CHAPTER 6 - DRAWN

DECEMBER 22, 2003

7:00AM

"Spike!" Buffy startled awake, then relaxed back onto her pillow that is if heart pounding can be considered that.

She tried in vain to remember the dream she'd just had, but all she had was images of him standing in his black coat and white hair, silhouetted against something, that seemed familiar. She closed her eyes again, hoping that she would go back to the dream. Anytime she dreamed of him, it was somehow comforting, a lot moreso than waking up and realizing that she was still alone, with no Spike to watch her back anymore.

Not that her back needed watching these days.

Even worse, it was opportunity forever lost. That possibility that they were finally, about to have a chance at something real. Real, without all the end-of-the-world-crisis-every-day-news-at-nine-and-putting-all-our-past-shit-behind-us-once-and-for-all-type-real. Forever lost. Just like he was.

The dream came again. She saw him standing there, his back to her. She knew him by the way he stood, with his telltale stance, proud, yet somehow vulnerable all at once.

He was looking up when she called to him, but he didn't hear her. She looked up, too, and saw the white steeple of a church off in a distance, but she couldn't tell what his vantagepoint was.

That's when she woke up. Sighing, Buffy wracked her brain trying to figure out where she'd seen this church steeple, because she was sure that she had.

She got up and went to her window, and drew back the curtains, letting out another sigh. In this distance she could see the red steeple of a church, the large turrets of Westminster Abbey, and another small yellow church down the road. One thing for was certain; London surely wasn't short on churches, or church steeples, for that matter.

She went over to the dresser where her purse sat and took out the pictures she'd taken from Spike's old home. She stared at the image of William as a young man, trying to superimpose Spike's face on top of it. What a contrast he had been to his human self! Spike surely had constructed as different a persona from that of William, as he possibly could.

And yet, something of William had survived in Spike, even before he'd gone to get his soul. She'd been privy to that, on the few rare occasions when she'd let him be gentle with her, after she'd been brought back from the grave and had sought solace from him for all the wrong reasons. And last year, after he had gone and fought to get his soul back, he'd been so much more restrained than she'd ever seen in him before, more refined, more...

She sighed one last time, staring at the face that looked out at the camera's lens almost 150 years ago, before putting the pictures back in her purse again.

An hour later, Buffy went downstairs, leaving a note for Dawn that she'd be home by late morning and they could go and finish their Christmas shopping then.

Not knowing exactly why, but telling herself that she needed to tell Margaret McTavish in person that she wouldn't be taking the room after all, Buffy rode the two buses across town, drawn to 22 Patshull Road. Taking a deep breath, she walked up the sidewalk and knocked on the door. She knocked again, this time louder and listened for a reply. She turned to glance out at the yard and noticed sadly, that the sign was gone.

"Well, what did you expect, Buffy?" she chastised herself? "Think that Margaret was just going to hold the room so you could pretend you were interested?"

Half of her really had thought about actually renting it, not so much to sleep in, but just to be able to come there and...what? Just spend time, she supposed.

She was just about to walk away, when for some reason, she turned back towards the door and tried the handle. It opened.

Buffy walked in and closed the door behind her, heart pounding, "Great, I'm breaking and entering, now," she mumbled to herself.

"Margaret? Mrs. McTavish?" she called out, not really expecting to hear a reply. She wandered into the kitchen and felt the teapot, it was still warm and she supposed that Margaret had already gone off to work.

Slowly Buffy found herself going up the stairs, pausing for a moment on the second floor, and then up to the attic. She had grabbed a torch on her way up and now carefully made her way across the floor to the far corner where the trunk was.

She opened it, and once more, laid the clothes against the inner surface of the lid, until she came to William's journal.

She propped herself up against the edge of one of the walls, then jumped, knocking over an old seamstress's mannequin, when she came in contact with a spider's web.

"Shit!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike stirred in his sleep, waking a bit upon hearing a crash and a mutter from somewhere above. Must be his landlord, he thought groggily, turning over on his side. But hadn't she left for work this morning? He pondered the noise for a moment, then decided it wasn't anything to concern himself with and went back to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy righted the mannequin, then unfolded the old quilt, putting it over her shoulders, before leaning back against the trunk.

She opened the journal and began reading where she'd left off before.

There was an entry almost every day, if only a few lines about what was happening in his life, which by the looks of it, hadn't been very much.

What was much more telling, had been the hopes and dreams he wrote of, the love he wanted so much to give the right person, the love that eluded him.

She took a quick look at the time, then continued reading.

16 October 1878

I dreamed of you again. I think they were dreams...yet they feel so real. I see you, who you are with so much clarity, the way you look from your long blonde hair, unlike anyone else's I know, to your strange clothes that are not like any I've seen.

I awoke after such a dream again and sneaked out of the house into the night, walking down by the river, looking for you my love. You must be out there somewhere, must be real, otherwise why would my heart ache so every time you come to me in a vision? It can't just be that this lonely poet is making you up to fill the void in his heart, can he?

Buffy swallowed hard and continued to read.

5 June 1879

It was a lovely day, as days go, but underneath its fineness was a darkness that has hurt my very soul. Mother has been ill for quite a time, and today Dr. Gull confirmed what we feared, she has consumption.

Mother put on a brave face for my sake, but I know that she knows that this isn't something that she shall probably recover from, as she's been sick for months already, though she wouldn't let me call the doctor until now.

I fear for her, she's already suffered so, and it is likely to only get worse. I want to be strong for her, I must be!

10 August 1879

Today was a horrible day. Not only did my employer tell me that he would be closing his business, leaving me without a position, as undesirable as it was, but when I arrived home, I found mother unconscious on the floor. I managed to bring her round and summoned the doctor straight away. He gave me a strong narcotic to administer her when she has a particularly hard time breathing, but that will only allow her to rest. It does nothing to improve her condition, which has seemingly taken a turn for the worse.

Had I not lost my position, I guess I would have been forced to leave it so I could care for mother, anyway.

Buffy finally came to the last few entries in the journal.

7 November 1879

I don't know why I feel such a sense of peace lately. I think it's because you came to me in my dreams again; blonde hair, hazel eyes, telling me that it won't be long anymore, that I'll be on my way to being together with you in the future.

The way you looked me in the eyes, as if you could see into my very soul! And then when your tiny hand reached out and you touched my face, I never felt such warmth from anyone before, never knew such desire when you gently kissed me and said "William," so softly that only my ears could hear it.

Where, oh where are you my love? I burn for you so much and I know you feel the same for me! Do not keep your identity a secret; please come to me soon, that we may be together at last!

29 November 1879

Alas, these dreams I've been writing of are nonsense!

I've been smitten by the real thing I fear and my head is in a cloud every time I see her. My friend Charles and I have gone calling on Philip recently. The second time, the loveliest creature I'd ever seen walked into the room and graced me with a smile. It turns out; it is Philip's younger sister, Cecily.

The last two times I've been there, Cecily was there only for a few minutes, but each time I could feel the connection between us, in the way she chose her words and in the way she shyly looked away from me, as if her feelings might overcome her.

Oh, I think my heart may burst from joy.

An unexpected pang of jealousy and loss coursed through Buffy.

26 December 1879

Mother has been feeling better of late. Perhaps it is the holiday season. She gave me a lovely writing set yesterday for Christmas and I gave her a bottle of perfume that she always liked. It didn't even make her cough, which I feared it might.

An invitation arrived by messenger this afternoon, inviting me to my friend Philip's home for a party on 2 January. I shall have to find something appropriate to wear, since I haven't much money to spend on clothes since losing my position. Mother will be able to advise.

2 January 1880

A new year is at hand, and with it, I feel a sense of hopefulness. I shall

concentrate on finding a new and substantial position, as to be a suitable prospect for the lovely Miss Cecily Adams.

I can hardly wait until tonight, for I've decided to tell her of my feelings, which I'm sure she already knows and reciprocates.

I feel my heart is soaring on love's gossamer wings.

There were no more entries after this one. Buffy stared at the last page, a lone tear rolled down her cheek.

"Stupid bint!" she said, bitterly, "why didn't you realize she wasn't worth it, William?"

Buffy looked down at her watch and reluctantly started to put back the items into the chest. She was more than tempted to take the journal with her, in case Margaret wouldn't let her in to look at it again, but she just couldn't do it

If she'd been honest with herself, she'd have known that it wasn't just the journal or the photos that were drawing her back here, but the house itself, the feeling that there was some piece of the puzzle about Spike that she needed to find out.

Buffy made her way back to the second floor, hesitating before continuing down to the main floor. Slowly, she walked down the hall to the bedroom that had been William's and stopped. She started to reach out her hand towards the door, but then withdrew it, her heart pounding suddenly.

Spike had heard someone come down the stairs from the attic and now he saw the shadow of feet that had stopped in front of his bedroom door. What was this then? Didn't make any sense that his landlord would just be standing there. Or maybe she was just looking at something else in the hall. That must be it.

Slowly, quietly he got out of bed and walked over to the door.

In the hall, Buffy thought she'd heard the bed creak ever so slightly and suddenly remembered that the sign in the yard had been removed. Perhaps, Margaret's new boarder had moved in. She listened closely, but didn't hear anything else. Must have been her imagination, ghosts of the past and all that. There couldn't be someone living here already, could there? She put her hand up to the door. Wouldn't hurt if she just had a little peek inside, would it?

Spike walked quietly to the door, his senses on full alert now, as equally sure his mind was playing tricks on him, as he felt a familiar presence nearby.

Buffy had just started to turn the doorknob, when she heard the slightest creak in the floorboards beyond the door, her spidey senses tingling with a familiar sensation.

Spike put his hand out to the doorknob, just as he saw it turn ever so slightly.

Buffy froze as she felt the tiniest bit of resistance.

Spike closed his eyes; his hand glided upward, caressing an invisible spot, mere inches between him and the warmth, the aching, and the longing he felt emanating from the other side, at least what his imagination wanted it to be.

Buffy held her breath, listening. Unconsciously, her hand lifted upwards, then stopped; suspended in the air at a point that just 'felt' right. She closed her eyes, hand caressing the image she could almost sense, beyond the door. She could almost feel his face lean into her touch, cool planes imprinting and searing themselves once again on her palm, branding the memories there forever.

Spike drew in an unneeded breath and brought his hand down to the doorknob.

Buffy was startled out of her reverie by the soft sound of the knob being turned.

"Oh my God!" she mouthed to herself, quickly bolting down the hall, down the stairs, and out of the house. What had she been thinking coming here?

It had started to pour sometime while she'd been inside. Putting her jacket over her head, Buffy ran down the sidewalk and crossed the street, going back the way she'd come.

Spike heard footsteps retreating, down the hall and the stairs, followed seconds later by the front door being closed. Startled, he stood there for a moment, before darting over to the window.

Before turning the corner, Buffy looked back at the house one last time, up to the second floor, noticing a flutter in the drawn curtains.

By the time Spike got to the window, all he could see was someone running down the street, jacket above her head to shield her from the downpour. But it didn't shield her from his memory of the way she moved, "You," he whispered, and as if she'd heard, she turned to look at the house. He quickly closed the curtain. When he looked back out, the street was empty.

Spike slowly walked over to the door and opened it and inhaled deeply. It was her! Buffy! She'd been here, right outside of his door, within reach.

He slumped down in the hall, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them to himself, as he tried to make sense of it all.

END CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7 - FOUND

December 23, 2003

4:30AM

Spike walked back to the house dejectedly. He'd been looking for Buffy for the last two days, without any luck.

Yesterday, when he was sure she'd been there, he'd left as soon as it was safe for him to do so and tried to trace her scent.

"Bloody buggerin' rain," he swore when he could only, just barely follow it for a couple of blocks before it faded completely.

This morning, he'd made himself stay awake, hoping that she might come again. Finally about 10:00AM, he'd risen and gone into the attic to see what it was that she had been doing there.

Her scent was strong there and it led him directly to the chest.

"Bugger!" he whispered, as he recognized the familiar quilt that had been his from the time he was a tiny lad. He put it to his face and inhaled, as memories of his life as a human came back to him; him as a boy, losing his father, going to school, going to college, mates, his mother, her illness, loneliness, his last Christmas, Buffy. Buffy?

He inhaled again, "Buffy," he whispered.

Next, he looked at the old clothes, remembering how his mother looked in the dress, how he had once looked in the old-fashioned shirt and trousers. He shook his head, as he felt the once familiar material, so foreign to anything they sold today.

Finally, he saw the journal and took it out. It took him almost an hour to read through it, his mind reliving the pain he'd felt when he'd written during some entries, embarrassed at others. God, had she read all this drivel?

He was shocked when he read about the dreams he used to have. He'd never thought of those, since he'd become a vampire.

Had he dreamed of her even then? Before she'd even existed?

And so, tonight, like last night, he'd spent the early hours going through as many cemeteries and neighborhoods as he could, hoping that he'd catch her scent, better still, that he'd run into her; but it wasn't to be.

December 24, 2003

10:00AM

"Buffy!" Dawn said, holding out her hand impatiently.

"Oh, sorry Dawn," she said, pulling off two pieces of tape and passing them to her.

"Sheesh!" Dawn said, taping the ends of the wrapping paper together. "Where's your head at these days?"

Buffy and Dawn had taken the opportunity when everyone was out in the middle of the afternoon, to wrap their presents at the dining room table.

"I don't know, Dawn. Guess I've just been thinking about home, know what I mean?"

Dawn stopped and looked at Buffy, "Yeah, I have too."

Buffy nodded and they went back to wrapping. Well, Dawn wrapped and Buffy handed her the tape, which at the moment seemed almost beyond her level of concentration.

"You miss him, don't you?" Dawn asked softly.

"Huh?" Buffy said, not sure she'd heard the question.

"You miss Spike, don't you?" Dawn repeated.

"Yeah, I miss him Dawn. I miss Spike," she said, exhaling his name as if she'd been holding it in too long.

"Me, too," Dawn said, quietly.

Buffy looked up at her, and for the first time, saw the understanding in her eyes.

"Thanks," she said, looking back down at the tape, as her eyes blurred.

"William? Are you in?" Margaret McTavish asked from the hall.

Spike rolled over and looked at the clock, it was nearly 3:00PM.

"I'm here. Do you need something?"

"I told you about Mr. McTavish, right? Well, the convalescent home is letting me bring him home this evening. I was just wondering if you'll be here in a couple of hours. I could really use the help in getting him from the car to the door. He'll need to be carried up the stairs, as he's in a wheel chair and I haven't had a chance to put a ramp in yet, and the portable one I've got is on such a terrible incline, that I don't think I'll be able to..."

"That'll be fine, Margaret," Spike answered, "I won't be going out until much later; be glad to help."

Margaret let out a sigh of relief, "Thank you, William. Well, I'll be on my way then, expect us home in a couple of hours, then."

"Alright, I'll be here."

They finished wrapping the presents and Dawn announced she was getting ready for the evening. Translation: she'd be monopolizing the bathroom for the next 2 hours or more. Thank goodness there was at least another one on the main floor.

Buffy took the opportunity to wrap Dawn's gift. That done, she wandered from room to room, uneasy, like a tiger in a cage, wanting...something. Needing...well, what she needed wasn't possible anymore. Rather, who she wanted.

She'd tried to put the strange feelings she'd had the other morning, standing on the other side of William's old bedroom door out of her mind.

Tried, but didn't succeed. It was all she thought of, or rather, all she tried not to think of, constantly. His presence had seemed so tangible. Of course, she reasoned it was because she was in the house he'd grown up in, reading his journal, looking at old pictures of him.

In general, making herself nuts.

She found herself in Giles' library and once more, took down the volumes that contained information about William the Bloody.

"Okay, Buffy, think like you're in research mode!" she told herself, frustrated that she'd come across nothing new that she hadn't already looked at.

There were only a few mentions of his parents, but as she read the information again, she realized that she'd skimmed over a part that she hadn't paid attention to before. His father was buried in Highgate & Kentish Town Cemetery. There was no mention of his mother or of him.

"Well, duh! No bodies."

None-the-less, Buffy took out the map and cross referenced it with the house on Patshull Road, and found it not too far away.

"Thank you so much, William," Margaret said, after he'd helped her get Harry McTavish into the house.

Spike nodded, settling Harry into his wheelchair in front of the fireplace.

"Harry is, too. Just can't say it," she said, smiling softly down at the man who she'd promised to love, rich or poor, in sickness and in health.

Spike looked at her questioningly.

"He had a stroke a couple of years ago," she said, "but he seems to be getting a wee bit better these past couple of months, so we have hope. Isn't that right dear?"

There was no response from Harry, but his eyes looked up at her and she nodded in recognition of their silent communication that only they were privy to.

Margaret looked at Spike, "Do you have plans for this evening? If not, you're welcome to share our table, you know."

"Thanks, Margaret, kind of you, but I'll be shoving off in a bit, someone I'm hoping to run into."

"Oh," she said and smiled knowingly at him.

He looked at her as if to say something, then looked away.

"William?"

"What?" he asked, looking back at her.

"Good luck."

He nodded. "Thanks."

Dinner had been over for a while now; presents had been given and received. Dawn had gone off to a party at the house of a new friend of hers, Willow had gone over to spend the rest of the evening with the coven, and Giles had said goodnight shortly thereafter.

Buffy walked out the back door and stared up at the cold winter sky for a few minutes.

Nodding, as if she'd gotten a response to an answer, she went back inside, pulled on her boots, grabbed her coat, and walked out into the night.

Spike walked out the front door with a determination he hadn't felt since he'd first come to Sunnydale to hunt for the slayer. Well, tonight he was a hunter too, except instead of killing her, when he found her he would grab her into the biggest hug she'd ever had and never let her go again!

It took Buffy almost two hours to get to Highgate & Kentish Town Cemetery. First buses weren't running on a regular schedule, being that it was Christmas Eve; so she'd had to walk. Secondly, she was unfamiliar with the area and she'd taken a few wrong turns, before finally finding it.

Now that she was there, she realized the daunting task that it would actually be; there must be thousands upon thousands of burial plots in this old cemetery. None past 1885, or so it seemed, from what she could see of the headstones. Not only that, but the cemetery looked like it hadn't been tended in over 100 years, and most of the headstones were either knocked over, overgrown with weeds, or crumpled altogether.

"Shit!" Buffy said, as she tripped over yet another fallen headstone.

Finally, she stopped moving and closed her eyes. Time to use some of that slayer instinct.

She stood as still as the gravestones that surrounded her and concentrated on the name of Henry William Towe and on the images of both William and of Spike.

Buffy opened her eyes, turned to her right and now walked with a purpose until coming to a stop about 3 minutes later.

She bent over and started pulling weeds and sod from the earth, until her knuckles hit something hard. She dug now with a single-minded purpose until she had unearthed what she'd been looking for.

The tiny stone read, William Henry Towe, 1838 -1860, Beloved Husband to Margaret, Beloved Father to William.

Buffy did some quick calculations. Henry had been only 32 when he died, William, only 8 when he was left fatherless.

She started to dig to the left and right of Henry's tombstone, not knowing if there would be anything to find, pulling at the weeds and sod, as if possessed. Finally, her knuckles once again came in contact with granite.

Tears came to her eyes, as she finally uncovered what she had been looking for. Two more gravestones with the names Anne Blakinship Towe, nee Chance, 1836 - ? and William Chance Towe 1852 - ?

It was all the gravestones said. These looked different from Henry's and she figured that perhaps at some point, a family member sure that Anne and William were gone for good, had paid for these to be placed next to Henry's.

She sat back on her legs, put her head in her hands, and finally had the good cry that she'd been holding back for so long.

Spike was like a man or demon possessed. He tore up the streets in full vamp mode, not caring that he might be seen, not that he was, considering most people were at home or church that night. It was just that in vamp mode, he was better able to detect any telltale molecular traces of her.

He just had turned the corner, starting down yet another road, when he came to an almost screeching halt, not unlike Wiley Coyote, at the edge of the cliff, just before he inevitably falls.

He inhaled deeply, "Yes!"

It was definitely her scent and it was strong.

Spike followed it until he came to the gates of the cemetery. He couldn't remember why they seemed familiar, only that they did.

He walked in and let his vampire senses totally take over. He tuned to the right and followed the path she'd taken.

It wasn't long before he heard the subsiding sound of her sobs. His throat tightened in response to her pain, as it always did.

Suddenly he stopped; there she was 100 feet or so in front of him, knelt over something. He'd found her!

All his ideas of suddenly swooping in hugging her like some bleedin' hero back from some battle went out the window. He stood there uncertainly for a few minutes, just taking in the vision of her, which up until this time, had been just that.

"Not vision mate, reality. Now what are you going to do? Stand there all night staring like some poncy git, or...?"

He didn't have an answer for his own question, still he moved forward, quietly, a few steps at a time until he stood right behind her.

Although dark, he could still see well enough to see what it was she was kneeling over. His own eyes grew moist as he made out the writing; dead father, dead mother, dead self.

And there she was, Buffy, kneeling over his grave, grieving for him.

He should've never come here! Let her have her grief, then be done with it, move on with her life. He was just about ready to back up, run away, pack up and return to L.A., when he heard her whisper.

"Almost feels like you're right here with me, Spike. It just doesn't feel like you're gone," she said, shaking her head, shoulders starting to tremble ever so slightly.

He couldn't help it, he wanted to, truly he did! His hand came up, until his fingers lightly touched her hair.

"I am, Buffy," he whispered.

She stopped moving, breathing; every cell of her being intent on the three words she'd heard.

She relaxed, and started to laugh a bit. She reached to the back of her hair, put her hand out, willing her mind, her ghost or whatever it was, to make contact with her again.

Like a man in a dream, he stared at the hand she offered, then took it in his, giving it a squeeze, "Buffy," he managed to barely squeak out.

"Spike. I miss you so much...it's been so lonely without you, never knew how much I loved you until you were gone, how much a part of my life you'd become, how much..." she laughed bitterly, "...always was a day late and a dollar short, huh, Spike?"

He couldn't answer her, only stand there, his heart in his throat, the feel of her hand in his.

Buffy started laughing suddenly, "Wonder what someone would think if I add the date 2003 to the inscription for when you died," she said.

Before he knew it, he was chuckling, too, "Be pretty shocked, I'd say, pet."

Buffy yanked away from his hand, turning suddenly, as she went over onto her seat.

"Sp..Spike!?!"

Spike stared at her, shocked as well. Slowly he nodded, "It's me, luv."

"Spike?"

He nodded again, the lump in his throat preventing any other words. He knelt down on his knees in front of her and slowly put his hand out to her face.

"Spike?"

"Buffy," he whispered, his eyes never leaving her face.

Suddenly her hand drew back in a fist and she smacked him as hard as she could in the nose.

"Ouch! Bloody hell, Slayer!" he yelled, wiping at the blood coming from his nose and looking at her disgustedly, "Always the nose, why the hell did you go and..."

Buffy let out a little cry and then she dived for him, tackling him back to the ground and covering his face with kisses, "Oh my God! Spike! It is you! I'm so sorry, I just had to be sure. I couldn't believe it!"

He held her back for a minute to look at her, a small grin appearing on his face, "Could've just asked me, pet. Then again, now I know you're really here, too," he said, ruefully wiping a bit of blood from his nose.

She reached down and took his face in hers and kissed his nose.

"Ouch."

"No more ouchies, Spike, I promise, never again!"

"God help me, I love you Buffy. I..."

She crashed her mouth to his, silencing him with her kisses, until she gasped for air.

"Oh God Spike, how? When? Wha...?"

"Tell you all about it luv, if you want, but how about we get out of here, first? Find a place a little better suited for...um...that is if you want...?" his eyes looking up at her with a touch of uncertainty, despite everything.

"I want," she said, smiling softly at him. "I want you Spike. I want all of you, all that you have to offer, all that you are."

And then he smiled at her in the most beauteous way, his whole face lighting up with a joy she'd certainly never seen from him before, maybe not from anyone before; that was how rare it was and it was all for her.

"Oh God, Spike!" she said, laughing and crying all at once herself, before she once again, pulled his mouth to hers.

END CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8 - EXPLANATIONS

Holding hands, they walked out of the cemetery, Spike taking a right at the gate. Buffy didn't ask where they were going, didn't care. All she knew was Spike was here, alive; nothing else mattered.

She asked how long he'd been 'back,' and he told her all about his coming back as a ghost, connected to the amulet and Wolfram & Hart, then suddenly becoming corporeal, in a flash, origins and reasons, still unknown.

"You should've told me," she said, softly.

"Wanted to. Minute I came back asked about you, wanted to know that you'd made it out of The Hellmouth, that you were alright. I wanted to see you, God, I wanted to see you," he said.

"Why didn't you let me know? I would've come, Spike, you have to know..."

"I know, pet. Couldn't though. I didn't know what was going to happen to me, was sort of touch and go for a while, felt like I was fading out of existence, you know?" he said, skipping over the part where he almost got sucked into hell. "Didn't want you to come to me, only to lose me again, knew you'd suffered already. I couldn't have taken it, if I was going to cause you any more pain."

She was silent for a moment, thinking about what he'd said.

"But what about when you became corporeal? Why didn't you try to find me then, Spike? Let me know?"

He took a deep breath and told her about the Shanshu Prophecy that Angel and him had thought they were fighting over.

"Bloody Mountain Dew," he spat the words out.

"But you won the fight with Angel, huh?" she looked at him and smiled, which earned her a big smirking grin.

"Yeah, I beat the poofter for once. Didn't make me human, but felt pretty good all the same," he said, standing just a little straighter, especially since Buffy seemed to not mind that he had.

"Now what?" she asked.

"You mean about the prophecy? Sod it all if I know! Don't know if it's real, don't know if that's my destiny or not," Spike said, shrugging.

They walked along the streets, smiling at each other and the Christmas lights that they pointed out to each other.

Finally, Buffy turned to Spike, stopping, but still holding onto his hand, "So, what made you decide to come, finally?"

"Found the letters you'd been sending to Angel, when I was in his office one day. Had 'em hidden away...I read what you said, Buffy and I knew then, in my heart that you really loved me, that you'd meant what you'd said to me when I was about to be roasted."

"Oh Spike, you have no idea how much that hurt me," she said, looking away.

"When I told you that I loved you and you said, 'no you don't, but thanks for saying it.' I've replayed those words dozens of times. Hundreds even, trying to figure out if you really didn't believe me when I told you, or if you had just denied it in order to get me to leave," her voice broke, as tears coursed down her cheeks. "Or if I had simply told you too late. That you died not believing..."

Spike reached up with his other hand, to caress her cheek, "There, there pet, it's alright now, everything's going to be fine now."

"Did you?" she asked, searching his face.

"What?"

"Believe me? Did you believe me, Spike?"

He took his time answering her, "Wanted to believe you with all my heart. At that moment, though, you were partially right, I didn't want you to feel you had to stay with me, because you did love me. I knew I was going to die, and didn't see any sense in both of us going. Pretty simple, that, Buffy. Just wanted you to live. For both of us."

"And the moment I came back, I remembered what you'd said, had a lot of time on my ghostly hands to think on it, too. Wanted to believe what you'd said, but then..."

"Then what?"

Spike tensed a bit, "Then I was working everyday with your ex, saw his unshakeable belief that he was all destined for not only the buggerin' Shanshu reward, but for a happily ever after with you, too."

"Then when we fought over the cup of soda, well, we each said some pretty low-down stuff to each other. I told him that I was nothing like him, that I'd fought for my soul, didn't have it forced on me by a Gypsy curse, and he told me that the reason you never loved me was because I wasn't him," he said, his eyes not meeting hers.

"Stupid vampires," she muttered under her breath. "And you believed him, did you?"

"Well I...I didn't know what to think, Buffy. Honestly, I didn't. I mean, you'd told me you loved me, but not before that day, that moment..."

"I thought that even before that moment, you would have known how I felt, we spent the night, no, nights in each others arms, the love was there, Spike, even if I didn't say it. And I'm so very sorry I didn't say it; say it a lot."

"I know. I kept thinking about that time with you, too. And other times, when I thought for sure you loved me, the way you looked at me, so tenderly, the way you seemed to care."

"But you still weren't sure?"

"Well, then there was the memory of you standing in that crypt kissing Tall, Dark & Forehead the second he showed up..."

"I know," she said, chagrined by the memory of that momentary slip in sanity, "you have no idea how much it shamed me, to think that I could have hurt you so with that..."

"Because I saw you?"

"No, because I wasn't true to my heart, I was weak. Please believe me, I felt guilty for that, even before I knew you'd seen us. And it didn't mean anything. Angel and I are only friends; there is no more Angel and I, no more wishing that there ever will be an Angel and I. Not even if he becomes human."

Spike's eyes widened, "No? You sure about that?"

Buffy nodded and stepped closer to Spike, "I'm sure, Spike. Even if you hadn't come back," she said, reaching up to touch his face, "I'd never want a relationship with Angel again."

"Why?" he asked, voice low.

"Because, I just don't love him like that anymore. I loved him as a girl, in all the

fresh-faced, new slayer, first love, bad boy seeking redemption-y kind of ways."

Spike laughed, "Hey, treading on my unfortunate lot in life now, pet."

Buffy laughed, too. "Present company totally excepted! Anyway, as I was saying... all sorts of reasons that don't hold for me now. See, it's like this, Angel loved the ideal of me, he didn't ever really know me, not as the girl, certainly not as a woman. Not like you did. Not like you always did. Not like you do."

Spike smiled, "He wears lifts, you know. Stupid hair, too."

Buffy laughed, "I'm not going to speak unkindly of Angel. He's been a good friend, just not what I want in a boyfriend, a lover," she said, gazing up at his blue eyes.

He swallowed hard. Which wasn't the only thing that was hard, at the moment.

"He also made unilateral decisions for me, and that's one thing I can't abide; those that think they love me, taking decisions out of my hands. You're the only one who really has never done that. Present situation, possibly, being the exception to the rule."

He looked at her, "Oh, about my not letting you know? I'm sorry Buffy..."

"It's okay Spike, just never, ever do that again, do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Slayer," he said, as his lips brushed against hers, "loud and clear."

They started walking again, and Spike told her how he'd flown over in the cargo hold of Wolfram & Hart's plane.

"So, what happens if Angel figures out, or finds out how to fulfil the prophecy for real?"

"I really don't understand what you mean, pet."

"I mean, don't you want to be there to challenge him for it? So you can have a chance to become human? According to what you told me, you're as qualified as he is at this point."

"Buffy," he turned to look at her, "I don't give a rat's ass about that bleedin' prophecy or about becoming human. Not if it means I have to be away from you for another minute. I'd just rather take my chance right here and right now with you, rather than on some pipe dream that may or may not come to pass."

"That is, unless you think I should...go back there and take my chance. I mean, I can't give you what a human man could; normal life, walks on the beach at noon, little slayers, well, not slayers...you know what I mean."

Buffy shook her head emphatically, "No, I don't want you to go back Spike! As for normal...normal? Look at me Spike and then look up the definition of normal; I guarantee you won't be finding my picture next to the caption. Slayer, that's where you'll find my picture. Maybe not the one and only anymore, which is more than fine by me, but there none-the-less. As for walks on the beach, I prefer mine at midnight anyway, and little slayers...well, haven't given that much thought, but if I was pushed to, I'd say that there's lots of little slayers out there without a family of their own."

Spike stared at her, words eluding him, momentarily, "Have I told you how much I love you?" he finally asked.

"Not in the last 3 minutes, Spike," she said, giggling, the sound which was music to his ears.

"I love you, Buffy Summers!" he said, voice filled with emotion.

He cleared his throat, "I love you Buffy Summers!" Spike shouted. She laughed as he grabbed her and spun her around, until he pulled her roughly into his arms. "I love you, Buffy Summers," he whispered into her ear, "and for the record, you are the one and only. You're the one Buffy."

END CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9 - CHRISTMAS EVE IN WILLIAM'S ROOM

They stopped in front of the house at 22 Patshull Road. Spike looked over at Buffy shyly and she smiled, then they started talking all at once.

"I knew it!"

"I sensed you."

"I was drawn here."

"I heard you, felt you."

Buffy looked at him in wonder and shook her head. She had turned around to face him and happened to look up; there it was the church with the white steeple.

"I saw you in a dream," she said, softly, "I saw the steeple from the vantagepoint of your bedroom window, but I didn't know where it was."

He nodded, "Been there always, even when I was a boy."

"Figures, everything is so old in England," she said, laughing.

"Even me," Spike said, smiling at her.

"Shall we go in now?"

Buffy nodded, then stiffened, "What's Margaret going to say?"

"Oh, don't think she's probably still up. Her husband came home from the convalescent home for the holiday. Helped bring him in," he told her.

"I was here before...oh wait, guess you must have known that, since I just used her name and you didn't ask me how I knew it."

"Well, she did mention an American girl who looked at the room, name of Anne Winters," he looked at her, rolling his eyes.

"Lame, huh?"

"Yeah," he said, softly, "so lame in fact, that I thought it couldn't even be anything other than a coincidence, a joke, a..."

She kissed him, her hands wrapping around him, under his duster, enjoying the feel of his back under her hands, the muscles rippling underneath his T-shirt...

"Um...Slayer?" he said, breaking the kiss, "maybe we should..." he nodded towards the house.

Cheeks flushed, she nodded her agreement, "Yeah."

Margaret McTavish had woken, to use the loo. First she'd checked on Harry, asleep on the couch, herself in a sleeping roll on the floor next to him, since getting him to the second floor would have been too much of a chore. On the way back, she'd peaked out the window, to see if there were still Christmas lights making the street cheery. Her neighbors usually let them go all night on the eve of the 24th.

She looked across the street and saw a couple embracing, oblivious to anything but themselves. She sighed, remembering what it felt like to be young and in love. She swallowed down the little voice in her head that railed against the fates, the one that reminded her that it wasn't fair that her husband should've had such a thing happen to him, to their lives. They should've been enjoying their middle years in comfort and...well, whatever went along with that.

As the couple broke apart, she could see that it was William, from his shock of white hair, "Ah, found who you were looking for I see," she said softly. The woman looked familiar to her, too, as she they turned and started for the house.

"Hope they're not going to be noisy," she said, the softened, "what the heck, it's Christmas Eve, and if William has found some company...

Just then the door opened, and Margaret found herself in the uncomfortable position of standing there, looking like the perpetual nosy landlord.

Buffy and William had tried to quietly slip in, but as soon as they opened the door, there was Margaret.

"Um...good evening William, and...Miss Winters?" she asked, surprised, "you know each other?"

Spike nodded, "Yes, Miss Winters and I go back quite a ways," he answered.

"Well, that's quite...a surprise now, isn't it? Both of you come looking for a room and winds up you know each other."

They stood there staring at each other in awkward silence.

"How's Harry doing?" Spike finally asked.

"Oh, he did quite well. We had a nice dinner and then got him to bed," she said, motioning to the couch. "I'm sleeping down here tonight, as well."

"Of course."

"Thank you for asking, William."

"Could I speak to you for a moment, Margaret?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Be right back," he said, giving Buffy's hand a squeeze.

Spike and Margaret went out to the kitchen.

"Margaret, I just wanted to make sure that it was alright that Bu...Anne spends the night here. I know it's really only a single room, but..." he stopped, unsure of what to say next.

For some reason, Margaret suspected that this wasn't just some fling that he was having with an old friend he'd run into, but something much, much deeper than that.

"You love her, don't you? Not that it's any of my..."

"Yes. I do. Always have, always will. Never thought I'd see her again, never thought..."

"It's okay William. It's fine. You really didn't even have to ask me. It's not like I expected you to not have a social life once you moved in. But it's very thoughtful of you to have asked."

"Thank you, Margaret."

She smiled at him, "Go on then, don't keep your girl waiting now!"

He reached over and gave her a small peck on the cheek, then turned and went back out to where Buffy still stood by the door.

Spike grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the stairs, "Let's go. I'd ask you to follow me, but seeing as you already know the way," he teased quietly.

She ran with him up the stairs and down the hall to his room.

Spike fumbled in his duster jacket, trying to find the key, as Buffy pinned him against the door, kissing his neck, running her hands down his back, and trying her best to put her leg around his hip.

"Bloody hell woman!" he said, panting, "let me get the..."

"Spike," she said, as she rubbed her body against his.

"Key. Oh God, Buffy!" he moaned, and lifted her up, back against the wall, as his tongue pushed into her willing mouth.

"Spike."

"Door. Key."

"Find it?"

"Yeah, got it, let...go. Fuck woman, you're killing me," he groaned as she was doing things to him, making him feel things, right there in the hall he didn't even remember were possible.

He got the key in the door, and with Buffy's legs still wrapped around him, he finally got them both inside the room.

"Spike," she said, as she almost lost her balance, until he turned around and backed her into the other side of the door now.

Somehow he got a candle lit, then got them to the bed, falling on top her as they did.

"Uhh!" she grunted, as he landed on top her.

"You alright pet?" he stopped, a look of concern crossing his face.

"I'm okay," she said, reaching up, her hands lovingly traced his face, fingers remembering its sharp planes and contours. Her fingertips softly covered every square inch of his face, from the rounded little part of his chin, to his sensuous lips. Along the straight line of his nose to his eyes and over his scared eyebrow. Over his forehead and his ears, and back to his cheeks again, she touched him and remembered the topography of her lover's face, smiling at him as she did.

"Buffy," he choked out a whisper, moved to tears by the intimacy of her touch, as much as he'd been aroused by her sensuality.

"Spike," she spoke his name like no other, like a warm breeze had just blown in from a distant shore right, onto and into his soul, "make love to me," she said, putting her arms under his duster, as she tried to glide it off of him. "Make love to me like you know that I love you, like you believe that I love you, like you know that we're going to last. Make love to me like I'm your girl, because I am, Spike, I am your girl."

Spike looked at her with a combination of awe and every other happy, joyous emotion that she had wanted to be able to give him, wanted him to have, ever since she'd fallen in love with him. Ever since she'd realized it sometime last year, but the timing had sucked, and then, just when they'd been on the cusp of something wonderful, it had been too late.

Or so she had thought.

Until tonight.

And then Spike was kissing her, both hard and soft at the same time and everything in between. She could feel them all, all the emotions that his very being was so wonderfully, eloquently rich in. He was like the weather in Chicago. Didn't like it? Just wait a few minutes, it'll change. Except that she loved the whole tapestry of his emotions, loved his darkness, as well as his light. Loved his humor, his sarcasm, and his wit. Loved the 100% full attention that he gave her always, to his shyness, his pining, his kindness, his sexiness. Loved the good in him, what he had become, but appreciated the demon in him that itched for a smackdown. Loved the onion skin quality of his personality, layers upon layers upon layers, built up over the years, one after the other after the other. Loved that he offered to peel them all back for her, to stand naked before her in all his glory and insecurity all at the same time. Loved the spark that he'd gone to have them put back in him, but knew that it had really been there all along, just hidden under too many layers of his onion. He was everything that she'd ever wanted or needed in a friend and a lover. He was Spike!

Spike shrugged off the duster, while she worked on lifting his shirt off, as well. Finally he sat up on the side of the bed, taking off his boots. He stood up and took off his pants, staring down at her, clothed that she was, just as beautiful to him.

Buffy looked up at him and took him in.

Naked Spike, so fittingly appropriate, as he'd always stood naked before her, hiding nothing from her, while silently begging her to see him for what he was. Instead, it had been her eyes and her mind, that had cloaked him in darkness, denied to her what he really was. Beautiful.

Spike was beautiful! Beauty wrapped up in an all things contradictory shell, but oh so beautiful!

Buffy stood up at the other side of the bed and never taking eyes off of his, slowly undressing, dropping her own layer upon layers onto the floor, until then she too, stood there naked before him.

He stared at her, a lump rising in his throat. All his dreams, all his hopes of this day ever happening were now coming true for him. And he was overwhelmed. There she stood, his for the taking, his for the loving. His Slayer, his girl, his Buffy.

As if some silent cue passed between them, they walked towards each other, meeting at the foot of the bed.

Spike reached out and put his hand on her hair, lightly feeling its texture, its luminosity, remembering the feel so well. He'd dreamed of her hair sometimes, silly, as it seemed. Even when he couldn't remember his dreams, he was sometimes reminded of them, by the tactile sensory feeling that he'd been touching her hair, or watching it as she was on top of him, whether it be fighting or making love. He always enjoyed watching, as her hair moved, like some living, breathing thing about her face, framing it in it's luminosity, it's glow, it's...

He was brought back to the present by her hand caressing his face, by the look of wonder and love in her eyes.

Spike closed the gap until there was nothing between them, only skin on skin, lips on lips, hands all over, touching, feeling, remembering, bringing sighs and moans of pleasure.

They sunk down to the bed and continued their exploration of each other's bodies.

His mouth found her breast and she sighed in pleasure and looking down at him, running her hand through his hair, which her fingers had loosened up over the course of the evening, she fell in love with him all over again.

And she cried out his name, when he pleasured her in ways he'd swore he couldn't even spell, that night in her kitchen, so long ago now. She smiled at the memory. Only seen the word once or twice herself. Didn't know how to say it or spell it either, and who the hell cared, anyway?

Who needed separate words for different parts or ways of making love? When she made her way down his stomach, kissing and licking as she went or when she took his strong cock into her mouth, kissing and sucking it, in its entirety, when her desire built, as Spike became so delirious with pleasure, that all he could do was babble incoherently; she didn't need to know the term for that either.

When he finally entered her, slowly, surely, eyes never wavering from one another's, they shivered and gasped as he became totally sheathed inside her.

And suddenly, between kisses and thrusts she knew; he knew, too, that all the bitty puzzle pieces, that had been both of them apart, had melded into a complete whole, which was them together.

She woke in the morning, wrapped in the arms of her love, her lover, to the sound of bells tolling

"Morning," he said, kissing her on the head.

"Merry Christmas, Spike," she said, softly.

"Merry Christmas, Buffy," he replied, smiling.

"Wow, bells! Lots of 'em," she said.

"Yeah, it's like a bleedin' Charles Dickens story, innit? Like a..."

"Shut up, Spike," she said, softly, smiling, as she silenced him with a deep kiss that conveyed all the love she held for him in her heart.

It was 6:00PM and Spike nervously fidgeted for the tenth time with his shirt and jacket as they stood in front of Giles' house.

"I look alright?"

Buffy grinned at him; "You look fine. Still. Especially for a dead guy!"

"I'm just..." he started, shaking his head, as his teeth nibbled his lower lip.

"Nervous?"

"A bit," he said, nodding, "don't want to muck things up, like I usually do."

"You won't!" she said, kissing him. "You won't. Remember me? I'm the one who's got the final say in all this. Me and only me! This? A formality only. I won't let you go, no matter what anybody thinks; you're mine, Spike and I love you! Got it?"

He smiled, nodding, "Got it, Slayer."

"Good then," she said, and opened the door.

"Hey everyone," she announced, "guess who's coming to dinner?"

END CHAPTER 9

EPILOGUE

March 23, 2004

8:00PM

Buffy and Spike nervously sat in Giles' library.

"That it?" Spike asked Giles looking over at the corked beaker of bluish-green liquid he was holding.

"That's it. What do you think?" Giles asked.

Spike snorted, "Think there's got to be more to this than presto change-o, you're a human!"

"One would think so," Giles said, "but it's really not about the liquid , this just facilitates the process. It's that you earned the right, Spike. You earned the reward, you're entitled to it."

"And Angel?" Spike asked.

"He did, too. He's been made the offer, as well."

"Well, then, that's that. Sure the poof is already enjoying his day in the sun."

"You're both entitled, Spike. There's no either or. I don't know what his decision is."

Spike looked at Buffy.

"His decision doesn't affect me one way or the other, Spike. Doesn't affect us, what we have."

"What should I do, Buffy? Do you want this? For us?"

"I told you before, it's totally up to you. I love you no matter what, Spike, you know that," she said, taking his hand in hers.

He nodded, "Tell me this," he said, addressing Giles, "do I have to do this now? Is there some time limit on it? Now or never type of thing?"

Giles shook his head, "No, Spike, it's yours should you want it, whether that's now or sometime in the future. There's no expiration date and if this vial broke, I could still make another one."

Spike sat back in the chair, much more relaxed, than when he'd first come. He put his other hand on top of Buffy's, rubbing it lightly between both of his and turned to her.

"Buffy?"

"I told you Spike, it's up to you," she said, and when he looked into her eyes, he knew that she was speaking the truth, that she would stay with him no matter what.

Spike nodded, "Rupert, I think I'm going to wait a while before making any decisions. Might take the offer up at another time, more likely than not, I will. But for now, not minding being a vampire so much, rather used to it."

"Very good, Spike," Giles said rising. He smiled briefly at them and left the room.

They sat there in companionable silence for a while.

"So," Buffy finally said, "want to go partrolling?"

Spike smiled at her, "Sure, could stand for a spot of violence, right about now."

She nodded, "I'll get my stakes."

"Besides," he called after her, "nothing good on the telly tonight."

"Wait, yes there is! Isn't there a Wallace & Grommett marathon on tonight?" Buffy asked.

"You're right!" Spike said, looking at his watch. "Why don't I just have TiVo record it for us? Then we can watch it when we get back?"

"That'll be perfect, Spike," she said, smiling at him. "You ready?" she asked, throwing him a stake.

He grinned at her, nodding as he rose up and walked with her to the door.

"I always got your back, Slayer."

"That you do, Spike, that you do..."

"Hey, hear there's a Mr. Bean marathon on, too."

"Ack, Spike! I can't stand that guy, he's so lame..."

"What about the Vicar of Dibley?" he asked.

"She's funny! And raunchy! Think you'd like that in a woman, Spike. Okay, what about Manchild?" she asked, snorting. "Puhhhleeeze!"

"Leave my Menboys alone!" Spike said, feigning a hurt look.

"Keeping up Appearances then?" he coughed derisively.

"Hey I like that!"

"Hello, Mrs. Bucket?" Spike intoned.

"It's not Bucket, it's BOUQUET!" Buffy answered in Hyacinth's accent and exasperated tone.

And they laughed all the way to the cemetery.

THE END!

HAPPY, HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!!!!!

spikealicious