Fly Me To The Moon

Author: Megan/Peta (megpf@bigpond.com)

Rating: Strong R

Timeline: BtVS Season 5, AU from Crush

Summary: Spike decides to return to LA with Drusilla after Buffy rejects him, leaving the Slayer bereft and sending Spike down a spiral of self-discovery that he's not the vampire he once was.

Disclaimer:  The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon.  They are being used for entertainment purposes and not for the sake of profit (though reviews are nice!)  No copyright infringement is intended.
 

"So...do you think Spike's gonna be okay?  'Cause, you know, dying Spike not really that helpful with the ridding the Hellmouth of demon activity.  Also, not much of the usefulness with the Glory sitch."  Xander threw in a nervous laugh to cover up his mounting concern and then grimaced as all eyes turned to him in surprise.

"Xander, I didn't know you cared!"  Dawn sat beside Joyce, holding her hand in the hope of giving as well as receiving comfort.  Her eyes glistened in merriment at the hidden depth of feeling for the vampire that Xander was reluctantly allowing to be exposed.  First his hints about efforts to have Angel find the peroxided vamp, and now with the worried voice.  She thought it was cute, and wondered if she wouldn't be too fickle by transferring her teenage crush from Spike, back to Xander. Buffy was gonna take Spike for herself, anyway.

Xander had ducked his head a little in embarrassment, but determined to not go back to undervaluing a member of the group; and loathe to admit it as he was, Spike was in.  A member.  A bonafide Scooby.  He felt a little nauseous.

"Can't deny the guy is rather handy at swindling unknowing coeds at pool."  He smiled wryly and turned back to study Anya's nails as he held her hand.

She gave him one of her confusing spacey smiles and went back to observing the hotel.  She seemed fiscally devoted to the surroundings and turned to stage whisper to Xander.

"I wonder how much they charge per room?"

Xander gave his girlfriend an admiring glance before patting her knee and loudly whispering back, amused that she didn't catch his little teasing.

"I don't think they take in paying guests, Ahn."

"Oh."  She frowned, disappointed at not getting the heads up on a potential business enterprise.  Then she slumped back in the sofa and sighed her tiredness.

They all looked up as Angel casually made his way down the stairs.  He stopped in front of them, looking at the group with a degree of confusion before recognition lit a spark in his eyes.

"Oh!  Sorry.  Got caught up in the Spike situation and forgot you were all here.  So, what's this Glory situation that Buffy was talking about?"

Giles began to stand, hoping to question the darker vampire about Spike's condition, but was waylaid by the determined change in topic.  Resigned for the moment, he started to relay their current dilemma and finished with a round of possible scenarios of how to improve their chances of survival.

"So, in other words, you have no idea how to take on Glory and win?"  Angel's lips turned up at the edges in a smirk worthy of Spike approval.

Giles's shoulders slumped in grudging agreement and he cast a concerned glance to both Dawn and Joyce, noticing as their clasped hands tightened and turned white at the knuckles.

Dread seemed to thicken the air and Angel's smirk slipped as he became confused, wondering at his brief moments of darkness and lack of caring about their plight.  But one look at Dawn- her large blue eyes called something familiar to him- and he blinked in surprise.  He stood suddenly and made his way to her, taking her hand and pulling her away from the others, away from their overpowering scent and strength.

The blue in those ovals that took him in- searched him for meaning and held him still in understanding and recognition.  He almost fell over in shock, his eyes peaking at width as he struggled to take it all in, traces of her scent along with the exact shade of her eyes.  Little familiarities that took him hostage to his baser impulses...gave him ownership in a way the monks had clearly imagined might be needed to keep her safe, should family become involved.  She was his, in a watered down connection.

Of course, she was Buffy's sister- made wholly of her- but so different that he questioned.  Her eyes, the exact shade of the one he had left fading upstairs; Dawn's scent blended, not all together Buffy but shades of another, enough tainting of Spike to know that he would do whatever it took to protect the one his Childe had rambled about during his less coherent moments.  He knew then that Spike had never recognised it, never knew that she was a part of him.  Yet a small part of him had known enough and that was why he had adopted her as his Nibblet: to look after and befriend as he saw fit.  He was to be her knight, her champion, just as the elder vamp was now beholden to do.

Giving nothing of his thoughts away, he turned from her and passively led her back to her seat before taking a breath and facing the Watcher.

"I know of a demon who might be able to help."

He offered nothing further and Giles slipped forward in his seat, balanced precariously on the edge of reason while waiting futilely for a continuation to their verbal rescue.

"Well, come on then.  Don't leave us in bloody suspense."  His patience had worn out.  He had stood wary of the souled vampire since the moment they had walked into the building, sensing something a little off with him but not enough to cause them to run.

To be wholly truthful, he took comfort in the fact that Angel had ensconced Spike within the walls of the hotel and appeared to be in the mind to help heal and care for him.  It had him suspended in confused disparity, one that was changing by the day.  Thoughts of Spike no longer had him reaching for a stake and a plan on how to most proficiently embed it in the irritant's chest.  No, he could see the possibility of wanting to help by the brief explanation they had received earlier about his diminished condition, and he just hoped for all their sakes-but most importantly Spike's own and Buffy's-that the arrival of the Slayer would help that process and not hinder it.

He startled back to attention at Angel's burst of one word.

"Caritas."

"What's that?"  He asked Angel merely because he felt exhausted, not up to the games and cryptic form of speech that the former so often adopted.  A quick look around him confirmed that everyone was surprised by this offered solution and he hadn't merely missed the explanation through his silent contemplation of Spike.

"It's a club."

Angel's voice stopped the flow again and Giles felt his temper begin to rush out of his mouth with a burst of vitriol he attributed to lack of sleep and ongoing concern for all their lives.

"What does a bloody club have that can help us?  Good God man, we are beyond parties and drinks at this stage of the game.  If you have nothing of worth to contribute, then go and help Buffy so that Spike can come with us and we'll be on our way."

Joyce reached over and laid a gentle hand on his arm and he wondered at the weakness that caused her hand to tremble.  Her fear obviously was taking control of her normal calm, but also illness had taken its toll and he was worried for her. Desperation had begun to settle heavily on his shoulders and he felt like whipping them all out of there and back into the vehicles to resume their flight from Sunnydale.

One look at Angel revealed a look of calm and patience that had always been the thing to convince them he was worthy of trust, and Giles felt the burning simmer of rage bank slightly and he clawed at calm.  Covering his eyes wearily with one hand, he waved the other to Angel and quietly asked him to explain.

"There is a demon there. Lorne.  He listens to people sing, reads their soul- their psyche- and can tell you what you need to do.  He helped me with D...well, something recently, though it was too late for...anyway, if Dawn sings for him, maybe he can offer some suggestions."  He shrugged his shoulders in an appearance of nonchalance, but underneath his muscles were coiled tight with purpose.

Memory of his failure at first appeared overwhelming, but he wouldn't let it take over again, wouldn't let himself feel hopeless.  He had a chance here to make a difference- to do the right thing. He might not have been able to protect Darla, but he would make sure that both Spike and Dawn were safe and on the road to preservation.

When he finally looked up, he was amused to watch the range of expressions that faced him.  Willow looked at him in stark horror, leaning over to pat Dawn's hand in commiseration for having to sing, while Giles seemed to preen.  He noticed that Joyce seemed a little different to usual; a little fatigued and pale and he wondered something was wrong.

"Well, until then you all look rather exhausted.  We can't do anything now until nightfall anyway, so how about I show you to some rooms and we can all get some sleep?"

Tired, mumbled consent reached his ears and he nodded before leading the group up the stairs and to a number of empty rooms with beds sparsely made up but otherwise comfortable.  Leaving them to their thoughts and concerns he moved on to stand outside another room, listening carefully for whatever clues might seep through the crack of the door.  He could discern the low rumbling of Spike's voice, stronger than he had heard it for the past few days, and he sighed with a smile on his face, relief weakening his knees for short seconds before he happily took himself further along to his own room.

Lying alert for the next hour, Angel didn't relax enough to sleep until his extrasensory abilities could detect no further disturbances- all quiet for the day- and he fell gratefully into a coma-like slumber.

The room rested in almost complete darkness, interrupted singularly by a dimly lit lamp beside the bedhead.  It bathed the couple reclining in each other's arms on the bed in a gentle glow of romance.  As the hotel settled around them in silence they peered compulsively into each other's eyes, sending messages of comfort and devotion new to both but eagerly claimed and owned.  Hands stroked bared skin, fiddled absently with buttons and fabric, urgency gone as they just contemplated each other.  Learned each other.  Became intimate in a way that neither had ever imagined.

It terrified.

As Spike healed, they lay quietly engaging the other in gentle love play that served to both awaken desire but heal old wounds and mend old hearts broken.  Stroking flesh led to the holding of hands and they became still once again, stretched out atop the covers, still fully dressed and staring heatedly into the other's eyes.

Buffy had felt her whole body flush hot about two hours earlier and was still waiting for her temperature to recede.  As long as she remained lost in the oceanic depths of Spike's sexy blue eyes, she gave up on it ever happening.  They shone with a happiness that she felt sad to have never witnessed before this moment, and she vowed that the sadness that seemed to be completely washed away would never take hold in them ever again.

She searched his face for signs of his recent journey and located his change in the lines around his eyes and mouth.  Being tortured for wanting better seemed to have aged him, and the evidence of his family instigating the event left him emotionally mangled.

Her head rested comfortably on his bare shoulder, her hair fanning over his skin like a shimmering blanket of gold.  As his gaze slid wonderingly over her face he held his breath waiting...waiting for the other shoe to drop...only it never seemed to fall.  The expression in her green eyes was one of want, of having found what she had searched for.

His stomach roiled at the devastation he knew would be his end if this were not for real.  There were no more barriers for them to hide behind, everything now lay completely bare before them and he was afraid.  They were perched on the precipice of forever and he knew that the time was still too short for him to get all he needed from her.  All he wanted, craved, yearned from her.  Eternity would be bygones too short.

But it was eternity that shone with promise in her eyes as she tipped her face up to his, quiet still reigning between them as she drifted ever closer and calmly placed her soft lips upon his.  He moaned as his eyes shuttered closed and he gave in to the sweet temptation that was her mouth, hot, heady passion conveyed by her sensual touch.  Her hand snaked up to twist around his head and her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her as she delved and sought reason, knowledge and possession.  Her body twisted as she sought a closer contact between them and he found his bare skin teased with the fabric of her clothing.  His hands remained outside as he cupped her chin, losing all coherent thought as he lost himself in her being.

He was swept away on a burgeoning tide of feeling and he felt himself drown again and again, just like he had wanted to tell her before Drusilla arrived in Sunnydale and sapped him of all his courage, giving him another title rather than 'Loves bitch'.  He just knew, somewhere on the brink of his consciousness, that Buffy would probably call him 'Mr. Cowardly Scaredy Pants.'  And, with her lips glued to his, he was surprisingly fine with that.

After many breathless, scorching minutes, she pulled away and attempted to remember how to breathe.  Her skin felt burned, super sensitive to touch and breath, so much that her insides fluttered with every small contact and she was on the brink of explosion every time she took his tongue into her mouth.  It was kind of embarrassing really, how close she felt to that end, the little death.  It seemed ironic that death was all wound up as her gift, and it always came back to Spike.  His wanting to kill her, and now wanting to love her to death.  One slurp of her blood and she was on tenterhooks waiting for the moment when she could be truly his; mind and soul seemed to be taken care of but boy, was body feeling neglected.

"I have no idea how I managed to forget you could kiss like that," she panted lustily at him, her lips curved into an eager smile as she focused again on the curved luscious red of his own, blushing with fresh bloody sustenance in the form of Slayer.

He tilted his head in thought.

"You know, pet.  You've never mentioned Red's spell since it happened.  Did you get her to do a forgetting spell?"

She looked at him guiltily and her cheeks blushed prettily.  He could hear the thunder of blood as her heart began to race.

"Trust you to pick that up.  Is there anything you don't see?  It can be a bit invasive ya know!"

His crushed and uncertain look immediately had her complacent and apologetic.

"Joking."  She kissed him hard on the mouth, enticing him back to their newfound lusty land.  "I love that you can see the truth behind things.  You are so perceptive, and I'm Miss Blind Spot. Really, you are the perfect guy for me."

She sat back, satisfied with herself, satisfied with what she had in him, and she bestowed another of those veiled promise kind of looks and Spike felt his blood begin to race- his body reacting to her smell of ownership as she shuffled across him to straddle his lap.  She made no acknowledgement of the hard length poking the inside of her thigh through the thin cotton sheet, other than to close her eyes and contemplate for just a moment.

Buffy leaned forward, her eyes still tightly closed as she pressed her moist lips to the side of his neck, slowly tasting his skin with her tongue.  With small licks she found his ear and swirled her tongue within the shell and flushed again at his groan of arousal, smiling as his hands clamped around her hips and pulled her down to grind against his surging desire.  She blew against the wetness that encompassed his ear and then sat motionless until he stilled.

Cheek against cheek, she whispered words of endearment to him, making promises of support and life.  Pulling back her lips trailed over his face, softly supping from his lips before moving quickly away to kiss his eyelids.  Having covered all of his face with gentle, tender caresses she returned to his mouth, sucking his lower lip inside and latching on with her teeth.  She nipped at him gently, but even that small action of teeth had him growling hungrily for more.

With obvious reluctance she pulled away, allowing her eyes to drift open again and take in his passionately shattered self.  She smiled with power, so very glad that she could do this, that she was able to save him, and that they could now save each other.  The oddness of the situation she found herself in, exchanging words of love and erotica with a vampire that had in her past tried to kill her- and more recently insult her into incapacity numerous times-was so far beyond the line of weird she was almost convinced that the dimensions had shifted.  But it felt so good to touch him, to feel his arms band around her.  She had never felt so sure that she wanted this, wanted more of what he was introducing her to; the passion and devotion.  Most of all, she was eager to experience the staying.  With the correct incentive she was sure he would be a good stayer.

Her musings drifted into uncharted lands of forever, of coupledom never before fully explored.  A relationship reciprocated with love...

But then the mission returned, and she knew that the danger they all faced had to be resolved before anything else between she and Spike could be pursued.

As usual, he knew and accepted the plight.

"So, what do we do for the Nibblet?"

The grin of gratitude she beamed at him was almost breathtaking.  She once again rested her head against his shoulder as she attempted to fall back into plan mode. Her eyes rested on the shades over the windows, taking in the soft glow of light that burned around the edges.

"Well," she mumbled against his naked chest, muscles fluttering against her hot breath and teasingly knowing smile.  "The important thing is to get you back to full strength."  She looked at him, waiting for his nod of hesitant confirmation and she lowered her head again.  "I think we should probably all get some sleep and then think about what to do tonight.  Maybe Angel has some ideas of what we can do."

Spike raised an incredulous brow.

"Peaches always has ideas, luv.  It's how useful they are that counts."

She snorted in a distinctly unladylike, but Slayerlike way, and slapped a hand over her mouth, leaving her eyes to smile her humour.  But as his lips slammed back into her focus the colour of them reminded her of blood and she knew that he had to get well.  She needed him by her side, and Dawn needed him for her life.

Tilting her head to the side, she pulled her hair to curtain behind her away from the exposed creaminess of her throat.  His hand settling there and pulling her forward had her pause in disorientation, then his lips swerved away from what she offered.

"No, pet.  'S not right.  A bite on the neck is very erotic, meaningful.  We aren't ready for that yet.  I want it to be perfect for you."

Her eyes shimmered with grateful and love-blushed eyes.  She nodded, her anticipation radiating beyond her and flowing into the room.  She felt buzzed, wishing that moment could be there already, but knowing it wasn't the time or the event to be rushed.  She wanted it to be perfect, too.

Almost lost in a daze of arousal she offered him again her wrist, the jagged wound only a little mended over.  She was so focused on him that she was confused at his frown over the jagged tear, but let it go as his fangs slid through her skin like a scorching hot knife through butter.  Her head immediately became encased in cottonwool as she surrendered to the sensation of having a part of him inside her.  And then her eyes collided with his and clarity came screaming back to her in an erotic whoosh as everything within her surrendered to his touch.

Caught by his gaze, her body began to twitch and writhe, and without conscious thought she surrendered to moans of want, need.  She rubbed her crotch against the length of sheet- hardened between her legs- and allowed her free hand to roam, to stroke over pale cool skin until she felt on the wrong side of desperate.  One final pull of her blood and her nether muscles clenched in exquisite pain and she collapsed against his chest, sweating and shaking in lust, kissing whatever bare skin came in contact with her hungry lips.

Spike felt the warmth of her blood flood through the empty tunnels of his circulatory system and strength goaded every muscle in his body to action.  Two iron bands of arms seized her almost violently and pulled her closer to him, pushing her down on his covered cock with frantic purpose.  His mouth consumed hers and they moaned and cooed in unison as they took possession of a promise that felt wrong to be delayed.  But as the roaring behind his ears dimmed a little he regained his focus and set her away.  His lips remained on hers, licking and sucking for all he was worth but stepping down a notch to a more sensual exploration of her secrets.

Her body shuddered again in violent repletion as she rocked herself to another glorious moment of passion, and her forehead settled against his in a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction, eyes clamped tightly closed.  Minutes stretched awkwardly as she refused to look up, but then the gentle caress of his fingers against her face made her breathe deeply in mounting desire and she raised passion hooded eyes to his.

"That was...I mean...wow!  I bet biting my neck will be a big disappointment compared to that little episode."  Her saucy teasing pushed him over the edge and he dived on top of her, the convenient sheet falling away and exposing him fully to her view for the fist time.  Her breathing stopped.  Her heart stopped.  Then when it all resumed in a crash of unmanageable lust her hands swept all over, clinging to the experience and losing herself totally to sensation.

But when it came down to it, she was still very much clothed and as hands raised to buttons it calmed the fiery beast enough for them to think, and know that now was not the time.  Buffy's breathing continued raggedly but she allowed Spike to resettle under the sheet then curled into his side, allowing the pose to resume of earlier as she lost herself again in his eyes.

Knowing she had embarked on something new.

Terrified.

Joyce could hear the gentle murmurs of Willow and Tara in the room beside her and smiled gratefully that they all had escaped Sunnydale and that there was no one left behind they need worry about.  Dawn had already stretched out on the sole bed equipping the room, and was snoring quietly just like a resilient teenager was apt to do.  Again she smiled in relief before letting the expression slip entirely from her face and she grimaced in discomfort.

Since the operation she had been circling a condition of apprehension that she felt she could not share with her girls.  She didn't feel pain exactly, but in that inherent way that a woman knows the goings on in her own body, she knew that something was not quite right.  Being dragged all over the countryside to save Dawn, indeed probably to save them all, irritated her.  Not that she didn't want Dawn to live.  Not that she didn't believe Dawn to be wholly hers- but the steady thrum of wrong that existed within her caused an impatience with the world that was seeping into her judgement and causing her to care less about the things she ordinarily would have.

Seeing Angel just brought the gloom back into her life, but at least this time round he was here for Spike.  She had noticed what the absence of the fake blonde vampire had meant to Buffy, on top of the disappearance of Riley.  Adding her own illness to the mix, and she was a little unsure how Buffy had refrained from becoming overwhelmed.  Her daughter's strength and resilience of course made her proud, but she wished for now she had been given a room on her own.

Looking over at Dawn she felt smothered, struggling within a world of soft pillows over her face and choking the life from her.  It made no sense, other than that knowledge of her body, the one that all women knew about themselves.  Yes, she knew her own body, damn it.  Didn't all women?  And she knew that something was wrong.

Dizziness confused her thoughts for a moment and she lowered herself to the bed, a heat in her head meaning little, and hurting less, but indicating enough that she did know her own body.  All women knew when something was a bit off.  And as her thoughts turned circular again, she drifted unnaturally into sleep.
 
 

He could feel the change. Small but momentous shifts within his body, within his head: elementally, within his demon. It called a hallelujah to him that was swiftly repressed in denial, until it rose to such heights it could no longer be crushed down, ignored and rejected. And once he had accepted it while in Sunnydale and in love he had embraced it, allowed it to flourish and take a grip on his life; to alter enough of him for him to be courageous and loyal.

No one had noticed.

Giles had been heavy with the destiny talk when Spike had first been incapacitated with the chip. But when it occurred, and that ‘higher purpose’ to his alteration began to be revealed, no one had noticed. Then he had left them behind and the change intensified, increased its transformation.

And then Dru had noticed.

In the depths of the ignorance and darkness that he was surrounded by he found a place, a refuge a bolt hole that his essence had escaped so as to retract to a small particle, almost forever lost and hidden, but waiting.

In his decline he had no idea what he had been waiting for what that tiny secluded area of him needed for change irretrievable. The wait had been beyond arduous, though, beyond painful as he swung from the ceiling chains in the pup’s apartment. He’d been naked, cut and blemished, bleeding out onto the carpet, but still he had waited.

The wait had brought about his final moments of clarity, of consciousness as he came to the conclusion that it was too late. Images of Buffy tied in his crypt, her face contorted in fury, outraged that he would dare to treat her that way, outraged that he would dare to love her at all. But he had been changing for her, and she didn’t see. Sure, that particle hidden within him craved to be good now for himself, not just for her, but she was the impetus, the light that had guided him out of the darkness he had fallen into over a century ago.

But he had hung defeated, tortured by his once love and Great Grandsire; family. His own kind, his own order had turned on him. For him, the wait seemed over as he surrendered to failure and welcomed an end to his existence. Whatever he had been waiting for, while dangling broken from the ceiling, he knew it would never come and his body began the process to end.

Everything had abandoned him; hope, courage, love. His body flushed them out with the blood that dripped onto the fibre below his brushing feet. Sadness and a futile acceptance tainted all as he succumbed daily to more grief while Dru stuck in another poker, dribbled more holy water over his lips and eyes, cut great bloody gashes down his torso. All the while, Darla’s delighted laughter hurt his ears and he had even given up on tears…waiting, waiting…can’t enact change when so removed from action.

He continued to dangle and give up on waiting…it was too late in seeking him out, punishing him for his numerous mistakes. Waiting for Buffy, waiting for love. Both hopeless and obscene in his waning mind. Then he understood: in leaving Buffy, he had left change behind. He tried to transfer his hope for change onto William, but that one was too weak, too misguided and lacking in knowledge to deal with such a situation. Dangling…Angel couldn’t help, even if he could get past the wanting to stake him for existing…and in the end, William was, as ever, useless.

His surrender finally gelled once within the walls of Angel’s domain; human blood, even that given willingly, refused to grip the insides of him and filtered uselessly through his wounds. There was no more waiting in his mind, but change had occurred without his realising had been lingering within his movements for months, perhaps years. But the big boom of arrival had slipped by unnoticed, and Spike continued to leak his essence onto the bed, drifting and then moving determinedly to ‘giving up’. He never saw that his waiting for change had ended; it was now just her that he rested for. Then he had heard her, in his half-delirious acceptance of the end, he heard her on the other side; Buffy, with her hate and accusations it was the final letting go. He swayed toward his final death.

Then she had appeared and he swayed even quicker, his shut down almost complete as he continued to waste, his wounds continued to seep. His demon had cried for her, craving her touch and beauty one last time before he ended, but then the process continued, ignorant of words, or promises, or tears. Nothing registered within him anymore, his senses the last to close off.

And then there was her blood.

Rich and raw with feeling it closed openings and opened what was closed. His demon sniffed and slowly reawakened, curious as to this temptation, questioning its meaning but hoping as it clawed to the surface and allowed fangs to pull out more of the blood. Sucking and savouring while trying desperately to understand. And then it was there, the final clue to who he was and what he could be. Her blood was acceptance, agreement and determination. Without thought, without consideration, she gave him herself and he knew true belonging had gripped him finally. He could wander aimlessly no longer for he had found his home. Her. Her blood was love. He could feel it, taste it, and he craved so much more of it. Then as passion and love and colour and brightness and clarity again washed over him, he released her wrist and dove into the warmth that was her, enveloping her in his embrace as his body knit miraculously back together.

She had always been what he needed.

Yes! Rupert was a fool. His ‘higher calling’ had occurred right under the Watcher’s nose.

Now, seeing his reflection in her eyes as she watched him possessively, lovingly, he knew that he wouldn’t, couldn’t be invisible to them any longer. He might still only be tolerated, but with his heart beside him, his soul attached forever to his arm, they could no longer refuse to see him. And he hoped, one day, they would even come to care for him.

He thought the process might have begun. Buffy had told him it was Harris that had instigated the search for him by contacting Peaches. This act had him speechless, and indeed he shied away from speech as his throat became clogged with emotion, overwhelmed with the awareness of finally getting the one thing he had wanted in all his existence. To be wanted, to be needed. To be longed for. He immediately decided to give Harris a chance, to cut back on the snark maybe, and see where this new thing between them could visit. He had hopes.

For the first time in weeks, he had hope.

And, he had change.

 

Buffy felt like her eyes were glued open. The night had passed with alternating sleep and watching, nervous that if she closed her lids even briefly that he would disappear or give up again and fade while right next to her body. So, she had watched, over and over again lost herself in the oceanic depths of his eyes. She had never noticed before what a beautiful shade of blue they were, or if she had she’d blocked it out. That seemed more likely.

But as she watched, there was a knowledge surging up within her. It made her a little frightened, a lot nervous, particularly as she recognised it as her Slayer within seeking something from this vampire that shared her space. But as the raising became stronger she had calmed, curled herself into his side and the security that being his suddenly gave her. And she knew it with a finality and obviousness that made her want to belt herself up the side of the head. She was his, and if the connection of her Slayer side to his demon side was any indication at all, she always had been.

He had been lost beside her for hours, and though concern prickled on the outer edge of her consciousness, she knew he was sorting. Letting go of the bad and hopefully trying to understand the new. She saw the occasional flicker in his eyes, the amber of pain and humiliation and guessed he was remembering Dru and Darla and their form of love and courage. Beside him, she seethed, almost desperate to get out there and seek them with a knotty stake to the heart.

Her body shook intermittently while she pondered on the last day, caught on the ‘almost’ of what it could have been. The day that she ‘almost’ didn’t make it in time. The day she ‘almost’ didn’t understand what she had to sacrifice for him to save him. The day she ‘almost’ hadn’t ignored the interference of her fear and her cowardice. The day she had ‘almost’ lost everything that would give her strength, hope and meaning. Her tears were the only sign that the overwhelming ‘almosts’ could have taken her down. Luckily, Spike was still lost somewhere and he didn’t notice her wipe them away on her sleeve, finally returning to drown in those eyes.

Her body had never felt so warm, wrapped up in him. It felt so odd, so new. Only a month ago Spike had been the vampire she would love nothing better than to stake, to get him out from under her feet, so she could stop feeling the hurt every time he betrayed her with thoughts or actions geared toward her death. Then on a fraction of a second she wondered why it was, why it had to be that it was him, that he called her like none of the others ever had. Riley had never fought her, had only loved and needed her, yet he had never been enough. Had never felt right.

Spike felt more than right. He felt like hers. Like he’d been made for her, formed exclusively for her.

With knowledge came the almost physical sensation of mending, her heart drawn back together and the cracks being appliqued over with strips of intense ownership, striking love to repair what had been too long fractured. Giving him her blood willingly had achieved some standard, passed some test of worthiness as she peered sappily into the eyes of the one who had given up his way of life for her.

But now she understood, it wasn’t today.

He hadn’t changed today and decided to end his murdering ways. He had struggled with the shift the moment he had given her his loyalty and help in stopping Angelus. He had gone against his family, what he had known, ever since that day. He had approached Buffy once, and her attitude then made it obvious that he was accepted under duress. Too early, it had not been his time. But he kept coming back and back until he was swept under the force of government initiative, and rendered fangless, but no less devious and masterful.

For what seemed like the first time, alternatives occurred to her. For a Master of his calibre, there had never been any need for him to give himself over to the Scoobies. It had been a choice. He had wanted to do it, maybe not consciously, but he had wanted to, sought her out, to be under her influence once again. He wanted to bathe within the light of right. Evil would never have chosen such a path to begin with. His path had been highlighted years before.

Buffy recognised intervention when she saw it. Angel and Drusilla’s childe, handed over for safe keeping because they were not up to the challenge. He had been created for something deeper, and for the very first time his lack of soul didn’t concern her. His guilt and remorse, shown by the wasting of his body, was enough to prove to her that there was something, if not a soul, something that was just as great and meaningful.

She had been blessed.

With a gentle blink, he seemed to return to himself and she felt slightly embarrassed that she was caught still staring intently at the sparkling blue. His smile put her at ease though and she wished that she could forever see that curve of lips. It was magical, and God, was it sexy. Her eyes moved over him fully now, seeing still the blood that had dried and caked over his healed wounds, and screwed her face up in an unsubtle ewww.

He raised a brow in offended query and she giggled as she swept a hand in the air, up and down, motioning his state of dirtiness.

“Someone needs to wash a bit of the bloodiness from his tight bod.” She eyed him seductively, eager to share that shower with him but knowing that it still wasn’t the time. Frustration made her clench her fists hard.

He rolled over to his side, pushing her to her back and leaning over her, leering at her with lust swirling in his eyes. She curled a hand into the curls at the back of his head, cringing as dried blood floated down to her face.

“Thought I’d make a bit of a fashion statement!” he mocked.

“What kind of statement is that? Torture and MaimingRUs?”

He cocked his head to the side, contemplating her position in his arms, and felt a wave of gratitude sweep him away.

“Where did you come from?” His whisper was husky, yearning, and reverent.

She blinked at him, confusion marring her earlier confident happiness. What if he was slipping, rolling back away from her? Didn’t he believe she was really here? That she had taken him forever as hers and that she was never letting him go? Fear began to twist in her belly as panic started to set in. Her hand in his hair stilled, poised ready to cling and hold what would never be released again.

“What do you mean?” Her voice embodied all the little girl apprehension that was Buffy, but he only looked at her in wonder.

“You must be from Heaven, an angel sent to make me a soldier of worth. Are you really here, Buffy? In my arms with your lips barely a kiss away from mine?”

He was seducing her with his awe, his gracious acceptance of Higher Power selection.

With a clarity that was usually beyond her, she finally understood. The urgency to offer her blood, the knowing that it was the only thing that could save him. His change, and his seeking her out to be one of the white hats.

He had been chosen. No, Chosen. Like her. She was not wrong for wanting him, for loving him. For needing him. He had been chosen for her.

No words of hers could answer such brutal questions; she pulled his head down and captured his lips in a kiss of dawning. It was proof of her presence in his room, on his bed, and in his life. It was proof that he was her soldier, chosen by Heaven and her. It was proof that her lips would be forever his. As their lips moistened, caressed and claimed all that the other had to offer, the choices had been made.

The waiting was over.

Pulling back, his eyes hooded with a yearning for more, he looked longingly at the door leading to the bathroom.

“Sure you don’t want to join me, pet?”

Her answering smile was ebullient.

“Oh, believe me, I want to.” Reality crashed into the moment with the face of Dawn, and she knew they had to pick up the pace. There could be a hellgod on their tail, and they needed to get alert, get with a plan, and as glorious as a hot shower and soapy male body sounded, it wasn’t getting the apocalypse settled onto the backburner. Instead she offered him a look, promise and rain-checks burning in her jade green eyes.

“Need to get out there and start working on how to keep Dawn away from Glory. I think you should probably tend to yourself there, soldier.” She gave him a saucy wink, and his cock twitched with the thought of that tending, and he jumped from the bed, the sheet flung to the side.

Buffy’s gasp was voluble and awestruck.

“Oh God,” she exclaimed, pointing in a daze at the one part of him that she really wanted to be introduced to. It made her strength waver at the sight of it, and his cock swelled even more at her unbroken gaze.

“See something you like, luv?” Amusement made his voice thick, layered over the lust and wanting.

“Oh yeah!” She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, her hands itched to hold and set her mark upon his skin.

With a childish play of ‘peek-a-boo’ she clapped her hands over her eyes.

“We so don’t have time for this right now.” She felt under and around herself, and with her eyes tightly closed she pulled out the grotty sheet and threw it at him. “Cover up, soldier. We need to get a move on.”

The quiet rustle of the sheet gave her courage and she again opened her eyes, stupidly disappointed that he had taken her advice and covered up. She pouted then jumped at Spike’s burst of laughter.

“Come here, pouty.”

She rose from the bed and made her way warily to him. Once she was close enough he flashed the sheet open and grabbed her, pulling her against his hardand naked body. She eeped before winding her arms around his neck and burying her face against his chest. More dried blood scratched against her cheek, and another grimace of revulsion held her in thrall.

“You really need a shower. All this dried blood is so not a turn on.”

He hissed, affronted.

“I’ll have you know, luv, that plenty of women out there would see this as the ultimate in sexiness.”

Jealousy gripped her heart for a moment before she realised he was teasing, and her eyes softened once again in affection. Offering her lips she briefly pecked his mouth and then his jaw, pulling away before her obsession with his skin became a problem.

“I’ll go find you some clothes.” Her voice was husky and she was consumed with a physical need to be with him, skin on skin, but the momentary flash of panic on his face brought her back down and she clung to him in a crushing hug. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear, her teeth nibbling playfully on the lobe. “I’ll be back soon…never leaving you.” The last was said as she stared with unwavering certainty into his eyes, and he nodded, strengthening his posture and taking a chance.

Another kiss and she was gone, the door clicking behind her. The bathroom loomed before him, and with a shrug he admitted to himself that water sounded like ‘the best thing on the bloody planet right about now’. He couldn’t remember the last time he had washed.

With an awkward sense of deja-vu, Buffy bumped into Angel on the other side of the door. They stood in silence until the sound of pipes groaning a protest told them that Spike was now under a flow of gushing hot water. For Buffy, the image set her heart thumping hard. Angel raised a brow in query, a very slight smile turning the corners of his mouth while he looked down at her face.

“I guess you were able to help him, then?” He looked at her wrist, the jagged wound healed but still on display. She rubbed it in slight distraction, unaware that his eyes had rested there.

“Yeah.” Her voice was saturated with relief. “It was touch and go there for a while, though.”

Angel nodded, grateful for his postponed grief.

“We are all meeting in the foyer in about twenty. I brought up some stuff for you and Spike. Had a feeling you might want to freshen up before we went out.” His eyes swept over the crumpled fabric of her clothing, the tiny flecks of blood covering most of the surface. Her eyes lit up as she spied her bag and she seized it gratefully. His other hand held a bundle of black. The fabrics were different, wool and leather. She looked up at Angel, a devious smile curling her lips as she imposed the outfit on her mind’s picture of Spike. She almost licked her lips.

“He didn’t have much stuff that hadn’t been slashed by the girls. Bought this for him in the hope he’d recover. Looks like a good thing I did. I’ve got his duster in my room. I’ll bring it downstairs.” He handed over the clothes and turned to move back up the corridor. “Remember, twenty minutes.”

An absent nod was his answer as she let herself back into the room. Poised outside the bathroom door, she stripped, determined to shake Spike up as much as he had her.

“Okay, you. Out you get. My turn to look pretty.” He stepped out of the shower recess and allowed his eyes to goggle at the sight before him. Words deserted him as his mouth hung open, his body turning as she walked with quiet confidence past him and under the spray of water.

“Can you get me a towel, baby,” she cooed and he melted further into the tiled floor.

He left the towel on the lowered toilet lid and made his way back into the other room, drying himself as he went. On the bed he found a pile of black and as he eyed it in confusion he moved to put on the articles. The leather pants slid up his legs in cool sensuality, the zip and stud closing him hard behind a wall of sensation he could barely control. A combination of Buffy’s nudity and the erotic slide of the pants made him desperately cling to held breath. The shirt was course, loose. It fell over his broad shoulders and draped over his torso like a curtain. But the air that circulated underneath whispered over his skin and prickled. He was so turned on he could barely move. Beside the bed he located his boots, partially tucked under the bed. Pulling them on he desperately tried to push back his horniness, thinking of Rupert in frilly dresses and Harris in a tutu complete with toe shoes, then he kept his back turned to Buffy as she entered the room and covered herself with clothing.

Her arms snaking around his waist brought him crashing back to awareness, her scent of fresh skin driving him wild, as the feel of her breasts against his back left their burning mark. He turned and seized her mouth, setting them both sizzling with the ferocity of his desire.

“We have to go meet everyone downstairs.” Her voice came out croaky, needy. “By the way…you look HOT!” Her mouth quirked in that way that showed she was smitten, and he clung to it with all the determination of a man who had found his salvation and would never let it pass by him again.

“Better go show off the new threads, then. After you, luv.”

With one last admiring look at his ass encased in black leather, she gave in to the lip licking and preceded him out the door.

He felt their eyes lift to watch the stairs before he and Buffy had even turned the corner. Once they had reached a spot visible to the group in the foyer, the silence became marking. It felt like the time and place of his rebirth, his third, fourth or fifth chance taking place down the curving steps toward reception.

Feeling timid and unsure, he failed to make eye contact until he felt the secure presence of his Sire, and he realised that-- though he craved more from these people-- all he truly needed now was his Sire and his Buffy. And he had them. They had given their all to bring him back, infused him with purpose and strength to be pulled back. So, once he reached a level he raised his eyes--and was humbled by the numbered expressions of relief and caring that greeted him.

Fairly blown away by the quiet acceptance that echoed around the room, his approach was aimed toward Angel.

“Thanks for the new threads, pops. Though traditionally, I’m more of a denim and stretch-interlock kind of bloke.”

“Well, sure, but obviously leather and the drape of that shirt suits you. You look very sexy. I’m sure Buffy is very pleased.”

Everyone had stopped to give Anya rather surprised but amused looks but then all turned back to greet Spike with a smile, no one commenting on Buffy’s hand that had slipped into his as they had descended the staircase.

Xander took the opportunity presented by the lull to step forward into the path of the blonde vampire. They looked warily at each other before Xander erupted into a goofy, relieved grin and offered his outstretched hand.

“The chip’s still in zapping order, I hope,” he offered lamely as Spike grasped his hand firmly, and they shook as friends for the very first time.

“Not sure, whelp. You offering your services for a trial run?” Spike’s relieved and wobbly smile took the threat from the words and he laughed as Xander succumbed to a girlish giggle.

He was taken off guard by a blood-curdling high-pitched squeal and was relieved he didn’t have breath to lose as he found himself with an armful of colourful Dawn, Willow and Tara.

“What’s with all the glad rags? Thought we had to get to plannin’?”

Everyone noticed the hesitant way that Spike looked at them, the awkward but eager way he embraced the girls, and the warm feel of change that settled like a glutinous cloak over the room. Acceptance was a wondrous thing, especially when applied to a soulless vampire lowered to gracious tolerance of his human family.

“The plan is a nightclub called Caritas, Spike.”

Finally Giles had decided to take the plunge, himself mystified but not altogether repulsed by the presence of the once feared and hated vampire. He had experienced his own shift in perception these past few weeks. He had taken note of the increased demon activity, the increase in Buffy’s anxiety and sadness, and had taken it to heart. So many emotional blows put her at risk, and Giles knew that none of them in the room at present was willing to surrender her to her Slayer fate. He was stunned at how little he minded if Spike was the one who gave her the strength to persevere, to win.

“I hardly think it’s a time for partyin’, Rupert. We should be heavy into the strategisen’ right about now. Where’s the big table, Peaches? How does your lot come up with any plans when they aren’t parked round a big circle of hardwood?”

Giles stood flummoxed, incredulous that the vampire had adopted without prior knowledge the same argument--derived out of a sense of wasting opportunity--that he had put forth the day before. Shaking his head a little, bemused, he sat back to wait for the outcome and their guided trek to this demon club.

Spike was starting to grow a little anxious, feeling nervous with so many eyes fixed on him. After spending a number of weeks on display, albeit completely nude--though that would not usually have bothered him-- he was starting to prickle from being the focus of everyone’s attention. He wanted them to look down, or away, at someone or something else. But his mouth just wouldn’t close and more words spewed forth and fixed his place in the centre of it all. He could feel the panic begin to swirl within his stomach and he was sure if he was human he would be sweating, and probably on the brink of shitting cats. Great big Himalayans.

He needed a drink badly, something to help tone down the awareness a little, and suddenly he thought the idea of a club sounded pretty good. He spied his duster thrown casually over an armchair and turned without word to grab it up. Pulling on Buffy’s hand he was almost to the front entrance before the group realised he was moving.

“Come on, Peaches. Show us where this bloody club is.”

Despite the call, Spike sleekly strutted several steps ahead of Angel, turning abruptly and doubling back only when he was called and advised on the proper direction. He would return to the crowd of Scoobies, before walking faster to regain the front, the call of alcohol-- and the resultant dulling of this anxiety of being comfortable amongst the crowd who had always hated him--almost frenzied.

Buffy could feel the vibrating body of her vampire through the link of their held hands. She tensed against his almost manic movement and concern had her jutting out her chin in determined support. She strode along beside him, confusion in her steps, but refusing to falter in the wake of his agitation. She had seen so many variants on his mood over the past eighteen or so hours that her head was about to spin right off her shoulders.

Determined to try and claim calm, even if Spike was unable to, she focused her attention on the steady click clack of her heels on the pavement, the rhythm quickly becoming hypnotic. It tore her own awkward attention away from her friends, still a little -- well, not embarrassed exactly-- but tender to the witnessing of her closeness with Spike.

She fell back slightly, her steps slower as her breathing deepened, but he pulled her along behind him with the chain of their joined hands stretching taut. By her slackened steps she reeled him in; his steps slowed and the others finally could catch up. Just as well too, as they pulled to a halt with Angel at the doors of a club-- ‘Caritas’ flashing ownership.

Angel seemed to hesitate before reaching and pushing the door in, leading them inside. He made his way unfalteringly to a table, and only seemed to lose his determined step once he’d pulled out a chair and flopped down into it. From the expression on his face he was recalling unpleasant memories, and no one felt either confident or interested enough to ask for the story. A raised arm indicated a requirement of drinks and with something akin to being a psychic moment, everyone’s choice of beverage arrived at the table in front of them.

A quick look around took in the smoky atmosphere, and the mix of demon patronage, before eager and excited eyes alighted on the poor unfortunate melody- repressed demon squalling on stage. The vampires cringed in unison as the girls started to giggle. Buffy caught Spike’s expanding grin and followed his eyes to the uncomfortable shuffling form of Angel, realisation flowering over her face even as Spike confirmed her suspicions.

“An’ what piece of musical genius did you choose to sing, Peaches?”

Before the stubbornly closed lips could separate to tell Spike to shove it, an odd gaudily dressed demon of a pure hideous green with horns appeared at their table.

“Why, our little Peach Pie decided to give a murderous rendition of Mandy, with an amazing lack of credibility. How did you go with the little dumpling, oh proud warrior?”

Angel shifted in his seat; discomfort a word not quite strong enough to explain the rigidity that had taken over his spine at the veiled reference to Darla. He chose not to aim toward an answer and instead offered up another victim for the karaoke diviner.

“We need your help, Lorne.”

“Well then, Scrumptious. Somebody needs to stretch their legs and take a walk on the wild side. Who’s it gonna be?” He took a look around the table, finding faces eager and others bordering on horrified at the thought of singing in public. His gaze came to fall upon Spike, and already an excitement began to crawl up his spine.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me. Why, you are the most delicious little lemon meringue I ever did see. Take a step up there sunshine, I am simply dying to find out all your secrets.”

Everyone at the table served Spike with stunned and nervous looks. He had just survived though a particularly harrowing ordeal. Was he ready to open himself up and have all of himself on display? Buffy thought about his low, gravelly, husky and sexy voice, and prayed that he was. With an encouraging smile, she shoved him so that he almost landed on the floor from his chair. His eyes opened in incredulous realisation.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” he glared at her, all amusement slipping as he looked at her eager expression. Alarm surged within him and he bounced on his feet away from the table. “You can think again, Summers. I’m not about to sing some poncy nancy boy ballad.” He put his foot down in defiance and thrust his nervous curled fists violently into his duster pockets.

“Please?” she pleaded with him, her hands clasped under her chin as if in solemn prayer while batting her eyelashes at him. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Lorne gave them an amused smirk, though the serious faces around the table quickly tempered it.

“Well, lover boy, depending on the nature of the emergency, you might want to postpone that promise. Now move on up there, soldier. Time’s a wastin’.”

“It certainly bloody is with me, mate. I’m not the right victim. You better read the littler one. Nibblet, get on up there and make us deaf with a boy band original.”

“No can do, sugar lips,” Lorne interrupted. “You’re the one the bar will be screaming for. Now make your way on stage. That a boy…” Lorne swept him away and those around the table sat open-mouthed, confused with the speed of the capture.

“Please tell me Spike can sing,” Xander almost pleaded, a tiny whine evident in his voice. Everyone shook their heads, suddenly seeing how little they really knew about the newest inducted member of their group.

“Oh, he definitely looks like he can sing. I’m banking on smoky, sexy qualities. He looks like he could be rough.” Anya grinned in anticipation, oblivious to her boyfriend’s jealous and slightly disgusted looks.

Angel nodded miserably, the only positive amongst their shaking heads.

“Oh, he can sing alright,” he confirmed, his voice slightly pained. “Is there really anything Spike tries that he doesn’t do well? He’s going to be a show off, too. Oh no, no silly little karaoke back-up for him…”

The others watched his rant in confusion, but as soon as Spike walked out on the stage and sat with a guitar strap attached round his neck, they smiled in understanding.

Though Giles was feeling a little irked.

“He never told me he could play. He took over my bloody bathroom for weeks and didn’t think it was be nice to tell me he could play a guitar. And with mine sitting right there. The bloody cheek…” His voice petered out as the first acoustic chords drifted around the suddenly silent room.

Giles and Joyce shared a surprised gaze of recognition before their lips formed a smile of pleasured approval of Spike’s song choice. Until the words of the song brought meaning to mind, and the smile curved down into a frown of parental denial.

The first rasping notes hit Buffy way down low. Heat sheared within her and she felt molten with need for him, his voice merely stoking the desire and creating a spastic dance of her inner nerves that had not fully banked since she had finally made right with him. Looking around the table at the awestruck expressions of surprise she felt the warmth spread throughout her inner sexual paths and find release in all her limbs. As the words began to register, she flushed with both embarrassment and shaking promise.

Lay lady lay, lay across my big brass bed
Lay lady lay, lay across my big brass bed
Whatever colours you have in your mind
I’ll show them to you and you’ll see them shine

Lay lady lay, lay across my big brass bed
Stay lady stay, stay with your man awhile
Until the break of day, let me see you make him shine
His clothes are dirty but his hands are clean
And you’re the best thing he’s ever seen

Buffy glowed, her heart lifted with the truth tumbling from his lips. He really loved her, cherished her and she had almost been too stupid to take what he offered her. She really did want to sit back and watch him shine, let him rejoice in the fact that finally his hands really were clean. He was bathed innocent anew by his momentous decision.

His turning to good.

Tears formed in her eyes as she looked away from the stage briefly to note the green demon sitting silently along with them at the table. Seeing his devoted expression, she turned once again to the vampire she pledged to give her all.

Stay lady stay, stay with your man awhile
Why wait any longer for the world to begin
You can have your cake and eat it too
Why wait any longer for the one you love
When he’s standing in front of you

Lay lady lay, lay across my big brass bed
Stay lady stay, stay while the night is still ahead
I long to see you in the morning light
I long to reach for you in the night
Stay lady stay, stay while the night is still ahead

Heat roared across Buffy’s cheeks as she felt all eyes trained on her responses, trying to glean some kind of confirmation. Deciding to brazen it out she turned to each one and was relieved to find mostly amused chiding glances rather than glares of anger or distrust. But as revealing as Spike’s song was, it billowed with truth and reckless abandonment of outside restraints. It told of passion and undying love that so captured her heart that she wanted to drag him straight back to the hotel and say ‘to hell with Glory’. But her eyes fell upon Dawn and she knew that it wasn’t yet something they could indulge in. She just prayed they got through this fight alive so that she could finally taste and accept all of him. She felt near to death in her desperation to show him how deeply she felt about him.

Angel shared an anxious glance with Lorne and he decided to dismiss all the jovial jibing about Spike’s song choice and cut straight through to the issue that brought them here. As bewildered as he felt about Lorne choosing to read Spike instead of Dawn--considering it was her fate that they were all anxious about-- he knew the demon well enough to trust his judgement.

Just as it seemed that his sharp, hinting looks would be ignored, Lorne turned to him, his face arranged in an uncomfortable grimace.

“Well, Angel cakes, looks like a questing ye shall go, yet again. Or at least your blond baby is set to go.”

“What?” Angel was filled with a sense of protective urgency. “There is no way William is strong enough to go through that just yet.”

“He’s going to have to be or there will be an awful lot for him to grieve over.”

Everyone at the table looked shocked and scared, just as Spike ambled back to his seat with his irrepressibly over-confident swagger.

“So what glaring bit of barf about my future are you all discussin’ with unhappy looks?” On the outside he was gruff, swimming in high humour, but on the inside he quaked, shook with a sense of doom that all he held dear and irreplaceable was about to be ripped away from him. It stood to reason after all. By some fate that was clearly out of whack, he had Buffy in reach of his arms, permanently fixed in his heart--and with her beaming permission--that it only stood to reason that everything was about to be cocked up good and proper.

Nothing stayed straight for William the Bloody, nothing ever remained good for long. Everything in his life and unlife had been shadowed with uncertainty, clouded with the darkness of jealousy, hate and pain. Even when he thought things were perfect with Dru, she had never stopped thinking of Angel. Now it was time to wonder if he would experience the same again with Buffy, had she really put Angel out of her heart enough for him to occupy any kind of major space. The way she looked at him suggested that she had, but past luck was enough for him to have doubts.

“Okay, sweetcheeks, it’s like this. The only way you can give this lovely green delight her chance is to go on a quest.” All eyes darted to the nervous form of Dawn, attempting to shrink back in her chair away from them. “Our little champion can show you the way, and I’ll wish you all good luck. A trip for four though, family only.”

Angel looked up at that.

“You can chaperone them to the site, but beyond that point only Summers women and our shining silver Knight can gain entry. Don’t sweat it, there will be plenty for you to do later.” Lorne stood, moved a fraction of a step away before turning again to the group with some urgency.

He caught eyes with the Slayer, holding her in an intense stare before feeling her sense of embarrassed need to turn away. Before she could he reaffirmed what he had just said. “All the Summer’s women…don’t forget now.” And he was off catching Seabreeze from his mingling barmen and customers, encouraging the plaintive wail of another demon’s voice to fill up the club, but occasionally glancing back with worry and sympathy.

“That boy’s got soul!” Lorne shook his head at the struggle of trials that lay in their path as he moved away.

Spike pushed himself back on heels, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his leather duster, and treated his companions to a look of comical incredulity. Balanced precariously on the edge of the rather large pool he pointed a finger disbelievingly at the emptiness before him.

“You have got to be bleeding well kidding me.”

Angel’s smirk reeked of insider knowledge.

“It’s a leap of faith, Spike.”

“I hardly think Joyce or the Nibblet are up to that kind of faith, Peaches.”

“Not them, William. Just you. This is your trial.” Angel’s smug smile fought to hide his tremors of uneasiness. He was extremely unsure about this, noticing the still involuntary shakes that Spike’s body succumbed to periodically. A glance to his right proved to him that Joyce had seen it too, and the look in her eyes matched his worry.

“What kind of trials are you talking about, Angel?”

Joyce didn’t look at him as she asked, her gaze lost as she peered into the darker recesses of the empty pool, hypnotized, looking like she almost wished for water to fill it and allow her to fall, sucking her down into the swirling depths of forever. He felt there was something peculiar about her; knowing that she had recently been ill perhaps had him more on guard, but still, his musings were wasting valuable time. They had no idea how long they would be safe from Glory.

“I really can’t discuss it, Joyce. I would assume, though, that it would be different for everyone that attempts them. Probably depends on the rewards sought. Or the warrior seeking them.”

He turned reluctantly to Spike, and took in his pale weakened stance, even while standing with a determination that was hell-bent on achievement. Before him stood a Childe he’d had little hope for recovery just a day ago but who now stood rigid with the force of solid steel. With a small smile of approval, he watched the four, one vamp and a flock of Summers. A step back had him contemplating William and his family. It made his heart ache as well as sing. He was torn with the incongruity, and now that the test was to be undertaken, his nerves began to show.

“Just watch yourself, Spike. Whoever is in charge down there will likely double-cross.” His audience startled at the unrepentant bitterness in Angel’s voice.

Spike answered him with a confused but resigned nod and turned; without one final look at any of the women, he kept his eyes wide open before jumping forward and down, his duster flapping like bat wings in the inky night. Angel grinned when the site of bleached hair disappeared through an invisible floor and was lost to their view. In unexpected amusement he couldn’t help but wonder why Spike had taken the jump feet first when he was renowned for his ‘head first’ entry into every situation. His own leap such a short time ago seemed to have them swapping roles, and for the first time adopting a trait that was so strongly Spike didn’t infuriate him with disgust.

Within the minute, the rest of his companions vanished-- he knew-- to the waiting room like he had expected, and he took up a spot beside the pool to sit and wait it out. Whatever the outcome would be.


Spike couldn’t help but laugh at the butler-like man who addressed him.

“Are you for real, mate?”

“Perfectly real, sir,” he answered dryly.

“Right then. So what’s this all about?” Spike busied himself taking in his surroundings, caution screaming at him in bold. He was out of his element here, and on an extremely important mission with a body that was still feeling the aftereffects of his extended torture and starvation. And the prissy little butler type that seemed to be his guide for the night was just too serious to be true.

“You have shown us your faith, sir. Now we will see if you have the valour. I will be assisting you through the trials.”

“What…” Spike’s eyes boggled and his question stalled as the three women he would give his life to protect appeared like a ghostly apparition before gaining solid form. He hadn’t expected Buffy to be here, let alone the other two. For some reason, her presence made this harder for him. The guilty look he had spied in Angel’s eye earlier at the club made him feel on edge, wondering if this might be the last time he had to lay eyes on her. If she was going to be there, reminding him of what he had just gained, he might not be strong enough to do this. Strong enough to do whatever it took to ensure their safety. He didn’t want to have to stare goodbye in the face.

Temporarily mute, he turned back to the funny little butler type and gave him a hardened Spike stare, one indicating that he knew he wasn’t going to like what was ahead but was determined to face it no matter the cost.

“Why are they here?” he finally asked in a huskiness revealing his anxiety, relieved only at having reasonable control over his voice.

“You wish to save a life. They are here as your collateral.”

Ah, bargaining! A language that Spike understood, even though on this occasion it turned his stomach. Long ago, he would have sanctioned the use of humans as bargaining chips-- their continuing mortality of little interest to him as long as he gained his spoils. But now, with the eyes of Summers women staring at him one haunted with the fear of loss and desertion, one with motherly concern about his strength, and the other with all her hopes of him as her savior it loaded him down with the extra burden of their pain and he felt too whipped already to take the first step of challenge.

And his devil may care attitude raised up to bite him on the arse. Comprehension was a bitch.

“Ah, what happens if I don’t make it through these trials?”

“Then you forfeit a life. In the meantime, your guests can take a refreshment in our antechamber.” Dawn and Joyce shimmered then disappeared, leaving Buffy to watch him with horror stamped revealingly on her face.

“No,” he shouted out in denial and a frantic need to cling to life. “Bring them back.” The feral snarl of Spike’s response momentarily flustered the Jeeves reject and the women were again united.

“Oh, it’s better this way. In a few moments, no living thing will be safe in here.”

“You can’t bloody do this. I won’t let you. Peaches didn’t tell me this would happen.” His eyes pleaded with Buffy as they clashed with hers, brimming silently with tears.

“Life is the bargain here. You have put hers in the balance.” And he was lost again in the urgency of saving Nibblet, of letting her face life as a teen devoid of supernatural specialness, letting her grow old on her own schedule rather than die young at the hands of an insane hellgod. His eyes scorched the women with their heat, pumping forth a signature goodbye that required no voice. He hoped that Buffy could accept it if this was the end, and remember him for the gift he wanted to provide her family. And then it was that the thought of her new love for him gave him the courage to take that step forward, shrug off that hesitant hope that he wouldn’t have to do this. Just the reality of them all, the Scoobies, being in LA told him that there was little help left. No other hope, save his efforts. They had to do something-- he had to do something-- or Dawn could be lost.

As if the staid guide understood his thoughts in detail, he hurried things along with his own interjections.

“You’d best get ready now, Sir. Now is not the time to dwell on the negative.” The short pause allowed Spike to wonder if he was to die now when would he get that chance to dwell, to face the emptiness of perpetual torment? The cardboard recitation of the stranger also caused him to suspect that the guy was going by rote and he wondered if this was exactly what Angel heard on his own visit to this place. Darla. Spike had guessed whom Angel had come here for, and his continued existence told him of the failure of Angel to save her life. She was dead after all. Well, undead. No point arguing semantics.

He watched Buffy’s face as the voice continued on, watching her struggle to hold herself strong and steady, her arms clinging to her mother and sister like they were all she had left to hold her up. All evidence of the Slayer had left her as she surrendered to the fear of being a girl, and a girl about to lose her new love. Her fright was terrifying to him.

He didn’t think he could do it.

Suddenly there was silence and he realised the man had stopped talking, and that they were all watching him expectantly.

“What was that, mate? Drifted off a bit.”

Spike received a grim look of forbearance from the other male in the room before he was reminded of the earlier request.

“There will be three separate challenges. I’ll need your shirt and shoes.” The proffered arm stayed still as he tore off his shirt and pulled off his boots, his eyes stubbornly avoiding the women now that he had to enter a fight.

“You better send them off to thatantechamber with the beverages. I’m sure the ladies are a mite thirsty about now.”

Butler Jeeves nodded in relief and the women again disappeared form the room, a gasp of outrage from Buffy whispering from her lips as she was forcibly removed from his sight.

“Don’t suppose you could give me a bit of a clue about what’s going on here?”

The proper accent sounded inquisitive as the man tilted his head to the side in order to contemplate the newest challenger of the trials.

“I’ve never given information to a challenger before.”

Spike knew that he was lying, no way would Angel have gone through this without pushing for hints of what he’d be up against, but he bought into the atmosphere of the thing, and continued.

“First time for everything then, isn’t there.”

He gave a curt nod, revealed a small amused smirk before telling Spike that the ‘unarmed combat’ mainly pertained to his own condition. Spike barely had time to flinch before he was face to face with an ugly demon swinging a metal chain with a hook attached in one great meaty club, and a nice sharp sword in the other. Spike upped the stakes on his own survival by setting his eyes on the sword, determined to gain possession as soon as he possibly could.

With a rush of pure adrenaline, Spike turned and narrowly avoided the slash of the hook as it singed by and scraped the concrete walls behind him. He had seconds of recovery time before he was on the move once again, keeping steady eyes on the demon and trying to interpret the next move. Spike had always been good in a fight, and since being with the Slayer and taking on regular fights with demons, his strength had improved and his skills sharpened. However, he had just undertaken the slow return to health that this endeavor threatened to destroy, and as the demon made swift contact while Spike lost his concentration, he found himself screaming in pain as he hit the wall hard.

He felt himself weaken gradually, but the ugliness of the thing got his goat and he wouldn’t let himself go down just yet. He scraped himself off the floor and with a battle cry that rebounded off the walls, he grabbed the sword that the demon had unwillingly surrendered and sliced the thug through the middle, two halves falling detached to the floor. Falling to his knees and panting his relief, he allowed his eyes to linger on the two halves of the body and smirked in satisfaction.

Almost immediately, however, the smirk slid from his face and pure panic directed his ungainly return to his feet as he saw the slide of each severed end try to reattach itself. He grabbed a hook and shoved it into the flesh of one of the moving halves. In a desperate attempt to prevent the body from reassembling, he dragged his captured end to one corner of the room and fixed it there on a light fixture before returning and repeating the process with the other half to the opposite side of the room.

Skittish eyes watched for a few moments before he released a breath of pained deliverance and gave heartfelt thanks for the reprieve gained from not allowing the demon to become whole again and thus being forced to continue the fight. He felt rather proud of himself for thinking of the solution so quickly, and he stood with a cocky grin as the demon growled ineffectually against the wall.

Behind him he heard the crank signalling the opening of the gate and he slowly ambled over and through. His body hurt though it revealed no real injury at this point, and from the bottom of his blood, he was grateful.

“One down, two to go,” he called out to no one, though he was sure that he was being watched. “Did Peaches get this far?” His irrepressible humour fell to the forefront and he laughed, his exhilaration over the first pass buoying his spirits.

He jumped as the gate behind him closed suddenly and he was left alone facing down a corridor. Light spilled into the room from the silver glaring moon as the ceiling drifted to the side. The romance of the moment tugged at his lips, until he saw the room lined with crosses every where he looked. There was no way to avoid them.

Choosing for once to observe before diving into the situation, he decided that the basin situated in the middle of the cross-lined path must contain something important, and if he had to guess it would be the key for the door at the end. And if these people were as evil as he was beginning to suspect, it must be filled to the brim with holy water. Suddenly all those sessions of dripping holy water on the minions, and even that time on Angel when he came to the Hellmouth to save Dru, weren’t particularly funny.

“Bollocks,” he spat with feeling as he began his run to the basin, smoke rising around his bare feet. He paused just seconds to thrust his arm in the water, screaming as his arm burned and the water bubbled around his searing flesh. He retrieved the key and was off again, limping now, and unlocked the door. Falling through it he once again collapsed to his knees, pain roaring through his body as he vaguely took notice of the ugly red burns over his hands. Tears fought to reach his eyes but he held them back, clenching his jaw so as to not give away the degree of his torment. The corridor did little but to remind him of the evil that he was. All he needed now was a mirror to show that he shouldn’t exist and a stake to prove that he did.

He dragged himself back to his aching feet, and looked nervously around the room, not knowing whether to expect another demon to slash him to pieces or another form of torture to take him out. He did know that this was the third and final trial and he didn’t expect to make it through this one. A monotonous litany tore through his head, ‘an eye for an eye, a life for a life’, and he understood that the meaning of the balance was that he must give up what he hoped to save. For Dawn to be safe, he had to surrender himself to his own end.

A solitary tear escaped his eye as he took that final stephis one physical goodbye to the woman he had hoped he could admire and share her life for however long she had and was captured by automatic manacles clamping his wrists and ankles, restraining him spread-eagled vertically in the room. Spike bowed his head in defeat, acknowledging that he had reached his end, and accepting it. Really, by now he found that the decision was not that hard.

But then Jeeves was back, clapping in his understated approval, with Buffy crying freely at his side.

“Well played. You fielded our strokes from beginning to end. And might I say, Sir, you are cleverer than the other vampire. Are you sure he didn’t give you hints?” At Spikes arched brow and gleaming yellow eye, Jeeves stepped back out of snapping distance. “Of course, Sir. We know he didn’t. My hat’s off to you. You worked out the puzzles so much quicker. But there is one final challenge.”

Spike gulped hard as the wall of stakes was revealed, then he burst out laughing.

“Right then.” Spike nodded toward the wall, ignoring Buffy’s increasingly loud sobbing. “That ought to do it then.” Then he sucked up his courage and faced her, allowed his eyes to gaze over her face, taking in the smoky green of her eyes, the plush poutiness of her lips, the flat little end of her nose. And her glistening tears of fright, for him.

“There’s no need to explain this one. A life for a life. I expected it.”

His easy acceptance startled the butler type for a moment, but then he pulls the lever that pulls the wall of stakes back, ready to spring forth and make dust.

Buffy jumps and steps forward.

“Don’t do this,” she begged, her hand reaching out to stroke softly against his chest.

“Buffy, luv…there isn’t any choice.”

She shook her head against his words, denial straightening her body into taut preparation.

“There is another choice,” she stalled as words shared not too long ago circled in her mind. Resigned to her fate, she turned to the strange uptight man and offered him her solution.

“Death is my gift,” she whispered to him and he nodded at her, a smile on his face that could almost be seen as sad.

“Yes, Miss. So I have heard.”

“What?” Spike couldn’t believe the words she was speaking, and then realisation hit him like a tank and he began to fight against his restraints. “Buffy, I already made my choice. The Bit needs you. Your mum needs you. I’m evil, Buffy. The world can do without me.”

Her tears hadn’t ceased their flow and her lips trembled with the gravity of the situation. But she shook her head even as she wrapped her arms around his waist and let her head fall against his chest. The tugs on the manacles become more urgent as Spike tried in earnest to release himself and stop her offering. He started to murmur frantic words to her, begging words, all of which she ignored as she sobbed onto his chest. Then he heard the words that he knew were going to break him completely, his body already useless in holding her still.

“I love you,” she whispered into the skin and, as he rubbed his mouth into the hair at her crown, she raised her eyes and let him sink in her despair.

“I will always love you. Take care of them for me?”

He felt his own eyes blur as he took in her plea and he could do nothing but agree to anything she wished of him.

“Always,” he croaked, his throat clogging with the onslaught of emotion and tears. “Till the end of the world.”

With one gentle hand she cups his chin, fingers caressing and passing down his neck but her eyes never leaving his lips. And for the sake of continued heartbreak she took from his mouth one final time, taking all his passion and love inside her to keep forever wherever she was going. Pulling back, their lips clung to each other, both eager to forget the situation and just indulge in their feeling for the other. She hoped her death would take her to heaven, but she isn’t entirely positive. Some of her past actions made the prospect a little iffy in her book, but as long as she could retain some essence of Spike, she would cope.

Her greedy eyes took him in, sliding knowingly over his exposed skin and regretting now that she hadn’t taken the chance to truly experience him. She accepted it was too late, that maybe it was never meant to be, otherwise the monks wouldn’t have made Dawn’s image so spectacularly prominent in her mind. If left to herself, without the supernatural spell of interference, she might have chosen to not go through with it. But the weight of the world was once again her deal, and the choice as Slayer was hers. Knowing it was time, she stepped away from Spike and allowed herself to watch the other man without trying to go for his throat.

“How do we do this? As elegant as a wall of stakes might be, don’t think the clean-up would be as mess free with me and my annoying blood as it might have been with the dustiness. Also, a corpse, so not easy to explain to the authorities.”

Jeeves stepped aside to show that the wall of stakes had been replaced with a shimmering gateway that looked suspiciously like a portal. Crackles of intense white light pulsed around the edges of the gateway and Buffy stared at it transfixed.

“Death is my gift,” she repeated to the men, almost as if trying to talk herself into the prediction. Her arms hugged her own body as swirls of defeat climbed up her tiny frame, starting her to tremble with the momentum of what she was about to do. Die. She was giving her life to save her sister, to save her man. And those words finally released the tightness around her heart, and she felt herself break. She had only just found him in her heart and now she was to give him up to save the world. She so hated her life, but that didn’t mean she wanted it to end.

“By stepping though this portal, Miss, you will die, thus safeguarding the life you came here to save.”

Buffy nodded, her body swaying slightly to the rhythm of the throbbing lights. Her mind went blank as she focused on what she was about to do. What she had to do. This wasn’t Spike’s calling. Underneath it all she felt that he did have a calling, his passage of change could not be for no reason. He had a purpose, and right now-- standing before his imprisoned form-- she grieved. No one had passed yet; no death had visited their present, yet the pain of permanent separation shook her chaotically.

And she grieved.

Mesmerised by the light, she took one step toward the portal, not hearing the metallic ‘shing’ of Spike’s restraints retracting.

“Buffy!” he shouted, but his imploring halt fell stunted in the air as she stepped closer. With a boatload of determination and a lack of sense he took off after her, grabbing her round the waist just as she stepped through the swirling mass of electric heat and light, pulling him along with her. He felt the splintering heat of fire as his body began to crumble and then disintegrated, felt her screaming cells as her body jerked spasmodically in death.

Then he knew nothing more.

Until they fell in a tangle of limbs on the floor of what could only be the antechamber. Both rolling together to their backs their eyes took a few minutes of silence to recover from the glare of the light before they could see their audience.

The white faces of Dawn and Joyce shared their stunned disbelief that they still existed, their bodies tingling from the after effects of being dead, of being nothing in the cosmos. Their tear-streaked cheeks told the tale of their knowledge of what Buffy had just done, and Buffy flinched at the look of anger causing her mother’s lips to scrunch and the little lines around them pronouncing her age to deepen and furrow.

The mounting fury of her mother was thankfully eclipsed by the arrival of Jeeves as he stepped in between the two groups, calling attention away from the decision of the act toward the result of the achievement.

“Congratulations. You’ve passed the third testby accepting deathI’m told no one has ever gone that far before in terms of sacrificekudos! You’re friend, of course, did accept his final challenge, but you were offered freedom and still chose death. Utterly amazing.”

Spike ignored him as he first crouched, then sprung to his feet, the pain in his body pulling his attention in many different directions but focused on the act of pulling Buffy to her feet.

“We did what we had to do, so ante up, mate.”

“Of course, though we have a bit of a dilemma. Two for the price of one wasn’t originally agreed upon. However, you did both agree before the vampire decided to be extra heroic, and we were unable to help your vampire friend with his quest, so we will grant yours.”

He stepped away from the two blondes, both clinging to each other in a shaking grasp at renewed existence, and stood in front of the other two Summers women. His hands reached to hover around Joyce’s head and Buffy jumped forward in sudden anxiety.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t turn to her, or even stop what he was doing.

“Your mother has been living on borrowed time, Miss. I am making her aneurysm disappear and strengthening her life.”

Buffy gasped her shock.

“Mommy?” she asked her mother in her little girl voice she was unable to repress when she became frightened.

Joyce stood as surprised by the words as Buffy appeared to be, but slowly she closed her eyes as a feeling of warmth and peace swept through her body and settled in her head. Something popped and her limbs weakened, allowing her to slide soundlessly to the floor. She didn’t quite make it as Spike dived for her. She ended up sprawled within his arms while he sat down hard, his own injuries lending him only enough strength to make the leap, but no further. Her lack of consciousness lasted barely a minute before her eyes opened once again; she took in her position and tried to get to her feet. Spike helped by pushing from the floor but his own weakness meant he’d rather remain sprawled on the tiles for the present time.

Joyce made it again to her feet and she looked around at her daughters, feeling the change like a dirty gray veil had been pulled back from her eyes, allowing her to see clearly for the first time in months. Then the words and implications of this enterprise sank in and she felt like collapsing back on Spike.

“I…I was going to die?”

Her voice revealed her horror at the close call, but Jeeves smiled reassuringly as he patted her hand. “You are in tip top condition now, though, Madam.”

Joyce fell forward and encased Buffy in a special mother/daughter hug that lent the illusion of strength, and the reality of power.

Then all eyes turned to Dawn as she shifted from foot to foot nervously.

“Ah yes, the Key. Rather selfish and unthinking of your creators to leave you in such a mess.”

His hands hovered around Dawn’s head in a replica move of the action he took with Joyce, his eyes tightly closed as he concentrated. All in the room held their breath and bodies still, anticipation of the feat almost crippling. The impact of swirling green energy sizzled in the air around Dawn’s head, eliciting gasps of wonder and concern from the onlookers, before the last small trail of liquid mystical green disappeared within the fist of butler Jeeves. All remained quiet for a space as they all struggled to deal with the strange phenomena, but then they all stepped forward to embrace Dawn as Jeeves fell back. The relieved cries and laughs simmered until they eventually shifted away from the girl, and then they all looked to the other man for reassurance that the ordeal was finally at an end.

His first true, genuine smile visited his lips as he opened his fist and revealed a rather large emerald situated within a claw around a shiny new golden ring. The women admired the beauty of the stone, and then began to fight over who got to wear it. He held it away from their tangling, reaching hands and passed it to Spike.

“Here you go, Sir. I feel positive you will know exactly what to do with it to keep it safe.” Jeeves winked as he passed the stone over to Spike.

“Why, you cheeky devil!” But then his expression of awe fell on his girl and she smiled sweetly, holding out her hand palm down in silent encouragement. “Ah ah ah, not so fast, pet.” He tucked the piece of jewelry in a secure pocket of his duster, starting in surprise when he finally noticed that he once again was fully clothed, and the burns on his hands and feet felt like they had never happened. Buffy’s face fell at the disappearance of the ring, but Spike stepped forward and grabbed her and tossed her in the air, catching her safely on her descent. “Plenty of time…”he whispered in her ear before claiming her lips in a heated kiss, the purpose of which to hold and secure what he would never let go.

A nervous ‘hmmm’ and a variety of throat clearing exercises took place in the background and Buffy giggled once her lips were yet again her own.

“Yes, Miss. Death is indeed your gift. And now I will show you the way out?”

A flight of stairs materialised before them and they fumbled their way to the top, euphorically on high as their troubles finally dissipated. Only at the top, facing a much relieved Angel, did Spike realise that he still held Buffy in his arms.

And he felt that that was perfect balance.

The crypt door slammed open with an enthusiastic kick from Buffy’s boot. They stood together, just outside the entry, and he watched her nervous, slightly haunted look.

“I knew, Spike. Even before I left the crypt. Even before I got the ropes untied. I knew I made a mistake letting you go with Drusilla.” She looked at him with sadness compromising their homecoming, but as he was about to reach around and pull her into a reassuring and forgiving embrace, she turned on the happy and beamed at him.

“Not exactly responsible of me to let you go off with an evil ho-bag like Dru.” And she tippy-toed up to his lips, giving him a quick peck before preceding him in.

He wasn’t quick to follow her. Inside echoed memories of pain for him: memories that told him he was unworthy, evil and soulless. This crypt had housed the shell of a killer, had eavesdropped on all his evil intentions, his indiscretions with Harmony, his rages of hate and plans to kill the Slayer. It had been the interloper of his need to reclaim himself just the dark side of himself so that he could go back to understanding the demon that he was.

It was some kind of whacked out feng shui deal for demons, but now he didn’t fit. He’d had all the candles in the right positions, the great lengths of chains stored downstairs, manacles decorously hanging from the ceiling, the lack of comfort other than a rubbish tip reject of a chair so he could watch his soaps in glorious black and white. All that to usher in the evil, encourage it to wallow and infiltrate, and yet the outside influences that he spent minimal time amongst were so strong that it counteracted it all. One sip of light from the cup of Summers and he felt himself glowing, maybe…a little, effulgent?

Now he didn’t fit.

It wasn’t like he felt himself above this now-- although he kind of did. But the darkness here, as superficial as it was, didn’t feel like home to him anymore. It didn’t give him that rush of welcoming that the hideously simple ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign had given him. Even the run around to homes of the Scoobies and scouting for signs of Glory gave him that sweet taste of belonging, and finally the fond farewells bid by the majority of the group left him feeling inspired, needed, wanted. Friends. He had them. Or was beginning to have them. The change in everything left a warm coiled ball of feeling in his belly that he just knew would exit through great unmanly sobs. And for once, his William weakness didn’t make him want to go out and maim.

Once he was done with his reverie, he looked up and caught Buffy’s concentration on him, watching thoughtfully his lack of progress through the door. Her brow furrowed in question before understanding made her smile at him encouragingly.

“Spike, I don’t think you live here anymore.”

“What’s that, Slayer?”

She grinned at his stubborn use of title, and jerked her head in a motion to indicate behind her.

“I cleared out your stuff.” Her smile broadened at his look of horror.

“You bloody what?” His eyes had turned to blue arctic chips, but it just made her smile brighter.

“Sold it all, too.”

“What?” His voice cracked on a series of expletives as he finally noticed a few choice possessions missing from their usual spot.

“How did you think we were able to fund the trip to LA? Some of your buddies at Willy’s were really keen to take some of your books.”

His eyes narrowed and she could tell that he was balancing on the edge of fury that just might get her into a fight.

“Where the bloody hell is my blanket, Slayer? If you’ve given it to someone and they’re scarpering around bleeting on about having William the Bloody’s blankie, I’ll bleeding well skin you.”

His threats came to an abrupt end when he was hit in the face with Buffy’s top. She stood before him, naked to the waist with her bared breasts pointing full straight ahead. Right at him. His eyes zeroed in on the hardened nubs signaling the lack of warmth of their surroundings, and his eyes lit up in evil revenge.

“Too bad I’ve got nothin’ to keep you warm, luv. Some evil wench took all my bedding and passed them out to the evil doers on the Hellmouth. Guess those lovelies’ll just have to go cold.”

His amused ribbing came to a screeching dead end as he copped a face full of Slayer jeans. He rewarded her with an awe filled expression of pure want. But still he attempted to rally against her.

“You wanna go bare back against cold stone, pet? Don’t think it’s too pleasant without some padding.” As he spoke he was loosening his belt, pulling off his duster, kicking off his boots. He advanced on her as she took a number of back steps till they were at the cold, hard sarcophagus to the side of the top chamber.

“Thought we could do it on top of your duster?” she asked, her skin prickling in goosebumps from the lustful need in his eyes.

“Oh you did, did you?” His eyes never left her, mesmerised by the glowing skin she had chosen to allow him to touch.

And his heart swelled.

Even to this moment he had felt something would go wrong, that she’d change her mind, come to her senses that she had been fooling herselfthat she was under some kind of spell to make her only think that she loved him. But the change within him was so persistent in its plea for trust that he felt himself hopelessly tied in to her belief. He wanted her, and even if things were about to go to Hell in a hand-basket, he wanted to be by her side for the ride. Besides, now he had family. She had given him family. And Angel had given him acceptance. The soppiness of it all brought tears to his throat. So, to change tack, he grabbed his duster from the dirty floor, shook it violently before allowing it to billow and cover in one neat sweep the surface of their makeshift bed. Ahhh, he thought, could it get any more perfect?

He was in raptures, William battling with Spike as he argued with himself. Should he softly gather her in his arms and lay her back, bestowing loving tender kisses from the hollow of her neck to the valley between her breasts, while huskily reciting love poetry? Or should he grab her like a supernatural being and fling her there, diving on top of her and rubbing all his hard bits against her vulnerable skin?

His own naked protrusion decided his urgency and he went for Spike Spike the almost gentle as he dived into her mouth, his hand roaming over her shoulder before finally alighting on one firm breast. Her moan of relief finally the feel of his hands stroking and twisting her nipple until she thought she would scream from libidinous frustration. Her legs fell open and he dropped between them, a growl of excitement rumbling in his throat turning her on more than anything she had ever witnessed before. Fluid flowed and she thought she might drown him if he didn’t take her soon.

But he was cruel.

She wanted to feel him thrust into her, take rough possession of her and show her what it felt like to love one who had more than a little monster within him. Instead, he devoured her flesh, leaving raised red welts where his teeth grazed and his mouth sucked, and the little episodes of pain raised the bar to new erotic heights. She wanted so much from this, wanted the sexual gratification of bringing William the Bloody to his knees, of being fucked like never before. She wanted to feel the essence of Spike, the one who had tied her in that chair almost a month earlier, determined to make her understand his feeling for her. She wanted to feel the sleek lines of Spike as he swept her up in a sweaty affirmation of all they had been through to find each other. And she wanted the sweet words of love and devotion, whether they came from William or Spike, she no longer felt it necessary to define. He had become whole as far as she could see, both entities existing in him in a meld so perfect that it made her heart mourn every second that he wasn’t near her.

And right now, he wasn’t near enough.

“Spike, if you don’t get…ah…move on…oh…like that, baby…Oh God…I think…uhh…I’m gonna…EXPLODE!” His mouth had sucked a hard hello to her clit and without any build-up she came, great gushing waves of pleasure rocking her from her safety but showing her the wonders of the world. As she came down she felt him nuzzling her pussy, avoiding her overly sensitized clit as her hands began to search for his hair. She pulled on a handful, hard and in retaliation he turned his head into her inner thigh and bit down even harder.

“Argh,” she screamed in reaction but finally he rose above her and she reclaimed his lips, her gasps and pants doing nothing to slow down her frantic need to consume his taste and tongue.

She forced him at a roll to his back and she straddled him, lips glued to his as her tongue swept through his mouth, sliding hungrily over his teeth. She had both hands gripped with purpose in his hair, her breasts rubbing urgently against his chest. At last letting go, her hot wet tongue licked down his neck, her teeth scratching the skin as she went. Down, down until her teeth latched on to an erect nipple and she alternated between soft licking and sucking and harder bites. His moans and growls spurred her into a frenzy and all willpower disappeared as she allowed herself an end to torment by slowly sliding down his cock. He stretched her insides and fizzled her nerve endings until she felt the sensation alone was nearly enough in itself to make her come.

“Bloody hell!” he shouted, bringing her out of her exile of ecstasy, and she smiled and laughed in a happiness so pure that it brought tears to her eyes and sobs to her throat. Her body shuddered with every rise and fall of her slide against his thrusts, her skin so hot and prickly that she felt the buzz of orgasm building steadily until a final rush of bubbles reached their spot and erupted, swishing her insides with the heat of her juice and the cool of his ejaculate. Her body, resplendent in a sheen of sweat, remained motionless, eyes closed as she grasped hold of every sensation that just blew her to the stars. She was sure she was no longer in the crypt, that they had both suffered through the meltdown of their bodies that let them slide their way into Heaven. When she finally let her eyes blink open, her ‘oh’ was filled with such surprise that Spike was left wondering at its meaning.

“Well, that was a bit of alright.”

Buffy spiked him with an outraged look.

“Alright? Is that all it was?” Her bottom lip wobbled with sudden uncertainty and paranoia. “Wasn’t it very good?” her voice had shrunk in on itself, scared and insecure.

“Buffy, stop!” Spike sat up, alarmed at his thoughtless pillow talk, and embraced her with all the strength of a man desperate to make amends. “It was unbelievable, baby. Phenomenal. I have no words to tell you how incredibly fantastic and special that was for me. I’m an idiot. I know it.” He rubbed her back in a circular motion, cursing himself for the git that he was.

He was rendered useless still as her flooded greens raised to search his eyes for truth.

“Do you mean it? Because I have never felt anything like that before. I wanted it to be the same for you, too.” The emotion began to swallow her volume and she buried her face, wet with overflow, against his neck. “It felt like Heaven, Spike.”

He kissed her hair, her cheek, searching for her lips, wet and slippery from her fearful tears.

“Just looking at you is Heaven for me, Buffy. I’m sorry for teasing you. It was wrong.”

She hiccuped, a relieved short laugh exiting her mouth seconds before he claimed it again in a slow, sensual kiss that made her want to curl up and never leave his lap. He gave her tingles, allowed balls of heat to expand in her stomach, and made her heart pump rapidly enough to be concerned for her health.

“So,” he started when he thought they had gotten back on a less intense track. “Think I could get some more of that ‘alright’ in the extremely near future?” His face was molded into a picture of perfect love and serenity, eyes sparkling with achievement for the end of his struggle. He finally had her in his arms, and he wasn’t going to let her go. Not without one fuck-buster of a fight.

“How ‘bout right now, Big Bad,” she teased, leaning forward and again sucking his tongue into her mouth, her eyes drifting closed as the wash of sexual anticipation claimed her again.

On the edge of complete surrender, one thought provoked him into demanding clarification before he could give in and give her everything. He pushed her back, holding on to her arms until clarity returned to her eyes. Once he had her attention, his eyes narrowed in serpentine intent.

“Where’s my bloody blanket, Slayer?”

Her smile was sexy and teasing as she drifted back to his mouth.

“I’ll give you all your stuff back when we get back home.”

“Home?”

“Yep,” the ‘p’ popped.

“So, this was just like a send off for the crypt?”

“Or, a beginning acquaintance with a secret little getaway in-between patrols.” She arched her brow suggestively.

“Yeah. Don’t s’pose your mom would be eager about us sharing a room?” His voice was intensely hopeful.

“Sorry, basement for you…be glad she’s letting you in the house.” He could swear he saw a glint in her eyes. “Little steps, baby,” she whispered knowingly against his lips.

And he was again lost in her kiss.

Home.