DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course. And the chapter titles are courtesy of Robert Burns.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: The trial has been completed, leaving Buffy only able to return via the aid of Frank and the harness, and Spike walking back to a certain flaming death…

*************

“I don’t like it,” Riley grumbled, one by one pulling blades of grass from the bank of the stream, then tearing them into minute scraps which fluttered to the surface of the water before beginning again. “We don’t have time for this.”

“No, it’s Buffy and Spike who don’t have the time,” Xander replied. “This is kinda it for them.” He stood away from the water’s edge, eyes warily darting back to it every once in a while on the off-chance that another nasty was going to leap from its depths and attack. Not that he really thought anything would, but when one was transporting a stolen mythical creature away from its homeland in order to bind it to a broken doorway, one had to be prepared for just about anything.

“There’s only a few more hours until dawn,” Riley continued, ignoring his companion’s argument. “If we don’t get back inside before the sun hits Spike, all of this trial business would’ve been for nothing.” The sudden image of the bleached vamp bursting into flame made him pause for a second, a momentary gush of bittersweet revenge saturating his mouth, but he quickly shook the image away when he saw Buffy’s tear-streaked face as she watched the fire from the side. This is not about striking back, he reminded himself silently. This is about completing the mission.

“This is going to be hard enough for Buffy as it is,” Xander continued. “The least we can do is give them some privacy for a little while.” He had known it was going to come to this; Spike had been very vocal about what he thought was going to happen when they’d been killing time before doing the spell. But it didn’t mean he was looking forward to giving his best friend the poem the vampire had written when they got back to the castle. He’d tried telling Spike that getting it after the fact would most likely hurt her even more, but the blond had been adamant. Funny how he’d changed his tune about the worth of his words when all of a sudden, they were the only tangible gift he had left to give her. So, Xander had given his word to play messenger boy. And really, really hoped he didn’t have to be the one to watch Buffy cry when she read it. He had a feeling it was going to rip her to finer shreds more than saying good-bye the first time.

There was no doubt in Riley’s mind what she had wanted the privacy for, even when she’d been requesting the favor in the first place. One last moment alone, she’d said, one last…clothing would be optional, of course. So he’d protested loudly, too loudly, getting sad headshakes from both Xander and that damn guardian, like they understood something that he didn’t, a petulant child who was refusing to accept the punishment that had been meted him. But this was more than just about them, he’d wanted to rage. This is about…

And the thoughts had failed him, the veracity of why exactly he was opposing the suggestion a not-too-gentle reminder of what he had lost over the past few days. The last thing he needed at the moment was to add his self-respect to that list. Although, in light of some of his behaviors around Spike since his arrival in Scotland, maybe it was too late for that particular item.

“I still don’t like it,” he muttered, and threw the handful of foliage in his grip to the water, ignoring Xander’s hand as it came down on his shoulder.

“Nobody expects you to, man,” he said quietly.

*************

She didn’t know whether to scream about his insensitivity to her feelings, or cry about their impending separation, or laugh at the irony of the whole situation. He was leaving her, just like all the rest of them had, and so yeah, he’d made the choice because he couldn’t bear not helping her, but then hadn’t Angel left because of the whole “I’m doing this for your own good” thing, too? Everybody was always trying to tell her what she needed, what would make her happy, taking away her choices until she was forced to just live with those they inflicted upon her. No wonder her relationships never worked out right. Buffy never really got a say in the matter.

This time it was supposed to be different. This was Spike, and they fit, yin and yang, and there’d never been any doubt as to his trust in her, his deference and respect for her abilities, his pride in watching her excel. He’d been able to keep up, without making her feel little about it, surprising her at every turn, and yet not, because it was Spike, and she knew him better than any of her previous boyfriends---maybe not the specifics, but him, the essence of him---and it wasn’t supposed to end this way. The only bright side to this whole debacle---if any of it could even have a bright side---was at least he wasn’t going without saying good-bye first. That would be a first for her.

And she wasn’t going to cry, damn it.

They were still on the grass by the stream where they’d caught the fuilafior, left alone as Frank returned to the water, and Xander and Riley walked on ahead over the knoll until they were out of sight and earshot. Buffy lay back amidst the soft green, staring up at the stars that twinkled in the sky, while Spike was stretched out on his side next to her, head propped up in his uninjured hand as he gazed down at her.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he murmured. “Don’t ruin what we’ve got left by broodin’ on it. I’ll start thinkin’ I didn’t teach you anything.” His attempt to lighten the mood fell with a dull weight, and inwardly, he winced when she closed her eyes against him, shutting him out as she continued to drift among the remonstrations dancing around her skull.

“I don’t know how you can be so cavalier about all this,” she said bitterly. “Oh, wait. Yes, I can. You’re not the one who’s getting left behind to be alone. Again. I guess I never knew it was easier to deal when you’re the leaver, and not the leave-ee. File that one away for future reference.”

“None of it’s easy, pet.” His voice was gruff, awash with frustration and pain, and he lifted his hand to cup her chin, pulling her head toward him. When her lids fluttered open, revealing the hardened shine of grey-green staring back at him, the ache that had settled in his chest began to swell throughout his torso, the desire to just say sod it all and stay in the Otherworld for good suddenly too appealing to ignore. “Easy would be makin’ a runner for that cave and holin’ ourselves up there and saying bugger off to Harris and Wonderbread when they come to drag us back.”

The fantasy he offered brought a wistful curve to her mouth. “We could make them go back on their own,” she suggested. “Although that would mean the spell never gets completed, so Xander would still be all god-like. I’m not sure the world is ready for that.”

Spike grinned, remembering Harris’ earlier ramblings. “Somehow, I don’t think the boy would have a problem dealin’.”

“Or Anya, for that matter,” she added.

Both of them drifted in the sea of their daydream---or nightdream, as the case may be---and while the delicacies of remaining in the Otherworld promised a fleeting sweet satisfaction, the underlying acidity of truth corroded its edges, reminding them of duties, and serious lackage of all-night butcher shops, and…damn it, duties…

“Would whining about life being rotten and unfair be considered childish right about now?” Buffy asked, the tiniest of catches in her voice as her gaze scanned his face. “Or is that just me allowing my inner Dawn to come out?”

“I think a smidge of whinging wouldn’t be entirely uncalled for.” His thumb traced the bottom curve of her lip. “Though I can think of better things you can do with this gorgeous mouth of yours.”

The smell of his dried blood pricked her nostrils, disturbing the dust of her settled fears, and she reached up to drag his hand away from her face, holding it before her as she outlined the lean lines against the velvet sky. It was already healing and hadn’t required the bandage that she’d forced both Xander and Riley to wear, but it still looked nasty, a vicious slash disturbing the ordered lines of his palm. Probably will leave a scar, she thought, before catching herself, the afterthought---Of course not, won’t be around long enough to scar---filling her mouth with salty bitterness.

Slowly, she pulled his hand down to her face, her warm breath blanketing his flesh, before allowing her lips to linger along the length of the injury, the tip of her tongue darting out to capture the roughened texture of his skin at its edges.

It wasn’t meant to be erotic. So, all right, one of the purposes to having some alone time had been to feel him inside her one last time, but not at that exact moment. Not when she had so much she wanted to say to him. Sex with Spike had been the farthest thing from her mind when she’d caressed his hand. But the taste of him, the scents of blood, and smoke, and musk that was uniquely his, all swirled to a crescendo within her breast that compelled her to roll onto her good side and press her body against his. Solid, touchable, concrete. Still here. And if she had to sink into his skin in order to take the memory of his every muscle back to Sunnydale with her, then that’s what she would do. Because she couldn’t forget. Wouldn’t. Impossible to unlearn everything he had taught her, everything he had shown, everything he had promised. And she wasn’t about to waste another moment of the few they had left together by dwelling on the hole that was starting to bore into her heart.

The kisses were almost chaste, gossamer trails across his lips, over the harsh angles of his cheekbones, along his brow. He merely laid there, eyes closed, absorbing her heartbeat until his own flesh strummed in unison and it was impossible not to reach out and touch her, his fingers floating on the contours of her waist before settling on her hip. He was wary of her injuries, knowing she would ignore them for want of attention elsewhere, but unwilling to be the reason for any more pain for the young woman. Not that this wasn’t killing him in degrees anyway. But there was no regret for his actions. To be honest, he’d not given the risks to himself any consideration in light of what he felt he had to do for the Slayer, and that certainly didn’t change now. She was going to be all right. She would live. And that was all that mattered to Spike.

“Buffy…luv…” he murmured, pulling just far enough away to gaze at her through hooded eyes.

“No,” she protested just as quietly, lids flying open to search the shadows of his face. “Don’t make me stop. Please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it…just…” He lowered his head to rest it on his arm, reaching up to push back that stray lock of hair that always seemed to be falling against her cheek. God, she was so beautiful. “Don’t…hate me for havin’ done this, all right? Brassed off, sure, I expect that. Don’t think you’ve gone a day since meetin’ me when you weren’t pissed off about something. And it’s not that I think I’m goin’ to be in any position to be holdin’ onto anything, but…somehow, thinking…after everything…you went back to the William the Bloody loathing…” He swallowed, the words suddenly choking him, and was grateful he didn’t actually need to breathe because at the moment, he didn’t think he’d be able to manage it. “I don’t have any right to be askin’ for anything, I know---.”

“I love you, Spike. Nothing’s going to change that.”

“Even if I said I’d do it all again in a second? I would, you know. S’long as I knew you’d be safe on the other side, flyin’ home to see your mum and Bit. They need you, need your strength.” He smiled. “Not to mention, someone’s got to keep an eye on Harris and the witches. Those bunch get into more trouble than they know how to deal with. And don’t even get me started on Rupert.”

“But I need you there as well, you idiot.” She seemed suddenly transfixed by the almost invisible scar on his chin, the jagged white line that spoke of more violent moments, and wondered why she hadn’t yet asked him how he’d gotten it. Not that she really knew any of the stories behind his scars, at least not the ones that had come from someone’s hand other than her own, and now she wasn’t even going to have the opportunity to ask. “I need you,” she repeated, and blinked too rapidly to fight back the burning behind her eyeballs.

“You don’t,” Spike whispered, and though his smile lessened, the silver etched around the sapphire in his eyes seemed to throb from some inner indebtedness, catching the tiny hairs on her arms and gently tugging as if to remind her that he was still there. “You’re strong, and wondrous, and you managed just fine on your own before these old bones of mine ever came into the picture. You’ll manage just fine again once they’re gone.” His finger caressed her cheek. “But I do thank you for sayin’ so.”

“You expect me to just manage? You show me what’s possible, make me feel alive, only to take it all away, and you think I can go back to how things were?” Sparks flew in the hazel depths, her breathing starting to quicken. “What happened to watching my back? Or being there just to hold me? How could you open that door inside me and then say, ‘Sorry, pet, gotta dash?’” Faster, and without thinking, the words came tumbling out. “Don’t you dare think for a second that I don’t need you, Spike. That’s a copout and you know it. And I don’t care if you need to think that in order to make this more dealable for you. Right now, I’m feeling just a little bit selfish, and I’m not going to let you set one foot back into that tunnel until you understand what you’ve really done.”

“And what’s that, luv?”

Her next kiss was far from controlled, and where before she had been searching for the anchor to hold the memories of his features in her mind, now she sought to show him, to demonstrate with the unspoken words they both knew so well just how much she loved him, needing that last reminder to hold on to, like a child clinging to its security blanket.

His mouth opened, sucking her in with a heady languor, deliberately slowing her down to a literal crawl. He wanted her to enjoy this, to make it last; hell, truth of it was, he didn’t want it to bloody end. And kissing him like that would set about the explosions and fireworks a far sight sooner than he needed at this point.

Tender hands slid around her waist, up the inside of her shirt to stroke the length of her spine in feather brushes. He marveled again at how tiny she was, but when she moved, Spike felt the play of muscles beneath her skin, the promise of power as she pressed her breasts against his bare chest, and remembered the exquisite agony of other muscles squeezing around him. He would take these sensations---Buffy’s strength, her leonine grace combined with the conviction of a woman who knew what she wanted---and play them over and over in his head like a favorite song until his last second in this dimension…and he would be grateful for each and every single one of them.

She couldn’t seem to get enough of him. Her hands were in his hair, tangling with the curls at the base of his neck, trying with every sweep of her tongue to drive him harder, mewling in the back of her throat when he refused to comply. She needed him, and she needed him now, and it felt like Spike was doing everything in his power to keep that from happening, those hands running up and down her back both urging her on while holding her back.

“Please…” she murmured into his mouth, her breath a furnace as the vise around her chest tightened, expelling what little air she had in rapidfire bursts. “Don’t want to wait…”

Spike chuckled. “What happened to the old sayin’, ‘Good things come to those who wait?’”

“I like the one Mom uses. ‘A stitch in time saves nine.’” Buffy laughed against his cheek. “Except I could never figure out nine what. Could be kittens. Could be snowballs. You don’t happen to know what that one means, do you?”

“Sorry, pet.” Actually he did, but the last thing he wanted to get into right now was a discussion on the intellectual dissection of a saying that was older than he was. Somehow, he thought that might be a mood breaker.

Her fingers trailed across the bridge of his nose. “Make love to me, Spike,” she said softly, and this time couldn’t stop the tears from spilling from the corner of her eyes, catching in her hair in tiny droplets that clung to their spherical holds for seconds before collapsing into damp. “Make it so that I won’t ever forget.”

Time was not on their side. The dawn was encroaching on hundreds of spidery legs, and the internal clock Spike had relied upon over the last century was screaming at him to find shelter from the sun before it got too late. Already too late, he wanted to snipe back at it, but instead lifted himself to a sitting position to gaze down at the golden beauty in the grass. Carefully, his fingers glided to her waist, undoing the fastenings of her trousers before easing them down her slim legs, heedful of the arrow wound in her calf. This would be no wild ride, no death-defying feat of acrobatics that would’ve amazed even the most hardened circus performer. This would be soft, and gentle, and all for her. Well, and maybe a little for him.

“I love you, Buffy,” he said, lowering his mouth to the satin of her exposed stomach, nudging the hem of her shirt up, out of the way, as he tasted and licked the salty ambrosia for one last time.

“I love you, too, Spike,” she murmured in response. Her hands fell beneath his shoulders, tugging him up so that their eyes were level, his hips pressed into hers. In spite of being far from happy at the moment, she forced herself to smile, and tugged at a stray curl at the nape of his neck. “Now shut up and show me.”

*************

She didn’t want to open her eyes. Once that happened, it would all become too real again, and right now, that was the last thing Buffy wanted. Keep ‘em closed and keep the world at bay, and she could pretend that they were just lying in one of the cemeteries in Sunnydale, or better yet, in her back yard, and any moment now he was going to roll her over onto her back and start again, that mouth sliding down the column of her throat to lap at the hollow at the base like some sought-after oasis, those hands pinching and tweaking and gliding and making her forget where her body ended and his began, his mussed hair tickling her thighs as he nuzzled at the juncture between her legs.

She sighed, and felt the breath bounce back from the curve of his neck where she rested to warm her cheeks. Yep. She could just about stay like this forever.

“Buffy…” His arms tightened around her bare back, his voice almost lost in the tangle of her hair. “Luv…we have to go.”

It worked better than a bucket of cold water. Immediately stiffening, the Slayer’s eyes flew open, her body arching away before she fought to recover control, throwing her leg over his hips to straddle him. “No,” she said petulantly, her lower lip jutting in what she hoped was an irresistible pout. “One more.” She squirmed against his returning arousal as if to accentuate her point.

For a moment, he considered it, heavy eyes staring up at her while he savored the slickness that was now running up and down the length of his erection, but the fingers of the approaching sun were starting to point in his direction and if he was going to go out in a blaze of fire, he wanted at least something good to come of it.

“We can’t,” Spike said with more conviction than he felt, and dug his fingers into her hips, sliding her off as delicately as he could. Reaching for his jeans, he added, “The others are goin’ to be expectin’ us. You know that.” Oh yeah, the world was officially ending for William the Bloody. The voice of reason? Turning down another go with the Slayer? The poof would be laughing out his ass if he could see him now.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she groused.

“We’ve still got all the time it’s goin’ to take us to get back to the tunnel. Let’s just enjoy that.” Straws. That’s what he was grabbing. Silently, he prayed that she would help him in dealing with this by stopping with the arguing. If she asked one more time, Spike didn’t think he’d have it in him to say no again.

It wasn’t enough, and both of them knew it. Still, as Buffy slid her legs back into her trousers, she knew she was going to have to be satisfied with what she had been able to steal from fate. She was going to have to remember to thank Xander back at the castle for convincing Riley to let them have this little break.

Standing, she stretched in feline curves, working out the kinks in her back from having sex on the uneven earth. She frowned when Spike began walking away, heading in the opposite direction of the tunnel. “Where are you going?” she asked.

He stopped, nodding toward the dead kelpie pinned in the distance. “Don’t fancy leavin’ a weapon behind when we’re not sure what’s comin’ up,” he said. “And our former cook sure as hell doesn’t need it.”

She followed after him, catching up in seconds to grab at his hand. When he hesitated, glancing down at her in query, Buffy just smiled and continued walking, squeezing his fingers in hers. Just a moment. Another stolen one. She wasn’t going to let go again until circumstances forced her. And even then, she wasn’t sure how she was going to find the strength to do it.

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” she mused, striving for some semblance of normalcy. “Nothing big or bad jumped out at me when I came through.”

“That’s because you had the harness, pet,” Spike replied. “Frankie said it was what was protectin’ you. You had a free pass, even if you didn’t know it. We, on the other hand, had hell on the way in. Well, Harris pretty much had hell. He didn’t really let me and Finn have a say in the matter when he found out he was all unkillable.”

“One of those multi-purpose demon artifacts.” Desperate for anything to lighten the mood, she launched into a faux television announcer voice. “Need a break? Tired of being a blip on the Demon Radar? Get the Harness 2000, available only from FrankCo. Guard yourself from the evil baddies that come creeping to your bed. Say goodbye to those pesky magical spells wrecking your social life. No more---.”

His stopping took her by surprise and she turned to see him staring at her, head tilted. “What did you say?” he asked.

“Huh?” Her head scrambled. “I don’t know, was it important?” Buffy confessed. “I was just kind of rambling. I have a tendency to do that when I get stuck in a sitch that turns me into frustration girl. You know that. Stuff kind of just comes out of my mouth. Like the Energizer bunny. It just keeps going, and going, and---.”

“About sayin’ goodbye to magic.”

“Oh. Isn’t that what Frank said?” She matched his frown, confusion darkening her eyes. “That’s why he can take me through the sealed entrance, right? Because the magic just kind of falls apart around the harness.”

“As well as protects you from it,” Spike added slowly.

“Yeah…” It took only a moment of staring into those depths to understand where he was leading her, and Buffy’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping at the same time. Hope. That’s what he was suggesting. And it almost hurt to reach out and grab it. “You don’t think…?”

He shrugged. “Would it hurt to try?”

“But Will’s always going on about scales, and energy keeping in balance.” It was coming too fast now, the possibilities and potential problems a whirlwind that refused to settle inside her skull. “If whatever wants to burn you up can’t, won’t it try going for someone else? Like Xander? Or Riley?”

“Probably.” He visibly deflated before his gaze flickered past Buffy’s shoulder, his eyes narrowing as his brain continued to tick over. “But if it’s so hot and bothered for a dead body, I think we might be able to oblige it…”

*************

She wanted so desperately to close her eyes. Just for a second. A nanosecond even. A fraction of a nanosecond. Anything to relieve the exhaustion that was slowly turning her flesh into stone. But she couldn’t; she didn’t dare, not when they were still dwelling in the land of no answers. And so Willow continued to read, so much slower than when they had started, but reading nonetheless, the multitude of candles that they’d set up throughout the underground cavern casting flickering orange stripes across the already yellowed pages, her eyes sliding across the words that sometimes seemed to be dancing the two-step before settling into something that closely resembled the foxtrot. M’s are really funny looking letters, she thought, not for the first time. I wonder if that’s why they named the candy after them. M and M, and M, and M, and ooo, pretty…

When the hand settled on her shoulder, she jumped, dropping the book that had been propped up in her lap, the sudden surge of adrenalin through her system acting faster to wake her up than a mochaccino from the Espresso Pump.

“I’m up!” she squeaked, and proceeded to bump heads with Colin as they both leaned over at the same time to pick up the text.

“So sorry,” he apologized in a rush, handing it back to her as she rubbed at her temple. “I thought you heard me come back.”

“Guess I was just all absorby with the reading,” the redhead said with a small smile. “You know how fascinating translating Peloponnesian death rituals can be.” When the aroma hit her nostrils, her mouth instantly salivated, and her eyes widened in delight at the steaming thermos the Watcher was uncapping. “Please tell me that’s tea.”

Colin smiled. “I thought you and Rupert could use a little pick-me-up,” he said as he handed it to her.

The first sip, however, had Willow choking, her eyes watering, and she stared up at the Englishman in a combination of shock and dismay. “What’s…in that?” she gasped. Air. She needed air. Except that just reminded her that her throat was now on fire. Not good. Not good at all. But at least she was awake.

Quickly, Colin took back the flask and gave it a sniff. “Oh, my,” he murmured, and looked back over his shoulder at where Giles was frowning into his own thermos. “Be right back.”

As she watched, he strode over, mumbled a few words that sounded remarkably like “sorry” and “my fault,” and then returned with the other thermos, proffering it like some tithe of pardon, an embarrassed flush creeping over his cheeks. “Wrong flask,” he said in explanation.

“Do I want to know what was in the other one?” Willow asked, tentatively sniffing the contents before lifting it to her mouth.

Colin glanced back at the other Watcher. “Um, I’ll say no.”

As she sipped at the hot liquid, the witch’s wistful gaze flickered to the sleeping forms of Anya and Tara against the cavern wall, the blankets Colin had brought down on one of his earlier forays upstairs wrapped tightly around them. They had been reluctant to take a break from the research---well, Tara had, at least; Anya was too worried about Xander to really be much good anyway---and though Willow had insisted that they get some rest, she was beginning to wish that maybe she hadn’t been so nice about it. Or that she could join them. Joining would definitely be better.

They still had no solution to Spike’s combustion problem. Text after text after text had revealed absolutely nothing, except that the Council was really a bunch of super-clever, super-sneaky, kind of evil jerks for discovering the spell in the first place. Giles had even driven into town at one point to talk to Travers when he’d been unable to reach him on the phone, but that had borne exactly zilch. They had never had any intention of Spike surviving, so had made no effort to find countermeasures for that particular aspect of the magic.

When Giles had returned to Dall Rath, he’d hit the books with more vigor than Willow had witnessed since their arrival in Scotland, delving into more arcane texts in search of an answer. The look he’d shot Tara and Anya when they’d decided to sleep had been surprisingly dangerous, and the redhead found herself wondering why he was being so diligent in their pursuit for something that would save the vampire. He had been acting oddly ever since Spike had made his announcement about going in after Buffy, regardless of the consequences to him, and Willow couldn’t help but think that maybe Giles was finally beginning to see what Buffy had been all along. Too bad it was too late to do the Slayer any good.

A glance at her watch told her that the sun was rising outside, and that breakfast would be calling their names if the others didn’t return from the Otherworld soon. Colin had already volunteered to whip something up, but Giles had put him off, telling him that they would wait until the spell was completed before eating. Willow just hoped it would be soon. For every minute that passed, she feared that the odds of them coming back at all got worse. The thought that some auxiliary plan might need to be made to retrieve even more of their numbers was daunting.

A splash from the stream tore her gaze away from the page, and Willow lifted her head to see the guardian kelpie emerge from the water with Buffy clinging to his neck. For the first time, she spied the artifact that was the root of the whole mess also hanging from his neck, the golden bells of the harness ringing softly through the underground cavern as he set the Slayer carefully down to the ground.

“Buffy!” she called out, scrambling to her feet, heedless of the book as she rushed to her best friend’s side.

Giles beat her there, removing his jacket to place it around his charge’s shivering form. “Willow, go fetch her some dry clothes,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

As he handed the retreating witch the amulet and incantation for the covering over the entrance to the tunnel, Colin turned back to face the dripping wet Slayer with a frown. “You’re hurt,” he commented unnecessarily, noting the blood stains on her shoulder and pants.

“I’m fine,” Buffy replied, brushing away his concern with a distracted wave of her hand. Her brow creased as she quickly scanned the cavern. “Where’s Spike and the others?”

“Not back yet.” Giles’ voice was tight. “We were unsure as to their success as we were…reluctant to take a break from our research to investigate. But they found you, I take it.”

She nodded. “And thumped little bunny foo foo to seal up the entrance as well, so you can stop the worrying about that. Now please tell me you found a surefire way to get around Spike’s fire indemnity clause in that stupid spell.” She was holding her breath as she waited, and when, after a furtive glance between the two Watchers, Giles shook his head, she let it out in a long, vocal hiss and looked back at Frank. “Guess that means we really do have to go to Plan B.”

Colin frowned as he watched the guardian slowly remove the harness from around his neck. “Plan…B?” he queried. The sight of the gold artifact was mesmerizing, but though he would’ve loved to discuss it further with the kelpie, perhaps even touch it for a moment---he was getting quite addicted to this whole field experience extravaganza---there were more pressing matters at hand.

“Well, I’ve been more affectionately calling it the ‘whatever the hell I can do to keep Spike from certain incineration plan,’” she said. “But Frank seems to prefer ‘plan B.’” Buffy shrugged. “We don’t even know if it’s going to work. But without having something concrete from you, I…” She sighed, exhaustion weeping from her pores, and rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “…we have to try. Spike doing this in the first place does not take me to my happy place. I’m not just going to sit back and watch him go up in flame if there’s something I can do to stop it.”

Tiredly, Giles removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was not one of those moments he liked playing devil’s advocate. “Buffy, this was something Spike decided---,” he started, only to be cut off by a sharp wave of her hand.

“Save it. He and I have already had this argument. I don’t agree with what you guys did, especially since it did absolutely nothing in getting me back through the entrance.”

“Actually, that’s not true.” It was the first time Frank had spoken since returning, but he didn’t buckle beneath her direct gaze. Her friends deserved to know the actual circumstances, if only to better aid her, he decided. She was far more affected by this impending separation than she was letting on, and they would be more appropriately concerned for her wellbeing if they understood the extent of it. “If they had not chosen to do the closing spell, Duncan would have the harness now and you would most likely be dead.”

It was the final word that caught Giles’ ear, and he straightened, flashing blue eyes staring at the Slayer. “Dead?” he repeated. “What exactly happened in there?”

“It was no big. Duncan got a little arrow happy, is all. Frank and Spike were able to stop him.”

“Once Spike rescued you from the cave,” the kelpie prompted. “And stopped all your bleeding.”

“Bleeding?”

Buffy turned annoyed eyes to the guardian. “Not really helping here, o favorite kelpie of mine.”

The kelpie ducked his head. “Sorry.” Perhaps that had been just a little too far.

“Like I said,” she continued, swiveling back to look at her mentor, “I’m fine. What’s not fine is---.” She broke off, stiffening for a moment before taking a step toward the side of the stream. Her hazel gaze sharpened, sweeping across the bank, following the curve of the water as every muscle in her body tensed, ready to spring.

Frank watched the confusion pass between the two Englishmen as they watched their Slayer move almost hypnotically away from them, but refrained from saying what he knew to be true. He’d seen her react this way from the beginning; the fact that those closest to her were still partially blind to Buffy’s sensory appreciation for the blond vampire was almost sad. Because that’s what she was reacting to. There were no cognitive signs as of yet, but the kelpie knew that they would come. She was never wrong in this.

It was their voices they heard first, a harsh rumble of arguing, indistinct words floating to their ears in a mishmash of baritones. As it grew louder, some of them became audible---there seemed to be an inordinate number of “bloody hells” and “you’re not listening” among the phrases they caught---until an explosive-sounding Riley cut all of it off.

“I swear, if you two don’t shut up this minute, I’m going to set fire to Spike myself and finish the business of cutting off your head, Xander! I don’t care if you’re immortal now!”

Giles frowned as they came from around the bend, only casually noting the urgency in Buffy’s step as she rushed forward to meet them, his gaze captured instead by the unexpected addition to the ménage. While Riley and Xander both carried swords---weapons they had most definitely not gone in with---with the ex-soldier also balancing the urn in the crook of his arm like a football, Spike was burdened with an overlarge dead demon thrown over his bare shoulder. A cursory examination confirmed it was a kelpie, though the Watcher found his lips pursing at the very glut of stab wounds that adorned its flesh, the absence of one of its hands yet another indication of some serious swordplay.

“What took you so long?” Buffy demanded as Spike dumped the kelpie’s body to the earth. Once his load was gone, she threw herself at the vampire, hugging him tightly as his arms came around her back, his nose burying itself in her hair, both of them completely disregarding her damp state.

“See, it’s like this,” Xander started.

“I am not listening to this again!” Riley growled, and marched over to the two Watchers, thrusting the urn into Colin’s hands. “We’re here now. Let’s just get this over with. If I have to listen to these two argue for one more minute…”

“What is…that?” Giles asked, motioning toward the corpse on the ground.

“Our last shot at saving Spike.” Her voice was grim, harder than she wanted, all traces of humor wiped away as she found herself just moments away from having to face her potential loss. Not going to break, she thought. There’s still a chance at fixing this. I’m not going to break.

Without stepping away from physical contact with Spike, she told the Watchers what they had discussed on their return to the tunnel, eyes flicking to the wall when Anya and Tara woke, not even breaking stride when Willow re-appeared with dry clothes and a towel. “We don’t even know if it’ll work,” Buffy finished. “But, since you guys came up with nada, and Frank’s given us the green light for us to use the harness for this, I say we give it a go.” She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. “We already know the worst that can happen. We don’t have anything to lose at this point.” And everything to gain if it works, she added silently.

Colin and Giles regarded each other for a moment before responding. “It would have to be timed very carefully,” the younger man finally said. “If the harness inhibits magic, it might interfere with the completion of the spell, should Spike be wearing it when he enters the stone triangle.”

“And we’re unsure when the…burning might occur,” Giles added. “It’s quite likely that it might happen before we can hand it over to him.”

Buffy nodded. “We know that.” Her quick glance back at Spike was met with a corresponding nod. “But it’s all we have.”

“Then we should probably proceed then.” Colin stepped away, scurrying to retrieve the magic supplies by the wall, while the others took their respective places near the cairn.

The only ones not to move were Buffy and Spike. Turning in his arms, the blonde lifted her head, drinking in the dark shadows under his eyes, the slight quirk of his lips as he brought up his hand to gently stroke her cheek. “Don’t die,” she instructed, and felt the resurgence of the tears she thought spent in the Otherworld pricking at her eyes. Damn it, she thought. I didn’t want to do this now. I wanted him to see me being strong. Being his Slayer. Stop crying, Buffy. Be a grown-up about this.

Spike chuckled. “Already dead, luv,” he murmured. “What you mean is, don’t fry.”

She laughed, in spite of the pain, and slapped playfully at his bare chest. “Leave it to you to argue with me to the end,” she teased, some of the lightness returning to her voice.

His mouth brushed her temple before descending down the side of her face. “Someone’s got to keep you on your toes,” he murmured.

Did it make a difference that there was a possibility this was her last ever kiss from Spike? Buffy thought as their lips met. Did it change it? Make it better? Make it worse? All of the above, she decided as her mouth opened, allowing him entrance. Her arms lifted, tightening around his neck, deepening the contact between them, and she squeezed her eyes tight, willing the tears that spilled to evaporate before the couple broke apart and the others could see her weakness. No, she corrected. Before Spike could see her weakness. He was being so brave about the whole thing, cracking his usual jokes, smiling with that gorgeous mouth even if it didn’t quite reach the azure just a few inches above; the least she could give him was an equally brave front. And besides, she reminded herself, there’s still the possibility that this crazy idea might actually work.

The clearing of Giles’ throat behind her was enough to pull her from the caress, her breathing heavy as she met his dark gaze. “Love you,” she mouthed, and watched as his head came back down, his lips settling at her ear, the anticipation of what he was going to say sending icy tingles across her skin.

“See you in a few, pet. Be ready for the shagging of a lifetime.”

*************

In many ways, the tableau was an exact replica of the one that had started the spell. The Watchers and Tara stood at each outer corner of the cairn, their candles lit, while inside, each of the original participants sat in anticipation of its conclusion. The inclusion of the dead kelpie on the ground in front of Spike, however, disrupted the orderliness of the presentation, while hovering at the triangle’s perimeter were Anya bearing the urn, and Buffy clutching the harness.

Willow’s eyes swept over the group as she balanced the book in her arms, all signs of her previous exhaustion now gone. “Ready?” she asked, doing her best Pollyanna impression in light of the wan pallor on her best friend’s face. Buffy was doing her best to appear strong, but the redhead could see she was fighting a losing battle, her hope that the circumvention would work wavering as the moment grew near.

“Just get on with it, Red,” Spike said. He wasn’t watching the center of the triangle as he had when they’d done the spell the previous night. This time, his dark eyes were locked on Buffy’s face, his mouth firm, and there was no denying the why of what he was doing. If Spike was going to go out in a blaze of glory, he was going to make damn sure that her face was going to be the last thing he saw, every line etched into his skin, every curve a memory to his touch. Part of him---the part he was presenting to her, the strong side---honestly believed that this diversionary tactic was going to work, but, conversely, the vampire was far from stupid. He knew it could fail. But he refused to let go of the hope. He had too much to risk here, and if Buffy could be strong, then so could he. For her sake.

A short nod from Willow, and Anya was stepping forward, leaning to place the urn in the midst of the three men before pulling quickly back, glancing at the witch as the redhead began the practiced Gaelic phrases. Almost immediately, the urn reacted, locking the bodies of Spike, Xander, and Riley in the familiar rigor that they were coming to recognize, the keening splitting the air as the ghostlike tendrils of the Otherworld spirits seeped from their chests, swirling and eddying to entwine in a dance above the urn.

Buffy hovered just beside Spike, muscles tense as her eyes darted from the vampire to the urn, to the wisps hanging in the air, before returning back to Spike. So far, so good. Not vampire flambé, but the important part of the spell wasn’t over yet. Timing. Timing was everything.

Everything seemed to happen at once.

As the last word fell from Willow’s lips…

…the candles extinguished, leaving the only illumination in the room the leftover glows from the trio’s chests within the triangle…

…the wailing rose to a shriek that echoed against the stone walls, bouncing and reverberating in a thunderous rhythm that drew nails of fire across everyone’s skin…

…the essences of the Otherworld combined in a brilliant flash before disappearing into the bowels of the urn…

…Buffy darted forward and dropped the harness in the incognizant vampire’s lap, being careful not to allow its clarion noose to slip around his neck as she did so…

…and the fire leapt from nowhere, igniting as if from the earth itself, to surround the pot at the center of the cairn, licking in scarlet and orange and yellow as it pulsed from some inner life.

Everyone outside the triangle seemed to hold their breath as the fire danced, crackling as it rolled higher and higher, finally drawing itself from the circumference of the urn to blaze in a single finger in front of Spike. His eyes were still closed, his body still locked within the effects of the spell, and where Riley and Xander were slowly relaxing, he seemed to tense even further.

Work, work, work, Buffy intoned silently, her face grim, hazel focused on the inferno that seemed to be taking far too long to do whatever it was there to do. The only thing she hated more than waiting for something to happen was the fact that she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it to look at Spike, so fearful that she was going to miss its response that she was sacrificing one last sweep of his handsome face in order to not to.

When it moved, it was like lightning. Standing there one minute, and the next, kindling the dead flesh of the kelpie in flames that stretched taller than Buffy, the sudden stench of charred demon scorching the air.

Immediately, Spike collapsed, all tension vanished as his unconscious body spilled over the edges of the stones. The Slayer’s hands were beneath his shoulders in a second, pulling him away from the fire that was already starting to lick at his legs, dragging him to safety along the far wall before he became a victim of secondhand magic.

She didn’t even hear the scramblings behind her as she knelt over him, the frantic rush of bodies as the gang beat out the spreading blaze, the ringing of the bells as someone pulled the harness to safety. The only thing Buffy was aware of was the fact that no light in the cavern meant she couldn’t actually see his face very well, a dim outline that her fingers jumped to trace. Still here. Alive. Well, undead. But still here. That was the important thing. Now if he would only wake up.

“Spike,” she murmured, and wished that he had a pulse, just that she could confirm that he was still with her. Don’t be silly, she chastised herself. He’s not dust, ergo, he’s still with you. He’s just…asleep.

Except she could hear both Xander and Riley talking behind her. If they were awake, why wasn’t he?

“Spike,” she repeated, a little bit louder. Light flared from behind her, the soft glow of candles as they were lit, one by one, illuminating the planes of the vampire’s face. It was then that she saw the flutter of his lashes, so dark against his pale skin, and felt herself smiling, her hand sweeping across his forehead as if she had to push back his hair.

“Wake up, lazybones,” Buffy teased, the relief and joy at seeing the silver-free blue gazing up at her a balm to the burning that had been searing her stomach. Over. It was all over. And he was in her arms, perfectly all right, and she could start thinking about tomorrow again, the tomorrow she’d deliberately stopped contemplating as soon as the possibility that he wasn’t going to be there arose. “I believe you promised me the shagging of a lifetime. Don’t think for a second I’m going to let you welch on that one, mister.”

It took him a moment to respond, one hand struggling to reach up and capture hers within its grasp as if the mere exertion was more than he could bear. Linking his fingers through hers, Spike lowered his arm, moaning as he tried to shift his weight, the faintest of grimaces marring his features before reverting back to the weak smile that had accompanied his waking.

“In the words of the formerly immortal Harris,” the vampire said tiredly, eyes trained on the soft hazel of her aspect, “please tell me that worked because I am bloody well not going through that rubbish again.”

*************

He dropped his keys on the desk as if he’d never left. “You didn’t really get a grand tour your first visit,” Giles said, shrugging out of his coat. He motioned to the various rooms as he spoke. “The bathroom is through there, my bedroom is upstairs, and the kitchen you can pretty much see for yourself. And I’ve been told the couch is actually quite comfortable. Of course, I’ve also been told it’s a distant relative to an Iron Maiden, but that assessment came from Spike, so I’m sure you’ll take that for whatever it’s worth.” He paused, turning to look back at the man lingering on the threshold. “Don’t tell me after all this time that you’re actually a vampire and I’m going to have to invite you in,” he admonished Colin, though the mocking tone of his voice was softened by a slight twinkle behind his glasses.

The younger Watcher flushed, ducking his head as he stepped inside, setting the satchel in his hand by the door as he closed it behind him. “I suppose I’m still just a little overwhelmed that you would offer your hospitality so,” he said. “I’ve told you. I can always find lodging at a hotel until I find a more permanent solution.”

Giles cut him off with a brief wave of his hand. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, striding toward the kitchen. “The Council hardly pays enough to warrant such an extravagance when it’s completely unnecessary.” His voice filtered from the other room. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Besides,” Giles continued, “this will give us time to go over some details before you begin your assignment in earnest. Outside of Dall Rath, you’ve not had any field experience, and your exposure to Slayers has been…” He wasn’t sure exactly how to finish that sentence. Colin’s only dealings thus far had been with Buffy; how could he characterize that contact without debasing either one of them?

“Limited, yes.” He picked up a small statue perched rather precariously on the corner of Giles’ desk. Curious. He’d never seen one of these outside of a museum. “To be honest, I never expected Mr. Travers to give me this opportunity. He was most displeased with our failure to hand over the harness to him.”

“You’re not having second thoughts regarding our story?” The older Englishman came to the doorway, eyes narrowing as he gazed speculatively at his new protégé. “You must understand----.”

“No, no,” Colin rushed to assure. “I firmly believe that the Council was wrong to want the harness in the first place. Telling them that it got destroyed in the fire was really our only way to ensure its continued safety. Not that I don’t think the guardian will protect it,” he hastened to add. “But until the balance of three is restored in guarding the entrance to the Otherworld, the fewer outside worries they have, the better it will be for them.”

Slowly, Giles nodded. “You’re going to be a fine Watcher, Colin,” he said. “You’ve learned a lesson already that took me years to acquire.” He retreated back into the kitchen, the other Englishman right on his heels.

“Rupert, regarding Buffy…are you prepared for the…changes you’re going to have to deal with?” Colin queried, surprised at his own boldness for bringing up the issue in the first place. In spite of numerous attempts by the others to discuss it, Rupert had been rather close-mouthed about the subject during the time between the completion of the closing and their return to Sunnydale. Even when Buffy had announced she would be travelling back in the hold of the plane with Spike, her Watcher had remained mute, ignoring the faint screams and jolts that came from the nether regions of the aircraft, not even scolding Xander for his joke about the Slayer and vampire knocking the plane out of the sky with their “shenanigans.” When they’d landed, he’d merely given the pair of them perfunctory orders to meet at the Magic Box the following day, heading to his own transport without paying too much attention to their hand-holding as they walked to their ride.

It took him a moment to answer. The steam rose from the cups in gentle swirls as Giles set aside the kettle, reaching into the cupboard overhead for the biscuits he hoped were still reasonably fresh. “I expect that it won’t be that much different,” he finally said thoughtfully. “Except I’ll most likely have to tolerate Spike’s presence during the meetings. And restock on Weetabix more frequently. For some reason, I suspect I’ll be finding my supplies suddenly disappearing again.”

“Oh, come now,” Colin admonished. “Surely, it’ll have farther reachings than that. They’ve been inseparable since the entrance was closed. You don’t think---.”

“I trust them,” Giles interrupted, and then flushed in mild embarrassment as if a child caught out in a lie. “Well, I trust Buffy. Spike…may take more time.”

He seemed too absorbed in stirring his tea all of a sudden, the clink of the spoon against the side of the mug tinny in the tight quarters of the kitchen. Reaching past him, Colin picked up his own cup, warming his hands against the hot china, and waited for the other man to speak, only to realize very quickly that he wasn’t going to. Oh well, he thought, as he turned back to the living room. I did try.

“He really does love her,” Giles said quietly. When Colin glanced at him, the older Watcher was staring into his cup, his face impassive. “And she’s happy, surprisingly enough. I’d wanted so much more for her…well, I still want more for her. But…he’s not going to hurt her. He’s proven that he’s willing to place her needs far above his own. I suppose I can’t ask for much more than that.”

“You gain a powerful ally as well,” Colin offered, trying to alleviate the other’s strain. “Spike’s far more educated than any of us ever gave him credit for. He’ll be useful to you in research.”

The laughter came unchecked to Giles’ lips, the corner of his mouth lifting into a wry smile. “Yes, because if there’s one thing Spike loves more than unlife itself, it’s research,” he said mockingly. His frown relaxed, easing into pensive contemplation. “I sincerely hope you don’t have to worry as much with your charge,” he continued, his mood a trifle lighter as he sipped at his tea. “Of course, you have a distinct advantage. Your Slayer is only fourteen. Far too young to be considering romantic attachments to the demons she’s been chosen to destroy.”

Colin chuckled. “Let’s just hope so,” he said. “But she’s not a Slayer, remember, merely a Potential. There’s a possibility I shall never have to face the tribulations you have had with Buffy.”

“I still can’t believe she’s here in Sunnydale,” Giles mused. “Imagine the odds.”

“I must say, lucky for me she was. I get to train Amanda…” His voice trailed off, his brow furrowed, as his mind worked behind his eyes. “Damn it,” he muttered after a moment. “Why can’t I ever remember her last name?” He shook his head. “Oh, well. I’m sure it will come to me. What was I saying?”

Giles couldn’t help his smile. “How lucky you are to be on the Hellmouth.”

Colin brightened. “Oh, of course! I get to get my hands into some proper training, and I get to have you as a mentor. Very lucky, if you ask me.”

“Yes, quite.” His tone was dry. “Tossed into the lion’s den, I would’ve thought, though.”

“After the introduction to field experience I’ve had? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

*************

“What’d you get me?” Dawn squealed even before Buffy had completely stepped inside. Her eyes were bright with excitement, the smile too-wide on her young face, and the energy was rolling off her in waves as she watched her sister drop her bag beside the door. “Tell me it’s something good. A kilt? A cute Scottish boy? What?”

“Where’s Mom?” Buffy asked, giving the room a quick scan before handing the younger Summers the small sack she’d been carrying in her other hand. Without waiting for an answer, she called out, “Mom?”

“She’s in the kitchen,” Dawn replied, but didn’t even look as her sister hurried from the room, leaving the front door open behind her. Eagerly, she reached inside and extracted the gift, the smile instantly vanishing from her face. “A t-shirt?” she squawked in dismay. “You fly halfway across the world and all you bring me back is a stupid t-shirt?”

*************

Joyce was wiping her hands on a towel when Buffy burst into the kitchen, a welcoming smile on her face. “You’re back early,” she commented. “I guess I’m going to have to move that exercise equipment out of your room.”

That stopped Buffy in her tracks, her eyes wide. “What? I called. You knew---.” She stopped when Joyce laughed, her face relaxing as she realized she was being teased. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

“You’re so easy,” Joyce said and crossed the room to her oldest daughter, wrapping her in a light hug. “Welcome home.”

“How’re you feeling?” She’d been dying to find out the result of all the tests her mother had undergone in her absence, and with her anxieties about Spike safely banished to the world of non-existence, Buffy was now ready to refocus her worries elsewhere.

“Wonderful. Those doctors the Council brought in are amazing. They’ve actually managed to pinpoint the problem. Of course, it’s going to mean some more hospital time, but they say that this should be it.” She held Buffy out at arm’s length, scrutinizing her with a mother’s eye. “You haven’t been eating enough,” she chastised.

“No, I have, but we kind of…lost our cook the last few days we were there,” she said in explanation. “A…haggis accident. Very tragic.”

“Oh. Well, I’ve got a huge dinner planned. If you want to call Willow and the guys---.”

“Listen, Mom, can I ask you a fa---?”

“Geez, Buffy, did you forget how to close doors while you were gone?” Dawn griped as she came into the room and perched herself on one of the stools. She had slipped the gift shirt over her head before entering, the slogan, “I’d rather be Firkin than working,” now emblazoned across her teenaged chest. “And why is that big black van still parked out front? They’re not whisking you away again, are they? Because if they are, I get dibs on your stereo this time. Mom was totally hogging---.”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you,” Buffy said to Joyce, ignoring her sister’s rambling. “Spike’s crypt isn’t really great for door-to-door drop-off service, and seeing as it’s still daylight outside, I was wondering if it would be OK if he crashed here until sunset?” She gnawed at her bottom lip. They had decided to break the news of their relationship to her mom slowly, not because she was worried that she didn’t like Spike---for some reason, Joyce’s liking of the vampire had never been in question---but because Buffy hadn’t known what exactly her health situation was going to be. Though Joyce had been optimistic on the phone, until she saw her with her own two eyes, Buffy hadn’t wanted to burden her with unnecessary worries about her daughter dating another vampire. There would be plenty of time for spilling of boyfriend details later.

“Of course,” Joyce said in answer to her request.

“Spike’s outside?” Dawn squealed, immediately brightening. “Can I go get him?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. She’d forgotten about the whole crush thing her little sis had going for the blond vampire. This would probably be the first boyfriend the Slayer had ever had that Dawn actually liked, although, in the long run, that might actually work in their favor. “Tell me again why you’re not in school today,” she complained.

“Well, duh, because it’s Saturday.” She was halfway to the door, not even bothering to wait for Buffy’s OK to fetch the vamp. “I’ll bet Spike got me something cool,” she said, her voice trailing back into the kitchen.

“Does this mean you and Spike have ironed out some of the kinks in your…relationship?” Joyce asked once they were alone.

“You could say that.” She paused. “We kind of came to an…understanding while we were in Scotland.” The sudden yawn that overtook her surprised both of them. “Spike said jet lag was easier coming in this direction,” she whined. “I am so going to rub this in his face. Once I have the energy to actually do any rubbing.”

“Look what Spike got me!” Dawn chirped as she came bounding back into the room, the vampire in question sauntering in behind her. She held up the brown leather pouch, its tassels swinging wildly. “He says it’s called a sporran. You wear it over your kilt.” Her blue eyes shot daggers at her sister. “Not that I have a kilt.”

“’Lo, Joyce,” Spike said.

Buffy’s eyes widened as she watched him lean in and kiss her mother on the cheek in greeting, and went even larger when he pulled a small wrapped box from his duster pocket and pressed it into her hand.

“From the fair land of the Scots,” he said with a smile, affecting a thick brogue.

“Why, thank you, Spike. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“I got you something, too!” Buffy protested. “It’s just…packed.” Folding her arms across her chest, her gaze locked with Spike’s as he perched himself on the kitchen counter, his coat splayed around his black-clad legs. “And when did you find time to go shopping?” she asked pointedly. “And please tell me you didn’t pay for that out of the money you took from Giles.”

“Told Red to pick some stuff up for me,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug, and though he was doing his best to appear casual, there was no mistaking the glitter of amusement in his eyes as they swept over the Slayer. “And I used my own dosh, thank you very much. Got paid, remember?”

“You’re just jealous because he’s a better gift giver than you are,” Dawn said.

“He is not!”

“I dunno. Leather sporran or cheap pub t-shirt?” He pretended to seriously consider the options. “I think I’m gonna win on this one, pet.”

“It’s hardly a competition, Spike.”

His blue eyes danced as they met Dawn’s. “Methinks big sis is a sore loser.”

He was teasing her and she knew it, but it was impossible not to rise to the bait. “Don’t make me bring up the slapjack again,” she warned lightheartedly.

Dawn’s giggles erupted. “Spike plays slapjack?”

“It was a long flight,” he growled.

Buffy affected a pretend pout. “Aw, does Spikey not like being reminded of losing at such a baby game?”

“It’s not like I lost on games that actually mattered, Slayer. Games that require actual skill, as opposed to the ability to beat at a stupid piece of flimsy cardboard.”

“Like what?”

His eyebrow lifted. “I seem to remember a game of snooker---.”

Dawn’s head swiveled to stare at her sister, oblivious to the sudden flush in Buffy’s cheeks. “Spike taught you how to play snooker? How cool is that!”

“It was just…one lesson. And we never actually finished the game.” Her eyes were locked on his, the pounding of her heart suddenly really, really loud in her ears. Memories of felt scraping against her bottom, his weight pressing down onto her, flooded her head, and it was all she could do to remember to keep breathing.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I seem to remember both of us finishin’ something there.” His eyes sparked, the same recollections coursing through his mind. He was grinning now, savoring the dance as they kept up the pretense, oblivious to the other women in the room as he lost himself in the game.

“Will you teach me how to play?” Dawn asked the blond vampire.

“No!” Her voice was too loud, her veto too adamant, and Buffy found herself blushing under the curious stares from her family. “I mean,” she hastened to add, “I don’t think you’re going to find that many snooker tables hanging around Sunnydale.”

The awkward silence that followed was broken by Joyce’s stepping forward to Spike’s side. “You’re staying for supper then, right, Spike?” she asked.

Buffy jerked at the question, eyes shooting wide. “Oh, he’d---.”

“Love to,” Spike drawled. “Thanks for the invite.”

“What about the rest of the gang?”

She was still gaping at his audacity when her mother asked the question. They’d had an agreement. Slowly. This was supposed to happen slowly. At this rate, she and Spike were going to be having sex on the dining room table before dessert. With her mother and little sister doing dishes in the next room. Which, all of a sudden, didn’t sound like such a bad idea. The sex part, not the close familial proximity part. Her gaze wandered to the kitchen door, the edge of the table just barely in her sight. I wonder if we’d break it, she mused.

“I’ll give them a ring,” Buffy said distractedly.

He could smell her growing excitement, and felt his own body respond in kind. Wonder what she’s considerin’, Spike thought, following her eyes to the doorway, wishing he could see what had captured her attention. Get a reaction like that one and it’s gotta be good.

“Why don’t you go get some Spike some blankets,” Joyce was saying to her daughters. “That cot is still set up down in the basement. He can get some sleep down there without having to worry about the sunshine.” She waited until both girls were gone before turning her wide smile to Spike. “Nice touch with the gift. I’m going to bet that was your idea.”

Probably the last thing he’d ever expected to hear come from her mouth. “Excuse me?” the vamp queried, his own smile wiped from his face as his mind raced to try and catch up to wherever Joyce was leading.

“This thing between you and Buffy. You’re going to have to be far more subtle if she insists on keeping up with this charade. You’re not going to fool anybody.”

Spike shook his head. There were a lot of reasons he’d always had a soft spot for Joyce, not the least of which was her ability to see past all the bullshit. “Told her it was a bloody waste of time,” he said. “But you know Buffy. She gets an idea in her head and it takes a crowbar to get it out of there.” His eyes twinkled. “Can’t imagine where she gets it from.” With a nimble jump, he hopped from the countertop, tilting his head as he regarded her. “It’s not a casual thing, you know,” he continued slowly, measuring his words. “I love your daughter. She’s a remarkable woman.”

She smiled. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, Spike.” Turning back to the counter, she felt him brush past her on his way to the basement. “Oh, and Spike?” she called as his hand reached for the doorknob. She waited until he’d turned around to look at her before continuing. “Just so you know? I still know where I can get my hands on a good strong axe if I find I ever need one.”

The chuckle rumbled from his chest. “You Summers women are all the same. The bane of my existence, and the light in my eye.” And with that, the vampire gave her a small salute and disappeared down the stairwell.

*************

She hadn’t had this much fun on the Hellmouth in ages. It had been decided before dinner that a night of frolicking and festivities at the Bronze was in order, so when Spike had emerged from the basement wearing one of the shirts she’d bought for him in Scotland, the dark blue of the cotton singing against his pale skin, drawing the sapphire of his eyes to focus in a crystal clarity that made her feel like she was drowning, Buffy had felt her heart skip a beat, the world suddenly falling to the wayside around her. Eating had taken far too long and when the time came to leave, she could barely mumble a hurried good-bye to her--oddly enough---amused mother before pulling him out on to the front porch. Her mouth on his had been voracious, and he’d laughed as he’d kissed her back, hands digging into her hips after merely seconds to pull her down and away.

“Got all night, luv,” he’d teased, before scooping her hand into his and dragging her down the steps.

That had been three hours ago, and now she was hot, and sweaty, and desperately trying to get her make-up to look half as good as when she’d arrived. From the sink beside her, Willow handed her a third tissue and watched as Buffy wiped the color from her mouth to begin again.

“It’s not like he even cares,” the redhead commented. “You could go back out there looking like Minnie Pearl and Spike would still be completely incapable of even seeing anybody else.”

She couldn’t help her smile. The Bronze was packed that night, even for a Saturday, and though there were tons of pretty girls around, all Spike’s attention had been focused on Buffy, his hand almost always somewhere on her person no matter what they were doing---in the small of her back when they danced, pressing her hips into his; at the back of her neck, a single finger tracing the delicate line of her nape when they sat at the table with the rest of the gang; kneading her upper arms when she leaned back against him, waiting for her turn at the pool table. When he wasn’t there, she felt the lack as a pull from somewhere deep inside her stomach, and would inevitably turn from whatever she was doing to scan for his presence.

The casual acceptance by the rest of the gang certainly made it easier, Buffy decided. Xander and Spike were still bickering, but the tone had changed, no longer the derisive, “I hate you” mocking, but an irreverent, “I know how to push your buttons so I will” banter. There was give and take, with each man at one point having the upper hand, while the girls just laughed or rolled their eyes at their faux posturing.

Even Tara had joined in with the teasing, drawn out by the almost gentle manipulations of the vampire as he set about to include her in ways no one but Willow usually did. At one point, Buffy had caught him gazing at the blonde in a fond sadness, as if she was someone he’d known a long time previous and lost, but when he realized he’d been noticed, he’d merely shrugged the mood from his shoulders, a quirk on his lips, and proceeded to drag the Slayer back out on the dance floor. That was something for her to file away for future potential discussions, she’d decided. Like finding out where each and every one of those scars on his body came from. The minutiae that was Spike.

“Can I ask you a question?” Buffy said, looking into the mirror to gaze at her friend’s countenance. “Did Giles seem extra…wigged by the whole sitch between me and Spike when we got back from kelpie land?”

Willow’s smile was a small acknowledgment that she’d known this query would be coming. “I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about Giles,” she said. “You didn’t see him while you guys were gone. What Spike did impressed him.”

“Impressed him, it’s OK for him to date my Slayer? Or impressed him, I can’t wait to sink a stake into his chest?”

“More like, I can see that he’s not going to hurt her so I don’t have to spend my nights drenched in sweat from worry, kind of impressed.”

Hazel eyes lowered, suddenly intent on the water swirling down the sink as she washed her hands. “It’s just…I want everything to be all right now. And the way Riley left…”

“You’re not really blaming him for not sticking around, are you? Finding out about you and Spike really sliced into him. And then with the literal slicing when you guys were in the Otherworld?” She grimaced, shaking her head. “Not really conducive to a cozy, let’s be pals vibe, if you know what I mean.”

That part still saddened her. While Spike had rested from the repercussions of the closing spell, Buffy and Riley had sat down and tried to talk it out. She’d tried going through all the speeches she’d been practicing, but at each and every junction, he’d cut her off.

“It’s all right,” he’d kept saying. “I get it.” Then, when he’d left to catch his own plane back to California, the only words from his mouth had been, “Don’t worry about me. Just…be happy.” Like that annoying song, except that she knew Riley really meant it.

The bathroom door opened as a pair of giggling girls stumbled in, the music from the bandstand filtering into the now-cramped space. “Let’s go do the whole last dance thing,” Buffy said with a smile, sweeping away the disquiet in her head with a toss of her hair as she slid her lipstick back into her purse. “I’m suddenly missing the smell of leather.”

*************

She knew something was wrong even before she was halfway to the table, stopping at the edge of the dance floor and swinging a clouded gaze around the room in search of his familiar bleached head. Even when Willow reached back and grabbed her arm, dragging her the rest of the way to their table, Buffy had known what was going to come out of Xander’s mouth before it ever opened to speak.

“Now, before you start freaking out, everything is fine,” he said, his brown eyes level.

“What happened? Where’s Spike?”

“Someone came in that Spike knew, a big wrinkly guy. Said some Truva demons found out Spike was back in town and decided to trash his crypt as a welcome home present.” He grabbed Buffy’s arm as she picked up her coat. “Relax. They’re not there now. But Spike had to go check it out. Everything is fine,” he stressed. “Sit down, have a drink, listen to the tunes. Spike’s a big vamp. He can take care of himself.” He frowned when Buffy pivoted on her heel and began heading for the front door of the club. “Damn,” he muttered.

“Pay up,” Anya said gleefully, extending her open palm.

Willow frowned as Xander pulled a five from his wallet and handed it to his girlfriend. “What’s…going on?” she asked.

“I won the bet,” Anya replied. “I told Xander Buffy wouldn’t even sit down before she went off after Spike.”

“I even did the ‘everything is fine’ bit like he said to,” Xander complained. “Twice.”

Anya patted his arm affectionately. “You did good,” she said. “Spike’s just got to learn to put some more thought into these little surprises of his, that’s all. If he gets interrupted because Buffy didn’t buy his incredibly lame story, then that’s his own fault.”

“Surprise?” More confusion from Willow. “What kind of a surprise?”

Xander grinned, in spite of his failure to keep the Slayer from bolting. “A grand romantic gesture kind of surprise. To say, welcome back to the Hellmouth.”

*************

Stupid Truva demons, she thought as she marched through the cemetery. Always messing things up. First the chocolate sauce incident with Spike and then…She stopped, smiling. No, on second thought, just messed things up tonight. The Hershey escapade had been kind of fun. But she still hoped one was still lurking around when she got there just so she could kill it good and dead for cutting short her fun evening.

His crypt loomed in front of her but before she could decide whether to knock or just go barging in, her attention was diverted by a piece of paper, pinned to the outer wall with a long knife, fluttering in the slight breeze that drifted through the graveyard. She frowned, taking a step nearer, and tilted her head to better read the script that flowed across its edge.

Buffy.

Immediately, she stiffened, head whipping around to scan the area for activity, her Slayer senses on alert. Nothing. Just the quiet peace of the dead sleeping in their graves. But, if she concentrated…

Her eyes fluttered closed, and Buffy found herself leaning toward the wall of the crypt, her hand reaching out instinctively to tangle in the ivy that crept up the stone. He was there. Inside. Moving around. And he was alone.

Lids lifting, she gazed at the note stuck to the wall for only a moment before grasping the dagger’s hilt, pulling it easily from its bed. The paper remained speared by the blade, and she slid it off, opening it from its single to fold to read its contents.

Pet,

Confession time. No Truvas. Just needed to slip away for a bit to get things set up around here without the added distraction of you hanging around. I left things in quite a mess when we left, if you remember, and it’s hardly fit for entertaining anyone as beautiful as you in its current state. But I have to say, the idea of saying good-bye---even just for a few hours---leaves a sour taste in my mouth after what happened in the Otherworld, so forgive me if I didn’t this one time. Not that this is one. Not going through that again, not if I can help it.

So, in honor of our first night back, I’m suggesting a tribute to our Highland jaunt, our own Scottish fling if you will. And to set the mood, a poem, by my new favorite country’s national bard, Robert Burns…

O, my love is like a red, red rose,

That is newly sprung in June.

O, my love is like the melody.

That is sweetly played in tune.

As fair are you, my lovely lass,

So deep in love am I,

And I will love you still, my Dear,

Till all the seas go dry.

Till all the seas go dry, my Dear,

And the rocks melt with the sun!

O I will love you still, my Dear,

While the sands of life shall run.

Love, Spike

P.S. In case you haven’t already guessed, adding the poem to this note instead of giving it to you inside was a stalling tactic because I know you left the Bronze as soon as you realized I wasn’t there. Patience is unfortunately not one of your better virtues, so I’ve got to buy the time I need from somewhere. Now get that lovely bottom of yours in here so we can start this night properly.