Los Angeles

Spike woke with a start, a scream dying in his throat as he vaulted up from bed. His eyes swung crazily around the dimly lit room until they adjusted and the panic within him abated. With a frustrated sigh, he ran his fingers through his short blonde hair and tossed the sheet from his body carelessly as he got out of bed. Standing in the middle of the room, Spike cast a puzzled glance at the clock on the far wall and noted that it was four in the afternoon, yet the room was cast in darkness. A peek out the window confirmed that the sky had clouded up and a storm had begun to rage outside. Rain fell in sheets, lightening flashed and thunder pealed loudly, shaking the tiny apartment Spike was calling home these days.

Nothing like a good storm to rouse a bloke from a deep sleep, Spike thought wryly to himself.

The storm wasn't the reason for his sudden awakening, Spike knew that. It had been the dream. The same bloody dream that had been tormenting him for a week until he couldn't take it anymore. Something was pounding his brain relentlessly, like a sledge hammer straight to his temples, worse than any chip-related migraine he could remember. Spike searched around the room for clothes and pulled them on, then walked to the kitchen in search of something to fill the gnawing ache in his gut, the one remaining reminder of what he was. The demon stirring within him, out of control, niggling at the corner of his sub-conscious mind, was always making Spike aware that he was still a monster within, taunting him with the fact that he would never be the man that he kept hoping someday he would truly be. That was probably the reasoning behind the dreams he'd been having, the bloody soul inside warring with the demon. A true spirtual battle if there ever was one.

Spike pulled the refrigerator door open and reached inside its empty confines to retrieve the jar of pig's blood shoved way in the back. He uncapped the jar, took a long swig, then set the jar back inside, swiping a hand over his lips. The door of the refrigerator swung shut, extinguishing the only source of light in the room, cloaking Spike in darkness. The darkness was his companion these days, that and the bloody dreams. A shaft of lightening illuminated the dank apartment briefly, moments later it was followed by the an ear-shattering crack of thunder.

Hell of a storm, Spike thought to himself as he padded to the living room and pulled the curtain away from the window.

The sky had darkened considerably, making it impossible to determine whether it was night or day. Flashes of lightening glinted off the silver streaks of rain that pelted from the sky. Spike found himself a little captivated by the raging storm. Southern California didn't see a lot of thunderstorms, but when one happened to drop by the very rafters themselves would shake. Spike couldn't help wondering if he'd been awoken for a reason. He stepped away from the window and took a seat in a chair nearby, propping his bare feet on a coffee table. His thoughts returned to the dream and immediately a cold sweat broke out all over his body.

Big Bad sweatin over a bloody dream, Spike thought as his mouth twisted into a wry smile. Things do change.

But this time, the dream had taken a turn around a bend that Spike wasn't entirely comfortable with. Seemed his mind was determined to take him down a path he wasn't ready to tread. Didn't mean he wouldn't take the risk, but in any case it didn't sit well with him. Not one bloody bit. Especially when the dream concerned a certain Slayer, or when it predicted that she would die. Again. But this would be a death that she couldn't be resurrected from, no matter what magic spells Red performed.

This knowledge shook Spike to his core, and the only thing he could think of to stop the dream from becoming reality was to go to Buffy, to warn her. It was the only way. But there were so many obstacles standing in the way. The biggest one being, Buffy didn't know he was alive. That was a choice Spike had made shortly after his abrupt return to full living color. Buffy was never to know about his existence again. He wanted her to have some semblance of peace in her life, a calm after the storm, a chance to pick up the pieces of her life, without any interruption from him. The Great Poofter had heartily agreed, of which Spike had expected. But he hadn't come to his decision based on the Poof's wishes, hell no. Spike wanted Buffy to believe that he had perished in the Hellmouth, wanted her to believe that he was gone, so maybe Spike could move on with his life as well. Was it too much to bloody ask? Maybe he wanted a break. Maybe he wanted to assess his priorities, change things, forget about a certain blonde Slayer who had the ability to cripple him with just one look in his direction. It was better this way. It had to be. Too bad things were never that easy. Not for the past couple of months or so that he'd been back in Los Angeles with Angel and his gang.

Spike knew he could never forget Buffy, never forget the time they had shared, even the violent times. He would never forget the vulnerability in her eyes the night he'd held her in the abandoned house in Sunnydale, he would never forget the sound of steely resolve in her voice as she had told him firmly that she believed in him. He would never forget the soft caress of her palm against his cheek the night before they'd charged the Hellmouth, he could never forget her. Period. It wasn't that bloody easy. But now, with these damn dreams tormenting him day and night there didn't seem to be a way around this. He had to go to her and soon, before it was too late.

A viscious crack of thunder stirred Spike from his reverie and he sat up in his chair, his eyes swinging to the window as lightening exploded in the sky, illuminating the entire apartment. If this storm was any sign, time was running short. If the dreams were any indication, there was no denying what Spike had to do. He had to go to Buffy. He would have to see her again, reveal himself to her, save her. It was kind of becoming the thing he did these days, saving the damsel and all. Despite the circumstances, Spike found himself unable to control the tiny smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. He liked the sound of it in his brain, Spike saving Buffy. It was poetic, really. Springing up from the chair, Spike stalked to his bedroom, throwing open a closet door and pulling a duffel bag from the top shelf. As he threw clothing and other necessaries into the bag, he desperately tried to push away the doubts that were beginning to creep up in his brain. Dismissing them away, Spike continued to pack. He was making a little trip to Rome...to see a certain Slayer...wouldn't she be surprised?

*

Finagling the paper work to make it look like the Poof had signed orders to fly the private jet had been easy. Slipping out of Wolfram and Hart and away from the watchful eyes of Angel's gang had been easier. But convincing the pilot that Angel had really requested that Spike take a trip to Rome was becoming a task, a difficult one.

Peaches really has these tossers under his thumb, Spike thought to himself as he combed his fingers through his hair and once again launched into his phony story for the pilot, who was narrowing his eyes at the blonde vampire suspiciously.

"I have the papers right here, mate!" Spike said shaking the sheaf of papers at the pilot's face in exasperation. "Call 'im up on the bloody phone, and you'll see for yourself!" The pilot shifted his stance and crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes.

"Mr. Angel told me to watch out for you, sir. He told me not to believe anything that you say," the man said, shifting his hat on his head and swiping the back of his hand over his forehead, as if he were sweating bullets.

Spike picked up on the scent of the man's fear and marvelled a little at the power he still possessed after all of this time with a soul. He could still scare people and it was a blessed bloody thing. At least the soul hadn't made him go entirely soft. Spike closed the distance between himself and the pilot, wrapping an arm around the man's shoulder, causing the pilot to stiffen and try to step away. Spike pushed his face closer to the sweaty man and grinned.

"Well, mate, then this will be our little secret then, won't it? Just between you and me, yeah?" Spike cajoled, pressing a finger into the man's chest. "C'mon...it'll be fun." The pilot swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"I-I don't know," the man stammered, pushing his hat back from his forehead, trembling a little. "What if he finds out...he could...I don't know...have me killed or something...I gotta keep this job! I promised my wife!" Spike released the man from his grasp and stepped back letting out an ear piercing shout of frustration.

"Just get in the damn jet and take me to Rome you bloody git!" Spike yelled as he picked up some tools lying on the floor and threw them across the room violently. "This is a matter of life and death! What part of that don't you get!"

"What's a matter of life and death?" a different voice boomed from the other side of the airplane hangar. Both men's heads whipped around violently at the sound of the voice. The pilot began to stammer uncontrollably. Angel stood off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, a frown creasing his forehead as he swung a gaze between the pilot and Spike.

"S-sir...I didn't do anything...it was h-him!" the pilot said pointing a trembling finger in the direction of Spike,

"Leave us alone for a minute," Angel said with a slight nod of his head and watched as the pilot scurried away and then he turned his placcid brown eyes to Spike, who had dug a cigarette out of his pocket and begun to smoke silently.

"What the hell is going on here, Spike? Harmony told me everything, so save your lies." Spike swung a blue-eyed indifferent gaze in the direction of his grandsire and then shrugged.

"Nothing that you'd understand, Peaches," Spike said, taking a final drag from the cigarette in his hand and then flicking it away. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his leather duster and avoided Angel's gaze.

"Make me understand," Angel said evenly, closing the distance between himself and his grandchilde. He folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. "Because this, this is sounding pretty weak."

Spike maintained his silence. There was no way he was even going to attempt to explain his side of things to the great Poof. The whole bloody dream nonsense? Angel would dismiss it instantly, call him a bunch of names and then drag his ass straight back to Wolfram and Hart. So Spike said nothing. Angel tilted his head back and sighed with frustration. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and squeezed his eyes shut.

"This got something to do with Buffy?" he asked.

"What's it to you, mate?" Spike shot back defensively. He shook his head. Dead giveaway, you git. Damn. Angel shifted his stance and shook his head slowly.

"Wasn't it you that said Buffy should move on with her life? Without you? I remember you saying it, could have been dreaming that day...no...I remember it. Clearly. So what gives, Spike? The truth would be nice," Angel said condescendingly, meeting Spike's eyes unflinchingly.

Spike walked toward a wall nearby, pressed his back against it, and avoided the penetrating stare of the Poof. Would it really hurt to explain himself? The bloody dream nonsense, would his grandsire even buy that? Spike doubted it, but hell it was worth a shot.

"Simple as this, Peaches. I had a dream. She's in it. She dies. End of story. Can I go now?" Spike said, briefly meeting Angel's eyes, then looking away. Much to Spike's surprise, the Poof began to laugh. Spike's head shot up and he pushed himself away from the wall and stalked in Angel's direction. He tamped down the urge to grab the Poof by the throat as they faced each other.

"Want to tell me what's so bloody funny," Spike ground out through clenched teeth. Angel was pretty close to pushing Spike over the edge as his fists clenched at his sides. Angel continued to laugh and then noticing the look on Spike's face, abruptly went silent. They regarded one another in a moment in silence. Finally, Angel spoke as if he'd come to a decision on something.

"I'm going to let you go, on one condition."

"What would that be, mate? If it involves you coming with me, then the answer is 'no'."

"I don't want to go. Much as I'd love to see you fall on your face with this, I can't go with you. Business here in L.A. Evil law firm, remember?"

"So, what's this condition then? Cause you know I'm just on the edge of my seat dying to find out," Spike said folding his arms over his chest and smirking.

"Keep me informed," Angel said and then reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew something, tossing it to Spike, who caught the cell phone easily between his hands. "Call me if things get ugly. You know, if the Slayer starts bludgeoning you to death cause you lied to her," Angel said haughtily, shooting his retreating remark at the blonde vampire and then turning to leave. Spike was awash in confusion. The Poof was just going to let him go? Something didn't ring right here, Spike could feel it.

"So you're what...all ok with this? Me going to see your former?" Spike called out to Angel's retreating form as he was swallowed by the shadows. Angel turned to face Spike and shrugged his shoulders.

"Just keep me informed, Spike. I'm giving you this one for free, just don't screw it up," Angel said and then made his way out of the hangar, leaving Spike standing there, mouth hanging open, feeling a little sheepish. He turned to face the pilot who had reappeared beside him. A smile tugged at the corners of Spike's mouth.

"Well, right then. Off we go, mate. Kick the tires and light the fires, yeah?" Spike said giving the skittish pilot a mock salute and stalking away to board the plane. The pilot thrust his hands into his pockets, his fingers closing around the rosary beads he kept there at all times. He closed his eyes and mumbled a prayer. Then he crossed himself and went to follow the vampire, keeping a safe distance behind Spike.

*

Rome
Two Nights Earlier

Buffy twisted and moaned in her sleep, grabbing fistfuls of the blankets in her clenched hands. She writhed and let out a whelp and then shot up from bed. Breathing heavily, she swung her eyes around frantically and then pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart beat erratically beneath her rib cage. As her breathing returned to normal, she glanced at the clock on her night table and frowned. Four in the morning, sheesh, Buffy thought to herself. This was the third time this week she'd been woken by the same nightmare.

Climbing out of bed, Buffy padded barefoot to the tiny bathroom across the hall from her bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a silent click. Flipping on the light, Buffy braced her hands on each side of the cool porcelain sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror above her. Sweat had matted her hair to her head, there were faint circles under her eyes and her skin was pale and clammy. Turning the cold water on, she scooped handfuls onto her face, then patted the wet skin dry with a hand towel nearby. She clutched the glass that sat near the faucet and filled it with water, then drank it down in one swallow. Flipping the bathroom light off, Buffy exited the bathroom and made her way back to bed. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she tried to go back to sleep, but realized it wasn't happening. Rolling over, Buffy pillowed her hands behind her head and stared up at the ceiling. It was always the same dream, over and over again. Thinking of it caused Buffy to shiver. Anything that reminded her of Spike caused a violent reaction within Buffy. But dreaming about him? That was an entirely different story followed by an equally different reaction. A scary reaction.

What was causing her to dream about the long gone vampire? Was it some kind of lingering guilt? Something trying to remind her of how much she hated herself for leaving Spike to die alone in the Hellmouth? Spike had been gone over a year and Buffy was still battling these emotions within herself. Why couldn't her brain and her heart just leave her be? Why couldn't she just let Spike go? There was only one answer to that question. She still loved him. It didn't matter that she had finally said the words out loud and that Spike had rejected her, it only made the feelings intensify, made her want to bring him back and apologize. But nothing could bring Spike back, she'd tried and failed. Seemed all the magic in the world couldn't bring someone back who'd died from the mystical power of an amulet thingy. Maybe it was better that way. Buffy rolled onto her side and thought some more. She hadn't said it out loud, but she would have given up everything she'd gained since Sunnydale, just to have one more moment with Spike, to tell him how she felt. But that would never happen. Not in this lifetime.

*

Somewhere Over the Mediterranean Sea
Two Nights Later

Spike stared out the window at the night sky and the waves of the sea below him as the low drone of the airplane's engine hypnotized him. He'd just woken from sleep, another bad dream. This one had been even more disturbing than the one he'd earlier in Los Angeles. This time Spike was not seeing the future, he was seeing the present. The dream had shown Buffy, asleep in her bed, writhing and moaning, as if she herself were having a terrible nightmare. His dream self had sat down on the bed beside her and taken in the beauty of the woman he loved. He'd felt a pain in his chest as he watched Buffy moan in her sleep, as her features crumpled into a frown and she writhed as if she were in terrible pain. Spike ached to wake her from sleep, pull her into his arms and comfort her, but every time he tried to touch her, his hand would go right through her and it sent him reeling back to those first frustrating days when he'd materialized at Wolfram and Hart as a ghost. He couldn't wake Buffy from the dream and soon he felt something pulling on him, trying to tear him away from her. He'd fought the invisible force until his eyes had flown open and he'd awoken. It had taken a moment for Spike to realize where he was as his eyes swung around wildly. Then he remembered. Private jet. Going to Rome. Gonna help Buffy. Something swelled within Spike as he imagined coming face to face with her again. He couldn't wait, but he was also a little fearful. He knew she'd probably be pretty bloody pissed off when she realized he was still alive and for that his unlife might be in danger. It was a chance he was willing to take. A smile curled up the corners of Spike's mouth at the thought of dancing with his Slayer again. It was something he was looking forward to. Pressing a hand to the glass of the window, he closed his eyes and conjured her face in his mind.

"Soon," he whispered.

*

End of Chapter One
TBC...
 

Chapter Two

*

Rome

Spike felt the plane bump and skid as it hit the runaway, which jarred him from the only moments of restful sleep he'd had all week. Standing, Spike stretched his muscles, they'd cramped from sitting in the same position for hours on end. Pulling on his leather duster, Spike patted the pockets, searching for a pack of cigarettes. He retrieved the crumpled pack from the left pocket, dug a cigarette out and thrust it in his mouth. He flicked open his Zippo lighter with a thumbnail and lit the cigarette, squinting as the smoke drifted into his eyes. His eyes traveled to the hold above his seat, where he'd stowed his bag. He'd leave it on the plane. He didn't intend on staying long. He'd just pop in long enough to let Buffy know she was in some kind of danger. Probably get his ass bitch slapped halfway up and down the streets of Rome before the night was over, but it'd be worth the trip. He walked toward the door separating the cockpit from the passenger area of the plane and opened it, poking his head in to address the pilot, who was yakking on his radio in Italian. He tapped the guy on the shoulder, made him aware of his plans and then turned to disembark from the plane.

Breathing in the muggy night air, Spike took a last drag off his cigarette and then flicked it onto the pavement, watching as the darkness swallowed it. His eyes traveled around the deserted tarmac of the airplane hangar, taking in the foreign surroundings. He'd been here before, with Angel, but they hadn't really been in Rome to sightsee. The trip had been strictly business. A sharp pain stabbed Spike in the chest as he remembered that night. Traipsing all over half of Rome in search of Buffy had landed them at a nightclub. One moment later he and Angel were staring transfixed, as Buffy danced with a group of people in the middle of the dance floor. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw the shadowy figure of The Immortal, as he seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He'd whisked Buffy away immediately, as if he'd known that Spike and Angel were there. Turned out, The Immortal had known all along about Spike and Angel's visit, judging by the gift they'd found on Angel's desk shortly after their return. The Immortal, Spike scoffed to himself. Bloody ponce that one was.

But no matter how many ponces Buffy dated, Spike hadn't lost a shred of his feelings toward her. Point of fact, the feelings had only intensified. Seeing her dancing with wild abandon in the nightclub had sent Spike's blood to boiling as he stared at Buffy. Watching as she let loose on the dance floor reminded Spike of the first time he saw her, back at The Bronze in Sunnydale. She'd been just a slip of a girl back then, but hadn't failed to intrigue Spike. Even then, when he'd been an evil malicious bastard, Buffy had seduced him right proper, without her knowledge of course. Spike had denied it, but years later he would learn that Drusilla, his dark princess, had known all along, had seen it in that twisted brain of hers. True to Drusilla's prediction, Spike had found himself in love with a Slayer. It was that love that drove him closer to Buffy tonight. It was that love that found him trembling with excitement at the idea of seeing her and the reaction on her face when she discovered he was alive. A slow smile spread across Spike's features. He was looking forward to the dance he and the Slayer would share. It would definitely be a trip to remember. First things first. He had to find her.

*

Buffy was cleaning her bedroom. She knew that it was after midnight on a weekday, and she knew she probably wasn't being very quiet, but Buffy didn't care. She couldn't sleep, once again, bad dreams and all. The insomnia was making her a little insane. So she was cleaning. Luckily, Dawn was staying over at a friend's house, so Buffy could blast her stereo without waking her kid sister. Andrew, who'd been staying with Buffy and Dawn since they left California, had decided to leave and hang out with his boys for the evening. Buffy laughed to herself at that thought. Andrew's version of going out with the boys meant sitting in someone's basement, listening to obscure rock music and playing Dungeons and Dragons. To each his own, Buffy supposed.

So she was all alone in her tiny apartment, cleaning her bedroom. At that moment, she was sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by piles of clothes, and shoeboxes of junk she'd saved over the years. Miraculously, she'd managed to salvage most of her stuff from the house in Sunnydale. Shortly before the last big battle, she and Dawn had taken a day to go through all of their stuff and pack whatever they needed into boxes. Deep down, Buffy had been ready for the day Sunnydale would be no more. Too bad it came sooner than later, but nonetheless Buffy had managed to get away with some things. Leaving a house behind was one thing, Buffy could handle that. What she couldn't handle was leaving behind the only memories she'd ever have of her mother, or her stuff from high school, or Dawn's things. So they'd hauled it all onto the yellow school bus the night before the last battle with The First. Somehow the boxes had made their way to Rome and now they were cluttering up Buffy's closet. Time for some serious reorganizing.

Buffy pushed aside piles of clothing and reached for the mountain of shoeboxes in front of her, nearly toppling them over as she slid them over the rug within her reach. Opening the first box, she peered inside. The box contained her and Dawn's baby books, and some infant toys and clothes. She'd keep that one. Pushing the first box aside, she reached for the second and opened it. Dawn's stuff. Buffy pushed that box aside and glanced at the pile with a sigh. This could take all night. She blew her bangs away from her face and reached for the next box.

An hour later, Buffy had pushed everything back into the closet, organized the myriad of shoeboxes and was headed to the attic to store them. She pulled the ladder down from the ceiling and climbed it, while balancing the boxes precariously. She pushed the heavy door open with the palm of her hand and ascended into the attic. She bumped into something, swore and then fumbled around for the pull-chain that would shed light into the room.

Pale yellow light flooded the musty room. Buffy made her way to the corner of the attic, where her and Dawn's stuff was. Setting the pile of boxes down, she took a moment to catch her breath. She didn't make many ventures into the cluttered attic. Frankly, the closed in space gave her the wiggins. She'd fought demons, vampires, a Hell God, the king of vampires and the First Evil, but she was still a little wigged by closed in spaces. Go figure.

Buffy turned to leave when something caught her eye, a large box standing a few feet away from the pile of clutter. It wasn't labeled and looked like it had seen better days. Out of curiosity, Buffy went over to the box and pulled it to the middle of the room. She pulled the tape off holding the lid shut and folded the cardboard aside. Peering into the box, a musty herb-like odor assailed her senses and she wrinkled her nose. Sage, definitely sage. This box must have belonged to Willow. A memory flashed briefly into Buffy's brain. She remembered walking around her home in Sunnydale with Dawn in tow, tossing magic-related items into the box as part of Willow's detox from magic, when she'd gone a little crazy with the spells. How the box had ended up with her and Dawn's stuff, Buffy hadn't a clue. It wouldn't hurt to take a look inside though, would it?

Her curiosity was getting the better of her and soon Buffy was digging through the contents of the box. She pulled out various charms, candles and crystals and set them aside. Something metal caught the light and Buffy reached her hand down inside to unearth it from the bottom of the box and gasped when her fingers closed around the object. Holding the Zippo lighter up to her face, Buffy stared it, holding her breath. Spike's lighter. How in the hell had Spike's lighter ended up in a box of Willow's magic stuff? Then she remembered. Spike had been an addiction to Buffy back in her post-resurrection days, the only way to rid herself of the addiction was to hide it away and forget about it. At least the idea had sounded like logic to Buffy.

The lighter had been tossed into the box along with the tempting magic stuff. Somehow, later that day, the lighter had ended up in the front pocket of Buffy's jeans. Buffy squeezed her eyes shut at the memory of Spike in her kitchen that day. The way he'd tangled his fingers in the long strands of her hair, spoken low into her ear, calling her Goldilocks. Moments later, he'd thrust his hand into the pocket of her jeans, causing her body to rocket forward and collide against his, which made a moan of pleasure issue from her throat unexpectedly. He'd pulled the lighter from her pocket, tossed out some haughty remark and stormed out, leather duster swirling. The memory was still strong, as if the event had occurred just yesterday. She could even smell the leather and cigarettes that seemed to linger whenever he left a room. Tonight it felt like a ghost was hovering over Buffy in the attic. The thought made her shiver.

Clutching the lighter in her sweaty palm, Buffy battled with her emotions, tears welling behind her eyes. After one of their nightly violence-tainted romp sessions, Spike had fallen asleep and Buffy had spotted his cherished Zippo lying on the floor. Obviously it had been on a table, but unfortunately the table lay in pieces on the other side of the room. Cautiously, Buffy had crawled along the crypt floor and grabbed the lighter, stuffing it in the pocket of her jacket, taking it home with her. Spike had never asked about it, but Buffy wasn't kidding herself. He knew she'd had it all along. Somehow the lighter had ended back up in Willow's box of magic items and now it was in Buffy's hand.

She stared at the lighter, traced the intricate design on the metal casing with her fingertip, and felt the first teardrops fall from her eyes. Soon the teardrops were full-fledged sobs. She clutched the lighter in both hands, pressed it to her chest and sobbed for all she was worth. She hadn't wept like this in years, but it felt good to finally release the pain that had been building inside of her for too long. A pain she had been denying since leaving California. She missed Spike. She still loved him, still carried around the secret weight of guilt. She'd let him die alone, left him to burn as the Hellmouth came crashing down. His death was all her fault and now clutching the only reminder she had left of the blonde vampire, Buffy's inner walls came tumbling down. She curled up on the floor of the attic and cried, hiccupping sobs that left her gasping for air, until finally spent, she gave into sleep, not caring that she was lying on the wooden floor of the attic instead of her own bed.

The dream came to Buffy immediately after she fell asleep. In her dream, she was flicking Spike's Zippo with her thumbnail and watching the flame ignite. Suddenly the dream shifted and Spike was there, taking the Zippo from her hand, lighting it and setting Buffy's body on fire. The flames consumed her and she cried out to Spike to help her as the fire singed her clothing, danced across her skin and ignited her hair. Spike just stood in the corner and watched indifferently as Buffy screamed in pain, crumpling to the floor. Moments later, a casket came into view; her friends were gathered around it, sobbing as it lowered into the ground. In that instant, Buffy shot up from sleep, screaming.

*

Spike was at a complete loss as he sat by himself in an Italian coffee shop. He placed his burning cigarette on the lip of the ashtray and took a sip from the foam cup beside him, enjoying the bitter taste of the hot coffee as it slid down his throat. Not usually one to enjoy coffee, Spike had taken to drinking the beverage every now and then. The Poof had turned him on to coffee a few months ago and though he'd never give Angel any credit, Spike found himself enjoying a cup once in awhile. Now was one of those times, he was dead tired, in the figurative sense, not literal. Staring at a map unfolded before him, Spike kneaded his temples with his fingertips. He'd been in Rome two hours and had yet to find the elusive Slayer. He didn't have a phone number or even an address. He'd briefly thought of getting in touch with the few demon contacts Wolfram and Hart had around the area, but he'd dismissed the idea. Couldn't trust demon information, at least most of it. Then suddenly something occurred to Spike. He reached into the pocket of his leather duster and withdrew the cell phone that Angel had given to him back in Los Angeles. Keep me informed,the Poof had said. Spike couldn't think of a better time to call up ol' Angel. He punched in the numbers and waited. A groggy voice picked up on the other end and Spike smiled, he'd woken him up, better yet.

"Hey Peaches, I wake you?" Spike drawled into the phone.

"What do you want, Spike? You know I sleep all day. This better be good," Angel snapped.

"Sorry to have disturbed your beauty rest Captain Forehead, but I need information," Spike said.

"Now? Can't it wait?"

"Yeah, s'pose...but I'm anxious. Help a bloke out, won't ya?" Spike said, chuckling a little to himself as he heard Angel swear and the blankets rustle as he sat up in bed.

"What do you need, Spike?" Angel said through clenched teeth. "It'd better be good too; you'll pay for waking me up."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Poof. I just a need an address, maybe a phone number. Whatever you got."

"For Buffy?" Angel asked tiredly.

"Right."

"One second."

Spike heard sounds on the other end of the phone as Angel left his bedroom, walked down the hallway and into his home office by the staircase. A few moments later, he heard computer keys tapping and Angel talking to himself as he brought up the information on Buffy. He relayed the information to Spike who jotted it down on a napkin.

"Thanks ever so," Spike said sarcastically.

"Well you should have thought that far ahead before hijacking my jet, Captain Peroxide. Still think she's gonna take you into her arms and just forget that you never told her you were alive?"

"Shut up," Spike seethed.

"Just saying," Angel said. "Don't ever call and wake me up again. I'll stake you myself."

"Sweet dreams, Poof," Spike said and then hung up the phone. He stared down at the napkin in his hand with her phone number and address on it. A twinge of jealousy assailed him as he thought of Angel being the only person to have the Slayer's current address and phone number. Guess some things never changed. Angel would always be the one who'd done everything first. He was the first to get the soul, the first to fall in love with Buffy, the first one to take her to bed. But he hadn't been the first to ever truly break her heart. Luckily, Spike had come along and done the job better than Angel could have. Angel had dumped little high school Buffy, broken her heart. Spike had upped the ante by attempting to rape her. When it came to doing things better, Spike always won in the detestable category. Angel had almost killed all of Buffy's friends when he'd lost the soul and been forgiven, but attempted rape could never be forgiven. Spike would live with that knowledge for the rest of his life. He'd also promised himself he would never let Angel find out about it; he'd be a pile of ashes if that ever happened.

Suddenly, a sharp stab in Spike's chest interrupted his reverie as he slammed his eyes closed and an image appeared behind the lids. It was an image of Buffy, curled up on the floor of a bedroom or something, Spike couldn't make it out. She was sobbing, heart-wrenching, gut-clenching sobs. Spike cried out in pain and clutched his chest as he fell to the floor. The warm moisture of tears slipped down his cheeks as he experienced the emotions Buffy was feeling. Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the sensation passed. Spike opened his eyes to see a crowd of people had gathered around him. They were speaking in hurried Italian and pointing down at him. Embarrassed, Spike slowly got to his feet, brushed himself off, and then ran out of the coffee shop, tossing some money at the flustered waitress behind the cash register. He darted into an alleyway behind the coffee shop and pressed his body against the cool brick wall behind him. Leaning over, he braced his hands on his knees and desperately tried to catch his breath.

What in the bloody hell was that? Spike wondered to himself. A vision, had to be a bleedin vision! He shook his head and slid to the ground, resting his head on his knees, struggling to make sense of what had just happened to him. Something funny was going on and Spike needed answers. Right the fuck now. Jumping to his feet and ignoring the pulsating ache behind his eyes, he took off, knowing exactly where to go for the kind of help he needed.

*

Buffy stumbled down the stairs of the attic and down the hallway to her bedroom. Her head was feeling fuzzy, her mouth was dry and tasted like something had died in it. She quickly undressed, slipped a nightgown over her body and climbed into bed. She wondered why she felt so awful. The last thing she remembered was clutching Spike's Zippo and sobbing herself to sleep. Then there was the god-awful nightmare she'd had. Much scarier than the ones she'd had the past few nights. Buffy curled her body into a ball and pulled the blankets up to her chin and shivered. She didn't know what the hell was going on, but something inside of her told her it had to do with Spike. She just couldn't figure out why. Giles would know. She'd give him a call in the morning. For now, she was too tired to hash it out in her brain.

*

Spike grabbed the demon by the collar of its shirt and thrust it against the wall, pressing his hand against its windpipe, cutting off its air supply.

"The Oracles...you're going to tell me where they are and how I can contact them, mate. You better do it right quick or you're not going to be breathing for much longer," Spike growled as his face vamped out.

"Hey man...take it easy...I can get you the information...it'll cost you...aah!" the demon was cut off as Spike pushed again, increasing the pressure around the thing's windpipe.

"I think this one's gonna be a freebie," Spike said, pushing his face up close to the demon informant's grotesque features. "And I think you're gonna start talking. Now." The demon wriggled and tried to scream, but Spike had him pinned. Finally, the demon slumped in defeat and Spike released it.

"Talk."

The demon coughed and sputtered, then turned a frightened gaze to Spike and nodded abruptly.

"There are channels...portals...I can take you to one of them...just as long as you don't try to break my neck again. Deal?"

"Now you're speaking my language, mate. Take me to this portal," Spike said, grabbing the demon by the collar, as it stumbled to keep up.

*

The demon led him to an abandoned warehouse, where it said some kind of incantation and in an instant Spike found himself standing in a room of some sorts, two silver colored beings staring at him in astonishment. They appeared to be male and female and they regarded him coolly. Spike assumed they were The Oracles and was relieved that he'd been taken to the right place.

"What has brought you here lower being?" the male one said, condescendingly. Spike lifted his chin stubbornly. Lower being, he'd show them a lower being if they kept talking to him that way.

"Need to see someone about a girl and some visions," Spike said.

"What have you brought as a gift?" the female Oracle said. Spike's eyebrows shot up in alarm. Gift? He was supposed to bring a gift? That demon informant was going to get a good windpipe crushing the next time Spike saw him. The Oracles looked at each other and laughed.

"He did not bring a gift."

"Who does he think he is dealing with exactly?"

Spike growled under his breath and searched around in his pockets until his fingers closed around his Zippo lighter. Damn. Not the lighter, it was his favorite. Spike didn't linger on the decision long. The lighter was passed over instantly. Spike held an unnecessary breath and waited for a response. The Oracles studied the lighter with amusement and then turned back to Spike.

"Your gift is suitable, lower being. You have questions that require answers?"

"Damn right I do."

"These questions concern the Slayer, do they not? You fear the Slayer is in danger. I assure you, the young 'Chosen One' is far from harm," the female Oracle said, glancing at her companion. "So why have you come here and disturbed us with your presence?" Spike was getting frustrated. These two spoke so strangely that he had a hard time following. He was getting impatient.

"Do you have the answers I need or what?"

"Such impatience, vampire. This type of behavior is unsuitable for a Champion," the male Oracle said, his gaze traveling over Spike's appearance.

"Hey, how'd you know about that?" Spike asked tilting his head with a worried frown.

"Oh we felt it that day. The ground trembled and we heard the screams of the armies as they died. We saw the brilliant light from the amulet as they were extinguished. The amulet that you wore, vampire," The Oracles said in unison, their eyes boring into Spike's unflinchingly. "We see you have been restored to your corporeal self and now you come seeking answers."

Suddenly, Spike was uncomfortable. He didn't like to talk about that day in the Hellmouth; it brought back too many memories. But he liked it when they used the word 'champion' to describe him. Shaking his head, Spike cleared his brain. He wanted to focus on the matter at hand, not sit and chit chat.

"So do you have the answers to my questions?" Spike asked.

"You are having visions, are you not?"

"Is that what those bloody dreams are? Is it The Powers, are they pulling my bloody chain now? Guess Angel and Cordelia weren't enough for the lot of them."

"The Powers have seen to it that the gift of sight has been passed on to you. It is the price you must pay for being returned to your former self. For everything there is a price. That you should be fully aware of, vampire."

"That's just bloody terrific! So I get the damn visions and for what...to watch the woman I love suffer? I don't get it."

"All will be revealed, vampire. Patience is a virtue," The Oracles said and then turned to leave. Spike stood there open mouthed and unable to move.

"Wait a bloody minute, is that it?" Spike cried as the forms of The Oracles retreated away. "You didn't answer my questions!"

"Leave us," The Oracles said, their voices echoing in unison around the room, bouncing around inside Spike's brain. A split second later, Spike found himself back in the abandoned warehouse. Glancing around he noticed the informant demon had disappeared. Shaking his head, Spike headed back out into the night. Now more than ever he needed to contact Buffy, things just kept getting stranger and stranger.

*

End of Chapter Two

TBC...
 

Chapter Three

*

Spike's thoughts churned in turmoil as he left the abandoned warehouse. The informant demon had long been forgotten, as Spike flashed back to the conversation he'd had with The Oracles. 'The bleeding Powers That Bloody Be' had passed a horrible thing onto him. He was now cursed with the frightful visions that had plagued Cordelia for most of her sojourn in Los Angeles. Angel had told Spike all about the mind-crippling visions that the former Sunnydale High cheerleader had endured. Angel had explained about Doyle, and how he'd passed the visions onto Cordelia in the last remaining moments before sacrificing his life for his demon clan. Spike had dismissed the visions altogether, believing them to be nothing more than bloody nonsense. Angel had vehemently protested that the visions had aided his gang in stomping many an evil-doer and that Cordelia had ultimately lost her life because of them. Suddenly Spike found himself appreciating Cordelia a little more, not that he would ever say it out loud. He'd always thought she was just an annoying twit. Now 'The Powers' had seen to it that Spike would be the bestower of the visions. Just bloody terrific. Frankly, he was right tired of 'The Powers' jerking him around like a bloody pup on a leash. But he had a lot to thank them for, begrudgingly at best. It was because of them he was back in living color. It was because of them he was able to come to Rome and find Buffy. That was at the top of his priority list at the moment. Finding Buffy, warning her. Something was happening between them, telepathically, or mentally, or some bleeding thing. This thing, whatever it was, was doing its damndest to bring them together, whether they wanted it or not.

Spike stopped in his tracks when he realized he'd arrived at his destination. He stared up at the apartment building where Buffy was currently residing and felt an electric surge of adrenaline race through his veins. He was here, and it was time. No buggering out on this one, it was time to take the big plunge. Spike walked intrepidly to the front steps of the apartment building and ascended them, pulling open the entrance door and stepping inside. Dawn had just begun to break, as the sun's rays slipped over the horizon. Spike had hardly noticed the coming day and had just managed to escape a blistering death. Shaking his head, he ascended another staircase and glanced at the crumpled napkin in his hand with her address on it. Walking down a dimly lit hallway, his head darted back and forth checking the numbers on each of the black lacquered doors until he found the one he needed. Apartment 4A. Raising his hand to knock, Spike held an unnecessary breath and waited.

*

Buffy stepped out of the shower, pulling a towel off the rod nearby and wrapping it around her body. She wrapped a second towel around her hair and then padded from the bathroom to her bedroom. Standing naked in her bedroom, she deliberated over what to wear as she stared at the contents of the closet. Giles was stopping over with breakfast in about an hour. Buffy had left him a message on his cell phone last night when she'd been unable to sleep. After the disturbing events that had occurred in the attic last night, Buffy's mind had been unrelenting in allowing sleep to come and so she'd dialed Giles in a panic, desperate to know what the hell was going on with her. She was also curious as to what possible connection Spike might have with her in this whole mess. Finally deciding on an outfit, Buffy selected it and put it on. Then she went back to the bathroom, quickly pulling her hair into a ponytail, and then headed downstairs to the kitchen. There was a note taped to the refrigerator from Andrew saying he wouldn't be home until later that afternoon, the boys had gotten rowdier than expected and he was going to stay with them for awhile. Buffy wasn't going to ask questions when it came to Andrew especially when it came to his sexuality. Buffy didn't even want to debate it; she preferred to stay in the dark on that one. With a shake of her head, she tossed the note into the trash and went to the refrigerator. Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door, and Buffy left the kitchen to answer it.

*

Spike had dove into a darkened corner the moment he'd seen Rupert Giles heading up the walkway to the apartment complex. He'd made it in the nick of time, because the former Watcher hadn't seen him, thank bloody God. Spike waited a few moments as Buffy and Giles made small talk at the door and then took his chance when he heard the silent click of the door closing. But now he had a dilemma on his hands. The sun. He was in a bind now. No choice but to wait for the Watcher to leave, he'd have to sit in the corner until then.

*

"It's so strange, Giles. The dreams, the thing in the attic, what does it mean?" Buffy was asking her former Watcher as he withdrew breakfast items from a paper sack and laid them on the kitchen counter. He darted a glance at Buffy and frowned.

"Can't say I can rightly recall, Buffy. When did the phenomena begin? Have you been having the dreams long?" Giles asked as he took a seat at the table and accepted the cup of coffee Buffy handed him.

"The dreams started about a week ago," Buffy said sheepishly as she sat across the Englishmen, lowering her eyes.

"And you were going to tell me this when?" Giles asked with a lift of his eyebrows. Buffy pleated the tablecloth with her fingers and debated.

"I'm sorry. I just didn't think they were that important. I'm not the one and only Slayer anymore, I just assumed the dreams would disappear along with the title," Buffy said with a shrug.

"Buffy, just because your destiny has changed doesn't mean that you lose everything that came with it. You are still 'The Chosen One', the one and only, which means you still possess Slayer strength and unfortunately Slayer curses. Prophetic dreams are still part of the package, I'm afraid," Giles said philosophically, folding his hands in front of him and leaning forward.

Buffy frowned and sighed. She hadn't thought of that. Just because Willow had channeled Slayer strength into thousands of young girls around the world via the scythe, didn't mean that Buffy was exempt from the whole Slayer gig. Damn. Double damn. She looked up at Giles accusingly.

"How come I'm finding out about this now?" she asked.

"There's still so much we're learning about the scythe and the power it contains," Giles said softly, removing his glasses and a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaning the glasses absentmindedly.

"So what does Spike have to do with all of this? Burned to a cinder in the Hellmouth, remember?"

Giles frowned and lowered his eyes, slipping his glasses back onto his face.

"I don't know Buffy. Maybe somehow the two of you are bonded, connected. Possibly because of the amulet, I can't really say for sure. I'd have to consult my books, do some research. I'll see what I can do. Until then, keep me up to date on the dreams. They are important. I'm convinced there is so much more behind them than you think."

"Thanks, Giles," Buffy said with a half-hearted smile.

"Have you thought about contacting Angel about all of this?" Giles asked, as he stood from the table and took his empty coffee mug and plate to the sink. "We never did investigate the amulet fully; maybe we underestimated its power as well."

"I dunno," Buffy sighed. “There wasn't a lot of time to go all researchy on the amulet, the end of the world approaching and all. Plus, the big final battle with The First. I'll get a hold of Angel; find out some more info on the amulet. Maybe he can help throw some light on this whole thing."

"Like I said, keep me up to date. Just because I'm not around all the time doesn't mean I'm still unreachable. You can always come to me, Buffy. For anything. You know that, right?" Giles said plaintively.

Buffy nodded and stood from the table. She crossed the room and enveloped Giles in an embrace.

"Thank you. For everything," she whispered as she pulled him to her tightly.

"You're welcome," he said in a strained voice. "And yet, you are still incredibly strong."

"Oh, sorry," Buffy said with a small smile as she released him from her vice-like embrace.

"Quite alright," Giles wheezed.

*

Spike was about to give up. He'd been sitting in the bloody corner for an hour and had yet to hear the sounds of 'ol Rupert taking his leave. If it weren't for the sun, Spike would have sodded off already. Maybe if he pulled his jacket over his head he could make a run for it. Yeah right, and be burned to a bloody crisp by the time he made it to a dark place. He had no choice but to wait. Suddenly, the door opened and the sound of voices in the hall caught Spike's attention. He peered around the corner and was thankful to see Giles standing there, preparing to leave. He said some words to Buffy, patted her shoulder and then exited. Spike held a breath, counted to ten and then emerged from his corner. Moments later, he took a large step back when he noticed Buffy leaving the apartment as well. She was going somewhere and there wasn't a damn thing he could do. He couldn't run after her, he'd be ashes in moments. Bloody hell, Spike thought to himself with a shake of his head. He had gotten himself into a jam this time. He was stuck in the bloody apartment complex until sundown.

*

Buffy walked down the sunlit streets of Rome, on her way to the Slayer school a few blocks away. Giles had established a sort of makeshift boarding school type place for the young potentials that found their way to Rome and needed a place to stay. At the school, the potentials were trained, given guidance and shown how to handle themselves in the fight against evil. Buffy lended her services three times a week, teaching advanced fighting techniques and passing on valuable advice to her young charges. It gave Buffy a sense of self and motivated her. She liked her new mentor-girl role.

As she watched the young Slayers come into their new powers, Buffy found herself a little nostalgic; remembering the early days when she was learning all there was to know about her destiny. But she was also a little jealous. The girls had a built in support system. They were surrounded by others like them and could go to each other at any time and talk about their fears and ask questions. Buffy hadn't had that luxury growing up as the 'Chosen One'. One of the many downfalls of her birthright, unfortunately.

Luckily for her she'd had her friends and Giles. They may not have understood completely what she had been going through, but they had been willing to stand by her side and help in any way they could. Some had even given their lives. Buffy thought of Anya and Tara in that moment. The feeling of jealousy seemed trite and Buffy hated that it existed. But she was here to start a new life, which included making up for past mistakes and even learning new things along the way. Buffy believed with all of her heart that she was on the right path. Unfortunately, the dreams she'd been having seemed to be telling her something else. Something scary. Buffy shivered. She didn't want to think about the damn dreams right now.

She made a mental note to contact Angel later that day. She also made a note to drop a line to her friends. It was too bad that she didn't really hear from or see Willow and Xander much anymore. Last she'd heard, Willow had moved to Los Angeles, met some new girl and started college again, making up for lost time. Xander had moved to Northern California and with the help of a cousin, had started his own construction company, overseeing a handful of employees and watching the money roll in. Judging by the last postcard she'd gotten from him he was still dealing with the death of Anya and hadn't yet moved on to another relationship. It saddened Buffy to think of Xander still dealing with the pain of losing the only woman he'd ever truly loved. Buffy found herself relating, but could never say the words out loud. Buffy stood in front of the building that housed the Slayer school and pushed the gate open. She crossed the parking lot and entered the building, ready to begin her daily classes with the young Slayers.

*

Spike was hurting in places he didn't know could hurt. His muscles had cramped up all over his body and he was down to one last cigarette in the crumpled pack in his left jacket pocket. He had to do something and soon, because he feared he would start going crazy if he stayed in this corner for too much longer. Buffy had been gone for an hour and Spike found himself entertaining the thought of breaking into her apartment, hiding out until the sun went down. At least inside the apartment he could watch the telly and sit in a comfortable chair. He knew that Dawn and Andrew lived with Buffy as well, and if they should happen to appear...well...Spike would burn that bridge when the time came. For the moment, he needed to get into that apartment and quick before someone spotted him.

Getting to his feet, Spike quickly crossed the hallway and stood in front of the apartment door. He jiggled the handle, finding it locked. Darting a glance around him to make sure no one was coming; he gave the door a hard shove and managed to bust the lock. He mentally thanked God for vampire strength as the door swung open easily. Upon examination of the door jamb, Spike noticed that there didn't appear to be any noticeable damage to the door itself, so it would go unnoticed if one didn't look too closely. With a shrug, Spike entered the apartment and shut the door behind him.

Upon entering, he was immediately assailed by a variety of scents. Walking around the tiny apartment, Spike was able to suss out which scent belonged to Buffy and followed his nose until he stood in front of her bedroom door. He felt a little guilty as he turned the doorknob and entered the room, but the feeling dissipated as he took in the surroundings. The walls were painted a beige color; the border of wildflowers along the ceiling matched the color of the wall to wall carpeting and the curtains, which were a gauzy white color. They swayed gently from the morning breeze. The room screamed female, and Spike found himself appreciating the decor. Buffy had always been all woman through and through. Her femininity defined who she was, and that was what Spike loved most about her. Shrugging off his jacket, he laid it across a chair and continued his survey of the room.

A four poster bed stood in the far left corner and it was covered with a simple white bedspread. Spike recognized the throw pillows on top of the spread; they were the same ones she'd had on her bed in Sunnydale. He wondered how Buffy had managed to salvage her belongings from her previous hometown before the place had collapsed in on itself. Guess it didn't really matter. Spike walked across the room and sat on her bed gingerly. Turning, he grabbed one of the throw pillows and held it in his hands. Unable to help himself, he pressed his nose into the fabric of the pillow and inhaled the scent that was uniquely woman...uniquely Buffy. The scent was a combination of peaches, vanilla and the faint hint of blood, as if she had killed something recently.

Setting the pillow aside, Spike rose from the bed and stepped over to the dresser that stood against the wall across from the bed. The oak surface was littered with makeup, various hair accessories, a jewelry box and framed photos. Picking up one of the gilt-framed photos, Spike studied the picture. It was a group shot of Willow, Xander and Buffy from high school. She'd looked so fresh-faced and young, really just a child. It was amazing how seven or so odd years of constant death, stress and turmoil could age a person, although Buffy seemed to wear it well. Though, if the light caught her at a certain angle a person could easily tell she'd been through too much in her young life. Spike shook his head and put the frame back exactly where he'd found it. He was just about to rifle through her underwear drawer when a sound assailed his senses. The apartment shook a little as a door was slammed. Frozen to the spot, Spike waited and listened. He heard shoes being kicked off, a book bag dropped on the floor, the sound of running water, the telly being turned on. The Little Bit, she was home. Bloody hell, Spike muttered to himself. He searched the room frantically for a place to hide. Briefly, he entertained diving underneath the bed and then glanced at the closet. Better, Spike thought to himself as he shut himself inside the closet.

*

Dawn arrived home to an empty apartment. The note on the refrigerator confirmed that Andrew was gone for the day and Buffy was teaching her classes at the Slayer school. Dawn had the place to herself. She'd turned on the TV, but wasn't really watching it, she just liked to have it on for noise. It happened more often than not that Dawn found herself home alone, and the TV was a soothing distraction from the sound of silence. Slapping a palm to her forehead, Dawn realized that she'd forgotten to get the mail. She grabbed the key from the bowl on the table near the door, and went to exit the apartment, when something caught her attention. Staring at it, Dawn frowned as she noticed the splintered wood of the door jamb. Running her finger over it, she realized the door had been busted open and it occurred to her that it hadn't been locked when she'd come home. An icy shiver of fear raced up and down Dawn's spine and she darted her eyes nervously around the room. Someone had broken into the apartment and could still be inside, hiding. Dawn swallowed her fear and started investigating.

The living room showed no signs of any entry; no items were broken or missing. A check of the kitchen showed that nothing had been touched. Walking to the hall closet near the front door, Dawn opened the closet and withdrew an axe from the weapons chest that was stored inside and wielded the weapon in her hands, heading toward the bedrooms. If someone was hiding they'd definitely be in any of the three bedrooms. Dawn held her breath and checked Andrew's room first. She opened the closet and checked under the bed. It was clean. Next, she checked her bedroom, it was clean as well. Dawn's heart began to pound as she neared Buffy's bedroom. If the intruder was a demon or vamp, chances were they'd be hiding out in her room, just waiting to attack.

Dawn reached out a trembling hand to the doorknob and turned it slowly. She entered the room and quickly glanced around. Nothing appeared to be out of place. Everything was where it should be. Dawn let out the breath she'd been holding, her shoulders sagging. She was just a freaking paranoid chic was all. A lot of things could explain the broken door jamb, maybe Buffy had locked herself out and used her Slayer strength to bust the door open. Get a grip, Dawn. Way too many years of living on a Hellmouth are catching up to you, Dawn thought to herself as she turned to head out of the bedroom.

Suddenly, a jacket on the chair near her sister's bed caught her eye. With a frown, Dawn balanced the axe against the wall and then walked over to the chair. Picking up the black leather duster, Dawn shook her head. What could Buffy possibly be doing with a leather duster? She knew her sister had terrible fashion sense, but this was a new low. Dawn thrust her hands into the pockets of the jacket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. She turned them over in her hand and frowned. Buffy hadn't taken up smoking had she? Then, something occurred to Dawn and tears sprang into her eyes. She turned toward the closet.

"Spike?"

*

Spike watched from the closet as Dawn investigated Buffy's room. He'd really underestimated the Little Bit. Did he really think she was that bloody stupid? Her sister was the Slayer for chrissakes. Spike shook his head and continued to watch Dawn as she walked around the room. He sighed with relief when Dawn began to leave the room, but then his breath caught in his throat when she stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes trained on something. Spike swung his glance toward Dawn's field of vision and saw his jacket lying on the chair, just where he'd left it. Spike clenched his teeth and shook his head. Stupid git. Leave the evidence right out where she can see it. Your unlife is bloody over, mate, Spike thought to himself. Dawn frowned, studied the jacket and then looked over at the closet. Spike could see the tears shining in her brown eyes and knew he'd been caught. She spoke his name tearfully, as if the sobs were clinging in her throat and Spike knew it would be foolish to continue to hide. He stepped out of the closet and stood before Dawn, avoiding her penetrating stare. He noticed the axe standing against the far wall of the room and imagined what the Bit was going to do him. He probably bloody deserved it.

"Hey Little Bit. Surprise?" Spike said with a half-hearted smile, holding his hands out. His remark was met with a resounding left-hook to his jaw, which sent him reeling back a few steps. Clutching his sore jaw and checking for blood, Spike glanced at Dawn who was glaring at him, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

"Take it you’re not happy to see me?" Spike asked and Dawn only nodded curtly, her glare intensifying. Spike almost shrunk away, the heat of her stare alone seemed capable of reducing him to ashes.

"What are you doing here?" Dawn ground out through clenched teeth, blinking her tear-filled eyes. "We thought you were dead. You let us believe-" Spike held out his hand and cut her off.

"Hold on one bloody minute, Bit. Let me explain," Spike said, walking over to the bed and taking a seat on it.

"Don't call me that," Dawn said petulantly, maintaining her stance a few feet away. Spike could have cut her anger with a knife, it was that palpable.

"Fine," Spike said with a defeated shake of his head. "Dawn then. Can I explain? Will you let me? At least before you think of using that?" He nodded toward the axe against the far wall.

"Depends what you have to say," Dawn said, thrusting her chin in the air. Spike couldn't help himself, he had to laugh. The situation was pretty bloody funny if he thought about it. The Slayer's sister challenging him to a fight, the tables had definitely turned. But if this was the Bit's reaction, he couldn't even imagine Buffy's. At that thought, the laughter died in his throat. He glanced at Dawn, who'd relaxed her defensive posture and was now sitting down on the bed beside him.

"Ready to hear me out?" Spike asked, turning his head to glance at Dawn. She nodded mutely. Silence flowed between them for a moment.

"Yeah. I guess I am," she finally said defeatedly. "Better be a damn good explanation too, 'cause I doubt Buffy is going to be as nice to you as I am."

"Chance I'm willing to take," Spike said. Dawn turned and faced him; hitting him full force with her doe-like brown eyes, reminding him that he still cared about the kid, had always cared about her. Spike hadn't realized how much he'd missed having her around. It hurt more than he liked.

"Ok," Spike said as he stared at the floor. "The long and short of it. Here goes. The amulet that I wore that day in the Hellmouth was given to Angel by Wolfram and Hart. You know the evil law firm in L.A.?" Dawn nodded and Spike continued. "Well, the senior partners put some kind of mojo on it, and suddenly I found myself in a ghostly way, standing in Angel's office."

"Was this after you were turned to ashes in the Hellmouth?" Dawn asked.

"Moments after, yeah."

Dawn looked down at the floor and twisted her fingers. Then she looked back up at Spike, questions in her eyes.

"But all of this happened like, a year ago! You've been around all of this time and you didn't bother to tell anyone? Not even me, o-or even Buffy?" Dawn cried as she got to her feet, an expression of horror on her face that made Spike cringe.

"Now wait a minute, Bit...I mean Dawn...that's not all to the story! Can I bloody finish?" Dawn's breath was heaving in her chest as she glared angrily at Spike.

"Why not?" she said with a shrug and then plopped down beside Spike.

"You see, I was a ghost, all non-corporeal and all that bloody rot. Took me a long time to shake it. Couldn't even leave Wolfram and Hart, much less pick up a phone and call," Spike explained. Dawn turned to face Spike and then reached out her hand, gingerly resting the tips of her fingers against Spike's cheek and then her eyes swung up to meet his.

"But you're corporeal now," she said.

"Have been for at least six months," Spike said and glanced back down at the floor. He knew he was going to pay for that admission and tensed, waiting for another left-hook to the jaw. It never came and Spike glanced back up at Dawn. She was doubled over, in tears. Spike was at a loss, he didn't know what to do. So he waited. Finally, her tears subsided and she swiped them from her eyes angrily.

"So, you've been corporeal all this time? Again, I ask the question...why didn't you call anyone? Do you realize what Buffy put herself through after you died? Did you care?"

"Dawn-"

"No, you listen to me!" Dawn shouted, pounding her fist into the bed forcefully, the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Buffy cried herself to sleep every night after we left California! She blamed herself for your death and you didn't even have the decency to call!"

"Dawn," a female voice rang out from across the room. Spike and Dawn's heads whipped around at the sound. Spike's sharp intake of breath was followed by Dawn's soft gasp.

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered as he took in the Slayer as she stared indifferently at he and Dawn.

"Buffy-" Dawn started, tearfully.

"Leave us alone for a minute?" Buffy asked as she unfolded her arms from across her chest and entered the room. When Dawn hesitated, Buffy pointed to the door. "Please. I just need a minute."

Dawn grumbled something under her breath and then got to her feet and stomped out of the room. Spike could only stare as the events unfolded around him. He watched in silence as Buffy closed her bedroom door and then crossed the room, closing the distance between herself and Spike. Spike got to his feet and the two regarded one another for a moment.

"Buffy," Spike said softly, reaching out his hand to caress her cheek. Suddenly, a left-hook landed on his jaw, and once again he was stumbling backward, clutching his face. Leaning forward, Spike braced his hands on his knees and spit out the blood that had flowed into his mouth.

"Bastard!" Buffy cried through clenched teeth as she crossed the room viciously.

"Nice to see you too, Slayer," Spike said in a strained voice as pain rippled from his jaw.

*

End of Chapter Three

TBC...

 

Chapter Four

~*~
And it's been awhile...since I could hold my head up high...
And it's been awhile since...I first saw you...
And it's been awhile...since I could stand on my own two feet again...
And it's been awhile...since I could call you...

*

Buffy's breath hitched in her chest as she and Spike regarded one another. Thoughts were tumbling around in her confused brain and she was having a hard time trying to put a sentence together. Walking down the hallway to her room and hearing the familiar voice had sent her into an emotional tailspin. Hearing the sound of Spike's voice after so long had been frightening. For a moment she thought she'd stepped into another dimension, that is, until she entered her room and saw him sitting there with Dawn. The room had tilted a little, and Buffy had thought she was going to pass out. Dawn's diatribe had gotten fuzzy in her ears and the only way she could have truly focused on Spike was to have Dawn out of the room. He was standing before her and looking like his dog had been kicked. How was she going to deal with this?

Spike was here. He was alive. Spike was alive? She drank in his appearance dazedly. He wore a black tee, black jeans and the same silver chain around his neck. His hair was still that alarming shade of blonde, and Buffy couldn't help the warmth that spread over her body as she stared. Damn him, he was still hot. He was a bastard, but he was still hot. Couldn't he have let himself go while he'd been lying to her all along?

Her first reaction had been one of her basest, hit first, ask questions later. She didn't regret clocking Spike for one moment. He'd deserved that. Now he was staring at her hesitantly, as if he were afraid to speak first. Buffy knew that she had to say something, the silence was beginning to make her nervous.

Slowly, she slipped past Spike and took a seat on the bed, clasping her hands between her knees and staring at the floor. His leather duster lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, and Buffy squeezed her eyes shut, as tears welled and a lump rose in her throat. She felt a little dizzy and pressed a hand to her forehead, as the bile rose in her throat. She had no idea what was causing this bodily reaction, maybe it was trauma. The bed sank a little as Spike sat down beside her. Buffy couldn't bring herself to meet Spike's eyes as she attempted once again to form a complete sentence.

"I'm not sorry that I hit you," she said flatly.

"I deserved it, love. No worries, yeah?"

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut as Spike's term of endearment washed over her. Love. She didn't think she would ever hear him call her that again, yet here was, sitting beside her. She could feel his stare, and in her mind's eye, could see the slight tilt of his head. His scent swirled around her and Buffy found herself battling a fresh wave of sobs. How was this happening? Why was it happening now, just when she'd finally gotten her life straightened out? Taking a breath, Buffy turned and rested her gaze on Spike, finally able to take him in without totally flipping out.

With a slight tremble, her hand lifted up, reached, and pressed against the smooth skin of his face, her fingertips tracing over the pale skin, over his defined cheekbones, until her palm was cupping his cheek. His skin still felt cool to the touch, but it felt as if her palm had been seared as the touch lingered. She saw Spike's eyes flutter closed as her thumb skated over his bottom lip, which had begun to tremble. She drew in a shaky breath and the tears she had been desperately trying to quell spilled from her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She dropped her hand from his face, lowered her head and began to sob softly. She felt the slight pressure of his arm as it wrapped gingerly around her shoulder. Spike pulled her closer to his body, and she didn't pull away. She let him hold her as she wept. When the sobs finally subsided, she stared at Spike, questions in her eyes.

"How did this happen?" she asked softly, her voice trembling a little.

"Could explain it you, love, but I don't know if you'd believe me."

"Try me."

He shook his head and lowered it, running his fingers through his white-blonde hair. Moments passed like hours between them, and Buffy found herself holding her breath as Spike launched into the explanation. Angel's name came up, and Buffy swung her head around so fast her neck almost snapped.

"Angel? He knew about this all along? That...that...bastard!" she cried getting to her feet angrily.

"Now Slayer, as much as I hate to defend the Champ here, it wasn't really his fault. I just appeared out of thin air. Not much could have been done about that, pet."

Buffy shook her head in confusion as a frown settled over her pretty features.

"But he could have told me," she said in a hushed whisper. "You could have told me."

She turned to face Spike, shooting him an accusatory glare. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Wanted to love, but I didn't think it would be best. You were moving on right and proper. We saw you that night, dancing-"

"What? Who saw me and when?" she cried in exasperation.

"Angel and I. Couple months back. We were in Rome, some bloody business with Wolfram and Hart. We looked for you, stopped here and talked to the little boy. He said you were out...with your boyfriend," Spike explained.

"My boyfriend?" Buffy asked quizzically, lifting her brows. Then, she remembered. The Immortal. Angel and Spike had seen her with The Immortal. Perfect. She wasn't even dating that guy anymore and it was coming back to bite her in the ass. Shit. She reminded herself to have a talk with Andrew about opening one's big mouth and spilling the proverbial beans. There could be punching involved.

"Doesn't matter now does it, love?" Spike asked.

"I stopped seeing The Immortal a month ago, so you can curb the impending jealousy," Buffy said, and then she faced Spike again. "What a minute, why am I explaining myself to you? You were dead, or so I thought, so there will be no...no jealousy...o-or hurt feelings. You don't get to be hurt because I moved on, ok? Did Angel not tell you about my cookie dough speech?"

"Love...you're rambling," Spike said with a gentle smile.

"Never mind, it was a stupid analogy anyway. But you get my sentiment here? You don't get to be jealous. In fact, you don't get to be much of anything 'cause I'm pissed off at you. Got it?" Buffy said as she jabbed a finger into Spike's chest.

"No complaints here, love. But there is a reason I came here, contrary to popular belief," Spike said.

"A reason?"

"Dreams, pet. I've been having these bloody dreams for the past month or so...you're in them...and..." Spike stopped short and glanced over at her. Buffy's hand flew to her mouth and she widened her eyes.

"I've been having the same weird dreams, too. That's why you're here then? Is something coming? Big evil?"

"Not exactly love," Spike said with a shake of his head. " It’s something bigger and closer to home."

"That's just great," she said with a shake of her head. "Perfect timing as usual. I should have known that peacetime wouldn't last forever. So what are we facing? Don't hold anything back, Spike...or I promise I will-"

"Yeah yeah," Spike said with a shake of his head. "You'll stake me right and proper. Sing me a new one."

The two of them prepared to leave the room and Spike held the door open for Buffy as she passed.

"I should stake you for not telling me that you're alive now," Buffy jabbed at Spike as they walked down the hallway and toward the kitchen. “I don’t even want to get in to how you got into my apartment, either.”

"I think the Little Bit beat you to that sentiment," Spike said.

"She learned from the best," Buffy said, not able to contain the grin of pride that spread across her face She sobered quickly as a thought came to her. "But we will need to talk to her. She looked pretty traumatized."

Spike stopped short and stared at Buffy. He leaned forward and brushed his fingertips over her cheek, causing her to tremble.

"Are you traumatized, love?" he asked poignantly.

Buffy shrugged away his touch and looked at the floor, shuffling her feet.

"I don't know what I am right now. I don't want to talk about it. There's evil a-foot, we focus on that first. Alright?"

"Right," Spike said softly.

Buffy cleared her throat and continued on toward the kitchen. She didn't see the pained look that Spike shot her as moments later he followed her.

~*~

And everything I can remember...as fucked up as it all may seem
And consequences that are rendered...I stretch myself beyond my means
And it's been awhile...since I can say that I wasn't addicted
And it's been awhile...since I can say I love myself as well
And it's been awhile...since I've gone and fucked things up just like I always do
And it's been awhile...but all that shit seems to disappear when I'm with you...

~*~


*

Spike sat in silence at the kitchen table as Buffy relayed the information to the Little Bit. He cringed at the sight of her stiffened posture, at the look of complete indifference on her face. The only sign of emotion she showed was when she bit her lip and glanced at her hands. Then, she got angry, tossed some hateful words in Buffy's direction and glared at Spike as her body trembled. Moments later, she stormed from the kitchen and the sound of a door slamming reverberated around the apartment. Buffy sighed and shook her head.

"That went well," she said softly.

Spike tamped the urge to reach for Buffy's hand, instead maintaining his silence. Buffy shot him a disparaging look and then mumbled something about going to talk to Dawn. Soon she had disappeared from the room. Spike leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. This wasn't going as he had planned. As much as he hated to admit it, the Poof had been right, except for the bludgeoning part. But maybe that was to come, if the bruise on his jaw was any indication.

Spike contemplated the ceiling tiles above him, as the silence of the apartment surrounded him. He could hear the faint sounds of traffic coming from outside, the ticking of the clock in the kitchen and the hushed voices of Buffy and the Bit from the hallway leading to the bedrooms. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingertips to his temples. He hadn't told Buffy the entire truth about the dreams, or visions as he had learned not too long ago. He didn't want to scare the Slayer, didn't want to whip the Bit into more of a lather than she was already in.

The matter was important, and no matter how much Spike tried to avoid it, he knew that the time was nearing for him to lower the boom. He just didn't know what he was going to say. I have visions now and oh yeah, you're going to die? Didn't make good for small talk or pleasantries did it? So he decided he would wait. He hadn't had a vision since...suddenly a searing pain ripped across his brain, sending Spike tumbling from his chair, clutching his head and crying out in pain as images flashed and burned behind his eyelids. He vaguely heard Buffy and Dawn tearing into the kitchen and shouting at him.

*

Buffy was hugging her sister when she heard the cries coming from the kitchen. She and Dawn glanced at each other and a split second later they were dashing to the kitchen. They arrived just as Spike fell from his chair, clutching his head and screaming in pain. Buffy raced to his side and dropped to her knees, pulling Spike closer to her as he screamed unintelligible words at her, words echoing the incredible pain he was in and Buffy felt a stab of fear in her chest. For the moment she found her anger dissipating toward him. Her need to help him rose above that anger as she desperately tried to revive Spike from whatever it was that was hurting him. Breathing heavily, she swung her gaze to Dawn who stood off to the side, eyes widened in fear.

"Dawn, call Giles...now...I don't know what to do!"

"Shouldn't we get him to the hospital?"

Buffy shook her head and looked down at Spike who had curled himself into a ball, still clutching his head and gritting his teeth in pain.

"I-I don't think so. Too many questions. Giles...just call Giles..."

"Ok, I will," Dawn said as she reached for the phone on the kitchen counter and tapped the speed dial for the Watcher. She turned her nervous gaze onto Buffy and Spike as the phone rang in her ear. Giles picked up after three rings and Dawn couldn't help the high pitched way her voice sounded as she practically shouted for him to get to the apartment. Slamming the phone down, Dawn ran over to Spike and Buffy, gazing in concern at the vampire as Buffy lifted him by his arms, attempting to carry him. Dawn grabbed his feet and together they stumbled with his weight as they carried him to the living room, depositing him gently on the sofa. Dawn stood off to the side as Buffy pushed past her and ran back to the kitchen, grabbing a towel and running it under cold water. Moments later, she was back, pressing the cool cloth to Spike's forehead as he moaned in pain, his eyes squeezed shut. Dawn bit her fingernails nervously and waited. A tiny trickle of blood leaked from Spike's nose and Dawn had to turn away as she fought a wave of nausea. She didn't know what the hell was going on, and she was pretty sure Buffy had no idea as well. Dawn watched as her sister cleaned Spike up and then moved away from him, slumping into a chair nearby. Dawn walked stiffly toward her sister and there eyes met.

"What's going on, Buffy? What's happening to Spike?" Dawn asked shakily.

"I don't know, Dawnie," she said with a shake of her head. "I hope Giles does."

"You realize he will be doing some serious flipping out when he finds out Spike is here," Dawn stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah Dawn, I know. I can almost hear him saying-"

"Dear God!"

The sound of Giles's proclamation from the front door caused both Dawn and Buffy to whip their heads around and stare at the Watcher as he slowly entered the room, whipping his glasses off his face. His gaze darted from the sleeping Spike on the sofa, to Dawn and Buffy looking worse for wear across the room.

"Someone want to inform me on just what the bloody hell is going on here?"

*

"Dear lord," Giles muttered moments later, scrubbing a palm over his face and casting a weary glance between Buffy and Dawn as he took off his glasses and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt. "Spike is alive. Ask me again why I'm not surprised?"

They were all sitting around the kitchen table, looking a little dazed. Dawn was nibbling away on her fingernails, Buffy was staring at the wood grain of the table and Giles had poured himself a glass of Scotch that Buffy kept in the apartment just for these types of occasions. Suddenly the sound of a door slamming broke the silence and three pairs of eyes darted to the living room as Andrew strolled in.

"Hey guys, what's up? What's with the harbinger of death faces...oh God...someone died...did someone die?" Andrew asked quizzically and was met with silence. He turned his head and saw Spike asleep on the couch.

"Spike's here? When did he get into town? Man, he comes to town and doesn't even bother to call me and say hi. That's just rude," Andrew continued with a shake of his head and then went to sit at the table with the rest of the group. Three pairs of eyes stared at him in astonishment. Buffy was the first to speak.

"Andrew...you knew about Spike all along?" Buffy asked.

Andrew nodded with a smile and when he noticed that everyone else wasn't smiling, the grin fell from his face instantly.

"No one told you about Spike being alive?" he asked, glancing at everyone in confusion. “He told me not to say anything, he made me promise!”

"Nope," Dawn said flatly. “Maybe you should have said something anyway, helped us all out. Otherwise what are you good for?”

"Oh," Andrew said sheepishly. Then he stood from the table and made a big show of yawning and stretching his arms. "Well, I'm pooped out. Night all!"

But before he could exit the room, Buffy had stood, crossed the room and grabbed Andrew by the arm. She reached for his shirt collar and plopped him down into a chair.

"Ouch," he said petulantly. "Don't damage the goods."

"Start talking, now. Before I start getting more than verbal with you."

"Ok ok," Andrew muttered, shooting a pained look in Buffy's direction. "Just don't hurt me."

Buffy shot up from her chair and lunged for Andrew. Giles and Dawn caught her just in time and settled her back into her seat. Buffy glared and straightened her clothes.

"Remind me again why he lives here?" Buffy asked Giles, who shrugged.

*

Spike opened his eyes slightly, noticing that the mind-numbing pain had finally disappeared. He glanced around slowly, realizing he was lying down. He covered his face with his palm and struggled to recall the images from the vision. He was going to have to let Buffy in on that new development.

The vision had showed Dawn and Giles standing beside a coffin as it was lowered into the ground. A headstone had appeared with Buffy's name and dates of birth and death etched on to it. Spike hadn't been able to make out the dates; the pain had been too much. Next, the vision had showed a battle being led by a human...or someone who wore a human guise, but Spike had been unable to make out the figure. After that he'd blacked out. He heard voices coming from the kitchen and struggled to sit up. Shading his eyes from the bright light, he entered the kitchen and immediately was greeted with silence. Spike ran a hand through his hair and shuffled his feet, his eyes traveling to the floor. Finally Giles spoke.

"How are you, Spike?" he asked.

"Just dandy, Rupert," Spike drawled sarcastically. "Yourself?"

Buffy got up from her seat and was immediately at Spike's side, staring up at him in concern. It touched him that she was concerned about him, but he knew deep down inside that it was only because of his condition, nothing more.

"You shouldn't be up, Spike. Something's wrong with you...we're trying to figure it out," Buffy said, pressing a hand to his arm and then glancing over at Giles. "Research mode, right?"

"Of course," Giles said with a nod. "Straight away."

"You don't need to do any research or activate the Scoobies. I already know what's going on, did some research myself," Spike said as he walked slowly to a nearby chair and took a seat. He glanced over and noticed Andrew. "Hey mate, how're you doing?"

"Been better," Andrew mumbled. "You got me in big trouble. Thanks alot."

"Glad to oblige," Spike said and then turned back to face Giles, who was staring at him in puzzlement.

"What do you mean, you researched already? Buffy told me you'd been having strange dreams, dreams she shares as well. I assumed there was a connection with the amulet somehow," Giles said, removing his glasses and frowning.

"The dreams are directly tied to the amulet," Spike said wearily. "Point of fact, the amulet is directly tied to 'The Powers that Be' as well. I went to see The Oracles and they told me everything...well...most everything."

"The Oracles? Who or what are The Oracles?" Buffy asked, glancing at Giles and Spike in confusion.

"The Oracles are mystical beings directly linked to 'The Powers', a-as messengers of sorts. They relay information from humans to 'The Powers' and vice versa," Giles explained. "Cordelia had the visions and now it seems they have been passed onto Spike. Quite interesting, really."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spike shot back at Giles with a frown. "I'm not qualified enough? I sacrificed my life that day in the Hellmouth! Doesn't make me interesting...makes me a bloody Champion!"

"Spike...I only meant-"

"Yeah Rupert, tell me what you meant. I'm just dying to hear," Spike said. A hard edge of sarcasm mixed with anger began to rise in his voice.

"If you'd let me explain-"

"Guys," Buffy cut the two Englishmen off. "Can we not have the bickering right now? We need to focus. Spike said that the dreams...o-or vision thingies he's been having are predicting something...possibly evil, so we can please not have this!" Buffy gestured wildly between the two men and Giles looked down at his hands and Spike turned his head. "Thank you. Now Spike, explain more about this coming evil. What did you see? Do you know how we can fight it? Any info you have would be nice."

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this love, with these circumstances and all, but the visions concern you. Only you," Spike looked down at his hands and felt sadness rising within him. He had to tell her or it would kill him. Looking back up, he stared straight into Buffy's eyes. "The visions are showing me your death. You're going to die, and it won't be a death you can come back from, either."

Silence. Suddenly, the room was thick with it. Spike darted a glance in Buffy's direction. She was staring blindly into space, not moving. Dawn had pressed her head into her arms and was sobbing softly. Andrew just looked confused. Giles had squeezed his eyes shut and was fiddling with his glasses. All Spike felt was uncomfortable. Buffy turned to face Spike, a look of quiet determination in her hazel eyes as she began to address him.

"No big. I've died twice. Twice. Think another evil thing wantin' to kill me is going to scare me? Bring it on, I say. Now when do we fight?"

Spike couldn't help the pride he felt as it blossomed in his chest. There was the feisty Slayer he remembered. The smile that spread across his features came out of nowhere. At that moment he had never wanted a woman more. He should have known when he broke the news to her that she wouldn't shrink away, curl herself into a ball and wait for death to come to her. She'd face it head-on, just the way she always did. It was the sexiest feature about her and Spike knew hot desire at that moment. Quickly he ducked his head and cleared his throat. There wasn't time for that now.

"Well, the visions have been sketchy at best on the details. The one I had an hour ago showed a battle. A man...or at least it looked like a man...was leading a battle. Then it showed me Buffy's funeral. After the mind-crippling pain there's not too much I remember," Spike explained.

"So we research and we wait," Buffy said evenly, addressing everyone at the table, just like the leader she was born to be. "You're staying here, Spike. I'm going to call Angel, get him in on this, and get his crew on this. Whatever wants to get me is going to have a hell of a fight on his hands, especially since I've got over a hundred or so young Slayers just itching for action."

She glanced at Dawn who turned her weepy eyes to her sister. They shared a look, which was loaded with so many of the emotions that neither of them could speak. Slowly, Buffy reached out her hand and covered Dawn's.

"Don't worry, Dawnie. We'll fight this, just like always. Promise," she said softly. Dawn nodded and attempted a watery smile.

"Shall I get in touch with Xander and Willow?" Giles interjected, glancing at Buffy who nodded heartily.

"Yep. Definitely. Tell them it's urgent. Make them drop whatever it is they have going on and get them here fast. We'll definitely need them in this," Buffy said assuredly.

"What about me?" Andrew asked weakly, holding his hand up.

"You just sit there and shut up. I'll think of some way to deal with you later," Buffy said and Spike almost burst out laughing. "Ok. For now, we rest up. I want to get going on this first thing in the morning and I want everyone ready to go. Understand?"

The group gathered around the table nodded and agreed unanimously, getting up to leave. Spike waited as everyone filed out of the room until only he and Buffy were left.

"So what now, love?" Spike asked hesitantly.

"I don't know just yet, Spike. This is heavy stuff we're dealing with. You can sack out on the couch; I have extra sheets and pillows. I'll be here the next time you have a vision," she said wearily, getting up from her seat and walking away from the kitchen.

"Wait!" Spike cried out.

Buffy turned to face him, her eyes suddenly dull and hard, as if she were already working out battle strategies in her mind.

"What is it, Spike?"

"I shouldn't be alone," he said, a little embarrassed as his eyes traveled to the floor.

"I'll be back. You won't be alone. I promise," Buffy said softly, a hint of a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Give me a minute, ok?"

Spike nodded as he watched her retreat from the kitchen. Something inside of him felt whole again. He knew she still loved him, but wasn't ready to admit it yet since she was in still shock at his sudden appearance. But, Spike was confident. She'd come around. He'd give her space, give her some time. Maybe...just maybe...when this whole thing was over they could make a go of having something together. It couldn't hurt to hope. For now, he was taking Buffy's advice and focusing on the big picture.

Spike's head came up when he heard Buffy's footsteps nearing the kitchen and he got up from his seat, trudging to the living room. Silently, he helped her make up the sofa and then settled his body on the cushioned surface, feeling slightly relaxed for the first time since the whole vision mess had started. Buffy got to her knees beside the couch and stared at Spike inquisitively, her green eyes responsive and emotional. Spike smiled at her tenderly and reached his hand out. She immediately clasped it in hers, holding on tightly.

"So, here we are again, love. Back in it, side by side," he said tenderly, giving her a hand a squeeze.

Buffy shook her head, her blonde ponytail swinging hypnotically, and then she glanced back up at Spike.

"I still can't believe you're here. I don't think my brain has fully processed the information," she said with a tiny laugh. Then she lowered her eyes and absentmindedly picked at a loose thread hanging from the fabric of the sofa. "But I'm glad you are. Even though you lied to me about it, I can understand why you felt you had to. I'm not angry with you, even though I probably should be. Weird, huh?"

"Not weird, love. Just kind," Spike said softly and this time didn't stop himself from reaching out a hand and caressing her face. "I'm glad I'm here too and I apologize for any pain I caused you. The Bit told me-"

Buffy pressed a finger to Spike's lips cutting him off.

"Don't talk about any of that now, ok? Everything that needed to be said was aired out. I don't want to hash it all out tonight anyway. Please," she said.

"Got it," Spike said with a nod. "I'm pretty knackered anyway."

"Oh...I'm sorry...I'll go," Buffy said as she got to her feet. But before she could make a move to leave the room, Spike grabbed her hand and gently tugged her back to her knees.

"I'd like it better if you stayed," Spike said softly and then patted the cushion beside him. "I don't mind the company."

Buffy seemed to debate a moment, she stared at the floor, bit her lip and then sighed. She smiled a little and then waited as Spike scooted over to allow her room. Soon, they were nestled in each other's arms. Buffy reached up, felt along the wall and flipped the switch, cloaking the room in darkness. She turned so she was facing Spike and her eyes slammed into his as silence enveloped them.

Dawn and Andrew had headed off to bed and Giles had gone back to his place. They were virtually alone. Spike knew they could probably do more and get away with it, but he knew that now wasn't the time for any fooling around. He was content to hold Buffy. Reaching out, he caressed her cheek, slid his palm down over the smooth skin and cupped her face, tracing his thumb over her lower lip. She sighed and Spike felt her body relaxing in his embrace. This was one of his happiest moments that he could recall having as of late, and it was all because of Buffy. He couldn't think of any other place he'd rather be. Moments later, he could hear her deep even breathing and it wasn't long before he drifted off as well, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Spike fell asleep easily, the smile never leaving his face.

And it's been awhile...since I could look at myself straight...
And it's been awhile...since I said I'm sorry...
And it's been awhile...since I've seen the way the candles light your face...
And it's been awhile...but I can still remember just the way you taste...

End of Chapter Four

TBC...


 

Next