was right—they had enough trouble here. They had Glory. Adding another trip to Los Angeles, not to mention a time warp to whatever-dimension, would not help anyone. And he loved her too much to take any chances.

Even for Cordelia.

“Right,” Spike said finally. “You’re right.”

“I know.” He released another long breath. “I’m leaving now. I can’t wait.”

“Don’. Jus’ get her back.”

“Trust me; I’m not gonna lose Cordy. I can’t.” He shook his head, reliving old memories that bore new faces. It was disconcerting but revealing in all the same breath. He knew where he stood now. “I think that’d kill me.”

That was sentiment that Spike knew like a brother. An understanding smile crept over his face, and his eyes turned without thought to study the woman he had sold himself to find, knowing that her downfall would finalize his destruction, even if it were at his own hands. “Yeh,” he agreed hoarsely. “I know what you mean.”

Wright was already at the door, jingling his keys. “Tell Rosie where I went, and that I’m sorry. I just can’t wait.” He paused then, hand on the doorknob, and turned back to them with large eyes and sharply drawn bated breath. “Watch out for her with your lives…or unlives…whatever. I don’t need to tell you what’ll happen if anything—”

The platinum vampire held up a hand. “Trust me, mate. I won’ let anythin’ happen to the Bit. Ever.”

“Neither of us will,” Buffy added with a soft smile. “We love that little girl.”

Zack nodded, a ghost of a grin shadowing his face. “Me, too. Make sure you tell her that.”

That was it. Just like that, he was gone. A man on the move. He had done this scene way too often. Gotten a call and moved out less than five minutes later. It was normal for him. No clothes but what he had on his back. Even the weapons he deemed worthy enough to bring to Sunnydale were left behind; not even referred to. He hadn’t a moment to waste.

It took a few minutes to regroup and realize exactly what had just transpired. After calming a sea of raging nerves with tacit cooperation, the couple collapsed wearily onto the sofa again, curled in each other with encircling comfort.

“Wow,” Buffy murmured. “That happened fast.”

Spike nodded. “Yeh. But he’ll get to her in time. He bloody well has to.”

“He will. Did you see him moving? He was out of here like…something really fast that isn’t a sordid cliché.”

“Not fast enough. ‘F it were you, I wouldn’t’ve waited to explain.”

She smiled, nuzzling his chest in a manner that was almost kittenish. “It was me, Spike,” she reminded him softly. “And you came for me.”

“Not like that. I ran it by your mates firs’ to make sure they din’t do anythin’ stupid.” A sigh coursed through the platinum vampire, and he rested his cheek upon the crown of her head, hands massaging artless patterns of comfort into her back. “Heaven forbid anythin’ like that ever happens to you again, I wouldn’t stop for anythin’ in the world.”

“You’re sweet.”

“I’m honest.”

“You’re sweetly honest.”

Spike rolled his eyes, unable to shade the worry that lingered there. “I mean it, luv. Things’ve changed. Before when I left, it was different. I loved you, ‘course, but I din’t know why.”

“And now you do?”

“Oh yes. Difference bein’, I was in love at you, not with you.” A gentle smile kissed his lips. “That’s changed, too. Never thought I could get it this good. Now everythin’s next to perfect, an’ I’m so bloody afraid somethin’ like this Glory’s gonna take it away.” A sigh ran through him. “Like Zangy. Zangy an’ Cordy got it next to perfect, too, an’ now she—”

“They’ll get her back.”

“I know. ‘F he feels a fraction for her what I feel for you, they’ll have her back an’ then some.”

“He feels fractions. Many, many fractions.”

“Does he?”

Buffy shrugged. “I can tell. It’s a girl thing.”

A wicked grin crossed Spike’s face, and a naughty hand dipped between her thighs. “I like your girl things.”

“Well, they like you back.”

“Glad to hear it.” His fingers grew even more boisterous, pressing against her intimately as he inhaled her scent and enjoyed the feel of dampened denim against his skin. Her appreciative sigh sent ripples through his body, and he buried his mouth in her throat to tease her flesh with awe and perseverance. “You’re here,” he murmured. “You’re actually here.”

A watery smile crossed her face. “I’m here.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“Why?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re beginning to sound like Rosie. Which reminds me…you do know that when Zack left us in charge of his daughter, that sort’ve made us honorary parents.”

“’F I was beginnin’ to sound like the Bit, I’d ask why fish lived in water.”

“I notice you heard that but not the parent thing.”

A sigh spilled from his lips. “I don’ know why Zangy figures she’ll be any safer with us, ‘specially with a hellgod runnin around.”

She shrugged. “Because he trusts you. And this is a controlled environment.”

Spike arched a brow.

“Well, more controlled than a dimension he’s never been to. At least he has an idea of what to expect here.” Buffy exhaled needlessly and arched up to rest her head against his shoulder. “She’s not safe anywhere, though. I have a battle ahead of me that I’m not ready to fight with demons and vamps and gods running around, and her father’s run off to save his girlfriend.”

“We’ll take care of her, luv. I won’ let anythin’ happen to that li’l girl.”

“I know you won’t.” She sighed against him once more. “There’s just too much right now. I can’t feel it anymore.”

A worried frown creased his brow. “What, baby?”

“I can’t…feel. Last night after…when Giles was talking about Glory after we got everything else…he was talking about stuff that we need to do. Prepare for. All I could think about was how I don’t wanna do this anymore.” She shook her head heatedly. “I’ve worn the Miss Slayer crown for six years, Spike, and I want to hand it over. I’ve died twice, stopped god-knows-how-many apocalypses, and I’m sorry if the word apocalypse doesn’t faze me anymore. I guess I grew skeptical the third time Giles told me the world was about to end.” A break then. Buffy tore her eyes away from his and focused on a spot on the floor, her vision growing blurry. “Six years and the only thing I’ve done is get older and dead. I’m tired of trying to save the world, and the last thing anyone needs right now is an apathetic Slayer. I just don’t care anymore. I want someone else to…someone else to start caring and start fighting so I can finally start living. It’s not fair for me to sacrifice my life so other people can have theirs. Not one part of this deal is fair to me, or to anyone else called to take the plate.”

There was a long, heavy pause as he studied her. It took a minute before she could reestablish eye contact. Before she could bring herself to look at someone after she admitted her own inadequacies, as though the want of living was a treacherous faux pas. Instead, what she found was a small, albeit sincere smile of reassurance and faith. Whatever it took, she had his support.

Such unburdened knowledge was a rarity she took for granted.

“Hey, luv,” he murmured soothingly. “Preachin’ to the bloody choir, here. You don’ need to convince me of anythin’.”

She shook her head. “I just feel so…there’s nothing I can do, Spike. I’m caught in the middle.”

“Bollocks.”

“Well—”

“Well nothin’. You’re not caught in the bloody middle. That’s bollocks. Not ’f you get off your arse an’ do somethin’ about it. You don’ wanna do this? Fine. ‘S not like you’re the active Slayer, anyway. Baby, you’ve died twice. Twice. I honestly don’ see why you din’t hand over the title the firs’ time a new bird came to town.” Spike shook his head. “I remember thinkin’ the same thing when you firs’ introduced us, too. Thinkin’ that it was a bloody fool thing to keep on tryin’ when you din’t have to, ‘specially since all Slayers end up prematurely dead.”

“You thought that? In the chapel?” She arched a brow. “When you were going to kill Angel to restore Drusilla?”

“Y’know, everythin’ except the ‘restoring Dru’ part makes me sound like an all right guy, given what’s happened between then an’ now.” The remark earned a thwap to guise her wry grin, but he didn’t mind. It had been there, and he had seen it. “An’ even then, at full power, Dru’s nowhere nearly as nasty as Angelus. She’s a bit loony an’ unpredictable, but—”

“Spike?”

He nodded obligingly. “Point?”

She shrugged in turn. “It would be nice. And without the mention of ex girlfriends, if I might…command.”

The platinum vampire smiled and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I jus’ love seein’ you wear green, luv. Think it might be my favorite color.”

“Your favorite colors are red and black and you damn well know it.”

“You know me so well.”

“SPIKE!”

“Right.” A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. Teasing her was a delight he would never forfeit, and she always stepped up to plate admirably, ready to hit every curve he threw her way. “I remember wonderin’ why you din’t quit, other than the need for a spot of violence, which you could’ve gotten anywhere. The job’s known for its perks an’ its less than desirable attributes throughout the demon world, pet. You din’t quit then because you couldn’t. Because that was all you knew, an’ at the time, all you had a chance of knowin’. I respected you for that. Not many people could be offered a free ticket out of somethin’ like that an’ not take it. But you’ve done your time. ‘S gonna end up destroyin’ you ‘f you keep to it like you were before…before all this happened.” A wry grin settled on his lips. “The irony, ‘course, ‘s that you can’t not do good, Buffy. You’re a beacon of pure light, an’ when you see others wanderin’ in the dark, you wanna help them. You wanna share what you got. An’ you do—you share an’ share without realizin’ they’re not givin’ back to you. Without realizin’ you’re inches away from your light goin’ out. I don’ want that to happen. I don’ want who you are to kill your spirit. You’re so much better than the rest of this bloody awful world, an’ you deserve to take somethin’ back out of what it’s taken from you.”

A still beat settled between them, heavy and personal. Spike sat up carefully, navigating her off his lap to add a degree of neutrality free of distraction, even if it was a forethought too late. “Bottom line, sweetheart,” he continued. “I don’ want you to do this, either. I’ve been there—I’ve seen what kinda uglies go after Slayers, an’ you can handle yourself with the best. You’ve done it, Buffy. You’ve done more than anyone could’ve ever asked of you, an’ since I’ve known you, I’ve seen you do nothin’ but suffer for it. I want you safe an’ with me, ‘cause I’m a selfish bastard like that. ‘S over now. Let someone else worry about savin’ the world. ‘S time for you to cash in an’ go to Disney Land. Whaddya say?”

The temptation in her eyes was impossible to conceal. There alongside her sense of honor and duty—the same he wanted to eradicate, especially when Sunnydale was so wholly unworthy of her. Since her involvement in the supernatural happenings that occurred on and under its surface, she had gained nothing but age, heartache, and bitterness. Forever was in their grasp now. He wanted to make the most of it. He wanted to give her what no one else had. A life.

Buffy finally glanced up, wrought with confused indecision. “And leave the Hellmouth unguarded?”

Spike’s brows arched appraisingly. “An’ I s’pose the world ended several times that ‘m not aware of before you an’ yours arrived to make it impossible? Luv, the Hellmouth survived here for centuries before you showed up. Before any Slayer showed up. ‘Sides, ‘s not the only one. I happen to know the Hellmouth in Cleveland ‘s jus’ as dangerous, an’ even more active an’ very unguarded.” He waited passively while she chewed on that one. “You’re jus’ one person. One amazin’ person, yeh, but you can hardly be everywhere at the same time. There’s more danger out there than what we’re sittin’ on right now. An’ we’re still here.”

A wry snort rolled off her shoulders. “How encouraging.”

“I try.” He waited for a long minute and released a deep, pensive sigh. “All that, an’ the world still hasn’t ended.”

“But what if—”

“It does?”

She nodded.

He shrugged. “Hasn’t yet. An’ as we saw in LA, there are others keepin’ check. You’re not alone.”

“You’re talking about—”

“You know what I’m talkin’ about. They’re good at what they do, an’ they have Evil Incorporated sittin’ jus’ a few blocks away. My guess is, the apocalypse…the next an’ twenty after that, not to mention the one’s that’s actually apocalyptic will have somethin’ to do with Wolfram an’ Hart.” A dry smile tickled his mouth. “Chances are, the ones you’ve faced so far? All a part of their game plan.”

Buffy stared at him for a long minute. “How’s that possible?”

“Wolfram an’ Hart’s been around forever, luv,” he explained. “They’re the original evil—shape shifters that mold every now an’ then to keep up with the times. The LA branch has things ‘under control’ as they see fit here. Conveniently near a Hellmouth. How ‘bout that?” There was a hefty pause; he ran a hand through platinum locks and shuddered another breath. “They stand for everythin’ you oppose, luv. They’re jus’ organized about it.”

“And Giles has never mentioned any of this, why?”

“Because they’re there, an’ you’re here.”

Buffy glanced off at that, eyes growing distant with the weight of serious contemplation. “I don’t know,” she murmured after a few minutes. “I just don’t know how to not do this, Spike. And that’s what scares me. I barely remember life before I was the Slayer. I know it happened. I know it existed. I just don’t remember it. Sometimes I think that was someone else entirely. My life ended then and picked up again. I don’t remember not being the Slayer. It’s all I have that…it’s who I am. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

That was it. Spike couldn’t maintain his own imposed hands-off policy; he reached for her hand, delicately caressing her knuckles with his thumbs. “You’re not anythin’ less than what you are. Who you are. Sod the Slayer—you’re Buffy Summers. The woman. You’re jus’ closin’ one book of your life an’ gettin’ ready to open the next. We’ll make the third the longest…” He leaned forward and teased her with his mouth, seeking her lips in a sweeping, sensual kiss that did nothing to guise the taste of her tears. He loved her like this—so raw and emotional. The side that only a privileged few got to see, much less know. “An’ the best. ‘F I have to lasso the bloody moon for you, I’ll see to that.” A soft smile graced his face. “I’ll make you happy, Buffy.”

Of everyone in her life, she supposed Spike was the only person who could render her to genuine tears with nothing more than heartfelt confessionals and promises she knew he would die protecting. There was no pretending around him. No driving need to be someone that she wasn’t. He accepted her for everything she offered. And he understood all her reservations with a touch of his own.

She was so open now; she didn’t think the gate could ever close.

And there was nothing to say to that. Nothing but a hoarse, “You already do.”

A shiver melted between them. Three simple words. Who knew they could have such a profound affect? “Sweetheart,” he replied huskily. “We’re only gettin’ started.”

“I know,” she returned, smiling gently.

“This place doesn’ deserve you,” he continued. “You’re always around where the walls are bleedin’.”

So much left unsaid in that alone.

“This thing with Glory,” Buffy stated slowly. “It’s unavoidable, isn’t it?”

“That depends, luv. Depends on how you treat what you know.” He smiled with a shrug, running his hand up and down her arm with unnamed sensuality. “I want to take you away. From here, from the Hellmouth. Give you somethin’ you haven’t had. This thing with Glory ‘s unavoidable only ‘f we let ourselves get cornered.”

There was a long pause.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m gonna have a li’l chat with Rupert,” Spike replied simply. “You deserve more than this, baby. So much more. An’ I’ll cross the bloody Styx to give it you.”

There was something in his eyes that she could not deny. A feverous spark of life that had known existence before this sense of together. Amazing. He was so much more than she had ever imagined. He exceeded all boundaries of prospect. Breaking the standards, shattering everything that had ever measured in the realm of expectancy.

For once, she was planning for a future she could live in.

And it felt good.

Even before he reached his front door, Giles knew what to expect on the inside. No sense of forward premonition and no shock to coincide with blatant knowledge. He simply knew. Perhaps it was a reflex of having provided housing for a notorious vampire the previous year. Perhaps there was something in the air, forewarning his complete lack of predestined inclination. Perhaps it was because he knew that he had a case of Brandy that he was saving for that one particularly noteworthy occasion that never managed to show up on time, and that more than half of it would be gone before the night was over; none down his own throat.

Of course, if there were something to know, the Watcher would always be at the top of it. Thus, without any pretense of formality, he threw open the door with a ceremonial roll of the eyes.

“I knew there was something I was forgetting,” he observed drolly, removing his overcoat and casting it to the coat rack. “Of course, one tends to cast the disinvitation of nonthreatening vampires into a concern of the secondary nature, so I suppose it is not wholly surprising.”

There was no burst of surprise. The platinum vampire tipped his glass and nodded. He was leaning against the nearest sofa, thoroughly unbothered by the unfriendly greeting. This was not a leisure call. He meant business. “Allo, Rupes,” he returned with a curt nod. “Nice to see you, too.”

The salutation made Giles even more rigid, though it did not seem possible. He robotically offered a nod of offhand abbreviation and moved inward with more of the same. “Spike,” he drew formally. “To what do I owe the extreme displeasure?”

Ah. So that was how it was to be.

“Simple. I want you to do somethin’ for me.”

There was a long beat of silence. Then Giles laughed.

Hard.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said a minute later, gaining composure. “My hearing must be failing me. I could’ve sworn—”

“Stop playin’ dumb with me, ole man, an’ get off your high horse. When I say I want you to do somethin’ for me, you’re automatically to assume I mean me an’ Buffy, understand?” Spike rose to his feet slowly, capping off the rest of his drink with dark intensity. He allowed himself a second to enjoy the astonishment on Giles’s face. After so much experience to suggest the contrary, he was not accustomed to being talked back to with such ferocity.
Not where the vampire was concerned, and certainly not in manners such as these. Despite the tenor of their past dealings, the Watcher had always remained in control. Always.

Not now.

“Once more,” the Cockney continued, “you’re gonna listen. You’re gonna listen, then you’re gonna do as I say. ‘S that quite understood?”

That was it. Giles was livid. There was a blur of unseen movement that resulted in several angry steps forward to coincide with the sharp removal of his glasses. A blank nothingness to go with his anger. “Why you pompous little ingrate, who the hell do you think you are?”

“I am William the Bloody,” Spike replied calmly—a mechanism he hardly indulged that only seemed to aggravate the other man further. “’m a vampire by which the likes of this town has always taken for granted. ‘m the killer of two Slayers, an’ the lover of one. Furthermore, ‘f I wanted, I could rip your head off without a flinch. So you bloody well will listen.”

That merited a stare of astonishment. The vampire reveled in it.

“The chip?”

“Long gone. I got diffused weeks ago.”

“Buffy—”

“Knows. An’ loves me all the same. Imagine that.” Spike cocked his head with an ironical leer, moving to the counter where he had placed the bottle of Brandy. He refilled at his leisure, perfectly aware and seemingly apathetic that every move he made was being scrutinized. As though he expected no less. “Firs’ things firs’, let’s get over that. The Slayer loves me, I love her. Very much. We’re together, we’re blissfully happy, an’ that’s the way it is. Case bloody closed. That’s why I’m gonna give you a second chance to be nice to me, mate. I know how much you mean to her…sides the fact that when you’re not buggin’ the hell out of me, you’re a bit of all right.”

“Oh yes,” Giles retorted. “You speak on behalf of my Slayer. The same you managed to—oh, what was that? Right. Get sired. I’m sorry if I’m not following your word too closely there, William. You see, your track record isn’t something I’d brag about.”

The platinum vampire’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “She’s not your Slayer, mate. Not anymore. For that matter, she’s not Sunnydale’s Slayer. She doesn’ belong to your Watcher’s Council or your bleedin’ cause. Hell, she doesn’ even belong with me.”

“I’m glad we agree on that much.”

“Though I like to think of her as a li’l more mine than those other things I mentioned.”

“Spike—”

“But that’s beside the point. ‘m here because we both love her very much, an’ we both want what’s best.”

“I have no desire to hear your version of ‘what’s best’.”

The vampire’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “Ask me how much I care. Here’s the deal. I want you to take Dawn, Joyce, Red, Glinda, an’ Harris, an’ leave.”

“If you think—”

“Buffy an’ I are leavin’ too, with the Bit. Soon as bloody possible. An’ we’re not comin’ back for a long time.”

A bated breath drew between them along with a line of irrefutable understanding. This was a bulletin. It was not a matter that stood ground for negotiation. It was the way it was going to be. Case closed.

“All right,” the Watcher said shortly. “All right. You have my attention. Why?”

“Because ‘f we don’, Glory will win.” There was no doubt beneath that tone. It was an understanding. Something recognized. Something known as an inevitable conclusion. Something that would happen. “You know it. You knew it last night when you gave off that spiel about our defense tactics. The same that are buggered either way you go. You know it ‘cause of what the Council told you.”

There was no denying that. Giles finally receded his stance and glanced down in acknowledgement. “We discovered…many things about Glory while we were in England.”

“I’d imagine so. You had a lot of time.” Spike shifted and turned to lean against the counter, reaching for his cigarettes and lighting up without waiting for permission. And to his credit, the Watcher didn’t call him on it. “I found out some things, too. Buffy an’ I sang at this demon bar in LA. The one I told you about.”

Giles nodded absently. “Yes. The one with the empath demon. And he read you?”

“Yeh. He told Buffy to avoid doctors an’ towers…whatever that means. ‘E told me somethin’ different. Somethin’ I haven’t shared yet.” The vampire drew in a long breath, tapping the butt of his fag and watching the ashes as they sprinkled the ground. “’S not important, I guess, an’ I’m not sure who he read it off. Might’ve been a combo of us both.”

“What is it?”

Spike glanced up solemnly. “She was gonna die. Even ‘f everythin’ that happened hadn’t happened, she was gonna die. All final like. Lorne…he…he told me not to blame myself for what happened. Said it was gonna go down like that anyway. Said even ‘f…there’s nothin’ we could’ve done to prevent her dyin’.” There was a lengthy silence and he shivered, the thought uncovering emotions he wanted far and buried. Seeing her dead was one thing. Having her like this was something else.

He had already seen her dead once, and would never allow that to happen again.

“You know ‘s the blood. How Glory will activate the Key.”

Giles nodded. He had not moved beyond the first revelation.

“How I figure it, Buffy an’ Dawn match up on the DNA level, despite whatever mojo those wanker monks punched the Nibblet with. The Slayer was gonna—”

“Be the Key.” A long breath hissed through the Watcher’s lips. “I think I need a drink.”

“Right there with you.”

Spike poured. Giles drank. Spike poured another.

“Cheers,” the vampire toasted with an ironic smile, downing his own.

It took a minute for the other man to gather his bearings. The Watcher wiped his mouth solemnly, shaking himself to his senses. “And now? Now with…with everything that happened…what now?”

“Now she’s a vampire,” the Cockney returned. “She can’t play that part. But that doesn’ stop others from steppin’ up to the plate.”

There was no sense in guising the inherent understanding. The null feeling left resonating in a downward spiral of realization.

“There’s no way to stop Glory.”

Giles shook his head. “No way…”

“Which ‘s why you gotta take the Nibblet, Joyce, an’ the others an’ get the fuck outta Dodge.” Spike expelled a deep breath and poured himself another drink. “Chances are, you risked too much in comin’ back at all.”

“I…we had to.”

“I know. But ‘s time to leave again.”

There would be no more dispute. The Watcher nodded. And that was that.

“Where will you take Buffy?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Back to Los Angeles?”

Spike shrugged. “Haven’t decided. We’ll head back there initially. Gotta to drop the Bit off.”

The Watcher frowned, searching his memory. “The girl? Rosalie?”

“Zangy had to leave. Cordy got sucked into an alternate dimension, so he headed back to play search an’ rescue.” The vampire offered a smile that disguised his own concern. “Duty, honor, an’ all that.”

“And you wouldn’t consider going with us?” Giles paused immediately after speaking, his eyes wide as he realized how that sounded. And despite their understanding, there would not be any admission of anything beyond abhorrence between them. Not yet. “Y-you and Buffy, of course.”

“I knew what you meant.”

“And?”

“No.”

The Watcher frowned. “Why not?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Think about it. ‘m not exactly Mr. Popularity with the Scoobies. The last thing Buffy needs ‘s to be lectured on the choices she’s made. The last thing I need ‘s a bunch of reminders ‘bout how unworthy I am of her. I already know that, mate. ‘m jus’ lucky she doesn’ care.” A sigh rolled off his shoulders. “An’ I’d like to give her somethin’ she hasn’t had a in a good, long while.”

“And what would that be?”

He simply shrugged. “A vacation.”

“A what?”

“Time away from the Hellmouth that’s not bein’ used up in torture miles.” Spike smiled. “Time to make some of the bigger decisions we got comin’ up. We’ll be back…eventually. Right now, though, ‘s jus’ us. She loves her mates a lot, but she has things to work out.”

“And time alone…with you…will help?”

“Well, let’s think about who’s spendin’ an eternity with who.”

Giles shook his head. “I still cannot believe you stole sunlight from her. Regardless of…the circumstances…a girl like Buffy needs sunlight.”

“A woman like Buffy needs a life, Rupes, an’ crazy as it may sound, that’s jus’ what I gave her. In the end, ‘s this or the other. You’d know what ‘m talkin’ about had you been there to see it, Rupes. Angelus had done the deed—Zangy did what he thought he had to do, an’ now that’s over, I can finally say I’m glad.” Spike finished off his drink, stamped out his cigarette, and pushed himself off the counter to head for the door. “Anyway, ‘s been fun, but I gotta fly. Stuff to do, an’ what all.” He stopped at the threshold, not turning around. There was a sense of gravity in his voice that could not be taken lightly. “We’ll be gone by tomorrow night.”

He didn’t wait for a response; he didn’t need to. With everything he had seen, he needed no diagram to measure Giles’s sentiment. No bother. That was the way it was. Some means were meant to never be resolved. As a matter of fact, it was expected.

And all things considered, that was fine by him.

Returning to Revello Drive that night reminded him of the war. It didn’t really matter which one; they all seemed to mesh together after a period of consideration. While he had never found himself in authentic uniform, Spike reckoned he had come as close as any other apathetic vampire. He and Drusilla had done what they needed to in order to ensure their survival. Europe and wartime was chaotic; he had once advocated chaos. Reveled in it. But now he was coming to the only home he ever cared to know to enjoy the comfort of his liberty in the arms of the woman he loved.

It reminded him of the war for the looks that so frequently colored the expression of homecoming soldiers. He hadn’t known what to call it at the time though he knew there was something more to it than bobbled at the surface. He was coming home now from his war. A challenge more stipulating than he would ever concede. While he and Giles were hardly friends and never would be, there was some innate tug within his psyche that unconsciously sought the Watcher’s approval. It was subtle enough to remain disregarded, but when he was by himself, the thought gave birth to itself in an entirely new light.

Perhaps because Giles was the closest thing to a father Buffy had, and would ever have. Perhaps in his nineteenth century logic, that bore some form of rational conclusion. Perhaps. Despite his growth, there were parts of him that remained thoroughly old fashioned. The same he refused to discuss with anyone for the namesake of reputation. And it hurt. It hurt that after everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed, the approval of the people closest to the woman he loved remained hanging in the balance. It was something he would never have and he knew it—but the world was set on the axis of aspirations. Such was how he came to this position in the first place.

He supposed it didn’t matter now. With any luck, the Scoobies would be gone by week’s end. By next nightfall, he, Buffy, and Rosie would be gone as well. He hadn’t given any thought as to possible destination; there was so much to see out there. Places he had been and places he wanted to revisit. Places marked with bits of significance that tickled his poetic fancy—the same he kept carefully guarded with well-feigned apathy. He wondered what it would be like to travel with a woman whose mind was not only in one piece, but sharp and willing to expand. Drusilla had never been able to appreciate the classics. He would show her the Eiffel Tower and she would dance under streetlights. He would marvel at the Pyramid of Giza and she would play in the sand. Infinitely discouraging.

Being enraptured with Drusilla now seemed like a terrible folly. He supposed that while in a relationship, one could never guess how long it would take before the spinning resulted in a crash. While there was a part of him that would always belong to his maker, he could now concede to himself that had his sire been just another vampire that he encountered by chance, he likely would have staked her for her erratic behavior. She had been bold and mysterious once; he wasn’t certain when that thought fell to the wayside, though all evidence suggested that the Slayer had something to do with it. Spike was not a patient man, and caring for Drusilla had required a mass amount of patience. She hadn’t possessed the skills to care for herself, much less anything else. She hadn’t been able to carry on lengthy conversations, and very rarely did she speak in something other than pentameters and riddles. Buried under the scrapings of her distorted mind likely resided a high intellect. But that girl was gone, and he did not bewail her.
Buffy had a strong mind and a quick mouth. She wanted genuine good, which should have turned him aside without forward suggestion. And yet, she intrigued him. In all his years, he had never met anyone who thought so little for themselves when it came to issues that really mattered. He had watched her blossom from child to woman. He watched her suffer through unimaginable heartache and loss, and he had fallen in love with who she became for no reason other than that was who she was. Not for the image or the power. Her goodness enchanted him. Even now with eternity at her feet and every reason to walk away, not to mention the desire to explore the world she had forfeited so much to save, she thought of the consequences first. The consequences for leaving a position that had taken so much without thinking of issuing a return. He would have given up years ago. She was still going.

She likely would continue to save the world until she was dust. Spike could only pray that he was wrong, and that she would not end up destroying herself in the process. Not for something so insolvent. Not for something that would never know what it had.

He knew what he had, and he surmised it would awe him for the rest of his days.

Simply being in the foyer of her home and knowing that he was welcome overwhelmed him in manner of the greatest homecoming he had ever known. Through everything: for the blood he had lost, the blood he had spilt, the tears he had shed, and those that awaited him for tomorrow, the full of his journey and its conclusion would remain with him as the most wondrous revelation of his existence. He trailed the stairs with careful, measured steps. He turned corners that led him through the intimate setting of the home he would have conquered civilizations to protect. Dawn and Rosie were sleeping and Joyce had retired much earlier in the evening. And Buffy was in her room.

They had shared that room the night before, but something about this moment seemed to make it final. The end.

Perhaps now that their trials were coming to a close. Perhaps now that they had this lapse before the new ones settled and started listing their offense. An ironic smile touched his lips, but he shrugged the thought off just the same. Let that wait for another day.

For long minutes, he stood in the doorway of Buffy’s room and watched her. She was sleeping soundly on the bed where he had left her—insisting that rest was something she had to take in spades, considering that they would be on the move the next day. She was curled on her side, her hand resting in his place as though lamenting his absence. The blankets were pulled to her hip; barely guarding the tank she had opted to employ as nightwear. The sensual curves of her filled the covers nicely and made his mind dance with knowledge of what awaited him. And yet, he did not want to wake her.

For generations, he supposed he would be content to merely watch.

Just weeks ago, he had arrived at his crypt and found Darla waiting for him. There, she had made him the offer of a lifetime—or several. She had given him the opportunity to return to the only existence that had welcomed him. To come back to things the way they used to be. Just weeks ago, Buffy had bristled at his attempts to console her when she now sought his comforting touch. Just weeks ago, his world had shattered. Just weeks ago, he had left Sunnydale, unknowing what awaited him. Unknowing that the closest allies he would ever know would be found in the center of a hotel that was leased to the one man in the world he could attest to loathing more than Riley Finn. Unknowing that a demon hunter stalked the city in retribution of a horrible crime in the namesake of his family legacy. Unknowing that he was a key figure, and the Powers saw him as possessing enough influence to require a link at the ready at all times.

He had gone with one thought: to get Buffy back. He hadn’t known how. He hadn’t known if he would have any assistance. He had never entertained the delusion of making friends on the way, and he certainly never thought to be received by the Slayer with warmth and affection. Not even his wildest fantasies had pictured her returning his love.

And now he was here, in her bedroom, because he was welcome. He kept waiting to wake up, and it never happened.

Sooner or later, it would hit home that this was real. It was all so real.

Spike drew in a deep breath and moved inward slowly, approaching her with a note of poignant regard. She was what made his capitulation complete. And she was with him because she wanted to be. This being of pure light.

He knelt at her bedside and caressed her face lightly with his knuckles, catching wisps of hair with the soft of her skin. The locks that fell against his fingers fanned him with gentle reassurance. The fullness of her scent took him to the ocean and back. It was still so hard to believe that she was here—right here—literally under his fingertips.

And because she wanted to be.

He didn’t mean to awake her—he really didn’t. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb her slumber, especially after the restless night she had formerly suffered through. But her eyes opened without pretense. Without fatigued struggle. And suddenly, he was drawn into a spiral of nonresistance. Her eyes captivated him.

There wasn’t much of her that didn’t.

A smile crossed her face at the sight of him. An expression of everlasting gentility. It still took him by surprise; he never thought she would ever have reason to look at him like that. “Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey,” he repeated, voice derisorily hoarse.

She stretched herself awake, her body waved under his hands with longing welcome.
“How long have you been home?”

“Jus’ a few minutes.”

“Straight from Giles’s?”

Spike nodded, distracting himself with the strap of her tank. He fiddled with it for idle seconds before pushing it aside to favor the skin it concealed with a kiss. She arced beneath him at the affect. “We had a nice chat,” he replied. “’E’s agreed to take the Nibblet an’ skip town.”

The relief coloring her face was something he had never before envisioned. As though Giles would not do his best to protect her sister. “He did?”

“Yeh. Hopefully, he an’ your mates will be gone by the end of the week.”

“Do you know where they’re going?”

He shook his head. “I don’ even know where we’re goin’ yet, luv. I’d assume back to England, but with Rupert, you never know.”

A frown befell her face, and she reached to tuck locks of fallen hair behind her ear. “You don’t know where we’re going? I just assumed back to Los Angeles.”

“’S that what you want?”

“I thought it was what you wanted.” Her frowned deepened. “It is…isn’t it?”

“That doesn’ matter, sweetheart. ‘Sides, Peaches will be there. All ready an’ souled up.” He exhaled deeply and shook his head, hand idly perusing its enjoyment in caressing her skin. “I don’ rightly care where we go. We’ll need to drop by LA at some point, ‘course…while I love the Bit, I really don’ fancy her taggin’ along everywhere we go.”

“Why William! Why ever not?”

His eyes narrowed, and leaned inward to tease her lips with a kiss. “’Cause I don’ like censoring my…everythin’.”

“You’re dirty.”

“Yep. You better clean me up.”

Buffy shook her head, a mischievous glimmer buried in her gaze. “Nah. I like you dirty. Makes it all the more fun for me.”

“Well, cleanin’ me up might be fun, too. An’ we could always get dirty again.”

A giggle touched her lips. “See? This is why I love you. You’re amazingly inventive.”

Her casual jollity was inebriating, not to mention contagious. Spike felt a silly grin spread across his mouth the next instant. He leaned in to kiss her again, stroking her forehead with sensual affection. “’S that the only reason?”

“Nope. You’ve also got a really great ass.”

Spike barked a laugh at that. “You li’l minx.”

“I try.”

“You’re amazingly successful.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Don’ mention it.” He claimed her mouth once more, but this time, the brief touch wasn’t enough. Within seconds, they were warring each other with intense ferocity. As though the ripples he had experienced earlier could manifest and she could taste the flavor of revelation. From where the sudden sense of desperate urgency manifested, he did not know. Someplace explicably between the iron and the silver. Gazing at her now drew the realization that he had never known such clemency. Not for everything he wanted and received in turn. Crossing oceans, besieging worlds, satisfying an endless thirst had never known such stark gratification.

Her taste intoxicated him, drawing him in with infallible authority. With every sweep his tongue indulged, her flavor enhanced and he lost a little more of himself. In seconds, he had shed himself of duster and was battling her hands to the hem of his shirt. The fabric found the ground next to her discarded footwear and some book that looked as though it might be important pending on the light of its regard. It, likewise, was covered with Buffy’s tank without preliminaries.

His hands trembled as they skimmed the length of her arms, finding the softness of her cheeks and rubbing tender, loving caresses into her skin. “Buffy…” he murmured reverently against her lips. “I…”

“Shhh…” she whispered in turn, drawing his mouth back to hers. They warred each other without seeking a victor, claiming the fullness of what was in front of them, leaving nothing behind for stragglers. She was a creature of his own making—she saw what she wanted and took it without second-guessing herself. So different from the woman that had left this place. So different and the same. Buffy as he always knew she could be. The richness of her love flavored her with so much more than he ever thought capable.

And it was only the beginning. Frightening and exciting in the same notion.

Everything.

“You’re so beautiful,” he hummed before his lips descended, exploring the length of her throat. His hands slid down her skin to cup the fullness of her breasts, his thumbs enjoying slow, arousing play with her nipples before his mouth dipped to take over. He felt her grasping at his head and reveled in every raspy breath that escaped her with escalating desperation. The full, womanly scent she emanated had every mark of driving him insane. He wanted to touch and taste every part of her all at once.

A velvety sigh filled the air, and Buffy threw her head back. “Oh God.”

“Mhmm.” Spike laved her with his tongue, hands falling to her hips, drawing the blankets away. There was nothing more to remove; she was bare to him, and that realization made him harden to the point of pain. She could do that so effortlessly. Just by looking at him, she had the power stimulate him beyond limits that he thought possible. “No frilly panties? Oooh, you are a naughty girl.”

“Spike…”

“You’re exquisite.” He dotted worshipful kisses along her breastbone. “You’re an exquisite naughty girl.”

“Oh God.”

His hand slipped between her thighs, teasing her wetness. “An’ you’re mine.”

“Spike!”

The vampire grinned against her, tugging at her earlobe with his teeth. “Somethin’ you want, sweetheart?” He was playing with her now, drawing mischievous circles against her entrance, giving her just enough to make her beg for more. There was something about her like this that made him become everything he was made for, and it had nothing to do with pride or the gloating knowledge that he could render the strongest person he knew into a gasping woman who craved his touch. It was everything about the other. That she was strong enough to make it to this point. Strong enough to know that conceding that control had nothing to do with herself and everything to do with them.

“I need…” she gasped. “I need you to touch me.”

“I am touchin’ you.”

Buffy mewled in complaint and whacked his shoulder. “You know what I mean!”

“Oi! Watch my frail man bones, luv. After all, ‘m only a vampire.”

“Then stop teasing me!”

Spike grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “But ‘s so much fun,” he whispered seductively, circling her womb once more before edging a finger inward. “’S that what you wanted, baby?”

Buffy nodded hurriedly, her eyes falling closed. “Yes,” she sighed. His thumb found her clit and stroked her to his leisure, and her body fell to currents. “Oh yes.”

“Jus’ let me take care of you.” He swept his lips across her temple, exploring her with delicate ease. Stretching her to accommodate him. One finger, then two, gaining momentum. Her gasp of relief soon followed another that silently demanded more. And he gave. He played her with hard tenderness until she clutched at his forearms and gave way to her pleasure, sinking blunt teeth into his shoulder to muffle her cry of release. The feel of her made him harden even further, but he wouldn’t move for the world. Not with her trembling his arms, grasping him as she did. Instead, he ran his hands through her blonde locks and brushed a loving kiss across her forehead, holding her to him as the last of her spasms receded, and she slowly returned to herself.

“I love your hands,” she whispered, pressing her lips at the nape of his neck, running her own down his arms.

Spike smiled kindly. “They love you, too,” he replied. “As you would say.”

“I’ve started up a collection,” she said, pulling away just a fraction to descend his chest, dropping kisses along the way. She stopped to tug at one of his nipples with her teeth, eliciting a sharp, excited gasp.

“H-have you?”

“Mhmmm. Parts of you that I love.” She paused at the buckle of his belt and grinned upwards impishly. “Your ass and your hands have made the list, and I’m accepting applications.” As if to emphasize such a point, she swept her hand against his inner thigh, earning another sharp gasp. “Any suggestions?”

“Move up jus’ a li’l, an’ you’ll find out.”

Buffy arched a brow and made short work of his belt and brushed a quick kiss against the denim.

“Jesus!”

“Wrong name, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

A growl tore at his throat and he seized her shoulders, pushing her back so he could climb to his feet. “To hell with this.”

The Slayer’s giddy countenance faded at that, and her brow deepened with worry lines. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I gotta get out of these pants before I embarrass myself.” His eyes swept over her hungrily. “It hasn’ happened yet, but I don’ wanna take any chances. You drive me wild.”

She blinked. Then she giggled. “Oh.”

The next few seconds were composed of a hasty attempt to rid himself of his remaining clothing. His trousers wound up on the other side of the room, and there was every possibility that one of his boots soared out the window. No sooner had he tackled her back to the bed, settling between her thighs and wrestling hot, desperate kisses from her mouth as his hands took path to explore every inch of her. He pressed himself needily against her thigh and released a long whimper when she reached between them to take him into her hand. She grasped him with such shyness laced with courage she didn’t know she possessed. Their time together had revealed that while she wanted to do everything she could to please him; there was much about physical intimacy that made her nervous. She had overstepped her own boundaries, surprising both him as well as herself with her brazen want of something more.

It didn’t matter what she gave. It would always be enough.

Her fingers brushed against the head of his need with learned poise, and he rumbled into her throat. “Do that again,” he murmured. “An’ you’ll have a mess on your hands.”

“A tasty mess.”

“Oh God, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Too late.” She kissed him again, stroked him once more with loving, if not teasing intent, and positioned him at her opening. “Now, Spike. I need you now.”

He smiled and brushed strands of hair from her face, his other hand running down the length of her to test her readiness for himself. His explorations were slow and gentle, and when her whimpers reached summit, he retracted his touch to sample her rich dew with intent. When he began suckling at his fingers teasingly, winking at her duress, Buffy reached between them to grasp cock with brazen force that quickly wiped his arrogant smirk from his face.

“We can…both…play dirty,” she warned, panting needlessly.

“Yeh.” Spike pinned her hands to the mattress beside her head, lacing their fingers as he eased himself into her. Duel moans mingled in the air, and for a long beat, they remained as such. Linked and complacent with simple joining. The full impact of being one was almost more satisfactory than the promise of imminent completion. The platinum vampire reckoned he could remain happily like this for the rest of eternity.

His hands clutched tighter at hers, and he nudged himself all the way home. Buffy’s eyes fell shut, a pleasurably painful flash overwhelming her senses as her teeth worried her lip. In the catalog of beloved expressions she made, this one found its place among his top ten.

“Is it always gonna feel like this?” she asked softly, voice wondrous.

His heart flooded with warmth and his head dipped to nuzzle her throat as his hips started to move in deep, sensuous strokes. There was truth there, of course, but something else lingered in the balance. Every experience he had shared with her thus far had been blissful for its combination of difference and similarity.

“I dunno,” he murmured, gliding his hands up her arms once more to caress her breasts. “What do you feel?”

“Everything.” Buffy gasped and arched off the bed, linking her hands behind his throat. “You.”

He licked and nipped at her skin, indulging deep thrusts that touched peaks that he never though to explore. His movements were sharp and intent, escalating with need and want, coiled into one blissful package. She scaled him over and over, matching him for everything he gave. Matching, taking, and giving some more. Every undulation that cascaded his skin was for her; every nerve that tingled bore her marking. To watch her writhe and whimper and move beneath him was one of the singular most revolutionary sights of his life, though he knew that the past week had contained many of those.

The threshold had relocated altogether. With them, it always did.

And always would.

A stifled sob reverberated from her lips. “Spike…” she whimpered as his thrusts grew even deeper than she thought possible. She was still meeting him for everything he gave, her own retaliation rhythmic and torturous. He didn’t believe she realized the full of her influence over him. He wondered if she ever would. “Oh God…”

“I know, baby.”

“I love you.”

“Love you.” He slid a hand across her abdomen again, seeking out her bundle of womanly nerves and feathered a ridiculously chaste kiss against her forehead. The air filled with her joyous gasp when his prying fingers began to stroke, battling his hips that swirled with every plunge, ringing cries of pleasure from her throat. “So much.”

“Always?”

He nodded desperately, groaning when her Slayer muscles contracted. God, she could play dirty. He loved it.

“Good.”

That was it. Without warning, her fangs extended and found his throat. And that was it. Where he usually exhibited such restrain, Spike cried out and came. He clamped a hand around hers, hips thrusting in a frenzy as he emptied himself into her. Under his still exploring fingers, he felt her follow him over the edge. And as her body shuddered around his, a whispered hush befell her sweet countenance, and he heard it. One word. One word that would seal them together for all time.

“Mine.”

Spike’s eyes widened and he grasped her shoulders, ignoring the somersaults his stomach performed on a whim and the instinctual constricting of his heart. There was no way she could know what that would do. While such a step was craved and ultimate, he didn’t want her to commit herself to do this without realizing its significance. Without realizing what it would mean. Because afterward, there would be no going back.

“Buffy—”

He felt her hands settle against his face, and the next thing he knew, he was gazing into eyes of full realization. And he understood. Just like that, he understood.

She knew. She knew what she was doing, what she was giving him. And it was right. She wasn’t doing it for any reason beyond themselves. She did it because she wanted it, too.

It was a good thing he was already dead; he figured that moment would have clinched with a heart attack otherwise.

“Yours,” he gasped finally, enjoying the warm glow of her eyes. “Always yours.”

A ripple ran through him, and he had never known an instant of greater joy.

That was, of course, until the next instant when she tugged his head to her own throat and nodded against his mouth. And even then, he hesitated once more. Waited until her hold on him constricted before allowing his own bumpies to emerge with bloodlust that exceeded all other. His ivory fangs impaled the alabaster at her throat, and he drank full the richness of her essence before whispering his claim. His hold that would keep her forever. What made them now and forever.

He felt her shudder again, and her acceptance of him was the richest moment of his existence. Her concession to him. There. More than lovers. More than sire and childe. More than vampire and Slayer.

So much more.

They were bound now. Bound in something intangible but just as real as anything else.
It had taken him so long to get here. Completing a journey paid for in blood. But with her hand in his, there was nothing he couldn’t conquer. Nothing to lie by the hard shoulder of wayward success. She made him see the world for all its beauty whereas before he could only see destruction, and that meant everything.

It was now. The next journey began now.

It was time.

Three weeks later

The Desoto pulled up to the Hyperion sometime around midnight, effectively silencing the longevity of Rosie's demanding, "Are we there yet's." The first had occurred about an hour before in jest; a high point Spike failed to make until Buffy brought it to his attention. By that time, though, it was too late. His flare of impatience had inspired the child to continue in the same manner, thus stepping out of the car was the first breath of needed fresh air that they had thought to claim.

They weren't even granted ample opportunity to indulge the night air before Cordelia trailed out ecstatically. After hugging Spike to the point of suffocation—were such possible—she led them inside, aww'ed as Zack and Rosie enjoyed their reunion promptly before she was sent begrudgingly to bed.

Then it was story time. Cordelia plunged right into her adventures in Pylea. How she had gone from slave to royalty, been courted by something called the Groosalugg—a famed creature who turned out to be a hunka man of burnin' love to light her fire. And when pressed, she flatly denied the ridiculous accusation of having ever been tempted.

Spike laughed and eyed Wright, who fidgeted uncomfortably. "Right."

"Well," the Seer returned with a shrug. "He was cute, but Zack threatened to rip his head off and feed it to Angel."

"Man," Gunn commented from where he was reclined against the check-in counter, shaking his head. "You vamps are ugly as sin when you're all bumpy in Pylea. I thought seein' Angel in sunlight was wiggy enough."

"Did the lawyer end up goin'?" the platinum vampire asked.

"Nah. He's been whoring all his credentials to a bunch of law firms that are hungry for former Wolfram and Harters, especially since it's so unheard of," Cordelia replied, shrugging. "Last I heard, he got a helluva deal and a—like—thousand digit income. I think Kate was helping him move into his new place this weekend."

Buffy frowned. "Whoa. Slow down. Rewind. That's nice and all, but…what's this about sunlight?"

The Seer's eyes widened. "Oh, right. Apparently, some of the rules in Pylea were breakable."

"But trust me," Wright intervened, holding up a hand. "That was the only bonus. The place was irreversibly fucked up."

Gunn nodded. "Yeah. Imagine it. They made Cordy supreme ruler."

Wesley stifled a snicker.

"Then," the Seer continued after sending her colleagues death glares, "there was this thing where they were trying to storm a castle so Angel challenged Gru, because he was the king warrior or whatever."

"Excuse me." Zack arched a brow. "Who challenged Gru?"

"Angel did. Then you challenged Angel's challenge because you've got a white armor complex, and you two ended up beating the crap out of each other."

Spike sent a beaming smile to the demon hunter. "That's m'boy."

"Shut up."

"Speakin' of the poof, did 'e scamper away or—"

Cordelia arched an eyebrow. "Yeah. Zack and Angel can barely be in the same room together. Add you to the mix and…well, let's just say I don't exactly want World War III to be here. We have enough to deal with."

Spike nodded his thanks; Buffy wasn't nearly as tacit.

"Where is he?"

"Caritas," Wesley replied. "Nikki insisted on going with him."

Gunn shrugged. "Told you the girl was gonna fall head over."

"I think it was more an excuse to stake him while we're not looking," Wright provided.

"An' I'm even beginnin' to like Nikki."

Cordelia waved a hand dismissively. "More likely, it was an excuse to get out of the hotel. Ever since we got back, she and Wes have been splitting 'Fred duty'."

Spike and Buffy exchanged confused glances.

"Fred…?"

"Oh, didn't we tell you?" The two vampires shook their heads in synchronic wonder. "Fred's the girl from my vision. Well, Winifred, I should say. The one that was sucked into Pylea. We found her and brought her back with." The Seer's voice lowered conspiratorially. "She's kinda loopy."

"She has a bizarre affinity for tacos," Wesley added. "But she's fascinating. Her mind is…once she pieces everything together, I daresay she will—"

"Word of advice," Gunn intervened, rolling his eyes. "Don't get him started."

"He has a bit of a crush," Wright added with a cheeky grin.

The former Watcher frowned as though affronted, but all the offense in the world could not hide the boyish blush that arose to his cheeks. "I most certainly do not. My interest in her is purely…scientific."

"Yeah." Gunn snickered. "His next scientific 'experiment' will likely involve modeling in a string bikini, just to see if she remembers how they fit."

Spike chuckled and shrugged. "Well, 'f it works, it works."

"Do we get to meet her?" Buffy asked, turning her eyes to the upper level as though she would appear on suggestion alone. "I mean, she sounds…ummm…interesting, and…do we get to meet her?"

The group exchanged a series of skeptical looks.

"Fred doesn't come out of her room unless she wants more tacos," Gunn said. "It's dark and cave-like. She feels safe there."

"Besides, people she doesn't know might wig her out," Cordelia observed. "Maybe some other time."

"Yeh. We'll drop in." Spike smirked richly. "I gotta make sure Zangy treats you right an' everythin'."

Wright snickered. "So, you two are off, then?"

The peroxide vampire smiled and turned his attention back to Buffy, eyes warming at the very notion. "Yeh. You know…places to go, people to avoid. Rooms to…break in."

"Loudly," Gunn added. "I definitely remember the loudly."

Buffy flushed and whacked Spike across the shoulder. He merely grinned.

"Any idea on where you two might stop first?" Wesley asked.

"'m tryin' to talk her into Vegas. She doesn' seem to be goin' for it."

"Good girl," Wright agreed, wide-eyed. "Stay away from Vegas. They have some freaky-ass demons there. Go somewhere nice and boring."

"Canada?" Cordelia volunteered.

The hunter stared at her. "Yeah. If they wanna be up to their ass in soul-snatching uglies, fine."

Spike raised a hand. "Don' have a soul."

"Well, I do," Buffy returned. "And I'd kinda like to keep it."

"Then don't go to Canada."

She shrugged. "Our game plan right now is to drive around and do whatever suits us."

"Which means they'll get as far as the backseat," Gunn said with a grin.

"Charlie! My lady an' I can hear you, y'know." Spike paused thoughtfully. "'Sides. That's bloody dangerous, what with the sun an' all. Even in my car. We'd at leas' need to make it to a broom closet."

Wright shook his head. "I shudder to think of what all you told my daughter."

Buffy waved a flippant hand. "Nothing ten to fifteen years of extensive therapy can't fix," she assured him.

"Ummm, if I may," Wesley volunteered. "With all the child has seen, if she hasn't needed therapy yet…"

"Point taken."

There was a long, meaningful pause, and without forward indication, it was time for goodbyes all over again. Spike expelled a deep breath, determined not to make a big deal out of it. After all, goodbye was only goodbye for a little while. He and Buffy would return. Now they had nothing holding them back. No obligations to tend to on a whim.
It was a fantastic revelation.

As though sensing his digression, Cordelia moved to give him another hug, pouring the full of everything into her embrace. "Well," she said slowly. "Don't be a stranger."

"Don' worry, pet," he replied. "The lot of you aren't anywhere near rid of me."

"Lucky us," Gunn drawled. When he earned a narrowed glance in turn, he shrugged. "You know you'll be missed, Bro. I just don't do hugs."

"Understood."

Wesley stepped forward to shake their hands in turn. "Best of luck," he told them earnestly. "You know you two always have a room here."

"Don't worry," Buffy replied. "We'll undoubtedly be taking you up on that."

"Excellent."

There was another awkward pause. Spike met Wright's eyes and offered a weak smile. With that, there was too much to say. He owed the other man more than he cared to admit, and he never left a debt unpaid. It was something that could not be expressed with any measure of success in words. Thus, he refused to try.

It grew too tense, and the silence screamed a need to be broken. The demon hunter seized initiative, finally stepping forward with intent and reached into his pocket. "Here. I need to give you something."

Something pressed against Spike's palm. He glanced down curiously.

"What's this?"

"It's a cell phone."

The platinum vampire rolled his eyes. "I can bloody well see that."

"Then why did you ask me?"

"I meant, 'What's this an' what's it doin' in my hand,' but I thought you'd be smart enough for the Cliff's Notes version. I was wrong."

The group snickered. Buffy whacked his arm again. And life was good.

Wright merely shook his head. "Just use it, all right? Call…and stuff." There was an awkward pause as the implications of the gesture sank in. He hurried to eradicate it. "Besides…" A wicked grin spread his lips. "We set up the account so that Angel will receive the bill. So don't hesitate for something long distance."

Spike's eyes twinkled at that, and he smirked in turn. "Outstandin'." With a nod of gratitude, he pocketed the phone, then reached out to shake his friend's hand. "Zangy…" He drew in a deep breath, considering his words. "Take care of the Bit an' don't die. Oh, an' 'f you hurt Cordy, I'll rip your throat out."

Wright nodded, expecting nothing less, and a dry smile painted across his face. "Don't die, and if you hurt Buffy, you won't be around to regret it."

They nodded their understanding. And that was that.

Spike didn't speak again until they were situated comfortably in the Desoto, adjusting seatbelts. His silence was indicative of his reservation; the same he would never confess aloud, even and especially to her. The last thing Buffy needed was a guilt trip. This was the way it was, and he was happy with it. He was happy as long as she was there beside him, and that was something that would always be. "So, luv," he drawled. "You got anywhere in particular you wanna head? I hear Paris's lovely this time of year."

"Isn't Paris lovely all times of the year?"

He shrugged. "'m sure there's an off-season in there somewhere."

Buffy frowned, nibbling on her lip in thought. "I'm not really in a Paris mood," she decided after a minute.

He smiled. Trust her to not be in a Paris mood when she couldn't even pinpoint exactly what a Paris mood consisted of. However, he would not argue. They had time for everything.

"Fair enough. Italy's lovely, too. 'm particularly fond of Rome, though I've heard 's gotten even filthier than it was the last time I was there." He tilted his head in consideration. "Florence 's great, too. Or we could skip the Europe thing altogether an'—"

"Actually, Spike…I kinda have something to tell you."

The platinum vampire immediately went rigid. There was something dangerous in her tone.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"Ummm…I kinda already made reservations somewhere." She flashed a weak smile and shrugged. "Sorry I didn't mention it before."

Relief rolled off his shoulders. She had the way of making the simplest of revelations sound like the forthcoming of the next apocalypse. And while that was something he had and always would admire about her, it had the ability to scare the full of his unlife right out of his body at times. "Oh. 'S that all?"

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be?"

She shrugged. "'Cause I didn't tell you."

Spike arched a brow. "You're tellin' me now, aren't you? That's good enough for me."

"Okay."

"So…where we headed?"

The Slayer bit her lip again and glanced down. "I got reservations at this hotel. Really big, historic, plenty of vacancies and the rooms looked fantastic the last time I was there." She glanced up slowly, waiting until realization flooded his eyes, enjoying the flecks of light that danced within the blue. "You see, the only problem is, it isn't an active hotel. It's sort've run by these—"

"Buffy…" He reached for her hand. "Are you…we din't have to—"

"No, Spike. We really did." She smiled, and that sealed it. The world in one smile. "Now…go. Pop the trunk and get our stuff. The manager told me that if we hurried, he'd give us a grand tour." He was still staring at her in wonder. "And the best part is, I have a guarantee from the other manager's girlfriend that we'll be the only sunlight-deprived residents."

"No Peaches?"

"He owes us one, don't you think?"

There was another long, disbelieving beat.

Then a smile as wide as any she had ever seen spread across his lips. Spike reached across the seat and kissed her with more than love. He kissed her with everything that he was.

"Thank you," he murmured when they pulled apart.

"No," she replied softly, caressing his cheek with her palm. "Thank you. For everything." His expression grew tender and poignant. And it was worth it. Everything was so worth it. "Now…get out. Go see your friends. This is your vacation."

"'S our vacation, luv. An' those are our friends."

She smiled a watery smile. "Yes, they are."

Spike grinned and kissed her again, whispering a heartfelt, "I love you," before bounding out of the car.

This was it. This was right. This was everything. And it was only the beginning.

Buffy smiled to herself and followed. How long they would stay, she did not know. For everything she owed, for the same she knew he would never ask for, no amount of time would ever be enough. But this was the way it should be. If not forever, for now would work.

She was here with the man she loved, and he was happy. He was happy. That meant the world to her.

And for that, she realized, so was she. Buffy Summers was happy. The concept finally grasped her, cornered her, made her realize exactly what she had. Watching his happiness ensued her own. Today was only the first step of many. They had an eternity to explore.

So this was love.

"Buffy?" Spike was at the doorway of the Hyperion, watching her with a concerned frown. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

She was more than all right.

"Yeah." She shrugged nonchalantly. "I just love you, is all."

He warmed her with his smile. "Love you, too."

"Why haven't you gone in?"

"Waitin' for you."

There was so much he could do to her with words. It made her ache to think of how she could have ever missed this. How close she had come to it. How much he had been made to sacrifice just for this.

His eyes told her without a word that he would gladly do it all over again.

And the really amazing thing was, so would she.

Spike waited at the door for her, eyes glowing the luminosity that didn't know a name. He birthed so many new feelings into the world without waiting for the old ones to catch up.

"You ready?" he asked, brushing a tender kiss across her forehead.

Buffy smiled. "Yes."

He nodded, and his fingers lacing through hers, palm-to-palm in holy palmer's kiss. "Then, let's go."

And that was it. The end of one and the beginning of a new. Hand in hand, they crossed the threshold.

Together.

FIN

A/N (conclusive): I really have nothing to say other than this has been an absolute ball from the beginning, and I'm already missing not-working on the story. It was one of the most trying to let go…I don't think I realized that it was going to actually end until it did. Again, I'd like to extend my thanks to everyone who took the time to read/review/email me/etc. You guys are the best.

And yes, overkill, but hey…again, I must bow my head in gratitude to Megan and Kimmie for all their help.

As far as a sequel…I have no plans for one. For now, I'm satisfied where this one has ended. If there ever is anymore, it'll likely be more in dealing Zack and the Fang Gang—likely in Pylea—simply because I grew very close to him and will miss him very much, as well as his close kinship with our favorite platinum vampire. (Kimmie still wants me to do the Zack Wright Chronicles; that's something that will have to be given some thought. I never say never…well, almost never.) For now, though, I'm happy to leave them as they are: close and with frequent visits from Spike and Buffy.

My sincere thanks again to everyone.

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