By Lizerrrbeathan

*

It would start as a bubble, a bubble; she would wake in the morning as the bubble would begin in the subtext of sated languor, in languish. She would stretch in bed and if he was still entwined with her, he would move with her, supple, counter balance of muscles stretching taunt teased to extremity and then relaxing to grace.

Grace.

Peace.

And the bubble begins, maybe her belly button, yeah...that’s it...like her belly button blowing a secret hello bubble into her viscera. It giggles and warms her womb and then divides her fears into nothing and multiplies her joy into new as she begins the day with a surge up and out to spout water almost every morning now like ‘ole faithful’.

Up through solar plexus through her heart where it really takes off running then fairly hop happ clog dancing now through to her throat, choky choky to bubble past mouth to finally spring into quiet tender Buffy happy tears.

Buffy was happy.

“Ah luv, ah lamb...” His voice would croon her to quiet as he nuzzled kissed her neck, teasing her ears with a tug of teeth until she laughed. And sometimes he would pin her beneath him and kiss lick her face clean of salty water with the undivided solicitude of a mother cat tending her sole surviving kitten.

He would press his cheek to hers and rest their foreheads together until they were both weeping--joy made easier to bear by sharing.

Ah. The burden of joy. How could one ever imagine the courage it takes to be happy? To be loved.

Who would have ever thought? Every morning it was about surrender to the gift, accept the gift, worthy of the gift, let’s take the gift and bless it and bless where it comes from and...and...and...

If misery loves company, joy requires it. Needs too big for a single being, it needs to be broke like a big party piñata to spread the burden of so much happy, happy, joy, joy.

In short they had been sequestered together here in this luxury hotel in Denver since they had arrived four days ago from Sunnydale, but Buffy wanted to go out...she wanted to take Spike and this feeling out into the world and show it off and share it...and...and...besides...

She had bought a dress.

*

And that part of him...and Spike had to confess to himself it was still there and after twenty years of separation and even a bliss filled interlude in heaven and two weeks now with his beloved, it, (the fear) was still there and only in this moment, this morning moment, this, her automatic and spontaneous unthinking reaction to her joy in life, her life with him that eased that remaining doubt.

She loved him. She was happy.

His woman is happy. He is making his woman happy.

And 2023 aside, political correctness in neo mode and all the attention to making sure, sure, sure yeah, we are all responsible for our own happiness; sure, sure, we live our own lives...but deep in every male is the primitive and remaining need to make sure his woman is happy. That the nest is fluffed, all are fed and...and she’s happy and none of that desire could be corrected or tamed by social politics. Buffy and Spike didn’t need to prove autonomy to the world or each other, they didn’t need autonomy, they had had an overabundance of autonomy for twenty years--they needed coupling. Lots and lots of coupling.

And happy Buffy meant happy Spike.

Couldn’t recall such a feeling. Maybe...maybe childhood, with his Mother...maybe around Christmas. Maybe. But that was a far and away second place. And of course those moments in heaven with Buffy were beyond the pale even of recollect and almost painful in purity and he would have regretted knowing it at all if...if he had not brought back the rest of his soul with him.

There. There it is.

His soul, he, himself in total and now that he had it; he understood why Buffy had needed something more so many years ago. Now she had never said anything like that, she had never even hinted at such a reason, but maybe it was the big unnamed knowing...anyway, anyway--now he understood that a being such as she would need full reciprocation when she loved. And he had loved her with his self, with his full self but where she could fill him up with just a look, his love, he saw now had been a matchstick size love then in comparison and couldn’t have equaled the force of the furnace of her heart and if she had opened herself completely to him, he would have been blown out and away.

Truly, the power of her love could have sent his demon, the demon who loved her, screaming under the force of so much light. She would have loved him to dust. Had she known that?

Bless his ignorant huberous. He would shake his head inside himself, thinking, god bless the depth of his desire for her that blinded him from words like impossible. Looking back over the years, he could see how through his willing and constant undying love had offered himself up to heaven be carved and crafted to be made to be an equal for her.

And inch by inch the light from soul singing had expanded and transmuted the demon to the plus side of the scale. He was still a demon, but no longer a creature of darkness.

Weren’t angel’s daemons?

At any rate, ever since their sojourn to heaven, he was able to tolerate the light of day. Maybe he couldn’t stand in the direct sunlight as he could for the day after....that...but he could walk in more light than he ever could, and if he accidentally went too far into direct light for too long--instead of bursting into flames, he experienced a warning shot across his bow. A tight tingling and tap to say: ‘too far.’ And he had time to retreat to cover. And of course when Buffy was with him, the love bond between them gave him an additional interior night light to help ease the way. It was as if the sun recognized the additional heat in his heart as some kin, saw Buffy and Spike as a Star, some long lost but best loved family and let him under the radar of UV oblivion.

Ah, desire, is such a teacher. That light, desire the pilot light steering the whole ship, the whole relation shipping business out across the Atlantic, past the cape and on, and on to find the mythic northwest passage, it’s there, it’s there and forget that everyone says it doesn’t exist, can’t be done, and bloody hell it had taken forever but here they were around the world and up in flames, figuratively speaking, and bless the purity of his love that sparked the lighthouse to guide this very good ship.

*

They were equals now in every way that mattered, they were comrades, best friends, enemies even as men and woman can be to each other and also long time betrothed

Oh how I love thee, in the heart, in the soul kiss.

He did. He kissed her and still marveled at being able to. Would never, ever get used to it, and what? Take it for granted and have it taken back?

He kissed her with his open heart, grateful, supplicant and gracious benefactor. He felt her heart swell and welcome him in, bring him home, he felt her small warm hands gently caress his shoulders and run, down the length of his arms, he felt a shiver trival travel skin springing up alive under her touch. He loved it because she loved it, about that he had no doubt. He knew absolutely she loved to touch his body, she had always loved touching his body, she could spend hours fascinated by the play of muscles and the twitches he suffered for her while she got her fill of tactile. And her touch was her tongue and told him exactly what she wanted; everything from being held and caressed herself, to loving union, to mindless sexual oblivion.

He kissed her gently, sweetly dipping his tongue in for a hello. She took it with a smile of welcome. He didn’t push for more; he always let her set the pace in the morning. How cliché that the mornings and daylight belonged to her and that in the night she was his. He tended to dominate the night, and she ruled the day, it was an overused modus operand as the slayer vampire thing--but hey, it worked.

Most mornings, since the episode on the beach--she had just wanted to be held. They just held each other and warmed each other and enjoyed the sweet honey that flowed between them in the morning. They were discovering that the connecting current between them had a different flavor and texture and demand at different times of the day. Each hour fed a different part of their need for each other. Amazing, amazing, amazing.

They had actually been very careful with each other after that little trippy trip to the heavenly dimension. Had been more than a little afraid of going there again...that is before their time. But the intensity of that experience had been a one time gift offer, and had existed in fact because Buffy had been so close to crossing over herself. But now that she was well on the way to being completely restored they were operating more in the ordinary spectrum of things. Well, you know...normal for them.

Her hand smoothed the current traveling down his back, he waited and she dipped her hand down onto the small of his back. One hand resting calming his coiling spring of energy while the other gently caressed a round hard buttock.

He sighed.

Her signal.

He gently nestled himself between her legs, getting comfortable. He absolutely loved making

love to her in the morning. Well, anytime, really, but after the activities of the night, which often involved some old fashioned mindless sex--he was always ready, always needed to feel a warm welcome into her morning honey.

He felt the nudge of her vagina lips seeking contact. A little insistent, a little like a demand.

He smiled. God, how he loved this woman.

Sharp Nudge.

He gasped and smiled into her hair intoxicated by her scent--moving too slow am I luv?

Well, well, well...

Cross fade to hot high gold satin sheets undulating sheen and sharp squeal of feminine delight.

*

They were going out. They were definitely going out. Buffy had already bought the tickets, not to mention the dress and...and it was the Denver Performing Arts Company doing a production of “A Christmas Carol”

“A story of redemption...a classic story of a man learning the error of his ways, of having his way in the world of doing whatever...and then he--”

“He what?”

Buffy was in the white bathrobe gifted by the hotel to patrons and was seriously, seriously really gonna take a shower and get ready to go out...really...

“And then what happened luv?”

He had that low soft growly thing in his voice going on that pulled her from the living room suite to the bedroom almost against her will...

There he was still stretched out beneath the golden silky sheets, he was propped up a little against the headboard his eyes glowing, gleaming, chest naked to the waist, masculine leg extended out from under the cover. He looked so casual, so bed tossed...but no...

‘I know what you’re doing...” She cautioned him.

“Oh yeah?...” His hand idly stroked his taunt belly while he stretched back just a bit. “’Whas’ that? What am I doing?”

“You’re doing that reclining cat thing...you know, ‘look at me all resplendent, and come on over and touch this, too unbelievably soft to walk away from’...”

‘Soft?” He asked in smokey voice.

“You thralling me? You trying to thrall me?”

He smiled a crooked smile. ‘Never. Never dream of it. Thas’ just me natural charm...” His hand slipped under the sheets and stroked his thigh or...or...

“What are you doing under there?” Buffy demanded

He chuckled. She couldn’t help it, she had to look.

She raised the sheet and looked beneath.

“Hey! Hey put that away!”

He almost pouted. “You. You put away.”

Silence.

She sat down quietly on the edge of the bed her mood shifting suddenly. They had both been delighted to rediscover how much fun could be had with each other. Their mutual good humor led to much laughter in the bedroom...amongst other activities. And now here was a new mood, suddenly serious, Buffy sat next to his feet and brought them on to her lap. She held the meaty part of both feet with finger and thumb until she felt his mood shift as well. Still quiet she began to massage his feet while she found the words she needed to say.

“I...want to go out...lets go out...if you don’t wanna go to the play...we can go somewhere else do something else...we...I can’t explain it exactly...I love this--being here with you...but I think, something is telling me...that you think, if we leave here, something will change or the bubble will break or...the world will get in our way...and maybe things do change...but when they do, I want you to be with me when they do. I want to have this feeling with you, what we have here and now but I want it walking around and talking and stuff too and I’m not superstitious, I think we should go out...”

And here she lowered her eyes couldn’t look at him while she said this.

“And...now I understand, why people get married, it’s not obligation, or habit...it’s...it’s that need to stand up in public and say...hey! He’s with me.”

Silence.

When she braved a look up to him it was to see a naked shock of a look. His eyes large and luminous, his mouth opened slightly, parted with no words to come out.

“O.k. then, I’m gonnna go take a shower and do my hair--and I’m wearing something kinda dressy and semi formal and when I come back I wanna see you up and dressed. You got a problem with that?”

“Buffy...”

His voice was soft, the single word so intimate she shivered, butterflies a flutter.

They looked into each others eyes but said nothing, no words. Words were too sharp. Too small for this flow, this dialogue of love.

She tugged on his big toe in a gesture of ‘get going’ and as she stepped out of the room she heard him call after her.

‘A story of redemption, huh?”

“Classic.” She called back. “Very Christmasy”

“So is hanging tinsel from your titties...”

She stepped back into the doorway of the bedroom, stood still and then very slowly let the bathrobe ‘accidentally’ slip down exposing her bare shoulder and the promise of breast beneath.”

“Maybe later...”

She slipped the robe a little lower until her lower back was exposed and then ducked out the room quickly hearing his howl and something dropping on the floor.

“You ok. In there?” She called out sweetly.

“Oi aye...just...a manly need to thrash...a throw pillow...”

She had nailed him. Completely. He had always been gifted at knowing her, reading her...now just when had she been able to read him?

He was afraid to take her out in the world. He was. In his mind, it was the world, the rules of the world, expectation, fulfillment of karma, of duty, of whatever that had separated them for so long, so yeah...a little reluctant to leave their nest. They had become the dolls of the hotel staff--after all everyone loves lovers. And they had had everything they needed...except...community. And what she had said back there...well, that proved she knew him, how his mind worked. She knew him and more...she understood him. His love, fears, his needs...he was known to someone and this connection, this understanding suddenly seemed more intimate than sex. And...comforting.

And, after all, what wouldn’t he do for her?

What was a little dress suit?

It was a very dark blue, an almost too black to be blue suit cut in the long tailed style of the day. With a crisp white shirt with a high monks, collar. His light brown hair pulled back into a pony tail that aesthetically balanced the lines of the jacket. He looked, well, presentable. He smiled wryly. Dark Blue indeed. Only Buffy could inspire him to choose color. She had never been the kind of woman to tell a man what to wear--she simply inspired his more artistic side. And...and if she wanted to...to be with him in the world, (as mate) he almost choked at the implication of what she had said, well...looking presentable was the least he could do. He had left his more extensive wardrobe in Paris and had had to avail himself of the hotel staff and shop for the evening wear. Not bad for working in close quarters.

“Buffy...its 7:00 luv...we...” His voice fell away. Just simply fell away from him at the sight of her as she strolled into the suite from the bedroom.

He had known that her health had improved over the week, that she was well on the mend and here was the evidence all at once. She was still thin to willowy but the vibrant force of Buffy glowed, spoke from inside her well groomed frame.

She glowed. Long brown hair, swept up at the crown to cascade down her back, light make up accenting her green eyes, green eyed brown haired Buffy in a very deep red to almost chocolate brown dress. The color was earthy and intoxicating, inspiring lust, a need to fertilize something...and devotion. Lust and fealty. Only Buffy.

And ringed around with brown as she was, it made her green eyes stand out like the sacred jewels of the earth.

She appraised him with equal somber wonder and respect.

“You look bloody amazing/You look great”

They said together. And then laughed and walked toward each other like children approaching a new wonder, a new ‘is this mine?’

He ran gentle finger along her bare arms. The dress was gathered at the center of the throat, leaving the sides of her neck bare and when she turned around for him, he stifled a groan at the deep expanse of naked back. (What was it about seeing rich fabric, vibrant color next to a woman’s’ flesh? He had seen her all kinds of naked and now it was all new again, all mystery and what’s under there?...Let me touch...) She was turning back around she was smiling, pleased with his reaction and obvious arousal and tilted her head slightly...just slightly accentuating the side of her neck...

“You...you...” Spike babbled helplessly, “You...neck tease...” he finally finished.

“Well lucky for you--long tails are the thing right now for men. You’ll be fine.”

He smiled crookedly and smooth walked up to her and pressed himself intimately against her to confirm what she already suspected. He butterfly kissed her mouth until she was gasping and then she suddenly gripped the back of his head in frustration to hold him still as she deepened the kiss and they molded their bodies together. He waited until he felt her heat demand him; his him in her her --for a royal command performance and then he pulled away and whispered...

“Well. All right then...let’s go be fine together...”

She stared at him a little dazed and then smiled. Fine. Fine. They would draw this out over the evening; we’ll see who cracks first. Fine. Fine.

Spike crooked his arm and she entwined hers with his, which he tucked up close to his breast.

They were going out. They were going out on Christmas Eve to the theatre.

(hee, hee)

*

They were just...just going out (really), just going out the door when the phone rang. Spike and Buffy looked at each other, genuinely puzzled by the sound of a ringing summons and shared the simultaneous thought.

(‘Who could that be? Anyone I want to talk to is standing in front of me.’)

“The Concierge?” Spike offered as the phone continued ringing.

“Maybe...but they were on a strict ‘don’t call us we’ll call you orders and after you growled at the bellboy I don’t think they would dare...” Buffy’s voice trailed off.

“Giles?” Buffy offered as the phone rang, rang, and they stared at it.

“Giles.” Spike tested the word as if it was modern English, a new slang to wrap his 143 year mind around. A new word to incorporate into everyday conversation as a colorful expletive. “Hmm...Giles...”

“I should answer it.”

“Yes...” Spike cautioned as if she was just about to enter a den full of Drorak demons and then ended on a question.

“Yes...yes...you should?”

“I should. He was really there for me Spike. He really backed me up when everybody thought I was delusional.”

“Huh. That long?”

“Ha, bloody, ha.” She smiled. The phone rang, insisted, insisting on being heard, it rang right through calling out ‘I know...I know you are there...yoo hoo you two...’

Buffy and Spike shrugged simultaneously and Buffy picked up the phone to hear a voice ranting at her without preamble.

“...And what in the world are you doing staying at a hotel called The Overlook in Denver Colorado? Is this passive aggressively looking for trouble? What? You’ve been fighting demons for twenty five years but have never read Stephen King? He should be like...your bible of ‘bad things to do’...”

The voice paused and Buffy had a chance to slip in.

“Hello Dawnie.”

Pause.

He sister’s voice using the childhood endearment wound Dawn down to a sputter stop to speak softly.

“Hello...Hello Buffy...”

Pause. As they held each other via phone.

“So. You’re...o.k.? You’re really o.k.? Giles said he thought you would be alright.”

“Dawn, I’m better than alright. I feel good. Solid. Stronger every day and guess what? That gray hair I was starting to sprout? Gone, girly, gone...”

“Wow. Now you gotta let me in on that.”

“You don’t have gray hair Dawn...”

“Hey, those kids are gonna give me a new moniker, I’ll be Dawn the Gray and move over Gandolf. Those kids will drive me gray, you don’t know, you have no idea...” Dawns voice wound down slowly...realizing too late that she just hit Buffy’s sore spot--oh god she should apologize? Or blow over it?

Buffy winced slightly at the automatic slip...or was it a Freudian thing to state her superior position as a Mother...something non Mothers would never understand...never a full member in the club of ‘A’ list Homo Sapiens. Buffy knew she didn’t mean it and yet she did. She sighed and smiled. This is what it meant to be family, pangs and pleasures and Dawn was right, Buffy didn’t know what that meant, she had no idea...

She looked up to see Spike standing by the window looking out onto the fading light over the mountains. They had become so well connected, she knew he had felt that pang of pain in her heart at Dawns slip...but it wasn’t a slip, it wasn’t, she should be able to say her stuff without thinking Buffy lived atop a world of eggshells. Buffy, in true form, went for a frontal assault and hide no more.

“Dawn...I’m...I’m so happy...I can’t tell you...there are no words, words are too small...so, please don’t worry about me...I can’t ...I can’t imagine anything better to be happening for me than this...it’s like the world has become new for me again...it feels so new and I have no idea what’s gonna happen, but...I feel...free...”

Buffy spoke low into the phone as she stared down at the floor and then stopped speaking, suddenly fascinated by the peach colored carpet of the suite.

There was a pause.

“I’m...I’m glad. That’s good Buffy.”

Buffy laughed. Huh. Such simple words from Dawn. She must be dumbstruck.

“Couldn’t...couldn’t you have told me? Told me when you were leaving?”

“Dawn. Dawnie...you were getting ready to declare me incompetent...I had to have a couple of days to prove I was o.k..”

“You could have called.”

“And you wouldn’t have traced me?”

“Ah...”

“Ah yeah...”

“Yeah. Giles had to really tackle Angel to the ground to keep him from calling in the FBI on Spike for kidnapping.”

Buffy sighed, ah yet another reason to bless Giles. What would she ever have done if she hadn’t had Giles for a Watcher? What would her life have been like if it had been someone like Wesley or Lydia? She shook her head at strange fates.

Dawn was still talking. “Buffy you should really call Angel, you know he’s not my favorite guy, but he’s losing it.”

“I don’t see why.” Dawn started to sputter but Buffy stopped her. ‘No Dawn...listen to me...”

Silence.

“Angel knows how I feel about Spike...he’s always known. I never kept it a secret”

There was an audible bone crack as Spike’s head snapped around to her from looking out the window. He looked at her, a little puzzled. She returned his gaze steadily and still holding the phone she spoke to Dawn but she looked at Spike as she did.

“You should still call him.” Dawn said from her end.

“Don’t need to. He knows. He knows, he also knows I’ll contact when it’s time...but Dawn, if you need to, tell him this, if things have changed, it’s o.k. to let it change, just because I’m here now doesn’t make the past wrong. Oh...and I know about Cordy.”

You know about Cordy? What about Cordy?’

“Just tell him that...with a smile...tell him not to make the same mistake I almost did. ” and then muttered to herself, “Thank god for the Slayer.” And then laughed and it was so full of genuine mirth it made Spike smile in spite of himself and his unease with this particular conversation. Dawn laughed too, Buffy’s joy was infectious.

“O.k. O.K., put the fiend on the phone, obviously I’m not going to enjoy venting on you--“

Spike was vigorously shaking his head ‘no’ at Buffy.

Buffy smiled. “Uh...he’s shaking his head.”

“What a ya mean he’s shaking his head?”

“You know, the universally accepted signal for negative, negatory, shake, shake, shake any more and he’ll loose his mind, it’ll pop right out--“

“Well turn on the video phone monitor so I can at least see you...”

“Uh...Spike is shaking his head...”

Dawn was sputtering...”What? What? You have couple of orgasms and you do anything he says?”

“Dawn! I’m. Shocked. Just shocked and maybe a little pink and besides we take turns being right; he gets to be right for another...oh, two and a half hours and then oh boy look out for ‘Buffy knows best.’

Pause.

“You do, don’t you Buffy?” Dawn asked sincerely. “You were right about everything, and oh my god does this mean that all those times when I was a kid and ‘Buffy knows Best’ was actually right? Does this mean I should have taken English lit 105--the romantic poets? Oh man. And how do I go back now?”

“Can’t baby cakes.”

‘Right, so put Spike on the phone or you on the monitor or I’m coming over there and make him do it.”

“Uh...now he’s nodding his head.”

“He’s nodding? He wants me to come over and beat him up?”

“He’s nodding...” Buffy looked at Spike with a question in her eyes that said something like ‘really?’

He nodded his eyes warm and steady. How she loved this man. He smiled gently and spoke softly.

“Tell her to come here, come here tomorrow or for New Years and tell me off in person. The phone is just too impersonal for a through thrashing. Giles, too. Everybody, I’ll put everybody up. Here. The kids will love it. Pool, snow and everything.

Buffy had to bite back a tear and a choky throat and she held her hand out to him. He was standing by the window as if he was already preparing a safe distance from her family and friends. Oh forget it. Don’t wait for him. Sometimes the ocean had to go to the shore. (What? huh?) His aloneness was so plain to her through his cool calm.

She walked over to him took his hand and kissed it and then wrapped an arm around his waist. He kissed her head and sighed.

In laws. A whole new world indeed. Thank goodness he loved Dawn, and the others weren’t too bad and just how mad was she?

Buffy was talking into the phone.

“It seems Spike wants a thrashing for Christmas.”

“Huh?”

“Come on Dawn...come out to the crazy mock Overlook but it isn’t really because it’s in Denver proper and not the actual hotel and the kids will love it too--tell 'em it’s haunted.”

“Is it?”

Spike muttered low in the background.

“Well, they may hear screaming in the night but it won’t be ghosts, it’ll just be their crazy Auntie Buffy having a ‘couple of orgasms.’ Pfft!” Then Spike muttered as if insulted at the paltry sum of a ‘couple of orgasms‘ “Pffft!”

“Ew...I heard that...”

“Was supposed to...” Muttered a misaligned Spike.

Buffy continued selling the idea to Dawn.

“And...and...there is this whole parade and a Santa with a sleigh thing...except...you know with horses...”

“Clydesdales...” Spike offered

“Big horses. So not exactly reindeer...but hey! Big, and alive and furry. The kids will love it.”

“Snow.” Spike offered.

“Oh YEAH! Snow. Come see the snow.”

“Oh my god they would love it, oh god could we?”

“Please come...we’re...we’re not going back to California for a while. We’re leaving for Europe a week after New Years. Spike wants to get as far away from the Hellmouth as possible...and...and I agree. Giles told you right? Seems the Hellmouth was killing me after all. Slowly but surely, like that long Star Wars episode ‘Attack of the Clones.’ Whew. Slow toxin. So, we may not see each other for a while...” Buffy wound down.

“O.K. O.K. I’ll talk to John; he wants to thrash Spike too.”

“Well then, come on over, last chance to thrash Spike.”

They laughed and Spike chuckled. Well? What could he say? He always loved a rumble.

They were laughing and all were suddenly, so suddenly...quiet.

Quiet.

“O.K.”

“O.K.?”

“O.K.”

“Get the rest of the info from Giles and bring him too. Please. Please bring him, don’t take no.”

“O.K.”

“Dawn?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you crying?”

“Maybe...but you’d have to TURN ON THE VIDEO MONITAR to find out for sure.”

Beat.

“Love you Dawnie...”

“Love you too...oh yeah and that goes for the anarchist too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The phone clicked and she hung up. Spike was scratching his head and said: “Did she say anarchist...or antichrist? Cuz from my point of view...bloody big difference between the two.”

Buffy hugged him, pushing her face into his chest murmuring “oh my little dissembler...”

Well...that wasn’t an answer. Just how mad was Dawn and just what had he gotten himself into?

He smiled at the thought of having difficulties with the in-laws, it did--it made him smile.

It made it, everything; feel so...real, so permanent...

They made it just before curtain. They were just relaxing into their seats as the lights dimmed and the curtain parted and Spike muttered.

Please stake me now if this is a neo futurist version of a Dickens classic say in--spacesuits or some such rot--

Buffy ‘sshh’d’ him and remarkably he stayed ssh’d. This was a theatre after all; a holy place in his heart and it was easy to be respectful.

Fine. Fine. But that wouldn’t prevent him from going to work on plan B for besting Buffy.

He took her hand in the dark and interlocked her fingers with his, gently rubbing his thumb over her knuckle.

hee hee.

He had discovered--it wasn’t the place on her body or the intensity of the touch, it was how he touched her...it was the intention behind the touch. If he thought ‘sex’ when he touched her...it was conducted to her like electricity through water.

hee hee.

He figured, she’d last the first act and maybe...maybe into the second but never to the third.

She leaned in toward him as if to whisper something and then kissed, licked and dipped her tongue into his ear.

His body jolted, and the people in the nearby seats turned to stare at the disturbance.

Buffy murmured, “I’m not gonna tell you what to do--but if you don’t play fair--I will make you embarrass yourself right, here, right now...”

Spike growled low “Thas’ not a threat, thas’ a treat...”

“Oh, god...you’re right...” Buffy considered and then asked simply. “We both know you can reduce me to jelly blubber within five minutes--please let me watch the play?”

Spike suddenly sobered stopped and leaned in to kiss her cheek, “Sorry luv...really...”

“Watch the play...you might like it. Look, cool costumes, great set--an 18...uh forty something trip down London memory lane.”

An elderly matron leaned over and looked pointedly at the two lovers...she loved to see young people come to the theatre but really...they had to learn the rules...

Buffy mouthed ‘sorry’ and Spike nodded apologetically and they settled back to watch the talented company wag Dickens’s tale.

*

Bloody hell.

It had begun well enough. The set was extraordinary. Spike studied the details and could find no fault with the historic accuracy. None.

Did it begin with images? The clothed figures walking huddled against the cold all out and walking on a London street. They even got the detail of how slow everybody walked. The tempo of the time. No one bustled by as they did post 1940. Maybe that’s what hooked him, deeply worked him and his memory.

Someone had a vision to be sure, to recreate old London 1843. Granted it was twenty years or so before he had been born, but London was a very old city and the very old, once so old, change very little. The set looked real, not the cleaned up cartoon cut out for a comedy or a musical, nay this was gritty, black residue from air saturated with coal residue. This was the portrait of fine architecture dipped in a toxic time.

Was it the costumes?

The lights, the actors, the accents? Or some combination of all twisted together until it turns the screw in him. Turns the screw lefty for loosey. Turn the screw to get in to let it all out.

Was it the narration?

Not the common phrases used from the text of the story running strictly to plot points.

No.

Some crazy adapter went at the whole project sideways--taking the prose that seemed incidental to plot but in fact in the telling told more, dug in deeper past flesh level to the talking bones--this play rattled and shook your own bones back at you saying ha! Ha! And it was funny, it was, the way Dickens was, but serious too, because--hey those are my bones and I’m gonna need them back!

Was it the words?

The words were working on him, in him. Churn burning through tissue and linings, no respect, no respect completely disregarding the borders between bowels. And like a child at the sight if creamed corn touching beans running into tasting like turkey, it was abhorrent to almost upchuck and like a child trying to explain why the food should never touch. Spike was engaged with feelings of nostalgia coupled with fear touched madness with anger tangled lust and...guilt, guilt, guilt guiding the melee to a mission statement.

It was like being digested to cohesion.

Gentle touch, Buffy beloved hands, knuckles pressed up against, a little more firmly up against the back of his neck.

She didn’t speak but fingers said asked. ‘I’m here, I’m here...you o.k.?’

Who could say?

His soul was speaking up had found another voice, a voice breaking from the chorus of love for Buffy for a solo song and he was compelled to listen to the conflicting notes of guilt almost avant garde.

The confusion was pain, painful, but there was something in it that felt like reaping, like surgery. The pain of digging through a word for the cause, for the beginning.

“You want to leave?” Her voice was quiet, more than a little worried--‘that’s it’ she decided, “We’re leaving...”

He puts his hand on hers and holds on.

“No Luv, no...I want to see what happens...”

“It’s hurting you, I can feel it.”

“Yeah, yeah...but...” What could he say? Yeah my guts are being ripped out but let’s wait to see if it dusts me?

“There...that’s it...listen...” he nodded toward the stage.

It was Scrooge talking, grousing in an excellent Standard English accent.

“If I could work my will every idiot who goes about with merry Christmas on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through the heart he should!”

Alright. That’s it. This play was not Spike friendly and we are out of here--Buffy tightened her grip and Spike could feel her gather her energy to rise and pull him out, drag him if necessary out of the theatre...he tightened her grip--wait:

Buffy looked at the stage and saw the glowing actor playing Scrooge’s nephew gather himself to speak--he wore spectacles and had sandy brown hair hanging in almost unruly curls.

It was Fred speaking and it could have been William it could have been.

The actor playing Bob Crotchett burst into applause along with several audience members and Spike used the noise as cover to whisper to Buffy.

“Amazing piece of writing just amazing--they are actually doing this play the way Dickens wrote it Buffy...”

Well, he was talking in a full sentence so she felt a little better but not much--Spike had been through a lot this past week, and having found each other in such a way put more pressure on possibly losing each other too. She had caught him slipping in and out of awareness this past week--wasn’t even sure if he knew this himself and no way was she going to let his whole soul fully ensconced send him into catatonia land--great writing or no--wait Spike was tugging on her finger--

Fred was talking

Scrooge stared blank faced at his Nephew and Fred exclaimed:

The actor delivered the line with such simple sincerity the audience warmed to him and laughed in a show of support.

Buffy relaxed...well all right...this was better...talking about love (and getting married) is good.

More laughter from the audience. Buffy noticed the other people around her looking at each other and nodding their heads, they way people do in community. Of a common mind. God she loved people. People are wonderful.

She felt a kiss on the knuckle of the hand that had been gripping Spikes and she eased next to him, pushing her shoulder up against his, well, as much as the seats would allow. he put an arm around her shoulder and they settled down to await Marley and the rattle bang of past deeds and like the chickens coming home to roost and get roasted it would come and Spike would just have to ride it out, he wanted to ride it out. He was no chicken.

And so it went on. The first act winding on down with the departure of Marley and the frightened retreat of Scrooge back behind his bed curtains. Lights out simultaneous with Scrooge blocking the world to black.

They all sat silence in the dark for a moment gathering themselves and then broke into a heady applause, gradually winding down to a dribble when the house lights came up.

After several patrons had eased on past them to make their way to the Lobby.

Buffy turned to look at Spike, half expecting to see a pile of dust. Well maybe not dust, (she had been holding his hand) maybe some terrible catatonia. She didn’t know what to say; obviously something profound was happening to him. Sense memory coupled with a moral tale? She waited.

He began speaking without looking at her and didn’t stop to look at her until he was finished.

“I’ve been alive a long time Buffy. I’d forgotten how long, it doesn’t always play into things day to day. I’ve been alive a long time, I’ve forgotten how long...and...and...now I’ve remembered.”

He paused and looked at Buffy and oh my god if he didn’t look a little older, a little wizened, she wanted to stroke the worry from his face...

“I’ve remembered everything. Even from childhood. Even all those days that have disappeared from view that you thought weren’t important...well turns out they are even more important because they are small. It’s the small stuff that gets into the cracks of who you are and holds it all together like...cement or whatal’”

He stopped for a moment and allowed her to stroke his cheek, press her palm up against his skin. When he began speaking his voice was a shade lighter and spoke with an accent a shade more refined to standard and choose his words in a different way as he recalled being William.

“Who did we think we were back then? That set, those costumes took me all the way back and suddenly I remembered sipping tea and writing and poetry but that wasn’t what was wrong--because I at least tried to do something with myself but at the same time I used poetry to hide myself from the world. I saw the grit, the poverty, small children sold into prostitution, you could see it there, it was right there, right there for gods sake on the streets like human refuse, but we, I drove by nose in a book, couldn’t bear it like a days work that might break me. We lived off dividends, from stocks, from companies raping resources from the new worlds. We were nestled away on lawns and green houses, we spoke even more genteel, stressed even more manners and relished high society because...because...we weren’t. We were the bloody barbarians hiding under cover. Parasites. I went from being a leach to a vampire.”

Spike paused and looked away.

“I hated them. Even back there, underneath it all I hated them...and that’s why I was disliked...they must have sensed it on some level...I hated them and the brittle veneer that would break under a word whispered out of proper sequence. It could all break so easily because there was nothing real holding it together. The ugliness of the world was too much for my eyes, my small mind, my small spirit and so I tried to find myself in bigger ones. Shakespeare, Dickens...Coleridge...”

“But why is that wrong? That isn’t wrong.” Buffy offered. “When you need a better idea...you go looking for it...”

“Dru?”

“But what did you intend? Did you know? Did it seem a bad idea at the time?”

Pause and then simply.

“No.”

Beat.

“No. But I’ve been around 143 years Buffy, and now I remember it all, every moment...and it’s small. Except for you...it’s all small.”

They paused while Buffy took this in. And her sharp laugh surprised him.

“Uh...your life may not have been ‘good’ probably way ‘evil’ even, but no way ever: ‘small.’ You are no small splash in the world and I’m not gonna sit here and stroke your ego so just face it. You remember it all. O.K. Now come on. You’re Spike. So spike something. Sure, yeah, give yourself some time, give us some time to build steam, but no way am I gonna believe you wouldn’t do something in the world with a bank book of 143 years of experience. You have many ‘negative’ qualities all of which I love, cuz I love all of you...but selfish...and small has never, ever been part of the man I trust. So there.”

And with that Buffy stuck out her tongue at him.

Spike stared at her straight faced. “I dare you to do that again.”

“Dare?”

“Double dare.”

The Buffy’s eyes brightened and her heart quickened at the coming contest. She darted her little pink tongue out to get a taste of imp and--

--quicker than a hot shot, Spike fastened his mouth on her and nipped her tongue with his lips. He gently coaxed her tongue all the way into his mouth, soothing her gently, making it easy for her to lose.

Finally he pulled away and left her gasping and somehow her hand had found its way into ‘lap’ territory.

“Gotcha” he murmured.

“How do you know I didn’t let you ‘get me?’ Had to let you win at something. Poor pookey. Sad sulky vampire, forced to walk dead on the earth in misery over your deeds and watch everybody have a good time.

“Oh you picked that up too did you?”

“Kinda hard not to. Dickens got something against the dead?”

“Maybe he had a bad experience with a vamp.”

“Maybe he...” and as she leaned in to whisper--

“SPIKE! YOU RAT BASTARD!”

Both their heads snapped up at the sound and Spike spotting a smiling young man with jet black hair bounding down the aisle of the theatre toward where he and Buffy still sat next to each other.

“Andre?” Spike asked and drew his brows together and tilted his head sideways as if to get a better look at this strange incongruity of friend in a foreign setting.

“Vous entraver le batarde rat!” The young man spouted and then gained speed in English: “SPIKE, you demon dog! Bethany told me she saw you and I couldn’t believe it!” Andre sputtered his English with a French accent.

“What are you doing in Denver?” They both asked each other.

“How did you know Mother was in the play?” Andre burst out. “Isn’t it wonderful? An amazing production--she’s going to be amazing. Imagine!”

“Mary is in the play?” Spike asked reaching for his program, we got in just as the curtain went up--I didn’t see the program.”

“You didn’t know? I thought...maybe...you came to see her...she will be so happy to see you...well you know, as happy as one might be to see the devil himself.” Andre commented but ran on analyzing. “But if you did not come to see her--how have you come to be here?”

As if by virtue of having remained so completely still, she drew both men’s’ attention to her.

Buffy.

“Oh...well, this would be Buffy’s idea. And this would be...”

“Buffy...” Andre roll, trilled the sound of her name in his mouth as he took her in. His dark eyes gleaming in his handsome face he appraised her and found nothing wanting, in fact wanted her himself. This woman fairly creamed and screamed sex! The honey of her rolled away in pleasant waves for any male to spot and come running to see for himself. Andre was hard just standing here in her presence. Yes. He must have her.

Spikes low growl caught him completely off guard. The hairs on the back of his neck sprang up and adrenalin fight or flight kicked in hard and fast and he was looking at his friend and heard the warning growl and knew that it meant...what he thought it meant. No male would mistake that sound.

He dropped his hand immediately and turned it instead palm up--the universal sign of appeal.

“Je suis si descole, Spike...really...” Spike looked at him pointedly and Andre turned his attention to Buffy. “So sorry Manque...”

Low minny growl.

“Madame...” Andre corrected himself “For my comportement de inapproriate...”

‘What inappropriate attention? We’ve barely been introduced....” Buffy shot a puzzled look to Spike, who took her elbow possessively and stared fixedly at Andre until he confessed.

“Pardon moi, I did not comprehend that you were together, Spike, here has many lovely female associates and...” Spike widened his eyes at this and Andre changed direction to the point: “We have in our family line, a part of the siren song...it is not permissible, not in good taste to sing the siren song to a...” and here he stressed the word “good friends...wife? He tried the word and sensed their mutual approval.

“Oh. In that case. Bad boy.” Buffy remonstrated. “But what makes you think you would have an effect on me?”

Andre sputtered at her ingenuity, her lack of appreciation for his masculine appeal. Who was she after all? Well she did have Spike--

“Andre. This is Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

Stunned silence.

He could not have been any more stunned than if Spike had said here, meet, Archangel Michael. And indeed there were similarities between the two.

Spike the Obscure and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Andre hadn’t realized he had spoken aloud until he heard the sound of their gentle laughter. Andre’s eyes grew warm and moist, he was French after all and this was love...

“You are she?”

Buffy simply nodded.

“You have saved my world, and now you love my friend?”

It seemed an impossibly personal question from a stranger but she sensed a future friend and so she answered.

“I have always loved your friend.”

Andre sighed. “Mon ami, this is the she that has haunted you all these years?” Andre asked Spike who said nothing, he then turned to Buffy: “I did not think I would like you if we ever met--our Spike here has been alone all these years even my Mama...” and here he broke off, his gaze turning inward. “Sa live. Such is life. And after meeting you I am once again reminded there are always two sides to every story.”

Spike broke in to head the conversation in a different direction. “Where’s Bethany? “

“You know how shy she is...she is waiting in the lobby for the verdict.”

The house lights dimmed. “Ah...the second act. Mama is playing the ghost of Christmas past--“

“Ah!” Spike gasped. “She’ll be bloody amazing!”

Andre’s eyes were alight with pride. “Yes, yes and on short notice too. The one, the actor playing the role became ill--and they called Mother and flew her in from London only three days ago. I saw the dress rehearsal.” Here he almost giggled.

“Be prepared to be, how you say? Blown away.” And with that he laughed and bounded away only to stop and demand:

“We shall meet after the second act and share a cup of hot cider. Oh how the Americans love to ape the British. Why have a revolution if you can’t GET OVER IT!”

And with that he was gone. Buffy and Spike turned to look at each other and Spike said simply just before the house went to black as if it was the only explanation necessary.

“Andre.”

“Uh huh.”

Andre and Bethany and...and their Mother Mary and....how many other people to meet from Spikes new world?

She had wanted to go out, she had. And she had wanted and wants to be with him the world and oh how true it is that when you set something loose in the world, a desire, a wish, a something, if it’s truly alive, if it has value, it will take on a life of it’s own and pick you up and take you on a wild ride through the world.

She had thought the only obstacle in their lives together would be her world, her family and her friends...she hadn’t even considered...his.

Going into act two with the ghost of Christmas past coming to haunt Scrooge played by an ‘old friend’ of her intended coming to haunt her.

Yippee.

She wouldn’t survive the curiosity.

“Spike who is--“

“Shh, Shh” Hushing sounds from the elderly matron.

“Let’s watch the play.” Spike offered simply with a small smile on his face.

Rat Bastard huh? What’s the story behind that?

She wanted to dislike her. Wanted to see something scary, something slayable, some petty something, some flaw and use the universally accepted code of accepted dislike for the woman who claimed attention from your man. But she couldn’t. She was wonderful. Amazing even. Glowing from the inside out, her radiant quick good humor filled the theatre, her standard British speak usually cool and clipped to the ear was made pleasant by a warm voice that reached inside Buffy, reached and touched until she surrendered. She liked her. She liked Spike’s Mary. And maybe it was the character she played but she didn’t think so. A good person could play evil, but could an evil or even cold person be love itself? Tap right into the heart and have it be behind every word? Not.

This was a gift. Mary had the gift of actor as storyteller.

The production had dedicated the whole second act to the past of Ebenezer Scrooge. Going into the great details often slipped by in a hurry to pay it off. No, this play relished the story, and because they enjoyed it so much, the audience did as well. The party at Scrooges old employers went on and on, driving a rhythm into the theatre that had Buffy tapping her feet and fairly jigging in her chair.

She kept a close eye on her lover. Ooh. Ooh she loved that word. Oooh, her lover.

He seemed all right. It seemed he was past his crisis of recall and was now deeply immersed in the story. He sure seemed stuck with his eyes on the stage. On her. O.K. O.K. Chilly chill of course he’s gonna have friends, major long term life companions, almost his family. Still...still...well...he had always made her the centerpiece of his life. He had always made her feel first. And...god this feels childish...but if she understood why people stood up to get married, she also now understood why a nice long honeymoon was important. Even for couples who had known each other for...decades. Sometimes only time spent together, intimate time spent with intention, intensified, solidified and strengthened the ‘couple’ bond from worldly assault and small misunderstandings. Had she pushed them both out of the nest too soon?

*

Of course he felt her disquiet...but he was still evil enough to enjoy a little jealousy on his behalf. It was when he felt her shift to sadness that he turned in his seat and looked at her until she looked at him. He had to touch her face...had to...

Lightly so lightly he skimmed the surface of her face with his fingers stroking and touching like a blind man finding his way back to beloved to never...never lose my way...never, never lose you...never lose you, never my sweet lamb...he thought and his fingers told her.

These things are fragile, this miracle between them had to be respected and put above all else, every, everything. Things unattended, even a miracle can break if you dropped it the wrong way.

He leaned in to whisper without a trace of irony oblivious to the sound of tables turning:

“Would you like to leave? Let’s go--just take off eh luv?”

He would do that. Burn everything. His life, his friends, he was wrong to be willing to torch so much and she would never let him, but him having said this, asked that, even wanting to leave himself, for her--eased her fear. And she shook her head against his palm. She kissed his palm and whispered back.

“I wanna see how it ends.”

He smiled. Lord, he was lucky. He was lucky...and holding a fortune in her and he best tread carefully in the world and consider the spending and sharing of it.

They spent the rest of act two, listening to the play but looking into each others eyes. And when something spoken on stage was particularly funny, potent or relevant they communicated their response to the audio stimuli via ocular small talk.

Every once and while they would look at the stage in awe of the human hum of excellent actors plying their trade and some special effect was always an attention grabber but then it would be back to the comfort of each others eyes.

They were being almost impossibly fluffy.

Sigh.

End of act two on high note for Ebenezer--they called him by his first name now, so well they felt they knew him. He felt powered up and ready for a new life but there...there do you hear the slightly ominous tong of the bells? Oh course you do.

Lights to black. House lights slowly up to half with the audience in enthusiastic applause.

Without a word to each other they stood to stretch and make their way to the lobby, on impulse Buffy turned to the elderly woman who was sitting to her right to nod and saw the old woman smiling warmly at her. Buffy nodded and smiled back (aren’t people wonderful?) and then turned to follow Spike where he waited for her in the aisle.

“Punch?” He asked

“Knock yourself out.”

“You don’t want a hit...or maybe you want a blow to the egg noggin?” He asked sweetly.

“Surprise me. I gotta run to the rest room first.”

They were in the lobby and stood quietly next to each other.

“Huh. All the way over there? So far away.” Spike observed.

She kissed him on the cheek, and he kissed her lips lightly before she pulled back. He watched her walk away, her backside swaying just a bit this way and that, oh well--one small compensation of parting.

He made his way to the bar. The theatre was well staffed for the occasion and so the wait wasn’t long. He had opted for the hot cider--nice little touch of old England.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

He saw an opening in the crowd by the ring of windows opening out onto a vista of the small river that run adjacent to the theater and on through Denver. He stood for a moment looking out onto the newly fallen snow. Must have started to snow sometime during the play; he looked up at the nighttime sky. Seems to have stopped for the moment and then he smiled at the small quaint observations of the weather that occupied his mind. In only in his head could the range be rung from full scale mayhem and shedding the blood of the innocent to ‘huh...wonder if will start snowing again?’

He felt eyes upon him and so placed (an automatic instinct to free his hands) the two cups of cider on the window ledge and turned to follow the thread.

It led to Bethany. Bethany. Lovely, quiet, small, slight, dark haired Bethany. She held his gaze from across the room and then of all the remarkable things to happen she smiled. Usually so taciturn to stoic, the sight of her bright smile was a shock.

Spike smiled back and she made her way through the crowd toward him, her eyes leaving his face she looked down at the floor as she walked and didn’t look back up until she was almost in front of him.

“Bethany, you look lovely. Like a beautiful bird.”

She smiled and nodded and signed with her hands. “So do you.”

“What? Look lovely or a like a bird?”

“A bird.” She signed.

“What, like a bird of prey? A Falcon like? It’s the bloody tales of these long coats.”

“No,” she signed back interrupting him, “A bird of P. R. A. Y.”

Spike harrumphed.

Bethany continued signing: “You look like prayer standing here in the snowlight.”

“You use your fine words to make an ugly thing beautiful pet and that’s no good.”

“I speak the truth.” She signed simply.

Spike sighed. “Then speak it to me, tell me all, but use your voice pet, it’s just the two of us here, let me hear your little bird call. Hmm?”

Bethany rolled her eyes and head around to indicate the other three hundred or so people in the lobby--

“Oh them...” Spike considered the strangers and summed it all up. “Close personal friends. After what we all just experienced together in there tonight...this lot and me are mates for life.”

Bethany sighed and her smile faded somewhat. She signed with her hands. “It’s wonderful isn’t it? Mama is brilliant tonight, yes?”

“Yes.” Spike agreed. He knew Bethany had very mixed feelings about her Mothers talent and success and what it had cost them all, her in particular. And when Mary was especially amazing, Bethany was proud and loved her Mother dearly but it brought Mother and Daughter into even sharper contrast. Mary’s blazing glory next to Bethany’s struggle from the ashes.

Bethany changed the subject and startled Spike by speaking.

“Bbb...bbbuuu...bbbbufffyy?”

*

Buffy was hiding behind the Christmas tree.

She had come back from the restroom, feeling...well, rested. After approximately two and a half hours of sitting in the theatre she had to confess to enough vanity to check her make up before meeting Spikes friends.

She saw them by the window as soon as she reentered the lobby. The girl, small dark and lovely gesturing with her hands and Spike glowing and handsome leaning in and cocking his head slightly to the side.

Ping.

They looked good together. They looked comfortable and at peace in each others company. The girl was lovely in an ordinary way but as Buffy continued to observe their conversation she saw how she opened up and glowed under Spikes attention. The girl was gesturing again and suddenly Buffy recognized it as sign language and found herself suddenly eavesdropping accidentally. But once begun she was too fascinated to pull way or to interrupt their conversation.

There was something about the simple word ‘snowlight’ that rang at something buried deep within her but she shrugged it off as she tried to think what the young woman reminded her of. There was something about her that called to her Slayer instinct to protect, strangely, to protect her even from Spike. She could see why he hovered over her. Buffy could see his desire to protect the girl from here.

Oh.

Of course. It was the way he had behaved around Dawn, when she had been a teenager. The protector of young girls. Well. That’s all right then, inside Slayer said. But you better go over there to help stop any crush she may have. Sometimes one had to protect girls from their own hearts.

She started moving slowly forward and it was the sound of her own name, being stuttered, so painfully stuttered that it sounded like a cry for help that galvanized her forward.

The girl was signing something now, asking Spike: “Is she me?”

Spike nodded ever so slightly with his head at her cryptic question and then opened himself up from Bethany and held a hand out to Buffy as she approached to welcome her back.

There was that now familiar small electric shock when they touched hands. And they smiled stupidly at each other as they reconnected. They had discovered that when ever they separated for more than two hundred yards or so, their electric fields, their etheric bodies needed just needed to say hello again with a crackle and hum. And like an ignorant child sticking his finger into an electric socket Spike loved the thrill of will this spark ignite me? Will she dust me good someday with her electric love?

He loved it.

It wasn’t until they were pulling away from each other, that Buffy realized they had been kissing. Spike was stroking her face in silent wonder, it was Buffy who turned to the young woman now standing staring open mouthed and maybe...maybe a little teary eyed.

Oh god, Buffy hadn’t meant to hurt her--but then Bethany smiled and looked at them both like they were a new day. Brand new and let’s start over and with something like...hope.

Spike remembered his manners.

Buffy, this is the amazing Bethany.

Bethany signed “Hello and you are so beautiful and where did you get that dress?”

Spike laughed and started to translate but stopped when Buffy put her hand on his arm and responded herself by signing to Bethany.

“Hello yourself, Spike makes me beautiful and there’s a little store at Colfax and Main. Odd, cause it’s so small--“

They were interrupted by Andre bouncing up with two cups of cider almost spilling one on his sister. Bethany shoved at him and looked at him crossly.

“Que? Que le tortavec vous?” Andre asked all innocence.

Bethany looked at Buffy and rolled her eyes. Buffy liked her. She liked her a lot. She laughed and could almost feel Spike relax beside her with an audible snap as they all fell into a comfortable place around each other.

The house lights blinked and Buffy cried: “My punch!”

“We’ll sneak it back into the theatre--its Christmas after all, they can relax a few rules--“

--“Oh speaking of which--did you know the Company is hosting a post show party right here after the play. The audience gets to play with the actors, meet everyone and...catered and of course you’re staying you must meet Mama--“

Bethany stopped him with her hand on his arm and signed: “They may have other plans Andre...” (Don’t push...)

Buffy started to sign: “Will they have those little cheese quiches; I love--“when Andre rudely interrupted her by saying.

“Oh you don’t need to sign, Bethany’s not deaf, she just doesn’t like to talk...”

It wasn’t quite a growl, maybe a low rumble but definitely disquiet.

Silence and then Buffy spoke and signed together. “Well that just sounds like good sense to me--why would she want to waste breathe talking to you?”

Silence for a moment and then Spike and Bethany burst into laughter with a slightly miffed chastised Andre following suit.

Spike picked up the two cups of cider and led the way back to the theatre.

“You are working me tonight Andre...” Spike offered his voice calm.

Andre muttered following him, “I’m not the only one working you...vous recevez travaille bien...”

Spike gave him a sharp glance but shook his head smiling. Boys and lust. Well he could understand that.

Buffy felt a touch at her elbow and Bethany signed to her: “Green eyed monster.”

And Buffy asked on automatic slayer alert. “Where?”

They all laughed. Bethany signed. “You are so funny. Like Spike. How nice to have someone to laugh with.”

“Or at.” Buffy amended.

“Oi...oohh wait for it--here it is: He who laughs last an’ al’” Spike fairly sung out to her thinking ahead of the night to come.

Buffy felt a little shiver as she read his mind. “Uh oh.” But her thoughts were interrupted by watching Bethany step up next to Spike and sign:

“She is me?”

Spike spoke low, something that sounded like: ‘She’s been where you are’ or ‘she understands where you are...’ “and look at her now.”

Bethany sighed and signed. “So much time.”

“Well lucky for you, you have a lot of it to burn. You’ll be alright Bethany, but Andre is right in a berk sort of way. You should talk more.”

Bethany nodded just a bit and signed. “I want to be funny. I think I can be funny too. And signing takes so long to...quip.”

“There you are then.” Spike said as if that settled it. He looked up at the doorway to the aisle of the main floor. “This is our get off, little birds...”

Andre strangely quiet left the talking to his sister who signed:

“If we don’t see you after the play, Mama is having a New Years Eve Party at The Overlook, please come...but if you can’t we’ll...see you in Paris?”

Spike and Buffy looked at each other and then at the brother and sister.

“In a couple of weeks.” Buffy said.

Good. Good.

“Mmmeeaarry Ccchristmas Bbbuffyyee...”

Impulsively Buffy kissed Bethany’s cheek in response and whispered into her ear.

“Thank you...thank you for making this easier for Spike...”

Bethany hugged her quickly and then walked away, her brother giving a nod to the both of them before following his sister whose thoughts were running something like this.

*

Back in their seats and awaiting the curtain Spike considered how much of Bethany’s story he ought to relay to Buffy. He had rescued her from her kidnappers but it was, after all, her story, not his to tell, and he was saved from making this decision when Buffy suddenly asking quietly.

“She was hurt wasn’t she? Something terrible happened to her?”

Spike answered simply. “Yes.”

Buffy turned to look at him. It was buried so deep within her and she swore she would never speak about it again, about that terrible night in the bar in Kalispell, Montana but now she remembered, suddenly she remembered everything, even all she had suppressed and she looked down into her lap.

“We are having a strange night eh luv?” He asked softly.

“It’s what happens when you walk around in the world.”

Should he take her hand? Would she mind being touched?

She leaned her shoulder into his, sighed and said very, very softly. “Did I ever say ‘thank you’?”

“Pet. You saved me that night, you set me on a road to save my soul, please don’t ever thank me, when I owe you so much.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder and said nothing.

Her next door seat neighbor came back then, struggling from the other end of the aisle and Buffy nodded to the elderly well groomed woman who nodded back and said.

“I couldn’t fight my way through that crowd to get a cup of cider--can you imagine?”

“Oh...” Buffy said suddenly, “We brought you back a cup.”

The elderly woman’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Is that right?”

Spike stood holding out a cup, hot cider in a ceramic mug. “Still warm an al’”

“You’re English.” The elderly woman asked accused. “Is this accurate?” And she pointed at the stage.

“Oh aye...it is...as Buffy says...people are wonderful...”

The woman’s brows shot up even further--that’s not what she had meant when she had asked--but here she had received an even better answer. People are wonderful. Yes they are.

She settled herself into her seat and accepted the cup from Spike gratefully.

“Thank you.”

“Thank her.” Spike offered, nodding toward Buffy. “It was her idea.”

“So you’re the idea man?”

“Buffy shrugged. “We take turns.”

The elderly woman liked this answer she liked this very much and began to wonder something as the house lights dimmed.

ACT THREE

What need be said here?

We all know what happens in Act III. It is the final warning to seal the deal for Ebenezer, our road, our goal all our best intentions can be waylaid so easily, so easily. Mis step here, and then it’s here, there--mis-stepping everywhere until one is completely out of time. Out of time with the tune, and out of time for a second chance...

There is a place of no return; a final defining event that turns the key and locks the door to the bad place forever.

For Ebenezer it was the fear of being forgotten. Cast aside.

For Spike it was the fear of forgetting.

Love realized had been the potential carrot dangled to inspire him to want to change but the pain had been the catalyst. Pain. the deep wrenching pain he had felt when he had drove away that night, that Christmas in Sunnydale...it...it was like being cast out of heaven and thrown into hell all over again. The fallen angel once glimpsing love again and god I can’t go back to hell, can’t...what to do? And the answer was obvious. All great change begins with...duh...changing your diet.

The blood of animals had been too low...to lacking in vibrant spirit for the needs he had been accustomed to. As the word vampire suggests, the creature lived not only off the blood, but the animas, the life force, the life of the host.

He had tried just drinking, just drawing enough from his favorite diet of young girls.

But.

But he had found...he had discovered he would pollute them somehow. If, for example, the girl was not developed in her personality, still immature with a lack of a strong center, her meeting with him was not the end of the story only the beginning of the end. He would recognize, some girl--like that little redhead that tall thin girl he would see cruising the nighttime bad bars looking for a hit. Oh there’s that long haired brunette tramping for vamps. Needing the feed that discovered rush of feeling your personality obliterated under the onslaught of black night. Better than heroin and smack, was being smacked.

Some people at the wrong time of their lives could become addicted to being broken.

And soon, very soon...they would end up dead...or turned and he, he would think of Buffy, feel her gaze breaking past being broken in those days after she had been attacked and he would be disgusted with the fact that he might be like one of those men that had tried to do that to her.

There was more than one way to pollute someone’s spirit. He had always offered the choice between two deaths for victims of times past. Death and un life. But he had never, never forced unlife upon the unwilling. The reality of Dru was the only reinforcement he would ever need to help him with that decision making. And this partial feeding was like raping a girl, just no other comparison was possible, he left them altered completely and never to know themselves untouched, who they might have been. Something of his demon got into them and if they weren’t strong enough to sweat it out, they broke. One way or another they felt compelled to finish the thing he had started.

On road or another.

To his credit he discovered this quickly and declared partial feeding to be out...unless...what if it was somebody who was already broken? Just one more slice off a cut loaf eh?

He remembered his last kill.

He must never forget his last kill; it kept him on the straight and narrow now absolutely.

He had taken to killing low life types, criminals probably, and told himself he was doing the world a service. He was actually helping the Slayer. Easing the world of a burden.

It was an old man. A street person. And when Spike bit into his neck that thing happened that did sometimes for him and always had for Dru. He got impressions of the man’s life, flashes in incoherent order, a young man going to medical school, cracking under pressure, while heavily medicated he botched an operation and then the guilt, terrible, terrible guilt if he knew he was a bad doctor, if he knew that he was in trouble, and a doctors bad call may mean death and if he knew he was a bad doctor then did that make it premeditated murder? And then there was the cover up, and he had, he had, no one had found out--but year by year he found himself still running, still running inside, running for cover until rejected in love he turned to war. And now images of a young boy riding his bike arms flying in the air, laughing, free from care, now on a battlefield, automatic machine gun in hand and the terrible truth, the rush of adrenalin the surge of power and yes, yes, the doctor enjoyed killing, a baby now, he was a baby again with a young woman blowing raspberries on his tummy--

Oh god, oh god, even the smallest person in the world even the one cast aside began their lives as a child with a dream of life.

Oh god. Spike had tried to pull away, retract his fangs but the old fellow had his arms wrapped around him in a death grip and wanted this now and knew, felt in this the last moment of his life, in this space of death, he was being given the gift of being known by someone. Of having his life witnessed.

Rejected in love, and rejected again and he had given up, and being the man that he was had been, going to a whore, even in Korea, especially in Korea was unthinkable, and so here in Spikes arms he died a seventy five year old virgin, horribly mangled by the world and untouched. No one had ever wanted him enough to touch him. His glory dreams of saving lives became murder, mass murder, his dreams of love to dust...and yet...yet he was dying grateful...for if Spike could see his life, then this stranger could see Spikes. Understood untouched William.

The old man died knowing the comfort of a mutual mind.

When Spike had finally wrenched free. He had vomited the blood, spent it all back up on the street beside the inert figure of no one special. Just some old man.

He never killed again.

Act III was like that.

*

Buffy wanted to write it down--it came to her so perfect, just there in complete she had to write it down before she lost a single word. A comma even.

She struggled in her purse, hand searching in the dark; she ran the words over and over in her mind, didn’t search for the source of the simple magic just remembered them and trusted them--oh! A pen! And oh! More light. They were at the full blown bru ha ha of Fred’s dinner party and it was waltzing or was it a polka? But who cares it was enough light to write by and down they went, all the words, all of them caught, caught them all and ho, ho, ho it felt good. Like lightening in a bottle. Like a good slay.

Simple task completed, mountain climbed she snuck her hand back into Spikes, their fingers entwining on automatic, happy fingers celebrating the wrap around.

Spike seemed a little far away...but calm enough. She would simply have to wait and see and let this story work it’s whatever, power, magic miracle and there was no such thing as ‘just a story.’

Anything that affected you like this was alive. It was as much alive in the world as they.

It ended well. Scrooge, uh excuse me, our Ebenezer buoyant and bubbling and sober too...sober but like the alcoholic facing ‘never again.’ It was day by day, hour to hour and...well, you know...you get it. Change was in the minutia of a thing. Each micro second of decision and then the small window of recall--to call it back, call back a bad decision. This is what it is.

There was redemption; there was grace, and love and yes one could change completely and forever if one wanted it badly enough.

People, creatures (can’t forget the Christmas ghosts or the willing undead) were wonderful.

Wonderful.

There was a standing ovation and three curtain calls and a general announcement about the party and meet the actors in the Lobby and refreshments and wasn’t that a piano playing?

Buffy and Spike sat back down in their seats as the audience members filed out around them. They were in no hurry, both wanted to be quiet for a few moments and just...not think...just feel.

When the old voice broke into their peace...well it was only fair and a little tit for tat for all that and seeing they had disturbed her viewing pleasure only a scant three hours ago--well perhaps it was only fair that Buffy’s neighbor, the matron on her right choose this moment to open a conversation with them.

She seemed to just start speaking, like these were thoughts that had been playing in her mind and she just opened her mouth and they came out from wherever--

“--But don’t you let it. You fool them, you fool the game, you give back before the fates come to collect? Right? You keep the bank account on the good deeds side.”

Buffy turned in her chair and nodded politely as Spike leaned forward to puzzle out what was happening.

The white haired matron went on.

“I won’t guarantee it. No one can. And so we would donate money here, help build a hospital wing there...and even if it did start with a conscious effort to give something back, even if it was a deliberate attempt to balance the books, it always ended up...good. It worked for Edward and me.”

Here she paused as she looked directly at the two young people. Well, young to her.

“We were together for thirty three years. Not a lot I suppose if you consider that I’m eighty seven years old. He passed two years ago in September. Gone. Gone now. Gone from my side, but we were together for thirty three years and we were happy...there were two bad years, but that’s the balance sheet I guess. Lost a child together and it marked us, it nearly killed us both, but we stayed together and against all odds, we got back on target and dammit if our love, if our loving each other didn’t stop at least two world wars.”

Spike moved up close behind Buffy and she leaned back against him as they looked at the woman and listened.

“You think that sounds a little crazy? I feel it’s true. When things got bad in the world, well...extraordinarily bad, Edward would get these dreams, terrible things, and we would do some extra loving. Sometime we would stay in bed for days just loving each other, just love until things moved a little more to the love side and help balance the ship.”

She looked at the two of them, with a twinkle and a tear in her eye and said softly.

“I feel better seeing you two tonight. I was cranky at first, you two can sure jump around in your chairs, but now I feel better knowing there’s some couple to take over for me and Edward, to do what we did. It’s been on my mind, that kind of love doesn’t come around every day, does it?”

Silence and then Spike said softly.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Do you think you could do that? You young man, you think you can love her like that for the rest of your life?”

“I do.”

“What about you young miss? Young fillies like to run around, sample, and shop you done with that?”

“I am.”

“Well that’s good, now you may think me crazy, but this is an important responsibility, I wouldn’t pass this to just anyone, I’ve been waiting, you see...you can save the world, you can save the world from the comfort of your easy chairs and just by loving in each other, and I don’t just mean in bed...I mean do the dishes every once in a while young man, take care of the children too...you won’t let them go hungry for attention will you?”

Buffy looked down and Spike stroked her arm and spoke for them.

“Never. Never happen.”

“Well all right then.” The old woman looked at Buffy’s downcast eyes and asked: “You’re not afraid of a little responsibility are you?”

Spike and Buffy snorted in perfect unison. And Spike said proudly of his Buffy.

“This ‘un eats responsibility like buttered popcorn.”

“Ha! I knew it. I’m an old woman, and all I can say is don’t let what happens loom so large it hurts you in the day--life can be long and things can change. And what’s impossible one day is a revelation the next.”

Well that was true. Buffy and Spike looked at each other, and Spike pressed his cheek up against hers.

“Oh dagnabit...I almost forgot...you have anything you want to say to each other or declare to the world? ”

They looked at each other, minds locked down, throats too tight to speak.

“Oh!” Buffy looked down at her lap. Where was it? She searched around on the floor until her hands found the program with ‘the words’ written on it. She read them again to see if they were still true. Yes. But she couldn’t speak them...wouldn’t be able to choke it out. She showed them to Spike and watched his eyes grow soft and moist and felt...pressed up against his body she could swear she almost felt his heart beat.

“Well?” The old woman demanded a little imperiously. “Speak now or forever...”

Spike cleared his throat, but in the end handed the paper to the woman to scan.

She took the papers and made a big show of pulling out her reading glasses and humphing impatiently until she read the words.

She stopped, became still, took off her glasses and gazed at them with gratitude

“Thank you.” And then. “I know pronounce you....oh silly me...I forgot the best part--kiss, kiss, go ahead and kiss you’ve been dying to all night--“

Spike held Buffy’s face with both hands and she placed her hand on the back of his neck as they leaned in to touch lips, the electric shock fusing them together as it does in nature. Nature, natural, most natural thing in the world, to love to fuse to join and make something single doubled, something small larger and some new life a brand new idea that would never have existed outside being born from love.

When they came to a rest, the old woman was smiling.

“That was nice. I now pronounce you...what’s your names?

Voice cleared Spike said: “Buffy...”

Buffy said: “Spike...”

“I now pronounce you Buffy and Spike to be lover world protectors. And you won’t even have to leave your house to do it. Economical.”

They laughed.

“That’s good, that’s good, God bless you, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and could you help me up? Ooh you’re a strong one for a small girl--“

“Well, what with the weight of the world on my shoulders, I better be.”

Mrs. Edward Jamae Gordon laughed.

*

O.K.

Where did he go?

Mrs. Gordon had asked Buffy to walk her to her limousine. It seemed she had wanted some additional ‘girl talk’ time with Buffy. And it was so kind really and Buffy hadn’t the heart to tell her that all her advice on how to reduce the acid in her system so she could conceive a child was wasted. Not everybody took well to news of vampires and slayers and weird physical stuff.

But, she had listened and Mrs. Gordon had forced a promise from Buffy to go see this nutritionalist/energy worker and it sounded suspiciously neo new age, but Buffy had taken the info and had promised. Why not?

But where was he?

He hadn’t looked like he was in a mood to chat with his friends and he said he would wait for her here on the veranda. Sometime during the third act it had begun to snow and now Buffy took a moment to be still and watch it come down.

She paused, and then opened up her senses to see if she could spot him on the radar. Did he want to be alone? No...there he is...down there....

She walked the length of the veranda and down the stone steps following footprints now that she didn’t need. He was waiting for her down there by the river. She made her way down the path with ease.

Quiet, so quiet the world was. After words and words and lights and speeches just now...just quiet.

Sweet snow falling.

Her man waiting.

Standing.

Standing so still it broke her heart for a moment for she saw how he might look in death.

She stood watching, just watching just taking him in.

Light bright swirls of snow carving the black, lighting the night, landing gently about his head and shoulders dusting him to white.

So beautiful.

Did the snow make him glow or did Spike glow the snow?

Spike by Snowlight.

And then she remembered. That almost morning so many years ago, almost mourning if not for mercy. Pulling him out of the path of the morning sun because...because...she could.

Because it was in her, loving was something she could do...there were so many things, so many miseries on this earth she could never heal and maybe never should...but she could love...she had it in her to recognize love in the darkest creature and to trust it. It was her gift.

He was waiting for her and she padded the rest of the way down the path to stand quietly at his side and followed his gaze up the river, she gasped.

Where there was a short cliff, just a ten foot high waterfall now was ice. Water stilled to a complete stop. Thoughts, deeds, dreams and all travel, travel to see what’s down river frozen into quiet.

Quiet, still, and moving no more.

As if it never would again.

Beautiful in it’s halted progress, in this frozen moment. Holding its breath, holding...

Buffy slipped an arm around Spike’s waist and she felt him lean into her as he always did when she touched him, but still felt a glimmer of remote, of attention fixed on some inner struggle.

“It’s beautiful. “ She breathed softly.

He considered and when he spoke it seemed to come from far away.

“But when does it become sad?”

She looked at the ice sculpture, the frozen waterfall. Unmoving. Unchanging.

Buffy sat down on a stone bench set by the rivers edge; she sat on the snow not bothering to wipe it away. She studied the frozen water, stared at it for at east four minutes straight. And then finally answered.

“You’re only saying these things out loud so you can hear the list of things you’ll never be. That...” She gestured casually toward the frozen unchanging structure.

“That is not what you are.”

He was listening.

“It’s like saying, hey there’s....there’s...an...old...washing machine in the road...look out!”

Spike turned to stare at her. The incongruity of her observation broke the spell the frozen water had cast over him.

She patted the space beside her and he came over to sit next to her.

“Just cuz you know enough to look for it, to yell out a warning, doesn’t mean you are the washing machine.”

“No?”

“No.”

“I’m not a washing machine?”

“You’re a wishing well.”

It was suddenly true.

“Imagine me a young miss, stopping for a sip, and suddenly I know, if I drink this, if I bring you into my body, something wonderful will happen. Spike. You make things happen. I can never see you blocking traffic, you help people, those people I met tonight, your friends and so many others...and it may be more subtle than saving the world, true, you don’t save the world...you save the people in it...”

He looked at her face, the snow falling about her, and then she, herself and her features all seemed to merge into a white spot of light. A bit of snow blindness.

Impulsively he grabbed her hands and placed them on his chest and whispered.

“Make a wish Buffy...wish on me whatever, wish something you really want for yourself and if I can I’ll do it for you...”

She touched his face marveling at his halo of snow glow.

His wide blue eyes caught her green ones and wouldn’t let go until she saw past the gleam of the joke to true.

It’s true. It’s true. He was a wishing well.

Well then, she dipped inside herself and found it--it was easy to find waiting there in her womb and then she asked softly:

“You sure?”

His eyes warmed and suddenly his mouth looked so soft...so...

Thinking her wish her hearts desire she dip kissed it gently into his mouth the sweet frisson of love daisy chain happy lap danced through him until it reached his center and he agreed. The penny dropped deep into his well and so enthusiastically he agreed he reached back out and into her, greedy for more.

More Buffy, take more...

He pulled her tongue into his mouth and pulled her up close against his body and damn...damn...if she didn’t feel a heart beat back or maybe it was just the echo of her own.

He pulled back to let her breathe and found her neck, her lovely swan dive tease and nuzzle kissed her until she giggled.

They were happy.

And the snow fell down, and the water remained frozen and they could hear singing now coming from the open doors of the veranda leading into the theatre and maybe they would go in for a nod, and a nip of noggin and maybe they would go back to the hotel, and maybe Dawn would come out for New Years and maybe they would all go to Mary’s party and maybe they would not.

So hard to tell, sitting......still......here in this moment, what would happen next.

love you all

© Lizerrrbeathan