Disclaimer: It belongs to Whedon and crew, I swear.
Pairing: Buffy/Spike!
Rated: NC-17
Timeline: Eight years after 'Return to the Hunt' ends.
Summary: On the eve of their son's fifth birthday, both Buffy and her son have a nightmare about the same event. Old friends and foes come back as the town is held captive by an evil creature. The streets are patroled by demons, both at night and day, and the town is enlcosed in a magical dome that allows people only to enter.
Distribution: Put a link on it back to me!

Chapter One: Captive

The woods just outside of Sunnydale are dark and a heavy fog lies over the ground as two dark figures move through the trees. As they draw nearer to a stone tower that stands sentry in the middle of the woods, another figure can be seen being dragged between them. The third figure puts up no fight and with his chin lying against his chest, he looks like he’s unconscious. The two carrying him have blonde hair that puts their faces’ in stark relief as the moon reflects off the fog through the breaks in the trees. However, the figure that they drag between them has black curly hair that keeps his face in deep shadows.

The area around the stone tower shows signs of disturbance. A large area has been marked off by a circle, the back of which is set up against the back of the tower – from the direction the undead vampires are coming. Other things lay on the wood floor: a long dagger, and a thick-ended, tapering branch lies in between two thick candles with black wicks.

When they reach the circle made of twigs, the two figures with ridged faces stop and, lifting the third figure up so that his feet don’t touch the ground, they throw him over the twig enclosure, and let him land with a thud. They back up, but stay close enough to catch the captive if he tries to run.

The man lands on the ground and his upper body bounces up, but, as his torso falls back to the ground, his arms shot out and stop his descent. He lets his head fall back, groaning as he feels blood continue to leak from the gash on his forehead at his hairline. The bruise he feels blossoming on his right cheek pales in comparison to the two broken ribs that continually grate against their broken ends with every breath. He tries to breath shallow breathes, but with his loss of blood, it makes him light headed. He considers his options: agonized breathing or passing out from light-headedness?

In the end, the deciding factor is with the previous experience the two undead vampires standing behind him have given him. A month ago, he had started running for his life when demon hordes started coming for him. A week ago, a very large group of demons had caught up to him but he managed to escape, barely. He still hadn’t gotten all of his strength back when the two undead vampires behind him had caught up to him. Every time he had tried to resist, they had beat him, stopped when he passed out, and he resumed upon his waking, feeding him just enough blood to keep him alive.

He had promised himself that he would never return to Sunnydale, but here he was, bleeding, and on the ground with barely enough oxygen in his body to stay conscious. He’s done this all his life, worked for others, taking orders until the course doesn’t serve him any longer: a thug for hire, hit man, detective, and even a thief if the need called for it.

“Get up,” comes the growling command from his back-left. When all he moves is his free hand, and then stills, the undead vampire moves closer, “Did you hear me, Frenchie?”

Too painful to speak, he just begins to get to his feet for his answer. He takes it step by step, needing to breath shallowly between each movement, and stilling to find some relief from the cutting pain radiating from his lower chest. One thing he can be thankful for is that the ends of his broken ribs have yet to puncture his lung. Feeling very undignified – even through his pain, and the company – he’s able to raise his rear in the air with his hands flat on the ground, because anything else so soon would cause him to fall over and set him back to square one.

Pausing with his rear in the air, he feels the blood rush to his head, and the illusionary feeling of more blood pouring from his gash. Quickly, he pushes off the ground and catches his balance by he placing his hands on his knees.

“Quit stalling, Frenchie.”

Swallowing on a dry throat, he tries speech and finds it even more painful than swallowing, “I’m not,” he says, and makes himself straighten.

He turns back to the tower, and looks up at the black obsidian rock. There are no volcanoes in this area and yet, he stands before a tower of the rock formed from the blood of the earth. The sight of the stone tower and the knowledge that it was here hold two different realities: he feels the hair on the back of his neck raise, along with the hair on his forearms. It really exists.

Letting his eyes shift to the ground, he finds tools he hoped to never see again. Magic had been an area of his life he had hoped to leave in the past. When in the wrong hands, it worked the person as a conductor, and did as it liked; his were the wrong hands. And, here he is, being forced once again to tap into that part of himself. The following events show him that running from the past might have been a mistake, as it usually is.

Having no other choice but death, and that might be the better choice for all concerned, but there is always hope…

Bending, he picks up the dagger; wondering why cut himself when he has a bleeding gash on his forehead. Wishing he could shake his head, he looks around, but doesn’t find what he needs. They expect him to perform magic, and yet they don’t supple the incantation?

Just when he’s about to make a scathing remark, he hears, “Here,” growls the same undead vampire at his back-left.

Turning a little too quickly, he sees the undead holding a piece of paper to just outside the circle. Reaching across, he takes the page from him and makes a conscious effort to turn slowly back to the stone tower. When he looks at the page, the words are blurred-gray blobs. He blinks a couple of times, trying to bring them into focus. He takes just as many times more for him to be able to see the words.

They are odd markings, almost reminding him of Arabic writing. However, the writing might look, the connation the symbols have meaning to him, where they might not to others, even to the Arabic peoples. Before he begins the incantation, he tries to light the candles but finds that he has nothing to light them with. After having one thrown at him, and lighting the tall, five-inch thick candles –which burn with a purple flame – he speaks.

The language is of the Dead, and sounds much like what the symbols would if they could pronounce themselves, drawling and thick with vowel sounds. The power of the chanting incantation flows down his black clad figure and crawls along the ground in a purple mist, and is stopped only by the enclosure of twigs. As he continues to speak, the mist grows denser, and the power starts to flow from his fist instead of the incantation.

The chanting incantation leaves room for only itself and pushes any other thoughts that might enter his mind away.

Bursts of lightning start to streak through the mist, moving the mist along, making it crawl up the obsidian tower and obscure it from sight. The area is lit with strikes of power as the black clad figure’s voice rises, gaining power, and speed. Like the two purple flames before him, his black eyes burn with power, and beneath the power flowing from his hands, and down his body, red, raised skin shows mauve.

As the incantation comes to an end, the dark figure drops the piece of paper as if in a trance, and picks up the dagger. Some part of his rational mind recognizes the dagger, and turning, he holds the weapon between his palms, and twists on it to the left. It clicks and the dagger turns into two daggers. Pulling his hands apart, he now holds two instead of one. With his glowing black eyes, he looks from first one undead vampire to the other.

Their vamped-golden eyes widen and they step back, just as he raises his hands with the tip of each dagger held between his fingers. Just as the undead vampires turn to flee, the dark figure throws both daggers and hits his targets dead on. The undead vampires’ mouths fall open in shock as a bolt of electrified purple mist shoots from their chests’, where the daggers are embedded to the hilt in their hearts.

With a slashing-black eyebrow raised, the figure turns back to the obsidian tower. As he moves toward the tower, he bends down and takes a branch from the forest floor. Holding it in his hand as if he was going to stab someone, and as he reaches the tower, he raises his hand. Through the lightning streaked purple mist, a slit opens up, showing him the area. Raising it a fraction higher, he brings his arm down in a powerful arc and, amazingly, the branch does not shatter but penetrates the obsidian stone.

A ring of power bursts from the stone tower and shoots through the forest, knocking the dark clad figure back twenty feet, through the undead vampires as they burst into dust.

As he hits the ground, the wind leaves his lungs, and he feels himself reenter his body as his power leaves him deflated. Forcing his body to comply, he raises his head to watch what he has done.

The lightning streaked mist has disappeared, leaving the tower to looking darker and smaller, as if dead. From where the branch had entered the tower, a large fisher has spread over the surface. The candles are extinguished when a figure steps out from the stone. The man is tall, and made even taller by the pointed hat that sits on his head. The flowing robes that adorn his body swirl around his legs as he walks, looking as if a non-existent wind is rushing over them. Thrown over his shoulder is a satchel that rests on his hip, and in his left hand, he carries a scepter with a glowing green orb attached to the top of the staff. The robed figure looks down at his chest, and where the branch that had been embedded in the rock, it is not embedded in his chest. The robed man reaches up and, gripping the branch, he pulls it from his chest. A stain darkens the man’s clothing as he throws it down and then looks around the forest with curious eyes.

The robed man turns his way, moving his glowing purple eyes over him to stake him to the ground. He sees then that the robed man has a scar that cuts through his left eye, causing that eye to glow a light, brighter shade of purple.

He feels his world grow black, and his body leaden, and just before he losses consciousness, he feels his head meet the ground with a thud.

Over the next few hours, he drifts in and out of consciousness: once to feel himself being dragged back through the words, then to hear loud voices echoing through his skull. When he finally comes to full consciousness, it is to have the same routine enforced on him that his catchers had started.

Buffy sits up in bed, covered in sweat and no remembrance of what had awakened her. She has the vague memory of a stone tower deep in the woods at the edge of town cracking open, but after that, things become blurry and forgotten. Then a cry rents the air from across the hall. Spike jerks up beside her, and they move to their door and across the hall to their son’s room. As they walk in, they find their little boy huddled in the center of his room with a tear stained face, and scared, wide eyes.

Chapter Two: The Questions Kids Ask
Forty-eight Hours Earlier

The Bronze feels fuller tonight than it usually does, or maybe it has something to do with the fact that he would just rather be alone with Buffy than have all these people around. Even being at home with Samuel would be better than this. But, for some reason unknown to him, they have to go out together at least once a week. Something that Buffy has insisted on doing since their son’s birth. Although, in some aspect, he can’t complain, not really, it’s nice to be able to just reconnect with her without the little one around to demand their attention.

Over the past recent years, living on the hell mouth has had its added bounces, especially with having a child with strength that can match a grown mans. People here are more likely to turn a blind eye to the odd things that Samuel is able to do. However, it’s also had its downfalls.

Spike glances cautiously over his shoulder, glad of only thing right then that Buffy hasn’t noticed them. That’s the last thing they need right now, especially with Dawn getting ready to leave for college, a dream Buffy has been pushing her to meet for the last couple of years since she finished high school, a dream that Black helped make possible, that and Dawn winning so many scholarships. Buffy has been having a hard time accepting the fact that her sister is going to be living so far away.

Relieved for the moment that neither Buffy or the pair behind him have noticed the other, Spike smiles down at Buffy when she turns from the bar to look up at him. He feels the breath catch slightly in his lungs. She’s beautiful, as always, but something has changed in her. She looks more like a grown woman and beautiful for it. She’s let her hair grow out, letting its slow curl come out, with wheat blonde highlights. She wears a skirt with a diagonal hem and a shirt that shows off her shoulders and a good portion of her back – and its red. Even now, after five years of not having to drink blood, red is still his favorite color.

When she had finally come down from their room, leaving him to wait for forty-five minutes with Dawn laughing at his impatience, he’s irritation had fled at the sight of her. He’d had the impulse to usher her back up the stairs and into their room. Dawn had moved onto hysterics by then. They had left shortly after with Dawn waving them off, barely able to contain her laughter.

“Dawn was in a good mood tonight, wasn’t she?” Buffy asks, still looking up at him. Although, as he studies her expression, its changed to one of wondering. His brow raises as he becomes suspicious.

“Yeah?” He says, letting his tone ask the question that’s not quiet fully formed in the back of his head.

A knowing smile comes to her face as she moves half a step toward him and while raising her hand to place it on his chest she looks down. “Well, you know that boy she’s been dating?” She looks up as he feels a scowl settle between his brows.

“What about him?” And what burns him the most is her smile widens in a smug knowing smile at his sudden change of mood. “Out with it woman, don’t just stand there looking like the cat that ate the canary!”

She frowns, “How did that saying come about, anyway? How do people know what a cat looks like after it eats a canary?” She wonders aloud, and as the frown disappears from her brow, Spike sees mirth chasing itself around in her hazel eyes.

Play growling, he leans over her, grabbing her by the shoulders.

Giggling, she turns and lets him play attach her shoulder. When he pulls away, letting his arm rest around her waist, keeping her close, she finally seems to think that she’s tortured him enough. “It looks as if things have become quite serious between them.” She pauses but when he moves to play attack her again, she continues with a large smile, “She told me a couple of days ago that he’s moving with her up to Oregon.”

Spike turns from her and faces the bar, and leans his elbows on the counter. When he feels her hands slide up his leather clad back and rest on his shoulders, he ignores her for a bit. At the feel of her head on his back, he turns his head to look at her, “Why did you let her start dating?” His voice comes out almost as growl.

The large smile returns to her face, not that she had stopped smiling since bringing up the topic. He swears that she does this on purpose. “When she turned eighteen, I didn’t have much of a say one way or the other.”

He turns away.

“Oh! Come on, Spike, he’s a really nice guy. You would know that if you would let yourself get to know him.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He knows he sounds like a pouting child but… He turns back to her when she starts laughing. “What are you laughing at?”

She points at him, “You. You’re so funny. You sound like an over protective dad.”

Turning his head away, he frowns again. “So?”

“You know I love you, right?” Her voice is soft, and meant only for him.

He feels a rush of warm blood when she presses against him, front to front. Turning, he looks down at her with a half smile, suddenly feeling like the luckiest bastard alive. She raises her hand, and lays it against his cheek. He leans into her touch and then down when she leans into him. Their lips meet gently as he once again rests his arm around her waist. “I know,” he whispers, gently kisses her once again. He’s about to return the words when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

He watches as Buffy pulls back and looks over his shoulder. Her whole demeanor changes, her face-hardens, and her lips purse, however fractional. The look she gets when she sees something that displeases her. Without turning around, he knows one of two people who it could be. He turns halfway to find the whelp standing there; looking displeased to see that it’s him.

The air around them becomes heavy with tension and Spike feels his displeasure turns to sadness for Buffy. Her, Willow, and the whelp had been friends since high school, and in one terrible argument some time before Samuel’s conception, Willow and Xander had alienated Buffy. At times, he feels he truly is responsible for that happening. Whenever he tells Buffy this, she looks into space, and says sadly, “It is because I’m with you, but that gives them no right to try and tell me what’s best for me.” She usually comes to him then and looks him in the eyes as she says, “And you’re what’s best for me.”

Spike is dragged out of his thoughts with the sound of Xander’s voice, “They should put a warning on the door when he’s here.” The word ‘he’ drips with disdain.

The music that has been playing the whole time breaks into Spike’s consciousness and gives him an idea. Turning back to Buffy, he reaches down just as he feels her draw air into her lungs to retort to Xander’s uncalled for snark, and takes her hand in his. Shouldering past a surprised Xander, he leads her out on to the dance floor; he pulls her around so that her back is to the table that Willow sits at.

Ignoring Willow’s stare, he looks down to Buffy, taking her by the shoulders, and ignores the sheen glazing her eyes. He knows she doesn’t want to cry about this, she told him the last time that she’s wasted too many tears on this when they should be living their lives. “Forget about them.” He shakes his head slightly when she tries to talk, silencing her. “This is our alone time, love. Listen to the music, and concentrate on me. They’re not here, you hear me?”

She gazes at him for some time while the sheen coating her eyes disappears, and as a slow song comes on, she silently nods her head. He nods his head as well, and then takes her into his arms as she steps closer.

“I hate this,” she whispers into his chest.

Knowing what she’s talking about, he plays dumb, “Hate what, love? The music they’re playing?”

She’s silent for a full minute before she finally says, “Right. Supposed be dancing.” He takes a deep breath when her arms come around his lower ribs.

Trying to help keep her mind off unpleasant matters, Spike thinks of something to say and comes upon a topic that always makes her smile. “What did Samuel say when you told him we were going out tonight?”

He feels Buffy laugh more than hears it, even with his super enhanced hearing. “He asked, ‘So, when’s Aunt Dawn coming?”

Spike laughs himself. Shaking his head, he says, “If it weren’t for the Bit being human, I would think she had enthralled that boy.” He feels her laugh again, and the slight squeeze of her arms as she gives him a hug.

As they dance through the next few songs, and then come back to each other on another slow one, he looks over Buffy’s head, and sees that Willow is still watching them. Or more to the point, the she’s still watching him. He remembers other occasions where she’s done the same thing. And in such a small community, it’s a lot that they run into the other two.

The next song, instead of being fast like before, it’s slower, sultry. They slow to a shuffle of their feet. Spike closes his eyes and lets his head rest on Buffy’s. He feels his body heat, another sensation that’s going to take forever to get used to, as he feels Buffy’s hands slide up his back. His eyes open, and he pulls his head up as she pulls hers back to look up at him. The house lights have deemed so that with her red blouse, her skin looks creamy tan, glowing even.

As one of her arms raise and come around his neck, he bends down and wraps his arms around her. They kiss, and Spike losses track of time. When the loud banging of music breaks into his consciousness, and the feel of her fingers slowly making their way into the back of his pants under his coat, Spike pulls away. His heavy breathing matches Buffy’s, and as he meets her eyes, he knows they both think that its time to go home.

Forty-five minutes later finds Buffy and Spike behind the closed door of their room. When they had arrived home, Dawn was asleep on the couch with Samuel sitting on the floor in front of it, happily watching TV. Spike had found it amusing, because he and Buffy had tucked him in an hour before they left. While Spike took him back to bed, on Buffy’s orders, she had gotten Dawn up and sent her on her way.

After eight years of being with someone, passions tend to fade to some degree, motions have the tendency to become memorized, even mechanical, even for the most motivated, and inspired lovers. Something is lost. In the past century, Spike has seen many relationships fail because of the death of passion. In the last few years, he had been worried that something like that might happen to them, especially with having a child. But as he’s apt to analyze things, and way too often he’s been informed numerous times by Buffy, that they’re passion has grown with the knowledge gained through time, and sharing.

He’s pulled, and none too gently, from his reverie with the jab of a finger in his ribs. He jerks to the side with the pain and steps away from Buffy with a glare. “What was that for?”

She frowns at him, “You weren’t paying attention to me.”

A smirk breaks over Spike’s face as he slightly turns his head with a raised eyebrow, “Ah!” He says with sudden knowing. “That’s where Sam got his demanding attitude from.”

“We’re not demanding,” she says with a pout, walking to him when he won’t come back to her.

“Oh,” he says with a laugh.

“We’re not,” she says, and then promptly pinches his exposed nipple.

He bats her hand away. Getting an idea, he quickly bends down and scoops Buffy up into his arms, around her waist, effectively trapping her arms to her sides. He smiles when she starts to wiggle in his grip. “I can’t move.”

“Its what I was after,” he says as he walks to their bed. A large bed that takes up much of the wall next to the bathroom. They had realized they had to get a bigger one when they kept falling off the bed, at very inopportune times. Their bed mirrors the look of the room, medium tones of browns, tans, burnt orange and reds.

He falls forward, and is pleased to find Buffy’s breasts right in front of his face. “There must have been a reason you wanted my attention,” he asks, never taking his eyes from her lace-clad breasts.

“What?” She asks. He rolls his eyes.

Looking up, he says, “You jabbed in the ribs for some reason, love. You aren’t losing your memory so soon, are we?” He grunts when she slaps him across the shoulder. He smiles down at her. “Well?”

She frowns as she thinks back. He loves that expression – the little crinkle at the bridge of her nose. He gives an exaggerated air of paying attention when she suddenly says, “Oh!” The only sign that she notices is the very slight frown, but she ignores it other wise. “I wanted to ask who should be on top this time.”

“I thought I was,” he says as he bends and kisses the swell of her breast.

“Oh,” she says, sounding disappointed.

That brings his attention fully back to her. “What are you going on about, love?” He asks gently, having brought his head level with hers.

She shrugs a shoulder, and doesn’t quiet manage to keep her eyes with his. “I started reading this book, and, well, there was something I wanted to try.”

“What’s that?” He asks, wondering when she would have time to learn something new. And for that matter, “Where did you get the book?”

Looking sheepish, she says, “Long time ago. I don’t really remember.”

Feeling his eyebrow raise, he asks, “Where’s the book?”

As she scrambles out from underneath him, he sits down, and finds Buffy’s rear in his face. He leans to one side to see her bending to look under bed, and digging for something. When she finally finds what she’s looking for, she stands up saying, “Ah-ha!” And then promptly sits on his lap. She looks back at him surprised but then shrugs its off and hands him the book.

With just a lamp on across the room, Spike easily reads the cheesy title: Love, Sex, and Your Relationship with Your Lover. Thinking that it couldn’t hurt to have a look, he wraps his arm around her waist as she begins to wiggle on his lap. He briefly glances at her, and, seeing that she’s just taking her high-heeled boots off, he opens the book one handed. The first section is nothing but writing, but when he turns to the second section, he feels his eyes widen at the pictures that meet his eyes.

“You’ve been holding out on me?” Spike asks, studying each picture carefully, getting some ideas of his own.

Buffy stills on his lap and says into the room, “I bought it along time ago. I think it was a couple of years after we got together.” She leans back on his chest. “I wasn’t sure you would be willing to try, out of a book.”

“Are you joking?” He asks, bringing the book around in front of her. “Look,” he says pointing at a particularly arousing position. “I like this one.”

Buffy gets so excited that he can feel it vibrating through her body. She takes the book and turns the pages until she comes to another. “How about this one?” She asks as she passes the book back to him.

Feeling like the air has been sucked from his body, he feels the blood drain from his brain and start to pool someplace else as he studies the picture. Buffy wiggles on his lap, making him groan and straighten his posture at the same time. “I think he likes.”

Looking thoroughly at the picture once more, Spike tosses the book to the floor, and turns her side to him and takes her mouth, causing her to squawk. She soon settles into the caress of his mouth to hers and wraps her arms around him. “You can be on top.”

Standing, they quickly divest each other.

When Buffy impatiently gestures toward the bed, Spike turns to hide his smirk – told her she was demanding – and climbs onto the bed to the center, where he lies down on his back. He looks at Buffy as she comes up to him. She turns her back to him while leaning on her elbow; she leans back and lays the length of her body out on his. Feeling her wobble, he wraps his arms around her, and kisses her ear. “Don’t you need more foreplay, love, than looking at pictures?”

“No,” she says and he feels her hands slide down his hips and then his thighs where her touch disappears. “I’m so excited about this that I’m already,” and as she talks, she takes his hand and makes his fingers cup her, “wet.”

At the feel of her damp curls, he feels himself harden further. A smile spreads over Spike’s face when, after a minute of her fumbling between their legs and her arching her back, trying to make him enter her, he hears her growl.

Taking pity on her, he sits up with her coming to rest on his lap. She makes indignant sounds, and starts to ask what, when he says, “No worries, love, just getting things moving along. Anymore of your fingers gripping me, and this is going to be over sooner than either of us is ready for.” He kisses her on the cheek and then lifts her up with one arm while he uses his free hand to align himself with her entrance.

He slowly lowers her over him, and lets himself feel the gentle give of her inner muscles and how wet she really is. When she’s fully settled, he hears a sigh escape her lips. Smiling, Spike lies back, and presses up into her. And with the adjustment, Buffy’s hands come to clutch at his wrists. He just lies there, partly out of curiosity of what her reaction will be, and partly out of the fact that he could just stay like this with her forever. It’s the only place that he’s ever truly felt alive, even now.

“Spike?” At his hummed answer, she says, “Why are you just lying there? Move.”

Gritting his teeth, he keeps his I-told-you-so comments to himself, and slowly begins to rotate him hips, driving and then pulling himself from her. As he moves within her, her hips start to follow his in the same rhythm but reversed so that as he goes down, she rises up. The whole time, her breathing becomes heavier, and Spike finds himself matching her breath for breath. As their body temperatures rise, sweat helps the slide of skin against skin.

When Buffy’s hands come down on the bed, Spike releases his hold on her and lets his hands have free range over her body. He begins with her breasts, enjoying the soft weight of them in his hands, and the direct contrast of her pebble hard nipples. His hands glide down her flat stomach to rest on her pelvis bone, and push her more fully into his thrust. Feeling his climax rush at him with the feeling of her flexing pelvis, he reaches up and turns her head so that he can reach her mouth.

And at the same time, his other hand buries his fingers in her folds to find her clit. Even with their mouths fastened together, Buffy’s cry of pleasure echoes through their room, drowning out his.

The next morning, Buffy walks into their room to find Spike standing in front of the open window, looking out at the early morning sun. And, he’s naked. Buffy forces herself to take a deep breath, and reminds herself that she has a hungry little boy downstairs awake, and watching morning cartoons. However. Letting her eyes drop down his back, she feels her eyes widen at the sight. His tight rear is familiar but it always seems to make her heart race.

“I’ll never get used to this.” Spike says, his backside still facing her.

Startled, Buffy looks up and asks as she feels heat stain her cheeks, “Get used to what?”

“Being able to be in the sun,” Spike looks over his shoulder at Buffy with a smirk and adds, “Course, its nice to know that you still like what you see.”

“I wasn’t…” Buffy gasps, and then, realizing that if it still embarrasses her after all these years that he catches her looking at him, she might as well get used to it. She wasn’t going to stop looking. “So? You look at me.”

Turning away from her, he bends and picks up a pair of jeans and slides them up his legs and over his hips. “Now, don’t go mistaking me. I wasn’t complaining. Quite the opposite, in fact.” With his green button up silk shirt in hand, he turns to her, and says, “I love it.”

She walks up to him, and kisses him good morning.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up,” he says, making it sound like an accusation.

Smiling up at him, she leans against him when he puts his arm around her neck. “I heard little feet and didn’t think it was a good idea for him to catch us. If you get my meaning?”

Spike releases her but she remains leaning against his chest as he pulls his shirt on. “Oh, I get your meaning. The little scamp startled the crap out me the other day in the lieu. He thought it was funnier than hell.”

Smiling once again, she kisses him again, and as she starts for the door, she says, “Your son is hungry. You might want to think about coming down to feed him.”

Forty-five minutes later finds the Summers sitting down for breakfast. At the head of table Spike sits, with Buffy to his right and Samuel on his left. Buffy looks from her love to her little boy, and can’t believe what a combination of the two of them he is. He has curly sand colored hair and clear gray-blue eyes. She smiles as she watches him pick up his fork with the top of his hand facing the table, and then awkwardly puts the bite in his mouth.

Spike’s movements draw her attention to him as he reaches for Samuel. She watches as he takes his fork from the boy and places his hand correctly on the utensil. “I think it’ll work better for ya this way, Sam.”

Samuel looks from his corrected hand to his dad’s eyes and then to his plate. Taking a fork full, Samuel places the bite in his mouth, chews and then swallows. Looking back at Spike, his smile is board when he says, “Thanks,” making the k and s sound like an x.

“Welcome,” Spike says as he returns to his food with the shadow of a smirk on his lips.

Picking up her juice glass, she’s about to take a drink when Samuel asks, “How come mommy makes weird noises at night?” Glad that she hadn’t taken a drink, she puts her glass down so hard that the juice sloshes out and onto the table. After hastily wiping it up as best she can, she looks up to find both Spike and Samuel staring at her. Buffy glares at Spike when he starts to smile.

He ignores her as he turns back to Samuel. “What noises, Sam?”

Samuel stares at her for a little longer before finally meeting his father’s eyes. He frowns a little as he thinks of his answer, and then with a certainty that only a five year old can say something with, he replies, “The same noises she makes when you give her massage.” He nods his head, as if they wouldn’t believe him.

Spike looks again at Buffy, and she finds he has a very amused look. She feels her lip curl at him. A smirk comes to his face and before Buffy can say anything, he’s turned back to their son. “Because I give mommy massages to help her sleep.”

“Oh! Ok!” Then he goes back to eating his breakfast as if he hadn’t almost given Buffy a heart attack. Making a mental note to try and to be quieter, she looks up to find Spike watching her with amusement.

In the silence that settles over the dinning room, Spike can be heard calling out, “OW! Why’d you kick me?”

Chapter Three: Five Years

That afternoon finds Buffy walking down the school hall to the afternoon pre-school classroom. She smiles as she thinks back to when he first started and how excited he had been. On his very first day, when he had come home he talked for hours on end about the day’s events and how he loved interacting with the other kids. However, he had one complaint, the teacher got onto him for everything he did.

“Is it wrong to ask to go to the bathroom?” Samuel had come home one day, wondering that to Spike, who had been, to say the least, upset about it. Since then, the teacher has been causing Samuel nothing but heartache, giving him bad grades, and telling him that he isn’t bringing the right supplies.

Her only hope is that today all of days, was a good day for him, because to have her nag at him on his birthday…

With her hand on the doorknob, Buffy takes a deep breath, steeling herself for this. Spike and her usually wait out in the car for Samuel, but yesterday, he was sent home with a letter from her, Mrs. Dent. It said that Samuel has been being destructive in class.

Straightening her posture, Buffy pulls the door open and walks into the room. The class is in chaos, as far as she can tell from the many children running around. And from across the room, a loud voice calls over it all, drilling orders while the children go on about their business. Buffy scans the classroom, looking for Samuel and finds him with one of his little friends on the carpet at the front of the class. They have cards laying between and playing what looks like slap jack.

Looking at the teacher, Buffy weaves her way through the maze of children to reach Mrs. Dent. She doesn’t see her approach because she’s bent over her desk, ignoring the two little students at her side, trying to get her attention. They each hold a crumpled piece of paper, making Buffy assume that its homework. Frowning, she wonders silently, homework for preschoolers?

However, as Mrs. Dent turns around, Buffy wipes her expression clean and smiles at the older woman. They are eyelevel, but she has the feeling that the older woman used to be taller because she has a slight roundness to her shoulders. She has no light in her eyes and her dry skin tells Buffy that she smokes. Her eyebrow raises as the older woman looks Buffy up and down. Not liking the way she’s being looked at, Buffy starts the meeting, “I’m Samuel’s mother. You wanted to talk to me about something?”

The hardened expression on Mrs. Dent’s face only softens with recognition. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Summers…”

“Actually, its Miss Summers.”

Mrs. Dent looks blankly at her for a second, “What?”

“I’m not married.” Buffy explains, feeling that she shouldn’t have to. “But you can call me Buffy.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Dent says, and with that one word, Buffy gets a good idea of what she was thinking: Young single mother…. “I wanted to talk to you about Samuel’s behavior in class. He has been destructive to school property.”

“To what?” Buffy asks.

The teacher frowns. “I don’t understand your question. He has been destroying school property, and I would think…”

“I want to know what he has been destroying so that I can replace the items. What has he destroyed?” Buffy asks again, feeling her ire raise. She just knows the woman is being deliberately obtuse.

“Well,” she says, sounding offended and like it should be obvious what Samuel has done. “Just this morning he crushed a container of glue.”

“He probably dropped it. I’m sure the school systems realized when they started teaching young ones that they would loss something on the school supplies they provide.” Buffy says, trying to be as civil as possible. “I want to know what you consider to be destructive, Mrs. Dent?”

She ignores her answer, and instead, beckons Buffy a step closer. When she has complied, Mrs. Dent lowers her loud voice just a notch. Buffy’s sure that even when she whispers, the woman can still be heard halfway across the room. “I know being a single mother can’t be easy. And I think as hard as it is for the mother, it’s twice as hard on the children.” Mrs. Dent says. Buffy feels her eyes widen. Her shock makes it impossible for her to reply. Mrs. Dent must have taken this as a sign that she needs to explain, “Not having a male figure can be very hard on children.”

Before Buffy can tell Mrs. Dent that she doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about, the din of the classroom is quieted when a young voice rings out with, “Daddy!”

Both Mrs. Dent and Buffy turn to see Spike striding past the children as Samuel runs toward him. When Samuel would have rammed into his leg, Spike easily scoops him up and into his arms. He holds Samuel high on his chest with an arm under his rear. Buffy smiles as she sees Samuel talking very fast and animated to Spike, who smiles, and nods when appropriate. She can only imagine what Samuel would have so much to talk about, having seen Spike just this morning, and he was the one who dropped him off.

“Hey, love,” says Spike when he reaches her side. He kisses her, and then, when he’s about to stand up, Samuel reaches out and grabs Buffy around the neck, “Mommy!” Laughing and shaking his head, Spike releases Samuel into her arms.

“I didn’t know you were here, Mommy. Why didn’t you get me?” Samuel asks, looking like he was hurt.

Smiling slightly, Buffy says, “I was talking to your teacher. She says that you have been destructive. Is that true?”

His eyes widen. “They were all accidents.” He glances at his teacher. “She told me not to worry about it.”

“I did no such thing!” Mrs. Dent loud voice causes the words to echo throughout the room.

“Are you telling me that my son is lying?” asks Spike as he causally lays his arm around Buffy’s back.

Seemingly ignoring the question, Mrs. Dent looks between Buffy and Spike, looking like she smelled something rotten. Finally, her gaze, which, for anyone’s guess as to way, looks intrigued, “I though you said you weren’t married?”

Buffy feels her eyes widen in shock, but before she can say anything Spike has stepped forward some, putting himself slightly in front of her and Samuel. “That has nothing to do with this. As for Samuel destroying things, send us a bill if it’s that much of a problem.”

Buffy is very thankful when Spike steers her out of the class, not allowing Mrs. Dent a last word. As they head out of the school building, she could swear she hears Spike mutter, “Stupid bent,” under his breath.

On the car ride home, the three of them sit up front, with Samuel in the middle leaning against Buffy’s side. “What happened, Samuel?”

Without looking at either Spike or herself, Samuel says, “I try but sometime I don’t realize and they were all accidents.” He finally looks up at her with tears in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, baby. But you need to be more careful.” Buffy moves her arm off the back of the seat, and squeezes Samuel to her side. “How did you break the glue container?”

A smirk that reminds her so much of Spike graces his lips before he can help it, and then he says, “I was trying to help Mikey get it open.”

Both Buffy and Spike laugh.

As evening falls, giggles from upstairs filter down into the kitchen as Buffy and Spike get the rest of Samuel’s birthday things ready. Buffy sits at the island wrapping his gifts while Spike stands next to the sink, icing the birthday cake. Buffy pulls a Hulk t-shirt packet to her to wrap but instead, just sits there with it in her hands looking at it, feeling amazement wash through her.

She doesn’t know Spike is next to her until his voice startles her, “What we thinking bout, love?”

Gasping, she puts the packet of t-shirts on the island, and glances at him before looking at them once again. “Nothing really. It was just hitting me that I have a five year old son. And with a person, that more than ten years ago, just the thought of kissing you made me want to vomit.”

“Oh, I love it when you talk about the old days,” Spike says, his words dripping with sarcasm.

She feels vindicated however, when he grunts after she slaps him on the stomach. “You know what I’m talking about. Don’t be a pig.”

Spike wraps his arm around her, and draws her into his arms and off her feet. “But you like pigs.” He says, nuzzling her under the chin.

“Not arrogant ones,” she says with not much conviction, letting her hands rest on his shoulders.

“I’m not arrogant, just confident.” A snort from Buffy goads Spike into saying, “There’s a difference.”

When their embrace turns into a hug, Spike murmurs against her skin, “I know what you mean.”

Buffy smiles as she lays her head down on his shoulder, forcing him to move his head over some. “My mom was right.”

“Bout what, love?” Spike asks, letting her feet touch the floor. She doesn’t move much but to rest her head on his chest.

“They grow up fast.” She’s quiet for some time before she says, “I wish she could see Samuel.”

She feels Spike give a sad laugh before he says, “So do I, love, so do I.”

As he moves away to the cake, he kisses her on the top of the head, and says, “Lets finish this before Samuel gets away from Dawn.”

Feeling a little melancholy, Buffy finishes wrapping Samuel’s gifts. And, by the time dinner is finished, Buffy is feeling better being around Samuel. His excitement is contagious. When Buffy is cleaning up the dishes, with Dawn bringing them in for her to rinse and put in the dishwasher, she hears Samuel say, “Can we have cake now?”

She laughs along with Spike, who says, “No. Not ‘til after presents are opened. You know that.” His voice fades out with the sound of Samuel’s giggles.

They’re sitting down to open presents when the bell rings.

Dawn, now in her early twenties, jumps up and says, “I’ll get it!” As she walks by Spike, she hears a low growl come from him. Smiling, she practically skips to the front door. She opens it to find her boyfriend on the other side. “Hi!” She says, reaching out and pulling him in. “How come you’re late?”

Kevin steps reluctantly into the foyer, looking around as if something, or more specifically, someone is going to jump out at him. Smiling once again, Dawn pulls him the rest of the way in and shuts the door. “Don’t worry, he’s in the living room with Samuel.”

At the mention of he, Kevin’s eyes dart in the direction of the living room. “What do you think he’ll do this time?” Kevin Fitzgerald is tall, skinny, and wears wire framed glasses. Dawn some times thinks that Spike would be more comfortable with the idea of her having a boyfriend if Kevin was someone more like him, but then again….

Laughing, she begins to lead the way into the living room, saying, “He only does it because he loves me.”

“Well, I love you too,” and Kevin exclaims this just as they enter the living room, causing everyone to look up, startled. Dawn looks at the other three, and has a hard time not smiling when she meets Buffy’s eyes after Spike growls again.

Trying to smooth things over, and taking the focus off Kevin, Dawn takes the package from his hands and offers it to Samuel. “Here, this is from Kevin.”

Samuel jumps up and snatches the package from her. He turns and is about ready to sit down to rip it open, when he’s stopped by Buffy, “Samuel, what are you supposed to say?”

Turning around once more, he looks up at Kevin with a huge smile and says, “Thanks you,” once more making the k and the s sound like an x.

As she moves Kevin the rest of the way into the living room with her, she feels Spike’s gaze never leave them. Kevin, meanwhile, tries to cover himself up with as much of her as he can. It doesn’t work very well. “Why is he staring at me?”

“To intimidate you, and it’s working perfectly, Spike.” She turns and looks at him, addressing the last of her sentence to him.

“Good,” Spike says as he turns his attention to Samuel.

The room is once again filled with the sounds of paper being ripped, and the squeals of a happy child. Seconds later, Spike can be heard saying, “OW! What’d you do that for?” Causing Dawn to laugh hysterically, to the point where she almost falls off her seat.

Chapter Four: Nightmares

Buffy stumbles through the woods, not knowing where she’s going, only that she needs to get there before… something terrible happens but she doesn’t know what that would be either, but she’ll know when it happens. The woods seem to thicken, deliberately trying to keep her out but for what reason, a warning or to be a hindrance, she doesn’t know. The wood floor is covered with a thick layer of fog, making her move slower with caution.

The woods are dark with the only light coming from the breaks in the tree branches. She tries to focus on each spot of light, telling herself she can make it to the next one, that, that’s just as far as she has to go and then she can stop. She pauses in each spot of light, looking up at the clear sky, wondering then, why is there fog on the forest floor and none in the sky. Just as she takes a step to move to the next spot of light, she frowns when she sees a line of light coming through the forest. It’s broken as it moves past trees, but the ends always come back together.

The purple ring of smoke, lighted by lightning, speeds through the trees toward Buffy. Too stunned to do anything, Buffy gasps as she’s knocked off her feet and finds herself looking up at the bottom of the tree limbs. Lifting her head, Buffy looks down her body in the direction the ring of light came from.

Frowning, Buffy jumps to her feet and begins to run through the woods, dodging trees, and jumping over fallen logs. She trips once or twice over some hidden brush under the fog, the rush of needing to move faster nipping at her heels. She stops suddenly when she comes to a clearing, and almost trips with her sudden change of motion. What she sees is a black rock tower standing at the far end of the clearing…

Buffy sits up in bed covered in sweat with no memory of what woke her or of the events that came after except for the sense that whatever had lived in that stone tower was no longer bound to it by the magic that kept it there. Frowning, she thinks she remembers seeing another figure lying on the ground, but she’s not sure. It could be the same figure she thinks came out of the tower…. She shakes her head.

Then, as she’s lying back down, a cry rents the air, causing both her and Spike to jerk up right in bed. They scramble for their robes as they move to the door. Spike being the first one in his robe and to the door, he opens it and follows her out. They enter Samuel’s room seconds later to find their little boy sitting on his bed with his blankets pulled up to his chin, his little body shaking, and his watering eyes huge in his small face.

Reaching him first, Buffy scoops Samuel up into her arms, and sits down in his place with him in her lap. “Samuel?” Buffy tries, but he’s still crying too much to answer. Buffy looks up at Spike as he comes to sit just behind her. She feels herself relax some when Spike’s hand settles on her shoulder. Turning back to Samuel, she tries once more, “Samuel sweetie, what happened?”

What used to be Buffy’s room is now Samuel’s. The light colors have been done over in a faded blue jean style with bats as a boarder around the upper portion of walls. His bed, once that of a racecar, now has a black metal frame. Along one wall, there is a large bookshelf with toys, stuffed animals, and many reading books of all verities: some are on dinosaurs, dogs, cats, and still others are on bats. Other’s are of stories of far off places, and in the middle of it all is a large beanbag that looks well used and loved.

Samuel looks up at her – he had curled into her as soon as she had picked him up. His face is tear stained, and his eyes are shadowed with fear. She slowly rubs her hand up and down his back. Samuel moves, reaching for Spike, who puts his hand on Samuel’s shoulder. “Bad dream,” he says, hiccupping with the after effects of crying so hard.

When Samuel buries his face in Buffy’s shoulder crying again, Spike pulls the both of them into his arms to lean them against his chest. He rocks them as Buffy coos soothing words to Samuel. “It’s ok, baby. Nothing will hurt you.” Kissing the top of his head, she asks, “Can you tell us what it was about?”

Hiccupping, Samuel pulls back just enough to meet her eyes. “It… it was… in the wo… woods.” He looks to Spike questioningly, “You remember that sto… stone, da… daddy?” At Spike’s nod, Samuel continues on in a shaky voice. “A… a man came out of it. It… it cracked op… opened.” Samuel starts to cry a little but clams just as much when Buffy pulls his head to rest on her shoulder.

Samuel’s words make Buffy inhale, but as much as she tries to keep her composure in front of Samuel, she feels Spike press his lips to her ear just as he whispers, “What’s the matter, love?”

Not wanting to upset Samuel anymore, she shakes her head, and mouths, “Later,” to him before looking back to Samuel

She feels a little better when Spike moves his mouth from her ear, and continues rocking them. It takes them an hour longer to calm Samuel. Every time they think he’s fallen asleep, he jerks awake when they begin to move, even when it was to adjust themselves. Finally, during the last half hour, they stay as still as they can, even when they become uncomfortable.

Finally being able to return to their room, they climb back into their bed. Spike pulls her close, and whispering, “Ok, what gives, love? Why did you tense after Sam explained his nightmare?”

Sighing, she turns on her side so she can wrap her arms around him. “I had the same dream as Samuel. He woke me up before I could get to the rest of the dream. And what have you two been doing on your outings?” She pulls away when she asks this, frowning up at him.

Spike pulls her back to him as he mutters, “You’re causing drafts.” When he has her settled once again in his arms, he answers, “We usually walk in the woods. A couple of week ago, we came to this stone tower in a clearing a few miles.”

“So, its real?” Buffy asks.

“Yes,” Spike says sighing into her hair. “Although, the more I think back, more I remember Samuel having an odd reaction to it. He said it was evil.”

Buffy nods, wondering what all of this could mean. “I think one of us should check that tower tomorrow.”

“I couldn’t agree more, but…” Spike says as he pulls himself down so that he’s eyelevel with her.

“But,” she prompts when he continues to look her in the eyes.

“But, I have a little energy to burn off,” he says as he moves her leg up and over his hip, so that he can press his erection against her cleft.

“Oh!” Buffy says before Spike is kissing her, effectively pushing her and Samuel’s nightmare right out of her mind.

There is a room in the mansion on the outskirts of Sunnydale where the windows have been painted over with black paint that allows very little light into the room. In design, the area most resembles a dungeon, although, there are no manacles attached to the walls or torture devises spread throughout. The dungeness room provides no beds, or blankets.

The only occupants the dungeon room has seen over the past decade and half is that of mice, vermin, and arachnids. Spider webs dot the interior of the room, giving the room a dreamy effect when light shines into the area. Vermin feces and the dead bodies of insects litter the outer limits of the floor, adding a dead smell to the room to make any prisoner sick.

To any occupant that might be present, the sudden flare of light when the dungeon door is swung open would be enough to blind them. Dark shadows move beyond the light, giving the light a feeling of aliveness, when a form is suddenly tossed into the room. It lands on its shoulder, and in the light coming from the door, blood smears on the mason as it slides across the floor. When his body slumps to the floor, he just lies there, too exhausted to do anything else.

In the doorway, a dark figure steps into view, cutting off a good deal of light. The clicking of nails on the mason can be heard as an undertone to the swallow breathing of the figure on the floor. The figure in the doorway speaks; filling the area with a large voice, devoid of anything that might make him sound human, but his English is clear, “You set me free.” The words hold no gratitude as one might think, but is made a statement of fact. “Old magic… There maybe more use for you.”

The shadow in the doorway disappears and then the room is suddenly plunged into blackness. The figure on the floor stirs, but soon settles with a sudden groan of pain. One of his hands come up and rests lightly on the lower, left side of his ribcage. He’s lucky; his ribs still haven’t been punctured. Lifting his hand higher, he finds it to be too much of a strain on his bruised body and allows his hand to fall to the floor. With no hope of rescue and not wanting any thought of the past, he lets himself fall into a dreamless slumber.

Chapter Five: Odd Occurrences

With the cemeteries having hardly any to no activity, Buffy has dragged Spike into the forest – soon afterwards, Spike learns that Buffy hadn’t dragged him in there to debauch him, much to his disappointment and Buffy’s amusement. “Later,” she says, still trying to quit laughing. “We’ll do that when we get home. Right now, I want you to show me where that stone tower is.”

As he rolls his eyes, Buffy latches onto his arm and drags him deeper into the woods. “Do we have to do this tonight? I told Sam I’d read him a story.”

Buffy laughs again, causing him to purse his lips. “You say that every time we have to do something you don’t want to do.”

Growling, Spike lets her drag him farther into the woods, but his mock annoyance turns into confusion when he realizes where Buffy is taking him. “I thought you said you haven’t been through here?”

“I haven’t. Why?” Buffy turns and looks up at him as she stops.

Spike looks around before he says; “You’re heading right for it.” Shaking his head, Spike takes her by the arm, and starts back the way they came. “If you know the way, than it must have happened.” With Buffy dragging her heels in, Spike is forced to stop and look around at her. “What?”

“I have to look. Maybe…” She trails off, looking in the direction of the stone tower. “Maybe it will jog something, or there’ll be some clue as to who came out of it.”

Sighing, Spike looks down at her, weighing the argument that his disagreeing might cause and the peace of mind she’ll gain from going there. Wanting her to relax, he nods his head, and motions her forward. “Whatever you want, love.”

Smiling, she leans up and kisses him on the mouth. “Thank you.” Almost skipping, Buffy turns and leads the way farther into the woods, and Spike knows he made the right decision. Whenever she’s really happy with him, she leans him into just as she did then, and gives him a sweet kiss.

“Why do you think it’s now that Samuel and I had the same nightmare about this place? I mean he saw it weeks ago, and me… Well, I haven’t even seen the place before.” Buffy rambles on in front of him, continuing to lead the way to the stone tower unerringly. He knows she’s talking more to herself than him, making him smile, that and the sight of her rear end swaying invitingly in front of him. He tilts his head, trying to get a better view. He can just remember this morning when they were in the shower and he had…

He draws up short when she’s suddenly turned around and is looking up at him with a mixed expression of amusement and annoyance on her face. “Were you listening to me or staring at my butt?”

Smiling, Spike tilts his head back, thinking that she knows him way too well. “Both.” Motioning her to turn around and move forward, he continues with, “I’ve no clue why Samuel dreamed the same as you, but with you’re being the slayer, it only figures that you would have dreams bout this place. Then again…”

“Samuel did say he thought this place was evil,” she finishes. He wasn’t going in that direction – he was going to mention her other dreams – but that works.

Sometime later, after much bantering and flirting, they walk into the clearing with the stone tower at the far edge, standing in all its black glory. Spike studies it, frowning slightly, because, for some reason, the stone looks different, deflated in some way. Which, considering it’s stone, is quite the odd adjective for it. As Buffy moves forward with eyes only for the tower, Spike is slower to enter the clearing, letting his eyes wander over the site.

The place feels different.

He’s not sure how, but something not good happened here not too long ago. His frown deepens as looks over the ground, studying the odd placement of the circle of twigs around the tower. Glancing at Buffy, who by this time has reached the tower and studying it, Spike moves forward. Bending down some feet from Buffy, he studies the ground. Taking a large lung full of the surrounding air, he grimaces. The clearing smells like burnt flesh, and wax. Turning, he looks at the surrounding area of the twigs and tower.

Standing, he retraces his steps, but on the way back, he stops when he feels a hard object connect with the bottom of his shoe. With both eyebrows raised, he steps back and bends down to brush some fallen leaves and pines out of the way. What he finds surprises the hell out of him, because it hadn’t been there the last time he had come through here.

For, on the ground, is a very thin dagger with a locking slit on the hilt. Picking it up, he studies it, wondering where the other piece is. With the dagger in hand, he turns back to the circle of twigs and stands on the out side of it, looking in. He lets his eyes drift over it, not letting his eyes search for anything particular; he finds a glossy piece of forest floor. Striding over to it, he brushes forest debris aside to find yet another surprise. Wax, and not just any wax, purple wax, and so dark that it almost looks black. Odd place to be burning candles.

Picking it up, he studies it but finds no significance. He drops it to the ground as he stands up and looks over at the stone tower. Up close, the stone looks just as it had before, black stone with sharp edges in the oddest places. Looking at Buffy, he sees her looking worried. “What’s wrong, love?”

Shaking her head, she comes over to him and looks at the tower. “I’m not sure. Whatever Samuel was feeling, I don’t feel it. I don’t know.” She takes a deep breath, and as she exhales says, “Maybe I’m losing my touch.” She looks up at Spike.

“So, nothing got jogged,” he asks gently.

Still looking at the tower of black stone, she shakes her head, looking just as worried, “No. Nothing. The dream is like a fuzzy memory, even the details that I remembered last.

He shakes his head and shows her the dagger and then the melted pieces of wax. “I think something did happen here, but your guess is as good as mine to what the is.”

Deciding that they can’t learn anymore from the site, they turn and start back out the way they came. However, Buffy stops suddenly, saying, “What…” She lets go of his hand as she bends down to pick up the other half of the dagger. “I wonder you that belongs to?”

As he takes the second piece from Buffy, he says, “I have no idea. But I’d sure love to know where he got it.” Putting the pieces together, Spike admires the handy work on it, loving the onyx gems, and silver hilt. The pieces fit so perfectly together that he can’t even tell where the seam is.

“Him?” Buffy asks as they start out again. “How do you know it was a him?”

Spike looks over at her like she’s crazy. “Don’t tell me you’re going on some famine kick, are ya?”

“No. I just want to makes you think it belongs to a him that’s all.” Buffy asks.

“Just a term. It’s like saying them or they. Just simpler in the long run.”

The walk home is nice, but eerie, as no one is on the streets. Not a single person is out walking, and the one demon they do run into, doesn’t even notice them but continues on its way, heading determinedly for the end of town. With a cocked eyebrow, Spike wonders out loud, “Wonder where he’s off to in such a hurry?”

“Don’t know,” Buffy says, watching him. “Do you think we should follow him?” She asks as they continue on their way home.

Shaking his head, he pulls her under his arm, keeping her close. “Nah. I want to get home. Make you pay up.” He bends his head down so that his lips touch her ear so that he can whisper the rest in her ear.

Frowning, she tilts her head away from him, “Pay up for what?”

Smiling evilly at her, he bends his head down again and whispers, “For tricking me, in the woods,” he adds when she looks at him questioningly.

Her face shows her remembrance as she looks ahead once more, “Oh! You mean when you had your mind in the gutter and now you think that I should do something about it?”

Gasping in incredulousness, Spike stops as he takes his arm from around her shoulders, which causes her to stop to turn and look at him. “But you said…”

Her face suddenly breaks out in a smile as she comes up to him to lay her hand against his cheek, “Got you.” She says, and then tries to lean in for a kiss.

“Ahh,” he snarls as he pushes her away and continues on home with her a few steps behind, which he just knows she doing so she can snicker, which he can hear. “Tease,” he throws over his shoulder as he turns up the walk to their house, “that’s what you are.”

He stops when Buffy comes up and touches him on the back. He turns to look at her smiling face, and is barely able to resist the urge to do so himself. Shaking her head, she says, “You’re only a tease if you don’t give what you hint at. I give.” She says quietly, nodding her head as she leans into him.

“Oh,” he says, fully turned on with those two words. He leans down and kisses her, tasting the salt on her lower lip with a swipe of his tongue. Just as she’s about to lean in for another, he pulls back and practically drags her toward the door. “Come on. The sooner we get rid of Dawn, the sooner you can start giving.”

He hears her make an indignant sound just before she laughs.

They’re good mood however, disappears as soon as they enter the house to find Dawn standing just outside the living room with her arms crossed, a foot tapping, and a deep scowl darkening her features. “Dawn?” Buffy asks as they move into the house, but only when the sound of the door echoes in the foyer dose she turn around.

The scowl disappears but her dark mood is still firmly in place, shown by the hard jut of her jaw. Without much ado, she grabs her coat and purse, and none to gently hugs them good night. With the door open behind her, she turns to says, “Samuel’s in bed but he said he won’t go to sleep until you guys say good night.” She slams the door in Buffy and Spike’s stunned faces, leaving at a loss.

Wondering what could brass Dawn off so thoroughly, Spike walks to the entrance of the living room with Buffy right at his side. They both stop at what they see sitting on their couch. Willow.

Turning around Spike mutters something he’s sure has something to do with taking care of Sam, and then stomps off up the stairs. He hates leaving her like this, but whenever he’s around, it always seems to make matters worse between her and her friends. Wishing there was more he could do for Buffy, he makes his way to Samuel’s room.

Spike needn’t have worried because Buffy has the same line of thought as she looks at Willow that it was better for him to go upstairs. It cuts down on the possibility of Samuel coming down.

As she watches Willow, the first thing she feels is shock to see her sitting there, like it was normal but as that wares off, it turns into incredulousness anger. Not quite sure what to say to her supposed friend, Buffy crosses her arms in much the same manner Dawn had, looking at Willow with a put upon air – even if it is pretend, the hurt that comes quickly to the surface isn’t.

As the seconds start to tick by, leading into first one minute than the next, Buffy watches as Willow starts to squirm in her seat. She feels a curious stirring of satisfaction and pain as she watches. The need to flee grows as the hurt of their last confrontation comes to the forefront of her thoughts.

Finally, after several minutes pass, Willow breaks the silence with forced brightness, “So…” She trails off with a sort of cough and then starts again with, “Is that what you named him? Sam?”

Buffy just stands there, not bothering to correct her. The last time she did that, she was called a lair.

“Dawn wouldn’t say much, kind of like you.” Willow gives a small, forced laugh but quickly stops when Buffy continues to look on, indifferent, and just a little cold. “I know I was in the wrong, but aren’t you just a little…”

Shaking her head, Buffy takes a step forward, and speaks, “Happy? You expect me to be happy to see you after what you said the last time we talked?”

Willow’s face falls, if it was ever truly bright, at her statement. “I guess not, but I thought we could, you know, start over….” She trails off when Buffy starts shaking her head again.

“The only way I see that happening is if you actually listen to me about what has happened to Spike.” Buffy says. “However, I don’t feel very…” Sharing is the word that first came to mind but it doesn’t sound nasty enough and every other word that comes to mind after sounds too nasty. “Charitable tonight. You showing up like this is just too sudden.”

Shaking her head again, Buffy says, “I need time to think about what I want to say to.” She pauses, debating whether the next part of what she wants to say is too harsh or not. Finally, she comes to the decision that being honest, whether it hurts or not, will be the best thing from here on out. “Or whether I have anything to say at all.”

Looking just as close to tears as Buffy feels, Willow nods her head, and with a voice gone thick says, “I understand.”

Awkward seconds pass as Willow gets up and crosses the living room to leave. As soon as the door closes, Buffy feels the damn break and hot tears roll down her cheeks. Just as she would have gone into the living room, she feels Spike pull her around. She clings to him as he hugs her, slowly rocking her and kissing the top of her head. “Let it out, love.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Buffy asks, feeling hurt and betrayed all over again. “They hurt me so much. Then just to suddenly show up, like… it never happened.” She pulls back to look up at Spike for answers. “How can she do that? After leaving everything like its been for so many years?”

Shaking his head, Spike says whisper quiet, “I’ve no idea, love.” Smoothing her hair back, he kisses her forehead, and then meets her eyes again. “But you were best of friends. Even if you couldn’t listen or talk to her tonight, I think you should try, if nothing else but to put it behind you.”

Crying once again, she buries herself in his arms, feeling lost and wishing once again her mother were here. She was always so good at this stuff. Then, feeling like she’s demeaning Spike’s support, she starts to cry harder. She doesn’t even put up a mock protest as Spike sweeps her up into his arms, and takes her upstairs.

Chapter Six: Departures of Normalcy
Sunnydale Mansion

In all his years of living, he cannot remember having been so low. When New Orleans had been the place for Creoles, he had been at the peak of stature, and no one dared bother him. As he lies in pain in the dungeness room, thoughts of his old days in the South, float through his head, both torturing and comforting him with the Creole ways and the high culture he used to be accustomed to. He used to be dressed by the finest dressmakers in all of Creole New Orleans, had the finest furniture, and linens money could afford. In one fell swoop his vampirism and magic took it away.

Even with his supernaturally enhanced eyesight, he feels blind as the sunsets outside and the little light he is allowed slowly fades away. However, he’s slowly tortured by the sounds and smells of the creatures within and outside of his prison as hunger slowly driving him to desperation. As he listens, the clicking tap of the rats’ nails around him draws his attention as surely as that of a grandfather clock late at night when sleep will not come. He can pin point many of the vermin without uncertainty of there whereabouts. Although some are far from his reach, they are daring to draw closer with each minute that passes as he lies still as death. His heart rate slows as his life’s blood slowly leaks from the gash on his forehead, attracting them where flies can’t reach him.

A minute, a half an hour, maybe even an hour pass as he waits for them to draw close enough. With their close proximity comes more knowledge – one has a limp and is fat.

He waits, and even the thought of vermin makes his starving body salivate at the very idea of something to eat. He feels his body tense at the sudden sensation of whiskers fluttering about his bloody fingers, and before the conscious thought of grabbing the rat has fully bloomed in his mind, he has the vermin in his hand and is bringing it up to his mouth.

Minutes later, he’s throwing the drained rat away, having put a bottle of water to work on putting out a bonfire, and hears the scrambling of vermin as the small thud of the little body hitting the floor. Knowing that it will be some time before the rats forget the death of one of their own, he resigns himself to the wait. Willing, in the mean time, that another beating and interrogation aren’t on the way. He isn’t sure how much more he can deal with.

In the darkness, a grimace crosses his face as the bitter taste of the diseased vermin settles on his tongue. Glad that he’s impervious to any such thing, he falls into a dreamless slumber.

Southeast Texas

The three-bedroom apartment is decorated in a Mexican theme that gives the place a warm feel. The kitchen is large with an island separating it and dinning room, which flows nicely into the living room with potted plants set on either side of the walkway of the two rooms. The living room is long with a bay window facing out over a grand park. An entertainment center creates a wall between the living room and the setting room that the bay window make. Just on the other side of the entertainment center is the main door.

Sitting in front of the entertainment center is a couch that has been pushed against the wall opposite of it. On either ends of the couch, sit end tables, each hold a lamp and a framed photo. The photo farthest from the kitchen is of a tall man with black hair and dark skin with a woman that barely reaches his shoulder. The other photo is of a young man with honey blonde hair, and light creamy brown skin.

On the couch between the two photos is a woman with long dark golden brown hair. She’s long and slender and wears a plaid, form-fitting blouse with three-quarter sleeves. The jeans she wears show the figure of her hips and legs. She sits with her legs crossed whit one arm dangling over her thighs. Her free hand supports her head as she leans her elbow on her knee. She watches the TV with a frown.

Turning her head while keeping her eyes on the television screen, she calls, “Everett, you might want to come watch this.”

A few seconds later, a tall man with longish black hair walks from the hall directly across from the front door. He wears a dark blue button up shirt and black slacks. His feet are bare as he crosses the carpet to sit next to the woman. “What is it?”

Tilting her head toward the TV, she says, “Look.”

His black eyes move to the television screen. An anchor woman sits behind her desk and is saying, “Just a few minutes ago, we got a report about a helicopter going down over a small town just a few hours outside of Los Angeles. The pilot and co-pilot sustained only middle injuries, but what is not clear is what caused the helicopter to go down.” As the anchor speaks, footage from the crash site flashes across the screen. “When asked, the pilot said that it felt like the helicopter had collided with something invisible. However, there is no evidence that supports his claim. An investigation of the events will be put forth in the next few weeks to determine the cause of the crash.” She shuffles her papers just as the phone in their living room rings.

“In other news,” but before she can continue, Everett says, “Mute it, would you, Lei,” he says as he leans back and picks up the receiver on the table behind the couch. The sound is turned off as Everett puts the receiver to his ear, “This is Black,” he says and then listens.

The conversation is short, and whatever the person on the other end of the line has to say prompts Black into saying, “Are you sure? It’s him and he’s back?” Seconds later, he’s nodding his head, and then hangs up the phone.

Turning to Lei, he says, “Go pack us a bag, Lei. We have to go to Sunnydale.”

She gets up without a word, but as he starts to dial a phone number, she turns back to him and asks, “Are they ok?”

Black looks up and sympathizes with her worry. “For now.”

Nodding, she walks down the hall and turns into the room at the end of the hall. The room opens up into a large area with another bay window looking out over a golf course. A love seat faces the window and on either side sits stout bookcases. Another short bookshelf lines the back of the love seat and is decorated with nick-knacks and framed photos.

Turning to her left, she walks to one of the doors on either side of a large bed, and comes into the bathroom. Its decorated with an ocean feel with green and white tiles throughout and a sky blue ceiling. The large glass fronted shower stall sits to her left with a bath in the right of the shower when she’s facing it. A counter and sink are set at the end of the tub. Following the sink to the right, there is a toilet in a stall all its own to her left and to her right are shelves filled with bathroom supplies and towels.

She walks past this and into a closet through a set of bi-fold doors. Once in the closet, she reaches under a set of hanging clothes and pulls out a duffle. Straightening, she walks to a set of drawers and pulls open each in turn, first pulling out underwear for the both of them, then a pair of pants each and then nightwear for her. Walking back to the hanging shirts, she pulls down a couple of her plaid shirts and then a couple of his shirts, in a verity of colors.

Zipping the duffle closed, she bends once more under the hanging shirts and pulls out a pair of black leather cowboy boots. Still bent over, she quickly gets her feet settled in them and her jeans around the top of the boots. Reaching once more under the hanging shirts, she pulls out a pair of men’s black dress shoes. She straightens with his shoes in her hand and throws the duffle over her shoulder. Walking back to the drawers, she opens the top one and pulls out a pair of men’s black shocks.

Turning, she walks out another door on the other side of the bed, and quickly makes her way to the bedroom door. Seconds later, she meets Everett at the mouth of the hall where he stands with his coat already on and holding hers ready. Dropping the duffle, she hands him his shoes and shocks, “Here.”

He takes his things from her as she takes her coat. “I have a taxi coming to pick us up to take us to the airport.” And just as he finishes talking, there’s a loud, echoing honk coming from the parking lot.

Finished putting his shocks and shoes on, he straightens with their duffle bag in hand. Taking her hand, he says, “Come on,” as he opens the door and leads her out.

Sunnydale Cemetery, California

The ride to the airport the next morning with Dawn and Kevin’s things in the trunk had been filled with many hilarious moments, although her and Dawn tried their best not to let Spike know that. As he drove down the road, he keep throwing piercing looks in the rearview mirror to Kevin. Kevin, who has never taken Spike’s threats and stares very well, had ended up sunk down in his seat to where his back was resting where his butt should be and his knees in the back of Buffy’s seat.

It wasn’t very comfortable, but she also knows that it isn’t very comfortable for the boyfriend of the elder sister to be staring at him with daggers. Now, Spike had woken up in a very happy mood, but as soon as he heard that he would be the one driving Dawn and Kevin to the airport, not even Buffy’s promise for everyone to take a nap – she even wiggled her eyebrows to make sure he realized what she meant by the promise – could he be persuaded to get into a better mood.

Once they were at the airport, things with Spike became childish as he threw Kevin’s things on the ground, but then pointedly carried Dawn’s things in, while she tried to take her things back. Finally, Dawn decided to take Kevin’s things in, apologizing so much that Kevin turned red from roots to neck. She had smiled then and kissed him on the cheek. Buffy had carried Samuel in and held him as Dawn got her and Kevin checked in.

Buffy had suggested that they get back to the house, and Dawn being the smarty that she is, figured out right a way what she was after. When Spike started to protest, the promise of an afternoon nap finally paid off, and he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Buffy shook her head at the oddity that is Spike.

He had hurriedly given Dawn a kiss on the cheek and then a hug. When he reached Kevin, he had stopped and glared at the poor kid. Then surprising every one, held out his hand, and quickly shook the kid’s hand. Buffy was very proud of him. On the ride home, she had needled him all the way. And Samuel fell asleep, as he usually does on car rides.

With their bedroom door closed, she had pushed him on his back onto the bed, and crawled on top of him. “I’m very proud of the way you ended things with Kevin today.”

He had looked away with a pained expression and said, “Can we not? I’m still in pain from the experience.”

“Fine,” she had said as she slid off him to rest at his side. “Then I won’t give you your present for being such a good boy.” She had then turned her back into his side. As she knew he would, he had pulled her back around almost as soon as she had settled.

“What present?” He had demanded. However, when she had debated a little too long on whether she was going to give it to him or not, he had growled and started threatening to tickle her.

“Ok! Ok!” She had held up her hands in surrender. “I’ll give it to you.” She leaned up and pulled him into a heated kiss. When she had pulled away, purposefully looking like she had finished with her present, his second growl caused her to laugh out loud.

That afternoon, they spent their time together making love – quietly, she hopes – while Samuel took his nap. It had been fun and pleasure filled, an afternoon she would like to repeat many times. A couple of hours later, Buffy had come downstairs to find Samuel sitting in front of the TV watching one of his Disney cartoons. “How long have you been up?”

“Few minutes,” he said, never taking his eyes off the television. “Daddy said you were taking shower.” Only feeling slightly embarrassed, she had kissed him on the head, telling him that she was going out to patrol. “Carefully,” he had said.

Now, a half an hour later, she’s still out on patrol, wondering where all the demons have gone and thinking that it sounds very similar to something else, as she walks through a cemetery. The past two nights have been virtually demon free.

She doesn’t remember ever being so bored on patrol as she finds herself tonight. But just as she starts to return to her happy thoughts of her afternoon with Spike, and the mess they made of their sheets, something bulldozes into her side and knocks her to the ground. As she tries to get her senses back in order, she hears a thick demon accent say, “Isn’t that the Slayer?”

“No!” A second one says, sounding incredulous. “She way too small.”

“Yeah, but I’s heard that she be a small one. And best.” The first one says, sounding as if he has turned to look at her as he talks.

“Pssh!” The second one says, and in her mind’s eye, she can see him waving his hand dismissively. “You listen to rumor too often. She not Slayer.”

She lies there, wondering why she still is when they’re leaving a perfect opening for her to attack them. However, her curiosity gets the better of her when the first one begins talking again. “She the one. I’s see her afore. Last year I’s out and I’s bee doing me things and she came by taking after sucker.”

Sucker? She can only imagine that he means a vampire by his choice of word.

“But,” he continues, sounding as if he had leaned in close to whisper to the other as if it were a secret, “She doesn’t bee staking him. No. She kisses the sucker. Him seemed to have liked. He makes the mating sound.”

Buffy has to smother her laughter.

“Really?” The second one says. She feels breath brush along her jeans as if it had leaned forward to study her. “Has she traded?” Buffy frowns at this: Traded? Traded what? The first one asks as much. “Has she traded a side? She on ours now? That make him happy,” the second demon explains, making it sound as if that should have been obvious.

Not being able to stand anymore of their babbling, she sits up ands says, “I didn’t trade sides, and what the hell kind of demons are you?” She asks, thinking that she’s been hanging around Spike for far to long if she’s starting to talk like him.

The two creatures at her feet jump back at least ten feet, staring at her wide eyed with glowing red orbs at her sudden movement. The creatures have frog like hind legs with three large toes on each foot. Their hands, with three fingers and a thumb, are slender and made longer by the thick claws that extend from the tips of their fingers. A fringe of hair trails down their backs in a fiery trail with a tuft of hair on the top of their heads. The rest of their bodies are covered with black scales that swallow any nearby light. The only distinguishing mark between the two is that one of them is missing an eye.

“We’s bee Imps,” one says, and when the other one with the missing eyes hits it, she has a feeling this is the one that saw her and Spike last year – the one being hit, that is. Her only hope is that the kiss is all that the Imp had heard, or seen.

“Imps?” She says. “I’ve never run into Imps before. Why are you here now?”

The one with both eyes looks bug eyed for a few seconds, making him look as if he were elated that she was asking them a question as he quivers. “He called. Master told us to go. Said he hates him but that him have served well, very well.” He nods his head for emphasis.

Frowning, Buffy asks, “Him who?”

“Don’t know name,” the first one says. “This,” he points his claw at his companion, “be Ular.”

Her eyebrows raise as she waits for him to introduce himself, “And you are?” She prompts after it becomes clear that he isn’t going to.

“Oh,” he says, suddenly looking quiet embarrassed. “I’s bee Hiral.”

She watches curiously as Ular pulls on Hiral’s arm, muttering something in a demon tongue that sounds much like two dogs in a fight. Hiral nods his head at whatever Ular has said before he looks back to her and says, “I’s and him needs be going now.”

And before she can protest, the two Imps are hopping away. Buffy jumps to her feet and chases after them, intending to ask them who their Master is, but she losses them as they move too fast for her. She stops and bends over with her hands resting on her knees as she gets her breath back.

Shaking her head, she slowly makes her way to the entrance of the cemetery. If the night can produce only two Imps that have nothing better than to gossip about her and Spike, she has no business being out. Every demon in Sunnydale knows that she and Spike have been together for years. Because of this knowledge, slaying has become easier; the demon population has no desire to mess with one and endanger themselves to the possibility that they might get a nasty visit from the other when they least expect it.

Her thoughts of Spike and a warm bed end when she comes out onto the sidewalk outside the cemetery to find the street in chaos; her jaw drops open in shock. She watches wide-eyed as three humans run past with a group of vampires hot on their heels’. The flicker of fire light catches her attention and has her turning her eyes to see an over turned car with three of it’s wheels burning while the Pyrodemon that set the blaze dances up and down with glee. It runs around the upturned vehicle and belches out a ball of fire, setting the forth and finale tire aflame. It laughs in happiness.

She feels her eyes widen painfully as she watches the display.

Jerking around at a scream, she watches in shocked surprise as an elderly lady chases a vamped woman down the street with her wood made umbrella held out toward the vampire. She jerks around as the sound of glass shattering echoes down the street, which is closely followed by a scream.

The thought of her son and mate at home, and her standing here has barely enough time to cross her mind before she finds herself running through the streets, desperately trying to make it home without be impeded by any of the hundreds of demons running ramped through her town.

When she reaches her house, its to stop short on the lawn at the sight of her house: The front door looks as if something had rammed into, trying to gain entrance while the front window has been completely smashed through. She finds herself racing up the stairs to the house when she realizes that none of the interior lights are on. Before she can reach the doorknob, the door is opening with Spike on the other side looking pissed and worried at the same time.

However, when he sees her, relief throws his features into shock relief from seconds before. She throws herself into his arms and asks, “Are you alright? Where’s Samuel?”

“We’re fine, love.” Spike breathes as he slams the door shut with his free hand. “He’s up in his room with his head phones on. He thought I was listening to the telly too loud. Asked if I would turn it down.”

Buffy finds herself laughing with relief. “Thank god,” she breathes just before she kisses him. He pulls away minutes later to ask, “What the hell is going on out there?”

Shaking her head, she pulls her lips away from his chin long enough to say, “I don’t know, but the demons are all over town destroying it as they move.” She kisses him again, letting herself feel him and know that he’s all right. “I have to go check on Samuel.”

Nodding, he doesn’t release her right away but kisses her once more and hugs her tightly. “I’m going to board up the window,” he says when he finally releases her.

“Ok,” she says, stepping toward the stairs.

They don’t let go of the other’s hand as they look at each other and share a small smile. Buffy disappears up the stairs while Spike disappears into the shadows of the kitchen minutes later.

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