Chapter Sixteen


~*Fast Forward*~

*Extreme NC-17 rating for the end of this chapter. You've been warned...*

~**~


Another door, another memory. They seemed to pass in a blinding whirlwind before Buffy’s eyes. She watched herself grow up, watched her relationships with the people around her evolve and change. With each new place they entered Buffy felt the stirrings of familiarity pulling at her insides, telling her that she was remembering…finally remembering.

Suddenly nothing seemed futile anymore, there was a new hope rising within Buffy, the hope that she would regain her memories, finally pick up the pieces of her life and attempt to move on.

A part of Buffy was still a little skeptical about the moving on though, especially considering that there were still so many unanswered questions regarding her sudden return from the dead.

That was the big question wasn’t it?

While this spell was doing wonders for reviving her past memories, Buffy knew that nothing could be so easily tied up in a pretty little bow. There were still so many gaping holes in her mind that didn’t have anything to do with the past.

She’d seen the haunted look in Spike’s eyes the night he’d come to Wolfram and Hart to face her. Buffy had wondered what could have possibly made him look at her that way and no one seemed to be too forthcoming when it came to those details. She hadn’t had the courage to ask at that time, but found that the questions niggled constantly at the corners of her mind.

How had she died?

Why was she back?

And why did Spike dodge her questions regarding these matters?

It pained Buffy to see his expressive blue eyes shift away from hers when she asked these questions, as if this thing that weighed heavily between them was too painful to address. So Buffy surmised that something so terrible, so awful had occurred that Spike couldn’t bring himself to tell her the things she desperately needed to know.

She didn’t want to push and hated to cause Spike any pain with her needling, but God…she just wanted to know…so she could sleep at night without worrying, wondering.

So maybe soon push would have to come to shove.

There was absolutely no way around it.

For now, Buffy would have to concentrate on regaining her past memories, save her questions for another time and focus on the matter at hand…

Finding herself once again.


~**~

Spike found himself growing a little frustrated with each new memory they accessed. God help him, but now he was being forced to watch Buffy snog with Captain Forehead. How much was a bloke supposed to take? Spike could tolerate a lot of things, but this…Red was seriously pushing her luck with this fresh bout of torture.

If Spike had to watch one more kiss, one more touch, he feared he was going to bloody explode. It had gotten to the point where Spike feared that if he opened his mouth he was going to make some comment that would hurt Buffy and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

He couldn’t let his petty selfish attitude regarding the Poof get in the way of Buffy regaining some semblance of who she was. It was important to her, which meant it was important to Spike as well. So he’d bitten his tongue, bitten it so hard that he’d tasted his own blood in his mouth.

But it was bloody worth it.

Even if it hurt like hell.

He knew where Buffy belonged, where she lived…had tasted it the previous night when they’d made love.

So why did it hurt so badly?

Why did his gut clench whenever he glanced her way? Why did his heart want to crack in two when she got that soft poignant look in her eyes as she gazed at Angel and her younger self growing closer, falling in love?

Spike didn’t want to see anymore, but found it damn near impossible to tear himself away.

He knew what was coming next and would soon be an active participant in the hell that was to follow.

It was only a matter of time before Buffy realized, before she truly saw what the consequences of loving a monster could be. Spike himself knew about monsters, because he was one. But no monster could top Angelus. Spike found that it wasn’t as hard to admit as he thought it would be.

Because he knew it was true.

Angelus was monster personified. He took the cake where beasties were concerned.

And Buffy was about to witness the transformation for the first time, with new eyes. Eyes that weren’t world weary, battle hardened. No, she would experience it just the same as her seventeen year old self had.

Spike could be patient. He would wait for his moment.

Soon…it was coming soon.


~**~

A tender moment was taking place right before Buffy’s eyes. She had followed her younger self and Angel as they had escaped from the warehouse, wound there way through the sewer tunnels, through the pouring rain on the surface, until they finally arrived safe, at Angel’s apartment.

Buffy watched with bated breath as she, her younger self, and Angel kissed tenderly, as passions rose. She could feel Spike stiffening with tension beside her, but chose to ignore it and the tiny niggling of guilt at the corner of her mind that followed. Now, young Buffy and her vampire lover were making love, which seemed to last hours.

Finally the two fell into an exhaustive sleep, and Buffy couldn’t help smiling as her younger self’s features relaxed, as contentment settled in. Had she actually been content? With so much going on had it been possible for her to find actual contentment? Seeing was believing, Buffy supposed.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightening illuminated the tiny bedroom. The brilliant flash of light was accompanied by a tremendous peal of thunder, which caused Angel to sit up in alarm.

Buffy frowned, wondering what was happening. Glancing sideways, Buffy noticed that Spike was gone, but the thought had barely registered as a sound from Angel caused her head to whip around, as the vampire stumbled out of bed, hit the floor drunkenly.

What was going on?

Why did Angel have that terrified look in his eyes?

Why was his body covered in sweat?

Anxiously, Buffy swung her eyes to her other self, who slept peacefully in bed, totally unaware of the situation unfolding a mere foot away. Angel made a strangled cry in his throat as he stumbled to his feet. He glanced at the younger Buffy, cried out her name, but got no answer.

Buffy opened her mouth to scream at her other self, but knew the action would prove to be futile, as she could not affect anything in this dream world, could only watch.

Helplessness washed over Buffy as she desperately searched her brain for something she could do. All coherent thought seemed to drift out of her mind as a sick feeling tidal waved over her body…

Angel was gone.


~**~

And then Angel was a monster.

In a matter of minutes he had seemingly cast aside his soul, gotten to his feet and violently taken the life of the helpless woman who moments before had cautiously asked if Angel needed help.

With horrified astonishment, Buffy realized something…

Angel didn’t live here anymore.

Angel was gone.

Angel was a monster…and it was all her fault.

Suddenly, Buffy didn’t want to see anymore.

Everything inside of her body screamed run, but she found that her feet were frozen to the ground. And then strong arms encircled her waist from behind, slowly turned her. Buffy faced Spike with trepidation.

Her whole body shook from fright, from confusion, from pain. Moments later she collapsed against the solid expanse of Spike’s chest and began to sob. He said nothing, only held her close to him, stroked her hair and allowed her to lose control.


~**~


After that, things got a little blurry. Buffy seemed to walk through the next memories on autopilot. She watched as her former lover killed a beloved teacher, tormented her friends, and finally tried to destroy the world.

She also watched two enemies who had once been pitted against one another form an uneasy truce, and suddenly Angel was the furthest thing from her mind. And in that moment, she instantly regretted falling under the spell of Angel, disregarding the man that stood at her side. She silently thanked him with her eyes, begged for patience and understanding and received it via Spike’s unmoving gaze.

She and Spike stood together in the middle of the street and watched their carbon copy selves play out the scenario before them. Suddenly, Buffy was seeing Spike with new eyes, in ways her younger self probably had not, in ways her younger self wouldn’t have understood.

Spike was in love with a Slayer.

But he hadn’t even begun to fathom it at this point in time. Buffy could feel it inside of her though, could feel the unexpressed need, the unspoken ache. One glance at the Spike at her side confirmed that Spike himself now understood as well.

He slowly turned his head and once again met her eyes, a new understanding forming between them. Buffy’s hand found Spike‘s, his fingers squeezing hers gently, his eyes relaying emotions that his mouth couldn’t form. Buffy knew without a doubt that this moment between them had solidified something, made something complete.

Nothing had ever felt so right.


~**~

Spike almost felt like patting himself on the back, but tamped the urge to do so. Things were working out better than he had hoped it would, causing his previous cynicism to ebb away.

He had seen Buffy’s eyes, heard her sharp intake of breath as knowledge dawned on her, as the hammer hit home. He could almost hear the click in her brain as she put the pieces together.

Drusilla would tell Spike these things a year later, but the older, wiser Buffy Summers beside him had already figured it out, surpassing her younger self with her acute abilities to pick up on when someone was in love with her.

It astounded Spike, suffused his being, and made him love her all the more. Just because she had seen, because she had just known. Buffy’s new knowledge changed everything.

It suddenly made all of the pain and suffering he had endured at her hand worth it. The gaping wounds he still carried after all these years were healing, the scars mending. For the first time, Spike realized that he could forgive Buffy for the torment she had caused him; it also startled him to know that he hadn’t.

For years he’d buried it deep inside of himself, pretended it didn’t exist, was probably the reason behind why he hadn’t shown himself to her immediately after he’d been deposited at Wolfram and Hart…

It explained everything and now it changed everything.

Spike could feel Buffy’s stare on him and immediately averted his eyes. He didn’t want to answer the questions that were burning from the emerald depths of her gaze, didn’t want to affect in any way her thoughts and emotions on the memories that were yet to come. Spike only wanted Buffy to see with her own eyes, draw her own conclusions without any influence on his part.

Buffy had to see what they had put each other through, what she herself had inflicted upon him, upon herself if she was to truly understand, to remember.

It was the only way.

Nothing was futile anymore.

So Spike would remain steadfast and silent at her side. He would be her guiding hand, her shoulder to cry on. But he wouldn’t be her punching bag, not anymore. He had a feeling after they journeyed to the darkest places in Buffy’s memories that a lot of things were going to change between them.

Spike almost dreaded what lay ahead.

Almost.


~**~


There were things Spike was not telling Buffy. She could feel it. Every time they shared a glance Buffy could see it in his eyes. There was hesitancy there, as if he were holding back things from her. She almost asked, almost blurted the questions out loud, but managed to control herself.

Maybe it was better this way, best to find out for herself what Spike was hiding. Even if these things he hid were awful and terrible, to grotesque to admit out loud, Buffy knew she had to see for herself. A part of her was a little angry at Spike; another part of her understood the motivations behind what he was doing.

Let the memories speak for themselves.

Let them show.

Let them teach.

Buffy found herself eager to learn, yet fearful to find out. She couldn’t pretend not to see the hurt behind Spike’s blue eyes. He easily forgot that his eyes spoke volumes to her. She didn’t understand the connection or why she felt this way, it was just something that was a part of her. She could read Spike easily and she had a feeling he could read her with the same ease.

Slowly, the two of them entered the mystical hallway and then stood side by side at the next door. Buffy glanced at her right palm and traced her finger over the ugly scar there. The puckered skin etched a line across her palm and through her fingers and again she found herself wondering how it had gotten there.

Buffy had discovered the scar shortly after she and Spike had escaped from Los Angeles, but had kept her questions about it at bay. She pushed them away, tamped them deep down inside of herself and almost forgot all about it…that is until a few moments ago.

Reaching for Spike’s hand in the moments she had realized his love for her had been all-encompassing, she had caught the glimpse of something on his palm.

He also had a scar, almost identical to her own. She could feel the raised skin as it rubbed against her palm and in that moment her questions came rushing back. How she managed to keep them from spilling forth was beyond the realm of her understanding, but somehow Buffy had managed.

She just didn’t know how much longer she was going to be able to control herself. The more she participated in this journey the more confused she became. Hopefully answers would be coming soon with the opening of more doors, because Buffy didn’t know how much more she could take.


~**~

Buffy graduated from high school by killing a Mayor-snake. Angel went away and she began college. She dated, had a few run-ins with Spike and met a nice boy named Riley.

Buffy wrinkled her nose in distaste at this new turn of events. A farm boy? From Iowa? She had been attracted to a corn-fed, holier-than-thou…secret agent man? It made absolutely no sense to Buffy, but strangely, made all the sense in the world.

Her college self was still reeling from the break up with Angel, desperately trying to cling to the tattered remains of what could be called a normal life, by dating a wholesome, all-American bo-hunk type and for what? To say she was a normal girl, with a normal boyfriend, doing what normal people did? But Buffy knew that she wasn’t normal at all, would never be normal and what the hell was normal anyway?

Buffy also learned that Spike had been chipped during this time period by the secret government agency that Riley worked for. That question was finally answered, the why and how of Spike’s chipping. Wesley had only given her a brief explanation about the chip in Spike’s brain, but obviously hadn’t told her the whole story.

She almost felt sorry for chip-head Spike, could relate to him on so many levels. To have your power, your sense of self taken away in the blink of an eye was the worst feeling in the world. Buffy’s power had been taken away in the form of her memories, Spike’s had been taken away by wires and silicone, electric shocks and pounding headaches.

She and Spike were two of a kind.

Although college-age Buffy didn’t see it that way.

It was almost comical the way other-Buffy and other-Spike acted around one another.

The bantering.

The bickering.

The engagement spell?

It was all leading to something, that Buffy knew. It was as if she were pre-destined to be with Spike, that these events were barreling toward the inevitable. But was her other-self so completely blind? And why hadn’t Spike admitted it to himself?

Everyone in Buffy’s inner-circle seemed to be suffering from a selective case of blindness. Now as an outsider looking in, Buffy could see it so clearly. All along, all along…

Spike had been falling in love with her and it had been growing.

Sooner or later he had to see.

Sooner or later she would have to see.


~**~


“Oh, god, no. Please, no.”

Spike squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. He didn’t dare look at Buffy for fear that he would see the laughter in her eyes.

They were standing inside Spike’s crypt in Sunnydale, watching as he shot up from bed, eyes widened with the knowledge of his true feelings, eyes widened in fear. He remembered this particular night clearly, as if it had all happened yesterday and couldn’t help the shame that seeped over him.

The faulty attempt to have the chip removed.

Falling into bed with Harmony, pretending she was someone else, wanting her to be someone else, but not admitting to himself quite yet who he wished it to be.

And then the dream…


“Should have known it's you. Been nearly six hours.”

“Well, it would've been less if I wasn't busy cleaning up your mess.”

“My mess? I just borrowed the doc. The mess is yours, Slayer. Yours and the boy's.”

“I'm done. Spike, you're a killer. And I shoulda done this years ago.”

“You know what? Do it. Bloody just do it.”

“What?”

“End ... my ... torment. Seeing you, every day, everywhere I go, every time I turn around. Take me ... out of a world ... that has you in it! Just kill me!”

The tension had marinated between them for too long, Spike had finally reached the boiling point, the point of no return. In his dream he had stared the Slayer down, the poignancy and heat of the moment simmering between them.

Spike had reacted in the only way he knew how…following his blood, his gut…his heart. He had reached his breaking point; the bloody end of his tether…his brain was no longer in control…only instinct, only love. These emotions were felt with the very fibers of his being and he was damn tired of denying them any longer.

Moments later he had violently pulled Buffy into his arms and kissed her breathless, all the while proclaiming his love for her, feeling her muscular body undulate in pleasure against his.

The dream had felt so real…every kiss…every touch…and god… her skin, her hair, her mouth. The way her breasts had crushed themselves against his chest, how he could feel the hardened tips of her nipples, could smell her arousal. The moment his erection made its presence known, was the moment Spike had shot up in bed terrified.

That moment had changed his unlife forever.

Spike’s eyes collided with Buffy’s, smoldering green clashing with brilliant blue and in that moment Spike could feel her awareness. His cock became hard as marble in his jeans as the heat of Buffy’s arousal washed over him.

She was here.

She was real.

And she wanted him.

This was no dream.

Not anymore.

Buffy belonged to Spike now. She wasn’t a slave to her misguided notions of what was right and what was wrong, now she was a slave to her heart, to her emotions, to the blood screaming in her veins, to the heart that beat in triple time to the rhythm of her body.

Spike knew what she wanted, because he wanted it too.

Slowly, they faced one another as the scene before them seemed to freeze frame. No words were spoken as they reached for one another, bodies colliding. Equal parts yearning and need flowed freely, weighed the air between them, and permeated every cell, every fiber of their beings.

He’s mine, Buffy thought to herself as Spike wrapped her in his arms.

She’s mine Spike thought to himself as his lips lowered to hers.

Lover.

Friend.

Mate.

Mine…

Neither of them knew that these thoughts were simultaneous, identical. Neither of them cared…

Together they sank to the stone floor of the crypt, not caring that they were traveling in a dream dimension, not caring if it all melted away because of a mutual act…just needing, feeling, aching, yearning.

The clothes seemed to melt from their bodies.

In moments, they were naked.

In milliseconds, they were joined.

And it was perfect.

Serene.

Buffy arched her back, tilted her head. Her mouth dropped open as Spike moved on top of her, thrust himself deeper inside of her. His lips descended onto her neck, nibbling the skin with blunt teeth, laving the bites with his tongue. Before he realized it, before he could comprehend, his fangs exploded from his mouth and descended over the pulse point at the juncture of her neck and shoulder…and pierced the skin.

Buffy’s gasp fell on deaf ears as Spike pulled her to his mouth forcefully, relishing the warm sweetness that flowed into his mouth. His lips worked feverishly over her neck, his teeth sank deeper and Buffy’s blood flowed unheeded into his mouth.

Buffy felt the bite, the pain pierced her soul as the fangs pierced the skin of her neck. At first she felt fear and then pleasure…ohhhh…the pleasure. Her eyes closed, she gave into it, succumbed to the fire and the flame that was this man, this vampire…

And she wasn’t afraid anymore.


~**~


End of Chapter Sixteen
 

Chapter Seventeen

~*And the Rest is Silence*~


~**~


Willow could feel it the moment something changed, shifted. The energy she channeled through her body, the energy that controlled the magic suddenly felt different, strange and that was when the panic set in.

Yes, she was confident in her abilities, had come a long way in putting to rest the fears about the magic and going too far, but sometimes…well…all the fears couldn’t be resolved. And this was one of those gut-check, blood-running-cold panic moments.

Slowly, Willow pulled herself out of the spell-induced trance, focused her energies on returning to the plane of reality. The tricky part was grabbing a hold of Buffy and Spike’s essences and making sure they tagged along for the ride, because if something went wrong…well…Willow didn’t even want to think about the consequences, didn’t even know what to do if that particular situation arose. The least she could do was try and hope for the best.

So she concentrated harder, used every ounce of strength she possessed. Moments later, Willow’s eyes fluttered open as the world came rushing back. The room spun a little and a wave of nausea washed over her as the space around her came into focus.

This reaction was normal. Willow didn’t understand why her body reacted the way it did to these types of spells, but it had been happening for so long she had learned to ignore the dizziness and the nausea. She just figured it came with the territory…it would pass. It always did.

Gingerly, Willow straightened her legs, stretched them out, feeling the muscles protest. She’d been sitting Indian-style for the last hour and her body was telling her that it had been one hour too long. It was well worth the sit though.

Ever since Angel had phoned her regarding Buffy’s sudden return from the great beyond sans her memory, Willow had been teetering on a tenuous tight rope of emotions, weaving back and forth between guilt, sadness and joy.

The fact that Buffy hadn’t wanted to connect with her two closest friends in the world stung sharper than any pain that Willow could imagine. What hurt worse was having to accept the fact that Buffy just wasn’t ready…period. For now she was seeking solace in the arms of an ensouled vampire who had once been her sworn enemy.

My, how times had changed.

But Willow was dealing, dealing in the best way she knew how. As she got older she had begun to learn a lesson or two about tolerance and acceptance. How judgmental behavior could wear a clever disguise. Willow had taken a long hard look at herself and realized that she had been a little too quick with her assumptions about people, maybe even demon-type people. Namely Spike.

But who could blame her? Once upon a time, Spike had been…well…Spike for heaven’s sake! He’d killed two Slayers, had on numerous occasions tried to kill Buffy. For pleasure. For fun. Because he was evil, and because he was just that kind of monster.

But no one, least of all Willow, had expected Spike to change. Overnight. The soul had been a complete surprise. One of those things that completely pulled the rug out from under you, sucked the air out of your lungs, made your thoughts spin around inside your head. To say the soul had been a surprise was almost putting it lightly.

Of course Spike had gotten the soul for Buffy. It made all the sense in the world. And then Spike had proceeded to save the world…go out in a blaze of glory. Once Willow had had actual time to sit and think these things through was when it occurred to her that maybe she had been a little too harsh with her judgments. But she wasn’t the only one. Xander had subscribed to the whole Spike-is-evil, Spike-will-always-be-evil way of thinking. Xander couldn’t seem to see past the black and white of the situation, had only made up his mind about it and moved on.

But not Willow. After her self-examination, she’d made a promise to herself to not judge the book by its cover. No more taking things at face-value. There was more to people than what met the eye, that was Willow’s philosophy.

Spike then returned seemingly from the dead, once again reinserted himself into Buffy’s life and into the Scooby gang, and life resumed as normal. Well, what could pass for normal in her life…all with the apocalypses and ex’s that sacrificed slayers to The First Evil. Willow had been on the outside looking in during that horrifying time two years ago, but she had seen clearly what was happening…for the first time.

Spike and Buffy were in love, this was a fact.

They shared a bond whether anyone liked it or not.

Willow had finally come to terms with the relationship the two of them had. She simply had no choice, for it wasn’t in her nature to be unjustifiably cruel to people. She liked to think that she was of the level head. Yeah, there was that one time…with the veins and the black hair…but that was…different. She was a changed woman now…with the accepting and the no-judging.

It turned out that she had made the right choice. Buffy and Spike belonged together and Willow didn’t think she cared to subscribe to Xander’s narrow-minded views on the distinctions between demons and people. In Willow’s book, Spike had a soul, he had done good…hence he was someone to be counted…not just another thing or a monster.

She loved Xander, but that didn’t mean she had to nod her head and accept everything about her childhood friend. She was her own person and Xander could think whatever the hell he wanted, which meant he didn’t propose to change what Willow felt about things…especially Spike-concerned things. This understanding was unspoken between her and Xander. It just simply was. No ifs ands or buts about it. End of story.

That was why she had heartily accepted Wesley’s proposal to come to this cabin in the middle of nowhere and help Spike. Because she accepted him, because he loved Buffy…deeply. And Buffy was her friend…they were almost like sisters. There was nothing in the world that Willow wouldn’t do for Buffy. They’d been to hell and back together. Hell, it was the least she could do.

Using the trans-dimensional memory spell to retrieve Buffy’s memories had been the easiest spell Willow had ever done in the world and she would do it again in a heartbeat.

Lost in her musings, Willow had hardly noticed that there had been no movement on Buffy’s side of the bed. Frowning, Willow studied her friend closer. She reached out a hand and touched Buffy’s shoulder, shaking her gently. Buffy didn’t move, didn’t open her eyes. Her eyelids twitched, her pulse beat at a steady rhythm but she didn’t rouse from the trance-like state the spell had put her under.

This alarmed Willow.

Calm, Willow. Stay calm. She’ll come out of it. She has to…

Swinging her legs off the bed and getting to her feet, Willow took quick steps to the chair that Spike’s body was reclined in. After much shoulder shaking and receiving no response, cool, calm and collected Willow left the building. Now she was damn terrified.

What the frilly hell was going on?

Why weren’t Spike and Buffy waking up?

Something was wrong…terribly wrong.

Help…need help……


~**~


Buffy lifted a hand to her neck and gingerly touched the tender spot on the column of her throat. She briefly wondered what the hell had happened. The last thing she remembered was making love to Spike…and then after that things got a little fuzzy.

Flashes of memory assaulted her mind. Spike…sheathed inside of her velvet warmth, intense ecstasy like none she had ever known shrouding her body, seeping into her soul and then…pain? Yes…of course.

In the deepest throes of passion Spike had lost a tiny shred of the control he held over his demon. In that perfect and infinite moment of awakening, of arousal, of love, he had slipped over the edge and lost himself in the heat of the moment. He had allowed the demon to escape, allowed his fangs to pierce her skin and almost succeeded in tripping the final line…by claiming a Slayer.

Buffy may have lost her memories but there were some things she just knew. A vampire laying a claim on a Slayer could be potentially of the bad. She had to give kudos to Spike for managing to cling to that one tiny thread of coherency his brain had allowed. He had pulled away before it was too late.

Now Buffy remembered and now she was thankful. She loved Spike, loved him so deeply, so strongly that it frightened her a little bit, but she did not want to be a vampire. A part of her knew that Spike respected that, loved her too much to condemn her to that kind of life. He also respected the monster within himself and couldn’t bring himself to bestow that kind of horror on the woman he loved. It made Buffy love him more; it made their love worth fighting for.

Buffy had been a little lost in her thoughts. For a moment she had forgotten where she was. She and Spike were still in this memory-type dimension…in a deep hidden recess of her brain. They had come to a crossroads just before the love-making. Buffy had gotten to take a rare journey, a journey inside the head of the man she loved. She had gotten to experience a very vivid, very sexual dream he’d had about her back in Sunnydale, back when he had first realized his love for the Slayer.

Seeing the dream, experiencing it right alongside Spike had been an eye-opening revelation for Buffy. At the time this particular dream had occurred, Spike had had no soul. He had the chip, but no soul. The Buffy that Spike had fallen in love with had equated, rather foolishly and obtusely, that Spike was a monster and that without a soul he could not love. But the Buffy of the here and now, the Buffy that had amnesia, wasn’t exactly seeing things the same way her self of the past had seen things.

The way the Buffy of now figured it was quite simple really. No soul didn’t mean no capacity for love. Things weren’t as black and white as they appeared. The Buffy of now had had the benefit of looking at both sides of the story, had been faced with some hard truths.

She was no longer the Buffy of her memories. Somehow, somewhere along the way she had evolved, changed. Maybe it was the memory loss, or the trauma of returning mysteriously from the grave, Buffy didn’t know. She only knew that Spike loved her. He had loved her at her worst, gone to hell and back to retrieve a soul to prove to her that his love was real. She didn’t know the whys or hows of that situation, but she really didn’t need to. It was just something she felt deep inside of herself.

Spike’s love was true.

It was real.

Soul or no soul, Spike had loved her through and through. He had been capable of compassion, sensitivity, and most of all real love. He was a rare find, a special treasure and Buffy didn’t have a clue as to what she would do without him in her life. Nothing mattered now.

Even though her memories were fragmented at best, she found that the burning desire to know everything didn’t reside inside of her anymore. Yes, she wondered if she would ever regain her memories, but it wasn’t the center of her universe anymore. Maybe there were more important things out there in the world for her now.

Buffy had a lot going for her, sans memories. She could rebuild a new life…with Spike…build new memories. Focusing all of her energies on the memories that were buried, maybe forever, just didn’t seem that important anymore. She had Spike; she had her health, and an open road of possibilities that lay in wait for her.

What more could a girl want?

At that moment, as Buffy struggled to sit up from the cold stone floor of the crypt, she realized something.

She wanted to go home, wherever that was.

She wanted Spike with her.

The hell with her memories.

The hell with the consequences.

Buffy’s eyes searched the crypt for Spike and when he came into her line of vision, her heart rejoiced a little. They shared a heated look that made Buffy’s skin flush with warmth, made that soft, moist area at the juncture of her thighs liquefy into molten lava.

Spike’s lithe muscular frame was pressed against a nearby wall, his shoulders were hunched, a cigarette dangled from his lips, and his azure eyes stared back at her hooded with a desire that matched hers in its intensity. Spike pushed himself away from the wall, tossed the cigarette away and closed the distance between himself and Buffy. He immediately reached for her hand, squeezed it in his and tilted his head in concern.

“You alright, love?” he asked softly, the rough edges of his tone sliding over Buffy’s body warmly like honey. It pooled at her center, made her ache for him.

“Yes, Spike. I’m fine,” she whispered as Spike’s fingertips grazed gingerly over the bite mark that marred the golden skin of her throat.

“So sorry ‘bout that, love. Didn’t mean to hurt you…so sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with remorse, shame, and guilt.

“I’m not,” she replied, her emerald gaze unwavering.

“Love you, pet,” Spike breathed, leaning forward to brush a soft kiss over the bite, laving the inflamed wound with his tongue. The action caused Buffy’s knees to buckle slightly as her mouth fell open, as a hissing breath escaped her throat.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “God, I love you so much.”

No words were spoken once their lips met in a soft, hungry kiss. They broke apart; hands still joined and gazed at one another.

“I’m ready to go home now, Spike,” Buffy said with a nod. “With you.” Spike, without thinking twice, pulled Buffy into the shelter of his embrace, wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly.

“God am I bloody glad to hear you say that,” he groaned. He lifted her chin, pressed another soft kiss to her sweet rose-tinged lips and then met her eyes. “Let’s get out of here. Agreed?”

Buffy nodded.

“Yes, please.”


~**~

Turned out that notion was easier said than done. An hour had easily passed and Buffy found herself no longer denying the niggling at the corner of her mind. It had been there ten minutes after they had reentered the mystical hallway and wandered aimlessly up and down it, only to find that the room where they had begun this journey was gone. It was just gone. Poof. Like it had never existed.

Of course Spike, in his infinite manly wisdom, had fruitlessly attempted to find other exits…exits that didn’t exist either. Buffy hadn’t said it out loud, but the niggling at the corner of her mind had grown into full fledged panic. They were stuck here. The damn spell had been mucked up somehow and now they were lost, trapped in this…dimension…this place where time stood still, where the outside world no longer existed. This knowledge frightened Buffy a little. Just when she had finally come to terms with herself, with her love for Spike, now this.


~**~

Spike was at the end of his bleeding tether. He hazarded a glance in Buffy’s direction, saw the slight widening of her eyes, heard her short quick breaths and knew she was afraid. The scent of her fear, her panic, pricked his senses, raised his hackles. This was…not good.

Trapped.

Stuck.

Bloody hell.

What the hell was going on and what was Red doing about it out there on the plane of reality? Did she know that Spike and Buffy were still in this place? Had she come out her trance, had she noticed at all? Spike didn’t like the unsettled feeling that weighed heavily on his shoulders, churned in his gut. If they were trapped in this place would they ever be able to leave? Would they be stuck here for eternity? Was death involved? Spike himself was already dead, but Buffy needed another death like a hole in the head…well…wait…bad analogy…but it was the principle of the thing.

What it came down to was simple fact. Red had bollixed something up, as per usual. Spike remembered his own forgetting of the past, thanks to the fiery haired Wicca, and called himself a hundred kinds of bloody fool. What could he have possibly been thinking of when he’d called upon Willow to work this spell? When had he suddenly become so reliant on magic, so quick to jump to that option, when he knew full well that magic had consequences?

Spike knew one thing for certain, that they were in it and deep. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was terrified. He had no idea how he was going to get himself and Buffy out of this situation. He was one thing, but Buffy was another. Spike had made it his mission a long time ago to see that Buffy saw no harm, to see that nothing happened to her. Ever. Some protector he was.

Bloody hell.

The next time I get my hands on you, Red…


~**~

“Wesley, please. No Wesley-WyndhamPryce…yes…I’ll hold…I said I’ll hold…”

Willow blew her bangs away from her face in frustration and clasped the phone tighter to her ear. She’d been on the phone to Wolfram and Hart for ten minutes trying to get a hold of Wesley and had been intercepted by road block after road block. This place was like a freaking prison or the phone company or something…it was damn impossible to get a hold of anyone.

She hadn’t wanted to alarm anyone, throw the whole place into a state of emergency, but the matter was urgent, was she supposed to bang it through these people’s skulls with a hammer to get the message through?

A sudden click on the other side of the line pulled Willow out of her reverie as Wesley’s even-timbered voice came over the wire. She immediately launched into a hurried explanation, followed by bouts of begging, pleading and sobbing.

Wesley had demanded she calm down, told her he’d grab the gang and head right over. Willow swiped a hand over her eyes and brushed away tears, then thanked him. She flipped her cell phone shut and dropped it in her bag, her body sinking slowly to the rough-hewn wooden floor of the cabin.

The jig was up.

Angel was soon going to find out where Spike and Buffy were hidden away. It was all Willow’s fault. Her eyes squeezed shut at the admission. The power had gotten the best of her again. It had been years since she had let the power control her. The road back to regaining her confidence in the magic had been a long and hard one. But now…Willow didn’t feel so confident anymore. In fact, she felt like jumping off a bridge. Maybe she had underestimated the spell, said the wrong incantation, held the trance for too long…

Willow’s head spun with too many questions.

All that mattered now was getting Buffy and Spike back. And then maybe it was time to reassess the whole Wicca thing. Maybe Willow was out of her league and it had just taken this long for her to realize it.

She didn’t care anymore. She just wanted to undo it. And then apologize profusely. Probably for the rest of her life.

Willow glanced toward the bed where Buffy lay in repose. Her gaze then fell on Spike. They looked peaceful. Spike’s features were more relaxed, more contented than she had ever seen them. Buffy looked as if she were merely resting. Maybe it was good for them, maybe this would be alright.

Willow could only hope.

She could only pray that Wesley would put the pedal to the medal and get to the cabin in record time, because she didn’t know how long Buffy and Spike could stay where they were and not suffer some kind of consequence.

Willow got to her feet and reached for her bag, rummaging through its contents until she retrieved a book. She could fall back on the one thing that she knew like the back of her hand.

Research.

Research like the wind and try and figure out what the hell to do next, before something catastrophically bad happened, before the point of no return was reached.

It was the only thing to do.

After the praying of course.


~**~


End of Chapter Seventeen