"Shattered"

Author: Larilyn
Email: larilyn1@hotmail.com
Summary: What if Dawn had died at the hands of the Scoobies at the end of The Gift. Devastated, Buffy and Spike embark on a cross country spree.
Notes: Angst and Buffy/Spike shippyness. Yeah! Thanks to Melzerc for the Beta.

Response to a challenge by Jinxanna at Buffy/Spike diaries. Challenge is as follows:
-Set after the gift except Dawn died innstead of Buffy
-Glory won and went through the portal while Buffy and Spike were too injured or far away to stop her.
-Then one of the Scoobies kills Dawn too close the portal
-Buffy and Spike freak, both shattered by Dawns death and the Scoobies actions
-Buffy true to her word of giving up thhe fight asks Spike to take her away from Sunnydale, they mostly stay on the move
-the story is about those events and thhe next year or more of Buffy and Spikes life including both Angel and the Scoobies attempts to get Buffy to come home and be the Slayer
-She no longer cares about much of anything and only trusts Spike because she saw he was willing to die to save Dawn and he was as broken up about her death as she
-Change Buffy and Spike appearance someehow
-They find bittersweet happiness with each other

"Why are we stopping?" she murmured into his ear.

Spike shut the motorcycle's engine off and replied, "Thought you might be hungry, pet."

She slid off the bike, caressing his arm, back and neck as she sensuously dismounted and removed her helmet. "Ugh, helmet hair." Spike watched as she ran her fingers through her chestnut hair. "I don't know why you make me wear this damn thing. You don't."

"Because you can be killed and I can't. Are you hungry or not?"

"Yeah, whatever." She strode purposefully toward the truck stop. Her long hair swayed against her back. For a moment, Spike almost saw her sister in her. Dawn's hair was the same color, the same length. She even blew it out straight. He wondered if she did it consciously, emulating her baby sis. One day she simply came out of the motel bathroom, her golden locks replaced. He didn't ask her why she did it. She simply took in his gaze and shrugged, offering only that she needed a change.

She reached the door and turned to glare back at him. Abruptly the specter of Dawn was gone and she was back. "You coming or do I have to eat alone?"

"I'm coming, pet." Spike dismounted and followed her in.

She had a streak of ketchup on her lower lip. Spike was mesmerized by it. "The blood of the innocent." he thought, remembering a long forgotten day when they were both giddy with devotion to each other, instead of this raw need. It was one of his favorite days, and he'd had a lot of them, even if it was the result of a misdirected spell.

The girl's green eyes were glassy as she stared at the French fry in her fingers. Her face was completely blank. The fire had gone out that night on the scaffolding.

"Pet, you have to eat." Her eyes rose to meet his and she held him in her icy gaze as she began to methodically chew. She'd lost some weight. Too much, he thought. She was skin and bones, now.

"We need to put some weight back on you, Lizbeth."

"Why?" She stuck her lip out like a petulant child.

"Because," he reached across the table and wiped the ketchup off her lip with his thumb. He sucked the ketchup of his thumb and completed, "Its not healthy."

"These aren't healthy." She wagged the grease-saturated fry in front of his nose.

"But they're something, pet. Eat up."

She dutifully began to nibble on the untouched hamburger. He remembered when she would have taken any suggestion of his and countered it with a venomous retort. Now she sat there, obeying his commands. It broke his unbeating heart.

Spike watched her sleep in the lumpy motel bed. Above the headboard there was a cheap oil painting of the sunset. He would occasionally stare at it before returning his gaze to the diminutive creature asleep under the cheap polyester blanket.

They'd slept together in that bed for a short while before he was awakened by her cries. Nightmares had plagued her since Dawn's death.

"Giles! Giles, don't!" Her frame was wracked with tremors with every cry.

Spike took her in his arms and rocked her, gently trying to pry her away from the nightmare's grasp.

She slowly emerged from the dream, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Spike, I couldn't get there in time. Oh God, Spike." She buried her face against his bare chest and sobbed uncontrollably as he murmured words of comfort.

"I know Buffy, I know. I save her. Every time I close my eyes, I save her." It was the only time she allowed him to call her that. Shortly after they had taken off from Sunnydale she had declared that Buffy was dead. She wanted him to call her by her given name, now. He never questioned her because he understood what dying was like. William had died once and left Spike in his place. So she was Elizabeth, or Lizbeth as he called her. Buffy was only alive in her nightmares.

She murmured and turned over in her sleep. Her hair fell across her face, hiding it from him. He thought for a moment about turning on the television, but he didn't want to wake her. He couldn't go out because it was daylight so he just continued to watch her sleep.

"I want to go dancing." she clamored as she packed her duffel.

"Whatever you want, pet."

"I want to go dancing," she repeated with less enthusiasm.

Spike donned a short black leather jacket and glanced around the room, making sure they had gathered up their few belongings.

She regarded him thoughtfully, "I miss your duster."

"Yeah, well. It doesn't work too well with the motorbike, pet. Sure Glinda's takin' good care of it."

She quietly accused, "You've been talking to them again, haven't you?"

"Just Tara. Just to make sure…"

"I don't want you to talk to them, Spike."

"They're worried about you, Buffy."

Spike was accosted with an unexpected right hook. It stung his cheek and made his eye feel like it was going to explode. His anger was tempered when he saw that the action had deflated her. The little enthusiasm she'd had had drained away. Tears threatened to spill from her emerald eyes.

"Sorry." she whispered.

"S'alright, pet." Spike pulled her close and pressed his lips against hers. He celebrated their warmth as a sign of life.

She responded to his chaste kiss and deepened it. She fell against him and parted his lips with hers, seeking entrance with her tongue.

He felt his body harden in response. Spike backed away from her and murmured, "I thought you wanted to go dancing."

They'd become lovers on a night like this. They had gone dancing at some clone of the Bronze. At first he had watched her from the table. She moved with an athlete's grace, a woman's charms. But she hadn't been content to let him watch from the sidelines. She seductively pulled him onto the dance floor and undulated wildly around him. Spike had growled and pressed her warm body tightly against his. He had held her fiercely, so that she could feel his arousal and they danced.

They danced all the way to their motel room. And then they danced some more.

The ride from the club to the motel was a blur and even now Spike could not recall the journey. The rest of the night, though, was seared into his brain. She had plundered his mouth the second that the door was open. Their tongues battled furiously as they frantically stripped each other. He had her down to her bra and panties when he tossed her onto the bed. She had divested him of every stitch of his clothing. He wanted nothing more than to let her lay back while he pleasured her but she eagerly took his burning cock in her hand and began to stroke it.

"I want to make you come, luv." He panted as he pushed the cup away from her breast and teased her nipple until it was erect.

"Next time." She whimpered as she shoved her panties aside with her free hand. "I want you inside me, Spike."

Her breathy words excited him to the point of pain.

Her tiny hand guided him to her opening, wet and slick with desire. He intended to ease into her slowly, so as not to cause her discomfort but she pushed him inside forcefully.

They both gasped as they dangled on the precipice where pleasure and pain meet, and their bodies froze in shock. Their eyes connected and slowly he moved inside her. He wanted to go slow, to make love to her gently and ease all of her hurt. But she needed a different kind of therapy.

She pushed him off of her and onto his back. She breathlessly straddled him and impaled herself on his erection. Spike cried out, "Buffy!" as she rode him mercilessly, her still golden locks bouncing with her rhythm. It was the sheer sight of her that sent him over the edge. He remembered that he screamed, but he couldn't remember what he had called out. As he convulsed under her, she had collapsed on top of him. They held each other that way for a long while before she rolled over to lie next to him. That was the night she had declared that Buffy was dead. It was two weeks after they left Sunnydale.

Now, they were in another nameless club, somewhere in Texas. He watched her dance again. It wasn't a dance of innocence, like the first time he had watched her at the Bronze. She wasn't dancing away her demons like she had that night weeks ago. There was no life in her movements tonight. She was going through the motions. Playing a part for him, so he wouldn't worry. It wasn't working.

The music slowed and she was left there alone in the middle of the dance floor as others paired up around her. She searched the crowd for him. She knew he would come to her, and he did.

"Dance with me, Lizbeth." He intertwined his fingers with hers and pulled her close to him. She fit perfectly against him.

"Dawnie loved this song," she murmured. Spike felt a tear fall onto his shirt. He cupped her face in his hands and drew her gaze up to his. The evidence of her grief was pooled in her eyes. Spike kissed away an errant tear that slid down her cheek. He lowered his lips to hers and gently sucked on her bottom lip. She tried to deepen the kiss, to fight her grief with a frantic erotic experience, but he wouldn't allow it. He'd had enough of their desperate tumbles. Their violent, urgent fornication.

"Not tonight, pet." he insisted. "Tonight, I want to do things right. I want to make love to you, gently, slowly."

She pressed her palms against his chest and pushed him away. He was left on the dance floor, watching her hips sway as she walked away from him.

"You need to bring her home, Spike."

Spike was in the motel room that they had just recently vacated. In a moment of sanity during their cross country spree they had agreed that if they got separated that they would meet at their last motel. He hoped that she would decide to return to him.

"I can't do that, Red."

Spike had started secretly communicating with Tara after a disastrous night in Los Angeles. They had run into Angel at a demon-friendly haunt called Caritas. The confrontation had quickly turned ugly. Angel had berated her for running away, " And with Spike of all people," he had screamed. She had countered with, "Where the hell were you when I needed you? I called and called. We needed help, Angel." He answered her with some nonsense about being in another dimension when the whole Glory disaster went down. All hell broke loose when Angel had the audacity to tell her that she should forgive Giles.

She had been inconsolable that night. Alternating between uncontrollable grief and fury. In desperation, he called the witch, hoping for a magical sedative to calm her down. Tonight, Tara's lover had taken the phone from her.

"Spike, I know that if we all just sit down and talk this out…"

"She doesn't talk, Red. She doesn't eat. All she wants to do is fight and shag."

"You and Buffy are…?"

"That's just it, ducks. She ain't Buffy anymore. She's not the girl you knew."

"I know that she's angry with us. But what Giles did, he did to save the world."

"He murdered the Nibblet, Red. And he murdered the Slayer right along with her. And we both know he wasn't in it alone, don't we?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you and I both know that Xander couldn't have held Buffy back with out a little magical intervention."

"Spike, I…"

"You saved yourself, Red. And the world owes you, and the Watcher and the bloody whelp a debt of gratitude. But the Slayer and I… Well we just aren't ready to forget that the Little Bit is gone, and you and the rest of the Scoobies have her blood on your hands."

"Spike, its been months…The hell mouth. We need her here."

"You need the Slayer. That's not who she is anymore."

Spike didn't say a word to her when she appeared at the door. He simply let her in and watched as she disrobed and climbed into bed. Part of him wanted to climb into bed with her, to shag until he couldn't see straight. But part of him held back. That part of him sat on the bottom edge of the bed and flipped on the telly.

"I was thinking," she mumbled into her pillow.

"About what, pet?" he asked over his shoulder.

"About Montana." She stretched languidly. "I want to go to Montana."

"What's in Montana?"

"Nothing. That's just it."

"All right then." Spike turned his attention back to the program.

"Aren't you coming to bed?" She sat up and circled her arms around his neck. Her hot breath warmed his ear and his body responded to the knowledge that only a thin, worn cotton sheet separated him from her bare breasts.

"No."

She sat back and inadvertently let the sheet slip down, revealing her pink nipples, hardened by the touch of Spike's cool flesh. "Are you still mad at me?"

"I love you." he growled, refusing to look at her.

She flopped back down onto the bed. "Come to bed, Spike. I want to fuck."

"Not tonight, pet."

She pouted and flipped over onto her other side and pulled the sheet up to her chin. He heard her mumble, "You'll cave eventually. You always do."

They drove for days. Traveling by the moon and sleeping when the sun went down. Somewhere in Kansas she broke down his defenses and seduced him into a frenzied sexual encounter. They fell into their old habits. They'd find a motel room before the sun came up. Sometimes, they'd have to hole up in a barn or shed, they'd furiously couple and then fall asleep. Sometime in the night she would call out to him because of her persistent nightmare, he'd rock her back to sleep and then watch her till she awoke.

He hadn't lied to Willow. She wasn't the same girl. Buffy was brave and virtuous. Lizbeth was morose and self destructive. Spike was simply biding his time with the one, in the hopes that he could win the heart of the other in time.

Before she had gotten the Montana bug in her system, they had stuck to large cities. She faithfully watched the news and read the paper, always looking for criminals. She didn't do this out of a sense of Slayer righteousness but out of the need to feed her companion. She'd knock offenders unconscious so Spike could feed without harming them. He never drained them dry, the chip wouldn't allow it, although he doubted that she would care if he did.

Now he had to resort to feeding off the herds of cattle that populated the great plains. He'd never admit it to her, but he preferred it to feeding off the meals that she prepared for him. It disturbed him, watching her harm a human, even if she did it to keep him alive. This was better. Easier on them both.

Her mood lightened as time went by and the population dwindled. By the time they reached Montana she was almost the girl she used to be. Almost Buffy. They spent their first night in Montana in an abandoned farmhouse.

"Someone's been here, pet."

"Do you smell something?"

Spike chuckled. "Yeah, peanut butter and jelly. On the counter."

She went into the kitchen and fingered the jars. "I could have sworn this place was empty. Its trashed."

Spike's sensitive hearing detected a car approaching. He pulled Buffy into the hall closet.

Footsteps echoed as the stranger walked across the foyer and into the kitchen. Spike heard the stranger sniff the air. He called out, "Is someone there?"

Spike's lover relaxed in his embrace and smiled. She actually smiled. Before he realized what she was doing, she had the closet door open and was calling, "Oz?"

Spike watched as the two friends embraced. Oz regarded Spike suspiciously but tactfully neglected to ask Buffy about his presence.

They spent several weeks with the wolf. They told him the whole story of Glory and Dawn and the Scoobies betrayal. Oz remained stoic through all their accounts, never showing surprise, or anger. He did allow the girl some comfort in the loss of her sister, although he had no recollection of her. Apparently the monks hadn't dropped those memories into Oz's head.

"She doesn't cry," Oz observed one day.

"What's that?" asked the vampire, startled that Oz had spoken.

"Buffy. When she talks about Dawn, she doesn't cry."

"No," Spike admitted, "She doesn't cry. Only when she dreams."

"Maybe she should. She should cry."

They left before the moon was full, at Oz's insistence. This time, she wanted to see the Grand Canyon. Spike indulged her. The time with Willow's ex-lover had been a relief for them both. Spike was grateful that some of the burden had been taken from him. Oz's quiet compassion had proved to be therapeutic for the Slayer. She even allowed Oz to call her Buffy. To the wolf's credit, he never questioned Spike or his devotion to the girl.

She wound her fingers into the tight curls just above Spike's forehead. She giggled, "I can't get over how different you look."

Spike growled, "I would give anything to see my reflection."

"Trust me, you look great."

"Does wolf-boy know you nicked his hair dye?"

"Are you calling me a thief?" she teased.

Spike growled again and pinned her to the bed, her wrists bound with his hands. "Its not purple is it?"

"I told you, its black." She smiled at him, a full, real, smile. The first he'd seen since they'd started this trek. But it was tears that he needed to see. Tears were healthy, meant that she was healing. Real tears that she was aware of, not simply the product of her nightmares. Real sobs that wracked her body instead of errant tears that slid down her cheek when she thought no one was watching. He hadn't seen her really cry since she came to his crypt that night, the night Dawnie died. Buffy's emotional wounds were even worse than his physical ones.

"Come with me, Spike," she had asked. There was no preamble, no explanation.

"Love to, pet, but I'm a little busted up right now. Fell off that bloody tower…"

"I'll stay with you until you can travel. Will you come with me?"

"To the ends of the earth, pet."

"I don't know them…" She pursed her lips in determination. Despite herself her bottom lip began to quiver. That night, she cried her eyes out.

She hid in his crypt until Spike was healed enough to travel. The Scoobies stopped by frequently, looking for Buffy. He lied often, telling them he hadn't seen her. He screamed in rage at them for killing Dawn. Then, one night he simply disappeared like the Slayer had. She hadn't shed a conscious tear since they left Sunnydale.

Right now, Spike was simply happy to see her smile.

Spike released her wrists so he had a free hand to caress her cheek. He gently kissed her forehead and nose. She opened her eyes in surprise when a kiss wasn't planted on her lips. His eyes met hers. Both emerald and sapphire were wet with unshed tears.

"Buffy," he murmured, waiting for a swift, violent, reprisal, "I want to make love to you."

He was astonished when her warm lips connected with his instead of her fist. Her tongue caressed his instead of the violent plundering that he'd always been on the receiving end of. He let out an unnecessary breath that he had been unconsciously holding.

Spike left her mouth to nuzzle her neck. She mumbled something indistinct as he sucked on her earlobe.

He pulled away from her to gaze once again at her lovely face and green eyes. There was emotion there. Real emotion from the girl he loved. It overwhelmed him.

He lifted her shirt up over her arms and tossed it onto the floor. She wasn't wearing a bra underneath her shirt, which was really one of his T-shirts. Her breasts flattened against her chest as she reclined before him. Her rosy nipples invited him. He suckled gently on her right breast as his hands supplied the other with feathery touches. They'd never received such gentle ministrations from him before. She would allow him to bite, twist, even slap, but nothing this tender, this loving.

She was softly whimpering instead of screaming and it was delicious.

Spike slid his hand under the waistband of her flannel pajama pants and sensitively stroked her clit. She gasped in ecstasy as he massaged. The vampire withdrew his hand and she began to object until she realized that he was divesting her of the rest of her clothes. He climbed back up her legs, cosseting them as he moved upwards. He stopped at the juncture between her legs and watched her face for permission to do the one thing he had always wanted to do, but she had never allowed.

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, Spike."

He gave her a grateful smile before he buried his face in the wet warmth that was her essence. She keened in pleasure as he massaged her with his tongue and sucked on the warm, receptive bud. Spike felt her body tighten as she called out to him and called out to God. Then her body exploded into spasms. She writhed on the bed before him. Spike quickly stripped and climbed into the bed beside her.

"On your side, luv," he requested as he turned her so that he was spooned up against her warmth. She moaned in pleasure as he slid into her. Spike moved against her excruciatingly slowly while the hand that he draped over her stroked her belly.

"Please, Spike," she pleaded, as she pressed her butt against his groin.

He ignored her and kept his own deliberate pace. To placate her he slid his hand farther south so that she could press herself into his hand.

He pressed loving kisses into her neck until she turned her head enough that he could pamper her lips with gentle but passionate kisses.

As they kissed, his tempo began to steadily increase and her hand joined his to stimulate her clit. She came first, crying out his name. Her walls contracted around him and milked his own orgasm.

When he pulled out of her, she rolled onto her back. She took his head and guided it to the pillow of her breasts. As he drifted off to sleep he thought he heard her whisper, "I love you, too Spike."

Sometime in their sleep they had switched positions and she was now draped over his chest. The clamoring of the phone awakened them both from their blissful rest.

Spike fumbled for the receiver as his lover mumbled something incoherent and buried her face against his washboard abs.

" ‘Lo?"

"Spike?"

"What is it Glinda?"

"You have to bring her home. Its Giles."

"What about him."

"He's dying."

She was furious with him. Buffy threw everything she could get her hands on. Spike didn't fail to notice that the really heavy things, things that could truly hurt him, she never touched. He dodged cups and pillows and other odds and ends that she hurled at him while she ranted, "How did they even know where we were, Spike?"

"I told the good witch, luv."

"And it didn't occur to you that she might tell the others? Stupid!" The bar of soap bounced off his forehead.

"Knock it off, Buffy."

"Don't call me that!" she raged.

Spike lunged forward and grabbed her arms and held her tight. "You are Buffy. The girl I made love to this morning was Buffy. Don't deny me that."

To Spike's relief, she began to sob. "I can't go back."

He pulled her close and stroked her hair. "You can, luv. You can because you're strong."

"I can't forgive him."

"You will. It's time to go home, pet."

Buffy refused to relinquish Spike's hand as they entered the Watcher's hospital room. The Scoobies waited in the hall while Buffy reunited with the man she had once loved more than her own father. The whelp had been fuming at Spike's presence, but had wisely chosen to keep his mouth shut.

Buffy approached Giles's bedside with trepidation. She was afraid to wake him. Afraid it wouldn't be good for him and more afraid of what might come out of her mouth.

"Giles?" she softly called.

The Watcher's eyes flickered open. "Dawn?" Buffy's hair color had confused Giles and the man feared that he was hallucinating.

"No. Its me." She released Spike and approached Giles. Buffy sat at his bedside and began to cry. They whispered words of affection and forgiveness that were none of Spike's business so he quietly backed out of the room to face the wrath of the Slayer's friends.

"What happened?" He directed his question to Tara but it was Willow who answered, "Fyoral demon."

Xander lashed out, "Since you kidnapped Buffy, we've had to take over her duties. It was only a matter of time before one of us got killed."

Spike cocked his head at the whelp and hurled back, "Killed like Dawnie, you mean?"

"We did what we had to."

"You shattered the Slayer and left me to pick up the bloody pieces! And you and the witch and the bloody Watcher sent her flesh and blood to some unknown hell dimension! That's what you had to do, is it?"

"Spike," Anya placed a warm hand on Spike's arm, "Let's get some coffee." The vampire nodded at the ex-demon and allowed her to steer him toward the cafeteria. Willow's lover followed them.

Tara and Anya filled Spike in on the happenings in Sunnydale since he and Buffy fled. The demon and vampire population around the hell mouth had grown exponentially in the Slayer's absence. Willow, Xander and Giles had been devastated by Buffy's disappearance and wracked with guilt over Dawn's death. Anya had taken over the leadership role in the Scooby gang while Tara had acted as a counselor of sorts.

Spike told the girls nothing about what had happened on the road. The only thing, he felt, that was any of their business was their reunion with Oz. And he doubted that Tara would care to hear about that.

After a short while, Spike insisted that they return to Buffy's side, in case she needed him. As he rose from the table, Tara admitted, "We're going to lose Sunnydale, Spike. We really need her to stay."

The Watcher defied all of the doctor's expectations by responding to the ministrations of his Slayer and slowly began to heal. The girl knew, though, that all Giles really needed was her forgiveness. Buffy spent her days at the hospital and her nights in her own bed with Spike. They kept the door to Dawn's room closed, neither vampire nor Slayer was prepared to deal with it.

Spike moved his personal belongings from his crypt to Buffy's home, which according to Anya, was really Buffy's. Giles had paid off the mortgage and it was hers, free and clear.

Xander had thrown a tirade when Buffy announced that Spike was moving in with her. She offered no explanation, just a curt, "He's living with me. Deal with it."

Willow attempted repeatedly to reconcile with Buffy. They reached a level of understanding, but they would never be the friends that they once were.

Buffy made it clear to the Scoobies, who selflessly resumed their research duties, that she only trusted Spike and was only staying in Sunnydale to monitor the hell mouth. Spike in turn, extended his good graces to Anya and Tara, knowing that the Scoobies-in-law had nothing to do with Dawn's death.

Buffy went through the motions of being the Slayer. She was only alive when she was with her lover, who had once been her mortal enemy. She only cried when they were alone together. She only smiled when he told her he loved her.

It stayed that way until the day Willow told them about a spell. A spell that could return Dawn to them. A spell that would change everything. A spell that would leave them all shattered.

The End

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