Sunset

2041…

This was the most beautiful moment of his life. He tried to think of any time that he had been happier and failed miserably. Nothing came close to this.

He rested one hand on the guardrail in front of him. Beyond it, thousands of gallons of water poured from the precipice of Niagara Falls, crashing and echoing when they finally hit the bottom.

And beyond the falls, the red line of the sunset still filled the horizon, casting deep, purple shadows across the landscape. Against the crimson edge of the last ray of daylight, the deep blue of night looked even more fascinating…even more mysterious.

He knew this night would bring great things, but he was in no hurry. This moment of anticipation was enough for him right now, and it was awe-inspiring in its own right.

He closed his eyes for a second and allowed his other senses to wash over him. The roar of the falls, the cool spray of water against his face, the fragrant floral scent of the spring air…

And the soft sigh of the woman beside him.

He opened his eyes again and turned to the young blond.

She was leaning against the rail, her arms crossed in front of her, with that same look of wonder on her face that he was sure he had.

“It’s beautiful,” she said breathlessly.

“We came at a good time,” he smiled at her, resting his other hand on the rail on the opposite side of her. “Couldn’t’ve asked for a better sunset…”

“Mmm…” she leaned back against him, and a whole new barrage of sensations flew through him. “I’m glad we came.” She caught his arm and wrapped it around her waist, interlacing her fingers with his as she held his hand to her bare midriff.

“So am I,” he agreed lazily, slowly bending down to kiss the white scar on her neck where he had first made her his forever.

She sighed and tilted her head to the side, giving him better access.

He took a few slow nips before returning to look at the growing night before them.

“It’s going to be a wonderful night,” she purred contentedly, echoing his own thoughts.

“Yeah, luv,” he smiled. “It really is.”

“So,” she played with his fingers at her waist. “Where do you want to go next?”

“Wherever you want, kitten,” he said softly.

“Hmm…” she murmured thoughtfully.

“Well,” he asked, “where are we going?”

“Don’t know,” she shrugged. “I just want to be here for a little while longer.”

“Then let’s just be here,” he kissed her hair lightly.

From this angle, he could see every vein and imperfection of her soft throat. He’d already memorized them all, but that never ceased to make them beautiful to him. He noted with mild amusement that her white bra strap was peaking out of her summer top. For some odd reason, it made him feel like a voyeur to look at it. It was ridiculous, of course. He’d made love to her practically every night for the last thirty-seven years.

But it was always at moments like this, when things were quiet and they were just together that he felt they were the most intimate.

“You decide,” she abruptly declared.

“What?” he chuckled slightly.

“You decide,” she repeated. “Where are we going?”

“Oh no,” he tsked her. “This is your trip. I’ve already seen the world. You’re the one who needs to catch up.”

“And who better than you to be my guide?” she turned around in his arms and ran her hands gently up and down his shoulders. She looked up into his eyes with big, wide hazel pools. “I bet you know all sorts of wonderful places to visit…” She gave him a shy smile.

He threw his head back with a whoop of laughter. “Cor, you’re impossible, Buffy!” he exclaimed.

“Always,” she agreed. “So?”

“We’ll decide that tomorrow,” he gave her a wry smile. “Together.”

“OK,” her smile brightened, and she reached up with one hand to touch his cheek.

His eyelashes fluttered closed, and he took a deep, unnecessary breath, burning this moment into his memory forever.

“Spike…”

His eyes opened at the sound of her voice.

“Yes, luv?”

“I love you, Spike,” she looked deep into his eyes as she said it.

That delighted look passed over his features just as it had every time since she first told him those words. She laughed at the pure joy on his face and the fact that she alone could put it there.

“I love you, too, kitten,” he brought his lips gently to her forehead. “Always.”

“Always,” she agreed before taking his hand and leading him back to their adventure.

Yes, it was definitely the best night of his life.

And the best part was that he knew every night after it would just get better…

Afternoon Soaps

2023…

Buffy lay back on the couch, yawned, and watched as Mr. Wilkins grabbed Tabitha roughly by the shoulders and pulled her into a passionate kiss. Her interest continued to dwindle as the couple fell back onto the office couch, groping at each other like rabbits in heat.

“Honestly,” Buffy rolled her eyes, “what do you see in these shows anyway?”

The only response she got was a slight mumble.

Buffy sighed and looked down at her stomach where her mate had made his pillow.

“It’s not fair,” she informed him, toying gently with his soft, peroxide blond curls. “You make me watch this lame show with you and then fall asleep, leaving me to suffer on my own…”

He nestled his head snugger into her flat stomach muscles and clutched at her hip with one hand, in his sleep enjoying the feel of her body vibrating when she spoke.

She graced him with a small smile before turning her attention back to the television. Mr. Wilkins and Tabitha were still crawling all over each other and moaning each other’s names unconvincingly.

“She is so faking it,” she told her sleeping lover. “I mean, look at them! It’s not even remotely realistic! And how old is he, anyway? Fifty? Not that relationships with age gaps can’t work…” she added as an afterthought. “But still, ugh! Look at him! He’s hideous. All she wants from him is the deed to her mother’s house, anyway. This whole show is sick. I’m changing the channel.” She began flipping through the stations like mad.

It was a testament to how deeply asleep he was that he didn’t protest.

“Soap, soap, infomercial, sleazy talk show, wrestling, more infomercials, soccer game, soap, cheesy game show, soap - oh my god! ‘As the World Turns’?! That show is still on?! My mother watched that when she was a kid! That show’s got to be, like, eighty by now, don’t you think?”

No response.

“Hmm…” she hit the muting button and turned her attention to the much more interesting matter of the man in her lap. “You’re really out of it, aren’t you?” she teased. “I could do all sorts of things…” She began fiddling with his slicked back hair. “All sorts of nasty things to you while you’re asleep…”

She used the gel to her advantage, spiking his hair all straight up. She giggled slightly at how much the look reminder her of pictures she’d seen of him back in the 1980s before twisting his hair all together at one point in front.

“Ta-da!” she said proudly. “A unicorn horn!”

He still didn’t seem to be waking up. Buffy giggled and split the horn in two, giving him the equivalent of devil horns.

“Ooh! Very appropriate on you,” she teased, “my sexy little devil.”

One of her hands moved to stroke his razor-sharp cheekbone, and he murmured softly, leaning slightly into her touch. His fingers began twining the soft fabric of her boxers in between them, toying with them gently.

Ah, those boxers… What a battle they had caused!

Buffy still couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of when she’d first made him get them. He’d protested vehemently against wearing any such thing. She’d made the all too reasonable argument that the only reason she wanted him to get a pair was so that she could steal them from him. Grudgingly, he’d agreed.

The real problem had started when she insisted that he wear them before her. He’d flat out refused at first. She’d carefully explained that if they didn’t smell and feel like him, then there was no point in her wearing them. He’d made the point that she really didn’t need to wear anything, and things had deteriorated for a while… However, their activities had allowed her to give him a sneak preview of just how grateful she would be if he wore them.

So he had. And pretty soon he’d decided that they were comfortable. She still suspected he had done it just to annoy her. He still had an unfortunate tendency to do that to her once in a while…well, maybe it wasn’t unfortunate since she found it so sexy…but still! He’d refused to fork them over.

A brief struggle had ensued, and she’d finally managed to liberate them. That was just two days ago, and she was still parading them around like a trophy. He seemed in no hurry to reclaim them. In fact, he quite obviously enjoyed watching her wear them.

In any case, they’d both come to the conclusion that their activities for the past two weeks were far better than the assignment they’d just finished.

Buffy wiggled slightly when his fingers began to ease their way under the fabric to get at her bare thigh.

“OK, I sooo know you’re awake now, Spikey,” she patted his cheek affectionately. “So get up and entertain me!”

He let out an annoyed growl and looked up at her with sleepy eyes. “Was havin’ a nice nap, luv,” he grumbled good-naturedly.

“Oh, bad me for waking you up,” she said coyly, twisting a lock of her long, blond hair around one finger.

He growled deep in his throat and lunged at her…

And she burst out laughing. Really, with the hair and all, it was just too much!

“What?” he asked, bewildered.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed. “It’s just…I…” She broke back out into hysterics.

He huffed. “My advances didn’t used to make to laugh,” he sat back and sulked.

“Hair!” she finally managed to cry out.

“Hair?” he felt his head, and his eyes widened comically when he found out what she’d done. “Why, you little minx!” he scolded her, combing his hair back into place with his fingers.

“Mmm-hmm,” she nodded in agreement.

“And you’ve changed the channel, too,” he protested.

“You were asleep, and do you have any idea how boring it is to watch that show without you insulting it with me?” she defended herself.

“Sorry about that, kitten,” he chuckled, laying his head down between her breasts and turning to look at the TV. “Guess you wore me out is all.”

“Maybe I’ll have to trade you in for a newer model,” she teased.

“Humph,” he sulked.

“Or not,” she conceded. “I’ve kind of grown fond of the old model…”

She lifted his head up, and their lips met briefly before they both turned back to the muted screen.

“They need to invent ultra-muting or something,” Spike commented, his vampiric hearing still able to pick out every sound emitting from the television.

“It’s annoying all right,” Buffy agreed, yawning, “but then again,” she raised a speculative eyebrow at the TV, “we wouldn’t want to miss this jingle, now would we?”

“Heaven forbid,” he agreed. “Turn it back,” he insisted. “ ‘Passions’ll be on soon.”

“That show is just too weird. I can’t believe it’s still on,” Buffy rolled her eyes while complying with his wishes.

“’s a bloody brilliant show,” he insisted, his fingers now toying with the fabric of her shirt. “Slayer…” he said in sudden realization, “is that my favorite black T-shirt you’re wearing?”

“What, this?” Buffy fluttered her eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“A thief and a liar,” he muttered under his breath.

“No wonder you love me so much,” she joked.

“Hmm, no wonder,” he agreed as the opening credits rolled and they prepared to waste another hour of eternity…

A Game of Strategy

2030…

Buffy sat on the windowseat and watched the snow pile up outside. Swirls and eddies of glistening white stood out in stark contrast to the black of night. The cold fingers of winter crept right up to the window, leaving crystalline patterns on the frosted glass.

“Brr…” she whispered to herself, wrapping the afghan around her shoulders more tightly.

“This oughta warm you up, luv.”

Buffy turned around and accepted the hot mug of blood and cocoa with a grateful smile. “I thought vampires weren’t supposed to get cold,” she said, taking a quick sip and burning her tongue.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Spike warned her belatedly.

“Now he tells me,” she rolled her eyes sarcastically.

“Indeed he does,” Spike sat down on the floor by her feet and gave her a rakish smile. “Looks like we’re housebound again, luv,” he said, blowing on his own mug before tasting it.

Buffy sighed. “What to do, what to do…” she said thoughtfully, her fingers trailing through his hair.

“’ve got a few ideas…” He gave her his best seductive smirk. The one that always got her riled up…although not always in the way he intended.

“Sex later,” she huffed. “I need to do something…mentally stimulating.”

“Are you saying my talents aren’t intellectual enough for you?” Spike said with mock hurt.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she patted his head reassuringly. “I have no complaints whatsoever about your talents. I just need to…” She trailed off and shrugged.

“Not die of cabin fever?” he teased.

“Note to self for future reference,” Buffy smiled at him, “stay out of Colorado in winter.”

“Don’t know,” Spike eased himself up onto the windowseat beside her, “you an’ me, trapped in a cabin, alone in the woods… ‘S definitely got…possibilities…” He brushed her hair to the side and nipped gently at his bite mark on her throat.

Buffy tilted her head to the side and sighed contentedly. “Feels nice…” she murmured.

“But we do need something to pass the time,” he agreed, resting his head on her shoulder while he thought. “Hey, Slayer,” an idea struck him, “wanna play?”

She looked at him askance. “Who’s rules?” she demanded.

“Mine, ‘course,” he flashed her a wide grin.

“Then how can I refuse?” She gave him a broad smile and got up. She took him firmly by the hands and pulled him to his feet. “Where’s the board?” she whispered, her lips inches from his.

“Hall closet,” he answered, giving her a quick kiss. “’ll get it. You get settled.”

Buffy let him go and picked up both their mugs, setting them down on the living room coffee table. She sat down on the rug beside it, using several cushions from the couch to make herself comfortable.

Spike plopped down on the rug across for her a few seconds later, placing the board on the carpet between them.

“I call black,” he grinned at her, beginning to set up his pieces.

“Surprise, surprise,” Buffy smiled slightly. She picked up the white pieces he’d tossed haphazardly on her side of the board and quickly put them in proper order. “White always goes first,” she reminded him.

He reached over to her side of the board, picked up her knight, and dropped in back down in front of her rook.

“Why the knight?” she asked, bewildered.

“Seemed like a bold move,” he shrugged. “Gettin’ the aristocracy involved right off the bat.” He lit up his cigarette and took a quick drag. “My move,” he said.

Buffy inched one of his pawns forward. And with that, she turned to her strategy.

They’d long ago discovered that making each other’s first moves saved a lot of arguing over how lame they made their own first moves. It also meant that the game started a completely random way every time. And since they’d been playing now for over twenty years, that was definitely of the good.

Their first few moves were made in quick succession. Spike managed to get up a nice defensive line around his king, while Buffy focused on blockading his rooks. Here and there, a pawn was sacrificed, and once Spike even managed to kill one of her bishops.

Buffy had to admit, he was a pretty good player. The only problem with his strategy was… There!

A broad smile crossed her face when she noticed the first signs of his fidgeting. Soon the game would be getting really fun…

She moved her queen to defend her knight. Spike countered by using his own queen to guard his endangered rook. She advanced her pawn…

Twitch!

Spike’s foot was getting a bit tap-happy now, and he was subconsciously grinding his jaw every couple of minutes.

Buffy checked the clock. They’d been at it for about an hour. That was usually when things started getting interesting…

With complete disregard for its safety, Spike used his rook to kill her knight.

“You do of course realize that you’re going to come out of this exchange the worse off?” she felt the need to ask.

“Bored now. Wanna kill things,” he explained with childlike enthusiasm.

Buffy smiled slightly at the expression on his face and annihilated his rook with her pawn.

He quickly took the pawn with his queen.

“No!” Buffy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I am not exchanging queens!”

“Oh, c’mon,” Spike teased her. “It’ll clean the board right up. Get rid of all that messy conflict over by your bishop.”

“You’re not getting rid of my queen!” Buffy insisted, moving the piece out of harm’s way.

“Then you’re just gonna have ta try an’ save it,” he countered jovially, using his knight to chase her queen across the board.

“Spike!” she squealed after she’d spent the next three moves evading what had now become a three-pronged attack. “Knock it off! And, look, you’ve left your defenses wide open!”

He snorted derisively. “King’s a useless wanker anyway. Now that queen… Tha’s where the real power is.”

“I am sooo going to checkmate you,” Buffy threatened

“Feel free to go after the king, luv,” he teased, “but your queen’s about to meet her maker.”

“Fine then,” Buffy huffed slightly. “You’ll just have to face the consequences then.” She took one of his pawns with her bishop, breaking the protective barrier around his king.

“Right,” Spike agreed happily enough, finally murdering her queen.

Buffy rolled her eyes and took his queen in return. “Now what are you gonna do?” she challenged.

“This.” His pawn moved back a space to kill her bishop.

“What was that?” she exclaimed. “You can’t do that!”

“Well, not normally,” Spike agreed, “but see, your bishop there was copin’ a feel on my pawn. So, ‘e got ‘imself a good lawyer, an’ they managed to cut up all that legal red tape that governs a pawn’s motions.”

Buffy was giggling uncontrollably at his explanation. “You’re deranged,” she informed him.

“Documents are all down at city hall,” he insisted. “So, ‘s perfectly legal…”

“OK, you win that one,” she agreed, desperately trying to contain her laughter. After all, if she was still laughing at his previous move the next time he cheated, it would make the move legal. Her free rook moved across the board to begin another attack.

Spike countered it in a perfectly normal way, seemingly back into the regular rules of the game.

They set up another little standoff right in the middle of the board.

Buffy managed to slip her knight around the barrier and looked at him smugly.

He responded by plucking two of her pawns off the board with no explanation whatsoever.

She steeled herself up against the impending laughter. “Ahem,” Buffy said after a while when he didn’t do anything.

“What?” Spike asked innocently. “’S your move.”

“I’m not laughing,” Buffy said, “which means you put my pawns back.”

“Can’t do that, luv,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, you can,” she insisted.

“Nope,” he shook his head. “They’re dead.”

“No, they’re not,” Buffy persisted. “You just plucked them off the board.”

“Look,” he said patiently, “they’re dead. I can put them back on the board if you want, but I figured I was doin’ you a favor takin’ ‘em off.”

“A favor?” Buffy raised her eyebrow skeptically.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Don’t want all your other pieces to die, do you?”

“What, the pawns were going to turn traitor and attack me from behind the lines?” she demanded sarcastically.

“Nope.”

“What then?”

“Black death.”

A chortle of surprise escaped Buffy’s lips before she could stop herself. “Dammit!” she swore.

He flashed her a broad grin in triumph.

“OK,” she let her giggles start up again since she’d already lost this one, “tell me about the black death.”

“’S a nasty disease,” he began. “Spreads like wildfire, too. ‘S those rats that do it, carryin’ the fleas. Figured I’d get the bodies away from the rest of your troops ‘efore it could spread.”

“So thoughtful of you,” she rolled her eyes while still laughing behind her hand.

“’S still your move,” he informed her.

She rebuilt her defenses despite the fact that his pieces randomly flew at her on bizarre kamikaze missions.

“Spike, you’ve only got a knight and a pawn left!” she finally protested. “There’s no way you can win.”

“Like you’re much better off, pet,” he gestured to the scant pieces she had remaining.

“But I’m about to switch it up,” she declared, advancing her pawn to the end of the board. “Queen me,” she said with the smug conviction of someone who knows they’ve just won.

Spike grumbled slightly to himself and promptly got up and stalked out of the room.

“Spikey?” she leaned to one side curiously, trying to figure out what that had been about. She heard sounds of rustling and fiddling about it the background. “What are you doing, baby?”

He marched back into the room and sat down in his previous seat sullenly.

“What’s up?” her brow furrowed for a minute.

He removed her pawn and in its place put two red checkers stacked on top of each other.

“Spike?!” she blurted out in relief and amusement. “What on earth?!”

“’S a stupid Checkers rule, so you only get a Checkers queen,” Spike stuck his tongue out at her.

“Not. Laughing.” Buffy bit her lower lip.

“Oh, c’mon, pet…” He gave her a playful little grin. “I mean, I know I couldn’t get you a white one, since Checkers doesn’t have a white piece…”

“Still. Not. Laughing.” She was half convinced her side was going to split.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Crush a bloke’s last hope, why don’t you?” he conceded, putting her real queen back on the board.

He moved his king out of the way.

Buffy advanced her rook, cornering him. “Ha! Checkmate!” she squealed in delight.

“Not yet,” he insisted.

“Looks like checkmate to me,” Buffy looked at the board carefully.

“Ah, but you’ve forgotten one thing, luv,” he shook one finger at her.

“And what’s that?” she asked, smiling slightly…

And then screeching as she was tackled back onto the carpet.

“You can’t kill my king if you’re…otherwise occupied,” he purred softly above her, nipping at her throat.

“Spike!” she protested.

“Buffy,” he sighed, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. “You see,” he began peppering her face with kisses, “the white pieces had this beautiful warrior Goddess that was keepin’ ‘em goin’ all this time…”

“And what happened to her?” Buffy asked, tangling her fingers into his hair and holding him to her.

“Seems she got seduced away from her callin’ by the dashing war God of the black side,” he teased her.

“Hmm,” she murmured. “Sounds like the black and white sides both kinda lose that way,” she commented.

“But their patron deities get a good deal out o’ it,” his lips returned to hers.

“A tie then?” she sighed when he pulled away.

“A tie,” he agreed.

Night Terrors

2012…

Cold.

So cold and dark…

Must escape!

Closing in…walls on all sides…coffin…too close…have to get out…have to break free…

Claw, scratch, thrash, beat, punch out.

Clawing, clawing, clawing…

Through!

Oh god, dirt falling in…drowning…

Can’t breathe, can’t think, have to escape, have to dig…

Hands bleeding, arms aching, dirt still falling, spit it out, keep clawing, keep fighting…

Why isn’t the surface there?

Clawed at least six feet…doesn’t matter keep going, can’t die, can’t drown, not like this.

Keep clawing forever…

Hand slapping me in the face? Huh?

“Wake up! C’mon, wake up!”

“Ugh,” Buffy groaned, her eyes fluttering open. “Spike?” she whispered softly, instantly confused about how she had gotten out of her coffin.

“Buffy-luv,” his fingers brushed her hair back from her face with calm, reassuring strokes. “Shh, it’s OK. I’m here…”

She shivered slightly and let him pull her into his arms. “Had that dream again,” she whimpered softly, burying her head deep in his shoulder.

“It’s all right, my love,” he continued to coo nonsense into her ear. “You’re here with me. You’re safe. It’s all over…”

She clutched at him desperately, trying to dispel her nightmare. His hands caressed her back slowly, tracing little circles in the hard knots that had formed there and relaxing her. She rested her head right over his heart, and even though it didn’t beat, the vibrations of his chest when he spoke had a soothing effect on her.

She finally sniffed a little and looked up at him.

“You all right, sweetheart?” he asked gently, stroking her cheek with strong fingers.

“B-Better,” she stuttered, shivers still running through her body lightly.

“’S right nasty, innit, pet?” he lay back down and pillowed her head on his chest. “Don’t let it get to you, though. S’all over now…”

She just lay there for a while, enjoying the feel of cool muscle beneath her head.

“Spike, baby?” she finally whispered softly.

“Yeah, luv?” his hand returned to her hair, gliding over its smoothness.

“It will go away, right?” she asked once again.

“Stopped for me when I was around twenty-five,” he reassured her. “Haven’t had the dream in over thirty years now.”

“It’s been a while,” she commented.

“A little over four months,” he agreed, “an’ it’ll just keep getting better, luv.”

“Promise?” she asked softly.

“Promise,” he smiled down at her.

She propped herself up and inched over so that her head rested in the crook of his throat. “Thanks,” she murmured softly, giving her bite mark there a light kiss.

“’ll always be here for you, Buffy.” He placed a kiss in her hair as well.

“I know,” she curled one arm around him and held him close. “Forever.”

“Forever,” he whispered back.

“Spikey?” she asked, her eyelids drooping again.

“Yeah, luv?”

“Hold me close tonight?”

“’Course,” he sighed, closing his own eyes.

“’Night,” Buffy said softly to her sleeping lover before drifting off herself.

Grave

2080…

It was a calm, peaceful night. A layer of fog had risen up from the river, covering the field with thick, white mist and nearly concealing its ancient purpose. However, every so often a cold, stone cross would rise from the cloud, identifying the old graveyard behind the abbey.

And then, suddenly, the stillness and quiet of the churchyard was broken.

A slight giggle, the sound of running footsteps, some scrambling, and suddenly a figure alighted on the top of the stone wall that surrounded the cemetery.

The figure struck up a cocky and arrogant pose, obviously laughing down at someone on the other side.

A few seconds later, the sounded of curse words was swallowed up by the fog.

Then the figure on the wall leaned over and stretched out a helping hand. Soon, a second, taller figure was on the wall beside her.

“Wench,” Spike muttered under his breath, still scowling at the look of complete and utter mirth on Buffy’s face.

“Do it again,” Buffy batted his arm playfully, completely unconcerned with his insults.

“No,” he sulked, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Pretty please?” she teased, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“No,” he repeated, thoroughly ignoring her.

“C’mon, baby,” she sidled up right next to him, planting light kisses up and down his throat. “Pretty, pretty please?”

He sighed and looked as though he were about to relent for a minute before he grabbed her roughly around the waist and fell backwards over the wall.

There was a loud screech, but both agile predators managed to land on their feet inside the cemetery.

“Just for that,” Buffy pouted, sticking out her lower lip, “next time I’m not helping you up.”

He flashed her a rakish grin and gave her an eyebrow waggle. “Now, where’s you sense of fun, Slayer?”

She gave him a little, amused smile and turned to look around at the graveyard. “So this is home, huh? Kinda gloomy…”

“Hasn’t been home in a long time, an’ you know it, pet,” he snorted derisively, huffing slightly at her comment.

“Aww…poor Spikey. Did I hurt his wittle feewings?” she teased him mercilessly.

“Someone’s in a bitchy mood tonight, aren’t they?” he retorted.

“I know,” she agreed, patting him on the hand. “It’s all right. I forgive you.”

“You forgive me?!” he growled, outraged.

Buffy squealed when he caught her up in his arms and shoved her forcefully back against the nearest tree. He was upon her in less than a second, lips plundering hers, hands roaming wildly. She murmured softly into his mouth, savoring every little thing about him. Touch, sight, sound, smell, taste…

When they finally broke apart, they were both gasping unnecessarily for air.

“Wanna go back to the motel?” Spike asked huskily.

“Not yet,” Buffy managed to fight back her baser urges. “Wanna see first…”

“Let’s go find it, then,” he nodded, taking her hand and leading her through the tombstones.

“Hurry,” she panted slightly, her arm wrapping around his waist.

He smiled down at her, and one hand went around her shoulders, holding him tightly to him. She rested her head on his own powerful shoulder - just the perfect height to be her pillow - and like that, they searched the graveyard.

“I think you’re lost,” she teased after a little while.

“Am not,” he retorted, “jus’ ‘aven’t been a while ‘s all…”

“Lost,” she giggled slightly into his shoulder.

“Humph,” he said sulkily before he apparently recognized something ahead. “There!” he said triumphantly.

They walked over to the old mausoleum, and Buffy took in the grumbling façade. She wiped away a bit of the grime and read the family name on the old crypt. She turned to look at him with a small smile.

“So where aren’t you?” she joked lightly.

“This way,” he led her over to an elegant headstone that had crumbled some over time due to neglect.

“Isn’t it bad luck to stand over your own grave?” Buffy asked lightly.

“What? You think ‘m gonna come back from the dead an’ haunt myself?” he joked, giving her a light squeeze.

“ ‘William’…” she read aloud, finding the same last name as the mausoleum. She said the complete name a few times, testing it out on her tongue. “ ‘1854-1880. Devoted son, beloved brother’…”

“He didn’t save the world a lot,” Spike quipped.

Buffy gave him an annoyed look and whapped him lightly in the shoulder. He gave a mock cry of anguish, and she stifled her laughter behind her hand.

“ ‘May Heaven have mercy on his soul’,” Spike shook his head at the last line on the marker of his past incarnation.

“And may heaven keep his soul as far away from the man I love as is physically possible,” Buffy added softly.

The humorous smirk on his face vanished, and he leaned in to give her a quick, chaste kiss. “I love you,” he told her seriously.

“And I love you,” she smiled up at him, her hand gently stroking his cheek. “Happy 200th birthday, my beloved.” She leaned forward at nibbled lightly at the hollow of his throat, teasing the smooth, sensitive skin there.

He purred slightly at her touch and closed his eyes.

In the background, Big Ben chimed one.

“Back to the motel?” she gave him a seductive smile.

He nodded dumbly.

And in another minute the cemetery was once again silent, the empty grave they had just abandoned prepared to hold its secret for another two centuries…

Mirror, Mirror

2038…

“This ‘ad better be good,” Spike huffed, sitting down on the edge of Fletcher Price’s desk and fixing him with an annoyed scowl.

Buffy’s lips twitched a bit in a smile at her mate’s antics as she watched the former Watcher squirm in his chair.

“I did call you here out of courtesy,” the British man said down his nose at Spike. “I just thought you’d like to see it for yourself.”

“What?” Spike demanded.

Buffy couldn’t deny that she was curious as well. Magical artifact, big secret, hush hush, and all…

“It’s in the drawing room,” Fletcher replied, apparently unperturbed by Spike’s low growl. “I expect you’ll notice it right away.”

Buffy and Spike exchanged annoyed glances.

“We’re not going off on some scavenger hunt around the mansion,” Buffy informed him.

Fletcher actually looked like he was trying to suppress a smile, of all things. “Trust me,” he informed them with barely contained amusement, “you’ll want to discover this one on your own.”

Spike got right in his face and gave him an angry snort while Buffy rolled her eyes and stood up.

“Let’s go, baby,” she pulled Spike away from Fletcher. “See what the big deal is…”

The smile was definitely evident on Fletcher’s face as he watched them leave. “And don’t do anything…inappropriate!” he shouted after them.

“No promises there,” Spike grumbled under his breath as they walked to the old drawing room.

Stepping inside, everything seemed the same to Buffy at first. Familiar furnishings, fire roaring in the fireplace, some new potted plants, a bit of a mess that one of the kids had left behind… She slowly turned around, looking around the room, puzzled.

“La-bloody-da, we’re here,” Spike said testily. “There’s nothin’ ‘ere.”

Buffy smiled a bit to herself at her lover’s infamous impatience. And then she stopped and stared in complete and utter amazement at one of the walls.

“Think Fletch’s puttin’ us on, pet,” Spike said, yet to discover the miracle. “Best go up an’ give ‘im a good yellin’ at.”

“S-Spike,” Buffy caught his hand in hers, still frozen in place in shock.

“What ‘s it, luv?” he looked at her curiously…and then he saw the two figures as well. “Bloody ‘ell…” he whispered in awe.

Together they took a few hesitant steps toward the two other figures, and the others came up to greet them. With a shaky hand, Buffy finally reached forward to touch the glass mounted on the wall. Behind the full-length mirror, the woman across from her did the same. Her reflection…

A delighted little giggled escaped Buffy’s lips. “It’s me,” she said in surprise and delight.

Cautiously, Spike reached his hand out as well, the form he’d seen only in pictures and brief video clips for the past 150 years doing the same. “Bloody hell…” he repeated.

“It’s us,” Buffy smiled, watching her reflection smile back at her.

Spike smiled as well, watching the changes in a face that had become unfamiliar over time. “OK, maybe we don’t kill the twerp after all,” he said, his grin suddenly splitting from ear to ear.

“We look good,” Buffy commented, wrapping one arm around Spike’s waist and tilting her head to the side, eyeing their reflections critically. “We’re a pretty cute couple, actually.”

Spike snorted and rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help from smiling again when he saw his reflection mimic his actions. “I still object to the ‘cute’,” he said through his idiotic grin.

“Do you think we should…?” Buffy said hesitantly, looking around. They were, of course, still alone.

“Why not?” Spike shrugged, still looking into the mirror.

They both gave each other a brief smile and did the only possible thing in such circumstances: began making funny faces.

Tongues stuck out, eyebrows waggled, eyes crossed and uncrossed, faces vamped and unvamped, many ‘bunny ears’ and ‘vamp fangs’ were given, and before long they were both howling on the floor in hysterics.

“This ‘s jus’ brilliant!” Spike exclaimed, tracing his fingers over his scared eyebrow curiously and watching the vampire in the mirror do the same.

“Whoever came up with this was a genius,” Buffy agreed. “Vamps’d pay fortunes for a mirror like this.”

“Wonder how it was done,” Spike commented thoughtfully. “Dark magic, no doubt…”

Buffy curled up next to him and leaned her head on his chest, watching the couple in the mirror snuggle up in the same position.

“Think Fletcher’d let us borrow it for a couple of nights?” Buffy inquired teasingly.

“Hmm…” Spike murmured and kissed her hair, his eyes never leaving the mirror. “You havin’ the same naughty thoughts I am?”

“Great minds think alike,” Buffy agreed, smiling slightly.

Her gave her a seductive smirk. “Damn,” he said, watching the glass, “do I look sexy…”

“Hey, watch it, Narcissus,” Buffy shoved him playfully, “only I’m allowed to fall in love with your striking good looks.”

“You’ve got good taste, luv,” he teased.

Buffy gave him a playful growl and tackled him back onto the carpet. Their lips found each other frantically, both keeping one eye on the mirror as they deepened their kiss.

“Definitely need to borrow this one for a while…” Buffy finally said, her entire body tingling from their kiss.

“Definitely,” Spike agreed.

And together, they turned back to watch themselves some more…

Darkest Hour

2018…

“Spike?”

Buffy ran one hand through her lover’s hair. He didn’t even so much as stir, and she sighed. She had seen that glazed look in his eyes before and knew only too well what it meant. He didn’t even blink when she passed in front of him, still staring blankly at the bedroom wall.

She crawled into bed on the other side of him and watched the motion of his bare back as it rose and fell with the occasional breaths he still took out of habit.

“It’s a cloudy night,” she informed him. “Very windy, too. Nice and warm, but maybe I should just stay in tonight. That OK, baby?”

He didn’t respond. That was as good as an affirmative when he was in one of these moods.

“C’mere.” She caught his hand and pulled him over to her.

His head settled down against her shoulder, and she heard him breathe in her scent. That was a good sign. He was more responsive than usual this time, which probably meant he’d snap out of it sooner.

Buffy picked up the collection of Blake’s poetry from the bedside table and began to try to read, Spike still snuggled into her side.

She’d taken quite an interest in poetry over the past few years. Of all the arts her mate dabbled in, it was poetry that he was the worst at by far. And yet it had been a poet that he’d wanted to be. Sometimes she could almost see the lure that had drawn him in when they read aloud to each other. Such beauty and grace and elegance…

Trying to read it now was a futile gesture, though. It was impossible to concentrate with him just lying there like that, so listless and far from his normal self.

She knew from frequent experience that just letting him come back to his usual bouncy self on his own was the best strategy. Occasionally, just holding him helped, but even that never stopped her from worrying incessantly whenever this happened.

And she’d been forced to admit something very difficult: her lover had a problem and she couldn’t fix it no matter how hard she tried.

The first part she’d known all along. The signs had been there from the beginning: excessive impatience, mercurial mood changes, dizzying bursts of energy followed by miserable drunken bouts… Buffy wasn’t quite sure what he had, and she’d read a lot on the subject. Whatever it was, it had elements of ADD, bipolar disorder, and a bit of depression.

Mixed in with the oddities of a vampire’s psyche, it made for one hell of an odd disorder. And, unfortunately, also completely untreatable…

But this was the only part of it that she still had difficulty dealing with. She could still recall the first time he’d just blanked out on her. To say that she’d been a little freaked was an understatement. He’d explained afterwards that he just sometimes got that way. He usually blocked out the depression with drink or worse.

That had been the only thing she’d been able to do for him: stop the drinking.

He was much better for it. And he would admit so even in his most stubborn moods. He had been depressed less and less over the years, and he’d given her most of the credit. In fact, it had been nearly three years since the last time this happened.

Shaking her head, she tried to return her attention to her book. A familiar passage caught her eye, and she read aloud to him:

“ ‘When wolves and tygers howl for prey,

They pitying stand and weep;

Seeking to drive their thirst away,

And keep them from the sheep;

But if they rush dreadful…’ “

She watched him wince in anticipation of the next line. That was good. It meant that he was paying attention. However, Buffy figured it was probably best not to mention the word ‘Angel’ at the moment and skipped ahead. Anger was not the best emotion to try to invoke in him at these times…

“ ‘And there the lion’s ruddy eyes / Shall flow with tears of gold’,” she quoted. “You have beautiful eyes, you know.” She stroked his hair in a soothing manner and was rewarded when he curled up a bit closer to her.

This response was more than she could possibly have hoped for this early in the relapse, and she took great heart at this fact. While he generally wasn’t out of it for more than two days at most, she missed him horribly during those periods. Maybe this would be one of the lucky times when he came back to her in a few hours.

“I love your eyes,” she whispered, letting her lips brush his forehead. “I love everything about you, actually, but I especially love your eyes… You know why?”

He still didn’t respond, and she sighed before continuing.

“They’re so blue. And I can see the blue changing in them. Sometimes it’s clear and bright, and sometimes it’s dark and stormy, and sometimes…” She paused, not knowing quite how to finish. “I don’t remember that much about Heaven,” she began slowly. “Not anymore. But sometimes when I look into your eyes, and I see the blue there, I figure that’s got to be the blue of Heaven…”

He nuzzled her shoulder lightly, and a smile lit up her face at the signs that he was recovering already.

“I love your golden eyes, too,” she went on, “so sharp and predatory. But I can still see you down deep within them. I can always see how much you love me. I think that’s what I love the most about your eyes. When I look into them I know I’m seeing the real you.”

Her hand began gently massaging his back, and she could felt the corded muscles relaxing at her touch.

“Feeling better, love?” she asked hopefully.

He still wasn’t answering, but he let out a long breath against her side, tickling the sensitive flesh there and giving her little goosebumps.

“I’ll just keep reading then,” she said matter-of-factly, returning to her book.

A little smile quirked across her lips when he began stirring slightly beside her. They were little, insignificant moves. But, for a vampire who didn’t have to move at all, they were definitive signs of life.

Her smile broadened to a grin when his arm lazily wrapped around her waist, holding her tighter to him. He continued to be silent, though, and after a while she made a little pouty face.

“I know you’re out of it, you know.” She prodded his shoulder. “And I so deserve a kiss for having to go through that again.”

He looked up at her and gave her a rakish grin but still didn’t respond.

“Humph!” Buffy flipped through the book until she found the right page.

“ ‘Can I see another’s woe,

And not be in sorrow too?

Can I see another’s grief,

And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear,

And not feel my sorrow’s share?’ ”

She paused in mid-verse.

“You bastard,” she felt obliged to add to the last line. Really, his playing hard-to-get was just too much!

“’m sorry,” he murmured against her throat, sliding his body right alongside hers.

“Don’t worry about it,” she whispered softly against his lips.

His kiss was unusually tender and loving, a far cry from the wild passion that consumed them so often.

“I mean ‘m sorry ‘bout…” He gesticulated wildly, indicating the situation around them.

Buffy’s eyes widened for a second in realization, and she caught his chin in her palm before he could look away.

“Don’t be,” she insisted sternly. “Don’t you ever be sorry! I love you so much…everything about you. Even this.”

He gave her a sad little smile. “You shouldn’t have to put up with-”

“I do not ‘put up’ with anything!” she declared. “I want to be with you - all of you - and I’ll take the quirky parts right along with the…er…”

“Non-quirky parts?” he suggested bemusedly.

“Do you even have non-quirky parts?” she teased.

“Humph,” he mock-sulked. “Tryin’ to put me right back into a depression, you are, pet.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and gave him another kiss. “That enough to keep you out of it?” she asked lightly.

“Dunno. Couldn’t tell. Try it again.”

She batted him playfully on the head with her pillow before returning to the comforting circle of his arms.

“I’m glad you’re back so soon,” she said softly, resting her forehead against his.

“Me, too.” There was a long silence. “I wish I never had to leave you…” he finally added.

“Just make sure you always come back to me,” she requested, looking into those azure eyes that she loved so much.

“Always, luv. Always…”