One Good Lay | Furlough by Kindred

Furlough
Parts 5-Epilogue

Summary: AtS 'Not Fade Away'. Buffy and Dawn travel to England to get updated on the latest averted apocalypse. Part one is a Buffy POV.
Disclaimer: I do not own the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel (The Series). All of the characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, et al.
Feedback: Yes, Please! alp@magma.ca

Part 5: Fluency

The music hit them as soon as the cab door opened. Dawn jumped out to the curb still giggling from the cab driver's last humorous anecdote.

"The coast is clear," she announced seeing a stream of people walking into the dance club. "Boys and girls, holding hands and everything. Looks like our kind of place."

Buffy paid the cab driver and exited the vehicle. "What do you think, love?" Spike asked.

"You know how you always wanted to dance with me, Spike? Well tonight is your lucky night."

A contrite Spike nodded his head. "Anything you want Buffy. After that other place I'm just glad I'm not a big smudge of former vampire on the bottom of your shoe."

Buffy's eyes twinkled with evil delight. "Hmm, smudgy Spike...Well, the night's still young and you might get lucky!" She flared her eyebrows and threw an arm around his waist.

"Come on you two," Dawn shouted from the doorway.

The darkness of the club was punctuated by spinning, swirling and staccato stabs of light. A sizeable dance floor moved with the weight of swaying bodies.

"Okay, this is cool," Dawn pronounced, turning back to yell in Buffy's ear. "We're staying here!" Dawn reached for Buffy's hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. In turn Buffy grabbed Spike's hand and the three of them found a small niche between the sweat soaked pulsating bodies of other patrons.

Soon Dawn was dancing with a look of utter abandon on her face, lost in the beat of the music. Buffy turned to Spike and held out her hands. For all the big talk he'd made over the years she really had no idea if he could actually dance. Feeling mischievous and still a little rattled she opted for the one thing that always fueled her self-confidence: dirty dancing.

A quick glance over her shoulder found Dawn dancing up a storm heedless of her solo status. Dawn was fine. She knew her way around a dance floor. Buffy turned her attentions back to Spike. A look of purpose seized her face as she took a deep breath and raised her hands, placing them behind Spike's neck. Spike responded by settling his hands on her hips.

The music took control as Buffy began undulating within Spike's embrace. Slowly and deliberately, Buffy moved her hips. She narrowed her body in on Spike's but didn't touch him save for her hands at his neck and his hands on her hips. It was a gentle teasing that aroused both of them. Suddenly, the songs changed and the music took an aggressive turn. Buffy pushed away from Spike and began moving in a more muscular manner. She backed through the crowd away from him.

Initially puzzled at what exactly was occurring, Spike looked to Buffy. He found her moving through the crowd and looking back toward him. There was a message in her glances and an invitation. Spike's mind turned back to his first night in Sunnydale, when he went to the Bronze to observe the slayer and saw her dancing carefree among her high school friends. That was the first time he observed the way music flowed through her skin.

That night he listened to her siren call for the first time and his body responded, cock first then fangs; an itch for the ages. Dancing and slaying, both activities highlighted Buffy's physicality to its greatest advantage. Only making love surpassed those two for laying bare her soul to the universe.

His body moved of its own accord, sensing and following her lead as always. Spike obeyed as the magnetism of Buffy's body spoke to him through the forest of flesh. Hundreds of dancers, each with a pounding heart rate and heated, unrestrained flesh called to him as well, but he listened only to one voice. Her voice.

Come and get it.

Pacing the perimeter of the dance floor, he reenacted that night from so long ago. He caught glimpses of Buffy as he had then: a flash of shoulder, the swing of her hair and her face contorting in waves of delight. A few steps opposite one partner, and then another and another, but only the music itself held her. Buffy moved fluidly knowing that his eyes were upon her.

Closing his eyes Spike allowed the scents of the room to soak into his depths. One particular scent pierced through the others. He flared his nostrils and opened his eyes once more, zeroing in on her position immediately. She twisted and turned, her eyes on him while the music burned through her. Buffy swayed in place, her hands dragged over her thighs, hips, breasts and then reached high over her head in counterpoint to her hips and feet.

Spike struck a pose on the edge of the melee: feet apart, leather coat open and thumbs hooked into his belt buckle. His head tilted, chin down but eyes up, dangerous and inviting. Here kitty, kitty...those words, branded on his soul, called to Buffy in a mouthless growl.

She approached him hips first with her arms entwined behind her back. That precious pink tongue that had both tortured and tantalized him darted from her tempting mouth. She licked her lips with seductive abandon. Spike hardened to granite as the deep pounding bass beat through his body, pooling in his already painful erection.

She was a demon, was his lady; a demon borrowed from heaven for this dance.

Buffy stopped in front of him and looked at him neutrally. "I like your coat," she said and batted her eyes flirtatiously. "I haven't seen you in here before." Spike's eyes twinkled. The games had begun anew.

He leaned in so she could hear his response above the music. "I've been around, love, here and there."

"Ooo! I love your accent!" Buffy's face opened with effusive delight.

"Got a bit of an accent there yourself, Yank."

"Yeah, I'm over here on a scholarship...to Oxford." Buffy didn't even bat an eyelash at that sassy remark.

Spike shifted his stance and drew his eyes slowly up and down her body. "Brains and beauty? That's a lethal combination if ever I heard one. Fancy a drink..."

"Buffy. My name is Buffy. And you are?"

"Spike."

"Mmm. Spike. I like it. Very mysterious. I bet you have girls crawling out of the woodwork for you."

"Well, some birds just go for the bad boy thing." Now it was Buffy's turn to appraise him from head to foot.

"And are you...bad...Spike?"

"Just enough to make things interesting. Fancy that drink?"

"Yeah, I'm all hot and sticky from dancing." Buffy bit her lower lip, knowing full well she was in danger of being hoisted over Spike's shoulder and hauled off somewhere inappropriate but convenient. A lightning bolt flashed in Spike's pelvis. His upper lip curled slightly as he stood aside and gestured toward the bar.

"I just may be able to help you with that, love."

*

Buffy took a long slow swallow of her soda while Spike downed a shot glass of whiskey and then thumped the bar for another.

"Can't hold you're liquor, pet?" he flared his eyebrows in a knowing way and grazed his tongue along his incisors. Buffy leaned in closely and spoke.

"Oh, I can hold him well enough, but it's better when his hair's a little longer." Spike steadied himself on the bar, cupped her head in his palm and held it still while he hissed in her ear.

"You're killing me here, Slayer. Let's find a dark corner. I need to touch you."

Buffy backed away cautiously and nailed him with her most practiced 'you're never going to get it' smile. "Why, Spike, what a thing to say," she stammered convincingly. "I hardly know you. I'm not the sort of girl who just goes into a dark corner with the first guy who comes along..." Spike's requisite smirk and devilish response was interrupted by the hooting greeting of a very happy teenager.

"Hey guys!" Dawn squealed with delight as she draped her arms over her companions at the bar in a sloppy hug. Dawn grabbed Buffy's drink and took a huge swig, knowing full well it would just be medicinally carbonated but not fermented.

"Hey Dawn, I want you to meet Spike, it's Spike, right?" A quizzical expression solidified on Dawn's face. She twisted her mouth and looked at Buffy and Spike in turn. Frankly, she didn't want to know.

"I was going to ask if you two were having a good time but now I know, weird foreplay has commenced; I need to skedaddle. Okay, just stay clear of the spotlights and the unsuspecting groove puppies, like MYSELF!!" Dawn took another huge mouthful of Buffy's soda, finishing it. "Oh Buffy, I met this cool guy. He's out for the evening trolling for breeder stock, and you know, tentacles are kind of attractive in the right light. He's going to inseminate me in the corner...toodles!" Dawn was off like a shot back into the mass of moving flesh.

"Yeah, have fun--hey, wait...inseminate? Did she just say inseminate?" Buffy whirled around and caught a glimpse of Dawn back on the dance floor with nary a tentacle in sight. Spike looked out over the crowd appraising it a most vampiric manner.

"Don't worry love, only humans out there. I see her. She's dancing with some pimply git." Spike was momentarily taken aback by the aggressively pelvic nature of Dawn's dance moves. "Want me to eat him?" The good humor intended by that remark was lost as Buffy flashed an annoyed 'you better not have said what I think you just said' face. Perhaps fluffy bunny Spike needed a few lumps to get with the damn program. The music changed again and a slower sultry rhythm filled the club.

Instead of battery, Buffy chose to tilt her head and place her hands on her hips. A petulant expression claimed her face. "What does a girl have to do to get asked to dance around here?"

"Oh, where are my manners?" Spike leaned closely into Buffy's temple. His lips brushed her skin. "Would you care to dance?" Spike offered his hand and Buffy slid off her stool. They walked out into the crowd of dancers. Spike twirled Buffy to face him and took her into his arms.

The people surrounding them melted away. Spike curved his arms around Buffy's waist, anchoring her to him. Buffy draped her arms around his shoulders and let the music take her.

She closed her eyes, oblivious to everything but his touch and the certainty of her heart.

After Sunnydale she got a chance to live a freer life, a more normal life. Something she'd yearned for since she'd first been chosen: living a life away from the glare of a hellmouth. There were still slayers to supervise and the occasional staking of a vampire, but a semblance of ordinariness had been achieved, and it wasn't nearly as boring as she once feared when Riley was her connection to a normal life.

Living each day made her focus on just that. Living. She made small goals that could realistically be achieved. The day she opened a retirement savings plan at her bank was momentous indeed. That was the day she vowed to be the long haul girl. For herself.

There would certainly be obstacles ahead but she already knew how to handle the worst of the worst. Soon Dawn would be launching her own adventure. She was thinking about universities in England and America. The nest would then be empty and Buffy vowed that Andrew would not be taking Dawn's place as the surrogate child/sibling.

Buffy curled her fingers deeply into Spike's leather. A new fantasy percolated in her mind: waking up each morning in Rome with Spike in her bed...in their bed. Her mind reconfigured with thoughts of them -- a Spike and Buffy 'them' instead of a Dawn and Buffy 'them'.

They'd probably drive each other bonkers. That was their well established groove. Spike was arrogant and insufferable and always had to have the last word in any fight. Despite her best efforts the smirk had not surrendered. She'd need to work on that because his smirk always clobbered her.

If memory served he wasn't the neatest person either. Not that she'd demand window cleaning or dusting or scrubbing the bathroom tiles from him. Windows were definitely out. Andrew could do them when he visited.

Spike's crypt was little better than a frat boy's pigsty and he smoked and there was nothing worse than-- She inhaled deeply into Spike's chest. There wasn't even the faintest whiff of smoke. It suddenly struck her that he didn't smell or taste like cigarettes. At all.

"Hey, you don't stink of cigarettes." That didn't strike Spike as part of their seduction script.

"That going to be a problem?" He looked at her seriously.

"I just realized it, you smell..." Buffy took a deep inhale. "God, you smell wonderful." Her fingers trailed over his cheeks and ears and into his thick hair.

Spike spoke into her ear. "It was that ghosty bit, love, kicked a few habits out the door. And you know, a hero needs a few P.C. credits for publicity purposes."

"I like it," Buffy smiled and plastered her sweaty slick body to his once more. "I like it a lot."

The music changed again but Buffy stayed in Spike's close embrace, heedless of the animated frenzy surrounding them. She turned her cheek to his chest and held him. This was what she wanted. Spike. Dancing with Spike. Playing with Spike. Arguing with Spike. Making up with Spike. Especially making up with Spike.

Anything with Spike.

*

"That was bloody fantastic!!" Dawn squealed with delight as the trio wound their way through a small park a few blocks from their hotel. "You guys are the best. That was the best club and I had the best time!" Dawn danced a few feet ahead of Buffy and Spike who lurched as one. Walking and kissing were not mutually exclusive things, hardly a graceful combination, but not mutually exclusive.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Dawn stopped short as two haggard looking men stepped out from behind a tree. No, not men, vampires...or perhaps rejects from some failed Andrew Lloyd Webber musical: Les Miserables meets Cats by way of Oliver. It was a look, one that wasn't long for this world, but a look all the same.

"Evening folks," the shorter of the two spoke with a lazy Dublin brogue and smiled through nasty brown teeth. "My name's Patrick, that's my brother Seamus. We'll be your vampires this evening...what?" Dawn started to giggle and couldn't stop.

"Catch a clue, much? Would you care meet my sister? Vampire slayer mark one?" Spike pulled a cocky Dawn safely behind him.

"Hey! Seamus. It's a slayer!" Seamus appeared to have suddenly got a case of the itchies.

"I'd just like you two to know," Spike spoke slowly so these dimwitted dead men would understand him, "that I've had a very long and unhappy history with you lot."

"What? With vamps?" Patrick puffed up his small chest with demonic pride.

"No. The Irish." Spike shifted and narrowed his eyes at the pathetic excuse for vampires before him.

Patrick's eyes widened with delight. "Jai-sus, Mary and Joseph, would you look at that. Seamus! This bugger's one of us!"

"Now, if you wouldn't mind a few pointers from your elder?" Spike knew these twits were no better than fledges. They nodded agreeably to his sage advice. "You're opening line is passing fair--"

"That was my idea," Patrick interjected, "more formal like."

"Yeah, but you really need to work on the blasphemy because it sucks, mate. You're evil, lads. Embrace the demonic vibe! And the Dickensian waif thing? That was a clich� when I was a boy and Dickens was bloody well still alive."

"Oi! We're not gonna stand here and take that from the likes of you," Patrick summoned all of his recently acquired supernatural cockiness. Seamus started backing away.

"Is that so?" Spike's response ended abruptly in a double blast of dust when Buffy cartwheeled by him and staked the offending duo in a clean one-two motion.

"Cool, Buff. I haven't seen you do that in months." Dawn sidestepped a speechless Spike and started walking again.

"What the hell was that?" Buffy looked at Spike crossly. "You're evil? Embrace the demonic vibe?"

"To thine own self be true." Spike's smirk looked almost innocent.

"Hey, I know that one! Simon Cowell, right? Or is that a Paris Hilton quote?" Dawn missed the look of incredulous dismay on Spike's face.

"Simon Cowell," Buffy pronounced. "It sounds like something that windbag would say."

"HELP!" The plaintive cry of a frustrated vampire filled the warm night. Spike resumed walking and trailed after the girls.

"Slayer. I did have that under control back there." Spike chose arrogance over petulance. Arrogance always got under Buffy's knickers.

"You know Spike," Buffy slowed her cadence. "I've done a lot of thinking on my technique and I decided that I wasted far too much time in Sunnydale engaging the evil dead in witty repartee. And if I was honest, you were the only one who had any kind of conversational skills at all."

"So I'd rate better than Peaches?" He couldn't help it.

"Conversationally? God, yes!" Spike was surprised and pleased at that response. "You're better at a lot of things, but I'm afraid Angel wins in the whipped puppy category."

"I'll cede that willingly."

Buffy signaled for Dawn to wait at an intersection and pressed Spike back against a tree. "You know what Faith always used to say about slaying, Spike? It makes us hungry and horny."

"Is that so?"

"Mmm hmm, and I can't wait to get to the meat..." Buffy brought her hands around Spike's waist under his duster and squeezed his bum cheeks.

"Can't you two wait until we get back to the hotel? You'd think it would be out of your system by now." An annoyed Dawn walked up to the entwined pair. "You know, this could really start to piss me off if it wasn't so damn cute." She turned with an exaggerated sigh and walked away. At last the hotel was in sight. Buffy and Spike followed her all the way back to their room.

*

"Do you hear sleeping yet?" Buffy whispered into Spike's ear.

"She's almost there, a few more minutes ought to do it."

"Good, cause I'll be doing you in a few minutes." Buffy couldn't hold back her giggle.

"Shh, come on." Spike clamped his hand over Buffy's mouth and heard the deep resonant breaths of a sleeping Dawn. Buffy bit playfully at his palm.

"Only you'll need to tone it down Tarzan."

"Me? You're the one who's prone to shouting. All that Spike inspired enthusiasm's hard to bottle up, I know." He dropped his duster on the chair. Buffy felt the weight of his gaze flow over her tingling skin, like a wave of gooseflesh on fire.

"Please...you're the one who can't contain his enthusiasm."

"Maybe you'd like to take this outside, Slayer." Buffy shivered as the sound of that challenge reverberated through Spike's larynx. He laced his fingers through hers and backed her slowly toward the sliding door to their tiny balcony. She reached behind her, unlatched the lock and slid the door open.

Buffy stepped out into the darkness. Surrounding them the tree tops smothered the dim lights from street level. The air rustled softly through the canopy around them. It was beautiful and quiet, the perfect secret space for them.

"Spike--" Buffy turned her head and Spike was right there, a solid barrier.

"Assume the position," his low whisper vibrated straight to her womb. Buffy caught a gasp in her mouth. Two strong hands brushed down her arms and led her hands to the metal edge of the balcony railing.

"Are you going to behave?" His tongue curved along the inner crescent on her ear. Her only response was a nod. "You'll be quiet, now, won't you?" Spike gathered her pleated suede skirt in his hands and smoothed it up over her waist. Again Buffy nodded.

"It would be a shame for Dawn to lose a good night's sleep just 'cause her big sis can't keep her voice down...wouldn't it?" As punctuation to that statement, Spike slid his fingers deeply between Buffy's legs. Buffy nodded her head back against Spike's.

"Yeah that's right, just let my fingers do the talking, eh love?" He slipped two fingers under her thong and began an easy exploration of her moistened tissues. Buffy spread her legs a little wider to encourage him.

Dropping to one knee Spike bit playfully on her left bum cheek with blunt teeth. Soon he slipped her thong down her legs and off her feet. He tucked the item in his rear pocket for safekeeping.

His fingers slid up and down her legs and he couldn't resist a few slurping kisses to her exposed cleft. The high-heeled shoes accentuated her height and he was eager to make good use of that. But first he wanted to test her ability to stay quiet.

"Prove to me I won't need to gag you, Slayer." Spike pushed her torso forward to assist his angle of assault. Moisture oozed from her depths at the thought of being gagged. There was no time to prepare. Spike's mouth was upon her, licking and tasting and slurping and sucking.

Buffy gasped and jolted physically, but bit her lip in response. The only sound that rose from their balcony was the liquid sounds of his mouth hungrily devouring her flesh. She didn't even hear the zipper when it sounded, so absorbed she was in the cacophony within her mind at that point.

"That's good. You know how to keep your mouth closed." Spike whispered in her ear again as his cock pushed deeply into her body. "Mmm, yeah, that's it..."

"Spike--" Buffy turned her face toward his.

"Shh love, quiet as a mouse now, yeah?" He thrust into her body slowly and deliberately with a deep and luxurious rhythm.

Buffy's hands left the railing and reached for him. One hand snared his head, holding it close to hers and the other groped for her clitoris, colliding with his hand in her skirt.

"Now, now," Spike hushed, "thought we were behaving ourselves. That's my job, pet, so hands off." Buffy grabbed Spike's hand and led it to the area in crisis.

"I need it," she hissed practically airlessly.

"And you're gonna get it."

He kept his motion smooth and slow. Her rapture grew until it blossomed into a near silent explosion within her mind and throat. There was a whoosh of breath and then the physical tremors passed between them until they ebbed out of existence. It was as passionate and profound an orgasm as she'd ever had. Without the sound effects everything was doubly magnified internally.

"Mmm, feel good sweetheart?" Spike held her closely in a tight embrace; their bodies still intimately joined. He inhaled her scent along with the rhythm of her heart as it returned to a more moderate rate. Soon Buffy wiggled in his embrace. Breaking his hold she pivoted to face him.

"Want you to feel good...better than good." She draped her arms around his head and kissed him deeply. At the completion of the kiss Buffy lowered her hand to open Spike's belt buckle. "Less clothes, more skin."

"Buffy, shh...Dawn will--ack!"

"That's my Big Bad," Buffy breathed seductively, "my big...big...bad."

*

Buffy woke a few hours later, just before sunrise. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but good sex always tired her out. She opened her eyes and saw Spike's Adam's apple. A quick assessment of their position revealed her atop Spike on the floor.

She thought of her last moments of consciousness. Spike was giggling and she threatened to buy him a muzzle. Not the best tactic to calm down such a situation, especially with a horny vampire as a partner. He kind of exploded. There was some enthusiastic rolling about on the floor and a great deal of excessive thrusting followed by an uncontrollable snarling climax. Buffy was positive she was the snarler in question that time.

"Morning, love." Spike kissed her tousled head and hardened again inside her.

Buffy rolled them and settled herself comfortably under him. "Oh hi, I remember you. Big Bad...right?" She tilted her pelvis and squeezed his shaft. Her body roused slowly as the roll call of tired muscles made themselves known.

"That's right. Big and bad and frequently quite good."

"I'll say," Buffy sighed contentedly. She stretched out her arms and gathered up her wildly tossed hair, tucking it away under her head.

Just at that moment the tilt of her head in the diffused light of the room accentuated the contours of her neck in a highly arousing manner. A slow rumble sounded from Spike's chest.

"What?" Buffy whispered, catching a look of utter enchantment on Spike's face.

He said nothing. He should have stopped his reaction but the pulse point of her neck danced a seductive beat beneath his gaze. He never went there, not with Buffy. He never once even tried. He'd even forced himself to stop thinking about it.

She held him snug in the curve of her thighs. "What?" She brought her hands to his face. "Tell me."

"It's nothing, Buffy." Her eyes moved kindly over his face. A slow smile curled her mouth. She squeezed him internally in slow pulses as her heartbeat throbbed powerfully within her. It was a rhythm that held them both.

"Is it this?" Buffy struck in a flash nipping into his neck and drawing her blunt teeth up over his chin. Spike's eyes blazed golden. "I think it is..." Her hands brought his face closer to hers.

Swirling in her essence Spike fought against the shift. He was a captive of her heartbeat as it pulsed insistently around his cock.

"It's okay, Spike. It's okay to be who you are and what you are with me."

"Buffy--" His voice caught in his throat. There was love in her eyes and a spark of something that felt like acceptance. For this, the darkest truth of his existence. His need for blood. A need to devour.

"I'm in love with you, Spike. In love. Truly, madly, deeply... I want you to know it and believe it. It's the real thing Spike, right here." She angled his face to her neck. "Taste it," she hushed, "taste the truth."

He nuzzled deeply into her neck; she felt his lips on her skin but not the pierce of a fang. The increasing suction of his mouth matched a surge between her thighs. There was silence, then the curious sensation of wind flowing through her body and then the sun burst inside her, filling the room and her mind with its ethereal light.

Buffy closed her eyes to the wonder. She absorbed the agonies of his desire, the strength of his soul, the certainty of his reverence, and the courage of his heart...her heart...their heart. Floating and drowning. Reconfiguring together. Helping the hurts of two dark pasts. Finding a reason, a signpost, a new constellation. The stars shone in their eyes now, steadfast and true.

Buffy was not a religious person by any means. It was an odd juxtaposition for a person so versed in the realities of evil. It was harder for her to see the other side, the valley beyond the shadow of death, were peace shall be a dominion. Belief. That was the sticking point. But it was easy with Spike. He was salvation, darkness tempered by light; redemption made flesh. He helped her see that distant valley.

She believed in him. She believed because of him. There was an aspect of his eyes where the fires of lapis burned. It made her believe there was a heaven for heroes were all blood and sorrows were cleansed. Somewhere were she and Spike would both be kissed by the sweet lips of forgiveness.

Part 6: Family

The door to the bathroom opened and Buffy emerged to face an anxious Dawn. Wrapped in her robe Buffy combed the length of her damp hair. Behind her, clad in his jeans and having finished flossing his teeth, Spike walked past a concerned looking teenager.

"You two better not have been doing anything ew-y in there." Dawn's voice reminded Buffy of her mom.

Buffy drew the comb through her wet hair. "We were showering, Dawn. Individually, I might add." It was true, but Dawn's look of weary skepticism betrayed her feelings.

"Yeah, right. You two have been going at it like possessed hamsters, I swear." Dawn entered the bathroom and picked up her toothbrush. She proceeded to squeeze out some toothpaste. "There are lots of other animals you could emulate. You don't have to copy the sex maniacs."

"Dawn--"

"What about penguins?" Dawn continued speaking, her mouth foamy with toothpaste. She seemed awfully pleased with this example of animal restraint. "They're civilized." Dawn bent over and spat into the sink. "Why don't you two embrace your inner penguin? They're calm and quiet and orderly and they walk in single file...and -- bonus points -- they're dressed for success." She stabbed her toothbrush for emphasis, thoroughly pleased with her speech thus far. "And you never see them hooching it up on those nature documentaries. They always look like they're on their way to the opera or something really boring like that. So yeah, calmness, single file, wait your turn, politeness and...Where was I going with this?"

"Off the deep end?" Buffy suggested.

"Yeah-ha, very funny. Can you at least wait and perv out in front of Giles? You can burn up his retinas for a change."

"What are you talking about?"

"We've got to get ready, Giles is sending a car."

Buffy looked perplexed. "What?"

"Buffy, Giles invited us to his country place for the day, so get cracking!"

"And you were going to tell me this...when?"

"Didn't I tell you yesterday?" Dawn furrowed her brow. Information error. That was a new one for Dawn. She prided herself on being attentive to all aspects of social planning. "I could have sworn I did. Maybe you don't remember on account of playing mystery date at the club last night or your not so nice interlude with Dame Edna."

"Dawn!" Buffy sighed instead of engaging in a verbal fracas with her sister. She forced herself to calm. "Fine, I'll call Giles and get the details." Dawn shut the bathroom door and immediately started singing loudly. The squeal of the shower did not overpower her enthusiastic rendition of a medley of hip-hop tunes. Spike pressed his lips together wearily at the state of what passed for music these days.

Buffy found her cell and dialed Giles' number. She walked to the window and peeked out. Overcast was a kind description. The clear sunrise had given way to clouds and a punishing rain now fell. Buffy smiled out the window as she talked briefly with Giles. Yes, they were invited. Spike too. He was sending a car. They were to check out of the hotel and take all their belongings with them. Giles would drive them to Heathrow later that evening.

A Sunday flight back to Rome. Buffy had blocked that eventuality out of her mind, but weekends don't last forever. Sometimes real life bites you in the butt.

She ended the call to Giles and turned to see Spike pulling on his socks and boots. He traveled light, with just the clothes on his back and his trusty duster. Buffy walked over and sat down on his lap.

"What's he say?"

"We're all invited for the day."

"Rupert actually said that? 'Spike' and 'invited' in the same sentence?" Buffy flared her eyebrows and smiled.

"Only, it's getting close to biblical outside."

"Oh yeah? Plagues of locust?"

"Rain. It's kind of horizontal."

"Hmm, sounds wonderful." Spike stroked her damp hair. When she rose and started getting dressed and organizing her suitcase, he remained silent.

Spike had a highly specialized ability to compartmentalize information. Packing suitcases meant leaving the hotel and probably a date with an international flight. He kept his mouth shut, lest the charm of the past two days burst like a bubble in his sights. He'd take her lead and see what she had in mind.

His own thoughts on the matter were clear. One place was as good as another, and any place with Buffy was the best of all. He'd done his time with Angel and found some closure in that department.

Spike never needed to kowtow to Angel again. They were more like true brothers now. Something he'd secretly wanted but Angelus' monstrous ego always got in the way. The Angel ego was no less monstrous in size but his temperament was more predictable.

It struck Spike as a good thing that the old animosity had leveled off. Angel was always going to be great fodder for amusement, but Spike no longer felt that homicidal compulsion toward Angel. The past year had worn those old resentments away. Sort of.

Pummeling Angel within an inch of being staked was the best medicine Spike had in a long time. Maybe ever. And the recent dragon related unpleasantness? It wiped the slate clean, or cleaner. Spike felt ripe for a new beginning. Something he could explore honestly and openly.

Besides, Angel had Nina and she was a nice, stable girl. Even as a wolf Spike thought her quite fetching. She and Angel clicked in a way that intrigued Spike. Nina didn't stand for Angel's pompous on high declarations; in fact, she mostly diffused them with humor. She wanted a real relationship and she was ready, willing and able to start him on his schooling. Nina 101 seemed an awful lot like Real Life 101 to Spike and it was high time Angel got enrolled in that program.

The way Charlie explained it they all had a chance for something different. The dimensional connection had sealed with Marcus' death. There were still reams of demons to deal with but they were of the so-called normal variety: vampires, mucus men, trolls and all manner of clawed, tentacled, multiple limbed and mystically motivated little guys.

The big guns were benched for the time being. The first string team of the First, the Senior Partners and the Old Ones had their turn at bat. Now was the time for the other guys, the denizens of the sandlot, the neighborhood kids. It was their turn at bat.

There would be a sandlot full of opportunistic demons and their willing human accomplices in any place he could think of going. Rome had its drawbacks, to be sure. There were a few unresolved issues to contend with, but this time the brass ring was visible and within reach. It looked suspiciously like a young Californian girl who was still finding her legs and testing her wings, but Spike knew this one was going to soar.

Buffy pulled on her underwear, bra and socks, jeans and a thick cable knit cream sweater. She wondered briefly if Spike was going to be cold with just his tee shirt on under his coat. A smile spread across her face at the error in her thinking.

Spike looked up from the chair and saw her staring in a daze while mindlessly caressing the spot he had bitten not two hours before. He approached her from behind and hugged her closely.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. I--" She stumbled over the words in her mind: I thought you'd be cold. "I was just--"

Spike bent his head and brushed a kiss over the spot. It was a single pierce on the left side of her neck. Now little more than a mosquito bite. Unobtrusive, but the pull still had force. His lips brushed her skin and she felt the shiver tingle straight down her spine to the timpani between her legs. The strength of that pull stunned her. It was a tiny puncture to be sure, but its power was greater even than Angel's bite had been. The meaning was wholly different.

Connected. There was no other word for it. The one thing Buffy feared and yearned for, the thing she'd lectured Spike on before the end in Sunnydale, the one thing she kept to herself in those last fiery moments; that's what she felt. Connected.

She'd been connected to Spike every day of the past year. Each man she'd met had to measure up to the Spike standard. Each new place she experienced was tempered with the thought, 'I wonder if Spike ever saw this'. Each night she dreamed of fantastic vistas she'd climb with Spike: a home, a future, something tangible, something sublime. It was a nightly torture she never wanted to end.

Often in her dreams she was pregnant with his child. That was her most secret fantasy of all. Something that was never meant to be, but still it didn't seem so far fetched to her in her dreamscape. Spike would be a loving father; granted, a nighttime father, but loving and protective and nurturing.

A connection. That's what those baby dreams were, a physical manifestation of connection in Buffy's mind.

"You can tell me," Spike smoothed his palms over her cheeks. Blood pooled under her cheeks as the emotion flowed.

"I feel happy," Buffy whispered and gasped a half laugh while tears rolled down her cheeks. Happy wasn't a big enough word. She'd been on a pre, during, and post coital buzz for over fifty hours. Never before had she been inundated with such a flood of good energy and life affirming voltage. Happy would have to suffice. That's what she was, a happy cookie. Baked, cooled and served to a grateful recipient.

Herself.

*

"Hurry up, Dawn." Buffy sighed as she stood in the doorway of the hotel room.

"Just a second!" Dawn whirled about the small space checking every conceivable nook and cranny. "I have to make sure I've got everything."

"This is my life, Spike." Buffy offered a tired smile. "Holding a door for Dawn to walk through." A thought passed through Buffy's mind: that's what Joyce had done for her. Exactly that. Hurry up Buffy, we're going to be late. Rushing about, scampering to and fro like a yearling full of timeless carefree beauty.

Taking turns. That was one thing Joyce concentrated on. Share with your sister. Be nice. One day you'll be glad you have her. Mom was right. Buffy was glad. Dawn deserved her turn just as much as Joyce and Buffy. Dawn deserved a little timelessness. Something precious for a rainy day.

Patience, however, was wearing thin. "Okay, I'm counting to three--" That always got a reaction.

"God Buffy, counting to three?! Who do you think you are? Mary Poppins?" Dawn appeared at the door ready to go dressed in brown corduroy jeans, a tight white fitted blouse and her jean jacket.

"Mary Poppins didn't need to count to three, Bit." Spike spoke up trying to be helpful. "Those brats minded her." Both Buffy and Dawn stilled at the thought of William the Bloody watching 'Mary Poppins'.

"What?" Spike looked completely perplexed at their faces.

"You've watched 'Mary Poppins'? I think that's the single most disturbing image of you I've ever thought about," Buffy spoke seriously but couldn't hide her smirk.

"I bet you know all the songs too!" Dawn didn't even try to hide her look of delight. "Great, now we have something to do in the car to Giles'. We can sing songs from 'Mary Poppins'!" Dawn set off animatedly down the corridor dragging her suitcase on wheels.

"See what you've done Spike?" Buffy rolled her eyes.

"She's just joking, right? Right, love?"

"She must have seen Mary Poppins a thousand times on video, Spike. She wore out three tapes." Buffy held up three fingers and mouthed the words 'three tapes' for punctuation.

An odd thought flashed through Buffy's mind just then. The 'Mary Poppins' fervor was a carefully constructed detail from a non-existent past. Those monks were oddly eclectic in their creation. She could only hope her New Kids on The Block phase was somehow part of those elaborate mystical reconstructed memories as well.

"Bloody hell."

"She likes 'Chim Chim Cheree', but she'll make you sing all the other boy songs."

"Buffy, I don't know the bleedin' songs." It was a movie Drusilla liked. She knew the words to the songs.

"Well there's no time like the present and no teacher like Julie Andrews' biggest fan, Dawn Summers. Forget it Spike, if she starts 'Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious' you'll be singing. If you know what's good for you, you'll be singing." Buffy flashed him a gleeful grin, closed the room door and picked up the rest of the luggage. They met up with Dawn at the elevators.

*

The lyrical sounds of singing voices had not yet dissipated from the back of the sedan when Dawn spoke up.

"Spike, that was awesome! When did you learn to sing harmony?"

"I'll tell you Nibblet, but you have to promise not to divulge my secret."

"I promise." Spike held Dawn's rapt attention.

"I did a little recreational harmonizing with Charlie. He was partial to Gilbert and Sullivan at the time and I was too drunk to resist." Spike smiled at the goofy memory.

"I'd forgotten what a nice voice you have." Dawn turned her head and checked out the passing countryside. "England is extremely green," She never let an opportunity pass to state the incredibly obvious, "and moist." Buffy attributed this newly acquired trait to too much buddy time with Andrew. "Are we there, yet?" Yep, definitely too much Andrew.

The car eventually turned onto a long tree lined drive. They passed fields and bowers and a small trickling stream. Dawn caught a glimpse of some horses running across a picturesque expanse with what looked like a castle in the background.

"Buffy!" Dawn squeaked with excitement. "I think the Queen is Giles' neighbor."

Spike looked out from the darkly tinted rear windows and inspected the vision looming before them.

"Hang on a minute..." "Oh Buffy! That's Giles' house!" Dawn leapt animatedly in her seat.

"Nibblet, calm down, Rupert owns two jackets...and they're both embarrassingly out of fashion...that is NOT his house. Buffy?"

"He lives in Masterpiece Theater!"

"Dawn," Buffy's voice of reason sounded. "This can't be Giles' house. He's-- He lived in a shoe box in Sunnydale. The driver got it wrong. This is not his house." As a saucy response to Buffy's declaration the car stopped in front of a set of palatial front doors.

Dawn pressed her nose to the glass and saw the entrance. Two majestic wooden doors laden with carved lion heads and book ended by the largest iron urns Dawn had ever seen. It was a surreal version of lifestyles of the rich and famous. Dawn blinked with astonishment. In the state they were in, Spike and Buffy were never going to resist the pull of those doors. They were the most beautiful things Dawn had ever seen.

"Buffy, control yourself, but look at Giles' front door." Buffy hazarded a glance and saw the most incongruous image she'd ever seen. Giles stood in the doorway with a pleasant expression on his face. He wore jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, looking particularly to the manor born.

Buffy balked. "What the f--"

"Bloody aristocracy!" Spike spoke up forcefully. "Just when you think they're extinct...This explains a lot actually. Poor sod never had a bloody chance, what with this horror to deal with."

Buffy gurgled, trying to form a rational thought. Dawn burst from the car and bounded into Giles' arms.

"Are those horses I saw yours, Giles?" Dawn's excitement knew no bounds.

"Why yes they are, Dawn."

"Okay, you are officially cool."

Buffy and Spike exited the vehicle and dashed under the portico.

"What's up Rupert, did the Bank of England roger your granny or something?"

"Hello to you too, Spike."

"Is this your real house?" Buffy couldn't alter the complete look of shock on her face.

"This is my mother's family estate, Eastbrook. It's a National Trust property now, but I still have a private apartment."

"And that means?" Buffy would not relinquish her dumbfounded expression.

Spike spoke up. "It means the Bank of England rogered his great, great, great granny. Repeatedly. Now the government hires the help and pays the bills."

Giles' blinked tersely but maintained a pleasant enough fa�ade. A sly smile spread across his face. "You know, this house was in the running to be Brideshead but we lost out in the end."

"That must surely rankle, Rupert."

"I don't know what that means." Buffy looked from Spike to Giles, completely baffled.

"His house lost the audition to star in a mini series." Spike spoke softly into Buffy's ear.

"Oh, cool. I don't know anyone whose house was a movie star." Buffy smiled at Giles.

"Well, the exterior did have a fairly substantial presence in 'A Room with A View', have you seen that one Buffy?" Giles raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Is Adam Sandler in that one?"

"Oh, good lord, Buffy. Come in you lot. A little highbrow culture would do you good you know, both of you girls."

"Oh Giles," Dawn sighed and walked into the foyer, "try as I might, I can't get the California out of my sister."

"Hey, I know culture! I have three semesters of college credits." Giles motioned to the driver to bring in their luggage. "I know I dropped out of Modern Poetry, but I read those poems. Most of them." Buffy crossed her arms and wondered if a well placed pout would suffice. She followed Giles and Dawn through the front door with some tugging from Spike.

"WOW!" Dawn's explosion of genuine awe stopped Buffy's train of thought. Dawn, Buffy and Spike stared in fascination at the ornate architectural details of the front hallway and curving stairs.

"Geez Giles', I used to feel bad for the salary you got as a high school librarian and then, you know, the whole unemployed Watcher thing. I mean, you had patches on your elbows!" Dawn let the sumptuous interior take hold of her imagination.

"England's chock full of eccentrics, Dawn. It's what the aristocracy turned to after the empire went down the loo." Spike couldn't help a little self satisfied smirk for good measure.

"For the record, I am not an eccentric and my elbow patches were quite fashionable, I'll have you know."

"Yeah, Giles. Tweed vests, you the dawg." Dawn giggled with ebullient good humor.

"Be kind Bit, tweed's like a fungus the British can't eradicate."

"Excuse me William? It says Boise on your birth certificate now, does it?" Giles countered with a pointed glare.

"No worries Rupert. I'm a limey, through and through. Just, I done my tweed time...got over it about a century ago in fact."

Spike surveyed what rooms he could see in a rather diabolical manner. "I'll tell you, this brings me back. These big country manors were the best! Great eating and no one noticed when a scullery maid or two went missing--"

"SPIKE!" That was not an anecdote Buffy ever wanted to hear.

"What? I was a growing boy."

"You were turned as an adult."

"I always had a healthy appetite."

"Ahem, yes," Giles interrupted and resisted polishing his glasses with Herculean resolve. "Thank you Spike, for that unnecessary and disturbing trip down memory lane. Would you girls like a tour? Shall we go into the drawing room?"

Dawn nodded like a lunatic. "A drawing room! Buffy, did you hear that? There's a drawing room." Buffy nodded, happy that Dawn was so enthusiastic. "Don't worry if we lose Buffy and Spike on the tour Giles, they've been all over each other since the, ah, incident in your office."

"How's the Waterford crystal by the way?" Spike asked nonchalantly.

"It was touch and go for a while there, but I think it'll pull through." Playful sarcasm from Giles? Buffy knew that meant he held no lasting resentments regarding the office sex.

"This house is just like Pemberly," Dawn pronounced, taking hold of Giles' arm in a formal manner. "I've been reading 'Pride and Prejudice', Giles. Have you read it? I'd recommend it highly, a bit girly but you'd love it."

"I'm sure you meant that in the best possible sense, Dawn," Giles countered.

"A bit girly. That's what she meant Rupert."

"Spike," Buffy poked him in the ribs. "Behave."

"Just stick with me Giles," Dawn reasoned. "Trust me, the Buffy-Spike vibe is not a safe place for innocent bystanders." She began to saunter down the hallway with a solemn cadence. "I will answer to 'Miss Elizabeth Bennett' for the remainder of the day." Dawn's affected accent echoed through the storied halls of Giles' family estate.

"I think that eccentric thing may be catching." Buffy snuggled under Spike's arm and set off to find out more tidbits about Giles that she hadn't known before.

*

After a whirlwind tour the foursome made their way to Giles' personal apartment. It was a small separate ground floor set of rooms that appeared to have walls made out of books.

Giles led his guests into a cozy sitting room and knelt briefly at the hearth to start the fire. "A bit of a sorry day for your visit, I'm afraid. We have quite a famous garden here and of course, the stables. Willow rather liked the gardens," he smiled fondly as he repositioned the fire screen to his liking. "There, that will warm things up. Now, what about lunch, who's hungry?"

To Buffy's surprise Giles brought out trays of finger foods and arranged them on a side table. He'd done a lot of work or contacted some caterers or something. It was a splendid feast. Dawn jumped up and immediately filled a plate with one of everything. Buffy and Spike also filled plates. Spike noted with satisfaction that Giles had obtained a close facsimile of a blooming onion.

Buffy spoke up as they ate their meals. "This is kinda weird, Giles. You know, the whole picnic-y thing with nothing horrible looming on the horizon. Oh God, I've jinxed it. There's something horrible, isn't there Giles?"

"Apparently not, no." Giles wiped his mouth with a cloth table napkin. "It's the oddest thing Buffy, there's been a distinct reduction of supernatural activity since..."

"Since I saved the world...again." Spike didn't even look up from the chewy delicacies on his plate.

"Well erm, yes, since that. Althenea informs me that the radiant energy of the earth is -- how did she put it -- a sort of mossy green hue."

"And mossy green means good?" Buffy asked.

"Mossy green means the energies of this dimension are more or less balanced. No trans-dimensional entities, gods or other powers beyond the natural scheme of things."

"So just the normal variety of creepy and crawly?"

"Just mad dogs and Englishmen in the noon day sun, right Rupert?" Spike looked up and smiled.

"Um, yes, that's one way of putting it. That Old One you spoke of Spike, Illyria? Even that has been neutralized."

"Yeah, but that was before the fireworks. She's a good egg all 'round now. High maintenance though, likes to bash, good with her fists and she's quite partial to a fawning audience. Reminded me a bit of you, love." Spike pulsed his eyebrow at Buffy.

"See Spike. See Spike's nose. See Spike's nose go boom."

Giles ignored that interjection. "And Angel plans to continue the good fight?" His voice was neutral.

"I suppose." Spike shrugged. He wasn't Angel's secretary by any stretch, but he figured the Shanshu was still on the back burner somewhere in the concrete colossus of Angel's cranium. "You know Angel, he's all about the righteous clobber these days. We didn't really have too much of a mushy send off at the airport. He had plans."

"Can I go see the horses?" Dawn swallowed the last of her juice and looked to Giles with hope.

"Yes, Dawn, if you'd like." Dawn jumped up and started clearing away her dishes.

"Slow down Dawn," Buffy called after her. "We're not finished here."

"That's okay, I've got a few chapters to go with Mr. Darcy. I think I'll find a lovely window and read for a bit."

"Okay, but no touching the breakables." Dawn turned and threw an annoyed look at Buffy.

"God, Buffy, I can control myself." With that said Dawn left the room.

Giles poured the tea and the three adults sat deep in thought. Buffy was bowled over by the congeniality of the scene. Spike and Giles weren't at each other's throats. It was a different dynamic. Wonderful but weird. At least if they were spewing vitriol at each other she'd know what was happening. This apparent coziness was weird. There was that word again. Cozy. And it described the vibe between a vampire and the head Watcher.

At last Giles stood and spoke. "Spike, there's something I need to say."

"Oh please don't Giles," Buffy spoke up quickly, not wanting the ease of their togetherness to end. She didn't want any negative lectures or innuendoes about slayers and vampires to spoil their lovely stormy day.

"Buffy--" Spike's interjection was stifled by another from Buffy.

"If it's bad then I don't want to hear it. I really can't take that from you."

"Buffy, let the man speak." Spike was ready for anything. Giles was, for all intents and purposes, Buffy's father. Anything he had to say, Spike was willing to hear. He may not like it, but he'd hear him out.

"I've lived a life of contemplation and study periodically accented by action," Giles began slowly. "My ideas about things have been deeply ingrained from personal experience and research. The Watcher's chronicles, as you both are well aware, were hardly the most reliable or comprehensive of texts--" Buffy snorted loudly and then reddened quickly, embarrassed by her own outburst.

Giles continued. "I've been accused of being a stick in the mud and a bit of a fogy and rightly so I'm afraid, but I do know that life is change. The new council, our army of slayers, this is a reality I never anticipated, but one have come to embrace. I've even surprised myself in the past year..." Giles' voice trailed off briefly only to return with conviction.

"You have surpassed my narrow assumptions, Spike. You are not what I feared. You alone have proven beyond measure that true and lasting change is possible. You've shown to be a hero twice and I freely acknowledge it and thank you sincerely for your efforts because I know they were not easy."

"Giles--" Buffy's voiced choked on her emotion.

"The future is an uncertain place," Giles spoke on. "If you two think you have a chance together, than I say go to it. Buffy, I will brook no opposition to your wishes. You have a life to live now, because of Spike, and you should live it however you choose." He gave them his unqualified support and blessing in a few short sentences.

"Oh, Giles." Buffy sprang to her feet and threw her arms around Giles' neck. Spike stood and accepted Giles extended hand and shook it.

"Buffy...where's my blue shoulder bag?" Dawn stopped in the doorway and stared. "There's hugging? When did this happen? Why do I always miss out on the good stuff? I want hugging!" She scooted over to the group and was soon enveloped in an affectionate Buffy and Giles sandwich. Then with a hoot she jumped into Spike's arms and hugged him again, like that first time just two days ago.

Dawn felt love in that room, among more books than she'd ever seen outside of a library. Love and gratitude and remembrance.

A little bit of Sunnydale lived on in these four beings: Dawn's childhood, her school days, her best pal Janice; Anya and the Magic Box; Tara's funny shapes pancakes. And Joyce. Treasured memories. Some fabricated, some factual. All beloved.

The hellmouth had swallowed so much of Dawn's life: her home, her room, her pictures and journals. The porch swing. Grandma's engagement ring. The letter Hank wrote to her after she was born. Even Joyce and Tara's graves. That was the most hurtful blow of all. But the proof of their existence lived within Dawn's heart and mind and also the minds of these three witnesses.

Her family.

Part 7: Fully

A persistent driving rain was not the slightest deterrent to Dawn's enthusiasm for seeing Giles' horses. Had the weather been more accommodating she would have been anticipating a thrilling jaunt through hill and dale aboard some shining steed named Thunder or Lightning.

As it was the prospect of feeding carrots to the horses was enticement enough. After their leisurely lunch was finished, Giles donned his long riding coat. He handed an umbrella to Dawn and another to Buffy. Giles and Dawn set off from the side door. Buffy lingered a moment with Spike.

"We don't have to go. Horses...that's Dawn's thing."

"Are you joking? There's no way I'm missing an opportunity to walk in the rain with you." Spike took the umbrella from her hand and opened the door.

"Are you going to be okay?" Buffy wasn't exactly sure what the exceptions to the rule were regarding daytime exposure. Spike looked out into the misty vista.

"Never thought I'd say I missed the old pea soupers. I'll be fine. Those clouds make a right nice blanket. If the storm breaks we can make a run for it."

"Okay." Buffy walked out through the door and followed the flagstone path to the end of the small kitchen garden. Once through the gate in the low stone fence she saw the vast expanse of formally designed gardens and beyond them the barns. Dawn and Giles disappeared inside a far building.

Giles walked to a wooden crate and slid aside the lid. Inside was an impressive assortment of carrots. He gathered up a handful and handed them to Dawn.

"We'll just need to walk a short distance into the field to get their attention."

"What are their names, Giles?"

"Well," Giles smiled, anticipating a reaction. "There's Bill and her two babies, Bull's Eye and Buttercup."

"Bill is a mare?"

"Yes."

"And the reason she's called Bill is...?"

"It's a perfectly good name. Plus, I had dogs named Bill when I was a boy."

"Dogs? More than one dog named Bill?" Dawn wrinkled her forehead. "Wasn't that confusing?"

"One at a time, Dawn."

"Oh, I see, no imagination."

Dawn looked around the interior of the building as the potent aroma of the barn wafted into her lungs. A slightly bedraggled gray tabby rubbed hopefully against her leg.

"You have a cat!" Dawn asked Buffy at least once a month for a cat and her answer was always the same. No. Dawn would have to wait until she had her own place to have a pet.

"Well, more to the point Dawn, I have mice. A good mouser or two is an important ally in that regard.

"Two? There's more?"

"There's a nest of kittens--" Giles should have prepared himself for the squeal that burst from Dawn's throat. She almost dropped the carrots.

"Kittens?!"

"Yes, this fellow here has a mate and I believe five kittens."

"Tell me you haven't named them all Bill, please."

"I call them all Kitty. It seems to suffice."

"Giles! Can I name the kittens? Pleasepleasepleaseplease?" Giles laughed out loud at Dawn's innocent enthusiasm. She ran to the barn door and called for Buffy.

Buffy and Spike hurried inside. "What is it Dawn? God, I thought you'd been skewered by a pitchfork or something."

"Don't say no Buffy," Dawn's excited demeanor and her tell tale kitten-face betrayed her. "Giles has--"

"No kittens, Dawn. No puppies, bunnies, gerbils, salamanders or tarantulas." Dawn's brow darkened.

"The tarantula thing was a joke Buffy. God! Get a sense of humor, why don't you?"

"No pets, Dawn."

"No pets, Dawn," Dawn aped Buffy's tone. "Well, I'm gonna pet them, and name them, so there!" Dawn stuck out her tongue. Sometimes Buffy's attitude really floored her. Dawn would swear that Buffy thought she was nine years old.

"Do you still want to feed the horses, Dawn?" Giles asked in a gentle tone.

"Yes, I do." Dawn turned in a huff and walked out of the barn with Giles. They headed toward the field.

"We live in an apartment, Spike. I can't have an animal in there."

"I didn't say a thing. How about that walk? I see Giles has a little duck pond at the end of those trees."

"Whatever you do, just don't say ducklings to Dawn."

"My lips are sealed. Come on." Spike offered his hand and Buffy took it. They wandered down the hedgerow. Buffy looked back to see Dawn feeding carrots to three enormous horses and laughing with Giles.

The day held the scent of magic. No, the whole weekend had been magical. Delicious but surreal. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Buffy hadn't stopped to analyze anything. She'd just lived it, rolling with the punches, and the kisses.

A weekend. It felt like much longer, weeks maybe. Time had become elastic. Buffy was really relaxed. The whole slayer training dynamic that bowled her over most days in Rome had evened out like the glassy surface of the pond in front of them.

"I see the set decorators have been busy," Spike nodded to a conveniently positioned bench under the overhang of a willow tree.

"I've had a dream almost exactly like this," Buffy whispered in awe as a wave of deja-vu flooded her mind.

"Me too," Spike smiled. They cuddled together on the bench. Buffy let the umbrella slide to the ground. She wasn't going to kiss Spike and hold a lopsided umbrella at the same time.

The whole scene struck Buffy as remarkably similar to those crappy romance novels that used to crowd Joyce's bookcase. A stubbornly resistant, handsome and mysterious gentleman and a stubbornly resistant, independent woman finding the truth of love on a soggy bench by a duck pond. Very Harlequin.

"This is such a clich�," Buffy rolled her eyes for emphasis.

"Not for us, pet. This is new and exciting."

"You're excited? A downpour, a few ducks and some lame algae? That's what does it for you?"

"No pet. Let's review. It's daytime, we're outside, and there's no flames to get in our way," his mouth quirked suggestively. "I'm a barrel of monkeys, Buffy."

"I wouldn't say we are completely flame free." Buffy shifted her position to lay across Spike's lap. "You may kiss me now."

"And you think Dawn's the romance freak?"

"Don't call me a freak, and, um, didn't you get your orders? Kisses and plenty of them." Buffy tapped her lips impatiently.

"Demanding little minx, aren't you?"

"Didn't you say once that you were my willing slave?"

"Bloody hell, not that again. That was one of those things you were never, ever supposed to hear. It was a spell, love, remember? Just 'cause you didn't have a chance to belt out some of your sexual fantasies at the time, don't be dragging me back into that muck."

"Muck? The thought of being my slave equals muck? Well, aren't we the gentleman this afternoon?"

"I don't want to be your slave, Buffy. Not anymore." The truth behind that assertion burned in Spike's eyes. Master-slave was not a dynamic he ever wanted to revisit. Well maybe if she asked really nicely and tickled him in that special spot he might consider it. Maybe. But for real? Never. That was a trail of tears and Angelus' smug-faced parlor games. Spike wasn't ever going there again, or back to the darkness of what had passed between he and Buffy in Sunnydale. He let himself be dirt under her feet.

Grasping at straws, that's all he did then...grasp at disintegrating straws.

"Well, nobody's asking you to." Buffy's voice rose slightly and she sat up away from him. "God, I am so bad with jokes. That was supposed to be a humorous aside, Spike." She started to stand but Spike grabbed her wrist.

"What do you want Buffy? From me, from this, from us?" The words poured from his soul. He hadn't meant to ask so soon. History taught him that Buffy didn't deal well with this kind of questioning.

Buffy stared into Spike's face and saw uncertainty there. How could he not know her feelings and wishes? Her initial response was an impulse for annoyance but that stopped when she saw his eyes. He really didn't know.

Those were the eyes of a being who had been toyed with and lied to and tortured to distraction. Buffy knew in her heart that she had been one of the perpetrators. Angelus and Drusilla were not the only guilty parties. Buffy Anne Summers had done damage as well. Her contempt had been as vicious as anything Angelus could muster.

"Spike," she started slowly, feeling the weight of the words. She needed to say this the right way. "I've lived with you in my life and without you. It's better with you. Even the bad old days when you wanted to kill me was better than this last year. I wasn't exactly living when I thought you were..." Her voice tapered off and then returned in a small yet determined tone. Buffy had months to think things through and to accept the wrongs she had inflicted. The intervening time had allowed her to focus upon and embrace her own wants and needs.

"I want you. I want this. I want us. I want everything."

Spike had seen that look on her face before. In the caverns below the high school in the blistering light of the amulet Buffy looked at him in exactly the same way. She had been transparent before him then just as she was this day with the raindrops softly anointing them both.

After that declaration there was nothing but the sound of the raindrops piercing the calm surface of the water. The occasional quack from one of the pond residents went unnoticed by the couple who had only the truth of their affection for company.

*

"We were going to arrange a search party for you two. You're soaked to the bone. Come drip in here." Giles indicated a small laundry room off the kitchen. Dawn crowded in the doorway.

"You two are totally soaked, didn't you notice?"

"Not particularly, Bit." Spike smirked at Buffy.

Giles took charge, like always. "Get undressed and put your clothes in the dryer there and I'll find you something to wear. Buffy, really, you're shivering. This was not the brightest idea you've ever had."

Giles backed out and closed the door. Dawn looked at him with a knowing expression.

"They were so doing it, Giles. They probably used one of your poor unsuspecting trees. See what I've had to deal with since Friday?"

The door opened a crack. "Dawn! Stop that! We were just talking for crying out loud."

"I'll just run and get some clothes and towels then, shall I?" Giles disappeared in a timely manner.

Dawn looked crossly at Buffy. "Penguins, Buffy, remember? If you can think it, you can do it...be the penguin! You too, Spike!"

"Yes, Dawn." Spike's contrite response sailed out of the room.

Buffy closed the door. "What do you mean, 'yes Dawn?' We weren't doing anything wrong."

"Just trying to embrace my inner penguin, is all."

"God, you're soaked, take off your coat." Spike slipped his duster off and hung it on a hook. Buffy removed her shoes and socks and looked at him with an expression he recognized well.

"Buffy," he warned in a low voice. "Stop that, this is your Watcher's soddin' mud room."

"You're all wet, Spike." Buffy smiled and backed Spike against the large washing machine.

"Yeah, and you're shivering, and Giles is gonna be outside that door in a minute."

Buffy pulled her wet sweater over her head and plopped in on top of the dryer. "Take off your tee shirt Spike," she whispered seductively. "I want to see your chest dripping with raindrops." She tugged at his waist and yanked the cotton shirt over his head.

"I love your chest. Have I ever told you that?"

"B-Buffy...Giles won't be long." She knew exactly what she was doing. The d�tente that Giles offered so willingly was not something Spike wanted to jeopardize. Unfortunately Buffy's palm cupping his hardening erection did nothing to soothe his fears.

"You're so hard, Spike. The rain's made your jeans extra tight too. Mmm, you feel so good." Her tongue tasted the tiny trickles of water that cascaded down his pale chest. Her skin was cool, as evidenced by the gooseflesh she wore, but her tongue was a blazing ember.

"Buffy...fuck..."

"Funny you should mention that Spike, that was just what I had in mind." Buffy bit playfully at Spike's right nipple.

"This is Giles' house." Spike put that out there as a required token protest. It didn't matter. He'd fuck her on the London Bridge if she wanted it.

"I think I'm warming up a bit, Spike. Do I feel warm to you?" There was a half smile and a flurry of hands as they clawed in animal fury at each other's impossibly wet jeans. Zippers were lowered after several tries. Wet heavy denim was not the most cooperative of fabrics.

"Spike," Buffy whined in a hiss. "I can't, it won't--"

"I'm gonna peel you like a grape, pet." Buffy started to giggle as Spike began to peel off her jeans. The knock at the door was not unexpected but it still jolted them. Spike snapped his palm over Buffy's mouth.

"Um, yes, Buffy...I've got towels and something for you both to wear. Whenever you're ready, they'll be here outside the door. Ah...carry on--" Spike heard Giles sigh and mutter a 'bloody hell' for good measure.

"Thanks Giles!" Buffy's voice sang out from behind the door. The mud room door opened and a pale slender forearm and hand scooped up the dry things and brought them inside.

"You've got me curious now, Spike"

"What's that, Buffy?"

"I've never been peeled before." She smiled as he knelt at her feet and peeled her jeans down her legs.

"Peeling's only the first part, love, then I get to dry you off."

"I get to peel you first!" Their clothes soon found the receptive metal bin of the dryer and a reasonable time limit was selected. Buffy pressed the start button on the machine, knowing full well that Dawn would be keeping her eyes on the clock if they should tarry for any longer than expected.

It wasn't going to hold her back however. Buffy felt free in a way she hadn't expected. Love and connection strengthened her where previously she had feared it could burden her. She was going to have Spike in Giles' cramped laundry room.

Spike wrapped the towel around her shoulders and rubbed against her skin. Her lips were no longer blue.

"That's not going to work, Spike." She hushed into this ear.

"You cold pet? Let's get you dressed."

"No. I'm still wet, feel how wet I am." Spike mouthed her name as she lifted her leg to his hip. She brought his hand to the area in question: two fingers, then three and a thumb to her clit.

"You're bloody boiling down there...Slayer." His fingers worked deeply as he simply looked into her face. Blood pooled unevenly in her cheeks, announcing her arousal. Buffy licked her lips and Spike responded. His fingers left her depths and raised to her face.

"Taste how wet you are." Buffy locked eyes with Spike and opened her mouth. She sucked the evidence of her desire from his fingers and felt it fuel her feral need for more.

"Lift me," she said as her hands gripped the edge of the activated dryer. Spike lifted her and cupped her ass, holding her firmly. Buffy spread her knees and curled her shoulders toward him. "I want to watch you." She looked at him briefly and then her eyes returned to his now rigid and careening shaft. Spike focused and impaled her on his hungry cock. Buffy watched transfixed as he slid deeply inside her and then withdrew, covered in her juices, over and over again.

The sound of lust mixed with an urgent resolve vibrated from Buffy's throat. "Mmm," she cooed as she watched the spectacle, "that's what I like."

"Yeah?" Spike spoke softly into her left temple.

"Mmm hmm." Buffy thought she'd feel naughty or deliciously dirty doing this in Giles' house, but instead she just felt release and fullness and love. There was no comparison at all to their Sunnydale encounters. Being in love made it so much better. Anything was possible now. Buffy believed that with a conviction borne of fire and sorrows, sacrifices and missed chances. But not again. Not ever again.

*

"So Giles, where's all your games?" Dawn scanned the bookshelves in search of something familiar. Nothing went together better than a rainy afternoon and the sharp clatter of a pair of dice on a game board.

"Let me think," Giles paused. He had a deck of cards somewhere and his father's onyx and marble chess set...but that was more for decoration. "Oh! I know. There's a Scrabble game somewhere..." Giles knelt down and pulled out the squished and worn box from the bottom of a pile of newspapers. "It's been a while, but I think I remember how to play."

"How to lose, you mean?" Dawn's eyes flared. "Okay, the rules are...no foreign words, demon languages included, no slang or proper nouns, you keep score; oh, where's your diction--" Dawn's recitation was stopped by a piercing scream from the laundry room. Buffy's scream. Giles flew like a bullet to the door and burst through, taking a hinge with him.

Buffy crouched on the dryer, hiding her nakedness behind a towel just in time, and pointed into the corner.

"What the blazes is going on here?" Giles' heart pounded in his ears.

"It was looking at me, with teeth," Buffy sputtered breathlessly.

Squatting in the corner totally naked, Spike shifted a few terra cotta pots and saw a recognizable tail scurry away beneath a floor board.

"It's a bleedin' mouse Buffy! You've faced off against the biggest, ugliest demons out there and never once have I heard you shriek like that." Spike looked up casually into the horrified eyes of Giles. "Is there something I can help you with, Rupert?"

"Ah, no. Actually, it was the blood curdling scream that drew my attention."

"You have mice, Giles," Buffy's breathing had not evened out. "Mega mice. With mice teeth."

"Welcome to the countryside, Buffy: moles, mice, hedgehogs, and foxes. My neighbor's Vietnamese potbellied pig was terrorizing the dahlia's just last weekend."

"Don't tell Dawn about that, Giles. I don't need her getting any ideas."

"Well, you two seem to have...things...well in hand here," Giles cleared his throat and stilled his hand as it reached for his glasses. Buffy knew all his tricks. He really needed to come up with some new material. "Feel free to put on some clothing, when you get the chance...I did bring some down."

Spike stayed in the crouched position, shielding himself from Giles, as his erection was still an issue. Giles beat a hasty retreat. Rampant nakedness and assorted naked activities was not something he wanted to think about.

"I think Giles fancies me."

"Is that mouse gone?"

"Buffy, fess up. How much of that was the mouse? Really?" Spike stood up again and turned to face her.

Buffy jumped down from the dryer. "It startled me, and I was just about to...you know, and well, I couldn't help it."

"So, what do you figure? 80% Spike, 20% mouse? 90% Spike?" The ratio suddenly seemed important to Spike.

"I don't know, 60-40 maybe? That was one big ass mouse." Buffy grinned and turned her attention to the clothing Giles brought them. There was a warm terry robe and an elaborately embroidered silk caftan. She handed the silk item to Spike.

"Sure you don't want this one, love?"

"Spike, it's huge. Look at the neckline, my boobs would fall out." The black, red and gold item had a deep vertical split bordered by intricate stitching. Definitely not boob friendly...well, not for civilized company anyway.

"That wouldn't be a problem for me, sweetheart." Buffy pulled on the robe and noted with interest that it was almost a perfect fit. Hmm.

"Spike, would you do something about that?" Buffy playfully swatted his erection. It attained flagpole again status at her touch. "You're going to look like a tent with that."

"Fuck, that doesn't help things at all."

"Oh, you want help? Well say something nice..." Buffy stroked his engorged shaft slowly. "Say pretty please..." She grinned and knelt before him.

"Pretty please..."

*

Buffy and Spike walked into the sitting room and found Giles and Dawn seated at a small table, engrossed in a game of Scrabble. Dawn cast a glance their way and was stopped by the image in front of her.

"Not a word, Bit." Spike stood in the room almost lost in the flowing fabric, but it was his feet that held her attention. He had on a pair of fluffy white bunny slippers complete with ears, eyes, nose and whiskers.

"What? You look cute, Spike." Dawn smirked.

"He beat me to the bunny slippers," Buffy admitted looking down at the thick socks she wore.

"Nibblet, do remember these are Giles' togs, yeah?"

"So Giles? What's the what?" Dawn turned her attention to her opponent.

"What?" Giles looked up from his tiles. It was difficult to make a move with all U's and E's.

"Yeah, Giles," Buffy added her voice of inquiry. "Bunny face slippers?"

"They were a gift."

"Nice and comfy, that's what's important." Spike flopped down in a side chair and spread his knees wide in a familiar pose. He scanned the room's stuffed interior and zeroed in on a turntable with speakers in the corner.

"Here we go. Music, that's what this shin-dig needs. A turntable? Rupert, now I know you're an anachronism."

"The word is connoisseur, Spike." Without looking up Giles counted up his points and marked them down. Buffy strolled over and leaned against Dawn's chair. Word games were never her forte, but she stared intensely at the board anyway.

"You've been holding out on us, Watcher," Spike spoke as he flipped through Giles neatly organized album collection. "Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, Metallica... Buffy your man Rupert here is a closet head banger."

"Th-those are old albums from my school days," Giles finally looked up, colored and shifted uneasily in his chair. "Really Buffy, my tastes are more refined."

"This is AC-DC's last album, and on vinyl no less." Spike flipped through the titles: Eric Clapton, Elton John, Cream... "Bloody hell! You've got an Iggy Pop album! Good for you, old stuff!" Spike's expression ping-ponged from amazement to incredulity due to some of the dodgy titles in Giles' collection. Mantovani's 'Songs to Make Love By' was an embarrassing gem from his parent's experiment in applied grooviness, British style.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Spike crowed with disbelief as he turned an album over and over in his hands. "Sounds of the Lakes and Forests?!"

"That's enough, Spike. Those albums are carefully categorized." More than a hint of irritation mingled with Giles' words.

"You're jokin', right? This is a bleedin' sound effects record!"

"It is highly relaxing, if you must know." The flutter of Giles' eyelashes was as defensive a maneuver as ever he made.

"I think you just put the scare into me, Rupert."

"I have eclectic tastes, Spike."

"Hey Nibblet! Evidence of eccentricity right here," Spike waved the record in her direction.

"Spike!" Dawn spoke sharply. "I can't concentrate with your yammering. I must obliterate Giles, my reputation is on the line."

"Sorry, Bit. I'll just be snickering in the corner then."

Dawn muttered to Buffy. "If only I had an 'S' I could get the triple word score." Buffy looked at Dawn's tiles again: P Y X U and B. The game was winding down. Giles just played the word 'shirt' across the bottom, leaving the triple word score square ripe for the taking in the corner. All of the 's' tiles had been played, so Giles was confident that space was safe.

Buffy whispered a suggestion into Dawn's ear. "What?" Dawn looked puzzled, "what?" Buffy whispered again. "That's not a word, Buffy."

"Try it."

Dawn shrugged and placed three tiles down the side in the corner making the words 'buy' and 'shirty'. She raised her eyebrows at Giles expecting him to say something. His jaw dropped somewhat, acknowledging Dawn's big triumph.

"Hey Spike! Guess what? Shirty is a word!" Dawn busied herself with tallying her score. Buffy looked over at Spike and smiled knowingly. All of a sudden the sound of a cicada filled the darkened English room. That was followed by the lonely moan of a loon and the lull of a lapping shoreline.

"Two triple word scores! Sixty points, Giles. I rule!!" Dawn wiggled in her chair in triumph. "That puts me..." She looked over at the scorecard. "Ahead by twenty-eight points. Eat my dust! What's that weird music?"

"I get it Rupert," Spike stretched out in a chaise and wiggled his bunny toes. "Relaxing is the word."

*

After Giles fed them their tea, Buffy and Spike retired to the laundry room once again to get dressed in their dry clothes. Their newspaper stuffed footwear was still a little damp as was Spike's leather.

Buffy lingered at the door, knowing that Giles was phoning the airport to get an update on the flight.

"Spike?"

"Hmm?" Now that the moment had arrived, Buffy paused, not exactly sure of how to proceed.

"So what do you think? Any interest in some free lance hero-ing? Accommodation included?" It was a lame way to ask but her mind suddenly emptied.

"Are you offering me a job?" Spike wrinkled his brow. "Or are you offering something interesting?"

"We made a good team once. But if you're all tuckered out from the whole dragon thing you can be a vampire of leisure." Her face was open and earnest. She couldn't tell what he was thinking at all.

"I hate Rome, Buffy." That response concerned her. Maybe he had plans. Something he hadn't told her. She started to scramble for words.

"I'll admit it's not the English countryside. Not too many misty duck ponds there. Dawn's got five more credits to finish for her high school diploma and then she's off to someplace brainy." Buffy looked into Spike's stony facial fa�ade. He did inscrutable better than anyone, Angel included. Uncertainty clouded Buffy's mind as she strained for some convincing argument.

Spike thought about the reality of living with Buffy. They'd probably drive each other starkers. That was their well established groove. Buffy was arrogant and insufferable and always had to have the last word in any fight. Despite his best efforts the pout had not surrendered. He'd need to work on that because her pout always clobbered him.

"God but you're sexy when you pout." Truth be told he couldn't wait. He'd live in a puddle with her.

Dawn's booming voice from the other side of the door interrupted them. "Spike? Are you coming with us or not? I have to tell Giles to ask about ticket availability."

"Please?" Buffy saw his stern fa�ade melt into the face of the man she loved.

"Wherever you go, pet, that's where I'll be."

*

"Thank you," Buffy hugged Giles at the curbside in the departures drop-off lane. "For everything."

Dawn punched Giles playfully in the shoulder. "Yeah, thanks Giles. I enjoyed beating you at Scrabble."

"You're most welcome to a rematch at any time Dawn." They hugged briefly before Dawn gathered up her luggage, carry on bag and her purse.

"It's been fun, Rupert." Spike nodded toward Giles and followed Dawn into the terminal. Giles walked around the car and opened the driver's door.

"Say hello to Althenea for me, Giles," Buffy called from the curb.

"What's that, Buffy?"

"I like the new GQ you. I approve -- of that, and her. One hundred percent." Buffy winked at Giles knowingly. There was a pair of ladies panties in Giles laundry room and the robe that obviously fit a woman. Buffy knew from Dawn that Althenea spent a lot of time in London these days. She thought it would be a good match for both of them.

Giles blushed and grinned like a school boy before he waved a last good-bye and got into his car.

*

"What's taking him so long, Buffy?"

"It's the heightened security precautions, you know that Dawn." Buffy searched the crowd for any sign of Spike. He'd been called out of the first security check through line. A long leather coat and an unreadable facial expression? Of course the security people would start swarming.

Buffy tried to quell the churning in her stomach. At least Spike knew their Rome address if anything came up to separate them on this end. There were other flights, but Buffy had a bad feeling. She figured she was due for some catastrophe or another because the weekend had been too perfect.

"Buffy, they're almost finished with the babies and old people. We're gonna be called next." Their tickets read Row 12, seat A and B. Spike had seat C. A tinny voice chimed through what sounded like furry speakers.

"International flight 1-3-7, non-stop to Rome is now boarding. Passengers in the first twelve rows are requested to board through gate 82 at this time."

"Buffy?"

"Go ahead Dawn, I'll wait to the end."

"No Buffy, I don't want to be separated from you. Maybe we should ask at the desk. They'd help us, it's like their job, isn't it?"

"You'd be surprised Dawn. Let's give it a few minutes..." The seating provided surrounding gate 82 emptied as the passengers boarded the plane.

"This is the final boarding call for international flight 1-3-7 to Rome. All passengers should make their way through gate 82." The voice on the speakers sounded alien and metallic.

Buffy approached the ticket desk, feeling nauseated yet prepared to grovel before the pipsqueak aviation professional she saw before her. His name tag read 'Blayne' and he had the worst highlights she'd ever seen in her life. A chill swept down her spine and pooled in her stomach. Buffy's bad feeling now permeated her entire being.

"Excuse me," Blayne glanced at Buffy's boarding pass and sighed.

"Ma'am you need to board the plane right away; we're locking the gate now."

"Yes, but--"

"Come on girls, that plane's not gonna wait for us." Buffy whirled around and saw Spike striding toward the gate with his passport, ticket and boarding pass in hand. He tossed Dawn a packet of cherry licorice bits.

Dawn scowled at him. "We're going to miss the plane, come on."

"Apparently I have bloody fascinating footwear. I tell you, that's news to me." He smiled at Dawn and Buffy.

"Spike--" Buffy grabbed his arm tightly and pulled him into a hug.

"Shall we go home, love?"

Buffy whispered softly into his ear. "Rome is just a city, Spike. You're my home." The trio passed through the doorway and into the tunnel that led to the airplane.

Epilogue: Freely

The key clicked in the lock and Dawn pushed open the front door. A light switched on and Andrew was there, greeting his friends.

"Oh Dawn, Buffy, you're back," Andrew bounced on his toes with his hands on his hips. "We've had some dermatological issues while you've been gone." Ever mindful of his duty, Andrew thought he better get that out of the way first.

"Andrew--" Buffy sighed, finally feeling her exhaustion. Spike appeared in the hallway with the rest of the luggage.

"It'll wait," Andrew's eyes twinkled at Spike.

Buffy stood in the doorway looking at Spike. "Spike, please come--"

"Excuse me!" Dawn shouldered her way past Buffy and grabbed her luggage from Spike. "I'm tired and going to bed."

"'Night, Bit." Buffy took Spike's hand and repeated her invitation just to make sure it was out there. He passed across the threshold into Buffy's apartment.

Andrew stood transfixed and elated in his Star Wars Episode One tee shirt and Spiderman pajama bottoms.

"Andrew," Spike acknowledged him solemnly, anticipating something exuberant, perhaps involving physical contact.

"It's good to see you again, Spike." Andrew arched an eyebrow instead of throwing his arms around Spike. Restraint was part of Andrew's new manly regimen. Perhaps if Spike stuck around a little eau de coolness would waft in Andrew's direction and infect him with some alpha goodness. With his new shaggy hair, Andrew thought 'butch' could be just the look for him.

Buffy bent over and grabbed something she picked up at the airport from her carry all bag. She slapped a newspaper against Andrew's chest.

"Congratulations, Andrew! Today is the day you find a new apartment. I'll clear my schedule and you and I will get on that first thing in the morning." Andrew blinked and nodded. He was actually surprised he'd lasted this long in Buffy's home. "Sound like a plan?"

"Yes, that sounds like a plan." Andrew maintained his manly fa�ade with aplomb. He'd miss video night on the sofa with Dawn. She was just coming around to the whole Timothy Dalton world view, and of course, a heavy Johnny Depp rotation was no hardship for Andrew. Maybe they could make a weekly date of it.

"Okay," Buffy yawned. "I'll see you in the morning. Good night, Andrew." Buffy picked up her luggage and led Spike down the hallway to her bedroom.

Andrew locked the front door and returned to his bed on the fold out couch. He soon fell back asleep and dreamed the dreams of the few...the just...the facially exfoliated.

*

August 2004
Los Angeles, California

Behind the front desk of the Hyperion hotel, a newly connected telephone rang. It echoed through the deserted lobby.

"Is someone going to answer that?" Angel's soft voice called from his back office. He stood up from behind his desk and walked out the door. It could be Connor. He had the new number and the ring was evidence that the line had finally been connected.

Angel saw Illyria behind the desk. She stood listing at an impossible angle; her eyes fixed on a small pot of African violets with fringed pink flowers. The piercing sound of the ringing phone did not even register with her.

"I'll just get that then," Angel leaned beside her and picked up the phone.

"Hello? Hey...Pretty quiet here, how about you?"

At that moment Charles Gunn ambled through the front doors in a business suit, carrying his briefcase and leaning on a cane. Illyria turned her head and acknowledged his presence.

"Yeah, that would be great...okay...I'll see you." Angel hung up the phone and looked up at Gunn.

"How'd that legal thing go?" Angel stood with his hands loose at his sides, looking strangely casual in jeans and a dark green dress shirt. Gunn lent his still intact legal expertise to his friend Anne and the kids at the shelter. He'd fought off threats of eviction and various misdemeanor offenses. Compared to his Wolfram and Hart days, these legal squabbles were minuscule, but he made a difference. After the storm had passed over, the little things were once again paramount.

Illyria stayed at the hotel if Gunn needed to be in court; otherwise she was by his side. She referred to him her consort designate. She said it was to let him know his place, as a lesser being, but Gunn knew different.

Illyria had some serious chinks in her armor. Years of living hand to mouth on the street made Gunn a savvy observer of anything and anyone who crossed his path. In Illyria he saw an all too familiar pose. She pranced and preened and announced her superiority with the delirious and super confident air of a street hustler. Gunn knew that bravado intimately and he knew the fear it masked.

With the loss of Wesley, Illyria's bouts of 'mightier than thou' pontification lessened considerably. She was down to two or three outbursts a day. They struck Gunn more and more as nostalgic reminiscences. Oddly, memories of existence as an omnipotent being mingled equally with memories of growing up in Texas as a skinny and frighteningly intelligent girl.

Neither Fred nor Illyria, the blue tinged being was more a composite and therefore not that different from Angel or Gunn or Nina. Although she complained of the unwanted residual 'contamination' by the shell, she felt the emotional memories of having true friendships and loves, and not just the fawning absent devotion of the masses.

Reduced from the rank of godhead, Illyria was simply a being passing through this realm and she had much to learn. Her bark was still an awesome hurricane and her bite was not inconsequential, but she did have weaknesses. She mourned for Wesley still and only the presence of Gunn would soothe her these days.

"Another check in the win column. How you doing, Blue?"

"This building annoys me. Its design is erratic." Her demeanor always softened toward Gunn.

Illyria insisted on accompanying him to the shelter days before. They happened upon an unruly trio of knife wielding thugs who were harassing Anne's clients before turning their interest to Gunn and Illyria. Gunn watched as the pumped up fools goaded Illyria with a cry of "Show us your tits!" He stopped her from killing them, but she did manage to pocket two ears for her troubles.

"I want to put the thump on some mo-fos, Charles." That statement caught Angel's attention.

"Is this something to worry about, Gunn?"

"You remember our little field trip the other day? Well, Illyria had a wonderful time."

Angel nodded. An apparently content and involved Illyria was a good thing, wasn't it?

Angel Investigations reopened for business. It was Gunn's idea to return to what they knew and did best, helping people.

It was something Anne reminded him of, before the great battle. Something Gunn had almost let slip away. What do you do when you know your efforts won't make one bit of difference? When what is to come will come regardless of deed or thought or prayer.

You do what you do. Everyday. In the trenches. Building a life worth living one step at a time. Believing that life is worth living. Having the faith to go forward into the unknown.

Gunn found that faith again, not faith in gadgets or magicks or rolling the dice, but faith in himself and his two hands. He lived up to his obligations to the memory of the fallen: Wesley, Fred, Cordelia, and his beloved Alonna; to Anne and her kids; and to Illyria, a stranger in this strange land. A creature who needed a purpose and a compass, friendship and belonging in spite of her horrible deeds and arrogant conceits.

Angel's sullen blankness eased as well. Nina helped with that. She would not bend or break in the face of the knowledge she had gained from knowing Angel. He was still distant, but she saw something there, something worthy of her effort. Having Angel in her life was no more daunting than the shadow inside her, the moon beast who lived beyond her fingertips. Nina lived each day and was grateful for another.

The front door opened and Nina walked in. She looked toward Angel and smiled in greeting and heard the continuation of the conversation between Gunn, Angel and Illyria.

"It continues to amaze me that your kind rose to dominance here. The human form is so shabbily conceived...so many vulnerabilities, so many weaknesses..." Having heard Illyria's 'you are all insects' rant more times than she would have liked, Nina walked over and kissed Angel's cheek. Illyria's attention piqued at that motion, but her scathing diatribe continued.

"...Just a flick of the wrist and the ear comes right off. Horrible design." Nina wrinkled her nose in response.

"A porpoise would have been a far better master of this world. Compact. Streamlined. Built for maximum efficiency of effort. Infinitely more beauteous than your porous carcasses. Their superiority over you in every conceivable capacity must irritate your puny primate egos in the extreme." Her statement ended as she observed Angel hug Nina to his side and tickle her hair with his nose.

The front door opened again and tall broad shouldered blond man walked inside. He wore a uniform with matching shorts and crisp short sleeved shirt. He carried a clipboard, a parcel and a name tag that read 'Chip'.

Chip approached a group of four people standing around the counter and barely gave the blue haired, leather clad female with the almost there homicidal glare a second look. This was LA. Everyone had a gimmick.

"Package for Mr.-- uh...Angel. He's got to sign for it."

Angel stepped up to speak to Chip.

Illyria turned her attention to Nina. "Angel enjoys the olfactory experience of your subcutaneous extrusions."

"Um...excuse me?"

"Your hair," Gunn provided needed translation. "Angel likes the smell of your hair."

"Why is that?" Illyria had the habit of making small talk seem like an interrogation.

"I guess it smells good to him." Illyria had never actually spoken to Nina before. She didn't quite know how to respond.

"What is your prescribed regimen?"

"Um, just shampoo and conditioner, I suppose. And a comb." Illyria's matted mane had not escaped Nina's eye.

"What is...shampoo?" Illyria's empty expression wavered.

Angel signed the clipboard while listening to Chip's enthusiastic pitch. This was LA. Everyone had a pitch.

"...It's a monsters in the sewers kinda deal. 'Godzilla' meets 'Daylight' meets 'Kitten with a Whip'..."

"Well, that sounds interesting. Good luck with that screenplay thing, Chip." Angel handed back the clipboard and pen.

"Later, dude." Chip grinned and sauntered out of the hotel, thinking it would be a great location for the first act of his movie. Angel stepped back over to the counter and rejoined the conversation.

"...Well, I'm heading to the spa, you could come along." Nina's halting delivery and quizzical expression made it sound like a question. She looked from Angel to Gunn and back to Illyria.

"I will kill things there?"

"No." It was an automatic response from Gunn.

Nina continued. "They will pamper and polish you...with shampoo. They aim to please."

"Slaves will tend to this shape...make it pleasingly scented?" Illyria glanced toward Gunn.

"Not slaves," Nina corrected her, "estheticians and beauty consultants."

"They will die horribly if I am not well pleased."

"Uhh..." Nina looked to Gunn for assistance.

"If you don't like it, just don't leave a tip."

"You will accompany me Charles." The tone of her voice was almost a request.

"I suppose I could go for a little pampering." Illyria walked in a strident manner toward the front doors. That was Gunn's cue to set his briefcase on the counter.

"I guess that's us leaving for the spa." Nina shrugged her shoulders and gave Angel a hug. "Later Duuude!" She mimicked Chip's cheery farewell.

"Sure you can keep yourself out of trouble until we get back?" Gunn glanced in Angel's direction as he paused at the door. Angel nodded and tore open the packaging of the parcel. He walked back into his office with the jovial sounds of Illyria, Gunn and Nina ringing in his ears.

Angel stared into the package and then rechecked the label for the return address. He paused before removing the contents, letting its message soak through him. He pressed his lips into an almost smile. There was no sender specified on the box but the place of origin was Rome, Italy.

Angel looked around his office for the perfect place and found it. Beside the framed picture of Cordelia and the one of him and Connor, Angel carefully placed the unopened can of Mountain Dew.

*

August, 2004
Rome, Italy

"You are the most infuriating vampire ever!" Buffy yelled at Spike while she kicked the chest of a long haired vampire.

"Infuriating? Me? You wrote the soddin' manual on infuriating, love. I got my own rhythm to these things and you just waltz right in and bollix it all up." Spike lectured calmly as he snapped the neck of a large opponent.

"Yeah, yeah...see vamp, see vamp go poof. Some rhythm." She stepped backwards aggressively and impaled another vampire with her stake. The creature exploded in a cloud of dust. Buffy waved her hand and coughed loudly. Breathing in vamp dust was the worst, an unavoidable occupational hazard yes, but still unpleasant.

The crowd of attackers soon evaporated.

"You have just watched too many movies, Spike. I swear, I thought you were gonna start on the 'this town ain't big enough for the both of us' crap. Talking to them is a mistake, just grab the damn stake and apply liberally." Buffy brushed former vampire flakes from her halter top and denim skirt.

"From now on you are banned from watching anything with Clint Eastwood on a horse! I mean, who watches westerns anymore?"

Spike waved his hand. "I do, right here. And the dustier, the better."

"That's 'cause you're bent."

"Yes, I think we've established that, pet. Besides, you like me twisted, you know you do." Spike flared his eyebrows in a provocative manner.

"Don't even start that. I'm PLENTY pissed off and...Forget it! The tongue curl has no power over me."

"No? That's not what I heard last night--"

"And stop tilting your head! I'm annoyed with you. Stop trying to seduce me."

"I have to try now? Bloody hell, that cuts me deep, Slayer." He tilted his head and nailed her with a meaty lower lip thrust. Buffy swallowed hard.

"And what's with you lately? All this macho posturing and nostril flaring? You used to be all fangs first and grrr. I think more than a little Angel has rubbed off on you."

Spike's eyes turned stormy. "You take that back! I'm nothing like Peaches."

"Careful, your broody's showing." Buffy smirked and backed away slowly.

"You don't get to call me broody. I'm a thinker. He's a stewer. It's a whole different vibe."

"Broody is as broody does..." Buffy turned and started running. Most nights they patrolled with the young slayers and then they did a short patrol alone. They bickered and squabbled and generally behaved like snarky grade schoolers. Usually there was taunting, accompanied by some minor sparring and a vicious clash of pheromones.

Buffy disappeared behind an impressive mausoleum. "Yoo hoo, Mr. W-o-l-f!" Her playful singsong voice sailed through the steamy Roman night.

In a flash he had her pressed against an ancient stone wall. "Looky, looky what I found." His voice solidified into a low growl that resonated deeply within Buffy's body. Bite marks on her neck, and the intimate punctures on her nipples and between her thighs vibrated in response to his throaty declaration. Her scent thickened the air between them.

"N-no fair. You can't just fire up the whammy Spike, that's...that's..."

"Cheatin'?" He held her closely, examining his prize, this annoying and electrifying pearl of great price. "Well, I was evil, love. Some habits die hard."

"Sp--" His lips covered hers with ravenous purpose. Her hands dove between them, searching for his hardness. Tonight they wouldn't make it beyond the dusty confines of a nearby crypt.

Spike carried her through a door to a sarcophagus. His leather covered its surface. Hands worked in a furious duet as they dove at each other in a madness of their own making. A gasp of need and a reply of untamed hunger filled the musty confines of this makeshift boudoir.

A surging and growling rhythm eventually gave way to a breathless vocal intonation of surrender: lips swollen beyond kisses, tongues silenced beyond words, eyes clouded beyond desire and flesh glowing beyond fantasy. Their bodies spoke the language of belonging, of fears eased and burdens lessened; of hope for the lost and the lonely to be found and acknowledged and sanctified. They knew that whatever the path or how distant the journey the trail ahead was not merely to be endured, but to be savored. Together.

"Buffy?"

Hovering in her bliss, Buffy grunted. "Unh."

"Sweetheart--"

"Shh...Shh...afterglow is a sacred thing. Don't ruin it."

"You cold? Uncomfortable? This is a sarcophagus, you know."

"Is that a complaint I hear?" Buffy opened an eye and squinted at Spike.

"It's only...our bed's nice and comfy. Better for you, I mean."

"Our poor bed needs a break, don't you think? And it's not like we've never done it on a sarcophagus. What?" Buffy sat up on one elbow. "Is the Big Bad getting spoiled? You better not be going soft on me." Buffy smirked as her eyes and fingers trailed down his torso toward his cock.

"Hey!" Spike flipped her over and settled in the warm embrace of her thighs.

"Okay, I give," Buffy giggled. "Softness is NOT the issue." She sighed contentedly as Spike kissed the span of her collarbone. "Mmm, today was such a good day. Well, except for the parts when you pissed me off."

"Right back atcha, Goldilocks."

"You know Spike, if you'd just worked on that attitude thingy, you'd be the fluffiest, bunniest widdle vampire ever!" Buffy didn't even get the chance to smile. He was inside her deep and thick and snarling.

"Ahhh," Buffy arched her back in response to his fervor.

"You were saying, Slayer?" Buffy looked up into his burning yellow eyes, his wicked face tense and defiant. She tried to focus, but his attentions were more than distracting.

A hushed voice sounded from deep in her throat. "There's my nasty widdle bunny boy..."

The games had begun anew.

The End

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