CHAPTER EIGHT

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“Spike!”

Eyes wide, Buffy scrambled off the bed. No. This couldn’t be happening. Please, not now. Not after…

A wave of dizziness hit and she wobbled, grabbing the bedpost to keep from falling. Then it was gone, the roaring in her ears receding as her vision cleared. Still a little shaky but steady enough not to fall on her face, she bolted after Spike but stopped short as the cool air of the room reminded her of her current lack of clothing. With a muttered oath that would have made Spike proud, she whirled and darted back to the bed, yanking off the sheet and struggling to wrap it around her.

A muffled scream sounded from the hallway. Her head shot up. Kicking aside the trailing end of the sheet, she rushed to the door in an awkward stumble-hop and threw it open, skittering to a dead halt as she came face-to-back with Spike.

He hadn’t made it far, just barely past the threshold. Over his shoulder, Buffy could see the source of the scream – a young housemaid named Kitty. She stood frozen in place, a pile of crumpled bed linens at her feet and one slightly pudgy hand covering her mouth, eyes large and staring above it.

At first, Spike didn’t look back, didn’t acknowledge her presence in any way, but then his head turned and she saw the confusion in his face.

“I don’t have clothes,” he said softly.

Her heart lurched at the bewildered tone, so very un-Spikelike. It was painfully close to the way he’d sounded when she’d first found him living in the high school basement.

She glanced quickly at Kitty and realized the girl seemed to be making a quick recovery from her initial shock. Looking not so much traumatized as fascinated now, her wide-eyed gaze boldly settled on a particular part of Spike’s anatomy.

Buffy scowled in her direction, then spoke softly to Spike. “We’ll get you some clothes, Spike. Just come back in the bedroom, okay?”

At first, he didn’t respond. She wondered if her words had even registered. Then his head bowed and he turned to brush past her, his eyes avoiding hers. As she was about to follow, she noticed Kitty edging closer, craning her neck to better keep an eye on the retreating view.

Tugging the sheet higher, Buffy stepped in front of her. “Not that I don’t understand, but if you don’t stop ogling my boyfriend, I’m gonna have to hurt you.”

The girl’s eyes grew even larger as her mouth snapped shut, and Buffy felt the tiniest pang of guilt.

“Just kidding,” she said. “Except about the ogling part. Or the part where I tell you not to mention this to anyone, or I’ll get majorly pissed. Um…that’s mad pissed, not drunk pissed. And I don’t really think Mr. Giles would be too happy about it either,” she added. “So, we’re good, right?”

Kitty’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but only a slight squeak escaped. She eventually settled for nodding, ducking her head as she did so. Feeling like a big fat bully, Buffy reached out and touched her arm. Kitty’s head jerked up, and Buffy smiled encouragingly.

“Sorry. I really do understand. I mean, really do. But let’s still keep this our secret, okay?”

This time, Kitty’s nod was more enthusiastic, her face glowing with relief. Buffy smiled again, shuffling backwards into the bedroom while trying to maintain as much dignity as possible. Before she could close the door, a commotion sounded down the hall, freezing her in place. Giles charged into view, his headlong rush slowing and halting as he caught sight of her. His expression changed from worried uncertainty to wary relief, tinged with a hefty dose of embarrassment.

A suddenly galvanized Kitty jumped to scoop up the bed linens. Scurrying past him, she mumbled something Buffy couldn’t quite catch then disappeared less than a second later, leaving Buffy and Giles to stare tongue-tied at each other.

Giles cleared his throat, hurriedly removing his glasses as he glanced away then back. He carefully studied the wall just to her left. “I thought…well…Mrs. Hudson heard a scream.”

Buffy clutched the sheet tighter. “Yeah, it was…it was Kitty. She was kind of…startled.”

Giles nodded. “I had no idea she was so excitable.”

“Giles…” She made sure her hair covered her neck, trying not to be obvious about it. “Spike is awake.”

Awkward Giles vanished in an instant. “I see.” His piercing gaze pinned her. “And how long has he been…?”

“It just happened. I swear it just happened. I haven’t even talked to him yet.” Glancing over her shoulder, she located Spike sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her. Thankfully, he was well out of Giles’ line of vision. She turned back, lowering her voice. “You don’t have to worry, I promise. But I need some time here. We’ll be down later.”

When he started to object, she cut him off. “Giles, please.”

Instead of arguing as he so clearly wanted to do, he nodded, his face taking on a familiar resigned look. Settling his glasses back in place, he sighed. “Very well. I’ll inform the others. Perhaps you could at least join us for dinner, if not before. Spike, too, if he’s feeling up to it.”

Buffy watched as he retreated back down the hallway, then closed the door, drawing in a deep breath as she swung around to face Spike. She almost jumped when she found him standing less than an arm’s length away. They stared at each other.

There were so many things she wanted to say. How badly she’d missed him. How happy she was to see him alive and well. How angry she’d be at him for keeping his return a secret, once she got past being so happy about it. How deeply moving their lovemaking had been.

“You ran away.”

She hated that her voice sounded so small and vulnerable.

He opened his mouth then blinked. “What?” He frowned. “Didn’t run away.”

“Yes, you did. You ran away.”

“Did not.

Now it was her turn to frown. “Did so.”

“Didn’t.” He frowned harder. “I was just…lookin’ for a fag.”

She rolled her eyes. “Naked.”

“Yeah, well…” He shrugged. “Been awhile since I had one.”

She snorted softly, lips quirking in a faint smile, then sobered quickly as his expression changed from macho-defensive to something achingly akin to awe. For several seconds, neither one spoke.

“Hey,” she ventured at last.

“You’re real.”

She nodded. “Really am.” Tears stung her eyes as she gave him a tremulous smile “So are you.”

Naked Spike and memories of what they’d just done together made it really hard to concentrate, but Buffy knew he needed an explanation. So she did her best to oblige.

“Look, I know you’re probably confused. A lot’s happened, and you don’t have any idea where you are or how you got here. So first things first, okay? You’re at Giles’ home. In England. He and Willow got wind of something bad going down in LA. They did a spell and teleported you here, you and whatshername…Illyria.”

She paused, but he didn’t respond. His eyes never left her face.

“Anyway, when you got here you were hurt pretty bad, and you weren’t really healing the way you should. Something else was going on, too. You wouldn’t wake up. I think maybe you were poisoned and it was keeping you from getting better. So Giles called me, and…well, there’s some other stuff we can get into later, but…bottom line…you’re awake now, and you’re okay. Right?”

The reassurance Buffy craved didn’t come. “Spike, you are okay…aren’t you?” Biting her lip, she moved closer, head tilting back to gaze into his face. Something flickered in his eyes and he looked away, body tensing, jaw tightening. He didn’t pull back, but she could feel everything in him straining away from her. Stricken, she froze.

“Spike?”

“Get away.” He said it calmly, as if commenting on something as innocuous as the weather.

She blinked at him stupidly.

“All right. If you won’t, I will.” He very deliberately stepped backwards.

At first, she could only stand there and gape in disbelief. Then she took a deep breath. “Okay. Wait. Can we start over? ’Cause I don’t know what just happened here.”

His hard gaze fell on her neck. With her hair swept behind her shoulders, the mark he had left there would have been clearly visible to him.

“Oh, yeah. You do. You know exactly what just happened.”

The growling anger in his voice shocked her. “Spike, just calm down a minute—”

“Bugger calm! I was biting you! I damn near killed you! Do you even care?”

That hit an old nerve, and Buffy felt herself go from confused to livid in less than half a second. Pulling the sheet tighter, she glared up at him. “First off, not really feeling near death here, and second, what the hell is that supposed to mean? And don’t you dare give me that old line about a death wish, because I am so over that!”

“Right. So you were beatin’ me off with your neck then.”

She tossed her head, exasperated. “Is that what this is about? Okay, fine. We made love, you made with the biting thing, and then you got all freaky and ran away. Big deal!”

“It’s a bloody big deal! What in the buggering hell did you think you were doing?”

“Saving your life, you idiot! You couldn’t feed on your own, regular blood wasn’t helping…you were dying. It was the only way to bring you back!”

Dark brows drawn together, he glared at her. “Yeah? How’s that?”

Taking a deep breath, Buffy chose her words carefully. This was just a stupid misunderstanding. Somehow they’d gone from making mad, passionate, bitey love to this, and now it was up to her to fix it. It wasn’t really something she wanted to get into, and he definitely wouldn’t like hearing about it, but there was no other way.

“A few years back, Angel was poisoned. He was dying and the only cure was the blood of a slayer. Your symptoms were a lot like his. We couldn’t find any other answer, so…” Her gaze steady, she met his eyes. “I gave you the blood of a slayer.”

Seconds ticked away as she searched his face. Maddeningly calm and aloof now, his expression was unreadable.

Then his head tilted. “And how exactly did the shaggin’ figure into it?”

The question hit her like a blast of frigid air. “What?”

“You heard me. The shaggin’…that part of the cure, too, or just a fringe benefit? Is that how dear old grandsire lost his soul? No, wait…couldn’t have been. On account of it was Faith who poisoned him, so that must have been a good while after you gave him the big happy.”

At her disbelieving stare, he nodded. “Oh, yeah, heard all about it…and about your little trip to the hospital after lover boy got a bit greedy. Your friends made sure of that as soon as you moved me into your basement. Worried I might get a little naughty, or you might forget yourself and they’d end up with a repeat performance.” He snorted. “Thought they were off their bean then, thinkin’ you’d make the same mistake twice, especially with me. But maybe it wasn’t such a cockeyed notion after all.”

“Stop it, right now! You don’t get to turn this into some kind of lame contest between you and Angel! Why are you acting this way?”

His icy blue gaze challenged her. “Think the bigger question is, why were you offerin’ yourself up like my bleedin’ birthday prezzie? Retirement provin’ a bit much for you, slayer?” His voice lowered. “Need a bit of a thrill?”

He stood there, jaw clenched, muscles tensed, obviously expecting her to fight back, or maybe even hit back. Instead she stared at him, drowning in a weird sense of déjà vu. It had been so long since she’d seen this side of Spike, not since his soulless days, really. She’d forgotten how keenly his words could cut.

But only if she let them. Her gaze hardened.

Stepping back, she dropped the sheet and turned on her heel, ignoring the slight hiss of indrawn breath behind her. Moving to the large wardrobe, she reached inside, grabbing his boots and yanking his freshly laundered jeans off the hanger. Then she marched back to him, flinging the pants hard at his chest. He caught them reflexively as she resisted the urge to follow up with the boots and instead dumped them on the floor.

Without looking at him, she scooped up her own clothes and headed for the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. When she emerged fully dressed a few minutes later, she found Spike lacing up the last tie on his boot. He rose to face her.

Even now, her traitorous body responded to the sight of his bare chest gleaming above the tight-fitting jeans, but she ruthlessly suppressed the emotions he roused and kept her expression carefully blank. He wasn’t the only one who could do enigmatic.

“I’m guessing they couldn’t salvage your shirt,” she said, voice flat as she glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Dinner should be in about an hour. I’ll ask Giles to see that you get a new one before then. You don’t have to come down, of course. Doesn’t matter. But your friend Illyria will be there.” A tinge of bitterness crept in. “I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to see you.”

She was halfway out the door before Spike’s voice stopped her.

“What about—?”

He sounded hesitant now, even subdued. She turned.

“Angel…and Gunn. What happened to them?”

She stared at him for a long moment. “We don’t know. We think they got sucked into another dimension. Willow’s pretty sure she and the coven have located it. They’re preparing a spell to open a portal so we can go after them.”

She waited for more, but he simply gazed back at her before giving a slight nod, standing motionless in the middle of the room as she closed the door.



-------------------------

TBC in Part 9
 

CHAPTER NINE

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Spike had endured some fairly tense Scooby gatherings during his time in Sunnydale, but this one surpassed them all. Buffy had gone out of her way to choose a place at the opposite end of the table from where he sat, which suited him just fine. The further away she was, the better for his peace of mind. Not that he was in any danger of attacking her; he had more self-control than that. Still, the exquisite taste of her lingered in his mind like a siren’s call and he needed time to distance himself. He needed a clear head and judgment that wasn’t clouded by Buffy’s close proximity.

He was still furious that she’d taken such a chance with her life. It shouldn’t have surprised him, though. Buffy had always been willing to put it all on the line, especially for the people she cared about. She would have done…hell, she had done…whatever it took to save him.

He wondered if Buffy had given any thought to how devastating it would have been for him had she traded her life for his. Especially if, however unwittingly, he had been the one to kill her.

He had never thought she could do anything he wouldn’t forgive. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

The conspicuous distance between them hadn’t gone unnoticed. Spike had caught Xander stealing not-so-furtive looks at the two of them, while Giles eyed him with steely speculation. Even Blue had seemed to pick up on the unspoken tension. He’d spent the first ten minutes interrupting her just to keep her from commenting on it. Luckily, she’d finally caught on, abandoning the attempt in favor of quiet glowering.

Halfway through the meal, at the request of Rupert, Spike gave them a brief account of his stay in the void, the mysterious being he’d encountered there, and his sudden return to consciousness. It was the same carefully edited version he’d shared with the Watcher after he’d shown up at Spike’s door and presented him with a black button-down shirt to wear. There was no love lost between them, but Spike knew if anyone could puzzle out what had happened and why, it would be Rupert.

“A prophecy. Great. Like we haven’t had enough of those.” Xander shook his head. “So, any idea what she was talking about…or would that be too easy?”

Spike shrugged. “With those mystical types, who knows? Could’ve just been havin’ me on.” Spearing a forkful of pot roast, he crammed it into his mouth. As he chewed, he could feel Illyria’s laser-beam gaze burning a hole through him but didn’t look up.

“I seriously doubt it.” Giles frowned. “It would seem a rather elaborate hoax and for what purpose?”

Xander leaned forward, waving his fork to punctuate his words. “Maybe whatever that thing was just didn’t want Spike to leave. Must get pretty lonely in a place like that. Not knowing any better, it probably took a shine to what it saw as a hunk of manly goodness and wanted him to stick around. So it tried to use that tired old prophecy line to keep him there.”

At their incredulous stares, he shrugged. “Or not.”

“I don’t see what the big mystery is.” Buffy sounded irritated. “It was obviously a bad guy who knew we were close to saving Spike and was trying to stop us. One less champion in the world and all that. We won, it lost, end of story.”

Giles looked skeptical. “It would be nice if it were that simple, Buffy, but I hardly think—”

“The Shanshu!”

Spike flinched at the excited Texas twang. Turning, he found “Fred” sitting where Illyria had been. Even though he’d heard about her ability to change, experiencing it firsthand was more than a little disconcerting. The others looked openly shell-shocked, except for Buffy, who sat stone-faced and seemingly unimpressed.

“Fred” smiled at Spike. “It has to be the Shanshu, right? I mean, what else could it be?”

Xander held up his hand. “Excuse me, but…what the hey?!”

Buffy spoke up, voice flat. “It’s okay Xander. Apparently, Illyria can look and sound like Fred whenever she feels like it. I found out earlier this week. I would’ve mentioned it, but I thought you already knew. Sorry.”

“You thought? Don’t think. That’s bad, okay? Very, very bad!”

Giles gave Buffy a reproving look. “Allow me to echo Xander’s sentiment. Assumptions of that nature can be…problematic. Having established that, however, perhaps we can get back to the subject at hand? Which, I believe, has just taken a rather interesting turn.” He arched an eyebrow at Fred. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“There’s nothin’ to elaborate on,” Spike said sourly. Though he’d once pursued it doggedly, he now felt perversely reluctant to give the idea any credence. “Blue’s just blowin’ steam. The prophecy wasn’t mine.”

“We can’t know that for sure,” Fred/Illyria insisted. “When Angel was the only vampire with a soul, okay. But then you came along. You gave your life to save the world, and you didn’t stop there! All the lives you saved in LA…all the sacrifices you made. You saved me, you saved Charles, you saved Angel. You didn’t have to do any of that. You didn’t have to follow Angel into that alley, but you did. You didn’t expect to survive, but you went anyway. To make a difference. To give Evil a big ol’ punch in the eye just because it was the right thing to do. You deserve it, too, Spike…just as much as Angel.”

Snorting, he shook his head, but his traitorous gaze sought out Buffy. Brow furrowed, she was staring hard at the faux Fred.

“Deserve what?” she asked. “And what has this got to do with Angel?”

Right. Angel. Count on that to get her attention. Well, bugger it. He might as well get it over with and rip off the plaster with one savage yank.

“You wanna know? Fine. Few years back, a prophecy turned up talkin’ about the vampire with a soul. Said he’d help a bunch of people, save the world, and then, if he ate all his veggies, washed behind his ears, and didn’t talk back to his mum, he’d get to go to Disneyland and be a real boy again.”

Xander frowned. “Disneyland? There’s a prophecy about Disneyland?”

“No, the prophecy doesn’t say anything about Disneyland,” Fred/Illyria assured him. “Spike’s just being…Spike. Basically, it says that after the vampire with a soul has helped enough people, he’ll be in a big apocalyptic battle and then he’ll become human again. You know, like a reward? Everybody thought it was talking about Angel, but then Spike showed up and…” She shrugged, flashing them a brilliant smile.

Spike scowled. “It is about Angel.”

“That’s not what you were saying before.”

“Well, obviously I was wrong. Hello! Still a vampire.”

“So? That only means it hasn’t happened yet. Who knows? A hundred years from now, you could be lopping off the head of a Balgoth demon and right in the middle of the big battle…poof! You’re human. Or, well…most likely after the big battle since turning human when you’re taking on a hoard of demons single-handed might be a little inconvenient. I mean, what would be the point? Kind of a waste of a good Shanshu if you get skewered right off the bat.”

Leaning over, she playfully poked him in the arm, so like Fred that he couldn’t help but smile in fond remembrance until he caught himself. He glanced self-consciously around the table. Giles appeared thoughtful, Xander looked confused, and Buffy…well, he couldn’t tell what Buffy was thinking anymore. Somewhere along the line, he’d misplaced his ability to read her. He looked down at his plate.

“All right, Blue, that’s enough,” he said quietly. “You’ve told them what Fred knew. Now turn back.”

Instantly morphing, Illyria cocked her head. “I have not told them everything. The text was derived from various languages of human and demon origin. The shell was informed it was difficult to translate.”

“Fine. Now you’ve told them. Let’s leave it be.”

“As you wish.”

Xander snorted. “Oh, sure…I get ‘Don’t mock me, human, or splat!’ and he gets ‘As you wish.’ Just tell me, who died and made him the Princess Bride?”

Spike started to give Xander a two-fingered salute but stopped as he spotted the teasing glint in the other’s eye. Not sure what to make of that, he turned the gesture into a quick scratch on the forehead. When he looked up again, he found Buffy staring at him with a strange expression he couldn’t decipher.

Before he could ponder it further, he heard the faint ringing of a telephone. Giles quickly excused himself and went to answer it. Returning a few moments later, the Watcher’s face was grim.

“That was Willow. Due to an unforeseen and apparently extremely rare escalation in trans-dimensional shifts, it seems our window of opportunity for retrieving Angel and Mr. Gunn has narrowed considerably. Once the escalation begins, it will become increasingly difficult to open or maintain a portal of any kind. At its peak, the trans-dimensional walls will be completely impenetrable. Unfortunately, there’s no way to accurately estimate how long it will last.”

“Are you saying we can’t go after Angel?” Xander asked.

“I’m saying that if we are going to attempt this, the portal must be opened immediately. We’ve no time to waste.”

“But what about the gathering of energy? The big mojo the coven needs to do its stuff? Willow said it would take a couple of days but it’s only been a few hours.”

Giles carefully removed his glasses, squinting as he attacked them with a cleaning cloth. “The portal can be opened at less than full strength, but it may drastically affect the time it can remain open…which was already uncertain at best.” Replacing his glasses, he looked at Buffy. “There is another concern. If the portal fails while in transit, those who have not yet made it to the other side will be trapped between inter-dimensional planes, beyond all possible hope of rescue. It’s not a fate to be taken lightly.”

Buffy’s gaze was steady. “Trapped. No rescue. Check. So what say we get this show on the road?”

Xander rose from his chair. “I’m good to go. It’s just too bad Vi’s gonna miss all the fun.”

“I'm afraid you won't be going, Xander.” Giles approached the table. “Willow also informed me that in order to have the greatest chance of success, it's necessary to limit the number of people using the portal. Each life form that enters represents an additional drain on the energy field needed to sustain it. Therefore, the rescue party must be a small one.”

“No problem.” Buffy stood up. “One is all we need.”

Spike also found himself on his feet. “Two.”

Buffy’s gaze hardened as her face took on a mulish expression. “Spike—”

“Not alive,” he pointed out. “Won’t be a drain on the field, leastways not as much.”

“You just woke up from a coma.”

“And I’m feelin’ fine now.”

The “thanks to you” hung silently in the air between them. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it, even without an audience. Her mouth tightened.

“I’ve got as much right as you, Buffy. Maybe more. I was there.”

Giles intervened in the budding standoff.

“He’s right, Buffy. You’ll need someone to watch your back. Illyria is strong, but she could conceivably require more energy from the field. That makes Spike the most logical choice.”

Standing motionless, Spike’s gaze locked with Buffy’s as she stared at him in stony silence. Then…

“Fine. Let’s do it. The sooner we find Angel, the happier I’ll be.” Turning on her heel, she marched out the door.

And Spike realized there was more than one way to stake a vampire’s heart.



-------------------------

TBC in Part 10
 

CHAPTER TEN

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Buffy hit the ground rolling, using the fluid momentum of her entrance to carry her into a standing position. Half a second later, a tumbling blur of black-and-white Spike crashed into her, the impact sending them both toppling into the tall grass.

He grabbed her shoulders as they rolled, legs tangling together. When they came to a halt, she lay sprawled atop him, one leg hiked across his, riding his thigh. Their lips were only a hair’s breadth apart as she gazed down into his startled face.

His hard chest lay beneath her hands. Something harder still pressed against her hip. Muscled forearms, bare beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his borrowed shirt, locked together across her back, pressing her to him, holding her in place.

Eyes locked, neither spoke. Then strong hands settled at her waist as he raised his knee, increasing the intimate pressure between her legs. Her hips wriggled involuntarily and with a faint gasp she shifted into place, the extra friction enhancing the tantalizing contact.

The smoldering promise of his heavy-lidded gaze chased away coherent thought. Body responding to the irresistible pull, her lips parted and her hips began to undulate – ever so slightly at first, then bolder, more demanding. His chest rose and fell beneath her hands, nostrils flaring as he sucked in deep, ragged breaths. Her movements picked up speed, steadily building into a raw, primal rhythm that had them both grunting and straining, pushing and pulling, one against the other.

And then she couldn’t stand it anymore. Eyes closing, she buried her face against his throat, hips moving frantically, nails digging into his shoulders, breath hitching in deep, knife-like gasps. He jerked beneath her as she sank her teeth into the muscled column of his neck. Jerked even harder as she bore down.

Large hands grabbed the denim-clad globes of her ass, fingers digging in, squeezing, kneading, urging her on. She was lost in sensation, all control given over to the fire between her legs, the smooth flesh under her lips.

Then he said her name and she convulsed in a burst of mind-numbing pleasure, a sweet, hot tide of sensation surging through her, leaving her limp and sated in its wake. But Spike’s arms still held her like steel bands and she could feel his arousal firm against her, achingly full and rock-hard with his unspoken need.

Head lifting, she held his gaze, hips pressing down, sliding and rubbing, moving in random patterns that drew more words from him – hot and dark and deliciously obscene. Her hand slipped beneath his shirt, fingers searching out the rough waistband of his jeans and the taut, cool skin beneath. At the same time, she moved to capture his lips with hers and smiled into his mouth as he surged up to meet her, murmuring a non-stop litany that spoke of both his passion and his need.

Her lips traveled higher still, grazing the sharp angle of his cheekbone, brushing over his closed eyelids, and sliding across the hard ridges of his brow. It was that unexpected contact with Spike’s vampire visage that cut through the haze of lust and longing that enveloped her.

Abruptly calling to mind exactly where they were. And why.

“Oh, god. Angel,” she breathed.

Her eyes widened as Spike went painfully still. The next thing she knew she was sitting on her rump, unceremoniously dumped there as he surged to his feet. She stared up into his closed-off face.

“No! I…I didn’t mean it that way.” Scrambling up, she reached out to touch him, hold on, draw him back to her. Anything to make him listen. But he sidestepped her grasp and moved away, white-blond hair gleaming like a beacon in the unusually bright light of this dimension’s moon. Thanks to Willow’s calculations, they’d arrived after nightfall, neatly avoiding the problem of crispy-fried Spike.

She was fast regretting taking that particular precaution.

Frustrated, she watched as he stalked through the knee-high grass, casting about until he finally came up with the weapons bag he’d lost in their tumbling roll.

She tried again. “Spike…”

“Guess we won’t be needing these.” Glancing up at the abnormally bright moon, he tossed the two flashlights he held back into the bag.

“Would you just—”

“No tellin’ north from south here, or which way they might have gone. Best thing to do is follow the moon for a bit, yeah? And not stray too far from the woods over there.” He nodded toward a dark line of trees that stood off to one side. “Don’t fancy gettin’ caught out in the sun if we’re still searching come daylight.”

His tone was all business, his manner detached, as if talking to a stranger. Buffy bristled. Fine. If that was how he wanted to play it, she could do “detached” with the best of them.

She shrugged but didn’t reply.

He stared at her a moment then snorted softly. Ducking his head, he delved into the bag again, this time drawing forth two short swords and a collapsible crossbow. Faster than she could blink he was on his feet and tossing one of the swords to her, hilt first. Her hand flew up, catching it automatically.

Holding up the crossbow, he quirked an eyebrow in silent query. When she shook her head, he shouldered it himself then scooped up the second sword, testing its heft with an experimental swipe.

Seemingly satisfied, he stopped and looked at her, obviously waiting.

Buffy adjusted her grip on the sword, gaze holding his as she moved toward him. She was less than arm’s-length away when she broke eye contact and bent to retrieve the weapons bag. While the flashlights had proved unnecessary, the bag itself would come in handy if they had to conceal their weapons.

Straightening, she met his gaze briefly then pivoted to stare at the tall line of trees a short distance away, eyes combing the darkened woods. If such a place could serve as a shelter for Spike then maybe Angel had taken refuge there. It might have been a good place to start the search, but with only two flashlights and no reason for Angel to remain there once the sun went down, she quickly discarded the idea. It would be better to wait. They could always search there tomorrow during the daylight hours, unless they were lucky enough to find Angel and Gunn before then.

That decided, Buffy raised her chin and set out, deliberately ignoring Spike as she charted a course toward the bright orb in the sky. As she went, she gave a wide berth to the open portal, a shimmering bit of air all but invisible against the dark backdrop of the night sky. With luck, it would be just as unnoticeable during the day, provided they were here that long. Before they’d left, Giles had called in the slayers from the training compound as a precaution, stationing them around the portal in case something mean and nasty from this dimension went exploring, intentionally or otherwise.

Only a few steps past the portal, Buffy’s boot landed on a bare patch of dirt. Halting, she looked down to discover a rudimentary road of sorts, rutted tracks almost overgrown by the encroaching grass. Off to her left, it was soon swallowed up by the knee-high grass as it followed a course she couldn’t make out. To her right, it stretched toward a slight incline off in the distance, struggling upward in a bright trail of moonlight that illuminated the small hill.

She glanced over to find Spike looking at her, eyebrow raised. Since neither was speaking to the other, they chose the upward path by tacit agreement. Spike paused long enough to mark the spot, slashing a notch in the trunk of a small tree so they could find it easily enough upon their return. Then he slipped into place behind her and slightly to one side. It was a familiar formation for them and one she would have found immensely comforting at any other time. But now, as they trudged up the road in mutual stubborn indifference, each step brought Buffy closer and closer to the breaking point.

Five minutes of silence was all she could take.

She whirled to face him. “I wasn’t thinking about Angel, all right?! Not during the important parts. I just…it suddenly hit me what we were doing. And okay, my timing sucks. But I came to my senses, I said his name, I felt guilty that we forgot about him! That I forgot about him. So if you want to be all broody and bad moody and…and…stupid about it, go ahead! I am not going to apologize for remembering why we came here, so just…get over yourself!”

She started walking again, but only made it a few steps before spinning back around. He hadn’t moved.

“And another thing! You owe me.”

His head tilted.

“That’s right, Mr. I’m-Too-Cool-to-Pick-Up-a-Phone. You owe me big time.”

The burgeoning smirk on his face made her itch to slap it off. “Do tell. And what might that be, pet?”

“What the hell do you think? An explanation!” She waved her arms, as if the answer should be obvious. Which it so should have been. “Some reason or excuse why you couldn’t pick up the phone and let me know you weren’t dead. What? Was I supposed to magically figure it out on my own? Did I fail some kind of secret test because I didn’t somehow ‘sense’ you were still alive? Or…alive again. Whatever. Oh! I know! Maybe I was supposed to beg Willow to make with the dark mojo and bring you back, like she did with me. Is that it?”

The smirk disappeared. “Don’t be daft. You know damn well it wasn’t anything of the sort.” He looked away, then back at her, then off again, rubbing the nape of his neck as he sighed. “Couldn’t at first. Bein’ a ghost and all. Then later…I had obligations.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“In between ‘at first’ and ‘later’…what happened there?”

He still wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Wasn’t sure you’d want me there.” He shrugged. “New life. Fresh start. Figured there wasn’t a place for me.”

She waited until he snuck a sideways glance at her. “You figured wrong,” she said, voice flat. Then turning on her heel, she started walking again. When he appeared at her side, shortening his strides to keep pace with her, she kept her eyes fixed resolutely on the rutted tracks of the road.

But of course Spike never could take a hint.

“Truth is, figured Andrew would have told you. Never really believed the pup would keep his little yap shut about it. Then, when I didn’t hear from you, took it as a sign. Either he’d done as I asked, or you didn’t want to see me. Either way, it seemed for the best.”

Halfway through the dropping of that little bombshell Buffy had halted dead in her tracks, though it apparently took Spike another three or four steps to realize it. When he did, he made a slight backtrack.

She stared at him.

“Buffy?”

His guarded tone barely registered with her. 

“Andrew knew?”

“Well…yeah. Was in LA.”

“Andrew knew?”

He nodded.  “And there was the whole Angel-and-me-comin’-to-Rome thing. He was stayin’ in your flat.”

“Andrew. Knew.”

Spike eyed her warily. “Think you’re ever gonna stop sayin’ ‘Andrew knew’ and move on to something else?”

“That little weasel.”

“Yeah…all right. That’ll do.”

“I…am going…to kill him,” she said, enunciating the words with deadly calm. “Start writing his eulogy ’cause he is so dead.”

“Look, Buffy…”

“Does he know about that other thing, too? That sunfooey thing?” She laughed, a harsh brittle sound. “What am I saying? He knows. After all, he’s your new bestest friend, right? The one you tell all your secrets to. Him and that blue-haired ho.” She gave a disgusted snort.

All at once he closed the space between them. “All right, that’s enough. What bugaboo’s flown up your skirt, eh? Blue’s never done anything to you.”

Stabbing her short sword in the ground, Buffy placed both hands squarely on her hips. “No, but she’s done plenty to you, apparently.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in close, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Yeah, she has, as a matter of fact. But considerably less than you did. Girl’s good, but she hasn’t got your style.”

Buffy felt her eyes widen before she clamped down on a strong surge of jealousy and hurt. Her chin rose and her tone took on a deadly saccharine sweetness sharpened by an underlying edge. “I’m sure you were more than happy to give her a few pointers. How long before she let you use the handcuffs?”

Spike squinted harder, brow furrowed, as the cold glint in his eyes gave way to confusion. “Wait. What…exactly are we talkin’ about here?”

She snorted. “Just don’t, okay? Don’t try to play innocent.”

“I’m not playin’ anything! Bloody hell, woman! You are the most—”

Spike broke off, his head jerking toward the dark line of trees. And that’s when Buffy heard it. A low rumbling vibrating through the air, building in intensity to a massive crescendo that threatened to burst her eardrums, transforming at the end into a spine-tingling shriek of unholy rage.

And the grass around them burst into flames.


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TBC in Chapter 11