Title: Binding to Earth (1/?)

Author: Sandy S.

Email: ssoennin@juno.com

URL: http://darkprophecies.net/eternaldevotion

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Joss and UPN.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Set after all recent stuff on the show (Season 7 included).

Summary: This is the sequel to "Confronting the Sun." What happened to Buffy and Spike after the Watcher's Council had them dusted by the sun? Of course, they didn't go peacefully to heaven, but they didn't go to hell either. Read their continuing story to find out what their new trials. . .

Binding to Earth

". . .What is the force that binds the stars? I wore this mask to hide my scars What is the power that pulls the tide? Never could find a place to hide

What moves the earth around the sun? What could I do but run and run and run? Afraid to love, afraid to fail A mast without a sail. . ."

From "Ghost Story" by Sting, 1999



Year 652 Meonik time

"You have to believe that I'm Buffy Summers." My voice is hollow with the desperation that I'm feeling. How am I to convince the man before me that I am Buffy without my corporeal body encasing my soul? Thankfully, I'm able to touch physical objects because the only reason I'm staying focused is by gripping the arms of the cushioned chair in which I'm sitting and by ignoring the claustrophobic effect of being in such a small cabin. The power my listener wields is far greater than his dwelling indicates.

Although his hair is black as night, his response is hoarse and tired as if he has heard too many tales. "And why should I believe you? You say you're in the chair across from me, but I can't even see you. How do I know that you're not with *them*?"

"If you don't believe me, then, a lot of people are going to die very soon. Think about it, if I were with them, would I be here trying to elicit your aid?" I try to avoid thinking about how little time is left before lives are lost and before I might truly lose my lover forever. If the latter occurred, I would surely be destroyed.

The man licks his lips in anticipation as he weighs my words. "What's in it for me and my people if we choose to help you. . . if you are who claim to be?"

"The Meoniks will be gone, and you will be free to return home." I don't know if this incentive is powerful enough.

"Many of my people were born and raised here. They know no other way of life. Why should they want to go somewhere else?" His face his youthful, but when he thoughtfully raises a finger to his lips, I notice that his hand is wrinkled from using the magic in this dimension.

"They would be crazy to stay here. . . , but they could stay if they wanted," I amend when I witness his expression change to one of annoyance.

"And how many will I lose if I agree to help?" He's carefully covering all the bases. . . not that I blame him. "How many will I lose to save your lover?"

Anger flashes scarlet red through me; I am sick of human arrogance. "It's not just to save my companion but to save this world and Earth's dimension. Billions, no. . . trillions of lives, Sievene, not just one."

Even though I know he can't truly see me, he appears to study me with a bemused expression. Then, he sighs. "Tell me a good story, invisible one, and perhaps I will consider helping you."

My stomach lurches in a mixture of annoyance and resignation. "All right. But if I'm to tell this tale, you must be serious as well because I have no time for jokes."

"Oh, I am very serious. Tell me."

* * *

TBC. . . What is Buffy talking about? Why is she invisible? Where's Spike? And what happened after they were dusted? Read on. . . :o) Hope you enjoy this, too!

Part 2:

Year 3, Meonik Time

In a streak of long blond hair, tan skin, and firm muscles, I tumble from my perch on the tree branch where I usually feel more comfortable sleeping. I hardly have a chance to shriek as sharp wood and dew-drenched green leaves scrape over my bare flesh and bright artificial sunlight temporarily blinds me. Not even close to being panicked, I twist my body and prepare for the impact with the ground. As soon as my feet touch the dirt, I loosen my knees and squat low before rising again.

Ignoring my minor injuries and curling my toes in the damp earth, I cross my arms and close my eyes, and sure enough, I hear the faint tinkle of laughter, a sound that almost seamlessly blends with the breeze that overlays the sound of birds in the distance.

"Theos!" I call softly. "You imp!"

Theos is one of the disembodied beings who cares for me, and of the three, he is the practical joker. I never cease to be amazed by what he's going to pull on me next. When I'm in my designated rooms, I recognize him by his pine scent, but outside, I have difficulty detecting him.

"What, Hannah?" he singsongs, his voice swirling about my head.

Hannah is the name my caretakers gave me when they found me three years ago. They say I appeared in their dimension quite suddenly in the wake of a mystical banishment spell, and since I was prohibited from returning to my previous plane of existence, they adopted me. I have no memory of anything except the kindnesses of the three ethereal, invisible beings. They have created me a mini-habitat so that I might survive in their dimension. I have no idea what exists outside of here although sometimes I wonder. . . .

"Hannah!" a second, higher-pitched voice shouts from afar.

"Good morning to you, too, Thalia."

Thalia is the practical one of the three. She's constantly organizing the other two, and we often joke together that the "boys" aren't sensible enough to find their way out of a cardboard box with a map.

"Have you heard from Thayne this morning?" She sounds closer now and extremely irritated. When she's angry, she smells of cinnamon.

"Nope." I shake my head.

Thayne is a dreamer and occasionally wanders off somewhere in my habitat to ponder life. Many a time, I've searched him out for advice or quiet discussion. His voice is deep and rich and strangely soothes me when I'm upset. Thayne's disappearances annoy Thalia but make Theos laugh.

"Well, he's in charge of food preparation for our picnic today, and he hasn't done a thing yet."

"Why can't you get the food? You just push a button or two. Or I can do it." As far as I can tell, the beings don't eat food, but I require nourishment.

"Well, Thayne told me last night that he had this new recipe he wanted to try out on you," Thalia growls.

"Oh, really? I love when he does that." I begin heading through the small forest they built me toward my living quarters, picking my way deftly through the thick brush and trees. "I'm going to get dressed in something less. . . " I glare in the direction I last heard Theos, ". . . torn. Then, I'll look for Thayne with you."

Thalia huffs. "All right."

"See you in a bit, Hannah," Theos whispers in my ear. He always likes to be close to me.

"No peeking, Theos," I warn the mischievous spirit.

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you."

* * *

Year 3, Meonik time, twenty minutes and a shower later





The reflective surface hanging on the wall in my bedchamber reveals the entire extent of my body. I somehow know that I am short with a petite frame, freshly-washed waist-length blond hair, and eyes as green as the leaves on the trees. I've exchanged my light ivory sleeping jumper for a bright red, short-sleeved shirt with a scoop collar, long red pants with wide bottoms, and soft red moccasins.





Sweeping my hair up on top of my head with a clip, I vaguely question who I was in the other dimension. What had I done to be banished? What was my name? What had my life been like? Did I have a family?

Biting my bottom lip, I cock my head. Satisfied with my appearance, I push the questions to the back of my mind and leave my living quarters to search for Thayne in the beings' living space.

Thalia arranged a small sitting room with brown, cushioned chairs and carpet, homemade board games, and a refreshment bar for my comfort just inside the entrance to their indoor area. Pictures of me in various poses and areas of the habitat line the plain white walls. Apparently, the beings care greatly for me, and a smile touches my lips at the thought. The habitat control room is located to the right, and a door to the beings' private quarters is to the left.

"Thayne?"

The control room is more brilliantly lit than the living room and starker in form. Several computer panels blink and hum underneath the large window that overlooks the forest. Thayne doesn't respond, and if he's really not present, I don't expect a practical joke as with Theos.

"Okay, you're not here," I mutter as I re-enter the living room.

Stopping short, my eyes widen. The entrance to the private quarters stands partially open. The door has never been ajar, and I have never asked for a tour. Surely, they won't mind if I take a peek in my hunt for Thayne.

Touching the door tentatively as if I'm afraid to be caught. Heart pounding, I slide the door just far enough to squeeze into the next room.

* * *

Year 3, Meonik time, thirty seconds later

The world on the other side of the door is nothing like anything I imagined. The ceiling is at least six stories high. Everything is a smooth, silver color, and only the configuration of light and shadows defines the boundaries of floor, ceiling, and walls. I barely see a slight distortion in light in the distance, indicative of another door.

"Thayne? Are you here?" My words echo around the room, and suddenly I feel very alone.

Drawn to the door on the opposite side, I half-run, half-walk toward it, senses on hyper-alert and heart racing. My need to know what's in the next room is so overwhelming that I forget to be nervous about being caught. After all, I haven't been invited into their private area, and they allow me the retreat of my quarters. However, the beings have told me so little of themselves, and after three years, my curiosity is uniquely piqued.

Upon reaching my goal, I pause, running my fingers over the silver surface of the door. If the door had been shut, I wouldn't have noticed its existence. A small prayer that I must know from my childhood in the other dimension passes easily through my thoughts, and I take a deep breath before slipping through the gap.

For some reason, I am not shocked by what I view in the more brightly lit, white room. The ceiling is lower than in the previous area, and in contrast, the new room is filled with hundreds of tables of various types of technology that are completely foreign to me.

I pause in the doorway, listening carefully for rustles and distinguishing scents that indicate the presence of Thalia, Thayne, or Theos. After I'm certain that I'm alone, I venture further into the maze of equipment, being attentive to various liquids that seemed to be churning on their own and the blinking lights on several of the applications.

Just when I'm prepared to turn around and retreat back to the familiar habitat, my eyes catch the presence of a tall object over the edge of another piece of equipment. Circling the platform, I try to glimpse the object more fully. I have to pick my way through two more rows of technology before the source of my intrigue is directly in front of me.

The object is cylindrical and tall with the top not quite touching the ceiling. The tube is wider than the trunk of any tree I've ever seen, and I couldn't possibly put my arms completely around the diameter. The material from which the object is constructed is clear, and I can view bubbles in the semi-translucent blue liquid that fills the hollow inside of the structure.

Touching the cylinder with fingers splayed, I find the liquid is emitting a warm energy like the pulsing beat of my heart. I press my other hand to the surface as well and peer to the core of the cylinder. My chest constricts at what I view.

A shape. . . a shape that looks like me. . . only larger. . . is suspended at the center of the fluid.

Terrified, I draw a sharp breath as strange thoughts dart through my mind, sending me to my knees.

*** "No matter where we end up, we'll be together, love."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm absolutely sure." ***

Shaking with every fiber of my being, I manage to somehow pull myself to a swaying upright position. As if I'm not controlling my own actions, I numbly turn to the platform behind me and pick up the largest piece of equipment I can carry. Sparks fly around me as I rip the piece from its station.

With all my strength, I heave the amputated object at the cylinder, smashing the material as if it is as fragile as papier-mâché. Strange smelling, thick liquid deluges my nose and mouth, causing me to choke violently. The body from the center of the cylinder slams into me so that I land hard on my back.

As the liquid spreads evenly over the floor, I push myself up, rolling the body over. Wiping thick goop out of my eyes, I blink furiously. As my vision clears, I spit the slimy liquid out of my mouth and cough hard and long.

When I am sufficiently recovered, I scan over the naked body before me. My fingers automatically trail over the warm flesh, not embarrassed by the nudity. When I reach his left arm, I slow, pushing my fingers into the smooth scar tissue.

Thoughts. . . memories. . . infiltrate my mind again, but this time, I'm better prepared and therefore not as overcome.

*** The first injury I note is in his left forearm. The bone is broken clean through the skin. . . a compound fracture that's bleeding profusely, sending the sharp smell of copper to my nose and soaking the torn fibers of his clothing.

I rip the cloth up to his shoulder, pulling the strips away and flinging them to the side. Numbly, I push the bone back into the original nest of muscles and tendons. ***

Breathing heavily, I force myself to continue up his arm to his face. Gracefully-carved cheekbones are the strongest feature on his face, but his eyes aren't open, so I don't know how intense they are. Light-colored curls fall over his forehead, and I sweep them away.

Then, I realize that he's not breathing. I place my hand over his heart.

Nothing.

Then, horrible retching coughs possess his entire body, and liquid spews out of his mouth and nose, re-drenching me. His eyes blink rapidly, and I gently but quickly wipe the fluid off his face.

His eyes open without warning, and I find myself staring into the bluest depths I've ever known.

*** "I love you, Buffy. ***

"Spike?"

* * * TBC. . . Who are Theos, Thayne, and Thalia? What are Buffy and Spike doing here? What will they do now? Stay tuned!

Thanks bunches to all the lovely reviewers! I'm so glad you're reading this one, too! I promise I'll do my best to make it even more exciting or just as exciting as the last read!

Author's Note: I forgot to put this on the first piece, but like "Confronting the Sun," this story is loosely based on a partially (again about one chapter) written novel that I planned in high school but never completed!

Year 3, Meonik time, seven hours later

A husky voice scratches at the edge of my unconscious mind, laving warm air over my earlobe with each syllable, "I don't remember you being so warm."

Familiar arms pull me closer to a body that's generating heat. A stubbly chin scrapes over my bare shoulder, nuzzling into my neck. I sigh contentedly, trailing fingertips down thick forearms and pressing my hips to his so that sparks of desire sizzle across the nerves in my skin.

The black depths of sleep almost overcome me again when suddenly I'm shoved to the opposite side of the bed. My eyelids swing open in alarm even before harsh words are issued.

"Bloody hell! What am I doing here? What kind of stunt are you trying to pull, woman?" Spike shouts in the thick British accent I recall him losing hundreds of years ago. Apparently, his soul sort of forgot that little fact.

After musing about his accent, I feel the familiar rage, which only Spike can elicit, sweep through me. I whirl to face him, managing to twist the sheets around my legs. "Just who do you think you are, mister? You happen to have come to me in bed!"

Reminiscent of a time long past, Spike snorts acidly. "I highly doubt that."

"Well, you'll have to re-think that one because *you did*!" I cross my arms and glare at his scowling face. I don't like feeling this way about him. I don't like that he can't remember a day of our thousand years together.

"I bet I didn't do it without you influencing me. . . taking advantage of my weakened state." He sounds as stubborn as a little boy who wants to play outside all night and not come inside to take a bath.

"Oh, ho!" I laugh loudly, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. "*I* took advantage of *you*? That's a laugh. Mr. Snores-A-Lot who grabbed my hand in his sleep and wouldn't let go even when I tried to get in bed."

"And *what* were you doing so close to me that I could actually touch you in my sleep?" Spike demands before my nickname dawns on him. He adds, "And I do *not* snore!"

"Do so! And if you must know, I was covering you up with a blanket because you were shivering," I lie. I'm not about to tell him that I was drawn to him. . . that I merely wanted to look at him while he slept.

"Like I believe that one."

"You certainly don't believe much," I observe, pulling my hair back in a loose bun to get the locks off my face until I have time to shower and brush them.

He studies my movements with intense interest before shaking his head slightly as if pushing away a memory. His tone abruptly softens with his next words, "I don't know much about who I am. I'm in a strange place with strange people. I get told almost unfathomable tales about who and what I am or was, and you say that I don't seem to believe much?" He turns his back to me then, settling heavily on the edge of the mattress and putting his head in his hands.

Shocked, I remain motionless for a moment just watching him. He's not crying or moving. . . just sitting with an awful silence encasing him like a butterfly trapped in a cocoon.

Releasing myself from the sheets, I crawl on hands and knees to his still form. Being cautious, I start to wrap my legs around him so that my thighs are parallel to his and my arms slip around his waist. He immediately stiffens at my touch but soon relaxes against me. I lay my cheek in the concave spot between his shoulder blades and listen to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

After several moments, he reaches down, unknots my hands, and cups them in his palms. "I-I don't remember this. . . I don't remember *us.* I mean, we obviously have feelings for one another; I just don't know how deep they run."

He sounds so broken that I attempt to soothe him with my tone, choosing to ignore what he'd said on the edge of dreams. I don't want to tell him something he needs to discover himself. "You don't have to remember just yet. It's okay; you have plenty of time to adjust. Once you do, the memories will come flowing back."

He twists to view my face. "How did you do it?"

Letting the truth shine through my eyes, I murmur, "I don't know. They were just sort of impressions at first. . . , but later, I. . . when I found. . ."

My thoughts transport back to yesterday and my discovery. Fresh anger flares. Spike feels the change in my body and pulls away as I struggle to stand.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his eyes wide.

I storm around the room, not caring what Spike thought. He is going to have to get used to who I am at some point. Why not start now? I snatch up a pair of my moccasins and clean clothes, stomping into the bathroom. I'm not quite ready to let him see me naked, especially if he doesn't remember anything. Dragging a brush through my hair after I dress, I stomp back into the bedroom.

"What's wrong?" Spike repeats.

"Those three have more explaining to do," I inform him as I hurry out the door.

* * *

Year 3, Meonik time, the next evening

Spike and I walk side-by-side through the small forest to the large silver warehouse-type room where Thayne, Theos, and Thalia wait to prepare us for our journey back to Earth. Leaves and sticks crunch beneath our feet, and what I now know to be artificial moonlight streaks and dances between the giant green-cloaked arms above. The heady scent of life engulfs us. No place on Earth smells so exotic. . . not anymore.

My stomach churns with apprehension about the future and about leaving my sole supports in recent life. Spike must retain some part of his past identity because he wears what seems to be an impenetrable poker face, something he mastered after decades of practice. I almost feel sorry for him because of the two of us, he has almost nothing on which to base his trust in these beings.

Spike reads my mind. "Don't worry, Buffy. We'll make it through."

I should be comforting him! Instinctually, I clasp his hand briefly. He squeezes back and returns his hand to his pocket a little awkwardly. "I needed to hear that. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Are you still upset about earlier?" he wonders softly.

"Not really." When I confronted the invisible three, they gently explained that they recognized that I wasn't gaining my memories back fast enough, so they "allowed" me to discover and free Spike. Somehow I believe them. Maybe I just want to trust.

I shift the pack on my shoulder. In the leather bag, I stowed pictures of me. . . tan and smiling in my favorite environment. . . among the trees. I also have three different simple outfits and a page of pressed leaves and flowers for sentimental reminders. In contrast, Spike's arms are empty. . . like the blank slate of his mind.

"Buffy," Spike interrupts my reverie.

"Hmm?"

"I want to apologize for earlier. . . for snapping at you so harshly."

"It's all right."

Spike stops, and I continue moving past him without a backward glance. "No, it's not all rght," he insists from behind me. "It wasn't right of me. . . no matter how confused I am."

I pause and face him. Lit by a stray slice of moonlight, his blue eyes are awash with earnest, bold emotion. . . the way they've been since I've known him. I don't see the love. . . not yet. Moved by spontaneity, I throw my arms around him the way I've been longing to do since my memories fully returned. To my surprise, he hugs me tightly in return.

I stand on my tiptoes in my moccasins, and whisper in his ear, "Forgiven."

We are quiet the rest of the way to Thayne, Theos, and Thalia's living area.

Theos greets us warmly at the entrance to their quarters, "Hi. We've got some amazing parting gifts for you if you'll kindly step inside."

I giggle in spite of myself and inhale Theos's signature pine scent for what I realize might be the final time. "I wish I could hug you, Theos."

"It's the thought that counts, Buffy. Sometimes I wish I could hug you, too."

"But for different reasons entirely, right?" I tease my favorite of the three beings.

His voice is earnest, "No, not for the reasons you're thinking."

"Oh." Trying to lighten his mood, I blow a fake kiss to him. "Will a kiss do instead?"

His playful laugh trills through the air of the tiny living space. "Yep, I suppose it will have to."

Thalia and Thayne present Spike and me with gifts as soon as we find our way into the hangar-size room. Wrist-computers are slipped onto our wrists. Thalia presents us each with a tiny mechanical device, and Theos slips a ring made of an unknown metal onto our left ring fingers.

Surprised and touched, I gasp in awe, "What are these things?"

Airborne sugar breezes past my nose. Thalia's matter-of-fact voice explains, "The wrist computers are from Thayne; he took what he could decipher from your soul memories and fashioned the new computers, upgrading what would be expected given technological trends on Earth. Special feature: they're made of a material that will be virtually indestructible in your dimension."

I examine the pale grey machine on my wrist. The metal is more lightweight than I recall my previous computer being. "Wow. Thanks."

Spike nods but appears uncertain. "Thanks."

I offer him a smile. "Don't worry. I'll show you how to work it later. I bet it'll come right back."

"I hope so."

Thayne coughs for our attention. "The object Thalia gave you. . . that's a copy of your soul's essence. The only one we have left. We didn't want you to worry that we or someone else might make use of your soul. Keep it; destroy it. Whatever you want to do."

"We'll keep them very safe," I assure the three.

"And the ring?" Spike queries, holding his hand up and pressing his thumb onto the metal.

Theos responds first, "A little gift I made for you both. It has three uses."

"Three?" I am extremely curious.

"Yes. One is a barrier that you can activate whenever you want to appear invisible to other beings similar to your kind. The key to activating it is to practice a lot. . . using your mind."

"Practice?" Spike wrinkles his nose in disgust, and I have to hold back a grin. He's always hated practicing with technology. . . he just doesn't remember yet.

"Does it fool humans and demons?" I inquire thoughtfully.

"We think so," Theos acknowledges. "The second use is to transport back here. . . to our dimension. Once and only once."

"Really?"

"In case you or Spike ever get in trouble you can't find a way out of. We want to be able to help you."

"How do we use that function?"

Thalia cuts Theos off before he can say anything, "There's a code programmed into your computer. You have to say a short phrase aloud together. Use it carefully. If anyone else is touching you when you recite the words, they will come here as well."

Spike raises his eyebrows at me, uncertain how to react to a gift that means less to him than me. Tears fill my eyes because the endowment has extra significance for me.

"And what of the third function?" Spike speaks because I am stunned about what they've given us so far.

"The third is more symbolic than anything else," Thayne declares. "We read in your souls of a deep love for one another. Through your souls we also know that a ring is a symbol of eternity. We wanted you to share that bond. The rings are special, made of a precious metal found only in this dimension."

Spike and I lock eyes, and I attempt to search his for the love that I've always seen emblazoned in the blue depths. For an instant, I discover a crack in the barrier and uncover his deepest feelings, savoring the truth. He. . . the Spike of my memories and dreams. . . remains. Any doubts I had before melt away.

"I take it that the meaning resonates," Thayne notes in a low tone.

Spike and I have no words.

Thalia breaks the solemnity of the gift announcement, "It's time to go now. We'll be sending you five years into the future. . . five years after you were exposed to the sun. Enough time has passed for the mystical energy to rebuild enough for us to send you back. You'll be in the same city where you lived."

"But we haven't had a chance to say our goodbyes," I protest.

Theos is bright with false levity, "Goodbyes are so hard. We just want to part without them."

I accept their terms and force back fresh tears. "Okay."

With efficiency, Thayne begins the steps to open the portal between dimensions. Without fanfare, a small tear in the fabric between dimensions forms. A doorway is open to a new life. Am I prepared to take the next step? Glancing at Spike, I hold out my hand. He hesitates but promptly laces his fingers with mine.

The portal closes behind us as our feet plant firmly on Earth's soil.

TBC. . . Earth, 3007! What will Buffy and Spike find on Earth? Will Spike regain his memories?

Thanks for all the lovely reviews. . . they help me keep writing! ;o) You guys are amazing!!!

Sandy Eternal Devotion: http://darkprophecies.net/eternaldevotion

Part 5:

3007, the next evening

"Where are we going again?"

"To see an old friend of ours. . . mine," I remind Spike.

We've been walking outside the entire day because we don't have the proper identity markers to allow us to take public transportation. Although the cities vast buildings blocked a view of the sunset and much of the light, I am more comfortable under cloak of darkness. Nighttime in the city smells and sounds different than nighttime in my own little forest habitat, and I find myself missing the heady smell and the quiet rustle of the trees. Now hover vehicles race past overhead, and transport booths are used. Fewer people journey on foot anywhere, making traveling the streets more dangerous.

"How much further is it?" he wonders, casting me a glance.

I can tell his feet are beginning to ache like mine because of they way he's trudging along beside me. Even after three years being human again, one thousand years of being a vampire makes the transition to being more easily fatigued is not smooth. Of course, Spike doesn't remember this.

"Isn't any of this beginning to look familiar?" My tone is hopeful.

He frowns slightly. "Not really."

Abruptly, I stop in front of what looks like a large metal door that has to open manually. "We're here. Now remember that we've known this woman for a while. She's helped us in a pinch before."

My arm brushes Spike's as I lean across him to signal our arrival by touching the computer pad to the left of the door. He doesn't flinch away, and I'm grateful.

He eyes the entrance nervously. "Where are we again?"

I open my mouth to remind him what we're doing when I'm interrupted by the ancient sound of a creaking hinge. From behind a curtain of long, reddish-brown hair, a young-appearing woman peers at us uncertainly in the dark. She's actually well into her sixties, but she's considered young because most people live around two hundred years.

"Yes? What do you need?"

"Aimée, it's us, Buffy and Spike," I attempt to sound casual.

Recognition washes over Aimée's face, and a fair hand goes to her mouth. "Oh my g. . ., I thought you were dead for five years now! The Watcher's Council. . ."

I fill in the blanks, "Sent us into the sun, yes, but now something's happened, and we're back."

"And you're not vampires," she observes.

"No, but we need your help."

"Need me to fix you up, huh?" She stares at Spike. "What's up with you? You practicing up for the role of the strong, silent type?"

"No, I, um. . .," Spike trails off and looks at me for assistance.

"Another part of the story," I explain, reaching for Spike's hand. His large hand engulfs mine, and I squeeze his fingers in reassurance. "Spike doesn't remember who he is. Can we come in?"

She backs up as if she suddenly realizes that we're standing in the night. "Come in, please."

We follow Aimée into the cozy depths of her large home. The outward antiquity of the building is unrepresentative of the warmth and technologically equipped arrangement of the inside. Soon, we're sipping warm tea, and she's giving us the once over.

She surveys me first, so Spike settles into a cushioned chair in her workroom. "Hair needs a more functional cut. Way too long and not the latest trend. Clothes need changing, too." She fingers the computer on my wrist. "What manner of computer is this? I've never seen anything like it."

"And you won't. I received it as a gift where I was before."

Aimée knows better than to ask too many questions. "What about the wardrobe programmed in? What does it have?"

I activate the computer, finding the clothing area. "Not much of anything, I'm afraid. I was hoping you could give Spike and I a leg up on the latest trends."

"Sure, I'll see what I have." Across the room, she rummages through a file drawer full of clothing wardrobes. She produces two tiny processors. "One for you. One for Spike."

In minutes, Spike and I are clean and freshly clothed. I'm wearing a dark green filmy top that's off my shoulders with matching long pants and synthetic boots. Aimée has cut my hair until locks only reach my shoulder blades. A jeweled green barrette holds the hair out of my face. Spike is dressed more simply in navy and grey, and his unruly curls have been cut and tamed with Aimée's equipment.

His eyes shine at me. "You look beautiful."

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I blush for the first time in a millennium. "Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself."

"Now for your identities." Aimée goes to her work desk and begins preparing identification packages to allow us to travel more easily. "Are you married?"

"What do you mean?" I am a bit befuddled. "Married?"

"The rings, pet; she's talking about the rings." Spike takes my left ring finger between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh!" My stomach jolts with the realization that Spike is touching me and using a pet name with me.

Aimée is focusing on the machinery before her. "I'm putting that in. You're definitely married. And your names will be Scott and Devi Norton. I've got a couple of nondescript histories here as well. You won't be stopped or questioned."

"Thanks."

"You're very welcome, Buffy. You ready for the brain inserts?"

I nod, and Spike pales at Aimée's words. "B-brain inserts?"

"You've had them before, Spike. Trust me, they're quick and painless," I enlighten him.

By the time Aimée is satisfied with her work, a few hours have passed. She leads us to the door, and I reach over to hug her tightly.

"Thanks for everything, sweetie."

She returns the embrace and pulls away with last minute instructions. "Now, there's a transport station a couple of blocks east of here, and I've arranged for you a room to sleep at the public hotel. You each have job interviews in the morning, and a couple of living areas to go visit. Details are in your wrist computers. Are you sure you don't want to stay with me for the night?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Placing her hand over the door handle, she gives me a pointed look. "Now, we're having coffee and catching up on things once you get settled in, right?"

I nod. "It's a promise."

Aimée swings open the door with a loud squeal. The night is dark, but I can barely make out a familiar pale face in the shadows.

"Hello, my Spike."

My heart skips a beat when the familiar voice reaches my ears. . . Drusilla.

TBC. . . Thanks for all the wonderful reviews!!! Helps me keep writing the story! Glad you're enjoying the sequel!

What the heck is Drusilla doing here? Didn't Vanessa, the rogue slayer, kill her in "Confronting the Sun?" Stay tuned. . . . :o) Sandy

Part 6:

3007, a heartbeat later

"Do I know you?" Spike face betrays the innocence of his question as my thoughts whirl with the possibilities of demons on the Earth once more.

"You don't remember me? My poor Spike. You surely remember the love we shared. The stars still sing of it. Our song is never ending," Drusilla replies, slipping pale and wraithlike from the shadows into the light filtering onto the street from Aimée's home. Spike flinches only slightly when she places an open palm on his chest.

"No, I don't." Spike is being matter-of-fact, but Drusilla must hear and feel his heart pounding against his ribs.

"They sang me here. . . now." Drusilla is being strangely calm. "Why would they do that unless you were meant to be mine again?. . . Meant to be with me once again?"

I clear my throat. "Umm. In case you haven't noticed, Spike doesn't remember you."

She turns flashing eyes on me for an instant before returning to Spike. "Perhaps the stars have sent me here to help you remember, my Spike."

"Remember what?" Spike removes her hand from his chest, and she allows the motion.

"You may be human now, but you need to remember who you really are, love." Almost methodically, she transforms before him into full vampire face, fangs and golden eyes glinting. Spike's eyes widen, but I think I catch a glimpse of recognition deep inside.

With a roar, Drusilla lunges at me, slicing at me with razor sharp fingernails. Barely registered pain shoots daggers across my cheek as Drusilla's palm connects with my flesh. Without slayer or vampire strength, I tumble to the floor like a sack of potatoes, and Aimée screams my name. Blinking hard to combat the unexpected stars in my eyes, I refocus to view three perplexed creatures. Spike has a restraining hand on Drusilla's forearm. . . not that he could stop her.

"Buffy? Where did you go?" Aimée calls. Her eyes seem to pass right over me as she scans the shadows.

Stunned, I reach my fingers up to my cheek, drawing back blood- saturated fingers. Somehow, I find my voice, "I-I'm here."

"Where?" Spike calls, worry etching his features.

Bracing myself on the wall behind me, I struggle to bring myself to a standing position. "Here. I'm right here."

Their faces are painted with confusion. Only Drusilla is unconcerned.

Drusilla twines long fingers through Spike's and makes little clicking noises with her lips. She licks the forefinger and thumb of her free hand and raises them to the air as if she can find me with some sort of psychic power. Spike jerks his hand away as if concentrating on locating me. As Aimée inches toward the doorway, I start moving behind the vampiress in hopes of getting close enough to Spike to pull him away before she realizes what is happening.

"She is here. . . . She just disappeared. Where did she go? Where did she go?" Drusilla weaves her head from side to side, sing-songing, "Nobody knows. Nobody knows." She suddenly forces Spike's face an inch from her own. "Alas, the poor girl is gone. And that means, you're to go. . . with me." With her final words, her expression becomes unexpectedly cogent.

The truth breaks across Spike's face just as I make the same realization. "Buffy's invisible. . . . The ring!" He stares down at the band on his finger.

Like a raccoon that is attracted to shiny objects, Drusilla focuses intently on Spike's ring. "Pretty circlet." She daintily touches the metal and yanks her hand back as if burned, never removing her eyes from the object of psychic pain. "A powerful circlet. But what are the attributes of that power? We will find out. My Spike and I. And we shall harness its power for our own."

Once I'm certain that Aimée is safely within the walls of her home, I make my move and sweep my legs against Drusilla's, causing the vampiress to stagger back and brace herself against the wall behind her.

Swiftly, I land several hard kicks to her face and mid-section, severely overestimating my human strength in hopes of knocking her unconscious. Because of my mistake, Drusilla fluidly grabs my foot by the ankle, flinging me away from her. I flip backwards and land neatly upright.

While Drusilla is distracted by invisible me, Spike readies himself to lunge at her, palming a makeshift stake that Aimée must have passed him. As soon as he hears my feet hitting the pavement, he rushes her. For a brief moment, I'm jealous as I watch Spike spar, almost dance, with his ex- lover. Instinctually, they know each others' fighting styles, but Spike quickly tires because of the immense human effort required to maintain the equilibrium of a fight with someone with preternatural strength.

The battle ends abruptly with Drusilla pinning her former lover against the wall with the misappropriated stake to his heart. . . a stake that will kill a human just as easily as a vampire. Spike's chest is heaving against her arm as they stare each other down.

"The moon is irate and says you must come with me now," she whispers, her lips hovering close to his. Without moving her head, she lifts a hand and snaps her fingers sharply. . . once, twice.

Seven vampire minions seemingly detach themselves from the darkness. Two approach Drusilla and roughly take hold of Spike. Drusilla hands another minion the wood. "Dispose of that for me and ready the portable transport."

The vampire nods, and Drusilla turns back to Spike. "Come, Spike. We will be on our way. We have to follow the moon home. She's inviting us to the bear house for a window dressing party."

* * *

3007, after Drusilla's departure

"Aimée?"

Squinting into the night, Aimée pokes her head around her door. "Buffy?"

"They're gone, and they took Spike." I step toward her.

Her eyes find me. "And you're visible again." She takes me by the hand and pulls me inside.

"I'm not exactly sure how to trigger it." At her questioning look, I hold up my left hand and explain, "The ring has powers; one of them is the ability to turn invisible. And I'm not sure how to control it."

"Ah. Buffy, I haven't seen a vampire in five years, and that was a whole passel of them. What are they doing back?"

"I honestly don't know. But we need to find the slayer right away. Do you know where to find her?"

"She's moved quite a bit in the last few years, but I think. . . ." Aimée searches through her wrist computer. "Yep, I've got her latest."

"The slayer's still Reyni?" My heart jolts with hope at seeing the young girl. . . woman with dark curls and a spunky laugh again.

"Yep."

"I think we need her help."

* * *

3007, twelve minutes later

A small girl with huge chocolate-colored eyes and a mass of light brown curls meets Aimée and I at the entrance to Reyni's most recent address. She smiles widely, asking politely, "May I help you?"

I squat to the ground on her level. She has to be around four- or five-years-old and clutches a teddy bear to her chest. "Yes, we're looking for Reyni. . . Reyni Zaiman."

"That's my mommy. I'm Aydin. I'm this many years." She holds up five fingers.

"You're five?" I ask brightly. Reyni has a daughter. . . a beautiful daughter, and Reyni used a variation of Ayledan's name. I beam with pride at her as if she is my own.

Aydin nods. "Five. I'll go get Mommy. Wait right here?"

"Yes, we'll wait."

I rise and survey the entranceway to Reyni's apartment. . . neat and tidy hallway with pictures of flowers and light decorating the walls. A stray stuffed bunny lies to one side in a forgotten heap, and for some weird reason, the thought of Anya brings a small smile to my face.

Aydin pops around the corner again. "Who are you?"

Aimée and I exchange glances. I make a quick decision. "Buffy. Tell her it's Buffy."

Obediently, Aydin nods. "Buffy."

She scampers away only to return rather quickly, dragging her mother by the hand. In five years, Reyni hasn't changed much. She is dressed in a loose, multi-colored dress with brown sandals. Her hair is much longer, and her face and gait are still youthful. However, she possesses tightness around her eyes that I've never seen.

Her eyes light with disbelief and hope when she recognizes me. "B- buffy?" Before I have a chance to react, I'm engulfed in her arms. "It's you. Aydin told me who it was, but I didn't believe her. Oh my g. . . , is it really you?" She draws back but keeps her hands on my shoulders.

"Yes, Reyni, it's me." I grin at her.

"But how? I don't understand. You've been dead and gone for five years. And. . . ." She touches my cheek, and I note that we wear matching tears. "You're a-alive."

"Yes, yes I am. It's a long story. But right now, I need your help. Something's happened."

She becomes immediately serious. "What?"

"How long have the vampires been back?"

* * *

3007, thirty-three minutes later

Turns out that Bear Moon is an abandoned nightclub in a deteriorating area of the city. . . a place where vampires would naturally have gravitated in the past. Reyni knew exactly where to go when I told her the details of Drusilla's ramblings. Insane though she is, Drusilla is excellent at dropping clues, and she's definitely not in the slow group. She wants us here for some reason.

The place smells of old sneakers that have been worn too many times without being cleaned by a computer system. Since being closed to the public, the former club has been transformed into a storage warehouse. Judging from the amount of dust and cobwebs in the corners and on surfaces, the place is used to house objects and products that no one wants to claim. No windows adorn the walls, so I'm not sure if Drusilla's "window dressing" comment is insignificant or if it is something I am yet to understand.

The only bright spot in a nightclub is generally the bathroom, which is also probably the only place not currently being used for storage. Sure enough the lights are on in the restroom, and voices filter to us from that direction.

Crouching with Reyni and Aimée behind some poly-synthetic crates reminds me of the many nights Spike and I spent training the now full-grown slayer beside me. Reyni smiles knowingly at me.

"Ready?" Reyni asks with authority. She's definitely grown into her role, but I wonder just how much she's been through since Spike and I were sent into the sun.

"Ready as we'll ever be," Aimée offers, holding up her weapon, a neat black projectile device she invented that shoots bullets that release and inject wood upon impact with flesh.

If I were still the slayer, I would have preferred the stake that Reyni carries, but since I'm virtually human, I bear the same tool as Aimée. Together, the three of us are sure to make short work of the vamps. I only hope none of us ends up getting killed in the process.

"You sure you want to take the lead, Buffy?" Reyni wants to make sure that I'm okay to face a throng of vampires in my weaker human form.

I've confronted enough demons in my day. "Yeah. Let's go."

We charge the bathroom as strategically as we can through the single entrance and narrow doorway. The vampires are automatically alert to our presence and stare with glaring yellow eyes at our gall.

"Buffy," Drusilla drawls. "Welcome, my dear."

"I'm here because you wanted me here. Isn't that right?" I ask the question, so I can use the short delay to quickly survey the room. Expertly, I take in the location of everything in the room.

"Yes, I did," I vaguely hear. Spike is on her right, gagged and tied to the stall post, and nine-fanged minions line the two adjacent walls of the triangular-shaped room. "The muses said you would come if I said the right things."

"So, show me what you wanted to show me."

"After you lower your weapon." She eyes the device in my hand, which is pointed straight at her heart.

"Why should I lower my weapon in a roomful of vampires? Are you crazy? Oh, wait, you *are* crazy."

Hissing, Drusilla brings a long knife to Spike's throat. To his credit, he doesn't move or appear panicked. "Lower your weapon."

My arm moves slowly to my side. At least, Aimée and Reyni still have their weapons trained. I feel better with a slayer and a weapons tech at my back. "Show me."

Drusilla bows slightly with the regality of a princess in a royal court. I'll never have that kind of grace. "As you wish."

She turns her back on me in a display of disdain for our party's strength and walks deliberately the triangular corner of the smooth bathroom walls. She raises her right arm with her index finger and one sharp, scarlet-tipped fingernail extended. Growling deep in the back of her throat, she draws her arm rapidly to the ground as if sketching a line in the air.

Nothing happens for a few seconds.

Then, a small tear forms near the center of the air tracing Drusilla made. Winds begin blowing, and the vortex blossoms outward in a huge whirling circle. Drusilla staggers to Spike's side and raises the knife.

As she lowers the knife, I launch myself at her, knowing that Aimée's device won't fire properly against the gale-like force. I squint against the abrading force of the winds as a minion crashes into me. Barely glimpsing Drusilla bring the knife to Spike, I fall to the ground on my back but manage to fire a bullet into the vampire's chest.

He explodes into dust over me, and I clamor up to view Reyni wrestling with Drusilla. The vampiress had apparently been cutting Spike loose from his restraints because he is struggling to shrug them off his upper body. I momentarily note Reyni's grace and ease before joining Aimée in her battle with the remaining minions in the attempt to reach Spike.

Aimée and I manage to dust five more minions when Drusilla flings Reyni aside. She slumps to the ground unconscious near the vortex. The power from the swirling dimensional tear laps at her ankles and draws her body closer. Fearfully, I rush to her side and bend to grip her shoulders, pulling her away from harm.

"Buffy! Look out!"

Spike's voice startles me, and instinctually I jump just as Drusilla grabs my torso and rips me away from the now shrinking vortex. She hefts my body as if I'm weightless and hurls me into the wall.

Her whisper is harsh above the loud winds that are beating against my ears, "We will be coming. That's the message the muses wanted me to give you." She rakes her long nails down my back, drawing a cry of pain from me as I feel warm, wet blood pouring over my ribs.

A few sharp clicks of her heels later, she and her remaining minions are gone.

The wind ceases.

I want to move, but I can't. My body is screaming in a pain I haven't felt since before I became a slayer.

A gentle hand touches my upper arm and brushes the hair out of my eyes. "Buffy? Sweetheart, are you okay? Can you stand? We have to get you some help. Does this hurt?"

Strong arms reach under and across the front of my body in an effort to turn me over. In response, I groan and lift my head.

"S-spike? Which question do you want me to answer first?"

He winks at me, relief evident in the depths of his eyes. "Give me a crumb, at least, pet."

My stomach drops as he references what's now an amusing moment from our past. Our past? The pain is momentarily forgotten, and I struggle to sit up. Spike's arm slips around my waist to hold me up. "Y-you remember?"

He brushes his lips over mine. . . tender, affectionate, hungry, inviting. I lean in to deepen the kiss, but he pulls away.

His blue eyes are so close to my green ones that my breath catches in my throat. "Yes, love, I remember. . . . I remember every moment."

I reach up to caress his cheek. "That's wonderful news! The best news all day!"

We exchange smiles, and he nuzzles my neck.

"I love you." His words are so simple yet so needed.

"I love you, too. You don't know how much."

"Want the bad news now, pet?" His expression is serious.

"Bad news?" I glance around and gratefully view a very much alive Aimée assisting Reyni.

"Dru took my ring."

TBC. . . 3007 still, Who are the muses Dru is speaking of? How did Dru get here? And what's new with Reyni? Stay tuned!