Chapter 4


During the walk back to their rooms, Buffy kept replaying the hellish
sight of the chained slayer and the hapless human victims before her
mind's eye. The moment the door closed behind them, she
began, "Spike, we have to do som--"

She never saw it coming.

Without warning, Spike's fist swooped down to her face and connected
with her jaw. The sheer force of the blow threw her backwards where
she landed, fortunately, on the bed. Tears of pain sprang to her eyes
and she blinked to clear her vision.

Spike was on her in the next instant, wrapping his arms around her.
Buffy struggled against him, frightened, angry, shocked, hurt, prey
to a vortex of emotions. She slapped at his shoulders, kicked at his
shins but her efforts had little or no effect. He kept hugging her to
him, muttering something that sounded suspiciously
like, "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry."

Tears streamed down Buffy's face, as much from the agony of betrayal
as the pain in her jaw. She managed to get a leg up and kneed him in
the groin. Spike let go with a strangled "Ungh," and she jumped off
the bed, fleeing into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.
Not that it would help her much if he decided to come after her: the
door lacked both bolt and lock.

She splashed some cold water from the pitcher onto her face before
glancing in the mirror. Already, a dark bruise was forming beneath
her eye. And this time, it would take a while to heal. No
supernatural healing powers for Buffy in this particular dimension.
She gently prodded at the edges of the bruise, wincing at the pain.

"Buffy?" Spike knocked on the door.

"Leave me alone!" she yelled, fresh tears burning behind her eyelids.
She couldn't believe that the one person she trusted in this world
had turned on her.

"Buffy, luv, please listen to me," Spike pleaded. She turned away
from the mirror, surprised at the desperation in his voice, and at
the fact that he had not tried to open the door.

"What?" she called back. "What could you possibly have to say that I
want to hear?"

"Buffy, I didn't mean to hit you. Well, I did, but not that hard. I
mean... I wanted... I needed..."

Growing impatient with the vampire's uncharacteristic stutters, she
flung the door open. Spike sat on his knees, tears on his face. "If
you didn't mean to hit me, then how did I get this?" she spat and
jabbed a finger at the bruise.

He didn't look at her. "The chip didn't activate."

"Wha--" Buffy's knees gave way and she collapsed onto the floor
beside Spike. Hurt physically and mentally, she never stopped to
consider that he should be in as much agony as she was.

"No 'zap', no bleedin' migraine," Spike continued. "Buffy, I can hurt
people in this world." His eyes widened when he realized what she
could think he said. "Not that I will... I didn't mean...I had to
test it. I did want to hurt you, needed to want to hurt you. And I
bloody forgot about you not being the slayer here, so I... Hell,
Buffy, I'm sorry."

Buffy was still reeling from the news that Spike's chip was no longer
active. Whereas her powers had dwindled to nothing, Spike had
returned to full vampire mode. How did that happen? What higher power
was playing games with them?

"Buffy?" Spike whispered and she raised her head to look at him. His
eyes were full of shame and grief. "When we get back to Sunnyhell,
you can kick my arse any way you like," he offered.

Buffy allowed herself a small chuckle. He looked like a little boy
guilty at snatching the last cookie from the jar. "I was going to do
that anyway," she replied softly, with a shy smile. She was happy to
see some of the sorrow leave Spike's gaze.

Then, before she knew what she was about to do, let alone before she
could stop herself, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against
his.

Spike recoiled as if bitten, and right away Buffy regretted her
impulsive deed. Then his mouth met hers once more, his cool lips
gentle yet demanding. When his tongue licked at her lower lip, Buffy
opened her mouth to allow him access. A distant part of her mind
screamed that this was wrong, a thoughtless act triggered by the
tension of the night. However, the bigger part of her thought, 'Screw
it,' and decided to enjoy this moment of blissful forgetfulness.

She lost herself in the kiss, not pulling back until she had to
choose between breathing and fainting from lack of oxygen. Spike
cupped her face in his hands, an incredulous look on his features. He
inadvertently brushed his thumb over the bruise and Buffy winced. At
once, Spike let go of her face and the happy grin faded.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

Buffy wasn't sure if he meant about kissing her, or hitting her. She
hoped it was the latter.

"Let me see that," he continued. He helped her to her feet and took
her back to the bed where he sat her down before he disappeared into
the bathroom. He returned a few moments later with a cool, wet
washcloth that he placed gently against her cheek. He still looked
guilty as hell, and Buffy felt she had to say something.

"It's not so bad," she said while she took the cloth from him. "I've
done much more damage to you in the past."

His mouth quirked for a moment, then he sobered. "I'd never hurt
you," he said with a grave expression. "Not anymore. Not since I
realized I'm--Not anymore," he finished, turning away.

Buffy wondered what he had been planning to say and filed the thought
away for later pursuit. A yawn forced her lips apart and it occurred
to her that she was tired. It was a few hours still sunrise yet, but
it had been a night full of weirdness. Having to keep up appearances
had taken its toll and she felt exhausted.

Spike caught her yawn. "You should get some sleep," he said. "We'll
talk later."

"Yes," Buffy nodded while suppressing another yawn. She scooted back
further onto the bed and folded herself beneath the covers.

Spike blew out the candles, casting the room in darkness, and lowered
himself into one of the chairs. Buffy could hear the stuffing sigh as
the upholstery settled beneath his weight.

"Spike?"

"Yes, pet?"

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to get some shuteye," he replied, shifting to find a more
comfortable position.

"Spike? Why don't you come here? It's a big bed."


* * *


Several hours later, Buffy woke to find herself once more nestled
against Spike's hard body. Her cheek rested on his shoulder and one
of his arms was slung protectively around her waist. She sighed; she
really had to stop doing this. It was, after all, a big bed. Keyword
being 'big', not 'bed'. Then again, she thought as she rolled away,
Spike's presence did make her feel quite safe and protected. In some
really bizarre, alternate-universe kind of way.

Quietly she made her way off the bed. She checked the heavy curtains
and once she had assured herself that Spike wouldn't accidentally
combust, she tiptoed from the room. With the sun high in the sky, the
world was safe from vampires. For a few hours at least, anyway. Time
to do some reconnaissance.

On her way down the stairs and out of the door, Buffy encountered no
one. The house was silent; the human servants having adopted their
master's sleep cycle.

She circled the building. It was a big mansion, made of large, square
stone blocks, dark and forbidding in color and texture. One of the
servants had said it was centuries old, older even than Rurik's rule.
She took that to mean he had stolen it from its rightful human owner,
eons ago.

Buffy enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her face and kicked off the
satin slippers that had come with the gown so she could feel the
grass tickle her toes. She sighed, wistfully. If she closed her eyes,
she could imagine that all was well with the world. That she was on
the lawn of the house on Revello Drive, that Dawn would come home
from school any moment and that any vampire she encountered was
quickly dusted with the aid of Mr. Pointy.

Her eyes snapped open again when her ears caught soft murmurs.
Someone was speaking in a secretive whisper. Her curiosity piqued,
she pinpointed the source of the voice to be around the corner of the
house and tiptoed in the direction of the muffled tones. Using some
thick shrubbery for cover she inched to the corner and peeked around.

A man squatted on his knees, his head bent close to a grid set in the
wall at ground level. He seemed familiar and after a few moments of
scouring her brain Buffy recognized him. He was one of the men that
captured her, the one who had muttered unhappily about the price
Rurik demanded for his 'protection'.

"Eilidh, I will get you out," she overheard him whisper as she sidled
closer.

"Please, Aidan, don't do anything stupid," a young, female voice
answered.

"Hello there," Buffy said to announce her presence.

Aidan sprang to his feet; he spun around and a dagger appeared in his
hands, ready to strike. His eyes were wide, however, and the look on
his face was full of fear.

Buffy indicated the dagger. "If I were a vamp, that thing wouldn't do
you much good," she observed.

"True," he agreed without lowering the poised weapon. "Then again,
you wouldn't have come this far." He nodded in the direction of the
sun, which bounced off the walls of the house and heated the ground
at their feet.

"Who're you talking to?" Buffy asked. She glanced at the opening
in
the wall and noticed a young face pressed against the iron bars,
curious to see what was happening. Buffy gasped.

"You're the slayer!" she exclaimed.

The girl squinted against the bright light. "And you came with that
new vampire." She directed her gaze at Aidan. "Didn't you tell me you
caught her running away from him, the other night?"

"Yes," Aidan nodded. He toyed with the dagger as he directed more
suspicious looks at Buffy.

"So, why aren't you dead?" Eilidh asked bluntly. "Escape carries an
immediate death-by-draining penalty."

Buffy shrugged, not sure how much she could trust them. "Spike's...
different," she admitted.

They stared at her, suspicious and wary.

Oh hell, she thought. She decided to throw caution in the wind. "I'm
Buffy." She knelt and held out her hand for the other slayer to
take. "I'm a slayer too, where I come from."

"What?!" Aidan cried, dropping the dagger in surprise. "Impossible!
Why aren't you shackled?" His eyes narrowed. "Why is your master
letting you walk around, alone? Does he even know?"

"Well," Buffy said and paused. She was sure that Spike wouldn't be
too pleased when he found out she wandered off by herself, if not
quite for the reasons Aidan thought. "Let's just say that Spike and I
have an agreement. He won't kill me, and I don't dust him. Besides,
he's not my master."

Without warning, the young slayer in the cell squeezed down on
Buffy's hand with all her might.
"Ow!" Buffy yelled, trying to pull back and failing. She could hear
bones grind together. "What the hell did you do that for?" She shook
her hand when Eilidh let go, trying to will the pain away.

"You lie," the girl said coldly. "You're not a slayer."

"Am too," Buffy muttered. "Back in Sunnydale."

She glared at the other girl for a moment, and then decided she
didn't really blame her. She would have done the same thing,
responded with the same incredulity, had their positions been
reversed. She took a deep breath and tried to explain. "I know it
sounds crazy, but Spike and I are not from your world. We are from --
another dimension, I guess. At home, I am the slayer. When I came
here, I found my strength had gone."

As she spoke, Eilidh's eyes widened and the blood drew from her
face. "The Repentant Vampire and the Powerless Slayer," she
whispered.

Buffy blinked. "The what?"

Aidan observed her with the same mixture of curiosity and respect as
Eilidh did. "The Prophecy," he said, his voice as low as the
slayer's. His eyes glimmered with a cautious hope.

Buffy's head whipped from one to the other and back in confusion.

"Take her to see Varden," Eilidh told Aidan. "He'll know what to do."

"Who's Varden?" Buffy asked.

"My watcher," the girl replied. "You do know what a watcher is, don't
you?"

"Oh yes," Buffy agreed. She suddenly experienced a strong longing to
see Giles rub his glasses once more.


* * *


Spike woke from a frightening nightmare, although the dream had
started pleasantly enough. In it, he had been kissing Buffy, and she
responded with enthusiasm. Then he had sunk his teeth into her skin
and drained her until she was empty. Just as he released her body to
fall in a shapeless heap on the floor, he woke.

Momentary relief that it had been a bad dream flooded through him.
Then Spike discovered that he was alone in the room and the relief
was quickly replaced with concern. "Buffy?" he called, having decided
that calling her 'Slayer' in this world wasn't advisable. For all he
knew, they'd shackle her up right along with the other slayer if they
found out.

He touched the bed beside him and found it cold. Wherever she was,
she had been gone a while. He hopped from the bed, glared down at his
poofy clothes, and padded to the bathroom. "Buffy? Pet?" He didn't
need to light a candle and see to know she was gone. He would have
sensed her heartbeat if she were anywhere near.

"Fuck," he swore, horrible visions flashing through his mind. Buffy,
in the arms of Rurik, the master's teeth buried in her neck. Buffy,
tied down naked on a table as an appetizer. Buffy, shackled and
displayed like last night's slayer had been.

He searched the room and found his jeans, shirt and duster in a
closet. His boots stood at the bottom. Someone had cleaned them but
Spike didn't take the time to appreciate that fact. He quickly shed
the velvet and heaved a sigh of pleasure when the leather coat rested
on his shoulders once more. At least he felt like himself again, and
could go in search of Buffy. Who knew what sort of trouble she'd
gotten herself in, her without her slayer powers and all.

When the door swung open behind him, Spike did an about-face, leather
duster hitting his shins as he raised his fists to defend himself. He
relaxed when he noticed it was Buffy, still wearing the deep red
gown, who entered. On her heels was a mousy, nervous-looking man with
glasses. He reminded Spike of someone. One of the blokes that they
had met in the forest when they first arrived followed the pair.

"Bloody hell, woman!" Spike exploded as soon as the door closed,
ignoring the humans. "What were you thinking? Do you have a death
wish? Going running around with all these blood suckers nearby and
you as defenseless as a soddin' babe!"

Both men with her blanched at the outburst and made themselves small
against the wall. Buffy, on the other hand, stood her
ground. "Worried, much?" she asked with a grin. "I can take care of
myself, you know. Besides, all the blood breaths were fast asleep
while the sun was up. Lazy bums." She winked and Spike sucked in his
lower lip.

"Who are they?" he asked with a nod at the men. They smelled of fear
and anxiety.

"This is Aidan." Buffy pointed at the young man from the
forest. "Eilidh's brother. Eilidh is the slayer we saw last night.
They're holding her in a cell in the basement. And this is Varden,
Eilidh's watcher."

Spike mentally slapped his forehead. Of course! That's why the guy
appeared familiar. He reminded him of Rupert. Absently, Spike
wondered if there was a universal blueprint for watchers that applied
in every reality.

"Why are they here?" he said. "Can they help us get home?"

"I think so," Buffy said. She gestured at the watcher. "I'll let
Varden explain."

"You, and Miss Buffy," the watcher said, nervously licking his lips
while he never let his eyes drift away from Spike, "were f-
foretold... in the Prophecy."

Of course. There would be a prophecy. He should have known. Spike
snorted and caught Buffy's glare. He bit down on the smart remarks
that formed unbidden on his lips and held his peace.

"The Prophecy is very old," Varden continued. "Translated, it says
that there shall come a time when the people will stand up in
despair. As one slayer falls, another rises. There shall be two. A
vampire repentant and a slayer without power will help free the land
of the demons' scourge. I t-think that means you and Miss Buffy. T-
that you were send here to help us."

Spike gave another snort. "Repentant, my undead arse. You got me
confused with Peaches," he told Buffy. "As soon as I get the soddin'
chip out, I'll--"

Buffy quirked an eyebrow and gestured at the bruise coloring her
cheek. "No chip, remember?"

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered below his breath. He had forgotten that
the chip no longer worked. He turned his back and strode to the far
end of the room, taking deep, unneeded breaths. Repentant, eh? He
knew that translation couldn't be correct. Unlike his brooding grand-
sire, whose soul made him feel sorry for every sin he ever committed,
Spike didn't regret a single thing. If not for the chip-- Well, if
nothing else, he should be honest to himself. Without Buffy, he'd
have been bathing in blood as soon as he discovered the chip was
broke. However, Spike decided, he better keep those thoughts to
himself and play along. Stay on the slayer's good side. He didn't
want to destroy the tentative bond that was slowly forming between
them.

"So, what do we do?" Spike asked, turning around to study the
threesome near the door.

"We do what we came here to do," Buffy said.

"And that would be?"

"What we always do." She grinned. "Dust the bad guys, help the
innocents, save the world. You know."

Spike rolled his eyes. "And how," he wanted to know, "do you propose
we do that? In case you had forgotten, there's a house full of master
vampires behind that door. And you're powerless."

Aidan cleared his throat. "That's where I come in," he squeaked. He
swallowed and continued in a stronger voice. "I gathered a group of
men who agree those demons terrorized us for far too long. The
bastards took our families, our fathers, our sisters, our wives. We
want to try and change things. We were planning to strike tomorrow
morning, but now..." His voice trailed off.

"The plan remains the same," Buffy decided. "We attack tomorrow
morning, after dawn, when everyone's asleep. First thing we have to
do is release Eilidh. We need her help. When we're done, Varden will
help us get home."

The watcher nodded. "There's a potion," he said. "The recipe's in one
of the ancient scrolls that were hidden. I'll fix it tonight."

They spent another hour going over the plan and discussing any
eventualities. Finally, Spike was satisfied that they had a chance to
pull it off and stood up. "You should go now," he told Varden and
Aidan. "The pillocks are going to wake up soon and I don't want them
to find you here. The more we blend in, the better."

Varden and Aidan nodded their agreement and got up to leave. Buffy
grasped Aidan's sleeve, stopping him.

"It will work," she told him while Spike watched with growing
impatience. His ears strained to pick up any sounds that indicated
the approach of a vampire or servant.

"We'll get your sister to safety, I promise," Buffy continued.

Aidan met the young woman's eyes for a moment, then swallowed and
nodded. "We will," he agreed, his voice filled with tears.

TBC in Chapter 5

Chapter 5


"So, what are we going to do tonight?" Buffy asked after the door
closed behind the two men. She felt much better now that they had
allies, a plan, and a way to get home. She turned to meet Spike's
gaze.

"We," Spike said, stressing the pronoun, "are going to do nothing.
You stay here and do whatever it is you bloody women do when you're
alone. I am going to go downstairs and make merry with Rurik and his
mates. I don't want them to get suspicious."

"What?" Buffy frowned. "If you think I am going to let you go and
feed on those poor people, you have another think coming."

"Buf--"

"These people suffer enough from the likes of you. And don't you dare
bring up the damn chip--"

"Buffy--"

"--we both know that it's bro--"

"Will you shut up?" Spike roared. "What the fuck does it take for you
to believe in me? I drank from a fucking squealing pig last night!
And I was quite certain at that time that the chip was dead."

Buffy gaped. How Spike had fed was a question that weighed heavily on
her mind but she had refused to dwell on it too much because those
thoughts led her in directions she didn't want to go. She also shrunk
away from asking him, afraid that ignorant bliss would be preferable
over harsh truth. That he admitted to drinking pig's blood while he
could have fed on a human, shook her and touched her deeply. She
studied him with a thoughtful expression.

"Yeah, go ahead," Spike growled. "I know what you think: the Big Bad
has turned into the Poofter. Worse. At least Peaches has a soddin'
soul to blame. What have I got? I've got--"

"My respect," Buffy interrupted quietly. She reached up to touch his
cheek with a light hand. Spike's jaw dropped and she smiled at his
flabbergasted expression. "You do," she assured him. "You've come a
long way. I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps vampires can be good,
even without a soul."

"Somebody, please stake me now," Spike said with a roll of his
eyes. "The slayer just called me 'good'. I'm in hell."

Buffy laughed. She pushed him in the direction of the door and
slapped his behind playfully. "Go, you silly vamp. Before they wonder
what takes you so long."

Spike started and gave her a dirty look over his shoulder. "One day,
Slayer, I'll make you pay for that," he threatened.


* * *


For Spike, the night seemed to last forever. He was waiting for the
moment that he could take his leave and return to his room without
raising suspicion. Nobody asked about Buffy's absence; his little
display of temper the previous night had taught them he was very
possessive of her. None of the vampires were interested in
antagonizing the foreigner any further, although they did cast him
some strange looks. He hoped he appeared exotic enough to keep them
from wondering too much.

It was difficult to resist the various snacks that were on offer. The
air was heavy with the scent of fresh, warm human blood. For Spike,
it was torture. For the first time in over a year he could drink
without repercussions and the temptation was almost impossible to
withstand. He kept thinking about Buffy, about how she told him she
respected him. It was her love he was aiming for and Spike knew that,
if he ever wanted to have a chance, he would need to keep that
respect. And that meant no feeding off humans.

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Rurik lost interest in
hearing further tales about Spike's travels. Spikes beat a hasty
retreat before anyone else could demand his attention and ask endless
questions. He was going to get in trouble if they kept it up; he had
told so many lies and half-truths that his head was spinning and he
had trouble remembering what he told whom.

When he reached his chambers, he extended his senses, fully expecting
Buffy to be fast asleep. Instead, he discovered that her heart raced.
Her breathing was quick and heavy and Spike picked up noises that
sounded like a struggle.

He flung the door open, prepared to confront any vampire he found.
What he saw made him stop dead in the doorway.

Buffy was shadowboxing. She had shed the red robe and donned the
shirt and pants that he had worn the night before. The pant legs were
a little long on her and she had rolled them up to mid-calf. She had
tied the shirttails around her waist, leaving her stomach bare. A
sheen of sweat covered her tanned skin and shadows danced across her
body as she moved. She was so absorbed with her training that she
didn't hear Spike come in.

He closed the door quietly and leaned against the wall, arms folded
across his chest. He thoroughly enjoyed the display of sensual power
he was witnessing. Although lacking her slayer strength, she remained
graceful. Once again Spike decided that he had been right: when she
fought, it was like a dance.

With a final blow and a kick to her invisible opponent's gut, Buffy's
fight was over. She straightened, running a hand through her hair,
which was tied back loosely in a ponytail. She heaved a deep breath
and blew a few wayward wisps from her face.

Spike brought his hands together in an admiring applause. "Very good,
Slayer," he said, approaching her. Buffy spun on her heels and
relaxed when she recognized him. "Is he dead?" Spike continued,
motioning at the air she had been kicking. "Or just unconscious?"

A light blush crept onto Buffy's face. "I was bored," she said in an
attempt to explain. "I imagined a punching bag. It wasn't hard," she
grinned. "I gave it your face."

Spike rolled his eyes and made a mock-hurt grimace in her direction.

"I see you also decided to change your image," he commented.

"I couldn't find my clothes, I didn't want to ask where they were.
And I'll be damned if I wear that ridiculous thing any longer than I
have to."

"Well, Slayer." Spike lowered his voice as he stepped right in front
of her, staring down at her face, "Those nancy-boy clothes look much
better on you than they did on me."

He suddenly became acutely aware of her nearness, of the rhythm of
her heart, of the heat that washed from her trained body. Her mouth
dropped a little, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Spike
stared at those lips, mesmerized. Then, before he knew what he was
doing, he lowered his head and captured that half-opened mouth.

Much to his surprise, Buffy didn't stiffen or draw back. Instead, her
tongue flicked out again, pushed against his lips, demanded access.
Spike humored her, gently nipping her lower lip.

He wrapped his hands around her bare waist, her skin hot beneath his
cool fingers, and drew her closer, pressing her against him, and
himself against her. A familiar scent hit him and it took him an
instant to recognize it: arousal. He smiled against her mouth.

"Cor, Buffy," he murmured when he released her briefly so she could
gulp some air.

"Spike," she whispered in a soft gasp.

The sound of his name on her lips sent shivers running down his
spine. For once her tone held no disdain or scorn or exasperation. It
was full of warmth and gentleness and want.

Sudden fear struck him. This was what he had been dreaming of for
ages. Was it really what she wanted?

As if in reply to his sudden doubt, Buffy's hands slipped inside the
waistband of his jeans, pulled up his shirt, her nails grazing across
his skin. He let go of her long enough that she could drag the shirt
over his head, then his arms snaked back around her waist, pulling
her close again. She pressed her hips to his, grinding against him,
and Spike groaned.

"You better be prepared to finish this, Slayer," he grunted in her
ear.

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy growled back. Her voice echoed his desire.

Spike needed no further encouragement. He tugged the shirttails loose
and slid the garment from her shoulders. Sparing a grateful thought
for whoever took her clothes, he realized there was no bra in the way
and he drew back a little, looking down, marveling at her pert
breasts for long moments. They rose and fell with her breath, quick
and shallow.

"Spike?" Buffy's voice sounded small and he caught the uncertain look
in her eyes when his gaze met hers. Uh oh. That wouldn't do.

"You're magnificent," he assured her, mentally berating himself for
the nasty remarks he once made and wishing he could take them
back. "I was just admiring the view." The uncertainty faded and a
delightful blush showed on her cheeks. He chuckled, his lips
reverberating against her skin as he closed his mouth around one
nipple, sucking it to hardness.

One hand cupped her other breast, molding it, his thumb rolling over
its rosy peak, while his free hand wandered down her naked back and
slipped inside the velvet pants, digging into her flesh as he pulled
her closer.

Buffy's hands trailed a path of their own across his back, down, up,
and along his arms, causing delicious tingles to run all over his
body. His jeans were growing painfully tight and Spike knew he had to
take care of that problem soon or run the risk of bursting the fly.

He needn't have worried; Buffy's hands were there before his,
fumbling for an agonizing moment with the belt buckle before she
jerked open the fly and eased the tension on the jeans.

He stepped back to tug the velvet pants across her hips and down her
legs until she could shake them off her ankles. She stood before him
as nude as the day she was born. His eyes roved over her body,
absorbing every curve and gentle swell, his mind struggling to
believe what he was seeing. The real Buffy was more beautiful than in
his wildest dreams.

With a predatory snarl, he scooped her up in his arms and took her to
the four-poster, where he placed her upon the comforter. Her eyes,
slightly glazed and burning feverishly, gazed up at him.

"Buffy, do you really want this?" He could not believe that his
traitorous mouth would say those words, yet he couldn't continue
without the reassurance.

Buffy nodded without a word. Spike quickly kicked off his boots and
shed his jeans before climbing up beside her. He crouched between her
legs, again scouring her body with his eyes. Her lips were red and
slightly swollen from their passionate kisses. Her breasts firm and
round, with hardened nipples that jutted up in their centers. And
lower, her warm core beckoned, moisture glistening on soft curls.

Spike growled, deep in his throat, sounding less like a human and
more like the demon he was. He leaned forward, licking and nipping a
trail from her soft lips down her collarbone and onto her breasts
where he took the right nipple between his blunt teeth, pulling
gently. Buffy quivered beneath him, soft, unintelligible sounds
wringing from her throat. Her scent was overwhelming. Spike's right
hand grazed along her thigh, traveling up the inside of her leg until
his fingers brushed against her curls. Buffy arched up into his hand,
moaning, her entire body language a plea for more. He slipped a
finger inside her tight opening, followed by another, moving in and
out in an increasing rhythm until he felt her muscles begin to clench
around his digits.

He pulled out, and Buffy uttered a mewl of disappointment. The
whimper quickly changed to soft grunts of pleasure when he positioned
himself at her opening and pushed slowly but insistently, giving her
time to adjust, until he was hidden inside her almost to the hilt. He
nearly came then and there, his demon threatening to surge forward at
the feel of the silken warmth around his cool, hard shaft. It took
every ounce of self-control Spike possessed to keep himself in check.

He pulled out almost completely, then pushed back in, repeating the
movement in an ever-increasing rhythm as their passions rose.
Finally, he could hold out no longer and buried himself deep inside
her, howling as he went over the edge. Buffy's voice joined him as
she followed, cresting the wave and plunging into the abyss. At last,
spent, Spike slumped forward, panting for breath he didn't need, but
powerless to stop gasping.

TBC in Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Something tickled her ear, her eyelids, then her nose. Reluctantly,
Buffy swam up from the darkness of sleep and opened her eyes. Spike
gazed down on her, his face mere inches away, looking pleased as
punch.

He brushed aside the strand of hair with which he'd teased her
awake. "Morning, luv," he said. "Ready to kick some vampire butt?"

It took Buffy a moment to discover she was naked under the sheets,
and tightly wrapped in Spike's embrace. It took her another second to
remember. "Did we really... you know?" she asked, a bit incredulous.

"Shag?" Spike offered. "Yes, luv, several times." Abruptly the happy
smile faded and a worried crinkle replaced it. "Do you regret it?"

"A little," Buffy admitted, and Spike's features hardened. He
stiffened as he prepared to roll away. Buffy slung an arm around his
neck and held him close. "I regret that we didn't do it before."

He goggled at her for a long minute. Then his chiseled features
softened when the euphoric grin reappeared. Buffy smiled as she
watched the emotions play across his face. The grin made him look
boyish and harmless and - and alive.

Yes, definitely alive, she decided.

"Want to do it again," Spike mumbled, his head lowering to nuzzle on
her neck.

"Yes," Buffy sighed. "Me too." She pushed him away with great
reluctance. "But not right now, dead boy. Like you said, we have some
demons to kill. And dusting to do."

Spike dropped onto his back with a groan. "All work and no play," he
complained. "Hell, Buffy, you need something to spice up your life."

"If you keep that attitude up," Buffy threatened while she looked
around for her clothes, "I'm gonna start with dusting you."

"All right, all right, Slayer." Spike sat back up and reached for his
jeans. "Keep your pants on."

Buffy giggled, still searching for said garment. Spike winked at her.

A few minutes later they were dressed and ready for action. Just in
time too as there was a timid knock on the door and Varden slipped
in. The small watcher managed to look pale and frightened and
determined all at once. "I- I- I brought you something," he
stammered. From a sack that hung from his shoulder he pulled several
thick, sharp stakes and handed them to Buffy and Spike. "Aidan and
his men are waiting outside the mansion."

"Right, then," Spike said, stuffing several of the stakes in the
pockets of his duster and the waistband of his jeans. "Let's go. Lead
the way."

They followed Varden's scurry down the main stairs and then along a
flight of back stairs until they reached the dark, dank basement of
Rurik's mansion. "This way," Varden whispered. He pointed to a heavy
door.

Spike slid the bar aside and one by one they slipped in.

Eilidh was waiting for them. "Come on, hurry," she urged them,
frantic now that the end of her trial was in sight.

"Where's the key?" Buffy asked.

Deep silence followed.

Varden exchanged a glance with Eilidh, who in turn exchanged a look
with Buffy.

"Bloody hell!" Spike exploded, immediately lowering his voice at the
angry glare Buffy cast him. "Nobody thought to get the key? Where the
fuck is the damn thing?"

Varden lowered his gaze and tears welled in Eilidh's eyes. "I thought
you knew," the watcher said. "The chains are magically wrought. There
is no key."

"Get out of my way," Spike growled, pushing Varden and Buffy aside.
He grabbed the chain that ran from Eilidh's wrists to a ring in the
wall and strained to wrench it loose. When the ring didn't give, he
set a boot-clad foot against the wall and pulled again, grunting with
effort.

Buffy watched for a few moments, feeling as helpless as Spike was
furious. She should have thought to ask about the key. It was her
fault. And in a few minutes Aidan and his men would attack. Without
the slayer's help, they were doomed.

"Slayer, do something," Spike hissed when all his efforts to dislodge
the ring failed.

"Do what?" Eilidh asked. "Don't you think I tried everything?"

"Not you, silly bint," Spike spat. "Her!" He grabbed Buffy's arm and
roughly pulled her forward. His fingers bruised her flesh but she
barely felt it. She recognized his anger for the sheer frustration
that it was. She felt the same way.

Not sure what she could do where Spike's vampiric strength failed,
she reached up and wrapped her hand around the cuff that circled
Eilidh's wrist. A soft click followed. Eilidh's eyes popped when she
pulled away her hand.

"I'm free," she whispered.

"What?" Spike asked, peering over Buffy's shoulder.

"The Prophecy," Varden muttered. "I was wondering why the Prophecy
would mention a slayer with no powers. Now it becomes all clear. Her
purpose isn't to fight but to set free."

Buffy still stared from the cuff in her hand to Eilidh's free arm. "I
didn't do anything," she mumbled breathlessly.

"Well, then, Slayer, do some more nothing." Spike poked her
arm. "We're running out of time."

Startled from her disbelief, Buffy quickly released the other three
cuffs.

A wide smile broke on Eilidh's face while she rubbed her
wrists. "Let's go."


* * *


"Well, that was easy," Buffy said. She slapped the dust from her
hands. An instant ago, she had staked the third vampire they
encountered as they made their way through the guest rooms.

It was too easy, Spike didn't say. In his long experience, neither
life nor unlife ever was that easy.

"How many more are there?" Eilidh asked as she followed Buffy and
Spike out of the room. Varden kept a nervous watch in the hallway.

"Four, right?" Buffy said.

Spike shook his head. "At least another seven," he informed
them. "Plus minions." Buffy raised an eyebrow in surprise and he
continued, "More arrived last night."

"You didn't tell me," Buffy protested

Spike winked at her. "We didn't exactly waste much time on talk, now
did we, luv?" He was satisfied to see a light blush creep up from
Buffy's shirt collar.

Varden let out a frightened squeak, cutting off any further ribbing
Spike might have wanted to engage in.

"Well, well," Rurik's deep voice said. The threesome spun around. The
vampire master and two of his cohorts walked up behind them.

'Damn it,' Spike thought. He should have sensed the other vampires'
approach. He was slipping.

"If it isn't our very own Judas. And the slayer too." Rurik ignored
Buffy and the watcher. He kept his yellow gaze trained on Spike and
Eilidh. A hateful smile turned up his lips so his fangs were visible

Spike heard Buffy mutter beneath her breath. "What does he think I
am? A bloody piece of furniture? I'll teach you, mister."

Spike didn't get the chance to savor her use of his favorite curse
word. Buffy's right foot flew up and hit Rurik in the stomach. With
the element of surprise on her side, she got a good kick in, causing
the master vampire to stumble back a few paces. He roared in fury.

It was as if he had given the signal for complete mayhem. Left and
right down the hallway, doors opened and sleepy, half-dressed
vampires stumbled out, some of them followed by their dazed-looking
villeins. Spike reached for his stakes while huddling into a
defensive crouch. From the corner of his eye he caught Eilidh doing
the same thing.

Then Buffy charged Rurik.

"Buffy, no!" Spike yelled, terror heightening his voice. Bloody hell,
didn't the bint remember she was powerless?

Buffy didn't listen. And before Spike could race to help her, another
vampire tackled him and he hit the floor, hard.

Fists flew; legs kicked. Spike got a couple of good hits in. A
distant part of him noted that, although the vampires were strong,
they had also grown lazy from lack of combat practice. He easily
knocked his attackers to the ground and with great satisfaction
plunged a stake into first one chest, then another.

From downstairs sounds of a struggle -breaking furniture, shouts,
grunts of pain- rose up the stairwell. Aidan and his men had arrived
and they were taking on the misguided servants and villeins on the
first floor. To his left, Spike observed Eilidh stake one of the new
arrivals; she ground her heel into the dust for good measure. He
grinned at her and gave her a thumbs up. She was good, albeit a bit
rough on the edges. Proper training would take care of that; she was
going to be as graceful a warrior as Buffy was.

Buffy! He searched the melee for the slayer and froze when he saw
her. She lay still in a crumpled heap among the wreckage, her eyes
closed and her face white. Spike felt as if the ground gave way under
his feet.

"Buffy!" He stumbled his way over to her, mindlessly pushing aside
one of the villeins that tried to block his way. He dropped to his
knees beside her body and cradled it. Her head lolled back. A small
amount of blood dripped from a gash at her temple.

"Nonono!" Spike kept muttering. He desperately searched for a pulse.

A relieved sob wrung from his throat when he found it, weak but
steady. "C'mon luv, let's get you to safety."

As he pushed back to his feet with Buffy's body in his arms, a stake
swished past his ear to clatter harmlessly to the ground. Dust rained
down on the vampire and the unconscious woman. Spike's head whipped
around. Eilidh stood grinning at him, another stake in hand.

"The bitch was about to dust you," she informed Spike calmly.

Spike shivered. In his anxiety to see that Buffy was all right, he
had lost sight of his own safety. "Thanks," he said from the depth of
his undead heart. With the memories of last night fresh in his mind,
he would have died a happy man; however, he'd rather enjoy the
slayer's company a little while longer.

"Eilidh? Varden?" Aidan bounded up the stairs and when he saw his
sister, he raced over to her to pull her into a tight hug. "You're
safe!"

"Is it over?" Eilidh asked. Her voice was muffled against her
brother's chest. "Did you get them all?"

Aidan nodded, pulling back and beaming down at his sister. "Yes, we
got them. A few human wounded but no casualties. Up here?"

"All dust." Eilidh gestured at several puddles of black ashes. "We
did it."

"We sure did."

Spike stood, watching brother and slayer hug again, then group-hug
her watcher. He couldn't stop the smile that broke at their obvious
cheer. It faded quickly, though, when he looked down on the pale face
of the body in his arms.

"How is she?" Varden asked, suddenly worried.

"Unconscious," Spike said but as the words left his mouth, Buffy
stirred and moaned.

"Buffy? Wake up, ducks," Spike whispered into her ear. Her eyes
fluttered open and slowly settled on his face.

"Spike?"

"Right here, baby. The Big Bad's got you, you're safe now."

Buffy's mouth quirked. "I want to go home."

"So do I, luv. So do I."


TBC in Epilogue

Epilogue

Gradually, Buffy grew aware of the scent of grass and dirt in her
nostrils. She cautiously opened an eye and found herself face to face
with a crooked tombstone. Something stabbed her side and she shifted.
The white shard of an old urn stuck up through the grass; so that's
what had pricked her stomach.

"Ow, what truck ran over me?" she murmured. Her head felt as if it
would fall off, and she held it between her hands as she slowly sat
up. The last thing she remembered was fighting with Spike. And then
lightning struck.

She peered around in the darkness, barely making out the shapes of
the gravestones in the dim light of the street lamps. The lights must
have come back on while she was unconscious, Buffy thought,
squinting. Then she caught a glimpse of platinum-blond hair. Spike.

On hands and knees she crawled through the grass and over the graves
to squat beside the unconscious vampire. A small trickle of blood ran
from a deep gash on the back of his head, where he had hit it against
the corner of the headstone.

"Spike?" Buffy asked, lifting him and resting his head on her
thighs. "Please, wake up, Spike."

Suddenly her eyes grew round. What the hell was she doing? She
scooted backward with a horrified gasp, not caring that Spike's head
thudded onto the grass as she let go of his shoulders. He wasn't
dust, so he would be okay. A shudder ran along her spine at the
thought of him waking up to find her cradling his head in her lap.
She wasn't really concerned about Spike, was she? A tiny voice in the
back of her mind answered that she was supposed to be. Yeah, right,
as if she should care about her mortal enemy. Buffy shut the voice
down. If he weren't chipped, one of them would have died a long time
ago. Hopefully him.

Spike stirred and moaned before his eyelids flitted open. He blinked
several times, then his gaze settled on Buffy. "Slayer? Are we..." He
didn't finish. A confused frown appeared on his forehead and for a
second his eyes grew glassy, as if he were trying to remember
something that was beyond his grasp.

"No, Spike," Buffy replied. She had no idea what he wanted to
ask. "We," she put particular stress on the word, "aren't anything.
We never will be. There is no 'we', Spike."

Hurt flashed behind his eyes and Buffy felt a stab of guilt. Somehow,
those words didn't feel right. Like she was supposed to say something
else. She opened her mouth again, when thick raindrops began to spat
from the sky, startling her with their cold wetness. Within seconds,
a downpour had started, drenching them through the bone and all words
fled from her mind.

"Bloody hell," Spike grouched and pulled the leather duster closer
around his body.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Get going, Spike," she said, failing to keep
the scorn out of her voice. He cared more about that damn coat than
anything else. "Before you ruin the leather."

He gave her a long look, and again she experienced a strange
contraction within the pit of her stomach. Before she could examine
the sensation further, Spike disappeared among the trees. Buffy
shrugged off the thoughts and turned on her heels to trudge off in
the other direction. All she wanted was to go home and get out of the
cold rain.

It wasn't until much later, after a hot shower, that she sat in front
of the mirror and examined her face. How did she manage to get that
bruise on her left jaw? And the gash on her temple, already half-
healed? Try as she might, she couldn't remember being struck in
either place in the scuffle with the fledglings.

Oh well, she thought with a shrug while heading to her bed, she
probably hit her head against a grave marker when she was thrown off
her feet during the thunderstorm. The injuries would be gone by
morning.

She turned off the light and climbed beneath the covers.

Just another day on the Hellmouth.

--END--