***This was originally posted on Fanfiction.net, but since they are removing all NC-17 stories, I had to make the jump here. I hope those who haven't had the opportunity to read this enjoy it. Remember to leave reviews.

***Disclaimer. None of the Buffy characters are Mine. But you know that already, don't you?

***Since this first part is already written, I will probably post at least 2-4 chapters a day. By the time Part I is up, I should be finished with Part II.

Chapter One

It was almost two in the afternoon, yet the sun had refused to surface. Instead, it stubbornly hid behind a gray sky that stretched across all of Sunnydale. It had rained for the better part of the day; sometimes raging in cloud bursts lasting fifteen minutes or whispering in light drops that almost disappeared before hitting the pavement. Then there was the steady drizzle, as it was now. It hit the ground in a non-committal way, unsure whether to splash already formed puddles or congeal together to create new ones. Simply put, it wasn’t the most joyous day in Sunnydale.

And unless you were of a demonic persuasion, rarely was there a day to be called joyous when you lived on a Hellmouth.

The figure that stood alone atop a cliff on the outskirts of town had found it joyous enough when he had first arrived four years ago. All the people, walking around unawares of what fate had bestowed upon them. And not to mention all the potential minions at one’s disposal. But that hadn’t been what had called him to Sunnydale. The same thing that kept him in this place even now, when he was harmless to those ever so delicious ‘happy meals on legs’, was what had brought him to la boca de inferno in the first place. Of course, those reasons were on two opposite ends of the spectrum. He had come here to kill the Slayer.

And now, four years later, he refused to leave because leaving her would kill him.

He took a puff of his cigarette, his body shuddering at the thought of her. The rain soaked through his scalp, sending a tingling coolness down his spine. She delivered that same sensation with only the touch of her skin.

Don’t think about her, old boy, he thought although it was an impossible task. And as mad as he was with her now, memories of their times together were all that kept him strong, especially with his…deficiencies. He was like a neutered dog, unable to perform his natural tendencies without an electroshock current shorting through his cerebellum. Yeah, it felt good to beat up on the demonic miscreant, but he still felt incomplete. Nothing did that. Nothing but her…

Spike slammed his fist against the hood of his DeSoto. Don’t… bloody…think…about…her, he told himself, punctuating each word with a palm to his head. If force of will didn’t drive her from his mind, maybe the pain would. Then again, it’d probably wouldn’t.

He took another puff of his cigarette and flicked the still burning fag into the damp grass. Smoking wasn’t doing anything to relax him. He pursed his lips sullenly and walked away from the car. He walked toward the edge of the cliff and looked out over the town. She was down there somewhere, most likely working at that god-forsaken dump, in a feeble attempt to earn a living. She was strong but he could see through her. He always could. She held it together well enough. But she had too, for her sister’s sake. And for her friends. They never did see her. He knew they wouldn’t see that it was killing her to work at that place. And that was where he came in. She needed him to be there for her, just as much as he needed her.

Spike cursed himself as he felt the furrows of concern crease his forehead. He dug in the pocket of his duster, producing a flask of whiskey. If smokes and pain wouldn’t drive thoughts of the Slayer from his mind, then a belly full of alcohol might do the trick. He upended the flask, downing half of it in one long gulp. He savored its lively burn at the back of his throat before finishing it with one last heave. Its effects were like holy water to his skin, though much more enjoyable. Maybe, just maybe, if he drank enough, he would forget about her. Maybe he would be able to think about her without melting into some lovesick wanker.

Yeah, and maybe a nice sun tan was in the cards for him.

"Just go see her, you sodding git," he scolded himself. His frown transformed into a smile as he thought how ridiculous he must have sounded. He stretched his arms outward, and faced the rain. He laughed bitterly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did so. The saltiness of the rain cooled the sting in his throat but not his heart. Only she could cool that. But she had made it clear that she couldn’t be with him.

Spike felt an almost physical stab at his core when he thought back to that night and the words Buffy spoke.

She had said that to him. Well, not exactly. It would have been much easier for him to take if that were what she had said. But her weakness was the thing killing her, not her inability to love him. She wasn’t used to not being strong. She couldn’t stand up to him, couldn’t tell him no. She refused to tell her friends about them. Everything that they were to each other was wrong, or at least that was what she had convinced herself. She couldn’t love him…

Spike wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. No, I bloody will not shed a tear for her. He hadn’t then, when she had called him William, and he wouldn’t now.

"Bugger!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, heaving his empty flask off the cliff and into the foliage below. He realized too late that he had just thrown out his favorite flask. His shoulders slumped and he put his head down. The last few weeks had been hell for him. It was as if a part of him died when she had said goodbye. And though he swore that he would never set eyes on her again, he knew it was another impossibility. Despite his pain and misgivings about being around her, he owed it to her to be there when she needed him. She may be the Slayer, but it didn’t hurt to have a vampire by your side fighting the good fight with you. Still, he had kept contact with Buffy to a minimum. A bit of patrolling here and there was all right. Sort of. As long as he didn’t touch her, watch her move. She had a gracefulness about her when she fought that was just as arousing as her standing in a steaming shower, the droplets covering her tan skin like liquid rose petals.

"Arghhh," Spike yelled, throwing up his hands in resignation. No matter what he did or what he tried to occupy himself, his thoughts always turned to Buffy.

He hopped on the trunk and leaned back. He was soaked to the bone. His shirt clung to him like a second skin.

"Like Buffy," he said absently. He ran his hands along his chest, remembering the places she touched and kissed and licked and bitten. He smiled at the way her tongue danced across his nipples, probingly. He exhaled at the thought of her warm flesh rubbing against him, her breasts crushed against his chest. Her heart beat hard and fast against him, and those were the only times in the last one hundred and twenty plus years that he truly felt alive. It was as if she was offering her heart to him, giving him that chance to be human for those precious moments with her. She made him complete. Of course, it never lasted. But that’s how good things always were. They had a way of slipping through your hands at the most inopportune times.

The blond vampire lay on the trunk, unfazed by the rain, oblivious to the distant thunder. His mind, now dulling slightly with the effects of the whiskey, dove in and out of thoughts of Buffy.

She was the Slayer, a sick fascination of his from day one. Of course, she had been far stronger than any of the three he had killed before. But it wasn’t her physical gifts that made her so strong. It was much more than that.

From what he had read, most Slayers lived a life of seclusion usually relegated to their watcher as their only real contact with the real world. That’s where Buffy was different. She was never alone. Even now, with the Englishman gone, she still had the Scoobies. The six of them together (if you counted the lil’ bit), though filled with their own problems, stood together. And he knew they always would. And as long as she had them to anchor her to this world, she wouldn’t give up. She would continue her fight with the passion she had shown since he had known her. And that passion was one of the reasons Spike had so perilously fallen in love with her…

The echo of rapidly approaching thunder snapped Spike out of his thoughts. A jagged edge of lightning struck in the distance; freeze framed for a split second before dissipating.

Spike rubbed his eyes groggily, the effects of the alcohol becoming more apparent. He decided that now would be a good time to pack it up. Not only did he feel like passing out (in what was left of his crypt) but the frequency of lightning strikes was increasing a little to quickly for his tastes. He didn’t know if a vampire was a good conductor for electricity or not, but that wasn’t a theory that he wanted to investigate.

He fumbled through his pockets for the keys to the DeSoto, leaning against the door while he did so. It took him a few minutes of rooting around before brushing against the metal of the keys. A few minutes later, he finally managed to start the car. Wasting no time, he peeled out.

The road was slick while the sides of the road were nothing but mud. Lucky no one’s around, he thought as he raced down the hill, taking up both sides of the already narrow road. All that he wanted to do was get home and out of this car, he didn’t want to wreck his only halfway decent possession (aside from his Zippo).

"Slow down ole boy," he told himself, lifting his foot from the gas. A blinding flash of lighting filled his periphery and he swore, shielding his eyes. A deafening roar of thunder carried through the air, almost rattling his teeth. He took his eyes off the road for a minute; aimlessly searching the clouds for the moon, obviously falling to the earth, then dismissed his stupidity.

He leaned back in the seat, on arm over the passenger’s seat headrest and turned his eyes back to the road.

"Bloody hell!" he shouted, at the huddled form, lying helplessly in the middle of the road. Only his vampire quickness prevented him from squishing the figure into so much road kill. His tires slid like ice on the slick ground, escorting him off the road. The mud assisted the wheels gain a bit of traction, though the DeSoto performed a full rotation before coming to a halt.

Spike leaned back in the seat, his head aching from where it banged against the steering wheel. He searched his head for injuries and came up with a fair amount of blood.

He wiped the blood against his black jeans and looked out for the almost speed bump.

"Bugger," he said. The rain had picked up more, obscuring his vision. If he was going to see anything, he knew he had to go venture back into the storm and he did not want to leave the confines of the car unless it was for a mad dash to his crypt. But someone (at least he thought it was a someone) was lying defenseless in the road. The very least he could do was pull them to the side. It wasn’t that he cared or anything about them. It was just that…

"Tis for the lil’ bit," he thought. It was a fact that this bluff was a teenage hangout of sorts and Dawn had come up here once or twice. It would be her luck to run into a human corpse. No, the bit didn’t need to see that. Quit being a nit and just help the poor bastard, a voice inside his head nagged.

"Sod off," he said. But the voice was right. Just because he was a vampire who couldn’t hurt a human (save for the one person he was helplessly in love with, of all ironies) didn’t mean that he was soft. And if he wanted to help someone, it was his own choice and not some fancy-schmancy way of making Buffy proud of him. At least that’s what he told himself as he got out of the car.

The rain was coming down so hard now that he didn’t even pretend to cover up. He sloshed through the mud, the liquid earth dancing and clinging happily to his boots and the end of his duster. Great, now he would have to get it clean.

"Hey mate," he shouted as he neared the still form, "I hope you appreciate this. You’re gonna be paying my cleaning bill." He reached the road and was only ten steps away from the figure. He stomped hard onto the pavement, trying his best to discard the mud stuck in clumps to the bottom of his heels. But it was pointless. He had to go back into the mud to get back into his car anyway.

After a few unnecessary stomps, he moved forward. That’s when he saw the figure move. At this distance even the rain didn’t prevent him from seeing three things. One, it was indeed a person. Two, that person was naked. And three, that person was most definitely female.

"Now what have we here?" he mused, studying the figure. He sauntered toward her, his smirk firmly in place.

The naked woman twitched at the sound of his voice. He stopped only an inch from her and knelt beside her, his left knee creaking from his fight a few days prior. He winced but ignored the discomfort. His attention was focused on this young girl.

Her skin was a golden hue. Lots of sun, he thought as his eyes trailed her body. She was petite and her hair was shaved in the back. Her bangs hung low covering her eyes and much of her nose, the strawberry blonde hair a perfect compliment to her skin. But her skin wasn’t perfect. Not by a long shot.

It was evident that she lived the hard life as deep scars were burrowed across her arms and back and legs. At the base of her neck was a small brand. He peered at it closely, trying to make out what it was. It looked like an ‘E’ of some sort and was definitely familiar. He reached a hand tentatively toward it. As he was closing in on it she let off a moan of pain.

"You okay, luv?" he asked, now genuinely concerned. He put hand to her skin and drew it back suddenly. She was burning up! And that’s when it hit him. Even though it was raining in droves (he was soaked),there was not a drop of precipitation upon her. In fact, as he looked closer, it seemed that the water turned to steam before his eyes. Something was wrong with her and the vampire felt compelled to help.

Without a second thought, Spike removed his duster, covering the girl with it. He delicately put his arms under her and effortless lifted her petite form into his arms.

"Don’t worry," he coddled her as he trudged through the mud, "I’ll get you to a medic."

She moaned incessantly, as if in a delirium. If she was that hot, there was no doubt that she was out of sorts. And it wasn’t the good kind that came after a nice shot o’ whiskey, either.

Reaching the car, he balanced her in one hand while using the other to open the door. As he opened the door, her still dry bangs feel away from her face and he almost dropped her.

"Bloody hell," he whispered. Spike’s arms trembled from the face he looked into. It couldn’t be her. But here she was, unconscious in his arms. Other than a nasty scar that rode the entire right side of her face, it looked exactly like her. But how could that be? He asked himself. He knew it wasn’t her.

The girl stirred and Spike saw her eyelashes flutter. Slowly (painfully slow for him) the girl opened her eyes. What looked back at him were the most beautiful blue-green eyes he had ever seen. He stared back at her and immediately felt the connection. There was a look of unbelieving recognition in her eyes. Her mouth moved as if to speak, but before she could, her eyes rolled back and she fell away, unconscious.

"Buffy?" he asked the figure hesitantly. But there was no response. He shook her and called her again. "Buffy. What happened? Buffy." Nothing.

Spike felt a part of him go cold inside at the thought of Buffy leaving him a second time. Steeling himself, he put her in the car. He rushed to the steering wheel and turned the key, and the DeSoto’s engine roared to life. He peeled off, the mud graciously allowing the tires traction and he converged back onto the road.

He heard the girl moan and looked in the rearview mirror only to be greeted by an empty backseat. He had turned his back for only a second and she was gone! He slammed on the breaks and skidded to a stop. He turned around to look at the scene with his own eyes and was stunned.

There she was, huddled underneath his duster.

He peered back into the mirror and saw an empty backseat. But when he again looked into the backseat, there she was, clear as day. He reached over to touch her, afraid that she would disappear as she did in the mirror. His cool hand touched her burning skin and he pulled back. She was still on fire, but she didn’t dissipate into thin air. It took him a moment to gauge the situation before him and even when it clicked, Spike loathed admitting it to himself.

"Bloody hell," he whispered and looked from the mirror then back to her. His eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion, questions filling his mind. One thing was certain, though. There was no way he could take her to the hospital now. There was only one place he could think to take her.

"Balls," he yelled, pressing his foot down on the gas pedal. He hoped someone other than Dawn was home at the Summers’ residence. Once there, he would figure out what to do. All he had to do now was get there.

And break the news to the Scoobie gang that Buffy was now a full-fledged member of the un-dead.

CHAPTER TWO

Freedom.

That was the one word repeating over and over again in Buffy’s mind as she gleefully slid her time card through its slot and dutifully replacing it right behind Sanders, Jenny. It was only 2:30 and she was actually off. How many times had she been able to say she had gotten off with even a sliver of daylight left?

Of course, she thought as she walked out the door, today wouldn’t really count. The rain had been coming down since late last night. She had staked two vamps and deep-fried a piggy-like demon in its own sweat (don’t ask) and had come home drenched. Why couldn’t things ever work out for her? Just one day was all she wanted. Just one day to sit outside, laying in the grass, welcoming the warm pulse of the sun against her skin.

She sighed at the fleeting memory. It had been too long since she had done that. Doublemeat employee by day; Slayer by night. Go to work and then directly to the slayage, do not pass home, she told herself. There wasn’t too much to her life she looked forward to. Spending time with Dawn and Willow was at the top of the list. Then there was also that throbbing feel of him inside of her…

"I am so not going there," she said aloud and forced herself to walk from under the awning and into the rain. She gasped as the cool drops sneaked under her windbreaker. The chills that ran across her skin were very much welcomed. Anything was better for her than thinking about him.

"Don’t think about the evil, bloodsucking dead guy. Don’t think about the evil, bloodsucking dead guy," she told herself as she started her walk home. She hadn’t taken ten steps and her feet were soaked. At least the cool water soothed her aching feet.

"Some Slayer," she said, mocking herself. "She can fight the forces of evil, save the world from Armageddon and even die twice. But make her stand for eight hours straight and what do you have?" She let the thought slide. She knew what was left but didn’t want to admit it.

A wreck. That’s what she was and though she was able to admit it at times, she was more likely to deny it. She wondered if stubbornness was a Slayer trait. Nope. That was a one hundred percent Summers gene.

Revello Drive was about a twenty-minute walk from Doublemeat Palace. But it was going to be more like a forty-minute trek in this weather. She had walked only two blocks and the liquid chill of the rain had managed to coat every part of her body.

"I know one place it hasn’t reached," the voice said. Buffy whirled around, her green eyes pulsating with fear. The voice sounded an awful lot like Spike. But it couldn’t have been Spike. He was the last person she wanted to see, though in her mind, he was first in line. She was definitely at the breaking point if Spike’s voice was popping up in her head.

"Get a grip, B," she told herself and rolled her eyes at the use of Faith’s ever so affectionate nickname for her. Buffy shook her head in disgust. Not at the thought of the second slayer but because she was so flustered. She could blame it on anything she wanted, but the truth was, Spike was inside her in a way that no one had ever been. And that had been before he had fallen in love with her.

Buffy shivered at the thought of it. Spike? In love with her? There was no denying it. She couldn’t dismiss it as some trivial demon-smitten lust. No, there was much more to what was in his un-beating heart than that. She saw it in everything she did. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her, the things he did for her. He had nearly gotten himself killed with Glory for the sake of protecting Dawn. For her. There was nothing he would not do for his Slayer.

‘His Slayer’. She couldn’t think of herself as his. She wouldn’t. He didn’t have a soul…

He was an evil, malevolent creature of the night…

He only does that to get lucky…

He…he’s…

Buffy finally gave up. She had run out of excuses. For everything wrong with Spike, there was something equally good thing righting that wrong. Was Spike a vampire? Yes. Was he soulless? Yes. Was he evil? If she asked herself that question a few months ago, the answer would have been a resounding yes. But now, she wasn’t so sure. All the things he did, all the times he could have walked away and he never did. Even when he had declared him ‘beneath’ her, he was there that same night when she was falling to pieces. She was as vulnerable as she had ever been and yet he had only sat by her, silently, while she cried. He never said a word about that night since. She could accredit only a fraction of his reformed behavior to the chip. It only caused him pain when he desired to hurt a human physically. It did nothing to curb his words, which were often more scathing than his formidable fists. It did not force him to stay by their sides fighting the good fight. But still, she was afraid.

Though she dared not speak it aloud, Buffy wanted nothing more than for Spike to be truly reformed. She did not deny his inherently evil disposition. He was not like Angel; he did not have a soul. If Spike could somehow overcome his preternatural instincts toward evil, then his transformation would be even greater. But she would never know, unless the chip was removed. And despite her longing for him to change, she did not want his hands untied, so to speak. It was true that he could harm her and had only done so to prove a point, Buffy could live with that unpredictable nature as long as it was directed toward her. Maybe that’s why she felt so alive with him, never letting down her guard. That uneasiness she had always felt toward him was even more pronounced now, and she was ashamed to be attracted because of such base emotions.

However, if he did become ‘de-chipped’, could she really trust him around others? It wasn’t Dawn that she worried him hurting (he loved his ‘lil bit’ like a sister) nor the Scoobies (though Xander would undoubtedly receive a major beat-down). They were all an extension of who Buffy was and he would never do anything to jeopardize her. But what about those who were not as lucky to be a part of the Slayer’s life, what then? Would it be Angel all over again?

Buffy grew cold at the thought and wrapped her arms tightly around her body. Talk about the potential of opening up a healing wound. No, killing your boyfriend and staying sane afterwards was a one-time deal. She couldn’t…

She stopped in her tracks. I did not just qualify Spike as my boyfriend…Did I? Buffy threw her hands up in exasperation. She was cursed. Okay, so maybe not cursed, but what was the deal? Every time she tried not to think about Spike, she did. And when she did want to think about him, he was never there. Calculating the odds, she figured that he should be rolling by right…about…now.

"Seeing him is most definitely not what I need right now," she told herself. "Besides," she added, "why would he want to see me right now?"

The Slayer sank to the ground at the thought of their last real conversation.

I am being weak and selfish, she had told him. I’m not complaining, he replied, advancing on her.

And its killing me…those four little words had stopped the vampire in his tracks. She could see the hurt and pain in his eyes and for a moment, she had wanted to take all the bad things she had said and done to him away. She would have done almost anything (no, there was no almost to it) to relieve his aching heart. The tears had welled up in his eyes when she had told him goodbye and she didn’t stick around to see him cry. She had to be strong and if she had seen tears run down Spike’s cheeks that night, well, there wasn’t that much strength in the world.

She absently wiped at the water running down her face and fought back tears that threatened to tear from her eyes. Be strong, Buffy, she told herself. How did she always seem to get into these situations? But she could have asked the same thing of Spike as well. She chuckled at his brazen admittance to being ‘Love’s bitch’, as he so eloquently put it. But her smile quickly faded. Here he was, an undead creature that could love with zest most humans could not fathom. He was an enigma. But she wanted him just the same.

Not liking where her thoughts were going, Buffy glanced down at her watch, covering it with her free hand to see the time. 2:42. At this pace, she’d get home at around 3:10. She’d have about half an hour after that before Dawn was out of school. It made Buffy smile to know that she would be home, waiting for her sister. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Dawn had done something together. She and Willow had planned to surprise Dawn and take her little sis out for a change. Dawn would like that and hopefully a little attention would stay her compulsion to steal or make wishes to any more vengeance demons.

Buffy peered down both sides of the street on the off chance that she would see someone driving by that she knew. That was doubtful since most people were still at work (Thank God I’m not one of ‘em) and those that weren’t had obviously decided that staying in was the best course of action for the day. If it weren’t for her plans to take Dawn out, she would have agreed with the staying in thingie.

Buffy covered her face at her continually sordid thoughts of Spike. Why, why, why? she asked herself repeatedly and had yet to receive a satisfactory answer. What was it with Spike that made her so crazy? She was so glad that he wasn’t here now…

Buffy looked behind her on a whim and stopped in her tracks as she spotted a black car in the distance. It looked familiar, but it was so far away, she dismissed it as wishful thinking. She continued walking, turning back every few steps on the fast approaching vehicle. Whoever it was, evidently had some place to be. She was about to turn inward to her thoughts again when she turned and caught the vehicle’s tinted windows. And trademark bumper…

"You have got to be kidding me," she said in disbelief, finally identifying the car. There was no doubt about it now. Buffy stopped completely and half turned to the speeding car. "Of all the things I didn’t need," she complained as the De Soto closed in on her. "I cannot deal with this right now," she told herself. She pulled the hood of her windbreaker as far over her face as it would allow and stuffed her hands in her pocket. She concentrated on her drenched sneakers, glancing back every few steps.

"He’s sure not slowing down," she observed as the De Soto was now within half a block. There was no way that he wasn’t going to see her. "Might as well get out the rain," she conceded and hesitantly moved closer to the sidewalk. Still, she would only make a move if he said something to her. And the way he was moving didn’t seem like he…

The De Soto flew past her with all the sound a fury of a stock car in need of a tune-up. It never slowed and Buffy was left in its wake. Unbeknownst to her, she had decided to stop in front of a man-sized puddle with what looked like gallons of water filling it. As the De Soto passed her, the puddle was no more. Unfortunately for the Slayer, the water had introduced itself to her head-on.

She held her arms out to her sides in incredulity. It was in part to her becoming even more soaked than she had thought possible after the tidal wave of rainwater had smashed into her. Irritation and anger suspended her disbelief.

How dare he? She thought, incredulously. She looked down the street and caught the break lights of the De Soto flash on before fishtailing around the corner, disappearing from her sight.

"You are so many bits of dust!" she shouted to the departed car and with balled fists, Buffy continued her not-so-short walk home.

CHAPTER 3

The blackness that had been before him had been total and complete. It had been unlike anything he had ever experienced, every time a new experience. And as quickly as it had been there, it was gone. The pain, however, had not disappeared. In fact, once he had been released from the void, it had intensified to a level that even he was barely able to withstand.

As he lay on the wet ground, aside from the pain, only one thought surfaced clearly in his daze.

He had traveled through portals like this before and each time he emerged, the agony ripped through his undead veins, curling him into a fetal position not unlike a helpless child. It always took a few moments for him to shake off the after effects but it didn’t matter. It was doubtful anyone was around to take advantage of his temporary incapacitation. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered now was the litany of pain. His skin was on fire, but he liked it. It made him feel alive in ways that nothing else could. This was the only time the warmth of his skin felt remotely human. And despite the cruelty of his mind or the evil within his heart, still he longed to feel alive. But like all things good, it wouldn’t last.

He felt the sting of rain as it coated his naked arms. He smiled at the sizzle of the water as it boiled along his skin. It reminded him of so many nights torturing those that dare challenge His master and the Brotherhood. Especially the nights spent torturing her.

He sighed at the thought of the Slayer. The way she screamed when he ran his claws up and down her body. Or the way she begged him to stop when he did…other things. He had been the one that had defeated her and his Master had rewarded him to do with her as he wished, so long as he kept her alive.

He staggered to his feet, his strength finally returning. Not many had the strength to survive the Portal. He flexed his arms, feeling his preternatural power once again beginning to course through every cell of his body. Aside from his Master, he was the most powerful in the Brotherhood. But as far as sheer physical prowess, not even his Master was comparable. And the Slayer? Well, he had already conquered that particular challenge.

He took a tentative step forward, swooning as he did so. It only confirmed his thoughts that everyone couldn’t survive the slide through the Portal. Of course, the Master was working diligently to correct that little hurdle.

The traveler peered up at the sky. The gray clouds stretched across the valley, hindering any attempts by the sun to penetrate into the town below.

Lucky, he thought to himself. If the sun was out…well let’s just say he didn’t feel like becoming a scorched skeleton just yet.

He craned his neck from left to right, working all the kinks out. Though he still felt a twinge of sluggishness within his muscles, the traveler wasn’t worried. It wasn’t as if there was anyone here whom he had to fear.

Never underestimate those that have a cause…the words of his Master echoed in his mind. He scoffed at the idea. Not even the Slayer was as strong as he and his Master had subjugated the greatest of the demon races, so what did he have to be cautious about? Still, heeding the Master’s words was always the best course of action.

"Slayer," he called in a deep, raspy voice, " come out, come out where ever you are." He rarely had time for levity (except for his time in the prisons, and with the Slayer, of course), and what with the Master not in the vicinity…

He spotted the couple about a hundred yards away. They were molded together and the traveler could scarcely see a sliver of space between them. They were hugged up against a giant tree, her back against it. From the look of things, they were anything but concerned with the rain that beat down upon them, though the tree did shield them from a good deal of nature’s wrath. Just as the large oak would shield prying eyes from his.

"The Slayer can wait," he told himself, as he crept toward the unaware couple. He did have a job to do but the Slayer wasn’t going anywhere. Might as well have a little fun while he could.

****

"Thanks, Marc," Willow said into the partially rolled down window, a newspaper shielding her from the steady rain. "Call me if you wanna do the study thingie before the test."

"Sure thing, Will," he said and pulled off. Willow waved one more time before jogging up the steps and into sanctuary from the rain. She leaned against the cool wood of the door and sighed.

Home at last, she thought before hanging her coat on the rack to the left of the door. She did not call out to anyone since it was only ten til three. Dawn wouldn’t be getting out of school for another fifty minutes and Buffy…well, she was probably on her way home by now.

Willow’s first stop was the kitchen. She wasn’t used to the house being this empty. It was a rare occurrence for the ex-Wicca to come straight home from class. Her first stop had usually been the Magic Box where the gang would get together for a running commentary of the latest ‘creature feature’. But since the Sunnydale demon population was on a hiatus of sorts, they had decided they could take one day off. Besides, Buffy had said that she was going to be home early today and the two best friends could go out on the town with Dawnie. They all needed it. Willow knew that she and her best friend needed something to alleviate the pressure they all were under. It had been a rough year for the Scoobies. What with Glory, Joyce’s death followed by Buffy’s, it hadn’t been rainbows and smiley faces for awhile.

Bouncing up the steps, Willow was cheered by the upcoming nuptials of Xander and Anya. Finally something has gone right for us, she thought with a tinge of lament in her upbeat attitude toward the wedding. She was happy for both Anya and her oldest friend, but there was a hint of envy and jealousy as she looked at the two. The first had been the fact that, unlike her and Tara, Xander and his ex-demon fiancé had stayed together through it all. I guess that’s what happens when partners take an equal part in the relationship, she thought sullenly as she flopped on her bed. But it wasn’t Tara’s fault that they had broken up and that was what Willow hated the most about her situation; she was the one to blame.

She brushed aside thoughts of Tara (she would undoubtedly focus on her before her eyes closed for the night, as always) and returned to her other unresolved feelings toward the wedding. Despite the fact that she loved Tara with all her heart and that she was on the other team, a distant part of her couldn’t help but feel sad that she wasn’t the woman to say ‘I do’ at the altar with Xander.

Willow laid on her bed and laughed at the speckle of jealousy toward Anya. Though she’d never admit to feeling this way to anyone (it wasn’t that big of a deal) but part of her longed for the days when it was she and Xander roughing it. Even when Buffy came along, she fit with them like the remaining piece of the puzzle. The three amigos, they were.

Guess things just don’t always work out like you expect ‘em to, she thought, thrumming her fingers against her stomach. That’s how life was, though. You never knew what surprises it had in store for you…

Willow’s thoughts were interrupted when she heard a door crash open downstairs. She shot up, her eyes large with apprehension.

"Buffy?" she called tentatively. She hesitantly walked toward the hall, her hands fidgeting at her sides. "Dawnie?" She was almost at the foot of the steps when she saw a figure race up the steps in long strides. She screamed and turned to run. But the figure was too fast and barreled into her. Limbs and wet clothing tangled in a mess as Willow struggled to break free of the intruder’s grip. She was terrified as she felt the iron grip of the intruder clasp her shoulders. She shut her eyes tightly, not wanting to see the end…

"Bloody hell, Red, will you calm down," came a familiar British voice.

Still not believing her senses, Willow slowly opened one eye, just enough to make out the intruder. Even though she couldn’t see clearly with her half open eye, the blonde matte of hair plastered to the intruder’s head was a welcomed sight.

"Spike!" she said, slapping the vampire in the shoulder. He was soaked from head to toe and that had helped Willow curb her first reaction to strangle him with a hug, when she found out it was only him. "What are you trying to do here? Is there some sort of tackle hide-and-seek going on that I don’t know about?" she finished, her thin eyebrows curled in a scowl. Her mild frustration was softened and replaced with concern when she saw the seriousness in the blonde vampire’s face.

"What’s wrong?" she asked hesitantly, not knowing if she really wanted to know the answer. Spike didn’t answer but his eyes floated over to the body Willow had failed to see.

She jumped back with a yelp, almost falling into Spike’s arm. "God, Spike, what is that? Who is that? What happened to her?" Were it not for the current situation, Willow’s bewilderment would have been quite entertaining. Willow always seemed to be the chipper one of the group with her soft-spoken support and she was not one to judge either. He had to admit he did kind of like the ex-Wicca.

Brushing the thoughts aside, he stood and helped Willow to her feet. He picked the body up, still wrapped in his duster.

"Red," he said, a stern look crossing his face, "I’m gonna need you to get a few supplies for me."

"But who…"

"Don’t worry about that," he interrupted, a little too harshly. Willow stood, taking a step back from him and deliberately softened his look. "I didn’t mean to snap, but we need to hurry," the figure moaned as if to back Spike’s sentiments.

"What do you need?" Willow asked, her resolute face returning. That was another thing about Willow. Despite any internal hysterics that were shooting off in her head, you could always count on her to get it together enough to get through the situation. Spike was glad to know that her dangerous tryst to the dark side hadn’t taken that from her.

"Towels, ice, whatever else you can find. I’m taking her to her room," he began to walk to Buffy’s room before turning toward Willow, "and you may want to call your mate, Tara. We may need magic to figure out what the bloody hell happened to her."

Willow wanted to ask more but resisted the urge. Instead, she ran to the refrigerator for an ice pack and the pantry for the rest of the supplies. It only took her a few minutes to get the meds. On the way back to Spike, she stopped in her room and made the call to Tara. Later, she would compliment herself for denoting the urgency to her ex without coming across as hysterical. She made her way to Buffy’s room where Spike was tucking the mysterious figure under the covers.

"I got the supplies you wanted," she said, sitting them down on Buffy’s nightstand, "and Tara will be here in a few minutes." Spike remained silent, hovering over the figure, blocking Willow’s view. And that’s when it came back to her.

In all the confusion she had forgotten, but Spike had said he was taking the figure to her room.

"Spike," she said timidly. The vampire turned to face her and Willow was afraid. She had seen that look on his face once before. She had paid it no attention then, since she, too, was in such pain.

Losing your best friend had a way of doing that to a person.

Spike met her eyes, searchingly. "Will," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and she felt that he was bracing her for a sharp blow.

I’m gonna take her to her room. Spike’s earlier comments rang into her ears and Willow was oblivious to what he was now saying.

"You hear me, Red?" The vampire shook Willow and her eyes returned to his. The same look of pain and fear glazed over in his marvelously blue eyes. "Now be strong, luv, you hear?" Willow absently nodded her head and the vampire’s strong hands dropped from her shoulders. He stepped to the side but his eyes remained on the ex-Wicca. Willow walked forward tentatively. The covers have been drawn over the figure and the woman’s (she can now see that it is a woman) hair shielded any view of her face.

"Is she…?" Willow said, halfway to herself and partially to Spike. The vampire sighed and returned "I don’t know, luv," in a barely audible whisper.

"Who is she?" Willow asked, afraid to move the woman’s damp bangs from her face, lest she disturb the unconscious stranger. Spike remained silent, wanting Willow to find out on her own accord.

Garnering some courage, partially at the behest of the vampire’s silence, Willow reached out to the woman. Her hands trembled for no apparent reason. The shape of the woman’s face was undoubtedly familiar and Willow had decided that it was a mere coincidence. It couldn’t be her. She stopped her hand inches from the woman’s face, the heat coming from the unconscious woman surprising her. Willow hesitated, unsure she wanted to continue and turned to Spike for support. The blonde vampire gave her a small nod of encouragement. Willow turned back to the woman in time to see her start to move. Willow drew her hand back, as if afraid that the woman would bite it off.

After a few tense moments of mild shakings and low moans, the woman’s form stilled again. Determination now set in, Willow’s hand descended down with less trepidation. She brushed the damp strawberry blond bangs of the woman away and instantly she recoiled.

"Whoa, luv," Spike said as Willow back peddled into his arms. He knew this would be Red’s reaction. He was going to tell her at first but decided that seeing was the proverbial believing. Plus, she would be less likely to blame him for it as well.

A few minutes passed before Willow regained her composure. She absently flopped onto the bed, her face a twist of all the emotions Spike himself felt.

He sat down next to her and patted her shoulder in comfort.

"What happened to her? She looks so different," she said, staring a hole into the wet carpet.

"I don’t know…" he began but is interrupted when Willow shoots up from the bed.

"This can’t be her. This can’t be Buffy," Willow shouted through unshed tears.

"Willow," Spike consoled, rising to his feet, "You need to settle down," his strong hands gripped her shoulders again, the steel gaze in his eyes never losing contact with hers. "I need you…no, Buffy needs you to be on your game, all right?" He received a slight nod. "Now, we don’t know what happened and we won’t speculate just yet. Now I need you to be calm, Red. Can you do that for me?" She nodded more forcefully though a single tear escapes her eye. "Now we need to get one of those ice packs you people fancy so much after a rhubarb and put it on her. She is bloody hot."

"We only had one in the fridge," she said putting the ice pack on her friend’s forehead. The strength and lucidity of her mind and body slowly returned to her.

"Bloody hell," Spike swore, "We’re gonna need a lot more than that."

"What are we doing? We need to get her to a hospital."

"No," he said, a little too forcefully. Willow looked at him, perplexed.

"Spike, why don’t you want us to take Buffy to the hospital?"

Spike paced the room, unable to look at Willow. He knew he had to tell her, but he didn’t know what to say or how to say it. He didn’t think that ‘Oh by the way, did I mention Buffy was a vampire’ would go over too well.

Quite perceptive in her own right, Willow knew there was something Spike wasn’t telling her. The vampire paced the room, fidgeting with his Zippo, a Marlboro hung from his thin lips but he had yet to light it. Though she wanted to know what was going as much as the next Scoobie, something inside her kept her at bay from interrupting Spike’s nervous pacing. It wasn’t that she was afraid of his reproach (he’d always been somewhat civil to her) but rather what he would say about Buffy. And that was another thing. This couldn’t be Buffy.

As Willow turned to look at the still form, her mind was racing as to what she was looking at. It sure as hell looked like Buffy and her body frame was exceptionally similar. Other than the spiffy haircut and the jagged scar down the side of her face, everything pretty much was Buffy. But it was impossible. Buffy had been at work since seven and that scar; wasn’t it nasty! And that’s when Willow breathed a sigh of relief.

"It’s not her," she said, her voice confident despite her outward appearance. Spike stopped pacing and clicked the Zippo shut.

"Come again, Red?"

"It’s not her," she said again, standing up. She took the ice pack she had picked up from the fridge and placed it on the feverish head of the Buffy-look alike. "It can’t be," she continued, "I mean look at that scar she has; unless she hid it under like a goober of make-up, there is no way she could have gotten it since I’ve last seen her."

"How long has that been?" Spike asked, unconvinced.

"Oh, about eight hours ago," she replied, feeling better with each second that this girl was not her best friend.

"Right," Spike said. Willow was right. Not even the Slayer could heal such a nasty cut in that short a timeframe. But Spike would have never known. It had been nearly a week since he had last laid eyes on his Slayer. No, he said to himself. She wasn’t his anymore. Whatever that soldier boy had poisoned her mind with had seen to that. The stupid git, Spike thought to himself in disgust. Leave it up to good ol’ Captain Cardboard to screw up the best thing that had ever come his way. He knew the git had been fuming when he saw his good little girl Buffy shacked up in a crypt with the Big Bad. It was no doubt that in his jealousy, he cooked up a whopper of a soliloquy in order to change his love’s mind about their little trysts. If he had a chance to…

"Hello, Spike," Willow said in exasperation, "Talking here." Spike looked at her as if she had a third eye on her forehead, before snapping back to reality. He had almost forgotten that he wasn’t alone. As he was about to reply, they heard the door open downstairs.

"Hello? Willow?" was the tentative call.

"Tara," Willow called as she ran to the hall, "We’re up here, in Buffy’s room."

It only took a minute for the Wicca to get up the steps and into the room. Her arms were full with books on healing and a bag full of magic goodies. She put her stuff down on the nearest chair, falling into a quick embrace with Willow.

"Spike," she said, greeting the vampire with a shy smile. He smiled back, only to be cordial. There was something about Willow’s lover the past few weeks that bothered him. She had gone out of her way a little too often for his tastes in being overly friendly and talkative toward him. If he didn’t know any better, he would swear on his un-life that she knew something…

"Oh my god," Tara said, again interrupting his thoughts, "Buffy." Willow put a hand on her former lover’s shoulder before speaking.

"No, Tara, it’s OK. This is not Buffy. I don’t know who she is," she said when Tara looked at her with that ‘what are you talking about’ look. "But it can’t be Buffy. Look. Look at that huge scar on her face. I saw Buffy just this morning and that scar is way to bad for her to have gotten it this morning and healed it this quickly…"

"Her hair…"

"And no way would Buffy style her hair like that. It’s so…eighties." Tara looked at Willow and smiled, still unsure.

"So what happened to her?"

"I don’t know. Spike brought her in. He hasn’t filled me in on what happened yet. Spike?"

The vampire had relegated himself in the corner while the two women conversed. His head was beginning to make him pay for drinking so much whiskey. He massaged his temples in an attempt to fend off the coming hangover before it began screaming in his skull.

"Bloody hell. Are you sure it’s not the Slayer?" he asked walking over to the bed. "I could have sworn it smelled like her." And it had; though he hadn’t picked up the scent until she was in his car.

"Uh, yeah, I am. The only thing I don’t know is who she is and why she looks so much like Buffy," she paused, "well, that’s two things, actually."

Spike sat on the bed to get a closer look at the girl. It may have been the liquor talking, but there had been no doubt in his mind that this was Buffy. Of course, he had been in a hurry, and the rain was this side of torrential. But even now, she smelled like his Goldilocks. Except for…

"You’re right," he said after a few moments of contemplation, "this isn’t the Slayer. Although her scent is remarkably similar." He looked back at the two women, whose creased brows denote their confusion. "Bugger," he said, annoyed. "How did you people ever become anything but food for us?" He sighed and continued. "Look, a person’s scent is their own unique thing. Even with all the bloody soaps and shampoos you use, you still have that core smell. It’s like a fingerprint," he furrowed his own brow, "well, not exactly. But you get the drift, don’t you? That every person has there own distinct smell?"

The women shook their heads in uncertain acknowledgment of Spike’s explanation. They stared at one another in silence before Willow raised her hand timidly.

"Uh, Red. We’re not in school, ya know?"

She bashfully put her hand down at her side. "Sorry. But if everyone has their own distinct smell, then why did she smell so much like Buffy to you?"

Spike contemplated his response for a moment. "Neither of you two have been playing with alternate worlds or anything like that have you?" They both gave him a look of offense and he decided to drop it. "Well, the thing is, is that it’s kind of like blood. You know, if you drain two sisters, you can scarcely tell the difference between ‘em. That reminds me about these twins I met in New York in the seventies. They…" he stopped when he saw looks of annoyance and disgust creep across their faces. "Right, I guess you wouldn’t be wanting to hear that now would you. Anyway, just like blood properties of relatives are similar, the same goes for scent as well. You follow?"

"So are you trying to say that this is Buffy’s long lost twin or something?" Tara asked, mildly amused.

"Hey," the vampire replied, somewhat offended, "I don’t make the rules, now do I? Besides, it’s not that crazy."

"Oh yeah, right Spike. Buffy forgot to mention that she had a twin sister with a bad scar on her face and eighties hair."

"What about the Nibblet?" he retorted in that smug ‘prove me wrong on that’ tone. Everyone had thought Dawn was Buffy’s fourteen-year-old sister. But she had turned out to be a millenium old key made in the form of a sister for the Slayer to protect.

"Well, he’s got a point," Willow conceded. "But all that aside, we still have to find out what’s wrong with her."

Spike didn’t reply but nodded in agreement. He turned his attention back to the still form of Buffy…no, it wasn’t her, thank the stars. Still, that didn’t alleviate them from helping her. Spike removed the ice pack from the girl’s forehead and put his palm to her skin. She was still hot, but the fever had gone down significantly. He was about to tell that to Red and her lady when the girl’s eyes shot open.

Everyone in the room gasped and Spike jerked his hand away from her. She sat up and the covers fell from her, exposing her naked breasts. She was not in enough shock not to notice and grabbed the covers, pulling them up to her chin. Fear set in her large eyes and again Spike could not believe that this wasn’t Buffy. She looked from Willow to Tara to Spike and back again. Spike saw a vague look of recognition when she looked at each one but finally her gaze settled on him. But there was no vague recognition when she looked at him. Her eyes bulged as she stared at him. No one in the room spoke, afraid of scaring her. She nervously reached out her left hand, the right still holding up the covers. Her fingertips touched the hollow of Spike’s jaw. She traced her fingers over his face and a definitive look of disbelief looked back at him. Her eyes began to water but she refused to close them. Finally, without warning, she lunged for Spike. He was so startled that he had no chance to move but it didn’t matter, as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, oblivious that the covers had again abandoned her.

"It’s you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I can’t believe it’s you. I saw her kill you."

Spike said nothing and did not want to move. It felt so good to feel her arms around him. He couldn’t put his finger on it but there was something déjà vu -ish about her. He didn’t know what it was but he didn’t dwell on it. All he knew was that this girl’s arms around him made him calm. He could almost hear her tears pelting his waterlogged shirt and he tried to comfort her with pats on the back, cooing to her softly. It only took a moment of cooing before she burst into uncontrollable sobs. And for what it was worth, he held her.

CHAPTER 4

The room had been eerily quiet for the last five minutes, save for the wracked sobs of the girl as she clung to Spike. The desperation in her arms was endearing yet frightening in its hysteria. It was as if she knew that letting go would banish her into an unconscionable darkness forever. To his credit, Spike had maintained a semblance of patience, though his own mind was racing with unanswered questions. Where did this girl come from? Why did she look and feel so much like the slayer? And above all, why did he have the burning desire to protect the stranger with his life?

The shock of what lay before them had made Willow lose all train of thought. The vigor with which the girl held onto Spike didn’t look just like someone grateful of being saved. No. There was a frantic love in the girl’s embrace that made the ex-witch uncomfortable. This petite girl that looked so much like her best friend clung to Spike as if he was the end all-be all of her existence. The same Spike that had once made it his goal to kill his third slayer. True, he had changed greatly since then, had his transformation been that severe? He had said, no shown that he was capable of love. As twisted as it was, he had fallen hard for his mortal enemy he had once sworn to kill. And then there had been his brotherly love of Dawn. He had changed more than thought possible. Although she did like him, Willow seriously doubted she would ever throw herself into his protective embrace. Save for Dawn, none of them would.

Tara, though surprised, was not as speechless as her former lover was. They all knew Spike had changed but none of the Scoobies truly gauged the depths of his progression from killer to protector. They all knew of his unwavering dedication to Dawn. But only Tara was privy to his secret trysts with Buffy. From that knowledge, she had surmised that his love for the slayer had brought far more of William to the surface than in any time in his un-life.

Afraid of disturbing the mysterious reunion, Tara grabbed Willow by the elbow, escorting her into the hallway.

"Th…that’s definitely Spike, right?" the Wicca asked her former lover, almost in awe. Even knowing what she did, the scene before them had convinced Tara that Spike may have been on the verge of doing the impossible: gaining redemption without the luxury of having a soul.

"Yep. One hundred percent Spike," Willow replied and then mock-scowled, "with his ‘bloody hell’s’ and ‘bollocks’ all in place." Tara smiled and for a moment, Willow allowed herself to forget that they were no longer together. Tara’s smile was more beautiful than any sunrise. It put her in the mood that an innocent’s child laughter did. Except, with Tara’s smile, Willow’s behavior usually fell by the wayside of innocent.

"And," Tara said, her hands gripping Willow’s delicate fingers, "don’t forget ‘sodding’ this and ‘nancy-boy’ that." They giggled like schoolgirls privy to some great secret. But the levity was what they needed and they both felt the tension bleed from their muscles as their minds again focused on the scene before them.

"This is so weird," Willow whispered. "I mean, she looks so much like Buffy. They could be identical twins."

"Oh no. Do…do you think that it’s a Buffy from another dimension, like the vampire Willow you told me about?" Willow cringed at the thought of her encounter a couple years ago with…with herself. That had been an experience to say the least. Willow had been mortified at seeing, well, herself decked out in leather and radiating that S & M smile. And the goodbye feel-age at the end…well, that must have been a portent of things to come for the slight redhead.

"Well, I guess it could be. I don’t know. I guess we have to wait until Spike’s little bonding moment is over before we make our next move."

"I…I guess you’re right. So, do you think this is Scoobie time?" Tara asked, fiddling her fingers.

Willow thought for a moment. Anya was no doubt getting her jollies fondling her capital gains at the Magic Box and Xander was probably at work. Though Willow didn’t know how long that would be considering the rain. Buffy should have been home by now and Dawn…

"Dawn," Willow said, and winced, hoping her zest didn’t disturb the pair on the bed.

"Dawn? Doesn’t she get out of school soon?"

"Yeah," Willow said, looking at her watch, "in about forty-five minutes or so."

"I can go get her."

"Could you? And before you get her, maybe you can stop by the Magic Box and fill Anya in."

"I’ll leave now," Tara hesitated before finishing, "you wanna come?"

Willow’s eyes gleamed at the suggestion and she hoped Tara didn’t see it. She knew she had screwed things up when it came to Tara and the last thing she wanted to do was push lest things get even more strained.

"I better stay here and wait for Buffy, you know? I don’t know how she would like it that Spike was all cozy in her bed with…well, with her."

"You think she’d think they were playing checkers and get jealous?" Tara joked. Willow laughed, remembering the Buffy-Bot ordeal last year.

"I know I definitely need to stay here, then." They both smiled at the prospect of Buffy catching her number one fan in a sex-bot’s embrace. No, that wouldn’t be too good and maybe the Slayer would finally stake Spike for good. "Stay here, preserve the peace," Willow added, almost to herself.

"And I’ll look for some books on alternate dimensions, just in case."

"Okay," Willow said and before she knew it, she landed a sweet kiss on Tara’s cheek, adding "be careful," before realizing what she had done. The former lovers eyed one another uneasily. Of all the things not needed. "Tara, I…" Willow stammered before Tara silenced her with a pat on the cheek.

"I will be," she said and smiled longingly at the red head before walking down the steps and out the door.

"Real smooth, Rosenberg," she reprimanded herself. It had seemed like ages since her lips had touched the soft flesh of her one time girlfriend. It had felt wonderful but at the same time a burgeoning angst crept up within her. What if that one kiss set their reconciliation back? What if Tara didn’t want to see her again? What if …

Willow hushed her doubts, knowing that although it may not have been prudent Tara did not disapprove. Still, she had to be a tad bit careful when it came to Tara. It was evident that she was slowly regaining her trust in Willow, but trust was such a fragile thing. It took time to solidify into a solid foundation and yet one action could crumble it into so many bits of broken memories.

The red headed ex-Wicca sighed and walked back into the room. She was being selfish. There were things more important than her relationship with Tara that needed to be resolved first. She shook her head, still not believing the scene before her. Spike, of all people, held onto by this stranger as if he was her salvation. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Spike. Far from it, in fact. It wasn’t just his blistering personality but she had seen firsthand the good he was capable of. He had been the surrogate slayer in Buffy’s absence. Were it not for him, Sunnydale would have truly turned into Sunny Hell. And despite all of his unselfish deeds, he was still treated like an outsider. Willow didn’t treat him bad but she wasn’t quick to rally at his side either, following a Xander or Giles tirade of how they still shouldn’t trust him. How he must have felt, not accepted by them. Only Dawn looked at Spike for what he was now and not what he had done in the past.

Willow hung her head in shame. True, he was a vampire who had no soul, but how much did a soul matter in the grand scheme of things? From Giles’ explanations, all a soul did was alleviate one from feelings of guilt and remorse. But it took only a glance in the papers to see that having a soul did nothing to curb one’s potential for monstrous acts. Sometimes when she looked at Spike, past his haughty attitude and sardonic remarks, she saw a being screaming for acceptance. His only wish, aside from Buffy’s love, was to be judged on what he did in the now, not what he had done in the past.

As she looked at the girl, her arms steadfast around the vampire’s neck, a single tear escaped Willow’s eye, cascading down her cheek and to her boots. Despite Willow’s deceptions, Tara didn’t hate her. She still loved her and though she had to get over the things that Willow had done to her, she was still giving Willow a chance to make amends. Though she didn’t feel deserving of that chance, it was being given nonetheless. Her mind wandered to something Giles had once told Buffy about forgiveness. It wasn’t something given because someone deserved it. Forgiveness was given because the person needed it.

She looked sadly at Spike and the pain he had caused. Though he didn’t have a soul and was theoretically guiltless, Willow begged to differ. She had seen him virtually every night after Buffy’s death and despite his false bravado she saw the torment he was putting himself through. Thinking of that time, months ago, the red head came to a decision. No longer would she hold Spike’s past atrocities against him. She would judge him on what he did from now on. Surely, he deserved that.

I just hope the others can do the same, she thought to herself. She still had her doubts about her resolution, but if she had seen the face of the once Big Bad, holding the grieving stranger, there would have been no doubts in her mind whatsoever.

I could always drop another building on him, Buffy though venomously. The Slayer was none happy with her Splash Mountain audition twenty minutes ago and her sullen mood was going nowhere as long as the rain continued to inundate her already overly saturated form. And though she knew it was wrong, every ounce of her displeasure was centered on a particularly sarcastic, bleached blonde, sexy vampire.

Buffy shivered at that last thought. Despite her mounting frustrations and an overwhelming desire to introduce Spike to the wrong end of a number two pencil, she always ended up thinking about him naked. The way his muscles contracted and hardened (just like other parts of him) at the touch of her. Or the way the candlelight or moonlight highlighted his pale skin as he rhythmically moved against her, inside of her.

"That is so over," Buffy said, admonishing her straying thoughts. What was it about him that made her like this? She could scarcely retain a lucid thought when it came to him unless it detailed the thrust of his hips into her. The way he made her feel, both inside and out was…incredible. No. Incredible wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what Buffy felt when she was lost in Spike’s embrace. It was all she wanted and when he was not around, it was all she yearned for.

But it’s over, Summers. You saw to that yourself, she thought inwardly. Leave it to Buffy Anne Summers to drive away the one person that regardless of how much she hurt him, both with her fists and her words, was steadfast in his love. Angel. Parker. Riley. She had given herself to all of them and they all had left her high and dry. But Spike. He would never do that. Or would he?

As she turned the corner to Revello Drive, Buffy had to wonder that if, given enough time, Spike would have followed in the traditional footsteps of the others and skipped town. She pursed her lips and came to the conclusion that he would have. He was like all the rest. But he’s not, a tiny voice cried to her, and you know it. But the voice was silenced by the Slayer’s self-denial. What is different about him? The fact that he’s a vampire without a soul? The fact that the only thing keeping him from tearing my friends apart is a government chip lodged in his gray matter? And how long before that wears off? Because we all know how dependable Uncle Sam is…

She sighed in relief. Her inner diatribe had silenced the critic within. Spike was evil. And given half the chance, he would hurt her more than she could ever be hurt. And that was the truth.

‘Did it work? Did you convince yourself?’ she heard his confident voice say to her. He had seen through her then when she so desperately attempted in vain to explain why she had kissed him that second time. He hadn’t bought it for a second. And now, for some reason, Buffy was having her own difficulties believing her own excuses.

"Denial ain’t just a river in…" she began, conceding that maybe, just maybe, there were things within her that she was afraid to let loose. But the sight of the black De Soto parked in her driveway interrupted her thoughts.

"Of all the nerve," she said, her jaw stiffening, all rosy thoughts of Spike temporarily forgotten as her rage at his indignity earlier bubbled to the surface again. Her light steps became forceful stomps as her feet emptied several puddles on the pavement before her. Her fists were balled at her sides, pleading with her to re-introduce them into a certain vampire’s face. But she wouldn’t. Leaving someone to walk thirty minutes in the rain and splashing them with an ocean of nice and healthy acid rain water didn’t warrant a beating by the Slayer, did it?

Buffy burst into a light jog up the lawn, her feet sloshing in her shoes. Her recently purchased work shoes, no doubt. No, she was wrong. As she put the key in the door and turned the lock, there was no doubt Spike had definitely earned his beating.

Spike was vaguely aware of the conversation in the hallway between the two witches. He even heard the quiet shutting of the front door as one of the witches (probably Tara) stepped out. And his senses told him that the witch still left in the house was standing two feet behind him, the anxiety coming off of her in waves.

Despite that he was aware of all these things, Spike wasn’t the least bit interested in them. He was too preoccupied with the notion of someone (namely a Buffy look-alike with a bad haircut) actually glad to see him. No, that wasn’t exactly right. There had been Dru; whose always showed her dark beauty smile whenever he sauntered into the room. Then there was his Nibblet. Her affection for him was unconditional. She didn’t hide behind sacred duty like her ever-denying sister. Buffy. She was a piece of work. Regardless of the things she said or did to him, her eyes told him what the rest of her was afraid to admit. She wanted him for much more than just the ecstasy that coursed through her when they were together. Still, he doubted she’d let herself admit it, much less melt into his arms in total submission. No one ever had.

Of course, there was a first time for everything.

When the girl had first wrapped her arms around him, it took all he was worth not to wrench himself from her superhuman grip. But for reasons unknown to him, he didn’t. At first, he had thought that it had been the girl’s uncanny resemblance to the Slayer that kept him steadfast in her arms. But the longer he held her, the less credence he gave to that particular line of thought. It was an alien feeling he felt holding her. In truth, he was put more in mind of Dawn.

The four months that Buffy was…gone…had been tough on all the Scoobies. After a while, they dealt with the cards they were given and moved on. Maybe not totally, but further along then he himself had. How could he? He had promised to protect her and he had failed. If it weren’t for Dawn and the pain she was in, William the Bloody would have been dust many months ago. Though he never told her, Dawn had been his anchor, lest he would have drowned. There were many nights when it was just the two of them, talking, sometimes laughing. Then there were the nights when words got in the way and the silence of being alone in their grief bonded them further. He had lost count how many times Dawn had fallen asleep in his lap, sometimes watching a movie, sometimes crying herself to sleep. Though he had never cried in front of her, she knew what he was going through like only a friend could. She never pushed for him to talk about Buffy and for that he made sure he was always there for her.

Strangely, that was the same feeling this petite woman in his arms inspired. He felt her strength yet she was so lost. And for some reason, she had picked him to be her lighthouse in the darkness.

Spike didn’t know how long the embrace lasted, but finally the girl broke away, slowly, as if it pained her to move away. She tilted her head to the side, inches from his face and Spike looked into the depths of her blue-green eyes and in that moment he knew. She was his to protect and he would not fail her like he had Buffy.

"I…I…missed you," she said, her voice barely a whisper. Her left hand moved from around his neck and caressed his cheeks. She studied the lines of his face, tracing them with the tips of her fingers. "You’re crying," she said wiping away the tears he didn’t even know were there.

"Piffle," Spike said going for casual but failing miserably. His hands were still on the delicate hips of the girl and he wanted to let go. But he couldn’t.

"You used to hold me like this when we danced," she said, her voice still thick with emotion. "And you used to sing to me. What was that song?"

"Look, baby bit," Spike started then stopped. Baby bit? He thought to himself. She, too, must have been thinking the same thing because her head dropped at those words. Her body shivered and the vampire knew she was on the verge of breaking down again. He didn’t want to see that, but he didn’t know what to say. It’s not like he was Mr. Sensitivity and he was quite sure that his staple frankness was not the answer to alleviate the emotional viscosity of the room.

Spike took his hand and slowly lifted the chin of the grief-stricken girl. Every muscle in her trembled as if she would break apart. Her eyes, blurred by tears looked up into the face of the once killer. And unknown to Spike, what she saw there was someone who had sworn he’d protect her to the ends of the earth and not even death would separate them. Even in her grief now, she was reminded of a time outside of time when she was similarly distraught.

"She…doesn’t…lu..love me," she choked out, "not…like you do." She had felt his body tense at that. He had taken her chin into his hand-like he did now-and looked at her with those eyes that could melt you with its warmth or chill you to your very soul.

"…Not even death," she said and buried her lips into the hollow of Spike’s cheek.

As fate would have it, that was when Buffy walked into the room.

CHAPTER 5

The animosity Buffy felt had almost boiled over. For a second she had wanted so much to kick the door off its hinges. But this was her house and considering her bills were already overwhelming her as it was, the door-kicking approach fell by the wayside. She quietly slipped in, gingerly closing the door in her wake. She half expected to see the blond vampire on the couch, feet propped up on the table, as always. It never failed to annoy her the way Spike was able to get that down home comfort no matter his surroundings.

Although you gotta admit, Buf, that is kind of a turn on, that small voice in her head whispered. No, she was not going there again. She thought she had silenced the critic in her head that was Spike’s number one fan on the miserable walk home. Obviously, she hadn’t.

There will be no happy thoughts of Spike, Buffy admonished the nagging voice within. She was pissed and not even the thoughts of his baby blues searching her soul while his smooth hands caressed every part of her…would…

Buffy cursed inwardly, abashed at the heated pulse awakening between her thighs. Why did she allow him to affect her like this? No matter how mad she was in mind, her body had always wanted him. The contrasting coolness of his skin against her warmth. His lithe form nestled against her petite frame. The way he trailed her body with kisses. The indescribable joy when he entered her…

She clenched her fists together, pushing nails into the palms of her hand. There, she thought as the pain temporarily cleansed her of physical longings. No, she would not relent to her body’s cravings, no matter how good those cravings were satiated.

A quick sweep of the first floor turned up nothing. She checked the basement. Still no sign of him. That could only mean one thing…

The nerve of him, she thought, her body trembling with anger. Who in the hell does he think he is? She asked, as she made her way to the steps. She threw a casual glance at the door and saw Willow’s wet jacket dangling from the coat rack. How had she missed it before? It had been right in front or her and it wasn’t too difficult to spot the banana yellow coat. It stuck out more than a Fyarl demon in a crowd of hobbits. Buffy laughed inwardly and a smile crept across her once sullen face, threatening to erase her once bubbling fury.

I wonder what her and Spike are up to. Maybe he’s making her do a love spell on me, she joked, walking up the steps. Hell, they could even be…

Buffy stopped in mid-sentence with the thought of Willow and Spike…that was just not a peachy image for her to envision. She stuck her tongue out, her face contorting into her ‘whiskey game face’. Her mind quickly dismissed the thought of her best friend and her…and Spike doing anything other than being cordial.

Maybe not with Willow, the voice in her head whispered again, but what about another girl? Another woman? Buffy had no immediate reply because it was true. What if Spike did hook up with someone else? What if she was willing to do the same things Buffy did? What if she was prettier? What if she had a better body? What if…

What if she accepted him, for who he was, the voice interrupted derisively. Buffy’s heart stammered at the thought of another woman treating him like a man and not a demon. Another woman allowing him to explore her depths fully and completely, uninhibited by her fear of being scorned.

She saw him with a woman, deep in the throes of passion, their bodies writhing as one. And then he looked at the anonymous woman as she called his name…"William"…and his body convulsed with his lava-like release deep into her core, never once breaking eye contact with her.

"Those are my eyes," Buffy pouted, her shoulders drooping slightly. "He’s supposed to look at me like that." She snapped herself back to reality and was aware that she was talking to herself. Her eyebrows scrunched in frustration as she stepped into the hallway of the second floor.

"Damn him," she muttered through gritted teeth. As much as she wished it not to be true, she had all but given up the notion of concealing her contempt around Spike. The vampire had a way of pushing her buttons like no other. Always had. Always would. Even from their first meeting all those years ago, in the alley outside the Bronze, she had known he was different. He was incomparable. It radiated off of him in waves. From his cocky walk to the sarcastic edge to his words. It was there every time he looked at her, every time he touched her. Every time his body shuddered in its last gasps inside of her. It clung to him like a pariah and it would forever be a part of him. But what was ‘it’? Buffy questioned. She didn’t know why she asked herself. She knew what ‘it’ was and yet she was terrified to admit it.

‘It’ was pain and fear. It was something that despite one hundred years in the shadows, Spike could not shake. The pain in his eyes had been from the injuries of his heart. He had never been truly loved. His love for the women of his life had enveloped him like the wisps of smoke from fire. It burned and sizzled within his veins, inextinguishable. It was complete. Yet it was also unrequited. He suffered for his reckless abandon. He could not control his heart and time after time, it was staked through the center. But this pain did not turn him to dust. It was much more sadistic in its course. It twisted and pulled at him, making him cry out. And he had cried out. Cried out to her; the slayer, his mortal, enemy to end it. She could pull the stake free from his heart or thrust it deeper into him, killing all that he wanted to be for her.

I did a good job of that, she thought sardonically. Regardless of her sometime revulsion toward him and what he made her do -what he made her want to do- a part of her cried out at the injustice of telling him goodbye. The look in his eyes haunted her dreams, called out to her through the darkness of night when she was alone in her room.

And his call to her, his desperate plea was pervaded with fear. It was his fear of loving unconditionally and finding himself in Buffy’s heavenly embrace, only to be ripped from it by a litany of words. Though he hid it well, the few times they had patrolled together, albeit uncomfortably, she saw it all. He was a ghost of his former self. He still talked the talk but Buffy saw that he was dying. And the only person that could bring him back from his rapid decent into indifference was the one who had sent him there in the first place.

You could change that the voice (idyllic Buffy) sang. She ran her hands through her hair. It was not only wet but filthy as well. The vulgar mix of DMP and rainwater clasped to her fingers. The rainwater he spattered her with. That was when her fury returned with a renewed vigor.

Everything was his fault. He had infuriated, debased, seduced and invaded her in every sense of the word. And she had been thoroughly embarrassed by his latest stunt in splashing her. She balled her fists again, nestling into the familiar comfort of her anger. He was a monster. There was no pain or fear. There couldn’t be. Monsters didn’t feel emotional pain nor fear the effects of a few words. No, he was a man in appearance only. But what counted was what he was on the inside and she knew without a doubt that a demon lurked within the shell of his humanity, screaming to run rampant.

Strengthened by her resolve, Buffy strode through the upstairs intent on confronting Spike one last time. He couldn’t be here. He had to go. She would thank him (begrudgingly) for taking care of Dawn and ask him to leave. He didn’t belong here. She didn’t need him anymore. She…

Used him? She faltered momentarily at the seething hatred in the tone of her idyllic self. With an effort she continued on to her room. Try as she might to ignore it, the scorn had been directed not at Spike but at herself. That thought only made her madder.

She did not need to check any of the rooms. She knew where he was, felt him in the solitude that was her room. She forgot about the pain and fear that looked back at her through his infinite eyes. She ignored the times he was there for her and she never said thank you. She let the anger of having every one leave to trickle through her veins until it became a cataclysmic rush of fury that pounded in her ears. She had to stay mad. It was her only way to stay sane. Because deep down she knew. She knew that if she ever lost hold of the anger, then she would have to face the fact that Spike was not a monster. He was more human than most of the living. He gave himself to her, stuck his neck out. And what did she do? She wasted little time in bringing the ax down. One thing was certain in the dysfunctional arrangement that was their relationship: it was doomed because one of them was a monster. She just wasn't sure anymore which one of them was...

Holding onto the anger with a desperation born of self-loathing, Buffy stormed into her room, mouth at the ready to spew fire.

But the words never came.

She vaguely saw the passive figure of Willow standing to the left. But Willow was not what she saw. Spike. He was there, on her bed and he held something to his chest as if his very life depended upon it. As Buffy made her way further into the room, she saw the object of his embrace. A petite young girl clung to the vampire, her thin arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Her face was buried in his chest. The girl’s head cocked up and she whispered to him. A second later, she kissed him.

Every shred of anger and disdain the slayer had carried up to her room disappeared in that one moment. She stood there, her mouth agape. Nothing was in focus save for the heartbreak that sat on her bed. It was like an accident on the side of the road that you told yourself you wouldn’t look at. Her brain screamed for her to look away but her eyes refused. They swallowed in every detail of what lay before them. She was frozen in time, a picture of agony and despair. All she wanted to do was crawl into a ball and cry.

Buffy felt her eyes burning and knew she couldn’t stop the flow of tears about to burst forth. She turned abruptly to leave and felt a delicately familiar hand grip her shoulder.

"Buffy?" Willow said tentatively. She hadn’t heard Buffy enter the room. The tiny gasp that escaped her friend’s mouth had alerted Willow of the slayer’s presence. What she saw when she turned to her best friend chilled her to the bone.

Buffy’s face was etched in a twisted mask of torment. It was a look of someone whose world had crumbled and the impossibility of picking up the tattered remains lay before him or her. And the road ahead was cluttered with obstacles that would awaken all too vivid memories of the time before the collapse. The times of ecstasy and content were a hollow shell and the loss was more real than anything around. Willow was all too intimate with that feeling.

That was how she felt after Tara had left her.

"Buffy," she called again. Buffy didn’t turn around and her anxiety bled through to Willow’s hand. Buffy turned to Willow as if to speak. Her emerald eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

"Willow," Buffy stammered, her throat choked with emotion. "I…I…saw Spike’s car out front and I…" she trailed off. More concerned than ever, Willow looked back at the two figures on the bed before wrapping her arm around Buffy’s shoulders and leading her friend out into the hallway.

The slayer quickly turned and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. When she turned to face her best friend, there was no sign of the previous anguish visible seconds before.

"What’s going on in there?" she asked, her voice still shaky. She cleared her throat casually and put her hands to her hips. "Mr. Blond Boy has some explaining to do." Buffy was proud of herself. In seconds she had put on the guise of ‘hanging in there’ she had so often brought forth since her… return. She always thought her abilities to shield her friends from the tumult of emotions inside her were sub-par at best. But it never seemed to fail in throwing off their concern. And though she didn’t want them to know what was going on in her head, she was always a little disappointed that they held their prying to a minimum. They took her fake smile as truth and didn’t breach the subject.

All except for Spike.

Shit, she thought. Even at the mere thought of him caused her façade to falter. She looked at Willow whose eyes burrowed into Buffy. She knows something is up, Buffy told herself. She has to…

Something was wrong. Willow hadn’t acted on the worry in her eyes. She fidgeted nervously and glanced several times back into the room.

"Will," Buffy said, the command back in her voice, "what’s going on?" Willow was hesitant to meet Buffy’s eyes. Buffy grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and pulled the ex-witch closer. "Willow, talk to me."

"Buffy," she finally managed. Her previous concern for the slayer had been forgotten and now she tripped over what to say to her friend about their ‘guest’. "Maybe you should sit down…" she feigned her trademark perkiness, "you know how you like to prop those bad boys after a grease-filled shift in the Trouble Meat Palace." She gestured to Buffy’s waterlogged feet. Ordinarily, Buffy would have given the comment a weak smile but the concern in her friend’s eyes killed any hopes of frivolity.

Buffy cocked her head and Willow knew right away that the slayer was getting impatient.

"Spike found this girl out in the middle of the street. She didn’t look to well; like she’s had it rough."

"Join the club," the slayer muttered.

"What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing. Okay, fine. Girl hurt. Spike did a good thing," she glanced into the room. The girl had moved to the other side of Spike’s face. "I don’t mean to sound like Ms. Insensitivity here," she said, a touch of anger simmered over her previous hurt, "but why didn’t he take her to a hospital?"

"You didn’t see her?" she asked.

"Uh, no…Rico Suave there was putting the moves over her so…"

"Buffy, no," Willow interrupted, "it’s not like that at all." She walked closer to the slayer and lowered her voice to a whisper. "She was burning up when she got here and we put an ice pack on her. She was unconscious and we thought you…she…we thought she was going to die. But her temperature just sorta flamed out. And when she woke up, she was all freaked and all. I mean, waking up in a strange place…I mean, you understand, don’t you?"

Buffy sighed in exasperation. "I understand her getting freaked waking up with two strangers looking over her…"

"Three."

"What?"

"Three…strangers. Tara was here."

"Tara? Have you two…?" Buffy let the question linger in the air.

A slightly disappointed look passed over Willow. "No. I mean…no. We are on speaking terms. A good civilizedy kind of stuff. I mean it’s kind of weird sometimes but…"

"Willow,"

"Spike told me to call her," she finished sheepishly.

"What? Why?"

"Well, he sorta said that…well, he thought we might need Tara since I can’t use magic and…"

"Why would he need magic?"

"That was before the girl woke up and she was all toasty like I said before and…well."

"Well, what?" The question came out more tersely than Buffy would have liked.

"Buffy…he thought it was…" Buffy never heard Willow finish as a fist crashed into the slayer’s face and sent her sprawling to the floor. She crashed into the wall, the back of her head thumping against it. She winced at the pain of both her head and jaw. She looked up to see what had happened and for a second was afraid she would see Spike standing over her.

Please, God, don’t let it be…were her first thoughts before they were completely erased by the figure standing over her.

Buffy looked over the all too familiar petite frame. Aside from an unhealthy amount of scars from the insides of her thighs to the underside of her pert breasts, the girl was more than toned. The ripples of her stomach muscles were visible through her golden skin. Her strawberry blond hair hung low to her chin, covering much of her face. But the downed slayer could see enough of the girl to be taken aback. Hate-filled eyes stared out from underneath her bangs. The emerald-ice orbs penetrated Buffy’s soul and she shivered involuntarily. She had rarely seen such a venomous look in all her time as a slayer. The vampires and demons loathed her and hated who she was and what she was. They scowled their evil scowls at her and wanted her dead. But this was different. They knew her by reputation alone and used that as their hate. They really could not hate her. What Buffy saw in the girl’s eyes, however, was a hatred whose conception had once been born of love.

"Bitch," the girl spat, her muscles tensing. In her disarray, Buffy had let her guard down, but the girl did not attack. Instead, she glared holes through Buffy, as if the look alone would finish the job.

"It’s impossible," she whispered. But nothing was impossible on the Hellmouth. She had seen it before with both Willow and Xander but this was a touch different.

Looking at your double and not someone else’s always was.

Chapter 6

Though dumbfounded himself, Spike couldn’t help but smirk. It wasn’t that he had been pleased with Buffy getting popped in the jaw (except for his demon-which was doing back flips and spewing catcalls at the downed slayer) but the look on her face was priceless. Where's a soddin' Kodak when you need it? He thought mirthfully.

The hallway was eerily quiet as Buffy gaped at the girl in disbelief. The three women in the hall were frozen in place and Spike was the first of the four to react. His hand clasped firmly on the girl's shoulder and it was all he had not to jerk it back. She was warm! And it wasn’t the supernatural heat that bled off her earlier. This was a human being-type 98.6 degrees warm. What was going on here? The warmth of her skin was only superseded by the tension radiating from her. He had to intervene before things really got hairy.

"Hey bit," he said amicably, "I know that Lil Miss Slayer over there…well, down there, isn't always the friendliest of bints. But do you really think that was necessary?" It took a second before his words registered with the girl. Her intensity evaporated and her shoulders slouched noticeably. As if realizing for the first time that she was naked, the girl crossed her arms over her breasts. Spike draped his duster over her shoulders and escorted her back into the room.

"Let's go luv," he said soothingly, "time to get you cleaned up." She didn’t resist and Spike felt her body trembling as he walked her over to the bed. He glanced over his shoulder at Buffy with a mixture of relief and amusement before sitting the girl back onto the bed.

Buffy's mind was racing. What the hell is going on? She asked herself. Did I just get punched by myself? She had stared at the naked girl for what seemed like hours before Spike covered her up and led her back to the room. She would have given him points for decency when she caught his bemused smirk.

So this is funny to him, she thought, finally getting to her feet. I will show that bleach blonde vampire just how funny I think…

Her thoughts were cut off by the insistent grip of Willow on her arm.

"Buffy," the ex-Wicca warned. Willow knew how volatile her best friend could get and before Buffy went off to retaliate, she resorted to the infamous 'Willow resolve face'.

"Did you…" she half-shrieked before Willow hushed her with her finger.

"Did you see how he looked at me?" Buffy whispered her bewilderment. "He thinks this is funny."

"Buffy," Willow replied, rubbing circles on her friend's back, "I…I don’t think Spike finds this funny."

Buffy wanted to disagree but couldn't. She knew he wasn’t to blame but shouldering someone else with the responsibility made things…simpler. But that wouldn’t solve anything. She had to deal with it straight up. But not just yet.

"Well," she groaned, changing the subject, "the only thing I know is that these clothes are getting a little too close for comfort." She plastered a mock smile on her face and Willow returned the favor. "I need to get some clothes in m…my room that seems to be inhabited by my twin who has a bad case of 'put your fist in Buffy's face'," she added dryly.

"Buffy," Willow pleaded, "come in my room and we can get some stuff, ok?"

"Much thanks, Will, but I don’t too much fancy wearing someone else's…"

"Unmentionables?" was the sardonic reply. They both looked over at Spike. Willow rolled her eyes. Just Spike being, well, Spike. Buffy, on the other hand, saw through the 'innocence' of his statement. Damn vampire hearing. She flushed involuntarily as he watched her with that infuriating smugness. He still had his arm around the girl though his attention was on Buffy.

"I'm just…I think I'll change in Willow's room," she said, a little faster than she desired.

"C'mon, now, luv. The lil bit didn’t scare the big bad slayer away now did she?"

"No, Spike," Buffy replied, putting on a thick air of bravado, "but I don't think she wants to watch me strip down…"

His eyebrows raised.

"Uhmm…ahh…"

"S'matter, luv? Cat got ya tongue?" He snickered. "I reckon he does. Fancy that. Hmm. Seems like my tongue is just fine," he said, and ran his tongue slowly across his lips.

Refusing to meet his eyes, Buffy grabbed a bra and panty set out of her drawer and all but dashed out the room past Willow. The red head, curious as to the discourse between slayer and vampire, moseyed out the door behind her.

"Works every time," he said to no one in particular. He cast thoughts of Buffy aside and looked down at the girl. Her head was at an odd angle against the inside of his arm and she was curiously still. He peaked into her face as best he could without disturbing her.

"Hmm. Would ya look at that. Out like a light." Removing his arm from around her shoulders, Spike deftly laid her onto the soft mattress. He knelt on the floor, marveling at how much she looked like Buffy. He studied the contours of her face in every detail. From this vantage, he noticed minute differences between her and Buffy. Her jaw line wasn’t as rounded and had more of an angled flare to it. Her chin had the same rounded point as Buffy and her lips had a little more flesh to them. Her nose was slightly askew; no doubt it had been broken multiple times. And her arched eyebrows weren't quite as fine. Other than that, she was Buffy through and through. And the slayer attitude completed the package.

Speaking of which, what had Buffy done to spike this girl's temper like that? Though his back was turned to the door, Buffy wasn't the type of person to prov…scratch that; she was the Queen of provocation. But he knew Buffy was blameless. Just another piece missing from the puzzle.

His hand caressed her slight arm affectionately. Such power contained in such a frail, petite form, just like Buffy. He had felt the power within her when she had thrown him to the side to get at Buffy. It was more than vampire strength. He had fought enough slayers to educate him on the ins and outs of slayer strength. And this girl definitely had it in spades.

"I wonder how good you really are, pet," he whispered with wide eyes. He pushed a strand of hair away from her eye and traced the vicious cut that marred her otherwise flawless face.

"Guess we may find out soon enough." His features hardened, murder in his eyes. "But I'll promise you one thing. Who ever put this nasty on your pretty little face is gonna have to answer to the Big Bad."

He kissed her lightly on the forehead and slipped out of the room. He didn’t want to leave her alone but the promise of the slayer in drenched undergarments, well…

It had been two weeks. A vampire had to get his jollies from somewhere.

CHAPTER 7

Before continuing to Willow's room, Buffy made a pit stop in the bathroom. She peeled off her work gear and toweled the moisture from her skin as best she could before slipping into her spare underclothes. Her jaw was definitely sore but the tingling in her limbs (and other places) took her mind off her facial throb.

I'm not going to start this again, she chided herself. He was on her mind-again. She had had enough of that on the walk home. Thirty minutes of Spike think time was more than enough for her. Too much, in fact.

'You're gonna crave me…' his voice sauntered into her mind. She was so not starting this.

"Show's where your priorities are slayer," she said to the weary face in the mirror. She scrubbed her hair with the towel and wrapped it around her head. She had to get her mind right. If the first thing on it was craving Spike after being decked by your double, then you had it bad.

"Have what bad?" she asked herself. But that was a question that she was definitely not going to answer.

She left her clothes in a heap and made her way to Willow's room, a second towel wrapped around her body.

Don’t want Spike seeing the goodies. She shuddered involuntarily (for the umpteenth time) at the thought of Spike and…goodies.

Willow was sitting Indian style in the middle of her bed and caught the shiver.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"YeahImfine," Buffy blurted out. "Why wouldn’t I be?" She refused to meet her friend's eye and made a beeline for the clothes Willow had set out on a chair.

"Well, considering you just got walloped by…well, by yourself, you have one free pass to not okay-ville."

Buffy sighed inwardly as she traded the towel for sweatpants. At least some things are safe.

"Well, yeah. I mean it hurt but I'll be fine."

"You know, you’re taking this ‘girl-looks-like-me-and-wants-to-punch-my-face-in thing pretty well," Willow said.

Buffy looked at her friend and was greeted by a deadpan expression. Two seconds later, Willow burst into a smile.

"Sorry, couldn’t resist."

"I see," Buffy replied. She removed the towel around her head and began combing through her hair. There were still vestiges of grease strewn about. "I need a shower bad."

"Yeah, you do," a voice said from the hall. Both Willow and Buffy jumped. A slight ‘eek’ escaped the redhead’s lips. Amused at the reaction, Spike sauntered in the room. He held his soiled shirt in hand and the light reflected the residual water from his upper body.

Buffy was mesmerized. Spike’s arms swung cockily back and forth, his six-pack flexing with every step. His black jeans clung to his thin hips and Buffy could make out the sharp groove where his abs connected with his lower body. At that moment, a trickle of water dripped down his chest and over his abs. Buffy's only coherent thoughts involved honey, caramel and Spike's gorgeous six-pack. For starters.

"And myself needin' a good ole' romp in some hot water too, well…" he let the thought linger and traced his fingers across his chest. Buffy knew exactly where his mind was heading. She should have, since she had beaten him to it.

"Wow, Spike," Willow said, breaking the silence, "looks like somebody works out." She had also been transfixed by the vampire's taut body. Her thoughts, however, didn’t reach the plateau of lust of other two. "Why if I weren't playing for the other team, I just might have helped myself to…" she stopped when both he and Buffy tore their eyes off one another to gaze at her.

"I mean…well," she stumbled. She put her fingers to her mouth. "Willow shutting up," she said and 'zipped' her lips shut.

Her distraction had given Buffy a much needed breather and when the slayer spoke, all (or most) of her faculties were re-focused on the important events of the day.

"So how is she?" she asked Spike.

"She's sleeping," he replied, his brows furrowing with his concern for the unnamed girl. "The bit just…"

"Bit?"

"Yeah, I called her baby bit," he pondered for a moment, "don’t know why either. Just felt right."

"Well, I don’t think Dawn's gonna like that you…oh my God, Dawn." Buffy looked at the clock with wide eyes. "She's going to be home soon…"

"Buffy," Willow interrupted as she hopped off the bed, "don’t worry. Tara went to get her a few minutes before you came in."

Buffy sighed audibly before turning her attention back to Spike. "So what do you know anything else about her? A name? A place…?"

"That'd be a no, luv. Told Red here everything I know," Except that she doesn't have a bloody reflection. "Fancy we'll have to wait till she's done playing Sleeping Beauty 'fore we get some answers."

At the mention of that, the scene Buffy had walked in on earlier came back to her.

"Well, guess you're her Prince Charming," Buffy said derisively, "better go finish your work."

Both Willow and Spike looked at her with puzzled eyes before it dawned on the vampire just what she was getting at. He walked up to Buffy and despite Willow's stares, moved in as if to kiss the slayer. For a moment she leaned in to him but the touch of his cool skin scalded her to the core and she jumped back. Spike looked at her amusedly, still leaning forward and whispered, "Jealous?" before he backed off.

Buffy was flustered and the red that crept from her thighs and onto her face was difficult to mask. She hurried to the mirror as if finishing her hair and it wasn’t until then that she realized she hadn't put her shirt on.

"Lookin' for this, luv?" She turned around to find the shirt Willow gave her dangling seductively off the vampire's middle finger, swinging side to side. She snatched it from him, hastily tugging it over her head. She wanted to say something to him so bad she could taste it. But, as always, he had a way of making her lose any type of verbal proficiency.

Willow, for her part, had watched the exchange with interest. Something's going on between those two, she said to herself, quite confident of her supposition. She tagged a mental Post-It Note to the thought and moved on.

"So what are we gonna do about her?" she asked.

"I guess we’ll have to wait for her to get up, like Spike said, and have a Scoobie meeting."

"I think it should be here instead of the Magic Box. She didn’t look exactly like she could run a marathon," Willow added.

"Red’s got a point," Spike chimed, still rubbing his hand up and down his chest. "She was right knackered after the rough and tumble with you, Buffy. She's still regaining her strength from whatever happened to her before."

"Great, another Scoobie meeting. Guess we’ll have to put off taking Dawn out-again," Buffy said dejectedly. She couldn’t help but feel bad. For as much as Dawn was becoming the Big Unbearable, Buffy missed spending time with her sister. She had thought that calling it off with Spike would give her at least some time to spend with Dawn. It made sense in theory. But she had quickly found out that the more time she spent at home, the harder it became not to think about him. Talk about a quandary.

She was spared another internal diatribe by a door opening.

"That must be Dawn and Tara," Willow said and hurried out the room. Buffy went to follow but Spike blocked her passage with his arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her patience all but gone.

"Nothin, luv," he said, flashing his 'innocent' glare. He brought his free hand up against her face. Buffy recoiled at his touch but more out of necessity than disgust. He knew he had her. He had smelled her desire when he first entered the room.

"Stopwhatareyoutryingtodo?" She blabbered. She could not let him touch her. As much as she needed it to be over between them, she knew if he touched her in that certain way, the way that had let her know that he loved her, she would fall right off the wagon. Two weeks of exercising her willpower down the drain.

"Nothing that you don’t already want me to do, luv," he said. Spike casually maneuvered Buffy against the doorframe and ran his hand slowly down the side of her body. She gasped and unconsciously squeezed her thighs together. It was getting hot.

"Stop that," she said, unconvincingly. Her body betrayed her demand and she ran her hands up his chest. He moaned with need as her nail scraped against his alabaster skin. She pulled one hand back while the other one found his lower back.

"You’re making this harder than it already is," she moaned out, lost in the blue oceans that were his eyes. He laughed at that and it made her shiver with warmth inside. His laugh was full of life, a denial of his body's non-life. No matter how hopeless her life and their relationship seemed, his laughter was a note of hope in the silence of despair. She had been so transfixed by his laugh that she was unprepared for how his face changed and he looked into her. It screamed of desire, lust, need, and promises she was afraid to see. She was a slave to that look and she knew that all it would take would be one kiss and the little control she did have would be history.

"Ya know, luv," he whispered, getting closer, "you're the one making it harder." He saw the protest in her eyes and put his finger to her lips before she could speak. "I wasn’t talkin’ about that, luv," and he pushed himself against her, "I was talkin’ about this." She gasped loudly this time as his erection rubbed against her melting core through the thin sweat pants. He bent his knees so she could feel him against her now pulsating womanhood.

I can’t let this happen, she told herself. She opened her mouth to tell him to stop but her words betrayed her.

"God, Spike. I need you…now," ushered from her lips.

The mixed look of shock and delight on Spike’s face as Buffy placed her other hand on his hip and pulled him to her until their bodies were crushed together. He moaned, closing his eyes, and one hand found its way up the back of her shirt.

"Your skin is so smooth," he whispered as his tongue danced across her ear. She shuddered in anticipation. Her grip tightened on his hips, nails digging into his skin even through jeans. She lifted her left leg up and expertly hooked it around the back of his knee. He lowered himself further to heighten her stimulation. Spike felt her limbs tense and could stand it no more. He removed his arm from under her shirt. He licked the side of her neck and she moaned with every stroke of his tongue. He could taste her heartbeat and wondered how she was still conscious; it was beating that fast. A smile crossed his lips as he realized that it was him that got her like that.

His thoughts were interrupted as Buffy bit down on the flesh around his nipple. Her tongue danced around it and she bit down again, almost enough to draw blood. Spike’s hands spasmed against the doorframe, clutching at air. His blood surged through his veins and his manhood ached for a release. Her mouth wandered to his other nipple and as rough as she had been with the left, she was that gentle with the right. Her lips were feather light as they brushed over his skin and the tenderness of her tongue made him quiver within. She looked up at him and he saw more than her lust for his body in her green emeralds. She licked her lips and he could not think any longer without at least touching her swollen lips. He bent down and kissed her delicately, as if she would break if he did not control himself. It was a chaste kiss at first before their tongues intertwined in a familiar dance. When they kissed like this, the whole world ceased to exist. It was as if they had been exalted to a higher plane of consciousness. He was no longer un-dead. He was alive. Though his heart did not beat, the passion that surged within was an ample substitute.

He was so lost in the moment that he didn’t feel her left hand loosen its grip on his hip and sneak across his thigh. He did feel, however, when she squeezed his throbbing member. It was enough to break the kiss.

Buffy giggled lightly at the look of pure want on his face. His erection threatened to bust through his jeans to get to her and she had to smile at that. This is all for me, if I want it, she thought to herself. All previous convictions of staying away from him were lost in her storm of emotions. She removed her right hand from his hip while her left one continued to massage his erection. She traced the lines of his face. The scar above his left eye. The sharpness of his cheekbones. He was everything she wanted. Everything she needed.

He loves me so much, she said, finally coming to the complete truth. It wasn’t about lust or about ‘doing a Slayer’ or a sick obsession (at least not anymore) that drove him to her arms time after time. No, it was a love that she thought he was capable of. A love that she had resigned herself to not having. It was unconditional in every manner of being. No matter how much she denied him. No matter how she hurt him with her words or fists, he would always do for her. Other men would have pulled back, closed up. And she wouldn’t have blamed them one bit. But Spike was different. He was always there, whether she wanted him to be or not. Either for the good or the bad, Spike never went halfway with his love.

"What’s on your mind, luv?" he asked. He had been hesitant to speak at first. He knew that, despite his attempts at flattery, the best things didn’t always come out of his mouth. And as much as his actions could heat the mood up, his words could just as well cool it.

Buffy broke eye contact and studied his chest. His skin was red where she had bitten him. Her hand dropped from his face and traced along the outline of her teeth marks. What was she thinking? I just want to feel…Is this really happening? She was torn between the truth and lying.

"You love me so much," she said, her voice husky. The truth won out.

Spike kissed her on her forehead before lifting her chin up. Her eyes glistened in the light and he knew it was only a matter of time before tears fell. He marveled at it. Here was the Slayer, the Chosen One. She had stopped countless Apocalypses, fought for her life every single night and had died twice. She was the toughest person he had ever met in his 120 plus years of un-life. And yet, she was just as fragile as she was strong. She could battle toe-to-toe with a hell god and yet be totally baffled by affairs of the heart. He couldn’t blame her. She hadn't had the opportunity to grow into her feelings. A whirlwind romance at sixteen with a 240-year-old vampire who just happens to go O.J. when you sleep with him didn’t help. She didn’t doubt that she loved the poofter, but this was different. Spike had done things to her she had never known were possible. But it was more than that. He loved her with all his being. And that realization scared her to no end. Her streak of luck with men was a far cry from a confidence builder. She was probably telling herself that as long as it was physical, she could deal. If it went further, if he managed to slither his way inside her heart… He knew what she was thinking. She was so afraid of letting someone in. She could give him her body, even her mind, but not her heart. And he understood. If she did let him in, he would be in a place where he could hurt her more than Angel or Riley ever could. And she probably would never recover from it. The simplest way to deal was to curse him and look at herself in disgust for what she let him do. It was her defense for caring too much. Afraid as she was, though, it was wearing on her. Slowly the levels of denial were stripped away. She had taken a big step in admitting Spike's love for her. For so long she had cursed him as a monster incapable of love. But she had experienced that love on numerous occasions. Spike smiled inwardly. If she could admit that a monster like him could actually love, then could she also admit to herself that it was possible to love him back?

Spike stared into her eyes. They told him so much about her. More than she ever knew. He could tell when she was hurt, angry, aroused or excited by a peek into the green seas that were her eyes. He searched them now. The fear of being hurt again was evident. As was the need to be loved. But there was something else too. He had seen it during the Glory ordeal and a hint of it when he had come to kill her on the porch as she lamented about her mother. She was a little girl lost whose sanity hinged on one kind word or deed to make the pain or fear go away. He knew exactly what she was looking for.

Reassurance.

"I'm scared," she whimpered, "that you'll…leave."

Spike could have sworn that his undead heart lurched in his chest. He looked at her face, a retinue of sadness, fear, desire and…love? He wasn’t sure about the last one but there was something in the way she looked at him that gave him hope…

"Buffy, remember the time I told you I was drowning in you?" She nodded. "That will never change. No matter how much you deny what you feel, no matter how much it hurts not to touch you when someone else is around, I'm not going anywhere. And you know why?" She shook her head. He smiled gently and kissed her on both cheeks before kissing her fully on the lips. A moan escaped her, as she was lost in the kiss. He regretfully pulled away.

"Because of that, luv. When I kiss you, despite what you've said, I know that you feel for me. Now it may not be love," he smirked, "yet, but it is something. And no matter how pissed I get at you and want to tell you to sod off, I don’t. All I've ever wanted from you was a crumb. A morsel for my hopes to cling to. Every kiss you give me adds another crumb to my collection."

She smiled at that. "So you're like the king of crumbs now."

He chuckled softly before answering. "Well, pet, I am moving up in the world. I fancy one day I'll have enough crumbs for a whole cake," he paused. A mischievous grin etched his face. He kissed her again, fully on the lips and trailed kisses down her chin. He kissed the side of her neck, gently taking her skin between his teeth and she moaned in barely contained ecstasy. His tongue traced her collarbone. He planted butterfly kisses between her breasts that made her head swoon even through the fabric of her shirt. She wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on her bare flesh. He knelt in front of her and kissed her belly button.

"Of course," he finished, "until I have all those crumbs, I guess I'll have to make due keeping my mouth busy with other things." Buffy shuddered at his words. She knew what he meant and boy did he know how to do it!

He was in the process of pulling her pants down when a chuckle-cough made the lovers whip their heads toward the hallway.

"T…Tara," Buffy said in exasperation. She was mortified beyond belief. Not that Tara had caught them in the act since she already knew. But it was the fact that…well, that Tara caught them in the act.

The witch did her best to stifle a bout of giggles but she managed to get out what she wanted to say. "We…we told Dawn about the other you and all. Willow called Xander and…he said he'd be right over."

"What about Anya?" Buffy asked, frantically trying to compose herself. That task wasn’t easy considering that Spike still knelt in front of her…unmentionables. To make matters worse, his right hand, deftly hidden from view, rubbed the side of her leg endlessly.

"She won't get out the Magic Box until at least nine. She said she could stop by then."

"Right. Fine. Dandy," Buffy agreed. She finally mustered the strength to walk away from Spike's magnetic touch. "Going down stairs," she said and traded a bashful smile with Tara.

"Well then," Spike said, standing, "guess we should be getting down there too, wouldn't you say, Tinker?"

Tara only smiled at him, her eyes amusedly fixated on his crotch.

"What?" he asked.

"Ummm…so..ahhh…how's that cramp?"

"Cramp? What cramp? Oh…the one from Buffy's birthday gig?" He waved a hand dismissively. "Sodding thing feels great."

"I see," she said smirking leading his eyes down to the bulge he had forgotten was there.

"Bloody hell!" he said and Tara swore that he saw him blush. Satiated with her Spike teasing for the day, she practically skipped down the steps.

Spike only looked at her, perplexed. He really liked Tara and all but something was not right about her. She knew something about him and it was driving him crazy not knowing. He shrugged it off as he thought of what had just transpired between him and Buffy. She had taken a tentative step from behind that impregnable wall she so expertly hid behind. It was only a matter of time before she gave herself to him with no pretense.

That'll be the day, he thought and ambled down the steps, elated.

***