* * * * * Chapter 11: The Trials, Part 2 * * * * *

Meanwhile...

Spike leads Sarah to the door and they lean out, checking the hall. They head out to the left as it appears they are alone again. Sarah pulls back slightly and Spike turns to her.

"William?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For saving my life. You...you are a vampire like they were but you killed them all. You could have just let them have me."

Spike shrugs off her praise. "Well now, I was just getting a little attached to you is all. You callin’ me a monster and everythin’. Made me positively nostalgic for good old Sunnyhell."

"But I was wrong."

"Wrong about what?"

"You’re not a monster at all."

Spike stops and looks at her. "That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them, luv." Spike looks at the floor, and says quieter, "That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them." His eyes seem far away for a second, as if he is remembering something from the not-so-distant past.

He snaps back to the present and gives Sarah a lopsided smile. "Thanks." He turns and starts down the hall again, gesturing for Sarah to stick close behind him. Spike slowly works his way down the hall, listening for who knows what and wondering where he is leading the scared girl shadowing him. Every few steps, her hand grazes his arm. Thankfully, her warmth and proximity are not affecting him like before. He turns to her, "You know I have no idea where to go, right?"

"Um, well, yes. I suspected."

"How did you end up in that dungeon, anyway? I have an idea how I got there."

"I don’t really know. I remember going to sleep in my bed at home and when I woke up, I was there. These voices told me that a monster was coming and that he would kill me. And that he wouldn’t look like a monster, but he was evil just the same. And..." Sarah looks off in the distance, letting the words hang in the air. She looks slightly glazed, as if she has not accepted the reality of all that she has seen in the last few hours.

Spike pauses, pulling her into a small room off the hallway. He checks it for other inhabitants. A small window high in the wall casts blue moonlight down on them. "And?"

Sarah continues to look away and then down at the floor. She clears her throat. "And that I should never trust him, even if he tricks me into thinking he is good. That I should kill him.. She looks up, her shimmering brown eyes searching his face "...kill you if I got a chance." She holds her breath.

Spike laughs shortly, startling her. "So, luv, you’re just waiting for me to be distracted? Is that it? Not a good idea to tell the enemy your plan, you know."

"I...I think they’re wrong, William. Wrong about you. They must have made a mistake. You haven’t even touched me if you weren’t trying to protect me."

"But what about their warning, ‘Don’t trust him.’? Other people have made the mistake of trusting me before, Sarah. I’m not to be trusted."

Sarah straightens up, and again, he sees Dawn in her serious face as she studies him, looking for clues in his eyes, his face. "I can see that, William. I see that it was true once. You’ve got a look in your eyes that I’ve seen before. My older brother, he made mistakes. He got in big trouble. Something tells me you have been in more trouble and made bigger mistakes, but still... Tom is sorry now. He regrets his past. He is still my big brother. That’s what I see in your eyes." Spike hesitates, not sure if he wants to ask the thin girl with these eyes, these eyes that have obviously seen too much, even before tonight.

"I see regret." She smiles shyly at him. "Am I...right?"

Spike leans back against the wall, looking down at the slip of a girl in front of him. Her long straight hair is messed and tangled around her head, her t-shirt and what he now recognizes as flannel pajama pants are wrinkled and dirty. He does not know why they put such painful insight into one so young. His eyes burn as he sees how sad her eyes are. The sadness is buried deep and he is suddenly enraged that the Powers would put her through this night.

"You’re crying."

His hand goes to his face and comes back wet. "So I am. Regret. I never felt regret before, Sarah. But this year...the last few years...it’s been creeping into me. At first, it was like a disease to me, a killjoy. I’m a killer. I won’t lie to you. I’ve killed many people in my time on this planet. I don’t deserve to be here. I should have died a hundred years ago and saved the world the trouble I’ve caused."

Her hand with its pink painted fingernails touches his wrist. "Are you sorry for it, William?" A pain shoots up his arm where her hand rests. He flinches.

"It was my way, bit. I was a demon. Still am, though I don’t much feel like it or act like it lately. Guilt is a very foreign emotion to me. It makes me queasy and weak and I hate it. Act like a nancy boy, I feel so bad sometimes. " Spike’s eyes drop to his feet.

Sarah clutches his arm tighter now, and Spike wonders at the strength of her little hand. "Do you remember everyone you killed, William? All of their faces?"

Spike studies the floor and mumbles. "I think so, but...wait, why are you asking me this?" He lifts his blond head to peer at Sarah. Her questions have turned in some way. Her voice has grown edges. A cloud must be blocking the moonlight, as the room is nearly dark. The light returns and casts its blue light on Sarah’s face.

Spike gasps. It is no longer Sarah that stands in front of him, but another young girl, this one in a long nightgown. Her dark eyes gaze into him. Her face. Oh god, her face. She pushes her long hair back and he sees the telltale puncture marks on her neck. No. no. no. It can’t be. Spike tries to stumble back away from her, but her grip on his arm is too strong. He knows her, knew her the second the light passed over her delicate features.

He killed her.

"No no no no no..." Spike can only say the one word as he struggles with her iron grip on him.

The voice is biting, harsh now. She is maybe 12 years old, but her voice has the pain of ages in it. "Do you remember me, Spike? Remember me, sleeping in my bed when you and that woman snuck in and dragged me out the window? Tore me from my family, my life to play your twisted games? Dragged me through the night, her laughter terrifying me more than anything else? She treated me like one of her dolls, braiding my hair, petting me and talking to me with nonsense words. Finally, she let you kill me so you two could move on to your next victim. Do you remember how I struggled, kicking at you? Do you remember how you didn’t even flinch, how you just drained me dry? DO YOU!!?!"

Her voice, angry and screeching, reaches its height as Spike crumbles to the ground, his wrist still trapped in her grip, bones crushing. Tears pour out of his blue eyes, his entire face crushed in grief.

The images of Drusilla toying with this girl are vivid. How she stroked her beautiful hair, murmuring. "Pretty doll, pretty. Eyes like stars, she has." Her name. Her name was, is Jessica. Oh God, she was so innocent.

A sudden slap snaps him out of his reverie. His free hand goes to his cheek as he looks up. The steely eyes that greet him belong to a woman, not a girl. She is tall and thin with curly black hair, and she wears a silver evening gown. She scowls at him and he sees the blood on her neck, the drops staining her satin dress.

"Look at me, you animal." Her voice is deeper, scratchy. The fury is palpable as she winds up and slaps him harder. His neck snaps back as his memory flashes to her death. In an alley, Dru standing over a man in a dark suit. Him dragging this woman away from her date. His evil smile as he kissed her and then sucked her dry. Leaving their bodies in a heap. The blood pooling beneath them. He never knew her name.

"You never gave me a chance to fight. Never gave a thought to my life, you bastard!" She releases his wrist and backs up. Spike’s hands drop to the floor, limp. He looks up at her and tries to speak, tries to find words. Suddenly, his face explodes in pain, his cheek splits as her foot connects with a soundly placed kick. He falls backwards, cracking his head on the stone floor. Stars swim in front of his eyes.

He feels a presence above him and opens his eyes slowly. "I.. I’m sor...." His voice cuts out as a booted foot lands on his throat, pushing down hard. A young man stands above him, sneering.

"Not so tough now, eh?" He leans down, bringing his face closer to Spike’s. "I was young, you fuckin’ wanker. I never got to even find out about life ‘fore you took it." The man’s clothing and accent show him to be one of Spike’s earlier victims. When he was the most foolhardy and cruel. Blood stains his throat, his arms. He brings his fist back and punches Spike in the eye, bloodying the skin below it. Again and again, he punches him. Spike never fights back, tears still running down his face. Regret is not a big enough word for the feeling that swallows him as his body is beaten.

* * *

Hours, days, weeks later, Spike lies in an awkward mess of blood and limbs. He has no idea how many of his victims have been through this room or how long he has been here, taking their punishment. He tried everything, apologizing, crying, begging for forgiveness and they continued to torment him with their words, their fists, their every bit of anger and bitterness. He long ago gave in to them, absorbing it all. He now understands the extent of the helplessness his victims felt. He cannot move, his face is smashed nearly beyond recognition, his blond hair stained red by his blood. He snorts, and then winces in pain. It’s not even his own blood. Blood he drank, pig’s blood. He doesn’t have any blood of his own. It is quiet in the room. No one stands over him or kicks him or screams at him. The silence is deafening. The moonlight is casting shadows on his nearly naked body, his clothes ripped from him by angry fingers, scratching the skin underneath.

He hears the door creak open slowly and he lies still, bracing himself for more. He still has no interest in fighting back. He has come to realize he can never accept enough punishment to atone for his past deeds. The soft padding of bare feet approaches him from across the room. He tries to open his eyes, but they are swollen shut. He can hear the breathing, the heartbeat of someone drawing closer. It sounds like they stop by his side and a rustle of clothing tells him they have kneeled down next to him. A small voice breaks the silence, "William?"

Spike’s lips are split and bloody, but he croaks out a name, "Sarah?"

"Are you sorry now?" Her voice is flat, without inflection.

The girl he protected, the one he allowed himself to worry about. She must hate him now, too. From a well he thought was long dry, fresh tears rise to the surface.

"Oh god, yes. Yes." His voice is cracked, barely recognizable, devastated by emotion. He tenses, waiting for her blow to land. She certainly has her chance to kill him now, as the voices predicted.

Instead, a soft warm hand reaches out and strokes his hair, sticky with blood.

"I believe you."


 

* * * * * Chapter 12: And Searching... * * * * *

Buffy’s house, two hours later...

"Ohhhhh..." I moan, trying to swim out of unconsciousness. Out of dreams, nightmares... I’m in my bed, I think...but why? What... oh. Oh God. A fractured cry escapes my mouth and I hear something move in the room. It’s Willow. I open my eyes and I see that Willow is in a chair next to my bed. She looks startled by my outcry. "Will?" My voice cracks like I haven’t spoken in days.

She comes and sits on the edge of the bed. "I’m here, Buffy. You were scaring us." Her cool hand brushes the hair out of my eyes. "You were out for awhile and then you started tossing and turning, but wouldn‘t wake up. Dawn and Tara went to bed after I promised to wake them if you came to. Bad dreams?"

I nod. I can’t even remember passing out. I can’t remember EVER passing out before tonight. "The worst. Is he really...gone? He can’t be..."

She hesitates. "Will?" I struggle to sit up. Why won’t she make eye contact with me? "Will." Her eyes dart at mine and I see it. She is hiding something from me. I’ve known Willow for six years and she has never been able to hide anything from me. Terrible liar. Her eyebrows knit together and I know there is more. I pull her arm and she takes a deep breath, turns to face me.

" I...don’t know, Buffy. He could be, but that spell...the one I did with Tara...it is...well, limited."

"What do you mean, limited? It didn’t look everywhere??" I can’t decide if it’s panic or hope that is welling up inside me.

Willow looks over her shoulder at my door, which is slightly ajar. She puts her finger to her lips and heads for the door. After gently closing it ‘til we hear the lock click, she comes back to the bed. "Buffy. That spell was powerful, yes. It searched very far and wide." She checks over her shoulder again, making sure the door is closed.

"There is another spell, though. One that checks under all the rocks, you might say. It’s darker. It’s, well, it’s dangerous. But if that spell doesn’t find him, nothing will. It will check the places that humans do not go. That humans cannot go."

I am trying to absorb what Will is telling me. I don’t know if it’s the fog of just waking up or the unnerving calm that has taken her over, but I am scared by her words. "Dangerous? Why? Tell me what you are talking about, Willow."

"It’s okay, Buffy. Stay calm, I will. The spell Tara and I did, it basically throws out a web. We use the essence we absorb from the item, the shirt in this case, to guide it. When we pull the web back, it brings back the location of the source of the essence. It’s not an exact thing, but it would tell if he was out there and whether he was near or very far. We didn’t feel anything in the web. Came back empty."

I am so not liking where she is going with this. I start to open my mouth, tears threatening. She holds up her hand, effectively silencing me.

"Wait. Let me finish. But there are reasons we may not find him with that spell. And steps to take to search farther, steps Tara may not even know about or...want to know about. I’ve read about these kinds of spells, where you use something stronger to search with, more than just an item of the person...more worm on the hook, sort of." She stops. "Something the missing person truly loved."

I freeze. Me? She means me. "Let me get this straight, Will. You want to do a spell in which something Spike truly loves acts as, like, cosmic bait?"

"Exactly." She studies my face, obviously searching for my reaction. " I mean you, of course."

"Yeah. I figured. I guess there’s a downside to this?"

"Not necessarily, but there is risk. If I do the spell, I have to kind of channel your essence and use it to search with. It becomes...you become the web. If he is out there, the tie between you should be strong enough to find him, to latch on. And when I pull the web back - pull you back - we will know if he was there."

"Willow, I’ve known you for a long time. And you’re majorly no good at hiding things. And you are so stalling. What is the danger, exactly?"

She looks down and studies her hands. "I...could lose you...your essence...if I’m not strong enough to get you back. I have to kind of send it out there, " She makes a wide, sweeping gesture. "to look for him. It will call to him. So if he’s weak or lost or even in some kind of alternate dimension - which can happen, hello, remember vamp Willow? - we will get a...‘signal.’ I’m sorry, Buffy, but magic is not a science. There are very few hard and fast facts. Very few things that are simple. If it all works, I’ll feel him. The way I feel him will tell me if he is near or distant, but that’s about it."

"But it will tell if you if he’s still kicking, right? Still out there being Spike?" I know I am out of my mind, but I want to do this. I can’t stand the not knowing any longer. A red light flashes in my head. Lose me? She definitely said she could lose me. "What do you mean you could lose me? You mean, like, poof, I’m gonesville?"

"It won’t happen, Buffy. I’m strong enough. I know I am." She sets her shoulders and firms her mouth into a tough line.

I look at my red-haired friend, assessing her objectively. Recently, I’ve felt it...there is a certain *something* about her. Power? I think it is power. This must be what is freaking out Tara. "But wait, is there danger to you, Will?"

Her eyes leave mine, gazing out the window into the dark. All of a sudden, she looks older to me. Kind of otherworldly. "I have to tap back into a deeper power, Buffy. And I have to do it alone. Without Tara." She comes back to me, her eyes re-focusing. "I’m not scared, though. I can definitely handle it. In the great scheme of things, this is no big. I won’t even need to amplify my powers with anything. I can work this, Buff. Trust me."

I wonder at this girl in front of me. The girl who didn’t want to be the "big gun" in our battle against Glory. But she was. She always comes through, always. I do trust her. With my life. Guess I have to in order to agree to this, huh? I also see why we can’t bring Tara into this one.

"I do, Will. I’m ready. Are you ready?"

"Absolutely. Not here, though. We can’t be interrupted during the spell or it could go haywire. So...where?"

I ponder the possibilities. Somewhere quiet, no distractions, but pretty safe. Got it. "Spike’s crypt."

"Perfect, I’ve got what I need for it in my bag. Let’s go." We slowly slip out of the house. I’m not sure if Willow casts a spell to keep Dawn and Tara sleeping and I don’t ask. Best not to know. We start walking down the empty street, crossing from darkness to pool of light and back again as we pass under the streetlights. I look up at the moon. I can tell it is not even midnight yet. At least I wasn’t out _that_ long. Willow is very quiet. I glance over at her. "You sure about this?"

She doesn’t break stride. "Yep." Her answer does not invite discussion. We quickly reach Spike’s crypt and I pause at the door. "Is it locked?"

"No, I’m just...it’s not easy to go in here. I’ve only been back a few times since...and it’s a bit too weird. But, in we go..." I push the door open and we head downstairs. I don’t look around too much, so as not to awaken memories.

Will quietly goes about her work, setting out a circle of red candles. Weren’t the other ones white? I try not to think about it too much. Once they are lit, she finally looks at me again as she stands in the center of the circle. "Ready?" She smiles and I see her sweetness. But there is no forgetting she is a witch, big time, and this is serious business. I step slowly forward and enter the circle, facing her. I nod once. She takes ahold of me by the upper arms and drops her head. First, it is very quiet but then I realize she is...talking? I don’t know if she is actually speaking, but there is a sound coming from her. Her grip on my arms is tightening. The air in the room is starting to spark. Suddenly, her head snaps up and her eyes meet mine. Only her wide green eyes have been replaced by black. Before I can react, she is inside me with those eyes. I feel a queasy feeling in my gut and start to feel my knees buckle. She holds me up, not with her arms, but with those eyes. I am lost in them.

Suddenly, I am on the floor and Willow is there with me. We are both on our knees and she still has my arms in a death grip. I look around. Most of the candles are half-burnt. "What the..?? How many times am I going to black out today? This can’t be good for a girl..." I look back at Willow. Her eyes are green again, but there are dark circles under them. She is exhausted. I can’t tell what happened exactly, but I guess it’s over. I feel like I dreamed about him. Is that even possible? I look down at myself. Still here, one Slayer, fully intact. "Willow?"

She blinks rapidly, seeming to come out of a trance of some kind. Finally, her grip on my arms releases. Her hands fall to her knees. "Buffy? Whoa. That was something....you okay?"

"Yes. So...?"

She smiles. Oh God, she is smiling. My heart rate triples. I reach over and clutch her hands.

"He’s out there. It wasn’t easy, Buffy. He’s somewhere...somewhere strange. It’s why we didn’t find him before. He’s gotten involved with something not of this world. And I don’t know where he is, exactly, but I found him. I found him!"

I pull her to me and hug her as hard as I can. She squeaks, "Buffy! Ribs!" I let go, but I can’t seem to stop laughing and crying. I only heard the last three words, really. She found him. He’s alive. Well, as alive as he gets, anyway....


 

* * * * * Chapter 13: On One Condition * * * * *

Meanwhile...



It’s dark. His eyes drift open slowly, but the darkness is nearly complete and he can’t make anything out. He thinks about sitting up, but the waves of nausea force him back to the ground. Wait, he’s not on the ground anymore...it’s softer. A bed of some kind? Before he can guess where he is or why, he drifts away again. His dreams have been strange and disturbing lately, but they are at least a respite from the pain of broken bones and internal injury.

This dream seems different. Something is reaching for him, seeking him...long black threads whipping around, looking for something to latch onto. He cowers a bit, hoping to avoid them. Then he feels it... feels her. Buffy? The idea of her is soothing, he wishes it was real. Her presence is very strong in the dream, the black threads form into her fingers as they run down his body. One word slips out, "Spike." He tries to react, but he has little strength. He raises one hand to meet hers and then, as quickly as she arrived, she is gone. He is alone. In the dark.

Spike awakes in a cold sweat. More alert than the last time he awoke. The dream of Buffy was so vivid, so very real, he has to look around to make sure she is not in the room. Hmm. This room. It is not where he blacked out with little Sarah being so gentle to him. He can just make out the walls of the room, covered in some kind of fabric, nearly black. Part of the reason the room seems so dark. That, and the lack of windows. Awfully considerate of whoever brought him here. Spike pulls himself up on his elbows on the bed. He is lying naked under a soft cotton sheet. He looks down at his battered body. Most of the visible wounds are healed, just the internal ones are still knitting back together. He looks around the room, something is very odd about this space. Finally, it hits him.

There are no doors. None visible anyway. He shakes his head, trying to focus. No doors? Must be Ka’jiin at work. She who needs no doors. He chuckles.

"Good to hear you laugh, William." He jumps. And then regrets it, holding his side where the ribs still ache. He turns toward the voice to see Ka’jiin standing at the foot of his bed.

"Bugger all, Ka. You scared the living hell out of me. Can’t you wear a bell or somethin’?"

"I am glad that the suffering has not damaged your spirit, William. Many others could not survive their own past."

"I’m not like the others."

"Indeed. One of the reasons I elected to help you."

"If this is how I feel after you’ve helped me, remind me never to get you right pissed, luv." He scoots up to sit against the headboard, wincing all the way.

"Let us discuss the trials. When you awoke in the room with Sarah, what was your first instinct?"

"To drink. I was so hungry. And I knew I could since you knocked out the chip."

"What prevented you from feeding on her?"

"Dunno. Reckon I felt sorry for the bit. Knew it wasn’t right to eat her, so defenseless and all."

"You ignored your own hunger and craving for blood because you felt it was the right thing to do? You wished to preserve her life?" Again, she asks questions she knows the answers to.

"Yeah, go figure, luv."

"When you escaped the room, you took Sarah with you. Would it not have been easier if you left her?"

"True, true. But she was right terrified. I couldn’t just leave her there. Made a promise to her."

The merest trace of a smile touches Ka’jiin’s mouth. "And against the vampires? You did not let them kill her."

"Couldn’t have her myself, not giving her up to some group of wankers that wanders in."

"You fought admirably, William. You saved her several times with no thought to your own risk."

Spike nods. Her praise is unsettling. He is more accustomed to insults.

"And the last, William. There was the true test. All those people and their hate, their anger. You do realize you could have fought back at any time? Prevented the suffering? Naturally, you would have failed the test, but you would have saved your body and mind the pain."

Spike looks directly into Ka‘jiin‘s planetary eyes. "Ka, I thought I was bloody well clear when I met you. Didn’t come to fail. Besides, I deserved it. All of it. And more."

Ka clasps her hands in front of her, nodding slowly before regaining his soft blue eyes with her hard silver ones.

"William, in your first trial, you battled yourself. And won.

In the second trial, you battled others. And won.

But in the last trial, you had to be stronger than ever to survive. Because the only way to win was not to fight at all. Rather, you had to accept your past. To grieve your sins. To seek mercy from those who had no call to offer it. To suffer as you made others suffer. And by surviving, by not fighting back, by feeling sorrow, by craving forgiveness, you won."

Spike grows uncomfortable under her gaze. "...so, I get the soul, then?"

"William, as you may remember before we started this process, I told you that surviving the trials would be required, but that there would then be one more step before your soul was granted. You must now face this last step. The last condition for your soul."

Spike sighs. "And what’s that, luv?"

"The Chosen One...your chosen one...must love you. If she can see the man inside the monster, I will bring that man forward and bury the monster. I will grant your soul."

"Bloody hell ! Love me?! That’s why I came here in the first place, Ka!" Spike struggles to stand up and face the blue-skinned creature, but is forced to sit back down on the bed, clutching his ribs. He looks up at her from beneath angry brows, and grinds out, "She can’t bleedin’ love me without a soul. She said that to me when I left. It was why I left! Now you want me to toddle home and ask her to change her mind? Have you ever MET Buffy?!!"

Ka’jiin stands silently, gazing down on Spike with implacable eyes. "Are you finished, William?"

He scowls at her. While he is not really finished, he decides not to push his luck with the powerful Ka. He nods.

"Very well. I have observed you throughout your trials. I have also observed The Chosen One."

"You’ve been watching Buf-" Ka raises her hand and his words die in his throat. He swallows. She is powerful.

"As I was saying, I have observed The Chosen One. I have visited her mind and heart, seen her past and present. She is a noble warrior. She is indeed capable of great love. But while she battles the spawn of evil every night and has faced numerous apocalypses, she has one fear above all others. It is love. How do you know her words to you were not born out of this fear? She has suffered loss and betrayal and much of it has been at the hands of love."

Spike raises his hand, seeking permission to speak. Ka’jiin pauses, blinks and he regains his speech. "But, Ka, I promised her I would not return until I was better. I promised to change. I can’t go back just like I left, a soulless thing."

"You believe you have not changed through these trials? Are you a fool, William? You came to me with a spark of humanity building inside you. Your love for Buffy fueled this spark and now that you have faced these trials, that spark is a raging fire within you. How can you say you have not changed? You have done what many consider impossible. You have struggled and fought against your demon nature to be better without the benefit of a soul to guide you. How many vampires without souls would have spared Sarah? Or not sacrificed her to his fellow vampires to save himself? How many would have allowed countless humans to unleash their rage on him and feel grief at past deeds?

You must help The Chosen One with her struggle now. When you left her, she feared the power of the love you bore for her. She retreated from it. She must now recognize your struggle to be good. She must accept you as you are, for a soul is not a cure-all. It will guide you in decisions and help you overcome your demon more easily, but it is not a salve for all wounds. It alone will not make her love you. Her love must exist before it does.

Her place in this world is larger than even she realizes. With your help and your love, her quest will be strengthened beyond measure. You have acted as a souled being for some time, William. Let her see this. Be brave as you have been these last few weeks.

She needs you."

Spike stares at Ka in disbelief. "Needs me? Didn’t seem that way when I was there."

"It is not always easy to recognize the need for someone until that someone is gone, William. She feels your absence."

"How do you..? Oh right, been watchin’ her. She alright?" His brows knit together in concern.

"She is alive, William. To learn more, you must return."

Despite his anxiousness to see Buffy again, Spike is suddenly nervous about walking back into her life. "What if she hates me for leaving, Ka? I told her I would, but I’m not sure she believed I would walk out..."

"You are stalling, William. I will not allow it." She lifts one hand of long blue fingers and gestures down his body. "You are healed to your former condition."

"Bloody..." Spike stands up quickly, trying out his newly repaired bones and muscles. "That’s a right handy skill to have, luv."

"You cannot tell The Chosen One what I’ve told you here. She must come to this love freely. You may speak of your trials, but the details of our personal encounters will be blurred for you. I must protect my identity."

"I won’t remember these heart-to-hearts, luv?"

"You will recall the content of them, but not my part. I will construct an alternate memory for you that does not include me. Know this, William. I am the Powers. I have seen many creatures in my time on this planet. You are unlike all others. It has been a true pleasure and I have very few of those."

"Aw, c’mon." If Spike could blush, he would have turned crimson. "Been a right pleasu...wait a bloody minute. Never had one woman cause me this much pain aside from Buffy, Ka! Even so, never have met a bird like you. Reckon I never will again. S’pose I can get a ride back to L.A.? Left my motorcycle there."

The tiniest of smiles touches Ka’jiin’s face. This vampire before her has shown her the potential of all creatures, good and evil. She will miss him and she does not miss anyone. "Naturally, William. It is time for us to part company. You have fought valiantly. Go forth now."

"Thanks, Ka. For everything, even the aggravation." He nods to her briefly, a sign of respect. She raises both hands and he feels the world tipping on its axis again. "Hate this part..." Everything turns black.

Ka’jiin stands alone in the empty room. With a small smile, she nods to the spot Spike last occupied. A sign of respect for a vampire like no other. Her work nearly completed, Ka and her surroundings vanish in a blinding white light.

* * * * *

"Soddin’..." Spike comes to in Frank’s bar, his head down on the table in front of him. He sits up and looks around, wondering why his sudden appearance did not draw attention. No one pays him any mind and he senses Ka’s hand in this trick. He rubs his head, thankful he won’t be taking any more of her special trips. He wanders up to the bar, realizing he is starved. Apparently, his hunger for blood was completely controlled by Ka’jiin in the alternate world he has visited for the last few weeks. Now, he needs some of the real stuff, not the mystical kind.

"’Ey mate, something fresh, eh?" Spike allows his game face to flicker across his features as he talks to the bartender, who nods and turns around. He reaches into a fridge and retrieves a clear glass bottle full of dark red liquid. Pours Spike a glass and takes the money he slaps down. Spike sips the liquid and smiles. "Could get used to this. Nicer quality than the butcher’s blood back in Sunnyda..." His words fade as he realizes what he is saying.

Sunnydale.

Buffy. He takes the glass and slams the contents, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He leaves the bar immediately, his mind locked onto the idea of seeing Buffy soon. It’s before midnight, so he should have time to reach Sunnydale before sunup. Thankfully, his motorcycle is right where he left it. Since it has been weeks, he again realizes he has Ka to thank for its presence. He points to the sky, "Nice work there, luv. You think of everything." He hops on and hesitates, "S’pose I could stop by and tell the poof how it went..." He smirks. "Nah. Not over yet, anyway." Spike kicks the engine to life and peels out down the street, pointed towards Sunnydale. And Buffy.

* * * * * Chapter 14: Collision Course * * * * *

Meanwhile, in Sunnydale. The cemetery, 11 p.m.

I really hate waiting. It’s been weeks and weeks since Spike disappeared. And here I am, as usual, on patrol. I just can’t stand to mope around the house anymore. Gotta keep busy. Gotta keep slaying. And oh look, here’s the first lucky contestant of the evening.

"Slayer!"

I roll my eyes at the new vamp. Like I’ve never heard that before. "Don’t you guys even try for originality anymore? It’s always, "Slayer!" and then grrr and then a feeble attempt to jump me. I mean, really. Bo-ring."

Naturally, this vamp reacts to my constructive criticism by going all grr and running at me. I check my manicure on my left hand as I stake him with my right. This is getting too easy. Nobody’s a challenge. In slaying or anything else for that matter. I miss the challenge of Spike. The push and pull, the teasing, the tempting. God, it made me feel so invigorated. So....alive. How could someone that’s been dead for over a hundred years make me feel my blood pumping, my heart racing like never before? Why couldn’t I see how good he was for me before he left? I don’t have to hide anything from him. He knows me. Knows what I do and why I do it. Oh great, the crying again. You’d think a girl would run out of tears after awhile. I’ll just finish this lap before I do what I really came out here for.

After a few more vamps meet their timely ends, I find myself standing here. The scene of the...crime? No...but the scene of so very much. Spike’s crypt. I sigh and steel myself. Every night since Willow told me he was still out there somewhere, I’ve come to his crypt. To the site of our lovemaking. When he first left, it was too raw for me to be here. Now, I find it somehow comforting. I let myself go into the past and relive our moments here, hoping that I won’t have to live on the memories forever. They are a sore substitute for the real thing.

I sigh and push the door open. I take a deep breath, inhaling the musty scent of earth and...Spike. Everywhere I turn in this place he called...calls home, I see him, smell him, taste him. His duster, still on the chair near the door where I laid it, waiting for him to walk in and snatch it up. When I see it there each night, I know he is still gone. I finger the black shirt I am wearing - the one I wore home that cold morning. Tonight, I just felt the need to have it on me again. The crisp cotton brushing my skin, the faint scent of him still touching it. It is like a security blanket, one I can wrap myself in. If I close my eyes, I could almost pretend he is here, around me. But he is not.

I slip through the upstairs of the crypt silently, afraid of disturbing...who? The dead? I shake my head. Old force of habit to move quietly. I drop down the ladder and find myself soon standing at the foot of the bed. Rumpled and lovelorn now, the sheets reflect my own disarray since he left.

I kick off my shoes and crawl onto the bed. I cross my legs and sit up at the head of the bed. Finally, I pull the letter from under my shirt, where it has been tucked into the waistband of my jeans at the small of my back. A place he used to love to rest his hand. I sigh. God, Buffy, depressed much? It is worn around the edges even though I’ve been as careful as I can be with it. Slaying is rough on precious documents and I can see where it got a little bent tonight. I press the pages out on the bed, smoothing them as best I can. And then I read it. Again. For the millionth time. I wonder if he knew I would cling to certain phrases like a liferaft.

"...I saw it in your eyes last night, Slayer. For a brief shining moment I thought it was love." I always curse myself at this point. It WAS love, only I was too much of an idiot to realize it. I drove a stake through his heart in all but the literal sense that night.

"...I think I loved you from the day I met you...." I let a smile touch my lips. Love at first sight? But first the required years of trying to kill me, I guess, before he realized it. Welcome to the world of the Slayer.

The section about my death is always the hardest and not for the reasons you might think. I was ready to go - didn’t really have that whole death wish thing going on, but I knew it was time. I knew it was the right thing to do. But when I read those words. Oh, it hurts. How he cried, how he wished he could have sacrificed himself for me, how he saved me night after night after night when I was gone. I don’t know how I could be so blind. He stayed. He looked after Dawn, put up with the Scoobies and he stayed here. I was dead and there was no reason to think I wouldn’t stay that way. And still he stayed. If that isn’t enough to show his love...to show that even without a soul, he is better than many humans. Stupid stupid Buffy! I grimace. I berate myself for my prejudice. And that’s what it was, prejudice against him. Assuming he could not change, could not strive to be better than he was. Turns out he’s different than most vamps. Maybe different than all of them. For the first time, I realize that even without the chip, he probably wouldn’t feed. He loves the hunt, but I think he’s lost the taste for the kill. The thrill of fighting demons and other vamps fills that void for him. I know that feeling. Skin gets itchy and you can’t sit still. Gotta slay.

I snap out of my thoughts and return to the letter in my hands. I realize I am clutching it very tightly. I loosen my grip and continue to read. The words swim in front of me. I’ve read this letter at least once a day since he left and it doesn’t get easier. It makes me sad, happy, furious and frustrated all at the same time. Finally, I get to the end. And there it is...

"I will be back, Buffy." I read it over and over ‘til the words blur together. He will be back. But when?

I lay back on his bed, staring at the rough stone ceiling of the crypt. I sigh deeply and hold the letter above myself, studying it. Not reading it, just looking at it. The slope of the letters, the dark black ink, the crisp parchment paper, the creases and bent corners. I take my left hand and trace the letters gently, picturing him writing these words. It must have been hard for him. He sounds so sad. Mostly my fault, too. I frown, my fingers stilling. I’m really getting tired of waiting for him to return. Tomorrow, I’m going to find him. I drove him out of Sunnydale and I plan to drive him back. But first, tonight, I’m curling up in his bed...for at least a little while.. in his shirt and nothing else. Just him and me, like it should be. I get up and shuck everything else off me, finally crawling under the covers with only his black shirt wrapped around me. I fold the letter back up and tuck it in the envelope. I put it on the pillow where he should be. After a few silent minutes, I feel my lids getting heavier. I rest my hand on the envelope as I slip away into sleep.

* * *

On the road to Sunnydale, 3 a.m.

After a brief pit stop to down his last packet of blood, Spike hops back on the bike. Not much longer now to Sunnydale. His stomach is in knots and it has nothing to do with the slightly less than fresh blood he drank. Seeing Buffy again after almost two months...or longer? Time has kind of blurred through Ka’s hijinks, but two months seems about right. Spike’s brows knit together, wondering if Buffy is still waiting for him. Maybe she thinks he’s gone for good this time? Or she just doesn’t care? He shakes his head. Can’t think thoughts like that. "I bloody well love her enough for both of us. Just gotta make the bird see that."

After ten more silent miles, Spike sees the outskirts of Sunnydale come into view. He skids to a stop at the Welcome to Sunnydale sign. Rather than hit it, he hopes it is true. That he is welcome in Sunnydale. He peels out once more, zeroing in on Revello Drive.

Spike sits on his silent motorcycle across the street from Buffy’s house, looking at her window. Somehow, despite the impossibility of it, he is out of breath. He decides he is actually nervous. Scared, even. It’s 3:30 in the morning and Buffy’s window is dark. "Should I wake her? Maybe not the best way to re-enter her life, making her cranky. But, sod it all, I’ve got to at least see her." Spike swings his leg off the bike and tucks his hands into his jacket pockets. Not the same as the duster. He strides across her lawn, silent as the moonlight, and shimmies up his tree. Taking another pointless breath, he peers into her dark window. Her bed is made. And she’s not in it. Spike leans closer to the window, disbelieving. This is not the way it was supposed to go. He leans back against the trunk of the tree. "Maybe she’s asleep downstairs, on the couch. Figures." He hops down from the tree and hesitates at the front porch. The curtains are drawn. "Don’t want to wake the whole bleedin’ house to see her. Waited this long, guess I can wait ‘til the morning. Slip over to talk to her after the Bit goes to school. Make a break from the sewer and hope she lets me in." He smiles wryly as he pictures the scene. Buffy demanding explanations for why he was gone so long as he slowly burns to a crisp. Spike stares at the front door a few seconds longer and then decides to go with his plan. Except for the crispy part. He returns to his bike and sits there quietly. "Nothing for it but the crypt, I guess. Get a few hours of sleep ‘fore I visit her." He starts up the bike and rumbles down the street, heading for his dusty home.

As he leaves the bike and draws nearer to the crypt on foot, his pace slows slightly. Spike looks around, wondering why things feel different...the air. He smells the air. "Nah, couldn’t be. Why would she be patrolling so late? She musta been by earlier. Just going bloody crazy..." He shakes his head and reaches the front door of the crypt. It’s closed. He presses his palm to the door and stops again, remembering the last time he crossed this threshold.

Every step had been torture, leaving Buffy behind in his bed. Warm and sated, she was like a drug to him, calling him back with her languid limbs tangled in the bedsheets as she slept. The letter on the pillow next to her, his words waiting for her to wake. That was the longest night of his life. First, for all the best reasons and then for the most painful reasons. Once he came out of his post-climax stupor, he had lain awake, watching her sleep, wondering if he could really go through it. If he left...would she lump him together with the other lovers that left her? He told her he was leaving, but maybe she didn’t believe him. Would it be a shock? Would she even care? Yes, she had looked at him in a way that night he’d never seen. But then again, was he just seeing what he wanted to?

He had quietly slipped from the bed to get paper and pen. And he had poured his heart out on that paper. For once, she could not interrupt him, tell him his love wasn’t real. She simply slept as he scratched along. And when the letter was done, dawn was only an hour or two off. He had to hurry. But still Spike lingered there, memorizing her face, her position. Golden hair spread on the pillow, sun-kissed arms and legs intertwined with his rumpled sheets. Her peaceful breaths, in and out. He resisted the urge to touch her again, to grab her into his arms and never let go. Instead, when he sensed he had no further time, he got up. Dressing quickly, grabbing a few things and shoving them in a bag, including the shirt she wore that night. The smell was intoxicating. He had to smile as he took it. She would curse him lightly for this transgression.

He stood by the bedside, melting the candle wax to seal the envelope. He pulled his seal from the drawer and pressed W into it. A symbol of his former self. As he laid the envelope down, he wondered what she would think of it. Probably think he was a sentimental git to keep something of his humanity all this time. Never made sense to Dru or anyone else that he kept that damn seal. But he did. Spike took it with him this time too as he swiped his cigarettes and smokes from the table. One last look. He gently laid the letter on his empty pillow and before he could stop, lightly pressed his lips to her forehead. She stirred slightly and he froze, then pulled back quickly. Nothing. She was still sleeping. Without another look back, Spike silently moved up and out of the crypt. Crossed the cemetery at a run, knowing he had maybe an hour to get out of town on his motorcycle before he would have to find shelter. Only when he reached the bike did he feel the tears racing down his face.

Spike takes his hand from the door, the shock of memory shaking him a bit. "Snap out of it, man. In the past now..." He pushes the door wide open and stands there. Two things strike him immediately. The moonlight pours in and gleams on his duster. It is there, lying across his chair. He cocks his head. Not where he left it. But the second thing, the one that turns his knees to jelly, is the scent on the air. Sunlight and Ivory soap, jasmine and a certain indefinable something.

Buffy.

Spike looks around. No sign of her. Maybe she just came by earlier tonight to check on things? The scent is strong and recent. He steps all the way in and closes the door behind him, plunging him into near darkness. The scent only gets stronger now that the smells of the cemetery are muffled. He lets his fingers drag over the duster, greeting an old companion. Other things call him though. He drops his bag and stalks slowly toward the source of the scent. Below. It is coming from below. Spike’s mouth goes dry and he wonders at his...fear? Anxiety? He wants to see her so badly, wants to believe she is here. What if he is hallucinating all this? Why would she be here, in his home? He reaches the opening to the lower floor and again hesitates. He breathes out, "Turned into a bloody ponce. What the hell am I scared of?" He slides down the ladder, facing away from his bed. The power of the scent nearly drops him. This is no hallucination. He turns slowly, time beginning to crawl.

The scene is as he remembers it. Her golden hair splayed on his pillow. Her nearly naked limbs twisted in his bedclothes. The letter on his pillow, her tiny hand touching the edges of it. Spike is frozen in place. Did he never leave? Is this the same night? Was it all some fevered dream? But wait, something’s different. The shirt. She’s in one of his shirts. And her hair is slightly longer. And god, she’s even more beautiful than he remembered.

Spike slips to the dirty ground on his knees, whispers, "She’s waiting for me." He wonders if Ka slipped his soul in him when he wasn’t paying attention. He’s not sure his heart has ever ached this much with love. Hardly seems possible without a soul.

When he is slightly recovered, Spike stands up and moves closer to the bed. He thinks about waking her, looking into her eyes, but decides he wants to save this moment a bit longer. Everything is perfect right now. In slow, smooth motions, he strips himself of his clothes and stands on his side of the bed. He reaches over with a hand that is almost shaking and pulls the letter out from under her fingers, laying it on the bedside table. Her hand slowly withdraws to her own pillow. She stirs, but does not wake. With the grace of a cat, Spike slips into the bed, under the sheets. He can feel her warmth and it calls to him like a Siren’s song, drawing him nearer and nearer. Risking all, he takes her hand in his and rests it on his chest, covering it with both of his own. He can feel each finger burning into him and he half expects to find the impression of her hand there in the morning. She makes a small sound, but again does not wake. Spike lets his eyes slip shut, and for the first time in two months, he allows himself a small smile as he drifts to sleep.


 

* * * * * Chapter 15: Reunion * * * * *

Spike’s crypt, 7 a.m.



I am having the best dream. I’m lying in my bed at home, not sleeping, just lying there, wishing for something. Sleep? No. Him. I’m wishing for him, waiting for him.

Spike.

Luckily, this is a dream, so it is not a replay of every night for the last two months. Every night in real life, I toss and turn, watching the moon through the window til it passes out of sight. Hoping he will appear, but somehow knowing he won’t. But in this dream, reality does not interfere. And there he is, in my window.

The moonlight silhouettes him and he takes my breath right out of me. He slouches there in his own special way, his body screaming sex. It’s a hot night and I’m wearing very little. He slinks his way into my room through the window, but says nothing. I sit up on my elbows and watch him, study him through heavy-lidded eyes. We don’t have to talk in my dreams. Prevents fights, simplifies feelings. He is still just a figure in shadow as the moonlight outlines him, but does not reveal his features. His platinum hair catches the light. He reaches down to his waist and slowly pulls his tight black t-shirt over his head. Spike’s alabaster skin gleams in the dim light like marble. My eyes rip down his chest. My gaze is so forceful, I’m sure he can feel my eyes traveling down to his sharply defined abs. I look up, but I still can’t see his face. He can see mine clearly though, as the light bathes me. I smile at him, drawing him closer. He moves towards me silently and I see that he is barefoot. Only his black jeans, riding low on his hips, conceal the rest of him. I’m hungry for all of his body, but the heat and my lust conspire to keep me motionless, content to let him come to me. I remember the night he left, the way he scaled my body, laying claim to every inch of it. He reaches the foot of my bed and stands at my feet, watching me. I can almost see the gleam in his eyes, the half smile playing on his lips.

As Spike usually does, he reads my mind and reaches for the fly of his jeans. In slow, steady movements, his jeans slide off his frame and he is gloriously naked in front of me. I smile again, in silent appreciation. His hand reaches down and touches my bare foot. I swear there is a hiss as his cool fingers make contact with my superheated skin. I realize the hiss came from me. I can suddenly imagine the heaven of his whole body against mine, bringing down my body temperature in this impenetrable heat. His other hand encases my other foot and I squirm a little. It feels so good.

I half-wonder why his body has not taken on this heat that hangs in the air, but then I decide I don’t care. Let someone else worry about the dynamics of vampire temperatures. I’ve got more important things on my mind. His cool hands slide up my legs and I feel him watching my expression. I still can’t quite make out his face, but I feel his gaze. My eyes roll closed as I try to deal with the feelings coursing through me. The goosebumps start to rise on my skin and I shiver. He stops with both hands on my hips and I hold my breath. He is looking at me and finally, I can see him. He is mostly in shadow, but I see those eyes, dark in this light, but warm and searching. I greet them with my own. His lips move to mine and I close my eyes just as they touch. The kiss is like ice cream on a summer day, quenching and decadent. I press my hot palm to his chest and am sure it is branding him, each finger leaving its mark on his pure white skin...

...God, that dream felt so damn real. I can almost feel him, his smooth chest under my warm little hand, each finger trying to claim him as my own. I lay very still, willing the dream to continue, but knowing I have lost it for now. The sensations still run through me and I struggle to consciousness, picturing my hands on him, wishing... I shake my head slightly. I must still be sleeping and I am starting to have really vivid dreams, because it still feels real. The cool skin, the firm chest. Hands encasing mine.

Wait a minute.

My own hand twitches, testing the reality of this feeling. There are definitely hands wrapped around mine...and mine is...on something cool...stone? No, more pliable. But wait, my hand is moving, and I’m not moving it. Suddenly, there is a cool, moist sensation on the back of my hand.... With a sense of worry and confusion, I dare to open my eyes a touch.

My heart stops, my breathing catches and my eyes widen. He is there, he has my hand in his own and Spike... SPIKE is kissing the back of my hand. His eyes are still closed. I look around, the night coming back to me. I came here to remember that night, to pretend I was in his arms again, to read his letter and I fell asleep here on his bed. A mournful, fitful sleep ‘til my dream started. And now, now... I choke a bit as the emotions tumble over each other trying to reach the surface. He reacts to the noise and the eyes I’ve dreamt about for two months rest on my own. His eyes of deepest blue, water calm and still. He moves my hand away from his mouth and looks at me. My face betrays my shock at seeing him.

" ‘morning, Buffy." He leans over and before I can react, touches his oh-god soft lips to my mouth. I jump as if shocked at his contact and finally snap out of my daze.

I whisper, "Spike?" I sit up a little and turn my head at him. "Are you...when did you...? You’re back." Talk about stating the obvious.

But oh, he smiles at me. Those eyes crinkle in the corners. "Yes, luv. I’m back." His head cocks to the side as he studies my expression. I know I am gaping like a fish, but I just can’t help it. I’ve been waiting for him all this time, but I never thought I would wake up in his arms. All the scenarios I imagined were simpler, more straightforward. Should have known better. Spike is never predictable. My mouth twists into a smile as I realize how happy I am with a capital H. Now, it is his turn to look surprised. I realize I don’t give him many smiles. Wow, we’ve got a lot to talk about. If he’s changed half as much as I have since he left...

As the seconds tick by, I realize we can’t just stare at each other all day. I open my mouth to speak, but I’m at a loss. All the speeches I practiced for when I saw him sound trite and contrived. I clamp it shut again and just look at him. He watches me like a man who hasn’t seen water in weeks, and he is drinking me in gulps. I open my mouth again. My eyes drift down to his chest and I see my hand. Seemingly of their own volition, the fingers have intertwined with his and are clasping tightly. This is new. Buffy with the smiling and the hand-holding...and he must be confused beyond all reason. Finally, only the simplest of phrases seems right.

"I missed you." He says it just as I do, our words tumble over each other and I have to laugh.

Suddenly, the strangeness lessens and I feel myself grow stronger. My words grow taller in my mouth, fighting their way out. I see him open his mouth again and I shake my head. He stops, looks at me quizzically before falling silent. "Spike. I did miss you. I know I’m not one for the big speeches, but I need to get a few things out, okay?"

He nods, his rumpled hair making me weak. I want to wrap my fingers in it and....wait, talking here. Buffy, get a grip.

"I’m sorry...I drove you away. I thought about you a lot." I dip my head, a bit shy all of a sudden. "We’re talking mega-thinking about Spike." I peek up at him, half-expecting a bit of a taunt or tease from him. I am dead wrong. His face is tender, his eyes soft and welcoming. Something is seriously different about Spike and it’s all starting to freak me out a little bit. I sit up, my hand slipping from his. I face him, still wearing his black shirt. The one that makes me feel safe. Safe and loved. I absently stroke the hem of it as I study this... man in the bed with me. "Are...are you okay, Spike? Where did you go? What happened? How did you get back?"

He holds up his hands, asking for mercy and chuckling. "Whoa, luv. One question at a time. There’s no rush. First off, you didn’t drive me away. I left. It was my decision, so no guilt." He gives me a pointed look, demanding my agreement. I squint my eyes at him a bit, but I nod.

"I’ve done and seen a lot of things since I left, luv. I will tell you all about them. But first things first." The twinkle in his eyes and the little upward twitch of his lips make my stomach flip flop and the nerve endings in my skin come to life. A smile comes to my lips without my bidding.

"You do things for that black shirt that I never did." Spike reaches up and lets his fingers slide down the edge of the collar. When his fingers skip over the fabric and reach my skin, I shiver. All five fingers come to rest on the skin exposed below my throat. I can feel the pulse there racing. His hand slides up and cradles my chin, my cheek. I lean into his cool palm a little bit. My body responds to him automatically before my mind can process his actions.

"Buffy. Love?" I realize my eyes have drifted closed, but his question causes me to open them again. I meet his eyes, the pools swirling and darkening. "We’ve got a lot of talking to do, I know." Again, I nod. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to speak. His love has struck me mute. His eyes look all around my face, at my hair, my ears, my neck, my shoulders and back to meet my eyes. I’m on my way to a meltdown.

"S’pose we could talk later? I mean, bugger all, Buffy. All I’ve wanted to do for eight weeks is touch you." His soft words stun me with their quiet ferocity. His thumb strokes my cheek softly and his eyes are intensely focused on mine as he waits for my permission.

My mind races with the hundreds of reasons this is a bad idea. I have no clue where he’s been for two months. For all I know, he’s chipless and fancy-free. I should tell him how I feel, see how he feels. We should talk. We should really...yeah, talk. Hmm... Let’s see, what would he say in this situation? *Bloody well tired of talking.* I smile wickedly, decision made.

In my new silent way of answering questions, I lunge forward, taking Spike’s head in both hands and planting a fierce kiss on his mouth. He is slack for a moment, as I have surprised him. I love that. In a split-second, he’s recovered and I feel his hands slip into my hair, holding me to him. We slide into each others’ arms, and I half expect to hear a click as we fall into place together.

Spike’s hands are everywhere, I feel the cool touches soothe my neck, my arms, my hips. I explore the sculpture that is his naked form with my warm grasping hands. I hear my name on his lips as he finds all the hollows and hills of my body as if he is discovering them for the first time. He reaches for the shirt I’m wearing and I fear he will rip it off me in one movement. I still his hands with my own. He hesitates, looking at me, a little...fear, maybe...in his eyes. He wonders if I’ve changed my mind. I smile, out of breath from our frantic passion, to reassure him. I reach for the buttons and start undoing them. I whisper to his concerned expression, " I like this shirt and I’d like it to stay in one piece."

He chuckles quietly and covers my hands in his. "I’ll be gentle, luv. One of my favorite shirts, too." His lopsided smile warms me. Spike’s nimble fingers replace mine and work the buttons quickly. His fingertips graze my flesh and I feel a shock run down my spine. The anticipation is driving me crazy. With all buttons undone, Spike’s hands move back up to my neck. He places them both on the expanse of skin just above the swell of my chest. He holds them still there, almost as if he is making sure I am real, that he can touch me, to feel the rapidly increasing heartbeat underneath. Satisfied, his hands begin to gently slide apart, spreading out and pushing the shirt wide open. My head lolls back as his hands move up to my shoulders. He pauses there, his thumbs pressing into my skin. I feel his mouth kissing the hollow of my neck and I can’t help but moan deep in my chest. He pushes the shirt further down my arms, pinning them at my sides. I want to touch him but am somehow thrilled that I can’t, that he has this brief power over me. Not like the Slayer to give power away like candy at Halloween, but I find I can’t help myself. My mind alternates between the mind-numbing sensations coursing through my body and this thought. Finally, one word forces its way to the front of my spinning brain.

Trust.

Dear God, I trust him. "I, Buffy, trust Spike."

Abruptly, all motion stops. I was already immobilized and Spike freezes, hands on my arms and mouth kissing the skin just below my ear. My eyes widen as I realize what happened. I was so rattled and aroused and out of my mind with lust, that I just said that out loud. Just barely, not even a whisper, more of a breath. His vampiric hearing passed the test. He heard me.

 

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