* ~ * ~ * ~ *

Day 48

2:37

“Peaches…”

It was a statement this time and not a question.

Definitely Peaches. All 6’2” Dark loom and gloom of him. And Spike had to confess that his heart gave a little lurch at the familiar sight of him nosing around Ronnie’s Chevy. A couple of other guys with him, some bookish sort, one definite dark warrior type, but it was Angel that he couldn’t take his eyes off of.

My God, I wonder if it’s true, that thing people say, when they say after so much time and tide the pain fades away and all that’s left, really left to you, is family. And certainly these last, at least in calendar days, these past two months for him, had been, had felt like forty years.

And so he opened the door, easy in his mind and soul, calm and pleased to greet his grandfather. Who says you can’t go home again?

Spike stepped out from the door way, from under the awning so that he would be clearly visible to the vampire across the street. He stood and waited for Angel to sense his presence. It didn’t take long. Angel slowly turned his head and nailed him with a piercing glance.

Uh oh. Maybe not such a good idea. Spike had been so overwhelmed with relief upon seeing a familiar face he had not considered that his face would be unwelcome. Spike’s open expression closed somewhat, eyes and smile dimming down to caution. Caution.

Angel seeing the change in Spike’s expression suddenly knew exactly how to handle this, how to handle him. He nodded and smiled slightly to Spike, to calm him, slow his thinking down.

Spike saw Angel turn to the other men say something and then strode by himself across the street. Never taking his eyes off Spike. He stopped when he was about eight feet away, eyes sad brown and…mournful? Why would Angel be mourning?

“Buffy?” Spike asked, his voice a croak.

Angel looked away and then down at the ground.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this here…do you even know what had happened to you…”

“Buffy.” This was a statement now.

“You don’t know what happened?”

Spike shook his head slowly.

“Not past, everything falling in, blowing out, she got out, she got out…”

“No.”

And with that simple word Spike stumbled back, up against a row of white wicker chairs outside the motel room. He sat; he fell down into the one nearest the door.

Angel licked his lips. This would be so easy.

“She got caught in the shock wave, the bus…everyone got caught in the shock wave. The satellite caught it all. I’ve got it all, if you’d like to see it…”

Christ. Spike experienced the most acute sensation of vertigo he had ever known. The complete matrix of his world, of everything that made being in this world, which even made the world itself a worthwhile place at all, for anyone…shifted. Reality bent. So this is what it meant when the floor dropped out from beneath you. This was that feeling. Not possible…just not…

Now what was Angel saying? Did I want to see it? Was he insane? Really, has he cracked?

“Look Spike…you’ve been through a lot…why don’t you come with me and I can answer any questions you have…look, here’s the limo, we’ll go back to L.A. and it’ll be al right, right? Because…” And here Angel’s voice faltered a little bit. “I need to talk about her too…alright?”

Spike was too shocked to answer beyond a nod. Only the second coming of Christ or the live telecast of aliens landing from moon would have surprised him more. And that’s only cuz the moon was dead, no life there…dead…

Angel almost rubbed his hands in gleeful anticipation and if he’d had a large dark moustache he would have taken great delight in twirling it. After over a century of trying to crack Spikes spirit, here it was. THE MOMENT he’d been dreaming of.

Now that the seed had been sown that it was the shock wave that killed Buffy, how long would it take for Spike to connect himself to causing the event, to the event having killed her to--him having killed her. He, after all, had initiated he shock wave. Spike made wave. Wave killed Buffy. Spike killed Buffy.

This was too delicious to eat all at once. He had to savor the flavor of comeuppance.

“Here’s the limo…Spike? Spike you all right? Come on…we’ll take care of each other…”

Spike let himself be guided to the rear door on the driver side, as the door was opened, Spike stopped and turned to look at the night sky.

“Give us a moment…”

Angel hesitated and then the burr ring of his cell phone helped make the decision for him. It was Giles. What were the odds? He jerked his head at the driver of the limo to go into the motel room and do a quick search for witnesses or whatever and then he held up a finger to Spike to indicate, either, yes, take moment, or oh, wait a minute. Either way, Angel nodded to him and stepped away toward the motel to keep the call or anything he might say from being overheard. He pulled at the shirt collar gripping his neck--was he feeling...hot? What was the matter with him? He shrugged and spoke into the phone.

Spike leaned up against the car looking at the velvet black, the night sky, the half moon half gone. He breathed deep and rummaged around inside himself and felt for this strange prayer:

Spike drew in a ragged breathe and thought. God, this is gonna be a long life. His gaze wandered to the gasoline pumps situated in front of the diner attached to the motel…Ah Ronnie, gonna have to leave a note for her-

His breath caught at the sight of her. There, look at that woman over there, that blonde…. He could only see her from the back as she twisted the cap back on gas tank of her black SUV. She was small, slight, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. He knew every inch of that body, every nuance of her body language-couldn’t see her face-Buffy?

He stepped away from the limo to get a better look. She was gone now around the side of her vehicle. He watched her get behind the wheel of a black Jeep Cherokee. Heart hammering…Buffy? Then his mind moved like a razor-Peaches lied?

Lie down like a dog you mean.

Bugger all.

He was still too weak to fight Angel, or any of his crew…Fuck.

The Jeep Cherokee had pulled out and was headed east.

And there sat the Calvary--Ronnie, in her rat-a-tat red and white Blazer, live and with the motor running across the street in the parking lot of the neighboring motel. She gunned the engine just a bit to get his attention and ask the question:

Need a ride, Buddy? Or are you cool?

Her paranoia said play it far away at first and then come up close for questions later. God bless high functioning paranoid schizophrenics, thought Spike. He looked Ronnie dead in the eye and nodded assent. Yes, please, a ride would be very nice.

The Chevy pulled out of the motel parking lot slow, doing nothing to attract attention to itself. As it crossed the street, Spike moved slowly away from the limo, seemingly transfixed by the stars. Time for a little ‘Dru’. He let the energy drop from his body, adding to the impression of his overall weakness and ineffectualness. Twenty, twenty five feet away from the limo, but still looking so lost and limp and starstruck, he posed no threat. An eight year old child could have taken him down.

The Chevy crawled behind the cover of a semi parked in the truck section of the gas island. When Ronnie cleared the semi, with passenger door open Spike would have to clear the remaining twenty no ten feet, no problem.

She wouldn’t squeal tires or brakes, they always made that mistake in the movies and drew attention to themselves running away…no she would sneaky, sneak, mousy, mouse, buddy up, Buddy in and off and away.

And that is what happened.

Just like she saw it in her mind, every little bit of planning helps.

“CREATIVE VISUALIZATION.” Ronnie emphasized as Spike jumped in the still moving Blazer. And as they moved quickly out of the gas station area she asked “What now?”

“Follow that Jeep.” As Ronnie strained to see, Spike added,

“Yeah…well. Go east and floor it…time to bring everybody up to speed.”

“Cut to the chase?”

“Yeah…well…yeah…” And he began to tell his story.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

Day 48

3:02 a.m.

“Not to worry, I’ve called Gunn from where he was doing his search a couple blocks away and he is hot on his heels-“

“No violence, no gunshots, we can’t risk him being killed--much as I’d like to--there is a bigger picture. Track him till he stops--can’t get that far.” Angel said,

Wesley flipped open his phone and pressed the speedial to Gunn and he went over all instructions clearly and carefully. He clicked the phone shut.

“What happened?” Wesley kept his voice cool, neutral as he got into the back of the limo.

Angel’s voice was even and deadly

“I underestimated him.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

Day 48

3:25 a.m.

So now Ronnie got it. This was great. Reunite true love, well…epic love, well whatever…it was all good, a happy ending in sight when she saw it.

The flare on the road-one, no two of those portable safety kit flares lit up and positioned to frame the accident site and flag down for help. Bad accident.

Spike put his hand on Ronnie’s arm. Ronnie knew the words before he spoke them.

“Slow down…”

“They’ve got help already…see, look at the flares.”

Spike increased the pressure just a bit on her arm.

“Buddy, we stop…you know those guys will get you, they won’t make the same mistake, they won’t make any mistake, you ‘help’ anybody else and you’ll be way too weak to even walk. Buddy. Plus you’ll loose her trail; she’ll never know how to find you.” She tried again a different approach this time. She spoke firmly “You cannot save the world you know, not everybody in it all the time-“

Spike laughed cutting her off --“And believe me, I don’t want to--don’t need to like some do-But. I can’t walk away from what falls down in front of me, can I then? Just can’t. Just have to trust some things, and what falls down in front is top on the list--Ronnie?”

She had been slowing the car down, knowing it was the right thing to do. Damn it. Spike got out of the vehicle when it came to a stop. Ronnie pulled the Chevy up the road a bit pulled it into a ditch and up an incline (Yahoo! Four wheel drive) to hide it as best she could from the eyes on the road.

The van had flipped and rolled and had landed on its side. The rear end and passenger doors pressed flush up against the embankment. The driver side was crumpled in-both doors on the driver’s side jammed shut. Something hit this from the side. Spike looked down the road. Oh. A semi was pulled to the side of the highway seemingly unscathed. Well that would do it. Somebody fell asleep at the wheel he’d wager and knocked into the next lane, bloody bad luck for the van.

“What’s happened?” He asked a young man, a teenager really, fresh from driver’s school, who stood at the outskirts of the accident.

“I set these flares out from my home security kit--there’s a Woman and her grandson trapped inside. We, my girlfriend and me got the Mom out through the driver side window. She dazed, you know, shook up can’t seem talk. But the grandma and little boy are trapped in back. Doors are wedged shut, can’t get up to open.” He dropped his voice to speak confidentially, “Doesn’t look good, they might be bleeding to death in there. Hey where you going? I called 911, leave this to professionals--”

--“I’m a navy Seal…” Spike lied. He tossed it over his shoulder so casually, it sounded true.

“Oh…” The young man said. So you know about rescue operations? Hey Mia, check this guy out…”

Before anybody could. Spike was at the side of the van, put his hands on it testing it for balance and hoisted himself up and onto the damaged driver side.

“What you gonna do?” It was Ronnie. She called up to him from the ground.

“Gonna’ encourage the bleedin’ to stop. Maybe straighten a bone or two. I don’t have the strength right now to get these doors open. Wait for that, and it will be a moot point.”

And with that he dropped out of view and into the vehicle.

Inside the van Spike followed his heart to the pain. They were both in bad shape, little boy and Grandma. He could see the problem. They were both in the backseat. As the van rolled the older woman had been thrown about the backseat, ending up almost on top of her grandchild. She appeared to be unconscious. The young boy was strapped in, with safety belt, in shock. He could work with this. He’d move the woman now while she was out of it. And then fix any subsequent damage. One bloody thing at a bloody time, a little pun intended. He started to go to work when he stopped for a moment, lifted his head and there, along side smell of blood was the distinct odor of gasoline.

Fuck.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

Day 48

3:48

Spike did consciously what he had done subconsciously at the hospital. He closed his eyes and opened himself and holding Grandma’s hand on one side and the little boy’s on the other he sent, he asked this question from his heart:

“Do you want the bleeding to stop? Do you want to live?”

The boy’s response was loud and sure. YES!

Grandma’s was soft but firm. Yes.

Well all right then. After everything Spike had been through, these past two years especially what with the chip an’ The First an’ all-he valued makin’a choice above all else. And if they didn’t want to be saved, he wouldn’t be a party to yanking them back into this world. Being with Buffy had taught him, brought him everything.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

Day 48

4:20 a.m.

The woman, Bethany, her name was Bethany had just been hoisted through the passenger side window. Thomas had gone first, scrambling like a monkey. And Bethany had protested she was too big, too wide a load. But Spike had recalled a certain Shelly Winters being crammed and rammed through a certain Poseidon adventure. And she had laughed so hard at the parallel; she couldn’t help but be inspired. That left Spike inside, already severely weakened, alone and slipping into a faint.

“Bullocks…”

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

Day 48

4:29 a.m.

He was drifting in and out. Was he asleep again? So tired. Maybe just sleep for a bit…

That voice kept pulling at him, nag. nag, nagging him to “move it or loose it!” She warned.

(“Hey guy you o.k?” She called)

(“Hey guy can you hear me?” She asked)

“I love you.” She said.

Don’t lie, don’t do it…

(“We’ll get you out of there, hang on…” She said)

“…don’t be afraid…” She said.

(“He may have passed out…you gotta help me get him out of there”)

(“Hang on guy, I’ll get you out of there…” She called)

I love you. She said.

(“I’ll get you out guy…” She called, she seemed so sure)

Oh god this was too much, she had to stop, and he swam to the surface to wake up, to call back at her:

“No you won’t…but thanks for trying…”

“What?” She asked, calling down. That voice coming up from the dark of the vans interior sent a frisson of electric energy through her body.

“What hey…don’t pass out…I’ve almost got the door off its hinges...” Another loud bang as she kicked it dead center.

The door of the crypt slammed open with a bang AGAIN.

Oh god, to see her again, all pissed and little miss vinaigrette-he didn’t care how he saw her or heard her--he floated up, woke up to yell-

“Slayer, stop with the bloody pounding…” Spike called out, half asleep

The pounding stopped.

“What’s that guy?…uh …” Her voice was directed away… “What’s you friends name?”

“Uh….who? Buddy?”

“Buddy?” she called

“I mean Spike…I mean, he may answer faster to Spike…”

The blonde woman on top of the overturned van whipped her head around to look at Ronnie on the ground. Ronnie a little confused, continued.

“Or William… I just call him Buddy…” Her voice trailed down as the petite Blonde shrieked down into the van.

“SPIKE!”

“Buff…Buffy?”

Her arm frantic now, reached into the dark interior searching-“SPIKE! SPIKE!”

Spike could see her arm, but barely had the strength to blink. The smell of gasoline was very strong now and his instincts were telling, yelling, run RUN.

“BUFFY! Clear off, it’s gonna blow!”

“YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Spike was stilled. He spoke in genuine awe.

“You swore. Buffy, you swore…”

She dropped down through the opening to sit beside him, her hands touching his face, his arms, his chest.

Spike was fading out again, enough breath for the last word…

“Buffy…gotta get out of here, gonna blow…”

“Don’t you dare deja-view me-“ Buffy muttered, turning her back and using his body as leverage, she kicked at the inside of the door, Once, “Don’t,” Twice, “You,” Thrice, “Dare”

The door smacked open with a bang. She scrambled to the edge, pulling Spike up to the doorway--she hoisted him halfway onto the exterior of the vehicle, she climbed out herself, and then drew him up over her shoulder’s fireman style and leapt to the ground. She landed in a crouch. Repositioned Spike at her side and dragged him away from the vehicle.

“See? “ She said between puffs of breath. “No Worries…”

The van exploded, knocking our hero and heroine forward another fifteen, twenty feet.

They lay side by side--the gravel biting tender flesh unnoticed. Buffy stared at the man lying by her side, her hand shyly coming forward to brush the sweet light brown curls away from his face…his face. His eyes were closed…

Buffy stroked his cheek gently calling him back. She pressed her forehead to his and whispered low.

“Come back...please come back now…wake up…Spike…wake up now…”

She was concerned about concussion. She didn’t have the whole story, the half story or any part of the story, but he had to wake up.

She leaned down and kissed him on the lips, gently, sweetly, encouraging, have courage come back, her heart called.

He stirred, and opened his eyes to find himself staring into hers.

His hand reached up and wove his fingers through her hair, grasping the back of her neck

“Oh god…Buffy…Buffy…”

He tucked his face up against hers and she wound her arms tightly around him pulling him into her, into her heart, her mind, her soul, so far inside her spirit, she would never loose him again.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

“I almost hate to break this up.”

Angel.

“Almost.”

Buffy was in a sitting position next to Spike still lying prone on the side of the highway. She turned around to look at the source of the voice but found she still needed to maintain contact with Spike’s body. A little frightening vacancy took up residence as soon as she pulled away from him and she found she had to rest her hand on his chest, keep some kind of contact to fill the empty.

“Angel?”…

It should have been a curious thing to see him here, but what the hell, this looked like night for it. That is, kismet.

When Angel spoke again, he was a little dry, a little sardonic but there was also a little stiletto doing the slice and dice behind his words.

It got the slayers attention.

“I see you found the guy who stole my Shanshu. And he is a guy now, right? Heartbeat and everything?”

Buffy said nothing; she switched her focus to her hand lying atop his chest. Yeah. Well, kinda hard to miss. Angel was speaking again.

“I’m sorry you found each other, it would have been easier for all of us if you hadn’t. It would have been easier on you not to have to be involved. But. I know you’ll want to do what’s right. ”

In answer Buffy stood, keeping her leg in contact with Spike’s shoulder as he raised himself to a sitting position. He had said nothing so far. But she could feel his killer instinct activated and telegraphed through his system to hers. Was this just more Spike/Angel angst? Or was there something more serious going on here? She stood easy on the balls of her feet, energy curling and extending through her. Slayer mode.

“Spike’s coming with me Buffy.”

Buffy felt his answer telegraphed through their bodies. She spoke calmly.

“I don’t think so…”

“Buffy…” Angel tried again. “He has Shanshued. Do you have any idea what that means?”

Buffy scanned in-house filing cabinet in her brain.

“Nope.”

“He has power. Very raw right now, but immense power. Now think about it. Spike. Power. Not the best mix, you have to agree with me on that. But in the right hands it can be a great benefit to the world…with proper training, guidance…”

Spike spoke and it almost came as a surprise to both of them, as if the discussion conducted about him didn’t necessarily include him.

“It’s always the world with you ain’t it Peaches? You always seem to forget the world is made up of messy little people living right in your face.”

“You hear that Buffy?” Angel pointed for added emphasis. “He can’t be entrusted, the state he’s in right now. Irresponsible, selfish-he may have the ability to heal. He could help a great many people in the world.”

“Who picks em’?” Spike asked his voice quiet.

Buffy stood through this exchange as though carved in slayer stone.

“Whatever it is, if he doesn’t want to go with you, he’s not going.”

Angel bowed his head considering and decided to try a new approach.

“That’s not all, Buffy. There are people in this world, institutions; agencies that would make my offer look like a celebration of the fourth of July. He’ll have a suite, you can visit if you want, hell, and you can stay…if you want. But. He’ll be safe. Protected. Look how weak he is right now. He puts himself and everyone around him in danger. I’m telling you there will be armies after him.”

“Will you be one of them?”

Buffy’s quiet question held everyone still. Angel chose a non answer.

“I’ll take care of him. I’ll make sure he’s safe. You want me to prove to you that you can’t?”

“Now Peaches don’t be a blithering idiot. It’s Buffy.” Spike tried to interject some reason.

“I know its Buffy. Does she know she’s Buffy? You’re acting so strange. I mean…its SPIKE!”

“I’m not going to discuss my family with you on the side of the highway.” Buffy was dismissive.

“Buffy!”

“Angel, what?”

“If you can’t think straight, then I’ll think for you, it’s best for everyone that he comes with me.”

“If there is one thing I’m learning…” Buffy took a breath, to even herself out, to get it out right; “It’s too crazy to go around all the time trying to control everything that could go wrong in the world. All that time, when I kept saying, I just wanted normal, well I figured out what I wanted was to live…well. Normal now means to live well. To be proud of myself. I’m not going to loose who I love to force normal, or to live safe. That kinda of control is just crazy talk. And maybe that’s living a little wild, but Angel, sometimes you gotta trust that love is there for a reason. When you have love, see, you don’t send it packing in the other direction. That’s just crazy.”

There was a moment of silence. Angel spoke.

“Nice speech.”

“I’ve had practice.”

Spike chuckled, and then shrugged when Buffy turned to glare at him. Spike gestured toward Clem.

“Help me up mate, looks like we’re going to have a rumble.”

Clem, looking nervously over his shoulder at Angel and Company did as Spike requested.

“Heya Nibblet.”

“Hi Spike.”

“Buffy!”

“Angel, What?”

“I’m serious.”

“Over my dead body.” Buffy’s voice was ice.

Angel smiled. And lowered his voice so only she could hear.

“You mean, ‘two dead bodies’ don’t you? Something’s off with you…you…pregnant?”

Silence. Angel called back to Spike.

“Vampire remember? How about that Spike? You gonna let Buffy risk her life and…her baby for what…for you?”

Buffy was stunned. “You Bastard.”

“Not…technically…--How about it Spike?”

It took him a moment to catch his breath-what had Peaches said? After all he’d been through, Spike hadn’t believed there was a pain left in the cosmos that he had yet to experience-until now.

“Buffy…” Spike voice wavered but it had that tone in it-that ‘you and yours are not going to die on my watch’ tone. Angel interrupted.

“Buffy. I’ve won. I’ve members from the order of Turaka back there. I’ve already won.”

Angel looked her straight in the eye. “Live to fight another day.”

Buffy searched his face, his eyes, anything, for any sign at all of the man she had loved.

“You’re not in your right mind. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“In fact I am. So Spike, you want to do this like an English gentleman or is there going to be dragging, screaming and kicking?”

“Buffy…” Is this how she had felt when she had come back from the dead? Spinning and spinning and Spike spinning, he spoke low, voice wavering. (Would anyone think him a ponce if he fainted dead away?) “We can’t…”

She came up close to him as he stood on shaky legs next to Clem. She spoke quietly these words were only meant for him.

“You know he’s just trying to get to you, shake you up-you know that. I may not even be pregnant, but…but if I am, it’s ours. Our baby.”

His eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. What? Huh? As if maybe…was there still a memory, and obviously a very vital memory, that had not yet returned to him? (How could…oh yeah…hands, palms connected, that intense healing heat pouring between them-healing the wound in her side, healing her, warming her womb)--and with the connection made, his face softened in wonder mixed with stifled terror and puzzled joy. He searched her eyes.

“This all right with you an’ ‘al?”

In answer, she seized his hand and then suddenly realized it was the exact same position as that last time, in the cavern. No. NO. Not again. I will not hold hands with you for the last time again. I get a choice in my own life; you don’t get to make this decision for me. We gotta fight. She thought this hard into his eyes until she saw it all land inside him. (Hmm maybe she picked something up from Willow.) He nodded.

What could he say? He wanted it all ‘an let’s face it-if someone calls you selfish, they are trying to control you.

Mine. He thought.

“Yes.” She said out loud.

Angel sighed when he thought her heard her give in and then gasped when she gave out.

Her flying foot had connected firmly with his jaw. He spun around to the ground, dazed for a moment and then back on his feet. He held up his hand, to hold Gunn and guns for hire momentarily at bay.

“Dawn…Clem…” Spike hissed, “You got weapons? Bring me knives, anything I can throw…NOW.”

“I’ll get them.” Dawn responded. “Clem stay with Spike.”

“Yeah mate. Maybe I can use you as Ballast…”

Angel tried one last time.

“Buffy, once we begin, no way out-no one is coming to save the day-“

On Cue, Xander Harris strolled almost nonchalantly to stand up behind Buffy, shotgun at the ready.

“Uh…we…uh…that is, me and the girls, have you met the girls? The SLAYERS, as in plural as in, the ‘Shes’ who whip Uber-vamp butt as in--Rona, Vi, Babbette, Jo and Chao Ahn?

The girls nodded a hello to Angel and crew. Crew blinked.

“Anyway we were just driving by--saw the rock em sock em robot action and thought-MAN, can I get me a piece of that? Heya Buffy.”

“Hey Xander.”

“Hey Spike.”

“Alexander.” Spike inclined his head with a smirk, two knives in both hands poised and ready.

Alexander. He was an Alexander now. A nick of a name no more.

“So. What’s happening at the: I’m O.K. (to Angel) you are SO NOT O.K. corral? Hmm?”

Silence.

Angel stared at Buffy and then looked past her to Spike.

As they regarded each other Angel spoke.

“All right. He nodded his head, now the wise sage.

“All right.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

As the limo pulled away from the potential reenactment of Waterloo, Wesley considered

Napoleon Almost-tornapart out of the corner of his eye. He spoke, kept it casual, without looking up from some paper he was pretending to read.

“There is another way.”

Angel looked at him.

*

Day 48

6:10 a.m.

The yellow Formica, the little blue flowers or some Jackson Pollack version of flowers, were enhanced, made royal, by her fingers, her hand resting lightly, benevolently upon the restaurant table.

Had to touch her, had to touch, hold, and kiss those fingers, hand, and palm. He took her left hand with his right-this would work out fine. He could eat with his left hand; she could eat with her right while they held hands in between. They where made for each other.

They were sitting side by side, sharing one half of a booth in an all night diner.

On the roadside after Angel and crew had rolled away. Ronnie had let Buffy know how hungry Spike had been, and Buffy being Buffy, campaign strategist of seven apocalypses give or take a battle, took Spike to a nearby all night diner. Spike was hungry. Enough said.

They had realized then, that they all were hungry. And all went with.

Buffy, Spike, Dawn, Alexander, Babbette, Ronnie, Rona, Jo, Clem, Chao Ahn, Dawn and Vi set up camp at the back of the diner.

Buffy and Spike had taken the booth next to the end corner one. They sat together on the same side of the booth. Buffy was still unable or unwilling to move beyond a three foot radius from Spike.

The rest of the group situated themselves, protecting the center, the heart of the group from the surrounding tables and acted both as escort and eyewitness--to watch every detail, to never forget when the mourning of Spike, became the morning of Spike and Buffy.

Dawn sat at their table. No one else had the hutspa or familial right to intrude on their space.

Dawn took in a deep breath. The best course of action, sometimes, and especially with family-is to just pretend that things were already o.k. that everything was fine between her and Spike. That peace had already been made and in a way it had. It’s just Spike hadn’t been there when it happened; probably.

As one, they turned from their contemplation of each other to look at Dawn with wide eyes. With hopeful hearts they gazed while they grazed on left over breadsticks from the dinner rush.

Spike moved his hand slowly across the table to Dawn. Slowly with the palm up, as if approaching a skittish puppy, slow enough so she could run if she wanted.

His hand had an open beckoning gesture. He could only go so far, she would have to…

Dawn took his hand to keep it from moving back to his side un-greeted. They held hands for a moment, a warm electrical current running between the three of them.

Family.

Buffy took Dawns other hand and gave it a squeeze as the waitress came to deposit menus and glasses of water.

Buffy looked up at the waitress.

“Uh…we’re all. That is, sorry, but we’re all of us here together on the same tab…uh…” She looked at the name tag-‘Ann’.

Why not? Is this what you would call full circle? Maybe not quite full--elliptic maybe?

“And please bring the check to me…” She added her voice low. They nodded to each other in solemn understanding. Ritual greeting completed, everyone ordered, well actually Dawn ordered for herself, Buffy and Spike, because they couldn’t seem to rip their eyes away from each other long enough to focus on the menu and do the job properly.

She ordered a combo breakfast, a little bit of everything for all.

As they waited for their food, Buffy half listened to everyone chattering round them and to each other-the how and when, the this and that of what happened until the story stopped momentarily for ingestion and combustion.

The food had arrived and still Spike and Buffy had to be prompted to eat--as if testing the cornball expression of living on love to its full extremity. But once begun every new item of food Spike put in his mouth exploded information at 100 % into his system. He had always enjoyed food as a vampire, but at best, he realized now--he had previously experienced the miracle that is crispy American fries at only 20%

Everything was old and new and better when shared.

“Cor…Buffy…ketchup! Bloody ketchup! Have you ever tasted ketchup on fried potatoes?” No, no, no you have to taste this. It’s the best bloody ketchup in the history of the world, this…”

And on it went and indeed it was. Everyone was remarking on the quality of the food and the exotic American methode of pan fry.

Indeed, Dawn noticed, how everyone had positioned themselves around our lovers so that they may and did and at some point of the meal or midway through a sentence, stop and contemplate…Buffy and Spike.

Like a fire that warmed the peripheral of their circle-so they had gathered around her sister and…brother…in-law?’ Hmm, that’s a first time thought.

Dawn knew with the sudden clarity of those that watch from the outside, that this is how it would be for the rest of their lives. Wherever they went, known or unknown, mythic legend or anonymous, humans and demons alike would position cold limbs and tired hearts near them--to be warmed, to be warm again, to have hope, to feel the reality that ‘yes love is real and good and can cause permanent change and see?’ ‘Effort equals success and success is…living well.’

‘What would it be like?’ she thought, to love like that? To be loved like that? And any tiny ping of jealousy that she might have felt was dispelled by the information downloaded and driven hard from her hard drive as she was reminded of their seven year struggle toward each other.

The tortoise had won the race. Buffy and Spike were the tortoise--the hard waterproof shell, tender center and…inexorable.

Not dueling dragons or raging lions-they were the tortoise. It could be their coat of arms-(I wonder if they would be offended if I made it official? Take out a license or apply or something…)

Dawn almost cried she was so happy. The hare was destined to win the race, by all rights, should have won the race but it is the tortoise we root for, the tortoise we love. It was the tortoise who wanted it more, and worked for it…who couldn’t give up.

She had always loved the tortoise best, ‘the hare was nowhere’.

She couldn’t sit here and cry in front of them; suddenly the proximity to them was a little too hot, a little too much. She got up and went to Xander’s table. She sat down next to Spike’s new friend, what was her name again? Oh this was good--the woman was explaining where the naked pictures of Spike had come from-look at Xander, he’s listening so intently and leaning in to touch her arm…hmmm something cooking? He always did go for older women.

Anya.

There was a sharp pain in Dawn’s heart at the reminder of the MIA. She sighed. It was all still going to take time, that’s for sure. Everything. You’re in, you’re out, you’re dead, you’re alive…change was the only constant. Dawn noticed Ronnie scribbling rapidly on the back of a flyer she had pulled from the menu rack.

“What’s that you’re writing?”

“Just a little something I’m gonna put on my website. It’s an expose, an eyewitness account of the almost unbelievably true story of…a man and woman in love.”

“Hey…: Alexander’s voice dropped into his best gruff Danny DeVito: “We’re making a love story…”

They all smiled.

Beep beep

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

There was a song playing, someone had picked it off the jukebox-who was that group again? The Eagles maybe? Spike would know, he had almost total recall

Buffy smiled.

Often in their old age together, she would often, very often indeed and mind you after all he had done to get them, the two of them as a couple, well, relatively going, she would, with great relish recount how it was she, Buffy, who fell in love with Spike first the second time.

She was waiting for him. She sat in the booth, he had gone to the rest room and she sat waiting, feeling more than a little bereft and slightly naked with him gone from her side. Uhg, moan, and wail at the loss of body contact--he was her clothes, she thought. Hmmm, I’m a naked nudie girl without him. She looked toward the men’s room.

What? Did he fall in? So what if he hadn’t had a bowel movement in 128 years-how long did it take? Or was he still in the anal stage of his development? What did Freud say about the first five years of a child’s life? What did it mean, being born like that all over again? Oh great, would she have to go through Spikes teen years? She considered this.

No. No, if anything, he had matured, his eyes still sparkled and sparked her insides, liquefying bones and entrails more than ever, but he looked like…a war veteran. Like he had seen everything on heaven and earth and was the sadder, happier and immeasurably wiser for it. Had he outgrown her?

Oh there he is, that’s him, her heart said. She studied him with her wide, her wide, clear and open eyes.

As he came out of the alcove at the back of the restaurant he stopped and looked to his left through the large pane glass window opening out to the east. Oh. Sun rising. She watched his face become as sweet as a child contemplating a kitten. Look how soft the air is around him? Molecules were expanding and expanding until they sparkled and floated the size of dust motes all about him-huh….

How odd. He, him, his body was soon suffused in white light, covered all in all until he was all white and the room disappeared too.

Buffy blinked and shook her head a little bit. Feeling dizzy, no, vertigo…was she going to faint? But then the white burn-out went back to color, a nice color rendering, from impressionism to realism with everything staying neatly within the lines.

Buffy blinked. Spike stared.

And a generation later, his son, Spike’s son and daughters would recall this moment for their children and relay the advice their Father had given him. Paraphrased, of course.

*******

Love is infinite. And the degrees of falling in love were all small steps taking you to the center, to the core and because of the nature of infinity you would never get there but each step closer was like falling-

And so, Spike would explain to his son and daughters: know that you will fall again and again and deeper and farther but like a fall-you will never see it coming and that’s when you find out who and what you really are.

*** ***

Spike was held still by Buffy’s sweet and open face. Her eyes, clear, wide, and alive with love…baffled him.

He almost, almost, had one of those moments from old vaudeville or a low budget comedy beset with punch drunk screenwriters-one of those moments of turning around to see who was she looking at? Was there someone behind him? But no, it was he, himself.

His heart constricted in a small squeak of fear.

And he felt…he felt he understood, (not that he ever did or would run from her mind you)-but he understood for the first time, why the Poof had run, why Cardboard had run, why her Father had run-he felt, right then, with the gift of love that she extended to him, that she had placed her open and pure heart in his completely unworthy hands.

He trembled.

It was one thing to love someone so completely that it became a spiritual and metabolic transformation, and it was quite something else, a different act of courage altogether to be loved. To know that there was a very real possibility, that if he messed up, or fell down, he would drag her down with him. The gift of Buffy love, her power, her faith that she placed inside him could make him undefeatable, but now he could see the risk she took in placing so much of herself in some one else. With this kind of submission, if he broke, the part of her inside him would break as well.

This is the part of herself that she had been protecting all these years and for good reason. Here was the fire and a taste of the power that he had always suspected was at the center of who she was.

Wanting something and having it can be two quite different things. What could he possibly give back to her?

And this was the center of the advice he gave his children.

Be selfish. Don’t think. If someone is giving you a fortune and you want it-take it.

Love may be noble and pure hearts and flowers an’ all but what keeps it real, what makes it work, is that you use how it makes you feel to move forward. Some times it means sacrifice, sometimes it doesn’t. But if the sacrifice is something you want to do-then by default it isn’t a sacrifice, is it? So be honest and do what you want and trust that your feelings are there for a reason.

And so in the summer of 2003, in a small diner in California at daybreak Spike did in this moment what he had spent his entire existence like a prize fighter in training waiting to do. What could he be, except William the Spike, the sentimental fool, the impulsive idiot and scrapper and jump into the fray--rush in without thinking into god knew where and into god knew what.

Just be Spike.

Without taking his eyes from hers he moved to stand in front of where she sat at the booth. Buffy entwined her arms around him and buried her face against his stomach; he wrapped his arms around her letting his love flow freely into to her, binding her to him, keeping her safe. He looked down at the top of her perfect head, her shining golden hair at the circle of light that bloomed like a target. Had to kiss, had to…

He kissed one kiss at the center of her crown on the top of her head. Buffy started and pulled back to look at him.

“Wha…what? My mom used to do that, just like that, when you kissed me just then, it felt like…”

“Huh…thas’ funny-that reminds me, I saw you at the gas station with Mum’s Jeep-how’d you get it back?”

“No, no, I sold that remember?

“Huh…thas’ funny…how?” Spike considered, stroking her hair away from her face, “thas funny…”

“Awww…kiss her!”

Buffy and Spike and ensemble looked toward the other end of the restaurant at the slim man standing now by his stool at the countertop. He was dressed in mode of ‘truck driver’ and gestured emphatically at Spike.

“You better kiss her! We’ve been watching you two fore playing all night-and if you don’t kiss her right-I’M gonna!”

Spike heard Buffy’s bemused comment “Uh oh pressure’s on-“was all she could get out before Spike pulled her abruptly to her feet fitting her body perfectly against his. He ran his hand gently along the curve of her waist, his thumb extended gently stroked her womb. My God, life was strange! Her flesh was warm and electrified in the swirling trail of his touch. She got to take one quick startled breath as he let her body adjust to his, his forehead leaned against hers momentarily, crown chakra sharing and then captured her mouth with his as if she had been out wondering loose in the world and he had found her and was bringing her home.

Of course everyone applauded, hooted and hollered--everyone except Alexander, who sat watching, throat constricted, and if he was honest with himself, that water dripping down from his eyes wasn’t because somebody somewhere had done a rain dance and he was a storm cloud. God, the way his mind worked. He looked at one of his best friends and one of his worse enemies glued to each other and nodded. What could you say?

“Love is good, good, good…”

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

It was almost 7:00 a.m. now, the bill had been paid and everyone was lingering over coffee and chatter, planning the day ahead when the bell over the restaurant door jangled and it was the kind of jingle that made you look, just made you look…

In walked Wesley.

He stood at the opposite end of the room regarding the group, they regarded him. His gaze came to rest upon Buffy and Spike sitting side by side in a booth, he watched as Spike’s arm around Buffy’s shoulder tightened in a protective reflex. Finally Wesley looked into Buffy’s eyes and did not approach until he felt she had given her unspoken permission.

He stopped in front of the pair and addressed them both equally. He had decided to get to the point quickly.

‘Try not to be too hard on him…he’s…he’s not thinking clearly right now, you know how it is when you love someone and you’ll do anything…anything to help them…”

This had their attention. They waited, said nothing, but eyed him with almost identical stoicism.

“It’s Cordy…”

Buffy drew her brows together. “Cordelia?”

“Yes. Cordy is in a coma…Angel thought…maybe Spike could…maybe…”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Spikes fingers resting gently on the flesh of her upper arm warmed her, warned her-(slow now, luv…let’s hear what he has to say…)

Buffy accepted Spikes calming influence without even looking at him. Wesley saw how they spoke to each other through body contact and was more than a little startled to be the person to bear witness to their fusion, to be there, to be present, to be the one watch them combine love, intention, skills and power and…ahh…uh oh…

To see the birth of Spuffy.

love you guys so much

© 2003 Lizerrrbeathan