Wherever You will Go
by Spuffylovingjess

Chapter One

“Buffy!”

Buffy’s head snapped toward the direction of Spike’s pained cry, immediately alarmed by the desperate tone in his voice, a tone she had never heard him use.  He was brave, a hero and a champion who rarely gave in to pain or fear.  So to hear him cry out in such an urgent manner had Buffy fearing the worst.

“Spike!” She cried, terrified for him as she saw a brilliant orange light shoot from the amulet, Spike caught in its radiance as it single-handedly dusted every Turok-Han in the Hellmouth and the earth began to rumble ominously.

She heard Faith’s orders echo, clear and commanding, “Everybody out now!”

But at the sight of Spike’s condition Buffy’s heart skipped, her stomach clenched, and she dashed to Spike’s side in haste, Faith’s demand falling on deaf ears.  Buffy watched helplessly while Spike trembled from a pain the growing power of the amulet bestowed upon him. 

It was then that she knew.  She could see it in his eyes, could feel it in her soul.  Spike was going to die.   The man who had stuck by her though thick and thin, who believed in her even when she found it hard to believe in herself, who had been through hell and back to become worthy of her love, who now stood before her drenched in light, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.

The man that she loved.

But as she reached for his hand, trying to interlace her fingers through his, she gasped in horror as it crumbled to dust before her eyes; skin, muscle, and bone disintegrating under her touch. 

Her champion.  Her friend.  Her love.

Reduced to a pile of ashes.



It was the same dream Buffy had been having since that fateful day.  She saw their last moments together over and over again in her dreams, the fire dancing before her eyes.  It always ended the same way: hands torn apart, watching him melt away, seeing his skin slowly fade to ashes that scattered throughout the Hellmouth.

Spike would have wanted her to be happy.  She knew that.   But her heart still ached from her loss.  She wondered where he was now, if he could see her, and witness the pain she was feeling. 

Her resolve to be happy had crumbled almost the second the bus pulled away from the gargantuan crater formerly known as Sunnydale.  It was then the tears started flowing, and at the time she had felt like they would never stop.

Of course, she did stop crying eventually, but never the hurting.  Not completely.

Buffy loved her friends and family, loved her new-found freedom from the slayer burden, loved the whole new world of opportunities opened to her as a result.  In all, life was good.  It was now pleasant and peaceful, surrounded by loved ones, not much to complain about.


But she still felt incomplete, like a piece of her was missing.  There were times when she’d be laughing with her friends, enjoying a night on the town, when she could momentarily forget the ensuing emptiness inside.  But the second she’d arrive home and slide under the covers, the familiar ache would return in a flash, hitting her like a steel weight. 

Even though Buffy was dating the Immortal.  Who her friends had set her up with in an attempt to help her move on, to help her forget about Spike.

As if she ever could.

Buffy felt happier when she was with the Immortal.  He treated her well, gave her everything she wanted or needed, and she loved him.

But she was never in love with him.

Which is why she had broken up with him just two days ago.  She told him she still wanted to be friends, that she enjoyed his company, but that he deserved more.  He deserved someone who could reciprocate his feelings, which Buffy couldn’t.  At least not right then.

She still found herself yearning for more, despite knowing she should move on.  But something deep down in her gut told her she couldn’t move on just yet.  She sensed something, could feel something coming.  A mere whisper of a thought in the back of her mind that refused to cease, despite her best efforts. 

Her friends would think it was a pipe dream, an unhealthy hope and obsession, so she kept it to herself.  For now, at least. 

Buffy wandered outside to the balcony, leaning against the railing as she hugged her robe tighter around her body.  Every night she looked up to the sky, gazing at the stars bright against the darkness of night, and wondered if somewhere at that very moment, by some miracle, Spike was doing the exact same thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    The stars twinkled brightly in the sky.  Spike sat on the steps, moonlight glistening in his platinum hair as he took a drag of his cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke, watched as it swirled and dissipated in the breeze.  He tilted his head, observing the sparkling orbs as he watched them glimmer, bright and serene.

    Drusilla had always loved the stars.  She pretended to see them even when she was indoors, during the daytime.  For years after she left him for the chaos demon, Spike used to do this exact thing, pining for her as he gazed at the stars and wallowed in his own misery.

    But as he looked up to the stars now, Drusilla wasn’t even a fleeting thought in his mind.  The cool breeze seemed to beckon to him, a faint whisper, repeating over and over again the one thing he felt would never cease to preoccupy his mind so readily.

    Buffy.

    The woman he loved, who would have his unbeating heart until the end of time.

    And within the next three days, he was going to see her again.

    He had made the decision to go to her after the battle with the senior partners.  He knew she was with the Immortal now, living in Rome, and he didn’t expect to start a relationship with her, still didn’t feel worthy of that.  She had moved on, and she was happy.  He was glad for her, hoping she would be radiant when he saw her, glowing.

Effulgent.

Part of him still wanted to back out of going, so he could still be remembered as the hero Buffy wanted him to be.  And besides, especially after going out in a blaze of glory, he didn’t want to just show up in her life now only to complicate things. 

Another nagging thought refused to cease tormenting Spike’s mind.  Did Buffy really love him?

He had wanted to believe her when she told him in the Hellmouth, saw that she was willing to stay there with him despite the crumbling walls that threatened to crush her at any moment.  But he started having doubts during his time at Wolfram and Hart. 

Was what Andrew said true?  Was she actually in love with him? He needed to find out for sure, though part of him was still terrified to discover the truth.

But after he almost died in that gruesome battle just three weeks ago, he felt he owed it to her to tell her everything, to give their relationship at least some closure before it was too late.  Plus, Spike also had the highly undesirable task of bearing bad news, horrible news that twisted his insides when he thought of the pain Buffy would feel upon hearing it.

Angel was dead.  He had been slain in the battle.

Damned fire breathing dragon was what got him.  Spike shuddered as he recalled the vision of his grand-sire set aflame, dying before his eyes.  Even while he was burning, Angel managed to deliver the coup-de-grace, sinking his sword into the dragon’s throat just before he dissolved into ashes. 

Spike felt he owed Buffy more than a phone call to tell her something of this magnitude.  He wanted to make sure she knew Angel died a hero, brave and valiant as he went down fighting, never ceasing in his efforts.  Spike mourned the loss of his grand-sire.  Granted, the great poof had been a bloody thorn in his side most of the time, and he often resented him for that.  But he still respected him, knew that deep down he was a good, noble man, though a royal pain in the ass.

Spike shifted his position to ground out the cigarette stub beneath his boot, his black duster rustling against the steps as he fidgeted.  He silently cursed the senior partners as he thought of all the damage they had done.

‘I hope the whole lot of ‘em are rotting in Hell for what they did, the whole damned bunch.’ He thought bitterly.

Spike suddenly realized the sun was beginning to make its presence known, light slowly creeping into the sky as dawn approached.  He stood, spun on his heel and walked inside to escape the sun’s rays, thinking of the journey ahead of him.

‘Well Goldilocks’, he thought wistfully, ‘Hope you’re open for visitors.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Next Day

“Dawn!”

No answer.

“Daaawwn!”

Still nothing.  Buffy stamped her foot impatiently.

“Dawn, if you don’t get your lazy butt down here right this second I swear I’ll- I’ll . . . . .I’ll do something you really won’t like.  A lot.”

‘Wow, way to sound threatening, Buffy’ she silently berated herself.

“Fine, fine, I’ll be right there!” Came the groggy response.

“Well, why don’t you ‘Be right here’ a little faster, ha? You overslept and you have to be to school in 30 minutes, so unless you feel like going in your pajamas I suggest you get up right now.”

There was no answer, only a loud thud followed by much shuffling and banging overhead.  Buffy smiled to herself as she pictured her sister scurrying about her room, frantically emptying drawers and pulling everything out of her closet in a desperate attempt to find the perfect outfit in less than 10 minutes.  It wasn’t too long ago Buffy had been a teenager herself, so she remembered what it was like.  Dawn was 17 now, a junior in high school.  Buffy shuddered at the thought of being in high school again.  Those weren’t exactly the greatest years of her life.

Dawn finally emerged down the stairs exactly 20 minutes later, wearing a fairly short black skirt and a soft blue sweater, her shiny brown hair down around her shoulders, grazing her waist.

“Oooh, you look nice.  I’m sure Diego will just love it.” Buffy teased.

Dawn blushed as she thought of her new crush, and punched her sister in the arm.  “Dork,” She muttered, rolling her eyes.

Buffy gave a mock-innocent grin.  “What, Diego’s cute! What with that adorable accent, and that cute smile he always flashes your way, and . . . .”

“Stop!” Dawn protested, turning beat red.  She grabbed her bag off the table and headed to the door.

“Fine, then.  Oh, and you better hurry.  You only have 10 minutes to get there.  Have fun!”

“Sure, whatever.”

Dawn paused to give her sister a hug before starting on her merry way. 

They were lucky enough to live very close to the school, so Dawn usually walked there every day.

Buffy realized she had to get a move-on herself, as she had to go to work soon.  She had gotten a job with the council, which was pretty ironic considering her inherent distrust of them in the past.  But since the battle with the First, everything was different.  Though the agents of the First had successfully weakened the council, killing most of its members and destroying all of their research, they had regrouped, calling members from all over the world to come to their aid.  Giles, being the remaining member with the most experience, was put in charge, and thus the council was reestablished.  Buffy’s job was to train the new potentials, monitor their abilities and report their progress to the council.  Potentials were put through what Buffy thought of as half boot camp, half school.  They were put through the ringer physically, and tested on their fighting skills.  Based on Buffy’s reports, the most skilled potentials were allowed to “graduate” and move on to more extensive training, and out of Buffy’s control, while the others had to stay until they passed as well.  Buffy sympathized with them when they became frustrated and she tried not to be too hard on them, though sometimes she had no choice.

Buffy went to make herself some tea, and she had just poured the water into the kettle when she heard a knock on her door.  She set the kettle on the stove and frowned, glancing at the clock over the kitchen doorway.

‘Wonder who that could be? Little early for visitors.’

And she certainly wasn’t expecting anyone.  Nevertheless, she padded over to the door and paused to glance through the peephole.  Immediately recognizing the person at the other side of the door, she swung it open to stare at the rather fatigued looking face of Andrew.

“Andrew, hi!” Buffy said, but hesitated before giving him a hug as she recognized the weariness in his features.  His clothes were rumpled and messy, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot.  “My God, you look like you haven’t slept in days! Is something wrong?”

She hadn’t seen him since he moved a few months back.  He had lived with her and Dawn for a while until he had the chance to get back on his feet, to establish a living.  Right after he moved from the apartment, Buffy and Dawn got word of their father’s death, and he had left them some money to go buy and actual house.  Neither girls took it that hard, since he had never been a part of their lives, but since he was their father they still felt some grieving was in order. 

But last she heard Andrew was doing great, starting his own business, so she wondered why he was in such a sad-looking state now.  Worry plagued her thoughts as she speculated what could possibly be wrong.

“Uh, Buffy.” Andrew finally spoke, “Can I come in?”
Buffy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.  “Um, yes.  Yes, of course.  Why don’t we go talk in the living room?”

Buffy stepped aside and Andrew nodded, brushing past her to move towards the living room.  Buffy frowned, closed the door behind him, and followed him into the room where he carefully sat on her leather couch, shifting uncomfortably as he played with the sleeve of his jacket.

“You, uh, want anything to eat?  Something to drink?”  Buffy offered.

“No, thanks.”

“Andrew . . . . .”

“Buffy,” he interrupted, “There’s something I never told you that maybe I should have, but I- um . . . . There’s- there’s something I think you should know.”

Buffy gulped, a lump in her throat and her stomach practically doing anxious back flips.  She really didn’t like the tone in his voice.

“Andrew, what . . . . .?”

“I’ve got some news, Buffy.  Big news.  You, uh, might wanna sit down for this.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sp-Spike?” Buffy repeated once Andrew finished his rather lengthy story, her face sheet-white.  “Survived?”

Andrew sighed.  “Buffy, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.  I really am.  But he made me promise not to- he said he’d take care of it.  I assumed he’d tell you, I never meant to keep it from you.”

Buffy didn’t respond, her eyes wide and unexpressive as she struggled to register this information.  So he didn’t die in the Hellmouth after all.  He was alive. 

Her vision became blurred with unshed tears, her emotions beginning to overtake her.

Andrew continued, oblivious to her tears.  “When he and Angel stopped by that week right before I moved, I thought that-“

“What!” Buffy cried, jumping up from the couch as her sorrow quickly faded.  She could feel her face turning red as her anger raised her blood pressure off the charts. “Angel and Spike were here? They came here, to this apartment, and no one told me?!”

She furiously paced the room, but stopped abruptly so as to catch Andrew in her death-glare, hoping it would scare the truth out of him.

“Y-yes,” He stammered, “They came because they heard about the Immortal.  They were worried because . . . . . .I guess they have some kind of history with him, some issues with him or something, and they didn’t trust him.  They thought he had you under some sort of love spell.  So I told them nope, no spells going on here, and assured them you were perfectly fine.  So, they left.”

“Oh no,” Buffy murmured, “So Spike thought I knew he was alive, and that I’d moved on . . . . Oh no.” She repeated, putting an exasperated hand to her forehead.

“But, but . . . . .Why didn’t Spike tell me he was alive? Why didn’t Angel? Why would he do such a stupid thing? Didn’t he know how much I missed him, didn’t he care?” Buffy began to sputter, her words angry and frustrated as she ranted, “Oh, when I get my hands on him I’m gonna kill him for not telling me.  Where is he? For that matter, where’s Angel? The two of them are so gonna get it for keeping this from me, and when I find them I’ll-“

“Buffy!” She finally realized Andrew had been calling her name.  “But that’s just it, that’s what I came to tell you.  You’re not gonna find them, you can’t.”

“What do you mean, I’m not going to find them?”

Andrew’s eyes filled with tears and he hung his head, dreading what he was about to say.

“You’re not going to find them, because they’re both dead.”

Chapter Two

The words hit her harder than Olaf’s troll hammer.

“Dead?” She squeaked, barely audible.  Her knees buckled and she sank into the chair.  “Both . . . .dead . . . . how?” She felt dizzy, nautious.  It was as though someone had driven a knife in her gut and was now twisting it for all they were worth.  Andrew looked upon her with sympathy, Knowing that the news hadn't exactly been easy for him to take in either. 

“Angel," He continued, "He went against the senior partners at Wolfram and Hart.  I, uh . . . . happen to know an - insider there who told me all this." Andrew momentarily averted his eyes, but not quickly enough to hide an unreadable flicker of emotion in his eyes as he said those words.  It was only for a split second, but Buffy noticed it nonetheless.  But she merely decided to shrug it off in light of the extenuating circustances as Andrew again continued speaking,  

"But anyway, the senior partners were evil, corrupt, and they did horrible things.  Unspeakable things.  Angel wanted to put a stop to it, and he tried to convince them he was on their side, so he could stop things from the inside.  But they found him out- discovered the truth.  Spike supported Angel, fought alongside him, and they were able to successfully defeat the senior partners, but not without a price.”

Andrew gulped as he paused to take a breath, his voice wavering slightly, “So, as punishment, the partners raised an army against them, an army of the worst kind.  Dragons, monsters, thousands of them . . . . .” His voice cracked, “And there were no survivors.”

He looked up at Buffy to see how she was taking the news, knowing it wouldn’t be easy for her, as it wasn’t for him.

Buffy was again out of her seat in a flash, waving her arms around wildly as she paced the room and attempted to grasp the situation and absorb all that Andrew had just revealed.

“Angel, Spike, dead? But, they can’t be . . . . .  No, it’s not fair!" She declared.  "They’re not dead- I refuse to believe it!  Spike- he... I’ve only just found out he was alive!” She shook her head emphatically, trying desperately to convince herself it wasn't real, and failing miserably.  Andrew walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder to try and calm her down, his touch jarring her back into reality.

“Buffy, I’m so sorry.” He said.

With that Buffy put her head in her hands and sank to the floor, letting the tears flow freely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Bloody hell!”

Spike growled furiously, rubbing his head where a lump seemed to be forming.

He shot a murderous glare at the empty suitcase that had fallen on his head when he tried to get it down from the top shelf of the closet.

“Soddin’ luggage.” He muttered.

He walked to his bedroom and began emptying his dresser, shoving his clothes haphazardly into the suitcase.  He didn’t have many belongings, so everything easily fit into the modest suitcase and one small black duffel bag.  He zipped the bags with a sigh when he finished packing, and began searching his apartment to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

When he was satisfied nothing important would be left behind, he glanced at his watch and realized he’d have to get moving as he needed to be at the airport in a little over an hour.

He couldn’t fly during the day, unless he felt like spontaneously combusting, and he felt he was over his whole 'turning to dust' phase.  Since the flight from LA to Italy was so long, he would be forced to make a pit stop so he could take two different flights and avoid traveling while the sun was up. 

Spike pulled on his boots and shrugged into his leather duster, shoved a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and grabbed his bags off the bed.  Then he took once last look at his apartment before heading out the door.

‘Well, this is it,’ He thought, ‘Rome, here I come.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy didn’t know what day it was, didn’t know how long her sorrow had kept her confined to her bedroom, hidden under the covers as she sobbed.  She knew it was the weekend now, and that Dawn would be spending the night over at her friend’s house. 

Dawn had asked her what was wrong, obviously concerned for her older sister’s well being, but Buffy assured her she’d be fine, that she just needed a little time, and then she’d explain everything to her.  She’d only spoken to Andrew briefly since he told her the devastating news, and she recalled that he was supposed to stop by sometime today, though she didn’t know exactly when. 

So she was left alone to wallow in her misery, only getting up to shower and go to the bathroom, food the farthest thing from her mind.

The two men she had loved most in her life were dead.

One who she’d already thought was dead only to find out he’d been alive the whole time, immediately followed by the revelation that he had died again.  It was all just too much to take, the emotions completely overwhelming and brutal, like a punch to the gut.  Only a simple punch didn’t hurt nearly this badly, or for this long.

She loved Angel, and a part of her always would.  He was her first love, the man she’d lost her virginity to, and he’d always have a piece of her heart.  But it took his returning to Sunnydale right before the battle with the First to realize she was no longer in love with him.  They had gone down separate paths in life, had grown apart, had moved on.  And it was at that moment when she realized with gut certainty her heart belonged to someone else.

Spike.

He  was the one she wanted to be with.  Why had it taken her so long to finally realize that?

'Because you were afraid of being hurt again, of opening your heart only to have it trampled on,' She inwardly reminded herself.  And she cursed her fear.  It had been a wekness that kept her from admitting her true feelings for Spike until it was too late. 

Buffy didn’t even know what time of day it was, and couldn’t care less.  Whether it was day or night made no difference.  Everything seemed to bleed together, and time seemed to be a foreign concept as Buffy’s thoughts tormented her incessantly, plaguing her mind with a myriad of “what ifs” and “why’s”.  What might have been.  

Just as Buffy felt herself nodding off again, she heard a knock on the door.

She opened one eye and groaned. 

‘Why does Andrew have to show up at the most inopportune times,’ She thought bitterly, praying he had no more bad news to reveal.  She couldn't take it. 

She reluctantly dragged herself out of bed, absentmindedly smoothed down her hair and dried her eyes on her sleeve, and shuffled to the door.

“You know Andrew,” She said as she opened the door, “I really hope you don’t have anymore news, because I really don’t think I could handle it right-“

She immediately stopped, the last word caught in her throat, when she saw that the person on the other side of the door wasn’t Andrew.  She tried to remember to breath as she took in the sight before her.

“Hello, luv.”

But it couldn’t be.  He had died! Twice! It couldn’t be who she thought it was standing in her doorway.  But there was no mistaking that voice, that accent, or the platinum hair and chiseled cheekbones, the sparkling blue eyes and black leather duster.

Buffy stood in shock, gaping, frozen in place.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Pet?”

“C-come in,” Buffy stammered, startled by her own voice that seemed to float disembodied in the air.

This just couldn’t be happening.  It had to be a dream, an illusion. 

“Spike?” She whispered incredulously, convinced her eyes were deceiving her as she continued to stare at him, “Are you real?”

She hit the floor before she ever heard a response.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy’s eyes slowly flickered open, adjusting to the darkness as she struggled to recall where she was.  Her eyes darted around the room, taking in her surroundings as the moonlight streamed through the window, casting eerie shadows on the walls.  She could vaguely make out the outline of the dresser against the far wall, and she realized she was in her own room.  But there was something in the back of her mind, an unsettling feeling.  Something wasn’t quite right, something was different: she could feel it, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. 

She tried to remember exactly how or when she had come to be in her room.  Her mind frantically grasped at the events of her day as she pulled herself to a sitting position in bed. 

'Let’s see' She recounted in her mind, 'I cried, talked to Dawn, showered, cried again, slept, waited for Andrew to arrive, cried and went to sleep again, Spike showed up at my door . . . . .'

Now where did that come from?

It was then Buffy remembered.  Her eyes went wide as she pictured him standing in her door, her inviting him in, the world fading to black around her.

But now he wasn’t in the room with her.  Where was he?

'Please.  Oh God please don’t let it have been another dream.  Let it be real.'

Buffy’s thoughts grew increasingly frantic as she jumped out of bed and dashed down the stairs, taking two at a time as graceful and soundlessly as a cat.

'Ohgodohgodohgodohdgodoh-'

As Buffy emerged in her living room she stopped short and drew in a sharp breath.  Her prayers had been answered because suddenly there he was, fast asleep on her leather couch.  He looked peaceful, almost angelic as the moonlight glistened in his platinum hair, accenting the shadows of his defined cheekbones, his long eyelashes twitching slightly. 

His lean body, all clad in his characteristic black, was sprawled out casually across the couch, one leg hanging slightly off the edge.  His black boots were strewn off to the side, his duster draped across the back of the couch.  She was close enough to catch a whiff of that familiar and oh-so-welcome smell of leather, smoke, and some slightly spicy cologne. 

'Spike smell.'  Buffy thought fondly. 

'Oh God, he’s really here! Spike isn’t dead! It’s really him!'

As Buffy’s mind struggled to register these thoughts, her body unconsciously crept closer to him, not wanting to wake him but desperate to prove to herself that this was really happening.  It just seemed to surreal.

She knelt in front of the couch and noticed his body stiffen slightly.  He could sense someone in the room, though he still caught somewhere in the stages between sleep and consciousness.  Buffy paused to admire him.  God, he was still just as gorgeous as she remembered, those wonderfully full lips, fabulous bone structure, every perfect contour.  Buffy opened her mouth to speak but her voice refused to cooperate, coming out as a barely audible squeak.  She let out a breath and tried once more.

“Spike” . . . . She whispered simply, softly.

His eyes instantly flew open, taking a mere second to adjust before locking his gaze with Buffy’s.  And there she was, staring into the eyes of the love she thought she had lost forever, those gorgeous, sparkling, expressive blue eyes that could convey so much with one glance.  Emerald eyes stared into blue for a long while before either spoke.

It was Buffy who broke the silence.

“Spike,” Again just barely above a whisper.  “Are you really here?”

“I’m really here, pet.” Spike’s voice was husky, still thick with sleep, soothing and just as sexy as Buffy remembered.

She reached out a small hand to gently touch his face, feeling soft skin, lightly caressing every available inch of flesh on his face, trying to prove to herself that he was really there.  She reaquainted herself with every contour, every plane, traced the scar above his brow, just one of his sexy imperfections that made him unique, made him Spike.  Spike watched with fascination as her eyes drank him in, looking far away and dreamy.  He closed his eyes and shivered slightly under her gentle touch.  Her small fingers danced across his face, leaving a trail of warmth that sent tingles up and down his spine.

Buffy withdrew her hand, finally satisfied, and Spike’s eyes fluttered open.  He was really there, she could feel him, touch him, smell him.  She clasped a hand to her mouth as she let out a small sound of wonder, trying to choke back the tears constricting her throat.  “Oh, God,” was all she could muster before she let the dam break, salty trails flowing down her cheeks in torrents.  Spike sat up, instantly concerned but unsure of how to comfort her, of how she would want him to.  He opted to stroke her golden hair gently and whisper soothing words.

“I’m-I’m ok,” Buffy quietly assured him, using her sleeve to dry her tears.  She began talking quickly, almost as though she was afraid he would disappear before she could finish.  “Spike, it’s just, how did you - Why didn’t you . . . . Spike, I thought I’d lost you - and then I found out . . . . .Andrew told me- you were alive- but then you were dead again, and I- I just wanted . . .” She sputtered incoherently.

“Hey” Spike interrupted softly.  He reached out a hand toward her face, then thought better of it and let his arm drop before he could touch her.  “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about this in the morning.  I’ll tell you everything, I promise. But right now you need to rest.  You look like Hell, Slayer.” He smirked at her.

“Gee, thanks,” Buffy mumbled, a watery smile playing on her lips.  She stood slowly, reluctant to leave the room.  She was about to walk back up the stairs when she spun around, once again meeting his gaze.

“Spike?” Her voice was heavy with emotion.

“Yeah, pet?”

She drew in a breath.  “So, you’ll be here tomorrow? You’re not going anywhere, right? Please promise me you won’t disappear.”  Her voice cracked slightly, growing lower as she bowed her head.  “Because I don’t think I could handle it if you were gone again.  God, if this were all just another dream- I just don’t think I could take it, not anymore.  Not after-" She bit her lip, unable to finish the sentence as she waited for a response.

Spike stared at her, slightly taken aback and swallowing hard, not knowing what to make of what she had just said.  Had she really missed him that much?  Did she love him?

“Buffy, look at me luv.”

And she did.

“I promise you that this is real.  It’s not a dream.  I’ll be here tomorrow, and we’ll say everything we’ve been wanting to say to each other.  I’m not going anywhere, I swear, or else you have my permission to put a stake in my heart.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that one.”  Then Buffy smiled, the first genuine smile in months. 

But before leaving the room, she suddenly remembered she had reason to be angry with him, "And by the way, you're an assehole." She said as an afterthought.

Spike did a double take, eyebrow raised.

"I'm a what?"

"You heard me," Buffy said.  "And you better believe I'm gonna kick your ass tomorrow for not telling me you were alive in the first place." Spike didn't know how to respond.  At first he was about to laugh, thinking she was joking, but one look in her eyes told him she was dead serious. 

Buffy yawned.  "But I'm too tired tonight." She continued, "Mostly because I've been staying up crying over you, you . . .shirty, blond . . .  vampire assehole!" Spike was now thoroughly amused, a smirk playing on his lips.

In an urge to wipe that smug look off his face, Buffy picked up the nearest thing she could find, which happened to be one of her boots lying carelessly on the floor, and threw it at him as hard as she could, hitting him square in the chest.  Spike stumbled back a few steps, completely stunned.

"Buggerin' hell, slayer! That bloody well hurt!" He exclaimed, rubbing his throbbing chest in indignation.  Buffy gave a small, satisfactory smile.

"You deserved it, and you know it." She stated matter of factly.  "And don't think you're off the hook yet," Spike raised his head to look at her, and she met his gaze with fire in her eyes, "We haven't even begun to dance . . . . William." And with those words, she spun on her heel and disapeared up the stars, leaving a somewhat flabbergasted Spike in her wake.

Ever so slowly, a grin appeared on his handsome face, growing wider with each passing second.

"Well," He thought aloud, "My girl certainly hasn't lost that fire of hers.  No doubt about that." 

Anticipating what the next day would bring, Spike flopped back down on the couch and settled in for the remainder of the night, the grin never leaving his face.

Chapter Three

‘Blood…

There was blood everywhere, dripping, dripping, trickling down.  The walls were covered with the splattered mess, the white paint marred with a violent red stain that screamed of an unthinkable past horror. 

But suddenly the tainted walls began to shake, starting to vibrate at a slow tremble before the earth began to quake from its very core.  The movement was relentless.  There was nowhere to go.  She was trapped, inside a nameless room covered in blood, powerless to do anything but kneel and pray the earth wouldn’t swallow her whole.

But it did.

The ground opened, a large gash in the floor that appeared right beneath her and before she knew what was happening, she was falling, her stomach up in her throat as she fell for what felt like miles before she came to a sudden halt inside the blackest darkness she had ever seen.  Had she landed? Was she in Hell?  She seemed to float amidst a shroud of darkness, the air thick and heavy and choking the breath from her lungs.  She couldn’t scream, couldn’t talk, couldn’t move. 

But what was that?

Her tired eyes focused on a little light in the darkness, a golden speck of hope amidst the terror threatening to consume her.  The light moved closer.  Slowly, steadily, it grew brighter, gaining intensity as the warmth from the luminescent orb washed over her face.  And suddenly, she understood.  It was trying to show her something.  Images playing inside the little light, projected before her as though she were watching old family videos on a movie reel.  There were images from her life, rushing before her eyes, starting from birth and not ceasing or slowing until she was inside the cave.  Slayers, she could see them now, hundreds, maybe thousands, everywhere in the world, newly given the power.  She could see herself inside the cave, fighting against an army of the undead.  And then, there he was, in all his glory, sheer white and black, a contradiction in every sense.  There was fire, and terror.  She saw the walls crumbling, and she ran to him, faster than she had ever run in her life. 

But as she looked into his eyes, she realized something was wrong.  This wasn’t how she remembered it, because those intense blue eyes were no longer blue, but an eerie shade of amber.  They glowed with their own fire, his face contorted and blood dripping from the mouth that seemed forever twisted into an evil smile.

She gasped as his cold hand closed around her neck, cutting off her air as well as her scream.  Her eyes widened and began to roll back in her head.  His grip was so tight that he lifted her off the ground with one hand, her feet dangling helplessly as she was brought to eye level with him.  And just as she felt about ready to keel over from lack of oxygen, she saw his face begin to melt away. 

He was turning to ash.

The hand around her neck dissolved into dust and she fell to the ground soundly, gasping for breath.  But as she lay on the ground, she felt a sharp pain that radiated from her stomach and nearly blinded her with the sheer agony, and that was when she remembered. 

The Turok Han.  She had been run through with a sword, and she was dying.

And as she lay there, having accepted her fate, she felt the raindrops begin to fall upon her face.  She closed her eyes and let it wash over her as the slow trickle steadily became a downpour.  It pelted her broken body.

The girl watched this image that played before her with amazement as she remained caught in the darkness, eyes transfixed on what the light had shown to her.  But now, it was finished, and then the light was gone.  It had simply clicked off, almost like flicking a light switch.  And now the only thing left was pure darkness.

But even the darkness spat her out.

It let her out of its grasp and she was falling again into an unknown abyss.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling…’

“Buffy!”

Someone was shaking her awake.  The fog in her mind began to clear, slowly.

“Buffy, wake up!”

Her eyes flew open on command, and suddenly she was greeted by the most welcome pair of blue eyes she had ever seen, glazed over with concern for her.

Sitting upright, she threw her arms around him, sobbing.  She clung to him like he was her only lifeline, her hands clutching at his back so tightly it would have crushed any normal human being.

But Spike wasn’t normal.

He returned her desperate embrace, rubbing small circles on her back as he whispered soothing words into her ear.

“Shhh, it’s ok.” A hand trailed upwards to her golden hair, stroking her comfortingly.  His cheek, cool to the touch, was gently pressed against hers. 

“Hush, luv,” He whispered.  And suddenly, her entire body stiffened as she felt his lips grazing the curve of her neck.  His tongue lightly tasting the smooth flesh, and he could practically smell the life-giving blood pumping wildly just beneath the surface.  Buffy sucked in a breath as he placed a gentle, moist kiss on her exposed neck, and her eyes slowly fluttered shut.

“It’ll all be over soon.”

But before Buffy had a chance to ask him what he meant, her eyes widened in shock and she cried out as she felt two sharp fangs piercing the base of her neck.  He tore into her fiercely, and the initial pain spread through her body like wildfire. 

"Spike, stop!" Tears sprang to her eyes, stinging them.  But he ignored her, holding her to him like a vice and preventing her escape as he continued to take long, greedy pulls from her neck. 

“Please.” She pleaded again, but her voice came out weak and raspy, and she tried with all her might to push him away.  But he wouldn’t budge.  And her efforts grew weaker by the second as he fed off her because, despite her protests, the pain began to fade into a dull burn that soon dissolved into something akin to pleasure.  A tingling sensation coursed through her veins, quickly moving throughout her body.  Her fingernails dug into his back.

He was draining her, sucking out her life force hungrily and she knew with gut certainty that he wouldn’t stop until she was completely dry.  She clutched at his shoulders, using him as her only anchor to this conscious reality.  The room around her seemed to bleed together in front of her eyes, so she closed them.

She could still hear him sucking lavishly from her, pulling and swallowing.  And as she felt herself begin to grow dizzier, her mind let out a final warning cry.

“Spike.” It was a final plea, but her voice was barely audible now.  She was growing too weak, and she realized, she didn’t care.  Suddenly, all that mattered was that he didn’t stop.  Even if that meant her death.

Her limbs felt like lead weights and she let them fall to her sides, completely limp and increasingly numb. 

And then, everything went black.....




“Wake up, Buffy!”  Spike was leaning over her, grasping her upper arms as he tried to shake her from the throes of her nightmare.

Suddenly, she jolted forward. 

And inadvertently slammed her head into his in the process.

Yep, this was definitely the real world.

“Bloody hell!”

“Ow!”

They simultaneously cried out in pain, both rubbing their foreheads.  Yet, despite the throbbing pain in her skull and the strange dream, she couldn’t help but chuckle at the current situation.  And Spike looked at her with confusion until he realized she was laughing at the ridiculousness of the scenario.  Their eyes met, and they shared an amused moment. 

Spike was the first to break the silence.

“I heard you scream, so I came in here to see what happened, ‘n you wouldn’t wake up,” He explained.  His gaze wavered slightly, and his words were softly spoken.  “You scared me,” He said quietly.

Buffy sighed.  “I’ve been doing a lot of scaring these days,” She shook her head, “Mostly myself.” 

They fell into silence again, until Spike looked at her with furrowed brows.  Buffy felt his cool fingers close around her wrist, and he gently pulled her hand away from her forehead where she had been rubbing the sore spot.  He narrowed his eyes, as though examining her.

“You’ll have a nice knot there,” He said after a minute, giving a resolute nod.  “I’ll go get you some ice.”

“What about you?” Buffy asked, indicating the red spot that stood out on his pale skin where she'd bumped him.

“I’m immortal,” He said, “I’ll live.”

Standing up, he began to move away from her but she stopped him, grabbing his hand before he could leave.  Spike turned again, glancing briefly at their joined hands, her little one warm against his larger one, and then he looked up at her with questioning eyes,

“Spike, forget the ice,” Buffy told him, “I’ll be fine,” She tugged on his hand gently until he was sitting next to her again on the edge of the bed.  He was so close to her, their bodies mere inches apart and only their hands touching.  Spike remained silent as he looked at Buffy expectantly, her emerald eyes glistening as she began to speak.

“I think it’s time we talk.”

Chapter Four

Buffy looked at him expectantly, and Spike abruptly averted his gaze.  Neither knew exactly how to begin after all those months of leading entirely separate lives. 

Secret lives, almost… at least from each other. 

Clearing her throat and looking downward, Buffy studied their joined hands as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world.  Spike wasn’t a large man, but he still had all the right proportions to make Buffy feel petite in comparison.  His hands, for example, dwarfed her own.  Long, slender yet large-knuckled fingers wrapped around hers delicately, his skin cool and smooth.  She let her thumb absentmindedly trace small patterns over the tiny blue veins that ran just beneath the surface.  Veins she knew didn’t pump any blood, and that hadn’t for well over a hundred years.

Spike felt her gentle caress and stiffened slightly.  He never knew how to take things when it came to Buffy, as she hadn’t exactly been straightforward with her feelings in the past, her emotions often conflicting with her actions.  The slayer was guarded.  Always had been, and probably always would be, to some extent.

But then again, so was Spike.  Especially when it came to Buffy.

After all those years, and their long and complicated past together, somehow breaking the ice was still an issue.

Shifting uncomfortably, Spike knew one of them had to make a move sooner or later.

‘Why not sooner?’

But just as he opened his mouth to speak, Buffy took the words right out of his mouth.

“I guess I’ll start.”

The intense crystal blue of his eyes were suddenly piercing through hers, and Buffy clamped her mouth shut as she returned his gaze, still trying to gauge the range of emotions she saw on his face.

She could tell he was conflicted.  And so was she.

Her words hung heavily in the air between them, and silence once again enveloped them.  Sighing, Buffy gently extracted her hand from his, staring down as she folded both her hands in her lap.

‘God, this is almost unbearable.’

‘Just say something, you wanker.’

“Spike…”

“Buffy, I…”

Their simultaneous responses earned a nervous chuckle from both.

“Go on, stage is yours,” Spike offered politely, waving his hand to encourage her to continue.

Buffy nodded, quickly making a decision as she realized it was probably best to get it all in the open right away.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were alive?”

‘Now there’s the question of the century.’

Buffy’s bluntness caught Spike slightly off guard.  It wasn’t often the slayer got right down to the point like that, but here she was, giving him a glare hardened with accusations.  Spike could practically smell the accusations waiting to spill from her lips.  She couldn’t understand his reasoning, could she? She wouldn’t.

Spike sighed, debating how exactly he should go about answering that question.  There were a thousand different ways to respond, maybe a million.  But, when it came down to it, there was really only one honest explanation…

“I was scared.”

Now it was his turn to be blunt.

Buffy looked taken aback slightly.  She blinked, tilting her head.

“Of what?”

And suddenly, the conversation sounded strangely reminiscent of another they’d had just two nights before the battle with the first evil.  And that night, they had been completely honest with each other, saying how they truly felt.  Though the problem was, they hadn’t been honest with themselves.

They’d both been guarded, afraid, letting their own insecurities get in the way once again.

Spike remembered the way the candlelight had danced across her face while she told him that their night together meant something to her.

Now, her eyes glowed with the same fire.  And conflict.

Spike shook his head.

“’M not sure, really.”  He shrugged.  “Guess part of it was because I had a purpose there, at Wolfram and Hart.  Angel couldn’t do it himself.  The Nancy boy needed me.”

Buffy winced as she heard Angel’s name.  It still stung, but she quickly shrugged it off as she turned her attention to the man before her.

“So that explains why you didn’t drop in for a visit, but not why you neglected to tell me you didn’t actually burn up in the Hellmouth.  So, I’m waiting.  Splainy.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“It’s not that simple, pet.”

He patted his jean pocket in a vain attempt to locate his cigarettes, because Lord knows he needed one then now then ever.  Though he inwardly cursed when he remembered his smokes were in his duster pocket, which just so happened to be downstairs.

“Sod it,” He mumbled.  Looking up, he caught Buffy’s gaze and sucked in an unnecessary breath.  It was time for the truth. 

“I wanted you to remember me the way I was.  Going out in a blaze of glory, dying a noble death and all that rot.  I’d done all that, to save the world…” He trailed off, swallowing hard.  “For you.”

She didn’t answer, but continued to stare at him solemnly, lost in thought.  So, he continued.

“I didn’t want to just show up on your doorstep... I guess I thought it would take away that meaning, the memory you had of me being a hero.  Or at least, trying to be one….”

Buffy couldn’t bite her tongue any longer.

“So in other words, you were being selfish.”

Spike looked at her incredulously.

' Here I’ve worn my bleedin’ heart on my sleeve and she shugs it off again, like it’s nothing…’

But he quickly calmed himself.  She had reason to be upset with him.  He’d been expecting as much.

“Yeah, I s’pose I was being a little selfish…”

“A LITTLE selfish?!” Buffy jumped up from the bed suddenly, standing before him as her anger rose to new levels.  How could he have let her go all those months thinking he was dead, and merely shrug it off as “being a little selfish”?

“So, so what? You thought you could just play the martyr and let me suffer here, thinking you were dead all this time?” She shook her head, violently.  “God, I can’t even begin to tell you what warped logic that is.”

Warped?

Suddenly, Spike was on the defensive.  He’d come too far during his time at Wolfram and Hart to back down from a confrontation now, not even from Buffy. 

“You know what, Summers?” She recognized that he was putting his guard up, too.  The cocky voice, the snarky comments, it all seemed too familiar.  He stood up, curling his tongue behind his teeth and towering over her as he leered down at her  “I did visit you once, and you were too tied up with your honey to even give a bleedin’ piss.”


“Don’t start with this, Spike,” But there was challenge in her eyes as she spoke to him.  “You know what?  I didn’t even know you were alive until yesterday.  Until Andrew told me.  I didn’t even get to hear it from you." She raised her chin defiantly.  "So don’t you dare throw that in my face."

Spike raked a hand through his platinum hair in frustration.

“I’m sorry, Buffy, alright?” He threw his arms up in the air.  “Really I am.   I was a fucking coward, a ponce, a ninny.” He paused, weighing his options.

“But to be honest, I didn’t think you’d even care.”

That was a lie.  He knew she had cared.  To some extent, he’d always known.  But, damn it, he wanted to get a reaction from her. 

Buffy’s mouth fell open in shock.  Her chest heaved.

“How could you even think that?”

Spike snorted.

“I‘m not too far off, am I, luv?” He stressed the word intentionally, stepping closer to her, their faces now mere inches apart.  “For missing me so much, it didn’t take you long to spread your legs for that Immortal wanker, now did it?”

A loud crack rang out in the room as she slapped him, right across his cheek.  Not with slayer strength, but with enough force to attempt to knock some sense into him.

Spike clenched his jaw, realizing he’d once again managed to royally fuck things up by blurting out another foot-in-mouth comment. 

‘You should have just quit while you were ahead, mate,’ He mentally scolded himself.

‘But that’s just the thing, you never were.’

He hadn’t seen her in over a year.  They were both confused, conflicted, battling emotions and trying to get to the bottom of things. 

But as Buffy looked up at him with tears glistening, Spike immediately felt regretful.  He saw it then, in her eyes, the answer he needed but she was too afraid to say, and he was partially too afraid to hear.  And at this point, Spike was running on pure impulse, because he didn’t know what else to do.  So, he did the most impulsive thing he could.

He kissed her.

Grabbed her by the upper arms, he smashed his mouth to hers, and Buffy squeaked in surprise.  She struggled at first, weakly pushing against his chest to make him stop, but realizing she didn’t want him to.  Her vain attempts quickly dwindled as she fully gave into the kiss, realizing how much she’d been craving this moment, practically tasting it in her sleep.  It had been far too long.


Wrapping her arms around his neck, she drew him closer to her, needing to feel him as close as humanly possible.  Her fingers crept upward, and he shuddered as they twined in his silky hair, tickling the back of his neck.   She breathed deeply, inhaling his masculine scent. 

His tongue gently coaxed her lips open, and she granted him entrance without hesitation, letting her tongue glide against his.  It felt right, so very right.  And Buffy was so lost in him that she didn’t even realize when he slowly backed her up towards the wall until her back was suddenly pinned against it, and the hard lines of his body pressing against her.   And then another type of hardness prodded her stomach, and she gasped. 


Suddenly, reality came crashing back. 

They couldn’t do this, she realized, because this would only lead to sex.  And then they’d be doomed to use sex as an excuse every time they wanted to avoid talking. 

She didn’t want them to use sex as a crutch like they had before.  She just couldn’t let that happen.  

As his lips left her mouth and trailed downwards, lightly grazing the smooth flesh of her neck, Buffy finally forced herself to put a stop to this.  She gently pushed against him. 

“We-we can’t.”

Spike merely nodded his understanding, releasing her from his grasp and stepping aside so she could leave.

“Buffy?” He said, almost as an afterthought.

“What?”

She paused, but didn’t turn to face him.

He took a hesitant step closer.  “Did you mean it?” Finally, the question was there, perhaps the main thing he’d come here for, to get some validation, some closure, a crumb….

“You mean, when I said I loved you?”

She turned around, her eyes full of sorrow, and she bit her lip, nodding very slowly.

“I meant it.”

And there it was.  Spike felt his heart leap into his throat.  After all that time, he finally had his answer.

It had been real, after all.

“But now?”

Buffy’s small voice interrupted his thoughts.

“I’m not so sure.”

Her lower lip trembled. 

How could they feel the way they did for each other, and yet, every time, let their emotions, their own stupid insecurities somehow muck it up?  Yet again.  After all that time apart, it was like they were still caught in a loop, somewhere between wanting to start a relationship and actually starting one. 

When would they get it together? Could they ever?

And as Buffy left the room, leaving Spike alone with his thoughts, he realized he might never know.

TBC...

chapter 6

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