by Sandy S.

“So, when are you going to tell us about Harmony and a certain poker game?” Buffy casually asked Spike while swinging her legs over the edge of her bed. They were her first words since being in the room Stephan provided for their housing. At first, the trio had sat in shocked silence, and now Buffy was breaking the ice with an attempt at Xander-esque lightness in the face of emotional overload.

Seated on the floor, Spike followed her lead and raised an eyebrow at her with a smirk. “All we’ve seen, and you want to discuss something that happened eons ago?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about all that crap while I’m eating dinner.” Buffy’s food remained untouched on her lap. Truth be told, she wasn’t the least bit hungry, but she felt the need to change the subject from the horrors they’d all witnessed.

Seated next to her on the bed, Angel regarded her thoughtfully. “I think we should save storytelling for later. We really need to discuss what’s going to happen next. . . what we’re going to do.”

Reminiscent of her feistiness in high school, Buffy pouted. “Fine. I just thought we’d have a nice meal.”

“You’re not eating anything,” Spike pointed out as he bit into his snack of crackers and cheese.

Buffy shrugged. “So?”

“Eat, Buffy,” Angel commanded.

“You’re not the boss of me. Besides nothing seems appetizing now. Not after. . .”

Angel sighed and looked down at his untouched blood bag. “I know.”

Spike stopped mid-chew, catching Angel and Buffy staring at him meaningfully. “What? I can eat anytime. . . no matter what. Like you said, gotta keep up my strength. Eat, sleep. . . it’ll all seem better in the morning.”

Buffy shivered. “I don’t know if it will.”

To the casual observer, Spike might seem callous and cold, but Buffy knew better. She’d seen his initial horrified reaction to what they’d been shown, and she’d also seen him tuck it away so that his thoughts and feelings were impenetrable.

Spike was doing that a lot lately, and she wished she understood. She wasn’t sure why he was doing it, but she was sure of one thing: the truth would come out eventually. And she was going to make certain she was present when that happened. Something tugged in her heart, but she dismissed the feeling.

“So, what did we see?” Buffy set aside her meal and dug in her pack for the tiny palm computer that Fred had supplied them to communicate their findings. Although they couldn’t directly contact the team at Wolfram and Hart due to the shift in dimensions, they were expected to record things on the device for perusal later.

“Right. Let’s catalog it.” Spike popped the last of his meal in his mouth and moved next to Buffy on the bed.

Buffy’s nose picked up his familiar scent and was disconcerted that it mingled with Angel’s. Was this how Oz felt with his wolf-y senses? She shook her head. Because she had become used to her enhanced senses, she hardly noticed them until particular moments. And how surreal was it to be sitting between two ex-boyfriends? Even though they’d been together for several days, she was still blown away with the thoughts and feelings that accompanied their presence.

“Buffy? You going to type that in or not?” Spike asked.

“Oh, what?” Angel and Spike were staring at her. . . brown and blue shone into her mind. She glanced down at the computer screen at a loss. “Right. What should I put? What did Michelle call it?” Buffy asked, chewing on the end of the stylus.

“Roxy,” Spike corrected.

Buffy frowned and tapped her lips with the tiny stick. “What?”

“Michelle prefers Roxy.”

Angel crossed his arms. “I hardly think that matters, Spike. And she called it the ‘Vampire Domestication Project.’”

“It matters to Roxy.”

Buffy chose to ignore Spike’s mutterings. “Vampire *Domestication* Project. That’s a laugh. Don’t think you can count euthanasia and putting people in comas as ‘domestication.’”

Led by Stephan and Roxy, the trio had toured Stephan’s domain for several hours. The two elements that stood out the most were the human “hospital” and the central bloody supply. The hospital was filled with humans who weren’t aware that they were in a facility run by vampires. The humans had either been charmed or were so ill that they weren’t able to tell or care that their “doctor’s” hands were cold, that mysterious deaths by neck wounds often occurred, and that there wasn’t a place to eat in the facility.

Actual physicians who had been turned by Stephan’s team ran the pseudo-hospital. Each and every human in the “hospital” was mortally ill with some disease or another. Stephan’s team of physicians had found a way to remove the negative effects of disease from the humans’ blood. The blood cleansing didn’t cure the humans, but it served a purpose for the vampires: it allowed them to eat the humans.

On the tour, Stephan had framed the situation to mean that his “hospital” allowed humans struck by mortal illness to die with increased dignity and decreased emotional and physical pain. The staff even went so far as to return the bodies to the families and arrange memorial services in the neighboring dimension.

The second element that shocked Buffy, Spike, and Angel was the central blood supply facility. Buffy wasn’t sure if it was more or less awful than the “hospital.” The facility or C.B.S. was where they’d lost Mary, and that was what disturbed Buffy the most. The C.B.S. was a warehouse of sorts that supplied blood to the citizens of Vampire Villa. . . or at least, Stephan’s portion of the city.

The C.B.S. crew managed thousands of human bodies. . . living human bodies. In a Matrix-like fashion, the humans were piled on top of one another, each hooked up to an individual monitoring and blood withdrawal system. Each was in a coma-like state so that they were not aware of their surroundings.

Designated sections of humans gave blood on certain days. This was done in a rotating cycle so that no individual human was completely drained and had time to replenish his or her resources before the next round was taken. The retrieved blood was pumped to a filtration system and then channeled throughout the city, so vampires could have hot and cold running blood. There were even blood banks where vampires could deposit and withdraw blood.

Although Buffy was inclined not to believe him, Stephan had reassured them that the humans in the warehouse had all “chosen” to be part of the project. He’d continued his tale by saying that each human that was part of C.B.S. had been trying to escape some unhappy part of his or her life. They all had different reasons, but all were without hope. The assurance of coma-induced dreams was enough to make any number of people volunteer.

Stephan had noted that vampires outside his portion of the city were less regulated about the way they handled their blood supply, which explained the humans in the closet at the motel. As Stephan was describing this problem, Mary had perked up, and when he had asked her if she wanted to be a “helper,” she’d gladly accepted before Angel, Spike, or Buffy could stop her. Helpless to do anything to save Mary from her “chosen” fate, the three had watched the entire process of her induction into the C.B.S.

After observing that particular atrocity, Buffy had run around the corner to dry heave. Being more attached to Mary than the rest of them, Angel hadn’t been able to go after her, but Spike had been there, gentle hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. After she had ceased trembling, Spike had engulfed her hand in his and softly kissed her temple as he helped her to her feet. She and Spike had rejoined Stephan without fanfare, and the tour had continued.

Fred and the others were going to be floored by the truth about Stephan’s portion of the city.

“It seems to me that Stephan is going to great lengths to make sure that we approve of him and his little projects,” Buffy observed. “There’s something we’re missing.”

“I agree,” Angel said, nodding. “He has presented us two vastly different stances. One, he doesn’t want vampires. . . or his city. . . to be part of our dimension as Stephanie does because it would interfere with the vampire way of unlife they have here. On the other hand, he seems very concerned about what humans think of the city and ‘his’ vampire projects.”

“He knows exactly what he’s doing. He knew we would be horrified, but he also knew that of the two alternatives: city stay here or shift dimensions into the light, he would rather have the city stay put. Like he said, he’d lose power if Stephanie got her way. As far as what his other possible motives are, your guess is as good as mine, but vampires gathering this much power is not a good sign,” Spike concluded, putting his usual dead-on spin on the issues.

“Right.” Buffy sighed. “We just have to figure out a way to figure out what Stephan is really playing at, find the other piece of that dimensional key that he wants us to keep away from Stephanie, destroy the city and the kranooks, and save the humans trapped here.” She inhaled. “Damn. That’s a lot of stuff to accomplish with just the three of us surrounded by the enemy.”

Buffy and her male companions discussed Stephan’s plan to garner the other dimensional piece, alternative strategies, the prophecies, and the things they’d seen until Buffy’s eyes began to drift shut. Despite protests, Angel ordered them to get some sleep.

* * *

“Buffy, wake up!” the voice whispered urgently in her ear. Strong hands gripped her shoulders and gave her a small shake.

Her green eyes flew open. “W-wha. . .?” she mumbled blearily. She was filled with an easy sense of safety when she saw the familiar soul peeking out from behind chocolate brown eyes. Large fingers brushed the tousled strands of her hair out of her face. Blinking deliberately, she struggled to separate dream from reality.

“You were talking in your sleep,” Angel murmured, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I-I was?” Buffy tried to grasp the rapidly fading tendrils of her dream. . . a dream that brought her a great sense of peace in the moment but now. . . now, she wasn’t so sure. “About what?” she asked even though she knew. She seemed to be dreaming a lot lately.

“You were happy,” he stated simply. He knew what she had been dreaming about. It was the same dream that he’d had on countless nights. . . their dream.

Buffy offered him a smile and pushed his chest gently, so she could have some space. “Then, why’d you wake me, silly?”

“Your volume was the problem.” His eyes sparkled. “Don’t want the wrong people to hear.”

Turning her head quickly, Buffy breathed in relief. Spike was still asleep on the bed across the room. The emotion that rippled through her in that moment was different from what she had felt in her dream for. . . .

Angel’s deep eyes captured hers again. How was it possible that she was always able to meet his eyes directly with no trepidation? And how many times had she asked herself this question with the inevitable companion question?

If she was able to be utterly herself with this person before her. . . if she loved him so unabashedly, why wasn’t she with him? Why hadn’t she moved heaven and earth to be with him even if she had to sacrifice sharing his bed? What was holding her back? She wasn’t the type to give up when she wanted something; she and Faith had had that much in common.

Somehow she knew the answer all these questions, but she wasn’t able to admit it to herself. . . not yet.

So, she spoke the only words she knew she could speak without consequences she wasn’t quite ready to deal with yet, “Thank you.”

Angel soft lips found her forehead. “You’re welcome.”

“You weren’t sleeping?” she asked, purposefully changing the subject.

“No. You know me. I rarely sleep, especially when something is imminent.”

“I remember,” Buffy breathed. She also remembered how Spike always seemed to sleep with the trust of a young boy when she was in his arms. She shifted away from Angel, and a flicker of hurt crossed his face for an instant. Catching the nuance that lingered in his eyes, she reassured, “I’m sleepy though. Think you could try to get some sleep with me?” She tilted her head just a bit to indicate that he should go back to his bed.

With great reluctance, Angel removed his arms from her middle, pausing to caress her cheek without shame. “You’re beautiful.”

“I am?” Buffy would have blushed if she could have in her vampire guise. “Even as a member of the undead?”

“Yes, even as a member of the undead,” he echoed, winking at her.

Her reluctance to be with him rushed forth once again. She was no closer to understanding the feeling, so for now, she accepted and relished the warmth of his love.

Buffy remained awake long after Angel had fallen asleep. Somehow, he had transferred his sleeplessness to her, and she wasn’t sure what to do with it, so she tossed and turned. Nothing was coherent in her mind, and she couldn’t bring herself to view Spike, so she lay with her back to him. Angel’s solid back filled her vision, and she was safe.

Then, without reason, she sprang from the bed, and before she knew what she was doing, she was kneeling next to Spike, fingers millimeters from touching his skin. With the frank openness with which she examined Angel, she allowed Spike to fill her senses. Tingles she couldn’t control or name poured over her own epidermis, raising an army of goose bumps.

Part of her wished he would open his eyes, but the other part of her was terrified of what she might find out about herself if he did so. If he was unaware of her, she was safe. (Safety was apparently most important at the moment.) As she studied the innocence of his features, a truth overcame all other thoughts.

Since her arrival from Cleveland, she hadn’t been able to look at him. . . not truly. Her mind worked as she studied the dark concave of his cheek and the way his lashes splayed across his pale skin. She tried to imagine the blue depths of his eyes penetrating her green ones but failed. She couldn’t recall when she’d last stared into his eyes without holding herself back.

Even when they had been together before he obtained a soul, she hadn’t allowed herself to really *look* at him. She’d been too ashamed of herself. And even after he had a soul, she’d only found herself *seeing* him a handful of times. . . most of which she had been so wrapped up in her own overwhelming feelings that she couldn’t focus on him clearly. One of those times had been the evening before when she had slept in the same bed with him. . . when she’d shared her recurring dream about him. She decided that was the closest she’d come to letting him inside.

And she absolutely couldn’t. . .*couldn’t* allow that to happen again.

But she wasn’t sure why.

Was she too afraid to let anyone in? Jonathan would probably chide her on this matter, asking her why she was choosing to close herself off when doing so wasn’t what she truly wanted.

Sharing herself with Angel was easy when she allowed it. What was the difference between Spike and Angel? She used to be able to open herself fully to Spike the vampire. Maybe the better question was why wouldn’t she allow herself to open up to him now? Did his humanity have anything to do with it?

Liquid splashed over her lower lashes, and she blinked and shook her head. She didn’t understand everything yet, but she knew that when she was close to Spike, there was something there. . . something alive. . . something that she knew couldn’t be contained if she opened herself to it completely.

With a low sigh, he stirred then, rolling onto his back so that her fingers brushed over his bare arm. She shivered and resisted the urge to voluntarily touch him.

Reality came crashing back, and she found herself longing for the safety of her bed. With the expert finesse of someone who knew the ins and outs of denial, she packed away her thoughts and feelings, pulling and tugging back the dream she’d just had about Angel and their life together.

The dream was familiar. . . something she’d clung to for a long time. It was simple and not at all confusing. . . a remnant from times when things were easier, more black and white.

As such, she felt safe with the dream of a life with Angel. . . like it was a security blanket, and she retreated to her bed to wrap herself in sleep once again. Maybe tomorrow she would try to figure out the confusing web of today.

* * *

TBC. . . next chapter, some action, less exposition. . . and a new turn of events. . .

Something was different about Buffy.

Spike couldn’t quite put his finger on *what* was different, but he sensed something in the way she peeked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Catching her once, he opened his mouth to ask her about it, but she abruptly ducked her head to the contents of the open pack on her bed.

He ended up dismissing the change as somehow related to Stephan’s revelations. After all, he felt oddly reserved and pensive as he dressed for their upcoming conference with Stephan.

Once the three were ready, their possessions on their backs, Spike forced himself to eat something for breakfast. Buffy didn’t eat anything again until Spike and Angel each bombarded her with a look.

Then, with the dread of going to their doom, the trio headed toward the room Stephan had chosen for strategizing. In the quiet, Spike reminded himself of the plans he had made with Angel and Buffy before they slept.

Just as he was about to ask Buffy about the transmission she had made to Fred, a tremendous boom shattered the silence. Grey clouds from a smoke bomb began to fill the empty hallway from the direction of the conference room.

Shouldering both straps of his pack, Spike joined his companions as they raced forth to see what was happening. Something jumped inside him like a long lost reminder at how much he relished a good fight.

A terrified Roxy burst forth from the billows, long blond hair streaming behind her. Her cheek was smudged with soot, and Spike immediately realized that someone had been dusted.

With panic in her voice, she stopped before them, gesturing emphatically and gasping. “The. . . oh my god. . . they. . .”

“They who?” Buffy demanded, used to the panic that came with such scenes.

Jolted with the strength of her emotions, Roxy gulped in unneeded air like a fish out of water. “Stephanie’s. . . .” Nothing else coherent was coming from her mouth, so she pointed back the way she’d come, pressing past them as the urge to run fueled her.

“Bloody hell,” Spike issued as he saw what Roxy was pointing at.

After pressing wooden stakes into their hands, Roxy raced away as Buffy, Angel, and Spike were distracted by the throng of vampires sweeping forth from the swirling puffs of grey.

The vampires wore black with yellow bandannas wrapped around their heads like golden caps.

Stephanie was attacking.

“How?” Buffy asked what they were all thinking, but Roxy was fleeing. “Roxy! Wait! Where’s Stephan?”

As jumpy as a jackrabbit, Roxy paused. “Stephan’s. . . dust.” She choked the word out as if it was stuck in her throat. Something flickered over her face. She shoved her hand in her pocket.

A key glinted in the light.

She tossed the metal to Spike who caught it between his palms. “What’s this?”

“The key to a safe in the conference room. You’ll need the contents.”

Before Spike could ask his next question, Stephanie’s minions were upon them, and the fight began in earnest.

In three years as a human, Spike had forgotten how it felt to fight with extra strength. He’d relied on his years of experience to get him through the times he’d had to brawl with the enemy while working with Angel’s team.

But now, he wasn’t a bit surprised that he slipped effortlessly back into the routine of knowing just how far he could push things without getting himself killed. He punched, kicked, and dodged with renewed ease, and he threw his whole body into knocking aside dozens of vamps, laughing as he did so.

At his first chuckle, Spike saw Buffy cast him a glance full of wonderment as if she had never seen him. His skin tingled at her attention, and he offered her a wide grin as she moved her part of the fray closer to him.

“Hey, love. Having fun, yet?” he asked as he blocked a blow to the head and twisted the vamps arm counter-clockwise.

“Much as you are!” she replied.

Spike acknowledged that her words were true. She was practically glowing with energy as she whirled and spun, weaving barely detectable patterns with her movements.

Dust was flying everywhere, blurring even his heightened vision and burning his nostrils with the scent of decay

“We getting any closer to our goal, pet?”

Blonde hair bouncing, Buffy shook her head as she dropped between the legs of a startled vamp, turned, and staked him, adding more dirt to the atmosphere. “Not that I can tell.”

“And where’s the grand poof?” The flow of the dance was making him feel cocky.

A nearby growl met Spike’s sensitive ears. “I’m right over here, Spike. I told you that I don’t like you to call me that.”

“Right, right. I forgot about our little heart to heart.” Spike parried and dodged, and two vamps butted heads with a satisfying crunch, leaving them open for dusting.

“You better not! Didn’t we discuss this? How communication is the most important part of any relationship and that name-calling isn’t part of that?” Angel was half-joking as he jabbed his stake into a female vamp who was trying to bite his arm.

“Oh, yeah, soulboy, I remember.” Spike flipped a vamp over his shoulder with a grunt.

“Look who’s talking,” Angel retorted, pulling a vampire out of Spike’s path.

“You boys need to get a room?” Buffy sang out over the sounds of the fight. “Cause, well, I’m feeling a little left out over here.”

“Well, now, I think we should remedy that.” Angel’s knuckles rapped on something hard and metal. “Found our door.”

“Oh, goodie,” Buffy responded, hopping over a vamp who’d fallen after she stepped away from his attempt to ram her midsection. “Hey, have you ever noticed that the other vamps don’t ever talk when we’re killing them?”

“They’re too busy concentrating on our brilliant conversations, pet,” Spike said, pulling a vamp from Angel’s back as he maneuvered through the oncoming vampires. “They’re enthralled by our excellent skill with crafting sentences while chewing gum and fighting.”

“And blowing bubbles?” she asked with a giggle.

“Who blows bubbles with all the dust blowing by?” Spike returned as ash flew about his head.

“Good point.”

“Um, looks like we got trouble,” Angel interrupted as the sounds of the door opening echoed over the fracas.

“Don’t we always?” Buffy was near Spike’s elbow now and kicked backwards to thwart an attack from behind.

“We found a room.” Angel slammed the door shut again.

“That’s a relief.” Buffy kicked one vamp into another. The opposition’s ranks outside the conference room were thin now.

“But there are more vamps in here. . . too many for us to take and get what we need,” Angel explained.

Spike shook his head and started to push past the taller male. “Let’s go. We won’t try to dust them all. . . just enough to get whatever’s in that safe and get out.”

“Wait!” a familiar voice shouted from behind them. Buffy, Spike, and Angel saw Roxy racing toward them through the dancing particles. “You can’t go in yet. Stephan left one last order.”

Spike was sick to death of Stephan’s orders and crossed his arms. “What’s that, pet?”

Roxy raised her hands, and her light brown eyes turned to black as foreign words flew out of her mouth. A wind blew, sending her blonde hair floating about her head like a cloud. Her fingertips crackled with an energy Spike had only witnessed with Willow.

As Spike was closest to her, he lunged out to grab her. . . to stop the spell, but a searing pain ripped through his skull, sending a roaring echo through his ears. The pain wrapped around his skull and squeezed, and the intensity was stronger than any he’d ever felt even when he was chipped by the Initiative.

He sank to his knees, holding his head in his hands, and an unbidden groan escaped his lips. In the distance, he heard Buffy emit a similar sound as her body hit the ground.

In the next second, the tangible pain lifted without fanfare, and Spike opened his eyes. Roxy was watching him intently.

“What did you do, witch?” he demanded, reaching up to grab her throat.

As Spike was still weak, she evaded him. “I did what I was told to do to fulfill the prophecy. You’ll be stronger in your natural state.”

“Natural state?” He glanced at Buffy. Angel was bent over her, but Spike could still see that her skin was golden brown. Inhaling, Spike realized that he no longer smelled her familiar scent.

Wait a second! Her chest was rising and falling.

Spike put his hand to his chest. His heart thrummed beneath his fingertips.

“What the hell!”

Roxy was halfway down the hall, going away from the fight again, but she turned to face them, walking backwards. Despite her distance, her words were haunting:

“The prophecy speaks of a vampire with a soul, a man with a soul, and a Slayer who loves them both. To be most powerful, you have to be what you are. Stephan recognized that after he spoke with you. He said if the worst happened, I was to work the magicks to restore you.”

Spike felt weaker already. “How am I. . .?”

But Roxy was gone. . . engulfed by the ashes of dozens of vampires like a ship sailing into a fog.

Buffy’s hand landed on his back. Already, her aura was one of greater confidence. She hadn’t been comfortable in the vampire guise.

And that left him the weak link yet again.

“Can you stand?” Buffy’s words sent a shiver through him.

A bit numb, he clamored to his feet. Buffy handed him the stake he’d dropped in his fall. How come she didn’t look any worse for the wear? Ah, right because she hadn’t changed as much as he had. “I’m good.”

Her green eyes melted into his blue ones.

Spike recalled Roxy’s words and searched her eyes for remnants of love. . .

Yet, she averted her gaze before he could latch onto anything he could label.

Spike cleared his throat. “We should go. . . fight. . . I mean, get that piece of dimensional whatnot.”

“You okay being human again?” Angel asked, implying that Spike might have a hard time in the fight.

Straightening his shoulders, Spike was determined. “I am.”

* * *

Fighting as a human against an uncountable number of vampires was not fun.

Spike was tiring. His arms and legs were sore, and his head was throbbing from whatever that Roxy vamp had done to it. To top it off, he was bleeding from numerous wounds he’d accrued in the conference room. Like sharks to a single drop of blood, the vampires were drawn to the metallic scent of his life force.

And yet, he didn’t back down once or complain about his predicament.

Buffy noticed, catching his struggle in the corner of her eye. “What do you guys think you’re doing?” she announced. “Picking on a lone human when you could have a chance at *the* Slayer!” With that, she drew the end of her stake across her palm so that fresh blood coursed to the surface.

Like drones, the vamps turned to Buffy, no doubt taking in the heady scent of her blood like hounds on the hunt. Buffy winked at him as the vamps charged her, and Spike inwardly cringed at her overprotection.

Finding himself to be alone, Spike tugged the key out of his jeans pocket and snuck past Angel and Buffy, maneuvering closer to the safe. The large metallic box had been pulled from the wall as if one of the vamps had attempted to open it to obtain the dimensional instrument for Stephanie. Too heavy to carry, it was propped up against the wall with a lone vampire guarding it. . . a vampire with a menacing-looking ax.

Better just to address the obstacle and get it over with. “Say, that’s an awfully big ax you go there.” Spike strode toward the vampire with an air of self-assurance he wasn’t sure he felt.

Ax-vamp growled at him but didn’t move.

“Hey, you gonna swing that at me or just stand there and look pretty?” he taunted, plunging deeper into the tricky situation.

The vampire shifted the ax from one hand to the other and took a step forward. “I won’t let you take Stephanie’s prize.”

“Oh yeah?” Spike dove in before the vampire could accommodate the change.

The vampire cried out in shock and pain as Spike hit him square on the nose, then kneed him the groin and ground his stake into his forearm. Still unused to the abrupt change in his strength mid-battle, Spike miscalculated his foe’s ability to recover and knocked to the ground with the back end of the ax. Sharp pain lanced across his back.

“Hate axes,” he grumbled as the memory of Joyce’s face flashed through his mind.

Trying to convince himself that lying on the ground was a tactical plan and not a desperate need to rest, Spike remained motionless, waiting for the vamp to hover over him to take a drink.

As predicted, the vampire came for him, and Spike took full advantage.

He rammed his head back as he felt teeth graze his neck.

The vampire yelped and stumbled back, and Spike saw stars. . . and then blackness.

* * *

“Spike!”

Spike shot back to reality as he heard a vampire being dusted. The ax clattered to the floor. Running on pure adrenaline, he forced himself upright, nodding to Buffy past the wave of dizziness that overcame him.

“You got the key?” Buffy asked, beating back the vampires who’d followed her when she rescued Spike from further physical abuse.

He opened his mouth and found himself gulping in air. Buffy gripped his shoulder to steady him, worry etching her features.

“The key, Spike!”

Something was in his hand. He looked down at the metal object. . . the key against his palm. “I’ve got it!”

He was swaying, and the world was spinning.

“Can you use it?” Buffy was busy dusting their enemy.

“I-I think so.”

Metal clattered against metal as he tried several times before the key slid home. With effort, he twisted, and the safe sprang open.

A single object was at the base of the box, and Spike grasped the narrow rod with uncertain fingers. He prayed that he wouldn’t pass out as he rose to his feet again.

“Got it,” he called to Buffy, not sure if his voice even carried.

Apparently, it did. “Great! Now open a portal!” Buffy rolled over the back of a vampire, spun, and dusted.

“Right,” Spike mumbled with something akin to sarcasm. “Make it work. How the hell?” He forced his blurring eyes to focus as he scanned the object that lay across his palm. No features marked the surface. . . no obvious buttons or switches.

When all else failed. . . imitate.

Spike held up the device and brought it across the air as he’d seen Michael do when they’d been chased by the kranooks. The machine started vibrating, and a thin knifelike attachment jutted forth. To Spike, it felt like he was slicing through a loaf of bread.

A line glistened green and bright against the dim lighting of the conference room. A small, wavering portal formed and grew, spreading open with buzzing energy and the scent of wintergreen.

“Buffy!” he called.

Caught up with attackers, Buffy didn’t even afford him a glance. “Great! Now, get through it! More of Stephanie’s vamps are coming, and Angel and I can’t handle all of them.”

“Where’s Angel?” As much as he sometimes despised Angel, Spike couldn’t just leave him to get destroyed.

In a last ditch effort, Buffy jabbed her stake rapidly into two nearby vamps and threw the wooden weapon across the room to dust the vamp behind her. Her face was covered with blood, and her ponytail was falling loose. “Across the room. Go through! It’s starting to close.”

Spike squinted through the delirium that threatened to overcome him and spied Angel across the darkened room, surrounded by Stephanie’s minions. No way Angel would make it to the portal in time.

Summoning air into his reluctant lungs, he shouted, “Angel! Catch!”

Tucking a vampire’s head up under his armpit, Angel’s head shot up from the scuffle. He held up his free hand, and Spike hurled the dimensional device in a miraculously straight line. Angel caught the device with ease. “Thanks! Go! I’ll catch up to you later!”

At Angel’s words, Buffy was tugging at Spike’s shirt. And before he could react, Spike was pulled into the other dimension.

Buffy held tight to Spike’s hand as she stumbled through the dimensional portal and felt the rush of energy laving over her skin. She was desperate to get away from the fight that had sapped her, and she was worried about leaving Angel behind.

However, she was more concerned about Spike’s abrupt transformation back to the frailties of humanity in the midst of the battle. He’d sustained some form of head injury and seemed more than a little out of sorts. The transition to another dimension was hard enough on one with supernatural strength. . . let alone a human who was hanging onto consciousness by a thread.

The step into the new world made her dizzy, and she allowed herself to squat to the soft, wet ground to regain steadiness. Spike’s hand was firmly tucked in the crook of her elbow.

As the stars that marred her vision faded, she rose with caution, senses on alert.

Spike’s arm snaked around her waist, and she allowed him to lean his weight against her. His breath over her cheek was warm and heavy from exertion. At least, he was still alive. Her muscles tingled at his nearness, and deep within, she found herself yearning for him to never let her go.

The world around them was dark and wooded. Sounds of the night echoed around her, and the air was dense with moisture from the humidity. She guessed they were in the Louisiana of a different dimension, but she just didn’t know *which* dimension.

And she didn’t know the way out of the forest.

Dim light from the stars and moon flashed through the spaces in the tree branches above, and she attempted to view Spike’s face. His eyes were drooping, and he looked dazed as if someone had beaten him. Shoving aside the guilty feeling that sprang in her, she cupped his cheek to steady his head and shock him into sensibility.

“Spike!” she said with more harshness than she intended. “Stay awake for me. I can’t have you blacking out now.”

Spike couldn’t focus.

So, she demanded, “Say something. Who am I?”

He took longer to respond that she would have liked, but he managed, “B-buffy.”

“Good, and who are you?”

“Spike,” he said with greater clarity.

“Can you walk?”

Shifting feet resounded over the insects chirruping. “Uh huh.”

She placed a hand against his rising and falling chest because he was swaying. “Okay, because we have to get out of here. I’m not sure where we are, but we can’t exactly stay here.”

Spike mumbled something incoherent.

“What?” She leaned closer, and as she did, Spike’s knees gave out.

They collapsed to the dirt together, their foreheads momentarily touching.

“Angel?” he queried.

Buffy shook her head even though Spike couldn’t see her. “Not sure where he’ll end up.” She bit her lip and then continued without certainty, “We’ll find him though.”

Spike sighed.

Before Buffy could make sense of his impatience, she heard a twig snap from the nearby brush.

Disentangling herself from Spike’s limbs, Buffy stared in the direction of the noise, ready for a fight despite her exhaustion. She would do anything to guard the helpless man at her feet. “Who’s there?”

The voice that rang out was tentative, “Buffy?”

“Angel?”

A familiar form emerged before Spike and Buffy. “It is you,” Angel said as if Buffy and Spike hadn’t just left him. . . as if he hadn’t seen her in years.

Buffy smiled in relief, and Angel caressed her cheek with tenderness. Buffy jerked back in surprise. “Y-you’re human!”

* * *

The steady beep of the machine kept time with the motion of Spike’s chest beneath the white sheet. Though unconscious since she and Angel had brought him to the nearest hospital, Spike was still breathing, and for that, Buffy was grateful.

She hadn’t left his side for hours despite her brain’s desperate attempt to shut down. Hospitals were not a place of peace for her, and Spike was her only tie to the other dimension. . . her world. She refused to let go of his hand. Answers to her hundreds of questions could come later.

All she knew for certain was that she was with Spike, and the Angel of this world was keeping watch over their little corner of the hospital.

Buffy clasped Spike’s warm hand between her small palms as she thought of how surreal the notion of Angel being human was to her. How could that have happened here and not in her dimension? And where was the Spike of this world?

With a quiet moan, Spike shifted in what the doctor had assured her was his sleep. Buffy felt something tug at her heart. He looked so vulnerable laying there, and she just wished he would open his eyes and tell her to sod off because he wasn’t vulnerable. . . least of all to her.

She’d seen a spark in his eyes when he’d fought earlier. It was a glint that she hadn’t seen in his eyes since he obtained a soul, and she wanted it back.

“Buffy?”

Buffy started and turned abruptly to see a tan and very human Angel standing in the doorway, dark eyes dancing with something that she couldn’t quite identify. “Angel,” she breathed in relief.

Angel moved his hands behind his back as if he was hiding something. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Buffy glanced at Spike who remained asleep. “It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking her thumb across his fingers as she faced Angel. For reasons she didn’t understand, she felt defensive and protective of the man on the bed.

“Is Spike going to be okay?”

“I think so,” she said. “The doctor said he has a concussion and probably just needs to sleep for a while. They bandaged his head. But otherwise, he should be fine. They just want to make sure all systems are go when he wakes up.”

A smile played about Angel’s lips. “Just like Spike. . . he’s always been tough. . . hardheaded.”

Without realizing what she was doing, Buffy squeezed Spike’s hand and grinned. “He is.”

“And your injuries?”

“All healed up. . . well, mostly.” Buffy closed her mouth and stared at the floor.

“So,” Angel began, running a hand through his dark hair, “I’m going to catch a nap in the waiting room.” Buffy must have looked alarmed because he added, “But don’t worry, I’ll be close by.”

Relaxing into the bed’s mattress, Buffy nodded. “Good. I’ll be here until. . .”

“Until he wakes up.” Angel’s eyes betrayed a hint of sadness, and Buffy filed it away to be explored later.

“Yeah.” Her eyes drifted toward Spike who had rolled onto his side away from her and subsequently released her hand. Her attention remained on him. “And then, we’ll. . .”

“I’ll answer more questions than you might want answers for,” Angel finished for her.

Buffy didn’t respond, but she wasn’t sure if it was out of weariness or lack of necessary words.

She wasn’t even aware that Angel was gone.

Instead, after only a moment of hesitation, she did what she had longed to do the previous night. She climbed onto the bed behind Spike, kicking off her shoes with a clunk. Following her instincts, she wrapped her arms around his midsection, buried her face in his familiar scent, and allowed herself to fall into dreams.

* * *

Warm lips slid over her mouth, nudging her lips apart.

Following her body’s gentle urgings, Buffy sighed and moved closer to the source of the burst of shivers that shot through her limbs and torso. She groaned as the kiss intensified, and a tongue requested immediate entrance. Her mouth granted the visitor its requested audience, and she matched the urgency with her own energy.

The rest of her body soon joined in the waltz of desire, and her hands ran over the bulge of muscles and the curve of bones that were beginning to move in time with her own.

She tugged at cotton, leather, and synthetic tubing, wanting freedom from society’s restraints, and she worked with a surety of experience to grant them emancipation. At first, she had aid, but then,

“Buffy,” came the low rumble, half-filled with love and half with a hint of fear.

The single utterance destroyed her bubble of dreams. The sun was just beginning to bathe their room in the tender light of morning, and she was suddenly drowning in the blue seas of Spike’s eyes.

In a rush of confusion, she ducked her head to his chest to find his heart thundering in her ears. His heartbeat wasn’t the only sign of his arousal, and she blushed although no one could see her.

He stroked her back and long, tangled hair with initial hesitation, so she slipped her arms around his waist to pull him closer and reassure him that she wasn’t going anywhere.

She found her voice first, “Thank god, you’re okay.”

“Worried you, eh, pet?” His voice was hoarse with surprise and uncertainty. This was new for them. . . at least of late.

Her response was clear as a bell, “Yes.”

He pushed her back a little. “Don’t worry. I’m stubborn. I’ll survive.”

“If we could survive on stubbornness alone. . .”

“Then, we’d be immortal,” Spike said with a grin that faded almost as it formed. His arms released her, and he scooted away.

Buffy was taken aback. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” Tears were in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to take advantage.”

Despite the passage of four years and the renewed forgiveness between them, he was still afraid of hurting her. With haste, Buffy closed the gap between them, placing two fingers on his lips. “No. You didn’t take advantage. It was me. . .”

A small cry interrupted them, filling Buffy’s ears with something that she never thought she’d hear.

“Mommy!”

Buffy bolted upright to see a tiny, four-year-old girl burst into the room. . . a little girl with light brown waves framing her fair face and piercing dark brown eyes.

The child flung herself at Buffy with vigor, wrapping her arms middle as if she might never let go. Not quite sure what to do, Buffy held the girl with a bit of awkwardness. An extremely angry Angel emerged, ignoring the compromising position of Spike and Buffy. With tenderness, he pulled the girl back.

“Celeste. No, that’s not Mommy. Come here.” The girl, Celeste, let go of Buffy in favor of Angel’s neck.

“But it is Mommy,” she insisted, pointing at Buffy with a pout.

Angel avoided everyone’s eyes and glanced over his shoulder. “Fred!”

Fred poked her head around the corner with a sheepish expression. “Sorry.”

Angel let his anger seep through. “I told you not to let her come near this room!”

The Fred of this dimension had short brown hair and was just as tan as Angel. She also seemed to have gained a healthy amount of weight. “We went to get a snack, and she took off when I put her down to get some change.”

Buffy raised her hand. “Excuse me. What’s going on?”

Fred and Angel seemed annoyed by the intrusion, and Celeste reached for Buffy again, kicking her legs against Angel’s abdomen.

“Mommy!” Celeste glared at Angel. “Put me down, Daddy, so I can give Mommy a hug.”

Propped up on his elbows, Spike snorted. “Figures.”

Angel rolled his eyes and passed the squirming girl to Fred. “Take her to get some breakfast.”

Fred nodded, eager to correct her mistake. “Right.”

Celeste let out a shriek, realizing that she wasn’t going to get her way. “No! I want Mommy!”

Fred’s soothed the girl and headed down the hall.

Silence dominated the room as Angel, Spike, and Buffy were left alone.

“The truth,” Buffy demanded. “Now.”

TBC. . . what’s going on with Buffy and Angel. . . and with Buffy and Spike? Where is the real Angel? And what did Stephan want them to do? Find out soon!

In the late afternoon sun, Spike concentrated on the hum of Angel’s SUV and studiously overlooked Angel and Buffy talking in the front seat. He couldn’t stand their level of intimacy, no matter that Angel wasn’t *really* Angel.

Instead, he returned Fred’s sympathetic smile and then examined the sleeping Celeste.

The child was beautiful with full cheeks and fair skin that radiated health and glowing happiness. She had a strong hold on the innocence of youth, and she was loved.

Spike wondered if Buffy had looked like her when she was little.

He gently stroked her cheek, and she shoved her thumb in her mouth. His heart constricted, and for a second, he let himself wonder. . . what if?

Would a different little girl have his expressive blue eyes, a tendency to be sarcastic, and a penchant for poetry?

He shook his head. No use thinking such things because they would never happen. . . not between him and Buffy. . . no matter what might have happened this morning when he’d woken with an armful of Slayer.

"Spike?" Buffy was watching him from the vehicle door. She had the most beautiful soul he’d ever seen.

"Hmm?"

"We’re here. You okay?" Her eyes were filled with concern, but he didn’t know what to make of it. Did she pity him?

Annoyed at himself for trying to understand her yet again, he slammed out of the mini-van, hoping she would be just as uncertain as he was.

Buffy’s expression changed to one of annoyance, and she closed the door to the SUV so hard, the vehicle shook. Spike was glad.

He turned to the startled Angel. Spike knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn’t care. "Look. I don’t really want to interfere with happy family reunions and all, so I’m just gonna. . ." He glanced around. They were at yet another hotel. "Go hang out at the bar. . . if you need me. . . not that you will."

Spike brushed past Fred and Celeste who were staring at him with wide eyes. Screw them all. He needed a drink.

* * *

He’d chosen the darkest corner of the bar, and he nursed his beer without enthusiasm. His stomach was a virtual melting post of anger, hurt, and guilt.

To distract himself, he studied his surroundings. The bar was small and cramped but smelled of some sort of air freshener as if the owner was trying to disguise the torn, ratty carpet, the scarred tables and chairs, and the cracked, well-used glasses. The ceilings were low, and the owner kept the lights dim. Very few patrons haunted the facility, and most were so shrouded in darkness that Spike’s human eyes couldn’t make out their features. Even the bartender was non-descript.

Buffy consumed his thoughts despite his attempts to deny her.

She’d kissed him this morning. . . held him like he might disappear, but then, as soon as she found out that she and Angel had a child in this dimension, she forgot him.

The events of the last week or so had his mind and heart in a tumult, and he honestly didn’t know how much more he could take.

He took a swig of warm beer and frowned at the bottle.

"So, you feeling sorry for yourself?"

Spike blinked. His thoughts were so loud that for a second, he thought they were outside his head.

"You’re not daft." A familiar figure slid into the seat next to Spike.

Spike decided to ignore what *had* to be a hallucination, some left over torment from when he attained a soul. Perhaps becoming fully human again triggered a momentary bit of insanity. He set aside the alcohol. He didn’t need to further cloud his mind.

"So, the Buffy of your world is chatting it up with the poof, eh?"

"Go away," Spike said.

People at a nearby table looked up at him.

His twin leaned forward, smelling of cigarettes and old leather. "I’m not a figment of your imagination, Spike."

Spike dragged out a smirk and sat back, crossing his arms, so he could get a better glimpse of whom he was dealing with. "So, you’re me, and I’m you."

"Sort of." The Spike of this world was still a vampire. . . still a vampire with a soul. "That’s better."

Hey, at least vampire Spike would be a distraction. "This could be entertaining."

"Could be? It *is.*" Vamp Spike snatched the beer from Spike’s hand. He grinned as he took a long drink. Then, he surveyed Spike. "So, this is what I look like human. Hmm. Good strong heart, still in shape, still got the same hair. Damn. I look good. . .well, except for the bandages." He leaned in closer. "But you know what?"

Spike squirmed a little. "What?"

Vamp Spike sniffed. "I’m not making good use of my humanity."

"What do you mean?"

"You still got a Slayer by the name of Buffy Summers in your world, and you’re human while the big poof isn’t. And you’re not even going for her." Vampire Spike drained the rest of Spike’s beer and set the bottle down with a thump. "You’re like I was when I first got the soul, all sour and brooding."

Spike’s temper flared. "I think you don’t know what you’re talking about. Things between Buffy and me are complicated."

Vampire Spike waved a dismissive hand at Spike. "Complicated? Every relationship is complicated."

"You don’t have a clue. This world is different from mine. And by the way, where is *your* Buffy?"

For the first time, vampire Spike seemed sad. "That’s a good question."

"And is there an answer?" Spike was feeling petulant.

"First, I need another beer." Vamp Spike stood and dug a tangled wad of bills and a crumpled cigarette package from his pocket. Pulling out a cigarette with his lips, he asked, "Want one?"

Spike melted a little at the offer. "Sure."

A few minutes later, Spike was stubbing out his first cigarette in years and was nursing his second beer of the afternoon. "She’s dead, isn’t she?" No use skirting around it. Besides, he drank so infrequently now that he could blame the alcohol for loosening his tongue.

Vampire Spike closed his eyes. "She is."

Something familiar and sharp stabbed into Spike’s chest. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and kept his words simple lest he choke on them. "How?"

"I blame Angel." Demon Spike paused. "But I also blame myself."

"Okay, that’s clear as the Gulf of Mexico."

Spike’s counterpart grinned. "Remember that thing with Dru in the Gulf?"

"Those were the days." Spike sighed. Things had been so uncomplicated when he didn’t have a soul. . . when he was still a vampire. "But this is now."

Vamp Spike continued without further prompt. "There was a turning point. . . a point in both our dimensions that led to Buffy’s demise in this dimension but not in yours."

"The battle at the hellmouth with the First."

"Yes. Do you remember that little scene where Buffy greeted our dear granddad with a kiss?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Of course. Better than I want to."

"That’s it. . . that’s the turning point."

"The kiss is the turning point?"

"No, you idiot. That’s when Angel presented her with the lovely medallion. He gave her a choice."

"She sent him away." The truth was seeping into the fibers of Spike’s being, and he felt pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

Vampire Spike took a gulp of beer. "Yep. In *your* dimension, she sent him away. In mine, I’m afraid the lovely Peaches stuck around to aid in the final battle at the ole Sunnydale hellmouth."

Spike’s soul felt like it was humming. "She sent him away in mine. . ."

"She chose *you* in your world."

The truth was stunning, and Spike’s mouth hung open. Vampire Spike stuck a cigarette in it for him.

Lighting the fag for Spike, demon Spike continued, "Funny thing is the Powers that Be have the power to set things a certain way, but humans still have free will. They granted humanity to whomever Buffy chose as the champion."

"So the reason I’m human is. . ."

"Buffy chose you to be the recipient of the gift."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. That’s why I hate to see you wasting your time when you still have a chance with her."

Spike was silent. Then, "What happened to your Buffy?"

Vampire Spike shifted his eyes to the main area of the bar. "She passed away." He stared down at his lap, and Spike could tell he was trying not to cry. When he spoke again, bitterness laced his tone, "And she didn’t even die a Slayer’s death."

Spike averted his gaze as well; it was hard to see his other self under normal circumstances, much less tearful. He didn’t quite know what to say.

"Spike!" a familiar voice rang in his head. She sounded glad to see him, and her tone contained more than a little concern.

Immense relief filled him as he witnessed Buffy across from him with a puzzled expression. "Buffy!"

Buffy narrowed her eyes at vampire Spike. "And other Spike."

Spike’s counterpart seemed disconcerted by her presence, but then, he quickly tucked his feelings away behind a sneer. "Slayer," he acknowledged, hooking his thumb in the waistline of his jeans.

Shaking her head as if to clear her senses, Buffy regarded Spike. "It’s like you of old. Spike with. . .bite."

Spike wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but before he could respond, vamp Spike said, "Still got the soul though."

"Angel’s back. Wesley and Lorne. . . er, the Wesley and Lorne of this dimension waited in the woods. They used some sort of dimensional-disturbance detector to locate him."

"And, we’re off to join him, then?" demon Spike asked.

"Yeah," Buffy said, "we are. We need him for this prophecy to work, so we can destroy Vamp Villa."

"Can’t wait to see the old bloodsucker," he returned. "There will be four of us, then, won’t there? And one Buffy. It’ll be interesting to see how this plays out."

Buffy ignored him and centered on Spike. "And the Angel here filled me in on some info about Stephan and our situation that you might find interesting."

Vampire Spike wasn’t muzzled by Buffy’s disregard. "Did he talk about Celeste? Or about the Buffy in this world? Or about how he’d like to keep you here, prophesy be damned?"

* * *

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