When he stepped out of the house that night, he could feel them.

Moreover, so could she. The air was ripe with their scent and their presence vibrated through the town with every step.

Spike’s demon roared, though the cry never escaped his throat. He clamped a hand around Buffy’s as her eyes met his, wide with determination that disguised her fear. He knew, despite what she said and everything he’d advised to the contrary, that she had been living on thin hope that Angelus and Darla had died in the fire—that her fears were all for nothing. That the wait would prove fruitless, as agonizing as it was.

For her part, Buffy didn’t gasp or cry. Didn’t curse the world for not giving her a loophole, or dealing her the right cards. That wasn’t her nature. She had suffered loss, yes, but she was so much stronger for it now. She was above the world, and her reaction made him proud.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and released a deep breath. “We need to get to the library.”

Spike opened his mouth to reply, his eyes falling on the brush across the street from her house. The scent of his grandsire was too intrusive, too potent, and he knew then. He knew exactly how Angelus wanted this to play out.

Two hundred and fifty fucking years, and the stupid sod never changed his modus operandi. Unbelievable.

But overwhelmingly to their benefit, he realized. Angelus didn’t have the luxury of change. He had the option, yes, but it had never been forced upon him. Not since day one, when he crawled from his grave and into the arms of his waiting mate. Oh no. Angelus hadn’t had to want from the beginning of his long and overly glamorous career. He had never been forced under the winds of change, nor done something strictly for the pleasure and convenience of someone else.

Spike, though, had changed all too much in the past fourteen years. Angelus kept trying to gauge his reactions based on past experience; for all the arrogance in the world, he was continuously surprised.

“I don’ think that’ll be necessary, kitten,” Spike said, nodding to the underbrush. “We’ve got company.”

Buffy froze. “They’re here?”

“Playin’ a round of hide-n-go-seek.” A shadow crossed his face. “Come out, Angelus. We don’ have time for this nonsense.”

His grandsire was many things—a disappointment was not one of them. No sooner had the words escaped Spike’s lips did the dynamic duo step into the streetlight as though the entrance had been planned from the get-go.

“Now, now,” Angelus said with a coy smile. “What’s your hurry?”

He felt Buffy freeze up, though he honestly couldn’t tell if it was for astonishment or fury. It was the face of Willow’s murderer. The face of the one that had raped her world of the protective lens she had always relied on. The face that had revealed the truth behind the lie—that the good guys didn’t always win, the hero’s pals didn’t always escape, and there was always an exchange of tears for blood.

Angelus had forced his girl to grow up in ways Spike had never fathomed. And true, she had seen him the night that Willow died—that surreal night a thousand years in their past, despite the sting of its freshness—but it hadn’t been like this. It had been quick and instinctive; not anticipated.

She’d gone that night for him. Now he was by her side, and she had nowhere else to look but at the vampire right in front of her.

“No hurry,” she replied, her voice deceptively calm. “In fact, we were just leaving to see you.”

“Oh, look,” Darla cooed, cocking her head to the side. “It thinks it has a sense of humor.”

“Oh look,” Buffy told Spike in the same manner. “It thinks it’s intimidating.”

That little quip didn’t seem to amuse. Rather, the bemused expression on his great-grandsire’s face faded into anger. “Watch your mouth, little girl.”

“Someone needs to teach your mate to mind her elders,” Angelus agreed. “Attitude like that’s going to get her into trouble.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Is there a point to this family reunion, or are you here to bore me to death?”

Spike smirked appreciatively. “They excel at that, luv.”

“Well, honestly, shouldn’t they be trying to destroy the world, already? I have a job to do.”

“Someone’s a little eager to meet her end,” Darla quipped.

“Besides,” Angelus continued, his tone calmer. “There’s time enough for that. After all, considering all we’ve shared, it would seem impolite not to say goodbye.”

Buffy shook her head, thoroughly unimpressed. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well, if your boy is willing to share, I’d love to give you a private demonstration.” He favored her with a leer that had the Slayer shuddering and her mate all but snarling with outrage for so much as looking at her. “Though you must know, he has the world’s largest inferiority complex.” He turned to Spike with a condescending grin. “Have you told her how you used to cry as I fucked Drusilla into the ground? Man, the look on your face…that little sound you’d make when she’d beg me to pound her harder. Ahhh…I can’t imagine anything sweeter.”

“You disgust me,” Buffy spat.

He shrugged. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“You’re not touchin’ her,” Spike growled darkly. “She’s too pure for the likes of you.”

“Oh, but not for you?” Darla retorted, arching a brow. “Please, William. Stop acting as though you’re so above this just because the Powers decided to make you their bitch. You’ve killed. You’ve enjoyed it. You and Dru used to paint entire towns red. Remember that chapel in Marseilles? The two of you ripped apart the clergy, then fucked in the pulpit.”

“Buffy,” Spike said slowly at the burn of rage he felt spread through her. “She’s—”

Darla’s hands came up in a mock display of innocence. “I was just mentioning it. Making conversation. Or is the little girl so insecure that she can’t handle hearing about the women in your past?” Her eyes flickered maliciously. “Has he told you, dear, how he used to follow his sire around on his hands and knees, begging her to—”

“That’s enough,” the platinum vampire growled. “You—”

“No, Spike,” Buffy said calmly. “It’s all right.”

He shot her a worried look. “Sweetheart—”

“It’s all right. I know what she’s doing. It’s not going to work, but hey, good try.” She flashed a sardonic grin. “And to answer your question, Darla, no. I’m not that insecure. I’m not anything right now besides…well…bored. So can we fight already, or get on with your apocalypse? Because really…this banter thing you’ve got going is getting kinda old.”

“Big talk,” Angelus noted.

“No, that’d be you. I’m starting to think that you bored all your victims to death.”

Spike smirked appreciatively. That’s my girl.

“You’ve got spunk, I will admit that,” his grandsire said, raking his eyes down the Slayer’s body appraisingly. “I guess I can see what he sees in you after all. Nice warm pussy to fuck. Gotta love that. Well, granted, I’m usually ripping the poor girl’s throat out. Like your friend…Wilma? Was that her name?”

That was it. The trigger. That was what Angelus had been digging for. Spike instantly clamped his hands around Buffy’s shoulders, tugging her back to him before she could lunge. The damage, however, was done. The elder vampire saw he had a hold over her—saw the pain that had flickered across her face—and knew exactly how to exploit it.

Buffy struggled admirably against his grip. “Let me go!”

“Sweet, he’s tryin’ to provoke you,” he murmured into his mate’s ear.

“It’s working.”

“He knows.”

Angelus’s eyes flickered. “Oh yes, I know.” He cocked his head, considering her. “You know your friend wasn’t a virgin, right? Not only before I enjoyed her…she had the stink of that werewolf all over her. Made her more responsive, and her pussy wasn’t as tight as I’d been hoping—oh, come on, Spike! Let the girl go! She wants to fight, then we’ll fight.”

No bloody way. If fighting was their intention, they’d be fighting now. Spike knew his family well enough to know that, while they liked to dick around, usually didn’t waste so much time with verbal taunts.

And as though she suddenly understood, Buffy’s struggles subsided, and a wave of calm overcame her.

“All that potential wasted,” Darla said. “At least Drusilla, even at her craziest, stood up for those she cared about.” She turned to Spike. “I can’t believe you dusted her for this cosmic joke.”

“Din’t know you were so bloody fond of Dru, great grandma,” Spike snarled.

“I wasn’t. This is what I’m saying.” She shook her head. “Asmodeus is going to devour you.”

“Yeah? What does Asmodeus think of your presumption that you can make a demon of his caliber do anything?” Buffy demanded. “Have you done any research on this guy whatsoever? Do you have any idea what he’s capable of?”

“We have our ways,” Angelus retorted enigmatically.

Spike rolled his eyes. The wanker’s ego knew no bounds.

“Is that so?”

“Asmodeus can’t touch us,” Darla spat, though there was a flash in her eyes that revealed her insecurity.

And just like that, Spike knew. God, he knew.

“Then why waste time with us?” the Slayer continued. “Shouldn’t you be ending the world right now?”

“Asmodeus won’t end the world, lover. You, yes, but not the world. Not unless he feels like it.” Angelus smiled. “And with as much fun as he had before, I’m thinking the modern world’s gonna provide more than enough for our boy to play with.”

“Even so—”

“They need the Gem of Amara,” Spike said loudly, enjoying the look of surprise that flashed across his grandsire’s face. Rah-bloody-rah, you arrogant git. “They need the gem that Solomon used to control the demon. The ring. Li’l fact that it makes vamps impervious to sunlight, stakes, an’ fire’s jus’ a fun bonus. Isn’t that right, Peaches?”

Angelus quickly covered his astonishment with a smile, and shrugged as though it made little difference. “We have it on good authority that the gem is somewhere in Sunnydale.”

“An’…what? You were thinkin’ the Slayer’d jus’ hand it over?” Spike scoffed and shook his head. “You’re completely off your rocker, aren’ you?”

“I wasn’t going to be asking so much as…holding a stake to your chest and telling her that every minute that the gem wasn’t in my hand, you got that much closer to death.”

The platinum vampire shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“What’s that?” Darla demanded.

“Your boy. He still thinks he’s scary.”

“Well, that plan didn’t go as I’d’ve liked. See, your slayer here got a little spontaneous and burned our house down.” He turned and delivered her a sharp glare. “Not the nicest thing when you’re a guest in one’s home.”

“Yeah, you can imagine how much sleep I’ve lost over that.”

“An’ now?” Spike demanded.

“Now…well, let’s just say, I think little Buff has special interest in doing exactly what I want her to.” He turned to her fully, his eyes sparkling cruelly. “That is, if she doesn’t want her remaining friends to find themselves underground…in the same casket.”

Buffy didn’t flinch. “Asmodeus.”

“Oh yeah, baby. In the flesh…anytime now, I’d imagine.”

“And the only way to keep him from ripping apart your friends?” Darla ventured. “The Gem of Amara.”

“The choice is yours.” Angelus shrugged. “’Course, the warlock is doing the ritual now, and we did leave that jar in the library…didn’t we, love?”

“We did,” the blonde fiend agreed, her eyes flashing.

“Though a Watcher like yours…friends like yours…I’m sure a few will…survive long enough for you to save the rest. All you need to do is find me the ring.”

Spike drew in a deep breath. It was a good ploy, he had to admit, but there was absolutely no way that Buffy was going to fall for it. He felt her calm. He felt her reasoning. He felt everything so clearly. So clearly.

That was why, when she tore off running in the direction of Sunnydale High, he was hot on her heels.

*~*~*

She could have sworn that the earth was on fire as she burst through the library doors, screaming something unintelligible at the top of her lungs. Her mind was a collage of colorful, violent images, each worse than the last. Life had given her too much experience—given her too much to picture in worse-case-scenarios. And it was all coming back to haunt her now.

The library, however, was eerily calm when she burst through the doors.

That didn’t stop her from shouting. “Giles! It’s happening!”

The Watcher looked up from where he was hunched over the checkout counter. “Buffy?”

“Where’s Ms. Calendar?” she demanded, coming to a sliding halt in front of him.

“In the stacks.”

As if on cue, Jenny appeared from a long aisles of books, her expression troubled. “What’s wrong?”

“Asmodeus is bein’ raised,” Spike said, startling Buffy with his presence. She hadn’t realized how close behind her he’d been all along. “Right now.”

Giles’s face went blank. “Where?”

“Here!” Buffy tore from the counter then, rounding to the weapon’s cabinet. “Whatever you guys have going, we gotta do it now.”

“We haven’t—”

There was nothing quite like the protective feel of a crossbow in one’s arms. Buffy loaded the arrow chamber on autopilot, her hands working mechanically, though not without expertise that came with experience. In half a second, the bow was aimed at the library entrance, and an arrow discharged as Angelus and Darla burst through the doors.

Reality faded. She watched, detached from herself, as the projectile spun across the room. Watched the look of outrage flash across the face of Willow’s murderer. The air split with the weight of Darla’s scream of pain. A twist; the arrow burst through Angelus’s side, and he fell over with a pitiful moan.

“Ms. Calendar, I’m serious!” Buffy screamed, loading another arrow and redirecting her aim at the eldest vampire as Darla overcame the pain through her mate’s link. “Now would be good!”

“You’re gonna wish you were never born,” the blonde snarled.

“How stunningly original,” the Slayer spat. “I wouldn’t move if I were you.”

“Yeah, well, thankfully you’re not.”

“Think we’re all in agreement there,” Spike growled, seizing his great-grandsire with a growl, pulling her back to his chest and fixing a stake over her heart. “I believe the lady told you to not move.”

Angelus froze, his face a mesh of pain, fury, and horror. “You wouldn’t,” he gasped, jerking the arrow from his side.

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “I killed Drusilla, you arrogant sod. You think I’d blink to stake a bint that I give less than a piss about? You’re off your rocker.”

“Yeah, but you’re not gonna do that,” he growled. “If you do, you know what happens.”

Buffy drew in a deep breath, her mind screaming at her to run for the stacks and help Ms. Calendar saddle up for the imminent bad that could literally erupt under their feet at any second while her instincts commanded her to wait for her mate. To wait until the danger had passed and he was by her side again.

Then his eyes met hers, and filled her body with calm.

Go. Go now.

“I off her, an’ you’re off to meet that great dustpan in the sky.” Spike smiled cruelly. “You know it as well as I do. Now, why don’ you do us all a favor an’ call that warlock of yours? I think we can strike up a deal that the lot of us can benefit from.”

Buffy’s heart was hammering. She couldn’t see her mate, but she heard him as though she was standing at his side. Saw what he saw through his eyes as she collapsed next to Jenny Calendar, who was surrounded by a semi-circle of opened, ancient texts. He had bought her time. Time enough.

“Ms. Calendar!” she whispered hurriedly. “It’s happening—right now.”

The teacher met her eyes and nodded. “Buffy, I need you to go back to Rupert.”

“Did you hear what I said? Asmodeus’s jar is—”

“I know.” Her gaze dropped to the book in her hands. “Go back to Rupert.”

Buffy released a deep breath and nodded. There was no questioning the look on the woman’s face. Whatever else, Jenny Calendar knew what she was doing. She knew what she was doing, and she had a plan.

The Slayer raced back down the aisle, leaping over the railing and back into the library foyer.

“Buffy—”

“Too late,” Darla spat, her foot slamming on top of Spike’s, bolting to safety when he released her with a yelp of pain. “It’s too fucking late. It can’t be reversed.”

The relief that colored Angelus’s face as his mate returned to his side made Buffy’s insides coil with revulsion.

Asshole doesn’t give a damn about her.

Why it mattered to her that there was no love between the murderous couple that had raped and butchered her best friend, she didn’t know. It was just a thought that flooded her being with outrage.

How dare he? How dare he?

A vampiric claim was something sacred; being linked with Spike had released her in ways she had never before believed possible. Perhaps that was it—the blatant self interest that burnt Angelus’s eyes in the face of something so holy. Darla could have dusted and he wouldn’t care for anything but his own fate.

“Buffy!”

Spike’s scream of warning snapped her back to herself just in time to see Darla rushing toward her, her fangs elongated, her eyes blazing yellow.

Someone was chanting in the distance. The ground began to tremble.

“Here he comes!” Angelus announced, clapping his hands together. “You’re gonna wish you’d listened to me, lover.”

“Giles!” Buffy screamed. “Duck!” She didn’t toss her Watcher a glance as she leveled the crossbow at Darla’s chest. The blonde stopped immediately, her eyes cold and unforgiving.

“‘Giiiiles, duck!’” Willow’s murderer pantomimed. “Love your strategy, Slayer. Asmodeus is going to gobble you up.”

The trembling intensified. Books rattled and danced off shelves. A crash sounded through the air as Giles’s weapons cabinet toppled over.

And somewhere, the chanting continued.

“Li imploro, aperto…”

Buffy met Spike’s eyes, her crossbow trained on Darla. He seemed so far away. They were caught in an impasse—waiting now, simply waiting for the demon in question to make his anticipated appearance.

“Lasci i cancelli che separano…”

The air began to crackle.

“…il tessuto da questa realtà al vicino a più per esistere.”

A low growl reverberated through the walls. Buffy’s blood froze.

“Lasci il mondo venire stacchi. Lasci il cancello aperto.”

And then it happened.

The room exploded with color. A fusion detonation of light as the ground quaked and dust blasted off the walls. Buffy screamed something even she couldn’t comprehend, her body carrying her across the floor toward her mate, her mind barely registering that she was moving at all. The air around her was swallowed in a snarling, macabre roar that rattled every fiber of her being—propelling her into a state of awareness that she had never before touched.

Here it is.

And above it all—somehow above it all—the chanting continued.

“Li imploro, aperto!”

Just like that, it was over. The library was engulfed in a sea of light, and for one terrible second, Buffy considered the interference of the Divine for simple means of stopping something biblical, despite her own lack of belief. Her insides were burning. She screamed a soundless scream and reached for Spike, and while it only lasted a few seconds, she could have sworn years had passed before the world returned.

“Fine! Li comando, vicino!”

Then the screaming died. Not in a long wail, not with a burning echo—it was there, and then it wasn’t. The library stopped spinning, the walls stopped trembling, and all was still.

When Buffy opened her eyes, she was on her back, staring at the ceiling. She was strewn across one of the tables, yards away from where she’d been a blink of an eye ago. There was a distant ringing in her ears, her vision was colored with spots, and she was aching in places she wasn’t aware could ache.

Her lips parted. “Spike?”

She heard someone shuffling in the background. Then he was above her, his hand on her face as his lips peppered her skin with sweet kisses coated in relief.

“’S all right, luv,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

She moaned and shifted; a sharp pain jolting through her body. “What happened?”

“Dunno,” he murmured. “Are you all right?”

“Asmodeus?”

“Gone. Can you move at all?”

Buffy made a face, gripping his hand hard as she sat up. She saw Angelus and Darla across the room in much the same state, crawling to wakefulness as the world around them returned. Giles poked his head over the counter, a look of confused fear coloring his eyes. Ancient texts littered the floor; the weapons chest was open, its contents scattered across the room. But there was no Asmodeus.

No Asmodeus.

“Oh my God.”

Spike nodded, his arm wrapping around her middle. “Yeh.”

“What happened?”

He brushed a kiss across her brow. “Dunno.”

“You said that already.”

“Yeh, but you asked me again, an’ I still din’t know.”

Buffy smiled, then glanced to the counter. “Giles? Are you all right?”

“Quite,” he agreed with a grunt, a grimace coloring his face as he straightened himself. “What was that?”

Angelus climbed to his feet on the other side of the counter, his eyes burning yellow. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

The Slayer’s heart stopped. “Giles!”

“Bloody hell,” the Watcher grumbled, racing toward his fallen weapons’ cabinet.

“See, that would normally seem like a good idea,” the vampire agreed, bending over and collecting one of Giles’s prized Assyrian daggers. “I find it much more productive to use whatever’s lying around.”

Spike leapt up at that, his demon bursting through his human façade. “It’s over, you bloody git.”

“Yeah?” Angelus retorted, twirling the blade in his hand. “Says who?”

“Asmodeus is gone,” Darla grumbled as she fought to her feet. “Oh, and I’m fine, by the way.”

“Asmodeus is not gone,” the blonde’s mate growled ferociously. “Because of what? That? Please.”

Buffy drew in a deep breath.

That? That got rid of Asmodeus?

Impossible.

“A gateway to Porthos,” came the answering voice from the landing. “I’d say it’s fairly probable.”

“Porthos?” Darla repeated incredulously. “You? A human? You can’t channel that much power.”

The look on Jenny Calendar’s face begged to differ. “Really? You think so? Well, I’ve never tried twice in ten minutes before, but if you’re looking for a demonstration…”

There was something particularly satisfying in the fear that flashed across Angelus’s face. It only lasted a second, granted. He appraised the woman with a flicker of the eyes, then glanced to the dagger in his hands. “Hrm…interesting. Well, when you put it that way…”

It happened fast. He was standing there with the pretense of collectiveness one second; the next, the dagger was spiraling across the room, the blade slicing into Spike’s abdomen. Agony exploded through Buffy’s body, a scream burning her throat. She saw nothing but—felt nothing but Spike’s pain as he collapsed. She felt her blood was on fire. Felt everything around her screaming out in anguish.

The pain was second only to the fury that filled her veins. A terrible sense of rage flooded the entirety of her being, spreading through her as a piercing, guttural wail tore from her lips. She couldn’t think; couldn’t breathe. Her eyes flashed up to Angelus, but he was gone.

Gone.

Rage clouded her like nothing other.

Coward. You fucking coward!

Buffy collapsed by her lover, barely aware of how hard she was trembling. “Spike! Oh God, Spike—”

The illogical fear rushing through her body fell the next second. Spike was all right. Of course he was all right. He was a vampire, and there were only a few things that could harm a vampire. He sat up with a wince. “’m all right, luv.”

“I—”

“Missed the heart, see? Not even a wooden stake.”

She nodded numbly, only partly understanding the words as her hand gripped the handle of the blade and steadily eased it free of her mate’s flesh. He didn’t move; didn’t moan; didn’t even flash her a look of pain as she pulled the dagger out. Then again, he didn’t need to. She felt it. She felt everything as though it was her body that bled.

Angelus had hurt the man she loved. A flesh wound, yes—one that would heal within hours. One that had already stopped bleeding. And yet, there was nothing but raw fury in the Slayer’s veins. Her mate had been injured. Her mind had no place for rationality—not like this.

“Are you all right?”

Her eyes narrowed incredulously. “Am I all right?”

He smiled. “A bloke needs to be sure.” A pause. “Peaches? Darla?”

“Gone.”

“Figures.”

Giles poked out from behind the counter, his eyes wide at the scene coloring the library, marveling in disbelief as Jenny joined them on the floor. “Buffy…is he…?”

“He’s fine.”

“’m fine,” Spike agreed, wincing a bit as he fought to his feet. “Jus’ a li’l banged up. Believe me; I’ve had worse.”

The Watcher nodded, turning sharply to the teacher. “What in God’s name happened here?”

“Your girl opened the gate to Porthos,” Spike observed.

“What? Impossible.”

Buffy frowned. “What the hell is Porthos?”

“One of the Seven Unspeakable Hell Dimensions,” Giles muttered in awe, gazing at Jenny as though she had descended from the stars. “I can’t believe it. How—how did you…I…”

The teacher shrugged. “Plan B.”

“Plan B?” Spike repeated skeptically. “Your Plan B was to open the gate to a dimension that could’ve swallowed the lot of us?”

“Well, I didn’t say it was a good Plan B. I was kinda running low on options.” She quirked her head. “Besides, it got the job done, didn’t it? Asmodeus—”

“Barely had time for a cameo,” Buffy agreed with a nod. “Thanks, Ms. Calendar.”

“Gave the fam a chance to escape, too.” The vampire released a deep sigh and grabbed his mate’s wrist. “Right. Come on, sweetling.”

“Where are we going?”

“Angelus’s plan is in the dust—he’s gonna bolt town right quick.”

“What? How do you know?”

He gave her a look. “I know my grandsire, yeh? His plans rarely blew up in his face as richly as this one did, but when it happened, he was always on the firs’ train outta town. And bugger all ‘f we’re gonna spend the rest of eternity lookin’ over our shoulders. He’s dust.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “He’s really gonna try and bolt town?”

“He jus’ tried to get you to help him enslave an ancient biblical demon after murdering your best friend an’ rubbin’ your face in it. Oh, an’ you’re the firs’ slayer mated to a vamp. Angelus talks a big talk…”

“Oh my God. He’s really going to leave?”

“Slayer—”

Buffy nodded hurriedly. “Giles!”

“One step ahead of you.” The Watcher tossed her a stake and nodded. “Go.”

“Make sure that Patmos thing—”

“Porthos,” everyone in the room corrected.

She nodded. “Whatever. Make sure that it’s closed. Completely. The last thing we need is another apocalypse.”

Her Watcher quirked his head, considering. “Well, technically, this one didn’t go through—”

“Giles!”

“Oh—erm, right. Of course.”

Buffy nodded again and grabbed her mate’s hand. “You okay?” she asked, her eyes dropping to his abdomen.

“Always.”

“Spike, if you—”

“Slayer, if you even suggest I stay behind ‘cause of a bloody flesh wound, I’m never gonna live it down. Have a reputation to maintain, an’ what all.” His eyes flashed. “Plus, you’re off your rocker if you think I’m lettin’ you go after that wanker alone an’ deny me the pleasure of watchin’ him dust.”

The determination in his voice warmed her. It surprised her that it happened at such a moment, and she remembered with absolute clarity how worth it the pain was, if the small rewards could feel like this. How a simple glance could last for a thousand years and she wouldn’t mind.

Especially after tonight. Especially after everything.

Spike was prepared to walk through hell for her. She could expect no less from herself.

After all, they had come this far.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Some Solemn Graces

 

She kept herself paced at his side, tossing him glances that she was sure were driving him out of his mind, but she couldn’t be bothered to care about preserving his masculine pride. Vampire or not, the wound in his gut had her worried. She knew he’d survive—of course he would survive. Not even her panicked, possessive, ‘hands off my mate’ mindset could douse her knowledge of what killed vampires and what didn’t.

Still, the man she loved was cut and bleeding. She couldn’t help but go into overactive-protective mode.

“Stop,” he said softly, squeezing her hand. There was no true reprimand in his voice–more a gentle coaxing to reassure her that all was well.

Still, it was always better to play stupid. “Stop what?”

“Lookin’ at me like I’m gonna vanish.”

Buffy released a deep breath, acknowledging that she was acting silly, and forced a nod. “Sorry,” she said, ashamed at the tremble in her voice. With all she had seen, with all she had done, one would think that a silly would-be apocalypse and a face-off with two of the world’s oldest and most notorious vamps wouldn’t matter. And yet, her voice trembled like she was in the running for the world’s most-convincing damsel. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

She saw the corner of his mouth lift in a half-grin. “’m fine, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Jus’ a flesh wound, yeh? Smarts like a bitch, but it’ll heal.” He paused. “They always do.”

“I know.”

Spike released her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist, his fingers delving under her shirt to caress her stomach, softly massaging her skin where he’d been hit. Where she’d felt the cut. “An’ you? You’re okay?” He didn’t slow their pace, though she could tell he wanted to drag her aside so he could inspect her fully.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bruised.”

“Yeah, and you’re bleeding. We’re both fine.”

He frowned and expelled a shaky breath. Good. She wasn’t the only one. “’m not bleedin’ anymore, sweetling. Vampire, remember? We don’ bleed much.”

“I know.”

“But you’re bruised.”

“I’m the Slayer,” she retorted in the same manner. “It’ll heal quickly.”

That didn’t seem to relieve him any. “I got you hurt,” he said. “Din’t know claims could do that. That you could really get…”

“Don’t worry about me.”

He snickered. “You might as well ask me to stop existin’, pet.” There was a long pause. “It doesn’ hurt, does it?”

“Well, it’s a bruise, so I’m not looking to start a collection.” Buffy drew in a sharp breath. “I don’t feel them anywhere. No tinglies…other than you.”

Spike arched a brow at that.

“You know what I mean,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You vampire, me slayer, we mates…massive tinglies. Every move you make, I get a tingle.”

“Interesting bit of info,” he mused thoughtfully. “I’ll have to investigate these tinglies later.”

She chose to ignore that. “Well, do you feel anything?”

Spike shook his head. “Whatever mojo Angelus an’ the grand-bitch had goin’ earlier…I can’t feel a bloody thing.” He sniffed at the air. “Though they haven’ yet thought to guard their scent.” His jaw tightened, his hands falling to his sides as his fists clenched. “That bloody, yellow-bellied wanker.”

“I still can’t believe they’d just bail,” Buffy muttered. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Makes perfect sense if you’re a yellow-bellied wanker.”

“Spike—”

“It’s been like this since the moment Dru pulled me outta the grave, sweetling. He’s lost too bloody much to stay ‘round here. Like I said, he’s got a mighty well pissed off slayer to contend with, an’ unlike yours truly, he’s never dealt with them ‘hands-on.’”

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I just can’t believe it.”

Spike snickered. “Believe it. Moreover, they won’ let us rest, kitten. The only thing Angelus hates more than failure is people knowin’ he failed. He might leave us alone for a while, even a century or two, but after a while, it’ll start to drive him batty. An’ then it’ll be like this all over again.”

A long sigh pressed through her lips. “Gee. The more I get to know this guy…”

“I know, sweetling.”

“And if he’s already out. Oh God.” She turned to him, her eyes wide with horror. “Spike, what if they’re already gone? We have no idea where he’d go or—or…If we—”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell aren’t we driving?”

“My car’s parked at a garage at the other side of town, for one thing. An’ I need to track his scent. Figure out which direction’s he’s headin’.”

That made sense enough, though it did little to kill the dread spreading through her body. Something wasn’t right. The pulse from the night was gone. The rhythm of steady energy was dying—the same that had followed them from the moment they stepped out of her house—had died into a lonely nothing. Lonely—not satisfying. Not coated with the feeling of accomplishment.

The bad guys had gotten away. That had never happened to her before. Never.

Every second that ticked by, the further away their chances slipped.

God, she wanted so badly for the night to be over. The prospect of returning home now almost seemed foreign. The thought of waking up without the nagging voice that wouldn’t let her forget that any day was the day for moves to be made. For the vampires that haunted her every step, for the impending apocalypse that tagged her every move—it was over, but it would never end. Not if Angelus and Darla got away.

What a terrifying thought.

“It won’ happen,” Spike murmured softly. “Nothing says we have to wait for them to show interest in us, yeh? If we can’t catch up tonight, we won’ give up. We’ll track them to the end of the earth if we have to, sweetling. We won’ give them a chance to come after us.”

Buffy pursed her lips and nodded, not even bothering to question the ease with which he read her. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Yeah.”

“It’s not over till it’s over.”

“No. It’s not.”

Never over.

As long as Angelus was out there, it would never be over.

*~*~*

He’d known they were gone long before they reached the city limits. Hell, he’d known the second they stepped out of the library. The thought of catching them at all was a pipedream. He could have had a head start—it wouldn’t matter. He would have ended up here as it was. Staring at the wrong end of the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign that the city council was determined to preserve, answered by a black, silent road.

Cowards.

His family was composed of cowards. Why on sodding earth it had taken him over a century to realize it, he would never know. For the length of his existence, he’d been following them in the run from some mess they pretended to have under control. Even in the glory days prior to his siring, the ‘family legends’ had circulated around such feats as murdering Holtz’s family after spending years on the run from him, only to bolt after the deed was done. Those they killed were the weak—too vulnerable to defend themselves, and only valuable to the hunters that tagged their family. They never stuck around to do more than enjoy the fruits of their labor.

The night was over, and after a long, murderous campaign, they were gone. They’d slaughtered his mate’s best friend, attempted to instigate an apocalypse, attempted to blackmail Buffy with Spike’s life to guarantee their own protection, and now they were gone.

They were gone.

With all their cowardice, they had still managed to escape with their unlives. The story of his existence prior to finding his salvation had been based on being the pun to their practical jokes. To lagging after them when the left him behind to clean up their messes. When they tore apart entire communities, then bolted when word came that the demon hunters were on the move. It had bothered him before—it had driven him near to the point of madness. He would nod, roll his eyes, mutter something about poisoning their blood, then return to Drusilla’s side and try to convince himself that all was worthwhile.

That was before the sun shone on him. Before he saw gold. Before he had Buffy in his arms.

Now they had crossed him and his mate. They had hurt her, raped and murdered her best friend, attempted to raise a demon, and now they were gone. Gone. The damage was done, the demon hunters were after them, and they were once again on the run. Only Spike wasn’t there to pick up the pieces. Spike was the one chasing them. Spike was the one that was going to make them pay.

They had injured his mate. They had cut him, and in turn made her bleed. He wasn’t going to let them rest. He wasn’t the same vampire they knew, and if anything, tonight had proven it. There would be no waiting for an indefinite next time—he would ensure that the next time would be determined at his disclosure.

It killed him that they had been able to hurt Buffy by knifing him. That she was bruised because he had bled.

“Not over until it’s over,” Spike murmured again absently, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

“I can’t believe it,” Buffy whispered. The emptiness in her voice killed him. “How did they get away so fast?”

“Literally lifetimes of experience. Bloody well spent more time runnin’ from their messes than makin’ them.” He paused and kissed her brow. “’S all right, sweetling.”

She released a deep, shuddering breath and shook her head. “It just feels so…it feels like a chapter in my life is over. They’re gone, and it’s over.”

“It’s not over, Buffy.”

“No, it’s not,” she replied softly, nodding. “But this is. This little phase of my life. The thing that began to end the minute you came into it.” She tossed him a careful glance and offered a half-smile. “I was such a different person just a little while ago, Spike. Yeah, I was the Slayer, but I was also a girl. I worried about homework when I wasn’t patrolling. I thought about things like shopping and the senior prom and, well, boys.”

“An’ the fact that you couldn’t stomach them ‘cause yours truly is your one an’ only?”

“There was that, too.” Buffy licked her lips. “Point being, it’s over. They’re gone, and it’s over. I’m…the person I was is gone now. While Angelus and Darla were here, it was…it was easy to pretend that nothing was going to change.”

Spike frowned. “Change is good, baby,” he murmured.

“Yeah. I know. And you’ve seen a lot of it, right?”

“Tons.”

She nodded. “My parents divorced, I became the Slayer, and you came along. Those are the only changes I’ve gone through…and it’s turned my world upside down every time.” A beat. “You’re still turning my world upside down.”

He smiled and brushed his lips against her brow. He knew the feeling all too well. Fourteen years had not even begun to prepare him for the curves she had thrown at him ever since the night he cornered her in the cemetery. “You, too.”

“And every time things have changed, it’s been ultimately for the better. My mom and dad should never be married. Ever.”

“I dunno, luv,” he mused thoughtfully. “I’m rather grateful that they got together. At leas’ once.”

She made an adorable face. “Gross.”

Spike smirked. “Don’ knock it.”

“I’m not…” Buffy replied, smiling just slightly. “When it’s us, I’m not knocking anything. Well…nothing that doesn’t wanna be knocked.”

The smirk broadened.

“But seriously…my mom and dad’s divorce devastated me, but it was for the best. A-and being the Slayer…it terrified me, but in a strange way, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” She curled her arms around him and kissed him softly. “It brought me you.”

“An’ that was worth it?”

“More than worth it.”

The words warmed him in ways he could never have fathomed. The woman in his arms was his everything; he couldn’t imagine what his life would have been like without her. Without the bubbly child that his sire had brought him as the pretense of a midnight snack. Without the woman that he loved so much—more than he’d ever thought possible. The fact that she was with him never ceased to make him shudder with awe. What’s more, she had faced so much. She had been through so much with him in such a small amount of time. She had lost nearly everything because of him. She had suffered and sobbed and allowed him to turn her life upside down, and through it all, she managed to love him the way she did.

And it was still like this. Standing at the end of a road that led to nowhere, staring into the darkness that had stolen what was left of her girlish innocence. She bore his scar. She carried the wound that loving him had given her. Angelus and Darla were gone and everything was different. She still loved him, and for that, he would be forever grateful.

The pain that he had caused her broke him. The fact that she had yet to blame him inspired both hope and shame. He had stolen so willingly from her, and through all the pain he caused, she never stopped smiling at him.

For that, though, there would be an answer. A vengeance. Angelus and Darla would never expect them to follow. Would never suspect their younger childe to track them down in the sake of revenge. Through all the changes in his life, they still saw him as the weakling fledgling Drusilla had sired in a moment of jealous weakness. They would never think to look behind them. To wipe the trail clean of their tracks. They would never consider him capable of anything to such an extent.

And they were gravely mistaken.

But for now—for now, he had a mate to care for. Let Angelus and Darla grow comfortable in their leave. A day or so should satisfy their arrogance. Buffy’s adolescence had come to an end, and he didn’t want to take leave of Sunnydale a moment too soon. He didn’t want to push her now when he had already robbed her of everything else.

Spike released her slowly and tugged at her shirt. “Lemme see, kitten.”

Buffy frowned. “What?”

“The bruise. Lemme see how bad it is.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not bad. It’s barely even there.”

“I still want to see it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Spike, you’re the one that got slashed across the stomach. If anything—”

“Yeh, an’ you’re the one who felt it.”

“You didn’t feel it?”

“That’s not what I meant. Let me see the bruise, kitten.”

Buffy quirked a brow. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. I want to get some disinfectant on that thing.”

“Sweetling, do I really need to remind you that I’m a vampire?”

“No, and what does that have to do with anything? A little disinfectant never hurt anyone.” She gently pressed her palm to the tear in his shirt, her body tensing. “I don’t know what I would have done,” she murmured. “I honestly don’t even remember feeling the pain from this. All I felt was…pure fury. Like every negative feeling I’ve ever experienced combined and materialized and all I wanted to do was see Angelus suffer. But I couldn’t go after him, because you were hurt.”

Spike nodded. “The claim does that, sweets. ‘S why Peaches could never leave Darla’s side if you attacked her. ‘S also why he got so bloody angry. More for his own pain than hers, I’d wager.”

“No.”

There was a small pause. “Well, I admit to bein’ new at this, but I do think I know a li’l about the whole ‘mating’ thing.”

“No. I mean, I don’t know about Angelus and Darla, but with me…it wasn’t because he hurt my mate.” She met his eyes, and he could have sworn she swallowed his heart. “It was because he hurt you. I love you so much, and if it had been…”

He nearly collapsed with wonder. “Oh, Buffy…”

Those words would never cease to stun him. How he could be here after everything, he’d never know. Never. But he would sooner walk into sunlight than question his good fortune.

“I do,” she repeated quietly. “I love you.”

“I know.”

Buffy smiled halfheartedly. “I can feel it, though. Your doubts. Your fears about everything. I just need you to know, whatever it has cost me has…it’s been terrible, but the only thing worse would be not knowing you.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m standing here…beside you. That’s the only thing that matters to me.”

Spike wasn’t aware that vampires could feel a rush of blood or the wind knocked out of them, and suspected the sensation was entirely proverbial, but it didn’t make it any less real. He gasped in awe and fought the need to collapse to his knees. He had no idea how he had survived before she came into his life. How he had managed a lonely century without her. How he had been able to keep himself from touching her in the decade and a half of pursuing her in the shadows. And with everything that had happened—mate or not, she was standing at his side. Bruised and battered, worn and tired, but still smiling at him. Still loving him.

“God, Buffy.”

He seized her by the waist and drew her mouth to his, devouring her in a hungry kiss. The taste of her lips was euphoric—the sweetest sensation of coming home that only she could provide. Her arms were around his neck the next second, and she was murmuring sweetly into his mouth, thrusting her pelvis against his in a rhythm that was so natural, he doubted she even realized what she was doing. How she drove him mad with a simple kiss. With her flesh against his, be it a casual touch or a lover’s caress.

Spike broke his lips from hers abruptly, inhaling sharply. He hugged her close and buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent as his hands played across her body. “My sweet, sweet girl,” he murmured. “My sweet Buffy.”

She clutched at him tightly. He felt her heart hammering against his silent chest, and wondered how it was that she could be immortal and retain that which made her clinically human. The Powers were all too kind to slayers in that, he suspected. Slayers weren’t meant for cold, empty bodies as demons were. That alone would likely drive them mad. Buffy’s physical humanity gave her warmth that could not be duplicated. She was made stronger for everything that demons perceived inspired weakness. She was perfection in itself.

And God, he knew it now more than ever. Now when they had reached the end, only to embark on a new beginning. He was standing at the finale of her adolescence with her—the last chapter of the life she’d led as a normal, sometimes aloof girl who slayed demons between parties at the Bronze and attempted to squeeze in time for homework. It was her end and their beginning. It was the end of so many things.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair. “I love you.”

She merely hugged him tighter. He heard her reply in that.

He heard it without her needing to say a word.

There was so much left unfinished. Angelus and Darla were gone, their crimes unpaid for. Willow was dead, her murder yet to be avenged. Asmodeus was banished, the apocalypse that he could have brought with him averted. For now. Always for now.

“Porthos,” Buffy murmured, releasing a deep sigh. Feeding on his vibrations again, he knew. The fact that she could feel him so openly inspired him with warmth. “What’s Porthos?”

“One of the Seven Unspeakable Hell Dimensions,” he replied softly. “A while back, a bunch of your watcher wankers got together an’ decided to compile stories of each mythic hell dimension, an’ from that, the Seven Unspeakable places were studied an’ so named. Bugger all, luv, I din’t even know they existed until tonight. Porthos is one of your dimensions that’s as mythic as Heaven itself…the fact that your teacher could access it with a smile an’ a nod…bloody terrifying, really.” He tugged again at the hem of her shirt. “Lemme see your bruise.”

Buffy batted at his hand. “Spike—”

“We can have this argument as long as you like, sweetling. Lemme see.”

A sigh rumbled through her throat and she favored him with a look that bore more irritation than she felt. He merely smiled in turn and lowered himself to his knees.

Her skin was purple and swollen, the bruise itself curled in the exact shape of his own infliction. He could see where it had already begun to heal; where her advanced biology was working to cure her ailment. Just one look, though, and his insides burned with the familiar stirring of outrage that anyone had harmed his mate, even by way of harming him first.

He shoved his fury aside, however, for the immediacy of tending to her injury.

“They hurt you,” he growled.

“They hurt you first.”

“I don’ care.” Spike pressed his lips to her swollen flesh and whimpered softly. “They did this to you.”

“They did it to us.” Buffy shivered and kneeled down so that they were eye-to-eye, wrapping her arms around his neck again and drawing him into her until his head was pillowed at her breast, her fingers tunneling through his hair with veneration that made him quiver. “It’s okay. This’ll be the only time they touch either one of us.”

Of that he was certain. The scar on his stomach, the bruise on hers, would be the only trophy Angelus could pride himself upon. Only physical display of what they had suffered, and by this time tomorrow, they would both be healed of it.

Of it, if nothing else.

They were at the edge of town, wrapped in each other’s embrace, shadowed by the wilderness that encompassed the Hellmouth. Shadowed by a prison that had been their home together much longer than they’d known—even Spike, who felt he had a grasp on understanding simply for what he’d been made to suffer through in order to get where he was. What he’d made Buffy suffer in turn through means that he had never intended.

Their prison and paradise all in one.

There was much left to be done. Much left to think about.

And yet, there he sat. Buffy in his arms, inches away from the Sunnydale border. A thousand things to do, yet the willpower to do none.

Not then, at least. Not at that moment.

It was a time for rest.

 

It was perhaps the last thing she wanted to do, but, as usual, Spike argued a good point, and she was left without option. While true, her friends had apologized for any previous untoward behavior when it came to her and her mate, Angelus and Darla’s escape had the power to change everything. The certainty of her existence seemed up for grabs. And yes, she knew that the Scoobies recognized that there something to be said for practicing what was preached. For living up to a cliche so thoroughly ingrained, yet more often, so completely ignored. She simply didn’t trust them to remember peace while a vampire was present.

Spike understood that. What’s more, he knew that adding further tension to an already tense situation would do little to ease her nerves, and thus had volunteered to stay away while tempers were hot. Not because he wanted to; she felt his staunch reluctance to leave her—it was simply the least he could offer. The least he could do now that the night was nearly over.

“I’ll be fine,” he told her, and logically, she knew he was right. “Jus’ come home when it’s all over, yeh?”

There was nothing in the world that Buffy wanted more than to follow him to the closest bed, curl in his arms, and forget every detail of this sordid affair. However, as always, logic intervened. If she didn’t see Giles now, her bravado would abandon her entirely. It was bad enough as it was—knowing that they would know. Knowing they would know how she had failed. They would know she had dishonored the memory of her best friend by failing to catch Willow’s murderer, and that wasn’t a conversation Buffy was particularly looking forward to.

She wasn’t infallible, and somewhere, she knew they understood that. There was simply so much to answer for—so much to set right again. So much that she had already lost in an unending campaign to win back what was taken. To seek retribution on those that had wronged her.

Moreover, she had wanted Angelus’s head for Willow. She owed Willow that much.

“We’ll get her that much,” Spike reminded her, squeezing her hand.

Buffy smiled a half-smile and shrugged. “I guess I’m really transparent tonight.”

“Well, that an’ you said as much out loud.”

He smiled as they drew to a halt outside Sunnydale High—this wretched prison of hers. It killed her to know that she would be graduating without Willow at her side. There were times when she was just a girl and times when she was a warrior, and losing Angelus and Darla tonight made her healing wounds burn. There still was that knowledge of the frailty between life and death, and her certainty that the part of death where Willow resided was a better place for having her—and while she shed human tears, she didn’t mourn in human fashion. She recognized any sorrow she felt was directed at herself—her selfish desire to keep her friend close while her friend was so much better off wherever she was.

There was silence where Willow had once been. No screaming of nightmares, no bliss of daydreams. Simple, elegant silence.

I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth.

Buffy tossed Spike a wry glance. “Okay. I know that was you.”

The smile gracing his features melted into an easy smirk. “You jus’ looked so serious, luv. I needed to do somethin’.”

“What is that?”

“From Hamlet.”

A sigh rattled her body and she squeezed his hand tighter. “I haven’t lost my mirth,” she argued reasonably. “It’s just...turned into something else entirely.”

“Another shade of no longer bein’ human, then.”

Buffy smiled, though her heart wasn’t in it, and kissed his cheek. “I better get this over with before I lose my nerve,” she said, nodding at the dark building. Dark, but she knew Giles and Jenny were still inside. They wouldn’t leave there without hearing from her.

“They won’ think any less of you, sweetheart. Bloody hell, you did the best you could. You’re worried over nothin’.”

“No,” she disagreed softly. “Not nothing.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No. I know he’ll understand. I’m not worried about that. He’s Giles—he knows I did my best. He knows, despite everything...that my best just wasn’t good enough.” She paused. “I did fail, Spike.”

“Bugger that.”

“Willow is dead because I failed. Her killers got away, and we nearly got trashed by an ancient biblical demon who’s controlled by a ring that makes vampires impervious to sunlight.” Buffy released a deep sigh. “I really failed.”

“Willow is dead because she went out for a walk durin’ the Witching Hour. It has nothin’ to do with you.”

“I should have known something.”

“How?”

“I don’t know; I just should have.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeh. I hear telepathy’s the new in thing. You can’t go on blamin’ yourself for this, luv. It’ll drive you right barmy, an’ then I’ll have a barmy mate. An’ as one who’s had the severe displeasure of bein’ the fucktoy of a barmy chit before, I’d like to keep you only as dysfunctional as you are now.”

“Gee, thanks.” The sarcasm she was shooting for fell flat. There was no use; he’d managed to coax a smile out of her, which she knew was his motive all along. “Would you still love me even if I went...barmy?”

“I’ll love you well beyond the planes of this or any other existence, sweetheart.”

She was slightly embarrassed that, even with everything they had shared, he could still make her blush with the tamest language, the softest confessions. “I live a life of comfortable dysfunction,” she said. “That doesn’t make me any less responsible for Willow’s death.”

“Yeh. If you were any less responsible, you’d be in negative numbers.” She scoffed and he rolled his eyes again. “Come on, luv. We’ve been through this. You know that what happened...there’s no bloody way you could’ve known. What’s brought this on?”

He was right, of course. Somewhere she knew he was right. It simply seemed, despite everything he’d said, and what they’d promised each other, that the immediacy of exacting vengeance on those that had taken so much from them brought everything back to square one. She knew that Angelus and Darla would not enjoy a lengthy absence from their company. She knew that Spike’s promise to her had not simply been for her own benefit. His need to see his family dead far outreached her own, and yet she couldn’t help but feel that in some form, she’d failed Willow for her inability to end it all tonight.

“I just...” Buffy released a deep breath and shook her head. “I suppose I just...can’t believe...well, like I told you earlier. This entire night has been hard for me to grasp. And I know I’ve already disappointed them.” She gestured to the school, her eyes focused on the illuminated library. That damnable place right over the Hellmouth. The only room in the entire school that never slept. “They haven’t been the best people to be around, either, but a lot of what happened...I can see why they’d blame me.”

Spike growled. “No bloody way.”

“No one understands us. Not even Giles, who’s known forever. I’m not saying they’re right. I mean, they can’t be more wrong, if you ask me. But I can see where they’re coming from.” Buffy sighed again and glanced down. “It’s time to get this over with.”

“Sweet, you don’—”

Buffy held up a hand, forcing a small smile. “I’ll be all right. And...like we said, I need to do this alone.”

The reluctance in his eyes bore heavily, but there was resignation there as well. The knowledge that he could do nothing to change her mind—say nothing to sway her decision. Instead, he nodded and smiled as best he could, pressing a kiss to her brow, then to her lips before stepping back. “I’ll be at the house,” he said. “You know what to do if you need me.”

She forced a small grin. “I’m going to be among friends,” she reminded him, doming a brow. “And the baddies are gone, right?”

The immediate reassurance she was looking for never came. Instead, Spike expelled a deep breath, his gaze growing distant and reflective. “You never know,” he said.

The seriousness in his countenance unnerved her. They were at the end of one path, and about to embark on another. Now was not the time for further revelations. Now was a time for rest. For silence. For peace that came with knowledge before the uprise of a new storm.

Their lives would never be simple. That much was more than certain.

And yet, as she walked up the sidewalk toward the school, she didn’t feel alone, even when Spike turned the other way. She felt him with her with every step. Every breath. Every lapsed moment in which time was supposed to remind her that constant companionship could never be guaranteed, and there would always be a part of her that was completely isolated. Completely kept from anyone else.

But then again, that was the human within her, rebelling at the notion that anything could ever remain simple. That she could relax and revel in any such security.

No. She wasn’t alone. And she never would be.

From so many years of facing the darkness with only hope at her side, the thought gave her peace. Peace and more than that.

It gave her everything.

*~*~*

Buffy suspected that she should have been surprised to see the worn library table crowded with familiar faces, but she wasn’t. The second she stepped through the swinging doors, she was accosted with pangs that were growing increasingly nervy with taking tours of her inner workings.

It felt like the final hurdle of her puerility—this thing she had to do.

“Buffy!” Giles gasped, leaping to his feet. “Thank God.”

“What happened?” Jenny demanded, right at his side. “Where’s Spike?”

“And please let the tale of Angelus and Darla have a dusty ending,” Xander concluded. He was seated at the table next to Cordelia, who, for the first time since they’d met, wore no make-up and looked as though she had been worried for the Slayer’s welfare.

And across from them was Oz. God, it was Oz. Oz, who looked at her as though her answer would directly decide whether or not he continued living. “They gave us the rundown on what happened,” the wolf said softly, nodding to her Watcher and the teacher. “Asmodeus was here?”

Buffy nodded with a half-shrug. “For half a second before Ms. Calendar banished him to some...really horrible dimension by means that are still a little unclear to me and Spike. Yeah...the apocalypse that everyone was so wigged over was kinda...anticlimactic.”

“That was an extraordinary display of power,” Giles agreed somberly, trading a meaningful glance with the woman in question. “But that’s a discussion for another time. Where is Spike?”

“He went home,” she replied softly. “He didn’t want...he knows how you guys feel about vampires, and he didn’t want to make anything...he didn’t wanna weird you out because of what’s happened.” She held up a hand. “It’s...it’s for the best that he’s not here...for what I have to tell you.”

Xander opened his mouth to object, then withdrew quietly and nodded. “Good idea,” he said. “I don’t wanna say something and, you know, have that thing happen where my entire foot somehow ends up in my mouth.”

Buffy grinned in spite of herself. “Yeah, neither did we.”

“What’s happened?” Oz asked, jarring her back to herself.

It was then that she realized that her heart was pounding hard enough to break her chest. It had been one thing to stand outside and say that she had betrayed their hopes with her failure; staring down the face of actualization, of proof of her shortcomings, was thoroughly devastating. And yet, there was nowhere to turn. Nowhere to hide, and certainly nowhere to run.

She drew in a deep breath.

This, too, shall pass.

God, she hoped so.

“Angelus and Darla are gone,” she said, licking her lips. And the truth shall set you free. “They used whatever they’ve been using since they came to town to mask their presence...but not their scent. Spike and I followed them to the end of town, but by the time we got there, they were long gone.” Buffy kept her eyes trained on the ground, afraid to move lest she shatter. “So they’re gone. They’re gone, and it’s my fault.”

“No,” Xander and Giles objected simultaneously.

She glanced up slowly, her gaze finding Oz. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I...we weren’t fast enough. Angelus wounded Spike, and it hurt me, and I wasn’t fast enough. I couldn’t move like I normally can. But God, I’m not trying to make excuses. If I...I just failed.”

“No, you didn’t, Buffy,” Giles said softly. “You did everything you could.”

No, I really didn’t.

The look on Oz’s face was unreadable, but she had the feeling that he shared her sentiment. Torn somewhere between hurt and determination, neither of which were aimed at her. He was quiet for a long minute—then nodded solemnly—whether to himself or her, she didn’t know.

“Okay, then,” he said softly, rising to his feet. “I’m going to go somewhere now.”

“Huh?” Cordelia demanded, arching a brow. “Oz, look, it’s—”

“I just got to do something that’s not here.”

Buffy drew in a deep breath and turned as he stalked passed her. “Oz!”

Her eyes, however, met Giles’s and her conviction wavered. The Watcher was shaking his head, his hand raised to stop her movement. “No,” he said. “Let him go. It’s going to take time.”

She knew that. She knew that well. “I just feel like I should—”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t,” Cordelia chimed in. “Really. He’ll be okay. After a while, he’ll be okay.” At the foray of surprised looks she received, her hands flew up and she blinked defensively. “What? I was just trying to be supportive.”

Xander caressed his girlfriend’s hand reassuringly. “You’re doing fine, Cordy.”

“Damn straight, I’m doing fine.”

Buffy nodded her thanks before turning her attention back to Giles. “So there it is,” she said. “Angelus and Darla are gone, I’ve upset Oz because I can’t be Wonder Woman and move faster than a speeding bullet—”

“That’s Superman,” Xander corrected with a wry grin.

“Oz isn’t upset with you,” Ms. Calendar said, stepping forward. “He’s just...it’s going to take him some time.”

“You know, that’s the third time someone has said that and I still can’t stop thinking that somehow, everything is my fault.” Buffy glanced to the floor. “But anyway, Spike and I have decided that instead of waiting for them to decide when it’s time to act out the sequel to this sordid affair, that we’re gonna give them just enough of a head start so that they feel like all is good when in fact, all is very much not good.”

Giles nodded slowly. “You and Spike are going after Darla and Angelus?”

“Yes.” She licked her lips. “See, Angelus and Darla...they’re not so much with the thinking that we can hold our own. They still see Spike as this weak little fledgling when he’s really, really not. And they think that he’ll just take everything that happened with a smile and a nod. They haven’t changed; he has.” She paused. “So have I. And we’re not going to wait for them to get bored enough to come back and mess with our lives. We’re also not going to forget that, hey, they terrorized my home and murdered my best friend in the process. Oh, and, they attempted to raise an ancient biblical demon and blackmail me into getting this Gem of Whatever thing so that Asmodeus didn’t—”

The Watcher held up a hand. “Wait. Stop. They attempted to blackmail you?”

Buffy blinked. “Did I not tell you that part?”

“I don’t think there was time for you to warn us,” Ms. Calendar replied. “You’ll remember, certainly, that you burst in here like hell was following. It all happened too fast to go into detail.”

“Angelus blackmailed you?” Giles demanded. “How?”

“With Spike’s life. He didn’t really...get a chance to get to the blackmail part. He just said that he was going to hold a stake to Spike’s chest as motivation for me to both find the gem and hand it over.”

“He wanted you to find the Gem of Amara for him,” the Watcher repeated in astonishment. “I can’t believe it. It’s not supposed to exist. Well, it wasn’t, anyway. I suppose Asmodeus’s existence is proof enough of the gem.”

Xander raised his hand. “Did we ever decide if Asmodeus was actually Asmodeus, or if that Raphael thing was just a bunch of, ummm, crap?”

“Fortunately, the matter never became important.” Giles kept his gaze trained on the Slayer, his expression solemn but laced with hope and a hint of that familiar fatherly pride. “Buffy...you know you didn’t fail. I truly hope you know you didn’t fail.”

“And yet, all the things I’m feeling are symptomatic of failure.”

“With absolutely no grounds behind them.”

“It’s funny—you say that, and yet the feelings don’t go away.”

“I can see where that’d be funny.” The Watcher smiled gently. “You didn’t fail, Buffy. You did not fail. Things have happened this year...things that no one could have predicted. But we’ve been doing things for years...things that we’ve either lucked out of or simply had the resources to stop. You’re incredibly good at what you do, and you know it. You know you’re good, just as well as you know the dangers that await anyone who decides to play a game of chance with the Powers. Furthermore, so did Willow. She knew it two years ago, and she knew it the night that she went out for a walk. The fact that she decided to...the fact that she did what she did, knowing what she knew, and knowing that she was going to likely die either way, she went ahead and left that misleading message on your machine instead of screaming at the top of her lungs for your help. Willow was a smart girl. I’m willing to bet that she thought, on some level, that she could take care of herself. Or perhaps she thought that you would be there irregardless. The fact that you didn’t is absolutely no fault of your own. Last I checked, your superpowers didn’t extend to telepathy. You can’t blame yourself for what happened to her. You are not a failure.”

Buffy smiled halfheartedly. “You know, you’re the second person to tell me tonight that being telepathic wasn’t a part of the package.”

“Well, great minds do tend to think alike.”

“You know I’m talking about Spike, right?”

“I’m not talking it back just because we share an opinion. The fact is, Spike is right. You are not telepathic. And you are not a failure.”

“And Angelus and Darla getting away?” Xander shrugged. “Sounds like they cut and ran. Pretty fast. Also sounds like they have what’s coming to them...whenever you catch up.”

There were times, Buffy knew, when people had the amazing capacity to astound. To be the sort of people that truly didn’t exist in the real world. The place that hid the other place—the Hellmouth that she guarded to make sure no one ever discovered that the X-Files presented a closer representation of reality than anything anyone could catch on Lifetime. She found herself nearly moved to tears, and doing her best to hide it by burying herself in Giles’s comforting, paternal arms.

“Thank you.”

He rumbled a small chuckle against her. “Evidently, I’ve said nothing that Spike hasn’t told you.”

“He has to say it. He loves me.”

“You know I love you, too.”

“Yeah, but you’re my father figure. He’s my cuddly vampire-mate guy. You get to scold me when I’m wrong. He...well, he does, but he gets in trouble.” She hugged Giles tighter, then pulled away, wiping her eyes. “Thank you.”

Xander came up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You know what you should do?”

“Go home to my boyfriend?”

“That would be what I would do...were I you or, you know, gay.”

She giggled in spite of herself and turned, hugging him tightly. “Thank you.”

Cordelia was on her feet the next second, her eyes kind as she approached. “Hey,” she said, extending her arms in a fashion that certainly violated half a dozen rules of social status at Sunnydale High. “You’re getting handsy with my boyfriend, you know.”

She smirked and, figuring it for a once in a lifetime thing, embraced the other girl tightly. “I know,” she said. “Thanks, Cordy.”

“Hey,” Xander said, smiling his encouragement as Buffy glanced down again after the girls pulled apart. “Tell Spike he shouldn’t have stayed away. We totally handled this without losing it.”

“That was very mature of you,” the Slayer agreed, nodding.

“Well, I’ve realized that with as much as I don’t like vampires, your special situation could have always been worse.”

Buffy’s brows perked and she nodded again. “Oh really?”

“Sure.” A beat. “You could’ve been mated to Angelus.”

The thought made her flesh crawl. She made a face and rubbed her arms. “Ewww, Xan! There are certain things you just don’t joke about!”

He grinned unrepentantly. “See, this is the perk of being the brains behind that bit of a mind puke. It doesn’t bother me as much.”

“Yeah, well, my boyfriend’s got a lithe, well-muscled body, and I gotta tell you, he’s not above kicking your ass.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

Buffy turned back to Giles and sighed. “I’m going to leave now. I’ll be back with Spike at some point, I hope...we need to talk about where we go from here, among other things. I just...I needed to get this part of it out of the way. Angelus and Darla are gone—”

“Buffy,” her Watcher said softly.

“Yes?”

“I think you should go home.”

“I see. Point taken.” She nodded shortly to herself. “Okay. I’m going home to my very lithe and well-muscled boyfriend.”

“Who’s not above kicking my ass,” Xander volunteered.

“That’s right.”

“You know, I think everyone should take a minute to appreciate how much I’ve grown over the past couple days,” her friend said. “That’s quite a lot of growing in quite a little bit of time.”

“Yes, and you will be rewarded.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“No, but it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

The feeling when she left the library was a complete one-eighty from what she expected. An utter reversal of everything she’d felt upon entering the building. The fears that had racked her body were gone. The sense of failure that had captured her as an afterthought to the knowledge of her enemies’ escape—everything was gone. Everything.

She remembered feeling this peace after waking up in Spike’s arms the morning after Willow’s death. She remembered feeling a betrayal of her humanity with the lack of tears she could conjure for the passing of one realm of suffering to one of peace. Logically, she knew everything that she’d felt from the distension of a sense of failure was related to Angelus and his magical disappearing act.

She remembered the feeling of peace. She remembered it so well. Remembered feeling guilty for her lack of guilt. Remembered feeling remorseful for her lack of remorse. And while all the feelings were still there, they were being smothered with a need for humanity. Humanity that brought with it feelings of guilt, remorse, and betrayal.

There was nothing wrong with being inhumane, in that sense. Inhumane was a word that had certain connotations, but in the end, humanity itself was more an abstract notion that even its creators could not define. Perhaps, then, humanity was left best settled by those who weren’t at all human. Those who knew true values and could see the world from that higher realm that Spike had helped her reach.

Peace had returned. The fight was far from over, but she felt at peace.

*~*~*

The epitaph on Willow’s headstone read: For there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. It made her smile. She remembered well during her junior year how her friend would recite the words to her whenever she reached a period of hardship. A test. A particularly difficult patrol. A fight with Xander over something stupid and incidental. A disagreement with her mother. None of it was good, and none of it was bad; only thinking made it so. And as small as it had been, that small bit of encouragement, it had always worked. Always.

“You know what’s weird about this,” Buffy whispered, staring at the engraving. “This is the second time tonight I’ve been subjected to Hamlet. You think someone’s trying to tell me something?” She drew in a deep breath and wedged her hands into her pockets, shivering as a gust of wind crashed into her back. “See, I’ve never done this. Never. I’ve seen people do it in movies and on TV, but I’ve never done it. Not even when my grandma died. I just...talking to the dead has never appealed to me. I mean, vampires and dead who can talk back...those I can handle. But this...I don’t know if you can hear me or not. My jury’s still searching for a verdict on that one..”

She glanced down and inhaled deeply. “I just...I don’t even know why I’m here, really. I guess I just need to say this thing and...well, just say it. If there’s anything I could have done to make this not be like this. To make it so that this grave wasn’t here, and you were...I’m sorry. I honestly don’t know what else, but I need to...I just have to get this behind me, see. I don’t feel guilty but I...tonight I did. If I could’ve saved you, Will, you know I would have. And then I wouldn’t be here, talking to you with six feet of soil between us. But I won’t feel bad, and I don’t think you want me to. I think you want me to get back to doing what I do. I’ve been kinda conflicted about that, but I really don’t.” Buffy licked her lips. “I love you, Will. And I’m sorry. If there was anything that I didn’t do that I could have, I’m sorry.”

Her voice died and silence fell around her.

For there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

There was so much truth in that. So much.

It was over. This was the last stop. It was over, and now it was time. It was time to go home.

It was time to curl in love’s arms, and wish for a brighter tomorrow.

------

 

Conclusive Notes: I can hardly believe it myself, but this is the last chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who read/reviewed/emailed regarding this story. You all have been an absolute delight, and that made the writing process itself all the more enjoyable. Thank you.

I’m going to say this now: I don’t have any plans for a sequel. That doesn’t mean there won’t be one, but as of now, my muse is hungry for other projects. However, having said that, I did leave certain things “unfinished” for a reason. I’ve changed very little in the course of translating my outline to story form: the fates of all the characters have remained as I planned from the beginning.

Once more, I have to thank my betas: megan_peta , dusty273, therealmccoy1, uisge_beatha, and ghostgirl13. You ladies are the best. Thank you for all the time you invested in this, and your patience with me in particular. I know I’m not always the easiest person to work with, as my own patience seems to always get the better of me.

Also, thanks to vampkiss, bloodshedbaby, and noaluvjames for the lovely artwork made for this fic. You gals are the best!

A final thanks to karbear57 for issuing the challenge to begin with. I don’t think I’ve ever been as taken in by a challenge as I was with this one. I remember I found it when I was already knee-deep in other projects, and I filed it away as a “must-do.” It was such a joy to write. Thank you.

As promised, the challenge guidelines are listed at the end of the chapter.

 

Chapter Thirty-Five

In What Ethereal Dances


The house that sat reliably at 1630 Revello Drive appeared strangely foreign against the sky behind it. Over the past few years, she had come to readily accept the place as home—the only home that didn’t feel false, even with the danger that nipped at her heels with every step. She remembered the house in Los Angeles as though it was a distant dream, even though it hadn’t been all too long ago that she called the place home. It wasn’t home, though. It had never been home.

Not like Sunnydale had. How perverse was she? Feeling safe on the mouth of hell.

Perhaps that simply meant that she was meant for this life, and truthfully, Buffy could live with that. This life had given her so much—almost enough to rival what it had stolen. Tonight, she was going home to her lover; her mate. The one the Powers had selected for her. The man she loved with every fiber of her being.

If nothing else, she had that. She had Spike. And Spike was all she truly needed. She could give or take the rest. As long as he was with her, there was no reason to want for anything.

Buffy exhaled and flexed her shoulders. She was exhausted but wired at the same time, and all she wanted right now was the comforting embrace of her lover and a night where she didn’t have to worry about the outcome of tomorrow. And to do that, she had to let go.

Let go of many, many things.

She started for the familiar tree outside her bedroom window before remembering that her mother was on the inside, and had been for quite some time. There was no need to sneak around, especially since she was moving into a new house with her boyfriend. Especially since she’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that there was no need to hide anymore, if there ever had been.

It felt strange coming home from a night of battle and walking up to the front door. She wondered for a minute if it would be appropriate to knock, then realized how silly she was being and snatched the spare key from the predictable hiding place under the potted plant. She had no idea how late it was, but wasn’t surprised to see her mother sitting on the staircase with an empty glass of wine in her hand and a worried look in her eyes.

Buffy smiled tightly to herself. She wondered how often her mom had wanted to do just this. How often she’d spent nights awake, waiting to hear her stumble into her bedroom. How often she’d wanted to cast pretenses aside and come clean with the secrets they kept from each other.

However, she knew that her mom’s decision was the right one. Had Joyce come to her before she was ready, they wouldn’t be where they were now. There wouldn’t be this golden understanding. The calling was hers, and she felt the sole responsibility to answer for it.

“Oh, thank God,” her mom said, rising to her feet. “I heard...there was all that terrible commotion outside earlier. I didn’t know—”

“You heard Angelus and Darla?”

“They weren’t exactly being discrete.” Joyce pressed a hand against her forehead and sighed heavily. “I know this is your life, honey, and your responsibility. I’ve recited that to myself more times than I can count. I’ve had to repress the urge to beat the living hell out of Rupert Giles a few times, but I know it’s nothing he wished upon you. But seeing those monsters outside—”

Buffy licked her lips and nodded. “I know.”

“I’m just glad you’re home.”

“Not for long.”

There was no way for her mother to mask her disappointment, and while she knew the guilt trip was unintentional, seeing the woman’s eyes fall hurt nonetheless. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m just here to get some stuff.”

Joyce nodded. “Yeah. I...I figured you’d be leaving again.”

“He’s taking care of me, Mom.”

Buffy froze. Where that had come from, she didn’t know. Only it seemed important to guarantee the woman of something—even if a generic reassurance did little more than send her back to the 1950s. Spike wasn’t taking care of her any more than she took care of him; they took care of each other, because that was the way it was. That was the way they worked.

However, it needed to be said, if only to get that look out of her mother’s eyes. Joyce expelled a deep breath and nodded again with a small smile. “He loves you very much,” she observed.

A small smile played across Buffy’s lips. “Yes, he does,” she agreed softly. “And...he’s gonna be worried about me if I don’t get home soon. We decided that I needed to talk to Giles by myself about what happened tonight.”

“And what happened tonight?”

“Angelus and Darla got away.” It amazed her how easily the words rolled off her tongue. The crux of her personal failure, and she was able to admit it without flinching—without even considering the words themselves, and what they meant for her. Somehow, that made everything easier. If she could say the words like that, deliberately like that, she could just as easily pick up the pieces and try again. Try as often as she needed to until Willow’s murderers were one with the earth. “They got away and I was worried that Giles was going to blame me.”

Joyce blinked. “Why in the world would he blame you?”

“I don’t know. I just thought he would.” She released a deep breath and glanced down. “Mom, can we do this some other time? I’m really tired. I just wanna get some stuff and go home. Talking about this right now actually made my Top Ten list on things I don’t want to do. It’s just been an incredibly long night.” A pause. “I hope you understand.”

A frown crossed the other woman’s face, but she hid it quickly and nodded. “Oh, of course.”

“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, I just really wanna go home.”

“I totally understand that. Go on upstairs and get whatever you need.” Joyce smiled softly and patted her back in support. “And you should...go home.”

She paused at that. “I didn’t mean—”

“Buffy, if you’re already thinking of the house you have with Spike as home, then it is. You’re lucky. You lucked it out on the first try.”

“The Powers kinda made it easy for me.”

“But not for the other girls in your line of work, right? They’ve just made it easy for you.” Joyce looked at her a minute longer, then broke away, waving the wine glass as she turned toward the kitchen. “I’m going to go put this in the sink, then go to bed.”

Buffy nodded. “Okay.”

“But do your mother a favor. Wake me up in about twenty minutes with a phone call, okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll get home fine.”

Joyce shrugged. “Yeah, so call me to tell me ‘I told you so.’ Trust me, it’ll help me sleep.”

“Yeah, this would be a good time to mention that we don’t have a phone yet.”

The woman frowned. “Please, please get one. Soon. Tomorrow. Please. I can live with you not being here anymore, but under the provision that you’re a phone call away.”

The Slayer opened her mouth to object again—to berate her mother and tell her that she and Spike would acquire their belongings on their own time—but found herself nodding instead. If it eased Joyce’s nerves, there was absolutely no reason to deny her that peace. A phone call at the end of the night was the very least she could offer, especially with as well as her mom had taken all the recent revolutionary changes in her life.

It didn’t take too long to put her things together. She and Spike, the day before, had bought a bed, a mattress, and a dresser. The task of shopping itself had been difficult, as most stores closed before sunset in that tacit agreement the town held with the demon population. Furthermore, they received more than one weird look in suddenly popping up and disappearing without ever accessing the front doors. For as ‘in the know’ as most people in Sunnydale were, they had a strange way of treating those so easily identifiable as creatures of the night.

Perhaps seeing a vampire in the daylight was what unnerved them. As long as monsters stayed in the dark, it seemed, accepting the underworld was a task made easy.

The actual moving day was scheduled for the weekend. For now, she simply needed some clothes to get her to Friday.

It was strange, though. She hadn’t expected it to be so strange. She hadn’t expected to get emotional as she stuffed t-shirts and jeans into a duffle bag. As she took Mr. Gordo down from his place of reverence on her dresser. As she picked up Mr. Jenkins and smiled into his worn, familiar eyes that hadn’t aged as well as she had. She’d never wrangled a confession from him, but she suspected that Spike had relied on the teddy bear in their years apart more than he wanted her to know.

Her eyes fell on the window. On the tree that sat outside her bedroom. It hadn’t been long—God, it really hadn’t been all that long. How was it that so much had changed since that first night? Since she saw Spike looking after her following their disastrous reunion. She would never forget the look in his eyes when she’d whispered her invitation; when she’d abolished the barrier between them, even with as hurt as she’d been. Even with as terrified as she was at the power a virtual stranger held over her. There was the larger part of her, the part of her that had recognized him from the beginning, that beckoned her trust. That wanted him with her, regardless of what that meant. Regardless of everything, as she had been taught, that mattered.

Imagining him outside her window now, she was bothered with how much even the thought of separation hurt. How it pained her to think of a time when she didn’t have such a potent connection with him.

And then the pain was gone. Spike’s presence warmed her through their claim—a disembodied presence, a hint of warmth from a distance, but that much was enough to remind her that the time she was thinking of was now in the past. There would never again be a time when he wasn’t with her.

Buffy smiled and brushed a kiss against Mr. Jenkins’s worn fur.

She was going home.

*~*~*

There was no furniture in the living room, save the coffee table she and Spike had smuggled out of her mother’s basement. It was positioned awkwardly in the middle of the room, cartons of Chinese takeout resting on its surface alongside two candles that were burned down in a sea of melting wax.

A smile tugged at her lips. “Spike?” she called softly, lowering her duffle bag to the floor. “I’m home.”

Silence was her answer. She made her way over to the banquet her mate had prepared for her, not realizing how hungry she was until the scent of chicken and egg rolls hit her tenfold. Then she lost restraint, downing everything he’d set out for her in a matter of minutes, glad for the darkness and her solitude that masked her gluttony.

It had been a week and a half since she last tasted food. There was no other explanation. Buffy nodded to herself, wiping her mouth and rising to her feet, full but satisfied. She collected her trash and wandered through the dark into the kitchen. She placed the empty cartons into the paper sack they were using as a trash can, poured herself a glass of water, and reveled in the sensation of being in her own home. A home that was hers. A home where she could forgo all use of coasters if she liked, but wouldn’t because that would be disrespectful of her new home.

Buffy released a deep breath and tossed her paper cup into the makeshift trash.

Theirs. For now. If only for now.

How long do we have?

It didn’t matter, really. It truly didn’t. When it was time to leave, they would leave. If they didn’t live here, they would live somewhere else. There would always be a place for them, and anywhere she went with Spike, she would be home.

Buffy licked her lips and wandered down the hallway toward the bedroom they shared. She paused in the doorway and grinned, the sight that greeted her thoroughly warming her heart.

Spike was lying on his back, nude in repose, obviously awaiting her homecoming.

And he was fast asleep.

“Mmm,” she mused thoughtfully, her eyes trailing down his naked chest and frowning when her progression was halted by an offensive sheet that concealed his goodies from her reverent eyes. “I seem to have found my way into a Playgirl photo shoot.”

There was no response. He was really out.

Buffy sighed and quickly stripped. With as tired as she was, she was surprised at her own disappointment to encounter her lover sleeping. However, with everything they had nearly lost tonight, the need to reaffirm their connection was calling to her. She wanted his fangs in her throat, his cock in her body, and his arms around her while he murmured again that everything would be all right, if only for a little while.

But they’d been through a lot tonight, and she wasn’t going to deprive him of sleep because she needed reassurance that the sun was going to rise. She did, however, stop to run her fingers over the fading scar on his abdomen, her body tightening when she thought of what could have happened had the blade been thrown at any other angle. What could have happened had Angelus shot for her mate’s neck.

She shuddered and shook the thought away, leaning over to brush a kiss over his wounded flesh.

“Your aim’s a li’l off, pet.”

Buffy smiled and glanced up. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Hey yourself.” He grinned and shifted to sit up. “How long’ve you been home?”

“A few minutes.”

“I swear, I was only gonna rest my eyes for a second or so.”

She dropped a kiss against his chest. “It’s okay.”

“I wanted to be awake when you got home.”

“And that’s why you’re so naked?”

Spike smirked. “Yeh,” he agreed with a purr, running his tongue over his teeth with a familiar twinkle gracing his dancing eyes. “There was gonna be an option, see. Either you got to eat or eat.”

She shivered but smacked his shoulder playfully. “Pig.”

“You like pigs.”

“That’s totally beside the point.”

“Yeh.” He sat up, running his hands up her arms, encouraging her to sit beside him on the mattress as his wandering fingers skimmed the healing patch of skin on her abdomen. “Lemme see this again.”

She swatted at his hands. “You saw it plenty earlier.”

“Yeh, an’ now I wanna see it again.”

“You know I’m okay, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You know that the knife hit you, as in not me, and that if anyone has a right to be worried about anyone here, it’s me?”

Spike shrugged. “Well, I know you feel that way.”

“You know that I’m the Slayer.”

“Yes. Everythin’ you’re sayin’ right now covers information that I already have.”

“And yet you’re looking anyway.”

“Yeh. You shouldn’t’ve stripped.”

“Well, see, I was hoping that I might get to eat.”

“Minx.”

She wagged her finger at him, mimicking that brow waggle of his that drove her crazy. “Well, that’s what you get for implying that being naked around you is something deserving of punishment.”

Spike domed a brow. “Yeh, ‘cause that’s what I meant by that. An’ since when did checkin’ to make sure you’re okay translate into punishment?”

“I have my own language.”

“Hadn’t noticed.” He tugged her close and kissed her thoroughly, her mock-defenses melting at the sensuous feel of his lips against hers. The simplest touch had the power to make her lose herself. Her body burned with need for his, her arms linking around his neck as she shifted into his lap, murmuring against his lips. “There’s my language for you,” he whispered.

“I like your language.”

“Mhmm. I thought you might.” Spike palmed a breast, his fingers kneading her nipple as his mouth dipped to suckle at her other. “You’re tired,” he observed, licking at her flesh. “I can feel how tired you are.”

“I’m tired,” she agreed, pushing him back to the mattress, capturing him between her thighs. “But...it’s strange. I need to...there’s something I need.”

His eyes flashed. “I know, baby.”

“You feel it, too.”

“I feel it. Let me take care of you.”

She shook her head, lowering her mouth to his chest. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Buffy—”

“You got stabbed. I’ll be doing the care-taking, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Bugger that.”

“I intend to.”

He chuckled in spite of himself, then hissed a long gasp as her mouth began a decadent exploration down his body. She nipped at his skin, her tongue caressing the wound that stretched across his abdomen. “Remind me to tell you what that means one of these days,” he said.

She quirked a brow, one of her hands delving beneath the tinted sheets and curling effortlessly around his erection. “It’s one of those funny British words that sounds like it should mean something but actually means something else, isn’t it?”

“This comin’ from the only bird who butchers the English language every time she opens her mouth?”

“You know, considering what I have in my hand...” She squeezed his cock for good measure, enjoying the telling widening of his eyes as a moan spilled through his lips and he thrust against her touch. “You’re not exactly in the ideal position to be complaining about my mouth.”

Spike stiffened at that and shook his head. “Not complainin’, luv. Definitely not complainin’.”

She grinned, her thumb caressing his velvety head. “And my English?” she asked, ducking beneath the sheets and engulfing him with her tongue. “How’s my English?”

He gasped and ran his fingers through her hair. “Bloody brilliant.”

“Mhmm.”

“Fuck, pet.” He sat up again the next instant, whipping the sheet back as his eager gaze drank in the sight of her lips suckling greedily on his shaft. “Oh, that’s gorgeous, that is.”

She released him with a heavy plop, pumping him fiercely to compensate for the absence of her mouth as her tongue flicked his head. Her other hand dropped to his balls, cupping him intimately and squeezing in time with her strokes. “Do you remember the first time I did this?”

“Considerin’ it was a week an’ a half ago, yeh.”

She pouted. “Was not.”

“God, Buffy, please.” His hands batted hers away, his fingers curling around his erection. “Need you. Need your hot mouth.”

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his sensitive head. “Has it really been just over a week?” she asked seriously, a shiver running down her spine. That night in her room seemed so far away. So long ago. It hadn’t been, logically. She knew that. The millennia that depicted the life before completing the claim and after completing the claim had her days backwards. She knew that she remembered that night well. She remembered waking up to an empty bed. She remembered seeing Angelus in her doorway. She remembered Spike shouting that he loved her without thought. She remembered the fear and outrage bursting into euphoria, and her girlish desire to taste him. To explore his body as he so enjoyed exploring hers.

She’d been a child such a short time ago. How was it that she had suddenly grown up?

A lifetime of experience had crammed itself into a span of just a few days. Here she was, in a new house with a man whose love defied logic and reason. Whose devotion to her surpassed fairytale romance and Hollywood endings. Her mouth was around him, encircling him, drowning him, and she felt her own body worked to a peak of unbearable sexual frenzy at the games she played.

“Oh, Buffy,” he gasped, thrusting deeper into her mouth. “Feels so good. So fucking good. My hot li’l Slayer.”

She felt the head of his cock hit the back of her throat, and began swallowing around him the way she knew he loved.

“Oh God, I’m not gonna last.”

She murmured around him and drew her head back, running her teeth along a particularly sensitive vein. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just let it happen.”

“Buffy—”

His fingers clutched at her hair as she took his cock back inside her mouth, his hips flailing wildly off the mattress, the moans tearing from his lips making her burn. She didn’t know that she could feel like this tonight—tonight of all nights. That she could hit the floor of Hell and look up to paradise within a matter of hours. And when he spilled himself down her throat, she drank him with eagerness that betrayed her need.

Her lips slid over his shaft with sensuality she didn’t even know she possessed, until he fell out of her mouth again. Then she kissed his hip and rested her head against his belly, enjoying the cool, comforting arms that surrounded her. The feel of his explorative fingers roaming through her hair, his hands mapping out her body as far as he could reach.

“I love you,” she said softly.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured. “Come up here, baby.”

“Mmm...”

“Come here.”

Buffy pressed a kiss to his stomach and crawled up the length of his body, cupping his face tenderly. “I’m so glad I got to come home to this,” she said, a shudder racing through her body. “I don’t know if I could’ve...”

“Did the meeting with the Scoobies not go well?”

“No,” she replied, resting her head against his chest, “actually they were pretty cool about everything. Giles said I shouldn’t blame myself.”

“He knows that I said that firs’, right?”

“Yes, and he knowingly agreed with you.”

Spike snickered and ran his hand down her back lovingly. “Well, he must either really wanna make amends with you, or that’s jus’ the Powers’ way of tellin’ you that you need to listen to me more often.”

“I listen to you plenty.”

“I think you could stand to do it more.”

“Then I wouldn’t be me.”

She felt his smile without needing to glance up. “If you weren’ you, I’d be wherever you are.”

“This conversation is slipping into that territory where we’re no longer making sense.” She shifted. “I think it’s because you’re sleepy.”

“You’re sleepy.”

“That, too.”

“You know what you should do?”

“Sleep.”

“Yeh. Only I have a problem.”

Buffy snickered against him. “One?”

“I got off.”

“This is a problem?”

“Yes.”

“And here I thought I’d perfected my technique.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed and his wandering fingers tickled her side. “None of that.”

“Well, I’m just saying, if there’s a problem about that, it can only be—”

“I got off an’ you din’t.”

“I got off on you getting off.”

“Not the way I want you gettin’ off. I’m the one who’s s’psed to get you off.”

“Trust me when I say you do.” She raised her head to meet his eyes, brushing a kiss across his lips. “Tomorrow, sweetie. When I see the sun’s come up. I have everything I needed tonight.”

Spike released a deep sigh and tugged her close for another kiss. “The sun’s gonna come up, luv.”

“I know.”

“It will.”

“It tends to do that.” She rested her brow against his chest and sighed. “I’ll tell you one thing...whenever your family decides to enact a special plan designed to make my life a living hell, it makes for some long, emotionally draining nights.”

He tensed at that but didn’t reply, his arms around her tightening. A few minutes of taut silence stretched between them; he caressed her back in gentle strokes, breathing just slightly enough to let her know that he was thinking seriously about something. And in that second, she wished she had the ability to revert time and snatch the words from her mouth. No matter what was said, she knew he felt terrible enough as it was about everything he’d put her through. Everything that had happened to her and her friends was a byproduct of his reentry into her life.

That wasn’t the way she saw it, of course, but she knew that a very large part of Spike felt thoroughly responsible for all the bad that had happened. And there was nothing she could do about that; no amount of reassurance would sway his self-judgment. It was simply a matter of getting the bad behind them, even if it meant diving headfirst into territory marked worse.

“Thank you,” Spike murmured softly, jarring her back to herself.

“For what?”

“For loving me.”

She melted and glanced up, meeting his eyes. “Easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Doesn’ seem like it.”

“Well, I was conflicted there for a while, but after I admitted it had already happened...easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

It was. There was no simpler joy than loving Spike. And as long as she had him, had this, she would not want for anything.

He smiled and kissed her again. “Yeh,” he said. “I know what you mean.”

And he did, of course. Far better than she ever would.

At the end of the day, though, there was this. Buffy snuggled against his chest again, her eyes fluttering shut. Yes, there was this. No matter what, the rest of her evenings would see a night spent in his arms. The sun would rise and set with them side by side. No matter what else changed, that would stay the same. Always.

She felt his lips caressing her brow.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

Her body warmed.

There was this.

And thankfully, this was everything.

*~*~*

The air smelled of sunrise.

A smile tugged at the corners of Spike’s mouth as his eyes fluttered open. Slivers of sunshine cracked the walls and the floor, fighting the curtains that he’d diligently pulled shut the night before. In all honesty, he had no idea how long they’d slept. Such was the downside of endless nights; the hours turned to years. It had felt later than it was when he’d arrived home, and the scent of daybreak had still been several hours off when he and Buffy finally fell asleep.

It amused him that he was waking up at sunrise rather than turning in. Such was simply another testament to how radically his life had changed in the past fourteen years.

Hell, in the past fourteen days.

There was still so much left to do. Left to accomplish. Yet he couldn’t help but share the sense of finale that Buffy had expressed to him the night before. For the first time since the claiming ritual, he felt it was safe to take a proverbial breath. To rest in the face of incredible odds and thank whatever had helped them this far. That he had passed the hurdles set in his path by the Powers and their drastically unfunny sense of humor.

There were times, even now, when Buffy’s eyes still flashed gold for him. It was always understated; subtle, but there was a reminder of everything now mapped in the past. Every obstacle he’d overcome simply to be where he was now. To enjoy the warmth of her embrace, gaze upon her body curled so lovingly into his, and feel the breaths that pressed her chest. Revel in the heartbeat that cadenced rhythmically against his skin. He looked at her and marveled.

Fourteen years ago, he couldn’t have envisioned being here. Holding her as he did now, smelling sunrise pour in through cracks in the home they owned together. Fourteen years ago, she’d been a child. A small girl with tear-streaked cheeks and a cheery disposition in the face of odds more incredible than his self-worth. She’d adored him from the get-go. She’d clung to him, sobbingly begging him to stay with her. Feeling things, he was sure, that no four-year-old had ever felt, or was ever supposed to feel. Feeling things that no slayer before her had ever dreamt of; she was the first in the line to make it this far.

Fourteen years ago, the prospect of waiting for her had nearly killed him. And now, here he was. Lying in bed with the woman he loved more than he’d ever thought he was capable of loving. The life he’d once had—watching Angelus and Darla fuck with their food, torture, rape, and pillage; all in the namesake of the claim they so enjoyed rubbing in his face—greeted him now with disgust.

But that had been the way of things before. Before Buffy. Before the embodiment of bliss that he held in his arms. Before his awakening, the model of a vampiric claim was based on what he saw in Angelus and Darla. The two most loathsome creatures in the world. There was no tact, affection, or anything beyond a devotion to the same blood-drenched lifestyle. There was no love between them, and they were mates. They had the outward appearance of love, but it wasn’t there.

They didn’t deserve what they’d been given. They never had.

He remembered Angelus and Darla’s mocking ridicule, the superiority they boasted over him because they’d found each other by flipping a coin in a game of chance. And he’d let them. He’d let them drive him to tears for want of what he couldn’t have. What he wasn’t worthy to touch. What he didn’t deserve.

And then this small child had been offered to him, and his life had changed. In a second, his life had changed. His entire existence was called into question. The inability to grasp that he actually belonged to someone. That his life truly had value. And yes, while it had taken him a while to understand the complexities of his claim, belonging to anyone had been enough to inspire him with hope.

Belonging to Buffy was the greatest privilege he’d ever known, or would ever know. He loved her so much. And with as much as he’d sacrificed, it was nothing compared to the world she had given up to be with him.

Spike shivered and ran his hand down her back, smiling at her sleeping face. She hadn’t moved much in the course of the night; only shifted so that her head rested against his shoulder rather than his chest. Her left arm was strewn across his body, her leg draped just slightly over his. He felt her wet heat pressed intimately against his thigh. She was so lovely. A fallen angel that the Powers had somehow selected for him. His girl.

God, he loved her.

And he needed to show her how much. Right now. After last night, there was nothing he needed quite so much as her flesh beneath his, her silken walls around him, her lips on his skin. The demon demanded reassurance that his mate was still with him, unwilling to believe what his eyes already knew. He remembered telling her a few days before that sex was the easiest way to reach that plane of truly intimate connection with a claim so young. He’d felt the need burning through him all through the night. Felt it as he’d rested on the bed in wait for her homecoming, even as fatigue had won him over.

The long and winding road...

He felt it now, despite the fact that she was resting beside him. His eyes could see her, his body could feel her, but there was something beyond the physical that needed her now.

Spike rolled her gently onto her back and brushed a kiss across her brow. “So gorgeous,” he murmured reverently, his wandering mouth directing him southward. His tongue circled one dusty nipple, savoring her rich taste as his eager fingers slid further down her body, parting her thighs and cupping her center.

Such warmth. He was the only one who would ever know this bliss.

That leads...to your door...

He slid two fingers inside her hot cavern, his thumb sliding over her clit. “Wake up, sweetling,” he said softly, brushing a parting kiss against her nipple as his mouth continued southbound. “Daddy wants to play.”

Will never disappear. I’ve seen that road before.

“Mmm...” Buffy stirred in her sleep but did not awaken. He rubbed her swelling pearl with tender veneration, his greedy tongue nibbling at her sodden folds, licking up her body’s juices with enthusiasm. “Guh.”

“Wake up, baby.”

It always leads me here. Lead me to your door.

Buffy’s eyes flew open as a gasp tore through her throat. “Ohhh, my God.”

“There she is,” he purred, deftly removing his fingers from her core. He slid his arms under her hips to anchor her into his mouth, rubbing his face in her pussy. “There’s my beautiful girl.”

“Spike ”

“Good mornin’.”

“Mmmm...” She smiled kittenishly and threaded her fingers through his hair. “Good morning.”

“Woke up hungry,” he explained, lapping up her slit, his hand sliding over her leg to capture her clit between his thumb and index finger, rubbing her tenderly as his eyes drank her in. “You don’ mind, do you?”

Buffy gasped and thrust herself into his mouth. “Ohh....”

He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

“Oh my God.”

“Mmm...like baked apples.” His eyes twinkled as he took in the luscious sight of her, tingling with yearning and taut with anticipation. “You taste so good, sweetheart. I’ll never tire of your taste.”

“Spike ”

“How does this feel?” He spread her pussy lips wide with two fingers, sucking at her wet flesh before delving his tongue into her tight hole. “Tell me.”

“Oh God.” She threw her head back and sobbed softly as he began a slow, torturous massage of her clit once more, his talented tongue thrusting in and out of her body. “So good. You...oh God Spike, oh my God ”

“You like that, baby?”

She nodded furiously. “Uh huh.”

“Like the feel of my tongue fuckin’ your delectable li’l quim?”

“Oh...” She tugged at him mercilessly. “Spike, get up here!”

“I like it where I am, thank you.”

“I want you inside me ”

“I am inside you.” To emphasize his point, he licked deeper within her pussy. “A man could get drunk on you.”

“Oh God. Oh my God ”

“That’s it...” Slowly, he eased his tongue out of her body, holding her still as she quivered. “There’s my good girl.”

“God, you’re trying to kill me.”

“Well, you know what they say about the French.”

She quirked a brow. “And ‘the little death’?”

“Bloody French.” He blew a stream of air across her trembling skin, grinning roguishly at her as she quivered under his masterful touch. Then his lips found her clit, pulling the tender distended flesh hard into his mouth with a low moan of approval. He slid a finger inside her, then another. “No one could ever call this dyin’. Dyin’ I know. This...” His tongue favored her clit with another hard suck, enjoying the whimper that touched the air. “Don’ think I lived until I tasted this.”

Buffy thrashed and wailed, her grasp on him becoming demanding. “Spike, get up here ”

He arched a brow and nipped at her. “Make me.”

She scowled and scissored her legs around him. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Oooh, feisty!”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a pain in the ass?” She paused and frowned at the self-satisfied smirk that crossed his lips. “Never mind. I don’t wanna know.”

“You could always find out yourself, luv.” He waggled his brows, his restless fingers tickling her sides. “That’d be somethin’ we haven’ tried yet.”

“Don’t even think about it, buster.”

“Too late. Thinkin’ about it.” He dropped a kiss across her stomach, prowling slowly up her body. “Mmm...think I jus’ went to my happy place.”

“Well you’re not getting into mine.”

He pouted.

“No.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it, pet.”

“Yeah, I see that philosophy really working out for you.”

“You don’ know that you wouldn’t like it.”

“Yes I do. Women only pretend to like it.”

“Bollocks.”

“Seriously.” She made a face that he couldn’t help but find adorable. “I read it in a magazine.”

Spike arched a brow, nibbling at one of her breasts. “I’d make it good for you,” he said softly. “No more painful that the other was, the way I’d do it. I’d make it so good. So good. You’d be begging me for it.”

He felt her resolve wavering. “Nuh uh.”

“Mhmm...we’ll see.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

He smiled, taking his cock in his hand as he stopped above her, face to face. “Won’ ever make you do anythin’ you don’ want, pet,” he said, the tease abandoning his face as he rubbed his shaft against her sopping folds. “You give me so bloody much.”

Buffy grinned and linked her arms around his neck, drawing him down for a kiss and moaning into his mouth as his erection sank inside her. And that was that—the tension plaguing his conscious, the uncertainty that had followed them throughout the night melted entirely. He was one with her again. He was inside his mate, and the demon calmed. Hell, the demon positively purred with contentment, clutching onto the essence of his Slayer; the warmth that she drowned him in, the sweetest homecoming one could ever hope to obtain.

Buffy whimpered and flexed beneath him, hooking her arms under his shoulders. “I needed this,” she gasped, peppering small, sweet kisses against his skin. “I needed this so much.”

“I know, sweetling.”

He knew his quivering voice betrayed his mutual need for joining, but he took no shame at being weak for wanting her. He again recalled his earlier explanation of the claim’s need for constant unity, especially after periods of separation or turmoil. It baffled him that the sensation burning his insides could be simplified thus; could be deciphered in a few words when he felt every agonizing second apart from her as deeply as the hungry starved for food, or the parched thirsted for water.

He was within her now, moving slowly inside her body, reasserting their connection. He felt his being quiver with delight, the demon’s roars quieting to a slow, humble purr.

A world’s journey had led him here, and he still had miles to go.

Miles to go before he slept.

The prospect didn’t frighten him, though. Didn’t agonize him with the knowledge of what lay ahead. The understanding of what he had to do was burned in him, intrinsic in all things. He had Buffy, and with as much as he had sacrificed to get to where he was, she was worth a thousand times the burden. He would make the journey as often as it was demanded of him if only to know such bliss. He loved her so dearly, and he would make things right by her.

He would make everything right. If it took the rest of eternity, he would make everything right.

He tasted her tears when she came, clutching him to her in case the world decided to rip him away.

“Taste me,” she whispered, offering her throat.

Spike moaned and buried his face in her heavenly skin. “I love you. My gorgeous mate. Buffy...God, Buffy, I love you so much.”

She clutched him tighter. “I love you.”

Her words embraced his heart, and he knew then if he’d never known before. Whatever lay ahead was more than worth it. Whatever they had to face would be a fate shared. Nothing mattered if she wasn’t with him, but she was the one constant that had been at his side. Before knowing her, it had been the promise of her. And when he’d first seen her, it had been the assurance of some day.

Now there was eternity. Lifetimes to be lived in her arms. He felt the strength of her love encompass him wholly, and took her blood with humble knowledge of how precious her gift was.

He withdrew his fangs from her throat and licked the wound clean, then sweetly pressed his brow to hers. “Mine,” he murmured softly.

Buffy smiled into his eyes. “Always.”

Always.

It didn’t matter, then. They would chase down the shadows that haunted them, but they had all the truth they needed in each other. There were still promises to keep, and he would see them kept. They would together. Hand-in-hand.

Even with miles to go before they slept.




fin



Challenge Guidelines

Name: Kar
Email: karbear57@yahoo.com
Seasons: AU/AR
Challenge: 106
Drusilla takes Buffy when she's a child (say ~4 y.o.) and brings her to Spike who is upset at something Dru did (you pick)!!! Spike decides to piss Dru off by letting Buffy-the-kid go and actually takes her back to her home. She weeds her way into William's (not the demon) heart by hugging him or something utterly cute like that. Years later- Buffy is called to be a Slayer. Will Spike remember the 4y.o. sparkling green eyes as she fights him for her life?

Must haves:
1. No Angel/us stalking Buffy
2. Spike and Drusilla on the outs
3. Spike biting (claiming or turning) Buffy in a sensual way

Can haves:
1. Set before Sunnydale
2. Pg13-Nc17
3. Spike checking up on Buffy as she grows up

 

 

 

 

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