Buffy staked the last of the three vamps, and Spike, seated casually on a nearby grave stone, eyed her with satisfaction. Definite improvement. ‘Course, he hadn’t expected anything else. She was still the sodding Slayer, wasn’t she? And after that pitiful showing their first night out, there really hadn’t been anywhere to go but up, had there?

He was damned proud of his lady.

“Not bad, Slayer.”

“That big one…” she began.

“Yeah, a little too close for comfort,” he agreed. “Thought I might have to climb off my comfy box seat and save your arse.”

Buffy blew her hair out of her face and glared at him. He drew in his cheeks.

“Told you, pet. Take out the strongest first. All that movie crap about leaving the leader for the big showdown at the end? Might work for dramatic purposes, but it’s a good way to lose a fight.”

Personally, he liked leaving the strongest for last. It increased the challenge. But his own preferences weren’t the issue here. Keeping his Slayer alive, getting her retrained, was.

“They like to hide behind their – um, newlier risen vamps,” she complained.

He managed not to gape at that line. “In vamp circles we call the ‘newlier risen vamps’ fledglings, or minions,” he offered, straight faced. “There’s a distinction, but it’s probably immaterial for staking purposes.”

“Oh, okay. Um, sorry.” She was brushing dust from her clothing, and shaking it out of her hair. He didn’t recall ever seeing her do that in the past, and he found it endearing in some completely inexplicable way.

“Don’t apologize.”

“Sorry.” Buffy went still, obviously realizing what she’d said. “I’ll, ah, keep working on that.”

He smirked. “Do that.” He let his eyes drift over her. “Aside from the apologies, you’re more yourself everyday, love,” he assured her. “Sometimes, I can practically see the all the little bits and pieces clicking into place in your mind.”

“You can?” Buffy asked, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes. “Are they in focus when you see them?”

“Still pretty fuzzy, huh?”

“Yesss.” There was a slight hiss of disgust in her voice. Absently, and expertly, she twirled her stake. “Maybe I just need glasses. With really thick lenses.” She paused, looking thoughtful, “Still, stuff isn’t quite as fuzzy as it was, er, before. I figure, ten, fifteen years, tops… everything will be as clear as a – really clear thing.”

“Your witty repartee is a bit on the fuzzy side, too, Slayer.” They began walking together, heading for the cemetery gates.

“Unlike your increasingly clear annoying tendencies.”

“Coming through in all their Technicolor glory, are they?”

Buffy looked down, but he caught the smile anyway.

“Yeah.”

“Admit it, Slayer. I annoy you, it helps keep you on your game.”

“Is that what you tell yourself, Blondie?”

“It’s the truth!” he insisted. “Gets your blood up, makes that stake of yours strike true.”

They’d left Restfield Cemetery behind, and were strolling toward Revello Drive. It was getting late, and he figured they’d done enough for the night. Not only had his Slayer handled the vamps with more style than she’d shown since her return, she’d led the way, unaided, to two cemeteries they hadn’t visited before. He’d noticed more than once that when she was relaxed and not trying so hard to force details into ‘focus’, they came a hell of a lot easier.

Since the night she’d told him about some of the problems she was having, they’d patrolled together every night. Buffy seemed quite intent on her job, and he could sense an almost grim determination in her at times. The Watcher had told him that in the past, he’d often had trouble getting Buffy to train with any intensity, but that didn’t seem to be the case now. While she still had a long way to go, and there sometimes seemed to be some elusive, but necessary, element missing, she was putting in a lot of effort, working hard to hone stale skills.

Their time together was not silent as it had been in those first couple of weeks, when she’d seemed to desire quiet and peace above all else. They talked a lot now, casually, about little things, about movies they watched, about Dawn, about day to day nothings. Slowly, and sparingly, he’d begun sharing some impersonal details of his long life – places he’d been, first hand accounts of some historical events he’d witnessed or been close too. She listened, showed interest, sometimes asked a few questions. And she seemed to enjoy the fact that she could ask him about her own past, about details she was having some trouble with. He knew her memories were there, just under the surface, and that she spent a lot of time anxiously trying to weave them all together. Sometimes, he thought she asked him to confirm or supply details just to give her brain a rest.

And, from what Dawn told him, she was still escaping the Scoobies by shutting herself away in her bedroom or slipping out the window.

Damned shame, that, he thought. Feelin’ the need to hide out in her own house.

~*~

“Willow and Xander wanted to patrol with us tonight,” Buffy said. “I think they were kinda upset when I turned them down. I know they used to patrol with me, but I’m not sure I understand why. It just seems that it endangers them – patrolling. They’re not fighters. I have this vague memory of someone saying that I spent a lot of my time sort of – rescuing them.”

It was Anya’s voice, she realized now; a past event being related and greeted by the laughter of several people. Comfortable, relaxed laughter, from people acknowledging that they sometimes had to be pulled out of a dire situation, but confident that their contributions outweighed that.

“Seen you charge in to save their hides more than once myself. And a Slayer with friends? Not how it’s usually done, pet. But you lot worked well together. I think it helped you more than hurt you.”

Did it? Yeah, she nodded to herself, that did feel right. Rapid fire images flashed through her mind – battling with Willow and Xander and Giles at her side, occasionally with Anya or Tara. Sometimes the images contained others. A guy in fatigues, a dark haired vampire, a short guy who’s hair changed color from image to image. Their names escaped her for the moment, and she didn’t spend time right now trying to pull them up.

They’d been a team. A very effective team.

Mostly.

A Slayer is destruction. Absolute. Alone.

Buffy’s pace slowed to a stop, and she put a hand to her head for just a moment. Spike came to a halt as well, looking back at her with some concern.

“You okay?” He moved closer. “Did you hit your head on a grave stone? One of those wankers didn’t get a claw into you, did they?” His eyes began to run over her assessingly.

She hadn’t been alone. She hadn’t. She’d had friends. She still did. She was having some trouble feeling it all right now, but she knew she hadn’t been alone.

Pain rushed through her, intense and unexpected, and Buffy moved her hand to her chest, curling it over her heart, and pressing down hard. Oh, god…

“Love?”

“I – I’m f-fine,” she assured him. Her hand fell away from her breast and she straightened her shoulders as she began walking again. They had gone several blocks before she broke the silence. Spike had been glancing at her speculatively, and she’d been trying to ignore the questions in his eyes.

“You know that movie we watched the other night?” she asked.

“Which one?”

Watching movies together had become a fairly regular occurrence since she’d been brought here.

“’Mirage’.”

“You picked it,” he said defensively.

“When I saw his picture on the box, I was all excited to remember that my Grandma Summers liked Gregory Peck, so I thought we should try that one. You know – in honor of my Grandma, and a moment of clarity on the part of my memory.”

“You thought it was your mum who liked him,” he felt compelled to correct her.

“Yeah, well, that turned out to be Sean Connery, Remind-O-Guy. But I definitely knew that one female in my family tree was hot for Gregory Peck.”

He frowned. “Sean Connery, huh? Lots of birds go for that James Bond type. I’d’ve thought Joyce would’ve been a bit more discerning.”

“I think, for mom, it was less James Bond; waaay more Captain Ramius,” Buffy clarified. “What. Ever… ‘Mirage’.”

“Told you – you picked it. I didn’t know it had anything to do with amnesia.”

“Do you think I don’t want to remember, like someone told Gregory Peck?”

“No,” he answered, his voice firm. He stopped walking again, and curled a hand around her arm, bringing her to a halt as he turned her to face him. “I think you’re traumatized by everything that’s happened to you, and you’re adjusting. Which is bloody well gonna take some time. And just for the record? You haven’t got amnesia. You’re just having some trouble remembering things quickly. Your memories are there. You know they are. They’re just not as – accessible – as they should be all the time.

He dipped his head, bringing his eyes on level with hers.

“You want my honest opinion, Slayer?”

She nodded.

“I think you should stop fashing yourself over it. Let it go, let it come back in its own time. Maybe your mind knows just what it’s doing, and why, and you should just go with that.” His hand left her arm, and touched a strand of her hair before dropping back to his side. “Everything is gonna be fine.”

“Do you really think so?” Her eyes were appealing.

She wasn’t – hiding – was she? Was she? Were there things she didn’t want to remember? She didn’t feel that way. Sometimes she felt absolutely desperate to be able to think clearly, to not have to dig and probe inside herself. When she was alone, she’d been working hard to really concentrate and catalogue every image that flashed through her brain. It was unbelievably exhausting. Maybe she should just take Spike’s advice and let it all go – wait for it to happen naturally. It was so hard though. She felt restless, anxious to get it all back, because she might need it…She had to be able to grasp things quickly, because she needed to stay on top of things. That was part of what she… part of… her.

It was so frustrating to not be able to remember things – normally – like she should be able to. And embarrassing sometimes, she thought, thinking of the other night with Giles.

Buffy couldn’t recall much of what she and her Watcher had talked about. Probably, she thought, because she’d been so distracted trying to pretend she knew who he was. When he’d walked in to the training room, she’d gotten a little nervous, pulling into herself as she seemed to when people who were not Dawn or Spike came into talking range. Oh god, please don’t let this be someone I’m supposed to know. When Spike had called him Rupert, she’d relaxed. The name didn’t feel familiar. But his reaction to seeing her; his heartfelt ‘my beloved girl’, made it quite clear she did know him. She’d tensed up more, struggling to grab memories.

Ten minutes after Dawn and Spike left them alone, she’d known he was very special to her, as she obviously was to him, but it wasn’t until a few minutes after he’d dropped her off at the house, that all the details wove themselves together in her head. When she was away from him, she realized now, when she wasn’t frantically trying to ‘get’ it all.

Poor Giles, she thought again. He must have been so shocked – by her resurrection, by her reactions, by her calling him Rupert. Buffy almost cringed just thinking about it. She’d felt guilty the rest of the night, and had been anxious to talk to him the next evening at the Magic Box, to try to find some way to explain. But by that time, he’d already asked Spike about some of the difficulties she was experiencing.

“Wasn’t like I was sharing secrets, love,” Spike had defended himself. “Just filled him in on a few things.”

“Yeah, I really think so,” Spike told her now. He looked into her troubled face and seemed to come to some decision.

“Got an idea, Slayer. Something that might help.” There was a gleam in his eyes, and he grabbed her hand, tugging her along in his wake. “Come with me.”

~*~

“And where did you get a motorcycle?” she asked.

“Thought I told you. I nicked it from those biker demons that were terrorizing the town the night Willow brought you back.”

Buffy shuddered. Those demons sometimes made appearances in her nightmares.

“I punched a demon off the bike and took it, before going back to get Dawn. She wasn’t there.” The remembered fear and terror of that moment was clear in his voice.

Buffy’s eyes shot to his.

“Dawn is fine,” she reminded him. “They didn’t hurt her, didn’t touch her. She’s fine.”

“Yeah.” His clenched fists relaxed. “Yeah, she is.”

He swung a leg over the bike.

“Hop on, Slayer,” he invited, his voice lighter now. “We’re taking a ride.”

Buffy backed away a step. “Oh, I don’t know...”

“Come on. It might blow some of the cobwebs out of your mind.” When she still hesitated, he raised a scarred brow. “Not afraid, are you?”

She met his eyes, acknowledging the challenge. Her own brows went up, and both her expression and her tone were one hundred percent Buffy Summers, pre-tower. “Never.”

She climbed on.

“Hold on, love,” he warned her, and they roared away from the curb, heading out into the night.

Spike handled the bike like he’d been born to it. They ripped along the road, leaving Sunnydale behind in a matter of minutes. Out into the country, picking up speed, and oh, god, she – she thought, maybe, maybe, she liked it.

Neither of them were wearing helmets, and the wind was whipping her hair wildly around her head, across her face, then back. She was nestled up close behind Spike, her arms wrapped firmly around his waist, her hands loosely fisted and resting against just above the button of his jeans.

She discovered she loved leaning into the curves with him, matching his movements, her body working effortlessly in synch with his to keep the ride smooth. She felt free, alive, kinda – um, wonderful. The release of tension was amazing. Here, she didn’t have to know anything, remember anything, didn’t have to… God, she just wanted to keep riding. On and on. Even the danger appealed to her on some level she didn’t quite comprehend.

Oh, god, this was…

“Okay?” Spike shouted back to her.

“Perfect,” she yelled into his ear, finishing her thought.

She never saw his mouth curve with satisfaction.

~*~

It was nearly two hours later when he pulled over to the side of the road. They were in the middle of nowhere, but he still thought a break to let his Slayer stretch her legs would be a good idea.

Buffy clambered off the bike, stumbling a little. His arm shot out, catching her elbow in an effort to help her regain her balance. She laughed.

The sound was so welcome, and so completely unexpected that Spike was shocked by it. A weird feeling thrummed through him, pleasure blooming almost painfully in his chest. If she had just told him she would love him forever, it could not have given him more pleasure than the sound of her laughter.

His voice was hushed, and as she was still straightening her clothing and her limbs she didn’t seem to hear him. She finished adjusting her blouse, and looked up at him, smiling. He forced a returning smile.

He climbed off the bike and sat on the ground, lighting a cigarette. After stretching a little, Buffy sat down beside him.

“Liked the motorbike, did you?” he asked casually.

“Oh yeah,” she enthused. Her voice was animated, and filled with more pleasure than he’d heard in it since she’d come back. Or for several months before she’d died, for that matter.

His smile was genuine this time. “We’ll ride again, then. Anytime.”

“Don’t think I won’t take you up on that,” she said. “Because I will.”

“’m counting on it, love.” He laid back in the soft grass just off the shoulder of the road, curving one arm behind his head, and took a deep drag on his cigarette.

“That cobweb line? My Gran used to say that,” she told him thoughtfully.

“Are you saying my vocabulary is dated?” he asked, scowling at her through the smoke and the darkness.

“Well, you are old,” she returned. “But no, I was implying that I remember it. Clearly. No fuzziness.”

“Yeah? Tell me,” he invited.

“It’s was my mom’s mom – Grandma Robinson. Technically, she was already Grandma Rayburn then, living on a ranch in Texas with her second husband. They had this long, flat dirt road on their property, and we’d go for walks on it all the time. Just the two of us. It always seemed to be dry and dusty, and I would kick at the dirt while we walked. Sometimes it swirled into those miniature tornado thingies. You know, the non-scary ones.” Buffy smiled in remembrance. “I liked them. Thought I was pretty hot stuff, too, that I could make them just by kicking at the dirt.”

“You liked the power,” Spike interjected.

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “Right,” she responded with sarcasm. “Gran told me that she needed to take walks several times a week in order to ‘blow the cobwebs out of her mind’.” Buffy paused. “Which completely wigged me. I was so freaked, trying to figure out how the spiders got into her head, and, of course, when bedtime rolled around, there was no way, no how, I was gonna sleep in that house. I threw a complete Buffy Summers tantrum.”

“’Spect you were right good at them as a tot, too.” She could still throw a fairly memorable tantrum. Or she had been able to – before. The jury was probably still out on whether that ability had survived. “I think the bit inherited that talent from you. Must be in the blood.”

This time she didn’t bother with the eye roll. She just gave him the look before continuing.

“I had all these horrible visions of spiders crawling into my ears and –” Buffy curled her hands into claws and emphasized her words with them, shuddering. “Blaaaa – eeeww. It still creeps me out.” She glanced at him. “We are never watching any of those spider movies, mister. You know – ‘Arachnophobia’ or ‘Attack of the Killer Hairy Legged Things’ – anything like that, and don’t you ever try to sneak one past me.”

His eyes gleamed with amused pleasure. She was the bleedin’ Slayer. She’d defeated some of the most ferocious demons to occupy this dimension, and she was ‘blaaaa-ing’ over a spider.

“Mom tried to explain to me what Gran meant, but I don’t think I ever slept very well in that house.” She considered that. “I’m not sure I’d be able to sleep there tonight. But I do understand what Gran meant now. It’s kind of how I feel.” She looked at him. “And it’s nice to remember it so clearly. To remember them – mom and Gran. You know, more than just pictures in the photo album or in a frame on my nightstand. Actual memories.”

“Told you. It’s comin’. Tonight, when you weren’t worryin’ about anything, you led the way to a couple of cemeteries we haven’t been to yet.” His eyes held hers. “All on your own.”

“I did?” She looked mildly surprised, and gave that a little thought. “I did, didn’t I?”

His Slayer was pleased.

“Your Watcher is lookin’ into it a little. Tryin’ to suss out if there’s anything that might help clear things up for you a bit.”

Buffy flopped onto her back, arms outspread.

“You cannot know how welcome that would be. Do you have any idea what this is like? Sometimes I’m sitting in the house – my house – sort of watching things going on around me. And my brain is functioning like this: ‘That’s Willow. I can’t remember her last name right now, though I imagine I knew it five minutes ago, but we’re good friends. She lives here now, and I’m not really sure why. And that’s Tara, her girlfriend. They’re gay, which is, you know, cool, even if I distinctly remember that it kinda freaked me when I first found out. Pretty soon that other person is going to come over. Xander. What kind of a name is that? And he has a girlfriend, too. Anna, um Anya. This is Sunnydale. I am not really a normal girl. I’m the Slayer. I’m not quite sure what that means, but I kill things. Evil things. And I’m kinda good at it.’” Buffy glanced at Spike. “Um, sometimes, anyway.”

“Improving nightly,” he assured her.

“Do you know what that’s like?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Spike didn’t reply, but somewhere inside him, he wondered if it was anything like this: ‘I’m a vampire. My every instinct is to hunt, to feed, to kill. Survival. But then I got a chip shoved up my head. If I try to do any of that now, my brain will attempt to fry me. Then, like a complete wanker, I fell in love with the sodding Slayer. Now every single thing I do has to be run through the ‘Buffy Approval Process.’ Even when she was gone I was using it. And if I’m gonna live according to the BAP, I shouldn’t long to hunt. I shouldn’t miss killing, feeding. But I damn well do. I’m not a normal vampire anymore, if I ever was. Things change. And I haven’t got a bleedin’ clue if I can change enough to keep up with them. But I can still kill things. Evil things. And I’m bloody amazing at it.’

It was a completely different aspect of life, but the necessity of having to think things through in such an unnatural manner seemed somehow similar.

“Your Watcher is a happy man,” he said. “Havin’ Buffy related research to do again.” Spike paused. “He had a hard time of it over the summer.”

“I know. He mentioned it,” Buffy said, her tone gentling.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” he asked. “About heaven? I understand why you didn’t the first night he was back. I know you were confused about who he was, but why not since then? You’ve seen him a few times. Had opportunities.”

“I just – I can’t.”

Spike reached for her arm, tugging on it lightly. Acquiescing, she lay down on her side beside him. He tossed his cigarette away, and shifted onto his side, too, so that they lay facing each other. He pushed a strand of hair off her face.

“’s okay, love. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“It’s not that, exactly. It’s just… Everything is all – strange.”

“Bound to be, innit? A lotta people sing California’s praises, but I’m thinking, line it up side by side with heaven, it’s bound to come out a bit on the shy side.”

Buffy’s face softened, and a slight smile curved her mouth.

He allowed his eyes to linger on that little curve. “You ever wanna talk about it, love, I’ll listen.”

“I’m… I’ll think about it,” she murmured. “Soon, maybe, I will.” She paused. “’Cause I’m afraid I’ll lose the memories of it, lose little pieces. And I don’t want to forget – not ever.” Her voice trailed away to silence. She shifted a little, and he moved an inch closer to her.

“There’s something you could do to help you remember, to hold on to things.” He hesitated before going on, and her eyes questioned him. “Tell Dawn. Shhh,” he hushed her when she opened her mouth to reply. “Just give it some thought. She spent the summer sure that you were in heaven, at peace, back with your mum. You know…” he shrugged a little. “Now Willow has told her you were in hell, suffering all kinds of torment, and that you’d still be there if Willow hadn’t ‘rescued’ you. The bit is pretty upset about the whole thing. An’ she’s been having a lot of nightmares about it. It’s your decision, love, but I hope you’ll think about it. And if you do, then she’ll be able to help you remember if you still feel like you’re losing pieces of it.”

“I – you’re very protective of her, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” he admitted, thinking it should be obvious.

He’d grown a little defensive, and okay, not a little flustered, when Buffy learned he walked Dawn home from work two nights a week.

Okay, so it hadn’t been one of his finest moments. But she hadn’t commented when he’d taken his leave of her later in order to meet up with Dawn. Explaining Friday nights to her – his ‘date’ night with Dawn – had made him feel even more defensive, so he’d made Dawn do it.

“‘sides, she’s my girl now. I’d protect her even if I hadn’t given you my word.”

“I know,” she murmured, her voice sincere. “You’re strong, and I know I can count on you. I know you’ll take care of her.”

“Always, love,” he renewed his vow again. “’Til the end of the world.”

Buffy rolled onto her back and looked upward, only to gasp.

Spike tensed, and his head shot in the same direction, his body rolling to come up in a crouch. Even though he’d heard nothing, her gasp had him expecting danger. Realizing what she was focused on, the tension left him, and he lay back down beside her.

“Look at that!” she breathed.

The blanket of stars was brilliant, awe-inspiring.

“Dear god, is it always like this? I mean, I live in the night – why haven’t I ever noticed this?” Her brow furrowed. “Do you think I forgot it?”

“Doubt it. It’s a good display tonight,” he told her. “And you wouldn’t see anything like this in town.”

“It’s unbelievable!”

He let his eyes run over her enthralled face.

“You know you can join the bit and me – we do a lot of stargazing.”

“Yeah. Dawn’s mentioned it only about a gazillion times. She told me how much she loves it, how interesting you make it all.” Buffy turned her head toward him. “That’s kind of your special thing with her, though. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

He studied her.

“Dawn was right. You are a lot more polite than you used to be.”

“Less annoying,” she repeated his words from an earlier conversation back to him. “More polite,” Buffy mused. “I’m surprised you or anyone else, for that matter, put up with me.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I can’t speak for the others, but there always seemed to be something about you that made me overlook your less pleasant traits.”

Buffy’s eyes returned to the beautiful night sky.

“Just think of all the other skies, the other worlds out there,” she murmured.

His eyes flew to her again. “Slayer?” he questioned, feeling a little shocked.

“Hmmm?” She glanced toward him. “What?”

“I – it’s nothing.”

“No, what?” she pressed, and he knew his tone had told her it wasn’t nothing.

“It’s just… I wondered sometimes, if you were out there somewhere, aware on some other plane.” His voice caught, and he desperately wished he hadn’t mentioned this. He rushed to finish. “My mind used those word – other skies, other worlds…” he told her. “I’d wonder about it, and hope that if you were, you were happy,” he finished.

Pain was pulling at him, threatening to bring him down.

Buffy didn’t say anything, but he felt her hand close around his and squeeze briefly. It soothed him.

“Guess you were, weren’t you? Happy?”

“Yeah.”

“You said it was longer for you – in heaven. Longer than five months.”

“Yeah.”

“How long was it?”

She shrugged.

He hooked an arm under his head and gazed back up into the sky. “Have to tell you, love, the 148 days felt like 148 years.”

“Did they?” she asked, and a certain quality in her voice caused his head to turn back to her and his eyes to narrow.

“Slayer?”

“Yeah?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over her, slipping a hand into her hair, and tugging her face around to meet his.

“Buffy?”

She lifted her eyes to his. “Yeah?”

“How long was it for you, love?”

“I don’t know, really,” she replied, her eyes slipping away again.

“Look at me,” he urged.

She did.

“How long, Buffy?”

She was silent for several seconds. “A long time,” she said at last.

“A year, then? Two, Ten?”

She said nothing.

“Fifty? One hundred?”

Her eyes fell shut momentarily. “I’m not sure. Maybe.” Her eyes lifted again to meet his. “Or, ah, maybe a little longer than that.”

He absorbed that.

“Or maybe a lot longer than that, is that what you’re saying?”

He sounded almost angry, and she withdrew a little.

“Quit looking away,” he demanded. He waited until their eyes connected again. “You were there for hundreds of years, weren’t you? Hundreds and bloody hundreds of years… Tell me.”

“I’m not sure. Time wasn’t the same, but…”

“But that’s how it felt.”

“Yeah.”

“Sonofabloodybitch,” he said quietly, and then again, “Son. Of. A. Bloody. Bitch.” Spike drew her closer, wrapping one arm around her and dropping back onto the ground, pulling her down with him so that she lay draped across him. The hand in her hair tugged her face into his throat. “Son. Of. A. Bloody. Bitch. I damn well don’t know what to say, Slayer.”

“Because there isn’t anything to say,” she told him. “Nothing.”

She sounded sad beyond imagining again, desolate, a tone he hadn’t heard since those first days after her return, and he was left wishing even more fervently that he hadn’t brought up the subject of heaven again, hadn’t pressed her to share the information.

Wanker! Stupid, sodding…

His anger with himself reminded him of the fury he’d felt with her friends. It had been dying down as the weeks passed and Buffy improved, but it returned now in force. Did they have any sodding clue what was going on? What they’d done? What they’d stolen from her?

His right hand cupped the back of her head, and he moved his fingers soothingly through her hair, while at his side his left hand fisted tightly into the turf, as rage and anger continued to run through him.

Buffy pressed herself closer to him, the arm that had been draped across his chest, sliding down to wrap around his waist. Her legs twined through his familiarly, and he felt that wonderful burst of warmth he’d felt with her before, that morning in his bed. It filled him, heating him from the inside out, drenching him with comfort and peace. The rage eased, and he lifted his hand from the earth and began to stroke her shoulders and back with it, unwittingly leaving little streaks of dirt on her pale sweater. He didn’t have any more understanding of the sensation now than he’d had the first time it happened, but he’d bloody well welcome it whenever or wherever it cared to make an appearance. Buffy said nothing, and he didn’t know if she’d felt it, too, or not.

“I’d say that clears up any mystery surrounding your memory problems,” he said quietly several minutes later. “Your life here was hundreds of years ago. Bound to have some trouble remembering it all, aren’t you?”

“Do you think so?” she asked. “I mean, I thought of that a few times, wondered if that was why…”

“Most humans have trouble remembering what they did last week, what they had for lunch, or where they parked their cars, for that matter… And getting jerked around like that… Probably didn’t do much to help.”

“While you, I’m sure, have total and perfect recall.”

“Well, yeah. Superior senses, pet.”

“Pffft.” Buffy paused, and her voice had gone soft when she continued. Wistful. “I miss it, Spike. It was so beautiful. So peaceful. Like being totally surrounded by love and warmth. Perfect. I can’t describe it. It was…”

“Heavenly?”

He could feel her smile against him. “Yeah.”

He almost asked her if she wanted to go back, but he restrained himself. He could hear the longing in her voice, and he didn’t think he could bear to hear her give voice to that longing. How deep did it go? Deep enough to be viewed as a death wish?

Pain and fear hit him hard. He could not lose her again. He couldn’t. Not again.

“I was resting,” she went on. “You know, getting…” she broke off.

“Getting what?” His voice sounded the same, calm and encouraging. He should think of taking up acting.

She shrugged, not responding to the question. “And then, suddenly, this horrible, screaming pain, like someone or something was just tearing me to shreds, ripping me apart, ripping me out, and I wasn’t ready, wasn’t…” Her breathing began to roughen. “And then I was in the coffin. In the ground. Trapped. Trapped, and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, didn’t know what was happening, or…”

She was gasping now, and he could almost feel the remembered horror, pain and fear running under her skin, morphing into panic.

“Shhh. Don’t, love.”

His hand slid under her sweater, and began running up and down the smooth flesh of her back, while his right hand continued to massage her scalp soothingly.

“You’re safe. Don’t let the panic take you. Just breathe…”

It took some time, but she was successful at battling the panic away without letting it send her into a full scale attack. She was fighting, and his pride in her increased.

Several minutes passed before she spoke, and when she did, her voice was very quiet, hesitant. “Do you think I did something wrong? Do you think they kicked me out?” she asked.

Where the hell had that idea come from? he wondered.

“You said you were just floating there – enjoying the peace and quiet. Can’t see what you could-a done in that state to get yourself kicked out, pet.” Spike thought about that. “You didn’t get bored, huh?”

She pulled her face out of his throat and looked at him. “Huh?”

“All that layin’ about. You didn’t get bored? Want a little more action?” He was genuinely perplexed.

Buffy gave an inelegant snort of laughter, and settled back into his arms. “No. Not bored.” She was silent for a minute, but apparently she’d been giving his words some thought. “Funny, though,” she said, sounding slightly puzzled. “You’d think there’d be a little more to it. Yeah, it was beautiful beyond words, wonderful. But, um, it was just kinda – me…” He could feel her face scrunching up against his flesh. “Alone. Apart. Even there…” Her voice trailed off.

“Buffy?”

She pulled back, looking at him. “Wouldn’t you think I’d’ve been hanging out with mom or something?”

“Maybe you were in a holding pattern, love. You know, waiting for St. Peter to take a look at your record or something.” He tugged on a strand of hair. “Probably a Herculean task, volumes to be got through, lots of fine print…”

Buffy’s laughter was more open this time. She pulled herself out of his arms, and shifted to her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows.

“You sound so – Victorian,” she jibed. “St. Peter…”

“Yeah. I’m right prim and proper that way,” he said dryly. “My childhood lingering.”

She rolled her eyes. “It lingered well. I’ve noticed the whole lack of maturity thing.” She glanced at him. “Many, many, many times.”

“Right,” he drawled.

Buffy bent her knees and crossed her ankles over each other, swinging her feet casually back and forth. It was one of the bit’s favorite positions, and, for the first time ever, Spike thought he saw some resemblance between the sisters. She plucked some long pieces of grass out of the ground and began playing with them, touching them to each other, twisting them together. Dawn did that, too.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Other than that?”

“Funny.”

“You know you can, pet.”

“It’s – why? Why did it happen? I mean, I know Willow did a spell, but Spike, I was in heaven. I don’t know what I believe, about God and the Power or Powers, whatever – I don’t think I’ve ever been very sure. I know there’s good and evil, that they both exist. Tangible, you know? Especially in my world. But no matter what I believe, and no matter what I’m having trouble remembering, I’m gonna have to go with the theory that whoever is in charge in heaven is more powerful than Willow. So why did he/she/it allow it? Why did they let Willow pull me out?”

What the hell could he say to that?

“Don’t know, love. Lots of things happen I don’t understand.” Especially, he thought, in the last few years. Since he’d met her.

“I must be back for a reason, right? I mean, I felt finished. Relaxed. Resting. The peace was… It’s – I think if I don’t believe there’s a reason, it might just be too –” She broke off and quite obviously changed what she’d been about to say. “Actually, I think it might kind of piss me off.”

Which, he thought, might be a damned good attitude for her to take, at least as far as Red was concerned. No need for her to be pissed off at innocent bystanders. Vampires, for example, who’d been tending to their own business, minding little sis while the spell went down, in fact… “Understandable, I’d say.”

“And even if Willow thought she was saving me from some hell dimension, from something terrible, he/she/it knew differently, right? Grrraah… I just don’t get it!”

She tossed away the braided grass and turned, flopping onto her back again.

“If this is all part of some destiny/fate thingie, with apocalyptic overtones, it had better be good.”

He was surprised by her humor, and she seemed to pick up on that.

“I’m trying to accept it all, adjust, you know? Okay, I haven’t been very successful yet,” she admitted off his look, “but I’m working on it.”

“No, you have. You’ve come a long way from the first days…”

“A few baby steps, maybe. Dawn has been really great about helping me. The supportive sister. I think she’d feeling all protective. I can see she doesn’t understand it all, but she almost – she kind of ‘covers’ for me sometimes with the others. Like that night we walked home from the cemetery a few, um, I don’t know when it was. We patrolled afterward. You and I. A few months ago maybe? Do you remember?”

“Yeah. It was last week, Slayer.” He kept his tone careful. He’d noted some trouble with the passage of time, but she hadn’t openly spoken of it.

“Oh.” She sounded disheartened. “I shouldn’t even try to guess. I’m probably never close.” She met his eyes, grimacing. “Time? It’s, um, kind of a problem. As in the me never knowing how much of it has passed sense. It’s… I don’t know how long I’ve been here – back here. I mean I really don’t know. No clue. I am clueless. They could make a sequel film starring me.”

“You said time was different in heaven, that it didn’t pass the same way. Maybe you’re just on heaven time.”

“Well, I hope I get over it soon. Add my inability to know if something happened last night or last year in with the whole Can’t Remember Diddlysquat issue, and people are gonna start looking at me like I’m completely wacko. And,” she broke in as soon as he opened his mouth, “You don’t need to tell me that that’s a look I’ve seen on a lot of faces before, because somehow, that’s seeming pretty familiar to me.”

~*~

Spike was pointing out Betelgeuse and Rigel, trying to help her visualize Orion, and obligingly, Buffy was sighting along the length of his arm. It’s so comfortable with him, she thought, so peaceful. Which she knew was not how she’d ever felt with him in her previous lives. Or, er, life. She hadn’t met him until after she’d died the first time. And, oddly, she had felt comfortably peaceful with Spike a few times in those last months of the, um, life just previous to this one. There had been one time in particular; in the caves with Dawn, ‘I’d do it, right person, person I loved’, before she’d run off to do something else – help Willow with something? Help her fight? She frowned momentarily. Why did she seem to have relatively little trouble remembering the past she shared with Dawn and Spike, but the minute another party came into the memory, things fogged up like a bathroom mirror? Rather than growling with frustration, Buffy forced the thought away, and took a deep breath, allowing herself to relax again.

Peace. Warmth. Comfort.

His voice was soft, and Buffy acknowledged again just how beautiful that voice was when he spoke in this quiet tone. It seemed a little strange that she had never noticed it – before. Given their history, though, it was possible he hadn’t ever spoken to her in quite this tone. Since she’d come back, things had been different, and she’d heard it often.

She liked his voice.

She stopped looking at the beautiful astral display, and turned onto her side, watching his face as he wove tales around the stars.

He glanced at her, doing a little double-take when he saw that her eyes were on him rather than the sky, and his voiced hitched momentarily before he continued with The Hunter’s story. In the next minute, his eyes flickered to her face half a dozen times, and then his voice trailed off, as he copied her motion from minutes before, and rolled toward her to gaze into her face.

“I understand why Dawn enjoys your stories so much,” she said quietly, and she knew from the expression on his face that he was pleased by the compliment.

He didn’t say so, though, and she didn’t comment further. Instead, they lay there, gazing silently at each other in the starlight and moonlight on the side of the road.

This is the most peaceful I’ve felt since I was brought here, she thought. And it feels damn good.

The night flowed by, and they continued to lay there, letting it touch them. At some point, Spike’s hand came up and cupped her neck just under her ear. Her pulse moved strongly under his fingers. He brushed his thumb along her jaw and over her cheekbone.

“Your skin is so warm. And so soft here, like velvet.” His voice was hushed, reverent.

Sometimes, they closed their eyes, and they may even have dozed a little.

Some time later, with obvious reluctance, Spike forced himself to his feet, and reached a hand down to her.

“We have to head back. Sun’ll be up before we can get home if we don’t leave now.”

She took his offered hand, and felt the restrained strength in him as he drew her to her feet. His words had surprised her. “Is it that late?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But don’t worry. Dawn was staying overnight at Janice’s, remember?”

“And what is it about that that shouldn’t worry me?” Buffy grumbled, breaking the gloriously peaceful mood. Janice was not one of her favorite people. She’d only had to meet her once to realize that. She didn’t know if it was a memory or not, but the feeling wasn’t in the least fuzzy.

Spike grinned. “Yeah. A bit of a bad egg, I’m afraid, that one,” he acknowledged. “She’ll be tryin’ to lure our girl into all sorts of trouble.”

He climbed back on the bike, and Buffy got on behind him.

“You know this, and you’re not doing anything about it?” she groused lightly.

“I’ve given the bit enough warnings. She knows I’m keepin’ my eye on that bint.”

“I’m sure she’s properly terrified,” Buffy commented in her best Giles tone. Relaxed, she didn’t realize she was mimicking someone she hadn’t recognized two days ago.

“Are you implying, Slayer, that I’m not scary enough?”

Buffy couldn’t seem to help it. She laughed.

“Let’s go, fang boy. I don’t know how to drive this thing, and if you go all ‘poof’, up in flames, I’ll be stuck a long way from any town wearing shoes that are definitely not of the walky type.”

“Glad the possibility of blisters far outweighs the threat of my imminent demise in your priorities, love.”

He glanced over his shoulder, grinning at her. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him looking so lighthearted. He moved to start the bike, and she suddenly stopped his motion.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” She stretched up and kissed the corner of his mouth lightly.

He turned on the bike, just enough so that he could reach her. His hand cupped her neck again, and he pulled her face up to his, kissing her more thoroughly. Much more thoroughly.

His lips were so soft, his hand against her neck so caressing as it slid up into her hair. And his tongue was so – so knowing, so...His mouth lingered, and lingered. Oh, god… Oooh, he knew how to...It was so...

His mouth slid up to her eyes, feathering over them softly before he touched his lips to her forehead.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered, releasing her. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, and then he turned back and kick-started the bike.

It seconds they were on the road, racing back toward Sunnydale. Buffy wrapped her arms tightly around his lean waist again, her palms flattened against the tight muscles of his upper abs. From time to time on the long ride back, she turned her head, and laid her cheek against his back.

Peace. Warmth. Comfort.

~*~

Buffy’s eyes popped open.

Dreaming again, she realized. These dreams of loss disturbed her, unsettled her. The different feelings they left in their wake suggested to her that they involved a variety of losses, each of them deep. Sometimes the dreams were painful, almost physically so. At other times they left her aching with loneliness and sorrow. Still others left her feeling anxious, almost desperate. Like this one.

Certainly, in many of them, she was mourning the loss of heaven. What other losses she dreamt of, she didn’t know, and couldn’t seem to capture. Unsettled as the dreams left her feeling, she knew she far preferred them to the nightmares of the coffin.

She shifted on the mattress, and let her senses tune in to the room around her, and to the space just outside her house. Yes, he was there, on the roof. Relief poured through her. She hadn’t had a nightmare for two nights now. No matter her trouble with the passage of time, she was sure of that much. As it often did, her breathing grew slightly ragged just at the thought of the nightmares, and she concentrated on bringing it back under control.

Think of something else, she told herself, rolling onto her back. Don’t dwell on nightmares, and the dreams of things lost. Those things can’t be changed. They just have to be – gotten through. Survived. Someday – someday, she told herself repeatedly – the pain and the fear and the sense of loss would just be memories. That day couldn’t come soon enough, in her opinion, but until it did, it didn’t do much good to wallow in thoughts of them.

She had to get past this, had to move on.

After all, what other choice did she have? She could hardly go around with an agonized expression for months or more, making everyone around her uncomfortable and miserable and worried, could she? What purpose would that serve?

Maybe it was time to start making more of an effort to reconnect with her old friends. Force herself to relax around them, to stop pulling away, drawing into herself. She could take deep breaths, and force herself to be comfortable… force herself. She could try, couldn’t she? That might take her mind off of pain and loss. She knew they’d been good friends. Really good friends. Close. They’d faced terrible dangers together, and that had forged strong bonds between them.

Hadn’t it?

She didn’t understand why she felt so disconnected from them now – so apart…

She’d always been alone.

No. No. No. Her mind swerved away from that thought. Go back, back… Where were you?

Disconnected… apart… Yes, that line of thought was better, much better.

Was she angry with them? For what they’d done?

Maybe so.

She certainly felt more connected to Dawn and Spike, the ones who hadn’t been “involved.” Even Giles, though he’d only been back a, um, short time, was easier…

Of course, that didn’t explain why she’d felt the connection to Dawn and Spike immediately – that first night on the stairs. At that time, she hadn’t had any idea what the others had done, so she couldn’t have been blaming them. She was pretty sure she hadn’t even known who the others were for awhile -- several days, a few weeks, maybe.

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. Stupid concept; time. Especially when you didn’t really seem to have any understanding of it, couldn’t keep it straight. Another frustration.

God, it was so much easier to be with Dawn and Spike. Sometimes, she wished the three of them could just take off, get away, be somewhere where she didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to worry about running into someone she was supposed to know, where she didn’t know where anything was in the town, so wouldn’t get so frustrated with herself when it took her fifteen minutes to remember how to get to the dry cleaner’s, or something equally lame. Where there was just them, so she could just be. And know that that would be okay. That that would be enough.

She didn’t think she’d ever felt closer to her sister. Since she’d been brought here, her relationship with Dawn was one of the best things in her life. She only had to look at her to feel a flood of love and protectiveness. Buffy smiled sadly, remembering her promise to their mother that she would love Dawn, even though the girl had come to them in a less than commonplace manner. And she did. It was one of the few things that felt so much easier than it ever had in the past.

And Spike? She liked spending time with him, had felt drawn to him since she’d been – resurrected. Buffy cringed lightly at the word. It often left her feeling slightly ill.

Spike…

He relaxed her – his casual manner, his ability to talk to her easily. She even enjoyed the sarcastic little interjections he made when she was talking. He’d always had a lot of talent in the sarcastic and annoying departments, and he certainly hadn’t lost any of it. But somehow she didn’t seem to find it quite so – annoying – any more.

Whenever she started to tense up, worrying about her memory problems or, for that manner, her general sanity, he would say something stupid or irksome or snarky or amusing, and it just made it all – easier. When he assured her that things would all work out, that she would someday be herself again, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, she believed him. It was almost as if his reassurances alone were taking some of the weight off her shoulders.

Which, if she remembered their past correctly, and he’d assured her she seemed to, was totally weird.

When she was alone, she’d been working hard to really concentrate on every image that flashed through her brain, attempting to retain and catalogue it. It was exhausting. Completely and utterly exhausting. Maybe she should take Spike’s advice and let it all go – wait for it to happen naturally. God, it was so hard though. She felt restless, anxious to get it all back, because she might need it…

Did need it...

She could feel herself starting to tense up again, and she forced the thoughts away. Time for another change of subject, Buffy.

The motorcycle! Good choice, she thought, feeling the mounting tension begin to retreat.

She’d liked the motorcycle. The motorbike, as Spike had called it. Really liked it. The freedom, the wind and the roar, the release… She’d felt wild and reckless and completely safe, all at the same time. It had been amazing. When he’d pulled into the driveway just before dawn to drop her off, she’d told him again that she was looking forward to the next ride.

He’d taken her hand in his, and raised it to his mouth, kissing her palm. He’d done that several times since she’d been brought here, and she’d discovered she liked it, too. It was old-fashioned, and, um, nice.

“Me, too, pet,” he’d said. “Just give me a shout and we’re off.”

Buffy was almost asleep again when her brain accessed a memory that had lain dormant since she’d come back, and her eyes shot open again in shock.

She’d been engaged to him! To Spike! Huh? Dear god, when had that happened? And what had happened to end it? Had they been engaged when she’d… Was that why… ?

Oh! Oh, yeah. It had been a spell. Someone had put a spell on them. She frowned, wondering what the purpose of the spell had been, but nothing came to mind, and she was too sleepy to dig for memories. What. Ever.

The engagement hadn’t lasted very long, she remembered now. But it had certainly been long enough for her to find out how well the man could kiss.

Buffy burrowed her head into her pillow, and closed her eyes.

He hadn’t lost any of his talent in that department, either.

And she’d liked that, too. Really liked it.

Buffy drifted back off to sleep, her lips curved into a faint smile.

~*~

He’d heard her awaken, heard the change in her breathing. It sped up for just a moment, but it didn’t morph into panic, and he forced himself to stay put, to not even poke his head into her room and make sure she was alright.

He knew she was laying awake, and for a while he thought she might climb out onto the roof and sit with him. She did that fairly often. They rarely spoke on those occasions. She’d sit beside him, her arms wrapped around her drawn up knees, her face tipped up to the sky, letting the breeze play with her loose hair. She’d stay for fifteen minutes, or an hour, or two – it varied greatly – and then she’d simply say goodnight and climb back into her room.

Tonight, though, she wasn’t awake long, only fifteen or twenty minutes, and then she drifted off again. He felt another one of those little thrums of pleasure go through him – pleasure that she was sleeping soundly.

They’d been out on the motorbike almost all night the night before, and even though she’d nodded off once or twice as they lay alongside the road, he knew it had been a mostly sleepless night, so he was glad she was resting well tonight. He’d hated having to leave the roadside. For the first time since Dru had turned him, he’d regretted being a vampire, or at least the proviso that forced him to seek shelter from the sun. He’d have lain there with her forever.

The night passed on; quiet and uneventful.

It was almost dawn, and he could still hear the calm even breathing that indicated sleep. No nightmares had disturbed her. It was the first time since she’d come back that she’d been nightmare free two nights in a row. Since she was so often plagued by more than one each night, he considered this a bleedin’ milestone.

Motorbike had helped, he thought smugly, puffing up his chest. Knew it would.

He wanted to take her out on the bike again, wanted to feel her body molded tightly to his, wanted to feel her cheek pressed to his back, feel her palms lying flat against his stomach. He wanted to feel those hands slide up, over his chest, to caress… to move lower, too… to cup him, stroke him, bring him o--…

Shock hit him so hard that he almost fell off the roof.

Bloody, buggering hell!

Sonofabloodybitch!

What the bleedin’ hell was going on?

He hadn’t…

Hadn’t felt…

He hadn’t felt – passion – for her. Not once she’d come back. Not one bloody time. None. And he hadn’t even fucking realized it… Hadn’t known. Hadn’t even thought of it.

All he’d wanted to do was protect her, shield her…something. He didn’t even know really from what – pain? He’d held her and soothed her and comforted her. He’d comforted himself with her nearness. Sought reassurance that she was real by touching her, by stroking her body and her hair, and warming her with his voice.

He’d wanted that. Needed it.

But he hadn’t once felt passion. And that was just – that was just bloody wrong. Not to mention downright strange and bleedin’ unbelievable. He damn well loved her, and he wanted to shag her into the ground. Had for years. So, why…? It was – he hadn’t even thought of shagging her since she’d gotten back. It had never occurred to him. She’d been back a month, for fuck’s sake.

What the bleedin’ hell was going on? he wondered again.

God, she’d slept in his arms, in his bed, and he hadn’t even fantasized about it then. He’d joked to himself about the satisfactory pay for waking her from nightmares, but it hadn’t been about holding a near naked slayer in his arms, it had been about holding Buffy, warm and soft. Alive. He’d lain with her, arms holding her against him, their legs entwined…

Sonofabloodybitch! He’d even kissed her last night on the motorbike, and even then…

What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

And suddenly, as though the thought had given voice to the deed, he was hard for her, hungry for her. His head whipped around and he glared at her window. Had she worked some sodding mojo on him? Something to neuter him? To keep the vamp limp-dicked and harmless? Well, sod that. He was hard now, throbbing, in fact, filled with fucking passion. His body tensed as he began to rise. Bitch was gonna be surprised to find him coming to her bed… Covering her, taking her, burying himself in her hot, tight little body…

Wanted to fell her arms enclose him, hear her voice in his ear, welcoming him, urging him, begging for more, feel her legs wrap around him, pulling him deeper. Oh, so deep. Gonna bury himself so deep…

He could move soundlessly when he chose to. She didn’t stir when he slipped into her room. He stepped to the side, letting the moonlight pour in through the window, illuminating her. It silvered her body, turned her golden hair…

The light transformed her into the Buffy he’d shared a very memorable night with here in this room – last summer. When she’d been – gone.

A vision. One he sometimes thought had been sent to him to keep him from greeting the sun on her grave the next morning… It had been one of the lowest points of his existence, maybe the lowest, being eaten alive by grief and guilt and rage, and the vision had…

“Hey,” Buffy’s voice drifted across the room to him. Calm, almost welcoming. “What’s up?”

Me, he almost replied.

She smiled. “No nightmares,” she informed him. “Two nights in a row.”

He swallowed.

“Yeah.” He ran his eyes over her again, noticing the soft curves under the sheet, the luminous eyes. “It shocked me. Thought I’d better make sure you were still breathing.”

“I am,” she said, with mock pride. “And without the unpleasant gaspingness.” She frowned. “Gaspiness? Gasping?” she shrugged. “You know, normally.”

His chest tightened, and it felt like there was something lodged in his throat.

“Is it almost morning? Are you heading out?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you later at the Magic Box, then?”

“Yeah.”

His lust remained, but it was untainted by anger now, which had been replaced by wonder, and awe.

“I’m gonna try to sleep a little more. I’ll talk to you tonight.”

“Okay.”

He forced himself to not move toward the bed, to climb back out onto the roof instead.

“Night, Spike,” her drowsy voice followed him.

“Night, love.”

He needed to leave. The sun would be up soon. Aside from that, he just needed to be – away – from her. Right now.

Or he would be back in that bed.

He moved to the edge of the roof and jumped off effortlessly, his duster forming wings of darkness around him as he soared to the ground, landing with catlike smoothness. Just for a moment he hesitated, wondering if he should head to his crypt. But then he shrugged, lit a cigarette and moved off in the direction of the Magic Box instead. Why waste time stopping uselessly at the crypt? He might as well just get an early start on his daily workout.

And he wanted her back. Buffy. His Slayer. The woman and the warrior. He wanted the old slayer, and parts of this new slayer, too, wanted the whole package. The fire and the fury, the grit and the quips, the passion. He wanted the woman who’d stood toe to toe with him with him countless times in the past, and again, that first night they’d patrolled together, and the one who could tease him five minutes later, and who could gaze at the stars with serenity.

He wanted her back, and he was determined to have her, as a woman and a warrior. To heal her, restore her, help her in any way he could. Whatever was needed. Push her, pull her, drag her kicking and screaming the rest of the way back into this world if he had to.

“It’s so easy with you,” she’d told him one night. “I don’t have to pretend anything, I can just – be.” Well that was all very well, as far as it went, and he knew he could accept that as she healed. But he knew he didn’t want her to just be, he also wanted her to be Buffy.

And he was gonna wipe away that death wish, conscious or unconscious, vague implication or rock hard resolution. Make sure that longing to return to heaven didn’t translate into anything more, into recklessness of any sort…

He could be a relentless bloke. Obsessive, some would say. Throughout his existence that hard core resolution had been both boon and bane. Only time would tell what the results of his determination would be in this situation.

He loved her.

And he was gonna get her back.

His Slayer.

His woman.

His warrior.

Whatever it took.

However long it might take.

And he was immortal.

He had all the bleedin’ time in the world.

~*~

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