His Childe

By Kallysten

Chapter 41 - Bullets and Magic

As she came toward Buffy, Willow cast a worried glance toward the sky. Really, her friend shouldn’t be taking chances like this. The clouds could clear out in a minute, and then poof… Still, Buffy didn’t seem concerned about that danger at all. She was pacing restlessly, an habit she seemed to have picked up from Spike.

“Hey there,” Willow said cheerfully.

“Hi Will. What are you doing here so early? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your classes?”

Willow nodded absently, noticing that, despite her forced smile, Buffy sounded upset.

“Spike called,” she answered, “He wanted Tara to drop by. He wouldn’t tell why though. Do you know what he wants from her?”

By the slight frown that touched her forehead, she knew. But the frown disappeared instantly, and again, the forced smile came back.

“Nothing to worry about,” Buffy said with false brightness. “Enough worries with the Evil Uno.”

“The sinister yet addictive card game?”

Even bad jokes were not working, and Buffy only gave her a blank look.

“You'll find him,” Willow declared optimistically. “He won't be much good without his friends.”

“No. He won't.”

Buffy’s words were quiet, and Willow understood she wasn’t talking about Warren anymore. They shared a smile, and at last it looked natural on Buffy’s lips. Willow was about to suggest getting inside, as the sky looked like it was clearing out, but something behind Buffy caught her eye.

“Buffy…”

Her friend turned to see what she was looking at. Warren. He was in the back end of the yard, his face twisted by rage and almost unrecognizable.

“You think you can just do that to me?” he yelled. “That I'd let you get away with it? Think again…”

As he finished talking, he raised a gun toward them and opened fire, several detonations exploding in a quick succession. Instantly, Buffy shoved Willow to the ground, and the redhead was slightly stunned for a second. She regained her senses just as Warren stopped shooting, and thoughtlessly she gestured toward him, words escaping her lips. She stared at him for a second, as he was now trapped in a cage of air. She had used magic instinctively, without even realizing what she was doing. Surely Tara would understand…

Abruptly, she was brought back to more immediate matters by a growl. Buffy was on the ground, vamped out, her chest soaked in blood. Willow’s first thought was that she couldn’t let her friend die. A quick look at her golden eyes reminded her that it wouldn’t happen, at least not because of a bullet.

“Buffy?” she called hesitantly. “Are you… ok?”

Buffy’s hand rose to her chest, pressing against the wound, as if trying to stop her own blood.

“God that hurts…”

She started struggling to get up, and Willow helped her to her feet, holding her steady.

“Let’s get you inside,” she suggested. “Can you walk?”

Buffy nodded, though her teeth were bared in a snarl. If it had been any other vamp, even Angel or Spike, Willow would have been afraid.

“Warren…” she said suddenly, turning her head to look at him.

“He can’t go anywhere,” Willow informed her.

“What if… someone sees him?”

It was weird how she was panting, as if struggling for breath, Willow thought worriedly. She didn’t need to breathe, so why was she?

“I’ll get him inside once you’re settled down, and lock him in the basement until we have taken care of your wounds. Ok ?”

Again, a nod was all the Slayer could manage for an answer. With Willow’s help, she staggered to the house, and sat down in the kitchen.

* * * * *

“Bloody hell! I had forgotten how much that hurt!”

Clasping a hand to his chest, Spike raised his face toward Tara. The Witch was so pale, he could have believed she was the wounded one.

“Hey there Glinda,” he tried to say lightly despite the pain, “Don’t you worry, I’ll live. Mostly.”

She blinked and took a step toward him, reaching out hesitantly.

“What… what happened?” she stammered.

He struggled to get to his feet, grateful for her hand holding his arm gently.

“Bullet, by the feel of it,” he grunted. “Got in and out. You’re lucky it didn’t…”

A horrible thought suddenly ran through his mind. The bullet had came in from outside. From the backyard. The backyard where his Slayer was.

Unsteadily, he walked to the broken window, and couldn’t help the growl that rose in his throat. All he could see was Buffy lying on the ground, wounded too.

Absently shaking off the Witch’s hand, he stumbled toward the door, grinding his teeth not to groan with each step. He was still pressing a hand to his chest, and was dimly aware of the blood oozing from the wound in his back, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was that Buffy was hurt.

Finally, he reached the bottom of the stairs, and followed the sound of voices to the kitchen. His mind barely registered Willow stepping out through the back door. All his attention was focused on his bleeding Slayer. As steadily as he could, he walked to her, wincing at the pain that was flashing through her gold eyes. She moaned his name, and he would have given his unlife to make the hurting stop. He kneeled next to her, glancing at her back and finding it clear of blood. Gently, he pulled her hand away from her wound and inspected it, fighting his instinct to lick it clean.

“It’s ok, luv,” he cooed. “I know it hurts, but you’ll be ok.”

He reached up with his clean hand and caressed her face soothingly. Her eyes and their fire ran over him, and when they locked with his again, more than pain was flowing through them. Worry.

“You’re hurt too.”

He was about to tell her it was nothing, and in truth he had been shot worse than this before, but he was interrupted by the door opening. Warren stepped in, and Spike shifted to game face, growling instinctively. Then he noticed that the wanker was not walking, but rather floating. The explanation came when Willow entered the kitchen behind him, closing the door carefully. Her eyes first settled on Buffy and Spike, and she gave a little start when she saw his angry countenance.

“I got him,” she said quickly, “he can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

Then she noticed Tara, who was standing by the table, her front still covered in blood. Willow’s face paled, and for a second Spike was sure she was going to kill Warren, right then and there, with her bare hands if needed. Apparently, her girlfriend had the same thought, and she raised an appeasing hand.

“I’m fine, it’s not my blood.”

Gingerly, Willow approached Tara, as if afraid to believe she was indeed alright.

“Oh baby… I got so scared…”

The Witches hugged, seemingly forgetting the bad guy standing right behind them and the two vampires bleeding… well, not bleeding to death, but still…

“My God the Slayer is a vamp!”

Warren’s startled exclamation brought everybody’s attention back to him. Spike could only think of one thing. He was going to find a way to get the chip out, and when he did, he already knew who he would try to hurt as a test. More than try. More than hurt.

“Willow,” Buffy hissed through almost clenched teeth, “Can you take him down to the basement until we decide what to do with him?”

One witch went down the steps with the bound idiot, the other ran to fetch the first aid kit from the bathroom. Meanwhile, Spike led Buffy to the dining room and coaxed her to lie on the table.

“We have to get that bullet out of you, luv,” he explained gently.

As he smoothed her hair away from her face, she shifted back to her human features. He tried to do the same thing, but didn’t manage to. The pain from his wound, combined with his anger and worry, made it impossible to concentrate enough for that. Finally the Witches were back.

“We need something to extract the bullet from her chest,” he said, trying not to growl.

“What can we use?” Tara asked, depositing bandages and compresses next to Buffy on the table.

“I can…” Willow started, but stopped immediately, biting her bottom lip.

A look passed between the two girls, charged with a lot of tension, and Spike wondered what was going on that he wasn’t aware of. Finally, Tara nodded slowly, never taking her eyes off Willow.

“We can use magic to draw it out,” she said slowly. “Together. I’ll shield you from using too much. Like I did for the soul spells.”

Willow’s face suddenly brightened with a grateful smile.

“Girls,” Spike grunted, “stop with the dovey looks and get to work already.”

* * * * *

Lying flat on the table, Buffy was staring at the ceiling, her eyes following imperceptible cracks in the plaster. The pain in her chest was still throbbing, but she was used to it now, as much as one could get used to pain. Not moving helped. Knowing that Spike was within reach helped too. He was wounded also, and she couldn’t help but wonder by what sick twist of fate they had both been shot, while one of them was in the garden and the other on the second floor of the house. And as she lay there, immobile, waiting for someone to do something, anything, to take the pain away, the words he had said earlier came back to her.

I want the chip out. I need the chip out. And I will have the chip out.

Part of her mind told her that, if the chip had been out just a day before, this wouldn’t have happened, because he would have helped her defeat Warren right away. Another part argued that his idea of helping her probably would have included snapping Warren’s neck. And even if Warren was a murderer, she still couldn’t let Spike kill a human for her. She had seen the look he gave Warren when Willow brought him in, and it only confirmed what she thought.

Finally, there was movement around her, and Willow’s face leaned above hers.

“Don’t move, Buffy,” she said with a confident smile. “You’ll be all better in a minute.”

Buffy tried to return the smile, but it ended more like a grimace. She looked down to her chest, above which Willow’s hand was hovering. Her other hand was clasping Tara’s, and a faint light seemed to flow between the two Witches. Then Buffy saw it. The bullet. Coming straight out from her flesh, as if in slow motion, and flying right into Willow’s hand. Next, she felt the blood stop seeping from the wound, the pain vanishing slowly. Willow stepped back one step, and tentatively Buffy brought a hand to her chest, searching for the wound. It was gone, replaced by tender scar tissue. She looked at her friends, forcing words out of her dry mouth.

“Thanks. ‘Feel much better.”

Her eyes found Spike, standing next to the two girls, his hands gripping the back of a chair to support himself. Despite the pain he was obviously in, he appeared relieved to see sit up and climb down from the table. She walked to him, intent on helping him stand as he had helped her.

“Can you do the same for Spike?” she asked Willow and Tara.

They exchanged a quick glance, before nodding both at the same time. Again, Willow’s hand moved above Spike’s chest, and this time Buffy could see through the ripped material of his shirt as his flesh was knit back together, on his chest as well as on his back. When her hand fell down, Willow staggered a little, as if exhausted, and Tara made her sit down. Spike’s hand touched the new scar, as Buffy had done, and a curse escaped his lips, half incredulous, half amazed. His face shifted to his human countenance, and Buffy realized she hadn’t even noticed it was gold that was looking at her instead of blue. He pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair, and she closed her eyes in pure contentment. Forgotten were pain, anger, surprise, fear. In his arms, she was safe.

Chapter 42 - To Trust

Half an hour later, Spike, Buffy and Tara had changed out of their bloodied clothes, and were sitting with Willow in the kitchen. The two vampires had drunk three blood bags each, and more blood was warming in the microwave. Willow was munching on an apple. From what she had explained, her lack of recent practice as well as Tara buffering her against drawing too much magic were the reasons why she had felt faint for a moment.

As he had watched her draw the bullet out of Buffy’s body, an idea had come to Spike. She could do the same thing for him. Magic the chip out. He had asked Tara, knowing that Willow wasn’t doing anything magical anymore, but apparently that time was over. He was planning to talk to her about it later. At the moment, a more urgent matter needed to be discussed, even if the three girls seemed reluctant to talk about it.

“What do we do about Warren?” Spike said finally, looking at them all in turn, his eyes ending on Buffy.

She stared at him with fierce determination.

“One thing is sure, we do not kill him, so don’t even suggest it.”

He shook his head slowly, wishing she could understand how scared he was for her. “He tried to kill you, Slayer. And he saw you in game face. You can’t just let him go away.”

“He’s human,” Tara said, looking at Spike almost shyly. “He should be judged and go to jail.”

Willow nodded, though she seemed hesitant. “Giving him to the police sounds good. But now he knows that Buffy is a vampire…”

“And if we just send him to jail the whole demon population will know before a week is passed,” Spike finished. “I still think he should be eliminated. Human or not.”

The microwave beeping punctuated his calm statement, and Spike got to his feet, grabbed the two mugs, and gave one to Buffy. She didn’t pay attention to it though, her eyes piercing him as if trying to see through him.

“Ask me again why I don’t like the idea of your chip coming out,” she said softly. “Without the chip, you would have killed him the moment Willow brought him in. It was written all over your face.”

Spike could feel the demon stirring in him, still angry, still thirsty. He knew his eyes were probably flashing gold. In the aftershock of being shot and healed, she had clung to him like the apocalypse was only a minute away. Now that the moment had passed, the heated discussion they had had in the morning was back into her mind it seemed. He tried to control his voice not to sound too angry.

“You were thinking the same thing. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“The idea came to me, yes,” she admitted. “But I would never act on it. I don’t kill people. I have a soul.”

The last words, a mere whisper, rang in Spike’s ears, stinging as a slap.

“The wanker has a soul too,” he growled. “He still tried to kill you.”

“We’re not talking about Warren here,” she said quietly.

And just like that, they were back to square one. She had a soul, he didn’t. Unable to go through this with her again, Spike drew a pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans. He was about to light one when Buffy’s reproachful gaze stopped him.

“I need it,” he hissed.

“Not here,” she protested.

He cast a glance to the window, frowning at the bit of blue sky he could see. Why had the clouds cleared so fast?

“I’ll go check on the wanker,” he growled, “and see if I can give him cancer from second hand smoking.”

She seemed about to object, but finally didn’t say anything. She had let him smoke down there before, and it wasn’t like he would be able to do any harm to the idiot while they lost their time discussing his fate.

He sat on the steps, at last lighting the damn fag, studying the wannabe Big Bad in the middle of the room. A nice trick, Willow had there. To the unwarned eye, Warren seemed free of his movements. But he wasn’t moving at all, merely scowling angrily. As he looked at Spike, a small smile appeared on his face.

“Hey Spike. Care to give me a hand? There’s a lot of cash in it for you.”

Spike didn’t reply, taking a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes never leaving Warren. Deliberately, he shifted to game face for a brief instant, satisfied when the stupid kid’s smile faded. Things were about to become interesting, he thought suddenly.

“The only reason I’m not killing you,” he said conversationally, “is that the Slayer wants to finish you herself. You got her really pissed off, you know. Right now she’s trying to decide how she’s gonna do it. I told her to go for the easy way and drain you. It’s a shame to let blood get wasted, even the blood of a wanker like you. Still the girl likes weapons. She’s wondering what a stake can do to a human heart. And of course, she’s always been a big fan of swords. You should see her collection. ‘Can’t wait to see what she will choose. Any preference?”

By now, Warren was as pale as death itself. Spike watched him shake, smelled the waves of fear coming from him, and couldn’t help grinning.

“I’ll go see if she decided yet,” he said as he flicked the remains of the cigarette by Warren’s feet. “It’s not right from her to keep you waiting, after all.”

* * * * *

Buffy stared at the basement door long after Spike had closed it behind him. He was angry, and she could understand why. She wished she could make herself trust him more, really believe that, even with the chip gone, he wouldn’t kill. But it was hard, especially after seeing the hatred on his face when he had looked at Warren. And yet… he had a point

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Buffy told her two friends, “Spike is right. We can’t just let Warren go. If the word goes out that I’m a vamp, demons will be lining at the door to take me out.”

Both Witches nodded, and for a couple of minutes none of them spoke. They couldn’t kill Warren. But they couldn’t let him go. Finally, Tara broke the silence, and it was painfully obvious that she was deliberately not looking at Willow.

“We can do a spell,” she said quietly. “Make him forget what he saw. Make him forget that he even shot you, since that would raise questions.”

Buffy dared a glance at Willow, finding that the redhead was blushing brightly.

“Tara…” she began in a trembling voice.

A finger coming to rest on her lips stopped her. Buffy busied herself in her mug of blood, wondering whether she ought to leave them for a minute.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to say anything,” Tara whispered. “You’ve proven that you can stay away from magic. It doesn’t mean that you can’t use it when someone is in danger.”

Willow nodded, swallowing heavily, looking immensely grateful. A bit uncomfortable, Buffy cleared her throat discreetly.

“A forgetting spell sounds good. I guess you need ingredients or stuff?”

The tension in the room was broken. Before long, the Witches hurried out to the Magic Box, with the promise to be back quickly. For a couple of minutes, Buffy remained alone, playing with the mug in her hands. Obviously, Tara had forgiven Willow, and trusted her enough to do magic with her again. The reason was simple to guess. She loved her. Buffy had forgiven all the harm Spike had done to her, and he had forgiven her in return. She trusted him with her life, as well as her friends’ and sister’s. Could she trust him with other people’s lives? She remembered all too well unleashing Angelus on Sunnydale, and how she had put an end to that episode. She was scared senseless the same thing would happen if Spike’s soul was out of the equation.

As she was reflecting on this, Spike came back in the kitchen, an odd little grin on his lips, and she wondered for an instant whether Warren was alright down there. The grin however disappeared as soon as he looked at her.

“Luv… Why are you crying?”

She brought a hand to her face, finding it damp with tears she hadn’t even realized she had shed. She shook her head, trying to speak, but only a sob came out. He walked to her, pulling her up into his arms, cradling her against him. The familiar motion of his hand stroking her hair soothed her, as well as the nonsense words he whispered in her ear.

“I couldn’t bear it,” she managed to say after a few minutes. “If you started killing again, I would have to come after you and I couldn’t bear it.”

Pulling away from her just enough to see her face, he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Why are you so sure I will go back to killing when the chip is out?”

Unhappily, she noticed that he had said when, not if. His decision was made, and she doubted she could change it whatever she said.

“I saw the look you gave Warren,” she said, repeating what she had said earlier.

A hint of gold went through his eyes, but the anger was quickly gone, replaced instead by worry.

“Buffy, he hurt you! You can’t blame me for thinking about hurting him back. But that doesn’t mean I would. You know why?”

She shook her head, though she had a little idea.

“If I killed him,” he said softly, “if I killed anyone, it would hurt you. And I can’t hurt you. So you see, I can’t kill. I don’t need a soul, I have you.”

His eyes were looking straight at hers, as if pleading her to search in them and see that he was telling the truth. For a few minutes, she let herself drown into the ocean blue depths. When she came back up, she knew.

“I trust you.”

Chapter 43 - Research

At last, it was closing time for the Magic Box. The day had been long and nerve-wrecking for Buffy. It had started with Spike’s little announcement about his chip. It had grown even worse with Warren and his rampage. Even if bullets couldn’t kill her, Buffy sincerely hoped not to encounter one again any time soon, or even ever. The experience had been unpleasant to say the least. Thankfully, the events had gone slightly better after that. Willow and Tara had healed her and Spike, before solving the problem that was Warren with a nifty little memory spell. Then they had called the police, and made up a nice story about Warren breaking into the house. Dawn had come home from school just as the police was leaving, which had given her a slight panic episode. Even now, a few hours after the fact, she still seemed a little pale.

As Anya locked the door behind the last customer, Buffy’s gaze traveled around the room. Dawn was sitting on the ladder, listening as Willow was retelling for Xander’s benefit what had happened earlier. Anya had already heard most of it when the Witches came for supplies. A bit puzzled, Buffy noticed that only herself, Spike and Anya were actually sitting around the table. Willow and Xander were perched up on the counter, and Tara was standing next to them. Abruptly she realized why her friends were avoiding the table, and she felt a new wave of satisfaction run through her at the idea that the nerds were locked away. No more messing up with her life…

“And so the mighty Scoobies have defeated one… errr, three more Big Bads!” Xander said cheerfully.

“Oh please,” Spike snorted, “more like three big idiots!”

The two men bickered back and forth, like they always did, but the quips weren’t meant to hurt as they used to be. They hadn’t been after each other’s throats since the happy couple had returned from their honeymoon, and not for the first time Buffy wondered what could have happened to change things between Xander and Spike. Right after she had been turned, Xander had been adamant about Spike deserving to be staked. And now, it seemed like the farthest thing in his mind.

“The bad guys are in jail,” Anya interrupted the banter, “so why are you all here?”

All eyes turned to Buffy. She had been the one to request that everyone gather at the Magic Box. It was time to tell them why.

“I called a research meeting to… actually, to help a demon instead of killing one, for a change.”

She took a deep breath before continuing, human habits were hard to break, and reached for Spike’s hand. He had agreed to ask the Scoobies for help, but he had also made it clear that he didn’t expect much from them.

“We need to find a way to de-chip Spike,” Buffy said slowly, enunciating each word clearly.

Five pairs of eyes looked at her with surprise. Xander was the first to find his voice back.

“Uh, Buffster. Are we sure we want to do that?”

The faintest smirk appeared on Spike’s lips, and Buffy was sure she knew exactly what he was thinking. It hadn’t taken much time for Xander’s natural mistrust to resurface. But then, the same Xander said something completely unexpected that made both Buffy and Spike stare at him incredulously.

“As dead as the bleached evil is, messing with his brain can’t be that good.”

There was a pause, then Spike shifted his focus to Willow and asked:

“Red, can you magic the bloody thing out of my head? Like you did for the bullet in the Slayer’s chest?”

Absently, Buffy rubbed the spot on her chest that was still a little tender. Spike had said the scar would fade, but she would never forget that particular wound, inflicted not by a demon but by a human.

Willow shook her head and her voice sounded contrite when she answered Spike’s question.

“There was an open way for the bullet to come out. If I do the same thing for you, the chip could rip through your brain really badly.”

Spike only nodded, but Buffy could guess his disappointment.

“We can look for another spell,” Tara suggested almost immediately.

“Or we can try to find a doctor demon or something like that,” Dawn chimed in.

After only a couple of minutes, everyone was around the table, and various books were being researched for any relevant information. Buffy noticed that Spike was the only one who wasn’t actually reading, and he certainly looked as baffled as she felt.

“Wait a minute you all,” he said after a while, his voice raucous. “No one has any objection about me being able to hurt and kill humans again?”

Looks were exchanged around the table, and finally Anya asked:

“You’re not going to, are you? Kill humans again, I mean.”

Everybody looked expectant, but at the same time the Scoobies seemed to already know the answer to that question.

“No, I’m not going to,” Spike mumbled at last

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his duster, and Buffy could almost have sworn his hands were shaking. Both she and Anya gave him a disapproving look as he was about to light his cigarette, and he rolled his eyes at them before striding to the backroom.

As the door closed on him, Buffy cleared her voice, bringing everybody’s attention back to her.

“You all really mean it?” she asked quietly. “You really trust him?”

Dawn answered first, with an almost exasperated “Of course!”. Tara simply nodded, Anya shrugged.

“I can’t deny there’s a little voice in my head that says it’s a bad idea,” Xander said slowly. “But there’s that other voice that says, Spike has been working with us for so long, even when we all treated him like a thing. Why would he throw everything away now that we treat him like a Scooby?”

Willow nodded, agreeing with Xander’s words.

“And we could still give him a soul if he looks like he’s going to… uh… slip,” she said thoughtfully. “Or even, we could give him one right away.”

Buffy considered the idea carefully. A soul… Spike with a soul… It sounded weird, really. For a second, she wondered what he would be like, whether he would be the same Spike or become William the bloody poet as he had been when he was human, or maybe even someone completely different. No way to tell, really. And one thing was sure, she wasn’t willing to risk losing the man she loved, not after admitting to him she trusted him.

“He doesn’t need a soul,” she said after a moment, realizing that they were all waiting for her to say something. “I have one, that’s enough for the two of us.”

* * * * *

Spike closed the door behind him and leaned against it, finally lighting his fag. Of course not, his hands were not shaking. Why would they? Why would he care that the bloody Scoobies were looking for a way to take the chip out of his brain?

He took a long drag on the cigarette, his head coming to rest against the door. He could hear them talking. They did trust him, it wasn’t just an act they had pulled up while he was there. Even the Whelp. Even Red…

His eyes narrowed when he heard her propose to give him a soul. They wouldn’t dare, would they? They wouldn’t turn him into a bleeding nancy boy without even asking his opinion, right? He didn’t want a soul. He didn’t need a soul. William was still inside him, had always been. Not strong enough to fight the demon, but he was there…

She said no. His Slayer had said no to giving him a soul. If at all possible, he loved her even more for it.

He had finished the cigarette already, but he couldn’t go back there yet, he needed to calm some more before that. Sitting on the floor, he pulled out another cig. Who was he kidding… He didn’t need a soul to turn into a nancy boy. He just needed a bunch of humans to treat him like one of them.

* * * * *

After several hours, the research had yielded no result, and everyone was losing hope. There didn’t seem to be any spell to remove a foreign object from a brain without damage, and it didn’t seem like there was any demon out there whose hobby was to play doctor. Angrily, Buffy closed the book she had been going through, the loud noise startling all the Sccobies.

“It’s useless,” she said with irritation. “We’re not going to find the answer in these books.”

She eyed Willow’s laptop, and completed her rant:

“Or on the Internet.”

They all looked tired and discouraged, even Spike. Yet, Dawn tried to sound cheerful when she said:

“We can’t give up! We’ll just have to find more books.”

“It might have helped if Giles hadn’t taken some books back to England, “Anya commented with a touch of resentment. “He said they were his, but…”

“Giles! That’s it!”

At her exclamation, all gazes turned to Willow.

“He has tons of books,” she said brightly, “but he can also ask the Council. Maybe they would know how to help…”

She stopped, realizing what she was saying. It was very unlikely that the Council of Watchers was going to do anything at all to help the Vampire that had slain two Slayers.

“Well, maybe Giles at least could help,” she said, not sounding at all convinced.

“We’ll just try,” Buffy said with a sigh, though she doubted that her Watcher would give even the time of day to Spike. Then again, she had thought the same things about the Scoobies just a few hours before.

“Hi Giles!”

A grunt was the only answer, and Buffy wondered whether she had made a mistake while dialing.

“Giles?”

“Buffy, do you know what time it is on this side of the Atlantic?”

Buffy grimaced, realizing that in her haste she had forgotten about the time difference.

“Sorry, I forgot.”

Giles sighed, and Buffy could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, I guess you want to know about the Council? I’m surprised you didn’t call sooner, by the way. I explained the situation to them. I think they understood it would be a very bad idea to try anything against you.”

“Oh, good. But that’s not what I’m calling about…”

She hesitated, suddenly sure that this was a stupid idea. He was either going to yell, or get a cardiac arrest.

“Buffy? Could you go on with it so I can go back to sleep?”

“Oh, yes, sorry. We’ve been trying to figure out a way for Spike to get rid of the chip and we have found nothing, and we thought maybe you would know of someone or something to help.”

Silence. Deep, ominous silence.

“Giles? You’re still there?”

“Yes I am. But could you repeat what you said? I thought I heard you say you wanted Spike to be chip free, and of course…”

“That’s exactly what I said, Giles.”

“Oh.”

Again, silence.

“You realize that without the chip he will be able to kill humans.”

“Yes Giles, I know. But we all believe he won’t.”

“Who is ‘we all’?”

“All the Scoobies.”

“All the Scoobies,” Giles repeated, bemused.

“Are you going to help us?”

Long silence. His silences were so much worse when she couldn’t see Giles face. No hint of what he was thinking, no way to know what he would decide until he actually voiced it.

“I do not know if I will find anything,” he said at last, sounding tired. “But I will research the matter.”

Buffy let out a big sigh, and gave a thumb up at her friends still gathered around the table. Spike arched an eyebrow at her, probably not believing that Giles would even accept to help.

“Thank you so much, Giles!”

“Yes, well, I don’t promise anything. I’ll let you know. Oh, and Buffy, I’ll be the one calling next time, alright?”

Chapter 44 - Blue Skies

For the third time in an hour, Buffy pounded of the bedroom door. Their bedroom, now. Or it would be as soon as Spike consented to let her see what he had done to it. She had agreed to let him transform it. Not agreed, really, he had blackmailed her until she accepted. He could be quite persuasive when he wanted something. She had only managed to retain two conditions. No black, no red. Granted, they were his favorite colors, but they weren’t hers.

The door finally opened, just enough for one blue eye to look at her through the crack. An annoyed blue eye.

“Slayer, the more you interrupt, the longer it will take to finish.”

She tried to look through the opening, but he was blocking too much of it with his body for her to see anything.

“I just wanted to make sure your remembered the terms of…”

“No red, no black,” he interrupted her. “Anything else?”

Before she could think of anything else, he was closing the door again. Irritated, Buffy crossed her arms and stared at the door, seriously thinking about just kicking it open. He had been working in there for four days already. Or rather, four afternoons. He was out late every night, patrolling with her first then going around demon bars by himself, trying to find any information about having the chip removed. It was useless, Buffy had accepted it by now, but he hadn’t, and he kept looking. And kept coming back home just before sunrise. Never too tired to wake her in delicious ways, it seemed, but too tired to crawl out of bed before noon.

The Scoobies had looked through every single book at the Magic Box, with no success. Willow was still looking on the internet, but with no more results. Their last hope to find anything was Giles, and Buffy was beginning to believe he had changed his mind about helping Spike.

Buffy realized she was still scowling at the closed door, as if he was going to notice her irritation through the thick wood, and abruptly turned away and stormed to the first floor. Maybe she could get him to open the damn door by offering him some nice warm blood…

Dawn was in the kitchen, eating a snack. She grinned as Buffy strode in.

“Tried again, uh?”

Buffy only gave her sister a nasty glare. She had been allowed in, supposedly to help him. And she refused to say anything! Dawn giggled, unperturbed by Buffy’s scowl.

“Don’t you have any patience at all? He told you he would be finished tonight!”

Buffy had the sudden urge to stick her tongue out at the teen. It would have been utterly childish, but oh so satisfying. Both Dawn and Spike were having way too much fun with her impatience. She wasn’t afraid of seeing the result of Spike’s work, really. Just anxious. After all, what could she expect, decoration wise, from someone who had spent the last few years in a crypt?

* * * * *

Pleased with himself, Spike gave a last look to the room, making sure everything was perfect. He had removed the mirror panels from the wardrobe, useless reminders that neither of them had a reflection now. The walls had been painted blue with the Nibblet’s help, a nice shade of ocean blue, deep but not too dark, that made the room feel more intimate. The broken window had been changed, and he had installed heavy drapes in front of it, just a touch lighter than the walls. The cotton bedding was gone, replaced by shimmering sensual silk. The candles that had lit his crypt had found a second home, disseminated around the room in a carefully planned randomness. But what he was the most proud of was the ceiling, which had taken two complete days to finish. His only hope was that Buffy would like it.

He had never been before very interested in decorating the places in inhabited, knowing that the next day he could be heading to another town, country or even continent. Darla, Angelus and Dru had been pretty keen on traveling, and he could admit that he enjoyed it too. Still, he had already spent a few years in Sunnyhell, and it looked like he would be there for a while, so he might as well make himself comfortable.

He had another reason to want to remain busy. If he had had nothing to occupy himself during the long hours of the day, he would have spent his time thinking about the chip and the lack of results in his research. A few weeks back, he would have remained in his crypt and drowned himself into cheap bourbon. But that wouldn’t do now. Not with the Nibblet and Buffy around. Dawn’s presence was also the reason why he wasn’t spending his time shagging his Slayer senseless. After all, he didn’t want to traumatize the kid by making her sister scream too much. An evil grin rose to his lips at the thought of how he would make her scream later, and how he would muffle her cries.

He grabbed a length of black silk that was laying on the bed and stuffed it carelessly into his jeans back pocket. He would need it later, but now was time for patrol. School had ended for Dawn, and she had extorted from Buffy the promise that she would patrol with them once a week. In preparation of that, the Slayer had been showing the kid a few moves, though Spike didn’t plan to let anything get close enough for her to try to fight. He knew he would have to be cautious, though, and not protect her too obviously, or else she would use the most dangerous weapons of all on him… her puppy eyes.

He joined his two girls in the living room, where Buffy was giving a few last minutes tips to an overexcited Dawn. As hard as she tried to hide it, he could tell that Buffy was worried, and he had to admit he was too, just a little. With both the Slayer and Spike with her, Dawn really wasn’t going to be in any danger. Of course, anyone living on the Hellmouth knew that Sunnydale was never completely safe for anyone.

That night, as most nights, the town was especially unsafe for its undead denizens. Because of Dawn’s presence, the Slayer staked vampires even faster than usual, not bothering with a bit of fight beforehand. After five unexciting dustings, Dawn started to look bored, and Spike’s lips curled in a smirk around his cigarette. After a couple more dull patrols, he thought, she would beg to stay home. Leaving her home alone didn’t make Spike particularly happy, but she was old enough not to need a babysitter.

At last they were back to Revello, having decided beforehand that they would make it a short patrol. The kid looked at him quizzically as he shed off his duster.

“How can you do that every night?” she asked, clearly dumbfounded. “Buffy does everything and it’s really boring to watch.”

Spike chuckled softly, passing a hand in his hair. How could he explain to her how much he loved the way the Slayer danced with her preys? She wouldn’t understand, however he phrased it.

“Just making sure she’s ok,” he said, smirking. “The one time I didn’t go with her she came back all bruised and…”

“Hey!” Buffy interrupted him. “I don’t need a babysitter! If that’s all you’re coming for, you can stay…”

His lips pressing hard against her mouth stopped her, and she gave in to the kiss, her hands instantly locking at the back of his head, pulling him closer to her.

“God! Get a room!”

Dawn’s mildly annoyed remark was followed by her noisy steps going toward the living room and the tv being turned on. Spike pulled away from his Slayer’s lips and gave her a mischievous smile.

“You heard the Nibblet. Let’s get a room.”

With that, he followed her up the steps. However, he stopped her before she entered her bedroom, sliding the black silk length in front of her eyes. She stilled instantly, and he delighted in the small shiver that ran through her body as he caressed the back of her neck with his lips. Taking her hand in his, he guided her to the master bedroom, locking the door behind them.

“Wait,” he whispered into her ear as he left her by the door.

He moved around the room quietly, lighting candles and making sure she wasn’t moving or peeking. When he was satisfied that the room was bright enough, he returned to her, rewarding her patience with a fierce kiss that left her panting. It always made him smile when her breathing instincts came back, reminding him how he used to make her truly breathless.

He led her to the bed, peeling the clothes off her body before making her lie flat on her back. As he watched her caress the silk under her, he quickly divested himself of his clothing. Her skin had started to lose its golden tan already, and her paleness on the dark blue sheet was striking. He laid next to her on his side, leaning on his elbow, so that he could see her face. His hand hovered above her body, just tracing her form without touching her, and yet she seemed to feel him, quivering under his gaze. Gently, he tugged at the blindfold, giving her her sight back, and waited for her reaction.

* * * * *

Freed of the blindfold, Buffy blinked several times, trying to focus her eyes. As she took in the sight above her, her mouth opened in a silent O. She knew it was only the ceiling, knew she could stand up on the bed and touch it, but it still looked like the sky. A light blue sky, with a few fluffy clouds that she was sure would move any second now. She managed to pry her eyes away from the vision to look at Spike. He was smiling softly at her obvious delight.

“After I was turned,” he whispered, “I thought I would miss the sun, and I did. But I missed blue skies even more.”

Her gaze returned to the painted ceiling. She missed blue skies too. She had begun catching careful glimpses of it through the windows every time she had a chance. Dimly, she realized that he must have noticed, although he had never said anything about it.

As she gazed at the piece of sky he had created for her, for them – and where had he learned to paint anyway? – she felt his lips caress her skin, trailing along her collarbone, coming to rest on the marks where her neck and shoulder joined. His marks. He just nuzzled against them, not making any move to open them again. She shivered at the contact, the scars having become particularly erogenous.

“Spike?”

“Hmmm?”

Again, his lips were moving, mapping her skin as if it was unfamiliar territory.

“’Want to make this Heaven?”

He stilled against her for a second, then his face came up to hers, and he looked at her questioningly.

“Make love to me,” she whispered, closing the small distance between their lips.


Chapter 45 - Bits of Heaven

Buffy’s mouth pressed against Spike’s, her tongue darting out to trace his lips. As they parted slightly, she accepted the invitation and slid in, caressing his tongue until it danced with hers.

His body was hovering over her, barely touching as he rested his weight on one arm. His other hand was moving between them, alternating between kneading and teasing her breast. She sneaked her arms around him and pulled him down until she could feel all of him pressed against her body. His now trapped hand pinched her nipple and she broke the kiss, groaning, catching the sight of a small satisfied grin on his lips.

His mouth traveled down her jaw to her neck, and he startled sucking on her skin. She tensed in anticipation of the bite and pushed his face harder against her, but he kept on suckling, not even nibbling with blunt teeth. She could feel his hardness against her abdomen and decided to tease him back. She moved under him until he was nestled between her legs, just pressing against her entrance, and began rocking her hips so that he was brushing on the wetness there. The rhythm of his suckling became erratic, as if he was losing his concentration, and Buffy grinned inwardly, her hands running along the silk of his back.

After a few seconds of teasing, she tried to draw him forward, but he resisted until she let out a quiet frustrated whimper. The whimper was followed by a loud cry as he simultaneously entered her twice, his cock thrusting into her as his fangs broke her skin. Immobile inside her, he took a long hard pull on her blood and her body shuddered, her head thrown back in delight. His lips left her neck and he started moving, hard and deep, all the while whispering sweet naughty things to her. With each thrust, more and more sparks exploded in her core and ran through her body, making it shiver continuously.

She knew he was watching her face, could feel the intensity of his gaze on her, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the sky above her. Light blue was replaced by darker blue as his eyes came into her line of sight. Concentration was apparent on his face, his unneeded breath becoming laborious. A word escaped his lips, louder than the rest, almost a groan, half demand and half plea.

“Bite.”

Without thinking twice, she obeyed, shifting instinctively as her mouth fastened on his shoulder. He pushed hard in her as her fangs sank into his flesh and she moaned as the first mouthful of blood slid down her throat. His mouth found its way back to her neck and started suckling again, reclaiming the blood she was drawing out of him in rhythm with the motions of his hips. Above his shoulder she was looking at their sky, where a bright light was now gleaming, and she was sure that it was the sun. With that clear certainty, she fell over the edge of pleasure. Her eyes closed at last but the imprint of the light remained bright in her mind, warming her until she thought she would burn. As her internal walls fluttered around him, he thrust in once more, his body finally quaking with the release.

For a long moment, they both kept drinking, prolonging the waves of pleasure for as long as they could. Finally, together as if they had planned it, they stopped drawing out blood and licked clean the wounds they had created. Still sheathed in her, Spike rolled their bodies until she was laying on top of him. His hand caressed her face, and she felt the ridges melt away under his touch.

“How was that for Heaven?” he whispered, sounding almost reluctant to break the silence and the spell.

“Nice,” she purred.

His eyebrow arched and she chuckled, touching the scar with a soft finger.

“Ok,” she admitted. “Better than nice.”

His arms tightened around her as he grumbled.

“Damn right about that. Nice!”

Still chuckling at his mock outrage, she kissed him tenderly, before letting herself fall to his side, unable to repress a moan as he slipped out of her. Her head resting against his shoulder, her eyes came back to the ceiling. Her sun was gone, but she could still feel its warmth.

“When you turned me, you said…”

She stopped and bit her lower lip, unsure whether it was a good time to talk about this.

His hand found hers, fingers entwining together and resting on her belly.

“I said you would go back to Heaven some day,” he said quietly, completing her thought. “And I meant it.”

“How can you know such a thing? I’m a…”

Again, she couldn’t finish. Vampires were creatures of the darkness, he knew it as well as she did.

“You’re still the Slayer, luv. You’re the champion of light, the Chosen One and all that. Whoever decides of these things wouldn’t let you out of Heaven. You’ve earned your entry ticket a thousand times already.”

Despite the softness of his voice, the words had a bitter taste for Buffy.

“I don’t want Heaven,” she said at last. “Not if you’re not there with me.”

He had a quiet giggle and turned on his side to face her, his hand moving to cup her face.

“Then we’ll just have to keep each other alive, luv. And steal little bits of Heaven like this.”

His mouth descended on hers for a fierce kiss, and she returned it just as fiercely, aware of his hands sliding on her body. Again, her gaze was drawn back to the blue above, but quickly her eyelids closed in pleasure, and she silently agreed with him. Bits of heaven would be more than enough.

Chapter 46 - Phone Call

Spike stirred in the bed, stretching lazily like a big cat. His hand fell on the empty spot next to him and he froze. For a second, he was afraid to open his eyes, afraid to find that it was all just a dream. The events of the last few days, to the exception of being shot maybe, certainly seemed too good to be true. The Slayer back in his bed. Not only that, but the Slayer in love with him. Not just the Slayer. His Childe. All too good. If he opened his eyes, he was sure he would find himself back in the crypt. Alone. So he just kept them tightly shut, trying to hang on to the good memories for just a little longer.

Then he heard it. Water. A shower. Someone humming. His eyes snapped open, and though the room was only dimly lit, he could see the sky above him. Their sky. A relieved sigh escaped his lips as he pulled himself out of the tangled sheets. Following the light humming, he walked quietly to the half open door that connected directly to the bathroom. Still silent, he drew the curtain just a little and climbed in the tub behind Buffy, his arms wrapping around her soapy waist, his face nuzzling the back of her neck. She gave a little start at first, then relaxed in his embrace, leaning back against him. He let the hot water run over them both. The feel of her skin, warmed by the shower, slowly erased that awful feeling that it had all been just a dream.

He was quite content just as they were, but soon it became clear she had other ideas in mind. She started slightly wiggling against him, awakening his desire yet again.

“Insatiable,” he whispered as he licked her earlobe.

She twisted in his arms until she was facing him, and soon her mouth found his. He felt her leg come up, wrap around him, pushing against his flesh a wetness that wasn’t due to the shower. Her small hand reached down between their bodies, grasping…

“Buffy! You’re in there? Phone! It’s Giles!”

For a second, they remained immobile and silent, their eyes doing all the talking. Finish what they had only begun or answer what could be an important call? They would have time later for much more. Buffy’s mouth pulled away, tugging on his bottom lip a little, as her leg glided back down.

“I’ll be out in a minute, Dawnie, just rinsing my hair, ok?”

Spike didn’t hear Dawn’s reply, nor did he have time to realize that Buffy’s hair didn’t need to be rinsed, because as she was talking she knelt in the tub in front of him, and for a little while, his mind couldn’t form a coherent thought.

* * * * *

Trying not to grin too much, Buffy hurried down the steps, wrapped in her fluffy bathrobe, drying her hair with a towel. She took the phone Dawn was handing her and leaned against the counter.

“Hi Giles.”

“Hello Buffy. I trust I didn’t wake you?”

‘No, but your timing was kind of lousy.’

“No, I was awake. Anything new?”

There was a slight pause, and in her mind Buffy could picture her Watcher taking his glasses off and cleaning them pensively. Maybe if she listened carefully enough she could hear it, she thought, amused.

“Well, yes, I might have found what you are looking for.”

Buffy took a deep unneeded breath. She had been so sure he wasn’t even searching…

“However,” he continued, “before I tell you what I found, I wish to talk to Spike. Could you arrange for him to be at the Magic Box around 8 tonight?”

She frowned slightly at that, before remembering that Giles had left before she asked Spike to move in.

“Uh, Giles, it won’t be necessary. Spike is here. Now.”

Again, one of these heavy silences that made her slightly nervous.

“Spike is in your house. At 9 in the morning.”

Slight questioning, but mostly resignation.

“Yes Giles. He lives here. With me.”

Despite herself, Buffy found that her voice was almost hesitant. She wasn’t ashamed to admit her relationship with Spike. She just knew that, once again, she was disappointing Giles. He gave out a loud sigh, before mumbling:

“I guess that explains a few things. Could you put him on the phone please?”

A minute later, Spike was taking the phone. He had put on some clothes after she had left him. Black jeans, black tshirt, some things would never change. She rested her head on his chest as he talked to Giles, and his free hand settled on her back, caressing lightly. She listened to the one sided conversation, wishing she could hear Giles too.

“Watcher.”

She had never realized before how she loved all the nicknames he gave to everyone. Some of them were certainly insulting, but they were reserved to people he loved to hate. Poof. Whelp. Come to think of it, he hadn’t called Xander like that in a while, settling instead on a more neutral, if not warmer, ‘Harris’. Red and Glinda, the Witches, Demon-girl… esteem for their powers? Nibblet, Little Bit, pure affection. Slayer and Watcher, these were titles, used with respect even when his voice was harsh or mocking.

“No I don’t! And the next person who insinuates that will have a close encounter with my fists. Even if I get a sodding headache from it. Even if I have to go all the way to bloody England.”

Almost a growl, that threat. He could get angry so fast. She was sure if she looked up she would find gold flakes in his eyes. She could guess what he was denying, and she almost took the phone and tell Giles herself that she wasn’t controlled by her Sire. Instead, she let her hands run against his sides, soothing. Quick to get angry, but also quick to lose the anger.

“I know, Watcher. Same for me. I have to protect her. And I do.”

Imperceptibly, the hand on her back pressed her closer to him. Every time he said anything about protecting her, part of her wanted to slap him for even daring to think that she couldn’t take care of herself. Another part wanted to melt at how safe he made her feel.

“Why I want it out? That’s the most stupid…”

Oh, there they were. The heart of the matter. The chip.

“Heard about the bloody idiots who have been messing up with our Slayer the past few months? Humans, all three of them. She had to fight them. I couldn’t do anything. If I had been able to, we might have avoided being shot. Next time that happens, I want to help.”

She frowned a little, making the silent wish that no other humans would get in their heads to be Sunnydale’s next Big Bads. Demons were so much easier to deal with. Just slay them. No need for the police or lengthy explanations.

“Yes we’ve been shot. Her and me.”

Instinctively, her hand slipped under his tshirt, her fingers softly searching the fading scar on his chest.

“Ever heard of a vamp taken by a bullet? Don’t be daft, Watcher. These things hurt like hell, but they don’t kill us.”

She winced at the memory of the pain. Hurt like hell, indeed.

A loud and annoyed sigh…

“No I wouldn’t have killed the idiots. I would have knocked them out, that’s all. I can restrain myself.”

The anger was coming back, contained but present.

“I just know I can. And you know she would stake me if I couldn’t anyway.”

Another thing that would hurt like hell… Just the thought of staking him hurt. The thought of living without him hurt. Without doubt, she would stake him if he started killing again. And then, she would mix her ashes to his.

A long pause. Buffy wondered what Giles was saying. She could discern his voice, but not the words. Then Spike’s arm on her back moved away as he turned his back to her. She wondered what was wrong, before realizing he was looking for a pen and paper on the counter.

“Go ahead.”

She circled his body with her arms as he wrote, a small smile coming to her lips. So, Giles trusted him too, after all.

“Got it. ‘Will let you know how it turns out.”

Short pause.

“Thank you.”

Another pause.

“Yeah, I’ll tell her. Have a real beer for me, Watcher.”

The phone made a small sound as Spike hung up. He turned in her embrace until her face was against his chest again, this time both of his hands rubbing her back.

“Your Watcher found someone who might help me, pet. A human doctor, who worked for the Council of wankers for a while. ‘Not sure I want to know what he was doing for them. Anyway, old Rupert thinks he’s a decent bloke.”

Buffy raised her face to look at his features. He looked strangely calm, as if he didn’t dare hope too much. Her hand brushed against the sharp cheekbones, and he leaned into her touch.

“Do we have to go to London to meet that doctor?” she asked softly.

He had a quiet giggle.

“No luv, we won’t need to go that far. It seems that the guy found a second career as a plastic surgeon for Hollywood starlets.”

“LA?”

He nodded, a grin touching his lips, and she understood why. All this search for demons and spells, when the answer was maybe two hours away. Soon, they would know.

“I want to come.”

In the same movement, they turned to Dawn who was standing in the kitchen’s doorway, arms crossed, a look of pure determination on her face. Buffy wondered for how long she had been standing there.

“When you go to LA, I want to come,” she repeated.

“Dawnie, it’s not a vacation trip. We’ll just stay there long enough to meet the doctor, have him operate Spike if he can, and then we’ll be back home.”

“I can still come,” the teen insisted. “I haven’t been in LA in, like, forever. I don’t know, I could visit dad or something.”

The last part puzzled Buffy immensely. Dawn hadn’t said a word about their father since he hadn’t shown up for Joyce’s funeral, much less expressed the wish to see him.

She felt Spike chuckle softly against her back, and half turned to look at his smirking face.

“Come on, Bit,” he said teasingly. “Are you sure it’s your dad you want to see?”

Buffy glanced back at Dawn, who was blushing brightly.

“You realize,” Spike continued, still teasing, “that if you go visit him, you’ll probably have to see the poof too. I thought I heard you swear once that you’d never go anywhere where he was?”

By now, Dawn’s face was crimson, a mix of embarrassment and anger at being teased. Buffy, still, didn’t understand what Spike was hinting at. She faced him again, questioning silently.

“Nibblet wants to see Steven,” he said in a conspirator’s tone.

Buffy first frowned, then her eyes widened. Only one word was coming to her mind. Duh…

“So,” Dawn asked hesitantly, “Can I come?”

Chapter 47 - City of Angels (1)

Buffy stepped into the elevator and pressed the floor button. Forty-five. Long ride. She glanced at Spike, who was leaning against the mirror opposite the door. It was a good thing that the building was mostly deserted, it might have been difficult to explain their lack of reflection if they had had company.

The peroxided blonde looked very tense. She realized that he had started being a bit stressed after calling the surgeon the day before, and it had only gotten worse since. During the ride he had joked with her and Dawn, though Buffy could tell that he was forcing himself. After they had dropped Dawn at Angel’s hotel, he had barely said two words.

“Does it bother you that much that we’re staying at the Hyperion?” she asked quietly. “Once Dawn let them know we were coming to LA, I couldn’t refuse the invitation without being really rude.”

He blinked a few times and looked at her, frowning slightly.

“No, I don’t mind,” he replied, sounding sincere.

Buffy crossed the couple of steps that separated them, and leaned slightly against him. Immediately, his arms were around her, pulling her closer.

“If it’s not the hotel, what’s wrong? You’ve been all bad moody since yesterday.”

He rested his forehead against hers and took a few seconds to answer, all the while looking at her eyes.

“Just a bit nervous, pet,” he whispered at last. “’Tried to get the bloody thing out before, if you remember, and it didn’t work quite well. For a while I was sure it would never come out. And now… I guess I’m afraid to hope too much and then hear that guy say he can’t do it.”

It was the first time he had ever admitted to her being afraid of anything, and she would have bet it was the first time he ever admitted such a thing to anyone.

“It will be ok,” she said as reassuringly as she could. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

To try and soothe him, she gave him a kiss, just a quick chaste kiss. However one quick kiss turned into two, quickly not so chaste anymore as their tongues danced languidly, and before she knew it her fingers were woven in his hair, while his hands were slipping inside her duster and under her shirt. Regaining her senses for a second, she pulled away from his mouth and swatted the adventurous hands.

“There’s probably a camera filming us right now,” she explained, wondering why she even felt the need to justify herself.

He had a quick laugh and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing the locks she had mussed.

“We’ve been in front of a camera before, luv. ‘Might even be more fun if we know it’s there.”

Glaring at the suggestive look he threw her, she retreated against the side of the elevator, her arms folded beneath her breast.

“You are impossible,” she declared flatly.

“And you love me for it.”

Smirking, he approached her, his hands settling on her hips. His mouth descended on her neck and nuzzled past the duster and her shirt until his lips were brushing against the sensitive scars, caressing.

“Spike…”

To her own ears, the protest sounded like begging, and she wasn’t sure which one she meant anyway. The problem was solved when the elevator bell rang, signaling that they had reached their floor. Yet before moving away Spike gave a quick lick to his marks, grinning for all he was worth when she shivered.

“Coming, pet?” he said in a too innocent voice as he took her hand and pulled her out of the elevator.

Buffy could only form two thoughts. First, he certainly didn’t look anxious or tense anymore, which was good. Second, he would pay for that later, which was even better.

* * * * *

Half an hour later, as he sat with Buffy in front of the surgeon’s desk, Spike’s nervousness was back, stronger than ever. The clinic, which occupied the whole floor of the building, was empty save for them. For someone who had worked for the Watchers Council, Dr. Gruenwald was strangely at ease around vampires. He had been making small talk since they had arrived, talking about England, the soccer World Cup that was going on in Japan, and anything else he thought would interest his prospective patient. Buffy, he was politely ignoring, and Spike was wondering whether the doctor knew who and what she was.

At that moment, the man was looking at the large screen on the right of his desk where different x-rays of Spike’s head were displayed. The chip was easily visible, a small white echo, seemingly so innocent.

“Yes,” the man said almost gleefully after detailing the images for long silent minutes. “I can operate that. Tricky surgery, but feasible.”

“Is it dangerous?” Buffy asked quietly.

Gruenwald gave her a quick frown, as if suddenly remembering she was there.

“There are always risks whenever the brain is involved,” he replied offhandedly. “But I am very good at operating demons. Especially vampires. My specialty, I would say, though my clients have been somewhat more… alive… since I left London.”

Spike didn’t like the sound of that at all, and a quick glance to Buffy proved that she didn’t fancy the man either. However, the choices were limited, and Spike was ready to almost anything to be free of the damn chip.

“I just have two questions,” he said coldly to the doctor, who had returned his attention to the x-rays. “When, and how much.”

Gruenwald pivoted back toward them, looking slightly amused.

“On the phone you sounded eager to get rid of the object, so I would propose tomorrow night. It should take only three or four hours, so you’ll have plenty of time to return to your… lair… before morning. For the price…”

A small grin, almost wolfish, appeared on the man’s lips and was gone in a flash.

“What is your price?” Buffy insisted.

“I thought you knew,” he replied slowly. “The Council already paid me for this.”

* * * * *

Buffy almost jumped as the door banged shut behind her. She turned to Spike, a slight look of reprobation on her face.

“Stop acting like a spoiled brat,” she muttered as she slipped her duster off. “Tomorrow night you’ll be free of the chip and that’s it.”

“The Council…” he started.

She placed a finger on his lips to silence him.

“The Council is mine to deal with. I already accepted and there’s nothing to discuss.”

Gold was slowly taking over the blue of his eyes, but she returned his stare without flinching. She was just as displeased as him by the turn of events, but as she had stated her decision was made, and in truth it hadn’t been a difficult one. This seemed to be the only chance for Spike to ever get rid of the chip, and she knew how much it meant to him. In comparison to helping him, agreeing to the Watchers’ terms was nothing.

She would owe them one favor, one request for them to make and for her to fulfill. The penalty to her refusal had been made clear. Either she accepted the mission when they gave it to her, or they would launch an all-out attack against her and Spike. Quentin Travers had accepted her word over the phone, and she had barely been able to repress her anger and not tell him exactly what she thought of his manners. When they had met before, when Glory was looking for her Key, the roles had been reversed and Buffy had taken great pleasure in telling him what to do. She easily recognized this whole ‘exchange of favors’ as what it was: payback.

The gold finally receded in Spike’s eyes, and he shook his head. He had been ready to cancel the operation as soon as he heard what the Council wanted to authorize Gruenwald to operate. That had only strengthened Buffy’s resolve.

“I need to kill something,” he growled, still angry. “I’ll go…”

“No. You’re not going anywhere. You stay here, you rest and you drink a lot of blood as the doctor said.”

The gold was back, and Buffy crossed her arms in what she hoped was a display of determination. There really wasn’t much she could do if he just stormed out. Yet he just stood there, watching her intently. Finally, she heard him mutter two words.

“Love’s bitch.”

Shaking his head, he passed by her, taking his duster off and throwing it on the round couch in the middle of the lobby. Her eyes followed him, noticing the anger that was still there in these clenched fists.

“Spar with me, Slayer?”

“No, you need to rest.”

He was turning back to her, for what she was sure was pleading, when Angel and Cordelia came out of the kitchen.

“I knew I had heard something,” the vampire said.

Cordelia gave a quick look at both Spike and Buffy, probably noticing their tension.

“Bad news?” she inquired.

“No,” Buffy replied. “Everything’s fine. Surgery tomorrow night. Spike is just a bit… impatient.”

He shot her a nasty glare, before turning his attention to Angel with a sly grin.

“Wanna spar, Peaches? I beat you last time, here’s your chance to get your revenge.”

Angel’s face closed even more if it was possible. He didn’t like at all the idea of Spike being dechipped, and Buffy had had to remind him his promise not to interfere in their affairs. Though he hadn’t voiced it, she thought he was afraid that Spike with no chip would resemble Angel with no soul. Yet, he had said it himself before, the chip wasn’t a soul.

“I will not fight with you. I heard Buffy say you need to rest.”

Spike looked ready to let out a vicious comment when Dawn and Steven entered the lobby, both finishing pizza slices.

“I will,” the boy said suddenly.

It was a measure of Spike’s edginess that he didn’t laugh off the offer. He considered Steven, as if gauging him, a small smile appearing on his lips. Angel faced Steven, apparently ready to protest, but Spike was faster.

“You want to fight against me? Why?”

“I want to learn to fight like you. You beat him.”

With the last word, Steven made a quick gesture toward Angel, though he didn’t spare him a glance. Spike laughed and rubbed his hands together.

“Spike, this is not a good idea, ” Buffy tried to reason him.

“I agree on that,” Dawn said with a frown.

Neither Spike nor Steven seemed to hear, both still measuring each other.

“Here?” Spike said.

“Basement,” Steven answered just as curtly.

Spike nodded, and they walked to the elevator, ignoring the protests of Angel and Buffy. Dawn joined them, and so did Angel, the vampire muttering something about children not respecting their parents. Buffy was about to follow when she noticed the hard look Cordelia was giving her. She let the doors of the elevator close without making a move toward it. She had noticed earlier that Cordelia was very cold toward her, and she wanted to understand what was wrong with her.

They stared at each other in silence for a minute, until Buffy got tired of waiting. She threw her duster on top of Spike’s and took a few steps toward the ex-cheerleader.

“Go ahead, Cordy. Spill. Why do you look at me like you want to stake me?”

She didn’t look surprised by the accusation, didn’t even try to deny it.

“Do you even realize how much you hurt him?” she asked angrily.

Buffy frowned, surprised by the unexpected answer.

“Hurt who?”

Cordelia looked up, shaking her head slightly.

“Angel! Who else?!”

“I did nothing…” Buffy started.

Cordelia walked until she was right in front of her, hands on her hips, glaring at her.

“You did nothing?” she snorted. “How about calling him to your death bed? How about making him believe you still love him and then dumping him for someone he hates more than anything? How about when he rushes to help you and comes back bruised and bloodied? He’s back to his brooding self while he should be happy that Connor is back, and that’s all because of you!”

For a few seconds, Buffy could only stare at Cordelia, eyes wide and mouth open. Finally, she found her voice back and instinctively copied the other woman’s pose, hands on her waist and chin held high.

“For your information,” she said coldly, “I was dying. I just wanted to say goodbye. As for loving him, I did, just not enough any more, like he didn’t love me as he used to. We’ve both changed and we… and that’s none of your business anyway. If he and Spike can’t be in the same room two minutes without starting to fight, I don’t see what I can do about it. And the brooding part, I’m sure I’m not the cause. The way Steven act with him would make anyone brood.”

Again, icy stares were exchanged, until Buffy saw something in Cordelia’s eyes that made her anger disappear instantly. Her hands slipped off her waist and she tilted her head slightly.

“Does he know?” she asked softly.

“Does who know what?” Cordelia replied tartly.

“Does Angel know you love him?”

Shock replaced irritation on the ex-brunette’s face, and it was her turn to gape at Buffy.

“He has no clue,” she finally whispered, blushing slightly. “I was kinda with someone else and I just realized it wasn’t working. Actually, Groo realized it first, and he left.”

Buffy nodded a little, understanding all too well what Cordy was explaining. She placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and pressed it softly.

“Give him a little time.”

Cordelia gave her a tentative smile.

“Well… You said they can’t be together two minutes without fighting?”

Buffy returned the smile.

“Yep. Shall we go check on them?”

* * * * *

Running a hand through his wet hair, Spike knocked on the door. After a couple of seconds of silence, an invitation was uttered. He pushed the door open and leaned against it, noticing how the boy’s expression softened slightly when he saw him. He was probably expecting someone else.

“Hey kid. How is the shoulder?”

Sitting on his bed, Steven swung his arm, the faintest smile on his lips.

“Just fine,” he replied. “It takes a lot to take me down.”

Spike laughed briefly. It had indeed taken a surprising lot to pin the teen down. Of course, trying not to hurt him didn’t simplify the matter. Though Spike had quickly realized that the kid didn’t need favors to hold his own in a fight. He just needed a little more training, which Spike had been more than happy to provide. All the while, Angel and Dawn had been watching and wincing every time a blow landed. Well, at least Dawn had winced equally for Steven hitting Spike and for the opposite. Angel was only worried for his kid, which was normal.

“I liked fighting with you,” the boy said. “We’ll have to do it again.”

Spike nodded absently. It wouldn’t happen again if Angel was around. He had been furious when Spike finally landed a blow hard enough to stun the boy, and as far as Spike could tell he had been very close to vamping out. He probably would have jumped on Spike if the cheerleader hadn’t stopped him. Buffy hadn’t been much more pleased, actually, and he was almost sure he’d get a cold shoulder when he joined her in their room.

“I liked it too,” he replied sincerely. “You’re a good fighter. I’m sure you’ll be able to beat the poof some day.”

Steven looked at him quizzically.

“The poof? Do you mean Angelus?”

“Not Angelus, Angel.”

God... Angelus would either turn the kid or torture him to death.

“Everyone says they are two persons,” Steven said slowly, “but how can that be? If it’s the same body, it’s the same man.”

Spike gave a quick glance to the hall. Angel’s room wasn’t very far, and the last thing he wanted was to be overheard talking about Angelus. He closed the door and watched the kid intently, trying to find a way to explain.

“I know it’s hard to understand,” he said at last, “but they are truly two different men. I have spent a long time with Angelus, I know him more than I would like to, just as I know more of Angel than I care about knowing. There’s nothing in common between them. Except the hair.”

The kid half smiled at the last part.

“If you didn’t like him,” he asked thoughtfully, “why did you spend so much time with him?”

There was an easy answer to that, that Spike had told himself many times. It was because of Dru. She wouldn’t leave her Daddy, and Spike wouldn’t leave her, so he was stuck with Angelus. But if he was honest, that wasn’t all. He shook his head lightly, wishing he hadn’t left his cigarettes in his duster, and his duster in the lobby.

“It wasn’t that easy. He was my Sire.”

“That means… he made you a vampire?”

Spike nodded, noticing the different emotions that played on Steven’s face.

“So, he’s like your father.”

It was half a question, half a statement.

“You can say that,” Spike confirmed. “Just like you didn’t choose your parents, I didn’t choose my Sire. And we’re both stuck with him, even if he’s a big poof who uses too much hair gel for his own good.”

A deep frown creased Steven’s forehead, and for a second his eyes were unfocused, as if he was seeing something else than the room. Finally his eyes were back on Spike, and he asked, a bit hesitant:

“What was Darla like?”

Two dozens adjectives instantly came to Spike’s mind, none of them acceptable to tell a kid about his mother.

“That’s a hard question,” he admitted. “I didn’t like her much to tell the truth. You should ask your father.”

Steven’s expression instantly closed, in a manner strikingly resembling Angel’s.

“Talking about women,” Spike said with a light smirk, “you better keep your hands off Dawn or I will be kicking your arse for real.”

Horror filled Steven’s face and voice.

“I would never fight with Dawn!” he protested.

Spike stifled a laugh at that reply. Apparently, the kid had a lot to learn, and not only about fighting. And the vampire certainly wasn’t going to give him ideas he might experiment on the Nibblet.

“That’s good,” he said as seriously as he could. “I like Dawn very much and I wouldn’t let anyone hurt her, not even you.”

“I like her also,” Steven whispered, eyes suddenly darting to the floor.

“She likes you too.”

The kid was suddenly looking at him again with a delighted smile.

“She does?”

Spike cursed himself silently. He was supposed to scare boys off, not give them hope.

“Yeah, she does. Don’t tell her I said that though, she’d stake me.”

He glanced at the small clock by the bed. It was late. Time for teens to sleep and for vampires to try to get a cuddle.

“Good night, kid.”

“Thanks.”

The word was quiet, and it answered probably more than the ‘good night’. With a wink, Spike got out of the room, closing the door behind him, and found himself facing his Sire. Angel looked strangely calm, but Spike knew from experience that look could be deceitful.

“You’ve been here for long?” he asked, not even bothering to ask if he had heard their conversation.

“A little while.”

Spike nodded, forcing his most irritating smirk to his lips.

“Then you know that you should give him a picture of his mother. Or at least a drawing if you got rid of the pictures.”

By the sudden flash that went through Angel’s eyes, Spike knew that he still had said pictures. It was hard to go through centuries without keeping a few mementos.

“It’s a good kid you have there, Peaches. Of course anyone who can’t stand you is alright by my book.”

This time, it was pain that crossed the older vampire’s face, and Spike almost kicked himself for his bad quip. He had obviously pressed on a wound that was already deep.

“Give him time,” he said more quietly. “He’ll get past it. If I did, anyone can.”

Angel nodded, his gaze settling on the closed door behind which Steven rested, but he kept quiet.

“’Night, Peaches.”

Spike started striding away toward his room, that was at the end of the long corridor. Before he had taken more than a few steps, Angel spoke, almost too softly for even vampire’s ears.

“Thank you, William.”

And again, there was more behind the words than an answer to the nightly greeting.


Chapter 48 - City of Angels (2)

Her cheek resting on Spike’s chest, Buffy was tracing light patterns on his alabaster skin. She knew it was time to get out of bed, but she couldn’t make herself pull away from his embrace. It wasn’t like she had something to do, anyway. Dawn was out, shopping with Cordelia and Steven. Cordy had proposed the day before to take her with them, and Dawn had accepted enthusiastically. The only other person in the building was Angel, and she felt a bit awkward around him. Long ago, Spike had told her she and Angel would never be friends, and now she knew he was right. There had been too much between them for either to be really comfortable around the other.

A soft purr escaped Spike’s lips and she grinned, remembering how he had made her purr the night before. In truth, she had been upset when he joined her in bed. He had been told to rest in preparation of the operation, and instead he had been sparing with a kid, of all people. But he had found delightful ways to make her forget her irritation. At the memory, her body suddenly felt like it was burning, and she shifted against him, moving up until her face was next to his. She observed his features, marveling at how peaceful and innocent he looked in his sleep. She had long ago realized that his constant smirk was a barrier to protect his too-human emotions from prying eyes.

Her gaze traveled down his neck until it met the latest marks she had left there two nights before. Healed already, they were no more than slightly puckered scars. She kissed them softly, wondering if they were as sensitive as hers were. Spike stirred against her, giving her an answer, and she smiled against his skin. She hadn’t taken from him the past night. The surgeon had told him to drink a lot of blood, and her drinking from him would be just the opposite. More than twenty-four hours without biting… The demon was crying in her, pleading for her to feed, not just from a blood bag, but from her Sire and lover. The longest she stayed without sinking her fangs in his flesh, the hardest it was not to give in to the hunger. She nibbled at the mark with blunt teeth, fighting the game face that was trying to force its way up.

“Stop torturing yourself and me, Childe. Drink.”

She stilled against him as he murmured the sleepy words. He knew her so well, too well it seemed sometimes.

“Whatever you take,” he said as she still wasn’t biting, “I can replace before tonight.”

Buffy felt her control slip as his hand came to her hair, caressing her locks. She gave in to her bloodlust as well as to his need, and slowly pushed her fangs into his silky skin. As she took a few shallow sips, he purred again, and this time she purred with him.

The demon having been satisfied, she returned to her human features and licked the tiny wounds clean.

“Do you know what today is, luv?”

She tucked her head under his chin, sighing happily as his fingers started tracing random patterns on her back.

“Hmmm… the day you lose the chip?”

“That too. But today is the one month anniversary of your turning.”

She frowned a little. Surely it hadn’t been that long… It seemed only like yesterday that she had awakened in his arms and fed from him for the first time. A month..? Yes, a month. Time had gone so fast, so many things had happened, that she hadn’t even realized.

“Do you still feel alive after your first month?” he asked softly.

She gave a quick kiss to his chest, closing her eyes in contentment.

“More than ever.”

For a few minutes, they rested in silence, simply enjoying the feel of each other. Then Spike’s voice rose, a quiet whisper.

“Luv… I want to ask you something.”

“Hmmm?”

The fingers caressing her back hesitated for a second before resuming their regular rhythm.

“That guy is going to mess up with my brain. Hopefully all will go fine…”

She raised her head from his chest and placed her lips on his, silencing him with a kiss.

“Not hopefully,” she said firmly. “Everything will be fine, period.”

He gave her his warmest, most tender smile as his hand glided up to her cheek, stroking lightly.

“Just in case it doesn’t go so fine… I don’t want to spend eternity as a vegetable, luv. If for any reason my brain is damaged too badly, I want you to dust me.”

Unwanted tears came to Buffy’s eyes. She shook her head and tried to protest, but only a weak sob passed her lips. He cupped her face gently between both his hands and covered it with tiny kisses until the tears were gone.

“Will you do that for me Buffy?”

Still unable to say a word, she nodded, accepting his request while promising silently not to live a minute longer than him. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, live without his love and blood. He rolled over her, his mouth pressing wet caresses to her skin. Before long, he had made her forget all gloomy thoughts, replacing them by love.

* * * * *

Hesitating, Angel bit his lower lip and frowned, his pencil immobile on the paper, trying to decide what name to write. The drawing was for a young man called Steven, and Angel was getting used to the idea. The baby pictured in his mother’s arms, however, had had another name, for the few months he had brightened Angel’s life. A few precious months whose memory Angel cherished, when his son had given him smiles instead of scowls. Sighing, the vampire finished the inscription. Whatever Steven wanted or said, he had once been called Connor, and he was still his son.

Darla & Connor.

He ran a light finger on Darla’s features. In truth, he had rarely seen her smile that tenderly. But he imagined that’s what she would have looked like, had she had the chance to ever know their son and hold him in her arms. Darla as a mother. The idea was almost laughable. She had never shown much of a motherly side, not until she chose her son’s life over her own.

Now that the drawing was finished, Angel had to decide how to give it to Steven. He finally settled for the easiest way, and simply went to the kid’s bedroom and laid the paper on his bed. He gave a quick glance around him. Steven had been living there for more than a week, but the room wore no traces of being occupied. And that was exactly why Cordy had taken him shopping, Angel reminded himself as he closed the door behind him.

He frowned briefly in the direction of his guests’ bedroom, his acute hearing picking up noises he would have rather not heard. They were the only persons in the hotel with him at this time, with Cordy out with the kids, Fred and Gunn on vacation, and Lorne gone to try his luck under brighter skies.

Somber, he returned to his office, safely away from his Childe and GrandChilde. They both refused to leave his thoughts however, and before long he was starting another drawing. The lines appeared easily on the paper, without requiring much thinking. He knew both their faces so well, he could have drawn them blindfolded. He had mourned his love for Buffy, and only wished for her to find happiness. If Spike could give it to her, and it didn’t take long to see that he could and did, then good for both of them. Angel knew how deeply Spike could love, and Buffy deserved to be loved like that.

When he was done, he observed the drawing for a long moment, lost in thoughts and memories, until the phone ringing pulled him out of his daydreaming.

“Angel Investigation,” he said absently.

“Angelus.”

The voice was ice and chilled Angel to his bones.

“Holtz,” he replied just as coldly.

“I want to see you.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to leave. I need to talk to you before that.”

Angel forced his hand open and stared at the broken pieces of the pencil in his palm.

“Where?”

As the man who had stolen his son gave him the address of his hotel, Angel wrote it down on a scrap piece of paper. Long after he had hung up the phone, the vampire was still trying to decide whether he would go to the rendezvous, and if he did, what he would do when facing Holtz.

* * * * *

The sunset was near, and Buffy and Spike had finally emerged from their bedroom. Buffy was eating some leftover pizza in the kitchen, while Spike was pacing in the lobby, slowly sipping his third mug of blood, and shamelessly eavesdropping on Angel and the cheerleader. They were in the poof’s office, but they had been arguing so loudly he had heard all of it. It was good that Steven was in his room, because he probably wouldn’t have liked that conversation.

“Angel,” Cordelia insisted once more, “please think about this. In fact, don't go there at all.”

“I have to.”

“I know. But don't.”

Puzzled, Spike wondered if these two were together. He would never have thought so, but their argument sounded almost like a lovers’ quarrel.

“I'm not gonna kill him even though he deserves it.”

Cold that voice, so cold, almost Angelus like.

“Oh, I don't care if you kill him. He stole Connor's childhood, so kill him. But don't lie to your son. Way to build the trust.”

Fire answering to ice. Spike would never have believed the girl could talk about death so casually.

“I'm not lying to him.”

“No, you're just asking me to distract him while you go confront the man he thinks of as his father.”

For a couple of seconds, there was only silence, then Angel spoke again, quietly this time, and if Spike hadn’t been just behind the door he wouldn’t have heard him.

“I am his father.”

Not bothering with knocking, Spike pushed the door open. Two angry pairs of eyes settled on him instantly. He ignored Cordelia and returned Angel’s stare without wavering.

“Three weeks ago you almost killed your own Childe for a woman,” he said slowly. “Do you really think you’ll be able to look at that man you hate and not kill him for your son?”

Spike could see flakes of gold dancing in Angel’s eyes. Without leaving him time to answer, he continued.

“If you touch one hair from that guy, Steven will know, sooner or later. And when he does, you will lose him completely. Are you ready for that?”

Angel leaned back in his chair, his head thrown back, eyes closed. The answer was long to come, but when it did both Spike and Cordelia released a small sigh.

“No.”

Cordelia gave a grateful smile to Spike, and he replied with a wink.

“Good to hear you haven’t completely lost it,” Spike said with a smirk. “Want to come with me and the Slayer? I don’t know if I’ll be able to drive afterward and I’d rather not leave a rented car in her hands.”

“Hey I heard that!”

Buffy strode in the office, pouting, and punched Spike’s shoulder. He laughed and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her forehead soundly. From the corner of his eye, he noticed two things. The cheerleader was carefully observing Angel’s reaction at the display of affection. And Angel’s reaction was nothing but a faint smile.

“Shall we go then, Childer?” the brunette asked quietly.

* * * * *

Cordelia smiled at the two kids entering the lobby together. They weren’t yet at the holding hands stage, but she could see it coming pretty fast. She frowned briefly at the thought. It would come, yes, too fast. Someone would need to talk to Steven, since he hadn’t had many contacts with members of the opposite sex in the hell dimension he had grown up in. And she certainly wasn’t volunteering for the job. She might be acting as Steven’s step-mother in many ways, she drew the line to conversations about birds and bees. Of course, being in truth his step-mother might have been otherwise rewarding…

“Hey you two,” she said as cheerfully as she could. “Ready for a movie?”

She saw their twin smiles slowly disappear to be replaced by shock as they looked at her. Cordelia realized that she was glowing, and started to voice her protest at the impending vision. The images came, all too clear. A man, dying, two punctures in his neck. A child finding him, anger and rage burning him to cinders. Holtz and Steven. In a flash, it was gone, and Cordy could only stare at Steven in front of her, wondering how she was going to stop the mess this time. Then she noticed that both kids were frozen, Dawn’s hand half raised toward her, Steven’s eyes wide and unblinking, immobile statues.

She took a step toward them, her hand instinctively coming up to touch Dawn’s.

“Don't be frightened.”

At the quiet words, Cordelia jumped, her heart suddenly beating furiously. She turned toward the voice, pressing a hand to her chest.

”It's a little late for that!” she said a bit angrily.

The demon smiled at her apologetically, presenting his hands to her in an appeasing gesture.

“Sorry,” he said gently. “You remember me? I'm...”

“Yeah. Skip,” she interrupted. “You tend to remember your demon guides. What is going on?”

“It’s time, Cordelia. You've outgrown this dimension. You've become… a higher being.”

Cordelia felt her knees weaken and she fought to stay upright. She looked at her guide questioningly, asking with a shaky voice:

“When you say I've… outgrown this level, that sort of implies...”

She didn’t know how to finish. It was just too crazy. She was only a normal girl, with visions and glowy powers, but still mostly normal! She was in love with her best friend, she helped him raise his kid, she couldn’t just…

“You’re moving on to a new one.”

Apparently, she could. Deep down, she knew it was right, she knew there was so much more she could do. And at the same time, she also knew she needed just a few more hours. Steven was there in front of her, he hadn’t seen the man he called father dead yet, she had to do something.

“I just need a little time,” she pleaded. “I just had a vision…”

Skip’s expression was unreadable, his look utterly blank, and it made her realize that he knew. He knew about the vision, knew what was going to happen.

“This is the last test, isn't it?” she asked quietly.

He gave her a very gentle smile, and she understood she was right. She was being asked to choose between a higher purpose and the two people that she had wished could become her family.

“I ever come face-to-face with those Powers That Be,” she muttered, “we are going to have a talk, a big talk.”

She turned again toward the still frozen Steven, wishing there was anything she could do to prevent what was bound to happen soon. Skip’s hand rested on her shoulder and pressed it lightly.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he said with an almost comforting tone.

“I’m sorry Angel,” she whispered, her eyes still on the vampire’s son.

Then she turned to Skip, and asked, louder: “What do I do?”

“Just say yes.”

She smiled very faintly, a deep feeling of peace settling in her. “I already have.”

Golden sparkles appeared around her and she started floating up in a corridor of white light.

* * * * *

Dawn blinked several times, staring at the empty spot where she had seen Cordelia glow just a second before.

“What happened?” she managed to ask. “Where is Cordy?”

Steven seemed as puzzled as she was, but not frightened by the strange disappearance.

“She is part demon,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe she can transport herself to other places?”

Dawn frowned at that. She had heard something about visions, but she didn’t know Cordy was a demon. Steven obviously knew more than she did. Come to think of it, he had been acting perfectly normally around Cordelia. And the day before, when he was sparing with Spike, he had joked and teased the vampire playfully. Apparently, his demon phobia was receding. She smiled at the thought, before remembering that Cordy had disappeared.

“Ok, so what do we do now?” she asked her friend.

“She can take care of herself,” Steven said firmly. “I don’t think we have to worry for her.”

Dawn nodded, and for a few seconds they were both silent. She couldn’t make herself meet his eyes, but she knew he was watching her, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

“Do you, uh, do you still want to go see a movie?” she asked hesitantly, forcing herself to look at him at last.

He tilted his head slightly, making her blush even more as she thought of how cute he was. She had been hoping to be alone with him at last since she had arrived in LA, she had hoped for something romantic and holding hands and kissing, but now that they were alone, all she could do was blush and ask stupid questions.

“I’d like to introduce you to my father,” he said quietly, almost shyly. “Would you like to meet him?”

A few minutes later, they were walking side by side in the streets of LA. Dawn knew that she would get in trouble with Buffy and Spike if they found out she had been out at night, but Steven had promised they would be back quickly. And she knew she was safe with him, his sparing with Spike had proved he was an excellent fighter. They made small talk as they went, comparing life in a hell dimension and on the Hellmouth, finding that they had more in common that Dawn would have thought. All too soon, they were at the hotel. Before opening the door, Steven gave her a bright smile, which she returned somewhat hesitantly. Then they entered the room, and all smiles disappeared.

Kneeling on the floor was a woman. On her lap was resting a man’s head. A dead man’s head. Steven approached the corpse and fell to his knees next to him, his fingers hovering next to the two punctures at his neck, but he didn’t touch them. Still at the door, Dawn pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry. She forced her eyes away from the dead and looked at Steven. She wished she knew what to tell him. She remembered all too well losing her mother, and waiting for someone, anyone, to tell her something that would make her feel better. The words had never come.

Steven was completely still for a moment, then his head raised toward the woman. He didn’t say a word, but she answered his silent question.

“Angelus.”

Dawn was as shocked by the name as she was by the quiet growl that rose from Steven.

“It can’t be him,” she said shakily. “He went out with Spike and Buffy. They wouldn’t have let him…”

The woman glared at her through tears filled eyes.

“I know what I saw,” she spat. “And I’m lucky I escaped with my life. The beast has to pay.”

Dawn came closer until she could rest her hand on Steven’s shoulder. He shuddered at the touch, but did not move away. His eyes were back on the dead man.

“Before you believe anything,” she said softly, “ask them whether Angel was with them tonight. Just to make sure.”

“Don’t listen to that girl,” the woman said urgently. “You have to avenge your father. You can’t let the monster walk unpunished.”

For all her hate for Angel, Dawn couldn’t believe he would have killed a human. Angelus would have, with no doubt, and Angel had come close to killing Spike, but he didn’t hurt humans, just like her sister didn’t, because they had souls. Even without that certainty, she had seen the three vampires leave the Hyperion together, and she knew that Buffy would have staked Angel rather than letting him kill a human. She didn’t know why the woman insisted that Angel was the murderer, but Dawn was convinced she was lying, or mistaken.

After what seemed like an eternity, Steven gathered the dead man in his arms and stood. He gave a last look to the woman, before settling on Dawn eyes so cold and dead that she shivered.

“Steven?..” she questioned hesitantly.

“If he did it, he will die. If they knew, they will die too.”

With these words, he walked past her, carrying the man out. She followed him back to the Hyperion, surprised that no one was paying any attention to them or calling the police. Again, she wished she could reach out to him, but he didn’t seem to hear when she tried to talk to him. Her only hope was that the three vampires would return soon and be able to convince Steven that Angel wasn’t responsible. Assuming that he wasn’t, of course.

Chapter 49 - Welcome to Sunnydale

Speeding on the highway, Spike gave a quick glance to the rearview mirror. Dawn was asleep in the backseat, draped in Buffy’s duster. Buffy was in dreamland too, her cheek resting against his shoulder, and covered by his duster. When Dawn had complained earlier about the night being chilly, Buffy hadn’t hesitated a split second before wiggling out of the leather and handing it to the teen. A few minutes later however, she had whined about feeling the cold, which of course was a blatant lie, until Spike gave up and let her have his most prized possession.

They had a couple more hours before sunrise, but they would be back to Sunnyhell long before that. Goodbyes had taken longer than he anticipated. Or rather, the burial had. That had been a weird thing, really. Three vampires, a teen made of mystical energy and another who was at least part demon, paying their last respects to a man who, so Spike had been told, hated anything non-human with passion. Almost comical, really. Far less funny had been the discovery of the dead man, across the lobby floor, when Spike, his Sire and his Childe had returned from the clinic the night before.

* * * * *

Unable to wipe the grin off his face, Spike followed Angel and Buffy inside the Hyperion. They both stopped right after the door however, and he had to push them gently to be able to close the door behind him. And then he saw them. The dead man on the floor, telltale punctures on his neck. Steven standing right by him, a stake in each hand. Dawn crouched on the round sofa, her knees drawn against her chest, her arms around her legs. His grin disappeared at the look of fear on her face. His first instinct was to go to her and make sure she was ok, but Buffy beat him to it. Angel was completely immobile, his gaze alternating between the dead man and his son.

Spike noticed that the kid was looking not at Angel but at him. In his eyes glowed rage and grief, but surprisingly the rest of him was perfectly still, composed, though poised for attack. When their eyes met, he asked Spike in a too cool voice:

“Did Angelus leave your side tonight?”

Angel flinched visibly at the name, and Spike understood suddenly who the dead man was. The kidnapper. The man who had taught Steven to hate Angel and all demons. The man Angel had almost gone to see. Almost.

“He was with me and Buffy the whole time,” Spike answered truthfully, hoping his word would be good enough for the obviously shaken kid.

Steven looked at Buffy, who nodded, frowning.

“We went straight from here to the clinic,” she confirmed. “And then back here directly. Your father was within my sight all…”

“My father was murdered!” Steven interrupted her with a growl.

Again, Angel flinched at his son’s words. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet, laced with a pain so well hidden Spike doubted anyone but him could recognize it.

“I am sorry you lost someone you cared for so much,” he said slowly.

“She said you killed him!” Steven accused angrily.

He gave a quick glance at Spike then at Buffy, before shaking his head and adding very low:

“All demons. ‘Could be lying. Why should I believe you?”

“Because we’re not lying,” Spike muttered, lighting a cigarette.

“Whoever ‘she’ is, she’s the one who lied to you,” Angel pleaded. “I hadn’t seen Holtz since… before he took you away.”

The kid gathered both stakes in one hand, pulled a piece of paper from his jeans pocket, and threw it at Angel’s feet. Before the vampire had even picked it up, Steven was ready for attack again, one stake firmly held in each hand. Spike looked over the brunette’s shoulder, reading the address as he unfolded the crumbled sheet.

“I can explain,” Angel said quickly. “He called me this afternoon. He wanted to talk to me. But I didn’t go. I called him back, I told him if he had anything to say, he’d have to say it over the phone because I didn’t want to see him. He hung up on me. I did not go there, I did not kill him, you have to believe me.”

“Next you’re going to say if you had done it, you would tell me,” Steven hissed. “I still don’t see why I should believe you. Any of you.”

Spike was getting annoyed. This should have been one of the best nights of his unlife, a true rebirth, and instead it was turning into a bleeding soap opera. Throwing the remaining of his cigarette to the floor, he stepped on it and walked around Angel to get closer to the body. Steven tensed as he approached, but Spike feigned not to pay attention to him. Crouching next to the dead, he examined his neck without actually touching him. The kid probably wouldn’t like him to, and he thought it was better not to provoke him, considering he was carrying stakes and knew how to use them. His quick inspection gave Spike the answer to the problem. Standing up, he shed his duster and pulled the right sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow. Walking back to Angel, he thrust his wrist toward the shocked vampire and demanded:

“Bite.”

Angel’s eyes widened and he took a step back, growling menacingly.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you think that’s the moment?”

“For God’s sake Peaches! Can’t you trust me once in your bloody unlife? Just bite!”

An angry flicker ran through Angel’s eyes as he vamped out. Without a word, he bit down the proffered wrist and let it go without tasting the blood that seeped out, returning to his human features instantly. Licking his own blood as there was no reason to let it go to waste, Spike threw a quick glance at Buffy, who was staring at him, obviously puzzled and maybe even displeased. He had to repress a smile at the thought that she was jealous. He would make it up to her later, but right now he had to clear the poof of murder charges. Why he cared about what Steven thought of Angel, though, was the real mystery.

He returned to the body, and lowered himself once again, placing his wrist just next to the man’s neck. He looked at Steven, who was staring at the two sets of punctures with wide eyes. Two sets of punctures completely different from each other. The holes on the man’s neck were far too close to each other and too thin to have been inflicted by Angel, and by his look, the kid understood that. Spike held out both hands, palms up, toward him.

“Proof enough?” he asked quietly.

Steven did not say a word, but he placed the stakes in Spike’s hands. He turned away from them all and started walking toward the elevator. After a few steps however he fell to his knees, his whole body shaking as he sobbed. Dawn rose from the couch and went to him. She knelt in front of him and hugged him awkwardly. Angel was there a second later, kneeling behind him and resting his large hands on the boy’s trembling shoulders.

Watching them warily, Spike let the two stakes on the floor and fished out another cigarette from his back pocket. However before he could light it Buffy was by his side, plucking it from his lips, replacing it by a soft kiss.

* * * * *

At the memory, Spike’s hand instinctively rose to his lips, touching where her mouth had rested. He could be with her for centuries, he didn’t think he would ever get used to the feel of her lips on his. So soft even when they were bruising. So passionate even when the kiss was chaste. Always so intense it felt like an electricity shock.

He briefly turned his face toward her, allowing his fingers to thread through her hair for an instant. She smiled in her sleep at the touch, and instinctively he smiled back. Her smile had been what he was looking at while the surgeon was having a close look at his brain, since he hadn’t judged necessary to put the vampire under general anesthesia. She had been standing behind a glass wall, the poof next to her, and for the whole operation her eyes had not left him, her smile had not wavered, though he could tell she had to force herself. He had admitted to her his nervousness, and she had supported him the only way she could, with the quiet reassurance that she loved him, trusted him, and knew he would be ok. All of this in the curve of her lips.

* * * * *

Gruenwald took a last few stitches before indicating to the two other vampires that they could enter the room. Gingerly, Spike sat up, touching delicately his scalp were it had been cut and sewn back.

“Everything went just fine,” the surgeon said cheerfully, “just like I told you.”

Buffy was by his side now, and she took Spike’s hand carefully.

“How do you feel?” she asked softly.

“Peachy, luv. No dusting for me quite yet.”

He winked at her, noticing the quiet sigh she let out. He turned to Gruenwald, who was getting rid of his gloves and mask.

“Can I see it?” Spike asked.

Grinning like a child on Christmas morning, the man carefully grabbed the chip from a tray with thin pliers and presented it to Spike. Such a small thing, the vampire reflected, that had caused him so much pain. Not even half an inch long, half that in width, the perfect creation of demented scientists.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the surgeon said, almost with awe.

“Not quite,” Spike muttered.

In a quick movement, he grabbed the offending object between his thumb and index, and, ignoring Gruenwald’s protest, he crushed until it was broken in several pieces. Not wanting to give the Council of wankers even that to study, he stuffed the remains of his electronic leash into his pocket and jumped to his feet. Shifting to game face, he turned to the man who had just freed him from the Initiative for good and gave him a very toothy grin.

“Tell me a thing, doc,” he said as he approached the man, who was backing away. “You’re completely human, right?”

The man only stuttered, and Spike took that as a yes.

“Spike,” came the Slayer’s warning voice behind him. “You changed your mind about needing a dusting?”

“Just have to make sure, luv,” he replied without ceasing to stare at the surgeon, running his tongue on his lips.

He struck with all the rapidity he was capable of, if not all the force, and brought his booted foot down on the doctor’s toes. The man cried as much in surprise as in pain, and Spike let out a relieved laugh, changing back to his human face thoughtlessly. He turned to Buffy and the poof and came back toward them. Buffy was trying to give him a dirty look, arms crossed below her breast and frown creasing her forehead, but he could tell she was amused. Angel seemed quite surprisingly almost ready to laugh. Almost, but of course being the poof he was, he contented himself with smiling.

* * * * *

A satisfied smirk came to the vampire’s lips as he replayed that glorious moment where he had hurt a human for the first time in what seemed like forever without being instantly punished. The feeling of power and freedom had been exhilarating. For a short second, the idea had crossed his mind to go out and hunt, a real hunt, a vampire choosing, stalking, biting and killing a human. The thought had been discarded as fast as it had come. Why would he risk all he now had? How satisfying could that hunt be if it meant losing his Slayer? He had known he would be able to control himself. He hadn’t thought it would be so easy. What the chip had done, his love for Buffy did even better, in far more pleasurable ways.

As if hearing the warm thoughts he was having about her, the Slayer stirred against him, waking up slowly.

“Hey there Big Bad,” she mumbled sleepily.

He wrapped an arm around her, driving with just one hand with practiced ease.

“Hey there to you, my Slayer.”

Rubbing her cheek against him, she repeated with a purr:

“Your Slayer. My Big Bad.”

“All yours.”

* * * * *

“It’s yours.”

Spike accepted the rolled sheet of paper Angel was handing him and carefully untied the ribbon that held it closed. Buffy leaned against him, looking intently as he unrolled the heavy paper. He heard her sharp intake of breath when the drawing was revealed.

“Just a small thank you gift,” Angel said quietly. “For convincing me not to meet Holtz. And helping out with Steven.”

Spike simply nodded, unable to form a word. He had known for a long time that his Sire had a true talent for drawing. Long ago, he had sometimes been the designated subject of his practice, as were Dru and Darla. Once, he had stolen a portrait of his Princess, and Angelus had beaten him to a bloody pulp when he had found out. Carefully tucked inside his duster’s pocket, he had the small drawing of Buffy she had let him have after Angel had returned to LA. But to be offered by Angel himself a drawing of his Slayer in his arms simply meant a bloody lot to Spike. More than he would ever have admitted.

Incapable of meeting Angel’s eyes, Spike rolled the paper again and looked over to where Dawn and Steven were talking. They had come back to the Hyperion after burying the dead man. Steven was still somber, but he was a strong kid, and he would be ok. He had accepted that Angel was not responsible for his other father’s death, and Spike was sure that, given time to get to know him, he would come to like Angel.

“Nibblet,” he called, “time to get on the road.”

He saw her place a quick kiss to the boy’s cheek before they both approached. Steven extended a hesitant hand to Spike.

“I’ll see you again?”

Shaking the offered hand, Spike smirked at the boy.

“Sure. If the old man drives you crazy, come visit us. I’m sure Dawn will enjoy that.”

The blushing teenager gave a vicious quick to his leg, which made him howl in surprise while her sister laughed.

“Women,” he grumbled quietly.

* * * * *

“’Think they will be ok?”

Buffy’s quiet words brought his attention back to her.

“Who pet?”

“Steven and Angel. I was thinking, if Cordelia doesn’t come back, they’ll have no one to smooth the hard angles between them. “

That had been the other surprise of the previous night. The cheerleader had disappeared, without warning or explanation. Angel had been quite worried about her vanishing act.

“They’ll survive,” Spike said with a shrug. “Angel wouldn’t touch one hair from the boy’s head, and Steven has no one but him now. They’ll learn to live with each other.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right.”

She sat up in her seat, abandoning his shoulder as a pillow, and stretched with a loud yawn.

“I wonder…” she started, and stopped abruptly.

“Wonder what, luv?”

She glanced at him, slightly hesitating.

“I wonder what the Council will ask from me. And when.”

His grip on the wheel tightened, and for a couple of seconds he fancied himself going to England, hunting down the bloody wankers, until the Council was no more than a memory. Shaking the thought away, he asked:

“What did Rupert say about it?”

“He was really surprised. And he apologized for not being more discreet while he was looking for a way to get the chip out. He said he’d try to get to know what they’ll ask from me beforehand, so that I can be ready.”

“So that we can be ready luv,” he corrected. “Think I’d let you play their game alone?”

She returned her cheek to his shoulder, rubbing against him lightly. They rode a few miles in silence, and at last they came in sight of their town.

“Uh, Spike, look out there’s a …”

The loud noise of wood against metal woke Dawn in a jump, and she looked all around as if expecting the car to be under attack.

“… Sign,” Buffy finished. “Why did you do that?”

“Tradition, luv,” he smirked, looking in his rearview mirror at the broken welcome sign that was now in the middle of the road.

“We’re home, ladies.”

Chapter 50 - Epilogue

Fifteen years before, if anyone had told him he would one day, or rather one evening, walk down the aisle with a beautiful bride holding his arm, Spike would have laughed until tears. Then he would have ripped out the clown’s throat.

And yet, there he was.

A half moon was casting a nice light on the altar, enhanced by a dozen tall torches. A few rows of chairs had been installed outside, decorated with ribbons and flowers, all as white as her dress. He could feel the eyes of the guests on them. No, on her. She looked like a princess, straight out from a fairy tale book. His hand covered hers on his arm, and she looked at him, smiling behind her veil. Unneeded breath caught in his throat, and he wondered what he had done to deserve such adoration.

At last they reached the altar, and he carefully lifted the veil from her face, revealing to the world the happiness that illuminated her eyes and smile. He brushed a kiss on her forehead, and left her standing between her bridesmaids and soon to be husband.

Slipping in a chair on the front row, Spike took Buffy’s hand and gave her a tender smile. She squeezed his hand, eyes shining with happy tears. He returned his attention to the ceremony, though he didn’t hear much of the words. As his eyes rested on the bride, his mind was going through all the memories he had of Dawn. The farthest one, created by the damn monks but still so real, was a glimpse of her behind her mother when he had fought against Buffy, the very first time. It was neither the most pleasant one, nor the worst. The worst memory involving her was still painful years after the fact. Tears streaming down her face as he was thrown off Glory’s tower, unable to keep his promise to protect her. The best memory… So many of them, how could he choose? Maybe when she had told him and her sister that Steven had asked her to marry him. Or when she had asked Spike to walk her down the aisle. Her wanker of a father was somewhere among the guests, but she had wanted him for that honor. It had taken all his self-control not to cry like a baby that day.

The ceremony was coming to an end already, the couple exchanging rings. Spike turned to Buffy, catching her gaze.

“I promise,” he whispered.

A little light twinkled in her eyes, proof that she remembered, and she leaned toward him for a soft kiss.

A couple of hours later, they were dancing to the song. As he held his precious Slayer in his arms, Spike’s gaze wandered around the reception room, gliding on the assorted men and women who had become, over the years, his extended family, because they were her family.

At a nearby table, the poof was grinning stupidly. Angel, turned human again, was sitting next to an angel, literally. Spike wasn’t sure he had gotten all the subtleties of the situation, but he didn’t care. Human or vampire, soul or no soul, Angel was still his Sire. On the dance floor, completely oblivious to the world around them, the wiccas were dancing together. Somewhere out there, Xander and Anya were keeping an eye on their demon twins – figuratively speaking. Giles was present too, with his wife, or maybe fiancée, it wasn’t quite clear, and it didn’t really matter. Dawn was still dancing with her new husband, looking happier than he had ever seen her. Steven had the same stupid grin plastered on his face as his father. Spike remembered thinking, the first time he had met the boy, that he might come to like him. He had been right, and the liking had been mutual, made easier by the two interests they had in common – the poof, and Dawn.

Finally, his attention returned to the petite blonde who was resting her head against his shoulder, smiling softly, eyes closed.

“Pet… I was thinking…”

“Hmmm?”

Her eyes opened lazily and she brought her face close to his, her soft lips brushing on his skin.

“The Nibblet doesn’t need us any more. We’ve trained the new Slayer as well as we could. The Scoobies are all safe and happy. How about we take some time just for us?”

She raised an eyebrow but kept quiet.

“I figured, we could travel a bit. There’s so much I want to show you.”

Her fingers played in his hair, pulling on the soft locks. Bleached blonde again, thankfully. He had lost a bet, a couple of years back. It had taken an awful lot of time, but she had gotten her wish to see his hair with its natural color. He had endured the ordeal in silence, knowing that the more he complained, the more she would tease him about it. In the end, she had been the one to break first, buying the peroxide and dying his hair herself.

“So where are you taking me?” she asked after a while.

He thought about it for a minute. He hadn’t expected her to agree so quickly. He had asked her a couple of times before, but she had always found excuses to delay. For so long, she had been the last defense standing between the Hellmouth and the world, that she sometimes seemed to think the apocalypse would come as soon as she left. Then again, past events seemed to give her cause. But even now, four years after a new Slayer had been called and taken residence in Sunnyhell, she was still patrolling almost every night. They were still patrolling. The new kid wasn’t supposed to know, of course, but Spike thought she suspected. He wasn’t sure whether she was grateful for the help or mildly annoyed by her over-protective elder.

So now that she had agreed, the big question was where to go. He had seen a lot of the world in his years, but it was different this time around. He wouldn’t be able to go to Prague or dozens of other places without memories of Drusilla resurfacing, but he wanted to create new memories that included his Slayer instead.

“It all began in London,” he murmured in her hair. “We could start there. And we’ll see where we go after that.”

He quivered as her lips caressed the fresh scars on his neck and held her tighter against him as she whispered:

“Anywhere with you, my Sire.”

He chuckled softly, and she grinned at him. It was a kind of joke between them. He called her Childe when she refused to listen to his opinion, a reminder that, should he ever decide to do so, he could control her with a word. That was her cue to stop being stubborn for a minute and try to see things from his point of view. It rarely worked, and they usually ended doing whatever she pleased. But when she did change her mind, she called him Sire, an acknowledgment that he was letting her make her own choices even if he didn’t agree with her.

He remembered the one night when he had chosen for her and imposed his decision to her weakened body. He had claimed afterward he would never regret it, and in truth he hadn’t, not one single time, not one second in almost ten years.

She had said, long ago, that she had forgiven him for turning her. She had even said she considered it a gift. But he had never dared asked since if she had ever regretted being a vampire. She had lost the sun. She had lost the possibility to ever have children. She had to share her body with a demon, always fighting it, always controlling the bloodlust. In return, she had gotten unlife. A chance to be with her friends and sister for a while longer. A chance to be with him…

“Buffy?”

An eyebrow arched gracefully, questioningly. It was so rare for him to call her by her name in public. He usually reserved it to more intimate moments, knowing that so much of him was revealed when he said that simple word.

“Did you ever regret it?”

She didn’t ask what he was talking about, she didn’t need to. She just watched him for long seconds, until he was sure she would admit that yes, she had regretted becoming a vampire. And then, slowly, a smile crept up on her face, the gentlest, most tender smile ever. And she used words he had said to her long ago.

“Never until I’m ashes,” she whispered. “And neither should you.”


~Fin~

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