The Keeper of Truth Chapter 12

Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.

Rating: R

Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.

Distribution: If you want it, email me.

Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com

I know, I know, I thank Sass Angel every time I post something, but really, you guys have no idea how much she's to thank for this chapter. So, thanks!

And thanks to everyone who has reviewed this. You are all great, but I have to thank Olga, Kimberly and Kristin especially.

One more chapter after this.



*****

As he walked through the cemetery, Spike rubbed his hands over his arms, trying to smooth away the goose bumps that told him dawn was nearing. <Still have a good hour>, he thought, his coat brushing the tombstones lining the path. <Buffy'll be back before sunrise. Unless she decides to let it all go to pot and skip town.> With mixed feelings, he shook his head. <No, she'll be there. Hero, and all. Save the world, and to hell with old Spike.>

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the birth of a new vampire. The creature, stuck half-out of its grave, clawed madly at the grass. He ignored it, tucking his hands into the pockets of his duster and continuing forward. <Not fair to her, thinking that way. Not when I all but forced her to choose the world over the jungle. Guess there's still a bit of evil left in me after all.> Sighting his old crypt, he quickened his pace.

The door was unlocked, but Spike hesitated on the threshold, searching the dark depths for signs of life. It couldn't have been sitting empty for the past few years, but as far as he could tell, it looked exactly as it had when he'd left. <Minus the crucified vampire and the puddles of blood.> For courtesy's sake, he called out, "Hello? Anyone here?"

The words echoed back at him, raising more goose bumps along his arms. Ignoring the shiver that grew along his spine, he walked inside. He shut the door behind him, jabbering on to bolster his courage. "Look at the wanker I've become. Getting spooked by my own voice. In an hour I'll be offering up my metaphorical neck to a metaphorical sword, and this is what scares me? Yeah, that makes sense."

The door still bore the marks of Angelus's knife; Spike could see every point at which he had hung impaled. Running his fingers over the grooves evoked images of the night they'd been made. Memories flashed through his mind: Dru's face hovering above Angelus's shoulder, beaming with torture-induced arousal. Angelus's eyes, heated from within by an angry flame. Spike wiped a hand over his face, brushing away the well- remembered scent of the vampire's breath. "Never could remember to brush after eating, bloody Peaches. Some luck, that his stench is what stays with me. It couldn't be his girlish figure."

A noise behind him rose, a shuffling in the far shadows, followed by the sound of a match striking. Spike stiffened, then slowly turned. Across the crypt, a single candle burned, sitting in a silver holder on the bare, cement floor. "Come on out now, whoever you are. I've got no time for games tonight."

A peculiar laugh wafted towards him, bell-like and familiar. He watched as a small hand gripped the holder. The flame moved upwards to reveal a mass of dark hair. Tilting her head back, letting the hair fall away to reveal her thin smile, Drusilla took a step towards him. "Hello, my Spike."

Stiffening, he took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax one by one. He restrained his dual urges to run back to Buffy and to punch Dru's face in. When he was convinced his voice would come naturally, he gave her a single, regal nod. "Hello, Dru."

"You've been a busy boy." She walked closer, scrutinizing him, her head cocked. "Gone far, far away, and back again, I see. Are you well, then? Your legs, they've healed?"

"Good as new, right as rain, and all that rot." His jaw tightening, he took a step towards her. "And you, pet? Here all alone, eh? Where's old Daddy hiding?"

"Not here," she sighed, looking around the room as though expecting Angelus to materialize thought the concrete walls. "No, no, he's gone far away as well."

"That right? I'm surprised he let you off your leash. Or did he? Maybe you just got sick of the grand poofter's nonsense, figured out you'd be happier on your own. But, no. You never did know a good thing when it came up and bit you on the neck."

Her expression darkened. She shook her finger, tsking him. "Play nice, my Spike. Didn't you learn the rules when last we met? Play nice, or not at all."

With a shake of his head, he vamped out and growled. "Last time we met, I was a far sight more helpless than I am now. Easy game, isn't it Dru, to torture someone with no working legs."

She smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and did not look away. "Easier still to torture someone who will not speak for fear of their love's life. Who can only bleed and break and beg."

He couldn't hold back his surprise. "You knew Buffy was here?"

"I can sense the Slayer, as can you. As can Angelus, but he was far too distracted with anger and lust to notice her scent."

"Where is Angelus? Holed up somewhere ripe, I'm sure, with a new bevy of minions."

Her shoulders made a dainty shrug. "Couldn't say. We parted ways long, long ago."

"About a year and a half ago, I heard. After Acathla. Hell, Dru, you should've known that a man'll promise the world to get inside a woman's knickers. But he buggered it all up, didn't he. No hell on Earth for you, that about the long and short of it?"

Moving to the sarcophagus, she perched on its edge, setting the candle beside her. "Stupid boy. I didn't leave because of Acathla."

The fingers of his right hand twitched, feeling for the watch he didn't wear. <Better hurry along the small talk. Got a world to fix tonight.> "Why'd you leave him, then?"

Pouting petulantly, she reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out something. "Because of him. My new pet."

Squinting, Spike frowned at the set of glasses she held. "Come again, pet?"

"The Slayer's Watcher. I wanted to keep him, to make him my own. He had such poetry about him, such beautiful anger. But Angelus forbade it. Made me eat him instead." Smoothing back her long, loose hair, she slipped Giles' glasses onto her face and gazed at Spike through them. "Reminded me of you, he did. The way you were when I found you."

Curious despite himself, he leaned closer. "The Watcher reminded you of me? How so?"

"So full of spirit and vision, of glory seen by none of those around him. None but me. He never begged for his life, do you know? Not a syllable that pathetic crossed his lips." She stroked the frame of the glasses. "Do you remember what it was I said to you that day? Your day, your day in the alley in London?"

His face softened with memory. "I walk in worlds that others can't begin to imagine. Yes, I remember."

"The Watcher walked the same path, unnoticed, unappreciated. Always longing for something bigger, something brighter to gather him in its palms and fold him into a life of glistening splendor. I wonder, my Spike, did you ever find your world? Did you ever find your effulgence?"

He started towards her, his hand outstretched. "Oh yes, I- wait." Shaking himself, he pulled back. "None of your bloody business."

Ignoring his response, Drusilla took off Giles' glasses and polished them with the hem of her shirt. "He did, the Watcher. I came to him as his own, lost love. He wasn't afraid to go, not then. Imagine, his whole world was slipping away and he smiled, such a lovely smile. Like you, William. You weren't afraid, that day in the alley when I took your world from you. Why is it you didn't fear my bite?"

Spike sighed. "I wanted it. You. A change."

"I told Daddy I'd find the wisest and bravest knight in the land to be my mate. He thought you were the most foolish knight, but he was wrong." Hopping off the sarcophagus, she leaned up against his chest, staring into his face. He closed his eyes at the feel of her cold breath on his neck. Nuzzling his throat with an open mouth, she took in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, breathing her words onto his skin. "Be brave, my Spike. Go on to the next."

When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

*****

"What are you doing?" Buffy asked, coming into the living room and shrugging out of her jacket. She took in the sight of Willow kneeling on the bare floorboards with an arched brow. "Lose something?"

Brandishing a fat piece of black chalk, Willow started to draw in large angles on the wood. "I'm making a pentagram for the reversal spell. Once that's done, we can get started." "Will this take long?" Buffy asked. "Not that I'm in a rush or anything. Just wondering." "Nope, not long at all. It's actually a really easy spell," she explained, finishing the pentagram and standing up. She turned to the coffee table and picked up a wooden box. "I'm just going to undo the spell I did before, to bring you back. Very straightforward. No room for huge, world-changing mistakes this time." "That's an improvement. But umm. wait a sec. If you reverse the spell that caused all this, won't I be dead again?"

"Nope. Not now that Glory's dead. Her death sticks in every dimension, so when we go back to normal, she'll have been dead months before she would've opened the portal. No Glory, so no dead Buffy."

"But if things are back to normal, I would never have killed her. Hence the whole normal thing."

"Confusing, huh? That's time travel for you. It's a paradox." She flashed Buffy a quick smile. "But don't worry. I wouldn't let you down."

"Uh-huh. Yeah. You'd never do that." She looked around the corner, down the empty hallway. "Where's Spike?"

Opening a wooden box, Willow pulled out five, squat candles covered in purple tissue paper. She unwrapped them and set one on each point of the pentagram, being careful not to smudge the chalk. "Where do you think he is? Vamp's last night without a chip."

"He's not hunting. He wouldn't do that."

"Why not? Look at it from his perspective. He's got no reason not to. It's not like he has to worry about staying on your good side; you're already lost to him. And you won't stake him, not now."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Buffy bit her lip. "You don't understand. He's not walking the straight and narrow because he's scared of me. He's doing it because it's who he is now."

Willow picked up a gold chalice from the coffee table and centered it inside the pentagram, nudging it slightly to the side for precision. "He doesn't have a soul, Buffy. He's not good. He can't be."

Buffy dropped down onto the couch, rubbing her eyes, thinking. "I know. I used to believe that too. But Will, think about something. The Spike we knew, the one with the chip. okay, he wasn't good, but he was getting there. He was on the right path. And given enough time, don't you think he would've been so close to good that no one would care if he had a soul or not? And if he could become good without a soul, don't you think that says something about him, as a person?"

Her face purposefully blank, Willow said, "Keep talking."

"If he can become good as a soulless creature, maybe that makes him better than all of us who are good with the help of a soul. Or maybe not, I don't know. But it makes him at least as good."

"You're saying that he's become as good as a souled person over the last two years?"

"Yes." Quickly, before Willow could protest, she added, "And that shouldn't surprise you. You saw him on that path, in the future."

"But he had a chip. An stimulus, a restraint, a. Buffy, he didn't have much choice. And he had a huge impetus."

The ghost of a smile lightened Buffy's face. "Why couldn't love be his impetus, Willow? Why would it have to be something negative, like the chip? Don't you think he could've changed because of a positive force?"

A line wrinkled Willow's forehead. "I. I. well. Huh." She rose from the floor and sat next to Buffy. Taking her friend's hand, she said, "Okay. I. I'll go with that theory as true. It doesn't matter what I think at this point anyways. But I do want to know. Buffy, how did this all happen? How did you go from the 'Spike has super cooties' camp to the great, redeeming love side of things?"

Buffy leaned into Willow's shoulder, taking comfort in her familiar smell. "If I could tell you when, or how, I would. There wasn't any huge moment. No bells and lights. Or, lots of bells and lights, just not in an all-powerful, voice from the heavens kind of way. Things with Spike were so good. Not from the very start, I'll give you that. I paid him to help me in blood, but only for a few days. But then, it all just made sense. He needed me, and I. I *so* needed him. It was just."

Stroking Buffy's hair, she said, "Just what?"

"It's just." Buffy hesitated, lowering her eyes. Then, in a whisper, she said, "I love him. That's all. I just. love him."

Willow just shook her head, silenced. They sat together, cuddled close, taking ease in each other's presence. The lights on the candles flickered, drawing attention by contrast to the gloom of the dark house. They didn't move as the back door creaked open, but when Spike walked in, Willow released Buffy and watched her go to his side with calm eyes.

"You're back," Buffy said, standing as close as she could to him without touching him. "Where'd you go?"

"Saying my good-bye's," he said, running the flat of his hand over her hair. "Much like yourself, I'd imagine."

"Yeah." Gesturing to the pentagram, she said, "Look."

He stared down at it, the candle flames reflecting off his pupils, and swallowed hard.

"Are you afraid?" Buffy asked, her voice small and quivering. She took his hand in hers.

"Not at all." He gave her a smile that didn't meet his eyes. "I'm the bravest knight in the land."

A surprised grin burst onto her face. "Huh? The what-est what?"

Staring over her shoulder at the candles, he just shook his head.

Willow stood, straightening her jeans. "Umm. I'm gonna get this started, guys. It'll be a minute before I need you. Why don't you say your. you know, good-byes."

Buffy nodded. Squeezing Spike's hand, she couldn't get him to tear his eyes away from the candles. "Spike. C'mon." Tugging on his arm, she led him out of the room, to sit on the stairs.

He sank onto a step, pulling her down beside him. Leaning against the wall, he could see the shape of Willow's shoulders in the living room, bent over the floor, a book in her hands. Buffy's hand on his knee brought his focus back to her. He tipped his head to the side, taking in the sight of her flushed face.

"This is it, then. In a minute, we'll be. not like this," he said, holding up their clasped hands.

She opened her mouth, but lost the words in a rush of emotion, so she simply brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles one by one. Unwrapping his fingers from hers, she kissed each tip, then ran her tongue over the lines of his palm, life line and love line, running down to merge as one at the blue veins of his wrist.

He stifled a groan at the heat from her mouth. "Buffy. Pet. I want you to mark me."

" Why? It won't go with you. You'll have the same body you did before the last two years happened."

"When I die." he started to say.

She interrupted him, clutching his hands painfully. "You're not going to die. You're just going to be who you were. Before."

He glared at her. "Don't logic me about this. We both know what's going to happen will be a death for me. the death of us."

Closing her eyes in misery, she bowed her head to his hands. "My death, too," she said, fighting back tears. "Another one."

"When I die," he said again, "I want to go out wearing your mark. I want it so that anyone looking at me in that moment could know that I'm not who I was before you. I want them to know that the love of a woman- a Slayer- was enough to change a demon into a man. Nothing on the inside of me is as it was before I loved you. Shouldn't there be some change on the outside as well?"

"It'll hurt," she said, standing and pulling him up with her.

"Of course it will hurt. This whole bloody thing hurts. Marking me. it *should* hurt. It has to." With one quick movement, he ripped off his shirt. Buttons clattered down the steps, pinged off the walls. He tossed the shirt over the rail carelessly and pulled a folded knife from the pocket of his jeans. "Make it hurt, Buffy."

His expression was taut, his face so hard, Buffy thought that if she touched his cheek, it would feel like marble. <How do I do this?> Taking the knife, she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked him over. Flat stomach, firm chest, a peppering of hair. she pressed him into turning around, facing away from her so she could examine his back. The fine bones of his shoulder blades looked vulnerable, like the folded wings of a bird. <Here,> she thought as an ancient knowledge filled her. <The last bite a woman gave him sent him from the human world. How else should I send him from this one but by doing the same?>

"Alright" she said, looking down at him from the step above his. Dropping the knife on the floor, she rested her chin on his shoulder and kissed his earlobe. "Ready?"

"As ever," he said and closed his eyes.

Licking her way over his neck to the nape where his hair met his skin, she nibbled the skin there lightly, preparing him. Without hesitation she sank her teeth into the muscle above his spine and pressed down at hard as she could. His body bowed back into hers and she wrapped her arms around his waist, supporting him. They sank down onto the stairs, Spike laying half in her lap, grinding his teeth in silence.

Blood filled Buffy's mouth, making her gag, but she kept bearing down. She didn't want to tear the flesh out, only mark it so deeply that it wouldn't heal before the spell was completed. The front of her shirt was soaked in his blood, sticking the skin of his back against her. With each movement of his body, she felt a wet tugging at her chest where his blood joined them together. <How appropriate>, she thought wryly, rubbing her hands up and down his sides until he caught them in his and pressed them against his abdomen.

"Right, that's good," he rasped, patting her hands and setting her free.

She pulled her teeth out of his skin. As he turned to face her, she swallowed the blood that coated her mouth and wiped her face on her sleeve. "You." she faltered, watching the flow of blood over his collarbone and down his chest. "Did I."

Stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, he said, "You did it just right, love."

"Does it hurt?" she whispered, her voice ragged. "Does it hurt enough for you?"

Grabbing her arms, he pulled her to him, cradling her against his front. "Couldn't hurt more," he told her, knowing it was the truth. "But I'm glad of it, Buffy. I'm glad of the last two years with you. It was worth this." The feel of her pressed against his bare chest made him close his eyes with longing for the many nights in their jungle bed, when she'd curl against him just as she was now. Happy nights, unlike this one.

She rubbed her face down the crease of his sternum, tasting a lick of his blood, swallowing the tang of it from her tongue to take a part of him with her. Beneath her arms, she could feel the give and take of his breathing. <Always so human seeming>, she thought, matching her own breathing to his. <Not that it matters now>.

"Even if you were human, we would've ended this way," she said, fresh tears welling up at the irony of it. "All that time, we thought our biggest challenge was our natures, how opposite they are. You, vampire; me, Slayer. Now this. it wouldn't matter what you were, what I was. It never mattered, not really. Look how insignificant this makes it."

Spike tilted her face up towards his and brushed at the tears building in corners of Buffy's eyes. "We really should have a fight," he said abruptly.

"A fight? Right now?"

"Not like there'll be another chance." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Fighting's one of our best things. Be a shame to never get another go at you."

Sniffling, she narrowed her eyes. "You don't have to make me laugh, Spike. I wasn't going to cry."

"Right. Because teary eyes are for the shiny, happy people."

Biting her lip, she shook her head. "No. I won't cry. I'm not going to have that be our last moment together."

"Guys?" Willow coughed once, looking meaningfully towards the pentagram. "It's time. I need you, Buffy."

Turning her face against Spike's neck, she looked sideways at Willow. "Will I. can I."

"It's just for a minute. I can do the actual spell without you. It just needs your. well, it needs your blood. Just a teensy bit."

Buffy picked up the knife from the floor and walked without hesitation into the living room, straight into the center of the pentagram. The blade bit into her wrist at the quick twist of her hand. Hissing in pain, she stuck her arm over the chalice. "How much?" she asked Willow, watching her blood fall.

Rushing into the room, Willow looked from Buffy's pinched face to the half- full cup. "That's. that's good. Great. Thanks."

With a bitter smile, Buffy pressed her wrist against her stomach, holding the wound closed. "Don't mention it."

"Great," Willow repeated, waiting until Buffy left the circle before taking her place in front of the chalice. "That's great. Now we. it'll be just a second. A quick second."

Spike stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall. Buffy stood still for a moment, watching Willow's bent head, listening to the Latin words pour from her friend's mouth. Then she went to Spike and smiled at him, a ghoulish smile that would have chilled him if it hadn't been the echo of his own expression.

She touched him as if reading him by Braille, her face awash with concentration and tension as she relearned the feel of the muscles under her hands. His chest tightened and relaxed under her hands. This was their language, the one they'd created together over the past two years. A touch to tease, another to soothe, and after enough contact they knew all they ever could of each other. With their bodies, they'd told each other all the stories their hearts held. Falling back on this language was the cowards way out, but Buffy couldn't bring herself to care.

"I love you." She pressed the words against his skin as if tattooing him with their weight.

Burying his face in her hair, his lips found her ear and kissed over it. "I love you."

Willow screamed as a flash of yellow light filled the room. And then there was silence.

Chapter 13

Author's Note: Thank you all so much. I appreciate your reviews and emails more than I can tell you! I'm glad you've enjoyed the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Special thanks to all the people who faithfully reviewed each chapter, and to my beta Sass Angel (who's possibly the best human being in the whole world for the amount of patience and care she took in helping me with this story).



***** Sunnydale September, year 2000 *****





The Magic Box was dark, lit only by the glow of a fat candle sitting beside the cash register. Buffy sat up slowly from where she was lying, sprawled on the floor beneath the counter. Blinking, dazed, she ran her hands over her face, scrubbing at it, trying to clear her head.

She stood, holding onto the counter with one hand for balance. Looking around, she saw that her friends were scattered all around her, all coming back to consciousness as slowly as she was.

"What happened?" she asked, looking from Willow to Xander, who both sat slumped over the round table.

Straightening, Xander shrugged and reached out a hand to pull Anya to her feet. She'd been lying on the floor beside his chair. "I don't know. Last thing I remember, we were sitting around talking about Dracula and his pit of women. Then. nothing."

Tara came out from the back room. She flipped on the light switched, revealing a large bruise that bloomed across her forehead. "Ouch," she said as she touched her f ace gingerly and sat down beside Willow. "What's going on? Someone do a spell or something?"

"I don't think so," Giles said, popping up from behind the counter. He smoothed his disheveled hair with quick, dignified swipes of his hand. "None of us were in the mood for spells after our day with Dracula."

"Then what?" With one finger, Buffy touched the puddle of melted wax below the candle's wick. "Look. Only a little bit melty. But I lit it this morning. It should've melted all the way out by now."

A loud groan came from near the stairs to the basement. Spike walked in, one hand pressed against his eyes. "What the bloody hell did you wankers do to me?"

"What's bleach boy doing here?" Xander said, shooting to his feet. He moved closer to Buffy. "Maybe he did this."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "He didn't do anything. Look, he's as freaked out as we are."

Squinting as he walked into the light, Spike smirked at Xander. "I didn't do a thing, but maybe you did. Heard you found Drac's bugs right tasty. Could be he's still around somewhere, pulling your strings like a puppet."

Xander's hands clenched into fists. "I. me. no. It wasn't me. And why are you even here?"

"Don't rightly know. It's not like I'd be hanging around for your precious company, that's for bloody sure." He looked around Xander, meeting Buffy's eyes. "You sure it's not Drac working behind the scenes?"

"No, I dusted him." Buffy's lips twitched up at the corners. "Then, he came back. And I dusted him again. And. well, maybe he's dusty, maybe not. But still, it wasn't Xander. He woke up here with us."

"Well, we're all unharmed, and that's the important thing." Giles smiled down at Willow, who was gesturing with wordless angst to Tara's bruise. "Mostly unharmed, that is. I don't know what could've caused this, but whatever it was, it's gone now. I best consult my books."

"It was magic," Tara said, glancing at Buffy as if unsure of how her words would be received. "But not like any spell I've ever felt before. Something. something farther away, but more intimate, too. I dunno, that sounds wrong, but. it's like it is familiar and strange at the same time."

Raising her eyebrows, Buffy nodded slowly. "Uh-huh. Okay." She turned to Giles, who was pulling books off the shelf. "You do the research. Will, Xander, you'll help him? I've gotta get home and check on Dawn and Mom."

"We still don't know why Spike's hanging around. What was he doing in the basement anyways? Stealing. Stealing our stuff, our magickey stuff." Xander pointed his finger in Spike's face, jabbing him in the nose. "Pay up, or I'll."

Buffy shoved Xander away from Spike with a hard sweep of her arm. "You'll do nothing," she said. "Back off, Xander. I'm not going to let you hurt him. Back off right now." Sticking her body between his and Spike's, she reached back and took Spike's hand. The movement was so smooth and without premeditation, she felt like she'd done it a hundred times before. And by the cool pressure of Spike's fingers wrapped around hers, she knew he felt the same.

The air in the room seemed to thicken as everyone gaped at Buffy. Spike and Xander, wearing identical, jaw-dropped expressions, looked at each other in confusion.

"Did you really just do that?" Xander said in shock.

Spike dropped her hand, his eyes wide. "Defending me now, Slayer? And touching me?"

Willow and Tara exchanged a baffled glance. "Buffy," Willow said in reproof. "What are you doing?"

Confused, Buffy shook her head. "I. I don't know." She closed her eyes and leaned against the counter, pressing one hand against her chest. "Something wrong. I. I don't feel right. I feel."

Giles dropped his books and rushed to her side. Placing one hand flat on her back, he helped her over to the round table and lowered her into a chair. "Back off, everyone. Give her room to breathe."

"No, no. I'm fine. I just. for a minute there, I." Opening her eyes, she grimaced. <For a minute, I felt something for Spike. But there's no way I'm telling them that.> "I'm fine. Just. dizzy. Yeah. Dizzy. Go on, go do research and stuff. I'm just. fine."

Xander knelt at her feet, looking up into her face. "You sure? For a second there, I thought you were gonna take my head off.. For Spike. All I was doing was."

"I know," she said, cutting him off. Standing, she pushed away from them and walked to the front part of the store. "I just. hey. Where'd Spike go?"

"He took off when you closed your eyes." Xander snorted and took a few steps towards her. "Just like him, huh? When the going gets tough, the tough get. no, 'cause he's not that tough. I meant, when the going gets. I mean. Well, he's gone. Took off like the coward he is."

Her face flushed, and she'd marched three strides towards Xander before she realized what she was doing. What she was feeling. Anger, defensiveness. she wanted to hurt Xander for saying those things about Spike. But Spike. he was the enemy, not Xander. <God, what's wrong with me? Feelings? For Spike?>.

The Scoobies stared at her with concern. Willow stood and moved towards her slowly, her hands outstretched. "Buffy? Why don't you go home, check on your family. Maybe take a nap? You look a little."

"Psychotic." Xander gestured pointedly to Buffy's hand, which still tingled with the memory of Spike's skin. "You held hands with that. that thing."

Her face snapped shut on all expression. She looked at him with bleak eyes. "I know. Umm. a nap. That's a good plan, Will. I'll. just.. go now."

They watched her leave, and when the door banged shut, Xander turned to face the group. He shook his head. "What was that all about?"

Before anyone could respond, the bell above the door jingled and Riley strode into the room. "What's wrong with Buffy?" he asked, stopping in front of Xander.

Xander shrugged. "Good question."

"She rushed right by me, like she didn't even see me. I said hi to her, but. nothing. I wasn't even a blip on her radar screen."

"Maybe that's because she's blipping Spike."

Letting out a laugh, Riley started to tell Xander not to even joke about such a thing, but the laugh died as he saw the seriousness on Xander's face. "Spike. You can't be right about that. There's no way Buffy would ever.. Not with Spike."

"Yeah? Well, just a minute ago, she was ready to go all Slayer-happy on my ass protecting him."

"So? That doesn't mean anything. She's the Slayer. She protects the helpless, even worthless monsters like Spike. We don't get to judge her for that- it's her calling, not ours." Riley looked at the rest of the Scoobies, who were watching him closely. "What happened here?"

Willow took a step closer to Riley, her eyes soft with pity and confusion. "I don't think Buffy's 'blipping' anyone. but you, of course., but something *is* up with her and Spike." Her voice dropped to a tender whisper. "She. she held his hand. Just took it up in hers, like she'd done it a hundred times before. Like they were."

Working his jaw, Xander glared at Willow, cutting off her words. He put a hand on Riley's arm. "Spike's done something to her. A spell or something. Things went all magicky in here right before she made with the Spike-ick. He needs to be taken down, man."

Riley, his face flushing with anger as their words sank in, pushed an anxious hand through his hair and turned to leave.

"Where are you g-going?" Tara called, chewing her lip.

Xander's mouth raised in a half-smile. "Spike hangs out at that bar on the bad side of town. It's a demon bar, called Sparky's."

Riley barely acknowledged them. "I'm going now."

"Where?" Tara repeated.

"Hunting," he said shortly and left, letting the door slam behind him.

*****



<<He was running down a jungle path, chasing something or someone he could not see in the darkness. Leaves slapped his bare thighs, mud squished between his toes, but being naked seemed natural, as did the chase. When he fell, he landed hard on the path and slid in the mud on his rear. A voice rose behind him, the sound of laughter met his ears, and he closed his eyes as a small pair of hands touched his back. They curved around his shoulders and slid down his chest, warm and smooth, titillating, familiar.

"Spike." The woman said his name in a thick murmur, again and again as her hands moved over his chest to his back, then around his waist. Thin fingers danced over his hip bones, traced the hollows.

He gasped at the feel of her pressed up against his back. She was naked too, he knew, and muddy, and completely intoxicated him with her nearness. Pulling her around, he sat her in his lap, clutched her against his chest, and breathed in the scent of her hair. She smelled of flowers and of him, his scent on her hair as if imprinted there from years of closeness.

Inhaling deeper, he rubbed his mouth over her forehead. "Buffy," he whispered. "Oh god, Buffy.">>

Awakening slowly, Spike turned his face into the cold stone of the crypt sarcophagus on which he slept, as though it held the warmth of the golden skin and strong, small arms he'd dreamed of being wrapped in. The smell of crushed flowers, of jungle trees and something deeper invaded his senses, underlying the memory of her lips pressed against his, her hands on the skin of his back, drawing him closer, drawing him inside her body.

He sat up, his eyes wide with amazement. "Oh god," he rasped, raking his fingers through his hair. His tongue dashed over his lips, and he could still taste her there, sweet and tangy. <Buffy taste. But I've never.> "God, no. Not again."

Shrugging on his duster, he swept out of the crypt into the darkness of the empty streets. The lights of his favorite bar shined in front of him like a beacon of safety- the one place in town he could be sure the Slayer would never be. He couldn't face her, not when he could still feel her on his skin, in places she'd never touched.

"Sssssspike," said the serpentine barman as Spike walked in and down past the long row of stools. "Your tab."

"Not now," he growled without pausing and pushed open the door to the back room.

Inside, three demons sat at a round table, playing cards. Spike barely looked at them. He flopped down on one of the metal folding chairs, pulled out his flask, and drank long and deep.

"Hey, Spike," Clem said. He exchanged a nervous glance with the female vampire sitting across from him. "You want to play?"

Gulping, he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and tipped his head in affirmation. "Yeah. Cut me in."

Clem cut the deck and started to deal. "You sure you're up for this tonight? You don't look well."

"Don't I? Well, it's no wonder." Frowning, he took another swig from his flask, and scooped up the cards dealt to him. Sorting them, he said, "You wouldn't believe the dream I had."

"A bad dream?" Clem gave a little shudder. "I have nightmares, sometimes. Once, I dreamed that I was lost in this huge block of swiss cheese, trying to get out by climbing through the holes, but only getting more and more lost until I started to eat my way out, and then, well. it got pretty gross."

"No, not a cheese dream," Spike said with gritty patience. "It was. hot."

Clem relaxed a little. "Was it the one where Drusilla's a human and."

"Who's Drusilla?" asked the other vampire idly as she picked at her long, painted nails.

Casting a wary glace at Spike from the corner of his eyes, Clem leaned towards her and whispered behind his hand, "His ex. With a capital X."

"Not Dru," Spike said, tossing a card onto the table. "Haven't dreamed about her in ages. No, it couldn't be that simple. Not for ole Spike, you understand."

"Oooohh," Clem said, his eyes widening as he started to understand. "You had another dream about the S-"

"Yeah, her," Spike interrupted, glaring at Clem and nodding towards the vampire.

"Don't worry on my account," she said, her voice drawling with boredom. "Word's out about you and the Slayer. Everyone knows you've switched teams."

Color rose in Spike's face. Grinding his teeth, he started to rise to his feet, a denial hot on his lips, when the strange demon sitting beside him put a calming hand on his forearm.

"Yeah?" Spike said, taking in the demon's strange appearance. Not a demon, he decided, but couldn't quite figure out how he knew that. He took another drink, slowly, giving the creature time to realize he was messing with someone dangerous, chipped or not. "Something you want?"

With a hapless smile, the creature said, "No, vampire, not me. It's you who's wanting something. Or. someone."

He snorted, incredulous. "I don't *want* her. Except in the very, very dead sense. It was just a dream, you nit. A dream, that's all."

Blinking his red eyes solemnly, the creature tossed his cards down on the table. "A dream, you say, and yes, it was that. But what creates such dreams in a vampire?"

"Nothing. There's nothing between us but bloodlust."

"Lust is a part of every love, true. And love it is, or the memory of such a love, driven to the depths of your dead soul's shadow by something nearly as powerful as what it's hiding. But love is not something trivial, to be put on and taken off at will. Love is physical. It's as much a part of your body as your bones and blood. Shut off from memory, it lives within you still."

Spike narrowed his eyes, confused but also intrigued. "You want to start making some kind of sense?"

"I never thought it right, the love between the Slayer and her vampire. Never, until I saw the greatness, the rightness of their passion."

"What are you talking about?" Clem shook his head, making the folds of loose skin jiggle. "No Slayer's ever loved a vampire. Unless you mean Angel, but he doesn't really count, having a soul and all."

"This vampire had no soul. Only the love of a good woman and the will to hold onto her, to keep the purity of joy he found in the life she led him to."

Snorting, Spike folded up his hand and snapped the cards, sending them flying. "Sounds like a fable to me. A tall tale to help the kiddies sleep tight in their coffins. 'Be a good little vampire and maybe you'll meet a Slayer on a white horse someday. She'll wisk you away to her castle and you'll live happily ever after. Bloody hell. You're nuts."

"This is no tale. This is what I remember, what my fairy-mind holds as the truth." Leaning back in his folding chair, the creature met Spike's eyes. "You should listen to me, vampire. You should remember. Remember."

"Remember what? I'm a demon. She's the Slayer. That's all there is to remember." Spike's voice held no sarcasm.

"You know what you should remember. Your unconscious throws it back at you in your sleep."

His mouth softened as he remembered his dream. The smell of her hair, the warmth of her body. it was almost too intense a thought to hold. "I'm a demon," he repeated, but his voice was too quiet to hold weight.

Before the creature could respond, the door was flung open and Riley crashed into the room. He honed in on Spike, ignoring the others. "Stand up," he growled, his hands doubling into fists. "You think you're man enough for Buffy? Get up and fight like one!"

Smirking, Spike scooted his chair back from the table. "You're late, soldier boy. Not two seconds ago, I was telling the blokes here that I'm too demon for the Slayer. Toddle off now, eh? Got cards to play, and you're not invited."

"Get. up." Riley ground out, "or I will get you up."

"Or you will 'get me up'? What kind of a threat is that?" Spike's bravado slipped a little at the sight of the stake Riley pulled from the back of his waistband. "Or, okay, it wasn't that bad."

"Up!" Riley grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. Pulling the stake out, he reared his arm back and shoved it into Spike's chest, stopping just short of his heart. Breathing hard, he twisted it, holding Spike up as the vampire suppressed a groan. "You think you can mess with her? Make her touch you?"

"What. are you talking. about." Spike wheezed, trying to stay still.

"Xander told me everything, Spike. You put a spell on her. Made her protect you."

"Harris is a wanker, always has been. He doesn't know jack about spells, or about me. Or about Buffy for that matter, but-" He pressed his lips together. True as it was, telling Riley he didn't know jack about the Slayer was a bad plan at the moment.

"She held your hand. Buffy wouldn't do that, not unless you did something to her." Riley tightened his hand on the stake. "Start talking, Spike. Tell me how to undo it."

"Undo what? There is no sodding spell!"

Taking a sharp breath, Riley nodded. "Fine. Have it your way. Whatever hold on Buffy you have, I'm sure it'll break when I kill you."

Spike started to struggle, but Riley slammed his head against the wall, stunning him into half-consciousness. Behind them, Clem stood up, but Riley sensed the movement and said, "Stay back, all of you. No one else'll get hurt if you just. stay back."

Clem sank back onto his chair. "The Slayer wouldn't want you to kill him. He helps her. They're. like partners or something."

Slamming Spike's head back again, Riley said, "They are *not* partners." He tore the stake from Spike's chest and reared his arm back, ready to strike.

"Riley, stop," Buffy said, rushing into the room and kicking the stake out of Riley's hand. Tara came in behind her and hung back by the doorway. "Let go of him."

"Buffy," Riley said, dropping Spike to the ground. He rubbed his hand. "That hurt."

Buffy knelt beside Spike, helping him to sit. She looked up at Riley with a furious glare. "What do you think you're doing? You were going to stake him? Why? He's defenseless, helpless."

"Why are you defending him? You know he put a spell on you. God only knows what he's got planned."

Tara side-stepped into the room, avoiding the female vampire who ran out the door. She gave an uneasy glace at Clem and the other creature, then moved closer to Buffy. "There was no spell. A-at least, not cast by Spike. He's not adept enough to do magick of that level."

"See? He's too. he's just Spike, Riley."

"Yeah," Spike said sarcastically, his head lolling dizzily to one side as he sat with his back against the wall. "Harmless ole me."

"You. shut up," Buffy hissed. The urge to touch his hair ran through her like electricity; she folded her tingling hands together. "Just. hush, okay? I'll get you home."

Riley's eyebrows shot up. "You're taking him back to his crypt? Don't you think that's a bit. friendly?"

"I think you need to back off and go home. We're fine, no thanks to your testosterone poisoning." She stood and pulled Spike up with her, supporting him with an arm around his waist. "Call me tomorrow, if you're over this. If not, well." She brushed past him towards the door, not knowing how to finish her sentence.

"Wait!" cried the creature. He jumped up from the table and ran over to Buffy. Bowing deeply, he grinned at her. "Happy greetings, Slayer."

"O-kay?" she said uncertainly. "And you are?"

"A friend of yours, always, mistress. And his friend as well," the creature said, touching Spike's arm with an enormous hand.

"Friends are good. Really. But we have to go now," she said, starting forward.

"Wait!" The creature stood on his toes, making himself tall enough to whisper in Spike's ear. "Vampire?"

"Yeah?"

"The flower shop on Market street. They have orchids. The Slayer's favorite." The creature pressed his fingers into Spike's bicep and, nodding to Buffy, let them pass.



*****



Saying goodbye to Tara, Buffy walked slowly as she half-carried Spike down the street towards his cemetery. "You're heavier than you look," she said, trying not to trip over the curb as they made their way onto the sidewalk. Her arm was wound tightly around his waist. He'd managed to sling one arm over her shoulders, and she held it there with a firm grasp on his hand.

Looking at her sideways, Spike said, "I'm not a weakling, despite what you told Finn."

Meeting his gaze was too intense. She dropped her eyes to the sidewalk. "Who's getting carried home?"

"Let's see how well you walk after someone bashed your head into a wall."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, neither of them able to find any words strong enough to cut through the energy that cocooned them together on the dark street. Emotions rose and fell in Buffy's chest. She shook her head, trying to make herself focus on what was real instead of the insanity taking place inside of her.

Spike finally couldn't take the silence anymore. He stopped walking, making Buffy stop as well. "What's happening to us?"

"I don't know. But I don't think it's a spell. At least, that's not what's making me feel like this. I can't explain how I know, except." She blushed.

"We've been there, done that, before. Red's spell felt different. This feel's. older, somehow."

"Realer," Buffy muttered.

"That's not a word, pet. But yeah, more real." He tightened his grip on her hand instead of asking the words that pounded inside of him. < Could this be real? Could we really love each other? >

Feeling his fingers squeeze, she held him more firmly around the waist. His bleached head rested briefly against her shoulder. The pleasure of his closeness swept over her; amazed and dazed, she closed her eyes. "This is bad. That's what I should say. That's what I should feel. But it doesn't feel bad. It feels. yeah, like you said. Old. Like we've been. like this, for a long time."

"So, now what?"

Turning her face into his hair for the length of a heartbeat, she felt her muscles relax. Something about him put her at ease. Realizing it was a mixture of his nearness, the feel of his hand in hers, and the softness of his hair, she let out a sigh of confusion. "I don't know what to do. About you, about the way I'm feeling. even about my friends. Xander's back at the Magic Box thinking that I'm gonna kill him if he touches you, and really, that's how I felt. I would've stopped him, hurt him. for you. He's probably hating me about now. And Riley." She sighed again. "God. What am I going to do about Riley?"

Spike nuzzled his head against hers, but only once, only so lightly they could both pretend he hadn't. "Forget your mates, Buffy. Forget your. Riley. They're not feeling what we are. It's not their. their fight. Their dance. We have to figure out what to do now. Just us, not them."

"I don't know what to do. All I know is. this. Here, with you. And that it's good, somehow."

Her hair brushed over his face and he took in her scent. It made him shudder with memory. <She smells like flowers and. like me. Impossible, but true.> "Alright then. Come on, let's go."

"That's the wrong way," she said, frowning with concern. "You're hurt that bad? You don't know where you're going?"

"We're making a little stop first," he said, offering her a smile that widened when she returned it.

"Where at?"

"Market Street."