Part 21

Beds of Bones


They remained on the side of the road, just holding each other, until
the proximity of sunrise became too uncomfortable for them both.
Buffy had tried again to get a sense of what was upsetting her Sire, but
he hadn’t been able to give her an answer. How could he explain to her…?

He was a killer. A predator. He had killed countless humans,
and probably as many demons. Until that night, however, out of all
the creatures he had slain, living or not, he had felt guilty exactly once. When he had killed the woman he loved, the woman he had promised to himself never to hurt. It had only been the necessary first step of turning her, but that still had been the hardest thing he had ever had to do. He had accepted his guilt, and attributed it to the love he felt for her. But this…? Feeling bad about killing someone he had just met, a woman who was nothing to him but a potential danger? Feeling bad despite the knowledge that she was agreeing to it, that she would only die for a moment? It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t happen. The Big Bad couldn’t feel guilty about killing!

Unless…

They wouldn’t have done it, would they? The bloody witches wouldn’t
have cursed him with a soul without his consent or even his knowledge,
right? He knew they had talked about it, when they were looking for
a way to get the chip out of his brain, but Buffy had told them not to do it. If they had…he would tear out their throats and without a shred of guilt…and he was the bloody queen of England, too. Who was he kidding?

If they had cursed him, it might explain a few things. Why, for
example, he had been so careful not to kill any of his human prey.
Why he had felt compelled to meticulously check their guilt. Why
he had even felt proud of himself at doing something good. Why Faith’s death had hurt so much.

He was turning into a bloody poof. Or rather, a broody poof.
Soon he’d be worse than Angel. Next he’d be writing bad poetry again! And he’d rather be dust than let that happen. Whatever the Witches had done to him, they would have to undo it. That was it, no discussion. He was a vampire! He was Spike! Not a nancy boy with a bloody soul!

It was with that thought in mind that Spike followed his Childe inside the Hyperion, both of them running to escape the first rays of the rising sun.


* * * * *


Leaving a disturbingly quiet Spike to go up to their room alone, Buffy went to Angel’s office. The door was open, and light shone into the hall. She found the vampire sitting behind his desk. Brooding. There was just no other word for it. His eyes were full of accusation when they came up to meet hers.

“You did it?” he asked harshly.

“Yes. She died. But she’s fine now.”

Angel shook his head.

“Sure, fine. Remember how ‘fine’ you were after you drowned?”

Buffy let out a deep sigh. “We explained that to you and I know you
understand it. It was just the only way…”

“It was too dangerous!” Angel interrupted her. “If she had to die, you
should have found a safer way.”

This time, she laughed. “A safe way to die? And what would that be?”

If she hadn’t known any better, she might have thought he was pouting.

“You could have gotten medical help,” he suggested.

"Oh yes," Buffy replied, exasperated by the way he was insisting. "I
can very well picture myself going to a doctor and asking for drugs to
kill someone. But just for just a minute, OK. Oh, and she's
supernaturally strong and has an off-the-chart metabolic level, so better
give me enough to kill a small elephant."

She arched one slender eyebrow at him.

"It's done, Angel. It worked. Faith has her whole life in front of her,
free of the Council as she wanted it. No reason to brood over it."

He threw her a dirty look, and she was suddenly happy he hadn’t been
there to witness the actual death and resuscitation. If he had, they would
have still been hearing about it a century later.

“Do you mind if I use your phone?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I want to tell the Council. Hopefully this will be the last time
we ever have to deal with them.”

The brunette only shrugged before turning the phone toward her and leaving
the room. Unconcerned by his disapproval, Buffy pulled out the piece
of paper on which she had scribbled Travers’ number, and dialed it.
Collect. As soon as his secretary transferred the call to him, she
announced without preamble:

“Faith is dead. You should have a new Chosen One waiting for you
somewhere.”

“Ah, Miss Summers. How nice to hear from you. Yes indeed,
we have been informed that a Slayer has been called, and we’re approaching
her at this very minute. Just like you were appro…”

“Cut the small talk, Quentin. I just have one last thing to say.
My debt is paid. I don’t want to hear from you or the Council ever
again. Is that clear?”

The man on the other side of the world gave a short laugh.

“But Miss Summers, you will have to hear from us again, I’m afraid.
Mr. Giles will confirm to you that the Prophecy predicts the presence of
the new Slayer by your side for the coming apocalypse. So we will
send her to Sunnydale. With her Watcher of course.”

Buffy ground her teeth and bit back the curse she wanted to spit at him.

“If I may ask, Miss Summers, how did Faith die? Not that it matters,
really, but for the Chronicles…”

Buffy answered without thinking, wishing she had simply hung up on the
obnoxious Head Watcher.

“Spike killed her,” she muttered.

“Oh, of course. It makes sense. A fourth Slayer for William
the Bloody, then. Impressive.”

The detached tone he was using was sickening. Angrily, she finally
did hang up on him, and suddenly Travers’ words shed some light on Spike’s
reaction. She remembered his pain after he had killed her, which
had only disappeared after she had assured him she didn’t blame him. Could it be that killing Faith had upset him the same way? It sounded like a good explanation, except for one point: why would it touch him so much to kill someone he barely knew?

When she joined him in their room he was already asleep. She climbed into bed behind him, pressing herself against his back, caressing his hair softly. It was her fault, she told herself. If she had had
the courage to do it herself, she wouldn’t have needed to ask him, and
he wouldn’t have suffered. Even though she didn’t quite understand
why he had.

“I’m sorry, love,” she whispered as she pressed her lips to his bleached locks.

He didn’t move, but startled her when he asked in a voice too clear
for someone who had seemingly been sleeping:

“About what?”

“About asking you to kill her.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, pet. I’m the Big Bad. Killing
is what I do.”

There was some bitterness in his voice as he said so, and it only confirmed
Buffy’s thoughts.

“Killing was what you did. But not anymore.”

He turned over until he was facing her, and she could see gold flakes
flashing in his eyes.

“I’m still a vampire, luv. Nothing can change that.”

She was only trying to make things better, and now it seemed like it
was getting worse. Why did he sound like she had insulted him?

”I didn’t mean it like that,” she said softly. “I know what you
are. Like I know what I am. I just meant you chose not to kill
any longer. And I feel like asking you to kill someone was a mistake. It wasn’t fair to you, to your choice. Am I making any sense here?”

The golden sparks disappeared, and in the faint light Buffy could see
his eyes, dark blue, as the ocean had been earlier.

“It felt like killing you all over again,” he confided in a whisper after a few seconds. “For a minute, she was you, and the idea of losing you again was just unbearable. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you.”

His voice broke on the last words, and all Buffy could do was cover
his lips with her own for a sweet and burning kiss.

“You have me,” she said as she pulled away. “You’ll always have
me. Body, heart and soul. You know it, right?”

“I know,” he said softly.

Snaking an arm around her, he pulled her tight against him. She
tucked her head under his chin, closing her eyes and purring quietly as
she did so. When she was right there, in his arms, the whole world
disappeared. Nothing existed but them.

“Luv…did you ever wish I had one? A soul, I mean.”

The unexpected question was uttered in a voice carefully stripped of all emotions.

“No,” she answered truthfully. “I never thought you needed one. Actually, if I didn’t know any better, I would sometimes think you already have a soul.”

Spike tensed suddenly against her.

“Don’t say that,” he said mildly. “It’s not funny.”

“I didn’t mean it as a joke,” she protested, moving her head back so
that she could see him. “You’re a good man. You can play the
Big Bad all you want but I know you, Wil…”

His hand on her mouth stopped her from finishing.

“Don’t,” he said, and this time his voice was pleading. “Don’t
call me that, pet.”

She nodded, though she didn’t understand his sudden request. She
had called him William in the past, a few times, and he had never protested
until now. What had changed?

His hand in her hair pushed her again right against him, until her cheek
was against his chest, and quickly she was purring again as he stroked
her gently. Soon after, she was falling asleep, barely aware of the
words he muttered.

“I am not him. I can never be him again.”


* * * * *


The day passed very slowly for Spike. His Slayer, apparently tired
from the lack of rest of the previous night, spent most of her day in bed. He was wide awake, though, and didn’t feel like troubling her peaceful sleep. So he was stuck in the Poof’s hotel, with nothing to do, no desire to see or talk to said Poof, only impatient for night to come so
that they could leave. If it had been up to him, they would have
left right away, bloody sun or not. But Buffy didn’t like being on
the road by day and so they were waiting for sunset.

The lack of options led him to the training room. He abused the
punching bag for a while, but his heart was not in it. Before long, he was just lying on the mats on the floor, one hand under his head, the other bringing a cigarette to his lips and pulling it away in thoughtless motions.

Voices coming closer finally broke his relaxation.

“…just saying,” Steven’s voice was explaining patiently, “it’s getting
worse every time you see each other. You’re always snapping at him.”

“I’m not,” Angel protested calmly. “He’s the one doing his best
to irritate me. I swear he wants me to get…”

At that point, father and son entered the training room and Angel undoubtedly could feel that Spike was close. The smell of smoke by itself should have been enough to alert both of them to his presence anyway. Spike pulled himself to a sitting position, leaning back against the wall behind him, giving both brunettes his usual smirk.

“Great,” Steven said almost gleefully. “Now I can ask both of
you at once. Why are you constantly at each other’s throats?”

The kid’s gaze was moving expectantly from one vampire to the other,
waiting for an answer. All he got was twin shrugs.

“Come on, either you have a good reason and you need to resolve your
problem, or you don’t and then you need to stop. Spike?”

The blonde was almost startled by the direct address.

“’Told you already, kid, you ask too many questions,” he replied, a
bit annoyed.

Steven frowned then, probably a bit surprised by the lack of cooperation
of his ‘brother’. Spike usually answered his questions, truthfully
if sometimes grudgingly. A complete lack of any sort of answer was
a first. But then, as much as he liked the kid, Spike didn’t see
the need to tell him about things that were none of his business.

“I’d like to know, too,” Angel said suddenly. “You always seem
to enjoy making me mad, but it has been getting worse lately. Why?”

Now Spike was facing two obstinate gazes, both waiting for an answer,
and he felt very much like he was on trial, even though he didn’t feel
like he was the one at fault.

“You say I’m trying to make you mad, but what about you?” Spike
said coldly, forgetting Steven as he concentrated his attention on the
older vampire. “Who are you? Angel or Angelus? You keep switching between the two and you’re giving me a bleedin’ headache.”

As he spoke, he got to his feet and approached Angel, until they were
face to face. He could see genuine puzzlement in the other’s eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Angel said at last, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me,” Spike snorted. “What I mean
is this. Half the time you barely acknowledge my presence in the
same room as you. The rest of the time, you talk to me, or yell,
as if to your Childe. Pick one and stick to it. Either you’re
my Sire or you’re not, you can’t just play the part only when it suits you.”

If anything, Angel’s confusion seemed to grow at the explanation.
He didn’t reply, only returned Spike’s hard gaze thoughtfully. After
a few seconds, it was Steven who broke the silence, obviously as perplexed
as Angel was.

“Spike, the only way he’ll be your Sire all the time is if he’s Angelus all the time. That’s what you said before. You don’t want that, do you?”

Spike’s eyes drifted to Steven. The kid knew, now, what exactly
Angelus had been capable of. He didn’t seem quite so impatient to
meet him. Not that it was very likely with the Poof having a permanent
soul.

“I guess I don’t,” Spike said at last, softly. “So that just means
I don’t have a Sire anymore, doesn’t it?””

Angel’s eyebrows shot up at the words, his eyes widening in surprise and…was it pain? But he still didn’t say anything. After a long moment, Spike nodded to himself. At least now he knew where he stood. No more wondering about Angel’s role in his life. He had none. That didn’t answer the question of what Spike’s role was, but at least it somewhat simplified the matter. Forcing a grin to his lips, he left the vampire and his son, and joined his Childe back in their room. Thankfully, he knew who she was, what her role in this world was, and how to act toward her.

Part 22

Family


The ride back to Sunnydale was uneventful. Buffy used the opportunity
to talk with Steven, mostly about Dawn, but also about what he had done
since he had last visited them. Spike, for the most part, was silent. Judging by the way he and Angel had behaved when they had left, Buffy suspected that something had happened while she was resting, but she hadn’t had the opportunity to ask him in private.

The highlight of the trip was Spike’s unique homecoming tradition.
As usual, and to Buffy’s dismay, he made a point of running over Sunnydale’s
welcome sign. She couldn’t understand why he purposefully hit that
stupid sign every time they drove by it, yet protested loudly and profanely
at the mere mention of letting Buffy drive his car.

They pulled into Revello Drive a little after 9:30. When they
entered the house, they found Giles in the living room, his nose in a heavy
leather-bound book, the coffee table buried under even more books, as well
as a mound of loose papers covered with his tiny and precise handwriting.

He rose from the sofa as they entered, his expression showing both delight
and worry as he hugged his Slayer. Spike got a handshake, Steven
a questioning look. Buffy then realized that he had never met the
boy, even though he had heard about him.

“Giles, this is Steven, Angel’s son. Steven, this is my Watcher,
Rupert Giles.”

They exchanged a handshake and polite greetings, though Giles seemed
suddenly lost in his thoughts, as if he had just had an idea.

Before anyone could say anything more, a joyous cry came from the stairs,
followed by a beaming Dawn. Ignoring both her sister and Spike, she
threw herself into Steven’s open arms and engaged him in a furious lip
lock. Buffy rolled her eyes at the display, before beckoning Giles
to follow her to the dining room, where they could talk without being overheard by the teenagers. The fewer people who knew about Faith’s real fate, she knew, the less chances for the Council to ever learn the truth. Not that she believed that Dawn or Steven would reveal the secret if they knew, she just preferred not to take chances. A new Slayer would soon be coming to Sunnydale, with a Watcher devoted to the Council’s cause, and slips of the tongue were always too quick to happen.

She was only half surprised, as she closed the door behind Giles, that
Spike hadn’t followed them. He seemed to have made it his personal
goal not to let the two teens have time by themselves. Sooner or
later, he would need to realize that Dawn had grown up and wasn’t a little
girl any more. She had tried to give him a few hints about it, but
he could be very stubborn when he wanted.

“I got a call from Quentin Travers,” Giles said as soon as she had closed
the door. “He informed me that Faith is dead and that they’re sending
the new Slayer here.”

Buffy frowned a little as she and Giles sat down at the dining table.

“He didn’t waste any time, did he?” she grumbled. “I want you
to know, Giles… she died, yes, but she’s not dead.”

She carefully observed her Watcher’s face as she talked, and soon was
rewarded by understanding slowly lighting his features. He gave her
a relieved smile.

“I’m happy to hear that, Buffy,” he said with a little sigh. “I
must say I was worried when Travers said you and Spike had killed her.”

Buffy grimaced for a second. “It was just the only way to free
her from the Council,” she explained.

Giles nodded as he reached briefly to touch her hand on the table.

“If she’s fine now, then forget about it. We have enough to worry
about.”

Firmly pushing Faith out of her mind, Buffy focused on her now grim
Watcher.

“One more apocalypse,” she sighed. “How bad is it?”

Even before Giles answered, Buffy knew the news were not good, for he
had taken off his glasses and was cleaning them absently.

“I haven’t finished translating everything,” he said, a bit apologetic.
“The Council had started, but there were some things they didn’t understand. Like some references to the Key, among other things.”

Buffy shut her eyes tightly, as if not seeing Giles would make his words
less real. After a second, she shook her head and her gaze settled
on him again.

“Dawn?” she asked quietly

He nodded. “As I said, I haven’t finished translating. I
just discarded the interpretation the Council gave me, since it didn’t
make much sense. Though I do agree with them on the need for the
other Slayer to come here. From what I gather, we will need Dawn
to close a portal…”

Unneeded breath caught in Buffy’s throat, and her eyes widened in horror.

“It’s not her blood again, is it?”

“I don’t honestly know, Buffy,” Giles said gently. “Give me a few days. And even if it is her blood, again, we’ll find another way.”

Feeling suddenly drained of all her energy, Buffy rested her head on
the table. She had already given her life once to save her sister. She would again, if that was what was needed. Except that now, she didn’t really have a life, or even blood, to give.


* * * * *


Deciding that this particular kiss had lasted more than long enough,
Spike cleared his throat loudly to remind the kids that they had an audience. An audience that was composed of only him, since Buffy and the Watcher had disappeared, but nonetheless an audience. Their lips separated at last, just as their hands found and clasped each other.

“Hi Spike,” Dawn said a bit breathlessly. “How was LA?”

“Just bloody fine,” the vampire grumbled, aware that she didn’t care in the least what he was saying. He didn’t like that look the two teenagers were exchanging. Not one bloody bit. Time to do something about it.

“You wanna come on patrol, kid?” he asked Steven.

The boy had never passed up an offer to go patrolling. But apparently
there was a first for everything.

“Not tonight,” the boy replied, almost apologetically. “I haven’t
seen Dawn in a while, and I have a lot to tell her.”

He flashed her a smile, which she returned instantly. Change of plans,
then. No patrol.

“Fine. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

He made the statement sound like a warning, and indeed it was just that. A reminder that he wasn’t far, should they decide to do more than talk. The effects of the warning however were apparently limited, as the kids started walking up the staircase.

“Where are you going?” he asked sternly. “You’ll be just fine
talking in the living room.”

Half way up the steps, they both turned to look at him at the foot of
the staircase.

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Dawn said coldly.

“And you don’t need to be in a bedroom to talk,” Spike replied in the
same tone.

A small grin played across the girl’s lips and she blushed slightly
as she whispered:

“Who said we’re going to talk?”

Spike blinked several times, certain that he couldn’t have heard correctly. But then, Steven looked as baffled as he felt when Dawn declared, much louder:

“Giles has the guest bedroom. So Steven will sleep in my room.”

This time, there was no mistaking what she meant. Spike glared
at her, at both of them, knowing all too well that his eyes must have been
flashing gold.

“Like hell he will! The sofa will be just fine. Won’t it, kid?”

The hard look he gave Steven dared him to say otherwise. But before
he could utter a word, Dawn had let go of his hand and taken a few steps
down until she was standing right in front of Spike, hands on her hips,
her face a mask of cold anger.

“We’re old enough to do whatever we want,” she hissed. “You have
nothing to say about any of it.”

“You’re old enough not to get spanked for being stubborn, that’s
about all. You’re just a kid and you’re gravely mista…”

“You’re the one who is mistaken if you think I’m a kid,” she interrupted. “Let me make this clear, Spike.” She poked him in the chest with one long, slender finger. “You’re not my father. You’re not my brother. This is not the nineteenth century and I am not an innocent girl to be protected until her wedding night. As much as I love you, it’s none of your business who I sleep with, or when.”

Stunned by her words, Spike didn’t even realize that she was gone, along
with Steven, until the door of her room banged shut. Instinctively,
he climbed a step and then stopped, frowning, and instead turned away. His feet led him to the back porch, and he was lighting a cigarette before he was even aware of having pulled his pack and lighter out. With a sigh, he sat down on the steps, his gaze unfocused as he dragged heavily on the fag.

He had thought of her as of a sister for so long, that it hurt to hear her reject him so. And yet, as much as he hated it, he could admit that she had seen right through his behavior. He wouldn’t have acted much differently if she had indeed been his sister, in his previous life. It would have been his duty to protect her. It had been his duty, though he had never been able to accomplish it. He had died before she even grew old enough to go to parties. How he would have liked to see her shy but beautiful smile attract gazes... She had probably inspired poems, hopefully better than those he had used to write. Though she wouldn’t have mocked even the worst poet of all …she was too kind for that. Every time Angelus had taken him to hunt among London’s blue blood, Spike had followed, throat tight, hoping with all his being that she wouldn’t be there. Thankfully, their paths had never crossed.

Dawn didn’t even look much like her. Except when she watched him
with her pleading puppy eyes. That was what always got him.
That was probably why he had been treating her like he had treated his
sister. That and the fact that in return she had treated him like
a brother. Until tonight.

He heard steps in the kitchen, and the door opened behind him.
He didn’t need to turn to know it was the other teenager, the one he had
been treating like the brother he had never had.

Part 23

Nothing and Everything


Despite being sure that Spike knew he was behind him, Steven closed
the kitchen door as quietly as he could. He hesitated for a second
then, unsure of what kind of welcome he could expect. If Spike had
been only half as surprised by Dawn’s little speech as Steven had felt,
it probably still had been a shock. Knowing how protective the vampire was of Dawn, a really nasty shock, as nasty as it had been pleasant to Steven. Not that he wasn’t willing to wait - they had all the time
in the world. But not waiting could probably be nice, too.
Very nice. Unless, of course, it meant he and Dawn might lose Spike’s
friendship. Yes, the vampire was - very slightly - smothering at
times. But Steven knew he meant well. And so did Dawn, deep
down, which was probably why she hadn’t protested when he had told her
he needed to talk to him.

Finally, the teen sat down on the deck steps next to Spike. The
vampire pretended not to notice, and kept pulling deeply on his cigarette. The silence was heavy, too heavy between two people who always had something to talk about.

“If I had known, I would have told you,” Steven said at last.

Spike snorted. “Why?”

The question took the teen by surprise. He didn’t know why, actually. It just felt normal to discuss these kinds of things with Spike. He had been Steven’s confidante for everything that was Dawn-related, and even more, almost since they had met.

“Because I want to tell you. Isn’t that reason enough?”

The still smoldering cigarette was suddenly thrown to the ground.
Spike got to his feet and stepped on it as he started pacing, hands thrust
deep in his duster’s pockets.

“What if I don’t want to know?” he asked, never looking toward Steven.

“I thought you cared,” the teen replied carefully.

“Apparently, I care more than what I’m allowed to!” came the biting reply.

Steven watched his elder in silence as he pulled out his cigarettes and lit yet another one. There was almost an art behind the practiced motions. He had seen the vampire go through his smoking act so often that he could recognize all the different emotions hiding behind the gestures, depending on how deeply he inhaled, how often, even the way he held the cigarette. This was the “I’m-two-seconds-away-from-going-to-kill-something-to-soothe-my-nerves” Spike. It came with a compulsion to pace furiously as well as a tendency to say things without thinking.

“She didn’t mean it,” Steven offered quietly.

The pacing stopped, but only long enough for Spike to give him a hard
look and say:

“Yes she does. And she’s right. I’m nothing to her.
Only her big sis’ bloody boyfriend. Just like I’m nothing to you.”

“It’s not true!” Steven protested vehemently. “You’re family!
To me, and to her too.”

He paused briefly, before adding, more calmly:

“You just need to realize we’ve grown up.”

For a while, Spike kept pacing angrily. Steven couldn’t help but
wonder what had been going on in his head in the last couple of days.
First he had all but denied his link with Angel, even though he had admitted
to Steven that he was a father figure to him. And that was without
mentioning the revelations from their drinking night, which Steven preferred
to forget. Now he was rejecting Dawn and him. Granted, Dawn
had started it, and maybe she could have voiced it differently. But
Spike hadn’t really taken all she had said seriously, had he? No,
he knew better than that. She had just let her irritation take over,
an irritation that had been growing for quite a while, actually.
It was a wonder Spike hadn’t seen it coming.

When the vampire finally stopped walking back and forth and turned to
Steven, there was still no trace of gold in his eyes, which was a very
good sign. However, he was not simply looking at Steven. Instead, he was gauging, weighing him, and Steven felt like he was about to be judged and sentenced.

“If you ever hurt her…”

The end of the calm threat was not voiced, but it felt still very real
to Steven. Yet he couldn’t help grinning as he nodded. That
was probably as close to a blessing they would get before a long time.

“Yeah, I know.”

“What if I hurt him?”

Steven turned toward the door as Dawn came out. They shared a
smile, and when he raised his hand toward her she took it and pressed it
briefly, warmly. That simple touch sent butterflies fluttering in
his stomach and actually made him a little dizzy. Her eyes left him
then, settling on Spike, and Steven’s gaze followed hers. The older
man was simply watching them, quiet, his face abnormally void of all emotion.

“Will you do anything if I’m the one that hurts him?” Dawn insisted softly.

“Should I?” Spike asked, his voice too neutral.

“Sure. Not that I want you to kick my butt…just give me a wake
up call.”

The faintest smile emerged on Spike’s lips, answering to Dawn’s.
“It’s a deal, then.”

Dawn took the few steps needed to stand right in front of the blonde.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. With another
apocalypse on its way and all, I guess it’s not the best time to get angry
with my best friend. Not when any of us could die soon.”

Steven blinked several times. Apocalypse?

“Don’t say that, Nibblet,” Spike replied immediately. “Nothing
bad will happen. I pro…”

The girl’s hand, the same one that had touched Steven’s a moment before,
rose and covered Spike’s mouth before he could finish.

“Don’t promise. You don’t know what will happen any more than I do.”

“But I do know I will die before letting you get hurt again,” Spike
said softly. “I won’t break that promise twice.”

Something passed between the two of them, and then they hugged.
If it had been anyone else but Spike, Steven would have been immensely
jealous.

“Protect him too, please,” Dawn whispered to the vampire, and Steven
felt his breath catch in his throat. “Because I would die if
anything happened to him.”


* * * * *


From behind the kitchen door, Buffy heard her sister talking about the
coming apocalypse, and her hand froze on the door handle. Giles had
said he hadn’t told her anything, but apparently she had figured out from
his presence and his study of moldy books that something bad was coming
their way. Smart girl. Too smart, sometimes. Buffy could
only hope she wouldn’t figure out that she too had a part to play in this
one before they knew exactly what her role was.

She pushed the door open finally, and stepped out onto the deck next
to Steven, who was getting to his feet from his seat on the steps.
Dawn and Spike hugged briefly, then the vampire placed a kiss on the girl’s
forehead and she came back toward the house. Toward Steven rather, who wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Time for patrol,” Buffy announced, feeling a little sorry about breaking
the moment.

Steven gave her an apologetic smile. “I’ll pass for tonight.”

Now, why was he blushing as he said that? Realization hit Buffy
as the teens exchanged one of those looks. She glanced at
Spike, expecting him to declare he wasn’t coming to patrol either, with
the clear goal to keep an eye on Steven and Dawn. Yet, all he did
was return her glance and say:

“Shall we go then, Slayer?”

Half an hour later, the two vampires were visiting their second graveyard
of the night.

“So, in short,” Spike said with more than a hint of annoyance, “we have
to wait until old Rupert is done with his little puzzle game before we
know anything?”

He was sitting on a tombstone, smoking what was probably his fourth
cigarette since they had started patrolling. As she staked a newly
risen vamp, Buffy thought to herself that she needed to do something about
his smoking habit; it seemed it was just getting worse all the time.

“Yep,” she replied, brushing ashes off her shirt, “nothing to do but
wait. And we all know how good you are at waiting.”

Giving him a smirk perfectly mimicking his trademarked one, she plucked
the half smoked cigarette from his lips and crushed it under her boot.
Before he could protest, she planted a quick kiss on his mouth.

“What if whatever it is happens before he’s done?” Spike asked as she
took his hand and pulled him to his feet.

“He translated enough to know it won’t happen for another five weeks. Something about the position of the stars and moon. He’ll be done long before that, and we’ll have time to get ready.”

Spike nodded absently as they continued their patrol. Buffy was
hesitating about telling him that Dawn might be a part of the Prophecy
when tingles down her spine distracted her. She gave Spike a look,
and he nodded again as she pointed toward a nearby crypt. A rather
bulky vamp was entering it, and even from a distance they could hear noise
coming from inside.

“Nest,” Spike whispered.

“How many do you think?” Buffy asked just as quietly.

“No idea. Awfully noisy. Might be quite a few. Let’s find out.”

With no further words, they strode to the crypt’s entrance, two predators
gliding smoothly and noiselessly in the shadows. Each had a stake
in hand when they burst through the door, expecting at least a dozen opponents. Instead, they found only three loud and apparently drunken vamps. They were dust before they even had a chance to get a good look at the intruders.

“Bugger. I would have sworn there would be more in here.”

Buffy couldn’t help raising a questioning eyebrow at the disappointment
she could hear in Spike’s voice. He was pulling out his cigarettes,
yet again, and she snatched the packet from him before he could light one.

“OK. Clue one, you’re smoking non-stop. Clue two, you’re
itching to kill, even more than usual. Clue three, you left Dawn
and Steven alone without a word of protest. Are you ill or something?”

Spike watched her warily for a while, before shaking his head and sitting
on one of the sarcophagi that graced the crypt.

“Bit and I had a little talk,” he said slowly. “Or rather, she
talked. And told me in no uncertain terms to mind my own business.”

Buffy moved in front of him, fitting her hips between his legs where
they dangled off the stone coffin. She ran her fingers through his
hair as she detailed his features. He looked a bit down, and that
was an understatement.

“What did she say that hurt you so much?”

A hesitation, a flash of pain, and then a quiet but firm declaration.

“Nothing but the truth.”

By the determined light in his eyes, Buffy could tell he wouldn’t answer
any further. She didn’t press the matter, but made the mental note
to ask Dawn.

“Are we doing a few more sweeps? Or did you have enough patrol
for tonight?”

He made a face as he answered.

“Don’t really fancy going home to listen to them.”

Buffy laughed at that, remembering how Dawn had once promised her to
get revenge for all the times her sleep had been disturbed.

“Let’s get back to work then, Big Bad.”

Before she could pull away, his legs suddenly surrounded her, trapping
her against him.

“No work,” he purred. “Big Bad wanna play.”

As he spoke, his hands had found their way under her duster, and suddenly
it was on the floor.

“Here?” she said doubtfully, eyeing the dusty crypt and its inhospitable
stone furniture.

“Why not?” he whispered as he nibbled on her earlobe. “You used
not to mind crypts.”

Getting caught up in his game, Buffy divested him of his duster as he
had removed hers, before attacking the buttons of his shirt.

“Your crypt was much nicer than this,” she jokingly protested.
“And you had a bed.”

“Which we barely ever reached,” he reminded her smugly.

Twin shirts, one red, one black, came off almost simultaneously, leaving
Buffy clad in her jeans and bra and Spike bare above the waist.

“Whose fault?” Buffy continued as she trailed her lips on his chest,
“You were always all over me.”

“I was? As in, I’m not any more? As in, it was just me doing
everything?”

He cupped her chin with his right hand and brought her face up toward
his. Oh, that smile…it was hers and no one else’s. Only with
her did he ever share his true smile…not a smirk, so tender, so loving,
so purely him.

She approached his lips, certain that they tasted as good as they looked,
but he stopped her.

“You didn’t answer, Slayer. Is it only me? Or do you crave
my touch as I crave yours?”

As the soft words passed his lips, his hand glided along her face, stroking
down her neck and shoulder, then following her arm. Buffy shuddered
at the caress, moving closer to his body to press her skin to his.

“Crave too,” she managed to reply. “Always.”

The smile returned, even softer than before.

“What am I to you, Buffy?” he murmured.

His mouth was on her face now, pressing burning kisses on every inch
of her forehead, cheeks, nose, chin. Both his hands were now running
over her arms, shoulder and back. All of it felt so good that she
didn’t even realize her own hands were resting, immobile, on his thighs.

“You’re the man I love,” she replied huskily. “My lover.
My Sire. My friend. My partner.”

Her voice grew quieter with each word, until it was nothing but a whisper
against his lips. At last he allowed their mouths to join, sending a wave of desire through Buffy. So soft, these lips. She could
never tire of them. When he let her, she could spend hours just kissing and touching them. Slowly they parted against hers, and her tongue accepted the invitation eagerly. It caressed his gently for a second, but quickly they were battling for dominance. Somehow, as they devoured each other’s mouth, Spike managed to remove her bra and unfasten her jeans, which Buffy only noticed when they separated, both panting.

“Your turn,” she breathed heavily, resting her forehead against his.
“What am I to you?”

He stilled completely then, his hands on her hips, his eyes looking
deep into her soul. He said just one word, and the sound was a caress
to Buffy’s mind.

“Everything.”

Part 24

Souls and Spells


It was a little past noon when Spike entered the Magic Box. He had left Buffy home with her Watcher. The two kids - not kids, gotta stop thinking they’re kids - had gone out for a picnic. He was at the shop supposedly to get a book for Giles, but he had another
agenda too.

“Hey, demon girl,” he said with his best ingratiating grin. “How’s business?”

Anya eyed him warily from behind the cash register. She was always quick to point out that Buffy was the co-owner of the shop, not him, and that his interest in the register seemed highly suspicious to her.

“You are very cheerful,” the girl commented. “I take it you had a good time in LA while some people kept working in Sunnydale?”

Decades of practice allowed Spike to control his expression and not scowl at her words.

“A bleedin’ good time,” he replied. “I have a question for you.”

He had her interest now. She looked at him expectantly, flattered as she always was when someone needed her knowledge or asked her opinion.

“Did you sell an Orb of Thesulah recently? To one of the Witches, maybe?”

A frown barred her forehead. This apparently was not the kind of question she had expected. She turned to one of the display cases and pointed to it.

“Just one in stock. It’s been there for a while. I sold the last one to an old guy who wanted a pretty paperweight.”

Unconsciously, Spike frowned at the clear crystal ball. He had a very deep urge to grab the offending object and smash it to pieces. So, the Witches hadn’t bought one of the damn things. But maybe they hadn’t needed to buy one, maybe they owned one already. Or maybe Anya was lying. Maybe they were all conspiring…

“Did you want anything, Spike?” Anya asked with a twinge of annoyance. “I was in the middle of something.”

Her question brought him back to the present.

“Uh, yeah, I need a couple of books for the Watcher. One’s about portals and dimensions, he said you’d know the one. And the other…do you have anything about how to detect if someone has a soul?”

Anya was already handing him the first book before he had finished asking for the second. She eyed him for an instant, obviously ready to ask a question, but thankfully did not. She went to another bookcase, pulled out a book, and began flipping through it with an air of concentration. At last, she found what she wanted; only briefly scanning the page before looking up at him.

“It’s a spell,” she announced. “Easy one, you should be able to do it by yourself. All you need is a bit of clear crystal. Do you want it now?”

He stared at her, surprised by how fast she had found the thing, how easily she had seen it was for him, not the Watcher. She seemed to notice his shock, and smiled slightly.

“I did it on myself, a while back,” she explained softly. “I wanted to know if the human package had come with a soul or not. Which apparently it did. Not that it really matters, but I just wanted to know. What makes you think you have one?”

Again, for an instant, he was just speechless. That the bint could see through him was unnerving, to say the least.

“’M not sure,” he said grumpily. “I’ve just been doing weird stuff lately. Feeling weird stuff. Stuff I should never feel. Unless Red or Glenda decided to have some fun and curse me.”

Anya shook her head slightly, a small grin gracing her lips.

“You know as well as me that demons can feel any emotion, just like humans. That they usually don’t doesn’t mean they’re not capable of it.”

Unreasonable anger rose in Spike as Anya spoke. If it hadn’t touched him so, he might have admitted that she was right. As it was, he didn’t even want to think of the possibility. It wasn’t natural for a vampire to feel guilt. There was an explanation, and he would find
it. He needed to find it.

“So, where’s the bloody crystal?” he asked through clenched teeth.

She shrugged as she handed him the book and strode toward a display, picking out the shiny crystal that would tell him whether he was the owner of a soul again or not.

“It’s $3. Do you need a bag?”


* * * * *


Sitting on the floor of their bedroom, Spike stared at the piece of crystal in his hand. The still clear piece of crystal. Frowning, he read the book again, before repeating the incantation carefully. And still, the crystal remained clear.

He was in the middle of a string of colorful curses in just about every language he knew when Buffy entered the room, and he cursed some more, silently this time. He had made sure she was busy in the kitchen before he came up to try this damn spell, exactly to avoid her walking in on him.

“Hey love, whatcha doing?” she said cheerfully as she unbuttoned her white shirt, which had a large stain of what appeared to be tomato sauce right on the front.

Distracted by the expanse of skin she was revealing, he answered without thinking, wincing even as he heard the words leave his mouth.

“A spell.”

She had already found a clean halter-top to wear and was pulling it over her head when she froze for a second, looking at him questioningly.

“What kind of spell?”

Busted.

Lying, not an option. Changing the subject successfully, improbable. Truth..?

“Come here, pet,” he beckoned her. “Hold this.”

He rose to his feet and she took the crystal he handed her, looking at him curiously. For the third time, he repeated the incantation.

“Animus petrum revelat.”

Instantly, the crystal started shining in Buffy’s hand, and she let
out a small gasp of surprise. When the light dimmed, the crystal had turned opaque, its milky surface glittering with a thousand spots of different colors like an opal.

“Oh! That’s beautiful! Thank you!”

Still wide eyed, Buffy was turning the small crystal in her hands, a delighted grin on her lips, and Spike couldn’t help smiling too at her pleasure. Throwing the book on the bed, he encircled her with both arms, and leaned in for a kiss. Too quickly, she was pulling away, protesting weakly.

“Gotta get back down. Dinner…burning…”

Reluctantly, he let go of her, and she pressed the crystal into his hand and a kiss to his cheek.

“Put it in my jewelry box please?” she asked as she hurried away.

Alone again, Spike’s smile disappeared and he frowned at the crystal. Apparently the spell was working, since the damn thing had changed for Buffy. So the answer was obvious. He didn’t have a soul. What wasn’t so clear, however, was why he had felt - no, still felt - bad
about killing the brunette Slayer.

Puzzled and annoyed at not having found his answer, though somewhat relieved that the Witches hadn’t played a soulful trick on him, he opened Buffy’s jewelry box on her dresser and found a place for the crystal. As he did so, his eyes fell on a familiar piece of jewelry, and he pulled it out, his conscience questions forgotten for an instant.

As he held the skull ring between his fingers, a grin came back to his lips. The silver piece brought back memories of another spell every time he saw it. He had been truly surprised the first time he noticed it in the box. He would never have thought she would have kept it once Red’s spell had been broken. Precious few hours, where everything
had been so easy.

Why should things ever stop being easy, anyway? Why was he trying to find answers to questions that didn’t really matter? He had killed Faith. So what? She was alive and well now, and he had no reason to feel guilty. If he had been planning to kill other people, the
feeling might have been disturbing, but since he wasn’t going to kill anyone anytime soon, it didn’t matter. It was the past. His present and future was downstairs, cooking dinner, and that was really all he should care about. Placing the ring back where it belonged, he closed the
box and left the bedroom, deciding to put all this unnatural remorse out of his mind. He didn’t have a soul, he certainly wasn’t getting one, and this had only happened because she was a Slayer, like his Buffy. Reasonable explanation to unreasonable guilt. Problem solved and
forgotten.


* * * * *


For a change, the dining room had been returned to its original purpose, and cleared of anything related to the shop’s online business. The liberated table had been covered with Joyce’s finest tablecloth and china, and was now surrounded by the Summers girls, their respective boyfriends, the Harrises and Giles. It was an apocalypse-free dinner, just old,
and new, friends sharing a good moment together. Discussions were taking place all around the table, about subjects as varied as Buffy’s improved cooking abilities, Giles supposed girlfriend in England, college majors and the latest numbers of the Magic Box’ sales.

At some point, while listening to Giles vehement denial that the lady who had once answered Buffy’s call was anything but a friend, the Slayer caught a few words between Spike and Anya.

“So,” the ex-demon asked offhandedly, “did you try it?”

Spike only nodded.

“And?” she insisted.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked quietly.

“Just curious.”

“It didn’t work for me. But it worked for Buffy.”

“Well, duh! What did you expect?”

If Spike answered, Buffy didn’t hear it, as she returned her attention to teasing Giles, and she had soon forgotten all about the overheard exchange.

Part 25

Manon


Only a week had passed since Faith’s death when the new Slayer arrived
in town. Giles was informed about it by a phone call from her Watcher,
Andrea Travers. When she heard the name, Buffy looked ready to bang her head on the closest wall.

“Please, tell me she’s not related to him!”

Giles gave her a sympathetic smile. He knew how much she despised
Quentin Travers and, honestly, he shared the feeling. His daughter
though, was somewhat of a puzzle. As strict as her father but unafraid
to question the Watchers’ traditions, devoted to the Head Watcher but known
to frankly speak her mind, even in front of the whole Council, if she disagreed with him.

“Sorry, but she is. His daughter.”

He took a couple of seconds and started cleaning his already spotless
glasses before continuing.

“It’s quite interesting that she is the new Slayer’s Watcher, though.”

“How so?” Spike asked as he rubbed Buffy’s back soothingly.

All three of them were in the kitchen, Giles having just hung up the
phone. He had long ago gotten used to the bleached blonde vampire
being around, he had finally accepted that even de-chipped he was harmless,
but he would never get used to seeing him and Buffy being so close.
But then, he never had, with any of her boyfriends.

“Well,” the Watcher explained, almost lecturing despite himself, “there
have been some dissensions in the Council from what I’ve heard. It
started when Faith turned rogue, and only got worse until Buffy was…turned.”

His eyes narrowed briefly as he said the last word, and he was very
pointedly not looking at Spike.

“When Travers arranged for Gruenwald to operate on Spike,” he kept on,
“there was almost a revolution in the highest spheres of the Council.
He remained Head Watcher by sheer luck only. That he named his own
daughter as Watcher of the newly chosen Slayer, at the risk of being accused
of favoritism, can only mean there’s no one he can trust except for her.”

“How do you know all that, Watcher?” Spike asked, and from Buffy’s puzzled
look she was wondering the same thing.

Giles’ grin changed slightly, taking a slight Ripper taint.

“Well, the same people who blame Quentin Travers for the way he handled
Faith and Buffy are curious about why Buffy and I are still on such good
terms. So, they ask questions, I answer when I feel like it, and
in exchange I get tidbits about what’s going on inside the Council.”

He felt rather proud of himself about the last, knowing all too well
how closed and secretive the Watchers were where their order was concerned. The fact that all he had been telling the Council was either useless information or outright lies made the deal even sweeter. The kettle whistled then, and Giles busied himself with making some tea as he finished telling them about the phone call.

“So. Miss Travers wanted to inform us that she and Manon are in
town and…”

“Manon?” Buffy interrupted. “What kind of name is that?”

Spike burst out in laughter, and Giles would have done the same if not
for Buffy’s dirty look.

“It’s a French name, luv,” the vampire explained, still chuckling.
“And by the way, I’m still trying to figure out if ‘Buffy’ is a name at all!”

Giles had to stifle his laugh by taking a sip from his cup, and Buffy
gave a playful punch to her Sire’s arm.

“Yeah, you can laugh. Spike. And you too, Rupert.”

Both men started protesting that were names were perfectly fine, but
Buffy stopped them by raising her hands.

“Let’s get back to Manon, OK?”

Giles nodded, though he was still somewhat offended that she had made
fun of his given name. A perfectly decent British name, it was.
Even if he didn’t like it.

“As much as saying this irks me, Spike is right,” he said with a faint
grin, to which Spike replied with a smirk. “She is French.
And she has been warned against both of you, so you might want to stay
away from her unless you want to risk a staking. Apparently, she
will be patrolling, so perhaps you should take a little vacation, rest
for the big event.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. Of course. He knew her too
well to really think she would leave her town to a girl who had just been
called and probably didn’t know the pointy end of a stake from the non-pointy one.

“Sunnydale is my turf, Giles. She’s here for the apocalypse, nothing
else.”

Spike cleared his throat, and Buffy turned to him questioningly.

“Before this new apocalypse, maybe it would be a good idea to let the
bint get some practice,” he suggested too reasonably. “A few weeks
training won’t be any too much for whatever is coming our way.”

He threw a glance toward Giles as he talked, and the Watcher knew that he was still annoyed that he wasn’t able yet to tell them exactly what to expect.

“Of course, that doesn’t mean we have to stop patrolling,” Spike continued
as he noticed Buffy’s frown. “If I remember right, stalking a Slayer
can be real fun…”

To Giles’ surprise, Buffy laughed with Spike then. As well as
punched him again. Indeed, it might be interesting to see how well
this new Slayer could fight, and she never needed to know that they were
watching her.


* * * * *


They hadn’t really planed to go looking for the new Slayer right away,
but as they were patrolling their first cemetery of the night Spike’s instincts
warned him. This would be the fifth Slayer he had come in contact
with, when most vampires never got to see more than one, and he could recognize the vibes easily.

“She’s here,” he said quietly, and instantly his Childe stopped and
looked at him questioningly.

“Manon?” Buffy asked, hesitating a little on the pronunciation of the
foreign name.

He nodded, and they started walking again, even more silently than before,
toward the unmistakable sounds of fighting that came from a little deeper
in the cemetery. Spike was briefly grateful that, again, Steven had
declined to accompany them, preferring to go out with Dawn instead.
If they had been inseparable before, they now seemed joined at the hip. Spike’s mouth twisted at the thought, until he forced himself to focus his attention on the now visible Slayer.

They stopped behind a couple of trees, far enough away that the girl
wouldn’t be able to see them in the dark, though they could both see her
easily. She wasn’t very tall, maybe a couple of inches taller than
Buffy. Slim, she wore faded blue jeans and a green t-shirt.
She had short hair, which seemed slightly reddish in the darkness.
She was only fighting one vamp, but he was taller and bigger than her,
and she seemed to be having a little trouble dusting him. Spike was
itching to go and finish the kill, and one look at Buffy was enough to
tell him she wanted the same thing. She gave in before him, and strode purposefully to the help of her fellow Chosen One. A kick, a spin, a flash of a stake, and the vampire was dust. But when she turned to the girl, a careful smile on her face, she faced a cross being held
toward her by another woman. Buffy jumped back. Spike quickly
joined her then, and stood by her side facing the other Slayer and her
Watcher. This wasn’t good, they were in plain sight and any vamp
or demon passing by could have noticed the Slayer’s reaction to a cross. Bloody stupid woman.

Manon was watching both of them suspiciously, her hand tightly gripping
a stake. Next to her, her Watcher was still brandishing the cross,
scowling fiercely. She was dressed exactly like the girl, in jeans
and a t-shirt, and looked to be somewhere in her thirties. Apparently,
wearing tweed wasn’t a requirement for being a Watcher.

“You will have no contact with the Slayer, demons,” she said coldly.
“You will help us with the apocalypse, according to the Prophecy, but until
then you will stay away from us.”

He could see the incredulous glance Buffy threw the Watcher, and was
surprised to hear her laugh.

“I think you’ve got it backwards, Miss Travers. Maybe you need
to talk to your daddy again. You are here to help us, not the other
way around. And you will help no one if the girl gets killed on her
first night in town.”

“C’est pas vrai!” said girl protested, blushing slightly. ”Je
me…I was doing good, I was going to kill it.”

“Buffy a raison, gamine, tu allais te faire tuer.”

Spike’s little intervention earned him a baffled look from Buffy, a
suspicious and angry stare from the Watcher, and a surprised and stubborn
one from the girl. Before the young Slayer could retort to his comment,
her Watcher was tugging at her arm.

“Don’t talk to him, Manon, he is dangerous. Très dangereux. Let’s go.”

The girl nodded, and started retreating, as did her Watcher, neither
turning their backs to them. Before they were out of sight, the older
of the pair called out to the vampires.

“Leave my Slayer alone or you will be dust.”

With that, they were gone. Buffy turned to him, arms crossed, pouting.

“What did you tell her? I know you said something about me.
What did you say?”

He chuckled at her jealous tone, and passed a hand through his hair
as he shook his head.

“I told her you were right, Slayer,” he replied truthfully. “Told
her she was going to get herself killed.”

For an instant, the jealousy became suspicion, and then she dropped the matter.

“Well, she’s just been a Slayer for a week,” she said, defending the
kid. “It takes time. I remember my first week I almost got
killed a dozen times. I could tell Merrick was afraid I’d never make it.”

She had mentioned her first Watcher once before, so Spike knew why her
gaze suddenly clouded. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he
pulled her close and pressed his lips to her hair.

“We’ll keep an eye on her, luv. She’ll be fine. OK?”

Buffy nodded, and soon they resumed their patrol. They didn’t
see the French and British girls again, and figured they had given up for
the night. Spike could see that his Slayer was worried, and so was
he, though maybe not for the same reason. Knowing her, she was most likely concerned that the girl would get herself killed before even having
a chance to learn how to fight effectively. What worried him was
that they had an apocalypse coming, and that the girl was supposed to help
them out. She had to learn, and fast, or she would be more of a hindrance than a help. For both her sake and the world’s, they had to do something. Soon.

Part 26

Rêves…


By midmorning the next day, Rupert Giles was knocking on Andrea’s motel
room door. She recognized him from having met the man briefly a couple of times in London a few years before. She wasn’t very pleased to see him here now, but she grudgingly let him in. After a long discussion, sometimes a bit heated, and to which Manon listened without a word, Andrea accepted the former Watcher’s offer to use his - no, Buffy Summers’ - training room. Her instructions had been to keep contacts to the barest minimum between her charge and the turned Slayer, her Sire and the ex-Watcher. But the reality of the situation necessitated some compromises.

Manon was a Slayer that had gone unidentified by the Council, and therefore
untrained, up to the moment she was called. That was just the way
it went. Some girls trained for years, ready and eager for their
potential mission, and were never called. Others had to adjust in
a few days. To Andrea’s satisfaction and pride, Manon had embraced
her calling, even though she hadn’t been thrilled to leave her country
and family. She was supposedly in the US on a paid scholarship to
attend a prestigious private school for a year and perfect her already
excellent English. The reality, of course, was a little different.
Her sacred duty was to prevent the end of the world, by temporarily allying
her forces to those of the very creatures it was her task to destroy.

The encounter of the previous night had not been unexpected, but it
had happened sooner than Andrea had imagined, taking her a little by surprise. She had been out with Manon, as much for training as to get a sense of what this cursed town was like. She appreciated the girl, even if she wasn’t supposed to get too attached to her, and her enthusiasm at fighting demons was quite pleasing. Yet it was painfully obvious that her fighting technique was still sorely lacking. That was why she had accepted the offer to use the training room of the rogue Slayer, even if
that meant risking meeting the two vampires again.

Buffy Summers was dangerous. Not that she was really a threat
to Manon’s life; Andrea was sure there was little risk of that, whatever
her father had said. No, she was a menace to Manon’s relations with
the Council and her Watcher. It wouldn’t do to have yet another Slayer
decide she didn’t need the help of the Council of Watchers.

William the Bloody was another matter, just as dangerous but in a different
way. He had killed four Slayers. One of them he’d turned. Another one he’d killed only a few days before. Andrea was somewhat perplexed by that, for two reasons. The first was that, according to all the reports she had been able to access, the vampire hadn’t killed one single human in years, not since Buffy, even though his technological leash had been suppressed. Why had he started again, and why Faith? The second surprise was that it appeared that Buffy Summers, although presumably souled and a fighter for the good side, had done nothing to prevent him from killing her fellow Slayer or to punish him for doing so once he had.

Quentin Travers even said they had killed her together, but Andrea had
trouble believing it, despite her awareness of the difficult relations
between the two Slayers. She had spent countless hours studying all
the reports existing about Buffy. The first few years were from Giles’
hand and quite detailed; after that, the reports grew fewer and less precise. But, to the best knowledge of all observers, Buffy Summers had never, ever killed a human being, even after being turned. Why start now? It didn’t make any sense. And if there was one thing Andrea didn’t like, it was confusion.

She would have liked a lot more having a badly turned Slayer to fight.
The goal would have been clear, then. Dust her, and the vampire who
had turned her. But no, life wasn’t that simple. What she had
was a rogue Slayer, who happened to be a souled vampire and who patrolled
with her murderous Sire, who had come to the help of a younger Slayer but
had not prevented the death of the previous one, who had rejected the Council long ago but still had a close relation with her former Watcher, himself a rogue element. Definitely not the kind of influence she wanted to expose Manon to. This was why she was thoroughly annoyed when, after an hour or so of training, the blonde Slayer, her Sire and Rupert Giles showed up in the shop’s backroom.


* * * * *


The now familiar tingles warned Manon of a close vampiric presence and
she instantly stopped punching the bag held by Andrea. She pointed
a long finger to the door and her Watcher turned toward the intruders,
frowning. Even though she tried to appear detached, Manon felt like
a bundle of nerves. Since Andrea had come to her with her incredible
news, she had drilled into the new Slayer the idea that vampires were dangerous, evil, and needed to be dusted. Except now there were these two that she couldn’t stake because they were needed, but that she couldn’t trust, because they were vamps. At least, Andrea said she couldn’t trust them. And Manon agreed about the man, she had known before Andrea ever mentioned him that he was deadly, even if she didn’t know who he was then. But the woman… Buffy… Weird name. Crazy Americans. Buffy, she knew she could trust, knew she had to trust, even if she was a vamp, even if her Watcher had told her to stay away from her. She knew it, because she had dreamt it.


* * * * *


Manon was on a prairie, a familiar place, a few minutes from her
hometown in the South of France. The grass was tall, with wild flowers
of every imaginable color. On her left, in the distance, there was
a forest, a small one. In front of her, like construction cubes lying
on the grass, a few buildings. One of them was a stable, full of
horses, she knew. Another one was a kind of youth hostel. The smallest was the owner’s house. She had been here a few times, a guest of the owner’s son, Axel. No romantic feelings there, at least not from her, just a nice friendship. But why would she be dreaming of this? Because she was aware it was a dream, she knew she was in that so uncomfortable bed, in a Californian motel, not in the beautiful countryside of her homeland. She could hear someone walking behind her and she turned, expecting a familiar face, finding instead someone she had met just a couple of hours before. Buffy was looking at her, an image of serenity. She had on a long summer dress instead of the black attire she had been wearing when she had jumped into her fight earlier. And if Manon had needed one more proof that it was a dream, there it was. The vampire was standing in the sun, and not burning.

“It’s a nice place,” the blonde commented with a smile.

“It’s my dream,” Manon replied mildly. “Why are you here?”

“It’s not just your dream. It’s a Slayer dream. Comes
with the package of super strength, accelerated healing and sacred duty.”

As she talked, the woman was walking, picking up flowers as she went. Manon caught up with her, watching her curiously. She seemed very different from the fighter Manon had been warned against and had briefly met. That Buffy, leather-clad and deadly, Manon had been afraid of. A little, not much, she was the Slayer after all, she could deal with vampires. But this Buffy was different. In the light of the sun, she didn’t look so lethal anymore. Just a normal girl. Just like Manon felt.

“Andrea said Slayer dreams are supposed to tell me something,” she
said slowly. “So what does this mean?”

Buffy stopped walking and turned toward her. Gone was the light
summer dress. She was now back in her slaying uniform. The
flowers in her hand had been replaced by a stake.

“I’m the same,” she said. “The woman, the Slayer, the vampire. All the same person. You’re a Slayer too. We’re the same.”

She took a step toward Manon, the hand that held the stake extended
to the girl, palm up. Manon looked at the offered piece of wood suspiciously. Under her very eyes, it transformed into the bunch of flowers from earlier. But when she reached for it, it changed again, and it was a stake she grabbed. It felt comfortable in her hand, not awkward anymore as the weapon had seemed for the past week. She glanced up at Buffy, who was smiling warmly.

“I can show you,” she said softly. “If you trust me, I can
make you the Slayer you need to be.”

Again, she extended her hand toward Manon, empty this time.
A clear certitude imposed itself on the youngest Slayer. If she took
that hand, she would learn more than her Watcher would ever be able to
teach her. But could she do it? Could she trust the blonde
vampire?

Buffy hadn’t moved an inch, but again she had changed, back to the
summer dress, yet oddly covered with the black duster. Tentatively,
Manon reached out to the proffered hand.


* * * * *


Buffy and her Watcher came closer to where Andrea and Manon stood.
The other man - Spike, Manon thought Andrea had called him - remained by
the door, arms crossed, a very weird grin on his face.

“The deal was that you would let us train without interfering!” Andrea
said angrily.

The man had the grace to look a little embarrassed as he replied.
“I lied.”

“We don’t have time for these games,” Buffy interrupted, her voice very
serious. “We have only a few weeks. We still don’t know what
we will fight, but it’s bound to be big if two Slayers are needed.
So we can’t have one of them at only half her skill.”

At that point, the blonde’s eyes left Andrea and settled on Manon.
And they were full of something the young girl wouldn’t have expected.
They were pleading. And so was her voice when she said:

“If you trust me, I can make you the Slayer you need to be.”

For a second, Buffy’s cream tank top and gray sweat pants were replaced
by a long dress and black duster. Manon blinked, and the illusion
was gone. She reached out to Andrea, touching her arm to catch her
attention.

“Ce qu’elle dit,” she said in French, reverting to her first language
at the shock of hearing Buffy’s words, “j’en ai rêvé cette nuit.”

“Quel genre de rêve?“ Andrea asked, frowning a little.

“Prophétique, je crois. Je pense que je dois lui faire
confiance.“

For a long moment, Andrea studied her young charge’s earnest face, obviously thinking intently about what she had just said. Then, slowly, she nodded. Turning back to the vampire and old man, the Watcher announced:

“We accept. But no more lies between us, is that clear?”

The man nodded his assent, but the blonde looked puzzled.

“OK, what did I miss?” she asked. “Why the change of heart?
I thought it would take a lot longer than that.”

The ex-Watcher glanced at Manon before returning his gaze to the blonde.

“Manon had a dream, probably a Slayer dream, which told her to trust you.”

Of all things, the girl started pouting as she heard the explanation.

“Why does everyone understand French except me? I took two years
of French in high school; you’d think at least I could understand what
she says!”

Manon couldn’t help laughing softly as her elder, the supposedly lethal
Slayer turned vampire, suddenly looked like a sulking teenager.

“You teach me how to fight,” she proposed, offering her hand to the
blonde, “I teach you French.”


* * * * *


From his spot against the wall, Spike observed the two odd couples.
Two Watchers, two Slayers, trying to figure out whether they could trust
each other. If that was really what the White Hats were like, it
was a wonder they always won.

After some more discussion, Watcher-girl accepted Giles request for
help in translating the damn prophecy. He didn’t really need her,
all he needed was time, but as they had plotted their little act it had
seemed better to get the woman out of the way. Easier that way to
have the girl’s full attention. The two fellow British left the room
to go back to the Magic Box, the woman turning back a few times, obviously
not very comfortable at leaving her girl alone with vampires.

Spike approached the two Slayers then, ready to take part in the training
session. However, before he could even say a word, the red-haired,
brown-eyed girl was taking a step back, her body tensing as if readying
for attack.

“I trust you,” she told Buffy, “but not him. I won’t train with him.”

Buffy glanced at Spike, and he returned her puzzled look. No,
he had done nothing to scare the girl. Not yet, at least.

“Why not?” Buffy asked. “It would be faster if we both teach you.”

“No. He’s a killer. I saw it.”

Both Buffy and Spike stiffened at the girl’s words.

“And what did you see, gamine?” Spike said coldly.

“Vous,” she replied just as coldly. “J’ai rêvé de
vous. Vous avez tué une femme. Vous l’avez noyée. Je l’ai vu dans mes rêves.”

“OK, this is becoming so annoying,” Buffy commented with a frown.
“Translation please?”

“She dreamt of me killing Faith,” Spike replied, his throat suddenly dry.

His Slayer’s eyes widened as her gaze traveled between the girl and
him. If they told her Faith wasn’t dead, she wouldn’t believe them. Why should she? Or she would tell her Watcher, and that just wouldn’t do.

“You girls have fun,” Spike said blankly. “I’ll just sit over
there and watch.”

With that, he left them standing in the middle of the room and settled
himself on the worn couch. Just when he thought he had managed to
put the brunette out of his mind, the new girl had to bring it all back
with a few words.

“So,” he heard the kid ask Buffy, a bit surprised. “He really
did it? What I saw in my dream was true?”

“You don’t know the whole story,” Buffy replied with a sigh. “If
I told you now, you wouldn’t believe me. Maybe when you get to know
us better you will. Just trust me, and trust that Spike won’t do
a thing to hurt you.”

With that, they started their training. Spike just watched as
his Slayer showed different moves to the younger girl. He itched
to give his comments and opinion, but managed to keep his mouth shut. It was rapidly apparent that Manon was a quick study. They just had to hope it would be enough.

Part 27

…and Dreams...


After three days of training and two nights of patrols together, Buffy
managed to convince Manon to agree to Spike patrolling with them.
Not because she wanted to keep an eye on him - she trusted him and his
promise. Rather, she simply missed him. He had gotten tired
of just sitting and watching while she sparred with Manon, so he didn’t
come to the store anymore. He had tried helping Giles and Andrea
Travers, but the woman was very uncomfortable when he was around, so he
had just given up on that. Surprisingly, the two Watchers were almost
done anyway. From what Buffy gathered, they not only had had to translate the text from whatever forgotten language it was written in, but also had had to interpret it, as it was written in verse and was as cryptic as most
such prophecies of doom seemed to be.

Since Manon had first refused to patrol with him, the two Slayers had
gone out by themselves two nights in a row. The younger Slayer had
shown a lot of progress, to Buffy’s satisfaction, but she wasn’t as much
fun to patrol with as Spike was. Oh, the two girls got along just
fine, but the age difference between them, almost eight years, as well
as the cultural differences always brought long silences. The one
good thing was that Manon seemed to have gotten over the fact that Buffy
was a vampire. However, when they started to patrol on the third
night, it was quickly obvious that she hadn’t forgotten her first impression
about Spike. Her attention was on him, not on their surroundings,
which could be dangerous when you were a Slayer. This kind of thing
could make you the prey instead of the hunter.

“Who was she?” the girl asked suddenly, her eyes on Spike. “Who
was the woman I saw you kill?”

Spike glanced at Buffy before answering. His voice was aiming
for indifference but Buffy knew him too well not to see past the pretense.

“Her name is Faith. She is… was the Slayer before you.”

Manon froze for a second, and when she started walking again she remained
pointedly a few steps behind the two vampires.

A couple of minutes later, they found their first fledgling of the night.
As usual, Buffy motioned for Manon to take care of it, ready to help if
necessary. Spike was watching the fight with interest, as it was
the first time he’d seen Manon in action since they had stumbled upon her. The improvement was undeniable, as the vamp soon was ashes at Manon’s feet. She looked up at Buffy, smiling proudly, oblivious to the menace that was coming up behind her. Not vamps, this time, but Fyarl demons. Three of them. And the only weapons the Slayers and the vampire had with them were stakes.

“Bloody hell,” she heard Spike mutter. “Think she’s ready for that?”

“Ready or not, she doesn’t have a choice,” Buffy replied.

As they talked, Manon had turned to see what they were looking at.
She took a few steps back when she saw the demons, and asked quickly:

“How do we kill these?”

At least, she was thinking fast, Buffy mused.

“Stake through the heart will work just fine, but it’s a bit harder
than with vamps. Usually I like to cut off the head, but we’re not
equipped for that.”

“Breaking their neck works great too,” Spike commented as he strode
toward the closest one and tallest one.

Buffy followed, targeting the second biggest one. It took only
a couple of seconds for Manon to join in the fun. As she engaged
her own adversary, Buffy tried to keep an eye on the girl, knowing that
Spike would be fine. For a while, she was doing OK, not making much
progress toward killing the demon but at least staying out of harm’s way. However, soon after Buffy had pushed her stake deep inside her demon’s chest, she turned to find Manon on the ground, her sole weapon out of her reach, and the Fyarl towering over her menacingly. Before Buffy could take a step toward her, Spike was there, demonstrating his earlier statement about neck breaking. Pushing the corpse away from the girl, he offered her his hand to help get up. Manon just stared at him, unmoving.

“You killed the other Slayer and now you save me,” she said slowly,
and her voice was shaking a little. ”Why?”

After a couple of seconds, Spike replied, almost in a whisper.

“She wanted to die. Do you?”

The girl shook her head, and at the same time reached for his hand hesitantly.

“Non.”

“Good. Because I’m tired of seeing Slayers die.”

Buffy winced as she heard his words. The time was long past of him boasting
about how he had killed his first two Slayers. He had refused to
talk about it any more, but she was sure he wasn’t completely past Faith’s
death yet; his voice was too strained when he talked of Slayers dying.

Manon had a nasty gash on her arm, so they cut short the patrol and
walked her to her motel. She was silent on the way, but she didn’t
look at Spike so warily any longer and even thanked him before they left. At least, Buffy thought that was what ‘Merci’ meant. Manon was certainly making more progress as far as fighting was concerned than Buffy was with her French.


* * * * *


A strange idea had sneaked into Spike’s mind as he had taken care of
the girl’s demon. A really very peculiar idea.

If I keep her alive until after the apocalypse, it will make up for
the Slayers I killed.

It wasn’t even just Faith, now. It was all three of them. The three girls he had killed for no other reason than they were Slayers. Not to feed, not to turn them, but because he could. Buffy’s death was different. He had felt the guilt but he didn’t feel as though he had to pay for it. But the other three…

When had Faith been joined by the other two? He didn’t know when
it had happened, or why, but they were now firmly installed in his conscience,
bothering him every time his mind drifted to the subject of Slayers.
And considering he was living with one and another one was around, it was
way too often for his peace of mind.

After leaving the kid with her Watcher to fuss over her injury, he and Buffy walked through a couple of cemeteries, finishing the interrupted patrol.

“So what do you think of her fighting technique?” Buffy asked him as
they finally headed toward home.

“Not too bad from the little I saw, but she doesn’t dance as well as you do.”

His Slayer flashed him a bright smile at that, and stopped in the middle
of the sidewalk to plant a kiss on his lips. The quick kiss however
lingered, and hands started to wander, searching for skin.

“Slayer, let’s get home,” he breathed against her mouth.

“Race you there,” she replied with a mischievous grin.

Before he could agree, she was already running, and he followed without
really trying to catch up with her. Letting her win the race could
be awfully pleasant for him later. Probably more so than winning. He was almost sure he knew what she would ask as her reward, and he would be very happy to oblige.


* * * * *


They managed to keep it mostly quiet, but Buffy had the feeling that
Giles would be looking at anything but them the next day. Just like
he had developed a tendency to avoid seeing Dawn and Steven most mornings. The teenagers were oblivious, anyway, too caught up in each other to even notice. And Buffy couldn’t really blame them; she would have enjoyed very much having nothing to think about but her lover. But that was a luxury to her on most days, and even more so with the impending doom. Still, enjoying a few hours and forgetting everything except for his touch was deliciously refreshing to her mind and soul, if a bit tiring for her body. It was almost morning when she finally drifted into sleep, Spike spooned snuggly against her back.

The sun on her skin felt good after so long, and she was surprised
that she wasn’t even thinking of finding shelter. And even more shocked when she felt her heart beat. She had forgotten how it felt.

She was on a beach, barefoot in the sand, small waves coming up to
lick her toes. It took her a short moment to recognize the place. This was where Faith had died. It looked quite different during the day; the sand was golden instead of silver, the ocean glittering under the sun, the blue of the sky as light as Spike’s eyes when he was happy..

“It was a nice place to die. And to be reborn.”

Startled, Buffy almost jumped, turning quickly to the woman behind
her.

“Cordy?”

Cordelia smiled as she patted the beach towel on which she was sitting,
inviting Buffy to join her. She was exactly as Buffy remembered her
from the last time she had seen her, the day she disappeared.

“OK,” she said after Buffy had settled down beside her, still stunned. “Let me clarify a couple of things first, because I’m still not very good at the dream thing. This is a dream, one of your prophetic Slayer dreams or whatever you call them. And I am a messenger from the Powers That Be.”

She stopped for a second then, looking at Buffy expectantly, but
all the Slayer could find to say was:

“Huh?”

Cordelia sighed and looked up at the sky, as if imploring someone.

“Anyway. It doesn’t really matter. But what I’m going to say
now is very important, so listen carefully.”

Despite herself, Buffy nodded.

“The prophecy Giles is working on, that’s a really ugly one.
When the portal opens, you’ll need all the help you can get to close it
again. You already have Manon, Spike and Steven, but you’ll need
more. I’m working on Angel right now, but the poor guy has some trouble believing it’s not a normal dream. I would never have thought he was dreaming of me sometimes.”

Her voice trailed for a second, and a goofy grin came to her lips.
However, she quickly shook her head and continued her speech.

“The problem is, the portal will open during the day, and there’s
no way I can give you a little eclipse like we had for our graduation.
Apparently, we can’t use the same trick twice. Stupid rule.
Especially since last time the eclipse helped the other side. But
I’m digressing. So. Big battle. Sunlight. How do you have your
good vamps fight it? Any idea? Yeah, I guessed not. Don’t worry, I have the answer. You make them humans, that’s how. Of course, you’ll all keep your strength, because if you’re just regular humans, it doesn’t really help. But you get the idea.”

Buffy blinked several times, shaking her head, because the thing
was, she wasn’t sure she was getting the idea at all.

“Cordy, what are you saying exactly? That I’m going to be human
again?”

“Yes, but not just you,” Cordelia replied a bit impatiently.
“You, Angel, and Spike. So that you can fight that battle.
And if you survive it, you get to keep your humanity. Cool, huh?
I thought you’d like it. And I’m sure Angel will too, he’s been waiting
for it long enough. Spike... well, he's something else, isn't he?
I've been keeping an eye on him, and I think he might have a bit of trouble
adjusting. But we’ll give him time before the big day to get used to it.
Any questions?”

Buffy felt too baffled to say one word, and Cordelia was soon talking
again.

“So, that’s the big event of the year. But before that, I’m
afraid there’s a little one coming for you.”

“A little what?” Buffy interrupted. “A little apocalypse?
They come in different sizes now?”

Cordelia smiled. “Nothing so bad, no. Just a little test,
I would say. A question of trust. You’ll understand when it
happens. And when it does, just remember everything.”

That didn’t make any sense to Buffy, but when she started to say
so, she realized Cordelia was gone.

At the same instant, Buffy opened her eyes, finding herself back in Spike’s embrace. She just stared, blindly, at the wall she was facing, all of Cordelia’s words coming back to her. She hadn’t understood all of it, but she was sure of two things. That it had been a Slayer dream, and that she would soon be human again, as would the man she loved.

And a single hopeful tear soaked into the pillow under her face.

Part 28

…and a Nightmare


Spike awoke to the insistent and deeply annoying sound of the phone.
He opened one eye and checked the alarm clock, surprised at finding himself
alone in bed at such an early hour. Then he heard the shower running,
and noticed that the bathroom door was open, which answered the question
of where Buffy was. He considered joining her, but the phone ringing
again broke his train of thought. Cursing sleepily, he reached out,
picked up the receiver, and grunted some kind of greeting.

His still foggy brain didn’t quite process the few sentences that followed,
though it did recognize the voice of the lunatic who had awoken him in
the middle of a quite pleasant dream.

“I swear, Peaches,” he growled, interrupting the rambling man, “if you
were in Sunnyhell, I would be on my way to stake you right now. You
have any idea what time it is?”

“Uh, 5:21?” the older man replied, sounding a bit sheepish. “Did
you hear what I said? I’m going to be human again!”

Despite his shock, Spike managed to pay a little attention to what the
other man was explaining. With each excited word though, a cold anger was growing in him, and when Angel finally stopped, he asked, harshly:

“And you call at this hour to tell me?”

“Well, yes,” Angel answered, confused. “I mean, big news, so I
wanted to let you know. All of you, that is.”

“You want your son to know, I get it. You want your ex, my
girl, to know, a bit harder to swallow. But me? Why should
I care? You’ve been pretending for a century that you weren’t a vampire, and now your wish is going to be granted. But, if you’re not a vamp, you can’t have Childer, and that means you’re nothing to me. I thought we had that all cleared up the last time we talked!”

From icily calm, Spike’s voice had changed as he spoke, until he was
now almost shouting.

“You decided it was cleared up,” Angel replied blankly after a
few seconds of silence. “I’m still trying to understand what that
was all about.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like it matters now anyway, mister ‘I’m gonna
be human, let the whole world rejoice’.”

With that, Spike disconnected the call. He stared at the cordless phone in his hand for an instant, before letting it fall to the floor.
That was when he noticed his Slayer by the side of the bed. Wrapped
in her fluffy bathrobe, she was drying her hair with a towel. Her head was tilted to one side, her expression pensive as she looked down at him.

“Is anything wrong, love?” she asked gently.

He gave her a smile and opened his arms, inviting her to climb in bed
with him. She did just that, draping herself partly across his body,
her head on the pillow next to his.


* * * * *


“Everything’s fine, pet. Except for the bloody poof waking me
in the middle of a very nice dream.”

As he talked, his right hand slipped inside her robe, and Buffy had
no trouble imagining what his dream had been like.

“What did he have to say?” she asked, though she had heard enough of
Spike’s side of the conversation to know already.

Immediately, his hand stilled on her belly.

“He blabbered something about becoming human. As if we would care.”

She noticed he was watching her intently as he said this, undoubtedly
trying to see whether she did care or not. She reached out with a
still slightly damp hand and played with his hair, the longish curls mussed
by sleep. It wouldn’t be long now before he asked her to trim it
for him again. She liked the curls though, it changed his image,
softened it a little maybe. Made him look just a bit sexier if that
was even possible. She knew she was stalling, but she didn’t care. She could tell him later about them becoming human too. Right now, she needed to tell him something else. But not with words.

Tugging gently at his curls, she pulled him closer to her, capturing
his mouth in a searing kiss. The hand that had slipped inside her
robe moved again then, opening the garment so that that they were now skin
to skin, before traveling to her back, sliding to her ass and kneading
the soft flesh. A soft whimper escaped her when he pulled away from
her lips, but the fire in his eyes, both lust and love, reassured her silently
that he wasn’t going very far. He pushed her flat on her back, and
instantly his mouth was on her breast, first tongue and then blunt teeth
worrying one nipple into a hard bud, before inflicting the same treatment
on the other. Before long, she was arching her body up against his,
trying to increase the contact, to get some kind of friction…just there,
exactly. Right on that spot his fingers were torturing so deliciously. His mouth had drifted up, his face now buried against her neck, human teeth biting softly over old scars and more recent ones. Buffy could feel the wave rising, fast, and forced her hand to take hold of his and still it.

“Not like that,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “With you.”

He shifted his body over hers, leaning on his forearms, lying between
her legs, the moist tip of his shaft just nudging her entrance.

“Do you love me?” he asked.

“I love you,” she replied immediately.

Just as the words passed her lips, he pushed into her in one long hard
thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and it was enough to send Buffy over
the precipice she had been teetering on. Before her body had had
the chance to stop quaking, he was moving again, slowly at first, then
gradually faster, nourishing the first fire that hadn’t died yet in her
core, making it grow even brighter. She gripped his shoulders hard
and managed to hook her legs on his back, opening herself even more to
him. All the while, his eyes never left her face, and the faintest
smile was rising on his lips.

“Why…smiling?” she managed to ask, or rather moan.

His own voice was ragged when he answered, struggling for a breath he
had no need for.

“You are…so beautiful.”

With the last word, he thrust deep, deeper than ever, and a wordless
shout escaped Buffy’s lips as he spilled himself in her. Immediately,
he covered her mouth with his, and as his tongue slipped against hers the
taste of his blood amplified her quivering. She suckled on his tongue
for an instant, and when she let go she couldn’t help purring softly, too
content for any words to express. As he rolled them onto their sides,
still buried in her, he started purring with her, his lips brushing all
over her face.

For a little while, they remained immobile, silent except for their
twin purrs, simply enjoying the intimacy of the moment. It finally
dawned on Buffy that this was the perfect time to tell him.

“I had a Slayer dream last night,” she murmured softly, her eyes looking
deep into the light blue of his. “Angel won’t be the only one to
become human again.”

For the briefest instant, she was surprised at the look of utter pain
that flashed through Spike’s face. Then his features softened with
a tentative smile, though the pain was still in his eyes.

“Are you happy about it, luv?” he asked in a whisper.

She couldn’t help smiling as she stroked his face gently.

“Very happy. I get to live again and have a human life with the
man I love. I couldn’t be happier.”

Again, the pain. Even more than before. He rolled away from
her, his gaze now on their sky, his voice cold as death as he said:

“I hope you two will be happy then, Buffy.”

In a flash, she understood. He couldn’t really think she meant…
Oh yes, he thought just that. After what they had just shared, he
still doubted. If she hadn’t loved him so much, she might have thought about staking him for it.

“God, Spike, look at me!” she demanded, pulling his face back toward
hers. “Don’t you know by now? It’s with you that I want to
share my human life. No one else. You. Will. Be.
Human. Too.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and Buffy smiled as she caressed his face
before kissing him.


* * * * *


Kissing was always good, but wasn’t helping when he was trying to think. Spike pulled away from his lover’s lips, asking urgently:

“What do you..? How will..? Why..?”

So many questions were cluttering his mind that the meaning of her words
still wasn’t sinking in. He had heard wrong. It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be human again. He wouldn’t.

“We will be human. You and me. And Angel, but you already
heard that. Our next battle will take place under the sun, and whoever
pulls the strings decided to give us our humanity so that we can fight.
And we get to keep it afterwards.”

Spike wanted to scream to whoever was listening and playing this game
that he didn’t want to be human, that no one had the right to change him
like that. He was a vampire and was quite content with his unlife,
thank you very much. But one look in Buffy’s eyes stilled his tongue. She wanted it. She wanted to be human again.

“You don’t want to be my Childe anymore,” he murmured, fighting the
tears that were clouding his gaze.

“Oh, Spike...”

Cradling his face in her hands, she covered his skin with tiny kisses
before continuing.

“We won’t be Sire and Childe, but we will still be together. We
can…I mean…do what humans do. Marry. Have kids. A house with a white picket fence. Go on picnics. Do a thousand things we can’t have now. If you want, that is.”

She sounded a bit hesitant as she finished, and he instinctively held her to him, to reassure her, as well as himself. If it was what she wanted, he wanted it too, for her, even though he had never even thought about it before. He would do anything for her. Anything at all. But humanity… He had the nasty feeling that getting his life back wouldn’t be as pleasant as Buffy made it sound. With life, if he was to be human, came that pesky little detail. Humans had souls. He didn’t want a soul. He remembered all too well what kind of souled human he had been. He hadn’t known it then, but now he did, could see and judge himself. Weak. Pathetic. If the return of the soul and the loss of the demon changed him back into William, what would Buffy say? What would she think? She would never love William, he was too different from Spike. Unless he managed to hide it from her. Keep trying to be Spike. Cling to Spike. He didn’t know if it would be possible, but he knew he would have to try. Because if she couldn’t love him anymore, the bloody Poof would be there, human as well, to try his luck again, Spike was sure of it.

Part 29

Storms


Before the end of the day, Buffy had narrated her dream at least five
times. Giles had insisted on hearing it three times himself, growing
more excited with each repetition. (Buffy had noticed long ago that he
cleaned his glasses faster when he was excited.) Apparently, the revelation of her soon becoming human seemed to fit perfectly into the prophecy, as did the inclusion by Cordelia of Spike, Angel and Steven in the battle. The two Watchers returned to their translating, muttering to each other as they leaned over books and notes. Buffy couldn’t help but notice how close these two had seemed to become in just a few days. It must have had something to do with them both being British and obsessed with tea and old books.

In the morning, when Steven had joined them in the kitchen for breakfast,
Spike had told him laconically to call his father, without explaining why.
Puzzled, the teen had done as he had been instructed, and had soon been
grinning as he heard the good news.

Dawn, too, had been quite excited when she heard about Buffy and Spike,
and she had quickly started making wedding plans for them, as well as thinking of baby names. Buffy had calmed her down gently, reminding her that they still had an apocalypse to go through before they could start thinking about all that. In truth, she was as thrilled as Dawn, but her excitement was tempered by Spike’s apparent indifference. He seemed to be taking the thing almost serenely, but his eyes belied this, two gray storms through which unrecognizable emotions rolled wildly. Buffy thought she understood. She had been a vampire for three years, and she was a bit anxious as well as excited to be human again. She could only imagine what it was like after a hundred and twenty something years.


* * * * *


As they were patrolling, in the park for a change, not in a cemetery, Spike was holding Buffy’s hand tightly. Not very effective, fight readiness wise, but soothing. And after all, what was the point of patrolling in group if he couldn’t even relax a little? Not that he was really relaxed - far from it, actually. The day had been long and unnerving. Everyone had been assuming that he was as ecstatic as Buffy and the Poof, and it had been a struggle not to tell them all - tell her - the truth. But he couldn’t do that. If becoming human was the way to be with his Slayer, then human he would be. Even if it killed him.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice it at first. The presence
was familiar, even after years of not feeling it, and he didn’t pay attention
to it. But eventually, he realized what was going on. He didn’t
look around, didn’t try to see; he didn’t need to, and could have pointed
in the right direction with his eyes closed. Now that he knew, he
could even pick up a faint scent of jasmine in the air. Neither Slayer
had reacted yet, but it wouldn’t be long before they noticed it too.

“Let’s split up,” Spike said suddenly. “We’re probably scaring away all the beasties, going around like we’re the bloody infantry or something.”

After a short discussion, the two Slayers went one way, while Steven
and Dawn headed out in another. Spike watched them all go, before
turning and walking straight in the direction of both the smell and the
presence he sensed.

The moon was nothing but a faint smile drawn in the sky, but the cool
light it cast gave an almost eerie glow to her cream lace gown. Her
face was tilted up as he approached her, her hands waving above her head,
as if to the stars.

“I knew my William would come to me,” she giggled softly, and at last
her eyes came down to him.

“I am not yours, Dru. And I am not William.”

Any other time, he would have ignored the name, but not after today.
She came toward him, tiptoeing in the grass, almost dancing.

“Oh, but you will be,” she said in a sing song voice. “Soon, you will be.”

He was almost tempted to ask which one he would be - hers, or William
- but he didn’t have the patience for her games now.

“Why are you here, Princess?” he asked softly, surprised at the endearment
that rolled off his tongue without thought.

“They told me my William was hurting,” she explained dreamily, looking
up toward the sky again. “The stars sang your name.”

Spike needed a cigarette. Badly. But Buffy had his fags
and lighter. Stupid bet.

“Dru, you need to leave. Get away from Sunnydale. There
are two Slayers here; it’s a bad town for vampires.”

Drusilla reached out to him, her fingers hovering just a hair above
his cheek.

“Bad Slayer,” she muttered. “Messed up your pretty head.
Bad, bad girl. Took my Spike and now hurts my William. Shall
we go hunting together? Pretty hunt under the stars?”

Again, her gaze was drifting to the sky. Spike caught her hand,
squeezing it tight, just enough to hurt her a little, and her eyes and
attention were back to him.

“No hunting. Do you hear, Princess?” he said as if talking to
a child. “The Slayer did nothing, and you will not hunt her.
You have to leave. Say you will go away. Promise me, Dru.”

He let go of her hand, and she tilted her head as she smiled at him.

“Go, yes, that’s a good idea. The sisters are coming. Goodbye,
my William.”

Again, she reached out to his face, this time caressing it with her
fingertips before turning away and disappearing among the trees.
Shaking his head, Spike turned to the two Slayers as they approached him,
and braced himself for the storm he was sure was coming.


* * * * *


Soon after separating from the others, both Slayers could feel the tell-tale
tingles, and they didn’t need to speak to each other as they changed their
direction. Buffy could also feel that Spike was around, but the tingles
were not from him only. She walked noiselessly with Manon, following
their identical instincts, and soon they could see them.

Despite the darkness, Buffy recognized her instantly. What other
woman would dress like a nineteenth century doll? Placing a hand
on Manon’s arm, she stopped her. She wanted to see what was going
on before getting anywhere near her love and his Mate. Manon looked
at her curiously, but remained silent.

Buffy cringed when she heard the vampiress call him ‘her William’, and
again when she touched his face. But it was nothing compared to hearing him call her ‘Princess’, or seeing him take her hand.

At last, the other woman was gone. Without a thought, Buffy started
walking toward Spike, dimly aware that Manon was just next to her.
They stopped only a few steps from him, and Buffy’s eyes plunged into his
blue depths, that seemed even more troubled now than they had been all
day. He didn’t say a word and simply returned her gaze. It
was Manon who finally broke the silence.

“I though the name of the game was stake the vamps, not talk with them,”
she said quizzically.

Spike didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge he had heard her. Buffy
had finally recognized what was hiding in his eyes, and realized it was
the same emotion she hadn’t been able to identify all day long. Fear. Her Big Bad - was he still hers? - was afraid. Afraid of what? Afraid for who?

“Hey, guys?” Manon said again, after a few seconds. “You’re getting…
I don’t even know the word for it.”

Breaking eye contact with Spike, Buffy gave the young Slayer a very
serious glance.

“Did you get a good look at that vamp?” she asked the girl, satisfied
when she nodded. “If you ever see her when you’re alone, don’t try
to fight her. Don’t ever look in her eyes. Run.”

“Why?” the girl asked, puzzled.

“She is dangerous,” Spike said quietly. “Insane and dangerous.
She can play with your mind and bring out what you fear most. Listen
to Buffy, and run if you meet her.”

As he talked, his hand had taken Buffy’s, gently, carefully, as if he
was holding a wounded bird. She didn’t pull away, but didn’t clasp
his hand in return. She still didn’t know what to think of the encounter,
but she didn’t want to talk about it in front of Manon. The girl
was still looking at them, her gaze going from one to the other.

“Petite-amie?” she asked Spike softly.

That word, Buffy knew. Why she could remember that one in particular
and not easier or more usual ones, she couldn’t have said. Manon
had just inquired whether the dangerous woman was Spike’s girlfriend.

“Ex,” he replied, and his hand squeezed Buffy’s.

Manon nodded, giving a last glance at Buffy’s face before turning around.

“I’m tired,” she declared. “How about we find Dawn and Steven
and stop for tonight?”

As they followed her, Buffy realized that this was the girl’s way of
saying that it wasn’t her business and she didn’t want to intrude in whatever
discussion they obviously were going to have. She was grateful for
her discretion. She was also grateful that she had a little moment
to calm down and focus before she and Spike were alone at last. If
she had been alone when she found him, she probably would have said things they would both have regretted. Having time to think was enough for her to realize that she trusted him. She wished he hadn’t let that damn woman touch him, wished he hadn’t taken her hand like he was holding Buffy’s now, wished he hadn’t used his pet names for her, but despite this, she trusted his love. He had proven it too many times for her to doubt it so quickly. That didn’t mean, however, that she wasn’t upset. She trusted him, yes, but she didn’t trust her.

Next