She was beautiful. Tall and graceful with masses of long near black hair and huge silvery gray eyes, she had a mysteriousness to her, a fey, other-worldly quality that reminded Buffy in some ways of Drusilla.

Not that there was any obvious insanity, but she had that whole drifty-spacey-I-sorta-live-in-my-own-world-and-I-like-it-here-just-fine thing going on. Definitely reminiscent of the vampiress.

Buffy didn’t like her. At all.

C’erdd-Circe of Gwen’s voluptuousness, her height and grace, were making the Slayer feel short and oddly unfeminine. And, as Xander might say, if he could pull his tongue back into his mouth, ‘Great Googly-Moogly! What, in the name of all that’s diaphanous, was the witch wearing?’ Her curvy-in-all-the-places-men-like-curves body was draped in some flowing fabric that, with a good number of her dramatic movements, went completely transparent. Xander hadn’t blinked for at least ten minutes, and, after the first stare of surprise, Giles had quite studiously avoiding looking anywhere in her direction.

The longer she watched the white witch sway and chant, the more Buffy found herself longing to discover that the other woman was a demon of some type so she could indulge herself by knocking her unconscious.

How had Spike met her? And when?

As she continued her exotic and bordering-on-pornographic movements, the witch was busy preparing an oddly-scented concoction, and Buffy, who had been keeping a careful eye on the ingredients going into the glass bowl on the table, sincerely hoped the woman wasn’t expecting them to actually drink any of it. Because - no. If she had anything to say about it, and she would, none of it would be passing Dawn’s lips either. In her opinion, they’d be a lot safer taking their chances with Willow.

Chant, sway, drop in eye of newt. Sway more. Add sensuous arching of back, flash full frontal nudity, and toss hair.

Instinctively, Buffy found herself reaching for a stake. She could just twirl it couldn’t she? All sorta nonchalant-like? Damn. No stake. She glanced longingly at Giles’ weapons chest. Her Watcher was sitting on it, studying some notes. Double damn.

Dawn’s eyes, which had done a whole popping thing as soon as the witch had come into the room, had recovered and gone narrow. She leaned closer to her sister. “What kind of material is that? I can totally see her -”

“Shhh,” Buffy hushed her.

“She could at least wear something under it! Anything!” Dawn hissed back. “Hello! Minor here! I didn’t know this was going to be an X-rated spell casting. And her boobs are huge!” Dawn folded her arms, looking mutinous. “How well does Spike know her?”

Buffy gave her the Summers Death Glare - Version: Sister Special, but Dawn missed her reaction because C’erdd-Circe, did one have to say the ‘of Gwen’ part?, chose that moment to lift her arms over her head and sway even more enthusiastically to some unheard rhythm. Transparency alert! Dawn gasped, Buffy folded her arms, and Xander tried to cover his groan with a cough.

Anya sidled up next to the Summers girls, taking the side not occupied by the enthralled Tara. “I vote you beat her up,” she said to Buffy under her breath. “I don’t like her. Or trust her.” She paused, studying the next movements of the witch’s elaborate production number. “Is Spike boinking her?”

Buffy clenched her teeth. “I have no idea,” she gritted out. Then her eyes widened as she realized she was feeling jealous and possessive and vaguely threatened. Oh. My. God. That was sooo not good. Er, um, she frowned, was it?

“She’s obviously evil.” Anya went on. “Evil and naked.”

“I think she’s beautiful.” Buffy and Dawn turned to gawk at Tara. Her awe had been clear on her face, but they were still surprised to hear her voice it.

“Yes. And you’re gay. You’re probably lusting after her amazingly well endowed and unnaturally firm body.”

Tara’s enraptured expression faded and she looked slightly stricken.

“She’s not lusting after her well-endowed parts, or, er, any of her other parts, either,” Buffy objected, trying to stare Anya down. “No lusting. She is lustless.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Anya said. “After all, her lover is insane now. In my opinion that frees her up to lust after anyone she darn well pleases.” She leaned around the sisters to smile encouragingly at Tara. “You go, girl!”

“I - I’m n-not ready to g-go!” Tara stammered out a protest. Her own arms folded.

“Of course you’re not! Willow has only been insane for a few days!” Buffy’s eyes went huge again. “I mean -” she turned to glare harder at Anya. “Willow is not insane! She’s just…” Buffy trailed off, attempting to find the right word.

Dawn raised a brow. “Crazy?” she suggested. “Nuts?”

“Wildly unstable?” Anya contributed.

“Confused,” Buffy decided at last, trying to sound firm. She really wanted to spare Tara this discussion, but Tara surprised her for the second time in as many minutes.

“It’s okay,” she said. Both the distress and the stammer had disappeared from her voice. Instead, she just sounded sad. “Willow is unstable right now. And dangerous. If I didn’t believe that, I never would have agreed to have the protection spell done. I know this is something we need to do. All of us.”

The women were silent for a moment, gauging the truth of that. Naked witch or not, none of them were going to refuse to have the protection spell done and they all knew it. Unless…

“Is she expecting us to drink that disgusting goop?” Dawn voiced their collective fear.

“No,” Tara calmed them. “She anoints us with it.”

“Oh.” Anointing they could probably live with.

“Do you think she has implants?” Anya tilted her head, studying the witch closely.

“Yes,” all three of the other women answered together. Nearby, Xander coughed again.

“Aren’t white witches supposed to be all with the respecting of nature? Surgically altering your body doesn’t seem very respectful to me.” Anya’s arms were folded now, too, making the gesture unanimous among all the fully-clothed-in-non-transparent-clothing females in the room. She turned to glare at her fiancé. “If you want to see me naked anytime in this century - which I’ll remind you, Xander Harris, is very, very young - you will stop panting now.”

“I’m not,” he panted. “Panting. No panting here.”

Giles joined them. “I could hear your huffing clearly from across the room,” he said.

“Hey! Guy here! Could we please have some guy-type solidarity? A little stick-up-for-each-otherness?”

“I’ll consider it when you’re able to breathe normally again,” Giles said dryly. He inclined his head toward the witch. “I believe she’s ready for us.”

~*~

“I don’t feel any different. Well, kinda hyper. She said that junk she rubbed on us might make some of us act kinda weird and hyper-like for a few hours. Do you feel different? Or hyper? Or different?”

“No, Dawnster. I don’t think any of us do,” Xander added. He had no idea how any of the others were feeling, but he was the third person she’d asked the same questions of in the last one point five minutes, and, by reassuring her, he thought he might be able to head Dawn off before she cornered Giles and Tara and started chattering away to them as well.

“What did she say to you?” Dawn plowed on. “Did she say something weird? Insightful-like? Or sorta forecasty?”

Sooo not going there. The Xan-man and testing did not go together well. Exams had long been total choke time for him, and in his opinion, no more school should translate into no more testing. Ever. With a side dish of never.

Was ‘you will be tested’ forecasty? It had a forecasty feel to it, but he didn’t much feel like thinking about the witch’s words right now. Every time he saw Willow, even for a minute or two, floating in the air, unconscious, and looking like she belonged in some freakish sci-fi film, his this-cannot-be-happening sense of unreality increased. This was the third night she’d been hovering in mid-air in the corner of Giles’ spare bedroom, and he still felt completely shocked every time he caught sight of her. During most of his ‘Willow-Watching’ shifts, he, and Ahn, if she was with him, tried to keep Willow within their range of sight while avoiding looking directly at her. They’d agreed that simpled things up for them mentally. Thankfully, Willow seemed completely unaware of anything. Almost peaceful. The miniature lightning bolts had stopped zooming around her that first night, as soon as Giles had sent her to sleep. Which was good. And even with her head bent forward toward her chest, she didn’t look all uncomfortable or anything. She just looked - floaty. And creepy.

Way creepy.

Don’t look right at her, he told himself. Again. It’s easier.

“No,” he denied. “It was nothing.”

“Oh.”

“Why? Did she say something like that to you?”

“No,” Dawn glanced away briefly as she answered, but her eyes returned almost immediately to Xander. “Besides, Giles and Tara didn’t, like, certify her as a fortune teller or anything, right? So even if she spouted out - stuff - it wouldn’t necessarily mean anything. She could, you know, be totally wrong about, er, whatever she said. Anything forecasty. And hey! No crystal ball. I bet it was all totally bogus.

“She was just supposed to be good at protection spells. And I’m not even sure if that worked. ‘Cause I don’t feel any different. Am I supposed to? Do you? You know, feel different?”

~*~

Buffy was glad to see her leave. Weird witchy person. And what was up with that Ancient Knight from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade stuff?

Huh?

Buffy was literally bouncing on the balls of her feet as she stared at the door C’erdd-Circe of Gwen had just passed through. Maybe she’d get arrested for indecent exposure on the way home. They could all read about her in the paper tomorrow and gloat. Except Xander. He’d probably go downtown and check out the mug shots or something. Buffy was pretty sure Tara would want to go with him.

Did the witch’s weirdo-ness remind Spike of Drusilla, too? Did that make her his type?

Oh. My. God.

Was she a weirdo? Is that why Spike was attracted to her? Oh, stop being so stupid, Buffy, she chided herself. You’re not nearly as weird/freaky/insane as Drusilla was. You’re only sorta weird and a little freaky and mostly not insane at all.

Still….

How had he met her?

And, just out of curiosity, could she hit something now? Or maybe get doughnuts? Oooh - with jelly!

~*~

Tara left the bedroom where Willow was ensconced, if it could be called that, and went into the kitchen to join Mr. Giles. One more minute with her former lover’s floating body and she would scream. Loudly. Which would probably send the entire Slayer Circle into shock, and she didn’t think now was a good time for that.

The Watcher was preparing some tea.

“Would you like some help with that?” Tara asked quietly.

He started. Apparently he hadn’t heard her come in. Soft of foot, Tara thought, that’s me.

Giles smiled. “Of course. Thank you.”

“I hope you’ve chosen something without caffeine,” Tara added. “I think Buffy and Dawn are having that hyperactivity side effect C’erdd-Circe warned us about. They’re practically bouncing off the walls. Anya’s looking a little strung out as well.”

“How about you?” he asked, looking concerned.

“I’m a little tense,” Tara admitted. “But I think that’s just from seeing Willow like…”

“Yes, quite.” He handed her some plates, and watched as she set them out on the counter. “You are confident this spell was completely safe?”

“Yes,” she assured him. Tara had taken her responsibility in that area very seriously. The last thing they needed was more trouble with unstable spells, untested magic, or anything remotely dangerous. After Giles had made inquiries about C’erdd-Circe of Gwen, and, satisfied, had given the initial go-ahead, Tara had met with the white witch to go over every detail of the spell carefully. Tonight, she’d examined the ingredients, she’d watched them as they were being combined, and even though she’d been slightly distracted by the other woman’s beauty, she’d paid fairly close attention to everything that was being said as well. She was certain everything that had transpired had been safe.

“May I ask you something, Tara?”

“S-sure.”

“Do I seem close-minded to you?”

The question surprised her. “N-no. Not at all. I think you have a very curious mind. You, um… You seem to like learning new things, exploring issues from all sides.”

He looked pleased. “I’ve always thought so.”

“Examining the ups and downs, finding just one more source to confirm a theory, extrapolating possibilities to the nth degree…” she went on, deadpan.

“Yes, yes,” Giles broke in with dry humor. “I get your point.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason. Just something I was thinking about. I’d hate to become too stuffy.”

Tara looked down, hiding a smile.

Giles own mouth curved as he caught it. “What’s that you say, Tara?” he teased. “Too late?”

They laughed softly together. It was - nice.

~*~

“I still say she was evil. I’m pretty nervous about this spell we let her cast, let me tell you.”

“We did investigate her,” Giles reminded Anya. “She has an excellent reputation, and is considered quite trustworthy. Tara also researched the spell she used on us. I don’t think we need have any concerns about her abilities, or our safety. She was rather - unorthodox - though.”

“And naked.”

The Watcher sighed. “Yes. Mostly.”

“And her boobs were gigantic,” Dawn contributed. “Fake, too.”

“She threatened me,” Anya went on.

Everyone’s eyes flew to her in surprise. “She did? When? How? What did she say?” Xander asked.

“It was when she was doing that touching thing. She said something about tearing my heart out.”

“Eeeww, heart tearing! Gross, gross, gross!” Catching everyone’s pointed stares, Dawn seemed to realize she was overreacting. “Um, sorry.” She folded her hands neatly in her lap and sat up very straight. Her foot, though, continued jiggle up and down rapidly. The movement made Xander and Anya, who were seated on the sofa with her, vibrate.

“Are you certain that’s what she said?” Giles frowned.

“Close enough!”

The glee with which Anya responded led Giles to believe she was indeed experiencing a rather milder case of the hyperactivity that was so affecting Buffy and Dawn. He glanced over at the older Summers girl, who was shadow boxing feistily in a corner of the room, seemingly oblivious to the rest of them.

“If you must do that, Buffy,” he said with some exasperation. “Please refrain from dropping your left shoulder. It’s extremely poor form.”

Buffy turned to them, her punching movements slowing. “Anyone wanna spar? I am so up for it! Xander? We could go to the training room, and you could get all puffy.”

“You are not puffing up my fiancé!” Anya objected. “No puffing or swelling of any kind!” She turned an accusatory stare toward Giles and Tara. “Was there some sort of lust ingredient mixed into this spell?”

Giles rolled his eyes. “No, Anya.”

“I’m never letting naked witches put spells on me again. Nope. Not this girl. Even if I am the only one she threatened.” She looked around, studying their faces. “She said something to all of you, too. She didn’t threaten to tear anyone else’s parts out? Or off?” She scooted closer to Xander and looped his arm around her shoulders so that she could snuggle up against him. She looked into his eyes anxiously. “She didn’t threaten any of your, um, parts, did she?”

“She didn’t threaten me at all, Ahn.”

The others looked at each other, mumbling amongst themselves and agreeing that none of them had been threatened either.

“Perhaps you misunderstood her,” Giles tried to soothe Anya. “There was no reason whatsoever for her to threaten any of us. And,” he finished, “she did tend to speak in that breathy sort of -” his hand gestured expressively, “Whisper.”

“I suppose… Maybe,” Anya conceded.

Buffy, who was once again ignoring them and boxing her invisible opponent, turned back. “Will Spike be here soon for his Willow-Watching shift? He’ll spar.”

“The two of you will not spar inside my home!” Giles said firmly.

Buffy’s lower lip jutted out, and, as he often did, he caved to its power.

“If you feel the need to work off some energy,” he allowed. “There’s some space in the garden that should afford you some privacy.”

Dawn and Xander looked at each other instinctively, giggled like exceedingly ill-behaved school children, and mimicked his pronunciation of ‘privacy’. Since the proper pronunciation of ‘schedule’, and any reference to the boot of a car as anything other than the ‘trunk’, elicited the same reaction from them, he should have expected it.

Giles glared at them. “We did invent the language, you know. Just because you Colonials have butchered large parts of it…”

Buffy looked satisfied to have gotten his concession on the Spike sparring, and was punching the air in a rapid-fire volley of short jabs. “Will he be here soon?”

The Watcher pulled off his glasses and wearily rubbed at his eyes. “Yes. Soon.” Please. Soon. With the arrival of the ‘next shift’ so to speak, this lot would, perhaps, have the good sense to go home. He was exhausted, and desperately longed to seek his bed. Spike would roll the tally into the spare bedroom and occupy his time watching Willow, old movies, and, if one caught his eye, the occasional infomercial. He’d never admit to that last, of course. Moreover, he would be a good deal quieter than this chattering bunch. Dawn and Anya had barely allowed a moment of silence since the spell had been cast.

Dear Lord, he thought. I’m anticipating the arrival of Spike as a step toward the return of sanity, and possibly some semblance of order, to my home. That must surely be a sign of impending doom.

“Oooh! Pizza!” Dawn burst out, jumping up from her seat. “I’m ordering! Who wants in?”

A chorus of ‘me’s’ filled the room. Apparently, going to their own homes hadn’t yet occurred to them. Couldn’t Spike show up a bit early and glare at them or something? That might clear out at least one or two.

“And who’s paying?” Dawn went on.

“Me!” Anya volunteered with enthusiasm.

Which, Giles decided, proved conclusively that Anya was experiencing some unusual side effects from the spell and the anointing.

Oh, bother.

~*~

Tara listened to the others in silence, until the subject turned away from the white witch. Then she just tuned them out.

C’erdd-Circe of Gwen had spoken to each of them, quietly, privately, as she touched an anointing forefinger to the hollows of their throats. She’d watched the expressions of surprise or puzzlement crossing the others’ faces, and had hoped that, when her turn came, the other woman would have some words of comfort to offer, something that would make it possible for her to look toward the coming months with more hope.

But there hadn’t been a message for her. The witch had touched her and looked into her eyes, just as she’d done with the others. But instead of saying something in her theatrically spooky voice, she’d gasped quietly, and tugged her hand away, a look of shock on her face.

Shock that was mixed with wonder, and with something more. In her entire life, Tara had never seen that on anyone’s face when they looked at her, and it had taken her a moment or two to identify it. When she did, her puzzlement grew to a vague disquiet.

Because that hint of something more in C’erdd-Circe of Gwen’s eyes had been fear.

~*~

Buffy was angry and tired, and extremely glad Willow had finally been pronounced fit to be taken to her parent’s home.

It had been four days since Dawn had been attacked, and it seemed her world had shrunk down to long hours at Giles’ apartment, and equally long hours not at Giles’ apartment worrying about what was happening there. Or what might happen there. Even though Willow-Watching wasn’t physically taxing, it, and the entire situation, had been emotionally exhausting for the entire gang.

She’d been so sure. She might have denied it if asked, but Buffy had been certain that once the power dealer’s magic was completely out of Willow’s system and she was again awake, everything would be fine. Willow would be sorry, and anxious for their forgiveness. She would bake yummy cookies, and apologize every couple of minutes… for months.

But the Willow who’d woken up from the sleeping spell that morning was not apologetic, didn’t seem sorry, and didn’t ask for their forgiveness. And she definitely hadn’t made any moves to do the baking of the remorse cookies.

Instead, she was sullen, and mostly silent, and seemingly resentful of everyone who cared about her.

The first words out of her mouth - her sarcastic inquiry of Buffy as to whether or not ‘her’ power dealer had been fun to slay - had hardly been reassuring to any of them. When Buffy had reminded her that she didn’t know who ‘her’ power dealer was, Willow had given a rather satisfied little smirk. She had then looked them all over like they were some kind of scummy blob of goo that had washed up on the beach, and she’d had the misfortune to step into, barefoot, and, with her nose seemingly stuck in an upright position, she had informed them all coolly that she wished to go to her parents home.

Immediately.

Buffy knew for a fact that, unlike the other night with C’erdd-Circe of Gwen, she had not been the only person in the room who had been looking with longing eyes towards Giles’ weapons chest during Willow’s little awakening ceremony. Even Xander had eyed it once or twice. Everyone was angry. Very angry. And hurt. Dawn, who’d been expecting Willow to be horrified that she’d left her in a waiting room where she was attacked by a demon, and Tara, who’d hoped for some sign, any sign, of remorse and love, were especially devastated.

Dawn and Tara had been locked in their respective bedrooms since they’d arrived home nearly two hours ago, and Buffy sincerely hoped they were finally asleep. Xander had suggested they spend the evening at a movie - something light, and funnily distracting, to take their minds off the New and Not One Bit Improved Willow. Determinedly, they had all agreed, but the movie hadn’t seemed very amusing at all when they could all hear Tara’s soft sniffling over the soundtrack, and catch glimpses of Dawn’s tears in the light from the screen. Afterward, Xander had been apologetic, but they’d all agreed that the idea had been a good one, even though it hadn’t really worked, and they’d parted with major huggage all around.

Buffy punched her pillow viciously.

She’d been mad at Willow before, yeah. Since the redhead had stumbled into the house with electricity crackling around her, and probably before that, too, she’d been upset with her friend’s actions and recklessness. But that anger had been mixed with fear, and worry, and a slew of possible excuses for Willow’s behavior. Right now, the fear and worry were buried pretty deeply, and she’d run out of excuses.

Buffy thought they were all feeling betrayed. After Xander and Giles had returned from driving Willow and the small cache of her possessions that had moved with her from the Summers home to the Giles home, to her parents, they’d spent some time discussing this somewhat unexpected turn of events. It was clear that Buffy hadn’t been the only one who’d thought Willow would be mostly back to normal once she awoke. But angry or not, they had all voiced a determination that they would find a way to help their friend, to get Classic Willow back, whether she wanted to come back or not.

Damn it.

Buffy rolled restlessly on the bed, and flipped her pillow over to expose the cooler side. She felt like she hadn’t slept in days. She had, of course, but her nights had been filled with worries and an increase in nightmares, and hadn’t been particularly restful. She’d also been upset about - well, about no Spike out on the roof. She didn’t know what was more disturbing - the fact that she found his absence so disturbing, or the fact that she didn’t find it very disturbing that she found his absence so disturbing.

He was out there tonight. She could feel him easily.

They’d barely seen each other since the night Dawn had been attacked. Their Willow-Watching shifts didn’t cross. Even though Spike stayed all night, and Buffy arrived in the morning, she didn’t come until Dawn had left for school, and by that time, Spike had already taken off to avoid being trapped at Giles’ house all day by the sun. Apparently, tunnel access was a problem in her Watcher’s neighborhood. Further, and to everyone’s surprise, Anya had asked Spike if he would mind helping out at the shop a little until Giles was free to resume his regular schedule. Spike had then surprised everyone even more by agreeing.

Since she’d come back, this was the longest they’d gone without talking. Or sharing. Or just spending time together.

Buffy curled onto her side, stroking her cheek across the smooth cotton of her pillowcase.

<< Miss you, too, love. >>

Why did this not startle her?

She heard the mental groan clearly. << I can’t. >>

<< Right. I come in there now and the only talking we’ll be doing will involve things not intended for the bit’s ears. She’s still awake. So’s doe eyes. >>

<<Tara. >>

< Oh. > Of course. < Spike, I - I… >

A long silence.

<< Me, too. Now go to sleep, pet. I know you haven’t been resting. I can see it in your eyes. >>

<< Managed it once. Last night about 10:00. We passed each other in the Watcher’s hallway. There was some talk of us sparring, but then the bit went over all sick to her stomach and you had to take her home. >>

<< That will teach her not to race with Harris. >>

Buffy laughed softly. < Didn’t matter. Anya beat them both. >

<< Go to sleep. >>

< I - > She gave up. < Night, Spike. >

<< Night, love. >>

One more try. < I’m, ah, glad you’re out there. >

A shorter silence.

<< ‘m glad, too. >>

<< I know, love. >>

~*~

As soon as he heard the first gasp, he was beside her. She was upset and overtired, and he’d known she’d have a nightmare. He was pretty bloody sure she’d had several already this week, and he’d been bracing himself for this one since he’d heard her breathing drift into the evenness of sleep.

His arms were around her, his hands stroking, and his voice rumbled, a soothing presence against her ear.

“Shhh. You’re safe, love. Safe.”

He kept up the familiar flow of words as she began to wake.

“Spike?” she gasped out.

“Yeah. I have you, love. You’re awake, alive. You’re fine. Just breathe for me now. Just breathe.”

He felt her struggling against the terror, fighting to regain her ability to take in air and expel it normally. Her anger over the attacks continued to increase, and she had grown even more verbal about that anger, but her ability to control them or work through them with any success was still inconsistent. And he knew she was seriously brassed off about that too. “It’s just breathing,” she’d said, over and over.

“God! I hate this. Hate it. It’s so - so … I hate that I can’t breathe, hate that I can’t control these stupid attacks… But I hate the dreams even more. Hate living through that again, night after night. Buried alive. Can’t get out, dirt falling on me, filling my mouth, can’t scream, can’t breathe, can’t…”

“I know, pet.” And he did. “I still remember. Been 120 years, and I still remember.”

“I hate it so much,” she said again. “Am I gonna have these nightmares that long?”

He smiled into her hair. “Yeah, love. When you’re 140 years old, I’ll still be climbin’ in your window to wake you from them, too.”

He felt some of the tension leave her body, felt her soften against him.

“Very funny, Mr. Older than Dirt.” The tiniest smile curved her lips.

“Got you to relax a bit, dinit?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Those dreams, Spike, they’re -”

“Suffocating. I know.”

“Will they - will they really last for years?”

“Can’t say, love. Can only tell you that mine did, and that -” he broke off.

“What?” she prompted, looking at him in the moonlight.

“An’ that I hope yours don’t,” he finished quietly.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. It looked silver in the light and he was struck once again by the memory of that night - here in her room - when she’d been dead. When she’d come to him in some kind of vision and he’d spent the night burying himself in her body over and over.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her starkly. He didn’t elaborate, just ran his eyes over her face and hair. His right hand cupped her neck, and his left touched her softly, his fingertips grazing gently over the contours of her face, tracing the line of her lips and cheeks, the quirky bend of her nose.

“Spike -”

“Shhh.” He leaned into her, his lips following the path of his fingers. “The way you taste, your smell. Everything about you. I can’t stop thinking about how it feels to touch you, put my mouth on you, watch your face when you come. How it feels to come in your hands, to feel them cupping me, wrapping around me, stroking.

“And I bloody well can’t stop thinking about the way everything inside me heats up and I feel like I’m all bound up with you in some kind of - I don’t even know. A different world. You.”

“Ohhh -”

His hands were touching her now, moving, sliding over her head, her neck, tracing the still too sharp curve of her shoulders. She shivered under his touch, and closed her eyes, and he could feel the change in her body, feel it move from the accepting of comfort to something more. A wanting, a yearning that matched his own. When his mouth closed on hers, he knew she felt the same wave of desire wash over her that he felt. Intense.

But still… not enough.

Never enough.

Her arms lifted to encircle his neck, and she held him with all the magnificent power in her body. Her mouth opened to his, inviting him to deepen the kiss, and she moaned.

Sonofa-

He wanted to hear her moan like that again. Right into his ear. All night. Wanted to hear those little catches in her breath, the almost silent huffs of air that screamed out her pleasure. He’d heard them before, and he wanted to hear them again, this time as he thrust into her, withdrew, thrust again…again, again, again…

~*~

He heard the quiet sobs before Buffy did, and his head lifted from her breast to tilt, senses alert. His first thought was that the bit was reliving her run in with that Vpastus’zyn demon, but it wasn’t her sobs he heard.

Tara then.

His eyes met Buffy’s.

“I should… do you think…?”

Reluctantly, he rolled to his feet and reached down to offer her his hand. “Yeah, go.”

~*~

The soothing sounds faded away, and as the women’s voices grew more distinct, Spike shifted restlessly.

None. Of. His. Business.

He tossed his cigarette off the edge of the roof, watching the glowing arc disappear into the grass below. After a quick glance at the window of Joyce’s old room, Spike decided to give the birds some privacy, and he followed the path of his cigarette, leaping off the roof after it.

Not only did he not want to intrude, he really didn’t want to know. He was already annoyed by the fact that he seemed to have developed a soft spot for Tara, and the fact that Willow’s actions had hurt her only made him more furious with the redhead. That fury, in turn, only served to increase his annoyance. It was a bloody vicious circle. He damn well shouldn’t care about this stuff, and the less he knew the better.

Buffy and Dawn, he told himself firmly. Again. That’s it. Just his girls. They mattered. The rest of humanity could take a flying leap…

Well, maybe the Watcher. Respect, at least. He didn’t care about the other man. Didn’t…

Spike felt a sense of horror wash over him. Bloody… Buffy, Dawn, Giles. Three. No real threat to his demon status, was it?

And Tara, he conceded with some reluctance. Couldn’t eat her, could he? If he, er, could. After all, the good witch watched out for Dawn, behaved all motherly with her, kinda like…

Sonofa…

Like Liza at the soddin’ flower shop. After that first time, he and the bit had stopped in fairly regularly at the shop, and the Englishwoman and the young girl had developed a very nice friendship. He’d encouraged it because Emily made Dawn laugh, and he was glad his girl was working for the other woman now. Be a good place for her, her own place, one with no ties to her big sis. Give his girl a taste of independence; help her build her own identity.

Not to mention the inexplicableness of Liza knowing what he was and never acting like it was a source of concern or even worth mentioning. A bit like his Slayer’s mum in that regard, she was.

So… five. Five. That had to be his limit.

He hoped Tara was going to be okay. Didn’t deserve to be hurt like that, did she? Bloody redheaded witch.

He paused under his old tree to light a cigarette. Ah, old times. Stalker boy, as that tosser Harris had called him. Just because he’d hung out here a lot, and had entertained himself by sneaking around in the house while they’d been in bed... Just because he’d watched his Slayer sleep once or twice, or, okay, maybe a few more times than that, and nicked a few pairs of her little bits of lace, didn’t mean...

Well, okay, yeah, maybe it did. Still, hadn’t harmed any of them, had he? Should earn him points for failure to terrorize or something.

Deliberate failure to terrorize, he amended. He was damn well capable of terrorizing anyone he pleased. He was a terrifying fellow. Make the tiniest effort, flash just a hint of fang, could make anyone tremble… Add a little snarl, and he’d have half the wankers in town pissing themselves…

Enjoying the images, Spike was exhaling a long stream of smoke when he saw the movement and spun toward it.

Buffy was walking across the lawn toward him. She wasn’t strolling casually, nor was she hurrying. Her pace was steady, and there was a solemn, determined look on her face. Spike frowned. Not fast, not a stroll, her face solemn. He felt a clutch of fear. What was it? Was something really wrong with Tara? Something more than pain and anger, that is? Or worse, had something happened to the bit? Was she sickly again? He’d only been off the roof for a few minutes...

“Slayer?” his voice carried his questions.

She didn’t say a word. She just walked right into his arms, right into him, and started wrapping him in her limbs.

“Buffy?”

“No more waiting,” she said.

Disbelief.

“No more.”

Euphoria.

Her mouth sought his, hot and needy.

Hungry.

Wild.

His own hunger exploded. He sank a hand into her hair, and wrapped the other arm around her, hauling her up so that she wrapped her legs around him. He took her weight into his arms, lifting her higher against him. Her thighs tightened. Oh, yeah. He loved that. “Anything, Slayer. I’ll give you anything you want, anything you need.”

God, the taste of her. He needed to feel her, to sheath himself in her body, deep. Deeper. Now. No more waiting. Tonight he was bloody well going to make her his. Starting now.

Sonofablo - Where? Where?

There - that tree. It was by the curb and near the sidewalk, but it didn't matter. The outside tips of the branches dipped low, almost to the ground, and it was dark beneath them, a shadowed and private cavern of night darkened greenery encircling the furrowed bark of the trunk.

His hands were tugging at her clothes, even as he was carrying her swiftly into those promising shadows. Impatiently, he tore the strap of her thin cotton tank top, and pushed the fabric out of his way, fastening his mouth to her breast as he ducked under the branches, and felt them sweep along his back. Buffy cried out loudly at the rough contact with his mouth, but the sound faded into a series of pleasured moans as his cheeks hollowed and he began to suck on her flesh fiercely. His own groan echoed hers. Oh, harder, suck her harder. Suck her, suck her...

Push, pull, tear, get her clothes off. Strip her bare. Strip her, and… fuck... He couldn’t work his zipper. Couldn’t - sonofablo -

Buffy’s hands took care of the stubborn metal for him, and he groaned in surprise and lust and appreciation.

There, yeah, gotta get inside her, get inside, inside...

Oh god, oh god… Right there.

His entire body flexed, and then surged forward, thrusting deeply into her heat. Into her. Buffy.

Ahhh. Ahhh...

Years of wanting, dreaming, imagining…

For a minute he shuddered to immobility, as his flesh cried out in thanksgiving. Oh, good, so good, so good, so... He was inside her. Inside her. Inside Buffy. His cock was buried deeply within her, sheathed in her tight passage. Oh, tight, tight.

The shock was almost more than he could handle, and he held himself savagely rigid for several moments as his brain tried to adjust, to accept, to believe. He felt torn between the desire to howl with triumph and the aching need to weep with gratitude. He remained still until he felt he’d gained enough control to hold out for a bit - maybe an entire minute, he thought with a flash of amusement.

Spike raised his head from her breast, and smoothed her hair back from her face with a shaking hand. He had her pinned up against the trunk of the tree, and she was wrapped tightly around him, clinging. She looked almost as stunned as he felt.

“Spike…” She breathed out his name, and leaned forward, flicking her tongue against his lower lip.

“Buffy...” Only that, her name. “Buffy…”

And then he began to move. The drive was still strong, but the desperation had lessened once his body was buried deeply within hers. It was as if the connection soothed something within him, calmed him, even while his passionate need didn’t fade.

His hands slid under her body, cupping her and lifting her a little, shifting her position to give him more freedom of movement, and a better angle of penetration. Buffy gasped at the difference, and began to rock against him.

Shallow little thrusts. Try to hold out. Velvet. She’s velvet. Wet and tight and so hot. So hot. Green eyes shot with gold, mouth open into an ‘O’. Heat. Desire. Throaty, guttural moans, gasps… His? Hers? Tension building, coiling within him. Need rising, squeezing his entire body.

A deeper hunger.

Needed to come, to pour himself into her, leave a part of himself inside her to be absorbed by her body, taken in. Just one cell. One. To stay. Deeper now. Longer strokes. Reach deep. Take her. Brand her body with yours. Leave your imprint in her mind forever.

Groans. Louder, joining together into one continuous noise; ecstasy seeking verbalization. Brain shutting down, closing off until there was only this; take me, take me, take me, take me, take me, take me, take me, takemetakemetakemetakemetakemeeee.

And then, nothing but sensation as his body went still, the long groan as he began to come, moving again as he continued to pour himself into her, planting his essence deep, endless release, so powerful that he couldn’t think, could only hold on, hold her, and ride it out, pleasure beyond reason or words.

When his body stopped shuddering, Spike slowly lifted his head from Buffy’s shoulder, and looked into her face. He felt shaken, shattered. He couldn’t quite believe… He took in her dazed expression, the huge eyes, the soft curve of her mouth. Buffy. His touched his forehead to hers.

“I love you.” It was a vow. “More than existence, more than blood.”

She didn’t respond, and he hadn’t expected her to. He knew she wasn’t ready, might never share his feelings, but it hadn’t mattered; he’d had to say it. This once at least. Her eyes stayed on his, though, open and accepting, and her body quivered around him.

Without changing position, he started to move again. She kept her eyes locked to his in just the way he liked. He loved looking into her eyes, watching the pleasure there deepen and grow. Watching it build and build and build…

And he wanted her to see him, to really see him. All of him.

He wondered if she did. If she ever would. Ever could.

Her eyes began to fall closed.

“No. Don’t close your eyes. Keep looking at me.”

She did.

~*~

“You move on me like a dancer,” he growled. His hands slid up her thighs to her hips, oh, those hips, and his eyes, hungry and dark with passion, roamed her graceful form. “Just watching you makes me feel like I’m gonna explode.”

His hips left the ground, thrusting up into her. “More, take more.” Stroking deep. Deeper.

“Ahhh.”

She said almost nothing. But she made the most delicious sounds. Needy little gasps and moans that sent fire licking though his veins, and kept him marble hard.

He closed his hands more tightly on her hips and changed the rhythm and direction of her movements just a little, meshing them with his own. “Yeah, like that. Good? Deep enough?”

“Mmmm.” Her body spasmed, pre-orgasmic. “Unnh.”

“Bloody beautiful. You’re so bloody beautiful.”

He ground his head back into the turf, squeezing his eyes closed. Maybe if he shut out the visual stimulation, he could last longer. Almost as soon as his lids lowered, though, he knew it wouldn’t help. His others sensed were still drowning in her. Scent, taste, sound, feel. She was washing over him in waves, sucking him under the surface.

Riptide.

She moaned and his eyes flew open. Her head had fallen back, and she had that look on her face. Blind. Exalted. Approaching climax. Just what he’d been waiting for… He wanted to come with her, to feel her body gripping and squeezing his as he shot his seed into her. He was shocked by this unexpected and overpowering need - to pour himself into her over and over and over, to have her accept that part of him.

“Lean back, love,” he urged. “Yeah, a little more. Come with me now.” His voice went guttural. “Now, Buffy.”

She did.

~*~

They were laying flat on their backs, breathing raggedly. God! The grass was cool against her bare flesh, and her brain tried to scream at her for a moment. Of course the grass is cool! It’s the middle of winter! And you’re laying naked on the lawn in your front yard. You’re also just a few feet from the sidewalk and the street. And there’s a streetlamp not so very far down the block.

Yeah, but it’s the middle of the night, another part of her whispered, and it’s dark here under the branches of this tree. Sheltered and secret, and oh, god, I want him again.

She’d just come, what - two minutes ago? - and she wanted him again. She felt like she was starving and he was bread. Life sustaining bread. She rolled toward him, her hands seeking his body.

He groaned, and pulled her over him.

Buffy bent to him, stroking open palms with pleasure over the hardness of his chest.

“Come inside me,” she invited, and caught his mouth with hers as he slid into her again. Her tongue stroked and swirled against his, the two twining together in a primitive mating dance. He tasted so good. And the way he kissed…

She pulled back, her hands sliding along his arms so that she could lace her fingers with his and draw his arms up over his head. His eyes caught hers as she leaned forward to press his hands firmly to the ground. The hunger she could read there made her body tighten around his.

“Oooh,” she moaned out, and bent over him to brush her breasts invitingly against his face. He accepted, capturing a nipple and sucking fiercely on her aroused flesh.

“Unnh, ohhh, more, more…”

He complied.

“You’re insatiable,” he muttered minutes later, his breath still touching her wet, hard nipple. Approval and satisfaction were dripping from his voice.

She lifted herself just enough so that she could see into his eyes, her hips keeping his rhythm. “Me? You’ve been hard all night long.”

“Yeah, I know. You do that to me, love. Bloody wonderful, innit?”

“Yeeesss,” she moaned out, and leaned down to push her other breast into his mouth.

It was.

~*~

He pulled her to him, snuggling closely to her back, and running his hands over the front of her thighs. When she leaned back into him, wordlessly encouraging his hands to continue to explore - other - parts of her front, they complied.

He didn’t think his lady should have to ask twice. Or, really, even once.

Spike turned their bodies a little so that they were facing the ancient trunk of the tree. Strong hands closed over hers and lifted them to the rough bark, where he held them. His body moved against hers, caressing her back with his chest, and thrusting his hips against the smooth cheeks of her ass.

“Brace yourself, love,” he urged, and released one of her hands so that he could guide himself into her.

She moaned as he filled her again. A series of little sounds - ooohs, and ohs, ahs and unnhs, started to escape her between harsh breaths. The steady stream of encouraging sounds hardened him even further, which he’d’ve thought would’ve been physically impossible. Gonna make it last this time. Long and slow.

He slid his fingers between hers.

“You’re like molten lava inside,” he said into her ear. “I’ve never felt anything so hot. You burn me, Buffy, and I never wanna pull out of the fire.”

“Oooh.”

His hands left hers, sliding with slow sensuality up her arms, as he continued to rock into her. They went to her face, covering it, exploring every detail as though he was a blind man attempting to see her through the tips of his fingers. They came at last to her mouth, and he slid two fingers between her lips.

“Can you taste yourself on my hand?”

“Ohhh. Mmmm.”

Those same fingers had been buried inside her body just minutes ago.

“Suck on them. On my fingers.”

“Mmmm.”

She did, taking the time to stroke her tongue along the sides of each digit.

“Yeah, like that. Taste good?”

“Ahhh.”

He slid his hand down her body and between her legs, stroking her there where the hard ridge of his flesh moved in and out of her.

She gasped.

His fingers, freshly coated with her juices, replaced the ones in her mouth.

“Unnh.”

His breath hissed against her ear. “I like how you taste, too. That night in my crypt, with my tongue inside you… Your flavor, Buffy… I almost went off in my jeans, just from the taste of you.” He pressed deeper into her, and moved his fingers in her mouth, stroking them in and out. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. Suck me, love. Suck me clean.”

Her body arched and a deeper moan escaped.

His body changed its rhythm, drawing her away from the edge.

“No, not yet. Not yet. Don’t come yet. It’s too soon.”

“No,” she protested.

“Not yet. Too soon.”

”I can come again when you’re ready,” she was finally able to articulate some words, and her voice held promise, reminding him unnecessarily of just how many times she could come in an hour. “Don’t -”

“Not yet, love. You come now, you’ll take me with you. Your body clamps around my cock so tight when you come… I’ll never last through that without going off.”

“Noo-ohhh.”

Her protest faded into a deep groan as his fingers moved to her breasts. She had the most amazing breasts, incredibly sensitive and responsive. Her nipples were gonna trigger a thousand orgasms, he was sure. More. And he was bloody well gonna pull that trigger whenever he could. But not right now. Don’t let her come yet…

“Oooh. Okay, unnh, I’ll wait if you keep doing that…”

He gave a rumble of amusement.

She pulled a hand away from the tree to press his hand more tightly to her breast, but the movement almost threw them both off balance.

“Ohhh.” Her hand flew back to the tree trunk, bracing them again.

“More?”

“Unnh. Ah. Oooh...”

“Love how you love that, pet.”

His fingers twisted and she cried out.

“How?” she gasped.

“What? Talk to me.”

“Make me feel sooo good…” She groaned out the words. “Sooo good. I’m gonna, gonna…Spike!”

Long enough. He pulled her away from the tree and turned her so that she was supporting her upper body with her hands on the ground now.

“Hard. Noowww.”

“Yeah. Now. Gonna take you hard, now, Buffy. Lean down.” His hands grabbed her hips, and then he was thrusting into her forcefully, almost slamming his hips against hers. He’d bury himself, grind against her, then pull back only to slam into her again. More. Harder. Her cheek hit the grass. Bloody… She’d probably have died to see herself in this position, but right now, she didn’t even seem aware of it, and she certainly wasn’t protesting. Instead, she was making those sounds. Again. Intense, mindless sounds of pleasure.

Bloody beautiful.

Hard. Fast. Deep. Deeper.

Deeper.

“Squeeze me now, love.” He leaned over her, his chest pressed to her back, and slid his hands around her body. One went to a breast, teasing and twisting the nipple again, while the other slid between her legs to touch her the way he knew her body was screaming to be touched.

Buffy convulsed, and her inner muscles clamped down on Spike’s aching flesh just as he’d known they would.

“Grrraa…” He began to come with a groan that started somewhere deep within his chest, and exploded out of his mouth. “Ah, more. I have more. Tighter, Buffy,” he begged, continuing to thrust and release himself into her. “Squeeze me dry.”

She did.

~*~

“Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop touching me.”

“I won’t,” he said again. And then, sounding helpless, “I can’t.”

“Oh, god, closer. Closer. I need…”

“You need to take me deeper. All. The. Way. Take me to the hilt.” He gasped. “Fuck, Slayer, you’re tighter than your own fists, and I bloody well know just how tight your fists are.”

“Do you even know the meaning of the word ‘inhibitions’?”

“Sod inhibitions. Admit it, love, you’re bloody glad I don’t.”

Oh, god, yeeesss.

She was.

~*~

“Mmmm.”

<< You can’t know good until you’ve tasted yourself. >>

Silent laughter.

<< Yeah, love, you did. >>

<< Heating up from the inside out. >>

“Mmmm.” < Yeah. > Her hand touched his mouth, tracing over his lips. < Spike. I want that back, so much. Wanna feel that again… >

<< Bein’ inside each other? On the sofa? >>

<< What was that? >>

< Who knows? Who cares? > There was a kind of dazed amusement in her thought.

<< Didn’t scare you, then? >>

< No! > A pause. < Did it scare you? >

<< Not hardly. >> His own silent snort of amusement. << But still, unnatural… some force, maybe. >>

<< Hate to break it to you, Slayer, but evil can feel pretty good, too. Why do you think it seduces so many? >>

< Do you think it was evil? > Some concern now, reassurance sought.

<< No. >> Another pause. << No. It was good. I could - tell, somehow. >>

< Me, too. > Relief. Warmth flowing through her and into him. < Promise me that we’re gonna find that again. >

<< I want it, too, love. >>

A few minutes of near silence, punctuated only by soft sounds of pleasure, a gasp, another, quiet little moans.

<< So, this new method of yappin’ at each other… Could get used to it right quick. Leaves our mouths free for all sorts of other interesting things, doesn’t it? >>

It did.

~*~

“We need to go in. It’s starting to get light.”

“Not yet.”

“Sunlight, flammable vampire, people starting to get up to go to work and seeing us naked under the tree…”

“One more time. I need you one more time. C’mere.”

Buffy attempted to ignore him. She found her tank top on a branch and slipped it on. The torn strap hung loose, and the side of the top it should have been supporting drooped down, catching on the tip of her breast.

Spike groaned. “How can you cover up that body? Gotta be a sin, Slayer. Being a white hat, isn’t it your duty to avoid those?”

“It’s getting light!” she said with more force.

“Fast then,” he urged. Spike tugged the pajama pants she’d just found out of her hand, and pulled her back onto his lap. His hands curled around her calves as he wrapped her legs around his waist, settling her against him. Once she complied, his palms slid up the back of her thighs and came back to rest again on her hips.

“Spike…”

His mouth went to her ear. “We have time, love. I slide in, all the way. Bury myself in you. Then you use those Slayer muscles on me. We have time for that…”

Oh, god.

And damn him, damn him, damn him, she thought, even as she moved against him, positioning herself. How could she still be so hungry?

She almost lost it as he slid back inside her. The long, slow, moan that worked its way out of her as he pushed in caused his hands to tighten.

“All the way. Take me all the way in.”

“Yes.” Her body shifted, rocked, accommodating him, finding just the right angle… oh, right there. As the last inch of him disappeared into her folds their heads fell back in twinned ecstasy, and they both shivered with pleasure.

“So good,” she breathed, drawing his head back up and leaning her forehead against his.

“Yeeeaahh,” he agreed. He looked momentarily dazed, and his mouth found hers, kissing her with a deep voluptuousness that made her whole body go liquid. The need to be quick seeped out of her mind as their mouths met, parted, met again, slow, hot, never satisfied.

A car horn sounded somewhere on the next block, bringing them back to the present, and Buffy drew back reluctantly.

Spike brushed a trembling hand over her hair, but then his eyes slowly transformed, taking on a wicked gleam. When he spoke, his voice was positively sinful. “Have at it, love. Squeeze me. Tight. Let me feel those muscles. Two, three times, an’ we’ll both explode.”

She looked into his eyes, and slowly, slowly, tightened her vaginal muscles. She’d never done this. Never allowed herself… His whole body went rigid as she clenched around him, tightening around his shaft with slow deliberation.

“Oh, fuuuu… Buffy!”

The gray of the coming dawn had lightened the air, making his every expression visible to her. And the look on his face, right now, of pleasure so intense it bordered on, and perhaps even crossed over into pain, mesmerized her. She’d never been free to…

“Oh god, again, love,” he panted. “Again. Tighter, harder. Strangle my cock. Hard as you can.”

She was concentrating now, taken over by an overwhelming desire to make him shake in her arms. To make him moan and cry out. She wanted to unleash all the strength in her body, the power she’d always had to keep a tight rein on before. Always. She’d never been able to let that power out during sex, nor anything near all of it. She wanted to…

She saw his face change again, saw a different kind of light come into his eyes.

Understanding.

<< Show me, Buffy. >> None of the wickedness that had been in his voice and eyes was present in the thought. Only warmth, passion and tenderness. And another invitation. This time, to be herself. To, for the first time ever with a man, let herself go. Completely. << Show me all of you. Everything you have. Let go, love, let go. >>

She felt something break free in her. Something deep inside. She never thought she’d… Centimeter by centimeter she squeezed up his length again, her muscles slowly contracting around him from base to tip. Intense pleasure quivered along every nerve ending in her body.

His, too.

“Agggraaggah.” Spike’s head felt forward, onto her shoulder, and he turned his face into her throat as his arms closed around her with crushing force. His whole body was shuddering now, his hands shaking as they wrapped into her hair. “Graaahhhaaagain…”

Shuddering.

Shaking.

Pleasure she was giving him. Her. The No-Holds-Barred-Buffy.

Oh god, the freedom. The unbelievable freedom. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.

She felt his teeth on her neck, blunt, nipping, and she cried out. Too much, it was all too much… Her body was going to shatter into pieces.

<< Again, again, again. There’s never been anything like this, Buffy. Like you. Never. Again, love. Take us both over the edge. Make us soar. >>

They did.

~*~

He was running. Using his preternatural speed, he raced for his crypt, anxious to beat the dawn. He no longer begged silently for the touch of the sun. He had all the light he needed. The light he’d always craved.

He felt weightless. Almost as though, if he ran just a bit faster, he would become airborne. Maybe he was already flying.

Tonight she’d been his. Even if it didn’t change things, didn’t make anything permanent, or still his lingering fears, for this night, at least, she’d been his.

~*~

The message was most unwelcome.

Doc glanced at the still twitching body of the E-Ur Y’d’Ice demon on the floor at his feet. Whoever it was that had argued against killing the messenger obviously didn’t understand the deep pleasure it afforded.

Rack was dead.

What, exactly, had that hothead done to bring about his newly heartless state? No apparent witnesses… No reports from his usually strong security…

And worst of all, no more contact with the witch.

They’d worked together several times, and he’d had such hopes for the young Shroyer-Shanasher power dealer. He’d known Rack sometimes fell victim to the temptation of impatience, so he’d taken particular care in explaining that the situation with the witch should be drawn out slowly, resulting in a lovely, painstakingly beautiful fall into darkness, one they could all relish and enjoy. They could have told the tale of her descent for hundreds of years, embellishing as one was wont to do with these things…

Doc was confident that his - detailed - descriptions of what Rack could expect if he messed up his assignment by rushing things with the witch or any of the Slayer’s other little friends, had been more than adequate. The fool’s death must be unrelated.

But now they may never really have the powerful young witch. Her fall had just begun, and certainly she hadn’t been taken deep enough. Sadly she could still find her way back to light. It was always such a disappointment to lose the most promising young ones. And the redhead had been so full of potential, such a find!

The things that had first brought her to his attention, those deep ties to the loathed Slayer, were a wonderful bonus.

Of course, he hadn’t told Rack the truth. The power dealer hadn’t been interested in working with Glory last year, and Doc had assumed he would be equally unwilling this time around. After all, even though Glory was out of the picture, the goal was the same. The ruse that their ultimate goal was to corrupt and use the Slayer had been carefully designed for maximum appeal to the greedy Rack.

The little demon pulled his tail into his hands, and stroked it slowly, comforting himself, as he mourned the loss of personal contact with the young witch. Oh dear. It would be such a dreadful defeat to lose her altogether. Of course, there were still links, but they were tenuous at best. Without someone right there to observe and supervise, he had no way of judging how effective those links were, and he simply didn’t have anyone else he could send to Sunnydale to concentrate exclusively on her.

Nor could he go himself. He’d never met her, but showing his face to her was far too risky until her descent was much further along. Another annoyance…

He would have to give the situation some thought, weigh the potential benefits against various scenarios of time and trouble. Perhaps there was someone else in Sunnydale capable…

The witch’s head had been full of information about the Slayer and the souled vampire. The Slayer’s greatest love, and her greatest weakness. The redhead’s certainty on those points had just begged him to set up shop in L.A., and he had no intension of leaving now.

Really, the mind boggled at the thought of a Slayer with close ties to not just one, but two vampires, he thought, remembering the other one - the one on the tower. Blond. Cocky. Easily defeated, but taking up just a little too much time…Delaying the cutting, the bleeding, the opening of the portal - delaying it all just long enough to give the Slayer time… That arrogant vampire had saved this miserable world.

Patience, he reminded himself. The next alignment wouldn’t be for months. He had a small group of scholars working on it now, but he fully expected the time would coincide with the last alignment, coming sometime in this country’s springtime. It wouldn’t do at all to rush things, to succeed too early with plans that would then become useless because the Slayer would have too much time to heal wounds, to recover and regroup before he needed the key. Glory, although - glorious - had been a fool at times. She had revealed herself too soon, given the Slayer and her friends time to prepare for her. He’d tried to hold the lovely goddess back, but she’d been far too stubborn. He shook his head sadly. Even gods made errors in judgment. Only his presence at the tower, unexpected by the Slayer, had saved the night from being a complete disaster. They’d been unsuccessful in their goals, and Glory had, of course, been destroyed, but at least his cutting of the key had forced the death of the Slayer - and he still felt a fierce pleasure that his actions had forced suffering and pain onto those who had worked with the Slayer to defeat them.

It was his only consolation, and it had done much to soothe him as he twisted in the blinding light and pain of the portal for long centuries.

And it reinforced his believe that it was wisest to keep a low profile. One could get information in so many ways. Glory had never understood that. Her arrogance had not done well in this dimension.

He hadn’t yet met this vampire - this Angel who was so important to the Slayer. He’d toyed with the idea of approaching him on a professional level, seeking his assistance in finding some non-existent missing person, or some foolishness such as that. And, if all else failed, that was still an option.

But the wonderful rumors he’d heard about this vampire - this one with a soul who was supposedly seeking his redemption - had led him on a different, and far more entertaining, path. This Angel had been backsliding in the last year, having problems staying on that straight and narrow path. He’d heard stories; about mistakes the vampire had made, about walks he had taken on the dark side, this supposed warrior of light.

Tsk, tsk. Perhaps this as yet unseen champion could use some - help.

Enter Bellamy.

Over the long years of his existence, he’d spent a lot of time listening. Listening and looking harmless. He’d done so well with that duo. Humans, especially, were delightfully susceptible to it. The soulful eyes, the gentle smile, the head cocked caringly to the side, the nods of understanding; all carefully practiced and expertly executed. But he’d learned that a lot of non-human types were almost equally susceptible to the Bellamy persona.

It had served him well so often in the past, and now he’d worked his way into the confidence of one of the souled one’s inner circle. He’d only just made contact with Lorne, the glorified bartender, and already the host had referred two of his patrons to him.

Soon, perhaps, he would refer his most unique friend. The vampire with a soul, who was having so much trouble controlling himself, and fitting into the human world. So in need of just the kind of help Bellamy could offer…

And his patience and care would once more be rewarded.

The corners of Doc’s mouth turned up in a perfect little bow.

~*~

He’d only slept for a short time. He could see that the light hadn’t changed much. Half an hour, maybe. He rolled onto his back, his arm curving to drape over his eyes.

Bloody hell.

He let the images of Dru, of Angelus and Darla, wash over him. They were already fading, as dreams so often quickly do, but the taunting words of his vampiric family lingered, striking at him like vicious body blows.

Stay the hell out of my sodding head, the lot of you!

A small noise had him shooting up in his bed, eyes searching for the nearest weapon. They stopped dead on his Slayer, who stood silently at the base of the ladder.

“Buffy.”

“I had to wait for everyone to leave,” she told him. Her eyes were riveted to his mouth.

A smile, pleased, but with definite gloating overtones, curved it. He stretched his hand out to her. “C’mere.”

She moved into his arms, her body melting against him.

“I have to be home by three. No later.”

Six hours.

“Okay.”

“By three,” she reiterated, with an attempt at firmness. The effect was lost as her voice became muffled against his chest. “Don’t let me be late.”

“I won’t,” he assured her. Spike lay back on the sheets and pulled her over him, his hands going to the buttons of her blouse.

~*~

He tugged her closer. Her body slid against his as she settled more comfortably against him, their legs entwining. She was sleeping deeply, exhausted. Worn out. I did that, he thought with satisfaction. Finally wore my lady out. He smiled into her hair, inhaling her wonderful scent. Mmmm…

He dozed.

Fuck!

Spike’s eyes flew open. I’m never bloody gonna sleep again, he raged to himself. Never. But nothing in his hold telegraphed his unease. His arms remained close about her, clasping her to him.

~*~

Satisfaction curved her lips. Mmmm… Even asleep, her mind was reliving the unbelievable pleasures of the last hours.

Buffy flew up in the bed with a gasp, yanking herself out of Spike’s embrace.

“What is it, love?” he asked. His voice sounded odd, off kilter.

Buffy pushed a hand into her hair, and forced herself back to calmness.

It had been a dream.

Just a dream.

“Nothing,” she murmured, and moved back into his arms. “Nothing at all.”

~*~

Author’s Note

Just a quicky in case there’s anyone out there who doesn’t share my weird sense of humor and is confused by some of the demon or secondary character names included here, or even some unusual phrasings…

If your name/e-mail name/pen name appears in this story - even if I’ve made you a blob of gooey demon flesh - the acknowledgement is a thank you. Either your stories or your feedback to mine have touched me, and led me to want to include you in Journeys. Thank you for the pleasure you’ve given me.

Mary

August 13, 2003

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