And Here We Go Round Again

Summary Following on from the end of As You Were. Spike, devastated by Buffy's rejection, finds solace in a bottle shared with Anya and finds his unlife turned completely on its head. He finds that vengeance might not be for losers after all as he is thrust into the opportunity of a lifetime. But can he convince Buffy to take the risk?
 

A/N...And here we go again...catchy, huh! This is not the fic I had planned on posting next. I was supposed to go with another two-parter, but after enigmaticblue betaed and enthusiastically encouraged me to continue it on, I had second thoughts. It was heavy with angst though and I needed a break, so here we are with my first effort at serial fluff. Please let me know what you think of it.

Chapter One

Spike stood on the lonely square of pavement outside the shop. Through the window he could see Anya and her demon friend-- the one who had royally mucked up the Slayer's birthday. Behind the bird he saw a number of magical ingredients lining the shelves, and books with useful spells.

He craved a solution, and as the only non-magical one he had access to was his own dusting, he was rather inclined toward the acceptance of magic.

But magic had consequences. He knew that, and he'd bleated the fact to the children umpteen numbers of times. Usually to no affect. Arrogant lot! But the pain sliced deep within him; he could feel himself bleeding on the inside and knew he was on the edge of tears every time he thought of her.

Bitch!

He hated her- for the way she had treated him. Used his body, burned her imprint so deep he could never get her out of his system. He didn't even have to close his eyes to feel the scorching reminder of her skin flush against his, his hands stroking her to writhing, pulsing pleasure.

He'd done good by her. Fair enough he might get a bit tongue-tied and make some really piss poor comments and observations, backing her into a corner of outraged fear and confusion. But he did his best, and really, demon! Evil! She couldn't expect bloody miracles.

He couldn't help but bow his head, though. It was a big fat hairy lie. He didn't hate her. Couldn't. He had so much love for her pushed down inside him that he could feel it viciously abusing his empty heart crater for a 'get out'. He wanted her, true. He would do anything to enclose his cock within her heat and thrust her into sensual madness. He knew he could do it, too. She craved his love. Craved the salve the pain of his love brought her. And now she had cut him off. Distanced herself from his passion, removed herself from his support. Replaced him with judgmental bloody Scoobies before they could find out and tell her she was more wrong than she already thought she was.

But she wanted him. How could he help but know it? The night she came to him- the night Finn re-entered all their lives, the destructive little prick. He'd seen it in her eyes then. She'd stamped her way through his door and stopped before him, her voice low and unsure, almost begging him to love her. She said she was using him. He knew her, though. Always bloody had. The chit couldn't hide a thing from her Big Bad. And it wasn't that the mighty beefcake had bombed his way back into Sunnydale that brought her to the edge of commitment to him. She had come to Spike because the git was another one who'd left her behind, and she was terrified that he would, too. No way was it mere upset at Finn's obvious moving on. Even if it did bash at her ego. She wanted Spike and his love, not just the shagging. She wanted to connect.

The connecting freaked her out. Especially when she was reminded of what he was. She'd connected so much his demon didn't matter. Until she was confronted with someone who figured out her dirty little secret. A human someone. A human someone who could tell all her friends.

Spike slumped in defeat. Thinking of how much she denied him made his head hurt. Really, he had no one to blame but himself. He'd set the scene years ago. Set the beat that their association was forever going to follow. All his death threats- and well hell, actions!- had tainted his existence for the Scoobies. And if that group couldn't accept you, Buffy had no chance of changing her mind.

So, the real problem was because he'd started out her enemy. Started out wanting to bag another Slayer. Of the 'making her dead' variety. If he knew then what he knew now... Well, he woulda done things plenty different. Not let her shag and get bitten by the bloody poof for one.

But, there was no point fixating on the unchangeable. Magic was his only option now. He had to stop the pain. The hurt. When he could numb himself enough that he could think about his future; see where he should head now that the one great love of his life had kicked him in the balls with her stupidity and ignorance one last time. So she thought it was real for him! The bint still couldn't accept that he could really feel love. So maybe it was time he took the problem away. Took his debilitating love away, so he could get out of this bleeding town and make something of his unlife.

Yeah, Spike. That's the spirit!

And he turned again to the birds that he could see through the window, and wondered about consequences. What if a spell not only wiped out his feelings for the Slayer, but those for Dawn as well? What if he wanted to be all demon again, and wasn't there to protect them like he'd dedicated his unlife to doing? Well, those were a few consequences that gave him pause.

With an abrupt shrug of his very masculine shoulders, he dismissed the concerns and entered the shop. As soon as he was inside, the demon Halfrek came over all jittery, and a little flirty. He found it disturbing.

He sniffed suspiciously and narrowed his eyes. Demon girl was all vengeful, for Harris. Not that the wanker didn't deserve a good dick shortening, or a new eruption of the funny syphilis.

Actually, perhaps he should consider helping her out with that...could be worth him hanging around town to watch. And laugh.

He grinned with suddenly amusing possibilities. He could wish for the great donut consumer to swell from protracted association with the dough until he exploded. Or made sure only demon girls wanted a piece of him. Wait, that wouldn't be any different to the norm. Forget that one!

Finally, he offered a greeting and asked for help in finding a spell. He may have said he needed a 'thing,' but this was a magic shop, he was sure that Anya was onto him about what he needed. And that was when things got way out of hand.

He could see them talking together at the other end of the counter, occasionally shooting him looks of consideration as they nattered about something obviously important. Not to him, though. He just wanted to get nice and numb, and right quick like.

He felt prickly and on edge when Halfrek up and left them alone, and by the time the alcohol had found a permanent flow toward his mouth, he felt like he was on the edge of monumental carnage to his peace of mind. Or maybe he just felt like the world as he knew it was about to become rather intense in its difference.

His guard had dropped after the first half of the bottle disappeared, and he felt himself moving on to bitter moments of self-reprisal. How could he seriously have expected to have a chance with her? Too much history-- really bad history-- and not all of it connected to him. Too much had happened in the Slayer's past to allow her to consider what they had together in any way but disaster and heartache.

He could hear Anya egging him on, trying to get him to wish vengeance against Xander, and bloody hell, was he tempted. The ignorance of the berk burned his gut. Hypocritical little shit. If he had to wish the boy harm he'd...and he could see Anya straining toward him, eager to hear him and relish the words of personal torture that his mouth had been about to release.

He chuckled as she sat back, and chuckled again at her disappointment.

Another bottle was placed between them, and the contents quickly consumed. He could feel the conversation turning back to the whelp, and he was disgusted that the boy took up so much thinking space.

"He's not worth the brain power to wish him harm, luv. No, if wishes...I'd wish...well, if anything I'd go back, back to where it all got cocked up, where I started her really hating me. Not trusting me. I'd change it, be different, help her. Support her, you know? But she'd see, I'm not just evil, and just cause I don't have a soul doesn't 'cessarily mean I'm soulless. Yeah, go back and do it all over again. That'd show her."

Spike smiled sadly and looked up at his drinking partner and saw her face set in the obvious features of her demon.

He had a split-second of cold realisation.

"Oh shit!" he screamed just as she chanted, "done".

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His head was spinning and he suddenly thought that he was hyperventilating. Funny thing for a bloke that didn't need to breathe.

Everything was all dark, though he could hear a heartbeat right in front of him. And something else, a presence he was not in the mood to face right now.

Feeling like a girly git, he realised that his eyes were squeezed tightly closed. Probably in fright from seeing Anya as a demon. He hadn't come up against many Vengeance Demons before. Now he knew why: she was not the prettiest gameface on the block. He opened his eyes and frowned. He had no clue exactly what he had just wished for, or how Anya had chosen to interpret it. His belly felt like it was doing a lot of flipping before it got flopped.

"Angelus. And Harris. Fancy seeing you here."

The two paused in their show offering of the whelp's neck and looked at the vampire in front of them in puzzlement.

"You okay, Spike?"

He stood for a few more minutes in silence, contemplating the pair and sensing the couple of support vamps at his back, and finally realised exactly where he was. He should have been able to tell, what with the special brand of 'keep it up' nancy hair gel the ponce couldn't do without...and those lifts...made Harris look short. Oh yeah, the early days...

"This Sunnydale High?" he asked them almost conversationally, then nodded as they looked at him like he was losing his feeble little mind.

"Oi, Peaches. Did I do the Yoda speech yet?"

Angel shook his head slowly, feeling swept away in a moment that felt like it was straight out of the Twilight Zone.

"Yeah, right...sorry 'bout that. Not missing much, I'll wager...So, Dru's here, and still weak." He muttered the last to himself in an effort to acclimatise to the situation and time frame he found himself in, and sucked in a breath for forbearance. Then he caught a glimpse of the lights reflecting off Harris's nummy looking neck. He licked his lips in perverse enjoyment. "How about a bit of blood to celebrate being back with the family?"

Xander's heartbeat rose in sudden anxiety, not completely secure with the belief that Angel wouldn't let anything harm him.

Spike moved forward, lowered his fangs to the exposed throat, and began to whisper.

"Peaches, I know about the soul. Get Harris out of here. I have to kill these twits behind me so the Annoying One doesn't know I turned on his minions. Don't worry 'bout the Slayer. Not going to 'urt her."

Mere moments after Angel realised that Spike was volunteering information about the Anointed One they had all been concerned about, Spike pulled a punch to Angel's jaw, merely bruising where he could well have dislocated.

Stepping back, Spike couldn't help but feel disappointed that he hadn't plowed his fist right through his annoying sire's chest and ripped out his heart...dust ahoy! But he knew Buffy would have his head...and he had no desire to be dust now. He felt uncomfortable with this sudden opportunity to change the past, but relished the excitement zinging through him like racing cars speeding around a bendy track before they crashed into the walls and burned.

She was close. And he smiled in delirious anticipation. His body reacted to the signals of excitement filtering down from his brain to his feet, and he felt himself bounce. He felt all springy and loose, and charged. He couldn't wait to go to her, but for now the show needed to go on.

"You think you can fool me? You were my Sire, man! You were my...Yoda!" Spike winked at the two lumping brunettes in front of him, giving them an encouraging nod to indicate it was all a ploy for the vamps behind him.

Angel looked at him shocked and rubbing his jaw. He could sense the near jubilation affecting his progeny and wondered what the hell he was on.

"Things change," Angel muttered.

The muscle in Spike's jaw clenched hard, almost in punishment as he contemplated what the Slayer's response had always been to that charge. Only the chip, not him. Just the chip. Now he could show her different.

"You're right. Demons can change. We aren't mindless automatons. We can choose not to kill." And once he'd said it out loud, he felt stupid for not thinking it earlier. Of course he had bloody changed. That bleeding chip did nothing but give him excuses. And not the ones the Slayer credited him with. Not the 'no bitey, no dead happy meals' ones. More like the 'hello Slayer', 'can I help, Slayer', 'I love you, Slayer' excuses. Without the chip, he might have felt forever obliged to carry on as the evil vamp. No, the chip, as annoying as it was, gave him the chance to be in her circle. A little bit on the inner.

Not that she was bright enough to understand the difference.

Angel and Xander stood in stunned amazement as Spike seemed to nod in agreement with himself. They all jumped as he shouted to them to move, 'this isn't a spectator sport,' and fists and fangs flew as vampire minions became vampire dust and ash littering the empty corridor for the cleaners to vacuum in the morning.

The three remained standing, eyeing each other warily.

"What are you up to, Spike?"

Spike smirked at the vampire that he considered to have ruined his life. He felt childish and spiteful, but invigorated about the prospect of doing a spot of ruining himself.

"I've come to make some changes. How 'bout you?"

"I changed a long time ago. Do you have a soul?"

Spike looked on his elder in horror.

"What do you think I am? Do I look like a poof?"

Xander launched into a mirthful belly laugh. It came to an abrupt end as Angel flashed him some fang.

"Tut tut, Daddy! The boy is just 'ppreciatin' good humour. Speaking of, Dru's here an' she's not well. You should go see her. She's missed you."

Spike's voice had lowered in a sincerity that rocked him. In this timeframe he was still devoted to his wicked plum, his princess was his everything. But with the switch of his timeline, he brought with him the intense love he felt for the Slayer.

He wasn't too stupid to look a gift horse in the mouth. Here was his chance, and he was gonna do what he'd hoped. He was gonna make everything right, including Dru. Maybe Angel could help her in a way Spike had never been able to.

Diverting the souled vampire's attention had other benefits, too. His biggest priority was to keep the other away from Buffy as much as possible. Do something to dim their affection. Cut this soulmate crap. Hopefully in the process he could have it diverted from the poof to himself.

"You get the boy outta here while I take care of the others. I have to get back and deal with the Annoying One." Spike's eyes glinted with amused hindsight, which was now foresight...bloody hell!

Angel followed the instruction from Spike with a hesitant glance before finally following Xander Harris from the school. It wasn't till he had passed through the heavy door that he wondered to himself why he was listening to his numbskull excuse of a grandchilde. Shaking his head, he meandered over to give Xander a hand in fighting the remnant vampire guard.

Spike took a moment to contemplate current events. He felt younger. He had been transported back four years to a time when he was on a fresh diet, no wonder he felt like a spring chicken. Pigs blood was flavourless, no hint of fear or arousal. He missed the hunt, and the kill. But a lesson had been learnt his last visit with Dru. Buffy was his future, and killing humans was not going to endear him to her. And she'd need him. He wasn't going to skip out on her when she was up against some major Bads. And Dawn. She'd need him to protect Dawn.

No...he was in time to stop his continual death threats. Would stop attacking her. He could help her out with patrol, make with the friendlies with her mates and her mum. Even try cosying up with her Watcher if he had to. Show them all that it wasn't just a soul that could make a vamp good.

As long as he didn't have to watch too many of her snog sessions with the brooding poof, he could be patient.

For the first time that night he felt the pain in his chest ease, and the possibility of his love rejoice. His time for finding her, seeing her was beyond late and he set off to locate which corridor she was hiding in, an almost feral grin twisting his lips.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He smelt her before he saw her. And what he first saw was legs. Long glorious smooth flesh of legs. He'd forgotten she had worn short skirts back then. Didn't realise how much he had missed them. He was so caught up in the memory of those legs that he almost missed the vamp behind his Buffy raising a fire-axe.

"Watch out!" he called in near panic, reacting much faster than his mind could work. He knew she got past this stage to fight with him the first time this scenario went down, but fear grew legs and he propelled himself into the brunette. He violently disengaged her grip around the handle of the weapon and used it to detach her head from her shoulders. He grinned as the dust made a little inconsequential pile on the floor.

Too quick for him to notice Buffy standing against the wall in surprise, he was on the other vamp who had come round the corner. The axe engaged in a beautiful swinging arc and claimed another casualty.

"Now that was fun!" he shared with her as he turned around to face her.

The first connection of their eyes was electrifying, and he sucked in a breath to better prepare himself for taking in her gorgeous face. Here she was, not bitter from fighting Angelus, not broken from having cast Angel to the pits of hell, not craving death due to her tired devotion to the mission. And best of all, she was filled with pulsing life, not resurrected by incompetent and arrogant witches. He felt entirely overcome in the blessing of being in her presence.

Here was his chance.

Buffy.

Knowing him, he'd bollocks the whole thing in a matter of seconds. Right then, keep it simple.

"Hello cutie."

He waited, wondering if she was going to use her old stand-by and bop him good in the nose. The nostalgic thought had him almost hoping she would, though a power snog would go a lot better on his bones. Not to mention his heart. Or other parts of his body that worked.

She continued to stare at him, dumbfounded. She seemed lost for words.

"You killed Sheila."

Right, knew it couldn't last forever.

"She was about to split your head in two," he reasoned, trying to placate.

"She dusted." Eyes wide, her mind trying to grip onto anything that might make some sense.

"She was a vampire, luv." Spike tilted his head to the side, and memory poked into his happy moment. "Er, yeah, sorry 'bout that. Might have been responsible. Think I fed 'er to Dru." He lowered his eyes to the ground, appearing almost...bashful?

"I thought you were here to kill me!"

He raised his eyes to hers once again and hoped that she could see how not all right he was with that notion.

"Nope. Made a mistake. Changed my mind. No killing for this vamp. Not anymore." He shared his hopeful look, kept his face straight of any snarky innuendo or smirks that might influence her to distrust. Then, "I want to help you," popped out of his mouth as he rocked excitedly back on his heels, hands in pockets...and thought of that miserable episode where he thought he was the souled Randy Giles. Without connection to the present situation, he grimaced. Bloody ponce, and what had he been thinking with that suit? And the hat...he shuddered at the memory, before zeroing in again on the present, and his girl who seemed a hell of a lot blonder, and slightly more cuddly.

"Huh! Are you for real? Cause vampires offering the help? Not so much. Unless you're Angel. Which you so are not."

His cloud darkened and he had to check himself against revealing his very real and violent hatred for his sire.

"No Angel, pet. No soul, either. But I can help you. I want to."

She shook her head against his offer, and he felt the challenge get harder. He stayed determined, though.

"Please, give me a chance to prove it. I'll take out the Annoying One for you. Piece of bloody cake." He offered her the grin she had unwittingly informed him recently that she found incredibly sexy. The one with the tongue curl and the inspired twitch of his eyebrows as his eyes flashed a little wider. He was hoping that without all the baggage, it might have a better effect on her now.

"The who huh?"

He rolled his eyes at her before offering the full title in correct form. "The Anointed One. You know, sired by the Master himself. Prophecy yadda yadda..."

Her eyes grew wider and the green seemed to fire. "You would do that?" she asked in a breathy voice.

"For you, luv, I'd do a hell of a lot more besides."

"This isn't happening, is it? You've got me in some freaky thrall or something, right?"

"That'd be Dru, Buffy. Honest, let me show you that you can trust me."

She considered his offer, never taking her eyes away from his. He bounced while she watched, hands tucked in his jean pockets hoping that she would take a chance. He could feel heat pulse through his body and excitement burn his veins. At her hesitant nod he felt himself explode as he launched forward and gathered her in his arms. He buried his face in her hair and almost wept in relief.

"You won't regret it, baby. I'll show you how good I can be for you."

Not until he drew back slightly, still holding her body pressed up against his front, did he feel the sharp point of a stake against his back.

But the sight of her luscious lips barely centimetres from his wiped the danger from his mind as he felt drawn to her, captured and hauled in like a prized catch. The second their lips met, all thought was blown from his mind. This was a kiss like those passionate, 'in-love' ones they had shared during the fake engagement, not the animalistic, 'fuck-me-now' ones they had shared since she came back from death. This was young, and fresh and love. He couldn't ever give this up.

His lips moved softly over hers, lost in a gentle rub rather than a hostile takeover. The moment she opened her mouth and allowed his tongue to lick her own he felt prickles erupt over his entire body. He allowed one hand to raise and tangle in her hair, holding her secure for him to continue his exploration. She had never allowed him to be this soft with her. Well, at least not unless under the influence of a spell.

He felt one of her hands curl around his waist and he pushed his body a little closer, not hard and fast, but enough to brush the compact form of himself against her softness. God, he was hot. She burned him with her fire, with her purpose.

He was completely lost in her taste when his mind registered that her own tongue had taken up exploring his mouth. He moaned as she brushed against the soft padding of his inner cheeks. He could feel his cock hardening in response to her swipe against his teeth, the flicking over the shields of his fangs. Both arms were around him now, her tiny hands exploring his back underneath the cover of his T-shirt as her mouth told him how much he was hers. The stake seemed to have disappeared as nothing but tiny Slayer nails scraped over his skin, flooding his dick with blood.

He moaned in his throat as he pushed her against the wall, his kiss getting more passionate, searching, claiming. One leg curled around his and he caught her behind the knee, raising her leg to clamp around his hip. His hand followed the smooth surface of her leg to the raised covering of her skirt and let his fingers brush round the pantyline of her bum. He wanted so much to seek further, to let his fingers dive into hot gooey wetness until he had her writhing, but it was too fast and she wasn't yet seventeen.

He forced his hand to remain immobile, moving no further to explore her mysteries. He stroked the line he had already claimed and let his lips do the talking. He drank her in, the taste of her making him giddy with adolescent type hormones and he felt the rush like nothing ever before.

Too soon he could tell that she was struggling to breathe and he released her lips with a little sucking pop. He rested his forehead against hers and copied her frantic intake of air, though his lungs weren't as productive. He continued allowing his fingers to skim the succulent skin at her backside and prayed that the day when he could feel more of her to be extremely soon.

"I'll prove to you that you can trust me," he whispered to her, mindful of walls with ears. They pulled just far enough away for him to see the uncertainty in her eyes before offering her the most gentle, awe-filled smile of his existence. He reserved it for such occasions as sincerity made him lose his mind. Knocked down protective barriers. "I won't disappoint you." This time he bestowed upon her a cheeky wink and he revelled in her sudden flush.

As she became aware of her raised leg holding him so, so close to her lower body she eased it down and away from him, looking down in embarrassment.

"Um, that was a m..."

He put a finger across her lips, preventing her from finishing the first denial of this repeat of his past.

"None of that, pet. It was fantastic, wonderful, and beautiful. But it was no mistake."

His fingers trailed away slowly, his eyes locked on the bruised red of the softest flesh he had ever known before lowering his own lips once again. The kiss was brief, to the point, a promise.

And even as hard as it was, he walked away to call back all his minions that hadn't witnessed his defection. It was time he killed a little vamp child.

And proved, once and for all, his loyalty. 

Chapter Two

"What the hell?"

Buffy hadn't moved even an inch from the spot where Spike had practically molested her.  Well, molested in the sense that she totally gave in to it.  She suddenly shook in disgust, completely ignoring the fact that her body was all tight and itchy, and God, was it hot in here?  Disgusting vamp, with the wandering hands, and the...tasty ...yummy lips.  No, no yummy, no tasty, bad Buffy!

That was so not what she'd been expecting when Spike had come crashing through the window earlier.  And if that's how all his threats of "I'm going to kill you" go down, then he'd better stop with the whole evil vampire thing, cause confused much?  He wasn't fooling anyone.  And just maybe Giles had looked up the wrong William the Bloody, and Angel for once didn't have a clue what he was talking about.  Cause that vampire?  That was not an effort to slay a Slayer.  At least, not an effort she was familiar with.

Angel had said that once Spike started something, he didn't stop till he'd finished.  Buffy felt her eyes widen almost painfully.  What did that mean exactly?  He'd started out trying to kill her, only to end up trying to seduce her.  Okay, trying with a tiny bit of success.  But that left her wondering what it was he wouldn't stop till he'd finished.  Killing her?  Or having her in a more 'get your clothes off and let me ravish you with my talented tongue' way.  Did she get to choose?  And what was with those tingles that kept jerking down her spine?

Footsteps alerted her to a possible vamp around the corner... or a slightly bruised and power freaked Xander, if she'd like to look before making big with the assumptions.  His frantic looks toward the library doors reminded her of the situation that was about ten minutes ago, and finally she convinced movement to flow to her feet.  She felt kind of oogy, what with the inside of one thigh flashing heat straight to her inner panty line.  Kinda lopsided bliss.  Of the 'raw, lusty, bad evil vampire got me all turned on then left before really touching anything but her mouth' kind of bliss.

Xander flung open the library door and she banished her confused demon-wanting hormones back to somewhere a hell of a lot more appropriate when her mother's life and sanity were at risk.

The first thing she saw was Giles frantically cleaning his glasses.  The pace he had set was so rough and fast she almost giggled at the fully expected snap as they broke in half.  He looked at them in complete shock before placing them on the table, patting the smooth wood beside while he seemed to search for courage.  When he finally raised his eyes and sought out Buffy's she knew that he must have seen something.  Flushing red, she didn't think he had seen too much because of the angle of the library window and the place she had occupied further down the same wall.  Maybe he heard stuff.

"Buffy," he paused, considering what words were best for him to use without the benefit of having glasses to distract himself with.  "Did I hear Spike tell you he was going to kill the Annointed One for you?"

Ahh, she thought. He was going to go with the less inflammatory comments.  Relief flooded through her at the not having to get into explanations with Xander about why she had been kissing another vampire that wasn't Angel.  And her mouth went dry.  Oh crap!  She'd been kissing another vamp whose hair so was not brown.

"Yup," she answered, upbeat and full of teenage and Slayer adrenaline.  She was feeling kind of eager to go home and consider what the hell just happened here tonight.  Until the memory of her mother's face after her illuminating talk with Snyder put a pout straight back on her lips.  It got poutier when she added in the wounded, brooding expression of Angel's face when he found out.  Well, if he did.  And he wasn't gonna.  No siree, Bob.  Nothing to know, really.

"What do you think he was playing at, Buffy?"

Her attention snapped back to her watcher, torn away from the reliving of those smooth fingertips wandering lightly over her ass and his tongue making her body feel like it was struck by lightning.  Yet, with that hair, maybe she had been.  That these wierdo feelings were erupting within her because of a freakazoid with famine cheekbones and the name Spike did nothing to put an end to her sudden pantiness. The look on Giles's face squashed her desire to giggle or swoon, though, and she put on her serious look.

"Not sure he was playing."

He raised his eyebrows and she felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment.

"Did you get the impression he was genuine in his offer?  What am I saying?  He's a vampire.  As if he would actually go through with something he says he will.  It must be a trick."  Giles hadn't finished shaking his head with dashed hope when Angel flounced through the door and offered his two cents.

"That's not Spike.  If he says he'll do something for you, you can guarantee it will get done.  I just don't understand what his motives could be."

Buffy felt her cheeks turn fire engine red and wondered if she could pull an emergency alarm before the questions started coming.

Xander watched the interaction and felt his eyes settle on the supposedly souled vampire and felt fury burn a hole in his gut.

"You," he raged before marching over and punching Angel in the cheek.  "Ow," he bounced around the floor as Angel continued to not even sway.

"I'm sorry," Angel oozed.  "Did you just tap me, boy?"

Three sets of eyes flew to him in astonishment, waiting for the harsh, almost evil inflection in his voice to disappear.

"Sorry," Angel shrugged almost helplessly.  "Must be seeing Spike again.  Brings back a rush of family mem..." he tapered off when he took in the almost matching looks of horror fixed upon him.  "Right," he almost shouted.  "Time to go," and he was gone in his usual mysterious fashion.

"That was disturbing," Xander offered, and Buffy was inclined to agree.  But thoughts of her current vampire beau were suddenly eclipsed by other vampire experiences of the day.

Xander hadn't finished.  "And what was with the offering of my neck to the big evil vampire with even bigger and sharper teeth?  Do I look like the kinda guy who runs around screaming 'pick me...I wanna be vampire bait'?  Cause I wanna clarify right here and now...Xander neck is no rack of lamb for any vampire.  Right, Buff?"

"Right, Xan," she nodded devotedly, trying to keep her snickers to herself till he had left the building.

"And that tone of voice...disturbing I tell you.  With a heaping side dish of...well, more disturbing.  With a splash of mash...cause I'm hungry.  Aren't you disturbed, Buffster?"

"I really, truly am.  Gotta go find my mom, though.  Will you guys be good here?"  She saw the rising argument in Giles's eye, the summoning of more delving questions regarding Buffy's little vampire interlude with Spike, and she rushed out the door.  Completely comfortable that she was leaving vampire bait and a Watcher with broken glasses defenseless in the library.  She didn't feel any more vamp tinglies, though, so was sure the building was now demon free.  Thanks to the round-up of Spike.

She stopped still in her tracks, the thought of that kiss draining the blood from her limbs as it flooded to her face.  She could feel the fire as it began to erupt along the skin of her leg again and was just about to immerse herself into a sea of imagery.  Right up until she heard her mother call out and saw a crowd of disoriented and terrified parents milling about the front foyer.   Thank God for moms and their forceful suggestions of everyone going home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

Huh!  Seemed her superhero kick cut her a little slack for once.  She smiled gratefully as she climbed the stairs ten minutes later to her room.  Her mother was actually grateful that she'd fought their way out of a very massacre type ending.  Not that she really understood about the massacre thing.  Her mom had totally bought into the 'gangs on PCP' thing Snyder was shovelling.  Really, how could she help but be a fan when Buffy prevented the major spillage of blood and innards all over the school floor. Well, she would if she'd seen that, or knew how possible that outcome could have been?  This whole secret identity thing sucked.

With a smile of satisfaction she fell backwards on her bed and just stared at the ceiling, the complete stillness a desperate requirement while she considered again the things that made her blood sing and cry for something she hadn't known was missing.  As she closed her eyes, all she could see was the smooth handsome face of her nemesis.  Her enemy, with that cocky flirty smile, the glimmer in his eye and that unexplainable look of awe that flashed over his face while he studied hers.  Okay, she'd boarded the 'majorly wigged' train and could only sigh as it roared out of the station.  And truly, she was enjoying the trip, right up to the moment when Angel knocked on the glass of her window and she jumped back to reality with a guilty start.

Rushing over to the window, Buffy raised it and allowed Angel to climb gracefully through.  She looked at his face and could feel a rush of longing flood her, but was briefly confused who it was she was longing for.  She was just Lusty Buffy, that was it.  Cued right in to the naughty things that she so wanted to try but Angel kept preventing.  Though how he did that when he was always secretly crawling in her window was one for the surprise box.

"Hey," she whispered seductively in hope.  If she couldn't get some lovin' to stop this burn down deep inside her, she didn't know if Angel would be leaving undusty.

In a move almost frantic she crushed her lips to his, moaning at the coldness that greeted her tongue.  His lips didn't part, though, but instead of being annoyed she set to inspiring them open.  Her hands ghosted over his clothed chest, up over his shoulders before moving down his back to leave a subtle squeeze to his butt cheek.

In typical repressive Angel fashion, he grabbed her and held her arms length away.

"You smell like Spike," he stated bluntly.

'Well,' Buffy thought pettily.  'Don't hold back on the sniffer, Angel, my love!'

"Well, yeah...he was at the school.  You know, all with the fangy and the fighty, and the...the...killing..." she improvised before heaving a big sigh of relief and plastering a huge smile of seduction to her newly glossed lips.

"And why do you taste like him again?"

Her smile vanished as her mind worked frantically for plausible excuses.

"We fell?"  She launched, then sped into a flimsy but somehow believable explanation to Angel as to why she had Spike lips.  "Yeah, we fell, and he sort of got all mushed up against me for a second...until I so kicked his ass to other side of the school."

She nodded, satisfied and struggling to keep it simple, to keep her mouth closed against the very desperate urge to begin rambling with innane reasons that would most likely be hurtful to Angel and confusing to herself.  She could just tell Angel that Spike kissed her, groped her like the lecherous...sexy...pig that he was and Angel would just go and dust him.

That thought didn't seem anywhere near as satisfying as having the white-haired vamp's fingers on her body.

"So, whatcha doing?"  Time for the uber distraction, she thought.

"I've just been out, wandering, thinking..."

And brooding, Buffy added silently to herself.

She gave him another sudden, almost robot-like sappy smile before suggesting that maybe they should go search out where this Spike guy was hanging his hat while he was in Sunnydale.  That apparently greyish hat.

Angel looked pained.  "Yeah, I guess I should have thought of that while I was out."

He missed Buffy's 'duh' eye rolling as he turned to climb back out the window.

They strolled around Sunnydale, holding hands and attacking any demon or vampire they came across until finally their forceful information gathering led them to the factory.

"This is just so totally lame.  Don't you guys go a little for the comfort?  Why is it all with the falling down, dark, dingy factories?"

Angel stared at her as if she had just announced that demon snot was a part of her nightly beauty routine.

"You can't exactly lay low in the posh suburbs, Buffy."

Her pout was back and he lowered his eyes in apology.

"Yeah.  Guess I should have realised that."

They found a window and, climbing easily to perch just outside the ledge, prepared themselves for what they might be about to witness.  A white blond helmet of hair caught Buffy's eye almost the second she looked through the grimy window and she sucked in a breath as her heart started beating a crazy rhythm.  Angel watched her watching the action, and wondered why her pulse had quickened.  There was no danger, all the vampires being inside the factory and not outside where they were.  Not that many were inside either.  Seemed like Spike had managed to thin the numbers quite effectively.

Buffy leaned forward, pressing up against the glass and not at all worried that she could be seen from the inside.  The inky blackness of night had her covered, and she just couldn't help but drool.  He'd lost the coat, and although she missed the seduction of all that leather slapping around his legs as he strutted, she suddenly couldn't control the flood of want as she peaked at his really, really firm butt.  NO!  Why was she looking at his behind. 'Must look at front', she ordered herself and almost groaned out loud as he swiftly turned around.  He must be ESPing.  See, Evil...now her thoughts weren't even her own.  But her eyes were very definitely studying his front...and Holy Cow!

She felt her lips fall slack and drool pool in the corner as she focused entirely on his black clad body.  Tight black fabric stretched over an undoubtedly firm and muscular chest, his arms showing the smoothness she would feel if she were close enough to touch, to trail just her pointy finger along the inside line of his forearm, to his bicep and then to his shoulder...and that thought set her nipples to tightening.  As her body chemistry responded to that cool observation she let her eyes slip lower and felt her eyeballs freeze on his even tighter black clad lower half.  Those jeans left nothing to the imagination, and he wasn't even turned on.

She was so caught up in the divine tableau he offered her hungry gaze that she almost missed his actions entirely.  A warning growl from Angel catapulted her overheating mind out of the gutter and back up to Spike's face.  He was vamped out, and unlike her usual reaction to your garden-variety vamp, she found him kind of cute.  Not Angel cute, of course.  That would be of the bad, and evil vampire...not cute.

Buffy almost rolled her eyes at her own ridiculous effort to cover up that she found this guy serious crush material...totally swoon worthy.  But his lips were moving, and she licked her lips in remembered delight at how exactly those lips felt against hers.  Oops, 'not going there' she decided as Angel growled again rather close to her ear.

There seemed to be some kind of commotion down below and Buffy squinted to try and see better through the gross window.  Angel nudged her aside as he slowly lifted it so they could hear what was going on and not destroy their eyesight by trying to peer through something covered in dirt and grease. Buffy smiled her thanks to her boyfriend, and leaned just slightly into the building.

Spike was standing alone, 'when along came a spider' Buffy thought meanly as a dark-haired beautiful vampire sidled up to him and began to stroke his cheek.  The Slayer almost cheered as she saw Spike stiffen then step casually away from the girl.  He mumbled something to her and then strode forward to drop to his knees in front of a small child that reeked of authority.  It was so overwhelmingly powerful that Buffy felt it from where she was, and she flinched, spooked about what fighting this child would mean for her.

As the sexy tenor of his voice passed through her and made her bones vibrate, she almost lost clarity for a moment as she felt moist heat gush between her legs.  Feeling uncomfortable, she sat a little back so she could clench her legs together.  Angel glanced at her in surprise, his nose still twitching from the unexpected burst of arousal.  He gave her an encouraging smile and turned back to the scene playing out on the inside.  Buffy shook her head.  Completely clueless!  She grinned her relief.

"You failed."  Buffy startled at the cool authority that dripped from the small one's mouth, suddenly apprehensive about the power he wielded.

"I, uh...let me see if I can get this right...I offer penance?"  Cocky Spike was full on confronting and Buffy suddenly felt concern flood through her and turn her blood cold.  Her fingers became claw-like as they gripped the window frame and she leaned a little further in.

Angel gripped his fist in her top and pulled her hard backwards, tapping his nose and leaning in to sniff at her to indicate that the vampires inside would pick up her scent if she wasn't careful.  The irritation that had flashed in her eyes dimmed slightly as understanding dawned, but it didn't disappear totally.

She turned her head back to the blond posturing in front of the special child and she rolled her eyes in sudden acknowledgement of his almost child-like exuberance at getting into the fight.

She jumped as another vampire entered the scene, hostility flowing off him and lying stagnant in the air.

"Penance," she heard him almost bellow. "You should lay down your life. Our numbers have been depleted, the Feast of St. Vigeous is ruined because of your impatience."

"I was rash," Spike told them in a voice completely lacking in any degree of sincerity and Buffy almost giggled.  She was completely enthralled with his 'couldn't give a crap' attitude to danger, and she suddenly wondered if he fought as good as he kissed.

Her lips began to buzz from remembered passion and she almost succumbed to lusty daydreams when she heard his voice continue.

"And if I had to do it all over again..."

Buffy leaned forward again in anticipation and shivered from his almost jubilant burst of laughter.

"Who am I kidding?"

Her brow furrowed, tense waiting for his next move.  Shock gripped her as she saw his body move toward the annoying child and grab for him.

"I would do it exactly the same, only I'd do this..." With the boy in his arms and shouts on the air, Buffy watch completely enraptured as Spike put the child in a cage, locking it all while kicking away the mocking vamp of earlier and laying him flat and unconscious in the background.

"First!  From now on, we're gonna have a little less ritual," he started, interrupting his own speech by the effort of splashing the contents of a small canister of lighter fluid over the complaining child, and setting him alight, "and a little more fun around here."

The high-pitched shrieking reverberated around the largely empty cavern of the factory, and Buffy remained stunned by the window.  Despite his declarations to her amidst the heated kisses, she hadn't really believed that he would get rid of the threat.  Now she felt all hot and flushy that he did something so huge for her.  And hey, big with the statement...and he called her baby, and why exactly was she crushing again on the evil vampire...with the evil hair?

The left over minions dispersed, and Buffy could automatically feel Angel tense at her side as the only vamps left in the room was the blonde babe and his ho-bag.  The brunette was swaying and laughing, then she twirled around him as he tried to back away.

"It's time for the celebration, my Spike.  Our guests are just drifting on the outside, they don't know yet to come in."  She suddenly stopped all movement as she turned to the window that Buffy was half hanging out of before quickly pulling back and ducking down.

"What is it, pet?"

The Slayer suddenly felt annoyed at that caring tone of voice, aimed at the fruit loop who had just given the insanity dance on the dirty cement floor.  She lifted her head enough for her eyes to just see over the edge of the window as crazy vamp ho twirled back to look questioningly at Spike.  Though her movements remained graceful, Buffy could see the frailty that clung like spider webbing to the other woman.  The vampiress still staring intently at Spike.  The bitch who was now touching his face.

Buffy had balled her fists in angered frustration when her ears picked up the beginning of more conversation, and as the words began to sink in, her eyes widened in surprise; all thought of Angel and his existence evaporated from her mind.

"You don't love me anymore."

Blue and green eyes pinned the suddenly morose female vampire to the spot.  Her head waved from side to side like a snake uncoiling, and Buffy sucked in an expectant breath.

"You've switched your dark princess for white, and now all the lights will stay on.  There's nobody left for princess."

Buffy leaned back, confounded.  'Huh?'  What was with the freaky loony talk that only a fellow insane patient could decipher?  She shook her head and smiled, convinced the nutbag was on her last leg anyway.  But then the shocks kept a comin' as she realised that Spike was answering as if he actually knew what the vamp had said, and she so needed to find out this loon's name.

"Drusilla."  Angel released her name like a caressing whisper on the wind.  Buffy watched him, noticing her lack of jealousy that he knew who this was, just accepting that she had a name for the one whom she'd run out of 'bag' terms to apply to her.

"I'm sorry, Dru," continued the strange conversation on the factory floor.  Buffy gave it her total focus, while suppressing the urge to growl.  "But it's true, luv...there's someone..." His voice drifted into an uncomfortable silence as the brunette latched onto him, his chin held tightly while bringing his face closer to hers, her eyes seeking and clashing with his unwilling gaze.  "Dru, don't do this."

"You've been keeping secrets, my Spike.  You've moved on to where the sun is dimming.  The rain is falling and sunshine is too afraid to play.  But here she is all young and carefree..." Her aspect altered as she saw things in his eyes that caused Buffy to lean further in, trying to catch the meaning behind the uber weird display.  The Slayer fell back, though, at an abrupt squeal of joy.

"Daddy is returning."  She stepped back from Spike and clapped her hands in obvious delight.

"No, Dru.  It isn't Daddy.  You know it isn't.  He has a soul now, but he'll come by an' see you.  Maybe he can help make you well again."

Laughter echoed off the walls as dancing was once again the activity inside, and Buffy felt a burst of pure hilarity push to be released.  She clapped a hand across her mouth to hold it in, and squeezed her eyes shut to the display.  How anyone could put up with the loopy routine for long was anyone's guess.

Then in a short amount of her inattention it became obvious that 'Dru' had retired to elsewhere for the night, leaving Spike all forlorn in his loneliness.

Angel pulled Buffy back from the window, but she didn't release her claw-like grip, continuing that tenable connection to the goings on of inside.  He jerked his head, indicating his desire to leave, but she waved him away.

"Just give me a minute," she whispered to him and went back to watching alone.  She didn't need special hearing powers to hear his angry growl as he leapt down and stomped away from the building, but strangely she didn't care.

She stayed focused and intent on the pacing form of her would be seducer of earlier in the night.  Looking again at the cage, Buffy smiled happily at the destruction of the Annointed One.  She almost wished the Master had been there to see it, but then that would be bad.  She frowned.

"Bugger," he was mumbling to himself.  "Bugger, bugger, bollocks."

His pacing picked up speed, his muscular legs stretching out in front of him as he ate up the ground in his anxiety.

"Bloody Dru!"  She could hear his frustration and wondered what he was so upset about.  From where she had been eavesdropping the female vamp had only spouted a heap of incomprehensible dribble.

He ran his hands through his hair and spun on his heel, heading back in her direction too fast for her to duck.  In seconds their eyes clashed and held, time seeming to stop as something monumental seemed to slip in between them.  Collective breaths were held, blood began to roar, and one heart started pounding a mad beat of syncopated rhythm.  If she didn't feel so suddenly alive, Buffy could have sworn she was dead.

He took one step toward her and her mouth went dry.  Her eyes expressed her serious objection to his movement, her confused need to be closer to him rioting against her Slayer purpose of dusting him.  One more step had her pushing away from the window, jumping to the ground and running after Angel.

She had never spent a night more wigged in her entire life!
 
 

Spike stood outside the door of the place he remembered was Angel’s, eyeing the open frame wryly. He waited, watching Angel as his grandsire stared back, both silent and uncooperative about beginning the greetings.

Eventually, Spike decided to give in to his more generous nature; after all, he knew Angel didn’t end up with the girl. Well, not completely anyway. He took a step forward, letting his lips part to form a sentence when he was stunned into immobility.

“What’s wrong with Dru?”

Spike leaned against the door jam, grateful that the start of this confrontation was with a topic that concerned them both.

“She’s weak. We were attacked…in Prague…she nearly didn’t make it out.”

Angel watched the younger vampire, the stirrings of familial loyalty becoming stronger the more time he allowed it.

“Maybe sire blood will help?” Spike prompted, and nearly fell over when Angel shared his agreement.

“I’ll come by to see her tomorrow night. What about you?” The big brooding brunette watched his grandchilde shrewdly, noticing the shift of his eye, the suddenly rigid body.

“What about me?” he stalled, not ready yet to tell any or all of his story. Besides the fact that he didn’t think the great poof would believe himparticularly if he shared the details about shagging Buffy he had the uneasy feeling that if his knowledge of the events of the future got into the wrong hands, he’d be buggered over yet again. And this time, the reward meant too much to him.

“Why aren’t you acting like the real Spike?”

Spike felt his spine stiffen and his hands clenched in irritation.

“And you would know who the real Spike is, how?” He raised his gaze, eyes burning bright and determined into the unsuspecting stare of his sire.

“I know you, Spike. I know who you are and I know what you are. You’re up to something.”

“That might be right on the money, Sire. But what I’m offering you right now is the chance to do Dru right. You owe ‘er. I’m not here to cause trouble.” ‘Well, not much,’ he justified to himself quietly.

“That’s too easy. I don’t believe you.”

Spike could feel the angry build up of rage and he grit his teeth hard to try and stem damning words from flowing spontaneously out his mouth.

“Since when ‘ave I been a liar?” The younger vampire existed now in a whirl of affronted rage, memories of being beaten for his honesty leaving smarting memories upon his dead flesh. He had the scintillating satisfaction of seeing Angel cringe.

“Okay.” The alpha vamp lowered his head, conceding defeat. “So you really want me to help Dru. What more are you trying to do?”

“I want you to take her on. Help her. You’re her sire. Time you did your job.”

Angel tried to hide his shock, but the request was so far out of left field that he found it impossible.

“What?”

Spike stood stubbornly silent, and Angel felt himself clawing the air for reasonable explanations to this. Dru was Spike’s world. He couldn’t understand what could have brought about such a sudden shift in the younger vamp’s focus.

And then little hints of the unease he had felt around Buffy tonight took on a shape that almost left him gasping.

“She said you fell on her.”

“That’s one way of tellin’ it, I s’pose.” Spike didn’t even pretend that he didn’t understand the sudden change in topic. He smirked, and laughed on the inside at the flash of pain in the older vamp’s chocolate eyes. The warmth abruptly turned arctic as Angel growled with anger.

“You’re after her, then? Buffy? Is this some new way you have of killing Slayers?”

Spike couldn’t help it. One minute he was still propped against the doorframe, and the next his fangs were slashing the air, fists making contact with bone and flesh. Angel flew from his seat and hit the wall behind, knocking over all that had been in his path.

“I won’t be killin’ ‘er!” Spike spat in a rage. “I won’ be hurtin’ ‘er. Which is more ‘an I can say about some.”

Angel jumped to his feet, his own fangs and ridges forming a possessive warning.

“You have nothing to offer her, Spike. And I don’t believe you for a second. Killing Slayers is what you do.” He’d formed fists, cocked ready should Spike launch himself into the fray once again.

It was obvious when the violence drained from Spike’s body, though, and a relaxed if not completely trustful air fell onto the room.

“I swear I’m not here to hurt ‘er. I only want to help.”

Jealousy flared and changed the rhythm between the two male vampires.

“She has me,” Angel almost snarled. “She doesn’t need you.”

Spike felt the confidence seep away for short moments, but flashes of memory dictated different truths to him.

“She needs someone who will always be lookin’ out for ‘er. That’s not you.”

Angel puzzled, trying to beat back the fuzz of unreality that had cloaked his whole night.

“But you can help--not that I believe for a second that you actually want to-- and still hang on to Dru. Why are you trying to pass her on to me?”

Spike felt the conversation veer dangerously close to dicey territory. He wasn’t ready to disclose-- refused to in fact. Why did he always let Angel rile him up so much that he lost his sense? He chose to tell the truth, or as veiled a version of the truth as he wanted the other to know.

“Dru has always been wantin’ to get back to Daddy. You’re ‘ere, so you can go to her. Our time is over an’ that’s all I’m sayin’ on the subject. Savvy?”

Not waiting for further bursts of argument, Spike turned on his heel and strode gracefully into the shadows of the night.

The air was brisk as it whooshed around him, and he felt a true smile tug at his lips for the first time since Buffy had shagged him rotten. Not that that occasion had remained light and carefree for long. Still, this was a rocking situation he found himself in, and he felt completely overwhelmed by the possibilities. He felt near paralyzed with how delicious everything was. Now he just had to stop and make a mental list of all the things he’d unintentionally bollocksed up--and the things that had been undoubtedly evil--and go about reversing them.

Yes, he could feel the spring return to his step, the joy re-enter his night as he pounded the pavement, not exactly sure where he was headed. He felt carefree, positive, and wholly whipped--but deliriously happy about it. Buffy had let him touch her, kiss her potent lips. Bloody hell, there was fire between them, even right back to this time. Why had he been such a clueless git to have not noticed? Or he had, but back then he’d preferred fighting to fucking. No, that wasn’t right either…loving. He loved her with everything he was and no way was he goin’ to screw this up again.

He knew that it was usually the outcome of such ill thought out wishes with vengeance demons to cause some God-awful consequence, and, as a rule, he was right behind the shunning of such a fool thing. In this instance, however, he couldn’t get the streaked blond beauty out of his head. She was pure ambrosia for the reforming devil. Her mouth could feed him for several lifetimes, and he had intimate knowledge of all the other delights she could offer him.

But he had to calm down. This Buffy was so young. Admittedly, she’d given it up for Angel not too far from now, but now that Spike was turning a new leaf, and giving the girl options, he could be sure that he could win her. She had choices now, and the risk of being sucked wholly and solely in by the big brooding brow was minimised. If he could play this right, he could be her first--her true love--and he could help her learn the truth about the difference between having and not having a soul and all the rubbish that came with the Watcher’s assumptions.

Speaking of, Spike felt none too startled to find himself outside the complex that housed Rupert’s pokey little flat. He stood at the entry, silently debating with himself about whether or not to risk going in to say hello. A playful smirk teased his lips, and, hands in jean pockets, he turned in the gate.

The unreality of it all bounced off him as he pounded on the Watcher’s door, wondering if the good little librarian actually hung out here much during Buffy’s school days. Spike knew that once his girl went to college, this was the Scooby centre of operations, but before that he pondered if the children had even seen the inside of where Rupert lived. He was pretty sure all the stories from this time focused around the school library.

The door opened and he found himself staring into the apprehensive eyes of his fellow Brit and one time landlord.

“Hullo, mate. Thought you might like to share a bottle of somethin’. Put on a few vinyl’s and we can have a chat.” Spike watched as anxiety and fear battled with interest, hoping that for once the old man would take a risk and give him the benefit of the doubt. Despite hoping for it, Spike nearly fell over in a dead faint when the Watcher stepped aside and held the door open.

“Come in…er…Spike, is it?” His namby pamby accent seemed to say the name with distaste and Spike determined that he and Giles were going to be well on the way to bosom buddies before the night was through. A good bottle of scotch could make comrades of the bitterest enemies.

Giles thought he had witnessed the glassiness of the vampire’s eyes, but then he shook his head and gave a thankful nod before walking through the held door and making his way further into the flat.

“Buffy told me you killed the Anointed One.” The statement was simple, factual and invited no further confirmation. He received a nod of acknowledgement before Spike flopped himself into a dining chair, rubbing his hand over the back.

“Ah, memories,” he reminisced and chuckled at the images of being tied loosely to the chair while the Slayer harped on about her commando and boyfriend issues. Well, there’d be none of that this time round. Little farmboy commando wasn’t getting a looksie if Spike could help it.

He jumped slightly when a full glass of amber liquid was placed directly in front of his hand and he reached for it gratefully.

“He was right annoying, that little one.”

“Is that why you killed him? Because he annoyed you?” Giles watched the vampire behind narrowed eyes, his hand resting rather heavily on a stake.

“I probably would have killed him eventually,” Spike joked, even if he was the only one he expected to get it. He sighed as the guarded expression remained prominent on Rupert’s face. “I did it for Buffy,” he clarified finally, enjoying the look of confusion the Watcher now sported.

“And why would you do that for Buffy?”

Spike considered his answer for long minutes, not sure what to say. He instinctively knew that if he admitted to the watcher that he was in love with Buffy that he might not make it out of the flat undusty. Although now he was pre-chip and he could at least defend himself, against Rupert he knew he wouldn’t.

When he finally raised his eyes they showed a sadness and dejection that he’d thought had been discarded the moment of demon girl’s spell; when he’d realised he had a second chance.

“Look, I can’t tell you. Just, things are not goin’ to go the way they could have. I’m not the bad guy here; I want to help Buffy stay alive. How can you knock that back?” He paused as he allowed a smirk to form on his plump pink lips. “’Sides, I’m better lookin’ than the poof, an’ I don’ brood. Not goin’ to leave her if the goin’ gets tough. I’ll be here and I’ll do everythin’ I can to prove to you an’ her that you can trust me.”

Giles seemed completely flummoxed and his hand wandered away from the stake, seemingly too entranced by the possibilities of a soulless demon offering hope.

“A-Are you seeking redemption?” he asked at last, his voice suffused with hints of disbelief.

Spike flinched, then flashed back upon a memory that had not been prominent in his past, but something he now found might be kind of relevant. A moment in his crypt, counting money as Giles offered the suggestion that his defanging with the chip could have been an impetus for something more for him. At the time, he’d fobbed off the possibility, but now he could see the roundabout journey of it all.

The chip had taken away his ability to hunt, though not to remain evil. In fact, in true evil demon fashion, he’d rebelled against his newly neutered state by trying to stir up trouble between Buffy and her mates, aligning himself with the true Big Bad of the moment: Adam. His plan had fallen through, pretty much like they’d always done. Still, at the end when he’d been betrayed himself by the half-human half-demon, he didn’t rush on out and find another way to survive. He’d hidden in the shadows and protected the Scoobies from attack. And further aligned himself with the Slayer.

A number of half-hearted efforts to return to his evil ways never fully panned out, and now he recognised the influence of Buffy on his actions. Her light overshadowed all his own personal dark, and he could see the lightening of Spike clearer now that he was away from the repressive violence of ‘resurrected Buffy’. If being in her light meant he could shine a little for her, then sure, redemption could be his new kick. If it really came down to it, he knew he would sacrifice his life to save the world if it meant she could live in it. He didn’t need a soul to tell him that.

Giles’s gaze had remained unrelenting for the period that Spike phased out, sifting through his thoughts and feelings till he felt comfortable with an answer.

“Not sure redemption is the right word,” he began, and frowned when he felt unusually tongue-tied. “Just want to make things right. Let her have an easier time of things. She’s got some hard roads to travel and she doesn’ need them to be impossible. If I can lighten’ the load, then I will. If I can help her save the world, I will. But I’m not gettin’ a soul, and I’m not gettin’ poofy hair or lifts.”

The room was loud in its silence as both reached the end of what logic pushed them to say. Giles was completely dumbfounded by the vampire’s words, and in complete disagreement with commonsense, his stake lay abandoned on the table as he stretched his legs and gathered together his bottled liquor.

“How did you go from being the killer of Slayers, to wanting to keep one alive?”

Spike felt strangely affected by the lack of venom in this human’s voice, completely unaccustomed to non-judgmental Giles. He was starting to curse the fact that he had so much history with these people and he was unable at this stage to reveal it all.

“I’ve jus’… been through some things,” he offered cryptically before suddenly grasping the wisdom of a change in topic.

“So, how much do you know about Angelus’s curse?”

If there was one thing Spike was beyond determined to achieve-- even if he completely turned everything arse over tit-- he would make sure Angel kept his slimy hands off Buffy and not risk losing his soul. He’d keep the chit from making the gelled one her one true love and destroying all hope for fellas pursuing her in the future. Not that there would be any: he’d be first in line.

An attack of nerves caught him unawares, and he felt his throat constrict at the sudden thought that repeated endlessly in his mind.

She had told him--on many more than one occasion--that she didn’t love him, could never love him. He’d thought coming back to when she was innocent, unhurt and devastated, that he could make her see how special the thing between them could be. But what if nothing changed? What if, even in this time, even if he’d not fought her and tried to kill her, she still felt no magic between them? What if he was destined to just love and never be loved in return?

So caught up in his fear, he didn’t hear Giles’s response to his question. Until he recognised the frown of annoyance and he made the effort to draw back from the nightmarish thoughts that could well destroy him.

“Sorry, mate. Got lost in somethin’ then. What were you sayin’?”

Giles began again, obvious in his interest of discovery. “We know next to nothing about his soul, I’m afraid. Do you have any information that could tell us more?”

Spike burned with the need to lay it all on the table, but they weren’t ready; didn’t trust him enough to take his word. And if he just came out and blurted the truth of the curse now, then it might push Buffy further into the brooding poof’s arms, and that wasn’t what he wanted at all.

“All’s I know it’s a curse, cast on ‘im when he ate a favourite gypsy girl.”

“A curse?” Giles whispered, his mind ticking over into research mode. “Of course, he told Buffy this last year. But to hear you say it--well, I’m a little embarrassed that I didn’t think there would be more to it. There are always ways to break a curse, aren’t there? To make him feel remorse for all the murder and torment he’d caused. Quite ingenuous. But surely the gypsies wouldn’t have left an opening for Angelus to return?” The little smile of academic interest and appreciation made Spike’s teeth feel on edge. And suddenly he could see his solution, could see a way to enlighten them, or at least set the ball rolling on discovering all Angel’s deep and dirty secrets. And this time, save lives and heartbreak. Preferably his.

“Not as simple as that, mate. Curses are usually a bugger to keep under control. Not sure exactly the wording but there could be consequences. And unleashing Angelus is not something you want to do. What you need is to investigate it and make sure it’s safe.” Spike sat back and waited for the incurable researcher to click in.

Giles sat in an agitated need for information, for knowledge.

“You could ask that gypsy bird at your school.” Spike had heard that the teacher had kept her identity a secret and it had caused a world of hurt in the end. As far as he was concerned, it was time for her to be outted. But he had to tread careful like, make sure he didn’t give too much away.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Giles in confusion.

“The teacher. The black-haired bird? Obviously gypsy.” Spike tried for an expression of unsure distraction. “Don’t you think?” and nearly fisted his hand in the air as he hooked Rupert to the possibility.

“Yes,” he said hesitantly, thoughtfully. “Yes, she does at that. I will be certain to have a chat to her tomorrow morning. Thank you, Spike, for pointing something out to me I should have noticed months ago.”

“No problem with that, Rupes. Now best be going. Might do a quick patrol before headin’ back under cover.” As Spike regained his feet, he was restrained by a hand on his arm.

“You are travelling with that female vampire? Drusilla? Is she of the same mind as you?”

Spike smiled sadly as he contemplated the mad, weak countenance of his true sire. He shook his head slowly.

“No, but I’m gettin’ Peaches to take on some of his clan responsibility. He’s leader and her sire, so he should be there to look out for her. It’s his call what should be done with her.” He turned quickly and walked to the door, missing the look of astonishment that flashed across Giles’s face.

“I thought she was your sire, your lover for over a century?”

The voice halted him with his hand circling the door handle. He didn’t turn back, didn’t reveal his anxious concerns regarding Angel’s decisions for Dru.

“She is my sire, but she isn’t my future.” And he swung the door inward and strode back out into the night.




He’d blinked and missed it. The entire bloody walk. He hadn’t meant to go to her house, but all things considered, he could hardly be surprised. He’d spent the better part of the past two years lurking under her tree, smoking himself more to death while he waited and watched for any sign of her. Just hoping for a show that she hadn’t ever given him.

Not once had he caught her disrobing in her room. Probably explained his risky excursions to her lingerie drawer. The mystery of it all had been too tantalising and being the evil git that he was, he couldn’t resist sneaking into her bedroom and lifting a couple of those secrets for his pleasure later at his crypt.

Now he stood under the tree and argued with himself about the wisdom of climbing it. One hand rested against the bark while he told himself he was risking everything by coming to her, but also wondering if his invite still existed, even though he’d gone back in time. Still busy contemplating, he didn’t hear the soft whisk of her bedroom window sliding up, nor hear her as she leaned out with a not too subtle ‘pssst’.

It was only at the dulled thump of her feet hitting the grass that he snapped out of his dejected decision to not go up to her. He blinked before offering her a wide ecstatic grin and lurched forward to sweep her into his arms.

“Evenin’, pet. How’d you know I was here?” He felt as giddy as a schoolboy as she rested her tiny but powerful palms against his chest. Until he noticed the slight pressure holding him back a little.

“Tinglies,” she offered simply, her head to the side as she contemplated him, and the streetlights bouncing off her shiny hair. “What are you doing here?” Her question brought a smile to his aching lips. He felt ready to die for the possibility of laying one on her, right here under the tree at her house. Nothing like being confronted with his straightforward no-nonsense Slayer to move his libido into top gear. His lips belonged on hers. It was pure agony to be distant.

“Couldn’t stay away from you, Goldilocks.”

She thrust him away, acting only a little concerned as his back slammed into the bark of the tree--though her frantic heartbeat betrayed her concern--and crossed her arms over her sublime yet perky breasts. His mouth watered at the thought of all he had tasted, and was finding he had to exert supervillain powers to control himself from pouncing on her and showing her all she could have.

“Less with the flirty and more with the talky,” she told him with an even greener tint to her emerald eyes. “Who’s Morticia?” And then her foot began to tap.

Spike was mesmerised, and seriously turned on. But then her words cut through the lust fog of his brain and he turned confused eyes to her.

“Who?” he asked, completely stumped. And then he remembered. She meant Drusilla, and her calling his ex-lover back to his mind was suddenly painful. He even felt a little guilty for forgetting about his dark princess for those moments.

“You know? Drusilla, the Wonder Loon.” Her voice was sharp with something he couldn’t dare to hope for, but reason had nothing on patience when he was dying for some sign that she could care for him.

His lips curled in a relieved, soft smile and he gazed upon her with warm, melting looks of affection.

“Dru is my sire, pet. I’ve been with her for over a hundred years.” He held a breath as Buffy’s eyes went wide, and her heartbeat picked up pace.

“You’ve been flirting, and making with the kissage, and you already have a girlfriend?” Her eyes shone with what almost looked like hurt and betrayal and he panicked.

“No!” he shouted and lunged forward to take her back in his arms. He crushed her to his chest and he breathed in the fruity fragrance of her hair.

“She’s not my girlfriend, Buffy. Not anymore. I’m gonna find a place, get out on my own. Time for me to be my own man. But Dru needs carin’. Peaches is gonna look after her now. It’s his place as head of the clan.”

Buffy could feel his lips lost in her hair, feel his hands as they rubbed subtle circles over her back, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t stop the huge sigh of relief that passed over her lips. And then his words meshed together and she found she didn’t understand everything.

“Who or what is Peaches?” she asked in that hoity-toity voice he loved so much. He grinned, feeling like a little evil payback was in order.

“That would be Angel, pet. You know, tall, dark and forehead? Your boyfriend?”

She had the decency to blush and Spike thought it was adorable. He couldn’t believe the fun he was having in getting to know teenage Buffy--girly Buffy. He’d been so intent on killing her back then that he hadn’t taken the time to see her. Sure, he’d noticed the innocent seduction of her body swaying to the music, got hard when he saw how her body stretched taut and strong each time he fought her. But he didn’t get into her head, didn’t listen to her quips, didn’t want to understand her teenage insecurity and boy traumas. Bloody hell, he’d missed too much.

Even worse than being evil, his demon was stubborn. But as usual, he found a way he could blame it all on Angelus. If the pansied git hadn’t told him about Slayers in the first place, he would never had sought them out for the fights of his unlife. Then again, he might never have taken her on, either. Right about now, he felt like holding prayer sessions to thank God for Vengeance Demons.

“He is so not my boyfriend,” Buffy denied forcefully, breaking through his preoccupied walk through history. “Well, not…really…” she muttered guiltily. “We’re not going steady or anything,” she finished on a wave of defiance. Her eyes were fixed on the grass; her foot kicking at innocent tufts that had the misfortune of being in line with her shoe.

“Guess that means you’re free as a bird, then,” he teased her. He laughed as he heard the blood rush to the surface of her skin. She looked at him through a curtain of finely blended blond highlights and he felt the tenderness for her well up inside of him.

It was all so different, yet the same. His feelings seemed so much more intense, though not stronger. He felt a freedom and an allowance to feel which he had never felt before. The encounters he’d had with the Slayer that allowed him to touch her-- emotionally and physically--had always been fraught with ill-disguised disgust. Every caress was under forbearance, and it hurt. Everything about his contact with Buffy hurt. Which was why he wanted a numbing spell in the first place, yeah?

And now he’d gone back. Back to the place where their history span together, twisted and intersected until it all got so confused. The hate and desire and lust, and later, the love. Every emotion he’d ever felt for the girl was extreme, was everything that he was. And right now, just checking out the prettiness of her youth, her happiness to be alive and so far untouched by grief, made his hard on pretty damn extreme.

It was difficult to trust, but his luck had seemingly changed for the better. He’d already kissed her, let his fingers glide against her skin like smooth cream, and created little waves of ‘maybes’ that had already inspired her to downplay her connection with the Grand one. Had allowed her to submit to the touch of an evil demon and enjoy it.

He felt the burn of her consideration, her eyes pinning him still.

“Wanna patrol?” Her voice was hesitant, but hopeful. Almost like she really wanted him to come and kill baddies with her.

Spike could feel himself light up, never having felt so ebullient in his life.

“I’ve a better idea, pet. Let’s spar.”

Before the words had fully left his mouth she was gone, sprinting across the lawn and road and taking a familiar path to the first cemetery in her path. His initial burst of speed in a run caught him up, but an evil grin consumed him and he took off in a flying leap, tackling her hard to the ground.

They rolled and struggled, until Buffy ended up wrestling with thin air. She blinked in surprise before springing to her feet. Her coat, a pale colour that was going to have obscene looking stains after their tussle, swished around her as she stalked the vampire. He brought his ridged face forward, mapped out her movement and calculated his plan of attack.

He had advantage, and he relished it. He knew exactly how she fought, and thanks to the chip giving him more worthy opponents than the occasional strong human, he was more a force to reckon with than when he originally went rounds with her. Still, once he pounced and began to land blows, he refused to hold back. He wanted her to know what kind of a threat he could have been to her.

He tossed her over his shoulder and she landed hard against a crypt wall, not even pausing as she made it back to her feet and swept the dust off her coat. The flash of the happy lips she tossed him made him feel light, awed, and very bloody horny.

The tempo of her heartbeat increased so much that he was using his fists in time to it. She caught almost all of them and he copped a kick or two to pay him back for the ones she missed. Then he could smell blood on the air, the crimson and sweet aroma of her blood and he froze. The power and strength caught him up in tendrils of exquisite wanting and he felt useless with numb limbs. His cock ached and pointed, wanting her so badly that he was nearly likely to juice up his pants. Not very gentleman-like.

But she seemed to notice the moment he stopped with the fight, her panting breaths coinciding with the blood pulsing to his cock, and finally his eyes fell upon the spill. A cut on her lip--the most erotic bleeding in history, he thought dumbly. She moved toward him, concern and confusion marring her pace, but eventually she was before him and he could smell her, could damn near taste her and all he wanted was to possess her. Mark her. Make her forever his.

His fangs disappeared, despite his urgent desire to bite her, and he watched her with lust-drugged eyes. He was almost too rigid to move; desperate for some contact with her that would prove to him that this new chance would be worth it. But the power of her blood, of his new circumstance held him to the spot, making him an easy mark for her.

And finally she was close enough to touch, though he still couldn’t move. Not that it made a difference because marking was the order of the day. She leapt forward and attacked his mouth and he sucked in that blissful taste of her blood and felt himself cum, his hips jerking with the pleasure of having her essence in his body. He felt her struggle back but he held her, dragging her body flush against his as he allowed his tongue to thrust into her mouth.

He felt the discomfort of the sliminess in his jeans, but he wasn’t embarrassed. He’d just experienced something so spontaneous, something so hot that he’d never had with his Buffy, and he wasn’t going to waste time with awkward apologies. His hands found her waist as he held her against him, moaning as he felt her raise a leg and clamp it around him.

His lips caressed hers, demanding to be allowed sanctuary and making promises he had every belief in. He’d made promises to her and he’d kept every one. As he tangled his hand in her hair, he promised to help her fight evil. As he licked her bottom lip before sucking it in between his teeth, he promised to help protect her family. As he cupped his hand around her bottom and pushed her further into his once again hardening cock, he promised to love her forever. As his hand found a path under her top to wander over her delicious skin, he promised to never leave her. And as he felt himself lose control and clamp around the soft but luscious skin of her breast, tweaking the nipple till she cried in exquisite torture, he promised her the world and everything he was.

So it came as a shock when he found himself slamming hard into the side of a mausoleum, watching in disbelief as her fist covered her raw and ravaged mouth.

“This…is wrong. You’re evil. A vampire. You have no soul.”

Spike could only stare at her in horrified stupefaction.

“Holy fucking hell,” he roared. His game face surged and his fangs were itching to sink into something soft. “That argument is really fucking old. And bloody redundant, and you, you are going to admit that one day if it bleeding well kills me. I ‘aven’t killed a human in almost three years. An’ now it’s through bloody choice, you stupid bint. I’ve taken out the little kiddy to spare you the trouble, promised your watcher I’ll look out for you, and holy fuck I get so hot around you I think I’ll combust. And you dive down my throat, suck up everything in me, and then decide it’s wrong. I don’t think you’ve got a handle on what’s wrong, sweetheart. I guess that bleeding parade with the trombones is still a long bloody way off. How fucking typical!”

His amber eyes flashed, his fists pumped at his sides and his fury seeped through his skin and voice till she felt scorched.

And all Buffy could do was watch as the hottest guy she knew abandoned her in the cemetery. She turned dejectedly on her heel, wondering about the explosive temper of the blonde vamp, and made her way home.

“What’s with the parade? And I hate trombones,” she muttered, and just walked while softly rubbing her lips with her finger. They were sore, sensitive…and bleeding she realised as her finger came away red.

Well, that explained the out of control passion on his part.

And despite it all, she smiled, and whooped as she took off at Slayer speed for home, and some rather nice dreams about sexiness in a slight but rather compact package.

And ewww…did he come in his pants?

 

Her moans and sighs of pleasure pressed upon the still air of her room, her window closed against any interference outside. Legs became caught, entangled in dampened sheets as she writhed to the tune of his passion. She couldn’t help but whimper at his touch, the cool stroke of fingers against the skin of her ass making her arch off the mattress, hands grasping frantically for something to hold.

Lost in sensorial bliss, she suddenly stilled as fingers sought her centre. Burning heat and liquid smoothed and spread over her sensitive button, fingers inserting inside her slick but scorching hole. Motion began again as she felt the nearing of something explosive, something monumental, and just as his fingers massaged her to the edge, she sat up gasping, squealing his name.

“Spike!”

Oh God! She itched and wriggled while sitting up in her bed, almost sobbing with frustration. When through will alone she popped, her satisfaction gushing down her legs, she was suddenly grateful for whatever impulse had told her to go to bed pantyless that night.

It wasn’t until she sank back against the pillows that she recognised the name she had called the vampire she had been lusting after had not been Angel. For long moments she felt no guilt. Felt nothing but the immense happiness that she had felt something so mindblowingly stunning.

Something so adult.

Something so incredibly naughty and exciting.

It was almost ten minutes later that she finally realised that Angel had never inspired such a dream, such a reaction from her.

And then she did feel guilty. She felt her words come back to smack her up the side of the face, the denial to Spike that Angel was her boyfriend. It was just lust, pure and simple. Lust making her do the wacky, making her want the bad soulless vampire. And that was undeniable. She so did want the soulless vampire. Preferably on his knees.

Beyond the words, were her actions. Thinking of Angel had never made her tear up her bed in dreamlike passion, had never made her squirm against his make-believe cold tongue. Which just emphasised again how twisted and wrong it all was. She loved Angel. Didn’t she? Feeling a little with the not so much, what with her body still vibrating from the heated tingles of Spike dreams. Again, this thing with Spike? Lust. Nothing more, nothing less. And what was wrong with her for lusting after the evil creatures?

Feeling a circular bout of reproach about to springboard her morning, Buffy raised her determined body and made quick time to the bathroom. A nice hot shower would put it all out of her head. Of course, hot…hmmm, Spike was hot, his eyes, his body, his moves, his touch. Lusty wantage, bad Buffy!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Buffy wasted no time in getting ready for school, now that guilt was settling over her like an oppressive apocalyptic shroud. It was always with the bad, whatever happened to her, whatever she felt. She was so beyond being patient while waiting for the good. Angel was good. Buffy just had to cling to that. A big beautiful soul made Angel number one good in her book, and as sexy as Spike might be, and as dangerously gorgeous his lips wereespecially when they were sucking the life out of her from her own lips he was off limits.

OFF LIMITS. She would just have to internally shout it to herself for the entire day. Maybe then it would sink in. Might be good if she didn’t seek him out either.

Which was how she found herself backtracking to the factory where she had seen him with the black widow nutbag. Back to the same grimy window she had spied through the previous night. Now she just felt like a little, well, spy. She was patient for all of two minutes, tapping the wall with her fingers ready to storm in and have a few words with the mysterious yet hot vampire, and try to work out his vile evil plan. Buffy had been a Slayer now for long enough to know that there was always an evil plan.

All thoughts of slayerly spyage on the nasty vampire fled as a shirtless Spike wandered into her line of vision. Almost gasping for breath, Buffy slapped a hand over her mouth and allowed her eyes to continue hanging outside her head.

“Whoa Mamma,” she felt like screaming as her greedy eyes sucked up the sculpted goodness that was Spike’s torso. She licked her lips like she’d just survived a week in the dessert with no water, and felt herself losing control as her fingers itched to touch. Lines and hard curves dipped and swayed over his abdomen, and she redefined the word ‘cut’.

Working up the courage to discard her earlier suspicions for the feel of soulless goodness the likes of which Angel could never satisfy, she was about to jump from her hiding spot when the familiar brunette in question came strolling through the room.

“You’re early,” she heard Spike say just as she ducked back against the wall. Her heart began to thud with an out of control fear of being caught ogling the sexy vamp that was not him. He may have had suspicions last night while she had been riveted to the sights and events through the dirty window, but she didn’t think he would be so much with the understanding at her new bout of dreamy watching, particularly as there was school skippage involved.

The continuation of the conversation between her two vamps dragged her back to the moment and she got as close to the window as she could without being seen. No eyes or noses twitched in her direction, so she was taking that as a good sign of how far away she was to avoid vamp senses.

“I thought it would be better for me to show up now and catch you out in whatever evil plan you have for Buffy.” The brunette vampire stated his reason for visiting with such a cold, detached voice that Buffy nearly shuddered.

“Told you, mate. I have no evil plan for Buffy. I’m gonna help her, and if you think you’re puttin’ me through the third bloody degree about it again, I’ll stake your arse.”

Buffy felt a little puffed up at the confident way Spike confirmed his help, and then her eyes shot wide at the very real sound of a zipper lowering.

“Can’t you wait till I’ve gone, William?”

“Nope,” she heard along with the unmistakable thump of jeans hitting the cement floor. Or at least it sounded like jeans hitting the floor, and as she quickly gathered her nerve and peeked round the corner of the window, the perfect nude physique standing proud confirmed her ears. Which were now flaming red. Right along with the rest of her face and the tongue that was hanging out of her mouth.

“Oh God,” she lusted quietly to herself, just knowing that tonight’s set of dreams were going to be even hotter now that she was fired by a vision of the real thing.

“You want to barge in while I’m preparing for bed, Angelus, then you’re lucky enough to score a looksie. Bugger off to Dru, then. Just tell the minions I sent you.” Spike turned away, gathering together a blanket as he curled up on a single bed propped up against a wall, already ticking off his mental checklist as he dismissed his grandsire. Dust minions, find a new place to call home, see Buffy, find the Gem…

“Oh, and Peaches? You’d better have something set up for her tonight, cause I’ll be movin’ out. An’ like I warned you, she’s not comin’ with me.”

The bleached vamp flung himself backward on the mattress with renewed enthusiasm and quickly gave the elder vampire his equally sculpted back, which Buffy wasted no time ogling and memorising. Angel promptly marched from the room following an annoyed glare at Spike’s back.

With his body turned away from the window and the room otherwise empty, Buffy risked a little more proximity, and she leaned forward, eyes glazing over at the sight of his perfectly muscular and smooth back. The roundness of the ball of his shoulder made her mouth water, the sleek line of his neck exposed pale milky skin, extremely lickable, and yet emphasised by the gently curling platinum strands. Her panties were feeling rather sodden but she just couldn’t tear herself away, couldn’t let go of the hope that she might catch a glimpse of something else while she was being a nasty little voyeur.

Her breath hitched in her throat as Spike rolled, his eyes remained closed and that was the only thing that kept her from bolting. The blanket he’d draped over his nude frame had slipped, barely brushing over a hip as one leg fell over the side of the small bed.

Buffy could feel the heat spreading through her, could feel the intense need not just in her fingers to touch and trace all the magnificent lines revealed on his body, but also deep in places that were yet innocent of the things she couldn’t help but think about now. She wanted so much to give in and crawl through the window, climb into that bed and let the blond peel off all her clothes. Caught up in that fantasy she almost missed the guttural grown that passed the supposedly sleeping vamp’s lips as his hand sunk below the edge of the blanket. The new tenting of the blanket, and movement from underneath had Buffy scrabbling down fast and racing away from the building.

School was a welcome destination for the first time never and she walked faster just to get away from where she’d been. Her face was flaming, but Buffy considered that even a dressing down from Snyder would be welcome right now if it took her mind from what Spike’s hand just might have been about to do under that blanket.

Buffy gulped. Then she smiled and felt herself get all gushy and warm. For a few wicked minutes, she pondered the sensation and Spike’s reaction if she could replace his wandering hand with her more than enthusiastic tongue.

Buffy blushed hard again as she tried desperately to stop herself thinking of things she had no right to be. No reason to be. ‘No desire to be’, she lied to herself.

Images of her angelic-looking boyfriend fled on a wave of lust that nearly brought her trembling to her knees. And overtaking her sweet schoolgirl crush on him was his grandchilde, one gorgeous package of male flesh that made her die with wanting.

Buffy stopped dead in the corridor, suddenly being lost in a swarm of bodies as the bell rang and the student body exploded en masse from the various classrooms. Lost in a daze of sexual longing, Buffy made her way to the library, successfully making it through nothing more than pure instinct.

She was jolted from her sensual contemplation of manly soft lips, a pointed but wicked tongue and a kiss that could stop time, by the strident welcome of her best male friend. Feeling a little spooked and on the spot, Buffy was uncomfortably aware that all of her body heat now suddenly resided in her feet.

“And it’s a late good morning to the Buffster. Did you have residual vampires to slay?”

Buffy flushed, thinking of how thoroughly she was slaying Spike last night and couldn’t help but grin.

“Definitely a heavy night with the slayage,” she answered cheekily, secure in knowing that she was the only one who knew what she meant. Doing a quick sweep of the room, her eyes fell on Willow and Cordelia, the brunette looking a little worse for the wear but masking it well with the wonders of Maybelline. But then, maybe she was just born with the ability to look fresh despite painting over extremely heavy bags under the eyes.

Thank God for Willow. Buffy made her way to her friend, rather desperate for a personal conference and unloading of the lusty moments she’d had with the new big bad vampire.

“Wills and Cordy were late today, too,” Xander informed her dutifully. “Seems they weren’t sure that they were safe from the vamps roaming the school till the sun came up. Stayed here all night, in the janitors closet.” Xander sat fully serious, until a little tittering from Buffy sparked a deep-seated need for merriment. Within seconds he had collapsed on the floor, laughing heartily at the two girls who favoured him with irritated glares.

“Yes,” began Giles as he cleared his throat of his discomfort. “We should all be rather ashamed that we forgot to find Willow and make sure she was alright.”

“Hey,” shouted Cordelia, poised for flight in her indignation. “I was there, too. My life was threatened as much as geeky Willow’s was. Really feeling the love in this room,” she called back as she stomped from the room, the door swinging closed behind her.

“I’m sorry, Willow. It was rather a bizarre night, but I should have found you. Mom herded me to the car, though…and I guess, well, I forgot.” Buffy finished on a note of shame. And another dose of the ready guilt being served up on rather large platters today.

“That’s okay,” smiled Willow, before she settled resolve face on her features. “Just don’t leave me like that with Cordelia again. It was a very traumatic experience.”

Buffy giggled as she imagined Willow and bitchy Cordelia stuck in a closet for hours.

“What did you do?” she asked, awe giving her new respect for the tolerance of her best friend.

“Prayed,” Willow deadpanned and they both broke into a rush of giggles. “So, how did your night go really? I guess the bad vamp got away?”

Buffy couldn’t move. Everything that had happened between Spike and herself felt like it had been going on for days, pulling and twisting with her natural reaction to things in what felt like forever. But in one sentence, Willow reminded her that all the vamp lovin’ had been taken over just one night. That just blew her mind.

“Ah, things kind of ended up undusty with the vamp.” Buffy quickly snagged Willow by the arm, threading her arm through and linking them, she gently nudging the redhead out of the library.

“Willow and I are gonna go get some lunch,” she called to Giles over her shoulder and, not waiting for a response, tugged Willow out of the building.

When they finally stopped and sat beneath a shady tree, Buffy found Willow to be watching her with a stern expression on her face.

“Okay, give.”

Buffy looked at her friend and felt her words do the ramba in her mouth and tangoed right out of sight. Her mouth remained open but inactive.

“Buffy, you’re beginning to scare me. What happened? Couldn’t you kill him? Was that Spike vampire too strong?”

“Pffft! Too strong? No way,” Buffy denied, her voice carrying an inflection of righteousness. She was so repressing the fact that he could have killed her easily when they sparred the night before, what with the mysterious trombones and vampire temper tantrums. “Actually, we kinda didn’t get to the fighty part.” Well, not officially, she fudged mentally. Her voice definitely lost volume the longer she spoke, and Willow was straining to catch everything Buffy said.

Willow fixed Buffy with a confused raised eyebrow, and Buffy looked at the interesting grass and squirmed.

“But when he jumped through the window, he was all…” Willow posed her fists in the air and feinted gentle punches. “Pow.”

Buffy giggled. “Pow?”

“And Kazam. Don’t forget that part. So, what happened?” Willow sat on her patch of ground and waited patiently for the story.

“Well, he kind of made with the hugging, and then the kissing, and then there was a little…touching…” Buffy blushed hotly.

Willow gasped, but before she could recover from the surprise of that, Buffy rushed on to tell of her later meeting with the vamp. Finally she stopped, breathless as though her romp with the vampire last night had only just concluded.

“Wow,” was the redhead’s initial response. “And just, wow, and then Angel? Wow. I don’t envy you,” she muttered as she took a bite of her sandwich. And then her eyes shot wide as a thought seemed to take her over.

“So is he a better kisser than Angel?” Willow grinned as she saw the blissful expression spread over Buffy’s face. After waiting a few minutes for her friend to come out of the trance that the sparked memory of Spike kisses seemed to put her in, Willow gave Buffy a none to gentle shove and giggled as Buffy ended up sprawled on the grass.

“Oh yeah,” she replied with a knowledgeable smirk. “Those kisses could make a girl forget her own name.”

Willow’s face suddenly clouded as her concerns returned. “Buffy, he isn’t trying to seduce you so he can kill you, is he?”

A cold shiver raced through the Slayer’s body as she contemplated the thought, and found that her heart started beating hard and painfully at the possibility that Spike might still want to hurt her.

“He doesn’t have a soul, Will. How can I know? I…” she paused, fighting against tears that suddenly wanted to push their way through her tough resolve. “He made me feel so alive, while we were fighting. He says he wants to help me patrol and stuff, and I know Angel does that. But he’s so with the mysterious, and the evasive, and…”

“And Spike gets you hot?”

Buffy sat in quiet contemplation, almost afraid to admit any more of her feelings. “Angel makes me feel all schoolgirlish. He’s cute, and strong and protective. I mean, a vampire with a soul? Can it be any more romanitc? But Spike? He makes me feel like a woman; he makes my eyes glass over and my body flush and my heart pound. Yeah, Wills,” she admitted quietly. “He gets me hot, but I think it’s more than that. But he could be just trying to get under my defences. It could be a big scary plan to make me vamp steak.”

Willow felt chilled at the sadness that suddenly surrounded her friend.

“I’m just so confused. I mean, I finally got it together with the whole ‘Master making me dead’ thing, and Angel and I were starting to get somewhere pretty nice…and then along comes this sexy blond vamp threatening to kill me, who practically kissed me to death. And I want to be with him, get to know him. But I don’t know if I can trust him.”

Willow remained speechless, playing with her shoelaces thoughtfully.

“Miss Calendar does magic. Maybe she knows of a spell or something to tell if he’s lying to you?” she finally offered and was glad when Buffy’s gentle smile reappeared. With an enthusiastic nod, Willow’s hand was seized and she was hauled to her feet and they went running back to the library.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Ah, Jenny. Just the woman I wanted to see.”

“Why Rupert, you can see me any time you wish,” the brunette offered with a saucy wink as she sashayed through the swinging library doors, sending Giles into a shy fit of glass cleaning.

“Yes, that would be…um…right…I had a visitor last night. He…ah…made some comments that, well, it brought a few things to light that I’m afraid to say I’m rather embarrassed to admit I hadn’t thought to investigate. He suggested that you might be the perfect person to ask, in fact.”

Jenny Calendar suddenly felt ill at ease, and watched Giles carefully.

“Who was your visitor,” she asked first, thinking it might give her the clue of how dangerous this discussion could become.

“It was Spike. Er, William the Bloody.”

“Spike came to see you last night?” Buffy interrupted as she and Willow walked through the library door.

“Yes, he came to talk.” Giles stopped his concentrated polishing and became introspective. “Actually, I’m not entirely sure what the purpose of his visit was, but we covered a number of things. Mainly that he had destroyed the Anointed One and is determined to keep Buffy alive. He seemed quite sincere. I did invite him into my flat,” he paused again and suddenly became quite pale. “Which in retrospect might have been rather foolish of me. Perhaps with Angel and his soul I have become rather more tolerant of vampires that offer their help.”

“What was it he thought I could help you with, Rupert?”

“Ah yes, he mentioned the fact that Angel’s soul was a curse given to him by Gypsies…”

“But we already know that, Giles. Angel, soul, equals we trust. New page, please.” Buffy waited, her body feeling springy and suddenly desperate for some kind of physical release.

“He reminded me as I hadn’t given it much thought, and that there are usually ways of breaking a curse. I believe that Angel himself might not try to relieve himself intentionally of his soul, but many others might see the advantages of restoring Angelus to his former glory. Particularly as he is probably the heir to the Master’s line now that he is, ah…”

“In many, tiny, itty bitty pieces,” offered Xander with his hand in the air.

Buffy continued looking at Giles, no change in her stance of consideration.

“Not a prob with the references, Giles. Get to the point, please.”

“Yes, well, Spike suggested to me that Jenny…” he turned to his potential romantic interest. “He thought that as you may have gypsy heritage yourself, you may be able to research the curse.” His smile was warm, but faded almost immediately at the frightened look on her face.

“Jenny, is something wrong?”

“How, how did he know I’m a gypsy? And, and to ask…about Angel?”

“I…” Giles paused to think back on the conversation with the vampire but found nothing strange or overly coincidental about the exchange. “He simply saw things that should probably have been obvious to me.”

“But, I…I’ve never even seen him. So, how does he know about me?”

“I’m not sure,” said Giles as he tipped his head to the side, glasses in his hand. “What is it exactly that is bothering you, Jenny?”

“I…” she closed her eyes a moment, knowing that she was about to break the code of her Clan but seeing the wisdom of their knowing about the curse.”

“Perhaps Spike is up to something, trying to mislead us by having us divert our attention to the less important issue of Angel’s soul?”

“No,” she corrected him suddenly. “I don’t think…” she paused, taking a deep breath, before raising haunted eyes to her crowd of listeners. “He’s right. I do know something. I belong to the gypsy clan that cursed Angel. There is a way he can lose it. I was sent here to make sure that that didn’t happen.”

A hush greeted her words before Buffy pushed her way forward and stood directly in front of the technopagan.

“What do you mean? Angel could lose his soul?” Buffy felt something niggling, something a little uncomfortable about the prospect of Angel not being Angel. But she quickly shrugged it off as not too serious. If Spike was the example these days of a soulless demon then she’d…Buffy couldn’t finish the thought, not wanting to lead to questions about the validity of her calling. These two vampires were simply different, probably from being of the same family.

“It’s a possibility.” The teacher’s voice broke through Buffy’s reverie.

“But it’s unlikely, though. Right?”

“It isn’t something that should be easy to achieve, and I don’t think we need to worry about random demons being able to cause it.”

Two hard stares confronted her and the teacher gulped hard, taking a measured step backwards.

“Angelus is not a demon to be underestimated. Tell us what you know.” Giles voice held a core of steel, something hard and bitter underlying the tone.

“If he should have a moment of perfect happiness…” The teacher and librarian shared a look of worried adult understanding as Buffy continued to think about what had been said.

“Well, that could be anything. Cryptic much? It could be…cookie dough ice-cream, or an extra fresh baggie of blood, or…”

“Or getting his hair gel to set just right?” Xander offered, with an answering chuckle from Willow.

Buffy glared at the two.

“I rather think it would be something more…meaningful to him, Buffy.” Giles’s voice cut through to her again and she answered with, “What could be more happy making than cookie dough ice-cream?”

Giles sent a pleading look to the newly outted gypsy as he resorted to polishing his glasses again in discomfort.

“I think Rupert means the happy you get through making love.” The matter-of-fact way the woman delivered the viewpoint was almost comical in its lack of discomposure, and the entire room stood solid in shock.

All eyes suddenly turned to Buffy and she squirmed in humiliation.

“Ewww. Not with the happiness giving, thanks.” Buffy shuddered. Thoughts of Angel helping her shed her clothes before a night of shared loving--a thought that had featured regularly in her dreams before the blond evil menace had invaded them--made her heart suddenly ache with the futility. It was a risk she couldn’t take. And the slayer stomped across the room and flopped down into a chair at the table, idly flicking through a book on vampires and gasping when she found a picture of Angel.

“I was looking up the Order of Aurelius this morning,” Giles explained at her questioning eyes. “I thought after my chat with Spike that I should re-familiarise myself with Angelus and even William the Bloody. I…I’m still not sure I can trust him. But Jenny,” he said as he turned back to the gypsy lady he was interested in getting to know better. “It is important that we know these things. Angelus is not a vampire that we really want to have to confront.”

Buffy read a few paragraphs quietly, her heart rising in her throat as she encountered tales of gore and murder and sweeping evil through continents. When the next paragraph began to describe forms of torture he preferred, she shut the book closed with a loud snap.

“It’s no big, though, right? I mean, if he loses his soul, then we can just curse him again. Right?” Her voice began to rise in panic, not entirely sure from what but knowing instinctively that she didn’t want to have to fight Angel to the death, even if he was evil again.

“It’s not exactly as easy as that,” Miss Calendar told her quietly. “The curse was lost from my family years ago.”

Buffy looked like she had been slapped and succumbed to a terrible sense of foreboding.

“Then, I guess we make sure the happiness having isn’t.”

Giles raised a brow in amusement at her.

“Oh no. You put that eyebrow away, Mister. This conversation topic is now closed. And I’m going to class.” Buffy pivoted on her heel and strode fast from the library, a surprised Xander and Willow following her, tossing a quick, “bye” over their shoulders.

It left the adults alone in the room together.

“Y-you planned on keeping this a secret from us, didn’t you?” He looked at her quickly, lowering his eyes once again as he struggled with his desire to get to know her better and anger that something horrific could have been sprung on them without any forewarning.

“I’m sorry, Rupert. My clan didn’t want it known why I was here.”

“Why now? Why have you been sent to watch him now?”

She bowed her head, feeling bone weary, before taking the seat that Buffy had just vacated.

“He hasn’t really been close to happiness since he originally was cursed. Only since he has desired to help Buffy has he changed and tried to minimise the pain he feels from his guilt. I was sent here to make sure he didn’t veer any further from the purpose of the curse. He is meant to be in pain, Rupert. My people need for him to writhe in agony for what he did.” Her voice had transformed with the hard edge of vengeance and anger and Giles watched her, completely captivated. His eyes betrayed to her how beautiful he found her in the moment, and, suddenly embarrassed, he coughed and cleared his throat before changing the subject.

“I suppose then that Spike has already helped us with more than eliminating the Anointed One.” He picked up the book Buffy had discarded in distaste earlier and flicked through the pages to the entry under William the Bloody. “He has cut his own way through his share of devastation. How can we trust him? He has no soul.”

“What did you feel when he was talking with you?”

Giles pondered the query, and only felt more confused.

“I didn’t feel that he would turn on us. I felt like he genuinely cared about keeping Buffy alive. He made no move towards attacking me.”

Together they sat at the table, surprised yet hopeful in this new ally to their fight against evil.

Computer images of a curse not translated began to make more rapid journeys through her head, the niggling feeling that it might be needed making her skin crawl in anticipated anger and flaming current hatred.

As they continued their quiet contemplation, Jenny began to decipher mentally, the urgency not ignored as something essentially gypsy forced her to acknowledge her own power.

A/N...you know what to do...and I am overwhelmed so far by the response to this fic...if you are reading, please take the time to let me know...make it that new thing you try today!

 

Chapter Five

Spike flicked the goggles across the cavern and gave a massive whoop of success. The roar of the combined jackhammer and crumbling rock came to an abrupt understanding with the silence and watched as Spike did a series of fist pumping the air, joyous cheering and uproarious laughter.

“I did it. And they all said I couldn’t stick to a plan. No bloody faith.”

His grungy looking shirt was the next to be torn from his body and tossed aside. In glowing flesh, he pushed the crumbling rock around the hole in the wall aside and entered the long secret hidden chamber.

“I’ve struck bloody gold.” He laughed, noticing and roughly calculating the worth of the artifacts and jewellery surrounding him. “And this time, I’ll make sure I don’t lose any of it.” His fingers caressed the fine jewels he found—a bit on the gaudy side, but worth bucketloads of cash. He’d be willing to bet Joyce or Rupert would know the best way to cash it in and make sure he got as much as he could from it all.

But his eyes were magnetically drawn to the far skeleton, bedecked in horrible fashion and ostentatious jewellery. One piece stood out above all others; one piece that was immediately recognisable despite his very short association with it. Spike tore it from the bony finger and admired it happily before gingerly slipping it onto his own.

Tears gathered in his eyes and he slumped to the floor, cradling his head in his hands as his body began to shake uncontrollably. The changing message of the ring made him want to give in and weep. Weep for joy, and hope, and puppies and Christmas. No thought occurred to him of his indestructible status; this time he wasn’t out for power to kill and destroy. He gave in to images of Buffy in the sun, making love with Buffy in the light, bright rays bouncing off her skin and onto his but alighting nothing but passion. He could go to the beach with her, have picnics and go shopping, go with her to concerts in the park—provided Sunnydale actually had such posh events.

As his tears stemmed and flowed, stemmed and flowed according to the predominant thought, he recalled words, hateful words that foreshadowed the relationship he’d had with Buffy. His first go round with her he’d thought he had nothing to offer if he couldn’t place her anywhere but in his world, and so began his colossal fucking misrepresentation to her—she belonged in the dark with him. What a pile of complete bollocks. He should have been shot for suggesting such utter crap.

With the ugly ring that he’d coveted and now possessed, he had no reason to make the same mistake. Now he could offer her light, laughter in the sun with her friends and him at her side. So far from his former existence had he travelled it didn’t even occur to him to wonder at how dangerous this made him. His first time around, he’d had thoughts of murder and mayhem on his mind. This time, make love not war. That was his motto for this ring.

With another lingering look at the green stone, Spike bounced to his feet and went back through the hole to the cave, collected two medium sized copy paper boxes and returned. Almost in a daze of delirious possibility, he gathered everything he thought might be worth a pound or two and dumped it in the box. Pretty much everything fitthe only straggler being an extremely fine sword with a bejewelled handle, gilded and shining despite having been hidden for what was probably centuries.

Spike’s oceanic blues settled on the weapon and he nearly warped with wanting. He ignored it while he placed the lids carefully on the boxes, then, carrying the two with one arm he seized the sword almost jealously, giving the cavern a last sweeping look and then left it all for dust.

As strong as he was, Spike soon came to realise he wasn’t a bleeding circus juggler as he teetered back and forth trying to not drop the lot. He heaved a useless sigh of relief once he emerged from the mouth of the cave and took the few steps to his grounded Desoto. Keys inserted, he popped the boot and put his stash inside, bouncing in pure joy for the first time since he and Buffy had shagged.

He was standing under shady trees, but dappled splatters of sunshine sprinkled across his coat arms and he stared at the spots in amazement. Unlike the last time, he stopped and took it in, let his coat fall from his shoulders and watched as the sun played against his alabaster skin.

“Best not let the sun burn,” he told himself ironically, and his smile chased the sun as he headed behind the wheel of the car. Only when his bare back hit the leather of the bench seat did he notice his lack of clothing. Hauling himself back out of the car, Spike rifled through his bag in the back seat and came up with his staple black T-shirt. Pulling it roughly over his head, he frowned at his duster that was still lying discarded in the dirt, and chuckled at how the prospect of living in the light had wiped everything from his mind, including his precious coat.

Suitably attired, he found himself behind the wheel of the Desoto and driving over bumps and sticks until he once again rolled over asphalt. The grin was yet to leave his face as he rolled to a stop outside Giles’s apartment complex.

The cocky walk was evident as he made it to the path, turning back briefly to scan the surroundings and wonder how safe it might be to leave his haul in the boot of his car. For long seconds Spike stood indecisive, wondering if he should take his boxes inside or get Giles out here to find a better place to hide the treasures.

Finally, deciding he’d look a mite conspicuous walking into a fella’s home with a dirty big sword, he was swayed to the side of getting help first. With a definite light spring to his step and a hummed tune from his lips, Spike beat a path in the sunlight to Giles’s door.

Two hard knocks ought to do it, he thought in distraction, watching how the sun played chasies with shadows in the courtyard.

His laugh was infectious and Giles found himself smiling as he opened the door, not immediately clicking the phenomena of Spike standing in the sun.

“Well, you seem remarkably chipper,” he remarked in a matching mood, and Spike smiled even wider. The change in the old man’s reception of him caused some small melting of the hardness coating Spike’s dead heart, something so totally different to the way they were to treat him in the future. He might never have guessed that his few lousy death threats would have had this much impact, and just hoped that it would stay this light and carefree.

It never even occurred to Spike that it wasn’t necessarily his own actions that had caused the prejudice in the Scooby group, but the devastation of Angelus. That the paternal evil vampire completely played the torture game and visited emotional torment on this man in particular, was something that forced the lack of trust to be at the forefront of any Slayer /Vampire relations following.

“Wondered if I could borrow your muscles for a mo? Got some boxes that I was hopin’ you might look after for me till I can find a safer place.”

Giles nodded and, propping his door open, followed Spike to his beaten black classic.

“Like old cars, then, do you?” he asked conversationally, wondering what the vampire would think of his Citroen.

“Not in general. Got a bit of a soft spot for this beauty,” Spike answered while patting the less than shiny coat of paint. Giles released a disappointed sigh and watched as Spike popped the boot and began to lift out the boxes.

As one box was passed to him, Giles noticed the bright sun glaring on the sidewalk and looked at Spike in sudden nervousness. He took a step back, stumbling slightly from the heaviness of the load in his arms.

“Y-y-you, you’re in the sunlight.”

Spike stopped what he was doing and stayed still. No sudden moves as he could smell the slight tang of fear in the gentle breeze.

“I’ll tell you all about it, Rupert. Don’t go thinkin’ anything nasty and sinister. Look, let’s just get this stuff inside and I’ll reveal all. Alright?”

The older human nodded and Spike sighed that he wasn’t going to be challenged or ‘outed’ while still standing in the street. Before grabbing the second box, he slid the sword under his coat, away from prying eyes, and closed up the car. Following closely behind Giles, he heaved a sigh of relief once the Watcher’s door was closed and the newly liberating sunshine was off his back. The sensation of warmth was too new for him to want to take it for granted just yet.

Without asking, Giles removed the lid of his own box and gasped in shock.

“What is all this?” he demanded as his hands delved into the pile of gold and sparkling stones.

“There was this legend, see. A gem that could make vampires impervious to harm. Stakes, sunlight, crosses can’t hurt or kill them.”

Giles watched the vampire with horrified understanding. “And you have found the Gem of Amara? I thought it was just a legend.”

Spike took a while to think before finally nodding his head in concession. He shouldn’t be surprised that the Watcher knew about the gem.

“Look Rupes, before you start gettin’ all paranoid, I don’t plan to kill you. Look, lets go out, to the beach maybe, get some lunch and have us a chat.”

“You don’t expect me to watch you pick off a sunbather, do you?” Giles had retreated tactfully behind his dining table, and Spike clenched his jaw at how hard it was to earn trust. For the first time he could ever remember, he cursed his condition as a vampire.

“Actually, I’ve got a bit of a hankerin’ for some fish and chips, but that’s prolly not likely in good ole Sunny D.”

Giles offered his first smile of camaraderie since Spike’s revelation and decided to move back to stand in front of the vampire.

“These things you have here are quite valuable. What were you planning to do with them, can I ask?”

“Pretty sure you just did, mate!” Spike grinned, feeling the groove of his good humour rebuilding at the thought of his plan. “Want to sell it if I can, get the best price and what not. Thought it might be a good idea to set up a trust fund for Buffy, just incase she should ever need it.”

Spike couldn’t help but become lost in thoughts of the blond he loved and so for the most part missed the look of surprised admiration on the Watcher’s face.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Spike could feel himself throb with the suggestion and tried to calm himself down.

“I’m lookin’ out for her best interests.” His reply was stubborn.

“You know she thinks she is in love with Angel, don’t you?” Giles couldn’t help pointing out the obvious, even if his judgement of this paradox was beginning to put Spike ahead of Angel.

“That poof is no good for her. He’ll hurt her in every way.”

Giles blanched at the cool, confident claims Spike offered him.

“He has a soul,” Giles argued, but got no further as Spike began to huff and pace in a frenetic manner around his living room.

“Do you know how bloody sick to the back teeth I am of hearing about the Great One’s almighty soul? It’s worthless. What does it even mean? He’s on the side of good? Well, so am I. I’ll do anything for her, and even you lot, as bloody irritating and useless as you all can be. I won’t leave her, I won’t hurt her, and I don’t have a soul to lose. And let me tell you, Watcher, an Angel without soul is far from a pretty sight.”

Given the evidence and the passion with which the blond vampire spoke, Giles felt more than compelled to agree with him. He accepted the argument, and silently he rooted for Spike. He had an odd feeling that there was something rather special about this one. He claimed he had no soul, didn’t want a soul, but there was something already there. Something that brought him so far into the light, almost unknowingly onto the road to redemption, that it was too late for him to turn back. And Giles was hit with the genuine feeling that Spike seemed to put everything behind him and moved on.

He looked hard at the contents of the box again and could see that if the other contained even half the treasures of the first, then Spike was in for possessing a rather large sum of money. That he wanted to put it into supporting Buffy was almost beyond Giles’s comprehension, but he would fully support it.

“I think it might be safer if we took these over to Joyce’s gallery. I am sure she would have a safe and could store these for you until we can work out the best way of selling them. Perhaps an auction would be a way to go. Keeps it all rather anonymous.”

Spike watched Giles in disbelief. His whole argument was shot down with silence. He’d mounted this worthy wall of rage to defend his actions and he was stopped in his shoes with tacit acceptance. His relief made him shake.

“Sounds like a ruddy marvellous idea. Never actually been to Mum’s gallery.” He perked up considerably at the idea of seeing Buffy’s mum and wondered if she stocked hot chocolate in her office. Probably not, he concluded sadly.

“And the gem?”

Spike’s attention returned to Giles with a thump, and he watched carefully for any further signs of fear.

“Can we go for that walk, have some grub and talk about it then? Jus’ let me enjoy some sun for the first time in over a century?”

Giles softened enough to offer a warm smile.

“Of course. And what were you planning to do with the sword you’ve got hidden beneath your coat?”

Spike beamed as he pulled it out, wielding it in expert arcs to the side of Giles, hoping the Watcher could see the beauty of the thing.

“See the pretty stones in the handle? Thought Buffy might like it. You know, as a birthday present.”

Giles nodded again in approval, and gave in to his curiosity. “It is rather stunning. I’m sure she will very much approve of it.”

“Don’ want her to approve of it, chum. Want her to feel it. Feel the way it talks and whispers its secrets. Reckon it’d be perfect for a Slayer.” Spike seemed to become mesmerised by the glistening blade as he cut circles in the air.

Giles picked up his box, lid now intact and indicated that Spike should do the same.

“Perfect time to drop these off to Mrs. Summers before the gallery closes, and then we can see about finding some chips at least. Not sure about fish, here. But the beach sounds like the perfect place for a chat.”

The two men carried their load back to the car, Giles locking the door after Spike’s later exit, stashing the sword for the meantime under the sofa.

Downtown traffic was quick and they reached the gallery after a comfortable silence in the car. Giles kept quiet, wanting desperately to give in to his inner researcher and ask a multitude of questions about the gem, about how Spike felt in the sun, about what he planned to do with it. But he could accept that the vampire wanted to wait before saying anything. Wanted to sort out the housing of his loot first.

A quick meeting with Buffy’s mother reminded Spike that he hadn’t really had much to do with her yet, and he found himself surprised. Seeing her had been difficult, though. He found himself wanting to bury his head in her shoulder and hold her hard, hang onto her life and never let it seep away from her. Ask her advice on how to help Buffy the best.

But this wasn’t his Joyce. Not yet anyway. Right now, she was someone he needed to relearn, and he had every intention of becoming her new best friend. When she died again, he wanted to be there to offer comfort to the grieving, and strength where needed. And he wanted to have someone care enough about him to help soothe his pain.

With a tear hidden deep in his eye, they had left the goods under lock and big steely vault before turning the big car to the surf.

While Spike sat at a bench, face tipped upward to soak in the rays, Giles had been dispatched to locate what could pass for fish and chips. Spike looked at the man horrified when he returned and passed him a bag of fries and a fillet of fish, all embossed with the special golden arches logo.

“What the bloody hell is this? A happy meal?”

“It was all I could find,” Giles argued, petulance forming a pout. “It isn’t like you actually need to eat food, anyway.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t.”

Spike watched the bag as if he was expecting it to stand up and throw itself in the rubbish all on its own. When it didn’t move, he hesitantly pulled out the little red cardboard carton holding his fries and began to munch.

“So, the gem?” Giles found it difficult to tear his eyes away from the spectacle. He never knew that vampires could eat human food, knowing that Angel never did. Another thing to make Spike an anomaly to his breed. And admittedly, Giles was fascinated with this subject and eager to work him out.

“Yeah, ‘bout that. Look, I know it’s difficult for you lot to trust me, so how ‘bout I give you the ring when we get back and you can just hand it over if there are times it would be handy for me to be out in the day?”

Giles was yet again left speechless.

“You have found a way to make yourself resistant to becoming destroyed, and you want to give it up?”

Giles could tell immediately by the way the vampire hung his head that his original assumption was incorrect.

“Not a matter of want. It’s all about need. I need you lot to trust me. I need Buffy to trust me.” He raised pleading eyes to Giles and watched as the human considered.

Giles was completely arrested by the honesty, and the yearning sadness that he was sure was genuine in the vampire’s face. And decided to risk. Spike had had more than ample opportunity to attack them all, if that had been his evil plan. He’d been alone in his home, with Buffy, and with Angel, and not one small leaning toward violence had occurred.

“I don’t think it would be safe for me to hang on to it in my home.” Giles could see the disappointment immediately shape the slope of Spike’s shoulders.

“It’s not safe for me to wear either. Just take some smarty pants to work the mojo out and attack me, slip the big shiny off my finger and I’m dust. Would be right dangerous for some other vamp to get his hands on.”

“You say that like you’ve already experienced it.” Giles jumped as Spike barked out a humourless laugh.

“You don’t know how right you are, Rupes.”

Confusion settled on the Watcher’s brow, but he refused to become ruffled by the odd implication, and instead settled on thinking up a solution.

“Wh-what about the possibility of, er, concealing it within your person?”

Spike stared, emotion passing like shimmering lakes over his face. His eyes gleamed as he allowed hope to taint his voice.

“You mean, like, sew it in under my skin?”

“Er, something along those lines, yes.”

Spike looked thoughtful.

“Won’t poke out and spoil the outline of my abs or anythin’, will it?”

Giles seemed alarmed at the thought of anything to do with Spike’s abdominals.

“I’m rather sure that between Willow and myself we can sort something out.”

“Yeah, okay then. Worth a try, innit?”

And they were back to smiling again, watching the sun bounce giddily off the water, watching the crowd soak up and take it for granted, watched each other in a friendly comfort that Spike had craved but never received.

“Got any suggestions of where I can bunk down for the night? I’ve left the factory, an’ I told Peaches I wouldn’t be back so he’d take Dru. Minions’ll be all arse backwards with no one to tell ‘em what to do so I can go back and stake ‘em with the Slayer later if you want. Or I could try and get ‘em to convert to good ol’ pigs claret.”

Giles looked delighted at the prospect. “Do you think they might?”

“Dunno. If I was still there, maybe. But if I’m not there to make sure they’re doin’ the right thing, then they prolly won’t.”

“Oh,” Giles said in disappointment. “It’s probably best to destroy them, then.” He thought for a moment, before taking a breath to strengthen his resolve and turned to Spike, who was again watching the sea. “I know this could potentially be the most stupid thing I have ever done, but you are welcome to stay at my place until you find somewhere more to your suiting.”

He was non-plussed at that look of awe again, wondering how it was that he could affect the emotions of a notoriously evil vampire so effortlessly. All he had done was offer a place to sleep in complete disregard for the possible health of his neck.

“Do you plan to chain me up to your bathtub?” Spike asked, tongue in cheek.

“Of course not,” Giles spluttered, embarrassed that the thought had indeed crossed his mind. “I think the sofa would be perfectly comfortable for a few nights.”

“Thanks, mate. That’s right generous of you.” Spike looked hastily away as the tears shimmered over the clear deep sky blue of his eyes.

Giles cleared his throat, a little uncomfortable about the display of gratitude and wandered back into the subject of Spike’s recent jewellery haul.

“Mrs. Summers suggested the option of an auction to see all the treasures? How do you feel about that idea?”

“I think it’s a bloody brilliant idea. An excellent start. Do you think that lot would be worth much?”

Giles couldn’t stop himself from the continual surprise he felt in the company of this strange vampire.

“Unless the stones are fake, which I doubt, I think the lot would be worth a very attractive sum of money. The jewels alone are priceless, but as collector’s pieces, I think the sum you’ll end up with could be quite astronomical.”

“And the commission? If I let Joyce take it on, it should get her a pretty penny, too?”

Giles again was stunned at the depth of care Spike was displaying in regards to Buffy and her mother.

“I should think so.”

They passed the following hours discussing everything from sport, to the Scoobies. Spike’s lack of soul wasn’t mentioned again, and so the tense up didn’t reoccur. When the sun began to set over the water, the two Englishmen decided it was time to finally make tracks and returned to the car, and back to town.

A suggested stopover at the factory ensured that Dru had been taken by Angel—the minions at a loose end. Spike was able to retrieve the rest of his belongings and left the building behind him. No lingering sense of pain or even nostalgia. In more ways than one, this place was his past; Dru was his past.

He felt the positive effects of all he had done so far in his second chance. He’d managed to get Rupert on side, and as manipulative as he may be in the way he was going about things, he didn’t mean it to not be heartfelt, for his heart pounded at every interaction he had with these people. And with Buffy. He’d do anything, be anything, and that was his wish. Here he was and he was buggered if he’d let it all go to hell now.

Further travelling and he could park on the roadside, alighting and following Giles into his temporary home. By the time they reached the door Spike was feeling pretty tired, what with having been awake and in the sun all day. He was right knackered and preparing to gulp down his heated pig swill when a pounding on the door heralded the arrival of Buffy and he was pulled back out the door rather forcefully.

Standing with fire blistering her every surface, she was a vision. Heat radiated off her and Spike could see himself going up in flames if he dared to touch. His eyes soaked in her image, not knowing how long it would be before he could convince her that she belonged in his arms. Her presence only added to his happiness, until she uttered the one request he’d rather pass on for another day. A day abut a hundred years in the future.

“Tell me about Angelus,” she demanded with all the finesse of a bullfrog, and Spike’s tired mind could do little but mutter bitter obscenities.

“What do you want to know, pet?” he asked, and knew that nothing about this could possibly end well.

Chapter Six

“I’m sure Rupert’s told you all about him, pet. Why do you need me to blow the cover on all the family secrets?”

Buffy stood in the dark outside Giles’s door and watched him. Spike. The peroxided vamp that she had been told would be relentless until he managed to tear out her throat. Spike. Whose first contact with her was to stab her with his tongue. His hot, wet, spine-tingling kiss-giving tongue.

There was an energy that surrounded this vamp like no other she’d ever come across. It was the strangest thing. Every night Buffy would go out to slay—to do her duty as the only one in all the world—beating up and dusting vampires. Growly, sharp-toothed vampires who more often than not, stupidly impaled themselves on her stake during their headlong rush to pierce her throat with their fangs.

They seemed so different, like vicious animals, no longer people with personalities and hope, just blood-thirsty monsters that would rather kill you than befriendor begirlfriendyou. The Spike she had met in the alleyway behind the Bronze was all full of swagger and overconfident expectation. The vamp that she had finally met up with in the halls of her school was completely different. This one didn’t shake with his desire for her blood, with the desire to see it flow out of her and stubbing out her life.

Okay, thought Buffy. No more with the uber weird split-personality vamp. I want answers. And so she had sought them. But after dragging Spike out of Giles’s front door, still clutching his cooling mug of blood and sans duster, her eyes focused lustily on his bare forearms and the curve of his neck above the black neckline of his T-shirt. And faced with such a sight, what hormonal teenage girl wouldn’t completely lose track of where she was and completely screw up the topic of the day?

Angelus! Really, who wanted to know about him when there was a nice, packed form of salty goodness for the disrobing standing right in front of her? But now Buffy was stuck, she had to go on with the quiz or risk making herself look like the idiot she actually was.

So she tipped her head to the side, hands resting on her hips, and threw it out there. And what exactly did she want to know about Angel anyway? She knew he walked, did the mysterious appear and disappear routine, was helpful on occasion and brooded a lot. Oh, and he kind of kissed her occasionally, too.

“I don’t get it,” she spoke finally in answer to his question, giggling when his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Get what, pet?” Spike watched her, feeling amazing relief when she relaxed her ‘I mean business’ stance and smiled.

“I mean you. And Angel. And this happiness curse thing. You being nice to me. Are you sure you don’t have a soul?”

“Hell no,” was Spike’s fiery retort. He snorted loudly just at the thought of allowing himself to be tamed like the poofter, until his recent feelings and protective behaviours came to his mind, and he suddenly fell silent.

“What does having a soul mean, anyway? Fair enough, maybe vampires can’t choose to do good straight off the bat. Maybe they need a time out to consider their existence and a nice shiny girl to come along and tempt them onto other paths,” he mused to himself aloud. Remembering the chance the chip gave him to infiltrate Buffy’s little group, getting to know humans on an intimate level, become their friends. Spike knew that without the chip, he probably would never have had the chance to slow his vendetta against Buffy, not stopping till either or both of them were destroyed.

“Am I the nice, shiny girl?” Buffy asked breathlessly, shooting thoughts and reactions straight to his crotch hidden by denim.

He couldn’t help but let his gaze stick on her, watch the play of interest yet fear temper the storm of green in her eyes. His gut began to clench, his skin tightened and his hand raised to cup her cheek. Almost in a dream, he placed his other hand behind her head and pulled her to within a whisper of his mouth. His cool breath fanned her lips and he almost lost it at her tiny little mewl-like pleas. His body rumbled in gravelly desire as he gently rubbed his bottom lip against hers, allowing them to clash gently as he spoke.

“Baby, you are so much more than that.” And then he surrendered to the drug of her mouth; the narcotic that he wanted to stay addicted to for life. He supped on her sweetness and nearly cried at how innocent and giving she was. So not like his Buffy that it both made him rejoice yet made his heart hurt. Her questing tongue knocked against his and he couldn’t help but moan his delight that she was looking for him, wanting to join with him in such an intimate, meaningful way.

As his lips swept against hers he felt the increasing thump of her heart, could feel the heat of her skin as it came closer and closer to him. Little bursts of liquid fire charged through his body and he became warm, relaxed and so very eager to taste every inch of her bared skin. To let his tongue slide over the smooth texture of her thighs. She was still so young but the yearning was getting out of control, he had no idea how he could slow the pace of their knowing one another.

He felt the subtle jerking of her oxygen deprived body and almost decided to ignore it, wanting to kiss her forever, or at least until the red of tomorrow’s sunset shadowed their moment. But he released her, taking her back before she could suck in any air for one final hard kiss. As she shuddered with the effort of replenishing her lungs, he buried his face in her neck, allowing her beautiful soft hair to give him cover. He pressed his hot mouth to her throat, mumbling and moaning against her skin.

“I need you so bad, baby.” And his body shook with the effort of control, sagging back against the wall of Giles’s flat when her little hand sought contact with his skin under the tight tee he was wearing, his knees almost failing to keep him upright. It was all going so fast, feeling so out of control that he hauled her body against his, took her hand and thrust it against his livid jean-covered cock.

“Buffy, if we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to.”

He removed the pressure of his hand holding her against him, yet hers remained and instead moulded to his shape.

Her eyes were wide with awe and fascination as she raised them to look at him. The roaring of her blood was deafening him as it raced in lustful excitement around her body and he groaned when her tiny hand squeezed him lightly.

“B-Before we stop,” she husked at him with the sexiest voice he had ever heard pass her lips. “ Can I…” she lowered her eyes, too shy to finish her desire.

“Can you what, pet?” prompted Spike, almost crippled with hope.

“Can I touch you? I want to feel you in my hand.” Her lips were curved in a forceful, determined smile as she suggested to him what it would mean to be unrestrained in her flesh.

Some mammoth lump of burning heat settled in his gut and he nearly howled like an animal. The amber of his eyes was her answer and she began to pop the studs of his jeans, her passion-drugged eyes partially covered by lust heavy lidsnever leaving his. They flickered between blue and yellow as her hand delved beneath the fabric and finally, she made contact. He could feel the complete vacuum of air, his skin splintering in sensation as her smooth warm hand slid slowly, steadily over his cool cock.

He couldn’t help but look down, and her attention followed as he saw his cock in her tanned hand, the little fingers clenched around his pretty reasonable girth. His silken length elongated as she slowly rubbed her palm back and forth and he could already feel the rush through his prick, just from the visual enticement of her.

Her hand suddenly took up a rhythm, becoming faster and it was beyond his control. With a little shout too late for warning his cum spurted from the slit of his cock and fountained over the cup of her hand.

“Oh,” she said innocently, eyes as wide as any newly initiated woman to the arts of sex could be.

“I’m sorry, love. You took me a bit by surprise.” He actually felt a bit embarrassed with his deflating member resting in her milky cum-coated palms.

The expression in her eyes made him feel suddenly breathless, no mean feat for someone lacking the need to breathe, and suddenly she was on her knees, her tongue tentatively tasting the cream on the tip of his length.

“Oh God, Buffy.”

Before he knew what she was doing he was encased in her mouth, widening and lengthening to an almost crippling hardness. His guts clenched, his bum cheeks contracted and his balls drew up in tension. A few slides up and down and a demon-loving hard suck and he visited bliss again, her young inexperienced mouth overflowing with his milk as she struggled to swallow. As his cum glided down her throat, Spike grabbed her under the arms and hauled her to standing, his mouth latching onto the dribbles with a possessive release of control. As his tongue made it to the end of her exposed flesh, he bayed in frustration, the animal in him wanting to tear the top she wore clean down the middle and claim her nipples in hard punishing sucks.

But he stopped.

Pulling away and struggling hard for some kind of composure, he gasped and heaved like a marathon runner.

“Holy fuck, woman. Are you trying to kill me?” he asked when he finally remembered how to speak words.

She giggled, watching him with a deep satisfied happiness he couldn’t ever remember his Buffy displaying.

“You’re already dead,” she deadpanned and he groaned again.

“You make me that hot again, pet and I’m sure I’ll dust.”

Her eyes took on a gleam of seductive woman, years beyond the true age of the Slayer.

“We just might have to experiment to see how hot you can get before you start to singe.” And her mouth attacked his again.

It wasn’t until he felt the distinct cold and sticky patch of fabric at his shoulders that he realised Buffy had inadvertently just wiped the cum on her hands all over his shirt.

He pulled away and watched the vacancy in her eyes, completely passion induced, and smiled.

“How ‘bout we go on inside and wash up? Then p’raps go for a stroll and I can tell you all you want to know about Angelus.”

She still appeared dazed as her eyes followed his movements, tucking his cock back into his jeans, refastening the opening and pulling his shirt over his head. He puffed up with pride and flexed his pectorals as her eyes became glued to his skin.

“Love? Ready to head in?”

Buffy responded with a confused nod and followed him through the door.

“Ah, there you are. Spike, Buffy, whatever happened?” asked Giles while pointing to Buffy’s sticky outstretched hands and Spike’s bare chest.

“Oh, demon. Nasty bugger sprooked all over my best tee. Slayer got a bit on her hands. Thought we’d go patrol after we clean up a bit and have us a little chat. Slayer wants to know a few details about Angelus.”

“Buffy?” Giles asked in mounting concern. “W-we’ve discussed Angelus before. Why do you want to know more?”

Buffy’s eyes swung to look at the worry etched on her Watcher’s brow, and then back to her hands. She held them cupped in front of her and she could see patches of the milky substance that had come from inside Spike. She felt a grin of guilty achievement form and subconsciously licked her lips.

“Just covering all the bases. Books don’t tell everything, Giles.” And she left for the bathroom, hoping to see a little more of Spike’s sculpted flesh, but this time way in the up close and personal kind of way. Outside had been way too dark and she was still a little blurred from the lustiness that had taken her over.

He was there, cleaning up his messy cock with a damp cloth while she leaned against the closed bathroom door and soaking up his lecherous glances. Buffy felt no lingering bouts of confusion, just a hot burning confidence to discover herself and Spike with the prolonged use of tongues, lips and hands. Preferably in a nice comfy bed.

“Need any help?” left his cock springing back to attention at her husky suggestiveness, and he hissed at her.

“Stop it, Buffy, or I’m gonna lose it and fuck you against your Watcher’s bathroom door. And that is not where a little girl like you should discover the joys of love for the first time.”

Buffy flushed a glowing red but couldn’t tear her shimmering gaze away from him. Her focus was his face; all clean lines and devoted soft pink lips beckoning promises of love. Something stroked her heart, something soft and subtle, and her breath hitched.

“A moment of true happiness?” escaped her lips on a wave of wanting, dissipating around the two, and Spike sucked in his first berating response. Not wanting his knowledge of Angelus to intrude on this swift expectation of fulfillment.

Finally tucking his cleaned member away, he stepped forward and allowed his finger to softly trace her lower lip, the deepest ocean of his shining eyes softening in true genuine love.

“With us, Buffy, I could always be perfect happiness.”

His words made time with the perfect rhythm of her heart, and he couldn’t believe where he now stood. In the bathroom he’d been chained up in, with the woman he was to fall in love with years from now.

He should be so different. He should have disappeared into the past, grabbed Dru and hightailed it out of the hellmouth while remaining chipless and never to return. But such was her power that that option had never even occurred to him. In his time Buffy might have kicked him to the wolves, but here he could prevent her decline, prevent the walls cementing around her heart by keeping her away from Angel and his unreliable soul.

“But you’re soulless,” she whispered, barely loud enough for even him to hear her. This time he didn’t take it as an insult, rather just an uninformed assumption he would be sure to break.

“Sometimes love is beyond a soul.” And he kissed her eyelids closed, his fingers skimming the flesh of her neck and he finally ended by nibbling at her bottom lip.

“We should go get some air.” His voice was like a slap after being so thoroughly immersed in such deep, drowning sensation. Buffy grabbed his hand, an attempt to ground herself to the earth and couldn’t stop herself for spilling little mutterings of truth.

“I could drown in you,” she told him and it stopped him in his tracks. The sudden banked fire in his eyes scorched her right through as he leaned back in, sucking hard on her neck as he crushed her body against his own. There was moisture on the edge of his lashes when at last he pulled away from her and he kissed her thoroughly.

“Thank you.”

And he pulled her hand, tugging her away from the door so he could open it.

“You wash your hands while I go find a top,” he strongly suggested, and Buffy found herself alone, staring into a mirror that revealed nothing of the wanton behaviour she had indulged in tonight.

She could still feel his weight in her hands, feel the silkiness as the thin, pale skin stretched and tautened over the thickening of his penis. And her effect on him.

It was all so different, so hot and out of control. So different to her times with Angel. Nothing ever got out of control with him. Angel wouldn’t allow it. All they had done was kiss, despite Buffy hungering to know more, to feel more. After dying at the fangs of the Master, she had come to realise that her life was destined to be short. Why die completely innocent of things that could give her some small amount of happiness?

Again, Spike with the surprising her. Making her head spin out of control with the possibilities, with the contradictions. And this walk he wanted to go on? Crap, she’d had his penis in her mouth and he wanted to go and talk about Angelus? What was up with his priorities?

Which brought back a rather ewww, yet, yumm thought to her. She had Spike in her mouth. A boy’s penis. No, a man’s penis. NO! A vampires penis. A vampire who talked of affection and promised more than just a quick bang with the Slayer. She was way passed wondering about taking a risk with Spike. A little of the sucking of his…ah…thing might have made that a bit of a given. And she felt kind of all right with that. Pretty good with it, actually.

But what about Angel? Buffy had thought she was falling in love with Angel, but maybe she had just been really taken in with the suave mysteriousness of his appearance now and then. She felt pretty sure that the soulful vampire thought he was in love with her, and that left Buffy with a world of guilt.

Oh boy, was it her fault she found the blond, nicely compact vampire perfect for her? He fit her in so many ways, and not just in her mouth. Buffy couldn’t help but burst into a bout of girly giggles and tried to picture Willow’s face if she decided to relay this little episode. Her first foray into grown-up activities.

Buffy could feel the tingle in the back of her neck indicating that Spike must be waiting for her just outside the door and she quickly used the soap to rid him from her hands, dried them and bounced through the door to meet up with him again for the walk.

“Could you perhaps describe the demon that attacked you before you go, Buffy?”

“Ah,” Buffy stood like a deer caught in high beam, and wavered between blurting out anything and making a break for the door.

“One of those grey, non-descript looking things. No harm from it, Rupes, no worries. Now, let’s go, Slayer. Sunrise waits for no vamp.”

He disappeared from before her with a sharp swish of his coat around his boots and was off out the door.

“Bye, Giles,” Buffy tossed over her shoulder as she went running after him.

 

“You’re bloody kidding me, right?”

Giles hid a small grin as he ducked his head and turned away, leaving Willow to look between the two men—correction: man and vampire—licking her lips in cold nervousness.

“It’s not like you have to do anything,” she squeaked. “You could just lie down on the table, and let me do all the…” She turned slightly green, “work?”

Spike could detect the slight shake about her body and his brows shot up in alarm.

“What are you so bleeding fidgety about?” he barked at the redhead, starting to feel pretty sick about the whole thing. “It’s not like you’re having your insides ripped open.”

“Well, neither are you,” she told him with a second’s bravery, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. But then they loosened and dropped to her sides, her heart rate picking up and speeding along with anxiety. “Not exactly,” she qualified with her nervous cutesy Willow smile.

Spike pinned her with his hard glare.

“What exactly would you call being cut open and having your insides set aside to find a good pokey, hidey place for the little ring? A bloody skin graft?”

“Hey,” Willow challenged and Spike admired her for finally retrieving her backbone. “I’m here to help you, you…big…evil…vampire, so enough with the scary eye glaring and the…you know…British swearing.”

Spike tipped his head to the side and contemplated her. He knew she was capable and truthfully he got a bit of a kick out of riling the witch up but he still wasn’t eager to repeat the experience of Scoobies slitting his skin and poking and prodding.

“Just mind I’m not a bleeding experiment, alright?” And he abruptly turned his back on them and tugged his tight black t-shirt over his head.

“How do you want me?” he asked in a bored tone, turning swiftly back to visibly catch the answer. He was confronted instead with wide eyes and enlarged pupils, and a redhead gasping for breath.

“No wanting. Nope, definitely no wanting of the me variety. You, Giles? You want him?” Willow, suddenly realising what she had implied by the Watcher’s thunderous countenance, backtracked in a panic, gave a little eep, and raced for the bathroom. Both men smiled in agreeable humour when they heard the distinct click of the door lock.

Within minutes she was back, her face slightly dampish and cooled, and her eyes frosty and businesslike.

“On the table, vampire.”

She couldn’t look at him as he gave a little jump and landed with his back flat to the hard surface.

“Is this enough?” he asked her, enjoying his view of her returning flush. “Or should I take off the daks as well?” He winked at her and she took a giant step backwards.

“Daks?” she whispered in confusion.

“You know,” he leered. “The jeans. Might need an alternative place to shove the Gem…”

He took comfort in her jump.

“N-no.” She took a hesitant step closer to the table and took a quick look at him from under her lashes. “I, er, think I can find a spot.” She swung around to confront Giles with a questionable lack of composure. “And I’m doing this instead of you again, because why?”

Flustered, Giles grabbed his glasses and began the familiar rub. “I thought it would be a… good experience for you. Besides, you are much better at science than I could ever be.”

She gave a short nod showing she understood his logic but not his madness, and instead she started to sweep lengths of her hair behind her ear while swiping at her heating forehead. Her anxiety about the situation was changing her normal colour to red, almost the shade to match her hair.

It was fun to tease her, but the rising hysteria evidenced by her thundering heartbeat was enough to put Spike off the whole idea. Enough to make him want to bury the ring and forget he ever knew of its existence. He didn’t want someone so lacking in confidence cutting into his body, even if it did make him invincible.

“Jus’ because vamps heal faster, and don’t die if you muck up the surgery, doesn’t mean you can use me as a bleeding experiment.”

Spike intercepted the nervous look that passed between the redhead and the Watcher, and felt his jaw clench in spasm. A subtle nod from Willow, and she was turned toward him again, a wicked looking genuine scalpel cosseted in her palm.

“Oi,” Spike stopped her headlong dive into cutting his guts open. “Where exactly are you plannin’ on puttin’ this ring?”

Willow’s look of confusion added to his rising reservations.

“Bleeding hell, girl! Tell me you’ve at least thought of where you were going to put it? Given the thought a little bit of consideration?”

Her short negative shake of the head was priceless. Spike began to chuckle as he leaned back on his elbows.

“Well, this is bloody charming, this is! Were you at least plannin’ to drop it in deep enough so’s it doesn’t muck up the smooth line of my abs?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed as if the concern had only just occurred to her. “S-Sure, Spike. Absolutely. R-real deep!”

Spike began to sit up to slide from the table when her visible exclamation mark hit the air. “I’ve got it! I can cut the small intestine, thread the ring through it, and then tie it back up in a bow.”

The fear that struck Spike as her words lay flat in front of him forced his feet into action and he gingerly slipped off the table and took a few big steps backwards. He spied the ring on the edge of the table and jumped for it, clasping it tightly in his hand and bolted for the bathroom, repeating Willow’s earlier action by shutting the locking mechanism.

Dropping the toilet lid, Spike took a seat. He slipped the ring over his finger and studied it, cringing at its ugliness. By compulsion his eyes drifted to the door and when he could hear the murmuring of voices, he used his enhanced senses to pick out the topic of conversation. Him. No surprises there.

The witch was frantically arguing that she wasn’t qualified for such an undertaking as exploring inside demon guts, and Giles was attempting to sway her with arguments twice as valid.

And Spike sat hiding in the bathroom completely stunned that these humans—ones who had alternated between rejecting him and begrudging his help and knowledge; ones who had been outraged at his developing love and devotion to their Slayer, and then later just cruel in regards to how he felt about them bringing her back—were trusting him. Helping him.

This lot didn’t seem to be as hung up on his lack of soul like their future selves were. He should have known the lack of trust would date all the way back to brood brow. The Watcher had actually taught these kids that demons were stereotypical, ultimately evil and not worthy of the ground they walked upon. And yeah, to the larger extent they would be right.

Good old Angelus had set the rules in concrete. His heinous existence and his crimes while without his soul added up to nothing but cause a discriminating belief to spring from the mind of the Watcher, and thus hammering in the first nail in the coffin that would represent Spike’s unlife. A hollow box; no air, no sunshine, no love. Frankly, no Buffy and no Dawn. How could she think he could live like that?

But it had all changed on the wisp of an ill-judged wish, and so far he wasn’t seeing the pitfalls. Which was highly suspect being that the equation consisted of the Hellmouth, vengeance wishes and he and Buffy.

He wasn’t waiting around for the big Kaboom, however. If everything was going to go arse over tit, then he wanted to make sure he’d gotten as much benefit out of the experience as possible, and try to make life a little better for Buffy in the process.

Which brought him back to the ring and his cowardly hiding in a locked bathroom, perched on the toilet lid while he waited for one of them to grow enough balls to cut him into colourful ribbons.

Fuck that! He wouldn’t put it past Red at all to simply splice his intestines, string the ring through and tie them together with a nice decorative flourish. And despite his handy not needing any of those vitals, it just wouldn’t do. They were still his guts, reasonably ordered in the correct cavities, and he didn’t want the witch to go mucking up anything she didn’t have extensive knowledge of. Vampire physiology being one topic seemingly lost on her.

Bugger it. There was nothing else for it. He’d chomped on whore’s necks, cleaned his teeth with the bones of babies…well, alright, slight exaggerations…but he’d lived in Harris’s basement for a week and that had to mean he could do anything, right? So, Spike gave the ring with the protruding green stone a resentful glare before placing it on his tongue. With a little flick he threw his head back and swallowed it whole, feeling the jagged edge of the jewel as it made his way down the narrow tubes to his stomach.

Spike groaned the entire trip. Only one thing could help this little experience be a tiny bit less repulsive.

Spike thrust open the door and practically ran to the kitchenette, retrieving the first pack of blood he could grab and heated it to the minimum temperature he could tolerate, vamped and allowed the smooth metallic liquid to ooze down his poor punished throat.

When at last he could feel no more internal movement, Spike hefted a relieved sigh and accepted that the ring was probably in his belly. Only then did he realise the possibility that not wearing it might render the magic of the ring ineffective. He could have thought to test the bloody thing before thrusting the bugger down his throat. What if it didn’t work?

There was only one way for him to tell without the risk of burning himself to a crisp and humiliating himself into the bargain. Striding back to the living room, he gingerly picked up the first crucifix he came across and watched as his hand flinched and gathered the strength to throw it away.

Nothing happened. No fizzling of his skin rejecting the Holy artifact. Spike felt weak with joy as emotion gathered to strangle his throat. The Gem worked as it sat comfortably and out of trouble in his belly. It wasn’t under threat, unless someone stabbed him and spilled his guts…or unless Glory continued along and probed it out of him. At least he would be more able to help Buffy with the crimped-haired bitch of a god with the less threat to his unlife and his immortality virtually guaranteed.


He felt an added coolness on his cheek and identified it as the subtle breeze rushing by his tears and he smiled wide at the two humans as they stood watching him hold the cross with building apprehension. But he missed it, being so caught in thrall of the possibilities and the differences this chance had made of his unlife.

Pumped up on gratitude—even though they hadn’t actually done anything—Spike flew at Willow, engulfing her in a hug just as her frightened scream touched her lips. Giles had blanched at the initial swoop, but as Spike swung Willow up high in the air and around like was probably last done to her as a child, he laughed with gentle humour and pleasure. Thoughts on the possible ramifications of lending support and encouragement to a vampire with no soul seemed heavily in the ‘forget about it’ pile.

Making a gradual decline from his high, Spike held the girl away from him and let her see the sparkling waters of his eyes.

“So,” started Giles, bringing Spike swiftly to the living room he was behaving like such a git in. “What do you plan to do as your first feat of daylight tolerance?”

Spike stopped abruptly, a look of exhilaration passing across his face.

“Saturday, right?”

Giles and Willow nodded, wondering what the significance of the day of the week was.

“Where would Buffy be, do you think?”

Willow smothered a grin and furrowed her brow, a small teasing light reflected in the hue of her eyes.

“It’s not lunch time yet. My guess would be she’s still happily in the land of nod.”

Spike watched her, incredulous. But a snort of dishonesty didn’t erupt from her mouth, and with his knowledge of the redhead and her inability to lie straight in bed—let alone in front of his all-seeing eye—he was inclined to believe Buffy was still snuggled up in her bed.

And an evil smirk of intent curled his lip.

“Right. ‘Bout time the Slayer was upright and useful, wouldn’t you think?”

Before either could reply, he’d swept out of the flat, his coat flapping like bat wings, or a superhero’s cape.

“Well, that was about the best vampire surgery I’ve ever done,” confided Willow with her quirky grin.

“Quite,” replied Giles, feeling rather chuffed with the achievement despite having lifted not even a finger. “It was rather the best demon operation I’ve ever observed, too.”

They shared a moment of happy certitude before the smiles faltered slowly.

“You don’t think we’ve made a massive mistake, do you?” Willow’s voice was suddenly small and she resembled the demeanor of a confused frightened teenager and Giles prayed to God they hadn’t.

He removed his glasses from his face and began his nervous polishing.

“I guess time will tell, and just hope we haven’t created a mon…well, a larger problem.”

Willow shivered and worried about Buffy and her no doubt in-transit visitor.

Had they just made a big mistake allowing Spike to become so powerful? Giving him free reign over night as well as day?

Willow hoped not because despite the whole threatening to rip your throat out thing, she kinda liked him. Even more than Angel. At least he knew how to have fun and didn’t brood so much.

With a silent prayer that things would be all right in Slayerland, Willow helped Giles clean up the operation instruments: sharp scalpel, darning needle and fishing line. Then she disappeared into the sunshine for some quality homework time.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The sunlight couldn’t prevent his first venture to her window. Perched on a limb outside her bedroom he watched her writhe and twist her bedsheets into an adorable little tangle. Though her head was turned toward her other wall, Spike had the glorious vision of her hair. He was twisting himself into knots with longing to wrap his hands in that mane and tugging her head round so he could capture her mouth in a brutal hello kiss.

It never occurred that anyone could see him from the street, that he looked more stalkerish now than he had when he’d needed to stalk. But luckily he was hidden from view by branches and he was allowed to look on his woman in leisure.

She was exquisite, if young.

And the thought of having to wait for her to grow up a little was giving him a whopper of a headache.

As he watched her body shifted, allowing her cover sheet to drag a little lower and revealing a whole lot of thigh as her leg fell off the edge of the bed. Spike grinned as he mentally swept over the secrets of her body.

‘She’d be a mite cheesed off if she knew how well I know that body,’he thought, but couldn’t hold back on the smiling pleasure he felt. Thoughts of Buffy—his Buffy—led him down a bittersweet track. Her easy giving of her body but not her heart had his smile fading and he lowered his head.

He couldn’t help but become overwhelmed by the possibilities…the ‘what if’s’ about this crazy ride he had embarked upon. Not like there was any chance of a refund if he bollocksed the whole thing up. Anya would have definitely bestowed more wishes on the unsuspecting heartbroken, so the option of contacting her and going back to the world he had already lived was impossible. He had no choice but to make the best of it.

But what if Buffy had told him the truth? What if she had truly meant that she could never love him, never even like him enough to acknowledge to her friends that she spent time with him? The constant circle of those options near drove Spike insane and he wanted to squash something rather heavily.

The heart that didn’t beat, that to her didn’t feel love, clenched in agonising dread. To have to watch her again be made a fool of by Angel was unbearable to contemplate. If nothing else he had to prevent the emergence of Angelus, redirect her interest from the souled vamp. Sure, with every unliving cell within him Spike wished she would move on with him, allow him to prove to her how good he could be, how loving and devoted he would be.

But if the chance never accomplished, he would be content—well more likely satisfied yet devastated—if he could steer her away from unleashing the greatest git, Angelus. And save a whole bunch of Scooby innocence to boot. Poor little Red had never gotten over the horror of her dead goldfish. Angelus was a right cruel bastard, and that little feat took the cake.

The teacher would live.

Spike couldn’t help but wonder what the Watcher might have been like toward him in later years if he hadn’t lost the chance of love. Yeah, so if Buffy would never love him, never see him as anything but a hot stud to get her kicks, he could be content that he had saved an important life, insuring Rupert’s happiness, and kept Buffy from encountering one of the most heinous evil vampires in history.

Not that Spike was overly keen to see his sire post-soul.

The soul had changed him, added to his cruelty and single-minded obsession to make the world pay. Though Spike’s love for Dru had receded far back into memory—been usurped by the enormity of his feelings for Buffy—he still felt the cut of Angelus’s hatred for him. That the elder vamp had forced the issue with Dru—reclaiming her duties as his childe in the absence of his beloved Darla—had created a new level of strained relationship between the two male kin.

While the beginning of their relationship had been fraught with William’s often misguided but bloody efforts to get his Sire’s approval, the latter half of twenty years had established a bond between them that the soul had destroyed forever. When the leash had been removed, the Angelus of old was replaced with a vindictive bastard that no longer cared who he had loved as his evil persona, instead forgoing every feeling to wreak havoc and pain on those who welcomed his soulful status.

So, Spike nipped it in the bud. If anything, he felt sure of his minimal influence over Buffy’s libido. He knew he could get her hot, was still reeling about her requested taste of him. To have his cock surrounded by her cool wet lips had been pure bliss. That she’d wanted him to be first in that way, near blew the top off his head. Or melted the gel in his hair.

Again his eyes turned to her lying peacefully on the bed, and when he encountered amused green eyes open and observing him outside her window, he nearly fell out of the tree in shock.

“Ah, good morning?” he struggled as he desperately tried to cover up his less than graceful slide down the branch.

Her eyes widened comically as his words sunk in and she saw the sunlight filtering round him and the leaves on the tree. Like an erratic bolt of lightening she streaked from the bed, her minimal sleeping attire blurring as she rushed to him, grabbed his shirt and slammed him into the invisible barrier keeping him out.

“Spike,” she shouted in horror, again slamming his face into the barrier so hard his teeth rattled. Again and again until he felt his consciousness compromised.

“Buffy,” he shouted, frantically trying to loosen her grip on his t-shirt before his face became vampire mush. “Invite me in, luv. Might be better on the looks.”

“Come in, Spike,” she rushed through her lips and all of a sudden they flew backwards and sprawled in an unseemly pile on the floor, Spike bruised and in pain but lying in his favourite spot. Directly on top with his hips nestled between her legs.

Though inside they still lay in sunlight, so with a quick twist and a tug Buffy had encased them within her comfy bedding, finally sighing heavily with the relief of protecting him from combustion.

There was silence in the dark, only one chest heaving with both fright and breath.

“You scared the crap out of me,” screeched the more feminine voice in the darkness, and Spike chuckled through painful lips.

“Might ‘ave picked up on that a tad, pet.”

The following silence did nothing but emphasise the bulge resting against her panties and Spike bit desperately down on the impulse to grind into her a little. When the cup of her hips lifted fractionally, that was the end of his endurance and he rubbed his crotch against her damp panties hard. His face fell to the crook of her neck and his human teeth latched on to her skin, muffling his cry of yearning.

He wanted to rip off her clothes, bath her with his tongue until she was utterly incoherent. He wanted her naked and writhing in fits of ecstasy while his tongue manipulated her into love. He needed so badly for her to believe his feeling for her, so the quick violent encounter was out this time round. No taking her up against walls in crumbling condemned buildings.

But he could give her a taste…and along the way quench his own thirst.

“Buffy,” he whispered into the air around her, his voice hopeful and tentative.

“Yes,” she whispered back, her voice hitched a little in thwarted desire.

“Remember the other day? When you…you know…” Spike was incredulous. Since when did he have trouble being crude, blatant with the sexual innuendo? Perhaps the fact that it had been Buffy’s first real sexual experience had allowed her innocence to rub off a little and he was slightly more sensitive to how she would see all this.

“When I…um…slayed the generic demon and we had to wash up in Giles’s bathroom?”

Spike choked on a cough of surprise.

“Ah, yeah.”

“What about it?” she asked, her voice heavy with hope.

“I was thinking you might like to feel what it was like for me to slay a generic demon. Less mess when I do it, though.” He wished she could see him wink but was sure she could hear the tease in his voice.

“A girl should always be ready to learn. Whenever you’re ready.” She accompanied her permission with a small slap to his bum and a wriggle of her fanny against his cock and he couldn’t help but growl into her neck. He felt the goosebumps raise on her skin and smiled in satisfaction. Oh yeah, Big Bad still had it.

He looped his finger around the panty strap around her hip and slowly tugged it down, seeking the gleam of her eyes in the blackness. As the elastic gently lowered—and finally the panties freeing her lower body—Spike breathed in deeply and growled in remembered delights. The fragrance of his Slayer would forever be the one thing he could summons memory of in his sleep.

The sweetness of her taste and texture, it brought tears to his eyes. Only just over a week ago she had told him that his love for her could only be real to him, because again, demons were incapable of true emotion. He thought he’d never be able to be with her again and that he was here now, with his nose nudging her curls, brought a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes.

It gave his tongue new purpose.

Her sighs and small nervous shifts of movement opened up his heart and he swallowed the urge to collapse on her belly and cry for her forgiveness, sob for her belief in him. He needed her so badly in his life that it hurt every part of him, even the hidden parts he had never allowed Dru to touch.

Only the thought of his story freaking Buffy out forced him into holding his tongue, so when the appendage instead began to slide over her reddened lips, the gush of her fluid mixed with his cool tears as he worshiped her.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she pulled him hard against her pussy, back arching as his tongue delved into her depths and exploring so far untouched territory. Her slick walls were like the sweetest dessert, and he felt himself lose control. He lapped at her and stroked with his tongue, gliding over the wet springy flesh as he avoided the one place she was dying to have him taste.

His tongue flicked out without guidance and she gasped, arching her back and pushing her clit further into the sucking vacuum of his mouth. His fingers dived inside her hot passage and smoothed over her…running the moisture all over her as he licked and sucked his way into heaven.

He couldn’t get enough, his body undulating against the floor as he rubbed his cock against the friction of the carpet, getting closer to off as he uncovered her secrets and gave her knowledge. The tears in his eyes multiplied as she bumped her snatch against his lips, his teeth grazing against the stubborn nub. He felt empowered by her cries of anguish, her desperation to feel what she had given him driving all decorum and shyness from her mind as he sucked hard on her clit. He opened his whole mouth to her, sucking her in at a frantic pace, his tongue flickering between gentle soft glides and hard rough swipes.

Her body heaved with the pressure, he could feel the fire bursting from her skin and for a moment he thought he was burning—Gem of Amara be damned. But it was nothing but the flush of her skin, the heat of her desire and need for release. His mouth covered her hardened clit one final time and he bit her, not too hard but enough to tip her over the edge.

She screamed and cried so loudly he thought his eardrums would burst.

He licked her gently, his body shaking with gratitude and love for this girl as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He felt her shudders echo through him and he felt the tears that had appeared when he first breathed her in making tracks to his chin. As her quivering abated, he lifted his head and allowed his body to slide up hers. He controlled the violent urge to tear her top from her flesh so he could take one of her glorious nipples into his mouth, too afraid of sensory overload in both himself and her.

This was the moment he would have liked to hear the words, the feelings he felt swirling around inside him so hard bouncing against him in an effort to find release. He bit the words back, not wanting to spook her. But he could not surrender his right to her lips. They’d just shared something wondrous and her lips were his, at least for now.

If he could make it forever, he would dust a happy vamp.

Long quiet minutes passed them by as they gathered their strength, allowing it to come in small bursts along with the desire building from the kiss.

His lips owned hers and they showed the skill gained from knowing. As his teeth nipped into the plump flesh of her bottom lip, her hands wandered over his back. His tongue, heavily tasting of her juices, succumbed to her frenzy and the kiss became so much more than everything…so much more than them.

He defied her to feel it. It was right, it was real, and it was so very overwhelming.

And her small yet strong hands were undoing his belt buckle.

He felt his cock twitch at the promise, and he wanted her so badly, to feel her heat burn his length again was almost unbearable with need. But he couldn’t do it. Not yet. They needed to learn about each other, he needed to respect her age, and he needed to complete his transition into her world.

He reluctantly removed her fingers from his zip and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Buffy, as much as I would love to go there with you, I think it’s too soon.”

He prayed she wouldn’t test him on his sudden resolve.

“You are still evil, right?” He could hear the pout in her voice and he couldn’t help but smile at the innocence of this younger Buffy.

“Blatantly evil, luv. And when it’s time, you’ll know it.”

He snuggled up against her warmth, the sun beating down on their covered backs and finally Buffy connected the dots.

“Spike? How could you be sitting outside my window in the sun without turning into dust particles on the breeze? And hey? Can floating dusty vampire get into my house when they weren’t invited?”

Spike smiled into her creamy neck.

“Bit of a story there. You got some time?”

And he told her about his newfound sun tolerance while curled up under the girly protection of slayer bedding.

Spike knew he was in heaven.

The night was a revealer of secrets. Buffy had never felt, since becoming Chosen, that anything could hide from her amongst the crisp curtain of darkness. It was when the monsters emerged that the reality of her life in peril became clear, and her path and destiny mingled with the hidden truth of day. Clarity was a spicy nightmare that lost its secretiveness as soon as the moon shadowed the earth and evil lost its cloak.

Buffy stretched toward her seventeenth birthday with a yearning that recognised that every birthday in her life was a major achievement. Since being called she could almost hear the ticking time bomb counting down to each concluding year. But it warned of the need to grasp hard what was offered, what was given. It was almost funny to her that it was in the dark as she wandered through graveyards that she felt freest to think about her birthday and what it might bring her.

Her most earnest wish was that it might bring her Spike.

A smile touched her lips as her eyes glazed over, blurring the ground in front of her as her feet still took steady and sure steps along her mission of demon eradication. The night was still, allowing her mind to expand her thoughts, to ponder over recent meetings with the blond vampire and wonder at her lack of fear, her lack of concern in his possible evil motives. It was hard to consider someone that made her feel so good—someone who liberated her body and heart so fully—could be setting her up for some kind of fall.

It was beyond hard.

The thought of Spike doublecrossing her, handing her over in some evil plot to meet her end, was enough to freeze her solid. Evil was as evil does, and Spike had quite believably shed his evil wear, donning a white hat with the best of them. He constantly rubbed shoulders with Giles, a Watcher with history and learning steeped in the contradictory yet blinkered teachings of the Council. He traded barbs that hung on the right side of insulting with Xander, and Willow…well, Willow seemed to be really okay with him. Didn’t hurt that Spike seemed to go out of his way for them all.

The absence of Angel in her life weighed on Buffy’s mind, however. The ease in which she had made a decision, had swapped her outer vampire wear, shrugging off large brooding soulful purpose for the touch of fire, the vision of angelicness in the devil’s clothes. Even if black and red really suited him.

She felt shallow. Thoughts of all she had achieved with Angel made Buffy stand still in sudden apprehension. She couldn’t possibly have tossed her soulful boyfriend aside merely because a better-looking, tastier version landed in her school corridor. Sure, kissing Spike stole her senses and made her burn in all the right places. But was it right for her to abandon Angel just as he had gained new responsibilities? Buffy hadn’t pushed the physical side of her connection with Angel until recently, and to dump him because he didn’t show a lack of control around her like Spike did? Well, shallow.

But that didn’t seem right, either. It was more than just a molten, burn-the-house-down moment when she was with Spike. Sure, her hormones let loose and created crazy dancing within her soul, but something of him called to her, leveled her so thoroughly that she could do nothing but submit to him on every level. It was deep, whatever this thing was between them. The fathomless emotion she sunk into every time he looked at her? Buffy might be unsure of her own feelings for the blonde vamp, but there was no confusion in regards to his, despite the lack of declaration. His actions shouted at her, drowned her in feelings of fire, of devotion, of newness and right.

And God did it set her alight.

Made her so excited and happy she couldn’t help but skip as she spun her stake.

Exhilarated her so much she was all enthusiastic for the killing of vamps. Making with the dustiness.

Another couple of steps and she was making with the frustration. No vamps. Buffy stopped and pouted, taking a longing look around the cemetery grounds, looking for one little sign of the walking undead. She couldn’t even locate some torn turf.

“Grrrr,” she chastised the ground as she rewarded the unfettered grass with an irritated stab with the toe of her shoe.

“What’d the poor innocent grass do to you, pet?”

Buffy spun on her heel with a large grin erupting on her lips.

“Spike!” she almost shrieked as she leaped into his arms, her legs clamping around his waist as her arms wrapped around his neck. They laughed together as he began to spin them in a circle, dizziness soon making them fall in a lump to the ground.

Predictably, the randy soulless vampire landed on top, neatly slotting his pelvis into the V of her legs. His hard protrusion was another thing that was not hidden in the dark, and a small frown replaced the delight that had speckled her lips and eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately noticing and hating the anxious expression that clouded her happiness. So used to her down moods, her internal struggle to live, Spike nearly bit his tongue to stop himself from panicking.

“It’s just, it’s…” she hesitated, unsure of whether to bring up her age considering all the experimentation she had been doing lately.

“Tell me, Buffy. What is it?”

Buffy startled at the look of fear that was blatantly taking over Spike’s previously carefree demeanor. Sometimes he seemed shadowed by something dark, and when Buffy picked up on it she felt like kicking herself. Hello, evil vampire lying wedged between her thighs. He’s supposed to be all dark and mysterious. But this was different. Like he was afraid of her. Afraid of the pain that she could cause, which made no sense.

“I was just thinking about my birthday,” she offered at last, and she quirked a brow at his tremendous sigh of relief. He buried a suddenly heavy head into the crook of her neck.

Buffy lay completely still, pricklingly aware of how close to her vein his mouth was. As if he could read her mind, his blunt human teeth sunk into the soft skin of her neck and she released a low, lustful moan. Absolutely contrary to her expected reaction, she felt the warm, overwhelming gush of fluids in her panties and she wiggled a little in embarrassment.

When his tongue began to trace the length of her throat the continuing flood made her tremble and flush scarlet with heat. Her less than seventeen reaction was to abruptly push him to the side, away from the tender and extremely sensitive column of her throat. She jumped up away from him, and with one quick look at the confusion swirling in his azure depths, she bolted.

Suddenly darkness was not her friend as she barely made it a few metres away from him before she was confronted by a small vamp gathering.

“Why is it that when I want to see you guys, you’re all with the absent, but when I don’t, your right in front of me? In big, evil packs? Guess I’ll just have to deal with you so I can be on my way.”

“Not so fast, Slayer,” said one unfortunate, stepping up to make his point but quickly finding his way impeded by a shapely carved stake protruding from his chest. And he was a large gust of dust in the fresh nightly breeze. Buffy coughed delicately as she turned to the remaining two.

Looks of understanding passed between them and they suddenly took off out of her way. Unfortunately for them, they ran in the direction from where Buffy had been making her escape. They barely heard the tread of her trainers as she kept up with them and thrust them into eternal darkness with her trusty stick of wood.

It was too late, though. Spike had merely needed to walk to catch back up to her, and he snagged her elbow and spun her back to face him. The whole motion had the tinge of darkness, of evil determination, and the sexiness of it made her shiver.

“What the bloody hell got you all spooked?”

His face was the picture of abandoned sex; his eyes all smoky with desire while his body displayed his condition rather prominently. He didn’t even blink when Buffy’s eyes couldn’t stray from the bulge in the front of his pants. The patented smirk spread and he tilted his head.

“So what were you wantin’ for your birthday, luv? Anythin’ I could perhaps get for you?”

Buffy gulped as images of what she wanted to unwrap flashed behind her eyes.

And then she heard high-pitched, maniacal laughter that set her teeth painfully on edge. Almost by the second, Spike’s head had swivelled to the direction of the sound and his feet had begun to carry him in that direction. Buffy followed wordlessly, and not without an ample supply of irritation.

When they found themselves at the park and watching the antics of Spike’s ex-love, Drusilla, Buffy found herself groaning with a seething hatred. It was tempered only slightly by the accompaniment of Angel. The dark-haired couple was not immediately aware of the appearance of the blondes, or at least they acted like they weren’t. But that they were standing once again at the swings, the fruit loop dancing between the chains and sweeping her hands out to touch on each revolution, was enough to shoot Buffy into a foul mood.

They’d interrupted. What exactly, she was still debating. Not a moment really, as she shamefully admitted she’d blasted that to smithereens the moment she had jumped to her feet and run like an inexperienced child. Which was a bit much for a girl who’d experienced the engorged wonder of having a vampire’s penis in her mouth.

No, they’d interrupted the make-up scene. And everyone knew that make-ups were so much hotter than the normal making-out.

The Buffy pout was pushing into existence as the feelings of deprivation strengthened and piled high with the irritation. By the time Buffy had accepted her level of annoyance, Spike had crowded her side and slid his arm around her waist. The sensual slide of his coat against her back calmed and soothed her to the point of uncaring. Almost immediately Buffy raised her relaxed gaze, only to clash with feral amber as they studied her comfortable connection with the peroxided vampire.

“Be careful what you wish for, Slayer. Birthday parties are fine for showers, but little presents are better with the background of thunder.”

Buffy stared at the crazed vampire and giggled. Even the warning squeeze around her middle couldn’t stop the reaction, and Buffy ignored his tactile advice.

“You so have to stop taking teatime with the Powers that Be. Vague it up, much? Thanks for the birthday cheer, though. I’ll be sure to not care.” She hid well her freak out that the weirdness of mentioning her birthday—still a few months distance from the night—had rolled from the evil red lips on a night when certain desires had already been thought about. She knew that vamps had enhanced hearing, but for Elvira the ho to hear from that distance defied even the Slayer’s belief.

Buffy’s eyes switched to focus on Angel—her eyes sweeping by accident over his throat—gasping loudly when encountering the littering of fang marks spattering his neck in purple splotches.

“Oh My God. Angel, what has she done to you?” The words were not enough, and Buffy found her legs carrying her swiftly to the vampire she had discarded only days ago, and allowing her finger to gently scrape over the numerous healing pinpricks in his skin.

His flinch away from her touch halted halfway through the movement, and instead he pressed himself into the slack cup of her palm. All sound fell away from them as the two interlopers fell silent; shock a crack in confident armour.

“It’s nothing bad, Buffy. I thought Sire blood might help to cure Dru. Seems to be working so far. She’s much stronger than what she was a week ago.”

Buffy nodded her head without really processing what he said. Her hand still lay against the flesh of his throat, almost absent in its continued position, and her mind fell lost to thoughts of her other vampire. So consumed in thoughts of Spike, she remained ignorant of the soft growls vibrating in his chest, projected from a few metres behind her.

Not until the hysterical cackle from her least favourite vampire broke through her reverie did she finally notice that Spike had turned away from her absent display of affection and was striding across the park. Stepping away to follow him was a useless move as Angel caught her elbow.

“Forget Spike. I don’t know what his problem is, anyway. I’d have thought he would have asked after Dru, made sure she’d settled in okay.”

Buffy raised startled eyes, and couldn’t help the childish reaction of jealousy from tumbling past her lips.

“And has she settled in okay?” The spite felt all rumbly inside her, and Buffy was forced to consider the jumbled reality of her feelings. Without allowing him the chance to answer, Buffy held her hand as a halt in front of his face. “Don’t tell me. It isn’t my place to know. You need to be with Dru, Angel. And I need to go after Spike.”

Before he could grab her again, Buffy swiftly stepped away and began to jog in the direction that Spike had disappeared. No sound of his steps meant he was in stealthy vampire mode, and Buffy stopped with a frown. She pushed her senses out to try and sense vampire, but the three vamps ambling in a dorky, uncoordinated fashion toward her made the efforts redundant.

They stopped a few metres away from her, recognising the Slayer by the pointy stake clasped in her hand, and they turned in the direction of cowards and ran. Watching them disappear, Buffy felt a twinge of guilt for not chasing them down and dusting them. But as her eyes followed their progress to safety, she halted her slow pace at the gliding beauty of an enraged Master pounding on the three as they pleaded for their continuing unlives.

When their particles had drifted to the grass, Buffy’s smile froze on her face as she encountered the furious ridged mask. Spike pivoted on his heel and was striding away, fury pumping his thighs. He ignored Slayer calls for waiting; gliding along with larger strides until he reached the copse of trees that bordered the next cemetery.

A burst from her own legs had Buffy catching up and repeating Angel’s earlier move of a clutch at the elbow. The slicing anger of his movement had the smooth leather of his sleeve slipping through her fingers, though, and she was left frowning and hurt in the entryway.

As he disappeared in the dark, rejection bouncing off him and fading into the night, Buffy recalled her earlier assumption that the night held no secrets for her. This night was turning into a fizzer as far as clear sailing was going.

But maybe she was missing something. Maybe the severity of Spike’s defection told her more than their continual hormonal dance could. Buffy had admitted to herself earlier in the night that the vampire had an ease of feeling for her that she was able to recognise, if not be sure of reciprocation. Her reaction to Angel told her there was a residual love still lingering on the edge of her feeling for the larger vamp. But her hand had not felt his clammy coldness as it rested on flesh. She’d felt the hum of another’s, and felt like kicking herself at the silly act of daydreaming while showing major concern over something that wasn’t any of her business.

In truth, the bite marks hadn’t done more than caught her unawares. Had her imagination leap to areas brushed on earlier in the night, but which had had her running way in severe opposition. Spike’s mouth against her own throat launched her into a moment of tingling anticipation, and the comfort she gained from the desire to feel his teeth sink into her vein catapulted her into majorly wiggy territory.

Seeing the evidence of vampire marks on Angel’s throat brought back her own feelings on the topic, and she was horrified to admit that the image of sharp canines breaking her skin wasn’t as frightening as it should have been. Dying from it once—the lulling effect that robbed her of consciousness and had her drowning in a puddle— seemed to lend her a tougher shell against the consequences. Resting her palm against Angel’s bites meant nothing more to Buffy than an acknowledgement to herself that she was curious to experience the same.

But Spike couldn’t read her mind, and she had really mucked up her secret message. The darkness was his world, and just because it seemed to simplify things for Buffy, didn’t mean the same was happening for Spike. In fact, his disappearance beyond the foliage would suggest another story.

So involved in her self-castigation, Buffy didn’t hear the approach or take note of any tingly sensation heralding the arrival of a vamp at her feet. Sitting on the damp grass, her first clue was the heavy black boots that stomped up to a point in front of her crossed legs. Buffy couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scuff marks on the toe points, and instead of gaining strength from the knowledge that he’d come back, she felt tears sting at her eyes and a wobble settle over her lip.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the boots, courage deserting her in the face of this new relationship. The Slayer bent forward a little more, her hair curtaining around her face and hiding the extent of her misery.

“Got it sorted?”

Buffy’s confusion at the remark did what all his soft reassurances wouldn’t have been able to. It halted the clog in her throat and forced back the tears. It gave her courage to lift her face to seek understanding in his.

She’d gotten it sorted all right. She was a child. Gave up one guy to be petty when he’d shared an intimacy with another that he’d never even suggested to her. Then when she had recognised who she did want to experience something so intimate with, she’d mucked it up by touching the wrong vamp.

Spike’s face was ravaged with uncertainty. He looked like a puppy that had been kicked one too many times, his shoulders slumped and his usual cocky stance a mere shadow of his usual confidence. He avoided her eyes, not sure of what he would witness if he turned fully to her. In fact, his little sojourn into the patrol alone was enough to convince him how completely stupid he’d been to think he could change anything by going back.

It had never been Buffy.

All these years Spike had been convinced that it was the girl’s reaction to the great Lunkhead that had ruined all hope for Spike. Without a soul, he’d never have a chance. And even then he’d be pushing it. So, like he thought, it was never Buffy.

It was him.

Spike, William the Bloody Awful Poet who just never had what it took to get the girl.

In all of his progressive personalities and personas, he’d never moulded himself into being the kind of man that would be chosen. Well, not in the way he wanted to be chosen. His mother had pushed him continuously to find someone to help him flee the nest. As loving and indulgent as she might have been over his awful talent, she was eager to see him settle down and thus out from under her thumb. How many mothers were eager to see the back of their influence in their child’s life?

And then there was Dru, picking him off the street while in bitter tears, cornering him in a barn where no one could witness his wonky judgement to take what she was offering. It had seemed with her sweet, knowing words that she required him, and her beauty and mystique had sucked him in completely. Only after he’d risen did he get the memo. He’d been created to be a playmate. Not important, not a chosen mate, not someone to love. Just a playmate to keep the younger member of the family entertained.

And then Buffy. Well, what could he say about Buffy? The Slayer. He’d been so determined to extend his evil reputation by depriving Sunnydale of her protection. Only she’d come armed with her mother. The memory of Joyce clubbing him good and proper with an axe brought a nostalgic smile to his lips.

But Buffy was pure light, she had a destiny and no part of that indicated space for an ex-evil vamp with no soul. She’d made her choice years ago. Or now if he was being pedantic. Angel. Spike could get her hot, could lower her defenses and might be devoted to keeping her alive and healthy, but he would never succeed over Angel. His position in the family order predicted it. Angel’s desertion, leaving Spike the paternal victor of their ever decreasing group, being the youngest Master vampire in history did nothing to placate Dru, to secure his importance in the order. He remained the childe. Forever behind the eight ball in the collection of his due.

So, as long as Angel was there first, Spike would never have a chance with Buffy, and obviously coming this far back in the past did nothing other than give him angst free encounters with her. But the way she had caressed the Poof’s neck. Spike hadn’t been able to control his animosity, knowing that if he’d stayed he would have caused some kind of hurt. Better to keep the pain restricted to himself, because he knew intimately how much of it the blond Slayer was in for when she finally breached the lines with the amazingly pathetic ‘Daddy.’

So, he’d acted like a lovesick fool and escaped to another cemetery. But at least he’d come across a number of fledglings and had been able to expend a little of his frustration and surrender to killing.

For a moment he’d found the need to wonder why. Why persist in something he was never going to get? Why put himself in the middle of the Scoobies when he could easily just gobble them all up. He knew that his love for Buffy wouldn’t let him even squander a second of his unlife contemplating to kill her, but the others…there was nothing leashing him anymore. He had no chip; he had no reason to stay here. He was pretty much invincible now with the gem, and if he was getting nothing in return, why should he stick around and put himself in the front line of being tortured time and again in the name of love?

It was the blond hair and wide green eyes turned on him with an expression of wariness and fear that brought him back around. That was why. He would stay to make sure she lived. He’d lived with a broken heart for the past three years, what was another how many of her lifetime? And be satisfied with being in the background of her life.

“I’m sorry.” She struggled with the huskiness of her voice, her eyes returning to the moist stage that convinced her of her emerging feelings for this vampire. He made her feel, in a way wholly different to anything she’d felt before.

Spike held back, but the glassiness in his eyes softened at her apology, and he hardly believed the possibility that she wanted him to know she felt remorse for earlier.

“Angel and I broke up.”

He couldn’t help the severe swing of his head as he tried to take that one in. In one breath she turned all his assumptions arse over tit. He felt the push of awe take him over at the opening she’d given him, but it still didn’t explain her moment of jealous protection.

“What does it feel like?”

Again her quiet question blew him out of the water.

“What does what feel like, Pet?”

The answer obviously caused her some anxiety as her hesitance stretched into the night accompanied with impatience. He’d finally given up on her wide eyes, her racing heartbeat and fluttering pulse when she opened her mouth and uttered the response guaranteed to strip his pretensions bare.

“Your bite?” Her nervousness gentled his heart and he tipped his head to the side in amazement.

“My bite, or the poof’s? Or just a bite in general?” He balanced on edge, waiting for the devastation that could be her answer, but it was postponed with banter he hadn’t been ready for,

“Have you been bitten by Angel, too?”

Her wide-eyed innocence was adorable, and it momentarily threw him from the revelation she was asking him to make. He wanted to hold back, wanted to conceal how close he’d actually been with his vampiric family, but it would be wrong, and that was what he was trying to reverse.

His automatic jump into the wrong option of everything.

He considered her closely, wondering if she was really ready to know the truth of vampire existence, of tradition and survival. He faltered at the wariness that lent her green eyes a black shadow, but garnered the strength he would need to acknowledge something he’d taken pains to forget since the day he’d encountered Angel in Sunnydale. Moments he was now finding it far from enjoyable to do over again. Sharing Harris’s basement while his folks screamed and threw things at each other above their heads was a pleasant memory in comparison.

But if he didn’t answer, it would be something held over them for Heaven only knew how long. Spike was a vampire, and Buffy the Slayer. She had to know the truth of life for those she killed. She had to know the truth about Spike. She had to be lowered to his reality, so when she made statements like breaking up with Angel, he’d know that she said them fully prepared for the consequences. He pulled her to her feet so he could look her in the eye.

“Yeah. I’ve been bitten by Angel. And I’ve bitten ‘im. We were a close family, Buffy. It’s what vampires do. Sharing blood with your Sire is a gift. Almost like Christmas.” He smiled at her, trying to reassure her that it wasn’t as evil or macabre as she probably thought.

“I get that,” she shocked him with. “It’s…almost like an honour to be chosen to be bitten. Even as food.”

Spike nearly fell to his knees, wonder at this younger, less emotionally scarred Buffy overwhelming his sense of order.

“Not a bloody honour for the fledge trying to take you out.”

Spike felt a little angry at this response, this negligence and acceptance of the bite. He was torn, the erotic possibilities of her desire to feel the sensual slide of fangs into her soft flesh opposing the almost frantic fear of her passing at the teeth of some strange vamp.

“But, it’s being chosen,” she countered and his mouth dropped open, absent a vital clue of where she was going with this topic.

“What are you gettin’ at, sweets?”

He hoped. Spike held himself still, waiting in almost agony for her to speak further. The image of biting was circling around his head now at breakneck pace and he felt a little dizzy at all the potential.

“When,” she paused and her gaze fell to study the grass with furious intent. “When you chose those Slayers, when you chose me?” And courage was gained with her desperate need for confirmation. “When you chose to kill us, don’t you see that we would consider it an honourable death? Not killed in a car accident, or disease, but by an opponent worthy of our calling.”

Spike was dumbstruck, not only by the image her words brought to mind, the memories that brought a hesitant smile to his lips, but the maturity of thought and acceptance of her fate.

“I s’pose it is. It was definitely an honour for me. To win against the girl born to take me out, though I didn’t taste them both, pet.”

She was nodding her agreement, and instead of the frown that he expected to accompany the subject matter, she completely leveled him with a seductive wink.

“It’s my birthday in a few months.”

Her change twisted his gut into an excruciating knot.

“Yeah. Not likely to forget,” he told her, anxious over the timing in relation to Dru’s deathday. In his past he’d been heavily immersed in reassembling The Judge. Thankfully, this time no one was in the position to carry that out.

“I was wondering…hoping…”

Spike fell into the promise she projected from her increased heat. It reached out and captured him, steadily reeling his coherence into a drooling ball of vampire lust. He wanted her so badly, and all this talk of biting was rendering him helpless with control. He found his body moving closer to hers, almost unwillingly, still confused over the show over Angel.

But he needed the contact with her. Needed to touch her and reassure himself that this was past Buffy, pre-Angelus and re-ensouled Angel’s desertion. Not the Buffy of his future—cold, almost dead inside, and rejecting everything to do with his love. Despite his earlier fears, with this Buffy there could be hope for him to cling to.

But the conversation had become stunted while he had buried himself in his rhythmic panting. He was teetering, so close to her now he could feel the burn of her body through two layers of clothing.

“Yes,” he breathed almost soundlessly, encouraging her to speak the words, to add to the element of fire that was raging within and around them right now.

Her eyes were focused on him, so close he could see the tiny flecks of gold immersed in the jade of her iris, and the grey line circling all the colour. So close, his unneeded breath expanding his diaphragm regularly enough to brush his chest against the tips of her nipples.

“I want you to bite me on my birthday.”

For one startling second Spike could feel the disintegration of his body. Saliva rushed his mouth and he could feel his fangs tickling at his gums, his demon struggling to emerge and take her up on her offer. He was desperate to do something, and as near to her as he was he felt impulse rule his limbs and he was crushing her against him, his cool breath gasping at her neck.

She trembled in his arms, excitement forcing her blood to rush against the thin covering of skin, almost reaching out for him to take, to taste.

Spike felt tears of gratitude burn at his lids and he hiccuped a single sob, his hands clutching desperately at her hair as he forced his demon back. Her birthday. She wanted it as a gift on her special day, to mark another milestone year with a new set of marks, ones given in love and affection rather than intent for death.

Then he was kissing her, his lips frantically bestowing wet, sloppy kisses on her neck and working toward her jaw. By the time he’d captured her lips he was gone, disappeared to a place where Buffy was his, claimed and mated so that Angel never had a hope of getting her back.

“I want to make love to you,” he mumbled against her lips, his mouth working hard to catch every surface of her plump softened flesh. Her eyes, temple, nose…he wanted it all.

“On my birthday,” was her answer and he almost whooped at her permission, the final step about to be handed to him on a golden platter.

He was indeed a lucky bloke.

Buffy struggled for breath as she quite happily submitted to being crushed against Spike’s body, knowing the trembling was reciprocated. She’d taken the step, admitted what she wanted and she was in a hurry for the first time in ages to get to a birthday. Even if a quarter of a year was still to be lived.

The images that bombarded her mind, of being completely naked and free to worship his body…she felt like growling. His blunt teeth snapping at her throat elicited moans of pure passion and she seriously considered bringing her celebrations forward.

To right now.

In the graveyard.

Long licks of his tongue had her knees weakening. As she felt herself lowering to the ground, it seemed to bring him back to himself and Spike held her away from him as he gasped in air, a relaxation technique to regain control.

“Right, we should get you home.”

Buffy felt disappointed, but still placed her smaller hand in his and allowed him to walk her home like a date.

They shared an innocent kiss at the tree under her window, and instead of words, she conveyed her girlish excitement for her birthday gift with a grin. Then she was gone, shimmying up the tree and disappearing inside her bedroom window.

And Spike walked back to Giles’s on a cloud that should be unavailable to the likes of him. But she’d offered it to him, not Angel. Her innocence, she would be his. His confidence was surging back and he just knew things would be different.

Bloody hell! She wanted him to bite her. His Buffy had never submitted to the thought of his fangs in her throat. This Buffy desired it. Thought it an honour for him to choose her. He felt like he was about to keel over from a heart attack, except for the absence obviously of a beating heart.

But his luck was definitely changing.
 

“Stop it! You’re scaring me. No small feat for an ex…exciting type like myself.” Spike couldn’t help but flinch back in the face of two of the most deliriously excited and proud smiles he’d ever seen spread across the face of a human while in his presence.

“Would you bleeding well stop it?” His voice held a tinge of whine and he cringed when even more of their teeth became visible. “Bloody hell, just talk would you?” He was honestly scared; they looked like they’d been taken over by some kind of happy parasite, their faces frozen in a grin reminiscent of the absent but pure pleasure of The Gentleman.

Instead of a dimming of the dual beaming, Spike found himself with an armful of exuberant elder Summers and he shot looks of pleading to the other member of the Happy Club.

“Rupert, get this woman off me right bloody well now.”

Without intervention, Joyce stepped back and Spike took his chances. He leapt away from the two and took refuge behind the huge block of sofa. Waggling his finger at the still frighteningly chipper pair, he warned them to keep back with an unaccustomed shaky voice.

“I remember this!” he almost shouted in desperation, feeling a lot like Harris on one of his usual lightbulb moments about three hours after the fact.

“Band Candy, you two had a tipple. Bloody magical chocolate!”

Too late Spike remembered his slip about things yet to happen. The mention of magic might not have been the smartest thing he’d ever done, either.

At last the wattage dimmed and the smiles slowly slipped in confusion.

“Er, we were just excited about the success of the auction,” offered Giles, and just like that the scary good humour snapped back on their lips.

But this was alright, he could cope with this, understand even. The auction. He’d forgotten it was to be last night, which was unusually negligent of him.

“Right then. Went off okay, did it?”

Joyce started jumping on the spot, her sophisticated smile and laughing eyes infectious enough for him to venture two steps back around the sofa.

“We’re rich,” she screeched loud enough to make his eardrums vibrate extra violently.

“Made a few thousand then, did we?” he asked in relief, glad that he’d made the money more legitimately this time rather than trying to deal with those stupid and bleeding dangerous eggs again.

Giles gasped. “A few thousand? My God man, I asked collectors of these kinds of artifacts, and I’m still reeling over the wonderful pieces you allowed me to pick out first. Absolute treasures. It has set you up for life.”

Spike watched the realisation leach into the good humour, and blinked.

“Er, well, perhaps a reasonably, er, lengthy life?” Giles amended hastily with a wink, thrusting a handkerchief against his clean lenses as he attempted to wipe his small gaff away and distract Joyce from the strange interaction.

It made Spike attempt to share their mood, and he allowed a trademark smirk to tilt his lips.

“So, would there be enough for me to get my own place? Just a small flat somewhere?”

Spike became alarmed at the look of incredulity on faces of the older generation, though he did think the bugging of Giles’s eyes was moderately funny.

Joyce’s charming giggle brought the focus back and she whispered a total that made Spike’s own eyes bug.

“What was that, Joyce?”

“You’ve made me a comfortable woman, Spike. I am extremely grateful to you for choosing my gallery to host your auction.”

“Will it make you comfortable enough to pay off your house? Get good life insurance? You know, to cover Buffy if anything ever happens. She doesn’t get paid for sl…slummin’ around, you know.” He aimed an evil, angry glance at the Council representative in the room before beginning to get concerned that he’d set Joyce onto a line of worry that wasn’t necessary. “Not that that matters,” he rushed to reassure. “’M here now. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

Joyce blessed him with confusion. “You know Buffy?” A quick look to her right brought Rupert into her line of vision and she shrugged her shoulders in understanding. “Of course you do. I never made the connection.”

It hadn’t occurred to him before, but Spike could feel himself haunted by the fact of what he was, and Joyce’s lack of knowledge about his and Buffy’s world.

“Buffy and I have sort of been seeing each other.” The thought of Joyce hating him, of wanting to keep him away from Buffy, was a hot lance that seared his heart. “I’ll take good care of her, Joyce. I’ll never ‘urt her. I know she’s young, but I…I care a great deal for ‘er. I hope you don’t mind.”

He was unable to continue looking at her, knowing that finally his luck was at an end, and no matter what tremendously fantastical total the auction of demon artifacts had made him, the mother of the woman he’d give his unlife for was about to sweep her away from him. Not because he was dangerous; not because of what he was. She was going to forbid him Buffy because of who he was. Irony was a bitch. A great big, nasty Hellmouthy bitch. He felt like falling to his knees and crying his heart out. Foiled at every turn.

He’d forgotten about Joyce. All the new situations meshing with the old, he sometimes forgot that Buffy hadn’t yet died for good-- or at least until out-of-control power-mongering witches let loose with her magic box and hauled her best friends out of the sodden ground. Forgotten that he needed to pave the way, allow Joyce to get to know him and see that he was a wise choice for her daughter. It didn’t help that he was hard pressed believing he could have her, that she was even interested in exploring a relationship with him. The turn around of attitude of his two Buffys was so acute it near twisted off his head.

The hushed quiet was getting to him and he finally risked an upward glance, only to be confronted by a simple warm and accepting smile from the girl’s mother. He sighed in emotional relief and sat heavily on a nearby table chair.

“How old are you, Spike?”

And just like that he was back, wavering on that line that meant he could easily tip over onto the side of bereft, of being the loser. Again.

“I don’t wan’ to lie, Joyce. Please don’t ask me.” He could feel the futility of it all prickling at his eyelids and he buried his head in his hands, all excitement about the possibility of being as rich as blazes surrendering to his terror of losing Buffy to her youth.

“Are you twenty-five?” She levelled him with a hard eye and his hope shrunk in on itself.

“Nope,” he countered mournfully. “Long way from twenty-five.”

At first he didn’t understand her relieved sigh, nor could he grasp the meaning behind her brief hug while he sat.

“You are a houseguest of Mr. Giles. How can I do anything but trust you? Buffy holds him in such high esteem. And she has mentioned you, though I hadn’t put it all together before.” She dished him a saucy wink and he felt his throat scratch in its dryness.

“I bet you got those artifacts and jewels as an inheritance. How could a mother be so negligent as to prevent her daughter dating a millionaire?” The easiness of her permission stunned the seated vampire to such an extent that he couldn’t expel words.

Giles saw his inability and took over.

“Yes, Spike has hung onto those family heirlooms for quite a while, but other than a few choice stones, there was really no reason for him to hang on to so much of it.”

Joyce nodded her agreement just as Spike was coming back to himself.

“A lot of it was right ugly, hey Rupert? Though I do have the perfect birthday present for Buffy.” Spike’s eyes rolled back as he leaned into the chair and thought back to the sword he’d swiped from the hidden tomb. The warrior in Buffy would adore it, and he wouldn’t mind borrowing it on the odd occasion, either.

“Well, in answer to earlier, I will definitely have enough to pay off the house. Hadn’t thought of life insurance, but I guess that is something I should look into. We never think we won’t be around forever.” Her laugh was a tinkle that brought tears to his eyes. The knowledge of what her loss would do to this group—all of them, not just Buffy. Her death deprived the lot of them of one of the too few adult influences in their midst.


He made it to his feet in a cautious move and wrapped her awkwardly in his leather-clad arms. He kissed her spontaneously on the top of her head, grief mingling with his second chance.

“Thanks for all you’ve done, pet. I ‘preciate all your help.”

Joyce rewarded his generosity of affection with a warm palm to the side of his face.

“I don’t mind you dating my daughter, Spike. But please keep in mind her age?” The last was a veiled warning disguised as a suggestion, and Spike could feel his agitated body project to a foot shuffle as he recalled the birthday plans Buffy had blatantly outlined to him.

“I’ll do that, Joyce. Thanks again.”

Her exit brought with it two sighs of relief that the pretence was at an end.

“Forgot she doesn’t know about the supernatural world,” he offered lamely as Giles returned from securing the door.

“Yes, sometimes it makes things rather awkward. I’m rather afraid I’m still confused how she can be so blind to the goings on of this town. And Buffy’s bruises, cuts, ruined clothing. There is an abundant amount of…demon blood and gore….that I am unsure how Joyce manages to miss.”

“Maybe Buffy’s just good at covering her tracks.”

“Well, she certainly has been in regards to this dating you were referring to.”

Spike was suddenly the focus of a full Watcher glare, knowing that the friendly camaraderie was at a disadvantage. Spike groaned in resignation. He felt like he had to fight for every single one of his breaks and it was bloody exhausting.

“Look, Rupes. Didn’t think it was a bloody secret. You and Red knew as soon as I swallowed the Gem I was off to see Buffy. She’s much better off with me than the Wanker. I’m never goin’ to bugger off and leave her to whatever fate dishes out.”

Giles pinned him with a considering look, his brow arched in thought.

“With all the knowledge and years of training through the Council, I never thought I could see that it was possible for a soulless demon to actually do good deeds. But you, Spike, are the antithesis of everything I’ve ever believed. I can’t help but still feel a little nervous that we are possibly being fooled by you, that you have some grand plan to kill us all. We are all taking a tremendous risk by inviting you into our lives. I would hope that you mean what you say in regards to Buffy. If this face you have been showing us is genuine, then I wholeheartedly give you my blessing with Buffy. And I agree with you about the Wanker, as you call him!”

Spike was two seconds from banging his head violently against the wall. He struggled in an effort to control his impulse to thrash everything in the place in explosive frustration. It was his driven impulse to give in to the fury, to allow them all to see his talent for destruction and murder. But just as his demon started to flicker in the back of his consciousness he came back to his senses, a sparkling blond image circling his haze of red to calm and protect all he had been striving for.

And just like that the fight went out of him. His muscles loosened, his demon took again to the backseat and relaxed as Spike wondered how he was ever going to have them trust him. And then he accepted that they probably never would. He was a threat. He had the power, the ability to dominate this group, snap them like brittle twigs. Completely annihilate their sweet little world and allow the Big Bad to rein once again. But he chose to use his superior strength for good, to protect them all, even if they were so bleeding well small minded they couldn’t tell the difference.

He hated to admit it, but killing them off now would actually hurt him. He’d become attached to the lot of them over the years, their abuse notwithstanding. Even Harris, though he was like a scab you couldn’t help but peel so it would continually reappear unhealed. Giles was someone he could respect; someone he could relate to on an intellectual level in a way he’d never attempted to before. So, the fact that that barrier had been diverted was enough to show that at least a modicum of trust supported his presence.

“I’m not much of one for plannin’, Watcher. If all I was about was to kill you all, I’d ‘ve done you in your sleep ages ago. I’m not gonna hurt the girl. Buffy is special. I want her to survive. If I have my way, she will.”

Not once had he lifted his head to study the expression of his fellow converser, not eager to see anything but acceptance. His body shuddered on a sigh, and his biceps flexed against the fabric of his black tee. He ran both hands through his gelled hair in an agitated front to back sweep, releasing the curls to riot over his head and reflect the tear of his mind.

“’M doin’ everything for her. Can’t you see that? Being able to walk in the sunlight, selling off the other jewels and artifacts so that I can support her, make sure she never wants for anythin’. I want her to not have to worry ‘bout the little things, yeah? She’s enough on her plate without worryin’ about unnecessaries. I’ll do anything she wants.”

The silence buzzed in his ears, overlaid by the thought, the knowledge that Rupert was dying to say something, challenge something, and once he did, Spike wished he’d gone on that rampage to open it all up, paint the town red. He’d never win.

“Would you get a soul for her?” The tone was inquisitive, yet it held every condemnation the Scoobies had loaded at him for the years he’d been amongst them since the chip. Before that, having a soul was not something they expected of him. They knew him as an evil bloodsucker. But since the day he had stumbled into their protection under the exposure of sunlight, they had damned him for not being Angel. For not being a trendsetter in the soul department. But none of them had ever asked. Actually put the option out there and let him consider it.

Even weeks ago he would have said ‘hell no’. But would he? Could he do that if it would put their doubts behind them once and for all? This Buffy seemed happy enough with what he could give her. He’d been trying so hard, keeping his lips closed against some of the stupider things that wanted to roar past his lips. And so far he’d succeeded, and she’d asked him to bite her, mark her, make her his. But how long could it last? He wasn’t known for his cool restraint, wasn’t sure how long he could control the demon inside under his own steam before it would demand carnage. And here he had no chip to stop him should he go too far.

If he killed, Buffy would never forgive him.

If he lost control around her, he’d never forgive himself.

But the one thing he couldn’t bear, getting souled up would achieve. He’d be just like his pansyarse of a sire. Angel. Cursed Angel. He knew the teacher was probably close to finding the spell, but what if the nature of that soul was what caused Angelus to emerge so enraged? The Angelus of Sunnydale was different to the Angelus of old. Sure, Angelus was mighty, was evil in the extreme, was vicious in his swathe cutting. But to his family, he’d been tender. There were shades of that in Angel’s attentions to Buffy. The Scoobies were all in the dark about the truth of Angelus. Losing his soul made him badder, meaner, and bent on revenge. And for some reason he’d blamed his family, even though it was he that had deserted Spike and Drusilla, not a word of warning or explanation, just up and gone in the slink of darkness.

And yet, Spike he’d punished. To this day, he had no clue why. Maybe there was no thought to it at all. Maybe it was just him reasserting his place in the family. And Spike, wheelchair restrained, was unable to challenge for his long held place as head of the small family.

So, the losing of the soul changed Angelus. He was no longer the vampire he’d once been. He came back with something to prove, and a Slayer to torture and play with. He’d done one hell of a job, shutting her off for the rest of her life. Living through Angelus had closed off her heart, damaged her faith in her decision-making skills.

So, would Spike willingly don the cap that would likely make him like his elder, brooding and sullen, while he watched the love of his unlife from afar? Knowing that a decent shag was way down on his list of happies. Just being in her presence, holding her hand after all the ‘I’m using you’, ‘you make me feel’ bollocks from the future was diverted for a much nicer set of phrases. And he knew it wouldn’t take much to push the boundaries of the curse. What was the point of a dispensable curse?

It was selfish of him, but being cursed with a soul wasn’t going to make things better. And if he lost it on a whim and came back as mean and ugly as Angelus, well, he wouldn’t fail to kill the girl. He knew that from experience.

Giles, who’d sat unmoving yet watching intently the play of emotion crossing Spike’s flickering features, had left his contemplative quiet alone. Short bursts had revealed the demon to the Watcher, and he was fascinated with the play and thought Spike gave the concept of a soul. He’d expected a soulless demon to do nothing less spectacular than reject the notion quite out of hand. To jump to his feet, fangs bared and dripping as he struggled with the option of running like hell, or leaving the unarmed man pale and bloody on the carpet.

To Giles’s tremendous relief, Spike did neither. After a substantial degree of time had passed, and darkness teasing at the open curtains, Spike spoke. His consideration had been deep, and his resolution unfathomable.

“Yeah. If that’s what she needs. I’ll get my soul. But not like Angel.” He looked up, his cool but bright blue irises glittering with a furious fire that Giles had not thought possible. “I won’t be cursed. I’ve heard of a demon. In Africa. Will reward you with a wish if you complete his trials. Not a bloody cake walk, either, Watcher. Could well end up dust. But I’d do it. Have him give me what she deserves.”

Spike looked across the flat at a darkening window, remembering his Buffy. The Buffy who’d come back from Heaven angry, and alone. He’d tried to give her everything he was, but instead of dragging her back to herself—returning her to the light she seemed depleted of—he’d come up with the sterling argument that she belonged in the dark. Doing it over, he now knew how wrong he was. She never belonged in the dark. His Buffy had lost her way, but not her light. Only Spike had tried to pull her further away from it.

How would things have been different if he’d left to reclaim his soul? If instead of walking into the Magic Box, getting drunk and commiserating with Anya and being wished right back to where it all started, if he’d hopped on his bike and made it to some transport off the continent and off to Africa? Could he have changed things? Might she have appreciated his efforts to become the opposite of everything she had accused him of being? Was it possible that she might have finally come to him, her heart open and willing if he’d made that kind of sacrifice for her?

He couldn’t help but think it was possible. He hadn’t given her any reason to call him different to being a soulless monster. The first opportunity he had to use his fists without cranial payback and he’d planted them on the woman he claimed to love. He’d been pushed into fighting for his love in a physical way, but when she finally surrendered to him it was in anger and disgust.

The pain welled way down, because he knew. Even then he knew. She felt something for him, and it wasn’t as negative as she liked to think. He could feel it in her more tender moments, in the way she kissed him. Just the fact that she came to him and let him touch her at all. Contrary to what Buffy thought, she wasn’t the type to use. So, her claim was to pacify more herself than him. She was past caring about how he felt about her actions.

No, the somber let down—her dumping him—had meant more to try and free herself of guilt, than to let him down softly. Deep down she kept her feelings buried beneath her subconscious, unable to acknowledge them to herself. If she had, her denials and her hate would have been unfounded. And after punching her way through dirt and wood to crawl from her grave, it was the hate she needed to cling to. Either that or the Scoobies might have ended up as finely-ground mince meat.

So, yeah. To make up ground from that little mess, he would have had to make some grand gesture, do something drastic to prove to her that he could change, wanted to change so she could feel secure in her feelings for him. Show her there was no need for guilt, for hiding.

He couldn’t do it for that Buffy now, what with Anya wishing him way into her past. But he could do it for her now. Could set their future up to be secure. And it wouldn’t be a burden. Wouldn’t be a hundred years of disgrace and hiding from his past. Not with her by his side. Not with her friends by their side.

Still, it filled him with a gutful of fear. Truly, he’d rather crawl belly flat over flaming hot coals and risk ignition than go and fight for his soul. But his demon wasn’t cringing away as much as he would have expected. It was William, hiding in his corner and too afraid to climb out and claim centre stage. William who’d been made fun of, who couldn’t do a thing right in his life. Even his one true passion—the one thing that gave his life meaning—was a whole load of bollocks. His awful poetry was better at feeding a fire in winter than being spoken out loud. Buggering everything up with his pathetic ramblings of love and his non-knowledge of women. Yeah, William was terrified of showing his face in public again. Afraid of being exposed in front of another woman he loved, and found wanting.

It was a question that was better addressed now than in some state of future where it was brought up again because he’d shown an inability to control his impulses. What if he somehow managed to do the opposite of what he professed he wanted? What if by some sad turn of fate he did hurt the girl? Then it might be too late. When love wasn’t enough to get him through the barrage of betrayal, or hurt and perhaps hate.

He could make it his own. His demon was in control, and clamouring for a say on the condition. To Spike’s complete surprise, his demon was joyous in his permission, seeing the strategy for what it was. A conscience. A leg-rope to tie down his evil. For sure he had the most fucked up demon a vampire had ever been saddled with. Was it any wonder his sire, his Grandsire, his Great grandsire had always been ashamed of him?

The demon could fashion the soul, however, could expend enough influence to keep William in check. And that was all Spike could wish for.

Giles sat with his bum firmly glued to the seat and an incredulous turn to his mouth. It hung open, his glasses dangling from his lax fingertips as he struggled to make sense of this revelation. A demon willingly submitting to the idea of a soul.

“This is between you and me, Rupert. You don’t tell Peaches. You don’t tell Red or the Whelp. Not your teacher lady-friend. And especially you don’t tell Buffy. I’ll investigate the demon some more and when I have the details, we can discuss it then.”

The event hung on the night air once again, swift in the discovery of its possibility while the struggle for gravity with its weight battled on. A change of subject was desperately called upon, and Spike thought back to earlier when Joyce was here, crowing about how wealthy he now was.

“So,” rushed past his lips as he fair bounced out of his chair, beginning an agitated pace around the living area. “I’m a bloody millionaire vamp.” He stopped his pacing, a look of wonder crossing his lips and changing the shape of his lids. “Think I’m feelin’ a bit faint, mate.” And he collapsed on the sofa, changing the night’s venue for chat once again.

Giles was not long in steadying himself in a chair beside the thunderstruck vampire and offered him a half-filled glass of his finest bottle of scotch.

“A toast. To new beginnings. And lots and lots of money.” The glass pinged the air with a celebratory tinkle, and Spike began to see the benefit of an ever-widening grin. It felt all right to be happy.

The two settled down to steady drinking, expounding the virtues of expensive liquor over the cheap stuff while their heads filled with the heady influence of said liquid.

“Another toast,” Spike belched later in the night. “To pretty girls and flashy red penis-mobiles.”

Giles replied with a spray of scotch and a mirthful liquored giggle.

“I can just see you,” he tittered. “A bleach blond vampire with the top down, hair blinding in the sun in his little red sports car.”

The image made Spike nod in approval as he contemplated a choice of red or black.

“Not me, mate. You. Got to get rid of that hunk of junk you got out there sometime. When you do I’ll bet you go for bright and flashy.” His insider smirk was just the ticket to get Giles wondering.

Giles furrowed his brow in deep thought, and then he brought up the next expenditure.

“So, shopping for a place to live?” His tone did not convey an urgent desire to see the back of Spike, but rather an interest in his choice of lodgings now he had the money to consider.

Spike thought about it, his fingers drilling absently over his denim clad thigh. Just what would be the perfect set up? he wondered. A house was too much work, inside and out. Something like where Harris lived in the future would be perfect. And a gigantic step up from the Harris basement where he had spent some less than pleasant moments in his life. Spike had set foot in the apartment once, and that was only because Anya had bullied him into transporting some great chunk of furniture up the stairs for her. Once was enough to see that the place was pretty fancy. A decent place where he could make himself a home.

His memory recalled only one bedroom though, and something whispered in his ear that it might be better to locate a two-bedroom place. Memories of the screaming matches—heavy emphasis on the shattering glass—from when he’d made Xander’s basement his home brought about a little touch of commiserative feeling. Yeah, wouldn’t hurt to have a spare bedroom should anyone need a place to sleep.

His mind made up to look for a semi-posh flat like Harris’s future place, his ears stumbled upon a suggestion from a more than half inebriated watcher slash librarian.

“Wha’s that?” he asked in his own altered lazy tongue, wondering when the fuzzy had settled over his head and dragged his lids to half-mast.

“There’s a lettle bung’low for sale, right here in th’s block.”

Spike smiled drunkenly and filled his cup by half again. He slurped at the amber liquid as he calculated.

“How close ‘gain?”

Giles watched the vampire on his sofa and rolled to the side of his own chair. Its arm prevented him from sliding completely to the floor.

“What’s close?” he asked, taking the time to pronounce the two words as precisely as he remembered how.

Spike’s eyes widened as he tried to recall the original strand of the conversation, only two sentences deep into it. A flash of the Harris basement brought it back in desperate clarity, and he almost leapt forward in an effort to beseech the watcher to stay on task.

“The Bunglow, how’s close you say its isses?”

Giles watched him blankly, then began to giggle. “Isses? Oh my!”

The giggling continued until Spike flashed his fangs in annoyance and Giles jumped, spilling the rest of his glass against his shirt.

“Oh, close? Um, upstairs and to the left.”

Spike rested back into the sofa, thinking over the wisdom of living so close to Buffy’s watcher. They would be on call in case of apocalypses, or even other demon emergencies. Wasn’t too close for them to draw attention to themselves. If he had the place soundproofed, it would be a bit of all right.

Making up his mind to check it out as soon as possible—and still holding out a mini prayer for the second bedroom for those who might occasionally need it—by mutual consent the two men slumped back in their chairs, empty glasses of grog slipping slowly from slack fingers, and they gently fell asleep.

 

TBC

Buffy stood next to a silent Spike, noticing his indulgent smile toward the dark-haired nutter that Angel was dutifully pushing on the swings. Both dark vampires appeared to be enjoying themselves; happily trading snippets of odd conversation that Angel apparently had no understanding of. It made Spike laugh.

“Bout time you brushed up on Dru speak, Peaches.”

Flinty dark eyes settled on the slighter built blond vampire, and he jerked his head in a show of dominate temper.

“What are you doing here, Spike? I took her. Like you demanded.”

His eyes turned in surprise to Buffy.

“Buffy? What are you doing with him? You can’t trust him, you know.”

“Sure I can,” she answered carelessly as she stepped forward and began to walk over and meet the playful two.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, pet.”

Spike hardly got the words out before Buffy hit the ground from the force of enraged jilted vampire, long hair on both sides getting tangled in the dirt. Dru gained the upper hand and held Buffy down, punching her once and then holding deadly talons at her throat. The vampiress had a loose grip, however, energy fast deserting her. Adrenaline had given her a speed and viciousness that had been lacking in her since the attack in Prague.

“Get off her, Dru.” Spike’s voice was loud in the sudden silence, but he could hear the pumping fear of Buffy’s blood and it made him nauseous. He should have suspected something like this to happen. He’d given Dru no explanation for his defection, though he was afraid she had seen his reason. And now he had the proof, and the thought of the light of his life being drained in an ugly altercation in the park made him shudder in fear.

Spike advanced on the two figures, Buffy deathly still as she felt compelled to stare into the other’s eyes, but the sound of Spike’s voice seemed to shatter something and she blinked, coming back to herself and shoving at the brunette holding her flat on her back on the ground.

“Get off me, you crazy bitch,” Buffy shouted as she gave Spike’s better be ex a good solid shove.

Spike caught her weakened frame, then carelessly thrust her away from him, anger and violence etched in the glare of his eye and the twist of his lip. For a moment Buffy thought him caught in the female vamp’s eyes, just like she had been, but she could also see the struggle going on by the way his hands flexed into fists. With one almighty growl, he hauled back and punched Drusilla in the mouth, sending her flying across the park and into the arms of the brooding vampire. She cowered in her sire’s arms, all fight depleted, leaving her limp and ill.

“What the bleeding fuck was that, Dru?” Outrage gave Spike volume, and his hands windmilled as he paced in agitation. “You go near her again and I’ll tear your head off your bleeding shoulders. Have you got that?”

Buffy couldn’t tear her eyes from the violent fury of him, the fierce beauty of her protector, her defender, and her eyes narrowed on one who supposedly had been that to her only days before.

“She smells like the sun, my Spike. All pretty and innocent, but not for long. Happiness is a curse, my sweet.” And the crazy vamp girlishly cupped her hand over her mouth and laughed, leaving the onlookers to try and interpret her ravings as best they could.

Once Angel had settled her against his chest, his own stance reeked of leashed fury as he glared at his childe.

“Don’t you ever lift a hand to her again or I’ll...”

“Oh that does it.” Buffy stood mad, legs apart and hands on hips. “You,” she said pointing a finger at Angel, “just did the big zilcho in making sure that the Queen of the Damned there didn’t just slit my throat. And now, you’re threatening Spike because he defended me? Tried to protect me? The freak feature of the week rolls into town and all of a sudden you’re not on the side of good anymore? Well, could have told me.” She tapped her foot, masking feelings of insecurity as she stared down the vampire she thought was the love of her life. It was feeling like quite a wrench that he might not be. Even though she’d opted for experimentation elsewhere, her dreams were difficult to let go of.

Looking over her shoulder she could see Spike in a serious staring contest with the other two vamps, and Buffy decided that her night would be more than complete without whatever dusty occasion might result from the brewing showdown.

“Know what? You take care of Elvira, and Spike and I will go patrolling. Just,” and she raised her pleading eyes to Angel’s, uncertain green clashing with confused brown, “keep her away from me.”

Buffy turned on her heel, seizing Spike’s hand as she went past him and dragged him along behind her.

Once they had gone, Angel turned to Dru and held out his hand to her. “What was that all about, Dru?”

She peered at him with eyes glittering with knowledge.

“My Daddy is all closed in and angry. The little girl is the Key to all mysteries, my Angel. I only needed to smell her, and see her.”

Angel shook his head, wondering why he even asked. They left the park with him none the wiser about Dru’s motives and even less clear about what was going on with him and Buffy. He hadn’t had a chance to tell her about the new way of things, knowing he had probably done the wrong thing in concealing Dru from her.

And now she seemed to be getting chummy with Spike.

Angel clenched his jaw in a sudden understanding. Spike was after something, and had to go through Buffy to get it. Knowing Spike, it was probably revenge at Angel himself for leaving the family behind when he was first cursed.

The puzzles seemed too complex for him to unravel tonight and he led Drusilla to her new home. His home. With a deep, put upon sigh.

A/N...would love to keep up with what you are all thinking!! If you read this, consider reviewing. It makes a writer very happy and a happy writer..........  

Xander stepped alongside Spike, almost tripping on his uncoordinated feet in an effort to keep up with the graceful and determined vamp. He was still encased in that hazy world that was busy denying he was actually only an arm away from the incarnation of evil, and semi-enjoying himself. It was a great world. One with rollercoasters and rides on the ever popular raft going down the infamous river De-nile! Oh, it was pretty…no demons, no weirdo types sitting in his science class, no savage dog attacks…no Spike.

His happy came to an abrupt conclusion. No evil, then no Buffy to fight it. And that would be so much bad he didn’t want to even think about it. Thinking was power, and he didn’t want it.

So instead, he had this quandary beside him, dragging him from one property for sale to the next. They only spoke to each other when necessary, throwing the odd derogatory comments back and forth almost as if it was just a tired requirement. But even so, Xander was kinda enjoying himself. Felt nice to do something with another male for a change. Last time he had this was with Jesse…which brought him back to the vampire part of the equation and his confusion jumped a notch.

But it was still way up high on the scale of wig. Not to mention a lot scary. Here he was, trotting alongside a supposedly ex-evil vampire that glowed with his new undustable status, like he did this thing every day. He was taking a lot here on trust and he just hoped that Buffy—not to mention himself and the other Scoobies—didn’t live to regret it. Or not live to…whatever. He hoped that Spike didn’t prove to be a killer. Or at least, not prove it by killing them. Specifically Xander.

“So, Whelp.”

Xander jumped in surprise. They hadn’t really talked while they made their way to each place, the intermittent journeying shrouded in almost comfortable silence. In light of that, Xander eyed the white-haired vamp with suspicion.

“Yeah?”

Spike looked at the boy hard, seemingly struggling with the desire to say something but failing to get his tongue around it. Opting for something else instead.

“So, what’d you think ‘bout the last place? Comfy? Was it airy enough? You think Buffy might like it?”

Xander’s eyes were huge in his confusion. “You’re asking me?” He shook his head as he thought. “Sure, it was real nice, Spike. I’m sure Buffy would love it. But it had two bedrooms. Whatcha need two for?”

Spike watched the conflict as it battled across Xander’s face, and felt a funny twinge of affection for the teenager.

“You know, in case someone might need a place to stay?”

Their eyes clashed and Spike seemed to hold on for dear life, for the first time eager to convey some kind of honesty with the Scooby bane of his existence. He caught the subtle shudder of Xander’s body and then his determined pull away from the stare.

“Yeah, that might be really good to know.” Xander kept his eyes lowered, almost afraid of how he was going to react if he found even the slightest glimpse of insincerity.

But he couldn’t stay downtrodden for long and at last he looked up, and was floored by the concern the vampire seemed to hold deep within those blue eyes Buffy tended to rhapsodize constantly about these days. Xander felt uncomfortable and raw, feeling like someone knew his secrets when they couldn’t possibly have a clue about them, but reassured all the same. Spike couldn’t know about how it was in his house, the truth about his family. Not even Buffy or Willow knew much about how he lived. He couldn’t see how it would come up between Buffy and the vamp. If he was a betting man, Xander would lay heavy odds that the only thing coming up in that relationship was…well…this raft was such a smooth lovely ride…

Xander shrugged it off, having zero tolerance for pornographic images of Buffy with anyone but him, even if Spike was strong and mysterious and sort of compact, but well muscled.

His eyelids seemed to explode into the retreat to the eye sockets, back on the raft and paddling back out to the middle of the river. He DID NOT just think that about Spike. But he gave him a sideways look just the same.

“So, you leaning towards a house or an apartment?” Xander rushed back to the first topic, thinking over all the places he had checked out with Spike today. It was getting dark now, and he felt all manly for walking out in the night, implicitly under the protection of a badass vamp. But safe, no matter what was by his side.

“A house might be a bit of maintenance. Won’t have much time for that sort of thing, in between the sleepin’, the patrollin’ and Passions.”

Xander shot the vamp an incredulous look and Spike returned it with a worried arch of his brow.

“What? You think Buffy might like a garden or something?”

Xander just laughed and clapped Spike on the back with a good old fashioned slap. “Nope, don’t think the Buffster is the gardening type. She likes her nails too much. And no stylish yet affordable boots would stand up to the perils of dirt. Nah, go with the apartment. ‘Sides, elevators are fun! All those little buttons with numbers on them…stopping on all the floors.”

It was Spike’s turn to spear the boy with incredulity. The strength of his tolerance—or what could easily turn to a lack of it—effectively stopped Xander’s joking and they set back to walking.

“So, you got a preference, Whelp?”

Xander felt his heart thud loudly in his chest. Nobody really asked for his opinion on things, or made out like it mattered to anything. Well, no one other than his friends —and even then not so much.

“Er, that place in that big white building was kinda nice. Big, open. You want to buy, right? Cause they had one down the hall for rent.”

Spike turned away so Xander couldn’t see the twinkle of knowledge in his eye; the smile on his lips. He found it very interesting that out of the ten places they had checked out during the day, the place at the top of Harris’s list was the one the boy would choose to live in with Anya in the future. In a strange reassuring way, it made Spike happy.

“The one for rent’s no good. Only one room and a tiny thing like a cupboard. Not really big enough to be a second room.” The implicit invitation for Xander—should he ever be in the position to need it—was almost given without thought, the generous offer of support a part of Spike that he no longer consciously fixed upon.

Thought began to tick away in Spike’s head, images of the future blending naturally with the reality of his now. He could see Anya and Harris actually making it down the aisle, one day maybe having kids, and could see how the gift of a two bedder in a place he knew the teenager would one day come to love could be seen as a really generous and thoughtful thing for Spike to do.

With Spike’s new circumstances—his success in beginning a relationship with Buffy—happiness was a thing almost bursting from his chest. He wanted to spread it around, and right now, he felt so indebted to Anya for giving him the chance, he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she and the fool she fell in love with didn’t muck up their bloody wedding.

“Right then. That’ll be the one. Let’s go get a bite to eat, perhaps a pint and I’ll call the agent.”

Xander grinned, feeling a lightness in his step as he willingly, almost excitedly made his way alongside a notorious vampire.

Man life was weird!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Giles was hanging up the phone, his face looking stern and impatient, when Buffy burst through his front door.

“Hey, Giles. Is Spike around? I thought we could do an early patrol tonight.” The responsibility suggested in her plan was lost amidst her hot, flushed face and Giles raised his left eyebrow in question. Rather than challenge her eagerness for slaying, he let it go and shook his head in the negative.

“He and Xander went out together much earlier today. Spike is looking for other accommodations.”

Buffy was too stunned to move.

“Xander?”

Giles nodded slowly, not sure which of the five questions he could think to accompany the inquiry would be the one she was actually asking.

“Spike?” Again he consented in mystification.

“Whoa. Never saw that coming.” And she flopped down on the sofa, waiting for Giles to offer some kind of conversation or suggestion of how she could fill in her time.

Before speech, he nodded at the phone, his hands busy with polishing his glasses.

“That was Angel on the telephone before you came in. He was just asking if I would mind keeping an eye on Drusilla for him. He says he needs a break.”

They watched each other, silent smiles cracking open toward laughter as they shared amusement of Angel’s whining need of a break from his charge, almost like he was an overly frazzled mother that needed time-out.

Once recovering, but with a giggle still floating through her voice, Buffy asked him, “So whatdya say? Did you agree?”

“Well, he was rather insistent.”

The humour vanished from Buffy’s face and concern twisted her lips.

“She’s pretty dangerous, though. Do you think it would be safe? And then she’d have access to your home.”

Giles jammed the glasses back above his nose as he took a step away, turning his face to suddenly become engrossed in a closed text.

“If worse comes to worst I can do a disinvite spell. I do know some magic from my pre-watcher days.”

Buffy looked at him with interest, obviously impressed.

“Cool. Way to go Giles! Remind me to get you to spill that little story one day soon.” Her wink was simultaneous with the loud, almost desperate rap at the door.

Sharing a returned smirk, Buffy went to answer it.

Standing outside was Angel—his face already perfectly molded with miserable apology—and the dark-haired vampiress. Her eyes were darkened with evil intent, and Buffy felt her body quiver. She didn’t feel fear exactly, but a sense of foreboding made her senses dull and her body freeze.

The burning hatred was completely transparent; the monster Angel wanted Giles to babysit made no effort to conceal it. Buffy couldn’t even pretend to understand what sparked it, having had nothing to do with the vamp except on the occasional meeting under the moon. The first of those two times had been rather tainted by Drusilla’s energetic effort to kill her.

“I really don’t think this is such a good idea, Angel.” Buffy couldn’t tear her eyes away from the brunette beauty. She exuded an aura of innocence completely in contradiction to her existence, yet Buffy couldn’t shake it. And couldn’t tear her eyes away from the swirling brown of the vampiress, not until Angel took her arm and she looked down at the pale fingers holding her tight.

“I need this, Buffy. You have no idea what it’s been like. Just tonight. We can chain her up or something. Giles will be perfectly safe.” His eyes were so sad; big brown puppy dog eyes imploring her to let him have this rest happen.

“Why?” Buffy countered. “Whatcha gonna do?”

She watched him closely, wondering at his expression and feeling distaste for his broody personality for the first time. The dark, mysterious persona was so over for her, she thought a little testily. Everything about Angel seemed cloaked in a silent despair that Buffy recognised now to be more than a little frightening when she saw him together with his Queen of Midnight Insanity all up close and personal.

Not for the first time did she feel herself start the comparisons between this ensouled vampire and the one who was almost constantly attached to her lips. Spike was upbeat, hopeful and sexy—often surprising her with small acts of thoughtfulness and little kisses that broke into her mind and blew it away. His passion made her forget everything, except for him. Made her forget her own name and who she was. Made her forget that she was becoming more and more intimate with a creature who shouldn’t be able to feel emotion for her, who was supposed to be evil, not out looking for accommodations with her best friend.

The best friend who hated Angel from the start, and who hated vampires with a furious animosity. Buffy knew she should be concerned about Xander, walking the streets with an invulnerable vampire. Should be terrified that Spike had been all along just trying to get her to lower her defences so he could kill them all.

But Buffy didn’t feel afraid. She felt the security warm her, knowing that Xander was out in the dark with the only other person other than her who could adequately protect him.

She couldn’t even imagine Xander going out and spending down time with Angel. Angel was impenetrable. He may have been slowly uncovering himself to Buffy, but for the most part he held himself back, kept the secrets of himself locked securely away and frowned at any attempt to get too close.

Angel was a permanently closed book whose motives and actions would never make sense to Buffy. In contrast, Spike wore his heart on his sleeve and his love in his eyes. The sense of right in that was overwhelming to Buffy. It meant she could give him her trust, and in the past few weeks he had more than earned it.

Seeing Angel silent, watching her while Drusilla stood beside him, an evil smug smile stretching her lips taut, Buffy just shrugged a little apprehensively and stepped aside.

“Er, we need Giles to invite us in.”

Buffy stepped back in minor embarrassment and allowed Giles free reign of his door while she looked around at Angel’s hands. They held nothing.

“Did you expect us to already have chains here? ‘Cause, babysitting evil vamps? Not something Giles does every day. We are usually in the business of staking them. Kinda impossible to chain up dust.” Buffy returned the evil smirk with a smile of pure malice and felt a little satisfaction as Dru shrunk back away from the doorframe.

“Er, yes Angel. Though I am not in the practice of …er…minding.” His eyes strayed to the evil beauty before him. “I do believe I posses a set of chains that might be useful.”

Buffy raised a scandalised eyebrow and made a big show of zipping her lips.

“Don’t wanna know,” she said instead and moved further back into the apartment, leaving Giles flushed and shuffling at the door.

“Giles,” Angel nudged. “We need to be invited.”

“Yes, yes of course. Come in, Angel. Drusilla.”

Buffy was back the second Drusilla launched herself at Giles, fangs barley missing the snack of his neck. She sailed back into the arms of her sire after the violent connection of Buffy’s fist to her jaw.

“Can’t you control your children, Angel?” Buffy fumed, her hands curled tightly into fists, prepared should Drusilla make another break for it and Buffy would need to belt her into restraint.

“Obviously not,” he shot back, whipped into his own fury. “If I could I would have been able to keep Spike the hell away from you.” His voice was tainted with irritation, seemingly oblivious to the real state of the interaction between his slayer and his grandchilde.

“She’s out of control. You can’t leave her here with Giles.”

“If we chain her up, it’ll be fine.” Angel shunned Buffy’s angry rejoinder and turned instead to the legal inhabitant of the abode. “Where do you think might be the best place to restrain her?”

“The…the bathroom perhaps might be the, er, safest option. There are the pipes.” Giles was obviously shaken but too proud to back out of his agreement.

Buffy shook her head, exasperated at the mindless effects of testosterone and instead stomped toward the bathroom to inspect said pipes for strength and security. Behind her she could hear the steps of Angel as he struggled to force Drusilla into the hallway, whispering words of pleading and reassurance on his way as the vampiress jerked and fought the passage. Giles came rattling up a safe distance behind them, his arms laden down with very strong, very sturdy chains.

Buffy’s eyes widened as she took them from him and met his eyes, the teasing coming back slowly.

“Ooh, shiny.” And they were. Not worn but new, the silver almost blinding.

While her back was turned, Angel had impatiently thrust Dru into the tub, her wailing and screeching wearing gratingly on Buffy’s last nerve. She showed no sympathy as she slapped the chains around her body and attached them to the pipes, winding them round and round till she felt secure that the vampire would be staying put. She deftly avoided the snapping, snarling jaw that made bites in the air—rather too close to her neck for comfort. When she finished, she gave the attached chain a petty tug and felt like sticking her tongue out at the monster with a beauty’s face, even with fangs protruding.

“So now what?”

Buffy stood waiting for Angel’s reply, hands on her hips as she looked back down the corridor. Anywhere but at the female vamp that inspired too many questions that she so didn’t want answers for.

“I could patrol with you,” Angel offered, his voice soft and encouraging. Yet to Buffy, it sounded whiny.

She didn’t rush into an answer, slow to give up her fantasies of patrolling with Spike, ones which she had invested a lot of time in developing that day. Without any intention, her eyes finally fell back on Dru and one of the questions teasing the edges of her mind forced itself to thought.

This pariah had been Spike’s lover for over a century. She’d shared everything with him, had been his key to the world of depravity and death. She’d opened up worlds that Spike would never be able to sample again if he remained by Buffy’s side, and again his lack of soul became an issue.

How could she possibly reconcile all she knew of vampires—of their hunger for the weakness of human flesh, their feral desires that decimated lives—with the reality of Spike and his pursuit of her? This was a world Buffy was meant to eradicate, not perpetuate by being choosy about who she let survive. Angel was a special case; he had a soul. Spike and Dru didn’t, and even though one was being forcibly controlled and the other had chosen a different road, was her teaching so wrong and so open to interpretation that she could leave off this decision and save her the ache developing in her heart?

“Sure,” she answered finally, turning with a final glance at Spike’s ex and heading out of the apartment, all the while cringing at the calls of hatred that were aimed at her retreating back.

Angel followed along behind her in silence, barely the thud of his footsteps audible as they made a brisk pace through the town to the first stop of the night. The vampire found it to be companionable, while Buffy felt it strained. The little moments they had shared in the past, the intimate little smiles and glances…they were all gone now. Evaporated on the winds of change as if they had never existed.

Buffy looked at Angel now and saw a stranger. When she first met him, she had been sucked all the way in by his enigmatic personality, fast becoming addicted to dark and mysterious. The problem was that once they had become close, begun to share time and saliva, nothing had changed. This vampire with a soul was as much of an intriguing puzzle to her now as he was then.

Except the kind of puzzle you admired the picture of but wanted to leave the pieces in the box.

The kind of puzzle you shrugged your shoulders over while declaring it way too hard and time-consuming.

The first vampire of the night took Buffy head on, jumping out unexpectedly from behind a tree. The Slayer threw her first punch as she eyed the male frumpy looking vampire with a note of disdain.

“Tell me you weren’t actually hiding from us behind a tree?”

The vamp nodded his head fearfully, then took to his heels and tried to run, bursting into teeny tiny dust particles seconds after a stake lodged itself deep in his back.

“Well, that was way too easy.” Buffy smiled at Angel. He returned it with a quirk of confidence as he moved a little closer to take her hand.

“I’ve missed you so much.” His eyes were round and imploring, yet completely unseeing.

Buffy’s flinch went unnoticed, her waning smile ignored as he lifted her into his arms and gave her a breath-stealing hug.

“I’ve been going crazy holed up with Dru all this time. I hope Spike has been a help.”

“Oh yeah. Big with the helpful. Helpful Spike. That’s exactly what he’s been. That’s what we call him these days.” Buffy abruptly pulled herself from the arc of Angel’s arms and stepped quickly a few steps away.

“So, Dru’s all big with the crazy, huh? I thought you were supposed to be helping with that.” Her innocent statement met eyes gone deep with remorse.

“As much as I would love to help her with that, I don’t think it’s possible. She had her sanity compromised before I sired her.”

Buffy stopped in complete surprise. “She was already nuts when you vamped her? Why would you want a psycho vampire in the family?”

She watched his head hang lower, his hands gripping tight the stake in his hand and the jaw clench in guilt inspired self-anger.

“Angelus sired her, Buffy. He wanted the benefits of her sight, but thought it amusing to break her mind before he took her eternally.”

Buffy watched Angel separate himself from his demon, and felt nothing but irritation. After experiencing so much with Spike—the care and affection, the consideration and respect—she found it difficult to draw such a distinct line.

If gaining a soul split the being into two, what on earth could be left of Spike if he gained one? Sure, he still retained the rough edges, the darkness of being evil. Buffy could feel the strain sometimes of Spike’s efforts to exert control on himself. Occasionally though, she welcomed the glimpses of the monster. Spike’s demon had never once tried to hurt her, make her submit. In fact, the few times Spike had allowed his evil side to show, the tenderness had been beautiful.

“But you’ve been helping her? I thought that was why you took her on,” Buffy asked as she walked away, checking recent graves for the signs of vampire raisings. Angel followed dejectedly behind, hmphing intelligently.

“I’ve been helping her regain her strength.”

Buffy spun on her heel to face him, her face stuck in a show of stunned surprise.

“’Cause that’s what all Sunnydale citizens needed to make them feel safe at night. A fully healed, strong loony vampire.” Buffy’s seething sarcasm made him wince. “Why on earth are you looking after her? Just hand her over to me and I’ll dust her if you guys can’t?”

Horror replaced his miserable acceptance of her mockery. “She’s my childe, Buffy. She’s my responsibility.”

“She’s nothing but a soulless killer.”

“What? Like Spike?” Angel stood confused as he watched Buffy’s face harden in determined denial. Instead of asking for an explanation behind her stubborn attachment to the peroxided vamp, he continued. “I am helping her,” he grit through his teeth in the face of her condemnation. “She will change. Just give her a chance.”
Buffy’s disbelief stretched on the air and instead of answering, she resumed her path, allowing Angel to continue to tag along while she sought out some more of those evil killers she could actually dust without an unlife saving argument.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


Xander had been to Willy’s before. More than once even. But it had never been like this. Never before had he walked in and encountered an atmosphere of fearful respect. A room full of baleful looks, yet belonging to those too afraid to make issue and come and tear his head from his shoulders. Nope, this time he visited Willy’s he was safe as houses. For he had Spike at his side. And could he sound any more superhero geeky if he tried?

“So, what’ll it be, Whelp?” Spike’s lazy drawl brought a smile to Xander’s face.

“I trust you, Spike.”

The vampire’s eyebrows got lost in his hairline as he pinned his least favourite Scooby with an inquisitive glance. He searched for the insincerity and was knocked sideways when it wasn’t there. To all intents and purposes, Harris’s smile was genuine.

Spike couldn’t speak. He’d never taken the time to contemplate how acceptance from this friend of Buffy’s would feel—he’d never thought the possibility anything but miraculous, and being evil and all, miracles weren’t exactly handed out for the likes of him.

“A beer then, mate?” Feeling an uncomfortable prickle in his eyes, he decided to forgo the boy’s reply and went hastily toward the bar.

Xander watched him go with a confusion that he found disconcerting. Stating a trust in an evil undead creature of the night had started out as a mere slip of the tongue, but the moment the sentiment passed his lips, lost itself within the other words in the air as said, he found himself agreeing. Not strongly perhaps, but he certainly had never felt the need to run for his life even once in the whole day.

And that allowed Xander to grin. He sat back in the booth, his hands behind his head, elbows bent in a manly show of strength. And waited for his beer. The grin bared major teeth. God, he felt happy. On the edge of major excitement. A beer. This being buddies with the evil object of the Buffster’s affections might not be so bad after all. Certainly not intolerable.

Xander sat up straight as a mug of beer was thumped down in front of him, and he grasped the handle in eager thirst. The first mouthful frothed in his mouth, leaving a little moustache around the outside of his lips that he licked off with a goofy giggle. The taste was kinda dull, the smell a bit like piss, but he could push past it. He was a man. And Spike was buying.
They drank in companionable silence, the occasional eye clash during their many looks around the room. The demons were on edge, periodic roars making Xander jump in his seat, spilling the flow of his mug a little down the front of his t-shirt, while Spike stayed still—as cool as the proverbial cucumber. Or a vamp, cause hey, kinda cool. In the undead, no heartbeat to pump the blood through the body kind of way. And the black leather and snow white hair was all of the coolness too, thought Xander as he took a generous sip of his third mug of beard.

Xander let his mind fumble over the realisation, and as the words ‘Spike’s cool’ banged the sides of brain, he let a small increasingly inebriated giggle wheeze past his lips.

“What’s there to laugh about, Whelp?”

Xander stopped to try and think; had he laughed? And if he had, at what? While he thought about it, his eyes fell on the mussed up curls on the vamps head and he giggled again.

He pointed at Spike’s head and let out a hearty laugh. “That is just so cute.”

Spike’s eyes widened so fast and so with the width that he thought maybe his eyeballs had exploded…which would explain the sudden red haze behind his eyes.

“Right, then. I’m cuttin’ you off,” Spike told him, his voice strict and uncompromising.

But Xander was full of the funness; all the jollility he’d mushed into his day. All the pavement beating and agent ass-kissing with Spike on the look-out for the perfect space for a formerly evil Big Bad to take up residence. The concept was so hilarious that Xander felt unable to help the rush of giggles that had him collapsing on his table, the tears flowing like a river over the formica bench top of their booth table.

Spike watched Harris collapse in a very girly display of uninspired laughter. The bar had been quiet—no jokes, no chaos demons. Seriously nothing in there for the idiot to laugh about. Spike watched him, holding a tumbler of Jack half filled of which he had managed to slug back a mouthful or two while he was busy deciding whether or not to be pissed off about this inept display of manhood by one who yearned to grab the title but was years off the mark.

Feeling uncomfortable about the intimate setting, sitting opposite the whelp without a scrap of conversation to offer, Spike almost involuntarily let his eye fall on the back door and sighed in relief. It was closed, so obviously a game was in progress. Right then, a diversion, and something he could teach Harris that might help him out financially—keep him off those bloody hideous odd jobs he was bound to retry after he finished up his schooling.

“Come on, then.” Spike jerked his head to indicate the door in back. Xander returned a goofy smile but got to his feet obediently.

“What’s back there, Spike? Or is it a surprise?” And he rewarded Spike’s sobriety with an inebriated and exaggerated wink, making Spike take an anxious step backward.

“No bloody surprise, Whelp,” he almost shouted, though with a major squeak in his tone. “Just a game of cards. Nothing lush.” Spike paused, gathered his manly courage and took a step closer to the brunette and whispered his intent.

“’s poker. Thought I could teach you how to cheat, yeah?”

Xander’s face lit up like the dragon cracker in Lord of the Rings.

“Poker? Demon poker?” The enthusiasm saw no boundaries, shocking the other patrons in the bar with its lightness, its insensitivity to the dark, evilness of the room.

“Yeah,” Spike responded with a smirk. “Play for kittens an’ all. Jus’ don’t tell the Slayer.”

And Xander’s dubious walk into the world of ‘moderately evil turned redemptive’ began, aided by the tipsy confidence instilled by a few bottles of glorified hops.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


Giles was ready to go outside and feed himself to the first demon he came across, just to stop the sound of voluble discontent before it completely blew away his eardrums. He hadn’t left his sofa—ears shielded with cushions pushed hard against them—since Buffy and Angel had left for patrol. His skull was reverberating in an alarming manner and he could feel every single cell on his skin screaming in an enervated protest to run hard and fast away from the extreme sound. At least every five minutes his eyes were drawn to the stick of knobbly wood lying just to his right. He was bloody positive his ears were bleeding internally.

He’d taken up humming, at first low but gaining in volume until he rivalled the unholy racket echoing in the space between his eardrums. It took minimal time for him to come to a crashing halt, the crescendo of the buzz of his own voice added to the banshee wail of the vampiress chained to his water pipes making him rapidly conclude the folly in such an action.

Just as it got too much—right as he was bound for the kitchen to retrieve a knife to slash his own wrists—the noise ceased. The change made him reel, left the man in him slightly off-balance while the watcher part of his person started to gather weapons in apprehension.

Hesitant steps bound him to travel the short path to the bathroom, his heart pounding an erratic dance as he made to face off with the vampire who’d tried not that many hours ago to make holes in his neck.

She was stretched out gracefully in the enamel tub, an act thoroughly incongruous to her surroundings, and yet she achieved it. Her eyes were fixed on him, and as he stopped in the frame of the door, he felt swept away by her raw beauty. Without decision he almost swayed toward her, the stake in his hand clattering against the tile floor. He felt eager to please her, make her comfortable as her voice soothed the ache that was his head into a pleasant numbness; an accepting calmness that left him kneeling by her, the key to the chains hovering over the lock and his throat exposed to her fangs.

The second the chains released her from their grasp she pounced, extra sharp incisors digging hard into his flesh, the hazy veil that had obscured his mind of all rational thought rushed back to the fore.

But the weakness hit him like a ton of bricks, and his legs buckled more, leaving him almost hanging from her jaw. The rush of his blood through his veins toward his neck was a roar of the surf, deafening in its power. He heard nothing but his life as it gushed out of his throat, his arms hanging weakly at his sides while his eyes fell uselessly on the abandoned stake.

“Bleeding fuck.” The feral outburst broke through the fog and he felt the slice against his skin as fangs tore their way out. His blurred vision picked up an image of white fury as it spun on the floor, a fistful of dark hair tangled as he reefed the head attached to his neck back violently.

Giles struggled to process that Spike, the evil vampire and visitor to his home, had just saved his life and gained his unwavering support.

And then he collapsed and everything was dark and cold.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Spike was on him as soon as he walked through the door. The first punch left crumbling plaster and a wary Buffy on the edge, about to jump in. Another uppercut had her enter the fight, mindless of Giles’s belongings as she threw Spike across the living room and took up a protective stance in front of Angel.

The room stilled in an electric silence, an emphatic statement of sides washing over the vampire that had just saved a life. Disbelief caused Spike’s eyes to turn pale as he watched Buffy, shades of his Buffy—full of loathing and disgust as she flayed him undead with her pain of Heavenly rejection—shining through until he could do nothing but straighten his lips in angry resignation.

So he did what he had to so as to not break down in front of them.

He ignored her, too much hate for her clawing a hole in his belly.

“What kind of a…would leave a crazy…” His eyes burned hot as he stared straight through her to his grandsire. “Half-starved and angry vampire with a human without even fucking telling him she could thrall him into letting her go?”

Angel mumbled a denial, shock keeping his tongue largely unresponsive.

“You great thumping moron. What did you think she’d bloody well do? All chained up in a bathtub. You haven’t let her hunt for ages and you actually thought she’d be alright with that? You’re a bigger wanker than I thought. Vampire, mate. Thought you knew that.” His voice cut flesh, tore it fresh from the bones as the implications of his words sank in and the disgust washed over them.

Buffy’s body tensed even more as the scenario gained an image in her mind, and her watcher became the new victim.

“Giles?”

“Is sleeping the sleep of the nearly drained dead,” shared Xander as he came down the stairs from Giles’s bedroom and took a supportive position next to Spike.

“Get Drusilla, and take her the fuck away from here. You let her come near the watcher again and your dust will be floating on the not so sunny breeze.”

Spike turned away and stomped to the bathroom, returning almost immediately with the unconscious brunette, the cause of so much trouble. No care was given in the exchange, Dru thrust into the arms of her sire with a not so subtle shove toward the door, Buffy standing quietly aside as she stewed in her own guilt.

“What’s thrall?” Buffy risked, her voice low and a bit scratchy as she contemplated how it looked that she had shown support of Angel against Spike.

Spike looked incredulous as he turned his back to her, tearing up the stairs away from her and to check on Giles. She was left with Xander, and for the first time she noticed how pale he looked.

“It was like Jessie all over again. The fangs, and the neck, and the fangs…and Spike? God, I thought Batman was a superhero, but he saved G-man’s life. Smelt the blood on the walk outside and…man…I never knew they could move so fast. It was like…and the fangs…and Spike?”

Buffy looked at him again as the story began to repeat, and as she caught his tears falling against pasty cheeks, the knot lodged in her throat loosened and hurt.

She’d backed the wrong horse. She’d allowed Angel to wheedle his way back into her thoughts by sharing her night with him, and instead of supporting the vampire she’d wanted to be with, wanted to do dirty things with while they dusted off monsters, she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. She’d thought the attack was jealousy based and juvenile; punching Angel into the middle of next week was so not the way to handle things and she was no one’s possession.

As her eyes climbed the stairs slowly, one excruciating step at a time, she could feel Spike as he hovered over her watcher. Could feel him as he retreated from her emotionally. While it left Buffy feeling confused and frightened—the near death of Giles left her feeling numb.

Without checking on Giles, without saying a word to Xander or Spike, she bolted from the apartment, sobs breaking through her restraint and drowning out the calls from her friend to stop.

A/N...I am extremely grateful for all the support I have received while writing this story. It is all finished so hang on for the ride.

12

When Angel opened his eyes she was there, standing before him as if she was his own heavenly guardian. Everything about her shone; shouted her perfection like a production of God’s choir. Her lips were still, and with their lack of movement he found it impossible to tear his eyes from them. Lush soft pink naturally pouting at him, beckoning him to touch, to taste.

The prickling of his body was his answer to the promise of her standing before him, wordless but beautiful as she watched him. Her eyes sparkled with an innocent arousal that inspired surges of similar within his frame, but before he was too moved, too inspired to take up the offer, he was lost in the sheen of her hair.

Blond streaks that were alight without benefit of earth’s fire.

In silence her body called to him and he answered with the forward momentum of his feet. Her gaze never wavered, intently watching him and taking heed of his physical instruction. He took everything in as he reached her, the subtle breath she took to control her erratic pulse, the strength of her arousal on the air, the little shifts in nerves and confidence as her body shook delicately before him.

Her presence was unexpected but welcomed. Forgiveness of his sins swept over him as he remained solid in her presence, a hand slowly raised until the fingers tangled in the soft silken strands of wild wheat. It shook, the mercy of her permission almost breaking him.

Forgotten now were all the aborted attempts at intimacy. He dismissed all his arguments of why he must maintain some distance from the girl he’d fallen for while still a mess of a vampire, feeding on rats in alleyways. She was standing before him in the style of a perfect offering, a valiant offering to a master vampire who’d been without touch for a century.

His arguments were no more and finally he nudged her gently to his bed, allowed her to sit and stare as he memorised every small dip in the shape of her face. Every little slight, yet perfection made up the whole that was her, and Angel felt himself as enthralled as he had been the day Whistler had opened her world into his.

They sat side by side, only touching by the awed tightening of his grip in her hair. Nothing else felt right, not yet. Not without the words that could set them both free, that could give them the final direction they had both been hoping to travel from the moment she had taken him seriously. The moment she had allowed him beyond the fringes of his life.

“Buffy,” he almost gasped, the words falling from his lips in valediction of singledom. She’d taken his heart over the past months and he felt it time to finally let her know it. Confirm at last the truth they’d felt but so far never voiced. To finally acknowledge it without his usual taunts of distance and stunted intimacy.

“Angel.” Even the quiet of her voice betrayed her deity, and for one devastating and panicked second he contemplated turning his back, not allowing her to sully herself with the likes of him. Taking the decision from her hands. He was so utterly unworthy of having her like this, within his arms, upon his bed.

But Angel knew he was weak, and so the stop he felt he should bring to this interlude remained absent. Instead his fingers trailed from the glistening lure of her hair to the smooth plane of her cheek, finally tracing the line of her bottom lip.

Her fevered sigh against his digit, warm breath brushing over him, set his cock to a pulsing preparation. He was never one who could hold out, the sins of the flesh too enticing for him to ignore for long. So with barely a touch—no need for build up when he’d had well over a year of fantasies to stir him along—he was ready to possess her, to know her fully and make her his.

He would be her first lover; her only lover and he knew he owed her an experience to remember. But the need to take the next step was almost debilitating as his hardness grew, the restraint becoming painful. But first. The groundwork must be cemented—he must make her sure of his feelings for her.

Her quivering lip brought attention to his ongoing silence and his face—threatening to be consumed with the power of lust—struggled to remove the experience that would frighten the innocent.

“Buffy,” he said again, his throat scratching at the word, constricting so far to almost prevent his declaration from getting through. “I…I love you.”

The light in her eyes flared, a swirling heat leeching out to encompass him in her excitement. He could see the sentiment returned, knew it down deep in his soul before she even made a sound—even parted her soft, beautiful lips to form the joining words.

But still, when they finally came, he felt closer to heaven, felt close to forgiveness.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, tears blurring the sparkling green of her eyes, and at last Angel had his permission to seek her lips. He took them in a soft promise before allowing his hands to drift over buttons. His haste was countered by the soft touch as he pulled the fabric from her skin, leaving her flesh glowing in the darkness of the room.

Her shivering shyness as she covered her breasts only calmed him slightly, prevented his almost lascivious licking of his lips. He felt like a wolf determined to force his way onto his mate, but something at the back of his mind tugged his memory, reminded him that Buffy was a girl—supernatural powers notwithstanding—and deserved a calm and measured consideration of her first time. He owed her an experience to remember—happiness over her decision to come to him. But the demon calling for action, calling for completion no matter the consequences was eager to begin the show, and Angel had difficulties reining it in.

He made himself stop, placed his hands gently on her now bare arms and encouraged her hands away from the curved surprise waiting for his attention. The soft swell of her breasts made sharp needles of his skin prickles. His heart didn’t thump, no circulating blood rushed to his head, but he felt the rush all the same.

Felt the rush and couldn’t wait any longer. His mouth latched onto her hard and he began the seduction that would make Buffy his.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


In Spike’s head, it had all gone differently. Rather than the whelp by his side, physical support saying more than words—and not something necessarily that Spike wanted to easily discard—it was Buffy. Buffy who just knew in her heart that he was in the right, who didn’t need an explanation of his attack before just believing in him.

When had it all started to go wrong? Was it right from the start when he’d stupidly made a wish for something he had no right in wanting? Or had it been when it had started to work, started to reveal a Buffy without hang-ups of the ‘poofterish’ kind and he’d allowed his heart to get happy? Why was he even wondering about it? He’d always known that magic had consequences, and he’d be more than a wanker himself if he believed any good could ever come from misguided wishes made drunkenly to Vengeance demons.

Spike hung his head; allowed it to fall into the cradle of his hands as his body assumed the position of defeat. He remained in watch over Rupert, having sent Harris home despite his loud protests of wanting to help.

Spike couldn’t bear the thought of anyone watching him. Couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing what he really was. A loser who’d gained nothing by going back in time. A failure who had already caused the beginnings of pain for these people who would be his hated family in the future, but who were determinedly placing him in the middle of their lives now without the benefit of anything but faith.

His Buffy in the future would have rushed to the poof’s side without a second thought to loyalty, too. Spike had lived around her for years, protected her as best he could, had looked after her merry gang and her kid sis while she had been visiting the great beyond. All without a shred of thanks, if you please. But he’d done it for years. Always been there for back-up, for information despite the lack of a dollar when the monetary enticement all but dried up. He’d been there as fodder for the Big Bads, he’d been her shoulder to cry on when she couldn’t tell her truths to the ones who supposedly cared for her, and he’d been the one to love her, so totally and faithfully that he was crushed by her lack of care.

But knowing he was the dependable vampire, the sincere in love vampire, meant little when it was always his grandsire she would always go back to. He didn’t know if it was a comfort thing, if being her first love meant she had one of those stretchy elastic strings joining the two so that at any crisis it snapped her back to Angel’s side, no questions asked.

But this time, he’d had enough. Seeing her bounce into the fight with her fists cocked—fury tightening her stance—he felt something within him snap. Some little whiff of ozone in the air warning him that his wish was unachievable through no fault of his own. He’d tried, made changes with all the little Scoobies. Made his experience with each and every one of the buggers better. Even found himself liking them.

But not with her. Nothing changed with her. She still meted her affections out by the thimbleful. And dished out her displeasure and distrust with a bucket.

Now Spike knew that nothing ever could change.

Buffy was never meant to be his.

The sooner he accepted the inevitable, the sooner he could do something to get over it. The sooner he could devote his time to just helping the Scoobies remain alive and kicking while he sorted out what to do with the rest of his unlife.

Just that thought caused his heart to bleed. He knew he couldn’t go on being near Buffy forever when there was no possibility of her ever falling for him. He loved her with so much depth that it consumed everything he was. And yet, if he remained he’d slowly crumble away to ashes.

Seeing her with the bumbling foot soldier had hurt—in a way that was the right of the unrequited lover. But seeing her now with Peaches, fighting by his side, taking up his defence…well, it pissed him off at every level. William the Bloody ponce, looked over again. It burned his gut for sure.

Spike felt his fangs slip through the shields, lumpies grappling with the normal human bones of his face and he felt a growl tickle at his throat. He’d bloody completely had it with women. The lot of them were cursed, hell-bent on sucking out all the bleeding marrow of his unlife. They were contrary, selfish evil bitches…far more vicious and evil than him.

A groan from the bed halted his warm up to his ‘all women are bitches and should be drained at birth’ speech. Spike was on his feet in the next breath, hovering over the weakened watcher with a concern that was damned unseemly for the likes of him.

Rupert was too pale, and Spike still wasn’t sure if he shouldn’t have packed the man off to the hospital. Harris had suggested it, but at the time the watcher’s heartbeat had thumped a reassuring tune and Spike left him to his bed upstairs. All the better to be on hand to knock Dru out each time she regained consciousness and to confront Peaches the second he came through the door.

And that went well.

At least Spike knew where he stood…and it was about a metre and a half away from Buffy when it counted. But only centimetres from his biggest enemy in the ‘stay away from Buffy’ camp. Will wonders ever bloody cease?

When he came back to earth from his angry self-berating, he encountered wide, curious eyes. Giles passed a hand over his face and then flicked at his teeth, pointing out to Spike that he was sitting over a man in full gameface who had just been vamp chow, and very nearly dead.

“Sorry, mate,” Spike apologised as he let the demon features slip back into obscurity. Not until he sought out the rhythm of the only heartbeat in the flat did he realise Giles had not shown fear at being confronted by his demon. His eyes filled with awe even as Rupert’s eyes drifted closed again and he passed into a more relaxed sleep. Reassured that he was safe. Reassured that he wasn’t dead, and despite the demon presence in his room, unlikely to be.

The acceptance and belief—something he’d craved but not received from Buffy—brought tears rapidly to the surface. He returned to the chair he had chosen to stand vigil from, burying his feelings of fear in losing Buffy. Not like it was a new situation. He’d lost her in his world, too. For some reason this hurt even more, broke apart all that he had felt secure in.

He’d believed so strongly that Buffy had loved him, but duty to the Scoobies prevented her from acknowledging it to herself. Duty to her watcher’s misguided teachings to stick to her belief that Spike was soulless and therefore evil of the really bad variety.

And being dragged from her heavenly home had so skewed her senses that she trusted nothing, no one, and so any feeling for him that she might have been developing would probably have taken her years to acknowledge. Years after she had killed him—one way or another.

He’d buried his face in his hands again, the cup of his palms feeling decidedly damp. Spike had always been emotional, but since his turning and rebirth into the Aurelius family, he’d grown a pair. He’d learned how and what to hide to keep his secrets safe—and also his unlife. Angelus favoured no weakness, and that William couldn’t prevent some of it from showing through in relation to Drusilla, meant that he’d never been able to make it to Angelus’s private mark of acceptance.

But Buffy had made him cry more than he ever had in his entire century of being second to Dru. Of being important to no one. But now…well now, he had people. Had a purpose that wasn’t all about Buffy—purpose that gave him no hope but some small measure of achievement. As his swimming azure eyes fell on the figure quietly resting himself back to health, he recognised the beginning of that purpose. He’d gained the Scoobies trust, something impossible for him to do in his future. Now what was he to do with it?

He sniffed the air once and breathed a resigned and sad sigh.

“I smelt the magic in the air before. Never suspected it might have been you.” His voice sounded dead, no inflection of the emotion that usually typified Spike.

“I could see there was a bit of a situation, so I stayed back for awhile.”

Anya looked just as she did the last time he saw her, and it scared the bejeezus out of him.

“Put the face away, luv, before you hear me screamin’ with nightmares.” It was a start, a small hint of a chuckle and Anya let the wrinkled reality of her demon face slip into nothingness.

“What are you doin’ here, pet?”

Anya answered his question with a silence that emphasised the nervous twitching of her hands. The doom that had been drowning him in depression since he’d found Dru’s fangs buried in Rupert’s throat seemed unlikely to lift as he watched the changing expressions of hope and anxiety chase themselves across her face. But she was in no rush to enlighten him, and instead she took a seat on the bed and watched the man she had been working for over the past two years in concern.

Spike left it, having a feeling something would be before him to consider before the night was through that he wasn’t yet ready for. As the minutes turned to ten, they united in a steady, companionable silence, and watched Giles as he diligently sucked air into his lungs, confirming his secure grip for the moment on the world.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


Angel was all thumbs in his eagerness. The exploration of warm skin with his fingertips was something new, yet old. It had been beyond long since the last time he had touched a woman, which to him made this all the more special. Even more so that it was Buffy.

Buffy watched him with wide eyes, naïve in the ways of men and love, but so very willing to learn. Her strong yet tempered hands moved over his naked skin, hesitant fingers tracing around the ball of his shoulder. His skin was cool, yet not in a way that would squick her. It was nice.

“I’m so sorry about Giles,” he told her, his voice heavy with the disappointment of his failed control of Drusilla. “I never thought she would…”

“Shhh.” His sun covered his lip with a firm, determined finger, and once she had caught his eye, washed all memory of the previous events of the night from his mind, succumbed to the draw of a kiss.

Her lips were soft, cool but inflaming his ardour.

“Buffy,” he gasped, his cock already so hard he was in pain. “I can’t wait, can’t go so slow.”

Her nod of permission was hesitant, slightly frightened, but the end result was the same. She pushed apart from him to continue removing her top layer of clothing, leaving Angel hungry yet speechless as he waited for her.

This was the beginning of all his dreams; the culmination of his first moment of crush when he had been shown her by Whistler in LA. Buffy joined him on the bed and their lips met again, drawing out the innocence of the deed.

Angel buried his human face in her throat, contemplating the virginity that she was giving him, and surrendered to the joy of the moment. As he drew back, her green eyes never wavered in their trusting gaze while she watched his own disrobing. Angel lowered his body back to hers and captured her in a tender kiss.

Nothing had ever been so perfect.

Nothing so glorious as he pushed his way into her body, as he soaked up her goodness and felt his dead heart swell with perfect love.

And as he felt himself reach that wonderful moment, he released his energy into his love’s depths and snuggled in beside her, his arm curved over his brow as he settled back and fell asleep.

With the lowering of his eyelids, the magic faded into sleep and he was left with the mysterious reality of Dru wrapped naked around his body, the artificial heat he’d felt fading from his mind and closing in on the coolness that had always been against his flesh.

Beside him, a brunette lay with a frown marring her satisfied moment. One look at Angel beside her and she tumbled from his side.

She stood over the bed, looking down on her sire with eyes glittering with a directed madness.

“Daddy’s a wicked boy for leaving Princess all a quiver.” She pouted then began a slow exploration of her body, culminating in the release that had never been close under the attentions of the elder vampire.

Drusilla trembled with delicious aftershocks and returned to the bed to watch over her pretty picture.

“Sleep, my sweet. Princess will be waiting for your surprise.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“What happened?” Anya had kept her own counsel for thirty minutes, just sitting and watching the still form of Giles as he recuperated from his violent ordeal.

“Weren’t you here?” Spike’s voice came out on a self-recriminating croak.

“Only popped in when you were attacking Angel.”

Spike was startled at first at the short, yet informative sentences that Anya was aiming at him, so used to her left field opinions that were nothing if not bizarre. He surmised that perhaps the gravity of Giles lying so ill on his bed had shocked her into near silence.

“Silly git decided to babysit Dru. The poof forgot to tell him she does thrall, so she conned him into lettin’ her go and she took a chunk outta his neck. Now he’s all anaemic.” His smile was bittersweet.

“And Buffy?”

Spike raised pained eyes, cold in their blueness as he pinned her to the spot. She showed her demonhood admirably, not succumbing to his intimidation now that she could more than protect herself.

“What do you think? Bitch jumped in to save the poor hard done by Poof. Peaches gets more forgiveness than he bloody deserves.”

The slow fall of tears spoiled the effect of his harsh words. Again his heart was breaking. No matter which Buffy he tried to love—either in his future or this untouched and innocent to heartbreak Buffy of his past—she would never choose him.

Spike shook his head, his hands running in distracted roughness through his hair. The action served as some kind of settler, a miracle in itself as the agitation was set to zoom. Again Spike became aware of Anya’s quiet presence and wondered what she was doing here.

“Out with it, Demongirl. What are you doin’ here? Wouldn’t be makin’ house calls for the hell of it.”

His suspicious gaze was hard, piercing, and he felt a small sense of satisfaction when he saw her give an involuntary shiver, even though she’d likely be able to put him in the bloody ground now with her souped up demon powers.

Anya took a deep breath, patted down the skirt of her pretty floral dress, and deflated like an empty balloon.

“I was hoping you would take back the wish.”

Spike’s eyes were suddenly riveted to her mouth, hoping yet wondering if he really wanted to be sure she’d said what he thought she had.

“Why would I want to do that, luv?”

“Now that I’ve been human, I don’t feel right about some of the things people are wishing from me. There have been deaths, and some of them pointless.” She stopped with a nervous laugh. “I want to smash the amulet and be human again.”

“Simple as that, yeah? Why do you need me to take my wish back again?”

Anya looked at him as if he was the stupidest vampire undead.

“Don’t ‘spose anyone’s been askin’ about me?” he asked her hopefully, the real question implicit in his tone. Has Buffy been asking…?

“No. Sorry,” she rushed in when she noticed how crushed he was at the neglect. “Though to be fair we have had a few problems. An apocalypse to prevent.”

“Yeah?” This news perked him up and he waited for her to fill him in.

“Tara was shot and…”

“What the bloody hell?” He jumped to his feet, gameface surging forward as his protective instincts kicked in. “What do you mean Glinda was shot? Is she alright?”

The sadness shadowing Anya’s face was his answer, and he shook his head in agitated denial.

“The others? What about Buffy?” His voice was broken, tears cracking the steadiness.

“Oh she was shot, too.”

Again he was menacingly on his feet, his voice raising in terror. Not again, he couldn’t help screaming inside his head. He couldn’t take losing her again.

“Oh, she’s okay now. Willow saved her before she died again. But Willow went kinda crazy and tried to destroy the world. You should have seen her, all black hair and eyes, super scary. Knocked me out, nearly killed Giles. She did kill that Warren guy…he’s the one that shot Tara and Buffy…but Xander saved the day. Ironic, really, but he stopped the world from ending and now Giles has taken Willow to a coven in England get her some help in controlling her magic. Oh, and the Magic Box is being repaired after Willow almost completely destroyed it.”

Spike was stuck in place, not moving a muscle as the tale of horrors unfolded in the air around him. Anya sounded like she was recounting a rather fun stage show and he was appalled at her lack of empathy for the people she had been friends with for the past couple of years.

“An’ you want me to go back to that?” There was no doubting the incredulous tone to his voice.

At her vigorous nod he felt like smacking her. But as his furious amber fell onto the sleeping man on the bed, he began to remember all that he had achieved by being in this world, and he didn’t mean the money or the Gem that made him now invincible. He had made friends. These Scoobies trusted him, looked up to him. Or at least, they were on their way to believing in him.

So you’d think that…

“You just bloody well hold on there, pet. If I’ve been schmoozing and the likes here in the past, then how did everything go all arse over tit in the future. I think you’re pullin’ my leg.”

He never knew demons could blush.

“Oh, alright,” she mumbled in irritation. “So that’s one version of what was going to happen if you hadn’t made the wish. Look, you’re mucking things up for me by being here. You’re changing Xander and making things all different. I need you to go back before you change it all too much.”

He had too much to lose now. Sure, he might never have Buffy, could never beat the poof at anything to tell the truth. But if he went back, not only would he be going back to an apathetic, abusive Buffy, but all her friends would hate him again. They would want him out and would be threatening his life every other day until he left Sunnydale for good.

Whichever time he chose, there would always be Buffy. Young, in love with wanker Angel in this time Buffy, yet Spike friendly with her mates. Or bitch Buffy backed by the entire gang and armed with deadly stakes and crossbows. Each decision would include a Buffy that would never choose him, would come to hate the sight of him.

So, what would it matter? If demon girl wanted to be human again, if she wanted to be…the scream tore through his throat with a violence borne from knowledge.

“Oh God,” he shouted as he collapsed to his knees, his hands clawing at his neck.

“Oh fuck,” he swore as the tears poured forth down his face.

“What? What is it?” called Anya frantically, her eyes darting around the room in a desperate longing for answers.

Spike’s speech was momentarily crippled, his voice becoming hoarse from the wailing his demon felt it necessary to make. He repressed the truth as much as he could, but the fire that burned at his neck was undeniable, and as Spike raised a tear-soaked face to the ceiling, he had the answer to his dilemma.

His eyes found Giles’s as the weaker man tried to shoulder his way to sitting against the headboard of the bed. The question hung in the air, unspoken by Giles despite being shouted hysterically by Anya, and it was the watcher that received Spike’s tortured response.

“She did it,” he cried, very near literally.

“What has she done, Spike? I presume you mean Buffy?” Giles’s voice wobbled with his weakness.

Spike nodded, dumbfounded in his emotional acceptance.

“The silly bitch slept with the bastard. Hello fucking Angelus.”

His fear was immediately shared, and blue eyes clashed with green.

“So,” Giles ventured. “In light of this catastrophe, one wonders what your decision is to be in regards this wish?”

Spike lowered his eyes, ashamed yet scared.

“And don’t think we won’t be discussing this at a later date.”

Contrary to his fears, there was no censure in the Watcher’s voice and Spike met his eyes again, relief allowing a small smile to spread along his lips. It disappeared as he recalled his first go round with his grandsire, the consequences for this group of people by allowing his family to run rampant around the Hellmouth.

If he could do nothing else, he could make sure that the teacher that Rupert had his eye on would stay safe while she attempted to finish translating the spell that would re-instate Angel’s soul. Maybe this time without the curse, so at least Buffy could have the lump of her dreams rather than become emotionally retarded from being without her soul mate.

Spike directed his answer to Anya without looking at her, instead showing his respect and support of the man still sprawled beneath his bedsheets.

“The wish stands, luv. I’ve things to do here. Grant one other wish, pet, then smash the amulet.”

He felt rather than saw Anya’s dejected acceptance, then felt the need to watch her as he offered an olive branch.

“Let things unfold, yeah? Let that Cordelia bird make her wish and you’ll be human ‘ere again with the whelp, and maybe I can help makin’ things stick this time.” He offered her a wink and sighed in relief at her suddenly enthusiastic and happy smile.

“Of course, Spike. You’re a genius.” She darted forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Spike stood stunned in the same spot as she demonstrated her exiting arm wave and disappeared to her own time.

Belatedly, “That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell you lot for years.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


He wasn’t sure what woke him. Whether it was the subtle movement on the bed beside him as she rolled away from his body. Or the sound of her voice as she hummed a very tuneful rendition of Greensleeves.

Or it could have been the pain that seared the inside of his chest, forcing him like a bullet from the bed and outside the apartment, tearing at his skin to counteract the pain, try and turn it in on itself while he tore it out and killed it.

It burned as much on the way out as it had when forced within.

The release was immense, the return to himself more profound than he would have ever expected. The leash was gone and it released a mountain of pent up anger, vengeance that he wanted to act on immediately. He wanted to tear this town apart, rip everything with a soul to shreds for no reason other than he wasn’t able to physically constrain his own and blow it apart.

As he came more to himself he felt his senses magnify, honing in on a woman—a hooker—as she approached him, a cigarette hanging from her lips. He pounced and within seconds claimed his first easy meal. Exhaling the second-hand smoke, he spied Dru in the door opening, her nightdress thin and transparent.

An evil smile consumed his face as he leered at her. Looking around the now empty alleyway, he gestured her to come forward.

“Come here, Childe. On your knees. Time to show Daddy how glad you are he’s back.”

Dru grinned as she fell to the hard ground, her hands seeking the hard length of his cock. No hesitation and her cold mouth engulfed him, deep-throating in the way she knew he would only accept, expecting the punishment that would undoubtedly come from not reading his mind when he required a change in action.

His body tensed as the release neared its quarter; spasming happily in her mouth as his cum flooded the recess. The first blow came as his limp dick slipped from between her lips. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back to the apartment’s bed and fucked her till the sun came up, spurred on by her laughing insanity each time she welcomed him back.

It was good to be home.

13

Spike had never been afraid of the dark. Even when he was human and wandering around London in the barely lit streets wasn’t done—the lamps almost useless in illuminating the surroundings—he’d made a regular excursion outside to feel the coolness of the night. It fed his poetic soul, and inspired words he’d hardly suspected he knew.

After he was turned, the darkness fed him full stop. Gave him a playground the likes he’d never known. The words still flowed, but not to his soul. And instead of trying to capture the images on quality paper with quill and ink, he’d used his fists and blood, a pretty corpse his canvas. Instead of exploring for words of beauty, he’d trawled for ones of devastation.

As he wandered the night of Sunnydale, home of the most selfish Hellmouth he’d ever had the misfortune of living on, he felt all words desert him. Despite his decision to stay, to help fight and protect these Scoobies who were much more accepting of him than the original bunch, he was still Love’s Bitch, and the words he needed to fulfill his role in that area were suddenly completely wiped from his vocabulary.

He spied Buffy in a graveyard, and for the first time he thought hard about walking away. Leaving her to fight whatever demons she needed to gain the satisfaction that being with the poof—and releasing his alter-ego—would have left her with a need for. Angelus had only ever been interested in furthering his own pleasure. The thought that his bed-partner might deserve some kind of release in their little death was completely beyond the space his brain allowed.

But it hurt to watch her. Hurt to see the body that had so recently been touched by the great Poof himself, taking from Spike again the one thing that would complete his unlife. He felt so tired from always losing. His eyes felt sore from the tears that had squeezed the pain from his heart.

Watching her, wanting her, and knowing he had lost her was no sweet torture. He’d never felt whips and holy water that devastated him like this. None of Angelus’s wicked knives had cut him so deep.

All he’d done, all he had planned to do, and one attack against the King of Woe had catapulted Spike directly into the doghouse. Well, he was bloody fed up, and he wasn’t going to wallow in this depression, distancing himself from her.

He’d warned them about the curse.

She should have bloody known better, and whether she actually understood what it was she’d released, someone should put the silly chit in her place and point out the bleeding obvious.

Then get the hell out of the way of the steamroller effect of her devastated emotions, crippling her for bloody life—slamming up the barricades stronger than those at Fort Knox. Fuck that. What she needed was an enthusiastic belting. Tan her arse till she learned the lesson that Angelus was better caged.

Angelus.

Thoughts of the impending battle made Spike shiver. All the hurt and humiliation he’d been through the last time, and here was the prospect again. Homicidal rage welled within him lightning quick and before he knew it, his feet propelled him with speed to intercept the Slayer.

She looked up in surprise before greeting him with a happy smile. It dimmed abruptly as she was slashed with his frosty reception, the ugly curl of his lip indicative of his fury and the frozen expression in his eyes conveying a feeling of hate toward her that made her heart almost stop beating.

The coldness, the lack of affection for her held him still in front of her, his eyes watching her with an intent that brought terror to her blood. He reminded her of the one horrible meeting when he had predicted her death on Saturday, and Buffy found herself absently sifting through the days of the week to reassure herself that this was indeed a weekday.

“W-what…”

She got no further as his rage spilled forth and erupted from his lips.

“Don’t bloody make out that I should be alright with this. Must have been a two-minute skit if you’re out here seeking violence already. Washed up and ready to go. I shoulda known, no matter what I do, the old Forehead wins every bleeding time.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked furiously and Buffy felt her eyes drawn to it, hypnotised by the small sign of his temper so that she wouldn’t have to admit how stupid she was in not knowing the cause of this flaying.

“So, how was it?” he spat at her, and she finally caught the subtle tones buried within the attack. Hurt. Jealousy. Betrayal. And none of them provided Buffy with questions she could answer. Unless he thought…

Oh…

Buffy had been thinking about the scene in Giles’s house all night, fighting as many vamps as she could, focusing abnormally on the female ones in order to temper her frustrations. Guilt caused her a mass of confusion. As she worried over the damage to her burgeoning relationship with Spike, monumentally regretting her decision to protect and defend Angel against him, she had almost forgotten about Giles. Not forgotten completely, just relegated him as not an issue that needed confronting because as soulless as Spike was, she knew he wouldn’t let her Watcher die. Her faith in Spike—as bizarre and unnatural as it was—was unwavering. It was the stability of the steadily building lust and boyfriendy stuff she had been terrified of losing all night. Not her Watcher.

Though the world could definitely stand to lose some nutbaggy Dru. No apparent redemption in that quarter.

Buffy had seen the hurt and betrayal reflecting in Spike’s eyes when he’d walked away from her, leaving her downstairs to face Xander and the truth. But he’d been controlled, not like this. Not like he was going to haul off and bite her any second.

Maybe…

No! Buffy felt the cold seep through her clothing and encase her heart. Maybe something had happened, something she had believed was the safe event the whole night. What if Giles hadn’t made it and she’d run away rather than face the consequences of her actions? And now Spike was furious at her for being so self-involved. For leaving Giles dead in his bed without even a token goodbye.

“Spike? How…”

“How do I know?” His voice was incredulous as he raked her with his eyes, burning her from head to toe with the animosity barely contained. The promise, her gift of herself and her blood to him on her birthday now lay in ruins around his heart and he wondered if he would ever be able to offer himself in love again.

“Felt it, didn’ I!” He felt harsh, boiling hatred for his kin and this girl well within him and he was desperate to wreak vengeance. But the control failed to slip, and he felt himself bound within the rigid guidelines of being someone changed for the better. All in the name of love.

Okay, felt it? He was there with Giles, what was there to feel about it? Buffy’s confusion deepened as the events of the night seemed to quickly bleed out of control.

“I admit you’re a bloody fast one on your feet— gettin’ out of there—and a better decision you’ve never made, but hell, you disgust me.” His snarl sunk in deep, resounding in her head like a clang of doom.

“Oh,” whispered past Buffy’s lips as her body took in the edge to his voice, suffered the penetration of his words. He was disgusted by her, and the pain she felt at that nearly brought her to her knees. Tears gathered and she blinked rapidly to try and prevent their fall, needing some strength to not betray how much it devastated her to lose this with him.

How had it all come to mean so much? Not much, everything. His good feeling toward her had meant everything; she’d planned her life around him, wanted him to exist in her life with an edge of desperation that was almost frightening.

She’d made the decision, the one that would bind her to him forever—or at least until she died. She’d asked him to bite her and make love to her on her birthday, and instead of continuously fanning that flame, she’d been off sharing her night with her first major boyfriend. Even though Buffy had called the whole thing—whatever it was—off with Angel, she had indulged his need for a night out and defended him without even asking why Spike felt the need to attack him.

She’d made Spike her boyfriend, offered everything she was to him, trusted her life to his fangs and repaid him with unwavering support against him for her ex. So, yeah, she disgusted herself.

Then that solid wall of strength disintegrated and the tears tumbled from suddenly waterlogged lashes. It hurt so much; being discarded by a soulless vampire who had stolen her heart, even if it was thoroughly deserved. Breaking up with Angel had not been the wrenching destruction to her heart that this aching torment was. And again, her trauma over her colossal mistake with Spike eclipsed her concern over the tragedy that was possibly Giles.

“Okay,” she managed finally, her voice clogged with her tears, her face glistening in the moonlight. “I’m sorry, Spike. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Didn’ mean to…you bloody bitch,” he exploded, completely livid as he began to pace, his fury finally animated. He turned back abruptly, staring at her with such raw pain that Buffy felt helpless as she took a step back from him.

“How could you offer…ask me to…and then go off and boff…” He couldn’t continue, couldn’t say the words that would cripple his heart and make her deed rock solid in his reality. He never thought it possible, once falling in love with Buffy, that he could ever feel such seething hatred toward her again. But overwhelming strength began to tease his muscles, begging him to jump, to claw, and in unwavering support his demon surged to the fore.

In one desperate attempt to alleviate the violent impulses, Spike stopped and breathed deeply through his nose, taking in the scent of her sweat, the intoxication of her fear and the one he loved most of all, the very faint scent of vanilla from her last distant shower.

The mesh of scent tickled his synapses to discovery, but the journey to a conclusion was slow. When knowledge hit it left him floored. The shock widened his eyes, and he looked at her miserable face, her wobbly lip and the tears that still flowed in unending sorrow.

“Oh Buffy,” he surrendered, falling to his knees and shaking with the sudden deflation of his mood. He could feel the tremble of relief as his hands found his face.

He was wrong; not Buffy.

Angelus was back, but not because of Buffy. She hadn’t betrayed him, hadn’t used him as a warm up to pleasuring the Poof. So awfully wrong, almost pushing himself into another smashing confrontation that might have ended with the same violent joining as the last time he’d been angry with his future Buffy. He could have fought her, pushed her into a defence that would render her hopeless against his demon, raised her pulse so far that the only release she could have reached was through either staking him, or him staking her.

But, been there, done that. Old hat that happened to be the biggest mistake he’d ever made. Taunting future Buffy into his bed—or everywhere outside of it as the truth actually held—had not been his brightest move. And yet, it was the same action he’d been about to embark on with younger Buffy, simply because he’d believed she’d given herself to Angel. Spike knew that the fight got her hot, could smell it every time she raised her fists and struck something solid. Despite his belief in her recent activities, his demon had begun to prepare to goad her into a similar outcome. It was misdirected rage—if Angelus got it, then he wanted some, too. Particularly when his heart had filed her under ‘tease’.

But the truth came through his nostrils loud and clear as he took in more and more of her heavenly scent. There was not a whiff of sex near her and Spike kneeled as he castigated himself for being a paranoid wanker.

“Spike?” The Slayer’s voice was weak as she prodded a reaction from him. Blue eyes met miserable jade and Spike was instantly on his feet, tugging her into his arms and holding her safe as the sobs tore loose from her throat.

“Oh baby,” Spike murmured, the reassuring lilt in his tone calming her more than the steady pressure of his arms around her shaking body. Touch couldn’t be trusted; did the feeling ever change? No, it was the voice, the thing Spike had aimed at her to thrust his animosity in her face, to relay his hatred out bare.

But in combination, the tone and touch gave her a smidgeon of hope that maybe he hadn’t meant it. Maybe he didn’t want to leave her, that Giles was okay, and they had just wasted ten minutes together because of a giant misunderstanding.

As the emotions calmed within her and Buffy’s mind cleared, she determined that that was exactly what this was. As horrible as her judgement had been in siding with Angel over Drusilla’s deadly actions—albeit completely unknowingly—there was no way that Spike would tell her that he was disgusted with her. He’d be angry, sure. What new boyfriend wouldn’t have been by such a display of misguided loyalty? But disgust was so much stronger than what she was sure was going on.

His lips on her hair were more than soothing. It set the stamp on a healing that might have begun through awkward words and actions. But it set her heart beating back at the correct rhythm as she wound her arms around Spike’s back, slipping gently on the cold leather of his coat but holding him dear.

“What did I do, Spike? Tell me and I’ll make it better. I promise.” Buffy had thought the tears were finished with, but as the request to be told what her actions had cost her fell from her lips, she felt them teasing again at the back of her throat and continue the flow through ducts to her eyes.

“You didn’ do anything, sweetness. Was just me bollocksing everything up an’ jumpin’ to conclusions. Never could add up right.”

The smile in his voice caused her to heave a great sigh and a hiccup, relief pouring from her in great crashing waves. The comedown from the emotional tidal wave was momentous, and Buffy could only be grateful that she was cocooned within Spike’s strong embrace.

“I’m sorry I jumped in to protect Angel from you. It was reflex, and really, he deserved a good smack in the jaw.”

In all the horror of knowing Angelus was once again on the prowl, Spike had completely forgotten all about the earlier incident that had left Giles minus a lot of plasma and laid out on his bed.

“Oh bugger,” expelled Spike, gathering up enough courage to extend his senses and search for his sire and grand-sire in their immediate proximity. For the moment all was safe, and he jerked his head, indicating for Buffy to come along with him as he took a step back toward Rupert’s flat.

“Got a bit of a situation, pet. We’ll talk about it when we get to the Watcher’s.”

Buffy threw him an inquiring look but hesitantly took his hand, her eyes seeking his to confirm it was the right move. The gentle and encouraging smile she received bolstered her courage and she slipped her fingers from his and wound her arm around his waist, standing a little aloof until he pulled her in flush against his side.

“So, we’re good now? ‘Cause I don’t want to fight like that again. It was scary.”

She didn’t look at him as she spoke, still a lot unsure of herself and where she stood, not understanding anything of what had just happened but postponing revelations on faith.

Spike stopped walking to hold her away from himself and catch her eyes in an intense avowal of truth. The words tripped over themselves on the tip of his tongue, the need to profess his love so strong it took a Herculean effort to hold them back. Those words had done nothing but inflame in his future, rob him of essence every time they were uttered and not reciprocated. And despite Buffy’s all clear with the naked Angel fiasco, there was nothing yet that provided him with a precipice to balance on.

He was going to put them out there anyway when he balked, came up hard against a wall of insecurity that almost had him gasping.

“Nothin’ I want more right now than to get whatever this thing is between us right out in the open. Got bigger problems though, luv. Need to get back to the Watcher’s and sort out a plan of action.”

Buffy watched his face, tight as he tried to conceal his feelings. That little flash of something that made her heart pump faster was there, though, reassuring and calming her in a way she was happy to accept for now, suddenly hesitant to push the words that would set everything on a new level.

She was content to wait for the future weeks, mend what she had broken in her misguided attempts at protection, and then launch a full offensive into the love ranks. Reassure Spike and herself that what they had—that was developing out of any control—was something real, something genuine that made Buffy feel positive about her future for the first time since the Master left her drowning in a pool of water. Something Angel had never succeeded in doing.

They resumed their pace, rather quicker than a casual walk, and before she knew it they had made it back to the door of Giles’s apartment. It was there the hesitation gripped Buffy again, the memory of Xander’s nearly incoherent explanation of Giles’s brush with death and her own cowardly dash from the facts.

“Is…is he okay?”

There was fear blatant in her question, a need to know but a want to run and hide away from whatever reality waited in regards to her Watcher behind this door.

Spike paused in his answer. Oh, he knew the Watcher would be okay, the amount of blood drained from his body on the right side of catastrophe, but the potential loss that loomed in their new future stole all speech for a moment. The gypsy teacher’s life stood in the balance, and now that Rupert was bordering on being Spike’s friend—or at the very least was accepting enough of him to offer simple courtesies like room and board—Spike was determined that the death toll for this little group was going to be nil. Angelus would have to find his fun elsewhere because Spike was here to save the day.

Tucking Buffy under his arm, he opened the door while giving her a comforting squeeze. Buffy took a slow step over the threshold, her eyes falling with an uncomfortable focus on the stairs leading to the loft housing Giles and his bed.

“He’s good. Was sitting up and threatening me before I went out earlier. Jus’ a bit weak is all.”

Buffy let the news of Giles’s condition filter into her brain then lost herself to the sensuality of Spike’s voice. To her avoidy brain, Buffy was all decided that the bad had passed for the night, everything was once again alright, and she could get on with the fun of discovering the world of pleasure with Spike.

Right after she went out and staked that conniving ho Drusilla.

Spike led her up the stairs on more steady legs. Girl Buffy was secure in her world again, Spike hanging off her side like all good boyfriends should. Not once did it occur to her once they had appeared at the side of Giles’s bed that the show of mushy togetherness would be a new event or even a surprise to anyone.

The quick glance at their clasped hands brought her insecure shyness out to play, and instead of confronting Giles with happy, caring eyes, she lowered her head and studied the carpet while she inquired about his state of health and comfort. Offered her apologies for leaving him alone with a psycho ho bag and asked if there was anything she could do.

“It’s fine, Buffy,” he answered, a slight hint of amusement in a tone that calmed the reactions of the room. Buffy relaxed and finally looked at her Watcher, gasping at the pale composure that met her gaze.

“Oh Giles,” she called out as she slumped onto the bed beside him, engulfing him in a strong hug.

“Buffy, breathing,” he choked out and then collapsed back against his fluffed up pillows when she let him go, a subtle cough reminding her of her own strength better than words probably could have.

“So, Spike said there was a bigger problem. Er, a big problem,” she quickly covered, not really wanting to get into what else there would have been a problem with.

Giles looked at the vampire with a mix of curiosity and concern. The fear was so palpable even Buffy could feel it and she wondered what it was that Giles had to fear from Spike.

“I-I thought you said that Buffy…that Buffy caused…” And then he stalled, either not wanting or unable to voice the dilemma that now faced them with the return of Angelus. Not wanting to believe the true cause for the monster’s return.

“Yeah, well…kinda got that part wrong.” Spike took a turn staring at the floor, this time in something akin to bashfulness.

Buffy alternated watching Giles and then Spike, becoming more confused as the silence reigned.

“So what was it that Spike got wrong?” The Slayer’s voice had hardened, way past ready to find out what the big mystery was that had firstly caused Spike to jump on her and almost break her heart over a misunderstanding, and secondly prompted the little meeting of severe, worried faces aimed at her.

“Come on. Enough with the evasive and tell poor little Buffy what you both seem to think she did.”

“We thought you had…slept with the poof.” Despite his desire to not drag attention back to the earlier bitter confrontation, he found the words torn from his mouth through bitter impulse. It was a compulsion driven by a need to punish her, make a Buffy pay for the monumental mistake of taking Peaches to bed.

While the hurt from this Buffy was yet to be set in reality—cast in concrete—the Buffy he had known for years had made him pay for her mistakes with the ponce continuously. Had judged him by a faulty, inaccurate yardstick for the entirety of their acquaintance. Old hurts were hard to let go of.

When he finally raised his eyes from the riveting swirl in Rupert’s carpet, he encountered the frigid composure of the woman he professed to love. Past indiscretion dictated the cause of Angel’s loss of soul the first go round for Spike; to consider another cause of his Grandsire’s resurgence was totally unexpected.

Small moments with Dru hit him, her intent search of something as she looked deep within him during those first moments he had returned to this time. Moments he had shortened as much as possible through both a desire to limit her exposure to him and thus prevent her gaining too much insight of where he had come from, but also because he was desperate to spend every spare moment establishing something with Buffy.

Obviously one of those short moments had been enough.

“She used thrall?” The sound of Giles’s calm voice streaking through Spike’s frantic search for an answer halted him fast.

Spike’s lost stare lifted from Buffy’s arctic return and focused on the weakened man in the bed.

“Yeah, Rupes. Think she did.”

“Would someone like to fill in idiot Buffy on what the what is here? Cause right now? Crazy talk! Incomprehensible to those missing the majority of a clue.”

The two men shared a considered look, setting Buffy immediately on a path of defense.

“You know what? I’ve had enough. I broke up with Angel days ago. I’m sorry I stopped Spike from hitting him, but I was all Uninformed Girl, and right now, all the crossed eyes and moody silences are upping the wig factor. What the hell would make you think I slept with Angel? We did this talk ages ago. Happiness means no soul Angel. I’m not stupid…hello, no happy giving Buffy. Remember?”

She was met with silence, nothing in their expressions to either confirm or deny that they had even heard her. It gave her important seconds to think, to try and fit the puzzle together in a way that made more sense than the cryptic comments she’d received so far.

The underlying point was that they thought she’d slept with Angel. That meant that they thought Angel had gotten happy. Which by definition meant he could lose his soul. Which meant…oh crap!

“Angelus. You think I slept with Angel because he’s lost his soul.”

Neither of the men stirred, her conclusion late to their already resolved and enlightened stance.

In this new light, Buffy went over everything that had happened since seeing Spike earlier and being crushed by his attitude toward her. I felt it. At the time it had made as much sense as a pimple on a first date with the captain of the football team. With Angel being some kind of vampire family equivalent to a grandparent, Buffy suddenly didn’t want to know what other kinds of things Spike could sense or feel about his ‘family’ members. Or what they could tell about Spike.

“So, you haven’t seen him. Just sensed him. How do you know for sure?”

Spike looked at her as if her ignorance was way beyond believable.

“Taught your girl well on vampire lore, mate,” he said as he cast a dirty look at Giles. “Vampires share blood, Slayer, an’ the experience is mystical. It’s like a security device—so we can always find each other. The buzz kinda went out of it when Granpappy got landed with a conscience like a real boy, but the las…er, I mean, I just felt him come back. The signal is strong with immediate family members.”

Buffy decided that at this minute, knowing there were two strong, evil vamps out there, she didn’t really care to alter her lack of ignorance much. Too bad she knew ignorance made you dead.

“Okay, so I need to know about him. What will he do?” Buffy hardened her heart to the fact that the vampire she had thought was her soulmate such a short time ago was now an evil, probably vengeful killing machine.

“He’ll likely come straight for you,” Spike told her, his tone implying there was no question that that was exactly what Angel…Angelus would do. “He’ll be mad as hell you made him feel any humanity. He won’t try to kill you straight away. Our boy likes to play with his food,” he continued the lecture, completely missing the flinches of the two humans.

Though the topic was already as serious as a heart attack, the next clue Spike offered was in an awful and sombre tone, chilling the circulating blood in both Giles’ and Buffy’s veins.

“You need to warn the teacher.” Spike exchanged a look with the Watcher, more implied secrets bombarding Buffy with resultant irritation.

“Why?” Buffy barged in stubbornly. “Why does Ms. Calendar need to be in the know?”

Spike turned hard, determined darkness on her, his irises eclipsed completely by the pupils.

“She needs to know ‘cause she is the key to returning the bloody wanker’s soul. If you want him back, that is. He’ll know, and he’ll go for ‘er.”

Giles turned to him, his darting eyes frantic with sudden realisation.

“He’ll go for her?”

Spike didn’t confirm again, or deny. His mouth was set in a determined line, plans formulating behind his half-closed eyelids.

“She’d better move in here.” There was nothing to argue, though Giles offered a stunned gasp. “Gypsy girl needs to be safe, needs to never be alone and never be out after dark. No hanging out in school rooms while she’s tryin’ to finish translating the curse.”

“But—” Giles began but was turned on by a furious Spike.

“No bloody buts, Rupert. She’ll move in even if you have to sleep on the kitchen floor. We’ll find room for the bint. ‘S not safe for her to stay on ‘er own.”

With that first decision made, the room fell silent; plans of action already underway against the threat of a monster.
14
The two men sat lonely in the living room, Giles taking the sofa as it was the best place for him if his weakness dictated he rest.

Phone calls had been placed to warn Buffy’s friends to stay indoors and to Ms. Calendar, strongly suggesting she pack and move in with Rupert for a time. Spike had even managed a call to the realtor to hurry along his sale, only to find out that the owner was more than happy with his occupation if he paid rent until the sale had been properly settled. So, there was no more need for the Watcher to get his knickers twisted about the lack of room, and Spike’s own place could well be a useful refuge for any of the Scoobies should they need it.

That left them with too much time to fill in before Buffy’s return. Giles lounged back on some pillows but watching Spike intently, completely wordless, waiting for the first sign of a crack in the determined silence. Spike sat irritably clinging to his secret, not wanting to reveal what had happened to these people in their future in relation to himself, but knowing that the little visit from Anya had stirred up too many questions for a curious bugger like Giles to ignore.

Still, he tried for stubborn. Lips clamped and eyes aimed firmly at the floor as he struggled against the scorching feel of Watcher eyes burning his intent. Knowing Giles, Spike hadn’t bothered holding any hope that he could keep this under wraps. He even felt relieved that the burden of it wouldn’t remain solely his. Problem was, he didn’t want Buffy to know, and he was sure that once Rupert had the full thing of it, he wouldn’t sit by and let his Slayer become overly close with a vampire. Particularly a soulless one.

Priorities had shifted now. No longer was this about keeping Buffy from becoming Angelus’s salvation and allowing himself to apply for the role of everlasting soulmate. If nothing else progressed between them, he had at least prevented her from becoming emotionally stunted by having the wanker be her first experience of love.

No, the priority now was to keep them all alive. He’d been crippled and useless the first go round. This time he was not only fully capable, fully functional as far as the fight was concerned, he was also motivated by love and devotion.

Not all of it was for Buffy. This trip to his past had enabled him to see things that had never been open to him before. His relationship with Giles was unlike any other he had had in his entire existence. As a human, he had been a joke to all he’d come into contact with: a foppish fool who was incapable of even getting a woman to notice him. A romantic idiot succumbing to the promise of walking in a world that was glowing and glistening, and dare he bloody say it, he still wanted effulgent. He’d wanted it so bad, craved Dru’s promise, and in Buffy it had come true. Only took a hundred and twenty odd years, but his Slayer existed in a glow that would never leave his heart.

Even the tentative camaraderie he’d established with Harris made him all thick in the throat with tears at the possibility of loss. He’d established so much, changed so much, and he thought for the better. But one word to any of them of the past four years of his own existence—still yet to be experienced by these not yet battle-weary soldiers of war—and he’d be packed up with the garbage and shoved to the side where he wouldn’t be seen or heard of again.

Which in itself wasn’t really a good plan, what with a vengeful master vampire roaming the city bent on revenge. He was already feeling the loss of Buffy from his everyday harder and more painfully than he had when she had discarded him in favour of death. It was all so tempting to deny it, be the evil self-serving bloodsucker Harris had always accused him of being and lie.

All it took was the raising of his head. Shades of blue clashed with hazel as Spike felt pulled back to the almost tragedy of earlier tonight. The Watcher still looked worn and lethargic, and far too pale as he lay hard against the pillows. Fatigue etched deep lines around his mouth and eyes and it made Spike worry. He wasn’t used to these injuries. Either a victim was dead, or relegated to something more fulfilling than food. Never before had he really been left to worry about the survival of a victim. He was used to the injured being creatures that could heal supernaturally fast. This continued weakness bothered him and made him question whether he had done the wrong thing by keeping him out of the hospital.

But postponing the inevitable was futile when Giles had him pinned with determinate interest. No matter how much he wanted to run, to lie about what was really going on here, the game had changed with his failure to keep Angelus at bay. He had only one small hope left then. He could tell the tale, promise to leave Buffy alone as well as offer his help in taking Angelus down, but maybe Giles wouldn’t be so hard and bitter as to rush right on and blurt the whole story to Buffy in a pique of irritation.

Was he too hopeful? Probably, but he had nothing left but hope. Not like he’d really gained Buffy’s heart. Oh, he knew the intention was there, that she felt something solid and powerful, but no words had been spoken, on either side. For that he was grateful, so very thankful he’d controlled himself earlier in the night and not spilled his heart forth for Buffy to stomp on when she’d heard of his journey and trampled the black tissue into dust.

“How about we start with who that woman was?”

When the voice finally broke through the silence, it startled Spike to an uncharacteristic jumpiness. With a resigned sigh, he gave in.

“Her name is Anya. She’s a vengeance demon.”

Despite the dejected posture and the glassiness to Spike’s eyes, Giles shivered at the evil implications of having a demon whose job it was to wreak vengeance in the name of those wronged so firmly and without invitation inside his house.

Yet she had sat beside him on his bed, a sad look in her eye as she worried about his state of health. How could he fear evil in someone who so obviously cared for him? Giles looked again at Spike. How could he indeed? This vampire, morose and conflicted, had been a welcome guest in his home now for weeks. Despite having no defences against the vampire if Spike should have felt the urge to go for his throat, Giles had no feelings of distrust toward him at all. Rather, Spike had saved his life. In his tired mind, Giles couldn’t help but remunerate the turn with patience and consideration. His world had indeed become a peculiar place.

“What business did she have here? With you?” Giles asked quietly, almost wishing he didn’t have to and could just pretend this cog had not been thrown into the works.

He felt that reluctance to know even more keenly as Spike struggled, the vampire’s expression pained and defeated. But Spike finally parted his lips, poised on the edge of revealing the truth of a situation that would be too far-fetched for consideration by anyone that wasn’t a Scooby.

“I never meant to do it,” he started on a defeated whisper. “Should have known to keep my bloody mouth closed, but we were talking, right? Both had our hearts shattered, both commiseratin’ like a couple of fools, and the words just popped out. Regrets, you know? An’ as sorry as I am now that it’s all about to hit the fan, I wouldn’t take it back. That’s why she popped in, asked me to take it back, but I’m stayin’ put. Know you’ll have problems with that, Rupes. But I’ve made a decision and it’s not up for discussion.”

Having taken so long to decide on what to say, Spike found that the words poured from his heart like a valediction. It was over; he knew it. But he wouldn’t go down leaving an impression that he’d done it for all the wrong reasons, even if he initially did. His wish might have been potentially disastrous, which would be a mite more fitting than the pleasure he’d had in getting to know this fresh, unscarred Buffy, but he could still help. Could still redirect the train wreck into a siding rather than let it wipe out the town with its devastation.

“A, vengeance demon, wreaks their vengeance how exactly? Have you done something terrible to Buffy and the rest of us?”

Spike marvelled at the calm inquiry, wondering if a shoe was about to drop much closer to his head than he might have been happy with. A subtle sniff of the air revealed no build-up of fear, no panicked desire to have Spike leave the flat by the fastest route possible—the dusty one. And it did nothing but compound his confusion.

“A wish. I made a stupid wish, half way drunk.” He raised his eyes to see if the Watcher was buying it and clenched his jaw at the obvious show of incredulity. “Alright, so I was more than a dozen sheets to the bleeding gale, but thought I was still pretty sensible, but she just kept plying me with the booze and whining over the Whelp, and I opened my big gob and shoved my feet down my throat.”

Giles couldn’t prevent the raised eyebrow at the creative imagery as the story unravelled.

“Made a wish, stupid mish-mash of words, wished I could do it all over again, do it different, an’ next thing I know is I’m back in the school with my second chance. An’ Buffy looking like the Angel she is.”
He finished by letting his weary head fall into his cupped hands, elbows propped on his thighs.

“Sometimes I completely forget you are a vampire.”

Spike’s head whipped up and Giles sucked in a surprised breath at the flow of tears the vampire had obviously been trying to conceal.

“Oh, Spike. You think I am going to condemn you, don’t you?” Giles felt his own throat become slightly thicker with a lump of sorrow and sympathy, but he pushed it on, trying to get to the bottom of the mystery before Buffy came barrelling back in with Jenny trailing behind her.

“You wished to do things over. So, er, how far in the future were you?”

Spike considered the man inclining further and further into his makeshift bed on the sofa as each minute ticked by. “You sure you’re up to this? Not a pretty bedtime story, and the more timely events for you aren’t so happy.”

But Giles didn’t even need to make a shot in the dark. Puzzle pieces suddenly dropped into place like they did after staring at them for days and getting nowhere fast. The actions of Spike, and the clues he had dropped along the way…

“Something happened to Jenny in your reality, didn’t it?”

Spike’s eyes became deadly in their cold determination.

“My reality is right now, Watcher. Nothing is goin’ to happen to your ladylove while I’m around. As long as you’re both sensible, and get a bloody move on with workin’ out that curse, we’ll all be fine.”

Giles nodded, finding that he couldn’t really stomach the possibility of what he was positive Spike was implying through his neglect of report.

“You said you were commiserating with this Anya, that you both had broken hearts? I take it you weren’t so successful in trying to form a relationship with Buffy in the future?”

The sadness in Spike’s eyes eclipsed any comment Giles thought to make regarding the inappropriateness of a vampire/slayer relationship. His current attitude had been to allow the match, seeing the endless possibilities in the actions Spike had undertaken in order to ensure Buffy’s extended future. He’d done more than allow it. In his heart he’d formed a small cheering section, joined he was sure by Willow and Xander. The brunette adolescent even more a member since his observation of Spike racing to Giles’s rescue.

“Buffy was a broken girl in my future. Torn out of heaven; couldn’t trust her friends, and wouldn’t trust a neutered, soulless demon. No matter how much I loved her. Angelus ruined her heart, took all she had to give. An’ you,” he finished in accusation, and Giles flinched with the unexpectedness of the attack. Not only was he surprised by the tone, but the action he was being accused of was unpalatable, despite the conviction of truth in Spike’s voice.

One thing clawed at his subconscious, wheedling its way to the fore, and as it rounded the final bend, Giles gasped. His heart felt a pang of pain he had stupidly hoped to postpone for many years to come after the experiences the previous year with the Master. But it was out there, whether intentional or not, Spike had left a revelation that he couldn’t leave untouched.

“Heaven?”

Just one word, and by the way the tears resurfaced in the vampires expressive eyes, Giles felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

Spike gave him a single nod.

“Oh Lord.” Giles fell back the final distance, no energy able to hold him up any longer…not now he knew his Slayer died again.

“When?” He couldn’t wait for the answer. “And how did she come back? Was it another drowning?”

But the misery that aged the young appearance of the peroxided misfit was enough of a clue to make Giles shudder in delayed reaction.

“In about three years. Hell god gets the better of us and she has to sacrifice herself to save the world.” Despite the overwhelming grief that had rounded suddenly back upon him, Spike couldn’t help but smile his pride. To him, Buffy would always be one hell of a woman, and he wanted her to have that chance to mature. Wanted her to have chances full-stop.

“An’ how is she brought back? You’re little red witch was all behind that. Bint’s gettin’ dangerous. But your teacher should be able to slow her down, teach her the ropes and get her proper instruction maybe.”

The gasp from Giles was like a bullet in the silence, cracking with its impact.

“So that is why you are so determined she move in. Was it Angelus?”

Spike sighed, wanting to kick his own arse for not watching his words better. It was what had gotten him in this predicament in the first place.

“Yeah, mate. He’s a right wanker and buggers up all sorts of…look, it’s not productive to rehash all this. Just take it from me that the future is not a bunch of roses and be done with it. I’ll move out tomorrow, an’ I’ll stay away as best I can, but I’m not goin’ back. Can save lives an’ hearts this time, an’ I don’t just mean mine. Not goin’ to desert you lot with something like Angelus in the wings, jus’ waitin’ for the opportunity to eat you all alive.”

“Indeed. No point in worrying unnecessarily. You’ve already sufficiently changed things I would assume?”

The bark of laughter lacked humour and set Giles’s teeth on edge.

“Oh, I’ll say. Buffy didn’t have her heart torn apart by that vindictive bastard. An’ with a bit of luck, she won’t be too distraught about the situation and be able to kill him if the opportunity presents.”

Giles looked confused. “I thought the aim was to have him resouled?”

The contours of Spike’s face sharpened as he worked his jaw, anger and frustration opposing the commonsense that allowed a speck of affection for his grandsire, as well as the acknowledgment that the great lumbering git had a destiny to fulfill—was needed for the safety of more than just puppies and Christmas.

“The so-called aim is to prevent the wanker from killing you all. If your gypsy girl can’t translate the curse soon, and even better get rid of the bleeding loophole, then we’ve got to be prepared. Las’ time round some pretty heavy actions were needed. Your bird left behind the curse,” Spike ignored the sharp intake of breath. “Left Red to do the mojo to put the soul back in our dashing hero, but it wasn’ good for her. Too much magic way too soon, an’ she’s payin’ the price for it now.”

“I think I don’t want to know much more. I’m feeling rather ill. But, I assume that in this other life, you and I are not…”

“Not close, you lot can’t stand the sight of me. Happy to have me in a fight, to help protect you all when Buffy is dead, but any other time you’d all rather stake me than give me the time of day.”

It was said in an almost wounding bluntness that made Giles feel immediately ashamed.

“And Buffy?”

“Slayer hates my guts though I love her till the end of the world. Would die for her, and probably will one day. Certainly been tortured to protect her enough times. But I won’t take advantage, if that’s what you’re worryin’ about.”

“Actually, no. I find myself not worrying at all. Spike, the Giles and Scoobies you speak of are very different people. I cannot judge you on something I have not experienced. All you have shown us has been kindness and protective concern. I think you are truly a marvel for your species, and I would wish to discuss this with you another time. Particularly the neutered image you mentioned earlier. When this situation is dealt with, you can tell me more in depth about events as you’ve already experienced.”

The relief had Spike sagging in his chair.

Just one more thing needed to be sorted, though, and he berated himself for lacking the courage to dive in and attack it head on. Evidently his struggle was obvious to his quiet observer and Giles broached the topic instead.

“I have no intention of telling Buffy any of this now. I won’t interfere in what you are doing. You are welcome to stay here, though I acknowledge with Jenny, it could get a little crowded.”

The men shared a smile of understanding, and Spike added a chuckle at the picture of Giles actually sharing his very masculine space with a woman. Spike sent a silent wish that the Watcher might even find the opportunity to fit in a quality shag in between his multiple cups of tea.

“Right, so no spilling the beans to Buffy. An’ if she still wants to see me?” Shyness crept into his face at the last, eyes dropping to study nails with tiny flecks of black nail polish stubbornly sticking to the outer cuticle.

“I shan’t interfere. I’m rather hoping I will be otherwise occupied.”

Cocky grins bounced off each other as they sat back and relaxed, waiting finally for the Slayer to come back with her charge.

~* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Without doubt, this had turned into the freakiest night on Buffy record. What had started out as a normal patrol with Angel had quickly progressed into one of the worst nights of her life. And that was saying something when it had to stand up against being killed by the Master. But how could she expect anything less when her life consisted of two possible suitors of the vampire persuasion? How many other teenagers went to bed each night agonising over which vampire to keep as her boyfriend?

Before Spike, the choice had seemed simple enough. Except, well, there was no choice. But the rules were pretty straightforward. Angel had a soul, so he was a good guy, despite being a bad guy for the first half of his existence. There was that little thing about his only having a soul in the first place because he picked on the wrong gypsy tribe, but he was making up for it. Really, there was no question that Angel was the better choice, he was all souled and had been helping her save the world for a whole, well, year and a half. And before that? For the hundred years he’d already had his soul? Rats. Alleyways and rats and no to the world saveage.

Which is where the comparison to Spike not only became very deep and muddied, but also a whole lot of complicated. Because he was the outlaw, the troublemaker that bucked all the rules so all you could do was discard all your assumptions about life, about right and wrong, and start restructuring your beliefs from scratch.

Spike may have kissed his way into her life, winning her with massive sex appeal while cashing on teenage hormonal curiosity, but he was so much more than that. Buffy melted every time she recognised an emotion in his eyes, every time she was the recipient of one of those hot looks. Sure, there was an amazing attraction between them that she couldn’t ignore, even if she had tried to. But there was something more meaningful there, something that treated them both with care as it carried them along a path toward each other. Something that paved the way for him to enter her heart and change her life so radically.

Spike was an evil demon; there was no argument there. He had no soul, no apparent moral compass to keep him on the straight and narrow. No obvious one, at least from what Buffy could see. Yet he was there, fighting with her, fighting to protect her.

And without struggling to make a choice at all, she fell in love with him.

The revelation was the first time she took the risk of admitting it to herself. The first time she allowed herself to recognise that it was possible to feel that way for something she shouldn’t. What they had, this attraction, this burning need Buffy felt to be with him, seemed way too normal. Angel had taught her that love was all with the angst and the mystery and the abnormality with the bumpies.

But Spike wasn’t like that. Most of the time, Buffy forgot that he was even a vampire. He rarely suited up, even in the most vicious fights, and certainly not from kissing her. She figured he had a tighter reign on his demon—either that or it was weaker in him and that was why he was so different.

But the night was way high on her wigged out scale. And Spike had featured strongly in all events. Evil, hurtful, scary events that made her fearful that, despite not really having that hard a decision of whether to belong to Spike or Angel, she’d almost lost the very thing she was anxious not to.

Tears threatened as Buffy replayed the bitter words, the stark fury and rage that had exploded from Spike the second he’d caught up to her. Having already built herself up to a high of self-castigation for making the mistake of supporting Angel against him, his attacking words had flayed her and left her fearful, so very terrified that he was about to punish her for the blunder by denying her of his presence in her life.

But it had all been a misunderstanding, which was good for her, but way bad for everyone in the long run. But the main point right now was that Spike was still her
...was Spike her boyfriend? The thought made her smile, so she sure hoped so. There was so much yet that she hadn’t experienced with Spike, so much she wanted to be taught, so much she wanted to say to him…

But now Angelus was on the loose and for some reason that was completely a mystery to her, Giles was frantically following Spike’s advice. Acting almost like he’d done this scene before. Which so wasn’t possible. And yet, without question he’d assumed the role of leader. Admittedly he knew the foe firsthand, and Giles was weaker than a newborn kitten, but still. Wasn’t she the Slayer?

The pout was childish, but after the emotional rollercoaster she’d ridden the whole night, she felt she should be forgiven for it in the let down. Still, the thing between she and Spike was settled for now…except for the fact that the idiot actually thought she’d left Giles’s to go sleep the sleep of the lusty soul depriving with Angel. Funny how that scenario, once imagined with a regularity that was embarrassing, now made her feel slightly ill.

Buffy felt herself on the edge of an inner rant of gigantic proportions, but was unable to indulge it as she quickly closed in on her destination. The apartment building stood still and large, and mostly dark bar from the light spilling from one tiny window and the open door of a small cream VW bug. The trunk of the car also was propped open and Buffy could see a suitcase and computer equipment—the dead giveaway in her book that this was Ms. Calendar’s car. She’d made it and no Angelus in sight. She only hoped there was some wood around so she didn’t jinx herself. Looking around she became aware of the pointy piece sticking into her back, and smiled as she took it out and gave it a repeated bunt with her knuckles. Nobody could accuse Buffy of bringing hell to her heels with the jinxyness. Thanks to her trusty stake she was all jinx free!

The signs of hurried packing was another thing to add to Buffy’s weird night. Okay, so they were all unsafe now that Angelus was on the rampage, or at least that was what Spike was implying. Buffy found it hard to believe, what with the example of Spike and the previous possession of a soul, that Angel’s transformation to Angelus wouldn’t be as evil and filled with terror as one might have first expected. So, wasn’t it a little extreme for Spike to get all demandy about Ms. Calendar becoming Giles’s newest houseguest? And Giles with all the agreeing?

Buffy shrugged and then jumped almost right out of her skin when a hand rested firmly against her shoulder. Instinct drove her and before she knew it she’d shoved her teacher against her car with a hand squeezing her neck. As soon as the recognition filtered through her brain, Buffy let go abruptly. She took a large step back and rushed in with her apologies.

“I am soo sorry. I was thinking…and well, you startled me.”

Jenny Calendar rubbed her neck before allowing a nervous smile to touch her lips.

“Completely my fault, Buffy. I was taking my life into my own hands by walking up behind you.”

They both sighed and almost simultaneously turned to scan the darkness of the night. When her gaze returned to the car and the dark haired gypsy woman, she noticed the light in the building behind was no longer shining.

"Ready, then?" Buffy prompted and they both got in the car.

"Has Angel been inside anyone else's house besides Rupert's?"

Buffy took a moment to think abut her friends, already knowing that her own house wasn’t safe and suddenly grateful her mom had gone out of town on yet another gallery inspired purchase trip.

"Pretty sure he never made it into Xander's place, but I'm not sure about Willow's. And mine is a definite danger zone."

Jenny was nodding, already cataloguing the ingredients she would need to protect the other houses. She had enough in her satchel to disinvite Angelus from Rupert's house, but not for any others for what was left of the night.

The car pulled to a stop out the front of Willow's house and Buffy dragged Ms. Calendar along with her to retrieve her friend. She knocked on the door to Willow's room, glad not for the first time of the private access to her friend, and sighed from a pent up fear that she hadn't even realised she was feeling.

Explanations were swift, and only made marginally more sense to Buffy than they did Willow. While the danger was revealed, Willow went about packing a change of clothes and a toothbrush and then locked up behind her before following them back to the car. Buffy paused at the door, the hairs suddenly prickling at the back of her neck. She knew without a doubt that Angelus was here, and he was watching. Well, good! She was glad he knew they were on to him, although perhaps he didn't know that. And gah! Could things just slow down a little?

With a shiver of apprehension, she shooed the other two in the car and encouraged Jenny to put her foot to the floor and turn the car toward Giles'. She didn't know about anyone else, but exhaustion was making her limbs lethargic and she was more than keen to get home to bed. And if that bed consisted of a set of arms to hold her and keep her safe, then she was so gonna be the happy girl tonight

. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Buffy heard the telltale voices of the two men as she approached the door. The watcher and the vampire. It was a strange combination, but get Xander in there and she would have all three of her favourite men in the same room. But when she’d left, Giles had been looking frail as Spike led him to the sofa. She'd never seen her Watcher weak, never seen him so close to death, and as her only parental figure that truly knew what she was, his near loss was frightening to her.

Willow and Ms. Calendar waited behind her—arms full with various bits of a computer—as Buffy shouldered her way indoors. The night had just dragged on forever and her muscles were burning with the need to rest. Gaining entry they came to a stop as Giles weakly attempted to struggle to his feet and both Spike and Ms. Calendar rushed to push him back.

Talk was minimal, Buffy participating in none of it as she used a mash of tired head jerking and pointed stares to tell Spike to move it and drive them home. Somewhere behind her haze of exhaustion, she heard Spike and Willow offer goodnights, and Buffy couldn’t help but snipe internally about how so far, it had been the night from hell.

During the slow blink of her eye, the trio found themselves outside in the barely darkened sky and standing in front of a classic hunk of junk. Buffy hadn't experienced a ride in Spike's monstrosity that he so lovingly passed off as a car, but she was so tired right now she would have been happy to be driven home in a streetsweeper.

It was testament to the night so far, that as soon as Spike turned on the engine some repulsive mix of what she so did not call music came blaring from the speakers. It woke her up like a bucket of icy water wouldn’t have.

“What the hell do you have against my eardrums?” she screeched.

The incensed look she had going on turned her face a becoming shade of pink—and Spike loved it. With the night they’d all had, he felt it important to focus on the love, the things about her that were special. As he clicked the tape deck off, cutting his favourite song criminally short, he felt an overpowering urge to show every living cell on her body how bloody much he thought she was special.

The trip was short but once the rusting pile of Detroit scrap iron clattered to a stop in the driveway, everyone clambered out and released tremendous sighs of relief. Door shut, Willow shown to Joyce’s room, Buffy left Spike wandering around looking at pictures in the living room while she went to the bathroom. A shower was doing more than singing to her—rather it sounded like that bad screaming crap Spike called music. So, with a groan of satisfaction Buffy felt the pulsing needles of hot water massage her skin till she was almost completely lulled to sleep. It wasn’t until the water sprayed her cold that she shivered and rushed to turn it off, climbing out and putting on her robe.

It hadn’t been discussed where Spike was going to sleep, and Buffy felt a little disappointed that he hadn’t followed her upstairs, even if she was thinking naughty thoughts that she couldn’t possibly indulge in. The fact that she had gone so far already was pushed to the back of her mind. The point was, he hadn’t followed her up. He was obviously planning on standing guard for the night, watching over and protecting her from a possible attack from Angelus.

With sleepiness edging back in and a feeling of dejected unattractiveness, she made it back to her room. As she turned and closed the door behind her, she was seized from behind and pushed up against the vertical surface. Not hard, but the body flush against her, holding her in place, was strong and steady. Determined to play.

“You naked under there, pet?”

Buffy shuddered at the hot tone, the cold tongue tracing a line up the side of her throat. She could feel his hands teasing the tie of her robe in the small space between her body and the door. His lips closed around the patch of skin his tongue had bathed, and he sucked. His teeth nipped and he sucked, the pressure growing until she could feel the sweet sting of pain as her blood was pulled to the surface.

She forgot language as his explorative fingers found the cooled skin of her belly, the tie falling away and the robe pushed slightly open. He rubbed his fingertips in a line up and down, from breastbone to pubis, blowing softly on the wet spot of her neck. Goosepimples tore to the surface and she felt herself shake under his touch. The desire to feel him, look at him was so strong, but he held her with determination against the door, having too much fun with the teasing.

Buffy felt the lust fairy perch on her shoulder and guided her. It told her that by pushing her ass into his crotch she would feel the slide of wetness as it escaped her pussylips, desperate for some kind of resolution. She rejoiced in his growl, began moving her body against his hand as he resumed the repetitive stroking, encouraging the boundaries to both go lower and higher.

A weeping cry tore from her throat as a finger brushed the swell of her breast and the softness of her curls. She braced her hands against the door, then began to rub her ass against his erection, tears coming to her eyes as his roughened fingertips finally scraped over her eager nipple, faintly swiped over her clit.

“Spike,” she whimpered and at last he turned her around and slammed her back into the wood pannelling, bruising her lips with a fierce kiss that drove her out of her mind. His lips fell open, the softness her undoing as she searched for his tongue, sucking it into her mouth like she’d hungered for it for years. His taste was like a drug, so bitter from cigarettes that settled into a strong burn from alcohol. Separately they would make Buffy want to puke, but together it was a magical mix that convinced her she was a goddess, on the planet to do nothing but drink from him.

He was panting when he pulled away, watching as the blankness faded from Buffy’s eyes and she was able to comprehend that she was standing essentially naked in front of him. A soulless vampire that she was falling over a cliff in love for. Though she wanted to be shy, protect herself from his sight and the possible rejection if she wasn’t quite what he wanted, she made herself be courageous and do nothing. Say nothing. Hide nothing.

That he could be repulsed by any part of her was discarded almost immediately as her whole body flushed from his hungry gaze. His look of wonder elicited a response of preparation. Her nipples hardened, she gushed with wanting him in places new. She sucked in her belly to push out her breasts further, almost frantic now for his touch, for his mouth to take her in places he hadn’t yet explored. Breath rushed from her lungs as his warm tongue circled a nipple before his mouth sucked it inside.

“Buffy,” he hissed against the tautness of her bulging nub. Thought chased themselves around his brain, fears surfacing even now in this moment of bliss. Spike was terrified it would still be snatched from him, this skin never his to possess, to love and worship for the rest of their days. Paranoid that no matter what he did, she could never love him, would never want to join her life with his.

He buried his face against her flesh, licking the nipple and suckling like a newborn as tears welled in his eyes. It was urgent—the need to say the words, set himself in her favour forever more. The uncertainty was sending him mad as surely as the continual denials and fists of his future Buffy had done.

And only one question could settle it all, let him know his place, let him hold success or failure in his grip. The tears were held tight as he took a breath and kept his eyes squeezed shut, kept his face against her breast.

“Buffy,” he tried again, his voice hoarse with his fear of repetition. “Tell me you’re my girl.”

15

“Tell me you’re my girl?”

Movement stilled as she took in the high those words gave her. The rush you got from knowing you were so important to someone that they were terrified of losing you. He wanted her, was afraid enough of her rejecting him to be nervous about the reality of their relationship. If Buffy was reading Spike right, he sounded so dejected about the possibility of her answer being in the affirmative, that he had hung his head against her breast in easy acceptance. Despite that confusion, however, anticipation was a curled fist against the curve of her belly.

Her lips parted to joyfully proclaim the right of him, to forever bind him to her, when a sharp, shocking slow clap breached the lustful romantic haze enveloping her heart. Spike’s head shot up from her breast with a start, he turned and allowed narrowed eyes to locate the intruder.

Buffy gasped on seeing Angel, her hands quickly going to retie the knot at her waist and shutting off the view.

“Angel, what are you doing here?” She held apology in her voice in a way that questioned her view on events, that she wasn’t comfortable with the private goings on that had been enacted behind closed doors and curtains. The brunette vampire had breached her boundaries and instead of righteous fury, she acted like a girlfriend caught being caressed by another man.

It didn’t go far in changing Spike’s view of his position in her life.

The grating clap had continued until she had spoken, and on hearing the quiet searching tones compelled from her throat, his lips took on the magnitude of a sneer, his eyes sharpened from recent death and pain. They glittered with pleasure, malice circling in a swirl of black hidden behind the depth of his expression.

But Spike saw it, and for the first time wondered what—or who—this incarnation of his grandsire would destroy. He had changed the playing field, and for the first time in his adventure Spike felt nervous about his lack of knowledge of where this situation could end up.

“Get out,” he commanded, voice held smartly in check so as not to reveal the bitter rage that was boiling just below his earlier plea. She hadn’t answered him; hadn’t beat him to the curb and rearranged the lines of his face either. But still the ambiguity of an entreaty gone without response took up most of his attention. Despite the presence of dark evil draped around her window frame.

“Now, William, don’t be rude to your family.” The cold smile of a killer flashed at him briefly before turning once again to the blonde whose bedroom he breached. “Ah, my little Buffy. And here I am thinking you’re my girl.”

The touch of hurt, the kicked puppy look so well utilised by soul and demon alike did it. Fooled her into acting without care to her safety or belief in the truths of Angelus. Before Spike could do anything to prevent it, she had run across the room and enveloped the darker vamp in a commiserating hug.

“I’m so sorry, Angel. I didn’t want to hurt you, but we are broken up.”

She’d pulled a little away, her neck still in easy reach of Angelus’s descending fangs, and Spike finally found the will to move his feet. At the same time, Angelus spoke.

“Oh Buff,” he drawled as his hand stroked tenderly down her warm cheek. “That’s why it won’t hurt me when I do this.” And he backhanded the same cheek, sending her spinning into her cupboard hard. With a thump she hit resistance to her flight and crumpled to a pile of terry-towelling on the floor.

The room was silent, waiting to see if she would rise and what would be her condition. It really only counted off into seconds when she lifted her head, her gaze blurred a little from a combination of shock and dizziness, but the steely glint of fight was not yet there, causing Spike to curse from within. The hurt wasn’t quite devastating, but he should have known that—no matter what he had saved her from—Buffy would always find a sliver of heart for the clod in front of them that would dictate her movements away from quick decisive conclusions.

“Angel?” she delayed, her voice cracking even now the revelation was old.

“Not bloody Angel, you daft bint. I bleeding well told you the poof had left the building.” Spike’s tone rivalled his grandsire’s in the hauntingly cold derision that formed his words, irritation at both the interruption and the dogged belief of Buffy’s to not believe the truth about one she had supposedly loved. Loved still, from where Spike was standing.

“Not Angel,” he confirmed with an amused lilt, the brooding inflection completely absent from his tone. He spoke now with eager delight, with knowledge and freedom that had been repressed for over a hundred years. If Spike had been less than a vampire, he’d have shivered.

“So, William! You still trying to get someone to be your girl?”

The barb hit its mark hard, leaving Spike drained first of fight then of hope, succumbing finally to the cloud of futility he had suspected he would always have to carry.

“Hey,” shouted Buffy, but she remained ignored, the two vampires trying to establish rank against each other while standing in the middle of a girly bedroom—complete with frills.

“It’ll never happen, boy.” Angelus, as always, jabbed where he knew it would hurt most. “You’ll always be second best. Get there last. Lose the girl. You’re a loser, Will. But thanks for handing Dru over. She’s a very smart girl for getting Daddy back.”

His laugh inspired cold shivers down her spine and was the final incentive Buffy needed in order to put her stubborn schoolgirl memory of Angel aside and accept his evil alter ego was possibly everything Spike had warned her about.

Spike.

He stood with his head bowed, defeat hunching his shoulders in a way that a century of promising kisses and vows of love would be working uphill to shift. Buffy’s eyes were drawn to the dejected posture of the vamp she loved, the sense of devotion deepening in her heart every stolen moment she had with him. To see him apparently beaten, resigned to an existence without her reassurance tore at her like nothing else. More than almost losing her Watcher to death. Much more than losing her first crush to a soulless demon.

The security of his heart was all that mattered to her now. Fighting was for another day.

Buffy had already gained her feet, had searched out a stake from her dresser that had fallen unnoticed to the floor when she had taken a headlong dive into the structure. Her hand clenched around the comfort of the deadly stick of wood as she took one small step to the entity suspended in her window.

“Did you come here for a reason, Angelus?”

Both sets of vampire eyes focused on her change, the new acceptance of his rightful personality. Within moments she had found a hard resolve that banished the weak schoolgirl and left evil nothing to recognise but the promise of the Slayer.

“Of course, darling. I came to play. Imagine my surprise to not only find you allowing my worthless childe to feel you up, but that you’ve been warned already of my return. Ruined all my fun.”

Buffy could feel the skin over her lips tighten at his pout, the urge to do damage surging through her veins like an express train crashing through fire. The livid snarl she felt more than heard from directly behind her confused her senses for only a moment, her inner Slayer being able to distinguish almost instantaneously the one she needed to protect and claim.

“Get out of here. You’ve no business with her, and I wouldn’t let you hurt her even if you had the right. No marks; you didn’t take her in any way. Guess you’re shit out of luck there, Ponce!”

Buffy could feel the tense coiling of muscles in the predator behind her, her back to a monster that could never do her harm, and she felt safer than she ever had with him by her side. He wanted to strike at the threat, push it to a crashing fall out of the window and from the roof.

Deep down she wanted to let him, but the niggling thought that this wasn’t time for a fight kept hitting at her till she took note and reeled in her impulse to violence. But the enemy was in her room and the biggest goal right now was to get him right the hell out. Having him curled around her window frame, smirking and making her skin crawl with every leery look and slur aimed toward Spike, was pretty decent motivation to remove him. As he threw even more not quite so subtle barbs at Spike, her dander was finally up to full throttle and she let the anger spill forth.

“You know what?” Buffy almost shouted, gaining the attention of both sets of demon eyes. Angelus looked confused by the unscheduled derailment, but had not time to think of the point because Buffy was determined to make sure everyone was safe. At this moment, it meant saving herself and Spike. “You interrupted one of those really important moments, and in the process you took ten minutes of my life that I won’t ever get back.”

His cocked eyebrow and amused smirk had her inner eye flash with fire-engine red, her fury pumping the power through her body like no other emotion was capable.

“But the thing that really bugs me?” The pause had him leaning forward slightly, waiting on the wisp of a girl with the power to dust him to smithereens. “You have really stupid hair.”

At his indignant gasp, Buffy raised her foot and planted it squarely in Angelus’s chest, the force of the kick sending him whizzing through the open air until he was pulled up short by the neighbour’s tree. Buffy’s euphoric smile—inspired by the resounding smack of his head against the bark and the handful of leaves that lodged in his perfectly styled hair—slipped into a disappointed pout that he didn’t hit any protruding branches and put them simply out of their misery. She could hear Angelus’s grunt from across the street and as he turned to glare at her and intimidate her with the flash of his fangs, she pointedly looked at the lightening sky and tapped with purpose at her bare wrist, indicating the ticking of time. With another growl—resigned to having to return to the torment another day—he left in a swish of coat and faded quickly into the disappearing night.

After one last look, Buffy swivelled on her heel to face Spike, feeling no sense of repulsion as he showed her the reality of his face. She did the one and only thing she would have been able to. She strutted toward him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his lips to within a hairsbreadth from her own.

“I’m yours, Spike. Soon, I will be completely yours. But for now? Definitely your girl.”

And she kissed him, soft lips brushing against surprisingly soft demon ones, not even an inkling of fear.

Absolutely was she his girl. One swift kick in the shin wrought the required ouch for it to end. “And stop with the stupid questions,” she pouted, and squealed when he latched on and made that lip his own.

Spike was in Buffy’s room, with permission this time around, with her hands seeking out his goodly secrets. All he could do was smile at something that seemed the key to his change in circumstance. It was all changed forever now, irrevocably altered and this time—for the first time ever—it was in his favour.

Buffy was his girl.



~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Willow was curled up within the bed coverings, a stake held tightly in her fist. She had shot to alert when a scratching on the outside of her window made her teeth vibrate against her jaw. Only once had she let her eyes fall upon the inky darkness greeting the other side of the glass, and she gasped in elevated fear as the pale leering smile of Angel peered in at her. He waved with his fingers, obviously looked over her shaking form as she trembled against the sheets, and then left.

His disappearance didn’t sooth her nerves, though it gave her enough presence of mind to climb from the bed and gain her shoes—in case she would have to run for her life. With her back against the door, she soon became aware of sound across the hall. A loud bang and the clattering of smaller objects to the floor queued her in to the possibility that the newly soulless vamp hadn’t gotten his kicks from frightening her and then just moved on.

The hairs on the back of her neck fought to leave her skin as she heard the deep voice in the other room while it taunted and decimated her friends. It wasn’t the first time Willow had thought of Spike as her friend, but it was a new feeling to find faith in his efforts of protection. In his deep desire to keep them all safe.

She could almost feel his pain across another room and hall, knowing that the vampire had some serious issues in regards to his confidence and choices in love. Resigned to not sleeping for the rest of the night—not that much blackness still clung to the air—Willow sank to the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, and kept one ear out for the signs that would indicate the Slayer hadn’t been diligent.

Willow was quickly finding her breathing to be on a rapid incline to hyperventilation, little bubbling screams pushing at her throat and backed by her very healthy lungs. Each nasty taunt by the vampire they had all trusted for so long brought miserable tears to her eyes. The shaking wouldn’t stop, and her rump was getting both cold and sore with her cowering on the floor.

Finally she heard Buffy fight back with some very obscure insults of her own, and the thud of what could only be a powerful blow to someone. The fact that no impact rocked the house implied that someone had just been fiercely and abruptly ejected from the building. Low murmuring of a soft voice clued her in to Angel gone byeage, and she hesitantly pushed her way to her feet.

When the silence seemed more comfortable rather than terrifying, Willow flung open her door and dived headlong across the hall. Turning the knob to Buffy’s door seemed no contest as she found herself within the room, almost falling at the super-couples feet in the sweetest of relief.

“Oh Buffy,” she breathed through her fear derived tears. “He just stared at me…through the window…” she sobbed, her face buried in the shoulder of her friend.

Buffy and Spike shared a look above the redhead, one meant to be answering questions and offering their own form of comfort. However, Spike saw little but history repeating, and possibly forcing those he cared about to brook an even more destructive path.

It was all akin to a typical Spike plan. Try as he might, they never bloody worked. Never made it to the happy conclusion he was going for. Sure, he was good at deviating from the path if the outline was all wonky—if he managed to see it in time—but the potential for disaster that he always optimistically avoided, seemed always to catch him by the chin.

But this time, it was different. His other plans had been motivated by evil. Had been designed to take down the Slayer and reward himself with glorious benefits. Looking back now, he could see his heart had never really been in it; had in fact been more of a try to be as evil and deserving for his dark princess as he could. This time, he needed things to be changed. Needed to prevent Buffy from the emotional pain that blocked off her heart. Needed to prevent the hurt that would taint this group of people—his family—from accepting him.

This time, he couldn’t fail.

And yet, it seemed like he was. Keeping Buffy away from his poofy sire hadn’t been enough. He’d covered many bases—and lets not forget he was thinking on the fly, thank you muchly—but the odds were stacked against him when he had no warning of his sudden trip back through time. The reality of a more open Buffy, a new shot at having her love him…was it any wonder he had forgotten to watch himself around Dru?

And he was paying for it now. The bone deep fear he held that, no matter what he did, or who he stopped, something big was going to go down now Angelus was on the loose, and Spike was going to lose it all yet again. After being so close. After holding it all in his hands and seeing the spark of love for him in her eyes. Angelus was going to take it all away from him, because that was inevitably what Angelus was all about.

The spread of heat from Buffy’s words, her lips sharing a declaration he thought impossible to ever hear or experience, was too short lived as Red came barrelling through the door. Her obviously distraught state might have taken away his opportunity to bask in Buffy’s gift, but it also put him on alert and reminded him how serious life for them all now was.

“Right, tomorrow the teacher needs to put a disinvite on the house. Don’t want anymore bloody surprises like that one. Has Peaches been in your place before, Red? If so, disinvite there, too. Bloody hell, disinvites all round I say. Get the bugger right out of all our hair.”

The thought of hair brought a smile to his lips, distracting him momentarily from the seriousness of the night.

“Bloody brilliant comeback there, pet. Ponce never could get that his hair would stand up just as well without half the gel he uses.”

Willow raised a hesitant hand. “A-a-actually, I think he uses mouse.”

Buffy and Spike both frowned at her but she shrugged them off. “He asked me to buy some for him once.”

Girly giggles greeted Spike’s irritated eye roll. “So the big brooding git uses mouse. Who bloody cares?” In the next second he could have cursed himself as the haunted look chased away the playfulness in her eyes, and the redhead collapsed again.

He sighed, irritated at his brevity, but knowing that the mood, once lost in these circumstances, could not be adequately retrieved. No matter how hard he might want it to.

“You lot get some shuteye. Keep the door open, jus’ incase. I’ll kip downstairs after it gets fully light and we know he can’t get back in. Shouldn’t be long now.”

He gave Buffy a quick kiss on the cheek, whispering his ‘thank you’ in her ear, turned and made his way out of the room. A hand on his stopped him and he was directed to lie beside her on the bed, no argument rising in his head as to why it would be better to leave her.

In silence, the two girls lay on the bed, arms entwined for comfort’s sake, and drifted toward a restless sleep, Spike falling fast behind them.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Giles could do nothing but watch as Jenny went about the business of keeping a formally welcome vampire from being an unwanted guest and killing them in their sleep. The night had already been long, and with his added weakness from being almost drained, he felt quite unable to even stay sitting up against his pillows while she finished the incantation that would keep Angelus on the outside.

“It’s just bloody marvelous what magic can achieve,” he beat out tiredly, almost succumbing to the now complete lack of strength in his body. He perked up a little at her indulgent smile, but quickly screwed up his nose when she swapped her handful of mini crosses for a glass of juice and the first of many iron tablets. He took the offering without word, however, not wanting to insult her when she made the most beautiful nurse he had ever seen.

The bitter mouthful of juice revived him somewhat and he was able to take small notice of the wrinkle of fear around her eyes and mouth, and couldn’t help but shudder around his suspected knowledge from Spike. The words were not spoken, but the implications of devastation to his world were intense.

“It is imperative that we neutralise this threat of Angelus. We cannot have him and his consort loose on the streets of Sunnydale. Together they are too dangerous for even Buffy to take on, though the presence of Spike is a welcome support…” He stopped abruptly as she placed a finger over his lips and rewarded him with a tentative smile.

“I brought all my files so that I can work on the curse. Given just a little bit of time, I’m sure I can translate it and make him Angel again…” She stopped at Giles’s snort of impatience.

“I am not so certain that it is worth your effort.”

“He is not…”

Jenny jumped to her feet as the voice at the now open door flooded her with dormant feelings of responsibility and loyalty. Giles was still too weak to do more than struggle to a seated position, his brows crossed as he sorted out the effect of the rude intrusion and entry to his home and the strange subservient position of Jenny.

“Who are you? And how dare you break into my home.” His voice offered flinty reminders to the presence of his alter ego, and he inwardly cursed his lack of blood that kept him to the fringes of what could be a dangerous fight for their lives.

Until he saw Jenny drift forward and offer a warm but apologetic hug to the man that had not come more than a step into the flat.

“The Elder woman has felt it. The signs were too sudden, but she has felt the curse be lifted. How could you let this happen?”

Jenny backed up a step. “This could not have been predicted. I don’t even know how it happened. But I can get the soul back, place it inside him again so that he will continue to burn. I just need some time…”

“Time? Time for someone else’s cherished daughter to fall at his feet?”

Her head fell, defeat stamped into every part of her that could establish feeling. Face drawn, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast…she was the picture of failure.

Until one memory sparked her to fight, to offer her beliefs and struggle for their implementation once again.

“I promise you. Angel still suffers. And he makes amends for his
evil. He even saved my life. The right thing to do is to return his soul.” Her voice was strong, determined in her ability to both renew her vow to her clan, and make Angel what he was.

“So you just forget that he destroyed the most beloved daughter
of your tribe?! That he killed every man, woman and child that touched
her life?! Vengeance demands that his pain be eternal as ours is! How could you let him experience a moment’s happiness? He must be stopped.”

“Then returning the curse would appear to suit us all, then, doesn’t it! You get your continued bloody vengeance and we get a warrior for good. Now, on your bike.” Giles had stumbled to his feet, hand gone white from the grip on the sofa back he held to keep himself upright.

His words had no impact and he watched as Jenny seemed lost in a world he had no knowledge of but which consisted of deep loyalty to a group that had condemned the world to the eventual release of a monster. They may have prettied him up with a shiny soul, but providing a get out of jail card pressed beyond the boundaries of responsible tactics.

“I'm sorry. I thought...” Jenny shook her head slowly, gently as the gravity of her place drifted to encompass her.

“You thought what?! You thought you are Jenny Calendar now?! You
are still Janna, of the Kalderash people! A Gypsy.”

“I know... Uncle. I know.”

“I think you do not know. You’re watching failed. You were unable to prevent the monster’s return though it was your job. Now I find you here, alone with a man.”

“But he is ill; he was attacked…”

“Enough.” The raised hand before her halted her justifications and her head bowed once again, offering her subservience in the face of clan disappointment. “You are finished here, Janna,” he offered, his voice shades warmer than before, favour making a showing where before he was fierce. “You must gather your things and return with me at once.”

Her dark eyes flashed at him, projecting her dislike of the order as she battled with her inherent upbringing to obey. The deep clearing of his throat finally drew attention and Giles smiled warmly at her before turning a frosty glare at her uncle.

“Ms. Calendar will not be going anywhere.” His voice was hard and belied any of the weakness suffered by his body. “She is our only hope of reinstating the cursed soul. I believe it is her desire to both return Angel to us as well as help fight Angelus—to prevent some of the bloodshed that will be inevitable should she leave as you suggest. We would be left without a suitable weapon to counteract the situation. It is not any of our fault that Angelus has returned. This could not have been predicted, as your elder woman has already pointed out to you.”

The fury that bloomed on the darker faced man could not be missed as he turned sharply to his niece.

“Is this what you want, Janna?”

Giles could see the shake of her hand as she raised it to brush away invisible strands of hair from her face.

“I think it is what I must do, Uncle. I owe it to our tribe to stop him hurting more, for taking away loved ones from other families.” Her voice held a heavy plea for permission, for understanding that Giles could already see would remain absent from the one she called family.

“You owe these others nothing. The evil one is no longer your concern. Remove yourself from this place and we shall return home at once.”

The shake intensified as she prepared to do battle for her beliefs, allowing her spine to straighten and raising her eyes to relay the seriousness of her words.

“I cannot leave, Uncle. I will stay and translate the curse.”

“Then I cast you out,” was his furious rejoinder, at once rendering her null and void of blood. “See how the muló will like your taste now. It will be bitter with the taste of the unclean.”

“Oh, now that’s a bit harsh…”

“Rupert, please, no,” whispered Jenny through a throat choking on her own tears.

“I accept marimé, but will continue to undertake my duty.” Her voice shuddered around the words as strands of hair became caught in her rapidly moistened cheeks, face pale yet accepting of the punishment.

“You are not one of us; you have no duty to perform. Align yourself with these others you are so fond of and hope the beast does not hunger for your blood too badly. Farewell…Jenny Calendar.”

He was gone as suddenly as he appeared, and as Giles shook his head in bewilderment over the events that had barely just taken place, he used his last remaining burst of energy to catch his dark angel of mercy as she crumbled with grief to the floor.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


Angelus hobbled back to his apartment just in time to turn his back to the subtle kiss of the morning. Dru waited for him, hanging limply from chains he had hastily erected high above his bed. Her body bled onto the innocent sheets and he felt wonderful about the prospect of revelling in someone’s agony before he claimed rest.

Bruised eyelids parted as he came closer to her figure, completely naked and marked with red and black and purple. He’d done quite a job on his dark childe, reclaiming every part of her body that she had given over to their progeny in his absence.

The way she had tricked him, admittedly to return her favoured Daddy to her, had reeked of manipulation and initiative that he hadn’t wanted bred into his women. William had done that to her, had let her think she was able to take command and call certain shots. He was grateful to her—make no mistake about it—but to let her go unpunished just wasn’t in Angelus’s nature.

His nature was of the most wicked, the most evil, and it was a nature that had captured his childe from the second of her rising. He had no Darla to enjoy anymore, no William to take out his ready frustrations on—yet! For now, his most beautiful Dru was his plaything, and playing with her was very nice and satisfying beyond his wildest dreams. Admittedly, he’d been held by a leash for so long that tripping an old lady struggling across the street would do it for him, but he had several steps above that in a tethered Dru to his stone wall, dangling above his virgin sheets.

Unable to stand the delicious promise of her canvas any longer, he stripped bare and located his toys lying unencumbered on the bed, right beside Dru’s thigh.

“Daddy, I’ve been so good,” she murmured through broken lips, and his smile blossomed into one that was thoroughly pleased with his childe’s behaviour.

“That you have, Dru. Now we’ll make sure you’re even better. Shall I?” he asked while holding up a wicked looking knife, the blade sharpened enough to slice hairs, carve intricate messages in cheese.

He swirled the tip around her nipple, delighting in her whimper as blood dripped over the swell of her breast. He quickly captured the flow with his tongue, using his now protruding fangs to add new slices along with the knife. His other hand remained annoyingly free, so as to not render himself bored, he wrapped a fist around his cock and squeezed, moaning around the suction he had on her nipple.

“You’ve been so bad, Dru. Being good now doesn’t take away the fact that you made me think I was fucking the Slayer.”

Her tortured cry was music to his ears as he dribbled holy water down her abdomen. It flowed to her pussy, burning at the hairs and causing a steam to rise and envelop him in the stench of burning flesh. Quickly donning on a thin silicone glove, he fiercely shoved his fingers into her hole, bypassing his own pain by protecting himself against the liquid of purity.

He jerked his fingers and twisted while biting her breast, leaving torn fang impressions in her milky white skin.

“Not good enough, babe. Daddy wants his precious to scream.”

He grabbed the whip and swung with a passion that cut deep grooves, rejoicing in the memory of damage and hate, and evil. He laughed as she opened her mouth to scream, happiness flooding him and imbuing him with a power he hadn’t ever known as he shoved his cock deep down her throat. Her choking meant nothing as he pumped his length against her tongue, holding a fistful of hair as he rocked her back and forth.

Her silent screams caused a pulse against the thick cord of his cock. It was excruciating; it was bliss. As he blew with violence down her throat, he grinned with pure malice and collapsed spent back on the bed. He rested for several minutes, reminding himself how lucky he was that she determined to be bad this one time.

“Tell you what, baby. I’m gonna forgive this transgression, and let you go. You can spend the day showing Daddy how glad you are I’m back, and tonight we can find a new hideout. Little Scoobies should be too busy scrabbling for today, and I’m betting they’d rather try to replace my soul rather than dust me, so for now we should be safe.”

He climbed up Dru’s battered and abused body to release the catch on the chains. She flopped forward and he caught her before tossing her roughly to the sheets. He stretched as he lay down beside her, staring at the ceiling where the ring for the chains now stuck out, and waited for her to start moving over his body with her hands and tongue. His hands were crossed behind his head as delicious thoughts of killing those who had thought him caught flashed behind his eyes.

“Show me how good it is to be home.”

16

It was so light, so early that it made his eyes hurt and his heart ache. An early morning wakening of the like he hadn’t really appreciated—not only in the past few weeks he had been immune to the sun, but since he was a beauty inspired poet in the human world. A ponce for all colourful sunsets and romantic gestures.

The dappled beauty of his Buffy in the morning light hit him hard in the gut, though, and being a ponce for the glory of life suddenly didn’t seem like such a bane. She glowed, and how that was possible in the natural harsh light of morning was beyond him. Her inner light should have clashed with the sun, but it shone so hard the pain in his eyes went all the way through his body. It was one of those moments where Spike was hard pressed to dampen William’s creative enthusiasm. So for once, he let it go.

And admired. He basked in the heat on his skin, the different shades of colour that could only be appreciated during the day, and loved his girl.

At last, his girl.

If there was a tear in his eye, he ignored it. Let the feelings play out without guilt or fear. The happiness he felt—Buffy in his arms and safe from hate and harm—made him so grateful for the foolishness that was his mouth under the influence of some strong spirits. And grateful to Harris—God be his witness. If the ignorant git could dump a woman like Anya on her wedding day then he deserved whatever vengeance the newly demonised Anyanka could convince someone to dish out.

Except he was getting kind of fond of the younger versions of these people he’d spent the past few years being hated and tolerated by. And if not exactly fond in return, he thought they might at least like him this go round.

Buffy moaned and curled up against him, her arms entwining around his neck and bringing him flush against her. Her heat scorched him from neck to toe and his lips tingled with the irrepressible desire to make love to her body. Know her in a way that Angel only thought he had. If there was one thing Spike was willing to stake his new millions on was that the poof never gave Buffy a good first experience. The brooding sod wouldn’t have a clue on how to make his girl scream in pleasure. He’d seen the glorified walking hair gel advert in action—and it wasn’t a pretty site. Even if he did really use mousse.

His girl.

The declaration just wouldn’t leave him, wouldn’t let his tortured memories alone. It seemed so unfair that he hadn’t been neutered in this time and yet, each olive branch he offered to this demon-fighting clique offered him a tree in return. Though the Buffy of his time would rather plant the stick in his heart and kick his ashes about. How could he help but feel nervous?

His future Buffy had expressed often enough his place in the scheme of things. He was beneath her; she emphasised it with nasty barbs and flinging fists. She wanted nothing to do with him, could never, would never feel anything for him other than his convenience.

How could he help but feel like he was taking advantage? Young innocent Buffy wanted him, and God help him if he was so weak he couldn’t say no. Was so evil he sought her out and made the moves to have her be his.

Now his imbalance of right and wrong were coming back to push him into a premature no soul-having quandary. His need to have Buffy be his—have her return his love—had brought him four years back to the past. If he had been thinking with his head rather than the other, more single-minded head, he would have left her alone. Taken his family and gotten the hell outta Dodge. Forced his sire and grandsire to seek hope somewhere other than the Hellmouth and allowed Buffy to fall in love with someone as innocent as she.

But her smell, her hair, her heart—he could never turn his back on her and her fight. And to be so close to her was to want her. And how many times did he have to keep reminding himself he was an evil vampire who shouldn’t give two tosses whether he was ruining her life by being in it.

How could he resist the sleep-warmed leg that slid over his, her tantalisingly bare inner thigh resting against the emerging bulge of his cock? He nearly groaned low in his throat—but wanted her to sleep for a little while longer. Her thigh rubbed him in her slumber, her slow heartbeat enough to convince him her little torture show was not consciously planned. Yet he couldn’t help the hand that reached under her top to rub gentle circles around her nipple.

He bit his lip as he felt the fever between her legs heat his groin, pushing him beyond the limits of his jeans. His overeager fingers released the zip and he held back the desire to throw caution to the wind and kiss her into carnal knowledge right then and there. As it was, he nearly combusted as her thigh rubbed against the exposed rigid flesh of his cock, the agony so sweet he was nearly sick.

Turned toward each other he captured her lips, her leg now slung over his hip as she worked her centre over him—and still she slept. Kissing hungrily in a projected dream. His hand left her rock hard nipple and drifted down the back of her sleep shorts, stroking her rump and pushing her wetness against him in a way that was almost wringing the tears of frustration from his eyes.

He never woke up in the morning with his Buffy. This one was a dream, gave him so much more than his heart had ever hoped to receive, and he nearly jumped right back into that other reality when a small hand grasped him. With a little wiggle of her hips she encouraged him to slid his hand down and dislodge her pants, encouraged him to make her naked and ready for him.

As their kiss turned frenzied with a need that knew it was time—that waiting for birthdays was just a romantic girls dream—as the gyrating rhythm of their hips began to shimmy the sheet down to uncover their actions, there was a loud throat clearing behind Buffy.

“Bloody hell,” Spike yelled in panic, falling backward off the side of the bed with his dick flapping in the air. Rolling away from the bed and toward the now mocking sun—now that it had shed its light on everything—he quickly zipped his aching length back behind hard, durable fabric and bit his tongue to stop from releasing a torture bellow.

The giggles from behind him—both of the embarrassed kind—helped to cool his frustration. Only now that his senses weren’t filled with Buffy did he scent her. That addition of woodsy flavour—of nutmeg and earth that shouted out to him of an unwanted presence in his bed.

“I know you’re into girls, Red, but this is fuckin’ ridiculous.”

The amusement stopped in one moment of shocked confusion.

“I what?” the redhead eeped in frantic disagreement.

He had the decency to look sheepish.

“Er, sorry bout that. Was thinking of some other Red.” Which really did nothing but dig a deeper grave for himself as Buffy’s eyes murdered him in jealousy.

“You know another Red?” she asked with eyes flashing like strobe lights. “How is that even possible?”

“You know what, pet? You’re right. Was a Blue was thinkin’ about. Just got a bloody shock, didn’ I! Making out with my girl,” he stressed. “Was in the moment, yeah? Bleeding well forgot about the little interloper. Thank you poofy grandsire,” he said to the air as he rolled his eyes and slumped back to lie on the floor. The perfect picture of thwarted manhood.

“Sorry?” Willow squeaked and he couldn’t help but let his lips quirk in an indulgent grin.

“S’okay Red. Not your fault Angelus tried to scare the bejeezus out of you. S’what we brought you back here for. Didn’ want the big Brood to snack on your pretty neck.”

Double doses of ewww reached his ears, and he grinned wider.

“Right then, little ladies. Must be time to tuck into some pop tarts, or whatever you bints fill yourselves up with for breakfast. I need to see me a man about a removal van.” He paused, wondering what it was he was going to move into his new place. Everything he had in this world was at the Watcher’s place, and he wasn’t in any rush to barge into that little encampment. Wasn’t like he had much anyway. Still, it was time to move out and get the girls moving on the disinvites aplenty.

“Actually, might just enlist Harris. ‘M sure he’s probably feeling a mite anxious about Ang…has anyone told the whelp about Angelus?”

Buffy and Willow exchanged a glance and guilt shadowed their return worried negative.

“Right, I’ll fill him in; tell him no more unaccompanied nightly excursions. Not that the wimp goes anywhere unless he is half an inch behind the Slayer anyway,” he teased, enjoying the light flush that spread across Buffy’s smooth skin.

Everything about her was luscious and even with an obvious witness he could feel himself getting hard. Yeah, he’d always had it bad for her, and even now nothing was going to change. He may be evil, but he was also a man, and a man in love at that. She wanted him, and God help him—though the deity had never held much appeal—he was going to let her have him. He’d think about the ramifications of his soulless possession of her later. Consider what he owed her later. When he could start thinking with his other head again.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The Harris place gave him the jitters. Brought back to a time when he was willing to surrender to forever in hell, just because he could no longer snack on real bait. Just because he was reliant on humans to keep him safe. And had to suffer their intolerance and hatred while doing so.

Harris’s basement had seen the first and only time he had ever tried to end his existence. Buffy had in recent times pushed him into wanting to try it again, but luckily she hadn’t pushed her advantage, leaving him instead to go poof into the past to make them all different. Hopefully change for the better…though that was a raging impossibility with cursed vamps and vengeance demons running around trying to cock it all up to hell.

He stood in the sun while he waited for his knock to be answered. The father he had avoided like the plague while he had been holed up in the damp basement squinted out the door at him, the sun in his eyes. Spike smiled at the little bit of evil that seemed to already be punishing this man—a splitting headache if the glass of spirits in his lazy hand could indicate.

“Yeah,” was the slurred greeting and Spike felt himself tense angrily at how this idiot was ruining lives. It felt peculiar to care, but for some reason this earlier version of Xander Harris was making the Big Bad feel all protective. He let his face slide to demon advantage, felt his fangs itch at the widening of the other’s eyes and growled low in his throat when the glass hit the floor.

“You’ve splashed your booze all over m’ boots,” he accused while still in take-down mode, his face shifting back to his human face. The sun had remained blinding in its shine, so he knew the elder Harris could never say for certain what he’d seen, but it gave him a sense of satisfaction that he might have given the irresponsible git something to think about. Something to be afraid about.

The other man said nothing, stood there in a perplexed stupor the likes he had no patience for. Leaning around him, Spike took no notice of the statue-like git as he announced his presence loudly to the interior of the house. Within minutes he could hear booted feet pounding down some stairs and the tousled hair of the brunette he was after popped up from seemingly nowhere. His smile was hesitant, a bit wary, but he continued to the door as if he had been expecting Spike.

“Willow called,” he offered as he grabbed his coat, bypassing his father without even a glance.

He preceded Spike down the path, watching with interest the silent standoff before Spike turned with a swish of his ever-present coat and strode to the door of his Desoto.

“Hop in, Whelp. Got us some organising to do.”

Within seconds they were both inside and Spike roared down the street, darting occasional curious glances at the apparently sullen passenger in his car.

“What the bleedin’ hell is eatin’ you up? Thought we’d had a beer together, saved the Watcher…pals and all.”

Xander looked a little nonplussed at the memories, guilt crossing quickly over his face until he settled into a determined mask of affected indifference.

“It’s…I mean…Look, you’re still a vampire, and I hate vamps. Pure and insanely simple.”

Spike’s eyes flew off the road to hit him with offended purpose.

“Is that right?” he drawled, the hurt only minimally evident as he tossed the change around in his head. He thought he’d made progress, broke the code that held this one of Buffy’s friends away from his attempts to atone. “An’ why is that then?” he asked, his voice tired, resigned to some in-depth diatribe about how he had hurt them all, tried to kill them all in the name of love and evil. Except that wasn’t this time, he hadn’t done it all again, had done things the right way, the good way—unless his idea of good was so skewed he had even yet stuffed the bloody thing up.

“Vampires killed my friend Jesse. The year Buffy came to Sunnydale, we found out about vamps and demons and your fabbo relative Darla took a bite and made him one of you. He wasn’t so loyal to the friendship after that and I had to kill him.”

The dead tone to the voice and the knowledge he’d never been privvy to startled Spike so badly that he pulled to the side of the road and shut off the motor.

He thought for a moment, contemplated that kind of blind hate, tried to focus on an act that had formed his judgment by leaps rather than degrees.

“A woman completely obliterated my heart when I was human. She devastated me and put me in the way of Dru and bein’ vamped. Doesn’ mean I hate women forever more now. My Da was killed in the Crimean war, left me with a slight intolerance to the Russians. What ‘m tryin’ to say is, I get where you’re comin’ from. You lost a friend, and that’s pretty rough.” Spike stopped talking to actually take a breath and contemplate the necessity of what he was about to say—to himself as well as the slightly tainted and judgmental youth in his car.

“’M sorry.”

The stillness in the car was like an electric current that held them electrocuted to the spot. Only difference was the untouched quality of their hair. Still, the buzz implied a change and it made Spike hope. Hold unneeded breath for the sign that said his point had hit its mark. They were only words—two words he wouldn’t have been able to spit past his lips a month or so ago. Words he couldn’t have aimed at the carpenter and mean it. Until now.

He could see the process of thought plainly on the brunette’s face, and he waited. Waited for fate and hard work to end their battle and declare sides.

Spike was right—they had shared beers and trauma like two guys out for a friendly time. Only when he’d returned home did his mind start to twist the events, see vampire faces merging with each other. Sure, one had been vengeful, heroic in his attempt to save Giles’s life, while the other had dripped blood from her teeth, eager to dive back into the throat that had been ripped off the prongs.

So, he’d concluded that he was thinking too hard about repenting demons, and instead focused on his lost friend. The one who he’d not taken the risk of his life to endure, to offer a chance at life. He’d seen the demon that had taken over his friend and had reacted. Only once the dust had settled at his feet did the childhood memories flood into his mind and he balked at what he had done. His mind had closed, hated anything with a ridge and fang in complete alliance with Buffy and the others.

There was no argument. Vampires were bad, were evil—unless they had souls. And even then they seemed to be the harbinger of death and prophetic crap.

Xander couldn’t help but cringe into the silence of the interior. He was so conflicted about Spike. His actual deeds didn’t add up to the ones in Giles’s books, so how in Hell’s name was he supposed to know which was the real vampire?

Two words held the answer to it all; a sentiment that Angel—as broody and consumed with guilt that he supposedly was—never even attempted.

William the Bloody had said he was sorry that Jesse was taken, turned to the side of bad. And the little bump of roughness in the voice that had spoken the apology belied more than a speck of truth. More than a grain of honest feeling for his pain. Xander was shocked out of his brain, but strangely reassured as well.

“Thanks,” he muttered at last, answered by a relieved exhalation from vampire lungs. “It means a lot that you’d apologise for something you weren’t responsible for.”

Spike nodded and left the truce at that. It was time to get onto other things, other worries that he hoped didn’t counteract the hurdle he’d just cleared.

“Red tell you about our other little problem?”

“Angel doing the spooky evil stalker impression? Yeah, she filled me in. Quite a night you’ve all had.” His voice was a mixture of tease and hurt—Spike could only assume because he’d been the last to know.

“Nobody thought he’d come for you; never been in your place, yeah?”

“Still, might’ve been nice to know. I hate it when I get left out of the loop.”

Spike offered an ironic snort. He knew all too well what it was like to be kept out of the loop by this lot—particularly by the one currently at his side.

“Anyway, always thought Mr. I-Brood-Better-Than-You, Hear-Me-Roar would break the soul train eventually.”

Spike looked at the boy with new admiration at his coolness under pressure and thanked him again for being such a loser in his unamended future as to rend him opportunity of this little jaunt in the past.

They drove a street in silence, broken when Xander had thought of another oddity to add to the list he was compiling mentally about Spike.

“So, why am I your new pet project all of a sudden?”

Spike answered him with a cocky grin that showed a happiness that had been absent from his unlife for way too long.

“Harris, with the role models you’ve got, you need all the help you can get to be the kind of man who…” He stopped as memories bombarded him. Visions of when Buffy hadn’t been cruel or hateful, when she had actually treated him with the kind of trust that would leave him to care for her sister. “You need help to be a man—unless you’re beggin’ to be like your ol’ man or Rupert.”

Xander’s eyes widened in comical alarm, and they both snickered in agreement. Not the best of options. Way far from the coolest.

“And you think you’re the man to do it?” Xander yipped, incredulous at the turn of the morning—and his life.

The grin bolstered the human’s confidence and Spike continued his new effort at flashing his teeth.

“Seein’ as how I only recently was taught the right path of how to be just the right kind of man, I figure the lessons might still be kinda fresh. I’m game if you are, mate. Can speed along the learnin’ curve together if you want.” The fact that the boy would be learning about not leaving his girl for any reason couldn’t be a bad thing. The insecurities that he’d held, contributing to the break-up of his wedding could only be helped if Spike took this mission seriously. Xander needed to know that he was in no way like his deadbeat father—so when he decided to take that leap with Anya, he would have the confidence to know it.

It was out and out hilarious, and Xander just loved the idea of it. A dysfunctional teen and a formerly evil vamp along the road to manhood. It had too many opportune moments for hilarity to pass up.

“You’re on,” he committed, just as Spike rolled to a stop outside the mall. “What? You gonna buy me my very first hammer, dad?”

Spike rolled his eyes at the good-natured ribbing and opened the door, hesitating still only slightly at his renewed journey in the full sun.

“Picked up the keys and signed contracts. New place is ready to be moved into. Thought maybe should fill it up with something, you know. Otherwise I’ll be livin’ in a rather depressingly empty space. ‘Sides, need a fridge at leas’ for my blood.”

Xander grimaced, but followed faithfully as they made their way through the throng of people that never seemed to ever leave the place.

“Right Whelp, battle plan. Get in, get out. Any questions?”

Xander laughed at the wary scanning of the crowd Spike was making, and not even once wondered if the vamp was sizing up meals. As a man, he took for granted the horror at needing to shop for anything as fast as possible.

“So, you’ll need some furniture…”

“Not too much,” interjected the vamp. “Thought Buffy might like to pick out some things,” he mumbled, almost embarrassed that he had seemed more and more like his poncy human self the longer he stayed in the past and his humane side was coddled.

“Paper plates and cups and cutlery should do it. No washin’ up. Vamps are allergic to dishpan hands.”

Xander lit up with the excitement of easy—what trouble could they have picking out regulation paper plates. He slapped his hands together and bounced on his heels.

“Hand over the cash, Bleachboy, and I’ll get onto the supermarket. You eat food and stuff? I'm on it.” And he was off before Spike could open his mouth and offer any advice about what he might like to reside in his cupboards. The money hit Harris’s palm and the boy was gone.

“Meet you back here in an hour.” He had the fortitude to call before the boy disappeared completely amongst the crowd. Only the back of a hand waving in the air reassured him the instruction had been agreed upon. He had the feeling he was going to end up with a pantry floor to ceiling with Cheetos.

With a small niggling sense of apprehension, he stepped into a store and quickly picked out a decent sized refrigerator. Next stop, he needed a bed. Not usually very fussy, he found one he thought Buffy would like and put in his instructions for immediate delivery. He added pillows, comforters, and then got lost in the huge display of bedding.

His fingers slid over black satin, getting lost in the dream of it draping Buffy’s golden skin. He tossed the package on the pile, passing by a display of the palest pink sheets in the same sheen. Giving up to his normal habit of impulse, he grabbed up a set and added it to his embarrassingly well considered purchases.

The salesperson at the register raised a brow, more than impressed that a man who looked like he bordered on gothic extremes could pick out such delicate bedding and have everything match so prettily. As she tallied and the pile switched sides, she smiled, for buried under the splashes of feminine pink she found the completely separate set of sheets, blankets and the like in black and the deepest of reds. The total made her eyes cross, and she smiled in extreme good humour as he handed over more cash and left the instruction for everything to be delivered together, paying extra for the privilege.

Then he was off in a whirlwind of black leather and she couldn’t help but swoon. Some woman out there was an extremely lucky lady.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He let her up, finally. Skin tarnished by dried streaks of her own blood, she looked like a priceless work of art, all torn and cut and bruised. To him, she had never looked more beautiful as now—punished and now forgiven for her crimes. He would spend the night showing his gratitude for her bringing him back, returning him to the life he was killed to live.

He felt amazed at how differently things felt. How fresh and fragrant the fear felt now that he was geared to enjoy rather than grieve it. His darling childe was responsible for it all, for saving him and allowing him to enjoy the smorgasbord of the Hellmouth. This time it was better, so much better. He had far more appreciation for the kill, for the opportunity to tear lives apart with his fangs—far more artistic appreciation for the colour red in all its pretty hues. Scarlet, ruby, garnet, cerise: they all told his story in the most evil detail that he couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

Dru was weak; he could see the damage his fangs had wrought on her and a small twinge shook him—a left over perhaps from being his disgusting alter-ego. However, the guilt-laden idiot had spent weeks getting his childe all healthy on sire’s blood, and in one night of frenzied punishment, he had lost most of it from her body.

It felt kinda fun, though. Like baptism of his renewed unlife in his own blood. It was more than fitting, and it tasted so sweet. But now his only family was left almost drained, and he found weakness abhorrent; disgusting. It was unfortunate, but he had a fondness for Dru. And even more, he had a need. She seemed aware of secrets from their little William that he would do himself no favours to ignore.

“Come here, my sweet. Time for Daddy to kiss all Dru’s lovely bruises better.”

She hummed and cried as her body shook the few steps to stand before him. She was naked, her blue eyes shining with a vacancy he could feel nothing but proud of.

“That’s my girl.” And that cut to the crux of the matter. She was his and the only one he had left of the all important inner four. Somehow he thought it would be impossible to coax Spike back to their side, the pest’s soulless decisions confounding Angelus till his canines buzzed. Not that he would want the impetuous upstart barrelling in when his feral newness could possess Dru totally, destroy this town properly, and kill his grandchilde’s lady-love painfully.

He pushed her back on the bed and positioned her kneeling while he stood before her. As he claimed her lips in a show of slow and gentle she had not experienced in over a hundred years from her sire, he ran his hands through her hair and allowed himself to grieve for the lost members of his family.

His own hand had deprived them of Darla, the most stunning blonde he had ever laid eyes on and so much more—his maker. The soul had ripped her from him while his loyalties had been misplaced. While he had been controlled by an unnatural restraint that sucked the proverbial life out of him.

And William, the one who had always dragged them into some trouble or other because he couldn’t control his homicidal tendencies. Secretly, he was kind of proud of Spike. If the idiot hadn’t brought them to the brink of dusting over and over again he would have even told him so. But the fool kept causing situations that saw mob after angry mob track and chase them down. A vamp liked his quiet life—and Spike did nothing but continually compromise it.

As Dru’s hand found her way to his cock and gripped him hard, those small feelings of loss passed beyond him and he succumbed to her mouth, her luscious lips showing him a new existence. A fresh new tomorrow that would see them smashing their way through Sunnydale. If Spike wanted to act all soul-like without the benefit of having one, then Angelus was happy to let him watch as he bled the Slayer dry. Preferably while claiming the fuck weak little Angel had been deprived of with the shock emergence of Spike.

He lifted Dru and allowed her to wrap her legs round his waist and sink over his cock, soothed with the feel of her cold passage as it massaged his lust. He allowed her to move him for awhile, noticing with such lackadaisical fashion that her body was slowing, becoming more frail. With a gentle nudge he aimed her face to his neck, laughing out loud in amused bursts as her fangs were sunk in his throat and some of the plasma he had stolen from her was returned.

When he came it was with a few more vicious thrusts, an anger and strength for killing overcoming him. He threw his childe off his cock and back on the bed before bending over and grabbing his pants. In a rush he was dressed, looking down at a whimpering Dru with impatient irritation.

“Go clean up, Dru. Its time we left and find a new place to call home.”

He watched as her shudder turned into a full-blown vibration, her body thrumming with some kind of news that allowed his eagerness to be gone, to fall aside so that he could wait and share in its destruction.

The smile that broke through her vacant and slackened expression impressed him with its complete lack of goodness. Everything about his childe thrilled him; she reeked of evil intent and he felt his cock harden with the need to see her once again in action, remind himself how she could subdue a terrified victim with nothing more than her eyes. It was simply the most delicious thing he had ever witnessed, and he couldn’t believe how excited he was to see it again.

“I see it like it was Daddy, all stone and flowers…so pretty.” And she spoiled the enthusiasm with a pout. “But it’s all wrong this time. Naughty William will spoil the party before it’s even begun. Daddy must find somewhere new, somewhere even the nasty Slayer can’t find us. Somewhere with streamers and cake. Miss Edith doesn't like gardens...they need water to grow, and nothing ever grows for me.”

Angelus watched her with a frown creasing his usually smooth face. “So what you’re saying is, the gorgeous and empty mansion I already decided to move us to, is not such a good idea?” He began to pace, not even looking at Dru for an answer. He was well-versed enough to know that when she said something, explanation be damned, he’d want to listen. “Damn. Was a really nice spot, too. Okay, think. Need another place.”

On a pivot he saw Dru still collapsed and curled into a shivering ball on his bed. “Go clean up, Dru. It’s beyond time we were getting out of here. Move before the little Slayer comes along to attempt to dust us!”

His smile was cold as he continued the pacing. “Needs to be big enough to house the minions. Glam enough to fit the image. It’s fine, Dru. I’ll just eat the neighbours. They won’t think to look for us right next door.” It sounded satisfying enough, a little lunch with his new hideaway. But he was experienced enough to know that killing someone and taking over their place couldn’t be permanent—someone would come to call and he’d have to kill them too. Then another and another. Best he find somewhere as deserted as the original place he’d intended, keep them as far under the radar as possible till he could work out what his return to his demon roots would mean for him and Dru.

Despite having to alter his plans on the fly, as well as being stuck with the least capable of his get—weakened to the point of his own irritation—he felt like he was in an amazingly good mood. He felt like singing. Only songs he could think of were by some dickwad called Manilow—and that was so far from his current image he almost wanted to barf.

When he turned and still saw Dru wailing softly on the bed, he rolled his eyes in an attempt to tamp down his impatience and anger. Obviously words weren’t getting through to her. Lifting her from the bed with an uncharacteristic gentleness, he nudged her on her feet to the small bathroom, and set to checking out his souled existence in this place. Nothing bore reflecting on; nothing was of enough consequence to carry over into his new experience of undeath.

It was a timid Dru that exited the bathroom, still a little wet and dripping, fresh clothes covering the healing ruin of her skin. Angelus smiled as he enveloped her in his arms, rubbing his cock against the fabric covering her crotch.

“That’s much better. Now, go sit in the corner like a good little girl while Daddy looks in the classifieds and finds us a new home.”

She did as he said, dived into the corner like a mouse who had been trained by too many nasty zaps. But rather than subordinate in misery, she rocked back and forth and smiled. The pictures flittered in and out of her inner eye, and though her naughty Spike thought he could save the girl from her darling Daddy, he was too wicked and would be punished. With whips and chains and knives and the cruelest of water. Her daddy would make their wayward child bleed, would bring him home and make him stay. He might have forgotten who he was, but she knew the truth, and together, they could help him return to the dark.

Naughty boys that wandered in the light would always end up burned to a crisp.



Breakfast without her vampire was a very pouty experience. As good as it was to share toasty pop-tart goodness with her best friend, spending it getting up to naughty things in the kitchen would have been equally as fun. Still, Buffy was feeling a little neglectful, and after the experience of soulless Angel last night—if the cool arms of Spike couldn’t protect her—commiserating with Willow was a really good second choice.

That Willow wasn’t interested much in the discussing of said evil soulless vamp was pretty much a huge giveaway, what with the almost blinding smile she hit Buffy with as soon as she had dressed and made her way into the kitchen. No traumatised teenager entered under a cloud of fear and worry. Oh no. Willow was after some form of pleasure by proxy tale. Buffy’s return grin was enough to tell the redhead that gossipy goodness was more than willing to be shared.

“So, that Spike has got some pretty smooth moves,” she began, and equal recall of his awkward and exposed tumble to the floor brought back that hideous outburst of girlish giggles that had driven him from the house in the first place.

During one of her gasps for breath, Buffy suddenly pictured in depth certain appendages that had been rather blatantly on display, and her eyes narrowed on her friend. Rather than expose her budding jealousy that her friend had seen Spike’s package—an appendage that she was becoming increasingly possessive of—she turned to the bottle of juice and replenished their glasses.

“So, things looked kinda hot between you two,” Willow ventured, despite the hot flare of blush that crept from her chest and neck to make her face flame.

Buffy’s flush was internal as her body reacted to the hotness that was Spike. Every single second she spent in his presence turned her heart to a thumping mess, so eager for his touch that she was clouding her logic with sensual fireworks on a daily basis. Then again, the mere thought of what she had gotten up to with his appendages steered her right into explosive territory.

Sometimes it was difficult to remember that she was still just sixteen, even if her birthday was looming in the nearish future. Recall of what she had asked of him, to take her finally—be her first, and hopefully her last—kept her skin buzzing with the prayer that the days would pass faster and faster until that date she had set for her deflowering was upon her. The day when she had decided to be shown that being bitten was not all about the muscles relaxing and drowning in a couple centimetres of dirty puddle water.

The truth was, every time Spike touched her was some kind of sensory overload. She was sure that if things didn’t reach some kind of natural conclusion soon, her whole body was going to disintegrate from frustration. The parts he touched always ended up satisfied—and big yay for the mature manliness that made certain he was a perfectionist in that regard—yet there were other parts, ones from the inside that she was beyond patient waiting for him to inflame.

“Will, do you think I’m a raving hobag if I say ‘I want his bod in all kinds of ways and all kinds of places right the hell now?’”

The widening of Willow’s eyes elicited a groan—torn from a throat that was desperate to say a varied combination of words, but as yet only relegated to crash around in her brain. I want you now. Get on your knees and beg. Tell me where you want my tongue. Be my everloving man-bitch.

I love you.

And that sentiment stopped her cold.

Sure, she had told him—and rather emphatically—that she was his girl. How could she consider anyone else when Spike consumed every cell of her body, every thought in her head, every beat of her heart? Since the second he touched her in the high school, she had been his. Nothing had ever felt so right in her life. Not even the comfort of holding a smooth stick of wood in her fist.

But he seemed so unsure of her. She might not have told him the words, but couldn’t he see it shining from her eyes, capturing him in her web of affection and drawing him in further and further until all she could see was a future with him by her side—loving and holding her and making her alive?

“Er, that was a rhetorical question, right?”

The smile on Buffy’s face was pure girl, enthusiasm for an event that all teenagers want to experience at one time or another. On this occasion, Willow took up the position of envious best friend, adopting her stern face to bring the seriousness closer to the surface.

“So, beyond cozy…I’m assuming you haven’t done…you know…’cause hey, best friend here. I’m meant to be the one you rush to with news of all the much having of the lusty moments. Which I’m seeing the evidence of muchness here. But not the ultimate moment, right?” Between her mix of embarrassment, shyness and rabid curiosity, Willow’s face was as red as the fuzzy top she was trying to wear with confidence.

Buffy was nodding enthusiastically. “Much having of the lusty moments, but no…no big one yet. I told him on my birthday.” Her mouth was opened, poised on the brink of spilling about her hopes for his fangs to make her his, when the thought that something like that might just freak her friend out too much.

“Birthday?” Willow squeaked before calming down within the topic and took a rather desperate swallow of the last of her juice. “You think you’ll be ready…for that…on your birthday?”

“Arrgghhh!” screamed Buffy before banging her forehead down on the surface of the kitchen island. “I’m ready now, Will. Every sweep of his fingertips on my skin puts me in another timezone. Every time that sexy voice says my name I want to attack him with kisses.”

Buffy chanced a glance at her friend, wondering what the reception to all her girly crush sentiments was. Other than a slight widening of shocked eyes, Willow’s demeanor was accepting, if not a little eager. The redhead leaned forward, chin resting in the palms of her hands as she struck the pose of the giddily excited.

“So, you think you’re ready? Really?”

Buffy zoned. Images of naked Spike running his hand over her, undressing her, sucking on her nipples ran like a fast-forward video. Blazing fire hit her right between the legs and she almost moaned as she clamped her knees together, pushing her weight down into the kitchen stool so as to relieve the pressure she had unwittingly inflamed.

“Will, its like…” She licked her lips while looking beyond her friend, trying to skip over the triple x-rated movie in her head to focus on his smile, just the sweet curve of his lips and the raspiness of his throat when he said her name. The way he spoke to her, the way her name seemed torn from his heart, melted her into goo. It struck a nerve so deep within her that she was left gasping—left wondering what she had been thinking in her childish crush on Angel. Sure, that relationship might of worked, might have been wholly satisfying if Spike had never entered her world, or if he had remained an evil bloodsucker she was committed to kill.

He hadn’t though. He’d presented himself to her as a semi-evil vamp with an amazing capacity for change, and for love. There was nothing about him that confused or scared her. She was completely confident in his feelings for her and so waiting any longer to share her body, share her soul with him seemed redundant.

“It’s like I can’t ever be complete without him. I…I really care about him and I want to show him that. He’s really sensitive and vulnerable.” Her voice was quiet as she set the word in stone. Admitted to the air and friend around her that Spike was exactly what she wanted. And as romantic as waiting to give him her virginity on her birthday may be, the fire that raged every time they touched—the danger that circled them at every turn she took around a graveyard—dictated that the time was too far in the distance. They needed to share this now before normal Hellmouth duties took the chance away from her.

And she needed to tell him how she really felt. Not just proclaim herself to be his like some schoolgirl asking to go steady. Every part of her belonged to him. It was elemental, and it was spiritual.

And the morning was passing too fast without him.

When she finally fell out of her daydream—images of writhing sweaty sex making way for nice innocent dancing, sharing laughter at a funny movie, or just walking while holding hands on patrol—it was to the very focused amusement of her friend.

“He’s vulnerable?” Willow teased. “But he’s like, a master vampire. And he’s evil. How can he be vulnerable?”

A chill crept along Buffy’s spine as she wondered the question. He was so atypical to everything she had been taught. What had altered his path so much that he was now completely devoted to her and was terrified she would question his motivations for being with her?

“Yeah, he has this intensity…it scares the crap out of me. It’s like he knows everything that’s to come, and he is so scared of it—of me—that he can’t believe that I really love him.”

Willow’s eyes shot open in surprise, and the girly buzz of gossip hit an all time new level.

“You love him? Are you sure? How can you tell? When did you know? Have you told him yet? Ha—”

“Whoa there, Will. That inspired a whole lot of stuff I’m not ready for. Don’t suppose you would accept it was just a slip of the tongue?”

Willow frantically shook her head, her lips clamped so as not to barrage the blonde with another onslaught of desperate questions. Hoping her silence might just precipitate some pretty juicy answers.

Buffy sighed at the giddy light sparkling in Willow’s eyes and knew it was hopeless. She’d let too many cats out of her bag of a big mouth and she would have to unload before the excitement of knowing she was in love killed her.

The decision made, a smile of epic happiness lit up her face and the thrill that came with sharing animated her whole body. Arms were flung and giggles were caught in pockets of air; passionate longing tinged her skin and joy played havoc with her composure.

“Nah ah,” Willow responded with her own burst of high. Excitable hormones lent the kitchen a kind of buzz of expectation and Buffy let her mind wander, thoughts of timing and experience flitting through her mind’s eye.

Thoughts of protective Spike lodging there firmly. Yeah, it so was love when she couldn’t distance him from even her most mundane thoughts.

“Yes, I love him. I do.” Buffy exhaled in the dreamiest fashion of romantic sappiness she was capable of.

Willow clapped, excitement racing through the pair of them till they both were bouncing and giggling on their stools—breakfast long forgotten in favour of other, meatier fare.

“Oh, that is just so wow. And you trust him completely? Not that I think you shouldn’t trust him. And he is pretty gorgeous…”

“Hey now…” Buffy interrupted with a steely eye. “He’s my gorgeous…you go find your own gorgeous.”

Willow crumpled slightly, but her smile still beamed across to her friend.

“I don’t know. Xander isn’t interested, no matter how many little hints I give him. Maybe I’m just too much of spaz for boys to like me.” Willow revealed her fear in a little girl voice resigned to be one of those girls left on the shelf.

“Oh, pffft!” Buffy exclaimed with a swat of her hand in the air. “It’s Halloween tomorrow. We’ll make Xander take notice.”

“We will?” the redhead squeaked, suddenly sitting up straight with an eagerness sparkling in her green eyes.

“Oh yeah, we so will. We’ll make both of those boy’s eyes pop out of their heads.” She paused. “Well, boy and man, ‘cause Spike is so not a boy.”

“Uh huh,” Willow enthusiastically agreed and the rest of the morning was lost to nervy, embarrassed giggles.

It was shaping up to be a good day; Angelus completely pushed to the back of their minds as crush objects inspired steamy thoughts.

With a bit of luck, thought Buffy, it would be the day.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Spike watched in amazed horror as Xander shoved his pantry full of ‘crispy goodness’ and useless caloried food. Cans of soda and various other non-perishables that would be better in the fridge waited on the kitchen bench for the equipment to be delivered. Spike flung the set of keys onto the bench beside a UHT carton of milk, and looked around with undisguised pleasure.

Uncovered windows allowed the entire living area to be bathed in sunlight, the subtle shade of yellow making the place warm and cozy. It was so opposite to what he was used to in the crypt that he felt momentarily stunned as his eyes prickled a little with his feeling.

“Not too shabby, Dad. Not shabby at all,” garbled Xander around a mouth full of chips.

Spike couldn’t help raise an eyebrow, wondering if he could get away with bestowing a thorough thrashing on the by who just wouldn’t quit with the ‘dad’ analogies.

“Would you just leave it alone?” he said in exasperation and watched in fascination as the irritated tone of his voice actually halted the whelp’s jaw from munching.

“Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

Eyes of mahogany scanned the empty space with interest, slowly lingering on the doors off the room that led to bedrooms and Spike swallowed. He’d had an idea—sort of an unknown effort on his part to make it up to the boy he was quickly beginning to like for all the ugliness of their past relationship. Or at least his past, as how things stood now Spike was certain the animosity they routinely threw at each other was long gone.

It was an idea that held much merit, in more ways than one, yet he seemed hesitant to bring it up. The kid’s age was an issue, and despite living in that hideous basement, he really hadn’t had the opportunity to venture upstairs and mingle with his hosts. But he’d had enough of the elder Harris’ to know—their son would live in a basement!

“Look, I was wonderin’…” He paused, couldn’t go on as the words suddenly caught in this throat. Did he really want to do this? Was it fair on the boy, or even on Buffy? It would curb some of his plans, but it would also solve some problems, and make his place the thing he had set out to provide for all of them. A safe haven. Being a vamp, and as the sole inhabitant, it wasn’t immune to allowing unwanted visitors of the undead variety past his doorway.

Gritting his teeth in determination, and not a little hope, he opened his mouth and allowed the words to spill from his lips.

“’S two bedrooms, right? Was thinking, if it won’t cause you trouble with your family, if you’d like one of the rooms. You know, to live in.”

As Xander opened his mouth, shock obvious on his face, Spike raced on. He was suddenly eager to postpone whatever objection the brunette could verbalise, and threw out phrases and conditions till he ran out of things to say.

“An’ it wont be like you’ll be sittin’ round and partyin’ all day. You’ve still school to get through, an’ I can probably help with that if you want. An’ there’ll be none of this constant fatty calories—we’ll learn to cook. Chips as a snack only, yeah? I won’ get in your hair s’long as you bloody stay out of mine.” He stopped as soon as he saw Harris’s eyes glaze over while staring at his hair. “I meant it figuratively, boy. You’ve got some serious learnin’ to catch up on.” Spike couldn’t help but grin.

Xander’s lips flapped open and closed, the fish impression the one endearing him to Willow if he but knew it.

“Thanks,” he struggled out at last as his hand dived into the packet of crisps again and he smiled his agreement. “I’ll talk to the ‘rents about it after Halloween.”

“You’ll be doin’ us all a favour, mate. Place isn’ protected with just a vamp in ‘ere, and I want all you lot to think of it as a safe place if ever you need it.”

Xander nodded dumbly for a moment and an awkward silence stretched to minutes, only broken by a knock on the door. Spike let the deliverymen in and his new bed, mattress and fridge started their journey into his home. His eyes followed the workers, glancing again at the empty space he was hoping Buffy would help him fill. It was all for her, after all, and he wanted her to be cozy. Would be a bit awkward with her friend living right under their nose, but the rush of something in his gut made him feel happy for doing a good thing. A right thing that he thought could hopefully benefit the boy in time to come. As long as he could get rid of him occasionally, the company should be good.

And God, did he say it was Halloween? The most bloody useless day on the calendar. Oh well, he could get busy helping the gypsy girl tackle the soul restoration spell while he kept the bint alive.

He just hoped she wasn’t stubborn.

Deliverymen left, Harris gone home—another packet of crisps firmly in hand—he set to making the bed. His hand lingered over the pink sheets, hesitating for only a fraction before he kicked them under the bed and seized the black. Minutes had him a nicely made bed and fluffed up pillows, just in time to hear the little cough at his door and the small voice calling out his name.

“Spike?”

And then there she was, glowing in the dimming sunlight of his living room with the prettiest smile he’d seen.

“’Ello, love,” he greeted as he slowly made his way to her, his stride sexy as his shoulders rolled.

When he reached her and ran his hands down her arms, he clued in to the goosebumps that roughened her skin and he sniffed, scenting finally her apprehension mingled in with a subtle scent of passion. He was immediately caught in her spell, unable to control the descent of his head as his mouth yearned to possess hers.

She made no move to resist as his lips consumed her, her coat and bag hitting the floor as she wound her arms around his neck. Still close to the door, Spike allowed a hand to seek the hard surface of the wood and slammed it shut, moving forward and taking her backward to make sure it was locked before crushing her against the surface. His tongue dived into the warmth of her mouth, teasing her own into play and he moaned low in his throat.

God, she drove him wild. Drove him to want too much. Drove him to insanity while he tried to wait for her to grow up. As lips smoothed over each other, caressed each other into surrender, his hands held her. Cherished her as he told her with his heart in his throat and his lips against hers how he felt.

And as the gentleness of it continued, he felt she knew.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

There was nothing for it but to pat himself heartily on the back. He’d outdone himself and the fact that Dru was strangely quiet—no whimpering or laughing—left him with a supreme sense of satisfaction.

Angelus led his only acknowledged family up the small flight of stairs and swept her inside. It was pure genius really, and he couldn’t help but smile with the most manic of pleasure as he took in the bare entry. Stone, stone everywhere. It was blissfully flame retardant, and he just loved it. Without words he led her through to the back, delighting at her gasp. The flowers of the garden wound around everything, and again the place was abundant in stone fittings.

“But my Angel, it’s the same, yet safe. Tea parties and gatherings we will hold aplenty here. Our wayward William will even hang from the walls to be back with us. It’s very wicked what you have done, Daddy.”

Completely chuffed, Angelus puffed out his chest and rocked back on his heels, his eyes sweeping his new home. He noticed the emptiness and his eyes twinkled.


“Billy boy left behind his possessions, Dru. Not the best clean up he’s ever done. Best you wait here while I go out and round up the help. If we set it all up quickly, then I promise you a night of dancing and blood.”

Dru giggled, her arms pulling herself in tight as she became lost in her mind. Things were so very different this time, and yet Spike had no clue. She could see them delving and diving though his memories until they could break him. And break him was even her goal, because even though Daddy had arisen and taken his patriarchal rights of the household, naughty William should never have turned toward the light. Nothing could excuse his messing with fallen angels when Daddy was all of the heavenly messenger they needed.

The darkest of princesses spun in a wide circle, momentum pulling her arms from her sides until she was dancing gaily amongst images of her childe as he bled, as he mourned the death of the light, as he was pulled back under their influence. He’d been theirs once—had floundered in his future—but she would make sure it wasn’t too late.

Her William would be one of them, even if Daddy did not expect or want it.

It would never be too late to welcome her childe home.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~


She knew it. Leave a guy with a new place and a girl to entertain, and he’ll race right out and buy a great big monstrosity of a bed. That she had her back flat on some rather sumptuous bedding meant little to her right now. What mattered was that Spike was not making with the smoochies. Well, not the x-rated smoochies anyway. Sure his tongue was avidly searching her mouth, and she was feeling lightheaded from the mind-blowing kisses, but now that she had made the decision, did she have to initiate it too? It wasn’t like she offered her virginity everyday, so the etiquette of passing on the news was just a little intimidating. It wasn’t like he’d ever had trouble taking it several levels above where they were right now every other time they got within a metre of each other. He touched her in the nice places; it was what he did.

His hand innocently coasted over her clothes, light touches mapping out her curves, but nothing was being removed, and as naïve about such things as she might be, Buffy was pretty sure that the first step to losing said innocence would be the removal of clothes.

So it was up to her, then. Not like she hadn’t been the hobag of the century with him recently, anyway.

His fingers twirled strands of her hair as she pushed the length of her body harder against his, feeling the rigid length of him against her thigh. Just the thought of what she was about to do, about to experience set her body preparing for the hoped for invasion. The room was dark, the sun finally submitting to rest over the other side of the world. And she felt consumed within her bubble of love for this man. This being that was so much more man than vampire.

As Buffy sucked on his bottom lip, licking the skin captured between her teeth, her hand wandered up underneath the back of his loosened t-shirt. The taut strength of his muscles turned her into a quivering mass and she practically melted into the surface of him—leaving hardly a patch of her front not touching him. Her leg curled around his thigh, dragging his pelvis to brush against her heat and she moaned.

Not that the kissing hadn’t been nice, but usually the passion had been ratcheted up a few paces by now, and Buffy was getting impatient. But just those two little moves to get closer had sparked a difference and the message of their embrace changed. Just like that Spike inflamed every molecule of her body.

She nearly started screaming as he started to rub against her crotch, her moisture levels increasing the bolder the movements became. She’d worn a skirt today—specifically hoping for such an eventuality, and now it was bunched up uncomfortably around her hips. Thanking God for the invention of elastic waistbands, she shimmied quite erotically against Spike’s aroused body and finally got it around her ankles.

Being gloriously male, Spike didn’t realise what Buffy was up to with her erratic little dance against all his good bits until his hand brushed against completely bare skin. His heart in his eyes, he pulled back to watch her. He saw the lustful haze that robbed her of sense, could smell how her hormones had control of her body, and his heart dropped. He loved her so much, and yet he was repeating history by making her lose her head through passion. Though in his future he had savaged Buffy into a fighting fuck, this time he had clouded her judgement with sensory overload.

It left a heavy weight of fear in his gut.

God, this opportunity just tore at him. What decision did he make? Her age, who she was, what they could be together all ripped him apart so that his general sense of what was right was completely askew. It was difficult at the best of times and he usually relied on doing the opposite of what he had done before to guarantee a different outcome.

But this…situation with Buffy was completely beyond his reason. His experience with her was so diverse and yet none of it seemed to be able to guide him. He’d done good things for her and received promises of consideration in return, only to be smacked in the balls and have his nose broken the very next opportunity she had to see him differently but didn’t.

He loved her.

It was as plain as night and just as irreversible. Yet he was terrified of going down the wrong track, of making the wrong bloody call in this situation. If he was his normal evil self he’d take her, read her body for the screaming harlot it was emulating with no questions asked and no sense of guilt or feelings in response.

But this wasn’t the body of experience. It was one of adolescent curiosity and one he didn’t want to defile in that way. This was a body and a woman he wanted to cherish for the rest of her life. Wanted to lavish with gifts of beauty and strength for as long as she could tolerate his presence. But the writhing and heat she was stirring him with was reaching a breaking point and he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Wrenching his lips away, he removed her leg from over the top of his and rolled to his back, gasping unneeded breaths while he desperately tried to think. Her whimpers struck his heart but he knew better than to suspect anything but thwarted desire. The scent of tears as she rolled to her side away from him and covering herself with the blanket at the foot of the bed was his first clue that he’d already started with the mistakes.

“Buffy, luv. What’s wrong?” His heart lodged firmly in his throat while he waited for her to answer. The gentle shake of her shoulders confirmed it—he’d fucked it all up again. He was inept at trying to do this human thing. Without a soul to guide him he just didn’t have a clue, couldn’t even train himself to have a clue no matter what he did.

If he wanted her he would have to change. There was no other way of looking at the situation. The time had come for him to face the fact that his Buffy had always been right about him. He was a soulless monster and would always wallow beneath her if he didn’t have the last piece of humanity stamped within him. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t risk the pain that it would cause both him and her.

“Buffy, whatever I did, I’m sorry, pet. Please don’t cry.” He curled into her back, his lips finding some bare skin on her shoulder around the straps of her skimpy top. His hand found one of hers and he laced their fingers together as he swallowed against his own lump of emotion.

Everything about his relationship with Buffy hurt. The not knowing how to go about loving her in the way she deserved. The inability to take the step back and let her grow up before he pushed her. He’d always thought he could read her well, but since facing the blunt punch to the nose on too many occasions, he’d lost the confidence that came with being the cocky Big Bad.

In his arms she shuddered, allowing the silent tears to reverberate through her body rather than let the sobs out to be heard. Hopelessness lent her head a weariness that had her burying her face in her free hand as well as the one joined to him. Her heart hurt, the rejection far more impact for something that had never been voluble in offering, still the ache was agonising all the same. Without the security of his loving arms she felt bereft, cast adrift in a swirl of confusion. She didn’t have the maturity to handle the weight of these feelings. She felt the deep power of her love for him, but couldn’t find the place that would help her deal with his lack of wanting her.

And then he was kissing her shoulder and the affection she felt for him rose again with her hope. Her body sparked with little splinters of fire, and the tears dried up as she arched her back into him. Only then when she had begun to banish the panic from her heart did she take in the meaning of his words. Words that cast a disconcerted air around their reclining bodies. Words that dove deep within her and made her feel the reality of the situation.

She’d wanted her first time with him to be momentous, and he was telling her with his fear and gentleness that it was also for him. It would be a moment for both of them to treasure, and she had made a mistake by not sharing words with him first. Not thinking that such a situation deserved a clearheaded go ahead for the vamp that held off and never allowed them to go too far.

Taking the chance—yet terrified her heart could end up shredded—she rolled back to watch him. A finger traced over his sharp cheekbone as she took a dive into the clear blue of his eyes.

“I’m ready, Spike. I don’t want to wait to be with you anymore.”

The awe he revealed in the way his shining eyes couldn’t move from hers was the answer she needed. He felt it too, felt everything her young body was rejoicing in and more.

“Are you sure? I thought you wanted to wait for your birthday. You’re still so young…”

She cut him off with her lips, the taste between them salty and wet but a move forward from before. It was short this time though, a promise of what was to come if only he would trust her mind and heart on this issue.

“But why, luv? Why now? We can wait; don’t do it just because it feels good.”

Something cold and nasty clenched his heart as he thought those words, memories of being used to feel tearing through his body and almost having him back from the bed in remembered hurt.

Her eyes studied him in a way she had never done before; saw things he’d always been able to hide from his future Buffy. The vulnerability that had always been there had been relatively easy to mask from a Buffy who had no interest in his feelings. But this one needed them, needed to be able to tell how much he felt for her was real. The sincerity was enough, and she smiled.

“It isn’t hormones, Spike,” she grinned, feeling far happier than just a short time ago.

He blinked unintelligently at her. She was trying to tell him something, but the twist his head and heart were in he was incapable with implicit messages.

“You’re gonna have to tell me, pet. I’m all out of bloody interpretive abilities right now.”

The dark atmosphere lifted from the room and she heaved a big sigh of relief. He wasn’t rejecting her; he was scared, too. And seeing fear on a being over a century old was rather humbling.

Buffy flung the blanket aside, bearing her legs to him. She was covered now by just her panties and the little blue halter top and she could already feel the burn on her skin as his eyes swept her figure from head to toe. She curled a fist into the hem of his black tee and rubbed her inner wrist against the cool skin of his belly.

“I know I’m ready for this, Spike.”

His raised eyebrow encouraged her to continue, to tell him in words why she believed she was ready despite the hum of his body at her sensual touch.

“I’m ready because I love you. I want to belong to you.”

His harsh indrawn breath frightened her for a moment, but then the shine of his eyes as he watched her with pure emotion shocked her out of worry.

“Oh Buffy, please say you mean it.”

His head, it spun as he watched the world spin around her face. It was like absent circulating blood thundered through his veins until the haze behind his eyes was red and swirling. Her words, her voice offered him paradise and he couldn’t bear the intensity, couldn’t take the fear that something would rise up and steal it away from him.

Her hand scooted under the fabric of his shirt and skimmed his flesh right up to his chest. She caught him in her gaze before offering him her own watery worship.

“I love you, and I am totally sure. I want you to make love to me. Please,” she asked shyly, and that was all it took.

His mouth fought hers ferociously as he held his hands back, wanting the kiss to betray the depth of his fervor for her as he took the time to reach some sense of calm. He needed to find gentle before he took their touching further, needed to not make her first time a frenzy she would be frightened of.

“Oh Buffy, I love you so much,” he whispered in the husky, sexy voice that drove her wild. “Gonna show you how much, baby.” And then words were too much, only stood in the way of the sensation she was dying for.

Every thought shot out of Buffy’s head when she at last felt his hands on her skin, skating lightly over her torso as he lifted the hem of her top and much too slowly over her head. Chilled air hit her exposed nipples a second before his cool lips closed around one; the other teased to agony by his fingers.

Her leg found its earlier position, slung across his thigh, and as she lay against his still clothed body while she was almost completely naked she whimpered in sensual misery. The removal of his shirt had her almost weeping in distraction, every inch of her skin on fire from his touch, from his lips as they searched out every one of her hidden spots and teased them to a fury.

Her eager hands cupped the bulge in the front of his jeans, squeezing almost too hard before undoing the stud and lowering the zip. Between them both he was naked and the jeans flung across the room, landing in a disorganised pile with both their shirts near the door.

It left her sodden panties, pretty pink cotton that was a little on the skimpy side but chosen exactly for that reason. Because he made her feel sexy, made her feel wanton and she thought she would die if he didn’t stop staring at them and take them off her. There was no innocent flush to her skin; she was so eager to feel his hands and lips on her body that the frantic need sidetracked her and she forgot her shyness.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered reverently before ducking down and teasing the side straps with his teeth and tongue. He traced the line around her thigh, reminiscent of the night they had first met in the school, and it brought a rushing spasm of excitement to her belly.

Finally he hooked his finger into the strap and slowly dragged them down her legs and off. They fell off his finger to the floor beside the bed, both their eyes following the descent.

Then his lips burned a path across her flesh as he made it back to her own, the desire he blasted her with almost separating her spirit from her body.

“You are mine. I love you with all that I am. My body will possess you with all I can be. Together we will fight everything in our path, and I will never let you lose your way. I will never let you go.”

Buffy felt the words in her womb, the clenching of both wonder but a mounting worry at his possessiveness. But it wasn’t a surprise. She’d known he would be like this, that if she gave him her heart it would mean that she accepted the nature of his beast. His demon.

“Spike? How can you love me? Without a soul, how can it be possible?”

He knew it would come, that lack of knowledge would yank his balls. Bloody hell it was tiring, and he was about to push himself from her without explanation when he felt her soft fingertip smooth over his eyebrow, soothing the demon that had emerged in his distraction.

“It’s not rejection,” she promised in her scared little girl voice. “I just want to be sure that all of you loves me, the man as well as the demon. I couldn’t bear it if it was just half of you and someday you left me.”

His relief was almost incapacitating.

For the first time he succumbed; he wept into her collarbone as his demon face faded back into the background. God, he couldn’t deal with how much he loved her. Couldn’t resolve how tender she was being to him when all he’d been dealt from the other Buffy was her anger and hate of him. It couldn’t be real. That he have this and her heart too. How the fuck could it all be so different?

Courage. It raced through him like raging floodwaters and he finally lifted his head. It was there, as plain as day—her love shining as glorious as the morning sun.

“It’s all of me. How could I love you with anything less than all of what I am? It’s not bleeding possible. Demon loved you first, pet.”

“Oh,” she said, stunned into speechlessness. There was no other option but to bring his lips back to hers, and begin the dance that she never wanted to give up. She wanted him to always be there, always touching and holding her like this. In the back of her mind she knew it mightn’t be for long; a Slayer’s lifespan wasn’t lengthy, but for however long she had she wanted to be his. To dance within his arms and his heart till they could be no more.

They moved against each other, moist skin transferring to the cool body above it while Buffy’s tongue battled his into a submissive love. A love where she offered her strength and commitment. Gave him her heart to protect and hold forever as she would never need it back. Not from him.

She loved him, and that made everything they were doing now right. Making her age irrelevant in the number of years. No sixteen year-old could be so sure of whom her partner was, of where her life laid in the scheme of the world.

His lips broke the pattern to drag across her jaw, drifting down until he caught her nipple again. His tongue teased and flicked her into a mass of nervous need, his hands busy crushing the curls between her legs. Desire taught her to part her thighs, and as she did his fingers delved into her heat, slicking her around her pussy lips and missing her aching clit.

“Spike,” she moaned, tangling her fingers in the stiff curls, her grip tightening painfully as his lips diverted down to seek more. And then his mouth clamped around her hardened nub, sucking and stretching it deep into his mouth even as he rolled her hips against his direction. Buffy writhed in ecstasy as his tongue flicked a rhythm against the sensitive nerve and she felt the tension build from her pussy, up, up until it screamed from her throat in a hoarse cry of devotion.

Immediately he was back at her mouth, furiously licking up the tears she hadn’t even known she’d shed as he rubbed the head of his cock against her increased wetness. Her leg gripped his hips as she tried to haul him in closer, moaning as the bell-shaped tip brushed continuously over her sensitive nubbin.

“Please, please,” she sobbed against his lips, and hissed as he moved fractionally forward, stretching her outer lips to an accommodating cover.

“Ssh,” he soothed as he so slowly asserted his place within her, her slickened walls squeezing his girth as he pushed against them, engulfed in overwhelming heat and fluid. He clenched his jaw as the molten feel of her passage strangled him. Only half in and he was about to explode.

It was so different to what he knew; was so more meaningful that he hadn’t had to fight for this possession. Didn’t have to bring down a building to experience the exquisite torture of having her.

He would never have believed that the difference of her love would be so monumental. He thought having her in his bed, knowing she felt for him—even if she refused to allow the sentiment past her lips—was as meaningful as he would need. But as he reached the barrier that surrendered any argument of being her first, as he swept it aside with the minimal tear of pain, he realised that her eager love made all the difference.

And then he was fully rested within her, deep breaths alarming him with the need to draw in air, the need to feel more like a virginal man than even William probably had. It was beyond different, this. He felt her tentative movement against him and he steadied her, wanting the sensation to be prolonged for just a few moments till he could grasp his sanity back. Know the true meaning behind devotion before he taught it to her.

Buffy couldn’t hold still a second longer. No matter how she tried her hips began to circle, the little sparks of sensation driving her impulses. Every tiny sensation made her feel like she was going to die. She whispered kisses against his eyelids, his temple, his nose and jaw before finally releasing some of the tension in a drugging kiss that stole her breath and her mind. Her arms were desperately wound around his head, holding him so close that she could feel the bruise forming under his hipbone.

She parted her legs wider and wound both around him, urging with the subtle lift of her pelvis that she needed more, craved more. When he slid out a short distance Buffy felt a swoon build up as blood drained from her limbs. Her muscles were tightly wound, and then he was moving, a back and forth riff with a background moaning and screaming song that leapt from her lips.

His shoulders rolled against her grip as his lower body pumped his cock into her, the pace increasing as the blistering heat spread throughout her body. Nerves built in tension, the tearing sliding sensation of his girth stretching her overeager muscles that even she could feel were involuntarily strangling the reason out of him. Her nipples stung, her belly buzzed and at last she felt it. The seizing of everything ready for a fierce, life-altering explosion. Her body arched into him, her back off the bed as her head reared back, nails clawing at his back to hold him as close to her as she possibly could.

His cock began to pulse within her, nudging at the spongy walls that kept him tightly in place and he pounded her hard, knowing that the end was so near but torn about how much he wanted it. The journey had been such exquisite pain and he was afraid that he might lose it completely if he finally let himself go.

“Oh Spike,” Buffy cried and he felt another restraint snap and his control compromised. “Please, please, please,” she panted against his lips, emotion curling and transferring to both of them and lodging stubbornly in two throats. Her fingers rubbed at his brow, teeth nipping at his lips until the scent of his own blood rushed to his senses and his fangs pricked at his gums.

“Buffy, stop it baby.”

“I want you. I love you, Spike. Please,” she sobbed, emotions so out of control that reason had finally escaped her.

It was coming. The end speeding within a tidal wave of lust, and love and passion. And she was guiding his fangs to her throat.

“No,” he whispered huskily, voice breaking with the violence of his feelings. “Birthday, Buffy. Will share it with you on your birthday…this too intense…enough…Jus’ let me love you.”

Her accepting nod was the sign he had been waiting for and with a cry of euphoria he bit her breast with human teeth. He shoved himself in her hard and let it all go, feeling the hard vibration of her walls against the rigid need of his cock as he spent himself to a mental and physical drain. Everything went black, and not just from the darkness that had spread out in the room while they were busy. Every sense he had was spent and he could do nothing but collapse into his girl’s shuddering arms.

Time passed, Spike’s head cradled against her breast where he could hear her thundering heartbeat slow and finally settle into a more natural rhythm of rest. He felt lost, useless bar for the finger he trailed the path of his breath across her belly. He was almost too afraid to lift his head and see how what they had done affected her, but as her body began to shift in discomfort he slid unwillingly from her body to curl her against him and on their sides facing each other.

Spike chuckled at the giddy grin that lit up her whole face, stealing her lips for a sweet, gentle kiss.

Without words, Buffy rested her head in the crook of his arm, blinked sleepily and closed her eyes. She kissed his chest, rested her palm at the curve of his hip and relaxed at last into slumber, Spike watching her angelic face till he could feel himself drift off.

His final conclusion was that coming back in time had been more than worth it.

Buffy was worth everything.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


18

It was a completely different Willow that exited the Summers’ bathroom, arms wrapped in trepidation around the gaping sash of skin bared at her middle. She waited—knowing that Buffy was all friendy and not likely to burst out laughing at her sex-kitten interpretation gone bad, but still not completely sure what impulse might wring out of a person. If Buffy laughed, well…say hello ghosty costume from the costume shop.

Buffy smiled and Willow was stuck. Was this an on-the-edge-of-laughing kind of smile, or something else? Something kind of approvaly? Her complete lack of experience in this kind of situation just left a shuddering line of confusion, not able to risk one side of the possibility for fear of taking the wrong step. And making that step when she felt close to naked.

“You look fantastic, Will,” Buffy gushed in enthusiasm, all the while hiding her own minor embarrassment at her choice of costume.

“Oh,” whooshed out of Willow as the tension relaxed and her body slumped against the doorframe. “You too,” the redhead rushed in to add as the veil of her awkwardness was lifted fractionally. And Buffy did look pretty awesome.

“Thanks. It’s kind of hard to do Xena without the threatening cleavage. And the…you know…height.”

“But you do the brunette thing really well,” assured Willow, admiring the sleek thick hair of the wig.

Buffy grinned as she pulled Willow into her room and in front of the mirror. They stood staring at their reflection completely speechless, stomachs hurtling to the floor in a rally for returned propriety.

It took Buffy several swallows before she bucked up and got courageous.

“I guess we both know how to get sexy and wild with no repercussions.”

Willow smiled nervous encouragement, raising her fist to wave it uncertainly in the air.

“Yay, go us.”

Buffy giggled. “You are so going to make Xander’s eyes pop,” she told Willow gleefully. If there was one thing guaranteed to put a smile on her friend’s face, it would be Xander’s interest.

“Buffy, I-I don’t think I can really do this. I mean, it’s just not me.”

Buffy arched a brow. “And queen of the naked Amazon wannabes is my kick? I mean, do you actually see my cleavage?”

Willow snorted. “Oh yeah. Do I!”

Buffy rolled her eyes as she elbowed Willow in the ribs. Her friend rubbed the contact spot with a pout on her lips.

“Ow.”

“Come on. If I have to bare myself to all of Sunnydale, so do you. And I think I hear Xander at the door.”

Their light feet on the steps showed a hesitation about the coming confrontation that neither girl showed. Their smiles may have been a little forced but their determination never wavered. Even though Buffy knew better than to expect Spike at the door—having already agreed to his spending the early part of the night with Giles and Ms. Calendar to help in translating the soul curse—a little sliver of disappointment caught her off guard. The first hour of being dressed up was always the best. As the night wore on, so did the make-up and clothing. Right this minute, in front of Xander’s adolescent approving eye, she was fresh. Fresh and bulging from her costume.

Buffy pouted in a flash of discontent with the night’s plans. Then took a good look at her only male friend.

“Private Harris reporting for... Buffy! Lady of Buffdom, Duchess of Buffonia, I am in awe! I completely renounce spandex! Skin tight skimpy leather is without doubt my truest friend.”

He caressed his toy rifle like it was the leather incasing Buffy’s body. Or some other implement he would rather be reassuring with his touch. She felt herself flushing red, managing to stay still and not inspect her rather obvious display of skin for the altered complexion only through will and eagerness to showcase her other blushing friend to the object of her affections.

“Why thank you, kind sir.”

The Slayer stepped aside, allowing Xander’s first unobstructed view of his childhood play pal. Despite descending the stairs with Willow right behind her, Buffy was irrationally relieved to find her still there, still in the same skimpy outfit that she had exited the bedroom wearing. Somewhere in the back of her head, Buffy had half expected the redhead to race back to the room to retrieve her packaged ghost costume.

“Well, Private Harris is now split right down the middle, though the leather of the skirt variety still makes me Mr. Happy Man.”

Buffy smiled knowingly at Xander’s slight hitch in breath and grabbed her coat before leading them out of the front door.

“Now, Giles said that tonight is actually kind of dead for the undead. But now we have Angelus all explory and vengeful, we need to keep an eye out. Bonus though for keeping the vamp population indoors. Makes the search less of the needle in the haystack variety.”

Her friends stayed quiet despite her rousing speech about their current evil, eyes for nothing but each other.

“I am so glad we managed to bypass Snyder and not get saddled with a ton of kids while I have to keep a look out.”

Again she was met with distracted grins before attention quickly went back to admiring each other rather than her.

“What am I, chopped liver?” she huffed, her pout firmly in place.

“Oh, sorry Buff. Just a bit distracted.” Xander slung his toy rifle over his shoulder and straightened his back, looking for all the world like a confident soldier of years of experience.

“Of course you were,” Buffy agreed and giggled as he quickly ducked his eyes to look at the ground and Willow attempted to stop her face from blending with her hair.

She surrendered all attempts at conversation then and just walked. One foot in front of another until her pace meant she was leading the trio, the other two lagging further and further behind her sturdy pace. And so she walked and watched out, feeling miserable to be the one in front; the one aware of surrounding evil and yet lonely and bereft for the loss at her side. Stupid Spike for not wanting to walk with them anyway.

When Giles had mentioned the complete deadness of the Night for the Dead, Buffy had almost choked on her disbelief…until Spike had stepped in and agreed that the nasties liked their one night off in the year to rest up and be unpredictable. Her vision now was spotted with little scary people, all costumed up to scare their neighbours into coughing up the candy and filling their little sacks. Buffy found a smile tugging at her lips and she felt a release of tension. Maybe Giles was right and they wouldn’t see Angelus tonight. Maybe she’d gotten all dressed up in the skimp mode of seduction all for nothing.

Thoughts of Spike and the things he had made her body do and receive brought the rush of red back to her entire body and she grinned at the real reason she had adopted the Halloween tradition. She may have seized a leather wonderbra and leather wrist cuffs to emulate the buxom heroine, but she was dying for Spike to be her Hercules tonight. To take her back to those perfect moments in his arms when she could have sworn he’d taken her to a place they could exist forever—as long as they were together.

By the time Buffy twigged to the changes going on around her—pulling her out of the fertile imagination she had in regards to the joining of their naked and sweaty flesh—things had become slightly chaotic. Willow and Xander had lagged a decent distance behind, and once she had turned to locate them, Willow was standing back and pleading with Xander about something—she holding her hands up against his raised rifle. Without thought, Buffy had turned back and ate up the path to return to them. After a few mystified minutes, both she and Willow managed to work out that Xander no longer knew who he was or who they were. He swung his rifle around at each terrified scream that filtered through the night like it was his business to protect everyone from the monsters that dwelled in the shadows.

As miniature monsters jumped out from behind bushes; as altered children terrorised Sunnydale after dark, the girls could do nothing but rush their friend back home. In their panicked backtracking they managed to snag a ravaged Cordelia in a skintight catsuit.

Barricading the front door, Buffy took a few breaths and tried to work out what could possibly be wrong. Little groups of mini-monsters were rampaging gardens and letterboxes up and down the street, as well as some adults that Buffy recognised as some of the parents that had taken their children out—introducing them to the delights of the holiday celebrating the supernatural.

Preventing Xander from firing his rifle at menacing passers-by seemed to take all her energy and Buffy was so far at a loss. As she wrestled the door from him once more, fiercely wrenching the gun from his hands, she directed him forcefully to a chair.

“You’ll have to give me back my weapon, ma’am. You are not authorised to handle it and I will have to use whatever methods necessary in order to regain it.”

“I’d like to see you try, Soldierboy!” she huffed, rolling her eyes in irritation.

And when Xander set upon her to indeed relieve her of the weapon, she found herself involved in a fight fueled with confusion. Should she knock him flat on his ass so she could rest and think the situation out? Buffy hated to think of using her power against her friend, but the alternative left her occupied when she needed to be free of hassle and knee deep in finding out what the freak had happened to her night. And hopefully all without having her costume or hair altered in any way at all.

Sighing loudly, she overpowered her friend, bundled him into the basement and tied him to a chair.

“Where’d you get the nice shiny weapon, Xan?”

“It’s standard army issue, ma’am. You are in violation of the US Army. Untie me right now and I’ll consider not turning you in to my commanding…… officer.”

Buffy turned to Willow. “I thought this thing was a toy, but it looks like nice killing type bullets that’s he’s firing out there.”

“Oh no. I think he bought it from that costume shop. Ethan’s?”

Buffy frowned as she remembered having a quick look in there when she was looking for the perfect costume to knock Spike on his ass.

“The place that had that early era pink satin dress?”

Willow giggled at the memory. “Yeah. The one you said covered up too much flesh and you didn’t think you could wait how long it would take Spike to get it off you in one piece so you didn’t lose the deposit.”

“Oh, yeah,” Buffy admitted with a blush. “And Xena was so right for the flesh and skimpy…”

“Oh don’t worry, Buffy. It’s very sexy.”

They stopped at a snort from tied-up Xander.

“No man in his right mind would let his girl walk around in an outfit like that. That is a bedroom kind of costume. I can practically see your nipples.”

“Xander!” exclaimed Willow and Buffy together, the sixteen year olds suddenly feeling the need to cover up.

And nipples on display or not, Buffy felt an urgent need to get away from Xander’s roving eye.

“Cordelia,” she shouted back up the stairs, not quite believing the girl would agree to soldier-sit but knowing that she might need Willow to help her think out this mess.

The brunette argued herself hoarse about what Buffy asked of her, but settled in near the tied up Scooby like she was prepared for a long stay. Buffy raised a brow and hoped that the snark wasn’t covering an interest that might cause Willow pain. Right now she didn’t have time to worry about love lives or even friends.

She had a night to save.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It felt weird for Spike to sit in front of Rupert and help a woman he hadn’t even met with a spell his own Dru had encouraged murder to stop. Admittedly, back then he’d been proud of Dru’s violent impulses towards Buffy and her friends—had even slightly admired Angelus for his creativity in his torment. The extent of his change made him sometimes wonder if he was really Spike. He didn’t have a soul, yet what behaviour he exhibited to these Scoobies and toward Buffy seemed to imply that it wasn’t so much necessary as already developing.

He had always been a nonce for the power of love, but giving Buffy the credit for changing an evil yet displaced vampire into a veritable do gooder white hat seemed like a stretch. Without doubt he loved her, would do anything to keep her safe and happy and alive. But was he mocking his own ability to know right from wrong and crave against his demon for smiles instead of screams?

Buffy had started it; he had no doubt about it. If not for his altered feelings for the Slayer he might have just continued to find a way to get the chip out and return once again to Dru. It might have taken him another ten years or more of being dumped by his dark princess before he realised the import of what she had said.

The Slayer was all around him. And now she was in him, over him, consuming him until there was little left of the old Spike. Of the inherently and mindlessly evil Spike. The monster was in change only. When he took on his altered features it was more out of curiosity than need. He put himself on show for Rupert and Jenny, allowing the bones in his face and skull to crack and grind and let his fangs drop through pink fleshy gums. He swam in the scent of their fascination and fear, feeling the euphoria of that power rush through his body searching for the vicious need to tear them apart.

Only, his demon refused to surface in that way. Somewhere along the way, the primitive evil that had been with him for over a century had shrunk back into acceptance—and even approval—of the life he had forged alongside his lover.

He shook his head as he fell back into the conversation with the two human adults—a major breakthrough in the translation of the curse leaving room for Giles to begin questioning about a future that Spike felt in his gut he had changed beyond his wildest dreams. And not only that he was Buffy’s first love. That he had taken Angel’s place as the love she might never be able to give up. Despite missing his history, missing the moments that had led him to getting drunk in the presence of the newly re-demonised Anyanka, he couldn’t let go of this remaking of his past.

He had been spinning tales of what he remembered from the year that he had first come to Sunnydale, apologise in a wanky fashion for not warning them of the possibilities of Dru—as both a healthy and strong vampire, along with her gift of sight. He was beyond an idiot to not work out that she had seen glimpses that first night he’d gone back. The night he had dusted the Annoying One for Buffy.

That they didn’t hold his lapse against him he brought down to the simple fact that Jenny Calendar was now alive. Living and sharing comforts with Rupert Giles in a way she hadn’t had the opportunity to do in the other timeline. If he was truthful to himself, Spike could admit that this little result made him feel pretty chuffed. He almost wished that Anya could reappear out of whichever dimension and show him how he had changed things.

Overall, they didn’t even seem to mind the childish glee he adopted in his retelling of his confrontations with Buffy. That Rupert could even find the laugh in each situation was a great relief to Spike, because despite the first years spent wanting to kill the Slayer, he could see now that he had always just wanted her—to be around her, fighting her. The end result was always clouded, and he couldn’t say for sure that his love for her had been sparked even back then, but something had. Some kind of admiration that made him seek her out again and again.

As point of fact, “Actually, Rupes, Halloween was a bloody good night. She was all dressed up in this costume, wig and dress right out of the pages of the 1700 who’s who and best dressed. Was a bloody riot. The chit had no idea if she was Martha or Arthur. Didn’t have a bleeding clue that the Big Bad was there to do her in. ‘Cept I didn’t…took so long talkin’ and procrastinatin’….again! Wasn’ much of a bloody vamp with her even then. Was sort of cute her not knowin’ she was the Slayer, all kittenish and weak…”

The eruption of screams outside brought his story into focus with alarming direction onto his inability to put fact to fact.

“Oh balls,” he sighed, a slightly amused smile teasing his lips as he watched Rupert’s alarmed eyes widen. “It’s bloody Halloween, innit?”

Giles and Jenny nodded dumbly.

“Do you, er, happen to remember what caused Buffy to lose her memory?

“If I rightly recall the stories you lot spun about it later, it was some wanker you knew from your Ripper days. Did some spell to turn people into their costumes.” His own eyes widened as he thought of the implications. “Dawn told me that Buffy wore that dress to attract the Poof. You don’t think she would have gone there for a different costume or something? Know she was gonna be out an’ about lookin’ for any sign of Dru and Angelus. Would be just like them to buck convention and go out to snack on a bunch of littlies.”

He missed the flinch from the gypsy, but had his own cringe going on. The thought of mini-snacks no longer tempted him, yet he thought his feelings on the topic were all academic. Saying it so matter of fact though, stung just a little. It was a visual he didn’t want in his head, didn’t want on his tongue, and the thought of his Nibblet on the receiving end—or even any other child now—was more painful than he ever thought possible.

Giles leaned against his window, frowning at the random violence occurring around his building as short monsters run amok.

“I don’t suppose you happen to remember where he conducted the spell from?” Giles inquired, his voice betraying his rising anger at a foe Spike had only a passing association with. Right, best to leave the Fyarl demon situation for later.

“Was a shop downtown. Had his name in the title. Edward, Elmer, Edwin…”

“Ethan,” Giles corrected, his jaw locked in fury. “That pillock just doesn’t learn. It would suit him; coming to the Hellmouth to spark off chaos. Let’s go, Spike. I think I just might let you eat the little rotter.”

Spike grinned, though not for the promise of real pumping blood. He hungered to see Ripper in motion, wanted to see the anger and hatred aimed at someone other than himself.

Before they left, Spike caught sight of the dark woman heading back to her computer console. “Oi,” he called to her, waiting till he had her full attention. “Don’t leave this flat. For no reason. Even if it’s burning down.” He spied a phone sitting beside her keyboard and swooped down on it, hurrying. “Anything happens, you call us. Watcher should outfit all of us with one of these. Could save a lot of time.” His focus was so hard it almost bruised her with the force. “Angelus could be behind this little set up. No way of knowing. He could just take advantage of the confusion, like I did. Speakin’ of, call Buffy an’ make sure she stays in her house.”

The swish of his coat saw her nod and the men were gone, leaving a suddenly shaky woman who had forgotten that her blood was sought by those who would do her harm. After calling Buffy and telling her Spike’s message, Jenny hung up and stared at her computer screen. Her own safety depended on this curse. On her translation and the hopefully soon act of re-ensouling. Spike’s dire warning—being burned out of a building—had seriously never occurred to her before, and seemed to place a whole new urgency on everything. Living with this fear every day was crippling. The only ways for it to end were to either finalise the words of the spell—or die. And now she was placed within the walls of one Rupert Giles, the loss of her life was not something she could accept easily.

Jenny buried herself back within the text on the screen, fear and newfound love fuelling her deciphering skills.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It was a strange lack of resolution when things were set back to rights. Particularly as the angry kick at the plaster bust had been a stroke of good fortune, an accident rather than the well thought out interruption of the spell.

Ripper was flashing on Giles’s surface, nothing to punch and threaten in the empty shop. The signs of a struggle indicated a fight of some kind, but one obviously inspired by a motive other than ending the spell on the town. The replacement of threatening growls with the cries of children seeking the familiarity of their parents on the outside in the street was the only clue that the key to destroying the effects of the spell lay in the destruction of the head of Janus.

“Hit me,” Spike offered, seeing the need for the Watcher to relieve some frustration in a more hands on manner.

“I beg your pardon,” came the furious reply, hands balled into fists as his body felt overwhelmed by the sense of animosity.

“I said ‘hit me’. Get it out of your system.” Spike tilted his chin waiting for the first blow.

“Are you out of your bloody mind? What the hell is wrong with you? I’m angry, yes, but I’m not likely to just go about thrashing innocent people to make myself feel better.”

It was a punch harder than a fist could ever likely have been. Not used for that release—humanity showing him that he didn’t have to be the resident punching bag, just because that was how Buffy had always chosen to use him. To see him. It made her wrong. Made her actions cruel, unjust.

And it made him feel afraid.

Spike’s face twisted before Giles’s eyes, the onslaught of emotion knocking his wild and youthful alter-ego right out of him in a rush of concern for the vampire. In the scheme of things, Giles knew that there was a lot more to Spike’s story of his return to his past that he had neglected to tell or elaborate on. It didn’t take several university degrees for Giles to work it out, though.

Spike had withdrawn, shocked within himself for the sole reason of not being used violently to allay someone else’s spirit. It was no jump to surmise that—along with his bad relationship with all the Scoobies, including himself—Buffy lay at the crux of the vampire’s ill-thought out wish to return and do it all over. Buffy was his focus, was his obsession. Was his passion. Everything was all about Buffy, which didn’t in any way cheapen all that the former Big Bad had done for the rest of them. He’d extended the life of his own love, had given Xander a refuge and a hope of learning to grow in a care that had been so far denied to him by his own family. He had given caution in introducing Willow to magic and had brought about an amazing confidence in his Slayer. And after all this, he still expected to be punished.

Giles completely deflated, and in an action completely unbecoming from a British male, he clapped Spike on the back before subjecting him to a brash hug.

“There you go,” Giles told him, swallowing hard on his embarrassment. “None of us are the same people you knew, Spike. I don’t believe any of us would want to hurt you for our own benefit. An inanimate bag filled with sand would do just as well. Now come, let’s find Buffy and make sure all is well.”

Spike nodded slowly, his moment of realisation making him quake. Despite having had Buffy in his bed, having her whisper words of love all over his skin, he didn’t really expect that it would be different. Didn’t think a few minor changes could divert acts and personality so far from their path.

For this moment, Rupert had proved him wrong. He needed to be in Buffy’s arms to feel its truth. To once again drown in her love.

And bloody Harris snoring in the bedroom next door.

Life was turning wonderful and ordinary.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Dru giggled into her hands as the man was thrown to the floor, wrists bloodied from his battle with the ropes.

“Hmmm, Daddy. He smells so powerful. Can’t I have a little sip?” she implored, her eyes dancing with the lighted fire in the grate.

“Let’s talk about drinkypoos with the little magician later, Dru. Right now, I have an offer that he won’t refuse.” The smile was menacing and left Ethan struggling with his bowels.

The silence was left to fester the fear on purpose. Images of chaotic Halloween mini-monsters had appealed to his sense of justice. So he’d followed the news of Ripper’s whereabouts; watched his Slayer to the extent that even now he felt disappointment at failing to convince her to purchase any of his costumes. A demonised Slayer on All Hallow’s Eve held a sense of the irony that should have had him in stitches. Instead he was tied up, no confrontation with Rupert or the Slayer, but a potential vamp meal for a crazy girl and her Daddy. This kind of chaos in his own life he could have done without.

“Ooh ooh ooh, he’s thinking of her,” Dru grinned and bounced as her plan fell into place. “He wants them to suffer, to tear down their tower till then hang by their nails. I like him, Daddy. His heart is as black as mine.”

He’d been momentarily lost in her hypnotic way of speaking, but froze as she predicted the last. A black heart would normally have been laughed off if not embraced with pride. But a spark of humanity squeezed said blackness to an uncomfortableness he wanted to cling to.

“I can’t think what you can possibly want with me. Untie the ropes, that’s a good man, and I’ll get right out of your hair.”

The blood in his veins seized and turned icy as he was confronted by the cold, sinister smile of one and the abrupt maniacal laughter of the other.

“You’ll not be going anywhere. Didn’t you hear me mention the offer you won’t be turning your back on?” And just like that the dark humour fled from the monster’s eyes, evil face in place and ready to terrify into submission. “I thought you’d be all about taking the Slayer and her pets down. Now don’t disappoint me…Ethan.”

The Brit flinched at the mocking laughter and nodded his head. Despite being afraid for his life, there was no way he could deny the spark of interest that had him leaning forward to hear their plan, to relish in the pain they wanted to cause. For now he would ignore the killing part of the equation. He wasn’t a murderer, well…not really. But the promise of causing major upset to his long time enemy was definitely worth considering. The added incentive of keeping life was well worth it as well.

His nod was what they had been waiting for and a loud clap of hands from the minions surrounding the trio echoed through the high walls of the large room.

“Good decision. Now, to reward you, we give you a choice.”

His blood was already chilling in his body, but a block of ice just buried his heart and he felt the decrease in beats as he waited in terror for what the choice would be.

“None of that,” his new ally ordered. Angelus smiled, before reaching through the rules of speed to grab him by the throat and raised him to suspend dangling in the air.

“We can turn you right now, bring you a delightful young thing to break in…or just break, or…you can stay human, safe within your very own vampire hub.”

The room reached a frightening hush, and despite disbelieving how genuine the offer was, he clung to his life with the claws he was rejecting.

“I’d rather…” he rasped, the choke hold on his neck crushing his voicebox and causing his access to air to peter out. “Stay human, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Courageous. And admirable. Though monumentally stupid. But I did say it was a choice so…” He turned to the demon-faced crowd and bellowed his instructions to keep fangs off of human necks until otherwise informed differently.

When the cold hands left his throat before placing his feet back on the ground, he fell with a yelp to the floor, immediately focusing on the pain in one ankle.

As safe as a man could be while surrounded by hungry fanged vamps.
19

It was anticlimactic.

Pounding down the pavement, sidestepping minor as well as major skirmishes as she led Willow to Giles’s. Then more deflation as they were told to come in and wait, that Spike and Giles knew what the problem was and were off in their heroic way dealing with it. Buffy pouted as she sat on the sofa, losing Willow to the excitement of a computer program designed to collar the wayward Angel.

In the end, Buffy decided the neglect didn’t matter. It freed her up to daydream about steamy moments with Spike, letting her newly initiated passion run free with her imagination and desire for experiences with him. Thus, here she sat in her enticing Xena costume which left too much skin bared and puckering as an open window rushed a cool wind through that tickled her skin. Sexy she-warrior without her Hercules to drag her off to the bedroom.

Buffy pouted some more. It was their last night together before Xander moved in with him and she was all go-girl for taking advantage of that fact. ‘Cause wild monkey-lovin’ with one of your best friends next door? Kind of on the inhibiting side. Even though she could see the wisdom of Xander being there; there was no way she wanted Spike exposed to the possibility of Angelus and Dru’s retribution for his rejection of them. It kind of put a frustrating halt to her love life.

She was forced out of her introspection by the loud arrival of Xander and Cordelia.

“Where is it? I’ll kill it. Tear its eyelashes off and plait a noose to hang it with. How dare I be made someone’s butt monkey again?”

“Xan, nice idea. Creative even, but if there was any monster out there responsible for this, it would have decapitated you before you even got close to plucking out its eyelashes.” Buffy stood with the girls as they each struggled to hold themselves aloof, a fuming Xander doing a mocking version of the snoopy dance as he tried to find words.

And then he deflated and the girls smiled at him. Cordelia even offered him the comfort of her usual snark.

“Face it, Harris. You’re just bummed because a girl could steal your gun.” And she smirked as her eyes swept over his body. “Not that that’s even worth stealing.”

She trounced over to the door, limp cat ears torn and a little to the side. “I have to go and get changed. I obviously can’t go to the Halloween party at the Bronze like this.” And she was gone, disappearing into an uncertain night as the rest waited for confirmation from Giles that the villain was caught and disarmed.

And then the spirit of the irrepressible Xander defunked as he focused on the cheerleader’s words. “Hey,” he shouted, bouncing on his feet with new and vigorous enthusiasm. “Bronze. Party. Are we still on for scary goodness?” His eyes found an unexpected target in still skimpily dressed Willow and his vision glazed.

“You betcha,” confirmed Buffy, hoping that it wouldn’t take her long to ditch her friends and convince Spike they needed to inspect his bed for loose screws. Buffy giggled to herself, finding it beyond amusing that everything she thought about now was tainted with the recall of Spike and the yummy way he bathed her with his tongue.

Her agreement coincided with the drooling return of Xander’s eyes to her heavily revealed cleavage and Spike’s entrance through the front door. There was silence as Buffy stood still, unconsciously pushing her breasts out as Spike’s hungry eyes swept over her get-up lustily.

“What’s that, luv?” His voice had lowered to almost a growl as his eyes caught on the circular shape of each breast cup of her skimpy leather bustier, burning the strips of flesh poking out from beneath the protection of dead animal flesh with his cold heat.

Buffy felt her face light up, felt her body shudder with the intense tingling of little piercing pricks of desire as his eyes roved all over her. She felt hot and itchy and instead of moving, instead of answering him, she made plans with her eyes. Making up her mind, she grabbed her coat from where she had flung it earlier over the sofa arm, and stepped forward to grab Spike’s arm.

“Why Spike,” she addressed him, naughty things heavily suggestive in the low husky rumble of her voice. “You’re not even dressed for Halloween. Have to be all dressed up for the party at the Bronze,” she emphasised to him rather boldly, sneaking a peak at her surprised friends over her shoulder.

“Obviously Spike forgot about the Bronze,” she told them all while pushing him hard toward the door. “I guess we’ll just have to go and look through his wardrobe to see what we can come up with.” A final shove and Spike slammed into the closed door, clipping Giles with the propelled arch of his elbow.

“Oops, sorry Giles. Didn’t see you close the door. Gotta go. Hurry up, Spike.”

“What’s you’re bleeding rush, Slayer? I’m not gonna be dressin’ up in some pansy costume when I can just flash a bit of fang and be all authentic like.”

She stopped just as the door was flung almost too violently against the wall.

“You have to dress up, Spike. It’s the rule.”

There was no more time for confrontation. Slayer hands pushed him back through the doorway and rushed him out into the night, grumbling about bloody women and stupid expectations all the way. Behind them a quiet gathering pondered the display, before figurative heads were scratched and plans formed. It was not a surprise when Willow and Xander left immediately for the Bronze and Giles and Jenny struggled anew with the soul translation.

It was a night divided.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Not one step out of the complex and Buffy had Spike pinned to the outer wall with her lips sucking the life out of him.

“Been wanting to feel you all night,” she growled against his lips, her hand urgently seeking his hard flesh under the tightness of his tee. “Missed you at my unveiling.”

Spike wrenched away from her, a naughty gleam in his eye tickling her insides to a butterfly frenzy.

“Might’ve missed me, pet, but I’m bloody certain nobody missed you.”

She pouted her hurt. “You didn’t miss me?”

Spike’s eyebrow rose to brush a stubborn curl that had fallen from his gelled cap. “Didn’ say that.” His obvious lack of missing her right now poked into her belly as he seized her again, and the real meaning of his words burned strongly onto her face.

“Xander said it was a bedroom costume. Said he could almost see my nipples.” She giggled as an angry vampire crushed her lips with his, mashed against teeth and drawing small sips of blood.

“Xander is to never see your nipples. No bloke is to ever see your nipples,” he whispered harshly against her as he tugged one of her leather-clad breasts free, the nipple pointed straight to his lips. He obeyed the command and sunk onto her, sucking it agonisingly hard into his mouth, his cheeks becoming concave as he sucked the engorged nipple deeper into his throat.

She moaned against him. The feeling of the erotic in a vampire supping blood from her lips and wishing he would take more from her, secretly cursing herself for putting the date of her birthday out there for the final breach of her Slayer. Breaching it further by being exposed to all who passed as he tugged and sucked her breast into his mouth, teeth scraping bluntly against the bulging flesh beyond the areola. One leg climbed over his hip, clamping him against her as she rubbed her dampened crotch against his. The short leather skirt flared around her hips, her ass naked bar for the tiny strip if fabric that dived between her ass cheeks. She felt so hot she thought she’d combust, not caring in the slightest about whoever could possibly cop a free show.

The lusty haze around them dissipated a little as they heard voices, recognising Willow and Xander as they left Giles’s and closed the door with a distracted thump. Buffy pulled Spike into the shadows cast by a tree and delved her hand into his pants, feeling the rush of knowing she was about to feel naked hard flesh against her eager hand, even as her friends came closer to them.

“Want you,” he whispered against her lips, biting his lip as her hand drove a frantic beat into him, cupping his balls and sliding her fingers over the full length of him to the tip. The slow steps of her friends as they paused, doing the gentle trip to flirting had them hanging around for a lot longer than Spike was happy with, but the fireball in his arms didn’t seem to be letting it affect her need. He hissed sharply as she pulled him fully out of his pants, his arms useless bar for holding her as she suddenly slung a leg back around him, swept her panties to the side and teased her slit with his throbbing head. Her slippery juices quenched a little of the fire, but the rapidity of it all thrilled him so much and he had to bite his tongue from groaning louder and alerting her friends to what they were up to. His damaged Buffy would have done this, but not with the freedom of her heart as she made love to him in the open. If her friends caught them, she’d be embarrassed and probably do a lot of giggling. But the other Buffy, the one he was slowly letting go, would punch him in the nose, be disgusted with herself for being caught loving another vampire and race home, contemplating all the while whether she should dust him despite knowing she needed him.

All thought ceased, however, as he felt her determined push down on him, allowing the head of his cock to nudge at her opening and spread the entry wide, pausing in that place as she cried out high in her throat. He kissed her hard, desperately, unable to bear the thought of being caught now and having to stop. She bounced a little and he slipped a tiny bit more, quickly placing his hand around the top of his cock so she couldn’t get him in any further. She pumped him slowly; just that small part of him surging into her entrance and building up the sweetest tension that craved something so much deeper.

“Did you hear something?” Willow’s nervous voice almost made him want to shout, but he held the leg around him, kept kissing Buffy until she was mindless and allowed his hand to fall a finger back so a little more of his length felt the wet heat of his love’s pussy. Buffy didn’t even react, just kept gyrating her hips over him, her hands clamping around his head as she held him to her, one breast exposed and rubbing against fabric.

“Nah. Probably just some more of the little monsters heading home from trick-or-treating. So Will, Buffy help you pick out the outfit?” And Spike zoned out, an aggravating swirl starting in his balls. He slipped his grip further back again, now half of his cock free to give his girl pleasure. His other hand had been stroking her back, falling against the zip that held her bustier together. As slowly as he could he lowered it, allowing her breasts to fall from the toughened leather as he turned then and braced her back against the trunk of the tree.

Releasing her bruised and puffy lips, he whispered in her ear. “Quiet now, pet, or they’ll hear. Don’t want to have to stop now, do you?” Her frantic shake in the negative won a smirk, and he buried his mouth against her breasts, still pumping his half mast into her as her hands reached behind to grip the tree and she lifted her other leg up around his waist.

She tugged the hand away that was preventing her from having all of his hard strength inside her, slipping down finally so that his balls slapped her gently on the ass. One arm clung to the tree behind her as the other came up to cup her free breast, twisting and pinching the sensitive bud between her fingers. As she plucked it and rolled it, Spike nipped the other with his teeth, all to the melody of their friend’s voices as she slid up and down, her wet passage sucking against him in hungry passion.

Buffy could feel her whole body tingle, little shivers building to a deeper vibration that had her break out in a heated flush. The girth of him stretching her, pushing her pussy to its outer limits was a sensation like no other. His coolness tipped her over an edge she had never expected, turning her lubrication into an icy fire that scorched her as well as him. As his tip found her spot down deep she writhed, biting hard on her lip to stop the need to cry his name from tearing from her lips and getting them caught. Her insides buzzed, echoing a trail through her pussy, to her belly, to shoot glorious tingles to the tips of her nipples, her flesh releasing a sweat from too much tease.

“Spike, Spike, Spike, Spike…” Her lips formed the words but she was a good girl and kept the volume and intent to herself, her body beginning to bracket itself against the tree as she squeezed her muscles hard, massaging Spike’s cock into a throbbing pain. He attempted to pull out only to be gripped in some form of punishment, the fire in his balls beginning to pulse in some angry objection to how long he was taking to empty himself. She relaxed and he seized the chance, pumping her hard enough to have splinters embed in her back, their mutual pleasure too much to expose them yet to the reality of pain or accident.

With a gurgled incomprehensible word, Buffy felt herself flying off some kind of ledge, her arms falling forward and nearly crushing Spike’s face to her neck as she pumped him relentlessly, startling stabs of intense pleasure screaming through her blood until her artery pounded in her throat. She needed his fangs so much, wanted to feel that piercing in her neck so badly that she almost wept when Spike shot viciously within her, his come slamming into her core in decisive bursts. The head of his cock pulsed against her constrictive walls, and yet there was not even a nick in her flesh from his teeth. Heavy pants frightened her tiny hairs on end as he gasped into her throat. Though disappointed that she still didn’t know the pleasure of his bite, her rapid breathing told the truth of how much pleasure he gave her. She kissed his neck in many tiny butterfly touches and held him to her tight, all the while listening to her friends as they finally reached the end of the courtyard and left.

“Sweetheart, you can dress up like Xena whenever you want to. In fact, leave that little costume at my place. Might come in handy some time.” His breath into her neck caused little shivers to run in delight through her body and he squeaked as she hugged him hard.

“I’m sure you can think of lots of costumes we could try out.”

Spike’s mind flew down memory lane, remembering a time when Xander and Anya had delved into the fun side of love with nurse uniforms and the like. He grinned, wondering what the boy was likely to make of the demongirl once he was through crafting him into being the kind of bloke that could properly appreciate a lady like Anyanka.

“I’m more’n happy to go home and hang that costume in my closet right now. ‘S already half off.”

“Oh,” Buffy eeped as she hurriedly pushed him away, almost falling to her feet as she rushed to reposition her outfit. She turned and gave him her back. “Please,” she asked and he became captivated by the bare expanse of her back. She wiggled her ass at him to snap his attention back from wherever he had disappeared to, and almost sighed into another round of hot tree sex at the feel of his hands on her flesh.

“Every little piece of you is so erotic; from the tan of your skin, to that little mole near your pussy, to that little snub of your nose. You take my breath away every time I look at you.” He whispered it into the naked expanse of her throat, his fingers itching to tear away the brown wig that hid the extent of her light.

She turned and told him everything that words couldn’t express just with the glitter of her eyes.

“You know how I kinda told you I love you when we…you know?”

His heart froze, an agony so deep piercing the very depths of him as he waited for the inevitable—the retraction that would make so much more sense than what he had received from this angel so far.

“Yeah.” His voice was nothing more than a croak, lost to the sensuality of the night while he waited for his heart to be broken yet again. Either she didn’t see the pain that dwelled in the deepening navy of his irises, or she just ignored it. Whatever she was feeling left a smile tugging at her lips as she ran a light finger over the jagged scar of his eyebrow.

“It’s not enough to really tell you how I feel. I adore you and how you make me feel. Wanton and special all in the same beat. You make my skin prickle just from thinking about you. You make me feel so strong from knowing you’re there by my side. I,” she cast her eyes downward, suddenly embarrassed about how deep this little smutfest had gotten. She could have been arrested for almost nude sex against a tree in a semi-public place and she was shy about telling the vamp she loved that what she felt so far surpassed that that it terrified and invigorated her at the same time. “I don’t ever want to lose you. You are in my heart, in my soul, in me so deep that I don’t ever want to let you out.”

“Buffy?” The awe in his eyes was not new; he guessed it was the same look he had given the night he had found a resurrected Slayer afraid on her own staircase. But this time it was for him as well—he’d gained something so monumental in coming back that it scared the arse out of him while he waited for Anyanka to pop back up and offer to take it all away again. And what was with that? How could things be anything but better for the little ex-demon now that he’d taken Xander into his influence?

But for this moment now, he had tears in his eyes—a dearth of emotion already clogging his throat and drowning him in eternal promises. And then he was kissing the life out of her, claiming her lips in a rush before they slipped away to utter inconsequential clap-trap about the Bronze and her friends. He wanted this moment to cherish, to hold in his head until the moment he was dusted and could hold it no more. Because for him, this was it, that tiny second when he knew that what he’d done would make it all come out right. He’d saved her; he was certain of it. Given her such a different outlook that offers of making her death be anyone’s gift would no longer be considered. Not contemplated.

She didn’t know, just accepted his happiness, kissed him quick before finally pulling them away from the tree and to the Bronze. Nothing could get in the way of Halloween night at the Bronze.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Willow spotted them the second they walked through the doors. With Buffy falling out of her costume and Spike emulating himself—the Big Bad. The redhead wore a miserable defeated smile as she greeted them, desperately sucking the last of her cola through a distressingly mangled straw.

Buffy and Spike shared a concerned glance before sliding into seats beside each other and contemplated what could be wrong. One quickly diverted look to the dance floor in search of Xander and Buffy’s eyes bugged.

“Oh, Will,” she sighed.

Spike took a second to catch the view that Buffy did but when he saw the brunette couple grooving to the beat he found it impossible to beat back a smile. So, despite the little flirty tête-à-tête earlier while he had been seeing to his girl, the whelp still fell back into a certain pattern. All bode well for Anya then. Spike suddenly had visions of Anya arriving on the scene—all newly humanised—only to encounter a Xander firmly ensconced in a relationship with Willow. All the bad connotations of that though made his head hurt.

“Red, he’s not the one for you. Got much brighter things in your future. Keep them pretty eyes open and you just might run into one right soon like.” With a parting grin, he grabbed Buffy’s hand and pulled her into his dance embrace and tucked her head under his chin, all the better to get caught in sensual fantasies inspired by the cocktail of her hair.

“Thanks.”

Spike pulled back a fraction, having no clue what he was receiving a thanks for but happy enough to accept it now that all the feel goods were flying around in his favour.

“Why’s that, pet?”

“For trying to make Willow feel better about Xander dancing with Cordy.”

Spike’s smile hid secrets, but he bundled her back in close to his chest and thanked whatever Powers that had given him this.

“It’s all true; little Red has bigger things comin’ her way if she only opens her eyes. Bein’ together would be wrong for those two. Take a look, luv.” He jerked his head in the direction of a couple in the middle of the floor, the boy doing wild and whacky moves that had all that surrounded him stepping back to protect themselves. Cordelia was slowly distancing herself, a humiliated smile of forbearance claiming her lips as she encountered amused glances.

Buffy giggled. “Yeah, those two look pretty cute together.”

And that was what this moment was all about. Being together; holding each other until there was nothing of life left to cling to. Waiting to outlive eternity as long as they held each other close. It made Spike feel warmed and loved and wouldn’t you just know it had to be the moment he felt the pull of his blood.

His body tensed as he tried to block it out, instantly knowing that as much as he’d given away his right to be with Dru, he could never ignore her when she was close. It wasn’t a Siren’s call exactly, but a call for obedience. A call for acknowledgment that he took time willing himself to overlook.

And then that nasty taste was in his mouth, seeping over his tongue of the displeasure of his family. The cold fury of their perception of his defection crept over his skin until he felt like ice to the touch and Buffy flinched away from him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked in concern, feeling the alteration in him and seeing in an instant the change of his eyes to the amber glow that meant he was forcing himself to stay at her side.

It was a shock, to see Spike’s demon teetering on the edge of something she couldn’t even pretend to understand while she stood beside him not knowing if her world was about to come crashing to the ground or if Spike’s control was being compromised in some way.

Even a sombre yellow turned on her failed to force her back, and when he closed them tight against something, his hands holding hers in a grip so desperate it scared her for him rather than of him.

“Spike?” The tears trapped in her throat hurt, made it difficult to swallow and as she concentrated on that—on trying to breathe and again talk—she failed to notice the altered state around her.

Willow had her eyes trained on a member of the band, but to Buffy there was no sound around her except for the rough rasping breath squeezing past the emotion that was swamping her heart and right up to her throat. Xander pushed Cordy just that little bit too far and she stalked off, flinging the usual insults of inadequacy over her shoulder as she headed for the back door.

Then some long buried sense kicked in and she felt it—welcomed the rush of knowing exactly what was here and destroying her smoochy time with her honey. Spike had not yet recovered, still clung to his steadfast position—but now Buffy knew.

“You don’t belong to her anymore,” she hissed at him angrily and his eyes flew open, sapphire blue cooling her with a complete grip on sanity that she immediately sagged against his chest and felt like weeping.

“I know. ‘M yours, Buffy. To do with what you will.”

And right now she willed great things, wanting to stamp her foot when she wasn’t transported away from there and into naked playtime in Spike’s new bed.

“What do they want?” she asked instead, knowing she had no choice but to go out and find them, stop them from killing when she was but a step away.

“They want us. You to torture and kill; me to torture and well, torture would be my guess.” His lips looked like the smile he wore was new to his face, so marked with age all of a sudden that he looked almost another person.

So the game had begun and Buffy wasn’t going to settle back and let them have the first round.

“Where?” She was decisive, the Slayer an edge of steel despite her usual temperance with her inner girl.

Spike nodded toward the back door and something clicked in Buffy’s mind.

Cordy was outside.

The knowledge gripped her with cold fingers of dread. Buffy reached for her stake and took off for the door, the metal making a very loud and startling bang as it bounced off the wall.

Her feet kept her momentum forward as her mind began the scream—not again. She couldn’t do this again. Watch a friend—someone she knew lose their life because of knowing her. Cordelia lay almost limp in the arms of Angelus, blood dribbling to his chin as he released his fangy grip to flash Buffy a triumphant grin.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my little Slayer. How’s it hangin’, Buff? Oh that’s right, you’ve got yourself a new set of balls by the name of William.”

“Shut your gob, you tosser. Can’t play fair so you attack the Slayer’s friends. Shoulda known you’d come out with the obvious tactics. Not like you’ve got the brain capacity in that overloaded noggin’. Can hear your bloody brain rattle as soon as you shake your head.” Except it wasn’t the poof’s brain that was rattling. Spike was plenty shaken that one of the Scooby group was being supper for his hated grandsire.

Buffy’s eyes locked on the dazed ones of Cordelia as she implored her to come to her rescue. Weakness was obvious in her limbs as she succumbed to the vampire’s grip, not able to even stand on her own anymore through loss of blood.

Before Buffy or Spike could move—before Angelus had turned his head and indicated the presence of Dru at his back—Xander came flying through the same abused door.

“Let her go you big coward,” he screeched in panic, faltering only slightly as Angelus laughed sardonically, holding his food tightly around the shoulders and lifting her up and down to show the balance of power.

“Not likely, little guy. But I’ll leave her body here just for you.” And he bent his head, about to relatch his fangs to her already marked throat in an effort to finish her off. Feeding in front of them was to show no fear, to put them so far off balance that it would render Buffy too emotional to fight well.

It didn’t.

It produced a hard rage that spread throughout her body and settled in the fist that held her stake.

She pounced.

The second she got close, Angelus thrust Cordelia’s lax body at her in an effort to distract her and get away. Buffy caught the cheerleader—just as Angelus grasped Dru’s hand— tossing her again back to Spike and lunging at the fleeing pair. She kicked the tall brunette in the back, his hand almost tearing from the strong grip he held with the darker vampiress.

It wasn’t until facing the furiously calm face of Drusilla that Buffy felt the ice patch splinter inside her and she found herself drifting forward and lowering her stake. Then Spike held her in his arms, shaking sense back into her limbs and the fight resumed, her warrior beside her. He stood off against Dru while Buffy returned to the less creative in a fight—Angelus. She struck against his face and chest and gut a number of times, excited each time he seemed to falter in his retaliation.

Receiving a punch from the recently desouled Angel did more than hurt. Buffy felt it beyond weird to find herself on the vicious end of his fists as she ducked and dived his not quite precise attacks. But her mind voluntarily shut down as the fight continued, preserving her against the devastation of having to kill someone who had long been her protector, her friend, and almost her lover.

“So, you like your men cold, Precious. How nice. Might get me a bit of ass then, too. What d’ya say?”

“I say no dice. Isn’t it obvious? I have discerning taste in vamps. To be my lover you have to know how to use it, Big Boy…I’m betting you have even less skills in bed than you do with your fists.”

He held in his reaction but Buffy could see the cold hard reality of her hit in the way his beady eyes burned yellow. It caused shivers from all the way inside, even if she was proud of herself for not rising to the bait.

“Ah well. Who needs to climb on top when you’ve got everything on display anyway. Nice costume, Buff. Where’d you pick it up? Slutbombs-are-us?”

Buffy spoke with her feet and grinned savagely as they connected with his chest, satisfaction hurting her heart as Angelus flew away from her and slammed into a pile of garbage. And he was finally down, Buffy rushing over to take advantage of the moment of stunned immobility. Just as she was about to thrust her stake into the evil heart, a fist enclosed her wrist, pulling her away from the reclining body.

Buffy followed the arm with confused eyes, wondering why she had been stopped from ending this situation now. Spike offered nothing, just watched as a moaning and terrified Dru gathered Angelus up and hurried him out of the alley. The female looked her well-dressed best. No blood dripped from her face, no cuts or bruises marred her ‘perfect in death’ complexion.

Buffy almost swayed on the spot as she realised while she had been beating the crap out of Angelus, Spike had been what? Chatting with his sire and catching up on all the goss?

“Tell me why she isn’t dust?” Buffy snarled furiously through clenched teeth. “Better yet, explain to me why Angelus isn’t blowing in the wind?”

The controlled bubble of rage radiated throughout her body and she felt something hot and indescribable as she took in the guilty shrug of her lover. Blood pooled in the corner of her mouth as hurt prickled her eyes. He’d stopped her from killing them, and as that realisation began to take hold, her body reacted with a persistent shake.

Spike remained speechless, his hands reaching out to take her hand but she pulled it away, glaring at him with such deep pain that he flinched and took a step back. As he did so her eyes fell on the collapsed forms of Cordy and Xander and she rushed over to see the extent of the damage.

Xander was insulting up a storm, Cordelia tossing very weakened barbs back as she struggled to stay awake.

“We should get her to the hospital, Xan. Just to make sure.”

“I’m fine, really,” she protested as she stumbled to her feet, her hand hesitantly touching the still fresh wound on her neck.

Tears were gathered in her eyes as she looked at Buffy and then Spike. “That bastard bit me,” she informed them, the obviousness of the observation making the speaker giggle in delayed shock. Her eyes glazed for a moment then began to clear, the tears pushed away for a moment when she didn’t have such a big audience.

In the face of his fear, Xander just continued with what he knew. He bit sarcastically at the object of his rising lust and hoped she was well enough to keep receiving them. Strong enough to keep insulting him back.

“That’ll teach ya for having the hots for a vampire, Cord. They’ll go for ya throat every time.”

“And when I get enough blood back in my veins, I'll make sure I hit you with double the putdowns, Xander Harris." She slumped against his body and he caressed her shoulder, hugging her in a way that made her sigh.

Buffy flinched, closing in on herself even though her mind objected the point. Spike had never gone for her throat—despite her numerous offers—even though his betrayal right now felt like the most savage bite.

For his part, the blond vampire seemed to collapse into himself, knowledge in this situation a double-edged sword. He couldn’t tell, couldn’t make her see. Was left with nothing but the hope that sense would reason with her as she considered his explanation.

“He’s a good vamp when he’s souled, Pet. I thought he deserved a chance to make good.” It stuck in his throat to defend the one he hated above all else, but the truth of it was that Angel fought for the side of good, had the Powers That Be in his ever-widening corner and would probably bring him back anyway.

“And in the meantime, my friends are at risk.” She raised her eyes as the full extent of this fight—or lack thereof—finally hit her. “You didn’t even hit her, did you?”

His surprised step back was her answer and something dug a trench inside and allowed her heart to hide.

She took a step towards him, hating that he was answering her with silence and hating more the answers.

“She was calling you from inside and you wanted to go, didn’t you? What did she do out here? Try and convince you to go back? Are you going back, Spike?” Her voice cracked on the last question, not knowing anymore what was truth and what was fear but feeling the scalding tears as they made tracks down her face. Knew the agony of a breaking heart as he continued to lack answers for her.

“Tell me,” she demanded while barely a step away from him now.

Spike saw the change and fear held him captive. He was almost too scared to watch the play of emotions on her face, too terrified that he’d done it after all. Cocked up his second chance all because he didn’t let her waste Mr. Hair Gel himself. The irony of it caused him to smile as he shook his head. And that action finally seemed to release his tongue.

“Buffy, we need to give him back his soul. I wasn’t tempted to go back to Dru. Was just tellin’ her to back off and take the poof out of here. I can’t kill her, if that’s what you mean. She’s my sire…” He was interrupted by three derisive snorts.

He clenched his jaw, wishing he could do the big reveal and tell them all the good that Peaches does in LA, telling them that the cheerleader ends up bloody useful for a change by going off with him. And then the impact of the night hit him and he fell to his knees. He’d been so hell-bent on changing everything that he had almost sacrificed one of Buffy’s own.

Cordelia could have died tonight. Could have drained dry or been turned while he’d buried himself in the bliss of loving Buffy.

“Oh God, I’m a bad man,” he moaned into his hands, shuddering with a more human reaction. “I’m sorry, Buffy. You’re right, we should have dusted him.” He raised his eyes and she could see the pain, feel the sorrow that was as genuine as the tear that he tried to hide.

Her trench refilled and her heart was back where it should be—loving the vamp in front of her that shone with his humanity.

“It’s okay. You were right. We should give him a chance with his soul. But if I find him snacking on someone else, I have to do it.” She fell to her knees in front of him, pulling him unresisting into her arms and rubbed his back as he grasped hold of her tightly.

“I love you,” he told her shoulder and she smiled. Knowing with all that she was that it was true. Knowing that whatever reaction he’d shown here tonight, that feeling for her hadn’t faltered, had probably even guided him in preventing her from destroying a once strong warrior of light.

“I love you, too,” she answered into the hard slick of his white curls, needing for there to be no confusion, even if his response to his sire still rocked her confidence. “We’ll get Ms. Calendar to hurry with the spell. But we’ll have to do something about Dru. I can’t leave her to go around killing people.”

He nodded into her chest, and it buoyed Buffy no end for him to give even that discreet agreement. He accepted it, and hopefully could live with it. Buffy couldn’t bear the thought of him returning to the evil skank. Her eyes glittered dark and dangerous, her mind already plotting the various ways she could make the deadly vampiress pay for trying to control Spike. He was hers, and would stay hers. She couldn’t let him go if her life depended on it.

That bitch was so going down.
20

 

He’d offered Giles ‘the talk’ when he was ready but had ignored the plan for weeks in hopes his demon would talk him straight. Had altered his belief in himself in such a zigzag of confusion that it seemed better to contemplate nothing at all, block the option right out of his head until the unimaginable happened and everyone forgot. Accepted him so thoroughly on his face value that they dismissed his need of a chain, a bond to keep him on a guarantee that he didn’t want to give.

Except that was a lie. His demon did want it. Did want to leash himself in a way that was almost embarrassing. But to be fair all around, all of Spike had wanted to belong to Buffy for years now. That his demon was pushing him up to the plate, pushing him into finally getting that info and presenting it to the Watcher, was suddenly a priority that no part of Spike felt like he could ignore.

It didn’t help that Buffy had been watching him. Keeping her eye on every one of his moves, succumbing to his embrace with a nervous twitch and a quick look around them in what he could only assume was a protective action. Her trust in him had been compromised by the confrontation with Angelus and Dru. The call that had enticed Spike to his sire for that short moment had crumbled Buffy’s confidence in him, and it wasn’t taking much for him to admit that he needed to do something to get it back. Do something to make her feel safe and loved—trust him again. He needed to trust himself again.

Dru had always been a dark, magical lure through the horrors of the night for him. That night at the Bronze, the night her rite of possession called and tempted him to return to the fold was not long enough ago. It had caused question marks to appear in Buffy’s eyes—this time she was far too aware of the influence evil still had on him in the guise of his sire, where last time she had been too consumed in herself and her hatred of him to see the threat. This Buffy was more sensitive to his moods, to his movements—and she loved him. Held him with the strongest bonds available in the world-—heartstrings. So, unlike the last time this happened—when the evil filtered into his conscience and let him think it was okay to chain up the one he loved and offer her as a snack to his sire if she refused such kinky affections—this time she had clear eyes. Concerned eyes. This time she saw the threat and was damaged by it.

Frightened by it.

He wandered through the darkness and uncertainty of time, gathering and discarding information as it came to light—interpreting beyond the malice of which the news was offered. He was hated in this time, passing amongst them with not even the excuse of a chip for turning on his kind. But still he had enough ferocity left in his reputation to hold the demon world loyal and respectful, and so he got what he needed over a time and was finally ready to present it to the Watcher.

He ended up at Rupert’s door, much more nervous even than he’d been when he first found himself in this time; first found himself cast adrift in a world where Buffy wasn’t yet fooled into love with someone cruel and selfish.

His knock was short, to the point and was answered in almost the same manner. Jenny Calendar stood looking at him, the flecks of her fear waning a fraction each time she was confronted with his presence.

“Have something I want to chat about with Rupert. He about?”

Jenny stepped aside, an indulgent smile curving her dark painted lips. “He’s researching. We’ve been up all night with this curse translation. We’ve almost completed it though the end is a little tricky. But it’s made us all fired up for the end, so…no sleep.”

Spike grinned, knowing exactly what the watcher was like when he was on a roll with something. He knew better than to expect the older man all well dressed and polished. Giles was a man unkempt; a man whose clothes showed how much time he’d been slumped in a chair through the dark hours.

“Get anything done then, Rupes?”

Giles shot him an annoyed glare over the top of his glasses, not having yet noticed they’d slipped rather far down the end of his nose.

“Yes, well…well rested then, are you?”

Spike smirked at the surliness, rejoicing in all the faces of the watcher he had been privvy to this time around. With pleasure he picked apart their characterisations, glorying in everything he’d missed the last time he’d swished his way through their lives with little on his mind but how to get rid of the chip so he could eat the hand that fed him.

His countenance turned solemn so suddenly that Giles blinked, momentarily forgetting that he’d been elbow deep in the race to the final key of the curse; after over two months of research and they were finally reaching the point where they could ensure a little bit of peace to their world again. The pressure had been building on all of them. Giles had taken particular notice of the strain on the vampire’s face, wondering again and again why he stayed with them and helped—kept Buffy safe when she patrolled and provided himself as a more mature and caring mentor for Xander Harris than the watcher had ever thought possible. It was a job he’d not thought himself capable of, and that a soulless, formerly evil creature had taken up the task while so obviously in love with his Slayer was the most bizarre event he had ever not read about in any Watcher’s resource at the Council.

“Promised you a while back to come talk to you about what I’d need to do to get my soul back.”

Giles blinked. Here was Spike, a master vampire, powerful in strength and loyalty, bringing him—a lowly human—information that would help permanently restrain his evil impulses. Would render him with no excuse about not knowing the difference between wrong decisions, immoral decisions, and right.

Spike didn’t look like an all-powerful vamp right now. He looked like a nervous man, worried about his life and afraid of making too many wrong moves. He was a quandary that Giles still hadn’t wrapped his head around.

“Yes. So you did. What have you found out?” Giles asked as he indicated Spike take a seat. His interest focused his attention once again and he pushed the slipping glasses back up his nose.

“There’s a demon, in Africa.”

Giles waited patiently for several minutes, wondering about the wrench it seemed to be for Spike to talk about this. He couldn’t see any evidence of struggle, couldn’t see any breaks of Spike’s demon pushing its way to the fore to wreak havoc on those trying to leash its behaviour forever. After witnessing the great differences between Angel and Angelus—only after meeting the unsouled Spike in an atmosphere that rendered fear unnecessary—Giles was more than sure that vampires were as varied in their behaviour and attitudes as humans. It was his opinion, then, that a soul would have very little impact on Spike.

He had asserted that he hadn’t witnessed any degree of challenge on the part of Spike’s demon. But if he was honest, he had noticed minor struggles going on. Ones where Spike was finding his way in the human world and trying desperately not to make mistakes. In Giles’s mind, he’d been, for the most part, successful.

When the silence stretched out too long, he decided a diversion might be needed.

“Tell me about the Spike that existed in your time. Would he have ever thought of getting a soul for the woman he loved?”

The watcher in Giles was fascinated by everything he’d already learned of this other incarnation of Spike. Was chilled at his own blinkered reception of the vampire knowing that he had indeed changed and instead of helping him and learning from him, he’d settled back into his learned behaviour and primed his own Slayer for a life of mistrust and dishonesty. As confusing as it was knowing that the vampire suffered at his hands, at Buffy and the Scoobies hands, he couldn’t help but be very pleased that things had occurred in such a way as to bring the peroxided vamp into their lives in this new way.

Still, his question seemed to have struck a nerve and he felt a small sense of regret that he’d pushed Spike into a painful memory.

“The other Spike was a thoughtless vamp who just wanted to be loved.” His voice was low, filled with hurt and remorse. “Forget it, Rupert. Nothing I did back then could have helped. She kept throwing the fact that I wasn’t like Peaches in my face, but even if I did go and get myself all shiny and soulful, it would never have been enough.”

“Oh surely that’s not—“

“Don’t try and deny it, Rupes. You and I both know that if she’d loved the Poof first she would have been ruined for souls forever. Big Brood-o-matic shot her to pieces before I ever got my act together enough to know what I felt. There was never any chance of her falling for me. Her heart wasn’t in it. Not for Soldierboy, and not for me. But if she needed me to do it, if it would have made her trust me, I’d have done it.”

Giles nodded sadly, not really in the position to refute what the vampire said, but wishing he’d had a less awful experience of it in that time.

“So, now you know of a demon. What must you do?”

“Trials,” Spike seemingly choked out, his eyes not once raised from his fixation on the carpet. “Pretty serious trials to prove yourself worthy. Pass those and I get to wish myself a shiny little soul.”

There was nothing for Giles to do, but nod in understanding.

“So, what do you want to do about it, Spike? Do you plan to go and do this, or wait a bit longer? I think it might be wise if you stayed and helped in case Angelus strikes and Buffy could do with your help. Or even yet, there is this spell. Surely we can investigate it further and adapt it to suit your needs—”

“No bloody way, Watcher. You’re not puttin’ the whammy on me. Not havin’ the same as the Poof. Who knows what that thing did to him? Don’t want to be cursed. Decision’s mine.”

“Of course,” Giles agreed, not wanting to make this any harder and not wanting to push an act into impetuous disaster.

“Don’t tell the Slayer,” the vampire instructed, finally raising his eyes and imploring the other’s cooperation. “I’ll wait for now. Jus’ wanted you to know.” And he was on his feet, the thick heavy tread of his boots making small indents in the carpet even as the sound was swallowed.

He left the room in a morose acceptance, a sense of wondering if it was the right move, if his direction was straight and correct. Giles looked at Jenny’s tired face, and felt his own body slump.

He climbed to his own feet in a state of exhaustion, removing his glasses for a weary eye rub and then nodded as a silent agreement they should catch some sleep, and then made his way slowly to his bed. The puzzle of long lost soul curses and redemptive soulless vampires left for another day.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~


“Hey, Will. Whatcha doin’?”

Perky Buffy was in control today, her hair all fluffy and lips all glossy. It was an excellent portrayal of the Buffy that had been newly crushing on Angel, but it was not the usual Buffy that had been falling wildly in love with Spike. As a result of the abrupt change, Willow frowned.

“I know you’re all with the smiles and the happy, and hey, with ya on the happy, ‘cause happy is so what we need around here—” The redhead stopped and giggled nervously, her own smile slipping along with Buffy’s. “But what’s wrong, Buffy? I know that something’s really got you worried or you wouldn’t be trying so hard to be the Buffy you used to be. You know, before all the soul missage with Angel and the oogyness of all that.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I am so not caring about that, Will’s. So he lost his soul? No biggie. I’ll do what I have to do. If Giles and Ms. Calendar can get his soul back then it’s all of the good, but if not, we’ll deal.”

Willow contemplated Buffy’s speech and saw no artifice behind the words, saw nothing that should be worried over or heard with disbelief. It was just fact, and Willow smiled in relief. Buffy would take care of it. Before he killed them all in their sleep, Buffy would deal with him and everything would be fine.

The girls continued walking toward Revello in silence. It had been a typical day at school—boring lessons topped with even more boring homework. Once upon a time Buffy would have given it a cursory glance before she escaped out her window to patrol, but now with Spike on the scene, he had her finishing and actually reaching the asking questions stage. If she didn’t know better she would think he was trying to turn her into an academic. Which was just funny, because everyone knew that Buffy was as far from being Willow brainy as…well, maybe not Xander but in her own estimation, she had to be close.

Just the thought of that brought a wide genuine smile to her lips. She maybe couldn’t count on that comparison anymore either, not with the way Spike jumped Xander’s ass as soon as his homework made it within the door.

It was weird being with Spike now, knowing that one of her best friends was sleeping in the room right next door. Not that that really mattered when his gorgeous full lips met hers and he made her forget there was a world beyond his closed door. He loved her and he showed her in so many ways. It broke her heart that she felt that he was holding something back. Was lying to her in some way that she just didn’t understand.

She was sure he loved her. How could she doubt it when he so easily lost himself in looking at her, never losing that look of awe that took her breath away every time she saw it?

But she knew he held a secret. Kept something important from her and it hurt. In her innocence she had just fallen into the happy love that being with him meant to her, something so deep and beautiful she hadn’t even stopped to remember he was a vampire and that maybe, just maybe, there was more behind what and who he was than he was telling her.

She purposely blocked from her mind his reaction to being around his sire. Ignored the pull of that link she didn’t have with him. That link that was formed and renewed often with a bite. Deep inside, she wondered if allowing him to bite her would be the end of that link with Drudsilla; if perhaps it would take what they had to a higher level and make them as strong as a couple could be. Her seventeenth birthday was so close now, and that promise burned in her throat whenever she thought about it—at least three times every day. The desire to feel him in that way had been so strong—was still that strong—but she now feared that he was keeping something from her, something too important to their relationship for him to hold the truth away from her. How could she trust in him when he kept holding back? She had taken that step, given him her heart and soul and he seemed unable to do the same. It was confusing and painful, and she really needed it resolved.

“So, what turned that smile into a frown?”

She was jolted from her thoughts by Willow’s concerned question, the redhead watching her with an intelligent spark in her eyes. As confident as she was at being right about Spike, she wasn’t ready to share those thoughts, didn’t want her friends to start distrusting him when she had no clue about what the nature of the secret really was.

“Just thinking ‘bout my birthday. Sort of hoping it’s not like last year’s on the scale of suckage.”

Willow giggled. “I’m sure it will be way better than last year. At least you can give massive hints to your millionaire boyfriend for something pretty and know he’ll probably get it for you.”

Buffy melted inside. “Yeah, he probably would, wouldn’t he? I think I’d suit emeralds. What do you think?”

“Oh no,” Willow objected. “I’D suit emeralds. You can have diamonds.”

The girls discussed different styles and cuts as they continued on their way, looking forward to snacks of ice-cream and a little relaxation, before the Homework Monster descended on them. At the very least her mom loved Spike for his diligence with the homework issue. If only he was the same with the honesty.

Buffy ducked her head and ignored her suspicions in favour of a major pig out. She could work the rest out later.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~


“I need to go out.”

They had been working silently for hours. Arisen from sleep little rested, a cup of coffee fortified one while the other drowned his exhaustion in tea, and they set back to work.

“Everything else is easy to get, and once we’ve finished the translation we’re good to go. But we need something to hold the soul before it is transferred. I should be able to pick it up at the Magic Shop.”

Giles had already stopped listening. His eyes were trained on the odd letters and symbols, feeling his brain on the edge of a collapse even as he knew in his heart they were close. Very close to making decisions and ensuring the stability of one they had missed but would probably always now fear.

So he missed her as she gathered her bag and coat and didn’t hear as she clicked the door closed behind her. Just scurried around looking for his pencil as another small clue fell into place and he could decipher another small phrase. He smiled and looked up to share his news, finally seeing that Jenny was gone and feeling a twinge of guilt that he hadn’t even noticed. Not able to do anything but wait, he stuck his nose back in the text and hoped for more breakthroughs.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Her heels clacked in a marvelously delicate rhythm on the stone floor as her dancing swept her in circles. Round and round until the dizziness stole the unpleasantness from her head. But it left her feet unsteady and she slipped, feet crossing until she landed in a muddle at the feet of her Daddy. She slumped, moaning and crying as the confusion ebbed and the glorious images of death and blood were squashed to the side—replaced by realities of grief and remorse that had no right to be touching her. She’d been such a good girl, had paid the price of taking initiative and bringing her sire home. Letting him back across to the place where he could be hers again, and not through guilt but because of such a dark need to own and possess his little girl.

But now it was all going wrong. She’d received so many glorious moving pictures in her head when she had delved into Spike’s brain. Only short moments that brought her so many vibrant images. They’d confused and frightened her, left her needy and clinging to the earliest promises of the visions. Daddy. Having her Daddy home to hold her hand and share her meals. Having him to bite and fuck her until she screamed from the security of having him again.

So, to cling to that, she’d discarded many of the others, forgotten about the other things she’d seen in her Spike’s muddled head and focused on the ones she could make happen. All the while accepting that it would only be a short time before the three of them would be back together and finding pleasure and blood in the goriest of places.

But this now, she hadn’t seen. Or else she had blocked it out with the others as something she had been too unwilling to understand. And this moment, as she sobbed at the feet of Angelus she poured out her fears, gave voice to the things that she had thought to never have to live through again.

No longer sick, Drusilla did not end her meltdown in a weakened and pitiful state. Instead she regained her feet, her nails extending as she worked her mind around it, considered avenues to travel to prevent it. Things must happen now or it would be too late. They would lose the end and the victims would rise and overpower them once and for all. She would be torn once again from her sire’s arms and left bereft and careless.

“I see gold around her neck, hair as dark as my Knight. I hear girls all a twitter in verse and swirly skirts all in a circle. They come for you, my love. Wanting to stuff that evil conscience back in you deep, tear you away from the glory that you are and bury you in the light so that Princess can never find you again. Please, we must kill the raven girl. She’s bad, will finish it all and that nasty Slayer will take you both until there is nothing left for me.”

“The curse, Dru? Is the gypsy going to return the soul?”

The vampiress nodded miserably, but felt buoyed by the resounding laugh that bounced from the walls and into her head. She echoed the confusion with her own cackle, feeling enormous with the power of knowing she was to kill.

It had to be done.

“Well, well, well. We have ourselves a little focus. What do you see, Dru? What does the little witch need to make my miserable self behave again?”

“A little glowy ball, your essence all a flutter in its middle. She needs it and will get it from the market seller.” Dru swung her head from side to side, becoming lost in the images that were once again flashing behind her eyes.

“I-I think I might know what she means and where the one you’re worried about might go to get it from.”

Angelus had ignored the human prisoner up to now, having had no idea of what to do with him so far. But now a plan was being formed and the malice in his grin made the other’s body go tense and coldly alert.

“It’s time to go a hunting, dear Ethan. Time to catch us a Magic Shop owner and make him bleed.”

Ethan swallowed hard, cherishing chaos and the possibility of death as long as he didn’t end up with said blood literally on his hands. But he was no longer in a position to argue, his own existence precarious. And so he followed, left with no other control but his grasp on causing chaos.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The jangle of the shop’s bell was a comfort. As much at home as she felt in such a place, the atmosphere in this shop was a little creepy, and Jenny found herself grateful that enough of the outdoor sun shone into the depths of the shop to keep her safe. Even still, she was hesitant as she made her way to the counter and the man behind it.

Just a step from where she needed to be to be polite, she stopped, becoming spooked by the subtle shifts in the shadows. It was a warning, though, and so she made to casually stroll to the shelves bathed wonderfully in sunlight. And from here she derived comfort from the rays; she found security against the things that she knew would be seeking her end. So, from the distance she smiled, hoping that the shopkeeper wouldn’t think her too odd and would serve her with enthusiasm and quickness. This place was giving her the creeps and she wanted to get out as soon as possible.

“I’m looking for an orb of Thessula,” she told him, giving him her needs even as she turned from the darkness of his look and scanned the shelves in front of her.

“Ah yes, the orb. These little lovelies could well put my kids through college.”

The joke he cracked both startled then settled her fears and she took a small step closer to him.

“Ah, you’re British. My friend is British, too.”

“A few of us about I’d imagine. Now, about that Orb. I just got a new crate in. Let me have a look out the back for you.”

She nodded gratefully as he stepped awkwardly back from the counter, almost tripping as he turned and disappeared behind some curtains. She heard his footsteps as they receded to the back and became quiet. The eerie presence of evil had dimmed a fraction with his absence, and Jenny sighed in discomfited relief.

Ethan was breathing heavily, his heart thudding hard in his chest as he stumbled over the extended leg of the dead shopkeeper and hurried out the back of the shop. His clammy hands slipped around the glassy surface of the orb and he nearly dropped it as the darkness crept up behind him.

“Fucking bitch won’t get out of the sunlight. I can’t kill her like this, and she’ll see me too fast and move back into it even if she does take one little princess step into the shadows. You’ll have to do something to that orb thingy so it won’t work when they go to use it.”

“I can create a fissure on the inside and destroy its purity?” He flinched even as the evil face lit up in glee.

“Perfect. That’s the trick. Do that.” And then he stood there, fangs at the ready as he watched and listened to a couple of odd Italiany type words stutter from his captive’s dry and cracked lips. Or maybe it was latin? As if he cared as long as the deed was done.

A small flash of swirling red and yellow lit up the dimness of the room and then went back to stillness. The Brit stood in a relieved satisfaction that the incantation worked and now the orb was corrupted, useless for whatever purpose Rupert and the gypsy girl wanted it for. The simplicity of it made him smile and he forgot his fear as he gloried in the approval from the other.

“Now, get out there and sell some orb.”

He received a none too gentle shove and he was back to seeing the dead person on the floor, wondering if the blood would ever disappear from his memory.

“Ah, here we go,” he said with a smile as he offered up the orb. “I’ll just pack it up for you, shall I?”

Jenny nodded gratefully, a huge sigh expelled now that she was closer to ending this threat to her life by returning a devil his soul. She took the box, delivered an awkward smile and left the shop, rushing into the safety of the sun as if hell were on her heels.

Eager to return home so she could render hell with one less instigator of its will. Shed the light back on a creature that deserved his road to redemption, even though he wasn’t going to take it on the road with Buffy.

A tremulous smile settled on her lips for her walk back to Rupert’s, the box held firmly in her hands.

The end felt so close. As much as she was loving living with Rupert—and her sexy negligees were going to such a good cause when they actually prepared for bed at night—getting back to her own life and being able to date held a merit she was eager to resume.

Yes, the end was a good place to be heading these days. She just prayed she got there in one piece.
 

 

By the time he decided he was relatively safe from attack or capture, Xander was shaking so hard he could barely gain his feet. Before he’d met Buffy, he had very carelessly wandered the Sunnydale streets in blissful ignorance; once he had met her, he was traipsing around the Hellmouth under a misappropriation of bravery. With Spike, he’d become cocky and confident when he had no real right to. Now he was alone, no super-strength friends to get him through the night in one piece—unmarked and unbloodied.

Xander felt his head slowly turn and seek out the reassurance of the phone and felt the sweat drip from his top lip as he rejected the easy out. He wasn’t made for it—being the wimp. As useless as he might actually be to Buffy’s nightly fight, he’d never hide in the dark while his friends were hurt. No way. Not him. And Spike was his friend, and boy was he sure the vamp was in way of a world of hurt.

But it would be beyond dumb to wander the streets looking for Buffy without at least equipping himself with a weapon. If only he had a semi-automatic, he’d feel relatively safe. Even if the rational part of his brain argued that it would have no affect on those already dead. Too bad he lived with the practical vamp—the one who hunkered down over a huge stash of axes, swords and stakes. Still, he was sure to find something that might add a little testosterone to his form as he raced around emitting a powerful scent of fear.

His hands swept over handles, discarding many before grabbing the sword from under the couch that he knew Spike was looking forward to giving Buffy for her birthday. It was impressive and the night was influenced with the heaviness of disaster, but he even now couldn’t take this one. Couldn’t rob the pleasure Spike had been feeding on when he nightly took it out and polished it up, just waiting for the night when he could pass it on to its new owner. See Buffy bond with such a powerful weapon.

Even if Spike didn’t make it, this was his last link to Buffy and Xander wasn’t going to do anything to deprive the vampire of that gift. He left the sword gently on the couch and covered it with cushions, his eye quickly sweeping over the leftover weapons to locate another. Then his focus shifted to an axe and he felt all torn up inside about what would be the best weapon for him to choose. On the one hand, the axe could do some major damage, but it required a powerful arm or one thud into his victim would be it before he succumbed to an attack. The sword was lighter and had a different trajectory through his potential demon victims and he was much more likely to be able to wield it without needing more strength than he had. So, he picked up the sword.

Decision made, Xander loped toward the door and then stopped, his heart racing with too much adrenaline and the urge to take flight rather than stand and fight. His fingers were slick on the hilt of the sword and he could feel the sweat bead between his brows. Breaths were coming in gasps as he readily admitted to himself that he more than likely wasn’t going to make it out in the night on his own. In a sudden desperate move, he snatched up two large pieces of splintered wood to use as stakes should he need them.

He only hoped he wouldn’t.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Buffy fell back on the rock with a gasp, hand clutching at her heart as she struggled to breath against the resuming onslaught of visions. How could this be? Her one body braced itself against the experiences of two. Her skin shuddering to keep it all in as she met the truth head on and took it all inside. It only took minutes and she was done; different. She was sixteen and twenty-one. Once dead yet twice. The Slayer in love with Spike, and the one that could do nothing but deny him as anything good.

Buffy winced as she rolled to her knees and finally regained her feet. She had some serious sorting out to do of the vampire variety. What had she been thinking with the whole hang up on Angel, the taking of pleasure and comfort from one who loved her so fully while letting her friends dictate to her what she was allowed to do, to feel. She was brimming with supernatural power and strength, yet amongst them she was powerless. More of a child than they were.

Tears gathered in her eyes as she stumbled a few steps, taking that journey back to Giles and home. Compiling words of apology in her head that would make it all better. Hopefully.

Even in the dark, the sand glowed white, reflected the moonlight in a way she’d only ever found one thing to do. Spike—his hallmark hair that told her where he was, where she should be. A watery smile teased her lips as she felt her heart tear from being apart from him. But it wasn’t sixteen-year-old Buffy’s heart. This was the heart of a suffering Slayer. One who had discarded what she wanted and needed for something that was far from right. She’d loved him even as she’d turned her back, left him watching the shimmering purple of her top as she forced herself to take the steps away from his loving comfort, refusing to see the pain her decision caused him.

It was mature Buffy combined with the girl who had accepted the vampire in her bed with love and trust. Experienced Buffy who could see his potential now that he’d gone back to save her the pain of Angel’s love. Taking away that tall brooding obstacle had allowed her a view that had been shrouded in unreality before. Brought a vampire in focus that didn’t need a soul to be good. Didn’t need a soul to love and be loved. Didn’t need a soul to make the right decisions. To learn from the bad ones. Older Buffy saw it all with a wiser, untarnished eye. Spike could have loved her, did love her without the benefit of being trapped and cursed. He was pure in the most elemental sense.

And he was hers.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Giles was sipping coffee from a thermos when she finally made it back. He’d lit a small fire from his sticks, his gourd balanced precariously on his knee. He looked up, his eyes bleary from keeping himself awake with nothing but the shimmering moonlight on the sand and the mesmerising view of his fire. It was obviously very late and Buffy felt a little guilty, despite knowing that what had just happened to her was essential. One look at his commiserating smile and she felt the tenseness from their initial drive return.

“You knew,” she shot at him in powerful accusation. ”You knew where Spike had come from and all about me, didn’t you?” Her voice held the touch of fury she often had when kept out of something that was important and affected her.

“Yes. From the night Drusilla bit me. The vengeance demon that granted his wish popped in trying to convince him to go back.”

“Anya,” Buffy confirmed quietly. “I wonder why she is so desperate for him to go back. I personally kind of like this timeline much better.”

He looked at his charge with confusion shadowing his eyes.

“Why is that exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Buffy flopped down onto the sand as she thought. A warm smile curved her lips and she felt her body melt as she thought of the loving first time she’d had with Spike. That night with Angel had been way more than nice—absolutely no doubts. But even her teenage heart could tell the difference between what felt so right and what could only be wrong. Deep down she’d always felt Angel wasn’t the one. But he destroyed her morning after, made it a living nightmare so that by the time she’d recovered and the pieces were all put back in place—albeit more than a little on the damaged side—she’d talked herself into believing the only reason she’d withstood the trauma was because she loved him. Loved him so deeply and with so much of her heart and soul that no other was ever going to replace him. It was a child’s dream of fairytale proportions.

Ironically, Spike was more the fairytale hero than even Angel could possibly have been. He’d kissed her awake from her nightmare sleep after death. Made her live and feel in ways she’d not experienced—even before she’d succumbed to her misunderstood gifted death.

“Because here you all believe in Spike, trust him. And I can let him hold my hand and kiss me and feel reasonably secure that neither you nor Xander will try and remove his head from his shoulders.”

Buffy giggled at Giles’s affronted spluttering and then quickly enveloped him in a hug. “It’s so good to have you around, Giles. I’ll always need you, so don’t go thinking I don’t. And even if I…die…again, the gang need you too. Even Spike.”

She felt a warmth blossom at his small nod of agreement and then followed him as he pushed himself to his feet, hokey gourd clasped tightly in his fist.

“Ready to head back then, are you?”

Combined Buffy’s felt deep inside the anticipation to be back with Spike, feel him once again within arms that wanted to be truthful to him. Hold him tight in love and acceptance.

“Oh yeah. Homey goodness is just what the Watcher ordered for this Slayer. Home, Giles.”

Heart steadied and beating with a rhythm of merged happiness, Buffy helped dust out the fire and then managed to get in the car, slamming her door in a display of her eagerness.

Home was just what she needed, and home was where she was going to stay, even if he tried to kick her away. He didn’t need to breathe, so he could just deal.

The wheels spun up clouds of grainy sand as the car sped away, out of the desert and back to the highway. Buffy sat silently putting it all together in her head, resolving herself to two sets of experiences and memories. And then she grinned at it all, so forgiving and needful for the man that made it all possible to heal her. To return her to a life free of pain.

To return her to her life.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

His body hung limp and battered from the chains on the wall. His face was bloodied, broken, blind and he had to resort to his hearing to know what wandered around him. His eyes were filled with the blood of his body and he felt his flesh shudder against the strain of his hanging vertically and spreadeagled against the rock of the ornamental wall. It was a cacophony of sound, yet he felt every single strain of it separated and identified in his head. Dru cackling in her insane way, shooting threats of doom and gloom at him as if he was a stranger and didn’t know her tricks, didn’t know her strengths and had learned to resist them over a century of being with her. Angelus, harsh and cruel as he whispered his own brand of evil threat—promises of pain and torture to the one Spike loved and wanted with all the world to protect. And someone new—a toff that had no balls but plenty of power.

It was power that he muttered almost incoherently against the force of Spike’s invulnerability and kept the blood running and the wounds open. The gem had less and less effect as the new little addition with a heartbeat magicked him open and allowed his own family to torture and maim him in ways he’d never thought they could. Holy water singed his skin and the insides of him as Angelus set up clamps to hold him open. The gem pushed through the mutilation eventually, but it was becoming a slower process of healing each time Spike was savaged.

If he’d not gotten used to this kind of torture the past two years he might have buckled by now. Angelus might have played him well in his vampiric youth, but over the past century he’d gone soft. Sure he was hard and fierce, but in the ways of vengeance he’d lost his edge—not that he’d ever really had one. Not compared to Angelus. But Spike couldn’t let them get to Buffy. Never to Buffy.

And now it was quiet, yet his eardrums still rung with the pain of earlier noise.

The poof knew about the ring, and Dru’s insane prattling was gonna get it for him. Spike felt nerves tighten his skin and he could feel his stomach revolt at what he suspected would happen. They’d cut him, freed his blood and made large holes while they searched. Spike tried to blink against the blood even as his weakened limbs pulled against his bonds. It was hopeless for him to escape. Hopeless to protect the ring even though he’d thought it would be safe on his insides.

He was about to resort to the sobs of defeat when he felt the crack of ozone in the air and Anyanka stood in front of him, staring in smug satisfaction.

“Believe me now? Your situation here is hopeless. Buffy will never trust you and you are just making things worse by staying here. Just take back your wish and everything will go back to how it was.”

How could he not consider the offer? There she stood, all brunette and polished and pain free. He was tired of always being the one beaten to an inch of dusting. Always being the one who got the bloody hell tarred out of him for no real reason.

He raised bloodshot eyes, his vision a little cleared as he watched her, feeling a cough squeeze his throat dry as it hacked through his body. A tickle of amusement kept it lingering, spluttering through him until he’d coughed up a substantial amount of blood. When at last he looked up, she was staring at him with a nasty turned up nose and a look of revulsion on her face.

“Just what did I screw up, luv? Did the Whelp actually go through with the wedding this time?”

His amusement died with the tears that rose in her eyes. “No,” she sniffed. “He doesn’t even meet me. Things go really well with Cordelia, he never cheats with Willow and so they all live happily ever after. No vengeance wish, no Anyanka.”

“And what?” Spike gasped. “Now you want to give the boy ‘nother chance? Forget he humiliated you and take ‘im back?”

“Exactly,” she beamed through the tears, feeling at last that she was going to get what she wanted.

Spike felt remorse for ruining that part of Anya’s life, and he hung his head in dejection, knowing that there was nothing he could do.

“Wish I …no, not doing that. ‘S not possible, pet. Even if I could do it for you, help Buffy. Would be a disaster this time. If I leave, then unchipped Spike is hanging from this wall with an invulnerability ring in his gut.” Even as he remembered he could feel his wounds healing, a little slower than they’d been doing earlier in the night and he felt a rising fear that he was in for another round of torture. He was losing so much blood, replenishing none and undergoing bout after bout of beatings. Even the power of the ring was faltering when he had no strength to replace what he was losing with every cut, every open wound.

“An’ even if Peaches were too stupid to find the thing and take it, an invulnerable Spike to this Buffy would be too strong for her. This chit wouldn’t be expecting me to turn on ‘er. An’ worst case scenario, the poof does get it. My girl will need someone on her side to fight him.”

He was arguing against the angry stomp of her foot, the selfishness of both the demon and the girl that wanted Xander—if not to punish then to love. But then her eyes softened and she conceded his point, knew that she was defeated and Xander would never again be hers.

“Well, well, well. Looks like we have a little visitor. What can we do about this, Ethan?”

The little man—finally finding his feet in this outfit—clicked his fingers and found his hand filled with the glittering pendant formerly around Anyanka’s neck.

“Why, how pretty,” he commented even as Anya’s face drained of colour and her eyes were riveted to her missing necklace, hand clawing uselessly at her neck.

“How?”

“Luck of the draw I guess, petal.” His grin was filled with malice, even though he had no knowledge of who she was, only what she was. With one seemingly callous moment of clumsiness, the stone fell from his fist and his heel slammed down on the gem, fragmenting the solidness and letting it flash away its power.

Their was a gasp of outrage as Anya once again felt the frailty of humanity take her body over and Spike braced himself against the end of his wish, his brave new world, and being shuttled back into a world where he was hated. He closed his eyes against the swirling haze of dissipating vengeance.

Silence greeted his ears and it took minutes and many tears sliding down his cheeks before he found the courage to open them, not once connecting that his body was still strained within the metallic prison of chains. Once his wet lashes parted and he could see his captors watching him with rising fury, he succumbed once again to confusion.

“Pet, thought you wanted me to take back the wish? Wouldn’t that mean that you hadn’t granted anymore since mine?”

Even in the face of danger, she huffed. “Yesss,” she hissed. “But I did, and then I had to strike a deal with Hoffy about reversing it, except now I’m stuck, aren’t I?”

“And now you’re food, little girl. Tie the useless bitch to the wall. Spikey can eat her once we convince him that he’s on the wrong side.”

Anya’s fear induced whimpers was the only thing to replace the snarl of thwarted vengeance from Angelus’s lips, and with a cold grin he kicked Spike in the side and left his minions to do as he’d ordered. Ethan followed behind, his disappointment clear by the slump of his shoulders and the slowness of his step. For the first time since being captured, Spike smirked and spat at their parting entourage.

“Fuck you, Angelus. I’d rather dust than eat the demon bird. She’s quality stuff, unlike what you usually drum up to eat.”

When none turned back to challenge his fighting words, he sighed in relief. Just what he didn’t need was for the raving poof to go all competitive and eat the girl in front of him. No, for now they were left alone and Spike slumped against the metal cuffs around his wrists.

“What now?” Anya whispered, fear heavy in her voice.

“Now we’re well and truly buggered.”

And as Anya took in his not so sexy remaining wounds, she couldn’t help but agree. They were definitely that word. Well and truly. And screwed, too. She was going for screwed.

“On the plus side, if we get out of here you’ll get to knock Harris’s socks off. But no shagging under my roof. Got it?”

“Oh, absolutely. But how about your car?”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

As Harris luck would have it, he’d rounded one corner with his sword outstretched and run into a crowd of feuding vamps. His feet had moved faster than he thought possible to get away, feeling that pit of dread in his belly as he felt the light pursuing footsteps intent on hunting him down. Completely non-Xander luck had them pass him by as he crouched under a discarded pile of boxes.

Once they’d left, he’d been slow to surrender the hiding spot, not even once wondering why they’d not been able to trace his fear or hear his thundering heartbeat. They were gone and it was all that mattered. All he’d let himself concentrate on.

One block from Giles’ place and he stumbled upon another group of vamps, this time already feeding and throwing between them the body of a man who’d once held life in his hands. There was no argument within Xander to take again to a hiding spot, and as the vamps got comfy around where he was hidden, he allowed himself to get comfortable, hoping he could soon calm himself enough that they’d not even know he was there.

It seemed to work as he slowly drifted off, lulled by the feral growls outside as the vamps swelled to a gathering and entertained themselves. He had no hope against such a number and had nothing to do but sleep. He was stuck; unable to kill those that threatened his existence and prevented him from seeking help to save Spike. He was so consumed with panic and fear he could think of nothing else to do but hide within himself, and for Xander that meant succumbing to sleep.

And hide he did, oblivious to the roar of vamp jealousies and challenges around him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Giles dropped Buffy off at Spike’s place just as dawn was breaking through the sky. She stopped at the front entrance to the building and just took stock of what all this meant. She wouldn’t be meeting him as the Slayer who’d overheard about his wish that catapulted himself into her impressionable youth. She wouldn’t be the Slayer who had fucked him into oblivion for the majority of their fling, even as she turned her back and denied him his outlet of love.

She was both, yet neither.

A new Buffy that had the enthusiastic flush of youth and inexperience that allowed Spike to steal her heart, as well as the wizened, twice dead and damaged Buffy that had now merged with the one with lesser pain. She was filled with verve for life, filled with understanding and tolerance, and most of all, love. She was freer than she had ever been in her own existence.

Two whole, completely different Buffys now existing in one body, yet merged in a way that made her the same. And she was completely in love with Spike. All parts of her. The relief of knowing this finally had her almost crawling through the door, had her heart thumping with the anticipation of their first kiss. The hope that he would notice the change and see the acceptance from his abuser. Recognise the Buffy he had escaped from in making that wish, but who she secretly hoped he’d missed despite having this Buffy fall for him and offer everything she’d always been too afraid to.

Her feet hardly felt the stairs as her desire carried her all the way up, happiness still clinging to her body even though she was forced to come to a swift stop when she found his missing doorway, the barrier now in pieces on the floor inside the apartment.

The chill that overwhelmed her was colder than the desert air she had just escaped. Penetrated deep into her bones so that she feared nothing could ever make her warm if it wasn’t encased in black leather and had fingers dangling out the end of the sleeves. Experienced Buffy felt the well of doom as it curled in her belly and tears gathered in her eyes as she begged she wasn’t too late. Whatever had happened, let it be anything but too late. She couldn’t come to her senses only to miss her chance.

And where was Xander? Was he safe? She stepped over the demolished front door and felt her breath catch in her throat. She blocked out the splattering of blood over the frame and in the hallway as she looked for signs of hope. She found it in the open weapon’s bag Spike kept near the couch. That had to be good, right?

It gave her a place to start. An understanding that whatever it was that had done this damage, she needed more than her bare hands to protect herself and fight the evil. Falling to her knees in a desperate speed induced by panic, Buffy swept most of the weapons aside. Nothing felt right; nothing fell into her hand like it was meant to be there. She felt restless and tingly with the need to grab and slash, but what could she do if it wasn’t right?

Buffy could feel a hum around her as she stood again in the middle of the room, the furniture swirling around her in an escalating pace until she fell sideways, grabbing her head even as she collapsed on the couch. The weakness disappeared almost as suddenly as her palm brushed against something hard and cold. She gasped as her fingers tingled and her palm burned against the metal, even as her hand curled around it and pulled the sword from its hasty cover of cushions.

It made her feel euphoric, more confident than she’d ever been. She felt invulnerable, powerful. She felt like the Slayer in need of her mate. And that thought brought back all the fear that had hit her as soon as she‘d gained the top of the stairs.

“Spike.” She could barely push his name through lips gone stiff with terror.

She’d felt this before, this numbing panic that she wouldn’t be able to do anything, despite who she was.

Dawn.

Her baby sister being taken by Glory and Buffy’s all-consuming fear that she’d killed her own flesh and blood by not being able to protect her. Deep in her gut she knew that this was all down to Angelus. Her former had taken her lover and gifted him to his insane ex. Buffy couldn’t let them win, couldn’t let them take away the one man who truly did love her. The one man that had healed her heart and been there for her when everyone else hadn’t been.

The power of the sword surged through her again, like a reminder it was there, the simple jewel pattern that adorned it sparkling even in the dark. It gave movement to her feet and she felt herself move with determination to the door, then through it and down the stairs, back into the receding night.

First, she had to get to Giles and find out what happened about the soul restoration spell and Jenny, then it was on to save her lover. Save her vampire. His new classification made both incarnations of Buffy smile. Even as the damage from resurrected Buffy had faded with the merge, those memories had lingered and made her smile more difficult to utilise. But it was Spike, and knowing that he was hers, theirs, deserved the biggest smile she could come up with.

All he had to do was hold on and wait. She was coming for him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He’d blocked it all out. The cackling of his evil ex got on his nerves in a way that had never happened to him before, and as she giggled away while Angelus tore out throat after throat of a multitude of victims lined against the wall, all stripped naked so he could cut them, fuck them, make them bleed and scream in the way cowards like best, Spike closed his eyes and ears and tried to think of Buffy.

He felt sick. This had been him, only a few years ago. Maybe not to the degree of torture and depravity, but he’d fed from humans for over a century. The thought of it now, of treating people in the way Angelus was right in front of him, made him want to lose everything in his stomach. That in itself said a lot as he hadn’t eaten for days.

Only blood—crimson strength that had steadily vacated his body with every slice, despite the almost immediate healing. He was back to looking pretty, but it was his heart that hurt now. Hurt for the pain this would have on his Slayer, the knowledge that even if she now hated him she would still march to the rescue, if only to take out Angel. And Spike was past defending the poof. He’d been just as vicious when he’d lost his soul in Spike’s original timeline, but being still evil and consigned to the status of invalid, Spike had hardly batted an eye. Now he knew intimately the beating hearts that his sire and grandsire were eager to snuff out with a well placed bite.

Anya was crying silently along beside him, no doubt counting the minutes down of her life.

“You won’t really eat me, will you, Spike?”

He looked at her, incredulous that she could even think what the great walloping wanker had threatened was true.

“O’ course I bloody well will. You’re a right tasty looking bint. ‘Sides, your continuous yapping about getting me to take back a wish THAT WASN’T EVEN BLEEDING WELL POSSIBLE is what got me in this mess in the first place. That neck of yours deserves a good chew.”

He slumped back on the wall and hung his head in irritated defeat. Who was he trying to kid? He wasn’t even fierce enough to scare the willies out of a dog these days. Still, he took comfort in Harris’s demon bird’s sniffles as she took his bravado to heart.

“Oh God, I’m going to die and I didn’t even get to have one more orgasm with Xander. He’ll go on living having many, many horrible orgasms with Cordelia because Buffy will kill Angel and Cordelia won’t take off for fame and fortune in LA. Which you know is code for her being a loser and ending up working for Angel, don’t you?”

For a moment Spike was amused. “Yeah, code. Sure. That’s what it was.” His chuckle came to a painful end as he felt nails dig into his gut, the skin parting in screaming pain as more blood flowed between Drusilla’s delving fingers. It was too much like Glory, and hurt as much of a bitch as that time.

“Dru! Get your dirty claws out of me, you bitch,” he hissed at her, too overcome with tearing pain to do anything with more impact

“Oh tut tut, you bad dog. Miss Edith said you were all shiny inside. She whispered it to me while I poured her tea, but she was too excited about seeing you sparkle to drink.” Dru pouted at him, her fingers twitching as they searched blind.

He felt her fingers latch onto the curve of the ring, tug it from the gristle of muscle tissue and blood that held it safe no longer. It tore as it left him and he could feel the overwhelming pain as his insides were ruined, treated like he was just meat on a hook to carve and form in whichever way was needed.

Dru giggled as she stepped away, leaving her childe hanging limply as wounds that had almost healed broke open and began to bleed again to the floor.

“Daddy, I’ve found it. My Spike thought it was hidden but Miss Edith could see behind his lies. He must be punished, grrrrr.”

Angelus snatched the ring impatiently from Dru’s hand and slid it over his big beefy finger. There it sat, a green jewel that glowed for its new owner.

“How did it go, William? Can walk in the sun, can’t be killed? I think I’m gonna love getting to know the world in the daylight. Far more little brats out and about. Succulent and the fear….oh, but a vamp can’t help but love the fear.”

“You truly are a sick fuck.”

Angelus stared at Spike hard, surprise completely taking over his distracted enjoyment of his new prize.

“Well, yeah. Is your demon defective or something? It’s what we do, William. What we are.”

“It’s Spike, you pillock, and I’ll never be like you. Only a raving lunatic could be as cowardly and cruel as you are, and you’ve already got her hanging off your every word.”

A grin of pure malice curled the thin lips belonging to Angelus as he caressed the ring before drawing back his fist and punching Spike hard in the chest. The hurting vamp grunted as he slumped heavier in his chains, almost feeling the indentation of his smashed ribcage. Then a handful of his hair was twisted hard, almost springing free of his scalp as he strained his head to follow the pulling action of his captor.

“’Bout time you remember who your family is, Boy. I’ve no time for your idiot word games. We’ll torture this love crap out of you yet. That’ll make Dru happy to have her baby boy back.” Angelus released Spike’s hair with a final thrust forward, smashing his grandchilde’s skull into the wall behind him. He walked away as Spike began to cough up blood, his body trembling against the abuse.

Dru stepped up and let her nails wander over the flesh of his chest, giggling all the while as blood beaded on his skin and began to flow.

“Let him go, you crazy bitch.” Anya swallowed hard as the brunette did let go of her prize catch and diverted her attention to the new girl.

“Foolish girls can easily lose their tongues.” Dru clicked hers at the again ex-demon before swirling her skirts like a child as she spun before them, stopping suddenly and skipping after her daddy.

“Not wise to put yourself in the firing line, pet. You bleed now. Try’n remember that, yeah?”

Anya nodded, even as her tears began to flow anew and she waited again for the inevitable—her time to die. In the time between when Spike disappeared in the eyes of the Scoobies and when he began to change the timeline, she’d seen Tara die and things go to hell. It had been days, and then things began to change, but still, that feeling of death was too fresh. She’d been there when they’d all mourned the passing of Joyce, and then so soon after Buffy, and now she couldn’t help but feel like it was her turn and what had she done? Got herself stranded in a world that didn’t know her. With a Xander that didn’t love her as well as think her a stranger.

She had no one to mourn her human existence.

She would die most likely, and no one would care.

“I’d care, luv. Don’t fret. We’ll get out of this somehow.”

Anya blanched as Spike spoke through his dribbling blood, but she smiled at the sentiment, only realising with his affirmation that she wouldn’t be a nothing when dead that she’d spoken her fears aloud.

And who could blame her for clinging to his suggestion of rescue? It was all she had in this time. She was going to hold onto that hope with both hands.

And pray for Buffy’s swift arrival.


 

Jenny was unnerved.

Even with Rupert returned, she couldn’t get rid of this sense of foreboding that they could well be too late. To retrieve the second orb from his desk would take a mad dash into the emerging morning and even the light and strengthening rays of sunshine did little to stop her heart from pounding. It was irrational, and perhaps she could blame it all on adrenaline, but she knew in her gypsy heart that one way or another, it would end today. The cloud of horror they had all been existing under for these months was about to come crashing to a finale and she just didn’t know what her part would be in it.

She could take all the precautions under the sun and still it wasn’t enough to make her feel safe. Only the eradication of Angel would do that for her, and not for the first time she had to wonder at the reasoning of her ancestors—to choose to curse the creature that had destroyed her family, her clan by taking away their most loved, rather than just wipe him out completely. Where did it serve to offer a loophole to a monster such as Angelus?

Every sharp noise made her jump. Even as she watched Rupert putting together a strong cup of tea, she flinched as the teacup met the saucer. When he carried in a tray laden with sweet tea and some snacks to take the edge off the long night, she shook as the teaspoons clattered against the surface.

But when the front door crashed open and slammed against the wall, she was already on her feet and screaming.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Buffy ran.

She pushed her legs as fast as they would go so she could eat up the seconds with every step. She had to get to Giles; she needed back-up and she needed explanations. She needed to know what had happened to Xander and whether Ms. Calendar was okay.

The sun had become stronger as she made her way through the streets of Sunnydale, so when the tingle telling her a vampire was near, she almost collapsed in relief. The blow to her back was her first clue of a vital mistake. Angelus almost glided around in front of her to gloat as she braced herself for further impact. Her sword lay beside her, jarred from her hand as the kick had propelled her to her knees. Her palm and fingers claimed it back as she slowly and warily regained her feet and watched her enemy. He glared at her weapon even as he maliciously growled at her.

“Look at me, little girl. Do I look even better in the sun?”

“Truthfully? You look like crap. You’re a bit on the pale side and you should really get some sunglasses cause that funky squint you got there is so not attractive. Guess the glare must be gettin’ to ya.”

And then she struck, a spin kick that made his head jolt back even as he swung his body back towards her. She held her sword back, waiting for the time it would help—maybe if she sliced his enormous head off it would actually kill him.

The trade of blows were fast and frightening, many passers-by up for early morning strolls running in fright from the violent couple. The fight uncovered secrets that new and improved Buffy had no knowledge of; Angelus was fighting to win. Fighting to kill. Her past with Spike and this ring now showed that he was playing—not as determined to wipe the world of another Slayer as his boasting tongue had implied. It made Buffy smile even as her body was weakening and barely holding the invulnerable vamp off from claiming her throat.

A high-pitched scream made her jump and step back as a startling blur of Xander came thumping out of nowhere. His body slammed into Angelus, his own sword becoming lodged in the vampire’s thigh even as the momentum of the collision took Angelus into the passage of a speeding car. He hit it hard and flew several feet in the air.

Buffy wasn’t about to wait to see what the result of that kind of impact would have. There was no point wasting escape time to see if the invulnerable vamp would succumb to even a minor injury. Instead, Buffy flung Xander over her shoulder and was running again. She felt rather than heard the pursuit of the vampire, spurning her to up her pace until she slowed to slam open Giles’s door and fall into safety.

Invulnerable apparently still needed an invitation, Buffy acknowledged with a smirk as Angelus slammed hard into the barrier, his fury obvious in the feral snarls and sharp fangs he flashed at them. He started punching at the outer walls, making holes even as his hand couldn’t pass through them. He roared and then visibly pulled himself back from total animalistic outrage.

And then the facts clicked in for Buffy. He was standing in daylight, not even a tiny whisp of smoke indicating his reasoning behind two centuries of sun phobia. Angelus had the ring—the ring that had been sitting inside Spike’s belly and keeping him safe for months. She thought she’d never be colder than when she first saw that he was missing, but this was too much.

“Oh God, what did you do?” She crawled her way to her knees like an old woman, her terror at losing Spike before he could know she loved him far too much for her youth to bear. Then her feet, an almost too weak shuffle closer to the barrier as she tried to find some trace of honesty in his malicious face. Some small evidence of decency, some small remainder of Angel’s kindness.

He held up his hand and waved the ring in her face.

“All I did, dear Buffy, was retrieve a little jewel that would serve me a whole lot better than wimpy William was using it for.” He grinned at her, feeding off her misery as he almost strutted with his success, black leather swirling around him like the evil cape that it was.

“Oh God, tell me you didn’t dust him.” Tears were obscuring her view, but she saw the small glint of malice even as she tried to force herself to ignore it.

“If you insist. I didn’t dust him. I let Dru do that. Her call, being that she sired the idiot in the first place.”

“No,” Buffy called out, hands covering her face as her body collapsed into Giles’s arms.

“We gave him a choice,” Angelus shrugged, like any offer from him was a gift. “To join up with us again, wreak havoc and make the streets bleed. But, he just didn’t seem up to it. Laughed at us, he did. Made Dru lose her temper a bit.”

“Get away from my home, you pillock.”

Angelus laughed as he backed up, then turned abruptly and strode off out of their view.

“And watch your bloody back, wanker,” Giles whispered after him, holding Buffy as she sank into despair. “Right. It would appear that our position has become rather precarious. We need to reinstate his soul or we aren’t going to make it.”

“Yeah, gonna have to agree with you on that one, G-man. I don’t think Buffy can keep surviving a vamp she can’t hurt. So, what do we have to do?”

“We need your orb from the school, Rupert.” Jenny’s voice was quiet as she came up to them, inching forward to close the door against the world.

“Whoa. Did you not notice the big scary vampire with the ring of ‘nothing can kill me’ that just herded us in here like sheep? How are we gonna get to the school without becoming vamp chow?”

“As usual, Xander, you have outlined our problem with such panache. Obviously, we are going to have to have Buffy defend us while we collect the orb and then come back here. Jenny can then do the spell while the three of us go and see if that lying twit is actually telling the truth about Spike.” His own voice was hard, trying to hold back the pain losing the bleach-haired vampire made him feel.

Giles watched his slayer carefully, his brow furrowing in thought. He shook her gently, rousing her from her state of numbing grief.

“Come on, Buffy. We might not have much time.”

She moaned as he shifted her position on the floor, making her support more of her own weight as he tried to get her to come out of her state and help them get organised. She blinked against her many tears and Giles sighed in relief.

“I’m okay, but that son of a bitch is dust, so help me.” Her voice was crackling with her grief, not confirmed but real, even if her love still unlived or not. Spike had to have been tortured for Angelus to have that ring, and even if he’d had the good sense to keep Spike alive, he was so going down.

“We should all stick together. Even if he follows us…er, where are we going again?” She was distracted, obviously imagining the pain she was going to inflict.

“Buffy, did Spike by any chance ever bite you?”

“What?” Her eyes were round, looking at her Watcher disbelievingly, wondering at his complete lack of worry at the possible answer to his question. “Why are you asking me that now?”

“S-sometimes, a victim can feel through the bite the one that made the mark. I-I just thought that if Spike had ever bitten you, you could perhaps tell if he was still alive.”

“No,” Buffy said through the clog of emotion in her throat. “We were waiting for my birthday. You know, as a gift to both of us. I can’t feel him at all.” And she finally broke down and sobbed into her open palms.

Giles patted her awkwardly on the back and felt tears gather in his own eyes, pushing them back for when they had proof, one way or the other.

“Come now, Buffy. He may not have been dusted, and we are wasting time. We may yet be able to save him.”

She wiped her eyes and tried to hold the urge to continue crying. “Okay, lets get going then. We’ll get this funny ball thingy and get Angel back his soul. Then he can give me the ring back and I am going to stake his ass.”

Giles flinched at the cold stare she gave her weapon and wondered aloud, “But Buffy, surely if Angel has his soul back, you won’t need to kill him.”

She felt the struggle within—a Slayer without a history of loyalty and another who couldn’t forgive the games a second time around. Okay, so it was more of a struggle against the slayer and doing the right thing. If he had a soul, Buffy knew he was capable of doing good things. He held the tide of evil back in LA while she controlled it over the Hellmouth. Maybe she would alter too much the balance by killing him, but God she wanted to. If Spike was dust, then it might not even be an issue. She didn’t think the Powers would go out of their way to bring back a vamp without a soul, even though he had done as many selfless world savey things as Angel had with the benefit of one.

“Fine. But he better not get in my way. Let’s go.”

Buffy was again strong on her feet, determination and anger guiding her steps as she carefully led the small procession out of the building and to Giles’s car. Even if Angel was chasing them, she doubted that he could overtake them if they were driving.

Once the car started and sputtered down the road, she readjusted that assumption and groaned out loud.

“Ever thought of a vehicle upgrade, Giles?” Xander beat her to the punch and it brought a pout to her lips. Still, her eyes were actively looking out for any extremely pale people sporting the biker look.

They reached the school with no incident and quickly retrieved the orb. They all practically ran back to the car, grateful that it was still too early for students to throng in the halls and nazi principles were still munching on their immoral breakfasts. Not once did Buffy feel a tingle at the base of her neck—not once feeling the threat on their lives. Safely back inside, Giles set about helping Jenny reorganise for the spell casting and Buffy paced, feeling caged and unsteady about the lack of Angelus. It could only mean that he was at his lair and there was a reason for him to be there. It gave Buffy hope that Spike might still be there, but every second added to the torture Angelus was more than likely inflicting.

“Okay, are you guys ready?”

“What about Willow?” Xander reminded and Buffy felt herself falter.

Willow wasn’t powerful here. She wasn’t a witch, but she could help Jenny. Then again, maybe it would be best to take things slowly and let Willow miss this little match.

“No time,” she answered. “Willow is safe for now, and I just want to give Spike that same opportunity. We can do this. Jenny will give Angel back his soul and we’ll stop this. It’s over today.”

Xander nodded, his face solemn in the face of the threat to his landlord—to his friend. The soulless vampire who gave him safety and security in his home. He’d laugh at the irony once they had the bloodsucker safe and sound.

Giles gathered up his own stash of stakes and crosses, passing a large one to Xander and replenishing his now empty sword hand with a shorter blade. Longer than a knife, it was big enough for Xander to not feel his manliness threatened in the least.

With a small nod to Jenny, Giles reassured himself she could do it and they were gone, leaving the gypsy woman to tilt the scale and give them a chance. And as long as Angelus didn’t burn his flat down, she should be safe while she was doing it.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Piss…off—” coughed Spike as Angelus punched him in the guts once again. Blood poured from the wound already in his belly, his skin scorched around the cuts where Angelus had tried to cauterize the wound. He’d been disappointed when Spike hadn’t gone up in flames. But he waved around an old-fashioned torch, waiting for his next round of hit-and-miss.

“Really, William. That is no way to talk to your elders.” Dru eyed the chains, smiling serenely at her childe as he hung limp and done against their tension.

“It is if they’re bloody senile, an’ if you think I’m gonna eat one of Buffy’s friends then you’re barmy.” The extra long sentence exhausted him, crippled him more and took every bit of strength. He had struggled all this time to stay conscious, not wanting to leave Demongirl on her own to face her own round of torture.

And she would.

As soon as Angelus stopped having fun with him, she’d be next. But he could feel himself slipping, his eyelids getting harder to hold open despite the bloody great glare of the fire that was getting closer and closer to his body.


“Wish you’d taken me up on my offer now? None of this would have been happening.” Anya still acted put out, despite the fact that she was in an extremely precarious position.

“No, you’re right. It’d be bleeding worse. Thanks, pet.” And his struggle was almost at an end, the droop of his lids longer and heavier.

The torch arced closer and was about to make contact with his hair when a great flash reflected off something straight into the remaining narrow slit of his eye.

“Arghhhh,” screamed Angelus as he clutched at the stump of his arm, the torch now clattering too close to Spike’s feet. The brunette stumbled backwards, staring almost hypnotised at the spurting blood from his forearm.

“How?” he spluttered, tears in his eyes.

Buffy rushed forward and kicked the torch away, quickly kissing Spike’s bloodied lips and forcing the cries of rage back as she wanted to rip Angelus apart. Then she leaned down and picked up the hand, feeling her blood heat with fury that she hadn’t been lucky enough to cut the hand off that wore the ring, and then dropped Angelus’s flesh back to the dirty floor.

“Giles, stand here. Don’t let Dru or any of their minions come anywhere near Spike.” She didn’t take her eyes off her enemy even once, staring at him with cold intent. “Xander, you come here and guard Anya.”

“Oh Buffy, you remember me?” The ex-demon grinned, feeling happy that she was back with Xander, and a young virile Xander, too.

“Why wouldn’t I? And I’ll be sure to have a chat to you later about trying to trick people into making vengeance wishes against…certain people.”

Anya swallowed guiltily. “Not a demon now,” she affirmed while waving a chained arm in the air. “Can’t kill me.”

“Of course not, Anya. But I’m gonna kill him.” She pointed her sword at Angelus and took a step forward, almost groaning when he quickly jumped up and gained his own weapon.

“Nah uh uh, baby. Not if I kill you first.”

“I just cut your hand off. I’m thinking I might just have a chance.”

Buffy sustained the first blow, her sword clanging against the clashing metal of Angelus’s sword. The blades slashed impressively through the air, gashes appearing over bodies and leaving bright trails of red as the blood began to run.

When she’d staked Spike when he wore the ring, it hadn’t even bled. The wound had healed immediately upon itself, yet she was cutting Angelus with this sword, could feel the power zing through her body each time it made contact and wondered if Spike maybe got it from the same tomb he’d recovered the gem.

As she continued to fight, it seemed to have more impact that any normal weapon. It stabbed into his body and the gem was failing to heal the vampire, weakening him with his battle wounds rather than making his invulnerability matter.

Buffy grinned. She held the one and only natural weapon to the gem in her hand and Spike had kept it hidden for her. It could only mean he was going to give it to her as a gift. Only he would think a weapon as a present would be romantic. Though it was shiny.

The tide was more than held as she could inflict slowing marks on her opponent, getting angrier and angrier as she took small looks at a beaten and unconscious Spike. Her arm felt a burst of energy as Angelus fell to the floor on his back, gasping for unneeded air. Buffy lined the tip of her sword over his chest and readied for the final thrust.

But then the glow—she’s seen it before when they’d stood in front of an opened Acathla, hell beckoning just as Angel regained his soul. That possession hadn’t saved him then; it was yet to be decided if it would save him now.

While he was hurting, struggling with the reality of his many changes, Buffy quickly bent forward and took the ring from his finger, feeling nothing as she stood and turned her back. This time there were no tears of pain for having to do her job, no gratitude that she had her Angel back. This time there was Spike. Loyal, supportive Spike who had done so much for her, both pre-wish and post.

Buffy rushed to him, letting him lean against her body as she placed the ring on his finger. She sobbed in relief as the wounds on his body slowly closed, though his lethargy and weakness took much longer. She watched him, confused to why he wasn’t getting strong and fully healed like he had the other times.

“He’s lost too much blood,” Anya pointed out matter-of-factly and Buffy felt her own stupidity.

Turning her back on a room of vamps was a mistake. Buffy felt it the second Dru dived for her throat, her nails causing a slit to the side of her neck before the vampiress was pushed off the Slayer and slammed to the floor. In seconds Giles was over her, a cold emotionless face as he thrust the stake into her chest, dust billowing around him and then quite calmly settling to the stone floor.

Spike jerked as his sire departed the world, his lids pushed opened in determination to see the last of the strongest link to who he was. The bond dissipated a lot less painfully than he had always suspected it would and he felt himself drawn to the sliver of blood on Buffy’s neck like a thirsty man in the desert.

Just a taste was all he needed, but he could never take without asking. Buffy saw the focus of his eyes and felt the tingle of both love and awareness. And she turned her head, pushing his mouth to the small flow of blood, trusting that he wouldn’t take this opportunity to sink in his fangs. He licked her flesh, healing the small wound even as he consumed her blood. Her body felt every tease and she broke out into goosebumps. She cried out her relief into his throat.

They shook against each other, Buffy only aware of his tearful murmurings into her throat as she calmed herself down. “So sorry, baby. Love you. So sorry.”

Her tearstained face pulled back to look at him hard, take in the minor marks still visible from his ordeal. Buffy rested her open palm against his cheek lightly, feeling the reassuring cool against her skin as she looked into his eyes and saw what she had always seen—but refused to let her heart acknowledge.

“There’s no need for sorry, okay. We’ll talk later. When we get you home.”

He nodded at her, his eyes betraying a wariness that wasn’t that new and it made her heart hurt for all the pain she had put him through. Not yet. She’d let him see when they were alone. This was news too big for her to tell them all, and she just wanted to get away from Angel. Looking down she spied the severed hand, and in a petty manner kicked it over to her very big ex.

“Not sure how the whole vampire thing and losing limbs go, but here it is if you know how to fix it.” Then she ignored him, turning back to the job of freeing Spike from his chains.

“Oh, Angel had the keys, Buffy. Should be in his jacket.”

“Thanks, Ahn.” Buffy tossed the words over her shoulder at the captured woman as she marched to Angel’s side, not even looking at him as she forcefully searched his jacket pockets. Once she’d found them, she returned and found herself looking into stormy awe-filled blue.

“Buffy?” he asked and she kissed him, slow and deep and the way his Buffy had always done on the few occasions she’d decided to be soft.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” She waited for his confused nod and then released him from the chains, preventing his body from falling forward to the floor and into his sire’s dust.

Giles still stood watching the dust swirl around his feet, a look of blankness that Buffy could only interpret as him dealing with that link he mentioned—the victim and their strange bond to their attacker.

When Spike had steadied himself, she moved to release Anya, hugging the girl hard despite not ever being that friendly with her. She was the only link now for whole Buffy. Anya and Spike knew her entire history—not in the mode of a story, but in reality. It formed a bond she had never shared with the girl before. Even though she should be mad at them both for fooling around with her life and for Spike’s foolish delving into the wonkiness that was Anya’s wishes, she felt good.

Loved.

At home.

She felt like she had chances this time and it was all because of them. All because she’d crushed Spike’s heart and he’d succumbed to vengeance. Not that she could quite work out how that all went.

But just like Jenny had suspected, like Buffy had demanded, it was ended. Angel was for the moment safe, and she could look forward to years in Spike’s arms.

She lost herself in his gaze in a way that she’d never before allowed. She’d always been his, even when she’d been busy denying it.

She couldn’t wait for their future and all the chances she had to make up for it.

Spike had made her whole.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The darkened background hid the final figure of the evil team, shielding Ethan from the occupied saviours as he slipped out of the factory and sought his freedom as far away from Sunnydale as he could get. Running from the carnage and biding his time for another day, ideas already swirling in his head as he disappeared.

“Surprise!”

Buffy jumped at the shock of sound that greeted her on her first step into Spike’s place.

“You guys know that surprising a slayer is never a good thing, right?”

Only a jumble of laughter met her claim and she was guided straight away to cake and presents, everyone seemingly in a rush for her to celebrate her birthday. And within an hour they were all out the door—her mother, Giles, Ms. Calendar with a very happy smile on her face, a cranky Cordelia gripping the arm of an uncomfortable Angel—sans hand—Willow and her new date, Oz, and last but not least, a beaming Xander being led by a rather forceful Anya. They were carrying an overnight bag as they followed the others out into the brisk night.

Spike slammed the door closed behind them, then moved a heavy cupboard behind it. Buffy raised a confused brow and waited impatiently for his explanation.

“Only Peaches could crack through that one. Not taking any bleeding chances. Tonight, the Slayer is off duty!”

Buffy grinned and launched herself into his arms, her legs winding around his lower body like she had done the first time they’d been together, though this time was slower, less impulse driven and stamped with the approval of love.

When their lips finally met it was like an explosion of memory and experience. It was the culmination of years of miss-match and misunderstanding.

Buffy was through being lost. In his lips she found so much: safely, security, wealth, knowledge. But most of all, in Spike she found love. She found a vampire who struggled against his nature to be worthy of love. He struggled against his third slayer to prove his worth.

All of her loved him. The Buffy who tauntingly held her slender neck out to him while he sat chained and starving in a tub—loved him. The Buffy who craved his presence over and above her friends when they ripped her out of Heaven—loved him. The Buffy that beat him to a pulp and left him to greet the sun in a dirty alley—so loved him. Loved him so much it almost hurt to not touch him. She tried to make him see it all with her lips, know her heart by the way her flesh soothed him.

Buffy’s body slid down Spike’s slowly, sensually as she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to her with so much more emotion than he had ever been used to. Her tongue licked his at a leisurely pace, feeling the heat of her mouth cool against his. The way he kissed her made her body burn, made her tremble in want and frustration that he wasn’t inside her quick enough.

But that wasn’t what it was about tonight. Tonight was her birthday and she had promised him something. Had been looking forward to it for months and on too many occasions had almost given in. When Spike let his lips softly fall from hers, Buffy felt like she’d been stampeded by a herd of angels. So light, yet beaten with his kindness, with the purity of his love.

“Promise I’ll be everything you deserve, Buffy. I’ll go to the ends of the earth to be what you need.”

The declaration was a shock. Buffy stepped back and felt fear creep up inside her, felt the ever-present tears push at her throat to make her weak.

“What are you talking about? You’re already everything I need. I don’t want you to change to be better for me. What makes you think it isn’t me that needs to change to be deserving of you? You never beat me up and left me to die.”

She’d finally revealed it to him, the insecurity that came with being both Buffy’s at once. She saw that he understood within a second. She’d avoided talking about what had happened when she’d left him, hadn’t told him that she knew everything. That she had become whole.

His sudden look of guilt made her gasp.

“Buffy, I’m a bad rude man. I don’t deserve you. I said you belonged in the dark because I was afraid of what I would have to do to stand in the light. I’m not afraid anymore.”

His meaning almost shocked her to her knees. “Are you talking about your soul?”

His uncertain nod made her feel sick.

“No! Stop it. How could you let me do this to you?”

“Buffy, what? You didn’t—”

“You’re good, Spike! You saved Giles’s life. You gave Xander a place to belong and be safe. You gave me back my life; you healed me. Your heart is so big, Spike. Why do you think you need a soul? To prove to me you’re good?”

Another of those nods and Buffy couldn’t help but fall to the floor and cry, remnants of old broken Buffy finally realising what she did to the man she loved.

“Please don’t do this. I love who you are. What you’ve done. Having a soul couldn’t have made you any more perfect. You did it all on your own. You’re demon did it all on its own. A soul has nothing else to offer you, Spike. Can’t you just keep being who you are and love me?”

It was a moment like when he’d first spied her alive on her stairs, that feeling of awe as he watched the one he thought never to see again come back to him.

“How did it happen?” His eyes were filled with tears, letting him just watch her hoping and waiting with an ache in his heart.

“After I saw you with Anya I went to Giles. He took me on the quest in the desert. You know, like the night you got the bot?” She couldn’t hold back the giggle as he immediately looked to the floor and put his hands in his pockets. Her hands itched to touch him, and her arms ached to hold him. “You never knew, but that first time I went was because I thought I’d lost the ability to love. My guide told me I was full of love and that death was my gift.”

His eyes met hers in an alert urgency, fear obvious in their shine.

Buffy nodded. “She said that death is my gift again. Last time I died to save Dawn. This time, they gave me you.”

She was going to get high on that look. Every time he shot her with awe, she was going to float.

“That’s not all,” she warned against his smile, sighing happily as he finally took her into his arms and squeezed her as tight as all worthy superheros could. She whispered the secret in his ear, feeling comfortable for the first time with Willow bringing her back from the dead. Buffy had been given life four times: by her mother, by Xander, by Willow and then finally, by Spike. He may not have inspired her breath as the other three, but he had made her heart beat and forced her to open her eyes to the glare. And now she had the gift of immortality—the gift of belonging forever to the one who deserved it the most.

Buffy hadn’t been prepared for his shaking body. She already felt weak with happiness, so when his knees gave out she couldn’t hold them both up. They landed on the floor with Spike crying into her neck.

“Ssh, “ she murmured, stroking his back even as she fought to keep her own eyes dry. “I love you, Spike. This Buffy, and the Buffy you left behind. All of me belongs to you. I want to do what we talked about. Please?”

“Are you sure it’s what you want, pet?”

“What are you? Crazy vamp? This is so what I want it isn’t even funny. Besides, you didn’t even give me a birthday present.” And she levelled him with a pout.

“Is that my lip?” he asked with a narrow fascination.

“Could it be anybody else’s? You gonna get it?” She squealed as he took her, mashing his mouth against hers even as she angled them back. His body moved over hers to push her into the carpet, his lips nibbling and rubbing over hers as her tongue added a slick wash over their flesh. She sucked his tongue into her mouth and feasted hungrily, feeling it all as his hard body made her ache to feel his skin.

As his tongue swiped over her teeth, her body began to fidget, to almost hum beneath him as her fingers found the edges of clothing that needed to be so gone. He let go of the suction on her mouth as she tore his t-shirt over his head, bracing himself against the floor as he lifted himself up slightly and her busy fingers released the zip on his jeans. A little shimmy, a bit of grunting and he was naked—gloriously hard and ready.

Buffy was already sliding off her shoes, scratching the itch on her back as she wriggled against her skirt and then Spike was ripping her top down the centre. As his lips latched around an eager nipple, Buffy clung to his hair and ground her pelvis into the hard column of his cock. Damn it, they just weren’t aligned right. She could feel the slow seep of his anxiety to feel her rubbing into her skin, and she wanted it lower, needed him to slip against and inside her.

So, she moved. Forcefully dragged him up and wound her legs around his waist, directing him straight into the comfort of her body. She sighed as he slipped against her, the ride smooth and slow, never allowing her eyes to miss any of his wonderful expressions as he grasped it all. This Buffy. His Buffy. Forever.

He stilled inside her, breathing hard against her throat as he took it all in.

“I can’t believe this. This is really happening?”

He began to move inside her in time to her affirmative nod, the happiness engulfing them both as Buffy kissed every inch of his skin she could reach.

“Yes. It really is.”

The build-up was different this time, more intense maybe for knowing what was to come next. Two sets of fangs had laid claim to her throat, but neither time was it what she wanted. She was not quite so naïve as her younger self, not believing the honour of being chosen unless love came with it.

This time, it was beyond honour. Was beyond the purest form of love. Beyond them as she felt the smallest prick in her throat, felt his cool lips settle around the penetration, and her head and heart buzzed with the sense of bliss she felt. She could feel Spike’s tongue as he gently lathed the skin, encouraging the blood to flow without him actively sucking on it. Her pussy tightened around him, feeling the gush of her blood as he pulsed against her walls. They’d barely raised an energetic sweat this time, but the intensity broke cold prickles on her skin.

And then she felt it. Felt every element of herself, felt the vulnerabilities of her lover as he joined his existence to the duality of hers. Felt his soul as he merged his essence—completed his journey. Like it was always supposed to have been, though she’d been too wounded, damaged to see it. And he’d been too scared to change for it. Tried to take the easy way, only for the difficulties to mount. A second chance had brought understanding and knowledge all round.

And then he came, the cold spurt of him making her muscles release the tension and milk him avidly.

Her look of awe made him float.





FIN
 

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