Part 11:

2427, approximately twenty-four hours later

Burrowed in a warm bed, I wake to an unfamiliar room cloaked in darkness. My muscles ache as my limbs begin to move, and a sharp pain issues from my side. I forgot about the broken rib. I stretch my senses to scan my environment, but I detect no one else with me. Where has Spike gone?

A sharp, impatient rap on the door reminds my mind why I woke in the first place. Someone is at the door, someone human.

My toes surround themselves in the embrace of the soft, thick carpet as I silently creep to the door and push the one-way vision button on the computer panel to my right. The door instantly becomes translucent, and I recognize Roger shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in the empty hall.

"Come in," I whisper as my vocal chords have somehow lost their ability to project.

The door disappears, and Roger nearly jumps ten feet in the air. "Oh!"

As my eyes adjust to the well-lit corridor, I blink rapidly up at the man before me. I note the lines on his brow and the frown on his face. He brushes past me into what I now recognize as one of the many hotel standards found all over the world. The door reappears solidly behind him.

I have never seen Roger so frantic that he's shaking. He leans on the small beverage bar to steady himself.

Gesturing to the jumble of unmade sheets and blankets, I suggest, "Why don't you sit down, Roger, and tell me what's got you so upset."

Roger doesn't appear to be hearing me. "Do you *know* what the Council. . . what *I've* had to do to deal with what you and Spike have done?"

I feel a momentary flash of guilt and fear as my memories of Spike killing Vanessa return full force. "Oh."

A glare mars his normally placid expression. "No? Well, let me tell you! The public and the free press are having a field day! Someone at the park spread the vid micro to all the computer stations and all the news broadcasts around the world. They've somehow connected the incident with the Council, and the international defense committee wants to meet with several Council members to discuss the new 'monstrous threat against earth.'"

I can't help myself. The hilarity of what Roger just said tickles my funny bone. The *new monstrous threat against earth*. . . what is that about? The ignorance the general public remained in about the presence of vampires and demons among us never ceases to surprise me. . . even after centuries. Laughter spills past my lips, and I gasp as barbs of pain shoot through my ribcage from the slowly mending rib.

"I don't think you understand the implications of what this means, Miss Summers."

I raise an eyebrow at him. Roger's called me by my first name since I first met him. The new formality means I need to take him seriously. "No, you obviously think I don't. Why don't you explain it to me."

"I will. Where's Spike?"

"Not here, obviously."

"Well, you need to find him. The Council has ordered you and him to be put to death."

"Why?" I am startled by his revelation. I expected some sort of consequence but not death.

"I know. I tried to stop it, but the Council was virtually unanimous. They want 'the menace stopped' before they meet with the international government. I suppose they're looking out for their own hides," Roger says frankly.

I nod. He makes sense. "And you're here because. . . ?"

He bows his head. "Because I care about you two. . . well, you. When the Council sent you on the mission after Vanessa, I didn't intend for this to happen." He raises his eyes at me. "I'm here to make sure you get to safety before the vampire hunt begins. I couldn't very well tell you this over communica lines without risking myself. I'm already taking a big risk by approaching you in person."

I touch his forearm gently to show that I appreciate his assistance. "How did you find me here?"

He grins ruefully. "Demon underground. I may never have been in the field extensively, but I do know a thing or two about demons."

"And how did you travel without being found out?"

Roger slings a bag off his shoulder onto the bed, unzipping the pack and revealing its contents. . . bits of computer parts and technology that I don't recognize. "I have my ways as Watcher."

"What's all this?"

"Identification for you and Spike. New identities." He hands me a computer micro. "And, a new place to live."

I am bewildered by his kindness. "W-where, h-how, w-why?" I stumble over my words, making me think briefly of Xander from long ago.

"Don't question. Just take," he encourages, forcing the machinery into my open palm. "I am honored to have worked with the famed Buffy Summers."

* * *

2427, three and a half hours later

I know where I to find Spike. The doors to the public memorial disappear before me as I stride purposefully into the facility that is open twenty-four hours per day. My stomach twirls with butterflies as I approach the human receptionist. Human staff are rare but occasionally still work in under- funded, usually public owned services. Memorial centers are definitely short of monetary supplements.

She offers me a brilliant but genuine smile. "Good day, Miss. . . Waters. May I help you?"

I resist the urge to sigh in relief. I give her Spike's codename, "Yes. I am looking for William Johnson."

The micro in her head runs smoothly for a few seconds as her eyes cloud over. When she refocuses, she nods. "He's in 457. Take the travel pad to the fourth floor and take a right once you're there."

"Thanks."

I hurry to the travel pad and am instantly on the fourth floor. Once there, I hesitate. I am not *afraid* to see Spike, but I must admit after our earlier interactions, I am more than a little nervous. I hadn't seen Spike for two years until yesterday. Thus far, I have been able to block the memories from a day ago. The events seem like they occurred one hundred years ago in my mind. As I bring them forth into my conscious thoughts, the memories are enhanced by the implant in my brain.

*"Slayer, you don't know whom you're dealing with here. I intend to make you my fourth." Golden eyes glint in the darkness.

Kicking, punching, whirling,. . . dancing.

Time stops.

The raw pain in Vanessa's expression stabs into my abdomen. A stake covers Spike's heart. "You can't fool me, Buffy Summers, childe of William the Bloody. I know you; I see you. And now you will feel as I do because I'm taking the last thing you have on this earth. . . as your grandmother did me."

A roar fills my head, and suddenly, I see, hear, feel, taste blood. . . Vanessa's blood.*

I am at door 457. If I were still alive, my heart would be pounding. Settling for bodily trembling, I press the button to signal my presence.

The door immediately disappears, and Spike stands before me. Grief paints his expression, and worry fills his eyes over tear-stained cheeks. With his temper gone and some time alone, his anger at me has dissipated. Now, he is worried that I will reject him as I have in the past. . . in days so faded that I have difficulty recalling them. I remind myself that those memories are more vivid for him than me because I succeeded in blocking them out as much as I could at the time.

I don't hesitate, and he lets out a small sob when I fold my arms around his lean frame. "Shhhhh," I whisper, letting my own tears fall. I stroke his back soothingly as he buries his head in my neck.

He holds me as close as possible and then, lifts me by my hips. I wrap my legs around him, and he moves to the armchair in the center of the room. The door reappears and seals behind us, and I briefly note that he has pulled up Dawn's memorial to view today.

Silently, he rocks us back and forth until we both feel calm and emotionally worn.

"I love you," I whisper first before he can say anything else.

His voice is soft against my eardrums, "Even after what I did to save us? Even after I forced you to drink her blood? You know I did that to help you heal more quickly. You'd lost a lot of blood."

I snuggle my head closer to his chest, "Yes, even after. And, yes, I know."

As I feel some of the tension melt out of his shoulders, he begins caressing my shoulder blade and my hip. "I love you, too."

The room is quiet.

Then, Spike murmurs, "My fangs were the only weapon I had left that I knew would defeat her. I know I acted rashly."

In the back of my mind, I remember why the Council wanted to leave Spike out of the hunt for Vanessa. . . his propensity for acting without thought. "I know. It's okay. I'm not angry with you. I'm not going anywhere." In the past, I might have turned my back on him without another word, but too much had passed between us in four centuries. A fresh wave of the deep aloneness I felt over the last two years encompasses me, and I squeeze him tightly.

"Why *did* you leave me?" he wonders, hurt filling his tone.

"The Council wanted me to leave you out of it," I suggest.

He pulls back sharply, searching my green eyes for the truth. I quiver at being under his gaze for the first time. "No, that's not it. Buffy Summers doesn't listen to what the Council says. She never has."

Defeated, I close my eyes. He always knows.

"Well?" he urgently presses. "Why did you leave me?"

"B-because I didn't want you to get hurt. Drusilla killed Vanessa's family." I peer at him cautiously when I mention his ex-lover's name. He doesn't even flinch. "Vanessa wanted revenge."

"I already know that Dru's dead," Spike acknowledges before I can tell him.

"I'm sorry."

He kisses my forehead. "Don't worry. I'm okay. She and I were a long time ago."

"But it still hurts," I insist, making him look at me this time.

"Yeah. It does."

I pause. "I was afraid you'd kill Vanessa out of grief. . . or that you would act rashly and get yourself killed. And if you died,. . . you're all I have left in this world."

With his thumbs, Spike wipes away the fresh tears that roll down my already damp cheeks. "I know." Firmly, he adds, "Don't do it again. I won't be apart from you that long."

I manage to present him a small smile. "Aye, commander. Trust me, I've learned my lesson. Me sleep not without you. . . literally. Hey, how *did* you find me?"

He winks. "The demon world, where else? You don't honestly think the Wanker's Council told me, do you?"

"How long did you stay working on the Hellmouth?" I want to know everything.

Looking sheepish, he mutters, "About six hours."

"*Six* hours?! Okay, I now know who doesn't listen to me."

"Hey, I did go to the bloody Council first. Course, they told me nothing. So, I started my own investigation. Took a bit to worm my way back into the demon underworld and gain enough trust to get the info I needed on you."

I lift both eyebrows at him. "And, what exactly did you have to do to gain their *trust* back?"

When he laughs, my heart sings. "Not much. Don't worry, I didn't do anything you or I wouldn't approve of." At my glare, he shrugs and continues, "Just knocked a few heads around. Killed a few demon pests for a few other demons who supposedly had the information but didn't. Well, when I found out their lie, they were dead, which in turn helped this local vamp who. . . "

Now I'm laughing. I push his chest with my palm. "Okay, okay. I get the picture. It was complicated, and you killed a few demons."

"A few?"

"A *lot* of demons," I amend.

"Ah, pet, I missed you." The familiar twinkle has returned to the blueness of his eyes.

"Say that again."

"Say what again, love?"

I kiss his cheeks and his eyelids. "Call me by my nicknames. I actually missed th. . ."

My words are cut off when his mouth melts into mine, and I am instantly lost in the oblivion of our love as he murmurs my pet names over and over against my skin. His hands rove over my body with fresh tenderness, and I touch him in all the places I've missed the most.

An immeasurable amount of time later, he moves away again much to my chagrin. "Pet, what's with the 'Cynthia Waters' name?"

At his reminder of the reality of our situation, I sigh reluctantly. He must have read my new name off the door panel before I entered. "That is a long story."

* * *

TBC . . . (now we're gonna change time periods again . . . into the future) Thanks for all the wonderful feedback! You guys are great! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story!

Part 12:
2675

The underground tunnels are pitch black as I race through them, splashing a bit in the musty-smelling water dripping from the old pipes above, which are connected to the homes of only the poorest human beings. Although the two vampires behind me are not breathless due to lack of need for air, my slayer endurance gives me an edge, and they are barely keeping up with me. I have to force myself to move more slowly or else lose them in the labyrinth we're weaving through. Losing two more vampires would not be good.

I hear and smell the rustle of life ahead of me even if I can't make out any figures yet. Halting abruptly, I attempt to obtain a firmer sense of my target's exact location. Promptly, one of the two vampires following me crashes into me, sending me to the concrete to scrape my shins and forearms.

On my feet in an instant, I send my companions a warning growl and a golden glower. "Watch it." If not the noise, the smell of fresh blood from the cuts on my limbs may alert the target, and the possibility angers me. In fact, not much of what the vampires with whom I associate *doesn't* anger me.

The offending vampire appears appropriately abashed, "Sorry, Cyn."

I try to hide the involuntary cringe I always had at my unfortunate nickname. "It's okay. Just please stick close and keep quiet." I dislike taking the other vampires with me, preferring Spike as my companion. However, in the interest of our relationship with the other vampires, I routinely allow one or two to join me on a raid, leaving Spike behind.

They nod in the darkness. Resuming my trajectory, I meander through the tunnels toward the prey I am seeking. In a matter of minutes, I am on top of the stray vampire and tackle him into the concrete wall, sending his package flying. My eager companions pursue the carefully wrapped, rather large parcel while I palm my stake and stab the wood through the traveling vampire's heart.

Regrouping with the others and running my fingers through my hair, I peer at the package they carry between them. The mark of Joyger is stamped across the binding material, and I sigh with relief. Not one of ours. . . or rather, not one of Nabald's.

* * *

2675, a few hours later

Far above what is traditionally earth ground, in the shadow of windowless rooms, my two vampire companions and I enter the main arena of the nest. As we approach Nabald, Spike winks at me from the seat next to the leader of the Nab vampires. Other than his hair being darker than ebony, he does not look physically different than two hundred years ago. No longer wearing what he fondly calls his "traditional black," he has donned the cloak of scarlet synthetic leather that is representative of Nabald's nest.

In stark contrast to Spike, Nabald is a stocky vampire who was likely turned in his mid-fifties sometime during the era of the Renaissance and who is therefore older than Spike. His demeanor reflects the power of his age, and in private, Spike respects him although he disagrees with some of his actions.

Nabald's grey eyes hold my green ones. "Cynthia. What have you brought today?"

The two other vampires cower behind me, still handling the captured box, and I inwardly shake my head at their lack of bravery. Returning Nabald's steady gaze, I shine with my usual confidence, announcing, "We have blood, Nabald." I gesture to the rare treasure.

Blood has been scarce since the Watcher's Council and the Slayers have driven the demons into the underground. Most vampires are clustered in the dark pockets of what used to be the sewers. Although many factions have formed, the two main nests are Joyger and Nabald's, and only theirs remain in housing in the towers above ground. As such, a bitter rivalry over the limited blood supply has led to an extensive feud that has lasted the last several decades.

Both groups hover in the western hemisphere as near to the current Hellmouth as possible without chancing an encounter with the Slayer and her team of other warriors. Part of me is proud that the Watchers have finally acknowledged that a Slayer needs companions-after how many centuries?-and part of me is concerned that I will encounter the so far unstoppable team of warrior, witches, and demon hunters.

"Ahhh. Good. Who did you intercept it from today, Cynthia?" Nabald's eyes travel over the package hungrily.

"Joyger." I force my voice to sound proud. Presenting blood from Joyger's gophers is more prestigious than blood from a lesser faction. Nabald felt he was sending Joyger a warning message when we attained food from one of his nest.

"Wonderful! Bring it forth."

The two vampires stumble forward in their nervousness and settle the box to rest near Nabald's feet. As the vampire leader waits, Spike steps up and begins to tear open the outer wrappings, revealing pouch after pouch of fresh blood, still cold from their original storage. Ripping the top of one package, Spike ceremoniously hands Nabald the container. Nabald's face shifts as he inhales the scent of the coppery fluid, and he rapidly gulps down the liquid, draining the container in seconds.

Nabald nods, signaling to the others to grab pouches of their own. Vampires pour out of a multitude of hiding places in the darkness, scrambling in a half-starved manner for a piece of the prize. Before they reach the stash, Spike scoops up two and hands me one, caressing my elbow with tender familiarity. Unafraid to show my affection for him, I kiss his cheek and then his lips in thanks.

My lover grins at me, and our faces shift into vampire masks at the same time. I watch with fascination, never ceasing to be awed by the transformation. Bones grind unnaturally against one another in cheeks and forehead, moving and altering muscle and ligaments, in a way that would cause excruciating pain to a human being. Eyesight and sense of smell become intensely acute, and hunger becomes a sharply enhanced pain in my belly. If I am around Spike in the time of change, I am completely absorbed by the power of his essence. . . as he is mine. No words, no physical contact needs to occur because we are one in that moment.

"Get a room," a vampiress in the room mutters underneath her breath. She means to speak softly, but we hear every syllable.

Spike's head shoots up, and he glares her direction. The caustic vampiress backs away, head bowing. She's only a couple of decades old, but she is a bit impudent at times. Her hand clenches her sack of blood in fear that her dinner might be taken away.

Nabald chuckles in amusement at the scene. He approaches the vampires, stroking her long dark hair. "Lydia, calm yourself. They've done nothing offensive."

Lydia hisses, "I can smell their desire from here; it offends me while I'm eating dinner."

Spike tenses beside me, so I lace my fingers with his in an effort to calm him. We are new to Nabald's group, and we don't need to make waves just yet. The vampiress is simply jealous that we've risen so far in Nabald's esteem so quickly.

Attempting to appear subservient but firm, I declare, "We'll retire for dinner. I'm quite exhausted anyway."

Nabald agrees, "That's fine. Good work, Cynthia."

Spike can't resist and nuzzles my neck as we pass Lydia on the way to our designated rooms. Lydia fumes, and I pinch Spike's arm firmly. As usual, he pinches back.

TBC. . . still 2675. . . Okay, this is a new twist. . . hope you enjoy! I promise it all fits together into the plot!!! Thanks again for your wonderful support! Means a lot that you're curious. . . hehehe! :o)

Part 13:

2675, approximately two hours later

Tracing my fingertips over Spike's bare torso, I lay in our bed with my head on his chest. His deep rumble of contentment echoes in my ear, and I feel him lazily trailing his fingers through my hair. Full of blood and sated on my lover, I sigh with happiness.

"You know, Buffy," he whispers, holding up and examining a lock of my hair in the dim lights. Foregoing all pet names, he only calls me Buffy in private. "I'm glad your locks are long, but I miss the blond."

Keeping my head in the same location, I roll over to face him with a smile lighting my face. "What? Don't like the red?"

"Well, I guess it's okay. It reminds me a bit of Red." He smirks.

I punch his arm in mock anger; I know he found Willow attractive at one point. Then, my face sobers. "I still miss Willow sometimes."

"I know, Buffy, I know. I do, too."

"She was the truest friend I've ever known. She and Xander."

Spike says nothing and merely listens; he's heard all of this before and knows he can say nothing to make me less lonely for my long-dead human friends. Willow had actually lived a couple of centuries because of the magic that infiltrated her very being, making her a little less mortal. Although she dated here and there, she never again found another lover quite like Tara. Xander eventually married when he was forty-years-old and had two daughters and a son. He died at age seventy-six while working on the site of his latest building construction.

"And Dawn," Spike adds with sadness in his tone.

"Yeah."

Dawn. . . sweet, precious Dawnie, an ex-mystical key endowed with latent anti-aging powers, outlived Willow and the children she had with her husband. She kept Spike and I company for three centuries before passing on after a fight with a Turg'sh demon who invaded the herb shop she owned in Sunnydale.

We remain silent for several minutes lost in our own thoughts. Flooded with memories of the past, I slowly begin to drift asleep. Spike's voice breaks through the haze of half-sleep.

"Buff. . . need. . . sure of. . . ."

"Hmmmm," I return.

Strong hands gently shake my shoulders. My eyes fly open.

"I'm awake. I'm listening," I say drowsily.

He bends forward and overcomes my mouth with his, sending shivers through my muscles. When I start to return the kiss with equal ardor, he leans back, ending our connection.

"Hey! Cheater," I tease and watch as the briefest hint of a time gone before flickers of pain wash over his face. He hides the emotion quickly, but I still want to make up for the pain I caused him when I was human. I pull the full length of my body onto him and murmur, "I love you very much. . . even if your name is Henderson."

At the mention of the awful name Roger picked for him a couple of centuries ago, he flips me onto my back in the tangle of sheets and tickles me until my ribs hurt. Then, he kisses my nose before standing from the bed and pushing the button on the slim wristband he always wears. Instantaneously, he is fully clothed in his usual outfit with his black hair slicked back and his body refreshingly clean and smelling of a light musk. I reluctantly imitate Spike's actions, and in seconds, I am clean and refreshed, and the bed is made.

Moving to the other side of the room, we sit at the table across from one another, and Spike places his wrist lightly over mine, so the devices we wear are touching. A small change in our minds, and we are connected. . . able to talk with each other in complete privacy.

The device in our brains was made to evolve as technology changed, and with the advent of the efficient wristbands that basically ran several aspects of our daily lives, our brains could also be occasionally connected. Although reading another's exact thoughts and feelings remains beyond the realm of current possibility, having a voluntary conversation is feasible. One of the reasons we have probably risen so high in Nabald's esteem is our possession of this technology so common among humans and so rare among demons.

"I've learned some interesting news today from Nabald, Buffy." Spike almost sounds as if he is speaking aloud.

"What?"

"Nabald is planning a raid on the learning institute. He wants to go for live food this time."

"What! Why?" I do not bother to hide my shock at Nabald's boldness. Children are sent from birth to age ten to live at the learning institute where their brains are fed information and trained in a specialized area. Although the place sounds like a negative experience for the children, in all actuality, the children are allowed to do most of the things children did in my time as human. The international government funds the institute so that even children from the poorest families are allowed and expected to attend.

"I know. The place is full of children," Spike acknowledges. "I asked him how he thought to get around the slayage crew. He said he heard a rumor that the slayer and crew are on Mars fighting a demon uprising there, leaving Earth vulnerable."

"Damn it. How can we stop this?" When Spike and I lost our identities two hundred years ago, we decided to use the new bios to our advantage in the demon world. After decades of trying, we'd finally infiltrated Nabald's infamous organization. We continued to help in the fight against the darkness even if the Watcher's Council wanted us dead and even if we couldn't leave the darkness ourselves.

At Spike's next words, I notice that he's grinning at me. "You'll be very proud of me."

"What did you do?"

"It's quite perfect if I do say so myself." He's enjoying keeping me in suspense.

"Grrr. Tell me," I insist.

"Nabald agreed to send us to Mars to keep an eye on the slayer."

"What?!" I am not quite sure what to say. "You're nuts!"

"Now hold your temper, pet," he soothes, "There's a reason I agreed to this."

"Oh, really."

"We're going to actually approach the slayer and her crew for help with the situation," he explains.

"I won't even dignify that with a response."

He grins again. "You just did."

I glare at him, giving him the ole Buffy evil eye.

His laughter bounces through my thoughts. "Now just wait a minute."

My hand under his threatens to rip away from his touch. He's determined to get us killed! In response to my tension, his fingers rub tiny circles on my wrist, which involuntarily calms me. Damn him!

"I thought that by going to the slayer, we could test out the current Council. See how they respond to us now. See what they've told the slayer about us."

I've known that Spike is tired of hiding for a while now. I just didn't realize how much he wanted to be in the open again. For him to suggest finding out the Council's views of us means he is very serious.

"But we'll lose our new identities," I counter.

"I'd rather be myself in hiding than anyone else." Spike is proud of being such an elder vampire, and he has always preferred to be nothing but himself. I suppose I'm surprised that he's handled the alternate identity this long.

"But, our freedom to travel. . . "

"Is already almost nonexistent because we're vampires." He pauses before adding, "And we'll be able to help the children."

He convinces me. "All right. We'll go to Mars."

Impulsively, he ends our mental conversation to pick me up and spin me around. I giggle at his giddiness.

When he sets me onto my feet, I encourage him to temper his enthusiasm with my next words, "But, we're going to take precautions and be careful."

TBC. . . Okay! It's revamped to explain why Dawn lived so long! Ooops! That was a bit of an oversight! Hehehe. . . Well, on to Mars!!! :o)

Part 14:

2675, three evenings later

"Ayledan. That's her name," Spike comments as our tiny cruiser ship docks smoothly into the receiving bay at the third Mars colony. Although trips through Earth's atmosphere are almost instantaneous, trips through space remain slow and long. A trip to the three Mars colonies is approximately two and a half days long. When civilians travel, the travelers are required to sleep through the journey.

"And her friends? Know their names, too?" I am hefting one bag and handing Spike the second. I am in charge of supplies, transportation, and housing while Spike is in charge of information on this expedition. We are dressed in soft grey and navy blue jumpers with matching grey travel boots. Our packs are a similar grey-color, and my hair is piled on the top of my head in a functional twist.

"She has two in service of the Watchers' Council and two of her own picking." He adds, "The two she chose are demon. . . or at least, part demon."

The shuttle door dissipates, and we enter a noisy, human-filled gathering area with several floors. The dock has several shuttle portals that each open up in a main arena where people from the colonies come to retrieve guests, where visitors obtain information about travel services and conveniences, and where people frequently gather for a meal at one of the myriad of restaurants available. A mix of strange and exotic smells filter through the air from their kitchens. Transport pads deliver people or goods to the other two colonies, and advertisements line the floating ad boards, describing the latest fashions and computer devices to passersby. Two or three dance clubs of various types complete the picture. No windows line the walls because the sun's rays are too harsh even for the human colonists that live on Mars, much less the vampires.

"Really?" I ask after we gain our bearings and are heading toward one of the transport pads that leads to lodging. "What kind of demons?"

"Not sure because they are both part human. However, they are supposed to be formidable warriors. The ones employed by the Council include her Watcher and a witch named Sage."

"Sage. A warlock or witch?"

"Definitely a witch. Ayledan's Watcher is Bandel." Spike accidentally taps his shoulder against a human walking by. The man nods politely at Spike, and Spike returns the gesture.

"Bandel, Sage, and. . . ?" My pack is sliding off my shoulder, so I adjust the strap, trying not to hit anyone as we climb down a set of stairs to the main platform.

"The part-demons have no names. Information on them is pretty scarce. Perhaps because Ayledan chose them instead of the Council."

"Oh." I lean close to the eye scan device.

A beep sounds. "Cynthia Waters. You may enter."

Waiting for Spike in the doorway to the transport, I watch my lover press his eye to the machine. A second beep rings. "Joshua Henderson. You may enter." Spike grimaces at his name, making me let out a small laugh.

We enter the tiny room together and decide not to take a seat. Because the room is well-used and rarely cleaned, bits of litter, old food, and mold line the floor and seats. Seems odd to find mold on a Martian colony. The odor is oddly enough like urine or the back lot of a fairground from long ago.

"Destination?" the computer intones in a faltering voice.

"Mars, Colony Two, Lodging Number 15B," I speak slowly and clearly.

"Mars, Colony Two, Lodging Number 15B?" the computer confirms.

"Yes."

In an instant, the transport room door disappears, and Spike leads the way into a small but post living quarters. Being associated with Nabald apparently has some advantages. We set our baggage on the small metal luggage table near the entrance and head in different directions. I love exploring new living arrangements, and I doubt I'll have much time later to look around.

Spike goes immediately to the kitchen nook, opening the door to the cold closet and noting the rows of fresh cool blood. . . human blood, a rare treat. On the other hand, I notice the bed first. Bouncing onto the top of what appears to be the softest of sleeping pads, I shriek when I find myself floating on the air about a foot above the surface of the pad.

"Spike!"

My lover whips around in alarm, concern radiating from his every fiber. His fear fades to immense relief and a goofy grin when he witnesses me wearing a look of unadulterated joy and excitement. . . something he has not seen on me in over a hundred years.

"Having fun, pet?"

"Oh, gosh, yes!" I call, standing shakily on the firm cushion of air and attempting without much success to walk from one end of the bed to the other. Somehow the whole experience reminds me slightly of playing on a trampoline.

I stumble, and Spike laughs. "Careful, love."

"Like to see you do it!" I pout, partly embarrassed. My eyes widen as I realize what challenge I have just issued my lover. "Oh, crap."

With the grace of an acrobat, he leaps at the bed in one motion, tackling me into the air cushion, which miraculously keeps us from striking the bed proper's surface. I laugh wholeheartedly, and he gazes at me tenderly with amusement etched into his features.

"I love you, Buffy Summers."

"Love you, too, William. . . Henderson." Stifling a giggle, I roll away from him as he mock growls and grabs at me. At a safe distance from him, I swallow my laughter and ask, "What is this thing anyway?"

He props up his head up with his hand and arm balancing on nothing but air. Smiling gently, he says, "I think it's one of those new-fangled fake 'anti-gravity' beds that are all the rage among humans on Earth at the moment."

"Well, it's cool!" I inch closer to him and kiss him lightly. "Can't wait to sleep on it."

"Sleep on it, pet?" Spike raises one eyebrow and smirks.

"Yes, sleep. I want to take a nap before we get started," I insist, pretending not to notice his hinted innuendo.

"But you just slept for three days on the shuttle!" he reminds me, stroking my long hair.

"Well, I have to get my Mars legs, and I'm tired."

I curl up facing him. "So, what are we doing first? Where're Ayledan and her team located?"

"Miros, Nabald's contact here, is supposed to meet with us later to give us information on the slayer's whereabouts. Last Nabald heard, she was in the mines, hunting a couple of G'ticus demons who were trying to unleash a slew of Neyons onto to Mars in hopes of conquering the colonies here and forming a base operation from which to attack Earth and its neighboring space colonies."

"How did G'ticus demons get all the way to Mars?" I wonder incredulously. G'ticus demons are hardly inconspicuous, being seven feet tall and weighing three hundred plus pounds. They are also a light shade of lavender.

"Somebody smuggled them in as part of a collection of stuffed demons for a museum." Spike rolls his eyes. "Bloody idiot."

"I think I'd agree there. And they're hidden in the maze of mines? I'm amazed they got so far without detection."

"Oh, they were detected all right. After waking from space sleep, they barged through main area on Colony 3. . . where we landed. . . and headed straight for the mine transport. Didn't destroy a thing although they did frighten people quite a bit."

"Ah. And why are they conjuring Neyon demons? Don't they realize they can't control them?"

"Apparently, pet, these G'ticus demons have training in neurosurgery."

"What?!" I am floored.

"Yep, same ponce who smuggled them in was also a neurosurgeon. Taught them the trade. He considered them bloody pets."

"I've never heard of that." I pause, moving toward Spike and turning to fit my body against his. "Doesn't mean it couldn't happen." I issue a large yawn. "Naptime. Plan later."

"K, love." Spike remains on his elbow, observing me as I settle against him and close my eyes.

The door beeping startles me out of my precarious position on the edge of sleep. I jump, causing Spike to jerk as well. We give each other that look that says, "What now?" as I swing my legs off the air cushion and land with surety on my feet. Spike is by my side in a second. The house computer doesn't say who is behind the barrier.

Without us uttering a word, the door melts away to reveal a tall, slender young woman with olive-coloring. Her hair cascades to her hips in a shiny charcoal wave, and her hand clutches what can only be wooden stake.

Ayledan.

TBC. . . Okay! Hope you enjoyed the journey to Mars. . . next chapter. . . the slayer! (Still on Mars.) And her crew! Oooo. . . surprises await! Glad you guys are still having fun reading this! The comments are wonderful! :o)

2675, a few seconds later

"What are you doing here?" Ayledan advances smoothly into our suite. She is donned in pure white, enhancing the deep black depths of her eyes. Her voice is slightly accented as if her first language wasn't the international standard, and I realize she must have been plucked from obscurity by the Council and has likely never been to the learning institute.

Spike decides to play dumb, which he has never been particularly adept at doing. "Ummm. Who are you?" A memory flash of him faking a southern accent in the face of the Initiative soldiers hundreds of years ago enters my head, and I bite my lip to prevent inappropriate laughter.

Ayledan ignores his question and glares at me. "What are you doing here, Miss Summers?"

Spike and I exchange a wary glance. How does she know who I am? I read the message in his eyes. He's telling me that we can't take her alone. . . not with her genetic enhancements. I make a decision. Best to talk to the slayer.

"Looking for you actually," I declare, tilting my head slightly and crossing my arms in response to her fighter's stance.

"I can't believe you'd show yourselves here."

Obviously switching tactics, Spike clears his throat, and Ayledan trains her gaze on him for the first time. "We're here to talk with you about something really important. A demon uprising on Earth." He gestures at her stake. "So, if you could just put that away, we could all have a nice civil conversation."

What Ayledan does next unnerves me, and not much does that anymore. Pocketing the stake, she shrugs her shoulders, betraying her youth. "Okay. I'll bite, William the Bloody." She pivots and re-enters the transport area. "You guys coming?"

Spike and I exchange another bewildered look before Spike warily takes a step to follow her. My senses on high alert, I keep my sights glued to the slayer who almost arrogantly has her back to us. . . an arrogance I don't believe I've ever possessed. Spike's arm brushes mine in a hint of reassurance; I provide him a tense smile in return.

Once the door is in place again, Ayledan says softly, "Mars, Colony One, Archway 536."

* * *

2675, ten minutes later

Ayledan leads the way through the twists and turns of a multitude of narrowing and widening corridors. The further we walk, the fewer living beings pass us going one direction or another and the dimmer the lighting becomes. Her head turning left and right and noting everything that moves around us, Ayledan is virtually acting as if Spike and I are not close on her heels.

Spike snags my hand and laces his fingers with mine so that our wristbands are touching. Between the familiar coolness of his touch and the pressure of his fingers surrounding mine, the butterflies in my stomach calm considerably. Instantly, he is in my head, talking to me. "Pet, do you have any idea how she knew we were here?"

I shake my head, and Spike glares at my movement. I wince, and a second later, he is rubbing my palm with his thumb in apology. Gnawing on my bottom lip, I mentally telegraph, "No. I have no idea. Perhaps we're about to find out. Got a plan?"

"That's mostly your department, love."

"Oh ho, and who thought of the brilliant plan to come to Mars?" I shoot back, digging my fingernails into his flesh until he flinches.

"Well, who bloody well agreed to it?"

"You coerced me!"

"Uh huh. Like Buffy Summers could be coerced into anything." He pushes his fingernail into one of my cuticles, and I almost jerk my hand away at the shot of pain.

"I hate it when you do that!"

"Do what?"

"Call me Buffy Summers like I'm not even here!" We've had this kind of argument many times before. . . usually when one or both of us feels like we don't have control of our situation.

"You never said anything about it before!"

"Well, there you go! It *bothers* me! Got it?"

"Fine! I won't call you bloody *anything* until you tell me what you'd like me to call you, your highness."

"Fine!" I draw a blank on an appropriate nickname in response.

A heartbeat passes. . . if we had a heartbeat.

"Buffy, we still don't have a plan." Spike's always been the one to break the ice. He waits until my eyes are on his.

Knowing the dangerousness of our situation, I attempt to calm myself. "I know. We should really have something in mind. How about. . . "

"Sodding!" Spike's exclamation in my head is magnified by the word actually being spoken aloud. Then, our mental connection is severed.

Spike and I tumble forward into Ayledan who has stopped abruptly. We crash to the ground. Ayledan hops to her feet and brushes herself off, giving us an odd look. I suppose she expected more grace out of famed warriors, Buffy Summers and William the Bloody. If I were alive, I'd be blushing furiously.

As Spike and I recover, Ayledan announces, "We're here. The slayer's hideaway on Mars." Spike and I notice the door that has seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Spike asks what I'm thinking, "So, why did you bring us here? Want to turn us in to the Council? To stake us? What?"

Ayledan's expression reveals a peaceful inner core that I've seen only in older adults and slayers. "If I wanted to turn you in to the Council, I would have simply called them here. They could handle you themselves." I detect the note of dislike in her voice when she speaks of the Council, and I file the information away in my head. "And if I wanted to stake you, I'd have done it as soon as you landed."

"How did you know we were coming?" I query, shifting a glance at Spike who has not removed his eyes from Ayledan. A tinge of jealousy shoots through my abdomen at Spike's obvious remaining interest in slayers.

Ayledan turns from us. "You're about to find out." She leans forward, whispering something in an unknown language. The door evaporates into nothing, and we file silently into the mysterious "hideaway."

The main entrance room is small, but there seems to be a couple of passageways to unknown places branching off the primary room. A lone table is the only furniture in the area, and four individuals are seated around it. They study us eagerly as we enter. My heart tugs a bit with a complex mix of feelings, ranging from nostalgia for Willow, Giles, Xander, and the others to a feeling of isolation and of being an outsider.

Ayledan positions herself to the side and proceeds to introduce Spike and me to the group. "This is Bandel, my Watcher." She notes our worry and assures us, "He's on the good side. . . like Giles, Buffy."

Bandel smiles and waves slightly. He is a middle-aged man with dirty blond hair and slim good looks. His eyes are kind and probably mask a knowledge beyond what I know about the demon world even after all these years. I've been fairly sheltered as demons go. . . by Spike, by my friends.

"Sage."

A petite young woman with mousy brown hair that is drawn up off her neck in loose curls smiles shyly at Spike and me. She is dressed in a light violet skirt that flowed to the floor and a matching top. "Hi, I'm the witch." Her voice betrays her youth, but her aura is full of a power that has been matched only by Willow. Funny the things one notices as a vampire.

Of most interest to me are the two others at the table. . . the unknowns.

"Richard." A tall, gangly young man with fair skin and piercing green eyes lounges against the back of his seat with his legs parted and bent in crooked fashion. The only thing inhuman about his appearance is the long fur-covered tail that swishes in and out and around the legs of his chair. "He's half-Torakal demon."

Spike nods knowingly to my left. Of course, I have no idea what a Torakal demon is.

Richard grins at the uncertainty that must be displayed on my face. "I've the ability to melt things with my touch." I now notice the gloves he's wearing. "Gotta wear the gloves to prevent that from happening when I don't want it to."

"Torakal demons have been around since before the days of vampires, love. They live quite a long time," Spike explains.

Richard's grin grows wider. "Yep. I'm now four hundred fifty- seven."

"Half-Torakal?" I wonder.

"My mom was human. She gave me a nice human name to blend me in."

Ayledan shifts, and we fall silent. "And last but not least, Miros."

Before my mind registers the name, Spike hurls across the room and pins Miros to the wall with his grip around the other vampire's. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

TBC. . . 2675 still. . . notice that the passages are getting longer as we get closer to 3002. . . signifying Buffy's more recent memories being clearer and more detailed. . . Hope you're still enjoying!!! Thanks again for the lovely reviews! :o)

2675, a few more seconds later

"Miros," Spike reminds me in a half-growl, "is Nabald's vampire contact on Mars. We were supposed to meet with him later. Remember, pet?"

I say nothing but observe the others present.

Everyone in the room has risen to his or her feet, but each seems curiously unfazed by Spike's actions toward Miros. In fact, Sage, the young female witch, and Richard, the half-Torakal demon are not even bothering to hide their full-blown smiles. Bandel has his mouth covered with his hand, and Ayledan's shoulders are shaking in silent laughter.

Spike relaxes his grip a bit, and Miros groans hesitantly but doesn't struggle. "What's so bleeding funny?"

I cross my arms, waiting impatiently for a reply from Aydelan. She clears her throat and coughs lightly before explaining, "Miros works for us. He's actually a plant inside the Nabald faction. He keeps us up to date on Nabald's activities."

"And you trust him why?" I am incredulous. "He's a vampire."

"Yes, well, he's an ex-Watcher turned vamp," Sage continues for Ayledan, her tinkling voice soft. "He. . . "

Without turning his head from Miros, Spike interrupts, "Um, the Watcher thing doesn't cut it. Doesn't explain his choice to be on your side."

"Well, what made *you* fight with the forces of good?" Ayledan challenges.

Spike's voice is laden with emotion, and he glances quickly at me. "Love."

"Well, can you imagine the same from the vampire in front of you? I was a homeless, abandoned little baby on the street when Miros found me. He raised me. . . took care of me. . . trained me. . . until the Watcher's Council came for me."

Miros's voice sounds foreign from beneath Spike's loosened grip, and he has a muddled British accent. "One night a few hundred years ago, I was out doing field training and ran across several vampires who took turns feeding from me. One young vamp took pity on me as I lay dying and turned me. My fellow trainees found me alone and dead and took me back to the Council. They buried me with the intent to send a group of Watchers to slay me the next night. The party that was sent to kill me included my best friend, Krista. She cast the spell to imbue me with a soul. She set me free, and the Council was never the wiser until Bandel here came across me. Even now, the rest of the Council doesn't know about me."

My lips turn down uncertainly. "Surely, they're aware of your existence."

Miros nods. "They know that I help Ayledan. But they don't know who I truly am. Miros obviously isn't my real name but an alias."

Clearly still as skeptical as I am, Spike shoots forth another question, "So, how do we know we can trust you? And what have you told the Council about us?"

Bandel chooses that moment to assert his thoughts, "We have told them nothing. Realize that our little group has been aware of your existence for a few years now. Miros has been working with me since I began training Ayledan. His relationship with Nabald was set years before we met him. He'd infiltrated, and we just used the information. Although Nabald remains unaware of your fight against the demons prior to your relationship with him, we were well aware that you have taken on perhaps numerous missions to stop the world from ending. . . even after the Council wanted you dead."

"So, how come you never tried to contact us before?" I uncross and re-cross my arms, shifting my weight in thought. "I mean, you must have considered it."

Bandel's smile widens. "Well, you see, we had no reason to get in touch with you before. As a group, we felt that you were better left alone to work in ways that we could not."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as two knowledgeable, strong demons and individuals, you have the ability to go places and do things in the demon world that we would have no chance of doing since our group is mostly human. You have accomplished things in months that would have taken us years to do with such thoroughness."

Spike finally lets Miros completely loose and returns to my side. He touches my arm briefly, and I know he's relishing my shiver. "So, we've been like your uninvited allies, then, mate?"

Bandel chuckles. "Yes, I suppose you have."

"Tell me one thing that we did that you wouldn't have known if you hadn't been aware of us," Spike presses insistently.

Richard lifts a hand to signal us. "Oh! The time last year when we were called out by the Council to hunt down a particular nest of vampires who was sneaking into medical treatment centers and feeding off the dying. Miros and Sage went out to scout out the place where the nest was located. That way, if they ran into any vamps who became suspicious, Miros could pretend Sage was his hostage."

They are telling us the truth.

"And let me tell you, that was the *most* fun I've ever had," Sage pipes up, rolling her wide brown eyes to emphasize her sarcasm. "Slogging through underground tunnels for hours wearing big rubber boots is not my cup of tea."

Richard's tail is swishing in a lively fashion in response to his excitement at telling the tale. "And then, when they reached the nest, they witnessed the most amazing thing! Both you guys fighting a hoard of vamps all by yourselves. Except you both had light brown hair then."

"We got the whole thing on magi-vid, too, thanks to yours truly. So, the rest of the group got to see it later."

"Why didn't you help us?" I am slightly puzzled by their decision to remain anonymous especially given how grueling that particular fight was.

Miros explains softly, "Well, we didn't know who you were at first, so we didn't interfere. We did a lot of research. . . in the field and in the records before we figured it out finally. Then, like Bandel said, we decided the best course of action was to leave you be to do what you were doing best."

"Why now?" I wonder aloud.

Miros inserts, "What do you mean?"

I clarify my question, "Why did you choose now to contact us?"

"Because," Ayledan returns, "we need your help. We want to take out Nabald's group before we move on to Joyger's. And with Nabald about to attack the learning institute, we have further reason to focus on him first."

"What about the Neyon and G'ticus demons?"

"Done, gone, dead. No worries there."

Everyone is gathering around the table where Bandel is unfolding a sheaf of papers. I feel my old slayer instinct waking. "Okay, what's the plan so far?"

TBC. . . 2675. . . back to Earth! Oh, and for those who wanted fearless Buffy. . . your request couldn't have come at a better time. . . keep reading! Wow! Thanks again for all the fabulous reviews! I realize this is way AU, so I'm glad you're enjoying it!

Part 17:

2675, five days later

"I can't believe the slayer found out our location!" Nabald is furiously pacing back and forth across the carpets in his primary meeting hall. He's a hand-talker, and his arms are pumping up and down. His hair is sticking straight up in patches where he rubbed his fingers over his scalp. In all the months I've spent in close contact with him, I have never seen him so flustered.

He ceases moving and faces me with a plaintive expression. "How, Cynthia? How could she possibly have found out?"

Being on thin ground, I am not certain what to say in reply. I decide to go with the truth. . . simpler and less likely to give me away. "Someone ratted you out."

Nabald immediately resumes his path. "But, who would do something like that? How have I not treated my followers well?"

"Someone who got a better deal?" I hypothesize, not really knowing if he was listening to me.

"Maybe. But who would give him a better deal?" His right hand goes to his head, and he tugs his fingers through his tangled hair. "I've treated them all so well!" He glances at me. "Is no one loyal anymore?" He shook his head. "Don't answer that. . . And he picked the perfect time! Just when I was about to pull off one of my biggest raids."

"But the main thing is that we get everyone out. Joshua and Miros have found the perfect place. Somewhere the slayer would never find. They're busy helping everyone else evacuate. We just have to get you there as well. That's my job."

He bows his head in defeat. "I know."

I approach him carefully. "Come now. Let's get your things ready. Everyone else is already on the way."

"My bags are there, Cynthia." He points at the mound of luggage against the wall.

I hurry to the pile and load my arms and shoulders with Nabald's belongings. Nabald doesn't seem to be joining me. "Um. Are you going to help me?"

Almost despondently, Nabald shrugs. "Sure."

My heart tugs a bit for the vampire before me. Then, I remind myself of his plans to kill hundreds or thousands of children. He's definitely a predator with whom I don't want to trifle. "You ready?"

"Yes." He nods almost childlike.

Waiting for him, I signal the direction we are supposed to go with one bag-laden arm. "That way." He doesn't move.

"Cynthia, do you know how much I will miss this place?" Nabald surveys the now almost completely empty space thoughtfully.

My voice is low, "I think I do."

He continues, "This was a symbol of my power, my strength. . . a symbol of my success. So many things have happened here."

Choosing a half-lie, I reassure, "You'll reestablish yourself elsewhere. Then, you'll have a new home."

His body straightens a little. "You're right. I will."

Several minutes pass, and we are already in the underground tunnels before he speaks again, "Thank you, Cynthia."

My chest constricts. "You're welcome."

The echo of rapid footfalls saves me from having to further respond to Nabald's sentiments. My hands clench around the bag straps, preparing to throw them aside. Nabald's reaction is similar. Miros rounds the corner, his hair and clothes askew.

"Nabald! There's trouble! The slayer's discovered our new place as well! Come quickly, we need your help. . . your leadership. We outnumber the slayer, but they. . . we need guidance!"

Nabald and I shed the heavy cloak of his belongings, and we trail Miros at a run. I note the change in Nabald. Now that his group is in danger, he is prepared for battle.

"Miros, what exactly happened?"

"I don't know. One minute, we were settling in. The next, the slayer and her group showed. We were completely taken by surprise. T-the witch has some sort of solar spell. Dusted at least a hundred in a second or two."

Nabald's jaw visibly tightens. Secretly, I'm impressed by Sage's finesse. "So, how many are left? And can the witch do it again?"

"No, she's apparently out for the count. Spell drained her completely. There's about twenty or thirty of us left."

"We've got the numbers. That should be to our advantage," I point out.

"Yes," Miros agrees.

* * *

2675, several minutes later

We arrive at the scene, and I quickly take in as much information about the surrounding battle as I can. Set in a shadowed, cavern-like room with concrete walls, my first instinct is to locate Spike, and I spot him in the corner, staying in the background. Ayledan is fighting back to back with Richard whose hands are glove-free. My eyes widen as I witness him grab a vampire and press his hand against the vampire's bare flesh. After a handful of seconds, the vampire explodes into a ball of dust. Sage has pushed herself weakly against the wall, and Bandel is swinging a double- edged sword at vampires. The demons are angrily trying to get the witch who torched their friends.

Spike's eyes light even in the shadows when he spies me, and his body seems to come alive as he springs out of the darkness. Miros growls beside me and launches himself at Nabald who is shaken by the surprise.

Shifting into my own game face, I jump into the fray, sliding a stake into my palm from the inner part of my sleeve. Landing a kick into a vampire's thigh and forcing her to the ground, I pause as she gathers herself.

Gold eyes glint up at me from under a drape of blonde hair. "Lydia."

She pounces on me, pinning me to the ground on my back. Pain shoots through my spine as shock radiates through my back against the unbending cement, and my vampire face is forced away. I bring my stake toward her heart, but she scoops my hand away.

"What the hell are you doing, Cynthia?"

Another voice interrupts before I can speak. "It's a trap!" Nabald shouts. I hear the customary sound of a vampire being dusted. I crane my neck to see Miros's remains floating down. "Cynthia and Joshua have betrayed us! They are the enemy here!"

A cry of anguish emits from Ayledan in reaction to Miros's death. She rushes just past me to attack Nabald, but before she can get to the vampire leader, Lydia snags her pant leg. Lydia's weight is lifted from my torso as she tackles the girl. I'm on my feet instantaneously, and I jerk Lydia off Ayledan. After helping the slayer to her feet, I whirl to face Lydia who has just picked herself up. She hisses as I block her punches and kicks and land a punch on her jaw. She flies back, crashing into the wall behind her.

"Buffy!" My eyes lock on Spike's. "Nabald!"

My head flies right to witness Nabald abandoning the battlefield. Ayledan is crumpled in a heap on the ground. She groans as I bend over her.

"You okay?"

She blinks up at me. "Yeah. Go."

I need no more encouragement and race after the vampire leader, not knowing what to expect in the tunnels. I smile. . . I thrive on the unknown.

TBC. . . the fight. . . between Nabald and Buffy. . . :o) Hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much for your encouragement!

Part 18:

2675, several more minutes later

I deeply dislike wandering through the underground. The damp smell of mold that almost makes me gag, and the slime that covers most surfaces is enough to make me want to remain above earth ground. A thick humidity permeates the air. Also, because many of the passages are narrow, fighting and stalking prey is difficult. Running is hard, too, because there are few entrances to the underground, and they are typically not tucked away in a corner but are in view of others who might wander past.

However, what bothers me the most about the underground is the enclosed feeling I get. Funny, but even after hundreds of years, I'm still claustrophobic in areas without the possibility of sunlight. Spike laughs at this aspect of my nature and teasingly asks me what kind of vampire am I to want sunlight so nearby. I explain that my need for sunlight is like the comfort that comes with leaving a vid on when no one's home or just having someone in the other room even if you aren't talking. And having sunlight behind a curtain keeps me centered. . . reminds me whom I was before. . . whom I still am. Spike seems to understand that.

My boots clump dully through the passageways, and I roll the stake over my fingers as I listen for any sign that Nabald might be nearby. I don my vampire mask to enhance my detection abilities.

I find an exit, but no one is nearby, and the door doesn't smell like it has been opened in the recent past. The metal in the door is warm to the touch. . . warmer than the air in the passageways. The sun is up, so Nabald hasn't gone outside.

Continuing to trail Nabald with caution, I reach a dead end. My brow furrows; I am fairly sure that he came this way. Sighing impatiently, I turn and face the length of the empty tunnel.

"Where *are* you?" I plant my hands on my hips. "I'm not here to play around; I'm here to kill you."

Silence.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," I singsong, flipping my stake lightly. "I know you're here."

More silence.

Then, a disembodied voice flows over the airways, "Who *are* you?"

I try to persuade him to speak more, so I can locate him. "Who do you think I am?"

"Obviously *not* Cynthia Waters."

I can't help laughing. "No. I'm not." I start toward the source of the voice, which is back the way I came. "Do you have any clue who I am?"

"Buffy. He called you Buffy." Nabald's voice is becoming clearer and more recognizable.

"Yes."

When he doesn't respond for a moment, I think I might have lost him until he speaks again, "Not *the* Buffy. . . Buffy Summers?"

"Got it in one, buddy."

"Such disrespect sounds odd coming out of your mouth, Miss Summers." Awe is evident in his next statement, "And if you're Buffy, . . . then, your companion must be. . . William the Bloody. Spike."

"Yes," I repeat, my other senses on edge. I keep moving the same direction.

"I hadn't realized he was still around. Thought he was long gone. And he's still with you. Wow. That's surprising. I never met him before, but I've heard tales. Heard he was really in love with that Drusilla chick. Must have taken her death pretty hard."

Got him. I reach into the inky darkness and grab Nabald's thick arm, pulling him into my field of vision and deftly flipping him onto his back.

On top of him, I defend my relationship with Spike, "Well, I don't see any woman hanging around you, so I must be doing something right."

One of his grey eyes winks at me, and he hefts me away. Using the push he has given me, I fall into a roll and am standing before he has a chance to hone in on me.

He lashes out at me first, and I stop his movement before he hits me, connecting a solid kick to his abdomen. Stumbling back, he chuckles in amusement. Striking out at me again, he lands a blow to my ribcage, and I grunt in response, flowing with the punch and falling into a cartwheel, so the impact is less. Ending up behind him, I attempt to kick his feet out from under him, but he is quick for being so big, and he sidesteps me. I block his next punch and kick with ease, all the while laying in some of my own.

Several minutes pass, and I begin to realize how evenly matched we are. We are each hitting our mark about the same number of times. My asset seems to be my speed and flexibility while his is strength. The blows he delivers are hard, and even in my blocks, I feel the impact of that strength in every fiber of my body.

While we are each regrouping, he grins at me. "Have you forgotten who I am, Miss Summers? I am a master vampire. . . older than even your William. I can promise this won't be an easy conquest for you."

We begin circling one another slowly like two giant cats waiting for the other to strike first.

"Nor do I expect it to be." I gesture at him to attack with both hands. "Bring it on."

"All right. You asked for it."

What he does next catches me completely off guard. He raises both hands toward me, and lightening flies from his fingertips. I narrowly miss being struck by the bolts as I tumble out of their path.

"What the hell?" I mutter to myself, jumping to my feet at the same time as his foot buries itself in my hip. I wince through the pain and take hold of his calf with both hands, dragging him down and dropping my stake.

After punching him in the face several times and drawing blood, I dive after my stake with the intent to properly stake him, but he hurtles his body on top of me, smashing and twisting my wrist with his weight. His blood drips in my hair, and I can feel the liquid running along my scalp. I shudder.

"Now what are you going to do, Miss Summers?" he whispers in my ear.

"What I want to know," I quip, figuring getting him to talk is my shot at overcoming him, "is how you did that nifty lightning bolt thingie."

"Magic."

"Where did *you* learn magic?"

"Had a little witch once. She taught me yoga and how to make a mean energy shake. And she taught me magic." His hands begin to rove over my body, and I feel his lips hovering over my neck.

When I recognize what he's doing, I almost shiver. In his blossoming arousal, his weight shifts, and I take advantage, using my legs to fling his weight over my head. I am up instantly and retrieve my stake with my non-mangled hand. Nabald remains on the ground, apparently a bit dazed and still aroused. I wrinkle my nose in disgust before flying at him.

Something in his face shifts at that moment, and he lets out a roar as lightning fires from his fingertips and lances through my body. The impact flings me back through the air. Crying out, I crumble to the dirt, cradling my stake to my chest. I lay unmoving, waiting for him to approach me. The faint smell of burnt flesh meets my nose; I'm definitely wounded.

He strides slowly toward me and leans to touch my shoulder. At that moment, I gather all my energy and spring upwards. With my smashed hand, I clasp at the stake and pull on the door handle above with my opposite hand. The heavy metal scrapes loudly as the door reluctantly gives in to my weight. Nabald screams when he realizes what's happening. I smile to myself.

And I see my first sunny day in over six hundred years.

TBC. . . still 2675. . . Thanks again for the wonderful reviews! You guys are really inspiring me to keep plugging away with this. And I'm actually really enjoying writing this! *g* :o)

2675, an unknown amount of time later

My senses come back to me one by one. . . slow as honey pouring tediously out of a barely-tilted bottle. My first perception is like a sandpapery cat tongue laving over the skin on what I vaguely recognize as my hands and face and neck. Next, I am aware of my tongue, laying thick and heavy in the cavern of my mouth like a giant slug that's unwilling to obey the command to move. I taste the faint tinge of something metallic and a scratchy itch in the back of my throat like someone's forced blood down my throat.

Light brushes across my eyelids, lighting my world scarlet red as if I am staring directly into the sunlight with my eyes shut tight. Automatically. . . instinctually, I flinch away but find my muscles are pressed firmly against something warm and feathery soft. Inwardly, I sigh with relief, and I momentarily forget the effulgence of the unexplored outer environment.

Then, I hear a sound. . . .

A sound is beating toward my eardrums in a hesitating rhythm. . . .

The resonance is so painfully obvious but unidentifiable to my underwater consciousness. . . .

Wait. . . .

Something wet and hot and liquid is seeping through the cotton covering on my forearm. . . . A stray drop winds a path down to my hand and burns there. . . .

Salt, salt burns. Tears! Triumphant, I grin inwardly at my ability to put a word to something. . . .

But tears mean someone is crying. . . hurting.

Forcing my muscles to obey me, I defy the pain in my eyelids and open my eyes. My vision is cloudy, but I am able to recognize Ayledan's shiny dark hair covering her face. I part my lips to speak to her, but only a small moan escapes my mouth.

She lifts her head at my utterance and smiles through bloodshot eyes that she rubs vigorously as if she is trying to hide her tears. "You're awake."

I lay unmoving, uncertain how to respond.

"I suppose you'll want to know what happened." She lets silence build for a moment. "I mean, I would if I just woke up and didn't know."

My eyes flick around the foreign room, searching for Spike. Ayledan knows what I'm doing.

"He. . . Spike is in the other room sleeping. He didn't want to leave your side, but I made him because he hadn't slept in hours. . . actually, make that days."

I attempt to convey the relief that fills my heart with my eyes; however, the slayer doesn't notice. She's already lost in her own world. . . almost separate from herself.

"The vampires are gone. We, Richard, Bandel, Sage, Spike, and I, killed all but a handful. When Spike took off after you, we pretty much followed because we were all too weak to carry on by ourselves. The remaining vamps got away.

"I don't know what made Spike go after you like he did. Maybe he sensed something the rest of us didn't. Maybe you have a connection with him that I could never understand. But one minute he was fighting, and the next, he left. Richard carried Sage because she was unconscious at that point. . . with his gloves back on, of course. Bandel limped along because he twisted his ankle and broke his arm, so Richard hung back with him to make sure no stray vamps attacked him. I kept up with Spike who ignored every attempt I made to get him to slow down and explain what was going on.

"We arrived at your location just as you opened the exit. Sunlight literally poured into the underground, and you and Nabald lit afire. The scariest thing was that you didn't make a noise, but Nabald screamed like a banshee. He staggered back into the shadows and began to roll around. You just stayed in the light, and Spike dove after you, knocking you into the darkness again.

Ayledan's face hardens in deep anger. "And I made sure Nabald made it back into the sunlight. I had to hold him there. . . i-in my lap. He burned until there was only ash. The screams were awful. The worst sound I've ever heard. . . ever felt against my body. . . and so very loud." She shivers. "I think I'll be having nightmares about them for a very long time."

She seems to have more to say, but she hesitates. I transmit encouragement with my eyes. She caves to her innermost feelings before me.

"M-miros is gone. . . d-dead." Tears rise anew. "He was my whole family, and now he's gone."

Without thinking, I reach for her, stroking her long, soft hair with my left hand as she buries her face on the sheets covering me. We stay in that position for a long time until Ayledan has cried out all her hurt. . . for now. She will probably cry again later when the pain hits fresh. I wish I had words for her, but perhaps the quiet is better. . . less like false comfort.

Finally, she stands and clears her throat. "Wait here. I'll get you something to drink." I almost protest that I'm not in the least bit hungry, but instead, I let her go. She wants to be helpful after her emotional display. I've felt the same way in the past.

As soon as she is gone, I muster my energy and swing my aching legs to the ground. The floor is uncarpeted but is covered with a thin rug that's rough beneath my feet. Shaky from lack of blood, I sway in position for several seconds, balancing myself with my hand on the bed. Once the world has ceased spinning, I find that I'm able to place one foot in front of the other although only at a snail's pace. At the end of the bed, I am suddenly on my own, and I stumble to the doorway, clinging painfully to the doorframe and feeling thankful that I did not fall.

Then, I see him.

Lying in a stiff chair with his legs partially splayed, the love of my life sleeps with his eyes tightly shut, hair tousled and askew, and his lips slightly parted. The only sign that he is not completely at peace is the thin line of worry that etches his brow. There is an energy between us that is palpable even when one of us is asleep, and that bond pulls me to him now.

Before I am aware that my body has moved, I find myself directly in front of him. Settling carefully onto one of his thighs, I study him. As if to wipe away the anxiety, I bring my fingers forth to touch him only to be confronted with the wounds in my flesh for the first time. Jerking my hand down, I stare at the lesions on my hands. My blistered skin looks like a mosaic of pinks and reds and yellow-greens. Unable to tear away my gaze, I am filled with an odd mix of feelings, ranging from wonder to horror. The feeling is not unfamiliar.

"My angel."

His voice is low and filled with the British accent that I only hear when he is hoarse from sleep. He brings his hand up to caress my upper arm that is bare and unscarred. I flinch away. His arm returns to his side, and he ducks his head so that I am forced to view the brilliance of his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asks simply.

I shake my head and part my cracked lips, croaking, "I'm horrible."

I close my eyes to shield myself from his rejection of my scars. I should have known better. Spike's never been afraid of my scars. . . emotional or physical. He loves me the same no matter.

"No, you're beautiful; you'll always be beautiful, love," he states with a certainty I wish I felt.

"I wish I could see myself. . . wish I could look in a mirror and see myself," I whisper.

"Do you trust me?"

My eyes fly open to meet his earnest ones. Once upon a time, I would have said no. Now, . . . "Always." I have never been more certain of that emotion. . . trust.

"You are beautiful. . . inside and out. Always have been. The wounds will heal. . . no scars, I promise." Careful not to press too hard, he runs his fingertips lightly over the wounds on my face, staring at their path as if to remember every inch of my wrecked skin before returning his gaze to my own. "And I love you."

Tears erupt then, cascading down my face in scalding, stinging waves, and I hide my face in his familiar chest, weeping. He massages my back to comfort me and kisses the top of my messy hair. He holds me close until my tears cease, and I am hiccupping quietly. Then, he takes me by my shoulders and presses me back.

"What made you stay in the light, pet?" The urgency and fear is an undercurrent in his forcibly calm tone.

I stare at him steadfastly. "I wanted to see the sun again. I missed it."

"Did you want to die?" He is point blank. . . always straight to the truth.

Without hesitation, I reply, "No."

His features relax visibly, and I suddenly realize what he was thinking and feeling. Discounting the violent pain in my hands, I slide my arms around his middle. "No, silly, I didn't wish to leave you. . . didn't wish to be human again. . . although being human might make it easier to do my hair." A smile creeps onto his face. I continue, "And, besides, if I were human, I'd be very dead. And I wouldn't be around to bug the heck out of you."

The smile is more evident now. "You do have a tendency to be a pest."

"Who me?"

Spike gently kisses my burnt forehead. "Yep, love. It's always been you."

"I do love you," I remind him.

"Love you, too, Buffy."

I rest my hands tenderly on his shoulders. "Now, I have a proposition."

He leans his head back against the chair and rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. "What?"

"I want to adopt Ayledan. She needs a family. I think we do, too."

"Think we need a family, huh?"

"Yes, we do. We need a new identity. . . one not all hidden in the dark."

"But, what will the Council do?"

"Screw the Council," I say pointedly.

"That's the Buffy I know and love." Spike's face brightens considerably at my show of spunk, but when he glances over my shoulder, he sees something behind me that makes him freeze.

I turn my head slowly to view Ayledan standing in the doorway, holding two mugs of steaming blood. She is wearing tears of joy.

TBC. . . the year 3000. . . hope you enjoyed the portion on 2675. . . we now leave behind Ayledan and crew for a new adventure. . . that of course, ties in with the plot! Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews! I really enjoy reading what you are liking about the story! :o) And I hope you keep on enjoying!!! ;o)

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