The Wait Begins

Spike let Buffy's limp body slip from his shoulder as he reached the front door of her house. Balancing her against him and supporting her with one arm, he pounded the door with his free hand. "Dawn! Willow! If one of you isn't down here in ten seconds, I'm kicking the bloody door in!" he yelled.

Lights went on at the top of the landing and soon he saw the two women making their way down the stairs. Dawn reached the door first and peered out anxiously. Willow held back, grim-faced, determined to muster a magical defence if necessary and to hell with the consequences.

Dawn's eyes widened as she identified the two figures outside; Buffy hung loosely in Spike's grip, clearly unconscious - or worse, she feared. The vampire himself didn't appear to be in much better shape, sporting several contusions and scrapes. Blood matted his blond hair above one ear and trailed down his face and neck.

"Spike!" she exclaimed as she opened the door. "What happened? What's wrong with Buffy? Is she--?" Dawn couldn't finish the thought, as though putting it into words might somehow make it come true.

"I can tell you what I saw," he said, as he lifted Buffy again into his arms to carry her inside. "But I don't know what it means. As to your second question, I was hoping Red here," he jerked his chin up, indicating Willow where she stood by the stairs, "would be able to help me with that." He looked at Dawn levelly. "She's alive, Bit. But I don't know what caused this, and I don't know why I can't wake her."

Willow came forward, clutching her floral print dressing gown more tightly about herself. "Put her on the couch," she directed, pushing back the coffee table.

Spike knelt in front of the couch and gently deposited Buffy's unconscious form, straightening her legs and folding her arms over her. He smoothed the tangled strands of hair back from her brow and whispered, "I'll make it right, love. Somehow." He twisted around and looked up at Willow. "You brought her back last year from something like this when Glory had captured Dawn. You can do it again." His expression said that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"I'm not sure it's the same situation as it was then, Spike," she replied, gathering her thoughts.

"She's dreaming," said Dawn, suddenly. "Look! Her eyes are moving." Willow and Spike leaned forward to see for themselves.

"Your eyes move when you dream?" Spike asked.

"It's called REM sleep - for rapid eye movement," Willow explained to him, glad for the momentary distraction of being able to slip back into what she thought of as eduspeak. "It has to do with a certain level of consciousness . . . though the associated brain wave patterns were discovered probably quite a while after you were in school, I suppose," she added, almost apologetically.

"If it's just dreaming, then why can't I wake her?" Spike demanded, having quickly lost patience with her lecture and turning back. "Buffy? Buffy, love, come on - it's time to wake up." He popped the palm of his hand briskly against her cheek. "Rise and shine, greet the day and all that." When she didn't respond, he gripped her shoulders and shook her vigorously.

"I don't think--" Willow began.

"Slayer!" he roared, and drew back one hand to bring it down with a resounding crack across her face.

"Spike!" Dawn cried in alarm, clutching at his wrist with both hands as he drew back again. "You're hurting her!"

"Slayer c'n take it," he growled. "We've done more than that, us two, just playing at--" he bit off his words suddenly, remembering to whom he was speaking.

"Ewww." Dawn wrinkled her nose. "TMI, Spike." He quirked a brow. "Too much information," she added, at his puzzled glance.

"I know you're afraid for Buffy, Spike, but this is not helping her," Willow admonished. "We can't do anything until we know exactly what's happened."

He rose to his feet and stood over her menacingly. "Then do something, witch. Work your mojo and figure it out."

Behind him, Buffy moaned and twisted on the couch. Her forehead was beaded with sweat and her cheeks flushed angry red. Dawn bent and ran her hand over her sister's heated skin. "It sounds like the dreams are really nightmares," she said fearfully.

"She's been complaining of nightmares for the last few days," Willow reported. "I thought it was just, you know, the stress of having to work at the DoubleMeat and then - seeing Riley again, well - she took finding out he had gotten married kind of hard . . ."

"Tell me something I don't know," murmured Spike.

"Willow . . ." Dawn began.

"Do something," Spike finished for her, in a small voice completely unlike his usual brash tones. "Please."

"I don't - I don't do magic anymore. I can't," Willow stammered.

"You picked a bloody great time to stick to principles," Spike protested. "If you won't, then get someone here who will," he demanded. "Now!"

"Please Will," Dawn chimed in. "Buffy needs help."

"I'll call Tara," Willow said suddenly and resolutely, "She should be able to figure out what's happened." She headed for the kitchen phone; glad to be able to take some action.

Spike and Dawn stood at a loss for something to do. "Spike," said Dawn into the silence at last, taking his hand, "I'll stay with Buffy. Why don't you go upstairs and get cleaned up? It's probably going to be a long night."

He dropped his head. "Five minutes and I'll be back down," he agreed, resigned, and moved for the stairs. "You call me if anything changes, mind."

"I will," she assured him. "Go on, you look terrible."

"Matches how I feel, then." He shrugged out of his battered duster and left it folded over the banister before climbing the staircase.

In the upstairs bathroom, Spike leaned both hands against the mirror frame and stared intently - at the wall of the room behind him. He wondered just how many hundreds of times the mirror had contained her reflection, though it could never contain his. The scent of her in the room drove him nearly to distraction, so he ran a sink full of hot water, and then used his cupped hands to sluice it over his face and head. The water in the basin became tinged with pink as he rinsed the worst of the clotted blood from his hair. The heat of the water warmed his chill flesh, but did nothing to ease the cold inside. He was lost in contemplation when a sudden sound at the door made him whirl about, scattering shining drops from his skin and hair.

"I'm sorry," Dawn said softly, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Good thing my heart's already stopped," he complained, gruffly but not unkindly. "Is she--?"

"No change. Willow is with her now, and Tara's on the way. Since there's nothing else we can do right now, I thought I'd see if you needed any help." She smiled. "Is this your idea of washing up? Pouring hot water over yourself?"

"Cures a remarkable variety of ills, Niblet," he replied, "if properly applied."

She glanced speculatively at the mirror, then back at him. "You can't even tell that you missed a spot. Here-" She wet a washcloth and wiped gently at the remaining bloodstains. "How do you shave?" she wondered out loud.

He snorted mirthless laughter. "I'm a man of many talents," he said as he towelled himself dry.

Dawn drained the water from the sink, and then opened the medicine cabinet to retrieve some gauze and a bottle of alcohol, which she applied to the gauze liberally. She dabbed at the gash on Spike's temple.

"Hey!" He drew back sharply at the sting. "What is that stuff?"

"It's only alcohol, Spike," she answered, smiling. "Don't be such a big baby about it."

"I am not being-- Besides, alcohol's for drinking, not for pouring over my bloody head," he retorted.

"Actually, this alcohol is just the thing for your 'bloody head'," said Dawn, mimicking his accent - badly. "You want that cut to get infected?" She attempted to apply some more, but Spike caught her hand.

"Ow! I appreciate the thought, Niblet, I do, but I doubt that there are too many little beasties that would find me an appetizing meal. Let it be. I heal quickly." He slipped one arm around her for a brotherly hug. "Let's get back."

Willow met them at the bottom of the stairs. "Tara's coming," she confirmed, "but it may be a while before she can manage to find a ride from campus with all the stuff she'll need to bring." She turned back to the living room. "Buffy seems to become more agitated if there's no one near her, so I think we should take turns staying with her until Tara gets here." As if in agreement, Buffy moaned and tossed her head until Willow had moved back to her side.

"There's no need," Spike said. "I'll stay with her. You two should get some sleep."

"Like that's going to happen," Dawn replied, sitting on the couch and taking Buffy's head into her lap. "I'll stay too."

"Me too," added Willow. "You know, in case you need something."

Spike acknowledged their support with a nod. He lowered himself to the floor beside the couch and hugged his knees to his chest. Taking Buffy's hand, he brought it first gently to his cheek, and then interlaced his fingers with hers. He settled his weight back against the couch and dropped his chin to his chest as though to defy anyone to shift him from his chosen position.

Willow composed herself into one of the armchairs and all three descended into silent waiting, broken only occasionally by Buffy's murmurs.

Tara Investigates

Hours later, they sat in a circle on the living room floor and watched Tara as she sat deep in a trance state. The room flickered with candlelight and was filled with the odour of incense and sharp herbs. Her lips moved from time to time, but no one, not even Spike, could make out what she was saying. Willow was beginning to think her girlfriend had become lost in the dream state when Tara opened her eyes suddenly and took several deep, gasping breaths.

"What is it?" Spike demanded. "What did you see?"

She blinked a few times and shook her head to clear the disturbing images from it. "You were right," she said, "Buffy is having nightmares - and there seems to be some presence holding her there, not letting her wake up. Please understand," she insisted softly, "that with these simple tools, I can only get a glimpse of what she's experiencing. It's like using a television with poor reception versus being at a live show," she explained. "I haven't known Buffy as long as any of you, but it seemed to me she was reliving things that had happened to her in the past - unpleasant things."

"Well that could be practically anything in the last five years," said Willow, not really joking, "which doesn't really narrow it down at all . . ."

"It's not even as simple as that, Willow," Tara continued. "These dream memories are being twisted somehow to be worse than the actual events." She looked at Spike. "I saw you in her dreams. You were in a school, and . . . you killed her mother. And we know that's not true."

"Actually," he replied, obviously shaken, "she hit me with an axe, and ran me off. Never met a Slayer who had friends and family before. Joyce was quite the lady. I should have realized where Buffy got her strength."

Tara turned to Willow next. "I saw you die in one of her nightmares, Willow. A vampire tore your throat out . . ." her voice failed her suddenly.

"It's not real, sweetie," Willow reached for her hand to comfort her. "I'm still here, see? I mean, sure, I've been threatened a few times, but Buffy always came through for me in the end."

"But it is real for Buffy, don't you see? I think that these nightmares all represent times in her life when people she loved were at risk, only now she fails them, and they die. And every time that happens, she gets weaker, and less able to resist the images. Something is feeding on her fear and horror, and if we can't stop it - she'll die."

"Then we stop it. Now," Spike stated flatly. "What do we have to do?"

"I'm . . . not sure, yet," Tara apologized. "I need time to consider some ideas. This is far beyond anything I've ever dealt with before."

Spike surged to his feet and slammed his fist into the wall in frustration. "How much time?" he demanded. "She can't wait. You said it's killing her."

"Spike, we will bring her back. I promise you." Tara's voice was warm and strong, but she looked beseechingly at Willow.

"I think we all need a break," Willow offered as a distraction. "Why don't I make some coffee or something?"

"Buffy doesn't get a break," Spike observed quietly.

"I'll help you, Will," said Dawn, getting up from her seat on the floor. "Tea for you, Spike? I think we have a few teabags left." When he didn't acknowledge her, Dawn gave up and followed Willow into the kitchen. Once they were alone, Dawn ventured to speak her fears aloud. "What if we can't find anything?"

"We will," Willow assured her. "You and I and Tara will go to the Magic Box first thing and make with the research. We'll have the answer in no time." But her worried expression belied her cheerful tone.

"I hope so," said Dawn, fishing in the canister for a teabag as Willow put the coffeemaker on and plugged in a kettle for the hot water. "But I'm afraid-"

"Afraid of what? Being late for school? You should be." Xander's sudden appearance at the back door drew a small shriek from Willow. Dawn jumped and scattered teabags across the counter. "Look at you," he complained. "You're not even dressed yet, and we have to get going in five minutes."

"School! I had no idea it was so late already. Willow, you have to call me in sick today!" Dawn exclaimed. "I can't possibly go!"

"What's going on?" Xander inquired. "Is there a test? I could never get my mom to call me in sick on test days."

"Xander, it's Buffy." Dawn explained. "She was attacked on patrol last night. Spike brought her home."

"Oh my god!" he exclaimed. "Is she going to be okay? Where is she?"

"Xander, calm down. We're already doing everything we can," Willow said. "It was a magical attack, not physical. It seems to be some kind of spell that has trapped her in a nightmare world. Tara's here and soon we'll have a plan to deal with it. In the mean time," she added, "We should all try to carry on as normally as possible."

"Is that why you're putting salt in the cups, Will?" he inquired mildly. "Because I know that's the latest trend in all the best coffeehouses."

"What? Oh!" she exclaimed, seeing the cups in front of her as if for the first time. "I didn't say it would be easy," she replied, grateful for the moment's light humour. She quickly poured out the salt and wiped the cups clean. Just then the coffeemaker emitted the wheezing gurgle that signalled it was done.

"Let me get that," Xander offered. "I'll stay until there's some news. I don't think I could concentrate today - I might put a nail through my boot or something." He poured out coffee evenly into the cups and replaced the pot. "I'll just call the worksite and tell them I've got a family emergency. And Anya should know, too. Should I have her come over?"

"I think she can be more help there. See if she knows anything about demons associated with nightmares. Tell her we'll be in almost as soon as she opens, and we'd appreciate any advance work she can do," Willow requested.

"Will do," replied Xander, heading for the phone.

"Would it be too weird if I said I felt like having some cookies?" interjected Dawn suddenly in a worried tone, while she poured hot water into a thick white mug over one of the salvaged teabags.

"That's not weird at all, Dawnie," Willow reassured her. "When your body gets all stressed, carbohydrates and fats help keep you calm. That's why we get cravings sometimes. And the comfort of familiar foods is a big plus. Me, I want my Grandma Rosenberg's matzo ball soup - but cookies will do for now." Dawn dared a small smile, and Willow squeezed her shoulder. "Everything's going to work out fine, sweetie. You'll see." They placed the cups and a plate of cookies on a tray and headed back to the living room, where they distributed the bounty.

"Here's your tea, Spike," Dawn said, offering him the mug. He inspected the dusty teabag bobbing forlornly in the hot water, and waited until Dawn had turned away before setting it down untouched on a side table.

When Xander entered, he cast an unenthusiastic glance at Spike who had taken up Dawn's former post on the couch with Buffy's head cradled in his lap. "What's he still doing here?" he asked.

"Spike was with her when she was attacked," Willow explained. "He may be able to help us narrow down what's happened. Besides, now that the sun's up, he can't leave." Xander accepted the explanation without grace, but also without further comment.

By unspoken agreement, they kept their conversation to light topics as they ate and drank. Tara related the latest of Miss Kitty's adventures. Willow even managed to produce weak laughter from the group as she described the peculiarities of one of her professors. Dawn described the latest pair of shoes she wanted, though a momentary uncomfortable silence fell when Willow commented how she was 'just like her sister.' Xander rescued the conversation by describing plans for his upcoming wedding, but from his tone it seemed as though it rated not far below the current situation in angst. Only Spike remained silent - the skeleton at the feast - stroking Buffy's hair with a gentle hand to soothe her when she was disturbed.

The Scoobies Make Their Plan

"I have an idea that might work," Tara declared, when the cookies had been reduced to nothing but crumbs and the cups nearly drained. Everyone looked up at her expectantly. "We can send someone after her. Anchored here, but projected into her dreams, to find her and guide her back."

"Tell me what I have to do," Spike said immediately.

"Now hold on a minute," Xander protested. "Who said it would be you? I don't think you understand-"

"You don't think at all, so far as I've been able to determine," Spike retorted. "In fact-"

"Stop it, both of you," Willow scolded. "Let Tara explain."

Tara favoured her with a grateful glance. "It has to be someone close enough to her to form the mental bond, and who is strong enough to survive being plunged into her nightmares." She paused for a sip of her cooled coffee before continuing. "I haven't known her for as long as all of you have, but in any case, I'll be the one performing the linking spell. So it will have to be one of you," she concluded, looking at four equally concerned faces around the room.

They exchanged silent glances. Dawn was the first to speak. "The monks . . . made me, using Buffy as a pattern. I've got to be closer to her than anyone. And I've lived through plenty of awful stuff. I think I could take it."

"That's true, Dawnie," Tara replied. "But that very closeness might make you a target as well. The demon or sorcerer or whatever has caused this might find you equally appetizing." Dawn shivered at the thought.

"I guess I know Buffy the best," offered Willow next. "There isn't anything we haven't been able to talk about in the last five years - well, except recently," she had to admit. "I know I'm strong . . ." She was unable to finish her sentence.

"But you're afraid you might find it too hard to keep from using magic," Tara said sympathetically. "That it would control you instead of you controlling it, and put you both in danger."

Willow nodded, with a discomfited smile. "I wish more than anything that I could help somehow. I just don't think I dare to do it."

"I guess that leaves me," Xander said. "I've known Buffy just as long as Willow has, and I don't have any trouble with magic to worry about. That, plus my memories of being 'army guy' and my abilities with tools should make me the natural choice."

"So when you get there you'll build her a credenza?" Spike suggested mockingly, rolling his eyes. "That'll be useful."

Tara turned to look at him. "We haven't heard from you yet," she pointed out.

"Spike?" Xander laughed sharply. "You're joking. How could he possibly be the right one to send?"

"I'm in love with her," Spike said simply. "It should be me. And I'm stronger than any of you."

"Stronger physically, maybe," Xander countered. "Which may not mean a thing in her dreams. And just because you were obsessed with her doesn't mean she felt any connection to you."

Spike fixed him with a cool stare. "She was sleeping with me," he disclosed. "I think you'll find that will do for your connection."

Xander stared open-mouthed at him for long moments before finding his voice again. Not one of his friends had shown any signs of surprise at what to him was a shocking revelation. "You knew? You all knew?" he cried, looking from one to another in turn.

Spike shook his head. "Now I know why you became a carpenter, Harris. You're thick as a plank. You were there and you couldn't tell." Xander just stared at the vampire blankly. "Pushups, for crying out loud?" Spike reminded him.

"Oh god. Oh god!" Xander hyperventilated.

Spike ignored this hysterical display, though on a better day would have delighted in tormenting him even more. He addressed Tara with his next words, baring his heart to her because he knew it would be her judgment that decided the matter. "I've never felt for anyone, not even Dru, what I feel for Buffy. She inhabits my every waking moment; lives in my dreams. There's nothing I wouldn't do if I thought it would help her." He looked down at Buffy's troubled face before continuing. "She's more precious to me than water in the desert, because she recreates me a better man than I ever dreamed I'd become - though she doesn't know it." His measured words fell like stones into a deep well of silence.

"She doesn't love me," he felt forced to add, knowing that nothing but the naked truth would do. "But when she's cut, I bleed." He looked up, meeting Tara's gaze and pleading with more than words. No one spoke, waiting for her to render her decision. Finally, she nodded at Spike.

"So when do I go?" he asked, relieved beyond words.

"I can probably find the right spell and all the appropriate ingredients and equipment within the day," she said. "But the barrier between the waking world and the dream world isn't easily broken. We'll have the best chance if we wait until it's thinnest, on the night of the new moon. Three days," she clarified.

"Three--?" he choked off the words, knowing that Tara was simply telling him the truth. "I'll take her upstairs, then, and make her comfortable. Until you're ready."

"We'll start planning right away," she promised.

Xander Confronts Spike

Spike shifted on the couch until Buffy was balanced in his lap, and then came smoothly to his feet with her in his arms, cradled against him. He took the stairs slowly, afraid of disturbing his precious cargo. Behind him, Willow, Dawn and Tara began gathering their belongings, preparing for their trip to the Magic Box.

At the top of the stairs, Spike paused for a moment. He'd often pictured the day when he might actually enter Buffy's room at her invitation. Pushing the thought aside with some regret, he shouldered open the door. Although her bed was made, it was strewn with a variety of pillows, stuffed animals and clothing, leaving him to wonder how she ever made room to sleep in it. Dumping things unceremoniously to the floor, he laid her tenderly on the bed.

He unlaced first one shoe, then the other, slipping them from her feet like some contrary Prince Charming. Her socks were next, these he stuffed into the shoes where he had set them on the floor. He ran his hand slowly up one denim-clad leg, tracing the sinuous curve of the strong muscles in her calf and thigh until he reached the button at her waist. As he opened the fly of her jeans and slipped his hands under the waistband, he couldn't help but bring to mind the last time he'd had the opportunity to touch her so. He found it hard to believe that happy occasion had been little over a week ago.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Xander demanded from where he suddenly stood in the doorway.

"Making her comfortable," Spike replied evenly, drawing Buffy's jeans over her hips. He slipped them off, leaving her clad only in tank top and panties, then lifted her to bring the comforter out from under her and tuck her in. "Thought I explained that downstairs."

"You can't expect me to just stand here in her bedroom watching you take her clothes off," Xander protested.

"That's exactly what I expect, though a gentleman wouldn't watch," Spike replied. "What part of 'she's been sleeping with me' did you not understand? Aside from being here in her bedroom, none of this is exactly new territory for me." He drew the covers over her and plumped the pillow under her head. "She and I have been lovers for a few months, now." He saw no need to mention that Buffy had only recently called it off - in any case, he was certain she wouldn't have apologized about it if she didn't have some feelings for him - and it was certainly none of Harris's business. "I imagine I know things about her you've never dreamed of."

Xander's face flushed an embarrassed red; perhaps he could dream of those things, Spike thought. "Maybe you can fool the girls by spouting romantic drivel like that stuff downstairs; I know you've got some scheme in mind," Xander accused. "I'm not going to stand by and let you get your jollies while Buffy's unconscious."

"I'm here because Buffy needs someone to stay with her to keep her calm. And I'm only still speaking to you as though you might be civilized because she cares about what happens to you, though for what reason I'm having trouble comprehending," Spike snapped. "So take yourself off, before I throw you out."

"And how will you do that, Spike?" he retorted. "You so much as touch me and that chip in your head will leave you whimpering like a baby. "

"You're nothing but a schoolyard bully, aren't you Harris? Does it comfort you, knowing I can't hurt you? Let you act the man? I'd be more than happy to give it a try, you know."

"I don't need help from the chip to deal with you." Xander turned to Buffy's desk, where he knew she kept some of her weapons and other anti-vampire paraphernalia, and retrieved a simple wooden cross. Brandishing the cross in front of him, Xander advanced on Spike. "Get away from her."

Spike flinched at the cross, but didn't retreat. Keeping his face turned away, he moved forward slowly, instead. "You're the one who's getting married soon," he said. "You should know what it feels like to be in love. When you look at her, you can't imagine being without her. Everything you do takes on a different meaning when you know what she thinks of it.

"Or maybe you're not so sure anymore?" he probed, looking for weakness. "Because if you were in love, really in love, you'd know-" Moving faster than the eye could follow, Spike seized the cross, trapping Xander's hand as well. Behind him, Buffy moaned and began to thrash about in the bed. Acrid smoke rose between them as Spike's skin began to crisp and blacken, but he refused to relent. "-You'd know that nothing . . . else . . . matters." With each word, he tightened his grip, until the wood of the cross snapped and fell to the floor. "Now get out."

Clutching his own wounded hand, Xander backed to the door. His face bore the expression of a man who was being forced to contemplate unpleasant truths. "Spike, I-"

Spike dragged the armchair over to beside the bed and collapsed into it, cradling his now useless left hand in his lap. With the other, he reached for Buffy and encircled her wrist gently. She quieted against her pillow again and he felt her pulse slow somewhat, though it was still faster than he would like.

"She came to me," he said, not bothering to look up again. "Every time. You might want to ask yourself what she wasn't getting from her friends. Besides the great sex, I mean."

Xander left without another word, closing the door softly behind him. Spike threw his head back in the chair and let the pain of his hand wash over him, whiting out, however briefly, the sharper pain inside.

Devotion

Spike marked the passage of the hours with the changing angle of the shadows against the blinds. He had moved from the chair exactly once: to close the blinds against the advancing day. Having no human bodily needs to trouble him, he remained in the chair within arm's reach of Buffy, alternately dozing and waking as her restlessness or the twinges of pain from his burned hand disturbed him.

Late in the afternoon - as he judged the sun's position - he heard the sounds of the others returning. Dawn's light tread was the first up the stairs, followed closely by Willow and Tara. They trooped into the room together, bearing bags and books from the Magic Box that they deposited about the foot of the bed, adding to the clutter.

"How's Buffy?" Dawn asked, taking up a position on the bed next to her sister and curling her feet under her, cat-like. She absently smoothed the comforter where it lay across Buffy's hips.

"No changes," he replied. Turning to address Willow and Tara, he added, "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"The supplies for the spell itself were basic enough," Tara said, "since there are no real physical manifestations required, only a mental link. Some incense, candles, oil of protection . . . the usual stuff."

"Ah . . . maybe I'll go and start something for dinner," Willow interrupted. "No - it's okay, really," she added, when Tara would have gone with her. "I can get to work on searching the net for some more information while I cook. You tell Spike about the spell and what else we found."

"I'll be down to help in a bit, then," Tara replied, and Willow waved acknowledgement as she left the room. "The spell is a simple 'net of Thessaly'," she said, turning back to Spike, "It's a linking of your psychic selves, or astral bodies, if you prefer. It will allow us to-" she stopped at Spike's look.

"I'm sure it will turn the trick," he said, "but it's really not my line."

"No, of course not," she murmured, embarrassed.

"What I would really like to know," he continued, "is who or what is doing this to her. Tell me who I should kill to make it stop."

Tara paused, taken somewhat aback by the vehemence in his tone. Even Dawn looked surprised at this bloodthirsty comment, though she had heard enough of his stories to know he meant every word.

"Tell him about the Nightmare Master, Tara," Dawn prompted.

"Well," Tara began, gathering her thoughts again. "We found references in a number of obscure texts on an ethereal demonic figure that feeds on nightmares, variously called Majinamizi, Alpträumenmeister, Daraa'ona Khwaab - among others. The variety of names indicates it's found in almost every culture in the world, and is blamed for bad dreams and nightmares in general. With the whole world to feed on, most people would never experience more than a few nightmares a year."

"Kids are more susceptible," Dawn added. "I remember when I was little, I used to wake up screaming but I could never explain to my mom what I was so upset about."

Spike blinked thoughtfully, considering the intricacy and power of the monks' spell that had created Dawn, even down to such details. "So, with a whole world to feed on, why Buffy? And why now?" he asked.

"It's possible his presence can be invoked as a curse," Tara explained. "In all the references we managed to find, it's said that the words of the curse themselves have been lost. But if someone managed to rediscover them . . ." she didn't need to elaborate.

"Then he - it - feeds on the nightmare-induced energy of just one person . . . until they die," Spike concluded. "So I have to find it and kill it before it kills Buffy."

"Oh no," Tara countered. "You can't kill it."

"Watch me," he retorted.

"No - I only meant it's actually something necessary. Without the release of negative psychic energy in nightmares, it would build up inside everyone until it couldn't be contained any more-"

"And everyone goes nuts," finished Dawn.

"Bloody marvellous," intoned Spike gravely, leaning back in the chair. "Those are my choices, then? Either Buffy dies or the world goes mad?"

"We think - we hope - that it's possible to sever the link with Buffy, but leave the Nightmare Master unharmed. That's what you'll have to do," Tara said.

"And you can't tell me how, or even what to look for, right?"

"That's what Willow is going to try and find out over the next two days, before you have to go in," she said. "We will find something to help," she assured him again. "It's the waiting that makes this so difficult."

Spike acknowledged the heartfelt sentiment with a weary nod as Tara turned to go.

"I'll be helping Willow with supper if you need me," she said. "Dawn? You coming?"

"I'm going to stay with Buffy for a while," Dawn replied. "Call me when it's ready, please?" Tara smiled and agreed.

As soon as she had closed the door behind her, Dawn leaned forward and asked Spike, "So, what happened to your hand?" At his surprised look, she added, "It was obvious you were trying not to draw attention to it - I do it all the time - now spill!"

" 's nothing, Bit. A little disagreement is all," he disclosed.

"With what? A flamethrower?" Dawn's breath hissed between her teeth as he opened his curled fingers to reveal the blackened and weeping flesh. "Ewww!"

"Cross," he admitted grudgingly, tipping his head to the corner of the room where he had kicked the pieces earlier.

"Who was in here-" Dawn's eyes widened and she breathed, "Xander. Xander did this? No wonder he's not hanging around here any more today. And I used to have such a crush on him, too."

"Let it go, Niblet," Spike said. "It's over now. We settled it."

Dawn's expression was unsatisfied, but she said no more. Instead, she got up off the bed and went back to the bathroom to retrieve the roll of gauze and a tube of antiseptic cream. "I know you said you can't get infected, Spike, but can I at least wrap your hand? It looks like it must really hurt."

"It does that," he agreed, holding out his hand to her ministrations. Dawn spread some of the cream gently on the worst of the burns and then wound the gauze with surprising skill around his wrist, palm and fingers, securing it finally with tiny gold safety pins.

"Hmm. A regular Florence Nightingale. I'll bet you were one of those kids who was always bringing home injured animals and asking your mom if you could keep them," he said when she had finished.

"I was," she confirmed. "I could have filled the house and started my own pet shop. Mom drew the line at snakes and other reptiles, though." She laughed at this happy recollection. "I even thought about becoming a vet for a while."

Spike smiled, glad to have been the source of such an innocent pleasure and distraction. "Tell me more about what it was like for you growing up, Dawn," he encouraged.

She blinked. "You know, I think that may be the first time you've actually called me by my name."

They spent an hour talking about how it felt to be the Slayer's younger sister - and even just to be Buffy's sister before that. Spike himself even unbent enough to share a few details from his own childhood and life before Dru had turned him. Both of them were disappointed when Willow called up for Dawn to come to dinner.

"I'll be back right after. Maybe I'll even bring my homework up and do it here," she said, as she slipped out the door.

Spike only nodded, and returned to his vigil.

Later that night, after dinner, after homework, Spike sat alone again, listening to the nighttime noises of the house. Tara had stayed the night with Willow again at last, and he had listened for no little time to the sounds of their love, feeling very hollow. It seemed a crisis was good for bringing some people together, at least. Dawn was a near silent sleeper, as far as he could hear, except for intermittent mumbled words. When these ceased, he wasn't really surprised to find her standing at Buffy's bedroom door in her pyjamas, clutching a stuffed animal tightly to her chest.

"I couldn't sleep any more," she said. "Do you think it would be okay . . . if I climbed in with Buffy for a while?"

"Might even help her," he replied warmly.

"You don't have to go, or anything," Dawn reassured him. "I only want to stay a while." But within minutes, curled against Buffy under the covers, she was deeply asleep.

The nadir of night found Spike wandering the floor, muttering darkly to himself. "She's the Slayer. It's not like it would hurt her - and it wouldn't be that much." He grimaced, feeling an endless, bottomless desire begin to stir again. "I won't," he challenged himself, "not like that. Not at all," he corrected emphatically.

"Or Dawn. Wouldn't hurt us but a moment, then so sweet." He suddenly ground his fist into the palm of his wounded left hand, letting the resulting pain drive the hunger from him for another little while.

He took to pacing restlessly, since Dawn's presence was enough to keep Buffy calm. The night seemed to last a hundred years as he wrestled for control, demon and man battling for power in one body. Spike clutched the windowsill and felt his face surge between man and monster, and he groaned. Opening the blinds and the windows, he climbed out onto the roof, hoping the cool night air would chill the raging desire inside. He clutched his knees to his chest and dropped his chin, waiting for day.

Sunrise found him back in his chair, hollow eyed but clear headed again. Daylight beyond the re-closed blinds helped to keep the demon at bay. He wouldn't be worried again until nightfall. He hoped.

"What time is it?" Dawn murmured, stirring at last, and reached out blindly for the clock. When her searching hand encountered her sister's still form, she sat up suddenly. "Wow! I must have been really tired after all," she said to herself. She started suddenly, seeing Spike at the side of the bed. "Forgot you were there," she blushed, drawing the covers back up over herself.

"I'll take that as a complement, I suppose," he replied. "If you want to dash for the door, I promise I'll not look."

"I don't think I can get away with another day of missing school, even if Willow did call it in," Dawn said, swinging her feet over the side of the bed. "And I so don't need to be hauled off by social services, so I better be ready when Xander gets here this time." At the door, she turned and looked back. "You know I'd stay here with you otherwise, right?"

"I know," he agreed.

It wasn't even ten more minutes before Xander was yelling up the stairs for Dawn to hurry up. When she didn't reply, Spike could hear him taking the stairs two at a time, promising to come haul the procrastinating teen off to school bodily, if necessary. The booted feet paused outside Buffy's bedroom.

Xander peered in around the door; uncertain of the reception he'd receive. "How's Buffy doing this morning?" he asked, with cautious politeness. When Spike didn't bother to react to his presence, Xander looked him over carefully. "Man, you look like crap. You should really grab a shower and something to eat," he said thoughtlessly.

Spike raised haunted eyes to him. "You know what I eat," he said dully. "Where exactly do you suggest I get it?"

"Right. Forget I said anything," he said, and disappeared behind the closing door again, calling for Dawn.

The second day passed much the same as the first, though this time he held long imaginary conversations with the plush bear Dawn had left on the bed. He wondered if he might already be feeling the effects of the Nightmare Master's absence.

Spike dozed fitfully through the day, but awoke with a start when he heard Dawn at the bedroom door. At least, he thought it was the sound that had wakened him; until the scent of blood brought him fully alert, and roused the demon within. He heaved himself to his feet and reached the door before she could open it.

"Spike?" she asked, finding the door blocked against her. "I - we - I'm so sorry," she finally managed to stammer. "We never even thought to bring you something to eat until I was talking to Xander on the way to school this morning, and then it was too late to do anything until now."

"Just hand it to me," he said, growling around his fangs. "Don't come in."

"Okay," she said, puzzled, doing as he had asked and passing the warmed mug of blood through the opening. "Are you okay? You sound funny. Can I help-"

"No! I . . . don't want you to see me like this," he admitted, shamed that he'd lost control so easily after everything he'd overcome through the night. "Just go away." Hurt, she did as he requested.

Before she had even gone a few steps, Spike had drained the mug, greedily licking every trace of blood from the rim, then swiping his hand about the inside and sucking the last of it from his fingers. He fell to his knees and doubled over, his chest heaving with dry, wracking sobs. Relief sang through every nerve in his body, but in his mind he knew he'd just failed another test.

The Spell is Cast

Spike spent his second night watching over Buffy alone, though Dawn did bid him a timid goodnight through the door. He supposed he couldn't blame her - he hadn't exactly sounded in a mood to receive visitors when they had spoken earlier.

This time, not suffering from hunger, he was able to maintain control through the night. Instead of his own demon, he wrestled alternately with self-doubt and anger.

And so on, and so on, until the first light of day.

Dawn knocked hesitantly on the bedroom door a little after sunrise. "Spike? I brought you some - breakfast, I guess." She paused. "I'll just leave it outside the door, okay?"

Spike opened the door, startling her, and some of the warm blood in the mug she carried slipped over the rim and stained her fingers red. He jerked his attention almost physically from her hands back to her face.

"I'm sorry about yesterday, Niblet," he said. "Hunger can make a bloke a bit tetchy." He took the mug from her hands. "Go wash up, and then come sit with us for a bit, if you've got time." When she had gone, he drained the mug with a few swift gulps, and set it aside.

Dawn stood unmoving in the washroom for several minutes, staring at her stained fingers. I wonder what it's like, she thought, to need something so much. Does it even taste good, or does he just have to have it anyway? She brought her fingers to her lips and tentatively touched one to her tongue.

"Uaagh!" she gagged and spat, quickly rinsing her hands and reaching for the bottle of mouthwash. That was so disgusting. I'm never going to let anyone turn me - and I swear I'll never complain about Buffy's cooking again.

She made her way back into Buffy's bedroom, hoping that Spike hadn't heard and wouldn't ask what she'd been doing. She found him composed comfortably in the armchair, waiting. But before she could even ask how Buffy was, Xander's voice boomed up from downstairs.

Dawn shrugged regretfully and then, to the great surprise of both of them, darted forward impulsively to kiss Spike's cheek. "Thank you for looking after her, Spike," she said, and then dashed for the door. He sat there, stunned, and brought his hand up to his face.

*********

Tara and Willow returned in the late afternoon bearing supplies for the spell - a surprisingly small number of items, Spike decided, based on what little he knew of magic. Dawn arrived a little after, just as they had finished marking a number of symbols on the floor around the bed.

"Did you hear?" she asked breathlessly as she entered the room. "There was another robbery last night at the museum. The thieves took a couple of Inca enamelled medallions and a ruby necklace. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked.

"The nerds?" Willow enquired, and Dawn nodded.

"You don't suppose they're the ones who cursed Buffy, do you?" Dawn asked. "So that she wouldn't be able to stop them?"

"We have to find them and put an end to this," Willow insisted. "They don't know what they're messing with now. They could unleash something even worse - if that's possible."

"When we get back, I'll hunt them down and kill them myself," Spike interjected. Willow and Dawn shared the same disbelieving look. "Oh, all right," he admitted, "I'll have to hire it done. But if I find they're the ones who are hurting Buffy, they won't be around for too bloody long."

"We're almost ready to start," Tara said, to make them focus again on the predicament at hand. "As soon as the sun sets, we'll begin. Better get something to eat and take any bathroom breaks you need now."

**********

They gathered together again in Buffy's bedroom at dusk. Tara handed Dawn several fat candles. "Set these into the markings on the floor, Dawn," she instructed. "Then bring me those jars and brushes from the dresser." When Dawn had done so, Tara turned to Spike.

"We need to draw a number of symbols on you as well," she said, almost apologetically. "Forehead, throat, chest, hands and feet. They'll help focus the energy of the spell that sends you into Buffy's dream world."

"Right," he said, matter-of-factly. "Where should I be?"

"Umm . . . it would probably be easiest if you lie on the bed next to Buffy," she said.

Spike complied; first sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his boots and socks, then reaching up and pulling his tee shirt over his head. He lay back on the bed, resting his hands on his thighs.

Tara handed a jar of pigment and a small brush to Willow, who moved up beside the bed. "You okay with this, Red?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm not activating the spell," she explained. "I just have better handwriting." The amount of laughter this provoked from the four of them was all out of proportion to the humour of her statement, but it helped relieve some of the tension in the room. She proceeded to brush several intricate signs all over Spike's prone form. "I hope you're not ticklish," she murmured.

He was, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit it. 'Former Sunnydale Big Bad Vampire Reduced to Giggles'. I don't bloody think so. He bit his tongue to maintain his control. Buffy knew, of course - she'd taken advantage of the fact several times. He cut off that thought sharply; it hurt too much.

Willow stepped back and surveyed her handiwork critically. She sat on the edge of the bed again and leaned over to modify some of the markings. When they were corrected to her satisfaction, she looked down at Spike, who was lying back with his eyes closed. As though by instinct, she bent forward and barely grazed his lips with her own. His eyes flew open, and she jumped back, startled.

"For - for luck," she whispered shyly. "Please bring her back safely." Then nothing would do but that Dawn should come around the bed and repeat her action.

Spike looked expectantly across the room at Tara, who only smiled and shook her head. "You're not my type," she murmured.

"What, and spoil my luck?" he asked with a grin, laying his head back on the pillow. "Let's get this show started."

"Right," Tara agreed. "Dawn, light the candles." Tara dragged the armchair to the foot of the bed and held the open spell book in her lap. She paused before beginning the spell that would send Spike into Buffy's nightmares for a last bit of advice. "When you arrive in her dreams, somewhere on yourself you'll find a talisman that represents my link to you. You'll have a second one for Buffy as well. When you find her, get her to put it on. I'll know then that you've found her, and I can bring you both out."

"Talisman, right," he confirmed. "What's it look like?"

Tara only shook her head. "I don't know. Its form will be dictated by the dream world. I only know it will be something you wouldn't normally wear."

"Just my luck it'll be a bloody crucifix," Spike muttered darkly.

Tara unfolded the sheaf of papers where she had made her notes and began to read in an ancient language. The air rang like a bell with her words, and Spike felt a tingling whisper of a breeze caress his skin. He reached for Buffy's still hand with his bandaged one and clasped it tightly.

A kaleidoscope of images swallowed him.

The mad whirl of visions threatened to make him physically ill - only he couldn't feel his own body anymore. She's had three days of this? he despaired, and then was suddenly cast headlong onto a dew-drenched lawn.

Triplet

Nightmares Again

He lay on the cool, wet grass for some time until he was sure there would be no more movement. Getting to his feet slowly, he surveyed his surroundings. It looked as though it could be any one of the many Sunnydale cemeteries, not long after sunset. Except that where the graveyard should have ended and the town begun, there was . . . nothing. A blank wall of what looked like mist surrounded the area on all sides. Must mean that the nightmare takes place only here, he decided.

An unfamiliar sensation made him look down. Wrapped in intricate coils around the wrist and fingers of his right hand was a rawhide thong threaded with several irregularly shaped stones. A large, flat stone centred on the back of his hand glowed softly with an amber light. A second thong dangled loosely from his wrist, and he wrapped it up securely until he could find Buffy and give it to her. Not my style, no. But as long as it works . . .

Movement near an ornate marble crypt caught his attention. A single figure in white emerged from the doorway and walked uncertainly into the graveyard. Fledgling vampire, Spike thought, still getting used to the new senses - and hungry. He moved closer, attracted by something he couldn't name.

The young female vampire stumbled and fell to the ground as he approached, and she leaned heavily on a nearby headstone trying to get to her feet again. It wasn't until he had come up nearly beside her that she noticed his presence and turned wary golden eyes to this new threat. Her mouth was liberally streaked with fresh blood.

All the strength left his limbs and he collapsed to his knees beside her. The flesh on his arms pricked sharply as he reached for her. Ah, love. I'm so sorry - I couldn't get here in time. To become the antithesis of everything you believe in . . .

Before he could finish this thought, the dim light wavered strangely around him, and Buffy and the cemetery both vanished. The whirlwind returned and swept him away as well.

Break of Dawn

A cemetery again; and a small, lone figure kneeling by a headstone with an air of infinite sorrow. Spike walked slowly forward, assessing this new scenario. "Buffy?" he called softly. She didn't stir, but kept watch over the fresh grave.

He moved up until he stood close behind her. It was only then that he managed to see that the inscription on the headstone read "Dawn Summers - Beloved Daughter and Sister - 1987-2002". Not my Niblet - please, no! he pleaded to any powers that might deign to hear such a creature as himself.

"Buffy, I-" There were absolutely no words he could say that would make any difference, so he only laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Without even turning to acknowledge his presence, she shook his hand away impatiently. Her own hands remained folded in her lap.

He tried again to get her attention, dropping to one knee in front of her and reaching to turn her head towards him. "Love, look at me. This isn't real." Faster than his eye could follow, her arm lashed out and knocked him onto his back on the close-cropped lawn. His attention was suddenly riveted by the stake that appeared in her hand, and he scrabbled backward away from her. So intent was he on avoiding what seemed to be swiftly advancing woody death that at first he didn't see the ground begin to stir behind her.

Buffy spun around at once in response to the noise. One small hand, and then another, appeared above the loose soil. In an appalling caricature of birth, Dawn's dark head pushed free of the grave and she clawed her way free. Her rough face and yellow eyes held no recognition or any sign of human emotion, only a fierce hunger that demanded satisfaction as she advanced on her sister.

Spike watched, frozen in shock, as Buffy seized Dawn by the bodice of her simple dress and plunged the stake mercilessly into her heart. Ashes and dust scattered on a sudden gust of wind. Her face hard and cold, Buffy stood looking down at the disturbed earth. Then, as if the Slayer's strength had suddenly been stripped from her, her expression crumbled into grief and she fell to her knees, clutching desperately at the damp earth and sobbing.

His paralysis broken, Spike tried to move forward to comfort her, but when he reached for her his hands passed through her huddled form. All he felt was a tingle in his fingertips like an electric shock. Too late, always too late. The wind licked at her hair and she was gone.

Resurrection

He appeared in a forest glade but it sounded more like a freeway, echoing with the sound of motorcycle engines. The engine noises faded gradually, and he looked around with a sudden anxiety, realizing where he must be. Where he had spent hours every night the last summer, remembering how he had been faster, or stronger, or more clever, and she wasn't really lying cold in the ground below him. As he turned, he saw her simple headstone and stepped forward involuntarily. His boot crushed shards of pottery underfoot and he bent to retrieve pieces of a broken urn. The scent of fresh blood was still sharp in the air.

Only moments after the resurrection spell had been cast, Willow and the others had been driven from Buffy's hidden grave by the marauders. They hadn't returned, thinking that the broken urn meant the spell hadn't been completed. Instead, they had left Buffy . . . Spike dropped to his knees and began frantically tearing at the soil; heedless of the damage he was doing to himself. Below him, through several feet of earth, he could hear the desperate scrabble of her small hands hammering at the lid of her coffin, her panic-stricken gasps as the air began to go stale.

Spike threw earth aside wildly in his need to reach her, to save her. He reached the wood of the coffin just as Buffy's hands broke through. He grabbed the jagged edges of the hole and ripped the wood away, widening the opening enough to haul her through and into his arms.

"I'm here, love," he murmured over and over into her ear. "It's over now. It was only a dream." Everything twisted and spun; she was gone from his arms and he was gone from her world.

Chapter 18:

Chapter 19: