This fic started out with the idea of megan_peta and schehrezade sharing a challenge fic, and then blossomed into what we are about to embark upon. The challenge was from Death-Marked Love.

Challenge 42

Shortly after Buffy's death, Dawn becomes increasingly worried about Spike's mental health. After the vampire attempts suicide she decides it's time for action and casts a spell that will make Spike forget that he loved Buffy. Unfortunatley things go awry and Spike wakes up with no memories of Buffy at all. Then the Slayer comes back....

So, the official summary....

Post The Gift, Spike becomes dependent on Scooby care to make it through the night. Buffy is gone, the bot is absent. When it seems the Hellmouth is deprived completely of a protector, Giles and the Scoobies take matters into their own hands, and unleash their worst nightmare.

Pairing: eventually Buffy/Spike

Rating: NC-17 for violence

Disclaimer: we don't own 'em, just play with 'em.
 

Chapter 13

Spike yanked his head free from Anne's firm grasp. Her calloused fingers slid unwillingly from the firm grip she had on his locks. Her lips were pulled away from the heaven that was Spike's mouth and she moaned at the loss of contact. Lost in the fervour that was their first kiss, the scarred Slayer didn't notice the looks of shock and surprise that were vying for prime position on his face. 

He licked his lips and stared down aghast at the forward little miss whose eyes were still shut; her mouth was softened into a pout. Spike stared down at his hands, the same ones that had cupped Anne's face as they had kissed. 'Oh bugger.' He had kissed Anne; briefly the touch of her lips had been a siren's call to him and he had succumbed, wanting, no needing something. But it wasn't her pouting lips he wanted - they hadn't felt right. 

Anne had kissed him, her surrogate big brother. Spike tried not to scream like Xander when someone snagged the last bearclaw out of the donut box, or like Dawn when she spotted a spider in the tub. He took a step backwards, stumbled over a gravestone and went arse over tit. 

"Bollocks," he muttered.  

Everything was so very wrong--the kiss. Christ, Anne had kissed him!  And what was worse, for a few brief seconds he had reciprocated the embrace.

If he had been a wee bit more indoctrinated in 'Valley Girl' speak he'd have shrieked eww and run screaming for the hills, clutching his not so shiney virtue to his chest. As it was he knew that Anne may project a tough girl image, but underneath all the bluster, she was an eighteen-year-old girl in the throes of a crush. He knew all about the cruelties of rejection. Cecily had taught him a harsh lesson that had ended with him impaled on a set of fangs. There was no way he would consciously hurt the girl.  

Then again, tripping in his haste to get away - really not the best way to couch his rejection in the gentlest of terms. Spike sprang to his feet the next instant and glanced at Anne. She was licking her lips as her eyes fluttered open. She had an expression of utter bliss on her face that caused him to swallow nervously. 

Spike straightened his duster and ran his long fingers through his dishevelled hair, trying frantically to calm himself. He desperately scrabbled for the Big Bag image to project and hopefully put off the minx who had tried to polish his tonsils with her tongue.

Something had happened; something was different. 

He had never wanted Anne sexually. She was family, like Dawn. He wanted to burst into tears at the horror of it all. But he knew he couldn't. If he did, then Anne would be destroyed.

Spike felt an ache deep within him. It was fresh and worrying; he hadn't felt it since Dru.

'Anne wasn't the one - it was Buffy... Hang about...Buffy?'

The resurrected slayer had barely registered on his radar when she first returned, but slowly despite himself he had watched her. Seeing her with Dawn—the sweetness shared between the two sisters. Her compassion with her friends, despite everything they had put her through. A Raising wasn't something to be taken lightly or recovered from swiftly, and yet Buffy had. For that he had respected her, she was far stronger than most. It was that strength that had piqued his interest—that and her luminescent beauty. It had called to him and despite the pain he had been living with for what seemed like an eternity, he'd enjoyed watching her.

Spike gazed down at Anne's face with deep compassion. He knew what it was like to care for someone and for the object of your affection not to reciprocate. He had to be gentle, let her down easily. He had to make her understand he cared for her but not in that way, and yet at the same time, not let her know how repulsed he was by her fumbled attempt at seduction. Anne was too young and just wasn't 'the one'.

No, there was someone else he wanted and he had no idea why or where the feelings had come from.  It was as if they had sprung from his heart like Athena had from her father's head, fully formed. He felt something for Buffy that he had never thought he would've ever entertained.

She was a Slayer for God's sake, but since her return she had been so un-Slayerlike, a veil of sadness cloaked her visage when she looked at him, she was tentative...almost apologetic around him, hurt almost and he had no idea why. He had avoided her as if she had been a Black Maria – and then suddenly in the last few hours he had realised why – he was starting to feel something for her.

For Buffy Anne Summers, Dawn's big sister. A slightly older carbon copy of the girl who just kissed him with such hope and sweetness

Her sorrow filled hazel eyes were all that filled his mind, the way she watched his every move with a question lingering on her gorgeous lips. A question he wouldn't allow her to voice, for something inside him deep, deep down wouldn't allow it. Spike had avoided her like the plague and her frustration at his behaviour had not gone unnoticed. Until recently, he hadn't cared. 

But he felt something had changed within the last few hours, and it freed him. There was lightness to his spirit that he had not felt in a long while. There was nothing chaining his feelings down, or muffling his senses anymore, and it felt great. For the first time in weeks, Spike could feel everything and for once, nothing hurt when he did. He could breathe again.

What he was feeling, though, was starting to clarify in his mind and it was tickling at the edges of his demon's psyche, making it twitch and rail against the anathema that his host was allowing to bud in his un-beating heart.

They were the wrong lips.

Spike blinked and heaved a sigh.

It was true.

They were lovely lips, but not the ones he wanted pressed against his in a feverous rapture of a kiss. They weren't hers - Buffy's. 

Spike's scarred brow shot upwards and nearly disappeared into his hairline. He wanted Buffy?

Yes, he did! He wanted Buffy to kiss and nibble at his lips, and hopefully more. Spike licked his lips, and mentally reeled at the aftertaste of lip-gloss left on them by Anne.

He looked down at Anne who had, at some point during his ruminations, opened her eyes and was smiling up at him, a sweet hopeful image of teenage first love. Spike had to remind himself that he was evil so that he would be able to nip this in the bud, before it got too out of control. He had let her fumbled flirtations with him slide in the past.

He was unwilling to hurt the usually stoic Slayer still finding her way in her new life and world, not wanting to destroy what little confidence she had despite her bravado masking the truth. She was just a little girl, thrust into the supernatural world without a safety net. He had tried to be that net, but instead had positioned himself in her regard to be her knight in shining armour. Whose lips apparently needed a good polishing. 

 He had secretly cheered as she had slowly cast off the Slayer guise and allowed the teenage girl to come to the fore. But Spike was now mentally slapping himself; she had done so because of him. 'Bugger, Bollocks and a Bloody hell for good measure' 

His eyes flickered amber and he reached into his pocket, pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. Puffing away, Spike concentrated on the familiar burst of warmth that heralded the first nicotine hit his body craved. The taste of the cigarette erased the cherry sweet flavour of Anne's lip-gloss in seconds. He sighed in relief. 

"Spike?" Anne fidgeted with the hem of her T-Shirt. The kiss had been amazing - more than she had ever dreamed. Spike's lips, lips of Spike and they were so soft, tender and full. She eyed his mouth and wondered if she should kiss him again. 

Then her heart faltered at the look of consternation on Spike's face; this wasn't the face of someone who had just enjoyed a kiss with his girl. This was the face of a freaked out man.

"I did it wrong, didn't I? Not enough tongue, right?" Anne whispered.

Humiliation poured off her slight frame as her face turned a deep crimson; her eyes darted to the left and right, avoiding the frozen vampire standing in front of her. She had never kissed anyone before and had never ever entertained the thought that she would choose a vampire as her first kiss! Until she had been brought over, Anne had fought and killed vampires nightly. Not made friends with them, trained with them or fallen in love with them.

But Spike was hard to resist, with his muscled body, the hair, the bad boy image—which was such a lie. He was as soft as Miracle Whip and then the eyes...the brightest blue she had ever seen. They twinkled in merriment at her all the time and they were perfect. All of him was perfect and now she had messed it all up by not being able to kiss properly.

The magazines she had read and all the shows she had watched had been no use. She should've known Spike had loads of experience with the kissing and her fumbled attempt was bound to be so lame he'd be embarrassed for her.

"We could try again?" Anne's voice wobbled slightly in shock at the words that had escaped from her mouth and she took a hopeful step forward towards her vampire.

Spike was unable to stop himself. He leapt backwards as if he had been scalded. 'God, it was as if Dawn was trying to snog his face off.'

Anne paused and a chill ran down her spine as realisation dawned. He didn't want to kiss her. Her hands flew to her lips the scar; she knew that it was ugly and off-putting. 'Oh my God, it was the scar...it had to be...it makes me ugly...' was all Anne could think. Never before had she hated the damage to her mouth. Until now, it had been her badge of pride. But now Anne hated it; it was a turn off for Spike.

Her eyes prickled; it was a sensation she was not used to. Anne hadn't cried since the night her Mom had been drained in front of her. Then the dam broke-- great big fat tears poured down her scarlet cheeks and her mouth opened with a sob. It wasn't a pretty feminine weep, it was a full on snot-filled cry. Anne's skinny shoulders shook as her hands covered her face and she wailed.

Spike closed his eyes and threw away the half smoked fag with a whimper. He hated when girls cried these days. Once upon a time he would have revelled in the tears of a young girl, and now he was like any other male confronted with a woman crying. He panicked.

"So...so...sorry...I...I...sor...sorry," Anne hiccupped through her tears. It felt weird to cry after so long, but it also felt so good to let it all out.

Spike edged away and then rocked on his heels, torn between panicked flight and also wanting to stop her tears. He thrust his hands in his duster pockets and gazed compassionately at the blubbering mess—his would-be suitor of moments ago. He ached to comfort Anne, but was hesitant to do so as he didn't want her to misconstrue his attempts.

"Don't cry, pet. S'not good for you." Spike grimaced at his pathetic attempt at comfort. When Dru had thrown a wobbler, he had been adept at calming her in moments. Then again, he doubted Anne would appreciate a pretty girl in a nice dress to eat. Spike shook his head of the naughty images that filtered through it and focused on the moment and Anne. Not pervy blood soaked thoughts that would have him staked out on an anthill slathered in honey and waiting for sunrise.

"I...ca...can't stop," Anne wailed.

Spike crept cautiously forward; his hands reached over and hovered over her frail shoulders and then settled for a brief moment. Anne didn't respond to the butterfly soft touch, so he sighed and dropped his hands heavily on her shoulders.

"That's enough, Pet. No more tears; can't cope with bints weeping. Makes me feel like an arse," Spike pleaded hopefully. He wasn't used to Anne being so emotional. Usually she was all business on patrol and when it was the two of them at home, or when Dawn was around, she was more relaxed-- less guarded. Now he had made her cry and also doubt herself, both of which were not good for a Slayer and a friend.

"I'm trying." Anne sniffled and gazed up with watery tear-filled eyes. She froze; there was something different about Spike, something in his eyes. It was all she needed to see to make her realise once and for all; Spike was a friend, nothing else.

"Oh..." she sighed.

Spike cocked his head in confusion at the sudden change in the weepy girl. The hazel red-rimmed eyes had widened in understanding, and the trembling of her lips had stilled in an instant. "What?"

An age-old wisdom that most women innately have, pushed to the fore in Anne and she realised that Spike was not the one for her. No matter how much she wanted it to be her, it wasn't. There was someone else in his heart. Sure it hurt, but then again, when had it not? She could be the grown up here, if Spike would let her.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." Anne pointed to his lips, still full and pouty and asking for a nibble. But she ignored them, concentrating on salvaging their friendship. She couldn't survive if they weren't friends anymore.

Spike sighed with relief. She was making it easy. For once a woman in his life was making it easy for him. He wondered if the planet had shifted off its axis. He rubbed the back of his head and smiled tentatively, unsure as to how to progress without her blubbering all over him. "It's okay. I guess you were testing a theory?" He waited a beat and then relief flooded his body as Anne took him up on his easy out.

"Yeah," she smiled briefly. "Wanted to know what it'd feel like kissing a vamp." Anne's voice shook slightly as she lied through her teeth. She decided to brazen it out as best she could after her meltdown, and she hoped that Spike would let her. She didn't want to lose him as her slay buddy and friend.

"Right." Spike glanced over her shoulder and sniffed the air; someone familiar had been around recently, but the scent was faded and hard to pinpoint. He looked back down at Anne with a gentle smile. "No more tears or surprise snog attacks?"

Anne nodded. "Who is it you want?"

Spike twitched. He felt like he had been hit on the back of the head with a two by four.

"Buffy? Right?" Anne guessed shrewdly. "That's why you're not interested in me in a kissy way?"

Spike twitched again. "Um, no luv. Sorry. You and Dawn are my best mates and it's not right snogging you. It's like kissing my sister—" He skirted the Buffy question, hoping that Anne would let it drop. Whatever he was feeling for the older Slayer was new and fresh; he had no idea what it was or where it would lead.

Anne, however, was not going to let him avoid the subject. "Buffy, Right?" she repeated.

Spike growled and began to pace back and forth, muttering under his breath about why the Powers plagued him with all the bossy women of this dimension.

Anne crossed her arms over her chest, all her embarrassment over the 'kiss' gone as she watched Spike bitch and moan about women and life in general. 'This was the snarky sarcastic vamp she had fallen for?'

She put her fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly to get his attention.

Spike froze mid step and turned his head to look at her.

"Well?" Anne demanded.

Spike's entire body slumped as he gave in to the inevitable and voiced his recent realisation. "Yeah, it's Buffy—"

Anne grit her teeth; she could be the big girl here. "Right, so now what?"

"We go home and never talk about anything that happened tonight?" Spike asked hopefully. He knew that was a pipe dream, but it was worth a try.

"Riiiight." Anne rolled her eyes. "We are going home, but you are sooo gonna talk about it!" she exclaimed.

"You sound like Dawn." Spike eyed her carefully, searching for signs of tears and found nothing but a determined stare returning his questioning looks.

"Well, I guess I would. So, you and Buffy?" Anne flipped her long braid over her shoulder and braced herself for Spike to start waxing lyrical over the senior slayer. She was raw inside but determined to be the grown up and listen to Spike-- and be his friend. It was better to be his friend than nothing at all.

"I...don't know...there's something there, but I don't get it," Spike sighed.

"Well, since you've barely even acknowledged her presence since Willow and the others brought her back, neither do I. When did it all change?" Anne asked.

"Dunno. A few hours ago? Just realised that thinking about her didn't hurt and that there was something else to it," Spike added.

Anne nodded, but didn't say anything. She was trying to be big about it but she really didn't need any salt rubbed into the Spike-shaped wound on her heart.

Spike peeked over at his silent companion. "No hard feelings, right? Still mates, Anne?" He fumbled with the right words and internally winced at the less than eloquent attempt at building bridges with Anne.

She sighed and nodded. "Still friends, Spike...still friends..."

********

Willow dumped Amy on a bus bench, and whispered a spell of invisibility over her supine friend. She had heard Vamp Willow moving up the alley and determined to go find and dust her once and for all. Without a backward glance at the now invisible Amy, Willow staggered up the alley to see her leather clad and wounded alter ego disappear into a huge metal double door. A smear of blood was the only hint of her passage.

Taking a deep breath, Willow tiptoed up to the smear and quickly dabbed her grubby shirtsleeve in the rapidly drying crimson fluid. She had something personal of the vampire's to use to track now. Glancing around, Willow quickly moved to the pile of boxes that were under one of the grimy factory windows. She clambered up, trying to make as little noise as possible; fatigue was pulling at her limbs.

Willow shuffled forward to the windowpane and wiped a small section clean with her shaking fingers. This was the biggest break in their efforts of finding the lair. Ignoring the tremors that wracked her entire body, she peered into the factory and the scene that greeted her horrified eyes made her squeak and back away.

It was too much...

It was disgusting....

********

Anne and Spike walked up the pathway to the front door unaware of Willow frantically dragging Amy along behind them.

Spike could sense the others all gathered in the front room watching TV. Swinging the door open, he gestured for Anne to precede him. She nodded her thanks. Their easy companionship was slowly returning and she was secretly relieved.

Buffy glared up from her perch on the sofa at the two of them; she straightened and opened her mouth to launch an attack on Anne when Willow staggered in, dropping Amy's limp form on the Welcome mat.

"Master!" Willow screamed. Her usually green eyes were pitch black and her flame red hair was shot through with black streaks.

Anne hunkered down next to Amy and checked her pulse.

Buffy leapt to her feet and rushed to Willow. She pulled her grimy bloodstained friend into the sitting room and helped her sit down. Willow grasped her hands, sparks of magic trickling harmlessly from her fingertips. "Buffy, help me, please, make it stop!"

Tara pulled Dawn away from Willow; she could smell magic all over her Willow, and was distraught. She placed the teen between her and the shuddering redhead. She couldn't say a word; seeing Willow in this state was the realisation of her nightmares.

Anya peered at Willow, then glanced up at Spike, a look of understanding flashed between the two of them. ''Rack' she mouthed at him. Spike's mouth tightened with anger and he nodded briefly, turning his attention to Willow. He growled.

"What the effing hell have you gotten yourself into now, Red? You reek of dirty magicks-- it's disgusting." Spike shifted slightly to stand in-between Tara and Willow, a second buffer for Dawn.

Xander walked into the room from the kitchen carrying snacks and stumbled to a halt at the sight of his oldest female-shaped friend currently going for the Seattle grunge look with a dash of Elvira added into the mix. "Willow?"

Willow gazed up at Xander, latching onto his familiar presence. "Master, factory and ewww..."

With that, Willow passed out cold but carrying the not-so-pleasant mental image of her Vampiric counterpart feeding off the bat faced Master of the Aurelian line, while he fed his cock into Andrew's eager mouth, of all people.

It was an image that, if shared, would have knocked them all out cold. They didn't know how lucky they were that Willow took the easy way out before sharing.

No idea at all.
 

Chapter Fourteen

Tara stayed quiet, watching with a gentle eye as her girlfriend shivered and shook beneath the covers of her bed. Quiet because there was already too much noise with the yowling cries of a witch in withdrawal. The pain swirled down deep inside them both; for Willow it was a tangible agony—one that caused continual waves of mini lightning bolts to strike violently against her insides, heating and lacerating her flesh till she thought it would just be better to die. For Tara, the torment of seeing her lover and someone she had admired so buried within black power caused a throb of hurt to push at her throat and dictate the permanent tears at her eyes.

The longer she stayed, the more agitated she became. Willow was lost in the haze of her ordeal—attention to the goings on around her several levels beyond her capability for now. But Tara was more than lucid; was aware of the murmuring around the house of what wicked trouble Willow had wrought upon them with her lack of strength. Her lack of direction in the correct and right practices of white magic.

Admittedly, she didn't hear anything specific, and was reacting more to the implication of looks and raised brows. So, instead of scanning the book on the floor by her chair, delving into possible solutions for Spike's predicament, she sat wondering what thoughts made it to voice from their friends.

Tara hung her head and began a slow rock, motivated without conscious thought. She was to blame; she had suspected Willow's duplicity in Buffy's raising but had been euphoric along with the others and pushed her concerns aside. She should have known how deductive the call of power would have been to one such as Willow—a perfectionist who prided her intellect as well as her position in the Scooby group. She may waffle around suggestions that she was the 'big gun' in times of trouble, but it gave her a high that was profound and disturbing. It was the recognition and the thrill of altering the natural state of things that gave Willow the buzz—her need to control everything around her. Including her friend's in varying situations of life and death.

The resurrection may have given Willow an extreme boost of confidence, but it had added to her arrogance as well. Such power within one as novice as Willow could not be successfully harnessed, despite what the redheaded witch might think or proclaim. They were paying for it now; paying for the expectation that one small-framed girl could alter the world and yet keep her own intact.

Every now and again Tara shuddered at the memory of Willow's stumbling entry into the Slayer's home. The essence of her overdose on magic had been pungent, and while the overflow might have been harmless to those rushing around her desperate to help, the sparks that lit her fingers and the blackness of her eyes and hair had been more confrontation than Tara had ever wanted to face.

The fade back to red had been a subtle one, but when the normality of appearance had returned to the witch, the reality of it had not. Normality seemed to be a thing left far in the past, and Tara couldn't help wish it back, crave the easiness that was them before Buffy had died to save love.

Normal today was Willow keening in her bed, fighting from within the craving for more darkness as her body battled the need for power. There was nothing Tara could do but watch and offer support and encouragement whenever she could. In this place for Willow, it was rarely sought, the girl too far lost within her own struggle to even recognise that help sat a few short feet away.

The creak as the bedroom door opening was lost in the onslaught of Willow's mournful wails. But the visitor, though pale and dressed down in neutrals, stood stark against the wounded atmosphere of the room.

"A-A-Amy?" Tara stood, hesitantly making her path from the other side of the bed to squeeze between Willow and the girl who had so recently been a rat. Her eyes fell unerringly on the sore looking bite on her neck, cringing at the close call both witches had when unprotected out on Sunnydale streets. "A-A-Are you o-okay?"

Amy's eyes seemed to flash with a latent anger and Tara was at a loss to interpret its cause. Willow had saved the girl from being drained, had brought her home instead of leaving her weak and defenceless in the street. But then a smile pushed at her lips, despite the coldness that could not be hidden in her eyes.

"I'm fine," she offered, her eyes straying to Willow's tragic state in her bed. "Why is Willow like that?" she asked, indicating the shivering mass that was her witch partner in crime as she moved forward to finger some little trinket on the dressing table.

Tara studied her and worried at the absence of a magical meltdown, suspicious of the other girl and her motives. She felt nervous as Amy attempted to get closer to Willow, not knowing for sure if the girl was just curious or if she had some other more dark reason for being in her bedroom.

"W-Why are you here?" Tara offered instead of the explanation the brunette had asked for. The aura of the girl set her on edge, too much dark colour swirling together in a mash of palette and Tara knew that she needed to be on guard against the girl. Her smile was too sweet, too much on automaton for Tara to settle into the visit without concern.

"I came to say thanks. You know, for saving me and getting me home last night." She paused again, keeping her eyes trained on the oblivious presence of Willow as she hurtled along her path of magical cleansing. "Is she sick or something?"

Tara was speechless, and then the anger singed at her heart as it clambered to be released. She clenched her fists hard at her side, preparing for the battle that seemed more than inevitable.

"She is not sick," she denied in an uncharacteristically strong voice. "She is suffering—through no small fault of yours. I don't think you should be around her now."

The smile didn't even falter, making Tara's blood set frozen and still in her veins.

"How can I hurt Willow? She helped me, made me real again."

The dilated pupils warned Tara and she moved quickly in between the two intoxicated witches, making it just in time as Amy extended her arm to point at Willow, and calmly spoke, 'Potestas'.

The thick crackling net of power that webbed between Tara's parted hands caught the ill-intent and with a voice as strangely calm as the one who bestowed the gift, "redeo potestas tuum". Amy's retreating back received the blast, the impact rocking her off her feet and hitting her head hard on the door. Her body shimmered in transformation until Tara muttered another word, and the hairiness of a rat was cast away and the girl just lay on the floor, defeated by the purity of good.

With a quick look at Willow—her shaking even more pronounced and whimpers more heartbreaking from the short exposure to more magic—Tara risked the short trek to the stairs, called down for Dawn and Anne for help, and returned to keep watch. The burst of power did nothing to shift the calm assurance of her confidence; she felt no need to seek artificial means of strengthening or extending her capabilities. A sad look at Willow had her uttering a prayer of thanks that she was secure in herself and offered tidings for the strength and guidance she had received in controlling her gift.

While she returned to her seat—eyes focused only on her girlfriend—Amy was removed from the room and encouraged to never come back.

She kept her vigil for the rest of the night.

For love.

 

To Buffy, her spot on the porch seemed too warm, too worn for it to still belong to her. It was silly how she felt usurped by a girl who was herself—younger and harder and much more of a warrior than she had ever been. But the final line had been breached with that kiss, and Buffy found she just couldn't take it. Didn't want to take it. Didn't want to just step aside and let Spike be seduced by a Buffy from another dimension—even if she did seem to be smarter and sharper about the benefits of love with a particular vampire.

Spike was her vampire, and that is where the buck stopped. The memory of his lips on another just hurt too much. Especially when the memory of those same lips on her own had never been allowed to reach her heart.

When he came out the back door and took a seat beside her, though, she couldn't help but swallow hard and move that tiny space closer, hoping the feel of her heat might incite him to switch his loyalty back to her. With his proximity, the comfortable silence that brought back too many sad memories, he felt like hers. Felt like he had always been and always would be hers. It slipped her little pockets of courage, suggested a path to bring him back to her.

The first night back was a little hazy, the pain of being suddenly alive, of being ignored by Spike, of confronting her twin. It was all so much that the smaller details of the reunion were fuzzy. But one thing she thought she remembered was that Xander had mentioned a spell, and despite the action over the past week or so, Buffy was getting impatient about her time with Spike. He acted so aloof around her, one minute she would think she'd caught him studying her, feel a smile warm her insides, only to find him turning his back on her. It felt so final, so unreal to her.

This world that her friends had returned her to was so different, so cold and painful. Everything that she was—everything she had had—was now gone from her. Her family was changed, her position as Chosen subverted and shared, even more so than with Faith, because now she halved the job with herself. Her Watcher had left, and now her power-hungry best friend lay in a shivering wreck in bed. The upheaval of all that had grounded her when she was alive tore at her mind, left the scattered shreds that still recognised with some familiarity and hope clawing at whatever she could.

At what she needed.

She couldn't explain when her heart had opened to Spike. Maybe it was the night they had geared up to fight Glory and save Dawn—an unrecognisable vampire from the one she had first met and survived thanking her for treating him for what deep down he really was. Or maybe she could date it back to when she had given him her first willing kiss, influenced by nothing but gratitude and confusion.

The thought made her shiver, but she couldn't help but wonder if it could even be dated back to the night he'd chained her up and surrounded her with crazy female vampires. The night he'd first said the words that had sent her into a frenzy of freakage and denial. Despite her fear now, it brought the ghost of a smile to her lips ...brought the germ of an idea to her mind and begged for a little of her past to be back in front of her.

He'd been so quiet beside her that she had almost forgotten he was there. His nearness had flooded her with memories. Some that had been annoying, or difficult, were now flavoured with nostalgia because everything had changed.

She wanted it back with an irrationality that had her wanting to fight fists up for him. Wanted to flatten her competition—and hide in his arms until everything went back to how she knew it. She could fight for him, but the possibility that she had waited too long—that she hadn't shared her small hope of finding love within his heart when the battle was over—kept her hesitant and hidden. She hadn't admitted her subtle falling that night as he waited at the foot of the stairs, too torn with the suspicion that one of them might not make it through to morning.

The rustling of leather beside her brought her out of her reverie where she saw her own swan-dive to save the world, to save those she loved. He poked into pockets, searching for his cigarettes most likely, but for some reason he came up empty, finally resting fidgety hands on his knees and expelling a laboured breath.

"Must have been a tad confrontin' for you the past couple weeks," he started, and the tenor of his voice warmed her from within. Tears she had struggled to hold back were now pushing hard at her eyes, and without being able to control it her lip wobbled.

"You don't know the half of it," she answered, her voice husky with tight emotional control.

He seemed more than willing to let their fledgling conversation die into nothing and Buffy felt the panic that came with viewing him kissing the other in her inner eye. She was losing him, losing him to her innocence because her experience had continually shut him out. When it looked like he was about to stand and leave, Buffy couldn't stop the impulse that grabbed at his sleeve to hold him still, slowly letting go when his inquisitive blue burned a hole in her heart.

"W-Willow told me what happened with the bot..." she began but stopped as his eyebrows crossed in confusion.

"Yeah, not sure what that was about." He offered nothing else, seemed to not be able to even think of anything else to go along with the memory.

Buffy felt the frustration, and so decided that this spell—or whatever it was that was preventing him from sweeping her up in his arms—had to be resolved. Had to be reversed before she lost him for good. Those events they had shared, the memories she had hated—had led her to a belief that she hated him—were so important now, and to have them so stripped away that he couldn't even remember her made her feel the hot gurgling bubble of fury.

Maybe an onslaught of memories could break it, destroy whatever barrier was holding him away from her. Force everything to be right again.

"Remember when you and your crazy ho ex zapped me with the cattle-prod and you chained me up in your crypt?"

She noticed the small twitch and the narrowing of his eyes, appearing as if he was looking at something so far away it was almost invisible. No recognition was forthcoming and Buffy felt the panic begin to flood her with adrenaline. She jumped to her feet, agitated with the slowness, the need to throw herself at him and force him to love her again.

"The shrine? You had pictures and photos of me all over this wall, a mannequin you dressed up like me and you'd stolen some of my clothes. Remember?"

No one could have mistaken the break in her voice, the edge of hysteria his blank expression was causing. He shook his head and her heart squeezed more tears out of her, set her whole chest area to an empty, hurting pulse that rose until it nearly choked her.

"Why?" she nearly shouted at him, anger joining the panic and lending a wildness to the sheen of her eyes that immediately shot itself at him, capturing him in her net once and for all. "Why don't you remember me?"

The puzzlement on Spike's face had been devoid of emotion until her tears began to flow freely, the wobble of her lip more unsteady. It cracked at a piece of him and he hated every second of seeing her so upset. It was so different to Anne—the other one with these looks inspired him to want to run hard and fast away from her when unsteady emotions struck, but with this one...he wanted to hold her. Felt like he could dust happy in her arms.

This whole situation blew his mind, and maybe therein lay his problem. Maybe some annoying little chit had been tampering with his brain and instead of helping, might have wiped out all the good stuff. Would be bloody typical of the witch, not leaving well enough alone and cocking it up good and proper.

He'd had it bleeding well confirmed—the night the real Buffy walked back through her front door. The other—the witches little vampy alter ego had made the suggestion, hinted at him reeking of someone's magic touch. He should have investigated it then; shouldn't have forgotten, that's for bleeding sure. He'd thought she was playing him, trying on the mind games so much the modus operandi for every Aurelian he'd ever stumbled across...except for himself.

His jaw clenched in equal parts anger and sorrow. Red had been good to him recently; they all had. Why would she have done it? There was no reason he could suss that would have her foolin' around with his noggin'.

"That bloody..." he couldn't complete the insult, finding that it hurt for some reason to defame the witch, any of the Scoobies. They had shown him some form of loyalty and consideration lately, so different to in the past.

Buffy spun on her heel and watched him, wondering and hoping if he knew what the source of his forgetfulness was.

"Do you know..."

"Bloody Red. She's always buggerin' up spells. Can't think why she'd want..."

Buffy was shaking her head no, her face such a picture of sadness that it halted his rant in mid sentence.

"No, this isn't Willow's doing."
 

Chapter Fifteen

"No, this isn't Willow's doing."

He seemed taken aback, shocked that it wasn't the usual suspect and suddenly at a loss of who to blame.  So, he didn't know who had put the whammy on him, but from what Buffy was telling him, the Scoobies at least knew something was wrong.  And yet, he seemed to still be under the influence.

"You seem to be in the know, then.  What's bein' done?"  His look was skeptical, annoyed at being whoever's pawn and not even knowing what it was they had hit him with.

"Tara has been doing some research into it, I think."

"You think?" he asked, voice rising in irritation.  "So what's the bloody verdict then?"

His ire deflated in one abrupt burst the second her shoulders slumped.

"I don't know," she whispered, her eyes downcast and unable to take looking into a face that didn't shine with his love for her.

"Typical that the sods would leave the vamp what's been keeping their sorry arses alive for the past months in the dark.  Don't let on about the magic; don't do anything to take it off me."  The tone had shifted from his earlier irritation to hurt and Buffy could feel more tears flooding her eyes.

Someone was playing with them, depriving them of something she needed.  Someone had caused a confusion that allowed her newest rival—Anne—to step in and take her place in more ways than one.  She could accept most of the shifts in position, but how was it fair for the vampire she had begun to fall for before her death be taken from her now?

"Pet?"  He held his hand out to her as he remained on the step, his heart clenching at the misery she couldn't hide in her eyes.  "I know I don't remember anything; don't remember you, but there is something there between us.  It's not so unusual...two people... in the work place...feelings develop."  He offered it with a smile, feeling a little stupid with his hand still outstretched and lonely. 

She watched it, the yearning to touch him equally visible and a kick to his gut that he hadn't been expecting.  It had enough impact to draw him to his feet and he suddenly felt frozen to the spot as she took his hand and sparks he couldn't explain bolted like voltaic currents up his arm.  Somewhere far away he could hear her sudden gasp, and it added to the awakening his body was experiencing.  Awakening and writhing in some sort of elemental knowledge that this was his girl, whether she knew it or not.

"Buffy?" he squeezed past suddenly hoarse lips and nearly burned up when he felt her warmth within his arms.  Sensory overload nearly had him collapsing to his knees as he felt lips capture his in a kiss that seemed to stop time, everything around him a sensual blur that he couldn't assimilate on such an elevated level of bliss.  It felt like something he had spent his whole unlife desperate for, his whole existence in search of this feeling; this woman.  Buffy.

Reality merged with his otherworld experience, and the lips on his—though still heavenly—became slightly more of the woman rather than the angel.  He couldn't work out if that made him happy or sad, but it did draw an immediate comparison to him of the earlier kiss with Anne.  As he raised his shaking hands to thread his fingers through her hair, he opened his mouth and allowed his tongue to lick her bottom lip, seeking a welcome he hadn't been interested in receiving with Anne's kiss.

Buffy was different; Buffy was everything.  The realisation was definite—life encompassing.  As she took him into her mouth, sucked on his tongue until every part of his body was straining against fabric, he felt his outer shell melt.  Then again, feeling her hot little hands snaking under his shirt might have had a touch to do with it.  He felt his own skin contract with shock at her touch, then swell into the cup of her hand.  He moaned deep in his soul—wherever the poncey thing was—and pulled her body a little bit closer.

Her nails scraped over the series of curves of his abdominals and he felt the bulge in his pants expand to capable in one second flat.  While Anne's kiss had taken him unawares—and on some level actually revolted him—this kiss had him contemplating meeting the sunrise if it meant they wouldn't ever move from this spot.  Not recede back into sensibility until his disintegration to dust was the thing that forced its end.

She made him hot.  Made his blood heat to burning in a way that made him think he was human—exploring human feeling and human emotion until he thought he would burst out his skin and be standing before her with a once again beating heart and poetry on his untalented lips.

Her talent sucked away all his resistance, though.  Brought him hard around to her way of avoiding a situation.  Magic?  Magic could wait for another day if it meant nothing would interfere with this moment.  For he didn't know the nature of the spell, and what it could rip from him this time if it were reversed.

He sighed against her lips, her name a whispered prayer as he thanked God for some return of his senses.  Thanked a deity that he'd been forcibly removed as one of his flock, grateful for his ability to differentiate between Slayers.

As the two blondes kept a tight rein on rising physical impulses, they brushed lips and cherished the time—held on to it with desperate hands.  The threat of magic and its backfire almost tragically close to mind.

From the kitchen window, two sets of eyes took in the scene and parted in collaboration of reaction.  Green eyes teared at seeing the truth, but Anne was accepting of what she knew in her heart to be.  Spike had never been hers.  And despite the hurt welling up inside and her need to find somewhere private to release that dream, she would be a fool to not understand the impact of what she saw.  The match seemed cosmic—almost as if the other was brought back, not through the intervention of her witch friend, but because she had left things unfinished. 

The mystery that was Spike's non-memory of Buffy was almost meaningless in the face of that kiss.  Everything Anne had tried to achieve with her naïve approach fell into laughable failure.  She didn't hold that fire, didn't exude that fierce love that the other Slayer was broadcasting to the world outside in her backyard.

No, the mystery was solved.  Anne had never had a chance.

For Dawn, the view was bittersweet.  Her sister was shining with love; she had been crippled with hurt and pain when she had entered the house tonight.  Finding Spike beside her sister on the porch had unleashed the restraint that fear had made and Dawn was now witnessing something she had secretly prayed for her vampire friend for the months leading up to the night Buffy sacrificed herself for love.

Just because guilt was kicking her ass was neither here nor there.  She'd done a bad thing—but who could deny that her spell had saved Spike's life.  She was pretty sure Buffy would want to slap her when she found out, but the fact remained that had Dawn left things as they were, Buffy might have returned to a Spikeless Sunnydale.  A Spikeless world.  From the intensity of that liplock, Dawn would stake her life on Buffy not wanting to come back into that kind of place.

So, despite thoughts of worry, thoughts of sadness, both girls stood and looked on and watched something special take hold of the blond couple outside.  In silent agreement, they gloried in the obvious love before turning away and finding their own thing to do for the night.

For the night suddenly seemed to be all right.
 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

There was a prayer for hush.  Against the clang of metal and the harsh roars and grunts of fury—of evil consummating of the underworld—moments of quiet were a dream.  But solidly wished for.

Her figure looked on—watched in awe as the one with borrowed sword and blood slashed his way through centuries of pain and evil.  Cleared away in desperate awe the mounting army of first.  There she was, cold and as real as a dream.  Bitter flashes of long dark hair, a smile of dementia that promised more than beauty.  More than life.

But it wasn't real.  She wasn't real.  As whispy as the fog and as corporeal as a memory.

What she watched was, but it blurred the lines of understanding till even her smile faltered with confusion.  The reach of pale hand.  Filthy rat carcasses, plentiful to drink even here in the depths of humanity's castoffs.  Fighting sparks as metal took on ownership and shirked the arm of her soldier.  Each neck broken a shock to the body, leaving a whimper to break painfully from the throat.

He thought she saw it all.  Went mad with the knowledge she saw it all—yet didn't.  Wasn't her.  Dusted her.  Killed her dead.  Yet her image mocked and frowned over the actions of the interloper.

Not meant to be there. A trick.  A spell.

Magic.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The gagging reflex of someone with their fingers down their throat was the reception in the Master's lair. 

"That is just obscene," he told those surrounding him as he watched without interference the disgusting display of one of his own engaging in something other than a fight to the death with a Slayer.  It made his eyeballs bleed, yet strangely he couldn't tear his gaze away from it.  The sight stirred his blood, turned his stomach, and banked up his rage that he couldn't wait to take out on his favourite childe.

"It is obvious this Slayer has infected him in some way.  He will have to be made to seek penance for being such an insipid member of my blood."

He didn't see, but felt the smile of his redheaded favourite beside him.  They both sat staring—transfixed as the peroxided vampire that should have been vicious and cold in his complete decimation of the Slayer house, was instead embroiled in an embrace that put all of their kind to shame.

"And so he shall, Master," she cooed as she made her way to straddle his lap.  As her bodice was torn from her breasts, minions scuttled from the room in a hurry to prove their respect.  Fangs sunk through unresisting flesh and her breast and her blood was in his purple mouth.  Writhing on his hard on, the vampire Willow flung her head back and moaned, pictures of a shackled Spike—her wayward great nephew—added to the pleasure that was turning her eyes feral. 

"Get him for me, my Childe.  He will bleed in this mouth of hell.  He will scream until mercy is granted.  He must repent, my one.  Can you make him do it?"

His voice hypnotised her, the traces of her blood on his lips captivated her, and being the one who saved her life, she could do nothing but believe and agree.

"He shall be brought to you in chains and bruises, Sire," she told him huskily before she bucked against his hard cock, exquisite pain shooting through her belly to her pussy as his cruel fingers twisted a nipple.

Before the blood game became everything, before all she knew was his careless clawing and fucking, she nodded her head—promise made, and soon to be delivered.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Despite what he had expected, he felt the difference all the way to his toes.  There was no one moment that had pointed out the inevitable to him, but seeing the reaction of his friend to Spike's indifference had actually hurt and he'd held only a miniscule hope that something would eventually develop between the two.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen them in a liplock of major passion.  As then he wanted to burn his eyes so he could ignore it.  But as much as he hadn't grown up in Buffy's absence, the pain of being without her was one he wouldn't risk while she walked the earth.

It was obvious by the way she clung to the vampire's neck that she wasn't sharing her saliva for any other reason than she wanted to.  Was dying to.  Okay, poor choice of words, Xander thought as he cringed in pain, not entirely reconciled to the past.

It was beyond weird, though.  He'd only ever seen her kiss three guys: Angel, Riley and funnily enough, Spike.  The first made him want to commit suicide, the second not so much.  He's held such hope for Riley, but could admit now it had more to do with having a male friend within the circle of women.

And Spike.  Seeing the result of a spell making them a couple had blown his preconceptions of Buffy completely out of the water.  The fire between the two even back then had been undeniable, and maybe he was the only one who thought about that time now and again, but Xander couldn't help but feel  a little guilty for coming on so strong about the wrongness of it all.  How did he know that if there'd been Scooby approval of the pairing long ago, Buffy might have been spared her life?  Spike had more than proven the depth of his feelings for the Buffster.  Xander was still catching up on his sleep from the nightly suicide runs.

So, to see them like this might just make him cringe the slightest bit, but he was ready.  Ready to see the act, ready to accept Spike as one of them.  And beyond ready to let Buffy be happy. 

"And what do we have here, Ahn?  I think I spy with my little eye, something beginning with S."  He stood rocking on his heels, smiling innocently but heartily as the couple sprung away from the embrace and watched their audience in embarrassment.

Anya looked from the blondes to her boyfriend, a curl of perplexity scrunching up her eyebrows.

"What?  I don't spy sex.  They wouldn't be having sex in the backyard, Xander Harris.  As satisfying as intercourse is in the open and at the risk of being caught with your pants down by your neighbours."  She eyed the tightness of Spike's jeans and grinned in spite of herself.  "Not that I think any female neighbours would mind."

Three sets of eyes fell on the ex-demon aghast.  Xander's squeaky voice recovered first and he took no time to settle his intention.

"S for smoochies, Ahn."

"I think your bird is a little repressed, Harris."

Embarrassed snickers found their way around the predicament, yet Xander couldn't help be warmed by the little flush on Buffy's cheeks.  She was happy and the vamp loved her.  For once he'd not try to interfere.  His girlfriend on the other hand needed some lessons on how to understand the knack of the artful use of tact.  As well as having his own mind bleached of the image of Buffy and Spike having sex in the backyard with elderly Mrs. Wilson hanging over the hedge while she called her encouragement of Spike's ass.

More bleaching, more bleaching, and they walked past the pair and into the house.  Not interfering meant passing them by to reinitiate the kiss that kept the smile on both their lips.

Alone again, Buffy looked bashful as she ran her finger down the smooth leather of his coat and stroked the inside of his palm.  Her heart raced and her blood pumped hard as it zinged around her veins.

"Spike," she began, her arms bereft of his body, her lips lonely for his.  "Can...I mean...would you hold me tonight while I sleep?" 

Her hesitance to look at him hurt.  She craved him to be in her sight, to feast on the calming water of his eyes, feel the tingle the imagination of his lips on hers caused.  But she felt so afraid to take the risk. Afraid to see rejection again in the curl of his lip.  That he had kissed her, alluded to his own emotions being deeper than he had expected, none of it meant that he would willingly spend the night in her room.  Spend the night curled around her and offer her comfort against the dark horror of her sleep.

A finger under her chin tipped her face up and she couldn't hide from him anymore, though the tears that had gathered blurred his features a little.

"If that's what you need, pet.  Be there with bells on."  His smile was sweet, filled with awe that she wanted to spend the night with him when they had only just shared a realisation of wanting to be together.  Although it happened so fast, it felt like he'd been waiting forever for this kind of permission to be with her.  For this extent of wanting to be with him.

Her body shuddered in relief and she sank into his arms, desperately trying to control her body's reaction now she didn't have to let him go.  Her hand sought the cool flesh of his throat and she pulled his neck to her mouth, sucking in and marking his skin with a subtle darkening of pink.

"Thank you," she whispered against the dampened flesh, sending tiny goosebumps on a rampage over his body.

She took his hand and led him through the house, bypassing anyone who might try and prevent their progress.  Through stealth rather than luck, Buffy brought him to her door, pausing for a nervous second and only pushing the barrier forward when he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Her hands full of her favourite yet non-sexy pyjamas, she seemed to hold her breath for the entire time it took to change and brush her teeth.  Repress her need to breathe until she could confirm that she still had a vampire sprawled on her bed.  That he hadn't moved in her very short absence brought the pit of emotion screaming to the fore, and she sunk in amongst the bedcoverings and allowed her head to rest against his shoulder.

The groan of leather was a sign of flight before she had even closed her eyes.

"Can...can you take off your coat?  And shoes?" 

Spike blinked at the request in surprise but quickly discarded the extra and made himself even more comfortable in her bed.  Her arms were immediately around him and it felt so right. 

It felt like home, and he wasn't ever giving it up.

Buffy.
 

This fic started out with the idea of megan_peta and schehrezade sharing a challenge fic, and then blossomed into what we are about to embark upon. The challenge was from Death-Marked Love.

Challenge 42

Shortly after Buffy's death, Dawn becomes increasingly worried about Spike's mental health. After the vampire attempts suicide she decides it's time for action and casts a spell that will make Spike forget that he loved Buffy. Unfortunatley things go awry and Spike wakes up with no memories of Buffy at all. Then the Slayer comes back....

So, the official summary....

Post The Gift, Spike becomes dependent on Scooby care to make it through the night. Buffy is gone, the bot is absent. When it seems the Hellmouth is deprived completely of a protector, Giles and the Scoobies take matters into their own hands, and unleash their worst nightmare.

Pairing: eventually Buffy/Spike

Rating: NC-17 for violence

Disclaimer: we don't own 'em, just play with 'em.
 

Many thanks to Megan for her betaing magic!

Italics= Thoughts
 

Chapter 16

A clatter of rocks-- knocked loose by the stumbled steps of a weary fighter-- was all that signalled his fleeting passage through the silent caves.

A long fingered, bloodstained hand slapped against the rough stone wall, trying to steady its owner during its escape. Leaving an indelible mark for his hunters to find. The stolen sword was claimed as the spoils of war in one of the many encounters with the minions of that amorphous evil who delighted in plaguing its latest prey. It clattered to the floor as its new owner's strength flagged. There was a faint groan and the soft thud of a body collapsing on the hard stone floor.

In the darkness of the cave there was safety for the moment, a chance to rest.

To recharge and brace for the next fight, one that would be coming all too soon.

*******

"There is no way that another Aurelian vampire is getting between the thighs of a Slayer in this dimension," the bat faced Master of the clan seethed. He had heard tales of Angel and the Slayer from his minions and his stomach still roiled in disgust over it. Even if the idiot did manage to get rid of that insipid soul because of the quick screw, Nest knew it would've been a short moment from the less than complimentary remarks Darla had made over the years about her long lost childe's stamina. 

"Not only is it disgusting, but it's humiliating that a vampire from one of the oldest and most exalted lines would even consider it. You would think that both of them would know better than to play with their food."

The trio of newly turned vampires watched as their grandsire paced back and forth, muttering under his breath.
 

<>Warren nudged Jonathon hard in the ribs. "You had to go tell him about Paingelus and Buffy, didn't you?"

The smaller fledging shuffled away from the curly haired vampire who had once impressed him so much. But now...now he just irritated the hell out of him. Jonathon glanced around the room and wondered why he had ended up here and how could he get away from them all without being killed.

Again.

Andrew stared at Warren with a sickly look of adoration and lust in his amber eyes. Of the three of the nerds, he was the one who had the hardest time keeping his human face. Most of the time the skinny blond vampire's face was flickering between his two visages, much to his sire's amusement.

In life he had been a loser, and now in death he was continuing along the same path. One thing about Andrew that Jonathon had learned was that he was a vicious vampire, with a fascination for Warren that bordered on freaky kinky in Jonathon's book.

The littlest vampire sighed. He wondered why even in the vampiric world he didn't fit in.

*****

Spike lay still, his arms wrapped around the scrap of a girl that was the Slayer, Buffy. He was still wondering how he had managed to end up curled around her warm slender body. One moment she had barely registered on his radar and then...then...he was sitting talking to her on the porch. Something within him had been brought into focus with the first brush of Anne's lips on his startled ones. Never before had he been kissed and had the reaction that he had had.

To be honest, her attempt at seduction had evoked the same reaction he had had towards his newly turned mother and her twisted attempt at seducing him. Sheer horror that a family member was interested in him sexually, Spike nodded to himself. That was it. Anne was the little sister he had never had, and for her to kiss him in a less than sisterly way was, as Dawn would say, 'wig worthy'.

Spike stifled the sigh that threatened to erupt from his lips. He didn't want to wake Buffy, didn't want to end the sense of rightness he had achieved by taking her slender form into his arms. The sigh he had managed to repress was for Anne and the inevitable talk that he would have to have with his friend.

Spike had no idea how he was going to manage it - he'd never had to do the 'lets be friends' chat ever in his life or unlife. When he was poncey William, if a girl, any girl had kissed him, Spike suspected that there would've been an embarrassing mess to clean up in the trouser department. Spike mentally shuddered at the thought of premature ejaculation of any sort. He knew also that if William had ever been kissed there would've never been the 'lets be best pals' talk, instead the poetry writing nit probably
would have written a Homeric epic for his girl and then bored her to tears with his recitation of the epic poem. No, William would never have even considered the 'I like you but not in that way' chat, he would've been too ruddy grateful a bird had snogged him.

Spike closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sad image of Anne after he had pulled away in horror from her tentative kiss. He hated himself for hurting her, but it had to be done.

She was...no, is a friend, nothing more and nothing less. He silently hoped that if they chatted out their differences today, then maybe he would be able to salvage a modicum of their friendship. Somehow he doubted that either of them would ever be as at ease as they had been before. Anne had changed everything with the first touch of her lips on his. They would never be able to go back to the easy camaraderie they'd had.

One thing he had to thank her for, though, was that her fumbled attempt at seducing him had brought into sharp focus the feelings he had for Buffy. The realisation that it was the wrong lips that had been pressed against his own in the cemetery that night.
 

<>He wanted someone else's soft full lips kissing him.

**********
 

The stench of dried sweat and vomit curdled Tara's stomach. The rancid scents were oozing out of every pore of Willow's sleeping body. Tara stared up at their bed. She hadn't been able to bring herself to crawl into it next to Willow. Not when she had been suffering so much. Abusing magic had consequences and Willow was learning the painful way. In the deepest recesses of her soul, Tara was slightly relieved that Willow was learning that magic wasn't a toy-- and it shamed her. She hated to see her Willowtree suffering, but Tara hoped that when she'd recovered, a harsh lesson would've been learned.
 

She rolled onto her side and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. The blonde Wiccan was exhausted; she had spent most of the night tending to Willow. But also researching through her own and Willow's books for something to give her an idea as to what was wrong with Spike. She pushed the pang of guilt aside, and tried not to focus on how badly she felt at not trying to get to the bottom of it earlier for Spike's sake.

Tara knew he would be hurt at being sidelined. He was very much a kindred spirit to her in that respect, both of them on the periphery of the Scoobie group-- along with Anya—just looking in. All of them very much on the outskirts, and yet they stayed despite the ache of not being central in the hearts and minds of the ones they loved. All of them used to it and accepting it, as long as there was some respite from their significant others. She and Anya were lucky; Willow and Xander did love them. But Spike's love for Buffy-- which he had worn on his sleeve for all to see if they so chose to look-- had been unreciprocated.  But she wondered if that were really so. There was something in the air; the gentle wiccan could sense it. It was new and tentative but strong despite the magical impediments between them. Tara suspected that Buffy and Spike had reached some sort of accord in the budding relationship that had stalled on the Slayer's death.

Tara rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling; the hardwood floor was starting to make her bones ache. She hoped that he would forgive her. Spike had a special spot in her heart, ever since he had very carefully punched her in the nose to prove she was not a demon. Tara at the time had realised that he had pulled the punch so as not to make her nose bleed or even swell. Despite his brash exterior, Spike was a gentleman. Tara grinned at the imagined reaction of the vampire if she ever told him what she really thought of him.

"Tara, it hurts." Willow's exhausted voice jarred Tara from her Spike pondering. She sat up tiredly and pushed her hair off her face.

"Willow, sweetie, what can I do?"

"Hot...so... hot..." Willow's feverish face was plastered with wisps of her hair. The rest of her fine red hair was soaked with her sweat and stuck to her skull. Red spots were the only colour on her pallid cheeks. She stared up at Tara hopefully.
 

Tara reached down and gently pulled the bedclothes loose from Willow's clenched fists. "How about a cool shower? Would that help?"

Willow nodded. The thought of water washing away her magical sins filled her with anticipation. She kicked the bedclothes off her legs and reached upwards with her thin hands. Tara smiled at the childlike image her Willow was unconsciously projecting. She helped the shivering redhead up and together they staggered for the bathroom.

Tara pushed the toilet lid down and helped Willow to sit. "Stay there, sweetie, until I get the shower going."

Willow nodded tiredly and closed her eyes. Minute tremors shook her body as she swayed tiredly. "Was Amy here last night?" Willow whispered. She dimly remembered Amy's angry voice and the smell of powerful magics, but wasn't sure if it had been a hallucination.

Tara's full mouth tightened as she spun the taps. The memory of Amy's magicks were still ever-present; the dirty sensation of the dark magics the rat-witch had tried to poison Willow with still cloyed at her senses. Even as she had netted and repelled them back at Willow's old high school friend, Tara had felt ill from their presence in her life. She wondered if she would ever feel clean again.

"Tara?" Willow's querulous voice pulled the distraught Wiccan back to the present. Willow scratched at her arms; something was crawling just under the skin, wanting to wriggle its way to the surface. She scratched harder, trying to get rid of the icky feelings.

"She came over, but I got her to leave." Tara turned to face Willow, a look of determination filling her usually gentle eyes. "Willow, I really don't like her. I hope you won't let her into the house or near any of us again?"
 

Tara knew she should be stronger and demand that Willow never saw or talked to Amy again, but that went against her nature. She had never imposed her will on anyone and never would. She prayed to Gaia that Willow would see sense and avoid the witch.
 

Without hesitation, Willow nodded. There was something about Amy that was gross and dirty. She wanted nothing to do with her ever again. Even thought the dark haired witch had taken her to Rack's. She had fun there, the magical games and visions had been wild, but Willow could still feel the magic broker's lecherous gaze on her body and also the ghostlike touch of his fingers on her flesh, but she was sure that was just part of her hallucinations. Well, she was more than happy to hope it had been.

"Come on, Willow," Tara's soft voice was a soothing balm to her ears. Willow felt Tara's hands on her own and let herself be pulled up. She raised her arms and felt her soaked nightie being pulled over her head. Wriggling out of her panties, Willow opened her eyes and stared at the shower longingly.

She just wanted to feel clean again, part of her wondered if she ever would.

**************

For the first time he could recall, Spike was content. The scents of the sleeping girl in his arms were intoxicating him to the ninth degree. She felt like she had always been there in his unlife and Spike was beginning to realise that there was more to this than met the eye. Spike silently railed against the magic geas that was placed on him, preventing him from remembering and feeling whatever it was that had been taken from him without his consent. Citrine sparks bled into his blue eyes, a startling counterpoint to the usual azure as frustration filled him. He wanted to remember it all, the good with the bad, he didn't care. Spike wanted to have it all back, and also he wanted to bite the git who had cast the spell on him.

It wasn't as cold and painful as it usually was when she woke alone. Buffy feigned sleep, unwilling to be parted from his arms. Sometime in the night she had managed to get his t-shirt off his body. Her flushed cheek rested on his hard chest and with each breath she took in and then exhaled a warm draft of air flew across his hardened nipple. She snuggled closer, inhaling the clean scents of skin. It was an Woodsy scent with shades of cloves and cinnamon, intermixed with the ever present cigarette smoke and whiskey. All of which made her mouth water and her groin ache.

She still didn't like Anne; she had macked on her vampire. That was the topping on the cake for Buffy. From the moment Willow and the others had wrenched her back to this hellhole, Anne had been shoved in her face. The scarred Slayer taunting her with her fighty goodness and the easy way she fit into her life. Taking over her room, Dawn, slaying and Spike. Buffy tried to be a good girl and push down the seething hatred that roiled around in her stomach, managing to subdue the green eyed monster a little.
 

It was only Spike's arms and body that were able to calm the burgeoning storm within her. She snuggled closer, basking in the comfort that was him.

Spike felt her move closer and threw his leg over her hip and curled it around her legs, powering her closer to him. For one heady terrifying moment he waited for her rejection, for the physical rejection of her fists and the poison to pour from her mouth. Instead, nothing but acceptance, that ease of intimacy that he had never experienced with any of his previous two lovers-- Dru and Harm. He mentally grimaced at the memory of the latter. She had tried to snuggle her Blondie Bear often enough, but he'd rejected her advances.

He inhaled the sleeping Slayer's unique scents and tried not to moan over the sensation of his hard cock pressing up against her mound. She was making him re-write his mental rulebook, top of the list 'don't fall for your mortal enemy', and yet here he was. Spike was sure there was something more to all of this, something that the effing spell had made him forget. If indeed it had been love before he'd been meddled with, Spike was not surprised that the budding feelings he was having for her now were there again. He was always the rebel. If he had been in love with the precious bundle clinging to him, then even with someone's interference he was starting to love her again, and it felt right. He liked it.

He'd always thumbed his nose at convention.

Spike had made his own path through unlife by rejecting what was expected of him. Instead of being a bastard like Angelus, he'd loved Dru with every fibre of his being, when all other childer would've either dusted her or left her in the dirt once the dependence on the sire had worn off. Even Spike could admit that Dru was one sick puppy.

She had been his Princess, worshipped and adored. All through his unlife he had done the opposite of what was expected. Get chipped and he goes to the ruddy Scoobies for help instead of surrounding himself with peons and minions to do his hunting. Oh no, he had done the extraordinary. Much like actively seeking out slayers to fight and kill, this time instead of killing he asked for help from a group of Misfits that where her support group. That had somehow lead to this, the sleeping girl curled trustingly up in his arms. 'Who was a big faker, she's awake.' Spike smirked and tucked her head under his chin.

The warmth of her exhaled breath on his throat was too much. He couldn't help it, he groaned.

Buffy giggled nervously. All of this was so new, so different. Usually it was 'Spike bad,' hit him on nose and make with the quippy exit. Even though she felt torn between, 'ewwww vampy bits poking me and num, happy Spike bit poking me,' Buffy was happy. For the first time in a long while, she felt at peace and happy with a man.

And weirdly it wasn't scaring her.

You finished faking, luv?" Spike rumbled. His hands were trailing up and down her back, learning her sleek curves. A warm tingle began at the pit of his stomach and began to fill his being. Unable to resist, Spike brushed a kiss across the crown of her head, prompting Buffy to gasp and the peek up through her lashes at him, her mossy green eyes filled with questions and escalating arousal.

Morning." Buffy gave a kittenish yawn. She stretched against his body as best she could, not wanting to leave his embrace, nor lose the warmth his touch was inciting in her goose-pimpled skin. Hesitantly she allowed her hands to slide up his side, silently noting the wriggle. 'Mental note, Spike's ticklish.' Then she rested the palms of her hands on his chest, each sleep warmed palm resting over his hardened nipples.

Morning." Spike's eyes darkened to a navy as he felt himself twitch against the zipper of his jeans. 'She's gonna burn holes in me with her heat.'

There was a pause as the two of them eyed each other.

Well, this is awkward," Buffy muttered. She was itching to check her hair for bedhead and also was worried she'd drooled on him.

Yeah," Spike smirked and then grabbed the Slayer by the horns...well lips.

The kiss was soft and slow, each mapping out the other's lips with their teeth and tongues. Then Buffy took the initiative; she dipped her tongue into his cool mouth with a happy sigh.

Spike growled at the tentative brush of her warm tongue against his teeth, then his entire spine fused. Unable to stop himself he felt his face starting to shift and change. Her tongue was cautiously prodding against gums, teasing his hidden fangs. With a purring growl he vamped out at her innocent teasing, his sharp fangs inadvertantly puncturing into her lower lip.

Buffy twitched at the slight sting and then relaxed against him, her fingers curling and uncurling on his chest as Spike sucked her wounded lip into his mouth and soothed it with his tongue. His eyes nearly crossed at the potent combination of Slayer blood laced with arousal. His body shook with the small infusion of her sweet essence.

Pulling back with a gasp, he threw his head back and moaned. His hips jerking repeatedly against hers as he did something he'd never done since becoming a vampire.

Christ on a pogo stick," he panted as he came back to earth.

Spike?" Buffy whispered, her eyes wide with shock.

Gimme a sec here, love," he mumbled as he tried to gather his scrambled wits. He'd come in his pants like a teenager, from the small taste of her blood.

Sure." She wriggled her hips away from his, knowing that he was trying to get his body under control. Secretly, Buffy was squealing with glee. She'd never had that kind of effect on anyone before. She smothered the incipient grin against the side of his pale throat and then allowed it to become a smirk, one that Spike would find very familiar. It was a mirror image of his own trademarked smirk.

Spike blinked his eyes lazily and then caught her lips in a long, hard kiss.

Both lovers were consumed by the heady kiss, unaware of the camera hidden behind one of the bars of the metal headboard, relaying everything back to the horrified eyes of their enemy.

That is truly disgusting," the Master growled. He ran his taloned hands over his face, as if trying to wipe away the images burned on his retinas. "Willow, come here and attend to me," he bellowed, loosening his belt and letting his cock slip out. He may be disgusted by the sight, but he was still turned on by it.

Warren's eyes were riveted on Buffy's undulating body. "Mannn she's hot. I can't wait to chain her down and make her bleed." He giggled manically. "Jeez, that Spike's a lightweight creaming his pants like...well...like Andrew." He shot a nasty smirk over at the game-faced sycophant wriggling in his seat next to him. "Like what you see, asswipe?"

Yeah, he's...I mean, she's hot." Andrew's amber eyes were caressing Spike's body as he licked his fangs over and over, imagining that it were he in the blond vampire's arms.

Jonathon said nothing; instead, he turned to his keyboards and checked the streams from the other cameras set up at various locations. In the background he could hear the Master grunting as he pumped into his wicked childe's eager mouth.

This unlife as a vampire was making him sick.

tbc...

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