Title: The Battle and the Glory

Author: Nimue

Rating:pg -13 (violence)

Feedback: Please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JW and Co.

Summary: Spike is remembering his trip to Africa and the challenges he had to face.



Spike was lying on the mat in the hut, the air he had breathed was burning his lungs, the dead organ in his chest ached from beating once again. It was silent now. The perfume of the candle, the scent of her, was still thick in the air. He was exhausted, more

exhausted than he should have been from writing a silly poem.

The Sandman entered the hut and Spike turned his head just enough to see him. Going back *there* had taken all of the wind from his sails.

"Your challenge is complete?" the old demon asked.

"S'right over there, " Spike grunted in reply, lifting his had enough to point. He was mentally spent.

"I trust that it is, " the demon answered.

"What? You mean you aren't going to read the bloody thing?" Spike snapped, offended party because he went through all the trouble to write it, and partly because it was pretty good. At least in his opinion.

"The point was, " the demon began, " that you had to know who you were. The point was the journey."

Spike struggled upright, his chest still aching, his muscles rebelling. "Well, you got it all wrong, for what it's worth."

"I did not 'get it' at all," the Sandman answered. "I just sent you there. You created the scene. I just set the stage." Spike looked at him, dazed and off balance.

"I do not remember it like that. And trust me, I remember that night bloody well."

"I did not challenge your memory, " the demon quipped coldly. "Are you ready to continue?"

"Now?" Spike boomed. "No rest, no food, no clothes?"

"This is not a hotel, Vampire, " the demon responded. "You can give in any time, but you leave the same as when you came."

"Bloody hell, " Spike griped. "What next then? My map reading abilities? How about a spot of dog grooming?"

"The next challenge will begin in ten minutes. The tribesman have left you clothing on the chest. You will also find weapons inside. Choose one and choose wisely."

"Weapons... this is more to the quick," Spike said smiling, pulling himself off the mat.

"Continue to the fire when you have dressed, " the Sandman said, leaving the hut with a flourish.

"Poof, " Spike whispered under his breath. He walked to the chest. Atop the wooden lid lay what Spike thought was some sort of kinky caveman outfit. He stared at the loincloth thinking 'What am I, bleeding Tarzan? This wanker is having a bit of fun with old Spike.'

But in the spirit of getting things done and over with, he donned the leather covering and set upon searching through the chest.

Spike could not help but chuckle thinking that this old demon had nothing on the Slayer. Her box of goodies was tenfold more up to date. All that was in this box was a long, double headed spear, a cross bow, a shotgun, and a dagger. The poet in him grabbed for the dagger, but upon thinking about his surroundings, he chose the spear instead. The

fight was the fun. The kill was just a bonus. Crossbows and guns were lazy.

Toting his spear and looking all the world like a cartoon character, he left the hut, walking slowly toward the fire. It was night still. Or was it night again? Time had lost its relevancy.

The demon stood in front of the fire, looking large and crusty and old when Tarzan Spike stopped his trudging. "Challenge the second," the Sandman announced, is a test of strength and veracity. You must know who you are in order to know what you are to become."

"Get on with it, " Spike complained, "Show me the battle."

"Are you *ever* going to get the point that it is about the journey?" the demon asked frankly, losing his ferocious glamour.

"Let's just say I'm journeying, bloke."

"You must battle to the death," the Sandman continued, re-puffed and dramatized.

"With who? The mosquitoes?"

"With her?" the demon replied, stepping back.

From behind the flames, the visage of the first slayer appeared. She was primal and animal and everything he learned to hate and to love. She was Buffy's beginning, but also her fate. She moved toward him, catlike, seemingly coming from the inside of the flame, and for a moment, he stalled. He had killed two slayers in his day, but he had

loved another. How could he send this one to hell?

This one, he thought. But if it wasn't for her, Buffy would have had her wish. She would have been *normal* and they would have never crossed paths, but she would be happy and his heart would not be broken. He could kill her. Just like the others.

In a flash, she was upon him, screaming and tearing at him like a lioness. She was a tangle of skin and teeth and hair and fury. But he matched her every move. Deflected her every blow. She flung him backwards into the stone wall circling the fire and he

flipped her over his head into what should have been scorching flames. But she spun through, like embers on the wind and tumbled back at him, her bare feet plunging into his chest. He could feel the blood trickling from his nose, the crack of his ribs, but he fought

her still, landing a crushing blow to her shoulder, knocking the wild girl down.

An animal called from the wilds. and she turned her head startled. In a flash, he was over her, his spear pressed to the hollow of her neck. Her wildness faded. He wondered for a moment if he could do it. If he could kill her. In his mind, he reasoned that this girl was already dead. An illusion. A vision created by the old demon. He looked down at her face and she snarled like an animal, cursing him in a language he did not know. He lifted the spear and sent it crashing down.

As the point touched the skin of her neck, the face of the girl changed. She was no longer some wild, angry beast. The blood poured from her throat and he swallowed hard, looking away. When his eyes fell back to her, she had changed. The blood pooled in her shiny blonde hair, her pretty eyes staring dead at the stars, her little hands frozen around the shaft of the spear.

He fell to his knees next to her tiny body. He had fought the first slayer, but when the moment came, he had killed his love.

To be contd.

Title : The Choice

Author: Nimue

Rating:PG-13

Disclaimer: all characters belong to JossWhedon, Mutant Enemy etc.. just borrowing.

Feedback: Yes, please

Summary: Spike faces the third challenge.

Spike awoke lying in the dirt, face down, by the fire. He could taste the blood on his lips, his face was covered in dried, crusting dirt and his eyes ached from the tears. He had killed her. His chest was heavy. The only thing left that truly mattered was dead. But how could she have been there at all? How was he there?

He closed his eyes again and his mind filled with pictures of her. Elizabeth in his better version of the fateful night he had become a monster. Buffy in Sunnydale in her cute short skirts and little blonde ponytails. Buffy in the alley the first night they kissed. She had tasted so sweet. Buffy in the basement of the wrecked house spitting wicked words at him, but he knew even then she did not mean them all. And pictures of his beautiful Slayer, lying in the dirt with that shocked, dead stare, her neck torn open, and the blood. All the blood, crawling into her hair. Spreading out in the thirsty dirt.

He had fallen to his knees next to her, when he had grasped what he had done. He remembered muttering over and over "Forgive me, " to her lifeless body. Pulling the spear from her flesh and holding her and aching as the last of her warmth slipped away. The last thing he remembered was holding her against his bare chest and crying.

Now he was alone, next to the fire. Spike looked around and she was gone. Maybe it had all been a dream. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, looking himself over. He was covered in dirt and thick, shiny, drying blood. It was always about the blood. The empty spot in his chest began to ache again.

The Sandman appeared from the huts as if from thin air. "Your challenge is complete," he announced.

"Where is the girl?" Spike asked, teetering on weakened legs. Battered and bruised, his own blood was mixing with hers.

"Dead, " the demon answered. "She has moved on."

Spike's face broke for just a moment and he could feel the hot tears stinging his eyes. "Where did you take her?"

"It's not right to go wandering after the dead, " the Sandman answered. "The world took her, not I."

"Where is her body?" Spike was clenching his teeth, fighting back anger.

"I fed her to the hyenas, " the demon answered. "What do you care, you killed her?"

The words hit Spike like a stake to the heart. His head lolled toward the ground, his body, his spirit, shattered.

"You have one more challenge, " the demon began, pre-empting Spikes response, " That is if you still chose to take it."

Spike pulled his head up slowly, glaring at the demon with hot, wet eyes. "Get this over with, " he snarled in response.

Three tribesman appeared from nowhere, grabbing Spike from behind. He began to struggle, but he was too worn, too broken, to fight them off. They pulled him back to the dirt, chanting, rolling him onto his side. He could feel them binding him. Then a blow to the base of his skull and the world was silent.

*****

When he awoke, it was still night, again night, forever night. He turned his battered face, realizing his body was immobile. The stars were clean and bright and he could feel the fire raging in front of him. It no longer mattered. None of this did. The last test was pointless. She was gone. He was only going through this to prove it to himself.

The demon appeared in front of him, fire flickering up the length of his body. But the demon seemed smaller now. Or was Spike larger? He craned his head about and saw that he was suspended a few feet above the ground. Tied, fondly enough, to an enormous stake. This bugger had a sense of humour.

"Challenge, the last, " the Sandman began. Spike knew better than to argue and gritted his teeth against the high drama. "To become what you are to be, you must know who you want to be."

"What do I have to do?" Spike asked. He just wanted to go home.

"Nothing, " the Sandman replied. "Just stay there in front of the fire."

"Running out of challenges?" Spike quipped, wincing at the chuckle trying to escape his throat.

"I believe you will find it challenging enough to be alone with yourself." With that, the demon walked away.

"Bugger this," Spike compalined, twisting his hands in the binding, trying to free himself. But he could not move. Could not budge the wood or rope. He struggled until he could feel the blood seeping from his wrists, but the bindings just got tighter.

"William?" he heard from his right. He turned his head, straining his tired eyes against the darkness. The crunching of old dirt underfoot. A woman appeared in a white gown.

"Cicely?" he asked, shocked by her presence. She was standing just to the right of the fire.

"Yes, my love," she answered. " I was wrong to have shunned you that evening."

"Bloody late for that," Spike answered coldly.

"You were sweet, " she continued, "but I could not get past what *they* thought of you. When you left, I found there was no one else who would ever love me more." She was taunting him. He could feel it. Her chocolate hair was shining against her pale skin. "Because of my mistake, we are both monsters," she said, her face changing to Halfrek's before his eyes, "But if you come back with me, William, this will all be gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"We can go back. Go back in time. Go back to the house. And neither of us will have ever felt the pain of the last 122 years. It will be as it should have been, We will have a home. A family. I will love you until we both die, together."

Spike was silent, remembering his feelings for her then. How he would have loved her, given her all of him...

"Spike," he heard. It came out as a sensual hiss from his left. His head spontaneously jerked around toward it. "My dearest boy," Druscilla sang, slinking from the shadows, dangerous and beautiful and insane. "Why do you listen to silly little girls?" she asked, coming to him, rubbing against the stake like some sort of wild cat. "You know you belong in the dark, with me."

"Dru, " Spike whispered.

"Remember all of the fun we had, playing with the mice? Wandering through the alleys chopping their little heads off and drinking? And the things I taught you, my love. My dearest son..." Watching her was like watching a mad, beautiful merry-go-round, circling his feet. " I saved you," she whispered, "and you belong with me."

"Druscilla," Spike said, feeling drawn to her. Pulled to her darkness. Wanting to drown in her sea.

"I made you and you were a god in the darkness," she hissed, "and I can make you that way again. The devil is among us."

He was hypnotized by her. He always had been.

"No one has eveer loved you like I have loved you," Druscilla whispered, her hands touching his bare legs. She was right. No one did love him but Dru. No one ever loved him.

"Come with me. Come back and we will rule the night together"

"William?" he heard again. He wrenched his gaze from Druscilla and turned back to his right. But Cecily was gone. He looked around for the voice, all the while, Druscilla circling him, touching him. Drawing him in.

"William? Spike?" he heard a second time. It was almost a little girl's voice. The flames flickered and opened like a parting sea.

There she stood, whole and beautiful and sparkling in the dark night. She stood inside the flames, ghostly and angelic, framed by every light in the sky.

"Buffy?" he asked, incredulously.

"Yes," she answered, simply.

"You're alive?"

"I always am to you," she answered, " I will always be to you."

"Why are you here?" he asked her. Staring at the light.

"Because you called me,:" Buffy answered.

"Nothing else?"

"What other reason do I need?" Her voice was soft, angelic. Druscilla was still circling, dancing at his feet.

"Are you going to say anything?" he asked, thinking the other women had come with an agenda.

"What would you like me to say?" The girl had always been difficult.

"Profess your undying love or something," Spike answered, almost chuckling at the thought.

She smiled, getting the joke. " I am what I am, William. And you are what you are."

"What is that all about?" Spike asked, his head cocked, his blackened eyes staring at her quizically.

"I miss you," she said and stepped back into the fire.

They were gone. The world was dark again.

*****

Spike came back to the land of the living on the mat of the hut. He had been bathed and dressed in his black jeans and t shirt. He was exhausted mentally, physically, but he felt somehow *better* for it.

The Sandman came into the hut. But he wasn't the Sandman anymore. Well, he was, but he looked like the tribesman. Tall and frail and in simple garb. "Your challenges are completed." the old demon said. "Your wish has been granted."

"It's gone?" Spike said, involuntarily feeling his head.

"It has been gone since you got here," the demon asked simply. Spike thought for a moment. The point was the journey.

"What do I owe you, mate?" Spike asked, standing to leave.

"An answer," the demon said, reaching out, touching Spike's shoulder.

"To what?" Spike asked.

"Who are you to become?"

Spike thought for a moment. "I am what I am," he answered, touching the Sandman's hand.

And he was gone.

*****

When Spike opened his eyes again, he had been in Sunnydale. In an alley. He was propped against a wall, standing as if he had been there the whole time. In front of him was a woman, sobbing, hiding behind a trash can. For some reason, she did not see him. He was hungry.

He walked toward the woman, smelling her, tasting her in the air. Then a noise caused his head to turn. There was a younger vamp, searching through the trash barrels, overturning the lids, mumbling wildly to himself. The vamp was about three feet away from the girl.

"Bloody hell," he had said, changing directions and heading from the huddled woman, turning instead toward the vamp. "Don't you blokes have manners anymore?" he muttered, grabbing the leg of an old chair and plunging it into the vampire's empty heart.

to be contd.

Title: The Unexpected (pt 7 of NA)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.. Just borrowing.

Summary: Spike awakes from the dream of his challenges and falls into conflict with the Scoobies.

The Unexpected

Spike's eyes flickered open. He stared around at the comfortable familiarity of his crypt and sighed. It had all been worth it. But he could not shake the idea that somehow Buffy knew about the trip. Somehow she knew that Spike was no longer a serial killer in prison.

He stood up, stretching like a cat. It was dark outside. He had slept the entire day. Maybe being free of torment had its benefits. Slowly, Spike dressed, clearing the cobwebs from his sleepy head, and started out to Buffy's. He promised he would come round.

All the lights were on at the Revello Drive house. No wonder she was always short on the utility bill. Spike walked to the back door, knocking softly. No answer. He tested the knob and found it unlocked, letting himself into the kitchen.

There were muted voices coming from the family room. Several of them, rhythmically speaking, intense silences punctuating the chatter. Spike moved through the sitting room and into the doorway. They were all sitting there. The lot of them, circling the coffee table. Buffy was sitting on the couch, hands in her lap, her head hanging down.

"Buffy?" he asked from the doorway. She looked up and so many emotions crossed her eyes at once. She seemed surprised, a little relieved, and then startled.

"YOU!" he heard in a booming voice, and Xander was out of his chair, coming at Spike like a steam engine with legs.

"Xander, stop!" Buffy called after him, but it was too late. Xander sucker punched Spike in the nose, immediately cocking his arm back for another blow.

Buffy moved to get up but Willow pressed her back. "Pick your battles," Willow whispered into Buffy's ear. "They need to sort this out."

"I can't believe you would even show your ugly face, " Xander ranted, furious, raging, raining blows on Spike like a hailstorm. Spike deflected most, but did not throw any of his own.

"Xander, Stop!" Dawn screeched, running towards the pair, but Tara grabbed her, not wanting Dawn to even go near the fray.

"I take it you've told them, love," Spike asked, ducking his head from one of Xanders slow right hooks. Buffy shrugged from her space on the couch, nodding slightly.

"You bastard," Xander screamed, "You really are a dirty, evil, vampire. You raped her didn't you?"

Spike's face went completely blank, staring at the boy, shocked and horrified at his statement. Before Xander could even open his mouth, Spike hauled his right arm back and let it fly, striking Xander square in the shoulder and knocking him clear to the other side of the room. The boy's body hit the wall and slid down to the floor with a thump.

Everything was silent. "I would never," Spike snarled, "Even in my worst years, do that. I think you should know by now that I love the girl," he finished. The blank stares were all on him. He turned on the heel of his boot and walked out of the room.

"Spike!" Buffy called after him, jumping from the couch, running over the coffee table and all of the still bodies on the living room floor. The back door was ajar and she slid through, out to the porch. He was sitting there, like so many nights before. Softly, she sat down next to him. The silence was deafening.

"Did you tell them that, Buffy?" Spike asked, swallowing hard. "Did you tell them that I..." He couldn't finish the sentence. He could not even fathom the words.

"No," she answered confidently. "I didn't say anything like that."

"What did you say?" he asked, finally bringing himself to look at her.

"I did not think they needed to know *how* it happened," Buffy answered blushing a little, a slight grin on her face. He could not help but smile back at her. "So, I just told them that I was... and that the baby was yours. Xander ran with it, I guess."

"Should've ripped the whelp's head off for that," Spike replied, anger creeping back into his voice.

"How's your head?" Buffy asked, touching his forehead softly.

"Fine, why? Got a bloody mark? Boy doesn't hit that hard."

"But you do," Buffy replied. A puzzled look broke across her face. Then her eyes widened. He saw her processing everything, thinking it through. She had not known.

"It's gone, Pet," he said, putting his hand on hers, resting against his temple. "I am what I am."

The words rang in Buffy's ears. She knew she had heard them. She had said them before. She shook her head as if she had a chill.

"You alright, Slayer?" Spike asked, concern taking over his face.

"How? When?" she answered, still dazed.

"It's a long story, " he replied, looking at his knees, "which I would be happy to tell you. I just don't think now is the time."

Buffy stared at him, blinking her beautiful, doe eyes, looking as if she were in another world.

His voice brought her back. "Slayer?"

"When?" she asked again.

"To be honest, Pet, I'm not sure. Time went all wonky there for a while. For both of us, it seems. But it was pretty close to the time Soldier Boy came back to town. Just after, if I remember it right."

Again, Buffy's face was blank, her hand still resting under his. Still as a statue.

"Buffy?" he asked, squeezing her fingers, "You OK? You need to go to doctor?"

"No," she answered, coming back to him again. "You will tell me how?"

"Yes," he answered, "But the mess inside needs to be cleaned up first."

She nodded in reply, but he knew Buffy was not done with him yet.

"Spike?" she asked tentatively. "Have you...fed...since then?"

He stared at her quietly, those blue eyes melting her, looking into her mind. Since the night he returned, in the alley, the thought had not really crossed his mind. "No," he answered, "I've no taste for it anymore. Think I've gotten attached to those flower-shaped onion things."

With that, she smiled. The same smile she had given him when she stepped through the fire that night in Africa. "You coming in?" she asked, standing up, crossing the porch.

"If you would like," he answered.

She thought for a moment, holding the door open. "Yes, I would like," she answered. He followed her into the house.

to be contd.

Title: The Plan (part 8 of NA series)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.. Just

borrowing.

Summary: The Scoobies have found out Buffy and Spike's secret. Now they

have to get back to business...

The Plan

"We need to figure out a game plan," Willow was saying. They had all

settled down enough to sit civilly in the same room and discuss the facts of

the situation. Xander was propped in a chair, sulking, holding a bag of ice

to his shoulder. Spike was on the couch next to Buffy, leaning over the

coffee table and perusing a set of old texts.

"The nerd herd is planning something and we have to stop it," Willow

continued. Buffy chuckled at her serious tone. 'Nerd herd' and 'serious

tone' should not have been in the same thought.

"Will, what are they going to do, bore us to death?" Buffy quipped.

"Buffy, she has a point," Spike corrected.

Buffy pouted at the remark. "I liked you better when you were all putty

wimpy."

"Wimpy? When was Spike wimpy?" Dawn asked. Every warning glance in the

room focused on the teenager. "OK, OK," she backpedaled.

"They've been hunting you for almost a year and we know they are capable

of..." Spike continued.

"Bad things," Tara finished, being mindful of Dawn.

"And you, Pet, are not going to be up for battle for a while," he continued

looking back at Buffy.

"I can battle. Me strong," she chided, flexing a bicep.

"You knocked up," Dawn lashed back. Buffy tossed a milk dud from the candy

dish at her sister.

"Seriously, Buffy, I think you should lay low on the battle front," Willow

said sweetly.

"Maybe some little ones?"

"Ones with kittens and very small puppies," Willow answered, patting Buffy's

leg.

"Back to the point, ladies," Spike interrupted. "We are out our big gun

here."

"And you're no use against them because they're human," Anya chimed in,

directly at Spike.

Buffy's eyes were huge again. Spike laid a hand on her knee. Xander

noticed and twitched at the movement.

"That's not...*exactly*...true," Spike replied. The room was silent.

"What?" Willow began. "Spike, are you...."

"Human?" Dawn squeaked.

"Not exactly," he answered. "But I have no chip anymore. And I don't seem

to be quite a vampire."

"Freak," Xander huffed. Spike shot him a warning glare.

"Are you still super strong and non-wimpy?" Dawn asked.

"Yes"

"Are you...eating people again?" Anya questioned with her usual bluntness.

Spike chuckled.

"No."

"Can you fight nerds?" Tara asked. Buffy burst out laughing at the thought.

Spike squeezed her knee trying to get her back on topic. Xander noticed.

"I do believe I can," Spike answered, infected by Buffy's laughter.

"Then you are in," Willow commented, simply.

"But... they want Buffy..." Dawn was getting serious all of the sudden.

" I assure you, Niblet, they will not get her." Spike's eyes met with

Dawn's and just like the older Summer's girl, she melted.

"What about the bot?" Tara asked. "Can we rebuild her and hide the real

Buffy?"

"Hide me? No hiding."

"Willow, do you think you can rebuild her?" Spike asked, turning toward the

witch.

"No bot, she's creepy," Buffy commented shuddering.

"Love, please. It would be a good distraction," Buffy's turn to melt under

the crystal blue stare.

"Alright," she agreed, obviously unhappy. 'Pick your battles' she thought.

"I'll see what we have left of her and get started," Willow stated getting

up. Tara stood with her.

"Can I help?"

"Sure, " Willow answered smiling and touching her lover's hand.

"I'm going to get out of here," Xander stated, standing sorely. "Anya, do

you want to get some coffee?"

Anya thought hard for a moment. Finally, she nodded in agreement and stood

to meet him.

"Dawnie, wanna come stay at Tara's this evening? It'll be like a slumber

party." Willow asked.

"I think I'll..." Dawn began, thinking she really wanted to stay there with

Spike. She shot a look back over at her sister, " ...get my things." Dawn

got up, running up the stairs as Willow and Tara went down to the basement

to collect the box of Buffy bot remnants. Anya and Xander waited by the

door.



Within minutes, they all filed out of the house. Spike was left sitting on

the couch next to Buffy, skimming the musty old volumes. As the door

clicked shut on the last of them, he looked up, startled to see the empty

room.

"Where's everyone gone?" he asked, not realizing how absorbed in planning he

had been.

"Away," Buffy answered, crossing her feet on the coffee table.

"Guess I had better be off then," Spike commented, standing. Buffy was

taken aback. Shocked. A little sad.

"You're leaving? " she asked. Spike was confused. This was usually about

the time he was booted to the curb.

"Do you need something, Slayer?"

"Would you...stay... a while?" she asked, an innocent grin breaking onto her

face. He could not help but return it.

"If you would like," he answered, sitting down, a respectable distance from

her.

She turned to face him, pulling her legs underneath her. She looked like a

child waiting for a story.

"Spike, I want you to tell me about Africa..."



to be contd

Title: Strange Fate (part 9 of NA series)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.. Just borrowing.

Summary: The Scoobies have found out Buffy and Spike's secret. Now they have to get back to business...

Strange Fate

Spike looked at Buffy in shock, crystal eyes as wide as saucers. "Buffy, how did you know about Africa?"

"I was there, wasn't I?" she asked, looking down at the sofa cushions.

"Yes," he answered, visions of Elizabeth in the fine gown with flowers in her hair, of Buffy staring dead at the stars, of her stepping though the flames, all flooding back. " At least it seemed you were."

"Some part of me was, I think," Buffy answered, playing nervously with her fingers.

"What do you mean, Pet?"

"You said something when we were talking outside about the chip..."

"What?" he asked, sliding his hand under her chin, lifting her eyes to his. He could not get the vision of her dead stare from his mind. He blinked hard, trying to clear it.

"I am what I am," Buffy continued, "And you are what you are, William."

He could see her in his head, stepping through the flames, that angelic smile that made his decision clear.

"I said that to you, I think," she whispered.

"You did," he answered, puzzled by this. It had to have just been a vision. She was here. "You were in my mind quite a bit."

"Tell me, " Buffy asked, grabbing his hand, desperate for contact, some connection to make this all make sense. She felt there was more. She knew there was more.

"It is a difficult story. I'm not sure you will like it all, love."

"I need to hear it, Spike. I need to understand... all of this," Buffy responded, her eyes beginning to ache.

"Alright, Love," he whispered, squeezing her hand. He began to tell the story. How Riley had come back and Buffy had told him she couldn't love him. How hurt, how angry he was at her. He explained how Halfrek had come to him, as he was a lover scorned, both by Cicely and Buffy, so he was entitled to a wish. And then he was in Africa.

Spike tried to put into words, the challenges he had faced. Tried not to gloss it over. He explained to her how he had been sent back to the night he was turned and Elizabeth, Buffy, saved him. He told her about the poem. He recounted the battle with the first slayer and struggled, trying to hold back the onslaught of hot tears as he explained the slayer's metamorphosis. How he felt when he realized that it had been Buffy's throat, not his nemesis, but his love, spilled open into the dirt and darkness. He tried to put into words how that one moment had broken him, killed his spirit. Finally, he explained the last challenge, and how he had been faced with a choice. What Cicely, Druscilla, and especially what Buffy had said to him that night. And how he came back to Sunnydale and gave up his dinner for a staking and had not had the urge since.

Buffy stared at Spike in stunned silence, her fingers twining in and out of the silver chain on her neck. Finally, she spoke. " All I said to you was that I missed you?"

"That was all I really needed to hear," he answered simply.

"But Dru, Cicely..."

"Were illusions," he interrupted, " As, I thought, were you. But I suppose that I needed to hear all of their talk. I needed to face who I was. The point was the journey."

"And based on that, you decided you belonged here?" Buffy asked, incredulously.

"I suppose I did, Pet."

She was silent for a long time, staring thoughtfully at him. A debate raged in her mind about what to do next. Telling him would hurt him, but not telling him might be worse.

"I'm glad you came back," she began, "And I'm glad you knew I wasn't an illusion."

"Well, I am bloody happy that for the most part you were," he answered, thinking of the blood crawling into her hair, spreading in the thirsty dirt. It was always the blood.

She took Spike's hand and raised it to her cheek, pressing his palm against her skin. His head tilted slightly, his gaze questioning her. Slowly, she slid his hand down the side of her neck and under the piping of her shirt. In the hollow of her throat was a thin, red line.

Spike jumped, horrified, afraid to look. Buffy held his hand steady over the scar. "It's alright, Spike, " she whispered, fighting back the urge to sob, " I think I understand."

"It's not alright,". His desperation was evident. "It's...."

"You had to take a piece of me to make yourself whole again," Buffy continued, "You asked me a million times in a million ways to help you and I never understood. Now I do. What I did to you before you left made me a little more a monster. And what I gave you back that night, the blood, made you a little more human."

"Buffy, I... I'm so..." Spike tried to speak but horror choked his words off in his throat.

"It's all about the blood," she whispered. " Blood is life. You gave me yours and I had to give you mine."

His thumb traced the line, his heart breaking. The tears were flowing from his tired eyes again. "I'm so sorry, Buffy. You know I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know, William," she answered, raising his eyes to hers." I forgive you."

Spike was swimming in her, lost in her. In all his life, and all his unlife, he had never expected to hear the word 'forgive'. He had not sought it out mostly because he knew he never deserved it. There was no penance for everything he had done. He wanted her love, but in that one word, he realized that he had craved more. She handed him his life in forgiveness.

"Buffy, " he whispered, almost speechless. "How can you... forgive me?"

"I don't know," she answered at a loss. She meant it, but she did not know why. "I don't know a lot of things, Spike. When they made me, when they made a Slayer, they left a lot out. They gave me all this strength and this power and this responsibility, but they forgot to tell me how to feel and how to trust. You gave me that. So, I owe you my forgiveness. At least that's how I see it."

It occurred to Spike, for just a moment, that he had jumped again. Come to another reality, another place, another Africa, and this was just his own mind playing out his existence by his own set of rules. She looked at him and he saw himself. He saw his undoing and his making. The Slayer was everything he was and everything he was not, all in a tiny perfect shell, and she was giving him what he wanted.

Before he could find the words to utter, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Not like in the past. But a soft kiss, like a feather touching his skin, her breath caressing his mouth. She did not move away, but he could feel her lips move softly as she spoke. "I know very little about love," she whispered, "but I do feel it. And I want to know, William. It is something they left out. Can you help me, please?"

His hands were on her cheeks and he could feel her tears. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. "For you, anything."

To be contd.

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