Title: The Dance (Pt1 The Peacemaker Prophesy)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Yes, please. Especially now.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, UPN. Anyone but me. Except those I made up. They're mine.

Summary: First chapter of the Peacemaker Prophesy, Sequel to New Life.

Spike and Buffy patrol and the new big bad settles into town.

Author's Note: I debated releasing this book, and have held off longer than intended because of the upcoming episodes of BtVS. I was not sure if this story had a place anymore. When I thought it through, and discussed it with fellow fans, I decided that this is *my Spike*, *our Spike*. This is where many of us thought the character should go, rather than where he has been taken. My apologies to all whom are as crushed as I about the show itself and I am truly sorry if you find this story troubling in light of the new episodes, but this is how I see Spike in my world. And how he shall ever be.

The Dance

The Vampire came at her with such ferocity that she barely had time to

react. Her foot hit the tombstone in front of her and she launched into a back flip, landing directly behind the startled creature and plunging the stake through his back. As the Vampire disintegrated into dust, the next grabbed her from behind and she kicked his shins, spinning and swiping his feet out from under him.

Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy could see that ubiquitous blond head

bobbing and weaving, the sound of his fists hitting flesh and the occasional *poof*. Kinda hoped it wasn't him *poof*'ing. Did he even *poof* anymore? After the rounds they'd had in the last few days, if he still *poof*'d, she would be the one to *poof* him herself.

"You alright, Pet?" Spike called, as the attacking Vampire gained his feet and launched back after Buffy. She jumped into the air, kicking the fledgling's jaw and knocking him to the pavement.

"Meet Mr. Pointy," she said, as she plunged the stake into the vamp. "Fine, I can take care of myself," she snapped at Spike.

"Take it easy, Goldilocks. Just a sodding question," Spike retorted,

dusting another without taking a step.

"What's going on in this town? Vampiralooza?" Buffy complained as her fist caught her third and the dance continued.

"You live for this and you know it," Spike called back as he got a fist in the cheek. "Ow, that *hurt*," he complained, wiping the blood from his mouth and plunging the stake into the young one at the same time. "Dunno, Pet, but they're out in full force."

"Would have never brought you with me tonight if it weren't this bad," she panted, ducking a right hook.

"Brought me? I think I can choose for my bleeding self," he huffed indignantly, roundhouse kicking the next in line.

"One of us should be home. Emma's got a fever and what if Tara's protection spell doesn't hold." Buffy disintegrated another young vamp and leaned over, catching her breath. Spike was working on what looked to be the last one.

"First off," he preached, "these are vampires. Can't come in less you

invite them. Shoulda learned that by now." Buffy scowled. "All we've seen for weeks," he continued, non-plussed. He casually tossed a right hook at the fledgling and knocked him to the ground. Spike put his foot on the vampire's chest to hold him down. "Second, Tara's spell has worked smashingly. Surprised me, really. Even bounced old Clem cross the street before she adjusted it a bit."

Buffy was fuming. She hated it when he was right. Even worse when he knew it.

"Last of all, Emma's fever was exactly one-hundred when we left. Checked it myself. Babies get fevers like that all the time."

"What, your Mr. Spock now?" Buffy asked, annoyance rising in her voice.

"You might want to stake him," she continued, looking at the utterly

confused vamp under Spike's boot. "Think he's trying to bite your leg."

Sure enough, the fledgling was in game face and trying to sink his teeth

into Spike's calf. "Stupid, sodding whelp," Spike said, disgusted, leaning down to vaporize the vamp. "And it's Dr. Spock. Damn smart bloke."

"What with the correct-y-ness?" Buffy complained, assuming fighting stance again. Spike's head spun, looking for more vampires, but there was nary an undead body in sight. He looked back at Buffy strangely. God, she was beautiful when she was angry.

"Whatdya mean, Pet?" he hissed, striding toward her in his most annoyingly confident walk.

"Gotta be right about everything," she grunted as she spun, kicking him in the shoulder. The force was no where near her hardest, but it stung all the same. She wanted to dance. Never one to disappoint the lady.

"Can't help I'm just smart like that," he shot back, deflecting a right hook aimed near his face. "Gonna hafta do better than that to get at me, Pet."

Those eyes. That smirk. She didn't know whether she wanted to kill him or drown in him. Her heart raced, her blood pumping fast and furious. Maybe a little of both. Had to bait him first.

"What? You don't even care your daughter is sick?" she tossed out,

regretting it as soon as it slid off her lips. Oh, that hit the button all right. His face blanked and his eyes dropped.

What the hell?, he thought. She knows better. She...she said that on

purpose. Ah, women. "That was low."

For a moment, she felt truly guilty. He saw it flash across her face,

before she danced again. "A little," she fired, catching him with a

forceless left jab. He shot one back, admittedly not as hard as he would have in the past or did in training. Training was different. Here she was Buffy, not the Slayer. Her eyes twinkled as she responded to him with another kick, pushing him back. Spike began to spar with her. He could tell she wasn't aiming to hurt anymore. This is just what she lived for.

Not just any dance. His dance.

Fighting him was erotic, primal, beautiful. Part of her he knew she would never let go. He never wanted her to let go of it. They would never find out who would win. Didn't really matter anymore because, in the end, neither of them would. It was never the fight. It was about the heat.

"What, can't take a hit anymore?" Buffy baited, as Spike reeled back from a roundhouse.

"Can," he said, hoarsely, grabbing her wrists as she swung her arms forward. "But that's not what you're after," he growled, pulling her hard against him. Her chest banged into his and he held her arms behind her back with equal force. "You're just getting warmed up," he whispered, letting his lips brush lightly against hers in stark contrast to her aggressiveness. A little mewl escaped her lips and he responded with a ferocious, bruising kiss that melted her knees and made her whimper for joy. Buffy trembled against him, setting his body on fire with her vulnerability. God, this girl was perfect.

She hopped up, wrapping her legs lazily around his waist without ever

letting her mouth move from his. The friction of denim on denim nearly did him in. Hell, looking at her all flushed and pretty was nearly enough. He stumbled back, trying to still his reeling mind and backed her to the crypt door.

"You don't live here anymore," she panted, as he backed through the door. Buffy was still latched around his waist, driving him insane with her warm, sweet breath and her tight, pretty legs.

"Consider it a summer house," he responded. He'd kept it up in case they ever needed a place to hide, or, well, in case of this, he admitted to himself. She chuckled softly as her tongue traced his lips.

"Planned ahead?" she asked, as he set her gently on the arm of the couch.

"Boy Scout," he whispered, shrugging off his duster and unbuttoning her

blouse simultaneously. She ripped his shirt, pulling him to her and falling back onto the couch.

"My shirt!" he panted, indignantly as she reached for the waistband of his jeans. Then he felt her hands.... "Hell with it," he growled, his lips finding hers again. Yes, this dance was more fun.

*****

They walked lazily home, her fingers weaving loosely in and out of his,

tracing his palm. The one thing about parenthood, Spike thought, was there was never enough time for her. Never enough to explore Buffy the way he wanted to, to give her everything he wanted to give. But Emma had been worth every minute.

"Record time," Buffy joked, glancing at her watch. "Patrol and extra

curricular rough and tumble in three hours flat."

"I'll remind you that patrol only lasted an hour," Spike responded, "and you got the abridged extra credit simply because of a sickly tot."

"Oh, now you're all noble," she answered, rolling her eyes. "Could have

fooled me back there."

"Only give what I am asked for," he answered, smiling softly.

"Touché."

Spike was silent, thinking as her fingers brushed his hand. "Buffy?"

"What?" she asked, lazily wrapping her arm around him. They turned the

corner onto Revello. He stopped, turning her towards him. Looking at her pretty doe eyes.

"What you said back there.... You know that I... That nothing comes before you and Emma. You know that, right?" His crystal blue eyes were so serious. So tender.

"What... what did I say?" Buffy asked, her mind still dancing and foggy

from the crypt.

"About not caring that Emma was sick."

The guilt struck her like a freight train. She had wanted to bait him, to rile him up, not to hurt him. Buffy didn't want that anymore at all.

"Spike," she stuttered," I know that. It was the wrong thing to say. I'm sorry."

Spike looked at her in shock. "Did the Slayer just apologize with minimal prompting?" he snarked.

Buffy smiled slyly. "*Very* good mood," she answered, starting to stroll back down the street, his hand still woven in hers.

*****

"Rough night?" Dawn asked from her perch on the couch as Buffy and Spike walked through the door. Spike glanced down at his tattered shirt and quickly excused himself up the stairs. Buffy walked into the living room. The coffee table was covered in books. Not a sight she was used to seeing in front of Dawn, but welcome all the same.

Tara walked through from the kitchen, brushing Buffy softly on her way past. "Looks more like date night to me," Tara whispered, smiling softly, and heading into the dining room.

"Hungry," Buffy said quickly, clapping her hands together nervously and

speeding off towards the kitchen.

*****

Spike pulled off his shirt as he walked down the hall, tossing it through the bedroom door as he passed on his way to Emma's room. He could hear the baby gurgling happily from the hallway. "How's my girl?" he announced as he stepped through the doorway.

Emma was curled in Xander's arms, tugging on the sleeves of his shirt, her happy eyes dancing almost as much as his. They were parked in a chair near the door. Her feet were kicking with wild delight at the faces the whelp made at her.

At the sound of Spike's voice, Xander looked up, startled almost out of his skin. "Uh...I'm... she woke up and she... was crying.. and..." Xander began to stand, nervously shuffling his feet.

Spike thought for a moment. Hard. Part of him wanted to take the baby away from the git who had invested so much effort in hurting him over the years. The other, more foreign, half felt sorry for the bloke. Knew Buffy'd be all right with it. Knew the bugger hated him but would never in a million years hurt a baby. 'Specially not Buffy's. "No, no. It's fine," Spike muttered, leaning down and tickling the baby's stomach. She wriggled, laughing in Xander's arms. "Need to take a quick shower anyway. Mind her for a few more minutes?"

"S..sure," Xander stuttered, settling back down into the chair. The shock was evident in his eyes as well as in his voice.

"Right then. Back in a minute, mite," Spike whispered to Emma, kissing her forehead then spinning back out of the room.

*****

The lighted flickered, shooting an orange flame, igniting the end of the

cigarette. The red glow grew and spread. He snapped the silver box closed with a flick of an elegant wrist and slid it slowly into the pocket of his crisp, pressed slacks. He leaned against the lamp post on the corner across the street from the Slayer's home, watching. Waiting. Finding the pattern.

The protection spell had been well cast. The good witch may not have been as powerful as her mate once had been, but she'd done this one right and proper. The sandy haired man had sent his best to test it in the hours just before morning and they had barely reached the sidewalk before being ejected back across the street. He took another long draw from the cigarette. This would take more...finesse.

He had watched the Slayer and the Vampire in the graveyard. It would not be an exaggeration to suspect that, as a unit, they were unbeatable. Apart, there was a chance. Their connection was strong, as if the movement flowed from her body to his and back again. Even as they battled each other, they completed each other's movements with the fluidity of a ballet. The sandy haired man smiled at himself. Oh, to be in love.

Boy's turned out to be quite a fighter, he thought. Never expected that.

It was fascinating how their sparring turned, without hesitation, into this primordial, ancient love. How the fists stopped and eyes locked and muscles used for violence suddenly melted seamlessly into one. That ballet, it seemed, was the one that truly mattered. There was a tenderness in even their force, a sweetness in their anger. Ash slipped to the ground as he remembered the one woman the sandy haired man had loved like that. Loved with every fiber, ever muscle, every tick of his once beating heart.

He flicked the cigarette to the pavement in disgust. Love had no place in the game. No place in the world. Nor did peace. Not after all this.

There was a way. In the meantime, he'd just bide his time and watch.

The sandy haired man turned on a well-polished heel and disappeared back into the night.

To be contd.

Title: Six Months (pt 2 The Peacemaker Prophesy)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Yes, please. Especially now.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, UPN. Anyone but me. Except those I made up. They're mine.

Summary: The Big Bad is revealed, but can you tell who he is? Spike gives Buffy a little surprise. Giles discovers more of the prophesy.



Six Months

"Gwydion?" a young, dark haired vampire called, rushing toward the sandy haired man. Gwydion stepped into the candlelit room of the rented house, calm and serene again, recovered from his trip down memory lane. He put his hand up calmly, stopping the younger vampire in his tracks.

"Not now," Gwydion snapped, flicking his hand and sending the young one

flying back against the wall. "Now is the time to think." Gwydion sat in a large, velvet covered chair. A small girl rushed over with a snifter of brandy. Sweet child, he thought. Too bad she'll have to be breakfast.

Gwydion lit another cigarette and eased back into the chair.

"Gwydion?" the younger vampire asked again, slowly approaching the older creature, stopping just out of his reach.

"What is it?" the sandy haired man asked, his tone thick with annoyance.

"The Slayer and the traitor killed twelve of us tonight, sir. Think they may be onto us."

"This is the Hellmouth, Simon," Gwydion responded in his smooth London

accent. "Simply a busy night."

"But we've lost an entire team," Simon answered, his fear evident.

"Not as if we cannot produce more." Another long drag of his cigarette.

"It will only take one of us to kill the child."

"We cannot get near the house," Simon said, sitting on the footstool next to his master. "And even if we could, none of us could outfight either parent."

"If all goes according to plan, we will not have to fight at all," Gwydion replied simply, the tip of the cigarette glowing red as he pulled in another draw. As the red faded, he lifted the snifter, swirling the amber liquid, watching it like blood.

"Then why..." Simon began.

"Enough questions," Gwydion interrupted. "Now go and rest. It's almost

morning."

"Yes, sir," the darker vampire complied, knowing what his master could do if crossed.

"Simon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Before you retire, get Quentin on the phone for me."

"The Council?"

"I have a little...information for them," Gwydion responded, flashing a

dazzling, elegant smile.

"Yes, sir."

*****

"Dawn?" Spike's voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs. "C'mon Nibs. Don't feel like dealing with your sis having to 'splain why you're tardy again."

Dawn bounded down the steps like a puppy, panting. "Sorry," she answered, taking her knapsack out of Spike's outstretched hand. "You make lunch or Buffy?" she asked, hesitantly, eyeing the bag.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "She did." Dawn frowned. "But I swapped it out."

Dawn leaned forward, pecking him on the cheek, and bounding out the door. Spike walked back into the kitchen, hoisting himself onto the counter. She should be down soon. Wonder if she'll like it, he thought.

"Like what?" Buffy asked, walking into the kitchen, Emma balanced on her hip. Even at six months old, the tot looked exactly like her mum. 'Cept for those eyes. Those are mine, Spike thought.

"Did I say that aloud?" he asked, staring oddly at her, shaking his head. Buffy shrugged, walking up to the counter and reaching for a bowl with her free hand. He slid his onto hers, stopping her mid grab.

"Not today, Love," he whispered, his face dangerously close to hers. She could feel her skin ignite and her mouth melt into a pleasant little smile at the sound of his voice.

"I'm hungry," she whined, looking up at him. Gotta stop that. He opened a door in the crypt last night that I just can't seem to shut, she thought. Unwittingly, she blushed.

"Nasty thoughts, Love?" he asked, brushing her hair from her face with

gentle fingers.

"Did I sat *that* aloud?" she quipped. "You gonna tell me why the bowl is bad?"

"Cos," Spike answered, smiling. "Warm morning."

"And the point that you someday hope to get to...."

"And," he enunciated, "thought you might want to have breakfast outside." Spike continued, hopping down from the counter, her hand still in his, leading her through the back door.

Against the tree line, Spike had laid out a blanket, spread with tons of

fruit, toast, a very tasteful wine carafe full of what looked to be orange juice and of course, Emma's bottle tucked neatly into a warm towel. It was almost too sweet for words.

"What's wrong?" Buffy asked, turning back towards Spike with a worried

frown.

"Whadya mean?" Spike asked, confused. "Thought you and the mite might like a little daylight."

"That's all?" Buffy said, still concerned by the gesture.

"Course," Spike answered, "Try to do something nice...."

"No, no, " she interrupted, looking back up at his eyes. Close the door, she thought as her knees went soft. Very awake, squirming baby. "Just... no one ever.. you know..."

"Well, get used to it, already," Spike said, kissing her cheek and heading back toward the house.

"Where...where are you going?"

"Rupert called," he answered. "Need to phone him back. Said it was

important."

"Oh," Buffy said quietly.

"Be back, Pet," he said, reading her face. God, it was nice to be wanted for once.

"Good," she answered, smiling and sauntering over to the blanket, turning her attention back to Emma. Spike shook his head and headed indoors.

*****

"Vampires?" Spike asked, leaning against the kitchen wall, the phone

cradled between his ear and shoulder. "Would explain the Second Coming

round here."

"What do you mean, Spike?" Giles asked, politely.

"Crawling out of the bleeding woodwork. Buffy and I must have taken a dozen last night and that was a slow evening."

"Any sign of the leader?"

"No clue," Spike answered, shifting uncomfortably.

"The prophesy says that the first assault upon the Peacemaker...."

"Can we refrain from using the word assault and referring to my daughter in the same sentence?" Spike snapped.

"My apologies," the Watcher responded, guilt lacing his words.

"On with it, then," Spike prodded.

"The prophesy indicates that the first... threat.. against Emma will be from a Vampire. A Master Vampire."

"My line?" Spike asked. "Don't tell me the bloody Poofter..."

"No, no. Angel is no threat."

"Oh, yeah. The *soul*," Spike said sarcastically.

"Darla seems to be dead at this time."

"Good to know." Spike was quiet for a long moment. Giles read his thoughts like an open book.

"You don't think?"

"Drusilla?" Spike asked. He was silent again, turning the thought over in his head. "Rupert, I'll admit she was crazy as a nuthatch and liked a good spot of violence, but she never went in for killing children. Not after what happened to her."

"You positive?" Giles asked.

Again silence. "Rupert, in all honesty, would you put Drusilla in charge of an important plot to rid the world of peace?"

"I wouldn't have put her in charge of laundry." Giles responded, dryly.

Spike stifled a chuckle.

"Never any good at that either," Spike snickered. "So, anything else?"

"Not much. Only that this threat will arise in her sixth month of

existence." Spike went deadly quiet. This time, it was a silence he

couldn't break. "Spike, what is it?"

"She'll be six months old day after tomorrow," Spike responded quietly.

"*Spike? *" A frightened scream ripped the air from the backyard. Buffy. Spike slammed the phone down on the receiver and fled out the door.

to be contd.

Title: Butterflies (The Peacemaker Prophesy pt 3)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Yes, please. Especially now.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, UPN. Anyone but me. Except those I made up. They're mine.

Summary: Spike and Buffy find that their daughter is more than meets the eye. Giles hatches a plan but leaves Spike to tell Buffy...

Butterflies

It seemed an eternity from the time Spike heard Buffy's impassioned scream to the time he stood in the yard, staring in shocked stillness at Buffy. She was on her knees, her hands frozen, outstretched in front of her, with the strangest combination of terror and wonder on her face.

Butterflies, Spike thought, as he pulled from his frozen stance, stepping barefoot across the lawn. Emma was lying on her back on the blanket, her arms and legs stretched towards the sky, laughing merrily. Surrounded by butterflies. Her arms, her legs, perched on her tiny fingertips. Spike walked closer, an eyebrow raised, wondering if concern or amusement was the proper reaction.

Finally, he made it to Buffy's side and dropped down on his knees next to her. Time seemed to have slowed to a fraction of its normal pace, as Buffy was still frozen reaching toward Emma. Guess it wasn't quite as effective on Vampires.

Then he noticed.

These weren't butterflies at all.

Tiny porcelain faces shone between glittering, coloured wings. Rings of

minute flowers circling silken hair. They were speaking. Spike shook his head, attempting to clear the vision. The little creatures noticed. As if realizing their effect, they fluttered wildly and time snapped back to life.

Buffy sprung forward.

"Emma!" she screeched, lurching forwards. Spike put his hand out, stopping her as the little creatures retreated, hovering in a ring above Emma's head like a living halo. "Spike?" Buffy gasped, shifting her gaze to the Vampire. He was staring curiously at the winged muses which were now dancing rings around his daughter's head. "Spike, what are they?"

Spike swallowed. "Fairies," he said, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

Also knowing it was the truth.

"Like Tinkerbelle?" Buffy asked, suddenly becoming six years old in an

instant.

"Pretty close," Spike answered, watching one land on Emma's palm and sit as if resting her tired wings.

"Are they... dangerous?" Buffy asked, eyes glued to the dancing, coloured, wings.

"No," he answered, "Mischievous, but not dangerous."

"Oh, like you?" Buffy quipped, suddenly recovering her sense of humour or lack thereof. Spike smirked at her. "How do you know what they are?"

"When we were kids," Spike began, rocking back until he was sitting on his heels, "my mum used to read us stories about the fairie folk. They lived in meadows and flowers and trees. Sometimes, my sister and I would go off in the wood looking for them."

"Did you ever find them?"

"No," he answered. "They'd leave rings in the grass. We'd always get there just a moment too late, Camille and me. All that was left were dewy little rings in the grass."

Buffy could see Spike's memories like movies playing across his sapphire

eyes. "You miss that life, don't you?" she asked. He turned back towards her.

"Got a better one now, Pet," he answered, touching her hand. The fairies danced one more ring around the giggling child then dispersed into the tree line. Time flowed normally once again.

They were silent for a long time. "What does it mean?" Buffy finally

asked, scooping Emma up into her arms.

"Not sure, Love. But I'm not afraid."

Buffy looked at him for what felt like eternity. "Neither am I."

*****

The shrill sound of the phone ringing wildly for the millionth time finally got Buffy to her feet. They lay on the blanket in the shadows of the trees until the sun was high in the sky. Spike was laying with his arms behind his head with Emma perched on his bare chest or else he might've gotten up to answer the phone.

Buffy trotted into the house, pushing the button on the answering machine as Giles' voice started rambling on, full of angst and concern. "H...Hello?" she said, nearly dropping the phone as she rushed to answer and shut of the machine in one movement.

"Buffy?"

"Hi, Giles."

"Everything alright? I've been calling for hours. Spike was..."

"There was an ... incident," Buffy responded, mapping out her words.

"An incident?"

Spike walked in, carrying the little girl, balanced between his forearm and his chest. "I'll let Spike explain," Buffy said quickly.

"Explain wha..."

The Watcher's words were cut off as Buffy put her hand over the mouthpiece and jutted her arms towards Spike.

"Right, let me talk about the fairies like a..." he stuttered.

"A fairy?" Buffy joked, completing the hand off by trading phone for child.

"Looks like I still win, Pet," Spike joked as Buffy crinkled her nose at the smell emanating from Emma's diaper. She reached back toward the phone but Spike wagged a finger at her.

"Rupert?" he said smugly as Buffy stomped out of the kitchen.

*****

"Buffy?" Spike said sullenly, padding into Emma's room, barefoot and bare chested. "We need to talk." He was so serious. Buffy was leaning over Emma's crib. She craned her head to look at him. His eyes. She hadn't seen that horrible sadness in forever. "She asleep?" he asked, nodding at the crib. Buffy nodded, turning towards Spike. He held out his hand and she latched on as if he was throwing her a life preserver.

"What's wrong?" she asked as he led her down the hall into her room. Their room. He was silent. Spike took her shoulders softly in his hands and sat her on the bed, squatting down in front of her. God, she was so beautiful, he thought.

"Buffy...." he began, not knowing what to say, how to say it.

"It's not... what happened outside...with the Tinkerbelles..."

"No," he said, shaking his head. He held her hands, feeling her warm, soft palms against his. "No, Giles seems to think they mean to help her."

"Help?"

"They're part of her...quest?" he said, trying to explain without really understanding himself. "But that's not what we need to talk about."

"Then what?" Buffy asked, poised between confusion, annoyance, and fear.

"The Watcher seems to think," Spike said slowly, punctuating every word,

"that whoever it is that wants to hurt Emma is a Vampire. Someone in my

line."

"Not..."

"No," he answered, not wanting to have that discussion just now. "Not

Darla, nor Dru. Point being, he doesn't know exactly who."

"Is that why patrol has been..."

"Yeah," Spike answered, completing her thought in his head. "And the

prophesy says that the... threat.. will come during her sixth month of human existence."

"But that's..."

"Day after tomorrow," he finished.

"Doesn't Giles know any more about who?" Buffy asked, fear creeping into her voice. "Or do I need to stake every undead creature in this town in two days."

"Not that simple, Pet," Spike said, swallowing. "We need to find who's

pulling their strings."

"Then we will," Buffy answered, resolutely.

"Quickly."

"Let's go. I'll call Tara to come and watch Emma," she said, starting to panic, getting up and rifling through drawers for weapons. Spike rocked back on his heels, his head dropping.

"Buffy," he breathed, frustrated, not with her, but with what he had to do, "Giles has a plan. I don't like it, but I think the sodding Watcher has a point."

"What?" Buffy asked, hope and fear clashing in her eyes like a rolling

thunderstorm.

"He thinks I should go," Spike said, quietly.

"Go?" Buffy replied, anger rising. "That's brilliant. Shoulda thought of that myself. That way I can leave Emma alone every night, fight twice as many vamps *and* do it all myself. Good plan." She was pacing, fury flushing her face.

"Buffy," Spike said, patiently, standing, walking towards her. "He thinks I should... pretend... that things didn't work out for me here... with us... and that I'm out for revenge. That I want to help destroy you. Then see if I can connect with whoever it is that wants Emma. Once I'm in, I can take care of him."

"No, Spike," she hissed, teeth clenched. "Bad plan. I don't want.." Tears began to roll.

"I don't *want* either," he continued, taking her shoulders in his hands

again. "But it is a sound plan and we need to do something to protect Emma. Not one of mine either, so it might actually work."

Buffy chuckled, wiping the tears off her cheeks. "How long?" she whispered, staring up at his eyes.

"Not long," Spike answered, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"And I...we... can't see you?"

" I was thinking," Spike answered, pulling her closer, "if I go back to the crypt, we may be able to sneak you through the tunnels from the Magic Box. But only once in a while. And only in daylight. S'gotta look good. Think you can pretend to hate me?" he asked, laughing a little.

"Oh, yeah," she responded, pushing him softly. She smiled a bit. "But

what about here? I mean, just doesn't seem all that safe for Emma with just Dawn and I here to protect her."

"Ah," Spike said, "Watcher said the same. Now we get to the part I really don't like," he continued, backing toward the bed, sitting on the edge. She stood positioned between his legs.

"What?" she asked, calmly.

"Watcher said to bring in some protection for you. Or more for Emma since you seem to hold your own."

"And?"

"As much as it pains me to say," Spike said, looking genuinely conflicted, "he's probably right."

"About what?"

"Angel."

To be contd.

Title: Want (The Peacemaker Prophesy pt 4)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Yes, please. Especially now.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, UPN. Anyone but me. Except those I made up. They're mine.

Summary: Spike explains Giles' plan to Buffy, but how we she react?

Want

"Angel?" Buffy repeated tentatively, carefully avoiding lacing her words with any emotion of any sort.

"I despise this Buffy, but Watcher's right. Emma needs someone here a

little better equipped than the whelp, not that he would be my first choice either. If Red still had her powers, maybe, but we need a little more muscle." Spike said, trying to rationalize even thinking about leaving his love alone with her first ... everything.

Buffy was silent. Not sure how to react. Angel. Not what she wanted to deal with at this point, but she couldn't say it would be awful to see him again. Spike was staring at her, trying to get inside her pretty, blonde head. Trouble was, Buffy did not know what was there either.

Her eyes met Spike's and suddenly none of it mattered. She lost herself in those eyes in a way she had never been lost in anything. It had always been him. "I'd rather have your... muscle... here," Buffy said slyly, climbing onto his legs, straddling his lap. Spike smiled, relieved. He put his hands on her pretty face. "Why can't he go all under cover-y?" Buffy asked.

"Soul," Spike answered. "Vampires will smell it a mile away."

"I don't *want* this, " Buffy whispered, leaning forward, her lips brushing his. His hands were behind her neck, holding her there. His forehead pressed to hers.

"We have to."

"I know," she said, quietly. "Angel, does he know?"

"Don't think so," Spike answered, knowing she meant about him, about Emma, about any of the events of the last few years. "I'll be the one to tell him, all right?"

"Yeah," Buffy answered, sliding closer, her body locking into place on his. "When?" she whispered, her voice filled with need.

"Want him here tonight. When we go on patrol, we'll argue. Badly. You

will have to do this well, Buffy, for them to believe us. No matter what is said, we both have to understand that it is not real. *This* is real," he whispered, kissing her softly. "We'll make sure to do this when we know we are being watched. You've felt that, haven't you."

"Someone watching? Yeah. I have."

"We'll have to make them believe, Buffy. Then you'll come home, and I'll be gone."

"Don't want gone," she said softly, taking his earlobe between her teeth. His eyes closed and he hummed softly. Gone was the last thing he wanted. Not now, not ever. Not for one minute. Her hair smelled like vanilla. Her warm breath blew in tiny gasps on his neck. "Want," she whispered again, pushing him flat against the bed.

"Want what?" Spike asked, staring up at her, trying to control the tremble in his voice. She melted him, always did. Buffy pulled his arms over his head and held them with one of her hands, the other trailed lazily down his bare chest.

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. Admiring him. "Want to know if you'll miss me." Spike began to sit up under her, but she held him still. "Want to know if you love me." Spike grunted, bucking under her and flipping her onto her back. He stretched out against her like a cat.

"Do you really need to ask that?" he said, pressing hard against her. She bit her lip, drowning in him all over again.

"Want to," she said quietly.

"Right, then," Spike said, nodding and pulling off her camisole in one

movement. " I will miss your eyes," he started, butterfly kisses grazing each of her eyelids. "And your nose." The gentle kiss to the tip which always turned her into butter in the summer sun.. "Your ears," he whispered, lighting her on fire with his breath blowing against her sensitive skin. "Your neck." His teeth grazed her skin and she let a happy little gasp escape her lips. "Your shoulders." His hands were *way* ahead of his mouth and she was losing track to which she should be paying attention. Buffy surrendered to him completely. Lost in him. Found in him. Never let her down...

*****

A hungry cry from the next room awoke her. Buffy's eyes fluttered lazily open. She was tangled under, around, in Spike. Their legs and arms a pretzel of golden and pale skin. No sheets, no quilt, no pillows, nothing in sight. She sighed, flopping back against the mattress.

"Troubles, Love?" Spike asked, one eye flickering open. He was face down beside her, still knotted around her.

"Trying to locate clothing," she huffed in reply.

"Lost cause," Spike answered. "Somewhere in the vicinity, but you may as well start from scratch." He lazily began to untangle himself from her. Emma was still crying in her room.

"Love baby. Baby loud," Buffy muttered, sliding off the mattress and

stumbling weak legged to the dresser. How did he do that?, she thought.

Make my legs completely cease to work.

"Have I ever told you that you have a way with words?" Spike asked, smiling at her as she made her way across the room. He loved to watch her move. Naked in daylight was that much the better. He propped on one elbow, now fully awake.

"You *could* go get her," Buffy complained.

"You, Love, have a beautiful backside," he said, utterly distracted by her. A rolled up T-shirt smacked him in the head.

"Back to the real world, Spike."

"Felt pretty real to me," he gloated, rolling onto his back and smiling up at the ceiling.

"You know, the one where we get to be responsible adults and..... *crap*.." She muttered, falling over forward while trying to pull her sweats on.

Spike got up, stifling the urge to chuckle, and pulled her to her feet.

"You get Emma squared away and I'll tidy up Hiroshima, all right?" Buffy nodded in agreement. "Then I'll call the bloody Poofter and you get your little friend brigade over her for a fill-in."

"First," she said, light heartedly," I'd lay off the *Poofter* stuff while your asking him for a favour right *after* you tell him that you knocked me up and we're living like the Brady Bunch. Second of all, I like to think of the brigade more as a ....team. Like the Superfriends."

"Just go get the girl," Spike smiled, tossing the balled T-shirt back at her and hitting her square in the bottom. She tore from the room, giggling.

*****

"Angel Investigations," an overly chipper voice chirped into the phone.

"C'I talk to the Po... to Angel. Please," Spike asked, smirking at his own politeness.

"Sure, can I tell him who's calling?"

Spike bristled. "Old friend," he grunted. The line went silent for a long time.

"This is Angel," the old familiar voice brooded.

"Dear, old granddad."

"Spike? You learned to use the phone! What next? Coffee pot?"

Spike thought about answering, 'No, but I've gotten bloody good at nuking bottles,' but thought the better of it. "Enough pleasantries."

"What do you want?" Angel asked with obvious annoyance.

"That's better," Spike said. He was easier to deal with as a pompous arse. "Need your help."

"You. Asking me. For help?"

"Not what you're thinking, mate," Spike retorted, defensively. "Not for me, anyhow. For Buffy... and..."

"What's wrong with Buffy?" Angel asked, suddenly becoming extremely

concerned and dropping his arrogance completely. Spike did *not* like the tone. Poofter still had a thing for her. Maybe the whelp and Glenda could...

"She needs protection," Spike said, clearing the stupid thought from his

mind and swallowing his pride. He trusted Buffy, even if he didn't trust his grandsire far as he could toss him. Not even that far.

"Buffy?" Angel said, incredulously.

"Not exactly," Spike answered. "Her daughter."

"Daughter?"

"Just be here by nine," Spike said, hanging up the phone.



To be contd.

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