It was just what Buffy had been afraid of. As she found her release, she knew that nothing in her life would ever match this. A situation so unlikely, that she might have been dreaming it. She wasn’t even comfortable, cramped against the seat, sweaty and smelly. About to make love with a self-confessed killer. Yet everything about it seemed right, and she let herself go more completely than she had ever done before, screaming out his name. A name she’d only learnt a few hours ago.

And she’d never realised, until now, the importance of the person over the act. His stubble-roughened cheek was resting on her inner thigh, his hand drawing idle circles on her stomach as he gave her time to come down, and she knew that her orgasm hadn’t been so mind blowing, and a thousand other cliches, just because of what he’d done to her. It was because it was him doing it. Because all the while as he worked his magic, all she could think of was, at last he’s touching me, and don’t ever stop, and Spike, Spike, Spike.

And suddenly she wanted to get closer, wanted him inside her so desperately that she slid off the seat and onto his lap as he knelt before her. She heard his surprised grunt as she pushed him back and reached for his belt, yanking it open, pulling at the button on his fly, sliding down the zip and releasing him into her hand. He sucked in a sharp breath as she ran her fingers up the length of him, and tried to guide him into her. Knew she had to be hurting his arm, they were pressed together so tightly between the seats, but she needed him so much.

"Wait, love, there are condoms..."

"No need, I’m on the pill." She ground her mouth against his to silence him. Didn’t want to have this conversation, and as she felt him kissing her back, she whispered, a little more gently, "Please, I need you now."

Then, as he lifted her awkwardly with his good arm and she felt him filling her completely, she wound her arms around him to get even closer, and pressed her face against his neck as hot tears stung her eyes. "Please, Spike." She placed desperate kisses against his skin in between the words. " We don’t have enough time for how much I need you."

"Need you too, god so much, you’ll never know."

The words came out as jerky, staccato sounds as he ground into her, hardly able to move, they were wedged so tightly, but it was enough to send him over the edge.

And the sound of his so-sexy, gravely voice telling her over and over, that he needed her, that he wanted her, and that he’d never forget her, flooded her whole being as she came with him.

Biting her lip to force back the tears, she tried to imagine that they were on that beach right now, and it was just as she’d imagined it would be. Warm, and safe, and Spike wasn’t wanted for murder, and she didn’t have a life to go back to that didn’t include him.

But she couldn’t. It just wouldn’t come.

><><><><><><

Spike tried to shift himself to a more comfortable position, but Buffy was holding him so tightly that he couldn’t move. He needed too though - his broken arm had gotten so painful that he couldn’t ignore it any more. And it was threatening to override the lingering waves of pleasure that were still lapping over him, in the aftermath of the most amazing sex that he’d ever had. He wanted to hang on to it, savour it, but he could tell that she was crying, and trying to hide it, and the thought of her shedding sweet tears for a worthless wretch like him made him feel like sliding into despair all over again.

"Don’t cry, love." He slid his hand into her hair, and managed to get her to lift her head from his shoulder. His night vision was good, and now that he’d adjusted to the dark, he could just about make her out. "Let me tell you how amazing that was. How there aren’t words to tell you how I feel about what we just did."

"Yeah?" It was no more than a shaky whisper, but he could feel the emotion behind it.

"Yeah." He brushed a gentle kiss against each of her cheeks, tasting the salty tears. "You know what? I think I died in the crash, and this is my own special heaven. Can’t for the life of me work out what I did to deserve it though."

He tolerated the pain in his arm for a few more moments, knowing that to move now would look like he was rejecting her. Buffy’s chin was on his shoulder again, and she was very still and, apart from the occasional sniff, very quiet. As if she was absorbing what he’d just said. He was fast getting past the point where he was questioning any of this. Was just going to accept it, because when your life was so empty, then any crumb of happiness was a bonus. And he hadn’t realised until now, just how starved of it he’d been.

"Let’s get a bit more comfy love, shall we?"

Buffy lifted her head from his shoulder. "Oh god, your arm. I’m sorry, was I hurting you?" She shifted back and awkwardly levered herself off him and onto the seat behind her. Then she put both hands on his chest and slid them upwards, feeling for his face, and framing it. "Thank you. I don’t have words for it either. I wish I did. I really wish I did." She placed a gentle kiss on his mouth, delicately outlining his lips with her tongue, and that was enough to make him start wanting her all over again.

Spike pushed himself up, groaning at the pain in his arm and in his legs as the blood rushed back as he straightened them. Then he fumbled for Buffy’s hand and tried to pull her across to him. "Sit with me for a while, will you?" He wanted her, but he didn’t think for a minute he was up to a repeat performance. The spirit was very willing, but the flesh? That was hurting like hell, and what he really needed, more than anything, was sleep.

"Let me get you some pain killers first." Her hand slid out of his and she turned and groped for the edge of the seat. "I’ve got a flashlight on my keychain. You stay right there."

He leaned against the seat and closed his eyes. As weird days went, this was a good one. He’d woken up in a police cell and been mildly insulted that they’d only assigned one stupid policeman to escort him back to England. But he knew why. He wasn’t going to reach England, let alone stand trial. Somewhere along the way they’d be waiting. A single bullet. He’d done it often enough himself, so he knew the drill. Knew all the places it might happen. But he wouldn’t see it coming, and that’s what he’d wanted this morning. Was totally resigned to this being his last day alive.

He drifted off to sleep mumbling a prayer of thanks to no god in particular. Even if they caught him tomorrow he was glad he’d had this one more day. Now that he knew he wasn’t as empty as he thought he was, that his life wasn’t as hopeless, he could almost die a happy man.

><><><><><><

Buffy really wanted that shower right now. She was hot and sticky, and she knew she’d never sleep unless she got cleaned up somehow. There were some wet-wipes in her carry-on, she thought, as she groped for the small flashlight on her key-chain. Spike would need one too, and those pain-killers. He must be desperate for those, poor thing. She’d paid his broken arm no heed while they’d made love. Had to have been hurting him, but she’d been so caught up in getting what she’d wanted that she hadn’t even cared.

She wasn’t scared of men, but it wasn’t like her to be quite so aggressive around one. But just now, she hadn’t been able to get close enough to him. Had just wanted to melt into him, become part of him. It was a bit scary. If she was like this when he was sitting just a few feet away, how was she going to feel when he’d gone? Earlier, she’d been certain that she wanted him to run away, but now she wasn’t so sure. It was purely selfish, she knew he had to go. Couldn’t stay, and that made tonight more important than ever. It might be the only night they would get to spend together. Suddenly she needed to be back with him, so she quickly found the wipes, painkillers and the bottle of water they hadn’t drunk earlier, and she made her way back to the seat.

He was fast asleep, leaning into the corner of the seat, and he almost looked peaceful. She contemplated waking him, but decided he probably needed the sleep more than the painkillers, so she put them down on the spare seat and made her way to the bathroom to clean herself up. She looked in the small mirror with some trepidation, wondering what she’d see. Not the same woman who’d got on the plane earlier today. She’d survived a plane crash and met one of the most amazing men she’d ever know. That had to change you.

But when she looked in the mirror, she still looked like Buffy Summers. A bit strange in the flashlight’s glow, blonde hair lank and greasy, bags under the eyes, but she was still herself. Maybe the changes were on the inside, where she could feel them but couldn’t see them? Maybe she’d notice it more when the rescue came and she was back in civilisation? Being here with Spike was already starting to feel normal, whereas the thought of going back to her old life felt strange and slightly alarming. And, god she looked tired, she thought, as she wiped off what was left of her make-up. Time to go snuggle up with Spike and make the most of him while she had him.

The trouble was that sleeping would make time go quicker. When she woke up it would be morning, and the rescue might come, and that would be that. No don’t start crying again, she ordered herself as she made her way back to the seat. He hadn't wanted her to cry, she could tell that.

She found her panties and wriggled into them, suddenly worried that they might unexpectedly be rescued during the night and she ought not be found without them. A bit like wearing clean underwear in case you were in an accident. The thought made her smile, then a more sobering thought popped into her mind. The authorities must know there was a wanted man, a killer, on board the plane. They had to be anxious to find out if he’d died in the crash or if he’d survived. And they had to be worried about the safety of any surviving passengers, if he was alive.

Spike had to get away, and soon. First thing in the morning, he had to go. Couldn't afford to hang around while she was rescued. Too dangerous. Needed to be as far away as possible.

She slipped into the seat and leaned against him, this time making sure she wasn't disturbing his broken arm and closed her eyes. Listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, she decided that she wasn't going to sleep tonight. She'd just lie there and be with him. That's what he'd asked her to do before she'd scuttled off for the painkillers. If this was her only night with him, then she wasn't going to waste a minute of it in sleep. She was going to appreciate every last moment.

><><><><><><

Spike woke up and looked at the luminous dial of his watch. Twelve - thirty. He didn’t feel as if he’d slept at all. Adjusting himself so as not to wake Buffy, he stretched out his legs and wondered what she’d done with the now, long overdue painkillers

"Hey." She was awake, whispering to him in the darkness.

"Hey, reckon I need those painkillers about now, did you find some?"

"Yeah, they’re here." He felt her move away and then saw her face as she switched on the flashlight. "Here."

He took the tablets and downed two of them, hoping they’d get to work fast.

"How are you feeling Spike?"

"Like shit, you?"

"Good, considering. Couldn’t sleep." She moved back over to sit with him and he lifted his arm around her, drawing her close, and settling her against him. "Didn’t want to after..."

"No?" He gave her a quick kiss. "Did I thank you for that?"

"You don’t have to thank me Spike, it was wonderful."

"Oh, I do love, and sorry about earlier, I kinda went out like a light. Had big plans for tonight, too." He gave a small laugh at that. "Didn’t want to waste it sleeping."

"Me neither, but you needed it. And that arm’s never going to get better if you don’t rest."

"I’ve had worse." He sighed, remembering. "It becomes part of you after a while, you know, the pain. You just get used to it."

"What happened to you Spike?" Her hand was lightly caressing his side, just short of tickling him. He managed to keep still with a little effort. Being so ticklish wasn’t very macho. "How did you get to being handcuffed to a seat on a plane?"

There were a few minutes of silence, during which Buffy continued with her exploration, and Spike tried to work out which version of this sordid tale to tell her. Too much knowledge might be dangerous for her. He knew how ruthless the people he was dealing with were, because he’d been one of them, and they would eliminate her without question if they thought she knew too much. On the other hand he owed her nothing but the truth. And, he found himself wanting to tell her. Needed to unburden to someone who would understand without judging him too harshly. Whatever conclusion she came to, he knew she’d never do that. Not because she was a soft-touch, but because she simply seemed to understand him in a way few had.

Where to start?

"I told you I enjoyed killing, that wasn’t strictly true." How could he explain this? "It was just something I could do, not exactly cold-blooded, but I always got the job done. And then I slept at night, no problem. There weren’t many who could do that. Most ended up either dead, or in the psycho ward. I always said that would never happen to me, and I did last longer than most, but it got me in the end."

"You couldn’t do it any more?" She was a good listener. Seemed to know that he needed to tell this story, but he could feel the tension building in her as he spoke.

"It was more what they started asking me to do. Because I was so good, I started getting all the shit dumped on me. The jobs no-one else had the guts for." He rested his chin on the top of her head as he remembered. "They don’t care about you Buffy. Just use you up, and chuck you out when you’re finished. Took me a while to learn that."

"So, you refused to do a job? Is this what it’s all about?"

"Yeah, diplomat and his family. Had to look like murder, government, yours and mine, wanted to start something. Had it all lined up too. And then I just couldn’t do it. Never killed a kid before, never will now."

"God, that’s terrible. They wanted you to kill children?"

"You don’t know the half of what goes on, love. Anyway, I jumped ship, lugging what was left of my conscience after me, and that made me really dangerous."

"But couldn’t they just get someone else to do it?"

"Doesn’t work that way. I knew what they were up to. Made it my business to know. I may be blond, but I’m not dumb. Always made copies of files, hid them away, just in case. Bloody file disappeared, and so did any hope-in-hell of me living to tell the tale.

><><><><><><

Buffy’s heart ached for him, even as she tried to excuse his past in her mind. She couldn’t say that he was a good man, just because he only killed adults or bad people. Killing was killing really. It didn’t matter who the victims were. They were all someone’s children, husbands, fathers, mothers even. She could say that he was a better man because he wouldn’t do it any more, but he was making it sound like he had no remorse for his past. It was hard to make sense of it all.

She prompted him to carry on because she was realising that he needed to tell her all this. Guessed that he hadn’t found many sympathetic ears in the past. And certainly not lately. The best she could do was listen without passing judgement, and he needed to know that.

"I’m trying to make sense of all this, Spike. Trying to understand." She lifted her head and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I’m guessing you wouldn’t have survived even if you’d done the job."

"You’d be guessing right. I was a valuable asset, but everyone’s expendable. It was too big a job to let me walk away. That’s why I needed the file. Figured I could blackmail them into letting me go start a new life somewhere."

This time she kissed him on the mouth. Tried to put some passion into it, but it just made her feel sad. The way he kissed her back, so desperate, groping blindly for every crumb of comfort. He was so lost.

"Your wife, where does she come into all this?"

"Dru? God, she was crazy. Only one crazy enough to take me on. Married for three whole months we were, then she just disappeared. Wasn’t hard to track her down, by which time she’d taken up with a bible salesman from Brazil. They killed them both because they couldn’t catch me. Figured they needed a helping hand. So now I’m wanted for murder and every police force in the world is looking for me. So they just sit back and wait for me to get caught."

Buffy was having a hard time taking it all in. It sounded like the plot of some lurid spy movie. Only poor Spike was actually living it. And so was she. Whether she liked it or not, she was part of this now, and she had to wonder how much danger that put her in.

"But you wanted to get caught. Why?"

He chuckled at that. "You’re a very perceptive lady, you know that?" He kissed the top of her head. "By the way, loved you in that red wig."

"You knew it was me? I don’t remember seeing you."

"Recognised you when you got on the plane, and no, you wouldn’t see me unless I wanted you to."

"So you just gave up?"

"Pretty much. Started as a game. Seeing how close I could get without being caught, then somewhere along the line it turned into a death wish. I just wanted it over."

"But the file, you could still use it, right?"

"If I knew where it was."

Buffy pulled herself up so that she was kneeling beside him, her face level with his. She put a hand on either side of his head and held him still. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see him properly, she needed to know she had his attention. It was simple enough, really. All he had to do was find the file.

"Listen to me Spike. You are going to find that file, and you are going to get your life back. And I’ll hear no more talk of giving up." She felt him trying to move his head away, but she held onto him, and leaned in even closer. "Are you hearing this?"

"Do you think I haven’t tried?" He couldn’t disguise the bitterness in his voice.

"Then try harder." It came out a bit harsher than she intended, but all this talk of giving up was scaring her. No one was giving up on her watch.

"Bossy bint, aren’t you?"

"Bint?" Buffy let go her death grip on his face, but she left her hands resting loosely on his cheeks, caressing them gently with her thumbs. Wishing she could see him properly. "What kind of word is bint?"

"It’s a...The hell with this." He hooked his arm around her neck and pulled her in for a searing kiss that left her lips burning. "Too much bloody talking," he mumbled against her mouth. "Not enough of this."

Buffy took about two seconds to get the idea. "Painkillers have kicked in then?" she said, sliding her hands under his tee shirt, gliding over the hard-packed muscles under his smooth skin. Moving lower and realising that his jeans were still undone.

"Yeah, reckon this is our window. C,m’ere" His mouth came down on hers again and he hauled her onto his lap in a mirror of the position they’d been in earlier, only marginally more comfortable, and Buffy took a little more care with his broken arm.

And this time they found the real passion that had been simmering under the surface since she’d first set eyes on him - was it only this morning? Now she knew who he really was, and she still wanted him. There was none of the desperation of earlier, and it didn’t make her want to cry. This time they were just two people lost in pleasure, and wanting and giving. Lost in the incredible feeling of a perfect moment.

Buffy was on that beach, and she could hear the sea, and feel the sun on her back. And she knew she was going to see him again. Somehow, one day, it would happen. She would wait for however long it took. Would wait a lifetime if she had to, because there was never going to be any one else. She knew that now.

Spike woke early, and lay for a long time just watching Buffy as she slept. Today should have been his first day in hell. The first day of an eternity of paying for the unspeakable crimes he’d committed in his lifetime. Yet, he was still alive, and lying next to this beautiful woman. As he contemplated her, he realised that he was looking at the face of his salvation. Only, there was a sting in the tail. A price. There always was. She was going to save him, but they couldn’t be together.

This little bit of heaven had set him on the right path, but she was too vibrant, full of life for him to expect her to follow him. She’d go, he’d no doubt of that, but he couldn’t ask it of her. Redeemed or not, he didn’t have much of a life to look forward to. If he could do what he needed to get the file, and it was a big if, then the best he could hope for was that the government would let him disappear and live out his life in some quiet corner of the world. He’d need a new identity, but even then there was the risk that someone would find him. There were enough people out there with grudges against him. Governments, the criminal underworld, organised crime - they neither forgave, nor forgot. And they’d get him. One day, when he wasn’t expecting it. It was no life for her.

He brushed the hair from Buffy’s face and traced a finger down her nose, across her mouth, down to her chin, hoping she’d wake up. This time was too precious to waste sleeping.

She stirred and started to stretch her arms above her head, and he caught one of her hands and placed a lingering kiss on her palm, watching her slow, lazy smile as he roused her from sleep. He turned his attention to her wrist and kissed it slowly, thoughtfully, as if he was trying to memorise every inch of her, and she shifted beneath him, moulding herself to him, pushing him on to his side so he wouldn’t have to lean on his broken arm, hooking her leg over his, pulling his face to hers for a soul-searching kiss. And her lips were warm and sweet and made him forget who he was.

Just for a few moments he could imagine he was Mr. Ordinary, with a wife and a house and kids and a dog. And a job that didn’t involve spilling people’s brains with a high- powered rifle, or watching their lives drain away as he cut their throats. A life that didn’t involve hiding in the shadows because you were so ashamed of what you’d become that you didn’t even recognise yourself anymore when you looked in the mirror.

As he slipped inside her welcoming heat and abandoned himself to the incredible feel of her surrounding him, he wanted to be that man. For her. And just for a short while, as the flames of passion flared and consumed them both, he was.

><><><><><><

She couldn’t stop kissing him. Didn’t want it to end. Loved the feel of his lips on hers, the way his tongue moved in her mouth, the noises he made in the back of his throat. Then there was the feel of his hands on her skin, setting it on fire where they touched her, and the sound of his voice as he whispered words of dark passion. And that wonderful abandonment that comes when you are so completely overwhelmed that all you can do is go with it and trust that you’ll survive.

He made love to her in her dream, and as she started to wake up she thought she still must be dreaming, because it was too good, too perfect, too right. Like nothing she’d ever felt before. And she knew it was goodbye.

He shifted off her and she sat up, running her fingers through her hair, rubbing her eyes, adjusting to the new day. A day she knew was going to be the most difficult one of her life. She looked at her watch and noticed it was already eight o’ clock. The rescue teams would be out looking for the plane. They probably didn’t expect to find survivors, but they were going to find one.

She couldn’t work out the expression on his face. He was gazing at her, his brow slightly furrowed, head tilted to the side, as if he was trying to puzzle something out. His finger hooked under her chin as he studied her, and she looked right back into his dark blue eyes and tried to show him how she felt. Tried to pour all the love she dared not speak into that look, because surely it was too soon to be talking of love? She couldn’t be in love with him. She’d only met him yesterday and things like that only happened in books and films, not in real life. And as the thought crossed her mind she started to panic that maybe it was true, and that it did happen in real life, and that it was happening to her.

She slipped her arms around him and pressed her face into his neck. "You’ve got to go. You know that," she whispered. "I don't want you to go, but you have to." And even as she said the words that would send him away from her, she held on to him with a quiet desperation. Go? Stay? Two impossible choices, one only marginally better than the other. Both of them offering a good possibility that he might be killed, and she couldn't bear it, the tears fell once again and this time she didn't think she'd be able to stop.

><><><><><><

As he listened to her quiet sobs, Spike felt like his heart was finally going to do what it had been threatening for the last two years, and shatter into a million pieces. When he'd survived the crash he'd thought for a moment that the fates had taken pity on him and decided to cut him a very much needed break. Not only that, they'd thrown Buffy into the bargain and made him feel something akin to hope. But they'd only been playing with him, he realised that now. This interlude with Buffy was a tantalising glimpse of what might have been, and now that he'd seen it, and felt it, it was being ripped away from him.

You had to know perfect happiness to feel perfect despair, and he knew, now, that he was going to hell, whether he died or not. He was going to pay for his sins, and then some. And that death wish he'd been nursing for so long was still there, lingering in the back of his mind, squashing down the hope, trampling on any dreams of a future. It hadn't gone away, had just taken a brief holiday.

He wound a handful of her hair around his fist, pulling it too tight, causing her to look up at him with tear-blinded eyes, and as he kissed her hard and long, bruising her lips with the intensity of his need, he felt his own tears come, and he let them fall.

><><><><><><

He was giving up again. Buffy could feel it, almost as if she could read his thoughts. How could she let him go like this? There was no telling what he might do, and the thought frightened her beyond belief. She'd never been depressed before, but she'd had a friend who she'd watched cycle in and out of hope and despair. Had spent hours on the phone with her convincing her that life was worth living, and it was that contact with another human being that had saved her.

And that's what she had to do with Spike, only she didn't have days, only hours, maybe not even that, but she had to convince him that he wasn't alone, he could get his life back, and that she would be waiting for him when he did. Had to let him know that this was something worth fighting for.

She wiped away her own tears, knowing it was time for her to be the strong one again, and took his hand in hers. "Spike?" They were back in the position they'd been in yesterday when she'd comforted him, only then she hadn't really known what to do other than hold him. Now she knew just what he needed.

"Please, you can do this, and I’ll wait for you, not matter how long it takes."

He pulled his hand from hers and scrubbed at his own eyes, sniffing and shaking his head. "Hell, I’m a wreck Buffy. " He gave a humourless laugh. "I should be dead now, had it all worked out, wanted it. Then you came along, and I was glad I wasn’t." He looked sideways at her, lifted his hand and stroked her cheek, then dropped it back to his lap. "And now I want to be again."

"Why?" Buffy’s heart started a heavy, panicked thudding. What if she wasn’t up to this? What if she couldn’t convince him?

"Because I’m tired of it all. I’ll never get that file, and without it I can’t be with you. So what’s the point?"

"The point is..." She leaned in and turned his face to hers, then she placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "This." Then she did it again. "And this. Don’t you feel it? Isn’t it worth fighting for?"

Spike covered his eyes with his arm and leaned back against the seat. "It just makes it worse, don’t you see? Knowing what it could be like, and knowing I can’t have it. I actually woke up happy this morning. For the first time in so long, I woke up and heard the birds singing, and I sat and looked at you and felt like a love-struck teenager all over again. But this isn’t real life. That’s what’s waiting out there for us out there."

"And you’ll get yours back, you’ve got to believe that."

"It’s not just the file, love. It’s me. You don’t know the real me, what I’m capable of. What I’ve done. I can’t take it back. Can’t say sorry. I just have to live with it. And it’s hard, so bloody hard."

"I know it is, come here." Buffy tried to gather him to her, but he resisted and pulled away, his arm still covering his eyes.

"Please, Spike, let me." She traced the line of his arm, tugging at it gently until he gave in and let her pull him in for a hug. She wasn’t sure who needed it more at that moment, because he was scaring her to death with all this talk. She wanted him to leave, but part of him seemed to have already gone from her already. And she needed to get it back before she could let him go properly.

"Look," she didn’t know whether to be gentle or stern at this point. Whether he needed to be pushed or pulled, only knew that what she said next was important. "I’ll come with you."

"You can’t, love. Too dangerous."

"Yeah, I know. But I would if I could. You’ve got to know that. I’d give it all up and follow you, because I believe you’re a good man, and... You’re just a bit lost, that’s all."

She let him take it in, sat quietly holding him as he fiddled with the fabric of her top, bunching it in his hand, then letting it go. She’d wanted to tell him that she was falling in love with him, but it just didn’t sound right as she said the words in her head. It was almost too much, just now, and even though she would mean it, she didn’t want to overburden him with too many expectations. One step at a time.

"Tell me which beach, Spike. I’ll meet you there on..." They needed a date they would both remember. "Your birthday. When is it?"

"August fifteenth." His hand continued it’s restless exploration. "When’s yours?"

He was talking to her and she breathed a sigh of relief. At last he sounded vaguely rational again. "August fifth, so easy to remember. That gives you four months. Will it be enough?"

"Buffy..."

"Will it be enough? Answer me, because we can leave it till next year, but I’ll be there. And so will you."

"I wish I had your strength and determination, love. You’re scary when you get going, do you know that?"

"Yeah, that’s why I’m so good at what I do." She took his hand again and laced her fingers in his, gripping it tightly. "See this. We’ve got a connection, you and me. I don’t know why, and I’m not stopping to question it, but," she looked away, embarrassed as she said the words. "I think I was meant to save you."

He brought their intertwined hands up to his mouth and kissed her on each finger in turn. "I think you were too. And you might have...I just don’t know."

"Stop with the I don’t know. You will meet me on that beach. Say it. I want you to promise me right now. Say the words."

He sighed in resignation and gave her a long look. "I wish I’d met you before all this. I can’t promise you, but I’ll try. Will that do?"

It would have to. She knew he couldn’t make that kind of promise. Anything could happen in the next four months. He might not even be alive by then, no, don’t go there, he will be, but he was saying he would try, and that was more than she’d hoped she would get when they’d started this conversation.

"I want you to think of me every night at ten o’ clock, and I’ll be thinking of you. Wait..." She reached behind her and took off the chain she was wearing. "Wear this for me, then you won’t forget."

He looked at the chain, then at her, then he dipped his head forward and let her fasten it around his neck. "Then you have this." He slipped the signet ring from his little finger and slipped it on the third finger of her left hand.

Buffy studied the ornate crest on the face of the ring, then she looked at him in astonishment. "You’re not a lord or anything, are you? Because, American, so seriously impressed here."

"There’s a title somewhere in the family. We were the embarrassing, poorer cousins. Load of pretentious crap anyway."

"No, it’s beautiful. Lady Buffy." She mimicked his accent, then bit her lip as she realised what she’d said.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean..."

"I wish you could be." He looked at the ring one last time, then put her hand down on her lap, and touched the necklace she’d given him. "I’ll think of you every night at ten o’ clock. Promise."

"Good. And I’ll do the same." Her voice started breaking again as she said it, but she managed not to cry. "So we won’t be apart really, will we?"

><><><><><><

She was rooting through her carry-on, emptying the contents on the floor, muttering about packing him supplies, lengthening the strap, and he wished he could feel her enthusiasm for what he had to do. There was a way of getting the file back. That hadn’t really been the problem, he knew where it was, heavily guarded of course. The problem was what he had to do to get it.

Just one more job. The diplomat and his family had been taken care of. He hadn’t told Buffy that, but there was always someone who wanted to step into your shoes, make a name for themselves. But there’d be other, similar, messy jobs that would be worth handing over the file for, and letting him go. Once he got word to them that he wasn’t a loose cannon any more they’d welcome him back to the fold, and as long as he kept his back covered, he was safe.

As he watched Buffy stripping the businessman’s wallet of the cash and stuffing it into the bag he thought she’d have made a hell of a spy. And catch 22 didn’t even come close to covering it. If he didn't do the job, then he couldn't be with Buffy, but if he did it he’d lose his soul again. He’d become that monster he’d come to hate, and she deserved better than that.

The best he could do was walk out of her life and never come back. She hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend, but a woman like her had to have one. Probably some sophisticated business type. Someone who could give her the house with the dog and the kids. She deserved better than anything he could offer her, but god, he wanted her. Part of him wanted her so much that it was willing to do that job. But how would she feel if she ever found out what he’d done. Would she ever forgive him?

><><><><><><

He needed to change. Buffy found a plain white tee shirt in her bag and threw it to him. "You’d better put this on. That one’s just one big ad for where you’ve been."

He caught it and looked at it, nodding in approval. "It’s better than this one. You got a shop in there, or something?"

"No, perks of the job, reps give me samples, that sort of thing. I usually give them to friends. Will that fit?"

He held it up. "Should do, you gonna help me?"

"Try and stop me." She jumped up, glad of the distraction from what she was doing. As soon as the bag was packed she was going to try and get him to go. He needed a head start before that rescue came.

This time she took every chance to touch him, and he touched her back and it was quite some time before he was actually wearing the thing.

"You are never going to escape if we don’t stop doing this." Buffy pulled away, reluctantly and returned to the bag. She packed all of her stuff in a spare carrier bag, make-up, pills. Pills? She’d forgotten all about taking her pill. Needed to take one soon, it was already two hours late. She closed her make-up bag and stood up.

"Just going to make myself beautiful." She forced herself to sound jolly. "Don’t want you to remember me like this."

He grabbed her around the waist as she passed him. "I want to remember you exactly like this. You don’t need make-up to make you beautiful."

She felt a bit dizzy from the compliment. Up to now it had all been very intense. Looks, contact, talk about killing and murder, but this was such a normal thing for a man to say to a woman, that it felt out of place. Felt extraordinary, and she made her way to the small bathroom with a silly grin on her face, and then she made a decision that might change her life. As she entered the bathroom she took the packet of pills, wrapped them in toilet paper and stuffed them into the bin.

Fate would decide what would happen next. It was about mid-cycle, optimum getting- pregnant time, she knew that, but she’d never played contraceptive Russian Roulette before so she didn’t really know the consequences of what she was doing. Only knew that she wanted to do it.

Her face felt a bit hot as she went back to finish his packing, feeling guilty that she was making this decision that he ought to be a part of, but she pushed it to the back of her mind as she found her polaroid camera. He posed for a picture, but he wasn’t smiling so she took another, then he took a couple of her and slipped them into the bag. Then they set up the camera on the delay timer and posed together, and now she knew what they looked like together. And they looked good, happy even. And then she handed him the bag.

"Time to go." She wasn’t going to cry. Was determined not to. Had her sights firmly set on August, when she’d see him again. But it was hard. Very hard. Especially when he wasn’t going.

"I’m not leaving you love. Not until that rescue party turns up."

Why was he being so stubborn? "You’ve got to go. If you stay until they arrive, then they’ll see you. Please Spike." She tried to physically push him away, but he wasn’t budging.

"And what if I leave you, and they don’t turn up? You don’t know how to survive out here. I do. I’m not leaving you, until I know you’re safe."

Despite not wanting to cry, Buffy’s eyes were so misted up that she couldn’t focus on him any more. She hit him weakly on the side of his good arm. "Why won’t you go, I’ll be okay."

Then she felt herself folded against him and she just held on tight, because her legs weren’t going to hold her any more. "Go, don’t go, go, don’t go." She whispered it over and over against his chest, already feeling the ache of him not being there.

And then they both froze.

A strange clicking sound, intruding on their moment. Quiet and distant, but getting louder and closer.

A helicopter. They’d come, and it was time.

They both looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment, then they kissed goodbye, his mouth devouring hers. Her kissing him back with a reckless abandon, then she was pushing him away and he was opening the door and jumping out. She dropped the bag to him and caught his hand as he reached up and squeezed hers.

"I’ll hide in the trees, Buffy. Want to make sure you get off safe. I’m not going until they’ve got you."

"Thank you Spike. They’ve seen the plane, I’m sure of that. Now go, I don’t want them to see you. Go."

And then he was gone. Really gone. And the helicopter was circling, lower and lower, disturbing the branches of the trees, whipping up leaves, and she sat down and just stared at the place where he’d been standing. He hadn’t taken her cell phone, had said there’d be a trace on the number by now, and she hadn’t given him her address or her home phone number. There was so much she’d wanted to say. There just hadn’t been enough time. And then she realised that she hadn’t told him which beach to meet her on, and now she couldn’t because he was gone.

She leaned back against the open doorway, suddenly feeling very alone. Last night she’d been so sure she’d see him again, but now? He was on his own. Didn’t have her to give him pep talks and keep him going. She’d be easier to find than him, but would he do it? Would he come back to her? Or would he get some stupid notion in his head about her being better off without him? Didn’t he know she couldn’t live without him, was missing him so much already that she thought her heart was going to break in two from the pain of it?

Then she remembered the ring, with the family crest and she found herself smiling through the tears that she’d been determined not to shed. She’d find him from this. Trace the family. There had to be places, old family haunts, childhood seaside holidays. She was good at this, knew human nature. Sooner or later he’d go back. One last visit, that sort of thing. She just had to narrow it down and wait. She could play the spy game too, all she had to do was find that beach.

Chapter 9:

It was fifteen days before Buffy finally made it back to the States. Fifteen days of crying and sleepless nights, holed up at one of the quieter resorts, unable to face her frantic family. Her mom called every day and begged her to come home, but she couldn’t. Not yet. She needed time. Time to make a bridge between Spike and the real world. Time to sort out the tangle of feelings that meeting him had left her with, and time to get herself into some sort of state that would allow her to go on without him.

She missed him. That went without saying, but she hadn’t realised quite how it would be. How empty she’d feel, and how futile everything would seem. If she had, she would never have let him go off alone. Would have insisted on going with him whether he liked it or not, because how could the danger be worse than this?

So, every night she slept in his Tropicana tee shirt, remembering what a fuss he’d made about wearing it, and she waited to find out about that other thing. Was she pregnant? Wasn’t she? Did she really want to be? She wouldn’t know that until she found out one way or another. Only time would tell. And it did.

On the fifteenth morning after she’d been rescued she read the result on the pregnancy - test stick, and then she went home to her worried family, because they needed her too.

---------------------------

Spike was back in England within a week. It had taken him two days to decide what to do. Two days to realise that if he was going to have any chance of happiness, she had to be with him. He’d do the job. Do what was necessary, she didn’t have to know. Then he’d go find her. And his soul? That was so black, what difference would one more stain on it make? He looked at the picture of the two of them, arm in arm, smiling, and he missed her with an intensity that he’d thought he wasn’t capable of feeling.

He punched in the numbers on the telephone keypad. Numbers that would make him what he was, give him his life back. It was a fair exchange, a life for a life. If some poor bugger had to die so that he and Buffy could be happy, then so be it. He slammed the receiver down, then picked it up and redialled. Don’t think about it. Just do the job and walk away, like you used to. No sweat.

An upper crust voice answered, asked him what he wanted.

“Lord Giles.” Spike slipped the photograph into the drawer. She didn’t have to know about this. “Message for him. Just tell him I’m back.”

------------------------

“You look tired, Buffy.”

Buffy didn’t look up from the file she was studying. “Thanks for the compliment, Angel. I can always rely on you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her boss sat himself down at the corner of her desk. “Why don’t you take a break? You hardly had any time off after the plane crash.”

“I’m fine, honestly.” She made an even bigger show of perusing the document. Why didn’t he just go? His concern was touching, but she didn’t need it right now. All she needed was to be left alone.

Angel deftly slipped the document from between her fingers and held it high in the air when she tried to retrieve it.

“You need to take a break, and as your boss, I’m ordering you to.”

Buffy stood and snatched the file back from him. “And this work’s not going to do itself. Just let me get on with my job, Angel. That’s all I ask.”

“Buffy.” He said it kindly, gently and she couldn’t bear it. He was being so sweet about all this. Refused to believe her protestations of being okay and back to normal. She had everyone else fooled, but not Angel for some reason. He’d never been in a plane that had literally dropped out of the sky. Couldn’t know the guilt that came with surviving when others had died. And he would never know what she’d found and lost, but still he looked right through her and just seemed to know she was hiding something.

And the strain of it all was killing her. Missing Spike, wondering where he was, what he was doing. The ritual of thinking about him at ten o’clock. Endless phone calls to England, following up leads on the family crest. Everything focused on August.

Everyone wanted her to be okay. She knew that, so she smiled and pretended that she was, so that they could all stop worrying about her. So that they’d leave her alone. And everyone did. Her family, her work colleagues. They all joined in with her little deception and commented on how well she was looking, and wasn’t it wonderful how quickly she’d got over it, and hey, you’d think she’d never been away.

Everyone except Angel.

She slumped back into her chair, wearily pushing her hair away from her face. “You can’t understand what I’m going through.”

Angel lifted his hand and made to stroke her cheek, then he let it drop. “I think I can. Look at me Buffy. I died in a car crash ten years ago.”

That got her attention. “You did what? How...”

“Technically, I was dead. Para-medics brought me back. If they’d arrived a few minutes later I wouldn’t be here now. I was the only one to survive, so yeah, I do know what you’re feeling.”

Buffy nodded slowly, “You know, I survived without a scratch and two nuns died. Surely they deserved to live more than me?”

He shrugged his shoulders, and stood up. “Maybe there’s something you’ve gotta do. I don’t know, maybe it was important that you survived, and not them.” This time he did stroke her cheek, a light lingering touch, then he turned away. “I think you know what it is. Go sort out this whatever-it-is you can’t tell me. I can’t bear seeing you like this.”

Buffy brought her hand up to her cheek, then she stared at him wide-eyed.

“Angel, I can't...”

“No, don’t say anything.” He clapped his hands together, suddenly back in full boss-mode. “Take yourself off for a couple of months. Combine it with a business trip, do a hotel reccy, full expenses of course." His voice lowered, almost to a whisper. "Just come back when you’ve done.”

Buffy walked slowly around her desk. “Thank you.”

He nodded as he turned back to her. “No sweat. You’re my best employee. Don’t want to lose you is all.”

She managed a little smile. “Yeah, thanks...for everything.”

“Where will you go?”

“England.”

----------------------------

Spike stretched out his legs and leaned back against the wooden bench. He stared out at the cold, grey sea and tried to focus on what he was about to do. There’d be photographs, places, dates. All the information he needed to turn things around. Get it over with, get it done. That was the plan. Then go find Buffy. He could do this.

He didn’t look up as the black car drew up alongside the promenade. Ignored the elderly gentleman who got out, and shuffled slowly towards him. Just continued to stare at the waves crashing on the beach. It was a typical early summer’s day in the north of England, grey and overcast. But it wouldn’t have mattered if the sun had been out. He wouldn’t have noticed it. Didn’t seem to notice much these days.

All his energy went into either thinking about Buffy, or what he had to do to see her again. He missed her desperately. Spent what seemed like hours staring at her photograph, trying to remember the sound of her voice, the feel of her skin under his hands. At night he lay alone in his bed wondering how someone he’d been with for barely a day could have made such an impression on him that it felt like a part of him was missing. He shook his head to clear the images. Self pity? He was turning it into an art form.

The old man sat down, carefully leaning his stick on the side of the bench. He reached into his coat and took out a large envelope. “Do you want this?”

“No not really.” Spike continued to stare at the sea. “But I’ll have it anyway.”

The old man nodded in approval. “The weapon?”

“Sorted.”

The envelope slid across the bench. Spike picked it up and stared at it for a few moments then he slipped it under his jacket. “And the file?”

“Safe.”

“But you can get it for me?” He couldn’t keep the note of anxiety out of his voice. Knew how these people worked. What a bunch of double dealing back-stabbers they were.

“You’ll just have to trust me on that one.” The old man picked up his stick and hauled himself up. He nodded at the plaster cast on Spike's broken arm. ”Is it healing?"

Spike looked at the old man for the first time. “Like you’d care?”

“Now now,” the old man chided. “We’re family, I worry about you.”

That made Spike laugh out loud. “Yeah, I’ve noticed, granddad.”

“No need to take that tone. You’ve caused me no end of trouble, young man. If the Prime Minister had found out, well, the scandal you know.”

“Yeah, I noticed how you stood by me. Thanks for the support.”

Spike stood up and raised his broken arm. “Soon as this is off, I’ll sort your little problem. And you’d better get me that file or the shit’s really gonna hit the fan.”

The old man’s face seemed to soften for a moment. “William, you know I’d help you if I could. Do you think I like seeing you like this?”

“I don’t think you give a toss. What would it have taken? Couple of phone calls? You could have helped me.” Spike looked away, hating having to beg. “You still can.”

The old man leaned over and patted him. “It’s complicated my boy. Just do the job. By far the easiest way.”

“Get me the file.” Spike spoke so quietly his voice was barely audible. “Don’t make me do this.”

The old man sighed and dropped his hand. “I don’t have that kind of influence any more.”

“Like hell you don’t.” He’d heard the note of regret in the old man’s voice. Knew this was his one and only chance. Would have got down on his hands and knees if he thought it would make any difference. “Forget politics and do something real for once. You know who killed Dru. Get me my life back.”

Spike held his breath. There was that spark of hope again. Okay, so he’d just made a monumental prat of himself, but for a brief moment he actually believed that his granddad might do it. Might actually care.

The old man stared at him long and hard, then he shook his head. “I can’t,” was all he said before turning and walking back to the waiting car.

--------------------------------

“So, Miss Harris is it?” The old man extended his hand toward Buffy. “I believe you’re writing a book abut the English aristocracy?”

“Yes.” Buffy stood up, and shook hands. “Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Lord Giles, I know you’re a busy man.”

The old man indicated back to the chair. “Sit down please. I’m never too busy for a beautiful young lady.”

Buffy gave him a gracious smile. She could see where Spike got it from. Lord Giles had the same defined cheekbones, and his blue eyes still had a youthful twinkle in them, even though he had to be well into his eighties. She sat down again as he lowered himself into his chair and reached for a telephone.

“Will you take tea, my dear?” He chuckled as he saw her looking at the phone. “We don’t ring those little silver bells any more. Yes Sandra, tea for two in my study.”

He switched off the phone and placed it on the end table. Buffy continued to smile, rehearsing in her head what she was going to say. Lord Giles wasn’t anything like she was expecting. From what she’d managed to find out he’d been a hard-nosed politician with a reputation for ruthlessness that would put Attilla the Hun to shame. She found it hard to reconcile the stories she’d heard with this slender, frail old man who gave off such waves of genial, grandfatherly, charm.

Maybe he’d mellowed with age? In any case, it only made her job easier- she’d been prepared to be scared to death by him. So, start with the family crest, then some general chit -chat about the family, bring the conversation round to traditions, rituals, holidays...

Tea arrived and was poured and served, and her hand shook slightly as she accepted the cup. The old man was still smiling kindly, his fingers tapping absently on the arm of the chair as he looked at her. They both sipped politely for a few moments, then Buffy swallowed the butterflies that were threatening to fly right out of her stomach, put her cup down, and reached into her bag for a notepad and pen.

“Can we start with the family crest? How old it is, that sort of thing?”

“Ahh, the family crest. You mean the one on the ring?”

Buffy faltered. How did he know about the ring? She regained her composure and gave a little laugh. “There’s a ring? Cool.”

“Yes, there’s a ring.” There was a moment’s silence during which Buffy suddenly realised what an idiot she’d been. Like a lamb in a lion’s den. The old man didn’t look quite so genial now. There was a hardness that hadn’t been there before and he was looking right through her.

He nodded. “And, I’m guessing he gave it to you. He wasn’t wearing it when I saw him. Am I right, Miss Summers?”

He knew her real name, and he’d seen Spike. She couldn’t conceal her surprise so she didn’t even try, her mind racing with the implications of what he’d said. Spike was back in England.

And, looking at Lord Giles, she now knew what Spike had been up against. What he’d meant by danger. And he was family. What hope did she have of walking out of this?

“What are you gonna do, shoot me?”

The old man let out a surprisingly robust laugh for one so frail. “Either that or I’ll be offering you a job. Let’s just see how this conversation goes, shall we? Now, you are Miss Summers aren’t you?”

Buffy nodded. He’d pulled the rug from under her feet, and although she was a quick thinker, this conversation was going to test her skills to the limit. And being terrified wasn’t helping one bit.

“Good, just needed you to confirm that we’d got the right person.” He sounded like someone ticking off an inventory, suddenly very brisk and business-like.

“The file’s in that drawer.” He motioned towards the desk “I presume that’s what you’ve come for.”

He was enjoying this, the bastard. Buffy felt a bit of the fighting spirit returning, but she couldn’t help looking with longing at the potential source of any chance of a future with Spike.

“Your own grandson. His wife? How could you do this?”

“Politics, my dear. You couldn’t begin to understand. And you must believe, I had nothing to do with the murder.”

"That was big of you." Buffy flicked another glance at the drawer.

He followed her gaze. “I could just give it to you.”

“You could, oh...” she realised he was just toying with her. He tilted his head in the same way she’d seen Spike do.

“Just what would you be prepared to do to get it?”

The question totally threw her. What would she do? She couldn’t kill anyone, if that’s what he was asking, but she wanted it so desperately.

Then suddenly it clicked into place, and her blood ran cold. “He’s back, isn’t he? What he gonna do?” Her voice rose as she realised the full extent of what was happening. “What’s he doing in return for the file?”

“I’m very impressed my dear. Took us two years to find him. You got him here in less than a week.”

It was her fault. Spike was killing again, and it was her fault. He was doing it for her. Oh god, what had she done?

And she’d said she was going to save him. She still could, she thought frantically, and as she stood up the thought gave her courage she didn’t know she possessed.

“Tell me where he is. I’ve got to stop him.”

“It’s too late.”

“No it isn’t. Tell me.” She was shouting now. “You wouldn’t have the file if he’d already done the job. Please tell me.”

The old man looked genuinely mystified for a moment. “Why should you care so much? You were with him for barely a day.”

“Because...” What did she tell him? How could she explain what had happened, how fast it had happened? It sounded bizarre even to her.

“Because I’m having his baby.” She looked him squarely in the eye, suddenly feeling calmer than she had for the whole interview. “Your great- grandchild.”

Chapter 10:

For the briefest moment Lord Giles seemed to visibly shrink in front of her. He went from hard man to proud grandfather, and back again so quickly, that Buffy almost missed it.

She felt a slight twinge of guilt as she rammed home her advantage, but she squashed it down, reminding herself what this man was capable of. She’d seen his weakness in that moment and now she was going to play the game too. He’d asked her what she was willing to do to get that file. Well, she was about to find out.

“When?”

His voice was suddenly very thin, and she could almost see what was going through his mind.

Will I live to see it?

“Early spring.” Buffy kept her voice even, her gaze unwavering. It was cruel, but it had to be done. There was too much at stake.

“A great-grandchild?” His gaze flicked down to her stomach, then back to her face. “My first.” There was the teeniest hint of pride in his voice.

Time to twist the knife. “You won’t see it, I’ll make sure of that.” Buffy picked up her bag and packed her notebook. She slung it over her shoulder and extended her hand. “Goodbye Lord Giles. I’m sorry we couldn’t do business.” This was what she’d come to do, she reminded herself. To get the file by fair means or foul.

He made no move to shake her hand. Still had a slightly stunned look on his face.

“Sit back down Miss Summers. We need to talk.”

Buffy’s heart was in her mouth. She sat down slowly, never taking her eyes off him. She’d underestimated him once before, wasn’t about to do again.

“There’s only one thing I want to talk about.” She let her gaze wander to the desk, making sure he saw her.

He gave a little laugh. “Have you ever thought of entering politics?”

“I don’t generally like swimming with sharks, Lord Giles, but in your case I’m willing to make an exception.”

He just sat and stared at her. The silence stretched out for so long that Buffy had trouble keeping still, and her heart was beating so hard that it was painful. Everything hinged on what he said next.

“He was my favourite, don’t you know.”

“So you just used him up?”

A brief look of annoyance flickered over his features. “I’ve already told you, you have no idea how these things work.”

“I think I do, Lord Giles. But you can put it right. It’s in your power to do so.” She almost laughed as she said it. The oldest trick in the book. Let the man think it’s his idea.

“I can see what you’re doing, young lady. If there is a baby, then I probably won’t live to see it anyway. So why should I help you? Why should I put myself at risk?”

“Because you owe him big-time, and you know it. It’s time to pay back. Do the right thing, and I think, deep-down, you still love him.”

Another long silence.

“You might live to see it after all.” Push the knife in, give it a twist. She was learning fast.

The old man levered himself up from his chair. “Are you sure you I can’t interest you in a job?”

Buffy held her breath as he fished in his pocket for a key, then made his way slowly to the desk. He unlocked the drawer and took out a very small envelope.

That was it? That’s what all this fuss was about?

He made his way back to Buffy and handed it to her. “I strongly suggest he never tries to use it. I’ll make sure the relevant people know he has it, and I’ll take care of the murder charge. I’ll deny any involvement of course.”

“Of course, and...thank you.” Buffy took the envelope with shaky fingers. Her future. Spike’s future. She raised her eyes to the old man. “Where is he?”

-------------------------------

He was having that dream again. She was there, looking at him with such yearning and love. Telling him with her eyes that she wanted him, and that she’d never leave him. He blinked and the image shimmered and faded, and he was alone once more.

Spike stood at the shoreline, hands in pockets. Wild, angry waves crashing over his bare feet. Soaking the bottom of his jeans. Matching his mood. He wanted the anger. Needed it so he could do what he had to do.

The envelope was folded, in his back pocket. Unopened. He pulled it out and stared at it, already knowing what would happen when he did open it.

He ripped it open and carefully pulled out the photograph. An unremarkable face stared back at him. Circled in red ink, his smiling family around him. An easy target, he could tell that already. Single shot should do it.

Spike placed two fingers over the man’s face, blanking it out and leaving only his smiling family in view. Two little girls, one on each arm. An adoring wife. Soon to be a widow. He squeezed his eyes shut. Fatherless children, grieving wives. How many had he been responsible for? He didn’t even know, there’d been so many. Had stopped counting a long time ago. He lifted his fingers, putting the man back with his family, then he covered him again. Playing god, that’s what he was doing. All that stood between him and Buffy was this one man, who he didn’t know and didn’t want to know.

He stared at the photo one last time, then he pushed it back into the envelope.

I guess this is your lucky day.

And with that he tore the whole lot into four pieces and threw them into the sea. He stood, watching them floating around his feet as the waves brought them back to him. He didn’t know what to feel about it, because he couldn’t feel anything at all.

---------------------------

There he was.

Hair longer than she remembered it, blown every which way by the wind. Hands in pockets, sweatshirt billowing as the wind caught it, sleeves pushed back to his elbows. Just standing and staring. He didn’t look like Spike any more, yet she’d have recognised him anywhere. Two months since the crash, and even from where she was standing she was aware of how much he’d changed. Only she wasn’t sure who she was seeing. The man he used to be before Spike, or the man he’d become since he came back. Slipping off her shoes, she stepped gingerly onto the cold, hard sand and made her way towards him to find out.

As she walked, a jumble of images flitted through her mind. That incredible feeling of connection the first time they’d looked at each other. The way he’d held her hand as they’d fallen out of the sky. Him being so ticklish. How he’d reacted when he’d seen her with the gun. And the feel of his hands on her, of him inside her making her feel things she only ever wanted to feel with him.

She thought she’d known how much she was missing him, but it wasn’t until this moment, when she finally set eyes on him again that she realised quite how much. There’d been a hole in her life, and as she closed the distance between them she felt the hole closing up. Mending. And the world, that had been tilted at such an odd angle since he’d left, was slowly righting itself, like the sun suddenly appearing on an overcast day.

Her heart wanted to run ahead of her, to leap into his arms. That was how she’d imagined it would be. But she reigned it in. Walked slowly and deliberately. He was just a few yards away and any moment now he was going to turn around and see her. Then she’d know if he still wanted her.

She hadn’t been going to give him a choice, he was her Spike and she’d come to claim him. But her rational mind screamed the possibility that when he turned around she wouldn’t see Spike or William. Just some guy she’d had amazing sex with in the aftermath of a traumatic experience.

She stopped a few feet away and called his name softly. He was so engrossed, he hadn’t heard her coming, but as he turned she knew he’d always be Spike to her. The killer who’d found his soul. The man with the sad eyes who’d made such sweet love to her that she thought her heart would break. Did he still want her? She was just about to find out.

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There was another dream. In this one she’d appear to him and stand just out of reach calling his name, but he couldn’t get to her. No matter how hard he tried, or how loud he shouted, she always stayed out of reach. He’d wake up, covered in sweat, as if he’d run a marathon, and every time it happened she was a little more ghost-like, and that bit further away.

He turned towards her voice as he always did, because he couldn’t resist. And if ghosts were all he was going to get, he’d take them, because he’d more or less resigned himself to never seeing her again. He was safe for the next couple of weeks, until the deadline, then, when they found out he wasn’t playing ball, it was going to start all over again. And he had to make a choice. Did he stay, or did he run again?

“Spike.”

He loved the way she said it. Loved everything about her, and it only got worse. Absence really did make the heart grow fonder. As well as more painful.

He frowned when he saw how near she was, almost near enough to touch. This was new. His hand went out, and instead of going right through her as he expected, it touched warm, solid flesh. He pulled back as if she’d burnt him, his breath catching in his throat. Then her hand took his and guided it to her face and he realised that she was really there. Somehow, she’d found him, and as she leaned her warm cheek against it and closed her eyes he knew that whatever else happened, they’d both come home at last.

---------------------------------

Buffy closed the remaining distance between them and stepped into his waiting arms. He hadn’t said anything, but the way he held her told her everything she needed to know. He didn’t seem to be able to get close enough, was almost hurting her as he pressed her face into his chest, but she didn’t care. She’d got to him in time, and all that mattered was that she was here now, doing this, with him.

He held her like that for a long while before she felt him start to relax. Then she wriggled herself free enough to look at him properly. A little thinner, brown hair growing through at the roots, different clothes, his broken arm healed, but he was still Spike. The man she’d fallen in love with. The man she wanted more than anyone else in the whole world.

He still had that slightly stunned expression on his face, looking at her as if she was going to disappear, so she raised herself up on tiptoe, holding onto his elbows for support and kissed him. He dipped his head down, closing his eyes as his lips met hers, tentatively at first as if they had to re-learn what to do, but building in intensity as they remembered. His hands slid around her back, sliding down to cup her bottom and pulling her against him, and she could feel how much he wanted her.

She intensified the kiss as a delicious aching need began to spread through her, but now they didn’t have to hurry, and it didn’t feel frantic or desperate. They had time. Only he didn’t know that, she suddenly thought. Didn’t know that he was free at last. She broke the kiss, and groped in her pocket. “I have something for you.” He tried to pull her back in, but she put her hand on his chest . “Wait. You’ll like it, see.”

She held up the envelope and her heart did a backflip as he registered just what she was giving him. His freedom, his life and her.

----------------------------------

“Buffy, is that...?” Spike stared at the envelope, then at her. She nodded at him, and the hope that he saw in her eyes told him that it was true. She’d bloody gone and done it. Got the file. He could live again. With her.

He reached for it, his hand trembling as he opened it and took out the disc. “How did you get this?” He stared at her long and hard. There was hope in her eyes, but also something else and he knew then that she wasn’t the same Buffy that he’d met two months ago. Meeting him, coming into his world had corrupted her in a way he’d never wanted to happen.

She looked away in response to his question, but he turned her back, smoothing away the wind-whipped hair from her face. “What did you do?”

“Nothing so terrible.” The smallest hint of regret in her voice. He didn’t miss it. Then she looked him in the eye, steady and unwavering. “I did what I had to do, so you wouldn’t have to.”

“Oh my love.” He pulled her close again and rested his chin on the top of her head. “I never wanted you to get involved in all this. Whatever you did, you have to live with it. It never goes away and it changes you. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? That you’ve made me feel things I never thought I’d feel? That you’ve given me a purpose in life beyond partying and having a good time?” He felt her trying to pull away again, and he let her go.

“Buffy, I’m...”

She moved away a few paces, and for a heartbeat he thought she was leaving. He took a step toward her, but she turned back to him. “Don’t tell me you’re not worth it, Spike. Don’t ever say that. I’ve come half way around the world to find you because you are the most amazing man I’ve ever met. No, you’re not perfect. None of us are, but I love you so much. You’re mine, and I’m yours, I’ve known that since the first time you looked at me.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Don’t worry, I haven’t murdered anyone. And you wouldn’t have either - would you?”

Amazing, she’d called him amazing, but it didn’t begin to cover what he thought of her. He shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t have.”

“So, you weren’t coming for me?”

Hell, this was hard. She was so much stronger that he was. Knew what she wanted and went for it with all her heart, and he felt ashamed of his cowardice. He’d only been trying to protect her, but he saw now what it would have done to her. How it would have made her feel knowing that he hadn’t felt their love worth the risk. Looking at her now, he knew that she would have followed him into hell itself if she’d had to. But he hadn’t been going to give her the chance. How had he got it so wrong?

He managed a small shake of the head, his heart sinking at the disappointment that crept into her eyes.

“But you came for me, Buffy.”

Two steps closed the gap between them.

“You did save me. And I need you more than you’ll ever know. Stay with me. Yeah, it’ll be dangerous, but hell, it’s worth the risk. I’d rather have one more day with you, than a lifetime alone.”

“Me too.”

He breathed a sigh of relief as her mouth curved into a smile. The kind of smile that could soothe his shattered nerves, mend his broken heart. The kind of smile he hoped he was going to be seeing a lot of in the years to come. And he held out his hand, smiling back at her for the first time. And her grip on his was strong and firm and true and he knew that she had set him free. Free to love her like she deserved, free to have a stab at a normal life. He squeezed back, pulling her towards him.

“Come on love. Let’s go home.”

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Epilogue

Buffy pulled the quilt around her shoulders and snuggled into Spike’s warm back. He gave a small wriggle as her hand brushed over his ticklish side.

“Hey, cut that out.”

She gave a contented sigh as she relaxed against him. The last few months had been hard, but it made this all the more precious.

“Wanna do it again, love?”

“What, tickle you?” Her hand reached out but his covered it and stopped her.

“No, the other thing. The one that makes you,” he turned, and whispered in her ear, his warm breath making her shiver with anticipation.

Her eyes widened. “I do not.” Her protest was only half hearted, because she knew full well that she did. “Where do you get your energy?” She snuggled back into him, too comfortable to move. “You’re insatiable, do you know that?”

“Let’s just say I’m well motivated. And you don’t do too badly yourself.” He reached over and flicked off the bedside light. “Okay, sleep it is, c’m’ere.”

Buffy wriggled into her usual sleeping position, locked firmly in his arms. It wasn’t always the most comfortable, but she knew he needed her to be there. Wanted to make sure she was safe, needed the contact to reassure himself that she wasn’t going to suddenly disappear. It was just another way of him telling her that he loved her.

And she’d never felt more loved, or protected, or safe. He was vigilant to the point of paranoia, but she knew he needed to be, so she let him fuss over her and worry about her. And day by day she watched him heal, and mend and start to believe in himself again.

She was still working for Angel, compiling a data base of British hotels and resorts. They needed the money since Spike didn’t have a job, but they lived a simple life in his small cottage by the sea and she’d never been happier.

“Buffy.”

“Yeah.”

This was something else he did. Liked to chat to her last thing before sleep. As if saying things in the dark made them easier to say.

“You never told me what you did to get the file.”

He hadn’t pushed her on that one. She’d told him part of it. The bit about his grandfather realising he still loved him and wanted to make amends before he died. She knew he hadn’t believed her, but he’d seemed content to let it go at that.

“I told you already. I made your granddad realise what a shit he’d been.”

“Yeah, but you never really told me how.”

She buried her face into his shoulder. “I told him I was having your baby.”

His whole body tensed as she said the words. She felt him struggling to relax, and it was long while before he spoke.

“And are you?”

She couldn’t keep the note of regret out of her voice. “No, but I wanted to. Wanted it so badly. Kinda got it in my head that with all the death and destruction around you it would give you hope, you know. Creating life instead of taking it. Do you know what I mean?”

"Yeah, I think so. but..."

"I know what you're gonna say, Spike. Too dangerous, wrong lifestyle. but you'd have loved it, wouldn't you?”

"Of course I would. You just gave me a bit of a shock, that's all. How did the old man take it?"

"I don't know. It just seemed to hit him, hard, you know? The weird thing was that even though I felt sorry for him, I was still able to stand there and be the bitch queen from hell. I told him he'd never see it."

"And you still feel bad about it?”

"A bit. Didn’t know I had it in me, but I just did what I had to do."

Spike released his death grip on her as he started to relax again. "Always thought you'd have made one hell of a spy. Do you still want one?"

"Want what?"

"A baby."

"Don't know. I'm kinda happy as we are right now. Maybe one day."

"Yeah, I'd like that. How many shall we have?"

Buffy laughed. "The standard answer to that is one of each."

"One of each it is then."

She could feel him settling, starting to drift off.

"Buffy."

"Yeah."

"Love you."

"And I love you too, you bad, dangerous, gorgeous, sexy, hunk.”

He didn't answer because he'd already fallen asleep. His deep, even breathing told her that. So then she went through her nightly ritual. A prayer of thanks, a kiss for Spike, a few moments of thinking how lucky she was, and a few more of panic that this was all too perfect and that fate was going to snatch it away from them.

It was always going to be a possibility. She knew that, and was learning to live with it. But she'd felt it on the plane and she'd felt it on the beach. The only place she wanted to be was here, doing this, with him.

It was enough.

The End

This story is dedicated to Spike. May he rise from the ashes like a beautiful phoenix.

Author’s note: Many, many thanks to you all for reading and for the wonderful reviews. They mean a lot. And thanks as always to LadyAnne for the great beta work. And thanks to Kella and the gang at Spuffy for letting me post.
I’ve started a new fic, a gothic Spuffy called In the Dark With You, so look out for that soon.

FIN!