Spirit Indestructible by Passion4Spike

1. Undun by Passion4Spike

2. Try by Passion4Spike

3. Eclipse by Passion4Spike

4. Wish You Were Here by Passion4Spike

5. King of Anything by Passion4Spike

6. I Need ... by Passion4Spike

7. Make the World Go Away, Part 1 by Passion4Spike

8. Make the World Go Away, Part 2 by Passion4Spike

9. Accidentally in Love by Passion4Spike

10. I Kissed a Girl by Passion4Spike

11. Scream by Passion4Spike

12. Broken Promises by Passion4Spike

13. Fade to Black by Passion4Spike

14. Bird With a Broken Wing by Passion4Spike

15. Dazed and Confused by Passion4Spike

16. Misunderstood by Passion4Spike

17. Push and Pull by Passion4Spike

18. Amazed by Passion4Spike

19. I Won't Give Up     by Passion4Spike

20. Sometimes by Passion4Spike

21. Cheeseburger In Paradise by Passion4Spike

22. Ginger or Mary Ann? by Passion4Spike

23. Smile by Passion4Spike

24. Wind Beneath My Wings by Passion4Spike

25. Home by Passion4Spike

26. Take My Breath Away by Passion4Spike

27. Heart and Soul by Passion4Spike

28. The Things We've Handed Down by Passion4Spike

29. I'll Stand By You by Passion4Spike

30. We Just Disagree by Passion4Spike

31. Everybody's Changing by Passion4Spike

32. Count On Me by Passion4Spike

33. Weird Science by Passion4Spike

34. When You're Gone by Passion4Spike

35. Heart Ain't a Brain by Passion4Spike

36. I Believe in You by Passion4Spike

37. Breakaway, Part 1 by Passion4Spike

38. Breakaway, Part 2 by Passion4Spike

39. F**king Perfect by Passion4Spike

40. Somebody That I Used to Know by Passion4Spike

41. Lunatic Fringe by Passion4Spike

42. Night Prowler by Passion4Spike

43. Heaven Was Needing a Hero by Passion4Spike

44. Don't Fear the Reaper by Passion4Spike

45. Tears In Heaven by Passion4Spike

46. Keep Me in Your Heart by Passion4Spike

47. Pavement Cracks by Passion4Spike

48. Another Step by Passion4Spike

49. A Hand in My Pocket by Passion4Spike

50. You'll Be In My Heart by Passion4Spike

51. If by Passion4Spike

52. Time in a Bottle by Passion4Spike

53. What Makes a Man, Part 1 by Passion4Spike

54. What Makes a Man, Part 2 by Passion4Spike

55. Spirit Indestructible by Passion4Spike

Undun by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to you for reading! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile!
**
This is going to be a pretty long story and FULL of angst. It will go completely off-canon ... far, far afield and even away from Sunnydale. Please HEED THE WARNINGS. If threesomes of Buffy, Spike, and BuffyBot, including a bit of slash, are gonna bother you, stop now. If implied rape (not graphic) will bother you, stop now. If you don't like angst, stop now. Still with me?! Cool - let's go!
Dawn slipped away from the group that was gathered in the front room of the abandoned gas station and went back into the garage where their prisoner, General Gregor, was tied up to a pole. She walked up to him tentatively, her heart in her throat.







“My sister isn’t gonna be able to stop Glory, is she?” Dawn asked him, her voice wavering despite her best efforts to sound brave and unafraid. Her hands were trembling with fear, she clasped them together to try and get them to stop. It didn’t really help.



Gregor shook his head. “The Beast is a god. Have you any idea the power she wields? Your sister will die … you will die – the world will be cast into darkness, the universe will tumble into chaos. That is what you were created for – that is what you will bring.”



“B-but … if I … die now … here,” Dawn stammered, blinking back tears and swallowing back hot, acrid bile that appeared suddenly at the back of her throat.



“The world will be saved. Your sister, your family, your friends will be safe,” Gregor assured her. “Untie me. I will make it fast … painless. You can save them.”







Dawn’s sob turned into a gag. She lurched to the side, dropped to hands and knees, and retched onto the floor, unable to stop the fear and anguish from roiling her stomach and stabbing painfully at her heart. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want anyone to die. She didn’t want to be the Key; she just wanted to be a teenager. She just wanted to be normal. She just wanted this nightmare to end.



“You have the power to stop this, Key. If you die now, Glory will fade, she will not be able to hurt anyone. She will be unable to open the portal. You can save them all – or you can kill them all. The choice is yours,” Gregor continued.



Dawn pushed herself up from the floor, spitting the bile from her mouth. She stumbled over to the sink on the wall and turned on the faucet, rinsing her mouth and splashing the cool water on her face. You can kill them all or you can save them all, the General’s words echoed in her head. The sobs returned as she leaned over the sink. Her body was wracked with the painful realization that Buffy would die – probably all her friends would – and it would be her fault. She wasn't real. She wasn't normal. No one cared what she wanted; no one had asked her if she wanted to be the Key. She just was. And she would kill everyone that had ever tried to help her. Everyone that loved her. Everyone that she loved. No matter what Spike said, she was evil. There was no doubt about that.



“There is not much time,” Gregor continued to press as he looked warily at the door behind which the others were gathered. “You must decide. The fate of the universe is in your hands.”







“I don’t care about the universe!” Dawn screamed, whirling on him. “I only care about …” her voice broke and her eyes went to the doorway. She could hear Buffy and her friends in the other room talking, trying to find a way out of this mess. The mess they were in because of her. Buffy. Spike. Xander. Anya. Tara. Willow. Giles. They'd all die because of her.



“Then free me and I will make sure they are safe,” Gregor insisted with an air of authority and confidence.



Dawn’s eyes settled on the weapons they had taken from the knight. She bent over slowly and picked up the sword with trembling hands. She stared at the sharp blade, as if gorgonized – frozen. She could see her reflection … she wasn’t a big blob of green energy – she was just a girl. Right?



“Hurry girl!” Gregor breathed urgently, his eyes darting from Dawn to the door through which one of the others could come at any moment.







“Wrong,” Dawn whispered to herself, barely audible even to her own ears. You’re not a girl.



She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath as she tried to clear her mind. What would Buffy do? Buffy would sacrifice herself to save the world – she’d done it before, she’d do it again.



Dawn opened her tear-filled eyes and looked up at the General. “Tell her … tell her I love her. Will you do that?”



Gregor nodded, his face solemn as Dawn stepped forward in a daze of fear and regret. She untied the length of electric cord holding the man to the pole, and let it fall off the knight, then handed him the sword with her quivering hands.



“Tell them all … I love them and … I’m sorry,” Dawn added. She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her blotchy, reddened cheeks, held her breath, and waited for the end to come.



**~**



“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Buffy screamed as she stepped into the garage a moment later. Dawn lay on the floor, her neck severed nearly in two. The girl’s throat was opened from ear to ear, her spine showing white through the gaping, blood-soaked wound. Blood spurted wildly and flowed over Dawn’s limp, crumpled body like a river of death, forming a crimson pool on the dirty cement beneath her. Wet rasps of breath gurgled from the Key’s severed trachea, the last gasps of life draining from her body.



Gregor stood over the girl, sword in hand, looking grim but satisfied that he had completed his mission. The life’s work of generations of his people was complete – the Key had finally been destroyed.



Buffy flew across the short distance, throwing herself on the floor at her sister’s side and trying desperately to stop the bleeding. “No! No! No! Dawnie, no!” Buffy screamed over and over again. Her hands sought out something to do to stem the flow of crimson life from her sister, but it was too late – her efforts nothing more than an exercise in futility, she was rearranging the chairs on the deck of the Titanic.







Hearing her screams, Buffy’s friends came in behind her. Surprised gasps, horrified oaths, and fervent curses fell from their mouths as they hurried in and saw what had happened. Spike was at Buffy’s side in an instant, at first with the thought of helping her save Dawn, but when he saw the carnage he knew it was too late. There was no heartbeat from the girl, not even a weak one. He gauged that at least half of Dawn’s blood lay in the pool of scarlet gore they were kneeling in – and he was a pretty good judge of such things. He grabbed Buffy’s blood-soaked hands and tried to pull her away from Dawn, but she fought against him frantically.



“Help me! Spike! Help me!” she demanded of him, her eyes wild with fear.



Spike shook his head gently. “Buffy, luv, there’s … She’s … gone. I’m sorry, luv. There’s nothing …”



“No! No! No!” Buffy screamed frantically, banging her bloodied fists against his chest. “Do something!”







Spike grabbed her fists and pulled her against him, wrapping her in his arms and holding her there on the blood-soaked floor. He looked at Dawn. He’d seen some things that would make the Texas Chainsaw Massacre look like a children’s fairy tale – hell, he'd dealt out such things in his time – but seeing his Niblett like this ripped and clawed at his heart like nothing he’d ever felt before. Buffy continued to admonish him to ‘do something’, but the words had degenerated into little more than pleading, raspy whispers between her heaving sobs.



Gregor still stood where he had been, his bloodied sword still in hand. The other Scoobies surrounded the bloody tableau with stunned, shocked, horrified expressions on their unbelieving faces.



“She did it for you. She said to tell you that she was sorry and that she loved…”



Gregor’s words were cut off when Spike moved with a speed he’d never before possessed. Fueled by red-hot rage, he released Buffy, stood up, and drew his fist back in one motion. His knuckles slammed it into the General’s face with enough force to break the man’s neck. Gregor’s head whiplashed back and smashed into the metal pole that he’d been tied to, breaking his skull. He sank to the floor, blood spewing from his mouth, nose, and the back of his head, his sword clattering loudly in the stunned silence as it hit the floor.







In the next moment Spike screamed, clutching his head as the chip fired. He fell to his knees next to Buffy as excruciating pain shot out from the Initiative’s ‘behavior modification device’, blinding him in agony. It felt like a thousand hot pokers were being stabbed into his brain, his spine, and his eyes, shutting down any coherent thought. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes in an effort to keep them from exploding from their sockets as he crumpled to his side on the bloody floor. He keened – a feral, animalistic howl – engulfed in more pain than even Angelus had managed to teach him how to endure while also maintaining his dignity.



“My Key!!” a new voice rang out in the room.







The Scoobies, still shocked into immobility, looked up to see Glory standing in the doorway. The hell-god raced forward and began trying to gather up Dawn’s blood in her hands. Then Glory suddenly went into some sort of convulsion and Ben was there. The Scoobies watched Glory change to Ben and then Ben back to Glory several times until finally settling on Ben’s form.



The doctor was covered in blood, as were Spike and Buffy: Dawn’s blood. Suddenly Xander’s hand flew to his mouth, he dropped to the floor and retched. When the smell hit Willow, she did the same. Only Anya was able to remain relatively unaffected by the mayhem, but even she was shocked into silence – it was, perhaps, a first.







Tara’s forlorn cry for Willow from the other room seemed to pull the witch from her stupor. She stumbled back to her feet and fought to keep another wave of bile down as her eyes swept over the scene again. Spike had recovered enough to sit up and he was holding Buffy against him, rocking her like a child. The Slayer looked like she was in shock. Her eyes were open and flooded with silent tears, but blank and flat, as if dead. Ben was sitting up with his back against one wall. He’d pushed himself away from the pool of blood, although he was still covered in it, just like Spike and Buffy. Gregor was dead. Dawn was … dead. Willow couldn’t let her eyes or her mind linger there long – it was too much. She walked numbly into the other room to find Tara. Dear, sweet Tara, needed her. Tara’s mind had been stolen by Glory; Willow couldn’t let her down – didn’t want her to be frightened or alone.



Just as Willow got to Tara’s side, she felt the magical barrier outside fall. The Knights would be upon them in moment. Would they kill them now that the Key was … destroyed? Gregor was dead – they may simply kill them for that alone.



Willow looked out the slats that covered the windows and was shocked to find … nothing. The Knights were gone. All that remained outside was Ben’s car. She sighed as a small bit of relief washed over her for that small favor.



“What do we do now?” Anya asked from behind Willow.



Willow sighed, her whole body heaving with the effort, and turned around to face the ex-demon. “Go home.”



**~**







Spike watched and waited as he’d done every night for the last six weeks; waited for his Slayer to emerge. He took one last drag on his cigarette as her bedroom window opened. He dropped the butt and smashed it beneath his heel as she dropped to the ground, graceful and silent as a jungle cat. She began walking, as she did every night, toward the cemetery. He fell in step a few paces behind her, waiting to see what kind of mood she was in this night.



If she slowed her steps, that was her silent invitation for him to walk beside her; if she continued her fast pace, he should hang back, not crowd her. She didn’t talk anymore – not since that night. Her so-called friends thought she was practically comatose, since she seemed to do nothing but sleep. The two witches had moved into Buffy’s house … or actually it was now the one witch and one simpleton. He felt bad for Glinda. Her mind had been stolen by the hell-god and had not returned. He’d always liked the white witch; she'd always been fair to him, unlike Buffy's other friends.



He knew they all took turns ‘baby-sitting’ the Slayer: Giles, Xander and his demon-bird, and Red. None of them asked Spike to help; none of them asked Spike for anything – he was suddenly persona non grata. When he’d tried to see Buffy right after … that night, he’d found his invitation had been revoked – he couldn't enter Buffy's house. Bloody ungrateful tossers.

 

If they’d known one whit about the Slayer, they would’ve known that Slayers are naturally creatures of the night. She slept by day and prowled the streets and cemeteries by night. They didn’t know; Spike knew. They didn't care; Spike cared. Their lives had to go on – there was work and school, bills to pay, mundane routines to maintain. Spike had no other distractions; Buffy was Spike's life. Gormless plonkers, every last one of ‘em.







This night, Buffy slowed her steps and Spike caught up to her easily. They walked the empty streets in silence for a long while. Every night he waited for her to say something; every night he thought that this night would be the night she’d talk to him. Every night he’d been disappointed. Tonight was no different. After a few minutes the silence got to him, so he started talking as he’d done every night for the last six weeks – every night since Dawn had been buried next to her mum. Every night since Buffy began prowling the streets of Sunnydale with only a vampire for company.



“Got some new flowers for our girl t’day,” he began. “Red roses … reckon she’d like that, don’t you? Got a deal on a full dozen.”

 

Spike bristled. “No, I didn’t bloody steal them,” he defended as if Buffy had said something.



“Still can’t believe that wanker Watcher o’ yours buried her in that bloody kid’s casket with the frilly eyelet lace and pink bows. I hope she comes back and haunts the git for that. Deserved a grown-up casket … with silk and satin and whatall, she did. She wasn’t a soddin’ kid anymore – what she done proved that, didn’ it?



“Overheard ‘em talkin’ the other day at the shop, your mates. Your Watcher’s talking ‘bout going back to jolly ole England. Gave up on ya, they have. Say they're back t' one Slayer, that Faith chit, and I reckon she's outta the game. Didn’t bother tellin’ you, did they? And before you start, I think I’m entitled t’ the burba weed – me being down in the shop basement keeps the rats out; it’s only fair compensation,” he continued as they walked, sniffing as if insulted. Buffy neither replied nor even acted like she could hear him – her face never registered any expression to any of his musings.



“How long you reckon Red can keep watching over you and Glinda, and keep up her studies at University? Without Rupert t’ help foot the bills and babysit you during the day, I reckon it won’t be long ‘fore they find a nice cozy Slayer retirement ‘ome for you, luv. Where do they send Slayers who’ve crumbled their cookies?”



 



Spike snorted derisively. “Don’t reckon any ‘ave ever lived long enough t’ find out. Wonder if your old friends at the Council o’ Wankers will have a nice padded room waitin’ for you … bars on the windows and doors and whatall.”



Buffy turned into the entrance of the cemetery with Spike at her side. She walked with a purpose, a destination in mind, but wasn’t in any particular hurry. Spike scanned the area with all his senses as they walked, searching for danger. It was still the Hellmouth, even if the Slayer was on hiatus.



After walking another minute or so, Spike laid a hand on her arm. “Stay ‘ere a second, luv,” he murmured to her. Buffy stopped – proof that she could hear him and understand – but her face remained passive, her eyes blank. The passion, the fire of her was quite simply gone; extinguished by her pain and guilt.







Spike pulled a stake from the pocket of his duster and stalked forward ahead of her. The vamp that was hiding behind one of the larger tombstones had barely gotten to his feet when Spike’s stake hit home. Before the dust from that vamp had settled, another jumped out from the other side of the path. Spike spun and caught him with a round-house kick, sending him stumbling back. Spike continued his spin and used his momentum to propel himself forward, stake poised to strike. When the vamp’s back hit the wall of a crypt, Spike plunged the stake in without further struggle. He turned and scanned the area again, all senses on alert, but found nothing else.



He stood up from his fighting crouch and tucked the stake back into his pocket. “All clear, luv,” he called to Buffy and she began walking again, as if nothing had happened – as if she hadn’t even stopped.



Spike fell into step next to her as they continued their now-familiar trek. “You’ll have t’ teach me that prattle you do when you fight, luv. Not quite the same without the quips, is it? Reckon it gets the job done, just the same, but …” he sighed and let his voice trail off. Who was he kidding? Buffy was gone. The Slayer was gone. All that was left was an empty hull of a girl. He’d heard Red telling Giles that she’d tried to reach Buffy with some sort of spell and all she’d found inside was darkness – utter, cold, hard darkness.



~~



“There’s just nothing of Buffy left in there,” he’d overheard Willow tell Giles in the Magic Box. “I don’t know what to do to help her. She barely eats anything, she just sleeps all the time. She doesn't talk, doesn't cry, doesn't grieve, doesn't scream ... she’s just … gone.



"I don't know how long I can keep taking care of her and Tara. My parents were all with the insisting that I go back to my classes, since they were 'paying good money' for them, and ..." Willow's voice trailed off, shaking her head in dismay. "I love Buffy, but ... there's just not enough of me to go around."



“Indeed,” Giles had agreed, removing his glasses and polishing their spotless lenses with a handkerchief. “It’s clear she’s had a quite severe mental break. I had hoped her Slayer healing would’ve repaired it and brought her back to us by now, but it seems clear now that will not happen – at least not without some treatment.”



“What … kind of treatment?” Willow wondered tentatively.



Giles shrugged slightly, sliding his glasses back onto his nose and looking up at the red witch. “Perhaps it would be best to call the Council in to handle the matter. They would have the best chance of success. They may have even faced this circumstance in the past. And …” Giles hesitated, shifted his eyes away from Willow's, and removed his glasses again.



“My information could be faulty – American public schools and all – but I'm pretty sure proper British sentences don't end with conjunctions,” Willow prompted after Giles began polishing his glasses yet again and did not finish his thought.



Giles sighed and slid his glasses back on. “And they would be able to handle her if she were to become violent. She’s been docile thus far, but I’m concerned that her shock could morph into rage at any moment, and we would have no way to effectively contain her. In that scenario, she could be a danger to herself and to others.”



~~







Spike blinked the cold, sharp tears back from his eyes as they walked along in silence. He’d let Buffy down – failed to keep Dawn safe – and now he’d lost them both. The Slayer had just started to trust him during the battles with Glory, to see him as something other than a monster, see how much he truly cared, and now it was gone. He hadn’t told her, but there was no way he’d let Buffy’s so-called friends or the Council put her in some home or a cell. He’d take care of her – he’d taken care of Dru for a century, taking care of a silent Slayer couldn’t be that much harder.



As their destination came into view, Spike braced himself for the sound that stabbed icy, jagged daggers into his heart: Buffy’s sobs. The sobs that her friends had never heard; the sobs that he heard every night. Her pace never changed as she walked up to the graves of her only family. The vase of red roses sat atop Dawn’s tombstone while a new bouquet of wildflowers was on Joyce’s – all care of Spike. Buffy dropped to her knees as the sob he’d been bracing himself for broke the Slayer’s silence. Buffy laid across both graves on her stomach, crying into the new sod that covered her sister’s resting place. Her body convulsed with the pain and guilt that flowed out from her very soul. The sight twisted the daggers in Spike’s heart – nothing he’d ever felt before could compare to the agony of seeing his Slayer so anguished, so broken.



He crouched down next to her and laid a gentle hand on her back, trying to give her some measure of comfort as he kept watch for nasties that might be lurking, hoping for their ‘one good day.’ He wanted nothing more than to hold her there, rock her in his arms and soothe her hurt away. He’d done that the first night and he’d been caught off-guard by a pack of vamps. That mistake had nearly gotten them both killed; he couldn’t afford to let his guard down again.



The best he could do was to stroke her back and murmur words of encouragement and sympathy. Whether she heard him or even knew he was there, he didn’t know. He couldn’t stop his own tears from blurring his vision, no matter how hard he tried. Every night was the same: filled with guilt and pain and helplessness. The only thing worse were the interminable days, lying alone in his bed trying to sleep and wishing the sun would move faster across the sky, wishing night would come sooner, so he could see his Slayer again.



**~**



A few nights later...







“Buffy, luv – ya gotta do this, pet. Please … say those three little words,” Spike cajoled from outside her bedroom window. "Just need t' hear those three little words from your beautiful lips.



“‘Come in, Spike’ – you can do it, luv. They’re gonna be ‘ere tomorrow – those Council wankers with their pretty, white coats with the long sleeves. Gonna take you away from me – away from Dawn and your mum, they are. It’s our only chance, pet. If ya want any of your stuff, ya gotta let me in. Three words … Buffy, please,” he begged her.



He’d been imploring her to say the words for an hour. If she didn’t say it soon, he’d just have to take her with him and leave all her stuff behind. He would – if it came to that, he would.



She stood at the window facing him as if she were getting ready to head out on her nightly walk and he was stopping her. He thought he saw a flicker of comprehension in her eyes a couple of times over the last hour, but he couldn’t be sure – it was there and gone too fast.



“Buffy, you’ll die – if they lock you up, you’ll die. Please come with me … invite me in – I’ll pack your stuff. You don’t want t’ leave your pictures o’ Dawn and your mum behind,” he reasoned.



Buffy furrowed her brow – the first expression he’d seen on her face except for the times when she was sobbing on her family’s graves – and looked at the photos that were stuck all around the mirror on her dresser.







“That’s right, luv – the pictures, and your clothes and … those frou-frou dollies ya got … Three words, pet … ‘Come in, Spike,’ he repeated slowly and deliberately.



Buffy turned back to look at him, the confusion still evident on her features. He could see her swallow, as if fighting for her voice. He looked at her hopefully, holding his breath as a purely symbolic measure.



Buffy opened her mouth. “C…” she started, her voice faltering after only one short sound. She cleared her throat and tried again. “C-come,” she croaked out.



“In,” Spike prompted, his eyes wide and hopeful, almost joyous at the sound, the first time he'd heard her voice in what seemed an eternity.



Buffy cleared her throat again, rubbing it as if it pained her to speak. “In,” she parroted.



“Spike,” he prompted again.



“Sp … Sp ... Sp ... i ... ke,” Buffy finally got out.



Spike wasn’t sure if that would work since it wasn’t really a sentence, but three separate words, and his name was a bit mangled, but he pushed against the unseen barrier with one hand anyway. He let out a breath of relief when his hand slid past the windowsill and into her room.



"Brilliant!" he extolled her as he quickly and silently climbed through the open window.







Spike pulled a suitcase from her closet and began loading it up quickly. First with all the pictures from her mirror, then with the stuffed animals from her bed, toiletries from the dresser, then with as many clothes as he could fit. Buffy didn’t offer to help, but just watched blankly as he chose and tossed things in willy-nilly. After a moment, she opened the door to her room and went out into the hallway. Spike tried to stop her, but didn’t want to make more noise than he already was and risk waking Buffy’s keepers.



In just a few moments Buffy came back with more pictures. They were, he realized, pictures that Dawn must’ve had in her room. Buffy offered them to Spike mutely. There was one with him and Dawn that Dawn had gotten Tara to take of them one day when Buffy had been gone. He looked at it wistfully; it seemed a lifetime ago – technically it had been: Dawn's lifetime. He carefully packed them all into the case with the others.







“Anything else ya want, luv?” he asked, looking around.



Buffy went to her dresser and opened one of the drawers. She searched for something, her movements mechanical and deliberate. After a few moments she apparently found what she was looking for and slid the drawer closed again. Spike didn’t see what it was before she stuffed it down into her pocket – too small to be a stake, a trinket he supposed. Buffy then turned and headed for the window without another word.



“Right then…” he muttered, hefting the suitcase and following her. “Off we go.”



**~**



Spike tossed Buffy’s suitcase in the trunk of the DeSoto alongside his own meager belongings and a cooler, then opened the passenger door for her. She climbed in without a word or even a final glance back at her house. Spike ran around the car and got behind the wheel, stuffing the key into the ignition and coaxing the old behemoth to life.







“Any preferences, luv?” he asked her, turning to look at his passenger before putting the car in gear.



Buffy looked at him dully, but something in the backseat caught her eye and she turned to stare at the third person in the car.

 

Spike sighed. “Before you start, it’s not what you think,” he began. “Need her along, we do. She’s got … certain talents that could come in right handy…”



Buffy leveled a lifeless stare on Spike. In her current condition, it was tantamount to a death-glare of old.







“Get your mind outta the bloody gutter, Slayer,” he demanded, exasperated. “Not them talents! She’s bloody brilliant in a fight, even got the quips down. Plus, she can go in the sun – I can’t. She can fight humans – I can’t. Never know when we might need some help, luv. And … she’s right cheerful, to boot,” Spike defended.



Buffy looked at the Bot in the back seat. The BuffyBot’s eyes were closed and she leaned, as if asleep, against the window at her side.  Buffy blew out a derisive snort so soft that if not for Spike’s enhanced hearing, he might not have heard it.



“Don’t be that way, Slayer,” he begged her. “You used t’ like cheerful … used t’ be cheerful, you did, or so I've been told.”



Spike could feel her eyes roll, even though Buffy didn't actually roll them, she simply continued to stare at him.



“Buffy,” he continued turning slightly in his seat to face her and taking both of her hands into his, his tone solemn. “I’m your willin’ slave, luv. I’ll defend ya … take care of ya ‘til the end of time. But … I can’t protect you from everything. Those wankers the Council will be sending aren’t demons – if they find us, I can’t fight ‘em, luv. She’s the only … person I could trust t’ be on our side in this. If somethin’ happens to me, she’ll be my proxy … she’ll stand by you in my place.”



Buffy's gaze flicked to the Bot then back to him. He thought he saw a glint of pain, of hurt, flash oh-so-briefly in her eyes. Was it because they couldn’t trust any of her friends, or was it the thought of losing Spike that caused it? He didn’t know. He waited for her to give him some sign that she understood, that it would be alright for the Bot to come with them.



She continued to stare at him for a long minute or three. Spike waited. “It,” she said finally, her voice flat.



“Pardon?”



“Not she, ‘it’,” Buffy clarified as she turned to look forward, out the small opening in the black paint that covered the windshield.



“Right, it … the Bot’s an it,” Spike repeated, getting her meaning. “So … it’s alright then – to have it along?”



Buffy nodded her head ever-so-slightly.



Spike let out a breath of relief, reluctantly released her hands, and put the car in gear. “Where to, luv?”



“Hell,” Buffy replied, never looking at him. Her voice was small and quiet, without any particular inflection.



Spike pursed his lips a moment, then nodded. “Sin City it is.”



**~**



Spike rummaged through the old cassette tapes that littered the floor under his seat, pulling a few out at once. He held them up in front of his eyes as he drove to see what treasures he’d found.



“Prefer the Ramones, the Clash, or the Sex Pistols?” Spike asked her, glancing over at his mute passenger.



Buffy cut her eyes at him, then looked back out the front window as they made their way past the sign telling them they were leaving Sunnydale and encouraging them to ‘come back soon.’



“Don’t got any little boy bands, luv. Time ya grew up anyway,” Spike contended as he popped the Sex Pistols into the player. Nothing happened. Spike ejected it and began fiddling with the tape. He steered the car with his knees as he turned the little spindles on the cassette to try and get the tape to move properly.



He popped it back in, and a guitar screamed for a moment before it went silent again. Buffy sighed, ejected the tape, rolled her window down, and tossed it out.



“Hey! That’s a bloody classic you just tossed out. And it was mine, t’ boot!” Spike objected.



Buffy shrugged, but didn’t say anything as she looked out the open window. She watched in silence as the town where she’d come of age, where she lost her mother and sister, where she’d lost her mind, fade from view in the side mirror.



Spike started to put another tape in the player and, without looking, Buffy reached out and took it from his hand and tossed it out the window too.



“Oi! What the bloody hell, Slayer?” he snarled at her.



“No,” she said simply, still looking out the window.



“Why the bloody hell not? I like music when I’m driving … makes the time go,” he argued.



“Hurts,” was her flat, stoic reply, one hand moving to her chest, covering her heart.



Spike frowned and shoved the last tape back under his seat lest she toss it out too. “Sorry, luv…” he muttered, turning his attention back to the dark ribbon of road that spread out into the night in front of them.



**~**



The sun was just lightening the clouds in the eastern sky when Spike unlocked the door to their Las Vegas motel room. He held it open, letting Buffy precede him inside. He followed her, carrying their suitcases. He set them both on the dresser before going back out to the car to get the cooler that held blood and Cokes. Once inside with that, he made one last trip to retrieve the Bot and her – its – charging equipment. When he’d come up with his plan to get Buffy out of town, he’d liberated the Bot from the basement of the Magic Box. He’d still had her – its – charging equipment at the crypt – no one had ever asked him for it.







He laid the Bot down on the bed nearest the door, then closed and locked the door behind him. “Right then. Snug as bed bugs, we are,” he commented brightly, clapping his hands together enthusiastically and looking around.



Buffy took a step back from the bed she had just been getting ready to sit down on and looked at it warily.



“Not literal bed bugs, luv,” Spike assured her. “I know it’s not much, but I’ll go down t’ the strip t’night and win us some more money, then we can upgrade t’ something … nice ... or at least ... decent.”



Buffy looked only marginally reassured.



“You want somethin’ to eat? Could order some breakfast for ya,” Spike offered as he picked up the room service menu.



Buffy shook her head.



Spike looked disappointed and worried, but didn’t push it.



“Want t’ watch some TV then?” he tried, moving to pick up the remote control.



Buffy shook her head again, then opened her bag and began rummaging around. After looking for a while in the unorganized mash of clothes, she settled on a couple of items and took them, along with her hairbrush, into the bathroom and shut the door.



“Right – a shower then. Brilliant – you go first, luv. Don’t mind me – I’ll just wait ‘ere and …” he sighed, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair. “Won’t eat, no music, no TV, no conversation… Angelus couldn’t ‘ave done any better job o’ sending ya round the bend. At least Dru’d talk to a bloke … not that it was easy to suss out, but…”



He sighed again and turned to the Bot. Maybe if he got her charged up he could get some conversation from her … it. It. It. It, he tried to remind himself, but it was hard to remember, looking so much like his Slayer and all.



Spike broke down and turned the TV on while he waited for Buffy to come out of the bathroom. He looked up when the door opened and she emerged.







His eyes devoured her as she walked silently to the other double bed and pulled the covers down. She was dressed in a tight, white, sleeveless, ribbed t-shirt, which did little to hide anything, and a pair of little-girl undies, white with little pink flowers and a pink bow on the front a few inches below her exposed navel. Her bare arms, legs, and the lower half of her midriff weren’t as tan as he remembered them being from flashes he’d seen before, but still as fit and toned as ever. Her breasts swayed in the t-shirt as she reached down and pulled the covers back, her darker nipples more than apparent beneath the thin, white fabric. The luscious curves of her body, though not quite as round as she had been at one time, were still just as mouth-watering. She moved with the same easy grace as she’d had the first time he’d seen her, but he knew the raw power that lurked beneath the deceptive, feminine curves.



Was she doing this on purpose? Torturing him like this? Or was she so oblivious to everything going on around her that she didn’t even know the effect she was having on him?



Spike swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and forced his eyes back to the TV; it was like pulling a lion away from a downed gazelle. What the bloody hell was she playin’ at? Was she tryin’ to dust him right ‘ere, right now? He shifted uncomfortably on the edge of his bed next to the charging Bot, his jeans suddenly much too tight. He heard the springs of the other bed creak, and when he looked back Buffy was under the covers, the blanket pulled all the way up to her chin.



He stood up abruptly and headed for the bathroom, clicking first the bedside lamp, then the TV off as he went, leaving the room in relative darkness. Only a small glow of sun gave any illumination, leaking in from behind the heavy curtains that covered the window.



Spike struggled to not slam the bathroom door in utter frustration when he got inside. He leaned back against it heavily and closed his eyes. The scent of her assailed him in the steam-filled room, making his cock strain even harder against the zipper of his jeans.

 

When he opened his eyes, he realized she’d left her dirty clothes on the floor. He leaned down and picked up the thong she’d had on under her jeans and brought the lacy garment to his nose. When the first inhalation of her sweet scent filled his nostrils cum exploded in his jeans.



“Bloody hell,” he growled at himself angrily. “Creamin’ your pants like a soddin’ teenage virgin on prom night.”



Spike quickly lifted his t-shirt off over his head, then turned the water on in the shower. It was hot immediately and he just stepped in, jeans and all, to clean off. He hung her panties over the shower-curtain rod as he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, letting the hot water pound on his still semi-hard cock. He moaned and closed his eyes as he imagined Buffy’s mouth, her tongue flowing over him instead of the water.







He peeled his wet jeans down from his hips and thighs, then grabbed her panties again and breathed in the essence of her. Oh how he longed to taste her, to drink from her chalice, to kiss her, to hold her, to be inside her. The gentle kiss she’d given him after Glory had beaten and tortured him while trying to find out the identity of the Key still tingled Spike’s lips when he thought of it. It was so real … so … true, so … Buffy.







He suddenly began to cry, to sob uncontrollably as the hot water pounded down on him. Buffy … he longed with all his heart for Buffy. For her wit, her passion, her determination, her smile, her eye rolls, her jibes, her punches – anything! He sank down onto the tile floor of the shower, his jeans still clinging to his lower legs, his erection and fantasy gone. He pulled his knees up to his chest and sobbed against them, still clinging to her panties. He hadn’t kept Dawn safe. He’d promised Buffy he would keep them safe, both of them, and he’d failed miserably. He never saw Dawn’s sacrifice coming and he, above anyone, should’ve. Wasn’t that his ‘thing’? Reading other people’s true hearts? He’d spent years honing that skill – looking below the surface – but when the game was on the line, he’d failed.



Buffy had at least spoken a few words today – a vast improvement over the silence of the last several weeks – but she was so far away from where she’d been that he didn’t know if she’d ever find her way back. Had losing Dawn been the final blow? One so debilitating that even his strong, confident, snarky Slayer could not overcome it? Would she ever be his Slayer again? Would she ever be Buffy again? Was she lost forever? Had her spirit, which had conquered so much adversity, endured so much heartache and loss, which had seemed to him indestructible, finally succumbed, finally given up?



He thought the long days spent alone in his crypt waiting for darkness to fall had been hard, but now he knew being with her was worse. Even with her so close, he was still completely, utterly, painfully alone.



**~**



{{  Click here to hear Undun by The Guess Who  on YouTube  }}



She's come undun

She didn't know what she was headed for

And when I found what she was headed for

It was too late



She's come undun

She found a mountain that was far too high

And when she found out she couldn't fly

It was too late



It's too late

She's gone too far

She's lost the sun



She's come undun

She wanted truth but all she got was lies

Came the time to realize

And it was too late



She's come undun

She didn't know what she was headed for

And when I found what she was headed for

Mama, it was too late



It's too late

She's gone too far

She's lost the sun

She's come undun



Too many mountains, and not enough stairs to climb

Too many churches and not enough truth

Too many people and not enough eyes to see

Too many lives to lead and not enough time



It's too late

She's gone too far

She's lost the sun



She's come undun

Doe-doe-doe-doe-doe doe un doe-doe-doe un doe-doe-doe

Doe doe-doe-doe-doe un doe-doe-doe doe-doe-doe

Doe doe-doe-doe doe doe-doe-doe doe doe



It's too late

She's gone too far

She's lost the sun



She's come undun

She didn't know what she was headed for

And when I found what she was headed for

It was too late



She's come undun

She found a mountain that was far too high

And when she found out she couldn't fly

Mama, it was too late



It's too late

She's gone too far

She's lost the sun



She's come undun

No no-no-no-no-no no

Doe doe doe-doe

Chapter End Notes:
Where do they go from here? Can Spike get Buffy back? Will she be the same girl she was before? Lots more to come! Will try to update a couple of times a week.
I basically gave my evil muse free rein on this story. There was no outline, no real plan, and he went wild with it, wringing tears out of me as often as possible. Hope you're ready for the ride!
Try by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Buffy wants to give up, but is given a mission and admonished to 'TRY' by an unexpected visitor.
**
Thanks to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile!
"You gotta get up and try, try, try..." ~P!nk, 'Try'.

**~**



Spike slept through most of the day, waking late that afternoon to find Buffy standing at the foot of his bed staring down at him with a contemptuous look in her eyes and a small pout on her lips. For a moment he thought for certain that she had snapped out of her stupor and was fully back. Perhaps the small breakthrough the previous night had breached the dam she'd been trapped behind, but then the look faded back to blankness, washing Spike's hopes away with it. After a moment, she turned away stiffly and headed for the bathroom.

“Buffy … luv,” he called after her, his voice gentle. “What’s wrong, pet?” he asked as he pushed away from the BuffyBot, who was lying motionless in the bed next to him charging, and sat up.

Buffy stopped, her back visibly stiffened even more, but she simply shook her head, her hair cascading back and forth over her bare shoulders with the motion.

Spike stood up, pulling the sheet off the bed with him to wrap around his waist and hopefully hide his morning – or late afternoon, in this case – stiffy.

He tucked the sheet around himself and walked up behind her. She hadn’t moved any further toward the bathroom. He could see most of her face in the mirror over the dresser. Beneath the mask of indifference she looked … hurt. Sad. Not that that was a really new expression on her face of late, but somehow it looked different this morning … errr, afternoon.

He settled a hand on her shoulder gently. “Buffy, please … talk to me, luv,” he pleaded, watching her face in the mirror.

Buffy bit her bottom lip and shook her head again, half-shrugging one shoulder – the one he had his hand on, as if to shrug it off.



C’mon you git! Figure it out! It’s what you bloody do! he admonished himself as he studied her face. There was definitely hurt in her green eyes – not just the miserable, dull sadness that had haunted them since Dawn’s death. Spike looked around the room, then back at the bed where he’d been sleeping when he first saw the look, and it hit him like a sledgehammer.

“You got it wrong, Buffy,” he blurted out at once, his voice defensive, his eyes wide with panic. “Didn’t … the Bot … wasn’t like that – not what you’re thinking. Just – her … its clothes were dirty from the basement at the Magic Box – needed t’ clean ‘em up if she … its gonna come out with us, yeah? That’s all it was … took ‘em off and washed ‘em in the sink after you went to sleep. Check for yourself – they’re hanging up in the bathroom drying.”

Spike put his free hand on her other shoulder and turned her around to face him. “I swear, Buffy – I’d never, never touch her ... it like that again.”



Buffy’s eyes didn’t meet his when he turned her around, instead focusing on something over his shoulder. She shrugged again. “No big,” she offered. Spike could tell she was trying to sound uncaring, but it was a forced nonchalance.

“It is a big deal, pet!” he argued immediately, nearly frantic for her to believe him. “I didn' touch the Bot … not like that. Not like you think.”

Buffy's eyes shifted to the now uncovered, nearly-nude female form lying on Spike’s bed – her nearly-nude form. Only a black, lacey thong and matching bra clothed the Bot as it lay with its eyes closed, a wire protruding from an open access panel in its side. Then Buffy let her eyes roam down Spike’s bare chest and down his body to the bulge the sheet around his waist was doing little to hide.

A single tear slid down the Slayer’s cheek. She made no move to wipe it away as she said again, “No big,” and pulled free from Spike’s grip.

“Buffy, please,” Spike began as she stepped away from him. Before he could argue further, the door to the bathroom closed with a click. The innocent sound was like the hammer falling on a gun pointed at Spike’s unbeating heart.

**~**

When Buffy emerged from the bathroom, she was dressed in jeans and a blouse, her hair pulled up in a no-nonsense tail. She sat down on her bed and pulled her boots on without a word.

“Buffy, luv … please listen t’ me,” Spike attempted to continue the earlier discussion. He’d also gotten dressed while she was in the bathroom and the BuffyBot was completely covered up with the sheet and blanket.

“Money?” Buffy asked flatly, looking at him with a stony expression.

“Yeah I got some dosh. You want t’ go out? Get somethin’ to eat? Give the sun a few more minutes and we…”

“Now. Alone,” she interrupted him. Her voice was flat and cold, but not quite the dull monotone of the previous night. “Cash?” she held her hand out toward him, palm up.

Spike heaved a deliberate sigh, pulled some bills out of his pocket, and slapped them down onto her palm.

She closed her hand around them and stuffed them down into her pocket.

“Buffy,” Spike tried again as she began to step past him toward the door. “I swear I didn’t touch the bloody Bot. I wouldn’t … not … not now. I know how it would make you feel, luv. I know it was wrong t’ even have it built, but …”



“No big,” Buffy repeated for the third time as she reached for the door knob.

“Buffy, I love you. Would never do anything t’ hurt you, luv. Ya got t’ believe me,” he pleaded.

Buffy swung the door open and late afternoon sunlight flooded in from the west. Spike jumped back and to one side, out of the path of the deadly rays.

“Do I?” she asked, her voice stony cold and unfeeling, before she stepped out into the light, pulling the door closed as she left the dingy motel room.

“YES!” he screamed at the closed door. “Yes! You’ve gotta believe me! It’s the soddin’ truth!” he continued, banging a frustrated fist into the steel door and denting it.



Spike roared with anger and frustration, and slammed his fists into the door a few more times, each one creating an impression of his knuckles in the steel. “Bloody barmy women! How do I end up with rat-shit crazy bints? What the bleeding hell is wrong with me!? What the fuck did I do to deserve these stubborn, ungrateful, tortuous bitches? Why do I even bother?!”

Spike leaned his back against the door and closed his eyes, trying to get his anger and frustration under control. He patted down his pockets, looking for his cigarettes. Finally finding them and his lighter, he lit one, taking a long, calming drag of the nicotine-laced smoke. 'Cos you love her, came the silent, unbidden answer to his question. She'll be the soddin' death of you, but... doesn't matter; no help for that now.
 
After finishing his smoke and running his hand through his hair enough to have it standing up on end, he pushed off the door and set to work getting the Bot functional. He still had a promise to keep: make sure Buffy was safe. There were things he couldn't fight, there were places he couldn't go; he needed the Bot to help keep his promise. Not that Buffy couldn’t fight, defend herself, but he hadn’t seen her lift a single finger to fight anyone since Dawn died. He hadn’t seen a single weapon, not even a stake, in her room when he’d packed her bag. He presumed the witch or the Watcher had 'crazy-Slayer-proofed' the place.

“Right …” he tried to assure himself. “Fire up the Bot.” He pulled the covers off the BuffyBot and blanched slightly. “Dress the Bot – then fire ‘er up,” he amended, heading for the bathroom and her now clean, if still a bit damp, clothes. “Hope ya don’t rust…”

**~**

“Spike! My handsome, hard-bodied love of my life! You’re alright! I thought that evil Glory-woman hurt you!” the BuffyBot exclaimed, a wide, bright-white smile on her face, when he flipped the switch in the panel and booted her up. "I have not seen you for fifty-six days, ten hours, and thirty-two minutes. I was so worried! Shall I get naked? It I cannot resist your sinister attraction – I want you to take me! Big Bad … take me now!”

She started to rise from the chair he’d sat her down in and come to him, but he put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay,” he ordered simply, pressing down lightly against her. “There’s not gonna be any takin’ … anymore.”

The Bot pouted, looking at him with luminous green eyes. “Spike? Did I do something wrong? Do you not like me anymore?”



“Like ya fine – it’s not you, luv, it's me."

The Bot's pout deepened and creases formed between her brows. "Cosmo says that's the phrase used 68.9% of the time when terminating a relationship with someone who turned out to be repulsive and/or mind-numbingly boring. Am I ... repulsive?"

"No! No ... it's not that," Spike assured her, waving his hands emphatically. "You're bloody gorgeous, luv."

"Then ... I'm boring?" she asked, her eyes beginning to shimmer with fluid.

Spike sighed dramatically. Another barmy bint, just what he needed. "Not boring, never boring, luv. I just need your help now, can ya help me?” he asked, sitting down on the bed directly across from the robot.

“Yes! I love you! I will help you with anything!” she vowed enthusiastically, the smile returning to her face. “Shall I help you remove your clothes? Shall I throw you down and rip them off your hot, tight little body?”

Spike winced at her words. “No. There’ll be no throwing or clothes removal. And don’t say ‘I love you’ anymore, got it?”

The Bot frowned, her pout reappearing, but nodded solemnly.



“And all those … special programs; we’ll not be needin’ them anymore so you can … delete them,” he continued.

BuffyBot’s face went blank a moment, as if thinking. Spike found it slightly disturbing how much that blank stare looked like Buffy had the last weeks. “In addition to the standard systems, I have seven sets of specialty programs: Fight Moves and Strategies, Slayer Quips, Sexual Positions, Sounds to Make and Words to Use During Sex, Sexual Games – Submissive, Sexual Games – Dominatrix, and Romantic Behaviors.

“In addition, I have the following specialized database files: Buffy’s Friends, Spike’s Friends and Enemies, Common Demons of Sunnydale and How to Slay Them, Most Romantic Poems of All Time, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Spike’s Favorite Songs and Bands, Spike’s Favorite Foods, Spike’s Favorite Drinks, Spike’s Favorite Compliments, Spike’s Favorite Phrases, Spike’s Favorite Places to be Kissed, Spike’s Favorite Places to be Licked, Spike’s Favorite …”

“Right,” Spike interrupted her. “I think we can do without all the ‘Sex’ bits, so just … delete those, yeah? Can you do that?”

The BuffyBot tilted her head to the side. “I cannot delete them. I can deactivate them.”

“Good – do that then,” he instructed her.

“You do not wish to have sex with me? I found it quite enjoyable. Was I not satisfactory? I’m very pretty and you are very handsome. We make a lovely couple.”

Spike blew out a breath. “You were perfect, luv, and you are very pretty. It’s just … we got a new mission – a different mission – and I need ya to help me with that now.”

The BuffyBot’s smile returned. “I am yours to command, my evil master. How may I best serve you?”



“Right – may want t’ deactivate the ‘Spike’s Favorite Phrases,’ too, pet,” Spike advised.

The BuffyBot frowned and her expression went blank, but after a moment her smile returned and she looked at Spike, giving him a firm nod of her head. “I am ready. Please relay the details of new mission.”

“We gotta protect the Slayer … the …errr other Slayer,” Spike explained. “Now … make a new file called … uhhh … ‘Gits We Don’t Trust’,” he instructed. When the Bot nodded, he began listing off all the people they no longer trusted. About halfway through the list he thought it would’ve been simpler to make a file of the people they did trust – that was a very short list indeed: Spike, Buffy, and the BuffyBot.

**~**

Buffy stepped into the beam of sunshine outside the motel room door and pulled the door closed behind her. The world was a haze of red, as if she were looking through a veil of blood. Her thoughts were fractured by the crimson tide of guilt that hung over her and she had a hard time forming full, coherent thoughts. Time passed strangely … speeding up and slowing down apparently at will. Sometimes it moved too quickly with large chunks of time simply missing – unremembered; other times, when the weight of her failure pressed against her chest, suffocating her, it moved much too slowly.

Her emotions were similarly erratic, crashing over her in waves of grief, anger, and guilt with just the barest of hints of reason attached to them. She felt dazed – as if drugged – her emotions and thoughts not in sync. She tried repeatedly to get the confusion to subside, but could rarely focus on any one thing long enough to succeed.

Hurts.
Pain.
Too much.


She leaned back against the warm, sun-baked steel of the motel room door and closed her eyes. She still hadn’t noticed the tear that had left a single trail of salty-dampness down her cheek.



Alone.

She heard Spike screaming, roaring in fury on the other side of the door, then felt each blow of his fists against the heavy steel.

Anger.
Danger.
Go.
Run.


She started walking down the sidewalk toward the front of the motel and the street. The street was wide and busy with cars. She looked up and down for a few moments, trying to focus her thoughts.

Hungry.
Food.




She saw a familiar sign – yellow with red – and headed toward it. There was no sidewalk; she walked on the grassy right-of-way of the busy highway. A car pulled over and stopped in front of her.

“Hey, sweet-cheeks! Looking for a party?! Need a ride?” a man called from the open window.

Walk.

Buffy, wrapped her arms around her torso protectively, ducked her head, cut the car a wide berth, and kept walking.

Ignore.

The car pulled away, tires squealing and sending dirt and debris flying into the air around her.

Jerk.

She made it to the diner and went inside. Buffy took a booth in the back corner and put her back to the wall so she could watch everyone coming in.

Danger.
Council.
Jail.
White coat.


The waitress came and put down a glass of water and a menu. Buffy drank the water in a few long gulps and shoved the glass back to the edge of the table.

Hungry.

She picked up the menu and opened it. She blinked her eyes a few times, trying to focus on the words.

Letters.
Words.
Read.




She couldn’t see them past the crimson pall that shrouded her vision. It all blended into red. Blood red. The color of death. The color of alone. The color of failure.

Failed.
Killed Dawn.
Blood.


“My, you were thirsty,” the waitress observed. “I’ll get ya a pitcher … unless you’d rather something else? Coffee?”

Buffy shook her head and fingered the glass. The waitress turned and picked up a pitcher of water from a serving enclave behind Buffy, filled the glass again and set the whole pitcher on the table.

Wet.

Buffy drank about half of the second glass, then held it against her forehead a moment. The beads of condensation on the outside of the glass felt good against her warm skin. She closed her eyes, trying to wash away the film of blood that occluded her vision and clouded her mind.

Cold.
Clear.


“Decide what ya want?” the waitress asked, pulling Buffy from her scattered thoughts. Buffy opened her eyes and set the glass of water back down, looking up at the waitress who was holding a small pad of paper and a pen at the ready.

Food.

Buffy pointed at a picture: A full breakfast with eggs, sausage, bacon, hash browns, and biscuits. Then at another picture of waffles topped with strawberries and whipped cream.

Dawn.

“Hungry t’ go along with thirsty,” the waitress commented, writing the order down. “How do ya want your eggs, dear?”

Yolk-y.

Buffy hesitated, blinked, concentrated hard. “Flip. Easy.”

The waitress nodded and took the menu back from her. “Be right up…”

Buffy scanned the patrons as she waited, trying to see their faces.

Watchers?

Everyone looked the same; all covered in blood; their throats cut nearly in two. Her heart began to race.

Take you away.
Crumbled cookies.
White coats.


If anyone looked back at her she glared at them until they looked away.

Prison.
Bars.
Alone.


She drank more water.

Deserve.

She went to the bathroom.

Forever alone.



Buffy stopped and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She touched the deep gash in her throat. She could see her spine. She moved her head back and forth and furrowed her brow.

Should've been me.
Dead.
Failed.


She pulled her fingers away. Blood dripped from them.

She went into the stall and peed. Came out and washed her hands. She watched the blood get rinsed away, but never actually fade. She stood there for a long while as the red gore swirled around the sink and flowed down the drain, but her hands were still painted with it.



Too much.

Leaving the water running, she went back out to her table. Her food was there.

Don’t deserve.

Tears stung her eyes as she looked at the waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. She pushed them across the table for Dawn. They were her favorite.

Eat.

Buffy looked up when someone slid into the booth across from her. It was her. She blinked and looked again. Still her. Only not. Her but not her. Happy her. Used to be her. Not her anymore.

Spike slid in next to Happy Her; Dawn was gone. She hadn’t eaten. Waffles in front of Spike. Dawn’s waffles.

Buffy looked back down at her plate as tears stung her eyes.



Hurts.
Alone.
Deserve.
Failure.


“Buffy … luv,” Spike began, reaching across the table for her hand. She didn’t pull away as he closed his fingers over hers, but stiffened visibly.

“Please don’t be cross. I swear nothing happened, pet. The Bot’s just helping watch over you. Nothing more,” Spike said softly. “Tell ‘er,” he instructed the Bot.

“Spike and I are friends and coworkers. We used to have sex, but now we don’t. It isn’t because I was unsatisfactory or didn’t give him bloody fantastic orgasms, though – because I did. I’m very pretty, I give brilliant blowjobs, and my quim is …”

Spike cleared his throat. “Might wanna skip that bit…”



The Bot nodded amicably. “I am now an operative in his mission to keep the Other Slayer safe. Operatives don’t give other operatives orgasms – not even hand jobs; it’s unprofessional. You are the Other Slayer. You’re very pretty – like me. We cannot trust Rupert, Red, That Git Harris, Demon-bird, the Watchers…”

“Thanks, pet,” he said, cutting the Bot off.

“Buffy, please believe me. There’s nothin’ in this world that could make me hurt you. I love you so bloody much. Just tryin’ to do all I can think t’ keep you safe. Give you a chance t’ … heal, luv – in your own time and own way.”

Buffy shook her head. She couldn’t look up at him. He was covered in blood; the gaping wound on his neck made her stomach twist painfully.

Go away. Alone.

“Don’t,” she whispered at last.

“Don’t what, luv?”

Happy Buffy gone. Deserve hurt. Alone.

“Don’t love me.”

Spike squeezed her hand and snorted softly. “Been tellin' myself the same thing for months, pet. Apparently it's too bloody late t' change. Drowning in you, Summers – got no escape.”

Buffy looked up finally. Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked from the Bot to Spike. “Love her. Happy Buffy.”



Spike shook his head. “I love you. Barmy Buffy.”

“Barmy,” Buffy repeated sadly. “Crazy.” She nodded. The crimson veil lifted slightly from her mind, thoughts spilled in like water over a dam. “Killer. Like Dru. Worse. Killed Dawn.”

“Not like Dru, and you bloody well didn't kill Dawn,” Spike assured her sternly, leaning forward in the booth so he could keep is voice from carrying and to be that much closer to her. “Not a killer. Never a killer, luv. A Champion. You’re not like Dru. Stronger, you are. So much stronger – the Slayer.”

“The Other Slayer,” the Bot interjected happily.

Spike took a deep, patient breath but didn’t correct the Bot. “Let me help you, Buffy. You can … make it through this. Get past …”

“No. No past,” Buffy interrupted him. “Too jumbled. Too much blood.” She pulled her hand out from under Spike’s and held both her hands up to show him. Blood dripped from her fingers, from her palms, ran down her wrists to her arms, flowed off her elbows, and pooled on the tabletop. “Too much blood,” she repeated, staring at her perfectly clean hands from which too much blood dripped.

She looked back at Spike with haunted, lonely eyes. “Love her,” she said again, gesturing with her head at the Bot. “Happy. No blood.”

Buffy slid out of the booth. She pulled all the money Spike had given her out of her pocket and dropped it on the table. Spike grabbed her wrist as she started to walk past. “The blood’s not on your hands, Buffy. It’s on mine. What happened was not your fault, luv. I should’ve … I … should’ve seen it comin’. I … didn’t keep my promise; didn’t keep ‘er safe.”

She looked down at him. His face, his clothes, his hair – everything was covered in blood. “Enough to drown us all,” she observed, pulling free of his grip and hurrying from the diner.

Spike frowned after her and slid out of the booth, picking through the money she left and taking back the extra.

“What are my orders? Shall I keep her under surveillance?” BuffyBot asked.

Spike watched Buffy disappear out the front doors and sighed. He couldn’t follow her around all night and make more money at the casinos too, and they were gonna need more money. “Yeah, don’t get too close. Just watch – help ‘er, defend her if someone attacks, otherwise keep your distance, yeah?”

BuffyBot nodded decisively and slid out of the booth. “I have several scenarios for stalking and observing demons which I am skilled at and can employ successfully,” she assured him.



“Right. Good. Don’t start any fights with anyone – if someone attacks, help her – but don’t go on the offensive. Be sure first before ya do anything t’ draw attention.

“If you lose ‘er, just come back to the motel and wait. You remember where it is … the room number?” he asked.

BuffyBot nodded again. “My memory capacity is extraordinary,” she informed him. “Paradise Lost. Room 117,” she recited before turning on her heel and following Buffy outside.

Spike sighed wondering if he’d lose both the Bot and Buffy in one night.

**~**

Buffy trudged through the deep pools of blood alongside the highway, heading away from the motel and diner towards the lights of downtown. Blood-red lights flashed in the distance, nearly blinding. Brighter than the sun to her eyes.

As she walked though, the veil of guilt-laden blood seemed to slip away further – allowing thoughts, coherent, full thoughts – to reach her for the first time in what seemed forever. It felt like a shroud lifting, allowing all the ideas in her mind to come pouring to the fore. Suddenly she knew what she had to do – it came to her, clear as a bell tolling over a silent, misty moor. It was the only way to get the pain to stop.

She found a dark, dank alley – her domain, a killer’s domain – and headed down it. When BuffyBot turned to follow her down the alley, Buffy stepped out from the shadows against one wall and was suddenly behind her pursuer.



“Do you love him ... Spike?” Buffy asked herself … or not herself – no blood – used to be herself, not anymore. It was a strange feeling, surreal, talking to herself. She was getting used to strange feelings – her whole life felt surreal. She couldn't help but wonder who the real Slayer was: Barmy Buffy or Happy Buffy. Maybe Barmy Buffy wasn't real at all ... maybe she was just a player in a nightmare of this other woman who looked like her. Maybe Happy Buffy would wake up, and Barmy Buffy would be poof – gone – a wisp of smoke, a forgotten memory of a dream.

Buffy shook her head, too many thoughts were bombarding her now that they had broken free. She needed to concentrate now; she knew the mission, she needed to get it done.

BuffyBot spun around and considered the Other Slayer a moment. “I was made to love him.”

Buffy nodded slowly, solemnly. “When I’m gone you stay with him, protect him. Don’t leave him alone. He’s no good alone – Love’s Bitch." Buffy snorted sarcastically. "He's the strangest vampire I've ever known – all with the love and devotion. He thinks he loves me, but it's not me, he just needs to love someone. You love him. Love him for me. The blood is on my hands, not his. Tell him.”

“I do not understand. We are keeping you safe. It is our mission. Where would you go that he would not be?” the Bot asked, confusion furrowing her brow.

“To Hell,” Buffy replied flatly.

“I can not process this response. Please restate your reply.”



“I’m broken,” Buffy explained.

“We will fix you,” BuffyBot offered. “I have many programs for repairing humans.”

Buffy shook her head. “Too late. Promise me you’ll tell him: not his fault. He … he did more than anyone, even when I didn't ..." Buffy halted, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat and gathered herself before continuing, "Even when I didn't toss him a single crumb. He tried harder than I had any right to expect. Just … just love him – for me.”

“I can follow your directives, but I still do not understand. What part of you is broken?” BuffyBot continued.

“My heart. My head. My soul …” Buffy replied softly, rubbing at her aching temples. “Drenched in blood. Everything’s … drenched in blood. It hurts so much.”

BuffyBot tilted her head and studied Buffy head-to-toe. “I do not see any blood, and I have excellent optics.”



“Keep watching,” Buffy muttered as she pulled the pocket knife – the thing she’d taken from her dresser drawer the night before – out of her pocket.

As BuffyBot watched, Buffy, using all her Slayer power, stabbed the knife into her left forearm and dragged it down through her flesh to her wrist. Blood spurted from the vein in a geyser of thick, hot liquid, covering Buffy with the crimson gore she’d been seeing for the last several weeks. She yanked the blade out and repeated the process on her right arm. She couldn’t stab the knife in as deeply due to the life-draining injury on her left arm, but she managed enough to start blood pouring from that arm as well.

Buffy looked back up at the Bot, who was standing stock-still, watching with confusion. “Love him for me. He deserves it,” Buffy instructed once again before vertigo overtook her and she dropped like a ragdoll to the dirty, garbage-strewn pavement of the alley, the knife still protruding from her right forearm.

“Spike said I should just watch – unless someone attacks, I should just watch,” the Bot recited her instructions, still looking confused. She fretted her bottom lip with her teeth, trying to process everything. “No one has attacked – I am to simply watch.

“But the new mission is to keep the Other Slayer safe. Excessive blood loss is deadly to humans. The Other Slayer is human," she reasoned aloud, still watching as Buffy's life-blood drained from her body, forming a slick pool of dark liquid on the ground beneath her.

The Bot stood watching, processing everything, trying to reconcile her conflicting instructions. "I must ask Spike what I should do; which directive takes precedence,” BuffyBot decided at last.

“Come. We will ask Spike what to do,” she told Buffy with a firm nod of her head, pleased with her decision. She leaned down and picked the bleeding, unconscious Slayer up and headed out of the alley, back to the busy Las Vegas street.

Before the Bot knew what was happening, people walking on the sidewalk began screaming. Someone claiming to be a doctor tried to wrest Buffy from the Bot’s arms, but she refused to let her go, explaining that she had to get back to Spike and find out what to do – which instruction to follow. As more and more people gathered around her, the Bot got more and more confused. Everyone was talking at once and pulling Buffy away from her. And then there were policemen and paramedics, and the Bot was forced to release her hold on the Other Slayer lest she injure her. She wasn’t to start a fight with anyone and draw undue attention … she needed Spike. She didn’t know what to do.

Then, just as she began to leave Buffy and go back to the motel to find Spike, she was ushered into the back of an ambulance with the Other Slayer, and the doors were closed. The siren rang in her ears as the truck sped through the busy streets toward the hospital. A man on the opposite side of the Other Slayer was working on Buffy frantically. There were needles and tubes and bandages, and a thick layer of blood coated everything. Buffy had been right, the Bot thought, there was blood everywhere.

“Identical twins, huh?” the man asked as he worked, chancing a glance up at the Bot.

BuffyBot looked at him dumbly for a moment. “Identical twins develop from a single fertilized ovum and therefore have the same genotype, are of the same sex, and usually resemble each other closely,” she replied.



“Right,” the man agreed, giving the Bot a strange look. “She should be alright. Never know, but think we got it in time,” he assured her.

“That is excellent news because our mission is to keep the Other Slayer safe. But I was not sure what action to take, because Spike said to only watch unless someone attacked, but she attacked herself. I was unfamiliar with this mode of action. Is it a common tactic?”

The man shrugged. “Common enough in this town, I guess.

“They’re gonna take her right into surgery when we get there. Someone will show you where to wait.”

“I should go to the motel and find Spike. He will know what to do,” the Bot insisted.

“Who’s that?”

“I love him. He said I shouldn’t say that anymore, but she said I should love him for her, so I will,” the Bot explained, tilting her head toward Buffy, lying unconscious between them.

The paramedic nodded sagely. “A love triangle, huh?”

The Bot considered this a moment before stating, “A triangle is a three-sided polygon with the sum of its interior angles being 180° … or it could be a percussion instrument consisting of a sonorous metal bar bent into a triangular shape, beaten with a metal stick. Spike is neither one of those; although he does enjoy music – but not music with triangles. Mostly drums and guitar played at 125 decibels or higher.”

“Right…” the man agreed, giving her another strange look. “Well … you can call him from the waiting room.”



BuffyBot smiled widely. “That will be acceptable.”

“Glad to hear it, Blondie…”

**~**

“Oh, could this get any more cliché?” Buffy asked the darkness as she looked around. “Tell me it’s an oncoming train,” she continued sarcastically, looking toward the only light she could see in the ebony blackness, a dot in the far distance. Nothing answered her. There was no sound, no movement, no feeling – just the light and the dark. The air around her seemed to absorb her words; it wasn't hot or cold, it wasn't humid or dry, it had no aroma at all. She knew she must be standing on something, but couldn't actually feel anything beneath her feet. "This must be what Willow was trying to teach me in that computer class: null ... absolute nothingness."

Buffy sighed and looked at the only thing she could see in the inky void: the small spot of golden light, which she gave even odds to being a train racing toward her. "Fine … I get it. ‘Move toward the light.’” And so she did.

It turned out to be a doorway into her kitchen back home; the light streaming into the darkness was sun shining in through the windows over the sink. Her mom was standing at the counter, her back to Buffy, pouring batter onto a hot waffle press.

“Mommy!” Buffy exclaimed in utter relief, racing around the center island to her mother.



Joyce set the bowl of batter down and turned around just in time to catch her daughter in her arms. “Buffy … my sweet girl,” Joyce murmured, wrapping her arms around her daughter and dropping kisses into Buffy’s hair.

“Mommy, God … I … tried so hard. I just couldn’t … I couldn’t save her. I’m so sorry. I let you down … I let Dawn down,” Buffy sobbed against her.

“Shhhhh … it’s alright, Buffy,” Joyce soothed, running her hand down Buffy’s long hair gently. “There was nothing you could’ve done. It was Dawn’s choice … you couldn’t have known. Shush now, sweetie. It’s alright…”



The two women stood there for what was at once an eternity and a blink of the eye; mother soothing the hurt away from her daughter. The embrace ended slowly, naturally … Buffy’s heart, if not mended, was at least temporarily bandaged. Joyce gave her daughter a reassuring smile, holding her at arm’s length a moment as Buffy wiped jerkily at her face and eyes to clear her tears.

“Sit down, honey. The waffles will be ready in a minute,” Joyce offered, waving a hand at the island. “I need to talk to you.”

Buffy took a deep breath and nodded before moving out of her mother’s arms. “Where’s … Is Dawn here?” Buffy asked tentatively, looking around as she took her normal seat at the island.



Joyce turned back around to get the waffles out of the iron. “No … that’s what I need to talk to you about,” she admitted.

Buffy fretted her bottom lip with her teeth, worry and fear settling back into her heart as she waited for her mom to continue.

Joyce brought two plates of waffles over to the table, then retrieved syrup and coffee creamer from the fridge, and poured them both cups of coffee. She stood across from Buffy to eat rather than sitting on her stool at the end of the island.

“Mom … just tell me,” Buffy begged, unable to stomach the idea of eating anything right then.

“Eat,” Joyce pressed. “You’ll feel better. You look so thin, Buffy. Have you been eating? Living on Coke isn’t healthy – you need to eat real food ... including vegetables, and potato chips don't count.”

“What difference does it make? Dead now. The good thing about dead is you don’t really need to worry about eating healthy,” Buffy retorted.



Joyce gave her that patient mom-smile that Buffy knew too well. “You’re not dead, Buffy – you’re unconscious. But if you keep on like you’ve been doing, you will be dead, and then Dawn will …” Joyce’s voice broke. She cleared her throat and took a drink of coffee to cover it.

“Dawn will what?” Buffy demanded, although she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Joyce cleared her throat again and met Buffy’s eyes. “Dawn’s not here because she’s … stuck. She can’t move forward or back – she’s caught between worlds,” Joyce explained.

“Caught? But why?”

Joyce took another slow sip of coffee; her hands trembled slightly. Buffy noticed. “Mom … please, tell me what’s going on.”

Joyce nodded and set her cup down; it clattered slightly on the Formica countertop before she could release it from her shaking fingers. “First of all, I want to say this again: What happened to Dawn is not your fault – it’s no one’s fault. She made a decision. It’s a decision that you would’ve made if you were in her place. She died saving the world – saving you and her friends – don’t negate or belittle what she did by blaming yourself. Her blood is not on your hands, Buffy. Not yours, not Spike’s … not anyone’s except Glory’s.”

Buffy looked down at her hands and began unconsciously wringing them together, as if to wipe the blood off.

“Buffy. You have to stop blaming yourself. Dawn still needs you – and burying yourself in a pool of blood-soaked guilt will not help her. Listen to me – believe me when I tell you this,” her mother insisted.

Buffy looked up at her mother, wanting desperately to believe her.



“Dawn still needs you, Buffy. You have to pull yourself together,” Joyce repeated. “You’re the Slayer – you can do this.”

Buffy’s brows furrowed. “How … how do I help her? She’s … gone. We buried her … next to you.”

Joyce drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She’s no more gone than I am, but she’s … trapped in Limbo. She needs you to get her out.”

“I don’t understand,” Buffy interjected, searching her mother’s face for some clue.

“When the monks made her, they made her body out of you – your blood, Buffy – but they needed a soul,” Joyce began to explain.

Buffy furrowed her brow as she listened and watched her mother’s grave expression. “Okay … they needed a soul. Why didn’t they make a withdrawal from the ‘Soul Bank’ or buy one on eBay or whatever? No! Don't tell me! They don't have a PayPal account, right?”



Joyce let out a small laugh and shook her head. “They aren’t that powerful ... the monks aren't on the level with the Powers. They don't have an account at the ‘Soul Bank’ ... and I think eBay frowns on the sale of souls – no one wants to allow returns,” she joked. Then, turning serious she added, “They had to get it from … you.”

Buffy’s brows shot up.

Joyce quickly continued, “And me, and your friends … Willow, Mr. Giles, Xander – they took a little bit of soul from each of us to make it.”

“They took pieces of our souls? Isn’t that … of the bad?” Buffy asked worriedly. “Not to mention sort of an invasion of privacy!”

Joyce shook her head. “Souls are … fluid, they grow, they change … sometimes they shrink – sometimes they even die inside people. A baby’s soul starts out as a small little thing, just like the baby started out. It’s like a bright promise, a seed made from bits of the soul of the child’s parents. As the child grows, the soul grows with them – all of the child’s experiences mold it, shape it into … their own unique soul over time.
 
“The monks took all our memories and changed them, putting Dawn in them for us. Once Dawn was in our hearts, in our souls, they took a little piece of that from each of us to give her – we were all her parents in a way. She needed this so she would have her soul – nearly fully grown right from the start – not just a small seed,” Joyce continued.

“Okaaay,” Buffy drawled. “So what does that mean? That’s what’s trapping her? She has pieces of the souls of people that are still alive so she can’t move on?”

Joyce frowned. “Sort of…” she admitted. “The little bits that they took from most of us wouldn’t be enough to trap her. The problem is, the small chunks they took weren’t enough to create a full, teen-sized soul; they had to get more – a bigger piece somewhere, to ... fill it out.”

Buffy waited for the shoe to fall.

“From someone that loved her but wasn’t actually … using his.”

Buffy closed her eyes. “Spike,” she breathed.



Joyce nodded. “They took about half his soul from the ether and gave it to her to make up the difference.”

“That explains a lot actually,” Buffy quipped dryly, opening her eyes to look back at her mother over their untouched food. She steeled herself to ask the next question, clenching her fists against her thighs, and stiffening her back. “So what does that mean? Spike has to … dust in order to release the rest of his soul from the ether and, in turn, release Dawn so she can move on?”

“That’s one option,” Joyce admitted, looking away from Buffy uncomfortably.

Buffy nodded, the threat of tears blurring her vision. Why should she care? If it came down to him or Dawn, of course she would choose to save Dawn. Spike was a vampire, it was her sacred duty to dust him. It had always been her duty, her Calling ... and yet, she'd never been able to. She'd had her chances, even when he was evil and chip-less, and she'd always, always let him go. She'd had plenty of excuses after the fact, and always swore she would dust him next time, but ... somehow she never managed it.

She blinked her confusing, irrational tears back and asked in a hoarse whisper, “What are the other options?”

Joyce took another sip of her coffee, looking everywhere except at Buffy. She took her time, setting her coffee back down on the counter and clearing her throat uneasily before answering. “He could … have a child and Dawn’s soul would be pulled back – given to the baby. Basically she – or at least her soul – would come back to life. It would get her out of the state of Limbo she’s in; give her spirit another chance at life.”

Buffy stared at her mother a moment as the words and their meaning sank into her brain. “A … baby …"

"A baby," Joyce confirmed with a slight nod.

"Spike needs to have a baby..." Buffy restated.

"Well," Joyce hedged. "Not exactly, he's a man. There would need to be someone ... else involved. A girl ..."

"A girl ..." Buffy repeated. "... to have a baby … with Spike."



"Yes," her mother confirmed, picking her coffee back up and sipping at it uncomfortably, her eyes glued to the countertop.

Buffy studied Joyce as the weight of her mother's words settled onto her shoulders. "You want me to have a baby with Spike," Buffy muttered, utterly flabbergasted by the suggestion.

“Well … ummm,” Joyce began, sounding unsure, then she sighed. “Yes.”



“Mom … I know you've been busy with the being dead part of your life, but I think you've missed some key episodes of this program. Timmy's down the well and Lassie ran off with Rin Tin Tin. I hear they're living in a hippie commune in the foothills of some mountain range I can't pronounce, smoking dope, making little mutts, calling them Shep-ollies, and selling them for major bucks on Craigslist."

"Buffy, honey ..." Joyce began, but Buffy cut her off, tossing her hands in the air in frustration.

"Mom, I can’t take care of myself, let alone a baby! I couldn’t take care of teenage Dawn – couldn’t keep her safe, couldn’t handle anything after you …” Buffy’s voice broke and she couldn’t finish the sentence. “I … I … can’t,” Buffy rasped out, her chest and throat tightening in emotions ranging from simple, unmitigated fear to utter, bone-chilling terror.

“You can, Buffy. I have faith in you. I know you can do it,” Joyce encouraged her. “You’ll make a wonderful mother.”

“You do remember me, right? Buffy – your daughter who couldn’t even keep a gerbil alive? The girl that's killed every houseplant I've ever owned? The one that spends all her time in cemeteries? The one that’s living on borrowed time? The one that’s died once already and … and … tried to die again? I’m that Buffy. There’s no room for a baby in that … it would be … craziness.”

“Buffy … Dawn needs you. Limbo isn’t somewhere you want to spend eternity, believe me. You’re stronger than you know – you can do it. You can save her soul from … the darkness,” Joyce assured her again, her voice soft and cajoling.

Buffy pressed her clenched fists against her thighs and screwed her eyes closed tightly, trying to keep from exploding with frustration and rage. Hadn’t she done enough? Couldn’t she just rest now? She was so tired, so utterly exhausted. So tired of the guilt, of the fear, of the worry, the pressure. So tired of the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. How do you add a baby to that and remain standing under the strain? She could barely stand even now. She didn't even want to try to stand anymore. Hello! Can you say 'suicide'? Is anybody up here watching?

Then something else occurred to the Slayer. She opened her eyes, blatant defiance shone in the glare she leveled on her dead mother.

“In case you forgot, Spike’s a vampire. He's big with the undead method of birth control: his little ... swimmers are mostly just belly-up floaters ... kinda like that goldfish I had when I was three.

"So, duh! He can’t make babies!” Buffy informed her angrily, a small snarl of victory accompanying the words.

Joyce flinched at her daughter’s outburst, but tried to keep her expression neutral and her voice calm. “He can,” she said, keeping her tone even. “I … I made a … deal – with the monks,” Joyce continued. “If you … were to have … relations with him and at the … ummm … right moment … think about Dawn, the monks will … fix it – a baby would be made.”



Buffy stared at her, her mouth dropping open in shock. Her mother was not backing down. Her mother, who had been so dead-set against Buffy dating Angel, was openly telling her to have sex with Spike, a soulless vampire. Not only that, she was telling Buffy to make a baby with said soulless vampire.

“I couldn’t find any other way, Buffy,” Joyce continued quickly. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think …” She paused a moment, then asked simply, “You love him, don’t you? I know he loves you.”



The tears that had been threatening spilled from Buffy’s eyes and dampened her cheeks. She dropped her gaze to the fists she had clenched in her lap, willing the flood, which had no basis whatsoever, to stop. In answer to her mother’s question Buffy shook her head, then nodded, then shook it again. “I’m … He’s … We’re…” she stammered. She took several deep, shuddering breaths and then looked up and met her mother’s eyes. “Mom, first of all, he's a vampire. I thought you were founder and president of the No Dating Vampires Club."

Joyce gave her daughter a patient smile. "No, honey ... that was Mr. Giles. I was treasurer."

"Mooom," Buffy moaned, rolling her shimmering eyes. "He doesn't even have a soul."

"No, but he has a heart, Buffy. He can love; he loves you – he loves you very much. He's changed, Buffy – he's no run of the mill vampire. You can't deny that," Joyce pointed out gently.

Buffy closed her eyes again, her throat tightened and closed up, an icy fist squeezed her heart, until she felt like she'd suffocate, unable to breathe. Her mom was right, Buffy couldn't deny Spike's heart, not anymore. She'd tried to deny it at first, tried to paint Spike with the same blood-soaked brush she had Angelus: a soulless monster incapable of feeling any true affection for anyone. But, it hadn't worked; Spike had proven her wrong too many times, proving her mother right. He had changed, over the last months especially. Spike could love, and for some insane reason, he loved her.

"I don’t know how to love," Buffy replied after finally forcing a breath into her lungs, her voice shaky and barely audible. "I … I’m … the Slayer. Love’s not … in the hand I was dealt. And babies aren’t even in the deck.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Joyce argued sternly. “I know you, Buffy – better than anyone. Your heart is full of love. No one is more caring and giving than you are, I’ve seen it too many times. You always put the safety and well-being of others above your own. I refuse to believe that being the Slayer could take that away – if anything, it would make it stronger. Why in the world would you think that you can’t love?”



Buffy shook her head despondently, tears swimming in her eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve tried but … it’s just … more than I have to give.”

“Honey, I wouldn’t ask you to give more than you have. I know it's in you, I know you can do it,” Joyce assured her. “Dawn still needs you, now more than ever. Will you … try?”

Buffy’s head drooped, her chin falling to her chest. She felt like she was drowning. It was too much – too much to ask. She looked down at her hands, opened her fists and studied her palms. Blood. Her hands were covered in blood. Dawn’s blood. She’d killed her sister. She’d failed her.

The never-ending tears continued to stream from her eyes as she nodded almost imperceptibly. God help her, she would try. She owed Dawn that much.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear Try by P!nk  on YouTube  }}

Ever wonder about what he’s doing
How it all turned to lies
Sometimes I think that it’s better to never ask why

Where there is desire
There is gonna be a flame
Where there is a flame
Someone’s bound to get burned
But just because it burns
Doesn’t mean you’re gonna die
You’ve gotta get up and try try try
Gotta get up and try try try
You gotta get up and try try try

Eh, eh, eh

Funny how the heart can be deceiving
More than just a couple times
Why do we fall in love so easy
Even when it’s not right

Where there is desire
There is gonna be a flame
Where there is a flame
Someone’s bound to get burned
But just becausze it burns
Doesn’t mean you’re gonna die
You’ve gotta get up and try try try
Gotta get up and try try try
You gotta get up and try try try

Ever worried that it might be ruined
And does it make you wanna cry?
When you’re out there doing what you’re doing
Are you just getting by?
Tell me are you just getting by by by

Where there is desire
There is gonna be a flame
Where there is a flame
Someone’s bound to get burned
But just because it burns
Doesn’t mean you’re gonna die
You’ve gotta get up and try try try
Gotta get up and try try try

You gotta get up and try try try
Gotta get up and try try try
Gotta get up and try try try
You gotta get up and try try try
Gotta get up and try try try

You gotta get up and try try try
Gotta get up and try try try
Chapter End Notes:
Can Buffy pull herself together long enough to accomplish the mission her mother gave her and save Dawn's patch-work soul from Limbo? Lifting the bloody veil of guilt from Buffy's mind may be more of a problem than Joyce realizes.
Eclipse by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary always make me smile! All mistakes are mine because I simply cannot stop fiddling right up to the very last moment.
Buffy’s head swam. She felt like she was spinning on a demonic Tilt-a Whirl and she had to take deep breaths in through her mouth to simply keep from retching. When the feeling had subsided enough to be tolerable, she blinked her eyes open.

“Mom?” she whispered, barely audible.

When her eyes finally focused, she was met with bottomless pools of concern shadowed in the azure depths of Spike’s eyes.



“Spike,” she rasped.

“Oh, Buffy…” he breathed with relief, lifting the hand he’d been holding up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on her knuckles.

Buffy’s eyes fluttered closed again as she tried to figure out where she was. It was only a moment later when the distinct aroma of her surroundings hit her nostrils and registered in her muddled brain.

Hospital.

The stench of death, illness, and despair was barely veiled by antiseptics and the ubiquitous cherry Jell-O. It seemed that all hospitals smelled just the same, and she hated the memories and feelings her olfactory senses stirred in her.

Cousin Celia.
Der Kindestod.
Mom.


“Go,” she ground out through dry, chapped lips and tight vocal cords. She swallowed and gripped Spike’s hand as hard as she could, she hoped he would understand this was a demand, not a question. “Home.”

“Not yet, luv … gotta stay ‘ere a just a bit longer,” Spike answered, trying to sound assuring.

Death.
Fix Dawn.
No die.


Buffy blinked her eyes open again and looked around, trying to find an escape. To Spike’s back was one of those flimsy cloth ‘privacy’ curtains in puke-yellow. Presumably there was another bed, or several, beyond it. On the other side of her bed was a solid-looking wall with a small window. The window, she noted, was very narrow and up near the ceiling, high above head height, and there were steel bars over it.




Not hospital.
Loony bin.


More disquieting memories flooded through her from the time she’d spent in such a place when she had first been called, back in L.A. She pushed them back – she couldn’t deal with that now, didn’t want to remember the pain of her parents not believing her. She took a few more deep breaths to calm down, still gripping Spike’s hand to make sure he didn’t leave her here, and continued her perusal of the room.

BuffyBot stood leaning against the wall, her eyes open, but unblinking, unseeing. Her clothes were covered in blood.

Buffy looked back at Spike. “Bot?” Buffy asked, her voice still husky from disuse.

Spike looked up at the Bot. “Just in power conserve mode, luv. If ya touch her, she comes right out of it.”



“Sleep,” Buffy summarized.

Spike shrugged. “Reckon so.”

“Blood,” Buffy commented.

“Yours,” Spike replied simply.

A lock of hair fell into Buffy’s face and she reached up to tuck it back behind her ear. Her arm only made it a short distance from the rails on the side of the bed before it was stopped short. She looked down – her arms were held to the rails with wide canvas straps. Then she realized Spike hadn’t actually lifted her hand to his lips to kiss her so much as dropped his lips to her hand.

He reached up and gently slid his fingertips across her forehead, pressing the hair back out of her eyes and hooking it behind her ear.

“Arrested?” Buffy wondered.

Spike shook his head. “Just under … observation,” he allowed.

Buffy snorted. “Same.”

Spike shrugged. “Not quite. Ya got better drugs and fewer birds shagging in the shower, if the movies are t’ be believed.”

Buffy closed her eyes.

Joke.

She tried to laugh. Couldn’t remember how.

“Go,” she repeated.

Spike lowered his voice. “We can get ya out whenever you’re strong enough t’ leave,” he replied. “But I think we need t’ wait a bit, luv. You lost a lotta blood … need t’ get your strength back good and proper.”



Buffy nodded her understanding, never opening her eyes.

Break out.

“Telling ya now, though, won’t do it unless you promise t’ not try somethin’ as daft as that again, Slayer,” Spike warned, his voice a mix of fear, pain, and anger.

Buffy flinched from the rebuke, but nodded. She felt tears leak from her eyes and run into her ears. She couldn’t even lift her hands to wipe them away.

“No die,” she assured him. “Sorry,” she croaked out, her voice shaking.

Blood.
Hands bloody.


Buffy opened her eyes and blinked to get them to focus as she looked down at her hands. She released her hold on Spike, flexed her fingers, and then curled them into fists over and over again as the blood dripped from them in an unending torrent.

“Blood,” she whispered to Spike.



Spike took her left hand into both of his and held it, stopping her fist from opening and closing. “There’s no blood on your hands, luv. None of us saw it comin’ … me included. Dawn wouldn’t want this. She loved you. Don’t let ‘er sacrifice be in vain, luv. Please, Buffy – stay with me, let me help you.”

Buffy nodded as she clamped her eyes closed again. Her tears came harder, streaming down her cheeks and dampening the pillow beneath her head. A moment later they turned into keening sobs that wracked her entire body.

Spike tried to soothe her, murmuring words of comfort, smoothing her matted, blood-soaked hair. He held tightly to her hand, trying to keep her from slipping away and drowning beneath the waves of utter madness, afraid of losing her forever.

**~**

Two days later Spike and Buffy managed to convince the caseworker and psychiatrist that had been assigned to Buffy that she was stable and could be released into Spike’s care. Given the fact that she had no insurance or assets, it wasn't that hard a sell. This saved them the trouble of actually breaking her out of the psych ward. Spike was slightly disappointed; he’d spent a few hours scoping the place out and formulating a plan – a good plan, a solid plan – to break her out. It would’ve worked, he was sure.

So, with an appointment to return in ten days to get her stitches out, a prescription for an antidepressant, and a referral to a psychologist, Spike brought Buffy 'home' – back to Paradise Lost.

“How about I take you out to dinner t’ celebrate, luv?” Spike asked after they’d gotten back to their room. BuffyBot was ‘asleep’, lying on Spike’s bed charging.

Buffy shook her head and wrapped her arms around her torso in a protective gesture. “Safe here.”

Spike nodded. “No worries – we can order in, watch a movie. Got ten porn channels ‘ere. There’s a classic on t’night: ‘Deep Throat’,” Spike suggested, waggling his brows and running his tongue slowly over his teeth.



She turned away from him and began rummaging through her bag to find something clean and comfortable to change into. “Pig,” Buffy retorted after a few moments.

The timing of the come-back was late by about fifteen seconds, and her tone was flat, there was no inflection to her voice either of disdain or anger, but just saying the word was some improvement, in Spike’s estimation. At least she had the wherewithal to insult him. Not her best shot, by far – but a good first volley.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Spike replied, his tone teasing.

Fix Dawn.
Spike.
Soul.


Buffy rolled her eyes. Spike caught it in the mirror over the dresser.

An actual eye roll! Spike’s eyes went wide and his heart nearly flew out of his chest in exaltation.

Buffy gave up her search. Spike hadn’t packed any of her comfy, grungy clothes at all – and no PJs. She found the white t-shirt she’d slept in when they’d first gotten here laying on a chair and picked it up, considering it.

“Buffy, not that I don’t fancy that … outfit, luv. But … errr … if ya don’t want t’ go the porn route, maybe you’d be more comfy in one o’ my shirts,” Spike suggested, grabbing one of his black t-shirts and holding it out to her.

Buffy took it and held it up to her shoulders, sizing it up, then pulled it up to her nose, closed her eyes, and inhaled.

Spike.
Leather.
Cigarettes.
Whiskey.
April-fresh Downy?


Spike smiled as he watched her breathe in his scent. So, he wasn’t the only one with an aroma fetish. He studied her face, trying to decide if she liked 'Eau de Spike', but her expression remained neutral – he couldn't tell.

She nodded.

Buffy lowered the shirt and opened her eyes. She looked down at her hands. There was still blood on them – standing out bright red against the black material. It didn’t drip from her fingers in rivers of crimson, but it was there.

Not your fault.
Not anyone’s.


“Mommy?” Buffy said aloud, looking around with wide, eager eyes. She was sure she'd heard Joyce's voice.



“No, luv,” Spike said softly, moving up to her. “It’s me, pet, Spike.”

“Spike,” Buffy repeated, scanning the room again, just to make sure.

No Mom.
Mom dead.
Dawn dead.
Trapped.
Buffy help Dawn.


Buffy finally looked at him. He thought the flashes of lucidity were more frequent – more … lucid. But right this minute she looked like a lost kitten, desperately searching for its mother.

Buffy closed her eyes and tried to get her jumbled thoughts to coalesce into something – anything – that made sense. Single words and short phrases were all that made it through that crimson shroud that covered everything – a shroud of guilt, of pain, of failure. She knew enough to know this wasn’t right, but couldn’t find a way to escape the river of blood that swept her thoughts away like fallen leaves in a mountain stream. She'd gotten it to ease before, she knew, but couldn't think how she'd done it – or had it been her doing at all? Everything was just too muddled and disjointed. Was she on some kind of drugs? Was that the problem? She didn't know, couldn't remember.

“Yer gonna need help with the shower, luv,” Spike said, pulling her from her futile efforts to make her brain function properly. “Can’t get your bandages wet,” he pointed out, laying a tender hand on her right forearm.

Buffy frowned, looking down at the bandages on her arms. Why were there bandages on her arms? She struggled to remember. Concentrated hard. Couldn’t. Gave up.

“I could … give ya hand,” Spike offered in earnest. When she didn’t dismiss that idea out of hand, his heart fluttered in his chest – or it felt like it did.

Buffy’s frown deepened.

Shower.
Spike.
Spike help Dawn.
Spike heart.
Spike loves.
Can't deny.
Mom?


She closed her eyes again. There should be more. More thoughts, more … something, but she was unable to find what the ‘more’ was. She felt like there was a word – or perhaps a whole dictionary of words – right on the tip of her tongue, so close she could taste it, and yet utterly elusive. All she could see was blood. The blood kept the words and thoughts from forming properly, kept them obscured from her.

Helpless.
Afraid.
Failure.
Don’t fail Dawn.
Dawn needs you.


Buffy’s hands began to tremble, still gripping Spike’s t-shirt. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, silently pleading with him to help her – help Dawn.

Too much blood.

“Help me,” she begged, leaning against him heavily as her knees wobbled beneath her.



Spike wrapped his arms around her and supported her weight easily. “I gotcha, Slayer. No worries now – Spike’s ‘ere. Won’t leave ya, luv. Never leave ya. Gonna get through this, we are.”

**~**

“Buffy … luv, ya can’t stand like that. The water’ll get on your bandages, pet,” Spike cajoled as Buffy stood in the shower stall, her back to him, her arms crossed over her bare breasts.

He’d wrapped her bandages in plastic bags, but that would only stop water that splattered on them, not a direct flow from the showerhead.

Buffy’s chest heaved, her heart raced, and fear made her adrenaline levels spike.

Vulnerable.
Vampire.
Unarmed.


“Buffy, you’re still covered in dried blood. Nurse Ratched and her cronies couldn’t be bothered t’ clean anything but your arms. Gits.” Spike spat the last word before shifting back to a cajoling tone. “Need t’ get it off. You’ll feel better once you’re cleaned up. You’re gonna have to raise your arms up above your head, out of the flow of the shower so I can turn it on,” Spike told her, his exasperation growing. He just wanted this over with – and at the same time wished to stand here and look at her naked backside for all eternity.



He thought about booting the Bot up and having her take over this task, but he had reservations about just how much water the Bot's outer skin could repel. In addition, he wasn't entirely sure the Bot had any idea how to do this. She might scrub Buffy's skin off, he reasoned as he let his eyes wander over Buffy's nude form. Definitely better if he do this, he concluded with little mental opposition to the idea, even if it kills him.

Spike fought to compose himself, to maintain a sense of aloof propriety – like having her standing there naked had no effect on him whatsoever. “Bloody hell, woman – you don’t ‘ave anything I haven’t seen before,” he practically growled at her when she didn’t raise her arms.

Buffy flinched at his hard tone and moved as far away from him as she could get in the shower stall.

Spike immediately felt a stab of regret and pain. “I’m sorry, pet,” he continued, running a hand through his already mussed hair. “Didn’t mean t’ frighten you. Not gonna hurt you, Buffy,” he assured her, keeping is voice low and melodious.

Buffy’s small voice echoed off the hard tile of the shower and came back to him. “One good day.”



Spike sighed and dropped his head back in frustration. He had to try and look at this from her point of view, he knew. He closed his eyes and tried to suss out what he could do to just get this over with. After a moment he turned and left the bathroom, only to return a moment later with a stake from his bag. He handed it to her, tapping the blunt end against her upper-arm to get her to take it.

Buffy grabbed it out of reflex, and clutched it to her like a child would clutch a security blanket.

“Right,” Spike began again. He laid his hands on her hips and gently guided her toward the back of the shower, away from the showerhead, keeping her turned away from him. His fingers rejoiced with the contact – her skin was soft and warm under his cool touch. It called out to him to touch, to explore every inch of her; with a Herculean effort, he pushed the thought away. Now was not the time for that. She needed his help, not his overactive libido. He positioned her so her body was sideways to the showerhead, facing the tiled back wall of the shower opposite the curtained side where he stood.

“Now, stand ‘ere and raise your arms up over your head. Can’t hurt you, can I? Slipped ya that lovely bit o’ hard wood, didn’t I?” Spike groaned at his double-entendre, but Buffy didn’t seem to even notice. “Safe as houses, you are.”

Buffy’s fear waned slightly as she held the familiar weapon in her hands. She looked down at her body and the dried blood that covered her skin.

Rinse away the blood.
Dawn’s blood.
Help Dawn.


Slowly she raised her arms, both hands wrapped around the stake tight enough that her knuckles turned white with the effort.

“There’s m’ girl…” Spike cajoled. He stood outside the narrow shower enclosure as he leaned in and turned the water on. He angled the showerhead away from her until the water got warm, then tilted it until it hit her around the shoulders.

Buffy let out an unconscious moan of pleasure when the warm water sluiced over her skin. At the sound Spike felt his cock jump in his jeans, which he’d purposely kept on. If he didn’t get this over with soon he’d either cream his jeans again or his balls would turn blue, possibly permanently.

Spike closed his eyes and took a deep breath meant to calm his libido down. It was only marginally successful. Giving up on that, he grabbed the washcloth and the little bar of hotel soap – he’d have to remember to get Buffy some proper soap tomorrow – and began to rub the two together. His hands moved almost angrily as he took his frustrations out on the defenseless bar of generic soap, creating a bubbly lather on the washcloth.

Spike tried his best to think of her as the Bot, not Buffy, as he moved her long hair out of the way, flipping it forward over one shoulder, and began washing her back. He started at the back of her neck and scrubbed the grime and blood off her body, trailing small circles of bubbles over her soft skin.

Buffy moaned again, let her head fall forward, and leaned more heavily on the wall. She still held the stake in her hands above her head, out of the spray of the shower, but her grip had visibly loosened on it.

Spike swallowed hard and struggled to push back his desire to kiss her, to shimmy out of his now heavy, water-logged jeans and press his body to hers, to make love to her, to devour her.



Just take care of her, you tosser, Spike admonished himself. It’s not about you.

When Spike got her entire back soaped and scrubbed, he hung the washcloth on the towel rack at the back of the shower and began gently massaging Buffy’s tight trapezius muscles. Working from the base of her neck out to her shoulders and back again, he kneaded the stress away with strong, talented fingers.

Buffy’s moans of pleasure nearly drove him to the edge of madness as his hands skimmed over her slick, soapy skin. He could feel her relaxing beneath his touch, though, and that was worth every ounce of self-control he had to expend. He moved his hands lower, working the hard strap of muscle on either side of her spine into relaxed submission. Spike couldn’t take his eyes off the gentle hills and valleys of her back as he slid his hands over her, her body slowly submitting to his ministrations.

She was beautiful. More beautiful than the Bot by far – perhaps only because he knew that this was real. Her skin shimmered under the white foam of the soap, and her curves were luscious, tantalizing, as the spray of the shower rinsed the suds over them in snaking rivulets of rich lather.

Weeks of stress and tension had been trapped in her body, in her muscles, ever since that horrible night in the desert. Spike could feel it under his hands as he gently pressed fingertips and knuckles into her bowstring-tight body. And, as he worked, he could feel all that stress flowing out of her with each soft moan that fell from her lips. Each slow, deliberate pass of his strong hands over her back, across her shoulders, and up her arms released more of the toxic guilt and tension from her body.

It gave him something else to focus on, and he actually felt himself relax as he concentrated on taking Buffy’s pain away, or at least relieving it for a short while. His deep, undeniable desire for her hadn’t gone away, but it had morphed, at least momentarily, from something sexual to something even more basic: the simple desire to help another person in need, specifically to help the woman he loved.  She trusted him to help her – he would not betray that trust; not now, not ever. Everyone has a need to touch and be touched, and Buffy had had no one to soothe her in those weeks after Dawn's death. He'd tried in the cemetery as she sobbed, but he knew it hadn't been enough. Her friends, he guessed, might've tried – a hug, a short embrace, a moment of solace – but she needed more, anyone would. She needed to feel like she was connected to someone in this cold, hard world, someone she could count on, someone she could trust. He vowed to be that person if it killed him. It very well may.

Spike retrieved the washcloth and the soap again and knelt behind Buffy to work the same magic on her legs as he had her back. The water splashed down on his head and over his bare chest and back as he knelt on the shower floor, soaking him now from head to toe. The fact that Spike’s nose and mouth were so close to her sex in this position barely registered with him as his entire focus was on working every knot, every tinge of tightness and pain from her muscles. He wanted her hurt, her guilt, and pain to wash away with the water, to flow down the drain and allow her some peace. She deserved to feel at peace; she'd given so much to the world, his strong Slayer, it was about time the world started giving something back to her.

He began by scrubbing her legs and feet, hip to toe, top to bottom, front to back with the washcloth and soap, getting every hint of blood and grime off her skin. While he was down there, he did the same with the shapely globes of her ass, although he deliberately avoided venturing between them lest he undo all the good he’d done for her. He didn't want to freak her out. The fact that she still had that stake clutched in her small but deadly hands hadn't slipped his mind, either.

When he was satisfied with the cleaning part of his task, he laid the soap and cloth down on the floor of the shower and turned his attention to her tight muscles. His hands traveled first over her hamstrings, kneading and squeezing the hard cords as Buffy groaned her approval. When he ghosted his fingers over the back of her knees, Buffy jerked and danced a small step to the side.

“Ticklish, are we?” Spike asked with a small glint of evil glee in his eyes.

When she didn’t answer, he leaned around the side of her body to see her face. Her eyes were closed, but he could see the smallest hint of a smile on her lips. His heart soared in joy. He would do anything if he could only get her to smile again … to laugh.

Spike bit his lip and filed that small bit of information away for future use as he returned to his mission. He reached around her body and massaged the strong quadriceps muscles on the front of her thighs, careful not to get too close to her naughty bits. He didn’t want to do anything to ruin this now. Directly, he slid his hands down to the tight muscle that ran the length of her shin and raked his fingertips up and down the length of it several times until it, too, relaxed. Finally, he came back to her shapely calves, which he worked by squeezing them like stress-balls between his strong fingers and thumbs.

When he’d finished, he picked up the soap and washcloth, and stood back up behind her.

“Gonna need ya to turn around, luv,” he coaxed, using his hands on her hips to turn her all the way around to face him.

Buffy kept her hands up above her head, the stake still held between them, as she turned around. She’d had her eyes closed, but when he stopped her spin, she blinked them open to look at him.

Spike was struck with how defenseless she looked standing here like this, stake notwithstanding, and how hard this must be for her to do. It made his heart ache to see his strong Slayer looking so very unsure and vulnerable.

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and cleared his throat somewhat uncomfortably. “Just gonna … get your neck here, luv … and your tummy. Let you get the … other bits in the sink, yeah?”



Buffy nodded slightly and shifted her gaze to look past him. “Thank you,” she murmured sheepishly.

“It’s all in it, yeah?” Spike replied, trying to sound nonchalant and business-like. “Said I’d help ya, and I will … whatever ya need, pet.”

He lathered up the washcloth again and began cleaning her neck and face, careful not to scrub as hard as he had on her back and legs. His eyes wandered over her face as he worked, taking in every line, every curve. The shape of her eyes, the contour of her nose, the sweetness of her lips, the strength of her jaw, and the smoothness of her skin all combined to reignite his desire for her.

He shifted uncomfortably in the warm spray and dropped his eyes away from her face – and that was the absolutely wrong thing to do. Suds ran over her bare breasts, which stood out even higher and tighter than normal with her arms held overhead. Spike nearly dropped the soap and washcloth as he tried to draw his eyes away from the perfection of her body. It was a lost cause. The soap bubbles slid over the curves of her breasts, across her dusty-pink nipples and down her flat stomach, mesmerizing him. His fingers twitched in longing, desperately wanting to reach up and swirl the foam around those lovely peaks, hardening them into pebbles under his touch. His lips and tongue tingled, yearning to suck them into his mouth, lavish them with the adoration and attention they deserved. Spike’s chest heaved with unneeded breaths and his cock came back to life in his jeans as image after image flashed through his mind.

“Arms tired,” Buffy said after a few moments of him not washing anything. “Done?”

Spike’s eyes shot up to her face and he swallowed guiltily. “Uhhh … yeah … No! … ummm … hair,” he stammered out. “Gotta wash your hair, luv,” he managed finally.

Buffy nodded but turned to face the back of the shower so she could rest her arms against the wall.

Spike turned away from her slightly as he tried to get his racing mind to race in some other direction. He retrieved the small bottle of shampoo and conditioner from the little shelf in the shower stall and stuck one into each of his front jeans pockets.

“Right – lean back a bit and let’s get your hair wet,” he instructed as he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. He put one hand on the small of her back and one hand on her shoulder and helped her lean back into the shower spray soaking her head completely while still keeping her arms well out of range of the shower.

Buffy sputtered some water from her nose and mouth when he stood her back up straight. “Sorry, luv… haven’t done this kinda thing in a good while,” he offered, grabbing a hand towel and wiping her face off with it.

“Dru,” Buffy said, it was more a statement than a question.

Spike shrugged. “Yeah,” he agreed, a touch of sadness in his voice. He’d taken care of Dru for a over a century – seen her through everything, stood by her, forgave her when she hurt him, when she strayed, when she dragged his heart through the mud, when she … chose Angelus over him – and what had it gotten him? Dumped. Abandoned. Left lonely and utterly alone.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he pushed Dru from his mind. Buffy was not Dru; she could never be as cold, cruel, uncaring, and hurtful as Dru had been.

Spike pulled the little bottle of shampoo out of his pocket and emptied easily half of it on top of Buffy’s head before he began massaging it into her long, golden hair. The blood and dirt from the alley that had matted in her tresses began to loosen and discolor the suds and water as it ran down her back. Before long, Buffy had a giant foam halo atop her head and she had to keep her head tilted back to keep it from running down into her eyes.

“Too much,” she complained as some of it ran down into her face despite her efforts to stop it, and she was forced to close her eyes and try to wipe her face on her raised arms.

“Sorry, luv…” he said again as he ran his hands down her hair to sluice some of the shampoo away. He grabbed the towel and wiped her face again before returning to her hair.

He felt more than heard her contented sigh when he began massaging her scalp in earnest. Her body once again began to relax as he worked. He knew he had succeeded in working the fear and tension from her body when the stake fell from her hands and clattered down onto the tile floor of the shower.

Buffy didn’t react to the loss of her weapon, but kept her arms raised, out of the direct spray, and just let him wash everything down the drain. The blood, the fear, and the guilt flowed away with the steaming water. His hands felt so good on her skin, on her body, on her scalp – strong and steady and sure – everything she wasn’t at that moment. As Spike massaged her scalp, Buffy opened her eyes and looked up at her now-empty hands. She turned them over so she could see her palms – the blood was nearly gone. She rubbed them together and looked again … yes, even less now. She heard her mother's voice echo in her mind ...

Her blood is not on your hands, Buffy.
Not yours, not Spike’s … not anyone’s except Glory’s.
Not your fault.
Only one to blame is Glory.


She felt Spike’s hands gently urging her to lean back so he could rinse the shampoo from her hair and she let him guide her and support her as she did. The water felt like heaven as it rinsed all the oil, grime, and blood out of her golden tresses. She could feel her hair shimmy silkily over her shoulders and back as the water flowed through it and Spike urged the last of the shampoo out with his fingers. She closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the feel of it – the hot water pounding against her, the warm steam that rose all around them, Spike’s strong hands flowing gently against her skin, the way her spine tingled with his presence … and the way other parts of her tingled, which had nothing whatsoever to do with generic vampire tinglies, and everything to do with the specific vampire standing next to her.

Just as it had done the other night in the alley, the shroud that blocked her thoughts and emotions from reaching the surface of her conscious mind began to slowly lift. The river of blood that carried her words and thoughts away slowed to a trickle as Spike worked the crème rinse into her hair. Ideas, conversations, thoughts, fears, dreams all came flooding back to her with overwhelming clarity.

Dawn. Dawn was trapped. Make a baby … with Spike. Get her out of Limbo … a baby with Spike. Think about Dawn … the Monks will fix it. Have to help Dawn – get her soul out of Limbo – give her another chance.

“Think that’s got it, luv,” Spike said from behind her as he ran his fingers through her silky, tangle-free hair. After assuring himself that all the soap and crème rinse was gone from her hair and body, he mashed the water control knob and stopped the warm spray.

Buffy lowered her arms thankfully, rolling her shoulders a bit from the strain of holding them up, then turned around – facing him squarely. Spike had started reaching for the towel which hung just outside the shower stall – averting his eyes from Buffy’s wet, naked bits. Buffy watched him with clear eyes for the first time in … she didn’t know when – before Dawn died. How long had that been? Seemed like yesterday – or several millennia ago, she wasn’t sure.



He was taking care of her. She remembered that. Her friends were gonna put her in a loony ward – the Council’s loony ward, no less. She clearly remembered Spike telling her what he’d overheard at the Magic Box, but she also remembered hearing Giles, Willow, and Xander talking about it at the house. They were afraid she’d get dangerous – they wouldn’t be able to control her. Afraid she’d hurt someone or hurt herself. Giles had been the one to suggest that the Council would be Buffy's best option for recovery. The Council, who she hated with every fiber of her being. How could Giles suggest that? He knew how she felt about them. The memory was painful, and Buffy wished that had been one of those things that had simply stayed locked behind the wall of blood.

She also remembered that Spike had gotten her away from them – took her where the Council couldn’t find her. But even before that, on her nightly sojourns to the cemetery, he’d been there every time, watching her, holding her, protecting her. He’d stood with her even when she didn’t acknowledge him or even seem to know who he was. He stood with her when no one else did.

You love him, don’t you? I know he loves you, her mother's words rang in her head. What did it say about her to know that a soulless vampire was capable of love but she wasn't? It didn't matter ... Dawn needed her help. The mission came first – her duty, as always, was the important thing.

“Spike…” she murmured, standing facing him, one arm now crossed modestly over her breasts while the other covered parts lower.

His eyes shifted and met her gaze. So blue. Had his eyes always been that blue?

“Yeah, luv?” he asked, head tilted, waiting for her to continue.

His hair fell in wet ringlets around his face. So cute. Had he always been so cute? No, not cute. He’d hate that. Adorable? Definitely not. Devilishly handsome, in a Standard Poodle sort of way, with Shirley Temple hair, luscious lips, razor-sharp cheekbones, and cobalt blue eyes.

“Uhhh …” Buffy stammered a moment as she tried to sort through her myriad of thoughts, which had suddenly bombarded her when the blood-red barrier had lifted. “I … uhhh … think you missed my tummy,” she said at last.



Spike’s brows lifted straight up and his eyes widened in surprise. Her eyes! He couldn’t pick out one thing to attribute it to, but her eyes looked alive, sparkling, they looked like, “Buffy? Are you … Is that you, pet?”

“Yeah, Spike … I’m here,” she replied, her voice gentle and even a little shy.

He bit his bottom lip and his head tilted again, regarding her with a look of school-boy wonder and awe. She was back! Buffy was back! His chest heaved with unneeded breaths as his heart rejoiced – shouting his gratitude to the Powers for bringing her back to him.

“Spike?” she asked sheepishly after a few moments of silence filled the space between them. "You ... missed some spots. Maybe you could ..." she shrugged uncomfortably, her eyes dropping to the floor. "... ummm ... get them for me?"

“Buffy …” he murmured, unable to stop himself from leaning forward and kissing her soft, wet lips.

Their mouths met tentatively – a first kiss – exploring, tasting, testing, teasing. Spike drew her bottom lip – that sweet, pouty lip – into his mouth and nibbled on it gently. Her tongue darted out and flicked against his teeth and Spike released her pouty lip to allow her entry. His tongue met hers and they twined together, each circling the other in a slow, sensuous discovery.

Buffy’s hands settled gently against Spike’s sides, just above the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers ghosted like feathers over his skin and he longed to feel her touch every inch of him.

"You sure, pet?" Spike murmured against her lips when Buffy pulled back to breathe. "Maybe we should ..."

"I'm sure," Buffy cut him off, ghosting a soft, reassuring kiss against his lips. She was so warm, her lips so soft, her voice so inviting that any argument to the contrary sputtered and died in Spike's mind before it could reach his lips.



Spike trailed his tongue down her wet skin. Over her jaw, down her neck, momentarily nuzzling and nibbling on the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Her blood thrummed beneath his lips, he could feel it pulsing a staccato beat just beneath her hot skin and he moaned against her, his desire growing by leaps and bounds. He waited there, suckling gently against her neck for a while – waiting for her to stop him, to push him away, to call him a 'pig', to change her mind; giving her every possible chance to say ‘no’. She didn’t.

His hands wandered down her flanks, this time allowing himself to savor the curve of her breasts before sliding down over the hourglass of her waist and hips. His mouth followed his hands down her body as Buffy’s fingers slid up and tangled in his wet curls. She moaned, low and throaty, when his lips encircled her right nipple and his tongue teased it to stiff attention.

“God, Spike…” she murmured as her whole body tingled and shivered in delightful anticipation. As missions went, she'd had worse.
 
Spike thought he’d never heard anything sweeter than his name rolling from Buffy’s lips, full of pleasure and desire. He slid over to give her other beautiful tit equal attention, nibbling the pebbled nub with his blunt teeth until she moaned and her back arched into him.

“So beautiful you are, Buffy,” he whispered to her as he went lower, covering her flat abdomen with lazy kisses and licks.

He dropped down to his knees in front of her, lifted one of her legs up, and draped it over his shoulder as he found the nirvana he’d dreamed of for months.

Buffy’s hands roamed up from his shoulders to his head and tangled in his curls, silently encouraging him to continue. The heavenly aroma that assailed him when he lifted her leg told him that he had found the Promised Land. The scent of her arousal sent waves of desire flooding through him, threatening to drown him. He wanted to be buried in that sweet quim, feel her surrounding him, holding his body as surely and strongly as she held his heart. But first he wanted a taste of her sweet nectar.

He spread her pussy lips with two fingers and buried his mouth in her dark, springy curls. Buffy’s hips bucked against him when his tongue touched down on her clit then circled the throbbing nub, teasing her body to the edge of oblivion.

“Spike … God … please … yes … Spike … so good,” she panted from above, her words flowing over him like warm honey as he worked his magic on her. No one had ever done that to her before. The feel of it surprised her – so different than the rough, inarticulate fingers that had bungled their way around down there in the past. His tongue was cool against her hot skin, strong but pliable, rough and soft at the same time, as it stroked her throbbing bundle of nerves. Buffy felt herself getting lost in the utter pleasure of it as her legs quivered uncontrollably with every touch of his lips, tongue, and teeth against her sex.

Her body sang with his every touch, every teasing flick of his tongue, every suck, every nibble. She was like a Stradivarius and he was Stradivari himself; every note flowing into angelic chords, chords forming a moving, flowing concerto, all building to an earth-shaking crescendo.

As Spike worshiped her clit with his lips and tongue, taking her right up to the edge of the harmonious climax, he slid one long finger into her slick, wet heat.

Buffy’s body jerked, pressing her mound harder against his mouth and hand, increasing the symphony’s tempo, racing for the finale. Even this was so much better than anything she'd had before. How did he know exactly where to touch her? How did he know just how and when to vary his strokes and nibbles to keep her hovering on the brink of heaven? He kept the waves of bliss washing over her, but never allowed them to break. It was at once the most incredible feeling she'd ever known and the most frustrating.

“Spike … more … more … so good … please … more,” Buffy gasped, her hands now painfully tangled in his hair as she pressed him to her with unbridled desire.

Spike moaned against her, indicating that he was more than happy to oblige. He slipped a second finger into her tight, wet hole and a third, stretching her opening to accommodate them. He began sliding in and out of her, matching the ever-increasing rhythm of her heartbeat, which rang like a clarion against his eardrums. Her hips matched him, slamming against him in perfect time, driving his fingers deeper into her. Bolts of pleasure shot out through her limbs every time her clit banged against his mouth and teeth, making Buffy’s legs twitch and weaken. Spike curled his fingers inside her just enough to rake hard over the sensitive g-spot with every thrust, and the walls of Buffy’s channel spasmed and shuddered around him in violent, blissful waves of pleasure.

Suddenly Buffy’s words, which had been flowing from her lips in an unconscious stream, were swallowed by a breathless gasp. After a moment, the brief silence was replaced with a wordless, primal exclamation of orgasmic ecstasy that undoubtedly woke every guest in the motel. Paradise Lost had just been found again.

Buffy’s body tensed, her sex seized around his fingers, and her cum flowed over him as she ground her clit against his luscious lips and inscrutable tongue. Her whole body shuddered in the throes of the orgasm, which broke over her in wave after wave of furious bliss the likes of which she’d never felt before.

Spike moaned his pleasure again as she came, her sweet nectar coating his fingers, and pooling in his palm and between her pink petals. He suckled her folds, lapping hungrily at the slick ambrosia she had bestowed upon him. He'd never tasted anything sweeter than his Slayer's bliss – it was everything he'd dreamed of and more. He could've seen to her sweet quim all night, never moving from this spot, if the leg Buffy was standing on hadn't buckled at that moment.

Unable to stop the inevitable, her body slid down the wall and slumped to the floor of the shower bonelessly. Spike felt her slipping and quickly extricated himself from her embrace and grabbed her hips. He helped lower her to the tile so she didn’t land awkwardly or do anything to tear her stitches out. Buffy’s breath came as rasping gasps, her chest heaving to replenish the oxygen that had been depleted so thoroughly by Spike’s touch. She looked up at him through heavily-lidded eyes, the green of her irises nearly completely engulfed by the black of her dilated pupils. Her beautiful eyes were a deeper green than he'd ever seen in them before, full of passion and ecstasy. He thought she'd never looked more beautiful than that moment.

He leaned in and began dropping gentle kisses over her face, pressing his lips to her eyelids, the tip of her nose, her bottom lip, cheeks, forehead …

“God, Buffy … so passionate you are. So bloody sexy, so beautiful … love you so much,” he murmured to her between each touch of his lips to her heated skin.



Buffy’s eyes flew open, wild with guilt and fear. Suddenly the crimson shroud began to fall down on her like a heavy metal gate slamming closed on a prison. What right did she have to feel pleasure when Dawn was dead? What right did she have to be loved when her hands were dripping with the blood of her sister? But she needed to … to do something. There was something she was supposed to do – a mission – for Dawn. Her thoughts were suddenly swept away in the river of blood, ripped from her grasp once again.

No love.
Don’t deserve.
Blood. Too much blood.


Buffy began scrambling away from Spike, pushing wildly against his bare chest, and kicking at him with her feet as she slithered along the wet floor trying to escape the confines of the shower.

“Buffy,” Spike began, confused, but his voice was cut-off when a foot caught him squarely in the chest and drove the air from his lungs with a grunt and a 'whoosh' of expelled breath.

Buffy’s hand found the stake she’d dropped earlier. She grabbed it as she stood up on the bathroom floor, facing him. She held the stake in front of her, the blunt end pressed against her chest. She clutched it with both hands as she tried to cover her nude form with her arms, looking like a terrified, cornered animal. She couldn’t actually strike him with it from that position, or at least not very accurately, but it would keep him from coming too near.

“Buffy … luv,” Spike finally managed as he struggled to his feet, holding his hands out in a conciliatory gesture. “What’s wrong, pet?” he asked, but he already knew. He could see it in her wild eyes, frightened, guilty eyes.

“Back,” she ordered, her eyes scanning the bathroom with quick, jerking motions of her eyes and head. She found the towel and pulled it from the rack with one hand. “Stay,” she commanded as she backed up to the door, opened it with one hand, and stepped out into the motel room.

Spike sighed as the door slammed shut and he heard her drag something – the dresser perhaps? – across the floor and put against it.

His head dropped back and he roared in frustration. He’d just gotten her back, she’d just allowed him to touch her and now she was gone again. And if he didn’t get out of this bathroom, he might lose her forever. Suddenly fear outweighed the frustration as the image of her cutting her barely-closed wounds open again flashed across his mind. He shoved a shoulder against the door, but it didn’t budge.




“Buffy!” he called through the door, trying not to sound as angry, afraid, and frustrated as he actually was. “Buffy, luv … not gonna hurt you, pet. Just let me out and we’ll … get dinner, like we planned. Remember – you wanted t’ order in? Watch a movie?” he pled through the door as he leaned both hands on the frame on either side of it, his head slumping forward in defeat.

He could punch through the door – or the wall for that matter – but would that just serve to frighten her more? He stood still, abruptly stopped his frantic breathing, and listened. He could hear her moving around in the other room … perhaps getting dressed? He couldn’t tell for sure.

Then she began talking – or perhaps ranting would be a better term for it. He could tell she was pacing back and forth across the room by the sound of her voice as it came to his sensitive ears.

“No, no, no. Don’t have. Can’t give. Don’t take. Too much blood. Blood all over. Oh, God, Dawn! No! No! Not looking. Mom! Please! I … what is it? Can’t remember. What am I doing? No – not love. There's no love. Yes, I know! Heart! I get it! Ok. Try. Ok. The gerbil ran away. No, it died! I’m not five! Council wankers. Hide. Just … hide. In the blood. Hide in the blood. Won't look there. No finding. No looking. Ok. Stay. Hide. Safe. Ok.”

Spike heard more furniture being moved and shoved around the room for the next few minutes, then everything went silent. He strained to listen, to hear something. Finally, he moved to the wall and pressed his ear against it. He went all along the wall of the bathroom like that until he finally heard it: her heartbeat. It was muffled and racing with barely-contained fear, but it was there. She was still there.

He sighed with relief and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He’d forgotten how exhausting it was to be around someone who was off their gourd. Not that anyone else better say that about Buffy – or Dru for that matter – but he loved them, so he had the right.
 
He berated himself for pushing her tonight. Shouldn’t have … taken advantage of her. But she was there with him – Buffy had been there, he was sure. She wanted it too – he was equally sure of that. But he'd known in the back of his mind that he should've waited, he shouldn't have listened to her. But nooo ... couldn't just turn away from her, could ya? Bloody git! But she'd wanted it, there had been no doubt. Bloody fucking hell!

Maybe he’d made a mistake thinking he and the Bot could take care of her and protect her. But who else was there? Her friends? They were ready to turn her over to the Crazy-Slayer police.

Then she began talking again, pulling Spike from the silent argument he was having with himself. Quietly, whispering, barely audible through the wall and whatever she’d piled around her out there. “Shhhh. Quiet,” she began, then, in a sing-song voice she began murmuring, “Hush little baby, hush little baby, hush little baby…” over and over again.

Spike blew out a breath and settled down on the floor of the shower to wait. He leaned his back against the wall nearest Buffy where he would be sure to hear her if she moved. Maybe when she’d calmed down a bit, she’d let him out. Barring that, she’d have to pee sooner or later, he reasoned.



He sat there growing increasingly colder in his wet jeans and listened to her chant, “Hush little baby,” as he tried to suss out where her mind had gone. He’d gotten to be a fair hand at untangling Dru’s ramblings, but it had taken him years and years of trial and error. He didn’t even know where to start with Buffy’s.

“Love you, Buffy,” he said to the empty room, laying his palm against the wall that separated them. “Please come back t’ me.”

**~**

Despite his best efforts to stay awake, Spike had fallen asleep sometime during the night. He was awoken when he heard the dresser – or whatever it was Buffy had shoved against the bathroom door – move. He pushed himself stiffly to his feet, tilting his head from side to side and popping the kinks out of his neck, as he waited.

“Spike! Why have you barricaded yourself in the bathroom?” BuffyBot asked curiously when the door swung open. “Is this a new ritual?”



Spike rolled his eyes and pushed past her. “Can’t bloody barricade yourself in from the outside,” he pointed out as he stepped out and looked around for Buffy.

“I do not understand this behavior,” BuffyBot continued, following him. “The Other Slayer has covered herself with the bedding and will not come out, and you were hiding in the bathroom. Is this a new form of 'Hide and Seek' where everyone hides and no one seeks?”

Spike shook his head and waved a dismissive hand at the Bot. "No ... just ... it's a bit complicated, luv."

"My reasoning abilities are stellar, and I have an unlimited capacity to understand complicated equations," the Bot assured him.

"Later, pet," Spike put her off as he quickly located Buffy.

In one corner of the bedroom area of the motel room, Buffy had made a fort of sorts out of the mattress and box springs of one of the beds, leaning them against the walls at right-angles to each other. There was a small opening where the two met. Spike crouched down in front of it and looked in. Buffy was curled into a fetal position on the small floor space behind the fortress walls. She had her head covered with a pillow, so Spike couldn’t see her eyes, but her heartbeat told him she wasn’t asleep. In her hands she clutched the stake and one of her little-girl keepsakes that he'd packed: a stuffed pig that used to sit on her bed back in Sunnydale.

“Buffy? Why don’t ya come out, luv?” he asked gently. “Get some breakfast, we can. Spend the day watching some shows … then we’ll go out t’night if ya want. Come to the casino with me if ya like. Have a grand time, we will.”

Buffy neither moved nor responded.

Spike sighed and stood up.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” BuffyBot offered helpfully.

Spike began to berate her less-than-helpful ‘fun fact’, but he hesitated, thinking, then pulled the Bot forward and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Brilliant, you are,” he told the Bot as he reached for the phone.

“Of course I am. And pretty,” the Bot replied, smiling proudly.

Within the hour the smell of bacon, sausage, eggs, pancakes, fresh cinnamon buns, hash browns, and, perhaps most importantly, coffee, filled their motel room.

Spike could actually hear Buffy’s stomach growling in hunger as she stubbornly stayed within her mattress fort. Barmy and stubborn – perfect bloody combination that is.



He crouched back down in front of the small opening with a cup of coffee and held it out where she couldn’t help but see it if she looked. “Hot coffee, luv. Just how you like it: three sugars and two creamers. Got some o’ that fancy Bailey’s creamer here too. Too bad there’s no one ‘ere that can’t breathe without coffee in the morning,” he taunted, taking a slurping sip of the syrupy-brew.

When she slid the pillow off her head, Buffy’s glare could’ve melted the Terminator into a puddle of spare parts. Spike gave her his best smile through the small opening and took another overly-dramatic sip of the coffee, ‘mmmm’ing as he did so.

Buffy reached her hand out to try and snag it from him, but he was ready for that tactic and pulled it out of her reach. “Gotta come out t’ get it, luv,” he informed her, practically waving the cup in front of her like a red cape being waved in front of a bull.

“Gimme!” she demanded, her arm still reaching out for the cup.

“Come take it from me,” Spike challenged, as he stood up and stepped back.

“GIVE!” Buffy screamed at him, pressing out further against her make-shift fort.

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand, Slayer?” Spike retorted, moving back further. That fort was gonna come crashing down any moment and he didn’t want to be under the mattress when it fell.

Sure enough, not ten seconds later, both the mattress and the box springs tumbled to the floor away from the enraged – and deranged – Slayer.

Enraging a deranged, caffeine-deprived Slayer by teasing her with coffee is something akin to poking a bear with a stick: Neither ends well, unless you’re the bear … or the Slayer.

Before Spike could properly enjoy his victory or bask in a smug moment of superior intellect, he found himself flat on his back atop the other bed, the mug of coffee gone from his hand without a drop being spilled. He rubbed his jaw, which hurt despite him not actually seeing the punch Buffy must’ve thrown.



“Spike!” BuffyBot exclaimed, worry evident in her voice.

The Bot hurried over to his side, but he waved her off with a, “No worries.”

He pushed himself up to his elbows, his eyes locked on his Slayer. The self-satisfied smirk he’d been denied a moment ago curled his lips as he watched Buffy tuck into not only the coffee, but the tray of food, with wild abandon. His smile quirked into one of wonder when he realized that she had put on his t-shirt last night after she’d locked him in the bathroom. It hung down past the curve of her ass and he could just get a glimpse of pink knickers beneath when she moved. He thought his shirt never looked better as he mused over just what that meant.

He let out a breath and admonished himself to not over-think it. It was hard to not be pleased, and a little confused, however, given her mental relapse and angry, frightened reaction to him the previous night.

He shook his head, giving up trying to suss her out just then, and lay back on the mattress. One hurdle cleared: she was out of her hidey-hole and was eating. And, despite everything, including how the previous night had ended, hope bloomed in Spike’s chest: Buffy was still in there somewhere. He hadn’t imagined what had happened between them in the shower – she had been there with him, at least for a while. The sound of his name rolling blissfully off her lips was something he'd never, ever forget and he longed to hear again.

Just how many more buildings would he have to leap to get his Slayer back permanently? He hoped not too many; his tights and cape were at the cleaners.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear Pink Floyd - Brain Damage/Eclipse on YouTube  }}

The lunatic is on the grass
The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs
Got to keep the loonies on the path

The lunatic is in the hall
The lunatics are in my hall
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And everyday the paper boy brings more

And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if you're head explodes the dark forebodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon

The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me 'till I'm sane

You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me

And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side on the moon

All that you touch
And all that you see
All that you taste
All you feel
And all that you love
And all that you hate
All you distrust
All you save

And all that you give
And all that you deal
And all that you buy
Beg, borrow, or steal
And all you create
And all you destroy
And all that you do
And all that you say

And all that you eat
And everyone you meet
And all that you slight
And everyone you fight
And all that is now
And all that is gone
And all that's to come
And everything under the sun is in tune
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon
Chapter End Notes:
My wonderful beta, PaganBaby, said to me after this chapter: 'Wouldn't they have cleaned her up in the hospital?' It so happens that not long ago a friend of mine was in the hospital and I have to say - no - they don't. He was in there for 5 days, including 2 in ICU, and the only thing that ever got cleaned were his arms where they poked the needles in. Maybe this isn't typical, but it's what I experienced. Will have more soon - this weekend.

What does Spike have to do to keep Buffy in the moment with him? It's gonna be a process ...
Wish You Were Here by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thank you for reading! I so appreciate everyone that's left comments - I wasn't sure how this story would go over since I really just let my muse run wild with very little planning. Glad you've been liking it! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
While Buffy devoured the best meal she'd had in days, Spike and the Bot got the other bed put back together and the sheets and blankets arranged on it more-or-less properly. When they’d finished, Buffy had pretty well decimated all the food he’d ordered and was sitting at the small table in the room finishing the last of the coffee.

“Buffy, luv?” Spike began, talking in a gentle, reassuring tone like you might use with a frightened pet … or a wolverine. He slid the other chair away from the table so he could sit facing her without the table between them and sat down. Buffy didn’t look up at him, but didn’t move away, so he continued on his next mission: check those bandages on her arms.



“Need t’ get that plastic off yer bandages, luv,” he continued in the same melodious tone. He reached out, putting one hand on each arm of the chair she was in, and twisted it away from the table so she was facing him directly. He kept his movements slow and deliberate, as if she were a spooky horse that might bolt at any moment if startled.

“Can I … have a look, luv?” he asked, dipping his head and leaning into her line of sight so she had little choice but to look at him.

“No die,” was Buffy’s only reply as she set her coffee down and turned her arms over so the wounds on her forearms were up. She held her arms out to him as her eyes searched his face with the confusion of a lost child.

Spike nodded and swallowed back a myriad of emotions, at once thankful that she seemed unafraid of him now, but heartbroken at her vulnerability – it didn’t suit her, his strong Slayer.

“Won’t let ya die, Buffy,” he agreed as he began peeling the tape off that held the plastic in place which he’d put over her bandages the previous night. When he got the bandages themselves off he was pleased to see that at least her Slayer healing hadn’t suffered any setback due to her mental state. New, bright pink skin had formed thick, wide scars over her wounds, and they were closed completely now, making the stitches superfluous.

He looked up to meet her eyes and gave her a reassuring smile. “They look good, Slayer. All healed up, yeah? Gonna need t’ take those stitches out ‘fore your skin grows over ‘em. Will that be alright? … Gonna need t’ use some scissors,” Spike explained. “Need ya to hold very still while I do it, yeah? Can you do that for me?”



Buffy looked at him and he could see the effort behind her eyes as she tried to focus on his words and decipher their meaning. Flashes of confusion coupled with frustration blazed across her features until she finally shook her head in defeat. “Spike fix,” she said at last, thrusting her arms toward him further.

Spike nodded. “Right – Spike’ll fix ya up, luv.”

Spike retrieved a few pairs of scissors that he’d liberated from the hospital, looking for the ones that were small enough to get under the thin line of the stitches. Buffy watched him warily as he set each discounted pair on the table, finally deciding on one.

Buffy reached one hand out as if to pick up one of the shiny, sharp instruments, and Spike grabbed her hand in a crushing grip. “No! No die, remember, luv?” His voice was harsh with anger and fear as he squeezed her hand in a painful grip.

Buffy looked at him sheepishly. She didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t acknowledge, any pain from his fingers that wrapped around her own, nearly crushing them. Spike instinctively tensed, waiting for the chip to fire, but it didn't. Did it know that he had no intention of hurting her, or was it because she didn't react to his outburst that made the 'behavior modification device' remain silent? He didn't know, but was thankful in any event.

After a moment Buffy nodded her understanding, and he released his grip as she pulled her hand back. “No die. Try. Dawn. Try,” she agreed, nodding determinedly.


Save Dawn.
Dawn’s dead.
Blood. Drown. Sleep.
No! Try!


Buffy turned her arms over and rested them on the arms of her chair, palms up, and held very, very still. Spike took a calming breath and began snipping the myriad of little black knots and pulling the slick, plastic line out of her flesh.



“Used t’ use thread, they did,” he spoke as he worked, unable to abide too much silence. “Some kinda plastic now I reckon … comes out easier, yeah? Looks like soddin’ fishin’ line,” he rambled. “Still black. Wonder why that is? Could ‘ave pretty multicolored stitches like they do casts these days. We could’a gotten you … what? Pink t’ go with your knickers, luv? What’s your favorite color, Slayer?”

“Purple,” Buffy replied without hesitation.

Spike stopped and looked at her, his brows raised in surprise.

Tears shimmered in Buffy’s eyes as she met his. “Dawn. Purple.”

Spike nodded. “Yeah … our girl liked purple alright,” he agreed sadly as he set back to his task.

One million and fifty-nine stitches later, Spike ran a cotton-ball soaked in alcohol gently over the new skin on Buffy’s arms to disinfect all the new little holes the removal of the stitches had opened up. Then he dabbed some antibiotic ointment on her arms and spread it over the little wounds with gentle fingers. Finally, he looked up at her and pronounced, “All fixed.”

Buffy nodded and pulled her arms back to look at them. After a moment, she met Spike’s gaze. “Thank you.”

“Buffy?” he asked hopefully, tilting his head and studying her. Every time she said something lucid like that Spike’s heart leapt at the possibility that she was back – wholly back.



“Buffy try,” she said in the same short, clipped, forced, pronoun-deficient cadence that he’d come to know so well over the last few days since she’d began speaking again.

He sighed and nodded, giving her a sad smile. “Good … ‘try’ is … good.”

**~**

Although Spike wasn’t sure Buffy really understood what she was agreeing to, she had nodded at his suggestion that they all stay in for the day and then they could go out that night. He didn’t dare tell the Bot that he didn’t trust her watching over Buffy without him any longer – it would hurt her little, heart-shaped microchip, and she’d give him that damn pout. After running the channels a few times, purposely skipping the porn selections, Spike settled on a channel running an NCIS marathon. He liked the lab girl, Abby: smart, spunky, witty, tattooed in interesting places, slept in a coffin – what wasn’t to like?

When Buffy crawled into her bed and covered up, making no hint at inviting Spike to join her, he settled onto the other bed to watch the show. Sometime between Abby roller-skating through her lab, nearly bowling over one of her co-workers, and solving the crime with impossibly thin evidence and supernaturally fast computers, Spike fell asleep.

He couldn’t be sure how long he’d slept, but some sixth sense woke him up. When he opened his eyes he saw Buffy standing right next to him, the stake he’d given her the previous night in her fist, drawn back as if ready to strike. "Bloody hell!"



**~**

After Spike took her stitches out and suggested they stay in for the day, Buffy had gathered up Mr. Gordo and the stake from the floor where she'd dropped them earlier, and crawled under the covers of the bed furthest from the door. Curled on her side with the blanket tucked under her chin, she watched the TV as Spike flipped through the channels, but it was nothing except a frustrating annoyance to her: random sounds and pictures that made no sense. As soon as she started to focus on what was on the screen, he'd change it, never allowing her enough time to really comprehend whatever it was. When he finally stopped the infernal channel-surfing and settled on one show, Buffy was too tired to try and focus her muddled mind any longer. She gave up, turned over, and pulled one of the pillows over her head. Despite the coffee, she was content to give in to sleep after her heavy meal and stressful morning.

In her dream, Buffy found herself in a lovely park with what seemed hundreds of acres of green grass which rolled gently down to a sky-blue lake some ways off. She was pushing a child of perhaps four or five on the swings, a girl with curly, chestnut-brown hair that flowed wildly in the wind with each movement to and fro.

"Higher! Higher, Mommy!" the child squealed in delight as she was propelled through the air, clinging to the heavy chains that supported the swing with her small, delicate hands.

"I think that's high enough," Buffy replied, laughing at the girl's fearless enthusiasm, which reminded her of herself at that age.

"Nooo!" the child whined. "I wanna go all the way around! Push harder! Pleeaassee!"

"All the way around?" Buffy chided the girl. "I don't think even I could do that. C'mon! I'll race you to the jungle gym!" Buffy challenged, stilling the girl's swing.



Buffy waited for her daughter to dismount and then waited even longer, giving her a several second head-start before jogging after her. "I'm gonna catch you..." Buffy warned as she ran after the giggling child.

"Nuh-uh!" the girl disputed, increasing her pace in earnest. "I'm the fastest of the fastest!"

Buffy let her win and was just about to climb up onto the jungle gym to join the child when someone spoke from right behind her, "This is so touching. Such a load of crap, but still ... very touching."

Buffy spun around to find herself standing there. For reasons known only to the world of dreams, this didn't seem strange to her at all. "What do you mean?" Buffy asked as she backed up and turned so she could watch her daughter and talk to herself at the same time.

"Load. Of. Crap," her counterpart repeated deliberately, crossing her arms over her chest. "First of all, any kid with Dawn's soul would not laugh that much. I mean, you do remember Dawn, right?"



Buffy's brow furrowed. "Yeah, but ... she'd been through a lot and ... and the monks made her. They must've had some influence on her being the Queen of Brat-dom," Buffy argued. "This will be different."

"Oh, right..." Negative-Buffy intoned sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Fine, let's talk about how you're going to support her, then. It's lovely that you're out here in the park in the middle of the day. No job, I suppose? What are you, living in a shelter? On welfare? Oh! I know! You won the lottery!"

"I ... I don't know," Buffy admitted, fretting her bottom lip with her teeth. "I might have a ... night job," she offered, brightening. "I can get a job. I have my high school diploma and..."

Negative-Buffy barked out a sarcastic laugh. "That barely qualifies you to flip burgers."

Buffy scowled at her. "I can waitress. I was a good waitress in L.A. I didn't have any problem getting a job, an apartment..."

"A Roach-Motel, you mean," Negative-Buffy interjected.

"I'm perfectly capable of supporting us," Buffy contended vehemently. "A-and ... plus ... maybe Spike..."

At that, Negative-Buffy burst out into fits of laughter. Buffy continued to scowl as her counterpart doubled-over and began to wheeze and cry with gut-busting glee.



"It could happen!" Buffy asserted through the other's gales of laughter. "You don't know!"

"He's a vampire! The 'duh' at the end of that statement is inferred!" Negative-Buffy asserted, still giggling but pulling her mirth under control. "What do you think, that he's gonna settle down in a little house in the 'burbs with a white picket fence and geraniums in the window-boxes, and you'll be a family?"

Buffy's frown lines deepened. "It could happen..." she repeated, but the words didn't carry much force or confidence.

"Oh, yeah, it could happen in some bizarro, topsy-turvy world where day is night, water runs uphill, and you can squeeze toothpaste back into the tube," Negative-Buffy claimed.

Buffy glared at her, her eyes flashing with anger. "Why are you being so negative about this?" she asked her counterpart.



"I'm not being negative, I'm being realistic!" Negative-Buffy contended. "I'm just trying to show you what you're getting into here. It's not all ice cream and giggles. C'mon, Buffy, you know as well as I do: you can't do this!"

"I can!" Buffy retorted angrily, then, lowering her voice to barely a whisper she said, "I have to."

"See – that's where you're wrong. You don't have to! You can release Dawn from Limbo by doing something you're actually good at!" Negative-Buffy explained. "Slay Spike. Problem solved. You are the Slayer ... you do remember that part, right?"

"Mommy! Look at me! Look at me, Mommy!" the girl called from the jungle gym where she hung upside-down by one knee that was looped over the highest part of the apparatus.

"Be careful," Buffy warned distractedly, barely sparing a glace at her daughter.

"Buffy, I know this was Mom's grand plan to save everyone, but you've got to face reality. She doesn't know us like we do. Face it, you don't have what it takes to raise a kid – you proved that with Dawn, didn't you? You're just not cut out for it. What you are cut out for is being the Slayer. So, buck up, put on your Slayer nametag, and get to work saving Dawn from Limbo!" Negative-Buffy demanded.

"But ... Spike's been helping me. He ..." Buffy argued meekly.

"He's a killer, Buffy! An evil, soulless monster! He is the thing you were made to destroy! He's killed two other Slayers already. It's only a matter of time before he makes you his third!"

"No ... he ... he wouldn't," Buffy stammered. "He's changed."

"What do you suppose will happen when you break his heart? How long is he gonna be your lapdog after he figures out that you aren't capable of loving him? When he finds out you've got nothing but an empty shell inside where your heart should be, he's gonna turn on you ... on us," Negative-Buffy warned.

"The chip..." Buffy pointed out, but the argument was without conviction. Even chipped, he'd managed to get her shackled and helpless in his crypt with Dru's help, hadn't he? And Negative-Buffy was right about another thing, Buffy had told her mother as much: she didn't have any love to give.

"The chip will do nothing if he puts a bomb in the car and blows it up with you in it, or hires those Taraka guys again, or just gets himself some minions to do the work for him," Negative-Buffy contended vehemently.

"Mommy, look! Look, Mommy, look! Look what I can do!" the enthusiastic girl called again.

Buffy turned just in time to see her daughter release her hold on one side of the dome-shaped jungle gym and hurl herself across the empty space toward the other. "Oh, God!" Buffy exclaimed even before the child's chin cracked against the bars she was trying to catch. The child tumbled to the ground, landing with a thud that was disproportionately deafening, given the short fall and the soft grass.

Buffy raced to her daughter's aid, flinging the dome-shaped jungle gym away and sending it rolling down the hill toward the lake. Buffy was on her knees next to the girl's prone, unmoving form in an instant. Blood gushed from the child's mouth where she'd bitten her tongue or cheek, several of her teeth were cracked and broken, and there was a nasty gash on her chin, as well. "Dawn ... Dawnie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Buffy lamented, trying to stop the bleeding, but the child couldn't hear – she'd been knocked unconscious.

Buffy's hands were once again bathed in scarlet. Blood coated her palms and dripped from her fingers as she tried desperately to help the girl. The girl Buffy was supposed to be keeping safe, supposed to be raising, supposed to be protecting.

"Face it, Buffy. You can't do this," Negative-Buffy insisted from just over her shoulder. "It's you or him, Buffy. Save yourself and Dawn at the same time! Do it! Do what you were born to do!"

**~**

Spike’s first instinct was to scramble away from Buffy or knock the stake out of her hand, but he reined in his basic ‘fight or flee’ response, afraid that would only provoke her to immediate violence and/or trigger his chip. Instead, he slowly – very, very slowly – reached one hand up toward the stake.

The look in Buffy’s eyes was one part loathing, one part revulsion, one part determination, and two parts murderous rage. He had to wonder if part of her was reacting to him on some primal, Slayer level. He knew how his own instincts reacted to being near her, or any Slayer, for that matter. Being near a Slayer made the hairs on the back of his everything stand up and scream, it sent pinpricks of fire down his spine, and sent his adrenal glands into overdrive.  It wasn’t precisely a recipe for peace, harmony, and goodwill towards men … or Slayers.

“Buffy, luv … it’s me, Spike,” he told her in a gentle tone as he lifted his hand. "Buffy, luv ..." he said again, keeping his tone as calm as he could. "You in there, Buffy? Not gonna hurt you, pet. No one's gonna hurt you. Fun as it may be, there's no need t' resort t' violence now, is there?"

The murderous rage in her eyes morphed into confusion, while a flash of what he hoped was recognition replaced the loathing and revulsion, and the determination lapsed into uncertainty.

“You remember Spike, right? The chipped vamp that loves you? Better that than a vamped chimp, I reckon,” he quipped dryly, his hand still inching up toward the stake.

Buffy didn’t react or move – not even an eye roll or a disdainful snort.

“Yeah, well you try comin’ up with a funny with a deranged Slayer standing over ya with a stake,” he continued grumpily.

“Just give me the stake, luv,” he cajoled as his fingers slowly, carefully closed over it. “Let go, pet,” he instructed as he pulled on it gently, trying to free it from her grasp.



For a moment he thought she was going to fight him over it – which he was afraid would not have ended well for him – but then she stuck her bottom lip out in a pout and simply released it. Spike breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled it from her fingers and began to sit up to talk to her, but she turned away and crawled back into the other bed. Before he could even get fully to a sitting position she had covered up and turned her back on him, whatever snit she’d been in apparently past.

He blew out a breath and put the stake back into his bag, out of sight, before lying back down. He watched most of another NCIS episode, keeping a wary eye on Buffy, before finally relaxing enough to fall back asleep.

**~**

"What happened!?" Negative-Buffy demanded when Buffy reappeared in the park.



Buffy shook her head. "We don't know me as well as we thought, I guess," Buffy explained with a defeated sigh.

"What is there to know? You're the Slayer, he's the vampire holding your sister's soul prisoner! It's a no-brainer!" Negative-Buffy retorted angrily.

Buffy shook her head again, her shoulders sagging. "It's Spike."

"And...??!" Negative-Buffy questioned incredulously.

"And ... it's Spike," Buffy repeated, unable to come up with anything more.

"Damn it, Buffy! He's a vampire!" Negative-Buffy retorted.

Buffy shook her head, her expression perplexed. "I know ... but ... I just ... can't. He loves me and ..." Buffy blinked a sudden flood of tears back from her eyes, unsure why they had even surfaced.

"Oh. My. God," Negative-Buffy exclaimed, flinging her arms out in frustration. "Mom was right! You love him!"



"What!?!? No ... no! I didn't say that! That would be ... a world of wrong! Ten thousand gallons of wrongness!" Buffy insisted adamantly. "It's just ... Spike," she added lamely.

"Mommy! Look! Watch what I can do! Look, Mommy! Watch!" Buffy's daughter called from the jungle gym, saving her from further discussion on the matter.

"No! Wait, don't let go of the bars! Let me help you!" Buffy insisted vehemently, moving quickly away from Negative-Buffy and the convo she didn't want to have, over to her daughter's side. "Ok, I'm here," Buffy told her daughter, taking her place near the girl as a 'spotter'. "Show me what you can do," she encouraged the child.

As Buffy helped her daughter release from one side of the jungle gym and 'fly' to the other side safely, Negative-Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"You are sooo gonna regret this," Negative-Buffy warned before strolling away, back toward the swings. "Hmmm ... I wonder if I can swing all the way around?"

**~**

When he awoke, Spike felt warm, gentle weight surrounding him. He hovered in the hypnopompic mist between sleep and wakefulness, not quite able to focus on the feeling other than that it was exceptionally pleasant. He let out a satisfied moan and relaxed back into sleep, hoping to re-enter the dream that cast him as the creamy center of a Buffy sandwich.

Unfortunately, the NCIS marathon had apparently gone off – or someone had changed the channel – and the cackling, grating voice of Judge Judy pierced his eardrums like a thousand toothpicks being rammed into them.

“Bloody hell…” he groaned as he reached blindly around the bed next to him to find the remote so he could end the torture.

He did not find the remote, however. His eyes blinked open when his hands met warm, soft bodies on either side of him.

“Mmmm, brilliant,” Spike rumbled, still-half drowsing, looking from the Bot on one side of him, her bits and bytes and fully-charged battery warming her – its – skin, to Buffy on the other, still dressed only in his t-shirt and light pink knickers.



Both Slayers were curled next to him on their sides as he lay on his back. Buffy’s arm was lying across his stomach and her head rested on her own pillow, which she’d apparently brought with her, near his shoulder. The Bot had one leg thrown over his and she used one arm folded beneath her head for a pillow.

Spike closed his eyes and waited for the dream to continue; he’d had a couple of dreams that started off exactly like this. But, after enduring several more minutes of Judge Judy, long enough for him to worry about his eardrums bursting, nothing changed, no one moved. Could this be ... ?? No.

Spike pinched his leg through his jeans to assure himself that this was a dream and nothing more – it hurt. He opened his eyes again and looked: the two Buffys were still there, he was still there. Bloody hell, he wasn’t dreaming! The two Slayers both appeared to be asleep … or in ‘energy conservation mode’. He saw the remote on the other side of Buffy and carefully snaked his arm over top of her head to retrieve it without waking her. She stirred slightly when he moved. With his arm no longer at his side, she snuggled in closer and settled her head on his shoulder, apparently never fully waking. Spike stopped moving a moment, trying his level best to not wake her and end this … whatever it was.

When she settled against him and seemed content, he grabbed the remote and clicked the TV off. Leaving the remote on the bed behind her, he carefully wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his body even tighter. She shifted again when he did that and draped a bare leg over his jean-clad thigh, a mirror of BuffyBot on the other side.

Spike closed his eyes and swallowed, afraid to move lest he break the spell. After a few moments, when neither of the beauties next to him awoke, he carefully slid his arm out from between his body and the Bot. He wrapped it around her – sod it, he could not call her an ‘it’ – shoulders and urged her against him. She obliged, taking the shoulder he offered and using it for a pillow as she snuggled against his body.

Spike drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He could die now. Dust right here, surrounded by Buffy – two Buffys. There’s only one thing that could make this better and his mind started wandering off in very naughty directions. Ok, maybe a few things actually came to mind, sue me. The fingers of both hands drew soft shapes on his companions’ arms, caressing their warm skin with just the tips of his fingers as his imagination wandered down some naughty paths his mind had only rarely dared to trod before.

As he lay there, apparently having been lifted to heaven by some unsuspecting, and soon to be ex, angel, he felt just how different his two Slayers were. Despite looking so much alike, they felt completely different against his body. Buffy’s body was comfortably warm, but the Bot was approaching hot, with her myriad of electronics that whirred inside her almost constantly. Although the Bot weighed more than Buffy with all her high-tech components, Buffy felt heavier against him. He realized that she was completely relaxed in her slumber and had allowed all the weight of her limbs to press down on him. BuffyBot, on the other hand, seemed unable to relax that completely; even in sleep-mode she didn’t fully let go, she was holding her body in place like a mannequin imitating sleep, rather than just letting it fall naturally against him.
 
Their skin was obviously different. Despite the Bot’s state-of-the-art-ness, there was no way to imitate the soft, supple feel of a woman’s skin. The same was true of the Bot’s hair – although soft and silky and something Spike loved to run his fingers through, it lacked the natural vitality of the real thing that lay on his other side.

For Spike, perhaps the biggest physical difference was the aroma of his two Slayers. Absolutely nothing could imitate the heavenly perfume that wafted up to his sensitive nostrils from Buffy. Even now he could still smell the remnants of her arousal and climax from the previous night. He breathed in deeply, longing to taste her again, to feel her body shudder and hear her breathless scream of release. His cock, already awoken from any thought of sleep, jumped in his jeans as he relived the night before and added a ‘Doublemint’ motto to it: Double your pleasure, double your fun.



He sighed dreamily and indulged his mind’s trip down 'Triple-X Lane' for several minutes before pulling his brain (kicking and screaming) out of the gutter. He knew Buffy would never go for anything he’d just conjured on his little journey into the Double-Slayer Orgy-land theme park, but that didn’t really bother him too terribly. All he really wanted was her – Buffy, the Vampire Slayer – to be herself again.

“Buffy, please … please come back to me,” he pleaded, his voice a bare wisp of breath in the quiet room. She had been there last night – Buffy – all of her; mind, body, and spirit. He longed with all his being for her to return – longed to see that look of, if not love, at least acceptance of him in her eyes. Acceptance was a start – acceptance could grow into love, he assured himself. She’d looked at him like a man; treated him like a man in the last days before Dawn’s death. That was more than he’d ever hoped for, and that small victory made him hope for even more.

“I’m here,” Buffy murmured, her breath warm against the bare skin of his chest.



Spike lifted his head to look into her eyes, but she hadn’t awoken – her eyes remained closed, her face lax with sleep. He laid his head back down, still caressing his two bedmates’ arms gently, and closed his eyes against the hope that had swelled in him. I love you, Buffy, he thought deliberately, not daring to say it lest she awake and scamper away from him again. Love you so bloody much.

**~**

Later that evening when Buffy awoke, Spike waited for the explosion – for some outrage or tirade about being in bed next to him – but it never came. She stretched her body, arching her back and pressing her hips against his side harder. Spike remained perfectly still as Buffy yawned and stretched, then moved away and sat up on the edge of the bed.



“Sleep well, luv?” he asked from behind her, still waiting for her to get angry, perhaps accuse him of being in her bed or tricking her somehow.

She nodded, not looking at him.

“Was there … something wrong with your bed?” he ventured when she didn't attack him, trying to suss out what had brought her to his side so he could recreate it later.

“Cold. Alone,” she replied simply as she stood up and headed for the bathroom.

Spike pursed his lips and nodded as she walked away. If she didn’t drive him stark, raving mad, it would be a bloody miracle. He never knew what to expect from her: a stake, a cuddle, a kiss, or a punch – any could come at any time. He could’ve just as easily woken up dusty this evening instead of cocooned in the arms of his two beautiful Slayers. Come to think of it, maybe he already had gone 'round the bend. If he had, would he be able to tell? Waking up to a Slayer standing over you with a stake, and staying in the room with said Slayer seemed to indicate he had already succumbed to insanity.

But, oh the possibilities…

**~**

Spike couldn’t help but put a little extra ‘oomph’ in his swagger as he walked into one of the large hotel casinos that night with Buffy on one side and the Bot on the other. All eyes in the place turned to the trio of blonds as if a spotlight were shining on them as they strode by. Spike felt like Bond, James Bond, sans the poncey tux, walking through the casino: Men want to be him, women want to be with him. Oh yeah, who’s the Big Bad now?



Spike smirked as he hooked his arms through those of his companions and headed over to the cashier’s window to buy some chips. He pulled out a thick roll of cash, but only peeled off two one-hundred-dollar bills to trade for the chips. In fact, the rest were all ones, it just looked impressive. He really needed to parlay the two hundred into more tonight – lots more. With his twin good luck charms, how could he lose?

Spike could feel Buffy’s unease as the three walked around the blackjack tables. He could tell she didn’t like the crowds by the way her heart raced and skittered in her chest, and the way she twitched, as if ready to fight or flee, with each new sound. She hadn’t been around this many people since before they’d lost Dawn, and never in her precarious mental condition. He watched her jerk her eyes and head from person to person, as if scanning for danger at every turn.

“It’s alright, luv. No one knows where we are. Safe as houses ‘ere,” he assured her as he took her hand in his and gave it a comforting squeeze.

Buffy looked at him blankly a moment, then repeated, “Houses – safe,” in a flat monotone.

Spike chose a ten dollar blackjack table. It was a six deck table, odds weren’t the greatest, but he needed to start small and move up to the better tables, which also had higher buy-ins, after he had more dosh in his pocket. Buffy and the Bot stood nearby, just a little behind him, as he played.

“Spike is a genius,” BuffyBot commented to Buffy brightly as they watched.



Buffy looked at the Bot and rolled her eyes. Spike didn’t see since the women were standing behind him.

“Look at all the pretty discs he’s accumulated already,” the Bot continued. “He will soon take all the colors away from the others at the table because he’s bloody brilliant at blackjack.”

“Cheats,” Buffy replied dryly.

“Spike does not cheat! Don’t ever say that! He’s got a natural aptitude for games of chance. He’s simply more clever and adept than anyone else,” BuffyBot insisted, glowering at Buffy.

“More like inept,” Buffy sighed.



Spike heard that and looked around for a moment at his girls, paying special attention to Buffy. He missed the dealer asking him if he wanted another card, his attention focused on her. She wasn’t looking nearly as nervous as she had been, she looked … bored actually. Her arms were folded over her chest and one toe was tapping unerringly on the carpet in a classic ‘when can we get out of here?’ signal. He cursed when the dealer pulled his cards and wager away – he’d lost the hand while he was distracted with Buffy.

He waved off the next hand and gathered his chips up, rising from the table.

“Buffy, ya want t’ get something to eat, luv?” he asked her, watching her face closely for her reaction.

“No … could use something to drink,” she replied sounding completely lucid. “And something to do. What are we, your body guards … or just arm candy? Boring!”

Spike felt a wave of joy wash through him – it practically lifted him off his feet. Spike stepped closer to the ‘twins’ and raked his tongue along this teeth. “You can guard my hot, tight little body any day, Slayer,” he retorted, running his free hand down his chest to his belt suggestively.

“There’s nothing boring about watching Spike display his superior skills and intellect. It’s nearly as impressive as his washboard abs,” BuffyBot defended.

Buffy quirked a brow at Spike. “‘Superior skills and intellect’? Conceited much?”



Spike winced and turned to the Bot. “I thought we deactivated that file,” he growled at her through clenched teeth.

The Bot smiled at him. “No. We deactivated ‘Spike’s Favorite Phrases’, that is one of ‘Spike’s Favorite Compliments,’” she informed him brightly.

A muscle in Spike’s jaw twitched. “Well, let’s deactivate that one too, then,” he suggested.

“If we keep deactivating my files, I will not know the proper responses to outside stimuli,” the Bot protested.

Buffy smiled wryly and hooked her arm through the Bot’s. She turned her twin away from Spike and began walking towards the bar. “Tell you what, we’ll start a new file – ‘Smartass Retorts’ – that way you’ll never run out of things to say when properly … stimulated.”

“Oh, yes! That would be greatly appreciated. He had me deactivate all my sex programs, his favorite phrases, and now this… I’m very concerned that my limited banter and skills of engagement will become boring for Spike,” the Bot replied.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Buffy replied, shooting Spike a devilish smile over her shoulder.

“Oi! My bloody Bot,” Spike protested. “Don’t be messing about with ‘er, Summers.”



Despite his protest, his heart was soaring higher with every moment Buffy was Buffy again. It felt like a thousand nightingales had taken flight inside his chest; an exaltation of joy, lifting him up to heaven.

Please, please let ‘er stay this time, he sent to whoever might possibly listen to the prayers of a heathen vampire. Was there a patron saint of vampires? He frowned and thought that Saint Jude would probably serve both Slayers and vampires – patron saint of lost causes and desperate situations. Suddenly, the Beetles began playing in his head, Hey Jude, don't make it bad, take a sad song, and make it better... Hey Jude, don't let me down, you have found her, now go and get her...

At the bar, Spike got himself a whiskey with a beer chaser and Buffy ordered a Coke. They took their drinks to a booth and sat down. Spike noted that Buffy slid in next to the Bot – was that to keep him from sitting next to the android? His ego swelled with the thought that Buffy might be jealous of his … relationship with BuffyBot, but he wisely didn’t mention it.

“You … feeling better, luv?” he asked Buffy, watching her face and her eyes carefully for signs of consternation or confusion.

Buffy nodded, but looked away from him as she took a drink of her Coke. “I … think so. I think I’m losing time…” she admitted. She looked down at the scars on her arms. She ran a finger over the worst one – the one on her left arm. It was still angry-looking, reddish-pink and the scar tissue was thick and deep. She looked back up at Spike. “I thought … this happened … yesterday. Everything’s … muddled.”

Spike shook his head. “Four days ago now,” he told her.

“Four days,” Buffy repeated in a whisper, shaking her head. She rubbed at her forehead with her fingers as flashes of guilt and confusion danced across her mind. “What … happened in those four days?” she asked finally, looking back up at Spike.

“You were in the … hospital for near-abouts three,” he told her. “Then … today – mostly just slept.”

“That’s … all that happened?” Buffy asked, the confusion showing in her face again.

Spike’s chest tightened. Don’t let her slip away. “Uh, well … you could say there was a bit of … excitement last night,” Spike admitted.



Buffy’s face flushed bright red and she looked down at the table, unable to meet his eyes. “So … that … in the shower, that was real?”

Spike cleared his throat and took a long swallow of his beer, unsure what to say, afraid of losing her again.

"Spike?" she prompted, keeping her head bowed but chancing a glance at him through her lashes and a veil of golden locks that had fallen in front of her face.

Spike shifted in his seat and cleared his throat again before answering. “It was for me. Thought you were there with me, luv. Wouldn’t ‘ave… taken advantage if I thought ...”



“No! I was there,” Buffy blurted out, suddenly feeling guilty for making him feel guilty. She summoned the courage to look up at him finally. “But I don’t remember how it … ended.”

Spike swallowed. “The same way everything between us ends: you got brassed off and threatened t’ stake me.”

A bark of laughter exploded from Buffy’s throat before she could stop it, but she stopped when she saw the pained expression on Spike’s face. “You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack,” he confirmed.

“I … I’m sorry … I don’t remember. I don’t understand why I would…”

Spike waved her apology off with a small motion of his hand. “Not your fault, luv. Should’a known better. Ya been in right state and I should’ve ‘ave …”

“No – it’s … Spike, I …” Buffy closed her eyes as the memory came back to her. She had come on to him, flirted with him, teased him – she had started it, not him. She had a mission. Her mother had given her a mission – rescue Dawn’s soul from Limbo. Make a baby. With Spike. She’d failed. Again.

Buffy opened her eyes and looked at him. He looked so concerned, so worried about her. She wished he wouldn’t look that way; this vampire who had unknowingly donated half of his unused-soul for Dawn; this vampire who Buffy was planning to use to make a baby and get said soul back out of Limbo.



Maybe I should just tell him about Dawn’s soul, Buffy thought. The answer to her silent musing came to her mind almost immediately. No! What if he gets pissed about the monks commandeering half of his soul? What if he doesn’t want to make a baby? What if he says no? What if he walks away from you? How will you rescue Dawn then? Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Finally Buffy said, “It wasn’t your fault. I … wanted it.”

Spike’s expression softened as he considered her, his head tilting to the side as he took her in. “Yeah?”

Buffy gave him a shy smile. “Yeah.”

“I … thought so, but been having a bit of a go readin' ya of late. Ya seemed … happy with it, but … errr … well, ya been a bit confused most o’ the last days – silent in the weeks before that. Ya keep talking ‘bout blood on your hands,” he told her truthfully.

Buffy closed her eyes and the image of Dawn lying in a pool of her own blood flashed in her mind. She’d never get that picture out of her mind. It was tattooed there – a permanent fixture. Then she could see her hands, covered in blood, Dawn's blood. She could only stare at them – frozen with the reality of her failure. Tears formed behind her closed lids and she had to blink her eyes to keep them from falling.

Buffy felt the crimson shroud of guilt-laden blood begin to descend over her mind again. She pressed her hands against her forehead – willing it to stop, to leave her alone. “No, no, no…” she muttered to herself, now pounding the heels of her hands against her forehead. “Mission … Dawn … focus … think … remember,” she admonished herself in a desperate whisper.

“Buffy?” Spike asked, urgent worry in his voice. “Slayer? Stay with me, Buffy,” he begged, reaching a hand across the table between them and gripping one of her forearms, as if he could hold her mind together with the gesture.

“Where is she going?” BuffyBot asked blithely, unable to process what was happening between her companions. Neither Spike nor Buffy replied to her or even heard.

“Spike …” Buffy panted – her heart galloping wildly in her chest as she desperately tried to keep her mind from drowning in the red river of confusion. “Help me … Spike.”



Buffy’s eyes were panicked – they looked just like she had that horrible night when she was bathed in Dawn’s blood. Helpless. Hopeless. Frightened. Forlorn.

Spike slid out of the booth and pressed into the seat next to Buffy, crowding her over against the Bot as he wrapped his arms around her. “Stay with me, Summers. You’re stronger than this. Too bloody stubborn t’ give in to it. Stay with me, Buffy,” Spike demanded of her – his voice strong and sure.

“She cannot leave. We have not created my new database of ‘Smartass Retorts’,” the Bot interjected with a pout.

Spike snorted. “Ya hear that, pet?” he said to Buffy. “Gotta stay – Bot needs them bloody insults o’ yours t’ hurl at me. Can’t leave that undone now, can we?” He held her and rocked her – he could feel her fighting the madness, the guilt – he could feel her losing the battle. His voice turned soft, agonized as he began begging her to stay with him. “Please, Buffy … please stay with me, luv. Please don’t leave me, pet. Buffy … please.”

“Spike,” Buffy grated out between panicked breaths. “Can’t … stop … it,” she gasped. “Too … heavy.”

“Balls!” Spike argued. “You’re the bloody Slayer. Nothing’s too heavy for you. Fight it, Summers. Bloody well fight,” Spike admonished her.



“Who are we fighting? I have many skills for slaying demons. I’m very good at physical confrontations and I look good while I’m doing it,” the Bot offered.

Spike could feel Buffy slipping through his fingers even as he held her against him. He clamped his eyes closed as tears of grief and frustration threatened to fall. Having her back for brief flashes was almost worse than not having her at all. He thought he would have been able to handle the sullen, monosyllabic responses from her better if he weren’t reminded of her wit and vitality with these periods of lucidity. How many times could he be lifted to heaven only to be slammed back into hell a few minutes later without losing his own mind?

“Inner demons,” Spike told the Bot grimly, “aren’t as easy t’ slay.”

He felt the fight go out of Buffy’s body. She relaxed and became still against him. She was like a completely different person in his arms – one moment a strong and determined warrior and the next a defeated, confused girl. It was almost like feeling the life drain from her; almost like feeling her die in his arms, and he was helpless to stop it.

“Buffy?” he asked softly, as if talking to a child. “You alright, luv?”

Buffy lifted her head from where it rested against his chest and looked up at him. He could see in her clouded eyes that she wasn’t in there – not his fierce Slayer.

She blinked a few times as if trying to reorient herself, then cleared her throat, touching a finger to it. “Thirsty,” she muttered wearily.

Spike nodded and released the hold he’d had on her. He pulled her Coke forward and handed it to her. Buffy took a few tentative sips, then downed the rest in one long pull. She wiped her mouth on the back of her arm and sat the empty glass down on the table.

“Need more, pet?” Spike asked.

She shook her head.

Spike reached across and retrieved his beer and drank it as Buffy had done her Coke, in one long swallow. “Right– let’s find a higher stakes table, then,” he suggested, although he really wasn’t in the mood anymore.

Regardless of his mood, he’d wanted to move Buffy out of that flea-bag motel into something nicer, and to do that he needed more money. The fastest way he knew to get more money, legally, at least, was to move up to higher stakes tables now that he’d built his ‘stack of pretty multi-colored discs’ into a fair amount of dosh.

He slid out of the booth, then offered Buffy a hand. She took it tentatively and followed his lead as if unsure what she was supposed to be doing. The Bot followed, and together they headed back into the casino proper.

**~**

It wasn’t really late by vampire and Slayer standards when Spike cashed in his chips before they headed back to the Paradise Lost Motel. He smirked as he provided the ID and non-citizen Social Security number of one 'Rupert Giles' for the tax forms, wishing he could see the wanker's face when the IRS and Inland Revenue came calling. He hadn’t won enough to move them in to a Skyloft at the MGM Grand – yet. But, he had bet and won enough to catch the notice of the casino's floor managers, earning Spike and his ‘companions’ complimentary drinks while he played. Another couple of nights like that and they’d have a complimentary room too. Casinos really hate it when you walk out the door with their money. They prefer that you not leave the premises at all, lest you go next door and give all the money you won from them to their competitors. Spike had played this game before in casinos from Monte Carlo to Moscow – the key was knowing when to stop playing. It was just another dance.



While Buffy was getting her shower – quite alone this time – Spike lit a cigarette and settled in to watch the late, late movie: ‘Bloodbath at the House of Death.’ It was a comedy. Really. He listened to Buffy moving around in the bathroom. He could hear the water coming on, then the sound of the falling water change when she stepped under the spray. He wished he was in there with her as he tried to work out in his mind what triggered her sudden bouts of lucidity and what triggered her retreats into the darkness.

Certainly today mentioning blood had been the thing that sent her scurrying back into the security of confusion. In the shower the previous night it seemed to be when he told her that he loved her. How those were related, or if they were, he didn’t know. What triggered her sojourns into clarity was even less evident. It seemed random – it probably was; Dru had been that way. Perhaps the swings in both directions were nothing but chance – random occurrences that only the Slayer’s subconscious could hope to suss out. It was frustrating, but then again, she’d spent six weeks not saying anything at all. As farfetched as it seemed, perhaps Spike, the epitome of patience that he was, was simply being too impatient. He just wanted Buffy back. He just wanted a chance to build on the small thread of trust and friendship that had begun between them before…

He sighed. Before I let her down. Before Dawn sacrificed herself. Before we all had blood on our hands.

Spike heard the water shut off in the bathroom just as a knock came at the door to their room. He furrowed his brow and looked at the clock. Who would be knocking on their door at three am? Who would be knocking at their door at all?

The Bot was ‘asleep’, charging in the bed next to him. He quickly roused her, pulling the charging cord out and rebooting her. She blinked awake and gave him her brilliant smile. “Spike!”

“Shhh!” he warned, pressing a finger to her lips. “Go into the loo. Keep the Other Slayer in there. Someone’s at the door ….”

“Oh! I can get it. I have excellent conversation skills and can offer proper hospitality to a caller. I am very good at idle small talk,” the Bot informed him. “Nice whether we’re having, isn’t it? How ‘bout them Giants? Have you seen any good movies lately?” she demonstrated.

“Don’t think it’s that sort o’ caller,” Spike advised her, keeping his voice low. “Got a bad feeling.”



“Then I should stay with you. If they do not follow acceptable social etiquette as our guest and agree that the weather is quite nice and the Giants are doing well, I can beat them senseless and toss them into oncoming traffic,” she offered, looking menacingly at the door.

Another knock came at the door, more insistent this time. “Give a bloke a minute t’ get decent!” Spike called to the door. Then to the Bot he whispered, “No. Here’s your mission: you keep Buffy safe. Don’t let anyone take ‘er outta ‘ere or hurt her, no matter what. Got it?”

The Bot nodded sharply and headed for the bathroom. He heard Buffy say something when the door opened, but the Bot shushed her and stepped inside. Once the door closed on his two Slayers, Spike, a stake tucked into the back of his belt and a dagger in his right hand, went to answer the door.

The moment he turned the handle the door exploded in, knocking him back into the dresser with superhuman force. He began scrambling up to his feet, shifting the dagger to his left hand at the same time, as the apparently socially-inept visitor stepped into the room.

“Spike,” Angel spat the name as if just saying it left a bad taste in his mouth. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” he snarled as he lunged forward, stake in hand.



**~**

{{  Click here to hear Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here on YouTube  }}

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
Chapter End Notes:
Oh, dear! One of my evil muse's favorite things: The Evil Cliffie! Sorry guys! I told you I just let him run wild and this is our reward for that! He does, however, want to thank PaganBaby for suggesting that we have Buffy 'come and go' rather than get better at a slow, but steady pace. My muse *loved* that idea so much more than the way he'd originally envisioned it, and you and Spike are reaping the angst of that, as well.

She was also the one that suggested Spike awake one night and find Buffy standing over him with a stake. And you guys thought Pagan was all happiness and fluff! Ha! Now you know! She's my Evil Twin. Muahahaha.

I also need to thank ILoveLamp for suggesting the inner-dialogue/dream that lead up to the near-staking, as I didn't have that in there previous to the suggestion on her review. See what can happen when you leave me love notes??

Lastly, isn't that a lovely drawing of Buffy sleeping? That is, of course, from the comics, which I have broken-down and started reading. Can I just say: 'Thank goodness for fanfic!' I've been less than impressed with the comics but I do like the wonderful cover art.

Thanks again for reading! Will have more hopefully Tuesday.
King of Anything by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading, and super-thanks to those of you who take time to drop me a note! They really mean a lot! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Spike had just barely regained his balance when Angel lunged, stake aimed directly at Spike’s heart. Spike swung his dagger at the oncoming weapon as he leaned backwards, away from the deadly wood. Spike’s blade banged against Angel’s stake, pushing it off-target, but didn’t knock it from the larger vamp’s hand. Spike’s balance wavered as he arched his upper body away from the deadly weapon Matrix-style, but, not having the special effects of the movies to aid him, he overbalanced and fell onto his back. The threadbare carpet of the room did little to cushion his fall, and the back of his head hit first, banging hard against the unforgiving concrete beneath the thin excuse for a rug.



Angel, sensing a quick and easy victory, followed him down, readjusting his aim, a murderous gleam in his yellow eyes.

Stars momentarily danced in Spike's vision, but he'd gotten used to dealing with worse pain since the Initiative chipped him, and he shook it off in just a second or two. As Angel dove for him, Spike drew his knees to his chest and, with the strength and determination of a mule, kicked up with both bare feet. He hit Angel in the stomach, drawing an ‘oomph’ of pain from the dark vamp. Spike's powerful kick sent Angel flying backwards through the air and crashing into the already-dented steel door of the room, which had automatically closed behind him.

Angel’s back hit the door with a thunderous clang and he slid down to the floor with a thud. Spike flipped himself back up onto his feet and closed on the larger vamp with inhuman speed fueled by decades of rage. Angel sat on the floor, arms and legs akimbo, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs as Spike closed on him.

When Spike got within arm’s reach of Angel, the larger vamp suddenly swung the stake roundhouse-style at Spike’s thigh with all his strength. Spike screamed in pain as he jumped back, the stake finding purchase deep in the meat of his quadriceps muscle. The stake tore out painfully when he jumped back, leaving a ragged hole in his flesh and drawing a litany of growled curses from the blond.



Spike clutched at the injury trying to stem the bleeding as he backed away from Angel, who had jumped back to his feet.

“Forgot what a manky bugger you are, Angelus, can’t even fight straight up. Always with the bleedin’ tricks,” Spike complained as he backed away, holding his dagger at the ready with one hand while he pressed against the gaping wound on his thigh with the other.

Angel smiled mirthlessly as he closed in on Spike. “I’m taking Buffy out of here one way or the other, Willie. The only question is how much pain I get to inflict on you before I dust you.”

**~**

Buffy looked up in surprise when the Bot entered the bathroom. She grabbed the towel she’d just dropped and held it in front of her. “Occupied,” she informed her twin rancorously, Buffy’s look of surprise morphing into agitation.

The Bot held a finger up to her lips, shushing Buffy as she closed the door behind her. Then, in her normal, totally unstealthy voice she said, “Spike sent me in here while he investigates who is knocking on our door. I am to make sure you do not exit this room until he says it is safe.”

Buffy’s agitation slid back to confusion. She looked at the closed door as if she would be able to see through it into the other room. Then they both heard a loud thud coming from the other room and both of their eyes went wide.

“Spike!” they both exclaimed as one, worried chorus.



Buffy forgot her modesty, dropped the towel, and quickly pulled on Spike’s t-shirt. After stepping into a pair of stretchy shorts that Spike had bought her on their way back to the motel earlier, Buffy headed for the closed door.

Remembering her orders, the Bot blocked her path. “Spike said I am to keep you here…” she began, holding the Other Slayer back.

“Spike no die!” Buffy exclaimed, frantically trying to get past the Bot.

The two Slayers grappled for several moments, neither gaining an upper hand, then Spike’s ear-splitting roar of pain cut the air. They both stopped and looked at each other, eyes wide with fear. In the next heartbeat, they both hit the bathroom door, nearly knocking it from its hinges, and almost bowling each other down as they charged into the motel room.

Although not out of options, will, or determination, Spike’s back was against the wall, literally, when the two blondes emerged from the door just to his right. Angel turned instinctively to the new threat, still brandishing the stake. As one, Buffy and the Bot descended on him like hyenas, knocking him back away from Spike and to the floor. Buffy instinctively grabbed the hand that held the weapon and slammed it down on the floor several times until he released it. At the same time the Bot pummeled his face with crushing blows from her powerful fists.



“Spike no die!” Buffy screamed at Angel as she retrieved the dropped stake and pressed it against the large vamp’s chest.

Spike limped forward and pulled the Bot off his nearly-unconscious grand-sire, certain that it was no trick this time. With a word from him, her assault desisted and she stood back.

"That is Angel," the Bot reported, pointing at the downed attacker. "He is at the top of our 'Do Not Trust' list. Aliases include: Angelus, Peaches, Gormless Tit, Magnificent Poof, Captain Forehead, Mr. Broody-Pants, Tall-Dark-and-Dreary. He is a vampire. He wears lifts, has poncey hair, uses Nancy-boy hair gel, and is a right wanker."

"Thanks for the report, luv," Spike offered with a grimace of pain as he put weight on his bleeding leg. The Bot smiled proudly, nodded sharply, and stood back to await further orders.

Spike turned to Buffy, who was clearly not herself as she pressed the stake further into Angel’s ribs, drawing blood. Her eyes were wild, nothing but primal fury shone in them as she scrambled atop Angel’s stomach for better leverage now that the Bot was out of her way.



“Buffy, luv …” Spike began. He tried to kneel next to her and Angel, but ended up more-or-less falling when pain shot up through his injured leg.

That drew her attention from Angel for a moment and she reached a hand out to help him. “Spike no die,” she said to him softly as she steadied him on the floor next to her.

“I’m all for that, luv,” he agreed, gritting his teeth against the pain. “But, ‘fore we dust the wanker, we might want t’ find out who else knows we're here,” he suggested.

Buffy turned angry eyes back to Angel who was trying to slap away the little cartoon birdies circling his head and fight through the blinding confusion and pain the Bot had inflicted on him. “Hurt Spike. Hurt Wanker,” Buffy snarled out after a moment. Then she pulled the stake away from Angel’s chest, lifted it out to the side, and swung it down in an oblique arc behind her, right into the side of the large vamp's thigh, burying it to the bone.

Angel screamed in agony, writhing on the floor beneath her, and trying to clutch at his leg. Angel screamed again when Buffy twisted the stake and pulled it out, his body bucking, trying ineffectively to dislodge her.

Spike smirked. “Love your logic, Slayer. Bloody brilliant.”



**~**



Angel’s eyes flashed open when cold water splashed over his head and face, shocking him out of his pain-induced trance. He blinked and sputtered the water from his mouth as he tried to remember where he was and what was happening. Two Buffys stood in front of him, both looking equally pissed off. He blinked again, trying to get his double-vision to solidify into one reality. It didn’t work.

“Really are two of ‘em,” a snarky voice said from beside Angel.

He looked toward the source of the words. “Spike,” Angel muttered when his eyes found Spike’s smug face.

“Well, now that we have that settled, how ‘bout you tell us what the bloody hell you’re doing here,” Spike suggested.

Angel tried to move, but couldn’t. He looked down and found that he’d been tied to a chair. Arms, legs, and torso were all wrapped with enough rope to outfit a professional rodeo.

“May I throw more ice water on the wanker? I find it extremely satisfying,” the Bot asked brightly.

Spike grinned. “Anything for you, pet.”



The Bot’s grin widened and she went to retrieve more water from the bathroom, stopping at the ice bucket on the dresser to drop a few cubes of ice in the pitcher first.

“What the fuck is going on here, Spike?” Angel asked, looking between the two Slayers.

“What’s going on is me asking the questions and you answering ‘em,” Spike retorted. “Now, let’s start simple: How did ya find us?”



Spike was fairly certain it hadn't been through magical means. He'd been careful to guard against that before they reached Las Vegas. Thinking Willow would do a locator spell to find Buffy when the Scoobies realized she was missing from her room, Spike had procured three talismans from a reputable, if eccentric, witchdoctor who lived in the Mojave desert near Zzyzx, California. The talismans cost him a pretty penny, and were guaranteed by the crazy old coot to deflect and confuse locator spells. He'd dealt with the old hermit before and was fairly certain the old man knew better than to cross William the Bloody. He, Buffy, and the Bot had all been wearing them practically the whole time they'd been gone, certainly before they'd landed at Paradise Lost.

Angel leveled a caustic gaze on Spike, who was seated on the bed near Angel’s chair. “I’m an investigator. I investigated,” he snarled back at his grand-childe.

Spike hit him with a closed fist in his already bruised, and possibly broken, jaw. Spike made a blaring sound, imitating a losing buzzer on a game show, then said, “Wrong answer.”

Angel let his head fall forward, clamping his eyes closed against the pain. A moment later more ice water fell over the back of his head and neck, shocking him back to alertness.

“Who called you?” Spike asked.

Angel blinked and sputtered a moment, before looking back at the blond vamp. “Giles.”

Spike lifted his hands up in front of his chest and began popping his knuckles menacingly before asking again, “How did ya find us?”



Angel looked from Spike’s fists back to his eyes, then over at the two Buffys who now leaned against the dresser facing him with identical looks of impatience on their faces. “Hospital records. They have to report attempted suicides to the police,” he revealed, looking from one of the blonde women to the other. “I have friends in the police department ... they helped me track you down.”

Angel finally found what he was looking for – the Slayer in the black t-shirt had the scars on her arms. “Buffy,” he said softly, looking that one in the eyes. “Please come back with me. We can take care of you. Get you the help you need.”

“She’s not going back t’ be locked up by those Council wankers,” Spike snarled. “Been through enough, she has. Doesn’t need them poking and prodding ‘er, keeping her drugged and caged like a soddin’ animal.”

“Oh, right ... looks like you’re doing a bang-up job of taking care of her, Willie,” Angel growled, narrowing his eyes at Spike.



Spike punched him again. The Bot tittered; bouncing on her toes, she practically danced back to the bathroom for more ice water.

When Angel was wet and coherent again, Spike continued his questioning. “Who else knows where we are?”

Angel didn’t answer him, he kept his eyes locked on the Buffy with the scars. “Buffy – you know I love you and I’d never hurt you. We all just want what’s best for you. Come back with me … I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

Buffy looked from Angel to Spike and back again.

“Angel love Buffy?” she asked tentatively, her green eyes intent on Angel’s now swollen brown ones.



“You know I do,” he replied gently. "I've always loved you – even before I met you – and I always will."

Spike drew his fist back to strike Angel again, but stopped as he watched Buffy. She seemed conflicted, unsure. Could she really still love Angel after all he’d done – or not done? Could she actually be buying this bollocks?

Where had Angel been during the fight with Glory? Where had he been when she’d most needed help? Where had he been when they buried Dawn? Spike’s chest ached and he suddenly wished Angel had plunged that stake into it earlier – that would’ve been easier than watching his Slayer melt under his gaze.

“Angel help?” she asked him, her voice growing more vulnerable and trusting the longer she spoke to the magnificent poof.

The dagger protruding from Spike’s heart twisted. The physical pain threatened to bring tears to his eyes and he had to blink to keep them back. Seeing her like this – talking to sodding Angel as if he was the one who had saved her – was going to tear Spike’s heart from his chest. How could she look at Angel as if he were the one who had stood by her all this time? As if he was her hero?

“Yes – you know I will. Anything. I’ll do anything to help you, Buffy,” Angel promised, his voice reassuring and full of sincerity.

“Angel do for Buffy?” she asked in that same shy tone – a child speaking to a parent.



“Yes … trust me, Buffy. I’ll do what’s best for you,” Angel agreed eagerly. "Just untie me and we'll go – we can be together. I'll take care of you."

“Angel … not leave Buffy?” she continued, pushing herself off the dresser and taking a tentative step toward the large vamp.

“Never – I’d never leave you,” he agreed, his voice cajoling and eager.

Buffy’s eyes suddenly went cold and hard. She drew her hand back and slapped him across the face, an opened-handed, but vicious, blow.

“Angel lies,” she stated flatly, glowering at him as he blinked in surprise and pain. “Angel leave. Angel not help.”



Buffy raised her eyes to Spike. “Spike help. Need Spike,” she announced firmly.

The dagger in Spike’s heart evaporated, leaving behind a gleeful chorus of joy. His eyes danced with delight as she reached the hand out that had slapped Angel and gently touched Spike’s cheek.

Spike smirked at Angel who gawped unbelievingly at the pair. “Reckon that says it all. She don’t want you, you gormless tit. Had your chance – blew it, you did. First sign o' trouble and you bolted, left the girl t' face a hell-god on 'er own. Some bloody hero you are!" Spike scoffed at him.

"You tell the Watcher and the rest of her bloody friends t’ back the fuck off. She’s fine. I’ll take care of ‘er,” he ordered Angel, poking a finger in the larger vamp's chest for extra emphasis.

“We!” the Bot interjected, raising her hand like an eager schoolgirl. “I’m helping! We’ll take care of her.”

Spike looked up at the Bot and nodded. “We’ll take care of the Slayer.”

“Spiiike,” Angel drawled the name out as if talking to a petulant child. “You have no idea how to…”



“Balls!” Spike growled back, interrupting him. “Who took care o’ Dru? Not bloody you! Me! All you wanted to do is shag ‘er – I had t’ live on the lunatic fringe, clean up the aftermath when you scampered off.

“I know what I’m doing and I’ll … we’ll take care o’ the Slayer no matter what. And if they think I won’t or can’t kill ‘em, you tell those so-called friends o’ hers different. If they try t’ take Buffy, we’ll stop ‘em – rip their bloody heads off.”

Angel shook his head, clearly not happy with the message, but finally said, “Fine – I’ll tell them if you tell me one thing.”

“What?”

“Who in the hell is that?” he asked incredulously, looking at the Bot.

Spike smirked. “Slayer’s little helper.”

**~**

“The wanker is secure in the bathroom,” the BuffyBot announced as she slid the heavy dresser in front of the bathroom door as Buffy had done the previous night.



Spike nodded from where he sat in the bed, leaning against the headboard, smoking a cigarette. His leg still hurt like a mother, but it had stopped bleeding and the Bot had bandaged it up well enough. “Ta ever so. We’ll head outta here after dark. They should find ‘im tomorrow sometime. Give us plenty o’ time to put some miles between us. ‘Til then, reckon we should get some rest … recharge.”

The Bot nodded and took her place next to Spike near her charging equipment. She hooked herself up and lay back to recharge.

“You too, luv,” Spike said to Buffy, who was sitting on the edge of the other bed.

“Angel … not good … here,” Buffy replied, casting a glance over her shoulder at the door to the bathroom.

“Be alright, luv. He can’t get outta there without waking us up. Need him to carry the message back to the gits in Sunnydale,” Spike explained. “When they know we’re serious, reckon they’ll leave us be.”

Buffy nodded reluctantly and crawled under her covers. Spike crushed his cigarette out, turned off the light, and rolled over onto his side to sleep. The heavy curtains over the windows let in a faint glow of the dawning daylight outside, but otherwise the room was dark. The only sounds that could be heard were people moving about in other rooms above or beside theirs, as well as muffled voices and the sound of the city coming from outside.

After only a few minutes of darkened silence, Spike felt the bed behind him dip and Buffy slid under the blanket behind him. Her warm body spooned against his back and her breath tickled the nape of his neck as she snuggled against him. Spike fought the urge to turn over and kiss her, to hold her in his arms and never let her go. Instead he laced his fingers through hers where they rested on his stomach and gave them a gentle squeeze. He heard her sigh as her warm, supple body settled into relaxation against his hard coolness. She’d chosen him over Angel – or at least part of her did – but that part was enough for him, for now anyway. One day he’d have all of her – it didn’t matter how long it took – he could wait.

“Good night, Slayer,” he whispered. I love you, he added silently.

“G’night, Spike,” she murmured sleepily.

**~**



Buffy woke in early evening with Spike curled around her, his body spooned against her back, his arm around her middle holding her in place. She tried to remember what had happened, how they had ended up like this, but could only get flashes of memory. The last thing she remembered clearly was being at the casino in the bar with him and the Bot. She pulled the cover up and looked down at her body – she was dressed in one of Spike’s t-shirts and a pair of shorts. That would seem to indicate that nothing but sleep had happened during the time she couldn’t remember. She was glad of that small favor, at any rate. Based on the little she remembered from the shower, having sex with Spike and not remembering would just be wrong ... very, very wrong.

The mission her mother had given her weighed heavily on her mind. She needed to get Dawn’s soul out of Limbo. To do that she either needed to dust Spike and allow Dawn to move on, or make a baby with him and draw it back. There was a time when dusting Spike would’ve been the obvious choice, but not any longer. He had fought at her side, did everything he could to help her keep Dawn safe, and he’d gotten her away from the impending threat of a Watchers Council intervention. She’d been captured by their Slayer retrieval team before when she was in Faith’s body. She’d escaped, but just barely. The mere memory of that Wet Works team gave her a wiggins – they were scruple-less ... un-scruple-ful? ... They were creepy lowlifes.

She didn’t want to do that again. Ever.

She owed Spike. A lot.

Laying there in Spike's arms, she again wondered if she should just tell him about Dawn’s soul. Despite the loyalty he’d shown her, being told that someone had been mucking around with your soul might be a bit more than even he would stand for. Even if he wasn’t actually using it at the moment, it was still his. It hadn’t been fair for the monks to do what they’d done with it – but then lots of things the monks did wasn’t exactly fair. She’d been upset to hear that they’d taken part of her soul to give to Dawn; how would it feel to know they’d taken more than just a little nibble and given it to someone else?

No, she couldn’t chance it, Buffy decided again. She couldn’t tell him about the mission, about Dawn’s soul, about making a baby. What if he got angry? For being undead, Spike had a hot-blooded temper and he could be one stubborn SOB when he wanted to be. What if he refused to help her? There was no way to know what his reaction would be. It didn’t make her feel good – she’d be using him just like the monks had – but she’d promised Dawn that she would take care of her and she meant to do that. She’d failed Dawn’s physical self; she wasn’t about to take any chances with her sister’s soul, borrowed though it may be.

Buffy silently slid out from under Spike’s arm and headed for the bathroom. The room was completely dark now – no light shone in from behind the curtains, but the layout was simple and she moved to the door of the bathroom without hesitation. When she got there, however, she bumped into the dresser that was pressed against the door.

She muffled a curse when her toe banged into the unexpected obstacle, trying not to wake her roommates. Perplexed, she slid the dresser back where it was supposed to be on the wall and opened the door to the bathroom. Still concerned about waking her roommates, she closed the door behind her before switching on the light. She’d just started sliding her shorts down when she saw someone sitting on a chair in the shower enclosure.



“Holy shit!” she exclaimed, jumping back a step as she took in the stranger in their bathroom. “Angel?” she asked, mystified. He was bruised and bloodied and tied to a chair. His head lolled to one side – asleep or unconscious – leaning against the cool tile of the shower wall.

When she spoke he lifted his head and opened his eyes as much as they could through the swelling.

“Buffy…” he groaned. “If I can’t leave, could I at least have some blood so I can heal?”

“Angel … what … What the hell are you doing here? In our shower? Beaten and tied up?” Buffy stammered. It was becoming clear that something had definitely happened while she was out of it. “Oh, my God! You’ve gone evil again, haven’t you? Lost your soul…”



“Nooo, I haven’t gone evil again,” Angel protested with a moan of indignation.

“Then … what are you doing here?” Buffy repeated.

Angel snorted. “As if you don’t know…”

Buffy frowned. “Pretend I don’t,” she suggested, eyeing him warily.

Angel sighed. “Could you loosen the ropes … they’re cutting off my circulation.”

Buffy snorted. “I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. Spike tried that one on me a long time ago. Didn’t fall for it then, not falling for it now. Just tell me why you’re here. And make it fast, I really need to pee.”

Angel rolled his eyes. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“As if,” Buffy retorted, folding her arms over her chest.



“I’ve seen it before,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, and we know how well that ended. Spill.”

“I’ve come to … take you home. To rescue you from Spike – get you the help you need. You can’t trust him – he’s an evil, soulless monster. He’ll take advantage of you, Buffy. He'll kill you if he gets the chance. Believe me, I’ve known him a lot longer than you have. I know what I’m talking about.”

Buffy nodded. “Uh-huh. Sooo, you’ve come to be the hero, is that it? Save the damsel from the evil vampire?”

“Buffy, I know you’re not helpless, I just think you’re not thinking clearly right now. Giles said that you’ve been … depressed and in some kind of fugue state since …”

“Since my sister killed herself to save the world,” Buffy filled in when Angel paused. “You know, I could’ve used some help then, Angel. I called you – I got freaking voice mail,” she snapped at him.

“I was a little busy myself,” Angel retorted angrily.

“We were fighting a hell-god, Angel! She was going to kill my sister and end the world – end all the worlds! What could’ve possibly been more important than that?” Buffy wondered.

“I … we … weren’t here. We went to … Pylea – it’s another dimension – on a mission,” he explained.

“Oh? And this mission, did it involve saving the universe?”

“Well, no, not exactly. We went to save … Cordelia. She got … sucked into a portal,” Angel admitted.

“Cordelia,” Buffy repeated dryly. She snorted sarcastically and rubbed at her eyes. If Angel and his crew had been there to help her fight Glory would it have made any difference? Would Dawn still be alive today? There was no way to know the answer to that, but it certainly wouldn’t have hurt to have had more muscle.



“Buffy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Dawn. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help with Glory. But I’m here now,” Angel continued. “I still love you, Buffy. Let me help you,” he pleaded. “Come back with me – you don’t have to go to Sunnydale – you can come to L.A. with me. We can … get you some counseling, help you work through this.”

**~**

In the other room, Spike held his metaphorical breath as the silence between the two people in the bathroom stretched out. Was Buffy actually considering going back with Angel? It was clear that she was ‘back’ this evening. Just because Barmy-Buffy had rejected Angel didn’t mean that Sane-Buffy would. Sane-Buffy always had a soft spot for the poofter, no matter what he did, she forgave him his sins. Murder, mayhem, lies, rejection, humiliation … it didn’t matter, she would always give him another bloody chance.

Spike waited for the axe to fall on him; waited for Angel to win again. Angel, it seemed, had a knack for taking anything and everything that Spike desired and loved. He’d reveled in shagging Dru in front of Spike from the very beginning, in rubbing Spike’s nose in Dru’s desire for her ‘Daddy’. And now he was doing it with Buffy. Angel was going to take her away from him before Spike even had a chance to show her how much he truly loved her.

**~**

In the bathroom Buffy closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples. A headache was forming behind her eyes and, on top of that, her teeth were starting to float; she really, really had to pee now.

Finally she looked up at Angel, dropping her hands down from her aching head. “You really want to help me now?” she asked him hopefully.



“I do, Buffy. Let me help you,” he repeated, his voice more sincere and caring than she'd ever heard it before.

“Okay …” she agreed solemnly, nodding and moving forward toward him.

**~**

Spike’s heart fell. He rolled over onto his back on the bed and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes as anger, frustration, and heartache warred for dominance inside him. How could she do this after all he’d done for her? He’d been the one to stand up to Glory when he could’ve turned the Niblett over to her and saved himself a godly beat-down. He’d been the one standing with Buffy against the hell-god. He’d been the one protecting her every night when she sobbed at her sister’s grave. He’d been the one that believed in her when everyone else gave up.

**~**

Buffy walked over to Angel, grabbing the bath towel from the rack as she went. “Here’s what I need you to do to help me,” Buffy began. She reached in and turned the shower on.

Angel flinched when the cold water hit him. “What are you …” he began as Buffy lifted the towel up and dropped it over his head.

“I need to pee,” she told him for the third time as she pulled the translucent shower curtain closed. “I need you to shut up before my bladder bursts.”

“Buffy! I can’t breathe … or see!” he protested as the heavy towel covering his face was soaked with water.

“Yeah, kinda the point,” she agreed as she finally, thankfully, emptied her bladder with a relieved sigh.

When she was done, Buffy washed her face and hands, and brushed her hair and teeth while the shower rained down on Angel. When she’d finished, she turned the water off and pulled the wet towel off his head, dropping it on the floor of the shower enclosure.

“Leave us alone, Angel. Go back and tell everyone I’m fine – I’m just … done. I told Giles if Dawn died, I was done slaying, and I meant it. I’m out. I’ve given all I have to give.” Tears stung Buffy’s eyes and she blinked them back, squaring her shoulders and willing steel into her spine. “Tell them I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything left.”



“You can’t trust Spike. He’s not me, Buffy. He doesn’t even have a soul!” Angel argued.

Buffy snorted and began gathering up her toiletries from the countertop. “Thank God for small favors.”

“Buffy! You don’t know him like I do,” Angel continued.

Buffy stopped and looked back at Angel, her expression icy. “I know he stood by me when it was pretty clear we weren’t gonna win. I get that he’s an adrenaline junkie and facing insurmountable odds is his drug of choice. Surprisingly, that doesn't bother me – in fact it sounds kind of familiar in a 'been-there-done-that' sorta way. He doesn’t give up when things are hard – he just keeps fighting – and he wins. Unlike you.

“You could’ve stayed in Sunnydale – stayed with me. We could’ve found a way to lift that happiness curse and been together, but you wouldn’t even try. Wouldn’t even consider it. Wouldn't talk about it. I begged you to stay. I would've walked through fire for you. I loved you sooo much. But you left. You don’t have the right to tell me what to do anymore – you lost that right when you walked away from me. You aren't the king of me anymore, Angel.”

“Buffy…” Angel pleaded.



"Don't," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. Buffy sniffed back her tears, swiping her fingers across her cheeks in a vain attempt to hide them from him. She said nothing more to the vamp that had been her first love and her first lesson in heartbreak before turning and walking out of the bathroom, turning the light out, and closing the door behind her. She dropped her things into her suitcase and then shoved the dresser back across the door, still fighting to get her tumultuous emotions under control.

Spike turned on the light next to the bed and Buffy looked up in surprise. “Sorry … I didn’t mean to wake you up,” she apologized, still sniffing and wiping her cheeks in earnest.

“‘S alright,” he rumbled, his voice deep with barely contained emotions of his own. “I didn’t win, luv … I failed you … failed Dawn.”

Buffy took a deep, calming breath, blinked back her tears, and walked over to sit on the other bed, directly across from him. “Spike, I … when I … did this,” she began slowly, turning one arm over and fingering the still-pink scar there. “I … talked to Mom. I thought I was dead, but she said I wasn’t … I don’t know, maybe I was for a little while. Anyway, she said that we shouldn’t blame ourselves for what happened to Dawn – neither of us. That Dawn did exactly what I would’ve done if I’d been in her place, and by blaming ourselves we were … cheapening the sacrifice she made.

“Despite part of me understanding that on an intellectual level, on an emotional level that really hasn’t sunk in. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. I know I’m … not right … there’s something inside me that’s broken, but … maybe you can help me fix it. I know you won’t give up on me.” A sob lodged in Buffy's throat, stopping her. She closed her eyes in a vain attempt to stop the tears she’d been fighting from spilling down her cheeks.

Spike reached out a hand and touched her damp face gently. Buffy leaned into his touch and blinked her eyes open. “I need to get better, Spike – for Dawn. I need you to help me. Please,” Buffy begged him. She closed her eyes again, unable to meet his lest he see her hidden agenda. She couldn’t raise a baby in the state she was in. She’d told the truth: She had to get better for Dawn. But she hadn’t told him the whole truth – to save Dawn’s soul from an eternity in Limbo.



“I’m here, Slayer. I’ll stand by you ‘til the end o’ time, pet. I lo…” Spike choked on the words, afraid of sending her back into her fugue state, as Angel had called it.

Buffy nodded. “Insurmountable odds,” she murmured, opening her eyes and giving him a wan smile.

Spike returned her sad smile. “You’re wrong ‘bout that, Buffy. You’re my drug o’ choice, luv.”

Buffy snorted a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Not a junkie, then – a glutton for punishment.”

Spike wagged his brows and pressed his tongue against his teeth, opening his mouth into a wolfish grin. “Hurt me good, Slayer.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Buffy warned, her smile widening slightly with his teasing tone.

“You’re all I’ve ever wished for, Buffy,” Spike replied, his voice suddenly somber.



Buffy bit her lip and shook her head. “Spike, I don’t know if I can ever be … what you need – what you think I am.”

“You already are, luv – and more.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear King of Anything, Sara Bareilles  on YouTube  }}

Oh (oh oh oh)
Oh (oh oh oh)
Oh (oh oh oh)
Oh (oh oh oh)

Keep drinkin' coffee
Stare me down across the table
While I look outside

So many things I'd say if only I were able
But I just keep quiet
And count the cars that pass by

You've got opinions, man
We're all entitled to 'em
But I never asked

So let me thank you for time
And try to not waste any more of mine
Get out of here fast

I hate to break it you babe
But I'm not drowning
There's no one here to save

Who cares if you disagree
You are not me
Who made you king of anything
So you dare tell me who to be
Who died
And made you king of anything

Oh (oh oh oh)
Oh (oh oh oh)
Oh (oh oh oh)
Oh (oh oh oh)

You sound so innocent
All full of good intent
You swear you know best

But you expect me to
Jump up on board with you
And ride off into your delusional sunset

I'm not the one who's lost
With no direction, oh
But you'll never see

You're so busy makin' maps
With my name on them in all caps
You've got the talkin' down, just not the listening

And who cares if you disagree
You are not me
Who made you king of anything
So you dare tell me who to be
Who died
And made you king of anything

All my life
I've tried
To make everybody happy while I
Just hurt
And hide
Waitin' for someone to tell me it's my turn to decide

Oh (oh oh oh)
Oh (oh oh oh)
Oh (oh oh oh)
Oh (oh oh oh)

Who cares if you disagree
You are not me
Who made you king of anything
So you dare tell me who to be
Who died
And made you king of anything

Who cares if you disagree
You are not me
Who made you king of anything
So you dare tell me who to be
Who died
And made you king of anything

Let me hold your crown, babe
Oh oh
Ah
Chapter End Notes:
Yes, Zzyzx, California is a real place in the Mojave desert between LA and Las Vegas.

So, where to now for our Intrepid Trio? And will letting Angel go come back to bite them later? Hmmm ... we'll find out. Will have more this weekend. Thank you so much for reading - let me know your thoughts! I love hearing from you!
I Need ... by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading! Super-duper thanks to everyone who has taken time to stop in with feedback! It means a lot to me! Also thanks to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.



As the two blondes sat on the edges of their respective beds facing each other in the motel room, Spike leaned across the short space between them and touched his lips to Buffy's tentatively. Buffy's earlier tears made her lips salty and damp, beneath that Spike could taste a splash of cinnamon from her toothpaste. He longed to delve deeper, to taste 'Buffy', but was afraid to push, afraid he'd push her away. He could feel a small shudder run through her – whether from the kiss or a remnant of her tears, he didn't know.

To his delight, Buffy laid her hand on the side of his face and deepened the kiss, sweeping her tongue along his lips, searching for entry. With the Bot still in 'sleep mode', charging on the bed behind him, Spike moaned against Buffy's mouth, parting his lips for her, and meeting her tongue with his in a gentle, sensuous dance. And there it was, her tang, her essence assailing his senses with the utter spirit of her – her strength, her determination, her light all shone through as their tongues swirled against each other. He'd never tasted anything sweeter.

Buffy melted into his lips with a desire that had been building in her since he’d shown her his true self by standing up to Glory’s torture when the hell-god had kidnapped him, thinking he was the Key. His sacrifice, loyalty, and bravery had touched something inside her and shone a new light on Spike. Even if she hadn't been ready to fully admit it then, she knew deep down that he had truly changed. Soulless though he may be, he stood like a man, he acted like a man, and she had started to think of him as a man rather than a monster.

Although Buffy had been shocked by the mission her mother had given her, partly because it had come from her mother, the thought of it had only fueled the Slayer's slowly building desire for her former mortal enemy, turned ally, turned rescuer. But she dare not undertake that yet – not until she was sure she was ready mentally to deal with the ramifications. Which didn’t mean, she concluded, that they couldn’t … practice until that day came.

Buffy slid her hand behind his neck and pulled him to her as she lay back on the bed, and Spike followed willingly. Together they scooted back, their lips parting only for her to take deep gasping breaths of air, until his body covered hers. She could feel his hardness pressing against her as she spread herself open for him, wrapping her bare legs around his hips and pulling his chest down to rest upon hers. Suddenly the t-shirt and shorts she had on seemed like way too many clothes to her, as did the jeans that Spike still wore, but, at the same time, she was loath to break the contact between them to remedy the situation.

 

Spike snaked his arms under and around her shoulders, holding her against him as he’d wanted to do for so very long. His hips moved of their own accord, grinding his jean-clad pelvis against her sex in slow, sensuous thrusts. He broke the kiss, allowing Buffy to breathe, and trailed his tongue down her heated skin, across her jaw, to her neck. He nibbled and sucked gently on the tender skin, feeling her pulse racing just beneath his lips as her whole body shivered under him.
 
“Want you so much, Buffy,” he whispered against her ear, his breath tickling her earlobe and loosing another shudder and a moan from somewhere deep inside her.

Buffy began to reply, to agree, when a loud banging began from the wall near them. They both stopped, their heads jerking toward the source of the unexpected sound.

“Angel,” they both groaned at once as the banging began again in earnest.

“Ignore ‘im,” Spike urged her as he went back to kissing her throat.

The banging got louder.

Buffy sighed and pressed gently on Spike’s shoulders, stopping him. He groaned and dropped his forehead to her shoulder, his whole body sagging in frustration.

“Spike – I’m sorry. I … I don’t want our first time to be …” she began, then stopped and tried to compose her thoughts. “I mean, I don’t want to be thinking about Angel while we’re …”

Spike’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he peered down at her. Hurt and anger warred in his expressive eyes for which emotion would dominate their burning, blue depths.



“And I don’t want you to be thinking about him, either,” Buffy added quickly, realizing her mistake. Buffy's eyes suddenly widened and her face screwed up like she'd just eaten a lemon as her words registered with her brain. "I mean ... not that you'd ever be thinking of Angel like that ... while we're ... you know ... or ever! ... not like that ... I mean ... it's just ..." She groaned and closed her eyes a moment to compose her jumbled thoughts.

When she opened her eyes again, Spike looked almost amused by her uneasy prattling, the hurt and anger that had been there now faded into the background. He cocked a questioning brow at her, waiting for her to continue her 'foot in mouth' routine. "That whole train jumped the tracks and took a wrong turn somewhere near Albuquerque. A very, very wrong turn. I just meant that I want it to be us … no one else in the whole world, no interruptions,” she explained gently, touching a reassuring hand to his face.

Spike sighed and nodded. He closed his eyes then dropped his head down onto her shoulder, relaxing his whole body against her. She felt like heaven; her supple body, strong and lithe beneath him. Her heart was thundering in her chest, beating against his ribs as if it wanted to break through his bones and embed itself in him. Her body was like a furnace in the cool of the room, and she warmed him like nothing he’d ever felt before – from both the inside and the outside.

Buffy trailed her hands over his bare back, playing a game of chase with the rising and falling goose-flesh she was creating with her touch. “I’m sorry,” she whispered against his ear as the banging from the other room continued. “It probably would’ve been some kind of macho victory for you to … for us to ... you know … right under his nose,” she stammered, flushing slightly. “But … I … I don’t want to be a trophy.”

Spike lifted his head and looked at her. The depth of emotion in her verdant eyes was overwhelming – it was Buffy, fully and completely. And she’d chosen him – again. He shook his head. “You aren’t, luv. Not t’ me. I … care about you too much for that,” he agreed, again biting back the ‘L’ word that wanted to come out, afraid of losing her again.

A tear slid down Buffy’s cheek and she nodded. “I know everyone thinks you’re a soulless monster, but … to me you’re a man, Spike.”

Spike had to swallow back the emotion that suddenly lodged in his throat. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough and genuinely awed. “No one’s ever said that t’ me before, Buffy – not even when I was a man.” Spike dipped his head and kissed her again, soft and gentle, undemanding – a kiss that conveyed all the love he held in his heart for her.

Bang, bang, bang…

Buffy released her own groan of frustration and Spike pushed up off her and stood up. His injured thigh, which had somehow stopped hurting a few moments before, shot pain into his hip and knee when he stood up. He fell back onto his butt on the other bed to get the weight off it.

“Are you alright?” Buffy asked worriedly as she sat up and moved to the edge of her own bed. “Are you hurt?”



“I’ll do. The wanker stuck a stake in m’ leg last night. Just hasn’t quite healed yet,” Spike explained, assuming she didn’t recall the skirmish, which she didn't.

“A stake? In your leg?” Buffy repeated, confused.

Spike shrugged. “He never was big on book learnin’. Reckon he needs a remedial anatomy lesson t’ locate the heart.”

Buffy snorted a laugh and shook her head.
 
“Better get dressed and packed up, luv. The sooner we find a new place t’ hole up, the sooner we can … resume our … dance,” he suggested, leering at her, his voice growing lower and sexier as he went.



Buffy shivered just from the timbre of his voice, but nodded and got up to start tossing things into the suitcases. While she did that, Spike woke the Bot up and set her to helping Buffy. When they’d gotten dressed, had everything packed, and were down to just his cooler of blood to load into the DeSoto, he asked Buffy if she’d take it to the car for him.

“Need the Bot t’ … check my bandage a mo',” he explained, waving a hand at his injured leg.

Buffy gave him a suspicious look, but hefted the cooler up and headed to the car with it.

“Is the bandage I applied earlier not satisfactory?” the Bot asked, looking at him with concern.

“No – yeah … it’s fine,” he replied when Buffy was gone and the door closed behind her. “Need ya t’ help me with something else, luv.”

“I am at your command,” the Bot replied, grinning widely. “How may I be of service to you?”

Spike adjusted himself in his still-frustratingly tight jeans and moaned at the images her words conjured, but shook the thought off. He had the real Buffy now – he could wait. He motioned with his head for her to follow him. He stopped near the headboard of the bed he and Buffy had been on earlier and began banging it against the wall in a steady rhythm. He smirked and increased the pace when Angel began banging against the wall in the bathroom – apparently with his hard head.

As Spike banged the headboard on the wall, he leaned over and whispered into the Bot’s ear, “Reactivate the ‘Sounds to Make and Words to Use During Sex’ file and run through ‘em, luv.”



The Bot’s gaze became unfocused a moment, then she began to moan deeply and call Spike’s name as she stood casually beside him. Spike smirked and added his own moans to hers as he increased the rhythm of the headboard banging against the wall to a frantic pace.

When the Bot began to scream out, “Take me, take me, I’m yours! Oh, Spike! I’m yours!” Spike growled and banged the headboard harder, but more deliberately. He heard Angel roar in frustration and anger from the bathroom and it was all the blond could do to keep from bursting out laughing. Spike stilled the headboard as the Bot panted and cooed beside him, as if she’d just been taken to heaven and back again.

“I love you, Buffy,” Spike vowed to the Bot, wishing for the day he could say it to Buffy again without fear of her retreating from him.

“I love you, Spike,” the Bot replied breathlessly, as he knew she would. “I’ll always be yours.”

The Bot tilted her head and seemed to focus inwards a moment before asking, “Shall I start this prog…”

“Shhhh…” Spike hushed her, quietly, laying a finger on her lips. “No,” he whispered against her ear. “That’ll do.”

When they emerged from the room into the still-steamy, early evening air, Buffy was leaning against the trunk of the car, her arms crossed over her chest. She glared from one to the other of them, then settled her sharp gaze on Spike. “Get everything … taken care of?” she asked, looking pointedly down to his crotch – not his injured thigh – and then back up to his eyes again.

Spike shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, the self-satisfied grin fading from his lips. “Yeah – everything’s … fine.”

“Got the bandaged changed, did you?” Buffy pressed.

“Yeah, yeah … got it changed,” Spike replied dismissively as he limped quickly for the driver’s door.

“Huh. That’s amazing, since I packed all the bandages up and loaded them into the car not fifteen minutes ago,” Buffy shot back, anger flaring in her eyes. “You’re a pig, Spike! How could you?”



Bugger!

“Buffy, it’s not what you think, luv,” Spike defended, holding his hands up in surrender. “Nothing happened. Just taking the piss outta Angel is all.”

Buffy turned her accusing eyes to the Bot. “What did you and Spike just do in there?”

“He banged the headboard against the wall and then I began program one from the ‘Sounds to Make and Words to Use During Sex’ file. This included the proper vocalizations for foreplay, penetration, intercourse, climax, and post-fornication embrace.”

Buffy cocked an angry brow at Spike, her eyes blazing with fury.



“Buffy, she said the words and I banged the headboard against the wall with my hand. Bloody hell! We didn’t … engage in anything,” he defended emphatically. Spike stepped up to Buffy and pulled one of her hands from where she had it tucked against her ribcage. He pressed it against the hardness in his jeans, barely repressing a moan as her warm hand touched him.

Buffy pulled her hand back as if it had been burned, but her indignant look faded a small fraction. Spike leaned next to her ear and whispered. “It’s you I want, luv. Only you.”

Buffy laid her palms on his chest and shoved him back away from her. She turned to the Bot again. “So, you didn’t actually … fornicate?”

The Bot tilted her head as she thought about the question, then re-focused on Buffy. “No. That file has been deactivated.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed, looking back at Spike. “One day I’m gonna take you and Angel, put you in a room and just let you two fight it out.”

Spike shrugged nonchalantly. “No problem on this end, luv. Name the time and place, I'll be there with bloody bells on.”

“Bells? Hadn't really thought of bells ... I was thinking there could be some kind of oil … or Jell-O … maybe pudding involved,” Buffy offered, thinking aloud as she bit back a grin. “Naked vampire wrestling in a vat of chocolate pudding. I could sell tickets – make a million.”



Spike looked at her in disbelief a moment, then gave her a wolfish smile. “Cheeky wench, you are.”

“And you’re insufferably juvenile at times,” she retorted as she pushed off the trunk and headed for the passenger side of the car.

“But in a bloody adorable way, right?” Spike prompted, his eyes flashing with amusement.

“You have your moments,” Buffy admitted with a sigh as she climbed in. “Not sure this is one of them…”

**~**



Spike felt like the king of the bloody world as he rode the elevator up to their new suite on the top floor of the MGM Grand. With Buffy’s hand in the crook of one elbow and the Bot’s in the other, he drew looks from every man and woman that entered the lift. The porter was waiting for them with their bags already set out in the dressing area and a magnum of champagne chilling in the sitting room. Giant vases of fresh flowers adorned nearly every flat surface, their fragrance making it seem like they’d just walked into a tropical garden rather than a hotel room, and room service was on the way. Off to one side of the sitting room was a bedroom larger than Spike’s crypt back home, a spa-bathroom to match it, and a floor-to-ceiling mirrored dressing area. All gratis.

Spike flipped the porter a $50 chip after the young man showed them around the suite.

“Thank you, Mr. Gambolputty,” the young man, a redhead who was clearly not as old as Spike’s duster, tittered.

“Name’s Heir Johann Gambolputty de von Ausfern-schplenden-schlitter von Hautkopft of Ulm,” Spike corrected tersely in his best German accent.

“Uhhh … Yes, sir … Mr. … ummm … Heir … What should I call you then?” the porter asked worriedly, his face scrunching up in confusion.

Spike shrugged. “You can call me Spike,” he replied deadpan, returning to his normal Cockney-esque accent.

“Oh. Okay. Thank you, Mr. Spike,” the young man replied, relieved, the smile returning to his lips. “Just call if you need anything. The service numbers are right on the phone.”

“Will do, Opie,” Spike assured him as the young man let himself out.

Buffy rolled her eyes and looked at Spike. “How am I supposed to remember that name?” she wondered.

Spike looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “It’s a classic. How can you not remember it?”



“Smith. ‘Smith’ is a classic ‘check into a hotel’ pseudonym. Mr. and Mrs. Gobble-de-gook is … totally not classic!”

“Is it possible you have never watched Monty Python?” Spike wondered incredulously.

“I don’t like nature shows … something always gets eaten. I can’t handle all that gore and violence.”

“You can’t handle … gore and violence?” Spike laughed. “You’re the bloody Slayer, pet – you eat gore and violence for breakfast.”

“It’s different,” Buffy objected. “The big mean animals are always eating the cute little baby animals, and then the mother animals are looking for their babies… It’s just depressing.”

Spike shook his head. “You’ve lived a sheltered life, Summers. Can see right now, I got a lotta work ahead o’ me.”

“I’m telling you right now, I’m not watching any mountain pythons eating little baby meerkats, so you can just forget it.”

“I’ll try t’ keep the meerkat eatin’ pythons to a minimum, pet.”

**~**

A few minutes later, Buffy stepped out onto the balcony that looked over the bright lights of the Vegas strip. Despite the late hour, or early hour, depending on your perspective, the town was still buzzing with traffic, people, brilliant lights, and blaring sound – the city that truly never sleeps. She leaned against the railing and closed her eyes, letting the cool desert air blow over her face. After spending the entire night in the casino downstairs, it was a relief to finally breathe some relatively fresh air.
 
Spike walked up behind her, pressing lightly against her back, and offered her a glass of the bubbly. Buffy gave him a smile over her shoulder, and took it from his hand as she turned back to look at the view.



“Bloody genius you are, pet,” Spike offered as he nuzzled through her long hair into the nape of her neck, breathing her in.

Buffy closed her eyes and pressed back into him, savoring the feel of his lips as they touched her skin. “You’re the card shark…”

“Sharp,” Spike corrected, emphasizing the ‘p’ on the end with a burst of cool air against her neck.

“Huh?” she asked, turning and stepping slightly to the side to look at him.

Spike sighed at the loss of contact, but let her go. “Card sharp, luv, not shark,” Spike explained, taking a sip of his own champagne.

“Are you sure? ‘Cos I always heard it as ‘shark’,” Buffy argued, leaning against the railing with one elbow as she looked at him.

“In my time, a card shark was a cheat … a card sharp was just bloody good. Didn’t cheat, did I? Couldn’t bloody cheat – watch ya too bleedin’ close here,” Spike admitted.

Buffy shrugged. “Either way, you won the money … and the room – that makes you the genius. And if you ever tell anyone I said that, I’ll kill you.”

Spike chuckled, a low, melodious rumbling, and mimicked her stance, standing facing Buffy and leaning one elbow on the railing close to her. “But it was your idea t’ stay ‘ere. I was ready to high-tail it outta Dodge,” Spike pointed out.

Buffy shrugged again. “Which is exactly what Angel would expect us to do. If he decides to be an ass and keep looking, he’d never look for us right here where he already found us. And, anyway, we needed more money.”

“You’re bloody devious … always liked that about you, Slayer,” Spike revealed.



Buffy snorted softly and took a sip of her champagne, turning and leaning both her forearms on the railing to look out at the city. “I guess I had some good teachers. You might want to … remember that about me,” she warned softly.

Spike furrowed his brow and studied her, trying to suss her out, but his efforts were thwarted by the vision before him. The desert wind was blowing her hair back from her face in soft waves, transfixing him. It flew out like strands of spun gold, shining in the lights of the city below. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen – a vision of light and goodness – more than he deserved.

“I trust you, Slayer,” he said at last.

Buffy looked at him, turning just her head. “Maybe you shouldn’t. I’m not the Slayer anymore. Not sure what I am … who I am.”

“You don’t just stop being the Slayer, pet,” Spike pointed out.



“Oh yeah? Watch me,” Buffy tossed back, her voice angry, harsh with regret and guilt.

“Not something you can get rid of any more than I can get rid o’ my demon,” Spike offered.

“Maybe not. But I can … muzzle it – just like your demon’s been muzzled.”

“Oi!” Spike objected, insulted. “Not a bloody dog.”

Buffy shrugged and looked back out at the city. “When was the last time your demon killed a human?” she asked rhetorically. “It’s muzzled … chained up, pushed back, controlled – whatever you want to call it. If you can do it, I can do it.”

“You gonna ring up the gigantic hall monitor and get 'im and his buddies to chip ya then?” Spike wondered sarcastically.

“Already got it,” Buffy told him, never looking at him – her eyes focused on the city lights in the distance, even if she didn’t actually see them. “It’s called ‘Dawn’.”



“Buffy,” Spike cajoled softly, reaching a hand out to touch her shoulder.

She turned her head and looked at him. “I’m serious, Spike. I’m done. So … if you want the Slayer, you need to keep looking – I’m passing the torch.”

“Slayer only passes the torch when she dies, luv,” Spike pointed out.

“Yeah, well – been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Faith’s the Slayer now. I’m dead. I kept fighting, thinking I could make a difference, but I can’t. I couldn’t save her, Spike. I couldn’t save my own sister. What fucking good is being the Slayer if you can’t save your own family?” she demanded, as tears filled her eyes.

Buffy looked down at her hands as the river of blood began to bubble up from the dark depths of her mind again, coating everything in a red pall of guilt. The champagne glass fell from her fingers and dropped into the open air below the balcony as her hands began to tremble uncontrollably. They were covered in thick, hot blood. It dripped off them, following the champagne flute into the night sky above the city streets.

 

“Oh, God … Oh, Spike … no … no … it’s … I’m … it's starting,” she stammered, looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes. She held her hands up for him to see the blood, but he, of course, didn’t see it. “So much blood…” she murmured, turning her hands over and back again – staring at them with wide, shimmering eyes.

Spike dropped his own glass onto the balcony, shattering it, and grabbed her by her upper arms, making her focus on him. “Buffy, you’re stronger than this. Fight it, luv. Stay with me … stay with me, Buffy,” he admonished her.

“Spike … I can’t,” Buffy gasped as the guilt of failing her sister began to overwhelm her psyche yet again.

“You can!” he argued, shaking her slightly to make her focus on him.

“Dawn … Oh, God … Dawn. I … failed. I killed her. Mom begged me to take care of her and I … couldn’t. Everyone was depending on me and I … wasn’t strong enough, not smart enough … not fast enough,” Buffy cried, hot, salty tears streaking her face. Suddenly, her knees buckled and she began to fall to the floor of the balcony.

Spike scooped her into his arms, his bad leg nearly giving way under the extra weight. After regaining his balance and gritting his teeth against the renewed pain, he carried her back into the room, constantly admonishing her to stay with him, to not give into it, that it wasn’t her fault. He reminded her about what her mum had told her in the dream: about not cheapening Dawn’s sacrifice, but nothing worked. By the time he set her down on the bed, Buffy’s mind had been flooded by the crimson tide of guilt. She was lost to him yet again.

As Spike stood up after laying her on the bed, Buffy clutched at his arms, his shirt – whatever she could reach. “No leave. Spike! No leave,” she begged him frantically.

“Not leavin’, luv,” Spike assured her, grabbing her hands in his and holding them in a firm grip.

“Alone. Blood. Spike … no leave,” Buffy continued chanting as she pulled her hands free and began tugging at him again. “Blood hurts. Hurts, Spike. Spike stop hurt.”

“Shhhh…” Spike cajoled as he sat down next to her and pulled her to him. Buffy scrambled into his arms, onto his lap like a child, and Spike rocked her.



“Hurts. Hurts. Blood burns. So hot. Make stop. Help Dawn. Save Dawn,” Buffy continued prattling incoherently as he ran a hand down from her hair and over her back, soothing her.

“It’s alright, Buffy. Spike’s ‘ere. Not leaving, pet. Shhhhh….” he murmured to her as she cuddled against him like a child seeking solace after waking from a nightmare.

“There is someone knocking on our door,” BuffyBot announced, coming to stand in the doorway to the bedroom. “What shall I do?”

“Room service – let ‘em in,” Spike told her. He freed one hand from Buffy, dug another $50 chip from his pocket, and tossed it to the Bot. “Have ‘em leave it and give this to ‘em as they’re leaving,” he instructed her. “And shut that door.”

The Bot nodded sharply before shutting the door to the bedroom and going to answer the knocking.

“Help Dawn. Spike help Dawn. Spike sex Buffy…” Buffy muttered as Spike turned his attention back to her.

Suddenly Buffy began groping at Spike’s chest and stomach – anything she could reach. Pulling at his t-shirt, raking at his skin with her nails. “Buffy, luv – stop,” Spike said, his voice gentle as he tried to catch and still her hands.

“No – save Dawn! Spike sex Buffy! Make baby!” Buffy exclaimed, her eyes now wild as she slid off his lap and began scratching at his belt and the zipper of his jeans.

“Buffy! Slayer! Stop!” Spike demanded, his voice growing more determined and frantic.

“Help Dawn! Save Dawn!” Buffy continued, apparently not even hearing him as she managed to get his belt unhooked in her frenzy. “Sex make baby! Spike sex! Sex with Buffy,” she continued, ripping at the button on his jeans.

“Bloody hell, woman! NO! Not like this!” he growled, jumping up and dropping her onto the floor as he did so.



Spike’s chip fired when he pushed her and he clutched at his head as the electrically-charged muzzle flashed its painful warning inside his skull. Spike fell to the floor next to the bed, momentarily dazed. He shook his head, trying to clear it so he could move away from Buffy, but it was too late. The Slayer was atop him, ripping at his zipper in a frantic effort to undress him.

“SLAYER! STOP!” Spike yelled at her, trying to roll onto his stomach and away from her wildly grasping hands. The stabbing pain began in his leg again and Spike could feel blood begin to flow from the wound as he struggled to get free from her.

The irony of the situation flashed in Spike’s mind as he fought against her. How many times over the last months would he have welcomed such an advance from her? How often had he dreamed of her wanting him, of taking her in a wild flurry of preternatural lust? A hundred? A million? But now it wasn’t what he wanted. Not like this. This wasn’t Buffy – and he knew she wouldn’t want this either when she came back to herself.

“Spike sex Buffy!” she demanded, pinning him with her hips as she gripped the waistband of his jeans and ripped the teeth of his zipper apart by main force.



Spike tried again to capture her hands, but they seemed to move faster than they had any right to. Even when he managed to grab one, she would yank free with adrenaline-powered Slayer strength, leaving him grasping at air. In desperation, he punched up at her, delivering a wild blow that connected with her jaw and momentarily stunned her. Unfortunately, it also stunned Spike, who screamed out in agony and clutched his head as the chip fired again.

Buffy recovered first and had his cock out of his pants, stroking it frantically to hardness.

“No … no … Buffy … don’t,” Spike begged her through the haze of agony which stabbed at his senses from both his leg and his head. He tried to focus on the pain to keep his body from reacting to her touch, but it did no good. Pain and pleasure had gone hand in hand for too many years with Dru – his body had been trained more thoroughly than Pavlov's dog. He responded to the pain, and he hardened obediently under her touch.

“Please … Buffy … you don’t want this,” Spike tried desperately to reason with her, pushing at her hands, trying to roll away from her.

“Spike sex Buffy,” Buffy-but-not-Buffy repeated.

When she stood up to undo her own jeans, Spike got his chance. He turned over and pushed up to all fours, scrambling wildly toward the door and leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He’d just gotten it open when Buffy caught him by one foot and yanked him back, slamming the door again.

“Bot! Help! B...!” he yelled out at their roommate before the door closed, cutting him off.

BuffyBot, who was waiting to give the young man that had brought their meal the pretty colored disc, looked at the bedroom door just as it slammed closed again, her brows furrowed.



“Do you … uhhh … need to check on that?” the young waiter asked, looking from the blonde standing next to him to the door. He had just started setting the covered plates, condiments, and drinks out on the table for them, but the frantic interruption stopped him cold.

BuffyBot looked back at the young man, recalling her previous orders. “I must wait for you to finish and give you this plastic disc as you leave,” she said matter-of-factly.

In the next moment, Spike’s panicked voice could be heard through the door. “Bot! Get your bloody arse in here! Now!”

BuffyBot looked at the waiter at the same time he looked at her. “Sounds like he kinda wants you in there…” the young man pointed out.

“You will complete your duties and wait here. When I return, I will give you the plastic disc and you may leave,” she ordered the waiter, pleased with her solution to the contradictory instructions.

“Sure … whatever you say. I’ll wait,” he agreed, eagerly eyeing the $50 tip she had in her hand as he resumed setting the food out on the table.

The Bot nodded and strode purposely to the bedroom door. “My bloody arse is here, as requested,” she said as she stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

“Get this barmy woman off me!” Spike screamed at her as she came into the room.

The Bot assessed the situation a moment. Spike was pinned beneath the Other Slayer. Her jeans and thong lay in a heap on the floor; Spike’s jeans were shoved down around his knees. She could see the wound on his thigh, which was bleeding profusely again, the bandage completely red and dripping with blood. Spike was squirming under Buffy, rolling as much as he could, and grabbing at her hands frantically, trying to push them away or still them. Buffy had Spike’s hard shaft held firmly in her hand, trying to hold him still and guide him into her opening.

“I am not familiar with this form of combat,” the Bot stated, studying them as they wrestled and grappled wildly on the floor.

“Bloody hell! Just grab her and get her the fuck off me ‘fore she does something we’ll all regret and rips my dangly bits off!”

The Bot nodded sharply, stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around Buffy’s upper-arms and torso. When Buffy's hands let go of Spike and she began trying to pry free from the Bot's grip, the robot lifted her twin straight up off Spike. Buffy kicked and screamed wildly as she was pulled off, smashing Spike in the chin with one foot before he could scramble away.

Spike crawled to the door of the bedroom, leaning his back against it and wiping the blood from his mouth where Buffy had kicked him as he watched Buffy struggle against the Bot.



“Spike! No leave! Please! Make baby! Spike sex Buffy,” she continued to rant as she flailed her legs and head, trying to wrench free of the Bot’s grasp.

“Can ya hold ‘er?” Spike asked, gasping for unneeded air as he tried to pull his jeans back up over his butt.

“Yes. As per specifications, I was created to withstand the force of a ‘freight-train slamming into me repeatedly.’”

At just that moment, however, Buffy, now covered in perspiration that turned her into something like a thrashing, greased-eel, wriggled free of the Bot’s grasp.

“Bloody hell!” Spike exclaimed as she started for him again. He yanked the door open and scrambled out into the sitting room and up to his feet, pulling the door closed with both hands just as he heard Buffy hit it and the Bot hit her.

“Uhhhh … is everything alright?” the young man asked from where he waited next to the room service cart.



Spike spun around, eyes wide in shocked-surprise. “Uhhh … yeah. Just a slap and a tickle…” he explained quickly, pulling his jeans up the rest of the way and tucking himself into them as much as he could with the broken zipper.

He fastened his belt back – at least she hadn’t broken that – so he wouldn’t have to hold his jeans up like a git. The broken zipper gaped open and Spike readjusted himself so nothing would … peek out. Blood began to drip down his leg and soak into the carpet at Spike's feet. He turned slightly to the side to hide it from the room service waiter.

“Did you … need some help with them?” the young man offered, eyeing the door as sounds that could be a struggle … or something much more pleasant, continued to stream from behind it. “Sounds like they could be … more than one man can handle.”

Spike growled slightly at the man’s implication, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Handle ‘em fine, I do. What the bloody hell are you still doin’ here?”

The young man held his hands up in a placating gesture. “The hot blonde told me to wait for my tip,” he explained.

Spike sighed. “Right. 'Ere,” he said, pulling another chip out of his pocket and tossing it to the waiter.

When a particularly wild, almost blood-curdling scream came from the bedroom, the young man hesitated. “You’re sure…” he began, eyeing the door hopefully.

“Anyone touches my women won’t live t’ see the bloody dawn,” Spike warned, a snarl on his lips.



The young man held his hands up again in surrender and headed for the door. When it closed behind him, Spike slumped, hands resting heavily on his knees, and closed his eyes. “Most likely includin’ me,” he added dryly.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear (I Need) Ooh, la, la, la, la by Goldfrapp  on YouTube  }}

Dial up my number now
Weaving it through the wire

Switch me on
Turn me up
Don't want it Baudelaire
Just glitter lust
Switch me on
Turn me up
I want to touch you
You're just made for love

I need la la la la la la
I need ooh la la la la
I need la la la la la la
I need ooh la la la la

Coils up and round me
Teasing your poetry
Switch me on
Turn me up
Oh child of Venus
You're just made for love

I need la la la la la la
I need ooh la la la la
I need la la la la la la
I need ooh la la la la.

I need la la la la la la
I need ooh la la la la
I need la la la la la la
I need ooh la la la la.

You know I walk for days
I wanna waste some time
You wanna be so mean
You know I love to watch

I wanna love some more
It'll never be the same
A broken heel like a heart
I'll never walk again

YEAH!

I need la la la la la la
I need ooh la la la la
I need la la la la la la
I need ooh la la la la
Chapter End Notes:
Ok, I know the one photo near the top of Spike with Buffy was really BuffyBot in canon. (the one with the pink quilt . Why did Spike have a PINK quilt? Was it originally Harm's? Or did he get it 'cos it went well with Buffy's skin tone .. or HIS skin tone?) There are just so few (as in NONE) of Spike and Buffy together like that so ... work with me, folks.

UH-OH ... has Buffy let the cat out of the bag about a baby?? How will this go over once she's sane again? We'll see next!

Will Spike ever be able to get her to watch the 'nature show' Monty Python? That could take a while...
Make the World Go Away, Part 1 by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Too long for once chapter - posted in two parts. Thanks to YOU for reading and super-duper hugs to everyone who takes the time to drop me notes! I love them! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.


“Spike?” Buffy called, her voice rough from sleep. She tried to look around and figure out where she was, but the room around her was dark and someone warm – definitely not Spike – was holding her in place on the bed.

“Spike?” she tried again louder as she tried to pry the arm off from around her torso that was holding her prisoner.
 
“Spike went down to get more of those pretty plastic discs,” the Bot told Buffy cheerfully.

Buffy started at the loud voice so near her ear. “And you’re all wrapped around me like a boa constrictor around a … whatever boa constrictors eat … why exactly?” Buffy protested, pulling harder on the Bot’s arm to no avail.

Buffy and the Bot were both lying on the bed on their sides with the Bot behind Buffy. BuffyBot had her arms wrapped around Buffy’s upper arms and torso, and her legs twined around Buffy’s legs, holding the Slayer’s back securely against the Bot’s front.

“He said I should keep you immobile until he got back. Boa constrictors eat a wide variety of food. Young snakes eat rats, small birds, lizards, and frogs. Adults will eat monkeys, capybaras, caimans, and wild pigs,” the Bot offered helpfully.

“Great … I’m a rat … again,” Buffy groaned. “And just why would I need to be kept immobile?”

“You were trying to rip off Spike’s dangly bits. He was quite upset. Based on his reaction, I’ve surmised that he’s rather fond of them,” the Bot told her.

Buffy couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her throat. “His 'dangly bits'?” she repeated incredulously. “Why would I do that?”

“You attempted to copulate with him. He was unwilling,” the Bot answered.

The humor of the situation died on Buffy's lips. “I … did I hurt him?” she asked the Bot as she stopped pulling against the robot’s limbs.



“He sustained no serious injuries, although his chip fired several times as he tried to restrain you and defend his delicate, and quite impressive, reproductive organs.”

“Oh my God,” Buffy moaned, not certain whether to be mortified, horrified, or terrified by what she’d apparently done when she wasn’t in control.

“You … got me off him?” Buffy asked the Bot.

“Yes. I’m the Slayer. I’m quite strong and have many combat skills. Spike said that your mind was in disarray, otherwise I would not have so easily subdued you. But, I’m not certain if that is true. I’m very capable. And I have excellent quips.”



Buffy closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “Bot, promise me something. Promise to always protect Spike … from me, from anyone, okay? He’s got that chip and it makes him … vulnerable.”

“You have already directed me to do that. Is your memory faulty? The night you stabbed the knife into your arms and everyone started screaming. That directive has not been countermanded.”

“Right. I forgot,” Buffy agreed.

“Spike is probably right. Perhaps you are ‘off your gourd’.”

Buffy snorted and closed her eyes, relaxing in the Bot’s protective, and fairly immovable, embrace. “I am undoubtedly ‘off my gourd’.”

**~**

Buffy awoke later when something tickled her nostrils and some indistinct aroma made her stomach rumble in reply. She tried to reach up and rub at her nose to get the tickling sensation to stop, but her arms were still pinned to her sides. She blinked her eyes open to find Spike crouched down on his heels in front of her, waving a French fry under her nose like smelling-salts.



“There you are, Slayer,” Spike commented affably, giving her a little smile as if she hadn’t tried to rape him, presuming what the Bot had told her was true. “Got your favorite,” he continued, still waving the French fry around like a sword in front of her face. “Chips and a chocolate milkshake.”

“Sounds really healthy,” Buffy commented, her voice raspy from sleep. “And I told you before, I’m not the Slayer.”

“I’m the Slayer. I fight with weapons,” the Bot offered from behind Buffy.

Buffy quirked a brow at Spike. “See? She’s the Slayer, not me. I officially relinquish my title to her.”

Her? Not it?” Spike questioned, his brow furrowed, surprised by the use of the pronoun.

Buffy shrugged one shoulder – all she could move. “She’s alright, I guess ...” Buffy admitted. “A bit literal, but … at least she’s brutally honest.”

“Buffy?” Spike questioned, tilting his head to consider her more carefully. “You back, luv?”

Buffy closed her eyes and nodded. “Yeah … I guess.”

“Don’t feel any uncontrollable urge t’ … rip my clothes off, do ya?” he asked, a slight teasing tone to his words.



Him making light of what she’d done stabbed an icicle of guilt into Buffy’s stomach and tears welled behind her lids. “I’m sorry…” she murmured, the sound barely audible even to Spike’s ears.

“No worries, pet. Been wishing you’d rip m’ clothes off for a good while now. Bloody pathetic that when ya finally did, I wouldn’t let ya,” he replied as he stood up and touched the Bot’s arm. “Let ‘er go,” he said to the newly-appointed Slayer.

Buffy rubbed at her numb arms when the Bot released the hold she’d had on her, and sat up slowly on the edge of the bed. “From what the Bot tells me, you needed help fending me off,” Buffy countered.

“Bot’s got a big bloody mouth,” Spike spat, looking at the robot who moved to sit next to Buffy.

“My mouth was created to precise specifications,” the BuffyBot protested, then opened her mouth as wide as it would go to demonstrate. “Uh iau ooo ook eeg?” she asked with her mouth still fully open.

“No – it’s not too big,” Buffy answered her. “It’s just right. You can close it now.”

Spike looked at Buffy with disbelief. “You understood that gibberish?”

Buffy shrugged. “It’s what I would’ve asked.”

“Bloody scary, that is Sl...ummers,” Spike stuttered.

Buffy stopped rubbing her arms and looked up at him gravely. “I’m so sorry … I don’t know why I … I just … I’m sorry.”



“Least ya didn’t break m’ nose this time, pet,” he excused with a casual wave of the French fry still in his hand.

Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head. If he’d done that to her, could she have been so cavalier and forgiving about it? Even if she was out of her mind with grief and guilt, she couldn’t let that happen again. She’d have to talk to the Bot later, set up some kind of signal when Buffy felt the … madness coming on, so the Bot could restrain her. Madness. The word sent shivers down Buffy’s spine, but it was the only word that fit. She was going – or had gone – mad.

“Peckish?” Spike asked, breaking into Buffy’s train of thought.

Buffy looked up at him. “No, this is America – I’m hungry,” she retorted, choosing to go along with his casual dismissal of her behavior, at least for now.

“Bloody Yanks. Got perfectly good words from the mother country, but you gotta go mucking about with the language. Can’t ever leave well enough alone, can ya?” Spike taunted.

“I’m pretty sure hungry isn’t a new word we just invented over here,” Buffy argued as she stood up and grabbed the French fry from his hand.

“I grew up being ‘peckish’ – it’s bloody well not new either,” Spike shot back.

“I bet ‘hungry’ is older than ‘peckish’,” Buffy retorted as she shoved the fry into her mouth.



“Right – what’s the wager? I got fifty bucks says I’m right,” Spike challenged, pulling a chip out of his pocket. “What ‘ave you got, Summers?”

Buffy frowned – she didn’t have any money. “Can I … borrow…”

“Pffft!” Spike snorted, cutting her off before she could even get the words out. “If ya can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch, luv.”

“I can run with the biggest dogs … wolves … werewolves even!” Buffy objected with a pout. “I just don’t have any money,” she added petulantly.

“I bet you don’t let anyone borrow money in Monopoly, either,” she griped.

“Not a bloody chance,” Spike confirmed. “Pay up or go broke – that’s the way ya win, luv.”

Buffy frowned at him, thinking. “We could bet something else!” she offered, brightening. “I bet you … a massage.”

Spike’s brows quirked up, as did his libido, but he repressed the ‘I got ya now’ smirk that reached for his lips. “Full body… head t’ toe.”

Buffy nodded.

“With oil,” he added.

Buffy twisted her mouth suspiciously, but then nodded.

Spike stuck his right hand out to shake on it. Buffy spit on her palm, then reached for his outstretched hand. Spike drew his hand back out of her reach with vampire speed, making a disgusted face.



"Oi! Don't want your crazy-cooties, Summers," he objected.

"My crazy isn't catching! Geez, Spike – never knew you were so ... prissy! I'll bet you wouldn't complain if it was blood."

"'Course not – that's different, innit?" Spike agreed with a derisive sniff.

"You are so ... " Despite several descriptive words jumping to mind, Buffy shook her head and sighed, not voicing any of them.

She wiped her hand off on her jeans and offered it to him again. They shook once, both trying to break the other’s fingers, but neither succeeding in even making the other wince.

“Sooo … how do we find out now? Normally, I’d ask Giles or Willow…” Buffy let her voice trail off, a hint of sadness sneaking into her mood. She’d almost forgotten; bickering with Spike felt so natural and normal, she’d almost forgotten that things were not normal anymore.

"Bot – reckon you got a dictionary or two crammed in that lovely noggin o’ yours, yeah?” Spike asked, looking at the BuffyBot.

She nodded. “As well as the entire Wikipedia database, the National Archives, the Library of Congress, the…”



“Right – reckon a plain, ole dictionary will do. Need the origins of the words ‘hungry’ and ‘peckish’.”

The Bot ‘went away’ for a moment, then smiled widely, re-focusing on her companions. “Peckish: Adjective. Chiefly British. Feeling slightly hungry; having an appetite. Origin circa 1785. From ‘peck’: a measure of quantity, eight quarts.”

“Oh! Like ‘pick a peck of pickled peppers!’” Buffy interjected brightly. “I never knew what that meant before.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Bloody genius you are, pet.”

Buffy stuck her tongue out at him as she scrunched up her face like a fifth-grader who couldn’t think of suitable a retort to a jibe.

“Do mine,” Buffy encouraged the Bot. “'Hungry'.”

The Bot nodded. “Hungry: Adjective. Having a desire, craving, or need for food. Origin before 950; Middle English, Old English.”

Buffy squealed in delight, clapped her hands, and began sing-songing, “Na-na-na-na-na-naaa,” in a very mature and dignified manner. “♫ You owe me a massa-aage ♫,” she continued in the same sing-song tune as her ‘na-na-na’ chant.

Spike bit back a grin of victory, dropping his head in a bow to concede to her and hide his delight. “Bloody beginner’s luck,” he ground out, sounding dejected as a feeling of elation at the thought of running his hands over her body danced in his mind.

“If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch,” Buffy mocked him as she headed off for the bathroom. “And … could you order me a burger to go with those fries? I’m totally peckified…”

Spike snorted and rolled his eyes as he headed for the phone. “Bloody Yanks, got no respect,” he muttered, loud enough for her to hear.

**~**

After Buffy ate less than a quarter of what turned out to be the largest hamburger she’d ever seen – easily eighteen or twenty ounces worth – she settled onto a comfortable sofa on the balcony of their suite while Spike got a shower. He’d been in the casino all day while she’d been sleeping, and he practically reeked of cigarettes and whiskey, as well as a cacophony of perfumes and other odors which had settled on him from other patrons. Not that the aroma of smoke and whiskey was all that unusual on Spike, but the sheer volume of it, combined with the mishmash of every designer fragrance known to man, was a bit overwhelming, even for Buffy’s un-bloodhound-y sense of smell. Spike could just stop breathing; she didn't have that luxury. 

As she sat in the cool night air listening to the sounds of the always-thrumming metropolis below, her mind darted from one thought to another like a hummingbird would flit from flower to flower, rarely settling on one very long. She thought that perhaps it was trying to make up for lost time, trying to think all the thoughts she needed to think while it had the chance – before she lost the ability again.

While her mind jumped from thought to thought, her emotions were jerked along for the ride. Guilt and shame over attacking Spike morphed into worry that her mind would never be stable enough to allow her to properly raise a child. Then guilt came back once again as she thought about Dawn needing her to do just that. Then anger bloomed in her chest – anger at the monks for putting her in this untenable situation in the first place. They couldn’t have turned the Key into a grain of sand or a rock on the bottom of the ocean? I mean … seriously? Glory could’ve never found it, and Buffy wouldn’t be sitting here feeling … feeling … overwhelmed. What the hell were they thinking?!

And just how did Spike get to smelling so strongly of perfume? Smoke and whiskey – yeah, ok … he smoked and he drank. Just how many women had been rubbing all over him today to get him smelling like a two-bit hooker at Mardi Gras? Jealous fury burst forth out of the tumult of emotions inside Buffy and she began to seethe as she imagined all the skanks that must’ve been hanging all over him – or worse. She could see him turning on that boyish charm – she’d seen him do it before – smiling at them, pouring that stupid, cheesy Cockney accent all over them, calling them ‘pet’ and ‘luv’ and …

“That better then, pet?” Spike asked as he stepped onto the balcony, fresh from the shower. He had on a pair of jeans, but was barefoot and shirtless. His platinum hair was still damp and clung in soft curls to his head.

Buffy scowled at him. “Don’t call me ‘pet’,” she snarled. She pulled her legs up against her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and made herself very small.



Spike gawped at her a moment, gobsmacked, then sat down next to her.

Buffy scooted away from him, pressing herself against the arm of the couch, and continued to shoot daggers from her eyes in his direction.

“Buffy?” he asked with concern. “You with me, luv?”

“Don’t call me ‘luv’ either,” she shot back. “Save all those cute little names for your … stinky, perfume-counter, body-rubbing, skank-hos.”

Clearly Buffy was still with him – she was talking in full sentences, even if she wasn’t making a lot of sense. “Ummm … not quite following. Care t’ share with the class, Summers?”

“I’m not an idiot, Spike,” Buffy continued angrily. “You come in smelling like a perfume factory exploded all over you; it’s really not hard to figure out.”

Spike pursed his lips and watched her a moment, then his lips quirked into a smirk. “You’re jealous,” he accused.

“I am not! There’s nothing to be jealous of. It’s not like we’re … or you’re … or … I’m …” she stuttered. Buffy waved a diffident hand in the air and looked away from his blue eyes, which glittered with amusement. “I’m not jealous,” she repeated firmly, looking out at the city lights.

Spike barked out a self-satisfied laugh, sat back on the couch, and hooked his thumbs over his belt buckle. His legs fell wide in a casual sprawl as he leaned his head back and looked up at the star-less sky. He couldn’t keep the goofy grin from quirking his lips. The bloody Slayer is jealous.



“You don’t have to rub it in my face,” Buffy ground out, trying to still sound angry, but she cringed at the needy whine that snuck into her tone.

Spike pursed his lips and sat forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs so he could look her in the face. “You’re bloody daft at times, Sl...” He stopped. “Running outta things t’ call you, kitten.”

Buffy snorted, still not looking at him. “What’s the matter? Don’t have any cute names for stupid, crazy women?” she shot back tersely.

“Buffy, you’re forgettin’ one thing,” Spike said softly.



“Yeah, what’s that?” Buffy wondered, finally turning her angry eyes back to his.

“I love you.” Spike held his breath. The words were out of his mouth before he thought about what they might do to her. The last time he’d said them it had sent her scurrying back into her shell of madness.

Buffy was silent a moment, her eyes locked onto his. Then her lids fell closed, trying to contain her raging emotions. “Maybe you shouldn’t,” she said at last, her voice low and sad.

Spike sighed in relief – she hadn’t retreated. “No ‘maybe’ about it … but I do anyway,” he replied gently. He reached out and laid a hand over her arm where she had it wrapped around her legs. “Buffy, there’s no one else I want, luv. You’re the only one I see – the only woman in the world.”

Buffy opened her eyes and looked into the depths of his bluer-than-blue eyes and once again she felt guilt surge in her for her plan to use him to save Dawn. Perhaps she should just tell him. He loved Dawn, he may be perfectly fine with it. But what if he wasn’t? Could she chance Dawn’s soul?

“I’m sorry,” she murmured – apologizing for more than Spike could possibly realize. “For everything. I’m just …” Buffy waved a hand vaguely in front of her face. “… I just get overwhelmed with stuff when I can finally think and … let my mind start long-jumping to world-record-setting conclusions.”

“‘S alright, luv,” Spike assured her as he moved his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him.

Buffy relaxed her posture and tucked her legs to the side as she leaned against his bare chest, resting her head on his strong shoulder. One hand casually came to rest on his jean-clad thigh.

Sparks danced up Spike’s leg and settled into a tingling need in his core. He stifled a groan and pushed the desire down, at least momentarily. There was one thing he really needed to talk to her about while she was lucid … or as lucid as Buffy got these days.

“Need t’ ask you something, Sla… Buffy,” he began. He’d never be able to stop calling her ‘Slayer’ – never.

“Sure,” Buffy replied as her fingers began drawing idle circles on the denim covering his thigh. Spike fought to ignore it – she wasn't gonna make this easy.

“Do you … What I mean is …” Spike stammered a bit, suddenly a bit unsure of how to ask his question. Finally, he settled on, “You do know that vampires can’t make … babies, yeah?”

Buffy tensed a moment, her hand stilling, as her mind raced to figure out what he was talking about. Did he know? Surely not. How could he know? She forced herself to relax again and replied casually, “I know. And you don’t carry diseases either – there’s nothing for them to live on. So, if this is about ‘safe sex’ … I get it: You aren’t spending money on condoms.”

Spike snorted. “Who talks t’ Slayers about ‘safe sex’ with vampires? Your Watcher or your mum?”

Buffy flushed. “You really don’t want me to answer that question.”

It was Spike’s turn to tense up. “Angelus,” he practically snarled. Buffy shrugged against him. Spike blew out a breath and recomposed himself before pressing on. “Not really what I was getting at, anyway,” he admitted.

“Is havin’ babies something you … want?” he continued cautiously. If she wanted a family, it would tear his heart out. That was one thing he could never give her. He could give her his love, give her his heart, his mind, his body, but he could never give her a family.

“Why are you asking?” Buffy wondered, still trying to sound casual although she was suddenly worried again.



“Well … ‘cos when you were … errr … That is – the other day, you said something ‘bout making a baby. Didn’t know if that was … a metaphor or…” Spike let his voice trail off, shrugging.

Buffy cringed inside but tried not to let it show. Crazy-Buffy had a big mouth.

“I … uhhh … never really thought about it much,” Buffy replied fairly truthfully. She’d never allowed herself to think about it. Slayers didn’t live long enough to have families – there was no sense thinking about it. She honestly had dismissed the idea of babies long, long ago.

“Having a baby’s never been really high on my priority list,” Buffy concluded. “Never figured it was in the cards for me.” Until recently, she added silently. “You know, being all Chosen and doomed.

“What about you? If you could, I mean … make a baby. Would you … want to?” she asked cautiously. She held her breath, awaiting his reply. Please say 'yes'.

“Me? A father?” Spike scoffed, snorting derisively. “Changing nappies and get spit-up on, right sexy that’d be. Not good for Big Bad’s image, that.”

“There’s more to babies than yucky stuff,” Buffy pointed out, hopefully. “And they do grow out of it.”

Please, Spike ... please say you wish you could have a family...

“Yeah – PTA meetings would be a slap and a tickle, I reckon. Little League could be a bit dodgy … what with the sun and all. No, don’t reckon ole Spike’s cut out t’ be a da. Probably a right good reason vampires can’t make bits – not in our nature – ya, know, evil and all,” Spike finished, sounding resolutely disgusted by the idea.

He hoped he sounded as confident and resolute as Buffy had about not wanting a family. He was relieved that it had just been some kind of metaphor the subconscious, fugue-state Buffy had used for sex. But, at the same time, it hurt a little deep down knowing that he’d never see her glowing with the joy of pregnancy; never see her body grow with a life that they’d created together, never feel the love of his own child – that unconditional, rock-solid love that only a child can give a parent.

Buffy nodded her agreement, despite her heart collapsing in upon itself. She was glad now that she hadn’t told him about Dawn’s soul. He didn’t want kids – not in his nature. “Yeah – we’re just not … cut out for parenthood,” she agreed after a moment, hoping she sounded as confident as he had about it. She sighed inwardly, this mission was gonna all be on her shoulders.



**~**


Chapter End Notes:
Continued ....
Make the World Go Away, Part 2 by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
This is a continuation of the previous chapter. Had to break up 'cos too long for one posting. Be sure to read the first part first...

Hope you like!!
Buffy moaned in pleasure as Spike worked the warming oil into the muscles of her back later that night. The whole bedroom smelled of rich vanilla beans – as did her skin. Her mind and body rejoiced in the sensation of his hands gliding over her as the oil heated her right to the bone. Was it actually the oil doing that or Spike’s hands on her body? She let her mind drift away, trying to not over-think it. Whether it was his hands, or the oil, or a combination of the two making her flesh heat right down to the core, it didn’t matter. It was heaven.

“You’re hired…” Buffy groaned into her pillow as she lay on her stomach, boneless beneath him.

Spike grinned from where he straddled her legs as he massaged her back. “What’s it pay, luv?” he teased as he kneaded her muscles into jelly.



“Mmmm … All the gold in my kingdom,” Buffy replied.

Spike stopped a moment and snorted. “You don’t ‘ave any gold … or a kingdom, for that matter,” he pointed out.

“Oh,” she deadpanned. “Double it then.”

Spike laughed and went back to work, moving his hands lower down her back, savoring the curves of her body under his palms. Spike had been surprised when she’d emerged from the shower in just a towel and announced that she was ready to collect the massage he owed her. He was still in his jeans and he’d kept them on, not sure where Buffy’s mind was at … or where she’d be five minutes from now.



He’d heard a song once that said that, to women, sometimes a backrub was only a backrub. He’d learned some good lessons from songs in the past, so he heeded that advice. Therefore, he wasn’t sure if she just wanted a massage or if she had more on her mind. She’d been ready for more the other day until Angel stuck his bloody nose in and mucked it up, but then she’d ‘gone away’ and … and basically tried to rape him. Looking back, maybe he should've let her – it might've been his only shot. He sighed. No, he'd had a taste of actual affection from her and it had given him hope that she could actually love him one day. It was a long shot, he knew ... but long shots did win once in a while.

He used to feel like he could read her fairly well, but with her mind so scattered now, he was lost. He didn’t want to push her into anything she wasn’t ready for. On the other hand, he wanted her so badly it was a physical pain in his heart … and lower. It was driving him mad being this close to her and not taking it further. He allowed his hands to roam to her hips, then her bare bum, and waited to see if she objected. Buffy didn’t. He leaned down and began dropping soft kisses on the slick, vanilla-flavored skin of her back, tracing a line down her spine with his lips.

Buffy moaned in approval when Spike’s lips set the oil on her back on (metaphorical) fire. Flames tingled across her skin everywhere his lips touched her, building the heat up inside her until a bonfire raged. The heat burned away the mist of guilt and loneliness that had been her constant companion for too many weeks, like the noon-day sun would burn the morning fog from a mountain lake. Even when she’d managed to shed the crimson shroud of failure from her mind, the feeling of being utterly alone and of having failed Dawn never quite left her heart. Until now.

The feel of him, of his desire and his adoration, pushed everything else from her mind and heart. It was, she realized, why she’d retreated back to her ‘crazy-place’ that night after he’d taken her to heaven in the shower at the Paradise Lost. She’d allowed herself to forget for those few minutes – allowed herself happiness and pleasure when all she should be feeling was guilt and shame. It had slammed back into her like a freight train, putting her back in her proper place. She had no right to be happy, to be feeling the things he could make her feel, not after what she’d done, how she’d failed.

But right now it felt so good, so freeing. It felt like an oasis after trudging across sun-baked, desert sands for a month. It felt like that first gulp of air after your head broke the surface of the water after being held under for far too long. It felt like a warm, crackling fire in the middle of winter; a half-frozen glass of lemonade in the summer. It felt like an ocean breeze, a snowflake, a raindrop, a sunbeam after being too long in the dark, and she longed to feel those things again. She longed to feel hope, to feel not-alone, to feel wanted and loved and forgiven.

Buffy gasped and stiffened when Spike’s fingers slid between her butt cheeks and feathered over the sensitive skin there. Spike pulled them away and began massaging the round globes of her ass as he slid to one side of her legs and urged them apart with one knee. Buffy complied, relaxing again as he moved between her legs. He slid his hands back up her body, leaning forward as he did until his mouth was near her ear.

“Trust me, luv,” he whispered against her ear, his breath a cool breeze against her heated skin. “Just relax, won’t hurt ya.”
 
“I’ve never … ummm … done anything … there,” Buffy stammered, flushing with embarrassment.

“I have,” he assured her, his voice a deep, rich caress. “Trust me, Buffy, not gonna hurt you. Just relax and let me make you feel good, pet.”

Buffy shivered with a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and a hint of fear, but she nodded and forced her body to relax. It occurred to her, with no small amount of irony to the revelation, that she could trust this soulless vampire perhaps more than anyone else in the entire world. Back in Sunnydale, she had put more and more trust in him as the skirmishes with Glory had escalated, and he’d rightfully earned higher levels of trust with each passing week. She once again began to wonder if she should trust him with the mission her mother had given her. Maybe she could counter his objections, make him see that it could be of the good... Then Spike’s fingers once again parted her firm cheeks and all coherent thought evaporated in the heat of the moment.

Something cool and wet trailed down from her tailbone and delved between the mounds of flesh of her ass. Buffy realized with a start that it was his tongue and he was … Oh God! Buffy’s body jerked when the tip of his tongue circled her puckered hole, teasing the sensitive skin there with gentle flicks and licks. Those tingling flames burst back into life in her core and her whole body seemed to throb in time to his teasing touches.

“Like that, pet?” Spike murmured against her skin.

“God, Spike … yes,” Buffy moaned into the pillow beneath her head. She'd never had anyone do anything there, let alone what Spike was doing. Was that a vampire thing, or a Spike thing? Her heart-rate skittered excitedly and her breathing became shallow and erratic in anticipation of just what Spike would do next.

Spike lifted her hips up off the bed just a couple of inches until she was supported on her widely-spread knees and chest. He slid a finger down from her crack, over her taint to her glistening pussy. He moaned in pleasure when his finger was coated with her slick juices.

"So wet, you are," he murmured reverently.

Buffy let out a whimper as he teased her opening, sliding just the tip of one finger inside her, then pulling back out.

“Killing me…” Buffy groaned, as she arched her back, lifting her ass higher in the air to give him better access.

“It’s what I do, luv,” Spike replied in a rumbling basso as he settled onto his stomach and elbows between her legs and covered her throbbing hole with his mouth.

Buffy screamed out when he sucked down and slid his tongue into her at the same time. Her hips bucked back against him, then began grinding against his mouth as his fingers began circling her clit. His hand, tongue, and lips seemed to know exactly how to touch her – how hard and how fast to move against her heated flesh to send her over the edge. The world suddenly fell away as he made love to her in a way she’d never experienced before. She fell through space and time, letting every thought, every worry, every emotion except exultant joy slip away as meaningless. Her body bucked against him of its own accord, demanding more. Spike was more than happy to give it to her.

He slid his tongue back up over her taint and began to tease her ass again. Spike’s thumb dipped into her pussy, allowing his forefinger to continue its teasing-torture of her clit. At the new sensation, Buffy felt herself floating higher as her body shuddered and tensed beneath Spike’s ministrations. The orgasm reformed, the second building upon the foundation of the first, and propelled her so far away from the crushing weight of guilt that she couldn’t even remember the meaning of the word.

Her mind blanked, filled with nothing but brilliant fireworks of rapture. She floated, weightless in the inky-blackness, surrounded only by the colorful, glowing sparks which tingled over her skin in a cascade of bliss. Suddenly there was another explosion, and she was hurtled even higher as Spike increased the tempo and ferocity of the thrusts into her sweet quim. White hot sparks engulfed her as the next wave of rapture washed over her body.

She heard someone screaming out and realized it was her. The feelings building up inside her were more than she could contain without exploding – she had to let them out.

As Buffy’s scream of orgasmic bliss slowly died and she began gasping for oxygen, Spike slowed his thrusts into her and changed back to teasing touches around her clit. He lifted up and began dropping kisses on her lower back and the firm globes of her ass as he gently lowered her back from heaven to earth.
 
Buffy’s thighs trembled and she collapsed onto her stomach when gravity finally kicked in again, pulling away from Spike. Her whole body buzzed in the afterglow of traveling through the heavens. She’d never felt anything like that before; not with Angel, or Riley, and certainly not with poop-head Parker. It was the second time Spike had been the giver – and wow did he know how to give.

Buffy turned over onto her side so she could look down and see Spike. He was sitting back on his heels now, still between her legs, so she had to pull one leg up to get it past him. He seemed to be as dazed as she was, his eyes unfocused with a small smile on his face.

Buffy reached an arm out toward him and his eyes finally tracked up to hers. She beckoned him to her and he slowly crawled up the bed and settled next to her, lying on his side facing her. Buffy laid a hand on his shoulder and gently pulled him closer as she touched her lips to his. He still tasted of cigarettes and whiskey, but the perfume that was on him now was all hers. Her sex. Her essence. Buffy pressed her tongue against his lips, gently requesting entry, and Spike welcomed her into his mouth with a small moan. Within a moment, his arms were around her, pressing her bare chest against his, and the kiss had become a desperate struggle, each giving as much as they took.



When Buffy pulled back to breathe, she rested her forehead against his, not wanting to break the contact any more than necessary.

“So beautiful you are, pet. Dreamt o’ this … can’t tell you how often,” he murmured to her as his hands roamed over her back and sides, taking in every curve, every heaving rise of her body as she panted for air.

“Did your dreams usually involve you still dressed?” Buffy wondered as her hands skimmed down his body only to be thwarted by his jeans.

Spike smirked. “Not as a general rule … no,” he admitted.

“So … why are you now?” Buffy asked as she fumbled for the button at the front of his jeans.

Spike reached between them and stilled her hand a moment. She pulled back a bit so she could look into his eyes. “Want to make sure you want this, Buffy. You. Not … Barmy-Buffy – but you.”

Buffy bit her bottom lip and nodded. Tears swam in her eyes, but she blinked them back quickly. “I’m here, Spike, and I want this,” she assured him. Buffy leaned in and kissed him softly. “What you’ve done for me is real,” she said when the kiss broke. “I believe you when you say you love me … you’ve shown me that it’s possible, soul or not.”

Buffy dropped her gaze from his eyes. Spike waited, unbreathing, unmoving, hope blooming in his chest. He longed for the words she didn’t say; longed for her to give him what he knew she’d given others. Why was he undeserving of her love when she could give it to Peaches and Captain Cardboard?

‘Cos ya got no soul, came the silent, painful answer. She could believe his emotions were real, but not reciprocate. His stomach coiled into knots – he may finally have her body, perhaps even her trust, but would he ever have her heart? Would she ever give him the one thing he’d searched for all his life: undying love? He’d thought he’d found it with Dru, but he’d been wrong. Dru wasn’t capable of giving back the same love that he’d showered on her – ever faithful, ever adoring.  Perhaps Buffy wasn’t either. His heart ached at the notion.

Buffy was his equal in every way. She was the point to his counterpoint, the wit to his charm, the good to his evil, the soft to his hard, the warm to his cool, the light to his dark, the sun to his moon. She met his every strike with a perfect parry, anticipated every feint, and gave back as good as she got. Surely her heart was just as capable of love as his was. Surely.

Finally, when she didn’t say any more, he curled a finger under her chin and lifted her eyes back up to his. He didn’t want to beg her for the words – for the feeling – but his eyes, as always, betrayed his emotions.

She gave him a sad smile, reading his expression like the open book that it was. He was asking too much. He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she’d have to leave him soon. He didn’t know that she didn’t have enough pieces of her broken and battered heart left to leave a part of it with him. She couldn’t bear it; couldn’t bear her heart being ripped apart again. Even now, with Slayer-hood renounced, the mission always came first. It was, she realized, her destiny, her curse. She wasn’t meant for love – it had never been part of the Slayer package anyway. She knew that now. Her life was not her own, perhaps it never had been.

“I … I need you. I trust you. You’re … in my heart – I care for you. That’s all I have to give. I … don’t know if it’s enough.”

Spike closed his eyes against the pain in his chest where a dagger had been stabbed in and twisted.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy blurted out quickly. “I … maybe one day things will be different,” she continued, the words sailing past her lips without thought. Why? Why had she said that? Why give him false hope? Bad Buffy!  

“Spike, I’m barely hanging on here,” she continued truthfully. “Insano-Buffy could come back any minute. I never know when … I can’t seem to stop it. But you … you make me feel safe. I know I can count on you and, really, that’s so much more than I can say about anyone else in the world right now. I care about you … I care for you.”

That was better, she decided. That was all true. No false hope in those words. No promise of a tomorrow that will never come for them.

Spike opened his eyes and met hers. Unshed tears made the blue seem brighter as they shimmered in the low light of the room. Buffy felt the mist of guilt rise in her again. Good job, Buffy. Why don’t you just stake him instead of dragging his heart through the mud? Great way to repay all he’s done for you.

“I reckon that ‘maybe one day’ is better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, yeah?” Spike offered, trying to sound cocky and indifferent. It didn’t really work. He gently pressed a lock of her hair back from her face, letting it fall over her shoulder, his eyes giving away the longing his words denied.

 “I do love you. I’ll always love you, Buffy. I can live with being in your heart … for now,” he admitted softly, his adulating eyes locked onto hers.

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her guilt building. She shouldn’t have said that to him; should not have given him that empty promise. “I’m sorry that I don’t have more to give you.”

Spike nodded – afraid if he spoke, his voice would give away his hurt and disappointment. He endeavored to look assuring, as if that was fine, as if he didn’t need anything more, but he had to wonder if she’d be giving this same speech to the Magnificent Poof … or even Soldier Boy if one of them were in his place right now. He tried not to dwell on it too long, tried not to let the disappointment and hurt and jealously show in his eyes. He tried to assure himself that being ‘in her heart’ was at least in the same zip code as being ‘in love’. It was closer than he’d ever been before; closer than he’d ever hoped to get; possibly closer than he deserved – but he wanted more. The small taste of trust and affection she’d given him had only been enough to whet his appetite. He wanted all of her: mind, body, spirit, heart, and soul – and he wanted it forever. Long shot. Spike had played long shots before and won. This race wasn't over yet. He could still win Buffy's love, he assured himself.

Buffy couldn’t take the silence that had fallen over them another second. She was afraid she’d start talking to fill it, and more empty, unwise promises would rattle from her mouth unbidden. Action now was better than words, she concluded. Words were not her friend; she’d always been better at action.

Buffy pressed a palm against his top shoulder and rolled Spike onto his back, following him over. She straddled his stomach and leaned down over him, her hair falling in a golden veil around their faces as she kissed him. Buffy’s hands roamed over his strong chest, shoulders, and upper arms as their lips nibbled on the other, tasting and teasing.



His hands came up to glide over her body, finding her swaying breasts and cupping them gently in his hands as a tremulous breath escaped his lips. Spike’s thumbs ghosted over her nipples, and they responded immediately, puckering into hard pebbles. Chill-bumps flowed out from his touch, covering the curve of her breasts in the process. Buffy moaned against his lips, her hips grinding slow circles against his hardness as he fanned the fires within her again.

“God, Spike … need you, baby,” Buffy mumbled against his mouth as her desire blossomed back into a burning need, empty promises temporarily forgotten.

 

Spike’s eyes flashed wide and he hesitated with the endearment, momentarily frozen in place. He took a mental snapshot of this moment, locking the memory into his mind forever. Baby. A shiver ran down his spine. Baby. In the next instant, he crushed his mouth up to hers again, holding her down against him, devouring the flavor and scent and feel of her to add to his mental cache of this moment: the moment she called him her baby.

When Buffy had to breathe, she reluctantly pulled away from the kiss and from his magical fingers, which seemed to know just how to touch her body, and she slid down his legs. She unfastened his jeans and slid the zipper down, releasing his urgent need from the denim that had been holding it prisoner.

Her eyes widened in fascinated surprise when his hardness emerged from his pants. Spike pressed his tongue against his teeth as he watched her expression.



“Oh…” Buffy managed at last, clearing her throat a little uncomfortably and sliding the rest of the way off the bed. She began tugging on the legs of his jeans and Spike lifted his hips up so she could slide them off.

“Something wrong, pet?” Spike wondered, his voice tinged with a … errrr … cocky arrogance.

Buffy looked back up to his face and felt her own face flush. “No … no, not at all. I just … ummm … am gonna need a new name for your … privates.”

Spike cocked an amused brow at her. “Pardon?”

Buffy waved a hand vaguely at his package and flushed even brighter red. “I … in my mind, sort of called it ‘Little Bad’ … you know, ‘Big Bad’ and ‘Little Bad’,” she admitted. “But … that won’t work – at all.”

Spike barked out a short laugh. “Given this a bit o’ thought, then, have you?”

Buffy coughed again and fanned herself with both hands as she looked around the room – concentrating on anything but Spike. “It’s really … hot in here, isn’t it?”

Spike sat up, grabbed one of her arms, and pulled her back onto the bed. “Not as hot as it’s gonna be,” he promised.



Buffy 'eeped' in surprised when he grabbed her, and flopped onto her back next to him. Spike supported himself on one elbow and leaned over her, half-covering her body with his. “Now … where were we?” he murmured as he dropped his mouth to hers again.

Buffy melted against him. His cool body felt like heaven against her suddenly tingling, over-hot skin. His lips were soft against hers, and her body thrummed in anticipation as ‘Little Bad’ pressed urgently against her hip.

Spike’s free hand roamed over her skin, now damp with a thin layer of perspiration, as well as slick from the massage oil. Her soft, feminine curves belied the power beneath and Spike cherished them both. Her strength was as much an aphrodisiac to him as the swell of her breasts or the sway of her hips.

“Buffy … so beautiful, you are, luv. You got no idea what you do to me, pet. Want you so much. Love you so much …” he murmured against her neck as he kissed a line of fire down from her mouth to her throat.

“Spike … please … want to feel you inside me,” Buffy replied breathily as she shifted on the bed and encouraged him to settle between her spread legs.

Spike slid over her and Buffy immediately wrapped her legs around his hips and tilted her opening up to him, beckoning his hardness into her supple heat. Spike rose up to support himself on his hands and slid his cock up and down her slick folds, over her clit, coating himself in her juices.

Buffy’s eyes fluttered closed as she moaned and clutched at his shoulders, then slid her hands down his sides. The corded muscles of his back and buttocks strained and shifted beneath her palms as he moved, like cool, smooth granite come to life. She lifted her hips up against him in frustration and need, wanting more from him even as she longed for the sensation of his hard shaft raking against her clit to continue forever.



When he stopped moving, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. He’d pulled his hips back away from her a bit and just remained motionless above her. The muscles of his arms bulged with the strain of holding himself over her, but he didn’t tremble or waver.
 
She felt like she was falling into the deep pools of cool blue water that were his eyes. Little flecks of gold shone in their cerulean depths, the demon wanting to be set free, but he didn’t change. In fact, he’d never changed into the demon except when they were fighting – and even then only if she’d really pissed him off royally. How did he manage to control it so thoroughly without a soul, she wondered briefly, but put her pondering aside for another time.

Buffy didn’t break eye contact with him as she slid her hand between them and guided his hardness to her opening. Spike pressed forward slowly, his whole body quivering in anticipation. Buffy gasped and he thought he saw a flicker of pain pass behind her lustful, green eyes. He stopped.

“It’s ok … just … been a while and you’re a little … ummm … more than…” Buffy cleared her throat self-consciously. “Just go slow at first …” she said finally as she explored the ever-changing hills and valleys of muscle on his back with her hands.

Spike dipped his head down and kissed her. It was so gentle that it felt like nothing so much as a cool breeze fluttering against her lips. Spike lifted up so he could see her eyes again. Their viridian depths were so full of fire, full of life, of strength, of passion, and if he looked closely, he thought he could see the affection she had for him reflected there too. His heart took comfort in the thought, ill-conceived and self-delusional as it may be.

He pulled his hips back fractionally and then pressed in again, going just a little further than he’d been before. A tingling chill rushed over Buffy’s skin as he pressed in, then pulled back, then pressed in again. He stretched her gently until she could accommodate his girth without pain. Each time he pressed in a new wave of pleasure tingled over her body, caressing her with a gentleness she’d never before felt. Not even Angel had been this careful, this caring or adoring with her. She was suddenly wreathed in a warm blanket of pure emotion. It swelled up from the deepest, most guarded and hidden corners of her heart, and surprised her with its girlish softness.

She was momentarily taken back to that first time with Angel. At the time she’d thought he had been loving, giving, and gentle with her, but now she knew better. This. This is how it should’ve been. The soft murmurs of affection, of love and desire that Spike was raining down on her had never passed her first love’s lips. Angel had been silent – as was his nature. Not exactly cold, but not … not this. Angel’s hands had not touched her so reverently; his mouth had not kissed her so fervently. He had tried, she was sure – he’d tried to be this, but even with a soul he didn’t have what Spike had. She didn’t know what it was. Something indefinable, unfathomable to her in this moment – something that made him so very different than any vampire she’d ever met. Heart, her mother's word came to her mind. Spike has heart.

By the time his hips settled against hers, Buffy’s chest was heaving and her heart was racing from the endorphins flooding her body. His slow progression into her had triggered a series of seismic events – like foreshocks preceding an earthquake. With that as the precursor, she couldn’t wait to feel the main event.

Spike dropped down onto his elbows and rested his body against hers, savoring the feeling of her quim, hot, wet, and tight around him. Her pussy walls fluttered and undulated over his hardness, holding him in their velvet smooth embrace as if she never planned on letting him go. And that was perfectly fine with him.

Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and began twining her fingers gently into the hair on the back of his head. It was softer than she’d imagined without the gel, and the curls were just adorable. He’d kill her if he knew she thought that … Big Bad was not adorable.

The adoration that was pouring from his eyes covered her with a feeling of security, of confidence, of belonging. It made her feel warm somewhere deep inside, as if he’d dropped a burning torch into the bottomless pit of her blood-soaked soul and frightened the icy guilt away.

The words that she knew he longed to hear fluttered to the fore of her mind and nearly made it to her throat when the crimson shroud of guilt began to descend over her again. Buffy closed her eyes, fighting it back – fighting to stay in this moment with him, fighting to remember her mother’s words of encouragement: Dawn’s death was no one’s fault but Glory’s.

She felt the veil waver as she struggled to hold it back with nothing but her willpower, then she realized that Spike was talking to her – asking her if she was alright. She opened her eyes and drew her hands down to frame his beautiful face. His eyes were full of concern and love, and it only made her feel less deserving. But she didn’t want to do this to him, didn’t want to go away – not now. She’d already withheld the words he longed to hear, made empty promises she knew she couldn't keep, she couldn’t take this away from him too. She wanted this to be perfect – as perfect as she could make it – for him. He’d done so much for her, she owed it to him to fight the oblivion her guilt wanted to drag her into. She wanted more than anything to make this first time perfect.

She lifted her face up until her mouth was near his ear, then whispered, “Make love to me, William.” It was as close as she could come to saying what she knew he wanted to hear. It was all she had to give.
 
“You sure, pet?” Spike asked, his voice full of gentle concern.

Buffy nodded. “Keep me here, baby. Make me feel … need to just feel … not think.”

Spike kissed her with that same gentleness that she’d been pondering only a few moments before as he began rocking his body against hers. It was a slow, sensuous movement that nonetheless made Buffy’s heart skip and stutter in her chest.

“I’ve got ya, luv. Never lettin’ you go,” Spike assured her, his mouth close enough for her to feel his cool breath on her cheek. Their bodies slid against each other, building a slow friction that kindled hundreds of sparks in the waiting tinder of Buffy’s body.

Before everything with Glory began, Giles had started teaching Buffy about compartmentalizing her thoughts, of concentrating on what was important in the moment and letting everything else wait. He’d used crystals for her to focus on, and it had taken hours of boring repetition before she’d started to get it – but she had started to get it.

The memory of those lessons popped into Buffy's mind now. She drew on that wisdom, using what she’d learned to help keep the shroud of guilt from crashing down on her. She had no crystals to focus on, but she had Spike. She had his bluer-than-blue eyes with the flashes of gold sparkling down on her, and she had the tingling sparks that he was showering over her body – inside and out.

Buffy kept her eyes focused on Spike’s as he moved above her, and she felt herself falling into those blue depths, away from the crimson gore. For the first time she was able to draw away from the demon inside who wanted to drag her back into the bloody river and drown her. She could, instead, immerse herself in the pool of cool blue adoration and be safe – Spike would keep her safe.



When Spike ground his pubic bone against her clit on the next down-stroke, Buffy’s mind dove headfirst to a sparkling sea of cool, azure blue, and her body flared white-hot in pleasure, washing away the bloody river in her mind that held the guilt of her failures.

“Yes … Spike … God, so good. So … oh! Yes!” Buffy panted breathlessly as he came down and ground against her again and again. Her body writhed beneath him as she clung to his shoulders, digging her nails into his deltoids in her fervor. Her body arched into his, demanding even more, as the small tremors announcing the upcoming earth-moving quake of bliss vibrated through her core.

When Spike rose up to his hands, pulled nearly out of her, and then slammed down against her in a wave of primal desire, Buffy shrieked in renewed pleasure. It was at once surprising and exhilarating – such a contrast to the easy movements of a moment before. It was exactly what she needed – what she wanted and desired. How did he know? How could he tell that she needed more when she didn’t even know until he’d given it to her, like a gift from heaven?

Buffy’s hips bucked up against him, matching his rhythm as he began thrusting into her with more and more power and fervor. Spike’s demon raged behind the burning eyes of the man, demanding release as untold days, weeks, months, and years of longing for his Slayer finally came to fruition. The demon’s desire for her blood was no less strong than the man’s desire for her heart and her body. Spike pressed the bloodlust back, and instead used the demon’s needs to fuel the man’s – driving him wild with feral lust. And the Slayer, the strong, passionate woman beneath him, responded in kind.

Her hisses, gasps, shrieks, and demanding cries of pleasure told him all he needed to know about her need. There was no more worry of hurting her. Her channel had stretched to take him and she engulfed his girth like a silken glove – hot and wet and supple, molding around his shaft like she had been made for Spike and Spike alone. Buffy’s body moved with him as if they’d danced this dance a hundred times – and in a way they had, the vampire and the Slayer – her strength and passion the perfect match for his, and his for hers.

Buffy’s legs wrapped around his hips in a crushing grip, pulling him to her ferociously, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Her hands slid down his body and her fingers dug into the undulating muscles of his ass as he drove into her at a feverish pace. She added her strength to his, pulling him against her, as their hips slammed together and he impaled his shaft deeper into her sheath of bliss.

Spike roared in defiance as his demon felt her trying to control him and he sat back slightly on his heels, pulling out of reach of her hands. He wrenched her legs from around his waist and then pressed them up and out – opening her to him fully, taking her control away. Then he drove into her again, thrusting into her with a power and passion she’d never felt before.

Buffy screamed out as the force of his renewed storm of lust hit her with a blinding explosion of bliss. She could do nothing but feel. Feel his body, hard and powerful above her; feel his hips driving against her, his cock hammering into her all the way to her core; feel his unneeded breath, cool and wild against her skin; feel his passion; feel his strength; feel her own vulnerability to the vampire that was controlling her; feel the utter madness of rapture washing over her, drowning her in the bliss of the sparkling blue ocean.

She’d never felt anything like it before – it was freedom. There was no thought; there was only feeling, and every cell in her body was screaming with blissful explosions of joy. There was no room for anything else; no thought or worry or inhibition could step between her and heaven now.

Her body reacted to his instinctively. Her arms reached above her head and pressed against the headboard for more leverage. Her hips jerked against his, somehow following his staccato rhythm – short, shallow strokes followed by long, slow ones then back again. Words fell from her lips, but they weren’t anything she thought with her conscious mind so much as something deeper, a brain-stem reflex to the power and pleasure coursing through her. And she could hear Spike’s voice, pouring over her like hot, sweet honey, hear his rumbling growls and grunts of effort. Every one of her senses was being bombarded with something, blocking everything else in the entire world out except this. There was nothing but this feeling.

When Buffy shrieked Spike’s name and her body convulsed into a final, ground-shaking, magnitude ten-million earthquake, Spike had no choice but to stay buried inside her. Her sugar walls clasped around him like a vise wielded by a goddess, undulating and fluttering wildly over his shaft. His own roar of release joined hers as her body milked every drop of lust from his groin in a painfully sweet explosion of bliss. Her name tumbled off his lips – half-curse, half-prayer – as he spilled into her, utterly undone.

Both of their bodies trembled violently with the power of their orgasms. The sound of their inharmonious chorus of ultimate release filled the room and reverberated off the walls. The air vibrated around them palpably, as if a giant loudspeaker had magnified Buffy’s ear-splitting scream and Spike’s growling, basso roar into a discord worthy of a Kiss concert.

And then they both collapsed bonelessly; every drop of tension and power drained from their bodies. Spike fell atop her, releasing the hold he had on her legs as he collapsed. Buffy’s legs sprawled uselessly to the mattress on each side of him; her arms, a moment ago pressing against the headboard above her with all her strength, simply slumped to the pillow near her head. The only sound left in the room was the gasping gulps for air that came from each of their throats.

Spike, not actually needing air, recovered use of his limbs first and began to roll off her, but she stopped him with a word, “Stay.”

He stopped and pulled back to look at her, worried that she’d lost the battle with the madness after all. But, when his eyes met hers, he realized it wasn’t that, she simply didn’t have the breath to say anything more.



He smiled down at her. Her face was flushed and sparkled with diamonds of perspiration; her hair was mussed, a golden tangle of silken tresses; her lips were swollen from their kisses and beautifully pink. But it was her eyes that captured him most. They were Buffy: her essence, her soul. And she was looking at him with something he was afraid to name, so he simply allowed himself to believe that she was looking at him with her heart.

“Wow,” was the next word from her lips. It came out raspy and a little choked through her strained vocal cords.

“Wow,” Spike mimicked in a throaty rumble, agreeing wholeheartedly. There was awe not only in his voice but in those amazing blue eyes that she’d let herself fall into. Even the demon’s eyes, hidden behind the man’s, sparkled like golden stars within the field of azure as he looked down at her.

“You’re bloody amazing, Slayer,” Spike whispered, touching his mouth to her sweet lips in a gentle, chaste kiss.

Buffy smiled and her flush actually turned a deeper shade of red. She bit her bottom lip and suddenly looked like a schoolgirl – that girl he’d first seen dancing with her friends so long ago, so many battles ago, so many heartbreaks ago.

“Not Slayer, just Buffy,” she corrected after a moment, but there was no scorn in her tone. “And you’re pretty amazing yourself,” she admitted as she snaked her arms around his neck and lifted her quivering legs up to capture his hips in a gentle embrace, hooking her feet behind his back and preventing him from moving.

Suddenly the door to the bedroom swung open and the Bot strode in. “Buffy, I did as you instructed and stayed on the balcony with my fingers in my ears humming ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’, but I got bored. Can we play a different game now?” she asked, her fingers still sticking into her ears.

Two pairs of surprised eyes turned to look at the door; the lovers too surprised to actually respond for a moment.



The Bot tilted her head and considered the pair on the bed. “Perhaps I could join in your game. What do you call it?” Then, after a beat, she asked, “It doesn’t involve show tunes, does it?”

Spike began to rebuke the Bot, ask her if she'd ever heard of bloody knocking, when a burst of laughter tore from Buffy’s lips. He looked down at her, more surprised by the sound of her laughter than the Bot's intrusion. Buffy was laughing! It was a joyous sound, like a celestial choir of angels singing.

Buffy knew she should be indignant, angry, or embarrassed, but she could do nothing but laugh at the Bot's earnestness. Buffy tightened her hold on Spike, making sure he didn't rise, using him as a cover, as she began to giggle uncontrollably. Then Spike’s laughter joined hers, his body shaking with the effort. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever heard him actually laugh before, and the rich, rolling sound only made her laugh harder. His laughter was contagious – a virus of mirth. Every time Buffy’s laughter began to wane, she found herself buoyed by the sound of his exuberance. Then she began to wonder if she’d ever heard any vampire laugh before – not the ‘I’ve got you now’ evil laugh of Angelus, or the ‘I’m crazy as a loon’ laugh of Dru, but a gleeful exaltation of emotion.

The Bot studied her naked roommates in earnest, trying to determine what was so humorous. Buffy watched her watching them and thought that the Bot was most likely the sanest of the three of them. That thought sent another wave of giggles over Buffy, and the entire scene simply devolved into one of those blooper reels where no one could stop laughing long enough to actually say anything.

Buffy couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so hard or so long. She laid her hands on the sides of Spike’s face and pulled him down to her, smothering his bubbling laughter with her child-like giggles. It was, perhaps, the most wonderful gift anyone had ever given her – he made the world go away. She could pretend that she was just a girl – a giggling, happy, normal girl – if just for a little while.

**~**

{{ Click here to hear one of my favorite sounds in the world: James Marsters' Laugh }}

**~**


{{  Click here to hear Make The World Go Away, Martina McBride  on YouTube  }}

Make the world go away
Get it off my shoulders
Say the things we used to say
And make the world, make it go away

Do you remember when you loved me
Before the world took you away
Well if you do, then forgive me
And make the world, make it go away

Make the world go away
Get it off my shoulders
Say the things we used to say
And make the world, make it go away

Now I'm sorry if I hurt you
Let me make it up to you day by day
And if you will please forgive me
And make the world, make it go away

Make the world go away
Get it off my shoulders
Say the things we used to say
And make the world, make it go away.
Chapter End Notes:
Shooo!!! Is it hot in here, or is it just me?

Ok, so, good news: Buffy was able to keep the crazy away. Will she have to shag Spike every time to keep in in check? There could be worse things! Pretty sure Spike won't mind. And just how many show tunes does the Bot know? Bad news: Proud, stubborn, uncommunicative superheroes! Will they tell each other the truth about babies before it's too late? Sad news: Buffy still can't say the "L" word. What will it take for her to take a chance?

Will have more this weekend, probably Saturday.
Accidentally in Love by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Posting a little early this time to make up for the late post on Tuesday. Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.


When Buffy awoke, she could see sunlight glowing behind the curtains covering the French doors that led to their balcony. Her first thought was relief that she was still here mentally. She’d done it! She’d fought back the debilitating guilt! She'd closed her eyes and pictured Spike’s face in her mind’s eye, then focused on his eyes. They had been her anchor: those expressive blue eyes dotted with flecks of gold.

The memory of her victory sent a thrill of confidence and surety washing through her. She had done it! She could fight the madness. She knew how now. She had an anchor to the world of relative sanity; she had an azure sea of blue between her and the river of blood. She had Spike.

Her body still tingled with desire even though she was deliciously sore from the previous night’s activities. Her skin flushed with heat as she remembered their lovemaking, and she felt her tender opening begin to pulse with renewed need.
 
Spike was spooned against her back. His bare body fit hers as if they had been made for each other. He felt cool and hard – in more ways than one – pressed against her. His top arm was draped across her ribs and breasts, and his hand lay over her softly beating heart. Buffy could feel his breath, cool and gentle, against the back of her neck.
 
She loved how he breathed, even in sleep. It was only a small thing, but it was one of many things that Spike did that made him seem so much more alive, so very different than … other vamps she’d known. She knew he’d hate being compared to Angel, but Buffy couldn’t help it. Since, thus far, he’d outdone his grandsire in every way, perhaps he wouldn’t be too upset if he managed to read her thoughts somehow. Even without a soul, Spike had stood by her, helped her, kept his word, and shown her undying affection. He’d been gentle and loving and …

A warm flush of emotion rose up in her, unfurling in her chest like a beautiful rosebud coming into full bloom, as she reflected not only on their night, but everything that Spike had done for her. God, was her mom right? Had she really fallen in love with him somewhere along the way when she wasn’t looking? Was she even capable of that? Maybe. Was that a bad thing? Not right this minute perhaps, but one day it would be bad: very, very bad. One day her mission would come between them; one day her mission would drive him away and leave the beautiful rose to wither and die inside her. How many times can the flower of love be charred to ashes before your heart dies along with it?

Buffy's chest tightened with pain, but she resolutely pushed the disturbing thoughts away. She didn't want to think about that now; that wasn't today. That worry could wait for another day. She didn’t want to let go of this bright, shining feeling just yet. The day of reckoning would come soon enough, today she just wanted to feel happy and desired and loved.

Buffy closed her eyes and sighed contentedly as she twined her fingers in Spike’s where they rested over her heart. She could barely remember the last time she felt this way. Safe. Loved. Desired. Sexy. … Completely in love? Did she dare let herself admit that? She had a mission: make a baby. He didn’t have any desire for such a mission. Could she really allow herself to be in love with that chasm between them? Shoot! How had her thoughts gotten back to angst again? Grrrrr! Stop thinking, Buffy! Happy-Buffy and Thinky-Buffy are non-mixy, she admonished herself. But she was so confused, her emotions so tangled...

Buffy’s thoughts were thankfully interrupted by a gentle kiss on her shoulder. The pins and needles of desire that had been gently tingling her core burst into flames of utter, primal need with the simple gesture. Who needed thoughts, anyway? Thoughts were waaay overrated.



“Morning,” she murmured, turning her face to look over her shoulder at him.

Spike dropped a kiss lower on her arm then touched his lips to hers. “‘Ello, cutie,” he replied against her mouth. His voice was rough with sleep and it rumbled against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

Spike slid his hand down from where it rested over her heart to cup her breast gently as he kissed her lips again. Buffy moaned as he flicked his thumb over her nipple, bringing it to hardness in an instant. She reached back and laid her palm against his cheek, holding him in place as the kiss deepened. Her hips swiveled in slow circles, pressing her ass back against his erection. Spike moaned into her mouth as the globes of her ass moved over him, stroking his cock to painful hardness.

Spike slid his hand down over her flat stomach and cupped the sweet mound at her apex. “You … alright?” he asked, breaking the kiss. He began nibbling at her neck as he slid a finger between her folds and into the dew of desire that covered her.



“Mmmm…” Buffy moaned, her back arching in pleasure as he teased her pussy. “Want you …” was her only answer.

Spike circled her clit with his slick fingers, something so gentle that Buffy thought she’d explode in frustration. His teeth and lips continued to suck and nip at her neck as his fingers explored and played. His own hips began to move in the same rhythm as Buffy’s, pressing his rod against her ass harder with each passing moment.

“So wet you are for me,” he murmured against her golden skin. “You feel like heaven.”

Spike pulled his fingers out of her wet folds and up to his mouth, then sucked her juices from his fingers with a lascivious moan. “Taste like sweet ambrosia, you do. So fucking sexy – so beautiful. Love you so much, Buffy,” he purred against her skin, lowering his hand back to find her quim again.

Buffy’s face flushed with equal parts embarrassment and glee. No one had ever done that before. No one had ever talked to her like this before. She found herself turned on even more by his words, his praise, his moans and growls and blissful curses. She never realized how sexy words could be. She felt like he could almost make her cum just whispering sweet, dirty nothings in her ear.

Buffy lifted her top leg and draped it back over Spike’s, opening herself up to him. “Need you, baby. Fuck me … make me cum,” she purred, trying to sound like she’d said such things all the time.

Spike’s hand slid away from her pussy and over her hip, then down between their bodies. He guided his cock down the crack of her ass, pausing at her puckered hole a moment and teasing her with a gentle push. Buffy gasped at the sensation and wondered what it would be like to do that. He said he’d done it before, and the thought of it made her heart race faster.



Spike smirked behind her and slid his cock down between her thighs. He pressed between her folds, not entering her, and coated himself with her juices. Then he pulled back and once again began teasing her ass with the slick head of his shaft. Buffy’s body jerked with the sensation as he passed back and forth over the sensitive flesh there, then pressed against her opening.

“Like that, do ya?” Spike rumbled as he leaned forward near her ear.

“It’s … ummm … a little scary but …” Buffy gulped, embarrassment overtaking her.

“We’ll need more lube for that, pet. Don’t wanna hurt you. And with your tight ass, a butt plug'll be a must.”

Buffy’s body stiffened and went completely still. “Excuse me?” she growled defiantly.

Spike laughed that rolling, melodic laugh of his. “That’s not a put-down, luv,” he assured her as he let the pressure off her puckered hole and slid his cock down to the apex of her thighs. “A little pain just adds to the pleasure, but it’s a fine line. Believe me when I say the thought of shagging your tight ass sends every drop o’ blood I got south o’ the border. But need t’ do it right. I promise I’ll make it good for you, pet. Trust me.”

Buffy relaxed, then nodded. “I do,” she admitted seriously, hoping the tone of her words expressed the depth of her trust.

Spike bit his lip and his Adam’s apple bobbed, swallowing back a 'whoop!' of joyous exultation. He knew it was more than just trust in sex that she meant. She trusted him. He was ‘in her heart’. He was her 'baby'. Could love really be that far away?

Without further warning, Spike pressed his hips forward, dipping his cock into her quim. Buffy gasped as her sore, sensitive opening was again stretched to accommodate him, and her nerves blazed with a wave of stinging pain. She tried to make it sound like a gasp of pleasure, but it didn't quite work. He’d surprised her a little; her mind was still back on butt plugs and why the thought of a little pain with the pleasure seemed so perfect. Oh God, was she some kind of deviant? Well – duh! Obviously! What was your first clue? The vampire in the bed behind you, maybe?

Spike stopped. “Thought you said you were alright,” he said, concerned.

“I am. Just a little … sore. But I want you … need you. Just go easy. A little pain makes it better, right?”



Spike pursed his lips, angry with her for lying to him, and was just about to pull out when she said, “I trust you.”

Spike dropped his lips to her shoulder again and began peppering gentle kisses over her heated skin. “I love you, Buffy.”

“I … know,” Buffy stammered back, feeling her heart twist. Why couldn’t you just say it to him? Would it really be so bad? But she couldn’t do it. It was too much. She had a mission. Love didn’t fit into that mission. She couldn’t bare her soul to him and then watch him walk away when her belly bulged with their child – a child he didn't want. She could not bear to watch another man walk away from her, not again. It would be too much to bear; it might break her.

She touched a hand to his cheek and turned his face to hers. Her lips found his and she moaned against his kiss as he slid the rest of the way into her.

Once sheathed in her heat, Spike stopped moving his hips, relishing the feel of her around him. The connection between them was more than physical; he could feel it when he was inside her. She might not be able to say the words yet, but he simply knew that it was there somewhere deep down inside her: love.

Spike slid his hand down over her hip again and skimmed his fingers over her dark curls. Buffy’s moan returned, and he felt her velvet walls tighten and pulse around his length. Spike continued to tease her with his talented fingers, never moving his hips. He caressed her outer folds, petting them with gentle touches, and he could feel her desire building higher. Her body quivered under his touch, her inner muscles jumped and jerked uncontrollably, blissfully clenching her supple quim around his hardness.
 
“God, Spike, please …” she murmured against his lips, begging him for release.

“Please what, luv?” Spike teased. “Tell me what you want.”

“Make me cum.”

“How … what should I do?” he continued. “Tell me, Buffy, tell me what you want.”

“You know…” she protested breathily.

“Want to hear the words from your pretty, pink lips.”

Buffy panted for breath, leaning the side of her head against his over her shoulder. She battled her inner-good-girl to be able to bring the words to her lips. She loved hearing him say them, why should she not expect the same to be true for him? But what if she didn’t say it right? What if he made fun or laughed? She swallowed hard. Trust. I trust you.

“Your fingers … play with my … pussy,” she began tentatively, her breath catching in her throat.

Spike moved his fingers between her folds and began teasing her clit with feather-soft touches. “Like this? Talk to me, pet,” he requested, his voice deep with desire.

“Feels so good,” Buffy breathed, closing her eyes and letting the feeling wash over her. Goose flesh prickled her skin as he ghosted fingers over and around her clit, his cock still buried in her tight channel.

“A little harder … press down and … gahh!” Her body jerked when he followed her instructions. Bolts of trembling pleasure shot out from her core, down her legs, and curled her toes.

Spike’s eyes closed as her pussy fluttered around him, building to her climax, and nearly sending him to one of his own. Don’t be a git! he implored himself, opening his eyes to watch her beautiful, strong body tremble against him.

“Yes,” Buffy breathed. “Now … tease and then … harder and tease … and … oh, God! Yes … Spike … yes!” she screamed, her hands fisting in the sheets as her body convulsed in pleasure.

Spike continued his ministrations to her pussy, keeping her flying in the clouds for as long as he could. Her pussy clenched around him, milking him, demanding his cum, and he moaned with the painful pleasure of it. Spike could feel the slickness of her cum coating him as she rode out the waves of euphoria under his hand. Her face contorted into a mask of bliss and her whole body flushed with a sheen of perspiration. Her beautiful tits danced and he wished he could touch them …

“Touch your tits, Buffy. Wanna see you play with your nipples, pet,” he murmured near her ear. He wasn’t sure if her mind was functioning well enough at that moment to obey him, but after a couple of seconds she brought one hand up to tug and twist her dusty-pink tips.

Her body began to shudder again and Spike redoubled his efforts, teasing her pussy with his long, lithe fingers as she did the same with her breasts. Buffy screamed out as her body stiffened and her wet pussy released another flood of cum over him.
 
“Love to feel you cum, pet. Got any idea what you do t' me? So bloody hot you are. So tight and wet. God, Buffy … can’t get enough o’ you,” he rumbled against her skin as she surfed the waves of bliss yet again.

Before she’d come all the way down from the tidal wave of pleasure, Spike began moving against her, pulling out slowly and pushing back in. She gasped at the new sensation, the soreness of her tender opening only a vague shadow in the periphery of her awareness.

“Yes, Spike … so good. You feel sooooo ... f-fucking good,” Buffy gasped, stammering slightly over the slightly unfamiliar 'f-word', as her fingers continued playing with her tits. Spike hadn’t moved his hand either and he went back to the soft teasing caresses around her aching bundle of nerves.

“You like my cock inside you, Slayer?” he purred against her flushed skin.

“Yes…” she panted back, moving her hips in time with his easy rhythm.

“Love being in you,” he groaned back.
 
“What’s it … feel like?” Buffy wondered as his thrusts into her tight channel grew more urgent.

“God, Buffy …” he moaned. “Overwhelming. Too much t’ describe.”

“Try…” she pleaded. “Love to hear you … just talking.”

Spike slowed his strokes and began kissing a line of fire from her shoulder to her ear. As he spoke he nibbled and sucked on her earlobe and neck between each thought.

“Like bein’ born.” –Kiss– “Like dying.” –Lick– “Paris in the spring.” –Nibble– “Rio during Carnival.” –Suck– “Snow on Christmas morning.” –Moan– “Summer sunshine on a clear, blue sea.” –Kiss– “Mist in the mountains.” –Suckle–“Rain on a tin roof.” –Lick– “Like warm, gooey caramel and soft, fluffy clouds.” –Flick– “Thunder rolling over a white sand beach at sunrise.” –Kiss– “A hurricane, a tornado, an earthquake, a tidal wave.” –Lick– “Heaven on earth. Like trust … like undying love.” –Moan–

By the time he’d finished talking, both of their bodies had stopped moving. The only movement from either of them was their chests, which both heaved with bated breath.



Buffy pulled away from him – sorry for the loss, but desperate to see his face – and slowly turned on the bed until she was facing him.

Spike ducked his head, unable to meet her eyes, his stomach twisting in fear that she’d poke fun at him, and waited. Such a bloody git. Why did he say that bollocks aloud? She didn’t want to hear that drivel. Couldn’t have just stuck with something simple and … less poncey?

Buffy put her hands on each side of his face and made him look at her. She searched his eyes for any hint of mocking – but she found none. He meant it – he meant it all.

“No one’s ever said anything like that to me before,” she whispered to him. “It was beautiful …”

Then she kissed him. It was the sweetest, softest, most loving kiss Spike had ever felt. It seemed to go on forever and at the same time end much, much too soon.



Spike bit his bottom lip as he pulled back to look into the depths of her green eyes. “You’re beautiful, pet. I’m just a git.”

Buffy gave him a small smile. “I guess. If ‘git’ means that you really know how to woo a girl – how to worm deeper into her heart, then that’s exactly what you are.”

Spike felt his lips turn up into a smile. “Yeah?”

Buffy bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Yeah.”

Buffy rolled onto her back, gently urging Spike to follow until he was settled between her thighs. Buffy wrapped her legs around his powerful, slim waist, and he guided his desire into the heat of her welcoming body again.

Spike dipped his head back down and returned her gentle kiss, teasing her lips with his tongue as he began rocking his hips against her again.

When the kiss broke, Buffy lifted her head up so her mouth was near his ear and whispered, “Take me to all those places, Spike … Paris in the spring, Rio at Carnival … the misty mountains, the sparkling sea … heaven … love.”

“God, Buffy – come with me, pet,” he begged as he rose up onto his hands and began moving in earnest against her.
 
Spike dipped his head and sucked one hard nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sweet pebble. Buffy’s body arched up to him, at once pressing her tit harder against his mouth and changing the angle of his strokes into her. His cock raked across her g-spot with each thrust as his pubic bone ground against her clit. He never let go of her tit, nibbling and sucking on it as she responded to him with no reservations.

The romance of Paris in the spring, the wild abandon and passion of Carnival, the gentle mist of a mountain morning, the tingling warmth of sunshine on a blue sea, the power of a tornado, the deep, rumbling magic of thunder, the overwhelming, unstoppable force of a hurricane, the childlike joy of snow on Christmas morning, and the simple comfort of rain on a tin roof rolled over them. One sensation merged into the next with no beginning and no end, like waves rolling in from a distant shore, each building on the last. It all built up to a heavenly climax equal to the power of dying and being born – to the power of undying love.



Dawn. Dawn … Dawn … Dawn … The chant of her sister's name came into Buffy’s mind just before she fell off the cliff of bliss and began to drown in the feeling of love that washed over her like a tidal wave. She hadn’t actually planned on doing that today – of calling on the monks' magic to rescue Dawn's soul – but all the emotions running through her overwhelmed her and urged her to throw caution to the wind. Spike made her feel so safe, so utterly adored, so anchored, and with the newfound confidence that she could fight the madness of her guilt, it suddenly just felt right, like the time was now.

Two small, sparkling globes of golden, empyreal light swirled down from the cosmos, twining around each other as if caught in a small cyclone. They both hit Spike squarely in the back just as he cried out with a roar of his impending release. Spike’s eyes clamped shut as his body tensed, his cum boiling up, swelling his cock, overwhelming him with a climax the likes of which he’d never felt before. He never saw the lights as they merged into one and glowed in his chest like St. Elmo’s fire, he only felt the blissful power of it.

His heart came to life, beating a wild staccato rhythm in his chest. It hammered against his ribs like a crazed, wild beast trying to escape its too-small confines. His blood pounded in his veins and his body was suddenly hot – on fire. The air filling his lungs was more than a habit, it felt like a burning need, something even stronger than his demon’s bloodlust, as he panted and gasped for more. Then his seed spilled into Buffy, her pussy grasping and undulating around him, pulling him into her, milking him, begging him for his very soul. The glowing light followed, flowing with his passion into her core.

A warm feeling of joy filled Buffy, welling up in her womb and gently flowing out to all parts of her body. She gasped, and her eyes flew open wide as the sensation engulfed her with a thrill of impalpable elation she’d never before knew existed. It was all things and nothing at all, indescribable, overwhelming, celestial.

Spike’s eyes were closed, but as if sensing the change in her, they opened just as wide. They were filled with the same overwhelming ecstasy as hers. It was nothing either of them had ever felt before, and, most likely, would never feel again. In that moment, they touched the pearly gates of heaven and it was exquisite.

Green and blue met and held for what felt like a lifetime – longer than a lifetime, an eternity. Spike struggled to hold onto the utter bliss, willing it to not end for either of them. Never, in a century and more, had he felt anything as powerful, as radiant ... as effulgent as this. Buffy tried to memorize every nuance of his eyes in those moments, embedding them into her heart and mind. She knew she would need something to keep her warm on the long, lonely nights that would too soon come. He was her anchor.

Then, as if they were puppets and someone had just snipped their strings, the two blonds both fell limp, unconscious, in each other’s arms. For many minutes the room was still and quiet. The only sounds breaking the silence were desperate, gasping breaths as they floated in the rapturous arms of their lover.

When Buffy blinked her eyes open, Spike was sprawled atop her. She could feel his heart beating against her chest, feel his warm breath against her skin. A thin sheen of perspiration covered his body, and splotches of color dotted his alabaster skin. She ran her hands gently over his back, wondering if this was permanent. Had the monks brought him to life? You’d think they would have the power to do that – they had the power to make Dawn out of nothing but thin air. But, even as she was contemplating all the ramifications and possibilities, she felt his heart slow, his body begin to cool, and saw the spots of color fade.

Buffy blinked tears back from her eyes. The tears weren’t for her, but for him. Each day she spent with him she found more and more layers to the man beneath the demon. It seemed to her, with what he was giving, what he had given, it would’ve only been fair to allow the man a new chance at life. But apparently the monks didn’t see it that way ... or maybe it just wasn't part of the bargain her mom had made.

Buffy continued to stroke his limp form as he lay atop her, a feeling of melancholy coming over her. She'd set the wheels in motion; there was no going back, no stopping it now. She’d have to leave him soon, before he found out what she'd done, and his love turned to hate for how she'd used and deceived him.

He'd pulled her back from the brink of a deep, dark abyss, he'd believed in her when no one else had, he'd leant her strength and courage and made her feel worthy again, and, however unknowingly, he'd helped first shape, then save Dawn's soul. And, for all of that and more, her heart had done what she’d hoped it wouldn’t, what she thought it wasn't capable of. It had done more than let him in. It had fallen in love.

“I love you, William,” she whispered to him mournfully as a tear trickled down her cheek.

He didn’t hear.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Accidentally In Love – Counting Crows on YouTube  }}

So she said what's the problem, baby?
What's the problem, I don't know
Well, maybe I'm in love
(Love)
Think about it every time
I think about it
Can't stop thinking 'bout it
How much longer will it take to cure this?
Just to cure it cause I can't ignore it if it's love
(Love)
Makes me wanna turn around and face me but I don't know nothing 'bout love

Oh,come on, come on
Turn a little faster
Come on, come on
The world will follow after
Come on, come on
'cause everybody's after love

So I said I'm a snowball running
Running down into the spring that's coming all this love
Melting under blue skies belting out
Sunlight shimmering love

Well baby I surrender
To the strawberry ice cream
Never ever end of all this love
Well I didn't mean to do it
But there's no escaping your love,oh

These lines of lightning
Mean we're never alone,
Never alone,no,no

Come on, come on
Move a little closer
Come on, Come on
I want to hear you whisper
Come on, Come on
Settle down inside my love

Oh, come on, come on
Jump a little higher
Come on, come on
If you feel a little lighter
Come on, come on
We were once upon a time in love

We're accidentally in love

Accidentally in love (x8)

Accidentally

 I'm In Love, I'm in Love,
I'm in Love, I'm in Love,
I'm in Love, I'm in Love,
Accidentally (x2)

Come on, come on
Spin a little tighter
Come on, come on
And the world's a little brighter
Come on, come on
Just get yourself inside her

Love
I'm in love
Chapter End Notes:
Oh boy ... now what? How long will Buffy stay now that she's put the 'Dawn' mission in motion? Will it be long enough for Spike to realize what's happened and come clean about his feelings? Or will she pluck up the courage to come clean, herself? Or will she simply leave him dazed and confused? Or ... will it be none of the above?

I love hearing from everyone - don't be shy!! Your notes keep my evil muse inspired!
I Kissed a Girl by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
OK, this is one of the chapters you were warned about: Threesome B/G/G action involving Spike, Buffy, and BuffyBot.
**
Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
A couple of weeks later…

“We must select Slayer theme music,” the Bot proclaimed as she and Buffy left the Vegas theatre where they’d just watched the Cirque Du Soleil perform. “It appears the music made them stronger and more flexible, and it may do the same for us. Other superheroes have music. Batman has music; Superman has music; Underdog has music. Even Darth Vader had music. We should have our own music.”

“Uhhhh, I guess,” Buffy stammered, still a bit flabbergasted that normal humans could do the stuff she’d just witnessed. She didn’t think she could do half of what they had just done. Maybe the Cirque Du Soleil performers were some kind of acrobatic demons. Were there such things as acrobatic demons? She'd have to ask Spike ... Then she frowned, the Bot's words sinking in. “Darth Vader? That didn’t really end well for him, did it?”



The Bot shrugged. “Maybe if he’d had better music he wouldn’t have been so easily swayed by the dark side,” she contended. “I believe Luke had much more appropriate music for a hero.”

Buffy laughed and shook her head. “If you say so. Why don’t you work on that?” she suggested.

Suddenly the Bot’s mouth opened and the ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ began blasting at top volume from her throat. Buffy gasped and pushed up on the Bot’s chin, closing her mouth. “Shhhhh!” she admonished her BFF-Bot, looking around sheepishly at the other patrons leaving the theatre.

“You do not like Wagner?” the Bot asked, confused.

“Sure, he’s very … music-y,” Buffy replied, pulling the Bot off to one side of the hallway. “But it’s already been used in ‘Apocalypse Now’ ... although …” Buffy mused, tapping a finger on her pursed lips, and then shrugged. “We’re usually pretty apocalypse-y. It might work, actually.

“I don’t know. Let’s just … think about it. Spike might have some ideas too. Maybe something more modern,” Buffy suggested.

The Bot opened her mouth again and Carl Douglas began singing, “♫ Everybody was Kung-fu fighting…”

Buffy laughed and put her hand over the Bot’s mouth. “I don’t think so. Let’s wait until we get back to the room, okay?”

The Bot nodded and closed her mouth, and the muffled song behind Buffy’s hand stopped.

Every day since 'that bloody brilliant night', as it had come to be referred to, Buffy had planned on leaving. She'd squirreled away money and chips that Spike had given her to spend, even bought a bus ticket to New York City. She'd packed her bags more than once, but then ended up unpacking them again before anyone saw. She was on the starting line, she just couldn't quite push off. Each day she told herself that 'tomorrow' she would leave. So far, two weeks on, tomorrow had never come.

While Buffy was secretly planning her escape, the three roommates had fallen into a bit of a routine. Spike would go to dinner with them each evening, then he’d go to the casino to continue amassing his, or their – as he insisted it was – fortune. While he was doing that, Buffy and the Bot would go to one of the many shows that the hotel gave their VIPs complimentary tickets for. After the show, the two girls would window shop, or shop-shop, or just walk for a while, people-watching. Buffy and the Bot usually went back to their room by one or two a.m., maybe talked a bit more or watched TV. After that, Buffy got her shower, and the Bot lay down on the couch in the sitting room to charge. Spike usually showed by three or four.

Then came the part of the day that Buffy looked forward to most, and the part that she knew she would miss most when the day came that she really had to leave. She and Spike would make love and talk, and make love again. They’d sleep and wake up and make love again. They’d order in breakfast and eat and talk and laugh and make love again until they both finally fell into utterly exhausted and contented slumber, and the cycle would start again with dinner out.

Buffy had become better and better at pushing back the red river of guilt over the last days with Spike. She continued to use his eyes as her anchor to sanity and could even fight it back when he wasn't even near. She could close her eyes and see his face, see the azure pools of adoration threaded with the golden sparks of demonic power beneath, and the guilt and anguish would simply melt away, recede like a glacier touched by warm, tropical sunshine. The better she got at it, the more confidence she had in her ability to stay in control, and the less often the guilt-monster tested her, giving her even more confidence. It was a vicious cycle that, for once, worked in her favor.

The only thing about ‘that bloody brilliant night’, that Spike ever mentioned to Buffy was that she shouldn’t expect those kinds of mind-blowing fireworks all the time. He was good, but he wasn’t that good every time. That night was, he told her, a once in a lifetime – the stars, moon, and planets had all been aligned for them that night. She assured him that she didn’t expect that every night, and what they had was perfect – he was perfect, and he never left her wanting. It twisted her heart to do it, but she agreed with him about it being ‘once in a lifetime’ without telling him just how right he was about that night. The other thing she never did again was repeat those three little words that she'd let slip from her lips as he lay unconscious in her arms. Giving him that and then yanking it away, she reasoned, would be worse than never giving it to him at all. Leaving him would be hard enough as it was without those words hanging like an empty promise in the air between them.

Over the last days and nights, Spike had taught her things about her body that she was sure Dr. Ruth couldn’t have told her, shown her positions the Kama Sutra lacked, and pleasured her with toys she had no idea even existed. He somehow made even her most embarrassing cravings and curiosities seem perfectly natural. He made her darkest desires feel right, made her most twisted fantasies come true. He could mix pain with pleasure in the most amazing ways and leave her utterly satisfied and yearning for more at the same time. She felt like something inside her had been freed. He'd touched the deepest parts of her being – parts that she'd denied for so long– and somehow made it seem right.

She would miss him in so many ways, and to her chagrin it wouldn’t just be physically. Her heart would break the day she left, she knew it. He'd earned her trust and her affection and she'd finally given it to him, utterly and completely. He'd brought her from the darkness into the light and then shown her how to walk the path between those two worlds. He anchored her so she didn't fall back into the abyss, but gave her permission to swim in the dark worlds of lustful desire that she'd denied for so long.

As the two blonde twins walked through a mall-like shopping center in the hotel where the show had been, Buffy laid her hand over her lower abdomen. Her period wasn’t due for another few days. When she missed it, Spike would be sure to notice – and she was very sure she would miss it. She had no illusions about his knowledge of exactly when she menstruated – she’d been too near him for too long. Stupid, creepy vampire smelling. She might be able to forestall questions for a day or two, but if she was later than that he was sure to notice.

When that happened, there would be questions. Questions she couldn’t answer. How could she tell him that she’d used him to make a baby? She felt dirty, like she’d raped him, stolen part of him without his knowledge or permission, just like the monks had. But she’d had no choice. She had to save Dawn’s soul, and Spike had made it clear that he had no desire for a child. Buffy had even brought the subject up once or twice more in round-about ways, and Spike’s disdain for the idea never wavered.

She considered telling him and simply begging for his forgiveness, but the thought of it terrified her. What if he didn’t forgive her? What if he hated her? What if he looked at her with disdain and contempt? This was going to be hard enough on her heart, she didn’t think it could take seeing those emotions in his eyes.

Buffy’s logical mind knew just how crazy it sounded, but to spare her heart the possibility of utter decimation, she would have to leave Spike before he found out about the baby and left her, or worse: stayed but resented her for it. Her heart would be broken, but it wouldn’t be destroyed. It was the lesser of two evils. The possibility that Spike would forgive her seemed so remote that it didn’t even make a blip on her emotional radar.

She was the Slayer and she had a mission. Her heart had been broken more than once in the name of the mission; it was, it seemed, her true calling. She simply had to make sure it wasn't broken so completely that she couldn't take care of their child, and to do that she would have to leave him before he shattered her with his scorn and rejection. Tomorrow ... or, perhaps the tomorrow after that. Definitely one of these tomorrows would be their last.

“Let’s go in here,” Buffy suggested as they got to the swankiest ice cream parlor she’d ever seen. If the ice cream was as rich as the décor, she may just die right there from the utter bliss of it.

The Bot turned in and Buffy directed her to a booth in the back. The menu was like something from the Guy Savoy over at Cesar’s Palace, which Spike had taken them to the week before. She suddenly felt a bit underdressed in her short skirt, sandals, and button-down blouse.



Golden Opulence Sundae. $1,000.

Five scoops of Tahitian Vanilla Bean ice cream mixed with Madagascar vanilla and Venezuelan Chuao chocolate. The decadent foundation is set off with a leaf covered in 23K edible gold and surrounded by golden dragets, Paris candied fruits, marzipan cherries, and truffles. This decadent sundae is topped off with Amedei Porcelana drizzled over the top, and a Ron Ben-Israel sugar flower. But the experience doesn’t end there! Topping the sundae you’ll also find a small glass bowl of Grand Passion Caviar, sweetened with orange, passion fruit, and Armagnac, which gives off a shiny golden color. Eat your sundae in style: an 18K gold spoon is provided to eat your delicious treat out of a Harcourt crystal goblet.


“Holy shit,” Buffy muttered under her breath as she searched for something she could afford.

She finally settled on something with less glitz and precious metals: a brownie sundae for $50, along with a cup of coffee. She gave her order to the waitress and, after getting her coffee, she summoned her courage to do what she knew needed to be done. Buffy had to get the Bot prepared for the day when Buffy left. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Spike completely alone. The Bot was all she could give him, and she intended to make sure he knew that Buffy gave her blessing for him to be with her twin.

“It is a very good thing that Spike is so talented with games of chance,” the Bot observed after the waitress left. “Otherwise you would starve.”

Buffy chuckled nervously and nodded. “No doubt. Man – I had no idea there was such a thing as a thousand dollar sundae. Geez … and I thought McDonald’s was overpriced when they went to $1.29 for their sundaes. I guess I’m not very good being a high roller’s girl.”

“Spike seems satisfied with your performance,” the Bot offered matter-of-factly.



Buffy blushed and fidgeted with her coffee cup, looking down at the table. “Yeah, I guess … Which brings me to something I wanted to talk to you about,” she forged ahead. Summoning her courage, Buffy looked up at the Bot. “Spike had you deactivate some files and programs.”

“Yes,” the Bot replied.

“Can you … reactivate them anytime?” Buffy wondered.

“Yes. I am extremely efficient at managing my files.”

Buffy nodded and gave the Bot a smile. “Good. Ummm … I was thinking that Spike might like to spend some … time with both of us … together.”

“Spike spends an average of 2.76 hours per day with both of us together,” the Bot pointed out helpfully. “I believe he is satisfied with this level of interaction.”



Buffy sighed – hints were not gonna get it with the Bot. She started to get more explicit, but stopped talking when the waitress came with a brownie sundae that could’ve fed a Mongol horde.

“Wow – I didn’t ask for it to be supersized,” Buffy commented as the punchbowl full of rich, dark chocolate brownies and decadent French vanilla ice cream was placed in front of her. The ice cream had been drizzled with hot fudge and then covered with Maraschino cherries, sliced bananas, pecans, and walnuts. The whole thing was then topped with real whipped cream – as in cream that had been whipped, not sprayed from a can – and that was dusted with Ghirardelli’s cocoa.

“There must be a whole pan of brownies here… and a whole half-gallon of ice cream,” she continued as she eyed the mountain of food from one side, then tilted her head to check the other.

“Biggest, baddest thing you’ve ever had in your mouth, honey,” the waitress assured her with a wink.

Buffy choked and flushed, and thought, You’ve never met Spike, but aloud she just said, “Uhhh ... right. Thanks.”

When the waitress left, Buffy tucked into the mound of sugary-goodness and talked between bites and moans of pleasure. If Buffy had never met Spike, she would’ve agreed with the waitress – it was heavenly!

“What I meant was, I think that you should reactivate those files that he had you deactivate and then … use those programs to spend more time with Spike and I,” Buffy clarified between bites.

The Bot’s eyes became a bit unfocused, the clue that she was ‘thinking’, then she looked back at Buffy. “You wish me to have sex with you and Spike,” she announced in a too-loud voice. “I believe that is called a ménage à trois or a threesome.”

Buffy choked on the food in her mouth, inhaling some brownie into her windpipe, and began coughing. Her eyes teared up, and she thought she was going to have to do something really gross to clear her windpipe. After a long minute, she finally got her throat cleared (without resorting to anything too unladylike) and swallowed what was in her mouth. By now people at tables and booths near them were casting furtive glances at the blonde twins.

“Inside voice! Geez! Announce it over the loudspeaker, why don’t you?” Buffy growled at the Bot in a mock whisper.



“If that is preferable,” BuffyBot began as she began to slide out of the booth, presumably to go in search of a loudspeaker.

Buffy put her hand on the Bot’s arm and stopped her. “A figure of speech,” she clarified. “Not literal.”

“Oh. I understand. You were using sarcasm. I am still compiling a file on sarcasm, it is incomplete.”

Buffy sighed. “Ok … those files that he had you deactivate. Do any of them have … scenarios for … threesomes?” Buffy asked, keeping her voice low.

The Bot’s mind whirled behind her eyes a moment, then she nodded. “Yes. I have several scenarios for threesomes. Do you wish me to diagram them for you?”

“Uhhh … no. I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” Then, after a beat, “You can do that?”

“Yes. I have above-average hand-eye coordination and can draw in perfect detail in several mediums, including pencil, charcoal ...”

“That is so not fair. I can barely draw stick figures,” Buffy groused, cutting the Bot off. She sighed. “Also non-pointy.”



“Actually, the pencils are quite pointy,” the Bot corrected.

“No … I mean … never mind,” Buffy huffed out a breath, then began again in earnest. “Bot, do you remember when I cut my arms?”

“Of course. I run diagnostic tests daily and my ROM and RAM is in perfect working order,” the Bot replied.

“Right. And I asked you to love Spike for me?”

“Yes. I agreed.”

“Right, you did. I want you to promise, if anything … happens to me ... If I … go away or … well, just anything happens and Spike’s alone ... or for some reason I can't be with him, that you’ll love him for me, okay?”

“I have not rescinded my promise. It remains in effect,” the Bot assured Buffy. “I am excellent at keeping promises.”

“Good. That’s good. Ok, but you need to not be jealous, ok? If he finds someone else to love, then you can … stand down, go back to just being his friend if that’s what he wants. Take your cues from him. Don't go all Othello on him. Understand?”

“Yes. I understand fully. My verbal and written comprehension of the English language is in the 100th percentile among English-speaking college graduates,” BuffyBot agreed.

Buffy furrowed her brow but nodded. Did the Bot go to college? Surely not. “Good … At least I think that’s good. That's good, right?”

"Superlative," the Bot clarified, giving Buffy a nod and a Colgate smile. "Just like Spike's wash-board abs."



"Oh, you mean 'extra-yummy-goodness'," Buffy translated, returning the Bot's smile.

Buffy turned her attention back to her barely-touched mound of chocolate nirvana. She’d eaten as much as she could, but it hardly made a dent in it. “Man, I wish I had a poor country I could send this to. It’d feed a small army for a week.”

“Actually, that would be insufficient to feed even one human adult for a week. There are approximately 12,000 calories in that dish. It would, of course depend on if the army was made of males or females, and their average weight and fitness levels. It would also depend on if the army was actively engaged in warfare and at what temperatures and in what terrain. A fit male would require approximately 2,000 calories per day, however if they were active …”

“Never mind,” Buffy sighed, waving a hand at the Bot. “That was rhetorical.”

“I am not programmed to recognize rhetoric.”

“I know – sorry,” Buffy apologized as she pulled money from her purse to pay for the dessert. “C’mon – we’ve got some things to do before Spike gets home … errr … back to the room tonight.”

**~**



When Spike got in in the early hours of the morning, Buffy and the Bot were both on the couch in the sitting room. Buffy was half-snoozing, half-watching TV, and the Bot was charging. They were both dressed in soft, fluffy bath robes and they both smelled of sandalwood and vanilla, the fragrance of the high-end body-wash and shampoo that the hotel provided.

“Honey, I’m home,” Spike called as he closed the door behind him. He dropped his keycard onto the table near the door as well as the ‘spending money’ and loose chips that he’d brought home. The ‘real’ cash – the cash they’d soon use to start a new life – was in a safety deposit box in the hotel’s vault.

“Miss me?” he asked as he leaned over the back of the couch and gave Buffy and upside-down kiss.

“Always,” she purred as she grabbed the back of his neck when he began to pull away. Spike didn’t fight as she deepened the kiss, holding him in place with the gentle pressure of her hand … or perhaps it was the pressure of her lips that was holding him in place.

When she finally released him, he still didn’t move far from her. “What was that for?” he wondered, giving her a sexy, upside-down smirk.

“Got a surprise for you tonight,” Buffy revealed. “There’s an outfit in the bathroom I want you to put on after your shower.”



Spike cocked an upside-down brow at her. “I refuse t’ wear a pink tutu, pet.”

Buffy cocked a brow at him. "A blue tutu would be ok?" Spike started to shrug, but Buffy laughed and shook her head. “It’s not a tutu!”

“Or a feather boa…” Spike added.

“Just go get a shower, you deviant,” she commanded, laughter still in her voice.

“Maybe you’d like t’ join me,” he suggested, running his tongue suggestively over his teeth.

“Not tonight – now go on before I change my mind about your surprise,” she ordered, pushing on his shoulder where he still leaned over her.

Spike gave her one more assessing glance, then acquiesced and headed into the bedroom and the bathroom beyond. After a moment he was back.



“Don’t think it’ll fit, luv,” he informed her, holding a black scarf up across his hips.

Buffy rolled her eyes and got up off the couch. “It’s for your eyes, dummy,” she told him, taking it from his hands and wrapping it around his head to demonstrate. “And no cheating. If you look, you won’t get the surprise.

“There are ear plugs and a nose clip in there too. Put them all on and lay down on the bed … after you shower that smell off you,” she instructed, scrunching up her nose. “Mrs. Ryblonski again, huh?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a bloody babe magnet.”

“Good thing I’m not jealous, or I’d have to steal her walker … and blow up her oxygen tank.”

Spike laughed. “You are the epitome of trust and sharing, luv.”

You have no idea… Buffy thought. “Come in smelling like that ho’ Seashell – what kind of name is that, anyway? Geez! – and I’ll show her just how much I can share … with my fists,” she threatened.



Spike laughed. “No worries, pet. I think you got your point across last time when you threatened to make her spine into a puka shell necklace. Haven’t seen her about of late.”

“Good. You don’t need all those skanks rubbing all over you. You’ve got me for that.

“Now go. Shoo!” she instructed, making a shooing motion with her hands. “The smell of Bengay and ‘White Diamonds’ that’s reeking off you is about to make me hurl.”

Spike gave her an appraising look. “What are you plannin’, Summers?” he wondered.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it? The ‘duh!’ at the end of that sentence is silent,” she informed him.

“Only one way you’re gonna find out. You do … trust me, don’t you?” she asked coyly.

Spike sighed, gave her one more curious look, then turned and headed for the bathroom again, twisting his hips in an exaggerated motion from side to side as he went. He swung the scarf in his hand like a stripper would twirl an item of clothing before tossing it to the crowd. He stopped in the doorway and looked dramatically back over his shoulder at her. His lips were pursed to highlight his razor-sharp cheekbones, his eyes narrowed into sexy slits. Spike blew her a kiss, then turned away and continued his ‘sexy walk’ into the bedroom.



Buffy laughed and shook her head as she watched him go. Such a perv.

**~**

“Right then, Mistress Pandora, come open your box,” Spike called from the bedroom. “Your deaf, blind, and … What do ya call someone who can’t smell?” he wondered, his voice strangely muffled by the clip on his nose.

“A sanitation worker,” Buffy supplied, as she moved to the bedroom door, still clad in her fluffy robe.

Spike snorted. It blew the clip off his nose. Buffy scowled at him. “I should’ve gotten the big, steel, industrial strength one.”



Spike pulled the blindfold up – to look for the clamp, of course – and stole a glance around the room and at her. He didn’t see any big surprise waiting for him – or at least nothing he hadn’t seen every night for the last couple of weeks.

Buffy sighed and strode over to where the little plastic swimmer’s clamp fell on the floor, picked it up, and put it in Spike’s hand. “Get in bed, face up, spread-eagle,” she commanded.

“Ooooo … I love it when you act like a bossy bint. Gets me all hot and tingly. Oh – wait – that’s how you act all the bloody time,” Spike taunted as he put the little clamp back on his nose and basically dove onto the bed, bouncing halfway across it before coming to rest near the middle of the wide mattress.

He rolled over until he was face up and then spread his arms and legs out as instructed. “I’m your willin’ slave,” he offered as he waited, his whole body on alert, thrumming with anticipation.

Even with the plugs in his ears, he could still hear – it was just a little muffled. He heard Buffy open a dresser drawer. Since he didn’t think she was getting clothes out, he had to assume she was retrieving some of the toys they’d bought over the last days. Ok, to be fair, he’d picked out most of them.

The memory of her in the sex shop the first time made him grin as he waited for her to give him his surprise. She couldn’t have been more red-faced if she’d been dunked into a vat of ketchup. She followed him around, head bowed, her hair falling over her face to hide her discomfort … or maybe to just hide her identity from anyone that might be looking. She wouldn’t even look at the stuff he picked out, even when he specifically asked her preference on something. I mean, how should he know if she’d rather have a Hopping Rabbit Vibrator, a Wild Orchid, a Thrusting Panther, or a Diving Dolphin? She absolutely refused to even look at them. He chose the panther for her; for some reason the predator theme seemed to suit his Slayer.

He took her back there six times in the first two days, just so he could see her face go through the transformation from pink, to red, to nearly purple. She looked like one of those cartoon characters just before the steam starts whistling out their ears and their eyes bulge out of their heads. It was too bloody cute.

To Buffy’s credit, after ten days and fifteen trips into the shop, she had started picking out some things on her own. Her current favorite was the Twin Teasers vibrator that offered double penetration and a little bunny to hop excitedly over her clit at the same time. Spike had unleashed the monster inside his Slayer … and oh how he loved it. And, the best part was Buffy hadn't retreated into 'Barmy-Buffy' once in the last two weeks, even when faced with Thrusting Panthers and butt plugs. He had Buffy back, and now he had all of her ... or nearly all. Her heart was still elusive, but he could wait for that – there was no rush – they had forever. Every minute, every hour, every day he spent with her only brought them closer, he could feel it in his bones. Every silly argument he let her win, every chick-flick he endured, every hour he spent explaining 'Passions' to her was worth it. She had let him in, metaphorically and literally, it was only a matter of time before she admitted her feelings for him, he was sure of it.

Spike came back to the moment when the handcuffs closed over his right wrist. It was only then that he realized she had shackled him to the bed by his wrists and ankles. He pulled against them tentatively – they were surprisingly strong; the bed, however, wasn’t, but he had no desire to escape his Mistress. He’d done this to her, but this was the first time she’d done it to him. The added incapacity of the blindfold, ear plugs, and the nose clip left him feeling strangely vulnerable. But wasn’t that the point?

“I know you can hear me, can’t you?” Buffy asked from the right side of the bed where she’d just finished clicking his wrist into the handcuff.

“I can hear you,” he confirmed.

“Mistress…” Buffy added angrily as a sharp swat of a riding crop smacked Spike in the stomach.



“I can hear you, Mistress,” Spike corrected, trying to keep from grinning like a mad-man. Oh, yes … he’d created a monster. A wickedly wonderful horny deviant bossy bint of a dominatrix monster.

Buffy trailed the leather tip of the riding crop down from Spike’s shackled wrist, over his biceps, across the dark hair under his arm – which made him squirm – to his chest. She drew figure-eights over his hard pecs with the leather, making smaller and smaller loops, closing in on his dusky nipples as she went.

Spike jerked his leg, trying to move it away, when a new sensation began on his foot. A feather was trailing lazily from the ticklish bottom of his foot to his ankle and up over his calf.



“Bet you’re one a’ those chits that can pat your head and rub your tummy at the same time,” he commented after a moment.

Buffy’s crop lifted off his chest and smacked down on the hard muscles of his abs again.

“Mistress,” Spike added through clenched teeth, the muscles of his stomach quivering beneath the delicious sting of the leather.

“I can chew gum and walk at the same time, too,” she assured him haughtily.

“We know you’re a vampire,” Buffy continued, as she began the figure-eights on his chest again.

“Do we now?”

“Mmmhmmm,” Buffy confirmed. Spike jumped again as the unmistakable tip of a stake began idly tracing the muscles of his six-pack.

“And … what are ya gonna do with the vampire, Mistress?” Spike wondered as his adrenaline began to climb. He was already hard, but the feel of the sharpened wood against his skin made his cock jump and jerk, dancing with fear and arousal.

“Use him for our pleasure,” Buffy replied matter-of-factly.

Our? Spike thought. Who is ‘our’? She got a bloody mouse in ‘er pocket?

Buffy trailed the soft leather flap at the end of the riding crop over Spike’s nipples, hardening them into pebbles with just a touch. At the same time, the feather tickled his inner thighs before momentarily caressing his balls and cock, then circling around over one hip and beginning again on his thighs.

And in her third hand, Buffy was inching the stake up from his abs toward his heart. What the bloody hell?

Spike didn’t have time to process that very long before the stake stopped over his heart. He felt the tip press into his flesh painfully as the feather ghosted over his balls and cock again. Two primal, brain-stem reactions battled inside him for dominance: fear and lust. The two built on each other as they warred within him, lifting his hormone and adrenaline levels through the roof. He briefly thought of blurting out their safe-word, but parts of him really wanted to see just where this was going. Those would be the parts below his navel; the part just under the tip of that stake had no desire whatsoever to find out any more about this new game.

“I could dust you right now,” Buffy informed him, as if he didn’t know that.

“Yeah … so why don’t ya?” he asked, feigning Big Bad indifference.

Buffy smacked him again with the crop.

“Mistress,” Spike ground out through clenched teeth, trying not to inhale too deeply and press his chest harder against the deadly wood.

“We’re horny. You’re the only vampire we’ve captured in a very long time. If you want to stay non-dusty, then you’ll do as you’re told, when you’re told, for as long as you’re told. Got it?”

There was that ‘we’ again. What the fuck was that about?

“Yeah, I got it.” Spike felt the crop lift off his abs again and quickly added, “Mistress.”

Buffy let up on the pressure of the stake and Spike felt at once relieved and a little disappointed. She was hot when she was threatening him like that. There had been a time when that was the only action he’d ever gotten from her, and he’d taken those crumbs and shaped them in his mind into all sorts of sexual fantasies. Who knew they'd ever actually come true? A vamp could dream, of course ... but this – this was a bloody wet-dream come to life.



Suddenly Buffy’s mouth was right next to his ear. “Don’t think we won’t dust you, vampire. When we say ‘fuck’ you better be the best fuck we’ve ever had, and when we sit on your face, you better give the best head of your miserable life. You want to keep walking around, then you need to satisfy the needs of a Slayer and one horny bitch.”

Before Spike could even answer, Buffy had pulled away and, in what seemed like the very next instant, her lips had closed over his cock and were sucking down on him.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, surprised by her quickness and ferocity. His hips jerked up, pulling on his restraints as she continued teasing his balls with the feather, a sharp contrast to the hungry way her mouth was devouring him.

**~**

Buffy stood back and watched as the Bot’s lips swallowed Spike’s length, sucking down with God-only-knew how much force. The Bot, Buffy was sure, could suck the chrome off a bumper. It really was a little weird – ok, it was a whole-lot weird – to watch herself giving Spike head. She was at once jealous and worried that the Bot did a better job of it than she did.



This was your stupid idea, she admonished herself. You have no one to blame but yourself if the freaking Bot is better than you are. Remember what you’re trying to do, for Christ’s sake, and stop being a baby.

But Buffy couldn’t help but listen to Spike’s moans and hissed words of praise, and compare them to what he said to her when she’d given him head. She’d read in Cosmo one time that threesomes could get really complicated when there were emotional attachments. Buffy suddenly understood that to her core. The feelings that had grown inside her for Spike were suddenly in turmoil. Maybe she should just stop this now. He was still blindfolded – he might not even know if she just stopped the Bot, sent her to the other room, and took her place.

And then Buffy thought of Spike being alone. He deserved better than the Bot, but at least he’d have some comfort until he could find someone new after Buffy left. Spike was, at his core, Love’s Bitch – he needed someone to love almost as much as he needed blood. She owed him this much. She could be a mature, self-assured adult long enough to make sure he no longer felt any guilt over being with his robot. Buffy took a deep breath and steeled herself. She could do this. She could even enjoy doing this. It could be fun. Right?

That’s your problem, Summers. You think too much, Buffy scolded herself. Quit thinking and do.

**~**

Spike had started to say something lewd to Buffy about ‘horny bitches’, but the words exploded into sparks of surprised pleasure when her mouth engulfed his length.

“Bloody hell!” The words burst from his lips, surprised by her quickness and ferocity. Only a moment before she had been right next to his ear, and now she was devouring him. His hips jerked up, pulling on his restraints, as she drove him wild. Her mouth was hot and wet as she sucked down on his shaft, and the head of his cock slammed into the back of her throat when his hips jerked up against her. The feather she’d had in her hand continued to tease his tight balls like the fingers of a ghost, and the disparate sensations overwhelmed his mind for a few moments as his body wrested control from his blood-starved brain.

But something was off. Not that there was anything wrong with what Buffy was doing, but it simply felt different – familiar but different. Buffy's first forays into fellatio had been tentative and unsure. She'd gained confidence over the last couple of weeks, but she still liked to start slowly, tease him into rock-solid hardness with that lovely, pink tongue, then nibble the length of him with her teeth before dropping that luscious mouth over his shaft. And even then, her tongue continued to swirl over him and twirl around the head when she pulled back. She wasn’t doing any of that now, and she definitely hadn't started slowly. Not that Spike was complaining, but it was just … different. Maybe she was just getting into the whole Mistress role and trying something new, he mused as he forced some blood back into his muddled brain.

And then it hit him. ‘We’. He suddenly remembered why this felt familiar. ‘We.’

“Bugger,” he murmured as the truth came to him in slow spluttering bursts of lucidity. That wasn’t Buffy; that was the bloody Bot. No sooner had he realized the truth and began trying to process just what the bloody hell that meant, he felt the mattress dip near his head and Buffy’s lips touched down on his. Spike instinctively returned the kiss, darting his tongue out to taste her. She tasted of cherries and chocolate and Buffy. He wished he could see her. If he could see her perhaps he could suss out what she was thinking, but all he could do was taste her and feel the Bot’s mouth raking over him. Then Buffy’s hands pressed against his chest and she pushed herself away.



He began to protest, but before he could get the words out he felt her shift again and her sweet quim was over his face, effectively silencing him. Her hips rocked back and forth, then she settled her wet pussy over his mouth. Spike moaned into her as his tongue lashed out and devoured her sweet, dripping desire. He pulled against his restraints, wishing he could use his hands, but was thwarted with the cuffs. He groaned in frustration, but his tongue and lips took up the challenge immediately.

As he dove into her he felt the Bot pull off and he tensed, waiting to see – or more accurately feel, since he couldn’t actually see anything – what would come next.

**~**

When the Bot straddled their prisoner and lowered herself down onto his shaft, Spike’s deep, basso growl of pleasure washed over Buffy’s pussy with a vibration that rivaled any of the toys they’d bought. Buffy’s hands were pressed against Spike’s chest, balancing and supporting her over his face, and now the Bot’s were pressed against his flat abs as she ground her hips down on him.

Spike’s tongue began thrusting into Buffy’s throbbing channel in time with the Bot’s rocking rhythm on his cock. His chin raked against her clit, sending shivers of fire down her thighs and up into her core. Buffy suddenly found that she was no longer jealous, but turned on by the vision of the Bot riding Spike’s thrusting hips – a mirror of Buffy’s own position over his luscious mouth.

The Bot had a look of pleasure on her face and Buffy knew, from talking to her robot-twin earlier, that it was most likely real – not a strictly programmed response to the act of sex.

The Bot had tried to explain to Buffy how the receptors that were in her flexible outer layer of dermis worked. Buffy didn’t really get it, other than to realize that the Bot could feel things. She knew when something felt hot or cold, soft or hard, good, or bad, or … wonderful, and the proper response to the stimuli would be triggered. It was, Buffy thought, not that different from how a human would respond in many ways. The only difference was that the responses were generally programmed in ahead of time (although she could also learn new responses) and stored in little bits and bytes rather than in a mushy, pink brain.

There were times Buffy wished she’d had the ‘proper’ responses to things pre-programmed – especially things like algebra, French, history … It would’ve save all that pesky time she’d wasted studying!

From the look on BuffyBot’s face, she was feeling pretty darn good as she slid languidly up and down Spike’s shaft, grinding down on him hard every three or four strokes. The Bot’s head was tilted back, her lids heavy, eyes nearly closed as she rode him. Low, throaty moans fell from her lips, especially on the hard down-strokes. Buffy knew that feeling. The feeling of Spike’s cock plunging into her, banging against her womb, his girth stretching and filling her.



Buffy had nothing to complain about herself as Spike’s rough tongue darted into her, laving her sensitive opening with blissful abandon. She didn’t know if it was a vampire thing or just a Spike thing – but that tongue. Oh. My. God. Gene Simmons had nothing on Spike. His long, lithe, talented oral appendage was vampire-strong and wonderfully wicked. His taste buds were as rough as sandpaper against her flesh, while the bottom was smooth as silk. When he curled the hard, sharp tip against her g-spot, raking those rough taste buds over the elusive little bobbin, Buffy’s body turned to jelly. He sent her heart fluttering just running that devilish weapon over his own lips – when it was delving into her, her heart tried to explode out of her chest.

Buffy had never experienced anything like it before – of course that was true of all of Spike’s talents and appendages.



Watching the Bot and Spike moving together sent chills of desire through Buffy. She could see his cock, slick and shining with BuffyBot’s juices, sliding in and out of her twin. Buffy watched as Spike’s shaft disappeared between the Bot’s smooth pussy lips, only to reappear again a moment later. She couldn't bring herself to look away; the sight made her pulse race, her heart skitter in her chest, and her pussy throb. It was beautiful and erotic and ... wrong. Enjoying this must be wrong. Buffy’s body tingled all over with the absolute wrongness of it; the wrongness of watching this; of doing it, of liking it. There was no doubt this was the epitome of wrong … but it felt soooo good.

This wasn't what she'd expected ... this wasn't what she'd planned. She ... she was just doing this for Spike, so he would know it was alright to be with the Bot. How had this gotten so ... turned around?

Even with the wrongness of her enjoying this tableau blaring wildly in her brain, the vision of Spike's cock thrusting into her twin fanned the flames of Buffy’s desire. She couldn't look away if she'd wanted to, and the evil-bliss of it captured and then burned her inhibitions into tiny motes of ash and cinder, effectively silencing her stupid brain. Thoughts of what was right and what was wrong, of social taboos and expectations, vanished from her mind in a whirlwind of flames and dancing embers.

Buffy bit her bottom lip and reached one tentative hand out to touch one of the Bot’s bouncing nipples.

BuffyBot gasped at the new sensation. She widened her half-lidded eyes and raised her head from its rolled-back position to look at Buffy with smoldering green passion. Buffy half-expected to feel squicked-out – her desires had never leaned this way – but she suddenly realized that she cared for the Bot, crazy as that was. In her own way, the Bot had been a friend to her over the last weeks, almost as much as Spike had. Freud would probably have a field-day with this one, but suddenly giving the Bot pleasure seemed just as important to Buffy as giving Spike pleasure.

Buffy rolled the Bot’s nipple in her fingers as Spike had done hers so many times and the Bot’s body arched into her hand. A thrill ran through Buffy and she became bolder, rougher, more lascivious. Giving pleasure to her partner in this surprise made Buffy’s own pulse quicken and her passion rise even higher. When the Bot’s hand came up to mimic Buffy’s, she didn’t pull away, she pressed into it, savoring the feel of the Bot’s heat on her skin, of her twin’s strong fingers tugging her nipple into rock-hardness.

When the Bot raised her other hand up to Buffy’s neck and pulled the self-proclaimed ex-Slayer forward, Buffy didn’t fight her. Their lips met in the middle and they kissed gently and tentatively. Tongues teased and tasted, teeth nibbled, and lips pressed softly against the other’s. The Bot tasted like strawberries. Her lips were fever-hot against Buffy’s, so very different than Spike’s. They were firm, yet pliable, not as pillowly-soft as the vamp's, but they were just as passionate against Buffy's mouth. Buffy found herself lost in the sensations flowing over her body. Hands and mouths touching, lips and tongues tasting, gentle caresses and demanding gropes all merged into a sea of sensation that washed over the ex-Slayer like a hundred-foot tidal wave.

Buffy was suddenly giving as much to the Bot as she was getting. She was just as turned on by the giving as the receiving, and she silently willed the Bot to fall with her into that sea of bliss.

With Spike pleasuring them both with cock and tongue, the two blondes atop him both shuddered in blissful release as their pleasure centers were overloaded. They both gasped then moaned sharply into the other’s mouth as their orgasms washed through them. Their bodies tensed almost as one, and their throbbing quims clenched at Spike’s thrusting bits.

When Buffy’s cum showered down on his tongue in an explosion of sweet desire and the Bot’s quim fluttered and clutched at his cock, Spike couldn’t hold back another moment. All the sensations were simply too much to fight, and his own explosion erupted into the Bot’s quivering channel. Although he’d indulged in fantasies about such a threesome, Spike hadn’t dared think such a thing would actually happen to him – Dear Penthouse, I don’t normally write letters like this but – and the reality of it was more than he’d ever imagined.

As Buffy returned to earth from her trip around the moon, she collapsed down onto the bed on Spike’s right, half-draped over him, her head near his hips. At the same moment, the Bot returned from robot heaven – presumably somewhere in the ‘Futurama’ Universe – and collapsed forward from her perch on Spike’s hips. She ended up with her head on his shoulder, laying on her side with most of her body weight on the bed on his left. One of the Bot’s arms rested on his chest, and one leg draped over his left thigh.

“Bloody hell,” Spike panted, still licking Buffy’s spendings from his lips. “Can I see my bloody surprise now?” he gasped out, belatedly adding, “Mistress.”

“As soon as enough parts of my anatomy begin functioning again,” Buffy replied dreamily.

“I am fully functional,” the Bot offered brightly.

“Bitch…” Buffy murmured. Then more loudly said, “Go ahead … release the prisoner.”

The Bot retrieved the handcuff key and released one of Spike’s wrists. As soon as he was free, the blindfold, nose clip, and ear plugs were yanked off. He looked at his two beautiful bedmates. Buffy was still flushed with the afterglow of a lovely orgasm as she sprawled in the bed against his side, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. The Bot, he noted, had the very same little smile as she walked around unlocking each shackle from his limbs.

Spike bit his bottom lip as his eyes roamed over their naked forms and he breathed in the scent of them. Not that this hadn’t been a fantasy for him for a long time, and he wasn’t normally one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but …



“Why … What brought this on?” he asked, looking curiously at Buffy.

“You don’t like your gift? I’m not sure I can return it now that we’ve, you know, taken it out of the box and played with it,” she retorted glibly.

“I love it, pet. You got no bloody idea, but …”

Buffy huffed out a breath and sat up. “God, Spike. Don’t you know by now?”

Spike sat up too, looking at her quizzically. “Know what, pet?”

Buffy reached her hand out to the Bot and pulled her twin back onto the bed next to her now that Spike had been freed. “BuffyBot loves you and I love you and so … we … wanted to … love you … together,” Buffy stammered out, her voice getting lower the longer she talked.

Spike stopped breathing. He became so still Buffy thought he’d turned to marble. Oh God! What had she said? What had she done? Why did she say that? Bad Buffy!



“Spike?”

Spike continued to stare at her, unmoving, still as a statue. Were those words from her lips akin to gazing upon Medusa? Had she turned him to stone?

“Spike?” Buffy squeaked out again, her heart and mind racing with what she'd done.

Spike finally blinked. His mouth fell open, then closed ... then dropped open again but nothing came out for a long minute. “Say ... that … again,” he requested finally, his voice quavering and unsure.

Buffy cleared her throat uncomfortably. “BuffyBot loves you.”

“No … the ... the other bit.”

“We wanted to…”

“No, the other bit,” Spike ground out, afraid to believe what he’d heard her say.

“Oh.” Buffy cleared her throat again and looked down at her hands which she was wringing nervously in the sheets. She hadn’t really meant to say that earlier – it just came out – but it was too late to put that back box and return it for a refund. “I love you.”

A thousand angels took flight inside Spike's chest, their wings beating a joyful rhythm against his heart, lifting it to heaven.

“Oh, Buffy. Waited so long t’ hear that. Love you so much, pet,” Spike breathed. He reached out and pulled her into his lap and against him. He captured her lips with his, devouring her with a feverish kiss. She loved him!

He tasted like sex. He tasted like her. Buffy melted into him and allowed herself to get lost in the joy of loving and being loved. She hadn't meant to say that, but she was here now – there was no un-ringing that bell. The moment was magical, filling the air with static electricity. Her whole body thrummed with it, her skin prickled, and her heart soared. Even the knowledge that their time together would be fleeting couldn't dampen her giddy, school-girl reaction to saying the words she knew he'd longed to hear. She was here in his arms now and that was all that mattered in this moment – she could allow herself to indulge in the magic for a little while. She had no doubt that she’d never feel this again if she lived to be a hundred – she was going to wallow in it. It would need to last her a lifetime.

After a moment Buffy pulled back to breathe. She rested her forehead on his, not wanting to get too far away. “But did you like your present?” she wondered, sounding like a child at Christmas asking their father if they liked the garish cartoon tie they’d picked out ‘all by themselves’.

“Bloody brilliant! Best present ever. You got no idea. Loved it, pet. Love you ... love you both.”



**~**

{{ Click here to hear I Kissed A Girl, Katy Perry on YouTube }}

This was never the way I planned, not my intention.
I got so brave, drink in hand, lost my discretion
It's not what I'm used to, just wanna try you on.
I'm curious for you, caught my attention.

[Chorus:]
I kissed a girl and I liked it,
The taste of her cherry Chapstick.
I kissed a girl just to try it,
I hope my boyfriend don't mind it.
It felt so wrong,
It felt so right.
Don't mean I'm in love tonight.
I kissed a girl and I liked it (I liked it).

No, I don't even know your name, it doesn't matter.
You're my experimental game, just human nature.
It's not what good girls do, not how they should behave.
My head gets so confused, hard to obey.

[Chorus]

Us girls we are so magical,
Soft skin, red lips, so kissable.
Hard to resist, so touchable.
Too good to deny it.
Ain't no big deal, it's innocent.

[Chorus]
Chapter End Notes:
Buffy's been all 'Wizard of Oz' with the 'Tomorrows' and now she let the 'L' cat out of the bag! What will she do? Will she leave anyway or will she procrastinate so long that Spike figures it out on his own? Or ... will some other diabolical plot twist© wreck havoc on them and ratchet the angst back up?

Before we find out for certain, there will be one more chapter of Threesome-lovin'. Hope no one got too squicked with that. If you *really* hated it, then you could probably skip the next chapter and not really lose the plot at all.

Next update scheduled for Saturday.
Scream by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
OK, this is another of the chapters you were warned about: Threesome B/G/G action involving Spike, Buffy, and BuffyBot. If that really bothers you, then this chapter could be skipped and not lose the plot.
**
Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Moments later...



“But … the surprise isn’t over yet, is it?” Spike wondered as he pulled BuffyBot into his embrace along with Buffy. “Maybe I could have a turn as … Master,” he suggested as he sat on the bed with his girls in his arms, looking between then and wagging his brows lecherously.

As Spike pulled the Bot forward, Buffy slid over a bit, off Spike’s lap, and onto the big bed to make room for her partner in … well, not crime exactly, but in taboo-shattering wickedness perhaps.

Spike kissed Buffy again, a quick but passionate melding of their lips which left her panting, then turned and did the same with the Bot. When the kiss broke, Spike looked from one to the other of his blondes, waiting for an answer. He was already getting hard again just thinking about the possibilities.

Buffy gave the Bot a significant look, then smirked at him. “I’m thinking ‘no’,” she said wryly as both she and the Bot pushed on his shoulders and he was knocked backwards, his back pressed down hard onto the soft mattress.



The two girls followed him down and Spike scooted back from the edge so he was lying fully on the bed in the middle again. He didn’t want to crowd anyone that might want to ravage him – that would just be inconsiderate. With Buffy on hands and knees on one side and the Bot on the other, Spike’s two Mistresses crawled up beside him and began dropping twin kisses along his jaw, taking turns with quick brushes of soft lips on his mouth, then continuing down.

Their lips and hands roamed over his marble-esque physique, from his neck to his traps, to his strong shoulders. They licked fire across his collarbone then slowly roamed down his chest, over his pecs, to the dark skin of his nipples.

Spike moaned in pleasure as they ravished him with their mouths and hands, then brushed the touches away with a sweep of their long, soft hair. He loved how Buffy’s hair felt against his skin – like a thousand strands of golden silk – and now he had two thousand fingers of spun gold washing over him, making his skin prickle and his muscles tremble with need.

Spike’s moan turned into a rumbling growl when the girls began teasing his nipples to hardness with their mouths. Their hands wandered gently over his abs and hips, taking in every detail of bone, muscle, and sinew with their fingertips. With their silken tresses falling over his chest in a veil, they licked, sucked, and nibbled at his sensitive nipples, and tickled and teased his flanks and abs, until they’d driven him to the brink of madness.

Unable to remain motionless another moment, Spike sprang with the grace and speed of a predator, surprising Buffy and pushing her onto her back. He rolled over with her, then slid off onto the other side of her body.



Buffy let out a surprised yelp, but she was smiling when Spike looked at her. “Your turn, pet,” he rumbled as he beckoned the Bot to move over to their new ‘victim’.

Spike captured her mouth in a passionate kiss, her lips parting willingly as his tongue pressed in. Buffy moaned against him, then her body arched up when his fingers began teasing one of her nipples. Buffy gasped against his mouth when she felt a warm, wet tongue flick at the other breast, and her heart rate soared higher.

The feeling of doing something that was taboo both excited and still frightened her a bit. While it was true she’d done a lot of things with Spike that she had never even considered before, some she’d never heard of before, it was with Spike. It was with a man. Of course, wasn’t being with a vamp the biggest taboo a Slayer could cross? But she’d crossed that line before – she’d wrestled with the wrongness of that before and beaten it into submission … mostly. She’d never even remotely considered this new naughty-no-no whose tongue was suddenly feeling absolutely amazing against her pebbled nub.

When Spike felt Buffy relax from the initial shock of the Bot’s warm mouth on her, he broke the kiss and began mimicking what the two of them had done to him. His kisses and nibbles slid down her jaw to her tender neck. Buffy’s Slayer instincts ratcheted up the adrenaline another notch as he bit down lightly on her jugular with his blunt teeth. Buffy gasped and her entire body seemed to tighten like a bow as the woman’s lust and the Slayer’s instinctual fear wrestled for control.

The demon’s bloodlust forced a rumbling growl from Spike’s lips as his mouth suckled at her tender skin, feeling her pulse racing beneath. He could smell the fear that the Slayer’s instincts had triggered, and his eyes flashed golden with the deliciousness of it, his mouth never breaking contact with her flesh. This tongue traced the old scars there, his demon desperate to cover them with his own, to mark her as his.
 
Buffy’s head tilted to the side, opening her neck up to him fully, and Spike felt something warm and soft flow out from his heart and engulf the demon’s bloodlust. Trust. She trusted him. Even if he could bite her, he wouldn’t – he’d never break that trust.



As Spike nibbled and sucked at her neck, Buffy felt her fear rising and took note somewhere in the back of her mind, but the sparks of lust that were showering down on her from Spike’s lips were simply stronger. His growl against her skin reverberated through her whole body, tingling her skin and releasing a swarm of fluttering butterflies in her stomach. While the Slayer screamed, ‘Danger! Demon!’ at the top of her lungs, the woman inside moaned, ‘Spike … yes, so good,’ in a throaty purr.
  
Buffy tilted her head to the side, encouraging Spike’s lips and nibbling teeth to continue their exploration of her neck. It felt heavenly. The butterflies in her stomach swarmed through her entire body, making her quiver uncontrollably from head to toe. As Spike’s tongue traced sparks across the old scars on her neck, the woman’s trust engulfed the Slayer’s fear, silencing it and transforming it into needful desire.

Buffy shivered – a primal reaction that came from somewhere deep in her core and shook her very foundation – as Spike and the Bot teased, kissed, licked, and caressed her body. Then the Bot’s long, soft hair was flowing over Buffy’s heated skin and she suddenly understood why Spike liked that so much. Her pussy ached for attention, but at the same time she didn’t want either of them to stop what they were doing.

When Buffy thought her entire body would simply unravel with need, Spike’s cool fingers brushed across her apex, barely stirring the springy curls there.

“God, yes … please,” Buffy begged as he teased her pussy-lips with light, barely-there touches. Her hips lifted off the bed, trying to meet his hand, but he reacted naturally, moving with her, and kept his touches light.

“Spread those lovely thighs wide for me,” Spike rumbled into Buffy’s ear and Buffy obeyed immediately.

Spike moved down her body and moaned against her stomach as the aroma of her arousal hit him full force. He slid two fingers between her dew-covered petals and spread her open to the cool air of the room. Buffy’s hips jerked again, the anticipation nearly killing her. And then warm lips sucked down on her aching clit. Buffy’s mind blanked, then brilliant striations of color filled her mind as her body went into blissful spasms of release.

When Buffy recovered enough to open her eyes, she looked down her body to see the Bot between her legs, her face buried in Buffy’s pussy.

“No … no … I don’t …” Buffy began, her eyes growing wide as she tried to slide away from the Bot.



Spike stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. “Stay put, Slayer,” he breathed.

“No, Spike … I’m sorry. I just … that’s just … not … ummm …” Buffy stammered as the Bot continued her mission. Buffy couldn’t help but moan when the other girl’s warm tongue circled Buffy’s aching channel.

“There is no wrong here, luv,” Spike assured her.

“Oh … ummm … well, I know it’s not wrong, ‘cos, you know … Willow and Tara, and I get not-wrong, but …” Buffy’s mind blanked again, her eyes feathering closed of their own accord, as the Bot slid two fingers into her and began slowly fucking Buffy.

“Just feel, Buffy. You’re safe here, pet. There’s no judging, no wrong,” Spike assured her as he began nuzzling her neck again, right in the very spot he knew made her crazy.

Despite the reservations of Buffy’s mind, her body responded. When the Bot slid another finger into her and began thrusting against her in earnest, Buffy’s body exploded into another orgasm. Despite not being as talented as Spike was with her fingers, the Bot was amazingly strong and swift.

Then, in the next moments, there were hands and lips all over her. Buffy couldn’t separate them any longer. Her clit was being teased softly, in sharp contrast to the pounding into her tight channel, and one nipple was being sucked and nibbled on roughly.

Buffy’s body tensed and shuddered in another spasm of bliss as all the sensations overwhelmed her again. She could’ve no sooner stopped the blood-curdling scream that escaped her throat than stop a run-away freight train. Fireworks exploded, comets raced past, thunder rolled, the earth shook and then fell away in a shower of rapture.

When Buffy came back to earth, panting for oxygen, she blinked her eyes open to find Spike looking down at her, his eyes sparkling with desire and mischief. She half-expected him to say, ‘I told you so,’ but he simply kissed her. It was a long, slow, burning kiss and Buffy melted into it, giving herself to him fully.



As the kiss slowly died to glowing embers and they pulled apart, Spike rolled back and gently urged the Bot up Buffy’s body to take his place.

“Kiss ‘er, pet. Taste yourself on those beautiful lips,” Spike whispered to Buffy.

Buffy looked from the Bot to Spike as a myriad of emotions flicked across her face: fear, insecurity, desire, uncertainty, lust. Spike’s eyes were absolutely smoldering as he met Buffy’s eyes. “No wrong here, pet,” he reminded her. “Want t’ see you kiss her.”

Buffy looked back at the Bot, who was on the bed on the other side of Buffy, propped up on one elbow. BuffyBot’s over-hot body was right against Buffy’s, half-leaning on her. Buffy thought she saw her own uncertainty mirrored in the android’s eyes, but the desire was there too.

Buffy lifted a hand and slid it behind the Bot’s neck, under her hair, and gently pulled her doppelganger down. As before, the kiss was a tentative exploration of lips. The Bot still tasted of strawberries, but above that was the flavor Buffy had tasted on Spike’s lips more than once: the taste of her cum. Buffy found the taste of the forbidden fruit to be an aphrodisiac, and the two women deepened the kiss as their confidence and desires grew. Then Spike’s hands were on them both. Gentle fingers trailed over their curves, tracing lines of goose-flesh down their flanks. Then the fingers were followed by his lips moving from one to the other, kissing, nibbling, suckling on his two goddesses.

They both moaned their disapproval as Spike got up from the bed, but they soon replaced his hands with their own on the other’s body. When he returned a few moments later, the two women's limbs were entwined, wrapped around the other’s – arms and legs holding their bodies together, as if any small space between them was too much to bear. Spike stood and watched them for a long minute, stroking his painfully-hard cock and reveling in the beauty and passion of his Slayers.

With his unneeded-breath coming in fitful gasps, Spike watched, utterly mesmerized. Finally, after what could’ve been a few seconds or a few minutes, a small drop of blood raced back up to his brain, spurring him back into action. With that droplet of sanity returning to his brain, he realized that he needed to snap out of his erotic trance or the threesome would be over before it really began.

Shaking his head to clear the double-Buffy induced daze, Spike finally broke from his reverie and began moving his women into the position he wanted. When they realized he was back, they stopped writhing quite so much and followed his gentle commands and touches. The Bot ended up on top of Buffy, face-to-face, their feet toward Spike. He gentled nudged their legs open enough for him to kneel between them, opening two lovely pink pussies to him.

He could hear Buffy’s heart-rate accelerate again in anticipation of what he was going to do. He began sliding a single finger down their slits, across the Bot and then Buffy, and then back up. The girls’ hips jerked and twitched, and nearly identical moans fell from their lips as he teased them both.

“So wet … So bloody beautiful,” Spike murmured as he played with the two quims spread open before him. His fingers formed a ‘rock on’ sign, with the forefinger and pinky up and the middle fingers curled down. He slid his fingers into them both at once – his pinky into the Bot and forefinger into Buffy.

The women began to kiss again, more desperately now, as he slid in and out of them in a slow rhythm, teasing them. Their hips jerked against each other of their own accord, seeking more, needing more.

“Please, Spike,” Buffy breathed at the same time the Bot begged, “Take me, Spike.”

Spike hesitated, his worried eyes darting around the room for a moment. This was the part of the dream where he usually woke up. He waited a second, two, three. Nothing changed – they were all still there. Spike smirked and turned his full attention back to his two Slayers. It wasn’t a dream. Thank the bloody God of Dreams Come True.

They both moaned when Spike’s fingers withdrew, but in the next moment Buffy’s favorite toy, the Twin Teasers vibrator, pressed into them both at once. Shrieks of surprised delight rang from their throats as Spike thrust the double penetration vibrator into them both, fucking both of their sweet quims with wild abandon.

Spike had never heard, seen, or smelled a sweeter tableau than his two Slayers writhing against each other as they were fucked with the strong vibrator. Words seemed to have lost meaning to both of them as they moaned and cursed and called to God in heaven without any network censors coming between their hormones and their vocal chords.

Their bodies rocked against each other, their legs spreading wider yet, as Spike ravaged them with the toy. When their words degenerated into nothing more than panting gasps and their bodies began to spasm, he slammed into them even harder, sending them both over the edge as one.

This time Buffy’s scream was in stereo, just as mind-numbing and ear-splitting as before. Their bodies bucked and ground against each other and against the hand wielding the pleasure device as they soared through the oblivion of bliss.

When he felt them floating back down to earth, Spike pulled the toy out and sunk down onto the mattress between their legs. His long, lithe tongue raked from bottom to top over the two dripping slits, adding the best thing he’d ever tasted to the tableau. The feel of his tongue lapping their juices only sent the two back up onto another crest of ecstasy. Their pussies throbbed wildly in response, and released more ambrosia for Spike’s eager tongue and lips to devour.

The sounds, smells, feel, and sight in front of him launched Spike’s lust to new, previously unseen levels. He couldn’t contain himself another moment, and had no desire to. With an animalistic growl, he went after what he wanted. There was no gentle persuasion to it, no request, not even any warning. He rolled the two women over by their legs, putting Buffy on top. Without a moment’s hesitation, he climbed back between her legs, lifted her ass up by the hips, and slammed his aching need into Buffy's hot, wet channel.

Buffy’s back arched and she screamed out in carnal need at the invasion. Buffy came up onto her hands so she was on all fours and her weight was off the Bot, and rocked her body back against Spike with the same wild ferocity as he was delivering.

“Fuck yes! Fuck me, Spike!” she screamed at him, tossing her head back, spilling her long, golden mane over her shoulders and the bare skin of her back. Spike released one hand from her hip, and grabbed a handful of that spun gold, holding her in place like an animal as he thrust into her with absolutely primal need.

Buffy’s back arched more to take the pressure off her scalp, lifting her pussy up to him even higher as she complied with his unspoken demand of subservience. She felt that same flush of wrongness wash over her – she was the Slayer, this wasn’t her role – but it only served to excite her more. Although Spike had taught her a lot, and they’d played a few games of Master and Slave – often with a measure of pain and violence involved both ways – this was a new level of dominance she’d not felt before. She knew if she could turn around that the demon would be behind her, fucking her with wild, savage lust. He’d never once vamped out on her before. The thought of it made her heart skitter with fear, her adrenaline surge again, and that just made her slam back against his thrusts even harder.

Suddenly a completely new sensation was added to the crazed lust. The Bot, still beneath Buffy from where Spike had simply turned them both over, closed her hot, soft mouth over one of Buffy’s nipples, her tongue dancing across the puckered flesh. BuffyBot’s small, powerful hands roamed over the Other Slayer’s flanks, the curve of her breasts, her waist, her hips, and back again as Spike drove into her.

Buffy rode the tidal-wave of wild, blind lust that Spike and the Bot built inside her to dizzying heights. Wave after wave of bliss crashed over her as he hammered into her, and the Bot’s mouth nipped and sucked at her breasts. Then the Bot’s hand found Buffy’s clit and the ground fell out from beneath the Slayer. She was floating … floating in a sea of rapture; untethered by reason or thought or worry. There was no right or wrong, no should or shouldn’t, no good or evil. There was only feeling here: glorious, heavenly, joyous feeling.



Buffy’s screams rose and fell with her bliss, intersected with gasping pants for oxygen as Spike drove into her from behind and the Bot pleasured her from beneath. Spike’s bear-like growls and grunts of effort joined the Slayer’s cries in a chorus of primal lust. The hard, fast rhythm of their flesh slapping together, and the unmistakable, moist melody of his cock sliding in and out of her tight, slick channel joined with the warriors’ cries to create a symphony of animalistic revelry.
 
Buffy rose up atop wave after cresting wave of pleasure, then crashed down when the wave broke, falling back into that sea of rapture, only to begin up toward the next pinnacle a moment later. Time lost all meaning, she may have been writhing in this blue ocean for a minute or an hour or a lifetime. Spike’s leonine roar of release joined hers more than once as she sailed higher and higher. She felt his cock swell and pulse as he shot his cool seed into her time and again, but each of his rumbling cries of release only seemed to spur him into a more wild and chaotic frenzy. Finally, all she had left in her was an incoherent stream of strangled moans to mark the passing of each blissful zenith and nadir.

When Buffy finally found herself washed up onto the beach, the rapturous waves transformed into small eddies gently lapping at her body, Spike’s strokes into her were languid, lazy presses and pulls. The slapping of flesh had been replaced with a gentle pressure of his hips against her ass, and the wet, squishy sound of his cock sliding in and out of her was now a relaxed, if perhaps even wetter, serenade. He’d released her hair and had a gentle hold on her hips, moving her against him in a comfortable, slow dance.



The Bot’s movements had slowed as well. They’d devolved into soft kisses and teasing touches, mirroring Spike’s languorous pace.

Buffy moaned deeply and Spike’s words about snow on Christmas morning and the rhythm of rain on a tin roof came to her mind. The tornado, the hurricane, the earthquake were gone for now, and all that remained was the warm glow of embers left in the wake of the raging wildfire.

Spike slowed his pace even more and finally stopped, his hips pressed against her ass. He leaned forward, dropping cool kisses on her flushed, damp back. “You’re a bloody animal, Slayer,” he murmured against her flesh. His cool breath and lips felt like heaven against her. “Love you so much. Can’t get enough o’ you.”

Buffy let out a low throaty moan of self-satisfied agreement, but said, “Not the Slayer. And you’re still hard …” Even she could smell his cum, and she could certainly feel it dripping down her thighs. How many times had he cum and he was still hard? Not that she was really complaining…

“Can’t help it … it’s what you do t’ me,” Spike explained in a deep rumbling basso.

Buffy somewhat reluctantly rolled away from Spike. He made no move to hold her as she flopped limply onto her back in the large bed next to the Bot, arms and legs akimbo. Buffy met Spike’s eyes and gave a small inclination of her head toward the Bot, the implication to Spike clear: he’d been ignoring someone.

Spike crawled on hands and knees, moving like a lithe, graceful panther, until he was hovering over the Bot. He dropped his mouth to hers and kissed her. Strawberries mixed with the taste of Buffy on her lips and tongue made Spike’s libido soar again. Could this really be happening? Again he wondered if maybe it was all a dream …

“Take me, Spike. Take all of me! Need to feel your hard, impressive manhood inside me,” the Bot breathed against his lips. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, lifting her opening up to him urgently.

Spike turned his head to the side slightly and looked at Buffy. He was shocked to see her nod to him, to give him permission to do this. Spike reached between their bodies and guided his still-aching need into the Bot’s hot, wet quim. She gasped when he entered her, sounding so much like Buffy that Spike had to check again to make sure it was the Bot, but the strawberry-flavored lube that someone – either Buffy or the Bot herself – had filled her ‘fluids’ tank up with was a sure give-away.



The Bot’s hands slid down from his shoulders, over his flanks, and settled on his hips, her fingers digging lightly into his ass as he pressed into her. A thought whirled in Spike’s mind: she had never done that before. That was something that Buffy always did, although her nails usually dug in deeper, often drawing blood. Had Buffy told her, taught her to do that?

The thought was washed from his mind when the Bot squeezed his length with her hot, undulating quim, urging him into action. He began moving his hips against her, slowly at first. If Buffy was a goddess, then the Bot was the goddess’ handmaiden. Her pussy tightened around him like a wet, hot, velvet glove. The Bot was actually hotter – temperature-wise – than Buffy, and the way her quim reacted to him was more rhythmic – almost like a metronome – than Buffy’s frantic palpitations, but they both felt heavenly in their own ways. The real difference, of course, was Buffy was … Buffy and the Bot was not. He cared for the Bot – despite trying to create her to be just like Buffy, her personality was really all her own – but he loved Buffy, and that made all the difference in the world.



Just as he began thinking how to get Buffy involved, he felt warm hands trailing silkily over his back. The Bot’s hands were still on his ass. He looked to the side to see Buffy watching them. She had her head propped up on one hand and the other hand was drawing gentle curlicues over his back.

“Like t’ watch, pet?” Spike asked, quirking a brow at her.

Buffy flushed bright red and dropped her eyes as her hand went still on his back. Now that her brain was functioning again, her inhibitions and all the ‘rights and wrongs’ of the outside world came bubbling back to the surface. Did she like to watch? No … no! Of course not! That’s … wrong … right? So why had she been doing it? And enjoying it?  

“No wrong, Sl… Buffy,” Spike reminded her, reading her expression perfectly. He leaned to one side a bit, taking the weight off the arm next to Buffy. He reached out and lifted her face with a curled finger under her chin.

Buffy looked everywhere but at him, finally settling on an interesting spot on the wallpaper on the opposite wall.

“Buffy …” Spike cajoled. “Look at me, luv.”

Buffy took a deep breath and finally forced her eyes to his. Spike’s eyes were bright; they glittered like they were made of sapphires, undisguised, evil glee dancing in their depths.



“Nothing wrong with enjoying it, luv. Turns me on knowing it’s turning you on,” Spike told her, curling his tongue over his teeth salaciously.

Buffy flushed again, mortified, then her mouth started working without consulting her brain. “I just … you’re … well … all … muscle-y and I never get to see you … when you’re … ummm … I mean, when we’re doing it … and … Oh, God. I am so demented.” She covered her face with the hand that had been on Spike’s back, wishing the bed would just swallow her.

“Spike?” the Bot asked finally. “You are not taking me. You are inside, but I don’t feel your thick, hard cock moving against my pleasure receptors.”

“Uhhh … Sorry, luv. Give us a minute, yeah? I’ll get those pleasure receptors firing double-time in a mo’,” Spike assured the Bot.

Spike turned back to Buffy and pulled her hand away from her face. “There’s no wrong here, Buffy,” he repeated more sternly. “There’s nothing twisted or demented ‘bout any of this. Bloody hell – you have any soddin’ idea how hot you’re making me just knowing that you like how my body looks, how it moves, how it fucks?”

Buffy rolled her eyes and flushed even brighter red, if that was possible. “There’s something wrong with me,” she asserted.



Spike barked out a quick laugh. “Well, yeah,” he drawled, perhaps too quickly, drawing a deeper scowl from Buffy. “Something wrong with everybody, I reckon. But I love you. Love every twisted, demented, beautiful, sexy thing about you.

“Watch me fuck her, Buffy … tell me what you see, what you want me to do … what you like about our bodies coming together. Use me as you will, my temptress, Mistress Pandora. I’m your willin’ slave.”

Buffy pursed her lips into a strange contortion, trying to hide the smile that leapt to them unbidden. “You’re demented too,” she informed Spike, though it was more of a compliment than a dig.

Spike shrugged one shoulder. “Better t’ serve you, Mistress.”

Buffy bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath, trying to sort through her jumbled feelings and thoughts. She’d already gone this far, done things she never imagined she'd do... much less imagined she'd enjoy doing. So why not just keep going with it, taking and giving pleasure with no consequences, no judgment, being truly free for the first – and last? – time in her life?

Finally, she met his eyes again and let the twisted, demented, beautiful lust that smoldered in their blue depths speak to the most base, primal part of her. Somewhere deep inside, Buffy felt her freak flag completely unfurl. No wrong…

Buffy nodded slightly and licked her lips nervously, letting her eyes fall to the Bot’s face. “Ki…” Buffy’s voice broke and she cleared her throat, which was suddenly too tight. “Kiss her…” she whispered.

Spike smirked and centered himself over BuffyBot again, then dipped his head and touched his lips to hers. He felt Buffy’s hand on his shoulder, a gentle, warm weight, trailing over the muscles there. “Deeper…” she breathed to him and Spike deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue between the Bot’s parted lips.



Buffy watched as Spike’s soft, full lips nibbled on the Bot’s, sucking and teasing her. His lips were indescribably luscious, and Buffy’s own lips tingled with remembered kisses. She shivered as she watched the kiss become more passionate, watched him delve into her twin’s mouth, taste her, devour her.

“Her breasts,” Buffy whispered. “Make love to her breasts.”

Spike shifted, arching his back up to make room and still remain buried in his partner’s quim, then ducked his head down to the Bot’s chest. BuffyBot moaned her approval as he circled first one, then the other dark areola with his wet, cool tongue, hardening her nipples into small stones. Buffy watched Spike lavish one nipple with soft licks, kisses, and sucks, and her own nipples hardened in response. Her hand slid down Spike’s arm and reached in to touch the Bot’s other breast.

Buffy rolled the hard bud between her fingers as Spike continued making love to the other, and the Bot’s body arched up in rhapsody beneath their touches. Buffy cupped the Bot’s breast, feeling the weight of it, the firm roundness in her palm, as Spike so often did her own. She couldn’t quite understand the utter fascination men had with breasts … they were just … breasts, like any other part of a woman’s anatomy. Although she didn’t really get the same turn-on out of it as, for example, Spike did, Buffy enjoyed knowing that she was giving her friend enjoyment as she gently teased the Bot’s pleasure receptors.

“Pump into her,” Buffy instructed after a few moments, her voice still low, although slightly less hesitant.

Spike’s hips began to move ever-so-slowly against the Bot’s. Buffy’s hand withdrew from between Spike and the Bot, and slid down his body, over the hard muscle and bone, and settled on his lower back.

Buffy’s eyes were drawn along the path of her hand to the sleek lines of his body. She watched the muscles of his back, his ass, and his thighs ripple under his alabaster skin as he moved. She ran her hand over the bulging cords of strength, letting them rise and fall sinuously under her palm. Spike’s body rolled in a liquid grace, a slow undulation that belied the power contained within. He moved, she thought, like a jaguar or a panther – long and lean and lithe … and deadly.

Buffy pushed herself up to her knees beside the couple and began dropping kisses on Spike’s back where the muscles tensed and relaxed with each slow thrust of his hips. His skin was soft and cool against her warm lips, the tendons and muscles beneath were solid, as if made from living marble. She let her breasts press against him, the coolness of his skin making her already hard nipples stiffen even more, and ran her hands over his back and flanks.

Spike continued the slow grind of his hips into the Bot as Buffy began showering him with kisses and caresses. Her hands were gentle on his back, loving, adoring.  The feeling of her against his skin washed over him like a warm shower of love, heating him from the inside out.

He could practically feel Buffy’s eyes on his body and a surge of smug satisfaction welled up inside him. He was quite sure she’d never looked at another man the way she was looking at him … and she’d never look at another this way. Being desired by women had been common enough over the last century. He and Dru had used it more than once to lure unsuspecting girls to their death, but being wholly desired by a woman that loved him, that was different. Dru loved him in her way, but he was just one of many toys that she desired, her hungers changing depending on the moon or stars or whether the sun rose in the east or not. Buffy was different.

“Harder…” Buffy murmured against his back. “Grind against her clit, baby. Make her cum.”

Spike’s hips responded without question, pounding into the quivering pussy beneath him harder, then grinding his hips to rake his pubic bone over her clit. The Bot responded with gasps and several, ‘Oh, Spike!’s as her hips rose up to match the new rhythm.



Buffy laid a hand on the globe of Spike’s ass, nudging the Bot’s hand a bit lower, to feel the power of his thrusts. His hips moved as if they had a mind of their own, and perhaps they did. Buffy’s had been known to do that. He alternated several quick, short strokes with a couple of long, hard, grinding ones and Buffy’s pussy throbbed in jealousy. She knew how that felt, the wild friction of the short strokes, then the raw power of those long ones; the feel of his pubic bone grinding against her clit, sending sparks out in all directions. Buffy’s heart-rate suddenly jumped with just the thought of it.

Spike gasped when her fingers slid between his butt cheeks and pressed against the sensitive skin there, but he didn’t stop – if anything, his thrusts into his lover became more desperate and wild. Buffy pulled her hand back out of reflex but then she realized that Spike hadn’t made any complaint. She watched another moment as the Bot’s face contorted into furious pleasure and Buffy knew she was close to falling over the edge … or whatever bot’s did when their circuits overloaded on pleasure. Maybe they just fried some delicate fuses or flipped some breakers or something.

Not knowing how many more orgasms Spike could experience and still stay hard, Buffy leaned forward near Spike’s ear and whispered, “Make her cum, but you need to hold back.”

Spike groaned in acknowledgement that he heard her, if not actual agreement, as he took the Bot closer to her happy place. Buffy smacked a hand on his ass sharply, “I mean it,” she ordered in her best Mistress Pandora voice.

“That’s … not … helping,” he growled back at her through clenched teeth as an area the size of her hand stung hot on his ass.

‘Two times two is four,” Buffy began, “Four times four is sixteen, sixteen times sixteen is…”

“Two hundred and fifty-six,” Spike filled in.

“Two hundred and fifty-six times two hundred and fifty-six is….” Buffy prompted.

“Sixty-five thooousaand …” the Bot began before Spike could even try to calculate that, her voice growing higher and wilder as she went. “… Five-hunnnndred aand … thiiiirty … siiiiixxx!”

Spike gasped as the Bot’s nails dug into his thighs and she held him to her with arms and legs, her whole body shuddering beneath him. Spike struggled for unneeded breath and panted, “Sixty-five thousand, five hundred and thirty-six times …”

Buffy laughed, patted Spike on the top of the head like a good dog, and jumped up off the bed, running quickly to their ‘goody’ drawer.



When she got back a moment later, Spike had slowed his thrusts back to a steady, easy rhythm and no longer seemed to be calculating impossible math problems in order to keep himself under control. Buffy hid what she’d retrieved beneath a tangled bit of sheet on the corner of the bed and climbed back onto the bed with her lovers. She lay down next to the Bot on her side facing the pair. Her hand, apparently drawn magnetically to Spike’s rippling back, began tracing idle patterns on his skin.

“Did he make you cum good?” Buffy asked the Bot.

“Yes. Spike is an excellent lover. He is the best in the entire world, perhaps the universe. He knows the exact friction, angle, torque, and magnitude of pressure necessary to stimulate every pleasure receptor perfectly.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Buffy asked slyly, giving Spike a wicked smile.

“He is even now recharging my sensory preceptors back to maximum capacity, readying them for an additional, equally profuse overload of tactile sensation. I am awaiting it with eager anticipation.”

“Ya know, it’s hard t’ keep the mood when you bints are yammerin’ away like I’m not even ‘ere. Sound like bloody hormone-bombs at a sleepover,” Spike complained, dropping down onto his elbows above the Bot, but continuing to rock his hips against her gently.

“Oh, poor baby,” Buffy mocked, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout. “Does our Spikey need some … attention?”

“Wouldn’t say 'no' to some talk ‘bout something other than ‘receptors’ and ‘torque’,” Spike growled back.



Buffy looked back at the Bot. “Are you ready to have your sensors overloaded?”

“Yes, please.”

“How ‘bout you?” Buffy asked, turning her head to look up at Spike. “Is the World’s Greatest Lover ready for some … overloading?”

“Was ready before when some nutter made me do bloody impossible math equations,” Spike informed her dourly.

Buffy bit her bottom lip in a sly grin and sat up slowly. She moved down the bed again toward the foot where she’d hidden her toy, the whole while running her hands gently over the muscles of Spike’s undulating back. Watching him was, she thought, art and poetry and music all rolled into one.

If someone could capture the beauty of the way his body looked, the way it moved, the way his muscles flowed and bulged, the way his growling groan felt against your skin, the way he could make you shiver with his touch, and burn with his gaze, it would be something on the level of the Sistine Chapel, or Michelangelo’s David, or a symphony by Beethoven, or an Emily Dickinson poem. It would be a classic masterpiece.

Buffy sighed wistfully and dropped a soft kiss on each of his dimples of Venus, then slipped back into her Mistress Pandora persona and retrieved her surprise. Buffy touched the vibrator to Spike’s tight balls and clicked the little remote control device to the first setting. The vibrating butt-plug came to life with a low hum and Spike’s hips jerked wildly in response. His cock slipped out of BuffyBot’s tight channel, and flailed wildly against her wet folds as the thrums of vibration from the toy shot through his groin.

“Bloody hell, woman!” he growled as he brought his body back under some semblance of control. “Little warning next time!”

Buffy ignored him as she slid the vibrator forward, touching the tip of it against the base of his cock, then clicked the remote up to the next level. Spike’s hips jerked again and he moaned as waves of brilliant sensation washed over his cock, through his balls, and into the pit of his stomach.

“Gonna … have t’ start … the math … again … if ya keep … that up,” Spike warned her through gasps of bliss.

Buffy pulled the vibrator away and set it down on the bed. “Bury yourself in her pussy, vampire, then stop moving,” Buffy ordered in her Mistress voice.

Spike used one hand to guide himself back into BuffyBot. When their hips met, he stopped, as instructed.

Buffy squeezed out some of the strawberry-flavored lube onto her fingers and began sliding them up and down Spike’s butt crack. “Unclench,” she ordered him.

“Unclench what?” Spike shot back.

“Your tight ass.”

“What the bloody hell do ya think you’re gonna do with my tight ass?”

Buffy smacked one ass cheek with the flat of her hand. “Anything I want, vampire.”

Spike growled but lowered himself back to his elbows, resting his body against BuffyBot, and forced himself to relax the muscles of his back and butt.

“Ever been fucked in the ass, vampire?” Mistress Pandora wondered licentiously.

“Don’t answer that!” Buffy blurted out quickly when Spike took in a breath to answer her. “Rhetorical … I sooo do not want to know.”



“Do not feel bad, Spike,” the Bot interjected. “I cannot decipher her rhetoric from actual inquiries either.”

Spike chuckled and dropped his head to the Bot’s shoulder, allowing his body to relax more. “A bloody jewel, you are, pet,” he told the Bot, kissing her shoulder gently.

When Buffy’s well-lubed finger pressed into Spike’s ass he gasped and tightened around her. “Unclench,” she ordered him again. “Let me in.”

“Tryin’,” he ground out through equally clenched teeth.

“Not as easy as it sounds, is it?” Buffy tossed back, remembering how often he’d told her the same thing when the shoe had been on the other foot … or the finger up the other ass.

Spike moaned as Buffy’s finger began gently working the lube into him. Goose-flesh raced over his body from the sensation, something he hadn’t felt in a good many years – the finger bit, not the goose-flesh. Of course, neither Dru nor Angelus had bothered to use lube … this felt infinitely better.

His cock jumped and pulsed inside the Bot with each thrust and twist of Buffy’s finger inside him. BuffyBot moaned her approval of the relatively small, but powerful movement deep inside her, shifting her hips under him in a gentle grinding motion.

“Feel good?” the Mistress wondered, as she slid her finger in and out of him now in an easy, wet rhythm.

“God yes…” Spike groaned, his body shivered down to his very core as she fucked him, a sweet, gentle seduction. He thought every organ inside his body was trembling, every cell, every molecule buzzed with anticipation.

Buffy slid her finger out and in the next moment the butt plug, still vibrating, was pressing against his puckered hole. Spike’s head snapped back and his back arched in response to the waves of pleasure washing over and through him.

“Unclench,” Buffy said again, a gentle request this time, as she pressed harder on the small-ish vibrator.

Spike’s breathing became more labored as he forced his body to do what it didn’t want to. “Not gonna … be a marathon man … with that,” he ground out as Buffy seated it inside him.

“You better last long enough to produce a ‘profuse overload of tactile sensation’ in my partner, vampire,” the Mistress warned. “Or you will be very, very dusty.”

The moment he felt the plug seated inside him, Spike stopped fighting the sensations and reflexes it was producing in him. His demon roared with primal need as the vibrations the toy was creating flooded through him. He could feel it not just in his ass, but in his perineum, balls, and all the way down his cock. Spike lost control of the demon and of himself. He pulled the Bot’s legs from around his waist and pushed them up and out in a swift, violent motion, then he was slamming into her, his demon snarling and grunting with the effort.

“Oh Spike! Take me! Yes! I’m yours! All yours! Bite me, Spike! Drain me! Take all of me!” the Bot screamed at him.

Buffy watched the savage power of the demon ravage her twin and was once again reminded of a panther. A force of nature. Beautifully wild. Primal.  Her body tingled with desire; she longed to be beneath that powerful animal – taking all he had to give.

Buffy picked up the double penetration vibrator Spike had used on them earlier which was still on the bed. She lay on her side next to the snarling demon and lifted her top leg. She quickly lubed up her ass, just as she’d done Spike’s, clicked the toy to its highest setting, and pressed the vibrator into her aching holes. Buffy screamed out as it hit home, sating the aching need inside her.

Her hand matched Spike’s wild rhythm as he fucked BuffyBot. She pounded against her pussy and ass with the humming vibrator as Spike pounded into her twin, all three of them desperate for release. The sight and sound of the two blondes as they brought each other closer to climax drove Buffy wild, her own blissful release building along with theirs.

And then it hit all three of them almost as one. BuffyBot began chanting, “Buffer overflow! Spike … yes! Buffer … overflow!” It was all Spike needed to hear, he’d held his own release until it had become painful. His leonine roar filled the room as he thrust in wild bursts of power into the Bot, spilling his seed into her with a barrage of rapturous explosions.

Buffy’s scream of blissful fulfillment came a moment later with a final thrust of the vibrator into her. Her body shuddered and tensed around the toy, her pussy clenching, pulling it in to her core.

Long moments later, the roars and screams faded and the room was filled with the gasping lovers’ wheezing breaths and the soft buzz of vibrators. Buffy flopped onto her back limply and pulled the toy from her sopping holes. Still panting for air, she fumbled for the remote that controlled the butt plug and clicked it off, drawing a spent moan from Spike. She pushed herself up and slowly pulled the vibrator from his ass, twisting slightly as she did.

“Fuck…” was the weak – though reverent –  murmured response from Spike, his face buried against the Bot’s neck, his depleted body a boneless glob of muscle atop her. The Bot lay beneath him, apparently still lost in the afterglow of the sensory overload. Spike had released his lover’s legs and they were splayed limply on the bed on either side of the demon atop her.

Since Buffy was already half-way up, she took the two vibrators into the bathroom and dropped them in the sink. While she was there she cleaned the strawberry lube out of the crack of her ass and off her hands, although she left the spendings between her pussy lips. That well-earned squishy feeling was somehow comforting or … something equally demented.

When she came back to the bedroom, Spike had lifted up onto his elbows, his body still pressed against his lover’s. He was showering soft, sweet kisses over BuffyBot’s face. Buffy could hear his rumbled whispers, but couldn’t make out the words he was saying to her between kisses. The Bot had wrapped her arms around his neck and was holding him to her in a gentle, loving embrace.
 
Buffy stood behind them at the foot of the bed and she felt hot tears sting her eyes. This is what she’d wanted – for Spike to know it was alright to love the Bot – but seeing it made her feel … alone. Very, very lonely and alone. She turned away and headed back to the bathroom, suddenly feeling like an intruder. Somehow that seemed like too personal a moment to infringe upon.



In the bathroom, Buffy splashed some cool water on her face and tried to calm her tangled thoughts and emotions. She leaned on the counter heavily and looked at herself in the large mirror. She turned sideways and tried to imagine what she’d looked like in a few months with Spike’s baby growing inside her. Buffy ran her hand over her flat abdomen trying to imagine the embryo there – the child that Spike didn’t want.

What she told him tonight was true, she did love him. It was almost prophetic – perhaps preordained – for her life: she could always find a way to drive the men she loved away. She remembered too clearly how Angel had talked to her after the night when she’d given him everything. She hadn’t realized it was Angelus at the time, in her heart it would always feel like Angel, the vamp that she loved, saying those hurtful, stabbing words to her – telling her she wasn’t any good. And later Riley confirmed her first lover’s assertion, turning to vamp whores, leaving her, telling her that she wasn’t giving him what he needed – telling her that her best wasn’t good enough. She didn’t even want to think about Parker … at least she hadn’t actually been in love with him.

Buffy leaned her hands on the countertop and let her head fall forward. She wouldn’t be able to bear it if Spike told her the same thing, if he hated her, resented her, for what she’d done, how she’d used him. She wouldn’t be able to handle seeing disgust and disdain for her in those expressive blue eyes. She’d seen many emotions pass through those azure depths over the years, but true disgust, hatred, or revulsion for her had never been there, not even when he wanted to kill her. She’d rather remember the smoldering lust in them, the lecherous stares, the adoration, the pride, the respect … the love.

Her time was running short; she’d need to leave soon … very, very soon. That had been the point of this little twisted tableau, after all.

“Buffy, luv … you alright, pet?” Spike called from the other room.

Buffy cleared her throat. “Yeah – fine,” she called back, wiping hurriedly at her tear-stained cheeks. “Just … getting a drink of water.”

Buffy splashed her face again and washed away her tears. She’d need to leave soon, but that wasn’t tonight. She looked at the small, pebbled window in the bathroom – the sun was well up in the eastern sky. “Or today,” she amended, softly.

She took a deep, calming breath and let it out, then headed back to the bedroom. Spike was lying on his back with the Bot curled against one side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. He held his other arm out in invitation and Buffy crawled in next to him.



Spike dropped a kiss on the top of her head as she snuggled against him, draping one leg over his and resting one arm across his hard abs. They quivered under her touch from the exertion of the night.

“Love you, Buffy,” Spike murmured to her, his voice weary but utterly contented. “With all my heart. Never known anyone like you, pet.”

Buffy lifted her face up to his and gave him a small smile to cover the sadness that shrouded her heart. “I love you too, Spike.”

Spike’s heart swelled and soared again as angel wings beat a gleeful rhythm in his chest. Thrice! She’d said it three times now! He’d never grow tired of hearing those words cross her sweet lips. He brushed a soft kiss against those swollen lips and tugged her tighter to his side. Within moments the spent lovers were asleep, lost in peaceful dreams, far removed from the reality that lurked in the shadows of tomorrow.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Scream by Usher  on YouTube  }}

Usher, baby
Yeah, we did it again
And this time I’mma make you scream

USHER! Yeah, man…

I see you over there, so hypnotic
Thinking ’bout what I do to that body
I get you like ooh baby baby
Ooh baby baby, ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby baby
Got no drink in my hand
But I’m wasted
Getting drunk of the thought of you naked
I get you like ooh baby baby
Ooh baby baby, ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby baby

And I ain’t trying to fight it, to fight it
But you’re so magnetic, magnetic
Got one life, just live it, just live it
Now relax, sing it on your back

If you wanna scream, yeah
Let me know and I’ll take you there
Get you going like ah-ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby
If you wanna turn right
Hope you’re ready to go all night
Get you going like ah-ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby
If you wanna scream

Yeah, come on

Kill the lights, shut ‘em off
You’re electric
Devil eyes telling me come and get it
I have you like ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby baby
Girl tonight you’re the prey
I’m the hunter
Take you here, take you there
Take you wonder
Imagine me whispering in your ear
Then I wanna, take off your clothes and put something on ya

And I ain’t trying to fight it, to fight it
But you’re so magnetic, magnetic
Got one life, just live it, just live it
Now relax, sing it on your back

If you wanna scream, yeah
Let me know and I’ll take you there
Get you going like ah-ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby
If you wanna turn right
Hope you’re ready to go all night
Get you going like ah-ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby
If you wanna scream

Out, louder, scream louder
Louder, louder, louder
Hey, tonight I scream, I’m on need

[Beat break]

If you wanna scream, yeah
Let me know and I’ll take you there
Get you going like ah-ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby
If you wanna turn right
Hope you’re ready to go all night
Get you going like ah-ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby
If you wanna scream
Chapter End Notes:
I know, I know - - I've used that song in other stories, sorry - I like it. Sue me.

Ok, I think that's got my muse's threesome-itch scratched for a while, we'll be back to the drama/angst/BuffyBot-comedic-relief next. Assume crash positions. Your seat-cushion can be used as a flotation device, although I wouldn't recommend it, especially if it's attached to your chair. :) Seriously, strap in - it's about to get really bumpy and not in the good way.
Broken Promises by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Sorry this is a shorter than normal chapter. Trying to give my wonderful beta reader, PaganBaby, a little time to catch up with my writing pace and posting schedule. Of course, the fact that it created an 'evil cliffie' by cutting it off here didn't enter my muse's mind at all! :P

Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Three days later…

“Ok,” Buffy began as she sat cross-legged on the bed across from her eager student. “When a random bad guy asks you who you are, tell them: ‘I’m your worst nightmare.’ Or, you can say, ‘I’m the Slayer, and you are history.’ Then there’s the classic, ‘I’m the thing that monsters have nightmares about.’



“Another thing you can do, when they go all ‘grr-arrgh’ on ya is to act all damsel-y and scared, and say, ‘Oooo … scary! I'll tell you something though: there are a lot scarier things than you. And I'm one of them.’”

The Bot nodded attentively, carefully indexing and storing away the retorts so she could quickly access them at the appropriate time in the future.

“When Spike calls you ‘Slayer’, call him ‘Slayee’ back … or ‘vampire’ works too – like that’s his name. But don’t call him ‘vampire’ if you’re out in public – it might draw too much attention from other people. ‘Dead-man walking’ works too and … ummm. Oh! He just loves: Captain Peroxide, bleach brain, and blood breath. I’d add Evil Dead to the list, but I think he actually likes that one too much.”

Buffy paused for a breath, thinking about what other nuggets of wisdom she should impart on her twin while the Bot waited patiently, filing it all away.

“Ok,” Buffy continued after a few moments, “when he makes one of his crude, lewd remarks, tell him that he’s a pig, like this: ‘Spike, you are such a pig’. You can have your hands on your hips for that or your arms crossed … either way works. But be sure to get the sneer in there on ‘such’.”

The Bot nodded as she sat on the giant bed facing Buffy, mirroring her in every way. “Spike, you are such a pig,” she repeated, then looked at Buffy for approval, her green eyes eager.

“Perfect,” Buffy confirmed. “Oh! And if he does something really clumsy and makes a lot of noise, just say, ‘stealthy.’ Let it kinda drip off your tongue … and roll your eyes with it. Of course, there’s the all time classic line of: ‘Do they call you Grace for short?’ if he, like, stumbles or something.”

“Spike would never stumble. He is graceful, agile, nimble, and lissom,” BuffyBot contended. “But I can file it for use with other bad guys.”

Buffy snorted. “You’ve never seen him drunk. He’s a stumble-palooza.



“Ok, let’s see …” Buffy mused a moment, looking up at the ceiling as she thought. “Ummm … when he does that thing with his tongue … you know, he, like, curls it over his teeth and gives you that really sexy … I mean … that totally inappropriate leer, then you should…”

“Oh!” BuffyBot interrupted her. “I know this one!

“I should press my body against his, wrapping one leg around his to keep him from escaping. Then capture his face with my hands and suck his tongue into my mouth. When his arms wrap around my back, I should moan against his lips and shift my hips so they press against his impressively hard penis,” the Bot explained, clearly proud of knowing the answer before Buffy could tell her.

“What? No!” Buffy exclaimed. “That’s totally not …” Buffy dropped her face into her hands and shook her head in dismay.

The Bot’s bottom lip stuck out in a forlorn pout. “I am very certain of this response. I have observed this behavior several times over the last few days. Every time the Slayee flicks his tongue at the Other Slayer, she captures him thus and rubs her body against his.



“This has been recorded in my ‘Learned Responses’ file. I have many of these. For example, it is not considered appropriate to pick up money from empty tables at restaurants or bars. Those are called ‘tips’ and they are meant for the servers who work in the establishment. You should also be observant of the signs on restroom doors. While entering the room reserved for males can be quite fascinating, it is sometimes met with high levels of agitation or sexual innuendo from the occupants standing at the urinals.

“Did you know that the penises of males vary in size considerably? Spike’s is quite impressive, isn’t it?”

“Uhhh … yeah … it is,” Buffy agreed, her face flushing slightly. Buffy thought she would’ve been over the embarrassment of such remarks by now, but it never seemed to quite go away. Spike always said it was ‘cute’ – he seemed to take some twisted delight in making her blush. The Bot never actually seemed to notice.

“Wow! Look at the time!” Buffy deflected, ending the lesson as she moved to the edge of the bed and stood up. “Spike should’ve been back by now. I think I’ll just … go look for him. Why don’t you stay here, okay?”

“Okay,” the Bot agreed amiably.

“I shouldn’t be long, you can watch TV,” Buffy offered as she headed for the door of their hotel room.

“I wonder if ‘Passions’ is on?” the Bot mused as she reached for the remote control.

Buffy rolled her eyes as she closed the room door behind her, double-checking that her keycard was in her pocket just before it locked. Buffy leaned her back against the door a moment and sighed. Having the Bot as a BFF was definitely … different. She missed her friends, missed girl-talk with Willow – oh, man, did she have some stories for her! – she missed Giles … and she missed Dawn. God, she actually missed Dawn. As annoying as her sister was, she was still her sister in some twisted, magical way, and she’d loved…

Buffy realized her mistake the moment the thought floated through her mind. Dawn. God, Dawn! She failed Dawn. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing as she felt the old, familiar weight of guilt begin to press down on her. It didn’t happen often – not like it had – and it wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been, but once in a while, it still snuck up on her and reared its ugly head. She could smell the blood, feel the slick-stickiness coating her hands, hear that horrible gurgling that had come from Dawn’s severed throat, and she could see it. Oh, how she could see it – coating everything in hot, scarlet gore.



“No, no, no. You have to be strong for the baby … for Dawn. Focus, Buffy … focus,” she admonished herself as she stood in the hallway.

As Buffy focused on her anchor, on the smoldering blue of Spike's eyes, in order to quell the rising river of guilt, she felt tears well behind her closed lids. A sharp pain stabbed the center of her chest as a new guilt, a new anxiety was added to the old one. She should be leaving today. Last night she’d assured herself that she would definitely leave Las Vegas today. Of course, she’d assured herself of that every night for the past three nights, ever since the first night the Bot had shared their bed.

Spike would notice soon that she’d missed her period and the questions would start. Questions she didn’t want to answer. Then he’d know she’d deceived him, used him, and she wouldn’t be able to bear his rejection. He didn’t want a baby – he didn’t want that kind of responsibility. A kid would only tie him down, ruin his street creds, and when he found out she’d used him, it would royally piss him off. She couldn’t bear having him look at her with disgust and revulsion; she couldn’t take having one more man she loved toss her away like garbage. She needed to take the initiative and leave before he got the chance to drive that knife into her heart. Everything was in place. She just had to force her feet to take that first, giant step.

“I'm doing it, Mom. I’m working the mission. I'm trying to make things right for Dawn. This is for Dawn,” Buffy reminded herself as she fought back all the guilt – old and new – resolutely pushing it down.

And then, as if Spike's reaction might not be enough incentive for her feet to overpower her inertia and take the leap, she kept adding other reasons to leave to the list. On deck behind the 'rejection' batter was: What if Spike's chip stopped working? What kind of danger would he pose to a helpless child if that happened? Buffy could take care of herself, but what if William the Bloody turned on his ‘family’ – a family that he didn’t ask for or want in the first place? Buffy shuddered to think of it. She couldn’t take the chance, she told herself resolutely. She couldn’t let Dawn down again.

And anyway, she continued to reason with herself, still trying to make her feet take that first step which they seemed incapable of, Spike wouldn’t want a big, fat, supremely hormone-charged, Prego-Buffy. He might be able to handle Barmy-Buffy, but Prego-Buffy would be more than even Spike could – or would – contend with, she told herself. And, as much as she missed her friends, she could never go back to Sunnydale, either. No, when she did it, she’d have to go somewhere that he couldn’t find her – ever. Thus the bus ticket to New York. She could get utterly lost in the crushing mass of humanity there. It was the only way.

“Tomorrow,” Buffy promised herself, taking a deep, calming breath. “Definitely tomorrow.”

Buffy took in a few more deep breaths, letting each one out slowly through her mouth. She concentrated on her anchor: a vision she held in her mind of Spike’s eyes. Their blue depths were a comfort. In their most intimate moments, a rich cascade of azure love pouring over her. It was like a balm to her heart; even the golden flashes from the demon helped her push the flood of bloodied-guilt back by lending her strength and courage.



She felt the river of blood slowly begin receding back into her nightmares and away from her conscious mind as she focused on remembering every detail, every nuance, every spark of amber, every shade of blue, and fleck of color in his azure eyes. She may not be able to sleep more than an hour at a time with that guilt trapped there, but at least she could function, more-or-less like a normal human being, when she was awake. As long as she could keep that blood-stained shroud hidden in the dark recesses of her mind where her worst fears and nightmares lived, then she could handle the mission her mother had set out for her: save Dawn’s soul from Limbo by having and raising Spike’s baby.

Buffy took one more deep breath and opened her eyes as she pushed off the door and headed for the elevator, the blood-shroud once again under control. Spike really should’ve been up from the casino by now. He must be on quite a winning streak to be staying so late.

**~**



Buffy got off the elevator and headed for the blackjack table she knew Spike frequented. After practicing getting focusy the last couple of weeks, she’d gotten pretty good at keeping the crazy away, and was actually feeling a little playful by the time she got downstairs. The guilt over failing Dawn was never too far below the surface, but she’d managed to push it down far enough to allow herself to actually feel happy, at least for short periods of time. And right now was one of those times. She decided she’d sneak up behind Spike and surprise him with a nice earlobe nibble. Her body tingled just thinking about how he’d repay her back in their room, and a shiver ran down her spine as she walked.

She didn’t see him, though, as she approached his normal table. Buffy frowned and looked at the neighboring tables – nope. There weren’t that many people in the casino at this time of the morning, he couldn’t be that hard to find. She scanned the floor, searching with her eyes until she finally spotted the unmistakable platinum.

What’s he doing over there? she wondered idly as she began walking toward the far wall where he was standing with his back to her and the room at large. As she got closer another thought came to her mind, less idle this time, And who is he doing it with?

Buffy’s good mood soured and curdled when she saw him standing with a woman. The woman’s hands were around his waist, holding him to her tightly – not an inch of space separated them from head to mid-thigh. He had the woman’s back pressed against the wall, his head dipped down as if he were kissing her or nibbling at her neck … or feeding. All the tables in the area around the pair were closed in the early morning lull. There wasn’t anyone else near them – a nice private corner, perfect for killing someone.



A thousand horrible thoughts stampeded through Buffy’s mind at once. Had the chip failed? How long had he been feeding on humans? How could she not have known? How could she be so naïve – still – about vampires? How many times would she have to learn this same lesson? She was going to have to stake him now. Her heart ached at the thought, but how could she not? Maybe he wasn’t feeding, maybe he was just kissing her. That prospect didn’t make her feel much better.

Buffy’s hands curled into fists as fear and rage battled with hurt, and jealously fought with wounded pride to see which emotion would surface above the rest. The Slayer stormed across the nearly-empty floor of the casino, dodging around the games of chance in a bee-line for Spike. As she walked past an empty craps table, she snagged the long, wooden stick they used to push the dice to the shooter. She broke it in two and tucked half of it in the waistband of her pants at her back, keeping the other half in her clenched fist.

Buffy didn’t even realize that tears had blurred her vision until she bumped into a chair and nearly stumbled. How could he? How could he do this to her after all he’d promised? How could he do this after she let herself love him? Buffy blinked her eyes furiously as she kept walking, steeling herself for what had to be done if the chip had stopped working. Part of her almost hoped that was what it was – she wasn’t sure if she could take it if he were simply screwing around on her and the Bot. Feeding she could blame on the soulless demon; screwing around was all on the man that she’d let into her heart.



The fact that just moments before she had been assuring herself that tomorrow she would be leaving him never even entered her mind as she made her way across the floor to her lover’s side. All she could feel was the betrayal of his lies, forgetting that she had lied to him, as well. By the time she reached Spike, she was little more than a simmering cauldron of jumbled, overflowing emotion.

“What the fuck!?” Buffy demanded as she reached the pair, fury in her voice. Buffy grabbed Spike’s shoulder when she spoke and jerked him away from the woman angrily, spinning him around at the same time.



“Buffy,” she heard him say, but it wasn’t the surprised, angry, or indignant tone she'd expected. It was slurred, almost as if he were drunk – which, hey, maybe he was.

“Trap,” was the second word that tumbled from his lips as he fell limply onto the carpeted floor of the casino when the woman released him. His eyes rolled back into his head as he collapsed like a lump of wet noodles, arms and legs akimbo.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Broken Promises, Survivor on YouTube  }}

Summer and smoke, diamonds and dust
Go where you will, do what you must
The promise was made your word was enough
We had dreams, visions and plans
Into the night, out of our hands
Letting our passion fulfill our demands
I remember those songs on the radio
The jasmine, the wind in your hair
Does it seem like so long ago

Broken promises
Is it written in stone that we wind up alone
Whoa-oh, broken promises
And a heart that recalls
When the promise was all that we had

Into the dust, reckless we rode
Secret desire, talking in code
Bittersweet madness, the stories unfold
I remember those songs on the radio
The jasmine, the wind in your hair
And how it hurts to remember those

Broken promises
Is it written in stone that we wind up alone
Whoa-oh, broken promises
Can your heart still recall
When the promise was all that we had

Broken promises
Is it written in stone that we wind up alone
Broken promises
Can your heart still recall
When the promise was all that we had

Broken promises
Is it written in stone that we wind up alone
Whoa-oh broken promises
Can your heart still recall
When the promise was all that we had

Broken promises
Is it written in stone that we wind up alone
Broken promises
Can your heart still recall
When the promise was all that we had
Chapter End Notes:
Eeeek! UHT-OH! Who is it?
Fade to Black by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
This is another a short chapter. Trying to give my wonderful beta reader, PaganBaby, a little time to catch up with my posting schedule.

Warning for this chapter: There is the beginning of a rape scene here before it all fades to black. This is the implied rape in the main warning of the story.
As Spike fell to the ground, Buffy’s mind whirled and her throat tightened as she looked into the eyes of the woman now standing directly in front of her. The woman she thought Spike had been kissing or killing. A very familiar woman. Linda? No. Lily? No. Lydia … Yes! Lydia. A fucking Watcher!



Buffy only hesitated a second before she swung her make-shift stake right at Lydia’s throat. The woman was surprisingly fast for a Watcher. Buffy’s moment of hesitation allowed her to block the Slayer’s blow with her forearm. Blood flew from where the jagged wood stabbed into Lydia’s arm, and Buffy instinctively knew she could take her out easily in just a few more seconds, but the large number of shapes approaching in her peripheral vision told the Slayer didn’t have any more seconds.

Buffy reached down and hauled Spike up by one arm, draping it over her shoulders, and began dragging him away as quickly as she could. At the same time she began screaming at the top of her lungs for help. Even during the slowest times, the casino had lots of security guards – she just needed to get their attention and …

**~**

BuffyBot frowned down at the noise on the street far below as she waited for Buffy and Spike to return. People were yelling – too many to make out just what they were saying.



She used her enhanced optics to zoom-in on the street below her so she could see what was happening more clearly. A group of about a dozen people, men and women alike, were running toward some vehicles parked in a service area behind the building. Most of them were carrying weapons of one sort or another, everything from stun guns, to pistols, to crossbows. She continued to watch as the people with weapons formed a perimeter around two cars and a large truck, then two men carrying a limp body followed quickly on their heels. The Bot frowned in confusion and focused in closer on the blonde that was being carried. It was the Other Slayer.

She tilted her head back and forth, still watching the street below, while scanning her memory to try and find some context for this scenario that she was familiar with. Nothing came to mind immediately, but she was certain that this was not a game. Spike had told the Bot not to let anyone harm or take Buffy – that instruction had never been countermanded – she needed to stop them.

The Bot immediately calculated the distance from their thirtieth story balcony to the street below and her chances of surviving the leap and remain undamaged enough to still function: 27,893,009 to 1. Then she calculated how long it would take her to ride the elevator down, and how long it would take to sprint down the stairs.

As she ran the possible courses of action through her microprocessors, the two men carrying Buffy tossed her unmoving form into the back of the large, square truck, then climbed into the cab. Someone fired a gun toward the door where they had all exited the casino, then the rest of the people scrambled into the two cars near the truck. Within seconds all three vehicles sped out of the service area, turned onto the main road, and moved away quickly in the light, pre-dawn traffic. Obviously neither option, stairs or elevator, would be fast enough now.

The Bot stood and waited for Spike to come out of the door below, but he never appeared. Men with guns came out of the casino after a few moments, all talking loudly and quickly, but no more shots were fired. The Bot kept waiting, but Spike never emerged from the hotel into the alley.

“I must find the Evil Dead and tell him what I have observed. He will know how to proceed,” the Bot decided as she turned on her heel and strode out of the room.

**~**



Buffy’s head throbbed with the steady beat of an enormous, demonic base drum. Her eyes felt like they might pop right out of their sockets with each thunderous strike, and she was fairly certain her brain would turn to mush soon – that was assuming it hadn’t already. She tried to reach up to her head to find the volume control, but her hand wouldn’t move – neither would the other one. She carefully, and very slowly, cracked one eye open to try and see where she was as she tried to remember what had happened.

The first thing she saw was her right hand in a shackle. The heavy shackle was attached by a thick chain to a steel wall.

Luckily there wasn’t much light wherever she was – she didn’t think her eyes could handle a barrage of anything stronger than candlelight. She bravely opened both eyes, blinking them against the throbbing pain which she now realized originated between her shoulder blades. She slowly came to the other realization that the heavy beat that carried the agony to her brain and down her spine was her heartbeat. Great. Hard to shut that off.

She slowly turned her head the other way, which made her vision swim and her stomach roil in protest. She stopped and closed her eyes again until things calmed back down, then continued her perusal of her situation.

Her left arm was shackled the same as her right, and her feet were similarly immobilized. She realized she was laying flat on her back, spread-eagled on the floor of some sort of metal box. No, wait … a metal box with windows and a door and … shit. She gently settled her head back down onto the floor as her heartbeat and, therefore, the pulsing jackhammer in her head, sped up. It was the back of an armored truck. A rush of déjà vu swept over her: the Council’s Wet Works team had her … again.

She tried to remember what exactly had happened back at the casino, but the last thing she could remember was trying to get the attention of the security people as she dragged Spike …

Spike.

Where was Spike?

Buffy’s eyes flashed open, a painful move that sent burning hot daggers of agony stabbing in through her retinas. She blinked the pain back desperately, then scanned the area around her again through squinted eyes. Spike wasn’t there. Had he gotten away?

“Yes, Buffy, of course they caught you but he – who had already been drugged or injured and couldn’t walk – got away,” she chided herself aloud. The sound of her own voice sent more shards of pain into her brain through her ears and she winced.

“Didn’t think you’d ever wake up, toots,” a scornful male voice said from somewhere behind Buffy’s head.  She flinched again, realizing the sound must be coming from the cab of the truck through some kind of mesh opening between the compartments.

“Where’s Spike?” Buffy asked immediately. Ignoring the pain radiating through her head and body, she pulled as much as she was able on her chained arms and legs, testing the shackles. They held strong.

The man snorted disdainfully. “The vampire? Where do you think? Stuck to the bottom o’ our bloody shoes. Lydia had her fun with him, but his usefulness was over. Once you catch your quarry, ya don't really need the bait anymore.”

Buffy’s whole body shuddered and recoiled at the words. Hot tears burst from her eyes, burning as if formed from acid. “No … no … you didn’t need to…”

“I guess they were right about you,” the man said condescendingly, cutting her off. “A Slayer protecting a vampire – how bloody twisted is that? And they say I’m a sick bastard. At least I don’t protect the undead … or fuck them. You, on the other hand, aren’t dead yet. What do ya say, toots? We’ve got some time to kill. How ‘bout I show you a good time? Let you see what a real man feels like? I can make it good for you.”



“Touch me and die,” Buffy snarled, yanking harder at her chains. The pounding pain morphed back into stabbing agony shooting down her limbs and up into her brain when she did that, but she continued thrashing wildly. Her tears were still falling in waves even as her fury built. But, after several exhausting, painful minutes, the anger was replaced with genuine fear when she realized that the Council’s Wet Works/Retrieval team would not be making the same mistakes twice. She’d escaped them once before when Faith did her little body swap, but they had learned. She wasn’t getting out of this, at least not while she was chained inside this fucking armored truck.

The man laughed at her. The sound grated on her eardrums and sent a shudder of repulsion down her spine. She wasn’t sure of his name – Weathers maybe? – she recognized his voice from before, but hadn’t stuck around for formal introductions. She wondered just how sick a bastard he was; she was afraid she might soon find out.

Buffy continued to struggle against the shackles until her wrists and ankles were horribly bruised, and deep, painful cuts bloodied the floor of the armored car. Before long, the muscles of her arms and legs began to cramp from the strain of her battle against the immovable restraints. Her muscles felt like they were being wrenched from her bones as Charlie Horses galloped through her body in protest of the futile exertion she'd demanded. Buffy had no choice but to stop thrashing and try to relax her traitorous muscles – the pain of the cramps was just too much. As exhaustion closed in on her, the one thing that she’d not allowed herself to focus on flooded her mind: Spike was gone.

She fought against the tears that continued to fall, not wanting her captors to see any weakness, but it was an exercise in futility. When her body could do no more, her emotions took over and wracked her with a hopeless, desperate sadness that had become all too familiar to her of late. She’d felt it when her mom died, she’d felt it when Dawn died, and now that bone-deep, sub-arctic chill was back with a vengeance. A new guilt was added to her overwrought psyche: she’d cost another person she loved their life. Spike was gone.

“God, Spike…” she whispered through her tears. “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry.”



Buffy felt the guilt of it bearing down on her, adding its weight to all the rest, and she just let it fall. She didn’t even try to reach out for her anchor. Her anchor was a pile of dust being trampled and ground into the short pile of a gaudy, industrial carpet in a Las Vegas casino. She found it hard to care about anything else, impossible to focus on anything else. Her mind blanked, shut down; nothing else seemed to matter at that moment, not herself, not even Dawn. Spike was gone.

She was so very, very tired. She couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t fight anymore; couldn’t do anything but fall into the bloody river and sink like a stone to the bottom. She watched the bloodstained shroud flow down over her and prayed that it would drown her. She was done. She just wanted it to end, wanted everything to end. So, very, very tired… Can we rest now?

**~**

Buffy fell into a dazed stupor, and finally her mind completely shut down, retreating into fitful sleep. She woke when the door to her improvised, armored cell opened with a thunderous clang. She groggily blinked the crusty tears from her eyes to try and see what had made the noise. She tried to remember where she was to no avail. She then tried to remember when it was or who the man was who was standing over her, but the best she could do was remember who she was – and she wasn’t entirely certain about that.

“Well, we’re all loaded up on the cargo plane and headed back to the mother country. Looks like you and me got about ten hours to kill, sweet cheeks,” the man said as he pulled the door closed behind him. “Whatever could we do to fill the time?” he asked sarcastically as he bent over her prone form.

The man had a gaunt, almost skeletal face, with coal-black, sunken eyes, and a hard, angry mouth. While two or three days of stubble might make some guys look sexy and mysterious, it only made this man look like he’d been on a bender, and his 100-proof breath did nothing to assuage that notion. His thinning, dark hair was badly in need of trim … and a serious degreasing.



Buffy stared at him blankly from the floor of the metal box she was chained to, unable to comprehend his words or even try. She could barely make out his features through the veil of blood that soaked her mind – nothing could penetrate the flood of utter defeat that she was drowning in.

Spike had once told her that every Slayer had a death wish – they wished for the fight to be over. Buffy didn’t even have the ability to wish that any longer. The fight had drained out of her, leaving nothing but an empty shell that used to be the Slayer. Apparently, her spirit wasn’t so indestructible, after all.

“Gone mute on me, have you?” he continued talking as he reached down with both hands and ripped the front of her shirt open, sending buttons flying in all directions.

Buffy still didn’t react; she simply continued to stare at him with dull, empty eyes.



The man pushed her bra up, exposing her breasts, and leered at her, licking his lips. “Nice tits,” he offered as he groped them roughly. “Oh yeah, bit small, but nice and firm … Mmm,mmm … hope that cunt of yours is just as tight,” he continued as he moved his hand down and began to unbutton her jeans.

“Never fucked a Slayer before – never caught one alive before – well except for that Faith-chit. She scampered off ‘fore she could have the pleasure of my company. Unlike you, I draw the line at screwing dead things. Always wondered … does that Slayer healing grow your cherry back? I’d love to pop you over and over again … all the way to London.”

Weatherby, the leader of the Council’s Wet Works/Retrieval team, yanked Buffy’s jeans down her hips, but with her legs shackled wide apart, he couldn’t get them down enough to do more than see her dark curls.

He took the opportunity to shove a finger between her folds and thrust it into her dry channel. Buffy didn’t react at all to the painful invasion; she remained still, silent, and unblinking.

“Bet you’ll scream when I shove my hard cock up there, toots. Never did like a girl who didn’t scream – never met a girl I couldn’t make scream,” he bragged as he moved to the shackle on her right ankle. He pulled out his keys and very cautiously unlocked it. With her foot out of the restraint, he shoved her jeans down to her ankles and off the free foot.

“You’re wanting this, aren’t you?” he asked with a lecherous grin when she didn’t fight him at all. He didn’t bother locking her leg back into the shackle – it’d be easier to fuck her with it free. “Probably never had a real man before, have you little Slayer-girl?” he asked as he began unhooking his belt. “Well we’ve got plenty of time to get you well acquainted with the feel of it. You won’t want to go back to dead meat after you’ve had mine.”

Buffy blinked up at him unseeingly; her eyes dull, face slack, and body limp with defeat and the ultimate surrender. Slowly, the red river that was finally, thankfully drowning her, faded to black.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Fade to Black, Metallica  on YouTube  }}


Life, it seems, will fade away
Drifting further every day
Getting lost within myself
Nothing matters, no one else

I have lost the will to live
Simply nothing more to give
There is nothing more for me
Need the end to set me free

Things not what they used to be
Missing one inside of me
Deathly lost, this can't be real
Can't stand this hell I feel

Emptiness is filling me
To the point of agony
Growing darkness taking dawn
I was me, but now he's gone

No one but me can save myself, but it's too late
Now I can't think, think why I should even try

Yesterday seems as though it never existed
Death greets me warm, now I will just say goodbye, *Goodbye*
Chapter End Notes:
Oh no! Is Spike really dust? Can he be reconstituted with some filtered water and chicken broth? Will someone step in and save Buffy at the last moment? Where's the Calvary? Who's the Calvary? BuffyBot? Angel? Giles? Is there a Calvary?


Pagan pointed out that I'd managed to actually get *two* evil cliffies in this one chapter. Even though one was only temporary, my muse is dancing with evil glee.

Will have the answers to these and other questions next time - same Bat Time (Tuesday), same Bat Station.

PS: According to Facebook, Elysian Fields' site is down - they are changing hosts, so I won't be updating there until they come back up. (duh).
Bird With a Broken Wing by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Warning for this chapter: Angst, violence. My beta, PaganBaby, said some of the violence described here was squick-worthy, so be warned.
**
Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.



Spike tried to push away from the Watcher, Lydia, but she was stronger than she looked. Or maybe whatever they’d laced his drink with had weakened him more than he dared admit. He couldn’t even fight her enough to make the chip fire – that could not be good. She was talking about something Spike couldn’t follow as she braced herself against the wall. She kept him upright only by leaning most of his weight against her and wrapping her arms around his middle. His head swam. He tried to lift it up off her shoulder, but simply could not manage it. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this drunk in his life, and that was also saying something.



Some small part of his brain that was functioning knew it was a trap to get Buffy out of their top floor suite and down here near the exit so they could make a quick getaway, but he was helpless to stop it.



Spike felt the Slayer before he heard or saw her. He could smell the adrenaline and anger boiling off her as she got nearer, and he tried to ready the words on his lips to warn her. When she grabbed his shoulder and spun him around his brain faltered and all he could say was her name. “Buffy…”


There were a thousand things that he wanted to say after that. I’m sorry. I failed you. I love you. Please forgive me. Run! Trap! Finally the word ‘trap’ made it from his brain to his lips, but it was too late, he knew.





Spike’s knees buckled with his full weight on them. He fell to the floor and lost consciousness in the next instant. He wasn’t sure how long he was out – it may have been a second or an hour – when he felt himself being hauled up by one arm and dragged across the floor. He tried to get his feet underneath him and walk, but his legs weren’t responding to his brain’s commands. Buffy had him – he could smell her, he could feel her strength tugging on him desperately. Then she was screaming for help. It was too loud in his ear and he flinched, and then they both fell to the floor in a limp heap, arms and legs entangled.


Suddenly there was a flurry of motion and sound, people were screaming and he felt himself being pulled away from Buffy. He forced his eyes open and caught a flash of a tranquilizer dart sticking out of her back, just at the base of her neck. He reached out to pull it out of her, but his hand met nothing but air – she was suddenly too far away.


“Buffy…” he screamed … or he tried to scream. He realized that it came out as barely a whisper when no one reacted at all to his furious outburst. He fell onto his back …. No – didn’t fall, someone shoved him onto his back. He blinked up, trying to focus his swimming vision, and saw a woman standing over him with a stake.


This was it. He always thought he’d go down fighting. This death would be more pathetic than his first death – just laying here doing nothing while a fucking Watcher put a stake in him. A Watcher, for Christ’s sake! He always thought it would be Buffy who would ultimately dust him. It should at least be a Slayer. This was just wrong. William the Bloody should go down fighting, not lying on his back like a git.


He tried to roll away, tried to lift his hands and stop her, but everything was moving in slow motion. Well, everything he did was in slow motion; either that or everyone else had taken their ‘Flash’ superhero pills today and no one had offered him one. Either way, he realized all too clearly that he was not going to stop this bitch from dusting him.





Suddenly there was another barrage of motion and sound, all much too loud in the enclosed casino. In the next instant, blood and other unidentifiable gore splattered over his face, neck, and chest. He instinctively closed his eyes when the red liquid flew at him. When he finally got them open again, someone was dragging him away and talking to him. Why was everyone talking to him? And what fucking language where they speaking, anyway? Didn’t they know how to speak the Queen’s proper English? Bloody gibberish is what it is … bloody … gibberish, he thought as the world once again faded to into inky darkness and perfect silence.


**~**



“Spike!” the Bot yelled, her voice full of worry and concern, as she strode quickly to where he lay on the floor of the casino.


He was surrounded by paramedics and police. One of the policemen stepped in front of the Bot as she tried to reach the vampire. “Sorry, miss – need to give them some room to work.”


The Bot stopped, watching the paramedics try to shock Spike’s heart back to life. “You’re hurting Spike!” the Bot complained when Spike’s body bucked and writhed wildly under the applied voltage.





Another officer joined the first, trying to hold the Bot back, then a third came to help as the paramedics continued turning up the voltage on the defibrillators and shocking Spike’s body.


“Stop! Stop hurting Spike!” she screamed as she elbowed one policeman in the ribs that was behind her and punched one in the mouth that was in front of her, sending them both sprawling onto the floor. The third officer brought out a stun gun, but the Bot’s hand moved faster than he’d anticipated and she turned the weapon back on him.


“Are your microprocessors damaged? That is painful to humans!” she pointed out as he fell to the floor as well. The Bot flung herself down atop Spike just as the paramedics sat back from his lifeless body.


When more police officers and security guards came to get her off, one of the medics waved them away, shaking his head and frowning. “He’s gone…”


“No! He’s right here!” the Bot corrected, pulling Spike away from the menace and into a protective embrace as she knelt on the floor.


“Miss, I’m sorry … but he’s … gone … he’s dead,” the other paramedic told her as gently as he could.


“I understand that he is dead, but he is not gone,” the Bot protested, keeping herself between the medics and their torture devices, and Spike’s limp form. “Do you have some malfunction with your optics?”


“Ummm … no. I can see that he’s dead,” the man replied, brows furrowed in confusion.


“Then I do not understand your contention that he is gone. Clearly, he is not gone. Buffy is gone. The men in the truck took her. I saw it from the balcony. I must ask Spike what to do,” the Bot informed them, as she started to rise, picking Spike up with her.


“Miss … I’m sorry, but you can’t … take him away,” the first paramedic told her, reaching a tentative hand out towards the obviously grief-stricken woman.


“Why not?”


“Well … because he’s dead. And dead people have … certain needs.”


“Yes, I am aware of that. I can fulfill all of Spike’s needs,” the Bot asserted.





“Right, but what I mean is … errr…” the paramedic looked for help from one of the policemen nearby.


“It’s the law, miss,” the policeman offered. “The deceased must be taken to the morgue so we can make a case against the perpetrators of his murder. You do want us to catch the people that killed him, don’t you? You can claim his body from there.”


The Bot frowned in thought a moment. “But, I need him to tell me how to find Buffy.”


“Who’s Buffy?” the policeman asked.


“Buffy is … Buffy. The men in the truck took her,” the Bot offered, looking toward the emergency exit door.


“You knew the girl that was taken?” the policeman asked.


“Yes. She is my friend.”


“The best way to find her is to let our doctors have a look at your boyfriend. There could be clues that can help us catch who took her and who … hurt him,” the officer explained gently.


The Bot frowned again and looked down at Spike. She shook him to try and wake him, but he remained unmoving and silent. “Spike? What should I do?” she asked, leaning her face near his.





No reply came from the vampire, he didn’t stir at all.


The Bot looked back at the policeman, her face a study in confusion. “You can find out what to do even though he won’t respond to verbal prompts?”


The policeman nodded and came closer. “Yes. Our forensic scientists are some of the best. If there’s anything to be found, they’ll find it.”


The Bot nodded reluctantly, and the policeman waved a hand for the Medical Examiner to bring a gurney over. Before long, Spike had been zipped up into a body-bag and loaded into the back of the ME’s van.


“Can I … accompany him?” the Bot wondered as they loaded him into the van. “I went with Buffy to the hospital.”


“Ummm … not really,” the same policeman told her. “Just have your funeral home contact the ME’s office tomorrow.”


“I do not own a funeral home,” the Bot informed him. “I am not certain Spike has accumulated enough plastic discs to purchase one. Do you know what they cost or where to shop for one?”


The policeman furrowed his brow. “Uh, no, not off hand. Here, just call this number and they’ll help you,” the officer offered, giving her a card with the phone number and address of the Medical Examiner’s office.


“This is where you are taking Spike?” the Bot asked, looking at the card.


“Yeah. That’s where they’ll look for the clues. Our detectives would also like to ask you some questions about the girl that was kidnapped. Do you feel up to that now?”


“My battery is running low. I believe I should return to our room and recharge very soon or I will risk automatic shutdown,” the Bot replied.


The officer nodded, but his brow remained furrowed. Nut jobs. How did he always get the nut jobs? “Uhhh … Ok. Just let me get your information and I’ll have them contact you later.


“Your name?”


“Buffy the Vampire Slayer. My friends call me BuffyBot.”


The officer’s brows went up. “Ummm … your first name is … Betty…”


“Buffy,” the Bot corrected, enunciating slowly.






“Right, Buffy,” the officer repeated. “And your last name is…?”


The Bot thought about this a moment. “Vampire Slayer,” she concluded, nodding decisively.


“Right” the policeman drawled, sarcastic disbelief in his voice. “Is that hyphenated or …?”


“Two separate words, both capitalized.”


He wrote it down. “Date of birth?”


The Bot looked at him blankly for a moment, then said, “Date of birth is the moment of emergence of offspring from the body of its mother; the start of life as a physically separate being.”


“Right. And … Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s birthday is?”


The Bot stared at him intently she thought, trying to determine the response he wanted. “Buffy’s birthday is January 19th,” she said finally.


The cop wrote that down. “What year?”

The Bot frowned again, thinking. “Every year.”



The cop sighed heavily and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Do you have any ID?”



“ID?” the Bot questioned.



“Identification,” the policeman clarified. “A driver’s license maybe?”



“Oh. No. Spike will not allow me to drive. I think I would be an excellent driver – much better than the Other Slayer – but he won’t allow anyone to drive his DeSoto. He said that perhaps one day we could nick the Watcher’s car and I could drive that piece of shite into a pole, but not his precious DeSoto.”



“Uh-huh,” the policeman grunted, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “You’re staying here at the MGM?”



“Yes. We are in the complimentary suite on the very top floor because Spike is bloody brilliant at blackjack – but he doesn’t cheat because that would be a card shark, and he’s a card sharp. He’s extremely skilled. The key is knowing when to stop playing. It’s just like any other dance.”



The policeman blew out a long breath. “How do I always get the freaks?” he muttered under his breath as he scribbled something on his pad. “Okay, I’ll have one of the detectives contact you later. Sorry for your loss,” he said louder, then turned, still shaking his head, and walked away.



**~**



After the policeman left and they'd taken Spike away, the Bot returned to their room and plugged herself into the charging station. Her batteries had gotten to critically low levels and she had been programmed to recharge at that level, regardless of what was happening.



When she awoke some time later, fully charged again, she set out to find Spike. Since she didn’t have a funeral home, or the money to purchase one, she decided that she would go to where they took Spike and ask him what she should do next. Maybe he had recharged by now too.



She had watched Spike enough to know how to trade in the pretty plastic discs for actual money, and there were several on the table beside the bed. She took them and cashed them in in the casino. Out front, she explained where she needed to go to the doorman and he helped her into a cab. She gave the driver the address for the Medical Examiner from the card the policeman had given her, and they were off.



It turned out that the morgue was in the basement of the county hospital. By the time she’d gotten there that evening, the morgue was closed, but there was a security guard on duty near the elevators that she took down from the hospital itself.



“Can I help you?” he asked, looking up from his graphic novel when the elevator doors opened and the Bot stepped out.



She smiled her most friendly smile. “Yes, thank you, you can. I am here to see Spike.”







“Ummm … there’s no one here but me, miss. Maybe you have the wrong office. This is the morgue.”



“This is the correct location. I have a card. I just need to see to him,” she explained, handing the guard the business card with the ME’s information on it. “They took him from the hotel today and said that he would be here. They said they could find out who took Buffy, even if he did not wake up.”



“Wait a minute …” the guard drawled, his brows furrowed in thought. “You’re talking about that guy they brought in from that big shoot-out/kidnapping on the strip today.”



“Yes. Spike. I just need to speak with him, please. It is quite important – a matter of life and death really.”



“That’s really not allowed, miss,” the guard replied, his voice softening.



The Bot frowned. “But … I need to see him. I don’t know what to do without him. You asked me if you could help me and I said yes, so I would like you to help me now. It’s very important that I talk with him.”



The guard sighed and pulled out some paperwork from a drawer, flipping pages on a clipboard. “They’ve been backed up around here this week … let me see …”



After a few moments he found what he was looking for. “Ok … it doesn’t look like they got to him yet, so I guess it’ll be alright. But no touching – you can just … talk.”



The Bot’s smile returned. “That will be acceptable. Thank you.”



“Just call me a sucker for a pretty girl,” the guard sighed as he rose from his seat.



“Thank you, Sucker For A Pretty Girl. I am Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” the Bot offered as she fell into step next to him.



The guard looked at her with confusion a moment, then gave a snort of laughter. “You into Dungeons and Dragons? My little brother plays that stuff.”



“No, I can confidently say that I have never been inside a dungeon or a dragon.”



The guard chuckled again. “Don’t worry, your secret D&D identity is safe with me.”



The guard opened a door and walked into a large, sterile room. He checked the clipboard again, then headed for the wall of refrigerated compartments as the Bot followed him. He opened one of the doors and then slid a long tray out upon which was a large, black, plastic body bag with a body obviously inside.



“Are you sure you want to do this, Buffy the Vampire Slayer?” Sucker asked, looking at her with concern.



The Bot nodded. “Yes. Buffy’s life is at stake. I do not know what to do. I must talk to him. Spike will know what I should do.”



The guard gave her a curious look. Talking about one’s self in the third person was a little creepy, but then, he worked the night shift at the morgue. Everything was creepy. “Okay, I’ll give you some privacy, but no touching the body, understand?”



The Bot nodded emphatically and folded her hands behind her back.



Sucker slid the zipper down enough to expose Spike’s face, then left the room, closing the door behind him.



“Spike!” the Bot exclaimed excitedly, moving closer to him. “I need a new directive. Some humans with weapons placed the Other Slayer in the back of a large, square truck and I do not know how to proceed.”



The Bot stood over him and waited, but he still did not open his eyes or answer her. She moved her face very close to his – as close as she could get without touching him – and screamed, “Spike!” at the top of her volume control modulator.







Spike jumped and tried to raise his hands up to cover his ears, but they were caught in the body bag. He began to struggle wildly, still half-dazed from the drugs he’d ingested and the shock treatment he’d received. The commotion was too much for the supports on the metal drawer, and the whole thing, including Spike, fell to the floor with an ear-shattering clatter.



“Spike!” the Bot exclaimed again, trying to pull the heavy tray away from where he was still thrashing inside the body bag, being careful not to touch Spike in the process.



“Buffy!” Spike exclaimed, his mind finally snapping into focus. “Run! We gotta get outta here! It’s a trap!”



“It is?” the Bot asked, looking around warily. “What class and category of trap should I prepare for?”



Spike stopped thrashing long enough to look around and get his bearings. “Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered as he realized he wasn’t in the casino any longer. He looked up at the Bot, his concern deepening. “Where’s Buffy?”



“I do not know. That is what I needed to consult with you about, but the men said they had to take dead bodies here – that it was the law. I did not know how to proceed.”



Spike began to struggle with the cocoon-like bag he was trapped in. “Who do I look like, bloody Houdini? Get me outta here,” he growled at her.



“Sucker said that I cannot touch your body,” the Bot replied, tossing the body-sized, stainless steel tray she was still holding across the room like a child would throw a stuffed animal.



“What the bloody hell are you on about?” Spike demanded.



“Sucker wouldn’t allow me to see you if I didn’t promise,” she continued. “I am programmed to keep promises.”



Spike closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and slowly rolled his head from side to side for a frustrated moment, trying to rein in his anger. “Then slide the zipper down without touchin’ my body,” he instructed through clenched teeth.







“Oh! I can do that,” the Bot agreed happily.



Just then the door opened and Sucker stepped in. “Buffy! I thought I said not to touch…” He stopped and stood gape-mouthed as Spike rose from the body-bag on the floor, still wearing the blood-splattered clothes he’d had on earlier.



“No worries,” Spike offered. “She didn’t touch me.”



“Wha… wha …” the guard stammered.



“Virgin, eh?” Spike asked Sucker as the vamp grabbed the Bot’s hand and headed towards the door. “Shock that, workin’ ‘ere. Sorry, don’t have time t’ make it better for ya, mate. Next time, maybe.”



“Wha…” Sucker continued to stammer, wide eyed, as Spike and the Bot pushed past him.



“Thank you, Sucker For A Pretty Girl!” the Bot called back over her shoulder, waving at him with her free hand as Spike pulled her along.



As they walked, Spike asked the Bot what happened. She explained as quickly as she could, with Spike frequently prodding her to skip over irrelevant details, as they rode up out of the morgue in the elevator.







“What should I do now? Do you know where Buffy is?” the Bot asked as they walked the halls of the hospital, trying to find an exit.



Spike’s mind was racing, trying to answer that very question for himself. He was furious with himself for being suckered, furious with the Watchers, with Buffy’s friends, with the whole bloody universe. How was he gonna find her now? It had been hours since they’d taken her; they could literally be anywhere in the world by now.



Suddenly Spike’s long, angry strides came to an abrupt halt. The Bot nearly crashed into him, but side-stepped at the last moment. “What has happened? Are we no longer angry and tense?”



Spike didn’t answer, instead he turned in a slow circle, sniffing the antiseptic air of the hospital. “Smell that?” he asked the Bot as he stopped, facing down an intersecting hallway.







The Bot sniffed. “Blood, feces, urine, bile, cherry Jell-O, alcohol, iodine, antibiotics…”



“No,” Spike cut her off as he began stalking slowly down the hallway. “Fe, fi, fo, fum …” he murmured under his breath. “I smell the blood of a …”



He pushed a door open and stepped inside one of the patient rooms. “…Watcher,” he finished. “Hello, luv. Fancy meetin’ you again,” he continued with a predatory purr.



Lydia’s eyes went wide with fear. She fumbled for the nurse call button and began to scream at the same time. Spike was across the room faster than she could get either her voice or her fingers to summon help. He clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled the call box/TV control out of her reach, dropping it on the floor beneath the bed.






“We don’t want any interruptions, pet,” he whispered against her ear, his voice a silky, unveiled threat.



Lydia tried to push him away, but she’d been shot in the shoulder by one of the security guards at the casino and pain radiated from her broken scapula up her neck and down her spine.



Unable to escape or defeat him physically, she tried to calm herself and use her Watcher training to outwit and overcome the threat. She said something against Spike’s hand – not a scream, but words. He lifted his hand slightly to allow her to speak. “You can’t hurt me…” she breathed, remembering the chip that William the Bloody had. “Just go away and I won’t … stake you.”



Spike grinned, showing his teeth in a wolfish smile. “I’m gonna ask you a question and you’re gonna answer me,” he informed the Watcher. “If I’m not happy with your answer, one of your fingers will be broken each time I ask until you answer me properly. Am I makin’ myself clear?”



“You … can’t,” she stammered again, unable to stop her eyes from flashing wide with fear.



Spike’s smile never wavered. “Meet William the Bloody’s new apprentice,” Spike said genially, moving back a step to allow Lydia to see BuffyBot standing behind him.







Lydia sucked in a frightened gasp, then tried to scream for help again. Spike clamped his hand over her mouth, stopping the sound from escaping. He pressed his mouth to the Watcher’s ear. “Now, if memory serves, you did your thesis on William the Bloody, yeah? Just what do you think is gonna happen after all ten o’ your fingers are broken? Can ya guess what comes next? And then next after that … and after that?” he purred against her, his breath cool against the frightened woman’s skin. “What was that cute little tagline ya used? ‘William the Bloody don’t stop until everything in his path is dead’? It’s the bit before the ‘dead’ that you should be worried about, luv.”



She shuddered and closed her eyes, then swallowed hard. “What do you want to know?” she asked after a few moments, her words muffled against his hand.



**~**



Three nights later, Spike and BuffyBot stood outside the big square building that was the Watchers Council’s headquarters in London. Like its inhabitants, the building had no personality or character – it looked something like a giant block of baker’s chocolate … with windows. It was three a.m. and the streets were nearly deserted in this older section of town which housed mostly offices.







“You know the plan, yeah?” Spike asked the Bot for perhaps the hundredth time.



“Yes. You have conveyed the plan to me two hundred and thirty seven times. I have recorded it verbatim each time. Which reiteration would you like me to recount to you?”



Spike blew out a breath. “None. Time t’ put the words into action, pet. Are you ready?”



“I am fully charged,” the Bot confirmed.







“Right, let’s dance,” Spike instructed as he clasped his hands behind his back and brought his demon up. The Bot grabbed him by one arm and jerked him roughly forward, up the walkway to the front door of the Council headquarters. At the door she paused, never letting go of him, and entered the code Lydia had given them onto the keypad. Spike held his breath, metaphorically speaking. If that bitch lied to him, he’d hunt her down and rip her eyeballs out with a fondue fork, just like he’d promised her.



The lock on the door made a soft ‘click’ as it released. Spike blew out the breath he’d been holding, and allowed the Bot to pull him inside. The moment he crossed the threshold, alarms began to blare through the whole building. Within a second, two guards appeared with crossbows, one from each of two wide corridors leading from the main foyer deeper into the building.



“Stop! Identify yourself!” the older of the two shouted at the intruders.



BuffyBot kept walking, unfazed, dragging Spike, who was now thrashing against her, in her wake. “I’m Buffy Summers – you know – the Vampire Slayer? Ring any bells? The person all you dolts work for.”



The two guards looked at each other across the lobby, then back to the blonds. “Stop,” the older one said again, leveling his crossbow at her in earnest.



BuffyBot stopped walking and dragged Spike up next to her. She roughly shoved him down onto his knees at her side and surreptitiously stepped between him and the guards. She planted one hand on her hip that jutted out to the side, and glared at the man that had spoken.







“What part of ‘Vampire Slayer’ don’t you understand?” she asked him angrily. “I’ve captured William the Bloody. If he escapes or gets dusted because of your incompetence, you can be sure Quentin will know about it.



“And will you please shut off that damn alarm!” she continued vehemently.



“Uhhh … just … ummm … hang on a minute, Miss Summers,” the older guard said as he moved to a console and turned off the blaring alarm.



“Thank you,” the Bot barked sarcastically. She reached down and dragged Spike back to his feet. “I have to get this prisoner to the cell block. Drusilla is still out there somewhere, I need to get back while I can still track her.”



“Ummm … I’ve never … no one’s ever brought prisoners in here before. For that matter, no one’s ever brought a vampire in here before,” the older guard stammered, caught between confusion, fear, and suspicion.



“Oh, well maybe that’s because no one ever caught the most notorious vampire of all time before: William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers. But … whatever, if you’d rather I just dust him, I’ll let you explain to my buddy Quent why he can’t interrogate the vampire that’s killed two Slayers,” the Bot threatened, pulling a stake from the waistband of her jeans and raising it menacingly near Spike’s chest. “Your name again? Just so I have it right for my report to Quentin.”



“No! Wait, I didn’t say that,” the guard blurted out quickly, holding one hand out to stop her. “I just said … I never saw it before.”



“And I guess you’ve seen everything, huh? Ever see a vampire rip someone’s throat out? I’m sure William wouldn’t mind a snack before he gets locked up. C’mon over here … get a firsthand demonstration,” the Bot offered, her voice dripping with saccharine.



The guard put a hand to his throat protectively. “Uhhh … no, that’s ok. Do you need any … help getting it into a cell?” he asked tentatively.



The Bot rolled her eyes and pushed Spike ahead of her down the hallway the older guard had vacated. “As if,” she retorted as she strode after her stumbling captive.



Spike let out another breath of relief. The bloody Bot sounded more like Buffy than Buffy. Of course, he’d practiced all sorts of scenarios with her on the long flight in the cargo-hold of a FedEx plane, but still, you never knew what might throw her for a loop or when she’d start talking about microprocessors and overflowing buffers. The other thing he’d worried about was the night-watchmen knowing that Buffy Summers was already their prisoner. Lydia had said they wouldn’t – they weren’t Watchers or anything other than hired help. They didn’t go into the cell level at all or have any contact with prisoners.



The pair of would-be rescuers navigated the labyrinth of corridors to a freight elevator based on the map Lydia had drawn them, and took it down underground three levels. The door opened to a pristine, brightly lit, white room. There was no furniture in the small room, only another door and a keypad. The door had a small window in it made of bulletproof, or at least vampire-proof, glass. The two blonds moved up to the door in silence and peered through the window. Spike had to force himself not to curse or gasp aloud when he looked into the cell block. He pulled back and rested his back on the wall next to the door – his eyes closed and head hung down.



“I don’t remember this part of the plan in any of your scenarios,” BuffyBot whispered as she looked through the small window. “Should I also lean on the door and pray?”



Spike shook his head and held his hand up, silently asking her to give him a minute. He’d been hit with a supersized helping of déjà vu. The other side of the door held a cellblock that looked suspiciously like one he’d spent time in before – in Sunnydale, under the campus of the University. It looked just like the Initiative’s setup. It wasn’t as big; not nearly as many cells, but the setup appeared exactly the same. So who, exactly, was working for whom in that scenario?



After composing himself for a few moments, Spike pulled Lydia’s access card out of his pocket, slid the magnetic strip through the slot on the locking device, and then entered in the PIN number that went with it. Just like had happened at the main door, the lock released with a ‘click’ and the Bot pushed the heavy door open.







The two intruders slipped in and started moving silently down the corridor. The place was spotless and each cell they passed was empty. Spike began to mutter vitriolic curses under his breath as they continued down the hallway. Had the Council changed their plans and taken Buffy somewhere else? Had Lydia lied to them? Thoughts of murder and mayhem began racing through Spike’s mind as they skulked between the empty, pristine cells.



And then, in the very last one, she was there. Spike nearly shouted her name out loud as relief flooded through him. Buffy’s cell was just as stark and cold as the others. There was a plain toilet bowl in one corner that appeared to be made out of some type of molded plastic rather than porcelain; the plastic being less likely to be broken and used as a weapon, he supposed. Apart from that, there was nothing in it at all. No bed. No chairs. Not even a mat on the floor.



Buffy was huddled in the back corner of the cell opposite the toilet. She had a blanket wrapped around her – the only creature comfort she’d been afforded. He could only see the top of her head as she huddled in the corner beneath the blanket, but there was no mistaking that it was her. She didn’t look up or seem to notice that Spike and the Bot were there.



The Bot reached a hand out toward the seemingly fragile glass wall that separated them from Buffy. Spike grabbed her wrist before she could touch it.



“No,” he whispered. “Electrified,” he explained simply as he quickly swiped the access card in the lock next to Buffy’s cell. At once the electric barrier fell and a door slid open in the clear wall.







The moment the door opened, Spike was knocked back by the putrid smell coming from the room. His demon came up unbidden as the unmistakable aroma of sex mingled with Slayer blood hit him. He staggered, caught off guard by the intensity of it, then a growl began in his gut and reverberated through the whole cell block.



Some part of him knew he needed to stay calm and quiet lest they attract unwanted attention, but a larger part of him wanted to rip and slash and bash and scream in fury. He wanted to gouge out eyes and tear still-beating hearts from the chests of whoever dared touch his Slayer. Spike struggled against his need for violence, trying desperately to regain control of the demon so they could get Buffy out. Images of Buffy being raped flashed through his mind as the demon raged against his effort to control and calm it.



The struggle between rage and calm was physically painful, and Spike staggered and fell to his knees as he tried to regain control. He pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stop the visions of Buffy being abused, but it didn’t help. He banged his fists against his head, then fell to the floor, rolling around as if wrestling with an unseen adversary.



The Bot watched helplessly, unsure of what to do. This had not been in any of the scenarios either. “I am not familiar with this ritual. Am I to join you in this dance?” she asked him. “I do not know the proper response to this stimulus.”







Finally Spike let out a long, undulating howl of agony and anger. His whole body went rigid on the floor for several seconds, every muscle pulled tight as a bowstring, then, suddenly, he went limp. His chest heaved with unneeded breath – each inhalation bringing in more of the scent that had stirred his demon in the first place. He finally forced himself to stop breathing, but could not push the demon down, no matter how he tried.



After a few moments, he decided that this was as close to control as he was likely to get, and he pushed himself up off the floor wearily. He took in a breath through his mouth so he could speak and he could taste the spunk and blood and other bodily fluids that hung in the air. He closed his eyes and focused on Buffy. Get the Slayer out. Come back later and kill the bastards. Get Buffy out now.

 

After another long moment, he steeled himself and stepped into the cell. He could almost feel the stench of blood, semen, and human waste on his skin as he moved into the enclosed space.



“Buffy,” he said as calmly as he could. “Buffy, it’s Spike, pet. Here t’ get you out.”



In reply, Buffy recoiled and pulled the blanket over her head as if to hide herself. Her fear was palpable and he could see her trembling under the thin cover of the blanket. She looked like she was trying to embed herself into the wall of the cell, to become invisible – a part of her surroundings.



Spike laid a hand on her shoulder and Buffy jumped under his touch. He felt his demon rage again, but he kept his voice as calm as he knew how. “Buffy, luv … it’s Spike. Not gonna hurt you. We need t’ go.”



Her only response was to try and huddle closer to the wall.



Spike blew out a frustrated breath. “Gonna pick you up, luv. Don’t fight me, Buffy. Not gonna hurt you, pet,” he cajoled as he reached around her and slid her away from the wall.



“No, no … no …” she whispered and tried to scramble back to her ‘hiding place’.







The blanket came off her when she did and Spike felt his demon reasserting itself. Beneath the blanket she was completely nude. Her body was covered in burns, bruises, cuts, and abrasions, all in different stages of healing. There was dried blood, semen, urine, and feces on the blanket and the floor beneath her, as well as on the skin of her legs and buttocks.



“Bloody hell,” Spike groaned, his stomach turning in revulsion and renewed rage. Spike might’ve seen worse in his unlife, but this was different. This was Buffy. Spike fought down the bile that burned the back of his throat, and focused his rage on the mission at hand: Get Buffy out. He could reap his vengeance later.



He steeled himself and wrapped the blanket back around her, then, without trying to be cajoling or gentle, he snaked his arms around her and lifted her off the floor. Buffy whimpered and pushed against his arms as he settled her against his chest, carrying her like a child. Her protests were so weak he barely noticed that she was struggling at all.



“What have they done to you, Slayer?” Spike wondered forlornly as he carried her out of the cell.



Just then he heard the elevator open into the antechamber at the end of the hall. He looked around wildly – they were sitting ducks here in this corridor if whoever that was had a tranq gun or crossbow. On top of which, if there were several of them it was doubtful they’d be able to fight their way out since the Bot was the only currently lucid one that could fight humans. And, as if all that weren’t enough, if whoever was coming sounded the alarm, that would bugger their ultimate escape from the building.



Spike quickly spotted a slatted, unlocked door near them at the very end of the hallway with a sign that said ‘Maintenance’ on it. In just a second he’d come up with a new plan – which was pretty scary all by itself.



**~**



Spike still held Buffy in his arms as he peered out of the slats of the maintenance closet to see who was coming and how many there were.



“No, no, no …” Buffy began objecting again, this time more loudly, as Spike held her in the small, deeply shadowed room. Spike clamped one hand over her mouth to quiet her, and she bit down on the fleshy ball at the base of his thumb.



It wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been, he’d been bitten harder in his unlife, but it still hurt like hell. Spike couldn’t pull away or she’d alert whoever had come in to their position. He clenched his jaw against the pain, keeping his hand pressed against her mouth as Buffy bit down harder.



Bloody hell! he wanted to scream as her teeth cut into him, but he didn’t pull away or drop her. If the price of getting her out of here was a chunk of his flesh, then he’d gladly pay it.



Spike focused on the hallway, allowing Buffy to use his hand as a chew-toy. A solitary man with thinning dark hair and deep-set eyes, strode down the corridor looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. The grin on his lips was incongruous with his gaunt features and stark cheekbones – he looked like a skeleton that had just won the lottery.



“Daddy’s home, toots!” he called happily as he walked. “Did ya miss me?”



The man stopped in front of Buffy’s cell and turned to look in. “Oh yeah, I can tell you missed me. Gonna have to take it easy on you for a couple of days, old man Travers wants to see you on Monday. Be hard to explain all our fun and games as resisting arrest. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun, Slayer-girl,” he continued as he drew his own access card from his pocket.



Weatherby slid the card through the reader, making the force-field fall away and the door slide open.



“I bet I can still make you scream – we’ll just have to make it hurt on the inside,” he continued jovially as he stepped into Buffy’s cell. “I know you’ll still enjoy it just as much.



“But, first things first…” he said as he pulled a syringe from a bag he had slung over his shoulder. He stopped and readied the syringe, clearing the needle of air, and stepped over to the girl huddled under the dirty blanket. Weatherby grabbed her arm through the cover and shoved the long needle into her flesh right through the fabric … or tired to.







The needle went through the fabric and skin, but shattered when it hit the Slayer’s 'muscle'.



The Bot uncovered her head and scowled at the man. “That pierced my state-of-the-art, nanotube-coated, ultra-sensitive, silicone outer shell,” she informed him. “And it hurt.”



Weatherby jerked back and scampered to his feet, sunken eyes suddenly wide with surprise. The Bot took a determined step towards him and he turned to run out of the cell just as the door closed and the force-field came back up. The man barely stopped in time to keep from getting a full-body electrocution.



“No need t’ leave so soon,” Spike drawled past his fangs as he waved his keycard in the air absently from the other side of the barrier. Blood flowed from his hand, splattering the white floor with drops of crimson, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Thought you wanted t’ hear someone scream. I fancy hearing that m’self.”







“Who … how … who?” Weatherby stammered, looking between the Bot and Spike as he backed away and over to one side of the cell.



“Thought you blokes were familiar with a Slayer. Give him a demo of who you are, pet,” Spike told the Bot.



BuffyBot stepped forward toward Weatherby who kept backing up until his back hit the wall. He tried to dodge left, but she cut him off. He scampered back away from her, then he went right, but she was faster, sending him back to the center of the wall again.



“Don’t kill him, pet,” Spike warned as the Bot drew her right fist back. She nodded acknowledgement and swung at Weatherby’s chin. He flinched back and raised his hands to protect his face, but she still connected solidly with the side of his head. His head slammed against the wall and he crumpled to the floor.



“Bloody hell,” Spike complained. “What kinda poncey villain are you? Taken down by one punch from a little girl?



“Get him up and bring him over here,” Spike instructed the Bot.



BuffyBot picked the thin man up by the back of his neck like he was a kitten. Holding him at arm’s length with his feet dangling off the floor, she walked over towards Spike with the dazed, skeletal man.



“Stop there,” Spike instructed her when the man’s face was about three inches away from the electric force field.



“Now then, reckon we’ve answered your question, you can answer one o’ ours,” Spike, still in game-face, continued in a conversational tone. “What’s in that syringe?”



Weatherby looked at Spike blankly as he tried to clear the cobwebs from his brain.



“Come closer,” Spike beckoned the Bot. She moved Weatherby’s face even closer to the field of electricity.



“Not gonna ask again,” Spike warned, looking at Weatherby. “Tell me what’s in that bloody syringe or I’ll have ‘er fry you right here and now.”



Weatherby shook his head and held his hands out in supplication. “It’s … ummm … not really sure. They give it to Slayers for the Cruciamentum. It … weakens them.”



“Is it permanent-like?” Spike continued.



“Uhhh … No. Gotta give it to ‘em everyday t’ keep ‘em … sedate, like normal girls,” the dark man replied.



Spike nodded. “Big man, you are,” Spike growled. “Wanna hear the Slayer scream, but can’t handle her if she’s at full strength. If I had time, I’d show ya a thing or two about pain – but it’ll have t’ wait for another day. In a bit of a rush, we are.”



Spike looked past the man hanging helplessly in mid-air to the Bot. “Crush his dangly bits and let’s go,” he ordered matter-of-factly.



“What!? No! I … answered your bloody question!” Weatherby objected, struggling against the Bot’s superior strength.



“No worries. I’ll reward ya for that,” Spike assured him, smiling around his fangs. “We’ll get to the real screaming another time. This is just to keep you … sedated ‘til I can get back.







“Do it,” he ordered the Bot, his demon face a mask of barely repressed rage.



The Bot nodded again and stepped back from the electric barrier. Almost faster than Spike could see, she dropped the man, slamming him down onto the white tile floor with a hollow thud that drove all the air from his lungs. As he wheezed and moaned, she picked him up by one ankle and drove her other fist straight down between his legs like a sledgehammer. It sounded something like a fist being slammed into a watermelon as all his external parts were suddenly transformed into internal organs.







Weatherby wailed in white-hot agony and thrashed wildly as he clutched at his groin. Within seconds, he went still and silent – the pain and shock sending him into unconsciousness. The Bot dropped him unceremoniously and he fell into a limp heap on the floor.



“Bugger. Was just starting to enjoy the sound o’ that,” Spike groused as he opened the cell with the access card to allow the Bot out before he headed back for the closet where he’d left Buffy.



Spike wrapped Buffy in his duster and picked her back up. She pushed and struggled against him, protesting with a single word repeated over and over again, “No.” He didn’t stop her from speaking this time, but each time she said it a razor of ice slashed at his heart, bleeding him with freezing shards of guilt and regret.



He’d promised her he’d keep her safe and he’d failed. Just like he’d failed Dawn. Maybe he should’ve let Angel take her back to L.A. Maybe none of this would’ve happened if he’d just let her go, not been so bloody selfish and arrogant. Why did he think he could keep her safe? Had he ever had a plan that had actually worked properly? What made him think this would’ve been any different? He was a git, and Buffy had paid the price for his incompetence.



“I’m sorry, Buffy. God, I’m so bloody sorry,” he murmured to her as she continued her litany of ‘no’s, pressing her palms against his chest feebly as he carried her out.



**~**



The Bot checked the hallway outside the elevator on the ground floor, but it was clear. She could hear the guards up at the desk near the front doors – out of view of the freight elevator. She beckoned to Spike, and he came out still carrying Buffy. She was still whispering ‘No, no, no…’ but she’d given up trying to push him away.



The fire exit was only about ten feet away from the freight elevator and Spike headed for it. BuffyBot strode down the hallway back to the main entrance. She stopped at the guards’ small desk and instructed, “Make a notation that no one is to enter the cell level without checking with me first. Even contained, that vamp is extremely dangerous.”



The older guard nodded and began to write something in a logbook on the desk.



“I’ll be back,” she told them, turning toward the front doors. Instead of entering the PIN number to open the front doors, however, she simply pushed on them, cracking steel and shattering glass. The alarm began to blare again as she stepped through the mess into the cool London night, ignoring the complaints and exclamations from the guards.



When the alarm began to sound, Spike pushed open the emergency exit. The guards would have no idea that anyone had gone out that way, what with the alarm already sounding from the Bot’s exit.



It had been touch-and-go for a few minutes down in the cell block, but they had succeeded in getting Buffy back. Spike’s plan had worked almost to perfection, although that was little comfort to him – he’d failed. He’d failed to keep her safe and it tore at his heart, shredding it into a bloody mass of agony and regret. His demon finally relinquished its hold on him as his anger morphed into unbearable pain and guilt. Sobs began to wrack his shoulders as he held Buffy, incoherent, drugged, weakened, and battered, in his arms. She didn't seem to know him, didn't seem to comprehend anything that was going on at all, she just continued to mutter 'no' over and over and over again. Her voice was little more than an un-ending litany of feeble protest, but it bore into Spike's heart like a laser.







After a few moments, the Bot came around the building and joined him. Spike blinked back the blur of tears and together they walked away from the back of the Council’s nondescript building to their waiting car, the alarm still blaring behind them.



As Spike gently set Buffy down in the backseat of their rental, she scrambled away, pressing herself against the other door – as far away from him as she could get. Spike felt a steel band cinch around his chest and he had to wonder if he’d ever really have her back again after this. Just how much could one soul stand? Even the Slayer had limits, her spirit wasn’t indestructible; no one’s was.



His heart, already torn and tattered by what he knew had happened to her, burst into ashes in his chest. His strong Slayer was gone. He felt like he’d been carrying a small sparrow with a broken wing in his arms. He worried that no matter how much he loved her or how hard he tried, she’d never be able to fly again. He had failed Buffy on an epic scale. William the Bloody, taken down by a pitiful herd of Watchers. How pathetic was he? Buffy would’ve been better off without his ‘help’. If she ever did recover enough to fly on her own again, it would serve him right if she flew away and never returned.



**~**



{{  Click here to hear  Don Francisco: Bird With A Broken Wing  on YouTube  }}



Bird with broken wing

Locked up inside

A tiny cage

Till the day I heard your cry

And set you free



But as I reached in

To heal the hurt

You fled in wild dismay

Now your pain

Is made you blind as you can be



Echoes in the distance

Are almost all you hear from me

Each time I speak your name

You fly away



While the agonies of mindless flight

Is more than you can bare

Still you think it's because of me

That you feel this way



Soarin' far above the storm

On wings spread strong and wide

Is the vision that you've buried

In despair



You dash yourself against the stones

And flutter terrified

When my love will heal your wounds

And lift you there



Like a frightened child

Who starts away with every move

You want to trust

But watch so fearfully



Everything you're longing for

Is here within my hands

I'm waiting now for you

To come to me



Soarin' far above the storm

On wings spread strong and wide

Is the vision that you've buried

In despair



You dash yourself against the stones

And flutter terrified

When my love would heal your wounds

And lift you there



Like a frightened child

Who starts away with every move

You want to trust

But watch so fearfully



Everything you're longing for

Is here within my hands

I'm waiting now for you

To come to me



I'm waiting now for you

To come to me

I'm waiting now for you

To come to me

Chapter End Notes:
Oh dear. Will Spike be able to reach Buffy and help her heal from her ordeal, or will this be too much for even his love to overcome? What will happen when he finds out she's pregnant? We'll find out over the next couple of angst-filled chapters.

Was what happened to Weatherby overly squicky? I actually toned it down after PaganBaby said what I'd originally done was too gross. I hope it didn't squick anyone too badly, but I think he deserved it (And more!).
Dazed and Confused by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Look, I'm early!! You can't say I'm totally evil now, can ya!? Posting early ... what more could you ask for?! (Rhetorical! Don't answer that!)


Warning for this chapter: Angst.

Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to all of you who take the time to leave my muse love (and hate) notes! We love them both! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Moments later...

Buffy huddled against the door of the car as the dark world outside whirled past her. She closed her eyes and imagined herself sinking into the cold vinyl of the seat or the hard metal of the door. Sinking … melting … morphing … changing … floating away … leaving her body behind.



No … no, can’t leave. Spike’s baby. Dawn.

A flash of blue danced across the field of black behind her closed lids, taunting her. Spike.

Her eyes burned with tears as she saw his dust being trampled into the short pile of the carpet at the casino. She could see every vivid, heartbreaking detail of it: the garish, industrial carpet, the hundreds of shoes blithely walking through all that was left of her lover, the dry motes being scuffed up, dancing forlornly in the artificial light before settling back to the ground. Spike. Gone. Alone.

She whimpered and curled into an almost painfully tight ball, wrapping her arms around her stomach. Save baby. Do anything. Save baby. All that’s left.

**~**

Within a few hours, the three travelers were settling into a cheap motel along the M20 well outside London. Spike had planned on traveling further, in fact he’d hoped to be on a boat to France before dawn, but he hadn’t planned on Buffy being in the condition she was in.

The Bot unlocked the door to their room and Spike carried Buffy in. He headed straight to the loo with her as the Bot brought in their luggage.

“Ok, pet. Gonna set you down here now and get the shower warm for ya. The soap and water’ll sting, but gotta get you cleaned up. Be a bloody wonder if ya don’t have an infection already,” Spike told her, speaking softly.

The moment he sat Buffy down on her feet, she scrambled for the door to the bathroom. Weakened by the drugs Weatherby had been giving her, she was no match for Spike’s speed, however, and he caught her easily. Buffy pulled against his grip ineffectually, again chanting, “No, no, no,” almost constantly.



“Buffy, luv. Not gonna hurt you, pet,” Spike tried to assure her as he closed the door to the loo, sliding the lock. When he released her arm, she huddled against the door and hunkered down on her haunches, just as she had been in her cell and in the car, now clinging to his duster.

Spike blew out a frustrated, furious breath. Those wankers were gonna pay for this if he had to hunt every last one of them down one by bloody one. Chip or no chip, he was gonna make them pay. There was nothing in the world, nothing in the universe, that would stop him from exacting extreme revenge for what they'd done to his Slayer.

“Buffy, luv,” he began, speaking softly. “It’s me, pet: Spike.”

Buffy shook her head, trembling beneath his duster, never looking up at him. Spike was dust, she knew this – she could see it in her mind’s eye, his dust, the gaudy carpet at the casino, the feet trampling it. This wasn’t Spike, it was the monster. Cold, black eyes stared back at her from behind her closed lids, mocking her, laughing at her with that horrible, cruel chuckle.

“No Spike. Only monster,” she muttered, never looking up.



Spike closed his eyes and his whole body went rigid with her words. His heart felt like it had just imploded in his chest, crashing in upon itself painfully. She was right, of course, he was a monster. He’d failed her epically at every turn, just like the soulless thing he was. Why did he think he could be anything else?

Spike blinked back his tears as the storm of regret raged in his chest, threatening to undo him. He had to … do something; had to hold it together now. He had to make this right. He had to atone for his failure. Could a soulless monster make this right? Was he even capable of atonement? He hadn’t succeeded in doing anything right yet.

Spike’s chin quivered with the strain as he fought to hold his emotions in check. The tears he’d been trying to contain leaked from his eyes and burned his cheeks with shame and remorse as he watched her cowering, utterly terrified, on the floor.

He swiped at his face brusquely; tears weren’t helping Buffy. Deciding that actions were preferable to thoughts, he reached in and turned the water on in the shower and waited for it to get warm. Then, as gently as he could, he lifted her to her feet and tried to pull his duster off her shoulders. She clung desperately to the leather when he tried to pull it away, whimpering like a child lost in the darkness, so Spike just let her take it along as he guided her into the warm spray.

“No! No! No!” Buffy’s objections became more adamant as the water hit her cuts, scrapes, and burns. She thrashed against Spike, trying to get out of the hurtful, stinging spray of water.

“Buffy, stop, luv. Please, baby … stop,” he admonished her, ducking her flailing fists as he tried to hold her under the spray without hurting her further.

“Don’t touch. Stop. Don’t … please don’t touch,” Buffy begged, her voice small and frightened as Spike tried to hold her still.

Spike released his hold at her insistence, but as soon as he did she tried to dive past him, out of the shower. He caught her shoulders again and pressed her back as gently as he could, trying desperately not to frighten her further, but not succeeding. His heart ached. His gut twisted. He eyes stung with bitter tears. His demon raged with fury at her captors and lusted for retribution. He knew he had to get her cleaned up, but all he wanted to do was howl in pain and guilt and anger.

It didn't matter how gentle he was, even the slightest touch seemed to terrorize her. Spike thought of getting the Bot to do this, but Buffy had seemed just as frightened of her when they were in the car. In addition, he was afraid the Bot might be too rough or hurt Buffy further while trying to restrain her.

When Spike captured her again, Buffy let out a keening, forlorn wail of what Spike took to be a mixture of pain and desperation. Spike’s tears came harder as the sound pierced and bled his broken heart. He had let her down royally; completely failed to keep her safe. His promise to her had been a farce and she had paid a horrible price for his stupidity.  He felt the guilt and pain of every bruise, every cut, scrape, and burn on her body – and he knew there was a whole other world of pain inside her that he couldn’t see. He felt that unseen pain even more acutely, right to his very bones.

After struggling with him for about five minutes, Buffy’s energy and adrenaline finally waned. She gave up and stood rigid and resigned under the shower spray, waiting for what she knew would come, what she’d been unable to fight: the pain.

Spike was finally able to peel his duster off her. He tossed the soaked leather onto the floor then turned back to Buffy. Her entire body was shivering violently. Spike checked the water again, but it felt plenty warm to him. Then, as the stench of the last few days was washed from her skin, the aroma of her fear reached his nostrils.

“God, Buffy, what did they do to you?” he whispered, although he had an all too clear idea of what they’d done. They’d loaded her up with their drugs and made her weak and helpless. They’d abused her, tortured her, raped her in every way imaginable and she’d been powerless to fight it. A powerless Slayer was the perfect recipe for mental collapse, even more so than a normal human – as if her heart and soul hadn’t been through enough already.

“I swear to God and the Devil that they’ll pay for this, Buffy. They’ll pay,” he assured her, his voice an angry, savage growl. “If there’s one thing I bloody well know how t’ do, it’s deliver retribution. I'll 'ave their bloody guts for garters.”



At his snarling declaration, Buffy backed away from him, her eyes searching wildly for an escape or a place to hide. Her arms were wrapped around her torso, crossed over her stomach as if in pain there. She didn’t even try to cover her breasts or hide her dark triangle of curls from Spike, and he worried that she was injured internally.

Spike made a concerted effort to calm his voice and spread his hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry, luv. Didn’t mean t’ frighten you. Let’s get ya clean and see about some food. Are ya pecki … errr … hungry?”

Buffy didn’t answer, she just continued to look like a frightened rabbit that had been cornered by a fox, desperately seeking an escape but finding none. Spike sighed heavily, grabbed the washcloth and soap, and began cleaning her skin and wounds as gently as he could while being as thorough as possible.

He spoke to her the whole time. He kept his voice level and as calm as he could, and warned her before he touched a different area. Buffy jumped every single time he touched the cloth to skin, no matter how gentle he was or how much warning he gave her. Spike could smell her fear and hear her heart lurch in her chest with each touch, and it twisted the dagger of guilt in his gut.

“Buffy, I know you don’t want me t’ do this, but I’m gonna have to clean your … privates,” he said finally, having done all the rest of her body, including her hair. “I won’t hurt you, pet. I bloody well promise I won’t, but we gotta do this.”



Spike steeled himself and lifted one of her legs to rest her foot on the edge of the tub so that her knee was bent. He lathered up the cloth with soap and gently ran it along the thigh of the bent leg toward her apex. He felt her stiffen and her chant of ‘no’ begin again, but he pressed on, talking to her reassuringly the whole time.

Buffy’s eyes clenched shut almost painfully, and her hands tightened into fists as he cleaned the crusted blood, spunk, and dirt from her genitals. As he worked, careful to be as gentle as he could, her chant changed.

“Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t…”

“Not gonna hurt you, pet,” Spike assured her. “No one’ll ever hurt you again.”

“Please … please don’t hurt my baby. Please, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt my baby. I can scream … I’ll scream for you … anything … please,” she begged.

Spike looked up at her, his eyes wide as he searched her face, trying to confirm what he thought he heard. “Your baby? What are you on about? What baby, Slayer?”

“Please, just don’t hurt my baby,” she repeated. “It’s all I have. Anything … I’ll do anything.” Buffy seemed to melt down into the bottom of the tub, curling into a protective ball around her stomach. Spike just watched her, not making any move to stop her from pulling away from him, as his mind whirled.

“What bloody baby?” he asked again, trying keep his voice calm as the water showered down on her prone body where she was curled into a ball in the bottom of the tub. “Whose baby is it? Slayer, what are you on about?” he demanded as he stood over her.



Buffy didn’t answer, in fact she’d stopped saying anything at all.

Spike’s mind whirled, his emotions, already jangled, began to clank and clatter as well. Too many thoughts raced through his mind, everything from the utterly ridiculous, that she was carrying his baby; to the infuriating, that she’d slept with someone else during their time in Vegas; to the most probable, she was pretending to be pregnant in hopes the monster would leave her be, or the wanker-rapist had told her she was up the duff just to make her more vulnerable and, in her weakened state, she believed him. Of course, it was obvious that the sadistic bastard had done his level best to make sure it was true.

Spike's blood boiled. He didn't know what to believe, what to think. His mind tried to go down too many paths at the same time and was overwhelmed with the possibilities.

He tried to gather his wits about him, taking one thing at a time. The first possibility to be dismissed was that he could be the father. That, he knew, was simply impossible. That had been nothing more than an emotional knee-jerk reaction and, now that he'd engaged his brain, he could drop that off the list of considerations.

As he thought, he realized there was another thing he could rule out right quick. Spike turned and stormed out of the loo, dripping water across the floor as he went. “Bot! You know anything about Buffy being preggers?”

BuffyBot looked up from where she was unpacking her charging system and frowned. “I do not understand the question. Please restate.”

“Buffy. The Slayer,” Spike repeated, jabbing a finger toward the bathroom. “Preggers. Up the duff. With … child,” he clarified through clenched teeth.

“No. I have no knowledge of this. However, she has had copious amounts of unprotected sexual intercourse over the last weeks. That is, as I understand it, conducive to becoming … duffed.”



Spike growled. “Who was she havin’ this bloody unprotected sex with?”

“You. And me. Although I do not produce semen, so I am relatively certain that I am not responsible for duffing her.”

Spike ran a frustrated hand through his wet hair. “Who else?”

“I did not observe her fornicating with anyone else. Was she supposed to?”

Spike's jaw ticced and he suppressed a growl. "Nooo," he answered very slowly, drawing the word out.

“She show any special interest in any other blokes when I wasn’t there?” Spike tried.

“Oh, yes. She was quite smitten with one male that we spent time with at the Mirage," the Bot offered brightly.

“Who?” Spike growled, stepping closer to the Bot, his hands clenched at his sides as he tried to contain his hurt, fury, and jealousy.



“Hae-won. She was quite fond of Hae-won – she had her picture taken with him. I believe the photo captured their kiss. She was particularly pleased with that photographic memento and filed it with the others.”

Spike spun on his heel and grabbed Buffy’s original suitcase – the one he’d packed back in Sunnydale – his emotions reeling. He opened it and dumped all the contents onto the bed. Clothes, photos, and stuffed toys fell in a heap on the bedspread. He began digging through the stack, searching for the photo of this Hae-won wanker.

“Where is it?” Spike demanded angrily when he didn’t immediately find anything, his eyes flashing amber and his control slipping dangerously.

The Bot stepped forward and began searching, finally finding the photo. She held it up to him, smiling proudly at her success.

“What the bloody hell is that?!” he snarled, looking it.

“Hae-won. The male we spent the day with at the Secret Garden and Dolphin Habitat at the Mirage. We were his trainers for a full day. Dolphins are very intelligent, however they smell rather fishy. I am certain that she told you about it in great detail. She was very fond of him.”



“Arrrrrgggh!” Spike roared in frustration, and perhaps a little relief. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair again, then he shook his head, letting the tension in his body go.

“Probably not preggers at all,” he muttered to himself as he turned to go back into the loo. “Told her that t’ help control her, make ‘er more vulnerable, they did.”

**~**

A couple of nights later …

Buffy blinked at the man across the table from her, trying to get her mind to focus. He was trying to get her to eat some food. Her stomach grumbled hungrily, but she refused. Trick. Spike’s dust. Hallucinating. Monster.



She hugged her arms around her stomach and leaned forward protectively. What did he want now? Not screaming. He wanted screaming before, but not now. Her stomach rumbled again. She could smell the food: chicken soup. Not Campbell's ... something else. He wanted her to eat the soup. But what was in the soup? She’d just started to be able to focus again, get a little of her strength back, what if it was a trick? What if the soup was drugged or poisoned? What if it would make her abort the baby?

He sounded so much like Spike; looked like Spike. She must be hallucinating. She closed her eyes and tried to think. Maybe it was a trick. Everything was jumbled up. She remembered that Spike was dust. She could see the dust in the carpet at the hotel; see the people walking through it, grinding it into the pile until it was completely gone. She remembered that she was pregnant with Spike’s baby. It was all she had left of him. Had to protect it. The soup might hurt it. Was it drugged? She was so hungry.

God, she wished this monster would just stop talking! Stop talking like Spike! Stop looking like Spike! How could she think with it doing that, taunting her like that?

Oh, God … Spike. Tears began to leak from her eyes as her emotions and confusion raged. She missed Spike – she’d gotten him killed … dusted. She … she should’ve told him sooner that she loved him. He’d died trying to protect her, she’d stolen his soul to save Dawn, and she’d been too selfish to even give him those words the first night she realized it. She’d withheld it too long, only telling him because it slipped out accidentally. Selfish. So selfish.

**~**

Spike sighed as Buffy closed her eyes and curled around her stomach as she sat in the chair across from him. She hadn’t eaten anything since they’d rescued her, even though it was clear that she was ravenously hungry. He was going to have to take her to the hospital if she didn’t start eating soon; there would be no choice. She was wasting away, much too thin, and still afraid of him and the Bot.



He tried one more time, inching the spoonful of chicken noodle soup near her face, which was bent down, her chin on her chest.

“Stop it! Monster! I know what you are! You’re a monster!” she screamed at him, knocking the spoon out of his hand and sending it skittering across the room.

The dagger in Spike’s heart twisted. He was a monster and now she remembered it all too well. He’d fooled her into thinking he was a man – deluded himself into believing it – but he was nothing but a monster.

“Buffy, luv …” he cajoled, his voice breaking with emotion.

“Stay away from me! Don’t touch me!” she continued, scrambling out of the chair and away from him. “Stop being Spike! Just stop it!”

Buffy backed to the furthest corner of the room and huddled beside the bed. She keened softly as she re-curled her arms around her stomach, holding herself in a tight, protective embrace.

Spike huffed out a forlorn breath. “I wish I could, pet. Wish I could be someone you deserve, someone you could count on.”

**~**

The next day …

Spike awoke near mid-day to the sound of the top being popped off one of the cans of soup that sat on the table in their room. He blinked and looked around. The Bot was standing guard near the door to the room while he slept to make sure Buffy didn’t leave or do anything to hurt herself. Spike followed the Bot’s eyes to the source of the sound: Buffy.



Spike watched as Buffy tipped the now open can of soup up and drank it down like glass of water, pausing only momentarily to chew some of the bits of chicken and the soft noodles. She finished the first one and opened another, devouring it greedily. Spike dared not move or speak or ask her if she wouldn’t rather have it warmed up and properly diluted. She was eating! Thank the bloody devil.

The next can she opened held raviolis in tomato sauce. She ate that more slowly, having to chew the little squares of pasta stuffed with meat. When she was done, she went to the sink in the bathroom and got a glass of water to wash it down.

While she was in there, Spike rose, dressed in only his jeans, and he stood waiting for her when she returned. Buffy froze when she re-entered the bedroom area of the hotel room, the glass of water in hand, her eyes locked on Spike’s. He could hear her heartbeat lurch and speed up, feel her anxiety heighten.



“Why are you doing this? Why are you torturing me?” she ground out, anger and fear warring inside her for dominance. The glass in her hand shattered as she gripped it too tightly, sending shards of glass and water flying. She jerked her hand back in surprise. Blood poured from a cut across her palm.

“Buffy!” Spike exclaimed, his eyes wide with fear that she’d cut herself badly.

He rushed over to her, carefully avoiding stepping on the broken glass, and took her hand in his to examine it. As soon as he grabbed her wrist to look at her hand, Buffy wailed in terror and tried to pull away from his grip. Spike realized his mistake and released his hold almost immediately, but it wasn’t soon enough to keep her from being again consumed by her fear. Buffy nearly fell as she scrambled away, retreating to the safety of the bathroom, begging him to ‘stop, just stop’ the whole way.

Spike followed behind her slowly, trying not to panic her further. He found her crouched in the tub, her eyes were locked on the blood on her hand.

“Blood … so much blood,” she muttered, staring the crimson that dripped from her palm. “Dawn … oh, Dawn … no…”

“Buffy, stay with me, luv. Not Dawn’s blood,” Spike assured her as he stepped forward slowly. Buffy’s eyes shot up to him, frightened, terrified orbs of green, and her heart-rate spiked again.

Spike held his hands up in a placating gesture and took two more slow steps up to her. “Buffy, luv,” he began gently. “Need t’ see it, pet. Need t’ wash it off so I can see … ‘ere … in the sink,” he cajoled, waving a hand slowly at the sink to his left.



Buffy’s eyes shifted from the sink, to her hand, and back again.

“It’s not Dawn’s blood, pet,” Spike assured her again. “Let’s just get it washed off so I can see how bad it is.”

Buffy’s chest heaved with apprehension as Spike reached his hand out and carefully closed it over her wrist again.

Not Spike. Monster. Not Spike. What does it want?

“Not gonna hurt you,” he continued as he pulled gently, coaxing her to her feet. “Jus’ come over ‘ere to the sink, pet.”

Spike didn’t need his vampiric senses to know that Buffy’s heart was about to pound out of her chest with her fear; he could literally see her sternum vibrating beneath her shirt with the power of her terrified pulse. He pulled a tiny bit harder, a gentle pressure on her arm, trying to ease her out of the tub. After a moment, Buffy followed on wobbly legs, her eyes again focused on the blood that dripped from her hand.



Holding her bleeding hand over the sink, he removed a couple of slivers of glass that had embedded in the wound and then ran the cut under the water.

Buffy watched as the blood swirled down off her hand, into the sink, and down the drain. A déjà vu moment came over her – she’d done this before, seen this before. When? Oh yeah, in Vegas … in that diner. Her heart constricted when she thought of Vegas and … “Spike,” she muttered forlornly, watching the blood washing away.

“I’m ‘ere, luv. It’s not bad, no worries. Just bandage it closed, we will, and you’ll be alright,” Spike assured her, still talking as calmly as he knew how. So absorbed in tending to Buffy was he, that Spike didn't even notice that his demon never made a single attempt to rise, even with Slayer blood being wasted, washed down the sink. Had even his demon been repulsed and sickened by what Buffy had endured?

Buffy looked up at him, her eyes wild, caught somewhere between fear, anger, and misery. Why wouldn’t the monster just stop being Spike!? Stop torturing her!? What did it want? She’d give it what it wanted if it would just stop being Spike.



Spike lifted his gaze to hers, his blue eyes deep pools of regret and concern, and Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. She looked away quickly. Not Spike, not Spike, not… Her internal chant stopped abruptly when she looked in the mirror. She was alone. She looked back – the monster was still there … but the mirror … Her eyes darted back and forth between the mirror and the hallucination in front of her. But, no – not a hallucination, he was solid – she could feel its hands on hers. The monster was playing tricks…

Spike tilted his head and studied her confused expression, then he looked into the mirror and nodded, understanding. “Vampire,” he explained simply, as if she could’ve somehow forgotten that he was a soulless monster.

Buffy shook her head, trying to make sense of it. No … no, that was wrong. The monster was … human. Not a vampire. The monster ... its eyes were soulless, but it was … human.

She lifted her eyes to his again, searching for the truth, willing her jumbled, exhausted mind to function properly. He looked so earnest, so concerned. Was the monster even capable of looking like that? His eyes were so blue, such deep, soothing pools of comfort. Could the monster veil himself that well?

“Spike?” Buffy asked, her voice quivering and unsure. “Spike … is that … really you?” she asked between gasping intakes of breath, teetering on the verge of hyperventilating.

He gave her a small, sad smile. “’Course, who else, pet?”



“But … I saw you dust … You were dust … in the carpet. You were gone … shoes trampled you … I saw … I … thought...” Buffy rubbed at her forehead and eyes with her free hand, willing energy into her brain, forcing her thoughts into cohesiveness. Had she actually seen that? She remembered it vividly, dust grinding into the carpet, but …

“No … no … wait.” She looked back up at him, her eyes wide with realization. “They said you were dust … stomped into the carpet. But I could see it so clearly ...”

“Rumors of my ultimate death ‘ave, apparently, been greatly exaggerated,” Spike quipped flatly, reaching a hand out to touch her face, still holding her injured hand in his other.

Buffy flinched involuntarily away from him and he stopped, his hand frozen in mid-air. Everything stopped for a time – a second, a minute, an hour, Buffy wasn’t sure – and they both stood perfectly still. She focused on his eyes, trying to see the truth, willing her brain to believe what she saw. But she’d seen him dust, too – she’d been so sure. What was real? She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t believe what her eyes told her – they lied to her brain. But … it looked so much like Spike and there was no reflection.

“W-when was ... when was the first time you told me you loved me?” she asked hesitantly.

Spike dropped the hand he had near her face as he winced and looked away from her. He pursed his lips and fought back the flood of shame that rose up inside him at the memory.



“Spike … if it’s you … tell me. I can’t … my mind … it’s … Please, just tell me so I know it’s you,” Buffy pleaded.

Spike took a deep breath, still holding her one hand over the sink, and said, “Tried t’ tell you on the stake-out, when we were checking out that vamp nest – but ya wouldn’t let me get the words out. The first time I actually said it to you was when I had ya shackled in my crypt … with Dru.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her eyes not leaving his. Buffy pulled her hand from his, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pulled him into a hesitant embrace. “Spike. You’re alive.”

Spike stiffened as she hugged him. The guilt and pain of what she’d been through, what she was still going through, cutting him to his very core. Monsters who had failed the woman they loved didn’t deserve hugs, they deserved stakes to the heart, and that’s exactly what Buffy’s embrace felt like. After a moment, he forced his arms to tentatively return her hug. As he expected, Buffy started and her pulse quickened with fear when his arms closed around her. He quickly pulled away and stepped back out of her personal space, lest he send her skittering away in a panic.

“Well, still undead, at any rate,” he confirmed dryly, forcing his hands to his sides. He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and wrap her in a protective cocoon of love, but he could feel her body tense, smell her fear rise sharply every time he touched her. His heart ached for her, but he had no idea know what to do to help her. He was relatively sure sending her scrambling into a corner by frightening her wouldn't help.

Buffy stared at him, confused again. It was really Spike, wasn’t it? But why was he so cold and distant? Maybe it was the monster, fooling her. Was he trying to drive her insane? Was it some experiment to see how much a Slayer can take before she snaps? Were the Watchers living up to their name and watching? Buffy looked around the bathroom, searching for little hidden cameras, but didn’t see any.



She looked in the mirror again; the man before her had no reflection. Even a magical veil couldn’t do that, could it? Buffy turned unsure eyes back to him.

“When … when did I first tell you I loved you?” Buffy asked, confusion etched in her features.

Spike gave her a sad smile. His throat tightened with emotion and he had to clear it twice before he could speak. “Ya let it slip out when you and the Bot were giving me my … surprise.”

Tears of relief stung the back of Buffy’s eyes and she let out the breath she’d been holding. She began to step forward again, back into his protective, comforting embrace, but, before she could move, Spike abruptly turned on his heel and stepped out of the bathroom.

“That nosh must’ve helped, eh? Been trying t’ tell ya that for days, pet. Helped wash away the drugs, I reckon. Maybe get some life up to them gray cells,” he said as he walked away.

Buffy took a tentative step after him, still confused by his less than enthusiastic response to her epiphany. “I … I thought you were trying to drug me. I thought you were … the monster,” she explained hesitantly.

Spike shrugged as he began to dig in one of the suitcases for the first aid kit. “Yeah, well, got part of it right, didn’t ya?” he agreed dourly.

Spike knew she was right to flinch away from his touch – he was a monster. His embrace didn’t comfort her, it terrorized her. God, what she must’ve been through to become so skittish. Spike didn't even have time to focus on the fact that she was at least talking to him rationally before he grew angry again, the rage burning in his belly like a wildfire, threatening to engulf him. He was angry with himself for not protecting her, and with the Council for having people like that on their payroll, and with the monster that had actually touched her. He fought to keep the growl out of his voice, lest he frighten her further. He couldn’t force his tone back to comforting, the best he could do was steady and level.

“Let’s get that hand bandaged.”

Buffy stared at him, dumbfounded. He spoke like they barely knew each other, like they were casual acquaintances, his tone flat and business-like. Maybe she was still … confused. That must be it. She was just … perceiving things wrong. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to touch her. He wasn’t pulling away because of what the monster did to her … right? It wasn’t because she was permanently stained with the monster’s filth … right?



She closed her eyes and shuddered, remembering.

Oh God … please no.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Dazed and Confused, Led Zeppelin on YouTube  }}

Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you
Lots of people talk and few of them know
Soul of a woman was created below, yeah

You hurt and abuse tellin' all of your lies
Run 'round sweet baby, Lord how they hypnotize
Sweet little baby, I don't know where you've been
Gonna love you baby, here I come again

Every day I work so hard, bringin' home my hard earned pay
Try to love you baby, but you push me away
Don't know where you're goin', only know just where you've been
Sweet little baby, I want you again

Ah ahh...
Oh yeah, alright
I don't want your lovin' this time yeah
Oh don't leave me so confused, ah
Ohh baby

Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you
Take it easy baby, let them say what they will
Tongue wag so much when I send you the bill?
Oh yeah, alright

Oh oh...
Chapter End Notes:
Well, the good news is, Buffy's not in a fugue state like she was before. The bad news is, she's suffering from post-traumatic stress and panicking if she's touched or grabbed. Spike is walking on egg shells, trying not to panic her or scare her, but she doesn't understand his actions and motivations. How will they each get past their own inner guilts and demons so they can move on? And what will happen when Spike discovers she really is pregnant (with what he's sure is another man's child)? We'll find out ... Next update on Tuesday.
Misunderstood by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Warning for this chapter: Angst and misunderstanding. Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Buffy watched as Spike bandaged her cut hand with detached efficiency. He didn’t speak or drop a kiss atop it or … do anything that would suggest that he even knew her. He could’ve been a stranger off the street. Maybe … maybe it wasn’t Spike after all. She shook her head, no … the monster wouldn’t have bandaged her hand. Or would he?



If he was trying to pretend to be Spike but didn’t really know how to be him… But, he knew about the crypt and the shackles and the declaration of love. But that hadn’t exactly been the best-kept secret in her life at the time. But he also knew about when she’d told him that she loved him, and that had only been between him, her, and the Bot. There was no way anyone else could know that – could they? Could someone have hacked into the Bot and … read her bytes or bits or something?

Buffy cleared her throat as he finished. “Ummm … can I … go outside?” she asked, her eyes darting to the door and freedom beyond.

“Reckon so. But the sun’s up,” Spike-but-possibly-not-Spike told her. “Can’t go with ya. Ya want the Bot…?”

“No! No … just … me,” Buffy hastened, backing away from him, her heart-rate climbing nervously.

Spike furrowed his brow worriedly. “Dunno if those Council wankers are lookin’ for us or not,” he warned. “Might be best t’ stay inside.”



Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. Maybe this wasn’t Spike after all. “Just for a minute. Haven’t seen the sun in … years,” she pleaded.

Spike rubbed at his eyes, hiding his disappointment. His heart wanted to rejoice: Buffy was talking in full sentences! She seemed coherent and lucid, there was only one problem: she couldn’t bear being near him. Even when he wasn’t touching her, she couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with him. And how could he blame her? She’d been reminded of the truth of him in the harshest way possible: he was a monster, a soulless demon. No matter how hard he’d tried, the fact was he’d broken all of his promises to her. He didn’t deserve her affections. He was so far beneath her that he could barely even see the light of her soul any longer.

Spike blinked back his emotions and forced a smile to his lips. “Right … just for a bit, then. But it’d be best t’ keep back away from the road, yeah? Just in case.”

Buffy’s brows went up in surprise. Was he really gonna let her leave without an escort? She moved quickly toward the door, expecting him or the other one that looked like the Bot, to stop her. Neither did. She yanked the door open and escaped quickly, striding down the walkway outside as fast as she could without actually running. She ducked around the corner of the building and stopped, pressing her back against the wall. After a moment, she dared a quick look back around the corner. No one was following her.

Buffy frowned and again tried to make sense of what was going on. The monster would not have let her go, even if he was trying to pretend to be Spike. She tapped her fingertips against her forehead, trying to think. How could she find out what had happened back in Vegas? How could she be sure Spike was or wasn’t dust?



“Opie… I’ll call Opie. No … that wasn’t his name. What was his name?” The tapping of her fingers on her forehead got almost painful before it came to her, “Richard … Rick.”

**~**

Buffy hung up the phone in the hotel’s office with a heavy sigh. She’d gotten in touch with ‘Opie’ at the MGM Grand. He’d relayed the story to her – which everyone there knew whether they’d seen the shoot-out and abduction or not – it was all anyone was talking about. Spike had not been dusted – he and the Bot had hurriedly checked out of the hotel within a day of the incident.

Buffy thanked the motel owner for letting her use the office phone and signed the paper to have the charges put on their room’s bill. Outside, she stood with her eyes closed, her face tilted up to the late-summer sun, and tried to understand why Spike was acting so strangely.

She shuddered and ran her hands up and down her arms, trying to wipe away the unclean feeling that seemed to ooze from her pores. Tears burned her eyes behind her closed lids – of course Spike could smell it on her. He could smell the monster, smell the filth that she’d been rolling in. If she’d only fought! She could’ve escaped, stopped it. Why didn’t she fight harder? It was all her fault. She’d given up, let the monster take what it wanted and Spike knew it. He knew she was foul … polluted. Unworthy. Her very soul felt stained.

Buffy heard footsteps approaching and knew immediately who it was from the purposeful strides. She sniffed back her tears and shame, and pulled a mask over her broken heart, then turned to face the Bot.

“Spike asked me to make certain you were not injuring yourself or in any danger.”

Buffy nodded and unconsciously laid a hand over her abdomen. “No … I … I won’t do that,” she assured her twin. “And … I didn’t go near the road – no one saw me.” Buffy swallowed nervously and asked, “Is Spike … mad at me?”

The Bot tilted her head, considering. “He has been in a very contrite and tense mood for several days. I believe if he did not have the behavior modification chip, he would’ve killed many humans while you were not in our company.

“He was also quite furious when he informed me that you were duffed, but I am not entirely certain why this caused anger.”



Buffy looked at her with confusion. “Duffed? … Does that mean … dirty or… used?”

“With child,” the Bot replied. “It was a new term for me, as well.”

“Oh,” Buffy breathed forlornly, again touching her hand to her stomach. “How did he know?”

“You told him.”

“Oh.” Buffy sagged. She felt like the world was pressing in on her, crushing her from all sides. Of course he’d be angry that she was duffed. Hadn’t he told her as much several times? He didn’t want children. He didn’t want all that responsibility and the tying down and the ruining of Big Bad’s reputation.

“So … he was uber-mad about that, huh?” Buffy asked her twin as she chewed her lower lip worriedly.



The Bot nodded firmly. “He seems firmly opposed to you copulating with other human males.”

Buffy nodded forlornly as she walked over to the nearest wall. She leaned her back against it and sank down onto the walkway. She pulled her knees to her chest and covered her head with her arms as the weight of the world continued to press down on her.

Her heart cracked open inside her from the unbearable weight, and everything good and happy that she’d ever felt seem to leach out and evaporate. Every laugh, every joy, every happy memory, every drop of love, every ray of hope simply floated away on the breeze, leaving her feeling empty and hopeless.

That overwhelming urge to give up began to assert itself again. She felt so empty, so alone … so dirty. All that was left was the mission; everything else was gone. She had to persevere for Dawn – she’d promised her mom and she would do it, but she knew now that she'd completely lost Spike.

She consoled herself with the knowledge that she had been going to leave him anyway. He didn’t want her now. It made sense, why would he want someone that had ‘copulated with another human male’? Even she could smell the rot of her tainted soul. Spike loved the Champion … the Slayer; Buffy was neither any longer. What would’ve been a heart-wrenching step, a step she’d been having a hard time taking back in Vegas, would be easier now. She just needed to get her feet back on solid ground and she would go. She’d take the burden of kicking her, and the baby he didn’t want, out off of his shoulders.

“You will be satisfied to know that Spike was very pleased with my performance during our mission to liberate you from the Watcher’s Council headquarters,” the Bot offered as she sat down next to Buffy.



Buffy wiped her eyes and turned her head, which still rested on her knees, to look at her twin. “Was he? What did he say?”

“He said I acted more like the Slayer than the Slayer, which I find redundant since I am the Slayer. But I believe he meant it to be a compliment, so I did not point out the error in his logic.”

Buffy nodded, the side of her head still resting on her knees, and blinked her tears back as the last few drops of hope fell from her broken heart and splattered on the sidewalk. Spike had, apparently, done what she’d wanted: he’d transferred his feelings for her to the Bot. That had been her plan all along – so why did it hurt so much now that it had worked?  

“I don’t think I thanked you for getting me out of there. Thank you,” Buffy offered, her voice thick with emotion.

“It is not necessary. Like Spider-Man, action is the Slayer’s reward,” the Bot replied, smiling brightly.

Buffy nodded again. She remembered that feeling – she didn’t feel it anymore. She just felt empty, alone, and afraid of the future. She really had passed her full Slayer mantle on to the Bot, including Spike’s love and respect.

That night …

Buffy stood on the bow of the small boat as it chugged across the channel to France. The water was choppy and the deck heaved and swayed beneath her feet. When Buffy had complained of queasiness, the captain had sent her out here into the damp, fresh air, and told her to keep her eyes on the horizon. That was easier said than done – inky darkness was all she could see in all directions at this time of night. Once in a while a light from a buoy or perhaps another ship would reflect in the water, but that was about it.

Buffy did her best to think non-sickening thoughts, but her heart really wasn’t in it. The last few days had taken their toll on her mind and heart.  She was jumpy and nervous, she was depressed and heartbroken, Spike was distant, she wondered if she’d ever be able to wash Weatherby’s stench off her body and out of her mind, and now, just to make her entire existence complete, she was gonna hurl.

It hit her like a bolt, the rumbling unease in her stomach suddenly turning into a tumult of bile at the back of her throat. Buffy instinctively leaned over the railing as far as she could, unable to stop what was coming.

As she flung her upper body across the railing, the ship hit a particularly large swell, and the deck was suddenly ripped from beneath her feet as she was pitched forward. She grabbed for the railing and gasped in surprise, but began to choke on the contents of her stomach that refused to be hindered from its mission to escape her body. She felt herself falling forward toward the cold, black water and panic took hold as she fumbled weakly against the railing, trying to push herself back onto the deck.

In the next moment she felt strong hands grab her hips and begin to pull her away from the water. A new panic replaced the old one in a split second. Soulless, coal-black eyes filled her vision; they were laughing at her, jeering, threatening, taunting her cruelly. Buffy began to kick and tried to scream past the dry heaves that had followed the contents of her stomach up to her throat. She felt her jeans sliding down her hips as the hands fought against her. Fingers dug into her flesh painfully as they tugged in earnest to get her back onto the deck.

“Nooo! No! No!” she finally managed to shriek as she landed hard on the deck.

“Buffy … luv,” Spike began as he released the hold he’d had on her hips.

She kicked at her attacker with all her strength and scrabbled away from him, shuffling like a crab across the rolling, shifting deck.



The sole of her Converse tennis shoe smacked Spike in the jaw as he tried to follow her across the deck and he stopped. In her weakened state, the only thing actually hurt was his heart. He could smell her fear, her terror, even out here in the open air. Buffy was afraid of him … afraid of being touched, of being held – and it was his fault. How could he ever make amends for failing her so horribly? The answer, he knew, was that he couldn’t.

Buffy stopped when her back hit the railing on the other side of the small bow. She curled herself up into a ball, her knees to her chest, as she pressed against it. As she’d done in the cell and in the car, she appeared to be trying to melt into it and disappear.

“Buffy? You alright, luv? You hurt?” Spike asked as he moved a little closer to her, but not so close as to seem threatening.

Buffy nodded, her head against her knees, never looking up at him.

“Which is it, pet? Alright or hurt?” Spike tried to clarify, his head tilted in concern.



Buffy nodded again, then shook her head, still not looking up.

Spike sighed.

“Be just another fifteen minutes or so and we’ll be there, luv,” he continued. “Do ya … need anything? A drink o’ water?”

Buffy shook her head against her knees.

“Ok, pet … Didn’t mean t’ frighten ya. Thought you were … going overboard into the bloody drink,” Spike explained gently, backing away from her further.

Buffy took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She forced the vision of cruel, coal-black eyes that had flashed in her mind away. She realized now that it was only Spike that had grabbed her, trying to save her from falling overboard – it wasn’t the monster. Finally, with that realization settling in, she felt herself calming down.

“I know. It’s … okay. I’m … okay, I’m sorry,” she said finally. She forced a small, apologetic smile to her lips and reached her hand out to Spike as she lifted her head up from her knees. Her forced smile fell into a grim frown when she found herself alone on the deck.

An icy fist closed around her throat, threatening to suffocate her. She blinked back her tears as she saw Spike back inside the small cabin of the boat. He was talking to the captain, smoking a cigarette as if nothing had happened, not even looking at her.



Buffy dropped her head back down against her knees as lost, lonely tears trickled from her eyes and the boat rocked beneath her. Even Spike’s love wasn’t strong enough to endure the filthy stench of the last few days that oozed from her very soul.

Of course, her mind knew this already, but she hadn’t been able to kill the small flicker of hope that Spike might be able to find a way to forgive her which clung fiercely to her heart. He’d probably never love her again, probably never be able to touch her, but maybe … one day he wouldn't hate her for it.

**~**

“I paid you a bloody fortune ‘cos you said this little piece o’ shite could handle the crossing covert-like,” Spike growled at the captain back inside the cabin. “Ya got my woman sick and nearly tossed over the bloody side!” he ranted at the man. “I’ve literally killed people for less!”



Spike lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, the flame wavering before finally igniting the tobacco, and took a long drag to try and calm his nerves. He glanced over at Buffy through the cabin’s window, his expression somber and worried, but she hadn’t moved. Her head still rested atop her knees, her body plastered against the cold, metal railing. His heart ached for her. He wanted to hold her and take her pain away, take her fear away, take those days away from her and bear them for her, but his touch only seemed to frighten and hurt her more.

Although she was lucid, the fire seemed to have gone from her heart, and he had no idea how to rekindle it. Nothing he said, nothing he did seemed to make any difference. He was lost – he couldn’t touch Buffy, couldn’t be near her without frightening her, without reminding her of his failure and the price she’d paid for it. He felt like he’d been set adrift in a vast ocean with no idea how to reach her or even what direction to swim. She was his heart and soul, and she was lost to him, beyond his reach.

“I assure you, monsieur,” the French captain of the small vessel replied, pulling Spike’s attention back to him. “The ship is quite capable. I do apologize for your chérie’s upset, but the weather is out of my control, no?”

Spike sighed and ran a hand back through his hair. They really had no option but to take the small ship across the channel. The captain assured Spike he could get around customs and immigration, since they didn’t have any passports.

“‘S alright,” he sighed, inhaling more of the calming nicotine from his cigarette and looking back at Buffy, who still hadn’t moved.



All he could do was keep trying. Give her time, give her space, and be there for her when she finally came to him. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her or frighten her more than she’d already been hurt and frightened.

**~**

Spike unlocked the door of the bungalow and opened it, ushering Buffy and the Bot in ahead of him. They all carried bags and suitcases and began plopping them down on any flat surface as they entered the small, one bedroom, efficiency cabin on the beach.

Buffy took the suitcases that held her and Spike’s clothes into the only bedroom and set them on the dresser before coming back out to help Spike and the Bot with the rest. They had groceries as well, since the cabin had a kitchenette, and blood for Spike.

As she and the Bot started putting the groceries away, Spike went and retrieved the bag that had his clothes in it from the bedroom and set it on the floor next to the couch, then took the Bot’s suitcase and charging equipment and put them in the bedroom.

Buffy watched him surreptitiously as she put his blood in the fridge, and that small flicker of hope that had been clinging to her heart withered. She could feel it dying, guttering out, shriveling up painfully in her chest. She wasn’t confused now or panicked or frightened. She hadn’t misunderstood his coldness the last couple of days: Spike had rejected her. She’d made it clear that she wanted to be with him by purposely putting both of their bags in the bedroom, but he’d dissed her again. There was no way to refute it now: he didn’t want her anymore; he didn’t love her. Her time as a captive and the baby in her womb had changed everything.

He caught her watching him and ran a hand nervously back through his platinum locks, ducking his head like a schoolboy caught snitching a cookie from the jar.



“Thought I’d … take the couch,” he explained lamely. He waited for her to object, to say she hadn’t put his bag in the bedroom by mistake, but she didn’t. Of course it had just been a mistake. If she’d had her full strength, she would’ve taken his head off a few hours ago on the boat. His touch, his very proximity, horrified and terrified her. With Buffy seemingly lucid and sane, it seemed clear that she was only tolerating his presence because she needed him, and the money he’d won in Vegas, to help elude the Watchers. One day, he knew, she’d ask for her share of that money and she’d be gone. He’d let her down too horribly for her to stay. He'd failed her.

Spike blinked back tears of frustration and anguish, wishing for some epiphany to strike him and tell him what to do to reach his Slayer, what magical words he should use to make her forgive him and love him again, but none came. The best he could hope for was that his little sparrow would need some time to heal her wings before deciding to fly away. He clung to the hope that those perfect words would come to him in that time, words that would show her how sorry he was, how much he needed her and loved her.

Buffy turned away from him and pretended to be reading a label on something – which she knew was ludicrous because it was in French – but it allowed her a moment to swallow back her tears.

Oh, God – he really didn’t love her anymore! No matter how many times that realization came to her, it still hurt just as much. She was stained, spoiled, soiled, dirty. The monster had used her up and turned her into something Spike couldn’t bear to touch.

Spike watched her turn away from him, literally and figuratively, and his regret and heartache became more than he could possibly contain. The last days had been too much of a strain, and he felt the thin threads of his emotional control unraveling. He turned abruptly and headed into the loo where he could drown his sorrow and guilt in the lonely spray of the shower. He couldn’t wash it away, he knew, but at least he wouldn’t frighten Buffy further by having a breakdown in the soddin’ living room.

“Would you like me to translate the nutritional information for you?” the Bot asked helpfully, taking the container, which happened to be mustard, from Buffy’s hand.

“No … that’s ok,” Buffy assured her. “I was just …”

“Concealing your disappointment that Spike no longer wants to touch, copulate, or even sleep in the same room with us,” the Bot filled in.

Buffy looked around wide-eyed, but Spike had gone into the bathroom – the shower was running, he hadn’t heard.

“Yes,” Buffy admitted, turning back to the Bot. “But … don’t tell him how much it hurts. It’s not his fault. I just don’t think he … likes me anymore … not since …”



The Bot nodded knowingly. “Since another other human male copulated with you.  Spike was extremely angry when we discovered you in that condition.”

Buffy’s tears became more insistent and she blinked to try and stop them, but they fell anyway.

“Yeah … I got the memo.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  The Animals, Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood on YouTube  }}

Baby, do you understand me now?
Sometimes I feel a little mad
But don't you know that no one alive can always be an angel
When things go wrong I feel real bad.

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

Baby, sometimes I'm so carefree
With a joy that's hard to hide
And sometimes it seems that, all I have to do is worry
And then you're bound to see my other side

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

If I seem edgy, I want you to know,
That I never mean to take it out on you
Life has its problems, and I get my share,
And that's one thing I never mean to do

'Cause I love you,
Oh,

Oh, oh, oh, baby - don't you know I'm human
I have thoughts like any other one
Sometimes I find myself, Lord, regretting
Some foolish thing, some little simple thing I've done

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

FADE
Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good

**~**

Special Announcement ...

James Marsters' band, Ghost of the Robot, is giving an online concert on April 6th. Tickets are 'pay what you can', suggested $5. If you haven't signed up for this YOU NEED TO! Even if you can't listen to the concert, a $5 ticket gets you access to a chat room where the band stops in. So far, we've had JAMES, Charlie, and Sullivan stop in to chat and kid around with us! I'm serious! This is too fun! You'll find fanfic writers in the room and just lots of fun Spuffy fans! It's totally worth it! The convos are a riot! Here's the link:  
{{  Click here to check out GOTR on STAGEIT  }
Chapter End Notes:
Oh dear ... and round and round they go ... where they stop only my evil muse knows! I don't think the Bot was extremely helpful, but she did try, bless her heart. More on Saturday! Stop in and tell me how evil I am ... I can take it!
Push and Pull by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Warning for this chapter: Uber-angst.
**
Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
{{  Click here to hear  Nikka Costa - Push & Pull  on YouTube  }}

Mr. Nothing's got a lot
He's got a lot to say
He's good at being what he's not
Gives nothing away
Another day goes on by
And he never speaks his heart
He takes his chance with what he's got
It's too late now to stop

You push and you pull and struggle with the knot
It's tying you up while you're fadin'
You give and you take and take what you got
Round and round 'till it breaks and
You push and you pull and struggle with the knot
It's tying you up while you're fadin' into your lie

Mr. Nothing is late
He's running out of time
He questions whether chance or fate will ever show a sign
Looks to the sky above
For a glimpse of what it means
And never never never make
Make no sense to him

You push and you pull and struggle with the knot
It's tying you up while you're fadin'
You give and you take and take what you got
Round and round 'till it breaks and
You push and you pull and struggle with the knot
It's tying you up while you're fadin' into your lie

You push and you pull it


**~** 

Time moved on, as time tends to do. Two months passed in a slow, painful dance. Tides of hope washed over their lives, but each time hope swelled for either of them it inevitably retreated, the promise unfulfilled. When Spike reached out, Buffy couldn’t stop her re-programmed fear-reflex from flinching away; when Buffy steeled herself and reached out, Spike unknowingly thwarted her, afraid of causing her more harm.

They danced together, but to completely different music, so close and yet so far away. It was as if neither could actually see their partner. They danced blindly, passing close but rarely touching, like mimes who were just performing a parody of a dance in complete and utter darkness.

At times they would nearly meet, nearly touch, nearly see how hard the other one was trying, but their own guilt, remorse, fear, and heartbreak kept them from truly seeing what was right in front of them. As time went on, hope dwindled and frustration grew on both sides. Past deceptions took on lives of their own inside their minds. The harder each one tried to do what they thought the other wanted and needed, the wider the chasm between them became until the tide of hope was swallowed before it could even reach them.


You push and you pull and struggle with the knot
It's tying you up while you're fadin' into your lie



**~** 

A couple of months after arriving in France …

“Breaking News Update! With the shocking attacks on the World Trade Center in New York barely twenty-four hours ago, an explosion this morning at the oldest security and consulting firm in London is thought to be another act of the same terrorist group.

“The explosion at the Watcher’s Council headquarters building this morning could be felt ten kilometers away and broke windows up to a kilometer away from ground zero. Experts are saying that the bombs were set to explode at 10:30a.m, presumably to produce the highest possible collateral damage within the ranks of the firm. Authorities have not released the exact death toll, but it is thought to include the head of the firm, Quentin Travers as well as ...”

The Bot frowned as Spike cut the volume down on the television. “They are taking credit away from you and giving it to terrorists,” she complained.



“All the better,” Spike assured her as he stared out the large picture window above the television. “Least they won’t be lookin’ for us while they’re chasin’ bloody ghosts.”

"But your planning and execution were so bloody brilliant," the Bot pouted. "It is not fair that you went to all that work and expense, and you do not even receive a mention by the politically-controlled, yet inane, media."

"'S alright, pet. Don't need the accolades; the result's all that makes a bloody damn. Killed the wankers, didn't I? Foolin' this chip ain't as hard as it looks. Put the explosives in empty boxes o' chocolates and it don't know the soddin' difference. Shoddy workmanship's what it is. 'Course, anyone that'd have Captain Cardboard as a leader ... well, it's to be expected, I reckon."

“Do you believe the man with crushed genitals was in the building when it exploded?” the Bot asked.

Spike shook his head. “No. Made sure of it. Got different plans for him, I do. Getting’ blown t’ bits is too good for that wanker.”

Spike’s eyes came to rest on Buffy, who was sitting in her normal place in an Adirondack chair on the white sand beach outside their small, rented bungalow. The Mediterranean Sea stretched out beyond her, bluer than the sky, and sparkling like diamonds in the autumn sun.



This ‘campground’ in the south of France had been a perfect hiding place for them during the summer with tourists constantly coming and going. Now, though, the beaches and most of the bungalows near them were nearly deserted as summer began to fade into fall. Buffy didn’t seem to notice the cooling temperatures or the thinning crowds. She didn’t seem to notice much of anything these days, truth be told. She spent her days on the white sand beach outside their backdoor, swimming, walking in the surf, or just sitting and staring at the blue, crystalline sea.

The baby she was carrying was just starting to show on her thin frame now – she hadn’t been wrong or lying about being pregnant. Spike looked down at the three home pregnancy tests that stayed on top of the TV, and idly straightened them each with a finger. When Buffy missed her period a couple of weeks after they'd arrived in France, he’d sent the Bot to the store to buy one. When he’d finally been able to convince Buffy to pee on the stick – something she had been vehemently opposed to doing – it came back positive. Not believing it, he sent the Bot back to the store for another one – a different brand – and then another one. They all came back positive. Buffy was, indeed, pregnant.

They had an evening appointment next week with an English-speaking midwife in the nearby town of Perpignan. The midwife worked with an OBGYN, but had assured Spike on the phone that, as long as the mother was healthy and there were no complications, a home birth was no problem. Spike didn’t want to take Buffy to the hospital for many reasons, not the least of which was her hatred and fear of them. Buffy had calmed down considerably since being here – fewer things seemed to utterly unhinge her – but he didn’t know what would happen if she got truly scared again, especially now that she had her full strength back.

Spike looked up from the three test sticks and back at Buffy. The breeze off the sea was billowing through her long, flaxen hair, her skin had regained a deep golden tan from the weeks spent in the sun, and all the wounds – at least the external ones – that had been inflicted on her, had healed. She looked like the picture of health … except for her eyes. Anyone that didn’t know her might not notice, but Spike did. The fire was gone from her eyes. The fight, the vitality, the passion that had been in them had died. Everything that made Buffy Buffy had been extinguished.



Spike had seen that look before in the eyes of two other Slayers – just before he killed them. They had given up, welcomed the end of the fight. He had seen in it Buffy before, also – while she was in her ‘fugue’ state after Dawn had died. She’d just gotten past that, gotten her guilt and despair under control when the Council’s Wet Works team had tricked Spike, used him as bait, and snatched her.

He had hoped that she could break out of her depression, but so far – nearly two months later – she hadn’t. This time it was different than before. Now she was a walking, talking shell; an animated corpse. She could understand you when you spoke to her and she could reply coherently, but there was nothing of the Buffy he knew left: no quips, no smart-ass remarks, no jokes, no laughter, no indignation. She had two modes: frightened beyond all reason or relative indifference to everyone and everything. It was like her heart had simply shut down.

Spike had given her space and given her time, but she never came to him. The few times he’d instinctively reached out and touched her, she’d flinched and pulled away, leaving him even more guilt-ridden than before. He told Buffy that he loved her every day, but it didn’t seem to register with her. He knew she could hear him, knew she could understand, but the declaration fell on deaf ears, and was never returned. Of course, he didn’t really expect it to be returned – he knew he was undeserving of her love.

As obscene as it sounded even to his ears, he was a little bit thankful for her depressed state, it had kept her from flying away from him – at least physically. He knew that when she was stronger she'd most certainly leave him. He knew that he didn’t deserve either her affection or her trust. She was using him now, biding her time. It hurt ... a lot. There was a dagger in his gut that twisted constantly with that knowledge, but it was better than the alternative: not having her at all.

Still, his poet’s heart refused to give up completely, so he kept trying everyday, hoping against hope that one day she'd say the words back to him again. His heart had always been foolish.

The Bot came up behind Spike and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder-blade. She slid one hand down and cupped his penis through his jeans with her warm palm. “Can I love you today?” she asked, giving his genitals a soft squeeze.

Spike pulled her hand away. “Not today,” he replied, his tone flat, almost bored. He’d stopped getting angry with her for it. She asked him every day without fail since Buffy had been taken.

“Buffy said I should love you for her if she was gone,” the Bot reminded him again, as she did every day.

“She’s not gone,” Spike growled back at her through clenched teeth, never taking his eyes off Buffy.

The Bot backed away from him, her features sullen. “It appears that her circuits were overheated and badly damaged. It is as if she is gone. I promised her that I would love you for her. You are not allowing me to keep my promise.”



Spike closed his eyes and took in several deep breaths as he fought the tears back. “She’s … not … gone,” he repeated emphatically, his voice cracking with the emotions he tried so hard to contain. “Now drop it,” he snarled at her as tears leaked from behind his closed lids.

“I will go take Buffy a glass of milk. I calculate that she is not consuming the recommended amount of calcium a gestating human should receive,” the Bot offered, before turning and heading to the small kitchenette in the bungalow.

Spike opened his eyes and blinked to clear his vision. Only then did he realize he had clenched his fists so hard his nails had drawn blood on his palms. He flexed his hands and wiped the blood off on his jeans, trying to get his pain and frustration under control.

He watched the Bot go out into the sun and bring Buffy the milk. The Slayer made a face, and a moment later the Bot came back with it.

“She would prefer chocolate milk,” the Bot announced when she came back into the bungalow.

“There’s chocolate syrup in the fridge,” Spike told her, never taking his eyes off of Buffy. “Don’t use the whole bottle – read the bloody directions this time.”



His mind went where it did at least a thousand times a day: who was the father of Buffy’s baby? He’d asked Buffy point-blank who the father was, but she’d only given him a tight-lipped, blank stare in reply.

At first he thought it was the bloody psycho that raped her, but now that it was clear how far along she was, that just didn’t add up. And, on top of that, why would she want to protect his child? And one thing that could get her riled up faster than anything was any danger to the fetus. Even the mention of terminating the pregnancy, which Spike had done when they’d first confirmed it, drew an immediate and unmistakable objection from the Slayer. She’d physically attacked him when he suggested it. The Bot pulled her off, and Buffy didn’t hurt him beyond a bloodied nose, but she’d made her feelings perfectly clear. Spike had never suggested it again. The idea of her having another man’s baby tore Spike up inside. It made that knife, which already twisted in his gut with guilt and heartache, burn with the fire of jealousy and betrayal.

The Bot insisted that she had never seen Buffy giving any attention to any other human male when they were in Vegas, and she wasn’t far enough along for it to belong to Captain Cardboard. It had to have happened while they were in Vegas – there was no other possibility.

Spike was perplexed to say the least; at worst he was heartbroken, jealous, and angry. She’d told him that she loved him and then obviously went off and screwed someone else. Had she, even then, still considered him to be a monster? Had she just been using him all along, right from the very beginning? She taken the love he’d given her in such earnestness and trampled it like it was nothing, like it meant nothing. He’d told her once that she wasn’t like Dru, but he’d been wrong – she was, apparently, just exactly like Dru.

The horrible irony of it was he still loved her. He couldn’t blame her for thinking him a monster – he most certainly was. He’d failed her, he didn’t deserve her, but, God help him, he still wanted her. He wanted her heart to heal and for her to be herself again. He wanted her to be happy and healthy, he wanted her to smile and dance and call him a pig; he wanted her to be Buffy. He was still Love’s Bitch; it didn’t seem to matter how many times he got kicked in the balls, he just kept coming back for more pain and heartache.

He’d hoped that, with time, her Slayer healing would find a way to fix whatever had snapped inside Buffy and destroyed her heart. His only other hope was when she gave birth that perhaps the sight of this child that she protected so fiercely would give her a reason to live, bring some spark back to her heart.

Before, he’d thought that having her back for short periods was worse than not having her at all – now he knew different. This was worse. What he'd do when she actually flew away from him, he had no idea. Mostly likely he'd crumble into a billion motes of dust.

Spike was lost and more than a little conflicted. Nothing he’d tried made any difference to her mental state. He tried talking to her, he’d tried being silent. He’d suggested going other places – to Paris or Madrid. She’d just shrugged; nothing piqued her interest. The few times he’d touched her, usually as a simple reflex, she’d flinched away from him. So, despite longing to hold her in his arms and comfort her, he’d given her space, never pushed, but she never came to him, so he let her be. He may be a pathetic, soulless monster, but he refused to act a cad and remove all doubt.



He was at once angry at her for using him, for cheating on him after she’d told him she loved him, and heartbroken that he’d lost whatever love or affection she might have felt for him. His emotions were up and down like a rollercoaster – feeling undeserving of her love one moment and furious at her for using him, for lying to him about her feelings the next.

Now, he watched the Bot take the chocolate milk back out to Buffy where she sat in the sun – the one place Spike could not join her, he noted sourly. Buffy drank it down in several long gulps and handed the glass back to the Bot, then she turned her eyes back to the sea – her favorite, pretty much only, pastime of late.

Spike sighed heavily, and headed for the couch, turning the volume back up on the TV as he went. He lay down and closed his eyes, resting his arm over them to block out the indirect light coming in through the windows. The newscaster began talking again about the terrorist attacks and the increased security being instituted at all airports in the wake of the hijackings in New York.

They would have a much harder time sneaking onto airplanes from now on, Spike surmised.

When he heard the Bot come back inside he said, “Gonna get some kip. Keep an eye on ‘er for me and wake me up if she does anything at all.”

“I will do so,” the Bot replied as she rinsed the glass out in the sink, then went to stand in front of the window where Spike had been to keep a watch over Buffy.

**~**

Buffy drank the chocolate milk that the Bot brought her, and then turned her eyes back to the blue water that sparkled into infinity in front of her. The sun felt warm on her skin and she wished, as she did every day, that it would find a way to melt the ice crystals that had formed inside her bruised and battered heart.



Her body was healed, but the feeling of shame never left her, and Spike’s rejection only served to fuel and harden the glacier inside. Even casual touches between them seemed to make him pull away further, as if he could still feel the dirt lingering on her skin, the disgrace shrouding her soul.

She thought of the few times he’d actually reached out and touched her. It usually startled her, he did it so rarely, but when she’d turn to him to try and give him a smile or a touch back, the look in his eyes of shock and disgust made her back away. She could see it all in his expressive eyes: see the giant disappointment that she was to him.

He’d learned the secret of her in those few touches: she hadn’t fought against the monster hard enough; she’d given up, given in. She wasn’t the person he used to love; she wasn’t the Slayer, wasn’t strong, wasn’t anyone that was worthy of his love. Just like every other man that had ever tried to love her, she had ruined it, and he had turned away.

Oh, he said the words everyday at least once, ‘I love you.’ Sometimes he’d go on and on, but she wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince: her or himself. But Buffy knew the truth. She could see it in his eyes. Spike’s eyes were the window to his true heart; he spoke volumes with those blue orbs. If a picture was worth a thousand words, then the expressions that blazed through Spike’s eyes were worth a million. The love and adoration that had been in his eyes had been extinguished – her anchor was gone. She knew she had lost his love, no matter what his mouth said.

As she listened to the waves lap gently against the shore, she rolled her eyes, remembering the three pregnancy tests. One right after another came back positive. She knew they would, of course. She’d tried to avoid peeing on the stupid things, but in the end, what did it really matter? Spike already knew, all they would do was confirm his worst nightmare: he had a morose ex-Slayer on his hands who was pregnant with a child he did not want.



The worst part, of course, was the hurt and anger that blazed in Spike’s eyes when he saw the positive tests.  He’d demanded to know who the father was. He was so upset – furious really. How could she tell him what he didn’t want to hear? What if he kicked her out right then and there? She’d be pregnant, penniless, and stranded in a foreign country without anything or anyone to help her.

She knew she needed a plan, a way to make some money so she could go. She was frightened Spike would kick her to the curb before she could figure anything out. Unfortunately, the icicles that now resided in the spot where her heart used to be made rational planning nearly impossible. She just kept going in endless, hopeless circles, unable find any solutions.

So, she did the only thing she could do, she just kept sitting in the sun, staring at the blue sea, and waiting for something to melt the listless depression that burned her with its icy fingers. Buffy felt like an iceberg adrift in the freezing waters of the Arctic Ocean and not even the Mediterranean sun could melt her prison of ice.

**~**

“What’s the matter, luv?” Spike asked Buffy later that night as she ate the dinner that BuffyBot had cooked for her.

Spike had purchased some books about pregnancy, since he’d never actually been pregnant before or known anyone that was. The selection included a ‘healthy pregnancy’ cookbook, and the Bot had taken it upon herself to learn to cook and make meals for Buffy from the book. Since Spike wasn't pregnant, he'd been spared; he just had a mug of blood.

Buffy had been shoving the food around on her plate for about ten minutes, but had yet to eat any of it.



“You feelin’ alright? Not got that mornin’, noon, and night sickness again, do ya?”

Buffy shook her head, studying the food, never looking up at him. She shuddered at the mention of the month-long hurl-fest that had begun on the boat on the way over here. She could go forever without experiencing that again.

“What’s wrong then?” Spike wondered, tilting his head to try and see into her down-turned face.



Buffy looked up at the Bot and then at Spike. “I … don’t think this is … supposed to touch.”

“Whaddya mean?” Spike wondered.

Buffy waved her fork at the salad in front of her. “Things are touching that shouldn’t touch.”

The Bot frowned. “I made it exactly according to the directions in the book. Watermelon, arugula, feta, and mint salad tossed together with dressing made with onions, lime juice, olive oil, and olives. It has been arranged and presented exactly like the photographic representation of the final product in the book.



“Watermelon helps with bloating because it is a natural diuretic and has fiber,” the Bot continued brightly. “‘This salad has an amazing flavor, combining the sweetness of watermelon with savory elements from the feta, and the herby tang of the mint and lettuce. Because of the low calories, you can eat as much of it as you want’,” the Bot professed, quoting from the cookbook.

Buffy looked back down at her plate, her face impassive. “I’ve eaten all I want,” she said flatly. “I’d like some ice cream now.”

“Buffy, luv, even I know you can’t live on ice cream and chocolate milk,” Spike chided her.

“When you have finished the salad, I have mushroom quinoa risotto as the next course. Quinoa is a super food because it’s a great source of protein, fiber, and iron,” the Bot offered cheerily, clearly pleased to be able to contribute to the household and Buffy’s well-being. “And then the main course is Korean beef broccoli. After that, you can have a moderate-sized bowl of ice cream for dessert.”

“Ya gotta think of the little bit, eat healthy, get lots o’ vitamins and whatall,” Spike encouraged her. “You want t’ do what’s best for the bit, yeah?”

Buffy sighed and laid her left hand over the small bulge in her stomach, clearly torn. After a few moments she stabbed her fork into a piece of the watermelon in the salad and grudgingly brought it to her lips.

As she began chewing, her face was perhaps the most expressive Spike had seen since rescuing her. It contorted into something almost painful as she chewed, swallowed, then took another forkful of the salad. The second bite had to be washed down with water in order for her to actually swallow it, but she managed. From there, each bite got progressively smaller and apparently more painful to chew and swallow. If Spike hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought she was putting on and laughed at her machinations, but he was sure she was not joking – at all.



“That’s probably enough o’ that, then,” he offered, finally showing some mercy when half the salad was gone. “Maybe try some o’ that … mush stuff ya got,” he directed the Bot.

The Bot frowned. “I do not have any ‘mush stuff’. The next course is mushroom quinoa risotto.”

“Right,” Spike agreed. “Let’s try that.”

Buffy washed the last bite of salad she’d taken down with a large drink of water and rubbed her hand round and round over the small bump in her abdomen.

“I’m sure the bit ‘preciates the sacrifice, luv,” Spike offered.



Buffy simply nodded as she waited for the Bot to bring the ‘mush stuff’.

Spike automatically reached out to give her hand, which was resting on the table, a reassuring squeeze, but he caught himself in time, and pretended to be picking up a bit of food off the table instead. He left his hand there, just inches from hers, for several moments, waiting, praying for her to take it, to touch him. But Buffy didn’t move her hand to his or even seem to notice. He sighed and pulled it away, back into his own space.

He knew better than to hope for any show of affection from her. She didn’t love him anymore – if she ever had – but his foolish heart kept hoping for her to toss him a teeny-tiny crumb. It was all he needed to ease the pain, just a crumb. But it didn't come.

Spike gave Buffy a small, encouraging smile and wished he hadn’t taken the salad away. Even seeing her face contorted with what apparently was distasteful food was preferable to the flat stare. He stabbed a fork into the remains of her salad, took a big bite, and immediately began to choke.

Buffy watched him choke and chew and finally force the bite down, but made no remark, she didn’t even smile. She should’ve said, ‘I told you so,’ at the very least – but no quip or smart-ass comment flew from her lips. Nothing.

“Well then, that was better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick,” Spike offered, sliding the rest of the salad away. “Let’s take that one off the menu, pet,” he instructed the Bot as she set a bowl of the mush stuff … errr … mushroom quinoa risotto down in front of Buffy.

“The salad does not have an amazing flavor?” BuffyBot asked, perplexed.

“It’s amazin’ alright,” Spike muttered. “Just a little too amazin’, I reckon.”

 **~**

A few days later…



“What the bloody hell is that?” Spike questioned suspiciously, his brows furrowed as he looked at the blurry, black-and-white image on the monitor. “Looks like one o’ them bloody big-eyed aliens!”

The French midwife spoke English well enough, but with a thick accent that made her a little hard to understand at times. Her laugher, however, needed no interpretation. “Tweens,” she said, still smiling.

“Tweens?” Spike repeated in the same thick, French accent, trying to process the word. “Twins!?” he realized, his eyes growing wide. “She’s having twins?”

“Indeed, Papa. Congratulations, no?” she asked, her smile still wide.

The midwife was in her late forties or perhaps as old as her mid-fifties, Spike guessed, and on the plump side, although quite pleasantly. She had an easy smile, twinkling green eyes, and thick hair the color of rich copper that fell in soft waves to her shoulders, framing her round, friendly face. Her name was Marie-Élise Simon and, according to the licenses and diplomas on one wall of her office, she’d been licensed and practicing midwifery for twenty years. Based on the photographs of babies and whole families that plastered the other three walls, she had brought her share of children into the world.

“No, I’m not the fa…” Spike started, then stopped. “Errr … I mean, yeah, brilliant.”

Spike looked down at Buffy and asked, “Did ya hear, luv? Tweens. Two little bits.”



Buffy’s eyes were glued to the monitor; she didn’t answer him or even seem to hear. Even so, for the first time in what seemed forever, Spike thought he saw a flicker of emotion pass behind the dull green façade that used to be her glittering, emerald eyes.

“A boy and a girl,” Buffy mumbled flatly, not really speaking to anyone in particular, or moving her gaze from the blurry image.

“Ahhh, it is much too soon to tell, mon amie,” Marie-Élise replied in her thick accent. “But certainly it is possible.”

**~**

“Twins,” Spike muttered to himself as he drove the rental car back from the midwife’s office to their cabin by the sea, his hands tightening on the wheel involuntarily.



“Did you know?” he asked Buffy, giving her an oblique glance before looking back at the road.

“No,” she replied blandly.

“Then why did ya think it’d be a boy and a girl?” he wondered, suspicion tingeing his words. She knew more than she was saying, that much was certain. Her stubborn silence drove the dagger deeper into Spike's gut, ripping him to shreds.

Buffy shrugged.

“Slayer, I wish you’d tell me who the father is. I promise I won’t … be brassed off … for too long … or hurt … much. Won’t go off killin’ anyone or ripping lungs out … right away, or do anything … daft. Won't yell or scream ... rant or rave. Just ... for the love of bloody God, tell me.”

Buffy hugged her arms over her stomach, turned her face away from Spike, and looked out the window to her right at the dark landscape passing by.



“Not good enough,” Buffy said to the window in a monotone.

“Bloody right, he’s not,” Spike agreed heartily, his ire growing with each passing second. “What kinda tosser did you find t’ screw that knocks ya up – with twins no less! – and just buggers off …” Spike stopped ranting when he caught movement from Buffy, she was shaking her head in disagreement.

“What? You defendin’ him now?” he asked tersely, leaning forward, trying to see her face. All he could catch were glimpses of her reflection in the window when a passing light illuminated her features.

The knife that twisted his guts day and night began to expand its reach, cutting into his dead heart and releasing the hurt, jealousy, anger, and frustration that he kept contained there most of the time. Spike felt himself beginning to tumble out of control. He suddenly snapped. He'd been pushed the the brink and the Slayer had shoved him over the side. He fell onto the jagged rocks below, breaking open like Humpty Dumpty, and he was powerless to put himself back together again. All his emotions, his disappointment, his jealousy, his rage, and wounded pride poured out of him in that moment like a flood that had been held too long behind an ever-weakening dam.



“Whaddya think, Slayer, that your Prince-fucking-Charming’ll be riding up with a glass slipper for ya? Take you away to his soddin’ palace and you’ll live happily ever-bloody-after?”

She was still shaking her head negatively. “Your promise. It’s not good enough.”

Spike pursed his lips, his anger and hurt wrestling control of his mouth away from his brain and his heart. A muscle ticced in his jaw as every bit of frustration he’d been feeling boiled over, scorching everything in its path. The volcano inside him erupted in a ruthless tumult of pain aimed right at Buffy.

“Yeah, well, it’s all I’m givin’. You knock boots with some git and tell me I’m not bloody good enough? I get saddled with a boatload, a bloody double-boatload of manly responsibility and I’m not good enough?

“Didn’t see him carryin’ you outta that prison cell! Didn’t see him taking you to the doc. If I didn’t love you, those bits woulda been down the bloody toilet long ago. Don’t need it, I don’t.

“Face it, Slayer, you’re stuck with me. A bloody monster, the evil undead. Get the fuck used to it or get the fuck out! It’s what you want anyway. Why the bloody fuck do ya keep hanging about twisting this knife in my gut? We both know ya don’t want t’ be here. Fucking go, already. Put me outta my bloody misery!”

Buffy nodded, never looking at him, as the icicles in her heart stabbed painfully against her ribs. I’m trying, Spike. I’m trying so hard, she thought as a single tear slid down her cheek.



They drove the rest of the way home in tension-filled silence.

When they got back to the cabin, Spike was still seething. He strode inside ahead of her, still hurt and angry with her betrayal and secrecy. His heart ached, his pride stung, and his anger burned white-hot inside his gut. Buffy didn’t love him, that much was abundantly clear. He’d given her space, given her time, given her everything he knew how to give her, but it wasn’t enough to make her truly love him. She’d just been using him, trampling on his heart, on his love, just like Dru had.

There was just so much a monster could take. Well, he was done. Done being a doormat, done being a whipping boy, done being Love’s Bitch; his patience and understanding and hope had reached their limits. He was done being ‘not good enough’ for the bloody bitch Slayer. He was just done.



He went over to his suitcase, slid his fingers in between the lining and the outer-shell, and pulled out a double-handful of hundred-dollar bills. He turned and tossed them on the floor at Buffy’s feet. “There. That’s what ya want, yeah? Don’t need this monster skulkin’ about at your heels anymore. I’m not bloody good enough, eh? Fine, Slayer, go find someone that is so I can pull this soddin’ knife outta my belly. I’m dying by inches, here … death by a thousand cuts – and you're the soddin' blade.”

Spike turned abruptly, his duster swirling around his legs, and headed for the bedroom. “C’mon,” he demanded sharply to the Bot who had come out of the bedroom when they’d arrived. “Buffy’s on the couch t’night,” he said, grabbing BuffyBot’s arm and pulling her toward the single bedroom that Buffy and the Bot had been sharing while he slept on the couch.

“I do not understand,” the Bot complained as she followed in his wake.

“You wanna love me? Brilliant. Let’s go,” Spike clarified as he pulled her into the bedroom and slammed the door behind them.

Buffy stood in the center of the living room, looking blankly from the closed door to the money at her feet. A moment later her pillow and a blanket were tossed out, and the door closed again, slamming even harder this time.



Buffy bowed her head, knelt down, and slowly picked up her pillow and blanket from the floor. She gathered up the cash that Spike had tossed at her and stuffed it into her pillowcase as tears welled in her eyes and her frozen heart cracked painfully in her chest. When she was done, she sat down on the couch, clutching the pillow and blanket to her body as the Bot’s excited voice drifted to her from the other room, “Oh, Spike!”

Buffy curled up on the couch, still hugging the bedclothes to her chest. More painful tears fell from her eyes as she listened to the plan that she’d concocted so long ago come to fruition: Spike was over her, he had a lover, he wasn’t alone; she was. Be careful what you wish for …

**~**

Spike pulled the Bot into the bedroom and slammed the door behind them. He flung her by the arm, sending her stumbling across the floor before landing on the bed. He stalked after her, his frustration and rage burning a hole in his chest, right through his heart.



“Thinks I’m not bloody good enough,” he muttered to himself darkly as he grabbed one of the pillows and a blanket from the bed and tossed it back out to Buffy, slamming the door closed again.

“Fine. That’s just bloody fine. Don’t need her bleedin’ games, I don’t,” he grumbled, shrugging his duster off his shoulders and dropping it to the floor.

BuffyBot had just started to sit back up from where she’d landed on the bed when Spike put a knee on one side of her and crushed his mouth to hers in a vicious kiss. He began tugging her shirt off in a feverish rush as the adrenaline-powered kiss intensified.



“Oh, Spike!” she exclaimed when the kiss broke long enough for him to pull her shirt over her head. His mouth was on hers again a second later as he pressed her down onto the mattress, covering her body with his, devouring her lips and tongue in an angry, hungry kiss.

The Bot’s arms went around his back and began pulling his shirt up as he’d done hers.

Suddenly, a muffled sob broke from Spike’s lips and his entire body sagged, all the anger-fueled adrenaline seeping out of him in a single moment. Spike’s hands stilled and he gently broke the connection of their lips.

“Stop, pet,” he whispered to her, his voice barely audible, his breath cool against her fevered lips.

He dropped his head and buried his face in the crook of the Bot’s neck as he began to sob against her in earnest.

BuffyBot’s hands stilled, still clutching his shirt in her fingers as she searched her files for the appropriate response. After a moment she patted Spike’s back tentatively as she’d seen done on numerous TV shows.

“I’ve lost ‘er,” Spike wept against her warm skin. “I’m a buggering idiot and … I’ve lost ‘er.”



The Bot furrowed her brow as she continued to pat a hand down on his back in a steady, unaltering rhythm like a metronome. “Who have you lost? Provide me with a full description and I shall initiate a thorough and logical grid-like search pattern. I have excellent auditory, optic, and olfactory senses and am confident that I can locate the lost individual in a satisfactory time period.”

Spike shook his head as his body shuddered against hers with uncontrollable sobs. “It’s too late, pet … too bloody late. Buffy’s right … I’m not good enough. Was a fool t’ think I could be good enough for ‘er.”

**~**




Chapter End Notes:
Gah! **Sob**

The good news is ... it can only go up from here, 'cos I think the car we were riding in on the roller-coaster jumped the tracks and we crashed and burned... :( I promise that there is something left in the wreckage to salvage. Stay with me ... have faith in them to stumble into each other while dancing in the dark.

Next Update: Tuesday.
Amazed by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Warning for this chapter: Angst and rape references/memories.
**
Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
The next day, near midday…

Buffy moaned in pleasure as Spike’s mouth touched down atop hers. His lips were soft and giving against hers, a gentle kiss, a soft seduction. She felt her whole body relax against him, soaking up the love he was pouring over her, taking it into her frozen heart and melting the painful ice crystals that had formed there. His arms wrapped around her, and she felt safe and adored. She wasn’t dirty anymore; he’d somehow washed away the shame of her failure and the guilt of her lies.



“Love you so much,” his voice rumbled against her hot skin as his lips and tongue trailed down her neck, nibbling and licking a burning trail of need across her body.

“Spike … please … love you, want you so much,” Buffy moaned back to him, her hands dancing across his strong shoulders and arms as he moved lower. His body was like ivory and rose petals; soft and hard at once; rigid and pliable, smooth and beautifully rounded in just the right places.

“‘Course you do,” came a taunting, cold reply. “Always knew I could make a Slayer-girl scream. Scream for me,” he purred as he pressed the hard knife-blade against her abdomen.

Buffy’s eyes flashed open within her dream-turned-nightmare and her vision was filled with the gaunt, cruel face of her tormentor. She screamed within in her dream and the panic reached her actual vocal cords as she thrashed wildly against the nightmare image. Black eyes blazed with evil glee as she struggled in vain to get away from the skeletal, hideous monster. She was back in the cell, suddenly weak again, dirty, filled with horror and shame and hopelessness.



Buffy fell off the couch and onto the floor, still kicking and screaming in terror.  When she hit the floor, her eyes burst open to the late-morning light in the bungalow, breaking the connection with the nightmare that had been attacking her in her sleep. But the primal fear conjured by the vision, and the voice in her dream, sent Buffy’s mind whirling back in time. Those cold, black, cruel eyes filled her waking vision as she scrambled up to her feet, searching frantically for an escape.

How’s it feel, bitch? How’s it feel to be fucked by a real man? You’ll never forget this feeling, will you? C’mon – show me how a Slayer screams.

Buffy’s heart raced in her chest and she suddenly couldn’t find enough air to fill her lungs. “No … no,” she cried, trying to push the monster away, but her hands met nothing but empty air – and he was still there.  Barefoot, but still dressed in the clothes she’d had on the previous night, she hurtled herself toward the door of the bungalow, she had to get away. Get away from the pain, away from the monster, but he followed, undeterred.

“Buffy?” Spike called through the closed bedroom door after being awoken by the commotion in the other room.

Buffy didn’t hear him. “Please, no!” she screamed as she yanked the front door open and stumbled through it, her eyes wild, blurred with fear and panic. She bumped into a heavy Adirondack chair on the deck, and instinctively grabbed it up.

She began swinging it in a wide, wild arc all around her. “NO! Get away! NOO!”

But nothing worked. Those eyes, deep and dark like a bottomless, soulless pits loomed in front of her, no matter what direction she turned. She could feel the man’s icy, hard hands on her, groping, pinching, hitting, she could feel his knife at her throat … at her abdomen, against her thighs.

“Slayer!” Spike’s surprised and worried voice came from the now open bedroom doorway, but she still couldn’t hear him or see him in her panic. All she could hear was the monster. His ragged, excited gasps too near her ear, his rancid breath choking her, his lighter burning her skin, his knife cutting her, forcing her legs apart and then …

“NOOOOO!” she screamed again, hurling the chair at him and through the window of the cabin as she turned and sprinted away.



“Buffy!” Spike called again as he hurried out of the bedroom and toward the open front door. All he could do was watch Buffy’s retreating back as she sprinted down the bright, sunny beach where he could not follow.

“Spike? Last night you said that I could love you, but you still have not spilled your sweet semen in to my tight, hot quim,” the Bot called from the bed.

“Sod that! Go see if you can find Buffy,” he barked at her. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything to hurt herself or the bits … or anyone else for that bloody matter.”



The Bot stood up and pulled her shirt back on from where Spike had removed it the previous night. She slid into her shoes, straightened her clothes primly, then strode out, unruffled. “Shall I attempt to bring her back?”

“No … just watch her – unless she does something to herself, then get help for her and come tell me, ya got it? I’ll find you when the sun goes down.”

“I understand,” the Bot assured him with a firm nod and headed out into the light in the direction Buffy had gone.

**~**

Spike slammed the door behind the Bot, nearly taking it off its hinges, and roared in frustration. Emotions bombarded him from all sides. Anger … no, fury, foremost in his mind. He was furious with Buffy for screwing around on him, furious with her for not telling him who the father was, furious at her for not stopping him last night when he took the Bot to the bedroom.



And, to add to his turmoil, he was furious with himself for being furious with her, furious with himself for giving into his anger and frustration, and using the Bot to try and get back at Buffy for her silence and betrayal. He was furious with the Council, furious with Buffy’s ‘friends’, furious with the man – no, he was no man, he was an animal – that tortured and raped his Slayer, that took all her power away, and took her heart away with it.

Standing in formation behind his fury, ready to take their turn, were: frustration, heartache, pain, worry, desperation, misery, loneliness, and just an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were before, when Buffy loved him, in that time when she thought he was a man, not a monster. He wanted to take her pain away – he’d gladly bear it himself if he only could. He just wanted her to hold his hand, look into his eyes, and tell him she loved him again. Despite all his posturing and empty, angry words, he just wanted to be Love’s Bitch again – be hers.

But it was clear that she either couldn’t, or just didn’t, love him anymore. He hadn’t kept his promise, he hadn’t kept her safe. He’d rescued her, but too late. Any affection she’d had for him was gone; he’d lost her in those few days. The Bot, for once, was right. Even when Buffy was sitting right in front of him, she was gone.

Spike sank down into one of the kitchen chairs and laid his head down on the table. “God, Buffy, I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me. I love you so much. Please, please tell me how t’ be what you need. I’ll do anything.”

**~**

Buffy ran in a wild panic down the beach, dodging around other tourists, sometimes splashing in the shallow surf and other times struggling through deep sand. She ran and ran and ran, constantly turning back to look over her shoulder for her captor, her tormentor. She thought she saw him following a time or two and ran harder, drawing angry exclamations from others on the beach as she kicked sand or water on them, or bumped into them in her mad dash.

When Buffy hit a tall, cement breakwater wall she stopped. It was too high for her to climb and she was too exhausted anyway. She pressed her back against it and turned to look behind her, searching for her pursuer. Her chest heaved with exertion, her heart pounded painfully against her ribs, and her pulse sounded too loud and too fast in her ears. She continued to gulp in deep breaths of air as her eyes scanned the beach, watching each person, studying each face for those soulless, black eyes, but she didn’t see him.

Finally, she sank down, utterly exhausted, into the sand, her back still pressed against the wall. She continued to scan for her nightmare, but he was gone. She’d lost him. She sighed in relief, leaned her head back against the cool, hard wall, and closed her eyes as she tried to get her breathing under control.



The sun warmed her skin and bounced off the water that was only a few feet away. She could see the brightness of it even through her closed lids. The sound of the water lapping against the shore soothed her, and muffled the sounds of some children playing with a soccer ball on the beach nearby.

“Spike hates you,” she heard an eerily familiar voice say – the voice of a ghost.

Buffy blinked her eyes open, raising a hand to her shield her eyes from the bright sun. Buffy saw Dawn sitting in a low surf-chair in the shallow water not far from where the Slayer sat in the sand. Her dead sister looked older than Buffy remembered, well into her teens. Dawn’s face held the promise of a beautiful woman just waiting to bloom – a promise unfulfilled, a promise that Buffy now carried in her womb. Her sister was wearing a sparkling, jewel-encrusted, red, silk evening gown and black, four-inch spiked-heel Louboutins, all of which was getting wet and ruined in the surf and sand.



“I know,” Buffy agreed, closing her eyes again and leaning her head back against the wall.

“You should just tell him the truth about me and little William,” Dawn advised.

“Why? He hates me. He doesn’t want kids,” Buffy asserted. “You heard him, they’d be down the toilet. He doesn’t want all the manly-responsibility.”

“You’re not being fair,” Dawn asserted.

“Life’s not fair. He’s a vampire. He doesn’t want a kid … or two kids,” Buffy defended, never opening her eyes.

“He always liked me. He was like … my big brother.”

“Who you had a total crush on,” Buffy pointed out, still not opening her eyes.

Dawn shrugged. “Yeah, well … he didn’t crush back. But he was nice to me; he didn’t treat me like a freak. You know he only ever had eyes for you.”

Buffy snorted. “He loved the Slayer; I’m not that person anymore. He hates me; he thinks I screwed around on him. Fine, let him think that. He won’t have to feel any obligation to them ... you ... whoever – the babies.”

“So, what are you gonna do? You’re in no shape to raise us. You’d be cute running out of your house, trying to escape a nightmare, and leaving me and little William alone. That's like putting the inmates in charge of the asylum.”

“I’m working on it,” Buffy retorted tersely.

Dawn scoffed. “You’ve been sitting out here looking at this ocean…”

“It’s a sea,” Buffy corrected, still leaning back against the wall with her eyes closed.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Whatever! … Looking at this sea for two months, and the liveliest conversation you can carry on is with your imaginary, though quite stylish, dead sister. It’s not the blue that you used for your focus, it’s his eyes – it’s the love in his eyes. Focusing on the ocean is not working to get your head out of your ass,” Dawn informed her tersely.

Buffy opened her eyes and scowled at her sister. “Don’t use that language, young lady! And my head is not in my ass! It’s just …”



Buffy’s bravado faded and she sighed heavily. She raised a hand up to cover her face, letting her eyes fall closed again. “I can’t see his eyes anymore. They’ve … changed. Since I … since … the monster … Spike doesn’t … look at me the same anymore. There’s no love in them – it’s gone. I drove it away just like I have every other man that ever thought they could love me,” Buffy told her sister, tears welling behind her closed lids.

“I’m just a burden now … a responsibility. He doesn’t even touch me. He did that cute, French, cheek kissage thing with the midwife lady, but he won’t even touch my hand if it’s right next to him. I’m like … the plague or smallpox or … or holy water or something. He hates me.”

“You don’t let him love you! You don’t let him touch you. God, Buffy! He’s been trying to give you space and not freak you out. How can you be so stupid?”

Buffy’s eyes shot open again, anger flaring in them. “I’m not stopping him from touching me! I’m right next to him, but he won’t even …” A sob choked off her words. Buffy’s tears burned her cheeks as they rolled down and fell onto the white sand beneath her.

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t be what he needs anymore. It’s over. That monster … he took too much. Spike knows it … he knows I’m … used up. He’s just been too good to toss me out with the rest of the garbage. I’m working on it … I’ll get my stuff and leave tonight. I'll pull the dagger out of his belly like he wants. I never meant to ... hurt him like this.”



“Oh, God! What is with you?” Dawn exclaimed, tossing her hands in the air in frustration. She stood up from the low chair and began pacing in front of Buffy – quite a feat wearing four-inch spike heels in the sand.

“You always want to decide what’s best for everyone. What is that, some kind of Slayer thing or just a character flaw of Bossy-Buffy? You’re doing to him exactly what Angel did to you … locking him out for his own good. Deciding for him.

"You’re a piece of work … and like … shoddy, Chinese, child-labor work, not … you know, sturdy, Amish furniture work,” Dawn insisted, stopping in front of her sister and glaring down at her.

“And fudge. They're awesome at making furniture and fudge,” she added after a brief pause.

“That’s ridiculous!” Buffy objected, returning the glare.

“It is not! Have you ever had Amish fudge?” Dawn wondered, planting her fists on her hips and scowling.



“Not that! Jesus, Dawn! I’m nothing like Angel! I’m doing what’s best for Spike! It’s what he wants – he said so!"

"He said so based on faulty information, half-truths, and outright lies! That doesn't count," Dawn insisted. "You can check the rulebook. Totally inadmissible evidence."

Buffy continued scowling up at her sister. "Well ... it’s for his own good!" she argued. "I … I …” Buffy blinked, her expression softening as she looked at Dawn. “Oh my God … you’re … you might be … right.”

“Well, no duh! Of course I’m right. I’m the one in Louboutins, aren’t I? You don’t have any shoes on at all. That makes me the only sane one here.”

Dawn’s voice and expression softened and she knelt in front of Buffy, putting herself nearer her sister’s eye level. “He still loves you, he just doesn’t know how to reach you,” Dawn assured her. “He watches you all the time, trying to puzzle you out, trying to figure out how to love you, you have to know that.”



Buffy chewed on her bottom lip, considering her sister’s words. “But how could he think I slept with someone else? Doesn’t he know how hard it was for me to love him? Does he really think I’d willingly sleep with someone else after … after giving him my heart? He doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t even know me if he thinks I’d–”

“What’s he supposed to think?” Dawn cut her off. “He’s a vampire. He’s just trying to make sense of it. Tell him, Buffy. Trust him. Stop choosing for him, he’s earned that much,” her dead sister advised. “What do you have to lose? If he actually kicks you out, you’re no worse off than you are now. Maybe … maybe you can get your heart back, get your anchor back.

“He’s just confused and afraid … afraid of hurting you. Little Dawnie and William need you, Buffy. So does Spike. And you need him.”

Buffy laid her hand over the small bump in her stomach. “That’s why there were two lights that came down that night. They didn’t just get your soul from Limbo, but they grabbed the rest of William’s soul from the ether, too.”

Dawn shrugged. “Seems like.”

“But … he won’t even touch me,” Buffy protested again. “That … animal …” Buffy clamped her eyes closed against her tears, her emotions tightening her throat.



“I feel so dirty, and Spike won’t even touch me. He … can still smell it on me: the filth. He thinks I’m just … trash now. Foul, used … garbage. And he’s right. I should’ve fought harder … I should’ve done something. There had to be a way to stop that … monster, but I … didn’t. I just … gave up.”

“Oh, please! You’re the Slayer, not Wonder Woman … or … who’s stronger than Wonder Woman? Ummm … Superman? Is he, like, the strongest superhero ever? Or would, like, Sigourney Weaver in ‘Alien’ – you know, when Riley’s inside that big cargo-mover thing be able to beat–”

“Dawn! I’m sure there’s a point you were heading for. Maybe you could find it in that scrambled, teenage brain of yours,” Buffy suggested sarcastically.

Dawn huffed out an irritated breath and rolled her eyes. “Fine – my point is: you were shot with a tranq dart, then you were chained up and held in an armored truck. They told you Spike had been dusted – not the cheeriest of news after all you'd been through. After that, you were drugged with that Slayer Circumcision stuff …”

“Cruciamentum,” Buffy corrected.

“Seemed like a circumcision to me ... but, whatever! ...And tossed in an escape-proof prison cell,” Dawn finished.



“Just exactly what more do you think you could’ve done? You did what you had to to survive. You’re trying to take the blame for something a monster did to you. Is that another Slayer thing? Taking the blame for stuff that you had no way to fight, prevent, or control?

"You did the same thing when I died. Here's a news-flash: that was not your fault. I chose. Me. Not you. And I was right. I did the right thing. I did what you would've done if you were in my shoes. Which, you're not ... 'cos ... not sharing these babies with anyone. Not even you," Dawn quipped, reaching down to caress the expensive footwear.

Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"I know you’re a guilt-trip Double-Platinum Frequent Flyer, but your plane’s gone way off course lately," Dawn continued, looking back up at her sister.

“And, point number two: Spike just doesn’t know what to do to help you. You have got to talk to him. What do you have to lose?” Dawn asked again. “Your overused, Summers’ Stubborn Silence, patent pending, has already sent him into the Bot’s arms.”

Buffy rolled her eyes again. “That, by the way, was my plan all along. So, yay me.”

Dawn snorted. “Yeah, right,” she agreed sarcastically. “Tell me another one.”

Buffy looked down at the sand and began drawing idle circles in it with her fingers.  “I’m … scared.” Buffy admitted finally. “I took three years of high school French and I still sound like a retarded monkey with a hair-lip when I parlez-vous – there’s no way I could get a job here. I have no idea how to get home … Hell, I probably don’t even have a home to get home to. Plus, I don’t know if the Council is still looking for me. I couldn’t take it if …” Buffy shuddered and wrapped her arms around her torso as a chill ran through her despite the warm sun.

“I’m … so alone – and I know … ‘Slayer and alone’ is kinda not newsworthy, but … I’m scared. I … need him. I even need the Bot … I’m so afraid.”



“Would you stop borrowing trouble?” Dawn advised. “If you’d just talk to him, ask him for help, tell him you need him, then he’ll help you! He can’t not help you! He’s, like, got a … Victorian gentleman underneath that punk rocker, bad-boy exterior. It’s a thing, like laying his coat down over a mud-puddle so you don’t get your shoes dirty when you walk across. He has to do it – it’s ingrained in him.”

Buffy rolled her eyes again. “I can safely say he’d never lay his precious duster down in the mud for anyone to walk on.”

Dawn heaved a loud sigh and waved her arms out to the side in disgust. “That’s just an example. Victorian men just can’t help themselves from trying to save the damsel.”

“Isn’t Angel Victorian … you know, underneath his broody-pyre exterior?” Buffy wondered, looking at her sister doubtfully.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Fine,” Dawn spat. “Derail my logic-train. How’s this? Spike can’t help himself from trying to save you. He loves you.

“Ya know, you’re a real buzz-kill,” Dawn informed Buffy harshly. “And you have no decent shoes. I would’ve kicked your miserable ass out weeks ago.”

Buffy shrugged, unable to argue with any of that. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall again, and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingers.



“Buck up, little camper,” Dawn urged Buffy, giving her sister a strong, encouraging fist-pump. “Oh, and by the way, I heartily approve of this campground. I mean … if I’d known they had campgrounds like this, I would’ve totally stayed in Girl Scouts.”

Buffy nodded her agreement. “I know, right?” she said, opening her eyes again, but Dawn was gone.

“You’re completely mental,” Buffy informed herself aloud, as if that were some grand epiphany.

That familiar feeling of despondent gloom settled over Buffy now that her sister was gone. It wasn’t as bad as the shroud of blood that she’d fought for so long, but it felt heavy and hopeless. It took so much effort to talk that she just abstained most of the time. She simply didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Her heart, fairly literally, wasn’t in it; it had been shattered into a thousand icy, painful shards by Spike’s rejection. It was a struggle to get the words out, as if each thought had to be pried from her dark, misery-soaked brain and forced through too small an opening to emerge into the light on the other side.



Buffy looked at the beautiful, aqua-blue water that seemed to go on forever. She’d tried to use that blue as her focus, as a replacement for Spike’s eyes, to heal her heart and lift her gloom, but it hadn’t worked. She knew now that it wasn’t the blue of his eyes that had helped her pull out of her fugue state before, it was the emotions that shone in them … it was the adoration and love. And that look had faded from Spike’s eyes. She only saw pain, worry, sometimes anger, and often hurt in them now – the exact things that she’d never, ever wanted to see.

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she let her eyes fall closed again. She knew imaginary-Dawn was right; she’d have to talk to Spike and tell him the truth. She really didn’t have anything left to lose. She’d already lost him, lost his love, lost her anchor, she’d even lost herself – all she had left were the babies in her womb.

She’d just rest here a little while and try to think of what to say to him. There had to be some way to present it that would keep him from hating her even more than he already did. Some way to spin it so that the knife in his belly didn't plunge in even deeper. She just needed to find the right words, the perfect words ... magic words … any words.

**~**

Buffy felt a shadow fall over her as she sat on the sand, her back still pressed against the concrete barrier, trying to think of the perfect words to say to Spike. She blinked her eyes open to find the Bot standing over her.

“Spike asked me to make sure you were not hurting yourself or others. You do not appear to be in any imminent danger, unless the tide rises considerably and at a rapid rate. I believe that to be unlikely, barring a tsunami caused by an offshore earthquake. I estimate the probability of that to be minuscule, although not impossible.



“Do you anticipate that you will be in danger or causing danger to others in the near future?” she asked.

Buffy snorted and shook her head. “No, not in the near future. You can relax.”

The Bot smiled. “Thank you. I anticipate that you will soon become dehydrated. Would you like some liquid refreshment?”

Buffy licked her lips. “Margarita?” she suggested.

The Bot frowned. “That is not advisable in your condition.”

Buffy raised her brows. “My condition? Crazy people who talk to their dead sisters and run from nightmares can’t drink Tequila?”

“Gestating humans should not over-indulge in alcoholic beverages,” the Bot clarified. “It may also be harmful to crazy humans if they are taking medications for their insanity. It would depend on their exact diagnosis and the drug interactions and medical warnings.”

Buffy snorted and laid the side of her head down on her knees, which were pulled up against her chest, closing her eyes. “In that case, maybe just water.”

**~**

Buffy sipped at the bottle of water the Bot brought back to her. Her brain hurt, her heart hurt, and she still hadn’t figured out what to say to Spike to make him not hate her.

“So, I guess Spike’s still really upset with me, huh?” Buffy asked after a few moments.



The Bot nodded. “He was quite upset when you shattered the window and sprinted away. He was also extremely troubled last evening.”

“I guess … you made him feel better though, huh?” Buffy wondered. “Last night, I mean.”

“I did my best to bolster him and provide exceptional comfort,” the Bot replied.

Buffy sighed and felt the ice in her heart shatter painfully. “Was he … did he … seem … better afterwards?”

“Yes, I provided an abundance of soothing succor. He fell asleep after two hours and thirty-seven minutes in my embrace. I continued to hold him through the night. I have previously observed that he took pleasure in this behavior when you would not allow him to move during sleep.”

Buffy nodded as tears prickled her swollen, tired eyes. She rubbed them with her fingertips, willing the tears not to fall. She was a little surprised that what she felt wasn’t jealousy, but envy. She envied the Bot; Spike would touch her. Spike still loved her. Spike actually liked her.



He could stand to be in the same room with her, in the same bed … in her arms. The Bot wasn’t covered in the shame of giving up; she hadn’t rolled in the filth and allowed it to stain her soul … or whatever Bots had instead of a soul. Maybe a microprocessor with little a little LED light that changed colors based on their mood … like a mood ring for robots. Yeah, that’s what they had in place of a soul, a little light inside that shifted through all the colors of the rainbow depending on what they were doing, feeling, or thinking.

Buffy imagined what color her microprocessor-soul would be. Black, came back the immediate and definite answer. Buffy shuddered and felt pieces of her ice-crystal heart break away and tumble into the bottomless blackness of her lost soul.

“Can I ask you something?” Buffy wondered after a few minutes, looking up at the Bot, who stood over her protectively.

“I do not know. Your vocalization process seems unimpaired. You appear fully functional and capable of voicing a query,” she replied, tilting her head inquisitively as she looked down at Buffy.



Buffy rolled her eyes. Grammar Nazi. “May I ask you something?” Buffy corrected.

“Yes,” the Bot replied brightly.

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I need to find some perfect words,” she explained.

“Words are neither perfect nor imperfect, they are all equal when used properly,” the Bot informed Buffy. “And it is not the word’s fault if it is used improperly; it is the fault of the one who misused it.”

“Right,” Buffy agreed flatly. “Well, I need to find the exact right words to use and the exact right way to use them. Will you help me?”

“Of course. I am always pleased to help you. You are my friend. People believe we are sisters, but being friends is better. Friends are the life-forms you would choose to be your family if you were given the choice at inception."

Buffy gave her doppelganger a small smile. "I'm glad that you're my friend."

The Bot smiled widely. "I am glad I am your friend, also."

“Ok, so, what I need help with," Buffy continued. "Can you give me some other words for … ummmm … ‘sorry’?” Buffy wondered. “Maybe something stronger than ‘sorry’ … what word would be stronger than ‘sorry’?”

“Regretful, apologetic, repentant, remorseful, penitent …”

**~**

The last vestiges of twilight still colored the sky in jewel-like hues of indigo blue and deep purple when Spike found Buffy and the Bot later that evening. Buffy had run over five miles down the beach, only stopping, apparently, when she came to a breakwater barrier that was too high and steep for her to climb and which jutted out into the water too far for her to swim around.

Now she sat with her back to the buttress, her knees pulled up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. She had her chin resting on one knee and she was looking out at the quickly-darkening sea. There was a half-empty bottle of water next to her, presumably supplied by the Bot, since Spike knew Buffy had no money to buy anything – she’d left the pillowcase full of money on the floor near the couch. The Bot stood not far away from her, leaning against the barrier and watching Buffy closely. She looked up when Spike approached and strode up to him sharply.

Spike almost felt like he should salute and ask for her report. The Slayer’s personal guard: a too-literal sentient android and a muzzled vampire. Bloody brilliant.



“She has not moved or said anything in the last three hours, twenty-two minutes and forty-five seconds. Prior to that, she asked me to provide all possible synonyms for eleven different words. She has not attempted any harm to herself or the bits,” the Bot reported. “I have assured that she has remained hydrated, although she would not eat the vegetables I brought her.”

Spike cocked a scarred brow at the Bot. “I’m almost afraid to ask,” he muttered when the Bot produced a turnip from behind her back.

“The vitamin C in raw turnips assists the human body’s iron absorption capabilities, which is very important for gestating human females. They include B vitamins as well, including vitamin B-6, folate, thiamin, niacin and pantothenic acid,” the Bot began to explain. “In addition …”

Spike stopped her with a wave of his hand. “Good job. I’ll take it from here,” he told her. Spike looked at Buffy, who was still staring at the now dark sea, ignoring her honor guard. “Go on back and start dinner. Maybe you can … do something creative with that root.”

The Bot beamed. “I will check the cookbook.” Then she side-stepped him and headed back down the beach to their cabin.

Spike sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes, then closed the short distance between himself and Buffy with three long strides. He squatted back on his haunches very close to where she sat, close enough that his knees would touch her if he leaned forward even the slightest bit.



“Buffy?” he asked gently. “I’m … sorry, pet. I just … I was just … frustrated and acted like a daft git. Don’t really want ya t’ leave, but don’t blame ya if you do.”

He sighed and ran his hand back through his hair, letting his head fall back so he was looking up at the star-filled sky. “I love you and I miss you,” he said to the open air above them. “I need you so bloody much it hurts and … I can’t bear that you …” His words were choked off, swallowed by the tears that leaked from his eyes. The anguish rolled down his cheeks as he stared unseeing at the heavens, praying for some sort of salvation.

“They’re yours,” she said when he paused, her voice barely a whisper.

Buffy, with the Bot's help, had searched all afternoon for the right words, the perfect, magical words that would make him forgive her and love her again. She’d never found any – she had nothing but the cold, hard truth to offer him. She just prayed somehow he could feel how sorry she was for all she’d done, since there were no words yet invented that could express it.

Spike dropped his face back to look at her. She had turned away from the water and was looking at him, her green eyes solemn. “What?” he asked, not sure he understood her.



Buffy swallowed, but forced herself to hold his gaze. “The babies, they’re yours. I didn’t … do … what you …” Buffy’s jaw clenched and she closed her eyes against the twisting in her heart. “I didn’t ‘knock boots with some git’ – well, not counting you, I guess.”

“What?” Spike repeated, quickly becoming gobsmacked.

Buffy took a breath and opened her eyes to look at him in the dwindling light. “That night – you remember, the one you said I shouldn’t expect to happen again? That’s when it happened. It was … magic – as in actual magic. The monks – the ones that created Dawn – they …” She shrugged. “…did something and … created her again … here.” Buffy dropped her knees down from in front of her torso and shifted into a cross-legged sitting position, then laid her hand on her belly.

“What?” Spike’s eyes were growing wider even as the furrow between his brows deepened. How did he do that?



Buffy cleared her throat uncomfortably. “See … ummm … when they made Dawn they made her from my blood, but they needed a soul and …” Buffy exhaled heavily. “And well, they … well, they took half of yours from the ether and used it, along with little pieces of my soul, and mom’s, and bits of all my friend’s, to make Dawn’s.

“When Dawn died, her borrowed soul was stuck in Limbo because you were still … here. To get it out, they did something when we … you know … and ta-da.”

“What?” Spike asked again, his voice breaking and rising several octaves, just as confounded as he’d been from the beginning.

Buffy sighed and closed her eyes, trying to pluck up enough courage and strength to continue. Of course he was mad, she hadn’t found the perfect words to make him want kids, to make him forgive her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know they’d stolen your soul for Dawn. I … when I was dead again … you know, when I did this.” Buffy opened her eyes and turned her arms over to show her scars. “I talked to Mom and she said the monks could fix it, I could get her out … by making a baby with you.”

“What?!” Spike’s voice was even squeakier now than it had been the last time he’d asked.

Buffy flinched and her chest tightened at his tone. He was beyond angry now, nearing furious – and she couldn’t blame him. “I know … I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I … it wasn’t my place to … I just thought … and then … and Angel did the same thing to me and … God, I can’t believe I did that to you,” Buffy stammered. Her ability to hold her train of thought on the tracks had been stretched to its limits as her fear of his final, brutal rejection hung over her, poised to fall like the Sword of Damocles.



“They’re … mine?” Spike’s voice had dropped to a whisper, his eyes as wide as saucers. He reached a hand out to touch the bulge in Buffy’s abdomen, but stopped just short of actually touching her.

Buffy winced again. A whispering vampire could not be of the good. He was just trying to hold his rage in check, trying not to scream at her again. She almost wished he would scream at her, somehow it would be more fitting than that soft whisper. The sword inched down nearer; Buffy braced herself for the final blow.

“Yes … they’re yours … and … and I know you don’t want them. I just couldn’t leave Dawn’s soul there, and I couldn’t stake you, and I promise I’m trying sooo hard to get my head out of my ass so I can leave. You don’t have to be ‘manly-responsibility man.’ I just need a little more time and maybe a little money, not all that from last night – just a little. I swear I’ll pay you back – and …”

“Mine? The both of ‘em?” Spike asked, interrupting her rambling, his eyes wide and focused wholly on her abdomen.



Buffy bit her bottom lip and blinked back her tears. “Yes,” she said gently. “I … I think the monks took the rest of your soul from the ether and … made another baby with it. I’m … so sorry. I didn’t know they would do that, I swear. I know how angry you must be, but if you’ll just give me a little more time...”

She held her breath and waited. The thread holding the sword was unraveling quickly now, she could feel it. He’d start ranting and raving any moment and then it would be over. She hadn’t found the right words…

Spike finally looked at her face. “What?” he asked again, this time with a bit more conviction and less shock.

Buffy blinked and her heart-rate sped up. He’d gone into ‘William the Bloody’ mode. He was so calm, so … calm and deadly. She knew he couldn’t physically hurt her, but his words of absolute rejection would be painful enough.



“I said … I’m sorry,” Buffy repeated. It was the only thing she knew to say; it was the truth, it was all she had. “I never meant to saddle you with this. You don’t have to … I just need a little more time to figure stuff out and try to get my head … straight. Please just … I’m begging you for a little more time.”

Spike drew his hand back from where it hovered over Buffy’s stomach and settled both of his forearms on his thighs as he squatted on his heels in front of her.

“Slayer, I …” He stopped and ran back the conversations they’d had about children and families in his mind and his heart sank. This is what she had been trying to ask him about – obviously. And he’d rebuked her every single time. And then the argument they’d had on the way back from the midwife, his promise wasn’t good enough because he’d never promised to take care of the babies. In fact, he told her if it was up to him he would’ve flushed them from her body.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head. Then he met her gaze again, “You should’ve told me, Buffy.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise if I can just get a little better I’ll leave,” she assured him, her voice growing dull and lifeless. The truth hadn’t worked. It was over. The game was up.



“Think that’s wise, pet?”

Buffy shrugged. “I’m just trying to … do the right thing.”

“For who?” Spike wondered.

Buffy shook her head and tears began to trickle from her eyes. “Everyone. You, Dawn … little William.”

Spike nodded solemnly. “What about you, luv? What’s right for you?”

Buffy shook her head forlornly, letting her eyes drop to the sand, and shrugged again.

“I know ya been … hurting, luv. Been through a lot, you have. I know I failed ya, didn’t keep you safe; didn't keep m' promise. Don’t blame you if you can’t forgive me. Don’t reckon I can ever forgive myself. Know I’m a monster. I understand why you … don’t trust me, why you don’t love me anymore.”

Buffy’s head shot up to meet his gaze. The moon had risen and cast the beach in a silver glow. The light reflected off the sand beneath them and illuminated his features. He looked drawn and miserable, but not exactly mad.

“I never said that.”



“Well, truth be told, you’ve said more to me in the last ten minutes than you’ve said the last two months, pet. Been havin’ to read between the unending bouts o’ meaningless prattle and silence. I know you were afraid when we first got you out, but I thought maybe, with time … Been waiting, but ya never …” Spike’s voice trailed off and he shrugged.

Buffy furrowed her brow, her head tilting in confusion. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I miss you, Buffy. I love you and I miss you and … and … I’m gonna be a bloody father! That’s … Bloody hell! I’m gonna be a father!” Spike exclaimed, his smile growing wider with each announcement. He suddenly stood up and shouted into the night sky, “I’m gonna be a father! Twins! Bloody twins!”

Buffy looked up at him in shock and disbelief. Her mouth gaped open as he continued to yell his pronouncement to the world.

She pushed up to her feet and watched as he spun around, shouting the announcement in every direction. When he finally stopped spinning and stood facing her, he looked like he’d just won the super mega-ball lottery.



“I … uhhh … think typically the announcements are mailed out rather than shouted,” she stammered.

His face suddenly fell into a mask of shocked solemnity. “Did you just … drop a quip?”

Buffy furrowed her brow, trying to remember what she’d said. She gave a quick shrug of her shoulders. “Maybe.

“Are you saying you’re … happy about the babies? What happened to all that manly-responsibility and Big Bad’s image, and …”

Spike shook his head and waved his hands as if brushing his previous declarations away. “It was all bollocks! I was just … covering,” he admitted, ducking his head and rubbing a self-conscious hand over the back of his neck. “Didn’t think it was possible, so it was easier to not want it. I’m chuffed t’ bloody bits over the bitty kidlets. I love you, Buffy. You’ve made me the happiest demon in the whole fucking world tonight.



“I wish you’d stay … forever, pet. If … you still … feel anything for me. Do ya, Buffy? Do you … love me at all? Can you love a monster?”

“Oh, God, Spike,” Buffy sighed, rubbing at her swollen, bleary eyes with her fingers. She looked up at him and nodded. “How could you think I didn't? I love you. I’ll always love you. I was only gonna leave ‘cos I thought you didn’t want them … didn’t want me. I was trying to do what I thought you wanted.”

“So, you’ll stay, then?” he asked, his eyes growing wide, half-afraid he hadn’t heard her right.

“If … if that’s really what you want,” she stammered, still a bit befuddled by his sudden change of attitude.

Not thinking, Spike pulled her into a fierce hug and began to swing her around in joy. “God, Buffy, I missed you so much, pet. Missed your bloody stupid quips and your smile. Missed your lips and your touch and …”

Buffy’s body tensed and stiffened in his embrace. Despite her logical mind knowing it was just Spike and he wasn’t going to hurt her, her body reacted instinctively to the touch and the feeling of being captured and held prisoner in his arms.

Spike suddenly sobered, stopped spinning, and set her down on her feet gently. He pulled his hands away and dropped them to his sides, balling his hands into fists to keep them there. “Sorry, pet … didn’t mean to …”



“Touch me?” Buffy filled in, wrapping her arms around her torso and backing away from him. “Is it because of … what happened?”

“Yeah,” Spike answered gently, wanting desperately to touch her face, but forcing his hands to stay by his sides.

“Because I’m … dirty now. Trash. You can still smell it, can’t you? I’m used up and … I didn’t fight hard enough.”

“What? No … Buffy, no,” Spike cajoled, his face etched with confusion and concern. He began to take a step forward to be near her again, his hand uncurled and lifted from his side, longing to touch her, to hold her, but he forced both his feet and his hand to stop their forward motion.



Buffy didn’t seem to hear. “I’m sorry, Spike. I … I thought you were dust and I didn’t fight him. I just let him … I thought he’d kill me and it would all be over – I just wanted it to end – but he didn’t. And then I couldn’t fight. I just did what he wanted, and now … I understand why you can’t touch me. You can still smell it, can’t you? You don’t want to touch the filth. I don’t blame you…” she finished, her eyes focused on the ground in shame.

“Buffy … Slayer, no,” Spike repeated emphatically. He allowed himself to reach out and lift her chin with a single finger until she was looking at him. She tensed slightly, but didn’t flinch away from his touch this time. “That’s bollocks – I never thought that, pet. You’re not the one that’s dirty, Buffy, that bloody pillock that hurt you … he’s the filth. The bloody devil incarnate, he is.”

“You … don’t think I’m …” Buffy’s heart ached and her chest heaved for air. “…garbage?”



Spike huffed out a shocked breath, shaking his head in earnest before answering in a single empathic word. “No.”

He sighed when she looked hopeful but not convinced.

“Buffy, you are the bravest woman I’ve ever known. I’m nothing but amazed by you, luv. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. Your spirit shines so clear and bright that sometimes I think it’ll dust me. You’ve been through so much, moved bloody mountains, fought gods and survived devils.  You’re a treasure – a beautiful, pristine, sparkling jewel. A helluva woman is what you are, Buffy Summers.

“Didn’t want t’ frighten you or … push or hurt you is all,” Spike explained. “But I want to touch you so bad it hurts, luv,” he admitted. He took a tentative step forward and slid his hand up from her chin, gently cupping her cheek.

“I’m just lost, pet. I … I don’t know what to do, how to treat you, how to touch you … how to reach you … how to love you. Know I’m not a man, I’m a monster, but … can’t help it. I love you so bloody much.”

Buffy closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. “I missed your touch,” she whispered, laying her hand over his.

Spike stepped closer and brushed his lips against her forehead. “I missed yours,” he murmured against her warm skin.

Buffy pulled back a fraction and opened her eyes to meet his gaze. And there it was: her anchor. The concern wasn’t gone, but the anger was. The  adoration shone in his eyes again and there was large helping of joy in them now. She took it in as if taking in a breath of fresh air after too long in a dirty, smog-filled city. She let it center her, focusing her mind, easing her heart.

“Spike, I can’t always control … I get these panic attacks … and nightmares and I … Spike, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to be what you need again,” Buffy admitted, tears stinging her eyes anew.

“Buffy, just being near you is all I’ll ever need. I don’t give a bloody damn about…”



“Spike,” Buffy interrupted him, shaking her head. “I know better. And I’m not saying I’ll never be able to make love again, because … I want to. I want your arms around me so badly it hurts, but it scares me at the same time. And those games … the handcuffs … and…” – Buffy’s voice broke – “I can’t without seeing ...”

“Shhhh, pet, it’s alright,” Spike soothed, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Don’t need any o’ that. Just need you, Buffy. Just you.”

For the first time in a long time, Buffy’s body didn’t tense up when his arms encircled her. She sobbed against his shoulder as he held her, stroking her hair and back gently. They stood there on the moonlit beach for a long while before Buffy’s tears abated. She let herself get lost in the feel of his arms around her, their strength, their confidence, their love. He hadn’t touched her like this for so long, she’d forgotten how it felt to be in his arms. She’d missed him so much. That SOB, Weatherby, had taken so much away from her, so very, very much.

“I fucking hate him,” she practically snarled against Spike’s chest, simply assuming he would know who she was talking about. He did. “I want to … to … strip his clothes off, string him up, and pour red ants all over him, then put him in a room with a hive of hornets until they sting every inch of his slimy skin, and then bury him up to his neck in the desert and let the buzzards peck his horrid eyes out and eat his brain.”

“Then we will,” Spike assured her, dropping a kiss atop her head. “That’s a promise I’ll keep if it bloody kills me.”



**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Lonestar - Baby I'm Amazed by You  on YouTube  }}


Every time our eyes meet,
There is a feelin inside me
It’s almost more than i can take
Baby when you touch me
I can feel how much you love me
And it just blows me away
I’ve never been this close to anyone
Or anything
I can hear your thoughts, i can see your dreams

(chorus):
I dunno how you do what you do
I’m so in love with you
It just keeps getting better
I wanna spend the rest of my life
With you by my side
Forever and ever
Every little thing that you do
Baby I’m amazed by you

The smell of your skin
The taste of your kiss
The way you whisper in the dark
Your hair all around me
Baby you surround me
You touch every place in my heart
Oh … it feels like the first time, every time
I wanna spend the wholez night..in your eyes

(chorus):
I dunno how you do what you do
I’m so in love with you
It just keeps getting better
I wanna spend the rest of my life
With you by my side
Forever and ever
Every little thing that you do
Baby I’m amazed by you

Every little thing that you do
Every little thing that you do
I’m so in love with you
And it just keeps getting better
I wanna spend the rest of my life
With you by my side
Forever and ever
Every little thing that you do
Every little thing that you do

Baby I’m amazed by you…
Chapter End Notes:
FINALLY! Talking! With words and every thing! Will have more - next update Saturday. You know I love hearing from you!! My evil devil of a muse is sitting here on pins and needles just waiting for your comments!

I think I might've gotten carried away with the pictures in this chapter... Were there too many?
I Won't Give Up     by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Uht-oh ... I got no warnings to post for this chapter! I hope that doesn't mean it's boring! eeek!
**
As always, thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
A little while later…

The Bot looked up from her cooking when Buffy and Spike came in some time later. “You have timed your arrival fortuitously,” she announced brightly. “The nourishment will be at the proper serving temperature for ideal human consumption in three and one-third minutes.”

Buffy sighed. “Why did you buy her that book?” she grumbled to Spike under her breath.

“She’s just tryin’ t’ help, pet,” Spike whispered back.

“Is it customary for me to act as if I do not hear your conversation when you are over seven feet away and speaking at a level below twenty decibels?” the Bot asked, looking from one to the other of them.

“Yes,” Buffy replied to the Bot. Then, looking back at Spike, she chastised, “You had to give her vampire hearing?”



“I am actually equipped with an omni-directional, biauricular stethoscope pinhole microphone with telephonic pick-up. I can hear much better than a vampire,” the Bot explained amiably. “Are you ready to consume the well-prepared, flavorful sustenance? Going too long between proper meals is not recommended for gestating humans as it may increase the risk of gestational diabetes.”

“Sure,” Buffy agreed somewhat reluctantly. “What’s for dinner?”

The Bot smiled widely and began placing serving bowls on the table as she announced, “Buttered turnip puree and sesame beef stir-fry, and for desert there’s lime-banana smoothie.”

Buffy tried not to make a face. “Ummm … couldn’t I just have a hamburger and French fries? We are in France, after all. Don’t they have French fries in France?”



“French fries in France are called ‘frites’,” the Bot offered helpfully.

“Okay … then why can’t I have some frites and hamburger-ites?” Buffy wondered.

“They aren’t in the book,” the Bot explained simply.

**~**

After having dinner, including buttery, pureed turnips – which, to the Bot’s credit actually weren’t that bad – and getting a shower, Buffy took a bowl of ice cream out to the deck. While she'd been gone, someone had cleaned up the broken glass and put a sheet of plywood over the window she’d broken earlier.

She took a seat in the glider under the other, unbroken, window. Buffy curled her legs beneath her, leaning against the cushioned arm of the seat-swing, and watched the moonlight dance off the sea beyond the beach. The quiet sound of the gentle waves washing against the shore felt like a balm after all the talking she’d done during the last couple of hours.

As she ate her treat – which was mega-better than the lime-banana smoothie that the Bot had originally made for dessert from that stupid cookbook – she played back the conversation she’d had with Spike on the beach.

Tears stung her eyes even as a soft laugh came from her throat at the memory of his announcement to the world that he was going to be a dad. He wants them! He wants the babies!

Buffy felt a physical weight lift off her with that revelation. The pressure to get over her ordeal and get her mind straight was gone. She had Spike to help her … and BuffyBot. Provided Spike didn’t buy the Bot a cookbook for feeding children properly, this might actually work out alright.

And, to top it all off, the anger and distrust and hurt were gone from Spike’s eyes. The love that had helped pull her mind out of confusion and disarray before was back. She felt like she could reach out and hold onto it like it was tangible lifeline. She could feel it anchoring her to this world, to reality, to what passed for sanity in her life.

“I should’ve just told him,” she murmured to herself.

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Spike confirmed as he stepped out of the bungalow onto the deck.

Buffy looked up at him apologetically. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known.”

Spike shrugged and sat down on the other end of the swing, leaving space between them. “You believed my bollocks. I shouldn’t’ve lied. Was just so afraid that you’d want something I couldn’t give and … I’d lose you. Bloody ironic that I nearly lost you because of the lie.”



“You weren’t the only one telling lies,” Buffy excused apologetically.

Spike cocked his head slightly in acknowledgement before settling back on the swing and looking out at the waves. They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, listening to the waves and the few calls of sea birds in the night.

“It hurt me that you thought I cheated on you,” Buffy said after a few minutes.

Spike’s mouth drew into a hard line. “Hurt me t’ think that too, but ya gave me no choice,” he retorted.



Buffy chewed on her bottom lip a moment, then sighed. “I wouldn’t do that – so you know. It … it took all I had to love you … I wouldn’t just …”

Spike eyes burned and he blinked back more tears. “Sorry for thinkin’ that, luv,” he whispered, his voice thick and rough with emotion.

“I’m not Dru. I … made mistakes, I admit, but I never meant to hurt you,” Buffy continued. “I would never intentionally hurt you. I only tried to do what I thought you wanted.”

Spike nodded, his heart had lodged in his throat, making it impossible for him to reply. Silence drew out between them again, their eyes focused far in the distance, on the dark sea beyond the beach.

Spike patted down his pockets until he found his cigarettes and lighter. He began to pull them out and have a smoke to calm his nerves, but remembered the Bot's lecture to him about the dangers of smoking around 'gestating humans'. Bugger!

Finally, Spike regained control of his emotions without the help of the nicotine and swallowed back the tightness in his throat. He changed the subject and the mood by saying, “Gonna need to decide where to go. Can’t stay here forever, pet. Need t’ settle down with the bits, give ‘em a safe place to grow up.”

Buffy nodded. She’d been taking smaller and smaller bites of her ice cream, trying to make it last longer, but she was down to the last couple of spoonfuls of melted slurry in the bottom now. She took an inordinate amount of time to clean the bowl, stalling for time, before setting it down on the floor and looking over at Spike.

“Do you think we still need to hide? I mean … I saw the news,” she said stiffly. “The Council’s … in little, bitty pieces all over the street – thanks to you, I’m guessing.”

“Got a chip, can’t hurt anyone, can I?”



Buffy cocked a brow and gave him a ‘yeah, right’ look.

Spike shrugged. “Reckon I didn’t get ‘em all, luv. Sooner or later they’ll reorganize and they’re gonna want their Slayer back – one way or another. Not much for them to watch without a hero-type t’ yank around on a leash.”

“They have Faith,” Buffy pointed out.

Spike snorted. “Don’t reckon she sees a lot of vamp action in the big house. They need you or they’re just a bunch o’ old men sitting around twiddling each other.”

Buffy made a face much like the one she’d made trying to eat the watermelon salad thing the other night. “Thanks for that very disturbing visual.”



Spike shrugged. “’S true.”

Buffy sighed and looked back out at the ocean. After a few moments of silence she said, “I don’t know where to go.”

“Could go anywhere in the world, I reckon, but … we’ve only got so much money. I’ll need t’ be somewhere that I can make more and that don’t cost a bloody fortune to live.”

Spike dropped a colorful pamphlet down on the seat between them. Buffy picked it up and read with the lights from the house at their back.

“Croatia?” she said with surprise, looking up at him, then back down at the flyer.



“Know you like the beach, and they got some o’ the most beautiful there are in the world,” he explained, watching her as she looked at the cover of the booklet.

Spike motioned with his head at the brochure, and Buffy began turning pages. The beaches were breathtaking; the water was the color of gemstones – sapphire, aquamarine, topaz, and azurite all blending together – and seemed to go on forever.



“Why Croatia? Isn’t there a war going on there?” Buffy wondered.

“War’s over – they’re rebuilding. Can find some decent houses there fairly cheap – at least in comparison to other beach-front property. Plus, I doubt Angel has any bloody contacts there. Think we’d be safe from … helpful friends.”

“Do you even speak … Croa-ish?” Buffy wondered. “Or read it? They have … funny letters,” she pointed out, holding up the brochure, part of which was in the native language.

“Croatian,” Spike corrected. “No, but I can pick it up,” he assured her.

Buffy cocked a brow at him. “You can ‘pick it up’?”

Spike sighed. “Buffy, I been around the bloody world ten times. There was a time when it was … necessary for me to speak the language of the country I was in. It’s hard to get an invite into someone’s home if they can’t understand you. Back then the whole bloody world didn’t speak English. I got decent at learning languages; the devil knows Dru couldn’t do it.”

Buffy dropped her eyes back down to the brochure uncomfortably.

“It’s what I was, Buffy. You know that,” Spike defended.



“I know,” she agreed in a small voice.

“Not who I am now,” Spike continued. “I’ve changed.”

“I know,” she agreed again as she continued to scan the booklet. Finally she looked up at him, a thought dawning on her. “You … you’ve been thinking about this for a while.” She waved the booklet in the air – something he would’ve had to have mailed to him. “You’ve been looking into places to go since before … before you knew you were the father.”

“What did you think, I’d just abandon you and the bit … bits?” he asked, a tone of hurt annoyance in his voice.



“You were so angry. You said … I figured …” her voice trailed off and she looked away from him, back out at the waves.

“I say things … get brassed off and say things I don’t mean, but I’ll never stop loving you, Buffy. I’d never abandon you. Told ya before, I’m Love’s Bitch – much as I wish I wasn’t and sometimes try not to be. I don’t walk away from the people I love.” Then, in a lower, forlorn voice he admitted, “They walk away from me.”

“God, Spike,” Buffy moaned, sliding across the short distance between them. She laid a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him to her. He dropped his head to her shoulder and Buffy wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry. I was just … stupid … and selfish. I never meant to hurt you.

“I guess we’ve both been abandoned before,” she sighed as she stroked his back soothingly. “I won’t walk away from you, William. I’m here … I won’t leave you. I need you. I love you.”



A sob shuddered through Spike’s body and he laid a gentle hand on the little bump in Buffy’s tummy. It was the first time he’d actually touched it, touched the babies … his babies.

Buffy smiled sadly. “You’ve got a family now – a real family. You’re not alone.”

Spike lifted his head and met her shimmering eyes with his. “I love you, Buffy. Love the little bits.”

Buffy touched her lips to his, a gentle, chaste kiss. “We love you too.”

**~**

Later, after putting her empty ice cream bowl in the sink, Buffy hesitated before heading to the couch where her pillow and a blanket remained from the previous night. Even with all they’d talked about, she wasn’t sure what Spike expected of her now – and she honestly wasn’t sure how much she could give. Perhaps it would be better if she just continued to sleep on the couch, and Spike and the Bot could have the bedroom and … do the things that Buffy wasn’t sure she could do yet.

She picked her pillow up from the center of the couch where it had gotten tossed at some point during the day and realized the cash Spike had tossed at her was still in it. She reached into the pillowcase, scooped out the cash, and dropped it all onto one of the end tables; Spike could put it away later. When she began to settle the now cash-less pillow on one end of the couch, Spike reached for it and stopped her. Buffy didn’t release her hold, but looked up to meet his eyes as they both held the innocuous bit of bedding between them.

“Bed’s more comfy,” he offered gently, tilting his head toward the bedroom.

Buffy swallowed and looked back down at the couch. “I … don’t… think…

“I mean, maybe you’d rather be with … the Bot. It’s really ok. I don’t mind … I mean … I understand. You have … needs and I get that you’d want to … you know … be with her again.”

Spike furrowed his brows, the meaning of her subtle innuendo slowly dawning on him.



“You think I … that we …?” he stammered, turning to look at the bedroom and then back to Buffy. He shook his head.

“No … Buffy, I … we didn’t shag. Was gonna but …” Spike sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Was brassed off, wasn’t I? Was trying to hurt you like you hurt me but … I couldn’t do it.”

Buffy's brows furrowed to match Spike's, confusion returning. “But … she said two hours and thirty seven minutes of …” Buffy stopped and thought a moment, trying to remember the Bot’s exact words. “... sucking and comfort.”

Spike looked away from her uneasily, the pillow still suspended in their hands forming a fluffy barrier between the two blondes. “She held me is all … that was the comfort bit. Wasn't any sucking ...wasn’t anything more, pet. Didn’t shag ‘er … wasn’t her I wanted.”



“Oh,” Buffy whispered, unsure what to think or do. She just didn’t know if she was ready to give that yet. Her heart was thawing, but it wasn’t healed. She longed to be touched, but what if she freaked out and hurt him? What if he wanted, needed, more than she could give?

“Just let me hold you, pet. Not asking for more. Just to feel you and the bits next to me,” Spike pleaded.

Buffy blinked tears back and nodded, looking back up at him. “I’d … like that. I’m sorry …”

Spike laid a finger over her lips gently. “Don’t be sorry, luv. Gonna let you lead this dance – I’m happy to follow, just to be near you.”

Buffy gave him a sad smile and let him pull the pillow from her hands. She picked up the blanket and followed him into the bedroom. The Bot was already ‘asleep’, lying on one side of the king-sized bed charging. Spike tossed Buffy’s pillow in the center and she crawled in, leaving room for Spike on her other side.

He began to unfasten his belt and drop his jeans, then thought better of it, and just climbed in with them on. Buffy wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or saddened, but she was touched by the gesture. When he’d settled, she pulled the covers up over them and curled tentatively against his side. His arm snaked around her shoulders and Buffy’s body tensed in a primal reflex as the feeling of being trapped came over her. Spike began to pull back, sensing her unease.

“No … it’s … just let me get used to it. It’s okay, I just need a minute,” she assured him, stopping his retreat.

Spike slowly wrapped his arm around her shoulders again and pulled her against him gently.



Buffy concentrated on her breathing and on her anchor as she let Spike pull her against his body. She pictured the joy that had been in his eyes when he realized the bits were his. In her mind’s eye, his eyes gleamed with adoration and love and hope. She could see it again, touch it again, and a feeling of belonging, of not being alone, surged through her. A comforting warmth welled up deep inside her, something that she’d not felt for a long while, melting the glacier in her soul.

“Thank you,” she murmured to him as she settled her head on his bare shoulder.

“For what, luv?” Spike wondered. He should be thanking her. Her warm, soft body felt like heaven curled against him, the little bulge that contained their growing babies pressing against his side.

Buffy snorted softly and shook her head against his shoulder. “Everything.”

**~**

When Buffy awoke the next morning, Spike was spooned against her back. One of his hands was splayed over their babies protectively, keeping them safe from the big, bad world outside. The Bot, who had been ‘sleeping’ on the other side of Buffy, was apparently already up. They were alone.

Buffy closed her eyes and chastised herself for buying the bullshit Spike had shoveled at her when she’d asked him about having kids. She also dismissed her own fabricated worry that he’d hurt them if the chip ever quit working. Spike was no ordinary vamp. He never had been. She’d known that almost from the moment she’d first seen him, although the width and depth of his … Abby-Normal-ness hadn’t become clear to her until recently. Even when he thought the babies weren’t his, when he thought she’d cheated on him, he had been making plans on how to best take care of them … and her.



Buffy felt tears well behind her closed lids. How deep his love and loyalty must be. She felt that warmth well in her heart again, as she had the previous night when he held her, not pushing, not demanding anything from her but the chance to be next to her. He’d looked at her like … like she wasn’t garbage, like she didn’t still reek of Weatherby’s filth. Could that really be true?

The warm-fuzzy feeling began to spread out from her heart and throughout her body as the possibility that it was true unfurled inside her like a dormant flower emerging from a blanket of snow. Buffy could feel it growing, soothing her, flooding her with warmth. She was surprised to feel that tingling fire of desire ignite in her loins as the cold darkness in her soul was slowly melted away and replaced with a bright, balmy sphere of hope. She had been afraid that that monstrous bastard had forever extinguished her desire and passion, had turned it into something hurtful and foul.

An epiphany came to her, crystallizing in her heart and mind in that moment: What Weatherby did had nothing to do with desire for someone you loved, and everything to do with power and control. What he did was so far removed from anything she’d done with Spike that it was like comparing apples and … spaceships.

Even the games she and Spike had played weren’t about control, but about trust. Buffy wasn’t sure why she hadn’t realized it before, but it was suddenly so clear to her: locking her love away, denying herself the pleasure of being with Spike because of what Weatherby had done would only give the bastard more power over her. Even though he was hundreds or thousands of miles away, he was still controlling her, still manipulating her, still in charge of her.

Well, fuck that! Hadn’t that bastard taken enough from her? From Spike? From all of them?

Buffy focused on all the emotions that were stirring and whirling within her. They were like a physical sphere of warm, golden sunlight in her heart, and she willed it to remain a bright and shining beacon for her disordered mind to hold onto. Spike loved her. She loved him. Making love with him had nothing to do with what she’d experienced at the hands of a devil. Those days while she was a captive were a battle, a fight, a struggle to survive. Except in its intensity, depravity, and duration, it was no different than a hundred other fights she’d had with demonic monsters over the years.

Buffy took a deep breath and blinked back the tears that had built behind her closed lids. She laid her hand over Spike’s where it rested on her tummy, curling her fingers between his. He responded immediately, folding his long fingers closed and holding her fingers gently. Her heart fluttered with nervous glee, like a girl on her a first date, as Spike’s lips touched her shoulder with a gentle kiss.



“Mornin’,” he breathed against her golden skin, his voice deep and gritty from sleep.

“Morning,” she replied, her voice rough as well, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

“Spike, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, pet.”

“Would you be … upset if I didn’t want to go Croatia? I mean … it looks beautiful and all, but …” Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’d just like to raise my … our kids in the states where I … know what’s going on, can at least speak the language, and where I’d have some chance of getting a job … or maybe even going back to college.”

“Don’t know if I can make enough for us to live near the beach in the states. Assuming you wouldn’t want me doing anything … questionable – which I’m guessing you’d frown on.”

You’re gonna be a father, Spike,” she reminded him. “You can’t be doing things that will get you dusted … or arrested. You have to set an example … a good example.

“I don’t care about the beach. As long as we’re together and the kids are safe and happy, that’s all that matters. We can be like normal people and just go to the beach on summer vacation. We can live in one of those states in the middle … I’ll go by a different name, disappear into the ‘waving fields of wheat’.”

Spike snorted. “‘Amber waves of grain’,” he corrected.

Whatever,” Buffy sighed. “What do you think?”



She felt him shrug one shoulder behind her. “Could do. Would you be happy with that life, luv? A normal, boring life living ‘somewhere in the middle’?”

“Would you?” she countered worriedly.

“Long as I’m with you and our bits, I’ll be the happiest vamp in the bloody world,” he assured her.

“Are you sure? A life in the ‘burbs, far away from the Hellmouth – it’s kinda … not very good for Big Bad’s image and all. Can you be happy living in the light with us, Spike?”

“Told ya before, Buffy: I’ve changed. Know ya didn’t believe me, but it’s true. Loving you has changed me, made me … want to be a man again, be a good man, be your man. I’d walk in the bloody sun if that’s what it took t’ show you that being with you and the bits is all I need. If I’m with you, I’m … I’m complete, pet.”

Buffy squeezed his hand again, her heart swelling with even more hope. “Me too … with you, I mean.”

He kissed her shoulder again. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“How are we gonna get back to the states? I’m pretty sure the Council won’t lend us one of their planes so we can skip immigration. I might be able to get one – like say I lost it or something – but you and the Bot don’t have passports at all…” Buffy mused aloud.



“Been traveling the world without a bloody passport for a century, luv. I reckon I can work it out. We’ll probably need t’ take a ship, though. With them plane hijackings, doubt we can sneak on a jet.”

“That’s fine,” Buffy agreed.

“You’re right about the name, though. Be best t’ change yours, it will. And we should probably get the Bot a new first name, too, if you want t’ try and fit her in in the ‘burbs. Don’t reckon ‘BuffyBot’s on the list o’ most common given names.”

“Joan. Her name can be Joan,” Buffy announced immediately. “I always liked Joan. So Joan … ummm …"

“d’Arc,” Spike supplied immediately. “Joan of Arc.”

Buffy turned her head and smiled back over her shoulder at him. “Ok, Joan d’Arc. A little pretentious, but, hey – what the heck.



“So, that leaves me and the babies … Buffy d’Arc doesn’t really have the same ring. What’s your last name?” she asked. “Pretty sure ‘the Bloody’ isn’t actually your surname.”

Spike chuckled. “No, not exactly. We can … errr … pick any name ya want, luv. What do ya fancy? Something French t’ match Joan? Dubois, or Bissette, Delacroix’d be right ironic … ‘of the cross’.”

Buffy furrowed her brow and turned in his embrace so she was facing him and could fully see his face. “You don’t remember your own name?” she asked, confused.

Spike rolled his eyes. “I remember it, just …”

“Then tell me,” she prodded. “These are your babies, William, they deserve to have your name, not something made up. I need to know it.”

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Pratt,” he divulged reluctantly, never looking back down.

“Hey!” Buffy objected, frowning at him, her bottom lip coming out in a pout.

Spike sighed and dropped his eyes back to hers. “My name, pet … it’s ‘Pratt’.”

“Prat? Like what you call Xander all the time…?” she asked, confused.



“No, not the same – spelled different, it is. P-R-A-T-T.”

Buffy bit her bottom lip to hold back a grin. “But it sounds the same.”

Spike heaved a sigh. “Which is why I suggested…”

“No. I like it. William Pratt,” she said, trying it out. “What’s your middle name?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Wesley,” he ground out.

Buffy’s smile widened. “You must’ve gotten beat up a lot when you were a kid.”

“You have no bloody idea,” he groaned in agreement.

“William Wesley Pratt, Jr. and Dawn Joyce Pratt,” she announced, trying the names out as she rubbed her tummy with his hand. “What do you think, Dad?”



Spike gave her a smile, his heart swelling with pride. “Brilliant.”

Spike noticed that she didn’t try her own name out with his last name, but he didn’t comment. Just the thought of her giving the bits his name was more than he’d ever hoped for. He figured she’d probably come up with something later on to use for herself in their new life.

Buffy pressed in and kissed his mouth gently, pulling away before it got too intense. “I love you, William Wesley Pratt,” she said, leaning her forehead against his.

“I love you, too, Buffy,” he replied, reminding himself that he promised she could lead this dance, regardless of how much he wished that kiss had lasted longer.

Buffy dropped her lips back to Spike’s, and pressed him over onto his back, following him over until she was atop him. She sucked his delicious lower lip into her mouth like a bit of rich, luscious caramel and nibbled on it gently. Spike wrapped his arms around her, running his hands up and down her back as he let her control the kiss, savoring the feel of her body against his, of her lips teasing his.

Buffy tensed slightly when his arms went around her, but only for a second. Spike’s hands slowed a moment, but then resumed caressing her when he felt her relax against him again.

Buffy released his lip and covered his whole mouth with hers, her tongue darting out to press between his lips and teeth. He met her tongue with his and they swirled around each other in a slow, gentle dance that belied the need she was building in him.

Spike longed to tell her how much he wanted her, how much he’d missed her warm body surrounding him, but dared not lest he push her away. Time seemed to slow as the kiss continued, languid and sensuous. Her body pressed against his seductively, driving Spike to the verge of madness.



Buffy moaned against his lips, and her hips began to grind slow circles against his groin, drawing a rumbling groan of need from Spike’s throat. Buffy broke the kiss just as gently as she’d begun it, and sat back onto his hips.

With her eyes locked on his, he saw his own desire reflected back from their green depths. There was no fear or trepidation in them – they were Buffy through and through. Spike’s chest heaved with unneeded breath as he waited to follow her lead, his mind wandering off down wonderful paths along which she might guide him.

Buffy reached for the hem of her t-shirt and had just begun to lift it over her head when the bedroom door opened. The aroma of breakfast cooking wafted in through the open door and both blonds looked to see the Bot standing there.

“Breakfast will be ready in five and one half minutes,” she announced brightly.

“Oh,” Buffy responded, annoyed as she dropped the hem of her shirt. “Ummm … couldn’t it wait another … hour or two?”

“It is best consumed at the proper serving temperature, which it will reach in five and–”

“What are you making?” Buffy cut her off.

“Egg-white and tofu quiche with spinach, turkey-bacon, mushrooms, shallots, and tomatoes. I also have decaffeinated coffee,” the Bot replied proudly.

Buffy fought not to make a disgusted sound.

“It will now be ready for consumption in precisely five minutes,” the Bot announced before turning and heading back to the kitchenette.

Buffy looked down at Spike with a scowl. “I blame you for this,” she informed him dourly, poking a finger against his bare chest. “You need to take that book away from her and burn it. I don’t know how much more healthy food I can choke down. I’m American. I don’t eat that … that healthy, French crap. Turkey bacon is just wrong. Bacon does not come from turkeys! Turkey comes from turkeys! Bacon comes from … bacony things!

“If I don’t have a real, honest-to-goodness, fried, greasy hamburger – made out of honest-to-goodness, fatty beef – in the next two days, I will kill someone. Possibly you.”



“Relative sure tofu isn’t French, pet,” Spike defended.

“What is it then?” Buffy wondered.

“Errr … not rightly sure.”

“Exactly. I’m done eating things that I cannot identify. I’m very sure my mom didn’t eat tofu and egg-whites, and look how well I turned out.”

Spike pulled his lips between his teeth to smother a laugh. “Uhhhh … right. Turned out brilliant, you did, pet,” he agreed, however his voice didn’t really convey conviction – in fact it sounded a bit sarcastic.

Buffy glowered at him.

“Just kiddin’, luv. I’ll … see what I can do. She’s just tryin’ to help,” he assured Buffy seriously, rubbing his hands up and down her upper arms.

Buffy sighed and looked out the door to where the Bot was busy in the kitchen. “I know,” she moaned in agreement, her resolve and anger waning.

Buffy leaned down until her mouth was near Spike’s ear. She flicked her tongue out and ran it along the outer shell of his ear, sending a flood of shivers down Spike’s spine.



“We’ll finish this later,” she whispered to him.

“Yeah?” Spike asked hopefully as she pushed up, her hands flat on his chest, and met his eyes.

Buffy gave him a shy smile. “Yeah.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Jason Mraz - I Won't Give Up on YouTube  }}

When I look into your eyes
It's like watching the night sky
Or a beautiful sunrise
There's so much they hold
And just like them old stars
I see that you've come so far
To be right where you are
How old is your soul?

Well, I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up

And when you're needing your space
To do some navigating
I'll be here patiently waiting
To see what you find

'Cause even the stars they burn
Some even fall to the earth
We've got a lot to learn
God knows we're worth it
No, I won't give up

I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily
I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make
Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use
The tools and gifts we got, yeah, we got a lot at stake
And in the end, you're still my friend at least we did intend
For us to work, we didn't break, we didn't burn
We had to learn, how to bend, without the world caving in
I had to learn, what I've got, and what I'm not
And who I am

I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up
Still looking up.

Well, I won't give up on us (no I'm not giving up)
God knows I'm tough enough (I am tough, I am loved)
We've got a lot to learn (we're alive, we are loved)
God knows we're worth it (and we're worth it)

I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up
Chapter End Notes:
More to come. Is the angst over? Uhhhh ... never, but there will be a lull in it. Hope you still enjoy the chapters, even if they aren't tearing your heart out. Next Update on Tuesday.
**
Isn't that a beautiful song??
Sometimes by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Giant hugs to all you wonderful people that left me love notes to say the last chapter was not boring!! You have no idea how much better that makes me feel! I always worry that it will be if hearts are not being ripped out. xoxoxoxxoxo

And thanks always to PaganBaby, my evil-twin and beta reader.
Later that day …

Buffy came in from taking a swim, still drying her hair on one of the beach towels that came with the bungalow, to find Spike on the room’s computer. She walked up behind him and looked over his shoulder, still dripping water onto the tile floor.

“Whatcha doin’?” she wondered as she looked at the screen.



“Just some … research,” Spike divulged.

Buffy cocked a brow at him momentarily. ‘Spike’ and ‘research’ seemed un-mixy, but then she remembered the stuff he’d looked up and info he’d gotten on Croatia.

“On what?” she asked.

“Best places t’ raise kids in the US,” he reported.

“And?”

“Well, we got Buffalo, New York …” he began.

“Too cold,” Buffy stopped him.

“Figured,” Spike agreed. “Reckon that also eliminates Albany, Syracuse, Rochester…”



“Seriously?” Buffy asked, frowning.

Spike shrugged. “Don’t reckon you want to go to Des Moines, Iowa, either.”

“Definitely not – Riley’s from Iowa. Who put this list together?” Buffy wondered.

“Forbes Magazine,” Spike told her as he continued scanning the list.

“No wonder – you need to find a list by some hippies, not suits,” she advised.

Spike turned his head and looked up at her over his shoulder. “Woodstock was in New York, too, luv,” he reminded her.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I don’t do cold. Find someplace warm and fun and not all stuffed-shirty. Like Venice Beach, only without the beach and not in California.”

Spike went back to his search and clicked on another list of ‘best cities for families’ done by Parenting.com.



“Oh! Look! Austin, Texas. That sounds warm,” she observed pointing at the screen.

Spike clicked on it and began to read aloud, “‘Austin is a way-cool progressive city in a warm and sunny climate. City pools stay open year-round, and the bass are always biting at Town Lake.

“‘The self-proclaimed ‘Live Music Capital of the World’, Austin also hosts the annual South by Southwest music, film, and interactive festival. In recent years, some Austinites have adopted the unofficial slogan ‘Keep Austin Weird’. This interpretation of the classic, ‘Texas-style’ sense of independence refers to the traditional and proudly eclectic, liberal lifestyles of many Austin residents.



“‘With an abundance of pediatricians, 27,000 acres of parkland, and plenty of farmers’ markets and food co-ops, Austin is a well-rounded, healthy hometown.’”

“Perfect,” Buffy announced as she wrapped the towel around her hair to get it to stop dripping. “Sounds like we’d fit right in.”

Spike swiveled the chair all the way around to look at her. “Jumpin’ to decisions pretty fast aren’t ya, Slayer?”

“What? It sounds perfect. They like weird, we’re weird. What else is there to think about?” Buffy defended. “Just forgetting a moment that you’re a chipped-vampire, I’m an ex-Slayer, and the Bot is a … bot, how do you think a threesome of one guy living with identical twins and raising two small children would fit in in some conservative northern town?”

Spike frowned and scratched his head. “Reckon ya got me there, pet.”

“Don’t over-think it. I always find going with my first instinct is best. When I start thinking, that’s usually not of the good,” Buffy advised profoundly.

Spike laughed, although he was sure she wasn’t joking – at all. “Right then,” he agreed. “Austin it is. Reckon I have the afternoon free now. Whatever shall I do t’ fill the time?” he wondered with mock solemnity, looking up at her with an innocent, little-boy grin.



Buffy looked around the cabin. “Where’s the Bot … I mean Joan?”

“Out on errands.”

Buffy cocked a brow at him. “For how long?”

Spike smirked. “Long.”

Buffy grinned. “Really?”

“Mmmmhmmm,” Spike drawled as he stood up in front of her.

“I’m … all salty,” Buffy breathed as his bare chest brushed against her wet bikini top when he stood, sending shivers through her body.

“Enhances the flavor,” Spike purred. He clenched his fists against his thighs, physically restraining himself from pulling her against him and crushing his lips to hers.



“It’s bad for your blood pressure,” she teased. Buffy’s heart leapt at the brief contact and that familiar tingling fire sparked to life in her loins.

“Lucky I don’t ‘ave any,” he replied silkily.

“Mmm, lucky.” She licked her lips nervously waiting for him to kiss her, to pull her to him, to lead – but he didn’t move.

Spike mistook her delay, thinking she had changed her mind about finishing what they’d started earlier. After a few moments he cleared his throat and ducked his head as he stepped to the side, out of her personal space.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he moved away. “Didn’t mean t’ push.”



Buffy reached out and grabbed his hand. “No, Spike – I’m sorry. I … I’m just a little nervous … I’m not sure I’m ready to lead this dance.”

Spike nodded and lifted her hand to his lips. He dropped a soft kiss on her small but deadly knuckles, intending to release her hand and move away – to wait until she was ready.

“Would you … lead?” she asked tentatively before he could let go of her hand.

He tilted his head and looked at her questioningly.

“I mean …” She swallowed hard. “I love you. I trust you. Would you … make love to me? Remind me that it’s … not … like…” Buffy felt her throat tighten and tears sting her eyes. She blinked them back rapidly and cleared her throat. “Make love to me, William Pratt.”

Spike felt his heart swell at her words. He gently pulled her to him with the hand he’d been holding, and touched his lips to hers.

Buffy melted against him. She didn’t tense up this time, but instead allowed the circle of his strong arms to be her refuge, her sanctuary. She was safe here, she was loved – she didn’t have to be anything she wasn’t, didn’t have to worry about any dangers. Her anchor wouldn’t let her drift onto the rocks and crash.

“I love you, Buffy,” Spike murmured against her salty lips before deepening the kiss by slow degrees. She lost herself in the feeling of sweet surrender, of letting her defenses down, and basking in his love. His tongue gently delved into her mouth and swept across her teeth, then found hers and caressed it softly, lovingly.

Spike pulled away from the kiss just as he’d deepened it: by slow degrees, leaving Buffy panting for air when their lips finally parted. He bent down slowly, and gently lifted her into his arms with one hand under her knees and the other behind her back. Buffy’s arms snaked around his neck and the towel fell off her wet hair as he began walking with her into the bedroom.

Buffy’s heart skittered in her chest as she nuzzled her damp head against his shoulder. She felt the thrill of goose-flesh wash over her in a flood of emotion, tingling her body from head to toe in anticipation. Her whole body shivered in an uncontrollable reaction to being in Spike’s arms and what she knew would follow.

“All ya have to do is say ‘stop’ and I will, pet,” Spike assured her in a whisper as he gently laid her down on their bed. “Doesn’t matter when – if ya change your mind, just tell me. Never want t' hurt you, pet ... never.”

Buffy gave him a grateful smile and nodded, but deep down she knew that wouldn’t be necessary. There was nothing about this that compared in any way to what Weatherby had done – it was as different as night and day, as love and hate, as giving and taking.

Spike stood back up and let his eyes glide slowly over her body. Her limbs were lean and golden tan, her breasts, still covered by her bikini top, heaved with her excitement. His eyes would’ve normally stopped there for a good while, drinking in every curve, noticing how her nipples were hard against the thin, wet fabric of the top, but today they shifted lower, to the cute little bump in her once-flat, golden-tan, stomach. If he hadn’t known what it was, it wouldn’t have even been enough to draw a second look – but he knew.



He couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and dropping a loving kiss atop it before resuming his mission. Standing beside where she lay on the bed, he gently hooked the fingers of each hand beneath the bottoms of her suit where it clung to her shapely hips, and began to slide the damp cloth down her legs.

Buffy lifted her hips to free the material, and more goose-bumps erupted on her skin and chased his hands down her strong, lithe, gymnast’s legs. Spike’s hands never left her body as he pressed the fabric down over her thighs, her knees, her calves, her ankles. He trailed all the way to her bare, sandy toes before his strong, gentle hands left her flesh, and the wet suit dropped unceremoniously to the tile floor.

Still standing beside her with his jeans still on, Spike began the trek back up her legs with his hands. Pausing momentarily to tease and tickle the soft flesh at the back of her knees, causing Buffy to squirm, and a giggle to grace her lips.

“So beautiful you are, Buffy,” he whispered to her as his fingers danced in a gentle glissade up her golden limbs to her apex.

Buffy moaned when his hands passed over her springy curls like a ghost, never touching her skin. He watched her face as he backtracked and slid over them again, and again. Each gentle pass drew a moan of pleasure from her which warmed Spike like a ray of sunshine. On the next trip back around, he touched down more firmly, grazing her skin with his fingertips and her moan turned into a gasp of blissful delight.

He wished she’d talk to him like she used to, but perhaps it was just too soon for that. Or, he realized, since he was leading this dance, perhaps it should be up to him to begin the conversation. “Love how you moan when I touch you, luv. So passionate you are. Can smell your desire, pet. You smell like heaven, look like a tropical angel with a halo of brilliant spun gold. Got no idea what you do to me, Buffy. No bloody idea how much I love you…”

“Oh, Spike,” she breathed when he continued teasing her dark triangle, never delving between her wet folds. “Feels sooo good. I missed your touch. Missed this … missed you.”

“Never left, luv. Never will,” Spike reminded and assured her.

Buffy looked up and met his eyes. “I know … I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice sad.

“Shhhh,” Spike admonished her gently, his hand moving up to touch her cheek lovingly. “Not your fault, luv. Past is past … let me love you now and forever.”

Buffy bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Now and forever,” she confirmed.



Buffy laid her palm over his and sat up slowly, dropping her legs over the edge of the bed and turning to face him. She showered the alabaster skin of his hard, flat stomach with gentle kisses as he stood before her, then moved her hands to the button on his jeans. She unbuttoned them easily, then slid his zipper down gingerly, freeing his urgent need from the confines of the denim. 

Spike moaned when she kissed the waving head of his cock while her hands slid his jeans down his slim hips. Spike took a reluctant step back so he could step on the hem of one leg of his jeans and lift his foot clear before repeating the process with the other, finally freeing himself of them completely.

Buffy smiled as she watched him shrug out of them deftly – he only swayed and almost fell once – employing decades of experience and vampire grace, no doubt. “You know, shorts would be lots easier to get out of,” she suggested.

Spike snorted. “Big Bad does not wear bloody short pants,” he retorted tersely. “That’s for poofters and Nancy boys … and UPS drivers.”

Buffy bit her lip to contain her grin. “I heard otherwise,” she teased.



Spike scowled at her. “That wanker Harris,” he snarled. “Told him I’d rip his bloody lungs out if he…”

“Xander didn’t tell,” Buffy cut him off. “It was Willow.”

Spike growled in anger and frustration.

“I think you’d look cute in shorts,” she continued.

“Big Bad is not cute,” he informed her angrily.

“Adorable even,” she continued, unfazed.

Spike’s growl deepened and Buffy let the laugh out that she’d been holding back.

Spike let his agitation fade as the sound of her laugher rang in the room like sweet, silver bells. If he had to wear shorts pants to make her laugh, then he’d wear them every bloody day.

“You’re just taking the piss outta me,” he accused after a moment.

“Moi?” Buffy asked, widening her eyes, lifting a hand to her chest, and feigning innocence.



“Careful, Slayer, gonna use up all your conversational French tossing it about like that.”

Buffy huffed out a sharp breath of disagreement. “I know lots of French,” she assured him. “In fact, I know all the French anyone needs to know.”

Spike cocked a skeptical brow at her. “Let’s hear it then,” he challenged.

Buffy shook her head. “Can’t tell you, have to show you,” she told him, crooking her index finger at him in a ‘come closer’ gesture.

She kept the curling motion of her finger going until Spike had knelt in front of her so that his face was nearly level with hers. Then she leaned forward and captured his lips with hers, sliding her tongue between them. Their tongues met and swirled in his mouth, then his arms were around her and he was pulling her against him. Buffy ravished his lips and tongue until she began to feel light-headed and had to pull away.

“What more … French does … anyone need … to know?” she panted.

Spike grinned and shook his head. “Reckon ya got me there, Slayer.”

“Of course I do,” she replied, finally getting her breath back. “You’ll probably be better off when you understand and accept my two life rules.”

“What are those, then?”

“Rule number one: I’m always right. Rule number two: If I’m wrong, refer to rule number one.”

Spike chuckled. “Cheeky wench, you are.”

Buffy lifted one shoulder in a shrug and tilted her head to that side, offering no argument to his contention. “Thought you liked cheeky.”

“Nope … love cheeky,” he admitted. “Wouldn’t say no to another French lesson,” he purred, leaning in to kiss her again.

“Mmmmm,” Buffy burbled against his lips as he resumed the lesson, parting his lips to let her sweet tongue slide into his mouth.



Spike’s hands wandered over Buffy’s back and up to the bow that held the straps of her bikini top around her neck. He found the ends of the bow and tugged lightly, unfastening the straps of the damp garment easily. His hands followed the strings down until his palms rested on the naked curve of her breasts.

Buffy’s back arched when Spike’s thumbs raked over her cool, bare nipples, hardening them into tight pebbles with barely a touch. Their kiss broke when Buffy’s body tensed into a bow. Buffy leaned back on her hands, reluctantly pulling her lips from his, as her breasts thrust forward into his touch.

Spike dropped his mouth down to suck one hard nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue over the hard nub and drawing more moans of pleasure from Buffy. His hand continued to tease the other nipple, rolling it gently between his fingers, not wanting it to feel neglected in any way.

Her body reacted to his touch as if no time had passed since they’d last done this – as if nothing had happened to her since Vegas. But he knew differently, and he carefully kept his lust reined in. This was no time for wild Slayer/vampire fortification; this was the time for William to make love to Buffy.

Buffy reached one hand behind her back and tugged the bow that held the strap of the bikini top around her ribcage. It came free in an instant and slid to the bed. She didn’t want anything to hinder Spike’s wandering mouth or hands. She at once longed for his body to be atop her, for him to be sheathed inside her, and for him to continue doing exactly what he was doing.

His soft moans and murmurs against her salty skin made her feel beautiful, desired, wanted, and loved. His lips knew exactly where to touch her to make her body writhe and tremble. His hands moved over her body like a harpist’s ghosting over the strings; she could almost hear the lilting melody of heavenly angels ringing in her ears.



When his mouth moved away from her breast and he began to lick a line of tingling desire over her abdomen, Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. She watched him kissing and nipping and licking her golden skin as he moved down ever further, pausing only when he reached her navel to drop two soft kisses there, one for each little bit, before continuing his trek.

Kneeling in front of her, Spike pressed her knees apart with gentle pressure and lifted her legs up, draping them over his shoulders. He stopped a moment and inhaled as her pink, dew-soaked flower was opened to him. His eyes closed and he made the sort of sound in his throat she might make if she smelled brownies baking: a rapturous, orgasmic sound that came from somewhere deep down inside.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. She was looking at him with a combination of giddy anticipation and amusement. “Got no idea how beautiful you are, do ya, Slayer? How heavenly you smell…” Spike asked as he slid his hands up her outer thighs from her knees, finally settling them on her hips.

Buffy’s smile widened, she couldn’t help it. She’d spent her life being grossed out by vampires and their overactive olfactory senses, but somehow Spike made it seem sexy. “From that sound you made, I’m thinking I smell like brownies baking … double chocolate with walnuts.”



Spike tilted his head and gave her that sweet, indulgent smile he had – the one that meant he thought she was cute, if a little barmy … or cheeky … or maybe it was shirty. Buffy wasn’t exactly sure what most of those things meant, but he’d called her all of them at one time or another.

“Not exactly,” he replied. “But definitely good enough t’ eat,” he agreed, curling his tongue over his teeth hungrily.

Spike leaned into her and slid his tongue between her folds, catching the drops of moisture that clung there as that same moan emanated from his throat again.

The blissful moan that fell from Buffy's lips mirrored Spike's. She lifted her legs so that her feet, rather than the back of her thighs, were on his shoulders so he’d have more room. Her flower blossomed for him when she did that, revealing the source of her heavenly aroma and sweet nectar to him.

“Oh, Buffy…” Spike rumbled as he touched his tongue down on her clit, circling it gently before sucking the hard, throbbing nub between his lips.

Buffy’s body shuddered as he sucked and nipped at her bundle of nerves. She remained propped up on her elbows, watching him, mesmerized by his passion and the zeal with which he delved into her. Each touch of his tongue or lips sent bolts of quivering electricity down her legs and into her core. Her thighs quaked and trembled as he made love to her with his mouth and built her desire for him even higher.

When Spike slid a finger into her aching channel, Buffy gasped in pleasure. “God, yes, Spike … so good,” she breathed as his tongue flicked against her clit and his finger slid in and out of her in a slow, steady rhythm. After a moment, he increased the friction by adding another finger, and Buffy’s eyes feathered closed in ecstasy. When he stretched her wider with a third finger, it only took a few gentle thrusts for her body to give him what he’d been longing for: her cum.

“Yes, yes, yes …. Spike, yes,” she chanted, her voice low and breathless. When the wave of euphoria hit her, she let out a choked gasp, and her head rolled back, her body tensing and trembling in blissful climax.

“Don’t hold back, pet,” Spike cajoled gently. “Let it out … love to hear ya … let go,” he encouraged. He’d almost said he loved to hear her scream – which he did – but thought better of it at the last moment. His desire to hear her scream was the polar opposite of Weatherby’s, but there was no way to convey that in these few moments.

Spike’s hatred for the man redoubled when he felt her holding back, when her joyful exclamation was thwarted and left to languish in her throat. He would track the bastard down before they went back to the states. Nothing, not even his chip, could stop Spike from exacting full and proper revenge on the monster.

Buffy collapsed back onto the bed, her breathing coming in fits and gasps, as she came down from the crest of the ride Spike had taken her on. Spike slowed his ministrations, but continued making love to her with his mouth and hands as she floated back down from heaven. As her breathing and heart-rate slowly returned to near-normal, Spike savored her sweet and salty nectar, and the way her legs shook and quivered with uncontrollable spasms of electricity.

“God, Spike … so good, baby. You make me feel so good,” Buffy breathed.

Spike caressed her trembling thighs, then showered the tender flesh nearest his mouth with kisses. He gently dropped one, then the other of her legs down from his shoulders as he worshiped them with his mouth and hands, then rose back up to his feet between her legs.

Buffy opened her eyes and looked up at him, her gaze locking onto her refreshingly blue anchor. The azure warmth of his love seemed to flood into her heart and pump through her veins, burning every part of her deliciously. She began to slide back further on the bed as Spike joined her, stalking forward on hands and knees, matching her slow pace, never breaking eye contact. When her head nearly touched the other side of the bed, she stopped and waited for him to catch her with his lithe, panther crawl.

Spike settled his hips between her legs and dropped down to his elbows. He held himself up off her slightly, not wanting to put any undue pressure on the little bits, but wanting to feel her softness heating his body as only she could. Buffy framed his handsome face with her hands, her fingertips settling admiringly on his high, sharp cheekbones as her palms cradled his cheeks.

She pulled his lips down to hers with gentle pressure and kissed him with downy-softness. If not for the emotions he could practically feel rolling off her, and their naked bodies pressed together, the kisses she smoothed over his mouth would’ve been chaste and innocent. When she’d thoroughly covered his lips with the sweet kisses, she spread out, touching her lips to his strong chin, the tip of his nose, then to each eyelid, to the scar above his eye, to his forehead.

“I hope he looks just like you, our little William,” Buffy murmured against his cool skin. “He’ll be so handsome.”

Spike’s eyes blurred with emotion and he blinked to clear them. “Not as beautiful as a bitty Buffy,” he replied as he turned his head within her hands’ embrace, and dropped a kiss on her palm.

“They better be really cute kids,” Buffy teased as he looked back down into her eyes. “Because they’re gonna be stubborn as mules and … cheeky, and shirty … and barmy … and possibly even bratty, if they’re anything like Dawn. Their cuteness may be the only thing that will save them from their parents’ considerable wrath.”

Spike smiled down on her. “Too right,” he agreed, still smiling. “Good thing their mum is the epitome of calmness and serenity.”



Buffy barked out a short, sarcastic laugh. “And their dad has the patience of Job and the tolerance of Gandhi.”

Spike bit his lip and shook his head in defeat. “We’re buggered.”

Buffy laughed and her eyes sparkled with joy. Spike thought he’d never seen or heard anything more beautiful. His own eyes shone, sparkling like sapphires, as he drank her in. His Buffy. His Buffy was here with him in this moment. He could do anything with her at his side – even be a patient and tolerant father.

Buffy slid her hands behind his neck and lifted her head up until her mouth was near his ear. Her warm breath tickled his skin as she whispered, “Make love to me, William.”

As Buffy settled back onto the soft mattress, Spike met and held her eyes with his. He slowly pushed up on strong arms to support his weight above her, never breaking eye contact with his beautiful, cheeky goddess. Buffy wrapped her legs around his hips as he shifted back slightly, then Buffy’s hand was between them guiding him into her welcoming warmth.

Spike moved slowly, perhaps more slowly than he had the very first time they’d made love, afraid of hurting her or frightening her. He knew she was healed physically from her ordeal, but her mind, he was sure, was still fragile, like a delicate, silvered glass Christmas ornament. He wanted this to be perfect for her, to show her that he’d never hurt her, he’d cherish her forever.



Buffy gasped as he pressed in, and her eyes fluttered closed, but she willed them open again, back to his loving gaze.

Spike stopped moving. “You alright, luv?” he asked gently.

“Perfect,” she replied, her voice thick with emotion. “I almost forgot how good that feels … that moment of connection. It’s like …” Buffy bit her bottom lip a moment, searching his eyes as if she’d find the perfect word floating in their cerulean depths.

“Love,” Spike provided.

Buffy tilted her head slightly in agreement, but added breathlessly, “It’s the summer sunshine on a clear, blue sea. It’s bright and dazzling … tingling hot on my body.”

Spike looked at her with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Had she actually remembered William’s poetic drivel that he’d prattled on about all those weeks ago?

Buffy smiled up at him. “Next comes the thunder rolling over a beach at sunrise,” she continued in the same quiet voice.

Spike waited, looking for the mocking glint in her eyes, but it never came. She wasn’t making fun of him and his bloody pathetic, poetic notions. “Didn’t know you were … really listening to that prattle. Kinda hoped you’d’ve forgotten,” he admitted after a moment, ducking his head a bit with embarrassment.



Buffy brought her hands down from around his neck to his face, and forced his discomfited eyes back to hers. “Didn’t I tell you that it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me? Did you think I was lying? Did really you think I wouldn’t remember?”

Spike shook his head in awe, then took a deep, unneeded breath, and pressed into her a little more. “Paris in spring…” he murmured to her.

Buffy moaned her agreement. “Rio during Carnival,” she added as he continued his slow plunge into her warm, wet, soft depths.

“Like bein’ born,” Spike managed as his hips came to rest against hers, his hardness buried in her to the hilt, their eyes never wavering from the depths of the other.

“Like dying,” Buffy added with a moan, as shivers of fire raced through her body, raising a sheen of perspiration across her salty skin even as chilly, goose-bumps peppered her flesh. “Take me to heaven on earth, Spike …”

Spike began sliding out almost as slowly as he’d pressed in. The sensation sent morsels of pure pleasure ricocheting through Buffy’s body as she felt his shaft pulling against her body’s need to keep him inside. And then he was pressing back in, and her body rejoiced, clutching at his hardness, pulling him deep into her core with the ferocity of her need.

“Oh, yes, Spike. Nearly forgot how good … how you fill me, how you feel inside me – against me. So perfect.”

“You’re bloody glorious, pet,” Spike breathed back as the tempo of his hips moving against hers increased. “Never known a woman like you. Never want to lose you, Buffy. You make me feel … like a man.”

“You are a man, Spike. My man … our babies’ father. You aren’t gonna lose me. You’re my anchor. I need you … I love you,” Buffy assured him as she matched his new rhythm, lifting her hips up to meet his with each thrust.

“Love you, Buffy. Love you more than you can know,” he gasped back before both of them lost the ability to do more than murmur random words of praise and love, and moan the other’s name.



The hurricane, tornado, earthquake, and tidal wave that Spike had included in his list of how it felt to be with her, to be inside her, came upon them as gentle nudges at first. Like the pre-tremors before the quake, the breeze before the tornado, the gentle rain before the hurricane, the calm before the storm; the sensations built slowly but surely.

The two lovers were forces of nature all their own. When the full vehemence and power of their volcano erupted and added its power to the quakes and storms already brewing, it sent them both spiraling to the heaven that she’d asked of him. Together they flew up into the rapturous abyss to tumble between the stars, to glide along the Milky Way, to touch the sun, and blaze across the moon. Their bodies remained behind, helplessly intertwined in the primal dance of life and love and bliss that they brought to each other, while their spirits soared.



After reveling in the playground of the gods, they floated gently back to earth, like ashes from the explosion they’d conjured, back to their spent and gasping bodies.

As they came back to themselves, they were still helplessly, hopelessly, tangled, connected, clinging to each other. Buffy steadfastly held Spike to her, secure in the knowledge that his weight atop her would not harm the little bits inside her belly. Her arms clung to his back, her legs encircled his slim hips, and her womanhood held his spent cock inside her in a tight embrace.

Spike had been careful to not flop down on Buffy, but willingly accepted her gentle insistence on pulling his body against hers. His arms snaked beneath her shoulders, and his fingers curled in her golden tresses as he rested against her, his face buried against the thrumming artery in her neck.



“Warm, gooey caramel and soft, fluffy clouds,” Buffy rasped out, turning her head slightly so her breath tickled Spike’s neck.

She could feel him smile against her over-heated skin.

“Rain on a tin roof,” he countered, his voice a rumble against her neck.

“Snow on Christmas morning,” she offered.

“Undying love,” he finished, lifting up to touch his lips to hers.

“Undying love,” she whispered back against his luscious mouth.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Britney Spears, Sometimes on YouTube  }}

You tell me you're in love with me
Like you can't take your pretty eyes away from me
It's not that I don't want to stay
But every time you come too close I move away 

I wanna believe in everything you say
'Cause it sounds so good
But if you really want me, move slow
There's things about me you just have to know

[CHORUS:]
Sometimes I run
Sometimes I hide
Sometimes I'm scared of you
But all I really want is to hold you tight
Treat you right, be with you day and night
Baby, all I need is time

I don't wanna be so shy
Every time that I'm alone I wonder why
Hope that you will wait for me
You'll see that you're the only one for me

I wanna believe in everything that you say
'Cause it sounds so good
But if you really want me, move slow
There's things about me you just have to know

[Repeat CHORUS]

Jest hang around and you'll see
There's nowhere I'd rather be
If you love me, trust in me
The way that I trust in you

[Repeat CHORUS]
Chapter End Notes:
{{  Click here if you want to find out if you are weird enough for Austin  }}


Okay, yeah, I know Britney Spears has become a joke, but I like this song and I think the lyrics fit where Buffy is ... so ... {shrug}. Coming up next Saturday: Spike and Buffy have fun in France (hopefully you will laugh), among other things.

Ok, I have a poll for you guys. You don't have to leave your name or anything if you don't want to, but let me know in your feedback if you'd like another threesome later in the story or not. I have a spot where one will fit in, but I'm just not sure whether to do it or not. What do you think?
Cheeseburger In Paradise by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Warning for this chapter: Artery-clogging grease!


Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile. All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
The next evening after dark …

“Oh. My. God! Seriously?! This has been here the entire time and I’ve been eating tofu!?” Buffy jumped from the car almost before Spike had it in a parking spot, and certainly before he had it stopped.



“The Holy Grail of American fast food was right here, not five miles from our house, and you let me eat freaking tofu?!” Buffy growled at him angrily as she came around to the front of the car and started for the door of the dining establishment.

Spike got the ignition killed and set the brake before joining her. “Not my fault, the Bo… Joan…” Spike began, immediately on the defensive.

“Oh, right, I forgot, Joan’s in charge of my dietary requirements. You had absolutely noooo say in the matter. One cookbook does not a connoisseur of American cuisine make – especially when the cook doesn’t even eat,” Buffy snarled back as she swung the door with the giant, yellow ‘M’ emblazoned on it open and headed inside.

She’d only gotten a couple of steps into the dining area when she had to stop. Her eyes fluttered closed and her knees even wobbled a bit in utter, gastrointestinal ecstasy. The aroma – oh, sweet Jesus – the aroma of fatty, fried burgers and deep-fried, artery-clogging potatoes swept over her like a long, lost lover. She closed her eyes and just … breathed.

McDonald’s.

She had an almost uncontrollable urge to drop to her knees and kiss the red tile floor – she was home. Or as close to home as she could get in France.

Spike came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, leaning his chest against her back. “Don’t forget who brought you to this Mecca of supersized pleasure,” he whispered in her ear seductively, then added, “And for God’s sake, don’t tell Joan! She’ll bloody kill me.”



Buffy laughed and finally opened her eyes. People in the booths and tables were looking at her like she’d lost her mind. She didn’t care. She was at McDonald’s! Her heart sang. Her stomach rumbled. Her taste buds tingled with anticipation. This was almost as good as sex with Spike. Okay, not really – but at that moment it was heavenly.

“Promise to bring me here every single day and I won’t tell,” Buffy offered slyly.



“That’s blackmail!” Spike accused, scowling at her, his fine sense of decorum severely affronted.

“Blackmail’s such a harsh word,” Buffy objected.

“How do ya feel about 'extortion', then?” he wondered.

“I prefer to think of it as incentive,” Buffy defended as she pulled away from him, took one of his hands in hers, and headed for the counter. Up at the front, she stood back a bit, studying the colorful menu above the cashiers.

Her face scrunched up in thought. Everything was in French. That is just so wrong. “Bagels?” she commented, looking at the pictures, “Burgers do not go on bagels!” she scoffed, clearly disturbed.

“What’re those?” she asked pointing to pictures of some wrap-type sandwiches.

“The Fish McWrap and the Goat McWrap,” Spike translated.

Buffy’s jaw dropped and she looked at him to see if he was joking. He wasn’t – she could tell, he didn’t have that evil glint in his eyes.

“Goat … goat?!” Buffy shuddered. “That’s just wrong.”

She looked back at the board again and her frown deepened. “Where’s the Quarter Pounder with Cheese?” she asked Spike.



“Errr … don’t see it, pet,” Spike confirmed.

Philistines,” she growled.

“Sorry, luv,” Spike offered. “Got Big Mac,” he suggested.

Buffy pouted. “It’s not the same. The Big Mac’s all about the special sauce – which is basically French dressing …

“Hey! What do they call French dressing in France?” Buffy wondered suddenly, looking over at Spike with seriously inquisitive eyes. “Do they just call it ‘dressing’? Is it the same as our French dressing: doctored-up ketchup? And do they have an American dressing? Or is our French dressing their American dressing? Or do they have American-French dressing, which would be different than French-French dressing? Inquiring minds want to know.”

Spike just stared at her blankly for several of her heartbeats. “Your mind’s a scary bloody place, Summers,” he deadpanned.



Buffy smiled and turned back to the menu, lifting her chin proudly. “Thank you.”

After studying the menu-board another minute, she stepped up to an open cashier and placed her order – in good ole American-English. This was McDonald’s, damn it! “Four double-cheeseburgers, a supersized order of fries – you do have Heinz ketchup, don’t you?” she asked worriedly.

The clerk nodded.

Buffy let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” she mumbled before continuing, “Ummm … a large Coke, and a hot fudge sundae.” Buffy turned to Spike, “Do you want anything?”

Spike choked. “Uhhh … I’ll just have some o’ your fries.”

Buffy turned back to the cashier. “Make that two supersized orders of fries.”

“Bloody hell, Slayer, you feeding a Mongol horde?” Spike asked as he pulled some cash from his pocket and handed the bills to the clerk.

Buffy rubbed the little bulge in her stomach and smiled demurely. “Pretty close.”



**~**

Buffy was giddy with anticipation as she slid into a booth with the tray of artery-clogging fast-food. She reverently peeled back the waxy paper from the first of her hamburgers as if unwrapping a jewel-encrusted Fabergé egg. Her mouth watered and she licked her lips as she took the top bun off the burger. She removed the pickles gingerly, barely touching them with the tips of her fingers, and setting them off to the side of the paper, before replacing the bun atop the burger.

Spike slid in across from her and watched her with amusement as she then opened a pack of Heinz ketchup – accept no substitutes! – with her teeth, and squeezed the contents out on the other side of the burger’s former wrapper turned serving platter. Next, she picked up three French fries, dragged the tips through the ketchup, and lifted them to her lips. She took a bite of the ketchup-coated fries, then lowered them and dunked them in the sauce again – yes, double-dipping is acceptable etiquette in McDonald’s – before finishing them with a glorious moan, licking the salt from her fingers. After that, she picked up the burger and took a large bite, following the potatoes with an all-beef-patty chaser.

"Can hear your arteries narrowing as we sit 'ere," he commented, watching her chew a large mouth-full of burger and bread.

"Everyone knows that blood flowing too freely is bad for you," Buffy retorted after washing her bite of ambrosia down with a drink of her Coke.

"That right?" Spike asked, quirking a brow at her suspiciously.

"Well, duh! If blood flowed too freely, you'd totally bleed to death from a paper cut! Geez, Spike ... I thought you'd know more about blood, considering your ... fascination with it."



Spike chuckled, shaking his head at her logic, and reached for one of her fries. She slapped his hand away adamantly. “Mine! Those are yours,” she informed him, tilting her head to the other order of fries on the tray.

“Touchy, you are, pet,” Spike complained, taking a few fries from his pack.

“Don’t get between a pregnant American and her McDonald’s fries,” Buffy warned, taking another bite of her hamburger.

“Words t’ live by, I reckon.”

Buffy nodded, switching back to devouring another trio of fries.

“Gonna eat them pickles?” Spike asked, eyeing the forlorn green discs on the paper.

Buffy scowled at him and wrinkled her nose. “Gross – no way. They’re … wilted.”

Spike laughed as he picked them up and popped them into his mouth. “Why don’t ya just ask for the burger without pickles, luv?”



“This is McDonald’s,” Buffy scoffed in explanation.

Spike’s brows furrowed, waiting for additional elucidation from her – nothing more came. He blew out a breath and shook his head as he ate more of his own fries. “You Yanks are a bloody strange lot.”

Buffy huffed out a breath. “At least we don’t have freaking goat wraps at McDonald’s.”

Spike shrugged. “Point.”

**~**

A couple of weeks later…



Buffy wandered in a seemingly aimless, meandering path through the hallowed halls of the Louvre, and Spike followed. Her eyes took in masterpiece after masterpiece, rarely settling on any one for long. She’d comment at times, but mostly she was silent as they literally strolled through history.

When even the Mona Lisa drew only gentle acknowledgment from her, Spike started to wonder if this had been a bad idea. She’d enjoyed the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame, and even that cheesy, tourist-y boat tour on the River Seine. Of course, none of those things seemed to move her quite as much as that first trip into McDonald’s. Yanks!

Still, it was possible they’d never be in Paris again, and he wanted to make sure she at least saw the high points lest she regret it later.

So, when Buffy finally stopped her amble, Spike took note. He stood next to her and a little behind where he could watch her face as much as look at the sculpture she was gazing at intently. After a full minute had passed in silence she remarked, “It doesn’t look like a shoe.”

Spike pulled his top lip between his teeth to smother the chuckle that threatened, then cleared his throat. “Nike was a goddess before she was a shoe, pet. The Goddess of Victory.”

Buffy looked at him a moment, her expression unreadable. “Oh. I knew that,” she asserted flatly, looking back at the giant, winged statue before them.



“This is called ‘Winged Victory of Samothrace’ – it’s Greek. Been here since 1884 – I remember Dru wanted me to steal …”

Buffy cocked a brow at him.

“Errrr …” he stammered, ducking his head uncomfortably.

“So, did you?” Buffy asked, giving him a suspicious look.

“Still here, innit?” he pointed out, waving a hand at the enormous marble deity. “Too bloody heavy.”



Buffy blinked. “So you did try to steal it,” she deduced.

Spike shrugged. “Didn’t ‘ave enough minions t’ carry the soddin’ thing,” he explained. “Don’t know what she wanted it for – said it spoke to ‘er. Good bloody thing Miss Edith came along, I’d a’ hated to lug that chunk o’ rock around the bloody globe with us.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and looked back at the statue, which seemed capable of taking flight at any moment. “That’s wrong on so many levels.”

“What? Do anything for my girl,” Spike reminded her.

Buffy shook her head. “Not that; the fact that Dru and I were both drawn to it. But it’s got … something…” Buffy furrowed her brow and tilted her head slightly as she tried to find words to describe what it was.

“Power? Elegance? Grace? Dignity? Grandeur? Exultation?” Spike supplied.



Buffy nodded absently, agreeing to all those, as she began to move around the colossal marble sculpture in a slow circle.

“A certain je ne sais quoi?” Spike offered when she didn’t actually answer. He began stalking after her, following in her awed wake.

“I don’t speak French … much,” Buffy reminded him, not taking her eyes off the sculpture. “But, it has a certain something … I don’t know what.”

Spike stifled another laugh with a cough. “That’s what ‘je ne sais quoi’ means, luv.”

Buffy looked at him. “What?”

“‘I don’t know what,’” Spike answered.

Buffy frowned. “If you don’t know what it means, then why are you saying it?”

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “It means: ‘I don’t know what’,” he ground out slowly as if speaking to a dimwitted, perhaps comatose, puppy.

“You really shouldn’t say stuff in other languages if you don’t know what it means, Spike. I know in school, a kid got me to say–”



“Buffy,” Spike cut her off, his tone scolding. “I do know what it bloody means. It means ... ‘a certain something’. Literally, ‘I don’t know what.’”

“And again I say …” Buffy began, but a teasing smile quirked the corner of her mouth and gave her away.

“You cheeky wench,” Spike growled when he realized she was taking the piss out of him. He pulled her into an embrace and dipped his head to nibble on the curve of her shoulder where it met her neck. “I should drain you and leave you at the goddess’ feet for that,” he snarled against her skin.

Buffy laughed and, despite the searing bliss of his lips against her skin, she pushed him back. “People are looking,” she whispered, casting furtive glances around at the other patrons.

“Let ‘em look. Just jealous, they are. All they can do is look at the soddin’ sculpture, I got the real thing.”

Buffy couldn’t help the grin that spread over her face or the swell that filled her heart, which actually made it hard to breathe. She turned in his arms and looked back at the magnificent Goddess of Triumph, leaning against Spike’s strong back, and holding his arms around her tummy and their babies.

“I think it suits us … we won,” she murmured.

“We did, luv,” Spike agreed, nuzzling her neck gently. “That we did.”



**~**

A couple of weeks later, back in London…

Buffy stood as still as the statue that Spike had compared her to back in Paris, but she felt none of the overwhelming awe that it had inspired as she looked through the observation window and into the small room. Despite her stiff, perhaps even detached, stature, her heart was thundering painfully in her chest, threatening to break her ribs, and she could barely breathe.



“You alright, luv?” Spike asked worriedly, his words gentle and guarded.

She nodded. Once. A barely perceivable motion of her head only noticeable because of the slight shift of her hair. Nothing else moved.

“Breathe, pet,” Spike advised, moving closer to her and laying a comforting hand at the small of her back. Spike was afraid he'd made a terrible mistake letting Buffy talk him into bringing her here.

Another miniscule nod.

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Spike continued, his gaze following hers through the reinforced glass to the blind man on the other side.

She did not nod this time, but did try quite resolutely to breathe.

“What happened to him?” Buffy wondered, her voice a bare squeak of breath through her suddenly dry lips.

Spike swallowed. “Doc says they found ‘im stripped, gagged, strung up, and locked in ‘is garage. Apparently a hive o’ angry hornets was left with him … and a bloody bucket-full o’ red ants … and a few crows. Did a bit of a number on ‘im, they did. Said he’d been in there a good, long while ‘fore anyone realized he was missin’. Shame that.”

Buffy slowly turned her head and looked at Spike, her eyes wide. Her words to Spike echoed in her mind, I want to … to … strip his clothes off, string him up, and pour red ants all over him, then put him in a room with a hive of hornets, and then bury him up to his neck in the desert and let the buzzards peck his eyes out and eat his brain.

“You.”



Spike pursed his lips and shook his head, tapping a finger to his forehead. “Can’t. He’s human … technically speaking, of course.”

Buffy looked back at her worst nightmare come to life, now broken, blinded, strapped to a hospital bed, and lost in catatonia.

“Joan,” she amended softly, remembering the three days Spike and Joan had been gone supposedly securing transport for the three of them back to the States. At the time he’d insisted that it would be boring, that the trip would be long and tiring, and he had suggested that Buffy just relax on the beach while he and Joan took care of it.

Spike shrugged noncommittally.

“Couldn’t catch any buzzards to put in there with him, huh?” she asked flatly. “I guess the crows worked.”

Spike shrugged again. “Dunno what you mean, luv.”

Buffy snorted a wordless scoff, clearly not fooled.

“What do ya want t’ do?” Spike asked, ignoring her cynicism.



Buffy didn’t answer. She just stared at the monster that had haunted her nightmares – both sleeping and awake – for weeks. The monster that had violated her, who she was sure had tried his best to make her abort her babies, who had weakened her and used her and humiliated her and …

She clenched her jaw and refused to allow the painful memories to bring tears to her eyes. She wasn’t weak anymore. She could smash through that window and crush the life out of him before any of the hospital’s orderlies could intervene. She felt rage surge up from her belly. Her body stiffened and she began to tremble with the depth of her anger. She fought against it just as she’d fought the tears, even as her heart hammered ever harder against her ribs, urging her to act, to exact the ultimate revenge, to kill the bastard.

“Buffy?” Spike’s voice was very near, very soft.

Buffy closed her eyes and forced a deep breath of the horrid-smelling air of the mental hospital into her lungs. As she continued to breathe in the sickly-smelling air, her trembling slowed and finally ceased, and her heart-rate began to pull back until it was a mere gallop.

“Nothing,” she said finally. “Leave him.”

Spike leaned forward so she could see his face. “You sure?”



She blinked her eyes open and was immediately blanketed by the cobalt blue depths of love and concern that were Spike’s eyes. The rage within her waned, replaced by the warmth and courage that Spike brought her. She nodded, this time more adamantly.

“I refuse to be turned into a monster like him,” she said after a moment, her words steeled with the strength of her anchor.

Spike nodded, and looked away, hiding a wince. And like me? he wondered grimly.

Spike turned back to look at the crazed skeleton that used to be a human. Its thin, pallid skin was covered with angry, red welts, pustules, and wounds from its ordeal in the garage. Its eyes were covered with formerly-white bandages, now stained brown with blood and other fluids that oozed from the empty sockets.

“Living like this is probably more punishment that I could’ve ever delivered anyway,” she continued, as her breathing and heart-rate both slowly came under control, and her adrenaline grudgingly waned.

She turned her gaze to Spike who stood beside her, his hand still resting gently against the small of her back. She knew he’d done it for her. He’d done it so she wouldn’t have to. He did it so she would never have to free the raging monster within her that wanted revenge, and then face that monster in the mirror every morning. “Thank you.”

Spike cocked a brow, slowly turning his face back to hers. “For what?”

“Putting him here.”

Spike lowered his eyes and gave her a slight nod. It would be the only acknowledgement on the subject that he’d ever give her.



**~**

Buffy woke the next evening with excited butterflies dancing in her stomach. They were starting for home – back to America – today. Spike hadn’t divulged much of the travel arrangements to her, other than to say they’d be sailing and passports wouldn’t be an issue. She was pretty sure she didn’t want to know any more, honestly. She loved him, but his methods were sometimes … questionable. She knew he didn’t hurt anyone to secure their passage, but being ignorant of just what he had done, she’d decided, was probably best.

Buffy had never sailed before – well not on anything as large and grand as whatever would cross the Atlantic – and she was giddy with excitement about the upcoming adventure.

She looked down and ran her fingers through her lover’s disheveled hair, spiking it up in places where the curls would allow. He looked so angelic, sleeping with his ear pressed against her abdomen, listening for their babies’ heartbeats. He said he could hear them sometimes, although at their last appointment before leaving France, Marie-Élise said it would probably be a few more weeks before they could actually be heard with a stethoscope, and that it was probably Buffy’s heartbeat he was hearing. Spike hadn’t argued with the midwife, but grumbled that he knew the bloody difference when he and Buffy were alone. Buffy was sure he was right – if anyone knew the difference, it would be Spike.

She’d awoken with him in this position on more than one morning, and it warmed the cockles of her heart … whatever they were. He was the strangest vampire she’d ever known or even heard of. That wasn’t a giant revelation to her now, of course, but it still made her smile thinking about her first meeting with the Big Bad. If she’d only known then what she knew now, how different would her life have been?

Buffy intertwined the fingers of her other hand with the hand Spike had resting on the slope of her tummy just under her breasts and was met with something unexpected: jewelry. He hadn’t been wearing any jewelry lately – or even painting his nails black, for that matter.

She lifted his hand up and looked at it. On his left ring finger was a plain gold band – a wedding band. Her brow furrowed. When the hell had Spike gotten married? And to who? Buffy shook her head, that was crazy. Of course Spike wasn’t married. But why was he wearing a …



“Mornin’ luv,” he murmured, his eyes blinking open as a wide yawn parted his lips.

“Something you want to share with the class, Mr. Pratt?” Buffy questioned, turning his hand so he could see the ring on his own finger.

Spike cleared his throat and sat up from his awkward sleeping position, where he’d been using her belly as a pillow. His back cracked and popped a few times as he straightened it. Then he tilted his head from side to side, eliciting more loud cracks of bone settling back into their proper alignment.

He was stalling. Buffy knew the tactic. She waited.

“Nothin’ to tell, is there?” he said at last, twirling the ring with his thumb. “Just thought it’d look better if we … well … didn’t want anyone t’ think … that the bits … that I didn’t … that you were … that …”



Buffy’s brows inched upward the longer he stammered. She let him keep on stuttering for a while before offering, “You didn’t want anyone to think I was an unmarried, shameless hussy carrying bastard babies belonging to some unknown father?”

“Well. Now that you mention it … yeah,” Spike agreed.

“So … you … what? Stole some…”

“Didn’t steal!” Spike defended. “Bought,” he assured her as he pulled two smaller-sized rings from the pinky of his right hand and held them out to her.

Buffy glared at him incredulously, ignoring the proffered jewelry: a small, almost infinitesimal, diamond engagement ring and a plain gold wedding band.

“Wow. That is soooo romantic,” she sneered at last, still ignoring the rings.

Spike’s eyes widened in surprise. “I … errr … huh?”

Buffy huffed out a disgusted breath and tossed the covers off. “Sorry to interrupt this farce, but I’ve got to pee,” she announced as she got up and stalked to the bathroom. The door slammed behind her, leaving Spike utterly confused in the subsequent silence of the hotel room.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and waited for her to return, trying to suss out his hormonal Slayer. Not even half-way through her pregnancy and she was already driving him mad with her un-suss-able mood swings.

When she finally emerged several minutes later, he stood up and tried again. “I know the diamond isn’t much, luv,” he offered apologetically. “Can get somethin' nicer later, after we're settled. Thought you’d rather spend our money on a house for the bits than a little bauble for your hand. ”

“Did you? Well, that was very thoughtful, Spike,” she snarled back, walking past him to retrieve her clothes for the day.

He watched her sorting angrily through her suitcase – which had been neatly packed a moment ago – shoving things this way and that, to find what she wanted. After a moment, her hands went still and her chin dropped to her chest. He could just see a small quake of a sob shudder her shoulders.

Bloody hormonal woman, Spike thought to himself, but his anger lost its edge when he smelled her tears.

“Buffy?” he tried, his voice gentle. “What’s wrong, pet?” he asked, moving forward to stand behind her.



“Nothing,” she replied, her voice cracking with the tears he couldn’t see but could smell, and now feel, stab into his heart.

“Please tell me,” Spike begged, gently turning her around to face him. He touched one curled finger under her chin and lifted her face up to his. “Buffy, what did I do?”

She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. “Nothing. It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry the ring’s not…”

She shook her head again. “It’s fine. It’s … There’s nothing wrong with the rings. They’re … perfect.”



“Then what?” Spike wondered, wishing she’d just for once in her bloody life not make him figure out what was rambling around in her scrambled, barmy, Slayer brain.

Buffy swiped angrily at her traitorous tears and took the rings from Spike’s hand. “Blame Walt Disney,” she said cryptically as she shakily slid the rings on her finger – they fit perfectly.

Spike was sure a day would come when his face would freeze into a permanent befuddled caricature of himself – it was only a matter of time – as he tried to understand his Slayer.

“You’re upset ‘cos I didn’t take you to Disneyland Paris?” he guessed.

Buffy choked out a bittersweet laugh. “No. It’s just …” she waved a hand vaguely – her left hand, with the rings. She sighed. “I guess I just always thought … one day … someone would … ask me to marry him and … it would be … not like this. Not a … lie – not an act.

“I thought there would be … little cartoon bluebirds fluttering around dropping rose petals on my head, and pounding, cartoon hearts bouncing around my chest, and … angels singing ... harps and trumpets. It’s just … stupid girl stuff. Fucking Walt Disney and his stupid movies,” she spat, turning back around to resume her search for something to wear.

Spike’s jaw dropped open. “Buffy … are you sayin’ … what are you saying?”

“I’m saying Cinderella is a skanky ho bitch who should die a horrible death, and I damn sure won’t ever let little Dawn watch any Disney movies,” she replied, keeping her eyes on her task. “They’re just … cruel … and … and heartbreaking when girls grow up and find out it’s all a horrible lie. Life’s not like the movies.”

“B-but …” Spike stammered, his heart suddenly in his throat. “You … I didn’t think you … when you were trying out the names for the bits … you didn’t … yours … you didn’t ever say … Buffy … Pratt. I didn’t think you … wanted to actually … marry …”



Buffy turned around slowly and looked at him.

“…me,” he finished, his eyes delving into hers, trying to see the truth.

“Oh, Spike,” Buffy sighed out tenderly, her shoulders slumping. “You are such a dope sometimes.”

Spike flinched like she’d slapped him. “I am not. You’re a bloody barmy, hormonal bird that the Amazing Kreskin wouldn’t be able to suss out!”



“What are you saying?” Buffy replied huffily, her posture straightening as she planted her fists firmly on hips.

“Saying that, if I’d known you wanted t’ get married, would’ve … done … this different, wouldn’t I?” he growled back, his hands mimicking hers as he leaned nearer to her.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Spike asserted, his lips snarling away from his teeth. “Give me those, Fairy Tale Girl,” he demanded, reaching for her hand and practically yanking the rings off. “I’ll show you bloody Cinderella,” he growled more to himself than her as he stuffed her rings into his pocket along with his own.

“What are you doing?” Buffy nearly screeched as he took the rings back. “You’ve lost your freaking mind!”



“No doubt about that, Summers. Would happen to anyone that hangs around the likes of you for more than two days, I reckon.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and replaced her hand on her hip, resuming her annoyed stance. “Now you don’t care if people think I’m a skanky, preggo ho?” she wondered incredulously.

Spike smirked at her and took a step back. “Well, apparently, it was good enough for Cinder-bloody-rella, reckon it’s good enough for you.”

“Vampires!” Buffy exclaimed, rolling her eyes and tossing her hands in the air in defeat. “There's never a sharp, pointy stick handy when you need one.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Cheeseburger in Paradise, Jimmy Buffett  on YouTube  }}


Tried to amend my carnivorous habits.
Made it nearly seventy days,
Losin' weight without speed-eatin' sunflower seeds,
Drinkin' lots of carrot juice and soakin' up rays.

But at night I'd have these wonderful dreams
Some kind of sensuous treat.
Not zucchini, fettucini, bulgar wheat, 
But a big warm bun and a huge hunk of meat. 

Cheeseburger in paradise.
Heaven on earth with an onion slice.
Not too particular, not too precise.
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise. 

Heard about the old time sailor men,
They’d eat the same thing again and again;
Warm beer and bread they said could raise the dead.
Well, it reminds me of the menu at a Holiday Inn. 

But times have changed for sailors these days.
When I'm in port I get what I need;
Not just Havanas or bananas or daiquiris,
But that American creation on which I feed! 

Cheeseburger in paradise, medium rare with mustard be nice
Heaven on earth with an onion slice.
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise. 

I like mine with lettuce and tomato
Heinz 57 and French fried potatoes
Big kosher pickle and a cold draft beer
Well, good God Almighty which way do I steer 

For my cheeseburger in paradise
Makin' the best of every virtue and vice.
Worth every damn bit of sacrifice
To get a cheeseburger in paradise;
To be a cheeseburger in paradise.
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise.

I like mine with lettuce and tomato
Heinz 57 and French fried potatoes
Big kosher pickle and a cold draft beer
Well, good God Almighty which way do I steer
Chapter End Notes:
Short personal story: During college I went on a six-week tour of Europe. Back then ... oh, so many years ago, McDonald's restaurants were few and far between (we found two: one in Germany (don't recall the city now) and London). When these Meccas of American fast food were discovered, a bus-load of eighteen-year-olds descended on them like locusts on a wheat field. We were shocked by some of the offerings (beer in McDonald's?), but mostly we were just euphoric for that taste of 'home'. Ahhhh, heaven!

On the threesome-vote. First of all, I should've clarified that it's later in the story where I have a spot for it ... a few chapters away. In the voting, most people were either neutral on it or in favor of it, which doesn't mean my muse will cooperate, but it gives him a bit more incentive to, so we'll see how that goes. Thanks for the input from everyone!
Ginger or Mary Ann? by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile. All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Later that same night…

The good mood Buffy had awoken with, that of anticipation and excitement for beginning the trip back to the States, had been replaced by a mixture of anger at Spike for his assumption that she wouldn’t actually want to marry him and sadness for the same reason. After all they’d been through, how could he think she wouldn’t want to be Mrs. Pratt? Mrs. Summers-Pratt? Hmmm … it sounded strange in her mind, but she supposed she’d get used to it – and anyway, that wasn’t the point. The point was: what the heck is wrong with Spike? Maybe it was him that didn’t actually want to marry her.

Buffy’s brain was trying it’s best to sort out the emotions and tangled signals from her … whatever Spike was, that she hadn’t really been paying a lot of attention as they walked down the long dock that jutted out into the harbor. All their bags were packed and everything they owned in the whole world was in them. They were going to the ship that Spike had arranged to take them back to America.

“Here we are, then,” he announced, stopping near the end of the long jetty.

Buffy blinked and pulled her mind back to the here and now. She looked around but saw only small boats; she looked out into the harbor beyond, but couldn’t make out much in the dark.

“Does one of these little boats take us to the ship?” she wondered, looking around at the boats at the dock.

Spike cocked a brow. “Nooo … this is it,” he informed her, waving a hand at the nearest berth.

Buffy’s brows shot up almost to her hairline. “This? This … little thing … this ‘Minnow’, is going across the freaking ocean? So, you’re … who? Gilligan? I’ll be Ginger, and Joan can be Mary Ann,” she scoffed. “I need few more trunks full of clothes so I can still be stylish and fashionable on the desert island we'll soon be stranded on! Or are you a Mary Ann guy? In that case, I'll need to get Joan some some gingham.”

“Bloody hell, woman!” Spike growled back at her in frustration. “It’s a fifty foot catamaran, not a dingy! This bloke’s been sailing across the soddin’ pond for forty years in boats like this. It’s perfectly safe.”



“For you maybe,” Buffy retorted. “You don’t have to breathe or worry about hypothermia when it sinks.”

“Actually, multi-hulled yachts are practically unsinkable,” Joan offered helpfully. “They are remarkably safe.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard that before – the Titanic was unsinkable, too,” Buffy shot back.

“Buffy,” Spike began, softening his voice. “We can’t take a big cruise ship back – we don’t ‘ave any bloody paperwork. This fella assures me he can … get around that problem.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t take you anywhere I thought wasn’t safe – for you and the bits,” Spike concluded, giving her a pleading look.



Buffy folded her arms under her breasts and rolled her eyes. She blew out a small huff of air in frustration, her chest heaving with disdain. Finally, she looked back at the boat and then at the yachts surrounding it.

It wasn’t that small, she supposed, compared to some. “How long will it take?”

“’Bout three weeks,” Spike answered. When she remained silent, just staring at the boat, he added, “We’ll have our own private room and loo. Got a decent kitchen in it, too. All the comforts o’ home.”

“Cabin, head, and galley,” the Bot … errr … Joan, corrected.

Buffy looked at her. “What?”

“The correct terms for bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen on a boat are: cabin, head, and galley.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Buffy groused, flinging her arms out away from her sides. “Another new language. Why can’t everyone just speak English like normal people?”

Spike pulled his top lip between his teeth to keep from laughing. “Does that mean … we’re going?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I guess. But if I die, I’m gonna totally kill you.”

Spike let his smile show. “Only fair, pet.”

**~**

“Remind me to kill Spike,” Buffy groaned as she flopped back onto the deck of the boat. Her bright yellow, foul-weather suit was soaked with cold sea-spray, but at least she’d managed to keep her breakfast – which had been nothing more than a couple of ginger snaps and a few sips of Ginger Ale – off it this time.

“When would you like me to remind you?” Joan asked as she handed Buffy a warm washcloth to wipe her face with. “I will schedule it in my internal chronometer.”



“As soon as I quit throwing up,” Buffy replied as she accepted the cloth. “Unless I die first, then you kill him for me.”

“I am sorry, but that is a directive I would be unable to fulfill. I am unable to bring harm to you or Spike.” Joan furrowed her brow in thought a moment. “I will be pleased to remind you, but I don’t believe I could allow you to kill him either. I apologize for the inconvenience,” Joan replied seriously.

Buffy rolled her eyes. She regretted it immediately when the motion made her stomach lurch. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, trying to simply breathe through it. “I was just kidding," she assured Joan after a few moments. "Sort of," she added softly, blinking her eyes open again.

Buffy had been sick since the very first night onboard the ship. As the catamaran rolled over the dips and valleys of the waves on the open sea, Buffy’s stomach roiled in protest – constantly. That had happened on that little boat they’d taken from England to France, too, but she thought that had only been the beginnings of her ‘morning-noon-and-night’ sickness. Apparently not.

Now she lay on her back looking up at a cold, grey sky and tried to think non-hurly thoughts. There was nothing left in her stomach, but that rarely mattered to it. She thought, perhaps, it was trying to hurl itself off this godforsaken boat and commit suicide in the stormy depths of the ocean. She thought the idea had a certain appeal.

“Didn’ bugger up my boat, did ya, girlie?” came the rough voice of the ship’s owner and captain, Saul.

Saul was older than dirt, as far as Buffy could tell, and had probably been a deckhand on Noah’s Ark originally. He was grizzled and tan, as short as Buffy, but comfortably plump. His thick, white shock of hair left no clue as to its original color, and he kept it cut in a regulation-buzz – as if the style had been drilled into him from years in the military. He had an accent she couldn’t quite place, maybe Irish or Scottish ... Welsh? Some strange combination of the three? Even Spike wasn’t quite sure where Saul was from, and the old captain only admitted to being ‘an old Salty Dog from the sea.’

“No,” Buffy answered him as she sat up and put her back against the railing. “I’m getting faster … or it’s just projecting further.”

“There’s a good lass,” he replied, nodding approvingly, his bright blue eyes sparkling. “You jus’ keep with the ginger snaps and ale, and that feelin’ll pass.”

Buffy stifled another wave of nausea at the mere mention of anything food-related, but readied herself to lean over the stern again, just in case.



“It’s been five days, I don’t think it’s gonna pass,” Buffy pointed out.

“Aye, it’ll pass,” Saul called back from the cockpit, his tone confident. “Keep your eyes on the horizon and your face to the breeze – you’ll get your sea legs soon enough, lassie.”

Buffy sighed. She’d been trying to do that for five days and nights. She was exhausted, she’d barely slept at all, and felt like she’d been hit with a Mack truck right in her ribs and stomach. Every muscle in her torso ached with the strain of tossing her cookies over and over, and her throat was raw from the bile.

She’d seen little of the private cabin that Spike had promised; staying below was even worse on her revolting stomach. He, of course, had no choice but to stay below during the day. At night he kept her company on the deck, and took the night-watch so Saul could sleep. The vision she’d had of spending the days making love in their cabin when she’d first seen the small but comfortable room, vanished almost as soon as the boat was out of the harbor.

Slayers apparently had no resistance to motion sickness. The ginger ale, ginger snaps, and handfuls of hard ginger candy – which was supposed to be some sort of natural, never-fail cure – Saul had given her, had had no effect whatsoever. Even the Dramamine that she had brought with her was completely ineffective in quelling her roiling stomach.

Buffy longed for land; solid, unmoving, dirt under her feet. She didn’t know how she’d make three weeks like this or what effect it was having on the babies. Certainly they weren’t getting the nutrients they needed – she couldn’t keep anything down. But she also didn’t know of any other way to make it back to the States without her passport, and requesting a replacement from the American Embassy would alert anyone that was looking for them to their whereabouts.

She took a deep breath and relaxed back against the railing again, letting her eyes fall closed. The dizzy, nauseous feeling was worse with her eyes closed, but her lids were like lead – she was so tired and sleep-deprived. She tried to think of the roll of the boat as soothing, like a baby rocking in a cradle, or swinging in a hammock, but it did little good. This was yet another lesson in misery for her to endure, she supposed. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? Buffy was starting to wonder just how strong the Powers thought she needed to be.

“Land ho!” the Bot called from near Buffy.

Buffy furrowed her brow and forced her eyes open. “Land? What land? I thought we were in the land of no land.” She stood up and looked in the direction the Bot was facing.



“What is it? Where are we?” she asked the Bot.

“We are at latitude North 36 degrees…” Joan began.

“Argh! No!” Buffy stopped her, turning to Saul. “What is that land?”

“Spain – Gibraltar to be exact – which is actually property of the crown … of England. It’s a bloody buggered up mess, if ya ask me,” Saul explained.

“B-but, I thought we were on our way across the ocean, how did we get here?”

“Sailed,” Saul answered simply, leaving off the ‘duh’.

“Sailed …” Buffy repeated, shaking her head with the absurdity of her question and his answer. She looked at the small dot of land in the distance, and longed to be on it. It was suddenly a toss-up which she’d rather do: eat or sleep. She could do either one on hard, dry land; she could do neither here on this floating roller coaster.

“Do you think we could … stop there for a while? A day or two?” Buffy asked the old captain hopefully.

Saul gave her a strange look which she couldn’t decipher, then nodded. “Aye – could do, lass. If that’s yer druthers.”

Buffy nearly leapt with joy, except her stomach chose that moment to mutiny again. She could do nothing but fling herself at the nearest railing and try not to ‘bugger up’ the captain’s deck, but at last there was some hope: land. Glorious land was in sight!

**~**

Buffy jumped off the catamaran the second it was close enough to the dock for her to safely reach. She squealed with delight at the unmoving planks beneath her feet as she caught the rope Saul tossed her and secured the boat in the berth.

Once the boat was secure, Saul headed into the town to pick up some more provisions. As she waited for sunset, Buffy sat on the dock near the boat. She ate ginger snaps and drank Ginger Ale, and it stayed down! Joan warmed up some soup for Buffy, and that stayed down. Joan brought up a pillow and Buffy was actually able to take a nap on the dock. When she woke up, Joan had some eggs, pancakes, and bacon for her. It all stayed down! Hallelujah! Thank the gods!

When the last rays of sun disappeared beneath the far horizon, Spike emerged from below-deck with their bags.



“You look a bloody-sight less green,” he observed, touching a kiss to her forehead as he gained the dock next to her. “Like it ‘ere, then?”

“I would like it anywhere that has solid ground to walk on – here is perfect,” Buffy replied as Joan joined them on the dock.

“Sorry, pet. Didn’t know you weren’t seaworthy,” Spike said as the three of them started walking; Spike and Joan carrying all their bags.

Buffy would’ve taken exception to that remark, but she really didn’t have a sea leg to stand on. She just let it go. “How long can we stay here?” she wondered. “Saul wouldn’t really say.”

Spike shrugged. “Long enough, I reckon,” he answered vaguely.

She felt sudden power flow through her when they stepped off the dock and onto the land. She wanted to jump for joy – it was heaven! It was glorious! It was solid, unmoving, unswaying, un-anything-ing! Land!

“Where are we going?” she tried next as they left the marina and began walking alongside a road.

“The hotel,” Spike replied.

Buffy furrowed her brow. The hotel … not a hotel.



“Fancy the rock?” Spike wondered, cocking a brow toward it, and not letting her consider the hotel further.

Buffy looked at the giant cliff-face of the famous Rock of Gibraltar – a landmark even she had heard of. Well, it was the logo for that insurance company, after all.

“It’s big … and rocky,” she observed. It was actually pretty amazing – overwhelming even – but Spike was being avoid-y, so she would be too.

Spike snorted. “Got an excellent grasp o’ the obvious, you do, Slayer.”

“The Rock of Gibraltar was one of the Pillars of Hercules,” Joan interjected helpfully. “It was known to the Romans as Mons Calpe, the other pillar being Mons Abyla on the African side of the Strait. In ancient times the two points marked the limit to the known world, a myth originally fostered by the Phoenicians.

“It’s not actually solid. There are over one hundred and fifty caves within the Rock. The Ancient Greeks believed St. Michael’s Cave to be the Gates of Hades, an entrance to the underworld.”

Buffy stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw dropping open. Spike took another step or two and also stopped. Ahead of them, Joan kept walking and talking.

“The Rock's central peak, Signal Hill, stands at an elevation of 1,270 feet…”

“What? Wait!” Buffy interrupted her. “This is a Hellmouth?”



Joan stopped and turned back to face the pair. “Of course. Even my nerve-receptors can perceive the power emanating from it. Spike chose it because he thought it would be the best place for you to recuperate…”

Buffy whirled on Spike. “You chose it? I thought Saul … I … What the hell, Spike?”

Spike dropped the bags he was carrying and lifted his hands up in surrender. “Was pretty clear ginger and whatall wasn’t helpin’, pet. You needed to stop; this was just a … convenient harbor.”

“With a cozy Hellmouth on it to make the ex-Slayer feel all warm and fuzzy,” Buffy suggested, sarcasm dripping from each word.

“Well … the thought had crossed my mind,” Spike divulged, ducking his head slightly. He raised his eyes up to meet hers, looking at her through his lashes. “Did it work?”



Buffy glared daggers at him for several long moments, then sagged. She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes, her head shaking slightly in disbelief. “Yeah, I guess,” she admitted, looking back at the giant rock.

Spike smiled, clearly pleased with the success of his plan. “Brilliant! C’mon – got us a nice room on the beach. We’ll get some room service and … see what happens from there … now that you’re feeling better.” He wagged his brows at her suggestively on the last words, letting his eyes rake over her body, head to toe.

Buffy rolled her eyes but smiled and then waved a hand, inviting them to continue walking. “How did you set this up from out in the land of the waves? Did the Little Mermaid come and carry notes for you when I wasn't looking?”

“Salty bugger’s got a satellite phone on the boat. Bloody brilliant, that.”

**~**

The room, as promised, was at once cozy and modern. A full bath, a big bed, and she couldn't wait to see the view of the beach and water beyond in the light of day. And, best of all: nothing moved. Not the floor, or the bed, or the railing on the balcony. She could hear the water lapping gently against the beach, but it didn’t rock the ground beneath her feet. It was perfect.

Buffy began peeling off layers of clothing as she walked past the bed toward the bathroom. Another thing she hadn’t done in five days: shower. Fresh water was a premium on a boat, making showers a luxury. Spike asked Joan to order something from room service, then followed Buffy's trail of discarded clothing, adding his own to the hotel room floor. Buffy already had the water hot when he made it to the door of the bathroom, kicking his jeans off his legs.

Buffy looked back over her shoulder and gave him a coy smile just before she stepped under the hot spray. A nearly-orgasmic moan tumbled from her lips as the water poured over her head, rinsing off the crust of sea-salt and … more personal deposits from her body.



Spike was behind her in a moment, his body against hers, hard and sensual. She shivered despite the nearly-scalding water that poured over them both. His lips found her neck and he kissed a cool line of desire down from her ear to her shoulder. His hard cock pressed against her ass, and she pressed back, her own desire matching his. Another hunger they hadn’t been able to sate for five days was about to be quenched.

“Need you, Buffy. Want you so much. Goin’ mad without you, luv,” Spike rumbled against her skin.

“Take me, baby … God, I need you too,” Buffy agreed as she moved so her back was to the shower spray. Spike turned with her, his front still to her back, both of them now facing the wall of the shower opposite the shower head.

“You sure, pet? Like this?” he asked, his voice concerned but at the same time anxious and excited. In the last weeks, sex between them had been gentle and reverent, and limited to the bedroom; nothing that could be remotely construed as anything but ‘making love’.

“Yeah … I’m sure.” Buffy bent forward, supporting herself against a handicap safety railing, and opened herself up to him. “Take me, Spike. Need you – need you now,” Buffy whimpered, thrusting her ass toward him.

Spike's libido required no more invitation – his enchantress was leading this dance, and he gladly followed. He really was nearly mad with need for her as it was; he wasn’t about to argue with her now. He guided his cock into her from behind, pressing in slowly. Her slick channel throbbed around his length as he entered her and his knees trembled with the joy of her.

“Bloody fuck, Buffy,” he groaned as her body quivered and her pussy clenched around him. “So tight, you are. Always so bloody wet for me.”



Buffy gasped as he entered her, goose bumps raced over her skin – perhaps through the whole of her body – as the connection was made. She loved the feeling of him inside her. It made her feel somehow whole, complete – as if this is how it was meant to be. And then he began moving, his hands on her hips, guiding her movements, and she began to float on the rapture his body was pouring over hers.

“Harder, baby … need you. Need it harder, faster. Spike, please, baby – please just fuck me,” Buffy begged. The words came out before her mind could censor or analyze them, but once they were past her lips she realized it was exactly what she wanted and needed from him now.

Their times together since her days in hell at the hands of Weatherby had been gentle and loving. Buffy had needed that then, and she loved Spike all the more for it. But now she suddenly needed more than that. Perhaps it was the Hellmouth’s power driving her, perhaps it was five days of misery on that damned boat, perhaps it was just time to move past gentle touches and sate that feral need that Spike had awakened in her all those weeks ago back in Las Vegas. Whatever it was didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that Spike responded to her demands with the ferocity she longed for.

Spike’s leonine growl rumbled the very air around her as his flesh slapped against her ass urgently. His cock drove into her, deep and hard and … oh, my God, it was shamefully sweet! Small tremors of bliss rolled through Buffy, each small, shuddering wave taking her higher and higher, right to the top of that giant rock that was just behind their hotel.

The sound of wet slaps of flesh against flesh, of Spike’s growling rumble of pleasure and grunts of effort, of her own moans, hisses, and gasps, filled the small bathroom with a melody of lust. Buffy could feel the cliff ledge approaching and her breath caught in her throat in anticipation of the glorious plunge. Then Spike’s hand curled around her hip and his fingers circled her clit. He slammed into her from behind like a wild animal and then began tapping a finger against her clit with the same savage intensity.

The world burst into red-hot flames of joy.



The scream started so deep inside Buffy that it was barely recognizable as anything but a rolling wave of unimagined pleasure. She flew off the cliff and dove into a sea of bliss as the wave of pleasure rolled through her body, looking for escape lest she explode. She couldn’t have stopped it if she’d tried – and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t try.

Buffy’s body tensed and shuddered, her knees buckled, and if not for Spike’s support, she would’ve collapsed as her orgasm roared through her like a wildfire out of control. She was barely aware of Spike’s own howl of release as she floated weightlessly in the flames beneath the cliff she’d hurtled off of, her body burning spectacularly.

Buffy came back to herself slowly, and only when oxygen became an issue for her burning lungs. She returned to the shower, clutching at the cold, steel handicap support bar in front of her as Spike clung to her. She wasn’t sure who was supporting who, or perhaps it was simply that there wasn’t enough room for them both to collapse in the small confines of the shower.

As she gasped in the foggy, heated air, Spike’s lips began caressing her back with gentle nibbles and kisses. His mouth trailed down her spine, sending more shivering waves of bliss lancing through her body.

“Love you, Buffy. Love you so bloody much. So beautiful you are, pet. So goddamned primal – you burn me to my bones. Was afraid I’d never hear that rapturous scream again. A goddess, you are – a bloody dream,” he murmured to her as his lips roamed over her heated skin. “Wish I could stay inside you forever, luv – and then a hundred forevers after that. Right here … never bloody move. Just stay buried in your sweet quim and listen to you scream my name ‘til the end of the world.”

Then his hips began to move again. Buffy moaned in approval and renewed desire. He was still hard … still buried inside her, still unsated. So was she.

“Yes …” Buffy agreed. “Stay here forever … right on the edge of heaven. God, I love you, Spike. You make me feel so good. Take me there again, Spike. Need you so much, baby.”

**~**

Buffy wasn’t sure how long they stayed in the shower, sating their desires. An hour? Two? Three? They had finally found the soap and actually took a proper shower. Soft, reverent hands gliding gently over quivering, spent limbs until they both smelled of lavender rather than sea-salt and sex.

When they emerged – clean and happily exhausted – food was waiting for them. It had grown cold, but Joan didn’t comment on it not being the proper serving temperature. She hadn’t cooked it, she’d ordered it from room service, so apparently she didn’t take it personally when it went uneaten for so long. Even cold, it was delectable. Joan had ordered a smorgasbord of dishes from the hotel’s Italian restaurant since she wasn’t sure what her roommates would want. It seemed somehow wrong to Buffy to be eating Italian food while in Spain – or were they technically in England? – but Buffy didn’t complain, it was delicious.

Replete, their bellies heavy with copious amounts of pasta, and the fire in their loins reduced to barely-glowing embers, Buffy and Spike collapsed on the large bed to sleep in each other’s arms.

"You never did answer my question, ya know," Buffy murmured sleepily to him as she cuddled against his side.

"What question was that, luv?"

"Ginger or Mary Ann?"

Spike snorted a soft laugh. "Who could choose, pet? Both are bloody brilliant ... reckon I'd have to take 'em both."

Buffy shook her head against his shoulder and yawned widely. "You're such a guy," she commented as she drifted off. It was the first real sleep Buffy had gotten in days, and she couldn’t remember ever feeling quite as contented as she floated off to dreamland.

Spike dropped a kiss atop her head. "Well ... yeah," he agreed softly, hugging her against him tightly as his eyes also fell closed.

**~**



After breakfast the next morning, Spike retrieved several hundred-dollar bills from a hiding place in their luggage and handed them to Buffy.

“Get a new frock – a proper dress, fancy and frilly – and shoes and whatall,” he’d instructed her. “Thought we'd go out t’night – if ya want to, that is.”

Buffy’s brows rose. Did he think she'd turn down a new dress and a night on the town? "Will there be dancing?"

Spike smirked. "Could be ... if ya ask nice."

Buffy laughed and took the money from his hand. "Dinner and dancing. I haven't danced in ..." she shrugged. She couldn't remember when.

Spike gave her a smile and nodded. "Dinner and dancin' it is then, pet."

Within half an hour, she and Joan were headed for downtown Gibraltar.



Main Street was, well, cute ... or maybe 'quaint' was the word. Buffy was sort of surprised – everyone spoke English and there were lots and lots of shops of every description. She found out later that the shops were ‘duty-free’. Even though she was pretty sure they didn’t care about ‘duty-free’, since they weren’t planning on passing through customs anyway, she took the opportunity to buy Spike some whiskey and a carton of cigarettes. He’d promised to quit smoking as soon as they had their own house, but not before. He had, she’d noticed, taken to smoking outside away from her, however.

“So, how fancy a dress should I get?” Buffy asked Joan as they walked by a few shops, looking in the windows to judge their merchandise.

“I do not know,” Joan replied. “Is there a set scale? Fully defined levels of ‘fancy’?”

“Well, yeah,” Buffy replied. “There’s like … first date, decent restaurant fancy; there’s prom-night fancy; there’s debutant-coming-out-party fancy; there’s super-high-end Hollywood movie star dance-club fancy; and there’s meeting-royalty fancy.”

The Bot frowned thoughtfully. “Somewhere between ‘first date’ and ‘royalty’ would have the highest probability of being appropriate.”

Buffy sighed. “That doesn’t really narrow it down much. You don’t know where we’re going tonight?” Buffy wondered.

“I cannot say.”

“So you do know,” Buffy deduced, giving Joan an oblique glance.



“It is a surprise. Spike has tasked me with some missions which are classified as ‘need to know only’,” the Bot divulged.

“Well, there you go! I obviously need to know so I know what sort of dress to buy,” Buffy concluded logically.

“No. Spike was very clear and concise. You do not need to know. He said that you would attempt to break me, but I am not to give in to your ‘bloody warped logic, begging, pouting lips, or angry demands’ no matter how convincing or angry you became.”

“Warped logic? He thinks I have warped logic?” Buffy pouted.



Joan shrugged. “I believe that is why he prefers your company over mine. My logic is … logical; your logic is … distorted.”

Buffy started to argue, started to say her logic was not distorted, but was stopped by the Bot’s tone. She sounded … hurt, sad. “I’m sure that’s not true,” Buffy offered sympathetically. “Spike loves you just as much.”

“No, it is clear that he does not,” Joan replied, her tone forced back to neutrality. “He enjoys my company and was quite pleased in the past when we both pleasured him, but it is your strangely deviated mind that he loves. My mind is too … linear. We are, at best, friends … with benefits. You are truly lovers. He adores you.”

Buffy wanted to smile and cry at her twin-friend’s words. It made Buffy’s heart swell and fall at the same time. She was at once buoyed by the thought that Spike loved her mind – twisted though her logic-bone may be – and saddened that the Bot knew that, and was hurting from what must feel like unrequited love to her microchips.

Buffy took Joan’s overly-warm hand in hers as they walked. “He loves us both in his own way,” Buffy assured her. “He needs us both. I know he’s been kinda Buffy-focused lately, but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you too. I’ve just been living on the needy side of the tracks. Actually, I've kinda been that girl tied to the railroad tracks, and he's been ... you know, Dudley-Do-Righting me.”



Joan looked at Buffy with utter confusion.

"Ok – that came out really wrong," Buffy admitted. "The point is: he loves and needs us both."

The Bot's expression turned hopeful. “Do you believe that to be true, or are you simply saying that in an attempt to defragment my sentient drive?”

Buffy gave her a reassuring smile. “I know it’s true. Don’t sell linear logic short – you’re able to keep us on the right path when all I do is get us lost in the woods.

“Plus, you cook way better than I do. You know what they say: ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’”

Joan returned Buffy’s smile. “I believe whoever said that was a few inches high in their estimation.”



“Joan!” Buffy exclaimed, her eyes growing wide in mock horror. “You naughty girl!”

Then Buffy laughed. “I think you’re right,” she admitted, leaning in near her friend conspiratorially. “Maybe we’ll test that theory again soon,” Buffy suggested.

Joan wrapped her arms around Buffy, pulling her into a nearly bone-crushing hug. “I love you, Buffy. I love Spike and I love you.”

Buffy hugged her twin back in the middle of the sidewalk. “Everything will be fine with the three of us, you’ll see.”

Joan released Buffy and pulled back, still smiling. “Do you anticipate being less needful of Dudley-Do-Righting soon?” she wondered. “My sensory preceptors have been under-stimulated lately. They emit a constant, distracting sibilation when they have been under-stimulated for extended periods of time. It makes it quite difficult to keep my cache clear.”

Buffy chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, I have that problem too. My sibilation goes totally wonky. It starts sibbing and lating all over the place. It's not pretty.

"C’mon – let’s check out this shop,” Buffy suggested, pulling on the Bot’s hand. “We should have enough money to get you a new dress too. Buying fancy clothes usually stimulates my sensory preceptors, calms down my sibbing-lators, and clears my cash ... at least for a while.”

Joan’s eyes widened with glee. “A new dress? For me? Do you think we have sufficient funds?”

“Totally – I took an extra handful of cash when Spike wasn’t looking,” Buffy admitted.

“May I purchase some affordable but stylish footwear also?” Joan asked hopefully.



“Well – duh!” Buffy replied. “You can’t buy a new dress without getting new shoes! It’s a law or something.

“This is all ‘need to know’, of course,” Buffy continued in a stern voice. “And Spike does not need to know!”

The Bot nodded decisively. “Affirmative.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear the Gilligan's Island Theme on YouTube  }}

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
A tale of a fateful trip
That started from this pos/gibrazrt
Aboard this tiny ship.

The mate was a mighty sailing man,
The skipper brave and sure.
Five passengers set sail that day
For a three hour tour, a three hour tour.

The weather started getting rough,
The tiny ship was tossed,
If not for the courage of the fearless crew
The minnow would be lost, the minnow would be lost.

The ship set ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle
With Gilligan
The Skipper too,
The millionaire and his wife,
The movie star
The professor and Mary Ann,
Here on Gilligan's Isle.
 
So this is the tale of the castaways,
They're here for a long, long time,
They'll have to make the best of things,
It's an uphill climb.

The first mate and the Skipper too,
Will do their very best,
To make the others comfortable,
In the tropic island nest.

No phone, no lights no motor cars,
Not a single luxury,
Like Robinson Crusoe,
As primitive as can be.

So join us here each week my friends,
You're sure to get a smile,
From seven stranded castaways,
Here on "Gilligan's Isle."
Chapter End Notes:
Their date will be coming up next.... Update scheduled for Saturday.

And, for those of you who have sent 'get well' wishes to my evil muse, he does thank you and would like me to assure you that he has not forgotten how to write angst nor is he on his death-bed. He's just lulling you into false sense of security as we climb back up to the top of the roller coaster. {{Eeek!!}}
Smile by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
I'm a little behind on replying to reviews, but I do read them and LOVE them all! Will try to get caught up this weekend. Thank you so much for reading and giving me feedback! {{hugs}}

Thanks to the wonderful PaganBaby for betaing this chapter and allowing me to borrow a couple of things from her and use here. She's made of awesome!
Later the same day, after the shopping trip …

Spike rented a second hotel room while Buffy and Joan were shopping and he’d moved all of his things a couple of doors down by the time they got back.

“You’re moving out?” Buffy asked, her tone somewhere between hurt and worried as she set the bags she was carrying down on the table.

“Just for a bit. Enough t’ give you some space t’ get ready,” he explained.

Buffy furrowed her brows and turned back to look at him as Joan walked past carrying two long garment bags. “Don’t you mean ‘us’? Give ‘us’ some space to get ready?”

Spike’s brows went up in surprise. “Errrr … no. Meant you, pet,” Spike clarified. "You and me ... dinner, dancing..."

Buffy grabbed his arm and pulled him back out the door and onto the covered walkway outside. “You said 'us'. I thought you meant ‘us’ … as in the three of us,” she whispered anxiously, pulling the door closed. “Joan … she’s … feeling neglected. We can’t leave her behind.”



Spike sighed and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Buffy, she knows it’s just the two of us t’night. Who do ya think’s been helping me get everything … arranged? She’s fine with it.”

Buffy bit her bottom lip and looked back at the closed hotel room door. “Are you sure?”

Spike heaved another heavy sigh and stepped past Buffy to open the door. “Joan,” he called into the room, stepping inside, Buffy right on his heels.

“Yes?” the Bot replied, coming back into the living area of the room after hanging the dresses up in the bedroom.

“Did you want t’ come tonight?” Spike asked her.

Joan looked at Buffy, who had come up to stand beside Spike, and then back at him. “That would be counterproductive to the mission.”



Spike looked at Buffy and made an ‘I-told-you-so’ face.

Buffy frowned, her bottom lip protruding in a pout. “I thought it was a date – not a mission.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Spike groaned, his shoulders sagging. “To us, it’s a date; to C3PO 'ere, it’s a mission.”

Buffy looked at Joan. “Are you sure? Cos I thought it was the three of us…”

Joan nodded decisively. “I have researched this ritual extensively. I am certain that Cinderella, although aided in her journey by a powerful witch, attended the ball singly. I will await your return and you may relate the details of the evening to me at that time. I understand this is a custom of friends: to reveal inappropriate details about dates to each other.”

Spike cocked a questioning brow at Buffy. Buffy sighed and nodded. “If you’re sure...”

“Spike and I have gone to great effort to arrange this night. It would be counterproductive to destroy such well-laid plans,” Joan assured her.

“I’ll pick you up at dusk … would seven be agreeable?” Spike interjected quickly before anyone could change their minds or microprocessors.



Buffy tilted her head and studied him. There was something … off, or maybe not off, but different about him. “Seven-thirty,” she countered, just to see what he would do – if he would rise to the bait and bicker.

He inclined his upper body in a shallow bow. Buffy’s eyes widened and she had to press a hand to her mouth to stifle a girlish shriek of gleeful giggles at the sight. 

“At your service, milady. Seven-thirty,” he agreed amiably before heading out of the girls' room and down the hallway to his.

Buffy stared after him. “Who the hell was that?” she asked Joan as they watched his retreating form.

The Bot looked at Buffy like she’d lost her mind. “Spike,” she answered flatly. “Have you sustained a head trauma that I failed to observe?”

Buffy laughed as she closed the door to their room. “No … it was a rhetorical question.”

Joan frowned. “Rhetorical questions elude my linear logic. It must require someone possessing your abnormal reasoning skills to comprehend rhetoric.”

Buffy nodded. “Just call me Abby Normal.” A beat. “Not literally. That was of the rhetorical.”

**~**

Later…

Spike fumbled with the rented bowtie that came with the rented tux, his hands shaking uncontrollably. It didn’t help that he couldn’t use the mirror to see what he was doing or that he hadn’t worn a tie of any kind in nearly a century. It also didn’t help that he was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

He dropped his hands from the infernal scrap of fabric, took a deep breath, and tried to calm down. He closed his eyes and just breathed, clenching and unclenching his fists to try and get his hands to stop trembling.



“There’s nothin’ t’ worry about, you prat,” Spike admonished himself.

He opened his eyes, looked down at his William-esque formal attire, and sighed heavily. “Unless she thinks you look a right poofter and falls down in fits o’ laughter.”

**~**

With nervous butterflies fluttering in his stomach, Spike knocked on Buffy and Joan’s door at 7:30 on the dot. Joan answered it and invited him in.

“I think Buffy will be ready soon. I am not certain. She said something about it always being best to keep a date waiting. I’m not certain I fully understand this custom, despite my efforts to familiarize myself with all aspects of this mating ritual.”

Spike snorted ruefully. He plucked a white rose from the bouquet of pink ones he had with him, and handed it to Joan. “No worries, luv. Been waiting for Buffy for bloody years – a few more minutes won’t make any difference.”

“For me?” she asked, her eyes and smile brightening. She brought the rose to her nose and inhaled the sweet fragrance.

“For you, pet,” Spike confirmed. “The three of us’ll go out somewhere fancy one night, promise.”

Joan’s eyes widened in surprise and joy. “Oh! That would be wonderful! I could wear the new dress and stylish pumps that we bought for me today. Buffy said I looked …”



Spike’s brows rose up higher and higher in surprise the longer she spoke.

Joan stopped talking abruptly and bit her bottom lip. “Please disregard the previous subject matter. That was not to be divulged except to those that need to know. You do not need to know. Buffy would be quite upset.”

Spike chuckled. “Didn’t hear a thing,” he assured her.

Before Joan could argue that he most certainly had heard, otherwise he would not have been able to respond to her in a coherent fashion, Buffy emerged from the bathroom.

Spike turned at the sound of the door opening. His heart leapt up into his throat and all the butterflies in his stomach stilled. He was rendered speechless, utterly motionless – even his trembling hands froze.



Buffy was a vision, an earthly angel. Her hair was curled and piled atop her head in a way that made it look almost haphazardly windblown. A few tendrils framed her face, which absolutely glowed. She had on a light dusting of makeup, but what Spike noticed most was the natural beauty beneath it. Poets had written about the glow of a mother-to-be for ages, but Spike had never really witnessed it before – not like this, not in all its heavenly glory. Perhaps you had to be in love with the woman to really see the change it made in her – he could see it now in Buffy.

Her soft-pink dress highlighted the gentle glow of her skin.  It was a strapless, satin dress that hugged her bodice then flared out over her hips and tummy all the way to the floor. The bodice was heavily adorned with silver sequins, beads, and rhinestones in an intricate, yet random, design that was just as haphazard as her hairdo. The silver detailing spilled down onto the wide, full skirt, transforming as it went into the outlines of giant flowers – orchids, if he wasn’t mistaken.



Buffy blushed under his unabashed scrutiny, and forced herself not to fidget as she took in his very un-Spike-like attire. He was dressed in a classic black tux, right down to the bow tie, and looked like GQ personified. He’d even changed out his Doc Martens for spit-shine dress shoes. His only concession to color was a pink rose on his lapel – obviously from the bouquet of them that he held, forgotten, in his hand. There was little that you could dress Spike in that he wouldn’t make look good, but in a tux he simply oozed glamour and a Hollywood-esque sex-appeal.

The two remained frozen for many long moments, staring at each other, and then Buffy smiled. She wasn’t laughing at him, he realized after a brief moment of panic, but smiling approvingly – sweetly.

Buffy’s smile only intensified her glowing beauty. Spike was blinded by her radiance. It was like looking into the sun: warm and bright and dazzling – and it was shining just for him.

“I believe it is customary to greet your date and present the flowers to her now,” Joan reminded Spike, breaking the stunned silence that had engulfed the other two.

Spike jumped a bit and cleared his throat. He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and looked down at his shoes dumbly, trying to recompose himself.

“Right,” he agreed after a moment, his voice a bit squeaky. He cleared his throat again, looked up, and took one long stride forward toward Buffy, extending the bouquet of dusty-pink roses to her.

“You look … gorgeous ... bloody ravishing, luv,” he said reverently as she accepted the flowers.

Buffy’s blush deepened, and she brought the bouquet up to her nose, just as Joan had her single white rose, and inhaled their heady perfume.



“Thank you,” she replied, smiling wider. “The roses are lovely, and you … look … pretty wow, yourself.”

“I will put those in water for you so they will not wither prematurely,” Joan offered, reaching for the bouquet in Buffy’s hand.

Buffy plucked a single rose out and handed the remainder to Joan with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Turning to Spike, Buffy said, “So … I guess without any male, father-figure types here, you got off pretty light. No embarrassing questions about what you do for a living, your aversion to sunlight, or what your intentions are with regard to their sweet, innocent daughter.” She batted her lashes at him coquettishly and gave him a coy smile, like a sweet, innocent daughter might.



Spike pursed his lips together to keep a straight face, and gave her another of those shallow bows like he’d done that morning. Once again his accent changed, softened to something Buffy could only liken to Giles’. It seemed incongruous coming from Spike’s lips and made her want to giggle, but she restrained herself. "I can assure you that my intentions are nothing if not purely and sincerely scandalous. I will, however, try to control myself and not sully that comely frock, my dear, Elizabeth.”

Buffy inclined her head and curtsied slightly. “Well, I couldn’t really ask for more than that, could I?” she replied, trying to mimic the snooty accent he’d used, but failing miserably.

Spike chuckled lightly at her lame attempt and extended his arm to her. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Buffy replied stiffly, keeping the mockery going.

“I’ll have her back before dawn,” Spike assured Joan as he opened the door for Buffy to precede him.

“Is that appropriate for a first date?” Joan asked. “As I said, I have undertaken some research on this human mating ritual. Cinderella was required to be home by midnight.”

Spike tilted his head, considering that a moment, then nodded. “Too right. Midnight it is, then.”

**~**

Spike escorted Buffy to the parking lot of the hotel where a horse-drawn carriage waited for them. Buffy was shocked into silence as Spike gave her a hand up into the open carriage, then climbed in behind her. The driver already knew where they were going, apparently, as there was no conversation between the two men before the driver clicked his tongue and the carriage began moving.



“Tell me you didn’t conjure this from a pumpkin,” Buffy whispered to Spike as he wrapped one arm around her and tucked her against his side. “I didn’t see any horse-drawn carriages in town today.”

Spike snorted a short laugh. “Might’ve been simpler, but no … jus’ … arranged it. Still got a few contacts scattered ‘round ‘ere and there.”

Buffy looked at him with awe and wonder, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. All the work he, and Joan, apparently, had gone through to make this night happen was worth it in that moment. He dipped his head and touched her perfect, pink lips with his – a chaste kiss – a first date kiss.

“You're a vision, Buffy. Never seen anyone as beautiful as you are tonight,” he murmured to her as he ran a finger lightly down one bare arm.

She shivered from the touch, but pretended it was from the slight chill in the autumn air, and reached for the blanket that lay in the seat across from them. Spike helped her tuck it around them as the carriage meandered slowly through the streets of Gibraltar.

Buffy felt like a princess … a fairy-tale princess with her fairy-tale prince. Tourists and locals alike looked at them as they passed through the town. It was all Buffy could do to keep from waving at them, as if they were her loyal subjects. She couldn’t remove the ridiculous grin from her face if she’d wanted to – it was plastered on there ‘good and proper’, as Spike would say.



After a few minutes of comfortable silence she asked, “Did Joan tell you my dress was pink? Is that why the pink roses?” Buffy twirled the single rose she’d brought with her between her fingers and lifted it to her nose again. It smelled heavenly.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Spike replied. “Hate t’ kill a girl on the first date. Rather gauche, don’t ya think?”

Buffy nodded. “Ahhhh … it’s another of those ‘need to know’ things.”

Spike inclined his head in silent agreement. “Do you like them, then?”

Buffy nodded, her smile never wavering. “Love them. They’re my favorite … the dusty pink ones. I’ve loved them ever since I was a girl.”

“That right?” Spike replied, his brows lifting slightly. “Lucky, that.”



Buffy looked at him suspiciously. “I’m pretty sure that Joan does not know that those are my favorite roses.”

“Doesn’t she?”

“Spike … how…?”

Spike shook his head. “Can’t expect a bloke t’ reveal all his secrets, can ya? What would life be without intrigue and mystery?”

Buffy sighed, shaking her head, but dropped it. Maybe he was right. After all, every fairy-tale had some intrigue and mystery … and even a pinch of magic to them, didn’t they?

“You know, I wanted to talk to you about the babies’ names. I mean, I sort of … jumped in there in full Buffy-mode and named them, but I never asked you.”

“What you said was brilliant, pet,” Spike assured her.

“Are you sure? I was thinking maybe you’d want your mom’s name as part of the girl’s name. I just didn’t know … I don’t know what her name is … or was.”

Spike looked out at the shops as they rolled down Main Street and became quiet for several long moments. Finally, his eyes still focused outside the carriage, he said in a quiet voice, “Anne. Her name was … Anne.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to … pry,” Buffy apologized sensing she’d brought up bad memories, the smile she thought couldn’t fade doing so immediately.



Spike shook his head and looked back at her. “Not prying. There’s nothing about me I wouldn’t tell ya, pet – if ya really wanted to know. Just some things I’d … rather leave buried. Some visions I’d rather the mother o’ my children not have dancin’ in her head.”

Buffy nodded but couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted to leave buried. Angel had killed his entire family – probably Spike had too; it seemed pretty status quo for vampires to do that. Is that what he didn’t want her to know? She thought about how Spike had gotten along with her own mother. Even before being chipped, he'd never offered to hurt Joyce. In fact, the elder Summers woman was the more dangerous of the two of them, having hit Spike over the head with an axe.

Buffy tried to picture Spike hurting his own mother, but she couldn't get her mind to conjure it. Maybe it had been Dru ... or Angelus. Maybe Spike didn't want her to know that he'd gotten them invited in and one of them had... Buffy shook her head, clearing her mind. Those images were far too easily conjured.

Buffy focused her gaze back on Spike's face, wiping the disturbing images away. Whatever had happened, the demon, the man, next to her wasn't that person anymore. “Sometimes I forget. I forget that you’ve lived so long before me, that you’ve had … more than one lifetime.”

“I forget sometimes too – when I’m with you,” Spike admitted. “Nothing that came before really matters when I’m with you. Everything’s different now.”

Buffy gave him a warm, reassuring smile. “Maybe we can both forget the past together.”

Spike inclined his head in agreement. “Sounds brilliant.”

**~**



Buffy tried to reserve a rash and harsh judgment on their final destination: the Hellmouth. Well, the sign said it was St. Michael’s Cave, but she knew very well – even if Joan hadn’t educated her when they’d arrived – that this was a Hellmouth. She could feel the energy of it prickle her spine more surely than if she was in a crypt full of vampires.

She bit her lip to keep from being negative about this. Did Spike think this was her natural habitat like it was his? Did he think she’d feel relaxed and at ease here – as if she’d come home? Well, she didn’t. She absolutely didn’t feel at home here. She was not a creature of the darkness. She wasn’t drawn to the Hellmouth like a demon. She wasn’t … she … damn it.

Buffy sighed to herself. As much as she insisted she was the ex-Slayer, she couldn’t banish that moniker from her soul with words. No matter how much she denied it, she realized in a moment of clarity that the tinglies down her spine did have an unsettling feeling of comfortable familiarity to them. Double damn it.

The cave was closed to tourists this time of night, but Spike had apparently made some special arrangements for them, as they were admitted without question by the solitary night watchman. Buffy curled her fingers tightly around the bend in Spike’s elbow as they walked down the long tunnel past rock formations that were undoubtedly centuries, perhaps eons, old.  The deeper they moved into the cavern, the more she could feel the power of the place buzz against her skin. She nearly stopped more than once, but honestly didn’t want to hurt Spike’s feelings. He’d obviously gone to some trouble to arrange this, the least she could do was endure a few wiggy tingles down her spine.

Finally, the walkway opened into a large, impressive chamber. The stalactites and stalagmites that covered the walls and ceiling looked exotically beautiful, all bathed in a subtle rainbow of colored lights. To add to the ambiance, there was music playing softly from unseen speakers. It seemed to match the majesty of the cavern perfectly – something orchestral that she couldn’t begin to name. Buffy did stop then just to take it all in. It was humbling in its rugged beauty. Awesome in the truest sense of the word: breathtaking, impressive, overwhelming.



Spike stopped beside her and watched her as she looked around the magnificent collaboration of man and nature. He couldn’t help the satisfied smile that curled his lips as he watched her grow from pensive and jittery to awed by Gibraltar’s mouth of hell.

“Wow,” she said at last, shifting her gaze from the rock formations to Spike’s face. “This is … the prettiest Hellmouth I’ve ever seen.”

“Seen a lot of ‘em, have you?” Spike teased.



Buffy shrugged noncommittally.

Spike chuckled. “Does that mean you’ll stay for dinner, then?” He waved a hand at a small, cozy table in the center of the enormous chamber. A white linen tablecloth covered the intimate table for two. Another pink rose, like the one she still carried in her hand, stood in a vase in the center.

Buffy gave him a smile and nodded. The tinglies down her spine had faded into little more than a background noise, like the hum of tires on asphalt, waves lapping on a beach, crickets chirping in the night, or wind through the trees.

Spike led her to the table and pulled one of the chairs out for her. Buffy smoothed her full skirt and took a seat as he pushed the chair in for her. He removed the tented, linen napkin from the table in front of his date and laid it gently in her lap, before taking his place opposite her.

He’d no sooner taken his seat than a waiter, dressed to the nines in a black tux and tails, appeared at the table with a bottle of very expensive-looking champagne and two flute glasses.

He showed the bottle to Spike, who approved with a nod, and then the waiter decanted the bubbly with a soft ‘pop’. Buffy fretted her lip, her hand going to her tummy, as she watched the waiter pour them each a glass before he departed as quickly as he’d appeared.

Buffy leaned forward as Spike reached for his glass. “I don’t think I’m supposed to drink that,” she whispered to him as if there was anyone around to hear her protest.



“Why not?” Spike whispered back just as quietly, amused by her quiet tone.

“The babies…” Buffy explained simply, still whispering.

“Ahhh …” Spike replied, nodding. “I called and asked Marie-Élise about it. She said a little won’t hurt the bits, just don't overdo. Also said as much in a couple o’ those books I bought.”

“Really?” Buffy asked, dropping the whisper as she reached for her glass. “You checked?”

“‘Course,” Spike assured her. “You think I wouldn’t?”

Buffy blew out a soft snort and shook her head. “No, of course you’d check,” she realized.

Spike lifted his glass for a toast. “To first dates and forever.”

Buffy gave him a shy smile and raised her glass to his. “First dates and forever,” she repeated as the glasses clinked together lightly.

After they both drank to their toast, Buffy looked around the cavern again, taking it all in. “This place is really amazing. Have you been here before?”

Spike looked around as well. “Yeah, long time ago. Wasn’t nearly as nice then. Peaches kicked me off that German sub during the war, had t’ swim for it. Twenty bloody miles, he said. More like fifty, it was! Had t’ fight off three soddin’ sharks on the way. Ended up ‘ere … barely made it into the cave ‘fore sunup. Bloody wanker.

“Lucky for me it was nicely stocked with warm soldiers t’ snack on.”

Buffy’s brows were back up near her hairline again by the time he finished talking. “Maybe we shouldn’t forget the past,” she suggested. “I think I’d like to hear how you and Angel ended up on a German sub during the war.”

Spike snorted. “Well, obviously, I was tryin’ to steal it for the King,” Spike lied …. errr embellished. “Peaches was tryin’ t’ steal it for the Yanks. Forgot where he came from, he did.”



Buffy cocked a brow at him. "You were stealing a sub for Elvis?"

Spike almost did a spit-take with his champagne, but managed to hold it in. Thank goodness for vampire strength. "No, pet, the King o' England. King George was the monarch at the time," he explained.

“Oh ... I knew that," Buffy insisted nonchalantly. "So, you were trying to steal it to give him a ... birthday present? Christmas? Or is giving a submarine something just celebrated in England ... like Boxers Day?”

"Box-ing ..." Spike began to correct stiffly, but dropped it, heaving a loud sigh. “Not the literal King; the Crown – the government, Churchill, the Union Jack, and all that rot.”

“Oh, you were a patriot. That totally tracks,” she agreed sarcastically, rolling her eyes to let him know he wasn’t fooling her. “I guess you lost,” Buffy deduced.

“Guess I won in the end, though, didn’t I?” Spike retorted. “Sittin’ here with you, ain’t I? Got my babies in your belly, don’t ya?”

Buffy’s smile faded. She felt her stomach coil into a knot and her heart clench in her chest. “Is that what this is? What I am? Just another contest between you and Angel?” she croaked out, her throat nearly closed up with choked-back tears.

“Buffy, you know it isn’t,” Spike retorted immediately, reaching his hand across the table, palm up. “Don’t take it like that. It … that came out wrong. I love you more than … more than the universe is wide. You gotta know that by now, don’t ya?”

Buffy sighed and laid her hand in his on the table. His fingers closed around hers gently as she bowed her head and closed her eyes to try and calm her run-away emotions. “Yeah, I know … I’m … I’m sorry. I’ve just been extra emotional lately and I feel like …”

“Feel like what, pet?” Spike prompted when she didn’t finish, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

She opened her eyes and looked across the table at him. “I feel like I’m gonna turn into this big blimp and … you won’t …” she shrugged one bare shoulder and looked down at her glass of champagne, unable to meet his eyes.

Spike’s brows rose. “You think you won’t be sexy when you’re further along?” Spike barked out a sarcastic laugh. “Couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than your belly swollen with our babies, pet. Never stop wanting you, Buffy – never stop loving you.”



Buffy looked up at him through her lashes, her head still bowed. “You say that now…”

“I’ll say that in six months too … in six years, in sixty years when ya got our grandbabies on your knee.”

Buffy pursed her lips trying not to frown at the thought. “Thank you for that very disturbing visual. Grandma Buffy,” she said aloud, trying the feel of it on her lips. “I’ll be all old and wrinkly and you’ll be … horny and … handsome as ever. I’ll be downstairs sleeping in the living room ‘cos I can’t make it up the stairs anymore, and you’ll be up there with Joan…”

Spike shook his head. “Wherever you are is where I’ll be, pet. Love you for more than what’s on the outside – not that the packagin’ isn’t brilliant, mind you – but there’s more than that. If you let me spend my life with you, I’d be the happiest man in the world.”

“You love me for my brain?” Buffy asked skeptically. “That’s like saying you loved Dru for her sanity.”

Spike scowled slightly, though for which comment Buffy wasn’t certain – probably both.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Summers. Among other things, yeah, I love you for your brain. Love your heart, your determination, your fire, your passion, your wit; love the way you look at the world. Love your indestructible spirit. Never known anyone like you, Buffy.

“And, hard as she tries, Joan ain’t you. She’s a good girl, but you’re the one I love – the one I’ll always love. And when you’re gone, I’ll follow you, pet. I’ll lay you to rest in a beautiful cemetery – have a view of a lake with swans and flowers and whatnot – and I’ll lie down atop your grave and join you that very day. Let the sun take me off this earth, ‘cos I couldn’t bear a single day without you.”



“Spike, I …” Buffy’s heart caught in her throat, choking off her words. She shook her head and blinked back emotion-laden tears, but a small smile gave away her delight at his heartfelt sentiment. She had no doubt that he meant every word. There was a time not long ago that thoughts of being a wife or a mother, let alone a grandmother, were nothing more than flights of fancy, and rarely indulged. That was someone else’s life – not hers.

And then there was Angel. How easily he’d been scared away from her with the same argument she’d just made to Spike: she would get old and he wouldn’t. For her own good. How was it that this vampire across from her could have so much heart without a soul? She’d always thought those two things were inexplicably intertwined – heart and soul – but Spike had proven that wrong, just like he’d proven so many of her other beliefs to be untrue.

“You mean it, don’t you?” she finally asked in an emotion-laced voice.

“Every word.” Spike gave her a lecherous grin. “Sexiest grandma on the planet, you’ll be.”

Buffy snorted and let her smile widen. “Probably the most over-sexed grandma would be more like it.”

Spike shrugged, his grin never fading. “That too.”

“You might’ve been better off if you’d won the sub from Angel instead,” she told him.

“Piffle!” he disagreed. “Angel could’a captured the whole bloody German fleet for the Yanks, and I’d still be the lucky one. Nothing compares to you, pet. Wouldn’t trade anything on heaven or earth for being right here with you right now.”

“Yeah, and they thought I’d lost my mind…” Buffy mused almost to herself.

“Lost more than my mind, luv. Lost my heart to you long ago. No chance o’ getting it back. Just gotta hang about and not let ya take it too far away.”

Buffy tilted her head and considered him a moment. “What would happen if I took it far away?”

“Aw, well – that’s simple, luv. I’d dust.”

Buffy lifted her champagne glass up. “Here’s to safe hearts and over-sexed grandmas.”

Spike laughed, bowed his head slightly in agreement, and touched his glass to hers. “Here, here.”

**~**

After perhaps a quarter hour, the waiter appeared again. One moment they were alone, talking about past lives they’d previously decided should be forgotten, and the next moment he was there. A stout penguin – dressed entirely in black and white – bearing a stand that held two covered trays.



“Hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of ordering for ya, pet,” Spike said as the waiter placed one fancy, covered tray in front of her and the other in front of Spike.

“As long as there’s no tofu involved,” Buffy agreed, but she eyed the covered tray warily. She’d seen old movies and cartoons with food being served like this. Inevitably what was under the shiny, silver dome was … well … not anything she’d actually want to eat. Images of snails and octopi and ducks with their heads still attached danced in her mind, and her stomach started feeling queasy.

Spike laughed. “I can guarantee no tofu, luv.”

Buffy smiled back at him weakly as she fought back the unsettled feeling in her stomach that her imagination had conjured. Maybe a random vampire would jump out from the rocks and attack them, knocking the food over. Buffy looked around hopefully, but saw nothing. This had to be the only Hellmouth in the world with no random vampires in it. Just her luck.

"They've got a lotta nerve calling this place a Hellmouth," she groused under her breath as she continued to look around for any sign of a demon ... or a bat? A spider? Anything? "I guess some Hellmouths are more Hellmouth-y than others."

Without any further warning, the penguin removed the covers from both of the trays on the table with a flourish. Buffy held her breath and closed her eyes, praying for a demon attack. Then it hit her … the smell …

Her eyes flashed open and the scream that jumped from her lips could not be stopped. “A Quarter Pounder! With cheese! And fries!



“Oh my God! Spike! I didn’t see a McDonald’s in town today. How did I miss that?”

Spike cocked his head to one side and smiled at her child-like enthusiasm. As much as he’d loved introducing her to new places – the azure splendor of the Mediterranean, the timeless-beauty of the art at the Louvre, the magic of Paris from atop the Eiffel Tower – he’d much rather have her gleefully embrace the comfort-food she craved than suffer through an introduction to something she had no desire for.

“Can’t give away all my secrets, now can I?” he answered as he watched her squeeze out the little ketchup packets – Heinz, of course – onto the expensive bone-china plate her meal sat on. The red splattered over the dainty Forget-Me-Nots adorning the white background of the expensive, antique plate, nearly obscuring all the blue posies that gaily winked up at her.

When she took a bite of the Quarter Pounder, Spike thought she might’ve cum. If he closed his eyes, the moan that tumbled from her throat sounded very much like the one he thought was reserved for him and him alone. He just sat mesmerized and watched her indulge her craving for a couple of minutes.

There were times when Buffy seemed like she had lived a thousand lifetimes. Her Calling placed inside her the power and instincts and even some dream-memories of every Slayer that had come before, and she wielded that responsibility like a wizened master of the art. But in times like this, she was just Buffy: the giddy – perhaps a bit spacey – girl inside the woman.

Spike couldn’t decide which he loved more. Luckily, he had them both, he didn’t have to choose.

“Have I told you lately that I love you?” Buffy wondered between bites, her words muffled with the rapturous meal. The penguin was gone again. She still didn’t know how he appeared and disappeared so quickly. She didn’t care anymore.

Spike started on his own burger and fries. “Don’t reckon you have, luv,” Spike replied shamelessly. “Perhaps you’d care to elucidate.”

Buffy laughed, stuffing a fry into her mouth. “Elucidate? That’s very Giles-y!”

“Insultin’, that is!” Spike argued in mock agitation. “It’s a perfectly good and proper word. Don’t reckon Watchers have a monopoly on it.”



Buffy shrugged, still smiling, as she washed down her cheap fast-food with expensive champagne. “Why do I think there’s more to you than meets the eye, Mr. Pratt?”

Spike fixed her with a leer and curled his tongue over his teeth. “Be happy t’ give you the full tour later of what’s not meetin’ your pretty, little eyes,” he offered, sliding a hand down over his tux-clad chest until it disappeared beneath the table.

Buffy bit her bottom lip coyly. “Oh, so this is dinner and a show, huh?”

Spike wagged his brows at her suggestively. “Play your cards right, Summers, and you’ll get the Full Monty.”

“Oooo …” Buffy cooed. “And I thought this was going to be a perfectly respectable first date.”

“Just lucky for you, I can respect you just as properly with our clothes off as on,” Spike countered.

Buffy laughed again. “Well, I declare!” Buffy breathed, channeling Scarlett O’Hara, fanning her face with her hand. “How you do vex me, Mr. Pratt! I do believe I may faint dead away with just the notion of it.”

“Be a right shame that, pet. I can make you faint dead away in much more pleasant ways than jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout my hot, tight little body.”

Buffy licked her lips like a cat stalking a canary. “I believe, dear sir, that I will call you on that and see what just you’ve got as your hole card.”

Buffy’s eyes flashed in victory. “I think I played my cards just right, don’t you, Mr. Pratt?”

“Taught you too well, I did. You’re a bloody card shark.”

Buffy laughed but didn’t correct him as he’d done her thosez weeks ago. She liked being the predator in this game.

**~**

After they finished their dessert – hot fudge sundaes, of course – Spike laid his napkin on the table and stood up, offering Buffy his hand.



“May I have this dance, Miss Summers?” he requested in his Giles-y voice, which Buffy was starting to suspect was more like true ‘Mr. Pratt’ than Spike was willing to admit.

Buffy tilted her head considering the soft music that was playing in the background. Spike can actually dance? Spike can … slow dance?

She placed her hand in his and rose from the table with all the elegance she could muster after a gourmet meal of burgers and fries, and gave him a shallow curtsy. “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Pratt.”

Spike flashed his boyish grin at her and Buffy couldn’t help but return it as her heart fluttered in her chest. Yes, there were definitely more layers to Mr. Pratt/William the Bloody/Spike that needed to be peeled away. Her chest swelled at the notion of spending a lifetime doing just that.

Spike took her in his arms, moving away from their table at bit, and began to sway with her over the smooth floor of the cavern. Buffy leaned against him, savoring the feel of his strong hand against her bare back, and let him lead them in a gentle dance to the slow beat of the music. Spike’s thumb caressed her spine as they moved and sent tingling lances of pleasure up and down her body as they swayed, each lost in their own thoughts.



Buffy broke the comfortable silence first. Looking up to his eyes she asked, “Just who are you, Mr. Pratt, and what have you done with my Spike?”

Spike smirked at her, releasing the hold around her body, and spun her in a slow pirouette before gently guiding her back into his embrace. His hand found her back again and this thumb resumed tickling her warm skin before he answered her. “Spike’s ‘ere, luv,” he assured her. Then, softening his accent he added, “So is Mr. Pratt.”

Buffy smiled, thinking that Spike was a lot like her: sometimes just a girl and sometimes a Slayer. Sometimes he was just a guy – admittedly a Victorian guy, and certainly a man, not a boy – and sometimes he was Spike. Now that she thought about it, she’d seen flashes of William Pratt out of Spike in the past, she just hadn’t realized the depth of the man within the demon.

“If I ask you something, will you promise not to get angry with me?” Buffy wondered, looking back up at him as they swayed together.

Spike pursed his lips a moment considering her, then nodded. “Alright.”

Buffy took a moment to consider her words carefully before continuing. “You ... don’t have a soul, but you still … I mean, the man is still inside. It’s like William Pratt’s heart survived the demon. Even before the chip, you were able to put the demon aside, make a deal with me to save the world, drink hot chocolate with my mom. Angel…”

Spike stiffened slightly, his thumb stilled on her back, but he kept his feet moving to the slow tempo of the music.

“…Angel, when he didn’t have his soul … well, there was nothing of Liam in there. Angelus could’ve never done any of that. I … just … I’m trying to understand why you’re so different.”

Spike took a deep breath but didn’t answer her right away. Buffy laid her head back against his shoulder and waited, afraid she’d spoiled the mood when his thumb remained still against her back. Stupid Buffy.

“I reckon,” Spike began after what seemed an eternity to Buffy. “What you don’t understand is that Liam never had much of a heart t’ start with. Oh, I suppose it was average as hearts go, pet, but what I heard from Darla ‘bout your boy …”

Now it was Buffy’s turn to stiffen. “He’s not my boy,” she interjected immediately.

Spike shrugged. “Right,” he agreed. “Anyway, what I heard from Darla ‘bout Liam was what made her choose him to be her partner was his lack of moral fiber … and apparently she thought he was pretty.” Spike snorted in disagreement.

Buffy pursed her lips to keep from smiling at his disdain.

“So, Liam with a soul was … well … not that much different than Angel without one. A bit less violent, I reckon, but he wasn’t ever gonna be given a 'Humanitarian’ award,” Spike concluded. “The soul helped him control the demon’s worst urges, I reckon. To be honest, think part o’ his broodiness was ‘cos he missed the violence and cruelty, not ‘cos he felt guilty about it. If ya don’t have much of a heart as a human, then you bloody sure won’t have one as a demon.

“The demon lowers your inhibitions. It’s not that ya don’t know right from wrong, ya just have a hard time carin’. Not saying I haven’t done my fair share of violence, luv, ‘cos I have, but I’ve never been as … depraved as Angelus. Just wasn’t in me.”

“I heard you stuck railroad spikes in people’s eyes,” Buffy argued, suddenly feeling defensive of Angel. It was stupid, she knew. But somehow it seemed to reflect on her own character that she’d let herself fall in love with someone who didn’t have a heart, as Spike contended.



Spike tsked dismissively. “Yeah, well, that was personal.”

“What do you mean?” Buffy wondered.

“Them fellas deserved t’ have spikes poked in their eyes,” Spike retorted angrily. “Bloody arrogant wankers had no appreciation for …” Spike stopped talking abruptly, suddenly feeling he was giving too much away.

 “For what?” Buffy wondered, stopping their dance to pull back out of his embrace and look at him.

Spike ducked his head and rubbed hand on the back of his neck as he stood before her feeling exposed, flayed open, just as he’d felt when those tossers had read his poncey poem aloud at the party and laughed at him.



“Spike, please … I’m … I just want to understand,” Buffy begged.

Spike took a breath and blew it out, then looked up at her. “They had no respect for another’s feelings. They were as bloody heartless as Angelus, and they deserved everything I done to them … me and Dru.”

Buffy tilted her head and studied him for several long moments. “You told me you’d always been bad, but that’s not true, is it? That was one of your smoke screens. You’ve always had a tender heart,” she concluded gently. “The demon didn’t change that … at least for the people you care about.

“Love’s Bitch,” she whispered, her eyes boring into his like emerald lasers.

Spike gave a short, shallow tilt of his head in acknowledgement, not breaking eye contact, but didn't say anything as he waited for her mocking laughter to begin.

“Liam … Angel never really loved anything, did he?” Buffy wondered forlornly, surprising Spike with her tone. “Even me.”

Spike shrugged as relief washed over him. Was she honestly not gonna poke fun at him? “Couldn’t say for sure,” he replied hesitantly.

“But you don’t think so. He’s like a … what do they call them? A sociopath,” she concluded, drawing on her days in Psych 101. “Like Ted Bundy. He looks and acts fine on the outside…”

“But got no heart – just a shell, an act,” Spike finished.



Buffy turned away from Spike, wrapping her arms around her torso. “But … that doesn’t make sense. I mean – the perfect happiness thing. If he didn’t love me how did he achieve perfect happiness?”

Spike took a step forward and laid a gentle hand on her bare shoulder. “Demon like Angelus shagging a Slayer her first time? Blood in the air … maybe not just in the air. Not all that hard to imagine, pet.”

Buffy shuddered. “You think his demon achieved the happiness?”

Spike caressed her shoulder in a way he hoped conveyed comfort. “Just a theory, pet. I could be wrong. He … probably loved you … in his, ya know, own depraved way.”

Buffy huffed out a long breath. “You’re a horrible liar. How can someone so evil be such a horrible liar?” she wondered as she turned back around to face him.

Her expression softened when their eyes met. “But you’re different, aren’t you? You … really love me. It’s not … an ‘in your own evil way’ thing, right? It’s not a demon and Slayer thing, right?”

“Can’t lie, luv. I love the Slayer. My demon thrills when you’re next t’ me, craves you, it does. But that’s not the half of it. I love who you are more than what you are. My heart feels like it’ll burst when ya look at me with affection. When ya give me a smile, or a touch … a teasing glance. Wasn’t lying when I said I loved you for your brain and your spirit, pet. You are the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known. Love the way you try, the way you think, the way you’ve fought for everything you are, the way your heart glows with an inner fire. So young and so …”

“Don’t you dare say ‘old’,” Buffy interjected sternly, blinking her emotions back from her eyes.

“Errr… right. Not old … timeless.” Spike reached a hand up and cupped her cheek gently. “I’m not Angel. My heart is yours, Buffy … and my soul.” He lowered his hand to her abdomen and pressed gently against the babies growing there. “You’ve got it all. I’m yours. I’ll stand in the light with you, pet; Angel … Angelus never could … never could come outta the dark. I can, I will, I have – for you.”



Buffy’s chin quivered and she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye before it had time to run down her cheek. “I love you … all of you: the demon, and the man,” she replied, her voice rough with emotion.

Suddenly Spike dropped to one knee in front of her and the little diamond engagement ring was in his fingers, presented to her as if she were a queen and it the queen’s jewels.



Spike’s voice was a quavering rumble when he spoke. “Then marry me. Let me show you what love can be, Buffy. Be my wife. No one could ever love you more than I do. I'll love you forever, Buffy – cherish you 'til the stars blink out and time stops. You're my destiny ... my heart, my soul, my life.

"Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Buffy hadn’t actually been expecting this tonight. I mean, who proposes on the first date? Admittedly, this was a long-delayed first date, but still.

She stared at the proffered ring a moment and then her gaze met Spike’s. His face was hopeful, his cobalt eyes promised forever. Who proposed on the first date? Spike, that’s who.

Buffy extended her left hand toward the ring. “Yes,” she squeaked back.

“Yes?” Spike repeated, afraid he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“Yes, yes. Yes, Spike, I’ll marry you,” she confirmed, her voice stronger now.

Spike slid the ring onto her hand with trembling fingers, silently cursing himself for being a git the whole while.

Once the ring was settled onto her finger, Spike rose and drew her into a loving embrace. His lips tickled over hers, teasing, tasting, tantalizing her until her knees wobbled. She was suddenly doubly glad for his strong arms around her, and she clung to his neck as much to remain standing as for the feel of his body against hers.



“When?” she asked when the kiss finally broke. Her breath was warm against his lips, as he didn’t let her pull too far away, and she had no desire to at any rate.

“Would tomorrow night be too soon?”

At that Buffy did pull back to look into his eyes. “Tomorrow? How … here? Can we do that?”

“I … might’ve made some … inquiries,” Spike revealed sheepishly.

“Pretty sure of yourself,” she accused, her eyes narrowing.

“To tell you the truth, wasn’t sure at all, pet. Just … tryin’ to be prepared, in case,” Spike admitted, ducking his head and stuffing his hands down into the pockets of his jacket uncomfortably.

“Oh, so now you’re a Boy Scout, too, huh?” she teased.

Spike shrugged and looked back up at her. “Was pretty clear you weren’t gonna make it much longer on that boat. No way you’d make it back to the good, ole USA on it – so I … took the liberty of making some other arrangements.

“Including marriage arrangements?” she asked, cocking a brow at him.

“Well … while I was greasing the governmental cogs o’ progress, figured I’d get our money’s worth. That doesn’t ruin the fairy-tale bit, does it?” he wondered worriedly.

Buffy laughed sharply and shook her head, pulling him back into a hug. “I guess not. I suppose even Prince Charming has to get his hands dirty from time to time.”



**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Smile, James Marsters (also done by Ghost of the Robot)  on YouTube  }}


In, I'm falling in, I didn't want to
Not so fast boy, slow
Don't wanna hurt the girl
Get her a pretty box, you'd better fill it

And I get blinded when she opens the door
It's like looking into the sun, you know
And I'm just blinkin', mumblin', starin' at my shoes
And she just looks at me 
And smiles,
Smiles, 
Smiles

So, there we go again and it feels so good
To fall up and down
Damn, it's 2 am again and she kisses me goodbye
For the sixteenth time
And I'm drivin' home, it's 5 a.m.
And I look at the sun come up over the hills
Clouds are turnin' pink and green
And all I can see is her eyes, 
Eyes, 
Eyes

And I get blinded when she opens the door
It's like looking into the sun, you know
And I'm just blinkin', mumblin', starin' at my shoes
And she just looks at me 
And smiles,
Smiles, 
Smiles

Chapter End Notes:
Don't forget, Ghost of the Robot's LIVE online StageIt show is Saturday, April 6th, 2013. Get your ticket for TEN CENTS:
 http://www.stageit.com/ghost_of_the_robot/live_via_satellite/20743
What do you have to lose!?? Come check them out and chat with us! Everyone is welcome!
**
I hope you weren't too disappointed that the date was just Buffy and Spike. And I also hope that his proposal was grand enough. I'm a little worried I built everyone's expectations up too high. .... {{{eek!}}}
**
Aiming to update again on Tuesday, but there might be a bit of a delay. At least we're not hanging off a big cliff right now. :)
Wind Beneath My Wings by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Warning for this chapter: Some girl on girl kissage and implied three-some.
**
Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile. All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Later that night (wee hours of the next morning after the date)…



Spike stubbed his cigarette out and dropped the butt into one of the garbage receptacles on the beach. He was filled with nervous energy and wished to God he hadn’t agreed to have Buffy ‘home’ by midnight. The good-night kisses they’d shared had done nothing except rev up his libido, and now he was left standing alone in the dark, looking out over the gently lapping waves with no relief in sight.

His whole body tingled – and not from the Hellmouth. His skin prickled with random bouts of gooseflesh. The little bumps rose and fell and raced over his skin as if they had horny, little minds of their own. He rubbed his arms through his shirt-sleeves, trying to get them to stop, but it did little good.

He sighed and patted down the pockets of his tux, looking for another pack of cigarettes, but finding none. Then he remembered that he’d left the carton Buffy had bought him in town that day in her room.

Spike turned his eyes to the hotel and quickly found Buffy and Joan’s room. Their window was dark; they’d already gone to bed. Spike smirked and pulled the room key out of his pocket. He’d just slip in and grab the smokes and … well … maybe … His cock jumped in his dress pants at the possibilities that came after the ‘maybe’. Maybe Buffy was still awake. Maybe she was just as horny as he was. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Yeah, it was the night before his wedding, and, yeah, he’d planned on staying away from her until they were man and wife out of some strange sense of nobility, but sod it!

**~**

Earlier that night, 11:59 pm…

Buffy danced through the door to the room she was now sharing only with Joan, her lips swollen with Spike’s heavenly good-night kisses. Her skin tingled and her body hummed with excitement. She was getting married! Tomorrow night!

“Look!” Buffy squealed, holding her left hand out to Joan, who had waited up, as she had learned via her research was appropriate to do.



Joan looked at the ring, her brow furrowed. “I am perplexed. Does size matter or does it not?”

Buffy laughed and pulled her hand back. “It matters in some things – not in baubles. In this case, it really is the thought that counts.”

Joan nodded. “So it does matter in penises, but not in diamonds?”

Buffy giggled and spun around giddily, her skirt flaring out like Cinderella’s. “Yep … size matters in penises and hearts, and Spike is well endowed with both.

“Dance with me!” Buffy requested gleefully, reaching her hands out to Joan.

“There is no music,” Joan pointed out, taking Buffy’s hands and standing up from the couch.

Buffy waltzed with Joan over to the small clock-radio on the table and clicked it on. When she heard the music coming from it, she squealed like a teenager at a Beatles’ concert.

“It’s like … karma or kismet or something,” Buffy exclaimed as she pulled Joan close and began dancing slowly around the small, open floor of the room.

♫Did you ever know that you're my hero,
and everything I would like to be?
I can fly higher than an eagle,
for you are the wind beneath my wings.


“This is the song I wanted to have played at our wedding when Spike and I were under that spell,” she explained to her friend as they slow-danced, their bodies swaying against each other gently.

♫It might have appeared to go unnoticed,
but I've got it all here in my heart.
I want you to know I know the truth, of course I know it.
I would be nothing without you.


“You were previously engaged to Spike?” Joan asked as she settled her arms around Buffy’s waist and swayed to the slow beat with her friend.

“Yeah – but … it wasn’t like this time. That was a Willow spell-gone-wonky – this is real. It’s totally different.”

“And you are to be wed tomorrow night?” Joan continued as they danced to the sappy, romantic song. The two women’s hips swayed in time to the slow song, their bodies brushing against each other with each small step.

“Yeah … God, can you believe it?” Buffy gushed, her eyes wide as platters.

“Is there a reason I should not believe it? Are you attempting to deceive me?” Joan wondered, tilting her head and looking at her twin-friend.



Buffy laughed. “No … it’s just … unbelievable!”

♫Oh, the wind beneath my wings.
You, you, you, you are the wind beneath my wings.
Fly, fly, fly away. You let me fly so high.
Oh, you, you, you, the wind beneath my wings.
Oh, you, you, you, the wind beneath my wings.


“What will be my new role when you and Spike are married?” Joan wondered.

Buffy furrowed her brow and stopped dancing as the song ended, pulling back a bit from her friend. “What do you mean?”

“Although there are many variations, in countries were polygamy is illegal, typical wedding vows require each person to ‘forsake all others’.  I have been researching this custom, as well.”

Buffy shook her head. “No … Joan … nothing will change,” Buffy assured her. “I told you earlier, Spike loves us both.”



“But he is marrying you and you are marrying him,” Joan pointed out despondently, stepping back from Buffy. “‘Forsaking all others.’”

Buffy sighed. She grabbed one of Joan’s hands and kept her from moving too far away. “Joan, I need you. Spike needs you. He loves you. You’re my best friend and …” Buffy bit her bottom lip, her emotions whirling wildly as she considered her next words. “And … I love you. We’re like … like a really good hot fudge sundae.”

Joan’s brows rose. “I am certain that I do not have the flavor, consistency, texture, aroma, or temperature of a hot fudge sundae,” she pointed out.

Buffy shook her head. “No … I mean … to make a hot fudge sundae you need ice cream and hot fudge – two things – like me and Spike. But, to make a really good one you have to add nuts. You’re the nuts!”

“I am not certain calling me ‘nuts’ is appropriate or desirable,” Joan objected. "That is considered an insult in most English speaking countries."

Buffy breathed out a noisy, dismayed breath and shook her head. “Joan, trust me. Nothing will change,” she assured her friend again, tugging on her hand and pulling her even closer.

Where their hands met, Buffy could feel an almost electric charge passing between them. It sent a shiver down her spine and prickled her already overly-sensitized skin, as well as other burning, yearning, aching parts of her anatomy.

“We’re a really good hot fudge sundae,” Buffy repeated, her voice softening as her breathing suddenly became more labored.

Buffy’s body buzzed with pent-up energy. The emanations from the Hellmouth were nothing compared to the giddy, tingling need that Spike had stirred in her tonight. The good-night kisses outside the hotel room door had only fanned the flames of Buffy’s desire, and slow-dancing with Joan had done nothing to quench them.

“Do you perceive a pleasant sibilating hum in your sensory-receptors?” Joan asked quietly, leaning in closer to Buffy.

Buffy looked up and her eyes met Joan’s – so familiar, yet so different. The two women remained locked under each other’s spell for many long moments as the tension between them grew by leaps and bounds. Buffy’s chest began to heave with nervous desire while all the air in the room seemed to become charged with the invisible power emanating from the two Slayers.

“Yes,” Buffy answered at last – a breathy, labored reply. Tentatively, Buffy put a hand behind Joan’s neck and pulled her nearer still … close enough to kiss. Buffy’s lips hovered over the Bot’s for a few breathless moments before she gently touched her mouth to her friend’s, her smoldering desire rekindling into a crackling bonfire in her core.

Joan responded to the kiss, parting her lips to welcome Buffy’s tongue into her warm, soft mouth as her sensory buffers began to heat up and overflow. Joan moaned when Buffy deepened the kiss, and every drive, microchip, bit, and byte whirled and pulsed with a sibilating buzz of need.

“Please make my sensory preceptor buffers overload,” Joan pleaded as the two blondes began stumbling together toward the bed, barely breaking the kiss as they went.

Buffy moaned her agreement as they tumbled onto the mattress, tugging at zippers and buttons in a sudden, blind passion.

**~**

Spike silently slid his key into the lock of Buffy and Joan’s room and turned the latch. He pressed the door open slowly and slipped in without a sound. The moment he was inside with the door closed firmly at his back, however, he froze in his tracks.

The whole room was dark, there were no lights on, but he could see well enough … and smell and hear. Bloody hell!

Spike crept through the small living area over to the open door of the bedroom, carefully avoiding the discarded shoes, stockings, and other clothing that littered the floor. Spike stopped in the doorway, his heart in his throat. He wouldn’t have been able to breathe if his life had depended on it – luckily it didn’t.



His two beautiful Buffys were a sight to behold: angels tangled each other’s arms. Their blissful moans and quavering gasps were a symphony of pleasure. The aroma of their desire and release as intoxicating as a bed of fresh, fragrant roses.

Spike must’ve made a sound – a gasp, a moan, a gulp – because two sets of green eyes turned on him as one. He wasn’t sure if he should flee or fall into their arms, so he simply stood there like a marble statue in the darkness.

After the surprise of seeing someone in the doorway passed, Buffy disentangled herself from Joan and rose from the bed. She picked her pink, sparkly dress up off the floor and carefully settled it over the back of a chair, smoothing it gently, before she made her way to Spike.

Buffy reached a hand out and Spike’s hand lifted up to meet hers on reflex. Without a word, Buffy tilted her head toward the bed, a silent invitation. Spike swallowed and nodded, taking a tentative step forward. Of all the images his mind had conjured prior to coming into their room, this had not been one of them. He honestly thought the days of having both his beauties were long past, and he'd been fine with that. He only needed Buffy – she was all he'd ever truly desired ... but ... well... he certainly didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings.

Spike swallowed hard and blinked, looking between Buffy and Joan, trying to assure himself that he wasn't hallucinating or dreaming. Nothing changed; they were still here, still covered with the fragrance of arousal, still looking at him expectantly. His cock grew even harder, threatening the thin fabric of the tuxedo pants, as he watched Joan rise from the bed and silently glide up next to Buffy. In a moment, both of his beautiful girls were undressing him, removing his fancy, rented tux piece by piece. The tie he’d struggled with so valiantly fell to the floor, followed by the cummerbund, his shirt, his over-stressed slacks…

Lips began to kiss his soft, alabaster skin as it was slowly revealed. Teeth nibbled and tongues licked as he was guided forward to the bed. The gooseflesh that had been temporarily shocked into silence returned with a vengeance, tingling his body from head to toe.

As Spike lay down on the bed, Buffy and Joan remained standing a moment. Buffy pulled Joan’s lips to hers again as Spike watched, mesmerized, their bare bodies pressed together in an intimate embrace.

When the kiss broke, Buffy leaned her forehead against Joan’s, never breaking the connection of their flesh. “I told you … nothing has changed. Nothing will change – you’re part of us,” Buffy assured their android partner.

Joan pulled back and looked from Buffy to Spike and back again. “You will not forsake me after your vows?”

Buffy shook her head. “No. I promise – there will be no forsaking,” Buffy assured her sincerely.

“We are a hot fudge sundae, with nuts?” Joan asked, looking at Buffy with somber eyes. A sliver of light from outside provided just enough illumination in the dark of room for Buffy to see that Joan was perfectly serious.



Buffy smiled and nodded. “We are,” she agreed.

“Can Spike be the nuts? That is a slang reference for the male sex gland. Therefore, I suggest that would be more appropriate, as he actually has testicles and I do not.”

Buffy pulled her lips between her teeth to keep from laughing out loud. “Okay …” she agreed after a moment, regaining her composure. “I’ll be the ice cream, Spike can be the nuts, and you can be the fudge.”

Joan nodded excitedly. “I am looking forward to pouring myself over you again.”

Buffy did laugh at that and turned her gaze back to Spike, who was looking at them with utter confusion. “Now, c’mon … I think we had some theory we were gonna test out,” Buffy reminded Joan, her tone teasing. “Something about the way to a man’s heart?”

Joan smiled. “Yes. I enjoy scientific experiments. Do you also enjoy science?”

Buffy grinned. “Oh, yeah,” she purred, wagging her brows. “I’m all about the science.”



**~**

Two days later…

Buffy couldn’t wipe the utterly ridiculous grin off her face if someone knocked all her teeth out. She sat in the window-seat of a 747 watching the luggage being loaded onto the plane. Her grin grew even wider, if that was possible, when she saw the coffin-shaped shipping crate being lifted up onto the conveyer belt by several of the baggage handlers. She sighed, the last of her niggling worries fading. Spike and Joan were onboard with her now. They’d be in the States in a few hours and they could begin their new life.

Although it would be an uncomfortable few hours for Spike, they’d decided it would be better that he ride along with Joan in Buffy's oversized-baggage than take the boat and meet them later. Just in case the Council somehow found Buffy again, he didn’t want to leave her side for the two to three weeks it would take for him to travel across the ocean with Saul on the boat.

As Buffy waited for the plane to be readied for departure, she thought of everything there was to do, and grew even more excited by the prospect of shopping for a house with Spike and Joan, of furnishing it, of decorating the nursery for the babies. They could just be a normal, if eccentric, family. No one there would know them. No one would know she was the ex-Slayer, that Joan was a robot, or that Spike was a vampire. No one would know anything about their pasts. No one would care. They could be anyone they wanted to be – a clean slate, a life do-over.

As the workers below closed the luggage hatch, Buffy closed her eyes and leaned back against her seat to await take-off. As had happened nearly every time she closed her eyes since she became Mrs. Pratt, the wedding replayed in her mind.

It had been simple, but elegantly memorable. Spike had taken care of everything from the local official that presided, to the location, to the flowers and décor. All she’d had to do was show up, say ‘I do’, kiss her husband, and shove cake into his face … then lick it off.

Joan had been almost as excited as Buffy about the ceremony, since, as the bridesmaid, she’d been able to wear her fancy, new dress. The whole thing had been one surprise after another for Buffy. After leaving her and Joan’s bed the morning of their wedding, Spike had left directions to take the cable car to the top of the Rock at 8pm, and Buffy hadn’t seen him again that whole day.

She’d considered buying another new dress for her wedding gown, but instead simply accessorized the pink gown from their ‘first date’, adding a wreath of dried, pastel wildflowers in her hair and getting a new spray of the dusty pink roses for her bouquet. She and Joan took the empty cable car up to the top of the Rock of Gibraltar at 8pm sharp, deciding that it wouldn’t be right to be late for her own wedding.

At the top, she found Spike and the official waiting near the edge of the cliff. The whole area around the two men was surrounded by an irregular horseshoe of fat, white and pink pillar candles in varying heights. There must’ve been a thousand of them – although Buffy hadn’t actually counted. Where Spike had gotten so many, she had no idea. The whole area glowed with the soft, golden rays of the candles. The air was still, surprisingly so, and a low fog had begun to flow in from the ocean, surrounding the ground and water beneath their precipice with a blanket of soft white haze. It felt like they were above the clouds – on top of the world – perhaps in heaven itself. It certainly seemed like they were the only people in the whole world at that moment, shrouded from everyone and everything else that had existed before by the diaphanous mist.



Spike was dressed in his tux again, looking just as dapper as he had the night before. A single pink rose again adorning his lapel.

If she lived to be a hundred, Buffy would never forget the look of absolute awe that he showered over her as she and Joan walked slowly from the cable car station out to the edge of the world to join him. She didn’t actually hear the words the official said – or if she did, she didn’t recall them now – everything was being blocked out by the joyous contentment that Spike was pouring over her.



She remembered him sliding the wedding band onto her finger as he promised to love and cherish her. His hands trembled, and so did hers. She was afraid he would drop it, but he didn’t. Then it was her turn and she did drop his ring! She looked around frantically for it, afraid it would roll right off the edge of the world. Oh, God! But Joan retrieved it before anything like that happened and, on the second try, with a nervous titter and a promise of her own, Buffy had managed to slide it onto his finger.

And then they were kissing. The fog had risen up even higher and they were engulfed by a halo of diffused light from the candles. Standing in the clouds, surrounded by an angelic glow of soft light, their lips met for the first time as husband and wife. Buffy melted against him, and Spike slowly leaned her back into a low dip, supporting her with strong arms, as his lips made love to hers in the cloud of radiance.

In the next moment Joan was showering them with fragrant, pink rose petals and small, dried bits of lavender flowers. Buffy began to giggle against Spike’s lips as the delicate flowers tickled her skin, fell down the front of her dress, and settled into her hair.

Then she was standing in front of him again, their eyes locked together there in the glowing clouds. He muttered a single word to her: “Effulgent.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant, but the way he said it, with such reverence, such amazement … almost worship, it made her heart swell to the breaking point in her chest.



“I love you, Mr. Pratt,” Buffy had replied to his single word.

“I love you, Mrs. Pratt,” he’d responded, his eyes deep, azure pools, glittering with joy.

Buffy then turned and reached a hand out to Joan, pulling her into their embrace as the presiding government official headed for the cable car. “I have something I want to give to both of you,” Buffy had announced.

Spike looked at her quizzically as Buffy pulled out of his embrace and retrieved her bouquet from a nearby rolling cart, which also held the cake waiting to be cut. She pulled out a pink ribbon from the center of the bouquet, lifting three rings up with it.

“These are like us,” Buffy explained, setting her bouquet back down and untying the ribbon to free the three rings. Each ring was formed out of three interlocking bands, each a different color: yellow, white, and rose 14k gold. The individual bands rolled around each other, but they couldn’t be pulled apart or separated.



“They’re each separate but also one,” Buffy continued, holding them up for the others to see. “Just like we are.

“I know these last few … well, months really, haven’t been much of a party-palooza for either of you. I want you to know how much I appreciate you standing by me, and let you know that I’ll always stand by both of you.”

Buffy took Joan’s right hand and slid one of the trio of rings onto her twin’s ring finger. “This is my promise that you’ll always be part of us.”

Buffy then looked at Spike and reached for his right hand. “And you will always be part of us,” she’d repeated, sliding the larger of the interlocking rings onto Spike’s right ring finger.

Finally, Buffy slid the last ring onto her own right ring finger, matching the other two. “I love you both. I … I don’t know where I’d be right now without you. I don’t even want to think …”

Buffy was cutoff when both Spike and Joan enveloped her in their arms, hugging her between them tightly.

“Love you so much, Buffy,” Spike rumbled against the top of her head. “And you too, pet,” he added, looking up at Joan with adoration.

Joan smiled contentedly, twirling the interlocking rings on her finger with her thumb. She felt like she was a bride of sorts too. The thought had brought on a strange fluttering of the microchips in her chest, which left her feeling oddly giddy.

When the hug broke, Joan asked Spike, “Is it now the proper time to serve the cake?”



Spike nodded, giving Buffy one last hard squeeze before the couple followed Joan over to a tablecloth-covered rolling cart that had been waiting off to one side. Atop it sat a small, but beautifully decorated, wedding cake. It was iced in white fondant and the top was adorned with a bouquet of edible roses in various shades of pink.

With no room on top of the cake for anything but the roses, a small bride and groom cake-topper was perched on the platter next to the cake. Buffy had picked it up and laughed when she saw that the groom had a tiny bit of red paint touched to his lips and chin, just as she’d suggested all those years ago when they’d been planning their wedding under Willow’s wonky spell.



With the official now long departed, the three members of the wedding party had been left alone to partake in the cake – chocolate under the white icing – and imbibe in another glass of champagne.

Buffy had, of course, smeared the cake she fed Spike all over his beautiful mouth, just so she and Joan would have the chance to lick it all off him. Spike had been the consummate gentleman and fed her cake to her properly, although he did take the opportunity to kiss away a bit of icing that lingered on her lips afterwards.

Buffy opened her eyes when the plane jerked and began to move back from the gate. It hadn’t been the big church wedding of her fairy-tale fantasies, but it had been a wondrous, Hellmouth wedding. It had been magical and something that only Prince Charming himself could’ve pulled off.

The wedding night had been equally magical. With Joan standing guard at the lower cable car station, Spike produced a small, but comfortable, bedroll of thick foam covered in a silken sheet from beneath the tray that held the cake. Once alone, he’d proceeded to make love to Buffy in the clouds on top of the world in the very spot they’d just gotten married.

Buffy shivered at the memory as the plane taxied for take-off. It was at once the most romantic and most erotic and exotic place she’d ever had the pleasure of making love in. It had been a soft, gentle, and, most surprising, a silent seduction that had burned her right to the bone.



They’d taken their time undressing each other with reverent hands. Each button, each zipper, each article of clothing removed tenderly, lovingly.  They each touched and kissed the other as if they’d both been made of porcelain, fragile and breakable. It was gentle, soft, loving, adoring, and the silence in the clouds on the mountaintop made it all the sweeter.

All their love was conveyed with their touches, with kisses, with caresses; with their lips and hands, tongues and fingers, and with their bodies. There were no adequate words to be uttered in those moments – none could do justice to the feelings inside. They made love, it seemed, in the clouds at the very gates of heaven. Their joining was reverent and worshipful – as if he were a god and she his goddess.

They’d stayed there until the carpet of fog began to draw back out to sea, and the sun began to whisper its arrival against the eastern sky. It was a night Buffy would never, ever forget. Every remembered kiss and touch sent tingling fires through her body even now, and she shivered involuntarily with the memory.

As the plane accelerated down the runway, Buffy pulled her new ‘replacement’ passport from her pocket and opened it. Spike had apparently used a lot of ‘grease’ to get that for her. ‘Elizabeth Anne Pratt’ it read. She ran her fingers across the name reverently. “Mrs. Pratt,” she whispered aloud, trying to get used to the feel of it on her lips. “Mr. and Mrs. Pratt,” she murmured, touching a finger to the wedding band and engagement ring on her left hand.

As the plane rose into the blue sky and banked to the west, Buffy looked out the window and watched the Rock of Gibraltar slowly disappear from view. Her heart ached for the loss, but also rejoiced with the promise of a new life in a new place with her new husband, her best friend, and their children. She couldn’t stop the small smile from quirking the corners of her mouth.

“Mrs. Pratt.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Bette Midler, Wind Beneath My Wings on YouTube  }}

Oh, oh, oh, oh -
It must have been cold there in my shadow,
to never have sunlight on your face.
You were content to let me shine, that's your way.
You always walked a step behind.

So I was the one with all the glory,
while you were the one with all the strength.
A beautiful face without a name for so long.
A beautiful smile to hide the pain.

Did you ever know that you're my hero,
and everything I would like to be?
I can fly higher than an eagle,
for you are the wind beneath my wings.

It might have appeared to go unnoticed,
but I've got it all here in my heart.
I want you to know I know the truth, of course I know it.
I would be nothing without you.

Did you ever know that you're my hero?
You're everything I wish I could be.
I could fly higher then an eagle,
for you are the wind beneath my wings.

Did I ever tell you you're my hero?
You're everything, everything I wish I could be.
Oh, and I, I could fly higher than an eagle,
for you are the wind beneath my wings,
'cause you are the wind beneath my wings.

Oh, the wind beneath my wings.
You, you, you, you are the wind beneath my wings.
Fly, fly, fly away. You let me fly so high.
Oh, you, you, you, the wind beneath my wings.
Oh, you, you, you, the wind beneath my wings.

Fly, fly, fly high against the sky,
so high I almost touch the sky.
Thank you, thank you,
thank God for you, the wind beneath my wings.
Chapter End Notes:
If you were wondering, that was *not* the three-some. That was a teaser ... :P
**
Next update on Saturday. Austin or Bust!
**
Ok - show of hands: Who is singing along with Bette here? Thank you, thank you, thank God for you ... the wind beneath my wings!

{{you guys really are the wind beneath my wings! Your feedback lifts me high into the sky!! }}
Home by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile. All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Buffy, along with her most unusual luggage, had flown into Las Vegas because Spike had left the DeSoto in the long-term parking there. Now she sat on a bench at the baggage claim in the international airside terminal of McCarran International Airport, nervously waiting for her oversized ‘baggage’. The airline had charged a small fortune to fly it in the baggage compartment, and yet she was still waiting for it to be unloaded when all the other passengers had retrieved their bags and were already standing in line waiting to be cleared through customs.



Finally, after what seemed forever and a day, a couple of men came through a side door pushing the coffin-sized wooden crate on a large dolly. Buffy breathed a sigh of relief, jumped up, and hurried over to take the precious cargo from them.

“I doubt you can get it on your own, lady,” one of the men told her as he pulled up from where he’d been tugging the cart over the carpeted floor.

“Can’t believe this belongs to a little girl like you,” the other man observed from his place at the back where he’d been pushing. “What the hell ya got in here? Gold bricks?”

Buffy scowled at them. “I’m not a little girl and I can get it from here if you’ll just get out of my way,” she insisted, taking hold of the handle the front man had been pulling on.

The two men scoffed, holding their hands up as they watched with amusement, waiting for the petite girl in the fancy dress and heels fall on her face when she tried to move it.

Buffy gave them both a ‘so there’ look when she pulled on the handle and the cart followed along behind her easily. “Wimps,” she said just loud enough for the two gape-mouthed men to hear as she walked away.

“Get ready, Spike,” Buffy whispered to the crate, knocking on the side at the same time. “Customs.”

She heard some movement inside the crate and a soft, answering knock against the lid, indicating readiness. Buffy took a deep breath and hoped to God that the one drama class she’d taken in high school – something she only took because she thought it would be an easy ‘A’ (it wasn’t) – didn’t fail her now. She'd specifically gotten a new dress and new shoes for the plane trip home, and done her hair and makeup just-so, all for the performance she was about to give. She closed her eyes a moment and focused on the character she wanted to project: a fashion diva. When she opened her eyes, she was channeling Cordelia Chase as her persona for the trip through customs.

Buffy lifted all her actual luggage up onto the inspection table. The bored-looking customs agent demanded in a flat tone, “Passport. Business or pleasure? Anything to declare?” without even looking up at her.

Buffy handed her passport to him. “Business. Nothing to declare.”

The customs officer, a portly man with wispy gray hair that grew only in a horseshoe around his shiny, bald pate, opened Buffy’s passport then looked up to match the photo to the traveler’s face. He nodded absently and gave the open luggage a quick perusal. He was just about ready to stamp her arrival when he saw the crate still on the dolly.

“What’s in there?” he wondered, setting his stamp back down.

“My mannequins,” Buffy answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world to say.

“Mannequins,” the man repeated, his tone confused, his brows furrowed. “Gonna have to open that up.”

“Of course, officer. Do you have a crowbar? I usually have my assistant, Gaston, with me for such menial tasks, but he couldn’t make the trip,” Buffy explained, giving her best damsel-y look to the man.

The officer disappeared a minute into an office then came back with a crowbar. “Why do you travel with mannequins?” he asked as he pried the lid off.

“Well, why wouldn't I?" Buffy wondered, shaking her head in confusion.

"Uhhh ... most people don't," the guard replied, still prying the lid up.

"Well, I'm not 'most people', am I?" Buffy retorted.

The guard turned and looked at her blankly.

"You mean you don’t recognize me?” Buffy asked, shocked and insulted.



“Uhhhh … no,” the man stammered as he slid the lid off to reveal two … people – two naked people, wrapped in nothing but clear bubble-wrap – in the crate. They were packed in the long box with one’s head at the other’s feet, lying on their sides facing each other. He poked a finger at the closest one’s arm, a female; the other was a male.

“Sir! Please! Those are extremely expensive and delicate! Unless you want to spend the rest of your life paying for them, I suggest you do not poke and prod my animatrons!” Buffy objected vehemently.

The man pulled back. “Your what?”

“They are animated mannequins which I’ve had built especially to model my fashions. Of course you’ve heard of Pratt Fashions of Gibraltar! We’re here for the international fashion show.” Buffy tsked and rolled her eyes disdainfully. “If you’re going to be greeting guests, you really should keep up with the goings on in this town, my dear sir!

“Pratt Fashions,” she repeated slowly when he just stared at her. At his blank look she shook her head. “Ask your granddaughter when you get home. She’ll be remarkably jealous that you got to meet me today. Now, if you’re quite finished ogling my models, I really am rather late.”

The man looked between the two realistic-looking models packed in the crate surrounded by bubble-wrap and foam peanuts, and then back at Buffy. “Most fashion designers use … people for models,” he pointed out.

Buffy clucked her tongue condescendingly. “Yes, that’s very quaint; so twentieth-century.”

The officer frowned and moved some of the peanuts around a bit, delving all the way to the bottom of the crate with his hand.

“Please do be careful!” Buffy exclaimed. “I cannot stress strongly enough how delicate they are!”

The man drew his hand back. “So, they’re robots ... like computers?”

Buffy sighed. “That’s a very simplistic description, but yes.”

“Boot them up…” he insisted.

Buffy heaved another sigh. “Honestly, I’ve never been treated so commonly…” she began to mutter as she moved to the crate. She opened the Bot’s access panel and booted her up. Joan’s eyes opened and a bright, Colgate smile came to her face. Joan began to stand up, spilling foam packing peanuts over the edge of the crate and onto the floor, and unwinding parts of the bubble-wrap ‘dress’ she wore as she did. The guard’s eyes grew wide with … well … errr … an eye-full of barely-covered ‘fashion model’.



“Is that quite enough, or would you like a lap dance, as well?” Buffy wondered, smiling sarcastically, pulling the officer from his leering stare with her words. “Or maybe the male would be more to your taste? Shall I boot him up, as well?”

A bright flush of embarrassment colored the man’s face and crept all the way up to turn his bald head bright red. He shook his head to clear his mind and coughed uncomfortably. As he looked around, he realized a crowd had begun to form around the small group. “No, that’s … uhh … fine – shut it down,” he told her as he went back behind the counter and stamped Buffy’s passport.

“Enjoy your stay in Las Vegas, miss,” he told her, handing the passport back to her.

Buffy tried not to look too relieved as she motioned for Joan to lie back down in the crate. “Thank you. I’m certain I shall if I can ever make it out of the airport. Would you mind terribly …?” she asked, waving a hand at the open crate and the lid.

“Of course not,” the officer agreed, placing the lid back on the crate and pounding it down with the crowbar.

Buffy gave him a small smile, piled all her baggage atop the crate, and headed off with her bounty to the less-secure landside portion of the terminal. Once there, Buffy commandeered a deserted room that served as a chapel, shoving a pew against the door to keep anyone from entering, and opened the crate containing her ‘mannequins’ with her bare hands.

“’Bout bloody time,” Spike groused as he stood up, ripping at the bubble-wrap that clothed him. “This rot is starting to give me a rash.”



“You don’t get rashes,” Buffy pointed out as she rummaged through the luggage for clothing for both Spike and Joan.

“Yeah, well … it’s sticky,” he countered, finally pulling free of all the layers he’d been wrapped in. “And boring as hell! Got any idea how hard it is t’ be wrapped in bubble-wrap and not be able t’ pop it? Rivals bloody Chinese water torture, that does.”

Just for good measure, Spike began stomping down on the wrap with his bare feet, popping the little bubbles en masse. It made him feel infinitely better.

"Oh, Spike, it couldn't have been that bad!" Buffy objected, rolling her eyes as she watched him murder the innocent little bubbles.

Spike jerked a bit of the plastic wrap off the long piece and handed it to her. "Dare ya to hold that in your hands five minutes and not pop one little bubble," he challenged.



Buffy blew out an impatient breath. "I could hold it a year and not..." POP! .... POP! POP! POP!

Spike quirked a brow at her and Buffy dropped the bit of now-popped bubble-wrap on the floor with a sheepish shrug.

"Fine ... sorry," she apologized as she began pulling clothes out of the suitcases for her companions.

“Was my performance acceptable?” Joan asked as she also stood up and began unwinding the bubble-wrap.

“Perfect!” Buffy assured her. “You did really well. Oscar-worthy, no doubt – maybe even Golden Globe.”

Joan flashed a self-satisfied smile as she reached for the clothing Buffy offered her and began to dress.

“And what was that offerin’ to ‘ave me dance for the git?” Spike asked, annoyed.

“Oh, don’t sound so put-out,” Buffy cajoled. “You know you would’ve had him eating…”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Spike growled, tugging on his jeans.

Buffy laughed. “Didn’t know you were a homophobe,” she teased.

“’M not,” Spike assured her. “Married man, fixin’ to be a da … can’t be shaking my junk at every Tom, Dick, and Harry, now can I? Not proper, that. Be disqualified for Father o’ the Year if it got spattered all over YouTube.”

Buffy laughed and rolled her eyes. “Bet you’d get a billion-trillion hits, though. You’d go viral!” she announced as she pealed all the identifying labels off the coffin-like crate and stuffed them into their luggage.  

“Hmmm…” Spike mused, buttoning his jeans. “Might not be all bad. Bet I’d get a lotta birds after my hot, tight little body. Could ‘ave my bloody pick – different chit every night.”



“Yeah, you just keep dreaming,” Buffy scoffed. Reaching out and tugging on his ear lobe.

Spike nearly fell, one foot tangling with the other, as she pulled him over to her by the ear.

“You are mine, Mr. Pratt,” Buffy announced, her eyes locked on his as she held to his ear. “Do the words, ‘Forsaking all others’ ring any bells?”

“Forsaking all others except me,” Joan interjected brightly. “It was in the fine print at the bottom.”

Buffy’s eyes shifted over to the Bot and then back to Spike. “You are ours,” she amended. “Got it?”

Spike grinned and lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her perfect, pink lips gently. “Wouldn’t ‘ave it any other way, pet,” he whispered when the kiss broke.



Buffy smiled and pushed him back. “Get dressed before we ravish you here in the airport chapel on top of all that bubble-wrap,” she ordered.

Spike wagged his brows. “Kinky, that.”

“Get dressed, you perv,” Buffy ordered as she turned away and began closing up the suitcases again.

Spike sighed. “Spoil-sport,” he groaned, but did as she said.

Once Spike and Joan were dressed and all the luggage was closed back up, they slipped out of the room as nonchalantly as possible, leaving the crate behind.

**~**

A couple of weeks later…


“This?!” Spike exclaimed when Buffy had him stop the car in front of a house in the Allandale section of Austin just as the last rays of sun set behind the trees in the west. “This is the house you fell in love with?”



They’d stayed in Vegas for a few days, back at the Paradise Lost hotel, while Spike replenished their stash, which had been depleted over the last months in Europe. He’d done well, and they had a good sized nest-egg now to spend on a nice house in a nice neighborhood in Austin.

“I know it needs a little work,” Buffy allowed as she opened the door to get out of the car.

“That’s like saying Angel is a little broody, or Angelus is a little grouchy,” Spike grumbled as he got out as well. Joan followed them out of the backseat, and they all headed up the front walk of the dilapidated excuse for house.

“But look,” Buffy continued, ignoring him as she waved a hand at the giant, old grandfather oak in the front yard. “Where can you find big, old oaks like this anymore? Not in those cookie-cutter, McMansion subdivisions in the ‘burbs! And look at the park right across the street! Perfect for the kids! It’s got a big ball field, a giant swimming pool, a soccer field, a lake, and playground …” she continued to gush.



“But, Buffy…” Spike lamented, looking at the run-down, two-story house.

“And look at the big porch! It goes all the way around! And there’re five … count ‘em, five bedrooms, and three bathrooms. There’s even decent closet space – very rare for such a vintage home.”

Vintage? Ya mean older than dirt,” Spike began to scoff, but was cut-off by Buffy.

“It’s not that old!” Buffy argued.

“Old enough t’ be haunted, I’d wager. Don't want the bits gettin’ sucked into the closets or strangled by evil clown dolls, do ya? Didn’t ya ever see ‘Poltergeist’? Theey’rrre heeere,” Spike mocked, imitating the little girl in the movie. “It’s not a pretty picture, luv,” he advised her somberly.

“Spiiike, please,” Buffy chided him, rolling her eyes. “It’s not haunted and, anyway we've a a Slayer living with us. Joan would totally kick ghost-butt."

Spike rolled his eyes.

“Plus look!” Buffy encouraged him as they approached the house. She began banging on the footers and then on the beams, the stairs, and on the floor-boards with her knuckles. “It’s totally solid! It just needs paint and a little TLC.”

Spike looked up at all the peeling paint … he could see weeks of just scraping the old paint off, let alone re-painting. And the banister around the porch would be a right pain in the arse – all that detail work!

“It’s got … personality,” Buffy continued.

Spike snorted. “Yeah, got the personality of a pig pen,” he muttered dourly.

“Probably full o’ lead-based paint, too. Didn’t think o’ that did ya? Not good for the bits, that,” he pointed out.

“Tell him,” Buffy instructed Joan, smiling triumphantly.

“I have tested all the surfaces, inside and out, and I detected no lead-based paint. Nor have I detected any radon gas, formaldehyde, or asbestos. The electrical system has been updated within the last ten years and is sufficient and safe. They have also updated the HVAC unit and duct work in the last five years. The windows are original to the house and single-pane glass; it would be more efficient to upgrade those to double-pane in the future, but it is not an immediate hazard. The roof is sound, but will need to be replaced in the next ten years, in my estimation. The plumbing is 100% copper pipe and in excellent condition.”

Spike stared at Joan. “When did you turn into Bob the Bloody Builder?”

“Buffy purchased several books about home repair, remodeling, and inspection for me.”

“Of course she did,” Spike moaned. Turning back to Buffy he asked, “You do realize that remodeling a house is the number one cause of divorce in this country, don’t ya?”



“That is incorrect. The number one cause of divorce is infidelity; 75% of the time by the man, and 25% of the time by the woman,” Joan corrected. “This does not, of course, include same sex marriages. I do not have that data.”

“And infidelity is caused by fightin’ over bloody paint swatches in the Home Depot!” Spike contended. “Suddenly you’re seeing more o’ the girl at the paint counter than ya do your wife, and the next thing ya know …” Spike threw his hands in the air, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“Spiike,” Buffy groaned, rolling her eyes. “That’s not gonna happen to us.”

“It’s not, eh? Why not?” he wondered.

“Because … we aren’t like that. I have faith in us. And I know you aren’t gonna go boink the girl behind the paint counter,” Buffy assured him.

Spike cocked a brow at her. “Maybe you’ll go boink the girl behind the paint counter.”

Buffy laughed. “Yeah, well … I doubt that would make you want a divorce. You’d probably just want me to bring her home. Plus – bonus! – employee discount!”

She gave him her best smile and Spike knew he’d lost this argument. He sighed and looked at the house again, shaking his head. He was sooo whipped. Love’s bitch.



“You haven’t even seen the best part!” Buffy assured him, taking his hand and pulling him forward, up the stairs and onto the porch. “There’s a giant backyard and the inside is sooo cute. It’s got hardwood floors,” she informed him, then lowered her voice, “… that need refinishing.”

Back to her bright, shining voice she continued, “And this totally cool plaster ceiling that’s all swirls and whirls … that needs repainting … and the crown molding is to die for! Oh, and the banister on the stairs is real mahogany … only, it’s been painted over and needs to be stripped and refinished and …”

“Balls,” Spike moaned as he let her pull him forward. He could really use a demon to hunt down and kill. He looked around hopefully before Buffy tugged him into the house, but saw nothing. Bugger.

**~**

A month later…

Buffy literally danced up to the front door of their ‘new’ house, her very own key in hand. She’d been feeling big and heavy as a lead balloon, being now six months pregnant with twins, but at that moment she felt like she could float away on a breeze of pure joy. They’d closed on the house that very evening, and this would be their first night in their very own house – just in time for Christmas.

No more hotels.

Their house. Their normal house, in a normal neighborhood, in a fairly-normal town, where no one knew them or cared who they were or what they were.

Theirs. Theirs. Theirs!

Spike caught her before she turned the key in the lock and pulled her hand away. “Let me,” he requested, meeting her sparkling eyes with his own.



He had to smile just at the joy that she exuded; it poured off her in waves. He still wasn’t convinced buying this house was a wise decision, but she was. She loved it and he loved her. There really was nothing more to say.

Buffy backed up a step and let him turn the key, then the handle. Nothing happened. He pushed. The door barely moved. He pushed harder. Nope. One more good shove with his shoulder finally revealed the mustard yellow, 1970’s threadbare, matted-down shag carpet of the living room. The hardwood floors Buffy had gushed over were, Spike had learned, under the carpet.

Buffy squealed in delight and clapped her hands, bouncing on her toes in anticipation. Spike had stayed in nicer crypts, but she was so excited, so overjoyed with the prospect of it, he couldn’t say anything to ruin her happiness.

“Mrs. Pratt,” he said, turning to her. “Allow me the honor of welcoming you to your new home.” He bent down and scooped his pregnant wife up into his arms. Buffy yipped in surprise, but wrapped her arms around his neck as he turned and carried her over the threshold of the Pratt mansion … or, well the Pratt fixer-upper.

Once inside, Buffy pulled his face to hers with a hand on his cheek, and kissed him.



“Thank you for this. I promise you won’t regret it,” she vowed, her hand caressing his face gently, her warm eyes delving into his, showering him with love.

Spike had to smile at her enthusiasm and confidence. This was when she seemed most like a girl to him, and he was loath to extinguish her passion. It was, after all, one of the things he loved most about her.

“Long as I’m with you, I’m the happiest man in the world, luv,” he assured her, dropping his lips to hers again.

“Welcome home, Buffy.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Phillip Phillips - Home  on YouTube  }}

Hold on to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you're not alone
Cause I'm going to make this place your home

Settle down, it'll all be clear
Don't pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble, it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you're not alone
Cause I'm going to make this place your home

Settle down, it'll all be clear
Don't pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble, it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you're not alone
Cause I'm going to make this place your home
Chapter End Notes:
What the heck is wrong with my muse!?!?! Where is the angst? Where are the tears?!? We're still climbing up to the peak of the roller coaster I suppose.... Hang on, gonna be a helluva drop when we get there... Maybe they just moved into the Amityville house ... O_o
Take My Breath Away by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Warning for this chapter: Home Renovations Spuffy style.
**
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! Lastly, thanks to 'T' from DTAS for suggesting a tool belt wearing Spike. All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
**
Word of the day: marmoreal [mahr-mawr-ee-uhl ] adjective. Of or like marble: skin of marmoreal smoothness.
Two days after buying house…

Spike woke when the sun lightened the master bedroom through the threadbare curtains that hung, almost uselessly, over the east-facing window. They blocked the direct rays from entering, thank goodness, but there would be no sleeping, at least until the sun rose out of direct view of the window.

Well, if he couldn’t sleep, he was sure there would be some activity that could occupy his time for an hour or two. He turned over on the mattress – one of their first purchases – which lay on the floor, as they had no actual furniture yet, to wake his slumbering wife. He was surprised, however, to find her already awake, sitting up cross-legged in the bed with her back leaning against the wall. He could see by her face that something was wrong – her giddy mood since closing on the vintage house was gone, replaced with something much more subdued.



“What’s wrong, luv?” he asked, laying a hand on her leg that was closest to him.

Buffy turned her head to look at him, her unfocused gaze sharpening to meet his eyes. She gave him a small smile and shook her head. “Nothing, really.”

“Not having second thoughts on the house, are ya?” he wondered, worried.

“What?” she asked distractedly. “Oh … no. I love the house. It’s gonna be peachy with a side of keen when we get done fixing it up,” she assured him, giving him a small smile.

Spike relaxed a bit. If she’d changed her mind about this piece of rubbish house… He let the thought go. “Then what is it, pet?”

Buffy took a deep breath and focused on him again. “It’s just … today’s Christmas Eve and …” she shrugged. “I miss … I had to leave all our … stuff. All the ornaments and …” She stopped again and dropped her eyes down to the bulge in her stomach, rubbing her hands over their babies idly. “It just feels weird not having all those mementos and … I miss Mom and … Dawn.”



Spike sat up next to her and pulled her against him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Sorry, pet. Not used t’ celebratin’ the birth o’ Christ; haven’t done in ‘bout a century, I reckon. Lost track o’ the day.”

“No, it’s alright. I didn’t mean to … I’m not fishing for a present or anything. I just …” She stopped and sighed again, nestling her cheek against his shoulder.

“I don’t know if you can understand. The ornaments on the tree and the … the stupid, fake mistletoe Mom would hang up over the doorway, the dorky decorations Dawn and I had made over the years. It’s like a giant piece of my life is just gone. And, I know: duh! It’s not like I’ve been oblivious-girl to that, it’s just that it hit me harder this morning than it has been, with the Christmas tree miss-age.”

“Sorry I didn’t think t’ take any o’ that when we left, pet.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not like we could call in Mayflower and pack up the house, and I was slightly less than a helpful elf then. It’s fine, really, Spike,” she assured him, curling more tightly against his side and taking comfort in the strength of his arms around her. “I’m fine … I’ll be fine, everything’s fine.”

That was a few too many ‘fines’ for Spike’s liking. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. In that moment the lost little girl inside the strong woman emerged, sad and helpless, and that girl brought out the protector inside Spike – her anchor. Spike squeezed her shoulder, hugging her tighter to him, and dropped a kiss atop her head, resolved to find a way to ease her melancholy before Christmas morning dawned.

**~**

Later that day, Buffy slumped down into an old kitchen chair that they had found in the garage with a glass of buttermilk. She hated buttermilk, but it was the only thing that could stop her nearly constant heartburn, at least for a while.

They’d been pulling up carpeting in the living room, foyer, and sunroom all morning. Most of it was now up, cut into strips, rolled into bundles, and stacked at the curb. As soon as they had a phone, she’d call the sanitation department to come take it all away with a special pick-up.

She propped her swollen and tired feet up on an old milk-crate that was serving as a footstool/end-table and took a deep breath. It had been a long day already, and it wasn’t even half over yet, but the wood floors that had been revealed under the carpet were just as she’d promised Spike: perfect. Well … they would be perfect as soon as the old varnish had been stripped and they were refinished, anyway.

As she relaxed a moment and sipped at her buttermilk, a shirtless Spike came in from the other room with a beer. He was wearing a tool belt which, along with his jeans, barely clung to his slim hips. Despite it being Christmas Eve, the day was warm and the work they’d been doing had been strenuous. Spike had started the day off in jeans and a t-shirt, but even he had begun to sweat as the day wore on. He’d eventually ditched the damp t-shirt in favor of damp skin. Buffy approved.

Spike took a long swig from the beer bottle, tilting his head and shoulders back. The action stretched his abdomen, making him appear even thinner, and allowed the belt slide down a bit lower. Buffy thought if he had one more bright, shiny – but very manly – tool hanging from the belt, it would've slid to the floor with that motion. She watched as he sat the beer down on the floor, then turned his attention to the rancorous front door. He opened it, then closed it, then opened it again, and closed it. With the old carpet gone, the door now opened without any difficulty, but it was a bitch to lock, taking all Buffy’s Slayer strength pressing against the door to get the deadbolt to line up with the … deadbolt-lining-up-thingy in the jamb.

As Buffy watched, Spike opened the door again and squatted back on his heels to peer first at the deadbolt on the door, then at the metal plate on the jamb that the lock was supposed to line up with and slide into.

Buffy couldn’t help but lick her lips, despite the taste of buttermilk, as she watched the corded muscles of Spike’s back, shoulders, and and arms flex and relax with each movement. His dimples of Venus winked at her from beneath the tool belt, and she had to suppress a giggle as she watched him work. Oh yeah ... she was likin' the 'Handyman Spike' look.



After a moment of contemplation, he pulled a screwdriver out of the tool belt around his waist and began to unscrew the worn plate on the door jamb. Apparently, the screw had rusted in place or had just been driven in really well, because it took a good deal of effort for Spike to turn it. Buffy watched the glistening muscles of his arms bulge with the effort of loosening the screw. Even with his vampire strength, Spike’s triceps and biceps swelled and gleamed as they strained against the stubborn bit of metal.

Finally it gave way to his persistence, protesting the defeat with a squeal of metal against metal. With each turn of the tool, the muscles of Spike’s arms, chest, and back rippled, flexing and relaxing as he moved. Spike repeated the procedure with the other screw, and dropped them both into one of the pockets of the tool belt at his waist. Finally, he pried the worn, bent, and painted-over strike-plate off the jamb. It would need to be replaced – that should fix the problem with the deadbolt slide not working properly. He’d send Joan off with it later to get a replacement.

With victory over the worn strike-plate literally in hand, Spike stood up and reached over to pick up his beer from the floor near the door. He ran the cool bottle across his brow, before taking a deep draft of the refreshing beverage, never acknowledging his wife or even seeming to notice Buffy watching him.

Buffy stared as a drop of the golden liquid escaped the corner of his mouth, ran down his chin, and dripped onto his chest. Buffy couldn’t take her eyes off the small drop as it slid along Spike’s already glistening body. Like a river, it followed the path of least resistance as it traveled down, snaking between his Adonis-like pectoral muscles, then traversing his six-pack with astonishing grace.

The little droplet seemed to want to touch each one of his abdominal muscles as it zigged and zagged its way south, traveling on the sinuous grooves between each morsel of yummy perfection.

Buffy’s mouth began to water as the tiny drop picked up size and speed, gathering some of the glistening dampness from Spike’s torso as it went. As it exited the labyrinth of abdominal brilliance, the tasty droplet disappeared into Spike’s cute little ‘innie’ bellybutton. Buffy leaned forward and waited with bated breath for the tiny traveler to resume its trek, her eyes focused intently on Spike’s lower abdomen.

After what seemed an age, the sweet little drop reemerged, apparently refreshed from its layover, and continued downward. The path it had chosen took it into the wispy forest of Spike’s happy trail. It was slowed in its mission as it navigated the thin line of dark curls that caressed Spike’s lower abdomen, but it persevered.

Buffy thought it would’ve had an easier time if it had chosen to traverse Spike’s 'love grooves'. Perhaps he would dribble a few more drops from his lips and another droplet would choose to slide down the glorious ‘V’ that ran south from his hips, guiding the eye right to the treasure in the center.

Buffy’s eyes were wide with anticipation as she watched the drop slide lower, dividing then merging again, as it edged ever-downward.

“Like what ya see, then?” Spike drawled, pulling her from her reverie.



Buffy had been so engrossed in the lovely little trek that his voice caught her by surprise. Her wide eyes darted back up to his as her face turned pink, then vermillion, then flew through scarlet and finally settled on fire-engine red.

Spike smirked at her before draining the rest of his beer, taking care not to obscure her view of his bare torso.

Buffy swallowed hard and regained her composure, although she was sure her face was still flushed bright red. She bit her bottom lip coyly and stood up, moving over to him.

“Oh, well … it’s alright, I guess,” she teased with a nonchalant shrug. “I mean, if I liked shirtless, hot, sweaty handymen in tool belts, then I suppose you’d … pique my interest.”

Spike quirked a brow at her. “So, ya don’t like shirtless, hot, sweaty handymen in tool belts, then?”

“Oh, well … I didn’t say that, did I?” Buffy retorted as she made it up to him. “It is nice to have someone around the house that’s so … good with his hands. And you should never underestimate the value of a man that really knows how to use his … tools to their fullest potential.”



“That right?” Spike questioned, his gaze quickly turning into a leer.

“You really seemed to know how to … screw,” she observed. “Nailing is good too. You do know how to … nail, don’t you? I mean … can you really drive it … hard and deep?”

Spike pursed his lips, exaggerating the hollow of his cheeks and turning his cheekbones into razorblades against his skin. “Never had any complaints ‘bout my … nailing technique,” he replied lecherously, his voice a deep rumble in his throat.

Spike abs quivered as Buffy zigzagged her finger over his abs, tickling a line of fire over his glistening skin.

 “And are you … well equipped? I mean … I’ve heard having the right tool for the job makes the completion much more … satisfying.”

“All my equipment’s top o’ the line. Always got the right tool t’ make the job fulfilling,” Spike assured Buffy, his breath hitching in his chest as her finger continued to spark a line of desire down his body.



When she swirled her finger slowly around his bellybutton, then dipped it into the soft curls that flowed southward, Spike’s cock jumped and twitched in his jeans.

When Buffy’s finger met the top of his tool belt, low on his hips, she traced a line back and forth over the soft, alabaster skin above it.

She looked up at him through her lashes, a coy smile on her lips. “Mmmm, well, that’s good to know, ‘cos all that hard screwing you were doing got me to thinking: maybe a hot handyman out of his tool belt might have its advantages too.”

In the next moment, the tool belt hit the floor with a clatter, bright, shiny new tools scattering everywhere.

Buffy giggled and squealed as Spike swept her up off her tired feet and began up the stairs with her.

“You forgot your tools,” Buffy joked as he took the stairs two at a time.

“Got all the tools I need t’ fix you up, luv,” Spike smirked, running his tongue over his teeth lecherously.

Buffy grinned wickedly. She couldn’t argue with that.

**~**

That night after his shower, Spike came into what would eventually become the nursery – the room directly across the hall from the master bedroom – to find Buffy on hands and knees ripping up the filthy brown, low-pile carpet. He stood in the door as she worked vehemently, struggling to pull the carpet, heavy with years of accumulated dirt, off the tack strips that anchored it around the perimeter of the room. She was dirty, sweaty, and tired; they’d been pulling up carpet all soddin’ day it seemed – beginning downstairs and working their way up. Ok, there was that two hour break in the middle there … but otherwise, they’d been at it – working, that is –  all day.

Buffy had been right about the hardwood floors beneath – they were gonna be brilliant after a sanding and refinishing. They looked like cherry to Spike. They were solid, uncracked, and unmarred except for little holes left by the tack strips, which could be easily filled. Why anyone had put down the carpet over them was beyond him. On the plus side, it had served to protect them, for the most part, from excessive wear over the years.

After struggling with a particularly stubborn area in the back corner of the room, Buffy huffed out an angry curse at the infernally rancorous carpeting that refused to budge. Kneeling, she dropped her butt back onto her heels in defeat, mopping the sweat from her brow despite the open window letting in a cool breeze now that the sun had gone down.

“Don’t ya think we’ve done enough for one day, pet?” Spike wondered as he sauntered in and, using a different angle, pulled the stuck carpet up with one hand and very little effort.

Buffy glared at him. “How long have you been standing there watching me fight this demonic floor toupee?”

“Only a minute … or ten,” he admitted, smirking at her. “Always loved watchin’ you fight, pet. Gets me all hot and bothered, it does.” He curled his tongue over his teeth and wagged his brows at her suggestively. “What say we pack it in for t’night? Don’t want t’ get done too fast and not have anything left for t’morrow, now do we?”

Buffy snorted. “Yeah, like that’ll happen,” she groaned as she reached a hand up to him for help up to her feet.



Spike pulled her up and against his chest. “Love it when you’re all sweaty – bloody sexy it is. Always smell delicious, like …” he began, softly nuzzling her neck. Suddenly he pulled back, looked down at the carpet then at her. “… cat piss and vomit,” he finished, wrinkling his nose up.

“What? Ewwwww!” Buffy exclaimed, looking at the decades-old carpet and then at her own hands. “Oh, grossness beyond gross!” she exclaimed, holding her hands away from her body as she raced for the shower.

Spike smirked. 1. Get Buffy to stop working and into the shower. Check. His plan was going perfectly thus far.

Buffy half-expected Spike to join her in the shower, but he never showed. She then expected he’d be waiting for her in their room, but he wasn’t there either. Perplexed, she pulled on a clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and headed downstairs to see where everyone was.

The single overhead light in the living room was off and the bottom of the stairs was hidden in darkness. She went slowly, first because her balance wasn’t quite what it normally was with the extra weight in front, and second because she still wasn’t familiar with the house and any little stumbling points there may be. When she got to the bottom of the stairs she stopped and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. There weren’t any lights on downstairs at all. Had Spike and Joan gone outside for some reason?

Buffy had taken only a couple of steps toward the front door when the living room was suddenly bathed in a plethora of colorful light.

“Happy Christmas, luv,” Spike called from beside the now twinkling Christmas tree.

“Spike … I … what … when …?” Buffy stammered, taking a step toward him.

“It was my mission to procure a tree and decorations today while you toiled inside,” Joan divulged from the opposite side of the tree. “It was difficult to find a traditionally shaped specimen with adequate needles still attached on Christmas Eve, but I endeavored with robust enthusiasm, as always.

“I do not fully understand the custom of killing a living tree to celebrate the birth of a legendary savior whose Father purportedly created and coveted all living things. Does this sacrifice have significance to infants? When our babies are born, shall I cut down more trees to honor them?”

Buffy laughed as she drew near the tree. “No – you don’t need to cut down any trees for our babies,” she assured Joan. “We’ll just go with cake and ice cream – the traditional, non-legendary-savior sacrifice.”

As Buffy got near the tree, she realized there were no decorations on it save for the lights. She’d no sooner taken this in than Spike handed her an ornament.

“Our first ornament for our first Christmas, Mrs. Pratt,” he explained as she took the pink, porcelain, Wedgwood wedding cake ornament from his hand.



It was an elaborately decorated, three layer wedding cake with the year, 2001, adorning the topmost layer. On the bottom of the delicate, porcelain cake Spike had used a red paint-pen and drawn a heart. Inside the heart he’d written their names in his flowing, Victorian hand: Spike, Buffy, Joan.

“Sorry I didn’t ‘ave time for a proper engraving or whatnot,” he said meekly as she studied it without saying anything for several long moments.

Buffy shook her head, and when her eyes met his they were shimmering brightly with unshed tears. “No … I’d ... this is better. This is … perfect,” she assured him, giving him a smile. She reached out and slid the loop of the ornament over a sturdy branch in the center of the otherwise barren tree.



“Know it’s not much, luv, but it’s a start, yeah? Thought we could … make our own ornaments as we went along, ya know, t’ replace the ones … we left behind.”

Buffy nodded and blinked back her tears. “That sounds perfect, Spike. Thank you … it’s really … perfect.”

Buffy reached up and touched her lips to his in a gentle kiss. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close, content in the knowledge that his plan to 'save Christmas' had been a success. Buffy reached a hand out to Joan and Spike drew her into the hug, as well.

They all three stood silently for a long while, bathed in the twinkling lights of their first Christmas tree. Buffy’s heart was buoyed as she realized that despite all she’d lost, she’d also gained a lot as well: the love of a good vamp, the friendship of a too-honest twin, two well-developing babies growing in her womb, and a fresh start as Mrs. Pratt – wife, mother, home-remodeler, and ex-Slayer.

**~**

A month later…

Spike trudged up the back steps from the garage with heavy, tired steps. His arms ached, his back ached, his legs ached … hell, he just ached all over. He was laden down with the spoils of war, his shoulders being nearly pulled out of their sockets from the weight he carried in the multitude of bags that hung from his numb fingers.

He fumbled with the doorknob, trying to lift the heavy weights and turn the knob at the same time. His treasure nearly spilled from one of the bags as he tried to finagle the tricky back-door latch, but thankfully, Buffy came to his rescue just in time.

“What took so long? Did you get it? Where have you been?” she asked frantically as she pulled the door open and began snatching the bags from his hands.



Buffy spilled Spike’s bounty out over the kitchen table, her eyes searching for her prize, but not finding it. “Spike! Where is it?” she asked desperately as she rolled pint after pint of ice-cream over, reading the label and moving on to the next one.

“Went t’ three Randalls, two H-E-Bs, even bloody Wallyworld … no one’s got it, luv,” he told her, dropping down into the nearest chair in exhaustion.

Buffy’s eyes went wide with panic. “What?! Did you … did you ask? Maybe they had it in the back!”

“I asked, pet … none t’ be had,” Spike assured her.

“Did you … but …” Buffy’s words came in fits and gasps as panic rose in her chest. “What about that little bodega at the other end of the park?”

Spike shook his head. “They don’t sell Ben & Jerry’s there, pet. You know that.”

“But … Spike!” Buffy whined, sorting through all the flavors of Ben & Jerry’s on the table again. It looked like Spike had found and purchased every flavor but the one she wanted. “How could they not have it?”

“My best guess is ‘cos some ex-Slayer livin’ in the area is preggers, and she’s eaten a year’s worth in the last two months. They gotta ramp up production to cover the demand … takes time, that does.”



Buffy scowled at him. “That’s not funny.”

“No – but true,” he agreed. “Look, pet,” he cajoled, leaning forward. “I got every flavor they had. I figure, if you mix ‘em all together, then you’ll have the same thing as that ‘kitchen sink’ rot you like.”

“It’s not the same!” Buffy protested, stomping a foot on the ground petulantly. “And it’s not called ‘Kitchen Sink’! Maybe that’s why you couldn’t find it! You weren’t looking for the right thing!” she suggested hopefully.



“Buffy, luv, I know the name o’ the soddin’ stuff. I’ve bought enough of it, haven’t I?”

Buffy dropped down into the chair opposite Spike and suddenly began to cry, then sob uncontrollably. “I just wanted one little pint of ice cream,” she blubbered through her tears. “Is that too much to ask? One pint…” she cried. “The universe hates me… it’s conspiring against me ‘cos I won’t be the Slayer anymore and it’s punishing me.”



Spike pulled his lips between his teeth to keep from smiling. “Ya think the PTB are behind the ice cream shortage, then, eh?” He nodded thoughtfully. “Tracks, I reckon. You stop bein’ the hero o’ the people, they take away your ice cream. Only fair, pet.”

Buffy looked up and scowled at him through her tears. “You’re making fun of me,” she whined, her voice laced with hiccups from crying.

“Never, luv,” Spike objected.

“You hate me. I’m getting too fat and so you won’t bring me anymore ice cream,” she accused.

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. “That’s bollocks. I spent two bloody hours looking for the buggering flavor you wanted. Brought twenty pints – which is meltin’ here on the table, I might point out. Did everything but drive t’ Round Rock, for fuck’s sake.”

Buffy blinked up at him through tear-laden lashes as her bottom lip crept out in a dangerous pout. She looked at him with sad, puppy eyes, appearing like a lost little girl in need of rescue.

Spike sighed and let his head fall back in frustration and defeat. After a few moments, he grabbed his keys off the table and stood up stiffly.

“Be back in a couple o’ hours,” he groaned as he headed for the back door.

“I love you,” Buffy called after him sweetly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Spike replied in a defeated tone as he pulled the back door open.

“Do you still love me?” Buffy asked coquettishly.

“Goin’, ain’t I?”

Buffy smiled, her tears drying, and pushed herself up from the chair heavily. “You’re the best husband ever,” she continued, stepping around the table to follow him out.

“Yeah, get that a lot, I do,” Spike teased, stopping and waiting for her to catch up to him.

“Do you? Just how many wives do you have, Mr. Pratt?” Buffy joked, moving up near him.



“Got the barmy preggers one, the hammer-swinging, paint-slinging bossy one, the nutter that invited the Jehovah's Witnesses in for a soddin’ orgy, the sexy one that rocks m’ world every bloody night, the sweet one that helped the little bit next door get ‘er mangy cat down outta the tree, the brave one that’s faced hell-gods and earthly-devils…” Spike began, wrapping his arms around her neck and pulling her against him.

Buffy wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. “Sounds like you have your hands full.”

Spike smiled and dropped a kiss atop her head. “No doubt ‘bout that, luv.”

“Which one do you love best?” Buffy wondered, snuggling her face against his t-shirt.

“Ah, well … can’t choose, can I?” Spike answered gently. “Love ‘em all … need ‘em all.”

Buffy looked up at him and gave him a sweet smile.

“‘Course, wouldn’t mind booting out the one that has a cravin’ for impossible-to-find ice cream,” he added, smirking.

Buffy huffed and smacked his chest playfully. “You rat!”

Spike laughed and leaned down to capture her lips in a gentle kiss. “Love you, Buffy,” he rumbled against her warm mouth when the kiss broke. “Love all of you.”

**~**

Two months later…

“Spike!” Buffy screeched as she waddled into the formal dining room where he was working. “Beige! I said beige! What … that’s … green!”

Spike turned from his work and looked at her. “You said ‘sage’,” he insisted as he thrust the paint-roller back into the paint tray and continued his assigned task.

“Noooo …” Buffy countered, planting her hands on her hips. “I very clearly said ‘beige’.



“Would you stop painting already!? That is not beige!” she insisted, moving further into the room, her face reddening with impatience and consternation.

“Buffy,” Spike replied, his voice the epitome of patience as he continued painting, never turning to look at her. “I have vampire hearing. You said ‘sage’, luv. Clear as day.”

“Well your vampire hearing is color-blind because I distinctly remember saying ‘beige’. Would you please stop!?” she insisted again as she got to him and put a hand on the long extension-handle of the paint-roller.

“There’s nothing wrong with my hearin’, pet,” Spike assured her as he let her take the roller from his hands. “You told me t’ paint the dining room ‘sage’ above the dado rail and wainscoting – that’s what I’m doin’.”

“Now I know you’re delusional, because I never said anything about a dildo rail,” Buffy contended. “What does that even mean?” she asked, her brows furrowed in confusion.

Spike barked out a laugh. “Dado, pet … not dildo. Dirty mind you’ve got there for a mum.”



Buffy gave him ‘the look’. He knew the look. With one glance it said, “You have gotten on my very last nerve and if you don’t step away now, you will regret it for the very short amount of time you have left to live.”

Spike sighed and looked around. He’d nearly finished painting. If she’d just have waited another ten minutes he would’ve been done. “Sorry, luv. Really thought you said ‘sage’,” he apologized. “Ya know – ‘cos it would be brilliant with your vintage Wedgwood china set.”

“Well, I didn’t say ‘sage’! Geez, Spike … I mean why would I … huh?” Buffy looked at him, searching his face, his eyes for some clue to what he was talking about. “What vintage Wedgwood china set?”

“Oh, you mean you don’t have a china set t’ match the walls? Bugger! Thought I saw a whole china cabinet full in the kitchen, luv,” Spike remarked innocently.

“What?” Buffy turned and hurried from the formal dining room to the kitchen just across the hall, still carrying the paint-roller.

“Oi! Don’t be dripping paint on my bloody floors!” Spike called as he strode after her.

“Oh my God!” Buffy’s exclamation could be heard through the whole house. “Spike! Oh my God! Where … when … where?

“It really is Wedgwood! Spike! How?!” she continued, looking at him with wide eyes as he came into the kitchen behind her.



There were several boxes of vintage Wedgwood china on the counters. Everything from plates, cups, and saucers to gravy boats was included, all clearly antique but in pristine condition. An intricate floral design in pinks, lavender, and greens wound over a white background on the serving plates and saucers. The lively floral design was balanced with a simpler design of white plates with wide, sage-green borders on other pieces of the place-settings. Not surprisingly, the sage-green matched the walls in the formal dining room to a ‘T’.

“Happy hundredth anniversary, luv,” Spike said softly, his eyes glittering with the sight of her excitement and glowing beauty.

“Hundredth?” Buffy questioned. “I know time flies when you’re remodeling, but …”

Spike came up to her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her as close to him as her bulging stomach would allow. “You’ve been Mrs. Pratt one hundred days tomorrow, pet,” he explained, dropping a kiss on her lips.

Buffy’s arms went around him, the paint-roller with the sage-green paint on it still in one hand. “You are an evil fiend,” she accused when the kiss broke.

“Well, yeah. Vampire, remember?” Spike agreed, smirking.

“You almost had me thinking I’d lost my mind and said ‘sage’ instead of ‘beige’,” she admitted.

“Did I now? Would’a kept on with it if I’d ‘a known. Directly I’d’ve had you agreeing to all sorts of lurid colors. Blood red for the bedroom, purple for the parlour, lime green for the loo …”

Buffy laughed. “I may be losing it, but I’m not quite that far gone.

“Oh! Did you feel that?” Buffy wondered, pressing her stomach harder against Spike’s as one of their little ones made their sentiments known with a wicked kick. “Little William doesn’t like those colors either.”

“Could be ‘e does … or little Dawn does. She’d stand by me, I reckon.”

“Oh, you think you’ll have a daddy’s girl, huh?” Buffy wondered, smiling up at him. “Why do I think you’ll be the one wrapped around her finger, not the other way around?”

“Never happen, pet,” Spike contended seriously. “Already wrapped too tight around yours.”

“Oh, you are sooo …” she began sweetly, then quickly said, “… full of malarkey that your butt’s turned green!”

Buffy pulled away, holding the paint-roller up as Spike reached behind him and touched his hand to his butt.

“You cheeky wench!” he accused when his fingers came back wet and quite green. “Don’t ‘ave a pair a’ jeans left that ain’t got paint on ‘em!”



He lunged at her, going for the paint-roller. Buffy shrieked as she tried to dodge him, but her evasion skills were less than stellar with the beach-ball that currently adorned her stomach. Spike grabbed the handle of the roller and jerked it away from her as she turned and fled the kitchen. Spike gave chase as she giggled and ran into the living room. Spike easily caught her before she’d gotten very far, and adorned the back of her t-shirt with a wide stripe of green paint.

Buffy screamed again, laughing and dodging around pieces of furniture covered with plastic drop-cloths as he continued chasing her. He wasn’t really trying all that hard to catch her – chasing the laughing Slayer was half the fun now that he’d gotten his revenge with the paint-roller. Spike laughed with her as they both feigned and juked around the furniture, trying to outwit the other and get past their adversary – to go where, neither actually knew or cared.

It only took a few minutes before Buffy was winded with laughing and the extra effort it took to jump around with a heavy medicine ball strapped around her middle, and Spike caught her. He’d set the paint-roller down on a plastic-covered table, and now wound his arms around her and drew her to him.

She was still tittering when he began to nibble a tingling line of sparks down her neck, and her giggles turned into a sweet moan of pleasure. Spike reveled in the sound, and his cock, which had grown hard with the chase, twitched anxiously in his jeans. Buffy’s hand found the bulge immediately and began to stroke him through the denim, exacting a matching moan of pleasure from his lips.

“We’re never gonna have the house finished in time for the babies if we keep indulging in … extra-curricular activities,” she warned him.

“Little bits don’ need the whole soddin’ house. Nursery’s nearly done, innit?” he pointed out as his mouth stopped at the curve of her neck, suckling and nibbling lightly on the pulse-point there.

“Mmmmmm,” Buffy purred, tilting her head to the side to give him better access.

Spike took that to be agreement, and bent down to scoop her into his arms and carry her to their bedroom.

“I’m all paint-y,” she objected. “So are you.”

“Yeah, and?” he wondered as he lifted her up into his arms with a bit more effort than it used to take.

“There’s no drop-cloth on the bed … Here. Let’s stay here…” she suggested, burying her face against his neck and kissing the soft skin she found there.

“Your wish, my command,” Spike replied, setting her back down on her feet. She leaned against a plastic-covered, antique sideboard that she and Joan had found at a garage sale. They’d gotten it cheap because it needed to be refinished. Joan, it turned out, was quite adept at the more tedious, detailed tasks – which was lucky, since neither Spike nor Buffy were – and she’d restored the ornate, rosewood bureau beautifully. It was just waiting for the formal dining room to be painted so it could take its proper place there. It would have to wait a little while longer.

“The paint’s gonna dry on the roller … again,” Buffy murmured as Spike began peppering her neck and face with gentle kisses.



“Mmmm, shame that,” he agreed absently, as he reached for the collar of her shirt and tugged it up over her head, being mindful to not get too much of the wet, green paint in her ponytail as he did so. Buffy lifted her arms and he removed it completely – only the tip of her ponytail ended up green.

“It’s the last one we have,” Buffy pointed out, her words breathless.

“Gretchen’s got more…” Spike asserted as his shower of kisses resumed.

His hands went to her full breasts, swollen like her belly with manna for their little miracles. He gently caressed her nipples through the fabric of her bra, intent on gentle pleasure.

Buffy’s body reacted, momentarily forgetting how tender her breasts were. Her back arched and pressed into his touch, but Spike’s hands moved with her, not increasing the pressure or inflicting pain.

“Think you spend … more time … with her than me,” Buffy accused between gasping breaths.

“Reckon that’s true. Warned ya ‘bout that ‘fore we bought this house, luv,” Spike reminded her, touching his lips to her collarbone, then slowly trailing his mouth lower. “Hard t’ resist a girl with paint on ‘er hands.”

Buffy laughed lightly and held her paint-spattered hands up. “Good thing I qualify or you’d never leave Home Depot.”

Spike looked up at her, a sparkling, teasing gleam in his blue eyes. “You, luv, got paint all over ya,” he pointed out, touching his mouth to dry smudges of color on her shoulders, her chest, even her bulging tummy. “No contest,” he divulged, looking up at her face through his lashes.

Buffy laughed joyfully. Spike was sure that was what heavenly angels singing must sound like. He was sure he’d never get close enough to hear actual angels singing on high. This was his heaven. Right here, right now, with this paint-spattered woman; this gorgeous, laughing woman of his dreams.

“Knew you’d be a heavenly vision, round and glowin’ with m’ babies,” Spike muttered as he dropped to his knees before her. His hands and mouth slid down to her round stomach and he began worshipping it with both. “So bloody beautiful you are, pet.”

Buffy shook her head and rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t wipe the smile from her lips. “You’re delusional, you know that, right? And possibly blind. That’s like calling the Goodyear blimp ‘beautiful’.”

Spike looked up at her from his kneeling position in front of her. “You really ‘ave no idea how dazzling you are, do ya? Being with you is as close as I’ll ever get t’ standing in the sun again – close as I’ll ever get t’ heaven. You’re right, ya know? I am blind … you blind me … stun me with your radiance.”



Buffy reached a hand down and cupped his face gently. “Have I mentioned that delusional is of the good? I really love delusional … and blind.”

Spike leaned into her warm palm, letting his eyes fall closed as he relished her gentle touch for a long moment. The magical touch of his angel, his goddess, his heaven.

When his eyes opened, they sought hers. Blue locked onto green like a magnet to steel. More, it seemed to Spike, passed between them in that moment than could be said with a thousand words … a million words, a thousand-million words.

Despite his steadfast refusal to admit that Buffy had been right about the house, and his constant grumblings about the long hours they’d spent working on it, he had fallen in love with it just as surely as she had. She’d simply been able to see the promise beneath the dilapidated façade sooner than he.

He felt some kindred with the old house. He, after all, had a veneer of his own hiding unknown promises beneath. She’d been the one – the only one – to bring his poet’s heart to the fore, to reach beneath the surface of the demon and touch the man, just as she’d reached beneath the ramshackle exterior of this house and found its heart.

He knew that she knew that he knew that she was right about the house, but neither admitted it. The verbal sparring about it was comfortable ground for them, but it had never gone past that – light banter. They had laughed more than argued during the remodeling. There had been blunders, mistakes, miscues, but they’d been able to handle them with humor. They’d fixed the broken windows, with caulking and paint they'd concealed the fact that neither of them could cut a 45% angle to save their lives, they'd spackled the inadvertent holes in the walls, and moved on. They teased each other about their tastes in colors, fabrics, and designs rather than hurtling barbs, and in the end, they’d found some middle-ground that suited them both in each room they’d tackled thus far.

Spike had left the décor in the nursery to her, his only stipulation that it not be ‘too poncey’. She’d gone with bright, gender-neutral colors. The walls were painted with wide stripes of yellow and white, the bedding she’d found had a background of spring-green adorned with bright flowers in primary colors. Each time Spike went into the cheery room, he felt like he’d just stepped out into a bright, sunny garden. He couldn’t have asked for anything better for his babies to come home to.

The tedium of scraping the peeling paint from the old-but-sturdy, wooden shiplap siding and the porch railing had been handled by Joan with her typical enthusiasm. While Buffy and Spike worked mainly inside the house, Joan had tackled the outside. More than one of their neighbors had stopped by when they’d seen the transformation taking place to welcome the trio, offer assistance, advice, encouragement, and best of all, brownies! The visitors would tell them how much better the old house was looking and what a difference it was making in the whole neighborhood, inspiring others to do some of those long put-off repairs. Although the blondes got a couple of curious stares, and Spike got more than one envious look from the men that stopped by, no one had questioned the strange little family: a man, his pregnant wife, and her twin sister.

Buffy, Spike, and Joan had even started making friends with some of the younger people that lived nearby. They’d gone out to dinner twice with one couple, had been introduced to the dance clubs downtown by a popular local artist that lived nearby, and had found the best Tex-Mex restaurant a few blocks away, which was owned by another neighbor. And, to top it all off, not one demon, not one vampire, not one strange dream, or magical spell had shown up to ruin their new, semi-normal, idyllic life. It was almost too good to be true, and Buffy knocked on wood every single day, hoping their luck would hold out forever.

They’d been working through the house methodically. They’d started in the kitchen, which had been the most in need of updating. They had done the demolition, but realized early in the remodeling that installing cabinets which incorporated plumbing and electrical was not their strong suit, so they'd hired that done. Now Joan had a beautiful, gourmet kitchen for creating her healthy, but often less-than-palatable meals. Thank goodness there were lots of fast-food restaurants right near Home Depot – which was a daily destination – otherwise Buffy might’ve starved.

From there they’d remodeled the master bedroom, Joan’s bedroom, and the nursery for the babies. Although Joan had her own room, she spent many nights, and a few lazy days, with Spike and Buffy in their large, king-sized bed. Those envious looks Spike garnered from the neighbors were well deserved.

The bathrooms, although tiled with colors from the fifties – pink and green and black – were serviceable. They only required vigorous cleaning; remodeling of those could wait.

There were still two more bedrooms to be painted and decorated, but those could wait, as well. They were now working on the public parts of the house, the dining room, the living room, and a cute little sunroom that looked out over the large backyard.

Buffy really hoped to have most of the downstairs done before the babies were born, but at the rate they were going, she wasn’t sure if it would happen. Especially when Spike kept distracting her with … Ohhhh … his tongue and … Mmmmm … his fingers and … yesss … his lips.

Buffy’s comfortable sweatpants lay discarded on the cardboard that protected the beautifully refinished floor of the living room. Her ass stuck to the plastic that covered the sideboard she was now sitting on. Her feet were propped up on Spike’s shoulders, her legs spread wide for him, his tongue circling her quivering clit.

Buffy tangled her fingers in his platinum locks, freeing his curls from their gel prison as he lavished her with his tongue, and …

“God, Spike … yes, baby,” she breathed as his fingers delved into her throbbing hole.

“Mum needs a good fucking, she does,” Spike whispered, his breath cool against her heated skin. “You bits look the other way now,” he advised her tummy. “Can’t deny your mum a nice, long, hard shag. Needs more than my fingers, I’d wager, don’t ya, luv?”

“Yes … Spike … need more,” Buffy agreed, ignoring the weirdness of him talking to their unborn babies. He did that a lot, usually trying to entreat them to take his side in a decorating choice, or telling them to forgive her for her strange taste in duvets. The talk about shagging was especially wig-some, but Buffy endured, especially when he was doing such wonderful things with his fingers.

Spike sucked down on her clit, worrying it with his teeth as he growled against her slick bundle of nerves. Buffy’s body arched into him and she pulled his face against her as her thighs closed against the sides of his head, trapping him. He continued to nibble, lick, and suckle her clit as he kept up the vibrations of his growl against her pulsating pearl.



Buffy screamed out as her first orgasm washed over her body like molten bliss; heating her, burning her with rapture. Her thighs quivered against Spike’s head, tightening further through no will of her own, crushing him to her delicious pussy with passionate abandon.

When Buffy’s climax at last waned and her trembling legs relaxed, Spike pulled back, trailing soft kisses along her thighs. Buffy’s fingers trailed through his hair, back to front, and left it a disheveled cacophony of sharp peaks and soft curls. Her half-lidded eyes gleamed down at him wantonly as she took the opportunity to ruffle his hair further.

Spike stilled her hand with his and pulled it to his lips, kissing her palm gently. He then ran his fingers through his mane, attempting to tame the riot she’d created, but failing miserably.

“Tryin’ t’ turn me into a ponce, you are,” he accused as his efforts were less than successful in smoothing his curls.

“Never,” Buffy assured him as she grasped the front of his t-shirt and pulled him up to his feet.

Buffy wriggled on the plastic she was sitting on and was finally able to slide off the cabinet and onto her feet in front of Spike. She pulled the hem of his t-shirt up and off, revealing the smooth, sculpted marble of his torso for her inspection. Her eyes drank him in as if she’d not seen such a sight ever before. Her fingers wandered over his perfect body – as hard and flat as hers was now round – finding every dip and hill of corded muscle and tracing each one reverently.

Spike moaned and his eyes feathered closed when her hand delved below his belt and cupped his cock through his jeans. “Need you, pet,” he breathed as she slowly stroked up and down his hard length.

“Need you too,” Buffy replied as she deftly unbuckled his belt and released the pressure that strained the buttons of his fly one by one.

His cock jumped into her waiting hand as his loosened, paint-spattered jeans slid down his slim hips and gathered around his knees. Buffy moaned her approval as she wrapped her hand around his shaft and squeezed gently.

“Love your body … love how hard you are for me, even when I look so hideous. Gives me hope that you might actually still want me when I’m old and wrinkled.”

Her breath caught in her throat when his eyes flashed open, the glint of gold overbearing the blue, and his fangs momentarily lengthened.



“You don’t see what I see,” he replied with a tone of barely-controlled anger. He took a calming breath, closed his eyes, and forced his annoyance and his demon back. A moment later, he opened his eyes again; his tone softened as he continued, “You couldn’t be more beautiful, Buffy – and I’ll always want you. Told ya before, love more about you than what I can see. I’ll always love you. Always want you. I can promise ya that, luv.”

Buffy swallowed back her emotions, which had lodged in her throat and were compressing her chest, and nodded. “I just don’t want to ever be … a burden or …”

“You bloody daft woman,” Spike interrupted, pulling her to him roughly and crushing his mouth against hers in a passionate, breathtaking kiss.

When the kiss broke, Buffy clung to him for support and panted for oxygen. “Only sure way t’ get you t’ stop talkin’ that twaddle, I reckon: take your soddin’ breath away.”

Spike turned her around and pressed on her shoulders until she bent forward, her arms supporting her upper body over the sideboard where she’d been sitting a few moments ago. Still not quite recovered from the kiss, Buffy gasped when his cock slid down the crack of her ass and then between her thighs. Spike pressed forward, letting his hardness slide between her drenched pussy-lips before entering her hot, wet quim.

Another gasp and a moan rolled from Buffy’s lips as her back arched, raising her ass and opening herself up to him fully. “Oh, God … yes,” she groaned, grasping the edges of the sturdy wooden furniture tightly for support. “Don’t look, kiddies … daddy’s coming for a visit,” she breathed as Spike jerked his hips and buried himself in her heat.

“Bloody right he is,” Spike growled as his hips began to piston against her, driving her breath from her lungs again. Soon the only sounds in the old house were flesh slapping against flesh, the wet, squelching sound of her pussy welcoming his thrusting cock, and Buffy’s ragged, uneven panting. Moans, hisses, grunts, and exclamations of pleasure all joined the sexual chorus as the lovers began their ascent to the mountaintop.

They often found themselves back at Gibraltar, on the edge of the world in these moments. And when they fell into the depths of ecstasy, it was a white, misty shroud that enveloped them in its blissful embrace. There was nothing else in that cloud of rapture – no future, no past, no sorrows, no worries. There was only them, only love, only joy, only now and yet forever.

When the mist cleared from Buffy’s vision, Spike’s lips were showering her back with gentle kisses. She still had her bra on – it was painful to take it off these days, flopping was not of the good – but he never complained. He simply kissed around it, over her shoulder-blades, down her spine, across her ribs.

When he heard her breathing returning to normal, he leaned forward, his mouth near her ear. “Now, ya gonna stop yammerin’ nonsense or do I need t’ take that breath o’ yours again?” he wondered.



Buffy sucked in a deep breath and replied with a pout, “My boobs will be all droopy, and my butt will be all saggy – I doubt ‘Little Bad’ would even be able to stand at attention…”

Spike growled against her neck, and Buffy giggled as she felt him begin to stiffen inside her again.

Oh yes, the sideboard would have to wait a bit longer for the dining room to be ready.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Take My Breath Away by Berlin  on YouTube  }}

Watching every motion

In my foolish lover's game
On this endless ocean
Finally lovers know no shame
Turning and returning
To some secret place inside
Watching in slow motion
As you turn around and say

Take my breath away
Take my breath away

Watching I keep waiting
Still anticipating love
Never hesitating
To become the fated ones
Turning and returning
To some secret place to hide
Watching in slow motion
As you turn to me and say

My love
Take my breath away

Through the hourglass I saw you
In time you slipped away
When the mirror crashed I called you
And turned to hear you say
If only for today
I am unafraid

Take my breath away
Take my breath away

Watching every motion
In this foolish lover's game
Haunted by a notion
Somewhere there's a love in flames
Turning and returning
To some secret place inside
Watching in slow motion
As you turn my way and say

Take my breath away
My love
Take my breath away
My love
Take my breath away
My love
Take my breath away
Chapter End Notes:
What the heck is going on here!!!??!! How much more happy can our Spuffy trio take?!?!?! Up next: Babies! Next update on Saturday.
Heart and Soul by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Warning for this chapter: Babies!
**
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
**
This chapter and the next are dedicated to mhustler for her unrelenting enthusiasm for Daddy!Spike. These two are for you!
A few days later…

Spike stood in the doorway of the cheerful nursery watching as Buffy straightened already perfect bedding and fluffed already fluffy pillows. She re-arranged the baby powder and baby oil on the changing table, then moved them back to their original spots. Nerves. The babies were due soon, very soon – like today if the new doc was to be believed.

Spike stepped in and made his way up to her back in silence. She didn’t jump or start when he wrapped his arms around her, one across her collarbone and the other over her beautifully swollen belly. Instead, she leaned back against him, laying her own hands over his, and sighing contentedly.

“It’ll be alright, luv,” he assured her.

“I know,” Buffy agreed.

“Doc says they’re perfectly healthy.”

“I know,” she said again.

“And so are you.”

“I know,” she agreed again.

“There’s nothin’ to be worried…” Spike stopped cold. His hand that was on her abdomen felt something new. Not a kick – he’d felt that before – this was different. This was …

“Bloody hell, woman! You’re in labor!” he exclaimed, pulling his hands away and spinning her around to face him at the same time. “What the bloody hell are ya doin’ standing about? We gotta go! Call the doc! Get to the hospital! C’mon – get your stuff and I’ll get the car!”



Spike began frantically pulling her by the hand, tugging her out of the room and into the hallway.

“Spike,” Buffy objected, pulling back against him ineffectually.

“Hurry up! The bits are comin’!” he admonished her, never releasing her hand – his eyes wide with panic. “Bloody hell! The bits are comin’!”

“Spike, they aren’t…”

“Why didn’t ya tell me? Why are we still ‘ere? Should I call the ambulance? Can you walk? Should I carry ya?” he continued as he dragged her in his wake.

“Spike!” Buffy finally yelled as she yanked her hand from his grasp. “They aren’t coming right this minute! That can barely even be called a ‘contraction’ – it’s more like a … cramp. On top of which, my water hasn’t even…”

Suddenly a warm flood of liquid stained Buffy’s sweat pants.

“…broken,” she finished, looking down with dismay.



When she looked back up, Spike was standing in front of her frozen, dumbfounded, his mouth hung open, his eyes wide with panic.

“Ummm … maybe we should go now,” she suggested meekly.

Spike didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t speak. He just stared at her, gape-mouthed.

“Spike? Car? Can you get the car?” Buffy wondered as she reached a hand out to him and touched his shoulder.

Her touch seemed to bring him out of his stupor. “Car! Ya! Got it!” he confirmed wildly before turning and sprinting down the hall to the stairs. In a moment he was gone, leaving Buffy standing alone. She sighed and headed for the bathroom to clean up, but Spike met her before she’d taken three steps.

“Can you walk? Should I carry ya? What do ya need? What do I do?” he asked frantically.

“I’m fine, Spike. Go get the car and calm down. I’ll just change…”

“We aren’t goin’ to the club, Buffy! Are you daft? Don’t need t’ get gussied up,” he admonished. “Bloody fuck! The bits are comin’!”

“Spike – I’m clued in to the sitch here. I got the memo ... in fact, I wrote the memo. I’m the one with the grossness in my pants, and again I say they aren’t coming this minute. I have time to change.” Buffy took hold of both of his shoulders and made him focus on her. “Go tell Joan to come up here and help me, and you go get the car. We’ll be there in a minute, ok? Can you do that?”



“Get Joan, get the car. Got it,” Spike confirmed. “Bloody hell … the bits are comin’!”

Buffy laughed and let go of his shoulders. “Go on now – Joan and car,” she instructed. He nodded sharply and turned away – in the next instant he was gone again.

“‘Big Bad’ my ass,” Buffy muttered as she headed into the bathroom to clean up and change. "'Big Freaking Baby' more like..."

**~**

In the bathroom, Buffy struggled to get the wet sweatpants down her legs and off. They clung to her like demonic spandex, and the bulge in her stomach wasn’t helping any in her effort to slide them down.

Buffy was on the verge of getting a knife or some scissors and cutting them off when Joan appeared in the doorway.

“Thank God,” Buffy groaned. “Can you help me get these off?”

“Yes, I am certain that I am capable of that task,” Joan replied, but she didn’t move further into the room.

Buffy sighed. “Will you please help me get these off now?” Buffy amended her question.

“Yes.” Joan smiled brightly and stepped into the room to help Buffy peel her soaked pants and underwear off.

“I should rinse these out,” Joan suggested, putting them in the bathtub and turning on the water. “Otherwise the amniotic fluid and urine will stain them.”

Buffy scowled. “Are you telling me I peed my pants … again!?”

Joan nodded enthusiastically. “It is not unusual for gestating humans to release urine as the fetus presses on the bladder.”



Buffy rolled her eyes. “Don’t ever get pregnant, Joan,” Buffy advised. “All sorts of gross stuff happens to you. No one ever talks about the weeks-long hurl-fest, peeing your pants, the hemorrhoids, constipation, heartburn, and killer gas. They don’t mention the frantic need for Ben & Jerry’s ice cream at all hours of the day and night, or that you can’t sleep on your stomach or back anymore, or see your swollen feet that won’t fit into your shoes, or pick anything up off the floor. And, if one more stranger comes up to me, puts their hand on my stomach, and asks me when I'm due, I’m gonna go postal on their ass.

“Oh, nooo,” Buffy continued sarcastically as she ran some water in the sink and dampened a washcloth. “It’s all la-te-da, how ‘wonderful it is to feel your babies growing inside you’ and ‘what a miracle it is to create life’. What a load of crap that is,” Buffy groused as she began cleaning herself up. “Pregnancy sucks.”

Joan considered this for a moment before replying, “I cannot become pregnant; I was not equipped with a uterus or ovaries. My motherboard is located where those reproductive organs would be on a human female.”

Buffy snorted a laugh. “Trade ya.”

“I do not believe that would be possible…” Joan began, but Buffy waved her hand dismissively.

“Sarcasm,” Joan realized, nodding. “I am still collecting data on sarcastic rejoinders and identifying satirical voice tonality.”

Buffy nodded as she continued washing herself off.

“You'll need to guard yourself and our babies against infection now that the protective barrier of the amniotic sac has been breached,” Joan advised. “Use a maxi pad, not a tampon, to keep the amniotic fluid from wetting your clothes, and keep your vaginal area clean. When you go to the bathroom, be especially careful to wipe from front to back. And sexual intercourse is strictly off-limits.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh, glad you told me that last part. I was just thinking how I’d like to ravish Spike right now,” she joked. “Oh yeah, nothing like having your insides goo out all over you to make you feel like a sex-bomb.”



“Then I am pleased that I told you, as well,” Joan replied proudly, again missing Buffy’s sarcastic voice tonality. “I have done extensive research on the birthing process. If you would like, I could deliver the fetuses for you. It would save a great deal in doctor and hospital costs and not require you to leave the comfort of our home.”

“Oh. Ummm,” Buffy stammered, looking up at Joan sheepishly. “Well … that sounds really good, but … we’ve sort of already made arrangements with the doctor and hospital. I would hate to … disappoint them by not showing up.”

Joan nodded. “That is reasonable. Am I to understand that you are no longer frightened of hospitals? Spike was previously quite concerned about your reaction to them.”

Buffy shrugged. “I’m not … un-frightened of them. I’m just … less frightened of hospitals than I am of popping babies out on the bathroom floor,” she admitted.

“Oh. I would not allow the fetuses to fall onto the unsanitary floor,” Joan assured her. “I have excellent hand-eye coordination, am extremely swift, and have an extraordinarily strong grip.”

“I know you wouldn’t. It’s just … we told the doctor we’d be there, so it would be rude to not show up.”

“Yes. If you gave your word, then you must keep it,” Joan agreed. “I would like to be of some assistance to you in this process. I am to be Aunt Joan,” she informed Buffy, clearly pleased with her new title.



“I believe the role of aunt is undervalued in today’s society. I will teach them important algorithms and problem-solving techniques that will help them lead successful and satisfying lives. They will confide secrets to me about topics they would be embarrassed to relate to their parents, and I will keep their confidences to myself. When they have difficulties, I will offer them several appropriate courses of action that will be helpful to them, and when they feel sad, I will purchase them inappropriately lavish gifts.”

Buffy gave her friend a smile. “You’ll be the best aunt ever,” Buffy assured her. “And I do need your help in the delivery room. It’ll be your job to pick Spike up off the floor if he passes out. Also, make sure he doesn’t freak out about anything and do something stupid. In other words, you are in charge of keeping Spike calm, cool, and collected.”

“Do you believe that is a feasible goal?” Joan wondered, worried.

Buffy laughed and shook her head. “Probably not. Tell you what, you just hold my hand – forget trying to control Spike.”

Buffy finished cleaning up and tossed the washcloth back in the sink. “If you’ll grab me some clean clothes to put on, I think we better go. Spike’s probably on the verge of giving birth himself … as in having a cow waiting for us.”

Joan tilted her head, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Spike is giving birth to a cow? I did not observe Spike’s abdomen swollen as yours is, nor any unusual craving for Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. When did he have intercourse with a cow?”

“A while back. Her name was ‘Harmony’,” Buffy revealed with a chuckle.

“Why were we not invited? I am not certain I approve of Spike having intercourse with a cow without us.”

Buffy bit her lip to keep from laughing as she put her arm around Joan’s shoulders. The mother-to-be began guiding the aunt-to-be toward the bedroom so she could get some clean clothes to put on for the trip to the hospital. “Ok, let’s talk about sarcasm and metaphors …”

**~**

“Get. Me. Drugs!” Buffy insisted through clenched teeth a few hours later.

“You were very clear and adamant on this topic. Only three days ago you told me you did not, under any circumstances, want to use drugs,” Joan reminded Buffy. “You agreed that natural childbirth is better for the children and the mother – of which you are one: the mother.”

Buffy looked to Spike, who was standing on the other side of her bed. He nodded his agreement with Joan. “Said you were the Slayer, you didn’t need any soddin’ drugs … high pain threshold and whatall. Said even if you said you wanted them in the heat o’ the moment, we should ignore you…”

Buffy reached up and grabbed the front of Spike’s shirt. She twisted the fabric in her hand and yanked his face down near hers. “Get. Me. Drugs. NOW,” she demanded in a dangerous growl. “Or I will stake you where you stand … right after I shove a basketball up your nose and pull it out your ass. And don’t think I can’t do it, buster.”



Spike held his hands up in immediate surrender. “I’ll get the doc,” he assured her as he tried to pry her fingers loose from his shirt.

“Don’t get the doctor, get the fucking drugs!” Buffy insisted just as another contraction racked her body. She screamed out and grasped her stomach with both hands, releasing Spike.

Spike was gone in a second to find a nurse or doctor and, more importantly the drugs, as instructed. He wasn’t sure why he was even in the room with Buffy during this. Men weren’t meant to be in the room during this bit. He’d done his manly-duty nine months ago, by God, now it was her turn.

Men, he was quite certain, were meant to pace the halls outside the delivery room waiting for news of the birth. Then, when the news came, they handed out cigars to everyone and went to look at the baby, or babies, through the nursery glass. The hands-on involvement of the man did not extend to this part of the mission. He knew this because he’d seen it on TV numerous times. What wanker had decided that men should be there for the actual birth he had no idea. He’d like to meet the git, though … and rip his fool head off. Probably them bleedin' heart, flower-power, love-in hippies from the sixties,he decided as he strode down the hall to the nurse's station. That's what too much LSD'll do to your brain.

Spike returned with a man Buffy vaguely remembered talking to earlier – one she sent away saying she didn’t need any of his drugs.

“Changed your mind, huh?” the middle-aged doctor asked as he came in, a nurse trailing behind him and Spike behind them both.

Buffy just glared at him as she tried to get her breath back from the last contraction.

“Don’t feel too badly, young lady,” the doctor cajoled Buffy as he readied the local anesthetic. “Most don’t last this long. The contractions are getting closer … won’t be long now, I expect.”

“Maybe I should … errr … go check on … uhhh … cigars,” Spike suggested, edging toward the door.

“Don’t you dare leave,” Buffy snarled as the anesthesiologist leaned her forward and deadened an area on her lower spine with a local to get ready for the epidural.



“Right,” Spike agreed at once. “Wouldn’t dream of it, luv. Wouldn’t miss this for the bloody world. Nope … not a chance.”

“Wimp,” Buffy muttered as the doctor began readying the larger needle that actually administered the pain-relieving drugs.

“Bloody hell … what’re you gonna do with that?” Spike wondered, looking at the giant needle. He was starting to feel a little queasy at the sight. He had to lean on the wall and look away as the elephant-needle was inserted into Buffy’s lower back.

Buffy gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes. “You are unbelievable. How did you get to be part of the ‘Scourge of Europe’, anyway?”

“Wasn’t with bloody needles, I can tell ya that,” Spike replied sharply, looking at the wall.

The doctor gave them both a strange look, but finished up his work in short order. “You should be more comfortable now.”

“Let me check your dilation,” the nurse requested as she helped Buffy lay back on the bed again.

Buffy sighed and huffed out a breath as she put her feet in the stirrups. She’d never had so many people casually looking at her hoo-hah as she had in the last couple of hours. It seemed like everyone from the janitor on up had looked up her hospital gown. Her privates had suddenly become the most public part of her anatomy. It had been disturbing the first hundred times, but she'd slowly accepted it. She no longer had a vagina – she had a birth canal. Apparently that made it some sort of wonder of the world, like the Panama Canal, and everyone wanted to see it.

“I’ll tell Dr. Andersen that you’re at eight centimeters, not quite time to push, so just breathe through them,” the nurse advised.

Buffy nodded and closed her eyes as she felt another contraction starting. “You better come over here and get the full 3-D, surround-sound experience, Mr. Pratt, because this is not happening again. Ever,” Buffy informed him as she grabbed onto Joan’s hand when the contraction strengthened in earnest.

When Spike didn’t move from his place near the wall, well out of the way of needles, stakes, and basketballs, Buffy demanded, “Get the hell over here, Spike! NOW!”

“Bugger.”



**~**

There were screams. There were tears. There were curses. There was sweat and other bodily fluids that Spike had no name for, there was some gooey stuff he had never even seen before. There were whimpers. There were cries of defeat and triumph. There was blood – Slayer blood. Lots of blood. It was a vampire’s wet dream come true. A delectable fantasy come to life. So why did Spike’s demon go scampering off, leaving the man, the poet alone to face it? Bloody git.

Buffy’s flushed and exhausted face looked up at Spike and she smiled. After all that, she smiled and beckoned him even nearer. “William Wesley Pratt, Junior,” she announced, lowering her eyes to the lump of bloody, goo-covered flesh in her arms. “Meet your father. He can be a wimp, but I think I’ll keep him.”

Buffy looked back up at Spike, that smile still there, her eyes glittering with joy. Whether the joy was because the ordeal of pushing the gooey, bloody basketballs out was over, or some other reason, Spike dared not guess.

“Say hello to your son, William,” Buffy instructed when Spike only stared at the bundle in her arms.



“Junior,” Spike murmured, reaching a tentative finger out to touch the wrinkled, purplish face of his son. “Looks like ‘is sister beat ‘im up in there,” he observed.

Buffy laughed. “Yeah, well … like mother like daughter I guess.”

Just then the nurse came back with their first-born, now cleaned up and wrapped in a pink blanket. A little pink cap was on her head covering a mat of dark hair, tiny gloves on her hands, and booties on her feet.

“Could you hold her for us while I get your son and wife cleaned up, Dad?” the nurse asked Spike.

Spike looked at the woman blankly for several long moments, before it occurred to him that she might be talking to him.

“Me? I … uhhh … shouldn’t she be behind glass now? Ya know … tucked away safe and sound? Away from germs and whatall?” Spike balked.

The nurse laughed. “She’s perfectly healthy and you'll be taking her home soon – can't keep them behind glass forever,” she observed as she transferred the small bundle to Spike’s arms.

“Wait! … I'm not properly trained or licensed ... No … I can’t … I mean …” Spike stammered as he instinctively curled his arms around the little, pink bundle the nurse was pressing against his chest.

“First time, huh? It’s okay. Just cradle her gently, support her head … there … that’s it. You’ve got it,” the nurse encouraged as she showed Spike how to hold his daughter.

Spike held his breath, afraid at once of dropping her and crushing her, as he gazed down on the stranger in his arms. The baby cooed and looked up at him with giant blue eyes the color of a moonlit sky. He could see himself and Buffy in her, and suddenly it wasn’t a stranger in his arms any longer. It was his daughter. His baby. His life.

Spike’s heart swelled to bursting with the love that suddenly welled up from somewhere unknown and previously untapped. Unconditional love. Unfailing love. Undeniable love. Unending love. He’d never felt anything like it in all his one-hundred-plus years. It filled him from head to toe with a joy he never knew existed before, more even than his love for Buffy, something he would’ve thought impossible only a minute ago.

Spike bent his head down, silent tears misting his gaze, and dropped a gentle kiss on the baby’s forehead, breathing in the scent of her – the mingled scent of Buffy and himself.

“My heart expands, 'tis grown a bulge in it, inspired by your beauty, effulgent,” he murmured against his daughter’s soft skin, his voice thick with emotion.

“What?” Buffy asked, looking up at him as the nurse removed the bloodied sheet and gown and began to replace them with clean ones.

Spike looked up, shimmering eyes wide and panicked. Had he said that out loud? “Uhhh … nothing, just an old … nursery rhyme,” he excused, blinking back his emotions.

Buffy looked at him suspiciously, but let it go as another nurse came in with a clipboard. “Can I get the babies’ names for the record?” she asked Buffy.

“Joyce-Anne Dawn Elizabeth Pratt and William Wesley Pratt, Junior,” Buffy replied, speaking slowly so the nurse could write it all down.



Spike looked up at her, surprised by the addition of ‘Anne’ to the girl’s name.

Buffy gave him the loving, adoring smile for which he lived as she added, “They’re family names.”

The bulge in Spike’s heart exploded into a million droplets of rainbow-colored joy. He was filled with that effulgence of which he’d spoken; a radiance that had been redefined, brightening a thousandfold in the last few moments.

Spike watched his wife take his son – all clad in blue – from the nurse and could no longer contain the tears that welled up from that same unknown spring of love deep inside him. He’d died so many years ago, but Buffy made him feel like it wasn’t so. She gave him his life back … and so much more, more than he had ever dared to dream.

He was sure one day his Slayer would actually bring him back to life with her love, make his heart beat in his chest, his cold blood boil and flow in his veins. If anyone could do it, it was Buffy, of that he was certain.

As he looked back down at his daughter, lying contentedly in his arms, and then back up at his wife and son, it occurred to Spike that Buffy had brought him back to life in every way that really mattered: heart and soul.



**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Heart and Soul Sung by Helena Bonham Carter on YouTube  }}

Heart and soul
I fell in love with you, heart and soul

The way a fool would do
Madly, because you held me tight
And stole a kiss in the night

Heart and soul
I begged to be adored
I lost control and tumbled overboard, gladly
That magic night we kissed
There in the moon mist

Oh, but your lips were thrilling, much too thrilling
Never before were mine so strangely willing
But now I see, what one embrace can do

Look at me, it’s got me loving you madly
That little kiss you stole
Held all my heart and soul

Oh, but your lips were thrilling, much too thrilling
Never before were mine so strangely willing
But now I see, what one embrace can do

Look at me, it’s got me loving you madly
That little kiss you stole
Held all my heart and soul

Held all my heart and soul
Chapter End Notes:
Next Tuesday, the babies come home ... What could go wrong?
The Things We've Handed Down by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
**
This chapter was added in because of mhustler's enthusiasm for Daddy!Spike, so don't blame me for it!
A couple of days later...



“This is where you will sleep,” Joan informed William Jr., 'Will' for short, as she gently laid him down in his crib. “You can differentiate your cage from your sister’s because you have colorful dragons made of felt as your mental stimulant, while she has butterflies.

“I was not in favor of dragons. They are a mythical creature and are generally portrayed as quite fearsome and terrifying, but your father was quite enamored with them. I admit to not understanding your father at times.”

“Oi!” Spike called from behind Joan as he and Buffy came into the nursery with Joyce-Ann. “Don’t be calling the crib a bloody ‘cage’ or  raggin’ on my dragons.”

Joan turned around and watched as Buffy lay Will’s sister down in the matching crib not far away. “I was not being critical of your choice in mental stimulants…”

“It’s called a ‘mobile’,” Buffy interjected. “You make it sound like we’re giving them Red Bull and speed.”

Joan tilted her head and considered that a moment. “Mobile: ‘a hanging sculpture whose parts are balanced to move in response to air currents.’ I am not certain these meet those criteria as they have small electric motors which turn and play beguiling tunes.”

“Just trust me on this one, Auntie,” Buffy requested. “It’s a ‘mobile’ and a ‘crib’, not a ‘cage’ and a ‘mental stimulant’. If someone heard you saying those things, they’d have Child Protective Services here in a heartbeat.”



“That would be undesirable,” Joan agreed solemnly. “Please do not let anyone take my niece and nephew. I still have many things to teach them, such as Euclid's algorithm, the sieve of Eratosthenes, long division, and how to properly assemble Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.”

Buffy laughed and took hold of Joan’s hand with one of hers and Spike’s hand with the other. “With the three of us to get past, I’m sure no one will touch a hair on their heads.” A beat. “Which is a metaphor. If someone we know wants to touch the hair on their heads, it’s okay to let them.”

Joan nodded decisively. “Touch of hair is acceptable; removal of the small humans from the premises is not.”

Buffy gave her a reassuring smile. “You got it.”

**~**

A couple of weeks later…

Buffy absently dried her hands on the kitchen towel hanging by the sink after washing up some dishes. She looked out through the large picture window above the sink at their shady backyard. Her mind wandered and she imagined the twins at five or six years old playing on a swing set, or in a sandbox, or maybe a kiddie-pool or a slip-n-slide.

The image of a normal family, of normal childhood activities, brought a smile to her lips, until she leaned against the edge of the sink and was reminded of the bulge in her stomach that hadn’t been there before. The image in her mind suddenly included her in a swimsuit with sagging boobs, a protruding stomach, and jiggling thighs. She shuddered at the picture her mind conjured as she looked down at her now-unfamiliar body.

But her imagination wasn’t done with her yet. She saw Joan playing with the children, spraying them with a big water gun. Aunt Joan’s body was perfect. The bikini she wore showed off all her curves, her smooth, flat stomach – unmarred by stretch marks – her perky boobs, and firm ass.

Buffy blinked back tears and pushed the image away, only to have it return a second later with Spike included. He, Joan, and the twins all had water guns. They were laughing and soaking each other with them, running around the lush green grass of the shaded backyard, giggling and chasing one another. All the while Buffy remained on the sidelines, dressed in something ‘moomoo-ish’ that would hide all her imperfections.

The tableau in her imagination continued as all four of the ‘combatants’ fell onto the damp grass and continued their war, wrestling and tickling the others mercilessly until all were winded from laughing and playing.

Spike drew his children and Joan into his arms, dropping kisses into the damp curls of the twins before kissing Joan passionately. Buffy watched the scene play out in her mind, the kiss deepening and become more and more erotic – the children fading away until all that was left was Joan and Spike. Their bodies melded together perfectly; Joan’s fit his as if it had made for him alone, just as Buffy’s had done at one time.

Buffy suddenly felt awash in jealousy and anger. She’d sacrificed her body for their family, for Dawn, for Spike’s soul, and now he was turning his back on her. But how could she blame him, really? Just look at yourself!

Buffy’s chin dropped to her chest as hot tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision. She was lost somewhere between anger, jealousy, and glum despondency when she felt someone press against her back.

Buffy jerked her head up and wiped her tears with the towel still in her hands as she realized it was not just one person, but both Spike and Joan, one on each side of her.

“Done with the chores, luv?” Spike asked, his voice soft against her left ear.



“Yeah … yeah … done,” Buffy stammered back, sniffing her tears away.

“The small humans are taking their required afternoon interval of rest,” Joan offered.

“Oh, good,” Buffy replied in a neutral tone. She felt someone’s hand stroking her back, traveling from her neck all the way down her spine, then slowly back up again, and she stiffened.

“Thought you might want t’ … relax a bit while they’re dozing,” Spike suggested in a low voice as he nuzzled his mouth through her hair and began kissing her neck.

“No! No, I …” Buffy backed up, extracting herself from their embrace. “I mean … I don’t really think … I mean … I still don’t feel very … ummm … down there,” she stammered.

“Why don’t you guys … I mean – you can …” Buffy waved a vague hand between them, unable to articulate the rest of her thought. Tears welled in her eyes again as she looked between her two beautiful, perfect partners. She didn’t fit in with them now – she wasn’t ‘Buffy’ anymore, she was ‘Mom’. She couldn’t even bring herself to be jealous of Joan; she could only feel mournful, as if part of her had died when the babies were born.

Buffy took another step back as Joan and Spike looked at her with confusion and concern. “I’m just … really tired and …” she swallowed hard. “But why don’t you guys … you know … go ahead without me.”

“Buffy, luv…” Spike began gently, taking a step forward.



“NO! I said ‘no’!” Buffy screamed at him, backing up further. “You do whatever you want. Just leave me out of it!”

Buffy turned and ran out of the kitchen, through the living room, and up the stairs. Spike and Joan looked at each other with concern as they heard the bathroom door slam closed upstairs.

“I believe she may be suffering from the ‘baby blues’, or possibly the more serious ailment of postpartum depression,” Joan suggested. “It is quite common in humans.”

Spike rubbed at his eyes and nodded, trying to think what he should do now to help his wife.

“May I suggest that we do not follow her instructions? I do not believe it would be advantageous for us to engage in sexual intercourse without Buffy,” Joan offered.

Spike nodded again and looked up at her. “Gotta go along with ya on that, luv,” he agreed as he heard the shower start upstairs. “Got any other advice in that noggin o’ yours for this postpartum bollocks?”



Joan tilted her head as she considered that. “It often takes time for the woman’s hormones to return to normal after parturition. Research has shown that a woman's depression will improve markedly with the consistent support of a significant other. If the mother’s mood does not improve within a few weeks, she should seek the advice of a medical or mental health professional for further evaluation.

“I would also add my own impression and suggest you not refer to it as ‘bollocks’.”

Spike sighed. “Didn’t mean it like that,” he excused. Spike took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts. He looked up at the ceiling above them where Buffy was showering, as if he could somehow see into his wife’s mind from there. He had no idea how long he just stood there, staring at the ceiling, willing some inspiration to float down into his muddled brain.

“Support from significant other, eh?” he repeated finally as he heard the shower turn off. “Reckon that’s you and me, pet.”

“That would seem to be the reasonable conclusion.”

“Well, what say we go support?” Spike suggested, heading for the stairs.

**~**

Buffy stood in front of the full length mirror in the bathroom, turning this way and that, critiquing her nude form and frowning all the while.

Spike silently slipped into the foggy bathroom, leaving the door cracked open a few inches behind him. “Whatcha doin’, luv?” he wondered as he stepped up to her in the cloudy air.

Buffy jumped nearly out of her skin, spinning around to face him. She quickly grabbed a towel and held up in front of herself. “Collar. Bell. Look into it,” she scolded, wrapping the towel around her torso and securing it. She turned away from him, picked up a hairbrush, and then began brushing her wet hair out in the mirror, her back to Spike.

“Didn’t answer my question,” Spike observed, walking up behind her and looking over her shoulder at her reflection in the mirror.

“I thought you were … relaxing with Joan,” she retorted sharply, still not answering his question.

“Noooo, clearly I'm not. I’m here asking you a question – which you still haven’t answered,” he reminded her.



Buffy sighed and put the hairbrush down. She ran her hand over her previously flat abdomen, now obscured from view by the towel. She’d calmed down since fleeing the kitchen and was now feeling more melancholy than angry. She was starting to feel like a ping-pong ball at the mercy of some unknown paddle which kept whacking her emotions around. One minute up, one minute down, one minute totally sideways.

“The celebrities all make it look so easy … like you have a baby and just – Presto! – everything pops right back into place.” Buffy snorted disdainfully, her eyes glued to her reflection in the mirror, since she couldn’t see Spike’s.

Spike wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her back against his front. “Ya look perfect t’ me,” he assured her.

“Yeah, well, we’ve already determined that you’re blind,” Buffy scoffed. “My boobs are like … giant, squishy milk bags! What’s gonna happen when the milk’s gone? They’ll just be like … big, ole saggy … udders.”

Spike chuckled lightly and hugged her tighter. “Ya worry too much ‘bout what you think is wrong with your body, pet. There’s nothing wrong with you … never will be. You’re as beautiful now as the day I first saw ya.”

“Oh … right. I was … sixteen when you first saw me, Spike. Everything was high and tight … like Joan. She’s still all … perfect and I’m all … not,” Buffy pouted, tears stinging her eyes. “And it’s only gonna get worse. I’m gonna get old, and you and Joan…”



“Bloody hell, woman! Would you stop with that bollocks?!” Spike growled at her, spinning her in his arms to face him. Spike held her by the shoulders and dipped his head so she had to look him in the eyes. “I love you. I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. Nothing will ever change that.

“Just look at yourself, Buffy!” Spike admonished, turning her back around to face the mirror and tugging the towel off in one motion.

“You’re the mother o’ my children. This body gave me two beautiful babies; something I’d never dared t’ dream of before. This body pulled Dawn back outta Limbo. This body gave my soul another chance. This body, these beautiful breasts, will nurture those bits, start ‘em off right in this world. This body will run in the sunshine with them, it’ll swim in the ocean, it’ll hold them when they’re scared, and comfort them when they’re hurt. Bloody hell, Buffy … can’t you see? Can’t you see the wonder o’ this body? Can’t you see the wonder of you?”

Buffy blinked to try and clear her vision, desperately trying to see what Spike saw. Her chin quivered as she looked at the woman in the mirror. When had she become a woman? It seemed only yesterday she was just a girl. How had she gotten here to this place? How had she become a wife and a mother and a DD with leaky nipples, for Christ’s sake?

“You listen to me,” Spike admonished her, his lips very near her ear. “I’ve been alive a bit longer than you and dead a lot longer than that. A hundred plus years and there’s only one thing I’ve ever been sure of: You. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I’ve seen your kindness and your strength. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you, and I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You’re a hell of a woman. You are the one my whole life’s been leadin’ to. You are the one, Buffy.”

Buffy wiped her tears and shook her head. “I don’t know if I can be the one … I don’t know if I want to be the one.”



“Yeah, well, I don’t want t’ be this good-looking and brilliant at home renovation. We all got our crosses t’ bear, luv.”

Buffy turned around to face him, her eyes still shimmering. “Maybe Joan should be the one,” she suggested, searching his eyes to try and find her anchor. It was still there, but she’d let the line slip from her grasp – she couldn’t reach it … couldn’t seem to grip it tightly enough to keep her stable.

“Because I am not the one,” Joan offered, pushing the door open and stepping in behind Spike. “You are the nexus of our family, Buffy.”

Buffy’s eyes shifted to Joan when she spoke, then back to her husband.

“What does that mean?” she asked Spike.

Spike gave her a small smile. “Means you’re the heart of us … the core, the thing that binds us together.”

“I’m Velcro? What if I’m not very good Velcro? Maybe I’m like, cheap, imitation, Chinese Velcro. What if I suck at being Velcro? What if I can’t hold on and everything spills out all over the place?”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, Buffy, and you’re not alone.” Spike held up his right hand, the one with the interlocking, tri-band ring on it. “There’s nothing imitation about you. And we’re all here t’ help each other, yeah? We’re all holding on with ya. It’s what makes us so bloody good.”

Spike reached one hand back and pulled Joan’s right hand up in front of Buffy as well, showing Buffy both of their rings.

“What if I suck at being a mom?” Buffy asked forlornly.

Spike shook his head. “You’ll be a brilliant mum – you are a brilliant mum. If ya get stuck, ya got us here beside ya. What one doesn’t know, another does. And if no one knows, Joan can bloody well learn. No bits in the world could have a better family than this one, and none could have a better mum.”

Buffy took their clasped hands in both of hers and dropped a kiss atop their twined knuckles. “I’m just … so freaking fat and afraid that …”

“That is inaccurate,” Joan interrupted. “In fact, you have gained less than the average amount of weight for an American female, aged eighteen to twenty-five, giving birth to their first child,” Joan assured her. “It is reasonable to assume that, with proper diet and exercise, your body will return to its pre-partum state when breast feeding has ceased. Until then, your body will retain the additional energy stores to assure survival of the offspring.”

Buffy looked at Joan hopefully. “You really think so?”

“That is what my research has shown.”

“I give you that heartfelt speech and you blow me off; Joan gives you bloody cold data and you look like you could kiss ‘er,” Spike groused.

Buffy looked back at Spike and her expression softened. She reached her left hand out and touched his cheek gently, still keeping her right hand atop theirs. “I didn’t blow you off … I heard you. It’s just that you … well … sometimes data wins over … poetry.”



Spike snorted disdainfully. “What a load o’ rubbish that is,” he grumbled, but he was smiling.

Buffy returned his smile. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t love the poetry too …”

“Yeah?” Spike asked, quirking a hopeful brow at her.

“Yeah.”

Buffy leaned against his chest, pulling Joan in with her. Spike wrapped his free arm around them both the best he could, his right tucked between their bodies, still clasped with theirs.

“I love you, both,” Buffy sighed against his chest. “I just don’t want to let anyone down.”

Spike dropped a kiss atop her head. “We love you too, Buffy. You could never let us down, pet. Joan’s right, you are the heart o’ us. You’re the one.”

**~**

A couple of months later… (Babies about 2 ½ months old)

“According to the classical theory, a black body – which is any object capable of absorbing radiation at all frequencies and radiating it back – would emit infinite amount of energy. This was not found to be true experimentally. The energy emitted by a black body seemed to be a function of its frequency, showing a typical bell shaped curve…”



“Whatcha doin?” Buffy asked as she came into the sunroom where Joan was entertaining the babies.

Joan looked up from her two ‘pupils’, who seemed to be paying more attention to stuffed animals next to them in the playpen than Joan.

“I am beginning their education in quantum physics.”

“Oh … well … do they seem to be getting it?” Buffy wondered.

“I am not certain yet. I have not determined how to test them on their comprehension rates. They are unable to communicate verbally and seem to view paper as sustenance rather than a communication tool.”

Buffy pulled her lips between her teeth and nodded thoughtfully. “This is just a … wild idea, but maybe you should try starting with something like … colors or … body parts.”

Joan tilted her head in thought. “Do you believe that would be more beneficial than quantum physics?”

“Well, maybe to start. After colors and body parts, then maybe move into … shapes and animals, maybe letters and numbers?”

Joan nodded decisively and turned back to her pupils. She pointed to the side of her head. “Cranium,” she pronounced. Then she pointed to her left eye: “Oculus sinister.” Then her nose: “Nasal Vestibule.”

Buffy sighed and shook her head as she turned and left the twins to deal with their eccentric auntie all on their own. They’d have to figure out how to do it sooner or later … best if they had plenty of practice.

**~**

A couple of months later (babies about five months old)…

“Buffy! Buffy!” Spike called excitedly as he jogged through the house holding his son.

“What!? What’s wrong?” Buffy asked worriedly, coming out of one of the spare bedrooms she’d finally gotten around to painting.

“Listen!” Spike admonished, stopping in front of her. He jostled little Will in his arms a moment, then stopped and waited.



Nothing happened.

Spike gently bounced him again and stopped, looking at the infant expectantly.

Will let out a long, loud burp, then giggled happily, waving his little fists in the air in triumph.

“Yeah, Spike, I admit that’s impressive, but I know what a burp sounds like,” Buffy pointed out.

“No! He said it! He said my name!” Spike reported excitedly.

Buffy’s brows went up. “He said Spike’?”



“Don’t be daft! He said ‘dada’!” Spike scolded.

“Oooh…” Buffy replied, exaggerating the word on her lips and nodding. “Well, yesterday he said, ‘baba' … and the day before that he said, ‘googoo’.”

Spike scowled at her. “It wasn’t like that! He looked at me and said it! Bloody brilliant, he is! A genius! We should ‘ave him tested! Bet he’s a … whatcha call it? … A prodigy!”

Buffy laughed and rolled her eyes. “Ok, Dad. Whatever you say,” she agreed mockingly, patting Spike’s arm. “As soon as he stops trying to eat the paper, we’ll have him tested.”

**~**

A few weeks later (babies about six months old)…

Spike tucked the little pink blanket more tightly around his daughter’s small body as he cradled her in his arms. The night was cool, but not overly cold – still, he didn’t want to take any chances on her catching a chill. She’d been fussy all day and it had continued into the night. None of the three adults judged it to be anything serious – they could find nothing actually wrong with Joyce-Anne, no sniffles or fever or any sign of illness. But, as bedtime came and went, she simply wouldn’t fall asleep no matter what they tried, and she was keeping her brother awake, as well. So, Spike decided to take his little girl for a midnight stroll – perhaps a little fresh air and exercise would calm her down.

He walked around the wide porch that encircled their house, the baby nestled against his chest, and looked out into the darkness. The night was quiet, with only the distant sound of tires on asphalt and the nearer sounds of Casanova-crickets serenading their lady loves. Over the months, Spike had rearranged his sleep habits to be more in line with Buffy’s: sleeping at night and being awake during the day. He hadn’t been spending a lot of time wandering about in the still of the night lately, and doing so now released a strange sense of melancholy within him.

As he gently rocked his restless, cooing daughter and walked across the sturdy planks of the porch, a thousand memories of nights just like this washed through his mind. Nights of mayhem, of bloodshed, of fights, of wars, of riots, of hunts, of frantic chases and bloody captures. Of death. Of destruction. Of horror. Of pain.

Spike’s chest tightened as he looked down at his little girl. Her blue eyes were bright as she gazed up at him with unreserved trust. Spike brushed a lock of soft, chestnut-brown curls back from her small face, remembering other babies, other children. They were Dru’s favorite. She said they tasted of gumdrops and cotton candy and licorice all rolled up into a ball of sunshine.



Spike sniffed back his emotions and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “Don’t know what I’ve ever done t’ deserve you, pet,” he whispered to her. “A bad man, I was … a bad, rude man. Not even a man … a monster. Still am, I reckon. Can’t change that, can I?

“Wish I could take it back, but … can’t go back, can we? Can only go forward … it’s how the world is, princess. Promise you I’ll be someone you can be proud of. I won’t let ya down … never let you bits or your mum down.”

Spike looked back out at the dark backyard of their house as tears swelled in his eyes. “Hope t’ bloody God ya never know the things I’ve done,” he murmured, more to the night than to her. “Never want ya to know that, pet.”

Joyce-Ann reached a small hand up out of the blanket and grabbed for Spike’s ear. She missed, and instead her hand bounced lightly off his cheek.

Spike took her little hand in his and kissed the tip of each tiny, perfect finger. “Chip off the ole Slayer block, you are, princess. Already smackin’ the vamp around,” he teased, releasing her hand.

Joyce-Ann gurgled out a laugh and swung her hand at his face again, this time banging him in the nose, as if understanding his words.

Spike laughed along with her and resumed his trek around the outer edge of the porch. “Gonna be a right handful, you are, princess. A bitty-Buffy you are, no doubt.”

**~**

A few days later (babies about six months old)…

Spike patted down the pockets of his dress pants looking for cigarettes, but all he found was his lighter. He pulled it out and began clicking the lid open and closed, remembering that he’d quit smoking. He idly wondered how long it would take him to get out of the habit of longing for a cigarette. It wasn’t too bad most of the time, but times like this, when he was bored and alone, it hit him hard.

He rolled the striker on the lighter and watched it burn a moment before snapping the lid closed and tucking it back into his pocket. The large grandfather clock in the living room struck 8:00pm just as a knock came at the front door.

“India’s here!” he called up the stairs to his girls as he opened the door for their neighbor, friend, and tonight, babysitter.

“You might want to say it a little louder, I don’t think they heard you on Pluto,” India teased, her violet eyes bright and sparkling against her olive skin.

Spike laughed and stepped back from the door to allow her entry. “Buffy and Joan are on bloody Neptune most o’ the time, can only hope it got that far,” he teased back.



“You aren’t calling them ‘Space Cadets,’ are you?” India continued the banter stepping in and setting a gift-wrapped package down on a side-table in the foyer.

India often wore her long, black hair up with things Spike thought looked like chopsticks, but tonight she had it down. It fell in a heavy curtain across her shoulders and down her back. She was dressed simply in a ‘Don’t Mess with Texas’ t-shirt, blue jeans with more dried paint on them than Spike’s worst work jeans, and white Keds on her feet. She had fine features, a quick and brilliant smile, and eyes the color of wisteria blooms.

The talented, young woman lived just a few houses away and had been one of the people who had stopped in to welcome them with a large pan of double-chocolate brownies – which made her an instant hit with Buffy. India had quickly grown to be a good neighbor and friend to their strange family, and she and Joan had bonded over their common talent: art and refinishing or repurposing of garage-sale finds.

“Me? Wouldn’t dream of it, luv,” Spike replied sardonically as Buffy and Joan finally made their way down the stairs. They were both dressed for an evening out – the first since the babies were born.

“Wouldn’t dream of what?” Buffy asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Errr …” Spike stammered, searching for something to say that wouldn't brass her off.

“Of telling you the surprise,” India filled in, saving him as she picked up the wrapped gift and handed it to Buffy. “For the babies,” she explained.

Buffy’s brows went up. “I think you have this backwards. We’re supposed to pay you for babysitting, not the other way around.”

India laughed with a lilting, easy confidence and shook her head, causing her thick hair to cascade over her back in waves. “You know I love the little ones. I’m happy to do it, Buffy.”

“Can I open it now?” Buffy wondered.

“Gonna be late for our reservation, pet,” Spike reminded her.

“Oh … ummm …”

India waved a dismissive hand. “Open it later … it’ll keep. And it’ll build up the anticipation. That’s always the best part … the anticipation.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Buffy assured their artist friend. “If you made it, it’s gonna be wonderful, I know.

“You’ve got all our numbers and know where everything is,” Buffy continued. “We won’t be very late…”

Suddenly Joan yawned widely and loudly.

Spike and Buffy looked at each other with confusion. Joan didn’t yawn. In fact, she had never, ever yawned.

“You alright, luv?” Spike wondered, looking at the Bot.

Joan yawned again with an even more exaggerated sound and action, lifting her arms and stretching as if utterly wiped out. “I suddenly find myself extremely fatigued. Perhaps you should go on without me. I will remain here.”

“What? But I thought you just char… just … napped a little while ago,” Buffy objected. “Are you sure everything’s … functioning properly?”

“Yes. I am in perfect working order. I am simply fatigued and wish to remain at home.”

“Oh, well, then … I guess you won’t be needing me…” India began.

“No! I mean … yes! You must stay,” Joan objected, her eyes wide with panic. She reached a hand out to touch India’s arm, as if to stop her from going. “I mean … I would appreciate it if you would stay … in case I … am … too weary to properly supervise the children.”

“Oh … well, sure. Of course,” India agreed, giving Joan a shy smile.



Buffy and Spike exchanged a look as they watched Joan feign tiredness and India suddenly turn shy.

“Ok, then … ummm … I guess we’ll go so they don’t give our reservation away,” Buffy filled into the suddenly awkward silence.

“Right then, see you lovelies later,” Spike agreed, offering his arm to Buffy.

“Have a good time,” India bade them as they turned and headed out through the kitchen to the detached garage at the back of the house where Spike kept the DeSoto.

“You too,” Buffy called back, glancing at Joan over her shoulder and giving her twin a questioning look.

The blondes hesitated in the kitchen long enough to hear Joan begin a conversation with India.

“Did you see the new Michael Harding Artists Oils at Holly’s Hobbies? There are several new shades of Pthalo Blues now. I believe they would be well suited for a seascape,” Joan began, suddenly not sounding tired at all.



“I did see them! I had to buy them all!” India gushed. “Which hue did you like best?”

“The Pthalo Turquoise was my first choice,” Joan divulged. “It was a difficult decision, but I thought it was the most effervescent and vibrant.”

“Oh! I loved that one too! I’m going out to Canyon Lake and the Guadalupe River next weekend to paint some ‘scapes. Would you like to come with me? We could try out all the new colors,” India offered excitedly.

“Oh, yes! I have never visited those locations personally. That would be a very pleasing experience,” Joan gushed.

In the kitchen, Spike smirked and quirked a brow at Buffy as the other women’s voiced trailed off up the stairs.

“Oh my God! Joan’s made a friend,” Buffy whispered excitedly.

“And their goin’ on a sleep-over…” Spike smirked suggestively.

“Alone … in the woods,” Buffy giggled. "Oh … how do you think that’s gonna work? With the … charging and the … lack of eating and drinking?”

Spike shrugged and opened the door for Buffy as they headed out for their date. “The Bot’s a smart girl … and gettin’ right devious; reckon she can work it out.”

Buffy laughed as they headed down the back walk to the garage. “That she is. God help us if Aunt Joan starts giving the kids lessons in subterfuge.”

“Do you reckon that would come before or after Quantum Mechanics and Calculus V?”

Buffy laughed as Spike opened the door to the old car for her and she slid in. “God, after, I hope! Let’s hope it’s at least after they master the Kraft Macaroni and Cheese assemblage.”

Spike cocked a questioning brow as he closed the door.



Buffy shrugged. “I still haven’t mastered it, and I’m twenty-one.”

Spike laughed as he walked around the front of the car and got in behind the wheel.

“Well, let’s hope, along with my good looks, the bits got your fine talent for cookin’, luv. Might keep ‘em outta hot water and safe from Calculus.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  The Things We’ve Handed Down, Marc Cohn on YouTube  }}


Don't know much about you
Don't know who you are
We've been doing fine without you
But, we could only go so far

Don't know why you chose us
Were you watching from above
Is there someone there that knows us
Said we'd give you all our love

Will you laugh just like your mother
Will you sigh like your old man
Will some things skip a generation
Like I've heard they often can

Are you a poet or a dancer
A devil or a clown
Or a strange new combination of
The things we've handed down

I wonder who you'll look like
Will your hair fall down and curl
Will you be a mama's boy
Or daddy's little girl

Will you be a sad reminder
Of what's been lost along the way
Maybe you can help me find her
In the things you do and say

And these things that we have given you
They are not so easily found
But you can thank us later
For the things we've handed down

You may not always be so grateful
For the way that you were made
Maybe some feature of your father's
That you'd gladly sell or trade

And one day you may look at us
And say that you were cursed
But over time that line has been
Extremely well rehearsed

By our fathers, and their fathers
In some old and distant town
From places no one here remembers
Come the things we've handed down
The things we've handed down…
Chapter End Notes:
Check out Joan ... making decisions on her own and ... a friend. Hmmmm ... where might that lead?
**
What? You were expecting something to jump out of the walls, perhaps? Some big bad to come along and gobble them up? Tsk, tsk! You must think my muse to be evil incarnate. As India said, it's the anticipation that's the best part!
**
Ok ... well, that's enough of that. I hope you enjoyed the anticipation cos ... well, it's over. Your prayers for angst will be realized soon, very, very soon! Muhahahaha.

I'll Stand By You by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to email me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
**
Warning for this chapter: Time to pay the piper ... or the muse as the case may be: angst and tears.
About a week later…

Buffy and Spike looked up from the TV when the front door opened and Joan came in.

“Bugger…” Spike muttered as Buffy turned the TV off.

“You’ve seen this at least five hundred times already. You quote it in your sleep,” Buffy admonished him in a low voice, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. “We need to talk to her.”

Spike rubbed his side. “Can never see, or quote, ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail’ too many times,” he retorted, scowling at his wife.

Buffy poked her tongue out at him before turning and calling to Joan. “So, how was the weekend at the lake … with India?” she asked as casually as she could.


Joan dropped her packs at the foot of the stairs and came into the living room. “It was exceedingly pleasing!” she beamed. “Would you like to see the images I rendered in oil and watercolor?”



“Sure,” Buffy replied, returning Joan’s enthusiastic smile.

Joan went back and retrieved the larger of her two packs and brought it back into the living room. Opening it, she carefully pulled out a total of four pieces of art and laid them out on the coffee table in front of Spike and Buffy. Two were water color and two were oil paintings. They were all either lake or river scenes and Buffy and Spike both had to admit they were extraordinarily good.

“Soooo …” Buffy ventured, trying to sound casual, as she looked over the paintings, “… did India have a good time too?”

“Oh, yes. She indicated that she had visited Canyon Lake many times, but that it was much more enjoyable with my companionship.”

“And does she know you’re … different?” Buffy continued, lifting her eyes from the art and looking up at Joan.

“Yes. She considers me to be singular and unique.”

“Well, who could argue with that?” Buffy agreed.

“She indicated that she enjoys my ‘refreshing viewpoint’ and will ‘never tire of my intriguingly pragmatic view of the world.' She appears to take pleasure in attempting to show me her viewpoint on subjects. I find her fascinating in an extremely abstract and idealistic manner.”

Buffy nodded thoughtfully. “Right, but … does she know you’re a … ummm … bot?”

Joan’s expression turned pensive. “I do not believe that she has gleaned that knowledge from our conversations. Do you feel it is relevant? Is that something I must disclose to newly-acquired friends?”



"No – totally no disclosing. We're firmly in the 'don't ask, don't tell' camp here. It's just ... with India ... we ... were wondering ... ummm ..." Buffy’s mouth opened, then closed again; she looked at Spike for help.

“Just how far ya planning on takin’ things with the painter?” Spike joined in for the first time.

“She is my friend,” Joan announced brightly.

“We got that bit, luv. What we were wondering is, are ya shaggin’ ‘er?”

Joan’s eyes went wide with surprise. “No. That would be disrespectful to my significant others and my family to whom I am eternally faithful.” Joan held up her right hand, showing the ring on it that matched Buffy’s and Spike’s.

Buffy bit her bottom lip and nodded. “But, do you … want to … you know … with her?”

Putting any feelings of jealousy aside, Buffy was torn about what she wanted Joan to say to this question. On one hand, she was happy the Bot had made such a good friend. Buffy felt like Joan deserved to have a love-life of her own choosing, rather than the one with Buffy and Spike which had been chosen for her. On the other hand, there were lots of secrets being kept, and she didn’t want Joan's delicate heart-shaped microchips to be crushed when India found out that everything wasn’t as it seemed on the surface.

Joan tilted her head in confusion. “There is no verb in that query, please restate.”

“Do ya want t’ shag her?” Spike clarified, rolling his eyes.

Joan furrowed her brow, considering this for nearly a minute, which would be almost an hour in ‘people-years’. “I find her extremely attractive, intelligent, compassionate, talented, and witty. I have also noted that my sentient drive rotates at an alarming rate when I am in her company. I believe if I did not already have a family, and if she were so inclined, then … yes, I would shag her brains out.”

Buffy’s brows shot up. “Whoa! Joan! You made with the metaphysical!”

“Metaphorical,” Spike corrected, also surprised. “Assuming, of course, you didn’t intend t’ literally shag ‘er brains out.”

Joan smiled proudly. “I have been assembling a collection of metaphors, analogies, similes, allegories, hyperboles to interject when presented with a suitable opportunity. I am pleased I was able to appropriately incorporate that example.”

Joan began to pick the paintings back up from where she’d laid them on the coffee table in front of Spike and Buffy, but Buffy put a hand out and stopped her. “Do you think we could get this one framed? I think it would look great on the wall there over the TV, don’t you?”

Joan stopped and looked at her with surprise. “You would like to display it here in the living area?”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah … it’s so pretty and … just really peaceful and calm. I love it,” she told Joan. “Would that be ok?”

Joan beamed again, glowing with pride. “Yes. That would be … exceptional. That makes me happier than a tornado in a trailer park.”

**~**

About six months later …

Buffy sat in the rocking chair in the nursery with her twelve-month old daughter in her arms, rocking gently. It was late – really late – the house was quiet, everyone else, even Spike, was asleep. Jade, who had come home from the hospital with the considerable weight of Joyce-Ann Dawn Elizabeth as her moniker, had woken up crying. She’d had a bad dream, Buffy supposed. What would be a bad dream for a one year old? Mr. Gordo being taken away from her, maybe?

Buffy had lost her long-time, stuffed companion to her daughter several months ago, but she didn’t mind. Jade had loved it from the moment she’d seen it and slept with it every night. The twins slept through the night most of the time now, but once in a while there would be a disturbance in the Force that would awaken them. Buffy didn’t mind that so much either, she enjoyed these quiet times spent alone with the babies.

The last year had gone by in a blink of an eye. One day they were bringing home two frighteningly small, wrinkled, pinkish-purple aliens that seemed to do nothing but eat, poop, cry, and sleep, and the next day they had grown into two actual people: Two little people with two distinct personalities that smiled and laughed; that cooed and giggled, and screamed at the top of their lungs when things didn’t go their way. Two little people that could sit up and stuff Cheerios into their mouths and each other’s ears with perfect, little fingers. Two little people that, it seemed to Buffy, could crawl faster than Mommy could walk, and could pull themselves up to standing and even take shaking steps with the help of Mom, Dad, and Aunt Joan. Two little people who could communicate their feelings quite clearly; who could say the words all parents dreamed of: Mama and Dada, and could even offer a decent attempt at ‘Aunt Joan’, though it sounded more like ‘Aa-ja’ than anything else. Of course, at first there was a bit of confusion over who was 'Mama' and who was 'Aa-ja', but that was clarified pretty quickly at mealtimes during the months they were breastfeeding. These days the twins actually were pretty good at identifying the two women in their life, only getting it wrong occasionally.

The babies had filled their fixer-upper with life and love beyond anything Buffy had imagined before having them. The last eighteen months or so, ever since Gibraltar, had been a dream come true – more than that, because it was a dream neither Buffy nor Spike had allowed themselves to dream not so long ago. They were a family; not precisely the ‘normal’ family of her pre-Slayer dreams, but a family nonetheless.

Spike had begun taking long weekend trips to Louisiana about once a month to replenish their nest egg. It seemed the smarter choice for legalized gambling than Vegas, where they’d been found before. Joan was also contributing to the support of the family by refinishing old furniture she and Buffy would find at garage sales or second-hand shops, and reselling it, often for a tidy profit. Buffy had just started waitressing the lunch rush for their friend and neighbor, Sebastian’s, little Tex-Mex restaurant. She’d originally done it more as a favor than for the income, which was paltry, but she enjoyed it. It gave her some time in the ‘real world’ … with adults and – bonus! – the (complimentary) meals were excellent.

William, Jr. – who had become ‘Will’ before he’d even gotten home from the hospital – was the more serious of the twins and much better behaved than his sister. He could pick up on the moods of his parents and somehow knew when it was safe to push the envelope, and when to just bide his time. His bright, blue eyes were just as expressive as his father’s. It was impossible to chastise him too harshly for any misdeed, as he was an expert at manipulating his parents with crocodile tears that shimmered to life in the space of a heartbeat.

Joyce-Anne Dawn Elizabeth had become ‘Jade’ about six months after arriving. It began when India, who had become a close friend (but nothing beyond 'good friend') to Joan and the whole family, did a collage for each baby using their initials. It was actually Aunt Joan that had started calling the baby ‘Jade’ after hanging the art over the girl’s crib in the nursery. She assumed that Buffy and Spike had changed the girl’s name just as they had changed hers all those months ago.

The moniker stuck, and seemed to fit the now green-eyed girl who was rough and tumble, heedless of danger, warnings, or scoldings from her parents … ok, Buffy and Joan did the scolding – Spike, not so much. Her single biggest joy seemed to be wrapping her daddy around her little finger and twisting until he screamed ‘Uncle’. Unlike her brother, there were no tears to discourage her parents from chastising her, only stubborn strength and unwavering aplomb shining in the jade-green depths of her eyes.

Buffy continued to rock the now sleeping baby, humming ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ softly to her. Jade was beautiful – both the babies were – and it wasn’t just Buffy and Spike that thought so, everyone did – even strangers in the park. They both had shocks of chestnut-brown curls that were utterly adorable; Will had Spike’s eyes, while Jade had gotten Buffy’s. Other people saw bits and pieces of their parents’ features in their noses, mouths, chins, or foreheads – one person even said Will had Spike’s ears – but honestly, Buffy couldn’t really tell beyond the eyes at this point.

“She’s lovely,” a soft voice said from right in front of Buffy.

Buffy’s head jerked up, her eyes wide with shock as her heart lurched in her chest. She began to rise instinctively, turning and holding Jade protectively away from the intruder. Her initial shock and surprise wasn’t completely allayed when she saw who had spoken: Joyce Summers.

“Mom? What … Is that you? What … how?”

Joyce gave Buffy a soft, reassuring smile. “It’s me, honey. I just … I had to see them. I … called in another favor.”



“Oh my, God, Mom,” Buffy breathed, relieved and overjoyed to see her again. “They’re beautiful!” Buffy exclaimed, moving forward and holding Jade up so Joyce could see her. “Mom … the Monks made two … like a BOGO for babies!”

Joyce laughed, but held her hands up when Buffy tried to hand her the sleeping child. “I can’t, honey … I’m all … ghosty. I just had to see them one time, though.”

“Oh, Mom – they’re so wonderful,” Buffy gushed. “Will is just too smart for his own good, and Jade … well ... I’m a little afraid she’s a mini-me,” Buffy admitted, twisting her face up apologetically.

Joyce laughed again. “A parent’s greatest revenge is for their children to have children of their own.”

Buffy laughed and nodded. “I totally get that.”

“So,” Joyce continued, walking over to look down at Will where he slept in his crib. “How long are you planning to keep them?”

Buffy’s brow furrowed. “What … do you mean?”

Joyce continued studying Will, not looking at Buffy. “Well, you said it yourself, Buffy: you aren’t really cut out to be a mom. How did you put it? It’s not in your … cards, right? I know how much kids will cramp your style – yours and Spike’s. I mean, you’re young – you have a whole life ahead of you. You don’t want to be tied down with kids, and I’m sure Spike doesn’t either. Now that Spike’s soul is all here, you can set Dawn free.”

“W-what?” Buffy stammered, standing behind her mother, still holding Jade.

“It’s alright, Buffy. You can just ease them on to the next life – a pillow over their little faces would work. They probably won’t even fight – they’ll just go to sleep.”

“What!?” Buffy said again, this time loud and incredulous.

Joyce turned around. She still had that serene, patient look on her face. “Buffy, honey – they’re only going to get more demanding the older they get. You aren’t going to be able to handle them – you know that. Soon, they’ll be into everything, they’ll be wanting to sleep ‘in between’ … how do you think Spike’s gonna handle that?

“You really need to nip this in the bud, before you lose Spike. He’s a passionate man, that isn’t going to change. If he can’t get it from you, he’ll go elsewhere. Then what will you do? You’ll be a single mother of twins, with no marketable skills, no prospects, and no money.” Joyce shrugged as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “You’ve done your job, Buffy. You got Dawn’s soul out of Limbo – now, you can just send it on and concentrate on taking care of your man. It’ll be for the best.”

Buffy’s mouth hung open in shock. Her heart raced in her chest as she tried to process what her mother was telling her. “You … I … you think I’m gonna lose Spike? You think he’d leave me ‘cos of the babies?



“That … that doesn’t make sense. He loves them. You should see him with them,” Buffy shook her head in disbelief. “No … that’s not – that won’t happen.”

Joyce shrugged again. “Well, if you say so, honey.” Her tone was anything but assuring or comforting – it was placating; perfectly passive-aggressive, mother-talk.

Buffy felt tears burn her eyes and she looked down at the still-sleeping Jade. “But … I … don’t understand. You said … you said I’d make a good mom that … I could do this. A-and Spike … he loves us – me and the babies – he really does.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Buffy. What do I know?”

Buffy looked back up at her mom. “What do you know? Have you … seen something? Can you see the future? Is Spike … is he gonna leave us? Is my love not gonna be enough – again?” Buffy’s words were coming fast, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her heart constricted in her chest and her stomach churned. Was she going to fail again? Was what she had to give not going to be enough – again!?

Buffy’s chest heaved with fear; her breaths were loud and heavy in the cheerful nursery. “You … you said I had enough. That … I had love – that it was enough. You promised!” Buffy exclaimed between ragged breaths, anger and frustration and fear all battling to the surface.

Jade stirred in her arms, Buffy’s loud voice finally waking her. The toddler reached a small hand out and curled her small fingers around a lock of her mother’s hair. Tears fell from Buffy’s eyes as she looked back down at Jade. “No, no … no. I … Mom, please. Please – there has to be some other way. I can’t hurt the babies – I could never …”

“Buffy, what’s wrong, luv? Who ya talkin’ to?” Spike asked as he stepped through the door.



Buffy spun toward him, waves of panic rolling off her. “Spike! Tell her – tell her you love the babies. You do, don’t you? You wouldn’t leave if they had a nightmare and had to sleep in between, would you? Please … tell her!”

Spike looked around the room and then back at Buffy, his brow furrowed with concern. “What’re you talkin’ about, pet? Tell who?”

“Mom!” Buffy exclaimed waving a hand at her mother’s ghost.

“There’s no one there, luv.”

“Yes, there is! Mom's right here – she says …” Buffy turned and suddenly her mother’s form morphed into a mirror of her own. Buffy blinked. “Joan? What …”

Buffy's twin laughed snidely. “You are so pathetic,” she told Buffy disdainfully. “This is the mighty Slayer – reduced to tears over the thought of losing her vampire. Tsk, tsk. This is going to be easier than I thought.”

With that, the apparition was gone.

“W-what … What’s going on?” Buffy stammered, looking wide-eyed from Spike to the empty place where her mom, then she, had been standing. “Did you see that?” she asked Spike. “Did you hear it?”



Spike shook his head and moved into the room. “No, pet, didn’t see or hear anything. What was it? What did it want?”

Buffy shook her head. “She … it … looked like Mom. It said I should … kill the babies.”

“What!?” Spike exclaimed loud enough to wake Will, who had remained sleeping through Buffy’s conversation with her dead mother.

Buffy began rocking Jade again, trying to soothe her as Spike picked his son up and did the same. “She tried to get me to kill them,” Buffy repeated. “She said that my mission was done, their souls could move on, and if I didn’t, I’d end up losing you, ‘cos they’d sleep in between and you’d go looking for it somewhere else.”

“That’s bollocks!” Spike growled, but he kept his voice low. “You know I love the bits and I love you. Know there won’t be anymore shaggin’ on the kitchen counter with them scampering about, but … bloody hell, Buffy – doesn’t mean I’m gonna run off.”

Buffy nodded. “I know that … I mean, I really do, but she somehow, she just made it sound so ... possible.”

“It wasn’t your mum. Joyce was a good lady, she’d never suggest any such rubbish,” Spike assured Buffy as he laid the now-sleeping Will back into his crib.

“Something’s found us,” Buffy breathed, her voice barely over a whisper as she laid Jade down, as well.

Spike pursed his lips, hands on his hips, and nodded. “I’ll get Joan to renew the runes under the shutters on the outside o’ the house. Been over a year … maybe they’re fadin’,” Spike suggested.



“Maybe we should paint some on the rafters in the attic and under the floorboards, too,” Buffy added.

Spike nodded his agreement as he pulled her into a hug. “Buffy, never think I don’t love the bits or you with all my heart.”

Buffy wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. She nodded against him, her tears returning. “I know. We love you too.”

“You’re a good mum. Joyce said you would be, an’ she was right. Don’t know what this was ‘ere t’night, but it wasn’t your mum,” Spike assured her.

Buffy nodded again. “No … it wasn’t,” she agreed. She just wished she knew what it was, what it wanted, and how to kick its ghosty, shape-shifty ass.

**~**

A couple of nights later…

“Yer mum thinks ‘cos I don’t have ta breathe, that I should be the one t’ always change the stinky nappies,” Spike complained to his son, who lay before him on the changing table in the nursery. “Not bloody fair, that.”

“I was beginning to think you’d never take a wife and give me any grandchildren, William.”



Spike spun away from his task of changing Will’s nappy toward the sound, fists immediately clenched and ready to strike.

“Oh, my … William!” Anne Pratt exclaimed, recoiling in fright from her son. “I didn’t mean to startle you, dear. I simply meant to see the children.”

Spike narrowed his eyes at the vision of his mother. She looked well, healthy – just as she’d been the last time he saw her, just before he dusted her.

“Dunno who you are, but you’d be smart t’ get the bloody hell outta my house,” Spike warned. “On to your little games, we are.”

“William,” Anne cajoled, fanning her face with her hand as if to calm herself from his outburst. “Surely you remember me, dear. I remember you very well, indeed.

“‘Oh, lark. Grant a sign if crook'd be Cupid's shaft. Hark, the lark, her name it hath spake. ‘Cecily’ it discharges from twixt its wee beak,’” she quoted her son’s poetry with solemn reverence.

Spike’s expression darkened. “Who the bloody hell are you?” he demanded. “And what do ya want?”

“Now, William, there’s no need to take that tone with me, and you know how I dislike vulgarities. It’s quite unbecoming. Dear Joyce told me of the grandchildren, and I simply had to come to see them for myself.”

Anne lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Just between us, I thought you might’ve been … well … not inclined toward the fairer sex … romantically, I mean. You were a bit of a Nancy boy, William; a limp, sentimental fool,” she divulged. “You can’t possibly imagine my surprise when I heard that you had married and had children! And you married the Slayer, no less.

“It is a bit worrisome, though, isn’t it? Dear William, don’t you think you’re …quite beneath her? I mean, really, dear – you’re a vampire, you’re evil incarnate. Does she know that you killed me, turned me into a monster like you, and then staked me when I wouldn’t let you slither your nasty body back into my womb?”

“That’s bloody not what happened,” Spike ground out through clenched teeth.



“Isn’t it? Whatever would she think if she found out?” Anne asked, ignoring his objection and feigning deep concern.

Spike growled at the apparition and charged. “GET OUT!” he screamed at it as he struck out ineffectually. His fists simply whipped through the air, not connecting with anything, as his mother stood unmoving and unperturbed.

“How long do you think she would allow you to live here with her and the children if she knew what you truly were? A monster,” Anne continued as Spike spun and readied himself for another strike. “Surely you haven’t deluded yourself into thinking that she loves you, William, that she would forgive your past transgressions.

“This was a mission to her,” Anne continued, waving a hand at Will, who was still on the changing table, now becoming impatient with the lack of attention. “And your part of the mission is over, dear.”

“GET OUT!” Spike demanded again, seething with frustration and fury.

“Now that she has the house and the children and some money saved up, what in the world would she possibly need you for? To write her dreadful poetry? Or do you bore her with your witless prattle as you did me?”

“OUT! OUT! OUT!” Spike screamed at her, swiping his fists through her apparition as Will began to wail at the top of his lungs.

“Now look what you’ve done, dear. Little William is crying.” Anne moved over to where the boy lay on the changing table and began to sing, “♫Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard a maid sing in the valley below, ‘Oh, don't deceive me. Oh, never leave me. How could you use a poor maiden so?’”

Spike roared and again charged through her, grabbing up the distressed baby and whisking him away from the vision of Anne Pratt. “You are not her! Shut your gob and get the fuck outta my house!”

Suddenly, his mother was gone and Dru stood in front of him, dressed in her finest red lace and black velvet, her dark hair a sharp contrast to her ivory skin. She swayed to music only she heard, and ran her hands down her body seductively, from her breasts to her hips. “Don’t be cross with us, my pretty William,” she pouted. “Miss Edith told me a secret,” Dru breathed, moving closer to him. “Do you want to hear?”



His ex leaned in near his ear and whispered, “From beneath you it devours.” Dru pulled back, her eyes wide with evil glee, a giggle in her voice. “It will be like lollipops and lemon drops at the fair, my Spike! Oooo … the world will be ours again, my love,” she purred, bouncing on her toes gleefully. “We will …”

“Spike? What’s ...” Buffy began from the doorway.

Dru looked from Buffy to Spike, her expression darkening. “Bad dog!” she admonished Spike. “Rrrruff! Rrrruff!” she snarled at him, snapping her teeth closed with vicious clicks, before vanishing.

“Buffy!” Spike exclaimed, his eyes wide with panic, as he moved forward toward her, Will still in his arms. “How long you been there? What did you hear?” he demanded with alarm.

“Nothing – just … you yelling,” Buffy replied, her own anxiety growing with her husband’s. “What was it?”

Spike stopped and took a deep, relieved breath, running his free hand through his hair. “Not sure … that … same thing that you saw, I reckon.”

“You saw my mom?” Buffy asked, moving toward him now that he’d stopped.

“No … mine … and Dru,” Spike admitted.

Buffy’s brows furrowed. “Dru? What did they say?”



Spike shifted uncomfortably, then remembered the bare-bottomed baby in his arms and went back to the changing table to complete his task. “Dru said Miss Edith told ‘er a secret: ‘From beneath you it devours.’ Mean anything to you?”

Buffy shook her head. “No, but it doesn’t sound good.”

Spike snorted. “Dru was chuffed t’ bits over it – that’s never bloody good.”

“What about your mom, what did she say?” Buffy wondered.

“Just wanted t’ prattle on ‘bout old times. Nothin’ worth repeatin’,” Spike dodged as he fastened the diaper and picked Will back up.

When he turned around, Buffy was standing with her arms crossed, a disbelieving look on her face. “All that screaming I heard wasn’t you reminiscing about old times with your mom,” she challenged. “My mom tried to make me think I’d lose you, that I wasn’t good enough. She tried to get me to kill the babies,” Buffy reminded him.

Spike sighed heavily, then took Will and laid him in his crib, much to the youngster’s dismay. The baby immediately began to squirm around so he could pull himself up to standing behind the tall rails that enclosed him.

“Spike, just tell me,” Buffy pleaded softly, moving forward to lay a hand on his arm.



Spike heaved another dramatic sigh and turned to face her, but his eyes were on the floor. You’re beneath her, his mother’s words echoed in his mind. Surely you haven’t deluded yourself into thinking that she loves you, William, that she would forgive your past transgressions. This was a mission to her.

 “She said … that now that you ‘ad the bits, the house, and a bit of dosh, that ya wouldn’t need me anymore. That it was just a mission t’ you and …”

“Spike,” Buffy cut him off sharply. “You know better. If that was true, I would’ve gone with my first plan and left the day after I got pregnant. This isn’t a mission – it’s my life; it’s our life.”

Spike nodded, but didn’t look up at her. “Sounds right when you say it, luv … just, sounded right when she said it too.”

Finally he raised his eyes, but he was afraid to meet her gaze, afraid she'd see the truth of him – see the pathetic excuse for a man he was. “I’m less than you deserve, Buffy. I know that … always known. Just … afraid one day you’ll figure that out.”



Spike was suddenly frightened beyond all reason that his mother, or whatever this ghost was who knew him so well, would come to Buffy. That she’d tell his wife everything and then Buffy would know … she’d know what a truly hideous monster he was. The ghost of his mother was right: he didn't deserve this life, but God ... he couldn't lose it now. He couldn't allow it to be ripped from him – not without a fight.

“Spike,” Buffy cajoled, as if to dispute him, but he cut her off, deciding in that moment that he had to be the one to tell Buffy the one thing he had never wanted her to know.

“I turned my mum … right after I … met Dru,” he blurted out, his words coming fast and furious. “Drained ‘er, killed ‘er and turned ‘er into a monster, like me.”

Buffy gasped and raised a hand to her mouth in shock and horror. “Oh my God…” she murmured, caught off-guard. “Why … why would you …?”



Spike swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing wildly in his throat. “She … What I mean is, I thought she’d still be my mum after. She’d been sick, ya see? – coughing up blood, gettin’ weaker day by day. Thought I could save ‘er, yeah? Make her well again…”

“Save her by killing her and turning her into a vampire?” Buffy couldn’t stop herself from asking, incredulity dripping from the words.

Spike flinched, took a step back, and turned away from Buffy, unable to face her scorn. “Well … yeah,” he affirmed meekly. “And it worked, ‘cept … she wasn’t my mum after. My mum was a good woman, never a harsh word, but the woman that came back…” Spike’s voice trailed off, his head bowed and shaking in dismay. “The woman that came back was a demon. I had to stake ‘er, Buffy. I staked me own mum.”

Buffy gasped again. “Oh my God, Spike …”

He turned back to face Buffy, tears shimmering in his eyes. “I’m a bad man, Buffy … a bad, bad man. Don’t deserve you … don’t deserve this life … these bits.”

Spike took a long step forward and dropped down to his knees. He wrapped his arms around Buffy and clung to her in desperation.

“Please … can’t lose you, Buffy,” he begged, tears streaming from his eyes. “I can’t … I need ya so much. I’m sorry … so bloody sorry. Shoulda’ told you before … before ya … married me. Wasn’t fair … shoulda’ told you. Just couldn’t … never wanted ya to know. Never wanted you to …”

“Spike … no … it’s … alright … I … I get it, I do,” Buffy assured him as she processed all he'd said about his mom. She stroked her hand gently over his neck as a sob shuddered through his body.



“Spike, you aren’t a bad man … you’re a horrible vampire, though,” she tried to joke. He only shook his head against her abdomen, wrapping his arms around her even more tightly, like a drowning man holding to a life-raft.

“My mom … my real mom, told me something about you,” Buffy continued. “She said that you may not have a soul, but you have a heart, and she was right. Your heart is so big, Spike – I’ve seen it so many times. Your heart is so strong and true that the demon couldn’t taint it, couldn’t banish it.

“I used to think that when the demon took a vampire’s soul, that it took his heart too. I used to think that all vampires were like Angelus, that soulless meant heartless. But you’re not … you’re different.

“You turned your mom because you thought she’d keep her heart, just like you did. It’s not your fault, Spike. You were just wrong – you didn’t know that you were different, just like I didn’t know at first. But I know now,” Buffy assured him.

Buffy pulled his arms from around her waist and dropped down to her knees in front of him. She took his face between her palms and made him look at her. “You’re a good man. I love you. You can tell me anything – don’t feel like you have to keep secrets. I know what you were – I can’t say I approve, but … I get it and… I forgive you, Spike.

“Whatever this … ‘devour-y beneath you’ thing is, it’s trying to set us against each other, trying to drive a wedge between us and weaken us. We can’t let it, Spike. We have to stand by each other, now more than ever.

“And, just to be super-crystal-clear, this is a family, not a mission.”

Spike nodded, blinking back the tears that burned his eyes as relief washed over him. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Buffy, of losing his children. The apparition had known exactly what buttons to push … it had known everything. Spike was not easily rattled or frightened, but that frightened Spike to his bones. An enemy that knew you that well was terrifying.

Buffy pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him gently. “I love you. Believe that if you don’t believe anything else.”



“I love you too, Buffy. Never hurt you or the bits, ya know that, right?”

Buffy smiled and nodded, blinking back tears of her own.

“Dada! Down!” Will cried from behind Spike.

Both Buffy and Spike laughed through their tears and broke apart to look at their son. “I think you’re being paged, Dad,” Buffy teased.

Spike bit his lip, a sad smile quirking the corners of his mouth. He stood up, pulling Buffy up with him. “Wish my mum could’ve seen ‘em, Buffy. She would’ve melted over ‘em … woulda loved you too, pet. She was a strong woman … a good woman, had a big heart. Lot like Joyce, she was.”

A stray tear leaked from the corner of Buffy’s eye as she nodded. “Maybe somewhere my mom and your mom are sitting in a kitchen, having coffee, and looking down on them, gushing over every little thing they do,” she suggested.

Spike let his smile widen as he picked Will up out of the crib, but it didn't reach his eyes. Buffy could still see the worry and anguish reflected in their cerulean depths, despite his attempt to look unruffled. “That’s a right nice thought, Slayer.”

Buffy returned Spike’s smile, hoping she looked more reassuring than he did. She envisioned the twins’ grandmothers sitting together, looking down from heaven, watching over the little ones, arguing about which child got which behavior or feature from whom.

It was a nice thought. Unfortunately it didn’t offset the fact that someone, something, had found them, something that knew them as well, perhaps even better, than they knew themselves, and they had no idea how to fight it or even what it wanted.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  I’ll Stand By You, The Pretenders  on YouTube  }}


Oh, why you look so sad?
Tears are in your eyes
Come on and come to me now
Don't be ashamed to cry
Let me see you through
'cause I've seen the dark side too
When the night falls on you
You don't know what to do
Nothing you confess
Could make me love you less

I'll stand by you
I'll stand by you
Won't let nobody hurt you
I'll stand by you

So if you're mad, get mad
Don't hold it all inside
Come on and talk to me now
Hey, what you got to hide?
I get angry too
Well I'm a lot like you
When you're standing at the crossroads
And don't know which path to choose
Let me come along
'cause even if you're wrong

I'll stand by you
I'll stand by you
Won't let nobody hurt you
I'll stand by you
Take me in, into your darkest hour
And I'll never desert you
I'll stand by you

And when...
When the night falls on you, baby
You're feeling all alone
You won't be on your own

I'll stand by you
I'll stand by you
Won't let nobody hurt you

I'll stand by you
Take me in, into your darkest hour
And I'll never desert you
I'll stand by you
I'll stand by you
Won't let nobody hurt you
I'll stand by you
Won't let nobody hurt you
I'll stand by you
Chapter End Notes:
So, it looks like The First has arrived on the scene. Just what will that mean for the Pratt family?
We Just Disagree by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Warning for this chapter: Time to pay the piper ... or the muse as the case may be: Slayer dreams, gore, angst, disagreements, and tears.
**
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
A few nights later…

The girl with bright-pink hair screamed as the eyeless priest-like demons attacked en masse. Buffy could only watch, some invisible barrier keeping her from approaching the mêlée. She stood, horrified, as the girl’s blood stained the rooftop to which she’d fled, trying to escape her pursuers.



The scene changed and another girl, a petite Asian, no more than sixteen, begged for her life in a language Buffy could not identify but could understand, nonetheless. The eyeless demons paid no heed to her pleas, killing her just as surely as the pink-haired girl.

And on it went, girl after girl, chased, caught, and killed by the strange demons with scars where their eyes should be. She’d fought those demons before … she couldn’t actually remember what Giles had called them. They’d been connected with something big – a big bad something. All she could recall about it was that she was unable to fight it. Something ghosty. Something like the ghosts that had been haunting them? Like the ghosts that had haunted Angel at the time? Maybe. God, she wished she’d paid more attention to Giles' long-winded lectures now.

Night after night Buffy’s nightmares were filled with visions of girls she felt connected to, but did not know. She hadn’t told Spike; hadn’t told anyone. She tried to forget them each morning, wipe the horrors from her mind. She wasn’t the Slayer any longer, damn it. This was not her fight.

Despite the troubling ghosts that had been haunting them of late, she maintained that she was retired, out of the game, finis, kaput. She was a mother and a wife. She baked cookies, and took her twins to the park, and rocked them to sleep. She searched for treasures at garage sales and second-hand shops, and worked in the yard. She grew her own tomatoes and peppers, and made a killer salsa. She waitressed the lunch rush for their friend and neighbor, Sebastian’s, little Tex-Mex restaurant ten blocks away. She was normal. They were normal. She had a family. She was not the Slayer anymore. She didn’t fight demons. She refused to be drawn back in, regardless of how big and bad the threat may be. The only thing that mattered was her family. She'd protect them with her life, but she couldn't be the Slayer anymore.

Inside her dream Buffy closed her eyes, blocking out the visions, willing the dream away.

“Buffy, if you can hear me, we’re in desperate need of assistance. I fear that what is coming is more than we are capable of defeating on our own.”

“Giles? What’s …” Buffy began, opening her eyes within her dream, but she was cut off.

“You must return to the fold, child,” a woman with long, silver-gray hair admonished her in a lilting, angelic voice. “It is your Sacred Calling, your duty, your destiny. It is time for the ancient power to be retrieved … it is for she alone to wield.”



Suddenly an image of a bright red, glimmering axe, for want of a better word, floated in Buffy’s vision. It was buried in a rock, and more of those eyeless freaks were trying to free it. Buffy stepped forward, trying to see more, when suddenly a man appeared in front of her, stopping her short.

“Seen enough of my boy’s fine work yet? Killing them dirty girls is always such a pleasure,” the man said. He was a preacher, all dressed in black, and he stood in a pool of light that had appeared in the darkness.

“Who are you?” Buffy asked angrily. “Why are you doing this?”

“Me? Well, I’m Caleb. And you …” he mused a moment, tapping a finger to his lips as if he wasn’t sure who she was. “… you’re the foulest of the dirty girls. The Slayer … the first, the original slut. The whore that opened her legs for a vampire. You like it when he gives it to you, don’t you girly? Oh, I know you do – you’re all the same. Nothing but dirty, gaping slits wantin’ nothing but a good thrashing.



“I’ve got something of yours,” Caleb continued. Suddenly two babies with curly chestnut-brown hair appeared in his arms, a boy and a girl – twins – about a year old.

“Jade! Will!” Buffy exclaimed, moving toward the preacher who had her babies in his arms. “Let them go!” she demanded, her hands automatically balling into fists as she strode forward.

Caleb smiled at her serenely. “Cute little bastard children. Not their fault their mom is a filthy whore, of course. All mothers are … just the way you were made from the very first, starting with Eve. You’ve never been able to resist the temptations of the flesh. Got that gaping maw that just sucks the marrow from a man’s bones. Whores every last one.”

When Buffy was within reach of him, she slammed her fist into his face with all her Slayer strength. Caleb laughed, jiggling the babies lightly, one in each arm, as if she hadn’t even touched him. “That all you got? The mighty, all-powerful one … can’t even save her own blood-relations,” he taunted, chuckling at Buffy’s frustration.

“’Course, I’ll make sure they’re purified ‘fore I kill ‘em … no need t’ thank me,” Caleb continued. Suddenly the flesh on the side of the necks of each of her children began to burn as if being branded. The babies screamed and cried, thrashing their little arms and legs in the air, trying to get away from the pain.

“Stop! Stop it you son-of-a-bitch!” Buffy demanded, jumping back to her feet. She charged Caleb again, but he kicked her aside when she reached him, sending her flying back again.

“Oh, I knew you'd be a wild one!” Caleb laughed. “I'm gonna take such sweet pleasure in taming you. When you break, it will be like the sweet angels in heaven bathin’ me with the blood o’ Christ.”



Buffy scrambled back to her feet and launched herself at Caleb again. She hit him with her full weight and strength as she tried to wrench the hysterical babies from his arms. He simply shrugged her off as if she were an annoying mosquito.

“Gonna take more than that, girly,” Caleb continued to taunt over the screams of the babies. “You're angry... frustrated, scared. I like that in a girl.”

Buffy couldn’t deny it – she was all those things and so much more. Her babies were in pain, they were screaming, they needed her and she couldn’t get to them. Helpless! She was helpless and horrified and frightened beyond all reason. She got back to her feet, her chest heaving with exertion and fury, trying to find a weakness, an opening … a way to save her babies from this … this … thing.

“You want me to stop … come find me,” the preacher demanded as he lifted the frightened, crying babies up over his head and slammed them down onto the stone floor at his feet in one powerful motion. “I’ll be waitin’, Slayer,” he told her before vanishing.

Buffy screamed in horror, her heart felt as if it would explode in her chest as she scrambled toward the small, shattered bodies of her perfect, sweet babies.

“Nooooooooo!” The word tore out of her throat in a torrent of pain as she reached them. Blood covered the floor, covered their soft, creamy skin, covered their beautiful faces, and their curly, chestnut-brown hair.  Buffy gathered them both to her chest, cradling their broken bodies against her as she cried and seethed and died inside. “No, no, no …” she repeated as she rocked them, sitting in a pool of crimson gore – her babies’ life blood.

Buffy’s stomach quailed, and hot, acidic bile filled her throat, making her choke. She swallowed it back, but it burned her tonsils and left a rancid taste in her mouth. For the first time in a very long time Buffy felt the veil of blood descending over her mind – the shroud of guilt blocking out her consciousness. 

Suddenly Caleb was back, right in her face. She could smell his rancid breath and feel the heat of his words against her skin. “Come and get me, Slayer, or your little bastards will wish their death had been this quick and painless.”

And then he was gone and Buffy was alone, once again covered in the blood of the ones she had promised to protect. The horror of Dawn’s death, a memory that had faded into the darkest recesses of her mind with the birth of the twins, was suddenly bright and hot in her mind and heart. Blood was everywhere – she had failed Dawn then and now she had failed her again. The river of blood was flowing in her mind once again as she clutched her broken babies to her chest – washing away her thoughts, washing away her sanity, washing away any chance she had of stopping this.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” she screamed, closing her eyes and using every ounce of willpower she had left to cling to her anchor: the crystalline pools of azure love that were her husband’s eyes.

“Buffy! Luv, what is it? Buffy!?” Spike’s voice broke into her nightmare, his hand shaking her shoulder to wake her.



Buffy’s eyes shot open and she sat bolt-upright at the same moment. Then she was out of bed, out the door, and across the hall to the nursery in the next moment. Her heart thudded against her ribs hard enough to break them, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she gathered first Will, then Jade into her arms and sank down onto the floor of the nursery with them. She dropped kisses on their perfect little faces as they gurgled and cooed against her, slowly waking from their slumber.

“You’re alright … it’s alright, just a nightmare, it’s alright, just a nightmare,” Buffy whispered over and over again to the babies as she sat on the floor, rocking them gently. As they came awake, their little hands reaching for her, their sleepy smiles greeting her, their eyes twinkling and curious as they looked up at her, Buffy felt the shroud of guilt recoil and slink back into the hidden depths of her subconscious. Cool, blue relief flooded her mind and heart in the wake of the retreating blood and she felt the leaden weight lift off her heart.

“Buffy, what is it, luv?” Spike asked, concern etched in his voice and on his face as he crouched down to her level and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What happened?”

“Just a nightmare,” she continued to rasp through her tears, half in reply to Spike’s question, and half in assurance to herself. She cuddled the squirming bundles in her arms, kissing their little noses, their eyes, their foreheads, their sweet little fingers, as her tears continued, unabated by the knowledge that they were fine – the babies were fine.



“Buffy…” Spike continued gently. “You’re a tad bit … worked up. Why don’t I take our princess, pet?” he asked, reaching for Jade. “Buffy? Can I…?” he continued as he carefully pulled Jade from Buffy’s embrace.

Buffy allowed Spike to take the baby, turning her full attention to Will, his blue eyes sparkling up at her, reminding her so much of Spike. She wiped at her tears now that she had a free hand, and tried to calm her racing heart. She realized she was on the verge of hyperventilating and concentrated on slowing her breathing, as well.

“Sorry … sorry,” she apologized to Spike, swiping her tears away. “It was just a … a nightmare. Everything’s alright. I’m alright,” she assured him.

Spike rocked his little girl in his arms, humming a soft lullaby, as her eyes feathered closed and she fell back to sleep. “‘S alright, luv. Why don’t ya come downstairs, ‘ave some cocoa, and tell me about it,” he suggested as he laid the sleeping Jade back in her crib.

Buffy nodded tentatively and blinked back a fresh wave of tears, not sure that she wanted to tell him about the dream … the nightmare. She should’ve known something like this would happen. They’d been too happy for too long – it was inevitable that the reality of who she was would come crashing in on them one day. That day had, apparently, arrived.

Her dream of being a normal girl, a normal woman, a normal wife, with a normal family in a normal town, living a normal life was over. The bad guys knew about her family – this was not of the good.

But Spike had to be told. He had to know about the danger. It wasn’t just mean-spirited ghosts now – those blind demons were real, she was sure of it. She was going to have to tell him that his decision to love a Slayer had put his children in grave peril. Then she would have to tell him that she had to leave him, leave their children, and go back … back to Sunnydale.

Buffy felt the cold hand of grief and sorrow reach into her and rip her beating heart from her chest. She hugged little William to her more tightly, burying her face against him as a sob wracked her body. He smelled of milk and baby powder and Johnson’s baby wash – he smelled like love. How could she leave them? How could she not? This was why Slayers should not have children: bad guys don’t play fair and there is no ethics committee to complain to to get them tossed from the game.

“Buffy?” Spike questioned again when she began sobbing against their son. “Please, luv … tell me,” he cajoled, rubbing a hand soothingly down her back as she sat on the floor, rocking against Will as if her world had just shattered into a million pieces.

It had.

**~**

Spike paced back and forth, wearing a path in the new ceramic tile floor of the kitchen. His hands searched his pockets for his cigarettes, forgetting that he’d quit when they’d moved into the house. He settled for running a hand back through his hair time and time again as he paced and listened to Buffy tell him about the eyeless demons and the preacher that had threatened their family in her dream. The longer she talked, the more furious he became. He needed to hit something, he needed to rip something’s head off, needed to bash and slash and roar!

Finally, Buffy said, “So … I … I think … I have to go … back to Sunnydale. I think … you … you and Joan need to stay here with the babies. They probably don’t know where we actually are, otherwise why do the dream-attack? They’d just be here making with the … actual attacking.”

Spike stopped his angry, nervous pacing, and stared at her in disbelief. “You’re off your gourd! You expect me t’ stay ‘ere while you go off t’ fight this … Caleb bloke on your own? What the bloody hell do you take me for, Slayer? A soddin’ worthless git? Think I’ve gone soft? Can’t handle m’self in a fight?”



“What? No! Spike – no!” Buffy replied, jumping up from where she’d been sitting at the table, and moving toward him.

“He’s threatenin’ my bits too, ya know – not just yours!” Spike continued to rant.

I know that, Spike. But, someone has to stay here with the babies. If those eyeless guys find them … or God forbid that fucking preacher, someone has to be here that can protect them – get them out, keep them safe. That has to be you … you and Joan.”

Spike glared at her, his fists on his hips, fury burning in the depths of his cobalt eyes.

Buffy laid a hand on his cheek, warm and soft, as tears welled in her eyes. “You know I’m right,” she whispered.

Spike blinked and looked away from her gaze as his heart, which had been filled to overflowing with joy over the last months since learning that the babies were his, burst in his chest. He could feel every laugh, every saucy smile, every giggle, every word of baby-talk, every drop of champagne, every kiss, the joy of every ‘I love you,’ drain out of him.

He suddenly felt colder than he had in years; colder than the day he died in that London alley, colder than the day Dru left him, colder than the day he had to stake his own mother, colder than the day Dawn died, colder than the day he saw Buffy in that cell at Council headquarters. Spike felt his hands trembling with the arctic cold that had permeated every fiber of his being. He squeezed them into tight fists, crossing his arms and burying his hands in his armpits. He willed the trembling to stop, but it only intensified until his whole body shivered uncontrollably and his teeth chattered with pent-up rage and fear.



“Spike,” Buffy prompted. “Please … you know I’m right. I … I’m sorry. God, Spike – I don’t want to go. I don’t want to … be the Slayer. I don’t want to leave you and the babies. God knows I don’t… but…” A keening sob escaped her throat and suddenly her tears were back with a vengeance.

Spike pulled her against him in a fierce hug, burying his face against her neck. Her fear was palpable; her anguish and worry undisguised. He suddenly realized that she knew more than she was saying. She knew she would not come back from this. Spike’s dead heart constricted in his chest and his whole body ached painfully with the realization. He had to stop her – he had to keep her from going any way he could.  

“Buffy, please, luv. I can’t lose you. Not now … it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. We can … go … somewhere else! We’ve done it before – can find a new place, farther away… other side o’ the soddin’ world. Go to the bloody North Pole if we have to.”

Buffy shook her head against him, her tears running down his bare chest in rivers of warm, salty regret. “He wants me. He won’t stop until I … I … kick his ass,” Buffy replied between shaking, hiccup-y breaths, trying to sound confident.

“No,” Spike growled, growing angrier. He had to stop her from going. No matter what, he had to stop her any way he could. “There’s more than one ‘she’ in this bloody world. Let the other chit do it. Don’t leave, Buffy … don’t you dare leave us,” he demanded.



“Spike … I…” Buffy stammered, taken off-guard by his intensity. She pushed back to look at him. “I have to.”

“No, you bloody well don’t!” he contended, his blue eyes flaring amber in the dim light. “Let the other one … Faith, yeah? Let ‘er do it!”

“She’s in jail…”

“I’ll break ‘er out,” Spike shot back.

Buffy shook her head. “It’s me he wants, Spike. ‘The Slayer … the first, the original …’” Buffy repeated the preacher’s words, leaving off the more colorful things he’d said.

“Send Joan,” Spike retorted immediately.

“Spike, no – Joan can’t deal with this. You know it has to be me. I’m sorry … I don’t want to, but … If this isn’t stopped … it could mean the whole world…”

“If you leave us, don’t bother coming back, Summers!” Spike threatened, his hands balling into fists of utter fear and frustration. His only thought was that he had to stop her from going, no matter what. Nothing else permeated his terrified mind except that: stop her from leaving.

“Wha…?” Buffy gasped, her eyes wide with shock and hurt. His words stabbed into her chest and twisted like a dagger. She suddenly found it hard to breathe, hard even to remain standing.

“You bloody well heard me! If you walk out that door, do not come back.”

“Spike! You knew what I was … what I am … you … you …”



“You walked away from it, Buffy! We walked away from it! We got two bits up there that need their mum,” he contended, his panic overwhelming his good sense. He stabbed a finger at the ceiling, at the babies sleeping above them. “You can’t decide now that ‘normal’ ain’t for you! You can’t just … leave them … leave me. I changed – for you. I thought you’d changed … for us.”

Tears blurred Buffy’s vision and her chest heaved and constricted, threatening to crush her heart. “Spike … I’m sorry. I don’t want to…”

“Then don’t!” he snarled, his face contorted in anger, barely keeping the demon from rising.

“I have to,” Buffy whispered, her eyes dropping to the floor as another sob shuddered through her.

Spike snorted derisively. “Bollocks! There’s that Faith bird and Joan – you don’t have to.”

Buffy shook her head mournfully, not looking up at him. She wrapped her arms around her body protectively, trying to keep her heart from exploding from her chest. “It has to be me.”



Spike nodded angrily, his chest heaving with unneeded breath, terrified and desperate to find a way to keep her from going. “Do you care that little for us? What are we, bloody potato chips to you?! Had your fun playin’ house and now you’ll just chuck us out? What am I supposed t’ tell them bits when they cry for their mum, Buffy? Tell me what I’m supposed to tell them! They need you! We need you!”

More sobs shook Buffy’s body as her tears came harder, completely obscuring her vision. “Tell them … I love them more than … life itself. I … Spike, please … tell them I’m doing this for them … for you and them.”

“That’s bloody rich,” Spike growled back at her, his mouth running on pure fear-induced adrenaline, bypassing his brain completely. “Fine … Fine. You go play at bein’ Slayer then. But, if you live, don’t expect me t’ welcome you back. You gotta choose, Buffy. It’s us or them.”

“That’s not fair,” Buffy cried, her cheeks soaked with her heartbreak.

“Yeah, well, vampire, remember? Don't play fair, do I? I’m evil. What’s your bloody excuse?”

“I’m the Slayer. If I don’t fight, there won’t be an ‘us’… there might not be a world,” Buffy defended.

“Yeah, well you said you were done being the Slayer. I believed you. Said we had t’ stand together – and now you’re leavin’! Ya can’t be traipsing off like this, putting yourself in mortal danger, and expect me to pat ya on the head, pack a lunch, and watch you walk away from us! I can’t do it … I bloody well won’t do it.

“You aren’t the Slayer anymore – that was your choice, not mine. You can’t change your mind and go back now … not now that we’ve got …” Spike’s voice broke with emotion, his Adam’s apple bobbing wildly in his throat trying to contain his terror, hurt, and rage.



Buffy looked up at him, her eyes shimmering, pleading with him to understand. “I have to.”

The muscles in Spike’s jaw ticced as he clenched his teeth. Tears pooled in his eyes as his shattered heart was reduced to dust in his chest. “Then. Don’t. Come. Back,” he ground out, his voice dark and threatening. With those final words, he spun around, stormed out of the kitchen, through the living room, and out the front door.

“Spike, please…”



Buffy jumped when she heard the front door slam behind him. Her heart felt like it had been ripped from her chest. Nothing in her life had ever hurt as much as this, but she knew she was right. She had to go. Spike had to stay. It was the only way – the only way to make sure her family was safe.

Her knees gave way and she slumped down, curling into a ball on the cool, tile floor to cry. She lay alone, sobbing on the floor of their renovated kitchen, inside their fixer-upper house, in a quiet neighborhood with a park and big grandfather oaks, and faced the end of the life they’d built.

It turned out to be built on shifting sand rather than solid stone; it was a house of cards, based on a girl’s fragile hopes, wishes, and dreams; built on the wish that she could walk away from her destiny and just be normal.

If wishes were horses…

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  We Just Disagree, Dave Mason on YouTube  }}


Been away, haven't seen you in a while. How've you been?
Have you changed your style and do you think
That we've grown up differently? Don't seem the same
Seems you've lost your feel for me

So let's leave it alone, 'cause we can't see eye to eye.
There ain't no good guys, there ain't no bad guys.
There's only you and me and we just disagree.
Ooo - ooo - ooohoo oh - oh - o-whoa

I'm going back to a place that's far away. How bout you?
Have you got a place to stay? Why should I care?
When I'm just trying to get along We were friends
But now it's the end of our love song...

So let's leave it alone, 'cause we can't see eye to eye.
There ain't no good guys, there ain't no bad guys.
There's only you and me and we just disagree.
Ooo - ooo - ooohoo oh - oh - o-whoa

So let's leave it alone, 'cause we can't see eye to eye.
There ain't no good guys, there ain't no bad guys.
There's only you and me and we just disagree.
Ooo - ooo - ooohoo oh - oh - o-whoa
Chapter End Notes:
{{Ducks and hides}} Oh, poor frightened Spike, just lashing out desperately trying anything to keep his family together, and poor Buffy, trying to do that right thing for her family and the world.
**
More on Saturday ...
Everybody's Changing by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
I'm so happy to announce that Spirit Indestructible has been nominated in the SunnyD Awards for:
Best Angst, Best Characterization (BuffyBot), Best Pairing Unconventional, Best Plot, Best Romance, Best Unfinished
**Thank you to whoever put in the nomination!!** You have no idea how much it means to me!
***
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to email me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
That same night into the next day...

Buffy eventually hauled herself back upstairs to their bed. She waited and waited for Spike to come back, but he never did, and eventually she fell back into a restless, exhausted sleep. By morning, he still had not returned. She tried calling his cell phone, but it buzzed uselessly on the bedside table.

Disheartened and exhausted, Buffy went in to get the babies up and dressed, only to find that Joan had, apparently, beaten her to it. Down in the kitchen Joan had the babies in their highchairs as she made small, silver-dollar pancakes on the stove for breakfast – whole-wheat, of course – topped with 100% organic vanilla yogurt blended with fresh strawberries.

Buffy dropped kisses onto the tops of her babies' heads as she headed for the coffee pot. “Have you seen or heard from Spike this morning?” Buffy asked Joan as she poured herself a cup of coffee. Her eyes felt swollen and gritty and she could barely keep them open; she doubted anything less than mainlining caffeine would help, but …



“Yes. He is in my room. He seemed quite distraught when he came in a couple of hours ago. He is enveloped in an overpowering odor of whiskey and cigarettes – Jack Daniels Green Label and Marlboro Menthol, I believe. He collapsed onto my bed and told me to ‘sod off’ when I tried to waken him for the morning meal.”

Buffy felt a flood of relief pour over her. At least he’d come home. He wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere waiting for the sun to come up. Buffy sat down at the table and dropped her head into her hands wearily.

“Did you discover that he broke that very expensive vase in the foyer and put it back together with super-glue and duct tape?” Joan wondered as set a plate of pancakes and a bowl of the yogurt/strawberry topping in front of Buffy.

“He what?!” Buffy screeched, looking up sharply.

Joan’s eyes went wide. “Ummm … please disregard my previous remark.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head as she began cutting the pancakes up into bites small enough for the toddlers. “No … that’s not what we were fighting about. But I’ll store that information away for another time when I feel like a good knock-down-drag-out.”

“Please do not reveal that I said anything. It was not intentional. He was playing football with Junior and the vase met with an unfortunate mishap.”

Buffy snorted and shook her head. “A vampire playing football in the house with a toddler is not an unfortunate mishap; it’s a really stupid idea with limitless possibilities for badness.”

“I pointed that out to him when he began the game. And I was correct. I did not, however, say ‘I told you so’ when the vase shattered, because that would have been uncouth and discourteous.”

“Just because something is a bad idea never stopped Spike before,” Buffy pointed out.

“Don’t we have some … syrup? I thought there was maple syrup,” Buffy asked Joan, eyeing the yogurt/strawberry concoction warily.



“This is much healthier. Yogurt contains lactobacteria which promotes the growth of healthy bacteria in the colon. The bacterial cultures in yogurt have also been shown to stimulate infection-fighting white cells in the bloodstream. In addition, it is high in calcium, which is required by humans, especially during the growth stages of life. It is a balanced source of protein, fats, carbohydrates, and minerals in a texture that is smooth and palatable to children.”

“Yeah, but syrup is yummier,” Buffy argued lamely as she offered a bite of pancake dipped into the yogurt/strawberry topping to Will.

Her son tried to take it off the fork with his fingers. “No, baby, it’s gooey,” Buffy cajoled him. “Just open wide…” she instructed, demonstrating with her own mouth. Will mimicked her and Buffy was able to get the first bite into his mouth without stringing yogurt all over him or the floor. One down, ten more to go.

“I have to go back to Sunnydale,” Buffy told Joan as she continued to feed the twins. They were actually eating it – will wonders never cease? “There’s something … a big bad that … I don’t know – wants me there.”

“I will accompany you. I have excellent combat skills and superior quips,” Joan offered.

“No,” Buffy answered. “You need to stay here with Spike and the babies. I’m counting on you to help Spike if something … comes here looking for trouble.”

“But you said the big bad is in Sunnydale. I am the Slayer. I should go where the big bad is,” Joan argued. “It is my Calling, my duty.”

“Nooo,” Buffy said more emphatically. “Your calling is to keep Spike and the babies safe. You stay here with them. There are these blind demon guys killing … girls. I guess they’re like … pre-Slayers … Slayers-in-Waiting? I don’t know, but these demons work for this preacher and he wants me there for some reason. If he finds out where we live, he’ll send these Blind Mice here, I’m sure of it. I’m counting on you to help Spike keep Jade and Will safe.”

“How do blind mice demons find their targets?” Joan wondered.

Buffy shook her head. “I have no idea – but they do. It looks like they used mostly knives or daggers as weapons.”

Joan nodded brusquely one time. “I am excellent at combat involving sharp objects. I will defend our family while you go in my place to Sunnydale.”

Buffy nodded and took a deep breath. “Thanks.”

“Do you need me to teach you the new quips I have been formulating?”

Buffy gave Joan a small smile and shook her head. “I think I can handle it. You better hang on to them, you might need them yourself.”

**~**

In the wee hours of the next morning, Buffy sat in the rocking chair in the nursery with her babies in her arms. A cab would be there to pick her up in a few minutes and take her to the bus station. The bus for L.A. was leaving at 4am. She would sneak out of the house without fanfare, without a tearful, anguished goodbye, without a last kiss, a last look in Spike’s eyes, a last ‘I love you’.

No matter what she did or how she tried to explain, Spike had steadfastly refused to even speak to her the whole day. It was tearing her apart. She’d told him she would be leaving for Sunnydale tomorrow, but she couldn’t stay in the house any longer. She left him a note on her pillow apologizing for everything. She was too afraid to wait – wait for him to forgive her, wait for him to talk to her again – and she was afraid that if she waited, she wouldn’t go, and that would only make things worse in the end. Not going was not an option. Not going, she was sure, would cost her family – and possibly the whole world – their lives.



“I love you guys more than anything in the world,” Buffy murmured to her sleeping babies. “I’m gonna try sooo hard to come back, but if I don’t, your daddy and Aunt Joan will love you for me. You mind them and don’t wrap your daddy around your little fingers too tightly. He loves you guys sooo much. He’ll keep you safe and he’ll tell you about me later if …”

Buffy’s voice broke and she sniffed back her tears, shaking her head to try and get the image of her children growing up without her out of her mind. “I promise to fight my hardest to get back to you,” she vowed in a husky, cracking voice as she dropped a kiss atop each of their heads, burying her nose in each of their soft, generous curls of chestnut-brown. “I love you sooo much – never, ever doubt that.”

**~**

Buffy had just leaned her head against the window of the bus and closed her eyes when she heard tires squealing, and the bus lurched to a bumpy stop. Suddenly all the sleepy passengers were wide awake, looking around to see what was happening and picking up belongings that had scattered when the bus jerked to a halt.

Buffy’s eyes went wide when she heard someone pounding on the closed bus door, calling her name and demanding to be let onboard. Spike! She jumped up, stepped over the feet of the woman sitting in the aisle seat next to her, and hurried down the aisle, pressing curious onlookers aside as she went.

“Open the door,” she told the driver, who was speaking on his radio, presumably calling for some sort of assistance. “It’s alright,” Buffy assured him. “Just open the door and I’ll handle it.”

The man gave her a questioning look, but didn’t open the door until Buffy began pushing buttons and pulling on levers, looking for the right one.

“What the bloody hell do ya think you’re doin’, Slayer?!” Spike demanded when the door finally opened. He rushed up the stairs and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her down the steps and into the street. “Leavin’ without so much as a ‘kiss my ass’?” he continued angrily, glaring at her in the amber light of the streetlamps.



“Spike, I’m sorry,” Buffy began, trying to placate him. “I left you a note, I just thought…”

“Got your soddin’ note,” he continued angrily, waving the paper in the air in front of her face. “And I don’t accept your bleedin’ apology. Pegged you for a lot of things, Summers, but ‘coward’ never was one of ‘em.”

Buffy flinched as if slapped, and blinked hot tears back from her eyes. “What!? I’m not … You wouldn’t talk to me! What was I supposed to …” she began angrily.

Before Buffy could say any more, Spike pulled her to him in a fierce hug and crushed his lips to hers. Buffy stiffened and gasped, caught off-guard by the sudden embrace, but then melted against him. She returned the kiss with as much fervor as Spike delivered it, holding his face between her hands and pressing her body into his. Time stood still in that moment, every sensation, every tingle, every emotion coming into sharp focus. She relished the heady, manly fragrance of him, the spicy, salty, whiskey-and-tobacco-laced taste of his tongue against hers, the rumbling moan that vibrated from his throat, the hard lines of his body against hers, the strength of his arms holding her. She wanted to remember every nuance of Spike, just in case this was the last time …



No – it is not the last time. I’ll be back, we’ll be together again, she admonished herself silently as the ferocity of the kiss slowed and their lips finally parted, leaving her weak-kneed, flushed, and panting.

“That’s so you don’t forget what you’re leavin’ behind, Slayer,” Spike breathed against her lips, their foreheads pressed together as Buffy tried to catch her breath. “I love you. Didn’t … didn’t mean what I said. Would never turn m’ back on you … never leave ya alone. I’ll always be here, be here waiting for you … forever yours. I’m your willin’ slave,” Spike vowed.

“Come back to me, to us … can’t do this without you,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion.

Buffy closed her eyes against her tears, and nodded against his forehead. “I’ll come back,” she vowed. “You just take care of the babies, and don’t let Joan feed them any shredded tofu. That’s just wrong. Yogurt on pancakes is bad enough.”



Spike chuckled that low, deep, contagious laugh that she loved so much. It touched something inside her and she couldn’t help but smile through her tears.

“Scout’s honor,” he promised as he pulled away from her. Buffy looked into his eyes, renewing the mental picture she held inside as her anchor to sanity. The blue sapphires shimmered with unshed tears in the soft glow of the streetlights, just as she knew hers did.

“I love you, Spike. I’ll always love you,” she whispered one last time as she let her hands slide away from his beautiful face. “I’ll come back. We’ll be a family again.”

Spike pursed his lips and nodded, unable to speak, as he watched his wife slowly turn away from him and climb back up the stairs of the bus. The door closed behind her and it was all Spike could do to not rip them off, run after her, and drag her home with him. He took a deep breath, running his hand back through his tousled hair, and finally climbed back in the DeSoto.

‘Wait’ was not something he did well – he had no idea how he would survive the next days – or would it be weeks, months? – waiting for her to return. He knew it would be the hardest thing he’d ever done, that was the only thing he was certain of.

Spike moved the old car out of the bus’ path and watched with a heavy heart as it drove away into the pre-dawn darkness, taking Buffy away with it. His stomach churned, his heart ached, his mind worried – he’d never felt more helpless and alone. He should be at her side for this fight, but she was depending on him to keep their babies safe. Spike wiped the tears from his face, determined to not let her down – not let them down.

“You bloody well better come back to me, Slayer.”

**~**

Buffy was met with wolf-whistles and applause when she reentered the bus. She flushed, ducking her head, hiding her face behind the veil of her hair, and wiping away her tears with shaking fingers as she re-took her seat. She watched the DeSoto back out of the path of the bus, but couldn’t see inside past the blacked-out windows. She desperately wished she could see Spike one last time, and she watched unblinkingly for even the barest glimpse as the bus pulled away. But, it wasn’t to be; the street was too dark and the small openings in the sun-block too small. Still she watched, turning her head back to keep the old car in sight until it was nothing but a mirage in her mind on the dark street behind her.

Finally, she turned back straight in her seat and heaved a tumultuous sigh. She had no idea what awaited her in Sunnydale. She had no idea if she’d be able to keep her vow to return to Spike. She had no idea if she’d ever see her children again. Her tears returned with a vengeance and refused to be swallowed back. She closed her eyes and leaned against the cold window again, letting her sorrow flow down her cheeks and drip from her chin. She would have no time for tears once she was in Sunnydale – best to let them run dry now.

**~**

Spike watched through his tears as the bus pulled away, fighting against his urge to go after it, to block it again, to do anything to stop her from going. He felt his heart – that heart that Buffy had brought to life – shatter in his chest with horrible dread. Dread that he would never see her again, never hear her voice again, never touch her again. Dread that Jade and Will would never know her. That they would grow up with only a chipped vampire and a too-literal Aunt as their guides in life.

He felt the car begin to inch forward, as if to surreptitiously follow the quickly disappearing bus. He let it roll along the deserted street for several hundred yards, as if pulled by some unseen force after her, before he roared in frustration and stomped down on the brake.

When Spike could no longer see even the taillights of the bus, he dropped his forehead against his knuckles where they held the steering wheel in a death-grip. Weary resignation descended on him like a black cloud, filling the broken pieces of his heart with a heaviness he’d never before felt. He sat there, shattered and sobbing until the sun began to lighten the eastern sky and the world around him began coming to life.

With a heavy heart, Spike turned the DeSoto around and headed home; home to the children that needed him now more than ever. He would defend them with his life, with his love, with his last drop of blood, with the last fragment of his decimated heart, not because they were his, but because they were hers, and he made a promise to a lady.

**~**

Buffy was the only person to get off the bus in Sunnydale, however she noticed that there were lots of people lined up to get on the bus leaving town.



She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and checked it. ‘No Signal’ was displayed in red letters across the screen. She sighed and checked for messages or texts that she’d missed during the bus ride. There was one email and one text, both from Spike. The email was blank except for the subject and an attachment. ‘Come back to us,’ was the subject. The attachment was a picture of Spike sitting on the floor with the twins – one he’d obviously taken himself just that morning. Buffy’s chest tightened as she brushed her fingers across the screen. “I promise,” she murmured to the photo, blinking back her emotions.


The text was equally simple: ‘I LUV U.’

Buffy’s vision blurred again and her chest constricted as she hit ‘reply’ and typed, ‘Me LUV U 2’ and hit send. If she happened to cross a patch of town with some service it would go, even if she was busy. She stuffed the phone back into her pack and sighed, then straightened, lifted her chin, and looked around to get her bearings. Time to get to work.

Buffy headed off on foot toward the Magic Box. She really had no idea where to find her old allies, but decided to start there and see what she could find.

The streets of the town were nearly deserted. Everyone had left or were in the process of leaving, like rats abandoning a sinking ship. Stores were closed and houses stood open, abandoned. When she got to the Magic Box she found it to be like the rest of the town: closed down, boarded up. Looking through a small opening in the boards across the window she saw that the place was completely empty, not even the display stands remained. Buffy sighed, saddened by the loss of the place she had spent so much time with her friends, sister, and Watcher.

“Everything changes,” she muttered to herself as she took a calming breath and headed for Giles’ apartment. She wondered if he had gone back to England like Spike said. She suddenly felt sickened, remembering the news report she’d seen when they were in France of the Council building being blown up by ‘terrorists’. What if Giles had been in there at the time? What if he were dead? She’d never considered that before and, despite everything, it made her heart ache. He was the closest thing to a real father she’d had and, regardless of his faults and mistakes, she knew that he did love her and only wanted the best for her.

Her fears were not allayed at Giles’ flat. The door stood open, but it was clear that it had not belonged to her Watcher before it had been abandoned. Visits to Willow’s parents’ home as well as the Harris' garnered no further clues – they were gone as well. In desperation, and with more than a little dread, she ventured to Revello Drive.


Buffy stood outside the home that had been her sanctum all through high school and a thousand memories poured over her. It was hard to believe that so much had happened in those few years – good and bad; so much laughter and so many tears.



Buffy shook herself from her musings and walked up to the front door. She knocked, but got no answer. She peered in the front window, cupping her hands against the glass to cut the glare and see better. It clearly wasn’t her house anymore. The furniture was different, her mother’s knick-knacks were gone, the framed photos were of people she didn’t recognize.

Buffy blinked back her tears and stepped away from the window, unsure where to look or what to do now.  She’d just begun to turn back to the stairs to leave when she felt a sudden intense burning sensation across the small of her back. She spun around to find three of those blind demons surrounding her.  A quick touch to the small of her back showed that she’d been cut and was bleeding fairly profusely. She cursed herself for her foolishness – she’d been so engrossed in her own emotions and thoughts that she hadn’t even heard them come up.

“Now, now, boys,” a male voice came from behind her attackers. “Remember what I said, we need this little slut in one piece … more or less.”



Buffy knew the voice immediately and her blood ran cold: Caleb.


“Knew you’d come, Slayer,” he continued as two of his minions parted to make way for him.

“Well, you said you had something of mine. Seemed like the only polite thing to do,” Buffy fired back as she surreptitiously reached a hand into her bag for a weapon.

“Ah, ah, ah. Wouldn't do that if I were you, swee' pea. Fightin' back didn't do you much good last time, did it?” Caleb warned, kicking the backpack from her hand. The heavy pack flew over the banister, past the hedge, and into the yard, well out of reach. “You really don’t want me to finish what I started in that little dream, now do ya, missy? How are those two little bastard young ‘uns o’ yours, anyway?”

Buffy glowered at him, keeping her fists pressed against her sides and the one small weapon she’d managed to retrieve obscured from view. “You go near them and I will end you,” she threatened dangerously.

“Manners, missy! That’s no way t’ talk to your betters,” Caleb warned. “I do imagine that firebrand tongue of yours has inflamed many a man, weak as they are, but I’m not just any man.”


Buffy snorted derisively. “My betters?” she mocked, still glaring at him. “You wouldn’t be the ‘better’ of a dung demon!”


“Now, now, little girl. Mind your manners. I do believe I did warn you once.”



Buffy gave him a saccharine smile, trying to cover her nervousness and fear. If he was as invincible as he’d been in her dream, this could be a very short fight. “I guess I just don’t respond well to threats. Especially delivered by some low-life hiding behind his minions.”

Caleb returned her smile and stepped closer, waving the 'Three Blind Mice' back. Buffy shuddered; she’d never seen a creepier smile. She thought of wiping it off his sanctimonious face and instantly felt better.  

“They’re just here to make sure you don’t scamper off like a roach before I squash you,” he informed her coldly. “The end is nigh. Great things are happenin' now, right here. The school, the seal, the ancient power of the Guardians ... it's all gonna be a part of the great sweepin' tide of change in this wicked world – washing away the sins of the flesh, and when history looks back, you're gonna be a part of it. A very small, dead part … but a part, nonetheless, missy. History's gonna look back at you, at me, at this town, and they're gonna see the glory. Hallelujah!”

“Wow – so, are we gonna fight, or is your plan to evangelize me to death?” Buffy wondered, yawning widely and feigning boredom. In truth, her heart was about to beat right out of her chest. She’d hoped to have more intel before having to actually fight the preacher, possibly even backup from her old friends and allies. She had none of that, and he knew it. It would be up to her.

Caleb gave her that creepy smile again as he took another step closer to her. “Oh, I knew you'd be a wild one! I'm gonna take such sweet pleasure in taming you.”

Buffy snorted. “Good luck with that. Plenty better than you have tried and failed."

In that instant Caleb came within reach of her. Buffy, who had been working on her strategy as he’d been talking, made her move. Instead of going after the leader, she ducked past him and attacked one of the weak links, one of the Blind Mice. Buffy charged the minion to her right, the one furthest away from Caleb. Surprised by the sudden attack, it fell backwards onto the floor of the porch. Buffy used her momentum and continued to roll away from her attackers.


She had nearly made it to the porch rail, readying herself to hurdle it and dive for her backpack and the weapons therein, when Spike suddenly appeared in front of her. She skidded to a halt in shock. “Wha…” she began.



“C’mon, Slayer! We can take these wankers out here and now!” he encouraged, side-stepping her and heading back toward her attackers.

“Spike! No! Wait!” she continued, utterly confused as she turned and tried to stop him. Her hand went right through his incorporeal form. The whole thing barely had time to register with her before two of Caleb’s blind boys grabbed her arms, stopping her.

Spike laughed at her, shaking his head. “Gotta admit, didn’t think the bint would show,” he said to Caleb, jabbing a thumb in Buffy’s direction where she was now struggling ineffectually against the Bringers.

Caleb shrugged. “Curiosity: woman's first sin. I offer her an apple. What can she do but take it?”

“You jus’ make sure she don’t scamper off with it,” First!Spike warned Caleb, his amber eyes narrowing angrily. “Get ‘er t’ pull the scythe outta the soddin’ rock, then end ‘er.”

“Your wish, my command,” Caleb replied reverently.



“With the power o’ the Guardians' added t’ mine, won’t be a bloody thing in heaven or hell that can stop what’s comin’,” First!Spike told Caleb almost gleefully.

“Hallelujah!” Caleb replied excitedly, his dark eyes glittering in anticipation.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Everybody’s Changing, Keane on YouTube  }}

You say you wander your own land
But when I think about it
I don't see how you can
You're aching, you're breaking
And I can see the pain in your eyes
Says everybody's changing
And I don't know why

So little time
Try to understand that I'm
Trying to make a move just to stay in the game
I try to stay awake and remember my name
But everybody's changing
And I don't feel the same

You're gone from here
Soon you will disappear
Fading into beautiful light
'Cause everybody's changing
And I don't feel right

So little time
Try to understand that I'm
Trying to make a move just to stay in the game
I try to stay awake and remember my name
But everybody's changing
And I don't feel the same

So little time
Try to understand that I'm
Trying to make a move just to stay in the game
I try to stay awake and remember my name
But everybody's changing
And I don't feel the same

Oh
Everybody's changing
And I don't feel the same

Chapter End Notes:
I know I'm behind in responding to reviews, but I do read them as they come in and I ADORE THEM! RL has just been kicking my butt the last week or so. I will get to them. I hope this answers one question that was asked: Why would The First want Buffy there? He needs to use her to pull the scythe out of the stone so he can funnel the power out of it and into himself. The Bringers are apparently not having a lot of luck getting it free. More on Tuesday. Thanks so much for reading and can I just say: "Squeeeeeeeeee!!" for the nominations this story has gotten! It's got me walking on air!
Count On Me by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Warning for this chapter: Angst. Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to email me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Moments later...

First!Spike was suddenly gone and Buffy was left alone with Caleb and the three Bringers. Two of the blind, demonic priests had a firm grip on her arms, while the other held a dagger at the ready in case she escaped from his comrades. Buffy continued to pull with all her strength against them, but all her efforts were futile.



“No time to dally, now. Bring ‘er along, boys,” Caleb instructed as he turned and began walking toward the front stairs.

The two Bringers holding Buffy began dragging her forward, but as they reached the stairs to follow Caleb down onto the walkway, Buffy wedged one foot against the stone pillar on the side of the stairs, bent her knee to get maximum leverage, and then pushed back with all the strength she had in one leg.

Buffy felt her arms twist free of her captors as she catapulted backwards toward the front door of the house. Buffy hit the door with a heavy thud, but scrambled to her feet quickly and sprinted for the end of the porch and the yard beyond, still stubbornly clutching the one small weapon she’d been able to retrieve from her bag.

One of the surprised minions dove after her, barely catching her foot at the last possible moment. He pulled her back before she could hurtle herself over the banister or even use the weapon she had in her hand. Her chin slammed down against the floorboards of the porch when he yanked her feet out from under her. Stars swirled in her vision and she tasted blood in her mouth, though she couldn’t pinpoint the cause – had she broken a tooth or bit her lip or tongue? It all hurt too much to really tell, and she didn’t have the time or energy to waste figuring it out anyway. Before she could recover her senses, the Bringers had dragged her back up to her feet and once again had her arms pinned in vice-like grips.

They swung her around, preparing to begin hauling her back down the stairs, when Caleb mounted the steps again.



“I believe I have wasted enough o' my precious time on you, missy,” the preacher growled, advancing on her with a dangerous gleam in his eye. “There is another of you Slayer bitches that has newly arrived ‘round these parts. We don’t need you, strictly speaking.”

Buffy had seen her life flash before her eyes in the past, more than once, actually, but that didn’t happen now. With what she knew would be her final death approaching, what flashed before her eyes were images of things that she would never see: the twins toddling around the house, getting into everything and laughing about it; pictures with Santa, homemade Christmas ornaments decorating the tree, Easter egg hunts, handmade Mother’s Day cards, finger painting, mud pies, swimming lessons, little league. Their first bike rides and the requisite skinned knees that would follow, their first climb up the tree in the backyard, and subsequent fall from said tree, their first day of school, their first sleepovers, their first loves, their first heartbreaks, homecoming, prom, graduation, weddings. The faces of her grandchildren.

Tears blurred Buffy’s vision as she intensified her effort to escape, pulling against her captors with everything she had. But her struggles were in vain; she couldn’t get free of their grasp and the weapon she still clutched in her hand was rendered useless. Spike had vowed to love her even when she was old and gray, when she was a grandmother. Now she’d never have the joy of holding him to that promise, which had melted her heart when he’d made it.

I’m sorry, Spike, she sent heavenward like a prayer. I love you.

"Oh, now, look...Things don't go exactly your way, so here come the waterworks. Ain't that just like a woman?" Caleb mocked, still moving toward her.

Buffy gathered every ounce of resolve, fear, and adrenaline to use against her enemy – determined to not make this easy for Caleb. When he came within reach, Buffy used the Blind Mice holding her for leverage and kicked the preacher in the balls with both feet.

It had absolutely no effect.



“Just like a woman t’ try an’ seduce me. Told you before, missy, I ain’t like those other men you’ve lured into your wicked bed,” Caleb retorted scornfully.

Buffy kicked again, this time hitting him in the chest. Although it had little effect on Caleb, only sending him back a step, it served to make the minions holding her stumble back against the railing, giving Buffy a small surge of renewed hope. As soon as her feet came back to the floor, she lifted them again, as if they’d been propelled by a spring, and kicked out at Caleb once more.

This time, however, Caleb grabbed her around both ankles with impossibly strong hands. “Now, now … manners,” he chided, as he flung her feet to one side, stepping forward quickly and clasping his powerful fingers around her throat.

Suddenly, there was a new Buffy standing next to Caleb, her arms crossed over her chest and an impatient look on her face. “You do realize if you kill her now, we’ll have to start all over, don’t you?” the new Buffy asked Caleb as she watched him strangling her twin. “The other one has friends … protection. She won’t be as easy to lure out into the open.”



“Just gonna tame this’un down a bit,” Caleb retorted, never loosening his grip on Buffy’s throat. “Can’t ride a wild filly, gotta break ‘em first.”

First!Buffy gave Caleb a skeptical look, as he continued strangling the Slayer. “You better know what you’re doing.”

Caleb smirked. “You forget, I’ve handled a filly or two before.”

Buffy struggled to get her arms free from the Blind Mice, but they were deceptively strong, and held her tight. She kicked at Caleb again, then kicked backwards at the minions, but her blows were ineffectual and growing weaker as the blood-flow to her brain was cut off.

She could feel her life ebbing away as a shroud of darkness began to descend over her vision. Her heart pounded valiantly in her chest, trying to force life-giving oxygen past Caleb’s fingers to her brain, but it was outclassed.



Buffy’s head felt like it was going to explode at any moment as her tissues fought for oxygen – she had never felt such intense, blinding agony before. Only the knowledge that if she didn’t kill Caleb that he’d eventually go after Spike, Joan, Jade, and Will kept her from giving up completely and succumbing to the ever-increasing darkness, which lured her with its promise of peaceful oblivion.

Impossibly loud explosions began to echo in her brain, bouncing painfully off her skull. Light flashed in her inky-black field of vision, and her ears rang from the sound, which she couldn’t identify. She wasn’t even sure if it was coming from inside her head or if it was something external to herself. She prayed it would stop muddling the few brain cells that remained functional, and to her utter relief, it did.

Buffy suddenly realized that her arms had been released by the minions – perhaps the sound had been real and it was affecting them, as well. She had no time or energy to question the reason or source of her luck – killing Caleb was the one and only thought her oxygen-starved brain could sustain.

Buffy pulled her hands against her chest, still clutching the one weapon she’d managed to extract from her bag before Caleb had kicked it away from her. Using every ounce of willpower and stubborn Slayer strength she had, she brought her hands together between herself and the preacher and pulled the pin on the grenade.



Caleb must’ve heard the rasp of metal on metal as it slid out, or perhaps heard the pin drop to the floor, because he looked down, and for a moment his grip on her throat lessened. Blood rushed past his fingers, flooding Buffy’s head with oxygen-rich blood. Having it begin again so quickly was, ironically, just as painful as having the blood-flow stopped. Despite the agony that flooded into her head, her brain cells drank in the oxygen greedily and coherent thoughts began to return to her.

Buffy sent one last silent, prayer-like goodbye to her family – this was it. She had gone directly to ‘last resort’ and she knew she would not be coming back from it. Blinking her eyes open past the pounding in her cranium, Buffy released the safety lever, arming the grenade.

“You little, cheating slut!” Caleb hissed, his eyes wide with shock and fury. He began backing up and reaching frantically for her hand that held the weapon at the same time.

Buffy gave it to him – right down the front of his pants. She’d no sooner stuffed her hand with the grenade into his jeans than she felt something yank her back away from the preacher. Buffy barely had enough time to release her hold on the explosive, leaving it with him, before she was flung through the air and over the porch railing. She landed hard in the yard beyond, rolling with the momentum until she crashed into the oak tree. She felt the bark embed into the slice in her lower back and all the air leave her lungs, adding to her debilitating agony.

Buffy tried to scramble behind the tree to get away from whatever had tossed her there and away from the grenade. Unfortunately, before she could force her body to obey her mind’s commands, the unmistakable explosion of the fragmentation grenade concussed her ears, sending more lances of pain into her brain. In the next moment, she felt something hot and sharp rip into her leg, levering the pain-scale up a few more agonizing notches.

Buffy curled into a ball and screamed with the utter anguish of it, clutching at her torn and bleeding calf with one hand and trying to cover her ringing ears with the other arm and hand. In the next moment, a shower of hot, red gore rained down on her, coating her in blood and guts. Preacher guts.

Unable to form words, Buffy simply whimpered as she pressed down on the ragged gash in her leg to stem the considerable amount of blood that was pouring out, and tried not to retch. Buffy’s head began to swim in a dizzying whirl and she closed her eyes for just a moment. She laid her head down on the ground to try and stop the spinning and realized that the grass beneath her felt simply heavenly – cool and soft … solid, silent, and unmoving. She was unable to fight the weariness that descended on her like a heavy shroud as her adrenaline ebbed and her blood pressure began to plummet. Just a moment to rest was all she needed … just … one … minute.

**~**

Trying to follow Buffy through the deserted streets of Sunnydale without being seen had been more difficult than Joan had imagined. Despite the difficulty, she’d endeavored to do so using her considerable stealthy Slayer skills and expertise, because that was what Spike had instructed before he’d stopped the bus that Buffy was on back in Austin. While he kept everyone’s attention focused on him, Joan had crawled into the luggage compartment to accompany Buffy to Sunnydale undetected.

“Keep a watch on ‘er, don’t let ‘er see ya or she’ll be royally brassed off. Only intervene if it looks like she needs help.”

Joan had lost Buffy more than once as she tried to stay hidden, and had to rely on her precise olfactory sensors to follow the Other Slayer’s scent more than once. It was, therefore, quite disturbing for Joan when she arrived in time to see Buffy being held by two blind demons and strangled by a man dressed like a preacher.



“Oh, blue buggering fuck!” Joan exclaimed, pleased to be able to use one of the terms from the ‘Exclamations and Ejaculations’ file she’d been building over the last year. There had been a particularly steady stream of them that she’d collected religiously in the months she, Spike, and Buffy had worked in earnest on refurbishing the house in Austin. That one was one of her favorites, uttered by Spike when he hit his own thumb with a hammer rather than striking his target: an elusive, if stationary, nail.

“This is unacceptable,” Joan announced as she came up behind Buffy and the two minions holding her, but they were too engrossed with the Other Slayer to notice Joan. “Spike would be very displeased if I allowed Buffy’s respiration to cease.”

Not actively engaged in the struggle with the Slayer, the third blind demon saw Joan and started for her, wickedly sharp dagger in hand, ready to strike her down. In the blink of an eye, Joan’s right hand bent backwards as if attached by hinges at her wrist – which, well, it was – until the top of her hand was lying against her arm. Suddenly a gun barrel protruded from the open end of her arm where her hand had been.

Joan calmly raised the .44 Magnum that had been an ‘after-market’ upgrade she’d done herself just a month ago, and took aim.

Admittedly, Buffy had been against the new feature, but Spike had thought it a brilliant idea. Buffy argued that there was no need for more weaponry since she wasn’t ‘in the fight’ any longer – she’d retired.

“And passed the mantle on t’ Joan,” Spike reminded her. “She’s the bloody Slayer now, accordin’ to you. She should be able to arm ‘erself as she sees fit.

“She does patrol the park and the neighborhood,” he continued to argue on Joan’s behalf. “Not many vamps to be had here, but she’s dusted a few. On top o’ that, she stopped a robbery at Hogan’s Drugs, broke up a fight at The Stagger Inn, and chastised that cheeky ankle-biter that lives down the street for littering.”

Spike also pointed out that even Buffy had used weapons that weren’t strictly ‘traditional’ in the past.

“Ya blew up Big Blue with a soddin’ rocket launcher, Slayer!” Spike had argued. “Bloody hell! This is nothin’ compared t’ that! The world is changin’, Buffy, and I can tell ya from experience, you either change with it or you get trampled and left for dead.”

In the end, Joan and Spike had worn Buffy down. After Joan proved to Buffy that she was deadly accurate with it, and that she understood what ‘deadly accurate’ really meant, Buffy had grudgingly agreed. It was the ongoing discussion of ‘non-traditional’ weaponry that had led Buffy to ‘think outside the box’ when she was preparing for this mission and arm herself with other military-grade devices, like grenades. The demons didn’t fight fair, she reasoned, why should she?

“Go ahead, punk … make my day,” Joan quipped as the blind demon bounded over the porch railing toward her. She took the demon out with a single shot to the chest as he was in midair. He fell like a stone onto the grass at Joan’s feet, a gaping wound in his torso where his heart used to be.

Caleb and the two minions holding Buffy started at the sound, but with two more precise, deafening shots from Joan’s ‘Dirty Harry’ special, the other two blind mice lay bleeding and twitching on the porch before they could even look around.

With Buffy between her and the preacher, Joan couldn’t shoot Caleb without endangering the Other Slayer, so she leapt up onto the porch next to the pair to get a clear shot. She’d no sooner landed than Buffy pulled the pin on the grenade.

In an instant, Joan’s microprocessors calculated the risks and determined that Buffy would not survive the blast at her current proximity to the explosive. With the amazing speed of a robot, Joan retracted the gun barrel and re-engaged her hand in its proper position. She grasped Buffy by the back of her neck and her belt, and flung her away from Caleb mere micro-seconds before the device exploded, showering everything within a thirty-foot radius with little bloody bits of preacher entrails and shrapnel.

**~**

Buffy woke up to a pounding head, a bruised throat, an aching back, and a throbbing leg. She moaned and held her spinning head as she pushed herself up to sitting. She had no idea how long her ‘minute’ nap had lasted, but she was sure it had been more than a minute. It had been mid-afternoon when she’d met Caleb, and now the sun was beginning to set. She rubbed at her aching head and pulled the leg of her jeans up to look at the wound on her calf. Thankfully, it had stopped bleeding, but the piece of metal was still in there. She needed to get it out for it to really heal.



Buffy groaned audibly as she pushed up to standing, leaning against the tree to get her balance on one leg. Looking down at herself she realized she was covered in blood, gore, and other things she didn’t even want to think about.

“Oh … God … could this day get any worse?” she wondered, swallowing back her stomach’s reaction to the grossness she was coated in.

The answer, of course, was ‘yes’.

“Joan!” Buffy exclaimed when her eyes fell on the unmoving body of her twin which was sprawled half over the porch’s railing. She began to run forward to her BFF-Bot, but her injured leg gave way when she put weight on it and she tumbled to the ground again.

“Joan!” Buffy called again, crawling on hands and knees back to the porch as hot, frightened tears blurred her vision.

“God, Joan …” she moaned, pulling herself up to standing using the banister her fallen comrade was slumped over. The Bot’s back had been riddled with shrapnel from the grenade. Her clothing and dermis was ripped and ragged, and shredded wires in a myriad of colors protruded in a grotesque rainbow from the wounds.



“Joan, please … talk to me. Joan?” Buffy begged, pulling the Bot the rest of the way over the railing and laying her down gently in the grass on her back.

To Buffy’s relief, Joan’s eyes blinked open. “Oh, God! Oh, thank God!” Buffy breathed, dropping down next to her injured friend and pulling her into a hug. “I thought you were dead. Thank God …” she continued to mutter, holding the Bot against her.

“My memory is intact; however my processors are only at thirty-seven percent functionality, my power reserves are near critically low levels, and my trunk and limb function has been interrupted,” Joan reported.

Buffy wiped at her eyes and gently laid the Bot back down on the grass. “What do we need to do to fix it?” she asked.

“I must recharge before my power supply reaches four percent. At that level the fail-safe will trigger and all functionality and memory will be cleared with an electro-magnetic power burst. When it reaches two percent, the self-destruct protocol will initiate and my internal incendiaries will ignite.”

“But … I thought that only happened if you were captured,” Buffy argued frantically. “You’re not captured – we’re not captured – we’re fine! Turn that fail-proton-thingy off!”

“That is not an option of the fail-safe protocol,” Joan told Buffy. “If my power level reaches four percent, it is assumed that I have been captured or irrevocably lost, and my data is at risk of being breached, putting our family at risk.”

“Damn it, Joan!” Buffy cursed angrily. “That’s crazy! Who came up with that cockamamie rule?”



“It was my design. It is the most logical way to assure my data is not used maliciously if I am captured as you were previously. You and Spike agreed. I inserted the fail-safe into my BIOS and hard-coded it into my Kernel. I then installed the incendiary devices within my strong and shapely frame,” Joan reminded her.

“Well …. that was brainless! Spike and I aren’t qualified to agree to those kind of things!” Buffy argued, fretting her lip anxiously. “Ok … how do we fix it? Just tell me how to fix it.”

“My charging equipment is in my pack near the corner of the house,” Joan instructed.

Buffy nodded. “Ok … ok, we’ll just go inside and recharge. No problem … we can do this. It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine,” Buffy assured her as she began to push up to her feet again.

“The town’s power supply has been interrupted. There is no way for me to recharge at this time,” the Bot pointed out.

Buffy looked around. Joan was right – there were no lights on anywhere, not streetlights or house lights. The only lights that could be seen at all were small, solar-powered yard lights.

“Shit!” Buffy cursed, trying to think. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“I am sorry, Buffy. Spike dispatched me to assist you, but I am unable to fulfill my mission in its entirety. When the fail-safe engages, I will cease to …” The Bot seemed to choke on the words as she looked sadly up at Buffy. “I will cease to exist.”

“No! That’s not gonna happen. You need to go back into power-conserve mode now!” Buffy ordered.

Joan ignored her and continued to speak. “Please tell India that I have enjoyed her friendship and that I am sorry that I will be unable to spend more time in her company. I had looked forward to engaging in lively and interesting discussions with her for many years to come. She has been a wonderful friend and I find her companionship extremely pleasing.”

“Joan, please…”



“Please relay to Spike that I am repentant for failing in this mission and that I will miss our family very much. I had looked forward to observing the growth of our offspring and fulfilling the important role of ‘Aunt’. They are quite fascinating, despite being untidy and often discharging pungent odors.”

“Joan …” Buffy tried again, but the Bot just kept talking over her.

“I am also sorry that I cannot continue to be the Slayer. I excelled at dusting vampires and my quips have been steadily growing in hilarity and irony, but I must pass the mantle back to you now.

“Buffy, please promise that you will tell Spike that I tried my best,” Joan concluded.

“Damn it! Go into power-conserve mode, Joan! That’s an order! NOW!” Buffy repeated more vehemently.

“Please promise…” the Bot continued.

“I fucking promise but only if you go to sleep RIGHT NOW,” Buffy continued frantically. “And do not wake up until I say … ummm … Rumpelstiltskin! Got it?”

Joan nodded and gave Buffy a small, sad smile. “I love you, Buffy. I know that I can count on you. You have always been my friend.

“Goodbye,” Joan murmured as her eyes fluttered closed.

Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat as she looked down on the now completely motionless form on the grass. It looked like she had died right there.



“She’s not dead, she’s not dead,” Buffy repeated like a mantra as she gritted her teeth against the pain in her body and hobbled over to retrieve the Bot’s charging equipment. “Think, Slayer … think! Who would have power when there’s no power?”

Buffy sighed in relief when the answer hit her. “The hospital. They have generators.”

Buffy grimaced as she slung the Bot’s backpack over one shoulder and her own over the other. She paused only a few seconds to make sure that Caleb was truly dead. The sight brought the bile up from her stomach again – he was most certainly dead.

“Where ya goin’, luv?” Spike asked as he causally sauntered down the front steps, his thumbs hooked over his belt buckle.



Buffy scowled at him. “Go fuck yourself!”

First!Spike pressed his tongue against his teeth and leered at her. “Much rather fuck you, pet.”

“Yeah, well … that must be frustrating for you, being all ghostie and all. Kinda tough to get hard that way, isn’t it?”

A lecherous smile quirked First!Spike’s lips. “Come with me, Slayer … I can give you power and exhilaration beyond anything you’ve ever dreamt of. Joining with me would be more rapturous than anything a physical body could give you. Together we could rule…”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Buffy interrupted him, moving over to Joan. “Here’s a newsflash, Casper: I don’t want any of your power, rapture, or to rule the freaking world! Now, get the hell away from me before I find a way to kick your incorporeal ass.”

First!Spike snorted derisively and was suddenly gone in a swirl of black. Buffy blew out a breath of relief – she wasn’t entirely sure what the ghostly apparition was capable of, and was in no shape, and had no time, to find out right now.

Buffy screamed in pain and effort as she lifted the Bot up off the lawn. The agony in her leg and back redoubled, and she felt her muscles quiver with the effort to remain standing. Tears filled her eyes, both from frustration and physical agony. Damn it! How was she gonna get all the way to the hospital like this? You’re the fucking Slayer, that’s how! Joan needs you! Just do it! came the vehement reply from somewhere deep down in her soul as she began walking.

**~**

Buffy stumbled and nearly fell as she tried to step up onto Sunnydale Memorial’s front sidewalk from the parking lot. She was forced to half-drop, half-set Joan down onto the cement in order to catch her balance. Buffy’s leg, which had begun bleeding again during the trek, had gone numb – she was both frightened and thankful for that. Her back had also started bleeding again, it, unfortunately, had not gone numb. Sharp jolts of pain shot down her legs with each step and her lower back was on the verge of completely seizing up with debilitating muscle spasms.

Buffy took a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow, rest her back, catch her breath, and look at her injured leg. She’d been walking as fast as she could all the way from Revello Drive, only stopping a couple of times to check parked cars for keys. The only one she found with keys in the ignition turned out to be out of gas. If only Spike were here – he could’ve hot-wired one for her. Joan probably could’ve too. Buffy sighed and looked down at the sleeping – not dead, she assured herself – robot.



Gathering her will and the last ounces of determination she had, Buffy hefted Joan back up and staggered into the hospital. It, like the rest of Sunnydale, was deserted. However, unlike the rest of the town, the emergency lights were on. There had to be power somewhere, Buffy just had to find it.

“ICU,” Buffy said aloud. If anyplace would have power to the electrical outlets, it would be ICU.

Buffy groaned in exhausted horror when she realized that meant walking up the stairs to the second floor. “You can do it … just one step in front of the other, right, left, right, left…” she chanted as she pulled the door to the stairway open and quickly slid in sideways before it closed on her, careful not to bang Joan’s head on the wall or doorjamb.

“Right … left … right … left …” Buffy finished, gasping for air as she reached the landing on the second floor.

She felt the small bones in her spine shifting, sending daggers of pain into her hips, down her legs, and up her spine. It was all Buffy could do to remain standing as she pressed her butt against the push-bar on the door to swing it open. She stumbled back with it until the door hit the wall. Pain flashed through her whole body with the sudden stop, and she had to close her eyes and just try to breath for several moments, fighting the urge to simply pass out.

Finally, still holding Joan in her arms, Buffy forced her eyes open and looked around the second floor. Relief flooded her when she saw lights – not emergency lights, but actual lights! – in the rooms and hallways beyond. She staggered forward, scanning the wall for a plug-in and finally finding one near the nurse’s station.

She laid Joan down quickly, unable to set her down gently as her back finally gave out completely. She fought through the pain and began grappling with the backpack to get the charging equipment out.

“Please … just … come out,” Buffy growled, fighting frantically with the wires and converter as they tangled and clung to the zipper obstinately.

Buffy finally freed the wires and found both ends of the cord. She shoved the three-prong plug-in into the wall and began to fumble with Joan’s tattered shirt to get access to the charging panel. “Come onnnn,” she begged, blinking back tears of frustration, pain, and exhaustion.

Finally, the cord clicked into place and the little light on the charger began to flash red. Buffy slumped down atop Joan, completely spent. Please, God … please let it be in time, she prayed silently as her exhaustion overtook her and the world went dark.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Count on Me, Bruno Mars  on YouTube  }}

If you ever find yourself stuck in the middle of the sea
I'll sail the world to find you
If you ever find yourself lost in the dark and you can't see
I'll be the light to guide you

Find out what we're made of
When we are called to help our friends in need

You can count on me like 1, 2, 3
I'll be there
And I know when I need it
I can count on you like 4, 3, 2
And you'll be there
'cause that's what friends are supposed to do oh yeah
ooooooh, oooohhh yeah yeah

If you're tossin' and you're turnin
and you just can't fall asleep
I'll sing a song beside you
And if you ever forget how much you really mean to me
Every day I will remind you

Find out what we're made of
When we are called to help our friends in need

You can count on me like 1, 2, 3
I'll be there
And I know when I need it
I can count on you like 4, 3, 2
And you'll be there
'cause that's what friends are supposed to do oh yeah
ooooooh, oooohhh yeah yeah

You'll always have my shoulder when you cry
I'll never let go
Never say goodbye

Oh, You can count on me like 1, 2, 3
I'll be there
And I know when I need it
I can count on you like 4, 3, 2
And you'll be there
'cause that's what friends are supposed to do oh yeah
ooooooh, oooohhh

You can count on me 'cause I can count on you
Chapter End Notes:
Oh my ... is Joan gonna be ok? Would more could go wrong for them? We'll find out next Saturday.
Weird Science by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Sometime later...

Buffy snuggled down into the clean, fresh linens and soft pillow, and sighed contentedly. On some level, she knew it was a dream, but it was such a lovely one that she was loath to announce it to her subconscious and possibly end it. She could feel sunlight on her face, warm and tingling, while a soft breeze tickled her skin, cooling her.



“Buffy?”

Buffy groaned at the sound and pulled the pillow over her head, covering her ears. Sleep … she just wanted to sleep.

“Buffy, I need you to wake up and take this antibiotic,” the voice continued. “Your leg was quite damaged. The wound was filled with debris and appears to be infected.”

Buffy moaned again, clutching at the pillow as it was pulled away from her head. She blinked her eyes open, resigned to being unable to recapture the peace and comfort of her dream. She looked around, confused, trying to figure out where she was. The last thing she remembered had been collapsing with Joan on the floor at the nurse’s station – she definitely was not there any longer.

She blinked again and rubbed at her eyes, trying to get her exhausted brain to begin working again.

“Buffy?” the voice questioned gently.

Buffy pulled her fingers from her eyes and looked up, squinting against the brightness of the room. “Giles?” A flood of relief washed over her – he hadn’t been killed with the rest of the Council after all. Her old allies were here! She had help. Everything would be alright now.



Giles gave her a reassuring smile, reaching one hand out to touch her arm. “Buffy, thank goodness. We were quite concerned that there was more damage than we could see.”

She wanted to fly into his arms and hug him, but something about his demeanor stopped her – plus she wasn't sure just how badly she was injured and her head was still foggy with exhaustion. She decided to go along with his casual welcome until she could get a handle on what was going on.

“We?” Buffy asked as she sat up groggily. She was actually in a bed – a hospital bed – and there was actually sun shining in and breeze blowing in through a broken window. The sun was low in the sky – what it just rising or setting? She wasn’t sure. How long had seen been out of it? All night, at least. Longer, perhaps.

“Here, take this,” Giles ordered, offering Buffy a white pill and a glass of water. “Antibiotic,” he explained when she only looked at the medicine.

Buffy frowned, but took the pill. “Who’s ‘we’?” she asked again after downing the whole glass of water.

“Faith, Angel, Andrew …” he began to list, taking the glass back from her. “Are you hungry?”

“Andrew?” she questioned. “Starving.”

“Andrew Wells,” Giles replied as he stepped over to a nearby table and came back with a tray with a bowl of cereal and milk on it.

“Who?”

“Tucker’s younger brother. Remember he loosed the hell-hounds at the prom? Andrew apparently did something similar with monkeys at the school play. I admit to not recalling it.”

“Oh.” Buffy furrowed her brow, giving him a questioning look as he settled the tray on her lap.



“And Faith … got paroled?” Buffy wondered, looking at him suspiciously.

“Well … in a manner of speaking. She escaped; Angel assisted her.”

Buffy huffed out a sarcastic laugh, shaking her head. “Wonderful.”

“We needed help, Buffy – I knew you would come – I told him you would, but Angel insisted upon retrieving Faith.”

“How did you know I’d come?”

Giles gave her a fatherly smile. “Because it’s who you are.”

Buffy huffed out a derisive breath, suddenly feeling petulant. “You have no idea who I am. Sometimes I wonder if you ever did.”

Giles blanched. “Buffy … I …” he stammered, removing his glasses and polishing them intently. Finally he looked back up at her. “I’m terribly sorry that you felt you had to leave Sunnydale. We were all quite worried … Angel said you were with Spike, but that you did not desire our assistance.

“Are you … did he …” Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Are you quite alright?”

Buffy couldn’t decide whether to be angry with him or just feel pity for her former Watcher. “I’m fine. We’re fine. He didn’t kidnap me or hurt me, if that’s what you thought – I went with him. You were gonna turn me over to the Council.”

“Well, yes … I … we did discuss it.”

“You did more than discuss it!” Buffy accused, suddenly not hungry any longer, or relieved to see him as her brain began to focus more sharply and old, emotional wounds were ripped open. “You called them. They found me! How did they find me?”

Giles seemed surprised by this news. “I … wasn’t aware they had. No one ever told me. In fact, it wasn’t long after that … well … the Council, as such, is gone, Buffy.”

Buffy snorted derisively. “Boo-fucking-hoo.”



Giles recoiled at her harshness. “The whole building was blown up by terrorists. It was a tragic loss of life. Many good men and women–”


“How did they find me?” Buffy demanded again, cutting him off.

Giles looked at her a moment – her eyes were hard, her mouth set in a stubborn line, keeping all her chaotic emotions locked inside. “I would assume they would’ve used the same means they used to find any Slayer or Potential.”

Buffy pursed her lips, setting the tray aside, food uneaten, and swinging her legs off the bed, preparing to stand up. “We have talismans to mess up locator spells.”

Giles raised his brows. “I see. Yes, well … that explains why neither Willow nor I couldn’t locate you, but it wouldn’t have stopped the Council. Their magic is … was quite … powerful – ancient, in fact. A talisman would not have counteracted it, not for long at any rate.”

Buffy winced when she put weight on her injured leg, lifting it up off the floor immediately. “Shit! How bad is this?” she asked, looking down. Someone had cut the leg of her jeans off at the knee, cleaned her leg up, and applied a bandage to the wound.

“We were able to get the shrapnel out and suture the worst of it. As I said, it appears to be infected. There was a good bit of tissue damage, as well,” Giles explained, reaching for her arm to help steady her on one leg.

“Perhaps you should rest a while longer,” he suggested.

“I need to check on Joan,” Buffy retorted, testing her leg more gingerly, lifting it and putting it back down until she could get accustomed to the pain.

“Joan?” Giles questioned.

Buffy frowned. “The Bot … BuffyBot.”

“Oh, yes. It was …”

“She,” Buffy corrected.

“Pardon?”

“Joan is a ‘she’, not an ‘it’,” Buffy explained.

“Oh, indeed … errr … right. Well, she was quite damaged. Andrew is seeing to it … errr … her.”

“Who the hell is Andrew?” Buffy demanded, limping for the door to the room.

“Tucker’s brother,” Giles explained again. “He’s what I believe you call a ‘geek’ … or perhaps a ‘nerd’,” Giles continued, following her. “I’m rather confused by the terminology, but he seemed to know how to repair … her.”

Buffy scowled. “Where?”

Giles waved a hand down the hallway to the left. “Operating Suite One.”

Buffy hurried her painful, half-hopping steps, following the signs that pointed to the cluster of operating suites. She burst in through the doors of Suite One without knocking.

The Bot was on her stomach on the operating table, her back exposed. A young man with a soldering gun in his hand, a surgical mask, and magnifying glasses like a surgeon would wear was leaning over her. He jerked his head up at the sudden noise; his eyes appeared overly-large behind the glasses, like a googly-eyed bug.

“Hey! Majorly uncool!” Andrew shrieked as the wires he was working on smoked and melted.


“What the hell are you doing to her?” Buffy demanded, limping toward him.

“Mask! You’re going to contaminate my operating room!” he accused angrily.

Buffy scowled at him, stopping on the other side of Joan, her arms crossed over her chest angrily. “What are you doing to her?” she asked again.



“Hey! You’re … her! You’re Buffy, the Slayer of the Vampyrs,” Andrew announced melodramatically, removing the glasses. “Like Gollum, once a normal, happy hobbit, living a normal, happy life, she was flung headlong into utter madness by the circumstances of her destiny. Like Frodo, she left her homeland and sojourned into the unknown reaches of the universe with her mortal enemy turned vampyr lover to dispel her madness, cast it into the fires of Mount Doom …”

Andrew paused his exposition, frowned as he considered his tale, then amended matter-of-factly, “Of course, Frodo didn’t go with his vampyr lover … he went with Samwise Gamgee… although, flinging the madness into the fires of Mount Doom sort of fits …”

Buffy reached across the Bot’s body and wrapped her fingers around Andrew’s throat, lifting him up so his toes barely touched the floor. “If you don’t tell me what you’re doing, I will sojourn you to the unknown reaches of the universe, one little piece at a time.”

“Buffy,” Giles interrupted, laying a hand on her arm. “While the silence is most refreshing, I don’t believe he can answer you while you’re strangling him.”

Andrew squeaked in agreement, his face turning purple.

Buffy released her grip and Andrew dropped back down to his feet, rubbing at his throat, and looking up at her warily. “I’m fixing her,” he retorted petulantly.

“Do you know how to fix her?” Buffy asked, glaring at him.



“Of course! She’s model 2001.BS.S.1, a sentient android, built to William the Bloody’s specifications by my dear, sweet, late friend Warren Mears – may he rest in peace,” he added poignantly, folding his hands beneath his chin as if in prayer, and bowing his head reverently.

“I have all of Warren’s plans … see?” he added, suddenly brightening and turning to the table behind him. It was covered in what looked like blueprints and wiring diagrams.

Buffy limped around the operating table and looked at the papers, then back at Andrew. “Do you know how to read these?”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Duh!”

“Has she woken up yet?”

The geek shook his head. “I couldn’t get her to wake up. None of the standard protocols or keywords worked.”

“Did she get charged? Can you tell if …” Buffy bit her lip as hot tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back. “Can you tell if her memory got … booted out.”

Andrew looked at her strangely. “Ummm … do you mean reset … erased, corrupted?”

“Whatever!” Buffy growled. “Is she still … her?”

Andrew scrunched up his face. “I don’t know. I can’t tell until she powers up.”

Buffy sighed and walked up to the prone body on the table. She took a deep breath, laid a hand on the Bot’s shoulder, and leaned down near her twin’s ear. The word was right on the tip of Buffy’s tongue, but her throat had constricted with fear that she hadn’t been fast enough to save her friend. There was only one way to find out. Buffy cleared her throat and closed her eyes, sending a silent prayer to whoever the patron saint of sentient androids was.



“Rumpelstiltskin,” she whispered into Joan’s ear.

Buffy could hear drives suddenly whirl to life and Joan’s eyes blinked several times, as if trying to focus and get her bearings.

“Don’t try to move … I don’t think you can,” Buffy told her, still leaning down so her friend could see her face.

The Bot blinked a few more times and turned her head from side to side. “I am not familiar with this location.”

Buffy bit her lip again and nodded, the tightness returning to her throat. “That’s ok. Do you know me?”

Joan smiled. “You are Buffy. You were previously the Slayer, but you abdicated the role solely to me. You are now a mother and homemaker and work part-time in the fast-paced food-service industry.”

A tear rolled down Buffy’s cheek and she laughed as her fear dwindled. “And … do you remember Spike?”

“Spike is bloody handsome, gives brilliant head, and is a fantastic shag; he therefore does not have to excel at carpentry, painting, or refinishing the soddin’ floors.”

“Good Lord…” Giles muttered, removing his glasses and polishing them briskly.

Buffy laughed harder and hugged Joan’s neck. “You got that right. Oh, Joan, I thought I’d lost you.”

“How could you lose me when I am right here?”

“No … I mean … I thought maybe … your RAM might’ve … run off,” Buffy clarified.

“RAM cannot run. I run with my legs.”

“Right – ummm … Joan, this is Andrew,” Buffy stammered to change the subject to something that might include words she knew how to use. Buffy moved back and pulled the geek up near Joan’s face so she could see him from her prone position. “He has your wiring plans and he says he can fix you. Will it be alright if he tries?”

Joan nodded once. “I will monitor his actions and give appropriate feedback. If he is incompetent, may I electrocute him?”

“Yes,” Buffy answered without hesitation.

“Hey!” Andrew complained. “Lieutenant Commander Data would never electrocute someone trying to help him!”



“He wasn’t a Slayer,” Buffy pointed out. “Plus, we’ve been living with our precious vampyr much too long,” she added, widening her eyes dramatically, wringing her hands, and saying the ‘our precious’ part like Gollum talking about that ring in those stupid movies Spike and Joan made her watch.

Andrew stepped back, awed and wide-eyed. “Oh, Frodo … the Slayer is a kindred spirit!”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Fix her and do it right,” Buffy ordered.

Andrew nodded eagerly.

Buffy laid a hand on the Bot’s shoulder again. “I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit.”

“Thank you. I will remain here with the poofter until you return.”

Buffy quirked a brow at her. “You have been hanging around our precious too long.”

**~**

Out in the hallway, Buffy commandeered a gurney so she could get off her aching leg. She sat with her good leg tucked under her and her bad leg straight out, resting on the thin mattress, trying to get it to stop throbbing.

“Perhaps a pain killer? Demerol?” Giles suggested.

Buffy shook her head. “No, I need to stay sharp … awake. Maybe just a Tylenol or an aspirin.”

Giles nodded. “Yes, quite. I’ll be right back.”

Buffy closed her eyes as she waited for him to come back, concentrating on her breathing and trying to calm her jittery nerves and racing heart. Her leg hurt like a mother. She wondered if all that shrapnel that had cut into Joan had hurt her as much. She shuddered at the thought. If Joan hadn’t tossed Buffy off the porch, all that shrapnel would’ve been in Buffy. She shuddered again.

“Are you certain you are quite alright?” Giles asked when he returned.

Buffy opened her eyes and nodded. “Fine,” she told him, taking the pills and another glass of water from him.

“Do you know a super-strong, bad guy preacher named Caleb?” she asked after she’d taken the pills.

“Unfortunately, we have made his acquaintance, yes,” Giles affirmed gravely.

“I need to know where he … hangs out – where his lair is.”

Giles’ brows rose. “What on earth for?”

“He has something of mine – I’m going to get it,” Buffy explained.

“Buffy, perhaps we need to get the others and discuss …”

“He’s dead, Giles. Joan and I killed him. I just need to know where to look for … the thing … whatever it is.”

Giles’ brows rose further. “You … killed him? Caleb? Are you certain?”

“Do one-legged ducks swim in circles?”

Giles’ brows furrowed. “Errr … I’m not entirely certain of the answer to that question.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yes – dead. Totally, 100%, doornail dead.”

“How in the world…” Giles began to ask.

“Grenade.”

Giles’ mouth dropped open. “Yes, well … I see. I suppose that would be effective, difficult for him to defend against.”

“You could say that, especially when you stuff it up his arrogant, self-righteous, misogynic ass,” Buffy spat.

Giles flinched. “You … stuffed it …?”

Buffy roll her eyes and smiled at his discomfort. “Naaaa … not really. Stuffed it down the front of his pants, though. Preacher go ‘boom’,” she related, tossing her hands in the air to illustrate. “Unfortunately, some of the ‘boom’ hit me and Joan, too.”

Giles wrinkled his nose but nodded, looking at her wounded leg. “I see.”

“So, where do I look?” Buffy asked again as she lowered her legs and began to slide down off the gurney.

“The old winery north of town,” Giles told her. “But you are in no shape to go there alone. Even with Caleb gone, the Bringers are still…”

“Bringers? Are those the Blind Mice?”

Giles gave her a patient smile. “Yes – the Harbingers of Death … Bringers. I believe we’ve met them, and have discussed this, before.”

Buffy waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, I just couldn’t remember their names. I kinda zone out when you start in on all the boring details.”

“Their identity is a ‘boring detail’?”

“Totally. The only relevant thing is: how do I slay them? But, I think Joan figured that out too,” Buffy divulged.


“Still – there could be quite a large number of them. Let me get Faith and Angel… they can accompany you,” Giles offered.

“Faith and Angel … two of my very favorite-est and most trusted friends in the world,” Buffy replied sarcastically. “They can stab me in the back while the Bringers stab me from the front. It’ll be a stab-a-thon. Slayer shish-kabob!”



“Buffy, I understand your trepidation,” Giles agreed. “However, drastic times call for …”

“Drastic bedfellows?” Buffy interjected sardonically.

Giles sighed. “Indeed.”

Buffy looked up and down the empty halls of the hospital, thinking. “You never told me how you found us here,” Buffy said, changing the subject.

“It wasn’t difficult – we’re holed up here, as well. It’s the only place left with power,” Giles explained.



“You, Faith, Angel, and Andrew?”

“And … several Potentials. Those that managed to escape the Bringers and Caleb and make it to Sunnydale,” Giles confirmed.

“Potentials? You mean, like, Slayers-in-Waiting?”

Giles nodded. “Indeed. Just girls, really. We’ve done some basic defensive and weapons training with them, but … they’re just girls.”

“Where are … Willow and Xander and … everyone?” Buffy wondered tentatively.

Giles cleared his throat and removed his glasses to begin polishing them again.

“Oh, this can’t be of the good…” Buffy muttered, watching him.

Giles sighed and replaced his glasses, although he didn’t look at her. He instead looked down the empty hallway, his mind focused in the past. “After you … left, things here on the Hellmouth began to fall apart. Somehow word spread that there was no Slayer in Sunnydale and demons began flooding in – more than we could handle on our own. I called Angel and asked him to see if he could locate you since Willow and I were having no success.”

“Yeah, we sent a message back with him,” Buffy interjected.

Giles nodded and sighed. “Indeed. When it became clear that you would not be returning, Angel moved back here to assist – but even that was not enough. A biker demon gang invaded one night – much too many for us to fight, even with Angel’s help. They began burning homes, killing the residents, pillaging stores…”

Giles paused and finally looked at Buffy. “They caught Tara out on the street alone. They killed her.”

Buffy gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. “Oh, Tara … Oh, God, Willow…”



Giles nodded. “Willow was … inconsolable, and worse. Buffy, she turned dark … her grief and anger consumed her. She was driven to seek revenge and exact retribution against the perpetrators. Her magick, fed by her rage and heartbreak, turned black and dangerous, and much more powerful than any of us could’ve imagined.”

“What happened?” Buffy asked when Giles paused.

Giles looked away again, lost in the memories. “With merely a murmured word and a flick of her fingers she wrought her revenge on the demons. Their motorbikes came alive and wrapped around their riders, turning the tables, if you will. The demons were … crushed by their own machines. If they fled, the bikes would chase them down and catch them. Not one survived.”

“Yay Willow?” Buffy posited weakly.

Giles scowled, his eyes still focused down the hallway. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to sate her grief.” Giles finally looked at Buffy. “She nearly ended the world, Buffy. If not for Xander, I’ve no doubt she would’ve.”

Buffy cringed. “What happened?”

Giles shrugged. “I’m not entirely certain, but he managed to remind her of her humanity and quelled the raging tempest, but …” Giles sighed. “She’s never been quite the same. She went to live with the coven outside of London, to learn to control the dark side of her magicks. She’s done well by all reports, but she’s vowed to not return to the Hellmouth. Her parents have moved there, as well.”

Buffy’s brows went up. “What happened to Xander and Anya?”

“That’s another long story,” Giles began.

From behind Giles a new voice spoke up. Buffy recognized it immediately: Faith. “The way I hear it, Xander ditched her at the altar, she took up the Vengeance Demon gig again and tried to get someone to wish the X-man eviscerated. Xander got fed-up with Angel being large-and-in-charge here in Sunnydale and scampered off. Last anyone heard, he had moved north, San Fran, maybe? Anya traipsed after him, still looking for someone to wish his balls would shrivel up and fall off or something equally hilarious.”



Giles sighed and turned to face the dark Slayer. “Or perhaps not such a long story after all.”

Faith smiled wryly at him. “Hey, B. Come for the annual Hellmouth opening paar-tay?”

“Faith,” Buffy greeted her sister-Slayer dryly. “I heard there’s something here that belongs to me. Came to get it.”

“Belongs to me,” Faith corrected, moving up to stand near Giles.

Buffy tilted her head, keeping a serene smile on her face. “Me.”

Faith laughed darkly. “You’re still a holier-than-thou bitch.”

“And you’re still a murdering skank ho ... and an escaped convict,” Buffy retorted, sliding down from the gurney and forcing herself not to wince. The Tylenol had helped some or maybe her leg was starting to heal now that the shrapnel was out, it didn’t hurt quite as much – either that or she was just getting used to it.

“Oooo, snap!” Faith replied. “That really hurts,” she groaned sarcastically, laying a hand over her heart as if wounded. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I heard you retired from the Slayer gig. That makes whatever Caleb has mine.”

“You never change,” Buffy retorted, angrily. “The fucking world doesn’t revolve around Faith – it’s not all about you.

“She’s right, Faith,” came a new voice from down the hall. They all looked up to see Angel sauntering casually toward them. “Of course, it doesn’t revolve around you, either, Buffy.”



Buffy scowled up at the dark vamp. “You know perfectly well whatever Caleb has is mine,” she insisted. “I’m the fucking Slayer. Tell them, Giles.”

Giles removed his glasses and began polishing them in earnest.

“Yeah, G – tell her,” Faith agreed, smirking.

“Giles?” Buffy questioned, confusion clouding her features.

Giles sighed and slipped his glasses back on, looking less than pleased. “Buffy, you have been gone quite some time. We’ve been forced to … move on. This isn’t your town any longer – it’s Angel’s and he’s … selected Faith to … assist him in this fight,” he confirmed, backing up the dark Slayer.

Buffy’s mouth hung open in shock. Giles was backing Faith? Faith, the murderer? Faith the escaped prisoner? Faith!?!?

Faith smirked. “So, your sagging ass can crawl back under whatever rock you came out of. We got this,” she snarked.



Buffy blinked, her ire rising. “My ass is not saggy!”

Faith leaned forward and looked pointedly at Buffy’s ass, shrugging. “Whatever you say, B.”

“You jealous bitch…” Buffy growled, balling her hands into fists and stepping forward toward her sister Slayer.

Angel stepped between the two women, facing Buffy.



“Angel! You can’t seriously be on Team Faith!” Buffy exclaimed in frustration.

“I know what happens in Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas, but I kinda took that personal, Buff. Like Faith said: we got this,” Angel confirmed. “And your ass …” he crinkled his nose up a bit, raising his hand, thumb and forefinger close together, “…little bit saggy. Spike’s clearly not giving your ass the attention it needs.”

Buffy glowered at him, her fists itching to turn him into a pile of floating dust-motes. She could practically feel the steam billowing from her ears as she fought to restrain her indignant anger.

Sensing how close she was to exploding, Giles stepped forward near his ex-Slayer and laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Perhaps it would be best if you took your … friend and headed back home.” He shrugged apologetically, imploring Buffy with his eyes to ‘please understand’.

Buffy slowly peeled her gaze away from Angel and settled it on Giles, her chest heaving with fury. “I nearly tore my family apart, I hurt Spike, I left my children, left everything that I love, to come here and fight this,” she ground out, keeping her voice as steady as she could manage. “I killed that fucking preacher for God’s sake! Something none of you seemed to be able to accomplish, I might add. I nearly got killed in the process and Joan–”

“I realize that, Buffy,” Giles interrupted. “And your assistance with Caleb is appreciated – but … it appears that Angel and Faith do have the situation well in hand,” Giles assured her. “We have a … errr … weapon, of sorts. It's rather sparkly as weapons go, but by all accounts, it will allow Angel to cleanse the Hellmouth of this threat.”

Buffy stared at him, disbelieving. “You’re backing Angel over me? Angel!? You do remember Angel, right?” she asked her Watcher acidly. “Jenny Calendar, Acathla, torture, mayhem, death … any of this ringing bells in that tweed brain of yours?”



Giles winced as his own old wounds were ripped open. He removed his glasses again, polishing them furiously as he reasserted his self-control. Buffy waited.

Finally, he slipped them back on and looked up at her. “I can assure you there is nothing wrong with my memory, Buffy. However, he is the only one that can wield this weapon…”

“Then we’ll get a weapon I can wield – like that axe-thingy that Caleb…” Buffy started.

Giles shook his head, stopping her. “Certainly that may help, but this is bigger than that. I hate to admit it, but this appears, by all accounts, to be Angel’s fight, Buffy – not yours … or even Faith’s, for that matter.

“This has, apparently, been developing for some time … since your prophesized death at the hands of the Master was … reversed. The existence of two Slayers at one time has caused the mystical forces surrounding the Chosen line to become irrevocably altered, unstable, and vulnerable.

“It seems clear that the Powers brought Angel back from Acathla’s hell dimension specifically for this confrontation. That is why The First Evil tried so hard to annihilate him after his return – to convince him to commit suicide.

“You recall that, I’m quite certain,” Giles concluded frostily, striking back, trying, but failing, to open a wound of his own. “Snow in Sunnydale?”



Buffy didn’t react with any hint that she even remembered Angel’s failed suicide attempt, despite how frightened she’d been by it at the time. It was too many lifetimes ago to register as more than a passing blip on her radar. Instead she seethed as she looked from one to the other of them, her gaze steely, arctic. For many long moments no one spoke, no one blinked. It was clear they didn’t want her help – whether they needed it, she had no way of knowing.  

Finally, Buffy pursed her lips defiantly but nodded her grudging acquiescence. “Fine,” she spat. “We’ll go.” Then, leaning in near Giles she snarled in a low, threatening voice, “You better hope Spike never finds out that you were the one that called the Council.”

Giles blanched and took a step back. Buffy’s eyes were cold and hard when they met his and she held his gaze for a long, tense moment.

Turning to face Faith squarely, Buffy poked a finger against the other Slayer’s chest and snarled, “Don’t fuck this up.”

Faith gave Buffy a sardonic smile and wrapped an arm around Angel’s waist, leaning her body against his lecherously. “You know me, B, I fuck it any way I can get it.”



Buffy snorted and looked between Angel and Faith. “Yeah, I can see that. Maybe one day you’ll be woman enough to fuck the soul out of him,” she sneered disdainfully, her green eyes glittering with scorn.

“What makes you think I haven’t already?” Faith shot back, dark eyes flashing angrily.

Buffy huffed out a sarcastic laugh, her eyes narrowed on the two brunettes. “’Cos he hasn’t killed you and my stake’s not six inches deep in his chest.”

Buffy spun away from the trio before Faith could respond, and burst back through the doors of Operating Suite One, nearly taking them off their hinges. Joan was dressed in surgical scrubs and up on her feet, although it was clear that she wasn’t fully functional yet. She had a distinct limp and a pronounced list to one side that Andrew was still trying to correct.

“We need to go. Now,” Buffy announced in no uncertain terms.

“But she’s not ready yet,” Andrew whined. “And you’re contaminating my operating room again!”

“Get her ready,” Buffy growled.

“I can’t just ‘get her ready’,” the geek retorted haughtily. “She’s a delicate piece of technology; you can’t expect me to just patch her up with duct tape like a Ken doll! Which, by the way, was not my fault, no matter what Tucker said.”

Buffy cocked a brow at him, but then shifted her gaze to Joan. “Can you travel?”

“Yes,” Joan answered at the same time Andrew insisted, “No!”

“Her dermis is damaged. Get the right debris in there and it could wipe her hard drive or …” he continued in earnest.

“She got riddled with shrapnel and preacher guts!” Buffy pointed out. “What could be worse?

“C’mon, we aren’t welcome here,” Buffy said to her twin. “Let’s go.”

Andrew sagged as the two blonds limped for the door. “Take me with you!” he suggested suddenly. “I can … be majorly helpful! I can finish fixing her when we get … wherever you’re going.



“I’m also excellent at programming VCRs,” he added as enticement. “I even know how to set the clock.”

Buffy turned and scowled at him, exasperated.

“Please,” Andrew begged, folding his hands under his chin and moving forward toward them. “These people here … they scare me,” he admitted, his voice low. “Please get me out of here. I swear I’m house-broken, I’m no trouble, I hardly eat anything at all, and I can be uber-useful. I can finish fixing her – she’ll be better than new!”

Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed. “Get those plans and come on – we’re leaving this minute.

“They’re actually schemas,” Andrew corrected, running back to gather up the Bot’s blueprints and diagrams. “Lots of people get that confused. See, a ‘schema’ is a ‘plan’, but it’s also…”  

Buffy and the Bot didn’t wait for him. When they got back out into the hallway, Giles, Faith, and Angel were gone. They headed down the hall to the ICU nurse’s station and retrieved the Bot’s charging equipment and Buffy’s backpack.

By the time they started down the stairs, Andrew had caught up with them, his arms full of … stuff – not just Bot-plans … or schemas or whatever.

“What’s all that?” Buffy asked as she and Joan limped down the stairs, arm in arm, supporting each other.

“My collectible action figures: Count Dooku, Boba Fett, General Grievos, Lando Calrissian… I had a super-rare Padmé but Angel broke her. He’s such a big grumpy-pants, I swear! He couldn’t have broken Jar Jar Binks … noooo, had to be my Padmé vs. Nexu Diorama. She was a limited edition, MIB…”

Buffy stopped halfway down the stairs and turned to glare at him. “What are you yapping about?”

Andrew blinked at her. How could she ask that? Wasn’t she a kindred spirit? “The battle in the Geonosis Arena…?”

Buffy widened her eyes, raised her brows, and shook her head, not understanding at all.

“The pivotal moment when Padmé fends off the vicious beast on the stone pillar,” Andrew clarified.

Buffy brow’s remained near her hairline.

“Attack of the Clones, Episode II,” he continued, his voice becoming softer.

Buffy’s brows furrowed in confusion, trying to figure out what he was talking about. She understood the individual words, but …

“Star Wars…” Andrew continued, crestfallen.

One of Buffy’s brows quirked up questioningly. “You’re bringing … videos?”

“Action figures …” he corrected, sniffing indignantly.

“You’re lugging … toys … from an old movie?” she asked incredulously.



“The movies don’t even scratch the surface of the world of the Jedi,” he corrected haughtily. “And not toys! Action figures! Mint-in-box, collectable action figures,” he informed her. “Geez! No one around here has any respect for the intergalactic might and influence of the Force!”

Andrew deflated. “I miss Jonathan and his magic bone…” he moaned.

Buffy’s brows jumped back up, but she shook it off, let out an exasperated sigh, and turned to continue down the stairs. “Geeks,” she muttered dryly.

**~**

Once outside, two things were clear: first, the sun had been setting, it was now twilight, nearly fully dark; second, they needed some wheels. Between Andrew and his armful of action figures, and Buffy’s and Joan’s injuries, walking anywhere was really not an option. Where to get a car with gas and keys… Hmmm.

Two blocks down, Buffy found what they needed – at the police station. While Joan and Andrew waited outside, Buffy retrieved several sets of keys from the previously-locked cabinet on the wall near the deserted front desk, noting the car numbers that they belonged to. Outside, she found the first car and opened it up with the key then started it. She frowned – less than half a tank of gas. Didn’t cops fill their cars up before they brought them back to the station?

She switched it off and tried the second car. Success! Its tank was nearly full.

“Here!” she called to Andrew and Joan, unlocking all the doors. She grabbed her cell phone out of one of the pockets, then tossed her backpack and Joan’s equipment into the trunk.

“Shotgun!” Andrew called immediately as he hurried for the passenger door.

“Don’t even think about it,” Buffy growled from behind the car, the trunk still open. “Put that crap in here and get in the back seat.”

Andrew’s whole body seemed to slump and he let out a wordless whine.

“You can stay here if you’d rather,” Buffy offered, the thought brightening her dreary mood. Why had she agreed to let him come along?

Andrew stomped to the trunk and put the Bot’s schemas in, then began placing his collectables in very carefully, setting each one so it wouldn’t slide around or fall.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Sometime today,” she growled, pulling the trunk lid down threateningly.

Andrew ‘eeped’ and hurriedly put the rest of his cache in the trunk, withdrawing his fingers just before Buffy slammed the trunk closed.

“You’re kind of a grumpy-pants too,” he muttered, climbing into the back seat.

“You have no idea…” Buffy agreed as she slid in behind the wheel, setting her phone in the equipment console between herself and Joan.

Buffy took a few moments to acquaint herself with the controls of the car before starting out.

“Perhaps I should drive. I’m an excellent driver,” Joan offered.

“Yeah, Rain Man … I’m thinking not,” Buffy replied. “You’re … listing pretty severely to starboard.”

“Actually, this is port,” Joan corrected, trying to straighten her leaning head and body back to neutral, but failing.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Listing and driving are non-mixy.”

“It’s her balance control and equilibrium system. It’s very fragile, although Warren made hers super-strong with quadruple-redundancy to support the requisite fighting skills, since … duh! A fragile Slayer isn’t much good. I’ll have to open her up and take a look, but I’m guessing the little glass, hydrogen-filled tubes, which detect disturbances and send signals to her processors, have been shattered. Either that or the quadrant of her hard drive which computes millions of possible reactionary bodily movements every millisecond is damaged. Both are totally integral to her balance functionality…”

“Andrew! I’m trying to concentrate here. Shut up!” Buffy barked at him.  

“Geez … touchy,” he groaned under his breath.

Once the prattling stopped, Buffy put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space without incident. She grinned proudly – why had she been so avoid-y about driving all these years? She totally had this. Putting the car into drive, she headed out of the lot, only scratching two other cars, denting the fender on a fire hydrant, and jumping one curb on her way to the street. Awesome!

Andrew whimpered, cowered down in the backseat, and put his seatbelt on, suddenly afraid he’d made a terrible mistake. His heart constricted painfully when he heard his action figures being bounced around in the trunk.

“Be careful!” he admonished Buffy as he held onto the door for dear life.

“Oh, man up, Andrew!” Buffy scoffed as she swerved to avoid a parked car that had suddenly jumped out in front of her.

“See?” Buffy asked Joan as she straightened the car out and pulled into her own lane, clearly pleased with herself. “I can totally drive. Spike’s just too picky about his … precious.”

“I believe he loves his automobile almost as much as he loves us,” Joan agreed.

“More, sometimes,” Buffy agreed. “Boys and their toys,” she sighed.

“Are we going to retrieve our weapon that the demon clergyman was holding hostage?” Joan wondered.

“Yup, I think we earned it,” Buffy agreed, almost missing the turn she needed to make and swerving at the last moment, taking the turn wide and jumping another curb.

“Hey!” Andrew complained from the backseat. “Watch it! This is not cool! The way you’re driving, we’re gonna wake up in a ditch, dead!”

Buffy rolled her eyes and straightened the car back out in the center of the deserted road.

Joan furrowed her brows. “By definition, if you are dead, you cannot wake up. Unless you are undead … or a zombie, or perhaps a ghost. I do not believe that being made dead by an automobile crashing into a ditch would render a human any of these. Although, I am not certain how a ghost is comes to be formed…”



“I think he was being sarcastic,” Buffy pointed out, interrupting her.

Joan frowned. “I have recorded the proper tones humans use for sarcasm, and his did not match any of my prior samples.”

Buffy snorted. “Yeah, probably ‘cos he’s a nerd. It’s a whole different species: Homo geekien.”

**~**

About a half an hour later, with the sun fully set, Buffy parked near the walkway that led from the parking lot of the old winery to the building itself. She cut the engine and surveyed the area, looking for Blind Mice or other ‘security’, but saw nothing.

She was just about to get out of the car and retrieve her weapons from the trunk when Faith and Angel emerged from the winery, the red axe Buffy had seen in her dream in Faith’s hands.



“Shit,” she muttered under her breath as she watched them turn and begin to walk in the opposite direction, back toward the hospital.

“Who is that woman with our weapon?” Joan asked, her brows furrowed.

“Faith … the Vampire Slayer,” Buffy answered, not taking her eyes off the two brunettes.

“That is unacceptable. We should retrieve it from her. I will go ask her to surrender it to its proper owners.”

Buffy’s hand darted out, stopping Joan. “Don’t – it won’t do any good. She won’t give it.”

“Then I will fight her for it,” Joan pronounced, reaching for the door handle again.

“No – you can’t. You’re … listing,” Buffy reminded her. “Your balance is wonky; you’ll lose.”

Buffy chewed her thumbnail as she watched the pair disappear into the woods beyond the winery, trying to decide what to do. If she was 100% healthy, she felt could take Faith or Angel. Neither would be easy, but she was fairly confident she could win against one or the other, but she wasn’t sure she could take Faith and Angel together. To top it off, she wasn’t anywhere near 100%.

“I can shoot them,” Joan suggested brightly. “I’m an excellent shot. I got the highest accuracy rating possible in my concealed weapons class.”



“No!” Buffy exclaimed. “We aren’t shooting humans – we’ve been through this before. And shooting Angel only pisses him off; I’ve done it before.”

“Those two are beaucoup de trouble,” Andrew announced from behind Buffy, still staying scrunched down in the seat. “You really don’t want to tangle with them, Slayer. Not saying you aren’t … errrmm… capable, it’s just that they’re … not nice.

“She’s, like, all evil and sexy, like Xenia Onatopp from Goldeneye – which, of course, wasn’t a classic Bond film. Of course, how could it be with Pierce Brosnan? It would’ve been sooo much better with Timothy Dalton. I’d give it maybe a 6.3 out of 10. But Faith totally gets off on violence, just like that villainous femme fatale.

“And Angel, he’s like Hannibal Lecter, only without the, you know, quirky, fun side.”

“So, your advice is that I shouldn’t mess with them, is that it, Andrew?” Buffy asked, her voice brittle, her eyes still trained on the spot where the two had disappeared into the woods.

“Ummm … yes?” he replied sheepishly, sliding as far away from her as he could get in the backseat. “I mean … I’d really like to live and if you get killed, then where does that leave me?”

“Well, as long as your advice isn’t based on purely selfish motives,” Buffy retorted, rolling her eyes.

“That’s sarcasm,” Joan offered helpfully. “I am capable of recognizing sarcasm in Homo sapiens, but not Homo geekiens.”

Buffy sighed. Unfortunately, Andrew was right. It wouldn’t do any of them any good for her to die trying to get that weapon. She didn’t even know exactly what it was or what it did. Maybe Faith would need it to help Angel defeat whatever they were about to face in the Hellmouth.

Buffy chewed her lip and tried to figure out what she should do now. With Caleb gone, it seemed reasonable to think that her family was safe from the Bringers, since he appeared to be their leader. The First Evil was incorporeal, it, by itself, couldn’t harm them physically. She had no idea what other weapons it had at its disposal, and that worried her. But, if Giles was right, and Angel had some weapon to defeat it, maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about. The First had apparently been concerned about facing Angel, so much so that it tried to get him to off himself, so, maybe Angel really could defeat it.

Buffy really had more questions than answers, but one thing was abundantly clear: no one wanted her help. No one but Spike. No one but her family. She looked over at her phone in the console. She’d left the email app up and could see the messages there from Spike. She picked it up and opened the email with the photo of him and the babies in it.



‘Come back to us.’ Buffy could actually hear his voice in her head as she read his words and tears welled in her eyes.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Buffy turned back forward in her seat and started the engine again.

“Are you not going to battle valiantly against the superior force, putting your life in mortal peril to show how righteous and virtuous you are by combating the morally corrupt brunettes so we may retrieve the weapon that is rightfully ours?” Joan asked in one long breath as Buffy put the car into gear.

Buffy gave Joan a small smile. “Not today, thank you.”

“Oh. Okay,” Joan replied brightly as she pulled her seatbelt back across her shoulder. “Where are we going?”

“Home.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Oingo Boingo - Weird Science  on YouTube  }}


From my heart and from my hand
Why don't people understand
My intentions

Weird.... Ooo!

Weird Science
Plastic tubes and pots and pans
Bits and pieces and
Magic from the hand
We're makin'

(Weird science)
Things I've never seen before
Behind bolted doors
Talent and imagination

(Weird science)
Not what teacher said to do
Makin' dreams come true
Living tissue, warm flesh

(Weird science)
Plastic tubes and pots and pans
Bits and pieces (and)
Bits and pieces (and)
(Bits of) my creation... Is it real?
It's my creation... My creation
It's my creation

Weird Science
Weird.....ooo!

(Weird science)
Magic and technology
Voodoo dolls and chants
Electricity. We're makin'

(Weird science)
Fantasy and microchips
Shooting from the hip
Something different
We're makin'

(Weird science)

Pictures from a magazine
Diagrams and charts
Mending broken hearts and makin'

(Weird science)

Something like a recipe
Bits and pieces (and)
Bits and pieces (and)
(Bits of) my creation... Is it real?
It's my creation... I do not know
No hesitation... No heart of gold
Just flesh and blood... I do not know
I do not know
From my heart and from my hand
Why don't people understand
My intentions . . . .

OOoo OOoo OOoo, weird science

Magic and technology [voodoo dolls and chants]
Weird Science
Things we never seen before [behind open doors]
Weird Science
Not what teacher said to do

Bits and pieces (and)
Bits and pieces (and)
(Bits of) my creation... Is it real?
It's my creation... I do not know
No hesitation... No heart of gold
Just flesh and blood... I do not know

It's my creation
It's my creation...ooo!
my creation...OOOOO!
my creation
It's my creation

From my heart and from my hand
Why don't people understand
My intentions . . . . Oooh, weird

OOOooo OOOooo OOOooo
weird science ooo!


Chapter End Notes:
Wow, Faith and Angel are such jerks!!! Will Angel, Faith, Giles and the Potentials be able to stop what The First has planned? What will happen when Angel wears the 'sparkly weapon' in the Hellmouth? Might something get 'cleansed' that perhaps they weren't counting on? Uh-oh ... What will happen when Andrew meets Spike? Will the geek faint outright or just melt into a puddle of goo? Will he talk Spike out of a hug? Hmmmm... More on Tuesday.
When You're Gone by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Meanwhile, back in Austin …

Spike lunged for the already once broken and duct-tape repaired vase as it tumbled off the table. Jade had decided that particular table would make a good substitute for a jungle gym and was attempting to climb it. He missed, and the expensive vase crashed to the floor and shattered into a hundred pieces.

“Bugger!” he growled as he lifted Jade up and away from the shards of antique porcelain. In the next instant he heard a loud thud come from the kitchen and Will began to wail in what was apparently mortal agony.

With Jade in one arm, Spike, in bare feet, jumped over the remains of the vase and hurried for the kitchen. He found Will sitting on the floor, tears streaming down his face and a knot the size of a quarter quickly rising on his forehead.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, setting Jade down and picking his son up to examine the bump.

He turned his back on his daughter for two seconds to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer and, when he turned back around, she was gone.

“Princess! NO!” he screamed after her as she toddled on unsteady legs back into the living room, right toward the dangerous shards of broken vase.

The girl didn’t look back, didn’t even slow down at her father’s panicked admonishment.

“Bloody fuck!” Spike exclaimed, racing for her as Will continued to wail in his left ear.

Spike caught her by the back of her shirt just in time to keep her small, bare feet from trouncing on the sharp chips of porcelain that covered the floor.

Jade began to scream and cry, struggling against her father, and Will had not let up one iota either. Spike pulled his daughter back to him and lifted her up, as well, creating a stereo effect with one child screaming bloody murder in each ear.

Then the doorbell rang.

“Fuck off! We don’t want whatever you’re sellin’!” Spike screamed over the top of the babies as he turned and started back into the kitchen with them.

“You may want what I’m selling,” came a slightly amused voice from the other side of the door.

Spike stopped and let out a sigh of relief. He turned back, both babies still in his arms, jumped over the shards of vase again, and opened the door.

India smiled at him. “Having a bad day?”

Spike snorted. “That’d be the understatement o’ the century,” he agreed, taking a step back from the doorway.

“I guess that means Buffy and Joan aren’t back yet,” the young artist posited as she stepped inside.

“What gave ya that idea?”

India laughed that melodic, joyous laugh she had and waved a hand to encompass pretty much the whole scene. “Have you been … painting?” she wondered, touching a finger to Spike’s face.

Spike furrowed his brow and scratched at his cheek where she’d touched him. Flakes of red paint came off under his nails. He rolled his eyes. “Yesterday … finger painting,” he revealed over the babies’ continued crying.

India laughed and nodded. “I see … well, you look very good in red and pink … green, blue … and puce.”

“Bloody hell,” Spike groaned, jiggling the babies in his arms to try and get them to stop crying. “Didn’t ‘ave the energy t’ get a shower last night. Guess I … forgot t’ look in the mirror too.”

India laughed again. “Do you need some help? … With the babies I mean – not the shower.”

Spike moaned with relief as he handed her both crying babies. India simply laughed at his relieved expression and took them from his arms.

“Stay ‘ere … let me clean this up,” he instructed her as he headed back to the kitchen for a broom and dustpan, once again leaping over the broken vase.

“♫ Hush little baby, don’t say a word…” India began crooning gently to the babies as she turned and headed out onto the front porch with them. As Spike cleaned up the mess in the house, she sat on the glider swing and rocked them, getting them both to calm down.

After a few minutes, Spike showed up with the ice pack for Will that he’d dropped and forgotten when he’d rushed after Jade.

Finally calmed down a bit himself, Spike sat down next to the artist. His face had been freshly scrubbed and was now free of yesterday’s paint experiments. He reached out and took Will from her so he could apply the cold pack to the boy’s forehead.

“So, when do you think they’ll be back?” India wondered as she began entertaining Jade with her car keys.

Spike pressed the cold pack against the knot on Will’s head, his chest constricting with fear. He tried to make his voice sound as casual as possible when he finally spoke. “Should only be … dunno … a few days.”

“Joan wasn’t really very clear in the note she left me. They’re visiting … family back in California?”



Spike nodded. “Yeah … got a spot o’ trouble with one … uncle. They went t’ sort it out.”

“It’s funny, Joan never talks about her family … I mean, other than you and Buffy and … these guys,” India continued, jostling Jade a bit in her lap.

“Well, reckon there’s a reason we live ‘ere and not back in Sunnydale, yeah? Some things are best left … in the past.”

India nodded thoughtfully and they both fell silent for a few minutes. Finally, the artist broke the silence. “Is Joan … what I mean is … ummm …” she stammered a moment, then sighed heavily.

“Just say it, pet,” Spike advised.

India nodded and began again, “Is Joan … with you … I mean, I know she lives with you, but is she with you or … I mean … I get vibes off her sometimes, but she’s never …” India sighed again. “Is Joan into women at all?”

Spike smirked, but kept his face tilted down looking at Will and the bump on the boy’s forehead.

“She’s … fairly open minded,” Spike replied noncommittally. “What about you?”

India scrunched up her delicate features, twisting her lips to one side. “I never have been before, but … Joan’s different, ya know? I can’t really explain it. She’s just sooo … alive. So smart and amazing and just the way she sees the world is so unique. I just love her …” India cleared her throat. “… her ... outlook on life.”

Spike finally looked up at her and gave her a small smile. “Yeah, she’s a … pretty rare breed, to be sure. Right now I think she’s … committed to our family, but …” Spike shrugged. “Ya never know what might happen tomorrow, yeah?”

India smiled and nodded. “The only thing certain is nothing is certain.”

Spike again felt his apprehension and worry for Buffy and Joan rise like a flood of icy fear in his chest, pushing his heart up into his throat. It had been three days without a word from either of them, and he was on the verge of losing what was left of his mind. He’d more than once packed the babies’ diaper bags and put them in car, intending to head to California – only his promise to Buffy stopped him. He said he would wait. He had been right: it was the hardest promise he’d ever had to keep in his entire life.

 “Ain’t that the bloody truth?” he croaked out in a low whisper, blinking back his emotions.

**~**

Later that night, Spike pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked to make sure it was on and working for perhaps the hundredth time since he’d put the babies to bed an hour and a half ago. He stared at the stupid thing, willing it to ring or buzz or whatever-the-bloody-fuck it did, but it just sat there dumbly in his hand. He’d already filled up Buffy’s voicemail; there was no sense even trying to call again.



What he really wanted to do was crush it in his hand and smash it against the wall, then grind it into dust under his heel. That would teach the bloody thing not to ring!

“You better keep your promise, Slayer, I kept mine,” he said to the phone. He meant it to be an angry demand; it came out as a pathetic plea. He glared it for several more minutes, then sighed, his shoulder’s slumping.

Deciding that skipping showers was probably not the best idea in the world, Spike headed for the upstairs bath. He set the phone down on the counter next to the sink and got undressed, then stepped in under the warm spray.

When the babies were awake, there was little time for contemplation, but now, with the water raining down on him and his children fast asleep, the weight of the world seemed to descend on him. He bowed his head and let the water wash away his tears. What was he gonna do if Buffy didn’t make it back? How could he ever survive the heartbreak? The guilt? How could he not? There were two innocent babies in the next room that were depending on him. His tears came harder as he wondered how could he ever explain it to them; explain how he'd let their mother go off while he stayed home like a poof. Explain how he'd let her down again; how he hadn't kept her safe. How he hadn't kept is promise ... again.

“Please, Buffy … please just come ‘ome,” he plead to the empty room as a deep sob rolled through his body.

Suddenly, his phone ‘binged’.

Spike jumped at the sound, not sure what it even was, it had been so long since he’d heard it. A millisecond later, realization struck him. He thrashed at the shower curtain to get it open, tearing it and the rod down and sending it all to the floor with a clatter. He lunged for the phone, his hands, his whole body really, was wet and slippery, dripping with soap and water. The slick bit of electronics slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor with the shower curtain. Spike dove after it, wildly tearing at the plastic and fabric curtain to retrieve the phone. He slipped on the bottom of the tub and tumbled down, but never lost his concentration as his hands closed around the elusive bit of plastic.



He held it up and stared at it with wide, hopeful eyes. ‘One new text,’ it announced. He pushed the icon and opened the message, ‘Me LUV U 2.’

“Buffy!” he screamed, holding the phone up with both dripping hands so it couldn't escape again. He began to press the speed dial to call her again when Pat Benatar began daring him to ‘Hit Me with Your Best Shot’: Buffy’s ringtone.

“Bloody fuck!” he exclaimed, trying to right himself on the floor and find the right button to push to accept the call at the same time.

“Slayer! Slayer!” he yelled frantically into the phone, his eyes wide with a combination of worry and hope.

“Spike! We’re ok. Everything’s ok. We’re coming home.”

A couple of days later…

Buffy pulled the borrowed police car into the detached garage, narrowly missing the shelves of paint, stripper, and varnish that lined one wall. Joan had to slide over and get out on Buffy’s side because she couldn’t open her door more than three inches.

“Spike typically parks directly in the middle,” she observed as she crawled over the police radio and other paraphernalia that took up the middle of the seat.



“Whatever,” Buffy scoffed. “I don’t know why he wanted me to put it in here in the first place,” she complained, holding the door open for Joan.

“Because it is a stolen…”

“Borrowed!” Buffy corrected.

“Because it does not belong to us and may raise questions from local authorities if parked in the driveway or on the street,” Joan amended.

“Did you see how far away he moved the DeSoto? It’s like halfway down the block! What did he think, I’d crash into it if it was in front of the house?” Buffy continued to complain as she helped Joan stay upright with her port-side list … or was it starboard?

“I am very certain that was a consideration in his decision-making process,” Joan agreed as the two blondes began walking out of the garage.

“Hey! What about me!?” Andrew whined from the backseat, unable to open the doors from the inside.

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes. “I was hoping he wouldn’t notice we’d left,” she whispered to Joan. Buffy leaned Joan against the wall and went back and opened the door for Andrew.



“Geez! About time!” he complained as he clambered out of the back and stood up, rubbing his backside. “That seat wasn’t made for interstellar travel. It might be fine for droids and Slayers, but…”

“You’re welcome,” Buffy cut him off tersely, turning back to help Joan away from the wall.

“I’m just sayin’…” Andrew sighed as he looked around. “So … is this the lair of the Slayer and her Vampyr lover? Hiding in plain sight. Keeping a low profile. Holly Homemaker by day, Caped Crusader by night … keeping the suburbs safe…”

“Andrew, this is the garage. If you don’t want this to be your lair, I suggest you shut up and come on,” Buffy retorted as she and the Bot hobbled toward the open garage door.

Before they could step outside into the sunlight, however, they were met with a smoldering vampire who crashed into them, pushing both girls back against the trunk of the borrowed police car.

In a moment they were enveloped in Spike’s arms as he dropped frantic, if slightly smoky, kisses over their faces. The constrictive band that had been cinched tightly around his chest the whole time they’d been gone, had finally loosened. They were home! They were safe, if slightly worse for wear, apparently.

They’d talked on the phone as soon as Buffy had gotten a signal after leaving Sunnydale, and several times since then, but seeing them – beleaguered but alive – with his own eyes, finally made it real. They were home. Buffy was home. Thank bloody God.

“Missed you so bloody much,” Spike murmured to them. “Love you so much. Thought I’d go mad ‘ere waiting. Don’t ever do that again, Slayer! You hear me? Never a-bloody-gain! Don’t you leave us again,” Spike admonished Buffy, hugging both of them to him with bone-crushing strength.

“I’m sorry, Spike,” Buffy croaked through her tears. “I promise, I won’t. I won’t leave our family again. I love you, baby … love you so much.”

Spike continued to hold them both as tears stung his eyes. He’d been so afraid he wouldn’t see either of them again. It was a bloody miracle to have them home and in his arms again.

He’d been going mad for days. The only thing keeping him from imploding or running after them were the two little tykes that Buffy had left in his protection. He’d let Buffy down before. He hadn’t kept his promise to protect Dawn and he’d let the Council take Buffy – he would not mess up this time, and he hadn’t. The little bits were fine; they missed their mum and Aunt Joan, but they were fine. There had been no attacks of preachers, blind demons, or anything else while Buffy and Joan had been gone.

After several long minutes just holding each other there in the garage, Spike pulled back a bit and said, “Somethin’ you need t’ see, luv.”

Buffy wiped the tears of relief at being home from her eyes when he pulled back. “What is it?”

“Sunnyhell … on the telly,” Spike related.

Buffy’s brows went up, but she nodded and reluctantly released her hold of him. “Where are the babies?” she asked, still wiping away her tears.

“They’re fine … nappin’,” Spike assured her.

Buffy put her hand on the side of Spike’s face and pulled his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. “I missed you … missed the babies … missed home,” she admitted when the kiss broke.



Spike nodded. “Good,” he scolded, his voice hard, but the love pouring over her from his cobalt blue eyes told her he was just posturing.

Buffy gave him a small, knowing smile and a nod of her head as she and Joan pulled away.

“Right,” Spike began, heading toward the open garage door. “Reckon I’ll meet ya on the porch then,” he announced as he pulled his duster up over his head and made the dash from the detached garage to the back porch.

“It would seem more sensible to build a cover for the walkway rather than risk fatality in that manner,” Joan pointed out.

Buffy nodded as she and Joan stepped out from the shade of the garage and into the sunlight. “I guess we need to put that on the list,” she agreed.

Buffy tapped the garage door control on her way by and the door began to close as they stepped through.

Andrew had been stunned into immobility and silence at Spike’s appearance. The Slayer’s Vampyr lover was the coolest, handsomest guy Andrew had ever seen in person. If not for the restraining order from Timothy Dalton, Spike would be the second coolest guy … but that’s a whole different story.

Andrew stood near the side of the car, still entranced, as he watched Spike leave again. Tchaikovsky’s Love Theme from Romeo & Juliet played in his ears as little blue birdies flitted around his head and stars danced in his eyes. His heart thudded against his ribs as he continued to stare, wide-eyed, at the spot where Spike had been standing, as if he could still see him there.

He was suddenly jerked from his reverie by the sound of the garage door sliding down. “Hey! Wait for me!” Andrew shrieked, practically diving for the slowly diminishing opening beneath the door.

He hurtled himself through the air, crashed hard onto the cement, and rolled out from under the door in dramatic fashion. Outside, Andrew sprung back up to his feet and tried to look nonchalant. “Whoa! An Indy Hat Roll!”

Buffy quirked a questioning brow at the geek.



“You remember!” Andrew insisted excitedly. “In ‘Temple of Doom’, when Indy had to dive under the door to escape the descending spikes, just barely getting out at the last nanosecond? Then, in a much copied, but never equaled iconic move, he reached back and grabbed his treasured hat just in the nick of time? I’m totally there! Only … ya know, I don’t have the hat.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you could give Indy a real run for his money.”  She looked over at the slow-moving garage door. It was still less than half-way down; he could’ve just ducked under and walked out. “You are such a geek.”

**~**

Spike was holding the backdoor open for the girls when they made it to the porch. Still using each other for support, they went inside, but before Spike could follow them Andrew was there, stopped right in front of him, blocking his path.

“Hey, ummm … Hi,” Andrew stammered. He waved lamely, then began fidgeting with a button on his shirt, unable to meet Spike’s eyes.



Spike crossed his arms over his chest and just stared at him.

Andrew shrugged, trying to look casual in front of the Adonis before him. “Don’t I get a welcome home hug?” he suggested shyly, finally looking up at Spike’s face and giving the vamp his best lost-puppy look.

Spike cocked a brow at him. “Not bloody likely. Plus, not your home,” he grumbled, still not pleased that Buffy had brought the little geek home with her like a lost kitten. She’d explained on the phone that he could fix Joan, but that didn’t mean Spike liked having a strange man in their house. Although … now that he saw the poofter, that worry faded considerably.

Andrew pouted, stomping his foot down petulantly and crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you have any idea what I’ve sacrificed to come here? My mint-in-box, collectable Star Wars action figures are probably crushed into little bits in the trunk, my butt feels like it spent a year riding an Akk Dog, and my bladder may be ruptured ‘cos Buffy wouldn’t stop at reasonable intervals.”

“You needed to stop every twenty miles!” Buffy protested from inside the house. “I told you not to buy that Big Gulp!”

“I have a very small bladder, it runs in my family – it’s not my fault!” Andrew defended. “No one appreciates the harrowing experiences I’ve been through on this expedition! I had to ride all the way across the galaxy in the back of a police car driven by a psychotic Slayer … who can’t drive!”

“Ungrateful little twerp! Remind me to never save you from grumpy vampires again,” Buffy called back over her shoulder as she and Joan headed through the kitchen toward the living room.

After a moment, Spike turned his attention back to the poofter. “So, ya rode all the way from California t’ Texas in the back of a car that Buffy was drivin’, eh?” Spike pursed his lips together to conceal a grin at the image that sentence evoked.

Andrew sniffed and lifted his chin defiantly. “She drives worse than a Wookie after a gallon of Thikkiian brandy. Riding with her is more dangerous than jumping into hyperdrive using a malfunctioning nav comp.”

Spike coughed to cover his laugh. “Tougher than ya look, I reckon,” he admitted, after checking in the house to see where Buffy and Joan were.

The squeals of delight and silly baby-talk that suddenly filled the air told him they’d just gotten the babies up from their naps. His heart lifted again, buoyed by the sheer joy of the laughter coming from inside the house. Buffy was home. Will and Jade had their mother back. Thank bloody God.

The next thing he heard was the volume of the TV being turned up and the newscaster talking about the giant sinkhole that swallowed Sunnydale, California.

Spike turned his attention back to the little poofter and considered him a moment. “Anyone that can survive that definitely deserves a bloody hug.” Spike spread his arms.

Andrew’s eyes went wide, his heart lurched and jumped in his chest, and the romantic music began to rise to a crescendo. He quickly stepped forward into Spike’s embrace before the Slayer’s Vampyr lover changed his mind.



“Tell anyone ‘bout this and I’ll rip your lungs out,” Spike warned, giving Andrew a swift pat on the back and pulling away from him.

“Mr. Giles said that you had a chip implanted by the army and couldn’t hurt humans anymore. He said you’d been castrated,” Andrew revealed as Spike backed away, much too soon in Andrew’s estimation. The girls had gotten a fifteen minute hug, he got like three seconds.

Spike narrowed his eyes and a low growl rumbled from deep inside him. “Don’t believe everythin’ ya hear,” he warned the little ponce.

Andrew swallowed nervously and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “No offense. I only meant …” he shrugged. “After I get the Bot … I mean Joan fixed up, maybe together we could … help you out with that.”

“How ya figure?” Spike asked, suddenly interested.

Andrew shrugged again. “Well, between the two of us – me and Joan –  I bet we could hack into those old army files and find the chip’s schematics, information about how it works and where it was implanted. Maybe find a way to deactivate it or … even remove it.

“Of course, assuming you … wanted it … removed.”

“Had a bloody doc try to remove it once, said it was too delicate … couldn’t do it,” Spike pointed out. “Not gonna let you muck about in my brain.”



“Oh! I wouldn’t … no! I can’t stand the sight of blood. It’s all red and … sickening.” Andrew shuddered. “But Joan – if we could download the procedures they used to implant it onto her hard drive …” Andrew shrugged a shoulder, “… she could do it easy-peasy.”

Spike furrowed his brow, then looked through the open door to where Joan and Buffy had disappeared into the living room with the bits. They weren’t watching or listening to Spike and Andrew at all. “That right?” he asked the geek off-handedly.

“Totally. She can do almost anything with the right programming. She’s sooo amazing,” Andrew gushed. “Warren really went all-out on her. Of course, there are some things that could be upgraded now, since – duh! technology changes at quasi-lightspeed – but … she could totally do it.”

Spike grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “Welcome home … errr … what was your name again?”

“Andrew Wells. Tucker’s brother … he did the hellhounds at the prom – not me. I did the demon monkeys at the school play, which was waay cooler.”

“Welcome ‘ome, demon-monkey-Andrew,” Spike offered, wrapping an arm around the smaller man’s neck – making Andrew gasp in pain and surprise –  and pulling the ponce into the house with him.

**~**

In the house, Buffy and Joan were sitting on the couch watching the TV. Buffy held the two squirming babies in her arms, refusing to let them down, despite their demands to the contrary. She murmured words of love and dropped soft kisses in their curls and on their little faces, going from one to the other as TV announcer droned on about the unprecedented sinkhole that had swallowed a whole town in California.

They were just starting to talk about the estimated monetary damages again when a new voice cut in excitedly, “We now have our live, on-the-ground feed up from the site! Jerry, Jerry, can you hear me?”

A new face came onto the screen – apparently Jerry. “I can barely hear you, Jillian, but I believe we’re up. I’m standing here at the edge of an immense crater that used to be the town of Sunnydale, California. The entire town of nearly 35,000 was consumed by a sinkhole only hours ago. The death-toll is unclear, but we have survivors. Sir, sir, your name is?” Jerry shoved the microphone into the face of a weary-looking middle-aged man.

“Giles,” Buffy murmured, turning her full attention to the screen but still keeping the babies in her embrace.

Giles removed his glasses and turned glazed eyes to the camera. “Rupert Giles,” he responded stiffly.

“And can you tell us what happened here?” Jerry pressed.

“Errr … it appears to be as you said, the town was … devoured from … beneath. Apparently there was a … sinkhole.”

“How did you and your companions escape?” the newscaster asked excitedly as the camera panned to a group of women standing near a school bus behind Giles.

“Very quickly,” Giles replied dryly.

“Look – there’s Faith,” Buffy pointed at the screen. “She’s still got my damn axe, too,” she added dourly.



“She appears to be injured. There is blood apparent on her clothes and abrasions, as well as bruises, on her skin,” Joan remarked.

“Good,” Buffy growled. “Serves her right, telling me I had a 'saggy ass'.”

“I do not see the Magnificent Poof,” Joan continued.

“It’s sunny,” Buffy offered. “He might be hiding on the bus.”

“Perhaps he was dusted,” Joan suggested.

“Be still m’ heart,” Spike crooned sarcastically, holding a hand over his very still heart. “That’d make this the best day in bloody history,” Spike remarked from where he now stood behind them. Andrew had excused himself to use the facilities.

Buffy shot Spike a conspiratorial smile over her shoulder, then turned back to the screen.

“Do you believe they were successful in averting the apocalypse?” Joan asked trying to straighten her head and body from its sideways tilt, but failing.

“Well, we’re still here – I guess that’s a clue,” Buffy observed, hugging the babies to her even more tightly and burying her face in their soft curls.

**~**

“What the bloody hell do ya think you’re doing?” Spike demanded of Andrew later that night.

Andrew jumped and spun around, nearly dropping the no-longer-mint-in-box Boba Fett action figure that he’d been about to set on the dresser. “Errr…”

“This ain’t your room,” Spike continued.

“Joan said … since we’d be working together closely and I’d be … fixing her and … all,” Andrew stammered, wide-eyed and frightened.

Spike pressed his tongue against his teeth and cocked a brow at the geek. Maybe he’d misjudged the little ponce. “You thinkin’ ‘bout getting lucky with one o’ my girls?”

Andrew shook his head adamantly. “No! No, no! I … It’s just …” he stumbled over the words, then sighed heavily. “I don’t like to sleep alone. I get night terrors.”

“I am a night terror,” Spike rumbled threateningly.



Andrew blanched, turning white as a sheet and seemingly shrinking four inches in height.

Spike rolled his eyes. That was too easy. “You sleep down the hall.” He pointed to a door at the other end of the house. “Reckon your little friend there ...” Spike narrowed his eyes to read the name on the box, “…Boba can keep you company enough.”

Andrew sagged and hugged the box to his chest. “This is so unfair,” he muttered to himself. “I miss Jonathan.”

**~**

Later, after checking to make sure everyone was in their proper beds, Spike, dressed in his jeans and nothing else, came into the master bedroom. He was met with the vision of Buffy standing nude in front of the full-length mirror turning this way and that, studying her own reflection. He closed the door gently and leaned back against it, never taking his eyes off her. He watched her for a long while, his heart overflowing with relief that she was home in more-or-less one piece.

Her face was a mask of concern and concentration as she studied her body from one angle, then another. After a few moments, she caught him watching her. Still looking rather dour, she asked with great solemnity, “Is my ass saggy?”



“What?” Spike barked out the word with a laugh as he pushed off the closed door and moved toward her.

Buffy pouted and went back to looking in the mirror. “Angel and Faith said my ass was saggy.”

“Did they, now?” Spike questioned as he reached her, pulling a serious mask in place over his features. “Well, let’s see ‘ere.”

Spike turned her around to face him, clamped his hands over the cheeks of her ass, and pulled her body against his. Keeping his face a study in concentration, he kneaded the globes of her ass gently, pulling her hips forward and pressing her sex against his raging, jean-clad hard-on.

“Well?” Buffy asked, her breath catching in her throat as she felt his hardness against her.

“Not sure, pet. This is gonna take more research,” Spike replied solemnly.

“What … kind of research?” Buffy wondered as she trailed her fingertips gingerly down his chest.

“The best kind,” Spike replied, dipping his head down to capture her lips.



Buffy responded, wrapping her arms around his neck and melting into him like a candle left too long in the sun. Spike lifted her up by the ass in question and Buffy’s legs automatically cinched around his hips as they got lost in the passion of the kiss. Spike turned and walked with her over to their large bed which had felt so empty the last several days without her.

He laid her down onto her back gently, breaking the kiss only to allow her to breathe. His lips trailed over her heated skin, down her neck to her old scars, which drew his mouth like a magnet.

“Missed you so much, Buffy,” he murmured against her as his lips, teeth, and tongue made love to the soft skin on her neck. “Was so bloody worried. Thought I’d lose my mind … Never want to lose you, pet. It’d kill me … it’d bloody well kill me. Love you so much. You’re my heart … you and the bits, you’re my whole world.”

“I missed you too. I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry we argued … sorry I broke my promise. I swear I won’t go away again. I guess I really am the ex-Slayer. Faith and her skanky ass can have it. Me and my saggy ass don’t need that crap.”

Spike smirked and pulled back to look at her. “Alleged ‘saggy ass’,” he corrected. “Research is still underway on that, pet.”



Buffy gave him a smile. “Any preliminary observations you’d like to share, Professor?”

Spike gave her a serious look and shook his head. “Much too early t’ tell. There’s tons … tons and tons o’ research t’ be done first.”

Buffy wagged her brows at him lecherously, her mouth twisted into a grin. “Ooo, I like the sound of that.”

“God, I missed that smile,” Spike purred silkily as he dropped his lips to hers again.

Buffy moaned her own miss-age against his mouth as her hands began exploring his bare torso again. Soon, she was thwarted by his jeans, however. She pulled back, panting for air and informed him, “You have too many clothes on to research properly, Mr. Pratt.”

“Bugger,” Spike agreed, jumping up and quickly shedding his jeans, leaving them in a heap on the floor. “Now then … we can get down to the proper research, luv. Gotta warn ya, could be an all-nighter.”

“Ooo … I like the sound of that, too!” Buffy giggled as she eagerly welcomed him back into her arms.

**~**

Spike spooned against Buffy’s back, nibbling lightly at her neck as they both sighed contentedly.



“So, what’s the verdict, Professor?” Buffy wondered, her words coming out as a slow, spent murmur.

“Peaches and the Slayer chit are nutters,” Spike replied, just as torpidly.

Buffy huffed out a breath of air. “Yeah, but, what about my ass?”

Spike smiled against her heated skin. “Needs more study,” he retorted sleepily, pressing his hips a little harder against her backside.

“Mmmm,” Buffy moaned, stifling a yawn. “Nap first?”

“Brilliant,” Spike agreed lazily, allowing his eyes to fall closed, his face buried beneath her gilded locks, his lips still against her neck.

“By the way,” he continued after a moment, his eyes never opening. “Geek-boy thinks he can get this bloody chip outta my head. Brilliant that, eh?”

Buffy’s eyes flashed open, big as saucers, suddenly wide awake. “Really? Get the chip … out? As in …out out?”

“Mmmm,” Spike agreed, nuzzling closer to her, not noticing her suddenly racing heart or the near-panic in her voice as he fell into a contented sleep for the first time in days.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Avril Lavigne, When You’re Gone on YouTube  }}


I always needed time on my own
I never thought I'd need you there when I cry
And the days feel like years when I'm alone
And the bed where you lied is made up on your side

When you walk away I count the steps that you take
Do you see how much I need you right now

When you're gone
The pieces of my heart are missing you
When you're gone
The face I came to know is missing too
When you're gone
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it ok
I miss you

I've never felt this way before
Everything that I do reminds me of you
And the clothes you left, they lie on the floor
And they smell just like you, I love the things that you do

When you walk away I count the steps that you take
Do you see how much I need you right now

When you're gone
The pieces of my heart are missing you
When you're gone
The face I came to know is missing too
When you're gone
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it ok
I miss you

We were made for each other
Out here forever
I know we were, yeah
All I ever wanted was for you to know
Everything I'd do, I'd give my heart and soul
I can hardly breathe I need to feel you here with me, yeah

When you're gone
The pieces of my heart are missing you
When you're gone
The face I came to know is missing too
When you're gone
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it ok
I miss you
Chapter End Notes:
Ok, everyone's home safe and sound ... where do we go from here? Why's Buffy so worried about Spike getting his chip out? We'll find out on Saturday!
Heart Ain't a Brain by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment
A couple of weeks later…

“Joan, ya got a mo’, luv?” Spike called out to the garage after Buffy headed out with the twins to the park.

“Yes. I have one hour and thirty-seven minutes before I need to begin preparations for the evening nourishment,” Joan replied, turning her attention away from the sanding she was doing on an antique cedar chest she and Buffy had been refinishing.  She set her work down and headed up to the back porch where Spike was standing, waiting for her.

He motioned for her to take a seat in one of the rockers while he leaned on the railing in front of her. “How ya feelin’?” he began. “The little ponce’s got ya all fixed up, then?”

“Yes. He has done an excellent job at repairing my damaged wiring. He also installed several upgrades. I now have even more memory and faster processors. I feel like a new woman!” The Bot tilted her head, studying Spike. “Has my performance been unsatisfactory? You appeared to enjoy our efforts to overload your senses last evening.”



Spike smiled at the memory. “No worries on that, pet. You two Slayers always overload my senses.

“I was just wondering … the little geek said something about hackin’ into the government’s computer systems and … getting some info ‘bout this chip in my head. Said maybe you two could … get it out. Has he said anything t’ you ‘bout that?”

Joan tilted her head, double checking her memory, then shook her head negatively. “No. I have no record of any such directive. Would you like for me to make that a priority?”

Spike frowned. “No, I’ll talk to the little ponce about it first. See what’s up. Just wondered if he’d mentioned it to ya.”

**~**

A little while later, Spike paced in the living room waiting for Buffy to return from the park. He was wearing a path in the wooden floor they’d spent so many hours refinishing, but he didn’t give a bloody damn. He was furious. And hurt. Of course, that was no surprise; when he got hurt he usually got furious – it was his defense mechanism. Above the hurt and fury, he was confused.


He ran his hand through his now-disheveled platinum locks for the hundredth time in the last half-hour as he replayed the little geek’s words in his mind again, “Buffy told me not to. She said she’d hurt me … like with actual pain, if I did it. I have a very low threshold for pain. It’s not my fault; I was born with ultra-sensitive nerve-endings.”



Of course the ponce was near tears by the time Spike had gotten the truth out of him. It hadn’t taken a lot – a few growls and threats to his action figure collection. Buffy had also threatened pain if he told that she was the one to put the kibosh on the removal of Spike’s chip. Apparently the threat of future pain was less of a motivator than the threat of the imminent destruction of Boba Fett; although Jar Jar Binks was apparently expendable.

Spike spun towards the front door when he heard her steps on the front porch. His whole body tensed, as if ready to pounce, as Buffy came in the front door pushing the double stroller in front of her.

Buffy stopped short when she saw him, some cajoling word that she’d been saying to the babies cut short. The anger was rolling off him in waves. His body was stiff, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, and a muscle ticced in his jaw from the power of his teeth grinding together.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Buffy asked, her eyes darting around the living room for the cause of Spike’s anger.

“You tell me,” he replied, his voice surprisingly calm and low.

“I … huh?” Buffy stammered, looking confused. Despite her words, her stomach began to get that sinking feeling in it like it used to get when her mother had caught her in a misdeed as a child.



Spike’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Buffy took an automatic step back from him, pulling the babies’ stroller with her. “Spike … I can explain,” she offered quickly, watching him warily.

Spike stepped forward, mimicking her retreat, his face a mask of barely contained fury. “This I gotta hear,” he sneered, folding his arms over his chest. “Please explain t’ me how you don’t trust me, Buffy. Explain how you think without this soddin’ chip that I’ll kill our family. Please explain how I’ll rip your throat out in your sleep an’ drain the life blood from our bits. Tell me how everything between us has been a lie. Go on, then …” he invited, waving a hand out dramatically as if to give her the floor.

Buffy’s chest tightened and tears burned behind her eyes. “Spike…” was all she could manage to press out past her heart, which had lodged in her throat.

“Oh, come on, Slayer! You can do better than that! Tell me what an evil, soulless bastard I am. Tell me I’m a monster! Tell me how I got no morals, got no compass, how without this soddin’ chip I’ll go back t’ William the Bloody … driving railroad spikes inta wanker’s eyes and ripping out throats. Tell me how I won’t be able t’ control myself. Tell me how I’ll be nothin’ but a bit of muck to be scraped off your shoe!



“You bloody bitch,” Spike growled at her, taking another step forward.

Buffy pushed the stroller with the babies still in it behind her just as Spike stepped within inches of her.

“After all I’ve done for you,” he seethed, leaning as close as he could to her without actually touching. “You’re a piece of work, Slayer. A self-righteous, holier-than-thou, piece o’ bloody work.”

Buffy glared at him, her green eyes flashing with anger, her fear and guilt burned away by his furious rant. “You stupid vampire,” she growled back at him, shoving his shoulders hard enough to make him stumble backwards. She followed him, pushing him again as soon as he got his balance.

“You don’t get it at all!” she informed him, stalking forward as he stepped back further with each shove.

“Well, why don’t you explain it to me, luv,” he shot back, dodging her next shove, whirling around, and ending up behind her.

Buffy spun on her heels to face him again. “If you’d stop talking long enough, I would,” she asserted, giving him another shove.

“Right then,” he agreed, ducking her next shove and stepping around the coffee table. He kicked one end of the heavy, oak table into her path. “Evil vampire yields the floor t’ the bitch Slayer.”

Buffy walked into the table, banging her shins hard enough to take her balance away. She caught herself on the edge of the thick top and shoved it out of the way with enough force to send it banging into the fireplace at the other end of the room.

“It has nothing to do with me not trusting you!” she insisted, recovering from her encounter with the table and stalking toward him again. “It has nothing to do with thinking you’d hurt me or the babies!”

Buffy caught up to him and shoved him against the wall, then stood in front of him, her chest heaving with angry breaths, daring him to move.



“Then what? Somebody else? Think I’ll eat the berk that cuts me off in traffic, that it? Or the old woman at the grocery that runs over my soddin’ foot with ‘er electric cart?” he shot back, returning her fiery glare with one of his own. “You got that little faith in me? Been a vampire a long time, pet. Knew how t’ control it even before your former shoved this chip in my head.”

“I know that!” she shot back, her eyes blazing with anger. “I know better than anyone what you’re capable of, how different you are, how … how much heart you have.”

“Then what the fuck, Slayer? What is your bloody problem with that little ponce getting this piece o’ space junk outta my brain? Afraid I’ll be able t’ shove you back? Afraid o’ being on equal footin’ with William the Bloody again?”

“I’m not afraid of you. I’ve never been afraid of you, Spike,” Buffy claimed, still standing toe to toe with him, his back against the wall.



“Then what?!” he screamed at her, every tendon in his neck standing out with the effort.

“I’m afraid you won’t love me anymore! Okay?! Are you happy now!? You stupid, fucking vampire!” she yelled back at him, banging a fist against his chest in frustration and anger. “What if it’s just the chip? What if … what if … it’s making you love me?” she asked as tears jumped to her eyes, her voice breaking with emotion. “You didn’t love me until … maybe it’s the chip.”

Spike stood there, dumbfounded, as she pounded on his chest now with both hands. He barely noticed her frightened, angry blows as her words cut through his own anger and hurt.

“Buffy,” he breathed gently, shaking his head in denial. “Buffy, no … it’s not,” he assured her, finally grabbing her wrists and stopping her tirade.

She collapsed against him, sobbing, and Spike wrapped his arms around her. “Buffy, it’s not, luv – I swear it’s not the chip.”

“You don’t know,” she argued, her voice muffled against his chest. “You didn’t love me until you had it. How can you know that? Maybe it … did something. Maybe it’s pressing against your … ‘Love A Slayer’ nerve and …”

Spike snorted out a short laugh, interrupting her. “Buffy, trust me, pet. It’s not the soddin’ chip. Not gonna love you any less without it.”

She shook her head against his chest, her breath coming in fits and starts as she cried. “You don’t know.”

Spike took a deep breath and pushed her back to arm’s length. He leaned down so he could look directly into her shimmering eyes. “Buffy, I loved you from the first moment I saw you. Didn’t know what it was then, o’ course. Wrote it off t’ the old Slayer/Vampire eternal struggle between good and evil bollocks. But it wasn’t,” he assured her.



“Dru saw it first, barmy bint,” he half-snarled. “Said she saw you all around me … that’s why she left.” Spike shrugged. “Or so she said.”

“But, what if…” Buffy began to object.

“It’s not,” Spike cut her off emphatically. “Do you trust me, Buffy?”

Buffy’s mouth tightened into a hard line. “It doesn’t have anything to do with trust, Spike. I trust you, but…”

“No ‘buts’,” he interrupted. “I. Love. You. If you don’t believe anything else I’ve ever said, believe that.”

Buffy sighed heavily, searching his eyes for some way to tell if it was really him that loved her or if the chip had done something to him to make it happen. She couldn’t tell. How could he know? How can you know if your mind is being manipulated from within? Crazy people thought stuff in their mind was real all the time – until they got on the right medicine and found out the big white rabbit that followed them around didn’t actually exist. What was the difference?

“Spike, please,” she begged, barely resisting the urge to drop to her knees in front of him.

Spike saw the confusion and consternation and fear wash over her features. At once he felt sad that she’d think that it wasn’t him that loved her and elated that she worried so much about losing his love.

“Make ya a deal, pet. If the little ponce takes it out and I stop lovin’ you, then you have my permission t’ put it back in.”

Buffy shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Oh, would that be before or after you tell me and my saggy ass to ‘sod off’?”

Spike tilted his head, pursed his lips, and gave her a ‘give me a break’ glare. “Thought that we’d established, through many hours of extensive and exhaustive research, that your ass is not saggy, luv.”



Buffy rolled her eyes to the ceiling and left them there, heaving a tremulous sigh.

Spike sighed too, his attempt at levity obviously not working. “You trust me not to kill anyone but you don’t trust me to love you? Buffy, I swear, nothing’s gonna change ‘cept my ability to defend our family that much better.”

Buffy rolled her eyes back down to meet his. Finally, after a long minute of silence, she grudgingly nodded. She did trust him; she just hoped he knew what he was talking about. “Please don’t be wrong, Spike.”

He gave her a reassuring smile and pulled her back into a tight hug, tucking her head beneath his chin. “I’m not, Buffy. My heart’s never been controlled by my brain, luv. Trust me – the two are from different bloody planets.”

She snorted again and shook her head, praying he was right.

**~**

A few weeks later…

Joan dropped the little piece of plastic and metal into a Tupperware bowl with a satisfied smile. “It has been removed,” she announced.

Spike blinked his eyes open, nearly blinded by the bright lights shining down on his head and face.

“Doesn’t look like a penny, does it?” he asked as she began to fit the piece of skull she’d cut out back into place.



“No. It is a monolithic integrated circuit. Therefore, it looks like a monolithic integrated circuit,” she assured him.

Andrew picked the bowl up and peered down into it. He quickly set the bowl back down, as if it were burning his fingers. He pressed a hand to his mouth as he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat at the sight of the blood clinging to the chip.

After a full minute of concerted effort, the geek recovered his composure.

“It’s actually unbelievably sophisticated. It has its own little power-station that apparently uses Acetylcholine or other neurotransmitters to recharge. I’d love to plug it into my computer and see how it works. How can it tell if what you’re hurting is a human? I mean, what if you tried to hurt the AI that was created to duplicate the Doctor’s reactions in ‘Seeing I’ from ‘Doctor Who’, the ‘Eighth Doctor Adventures’? Could it tell it wasn’t actually the Doctor? I mean, it mimicked the Doctor’s …”

“Andrew. Quit prattling,” Spike ordered.

Andrew clamped his mouth shut … for about three seconds. “Can I have it?” he asked Spike excitedly. “I mean … after all the icky blood’s off it?”

“Knock yourself out,” Spike groaned. “Just do it someplace that’s not ‘ere.”

**~**

Buffy stepped into the ‘operating room’, which also doubled as the kitchen on normal days, after Joan came out to say that it was all done.



“Hi,” she said tentatively, not moving more than a step past the doorway.

Spike blinked his eyes open again. The bright lights had been turned off, but he was still groggy from the combination of Benadryl and Jack Daniels he’d taken as a sedative. “Hey,” he replied sluggishly.

“Are you … alright?” Buffy asked as his eyes feathered closed again.

“Seem t’ be. Can wiggle all m’ fingers and toes; mouth still works. Haven’t tried much else, t’ be honest.”

”Does it hurt?” she wondered stepping forward and nearer him.

“Not yet. Reckon I’ll ‘ave a royal hangover later. She didn’t bugger up my hair, did she? Leave a cowlick or a big, gaping bald spot?”

Buffy stepped around him to the back and looked at his head. “Actually, I can’t even tell where she went in,” she muttered, running a hand through his hair. She finally found the stitches under his thick mane. “I think it’s fine, no bald spot or ... licking.”

“Brilliant,” Spike sighed and let his eyes fall closed, his body relaxing further in the barber’s chair they’d gotten to use just for this occasion.



“So, ummm…” Buffy continued tentatively. “Is everything … the same? I mean … ummm … between us?”

She stepped to the side of him, wringing her hands nervously and waiting for him to open his eyes and tell her he still loved her.

“Reckon so,” Spike replied, never opening his eyes. “What was your name again?”

Buffy gasped, her eyes wide with horror, her whole body going rigid. She began to stumble backwards in shock when Spike reached out and grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. She somehow spun – whether he did it or she did it, she wasn’t sure – and landed sideways in his lap the next moment.

“You daft bint,” he rumbled against her neck. “Told ya everything would be fine and it is. Nothing’s changed, Buffy. Still love you more than life itself, pet.”

“You jerk!” she shrieked at him, slapping his chest none-too-gently. “That was … mean and rotten! You’re a big meanie!”

“Careful with them insults, Slayer. Not leashed anymore … I could … chastise you good and proper.”

“You could try,” Buffy shot back, not sure whether to be mad at his stupid joke or ecstatic that he was still him.

A laugh rolled from Spike’s throat as he pulled her closer and captured her lips with his in a hard, fast kiss. “Could do more than try,” he assured her with a smirk, his words somehow both hot and cool against her mouth.



Buffy pulled back slightly to look at him. She ran a hand through his curls – no gel allowed before the operation – and studied his eyes. It was always Spike’s eyes that told you the truth of him if you knew how to read them. Buffy hadn’t always been good at it, but she knew enough to recognize the familiar look of adoration sprinkled with a bit of evil glee in them.

“You still love me?” she asked timidly, although she could see it clearly in his eyes, she just wanted to hear it again.

“I still love you, you daft woman. How could I not?”

Buffy lowered her eyes to his chest. “Had more than one guy find a way to stop with the Buffy-love.”

“Well, I ain’t just some guy, now am I?” Spike asked, curling a finger under her chin and lifting her eyes back to his. “When I love, it’s forever, pet. Bloody chip don’t change that. Love you more than I can say, Buffy. Love that you trust me, that you believe in me. I promise I won’t let ya down.”

Buffy nodded and blinked the moisture back from her eyes. “I know you won’t. You aren’t the same vamp that crashed Parent-Teacher night.”

Spike smiled a little wryly at her. “Same vamp, pet. You’ve just got me …”

“Whipped?” Buffy interjected quickly, a coy smile on her face.

“Pffft! That’s not bloody likely,” Spike snorted in disagreement. “Was gonna say, ‘under your spell’.”

“Ooo, I like that,” Buffy beamed. “The big meanie is under my evil, dastardly love spell…”

“Oi! Warned ya before! Watch the insults, Slayer.”

“Big meanie, big meanie, big meanie,” Buffy teased, giggling.

Spike growled menacingly and pulled her against his chest, burying his face through her long, soft hair and nuzzling against her neck. It occurred to him, as he suckled and nibbled at the old scars there, that he could cover them now. There was nothing stopping him. He could just sink his fangs into her tender skin and …



Buffy moaned in pleasure, and he smiled against her rapidly heating skin, wishing he hadn’t taken quite so many Benadryls … or maybe he should’ve just had one bottle of Jack. Getting up out of this chair without fallin’ on his arse was gonna be an issue for a good while yet.

He sighed contentedly, still nuzzling her neck, as Buffy relaxed against him. One day she’ll think of it herself. One day she would invite him in fully and completely. Until that day, he’d settle for having all the rest of her. It was more than he’d ever imagined, more than he deserved – and if she never thought of it, that would be alright too. She was his – whether his mark was on her neck or not – and he was hers. Nothing would ever change that.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Heart Ain’t a Brain, Chris Brown on YouTube  }}

It's a 360 turn
To sittin' where we began
Beginnin'
Like kids again
Like kissin'
And missin' class
But we needed to learn
What's different
Than just some math
It's the big picture
We missed it
The figures
Just didn't add up

We said let's not leave on bad terms
In between
Them bad words
It could be love right?
Uh huh (uh huh)
But are we gon' leave
When it's this good?
Damn it was just 'cause
Seems this lovin's
All for nothing
Baby, you know

[Chorus:]
A heart ain't a brain
But I think
That I still love you (still love you)
A happy endin'
Makes you cry
'Cause it ends
When you don't want to (don't want to)
And it makes perfect sense
To end it like the start
How do I explain
This nonsense to my heart?
A heart ain't a brain
But I'm thinkin'
That I still love you (still love you ... still love)

It's a fly twist
Just when you said
I got this
Right when the fight
Has stopped it
Seem my body felt wrong
Held on all them nights
We held on
We can't let it go
But if we don't then
We will never know

We said let's not leave on bad terms
In between them bad words
It could be love right?
Uh huh (uh huh)
But are we gon' leave
When it's this good?
Damn it was just 'cause
Seems this lovin's
All for nothing
Baby, you know

[Chorus]

Ohh oh oh oh my heart is achin'
Thinkin' 'bout all the love we've wasted
Oohh ohh ohh
My heart's impatient
Can't understand the time we're takin'
My heart can't guess
My heart can't decide (can't decide)
But it's tellin' me it's right
And I know that we should just call it quits
But I'm thinkin' that all of this gotta change
Cause my heart is going insaneeeeee

[Chorus]

Whoa ohoh whoa whoa ohoh whoa
Heart ain't a brain but I think I love you
Whoa ohoh whoa whoa ohoh whoa
Heart ain't a brain but I think I love you
Whoa ohoh whoa whoa ohoh whoa
Heart ain't a brain but I think I love you
Whoa ohoh whoa whoa ohoh whoa
Heart ain't a brain but I think I love you
Chapter End Notes:
oh, shooo!!! Disaster averted ... for now! What next??? We'll find out Tuesday ...
I Believe in You by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
A couple of weeks later…

Joan answered the knock on their front door with a wide, friendly smile. A tall, dark-haired woman in a Texas Gas Service uniform smiled back at her.



“Hi there. We have a report of a gas leak in the area and we need to check all the homes on this street…” the woman began, stepping forward as if to enter the house.

Joan, however, didn’t move or open the door wider to allow the woman entry. Instead, she turned her head this way and that, sniffing the air for a few moments. Finally, she turned back to the bewildered woman, her bright smile returning.

“Thank you for your concern and dedication to preserving lives, but there is no gas leak within this dwelling,” Joan informed her merrily before swinging the door closed firmly in her face.

After a stunned moment, the knocking began again. Joan turned back around from where she’d begun to walk away and, with the same bright smile, opened the door again. Now there were two people in gas company uniforms on the porch, a tall, sandy-haired man had joined the woman.

Joan tilted her head, waiting for one of them to speak as if she hadn’t just slammed the door in the woman’s face a moment before.

“Buffy!” the man blurted out after a moment of stunned silence.

“No. My name is Joan,” the Bot informed him, focusing on his face and running it through her facial recognition program. “Captain Cardboard,” she announced after a short search. “You work for the wankers at the Initiative, were unable to keep the Slayer satisfied with your inadequate penis, and you are known to frequent vampire whorehouses. The best thing you ever did was leave Sunnydale. We had hoped you’d died a horrible and fitting death.”

Riley’s mouth fell open. The woman, Sam, turned back to look at him over her shoulder, a questioning look on her face.

“She seems to know you, Finn,” Sam observed matter-of-factly.

“It … It’s Buffy,” he replied, utterly taken aback.

“Is your audible range as defective as your penis? I am Joan,” the android repeated. “Buffy is in the kitchen. Are you looking for Buffy?”

“Errr … yes?” Riley replied, confused, trying to look past the blonde and into the house.



“Please wait here,” Joan requested and flung the door closed in their faces again.

In the kitchen, Buffy was cleaning up the mess the babies had made during dinner, wiping down the counters, table, floor … ceiling.

“Captain Cardboard now works for the gas company and he, along with an unidentified female, is standing on our front porch. He would like to see you,” Joan informed Buffy as she came in to the kitchen.

Buffy furrowed her brow, looking up from her work. “Captain …? Riley? Is here? How …?”



Joan tilted her head, considering. “I do not have enough information to answer your inquiry. Would you like me to gather more data?”

“No.” Buffy sighed and tossed the washrag into the sink as she processed this. How did Riley find her? What did he want? She quickly decided whatever it was, it couldn’t be of the good.  “Ummm … why don’t you take the babies upstairs and get Spike up. Tell him who’s here and ask him to come down. You stay upstairs with the babies until I find out what’s going on, okay?”

“The woman wanted to come into the house to check for a gas leak, but I am 100% positive there is no gas leak within our residence, so I did not allow her entry,” Joan offered, picking up first Jade and then Will and settling one toddler on each hip. “That is per the standing directive to not invite strangers in who are not expected and do not have legitimate business in our residence.”

“Good. That’s good,” Buffy replied, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’ll take care of it. You just send Spike down and then stay upstairs with the babies,” she continued, walking out of the kitchen with the Bot.

Joan nodded firmly and headed for the stairs while Buffy went to the front door. She pressed her ear against it and could hear two people talking in hushed whispers, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. She took a deep breath and pulled the door open quickly.

The man and woman on her front porch both stopped talking abruptly and looked up. Joan was right, it was Captain … errr … Riley.

“Riley. Wow. Long time,” Buffy offered tentatively, unsure of what to say to him.

“Buffy! Wow – no kidding! This is quite a … surprise,” Riley replied, still looking a bit shell-shocked.

Buffy’s brows went up. A surprise? He didn’t expect her to be here? “What are you doing here?” she asked, still standing firmly in the doorway, blocking it.

“Well, errr, that is…” Riley stammered.

“You’re not with the gas company,” Buffy noted, folding her arms over her chest.



“I told you this wouldn’t work, soldier,” the tall, dark-haired woman said to Riley.

Riley frowned. “How can you tell we’re not with the gas company?” he asked Buffy.

“They have little laminated name tags hanging around their necks,” Buffy informed him, still standing firmly in the doorway. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Right,” Finn replied, giving her that country-boy smile. The effect was slightly tarnished by the scar that ran from above his right eye to his cheekbone. The memory of him in the vamp whorehouse also tempered the ‘boy next door’ affability he tried to project.

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t White Bread,” Spike’s voice carried past Buffy as he sauntered down the stairs in just his jeans, still buckling his belt as he walked. “I don't usually use the word ‘delicious’...but I've gotta wager this little tableau must sting a bit, eh? Me and your former? Must kill. What can I say? Girl just needs a little monster in her man.”



Shock, and then hatred flashed across Riley’s face before it fell into a mask of simple displeasure. “Spike,” he spat, as if just the name on his lips was poison.

Spike gave him his best smirky-smile, stopping just behind and to the side of Buffy. He draped one arm over her shoulders and leaned into her with the grace of a long repeated habit.

“Last time I saw you, if memory serves, you were getting the juice sucked out of you by some undead ladies of very questionable reputation,” Spike snarked.

Riley stiffened and stood up to his full height. “That’s really not relevant, Doctor.”

 “Ok, let’s all just tone down the testosterone a minute,” Buffy interjected, holding her hands up in a placating gesture. “Why are you here and what are you talking about? Doctor what?” she asked, looking at Riley.

The woman with Riley answered. “We’ve been tracking a pair of Suvolte demons up from Central America. Their eggs and offspring are very valuable to the right people, and extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. Someone calling himself ‘The Doctor’ has the eggs up for sale on the black market,” she explained.

“We have reliable information that says the Doctor is here,” Riley filled in coldly, his eyes boring into the blond vamp. “And the last piece of the puzzle just fell into place, Spike.”

“What?” Buffy interjected incredulously. “You think we’re selling … demon eggs?”

“Not you, him,” Riley corrected, still glaring at Spike.

“The information was very reliable … and specific,” the woman offered.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Buffy asked, glowering at the brunette.

“Oh, sorry. Where are my manners?” The brunette ducked her head and smiled, then stuck out her right hand. “Sam … Sam Finn. Riley’s wife … and superior officer. It’s really an honor to meet you. Riley’s told me so much about the Slayer, but I never thought I’d actually…”

Spike snorted. “Look, crew cut, this is all very entertaining, but you’re off your nut. It must be those drugs they were keeping you on. I did warn you. Now, be a good tin soldier and, uh... run along,” he rejoined, waving his free hand as if to sweep Mr. and Mrs. Finn off the porch.

Riley ignored Spike and turned his eyes back to Buffy. “There’re here, Buffy. And they’re dangerous,” he asserted.

“And I’m telling you they’re not,” Buffy insisted. “No one here would have anything to do with something like that.”

Riley scoffed, his eyes darting to Spike, then back to Buffy, the implication clear.

“Riley, it’s Spike – we’re married now! He wouldn’t!” she defended the unspoken accusation.



“Right. Spike: Deadly ... amoral ... opportunistic … devious … unscrupulous,” Riley reminded her, ticking off the points on his fingers.

“Don’t forget good-looking and athletic,” Spike interjected sarcastically.

“He’s not like that anymore,” Buffy persisted, ignoring Spike and focusing on Riley. “He’s changed.”

“Sorry, Buffy, but I can’t just take your word for it. Not with the information we have…” Riley offered as he began to step across the threshold and press past the two blondes.

Before he even crossed the invisible barrier that separated inside from outside, Spike had released his hold on Buffy, pivoted to turn his body to the side, and hit Riley in the gut with a straight-leg kick, sending the taller man tumbling backwards. The soldier landed in a heap on the front porch six feet away, back near the steps leading down to the front walk.

In the next instant, Sam began to draw a sidearm from its holster at her hip that had been hidden under her jacket. Buffy grabbed the soldier’s wrist before the gun cleared the black nylon, and twisted, sending the brunette spinning and falling down to her knees.

Spike stalked out of the house toward Riley as the soldier rose back to his feet, a stake suddenly appearing in his hand.

“Not quite as helpless as the last time you staked me, you wanker,” Spike growled, kicking the stake out of the man’s hand and sending it skittering across the decking of the porch.

When Riley reached for something else at his belt, Spike’s hand flashed out and closed around the larger man’s throat in a vise-like grip. The vamp lifted Riley straight up by the neck with nothing but raw, furious power as the big man thrashed and pulled at Spike’s fingers in an attempt to breathe.

Spike grinned like a mad-man, his demon surfacing to join the fun, as he held Riley up at arm’s length. Even with his superior height, the soldier’s feet were not touching the ground. When Riley began to turn purple, a haunting, rumbling laugh began to roll from Spike’s throat.



“Spike!” Buffy’s panicked voice cut through Spike’s euphoria of bettering the git who had tortured him for so bloody long. He blinked and looked at her. She looked worried and more than a little pissed. How long had she been yelling his name? He turned his focus back on Riley a moment and realized the man’s heart was laboring dangerously as it tried to provide oxygen to this body.

“Bloody hell,” Spike growled, dropping Riley and shaking off his demon. The soldier collapsed into a choking, gasping heap on the floor.

Buffy was still holding Sam’s arm, twisted up behind the woman’s back, but her full attention was on Spike.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, stepping away from Riley. “Wasn’t gonna kill the berk,” Spike assured her sheepishly. “Just havin’ a bit o’ fun.”

Buffy gave him a hard look.

“Not like he hasn’t done the same t’ me! And worse!” Spike defended angrily. “He bloody staked me ‘fore he scampered off!”

“And yet you look remarkably undusty,” Buffy pointed out.

“Was a plastic stake. Thought it was real, though, didn’ I? Coulda had a heart attack just from the shock of it,” Spike continued.

Buffy snorted and rolled her eyes, her temper fading. Actually, if Spike could stop from killing Riley, she was pretty sure he could stop himself from killing anyone.

Buffy let some of the pressure off Sam’s arm. “Look, I’m telling you, there are no eggs here. There is no Doctor here,” she began.



“Oh, hey guys. What’s going on?” Andrew asked blithely, walking into the foyer behind them. He had a Coke in one hand and a big bowl of popcorn in the other. “I was just gonna watch ‘Doctor Who’ down here, ‘cos the TV in my room is so small I can barely see the TARDIS or the Doctor…”

Four sets of wide eyes turned to him.

Andrew froze, his eyes darting between all the people near or just outside the front door who were staring at him in shocked silence. “What?”

“You little ponce,” Spike growled, striding forward and grabbing Andrew by the throat as he’d done Riley. It took considerably less effort to lift the little twerp up off the floor, sending Coke and popcorn flying in all directions. “Where are they? What the bloody hell ‘ave you brought into my soddin’ house?”

“Spike,” Buffy reacted immediately, releasing the hold she’d had on Sam. The Slayer grabbed Spike’s arm and yanked down on it so Andrew’s feet were back on the ground. “He can’t talk if his windpipe is crushed or his neck is broken,” she pointed out.

Spike muttered several colorful oaths under his breath as he loosened his grip on Andrew’s throat. Just like Riley, the geek began coughing and gasping for air, and rubbing his throat.

“Answer the question, Andrew,” Buffy demanded.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?” he squeaked out, bent over at the waist, still rubbing his throat.

“Demon eggs. Where are they?” Buffy reminded him angrily.

“What? I … don’t know … what you’re… ummm …” Andrew stammered then stopped talking as he looked from one to the other of the blondes standing over him. Riley and Sam had come into the house behind Buffy and Spike and were also frowning down at Andrew.

Andrew took a breath. “They’re not mine! I was just holding them for a friend and …”

“Anndreww,” Buffy snarled his name, elongating it menacingly.

It was all Spike could do to keep from ripping the little bugger’s head off right there. The livid vamp stood stock-still. His eyes alternated between fiery, blue discs and glowing amber, imprisoning Andrew like a bug on a pin with nothing more than his furious glare. Spike kept his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, afraid that, if he moved at all, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Spike’s hands began to tremble with rage and the effort it was taking him to stand still. The little ponce brought dangerous demon eggs into his house?! Near his family?




“Ok! Ok!” Andrew whined, holding up his hands in surrender. “Geez! They aren’t in the house. They’re in the garage … in the old pump room. Seriously! I’m not an idiot. In fact, my mom had me tested and my IQ is–”

“Are they frozen?” Riley asked, interrupting Andrew, as he began moving back out the front door with Sam on his heels.

Andrew tsked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Duh! I have them on dry-ice. If you’d let me finish! My IQ is in the top...”

Buffy grabbed Spike’s arm and forcibly pulled him away from Andrew toward the back door. For a moment she thought Spike wasn’t going to move. His feet seemed cemented to the floor, but at the last moment he took a step to keep from toppling over.

They arrived at the garage’s side door at almost the same time Sam and Riley did.

“Let us handle this, Buffy,” Finn barked at her, reaching for the door.

“Oi! She ain’t your bint anymore, White Bread! Don’t be talkin’ to my wife like one a’ your lackeys,” Spike objected, shouldering hard Riley to the side to give Buffy free access to the door.



“Jesus, Spike! Has all that bleach finally rotted what was left of your pea-brain? Do you really want her to go in there unarmed and possibly get attacked by newly hatched, ravenous Suvolte demons? Or would you rather we go in first?” Riley shot back as he recovered his balance.

Spike blinked at him a moment, then grabbed Buffy and pulled her back from the door. “Credit when it’s due. Soldier-boy has a valid point, luv.”

“Spike!” Buffy protested as she watched the other couple go through the door and disappear into the dark of the building. “It’s our house … or garage! It’s up to us to protect it.”

“Yeah, well, nothing says we can’t … hire an exterminator, is there?” Spike replied rationally.

Buffy scowled at him and pulled her arm from his grasp. “I want to see just what Andrew’s done,” she informed him, stepping through the door.

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes a moment before following her.

When Spike and Buffy got inside, Sam and Riley had opened the door to a four-foot by eight-foot room at the back of the garage that used to house the old well and pump. There normally was little in there, some remnants of the old water system, a rusted tank and some capped pipes, but now the entire floor was covered in large, oval shaped … eggs. Cold air poured out of the door, apparently created by the dry-ice that Andrew was using to keep them frozen.



“The target has been located and secured. LZ is cold, no unfriendlies,” Riley was saying into a radio as Sam guarded the door, an assault rifle trained on the frozen eggs. “Send the reefer to our location for immediate extraction.”

The voice on the other end said something back that Buffy couldn’t quite understand, then Riley replied with, “Copy that. Out.”

“What does all that mean?” Buffy asked him, her brows furrowed.


“Our team will be here in a few minutes with a reefer truck. We’ll get these out of your hair,” Riley replied.



Buffy’s brows went up. “You’re taking them away? Not … killing them? Where are you taking them?”

“That’s classified,” Riley replied in his soldier-voice.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “You said these were dangerous in the wrong hands,” she reminded him. “Just who’s hands are they gonna be in?”

“That’s …”

“Classified,” Buffy finished for him, folding her arms over her chest angrily.

“And who decides who’s hands are ‘wrong’?” she wondered.

“That’s…”

“Classified,” Buffy finished again. She glared at him for several long moments, then said matter-of-factly, “I’m not gonna be able to let you take them.”

“It’s really not your call, Buffy,” Riley countered stanchly.

Buffy gave him an icy smile. “Actually, it is. I’m the Slayer.”



“It’s not that simple,” Riley continued resolutely.

“Seems simple to me. Slayer slays demons. These are demons. Even I can do that math,” Buffy retorted.

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from Mrs. William the Bloody! Have you forgotten what he’s done … what he is?” Riley shot back, suddenly losing his cool, detached soldier-demeanor. “God, Buffy – what happened to you?”

Buffy kept her voice calm, conversational, as she answered. “You wouldn’t be able to handle even hearing about what’s happened to me, Riley. It would melt your brain.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw Sam begin to turn her weapon away from the eggs and toward her. In the next instant Spike’s hand flashed out and violently snatched the gun from the woman’s hand. In the next moment the barrel of the gun had been bent into a ‘C’, rendering it useless.

Riley’s eyes shifted between Spike and Buffy, then he exchanged a meaningful glance with Sam.

“Wouldn’t if I were you, mate,” Spike warned. “Just need a tiny bit of an excuse t’ rip your bloody head off.”

Buffy never moved or changed her expression, keeping Riley pinned with a hard glare. “Get out before I help Spike kill you.”

“I can’t leave the eggs,” Riley told her, looking past Sam to the room full of pods.

“That’s not a problem,” Buffy assured him. She stepped past him to the yard tools that hung on the wall behind him and picked up a machete. “Excuse me,” she said to Sam genially as she pressed past her into the small, cold room.

With Sam and Riley watching her, and Spike watching them, Buffy chopped all the frozen demon eggs into little bits, leaving a giant, slushy, oozing, slightly frozen omelet on the floor of the small room.

“There. Problem solved,” Buffy announced, exiting the room, her machete covered in un-hatched demon gore. She frowned at it, and then quickly swiped both flat sides of the blade across Riley’s clean pants leg, wiping the goo off.

Pleased with her solution to the goo problem, Buffy hung the tool/weapon back in its place on the wall.

"Show’s over,” Spike announced. “Get the fuck off my property.”



“The Doctor’s coming with us,” Riley asserted as he and Sam began walking toward the side door of the garage.

“No, I don’t think so,” Buffy countered.

“You can’t stop us from taking him into custody,” Riley continued angrily. “He may have information about–”

“I don’t care. He’s my little pet geek and I’ll deal with him,” Buffy countered.

“You really can’t stop us,” Riley repeated. “We have our orders. He had the eggs…”

“What eggs?” Buffy shot back, raising her brows innocently.

Riley sighed heavily. “Buffy,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“No eggs. No suspect. No Doctor … no probable cause …” Buffy smiled at him sweetly.

“Best t’ not argue with ‘er, mate. She’s been watching ‘Law & Order’. Knows ‘er rights, she does, and all them manky tricks you power-hungry cop-types use,” Spike advised.

“We’re not cops, we’re soldiers!” Riley countered.

“With no evidence of anything,” Buffy reminded him. “Just go, Riley. Andrew doesn’t know anything worth knowing. Believe me, I rode all the way from California with him – there’s nothing up there but geek-o-matic facts about the Death Star and Jedis … and hobbits or bobbins or something.”

“He got the eggs somewhere,” Sam interjected. “If he could just give us his supplier…”

Buffy rolled her eyes as she began heading back to the house, Sam and Riley on her heels, Spike bringing up the rear where he could keep an eye on them. “Fine, but don’t be surprised if his supplier is named Frodo or … Darth Vader,” Buffy warned the pair.

**~**

“The little ponce scampered,” Spike announced a few minutes later when he came back downstairs after looking for Andrew. “Even took his little toys with ‘im.”

“Damn it,” Riley growled as the refrigerated truck pulled up in front of the house.

“Can’t you track him?” Sam wondered, looking at Spike.

Spike sniffed the air, turning his head this way and that for a moment, then shrugged. “Stench o’ soldier boy’s too strong – drowns everythin’ else out.”

Riley heaved a frustrated sigh. “C’mon, Sam, we’ll do a sweep. If he’s on foot, we might find him on our own.”

Sam turned back to Buffy. “It really was an honor to meet you. Sorry it had to be under such … tense circumstances,” she offered, extending her hand again.

“You were gonna shoot me!” Buffy exclaimed, ignoring Sam’s proffered hand.



“Oh, well … that was just business; doesn’t mean I don’t hold you in the highest esteem and respect your position.”

Buffy snorted. “I find that less of a comfort than you probably meant it to be.”

Sam shrugged and turned to follow Riley into the night.

Buffy flung the door closed at their backs. “Well, that was a good time. We should have them over more often,” she quipped.

Spike smirked at her. “Proud o’ you, luv,” he told her, moving up to stand in front of her. “Held your ground, you did. Didn’t cave … didn’t…” His voice trailed off as he raised a hand and gently brushed his fingertips over her cheek.

“Didn’t believe for a minute that you’d bring demon eggs into our house, no matter how much they were worth?” Buffy finished his thought.

Spike tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement, his blue eyes fixed on hers.

“I’ve seen you change, Spike. Riley didn’t. You can’t blame him for suspecting you – he doesn’t know you anymore. I do.”



“He never knew me, pet,” Spike asserted, his voice low.

Buffy sighed. “Yeah, there was a lot of that going around. He didn’t know me either … and I guess I didn’t know him.

“Is Andrew really gone?” she wondered, quirking a suspicious brow at him.

Spike nodded. “Yeah, really is. Could probably track ‘im, but … what’s the use? All I’d want t’ do is rip his daft head off and shove it up his arse.

“Probably not the example you wanted me t’ set for the bits.”

Buffy smiled and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She pursed her lips as if in thought a moment. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Ripping off of heads and shoving up asses is probably not high on Dr. Spock’s ‘best activities for parents’ list.

“I’m proud of you, too, Mr. Pratt,” Buffy revealed, dropping a swift kiss on the end of his nose.

“Are ya, now? And why would that be?”

“You didn’t kill Riley. Even I wanted to kill Riley,” she divulged, smiling.

Spike wagged his brows at her. “What do I get as a reward for my stellar, gentlemanly behavior?”

Buffy smiled at him brazenly. “What do you want?”



**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Bob Dylan's "I Believe In You" by Alison Krauss on YouTube  }}

They ask me how I feel
And if my love is real
And how I know I'll make it through
And they, they look at me and frown
They'd like to drive me from this town
They don't want me around
'Cause I believe in you.

They show me to the door
They say don't come back no more
'Cause I don't be like they'd like me to
And I, I walk out on my own
A thousand miles from home
But I don't feel alone
'Cause I believe in you.

I believe in you even through the tears and the laughter
I believe in you even though we be apart
I believe in you even on the morning after
Oh, when the dawn is nearing
Oh, when the night is disappearing
Oh, this feeling is still here in my heart.

Don't let me drift too far
Keep me where you are
Where I will always be renewed
And that which you've given me today
Is worth more than I could pay
And no matter what they say
I believe in you.

I believe in you when winter turns to summer
I believe in you when white turns to black
I believe in you even though I be outnumbered
Oh, when the earth may shake me
Oh, though my friends forsake me
Oh, even that couldn't make me go back.

Don't let me change my heart
Keep me set apart
From all the plans they do pursue
And I, I don't mind the pain
Don't mind the driving rain
I know I’ll sustain
'Cause I believe in you.
Chapter End Notes:
I hope I'm not the only one that loves Spike being able to knock Riley around a bit. What will Spike ask for as his 'reward'?? We'll find out on Saturday. A little warning: I may have to adjust my posting schedule. RL has been slapping me around a bit lately. After the next chapter I may have to take a week or two hiatus from posting to get back on track. I apologize; if I can *not* do that I will, but just wanted to warn you guys of the possiblity. Thanks for all your support!
Breakaway, Part 1 by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
WARNING! READ THIS!!
This chapter contains a threesome, as well as girl on girl slash. I've broken this chapter into two parts. The first part (this chapter) actually does not contain any of the threesome or the slash, but has some plot and character development that will be necessary for the story's plot to continue.

THEREFORE ... this part of the chapter has no real warning on it, BUT if you have any issue with a threesome or girl on girl slash, DO NOT READ THE SECOND HALF. There is no plot development in the second half; it is not necessary to the story line, it's just smutty goodness.

You have been warned.
The next day …



Spike smirked as he sat back in the rocker on the porch and propped his feet up on the railing. Buffy and Joan were in the sunny driveway in front of him in their bikinis washing his car. He’d never seen a lovelier sight. Two of the most beautiful women in the world, clad in bikinis, bending, stretching, reaching, flexing, moving with all the grace and agility of Slayers … and getting the DeSoto sparkling at the same time – it was a dream come true. Hot cars and hot women, was there anything better?

He rarely felt left out by not being able to go into the sun, but right this minute he did. He’d love to go out there and … well … errrr … do some things that would be illegal to do in broad daylight in the front garden.



“Now I know Spike loves this car more than he does us,” Buffy whined as she leaned over the hood and swirled the sudsy sponge across the black paint of the DeSoto.

“It seems the only plausible explanation,” Joan agreed as she vigorously scrubbed the hub-cabs and white-walls with a scrub-brush.

“Hey, guys, what’s going on?” India asked, walking up the driveway to where Joan and Buffy were working.

Joan brightened visibly as the dark-haired woman approached them. The artist was wearing a pair of cut-off, paint-spattered, blue jean shorts, cut really short, showing off her shapely legs. Above the shorts she had on a snug, white, ‘Austin City Limits’ tank top that highlighted her olive complexion. A pink string bikini top was visible beneath the light fabric of the top. Her long hair was pulled into a high pony tail on the back of her head, and swung freely as she walked up the drive. On her feet she had on sparkling gold, strappy sandals, which showed off her bubble-gum pink toenails.

Buffy stood back from the newly scrubbed hood and picked up the hose to rinse it off. “We owed Spike a reward … this was his choice,” Buffy told India as she began rinsing the soap off. “Wash and wax the outside, and full detailing on the inside.”

“We believe Spike loves his car more than he does us,” Joan interjected, standing up from where she’d been working.

“Oi!” Spike called from where he was watching them from the porch. “Don’t let the soap dry on them hub-caps, Summers.”

Buffy stiffened and tried to just breathe as his voice grated on her spine. “God grant me patience, ‘cos if He grants me more strength, He better send bail money along with it, 'cos I'm gonna kill that man.”

“Spike has gotten on Buffy’s last nerve. ‘Mr. Bossy-Pants’ is in danger of having Buffy’s foot shoved up his ass cross-ways,” Joan explained to India. “I am not entirely certain his rectum would accommodate her foot in that manner.”

India laughed and waved at Spike, who was just taking a long draft of his beer as he enjoyed the show. The babies, she assumed, must be down for their afternoon nap. She looked back at Buffy and Joan, who had both gone back to washing and rinsing and scrubbing the car.

“Can I help?” the artist asked, moving over to Joan and retrieving a large, yellow sponge from a bucket of soapy water.

Joan smiled brightly. “Yes. That would be extremely pleasant. Would you like to work with me on the tedious, yet rewarding, task of cleaning the tires and wheels, or with Buffy on…”



“You,” India interrupted, kicking her shoes off, flinging them away from the ‘splash zone’, and kneeling down near Joan and the next dirty tire to be tackled.

Joan beamed.

“Don’t forget t’ get the gravel and bits o’ rubbish outta the treads,” Spike called to them.

Joan frowned. “I am becoming more curious about the capacity of Spike’s rectum. Do you believe it could accommodate both Buffy’s foot as well as my own?”

India laughed and shook her head as she leaned in close to Joan and began scrubbing the tire. “I think ‘Mr. Bossy-Pants’ is on the fast track to finding out,” the dark-haired woman joked.

Joan started and her unneeded breath hitched in her chest as the end of India’s long ponytail grazed her bare shoulder. The contact sent Joan’s sensory perceptors blasting off like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

India turned to face Joan – the two women only inches apart as they knelt on the ground by the car. For a moment, they were both frozen in place, then they both began to lean in tentatively, each one’s eyes locked on the other’s mouth. Tongues darted out, wetting their lips, as sensory perceptors sibilated, sentient drives whirled, and lips tingled in anticipation. Slowly … so slowly … they moved, as if drawn by an unseen, external force, neither entirely sure of themselves or what would happen if they continued to yield to the pull.

In the next moment, water was raining down on them as Buffy, who was on the other side of the DeSoto, began to rinse off the roof of the car. Both women shrieked as the cold water hit them and jumped up from their kneeling position behind the fender.

“Oh, God! I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were…” Buffy began, but before she could even finish the thought, Joan had picked up a bucket of sudsy water and heaved the contents at Buffy, drowning her in the cold, soapy water, and India had hurtled the wet sponge in her hand at the Slayer.

Buffy shrieked and retaliated with more spray from the hose, and before long, the whole scene devolved into little more than a water fight.

Spike smirked as he sat back and feasted on the three beautiful, scantily clad, drenched women laughing and running around the car. Each combatant was giving as good as they got. Time and again, the hose was wrenched free and turned back on the original wielder of it, only to be pulled free and turned on the next victim. Not that anyone was holding onto it all that strongly, of course, amidst the laughter and joviality. Their giggles and gleeful shrieks filled the air; the poor car, still partially covered with quickly-drying soapsuds, being utterly ignored.

Spike couldn’t even bring himself to bark at them about the suds drying on ‘his precious’ as he watched the mêlée. Despite the abandoned ‘mission’, he was suddenly quite pleased with his choice of reward for not killing Captain Cardboard. Quite pleased indeed.

 **~**

That night …

After spending a hot, wet, exhausting, but fun afternoon in the sun, Buffy called dibs on the upstairs shower and Joan on the downstairs, leaving Spike last in the line to get cleaned up that night.

He opened the door to the master bedroom, still drying the water from his hair. Droplets rained down from his still-wet curls, running over his shoulders, and down his chest and back as he rubbed at his thick locks with the towel. The moment he stepped into the master bedroom, however, his hands froze.



A sudden feeling of déjà vu washed over Spike as he took in the scene that greeted him: Buffy and Joan had … started without him. He absently dropped the towel, his hair still dripping, as he stared at the scene laid out before him: strong, feminine arms wrapped around supple curves; lean, graceful legs twined around their mirror image; smooth, soft, sweat-soaked skin slid against the same.

Buffy and Joan hadn’t done this since … well, since the eve of their wedding – well, not to his knowledge anyway.

Spike was only slightly less surprised this time than the first time he’d walked in on such a tableau between his two Slayers, but that slight bit made all the difference in the world. Spike pulled the door closed behind him gently, trying to not make a sound to interrupt the women. With his cock suddenly rock hard, he leaned his back against the door and simply drank in the grace and splendor of it … ok, yeah, and it was pretty hot too.

 **~**

A little while earlier …

Buffy and Joan both collapsed on the big, king bed in the master bedroom after their showers. Buffy’s skin was pink from the sun she’d gotten during the afternoon spent washing the DeSoto and having the water fight.



Joan turned onto her side, supporting her head with one hand, and poked a finger down on Buffy’s arm, then lifted it up, making the skin turn white a moment, but then fade back to reddish-pink. Joan repeated the procedure several more times in different spots, as if performing a scientific study of the phenomenon.

Buffy turned onto her side, mirroring her twin, with her arm bent and her head resting in her hand. “So,” she began. “You and India …. how’s that going?”

Joan furrowed her brow slightly. “We are friends.”

“Yeah, I get that … but she … tingles your … sibalators, right?”

Joan’s frown deepened.  “There are no sibalators contained in my strong, yet shapely, form. However, in her company, my pleasure sensors sibilate at an inordinately rapid pace.”

“That’s what I said,” Buffy pouted.

“No. In fact, what you said is…” Joan began to argue.

Buffy raised a hand to stop her. “Here’s the point. Do you want to … be with her?”

“I am often with India. We spend many days painting, shopping, exploring…”

Buffy waved a hand again. “Do you want to BE with her … romantically?”

“I am with you and Spike,” Joan pointed out, holding up her right hand and the ring there that matched Buffy’s and Spike’s.



“I know, sweetie … but … well, if you wanted to be … ‘Aunt Joan’ and just be with us … as our friend – as my sister, that would be okay. I mean … if you wanted to try with India,” Buffy offered gently.

Joan blinked sudden moisture from her eyes. “You … do not wish me to be your companion any longer?”



“No! No, no … it’s not that,” Buffy assured her, shaking her head adamantly. “I just … well, you’ve done so much for us, I thought you might like a chance to … you know … have a life that you choose. It doesn’t mean we don’t love you, it’s just … well, you’ve grown and … sometimes things change when people – or bots – grow. Maybe it’s time to, you know, test your wings – metaphorical wings – at bit … on your own, if you wanted to, with someone else … like India.”

Joan bit her lip and furrowed her brow as she considered this a few moments. “I would still be part of our family?”

“Yes, always,” Buffy assured her.

“You would still love me?”

“Honey, yes, always … and Spike too … we’d both still love you – and we’d miss you, but we thought … you deserved this chance. India really likes you and … she’s a lovely, if rather strang… errr … eccentric, person and so are you.”

“And if … my metaphorical wings were metaphorically insufficient to support my metaphorical body weight, may I return to the metaphorical nest?” Joan wondered worriedly.

Buffy laughed and nodded. “Un-metaphorically.”

Joan suddenly turned shy, her voice low and slightly unsure. “You are my very best friend. I love you, Buffy. I would not want to do anything to jeopardize…”

Buffy pressed a finger over her friend’s lips, silencing her. “I love you too, Joan,” Buffy replied just as softly. “Nothing’s in jeopardy.” Buffy slid her hand down to Joan’s shoulder as she slowly leaned in and touched her lips to her friend’s in a gentle kiss.

When the kiss broke, Joan’s brows furrowed in worry. “I love you and I love Spike and I love Jade and I love Will. Do you believe it is possible for me to love India, as well? What are the size constraints on sentient emotions such as love?” Joan wondered. “I do not wish to lead her to believe I could love her, but then be incapable of fulfilling that promise.”

Buffy smiled and shook her head. “There are no size constraints on love, honey,” Buffy assured her.



Joan smiled, clearly relieved. “Then, yes, I believe I would enjoy exploring romantic opportunities with India. She’s very beautiful, don’t you think? And intelligent and talented and amusing?”

Buffy nodded. “Very.”

“My pleasure sensors are sibilating quite rapidly with the contemplation of such an exploration,” Joan divulged, her words coming out breathily in the quiet room.

“Mine too,” Buffy replied in a hushed whisper. “But I have a different exploration in mind. Could we have one more … adventure together before you … commit to someone else?”

Joan swallowed and nodded. “I would find much satisfaction in that.”

**~**

.... Continued in Part 2. If you have an issue with threesomes or girl on girl slash/femslash, STOP NOW - do not read the second half. Simply skip the next posted chapter (Breakaway Part 2) and pick up again in the one following it.
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! I know I'm behind on responding to feedback, but I read it right away when you post and will get caught up, I promise! Your notes mean THE WORLD to me. {hugs you guys}
**
Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK!
**
Finally, thanks to Dark Heart for his incredible suggestions, encouragement, and acting as a sounding board when I got stuck. If not for him, this chapter would still be languishing and floundering around in the depths of my muse's sometimes stubborn (and always evil) brain.
**
All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Breakaway, Part 2 by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
There were two chapters posted today! Be sure to read PART 1 of this chapter FIRST.
READ THIS!!! It's important!!

If you have an issue with threesomes or girl on girl slash/femslash, TURN BACK NOW!

This part of the chapter has a threesome and girl on girl slash. There is no plot development in this half; it is not necessary to the story line, it's just smutty goodness.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

I don't really have screencaps for most of this, so ... hopefully the words paint the pictures for you.


Buffy slid her hand down from Joan’s shoulder to touch her bare breast, teasing the Bot’s dusty-pink nipple to hardness.

Joan’s free hand crossed the space between them and began caressing Buffy’s body from her hip to the swell of her breast and back again, following the rolling curves with a feather-like, nearly-tickling touch.

Buffy moaned and leaned in for another kiss, pressing her lips against Joan’s. Buffy never knew what Joan would taste like on any given day. It depended on what edible lubricant Joan filled her internal reservoir with, but tonight it was Buffy’s favorite: the tangy/sweet combination of strawberries and raspberries. Not too sweet, not too tart … mmmmm … just right.

Buffy slid her hand up behind Joan’s neck and pulled her friend against her harder, deepening the kiss. Joan responded in kind, her lips parting to allow Buffy’s tongue to dart between them, tasting and teasing the Bot’s lips and tongue.

To Joan, Buffy tasted as she nearly always did: a salty-sweet tang with a splash of spice and nearly always a faint tinge of chocolate. Buffy had tasted differently when she had been pregnant; Joan could actually taste Spike mingled with Buffy’s essence as the babies grew within her womb, but now it was all Buffy again. The Slayer’s lips were always cool compared to the Bot’s electronics-heated flesh. Joan always loved the feel of them on hers: soft and cool, delicately feminine and yet strongly passionate.

Buffy’s tongue swirled around Joan’s in a tango, silent but for the throaty moans emitted by both women. Small, powerful hands continued to explore the silken body of the other. Their fingers gently roamed over supple hills and valleys, rolled around dangerous curves, and snaked through nimble hair-pin turns, as the kiss continued in a slow, sensuous coupling.

Their bodies inched closer on the bed until they were pressed tightly together, savoring the feel of strong, yet yielding flesh against their own. The kiss broke momentarily as Buffy gasped for oxygen, but resumed only a moment later and continued on just as sumptuously.

With their torsos fused in a heated embrace, their free hands roamed over the other’s back. First weaving through long, golden tresses, then skimming over shoulder-blades, and traversing the luscious curve of the other’s spine until their hands settled on their doppelganger’s ass. Almost as one, their fingers dug into the tight, fleshy globes beneath their palms, eliciting more gasps against the other’s lips.

The room was filled with the sounds of moans and throaty growls as the fires of their passion grew and spread as if fanned by the Santa Ana winds. Hands tugged and groped and caressed supple flesh and velvety skin. Their mouths and tongues feasted on the other’s: kissing, nibbling, licking, then breaking apart for heady gulps of air before devouring the other again. Slender hips moved sensuously against their mirror-image, thrusting in a primal dance of need. Lean, tan legs tangled and snaked together in an effort to get even closer. Hips swiveled in a fluid, elegant samba as pubic bones pressed together in a desire to sate the need building deep in their cores; a need to be consumed, devoured, engulfed, and overwhelmed by their lover.

Both women groaned against the other’s lips in frustration as their need not only remained unfulfilled, but continued to grow by leaps and bounds. Finally, Joan pressed against Buffy’s shoulder, pushing the Slayer onto her back. Joan followed her over, never breaking the kiss, until her body was atop Buffy’s, her hips straddling the other woman’s. Buffy’s hands tangled in Joan’s soft tresses as the Bot’s mouth slowly pulled away from Buffy’s.  

Joan began kissing and nibbling a line of blazing passion down the Slayer’s body. Trailing her lips and tongue down to Buffy’s neck, Joan softly kissed and suckled the tender spot just behind her twin’s ear that she knew drove Buffy crazy. Gasps and whimpers of pleasure fell from Buffy’s throat as Joan teased her heated flesh with lips, tongue, teeth, and hands. Her hair fell in waves, tickling against Buffy’s over-heated skin, which only added to the heady mixture of sensations raining down on the Slayer. The Bot then began moving lower, licking and kissing down Buffy’s neck to her collarbone, then lower still…

Buffy’s moan rasped from her lips and her lissome body arched up off the bed in a bow when Joan’s mouth closed over one sensitive nipple, sucking it between her lips and worrying it with her teeth. Joan’s hand fondled Buffy’s other breast, squeezing the pliant mound of flesh lovingly before ghosting her thumb over the neglected nipple. Buffy cried out wordlessly, her supine form jerking and shuddering in pleasure, as her friend, her twin, her lover, made love to her body, her skin, her breasts.

“Oh God, oh … Joan … yes … God … yes,” Buffy gasped out as goose-flesh raced over her skin, tingling every inch of her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She felt at once hot and cold as ripples of bliss began building and spreading out from her center. Like a pebble dropped into a pond, the waves grew larger and larger as they slowly traveled out from her core, until she was engulfed in a tidal wave of orgasmic rapture.

As Buffy’s body began to tense and quake, Joan redoubled her efforts. She began twisting one nipple roughly while raking her teeth over the other, then sucking it hard and pulling away, stretching the Slayer’s breast to the brink of pain. Sliding her free hand down Buffy’s hard-earned, flat stomach, Joan slipped a finger through the Slayer’s soft curls. She gently circled Buffy’s clit, teasing the little nubbin, before she grazed over it with the tips of her fingers, sending electrical impulses surging out into that rippling pond.

A primal scream poured from Buffy’s lips in a raging torrent as her nimble body again arched up off the bed with pleasure, pressing against her lover. Buffy’s whole body contracted, beginning in the unfathomable depths of her core, as the release she’d been so desperate for crashed over her like a tidal wave. Her limbs quivered with the powerful storm that raged through her. Her mind blanked, and all that was left was the sensation: falling, flying, diving, climbing, and then falling again. It was exquisite.

**~**



Spike was mesmerized. If his heart could beat, it would’ve broken his ribs as he watched his two beautiful, lithe, sensuous women make love. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen such things before, but this was so much different. This was Buffy and Joan. At one time he would’ve said it was ‘two Buffys’, but that wasn’t accurate any longer. Joan may look like Buffy in almost every way, but she was distinct. She was Joan. She was no longer Buffybot in any way except for her remarkable, physical likeness to Buffy.

Spike’s desire for his two lovers multiplied exponentially with each passing moment as he leaned his back against the closed door and let his eyes, ears, and nose feast on them. They were more beautiful than anything he had ever seen or could’ve even imagined just a few short years ago.

His eyes drank in the two sensual women. Each with entrancing, vibrant green eyes; long, soft hair that fell in golden waterfalls; flexible, graceful bodies which were firm, yet curved in all the right places; soft, pink lips; lithe, dancer’s legs; and strong, comforting arms that he cherished being engulfed in. 
   
His ears reveled in the music of their love-making. The gasps and moans; the whimpers and screams; the words of love and joy; the cries to God and curses of pleasure. The sound of lips on lips, of flesh on flesh, of bodies coming together, giving each other pleasure … there was no music ever invented that could compare to their intoxicating rhapsody.

His hyper-active olfactory senses savored the sweet aromas their bodies were emitting. The zest of rapture, the salty tang of Buffy’s heated skin, the hint of sweet strawberries and the tart trace of raspberries from Joan, all engulfed him and threatened to overwhelm him.

His hands, his mouth, his tongue, his skin, his raging hard-on – all the rest of him – urged him to move, to act, to give his other senses the same joyous feast that his eyes, ears, and nose were devouring greedily. But Spike was spellbound by the erotic beauty and carnal grace of his two women, and could not have moved at that moment for all the treasure in King Solomon’s fabled mines.

 **~**

As Buffy’s scream faded to gasping gulps of air, Joan reverted back to teasing, gentle touches and soft kisses on her twin’s warm, glistening skin. Joan resumed her slow trek down Buffy’s body, but, after a few moments to recover her senses, Buffy stopped her. With a strong hand on each of Joan’s upper arms, Buffy pulled her clone back up her body and simultaneously flipped them over on the large bed.

Buffy’s body pinned Joan’s down on the soft mattress, and she dropped her mouth to her friend’s in a frantic kiss. Joan responded in kind, wrapping her arms around her lover and pulling their bodies together tightly. Once again, their hips began gently rocking against each other on instinct; their bodies lost in a decadent, timeless dance.

Buffy pulled back from the passionate kiss to breathe, resting her forehead against her twin’s, her shimmering locks falling in waves around them, enclosing their faces in a gossamer curtain. Neither had noticed, or at least not acknowledged, Spike’s presence. They were lost in their own tableau … their own dance, and the shroud of Buffy’s hair surrounding their faces made it seem like they were the only people in the world in that moment.

Over the months, Buffy, Spike, and Joan had explored each other’s bodies, learned what made the others feel good and what made them feel great. Not since the night before the ceremony atop the Rock of Gibraltar had Buffy and Joan indulged without Spike, but it somehow simply felt right now. To be together like this – perhaps for the very last time, depending on how things went with India – simply seemed natural and fitting.

Just like Spike, Joan had been beside Buffy during what were undeniably the worst months of her life. The Bot had protected Buffy, had saved her life twice, in fact. She’d helped Spike rescue her from the Council. She’d helped Spike exact revenge on the bastard that had not only put Buffy there, but had weakened her, tortured her, raped her, and, perhaps worst of all, turned the Slayer into a victim. Joan had worked side-by-side with them to make their ‘new’ old house a warm and welcoming home for the babies. Joan had been in the delivery room when the twins were born, and she took her role as Aunt to heart.

Over the months, Buffy had realized that Joan had been right: Buffy was the nexus of their family. She was the Velcro that held the three of them together. If Buffy had been killed in Sunnydale, Spike and Joan would’ve soldiered on for the sake of Jade and Will, but it wouldn’t have been the same. Each would simply be a reminder, perhaps even a painful reminder, of what was lost, not a replacement. Joan was no longer ‘BuffyBot’ in any sense except appearance. She was Joan d’Arc; she was her own person and someone that Buffy had come to care for, and rely on, deeply.

“I do love you, you know?” Buffy whispered gently to Joan beneath the golden veil of her long, silken tresses.

Joan smiled up at her friend. “I am cognizant of that emotion emanating from you.”

Buffy nodded against Joan’s forehead, her hair rippling around their faces. “And this will always be your home. Never worry about being alone or your wings not being strong enough. Always remember, ‘home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in’.”

Joan tilted her head slightly to the side, considering this. “I do not believe that to be strictly accurate…” she began.

Buffy pressed her lips against the Bot’s, silencing her momentarily. “Trust me – it’s a rule or a law or something,” Buffy asserted when the kiss broke.

Joan nodded and her hands began moving over Buffy’s back in a gentle caress. “I feel adequately reassured by this proclamation.”

Buffy dropped another gentle kiss on Joan’s warm lips, then began spreading out, peppering her twin’s face with soft, damp kisses. Buffy began to slowly move down Joan’s body; her soft, supple skin sliding provocatively against her clone’s, like silk against delicate lace. The Slayer’s fluid body flowed over her lover like a sleek sheet of liquid fire as she continued her torrent of feather-soft kisses over the Bot’s smooth, sensitive dermis.

Joan moaned in pleasure as Buffy traveled down, using her mouth and hands to tease and tantalize all of Joan’s pleasure sensors, sending them into fits of pulsating desire. Buffy paused to lavish her lover’s breasts with the same silken kisses and velvety caresses, eliciting whimpers and gasps of pleasure from Joan’s lips. Joan shivered as Buffy’s efforts brought the goose-flesh up on the Bot’s silky-smooth skin. Joan’s nipples hardened into pebbles under Buffy’s mouth and hands, drawing a moan from Buffy as she flicked her tongue lightly over one, then the other.

After lavishing Joan’s firm, round breasts mercilessly for some minutes, Buffy continued on her journey, her body gliding down her lover’s with a smooth, liquid grace. Joan jerked and squealed with laughter when Buffy nibbled on the spot on the side of her waist near her access panel where the Slayer knew the Bot was ticklish. Buffy laughed in turn, looking up to meet her twin’s eyes with a glint of evil glee in her own.



Joan bit her bottom lip to suppress the remainder of the giggle, holding Buffy’s eyes with hers. Never taking her eyes off Joan’s, Buffy traced the faint, but ticklish, water-tight edge of the access panel with the tip of her finger. To the uninformed, while it was closed, the small line might look like some type of scar or a strange birthmark on Joan’s stomach and side. Buffy and Spike, of course, knew better, but to the rest of the world it was nothing more than a faint blemish on the Bot’s otherwise perfect skin. When Joan began to squirm and laugh again, Buffy showed her friend mercy, and rubbed the area more forcefully with her hand to brush the tickle away.

As Joan’s laughter abated, their eyes remained locked on one another, a lover’s connection, each looking deeply into the un-curtained windows of the other’s soul.

Did bots have souls? Buffy had wondered this more than once. But did it really matter? Spike didn’t have a soul, but he had a heart; she could see it every time she looked into his eyes. The same seemed true for Joan. Perhaps there was no soul bestowed from a ‘higher power’, but Joan’s heart… Joan’s heart might be made of silicon, but it was steadfast and true, and the emotions emanating from it shone in her eyes just as Spike’s did.

Buffy finally broke the connection, dropping a gentle kiss on the ticklish spot. Joan reached one hand down and cupped her lover’s face gently. The Slayer leaned into her doppelganger’s gentle touch, letting her eyes fall closed, just savoring the feel of her girlfriend’s small, soft hand against her skin. Buffy sighed contentedly and turned to press a feathery kiss into Joan’s palm before continuing her trek down. Her lips and mouth traveled southward; grazing over Joan’s flat stomach – down – over one protruding hipbone – and down further yet.

**~**

Spike watched in wonder as Buffy settled herself between her lover’s legs, draping each one over a shoulder. He could hear Joan’s unneeded breath hitch in her throat in anticipation of the rapture to come. Although the opposite had often been true, he’d never seen Buffy pleasure Joan like this before. The sight of it pressed on the small spot in his brain that still had blood-flow, and finally urged him forward, nearer the two lovers.

He silently stepped up behind Buffy, watching intently, unable to take his eyes off the gentle, blissful coupling of the two women. It was a good thing Spike didn’t have to breathe, because he wouldn’t have been able to at that moment. His contention only a few minutes before that he’d never seen anything more beautiful was suddenly shattered as he watched his amazing wife make love to his …

Spike paused as something in his brain choked and rumbled to life … a thought. Joan, he realized, was many things now, but she was not ‘his’ anymore; hadn’t been for a right good while.

Joan was her own woman now. The thought both saddened and cheered him. His Bot was no longer anyone’s property. She was self-aware, she could make her own decisions, she could analyze problems and solve them all on her own. She didn’t need anyone to tell her what the mission was any longer; she understood it and could adapt to changes in circumstances. She had learned. She had grown. She had evolved.

Joan was his friend, his lover, sometimes his confidant, often his conspirator; she was his children’s Aunt and his wife’s best friend and their partner. But she was not ‘his’. Buffy was more ‘his’ than Joan was now … but that was only fair, as he was hers, utterly and completely.



Spike reached out both hands and caressed the sweet ass that Buffy had been so worried about being saggy, circling his palms over the smooth globes.

Buffy jumped, momentarily startled from her reverie, and turned to see Spike standing behind her. Their smoldering eyes met and held for what was at once an eternity and the briefest of moments. She smiled at him, half-guilty for starting without him, but fully pleased with the obviously strong reaction he’d had to their ‘transgression’.  

Keeping her upper body pressed down onto the mattress between Joan’s legs, Buffy arched her back and pulled her knees forward, raising her round, firm ass into the air, opening herself up to her husband.

Spike hands glided over her hips, her back, her ass-cheeks, down her thighs, and back up again. The feel of her, combined with the spicy tang of her cum from earlier with Joan, made his cock twitch and jerk as it stood at nearly-painful attention. He couldn’t remember ever wanting or loving anyone more than at that moment.

Spike teased Buffy’s opening with his cock, covering himself with her sweet, slick essence. He slid between her thighs, between her soft, damp lips, grazing her clit with his hardness as she whimpered and gasped with pleasure. Spike would’ve liked to have teased and tortured her, and Joan, for that matter, for hours for starting without him – a fitting punishment, he thought – but she and Joan had already nearly undone him. That would have to wait for later; right now he just needed to be buried inside her.

In the next moment, Spike was sliding into Buffy’s heat; his hips slowly pressing forward, his thick cock stretching her, filling her tight, wet channel. After waiting and watching for so long, it was all Spike could do to keep from thrusting into her hard, and simply exploding deep inside her body in one primal motion, but he restrained his savage desire. There was something else he wanted to see, now that the opportunity had been laid at his feet.

Buffy gasped at the sweet invasion, her eyes fluttering closed, momentarily lost in the magic of the initial connection. It was a feeling she’d never grow tired of. It was as if she were suddenly made part of something larger, something more powerful than either she or Spike individually. It made her feel whole, complete. It flooded her with a feeling of belonging; as if she was finally in the right place – the place she’d been searching for her whole life, it seemed.

Spike fought his desires and continued to press into her slowly as her undulating channel yielded to him, welcoming his cool hardness into her soft heat. When he was buried inside her to the hilt, Spike leaned forward and began kissing the soft, tan skin of Buffy’s back, worshiping her with his lips, tongue, and hands.

She was the most beautiful, most passionate creature in heaven or earth, and she was here with him, loving him. The very idea of it was still hard for Spike to accept. He would always be beneath her, but she made him feel like that wasn’t so; she made him feel like he belonged. He was finally home. After a century-plus of searching, he had found where he fit in within the puzzle of life.

Spike leaned down even further over her back until he could nuzzle her neck with his lips. Buffy’s body responded as his mouth found that perf ect spot beneath her ear – that one that seemed to have a direct line to her core. She pressed back against him, urging him to move, to press even deeper, to plunge into her molten center.

But Spike did none of that. He instead whispered against her ear, “Let me see you make ‘er cum, luv. Want to spill inside you when your lips are covered with her sweet cunny juice ...”



Buffy turned her face to his, meeting his eyes again. She could see the fire in them, the blue burning so hot she thought it might scorch her if she looked into them for too long. She touched a tentative kiss against his lips before turning her attention back to the recently neglected member of their party.

Buffy’s heart pounded like a jackhammer in her chest with Spike buried deep in her core and Joan’s clean, pink pussy only inches from her lips. Spike’s words encouraged her; they made her entire core pulse and her body tremble. She was, again, the nexus … the heart, the center of her two lovers, and she wanted to give them both as much as they had always given her – which was everything.

Buffy began tentatively, spreading Joan’s damp lips open to reveal her hard little nub and glistening opening. Joan whimpered and moaned as the cool air of the room touched her over-heated flesh, again giving Buffy confidence to continue. Buffy blew a firm column of air against her lover’s clit, teasing her with the silken-coolness. Joan’s hips jerked and lifted off the bed, silently pleading for more as the air flowed over her, a promise of more.

Buffy began to tease and torture Joan, intending to lift her to the highest pinnacle before allowing her to fall, but at that moment Spike began moving inside her, sliding slowly out of her aching core. Buffy gasped, her eyes fluttering closed, her mission momentarily interrupted by the bliss of his cock tugging at her opening as he moved.

Buffy swallowed hard, fighting to maintain her composure, and forced her eyes open. The Slayer struggled to gather her wits as Joan whimpered and tried to lift her sex up to Buffy’s lips, and Spike slowly, achingly slowly, slid back inside her.

Buffy savored the feeling of Spike's cock pressing into her from behind as she turned her attention back to Joan lying spread open in front of her. Maybe it was Spike, inside her, maybe it was seeing Joan's legs open for her, but Buffy's mouth watered as she moved to make love to her best friend.

The first touch of her tongue to Joan's hot core was delicious and electric. Joan arched her back, lifting herself off the bed and trying to push her sex further towards Buffy's waiting mouth. Buffy, feeling safe and loved by her husband, who was still sliding in and out of her oh-so-slowly, and her twin in front of her, was suddenly overwhelmed with wanton desire. She needed them both flying with her, soaring from the highest peak, falling from the pinnacle of ecstasy, and floating in the sea of bliss alongside her. At that moment nothing else mattered, nothing else existed – just the burning need to come utterly undone with her lovers.

Lifting her eyes to her twin’s face, Buffy thrust her tongue into Joan's warm channel, swirling the appendage around inside, trying to draw more of the tasty liquid from her clone’s depths. She heard a deep growl, almost a groan, from behind her and Spike's hip jerked into her fast and hard. Spike, apparently, liked the sight of his wife being tongue-deep inside another woman.

Buffy kept up her assault, alternating between sucking on the little nubbin at the top of Joan's center, and thrusting her tongue inside her, searching for magical spots that would trigger gasps and moans from her twin.

The sight of his beautiful, sexy wife making passionate love to her twin with her mouth and hands was almost more than Spike’s self-control could withstand. When Buffy’s pussy clenched and tightened around him in reaction to the all the sensations bombarding her, he was sure he’d lost the battle.

“Make ‘er cum, luv … not sure how long … you women are undoin’ me…” Spike begged as his hips shuddered against Buffy in fast, short, instinctive strokes.

Buffy sucked down hard on Joan’s bundle of pleasure sensors, worrying the slippery pearl in earnest with her teeth as Spike began pounding into her harder, deeper, and faster. The women’s cries of pleasure were a heavenly chorus to Spike’s ears as he watched his wife devour Joan’s sweet pussy and watched Joan’s face contort in beautiful, blissful reverie.

“God, Buffy … so fucking good, luv. So hot you are … what you do to me … can’t … never … bloody fuck, Buffy!”

Buffy was wild with lust; Spike’s words, his cock thrusting into her, and Joan’s cries only made her wilder. She wanted nothing more than to lift her lovers to the very edge of the atmosphere. She wanted to make Spike mad with lust, she wanted to make him lose control, and roar and curse and cum inside her. She wanted to hear Joan’s scream, feel her quiver and buck beneath her. Buffy wanted to overflow her lover’s buffers, sibilate her sensors, and defibrillate her drives.

Buffy slid two fingers into Joan’s slick, hot channel and began to pump, matching Spike’s now frantic rhythm as he slammed into her. The Slayer began alternating between soft licks and hard sucks against her lover’s clit as she fucked her hard and deep, sending Joan’s lean, lithe body quivering with joy.

Joan’s hips jerked, then writhed in pleasure against Buffy’s mouth while a loud burst of rapturous joy sprang from her lips.

With Joan’s exclamation, Spike’s hips suddenly jerked into Buffy even harder, pushing Buffy’s body forward, burying her mouth harder against her twin’s tangy-sweet, hot pussy.

Buffy inhaled sharply as Spike’s cock drove into her, momentarily lost in the sensation of being filled so completely. Her back arched and she moaned against her lover’s mound as Spike’s words and actions sent fissures of bliss spider-webbing out in all directions.

“Buffy … make ‘er cum, luv … please, pet … need t’ see you both unravelin’ under me,” Spike pleaded as his body began to take the upper-hand in the war, wrenching the last vestiges of his control away.

Buffy responded to Spike’s plea – it’s what she wanted too – for her lovers to unravel around her … with her. With conscious thought gone, driven only by primal need, Buffy curled her fingers inside her lover and scraped at the upper wall of her channel with her fingertips, searching for the small, elusive bundle of nerves ... or sensors buried there. Buffy continued to devour her lover’s juices, licking and sucking Joan’s pulsing clit as she searched frantically for the spongy button that she knew would utterly undo her twin.

Suddenly, Joan’s body went rigid and her back arched up off the mattress in sensory overload. The Bot’s scream was at first amplified by Buffy’s urgent pressure on her g-spot, but then it died on her lips just as suddenly, apparently all oxygen gone from her body just that quickly.

As Joan’s body quaked in bliss, Spike’s hands left Buffy hips and began roaming over her curves; over her hips, to her waist, and then around her to cup her breasts.

“Cum for me, Slayer … God, Buffy, cum for me hard, baby. Cum undone, luv ... let go,” he rumbled against her as he tweaked her nipples, turning them into hard pebbles while still driving into her, deep and hard. "Fuck, Buffy! Let go! Cum, Slayer! Cum for me!"

Buffy continued to fight her own release as she ravished her lover’s pussy, but the fissures Spike had opened up in her began to widen and deepen. When Joan gasped in ragged breaths of air and began to scream yet again, Buffy felt herself inching closer to the edge of the bottomless chasm of rapture. She could barely hear Spike begging her to let go of the ledge and fall as all the sensations bombarded her, overwhelming her mind and body.

When Joan’s scream began again, Spike couldn’t hold back another second. He slammed into Buffy with all the force and preternatural strength he possessed; all semblance of control utterly lost. A deep, basso roar escaped his throat as he felt his cum boiling up, filling his cock, finding its release deep inside his wife’s sweet, hot center.

Spike’s roar vibrated through Buffy’s entire body, shaking her to the core. She could feel his cock swell and pulse deep inside her as Joan bucked and jerked beneath her. Buffy’s resolve was shattered, and she quickly slipped past the point of no return with them.

In the next moment, Buffy’s scream pierced Spike’s eardrums. Her sugar walls tightened and fluttered around him. The Slayer’s womb kissed the head of his cock with frantic desire, trying to pull him even deeper inside her, as Spike emptied himself into her, coating her with his essence, filling her with his seed.

Buffy felt an intense eruption swelling up from the deepest, widest canyon that had opened within her, and then she felt her fingers slip off the ledge of that wide chasm. The sound of her own scream washed over, rising from the darkest depths of her being, as she fell into the blissful, pitch-black of nothingness.

With her lover’s hearts filling her soul with exaltation, she tumbled backwards, falling down, down, down … spiraling out of control in the darkness, no longer aware of anything but the feeling of rapture that poured from the abyss and flowed over her body.

Buffy clung to Spike’s and Joan’s hearts, holding them firmly inside her own, as the three of them unraveled in the dark nothingness of euphoria. Long, fine ribbons of color whipped and fluttered in the zephyrs of bliss that washed over them, twirling them and tangling them around each other until neither could tell where one began and the other ended. Hearts and bodies were entwined and knotted together, joined inescapably to the others with Buffy as their nexus – their soul.

When the three lovers returned from their trip to the dark side of the rainbow, they were sprawled in a tangled pile of torsos and limbs on the bed. They all gasped for air, despite two of them not actually needing any, and chests heaved with exertion.

Spike rolled Buffy’s limp body over until she was facing him and captured her cum-slick lips in a desperate kiss. The flavor of Joan mingled with Buffy’s sweet zest creating an intoxicating cocktail for the vamp. Spike moaned against her mouth as he drank it down greedily. His hand slipped down her body as he kissed her, and slid between her pussy lips. He swirled his fingers in the slurry of cum he found there, coating his digits in their combined essence.



When the kiss broke, he slowly lifted his shimmering fingers to her lips. Buffy’s green eyes met his. Despite his cum dripping from her channel, the blue depths of his eyes were still smoldering just beneath the surface. She felt his gaze penetrate and sizzle her somewhere deep inside, reigniting her own fires. Keeping her eyes locked on his, Buffy closed her swollen, wet lips around his digits and sucked his slick fingers into her hot mouth slowly. She moaned around his fingers as their cum combined with the flavor of Joan already on her tongue, creating an ambrosia of ecstasy within her mouth.

Joan whimpered and pouted as she snaked her way against Spike’s other side, clearly feeling left out. Spike smirked as Buffy released his now clean fingers, leaned across him, and kissed Joan deeply, sharing the nectar of the gods with her twin.

Spike watched, enchanted, as his two beauties ravished each other’s lips and tongue, as if trying to consume more than just the honeyed juices. Pink, swollen lips teased; soft, hot tongues, darted out, tasting; brilliant white teeth nibbled, all while two scrumptious bodies leaned against him, over him; surrounded him.

Spike took a free hand from each of them and slid them down his body, over his six-pack abs, to his already hardening cock. They each caressed his sensitive skin, stroking his hardness, fondling his balls, all on instinct, as the kiss slowed and finally the two lovers broke apart.

Buffy grinned mischievously at her friend. “I think I know where we can get more of that salty goodness,” she suggested, wagging her brows.

Joan returned Buffy’s sly smile and, as one, both women began sliding down Spike’s body to his now raging hard-on …

Perhaps the teasing torture punishment he’d planned for them could wait just a little while longer…

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Breakaway, Kelly Clarkson on YouTube  }}


Grew up in a small town
And when the rain would fall down
I'd just stare out my window
Dreaming of what could be
And if I'd end up happy
I would pray (I would pray)

Trying hard to reach out
But when I tried to speak out
Felt like no one could hear me
Wanted to belong here
But something felt so wrong here
So I prayed I could break away

[Chorus:]
I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly
I'll do what it takes til' I touch the sky
And I'll make a wish
Take a chance
Make a change
And breakaway
Out of the darkness and into the sun
But I won't forget all the ones that I love
I'll take a risk
Take a chance
Make a change
And breakaway

Wanna feel the warm breeze
Sleep under a palm tree
Feel the rush of the ocean
Get onboard a fast train
Travel on a jet plane, far away (I will)
And breakaway

[Chorus]

Buildings with a hundred floors
Swinging around revolving doors
Maybe I don't know where they'll take me but
Gotta keep moving on, moving on
Fly away, breakaway

I'll spread my wings
And I'll learn how to fly
Though it's not easy to tell you goodbye
I gotta take a risk
Take a chance
Make a change
And breakaway
Out of the darkness and into the sun
But I won't forget the place I come from
I gotta take a risk
Take a chance
Make a change
And breakaway, breakaway, breakaway

**~**


Chapter End Notes:
As in the previous chapter, I thank you for reading and special thanks to those of you who take time to drop me notes! They mean so much to me! Also thanks to PaganBaby and Dark Heart who both helped me wrench this chapter out of my muse's stubborn grip. Their support, feedback, and suggestions totally ROCK!

Lastly, I mentioned this before, but I'm gonna take about a 2 week hiatus on posting to get the remaining chapters sorted out. My muse has decided to toss me a bit of a curve ball with India (never expected her to be such a full-blown character) and now I have to re-do stuff I've already written to fit her in. How much is left, you may ask (and have asked)? Ummm ...I'm estimating another 4-5 chapters, but you never know with my muse, could be more. And, for those of you who are Unexpected readers, yes, I have also been working on that and will hopefully have a new 'season' to begin posting when this story is done. Thank you all for your support and kindness! It means so much to me!
F**king Perfect by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
A few days later…

Joan practically danced through the front door, humming ‘Unchained Melody’ softly to herself. She turned around to the slow beat of the tune, swaying gently, before hanging her purse on one of the many coat hooks near the door.

“I guess that means you had a good time on your first official date,” Buffy observed, standing up from the couch in the living room to face her twin.

Joan was absolutely radiant as she beamed at Buffy. “Yes! It was one of the most pleasant evenings in my memory banks.”

“Where did you and India go?” Buffy wondered as Joan came over and they both sat back down on the couch.

“Green Pastures,” Joan gushed. “It was divine! I would very much like to speak with the unit of humans that restored that epochal Victorian dwelling and transformed it into an establishment of fine cuisine. High-quality craftsmanship was employed prodigiously throughout the entire structure.”



“Uhhhh … right. And did the … eating thing work out okay?” Buffy wondered.

“Yes. Transforming a section of the inflatable bladder that propels air for speaking into a vesicle for containing liquids and solids worked perfectly,” Joan assured her. “I was capable of consuming approximately four and three-quarters cups of human sustenance before requiring a vessel within which to regurgitate and eject the slurry of chewed, but undigested…”

Buffy winced and held her hands up. “TMI!!”

Joan stopped talking and looked at Buffy with confusion. “What part of my honest and meticulous answer do you find disquieting?”

Buffy cleared her throat. “Everything after, ‘yes,’” Buffy told her, trying to shake off the willies Joan’s answer had conjured in her.

“So,” Buffy continued conspiratorially, getting her wiggins under control. “Did you kiss her?”

Joan’s smile returned. “Yes! Several times. It created a very enjoyable sensation in all my pleasure receptors.”

“Aaand, what did she think of … the flavor?” Buffy wondered.

“I believe India was fond of my flavor. She said she would like to know the type of lip gloss I use,” Joan revealed conspiratorially.

Buffy smiled at her doppelganger. “Annd… anything beyond the kissage?” she asked in the same conspiratorial tone.



“No, but I believe there is mutual attraction and need for further exploration and mutual stimulation of our pleasure centers. She is cooking a special meal Saturday and I have been invited for dinner at her residence. I am eager to see where that scenario will lead.”

“Sounds promising,” Buffy agreed, reaching over to squeeze one of Joan’s hands supportively. “You remember how to handle the … other flavor, right?” she asked her friend.

Joan nodded. “All my circuits are at one hundred percent functionality and my memory is fully accessible.”

“Right, but why don’t you repeat it one more time for me…” Buffy suggested.

“I am to say that I had a hysterectomy and was left with inadequate vaginal lubrication. I must therefore use commercially available lubricants for comfort,” Joan parroted the cover story that Buffy had concocted for why the Bot’s nether-regions tasted like, well, lubricant.

Buffy nodded. “Right. Good. Perfect.

“Oh, Joan,” Buffy gushed, hugging her friend’s neck. “I’m so happy and excited for you.”

“I am equally jovial at the possibilities,” Joan burbled, hugging Buffy back.

When Buffy released her, Joan turned serious. “I must admit to feeling unscrupulous relating this falsehood to India. Have you and Spike not both said many times, if you had only been honest with each other that many unpleasant events may have been avoided?”



Buffy sighed. “Yes, but … Joan, honey, I don’t think it would be a good idea to tell India you’re a Bot. It’s just not something that people hear every day. It’s not like telling her you’re a Hare Krishna or … or … that you come from a family of rouges and thieves. It’s more like telling her that vampires and demons are real and you’re a Slayer … only, like … doubled ‘cos you’re a Bot and a Slayer.”

“Deceiving India makes my sentient drive whirr and oscillate unpredictably. It’s disquieting.”

“But, you’ve deceived her all this time,” Buffy pointed out.

“It is one thing to allow someone to jump to conclusions and not correct them; it is another to perpetrate a deliberate act of dishonesty,” Joan countered. “She assumed I was human; I did not correct her. If she had assumed I was a sentient android, I would not have contradicted her.

“In addition, I was unaware that the relationship between myself and India would change. If I had had that foresight, I may have chosen to correct her assumption at our first meeting.”

Buffy sighed. “Trust me on this, honey. It’s better this way … I just want to see you get a chance for something … normal. Or as normal as we can get, anyway,” Buffy admonished her friend.

Joan’s shoulders slumped but she nodded. “It is a strain on my internal systems. It is against the doctrine of my pre-installed characteristics to be deceitful.”

“I know,” Buffy agreed, hugging her friend again. “Trust me, it’s for the best.”

**~**

Saturday night, India’s house…

“The meal was satisfying, flavorful, and nutritious. In addition, I found the beverage to be light and refreshing,” Joan gushed as she and India finished the last of their wine after eating the dinner that the dark-haired beauty had prepared.

“Thanks, I’m glad you liked it. It’s an old family recipe,” India replied sincerely.

“I have never encountered Chicken Enchilada Pasta previously. It was unique and quite appetizing.”

India grinned across the small table at her friend. “It’s what happens when an Italian gets drunk and marries a Tejano,” she laughed.

“Your mother was inebriated when she married your father?” Joan asked seriously.



India’s grin widened. “No, my dad was. Mom liquored him up and took him to the chapel. She said it was the only way she could find to get him into bed – he was a good Catholic boy. She fixed that problem pretty quickly. I’m not sure he ever went to church again after discovering sex.”

“That is a very amusing anecdote,” Joan replied, smiling back at her friend.

“Sooo…” India began, a bit of hesitation in her voice. “Do you … go to church?”

“No, I …” Joan began earnestly, but then paused a moment. “You are using the story of your father paradoxically to determine if I participate in sexual intercourse,” Joan realized. “Yes. I quite enjoy the pleasure of sexual encounters.”

Joan paused again, realizing that now would be the time to slip in the information about her … flavor. The false information. Her drives began to whirr uncomfortably and she felt the contentment that had been with her all evening with India fade. It was against her very nature to lie, and to lie to someone she cared about deeply was even more profane to her internal systems.

On the other hand, she didn’t want to lose this chance with India. What if Buffy was right? What if she lost not only a chance at ‘more’, but also lost India as a friend in the process? But could she truly be a friend if there was such an important secret dividing them?

Joan’s sentient drive felt painfully fragmented. She felt like she was being torn apart from the inside as she struggled with the contradictory directives. Buffy and Spike were quite clear: do not tell India the full truth, but Joan’s own compass, her ingrained character, as well as her learned experiences were telling her something else. Which path should she follow? Both held the possibility for disaster. If she told India now, the disaster would be immediate; if she didn’t tell and India found out later, then the disaster would be delayed, but could be even worse for all concerned.

But what if India never found out? Was that possible? But what if she did find out later and her heart and trust were shattered? Could Joan take the risk of causing her friend that much pain? The answer, of course, was ‘no’. Even if it meant losing her now, Joan had to be honest with India before things went any further. It was the only humanitarian thing, the only fair thing to do. Regardless of the risk, the possibility that she’d lose any chance of a romantic relationship with India, she had to tell her the truth – at least about being an android. The truth about being a Slayer came with its own set of secretive regulations and conventions that couldn’t be breached, regardless of feelings.

“Soooo,” India began, letting her voice trail off as she leaned forward and laid a hand over Joan’s where it rested on the table.

Joan’s green eyes met India’s extraordinary violet ones and they locked gazes for several long, mesmerizing moments.

Joan opened her mouth, but then hesitated, Buffy’s admonishment ringing in her auditory canal. She again thought she should tell India the lie, but … after a few moments hesitation, she realized she couldn’t do it. “I … I feel I must tell you something about myself that you may find … disconcerting.”

India sat back in her chair and furrowed her brow. “You’re married.”

Joan smiled and shook her head. “No. I am also not a Hare Krishna.”

“Oh, well … that’s a giant worry lifted, not being a Hare Krishna …” India teased.

Joan recognized the sarcasm in India’s voice and smiled, but her smile faded after a moment. “It may be easier to show you … for you to fully understand.”

Joan lifted her shirt and pressed down on the two specific places on her access panel that released the latch. Her stomach opened up to reveal blinking lights and wires. She looked back up at India, whose face was awash with … concern? Confusion? Shock? Bewilderment? All of the above?

“I am a self-aware, self-contained, sentient android,” Joan announced as India stared at the lights and wires in silence, her jaw hanging open.

Joan waited … a few moments, a minute, two minutes for India to say something – anything – but the dark-haired woman seemed incapable of speech. Joan felt the now familiar sting of dampness well in her eyes. Buffy had been right; this had been a horrible mistake. Joan quickly closed her access panel and dropped her shirt, then stood up stiffly from the table.



“Thank you for the meal. I have found the time with you to be extremely enjoyable. I am sorry that I am not what you … believed me to be. I did not intend to deceive or mislead you.”

When Joan moved and spoke, India finally looked up into her eyes, but she still seemed incapable of speech, completely flummoxed.

Joan waited only another moment before she turned sharply and strode toward the door, the tears that had gathered in her eyes now rolling down her cheeks. Outside, she turned toward home and began to run back to the house she shared with Buffy and Spike, her vision blurred as her sentient drive fragmented painfully.

Why did Buffy think Joan could have anything ‘normal’? She was not normal, she would never be normal. No one would ever be able to accept her … Abbey-Normal-ness. It was unreasonable to believe anyone but Spike and Buffy could accept her; she should’ve never allowed herself to entertain the delusion that any other human could care for her.

Joan flung the front door open, not bothering to close it, and collapsed onto the floor of the foyer, unable to stop the tears flowing down her face.

“Joan!?” Buffy exclaimed as she came in from the kitchen to see who it was. “What happened?”

Buffy dropped down onto the floor next to her twin. “What happened? Are you alright? What’s wrong?” the Slayer continued to ask, lifting the Bot’s face up. When her eyes met Joan’s, she could clearly see the heartbreak reflected in them.

Buffy sagged with realization and pulled Joan into a hug. “You told her, didn’t you?”

Joan wrapped her arms around Buffy and sobbed against her shoulder, nodding her head, unable to speak.

Buffy sighed and tried to comfort her friend. “I’m sorry … I …” Buffy almost said, ‘I told you so,’ but bit it back. “…I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I am not capable of being normal. I am a freak: a highly unusual being, brought about by a unique and very rare combination of circumstances. There is nothing normal about me,” Joan cried against her friend.

“No, there’s not,” came a soft voice from the open doorway behind the women.

Buffy looked up to see India there, looking quite upset with tears staining her cheeks as well.

Joan tried to stifle her tears at the sound of her friend’s … or ex-friend’s voice, sniffing and wiping her cheeks furiously.

“Joan, I … I’m sorry…” India began gently, stepping inside near the two blondes. The dark-haired woman knelt down next to them just as Joan sat back away from Buffy and pulled a stoic façade over her features. Buffy slid back, leaving Joan and India face-to-face.

“It is not your fault. I should have been more forthcoming earlier. I do not blame you for not desiring to be … friends with someone such as myself.”

“No … it’s not …” India began.

“It is not necessary to placate me. I … I am a robot. I … will simply … delete you from my files,” Joan interrupted her stiffly. “I believe the comparable human equivalent would be … forgetting.”

Even with her dark complexion, India’s face turned ashen. “You … you’d do that? You’d … erase me? Just like that?”

“It seems the prudent thing to do,” Joan replied stiffly. “It would be irrational to allow this painful self-deception to continue. I am not normal. It was illogical to allow myself to continue to…”

“No,” India interrupted her firmly, her voice growing adamant. “You aren’t normal. You’re … you’re a … robot … an … what did you call it? A … self-aware … something? Fine. You have …. a secret. Everybody has secrets! I … know I sort-of blanked back there, but, it’s not like I get told something like this every day. It’s precisely because you aren’t normal that I lo… I … I …”

Joan furrowed her brow in confusion. “You … are not repulsed by my … secret?”

India shook her head, blinking back more tears from her glimmering, violet eyes. “You’re … perfect, Joan.”

“I do not believe that to be possible. Perfection is, by its very nature impossible…”

“Trust me. You’re fucking perfect,” India insisted, interrupting Joan’s babbling.

Joan frowned in consternation, but she dropped the argument. “You wish to remain my … friend?” she continued, hesitantly.

India shook her head again, no.

Joan’s frown deepened. She shook her head in mimicry of India as she tried to process this seemingly contradictory input.

“I don’t want to be your friend, or not just your friend,” India explained softly when Joan remained silent and confused. “I … I … I love you. I want … to be your lover.”

Buffy’s squeak of joy drew the attention of the two other women, who had forgotten she was even there. “Oh! Ummm … sorry … don’t mind me. I was just … leaving,”

Buffy stammered as she flashed a bright smile at them and got up off the floor.

When India and Joan still didn’t move or say anything else, Buffy waved an insistent hand at them, inviting them to continue. “Go ahead! Kiss already!”

Joan and India smiled and looked back at each other. Their eyes met and held for a long moment before their mouths, again drawn by that invisible force, came together in a gentle kiss. Their salty tears mingled with the other flavors on their lips, making the coupling bittersweet, but the emotions running between them tempered the bitter with a dusting of love and affection.

**~**

Several weeks later… (babies are about 18 months old)

Spike sat on the floor of the living room with the babies as Big Bird sang about the ‘letter A’. Will and Jade laughed and tried to mimic the song, but mostly what came out was a garbled mish-mash of nonsensical words and sounds.



“No worries,” Spike assured them as their attempts at ‘A’ failed. “‘A’ is over-rated. Poofs have names that start with ‘A’. We’ll just drop that bloody letter from the alphabet and start with ‘B’.”

“You guys gonna be ok while I’m shopping?” Buffy asked as she came downstairs.

“Reckon we’ll survive an hour or two, luv,” Spike replied, looking up at her innocently.

Buffy bent down and gave both of their quickly-growing babies kisses atop their heads, burying her nose in their copious curls. They’d really need their first haircut, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with one single curl from their heads.

With one last kiss for Spike, Buffy headed out to go grocery shopping in her very own car. Well … her very own car that had been a Sunnydale Police cruiser in a past life. Spike had removed the identifying markings, the lights, the radio and other ‘police related’ gear from the car, repainted it, and did a little magic of his own with the VIN tags. After greasing a couple of palms, he had a title and registration, 100% free and clear for Buffy. Joan had taken the driver’s test using Buffy’s birth certificate, so Buffy even had a valid, if unearned and undeserved, driver’s license.

Spike waited a few beats, waited for her footsteps to clear the porch, before announcing, “Right, enough o’ this bollocks. Back to ‘Passions’.”



Jade and Will both cheered gleefully from their place on the floor next to their dad as he clicked the channel back over to the off-beat soap opera.

“Right … now, where was I ‘fore your mum came through?” he mused as the twins turned bright eyes to the new show. “Oh yeah, okay … Tabitha, if you couldn’t tell by the bloody predictable name, is a centuries-old witch…”

“Itch!” Will exclaimed brightly, laughing and clapping his hands, his alert, blue eyes flicking between his father and the TV.

“Witch, too right,” Spike agreed giving his genius son an approving smile. “Timmy was her doll-brought-to-life sidekick, but he died again … though, I don’t reckon he’ll stay dead long.

“Besides the witch…” Spike continued.

“Itch!” Jade interrupted, repeating her brother’s mispronunciation, her green eyes sparkling with delight. Both twins giggled and clapped gleefully at the new word.

“Right,” Spike agreed again, reaching out and tousling Jade’s curls. “Besides the witch, ya got Theresa, Ethan, and Gwen. Now, them three are in a bloody tragic love-triangle, and this bloke here…” Spike pointed the half-naked man on the screen, “…this is Miquel…”



“Wow!” Buffy exclaimed from right behind the couch Spike was leaning against as he sat on the floor with the toddlers. “Big Bird sure has changed since I watched Sesame Street … yesterday. Who knew he was so buff under all those feathers!”

“Buffy!” Spike exclaimed, fumbling with the remote to change the TV back to the educational channel. “Didn’t hear ya come back in, luv…”

“Obviously,” Buffy chided.

“Was just … errr … Sesame Street was on commercial, so thought I’d flip around, yeah? Too many commercials aren’t good for the bits, ya know.”

Buffy cocked a brow at him. “Sesame Street is on public television. There are no commercials,” she reminded her husband.



“You sure ‘bout that, luv?” Spike asked, standing up from his position on the floor. “‘Cos there was this little red demon on there an’ he started talking about ‘Today Sesame Street was brought to you by…’ so I flipped it ‘fore he could sell our bits a bunch of unhealthy crisps and whatall.”

“Spiiike,” Buffy drawled, rolling her eyes.

“Ya know, not sure this program is all that good for the bits, anyway. What with all them demons and monsters on there. I reckon that’s enough t’ scar bitty-ones for life,” Spike continued seriously, walking around the couch to where Buffy stood.

“They’re not demons, they’re puppets,” Buffy argued.

“Never heard o’ demon-puppets? Quite the menace, they are … and bloody frightening to boot.”



Buffy rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just making stuff up,” she accused.

“Scout’s honour,” Spike retorted, holding up two fingers in a pledge.

“So, you’re saying I should go slay Big Bird and the Cookie Monster?”

 Spike shrugged. “At least Bert and Ernie … now they’re bloody frightenin’.”

Buffy smiled as Spike got near and drew her into a hug. “What do I need t’ do to be forgiven?” he wondered as he nibbled her lips gently.

“Mmmm,” she moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth against hers harder.



Spike responded in kind, sweeping his tongue over her lips then pressing inside her hot mouth, tasting and teasing her. He pulled her body against his tightly, lowering his hands to the globes of her ass and pulling her sex hard against his growing erection.

Buffy’s knees weakened and she clung to her husband’s neck desperately as his hips began swiveling slowly against hers, his hands holding her prisoner against him. When the kiss finally broke, Buffy’s chest was heaving, she was gasping for air, and her eyes were more than a little glazed. After a few moments, when Spike felt her get her equilibrium back, he released the hold he had on her ass and let her stand on her own again.

“What … were we … talking about?” she gasped out, fanning her face with one hand.

Spike gave her his sexiest smirk and let his eyes roam over her body lecherously. “How bloody sexy you are.”

Buffy furrowed her brow as her breathing came under control. “We were?”

“Mmhmm,” Spike confirmed, nodding.

Buffy’s confused look deepened and she shook her head a moment to clear it. “Oh, uhhhh … ok,” she agreed after a moment. “What did I come back in for …?” she mused mostly to herself as she started looking around.

“Oh, the list!” she remembered, heading back to the kitchen where the grocery list hung on a bulletin board. “Uhhh … ok, see you guys later…” she called back over her shoulder, still sounding a bit dazed, as she headed back out.

Clearly pleased with himself, Spike hurried around the couch and grabbed the remote. His finger had just begun to press the ‘back’ button to catch the last half-minute of ‘Passions’ when his wife’s stern voice cut the air, “You’re good, but you’re not that good. Leave it on Sesame Street, smarty pants.”



Spike's eyes went wide as saucers as he quickly clicked the ‘back’ button again. The TV flipped back and forth between the two shows in the blink of an eye, finally settling back on Sesame Street.

He gave her his most innocent look. “No idea what you’re talkin’ about, luv. Was just … adjustin’ the volume.”

Buffy nodded. “I know you were, cos ‘Passions’ is over now …” she pointed out, looking at the clock.

“Awww, bugger!”

Buffy laughed as she sashayed back outside. She wouldn’t tell him that she had it recorded on the VCR upstairs until later … perhaps much, much later.

**~**

A few weeks later, about three months after the collapse of Sunnydale…

Buffy turned over in bed and reached for Spike, but his spot on the bed was empty. She blinked her eyes open groggily and looked at the clock: three a.m. She groaned and flopped onto her back, letting her eyes fall closed again.



“Spike?” she called quietly, knowing he could hear her if he was in the nursery or almost anywhere on the second floor. “Is everything okay?”

She waited but didn’t hear any reply, not even through the baby-monitor by the bed.

She moaned and pushed herself up, tossing the covers off, and got out of bed. After pulling on her robe, she checked the babies – they were sleeping, Spike wasn’t in there. She padded down the stairs in the dark. None of the lights were on downstairs, but Spike didn’t need lights. He might be getting a snack in the kitchen … but no, he wasn’t there, either.

Buffy frowned and looked out the window, only then finding him standing on the back porch, looking out at the yard.

She pulled open the back door and walked up behind him. “Is something wrong?” she asked in a whisper.

Spike jumped and spun around like he’d been shot. “Bloody hell!” he growled in a stage whisper, keeping his voice low but angry. “Don’t be sneakin’ up on people, Slayer! Bloody dangerous, that is.”



“I wasn’t sneaking … and you’re a vampire! How could you not hear, sense, or smell me?” Buffy pointed out, keeping her voice low to match his.

Spike huffed out a disgusted breath and turned back to the yard. “Was … distracted.”

“With what?” Buffy wondered, stepping up beside him and gazing into the darkness of their backyard. Even with the moonlight, she couldn’t see anything under the giant oak canopy back there.

Spike shook his head. “Not rightly sure,” he admitted, continually scanning the yard with his eyes.

He started walking down the porch towards the side of the house, his full attention on the inky blackness beyond the banister. Buffy followed silently, trying to hear, see, or sense whatever it was that had him on edge.

When they turned the corner of the house Buffy felt it. “Vampire,” she whispered, trying in vain to see the source of the new, non-Spike, tinglies down her spine.

Spike stopped and looked at her, his eyes questioning. “You feel it, then?”

She nodded. “It’s strong … not a fledge, an old vamp.”

Spike nodded, pursed his lips, and turned his full attention back to the night. “Dru.”



**~**

{{  Click here to hear  P!nk, Fucking Perfect on YouTube  }}

Made a wrong turn, once or twice,
Dug my way out, blood and fire,
Bad decisions, that’s alright,
Welcome to my, silly life.

Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood,
Miss, no it is all good,
It didn't slow me down.
Mistaken, always second guessing,
Under-estimated, look I'm still around.

Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel,
Like you're less than fuckin' perfect,
Pretty ,pretty please, if you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing, you're fuckin' perfect to me.

You're so mean (You're so mean), when you talk (when you talk)
About yourself, you were wrong,
Change the voices (change the voices) in your head (in your head),
Make them like you instead,

So complicated, look how we all make it,
Filled with so much hatred,
Such a tired game.
Its enough, I've done all i can think of,
Chased down all my demons,
Let’s see you do the same,
(ohh ohhhh)

Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel,
Like you're less than fuckin' perfect,
Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel,
Like you're nothing, you're fuckin' perfect, to me.

The whole worlds scared, so I swallow the fear,
The only thing I should be drinking is an ice cold beer,
So cool in line, and we try, try, try, but we try too hard,
Its a waste of my time,
Done looking for the critics, cos' they're everywhere,
They don’t like my jeans, they don’t get my hair,
Estrange ourselves and we do it all the time,
Why do we do that?, why do I do that?,
(why do I do that?)

(Yeaaaaah) 
(Ohhhh)
(Oh pretty, pretty plee-ohhhh)

Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel,
Like you're less than fuckin' perfect,
Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel,
Like you're nothing, you're fuckin' perfect to me,
(Yeaaah)
(you're perfect, your perfect)
Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel,
Like you're nothing, you're fuckin' perfect to me.
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for your patience!! I'm going to try and update weekly, more often if I can, until the story is done - probably under 10 more chapters to go. I know I'm behind on replying to reviews, I hope to get caught up on those very soon! I do read them all and love them!! Thank you!!
Somebody That I Used to Know by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to email me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
**
Dru’s poem is an adaptation of: ‘Happy Family’ by John Ciardi
Moments later...

Buffy gasped, her eyes widening. “What?” she asked in an excited whisper. “Are you sure?”

Spike pulled a stake out of the pocket of his duster and handed it to Buffy. He began walking along the porch again, heading for the front of the house.



“Spike? Are you sure?” she asked again as she followed behind him closely, her eyes darting around trying to catch a glimpse of movement or perhaps a flash of white teeth or eyes in the darkness.

Spike took in a deep, exasperated breath and let it out loudly.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “What does she want?”

“How the bloody hell do I know? Haven’t seen the bint since …” Spike let his voice trail off, leaving the end of that sentence unsaid but understood: since he’d chained his sire and his Slayer up in his crypt.

As they rounded the front of the house Buffy could see better. The road in front of their house was illuminated with streetlights. The soft glow filtered through the leaves of the oak tree to provide some glimmers of light in their yard. As Buffy scanned the area, she could feel the tinglies at the back of her neck waning. “She’s leaving.”

Spike pressed his tongue against his teeth, relaxed his stance, and nodded. “For now.”

**~**

“How did she find us? What could she possibly want?” Buffy asked when they’d gone back inside the house. She turned the lock on the back door firmly before flipping the light on and looking at Spike expectantly.



Spike shook his head and ran a hand through his already sleep-disheveled hair. “Last time she came around she wanted t’ get her family back together,” he divulged, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and sitting down at the table with it.

“Oh, great … she wants you,” Buffy moaned. “Well, she can’t have you. If Dawn were here she’d tell you: I don’t share my stuff, and you, Mister, are mine.”

Spike smiled around the neck of the beer bottle, taking a long swallow of the amber liquid. ”You’ll protect me from the mean, ole vampire, then? Keep m’ squeaky-clean reputation unsullied?”

Buffy leaned her back against the counter, crossed her arms over her chest, and scowled at him. “I’m not kidding, Spike. I know she’s your … that you lo… that you spent a long time with her, but, I’ll dust her if she comes near my family.”

Buffy suddenly became worried and her next question came out shy and unsure. “You … you don’t want to go with her … do you? I mean … I know this life must be … boring and she’s all exotic and evil-having and all. And your chip is gone, so you could … you know … be that again.”



Spike’s expression became somber. He set his beer down, stood up from the table, and stalked across the short distance to where she stood. He placed a hand on the counter on each side of Buffy, trapping her, and leaned in, his mouth hovering just an inch away from hers. “I don’t love her, Buffy. I love you. I’m not bored. I spend my days and nights with you and our bits, it’s more than I’d ever dreamed I’d have.

“Can’t change that she’s my sire, but my loyalty – my heart and soul – is here with you and the bits. You’re my family now – not her. You gotta know that, yeah?”

Buffy closed her eyes and gave him a small nod of her head.

As if to punctuate his declaration, Spike pressed his lips to hers gently, a sweet, chaste kiss. He pulled back only slightly and leaned his forehead against hers. “I’ll take care of it if she comes back,” he assured her.

Buffy frowned but nodded. She unfolded her arms and wrapped them around his waist, settling her head on his shoulder. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. She’s dangerous.”

“I can handle Dru, pet. You seem t' forget: I’m dangerous too.”

**~**

A couple of nights later…

Buffy crept out of the back door onto the porch and strained her eyes to find Spike, but she couldn’t see him. She gave up on that and tried to pinpoint him with her Slayer senses. After spending so much time with him, the tinglies that a vamp of his power would normally produce had become subdued to her senses, but she could still feel him, especially if she concentrated.

What she noted as she skulked quietly around the corner of the house and toward the front yard, was that she didn’t feel any other vamps about – so what was Spike doing outside? Her question was answered when she came around to the front of the house. In the glow of the streetlamps, she could see Spike walking around the yard picking up … something and putting the ‘somethings’ into a big, black garbage bag. She looked all around her again, including out in the street, and tried to sense the presence of any other nasties about, but didn’t feel anything. She furrowed her brow. Spike was doing yard work in the middle of the night?

She walked down the front steps and along the walkway, placing herself in his line of vision if he looked up, but he continued to keep his eyes down, scanning the dark ground. Every once in a while, he would reach down and pick something up, then stuff it into the bag.

“Ya know, if I was a bad guy, I could’ve dusted you by now,” Buffy informed him after about a minute of being ignored.

“If you were a bad guy, you wouldn’t have just walked up and stood there letting me smell you and hear your heartbeat,” Spike replied calmly. “Go back t’ bed, Slayer. I’ll be up in a bit.”

Buffy frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Cleanin’ up.”

“Could you vague that up for me a little more?” Buffy wondered.



Spike sighed and stopped, finally looking up at her. “Dru left us some … presents.”

Buffy’s agitation faded and was replaced with worry. “What? She was here again?” she asked, stepping forward off the stone path and onto the cool, damp grass.

“Best stay on the walk, pet,” Spike advised. “If ya don’t wanna step in…”

“Ewwww! What … what is…?” Buffy questioned, lifting her foot up from a puddle of something wet and sticky.

“…blood,” Spike finished.

“What?!? … Ewww! She dumped blood in our yard?” Buffy exclaimed, backing up.

Spike sighed. “Not quite … left us some … gifts wrapped in blood,” he answered.

“What kind of gifts? Spike, tell me,” Buffy insisted as she stepped back onto the walkway and tried to wipe her foot off on the hard surface.

“Innards …”

“Innards?” Buffy repeated. “As in … the gooey insides of …?” she waited, but Spike didn’t immediately take up the dangling question. “Dogs? Cats?” she provided hopefully.

“Humans,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Oh, my God. Humansss – plural? How many … what … is she out of her fucking mind?” Buffy exclaimed, suddenly angry.



“Well, yeah, you could say that, pet,” Spike agreed as he picked up something long and snake-like from the grass and threaded it into the bag.

“Oh, my God,” Buffy repeated, feeling bile rise in her throat. “Why? Why would she …” Buffy stopped and looked at Spike. “She’s trying to tempt you back … back to human blood … back to…”

“‘S not working,” Spike assured her, picking up something else from the lawn that Buffy couldn’t identify and tossing it into the bag. It made a wet, squelching sound when it landed with the other … presents in there.

“Did … did you see her?” Buffy wondered. “Did she say anything?”

Spike shook his head as he continued scanning the dark yard. “Felt ‘er. By the time I got outside, she’d scarpered. This was all that was left.

“Go on back inside, Slayer. I’ll get this, then I’m gonna try and follow her scent, see if I can get the location of her lair,” Spike instructed.

“Alone? No. No … that’s not happening. I’ll go with you,” Buffy insisted.

“No. I told ya I’d take care o’ it and I will,” Spike countered, looking up at her. “I can handle Dru. She’s my problem, not yours.

“You need to stay ‘ere with the bits in case I can’t get back ‘fore sunup. They’ll need ya. Joan’ll try and make ‘em eat Grapenuts and clabber or somethin’ if you’re not ‘ere.”

Buffy felt her teeth grind together. “Spike,” she began to protest.



“I let you sing your little solo ditty out in Sunnyhell, now you gotta let me, Buffy,” he interrupted her sternly.

“Actually, you didn’t – you sent Joan with me,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, well, this is gonna take a bit more finesse and stealth, pet. Trust me, Buffy, I can handle ‘er.”

Buffy sighed, rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest: the trio of doom.

Spike set the heavy bag down and carefully walked over to stand right in front of her. “I’m askin’ ya to trust me on this, pet,” he said softly, dipping his head so his eyes were on a level with hers. Enough light shone through the oak leaves that Buffy could see the conviction in them.

“You think I can’t handle myself,” she asserted.

“Bollocks. Can’t deny that I worry ‘bout you, but I know you can bloody well handle yourself, pet. Just don’t want to leave the bits alone, Buffy. Think about it. We got more to consider than just the two of us now,” he reasoned.

“If it was just us, then I say: yeah, let’s go storm the bloody Bastille, make a right row of it. But it’s not just us. Joan’s a good girl, but this might take a while. Do you really want t’ leave her in charge of the bits for more than an hour or two?”

Buffy rolled her eyes skyward and sighed, allowing her arms to fall away from her chest. “No,” she admitted, looking back down at him. “But you could take her with,” she suggested, brightening.

“Told ya, pet. This is gonna be more about finesse than muscle.”

“You’re gonna try to talk to Dru,” Buffy realized.

“I’ll do what I gotta do to make her leave us be,” Spike promised. “If that means dustin’ her, then that’s what I’ll do.”



“You do still love her,” Buffy accused gently, blinking back tears.

“No, don’t love her; I owe ‘er. I owe her a chance. Only one … but a chance. If not for ‘er, I’d never have met you. Those two little bits up there wouldn’t be calling me ‘Dad’ … I’d’ve lead a life of quiet desperation. I’d’ve been dead with my heart still beating – she halted my heart, but gave me life – a life with you.”

Buffy pursed her lips and rolled her shimmering eyes back up to the heavens.

“Buffy, my heart's always with you; Dru's just somebody that I used t' know. I won’t let ya down, luv. Not again,” Spike promised.

Buffy sighed and dropped her eyes back down to meet his. “You better not. If you die, I’ll kick your dusty ass.”

Spike gave her a smile. “Only fair,” he agreed, leaning in and touching his lips to hers.

When the kiss broke Buffy whispered, “I love you. Please be careful.”

“I love you too, pet. Nothing’s gonna keep me from comin’ home.”



**~**

Dru twirled and whirled around the abandoned house holding Miss Edith in her arms as she danced and prattled,

“Before the children say goodnight,
Mummy, Daddy, stop and think:
Have you screwed their heads on tight?
Have you washed their ears with ink?”

Dru stopped dancing and dipped her finger into a pot of ink that only she could see, then touched the finger to each of Miss Edith’s ears. She gave her companion a satisfied smile before resuming her dance and her poetry recital.

“Should – alas! – the little dears,
Lose a capricious head or two,
Have you inked their little ears:
Girls' with pink and boys' with blue?”

“You haven’t inked my ears, Miss Dru,” a small girl’s lilting voice called from the darkest corner of the room. Her voice was prim and proper, with a posh, refined English accent.

Dru stopped abruptly and turned toward the voice, a frown marring her lovely features. “I should say that you’re quite old enough to ink your own ears, Missy,” she told the young girl sternly.

“But I thought we were chums,” the girl pouted, moving out from the dark corner into a beam of light from the streetlamp outside the window.

The girl, no older than eight, had long, straight brunette hair with long bangs that nearly obscured her iridescent, teal-blue eyes. Her skin was creamy-white and smooth as silk; but she wore a sad expression on her face, as if she’d seen too much in her short life. She carried a flower, an Apricot Blush zinnia, with a glowing, crystal globe growing from its center.



“But … I don’t have any ink,” the girl continued in a forlorn whine, walking closer to Dru and Miss Edith.

Dru sighed dramatically, dipped her finger back into her ink pot, and dabbed at the girl’s ears. “There now, my little Hana, you’re prim and proper for the sandman.”

“I thought there would be a gala, with streamers and songs,” Hana pouted. “When will we have the gala, Miss Dru?”

“Early ripe, early rotten,” the dark vampiress replied sharply, tsking her tongue at the girl. Dru turned away from her young companion as she began dancing with Miss Edith again and continued reciting her poem.

“Children's heads are very loose.
Mummy, Daddy, screw them tight.
If you feel uncertain use
A monkey wrench, but do it right.

“If a head should come unscrewed
You will know that you have failed.
Doubtful cases should be glued.
Stubborn cases should be nailed.”



“Will my head come unscrewed?” Hana asked as she used her hands to try and turn her head on her shoulders.

“Don’t be silly,” Dru chastised, still dancing. “We nailed your head on properly just last night.”

Hana smiled for the first time, touching a finger down onto the head of a nail sticking out from the base of her skull. “Oh! I had nearly forgotten. And it was such a gay time. Perhaps we should do it again, just to be certain,” she suggested.

Just then, the glowing crystal orb atop Hana’s flower began to pulse and sparkle, radiating out a rainbow of colors over the girl’s face, as if the sun were shining through a prism.



Dru stopped dancing and stared at it in wonder, as did Miss Edith. “What do you see?” she asked Hana, but before the girl could answer Dru began to sway on her feet, her eyes drifting closed. “My William,” she murmured to herself. “My William is coming home to me.”

Hana smiled and nodded as she gazed into her miniature crystal ball. “He will be here quite soon, Miss Dru. We should prepare the gala ... may I hang the streamers?”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Somebody That I Used to Know, Gotye featuring Kimbra  on YouTube  }}


[Gotye:]
Now and then I think of when we were together
Like when you said you felt so happy you could die
Told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company
But that was love and it's an ache I still remember

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end
So when we found that we could not make sense
Well you said that we would still be friends
But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over

But you didn't have to cut me off
Make it like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
No you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don't need that though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

Now you're just somebody that I used to know
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

[Kimbra:]
Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over
But had me believing it was always something that I'd done
But I don't wanna live that way
Reading into every word you say
You said that you could let it go
And I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know

[Gotye:]
But you didn't have to cut me off
Make it like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
And you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don't need that though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

[x2]
Somebody
(I used to know)
Somebody
(Now you're just somebody that I used to know)

(I used to know)
(That I used to know)
(I used to know)
Somebody
Chapter End Notes:
Uh-oh ... Just what will our Spuffy family be facing with Dru and her new little helper? And who else might be with her?
Lunatic Fringe by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Sorry this is a bit late posting, thanks for your patience! Special thanks to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Later that night...

Spike absently touched the stake in his duster pocket, then the one in his waistband as he crept up to the abandoned house. Dru was in there, he was sure. He looked at the sky and knew the sun would be up in less than two hours. If he didn’t get this over with quickly, he’d have to stay all day, and he really didn’t want to do that. Firstly because Buffy would worry, and secondly ‘cos he just didn’t want to spend that much time with Dru. Buffy was right: Dru was dangerous. He knew he could handle her, but didn’t look forward to playing her games for so long. One wrong step could put him at her mercy.

Deciding the direct approach would be best, he straightened from his stealthy crouch and simply strode up to and through the front door like he owned the place.

“Dru, need a word, pet,” he announced as he flicked the door closed behind himself.

Dru was lounging on a well-worn settee talking with Miss Edith. She looked up and smiled when Spike came in. “I knew you would come, my sweet William. I knew my presents would show you how sorry I was ... how much we belong together. Miss Edith said you were still surrounded by the Slayer, but I knew you would come home to your dark princess.”

“Look, Dru, appreciate the thought, luv, but Miss Edith’s right. Just came t’ give you a chance t’ leave town. Ya need t’ leave us be,” Spike explained, moving into the ramshackle living room of the dilapidated house.



Dru frowned dramatically and carefully set Miss Edith down on the settee, then stood up facing Spike. “That’s no way to greet your princess, my pretty Spike. I’ve come for you; I’m tired of being alone with just Hana and Miss Edith. Daddy said…”

“Daddy?” Spike exclaimed, interrupting her. “Seen the Magnificent Poof, have you? Or is this another one of your bloody games?”

Dru’s eyes widened as a grin spread across her face and she bounced on her toes. “I have a secret!” she exclaimed gleefully. “Shhhh! Don’t tell! It’s my little firefly … don’t let it out of the bottle.”

Dru pirouetted, swinging her arms out and letting her full skirt whirl in a wide arc around her legs. “He doesn’t know, Miss Edith. He doesn’t know about Daddy,” Dru whispered to her dolly when she stopped.

“What about Peaches?” Spike demanded, stepping forward nearer her.

Dru stopped suddenly, facing him, her eyes as wide and wild as Spike had ever seen them.



“Dru, don’t have time for your bleedin' games tonight. Ya need t’ get Miss Edith and clear outta here…” he began, in an exasperated tone.

“Oh no! The music hasn’t stopped yet! Daddy said we could stay as long as the music played! You’re not my daddy! Bad dog! Grrrff!” she growled at him, snapping her jaws. “Bad doggie!”

Spike clamped his eyes shut a moment, hissing out a frustrated breath through his teeth. He opened his eyes and gave her his best glare, one that used to make her shrink away from him and whimper. “Drusilla. The bleedin’ music is in your head, you barmy bint. You can hear it just as well in soddin’ Rio as you can ‘ere. I’m givin’ ya one chance here and now – pack up and move on.”

Dru frowned, letting her lower lip come out in a fierce pout. “Daddy said you wouldn’t want to play hopscotch with us. We’re having a fine gala with streamers and balloons, and gumdrops for dessert. They’re yummy, my Spike. Don’t you want one?”

Spike’s gaze grew arctic as he studied his sire. “What the bloody hell are you on about, Dru? Where’s Angel? Is he ‘ere?” he demanded, turning and looking around the interior of the old house as well as he was able from where he stood. He should be able to feel Angel if he was nearby but he didn’t feel anyone except Dru.

“Daddy’s gone out. Me and my girls were about to have some nettle tea, crab cakes, and candy canes; would you like some, lovely William? Miss Edith has been very naughty, she gets no candy canes; Hana shall have her share.”

“Dru.  Try t’ bloody focus. You gotta go – get outta town. Now! I can’t have you hanging about spreading entrails over m’ soddin’ yard,” Spike repeated in exasperation. He moved forward and grabbed Dru by the upper arms, shaking her slightly to try and get her to focus on what he was saying. “Are you gettin' this? You need t’ go and never come back.”

Dru frowned again and looked around Spike’s head, her eyes moving as if watching images floating around him. She leaned in nearer him, as if to whisper a secret into his ear. “She still dances … ‘round and ‘round. She’ll turn you to ash, my Spike. She burns you … forever burns … forever dances… No pretty gumdrops for sweet William. Only horrid black ones for my Spike … all the colors will soon be gone.”



Spike sighed and released her. “If ya aren’t gone when I come back ‘ere tonight, you’ll be the one tastin’ of ashes, Dru,” he warned as he backed away from her. “Stay away from me and the Slayer. Get outta town. And if Angel’s here, take him with ya.”

Spike wasn’t sure if Angel was really there or not; you could never really tell with Dru. He hadn’t heard anything about the poof since the Sunnydale collapse. Perhaps he’d been swallowed by the ‘sinkhole’ – that would be a bloody blessing.

Spike left Dru standing there alone in the dilapidated house. She watched with a petulant frown as he turned away and left the old house, pulling the door firmly closed behind him. As he strode down the front walk, he pulled out his cell phone and his finger had just begun to press down on the speed-dial for Buffy when he felt a familiar prickle on the back of his neck.

He lifted his finger off the phone and closed his eyes in exasperation. “Slayer,” he sighed. “Told ya I’d take care o’ …”

Suddenly a new warning was added to the other, racing up and down Spike’s spine like a wildfire. His eyes flashed open, his demon jumping to the fore in an instant. The phone fell from his hands as his body tensed and coiled, ready to spring.



A dangerous growl rumbled from deep inside him. “Angel.

"Slayer! Watch your ba–" Spike's body suddenly began to convulse, his warning to Buffy cut short. A sudden feeling of déjà vu came over him. In his final, brief moment of consciousness, he realized he'd felt this before, then his mind blanked and his body succumbed to the electricity surging through it.



"Oops ... sorry, wrong Slayer," Faith quipped dryly from behind him.

“I really should’ve gotten one of these suckers a long time ago,” Faith bragged as she took her finger off the Taser’s trigger after Spike convulsed and fell, face-first, onto the sidewalk.

“It was nice of our new friends at Wolfram & Hart to furnish it before they all died,” she continued, grinning. She walked up to Spike and poked his leg with one toe. There was no reaction at all from the downed vampire, not even a groan.

Angel smirked as he met her, sauntering up from the other direction to stand over Spike’s prone, unconscious form. “Very thoughtful,” he agreed as he reached down and picked Spike up by the nape of the neck like a kitten.

“I could’ve taken him down without it though. Capturing a castrated vampire wouldn’t have really even gotten my juices flowing,” Faith pointed out.

“This was just a test run. We’ll need it when Buffy comes for him,” Angel reminded her.

“I can take that bitch, too,” Faith asserted confidently.

“I want her in one piece. She’s mine to take apart,” Angel warned.



Faith rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “Whatever turns you on, big guy.”

“Dru’s gonna be so happy. A new dolly to play with,” Angel remarked as the two brunettes headed back up the walk to the old house, Angel dragging Spike along by the neck.

**~**

“Why the hell isn’t Spike home yet!?” Buffy demanded for perhaps the hundredth time in the last hour as she paced frantically back and forth across the front porch. He’d been gone since well before dawn and now it was well past sunset. She'd managed to remain calm during the day, telling herself that he simply got caught by the sunrise and that he'd be home as soon as darkness fell. She told herself that he'd forgotten to charge his phone, something that happened fairly frequently, and that was why he hadn't called. But as the moon rose, and more and more time elapsed without any word or any sign of him, her ability to quell her panic unraveled.

“There is insufficient data to determine the cause,” Joan replied for the hundred and first time.

Buffy pressed the speed-dial on her cell phone again. “Mailbox full…” the automated voice began when the call to Spike’s phone connected. Buffy growled in a fair imitation of Spike before hitting the ‘end’ button.



Buffy stomped down the porch stairs and all the way to out to the street, looking up and down the empty suburban road for any sign of him, but there was none. “Damn it, Spike …” she muttered under her breath as she continued to scan for any movement at all. “Where are you?”

“There has to be something you can do to find him,” Buffy insisted when she came back up onto the porch. “Can’t you ping his phone like they do on TV?”

The Bot tilted her head, thinking. “I do not have that technology, but I can download it. Please stand by.”

“Finally!” Buffy exclaimed. “I’m gonna call India and see if she can come stay with the babies.”

"What if William the Bloody's sire returns?" Joan wondered.

Buffy shook her head. "I doubt she will. If my theory's right, she's got what she came for: Spike. Plus, Dru can't get inside the house anyway.

"We've got to find them and get Spike back before she leaves with him or ... ... or does anything with him," Buffy asserted, fear and panic rising in her again at the thought of just what Dru might do to Spike. "We don't have much time."

**~**

“Are you sure this is right?” Buffy questioned as she and Joan walked through a run-down section of town. “I don’t feel him at all.”



“The software for tracking cellular telephones indicates the equipment assigned to his SIM card is in this vicinity. I also detect his scent. I believe we are tracking the right train.”

“On the right track,” Buffy corrected, wishing she could smell something other than ‘Sultry Summer in the South.’

“You should now try calling the target telephone again,” the Bot suggested.

Buffy did so and they both stood on the sidewalk in front of what looked like a haunted house and waited, listening intently for Pat Benetar to starting singing ‘Hit Me With Your Best Shot’. Instead, they heard a buzzing coming from not too far away in the grass. Buffy practically leapt atop the vibrating phone, snatching it up out of the high, unkempt grass.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, recognizing it immediately. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“It appears that Spike has been separated from his cellular device.”

“Ya think!?” Buffy barked at Joan in frustration.

“Yes, frequently,” the Bot replied stoically. “It is a programmed response to stimuli…”

“Joan! We need to find him!” Buffy raged at her doppelganger. "You don't know Dru like I do! Anything could happen!"



“Perhaps I can track his scent from here,” Joan suggested, sampling the air with small sniffs as she turned in a slow circle.

Buffy waited, nervously chewing her lip and rubbing a finger over Spike’s phone, as if she could conjure him like a Genie from a bottle. Finally, the Bot stopped and looked at the dilapidated house they were standing in front of.

“He went this way … and that way … and that way,” the Bot explained, pointing first to the house, then to the right and then to the left.

Buffy sighed. “Swell … well, let’s try the most obvious vampire lair: the haunted house,” she suggested as she tucked Spike’s phone into her back pocket, pulled a stake out, and started up the worn, cracked, and overgrown walk to the front door.

Buffy pushed the old door open hard enough that it banged on the wall behind it and bounced back at her. She hit it again and stormed through, stake at the ready, her eyes searching the dark for any movement. Joan was right on her heels. She stopped next to Buffy just inside the door.

“Can you see anything?” Buffy whispered.

“Yes. My optics are capable of adjusting rapidly to low or no-light situations.”



When Joan didn’t say anything more, Buffy rolled her eyes and asked, “What do you see?”

“A fainting couch covered in 1970’s era green plaid upholstery, a crumbling, inadequate fireplace, floorboards that require refinishing–”

“Any vampires or people?” Buffy cut her off.

“No, but … there is a sound of labored breathing and an odor of blood coming from upstairs,” Joan informed her.

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Buffy growled at her.

“You asked me what I saw, not…”

“Shine your light,” Buffy interrupted. “Where are the stairs?”

The Bot’s eyes suddenly lit up, literally, and cast a glow over the whole area, illuminating the staircase off to Buffy’s right.

“Let’s go,” Buffy whispered, as she began to creep up the rickety stairs.

**~**

Spike woke up screaming.

“Oooo! My little birdie’s singing again!” Dru gushed, pulling the cross back from Spike’s smoldering chest. “Sing for me, sweet William. You know how I love for you to sing,” she continued, touching the golden crucifix, which she held with a lacy handkerchief, down onto his bare abdomen.

Flesh sizzled. Spike screamed again, his eyes blazing amber in the low light of the room, as his body convulsed in pain.



“♫Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird, and if that mockingbird don’t sing …” Dru laughed maniacally as she removed the cross from Spike’s stomach. “Silly song! Of course the little birdie will sing for his mama.”

“Druuu,” Spike growled, pulling against the restraints that held his hands and feet immobile. “Let me go this bloody minute,” he demanded.

“The little birdie has a secret,” Hana observed from a perch atop a nearby stool. Her feet swung loosely beneath her, her legs not long enough to touch the foot rail. Her luminescent teal-blue eyes were glued to the crystal globe atop her flower, which was glowing in a rainbow of colors.

“Oooo … I love secrets, don’t you, my Spike?” Dru wondered giddily as she stood over him, setting the crucifix down.



Dru tickled her long fingernails across Spike’s wrinkled, demonic brow. “Where are your secrets, William? Hidden in the cupboard? In the tea kettle? Inside the little, shiny fishes? In the coal bin?”

Suddenly Dru’s eyes went wide and she began bouncing on her toes gleefully. “All the little bits and bobs are gone!! Oooo – so many secrets, my Spike! Like lollipops on a Ferris wheel! Round and round they go … where they stop, only little lambs know!”

“Dru, let me go,” Spike demanded again, thrashing against his restraints. They held strong, didn’t even budge.

“We’re having gumdrops. Don’t you want your gumdrops, pretty William?” she asked holding up a small rectangle of paper and licking it in a long, slow motion like it was made of candy.

“No, I don’t want any bloody gumdrops! Let me go this bloody instant!” he yelled at her, rattling his chains wildly.

“But they’re so sweet and juicy…” Dru turned the paper around so Spike could see what she’d been licking. “Little Slayer gumdrops … drip, drip, dripping sugary, red snickerdoodle drops all down my dress.”

The angry demand that Spike had been about to voice again died in his throat as his eyes widened in fear and surprise. She had a photo from his wallet. It was of the twins, both laughing and covered in colorful cake and icing, from their first birthday party.



“Daddy will be so pleased. My little birdie's all bright and chipper ... chirp, chirp, chirping! Like a meadowlark,” Dru squealed in delight as she pirouetted and danced away, leaving Spike’s line of vision.

Spike growled and pulled on the chains holding him again, but it was useless. He lifted his head to look around. It looked like he was in a small room within a warehouse of some sort. It was dark, windowless, and clearly abandoned, but areas where the drywall had been broken revealed metal siding beneath. He was on a table, his wrists and ankles were bound to large, concrete pillars that seemed much newer than the rest of the room. His shirt had been removed, but he still had his jeans on. That meant Dru hadn’t really even begun her games yet.

He had to get out and get word to Buffy. He'd been wrong about why Dru was in town. It wasn't him she wanted; it was the bits, and she wasn't alone, Angel was with her. Worse yet, Spike realized now that the Slayer tingles he’d felt on the sidewalk earlier were not from Buffy, but that other Slayer bint that Buffy had told him about: Faith. And she was human. Bloody brilliant. She wouldn’t need an invite into the house. There would be nothing keeping her from snatching the bits any time of the day or night. Nothing, that is, except Angel’s stubborn pride. He’d want to do the deed himself, just to prove how much more clever he was than Spike or Buffy. At least Spike hoped that was still the case.

Spike turned his attention to the young girl still sitting on the stool nearby, swinging her legs idly and looking bored. “What’s your name, sweet bit?”



The girl turned her radiant eyes to him, tilted her head to the side, and smiled. “Hana.”

“Hana … that’s a brilliant name. Means ‘flower’ in Japanese, did ya know that?”

“Yes. It means ‘moon’ in Albanian … I am a moon-flower.”

“Are ya now? Brilliant, that. Where you from, luv? Sounds like … Manchester, yeah?”

Hana’s smile widened. “Very close: Sale.”

“Ah, well then, you’re a ManU girl, I reckon. They’re bloody brilliant; best in the world.”

Hana shrugged as her globe-flower began to sparkle and glow again. “Not this year … quite disappointing; third,” she sighed. “But next season they will top the league again.”

Spike quirked a brow at her. “Handy little gizmo, that,” he remarked more to himself than her.

Refocusing on his agenda to get her to help him, he continued, “Bet you like ice cream, yeah?”



“Oh, yes!” Hana gushed.

Could get ya some … all ya wanted, any kind. Just undo these shackles and we can go…” Spike suggested.

“Miss Dru promised me gumdrops. I like gumdrops with my ice cream … fancy, dripping, red gumdrops – they’re the best kind.”

“Got all the gumdrops you could ever want, luv … all the ice cream and candy. It’s like Willy Wonka’s bloody Chocolate Factory at my house. Just undo these…”

“♫Liar, liar, pants on fire, nose as long as a telephone wire!” Hana sang giddily, shaking her head in the negative.

The girl jumped down from the stool and was next to Spike in the next instant. “It’s not nice to lie to little girls,” she chastised, picking up the crucifix that Dru had left and laying it down on Spike’s stomach.

Spike growled and thrashed and finally screamed in pain as his flesh sizzled and blackened.

Hana grinned sweetly, and then skipped happily away, her long hair bouncing and swinging from side to side.

**~**

“Hi, I’m an old friend of Buffy and Spike’s. Are they … home?” the man asked, peering in past the small, dark-haired woman and through the front door of the Pratt home.

India looked up at the tall, brunette man that stood on the front porch with annoyance. “It’s nearly midnight,” she informed him, standing firm.

She wasn’t sure how long Buffy and Joan would be gone – they hadn't been entirely certain, and hadn’t really given her much information before they'd rushed away.  India hadn’t seen Spike at all when she’d come over at Buffy’s request to sit with the babies; she had no idea where he was or when he’d be home, either.



The man looked back at her, meeting her violet-grey eyes with his brown ones. He unconsciously licked his lips as he took in the ample curves and slender waist of the woman before him. She appeared to be in her twenties, with long, straight, midnight-black hair that hung to her waist, olive complexion, and light eyes that flashed with an inner fire. She was no taller than Buffy but had curves to spare in all the right places. She’d make a tasty morsel…

“I know it’s late, but we all used to be … night owls together. I thought maybe they still stayed up late. I just got into town; was hoping to catch up with them. It’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to really visit. Can I … come in and wait?”

“I don’t think so. If you want to leave your name and number, I’ll have them call you,” India offered.

“Oh, sure, I understand. Do you have … a pen and paper?” the tall stranger asked hopefully.

India sighed and turned to go get a pen and paper from the kitchen, but stopped at the last moment, gave the man a sweet smile, and closed the door in his face, clicking the deadbolt for good measure.

Angel balled his hands into fists as he waited outside the door, utterly frustrated. He was out of practice in the art of getting invited in. Of course, it used to be all he had to do was smile and look pretty – that ploy wasn’t working on this woman.

When he heard her coming back, he quickly moved away from the door and down to the other end of the porch. He leaned casually against the porch railing and put on his most charming façade. If he couldn’t get invited in, then he’d just have to draw her out.

**~**

Buffy skulked up the creaking stairs as quietly as she could, Joan right on her heels. When she got to the landing she heard what Joan had heard: a soft moaning coming from one of the rooms down the hall.

She crept forward, stake at the ready, toward the sound. She and Joan took up positions on either side of the closed door and, with a silent nod to her twin as a signal, Buffy kicked the door open and burst through, Joan right behind her.

They stood in a fighter’s crouch, back-to-back ready to take on whoever or whatever was in the room, but no threat presented itself. The moaning continued, however, and they both moved toward the source of the sound.

While Joan kept watch for baddies and continued to light the room with her glowing eyes, Buffy reached out and touched the shoulder of the person lying in a crumpled heap on the dirty floor. The man rolled over onto his back with a gasp and another cry of pain.

“Giles!” Buffy exclaimed, the simple revelation colored with shock and horror at the sight of her ex-Watcher.



He was covered in bruises, cuts, burns … in fact, he looked very much like Buffy had looked after her four days in hell at the hands of his former employer. Blood pooled on the floor beneath Giles, enough to be quite worrisome, and he was barely conscious.

“Giles, what happened?” she asked anxiously, pulling an old curtain down off the window and rolling it into a ball. She slid it under his head as a pillow and began searching for the source of the blood.

“An … gelus,” he croaked out, reaching a hand out to her weakly.

“Ang … elus?” Buffy repeated, stressing the ‘elus’ part, her eyes growing wider.

Giles started to nod, but began to cough up blood. Still coughing, he pressed his closed fist against her stomach insistently.

Buffy took his hand in both of hers. “Giles … how? What … how?”



The old Watcher opened his closed fist and Buffy felt something brush against her palm. She looked down to see the handful of platinum curls Giles had been clutching fall into her hand.

She gasped, recognizing it immediately. “Spike!”

“Angelus … says,” Giles rasped out. “Trade him … for … you.”

Buffy’s eyes darted away from the snippets of her husband’s hair to Giles’ pallid and bruised face. “Where?”

Giles shook his head and began to cough again.

Buffy looked up at her twin. “Call 9-1-1 and get an ambulance out here,” she instructed.

“Where, Giles?” Buffy demanded again, looking back at her ex-Watcher.

“Don’t … know. Said … he would … contact … later.”



“Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Buffy snarled, clutching the locks of hair in her fist angrily. “I knew I should’ve staked that bastard before when I had the chance … chances.

“Joan!” Buffy called, looking up at her twin who was on the phone relaying the address to the 9-1-1 operator. “You need to get back to the house. Don’t let anyone in but me or Spike. India should probably stay until I get there so you can walk her home.”

The android nodded her understanding, still talking to the operator on the phone.

Buffy looked back down at Giles. “How did this happen? How did he lose his soul? ‘Cos I know it wasn’t skank-ho Faith!” Buffy questioned angrily.

Giles shook his head weakly and let his eyes fall closed. “The amulet … the weapon he used against … the First Evil. It … cleansed him of the Gypsy’s curse. Removed his … soul.

“We … thought he had … perished … in the Hellmouth,” Giles continued, his voice frail, barely audible. “But … Wolfram & Hart … resurrected ...” Giles began to cough again; this time blood splattered from his lips as he tried to get it under control.

“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy assured him. “How doesn’t matter…”

Giles sighed and laid his head back down on the folded up curtain, letting his eyes fall closed in relief.

Buffy sighed heavily and shook her head in dismay. Angelus was on the loose and he had Spike. She rubbed at her exhausted eyes; her head ached and her pulse was pounding painfully against her eardrums, making it nearly impossible to think straight.

“Why … why did he do this to you?” Buffy wondered after a few moments.

Giles blinked his eyes open and looked up at her. “Said he despises … leaving a job … half done.”



“I estimate that the ambulance will be here within three and one half minutes,” Joan announced. “I will wait at home for you to arrive.”

Buffy looked up at her and nodded. “Be careful. Don’t let anyone get too near you, okay? You remember what Angel looks like, right?”

“Yes. I have a full file on the Magnificent Poof,” Joan assured her. “He wears lifts.”

“And Dru? Do you know Dru?” Buffy pressed.

“Yes. I have detailed information on William the Bloody’s sire. She’s off her gourd most of the bloody time.”

Buffy took a deep breath and nodded.  “And you remember Faith, from when we were in Sunnydale?”

The robot nodded sharply. “The skank-ho that stole our axe and insinuated that your ass was in need of a tuck and a lift.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Right. Ok – get home and stay there. I’ll be there soon.”

Joan turned on her heel and headed out of the room. Buffy immediately regretted it, since the Bot was the only light in the damn place. Shit!

“Buffy,” Giles gasped out, grabbing her arm as she began to reach out to pick him up and take him downstairs. “Don’t … trade. Can’t trust … trap.”

Buffy nodded. “I know. Don’t worry. I’m not playing by his rules anymore.”

“Dru … Faith … too many to … fight … alone,” Giles warned.

“I’m not alone,” Buffy assured him as she gathered his limp form up into her arms and began feeling her way out of the room in the dark.



**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Red Rider - Lunatic Fringe on YouTube  }}

Lunatic Fringe
I know you're out there
You're in hiding
And you hold your meetings
We can hear you coming
We know what you're after
We're wise to you this time
We won't let you kill the laughter

Lunatic Fringe
In the twilight's last gleaming
This is open season
But you won't get too far
We know you've got to blame someone
For your own confusion
But we're on guard this time
Against your final solution

We can hear you coming
(We can hear you coming)
No you're not going to win this time
We can hear the footsteps
(We can hear the footsteps)
Way out along the walkway
Lunatic Fringe
We know you're out there
But in these new dark ages
There will still be light

An eye for an eye
Well, before you go under
Can you feel the resistance
Can you feel the....thunder
Chapter End Notes:
uh-oh ... I think the angst may start soon ...
Night Prowler by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
As soon as Giles was loaded into the ambulance, Buffy sprinted the twenty blocks back to their house. When she turned onto the stone path that led to their front door, she came to a screeching halt. The unmistakable stench of blood assaulted her nostrils. Her stomach quailed and her heart, already pounding hard, lurched and raced faster in her chest as a hundred horrible possibilities raged through her mind.



The front porch light was on and Buffy could see a hopscotch court drawn out in blood on the walk between her and the front door. She swallowed back the bile that threatened the back of her throat as she side-stepped it, her eyes darting up to the house.

“Oh, God!” she exclaimed as she saw Joan sitting on the front porch steps holding a limp and bloodied India.

Joan’s face was down next to India’s, their foreheads touching, as Joan rocked her girlfriend gently in her arms.

Joan looked up when Buffy approached, her eyes and cheeks shimmering with moisture. “She’s … she’s … India … she’s…” Joan stammered, her voice faltering, breaking with the strain.

“India … oh, God,” Buffy repeated, touching a hand to the woman’s neck to check for a pulse. There was none. Her skin felt cool to Buffy’s touch. Buffy’s stomach fell; folding in on itself with grief and sorrow as tears leapt to her eyes. “India … no … God …”

In the next moment, Buffy’s shimmering eyes went wide with renewed terror as she looked up to see the front door standing wide open. “The babies!”

A thousand images – horrible, bloody, ghastly, sickening images – formed in Buffy’s mind in the space of a heartbeat. Images of their babies in the hands of Angelus. Images of their sweet, innocent babies being tortured and mutilated and … and … worse. So much worse.

With tears blurring her vision, the Slayer darted past Joan and India, through the open door of the house, and sprinted up the stairs into the nursery. She couldn’t get the images out of her mind; couldn’t get the knowledge of what Angelus was capable of to stop bombarding her with nauseating terror. She, Joan, and Spike had made a fool of Angel back in Las Vegas; Angelus would not forget that. Angelus would want retribution … more than retribution, vengeance.

Buffy flung herself around the corner and into the open door of the nursery on the verge of hysteria. She careened, out of control, into the rocking chair, sending herself and the chair rolling, ass over teakettle, across the floor. She scrambled on hands and knees toward the cribs, unable to breathe, unable to think or speak or even scream.

In the next moment, she collapsed onto the floor, little more than a quivering mass of bone and muscle. She broke down into thankful sobs when she saw the twins still sleeping peacefully in their cribs, completely undisturbed. Her heart felt like it might explode at any moment, at once thankful, grief-stricken, and terrified.

“Oh, God … thank God … thank God,” was all she could say as she held her face in her hands, her body convulsing in sobs on the floor of the nursery. She had to fight to keep from hyperventilating as fear-induced adrenaline raced through her body, making her heart skip and leap in her chest as it thudded against her ribs, threatening to break them.



Buffy fought back the bile that had risen in her throat and the queasy feeling in her stomach as she tried to calm her racing heart. But, even as she regained her composure and pushed herself back to her feet, a horrible, empty feeling remained: A beautiful, sweet, loving, gentle person was dead and it was Buffy’s fault.

With tears still raining from her eyes and her breath coming in hiccupping gasps, Buffy double-checked all the rooms upstairs, locking any unlocked windows as she went, then did the same downstairs before returning to the front porch. Not that it would really do any good if Faith wanted in, but it was the only thing she could think to do.

Back downstairs, Joan rocked the lifeless body of her friend, her lover, against her, trying to provide comfort to the dead woman. Buffy blinked her eyes, trying to clear her vision as she knelt down beside the other two women on the front porch steps.

“Oh, God … India,” she repeated again, touching a hand to the gaping wound on the woman’s neck. The vampire who had killed her had not been gentle with her; he’d ripped and torn her flesh savagely before draining her.

“Angelus,” Buffy muttered, certain, shaking her head in horror and regret.

“She is my friend,” Joan whimpered, her face right next to India’s.

A sob escaped Buffy’s throat and her tears began falling harder. “I know she is … oh, God, I’m so sorry.”



“She loves me,” Joan continued. “She … loves that I am not normal.”

“I know, honey … God,” Buffy cried, wrapping her arms around Joan’s shoulders.

“I love her. I … we … she … she said she had been looking for me all of her life,” Joan continued forlornly. “We were to make a long and satisfying existence together. We had … plans. And now … her life has concluded before we could fulfill those expectations. I … I do not understand this outcome. This is iniquitous.”

“Oh, Joan … I’m so, so sorry …”

“I am not accustomed to this splintered, empty feeling in my chest,” Joan continued through her tears. “What is it? It is discomfiting. It is fragmenting my hard drive and corrupting my directories. Make it stop,” she begged, looking up at Buffy. “Please, Buffy, make it stop.”

“Oh, Joan, I’m so sorry,” Buffy moaned, her chin quivering with emotion as her own tears streamed down her cheeks. “I wish I could. I wish I could…”

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” Joan quoted flatly, as if Buffy’s words triggered some auto-response. She dropped her eyes glistening back down to India. Joan hugged her dead friend, her dead lover, to her more tightly, still rocking her gently, her eyes locked on India’s fine, blood-soaked features.

“I do not understand,” Joan continued, still rocking India in her arms, her clothes now soaked with blood. “I cannot determine how to process this situation. She was perfect two hours and twenty-seven minutes ago. She … smiled. She laughed. She kissed me. She … she … she was warm and … a-a-alive. And now … she is gone. She was here and now she is gone. She will not smile. She will not laugh. She will not kiss me ... ever again. Never. Never again. I do not understand why she just can't get back into her body and not be gone anymore. It is irrational … unreasonable for her to simply be ... gone now.

Joan looked up at Buffy with shimmering, grief-stricken eyes. “Why? Buffy, why? Please … I … cannot … comprehend … why. Is it … because I loved her? Is it my fault?”

“No … no … Joan,” Buffy assured her instantly, her own tears coming as hard as Joan’s as she shook her head adamantly. “It’s not your fault … it’s not. It’s … just … it’s …” Buffy’s voice trailed off, unable to say the words, ‘It’s my fault,’ aloud.



“What … what do we do now?” Joan wondered, looking back down at her lover’s lax and ashen face.

“I need … we need to call … someone,” Buffy said softly.

Joan nodded forlornly. “Dead people have certain needs,” she told Buffy, repeating what she’d been told back in Las Vegas when they had taken Spike away. “There is a special place with large drawers and black bags called a ‘morgue’. And you can’t touch the bodies, but it’s acceptable to talk to them. They take care of the needs of dead people.”

Buffy nodded and pulled out her cell phone to call 9-1-1.

**~**

Spike screamed as Angelus popped another of his toes out of their socket. Each toe on Spike’s right foot was bent down at a ninety degree angle, while the ones on his left foot were bent up.



“C’mon, Willie-boy,” Angelus purred dangerously. “All I need is an invite. A buttered scone and a cuppa for your old friend. Is that too much to ask?



“It would put an end all this screaming … Oh – wait! Bad idea! I like the screaming,” Angelus laughed as he used his hands to rearrange the toes on each of Spike’s feet all at once so they were bending opposite of the way they had been a moment ago.

Spike screamed again – his whole body tensing with the agony of it. The shackles tore deeper into the flesh of his wrists and ankles, cutting him to the bone, as his body convulsed in a fit of excruciating pain. His lungs ached with the effort of drawing in unneeded breath to try and remain conscious. Although unconsciousness would be welcome, waking up from it never was. Each time he’d lapsed into darkness, he’d been awoken with a new torture, a new agony.

“Had enough yet, Willie?” Angelus asked, looking down on Spike’s agonized face.

Spike nodded, letting his eyes fall closed and whispered something even Angelus couldn’t hear.

“What was that?” the dark vamp asked, leaning nearer.

Spike mumbled again and Angelus dropped his ear nearer Spike’s lips in order to hear the blond vamp.



“I said,” Spike began, just as softly. Spike took a deep, shuddering breath and screamed, “Get bent!” against his grandsire’s ear, causing Angelus to flinch back and growl in anger.

The larger vamp’s fist flashed down and bloodied Spike’s already broken nose. The blow sent a fresh flood of crimson flowing down Spike’s face and over his lips, and a wave of pain-induced nausea roiled in his stomach.

Faith rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. “I don’t need an invite. I don’t see why you don’t just let me take care of it,” she droned from somewhere out of Spike’s line of vision.

For not the first time since this began, Spike prayed. He prayed to anyone that would listen to a reformed creature of the night, admonishing them to not let Angelus listen to the Slayer. As long as Angelus’ sociopathic pride remained intact, the bits were safe. They could torture Spike until the cows came home – and then they could torture the cows – but there would be no invite coming from his lips.

“And I told you,” Angelus snarled at her, moving away from Spike. “That it has to be me. I owe these two – I intend to pay them back with interest. No one makes a fool of me without living just long enough to regret it!”

Faith sighed heavily and shrugged dramatically. “Whatever, big guy. Just sayin’ … we could have the little ankle biters right now and have this over with. This town sucks – I’m ready to move on.”

“We’ll move on when I say we move on,” Angelus retorted angrily.

Spike heard shuffling and a fist connecting with flesh somewhere behind him. He allowed himself to relax a bit when he heard zippers being slid down and the unmistakable sound of wet, frantic kisses. A shag would allow him a small respite from Angelus … very short and very small, but a respite nonetheless.



“Hello, my Spike,” Dru purred, her cool breath singeing the skin of his neck. “Shall we have a dance? You know I love to dance.”

Bugger.

**~**

Hours later…

Buffy sat at the kitchen table staring at the Polaroids of the ‘crime scene’ that she’d somehow thought to take before the police arrived. She was so exhausted that she barely even saw them any longer, and the doodles she’d been drawing, trying to sort it all out, were starting to look like one of Will and Jade’s ‘art’ projects.



She rubbed at her tired, gritty eyes, wishing she could figure out the blood puzzle that Angelus had left her, but nothing was making sense.

The police had come and gone long ago. India’s body was at the morgue now, and at Buffy’s insistence, Joan was upstairs resting … errr charging. Buffy drank down the last of the now-cold coffee from her mug and then dropped her head down onto her arms on the table. Somewhere in the clues that Angelus had left her was the key to finding him … and Spike; she knew it. She simply couldn’t figure it out.

Even with her eyes closed and her brain fried, she could see the clues dancing in front of her, taunting and mocking her. First there was the hopscotch court, drawn out in blood. The numbers had to mean something; they weren’t sequential like in a normal hopscotch game. She figured it was a house number or house and street number – it was too short to be a phone number – but there were seemingly endless combinations of what it could actually mean.  

Then there were the giant springs, like might go on a big truck. They’d been literally dripping in blood on the lawn next to the hopscotch game. The last clue was the letter ‘B’ written over and over again on the walk all the way from the hopscotch court to the porch steps.



She’d tried writing out the words: ‘hopscotch’, ‘springs’, ‘BBBBB’ and shuffling the letters around like an anagram to make something. She made a lot of words, but none of them meant anything to her. She tried taking the numbers and adding them up, multiplying them, assigning them to letters and adding them to the word puzzle, but again – nothing clicked.

Every minute that passed seemed like a lifetime. Angelus, Dru, and Faith had Spike. Buffy didn’t want to imagine what that meant, but her uncooperative imagination kept conjuring images for her – horrible, painful, heart-wrenching images – so she kept pressing on, fighting the fatigue and trying to see the answer in the jumbled blood puzzle.

“You require recharging,” Joan said from behind Buffy, making her jump and knock her empty mug onto the floor, shattering it.

“Christ, Joan! Don’t sneak up on people like that!”

“I was not in stealth mode,” Joan defended as she reached for the broom and dust pan to sweep up the broken mug.

Buffy sighed and dropped her head into her hands again. “Sorry … I’m just cranky-Buffy.”

“It is reasonable,” Joan agreed, her voice flat, void of emotion, as she dropped the broken bits of mug into the garbage. “You have not recharged in twenty-seven hours and forty-three minutes. Sleep deprivation in humans can adversely affect the brain’s cognitive function and mood. Lack of sleep for extended periods can cause seizure and death.”

“Oh, swell … as if I didn’t have enough things trying to kill me,” Buffy moaned.

“You should sleep now,” Joan insisted.

Buffy sighed and pushed up from the table. “I can’t. Now that you’re up, I … need to get down to the morgue.”

Joan tilted her head in confusion. “Are you going to speak with India?”

Buffy fingered the stake stuck in the waistband of her jeans at her back. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“May I accompany you?” Joan asked, growing excited. “I would like to speak with her as well. There are many things that I did not say previously that I would like to now relate to her. I will not touch; only talk. I am cognizant of the rules.”

“No … I don’t think that would be a good idea. You don’t have to actually see her to talk to her spirit, honey,” Buffy replied gently. “You can just … talk and … and she’ll hear you. She knows you love her; she’ll hear you if you talk to her.”



“Are you certain? I do not detect the presence of a spirit in this location. The runes and sigils we have painted on the house would likely keep a spirit from entering,” Joan pointed out.

Buffy gave her twin a sad smile. “That only keeps out malevolent spirits; she can hear you, trust me.”

Joan seemed unconvinced, but nodded anyway.

“While I’m gone, could you get the babies their breakfast when they wake up? Make sure to stay in the house. Don’t invite anyone in. Keep the curtains drawn and everything locked up. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Joan nodded. “Tell her … I perceive her absence keenly. It is causing a physical reaction deep in my core processors that I have been unable to control or contain. I regret that I was unable to reanimate her. I regret … I regret that we did not have the opportunity to execute our plans and create a lengthy, fulfilling, and satisfying existence. Tell her … I miss her acutely and … and I love her ... and ... and ... I am ... empty.”

Buffy blinked back her tears, swiping at her eyes with shaking fingers. “You can tell her, honey ... just talk, she can hear you," she assured Joan.

"Please ..." the Bot begged. "She might not hear me. Will you please tell her as well?"

Buffy nodded. "Okay, yeah ... I will.”

**~**



Spike was beyond screaming. All he could do was laugh. It sounded maniacal even to his ears. Dru’s talons dug into the flesh of his chest, her fingers curling around one rib after another, and pulling each one free of the cartilage mooring them to his sternum. He could hear each bone breaking as it was yanked out and bent away from its brothers. It started to sound like a song in his head, playing over and over again.

♫Knick-knack paddywack, give a dog a bone…

Spike laughed.

**~**

Buffy sat on one of the stainless steel autopsy tables in the underground morgue and waited for what she knew would happen to India. There was no way Angelus would just kill her outright. That wouldn’t have been nearly cruel enough. Buffy’s eyelids kept creeping closed as she waited, her head dipping, before snapping back awake.

She was utterly exhausted, a walking zombie, and yet there was no time for sleep. She had to find out if India knew anything about where they’d taken Spike and then she had to dust the woman that had been their very first friend in Austin. The woman that had effectively renamed their daughter to ‘Jade’ with the colorful, artistic collage of her initials. The woman who had died without uttering an invitation to Angelus, despite the pain she must’ve endured. The woman that had accepted Joan’s Abby-Normal-ness and loved her anyway.



As Buffy waited and tried to remain alert, she thought back over the months they’d known India. It had at first surprised Buffy that the artist had bonded so closely with Joan. They were really complete opposites, but the two women seemed to take great pleasure in trying to show each other the world from a different perspective. The abstract dreamer and the logical realist had had one common love from the very start: art.

They could both look at a flower or a sunset or a blade of grass and see completely different things. India saw the poetry in them, the spirit, the aura, the connection to the world; Joan saw the specific physical detail of each element of the subject. Joan could paint the blade of grass precisely, showing each imperfection, using the exact shades of green or brown or yellow to accurately reproduce it on canvas. India’s blade of grass would be done in bright oranges, pinks, and purples. It would represent a journey from the center of the earth, drawing on all the life-energy of the world and concentrating it into making that single blade of grass.

Despite appearing to be polar opposites, Joan and India could spend hours discussing that blade of grass, trying to understand the other’s point of view and make the other woman understand theirs. The dreamer never could seem to fully grasp the realist, nor could the realist grasp the fuzzy and elusive ideas of the romantic hippie, but they continued to be fascinated by each other, nonetheless, and, over time, that fascination had grown and transformed into affection, and then love.

And now India was dead – or, more likely, undead. Neither Buffy nor Joan had warned India about vampires or revealed their ‘Slayer-ness’ to her. Revealing Joan’s bot-ness had been quite a shock all on its own, and anyway, there just weren’t that many vampires in Austin. It had been different in Sunnydale; people knew there were lots of weird things that went bump in the night, and some could even accept the idea of demons and vampires, but this was Austin. It wasn’t a Hellmouth; there weren’t demon attacks on the citizenry every night. They’d get a passing vampire or demon now and then, but nothing like Sunnydale.

And when Buffy had called India to watch the babies – was it only a few hours ago? – there had been no time. And, anyway, Buffy honestly thought Dru had what she wanted (Spike) and wouldn’t return. If she’d known about Angelus being on the loose, she would’ve never, ever left the babies or India alone. Never. If. If. If.

If ‘ifs’ and ‘ands’ were pots and pans, there’d be no work for the tinker’s hands.

And now India was dead. Joan was devastated. Their plans for a long, happy life were shattered. And, to top everything off, Dru and Angelus still had Spike.

No matter how far Buffy ran, it seemed like her past just kept following her. Maybe they should’ve gone to Croatia like Spike suggested. If she couldn’t talk to anyone, she couldn’t make friends and couldn’t put them in danger.

Buffy pulled herself out of her morose reflection when the dead body on the table opposite her began to stir. Time to go to work.

Buffy jumped down off the table she’d been sitting on and moved up beside the table where India’s body laid. She pressed her stake against the dead woman’s chest and tried to remember that this was no longer their friend. She was a demon. She wasn’t the same woman that loved Joan; she wasn’t the same woman that babysat for them; she wasn’t the artist, she wasn’t human.

India’s eyes blinked open and her lovely, fine-features morphed into those of the demon Angelus had impregnated her with. Her eyes, which had been such an amazing shade of violet-grey in life, were now the angry amber of the monster.



“Don’t move,” Buffy warned, pressing the stake harder against the woman’s chest.

India growled and tried to reach for Buffy, but her arms were trapped within the body-bag. Only her face, neck, and a small part of her chest were freed from the confines of the coroner’s standard garb for the deceased.

“Tell me where Angelus is and I’ll let you go,” Buffy offered.

“Let me go and I’ll take you to him,” the fledge vamp slurred past her fangs.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, India,” Buffy retorted. “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. I’ve been doing this a while. Tell me where he is – it’s your only chance.”

“How do I know you’ll keep the deal?” India wondered, struggling to try and wriggle her arms out of the bag.

“‘Cos I’m the Slayer – I’m the good guy, the white hat. We always keep our word.”  

India stopped struggling, realizing it was futile. She studied the Slayer with her preternatural senses, salivating at the sound of fresh blood rushing in Buffy’s veins, at the aroma wafting from her skin, at the warmth radiating off her. India had never felt more ravenous than at that moment. She needed blood. She needed that warmth running down her throat like she’d never needed anything before.

“He’s in an abandoned house near the Church of Good Tidings,” India revealed after several long moments of contemplation. “Let me out of here and I’ll take you there,” she offered again hopefully.

Buffy sighed heavily. That was the house where they’d found Giles. Angelus wasn’t there anymore. Shit!

“Was he gonna meet you there? Did he say when?” the Slayer questioned.

“He just said that’s where he’d be waiting for me – you know, right before he ripped my throat out,” India retorted sarcastically.

Buffy winced as if physically slapped. “I’m sorry … I should’ve told you.”

“Ya think?” India snarked back, rolling her amber eyes.

“I didn’t think you were in danger; and, anyway, I didn’t think you’d believe me,” Buffy defended. “I didn’t think … it would ever come to this … not here, not so far from a Hellmouth.”

“So, mostly, you just didn’t think,” India shot back.

Buffy cringed again, her guilt weighing on her heavily. “I guess … not,” she admitted miserably.

India shrugged, looking around the room. “It’s really kinda awesome,” the demon replied almost dreamily. “I can see everything so much more clearly … hear everything, smell everything.”

She looked back at Buffy and licked her lips. “And you smell divine; really, really … scrumptious … like … food, like life.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Buffy quipped. “I’m a Happy Meal on legs. Go me!”

Buffy turned serious again as she looked down at the demon that used to be their friend … more than a friend, practically one of their family. “Thank you for … for what you did, for protecting the babies, not inviting Angel in.

“Joan wanted me to tell you that she misses you, and … she’s sorry she was too late to save you. She really … really loves you and … and she wanted to make all your dreams of a happy life come true.”

“Well, she still can! Why don’t you get me outta this bag and we can go see her?” India suggested, her words getting less lispy the more she talked. “We can still have that life we dreamed of … just with more blood and violence. It’ll be even better!”



Buffy drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I wish I could, but I can’t. I ... I can't take the chance ... can't take any more chances...

“G-g-goodbye, I-India,” Buffy breathed, her voice breaking at the end as she pressed harder on the stake.

India’s amber, demon eyes widened in shock. “But, I told you what you wanted! You promised!”

Tears filled Buffy’s eyes again and spilled down her cheeks as she looked down on their friend. “I … I’m … s-s-sorry…” she stammered, pressing down even harder on the stake.

In the next moment, Buffy was yanked backwards and flung across the room. She slid across the slick linoleum floor and crashed into the wall on the opposite side of the room. Her head hit the wall with a painful, deafening ‘thud’ and her world began to spin out of control. She struggled to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy. She struggled to move, to get up, to get out, to find her stake, to do anything but she couldn’t get her limbs to function. She could only slump against the cold wall as darkness closed in on her exhausted, and now concussed, mind.

**~**

Spike woke up screaming.

“This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none, and this little piggy went ‘Wee, wee, wee’ all the way home!” a child’s gleeful voice recited in a sing-song voice.



As each ‘little piggy’ was enumerated, Spike’s already dislocated and broken toes were wrenched sideways and twisted full circle in their sockets. Hana laughed and giggled as she exclaimed ‘wee, wee, wee!’ nearly pulling Spike’s little toe completely off.

Spike’s body was beyond being able to even tense or convulse with the agony. He couldn’t even pull against the shackles, which were now embedded into the bones of his wrists and ankles, any longer. He could only scream and even that was only a shadow of its former self.

“Such a pretty rainbow you’ve made, little Hana! All in my favorite hues: reds and blacks and blues and purples. What game is next?” Dru asked her small companion giddily, bouncing on her toes expectantly.

Hana’s teal-blue eyes danced as she thought a moment, then a bright smile christened her angelic features. She picked up a claw-hammer from the floor and skipped gaily up from Spike’s feet to his head. The child raised the hammer above Spike’s forehead and began to sing, “Little bunny Foo-Foo, hopping through the forest, picking up the field mice and ‘bonking’ them on the head!”

Spike screamed.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Night Prowler, AC/DC  on YouTube  }}


Somewhere a clock strikes midnight
And there's a full moon in the sky
You hear a dog bark in the distance
You hear someone's baby cry

A rat runs down the alley
And a chill runs down your spine
And Someone walks across your grave
And you wish the sun would shine

Cause No one's gonna warn you
And no one's gonna yell 'Attack'
And you don't feel the steel
‘Til it's hanging out your back

I'm your Night Prowler, asleep in the day
I'm your Night Prowler, get out of my way
Look out for the Night Prowler, watch you tonight
I'm the Night Prowler, when you turn out the light ...

Too scared to turn your light out
'Cos there's something on your mind
What’s that a noise outside your window?
What's that shadow on the blind?

As you lie there naked
Like a body in a tomb
Suspended animation
As I slip into your room

I'm your Night Prowler, break down your door
I'm your Night Prowler, crawling 'cross your floor
I'm your Night Prowler, make a mess of you, yes I will
Night Prowler, and I am telling this to you
There ain't nothing you can do
Chapter End Notes:
Oh NO! Not more Evil Cliffies!! Who knocked Buffy out? Can Spike get away from Angelus, Dru, Hana, and Faith? Will Joan be able to get over the loss of India? Stay tuned!! More by next Sunday. For those of you who requested the return of 'angst', I hope this has satisfied your tear ducts. :)
Heaven Was Needing a Hero by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
As soon as the pressure of Buffy's stake was removed from India’s chest, the vamp began to struggle fiercely, using every ounce of her new demonic power trying to get free. She rolled off the autopsy table and crashed onto the cold, hard floor of the morgue. The heavy zipper of the body-bag slipped down further when she hit and further still as she continued to struggle for freedom, for life.

The fledge had just freed her arms from the bag and begun to press it down, extricating herself from the vinyl prison, when Buffy’s stake skittered across the floor and wedged under the edge of the bag. India's head jerked up at the contact and saw that Joan had kicked the stake away from her Slayer counterpart who was slumped unconscious against the far wall.

“India!” Joan cried, turning away from the downed Slayer and rushing back to her friend, her lover. Joan fell to her knees next to the struggling vamp, her need to follow the ‘rules’ stopping her, at least momentarily, from pulling India into her arms.

“Joan…” the fledge vampire breathed as she stopped struggling, the single word colored with surprise and relief.

“I … you’re … I …” Joan stammered, tears shimmering in her eyes, as she slowly reached a trembling hand out to touch India’s wrinkled brow, despite the ‘no touching’ rule.

When Joan’s overly-warm fingertips brushed against India’s cold skin, her demonic mask melted away, leaving just the beautiful woman and her mesmerizing violet eyes looking up at the Bot.

“Joan…” India whispered, reaching a hand up to touch the blonde’s face, mirroring her lover.

The two women seemed to freeze in that moment, lost in the connection of a simple, loving touch. Their gazes met and locked, green and violet, holding them in place, neither woman moving or breathing. The two opposites were never more opposite, the dreamer and the realist were now the Slayer and the vampire, and yet the connection remained. Whatever had drawn them together as friends and lovers remained between them; an ethereal, unexplainable bond.

As if drawn by that magical force of nature that connected them, Joan bent slowly forward, lowering her lips to her lover’s. The two women’s eyes fluttered closed as their lips met in a gentle, loving, chaste kiss that was at once a lifetime and a single heartbeat.

Joan rested her forehead against India’s, her eyes still closed, tears still leaking from beneath her lids. “I love you."

Tears welled in India’s eyes as she took in a shaking, unsteady, and unneeded breath. “I love you."

"I thought you were ... dead.”

"I am," India admitted despondently. "Joan … please … help me.”

Joan sat back slightly to look down into her lover’s eyes. “Yes … anything.”

India began to speak when her eyes suddenly closed and her face morphed back into the demon … then back to human. Again and again the transformation took place as an internal struggle of epic proportions raged within her – her goodness against the evil of the vampire Angelus had implanted inside her.

“India … please … tell me. What … what do I do?” Joan begged, touching her hand back down onto the dark woman’s cheek gently.



India drew in a sharp breath and her body bowed and convulsed in pain as her face morphed between human and vampire. Fangs extended, then retracted, her forehead wrinkled then smoothed, her eyes flashed open and closed as they shifted from amber to violet and back again. She struggled against the body-bag, against herself, against the demon, thrashing on the floor in a fit of madness as Joan watched helplessly.

When India’s body finally stilled and relaxed, she opened her eyes and looked up at Joan. The windows to her soul were the clear, brilliant eyes of the woman, not the demon, and yet Joan could see now that there was something missing behind those windows.

India covered Joan’s warm hand where it rested on her sallow cheek with her own cold, dead palm, keeping her human eyes locked upon Joan’s. “The color … is gone. Joan … it’s … lifeless. The world is … black and white.”

Joan shook her head in confusion, looking away from India and around the room. “It is … as it’s always …”

“No!” India barked sharply. “It’s not. It’s … gone. Joan, it’s … all gone.”

Joan again shook her head, looking back down at her lover. “What is gone?”

“The life. The color. The soul. The dream. The hope. It’s … all gone,” India explained, her words coming out in difficult gasps. Her body spasmed again, the demon appearing then fading once more as she fought it back. “Help me, Joan … please. Make it stop. It’s dark and evil and hopeless and it wants me and … I can’t fight. … It’s … too strong. Joan, please,” she begged. “It hurts so much. Deep inside ... my heart ... so black ... it hurts.”

Joan’s tears began falling again in earnest. “Tell me what to do. I will do anything. Tell me,” she pleaded.

India’s free hand fumbled around on the floor next to her, finally finding Buffy’s stake that had Joan had kicked there. She lifted it up with trembling fingers and rested the point against her chest. Again the demon rose and her body began to convulse as it fought against the ever-weakening woman inside.

“No … no … no … I … cannot … not that … anything but that … no,” Joan stammered, her eyes glued to the bit of sharp wood that India was struggling to hold onto through her battle with Angelus’ blood that now animated her corpse.

The demon was growing stronger, seemingly feeding on the artist’s heart and soul little by little, devouring what little remained of her humanity which had been awakened by her lover’s touch. The darkness was swallowing her alive, bite by bite, devouring pieces of her heart and soul, painfully ripping them from the light and drowning them in a chasm of blood-thirst.

“Please … please … make it … stop,” India begged as she tried to press the stake down against her own chest, only to have the demon assert itself and stop her. “Joan … help me. I can’t … can’t live in a world … without … color … without … light. It … hurts … please …”

“No … no …” Joan gasped through her tears even as her hand reached out and wrapped around India’s and the stake. “I love you… please, I need you," Joan begged her. "We had ... plans for a long life and many pleasurable years. We were going to the Grand Canyon and Yosemite Park and to see the World’s Largest Ball of Sisal Twine...”



“I know. I'm ... so ... sorry. Don't want ... to leave you. I love you, baby … I’m … sorry … but ... I … can’t … be … this. I can't ... Please ... help ... me.”

Joan shook her head, her long, blonde hair flowing around her shoulders as her tears ran in rivers down her cheeks. She held on to the stake, her warm hand covering India’s cold one which clung to the bit of wood like it was her only hope for salvation.

“But … Spike … Spike … does it … he …” Joan protested.

India shook her head. “Not … strong enough. It’s … winning … It’s so … dark. So … black. Hurts … so much. Joan, baby … please,” the fledge begged through tears of her own.

“Your spirit is extremely strong and virulent!” Joan insisted vehemently. “You did not invite the vampire inside. You did not allow him near the children. You are a hero; even Buffy said so! You stood up to Angelus…”

“No … not … strong,” India interrupted her, shaking her head. “I love … you. I’m … sorry I’m not … stronger … not … strong enough. Please … if you … love me … do this … for me.”

Joan shook her head, her tears coming stronger and harder, as she tried to process everything, tried to make sense of what India was asking of her.

P-p-please,” India begged again, clearly straining to get the word out as the demon continued to consume her humanity, her heart, her soul, her light.

Joan leaned down and kissed India again through her sobs. The Bot-Slayer pressed the stake against her lover’s chest a little harder with one hand while still cupping her cold cheek with the other. India’s body trembled and quivered as if being electrocuted. Her fangs extended, her eyes morphed between violet and amber, and her forehead wrinkled and smoothed, but Joan continued to kiss her through it all, gently and lovingly.

When India’s body finally relaxed again back into her human features, Joan pulled back enough to look into India’s eyes. “I love you,” she whispered roughly through her tears.



India nodded, her eyes closing momentarily in relief. Joan would do it. She would help her. She would end this pain. End the darkness that was poised to engulf her. It was in those three words – her promise.

“Knock, knock…” the artist rasped out after a moment, her eyes fluttering open and meeting Joan’s.

“Who’s there?” Joan replied quietly, an almost autonomic response.

“C-U-on-da,” India answered.

“C-U-on-da who?”

“C-U-on-da-other-side, my love,” India replied as she pressed the stake down into her chest with the last ounce of determination, heart, and soul she had.

Joan’s hand seemed to move in concert with India’s, as if disconnected from her processors and controlled instead by her lover, helping the fledge press the sharpened bit of wood down even harder.

Joan gasped as the stake penetrated India’s chest cavity and drove into her heart. India gave Joan a grateful smile and leaned her face into her lover’s touch one last time before she exploded into a cloud of dust.

Joan collapsed in heart-wrenching sobs, unable to say anything but, “No, no, no…” over and over again as she buried her face and hands in all that remained of her friend and lover, longing to hold her one last time.

**~**

“She won’t come…” Spike rasped out, unable to open his eyes, but knowing instinctively that Angelus had just come back into the room. “Wastin’ yer bloody time.”



“She’ll come,” Angelus stated flatly as he moved closer to his shackled, beaten and bloodied grand-childe.

Spike shook his head slowly. “No … won’t.”

“Ah, Willie, you don’t give the Slayer enough credit. She’ll come … it’s what she does,” Angelus disagreed. “And when she does …” Angelus moaned and licked his lips, his eyes falling closed a moment in rapture.

“Revenge will never be sweeter than having you each watch what I do to your … spouse,” the dark vamp asserted, spitting the last word as if it were holy-water in his mouth.

A deep growl rolled from Spike’s chest, vibrating his broken ribs painfully.

Angelus leaned down near Spike’s ear and whispered, “Of course, I won’t touch that bastard brood you’ve got. No … those are for Dru and Hana… gumdrops … sweet, gooey treats for my girls.”

Spike thrashed against his shackles, digging them into the bones of his wrists and ankles even deeper, trying to break free. His ribs scraped and grated against each other, their ends un-tethered by cartilage and protruding from his flesh. Every inch of his body was covered in some type of bruise, cut, or burn, it seemed. So many bones were broken he’d lost count, but he barely felt it, his only thought was finding a way to get free, to stop Buffy from coming for him, to stop Angelus from luring her into his trap. She and Joan needed to take the babies and run. Run far away. Run where Angelus could never find her. She needed to forget him and save herself; save their bits.

Angelus laughed wickedly and stood back up. “Now, whatever shall we do to pass the time while we wait?” he wondered idly as he began looking around the room. He picked up an old, discarded whiskey bottle by the neck and smashed the end of it against a table, creating a sharp, jagged weapon.

Angelus licked his lips again as he moved back over to where Spike was shackled down. “I wonder if Buffy would love you as well with parts of you removed?

"Where shall we start? Your eyes? Your fingers? Your …”

Spike screamed.

**~**

Buffy finally shook the cobwebs from her brain. She moaned as she pushed herself up from her uncomfortable slump against the hard wall, rubbing the bump on her head gingerly with her fingers. She pulled back and looked at them; at least there was no blood. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her vision and focus her mind, trying to remember where she was and why she hurt so much.



It all came back to her in a flash. She jumped back to her feet and into a crouch, ready to fight as she scanned the room. There was no one there. She was alone. She sighed, a hand going to her woozy stomach. As her eyes scanned the room more slowly, she saw the empty body-bag on the floor. What little energy she'd conjured drained from her as she realized she had yet another vampire teamed up with Angelus to contend with. She walked over to the bag and kicked it in frustration. When she did, dry particles of dust floated up, filling the air.

The Slayer’s brow furrowed and she knelt down next to the bag, looking more closely now that she realized that it was filled with vampire dust.

“India…” she murmured as the full realization hit her. Buffy felt hot tears prickle her eyes as all her guilt and remorse came flooding back. She closed her tired eyes, trying to shut out the guilt, and concentrated on just breathing a few moments. There would be time for mourning and berating herself later, she still had a job to do. She needed to solve Angelus’ blood puzzle and find Spike now.

Pressing her emotions back and pulling her ‘Slayer-cape’ closely about her, Buffy opened her eyes with one final, deep, cleansing breath. Still confused about how India dusted, fairly certain she hadn't managed it before she'd been knocked out, she brushed her hand through the fine powder, trying to piece together what had happened. Her fingers touched something metallic. She closed her hand around the small item and pulled it from the gritty remains. Blowing the dust off the object in her palm, she recognized it immediately. It was a three-band, tri-color ring exactly like the one she wore on her right ring finger, exactly like Spike’s and Joan’s. She slid it onto her finger – it fit. It wasn’t Spike’s. It was Joan’s.



“Joan … what …?” she murmured to herself, looking around the room again, trying to find some rhyme or reason to what was going on, but failing.

Buffy shook her head, giving up, as she stood up, swaying slightly from the bump on her head, the elevation change, and her fatigue. After regaining her balance a moment, she headed out of the morgue and back to the house to find out what was going on.

**~**

“You’re a quite queer vampire,” Hana observed as she licked the blood, skin, and hair from the end of the hammer like a lollipop.

Spike rolled his head on his shoulders, trying to get his brain to function, but the pain, swelling, and blood loss was making it difficult.

“Mmmpphh…” was all he could get out.



“Oh, yes! Quite queer indeed!” Hana gushed. “I rather like you, actually. And you taste like … gumdrops!” she observed, sucking the rounded head of the bloody hammer into her mouth with a loud slurping sound.

“Mmmmpph…”

“I do wonder, if I were to nail your ribs back into place, would they stay?” Hana mused. “Do you think Miss Dru would be cross if I tried? I do rather enjoy it when she becomes cross with me! She has the most delicious punishments, don’t you agree, Mr. William?”

“MMMMPPHHH…”

“Yes, I knew you would. I do believe I’ll try,” Hana concluded as she bent down and gathered up some stray nails that littered the floor.

“The spikes are rather too large, but perhaps they won’t splinter the bones too badly,” she observed as she pressed the tip of one nail against one of Spike’s broken, extruded ribs and raised the hammer above it.

Spike screamed.

**~**

“Joan! I’m back,” Buffy called as she entered the front door about half an hour later. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”



She was met with silence.

Buffy’s heart lurched in her chest. She slammed the door closed behind her and sprinted into the kitchen. The papers and photos were still on the table along with a box of Cheerios, but no one was in there. She ran back through the living room and up the stairs – there was no sign of Joan or the babies anywhere, nor was there any sign of a break-in or a struggle.

Buffy ran back down the stairs, pulling her phone out of her pocket, and dialed Joan’s number.

“Hello?” came her doppelganger’s voice over the line, flat and business-like.

“Joan! Where are you? Do you have the babies? What are you doing? I thought I told you not to leave the house! What happened at the morgue? Where are you?”

“I left you a fully explanatory note in the kitchen. I have dropped the twins off at Mrs. Michael’s – they had a play-date scheduled for this morning with Erin and Echol,” Joan reminded Buffy. “They are perfectly safe there. It is the middle of the day, there is a firm threshold in place, and Angelus would not have any knowledge of the play-date, and therefore would not know to look for them there.”

“A play-date?! Joan! We don’t have time for freaking play-dates!” Buffy screamed. “Bring them back to the house!”

“I am unable to honor that directive.”

“W-what? What do you mean by that? Joan, get them and bring them back!!” Buffy insisted frantically.

“I am sorry, but I am still unable to honor that directive,” Joan repeated. “Thank you for calling. Have a nice day. Goodbye.”

“Joan! What …” Buffy looked at her phone – the call had ended. She dialed the number again; it rolled directly into voice mail. “What the fuck, Joan?!” Buffy snarled, practically crushing the phone in her grasp.

Buffy screamed in anger and utter frustration but resisted smashing the phone against the nearest wall. What the fuck was wrong with Joan? What the hell had happened at the morgue? Was the whole freaking world going crazy or was it just her?

Buffy stomped into the kitchen and found the note, which said basically the same thing Joan had said on the phone. That she was taking the twins to the play-date and that Buffy should pick them up in two hours. Buffy picked up the note and ripped it into a million little-bitty pieces. It made her feel only slightly better.

She sagged and dropped down into the chair, trying to figure out what was wrong with Joan and what to do about it – as if she didn’t have enough to worry about already. She rested her head in one hand and let her eyes wander over the now too-familiar photos of Angelus’ blood-puzzle.



As she did, she noticed a new paper mixed in with all her jumbled doodles – with Joan’s neat, formal handwriting on it. She pulled it out, suddenly alert.

It read, ‘97420 ‘B’ Line Road, Dripping Springs’.

Buffy furrowed her brow, then jumped up and grabbed their old map of the Austin area. “Dripping Springs …” she mumbled to herself, searching the area around Austin frantically.



“Shit!” she exclaimed when she found it. “So freaking simple! Argh!”

Buffy quickly grabbed the keys to the weapons chest. She picked out a sword and a dagger, then stuffed two stakes into her pockets, one into her waistband, and one into each boot. On her way out the back door she grabbed the map and the keys to her refurbished, borrowed, former Sunnydale Police car – Joan had taken the DeSoto.

Buffy only jumped one curb on her way out of the driveway, completely missing the hedge and the fire hydrant. Impressive, especially under the circumstances. Once on the street, she pressed the accelerator down to the floorboard.

“Coming through – get the hell outta my way!” she warned the world at large. Luckily, the world was listening.

If her luck held out, she could beat Joan there, they could storm the Bastille together, rescue Spike, kick some evil ass, and be back in time to pick up the twins from their play-date.

… … Yeah, right, and tomorrow the sun will rise in the west, money will rain from the clouds, and scientists will discover that chocolate is a health-food and should be consumed at every meal.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Heaven Was Needing A Hero, Jo Dee Messina on YouTube  }}

I came by today to see you
Oh I had to let you know
If I knew the last time that I held you was the last time
I'd have held you, and never let go

Oh, it's kept me awake nights, wondering
I lie in the dark, just asking why
I've always been told
You won't be called home
Until it's your time

I guess heaven was needing a hero
Somebody just like you
Brave enough to stand up
For what you believe
And follow it through
When I try to make it make sense in my mind
The only conclusion I come to
Is heaven was needing a hero
Like you

I remember the last time I saw you
Oh, you held your head up proud
I laughed inside
When I saw how you were standing out in the crowd
Your such a part of who I am
Now that part will just be void
No matter how much I need you now
Heaven needed you more

Cause heaven was needing a hero
Somebody just like you
Brave enough to stand up
For what you believe
And follow it through
When I try to make it make sense in my mind
The only conclusion I come to
Is heaven was needing a hero
Like you

Yes, Heaven was needing a hero
and that's you
Chapter End Notes:
Oh my! What is Joan going to do?? Will Buffy catch up to her? What will happen when they meet the evil quartet of Angel, Dru, Hana, and Faith?? We'll find out soon! Hope to have more by next Sunday. If TSR goes down, you can also find this story at Elysian Fields and on my own site at www.Passion4Spike.com so you won't be left hanging.
Don't Fear the Reaper by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks and GIANT HUGS to all of you! This story received the following accolades at the latest Sunnydale Memorial Fanfic Awards:

Winner: Best Characterization, Female: BuffyBot/Joan, Best Unconventional Pairing (Spike, Buffy, BuffyBot), Best Romance

Runner up: Best Plot, Best Unfinished Fic, Best Angst

You can't imagine my ELATION! Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your support and love! {{{hugs}}}

“No, no, no,” the first old man objected in a thick southern drawl, waving his arms adamantly and shaking his bald head. “B Line Road's the old Baxter Road, they changed the blasted thang when Trewalla went and runned off with that there travelin’ circus!”

“That was the Baker girl what runned off with the circus!” the second old man disputed in the same thick drawl, his shock of white hair a sharp contrast to his friend’s bald pate. “The Baxter girl decided she were gonna be a movie star and runned off ta Holl-ee-wood. B Line Road's the old Baker Road, west o’ the Piggly-Wiggly.”

Buffy ground her teeth and held her hands up as the first old man spat tobacco juice in a spittoon, getting ready to object again. “Look! Isn’t there anyone around here that knows where B Line Road is for sure? I’m really in a hurry … it’s a matter of life and death! And I mean that literally!”

“Arnie would know,” the first old man answered authoritatively, nodding sagely.

“Right as rain, that is. Arnie would know,” the second agreed, matching the first man’s nod.

Buffy waited, looking expectantly from one to the other of the old men sitting at the worn, Formica-topped counter in the small diner / gas station that proclaimed: “Smiley’s Reststop. Eat here and get gas!” on their sign.

She’d stopped in to ask directions to B Line Road; she’d been unable to find it on the map she had. She’d driven around a bit on the outskirts of Dripping Springs, looking desperately for it, before giving up on that course of action and pulling in to the first place she came to – this place: Smiley’s.  It was a bit ironic; no one here seemed to be smiling; though the contention of eating and getting gas was probably accurate.

When neither man said any more, Buffy threw her arms out in frustration. “Well!” she demanded. “Can we call Arnie and ask him?”

“Naaaa … Arnie’s dead,” the first old man replied, spitting another trail of tobacco juice into the pot on the floor.

Buffy screamed, clenching her hands into fists, and closing her eyes in frustration. She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling a moment as if to find some divine intervention there as she tried to calm down.



“Yep,” the second man agreed, taking a bite of his pecan pie. “Nigh on three years now. Heart attack.”

“Is there anyone that might know where B Line Road is who is still alive?” Buffy ground out through clenched teeth, keeping her voice as calm as she could.

“Sammy-Ray might know…” the second man suggested.

The first man pulled a pouch of tobacco from his pocket and nodded as he pinched some between his fingers and shoved another wad into his already distended lip. “Reckon he might at that.”

“Great, can we call Sammy-Ray?” Buffy pressed impatiently, pulling out her cell phone.

“Naaaa … he runned off with that man from the bank … what was his name? Barrows, Borrows, Barrels …” the first man replied, deep in thought.

“Barrowman… ” the second man supplied, swallowing his bite of pie.

“You cannot be serious!!” Buffy screamed in frustration, her face turning nearly purple and contorting as if in physical pain.



“‘Fraid so, missy. Don’t you feel badly, now. Was quite the shock to everyone ‘round these parts, includin’ Sammy-Ray’s wife.”

Buffy flung her arms out again and spun on her heel, heading for the door. If she stayed in here another second longer, there would be two fewer old men in the world. She’d just have to find another place to get directions. She’d already wasted too much time, first searching for B Line Road and then with these two nincompoops.

“You could call a cab,” the waitress behind the counter suggested, entering the conversation for the first time.

The two old men at the counter snorted their disdain at the suggestion, giving her a snide look.

Buffy spun back around, utterly exasperated. “And why would I want to do that? I don’t need a ride! I have a car! I need directions!”

The young woman shrugged and looked down shyly, tugging on a loose string on her apron. “Just seems a cab driver would know where all the roads are. Saw it on a movie once … you could just follow him in your car. ‘Course, you’d still have to pay him for the fare…”

Buffy’s mouth opened, ready to bite the girl’s head off, but then closed again as she considered the suggestion. She took a deep breath, letting some of her anxiety and frustration go as she exhaled and began to walk toward the payphone at the back of the diner to use the phonebook.

"What’s the best, quickest, cab company to call?” she asked the girl as she passed.

The waitress looked up and smiled proudly. She stuck her tongue out at her two patrons, giving them a ‘so there’ look over her shoulder as she passed, going over to a bulletin board on the wall. She plucked a card from it, finding it immediately amongst the plethora of business cards and hand-written advertisements, and handed it to Buffy. “My boyfriend works for this here company … they’re the very best.”

**~**

Joan parked the DeSoto in the deserted parking lot of a long-abandoned beer bottling plant, centering it perfectly between the faded white lines right near the front door. Still in the car, she switched on her newly installed Pulse and Heartbeat Simulator and sniffed her clothing one more time. She’d put on some of Buffy’s dirty clothes before leaving the house. In the enclosed car, the strong aroma seemed reasonable and appropriate. She was satisfied that it should be enough to deceive the vampires inside the building, at least from a distance.

Satisfied, Joan got out of the car, carefully closing the door without making a sound. She did one last check of her weapons, smoothed her jeans and straightened her shirt, and strode into the large, imposing building. Despite it being midday, the bottom floor of the old metal building lacked windows and was nearly completely dark. The only light came from small rust holes and bullet holes that had been shot through the heavy metal siding. She activated her night-vision as the heavy, metal door fell closed behind her, and stopped to take in her surroundings, both looking and listening carefully.

She heard Spike’s laugh coming from the second floor. Her brow furrowed as she tried to correlate this behavior with the information they had about him being taken prisoner. It seemed inconsistent with that data. Unless she could find new evidence, she decided that the information they’d gathered thus far supported the notion that he had been taken prisoner, not that he had joined his sire and grand-sire willingly. She would work under that assumption until that verdict was proven incorrect.

“What’s your name?” came a child’s voice from a position to the right and above Joan. “I’m Hana.”



Joan turned toward the sound and looked up. Atop a tall pyramid of wooden crates sat a small girl. Her feet swung idly, her heels kicking the old wooden side of the box she was perched atop.

Joan studied the child a moment before replying, “Buffy, the Vampire Slayer.”

Suddenly the crystal center of the flower the girl was holding began to sparkle to life. The child giggled as she watched the rainbow of colors dance around in the darkness, like a prism lit from within with its own miniature sun.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire…” she began to chant as she leapt effortlessly down the ten feet from her perch, landing lightly on the floor in front of Joan.

“You aren’t a gumdrop!” Hana accused gaily as she began to skip happily around Joan in a wide circle.

“♫Alouette, gentille Alouette. Alouette, je te plumerai,” she began to sing gleefully as she skipped. “Je te plumerai la tête. Je te plumerai la la tête. Et la tête! Et la tête!”

Joan turned in a circle, watching the girl as she sang and giggled, dancing and skipping about without a care in the world. She moved in close to Joan, then back again as she played her game, her long, brunette hair swinging freely about her shoulders as her teal-blue eyes glittered with laughter.



The next time she came within reach, Joan stopped the child’s singing with a violent wrenching of the girl’s head, turning it around 180 degrees and nearly pulling it from her shoulders.

Hana’s eyes went as wide as saucers as her song ended abruptly. The rainbow of colors in her crystal flower slowly died, the teal-blue brilliance of her irises faded to dull-grey, and her body went completely limp in Joan’s grasp.

“I am not a skylark and I do not believe I would care for you to pluck my head... or any other part of my anatomy,” Joan responded flatly as she dropped the girl onto the dirty floor in a heap.

With the room now silent again, Joan once again listened for sounds of the other demons in the building. Her processors whirred wildly as she heard Spike’s laugh turn into a gurgling choke and then a scream of pain. Joan concentrated on calming herself; she was the Slayer. The Slayer did not panic. The Slayer had a job to do and she would do it. After listening a few more moments, Joan located the stairs, switched into stealth-mode, and began padding up them as silently as a cat.

The second floor had more light than the first, with several dirt-encrusted, decades-old, twelve-pane windows along the front wall. There was one large room in the front along the windows, with individual offices lining the back wall. Cases of glass bottles, left over from the old bottling operation, were scattered around the area. Some were still on the steel gravity conveyor system that snaked from one end of the floor to the other, while others were on work-benches or on the floor, awaiting their labels. Off the main line of the steel conveyor system were side-tracks, which deposited the bottles at various workstations along the way.

Joan’s eyes locked on one of the offices in the furthest corner of the second floor as Spike’s scream was cut off sharply. She scanned the floor one more time, but saw no adversary standing in her path, so she began working her way through the labyrinth of the conveyor system to the back corner.

She hadn’t gotten very far when she was stopped by a shrill whistle coming from behind her. Joan froze in her tracks, turning her head slightly to locate the source of the sound.

“Looking for someone?” the brunette woman asked sarcastically as she stepped from behind a stack of crates in the back corner.

Joan turned to face her, recognizing her immediately as the bitch that had stolen her axe and insulted Buffy’s ass: Faith, the Vampire Slayer.

“No. I have established Spike’s whereabouts,” Joan replied. “I simply need to retrieve him now.”

“Oh, yeah? Well … hate to tell you this, B, but to retrieve him, you’re gonna have to go through me.”



Joan tilted her head, studying the Slayer who held the red axe in her hand. “Very well,” she agreed after a moment.

“And me,” came another voice from behind Joan. The Bot turned and faced the new sound, identifying him as the Magnificent Poof.

“And me…” purred another woman’s voice very close to Joan.

The Bot turned again and was face-to-face with a wild-eyed Drusilla.

Dru held up two fingers and pointed them into the Bot’s eyes, then back into her own. “Look at me, dearie. Be... in my eyes. Be... in me.”



Joan smiled at Dru. “No, thank you,” she replied, backhanding Drusilla and sending her flying backwards into the air. The dark vamp hit the wall of one of the offices with a cracking thud, creating a Dru-sized dent in the drywall, before sliding to the floor in a heap of velvet and lace.

In the next moment Faith was behind Joan, the scythe in her hand drawn back and ready to strike. Without looking, Joan ducked and swept one foot out, hitting Faith in the ankles. The dark Slayer fell to the dusty floor, but popped back up again only a moment later. In that moment, however, Joan’s fingers closed around the shaft of the axe and she yanked it with all her strength. Faith held on to it with both hands, but was pulled off-balance by Joan’s inhuman strength and flung to the floor again, face first.

As Faith fell, Joan wrested the scythe from the Slayer’s grip, twisting and pulling it free of the brunette’s clutching fingers. Before Faith cold flip back up to her feet, Joan brought the stake-end of the weapon down in the middle of Faith’s back, just to the left of her spine.

Faith froze, face down on the floor, her breath caught in her chest. “I’m not a vampire,” Faith reminded the Slayer standing over her, speaking as calmly as she could manage.

“And yet, there is a reasonable probability that a stake through your heart would kill you all the same,” Joan retorted. “But, I believe you have first-hand knowledge of that, do you not?”

“That’s just it, B. I’m human – you aren’t gonna kill me. Not in your nature,” Faith argued, though she didn’t make any move to get up.

“Is it not? Are you willing to bet your life on that assumption?” Joan wondered. She pressed down a little harder on the stake and broke the skin on Faith’s back as the sharp point slid into the Slayer’s muscular flesh, drawing blood. “Perhaps my nature has changed,” she suggested as a growing ring of crimson soaked through Faith's shirt around the embedded point of the stake.



“Ahhhh … ok! Uncle. You win!” Faith exclaimed, holding her hands up off the floor in surrender.

“Yes. I am aware of that. You have a firm grasp of the obvious,” Joan agreed.

“Buffy, Buffy, Buffy…” Angelus cajoled, walking slowly across the floor, gliding around the conveyor system towards the two Slayers.

“There’s no need for that. We’re all reasonable people here,” he continued.

“Actually, I believe the majority of the life-forms in this room could not be categorized as ‘people’,” Joan countered. “And I, for one, have recently become quite unreasonable. It is a consequence of watching someone you love die … then suffer the darkness you cast her into and die again.

“If you would like to have this human returned to you with her heart still beating in her chest, then release Spike,” Joan demanded.

“The offer I made was for a trade, Buff,” Angelus reminded her.

“Yes. Trade Spike for a Slayer. I am offering the same trade, simply a different Slayer,” Joan retorted. “You do not wish to pique my temper further. You will not be content with the outcome. This skank ho’ with the saggy ass will be even less pleased.”

Angelus stopped moving and considered her in silence a few moments. There was something off about her, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. His brow furrowed as he listened and sniffed the air contemplatively – it certainly smelled like Buffy, sounded like Buffy. The dark vamp steepled his fingers together, the tips of his fingers touching his lips as he thought. Then the answer came to him, it was so obvious: he'd broken her, driven her shit-house-rat crazy. At last! This victory was going to be the sweetest one of all.



After a few moments, Angelus nodded. “Okay, if that’s how you want to play it,” he agreed. “Dru, get Spike …” he ordered the thin vampire who had been slowly struggling back to her feet on the far side of the room.

Dru sniffed and straightened her dress. She lifted her chin proudly and took a step toward the back office to get Spike, stumbled once and wavered before catching herself on the wall to keep from falling again. After recomposing herself, she began again, this time without faltering.

“So, how’s this gonna work, Buff?” Angelus asked as he began moving toward Joan and Faith again.

“You will release Spike and I will release this skank ho’. It is a simple exchange. Even a gormless plonker like you should be able to follow the plot,” Joan replied.

“Been hanging around Spike too much, Buff. You used to be much more clever with the insults,” Angelus chastised, still moving forward.

“Spike’s cleverness is eclipsed only by his washboard abs and impressive dangly bits,” Joan contended.

“Yeah … about those,” Angelus wheedled, making a pained expression. “Not really quite so impressive anymore.”

Joan’s eyes narrowed into angry slits as Dru emerged from the back office carrying Spike’s bare, limp, shredded, and blood-soaked body.

Joan could clearly see the jagged ends of numerous rib-bones protruding through the bruised, bloodied, and burned flesh of his chest. Spike’s face was equally grotesque, swollen almost beyond recognition and covered in both dried and fresh blood. His lower body had large, round, deep plugs missing from the meat of his buttocks and thighs, as if someone had used a biscuit-cutter to remove the flesh like a baker would remove rounds from a sheet of dough. His feet were swollen grotesquely, black and bloodied; each toe seemed to be pointed in a different direction. She couldn’t see his dangly bits with the way Dru was carrying him, like a child cradled in her arms.

“What have you done to Spike?” Joan demanded angrily, barely able to restrain herself from leaving Faith and running to his aid.



Angelus shrugged nonchalantly. “We just played some games … had a little fun. Nothing serious.

“If I were serious, then I’d tell Dru to see if Spike can fly … in the sun,” Angelus threatened, motioning with his head for Dru to take Spike over near the window.

“What do you think, Buff? Can vampires fly?”

Joan felt all her microprocessors surge at once as Dru neared the grimy windows with Spike’s limp body. She unconsciously pressed down harder on the stake, only noticing when Faith began to yell and squirm wildly beneath her.

“Let Faith go and put down the pretty axe,” Angelus demanded. “Or we’ll find out how well Spike handles a tan.”

“Slayer … no,” came a gurgling, scarcely-audible plea from the barely-conscious, blond vamp.

Joan’s internal drives whirled as she tried to determine the correct course of action. Her eyes darted from Spike’s bloodied and battered body down to Faith and then over to Angelus. Her data told her not to trust Angelus, but she also knew he was ruthless. There was a reasonable chance he was capable of sacrificing Faith in order to gain the upper hand in this negotiation. He also knew that she was not prepared to sacrifice Spike. This disadvantage put Joan in a weak bargaining position. But she had one thing he wanted: at least for the moment, he still thought she was Buffy.

“Agreed. Let Spike go and I will take his place,” she offered immediately.

“Nooo,” Spike croaked from the other side of the room. His arms and legs began thrashing weakly and painfully as he tried in vain to get free from Dru’s grasp.



Joan tried to ignore the painful grunts and groans emanating from the broken vamp and keep her attention on Angelus. It was one of the hardest things Joan had ever done in her entire existence.

“Let Faith go first,” Angelus insisted, also ignoring his grand-childe.

“No. Spike first.”

Angelus looked at Dru and nodded one time. Dru lifted Spike’s limp body up over her head, preparing to toss him through the dirt-stained windows and into the bright, mid-day, Texas sun.

“NO!” Joan screamed, pressing down sharply on the scythe in her anger and distress.



Faith gasped as the sharp, supernatural stake slid between her ribs, into her chest, and impaled her heart in the space between one heartbeat and the next. Blood poured into the cavity around her heart, drowning her, as she tried in vain to breathe, tried to keep her skewered heart beating.

Joan looked down as Faith struggled against the weapon longer than seemed possible under the circumstances, but finally went perfectly still. The only movement coming from the dark Slayer was the blood quickly soaking through her clothes and forming a shimmering, crimson puddle beneath her.

“Ooops.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Blue Öyster Cult - (Don't Fear) The Reaper on YouTube  }}

All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
(We can be like they are)

Come on baby
(Don't fear the Reaper)
Baby take my hand
(Don't fear the Reaper)
We'll be able to fly
(Don't fear the Reaper)
Baby I'm your man

La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la

Valentine is done
Here but now they're gone
Romeo and Juliet
Are together in eternity
(Romeo and Juliet)

40,000 men and women everyday
(Like Romeo and Juliet)
40,000 men and women everyday
(Redefine happiness)
Another 40,000 coming everyday
(We can be like they are)

Come on baby
(Don't fear the Reaper)
Baby take my hand
(Don't fear the Reaper)
We'll be able to fly
(Don't fear the Reaper)
Baby I'm your man

La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la

Love of two is one
Here but now they're gone
Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn't go on
Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared
(Saying don't be afraid)

Come on baby
(And she had no fear)
And she ran to him
(Then they started to fly)
They looked backward and said goodbye
(She had become like they are)
She had taken his hand
(She had become like they are)

Come on baby
(Don't fear the reaper)
Chapter End Notes:
Uh-oh ... what now? At least Joan has the scythe, that should give her an advantage ... but Dru has Spike. ... ...

Did you know what the song 'Alouette' was about? Plucking a skylark ... I didn't until I started looking for songs for Hana. Nice!

Sorry this was late posting. Will try to make it by Sunday this week for the next update. Thank you so much for reading and stopping in to let me know your thoughts!
Tears In Heaven by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.

Angelus began to giggle, then to chortle, then to laugh. He laughed so hard that he doubled-over, holding his stomach as gleeful giggles and roaring cackles rolled from his throat. If he weren’t already dead, he would’ve died of laughter.

Joan furrowed her brow, trying to understand his reaction, as she pulled the stake out of Faith’s literally lifeless body.

“I do not understand what you find so amusing,” Joan said to the dark vamp as she watched him carefully. “Your companion is dead. You have one less ally. This should garner rage or despair, not hilarity.”

Angel waved a hand at her, still doubled-over in laughter and tried to speak, but could only gasp out, “You … the … look … priceless …”

He mimicked the surprised and worried look Joan had had on her face when she realized she’d killed Faith. “Ooops!” he copied her, raising his voice to a high falsetto before dissolving into more fits of laughter.

“You are even more of a pillock than Spike conveyed to me,” Joan informed him as she stepped away from Faith, carefully stepping over the ever-expanding pool of Slayer blood on the floor and moving away from the first human she’d ever killed outright.

Across the room, Dru caught the scent of Slayer blood. She dropped Spike onto the dirty wooden floor, drawing a barely-audible scream of agony from him. He just didn’t have enough energy or breath to scream any longer. Dru began to dance, twirling and twining her way across the floor of the old bottling plant, around and over and under the conveyor system and stacks of crates and bottles, toward the source of that delicious aroma.

Joan looked between Dru and Angelus, neither seemed to notice that Spike was now ‘free’ and unguarded. Angel was still laughing, wiping at his eyes, though his hilarity was waning; Dru was lost in her own little world, dancing her own dance to her own drummer, fueled by the scent of Slayer blood.

Joan raised the scythe, holding it with both hands, and began to work her way toward Angel. If she could take him out now while he was still distracted, then taking out Dru would be simple.

As Joan worked her way around and under the metal conveyor system, Angel began to catch his breath and recover from his fit of giggles. She still had time, though. He was bent over, his hands on his knees as small bouts of laughter shook his shoulders between deep sighing-breaths.

Joan ducked gracefully under the last of her obstacles and stood up, raising the scythe up to shoulder level and taking aim at the vampire’s neck. Just as she began her downward swing, a perfect strike right at Angelus’ neck, Joan was hit from behind with a violent blow and knocked forward. She lost her balance, completely missed the oblivious Angelus, and crashed face-down onto the worn, wooden floor.

In the next moment, Angelus’ foot crashed down on one of her hands where it was wrapped around the shaft of the scythe, all his amusement gone. She screamed out as her digits were smashed and broken under his power, then screamed again when he raised his foot and crashed it down against her other hand.

Joan tried to hold onto the scythe with her injured fingers, but Angelus yanked it from her grasp, much like she’d yanked it away from Faith. The weight that had been on the Slayer’s back lifted and suddenly a children’s song, sung in a child’s gleeful voice, filled the large room.

Click here to hear Oranges and Lemons

"♫Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement's.

“You owe me five farthings,
Say the bells of St. Martin's.

“When will you pay me?
Say the bells of Old Bailey.

“When I grow rich,
Say the bells of Shoreditch.”

Joan rolled away from Angelus and looked toward the voice – a voice she knew: Hana. The girl skipped merrily around the pair, ducking under or leaping over the metal conveyor system as she circled, singing. She looked perfectly fine … except that her head was still the wrong way ‘round.

“♫When will that be?
Say the bells of Stepney.

“I do not know,
Says the great bell of Bow.

“Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!

“Chop, chop, chop, chop!
The last man's dead!”

Hana stopped next to Angel, her back to Joan, facing her, Linda Blair style. It’s quite disturbing to be faced from the back, even for Joan, who had seen her fair share of oddities. She could only stare at the strange girl for some moments, trying to take it all in.

Hana tugged on Angelus’ shirt sleeve, looking up at him pleadingly. “May I chop her!?” she asked hopefully. “Please, Daddy, may I?”

Regaining her composure, Joan pushed herself up to her feet, backing away from the pair as she struggled to repair, or at least straighten, her broken fingers. She backed into the raised conveyor system and stopped as she worked desperately to regain the function of her hands.

“Not right now, sweet girl,” Angelus told Hana as he raised the scythe. “Maybe later. This bitch is mine…” he purred as he stepped forward, the red axe poised to strike.

The Slayer managed to get three fingers and her thumb working on one hand and quickly retrieved a stake from her clothing as the vampire closed on her.

Joan readied her stake as Angel moved in, but he never gave her the chance to use it. As she lunged for his heart, he swung the Guardian’s supernatural weapon at Joan’s head.

He struck Joan across the face with the flat of the blade, sending the android stumbling back, her head whipping violently to one side, and the stake skittering out of her tenuous grasp. She crashed against the metal conveyor system, and fell onto her back with a motherboard-rattling thud, taking a large section of the steel rollers down with her.

Hana advanced on the downed Slayer, fury flashing as pink sparks in her teal-blue eyes. She drew back a small fist and planted it squarely on Joan’s jaw, whipping the stunned android’s head to the side again. “That’s for turning my head the wrong way ‘round! It’s quite inconvenient! I simply do not fancy it.”

Joan swung back at the unnaturally-strong girl, but from her position on the floor she had no leverage or power, and Hana side-stepped the blow easily. In the next moment Angelus was there, dragging Joan up to her feet roughly.

Joan’s balance-stabilizers had been shattered by the vicious blow from the scythe and she wobbled on her feet, her vision swimming. She could feel and hear her microprocessors begin to spark and fizzle on the side of her head that had been hit by the scythe as she swung her fists wildly at Angelus and Hana alike.

Joan’s vision began to fail as the electrical short-circuits spread from one delicate processor to the next within her head. She’d landed one or two blows to Hana’s body, and was fairly sure she’d bloodied Angelus’ nose, but her power was dwindling as the damage sparked from one microprocessor to the next in line, taking them down like dominoes.

“What the…” Angelus breathed when he saw the electrical sparks through the Bot’s broken outer dermis on her forehead. He lowered the scythe absently, letting it dangle next to his leg as he studied the injured Slayer curiously.

“She’s not a gumdrop!” Hana explained gleefully, bouncing on her toes and clapping. “Chop, chop, chop, chop! The last man's dead!

“May I chop her now? Please, Daddy … please?” the girl begged, pulling the axe away from his lax grip.

Angelus let Hana take the weapon, but didn’t answer her. “What the hell is this?” he questioned as he began to smell the distinctive odor of burning electrical wiring. He grabbed Joan’s upper arms and shook her roughly, realizing immediately that her skin was too warm and too artificial to be Buffy. Her eyes were unfocused and disconcerting, each peering a different direction. The cut on her forehead did not spew red, delicious Slayer blood, but blue-gray smoke as the fragile wires and insulation inside frizzled and fried.

“Spike! Release! I demand!” Joan exclaimed in an authoritative tone.

Angelus scowled at the Bot, then back-handed her across the face, his fury overflowing.

Joan’s head whipped around nearly 180° with the blow before jerking back to the front to face her captor.

“I can't resist the sinister attraction of your cold and muscular body,” Joan blurted out as her disc drives began frantically searching for the appropriate programs to run for the situation.

Angelus snorted a laugh. “Just like Buffy – she never could either,” he replied snidely, shaking the Bot roughly as he held her upper arms. “Where’s Buffy?”

Joan tried to get her eyes to focus, but couldn’t. She turned her head so that one eye was looking at Angelus; the other eye looked across the room to where Dru had dropped Spike.

Dru herself was somewhere behind Joan, no doubt imbibing on spilled Slayer blood. Joan could hear her talking, apparently deep in conversation with the stars, which only the lunatic-vamp could see. Dru prattled on, naming each one and reciting its horoscope, seemingly oblivious to anything else going on.

Across the room, Spike gritted his teeth and pushed with his heels, about the only part of him that wasn’t broken or bloodied, trying to keep his toes from touching the floor.  He aimed his head in the general direction of the last place he’d heard the Slayer. He couldn’t really see much of anything through his swollen eyes or even smell anything with his blood-caked and flattened nose.

Every move, every twitch of muscle required monumental effort from the beaten and tortured vamp. Every inch he moved across the floor sent lances of agony stabbing through his body. It was all he could do to keep from passing out, screaming, or both.

More than once he thought his broken ribs would simply be ripped from his torso when they would catch on a rough patch of the old, wooden floor. He brushed against a supporting leg of the conveyor system with one shoulder and nearly passed out from the daggers of agony that lanced into his body from the simple touch.  The trail of blood on the floor was a testament to how far he’d moved – not nearly far enough. He needed to get to Buffy. He needed to do … something. There had to be something he could do to get her to go, to leave him and run. Take the babies and disappear.

Joan turned her attention away from Angelus and concentrated on the eye that was focused on Spike.  He was lying on his back and pushing with his bare, broken, and bloodied feet to slide himself across the floor.  Joan calculated that Spike had gone ten feet away from his original spot. The stairwell, however, was still twenty feet away from him. Joan had enough of her vital programs still functioning to know that she had to stall long enough for Spike to reach the stairwell, at least, for him to have any chance at escape.

“Buffy remains with the small humans behind the safety of the threshold,” Joan replied to Angelus, speaking loud enough that Spike could easily hear her. “She waits there for Spike to return.”

Spike momentarily stopped pushing himself across the floor as the realization hit him. It wasn’t Buffy here; it was Joan. His foggy mind chugged and clanged and tried to suss out what to do. He’d been heading for her, but now he didn’t know what the proper course of action was. Was he supposed to find the exit? Was Buffy actually downstairs waiting for him? What was the plan? Would they perhaps flood the whole upstairs with sunlight as soon as he was clear?

His head spun and shards of agony stabbed into his brain from the multiple hammer blows he’d taken, not to mention the punches, kicks, burns, and cuts. Spike slowly turned his head and used his blackened and broken fingers to part his swollen eyelids. His one eye met Joan’s across the distance of the bottling plant. Her eye darted from him to a spot further down the long room, about halfway between his position and hers, then back again. Over and over she made the same movement with the one eye that was focused on him, her meaning clear: that's where he should head, get to the stairway.

Finally, she let her eye focus wholly on Spike, their gazes meeting and holding for what seemed an eternity. In that moment Spike knew in his heart that he’d never see her again, and the pain in his chest doubled, becoming virtually unbearable. Her eyes were different. The heart that had sparkled in them before wasn’t there. Her joy was gone. All that shone in them now was determination and resolve.

He didn’t know what had happened, but something had changed her. Spike knew then: he had to get out; he had to get to Buffy. His adrenaline, which he thought had been depleted long ago, surged inside him, fueling him.  He began pushing with his heels again, now more determined, more frantically than before. His demon surfaced as he began to move again in earnest, lending its last reserves of strength to the effort. Inch by painful inch he made his way across the filthy, time-roughened floor. Something had happened. He had to find out what. He refused to entertain the thought that something had happened to the bits or to Buffy. He refused. Utterly refused. Still … the fear inside him was palpable, and for the first time since he’d been taken captive, tears leaked from his swollen lids.

The connection between Spike and Joan was broken when Angelus growled in frustration and shook the Bot again, rattling more of her screws loose – literally.

“How do you signal her to come out?” the angry vamp pressed Joan, still oblivious to Spike’s escape attempt.

“I'm helpless against you, you fiend!” Joan exclaimed out of the blue.

Angelus shook her again. Joan’s head flopped back and forth on her shoulders like a rag doll. “Tell me how you signal her!” he demanded again.

“That'll put marzipan in your pie plate, bingo!” Joan announced triumphantly, her face down, chin against her chest.

Angelus lifted her head up and turned it so one of her eyes was focused on him again. “Tell me, you crazy robot!”

Joan could see that Spike was nearing the stairwell with her other eye. She knew that was important but was having a hard time finding the logic to support that conclusion. Her discs whirred as small sparks continued jumping from one microprocessor to the next, frying each one in turn and cutting off more and more of her functionality.

Her hard drive suddenly surged and skittered and finally hit on the correct segment. Her mind focused again, although she still could not get her eyes to function properly. When the correct algorithm triggered, the direness of the situation nearly overwhelmed her. With one eye she watched Spike struggle to move across the floor. Her entire body seemed to tremble suddenly and the newly-familiar feeling of dampness formed in her eyes. Spike would not make it if she could not find a way to defeat these foes. 

“Tell me or I swear to the devil I’ll cut Spike up into little, bite-sized morsels!” Angelus threatened the Bot, still not noticing that Dru was no longer guarding Spike.

The Bot refocused her attention on Angelus. “Do not harm Spike further! I will tell you,” she insisted. “There is a signaling device in my right arm,” Joan told the vamp, trying to lift her arm, but failing. “However it is now inoperable.”

Angelus let go of Joan’s upper arms and she crumpled to the floor, unable to support herself as her systems continued to shut down. He grabbed her right arm and bent over to examine it, trying to determine how to trigger the signal for Buffy to come out. He found the seam at her wrist and bent back on her hand.

There was a loud ‘crunch’, which sounded eerily like breaking bones as the top of Joan’s hand was folded back onto her arm. The latch holding her hand in place had been cracked and broken, sending more pulses of agony through Joan’s still-undamaged sensory system.

She screamed out from the pain of having the locking mechanism broken and her hand forced backwards. Her eyes closed against the agony as she struggled to keep her drives and memory focused on her mission.

“You scream just like Buffy,” Angelus purred to her as he knelt down to peer into the opening at the end of the Bot’s arm. “I wonder what else you do like Buffy?”

In the next moment, Joan heard Spike let out a howl of pain when he began to tumble, uncontrolled, down the rickety, wooden staircase. Loud thuds and hollow thunks could be heard through the whole building as he crashed down to the first floor. If there had been any unbroken bones or un-bruised flesh in his body before, there was none now.

The Bot’s eyes flashed open in time to see Angelus look up at the sound as well. This was her last chance. She had to stop him from following Spike. Joan used every ounce of excess power she had and funneled it into the controls for her right arm. Just as Angelus dropped her arm and began to rise to go retrieve Spike, Joan triggered the .44 Magnum embedded in her arm to fire.

The blast hit Angelus in the stomach and chest, knocking him backwards several feet. He fell onto the dirty, wooden floor, writhing and screaming in pain as his blood gushed out, forming a crimson pool beneath him.

The sound of the gunshot in the enclosed space pulled Dru from her Slayer-blood reverie. She looked up to see her daddy bleeding and screaming several feet away.  A wild yowl rang from her throat as she leapt up to her feet and ran towards Angelus in a panic.

Hana, who had still been standing near Angelus screamed, “Daddy!” when the blast hit him. She was showered with gobbets of gore and blood from the gunshot wound, painting her creamy skin in a spray of brilliant red. The girl dropped the scythe and also ran to the downed vampire, reaching him at nearly the same time Dru did.

“Get … Spike,” Angelus ground out, still writhing on the floor in pain as he pressed his hands down on the gaping wound.

Dru didn’t grasp what he had said through her panic and growing rage, but Hana did. Hana skipped backwards merrily, her head still facing the rear, to retrieve the scythe. As she hopped and skipped back to the weapon, she sang gleefully, “♫Here comes a candle to light you to bed, and here comes a chopper to chop off your head!”

As Hana laughed and sang, Dru turned flashing golden eyes on Joan, advancing on the helpless Bot with amazing speed and agility. Dru snatched the blonde up by the throat and slashed her long talons over Joan’s torso time and again in a wild fury, shredding her clothes and dermis.

Joan gasped against the pain that traveled through what was left of her wiring to her main sensory processor. Each new wound sputtered and sparked as more microchips and sensors shorted out and began to smolder.

Joan tried to raise her right arm to fire on Dru, but Dru caught it in her free hand, still holding the Bot up off the floor with the other, and twisted violently. The Bot’s arm tore off with a sickening sound of ripping skin and connective material, and a flash of sizzling wires.

Joan screamed out in renewed pain, the sensory receptors and wiring still in working order. She tried to thrash against the dark vampiress, but barely managed to twitch her remaining arm and legs. In the next moment, Joan felt her power level drop below seven percent; if it reached four, her memory would be wiped; below two percent and the incendiaries embedded in her frame would ignite. She had been fully charged before leaving the house, but the extra effort it had taken to make her arm and gun functional had sapped too much of her reserves.

Dru hurtled Joan’s dismembered arm across the room in her fury, then did the same with the Bot’s other arm, ripping it off and sending it crashing through the dirty windows at the front of the warehouse. Sun suddenly bathed a swath of hot, golden light across the dirty, wooden floor and Angelus had to roll several feet to get out of the deadly beam.

He cursed at Dru as his skin began to smolder from the exposure, adding to his pain, but she seemed unable or unwilling to hear him through her fog of fury.

Hana, on the other hand was thrilled with the beams of light shining in through the broken windows. She completely forgot about going after Spike and instead danced and twirled in the golden rays, swinging the scythe in one hand as she held her magical flower in the other. She danced with the dust motes, slashing at them with the pretty axe as she pirouetted like a possessed ballerina in desperate need of an exorcism, her head still facing the wrong way round.

“Bits and bobs, and tasty globs,” Dru sing-songed, smiling as she let her demon mask fall away. “Do you have gumdrops on the inside?” the dark vamp asked Joan dangerously as she thrust her hand through one of the slashes she’d made in Joan’s stomach, closed her fingers over what she found there, and yanked violently.

Joan’s body tensed and trembled as shockwaves of pain signals flared up from the center of her body and raced back to her main processors.

The pain flared inside Joan like a lightning-bolt striking her main processors. Everything flashed white as she was bombarded with the agony of having her inner-workings ripped out. Thankfully, in the next second, her sensory receptors reached maximum capacity and the overload shut them down. The pain, at least, was gone.

“Such pretty insides you have,” Dru cooed as she looked at the rainbow of brightly-colored wires she’d extracted from the Bot. “But no tasty treats! Where are your tasty treats? Slayers have the best treats … hot and red and delicious. Better even than tender, red gumdrops … drip, drip, dripping like snowflakes on a rainbow.”

“Dru! Forget her! Get Spike!” Angelus demanded again from where he now sat with his back against a wall well away from the sunlight, holding a badly-burnt hand over the bleeding hole in his stomach.

“Damn it, Dru! Hana! You crazy bitches need to focus! GET SPIKE!” Angelus continued to scream, as he began pounding one fist down on the wooden floor to get his cohorts’ attention.

Joan blinked her eyes open just as Dru dropped her back onto the floor. The Bot still could not get both eyes to focus in the same direction, but she could see Dru looking around for Spike. The dark vamp had finally heard Angelus’ angry plea, unfortunately. Hana had also heard him, and had stopped her singing and dancing in the bright Texas sun as she looked around for the missing prisoner.

Despite her pain sensors being overloaded and shut down, Joan felt a tightening in her chest as she realized with perfect clarity what she had to do. Her power reserves were dangerously low now – her memory would be wiped any moment, and then it would be too late. She wouldn’t be able to help Spike if she waited any longer.

Dampness again filled her unresponsive eyes and began to trickle down her cheeks and drip from her chin as she readied her last weapon for deployment. Joan accessed her memory banks, flipping through images of her life with Spike, Buffy, and the twins as if turning pages in a photo album.

Her tears came harder as she reached the images of India, the memories of their too-short time together, and the guilt and regret of not protecting her, of not being able to save the woman she loved. The too-fresh memory of staking her lover, her friend flooded her mind and brought all her processors to an agonizing, abrupt halt for several moments. Her body convulsed in a fitful, agonizing spasm as the image filled her sentient drive with unmitigated misery. Then mental images of the dreams she’d had for the future weighed in. Dreams of a life with India, dreams of watching the twins grow into adults, of being Aunt Joan, of helping them grow and learn and teaching them the elusive secrets to assembling Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Those dreams, that life, would never be now, those visions would never be realized.

That world was shattered.

This was the end.

There was no other option – Dru and Hana were advancing on Spike's trail of blood and would find him soon. Joan's power level was dropping dangerously low. She had no more time. She had to help Spike escape by any means necessary. She couldn't help India ... she'd been too late, but she could do this. She could save Spike. She could save what was left of her family. She could make sure Jade and Will didn't grow up without a father; only without an Aunt.

“Knock, knock.

“Who’s there?

“C-U-on-da.

“C-U-on-da who?

“C-U-on-da-other-side.”

**~**

Click here to hear Tears in Heaven, Eric Clapton

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?

I must be strong
And carry on,
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven.

Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven?

I'll find my way
Through night and day,
'Cause I know I just can't stay
Here in heaven.

Time can bring you down,
Time can bend your knees.
Time can break your heart,
Have you begging please, begging please.

Beyond the door,
There's peace I'm sure,
And I know there'll be no more
Tears in heaven.

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?

I must be strong
And carry on,
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven.

 

Chapter End Notes:
Oh dear!!! Will Spike get away? What about Joan? Will she sacrifice herself to help Spike escape? Is Buffy nearby? Will she make it in time to save them? Will try to have the next chapter by next Sunday.
Keep Me in Your Heart by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.

Buffy followed the cab right into the long-abandoned parking lot of the old beer bottling plant, practically pushing his car with the bumper of hers the whole way from Smiley’s Reststop. Not that he was driving slowly, she’d told him it was urgent and he’d been shattering speed limits the whole way, but it still wasn’t fast enough for the Slayer.



Buffy’s car came to a screeching halt, completely disregarding the faded lines in the parking lot, a few feet away from the perfectly centered DeSoto. She jumped out of the car before it even had time to stop rocking from the abrupt stop and made a beeline for the over-sized metal door that had a faded ‘Enter’ sign painted on it.



She tossed the waitress’ cabbie-boyfriend sixty dollars as she ran by, sure that would cover the fare and a good tip, but didn’t stop or even slow down.



 





She sprinted to the heavy door and tugged it open easily as she rushed in. Just inside the threshold, however, she came to an abrupt halt when she was met with utter darkness. Except for the swath of light coming in from the door and some dots of light shining in through rust and bullet holes in the metal side of the building, the first floor was pitch-black.



She really needed to start packing a flashlight if she was going back into the Slayer business. She let the door fall closed behind her as silently as she could and tried to get her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Being cast into the pitch-black of the warehouse immediately heightened her other senses as they worked to take up the slack. She could easily hear people moving around on the floor above, she heard muffled voices, and then she heard her own blood-curdling scream. Her heart leapt in her chest and thudded against her ribs even harder as she desperately tried to determine where the stairs were. She had to get up there, get to Joan, to Spike.



Hearing agony in her own voice sent chills down her spine, which only added to the prickles all the vampires in the building were producing on her Slayer nerves, but she endeavored to push her panic and fear aside and think. Buffy closed her eyes, completely giving up on trying to see anything, and began turning her head slowly to the left and right and listening carefully, concentrating on triangulating just where the sounds coming from upstairs were the loudest. If she could determine where they were coming from, that should be where the stairwell was.



As she listened, she began to move, pulling a stake out of her waistband as she walked. She stepped lightly, carefully, not sure what was in her path, whether there were holes in the floor of the old building, or even booby-traps laying in wait for her. She kept her eyes closed, using her Slayer senses and her hearing as her guides. After a few steps, she bumped into some wooden crates. Feeling around with her hands, she found the edge of the stack and continued around them, toward the place her ears and vampire-tinglies said the stairs should be.



She’d no sooner gotten around the large pile of crates than her foot kicked something soft and squishy. The raspy moan that accompanied her boot coming into contact with the obstacle froze her in her tracks. Her breath hitched in her throat and she automatically raised the stake, poised to strike as he eyes flashed open automatically.



A single, stuttering, barely-audible word brought Buffy to her knees.



“S-ss-layer…”



“Spike!” Buffy exclaimed, as she hit her knees next to him and began feeling around in the dark. There was a faint light filtering down through the stairway from the second floor, but not enough for her to make out a lot of detail.



Spike gasped and tried to scream when she touched his ribs, raking her hands over the bloody, protruding bones, but he just didn’t have any scream left in him. 



Buffy couldn’t tell what she was feeling, it was rough and wet, but she knew that smell: blood. There was no doubt about that. “Spike, God! What …?” she began, but he cut her off.



“Run,” Spike groaned out, his voice barely a whisper. “Go … r-r-run,” he gasped, trying to push her away, but he was too weak to even raise his arms.



 





 



“No! Not without you and Joan!” Buffy protested, her voice low but adamant. “Stay here, I’ll be back,” she continued as she began to stand back up, her eyes going to the rickety staircase.



"Noooo…” Spike tried to scream, but it came out as a rasping plea. “Too late … she’s … gone,” he gasped out painfully, trying to reach his broken hand out to catch her.



“What … what do you mean?” Buffy choked back, falling back to her knees beside him and gently taking his broken and bloody hand in both of hers.



“Saw it … she’s … dead … gone … sorry ... couldn't ... help ...” Spike told his wife, trying to ignore the pain she was inflicting on his shattered digits. He had to stop her from going up there and it wasn’t a lie, exactly. What he’d seen before when their eyes met was not Joan, not even BuffyBot. Whatever had happened had killed a part of her, it had killed her heart. He could see it. He could feel it. He knew it.



Buffy blinked back tears and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Are you … s-sure?”



 





Spike grunted his assurance.



Buffy’s chest heaved and she fought back the nausea that threatened to rise in her throat and the cloak of blood-stained guilt that began to descend on her mind.



Slayer, be the Slayer, be the Slayer, she chanted to herself, trying to calm the panic and press her heartbreak and guilt to the back of her mind



“R-run…” Spike finally managed to choke out again when Buffy didn’t move. "P-please ... baby ... go..."



“No, I’m gonna kill those fucking bastards,” Buffy growled, laying Spike’s hand down gently on what she thought was his stomach.



“Noooo…” he protested again. “The bits … need … you. G-g-go. Bot … will … explode … soon.”



Buffy looked up at the faint light shining down from above; it barely cut the inky-darkness of the first floor enough for her to see the stairs. Her heart clenched in her chest as her emotions tangled and twisted in her gut. She’d nearly forgotten about that … about the fail-safe.  She wanted nothing more than to go up there and kill the bastards, every last one of them…



As if reading her mind, Spike said, “Joan … the Vampire Slayer … will … do it.”



Buffy nodded reluctantly, steeling herself, pushing her emotions down, locking them away for now. She looked around in the darkness, her eyes more accustomed to it now, trying to figure out how to get Spike out of there. No fucking way was she losing him too. She had no idea how much time they had before things went to hell, or further to hell.



“Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” she instructed Spike sternly, as if he could get up and waltz away.



Buffy jumped up and ran back the way she’d come, remembering the crates in her path and side-stepping them. She burst out the door and into the hot, Texas sun, heading for the DeSoto and hoping Joan had left the key under the mat.



She’d only gotten about halfway down the walk to the parking lot when glass began raining down on her head from the second story of the building.



Buffy ducked instinctively, her hands and arms going up to shield her head and face as she kept her back to the projectiles. She kept moving through the shower of glass, though a bit slower than before, still heading toward Spike’s old car with the blacked-out windows. When Joan’s arm bounced on the overgrown walkway in front of her, Buffy came to an abrupt halt.



“Holy shit!” rolled from her lips as she automatically turned and looked up, perhaps expecting the rest of Joan to come hurtling through the gaping hole in the dirty glass or expecting the whole building to explode. Her heart raced in her chest as she waited … one second, two seconds, three … but nothing else happened.



Buffy picked up Joan’s arm, her brain finding it simply wrong to leave it there. Her feet crunched heavily on the glass that covered the walkway as she took off again, hurtling herself frantically toward the car.



She nearly pulled the door off its hinges as she flung it open. She tossed the arm into the passenger seat and began groping around on the floorboard for the keys. Her fingertips touched them, then closed on them, grabbing them up as she slid behind the wheel. Her heart raced as she slammed the door closed again and jabbed the key into the ignition, flooring the accelerator at the same time. The old behemoth roared to life with a deep, throaty rumble.



 





 



She shifted the car into ‘Drive’, aimed for a spot on the wall of the building to the right of the door, and floored it. The heavy, powerful car lurched and leapt forward like a wild bull breaking free of a bucking chute at a rodeo. It jumped over the curb as it picked up speed, hurtling toward the metal wall of the building where Buffy calculated there was no support post. Buffy tensed, her fingers tight on the steering-wheel, still pressing hard on the accelerator, as the car approached the wall. Her eyes closed automatically when the DeSoto and the building met with a screeching yowl of twisting metal.



She was jounced around as the car hit and its forward motion suddenly slowed dramatically. The car crashed through crates, both empty and full, smashing glass and wood alike as it roared into the building. Her head bounced off the ceiling before she was tossed forward against the steering wheel, then flung backwards against the seat as the car finally came to a stop deep inside the warehouse.



Buffy moaned, holding her ribs, as her head spun from the blow she’d taken, but she reached for the door handle all the same, pressing herself on. The door wouldn’t open when she pulled the handle and pushed against it with her shoulder. She pushed harder, still nothing. Then she realized it was wedged against a support post. Buffy slid over and opened the passenger’s door, her ribs aching, whether bruised or broken, she wasn’t sure. Joan’s arm was on the floorboard now and Buffy carefully stepped over it as she clambered painfully out onto the debris-strewn floor, still holding her ribs.



Light flooded the warehouse now and she got her first good look at Spike. Bile launched itself from her stomach in a torrent; she had no way to stop it. She could only turn away and bend over, letting some of her horror flow out of her with the tide of acidic bile.



Buffy had only begun to recover from the attack of nausea when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She looked up to see a girl of about eight, carrying the Guardian’s scythe in both hands, descending from the second floor. The girl … or obviously not a girl, but a demon of some kind, was coming down the stairs backwards … or most of her was backwards. Just her head was facing forward, turned the wrong way ‘round; despite that, she was moving perfectly well and humming a tune Buffy didn’t know. Behind the girl was Spike’s skank-ho-ex, Dru, dressed, as usual, in her red and black lace and velvet.



At the same time Buffy saw them, they saw her. She was kinda hard to miss with the giant hole she’d made in the wall.



For a moment everything and everyone stopped moving, the only sound in the building was the soft humming of the demon-child.



 





Buffy estimated she was about twenty feet away from Spike and the pair of demons about ten feet above him. Buffy’s eyes darted from them to Spike, who was still lying in a crumpled heap of blood and bone at the bottom of the old, wooden staircase, and back again. It seemed Dru and Buffy were both thinking the same thing: how to get to Spike before the other. The girl seemed oblivious to the tactics and possibilities that were running through the heads of the two older women as she bobbed her twisted, deformed head from side to side in time with the tune she was humming.



Without further warning, both Buffy and Dru scrambled for Spike. Dru knocked the girl out of her path, sending her tumbling over the rickety stair railing while Buffy dove over the half-broken crates that littered the space between her and her husband.



The two women reached Spike at about the same time. As Dru reached down to grab hold of Spike’s neck, Buffy cocked her arm back and punched the vamp in the face with all her strength, screaming out as she did so, both from the pain that stabbed out from her injured ribs and in fury. Dru fell back onto the stairs with a heavy thud and a growl of pain. There was a cracking, crunching sound as well, but whether it was bone or wood, Buffy couldn’t tell.



 





 



The Slayer followed the downed vamp up the stairs, putting herself between the crazy bitch and Spike, fury flashing in her green eyes. In the next moment, Buffy lifted her leg and crashed her booted-foot down on the vamp’s knee, bending it backwards with a crunching sound that was most definitely not wood, but shattering bone and tearing cartilage. 



Dru screamed and whimpered and began crawling desperately back up the stairs to get away from the crazed Slayer. Buffy started stalking after her, hands clenched into tight fists, her rage overflowing.



“B-buf-fy…” came Spike’s rasping call from behind her, stopping her.



Buffy turned to see the backwards-girl standing over Spike. The disturbing child was positioned with her face looking away from Spike, the rest of her body toward him. She had the scythe raised up above her head like a woodsman ready to split a log as she tried to turn her head and look over her shoulder to aim the weapon.



“♫Here comes a candle to light you to bed, and here comes a chopper to chop off your head!” the girl sing-songed as the red axe began to fall toward Spike’s neck.



"NOOOO!” Buffy screamed, launching herself off the stairs at the deranged girl.



Buffy hit Hana in the chest like a linebacker taking down a quarterback, knocking her back into a stack of broken crates and bottles. The scythe flew out of the girl’s hands and flew up into the air, tumbling end-over-end above them.



Hana squealed when she landed with Buffy atop her, driving her down onto the broken glass and wood that covered the floor. Buffy wasn’t much better, letting out a scream of pain as her injured ribs protested the sudden jolt, but at least her landing was cushioned slightly by the girl’s body.



The scythe clattered to the ground next to the two and they both reached for it at the same time, but Buffy, being on top, had the leverage, and she snatched it up before Hana could get a good grip on it. The Slayer felt a surge of mystical power flow through her as she gripped the magical weapon tightly with both hands. She was suddenly filled with certainty, belief, and the confidence of an eon of Slayers before her. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before. It took her completely off-guard as her whole body thrummed with it, and she hesitated for the slightest of moments.



 





 



In that moment several things happened:



First, Hana began to sing, “♫London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady!”



Second: A high-pitched buzzing sound, like the warning that comes across the TV late at night for a ‘test of the emergency broadcast system’, began to sound from upstairs.



Third: Spike called to her, his voice low but frantic, telling her again to 'run', as he began trying to push himself away from the stairs and towards the car.



**~**



Upstairs, Joan watched in horror as Hana and Dru followed Spike’s trail of blood toward the stairs. Angelus was still writhing on the floor in pain, the hole she’d blown in his stomach and chest bleeding profusely. Though pleased that he was suffering, it wasn’t nearly enough. She’d wanted desperately to dust the prat, but that was literally beyond her reach now as Dru had managed to rip off both her arms.



 





 



She had to stop Dru and Hana, but she only had one weapon left, and it would bring the entire building down, with Spike in it. Joan tried desperately to think of something to do, something to buy more time for Spike to find an escape. Her drives whirred and searched for some way to keep Dru and Hana from following him.



“I know where the small humans are!” Joan announced as loudly as she could, drawing the attention of the three demons in the room. “I can take you there. I can retrieve them for you. Buffy will not come for Spike; she will come for them.”



Dru and Hana both stopped and turned back toward the downed android. “You have my sweet, juicy gumdrops?” Dru purred, slinking back across the floor toward the Bot.



“And ice cream?” Hana wondered, trailing behind Dru, the scythe still in her hands. “I do love sticky, warm gumdrops with smooth, cold ice cream. Vanilla! It’ll a proper gala with red and white swirls … gumdrops and ice cream! And streamers! We must have streamers and lollipops at the circus! Miss Dru promised!”



“I … can take you where they are,” Joan offered again. “I can obtain them without incident.”



“And ice cream?!?” Hana prodded, coming up to stand near Dru as the two looked down at the crumpled form of the Bot. “And streamers? And lollies?”



The Bot furrowed her brow a moment, then nodded, the back of her head banging against the floor as she did so.



Hana laughed and spun in glee, twirling the scythe up above her head as she began to sing gaily, “♫Lollipop, lollipop, oh lolly, lolly, lolly. Lollipop, lollipop oh, lolly, lolly, lolly, lollipop … (pop) …”  


 



(( Click here to hear  Lollipop by The Chordettes  on YouTube ))



 


On the pop’, she stabbed the stake end of the scythe down through Joan’s left foot, giggling all the while.  

Sparks jumped from the injury, but Joan’s pain sensors had long ago shut down. She was aware of the additional damage to her systems, but did not scream out or react to it, which didn’t please Hana one bit.



Hana stopped singing and frowned down at the Bot. “I said pop!’” she snarled, jabbing the stake into the instep of Joan’s other foot.  When Joan still didn’t scream or cry out, the deranged child with the backwards head became incensed, screaming, “Pop! Pop! Pop!” over and over again as she stabbed the sharp stake of the scythe down into the Bot’s prone body, beginning with her feet and working her way up her legs.



Joan’s wires crackled and her flesh sparked and burned as each blow was administered, draining more and more of her power. She was dangerously close to a complete memory wipe; she had to implement her final weapon before that happened. Her processors spun and whirred as she tried to calculate if Spike had had time to find an escape as Hana continued screaming, “POP!” at the top of her lungs like a petulant child and impaling Joan with the supernaturally-sharp stake.  



In the next moment, an ear-splitting crash shook the entire building. When the sound of screeching metal and falling debris faded, Joan recognized the low rumble of the DeSoto coming from downstairs. She felt a wave of relief wash over her. Spike would be safe now. Her mission was nearly complete. Her Calling nearly fulfilled. 



As Dru and Hana both looked back toward the stairway, their attention drawn by the crash, Joan diverted all her remaining power into initializing the countdown for her self-destruction … and the destruction of everything within a hundred-foot radius.



 




 

“GET SPIKE, YOU CRAZY-ASS BITCHES!” Angelus screamed at them as he tried to push himself up to his feet, but failing. He fell back to the floor, gasping in pain, still clutching the gunshot wound in is chest and stomach.


 Hana giggled and began dancing and singing again, “♫Lollipop, lollipop, oh lolly, lolly, lolly…” as she made her way slowly back toward the stairs. Her song morphed into gleeful humming as she twirled gracefully across the floor, swinging the scythe above her backwards-head, images of gumdrops and ice cream, and lollies, dancing in her mind.  

Dru gave Angelus a child-like pout before following along behind the girl sullenly. “That’s quite improper, such language around the child!” she chastised him as she passed.



“She’s not a child! She’s older than you and me put together, you crazy bi…”  



Dru narrowed her eyes and clicked her tongue at him as she slid her left forefinger over her right in a ‘shame on you’ gesture. “Bad Daddy!”


 Angelus sighed and closed his eyes as he leaned back against the wall. “Just get Spike …” he moaned in exasperation. “Say: ‘Pretty-please’,” Dru taunted, her voice silky.  


 

“If you don’t go get Spike right this minute, I’ll flog you ‘til you can’t walk!” Angelus threatened through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing amber as he looked back up at his childe.


“Oooo … do you promise?” Dru cooed as her body swayed, her hands gliding up over her hips, across her stomach, and over her breasts.  

“Druuuuu…” Angelus threatened.


Drusilla giggled and spun on the balls of her feet, swirling her heavy, velvet skirt out, before lighting out after Hana.  


 

Joan watched the two women begin to descend the stairs. It was the last thing she saw, heard, or felt before all power was diverted to her final, last-resort weapon. She held an image from her dreams in her mind’s eye as long as she could: a family portrait of her, India, Buffy, Spike, and the twins.


 Her family. Happy. Healthy. Whole. Her family that would never be. A family she knew she would never see again, for she had no soul to cross over to the other side. She clung to the image with her heart. Joan, the Vampire Slayer held to that image until the darkness ripped it from her grasp, shredding it and turning it into a thousand shards of righteous vengeance. In the next moment the warning buzzer began to count down the last seconds before the annihilation of the demons that had stolen her family from her. She would not go alone into that good night. She would fulfill her destiny. And she would take these bastards with her.  

**~** 


 


 

Downstairs, Buffy looked around frantically, her brain trying to register everything that was happening and what it all meant as the obnoxious buzzing and Hana’s singing continued, “♫ Iron and steel will bend and bow, bend and bow, bend and bow. Iron and steel will bend and bow, my fair lady.”


Buffy jumped up off the lunatic child and ran over to Spike, the scythe still in her hands. She frantically tried to get under him to pick him up and hold the scythe too, but it was impossible. As the volume and tenor of the warning siren above them rose to a deafening pitch, Buffy dropped the scythe and scooped Spike up into her arms.  

Her husband gasped, his body convulsing in pain as his rib bones shifted in his chest. The broken bones scraped against each other, their jagged, splintered ends catching and twisting and stabbing him. Spike found the scream he'd thought had been lost, but it lasted only a moment before he simply passed out in the Slayer's embrace. She hurried to the DeSoto, frantically trying to open the back door while still holding Spike’s broken and bloody body in her arms like a child, but with no luck. Buffy finally lifted one knee to support his hips, and used her free hand to yank the door open. The siren above her was blaring in her ears painfully now as she slid Spike into the backseat as gently, but quickly as she could.


Buffy slammed the door closed and turned to run back for the scythe when she heard and felt it: an ear-splitting, ground-rattling explosion from above. Buffy snatched the front passenger door open and dove into the car, scrambling wildly to get behind the wheel. She heard the sound of shattering glass and screaming metal as she got the car started. The Slayer slammed the selector into reverse, floored the accelerator, and the old car jerked back to life, scraping painfully against the metal post it had been wedged against on the driver’s side as it began to retrace its path out of the building.  

The passenger door, which had not been closed when Buffy scrambled in, banged against the wall on the way out of the building and folded back against the front wheel and quarter-panel with a sickening crunch and squeal of ripping hinges and bending steel. Buffy cursed as the car bounced out of the building and back over the curb as it made its way into the almost-deserted parking lot.


She and Spike were tossed around inside the automobile-turned-ballistic-missile until it came to a screeching, lurching halt when it plowed into the only other car within five miles: Buffy’s car.  

Buffy’s head ricocheted back against the headrest, then forward, banging against the steering wheel when the DeSoto jerked to a stop. Stars danced in front of her eyes as she squinted against the bright Texas sun that shone in through the small opening in the blackout and watched the huge warehouse fold in on itself.


The sound was louder than anything she’d ever heard before and she instinctively covered her ears and momentarily closed her eyes. She ducked down in the seat when things began raining down on the car, things like bricks and bottles and wooden crates and pieces of steel beams and sheets of metal siding.   

When the deluge stopped, after what seemed an eternity, she raised her head back up and ventured another look through the small opening in the blacked-out window at the warehouse. Dust and debris billowed up a hundred feet in the air from the mangled, smashed building. Huge metal support beams were twisted like pretzels, and the metal siding had been blown out in all directions, like a giant had stomped a huge foot down on the place and simply flattened it.


 


 Buffy’s eyes drifted down to Joan’s arm in the floorboard next to her, now dangling half out of the open door. She reached down and pulled it back in, laying it down tenderly on the seat next to her. Tears gathered in her eyes and her chest tightened, threatening to strangle her with guilt.  

Buffy turned her shimmering eyes and looked over the backseat at her husband. He’d been bounced down onto the floorboard during the wild ride out of the building, and was wedged between the seats. But, even the little she could see of him told a horrific story of the time he’d spent in the hands of Angelus, Dru, Faith, and that creepy girl with the backwards head. Thankfully, he’d remained unconscious through the whole roller-coaster ride out of the building.


Buffy’s tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought of all they’d lost. All because of her. Joan was gone. India was gone. Spike was … oh, God … Spike!  What had he endured over the last days? Would he ever be the same? Even if he could recover from this, and she wasn’t 100% sure he could, would he be the same man afterwards?  


 

If she’d only had the guts to stake Angelus all those years ago … she’d had chances, why didn’t she do it? Buffy leaned her now-bleeding forehead against the steering wheel and began to sob as that old shroud of blood-stained guilt began to close in on her. She was the Slayer. It should be her making the sacrifices, not everyone around her! First Dawn, then Joan, and even Spike had all sacrificed in her place.


 Lost in her self-recriminations and guilt, Buffy jumped when something inside the car ‘dinged.’ She jerked her tear-streaked face up and looked around frantically for the source of the sound. She found it quickly in the glove box: Joan’s cell phone.  

She pulled it out and looked at it. A reminder flashed on the screen, telling her she was late picking up the twins from their play-date. A sob wracked Buffy’s shoulders as she hugged the phone to her chest, dropping her head down as her tears ran in rivers down her face.


How was she supposed to do this? How was she supposed to just … carry on? How did life continue for her when it didn’t for Joan and India? How did she get up every morning and eat and drink and play with her children and try to smile when they never would again? How many people can one person lose before it’s just too many? How did people do this?  

“One foot in front of the other, one minute at a time,” came a soft voice from the seat next to her.


 Buffy’s head jerked up and her shimmering eyes were met with the ghostly image of her mother.  “Mommy?”  

“It’s okay, Buffy. Your babies need you now … Spike needs you now. You can do it. You’re stronger than you know, sweetie. And Joan will always be with you ... in your heart, just like me.”


 


 

Buffy shook her head and looked back down at the phone in her hands. A picture of Joan with the twins looked back at her, Joan’s wide, bright smile mimicked by the two little ones. Her heart twisted, a dagger stabbing into her soul and wrenching every drop of hope and joy from it. She should’ve never brought them into this horrible, cruel world. It was too much … it was all just too much.


 “You can do it, just take the first step,” her mother advised again, but when Buffy looked back up, there was no one there.  

You’re losing your mind…” Buffy murmured to herself before snorting out a derisive laugh. “Lost … lost your mind.”


 Buffy wiped at her tears and the blood that was running into her eye from the cut on her forehead with her fingers, then took a deep breath. “First step…” she repeated quietly as she tried to bring her emotions under control and rein in her jangled emotions. “What’s the first step?”  

Her mind whirled, thoughts coming at her from every direction as she tried desperately to figure out what the first step was and how to take it. After several moments, the reminder beeped at her again, ‘Pick up twins.’


Buffy took another deep breath, let it out slowly, and nodded. Leave it to Joan to be organized and efficient, and show her the way, even now. She got out of the DeSoto and went back to her car. She retrieved the baby seats, along with her purse and brought them back to Spike’s car. Buffy moved methodically, as if every motion, every step was a struggle.

She started to put the baby seats in the backseat, but realized if she opened the back doors out here in the blazing sun, Spike would be burned, so she put them in the trunk, instead. Next, she tossed her purse into the passenger’s seat next to Joan’s arm, then took the mangled passenger-side door and tugged it away from the front wheel. The hinges protested loudly, screaming their reluctance to move further as she pressed it back into its normal place.  It wouldn’t actually latch properly, but Buffy shoved it hard into the opening, as if trying to fit a bit of a jigsaw puzzle into a spot that was the correct shape, but not quite large enough. After kicking it with the bottom of her boot a few times, she was satisfied that it would not come open on its own.


She looked around one more time at the decimated building and tears welled in her eyes and begin flowing once again.  

“I’ll be back for you, Joan … I promise. I won’t leave you here,” she vowed before she slid in behind the wheel and started the car again.


 


 

“One minute at a time … one thing at a time …” she murmured to herself as she put the car in drive and headed out of the parking lot.  As she turned onto the empty country road that ran alongside the building, she saw a disturbingly familiar form walking along the shoulder: a small girl with a backwards head.


Buffy’s eyes narrowed in fury and disbelief. She floored the accelerator and turned the wheel, shifting the car off the road and onto the grassy margin alongside it. The girl turned around at the sound of the racing, rumbling engine, but had no chance to escape. The black behemoth crashed into Hana at nearly sixty miles an hour, creating a sickening thud of breaking bones and crushing flesh. Buffy slammed on the brake as soon as the car leveled off after jouncing over the small demon’s body. She shifted the car into reverse and backed-up, flooring the accelerator again. The tires bounced over Hana yet again, driving her down into the dirt and grass of the right-of-way.  

Buffy stopped the car, her heart thudding with rage and disbelief. She waited and watched, but the demon-child never rose from her face-down position in the dirt.  After some minutes, Buffy put the car back in drive and rolled over the corpse one more time for good measure before pulling back onto B Line Road and heading back to town.


After a few miles and a chance to slow her racing heart, the Slayer picked Joan’s phone up and dialed Mrs. Michael’s number. “Hi, Ellen, it’s Buffy. I’m sooo sorry! I’m on my way … no … yes, I know I’m super-late. I know … yes … I’m sorry. Everything’s … ummm … yeah, everything’s … ummm … okay. I’ll be there soon…”  

**~**


 

((  Click here to hear Keep Me In Your Heart - Warren Zevon on YouTube ))


 

Shadows are falling and I'm running out of breath

Keep me in your heart for awhile

If I leave you it doesn't mean I love you any less

Keep me in your heart for awhile



When you get up in the morning and you see that crazy sun

Keep me in your heart for awhile

There's a train leaving nightly called: “When all is said and done”

Keep me in your heart for awhile



Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-li-li-lo

Keep me in your heart for awhile

Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-li-li-lo

Keep me in your heart for awhile



Sometimes when you're doing simple things around the house

Maybe you'll think of me and smile

You know I'm tied to you like the buttons on your blouse

Keep me in your heart for awhile



Hold me in your thoughts, take me to your dreams

Touch me as I fall into view

When the winter comes keep the fires lit

And I will be right next to you



Engine driver's headed north to Pleasant Stream

Keep me in your heart for awhile

These wheels keep turning but they're running out of steam

Keep me in your heart for awhile





Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-li-li-lo

Keep me in your heart for awhile

Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-li-li-lo

Keep me in your heart for awhile





Keep me in your heart for awhile





 



 



 



 



 



 


Chapter End Notes:
How is Buffy going to cope with everything now? We'll find out ... next Sunday.
Pavement Cracks by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
I'm soooo sorry this is late! RL just stepped up and threw a body block at me the last couple of weeks. I hope to be back on schedule posting the next chapter a week from Sunday, but no promises ... sorry!

Thanks for your patience and support! As always, thanks to the great and wonderful PAGANBABY for betaing this and her wonderful banner she made for me!

That night …

 

Buffy dropped the bloody washcloth back into the basin of water. It was useless. She felt like she was doing nothing more helpful than rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.  She collapsed down into a chair beside the bed where Spike lay, her chest sinking down onto her knees, and began to sob.

 

 

She’d been trying to clean Spike’s wounds for hours it seemed, but she had no idea how to get his rib bones set back in place and get the ripped and torn skin and muscle closed over them. She’d done her best on his fingers and toes. She’d packed all the round holes in his thighs and buttocks with gauze, and gotten them to stop bleeding at least, she’d put splints on his broken legs and arms … but his ribs … how was she supposed to fix those? They were horrifically splintered and some pieces of them were missing. Should she just … press them back into place as best she could, splinters and all? Or should she try to cut them and even them up first? Then … what? Wrap him up in duct tape until they healed? Would they heal? Ever? Even knowing what he’d come back from before, way back when – a broken spine – it seemed impossible that he could recover from this.

 

Buffy wiped her eyes and took a deep breath, steeling herself. She couldn’t give up … she had to do something. She reached over and picked up the sippy-cup of blood she’d warmed up and lifted it to Spike’s bruised, swollen, raw lips. She slid the little sippy part of the cup between his lips and tilted it up, letting the blood trickle into his mouth.

 

She cursed and pulled the cup of pig’s blood away when he started to choke and cough and expel all the life-giving liquid from his mouth. She quickly picked up the washcloth and began cleaning the blood from his face and neck.  Buffy couldn’t tell how much he might’ve actually swallowed. This was the fourth time she’d tried to get him to eat, each ending the same way, with most of the blood being spilled. How could he even begin to heal if she couldn’t get the blood down him?

 

She needed help. She needed Joan. Joan would know what to do. Buffy’s tears began again in earnest, sobs wracking her body. Joan wouldn’t be able to help her ever again. Buffy looked down at her husband as her tears streamed down her cheeks, and wondered if he’d ever be able to help her again, either.  He was so very broken. If she didn’t know it was him, she would never recognize him, he was so disfigured; bruised and beaten, burnt and cut … completely shattered.

 

She could not remember ever feeling so utterly alone. The Slayer was finally fulfilling her destiny … she was standing alone. She snorted scathingly at the thought. How fitting, since it was her inability to do her job as the Slayer that left Angel walking around this world like a time-bomb, just waiting for something to set him off, remove his curse, and turn him back into Angelus.

 

 

Buffy dropped back down into the chair she’d pulled up next to the bed as her dejection grew into despondency, and her feeling of uselessness grew into hopelessness. Her tears continued as the trio of guilt, inadequacy, and heartache all gathered forces, threatening to overwhelm her. The faces of everyone she’d lost floated across her vision like ghosts, starting with her mom, then Dawn, Joan, India … even Tara haunted her. If she’d only been stronger, if only she’d been able to defeat Glory, most of those people would be alive today.

 

Even if she couldn’t have defeated the hell-god, if she’d just been able to hold it together after Dawn’s sacrifice, at least Joan, India, and Tara would’ve made it. And Spike … God, Spike. After all he’d done for her, she’d let him down too. She knew better than to let him go see Dru on his own. She fucking knew better!

 

Buffy held her head in her hands and sobbed, shaking her head in defeat, in misery. She felt that shroud of guilt returning, the one that had swallowed her alive after Dawn’s death, and her guilt-ridden heart lurched in her chest with fear.

 

 

“No … no, no, no …” she rasped out through her tears, desperately trying to fight it back. She couldn’t let it win … not now! Not when everyone she had left was depending on her.

 

She tried to pull the vision of Spike’s eyes into the fore of her mind to fight the guilt back, as she’d learned to do before, but it was useless. All she could see was Spike’s beaten, bruised, and bloodied face. His eyes blackened and swollen shut.

 

“No, no, no …” she continued to chant as the she felt the gates in her mind beginning to close, cutting her off from her sanity.

 

“No, please … no…” Buffy begged as she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to stop the deluge of guilt that was about to drown her. Her breathing became labored as she fought desperately against her own demons, her own mind, her own feelings of inadequacy and guilt.

 

Suddenly from across the hall a small, but strong voice called, “Dada! Wawa!”

 

Buffy let out a scream borne of frustration and physical pain as her heart wrenched and twisted in her chest. Dada would not be able to get Will a glass of water for a long, long time … maybe never again.

 

Buffy’s entire body began to tremble with the physical and mental effort to hold onto her sanity. Sweat beaded up all over her body and her hands clenched into tight fists as she struggled against the tide that wanted nothing more than to swallow her, to take her away from this misery, to set her free from the pain and torment, to clear her mind and ease her heart.

 

“Slayer … be the Slayer … be the Slayer … strong … you’re strong … Mom said … Slayer …” Buffy chanted to herself, her voice breaking and catching on its way through her tears. But the gates kept closing … she could feel it, almost see it in her mind’s eye, shutting her off from everyone that needed her.

 

“Dada! Wawa!” Will called again, even louder.

 

With Will’s cry, new images flashed through Buffy’s mind. Images of Spike with the babies, of the first terrifying time he held them in the hospital, of the unconditional love that shone from his eyes for them, of him playing with them, watching TV with them, rocking them to sleep, singing them lullabies…

 

 

Suddenly, her chant changed. “Mother, wife … mother, wife … be … a mother … be … a wife … mother … mother … Mom … Mommy … oh, God … Will … Jade … Mom … be a mom …”

 

Buffy felt her body begin to relax, her breathing settling back into deep sighs rather than the rapid, gasping breaths of exertion, and she felt the gates open back up … the shroud of bloody-guilt retreat back into the shadows of her mind.

 

Buffy took several deep, long breaths as she sniffed back her tears and wiped her face with trembling fingers, calming herself. Her stomach was in knots, her heart was shredded, her limbs quivered as if she’d just run a marathon … but she was still here. Still here, engulfed in misery. This is where she had to stay. This is where she was needed.

 

Buffy took one more deep breath and called back, “I’m coming, baby,” as she pushed herself to her feet, her limbs heavy with fatigue and misery.

 

She wondered when it was she’d last slept, but couldn’t remember. It wouldn’t be anytime soon, that much was certain. Her mom’s words came back to her, ‘One step at a time.’

 

Buffy took a step … and another … and another. She plodded downstairs on heavy legs to get Will a sippy-cup of water.  Joan insisted on only bottled, filtered water for the babies and had even tested several brands herself to determine the purest, healthiest one to use.

 

As Buffy entered the kitchen, she saw the box of Cheerios still sitting on the table from that morning and her stomach rumbled and growled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, either. She grabbed the box and dug her hand down inside, stuffing her mouth full of dry cereal as she went over to the cabinet to get a cup. 

 

Still crunching on the cereal, she opened the refrigerator to get a bottle of water only to find there was none in there. Buffy set the cereal down and went to the walk-in pantry … but there was none there, either. Then she saw the long-forgotten grocery list hanging near the door with ‘water’ as the very first item listed.

 

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” she cursed, going back to the pantry to check again. She dug behind canned goods, paper products and dry goods, sliding all the neatly stacked, alphabetized items this way and that, but there was no water.

 

Buffy felt her hot tears sting her eyes again. She couldn’t even get her child a glass of fucking water! How hard could this be? One glass of water for a thirsty kid, and she couldn’t do it!

 

“What the hell good are you? You’re a failure! You’re no good at being the Slayer, no good at being a wife, no good at being a mother! What the hell good are you!?” Buffy screamed at herself as she began to fling things off the shelves in the pantry.

 

 

Cans and boxes smashed against the wall, rolling and tumbling out onto the kitchen floor. Paper towels and Chinet plates sailed through the air, bouncing off the furthest wall of the kitchen. She raged against all the innocent groceries, smashing them, hurtling them across the room, slamming them down onto the floor. Cans ruptured, jars shattered, boxes were torn open; soon the whole kitchen was covered in sauces and soups, canned fruits and vegetables, pasta and cereals, cookies and crackers, with a snowy dusting of sugar, salt, and flour over it all.

 

When nothing remained in the pantry, Buffy sank down onto the floor, into the mess of tomato sauce and chicken noodle soup and canned peaches mixed with macaroni and cranberry sauce. Her chest heaved with exertion and rage, her breath coming in fits and gasps. With her head in her hands, she began to sob again. One bottle of water was all she wanted. One. Was that too much to ask? One measly bottle of water for her son. It seemed such a simple thing. Why did everything have to be such a struggle? Why was life so fucking hard??

 

Her sobs intensified as images of the people she loved danced through her mind; people who would never get the chance to ask that question again. So many … so many people dead. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

 

“I can’t do this … I can’t … God, Joan … no … no … don’t make me do this alone … Joan, please!” Buffy cried to the empty room. “Spike … How do I fix Spike? Please someone help me … please …” she pleaded.

 

Suddenly, the whole shelving unit in the pantry shuddered and collapsed with a deafening crash, weakened by the Slayer’s assault. Buffy’s head jerked up at the sound and she watched as one bottle of water dropped down with the highest shelf and rolled out the pantry door, coming to a stop against her foot.

 

Buffy stared at it in disbelief for several heartbeats before she began to laugh maniacally through her tears. Buffy laughed and cried, unable to do anything else for several minutes, consumed by grief and perhaps on the verge of madness. She knew she’d lost her mind … there was no other explanation, but at least she was still sane enough to recognize that she was Looney-Tunes. That had to count for something, right?

 

She pushed herself up to her feet and walked gingerly across the slick floor and over to the sink to wash all the goop off the bottle. She grabbed the sippy cup and headed back upstairs with her hard-earned prize, sniffing back her tears. She wondered if every victory from now on would require that much effort or make that much of a mess. She sincerely hoped not.

 

**~**

 

Buffy was roused from her unintended nap when Spike moaned in pain. She jerked her head up from the bed beside him where she had rested it for just a moment … about twenty minutes ago. She was sitting in the chair next to the bed and had just leaned forward to rest for a minute, taking a break from trying to get some blood down him.

 

“It’s okay, baby,” Buffy cajoled, laying a gentle hand on his burned and bruised shoulder. “You’re safe now … we’re home.”

 

 

She couldn’t tell if he heard her or not, but he seemed to relax again after a few moments, though he never fully woke up.  She sighed and dipped the eyedropper into the mug of what had once been warm pig’s blood. She pulled the blood into the dropper, and gingerly slid the glass tube between Spike’s lips as far as she dared. Buffy squeezed a little blood into his mouth slowly, watching his throat and waiting to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed it, before releasing a bit more onto his tongue. He was so weak, his reserves so depleted, that his demon didn’t even rise for the taste of blood.

 

It was taking forever to get the barest amount down his throat and into his system, but if she tried putting any more down him at a time, he simply coughed most of it out rather than swallowing it. Based on the clock on the table next to their bed, she’d been at this for about four hours and hadn’t even gotten one mug of blood down him. The Slayer yawned widely, her eyes blurry and blood-shot with exhaustion. She couldn’t stop her body from leaning forward again and resting her head down on the bed for just one … more … minute.

 

**~**

 

Buffy woke with a start, unsure where she was or what the sound was that had startled her. She blinked and looked around, trying to get her bearings, then everything came crashing back down on her. She’d fallen asleep sitting in the chair next to Spike. The sound that had awoken her was her children across the hall crying. She looked at the clock, it was after nine in the morning; she’d slept for nearly three hours.

 

“Shit…” she muttered, rubbing the sleep from her weary eyes and pushing herself to her feet. Her whole body ached, her back cracked and popped as she straightened it. Every muscle she had was stiff and sore, still utterly exhausted. They all protested when she forced them to shift, threatening to cramp painfully if she asked too much of them.

 

She looked down at her husband as she tried to stretch her body and make her muscles move again. If anything, he looked even worse than he had when she’d carried him out of the bottling plant. She’d never seen Spike so thin and gaunt. Even after the Initiative had first chipped him and he’d been starving, he hadn’t looked this emaciated. If she didn’t find a way to make him eat more, and soon, he’d be nothing but skin and bones … bruised skin and broken bones.

 

Buffy picked up the mug of blood she’d been feeding him, now coagulated and smelling rancid. It was only half-gone. She’d gotten less than eight ounces of blood into him since he’d been home. Although he’d only gone without blood for about three days now, the torture he’d endured, the physical trauma, had drained all his reserves and sent his body into a downward spiral as it tried to heal all the wounds.

 

 

Spike moaned again and reached for his shattered ribs. Buffy grabbed his forearm before he could bring it down on the horrific injuries, which would only cause him more pain. She had packed the wounds with gauze and wrapped his whole torso with Ace bandages last night, but his bones still protruded from his skin, splintered and broken. How she was going to be able to set them and hold them in place until they healed, she had no idea.

 

A shrill shriek from her daughter brought Buffy out of her morose appraisal of her husband. She took a deep breath and laid Spike’s swollen, blackened and broken hand back down on the bed and headed across the hall to start the day.

 

**~**

 

“But you like Big Bird…” Buffy cajoled Jade, trying to wrangle the wriggling toddler into the shirt.

 

“NO! ME!” the girl insisted, seemingly able to move her arms, hands, and head in ways even a circus contortionist couldn’t to avoid putting the shirt on.

 

 

 

Buffy stopped and pressed her fingertips to her forehead, letting her eyes fall closed. “Fine … you … get what you want …” she agreed with a weary sigh, releasing Jade and stepping back. The girl toddled on shaky legs to her dresser with Buffy following behind. Buffy opened the drawer and Jade began digging into the shirts that had been precisely folded and aligned by color by Aunt Joan. Finally, the girl pulled out a fuchsia-pink shirt and began her own attempt to put it on.

 

“I don’t think that really goes with mustard yellow …” Buffy commented, looking at the skirt Jade was already wearing. The exhausted mother shook her head and sighed, reaching down to help her daughter get the garment on.

 

“ME!” Jade insisted again, pulling away from her mother as she struggled to determine what appendage went into what opening of the shirt.

 

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes, pulling her hands away from her independent girl. “Fine … but I’m telling ya now, your head isn’t gonna work in that arm hole…”

 

In the next moment, Buffy was hit in the back of the head with something. “Owww!” She ducked and spun around to find Will had removed all his clothes, including his shoes, and it was one of his shoes that had been flung across the room and hit Buffy.

 

“William Wesley Pratt!” Buffy scolded, scooping the shoe up from the floor and striding toward her son. “Put those clothes back on right now, young man!”

 

Will laughed and clapped his hands, his long chestnut curls dancing around his face as he tossed his other shoe across the room toward Jade.

 

“William!” Buffy screeched, her brain on the verge of exploding. “Stop throwing things! That’s not nice and … anyway, we need to get dressed now, not undressed!”

 

 

Buffy began jerking Will’s arms back through the holes of the shirt roughly, yanking it back over his head and down his torso. “I really don’t need this out of you two today …” she growled, as the children heaped straws onto the Slayer’s already broken back.

 

“I’ve got a lot to do today. I don’t have time for this out of you two, I swear to God. Why can’t you just behave for once?!” Buffy ranted, as she began jerking Will’s underpants back up his little legs with more force than she realized.

 

“Nooo! Owwww!” Will screamed as he began to cry, trying to pull away from his mother’s angry hands.

 

Buffy froze, her breath catching in her throat and her whole body folding in on itself. “Oh, God … Will … I’m sorry, baby… Mommy’s sorry …” she cajoled as she dropped down onto her butt on the floor and pulled her son to her in a gentle embrace.

 

“I’m sorry … I’m sorry. Mommy’s sorry … I didn’t mean it. Baby, shhhhh … it’s okay. I’m sorry …” Buffy whispered as her own tears returned with a vengeance.  The Slayer rocked her normally happy son in her arms, burying her face in his soft curls as she shushed him and continued to apologize.

 

Jade, now dressed in her fuchsia-pink shirt, backwards, but with all her limbs in the right holes, came over and patted a hand down on Buffy’s head. “O-ta, Mommy, Aa-Ja tish booboo … alllll better.”

 

Buffy looked up at the earnest face of her daughter and her tears turned into sobs which shook her whole body. “Aunt Joan can’t … kiss the booboo … Aunt Joan can’t … make it all better …” she told Jade, pulling her into her lap as well.

 

“Oh, God …” Buffy sobbed, rocking her babies in her lap on the floor of the nursery. “Aunt Joan can’t fix it anymore … what are we gonna do?”

 

**~**

 

After finally pulling herself back together and getting Will dressed again, this time more calmly and gently, the trio made their way down the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast.

 

Holding their hands, Buffy stopped the toddlers from walking into the national disaster that was their kitchen.

 

“Uh-oh …” Will murmured, his tone serious and concerned as he took in the utter destruction that met them. “Boo-boo.”

 

Buffy took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That’s the understatement of the year,” she told her son as she pulled them back from the doorway of the food-strewn kitchen. “How about we have breakfast out today?” she asked them with mock-brightness, grabbing her purse and guiding them to the front door.

 

“Pancakes … and real maple syrup…” she added temptingly. “Yum!”

 

Will and Jade bounced on their little feet and ‘squeeed’, only Buffy’s hold on their hands keeping them from tumbling down as they lost their balance.

 

“And, while we’re out, I can get more groceries … since we have, like, none,” she added with a sigh.

 

Buffy looked back up the stairs, worry about Spike creasing her brow. There was no one she could call to come stay with him. Buffy chewed her lip, looking from the mess in the kitchen to the now-excited toddlers, and back up the stairs. She had to get more groceries; they had, literally, nothing. Well … whatever was in the fridge, she hadn’t managed to destroy that last night.

 

Buffy scooped the babies up, one under each arm, and jogged up the stairs, afraid to leave them alone for even a moment lest they wander into the kitchen. The twins laughed as she jostled them like sacks of potatoes under each arm on her way up the stairs and into the master bedroom where Spike lay. Buffy knelt next to the bed, setting the babies down on their feet, but keeping a hold on them both.

 

“Spike? Baby? I don’t know if you can hear me … but … I’ve got to go out for a little while. I won’t be long, I promise. I’ll be back soon, baby. Just … please … just don’t move, okay?”

 

 

Buffy watched his face for any sign that he’d heard her, but there was no way to read the swollen and blackened flesh that had once been his beautiful face.

 

She blinked back tears as she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I love you, Spike. I’m … sorry. I’m so sorry… I’ll be back really soon.”

 

**~**

 

“No, sweetie,” Buffy cajoled, catching her daughter’s hand in hers when Jade reached over to the grocery shelf as Buffy pushed the cart down the aisle.  Jade shrieked an eardrum-popping wail as she tried to pull her hand from her mother’s grasp.

 

“ME!” she insisted, trying to reach with her other hand toward the canned goods on the shelf.

 

“But we don’t need any anchovies,” Buffy pointed out as she pushed the heavy, over-stuffed cart with one hand, keeping hold of Jade’s hand with her other.

 

“You can get the next thing … I think it’s …” Buffy looked down at her list, still pushing the cart forward, searching for what might be in the next aisle from her list. Joan always made her lists in the order things were arranged by the grocery-store gods … Buffy wasn’t quite that organized.

 

In the next moment, the world came tumbling down. The attack was unexpected and nearly devastating, with the twins directly in the line of fire. Buffy lunged forward at the last moment, pulling the twins to her and shielding them from the avalanche that threatened to pummel them.

 

It really didn’t seem possible for anything to be louder than the sound of Angel’s old warehouse exploding, but when the pyramid of canned vegetables crashed to the floor of the grocery store, Buffy was pretty sure that was the loudest thing she’d ever heard. And, to top it off, it seemed to go on forever as can after can plummeted from its perfectly-placed spot. Hundreds of cans tumbled down, topsy-turvy all around her, before rolling away from the scene of the crime.

 

Cans fell into Buffy’s over-full basket, crushing eggs and yogurt containers and flattening the loaves of seven-grain bread. Cans bounced off her arms, shoulders, and the back of her head as she shielded the twins from the avalanche. They bounced off the cart and dropped painfully onto her toes, they even broke the glass jar of pickles in the cart, sending pickles and juice mixing with the broken eggs and yogurt and oozing down onto the floor below.

 

Finally, the last can stopped rolling across the floor, coming to rest against a display of Cap’n Crunch cereal. For the next eternity, the only sound that could be heard in the whole store was the Muzak playing from the speakers. No one in the whole store moved or spoke, not even Jade and Will made a sound. No cash registers ‘binged’, no wobbly carts ‘ka-thunked’ over the floor, no children begged for their favorite candy bar.

 

Buffy finally released her shield of the shocked-into-silence twins and stood up, looking around at the destruction. She began to get angry, furious, in fact, that anyone would be so stupid to have such a dangerous obstacle out in the middle of the aisle where anyone could run into it.

 

 

 

However, it only took her another moment to realize it wasn’t in the middle of the aisle. In fact, there had been a bright yellow rope-barrier around it, intended to keep people back. A sign, now half-buried in canned goods, announced they were celebrating, ‘National Canned Vegetable Month’.

 

Buffy’s face flushed as she realized she’d plowed right past the end of the aisle out into the open display area near the front of the store, through the rope barrier, and into the giant pyramid of carefully placed, colorful cans. She’d been the stupid one … again.

 

In the next moment, Will and Jade both began to wail. Apparently, that was the signal for the rest of the store to come to life. People, employees and customers alike, gathered around ground zero as Buffy began frantically checking the twins for injuries.

 

People came running from every corner of the store, curious to see what had happened, and everyone seemed to be talking at once. 

 

“Are you alright!?” …  “What happened?” … “Is she drunk?” … “On drugs, probably.” … “And with two little babies, such a shame.” … “Look at how that child is dressed: shirt on backwards, and my, my … pink and mustard yellow with lime green socks? Tsk.” … “How could she not see that? Jeb spent two days stacking them cans juuust right.” … “Was a beautiful display, alright.” …“It’s the drugs, I tell ya.” … “Maybe she’s crazy. Lot’s a’ crazy people around these days. The hospitals just let ‘em out willy-nilly.” … “I still say it’s drugs. Young people these days…” … “Should have those babies taken away from her. She’s a menace.”

 

Assured that both Jade and Will were uninjured, Buffy felt hot tears sting her eyes as her embarrassment grew. Apparently every clerk, manager, and customer in the store had gathered around her and her debacle. They discussed her mental state as if she couldn’t hear them, as if she didn’t exist, her feelings didn’t matter, what she’d lost didn’t matter.

 

 

Buffy’s chest tightened and her stomach turned as she was suddenly mobbed by the people and drowning in their hurtful words. She wanted nothing more than to sink into a hole in the ground at that moment, disappear. Overcome by embarrassment and anguish, her heart in her throat, Buffy quickly gathered up the crying babies from the child-seat in the cart and began to press through the throng of people.

 

Hot tears stung her bright-red face as she elbowed her way toward the doors, kicking cans out of her way as she went. The people parted for her, afraid to confront the drug-crazed, drunk, lunatic as she scarpered from the store and away from their judgmental eyes, which seemed to burn holes of disdain in her back as she passed.

 

Outside, she hurried to the DeSoto and quickly strapped the babies into their seats in the back, trying her best to soothe their tears and fear with gentle touches. A few manager-types followed her, but kept a safe distance. Some seemingly concerned, others angry – probably those were the ones that had spent hours arranging the pyramid – but she couldn’t even look up at them. Buffy had no idea what to say and had no voice to say it at any rate; she just wanted away from there. She jumped into the old car, bounced over a cement parking bumper, and left the managers, clerks, and customers that had come out of the store staring after her, still discussing the crazy woman that had brought down the pyramid.

 

A couple of miles down the road, Buffy pulled off into the parking lot of an old, now-defunct burger joint. So far, she’d managed to keep her tears under control enough to see to drive, but as soon as she stopped they burst from her eyes in a flood of embarrassment, guilt, and anguish.

 

 

Was there anything she could do right? ANYTHING? Buffy dropped her head against the steering wheel and did the only thing she was sure she knew how to do: sob uncontrollably.

 

 

“Mommy boo-boo,” Will announced from the back seat, holding up his right hand. Buffy spun in the seat and looked at his fragile little fingers.

 

“Oh, baby …” she cried, leaning over the seat and kissing his tiny, bruised digits where a can must’ve smashed against them. She checked to make sure they weren’t broken – they weren’t – kissing each finger in turn. ”I’m so sorry … so sorry.”

 

Maybe those people were right. Maybe she was just too crazy, too damaged. Maybe she didn’t deserve to have these precious little lives entrusted to her. Everyone she’d loved was either dead or mortally injured … everyone except the babies. How long would it be before her incompetence came crashing down on them; it nearly had, quite literally, only a few minutes ago.

 

Buffy held Will’s little hand in both of hers and showered it with tears and kisses, but her kisses, apparently unlike Aunt Joan’s, didn’t fix the boo-boo.

 

Nothing, it seemed, was within her power to fix.

**~**

Clck here to hear Pavement Cracks by Annie Lennox

 

The city streets are wet again with rain

But I'm walkin' just the same

Skies turn to the usual grey

When you turn to face the day

And love don't show up in the pavement cracks

All my water colors fade to black

I'm goin' nowhere and I'm ten steps back

All my dreams have fallen flat

(Love don't show in the pavement cracks There will be no turning back)

Time and space will pass us by and by

When we don't see eye to eye

I would have done anything

For happiness to bring ...

But it don't show up in the pavement cracks

I can't even cover up my tracks

I'm goin' nowhere and I'm light years back

Ooh I wish you well

How come every day I'm still waiting for the change?

How come I still say Give me strength to live?

Where is my comfort zone?

A simple place to call my own

'Cause everything I wanna be

Comes crashing down on me

And it don't show up in the pavement cracks

I can't even recognize my tracks

You and I can't turn the whole thing back

Ooh I wish you well

Chapter End Notes:
Will Buffy find any relief, any help to get her through this? What about Angel's warehouse, is Hana really dead? What about Dru and Angelus? Did they dust in the explosion? We'll find out next ...

Thanks to everyone who is reading and big love to those of you who take time to review! I know I'm behind in responding, but I do read them and love them and will reply to ALL OF YOU!! {{hugs}}
Another Step by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! I'm a bit behind responding, but I love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Late that night…

As Buffy set the eye-dropper down, the last drop of blood still clinging to the small opening, she fought to keep her tears from building and falling again. She’d managed to finally get the pantry and kitchen cleaned up and restocked, shopping at a store across town, far away from the debacle with the vegetable pyramid. She’d gotten the twins fed and bathed and off to sleep, and she’d even managed to get a full mug of blood down Spike, one small drop at a time. Even with those accomplishments, she was frayed at the edges, mentally and physically exhausted, and feeling so very, very alone.



Buffy looked at Spike’s still bruised, swollen, and disfigured face and the flood of frustrated sorrow began to pour from her eyes yet again. Despite the things she’d done right, the only things her mind could conjure were the things she’d done wrong over the last days. They kept running through her mind like a broken record, berating her, weakening her, beating her down. Then things she’d done wrong weeks ago chimed in, and months ago, years ago. Soon, there was a full orchestra playing at her pity-party, and she felt helpless to stop the music.

Buffy’s shoulders shook with her heartache, her guilt, and her sorrow. Still in the same clothes she’d had on for the last twenty-four hours, she crawled into bed beside her husband and curled up as near to him as she dared, just barely touching him.

“Spike, please, please help me. I can’t do this alone. Joan’s gone … you’re … you’re … God, Spike … I need you. I’m so afraid. Spike, please … help me,” Buffy begged. “What if I mess up with the babies? Spike … I’d die. I’d die if anything happened to them. I can’t do this … I can’t … I can’t…” Buffy chanted the last like a mantra, her voice growing weaker and wearier with each passing moment, until she succumbed to the sleep she so desperately needed.

**~**

Buffy blinked her eyes open, rubbing her aching head and bleary eyes, trying to figure out where she was. She sat up slowly, pushing up against the hard, stone top of the sarcophagus in the center of Spike’s old crypt.

“And Sleepy Beauty awakens…” Spike taunted, setting the bottle of whiskey he'd been drinking down on the floor before standing up from his worn easy chair.



“Spike ... What … what’s going on?” Buffy asked groggily, swinging her legs around and off the edge of the tomb, still rubbing at her eyes and forehead, trying to clear the fog.

“Reckon you know better than me, luv. I been a bit outta it since ya crashed my soddin’ car through the bleedin’ wall o’ that warehouse. That’ll cost a pretty penny t’ fix, I’d wager, if I can even find parts,” he asserted, stalking over to her.

Buffy shook her head and looked up at him. “You’re worried about the freaking car?!”

“It’s my bloody car! Why didn’t you use yours, for fuck’s sake?” he growled, his hands balled into fists, as he neared her.



Buffy dropped her head, tapping her fingers against her forehead and began to laugh.

“Not bloody funny, Slayer. Had that car a long time, I have,” he defended, frowning down at her, now within arm’s reach of his wife.

Buffy began to shake her head as the laughter wracking her body morphed into sobs. In the next moment she flung herself off the sarcophagus and into Spike’s arms, wrapping around him with arms and legs. She buried her face against the crook of his neck and cried against him. He smelled of tobacco and leather and whiskey … like she remembered. Not of blood and bandages and the baby wash she’d used to clean the dried blood off him.

“Joan’s dead … India’s dead. Spike, I’m all alone. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix you.”

Spike sighed and wrapped his arms around her. “Is alright, luv,” he soothed, his voice soft. “You’re stronger than ya know, Slayer.”

“No, I’m not…”

“Yes, you are. You’re the heart, Buffy. You’re the heart of us … the strongest part, luv.”

“There’s no ‘us’ to be the heart of … Joan’s dead …” Buffy cried against him, clinging to him tightly.

“There is an ‘us’,” Spike insisted. “You hold us together, Buffy. Me, Will, Jade … it’s you, luv. Always been you that’s been the strong one.”

“No … no … not me. I’m the one that keeps falling apart! I’m the one you had to save … don’t you remember?!”

Spike pushed her back, disentangling himself from her grasp, so he could look into her eyes. Buffy let go, allowing him to set her down onto her feet in front of him.



“Look at me, pet,” Spike began, holding her upper arms and dipping his head to be at her level.

Buffy sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand before lifting her eyes up to meet his. His eyes. Those azure orbs of love and strength. Her heart lurched in her chest as she gazed into them, wanting nothing more than to get lost in them forever. To leave all the misery and pain behind and just float in the cerulean depths of his eyes.

“Listen t’ me now, luv,” Spike ordered gently. “You’re the one who was yanked outta 'er Malibu Barbie life and thrust into the life of a Slayer. You’re the one who’s stood against the demons. You’re the one that stepped up when her mum passed and took care of the little bit.”

Spike held a hand up, stopping her protest and quickly continued, “You’re the one that came back from the edge when little sis did what she had t’ do to save you … t’ save the world. She did what you would’ve done, Buffy, if you could’ve … the brave thing, the right bloody thing.

“You’re the one that gave little sis new life … brought her soul back from Limbo. Gave my soul new life too, pet. You were the one brave enough t’ take that risk. Could’a taken the easy road, dusted me, set Dawn free, but you didn’t.

“You’re the one that did everything in your power t’ protect that life from that bastard the Watchers sent after ya. You, Buffy … you survived that, and you saved our babies.

“Bloody hell, Buffy! How much stronger do ya think ya need t’ be? You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. Anyone else would’ve been broken by now, pet … their spirit snuffed, but ‘ere you are … indestructible, still fighting, struggling … trying.



“Love how you try, pet.”

Tears flowed down Buffy’s face, her chin wobbling, her body trembling with emotion. “But … I keep failing…” she rasped out, her throat tight with emotion. “Everyone keeps dying.”

Spike sighed and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. “People die, Buffy. It’s the nature o’ life, pet. Dawn and Joan … India, they gave their lives for you … for us … for our bits.

“Ya can’t give up now, luv. I need you too bloody much. The bits need you, Buffy. You’re our heart, pet. You’re the one, Buffy. Always been the one. You’ve got the heart of a Slayer. Let yourself be what ya are, luv … be the Slayer.”

Buffy shook her head against his shoulder, hugging him tightly. She didn’t want to be the one; didn’t want to be the heart, didn’t want to be the Slayer.

“I’m so afraid,” Buffy admitted as she clung to him, never wanting to let go. “I need you, Spike. I need help…” she sobbed against his shoulder, dampening his t-shirt with her tears.

“Got all ya need, luv, right inside ya. We’re all there, pet, lending you our courage, traveling along with ya. Know you can feel it, Buffy … your mum, Dawn, Joan, India … me. Right there in your Slayer’s heart, every bloody one.

 “’M always with you, pet. You’re never alone, Buffy. I’ll never leave your side. I love you. You’re the one, Buffy.”

**~**

Buffy woke with a jerk when Spike moaned in pain. She blinked her eyes open and tried again to process where she was and what was happening. It only took a moment for her to realize she’d been hugging Spike tightly in her sleep and had hurt him. She jumped back, horrified, releasing him immediately.



“Oh, God … I’m sorry … Spike … I’m sorry,” she apologized through her tears, running her hands over him gingerly, trying to check to make sure she hadn’t damaged anything worse than it already was.

Buffy’s hands slowed, then stopped as Spike settled back into the state of uneasy unconsciousness he’d been in for the last day and a half. She pulled her hands away, wringing them in her lap as she knelt next to him on the bed, and the dream replayed in her mind.

We’re all there, pet, lending you our courage, traveling along with ya. You’re never alone, Buffy. Be the Slayer.

Buffy closed her eyes and tried to recapture the images, the aromas, the feeling of comfort she’d had in the dream, but it seemed to slip through her fingers like a mist. It felt so real and yet was too delicate to touch without falling apart in her grasp, disintegrating as if built from ashes.

She pressed her fists against her chest, her eyes clamped shut, trying desperately to feel the courage Spike had promised her was there; her Slayer’s heart. But, like the remnants of the dream, it seemed to be just beyond her ability to grasp. It was like a word right on the tip of her tongue, familiar but utterly elusive … a ghost, a phantom that she could almost see, but not quite. Buffy opened her eyes and sighed, wiping her tears away.

She gave her broken, beaten, shattered husband a sad smile and touched a hand down gently on his bare shoulder. “Thanks for trying, Spike …”

**~**

Early the next morning …



Buffy leaned heavily against the counter near the microwave, warming yet another mug of blood that would most likely be wasted. The babies were still asleep; she’d feed Spike first – or attempt to feed him, anyway – then get them up. She let her eyes fall closed as she waited. She was utterly exhausted but her mind was racing nonetheless.

She had to get back to Dripping Springs and keep her promise to Joan – she would not leave any bits of her there. She also wanted to make sure there were no injured vampires still undead in the rubble. But she couldn’t take the babies out there with her … could she? That, Buffy thought, would be a very bad idea. She was pretty sure Mrs. Michaels would not want them back for another play-date anytime soon, and the only babysitter they’d ever used had been India.

And then there was Spike. He was only getting weaker as the hours passed by. He certainly showed no signs of healing, but how could he with only small dribs and drabs of blood? He was swallowing from the eyedropper, drop by drop, but nowhere near enough to do him any real good. She had no idea what to do to get more blood into him. She was at her wit’s end and becoming more and more consumed with fear, guilt, and worry over him.

“Be the Slayer,” she said aloud, repeating the little she remembered from the dream the previous night. “Yeah, ‘cos that’s worked out so well for you in the past…” she groused.

Buffy opened her eyes when she heard the microwave ‘ding’, but her brow furrowed when she realized it hadn’t finished yet. She heard the ‘ding’ again and looked to see Spike’s cell phone on the table where she’d left it after finding it in the grass … two nights ago? Three? She couldn’t even remember any longer.

She stepped over and picked it up. The ‘low battery’ warning was flashing, as was the announcement of ‘one new message’. She was sure she’d erased all the messages she’d left on there. Her brow furrowed further as she wondered who it would be from. Perhaps Mrs. Michaels had called him when no one had come to pick up the twins. Buffy touched the screen to retrieve the message and waited as it connected.



“You have one new message,” the automated voice came over the speaker.

Buffy rolled her swollen, blood-shot eyes. “I already know that,” she sassed the phone as she waited.

“Message one,” the flat voice continued, making Buffy roll her eyes again.

“Hello, Buffy and Spike. This is me … Joan D’Arc.”

Buffy’s breath caught in her chest and she nearly dropped the phone. She set it down on the table with shaky fingers and dropped down into the chair, her knees suddenly unable to support her weight.

“Joan …” she moaned, looking at the phone as if her doppelganger would suddenly materialize out of it.

“If you are listening to this, then there is a high probability that I did not return from Dripping Springs. I believe my logic logarithms have been corrupted, as that sentence is completely superfluous. If I have returned, I would have deleted this message; therefore you would not be listening to it. If you are not listening to it, then there would be no necessity to leave it. Hence, I must assume that you are listening to it and that I did not return or this whole exercise is irrelevant.”

Buffy shook her head as a small laugh burbled out through her tears.

“I find myself uncertain what to convey to you at this juncture. I believe first I should say that I love you both and also the small humans, Will and Jade, who have been quite fascinating to observe as they have grown. I would have preferred to monitor their development over a longer period of time. I had looked forward to the role of Aunt Joan, and believe I would have performed the duties required of that position exceptionally well. I regret that I will not have that opportunity.

“Please tell Jade and Will that I loved them and I what I’m doing now is for them and their future. They need a mother and a father. Studies have shown, children who lost fathers before age five scored lower on the Otis Quick Test and the Stanford Achievement Test as junior-high and high-school students. They are also more likely to drop out of school and less likely to attend college. There are no studies, to my knowledge, regarding the loss of an aunt before age five for me to compare this data to. I must therefore assume that the loss of a father would be more detrimental to their future prospects than the loss of an aunt.”

Buffy held her head in her hands, her elbows propped up on the table on either side of the phone, as she continued to shake her head. Leave it to Joan to make her death seem like the most logical and sensible thing in the world.

“In addition,” Joan’s voice continued stoically, “I have an overwhelming desire to kick our nemesis’ murdering, axe-stealing, ass-insulting, innocence-taking, loathsome, detestable, despicable asses," she snarled angrily. "I am hopeful that I accomplished this goal before my demise.”

“You did…” Buffy croaked out through her tears.

“If my estimations are correct, Spike will have been seriously injured, possibly severely, critically, or even gravely. If, by some unexplainable circumstance, my judgment is incorrect, then you may disregard the remainder of this message,” Joan continued. “If, however, Buffy is listening to this message unaccompanied by Spike, then please allow me to offer one piece of advice:”

Buffy sniffed and wiped at her eyes, suddenly more alert, her eyes glued on the phone, waiting, praying for Joan to help her; to show her the way; tell her what to do now, as the android, her friend, had done so many times in the past months.

“Be the Slayer.”

“That’s your advice!?!?” Buffy growled when Joan didn’t say anything further for several moments. She picked up the phone and glared at it, barely resisting the urge to smash it against the wall.



“I know you can do it,” Joan continued finally. “I … I will … I will send my heart back to you. You formed it … it is from you that I was made; it is from your kindness that I have grown. It is because of you that I have known love. That is more than many humans know in a lifetime.

“Spike gave me life, but you showed me how to live. You showed me how to fight; how to love; how to be brave and never surrender. My Slayer’s heart came from you. It is all I have left, and now I will return it.

“I will travel through life with you. I will forever walk at your side, forever be part of you – sister Slayers. I love you, Buffy. Be the Slayer. It is up to you now. Our family is depending on you; you are the one.”

“No … no, I don’t want to be the one,” Buffy sobbed, dropping her head down onto her arms on the table. “Please, Joan …”

“Be the Slayer, Buffy. It is what we are.”

Buffy looked at the phone and waited for more, but after a moment the automated voice came on asking if the message should be erased or saved. Buffy dropped her head onto her folded arms on the table and cried, sobs wracking her body. Be the Slayer. Be the Slayer … everyone wanted her to ‘be the Slayer.’ She just wanted to be Buffy. She just wanted to be ‘Mommy’. She didn’t want to be ‘the one’.

But she was.

Joan was right. Everyone was depending on her now. It was up to her.



Buffy wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging herself tightly, her eyes closed, fighting back her never-ending tears as she sat there in the empty kitchen.

“Be the Slayer…” Buffy whispered to herself. “What would the Slayer do? … … Beat something up.” She sighed and opened her eyes, looking down at the now-dark phone.

“What would Joan do?”

**~**

Later that day…

Buffy strode down the long hallway, trying to not gag on the putrid air. There was little she hated worse than that smell. It was repulsive to her senses, smelling of death and disinfectant. This was one time she wished she was a vampire and didn’t have to breathe. Jade and Will were apparently not entirely pleased with it either as they fussed in their separate carriers, one in each of Buffy’s hands.

Buffy found the number she was looking for and pushed on the door, not even bothering to knock.



“Okay,” she began speaking sternly before the door had even opened all the way. “Here’s the thing: I need data. You’re the only one I know that has data or can get it in your musty old books. You’re gonna help me—”

She stopped abruptly when three sets of eyes turned toward her rather than the one she was expecting.

“Buffy!” Willow exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with surprise. “Oh goddess!”

“Will … Xander …” Buffy stammered, her expression shocked, taken off-guard. “What …?”

In the next moment she was engulfed by both Willow and Xander, being hugged tightly, albeit awkwardly, with the baby carriers in her hands.

“What…?” she stammered again as they continued to hug her tight.

Buffy’s mind raced, her body tense and unmoving in their embrace. She’d come here to get information from Giles. The hospital said he was healing, out of ICU, and able to have visitors. What Joan would do, she realized, was get ‘data’ … get information. The Bot would hook up to that computer in her room and learn how to fix Spike’s ribs, learn how to get more blood down him, learn everything she needed to know to fix him. Buffy had no idea how to use the computer, but she knew someone who knew how to get ‘data’: her ex-Watcher. And she was determined to make him help her now. He owed her. Big time.

She hadn’t expected to find Willow and Xander with him, not at all.

Buffy had imagined this moment for years. She didn’t know if it would ever come, but she couldn’t help running it through her mind late at night when the house was dark and quiet. In most of her scenarios there had screaming and punching and fury. There had been blood and bruises and utter madness when she imagined this moment. Her friends had been ready to sell her out; send her off to the Watchers Council for ‘treatment’, even though they knew how much she despised the tweeds. And, in fact, Giles had succeeded in that. He’d called them after she, the Bot, and Spike had thwarted Angel's 'rescue' attempt and disappeared; Weatherby had found her.

Buffy’s tense, stiff body shuddered with the memory. She closed her eyes against the emotions churning inside her, but she felt hot tears sting them, nonetheless. There had only rarely been tears in her imaginings of this moment, and even more rarely had the tears been hers. But neither had there ever been a ferocious hug involved, either … or babies. She’d always been angry and vengeful, not exhausted and heartbroken when she’d thought of this moment on those dark, quiet nights.

Finally, both Willow and Xander pulled back from her and an awkward silence fell over the room as the three friends – former friends – simply stared at each other, waiting for someone to say something.

The uncomfortable pall was lifted when Will screamed, “BOO!” and pointed at Willow’s bright blue pants which were nearly within reach of his small, bruised hand.

All eyes went to him and everyone smiled at the innocent announcement. Willow knelt down in front of the boy and took his small hand in hers. “That’s right … blue. Aren’t you a sweetie? Look at those curls! So cute! Such a little doll! I could just gobble you up … yes I could … ohhh yes I could,” she baby-talked the child as he giggled, waving his free hand in the air happily.



Buffy and Xander watched Willow tickle Will and pinch his little cheeks lightly as he laughed, eating up the attention she was lavishing on him.

“What’s your name, little man?” Willow cajoled, tickling the baby’s sides lightly.

“W-w…” The name caught in Buffy’s throat, unable to escape past her heart. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “William …” she rasped out finally. “Will.”

Willow nodded, unable to meet Buffy’s eyes. Instead she turned her attention to Jade, on the other side of Buffy, who had been untying her shoes. “And what’s your name, pretty girl?” the red witch sweet-talked, taking the opportunity to retie the laces Jade had worked so hard on loosening.

Buffy cleared her throat again, unable to keep her emotions from closing her windpipe, before finally answering, “Joyce … Jade … we call her ‘Jade’.”

Willow nodded again, blinking back her tears as she finished tying the small shoes. Her task complete, Willow looked up at Buffy, her eyes glistening, the sweet smile turned sad on her lips. “They’re beautiful, Buffy. I’m … so sorry …”

The tears that had been threatening filled Buffy’s eyes as she set the two carriers down on the shiny, linoleum floor. In the next moment, the two women were embraced in a genuine hug, each of them crying against the other’s shoulder.

“We looked for you …” Willow burbled against her. “We were so worried. Giles sent Angel to try and find you. I’m so sorry. I missed you so much! God, Buffy … you’re a mom!”

Buffy sniffed and cried and nodded against her, unable to speak. Despite everything that had happened, it felt so good, so right to be with her friends again. It was nothing like she'd imagined, but nothing ever seemed to turn out quite as she'd imagined. And she couldn’t forget, Willow had also lost someone she’d loved very much: Tara.

Still crying when the hug ended, Buffy wiped at her eyes and turned to Xander. He looked like a lost puppy. His hair was longer and shaggier than she remembered, and he’d put on a few pounds, but the real change was in his soulful, brown eyes. He simply looked sad. Sadder than sad, heartbroken or perhaps just broken. He spread his arms to her and Buffy fell against his chest, accepting the comfort he offered.

“I’m sorry, Buff … We just … you know we love you. We only wanted to help you,” Xander explained plaintively. “God, I missed you,” he breathed, holding her tight.

“I missed you guys too,” Buffy admitted through her tears.



Buffy felt like a weight was lifting off her. The dark, ominous clouds that had been surrounding her heart began to clear and, for the first time in many days, a glimmer of sun shone through. The golden light seemed to illuminate a part of her that had been hidden from her senses. It was one of those ‘ah-ha’ moments; a moment when you can grasp what had previously been beyond your reach; a moment when the word you couldn’t think of explodes off your tongue; a moment when the ghosts and phantoms you couldn’t quite see become corporeal.
 
Buffy could feel them, all of them, in her heart. Spike, Joan, India, Dawn, her mom … they were all there, just like Spike had tried to tell her in her dream. They’d been there all along. She’d just needed that small glimmer of hope to clear the shroud and let her feel them; feel their strength supporting her, feel their courage guiding her, feel their love keeping her from coming unraveled.

She was the Slayer, but she wasn’t alone. She’d never really been alone, after all.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Billy Doze - One More Step Along The World I Go  on YouTube  }}

One more step along the world I go
one more step along the world I go;
from the old things to the new
keep me traveling along with you.

Round the corner of the world I turn,
more and more about the world I learn;
all the new things that I see
you'll be looking at along with me.

And it's from the old I travel to the new;
keep me traveling along with you.

Give me courage when the world is rough,
keep me loving though the world is tough;
leap and sing in all I do,
keep me traveling along with you.

And it's from the old I travel to the new;
keep me traveling along with you.

You are older than the world can be,
you are younger than the life in me;
ever old and ever new,
keep me traveling along with you.

And it's from the old I travel to the new;
keep me traveling along with you.
Keep me traveling along with you...
Chapter End Notes:
So, is this the break Buffy needs to pull everything together? We'll find out next!
A Hand in My Pocket by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
A few moments later...

“S-sooo, Buffy,” Willow stammered when Xander released the bear hug he’d been holding the Slayer in. “Ummm … how … ummm … I mean …. who … errrr … the babies… are …?”



Buffy looked at Xander as she answered Willow, “Spike’s the father, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Buffy could see surprise and confusion wash over Xander’s face, then a look of repulsion. “He’s also my husband,” Buffy revealed in case Giles hadn’t told them.

“But … how …?” Willow persisted.

Buffy turned to the redhead and gave her a cheeky smile. “The usual way. Did you miss that day in health class?”



Willow flushed. “No. I didn’t miss any days! Perfect attendance award here! But … he’s … a vampire. Doesn’t that make all his … ummm … stuff dead? Or undead?”

Buffy laughed at her friend’s discomfort before admitting, “There may have been some magic involved with his stuff. But the delivery was in the usual way … although, honestly, there is nothing ‘usual’ about Spike’s delivery.”

“Please stop,” Xander pleaded, covering his ears.

Buffy turned her eyes back to him, her voice firm and strong. “He’s my husband. He’s the father of my children. I love him. Get used to it or turn in your Scooby badge.”

“Xander got a Scooby badge? When did that happen? I didn’t get one…” Willow whined. When Buffy rolled her eyes and looked back at the witch with disbelieving eyes, Willow deflated. “Oh … metaphorical badges.”

**~**

While Willow and Xander took Jade and Will to the cafeteria to get some juice, Buffy stayed to talk to Giles. He didn’t look like he should be out of ICU; in fact, he didn’t look a whole lot better than Spike. His pale skin was mottled with bruises, burns, and cuts, but, unlike Spike, he was awake, if a bit groggy from the pain medications.

She pulled a chair up next to her ex-Watcher’s bed and began her story. She told him what had happened at the warehouse … at least as much of it as she knew.

Giles only interrupted her a couple of times to ask questions, but one was, “What of Faith?”

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“If Faith has … expired, then a new Slayer will have been Called. It’s quite important I know for certain. If there is a new Slayer in the world, I must contact the Coven and see if they can locate her. She will need a Watcher … guidance, assistance.”

Buffy nodded. “I’ll try to find out … soonish,” she assured him.

Buffy continued her story, and, after describing Spike’s condition, she got to the real purpose of her visit.

“So, I need to know how to get more blood down Spike, so he can heal. Would human blood be better … probably, right? Maybe I can make a withdrawal at a blood bank…” she mused aloud. “Would an IV work … or does it need to go in his stomach? I think stomach, right, cos of the whole no circulation thing? Which I don’t really get, cos he has blood, he bleeds … God, does he bleed! And what about his ribs? Do I … like …” Buffy cringed, her stomach roiling at the thought, “… trim the ragged edges somehow? How do I hold them in place to get them to heal?



“Giles, are you listening to me?” Buffy demanded when she noticed his eyes had fallen closed.

“Quite … yes …” he replied slowly, but he didn’t open his eyes. “I … admit to not … knowing precisely how vampire metabolism functions,” he hedged.

“But there must be a book or fifty!” Buffy pointed out vehemently. “You have enough musty, old books to fill a library! ... And not a dinky little library, like that big one, in Washington!”

Giles nodded, finally opening his eyes and looking over at her through swollen, blackened lids. “Not any longer. They were destroyed that summer after you … departed. Burned … gone.”

“Oh,” she sighed, before brightening again with a new thought. “But the Council has…”

“Destroyed as well… Terrorists, I believe was the official finding.”

Buffy flopped back against the vinyl seatback and dropped her face into her hands, rubbing at her bloodshot eyes. “So, you’re telling me, you can’t help me,” she snarled out from behind her fingers. “Again. Some Watcher you turned out to be.”

“I … well …” Giles stammered, taken aback by the venom in her tone.

Buffy looked up at him, glaring daggers at the man that she had thought of as a surrogate father for so long, and suddenly everything became clear. “You won’t help me because it’s Spike. You’re mad at Spike for taking me away! You blame him!”



“That’s not…” Giles argued.

“Yes, it is!” Buffy insisted, standing up and pushing the heavy chair back harder than she intended. It slammed into the wall a few feet away with a loud ‘thud’, cracking the drywall.

“Let me tell you something, Watcher,” Buffy growled at him, her green eyes flashing with anger. “That vampire was the only one who never gave up on me! Never! No matter what I did to him, how I treated him, or how messed-up I was, he never gave up on me! And I’m damn sure not giving up on him now!

“You, Willow, Xander … you all lost hope … you were all ready to toss me in the Council’s loony-bin and wash your hands of the crazy-Slayer. But not Spike! He stood by me, he … he saved my life, he … he brought me back.

“You owe him! I’m your fucking Slayer, but it was Spike that had my back … always Spike! YOU OWE HIM!” she screamed at Giles, her voice carrying through the stark hallways, bouncing off the hard surfaces, and seemingly echoing through the whole hospital.

Buffy leaned in very close to Giles’ face, baring her teeth in a snarl. “Tell me how to fix him,” she demanded, her voice low and much too calm … dangerously calm.

Giles swallowed nervously, licking his parched, cracked, and swollen lips.

Suddenly a couple of orderlies, a nurse, and a security guard appeared in the doorway. “Is everything alright here?” the nurse asked, stepping into the room, but not approaching the pair.

“Fine,” Buffy spat back, never moving or taking her eyes off her ex-Watcher. “Tell me,” she growled at Giles, her voice barely a whisper.

Giles swallowed again. “S-slayer …” he began, before clearing his throat. “S-slayer blood,” he advised nervously.

Buffy backed up a bit, her brow furrowed.



“Mr. Giles, are you sure you’re alright?” the nurse asked again.

Giles looked at Buffy warily. She took another step back and turned away from him, her mind processing the new information.

“Y-yes … everything is fine,” he assured the woman, but his voice still held a slight tremor of fear.

After a moment, the nurse and the others left the room and Buffy turned back to her ex-Watcher. “I thought that was just for that poison stuff … like Faith shot Angel with that time,” she posited.

Giles tried to take a deep, calming breath, but ended up gasping in agony as it expanded his broken ribs painfully. He grasped his torso, trying to breathe through the pain.

Buffy waited, but made no move to help him or provide any comfort. She was so far beyond that now.

Finally able to get his breathing under control, the Watcher looked up at Buffy gravely. “Slayer blood is enormously potent,” he explained. “It is a source of … power and strength for a vampire; some say it is their … Elixir of Immorality …their Holy Grail. The brave, or perhaps foolish, among them seek it as humans seek the Fountain of Youth.

“It is also extremely foolhardy for you to offer to a vampire, as I believe you learned previously, with Angel,” Giles added sternly. “He nearly killed you, and that was with his soul.”

“Spike’s not Angel…” Buffy muttered, only half talking to Giles. Her mind raced, formulating plans as the hope that had begun to glimmer in her heart earlier burgeoned into an almost tangible warmth in her chest.

“Indeed,” Giles agreed dourly. “I doubt anyone would ever accuse Spike of being an angel.”

Buffy turned her eyes back on him, her gaze hard and steely, not missing his turn of phrase. “You’ll never get it. You know, I feel sorry for you, I really do. The world isn’t black and white, Giles. As much as you might want it to be, it’s not.”



“It is also not rose-colored,” Giles retorted. “As much as you might like it to be.”

“Wow! So much tension, and me without a knife to cut it,” Willow interjected from the hallway as she and Xander returned with the babies.

“That’s okay, Wills,” Buffy assured her, spinning on her heel and turning away from the injured man. “I was just going.”

“B-but … we haven’t even gotten to talk a-a-and … we don’t know where you live or your phone number a-and … don’t you need some help? I mean … we’re still … …” Willow looked sheepishly at Xander, then back to Buffy, “… Scoobies,” she finished weakly. “We still have our badges.”

Buffy began the task of strapping the babies back into their carriers as she tried to not take her frustration with Giles out on Willow and Xander. Yes, they’d also given up on her. And yes, they were ready to turn her over to the Council as well, but they’d been young. They’d trusted Giles’ judgment, just as she had for so long.

Something inside Buffy, be it her heart or her instincts, was telling her to accept their apologies and their offer to help. But another part of her, the guilt-ridden part that kept reminding her of all the people she’d gotten killed, told her she would be better off alone. The fewer friends she had, the fewer people would be put in the line of fire.



“Buffy?” Willow asked meekly, kneeling down next to the Slayer as she finished strapping Will in. “Let us help. We …” Willow glanced up at Xander, and he nodded at her. “We know we messed up before, and we’d really like to make it up to you.”

Buffy snorted loudly, pulling Jade’s carrier nearer to begin the process of strapping her daughter in. “Wills, I …”

“I said that all wrong,” Willow interrupted quickly, waving her hands as if to brush her words away. “I mean, we don’t know all you’ve been through, but … we want to and … well … we just don’t want to lose you again. Please, Buffy … I know we can’t really make it up to you, but … we really want to just be … us again. Ya know? Scoobies … friends.”

Buffy finished her task, then sighed heavily before looking over at her friend, a friend she thought she’d have forever; a friend she thought she’d lost forever. An internal battle raged inside the Slayer: her heart vs. her guilt-ridden, tortured mind. Did she accept their help and put even more people in possible danger? Her heart bled, desperate for the love and support of her friends right now, but her mind just kept replaying the deaths of other friends and family, and laying their bloody corpses at Buffy’s feet.

Finally, Buffy stood up and Willow followed, looking uncertain, but hopeful since Buffy hadn’t rebuked her out of hand.

Buffy looked from Willow to Xander and a million memories flooded her mind. Moments of danger, moments of need, moments of laughter, and moments of tears; moments when they’d stood by her and helped her save the world; moments they’d faced down evil with her, despite the danger.

Buffy blinked back hot tears that suddenly stung her eyes and focused her gaze on Xander, though she was speaking to both of them. “Here’s the thing: I love Spike. He’s my husband. These are our babies. If you want to help me, then you have to help him; if you stand by me, then you stand by him. That’s like … a rule. An un-bendy rule … like … number two pencils on tests.”

“Actually, you don’t have to do that anymore. You can even use pens, although number two pencils are preferred because…” Willow began to explain.

Buffy stopped her, flicking her eyes away from Xander and shutting Willow down with a stern glare. “Then pick another un-bendy rule.”

“Ummm … gravity? Gravity’s un-bendy,” Willow suggested, smiling weakly.

Buffy nodded and looked back at Xander. “Un-bendy, like gravity,” the Slayer amended.

Xander nodded, his dark, soulful eyes meeting Buffy’s. “Spike helped you; we didn’t. You …” Xander swallowed back bile that rose in his throat, nearly choking on the next words “… love him. Be nice to Spike. Got it.”



Buffy quirked a skeptical brow at him and Xander shrugged. “I never said I’d like it,” he admitted. “But I don’t like gravity either, what with all the falling down and broken bones...”

**~**

“So, I thought you were in England,” Buffy began as she drove the DeSoto toward Dripping Springs with Willow and the babies. Xander followed in his own car.

Willow rubbed at the open spot in the black paint on the window, making it larger, and focused her eyes on the greenery outside the car as they sped down the highway. “I was,” she agreed after a moment. “We got a call that Giles was in ICU. He still had the Coven’s number as his emergency contact in his wallet. I called Xander up in San Francisco and … the coven teleported me here.”

Buffy nodded, keeping her attention on the road. She’d scraped more paint off the windows so she could see better, but there was still quite a bit that was covered.

“Giles told me about Tara. I’m sorry,” Buffy offered solemnly.

Willow nodded. “Me too.”

“He said you tried to end the world…” Buffy continued.

Willow wrung her hands in her lap and nodded again. “I … lost control. I … I’ve been getting better. The Coven’s helped me with controlling my emotions so they don’t control me. Shown me how to funnel them properly, not let them take over. But … it still scares me. Magic scares me…”



“I’m sorry, Wills. I know how much you love magic,” Buffy offered sincerely.

Willow nodded again, still looking out the window. “So, you’re married to Spike now. I thought you were the president of the 'We Hate Spike Club'. How'd things get all ... topsy-turvy?” Willow asked, changing the subject.

Buffy gave a small smile and shrugged. “Well, it started with a road trip filled with blood, guts, gore, kidnapping, and death. Then we tossed in a side order of torture, mayhem, and madness for fun. Added some hot-fudge sundaes sprinkled with gold, tofu laced with grossness, and heavenly Quarter Pounders with Cheese along the way. Babies made with magic, souls pulled back from Limbo, and a Bot that loved us both. A boat trip from hell, a proposal and wedding on a Hellmouth … and a honeymoon under the stars.” Buffy shrugged nonchalantly. “You know, the usual.”

Willow looked over at Buffy, dumbfounded, and the Slayer turned her attention from the road to meet her friend’s eyes. In that moment they were just Buffy and Willow again. They were fifteen, sitting on the bench in front of the school playing ‘anywhere but here’. They weren’t a Slayer and a witch, they hadn’t both lost people they’d loved; they hadn’t been hardened and tested by life. They were just friends.

In the next heartbeat they both began to laugh. They laughed until they cried, and then they laughed some more. The babies in the backseat joined them, not knowing or caring why they were laughing – children don’t need a reason to laugh – and that only made the two women laugh longer. Buffy had to pull the car over to the side of the road, she was laughing and crying so hard. When Xander banged on the window and wanted to know what was wrong, Buffy and Willow could only laugh harder.



It felt so good to laugh; Buffy had forgotten how good it felt. It seemed a lifetime since she’d laughed. She hadn’t been sure if she was even capable of it anymore. It made her heart feel lighter, her guilt feel less, her worries seem further away. It cleansed her spirit, flooding her soul with rainbows and sunrises and cute, fluffy puppies. It made even the darkest, dreariest corners of her mind seem just a little brighter, a little more hopeful.

**~**

Buffy stopped the car at the very edge of the collapsed warehouse’s parking lot, a few hundred yards from the actual building. She pulled to the edge under a large oak tree to put the car in the shade. Xander pulled in and parked next to her, also in the shade of the old tree, but left his car running.

Willow slid out Buffy’s side, since the door on the passenger’s side was wedged shut. Buffy took a very careful look around the area, but didn’t see anyone or anything that looked out of place or dangerous.

She got the babies and their carriers out of the backseat, and she and Willow transferred them to Xander’s car, which had air conditioning.

“So, what’s the plan?” Xander asked, turning in his seat and watching the women put the babies into his car.

“Willow and I are gonna check it out. You stay here with the babies, keep the motor running. If anything looks wonky, make like a tree and LEAVE. Go back to town and get help. Do not, under any circumstance, bring my babies any closer to that building than this spot. Got it?”

Xander nodded solemnly. “Got it. Can I have some weapons?”

“You have a big, heavy metal box on wheels here, Xander! Use it!”



“Oh … uhh … right.”

“And if you see a creepy little girl with a backwards head, leave twice as fast,” Buffy advised.

Xander raised his brows. “Backwards head?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Just keep an eye out. There shouldn’t be anyone around. If you see anyone or anything, blow your horn to warn us and go. We won’t be long; I just want to take a quick look around – just to be sure.”

“Be sure there are no creepy girls with backwards heads walking around?” Xander wondered.

Buffy nodded. “Exactly,” she affirmed before closing the door. “Lock it!” she instructed and Xander pushed the button to lock all the doors.

Buffy retrieved the few weapons that were in the trunk of the DeSoto: a couple of stakes, a dagger, and her trusted machete that she’d used to chop up the Suvolte demon eggs. She handed Willow one of the stakes and the two women climbed back into the DeSoto for the short trip up to the decimated building.

Buffy had debated whether to come here first or go home to Spike. In the end, she decided it would be better to come here while it was still daylight now that she had someone to watch the babies for her while she looked around. She wanted to make sure there were no half-undead vampires still in the rubble, or creepy little girls hanging around. She also wanted to retrieve that Slayer axe she’d dropped. She’d have to come back another time to complete her mission of retrieving Joan’s body from the wreckage; that would take too long to do today.

Buffy parked the DeSoto next to her car and she and Willow got out. She was surprised by the lack of police tape or even any evidence anyone else had been here. True, it was pretty isolated out here, with no houses or other buildings within sight, but she thought someone must’ve heard that explosion. In fact, she didn't know how the whole world hadn't heard it.

“Wow …” Willow whispered, looking at the pile of rubble that used to be the old bottling plant.

“Yeah, big boom,” Buffy agreed, picking her way through the debris that littered the parking lot and walkway as she made her way toward where she knew the door had been.

“What are we…” Willow began but Buffy held her hand up, stopping her short.

The hairs on the back of the Slayer’s neck prickled and she turned around quickly, first looking back at Xander’s car and the area around it, but it was clear. She kept turning, trying to pinpoint where the tinglies on her neck were emanating from. Finally, she saw her … or it … the creepy little demon girl. The girl’s head was facing forward properly now, apparently none the worse for being blown up and run over. She looked like a normal little girl except for being in the middle of a demolished building.



Hana was near the center of the downed warehouse, kneeling in the rubble, apparently unaware of the Slayer and witch watching her. She was clutching something to her chest and keening forlornly, rocking back and forth as if in physical pain.

“Shit! What does it take to kill that thing?” Buffy growled to herself as she gripped the machete with her fingers tightly, her knuckles turning white with the pressure.

“What is it?” Willow whispered.

“No idea… really hard to kill,” Buffy told her friend, never taking her eyes off Hana, who still had not looked up.

They watched the girl for about half a minute as Buffy tried to decide what to do. Should she just go and come back another day when she didn’t have the babies with her? Or should she deal with this now and not risk this demon-child tracking her down and possibly catching her unawares somewhere. Obviously sunlight wasn’t an issue for this thing … neither was having her head twisted around on her neck or getting run over by a car … three times. Buffy chewed on her lower lip as she pondered all the possibilities, watching the child the whole while.

Finally, Buffy turned her eyes to Willow. “Can you, like, zap her with some magic? Turn her into a … toad or something?”

“Wow. Cliché much?” Willow snarked back, looking over to meet Buffy’s gaze.

“Fine … turn her into a … fluffy bunny then!” Buffy retorted, keeping her voice low.

Willow opened her mouth to remind Buffy that she really didn’t feel comfortable with magic but was stopped when a new voice suddenly joined in the conversation from the other side of the Slayer. “A bunny?! Are you crazy!? Don’t you know how horrid and dangerous bunnies are!?”

Buffy whirled around, machete poised to strike, barely stopping in time to keep from decapitating Anya.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Buffy demanded.

Anya gave Buffy a friendly smile and a wave. “Rio. Hi! I guess Spike got all your loose screws tightened back up.”



The Slayer closed her eyes in frustration and took a deep breath before looking back at Anya. “How did you get here?”

“She’s a Vengeance Demon,” Willow reminded Buffy. “She can teleport.”

“Right…” Buffy muttered, remembering hearing about Xander jilting her from Faith when she was in Sunnydale. “What are you doing here, Anya? I’m kinda busy now.”

“I can see that. A Toloaché Demon,” Anya agreed, looking at Hana who had now noticed the group of women. “Before she kills you, could I just get you to tell me one thing? When Xander agreed to call the Council to come take away the psycho-fruitcake-Slayer, didn’t you wish his balls would shrivel up painfully, turn into little mummy-testicles, and fall off? Or, maybe his dick would twist into a pretzel? Or his eyes would…”

“Anya!” Buffy interrupted her, her eyes flicking to Hana, who had stood up and was looking directly at them with her unnaturally blue eyes. “You know what that is? How to kill it?” she asked the Vengeance Demon.

“Yes and no.”

“What!? What ‘yes and no’? What does that mean!?” Buffy demanded, looking back at the blonde.

“Yes, I know what it is. No, I don’t know how to kill it. I’m fairly certain they can not be killed.”

“Everything can be killed!” Buffy insisted as she turned her attention to the girl making her way slowly through the rubble.

Anya shook her head. “No, actually, that is a common misconception. There are many things, in many dimensions that can’t be killed. For instance, in the Tourmaline dimension–”

“ANYA!” Buffy screamed, interrupting her. “How do you stop it?”

Anya rolled her eyes and sighed. She grabbed Buffy’s left hand and began tugging her wedding band off her finger.

“Hey!” Buffy objected, pulling her hand away.

“I need something pretty, shiny … sparkly…”

“Well, you can’t have that! Spike gave that to me!” Buffy insisted, gripping her machete tighter as the girl got nearer.

“Here!” Willow offered, extending a bracelet made from a rainbow of different gemstones to Anya.



Anya smiled and gave Buffy and Willow a confident nod. “Now, before I get her out of your hair, isn’t there something you wish would happen to Xander… something painful and disgusting …”

Anya!” Willow and Buffy both exclaimed emphatically.

Anya sighed and rolled her eyes, but turned and began walking confidently toward the approaching Toloaché Demon. She met Hana about fifteen feet away from Buffy and Willow. Anya knelt down in front of the child, putting her face on level with the girl’s, and held out the sparkly, colorful bracelet, letting the sunlight bounce off all the gems. Buffy could hear them talking, but couldn’t make out the words. Oh, to have vampire hearing!

The tears that had streaked Hana’s face seemed to dry in an instant as a wide smile graced her fine features. She slid the bracelet over her hand and onto her arm. It was too large for her, but it didn’t seem to matter to the girl. Buffy could see then that what the demon-girl been clutching to her chest was one of Dru’s stupid dolls. It was singed and filthy, most of its hair had been burnt off and it only had one eye and one arm. In Hana’s other hand was a strange flower with a large crystal seemingly growing out of the center of it.

Buffy and Willow both took an involuntary step backwards when Hana suddenly sprang away from Anya and began to skip gaily through the debris, seemingly unbothered by the bricks, wires, twisted metal siding, glass, and wood that was strewn over the ground. As she skipped in a circle around Anya, she began to sing, “A tisket, a tasket, a green and yellow basket … I wrote a letter to my love, and on the way I dropped it. I dropped it, I dropped—”

Her song was interrupted abruptly by a flash of light and in that moment the girl was gone, her unfinished song hanging in the air.

“What happened?” Buffy demanded, moving toward Anya.

“She was quite upset about you killing her friends, but I gave her the bracelet and told her it was a magic rainbow. She got over it.”

“What?! It’s not a magic rainbow … and … and I didn’t kill anyone,” Buffy objected.

Anya shrugged. “She’s what's technically referred to as Looney-Tunes … all the Toloaché Demons are. It’s all those hallucinogenic drugs they’ve got for blood. You should see their mating rituals! Woo! You thought Woodstock was a psychedelic sex-fest – let me tell you, that was nothing compared to these little freak-flag-flyers! First they ..." Anya paused when she saw the incredulous looks on Buffy's and Willow's faces. The Vengeance Demon sighed and rolled her eyes. "She's taken a trip with her trinkets. She’ll be talking to that magic rainbow before too long … and it’ll answer her,” Anya explained confidently.



“So … where did she go?” Willow wondered.

“Oh, well … I pointed out that her friends were probably still alive in several other parallel dimensions. She went to find them,” Anya revealed.  “You can thank me by telling what you wish—”

“WHAT?!” Buffy exclaimed, cutting her off. “You just sicced her on some unsuspecting dimension!?”

Anya waved a hand, dismissing Buffy’s objection. “Oh, she’ll forget what she was even upset about in a few days. Did you miss the part about her being insane and on LSD? Now, about Xander…”

Buffy sighed heavily, not sure to be glad that the insane, un-killable demon was gone or worried about just where it had gone. She looked up at the sun, which was dropping quickly in the western sky. She needed to make sure the little demon’s ‘friends’ were really dead and get the scythe from the rubble before the sun went down. There wasn’t much she could do about the demon-girl now, anyway.

“Anya, I’m not making any wishes,” Buffy informed the Vengeance Demon as she stepped past her to immerse herself in the wreckage of the building.

Anya turned hopeful eyes on Willow. Willow just shook her head, keeping her mouth clamped shut stubbornly, and followed Buffy into the sea of rubble.

**~**

That evening…

The house was quiet; the babies asleep, Xander and Willow had gone back to the hospital to check on Giles. Spike was unchanged, still unconscious. Buffy had … borrowed some O-Neg from the hospital, but even human blood didn’t stir Spike’s demon into action, and she’d only been able to get him to drink a small amount.



That would change soon. As soon as Willow and Xander got back. She didn’t want anything going wrong; she couldn’t afford to take too many chances. Too many people, including Spike and their babies, were depending on her now. But if Spike needed Slayer blood to heal, if that was what it took to bring his demon from hiding and feed, then that was what he would get.

But right now Buffy was alone. She sat cross-legged in the middle of Joan’s bed, a small mound of wires and microchips lying in front of her. It was all she’d been able to find in the dwindling light at the warehouse; all of Joan she’d retrieved, so far.  Beside Buffy on the bed lay the red axe. It had been exactly where she’d dropped it, seemingly unmoved and unaffected by the blast that destroyed the building. There had been no sign of Dru or Angel, no half-undead corpses, no spidey-senses tingling. She’d wished she could’ve found piles of vampire dust, but if they had been there, they were mixed in with fifty-tons of just regular-ole dust-dust.

What she did find, unfortunately, was Faith. Quite dead. That experience was up there on the top of her list of things she never wanted to see or smell again: a decomposing body that had been baked for two days in the hot, Texas sun.

That find had prompted her to call the authorities so they could remove the body. Of course, it was done anonymously, and she waited until she, Xander, and Willow had all left the area. Willow drove Buffy’s borrowed, re-furbished Sunnydale police car home, so there would be nothing at the scene that would lead back to the Pratts, at least Buffy hoped that was the case.

Buffy rubbed at her nose as she looked at the small pile of components in front of her. She could still smell the putrid aroma, even though she’d taken a shower and scrubbed every inch of herself clean — twice. That was a smell she’d never forget – ever.

The Slayer took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she focused her attention on the collection in front of her. “I swear I’ll get all of you back, Joan. I sooo promise that,” Buffy spoke to the wires and silicon bits. “I’m sorry it’s taking so long, but I swear, if I have to shift through every speck of dust there, I’ll get you back. I won’t leave you there like … like … garbage.

“I’ll never be able to repay what you did for Spike … for us, I know that … but … I can bring you home. You’re a warrior … a Champion … it’s like a rule or something. ‘No one left behind’ … isn’t that a rule?” Buffy asked the wires and bits of microchip. "Well, if it's not, it should be."

Buffy sighed and looked around Joan’s room. Pictures of India, of the babies, and of Spike and Buffy stood in formation atop her dresser, all perfectly aligned and spaced, all in matching frames, all the exact same size. Buffy felt her tears rise again, burning her eyes and she blinked to try and hold them back. As long as she’d been moving, doing, planning, she was able to keep them at bay, but now that she’d stopped, they demanded her attention again.

Buffy sniffled and wiped at her eyes, shaking her head and looking back down to the bed. She took a deep breath and reached for the shiny, red axe. She knew it was hers the moment she’d touched it in the warehouse when she’d been fighting the demented little girl demon … or perhaps not hers exactly, but the Slayer’s. It had power. She could feel it. Strength seemed to flow out of it and into her when she held it, and if there was one thing she could use right now, it was strength.



Buffy picked it up and settled it across her legs, holding it with both hands. The weapon practically thrummed with energy in her grasp; she’d never felt anything like it before. She closed her eyes and just let herself get lost in the energy, in the power of it, trying to take in every drop she could. She had a feeling she would need it later; she would need it for Spike.

Be the Slayer.

Both Joan and Spike had given her that advice, albeit by indirect means. She’d spent the better part of the last three years or so trying to be anything but the Slayer. It seemed somehow ironic that the one piece of herself that she’d tried so hard to shed, would be the one thing that she’d need to save her husband and make her family whole again. Or as whole as she was capable of making it.

But, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her life was full of paradoxes and irony: the man she loved, who she married, the father of her children was a vampire – her mortal enemy. He believed in her wholly and loved her unconditionally. He’d never lost faith in her, while her Watcher, the person tasked with being her mentor and guide, had given up on her. A too-literal android had become her best friend, had learned and evolved and grown into one of the most loving, funny, brilliant people Buffy had ever known. That robot had even become a Champion of the people; quite a step up from her original programming as a chess partner for Spike. And now Buffy was absorbing some kind of ancient, magical Slayer energy in hopes that she could pass it on to a vampire via her blood, and heal him.

Buffy wondered just how many people were rolling over in their graves just about now. An image of a mummified Quentin Travers, dressed in a brown tweed suit and a bower hat, spinning in his grave made Buffy smile, then grin, then laugh.

Buffy’s slightly-maniacal laughter floated through the quiet house as the image of an indignant, mummified, spinning Travers danced in her mind. His annoyed, huffy admonishment, ‘Miss Summers! This is most improper! We cannot sanction such behavior in our Slayer!’ echoed in her mind, making her laugh harder.

She flopped back onto the bed, pulling the scythe with her and hugging the flat of the blade to her chest tightly as the power flowed into her.

The image of Travers faded and morphed into one of her husband, of him whole and healed and perfect. She felt hot tears sting her eyes again as she whispered, “Soon, baby … just hang on a little longer. The Slayer’s in the house…”



**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Alanis Morissette - Hand In My Pocket on YouTube  }}

I'm broke but I'm happy
I'm poor but I'm kind
I'm short but I'm healthy, yeah
I'm high bxut I'm grounded
I'm sane but I'm overwhelmed
I'm lost but I'm hopeful baby

What it all comes down to
Is that everything's gonna be fine fine fine
Cause I've xgot one hand in my pocket
And the other one is giving a high five

I feel drunk but I'm sober
I'm young and I'm underpaid
I'm tired but I'm working, yeah
I care but I'm restless
I'm here but I'm really gone
I'm wrong and I'm sorry babxy

And what it all comes down to
Is that everything's gonna be quite alright
Cause I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is flicking a cigarette

What it all comes down to
Is that I haven't got it all figured out just yet
Cause I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is giving the peace sign

I'm free but I'm focused
I'm green but I'm wise
I'm hard but I'm friendly baby
I'm sad but I'm laughing
I'm brave but I'm chicken shit
I'm sick but I'm pretty baby

And what it all boils down to
Is that no one's really got it figured out just yet
But I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is playing the piano

What it all comes down to, my friends, yeah
Is that everything's just fine fine fine
Cause I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is hailing a taxicab
Chapter End Notes:
Well, Buffy has some help and she has a plan. How will things go when she offers Spike Slayer blood? We'll find out next. And just where did HANA head off to??? Muhahaha ... readers of Unexpected may see her again one day!
You'll Be In My Heart by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Sorry for the lateness again! Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Later that night…

“Okay, that should do it,” Xander announced as he tugged on the shackles he’d just finished bolting to the wall of the garage.

Buffy took them from his hand and jerked on them, HARD. The wooden studs of the building creaked, but held. She gave Xander an appreciative smile and a confident nod.

She’d decided to bring Spike out here in the garage for her … donation. Buffy didn’t know what to expect; she wasn’t sure he’d be able to fully control his demon once it rose. She didn’t want him in the house and unrestrained near the babies. It would be one thing if he hurt her – she could heal – but if he hurt the babies, she knew he’d never forgive himself, and he may never forgive her, either.

She firmly believed he would never kill her. Never. She honestly didn’t think he was physically capable of it. He’d had chances before, back in Sunnydale, plenty of them, and he'd never managed it. But, unlike her, the babies were fragile; it would only take a single moment of delirium for them to be severely injured.

“Okay, well, I guess it’s show-time,” Buffy announced, trying to sound more confident than she was inside.

“Buff, I know what you said about the standing and the un-bendy, but…” Xander began, looking concerned.



Buffy held up her hand, stopping him. “This is what Spike needs; this is what I’m doing. You have no idea what he’s gone through for me … no idea,” the Slayer admonished him. “I’m not stupid … and I’m not taking crazy chances. Willow will be here with us. If something … goes wrong, then she can do that slow-motion thing that she did to Glory. Just long enough for me to get out of reach. Right, Wills?”

Willow bit her bottom lip, looking worried and sheepish. “I-I … think … I-I…”

“Willow’s not witchy-woman anymore, Buffy,” Xander piped-up in defense of his friend. “I think I should be the one in here with you. Willow can stay with the rug-rats.”

“No.” Buffy’s answer was immediate and emphatic. “You have way too many issues with Spike. I need someone I can …”

“Trust?” Xander filled in angrily when she paused, his brown eyes looking both wounded and furious.


Buffy dropped her eyes a moment, but then looked back at him defiantly, her lips pursed. “Yes … trust. I need someone I can trust to not hurt Spike, no matter what.”



“Didn’t I tell you I’d be all … ‘Team Spike’?” Xander shot back, as he jammed his fists against his hips stubbornly.

“Yeah, well, the way I hear it, you told Anya you’d be her husband too, and that didn’t quite come off, did it?” Buffy retorted sharply.

Xander looked like he’d been stabbed in the gut, all the air driven from his lungs. His shoulders slumped, his fists fell loosely to his sides, and Buffy thought she saw a glimmer of tears appear in his eyes.

Buffy felt immediately sorry for poking that obviously still-sore spot, but, damn it, she couldn’t take any chances. Not with this. This was too important.

“I-it’s okay!” Willow piped up, stepping between her friends. “I can do it. I-I’m fine. I can be witchy-woman! See?!” she said with obviously false confidence, picking up a screwdriver off a nearby table. “Bendy!” she pronounced, touching a finger to the screwdriver.

Instead of becoming flexible and bendy, however, the screwdriver grew as long and thick as a rolling pin in Willow’s hand.

“Uhhh …” Willow shook her head, smiled nervously at her friends, and tried again. “Tenditis! Bendy!”



The screwdriver grew to the size of a baseball bat.

Buffy and Xander stared at the witch worriedly. Willow tossed the bat-driver away behind some boxes and put on her best smile. “Must’ve had a spell-twisting hex on it,” she explained brightly. “I can totally do this!”

Buffy blew out a loud, sighing breath. She didn’t have a lot of choice. She didn’t trust Xander not to hurt Spike, or even dust him, if for some reason the carpenter thought Spike was harming her. She did trust Willow.

“I know you can, Wills. I mean, anyone that can get a perfect attendance award in Sunnydale can do anything!” Buffy encouraged her friend, giving her a warm smile.

Willow returned the smile, though it was forced and anxious. “I totally got this,” she repeated, nodding.

With another reassuring nod to Willow, Buffy turned and shoved the cot against the wall where Xander had installed the shackles. “Okay, Xander, you’re with the babies in the house. Wills, you’re here. I’ll get Spike and be back in a minute,” Buffy told them. “Let’s get this done. The Slayer's got a vampire to heal.”

**~**

A few minutes later, Buffy sat on the edge of the cot next to her husband. She’d dressed him in a pair of stretchy shorts and brought him down to the garage as gently as she could, but still his moans of pain had cut her to the core. There was simply no way to move him without putting him in utter agony. After covering his bruised and broken body with the sheet, she’d shackled his wrists, one of the few unbroken places on his body, to the chains Xander had installed. She had no idea what would happen when his demon awoke and she wanted to take every reasonable precaution against him hurting himself or anyone else.



Willow waited on the other side of the garage, near the side-door. She’d continued to assure Xander and Buffy that she could do a spell to restrain Spike, or at least slow him down without hurting him, if it became necessary. Buffy wasn’t sure who the witch was trying to convince, herself or them. Buffy had little choice for overseer, though – it was either Willow or no one. She just didn’t trust Xander enough to put her husband’s life in his hands; he was in the house with the sleeping babies.

Buffy took a deep breath and raised the razor-sharp dagger up over her forearm. The angry scars from her suicide attempt had nearly vanished thanks to her Slayer healing. A stranger wouldn’t even be able to see them, but she still could. She thought of Spike changing her bandages, of the Slayer blood that had soaked into them, and realized now how difficult that must’ve been for him. Of course she knew that any human blood was ambrosia to vampires, but at the time she'd never really thought about, she had been too caught up in her own emotional turmoil. And now, with the new information from Giles, she realized that Slayer blood was the Dom Pérignon of blood … the Holy Grail. And Spike had never vamped out on her, never showed anything but concern and compassion for her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Buffy asked him gently, blinking back tears. “Why didn’t you tell me how hard that was for you?”

With one last deep breath and a final, confident look at Willow, Buffy drew the blade across her forearm just above her wrist. She knew it wasn’t deep enough to nick an artery, not cutting across like that, but thick, warm blood quickly welled up from the incision and began to flow freely from the slash.

She dropped the dagger onto the floor and held her arm a couple of inches above Spike’s bruised and battered face, tilting her arm so the blood would drop onto his lips.

“C’mon, Spike…” she whispered as the blood dripped and splattered onto his mouth, some flowing between his slightly-parted lips.

For several long moments nothing happened apart from Spike’s swollen lips becoming coated with crimson. The blood began to run down his face, over his strong jaw, and pool on the cot below, and still nothing.

“Please, Spike…” Buffy begged, lowering her arm further until it was touching his lips.

Still nothing happened. Spike didn’t move, didn’t swallow, didn’t breathe.


“Fight, damn you! Don’t you dare give up on me, you bastard. You made me keep going, now you better get your ass back here with me, ‘cos I’m not doing this alone. Those babies are half yours, and if you think I’m gonna raise them myself, well, you’ve got another think coming, mister! You aren’t getting out of this marriage that easily!

“Fight, damn it!” Buffy demanded, pressing a hand down on Spike’s battered torso. She could feel his ribs shift and scrape against each other and Spike drew in a tortured gasp of pain. Buffy cringed, hating herself for hurting him, but she had to get him to fight!



“Fight! What are you a … a… little ponce?! Fight! Fight me, you pathetic little wimp! I thought you were a vampire! You’re just a … wimpire! That’s what you are!” Buffy ranted at him, pressing down harder on his decimated torso.

Spike cried out in pain, his mouth opening wide, his whole body tensing in agony.

Buffy shoved her bleeding and bloody arm between his lips. “Bite me, you wuss! Riley could whip your pansy ass!” she asserted, pressing down on his ribs one more time.

Suddenly, Spike’s nostrils flared wide as he inhaled deeply. Buffy felt his tongue probing against the slick, blood-soaked skin of her arm. “Come oonnnn….” she groaned, not wanting to hurt him further. “Bite me, damn it…”

But still Spike’s demon remained buried beneath the tortured shell of the man.





Buffy leaned in close to Spike’s ear to make sure he could hear her clearly. “Angel always said you never finished anything you started; said you were a loser … a quitter.”

The next thing Buffy heard was the sweetest thing she thought she’d ever heard in her life: Spike’s growl. His lips vibrated against her arm and his tongue raked against her wound roughly. He began to struggle, a battle raging within himself. His fangs extended, then retracted, his brow wrinkled then smoothed.

“Quitter ... you’re a quitter! You aren’t a warrior at all! Angel told me so, and he was right! Angel was right!” Buffy insisted as she watched his features transform into the demon and fade again. Over and over again, Spike’s demon partially rose, struggling to the surface, but then faded again.

“You probably never really killed a Slayer in your life! I bet you ran away like a little, lost puppy when you saw one, your tail between your legs! I bet it was Angel who really killed them, wasn’t it? You’re a quitter, Spike! A coward and a quitter and a … a ponce ... and ... and ... you can't dance!”

In the next moment, Spike’s features morphed into the demon fully and completely. Buffy felt his fangs pressing against her skin as his tongue explored the fount of rich Slayer blood; licking, tasting, swallowing.

Swallowing! He was swallowing! Buffy nearly jumped for joy as she watched his disfigured lips and tongue work, drawing the powerful blood from her arm and taking it in – actually swallowing whole mouthfuls down on his own.

She reached down onto the floor for the scythe, preparing to super-charge her blood even more for Spike. She felt hope well inside her, hope that he would be alright after all, that she could heal him, that he would come back to her. She’d no sooner gotten her free hand wrapped around the shaft of the magical axe than Spike’s fangs slid into the flesh of her arm, slipping in like a hot knife through butter.

She could do little more than gasp as the world fell away in a sparkling swirl of brilliant red and silver light, taking her with it.



**~**


Spike hung from the ceiling of the dark, dank dungeon, suspended by cables attached to his ribcage. His arms and legs swung free, his body bowed backwards in a painful ‘C’ as he dangled there helplessly. The slightest movement sent red-hot-pokers of pain lancing through his body, and taking a breath to scream only exacerbated the agony.



The Cirque du Soleil meets the Spanish Inquisition.

I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition!

NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition.


Spike would’ve laughed at the Monty Python scene that played in his head, only it hurt too bloody much. He had no idea how long he’d been here, a century, perhaps ten. He’d first tried to count the days, but there were no days, only darkness, only pain, only desperate loneliness.

“She’ll not come for you,” Dru purred into his ear, her long, red fingernail digging a deep gouge along Spike’s strong jaw, drawing blood.



Oh, yeah, and annoying sires; he’d nearly forgotten that little perk.

“She’ll come,” he replied weakly, barely a whisper, unable to pull more air into his lungs.

“The bright, little firefly doesn’t love you … never has, my sweet Spike. You failed her,” Dru insisted. “Not good enough for the Slayer, you aren’t. Filthy, evil vampire – you’re beneath her.”

Spike closed his eyes and swallowed. It hurt to swallow. It more than hurt, it nearly killed him – all the way from his crushed windpipe to his holy-water-burnt gullet to his pummeled stomach – but something was in his mouth, warm and slick. It occurred to him that he should know what it was, but couldn’t remember, couldn’t place it.

“She’ll come,” he repeated. Spike meant for it to be loud and adamant, but it was little more than a sigh.

Dru laughed gaily and twirled in place next to him. In the next moment she took his hand and spun her childe on his tethers, round and round and round. “Dance, my sweet Spike! Dance!”

Spike’s mind screamed, it shrieked, it wailed, it cried, it exploded in agony. His body stiffened as the cables suspending him twisted around each other, pulling his decimated ribs further and further out of his body. Even the relatively small g-force of his limbs spinning in mid-air was enough to send lances of excruciating pain shooting through his entire form as his ribs cracked and pulled and scraped against each other.

He spun and died a thousand deaths and he prayed for the only person in the world that could help him to come put him out of this misery.

Buffy, please come … please come … please help me. Slayer, please … dust me.


“b35; Nana-nana-na-naaa, she’s no-ot com-ing, the Slayer’s no-ot com-ing,” Dru sing-songed, taunting Spike as the cables holding him wound nearly to the breaking point.



For a brief moment in time Spike’s spin stopped, the g-forces abated, and all that was left was the pressure from his bodyweight. It was a relief … albeit a short-lived one. In the next moment, the cables began unwinding themselves and Spike began to spin faster and faster in the other direction as Dru continued to sing her song and dance next to him.

She’ll come, she’ll come, she’ll come … Spike repeated to himself as his body again stiffened against the pain and pressure being exerted on his demolished ribs. She loves me, she loves me … she’ll come.

Still spinning, his momentum building, the thing that he’d prayed for for the last thousand years happened: the cables snapped. Or perhaps his ribs snapped. It didn’t matter either way to him, all that mattered was the pressure was released. He fell through the air; fell much further than should’ve been possible. He fell and fell and fell through the darkness. Spike fell so long he began to think that he’d never land; he’d simply keep falling for the rest of eternity.

But he did land. He landed in a deep, warm pool of crimson. Spike sunk into the liquid gently … it felt like slow-motion, like sinking into thick, warm caramel. It coated him, covered him like a blanket, comforting and familiar. It flowed into his mouth and for the first time in recent memory, it didn’t hurt when he swallowed. In fact, it seemed to soothe the pain, heal the burns, ease the agony. He swallowed more and more, and felt his strength building as he floated in the healing elixir. He felt his demon stir, awakening from the dark corner of his mind where it had taken refuge from the pain.

And then he realized what it was he was floating in, what was running down his throat: blood. And not just any blood: Slayer blood. Not just any Slayer: Buffy. Buffy’s blood. His wife’s blood. The mother of his children’s blood.

Panic surged inside him as he tried to fight the demon back down, tried to stop swallowing the manna that he was drowning in. He was killing his wife. He was killing Buffy. He didn't know how or why or where, but he knew it as surely as he knew that he'd failed her.

No, not Buffy … not Buffy … NO!

But it was too late. The golden-eyed demon inside him had tasted the blood, had felt its power, drawn courage and life from its rich, warm depths. There was no pushing it back now; the pull was too strong. Eons of instinct passed down from sire to childe was impossible to fight – the eternal struggle between Slayer and vampire could not be suppressed for long.



Spike’s demon pushed the man aside, trampling over William's attempts to quell it, dismissing all objections of the poet’s heart, and slipped his fangs into the tender flesh of the first Slayer he’d tasted in many years. Too many years.

Rapture. Ecstasy. Nirvana.

The man gasped in fear while the demon moaned in pleasure as Slayer blood flowed freely into them both. Powerful, potent, life-giving … blood. Suddenly the world began to spin; the pool of warm, crimson bliss began to swirl, spinning faster and faster, pulling Spike with it. Flashes of silver mixed in with the red, dancing across Spike’s vision like sparklers on the Fourth of July.

And then Buffy was there, spinning and twisting with him in the whirlpool of blood. The man and the demon both reached for her, each for very different reasons, but neither succeeded in reaching the Slayer. They spun helplessly, going faster and faster in the sparkling sea of crimson and silver, neither able to reach the other or stop their momentum. For the briefest of moments their eyes met, sapphires and emeralds glittering with the flashes of light that they were immersed in, locked onto each other.

The moment was over before either of them could say anything as they both began to fall through time and space, their spirits caught in the ancient power and magic of the Guardian’s scythe. There seemed no way to stop the bright, flashing lights and swirl of blood-red magic as it carried their spirits away from their bodies, trapping them inside the magic of the Guardian's scythe, and carrying them both back to the origin of their power.



**~**

“Buffy?” Willow asked tentatively, stepping closer to the Slayer and vampire on the cot.

Spike was drawing long, deep draughts from her arm, swallowing the elixir down greedily. Buffy seemed to be unconscious, slumped against him, face down on the cot, one hand gripping the scythe on the floor.

“Spike?” Willow tried, moving closer as she rehearsed the spell for turning air to tar in her mind.

“Ummm … Spike? Buffy?” she continued, her voice trembling and unsure. “Are you okay?



“Oh, goddess…” Willow muttered as she neared the pair, certain that things were not alright. The witch closed her eyes and began to repeat the spell in her mind, faster and faster, before letting it flow from her lips.

"Kali, Hera, Kronos, Thonic. Air like nectar, thick as onyx. Cassiel by your second star, hold mine victim as in tar!"

She’d no sooner gotten the last syllable out of her mouth than the magic she’d thrown bounced back away from the pair of blonds and crashed over the sender. Willow struggled against the thick air, trying to escape her own spell. She fought it tooth and nail, trying to power out of the quicksand she’d surrounded herself in, but ultimately failed. Willow dropped – very slowly – to the floor of the garage, spent, exhausted, and trapped. She watched, panicked and helpless, as Spike drained the life-blood from his wife.

**~**

All the wind was driven from Buffy’s lungs when she landed. She gasped, writhing atop the large, flat, very hard stone that had broken her fall … and possibly her ribs. Chains rattled as she moved, hugging her arms around her torso as the pain of having her lungs pancaked together began to wane. She lifted her arms to find them shackled, as were her legs. She tugged and pulled, rising to her feet, but the chains were secure – bolted to the large rock.



“HEY!” she yelled, still struggling against the chains. “Let me go!”

Buffy stopped and listened, then tried yelling again before realizing no sound was coming out of her mouth. She looked down at her body and realized it wasn’t her own, but rather that of the First Slayer … the one that had haunted her dreams after their defeat of Adam.

She tried again to move, but realized that she wasn’t actually in control of the body she was inside; it had only seemed that way as both she and the First Slayer struggled against the chains.

Buffy watched as three men approached the girl, who stopped struggling and began speaking to them in a language Buffy couldn’t understand. Though the words were lost on Buffy, the girl’s tone was pleading and frightened … she was obviously asking to be released, begging for mercy. The men replied curtly, unmoved by the girl’s pleading tone as they moved to stand in a circle around her. They began to walk around the girl, chanting and tapping their staffs on the rock at their feet in rhythm with their steps. The words were still lost on Buffy, but it was clear they were performing a ritual, some sort of spell.



Buffy watched through the girl’s tear-filled eyes as the men circled and chanted. The sound of their staffs clacking down on the hard rock was nearly deafening in the cavern. She could feel the fear rising inside the girl as she struggled fruitlessly against the shackles, trying to escape. Buffy had felt this kind of fear before, when she had been powerless in the Council’s dungeon, unable to fight back, unable to escape, at the mercy of another. Buffy felt bile rise to the back of her throat – or the girl’s throat, she wasn’t sure which now, wasn’t sure who was who – at the memory.

Buffy tried to look around the cave, past the men, for Spike. Was he here too? She studied the faces of the men as they passed … was Spike inside one of them? None of them made eye-contact with her as they droned on and banged their sticks down on the rock as they walked. She couldn’t tell … couldn’t tell if Spike was here or not … if he was one of them.


Buffy tried to brace herself for whatever was going to happen next, though she could feel her limbs quivering and trembling with fear.

Suddenly, the men stopped moving, stopped chanting, and the cavern they were in became utterly silent except for the soft sobs of the girl they’d Chosen to be the First Slayer. Buffy watched as one of the men knelt before her and slid the top off a battered, wooden box.

Buffy watched as a black cloud of … evil – it was the only way she could describe it – rose from the box. Buffy suddenly knew where Spike was. She watched the cloud swirl around the roof of the cavern, dark and malevolent and powerful. Her heart thudded in her chest, wondering if he knew she was here inside the girl, wondering what was going on, and what was going to happen next.

The men began tapping their sticks on the ground more rapidly as they backed away from the chained girl. Buffy felt her knees give way – or the girl’s knees – and she fell down onto the hard rock, sobbing and begging for mercy.  Fear grew into terror as the girl cowered on the ground, the dark cloud descending on her like a death shroud. Buffy could hear the clacking of the men’s staffs and more soft chanting, but could no longer see anything because the girl’s eyes were clamped shut in fright. The girl tried to make herself as small as possible on the hard, flat rock, but the effort was useless against the diaphanous, malevolent energy.



Buffy felt the girl gasp, then scream, and her body tense and tighten in agony as the power flowed into her, surrounding her, filling her. She could feel Spike within the darkness, feel his heart within the heart of evil, his force within the spirit of the last pure demon on Earth. She realized then, this was the beginning. This was where the Slayer had started; this was where Spike, and all vampires, had started – both of them made from the last pure demon to walk the Earth.

Buffy’s head swam with the realization, the undeniable understanding of her origins. She was made from demonic power, the same demonic power that all vampires were created from. This was the wellspring; this moment was the very beginning, this primitive girl was the very First Slayer. This epiphany cemented the feelings inside Buffy that she’d harbored for quite some time and had told Giles earlier this day: the world was not black and white. Slayers and vampires weren’t on opposite ends of the good vs. evil spectrum, they were, in fact, first cousins.

Buffy thought she should be horrified by the realization that she’d been made from demonic power, and two or three years ago she undoubtedly would’ve been, but somehow it simply felt right to her now. It made so many things make sense to her, not the least of which was the undeniable connection she had with Spike.

The body Buffy was trapped inside convulsed in pain, pulling against the shackles holding her as the demonic power flowed into her, infusing her blood with its energy, trying to take her over completely. She could feel the girl’s spirit fighting against the evil trying to consume it, feel her soul being shredded and bloodied with the dark energy, feel the terror rise inside the girl.

Buffy could feel Spike flowing into her with the dark cloud of power, feel their spirits twining and merging, but she didn’t fight it or fear it. She welcomed it, welcomed his heart, his courage, his fortitude, his love inside her and gratefully gave back her own to him.

**~**

Willow could see Spike healing before her eyes, bruises fading, fresh, pink skin growing over cuts, bones straightening and mending as he took in the super-charged Slayer’s blood. The witch watched, wide-eyed and worried as Buffy shifted slightly atop Spike and her teeth clamped down on the side of his neck.

Spike growled against Buffy’s wrist before releasing it, retracting his fangs from her flesh as smoothly as he’d inserted them, leaving little more than two small punctures atop the slash she'd made. In the next moment, his fangs sunk into her neck, fully covering, obliterating, the old scars of his ancestors.

Blood flowed between the Slayer and the vampire, each taking and giving freely, willingly, eagerly.  Their clothed bodies began to gently rock against each other, their hips matching the slow, sensuous pulls of their lips against each other’s neck. Moans vibrated against skin as their demons met and twined around each other, merging and melding, claiming the other as their own. Two demons from one source, again united within their blood.

“Uhhh … guys? Buffy? Spike?” Willow tried from her thickened-air prison. “Not that I’m a prude, ‘cos, totally not! Werewolf’s girlfriend here! Plus guitar player groupie! I mean, how cool is that, right? And … hey, gay now! But … ummm … maybe now’s not the best time for … uhhh … kinky ... uhhh ...” Willow’s voice trailed off with a sigh when it was clear neither of them could hear her … or perhaps they just weren’t listening.

**~**

Spike flowed into the girl, his demon laughing and gleeful, reveling in the pure evil it was swirling in. It hadn’t felt this free, this utterly liberated in centuries, perhaps longer. Passed down from one vampire to the next for eons, trapped within the dead bodies of its hosts, never able to live without the confines of that frail form, this suddenly felt like Shangri-La, Xanadu, and Sodom and Gomorrah all rolled into one. Rapture … utter freedom. This was how a pure demon was meant to live, not trapped within dead humans … a half-breed, a leper among demons.

But the man was there too – the heart, if not the soul. He could feel Buffy within the girl; feel her calling to him, searching for him. Spike wrestled with his demon, tugging and pulling to disentangle himself from the spirit the Shadowmen had set loose upon the frightened girl. He fought with every fiber of his being to reach Buffy, she needed him … he needed her. Wherever they were, whatever they had been caught up in, they needed to face it together, of that he was certain, or neither of them would survive.

Spike’s demon resisted, clinging to the pure evil around them, to its origins, trying to reunite its very spirit. But Spike was determined, as determined as he’d ever been; he had to reach Buffy. Buffy was depending on him. His babies were depending on him. He would not let her down … never again. She had come for him. He knew she would. He knew she would.

Spike screamed in effort and exertion, dragging his demon away from the spirit that was invading the girl, infusing her with its power. He heaved and yanked and twisted, grunting and growling with the strain. Slowly but surely, he hauled the kicking and screaming spirit of his vampire with him, toward the light within the darkness that he knew was his wife’s spirit.

In the next moment, he felt her arms around him, her light engulfing him, their hearts melding, their spirits mingling. His demon sagged, unable to fight against both of them as Spike gave himself to her freely and took all that she offered. He could feel her courage, her fortitude, her love, her strength flowing into him and gratefully gave back his own to her.

Wrapped up in each other like ghostly spirits, the lovers were again hurtled through time and space. They bounced from Slayer to Slayer, demon to demon, living the lives and dying the deaths of all that came before them.

Buffy died and rose, fought and fell and was Called back into the fray time and time again. Some lives were short, there seemed barely a second between being Chosen and giving her life for her Calling; other lives were longer, with many fights, many near-misses, and many victories. But they all ultimately ended the same way: violently and alone.

Spike also rose and dusted time and time again as he traveled the lineage of his demon from vampire to vampire down through time. There were periods of rapturous evil and moments of sheer terror; there were feasts and famines and dancing and dusting. There were epic battles and pathetic scuffles. And there was blood, always blood – life-giving blood.

He traveled from one of his ancestors to the next, from the very first pure demon left on Earth down to Aurelius, through generations to the Master, Darla, Angelus, Drusilla ... and finally to himself. He watched through Dru's eyes as she found him that fateful night in London, felt his own warm blood fill her mouth, felt her ecstasy and lunacy and joy as she swallowed him down. It was surreal. He remembered that feeling all too well, from the other side; this was akin to hearing an old 78 rpm record re-mixed into stereo surround-sound and blasted at him through a room full of speakers.


Buffy’s head spun and her spirit ached for all the girls … so many girls, so much death. She wanted to close her eyes to it, but she couldn’t, it wasn’t possible, it was inside her, not an outside force. It was in her blood, literally. And then the moment came that she’d been dreading since she realized what was happening: she was fighting Spike. Not as herself … but as another Slayer, a now long-dead Slayer.



Their eyes met for the briefest of moments and they both froze, but there was no stopping it; there was no changing it. They could only live through it again. Buffy felt Spike’s fangs sink into her artery, felt her life-blood once again drain from the Slayer’s body, taking her spirit with it. And then, as with all the others, the magic that fueled the Slayer’s power carried Buffy away, out into the ether to find the next victim of the Shadowmen.

A young girl, no more than thirteen, died in a river of blood in a dense rainforest. Then it was off to another, this one in a filthy alley in a smog-filled city, and another and another. The places all looked the same after a while: they were all covered in blood.

And then Buffy was facing Spike again, the rain was pouring down. “I spent a long time trying to track you down. Don't want the dance to end so soon, do you, Nikki? The music's just starting, innit? By the way...love the coat.”

Buffy couldn’t help but smile a little at the dance reference as she watched him disappear into the pelting rain. Her smile faded, however, when she looked into the eyes of her son … or Nikki’s son. Her heart twisted in her chest as realization set in – Nikki was a mother, just like Buffy – but she had little time to contemplate anything more as she was hurtled forward, onto the subway train to face Spike again.


Spike had told Buffy this story before … she knew how this would end, despite how powerful and talented Nikki was. Spike was simply more talented; a more skilled fighter with nearly a century of experience. And, perhaps Nikki had simply grown weary of the fight, as Spike had told Buffy. Buffy knew that feeling too well; she'd given up in the past, but that was before... before Jade and Will. Buffy couldn't imagine a mother giving up on life, not with a son who needed her. No matter how many times Buffy felt like giving up lately, there was something inside her that kept her fighting: her family, Spike and the babies.



Again, their eyes met and held for the briefest of moments as the life was strangled from Nikki's body. Buffy could feel Spike – her Spike – looking through the dark eyes of the Slayer in front of him and into her own emerald orbs. She could feel his regret, his anxiety, his worry, his fright. Just how many evil deeds could Buffy witness and forgive? How many times could she be reminded of who he really was and allow him to remain in her life?

Spike had never felt ashamed of his past before; it simply was what it was. But now, as he looked deeply into Nikki’s frightened eyes, beyond the surface, into the heart and soul of the Slayer where his wife now dwelled, he felt ashamed. He’d taken so many lives, untold numbers; some for fun, some for survival, some simply because they annoyed him. But this was different. He’d hunted her down … he’d hunted the Slayer for decades just for the sport of it. She was the only one that could challenge him, the only one that could test his skill and strength. His only true equal in this world; the only one that would fight to the death with the same passion and zeal as he did. She was the only one that could dance this dance of death with him.

His heart folded in on itself. How could Buffy possibly forgive him for this? Yes, she knew that he’d killed two Slayers, but she hadn’t experienced it before. She hadn’t looked into his eyes as he delivered the killing blow, hadn’t felt his fangs pierce her skin, hadn’t felt her blood flow out in a crimson river. Would she have still come for him if she’d known … if she’d seen and felt all this before? Would she have saved him from his agonizing nightmare if she'd known?

Not a bloody chance in hell, was the horrifying answer that rang inside Spike’s mind as he watched himself break Nikki’s neck with a powerful, merciless twist of her head and watched the life fade from her eyes, from Buffy's eyes.

**~**

When Willow couldn't get Buffy or Spike to stop after what seemed many long minutes, but was actually only one or two, she resorted to the one thing she really hadn't wanted to do. “XANDER!!! XANDER, HELP!” she screamed from her invisible prison of thick air. She didn’t know if he could even hear her from the garage, but she hoped, being that it was Xander, that he’d be listening for any sign of trouble.

He didn’t disappoint.

The side-door of the garage was flung open and the harried-looking brunette stumbled in gracelessly. “What?! What’s wrong?!” he demanded, looking around frantically.

“I can’t …” Willow began, demonstrating her inability to move to him by trying to twist in place. “Buffy…”

Xander’s eyes fell on the couple on the cot, mouths locked on necks, blood flowing between them, bodies undulating sensuously against each other.

“Holy over-sharing, Batman!” he exclaimed, moving nearer the couple as he drew a stake from the waistband of his jeans.

“NO!” Willow screamed. “Just … they’re caught in some kind of spell. I… I think she’s okay. Wake them up!”

“But … he’s … and she’s … and they’re … with the blood and the …” Xander swallowed hard, waving a hand at the couple, their clothed bodies rocking together more fervently now. “… blood. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal in forty-eight states.”



“Xander Harris,” Willow growled. “Do not stake Spike.”

“Why not?! He’s killing her!”

“Oh, for goodness' sake!” Anya chastised, as she appeared suddenly near the cot. “She’s fine! Don’t you people know anything after all this time around vampires? And you call yourselves ‘Scoobies’! I’ve known trolls with more sense than you two! Hell, I’ve created trolls with more sense…”

Xander jumped in surprise then gritted his teeth in anger. “Anya! Would you stop doing that?!” he demanded, moving closer to the Vengeance Demon and the couple on the cot.

“What? Saving your sorry ass?” Anya snarked, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.

“Stalking me! Harassing my friends!” Xander retorted angrily.

“Oh, excuse me for harassing your friends, Xander. Something happened that got me cranky. What was it now?” she pondered, tapping a finger to her lips and looking at the ceiling. “… … Oh, I remember!” she continued after a moment, looking back at her ex angrily. “You left me at the altar! Pardon me for looking for a little vengeance.”



“Guys! Now’s not the time!” Willow pointed out. “Can you wake them up?” she asked Anya, shifting her eyes to the pair on the cot.

Anya blew out a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes, dropping her arms down to her sides in exasperation. She stepped forward and kicked the scythe away from the cot, disconnecting Buffy’s hand from the magical artifact.

Suddenly both Buffy and Spike gasped against each other’s necks, the taste of blood on their lips.

Spike’s mind was reeling with jumbled emotions and visions and fears. All that he’d experienced, eons of evil deeds, victories and defeats, left him dazed. Just a moment before he’d been fighting Buffy, the best Slayer he’d ever faced. He’d been excited … in every way, as they’d traded blows. She was his equal and more … so much more.

The taste of Slayer blood on his tongue brought his thoughts into focus quickly, back to the present and out of the spell-induced haze. There was no mistaking the tang, the heavenly flavor, the aroma, the power of it: Buffy. He’d spent the last years yearning to cover her old scars with his own mark, and now that he’d done it, he felt nothing but shame. He’d failed to protect her, failed against Angelus and Dru, and for that she’d been forced to make this sacrifice for him. And now, after all she’d seen of his true nature … he felt sick. How would she ever forgive him for all that he’d done?

Spike forced his demon down; it went kicking and screaming, not wanting to leave the fount of heaven it had found, but it went. Spike pressed his tongue against the wound on his wife’s neck as he listened to her heartbeat, praying that he hadn’t taken too much. Though thudding hard and loudly, it was not slow … in fact it was racing. He sighed in relief as he closed the wound on her neck, healing it with his saliva. He hadn’t harmed her, not badly ... not physically, at least.

Buffy’s head spun. A moment before she’d been fighting Spike in the church where he’d taken Angel and Dru for the healing ceremony, and the next moment she crashed back to the present. Buffy swallowed the blood in her mouth, pulling her mouth away from the wound she’d made in Spike’s neck. She touched a finger to her blood-stained lips and brought it up in front of her eyes as realization of what she’d been doing slowly dawned on her.

The Slayer wiped the blood from her mouth hastily as she pulled back, seemingly unaware of the other people nearby, and looked down at Spike. For the first time in days she could see the blue of his eyes; the swelling and blackened skin was gone, healed completely. Tears of relief blurred her vision at the sight and in the next moment she dropped her blood-stained lips to his in a frantic kiss.



Spike tried to wrap his arms around her, but was thwarted by the shackles. His ribs still ached, but it was bearable, they were mending. At the moment, the most desperate ache he felt was in his heart. How could she forgive him for what he’d done after all she’d just seen … experienced? He wanted to hold her, to kiss her forever, to never let her go, never give her a chance to tell him what a bad man he was, never give her a chance to tell him that he couldn’t stay with their family any longer. He deserved that, he was beneath her, he knew … but he couldn’t bear the thought of it, of losing her, of losing the babies.

Anya smiled triumphantly as she watched the couple writhe against each other, devouring each other’s lips. Willow, released from her spell-gone-wrong when the connection with the scythe was broken, came up to stand next to Xander and Anya near the cot.

“Ummm … Buffy?” the witch tried tentatively. “Are you alright?”

“I doubt she’ll hear you. I doubt she’d hear an h-bomb at this point,” Anya advised, watching intently as Buffy’s hands roamed over Spike’s nearly-healed, nearly-nude body.

“Why? What’s wrong with her?” Willow asked, her eyes growing wider by the moment. “I thought you said she was alright!”



“Did you people ever bother to learn anything at all about vampires in all those years on the Hellmouth?” Anya wondered.

“We learned all we needed to know,” Xander shot back. “How to make them dusty,” he explained, raising the stake in his hand to demonstrate.

“I wouldn’t if I were you …” Anya warned before stopping and considering her words. After a moment a smile came to her lips and she waved a hand inviting Xander forward as she backed away from Buffy and Spike. “On second thought, go ahead. This should be extremely entertaining. Perhaps some popcorn … and an Orange Julius. I haven’t had one of those in quite a long while!”

“What? Why? What’s going on?” Willow asked as she stepped in front of Xander, putting herself between him and his stake and Spike.

Anya rolled her eyes again. “Honestly, I don’t know how you cretins survived all this time. She’s been claimed … well, technically, they both have.”

“What … what does that mean?” Willow asked worriedly.

“They’re … part of each other now … stuck together … joined … like … Legos,” Anya explained as Buffy and Spike pulled together on the chains holding him, exerting enough strength to break them, leaving only the un-tethered shackles around his wrists.

Spike’s arms went around his wife finally. A small glimmer of hope sprang in his heart; perhaps he could simply hold her here forever … never give her a chance to send him away.


“But … but …” Xander stammered in a confused panic. “You mean she’s … a vampire?”



“Of course not, stupid!” Anya groaned, rolling her eyes. “They’ve shared blood … they’re … claimed,” she repeated.

“Defining a word with the same word is not helpful, Anya!” Willow pointed out as Buffy’s hands roamed lower down Spike’s body, sliding beneath the soft shorts she’d dressed him in. “Oh, Goddess…”

“Oooo … this is gonna be good,” Anya cooed as she pulled up a heavy trunk and sat down to enjoy the show. She looked up at Willow hopefully, "Could you wish for popcorn ... extra butter, and an Orange Julius ... large?"

"What?! No!" Willow replied, shaking her head in confusion. "What’s gonna happen now?” the witch wondered, averting her eyes from Buffy and Spike as best she could and looking at Anya.

“Oh, well, they’re gonna have sex, of course. And probably reassert the claim … then have sex again. Vampires and Slayers can have copious amounts of sex, unlike some humans I know,” she explained, shooting a scathing glance at Xander.

“Hey! You never complained before about my copiousness!” he argued, stepping away from the cot and in front of Anya.


“You make a better door than you do a window, Xander Harris. Please move before I move you,” Anya threatened.

“Ummm … guys? I think … ummm ... we should leave. I think Buffy’s … alright and … Oh! I hear the babies crying! Don’t you hear the babies? We should go check on the babies!” Willow urged, tugging on Xander’s arm.

“But … Buffy … blood …” Xander stammered, looking back over his shoulder as Willow pulled him away.

“I’ll just stay here and…” Anya began.

“No! No staying! No one is staying! Out! Now!” Willow ordered, getting behind Xander and pushing him toward the door he’d come in. “I mean it, Anya! I’ll conjure a whole … flock of bunnies! Herd? Gaggle? A bunch … a bunch of bunnies!”

“You wouldn’t dare…” Anya hissed, lifting her feet up off the floor just in case.

“Try me!”

Anya ‘hmphed’ and frowned dourly, but didn’t budge.

“Don’t you want to know what I wish would happen to Xander?” Willow offered brightly, still pushing the big brunette toward the door as he continued to protest. The moans and whimpers coming from Buffy and Spike were on the verge of drowning out their words as the witch hurried to get Xander and Anya out of the garage.



“Oh! Yes, that would be extremely enjoyable!” Anya brightened immediately, getting up and heading toward the witch. When she reached them, she gave an easy shove in the center of Xander’s back that sent him stumbling out the side door and into the backyard. “Now, what do you wish would happen to Xander? Perhaps his testicles would be skewered like shish kabobs and devoured by a school of hungry piranha, one little bite at a time?”

“Oh, that sounds … wow …” Willow stammered as she exited the garage and pulled the door closed behind Anya. “Let me think about that. C’mon, we’ll check on the babies while I’m thinking!”

“Or,” Anya continued, following Willow and Xander to the house. “Perhaps a scourge … like smallpox combined with Ebola and some malaria tossed in for fun!” she offered brightly, looking at Willow hopefully. “Oh! And some leprosy, so the necrotic, puss-laden parts can start falling off at regular intervals. That seems fair for such a cruel, heartless, lying bastard, don’t you think?”

“Uh … maybe…” Willow agreed as they reached the back door.

“Hey! The bastard is right here!” Xander interjected vehemently.

“Maybe some ice cream first, though. Ice cream always helps me think,” Willow suggested.

“Oh. Okay …” Anya agreed, following the other two inside. “Oh! Maybe the piranha can eat the parts that fall off!”

**~**




Buffy rested her forehead against Spike’s, breaking the kiss to finally breathe. Spike didn’t dare breathe, or move or hope. He could feel her emotions churning inside her through their newly-formed bond of the claim and he braced himself for what she would do next. Dust him or just send him off on his own. He’d almost rather she dust him. He didn’t think he could live without her, without the bits. He’d rather not even try.

Though not entirely sure what had happened between them, Buffy could also feel Spike’s emotions almost as if they were her own. It was only their tenor that allowed her to separate them. She’d been thrown for a loop by the magical mystery tour through the Slayer line, and she was still spinning from that, but mostly she was elated that her plan had worked. Spike was healed … or mostly healed. It was a miracle!

As she breathed, trying to calm her racing heart, she concentrated on those emotions that were most certainly not hers. They made her heart ache, her stomach twist … such sorrow, guilt and remorse, and above all: misery. She couldn’t understand it … he was healed! It would take time to get over their heartrending losses, Joan and India, but they had made it. Their babies were fine. They were fine.

As her pounding heart slowed and her breathing came under control, scenes from their mental time-travel popped into her mind: Spike killing the Slayer in China, Spike killing Nikki, and she realized what was triggering Spike’s distress.

She pushed up slightly, enough to look down into his worried eyes, and gave him a small smile that she hoped was reassuring.

“It’s alright, Spike … it’s okay, really. I know it was different then. You were different then,” Buffy assured him, her green eyes locked onto his shimmering blue. “I love you. I won’t stop loving you.”

Spike’s eyes fell closed, unable to look her in the eye another moment. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding to her like a man drowning – and he was, in a sea of heartache. “I’m a bad, bad man…” Spike whimpered against her.

“No … you’re a good man, Spike. It wasn’t your fault …” Buffy continued, touching a hand down gently on his cheek … his fully healed cheek. “Look at me,” she requested softly.



Spike blinked his eyes open hesitantly and their gazes locked. “Can you feel me … feel inside me … feel what I’m feeling?” she asked.

Spike nodded tentatively, unsure where this was going.


“Then listen … feel this …” Buffy instructed as she took a deep breath and pushed all the jumbled emotions from her journey through the Slayer line to the back of her mind, letting just her elation of having him whole and healed and awake fill her heart. “I love you. You’re my husband. You’re the father of my children. You believed in me when no one else did. You saved me ... literally. You’re in my heart … always.”

Spike’s eyes filled with tears, he couldn’t stop them, didn’t even try. They rolled from his eyes in waves as she showed her true heart to him, both in her words and her emotions that flowed into him.

Tears welled in Buffy’s eyes also as she held his gaze and felt his misery and heartache fade. The guilt, the remorse was still there, but it was shrouded now by something else … joy, certainly; love, definitely … but more. Something she couldn’t name.

She gave him a wet, tear-stained smile. “What … what is that?” she wondered, never letting her eyes waiver from his.

Spike smiled for the first time, a small but genuine smile. “Effulgence.”



**~**

{{  Click here to hear  You’ll Be in My Heart, Phil Collins on YouTube  }}

Come stop your crying, it will be all right
Just take my hand, hold it tight
I will protect you from all around you
I will be here, don't you cry

For one so small, you seem so strong
My arms will hold you keep you safe and warm
This bond between us can't be broken
I will be here don't you cry

‘Cuz you'll be in my heart
Yes, you'll be in my heart
From this day on
Now and forever more
You'll be in my heart
No matter what they say
You'll be here in my heart
Always

Why can't they understand the way we feel
They just don't trust what they can't explain
I know we're different but deep inside us
We're not that different at all

And you'll be in my heart
Yes, you'll be in my heart
From this day on
Now and forever more

Don't listen to them, cause what do they know
We need each other, to have and to hold
They'll see in time, I know

When destiny calls you, you must be strong
I may not be with you, but you gotta hold on
They'll see in time, I know

We'll show them together cuz...

You'll be in my heart
Believe me, you'll be in my heart
I'll be there from this day on
Now and forever more oh oh

You'll be here in my heart (You'll be here in my heart)
No matter what they say (I'll be with you)
you'll be here in my heart always

Always...
I'll be with you
I'll be there for you always
Always and always
Just look over your shoulder
Just look over your shoulder
Just look over your shoulder
I'll be there always
Chapter End Notes:
I don't know if I'll make next Sunday or if it will be longer, can just promise to post the next as soon as I can. :) Thanks for your understanding! Some have asked how many more chapters there will be, I'm guessing 3-5 more. Thanks so much for sticking with me on this; I apologize for the delays in posting!

Coming up next: Spike and Buffy reconnect.;-P

I'll try to get caught up on replying to reviews soon, as well! I do read them and love them, sorry for being slow to reply!
If by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! Love hearing from everyone and I promise I will get back to you. Sorry that I've fallen behind.

Thanks also to Paganbaby *AND* Dark Heart (if you haven't read his story: Until the End of the World, you should!) for helping me with this chapter! Their suggestions ROCK! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Moments later…

Buffy touched her mouth to Spike’s smiling lips, a gentle, chaste kiss, before pulling back again to look down at him. It was a miracle … he was healed. Well, perhaps not 100%, but 87.6% for sure. Despite the disconcerting tumble through the past that the scythe had sent them on, it had done what she’d hoped: it had supercharged her blood and healed her husband.

Buffy touched a couple of fingers to her neck, to Spike’s bite, and suddenly she felt Spike wince inwardly and that shame creep back into his heart. She furrowed her brow, looking down at him. How could she feel what he was feeling? What had happened to her … to them?

“What happened … between us?” she asked him, dropping her fingers down to the still-bleeding mark on his neck that she’d made.



Spike pursed his lips and dropped his gaze from hers, not sure what to say. He hadn’t meant to claim her … hadn’t meant to even bite her. He would never have done that if he’d been in his right mind.

“Spike, please, just tell me … what’s going on?” Buffy prodded gently.

Spike swallowed hard and lifted his concerned, blue eyes back to hers. “Been claimed, we ‘ave … the both of us.”

“Claimed? What … like lost luggage?” Buffy pressed, confused.

Spike shrugged. “Could say that, I reckon. You … belong t’ me now … I belong t’ you.”

“Sort of thought we’d already danced that dance.” Buffy held up her left hand and the wedding band to demonstrate.

Spike took a deep breath and nodded. “Bit different this. More … permanent-like. Bond o’ blood … vampire bond … can’t be broken unless one … dies or … dusts.”

Buffy twisted her lips in thought a moment, studying him. “And … I can feel what you’re feeling …”

Spike nodded. “An’ I can feel you.”

“Nifty,” she replied sarcastically. “I guess now answering ‘nothing’ when you ask me what’s bothering me will be useless.”

Spike snorted a short laugh. “Still can’t read your mind, luv,” he pointed out, before adding quietly, “Thank bloody God.

“Just know something’s wrong, I will. Not like your mood’s ever been hard t’ read, pet. Sussing out why you’re feeling what you are is the hard bit.”

Buffy nodded and bit her bottom lip. “I missed you so much…” she whispered, fighting back her tears. “I’m so sorry, Spike … I should’ve never …”

Spike lifted a finger to her lips, stopping her, a link from the chain still attached to the shackle at his wrist clinking lightly when he moved. “Don’t be sorry about anythin’. You alright?”

Buffy nodded, his fingers still on her lips.

“The bits?”

Buffy nodded again.

“Then don’t be sorry, pet. I’m sorry … Joan … she … it was t’ save me,” he stuttered sadly.

Buffy shook her head, wrapping her hand around his and pulling it away from her lips. “Not completely … India … Angel killed … well, actually, he turned India. Joan … I think Joan staked her … dusted her,” Buffy revealed.

“Bloody hell,” Spike moaned, closing his eyes as that sunk in.



“She was there for revenge. I think saving you might’ve just been a … side effect.”

“I’m the irritatin’ rash, then?” Spike teased, opening his shimmering eyes and looking up at her, trying to lighten the mood. In reality, he knew better. Joan may have been there for revenge, but she was there for him, too. Saving him was no accident, he’d seen it clearly in her eyes.

Buffy gave him a small smile. “More like the erection that lasts more than four hours. Not exactly a bad thing.”

Spike snorted a small laugh, wincing with the effort as his barely-healed ribs creaked and shifted in their newly-grown cartilage.

Buffy cringed. “Sorry … are you … do you want to go inside?” she asked as she began to sit up and take her weight off him.

Spike reached up and pulled her back down. “I hear-tell that five’s a crowd, pet. Hate t’ waste all that effort Red put into getting the whelp and demon-bird outta here.”

Buffy shifted atop him, straddling his hips to take more of her weight on herself rather than pressing down so hard on his still-tender torso. “Don’t you want to see the babies?” she wondered, sitting back slightly and looking down at him.

Spike nodded. “No…” he answered flatly. “Wanna see you … wanna … feel you.” He reached up and touched the punctures on her neck gently, tracing them with his fingers as his eyes locked with hers, blue on green.

Sparks flew from his fingertips straight to Buffy’s core and she drew in a tumultuous breath. She’d been aware of his erection since coming back to herself when the connection with the scythe had been broken, but she was suddenly VERY aware of it now as it pressed against her ass.

“Didn’ mean t’ … would’ve never …” Spike stammered, unable to finish any of his thoughts.

“Are you … sorry?” Buffy asked hesitantly, touching her fingers down to the already-healing bite on his neck. “About the claim, I mean?”

“Would’ve never done it if I’d been in m’ right mind,” Spike explained.

“Oh,” Buffy murmured, dropping her eyes to his chest, unable to meet his gaze. “I … I thought …” tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back quickly. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check, but it was too late, Spike had seen … felt them.



“Oi, Slayer …” he called gently, touching a finger to her chin to make her look into his eyes. “Would’ve never done it without an invite, pet. That’s the only regret … that you didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t invite me in.”

“Well, kinda looks like I claimed you without an invitation, too, right?” she pointed out, touching a finger to her bite mark on his neck.

“I reckon…” Spike admitted. “But…”

“No ‘buts’,” Buffy interrupted, but she knew that he still felt like he’d taken some sort of liberty he wasn’t entitled to. “Maybe … maybe we could do it again … with … you know … proper, formal invitations. Do they need to be written? Engraved? Embossed? Cotton paper, or linen? Hand-written in fourteen-karat gold ink?” she asked, raising her brows in question. “Just how much notice needs to be given for proper claiming etiquette? Do we need RSVP cards?”

Spike rolled his eyes, a smirky-smile curling his lips. “Reckon just spoken would work, luv.”

“Oh, well … that’s easy as pie.” Buffy stopped and furrowed her brow a moment, looking down at him. “Where did that expression come from? I mean, what pie is easy? Of course, they’re easy to eat, but I mean cooking pies is like totally not easy … except the ones in the freezer section, those are pretty easy, if you remember set the timer and don’t go outside and leave it cooking for like, three hours, ‘cos then, not of the good, but …”

Spike touched his fingers to her lips to stop her rambling as his smile became melancholy. There had been so many moments over the last days that he was certain he’d never hear her rambling again. Never feel her body next to his, never look into her eyes, never touch her skin, never kiss her, never hold her, never be able to tell her how much he loved her, never let her know what a bloody treasure she was.

Buffy smiled behind his fingers before pulling his hand away again. She leaned down carefully, with only gentle pressure against his ribs, until her mouth was near his ear, her neck near his mouth. “I thought I’d lost you and I realized just how much I love you and need you. I want to be yours. Always … until I die and even after that … whatever comes after, I want it to be with you. Forever and beyond. Claim me as yours, Spike …”

“Buffy …” Spike moaned against her shoulder, the sound of her pulse pounding in his ears, the weight of her words filling his heart with joyous rapture.

He kissed her neck, his lips lingering on the mark he’d just made there, a mark that covered those of his ancestors, sending shivers down Buffy’s spine. “Want to do it properly, luv … make it perfect for you.”

Buffy could feel Spike’s lust building along with hers. It was difficult to tell them apart as the passion twined and tangled inside her, her own mingling with his. She slowly sat back up, her fiery, green eyes locking onto her husband’s smoldering blue. Sitting back on his thighs, she grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and lifted it over her head, breaking the connection of their eyes momentarily.



Spike watched her with bated breath. There was no way he could not breathe right now as she stared down at him, her passion flowing into him like waves of hot lava. He watched as she reached behind her back and unhooked her satiny, white bra, letting it fall forward and slide slowly down her arms. The breath caught in his throat as he reached his hands up to cup her breasts, feeling the supple warmth of them.

Buffy’s eyes fell closed a moment as she reveled in the feel of his hands on her, his cool touch like velvet, gentle and adoring. His fingers ghosted over her quivering flesh, across her nipples, tightening them into hard peaks in an instant. Her back arched, pressing into his touch as his emotions rolled over her, bringing her to the brink of tears. So much love … so much devotion … so much desire. It was overwhelming, making her heart flutter and skip in her chest and her body tingle from head to toe.

She opened her eyes and looked down at her husband, keeping her eyes on his as she pressed up and off the cot, sliding one foot onto the floor and standing up next to him. She reached over the cot for the key to the shackles that remained around his wrists and quickly unlocked them, tossing the heavy bracelets aside. Then, as Spike watched, looking just as awestruck as the first time he’d ever seen her like this, she slowly unfastened her jeans and slid them, and her panties, down her shapely legs.

Spike watched with reverent fascination as Buffy revealed herself to him. Her body was just as strong and perfect as the first time he’d ever seen it, just as beautiful, just as golden tan with curves in all the right places. He considered sitting up, moving to her, but he didn’t trust his ribs and didn’t want to ruin anything … he didn’t want to break the spell she was weaving so meticulously. So, he simply watched as she slid her jeans and white thong down her lovely legs and stepped out of them, toeing her shoes off in the process.

And then her eyes were back on his, bottomless pools of emerald, seemingly even more beautiful than just a moment before, as she moved back near him and the cot. He inhaled as deeply as he could, taking in the heavenly fragrance of her arousal. Her own desire matched his; it was nearly overwhelming to him as he felt her emotions stirring and fluttering inside her. When she touched him, he thought he might’ve died and gone to heaven. Though the contact was innocent enough, a gentle touch of her fingers on his hipbone, combined with the beauty of her, the aroma of her, and the lustful sparks he could feel dancing inside her, it was nearly devastating.

Buffy bit her bottom lip coyly, feeling Spike’s lust … errr … spike suddenly when she touched him. She could see his cock jerk and twitch beneath the soft fabric of the shorts he had on, but even without that visual clue, she knew what he was feeling. An all-consuming need was rising inside him and she wondered briefly just how either of them would survive this new connection without simply bursting into flames.

Buffy slid her fingers beneath the stretchy waistband of the shorts Spike had on and began to push them down his legs. Spike gingerly raised his hips, inhaling sharply when his barely-healed ribs protested the movement. His eyes clamped shut against the stabbing pain that radiated from his sternum to nearly every nerve in his body, and an involuntary curse fell from his lips.

“God! Sorry! Spike, maybe we shouldn’t…” Buffy apologized immediately, stopping her hands from sliding his shorts down further.

But then Spike’s hands were there with hers, pressing the stretchy fabric down over his ass. He exhaled when he relaxed his body back onto the thin mattress of the cot, letting the discomfort flow out of him with it.

“No worries, pet,” he tried to assure her, though his voice was still a little shaky. He opened his eyes and looked up into hers, which were now filled with worry. “Nothing in this world, or any other, is gonna keep me from you tonight, luv. Not now … not after … not after feeling what’s in your heart.”

Buffy could feel how determined he was, how much this meant to him. She nodded stiffly, but was still afraid of hurting him further. He’d only been healed just a few minutes, after all, and even then, he wasn’t fully healed.

“Could recover faster with another taste,” Spike pointed out, wagging his brows at her suggestively, and making Buffy wonder if he was lying about being able to read her mind.

Buffy gave him a smile. It was simply impossible to not smile at him, not to be filled with joy that he was well enough to flirt and tease with her.

“Make love with me, Buffy,” Spike whispered, reaching up to touch her face. “Claim me … put your mark in my skin, show the bloody world I’m yours … ‘cos I am. Always have been, I reckon. Love’s bitch.”

Buffy leaned into his touch as he laid his palm against her cheek, and covered his hand with hers. She let her eyes fall closed and tried to corral, contain, all the emotions she was being bombarded with, both her own and Spike’s.  There was love and lust and a need the likes of which she’d never felt before. It was more than a physical need, something deeper, more primal even than that. She realized it was the demon inside her reaching out and urging her to reassert her claim, to take Spike’s blood and make it part of her, and to make her blood a part of him.

It was dark at its core but surrounded by the light of the love that flowed between them now. It felt to her like a sun: a heavy, dark nucleus containing all the dangerous power at her disposal, but surrounded by a humanity-tempered fire that warmed her heart and kept the core from imploding. Buffy couldn’t explain it, but as she searched through all the myriad of emotions that were swirling around inside her, she could feel Spike’s power as well … and it felt exactly the same as hers: tempered by humanity, tempered by … his heart.


How was that possible? He didn’t have a soul, but he had a heart … wasn’t that what her mom had told her? And certainly he did … he had a heart the size of … the sun. And in a moment of epiphany, Buffy realized that Spike’s demon was tempered by the exact same … force, for want of a better word, that hers was. Whatever those men had done to create the Slayer power with the spirit of the last pure demon had also restrained it at the same time. It had been necessary to harness it; otherwise all they would be doing would be creating another pure demon rather than a Slayer to fight the evil that lurked in the darkness. And Spike’s demon wore the same harness hers did … exactly the same.



Buffy opened her eyes and looked down at him, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “You’re … you … have … You would’ve been … a Slayer,” she stammered. “If you … were a girl … you … you might’ve been a Slayer. It’s … it’s inside you. I can feel it. That’s how you … can control it. That’s why you’re different … why you could work with me even back … before. You could control the demon with it.”

Spike furrowed his brow. “You saying I should’a been a chit? Can assure you, luv, I’m no poofter.”

Buffy took his hand into both of hers and sat down on the edge of the cot next to him. She shook her head, more of an ‘I don’t know’ than an actual negative shake, her eyes focused on the far wall, but not actually seeing it as she considered. “I’m not sure how the magic works. If it runs in families and is somehow passed down in the blood or … if it’s random or what. Did you have any, like, aunts that … died young from, you know … ultra-violence?” she asked, looking down at him.

Spike shook his head. “Don’t recollect any … ‘course, such subjects wouldn’t o’ been discussed in polite company.”

Buffy nodded and chewed on her lip a moment. “Well … I don’t know how we get, like … marked for possible early death,” she said lightly, smiling down at him. “But maybe the potential is implanted before we’re even born … maybe before all the Xs and Ys are even sorted out.” She shrugged.

“I just know what I feel … and your demon? The way you can control it? The way you could make deals with me without a soul? The way you can … love? Even the way you’ve always been drawn to Slayers … it makes sense! Other vamps are all avoidy, but not you … you sought us out. It’s … there’s, like, Slayer magic inside you and when you were turned it must’ve … sort of activated somehow.”

Spike dropped his eyes down to where their hands were joined and Buffy could feel his mood shift again, back to the shame and disgrace she’d felt earlier. She gave his hand a hard squeeze and dipped her head so he had to look at her, her blonde hair cascading over his torso, tickling his newly-healed skin.

“Spike, you did what you had to do to survive. You think there are no Slayers that can’t control what’s inside them? Look at Faith! And you weren’t really a Slayer … just … a … Maybe-Slayer only … not cos you ended up with the Y, ya know?

“I don’t care about any of that … about the past. All I care about is what you are now. And if I didn’t know it before, then I know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt what you are,” Buffy insisted.



Spike blinked back tears that threatened to fall and looked away from her. “A monster … A bad, bad man,” he whispered.

Buffy shook her head. “No. A good man caught in a bad situation. A man with a good heart … a man who saved my life, who loves his family and would do anything for them, endure anything to protect them. A hero. A warrior, a Champion.”

Buffy reached out and touched a finger to his jaw, turning his head back toward her and making him look into her eyes. “Love’s bitch,” she concluded, giving him a genuine, if watery, smile.

Spike bit his lip as he watched her, felt her confidence, her love, her strength and conviction flood into him like warm sunlight. His luscious lips curled up into an appreciative smile. There really was no arguing with that fact: he was love’s bitch, always.

“And now,” Buffy continued in a salacious tone, standing back up. “I’m gonna make you my bitch … errrr …” Buffy flushed and fumbled a moment as Spike quirked a brow at her, her face turning bright red. “That didn’t really come out how I meant it.”

Spike laughed and tugged lightly on her hand. “I’m yours, pet … do with me as you will … just don’t ever let me go.”

Buffy let Spike pull her back onto the cot, straddling his hips and carefully avoiding putting any pressure on his ribs. “I love you, ya know?” she asked softly, leaning down and touching her lips to his.



“I love you, Buffy … so bloody much, with all my heart,” Spike replied against her mouth before capturing her lips with his. Spike wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, stifling a wince. He wanted to feel her skin on his, her body against his, her soft, warm flesh pressed into him; the discomfort was secondary, little more than a mild distraction. He had to have her touching him, feel her body respond to his touch, his kiss, his love.

And respond she did. Buffy’s lips parted and her tongue darted out, tasting and teasing Spike’s mouth, dancing over his lips, tangling with his tongue. His hands glided over her soft skin, down her back, tracing her spine with his fingertips, then over the curve of her ass, circling those fleshy globes before capturing them with both hands and pulling her hips against his harder. Buffy moaned as Spike’s erection pressed against her stomach, her body aching for him to be inside her, somehow needing him even more than she ever had before.

Suddenly, Buffy tasted blood on her tongue and she jerked back, touching her hand to her mouth to find the source. Spike smirked at her and stuck his tongue out to show her that she’d bitten him, not the other way around. Buffy’s eyes grew wide as she licked the blood from her lips. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her whole body tingled as she felt her husband’s blood slide down her throat … more than her husband’s, her mate’s blood. And it felt … perfect. Utterly … perfect.

Buffy’s eyes locked with Spike’s in that moment and the whole world seemed to melt away. She lifted her hips up off his slowly, freeing his rock-hard erection from between their bodies. Keeping her eyes locked on his, the metallic taste of his blood on her tongue, Buffy guided him to her slick opening.



They both gasped in sharply as she lowered herself down onto his shaft, the swollen head stretching her tight channel, parting her supple walls, sheathing his sword in her heat. Their eyes never wavered from each other, sapphires and emeralds glittering with love and lust and need more powerful than either had known before. Inch by inch … millimeter by millimeter, Buffy took her mate inside her body, her warm, strong walls molding to every ridge, every vein, every bump on his hard shaft. She reveled in the warm friction that passed through her as Spike pressed deeper and deeper into her willing body. It seemed to last a lifetime … but was done in the space of a few racing heartbeats.

Neither of them moved for some time after Buffy’s hips met Spike’s. His cock buried inside her, pressing against her womb, her silken walls woven tightly around his steel. They simply stared into the other’s eyes and felt. Felt everything. Felt every sensation the other was feeling. Felt every drop of love, every lance of pleasure, every bolt of bliss.

Buffy could feel her own slickness as it coated Spike’s cock, feel her walls undulating around him, holding him inside, pulling him deeper, willing him to never go. Spike could feel his cock slowly filling her, feel the pleasure as each ridge and bump tugged at her sensitive opening, feel the utter contentment inside her as he bottomed out against her womb, and the primal need to pull him even deeper, to milk the cum from him, the deep yearning she had to feel his cum painting her womanhood and filling her womb, to hold him inside until he burst, and then still never let him go.

“Oh, Spike, you feel so good inside me, so...deep, so … perfect. Oh, God, baby … so good,” she moaned as all the sensations washed over her, engulfing her in a maelstrom of bliss.

Spike opened his mouth to speak, to tell her just how much she meant to him, how she made him feel ... like a man, not a monster, but his throat tightened and closed, overcome with emotion. He could only stare up at her, speechless for perhaps the first time in his life.



Buffy was finding it harder and harder to breathe as she was bombarded with so many sensations and emotions. Her body began to tremble, her heartbeat thudding in her ears … she could even feel her pulse pounding deep inside her, both from her own body and through the bond with Spike. It was like … stereo. Everything was more, doubled … more than doubled, more than the sum of the parts.

Another eternity passed as they simply looked into each other’s eyes, their hearts connected just as surely as their bodies. It was at once too much and not enough, overwhelmingly vast and yet insufficient. More. There had to be even more, even though it felt like more would utterly unravel them both.

Buffy’s hips began to move against Spike, sliding gently back and forth over him, their eyes still locked on the other’s. She touched her fingers down onto his freshly-healed torso, barely grazing his skin with her nails as she rocked against him. Her touch sent lances of bliss ricocheting through his body, curling his toes and building up the fire in his loins even brighter.

Spike’s hands caressed her thighs, feeling the muscles there bulge and relax as she moved her body blissfully atop him. He loved her strength; it was so much more than physical. She’d overcome so much in her short life, seen more than anyone should have to see, lost more than anyone should have to lose … and yet, here she was. And she’d chosen him. She’d chosen him … claimed him, in fact. She’d called him a hero … a Champion. She thought him worthy of her love.

He’d suddenly been delivered from a nightmare into a dream. He was half-afraid he’d awaken at any moment to find himself still suspended by his broken ribs, still twirling in the air in agony. Had Dru hypnotized him with her thrall? Was this all … a mirage?

But no … no … he could feel Buffy. He could smell her and taste her and feel her heart now so very near his, her emotions entwined with his. It was real. She had come for him. She had saved him.

Spike reached up behind Buffy’s neck and gently pulled the Slayer down to him, covering her lips in a gentle kiss. He thought he felt his heart beat suddenly in his chest as her love poured over him like glowing embers, sparking his dead body to life with her vivid, pulsing energy.

“Buffy…” he murmured against her mouth, a breathless oath, putting everything he wanted to say to her into the simple utterance of her name.

“Spike…” she panted back, her hips undulating against him, sliding over his cock, her supple walls constricting around him, trying to hold him inside with each gentle movement. Once again, she felt her channel mold itself to his shape, totally absorbed by the connection that she was experiencing, their minds and bodies linked, and his cock filling her. Her center creamed around him, her warm, slick heat easing his passage into her, welcoming him deeper into her burning core. “Love you so much.”

Spike cupped her face with both hands and pulled her lips to his again, capturing her mouth in a desperate kiss. His tongue delved into her hot, wet cavern, making love to her tongue, her lips, matching his movements to the roll of her hips against his.

His fingers and palms slid back into her hair, relishing the soft, silky strands of gold, tangling his fingers in her long, golden tresses. He couldn’t get enough of this woman. Never. If they lived to be a thousand, there would never be enough time to hold her, to love her, to be her hero. And that’s all he’d ever wanted to do: Hold her. Love her. Be her hero.

Buffy pulled back from the kiss reluctantly, breathless, and leaned her forehead against his as her hips continued their gentle thrusts against him. With each roll of her hips, Spike’s cool column of steely flesh slid out of her wet, hot furnace, then back inside, touching her very core, before retreating again. Each swivel of her body had his hardness skipping and sliding over elusive, aching spots deep inside her, which let Buffy gasping as her nerves fired and flared. Bolts of sweet, silver lightning danced through her, prickling her skin with bliss as she made love to her husband, her mate.

The absolute pleasure rolling over her only made her yearn for more. It was exquisite, but it simply wasn’t enough. She needed to fly higher, reach deeper, soar faster. Everything in her was screaming at her for more, from her heart, to her sex, to the demon shackled inside her. More.

Suddenly Buffy felt Spike’s features change beneath her and she pulled back to look into his eyes … the amber eyes of the demon. He had felt her need … or was it his need for more that she was feeling? Or were both of their needs simply building on the other’s, twining around each other, supporting each other as they reached for the sun, like a wild rose bush climbing up the garden wall?



Time seemed to stop for another eternity when their eyes met again. Spike’s beauty was no less as the demon, exotic and dangerous, but still Buffy could see the warmth of love shining in the depths of his gaze. She could feel his demon calling to hers, wild and lustful, just as surely as she could feel his heart reaching out to surround her with his gentle love.

He’d never been ashamed of his demon, not like Angel had been. He’d been ashamed of things he had allowed it do to, ashamed of letting it free of its harness, but never ashamed of the demon itself. She realized now how that spoke to her, and why. It was part of him; part of who he was, not something to be purged or hidden, and now she knew it was part of who she was, as well. Both of them were part-demon, part-human with only a thin line separating how their different sides manifested to the rest of the world.

There was no signal, no blink of an eye or twitch of a muscle, no touch or word passed between them, but in the next moment fangs and teeth met flesh and once again blood flowed between them.

Spike’s razor-sharp fangs sunk into Buffy’s tender flesh, slipping smoothly into the marks he’d just closed on her neck only a little while ago. Her hot, sweet blood sang as it flowed into him, warming him, hardening him even more inside her, quelling his primal thirst and rousing it all at once.  At the same time, Buffy’s teeth clamped down sharply on the barely-healed wound she’d opened on Spike’s neck earlier. Despite the lack of fangs, Buffy used her Slayer strength to its full advantage, and easily broke the skin open again to taste Spike’s cool, tangy manna. It tasted different now; she could feel his renewed strength and hope within the crimson liquid where before it had tasted of forlorn desperation.

Both of their bodies went still in that moment, every muscle pulling as tight as piano wire. Hips pressed together, his cock deep inside her, pressing at the entrance to her womb, mouths clamped down tightly on each other’s throats, blood flowing between them, their bodies melted into each other as if trying to become one.  

The feel of his skin against hers, the taste of him on her lips, his steely hardness buried inside her, made Buffy’s insides sizzle and quake. More, more, more, her body screamed at her. It was all she could think, all she could hear, all she could feel, a dulcet, insistent chorus of ‘more’.

And then, just as suddenly as they’d both frozen, they both began to move again. Spike’s hips jerked up, despite his injuries, thrusting his need deeper into her core. Buffy met his thrusts with her own desire, matching the rhythmic pulses of his hips with her own, coming down as he lifted up. His rod plunged deeper, deeper, and deeper yet into her burning core, stretching her, filling her with each thrust. Still her body demanded 'more, deeper, harder, faster'.

Their lips and tongues sucked and licked feverishly at the other’s neck, devouring the scarlet, life-sustaining liquid; hot flowing into cool; cool flowing into hot. Their demons rejoiced, dancing in the pool of thick, vibrant, burning passion. Blood splashed and gushed; boiled and burbled. Droplets glittered like rubies in the sun and flowed like sweet, red wine over their hearts, filling each with the essence of the other.

Hands wandered over heated flesh; touching, teasing, squeezing, caressing. Both of their bodies were burning now; Buffy’s flushed with the glow of passion, Spike’s flushed with Buffy … her blood, her love flowing into him like life itself.

Their bodies undulated against each other, Spike driving up into her, parting her warm, clutching walls with each thrust. Something deep inside her screamed for the satisfaction that was Spike's cock filling her body. It demanded it, begged for it, yearned for him to stay inside her body until her cream had soaked into his length and he became a part of her, and she part of him. Buffy’s tight, supple channel closed around his shaft again and again, pulling him deeper, trying to hold him inside her forever, never let him go.

Their bodies seemed to revel in the age-old battle: her trying to hold him and he desperate to move, to thrust. Her body released more and more slick, wet heat to ease his escape, even as her channel seized and clutched around his shaft wildly, trying to prevent it. Spike drove up into her deep and hard, no longer feeling any discomfort as her blood flowed into him, whether masking it or healing it, he didn’t know or care. He rejoiced in her need to hold him and yet rebelled against it, wanting to keep control for himself. He needed to feel her tight opening tugging and squeezing around his entire length time and time again, longed to bang against her womb with each hard thrust into her burning core.

Fires flared, fireworks burst in loud, colorful displays, sparks danced through their bodies as they claimed each other completely, body and spirit, heart and … perhaps even soul. If the monks could claim bits of their souls for Dawn, then wasn’t it possible for Spike to claim a bit of Buffy’s soul for himself? What had her mother said about souls? That they grow and change with the life we live; that they can atrophy and even die if left in the dark too long, or flower and thrive if nurtured and loved.

Spike had brought her soul back into the light from the depths of blood-soaked, guilt-ridden despair. Part of it was certainly his. He had been the patient gardener, feeding her love and affection and hope until she found the joy in living again. And Joan, as well. Where would Buffy have been without the android, turned best friend, turned lover? Certainly Spike had done the lion’s share of tending to her battered and bruised psyche, but Joan had been … she’d been the light, the sun, the laughter that had helped Buffy blossom again.



Buffy suddenly felt overwhelmed with love, with hope, with joy. She felt as if her heart would burst with the unconditional love that had been bestowed on her. The feeling lifted her higher and higher, like a shiny, bright balloon that had slipped from a child’s hand … up, up, up into a crystal blue sky, up through the air toward the warmth of the sun.

She could feel the approaching fireball growing hotter and hotter against her skin, feel herself lifting out of the Earth’s atmosphere, out into space, past the moon, on a collision course with that bright, shining orb of bliss. Her body shuddered against Spike’s, her arms wrapping around his neck and shoulders like a vise as she gasped sharply against his neck, his blood still on her lips.

Then, for a moment everything stopped: her breathing, the thrusting of her hips, even her thudding heart stopped, it seemed. The entire world was still and silent, full of love and peace and joy. It was at once fleeting and eternal, that moment of being caught between worlds, between Earth and heaven, suspended weightlessly in the ether.

In the next moment she was hurtling out of control toward the searing fires of the sun. Spike was talking to her, she could hear his voice washing over her like a warm blanket of love, but couldn’t make out the words. She clung to him, afraid if she let go, her body would be utterly devoured in the fires of bliss. And she screamed. Buffy couldn’t stop the scream as those glowing flames licked at her skin, burning her in the most delicious way.

Her body blazed and quivered and convulsed in the flames of rapture, consumed as she’d never been before. Every nerve in her body seemed to flare into brilliant life, her muscles screamed in protest as they tried to rip themselves out of their prison of flesh to join her mind in the far-flung depths of heavenly bliss. All she could do was surrender to the rapture, surrender... and scream to the world.

**~**

Spike gasped against her hot, salty skin, his fangs retracting as smoothly as they’d slid into her when Buffy’s hold on him tightened painfully. He felt her bliss building, the fire inside her flaring and dancing joyously. He could feel it all, from the love filling her heart to the lust and passion boiling in her body. It was overwhelming and he understood now why she screamed, to let some of the pressure out, to keep from exploding.

Spike grasped her ass cheeks in both hands and pulled her down against him as he thrust up into with all the power he could from beneath. “Cum for me, baby … Cum, Buffy. Love to feel you cum, pet. Let go, luv … let go, fly … fly …touch the bloody sun, explode,” he murmured into her ear, his voice rolling out like thick, warm honey.

“Fuck … Buffy! Fuck … bloody fuck!” he exclaimed suddenly as she began to scream, both their bodies engulfed in the flames of rapture she had been hurtled into. Spike’s body convulsed with hers, his hips shuddering and jerking into her wildly with no rhyme, reason, or rhythm. He flew with her around the sun, the flames flickering over his body as she screamed and came and bucked above him.

He suddenly had to have more, he needed all of her, needed to be deeper inside her – this wasn’t enough. Clutching her ass with bruising strength, her arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders in a death grip, Spike drew on every ounce of power of both their demons and flipped them over on the narrow cot.

Buffy’s pussy throbbed and tightened around him as he crashed down atop her on the thin mattress, driving into her with all his weight. Her scream redoubled, echoing off the walls of the garage, thrumming against Spike’s ski n, intensifying his primal need. Spike growled at her attempt to hold him prisoner, at once sinking his fangs into her jugular and pistoning his hips against her, driving into her feverishly.



Then Buffy’s teeth were again buried in his flesh, his blood flowing into her, her scream of rapture muffled against his neck. Spike drove into her harder, faster, deeper; plunging into the rapturous depths of her body as they flew past the sun and hurtled for the very edge of the universe.

Blood flowed, fires burned, sparks cascaded down from the heavens and they flew, each lifting the other to higher heights, past the furthest stars. They danced in the flames, twirling and spinning and coiling around each other as they spiraled away from the Earth. The Milky Way glittered like diamonds at their feet, and they laughed and wove their way through the sparkling field of dreams, holding to each other, body and soul.

And then it was there: the very edge of the universe. Only heaven remained beyond the last star, the last comet, the last neutron of dark matter, and heaven was most certainly where they were headed. It was a heaven the likes of which they’d never seen or felt before as they gave and took all that was offered from each other, which was everything.

Buffy lifted her mouth away from Spike’s over-heated flesh and inhaled sharply as they crashed through the last invisible barrier, then through glittering gates of heaven to dance upon the golden streets of dreams.
 
Their bodies convulsed in rapture as Spike’s cool seed spilled into her hot depths, chilling her core as she felt each spurt of ecstasy splash against her supple walls. She couldn't describe it; it was too much, much too much. The Slayer felt like his thick cream was branding her, singeing her soul at the same time as it chilled her own burning core. The dichotomy of it was overwhelming, as if she were being consumed by the sun and frozen by the dark side of the moon in the same breath.

Buffy couldn't contain the rapturous ecstasy it was causing inside her as Spike’s cream pumped into her, filling her with his essence. Her channel contracted around his length as her sweet cum flowed out from her depths, coating him with her burning desire.

Their hearts and spirits soared in a graceful ballet of love as they climaxed together, the rapture of the other mixing and joining with their own, lifting them ever higher. They spiraled and whirled around each other, mingling together fully before pulling apart again. Lovers. Friends. Spouses. Mates.

**~**

Buffy’s chest heaved with panting, gasping breaths as she finally remembered how to breathe. She clung to Spike tightly, still lost in the dance up beyond the stars, electrical shocks twitching through her spent body. Spike’s mouth touched down on hers lightly, and then on her chin, her nose, her eyes, still clamped tightly shut, her cheeks.

She blinked her eyes open, looking up into the crystal blue of the sky she’d flown through on her way to heaven. She tasted the metallic tang of his blood on her lips and her tongue darted out to capture it just as Spike’s mouth touched down against hers again, and she was back in heaven. Heaven on Earth.



“Wowie,” she murmured against his lips as she slowly got her breathing under some semblance of control
.
“See your ‘wowie’ and raise ya a ‘bloody hell’,” Spike teased, nibbling on her lower lip gently.

Buffy moaned against his mouth, squeezing tightly around his still-hard shaft with her inner muscles. She could feel his cream pooling inside her core, and the connection she felt with him deepened ever so slightly with that knowledge. She had a part of him deep inside her; just the thought of it made her shiver with wondrous exhilaration. Something that had been inside Spike’s body, was now in hers; something that had been a part of him was now hers. She hoped it would soak into her, suffusing her body with his essence, and forever become a part of her.

“Think we could go for a ‘holy cow’?” Buffy wondered suggestively, smiling up and wagging her brows at him.

“‘M ‘ere to serve, pet,” Spike agreed with a smirk, as he began moving against her again. “Love’s bitch, I am, and bloody man enough t’ admit it.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear If, by Bread on YouTube  }}

If a picture paints a thousand words,
Then why can't I paint you?
The words will never show
the you I've come to know.

If a face could launch a thousand ships,
Then where am I to go?
There's no one home but you,
You're all that's left me too.

And when my love for life is running dry,
You come and pour yourself on me.

If a man could be two places at one time,
I'd be with you.
Tomorrow and today, beside you all the way.

If the world should stop revolving spinning slowly down to die,
I'd spend the end with you.

And when the world was through,
Then one by one the stars would all go out,
Then you and I would simply fly away.
Chapter End Notes:
I'm really sorry my updates have been sporadic and slow. We're getting to the end of this story and I'm afraid my muse's mind is wandering off, but I'll do my best to get another update in the next couple of weeks. Thank you so much for your patience and understanding!
Time in a Bottle by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
I apologize again for how long updates are taking! My muse has been elusive, but I promise this story is not dead and will be completed! Thank you for your patience! Thanks especially to those of you who take the time to leave me feedback! I know I'm behind in replying but I love hearing from everyone and I will reply to you all! Thanks also to Paganbaby for helping me with this chapter, including her help with the illustrations/pictures. All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.

WARNING FOR ANGST.


**~**

Spike pulled his duster around his body tighter, but it was little good against the cold wind that seemed to cut straight through his bones. Snow clung to his boots and crunched under his feet as he made his way through the cemetery. It was late afternoon, the sun was still up, but the soupy, gray clouds covered the winter sky like a thick blanket, allowing him to come out early this day.



It was cold for Austin, but the last few winters had been that way. The scientists said it was a part of the whole ‘global warming’ effect. Spike wondered how scientists kept their jobs.

“Global fucking freezing, more like,” he grumbled to himself, kicking the hard, snowy ground, as the wind whipped his coat and freezing air swirled around his body.

Spike stopped at the first familiar headstone he came to and brushed away a windrow of dead leaves and snow that had been pinned against it by the blustering breeze.

Rupert Edmund Giles
“Ripper”
1954 – 2010
Rest in Peace

The marker was well-worn, showing the signs of too many years in the wind, sun, rain, hail, and snow. Spike’s fingers trailed over the cold, carved stone as he remembered …

~~*~~

It had only been a few days after he and Buffy had claimed each other that Giles had shown up on the Pratt’s doorstep, hat in hand, so to speak. Buffy had told Spike about the torture Giles had suffered at the hand of Angelus, and the condition he’d been in when she’d found him. Despite the Watcher apparently blaming Spike for taking Buffy away from Sunnydale and all that came after, Spike couldn’t help but to feel some sympathy and respect for the man to have survived at all.

Buffy and Spike had been watching TV and playing with the babies in the living room when the doorbell rang. Buffy had still been laughing as she opened the door, a giggling Will on her hip. Her laughter died in an instant at the sight of the man on their doorstep.

“Giles,” she practically snarled the word, setting Will down onto his wobbly legs and guiding him gently back toward Spike and Jade.

“Buffy,” the Watcher replied stoically, leaning heavily on a cane, his face still a mask of yellowish-black, half-healed bruises.

Buffy folded her arms over her chest, blocking the doorway with her body. “If you’re looking for Willow and Xander, they went shopping.”



“No, no …” Giles assured her, his eyes looking anywhere except into hers. “I actually, errr … would like to speak with you … you and … Spike,” he stammered.

Buffy’s brows shot up, but she didn’t move from the doorway, standing her ground. “So? Speak.”

Giles shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, a grimace of pain crossing his features as he moved. Buffy simply waited, stone-faced.

“Yes, well, as you know, when one Slayer dies, another is called,” Giles began after a few moments. “And, as you discovered, Faith has … passed. The coven in England was kind enough to locate the newly Called Slayer on my behalf.”

“Well, let’s have a parade! I hope you do a better job with her than you did me,” Buffy interjected angrily as she stepped back and began to close the door.

“Buffy! Please! I …” Giles protested, reaching out and placing his hand on the door jamb – an either very brave or very foolish move, or perhaps desperate.

Buffy stopped herself from slamming the door on his tortured and gnarled joints at the very last moment. Jerking the door fully open again, she glared at him. “What?!? What do you want? Haven’t you done enough?”

Leaving the babies watching the TV, Spike joined Buffy in the doorway, standing behind her. He could feel the resentment and bitterness in her heart for the man in the doorway, but beneath it he could also feel heartache. He wondered if she even knew it was there, she was so mired down in her anger. Spike could feel a yearning for the man that she had long considered a surrogate father to tell her that he was proud of her and her family, to tell her he loved her, to tell her that she had done well.



“I … Buffy, the new Slayer is in Oregon. I am simply unable to …” Giles shifted again, the cane wobbling beneath a shaking hand as he bit back a gasp of pain.

To Buffy’s surprise, Spike stepped past her and out onto the porch, taking hold of Giles’ arm and guiding him slowly to one of the rocking chairs that lined the wide, covered deck. Giles dropped down into the chair with a thankful sigh of relief. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the sheen of sweat that had formed on his brow from the strain of remaining upright for so long.

Spike leaned back on the railing, folding his arms over his chest, and waited for the Watcher to gather himself. After few moments, Giles gave Spike an appreciative nod and a strained smile.

“Thank you, that’s … quite a relief. I’m afraid my hips … well, they simply will never be quite what they were.”

“Angel’s a bloody master at dislocating joints… worse than breakin’, truth be told,” Spike agreed, unconsciously flexing his fingers as he remembered.

Giles nodded, rubbing at one hip. “Indeed.”



“So, what about this shiny, new Chosen One?” Spike prompted as Buffy stepped out of the doorway, confusion about her husband’s actions blanketing her features.

“She needs a Watcher,” Giles began to explain. “I simply am unable to … fulfill that role any longer.”

Buffy snorted derisively and stepped closer, leaving the door open so she could keep an ear on the babies inside. “So you think I should be her Watcher? That’s rich!”

Giles glanced at her, then settled his swollen, bloodshot eyes back on Spike. “No, as talented as you are as a Slayer, I don’t believe you are qualified for that role. I was thinking that … William may be better suited for that position, more capable. He seems to have done satisfactorily with you, as you so eloquently pointed out.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped open as she looked from Giles to Spike and back again. Spike’s brows shot up in surprise as Giles’ gaze settled on him.

“I believe I may have … misjudged you, Spike, misunderstood your motives,” Giles admitted. “I … I believe you could offer a unique perspective to a young Slayer, giving her the best chance at success and survival. I would like to employ your services as a Watcher. I have the resources of the Council at my disposal, as I am the senior-most of only a handful of Watchers to have survived the … terrorist attack.”

Spike studied the Watcher, looking for signs of deception or trickery, but found nothing. After a few moments he said, “This is our ‘ome … not going prancing off t’ bloody Oregon.”

Giles shook his head. “I understand. I have contacted the young woman and though confused, she is amenable to moving. She’s of age … her name is Amanda.”

“Got no Hellmouth ‘ere,” Spike continued to point out.

Giles nodded. “I understand. I was hoping you could begin her training, prepare her as fully as possible for what she will face, while I contact some of the other Watchers to determine a final, suitable placement for her, perhaps in Cleveland. You do, after all, have a full-time Slayer to look after,” Giles pointed out, chancing another glance at Buffy.

Looking back at Spike, the Watcher continued, “As I said, I believe you can offer a unique perspective for a new Slayer. It would be exceptionally advantageous to give her the opportunity to train with an actual vampire without the inherent risks involved in ‘on the job’ training, so to speak.”

“What the hell, Giles?” Buffy piped up, stepping closer still. “A few days ago you didn’t want to tell me how to save him, now you’re offering him a freaking job?”



Giles turned his bruised face to look at her. “I … it appears I was mistaken.”

Buffy snorted out a laugh, flinging her arms out to the sides. “And what brought on this bolt from the blue?”

Giles looked from her to Spike, then turned to look in through the front windows at the children sitting on the floor in front of the TV, laughing and singing as best they could along with Big Bird.

He turned back to look at her, a resigned, forlorn look in his eyes.

“Willow has told me some of what happened to you and about the life you have built with Spike.

“I’m afraid I was not a very good Watcher, Buffy. I … can only say that I did the best I could with what I had … with what I believed to be true. I’ve always wanted only the best for you. I … may have been mistaken about what the best was. It appears that Spike possessed a better insight into your psyche than I.

“I cannot blame you for your resentment and distrust, but I assure you this is no trick or deception. I need your help, and Spike’s. I’m asking for your forgiveness and offering my apologies, as inadequate as they may be.

“I’m proud of you, Buffy. Your mother would’ve been proud of you. You’ve overcome more than any girl, any woman, should have to. And I realize that what you said about Spike is true, that he always believed in you, even when … even when I didn’t.”

Spike watched tears well in Buffy’s eyes, felt her heart twist and turn in her chest, at once not willing to let go of her resentment and anger, but at the same time rejoicing in the words, ‘I’m proud of you.’

Spike began to step toward her, to offer her some comfort as her mind and heart wrestled with Giles’ words, but in the next moment, she wrapped her arms around her torso and turned on her heel, putting her back to the two men.

“Thank you,” she whispered, before striding back into the house and closing the door behind her.

Giles gave Spike a questioning look, but Spike just shrugged. “Give ‘er some time,” he advised. “You lot cut ‘er deep … not just gonna heal overnight, it’s not.”

Giles nodded solemnly and began fishing a paper out of his pocket. He extended the folded note to Spike. “Will you help me?”

Spike opened the paper and read the name and address of the newly Chosen One. Spike looked up at Giles, curling his tongue over his teeth as he considered the question. “Just what did ya say this gig paid … and does it come with proper health insurance? Dental? Got a family t’ think of, ya know?”



~~*~~

Spike traced the year of death, 2010, with the tip of his finger. Giles had never really recovered from what he’d withstood at the hands of Angel. The Watcher had lived his last years in constant pain, which only got worse as time went on. He’d dedicated himself to building a new Council, a more benevolent, understanding Council, which viewed Slayers as people, girls, rather than tools.

Over those years he and Buffy had reconciled as much as was possible, at least. For that, Spike was grateful. Though she wouldn’t admit it, Buffy needed that closure, that father-figure in her life. She’d been at Giles’ side when he passed and the last words they shared were words of love and mutual respect.

Spike sighed as he patted his hand down comfortingly on the tombstone, as if patting Giles on the back, before moving on.

The next too-familiar grave stone he came to read, ‘Harris’ across the top in large letters, then below it to the right was ‘Anya Christina Emmanuella’ and to the left was ‘Alexander ‘Xander’ LaVelle’.

Spike again stopped to clear the pile of leaves away from the base of the headstone. Not nearly as old as Giles’ headstone, the fifty-plus years since the Harris’ had passed wasn’t really evident on their marker. The marble was still smooth and polished, the names still clear and sharp on the stone.

“Told ya I’d outlive ya, ya bloody nit,” Spike scoffed as he remembered, kneeling down and brushing the snowy leaves away with his bare hand…

~~*~~

“Why the bloody hell are you lot still ‘ere?” Spike demanded as he came into the kitchen one morning, a few weeks after Buffy had healed him with the scythe and her blood.

“Not running a bloody charity, ‘ere,” he pointed out to their houseguests as he pulled a box of Weetabix down from the cupboard.



“Bloody hell! Harris! You gormless tit! Ya ate all m’ soddin’ Weetabix again!” Spike accused, turning to look at Willow, Xander, and Anya who were sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast.

Xander held up his hands. “Whoa there, big guy! Not me! Talk to my stalker here,” he advised, jabbing his thumb at Anya. “She’s the one with the taste for dull, bland, and tasteless.”

Spike quirked a brow at Xander. “Which, I reckon, explains ‘er attraction t’ you,” the vamp observed dryly.

“When the bloody hell are you lot leavin’?” Spike asked again as he tossed the empty box into the rubbish bin. “Not sure what you’re doin’ here in the first place.”

“Well, I can’t speak for Xander or Willow,” Anya began as she swallowed the last bite of Weetabix. “But I’d be more than happy to leave if you’d just make one little wish. C’mon, Spike. Don’t you wish Xander’s head would shrink to the size of a peanut, and his testicles would grow to the size of bowling balls and drag on the ground as he walked?”

Spike rolled his eyes to the ceiling and let out a loud, disgusted sigh. “That and helluva lot more, but someone…” Spike tilted his chin toward the living room where Buffy was “…has threatened life and limb if I utter the word.”



“What word?” Anya prompted hopefully. “The ‘wish’ word? Wish, wish, wish!” she taunted. “See, nothing bad will happen. What do you wish, Spike? You can tell me … just between us! What do you wish?”

Xander banged his hand down on the table angrily, making all the dishes and silverware jump and clatter. “I’ve had about all I can stand of this! You’ve asked everyone else what they wish, but you’ve never once asked me what I wish! You know what I wish, Anyanka?” he demanded, glaring across the table at her.

“Xander! Ixnay on the ishway!” Willow piped up, her eyes wide with worry, but Xander just talked over her.

“I wish that I hadn’t left you at the altar! I wish that I had married you! I wish that I had made you the happiest woman in the world! I wish I had known how hard it would be to live without you. I wish I’d realized sooner just how much I love you. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could start again. I wish that I could erase all the hurt I caused you. I wish I could make it up to you. I wish I could spend the rest of my life with you! That’s what I wish! Are you happy now?!?”

The entire kitchen fell utterly silent. No one moved, no one seemed to even breathe as Anya and Xander stared each other down.

Anya finally broke the silence with a timid, hopeful, “Really?”

Xander grit his teeth and blinked back hot tears that suddenly stung his eyes. “Really,” he affirmed, his voice thick with the emotion he was trying to hide.



“Thank bloody God,” Spike rejoiced. “Does this mean you’ll be prancing off into the sunset, then?”

~~*~~

Spike snorted at the memory. “Reckon ya got your wish, Harris,” he observed, brushing the small snowflakes from the year of death beneath Xander’s name: 2057. Xander and Anya had died within a few months of each other, both passing peacefully in their sleep.

They hadn’t exactly pranced off into the sunset. They’d reconciled, Anya had turned in her Vengeance Demon union card, and they’d moved into the same neighborhood as Buffy and Spike in Austin.  

Spike pushed up from his squat and turned to the grave behind him. “Hey, Red. You keeping an eye on these two tossers?” he asked, bending down to pick up a stone from beneath the dusting of snow. He carefully nestled the smooth rock amongst the others atop Willow’s headstone.

“Give Glinda my regards,” he continued with a sad smile before turning and heading deeper into the graveyard.

Spike’s boots crunched over the icy ground, breaking the brittle, brown blades of grass beneath his feet as he walked. The wind had died down, at least, though Spike kept his duster wrapped around him tightly, trying to ward off the damp, cold air. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so cold, to be honest. Never, either as a human or as a vampire, had he felt this bone-chilling cold; never in the last 250 years.

He came to a waist-high, wrought-iron fence and stopped to unlatch the gate. It was frozen closed and he had to work with it for several moments before it finally gave to his strength and swung open with a protesting ‘creak’.



The name ‘PRATT’ adorned the decorative, wrought-iron gate, and Spike brushed his fingers across the name as he entered. The iron had weathered well, considering its age, and though a light patina of rust had faded the original black to sepia, it was still as solid and steadfast as it had been when he and Buffy had first passed through it over a hundred years ago.

Tears filled Spike’s eyes at the memory and his throat tightened painfully. It was the day they’d laid Joan and India to rest …

~~*~~

Despite the ‘irregularity’ of their request, the funeral home had delivered the coffin to the Pratt home about ten days after the explosion at the warehouse. It had reminded Spike of how things used to be done long ago when funerals were held in the home of the dearly departed. Since they didn’t have any actual bodies to put in the coffin, but only dust and microchips, it seemed simpler for Buffy and Spike to handle it than try to explain it to a funeral home.

The coffin was simple but nice. An eco-friendly bamboo lined with a soft quilt made from organically-grown cotton. It was something Buffy thought that both India and Joan would’ve liked given India’s love of the outdoors and concern for the environment, and Joan’s no-nonsense practicality. The funeral home had set it up on a viewing stand in the Pratt living room with the understanding that they would pick it up in two days for the funeral which would be held at the graveside.

Thanks to Willow and her willingness to dabble in magic, Buffy hadn’t needed to shift through the debris in the warehouse to find all of Joan. Using the bits Buffy had already retrieved, Willow created a magnet spell which drew all the related pieces to them from the rubble. It had taken less than an hour for a large cardboard box to be filled with every single, solitary piece of Joan: every strand of hair, every microchip, every tiny bit of singed dermis.

Spike remembered Buffy coming home with the box and setting it down next to the coffin. She’d been stoic and brave during the whole gathering process and even during the ride home from Dripping Springs, but as she began gently taking pieces out of the box and placing them into the coffin, tears had welled in her eyes and she’d begun to cry, then sob uncontrollably.

“Could find the little poofter Andrew and have ‘im rebuild ‘er,” Spike had offered as he pulled his wife into his arms, hugging her to him tightly.

Buffy buried her face against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist as her tears flowed out like a river of sorrow. She didn’t answer him for the longest time, simply crying against him as he tried to soothe her heartache.

Finally Buffy pulled back and swiped at her tears, sniffling and swallowing back her emotions. She turned and looked at the pile of junk that used to be her friend and then at the urn that held what remained of India: dust.



“What would she do without India?” Buffy asked, touching a hand down on the edge of the cardboard box where most of Joan still lay. “She loved her so much … she’d be … so broken.”

Spike stepped up behind his mate and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her back against his front. “She’d get over it, pet. Maybe the poof could erase that bit…”

“Erase India?!!” Buffy exclaimed, turning in his arms. “Joan wouldn’t want for her to be erased! You can’t just erase people you love!”

Spike held out his hands in surrender. “Sorry, pet. Just sayin’ …” Spike stopped talking when Buffy’s eyes flared with anger. He didn’t need the claim to know he was treading too near a minefield. “Reckon Joan’d carry on, heal with time, yeah? Just like we all do, pet.

“Still got us, and the bits. Ya know how much she loved bein’ an Auntie, yeah?” Spike tried.

Buffy wrapped her arms around her torso and turned back to look at the box of bits and bobs, her throat tightening painfully as her heart twisted in her chest. Buffy began to sob again and Spike pulled her back into his embrace, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“Sorry, luv. I miss ‘er too. The bits miss ‘er. Won’t be the bloody same ‘round ‘ere without her. I dunno what the right answer is … gonna leave it to you.”

"Do you think …” Buffy whispered against his chest. “Do you think she’s in heaven?”

Spike bit his lip and closed his eyes, pulling Buffy even tighter against him. Of course the sane answer, the logical answer was: ‘Of course not! She’s just a bloody machine.’ But he knew that wasn’t what his girl wanted to hear … not now, because Joan had become so much more than ‘just a machine’. She’d evolved … learned, grown, changed, become her own person.

“Do you think … maybe she took some of my soul and … went to heaven?” Buffy asked again, her voice muffled against Spike’s chest. “I feel so empty inside, like part of me went with her. Maybe she’s with India right now.”

Spike dropped a gentle kiss on the side of Buffy’s head, letting his lips linger against her soft hair. “Yeah, pet, could be. She had a Champion’s heart, no doubt.”

Buffy pulled back and looked up at her husband with red-rimmed, glimmering eyes. “It would be wrong to pull her out of heaven … her fight is over. It just … feels wrong … deep inside. I can’t … it hurts so much, I miss her soooo much, but I can’t.”



Spike nodded and kissed the tears from her cheeks. “She died a good death, pet. A Warrior’s death … a Champion.”

Buffy bit her lip and nodded, swallowing back her tears once again. She took a deep breath and again pulled from Spike’s embrace to resume her task.

“A Champion,” she murmured to herself as she reverently began picking up each item from the cardboard box and placing them into the softly-lined coffin, one by one.

Joan and India had been the first to be buried in the Pratt family plot within the park-like Texas State Cemetery in Austin. Since India had no living family, it seemed only right to have her there with Joan. India’s urn was interred with Joan’s casket, within which was not only Joan, but all the back-ups of her data that Buffy could find. Buffy also included the photos that Joan had lined up so meticulously on her dresser: Buffy and Spike, Jade and Will, Joan and India. Everyone that she loved and everyone that loved her were with her.

~~*~~

Spike blinked back his tears as he stepped inside the wrought-iron enclosure, leaving the gate open behind himself. He stopped at Joan and India’s headstone and pulled two white roses from the bouquet of flowers in his hand. Spike squatted back on his haunches and laid the flowers in the snow under their names, his expression grim. He slowly, reverently, traced the names carved in the cold stone with a fingertip.

“Hope the Slayer was right, I do. ‘Ope you found each other in heaven,” he murmured to the granite. After a moment he sighed heavily and stood back up slowly, resting his hand on the smooth marker for a long minute before turning to the next grave in line.

Lt. Joyce Anne Dawn Elizabeth Pratt
“Jade”
2002 – 2034
Hero

“‘Ello, nibblet,” Spike croaked out, his throat tight, as he pulled a bright yellow and red tulip, a Fire Wings tulip, from the bouquet of flowers in his hand. He knelt down and laid the cheerful flower atop the thin blanket of white beneath the headstone and smiled sadly.



“Reckon you’re still kickin’ ass and takin’ names. Don’t you get yerself kicked outta heaven, pet. I reckon the devil wouldn’t take ya, afraid you’d take over down there,” Spike teased, blinking back a fresh wave of tears. “Or put the bloody fire out. Couldn’t ‘ave that, now, could he?”

Spike brushed the snow off the brass Austin Fire Department insignia on the headstone as he remembered…

~~*~~

Spike felt like he’d just been punched in the gut, though clearly he hadn’t. He was standing in the kitchen heating up a mug of blood – the feeling had come from Buffy, in the other room.

Bent over with a pain that radiated from his chest down into his stomach, making it churn and twist, he stepped from the kitchen into the living room.

“Slayer? What the bloody hell?” he groaned out, moving toward her slowly.

Buffy was standing like a statue, motionless; the phone at her ear, her eyes open, but unseeing, completely expressionless.



“Buffy? Who’s on the bloody phone? What the bloody fuck?” he asked again, but still she didn’t seem to know he was even there. He could hear someone talking on the phone, calling “Mrs. Pratt? Mrs. Pratt, are you there?”

Spike pulled the phone from her grip with some difficulty and raised it to his ear. “Who the bloody hell is this?” he questioned confused, hurting and angry.

“Mr. Pratt?”

“Who wants t’ know?”

“Mr. Pratt, this is Chief Trewalla, Battalion Five commander. There’s been an … accident and I need you to…”

“What kinda bloody accident?” Spike interrupted angrily.

“It’s Lieutenant Pratt … Jade. If you could come down…”

“How bad?” Spike interrupted again, his eyes now locked on Buffy’s. She had yet to move, to blink, he wasn’t entirely sure she was breathing.

The Chief cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I think it may be best if you could come down…”

“TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK’S HAPPENED!” Spike demanded, his eyes flashing amber.

The Chief went silent for a moment and Spike could now hear horns and sirens and people yelling in the background. “I’m sorry to report that Lieut… Jade … has been … killed in the line of duty.

“You may have heard about the fire at the apartment building on Delaney Street. Several of her crew, along with eight civilians were trapped on the tenth floor. It was … she … I don’t know how she did it, but she punched through from below, got them out, but … there was a back-draft. A window broke just as she had gotten the others into the stairwell. The entire floor collapsed in the explosion; she was … crushed in the fall.”

“No … no … that’s not … she’s … strong! She’s a bloody Slay… strong! Have you found ‘er? Is she still in the building? She could still be alive!” Spike insisted as he reached for the TV remote and clicked on the news.

The same sounds of sirens, horns, and people yelling came at him from the television as was in the background behind the Chief. He searched the TV, for what, he wasn’t sure; a glimpse of his daughter’s chestnut curls, perhaps, the curve of her smile, the flash of her green eyes. The news reporter was saying that they had just gotten the fire under control and that one firefighter was confirmed dead along with seven civilians. Dozens of others had been injured and taken to local hospitals. The name of the fallen firefighter was being withheld pending notification of next-of-kin.

“I’m afraid that isn’t the case. I’m very sorry for your loss. She died a hero. She saved her entire squad and the civilians, including three children.”

“No … that’s not … she’s … strong. She … can’t be ...” Spike stammered, his eyes locking onto Buffy’s. She still hadn’t moved or blinked or said a word.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” the Chief repeated solemnly. “She’s been taken to University Medical Brackenridge. If you could come down…”

Spike dropped the phone as the twisting in his gut and chest redoubled. He grabbed Buffy, pulling her against him in a bone-crushing hug as his heart shattered into a million pieces.

“Our bitty-Buffy … our girl … no … no … no. She’s a Slayer … she’s strong … she … she can’t be gone. They must be wrong!” Spike insisted. He suddenly pulled back, holding his wife at arm’s length and looking into her eyes. “They’re wrong! She’s a Slayer! She’s just … hurt, that’s all!! She’ll heal. They just don’t know … she’s a Slayer and they think …”



Buffy shook her head slowly, finally focusing on Spike through the excruciating pain that seemed to burn and stab and twist every nerve in her body.

“You don’t bloody know!” Spike screamed angrily through his tears.

Buffy swallowed hard and licked her dry lips tentatively. “She’s … gone. I … felt it … here,” she ground out, her voice barely a whisper. She made a fist and pressed it to her chest hard, still shaking her head, seemingly unable to stop now that she’d started.

“’Cos o’ what that blighter said on the phone!” Spike insisted, his voice desperate. He kicked the phone with his boot and sent it skittering across the floor. It crashed against the fireplace and shattered into a dozen pieces of plastic, now held together only by colorful wires.

Buffy kept shaking her head negatively, still looking at Spike, not even noticing the phone’s early demise. “He didn’t … say … Only his name.”

Spike stared at her in silence, trying to comprehend what she was saying. After a few moments, the phone in the other room began to ring, but neither of them made any move to answer it. When the machine beeped, Will’s voice came over the speaker, “Mom! Dad! Have you heard from Jade? Has something happened? I … something … I don’t know what … I … feel …” Will cleared his throat, clearly trying to compose himself. “Call me back, please,” he concluded stiffly before hanging up.

Suddenly tears sprang to Buffy’s eyes and her chin began to quiver uncontrollably. Her legs gave out and she would’ve fallen to the floor if not for Spike’s grip on her arms. She began to hyperventilate, unable to catch her breath as tears flooded from her eyes and down her cheeks as she tumbled from her state of shock into the horror of realization.



“Our girl … Spike … oh, God … oh, God … no. Our girl … Jade’s gone! Oh, God … oh … God … Spike … no … no, no, no …”

~~*~~

“Couldn’t stand t’ just fight the bloody evil o’ the world, could ya, nibblet? Not happy just stopping bloody apocalypses, were ya?” Spike asked the headstone, his voice sad, but also proud. “Had t’ be a soddin’ hero fightin’ fires and whatall. All alike, you Slayers. More stubborn than your mum, you are.”



Spike punched the headstone lightly with his fist. “That’s not a bloody compliment,” he informed the cold granite before bowing his head and wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Miss ya, nibblet. Yer a good girl … strongest bloody Slayer I ever met,” Spike lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Don’t tell yer mum I said that.”

Spike laid his hand over the word ‘Hero’ on Jade’s tombstone. The cold granite burned his bare palm, freezing him to the bone, but he barely noticed as he said goodbye one last time to his Bitty Buffy.

After some time, he rose, a sigh falling from his lips as he pulled away from all that was left of his daughter. Spike took a deep breath and stepped back, then around the block of granite to the next grave in the line.

William Wesley Pratt, Jr.
“Will”
Loving husband, father, friend
2002 - 2088

Spike pulled two bright, cheerful sunflowers from the flowers remaining in his hand and laid one at the base of Will’s headstone and the other at the grave next to his, Will’s wife’s:

Meaghen H. Pratt
“Meag”
Devoted wife, mother, friend
2002 - 2087

“Sorry, pet,” Spike apologized to Meag’s stone. They didn’t ‘ave any Gerbera daisies. The sunflower’s right big and bright though, yeah?

“You keeping our boy straight?” he continued, looking over at Will’s stone. Spike absently brushed the snow from atop each grave marker as his mind wandered back in time…

~~*~~

“But, Dad! You don’t get it!” Seventeen-year-old Will had lamented, pointing to the most expensive corsage in the florist’s catalogue. “Meag likes big, bright flowers – this is the best one.”

Spike sighed. “What’s wrong with this one that’s half the price?” he asked pointing to a different one.



“Nooo!” Will whined like a five-year-old. “It’s prom! It’s Meag!”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard for the last soddin’ month,” Spike grumbled.

“Dad, please. Meag’s ... special. She’s … I’m gonna marry her one day,” the boy pledged wistfully.

Spike rolled his eyes and sighed again. “I bloody well hope I don’t ‘ave to pay for those flowers too,” he groaned.

Will grinned, his blue eyes dancing. “Does that mean you’ll pay for these?” he pressed, still pointing to the corsage he wanted to order for Meag, the girl he’d loved since he first saw her when she’d transferred to his high school three months ago.

Spike’s eyes rolled one last time, but he nodded.

Will ‘whooped’ and pumped his fist, his chestnut curls bouncing around his face as he picked the book up and went to place the order with the clerk.

“Gormless twit,” Spike muttered under his breath as he watched his son. “That girl’s gonna break your bleedin’ heart.”

~~*~~

Spike snorted a short laugh as he looked down at Meag’s grave. “Reckon a bloke’s allowed t’ be wrong once in ‘is life,” he excused.



He looked over at his son’s grave. “As yer mum used t’ say, ‘Ya done good.’” Spike looked back at Meag’s marker and added, “The both of you.”

Images of graduations, from both high school and college, flashed in Spike’s mind. Will and Meag had been inseparable since the prom; if you saw one, you knew the other wasn’t far away. Their wedding looked like a Skittles factory had exploded; large, Gerbera daisies in every color imaginable, and even some unimaginable, were everywhere. Spike was quite happy he didn’t have to pay for them, though he would’ve.



Meag had become a part of their family. Her bright, lighthearted nature was the perfect complement to Will’s more subdued, contemplative personality. Like a poet and his muse; each needed the other to reach their full potential.

Spike brushed the accumulated snow off their headstones. Though it appeared Will had lived another year longer than Meag, in fact, he’d only made it a little over a month. Spike was quite certain that his son had died from the emptiness in his heart, the same emptiness Spike felt now.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Spike turned to the most recent grave in their family plot. The large granite slab didn’t even have the date of death engraved on it yet, and the snow covered bare earth; no grass had yet grown. A few stray flowers – roses and chrysanthemums and gladiolas – littered the snowy ground like colorful confetti. The arrangements they'd fallen from, like the mourners who had gathered only few hours ago, were now all gone, leaving the grave looking lonely and barren under the dusting of snow.

“‘Ello, cutie.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Time In A Bottle - Jim Croce on YouTube  }}

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day
‘til eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I'd save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with

If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with
Chapter End Notes:
I estimate about 3 more chapters for the story, but it could be as many as 5. I'm doing my best to update quickly, but I can't force my muse into writing, so I can just do my best and update as frequently as possible. Thanks for your understanding!!
What Makes a Man, Part 1 by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Sorry for the LONG delay! I hope it's worth the wait. Still 1 or 2 chapters left to go in this story. Thanks for sticking with me through this rough writing spell I've had. Thanks also to PaganBaby for her support and betaing help, and also for the Happy Spuffy Manip in this story. Check out her other manips at: http://paganbabymcsmutty.tumblr.com/
A few days before …

Buffy’s hands trembled as she tried to open the pill bottle, rattling the medicine inside. Normally, that would’ve been enough for Spike to hear and be there in the next instant, but Spike wasn’t home. In fact, no one was home but her. Anne, their twenty-five-year-old great, great, great granddaughter was at work. Her young daughter, Summer, was with Spike, who Buffy had sent to the store for ice cream. She’d made sure to choose a flavor and brand she knew was hard to find, one he’d have to go out of the neighborhood for.



“Damn it!” she cursed as she clenched her fist tight, trying to get the tremors and shaking to stop long enough to get the bottle open.

Buffy closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, calming her racing heart, then tried again. She finally managed to press and twist at the same time, and the lid slid off. Pills scattered on the floor and bed as she tried to pour one out into her hand. She cursed again as frustrated tears blurred her vision, the small, white pills bouncing and rolling across the floor in all directions.

The Slayer finally managed to get one in her palm and popped it into her mouth, swallowing it with practiced ease. Living a hundred and twenty-seven years had its advantages, she thought, like plenty of time to learn to take pills without water.

Buffy dropped the nearly-empty bottle on the bed next to her and leaned back against the headboard as she waited for it to begin working, to start calming her twitching and trembling muscles. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, trying to simply calm down; being upset only made the spasms worse. The doctors really didn’t have any diagnosis for her, other than ‘old age’. She’d stopped telling doctors her real age over forty years ago; they either didn’t believe her or wanted to quiz her about her diet and lifestyle to find the secret of her long life.

Buffy sighed when she finally felt her body calming down and opened her eyes, blinking away the mist of frustrated tears. She carefully slid her legs off the bed and pushed herself up on the bedside table, forgoing her walker. She hated that fucking thing. She carefully pulled her robe on over her pajamas, warding off the chilly, winter air, and slid her feet into her house shoes. She sighed, shaking her head in dismay at her outfit. God, she dressed like an old woman!

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You are an old woman," she stated unnecessary as she leaned heavily against the wall and began to make her way slowly toward the door of their bedroom. The Slayer stopped when she caught her reflection in the mirror atop the dresser and stared at the stranger looking back at her.

Her long, blond hair was completely white now. She’d kept it long for Spike, but it had grown thin and lank over the years. Her face was gaunt and wrinkled, full of what Spike affectionately called ‘laugh lines’. Her once clear, rosy skin was dull and grey, and dotted with dark age-spots, which Spike called ‘freckles’. The only thing that she even remotely recognized were her eyes, but even they were now growing cloudy and dull, the life seemingly draining out of them even as she watched.

Spike had to know … he had to feel it the same as she did: her life was drawing to a close. She could feel the darkness closing around her, getting nearer and nearer. She felt like an actress on a stage with a single spotlight shining down on her, the rest of the stage, the rest of the world, for that matter, was bathed in darkness. It wouldn’t be long until the switch would be thrown and that last vestige of life would be snuffed out, she could feel it coming closer day by day. Spike must feel it too, but he never showed it to her or let her feel any bit of despair coming from him. Only love and caring and the same adoration that he’d always felt.

Despite turning into a liability, into someone to be cared for instead of an equal partner, Spike never complained, never strayed from her side, never made her feel like anything less than a goddess in his eyes.

“Some goddess,” Buffy groaned, picking up a brush from the dresser and running it through her thin hair.

Pictures of their life surrounded her reflection in the mirror, with each passing decade she’d grown older, while Spike remained exactly the same in all the photos. Just like his appearance, his love and devotion had never changed either, never once faltered. She’d never grown bitter or jealous of his youthful appearance. He’d paid a heavy price for it: his soul. It was a price she’d made very clear to him that she was not willing to pay, and, in turn, he assured her it was a price he was not willing to exact from her.


Buffy’s eyes wandered over the faded snapshots stuck into the frame of the mirror and her throat constricted with emotion. She reached out and touched each one in turn:

*Joan and India at the lake, each with an easel and their paints;

*Jade smiling proudly as she was awarded her Lieutenant’s insignia;

*Will and Meag on their wedding day, kissing passionately, surrounded by a colorful explosion of gerbera daisies;

*Meag smiling widely, holding their first child, a boy: William Wesley Pratt, III;

*Xander and Anya locked in a fierce embrace, standing in front of their first house;

*Willow tutoring a bored-looking Jade in math at the kitchen table;

*Spike and Buffy with their second grandchild, a girl: Joyce Anne Dawn Elizabeth, ‘Joy’ for short, because there could never be another ‘Jade’;

*Anne and her husband, Stephen, a proud father and decorated Navy SEAL, holding an hours-old Summer;

*Spike and Buffy on their tenth wedding anniversary ... and their twenty-fifth, fiftieth, seventy-fifth, and hundredth.



Mixed in with her friends and family were faded photos of the people that Jade had saved from the burning building, civilians and firefighters alike. They’d all come to her funeral and many had continued to send letters for many years, including pictures of children and grandchildren. The letters had slowly dwindled as the years passed, and had finally stopped coming. Buffy wasn’t sure to be happy or sad about that. As much as the reminder hurt, it also helped to know that Jade hadn’t died in vain, that she had made an immeasurable difference in the lives of many families that day.

Buffy sighed and dropped her shaky, gnarled hand down from the photographs around the mirror. She’d outlived the people that Jade had saved; she’d outlived her children; she’d even outlived both of her grandchildren. Of course, so had Spike.

Buffy was thankful for that, not because he had to live through the pain of losing friends and family, but for the support and understanding he provided. He kept the shroud of crimson despair from engulfing her with the passing of each person she loved. She wasn’t sure anyone else in the world could fully appreciate the emotional pain that living longer than nature intended exerted on a person’s heart. Spike could. Spike did. Spike always understood.

When she was younger, she thought she wasn’t aging at all, easily passing for a spry twenty-something well into her fifties, appearing to be Will and Jade’s sister rather than their mother, but slowly things began to change.

The first time she really felt it was when Jade was killed. It felt like part of her had been taken away; like a vital part of her had been excised from a hidden place deep inside. Buffy attributed the feeling to the obvious: losing a child, but there was more to it. With each Slayer Called, Buffy felt her power, strength, and healing abilities wane a bit more. It was as if the universe or the magic of scythe was trying to reunite all the Slayer power with each successive generation, pulling it from her and returning it to its ‘rightful’ owner.

It was a gradual but steady process which now, at 127 years old, had nearly run its course. The healing power that had kept Buffy’s body young, fighting the effects of aging for so many years, had waned considerably in the last twenty years or so. Each passing year now seemed to add five years to her body and had taken a heavy toll on her health. It wouldn’t be long, she knew, before there was no Slayer strength left to call on.



The stage would go dark.

That was why she’d sent Spike away for a while. She just wanted a little time alone here in the house that they’d made their home so many years ago. Time to reflect and remember. Time to recall all the memories and hold them in her heart so she could take them with her. She wanted them to be with her always: the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, the laughter and the tears. She didn’t know what waited in the dark, what happened after the curtain fell on her life, but she wanted to take as much of this life with her as she could.

Buffy sighed, sweeping her eyes over the photos one last time before turning and continuing her slow journey out of the bedroom. She leaned on the wall heavily, as well as any pieces of furniture nearby as she moved, pain radiating from her stiff joints with each tentative step. By the time she’d gotten out of their room and across the hall to the old nursery, she was out of breath and had to lower herself gingerly into the rocking chair just inside the door. The room was different now, it was little Summer’s room, her five-year-old great, great, great, great granddaughter’s, but she could still see reminders here of Will and Jade…

~~*~~

“But Daddy said I was taller!” seven-year-old Jade exclaimed as Buffy made a mark on the door jamb, recording Jade’s height next to her brother’s.

“Sorry, sweetie. Looks like Will’s taller by … ummm … a finger,” Buffy explained, putting her index finger between the two marks on the casing to demonstrate.

“That’s not fair!” Jade complained, stomping her foot down and folding her arms over her chest. “I’ve been hanging in the tree every single day just like Daddy said to do! I should be taller! He said I was taller!”

Buffy rolled her eyes and put the cap back on the purple Sharpie that she’d used to mark Jade’s growth. “I don’t think it actually works that way, honey. Anyway, it’s not a competition. You’re a girl; it’s not unusual for you to be a little shorter…”

“Daddy said I could be anything I wanted to be! I want to be tall and strong! I’m gonna be a firefighter, so I have to be big enough to carry people out of burning buildings and rescue cats from trees. Will’s gonna be a teacher or something lame like that! He doesn’t have to be tall and strong to read his stupid books! I should get his helping of tall and strong,” Jade reasoned.

Buffy laughed and ruffled her daughter’s chestnut curls. “Well, maybe you can trade your chocolate chip cookies to Will and he’ll give you some of his astonishing tallness,” Buffy joked. “You could get … gee, a whole finger taller!”



Jade curled her lips up in disgust. “Maybe I could give him my broccoli,” she suggested, her green eyes flashing with hopeful glee. “Yeah! And Brussels sprouts!”

Buffy laughed again and shook her head. “Maybe you should just keep hanging in the tree, sweetie … it’ll probably work just as well.”

~~*~~

Buffy smiled sadly at the memory. Jade had wanted to be a firefighter her whole life. She’d never wavered from it whenever anyone asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, despite her diminutive size. When she was Called, she saw it as her ticket to her dream …

~~*~~

Buffy touched Spike on the shoulder and he jerked awake, his muscles aching from the position he’d been sleeping in on the floor next to his teenage daughter’s bed.

“Shhh…” she cautioned him quietly, pointing to the sleeping girl in the bed above him.

Spike nodded and gently rolled out from under Jade’s hand, which had been hanging over the edge of the bed and resting on his arm. Silently the two retreated from her room and closed the door.

“How is she?” Buffy asked quietly as they made their way back to the master bedroom.



“The dreams are the worst bit, but they’re gettin’ better,” Spike replied, cracking his neck from side to side as he walked. “Not waking up screamin’ as much, she’s not. Seems t’ help if she’s touchin’ me …”


Buffy nodded as they entered their room and closed the door. “Mom and Dad thought I’d lost my mind when I did that … screaming from nightmares all night long. I tried to tell them what had happened, about vampires and Slayers and stuff, but … well, that was like the worst idea in the history of ever.

“It should get better in a week or two … lots better,” Buffy counseled him as they climbed into bed, each keeping their PJs on, just in case they were needed down the hall again before dawn. “Is she still happy about it?”

Spike rolled his eyes, sliding in under the covers. Buffy snuggled next to him, pillowing her head on his shoulder as he snaked an arm around her. “Says she’ll ‘ave no trouble with the CPAT now.”

“God, that’s all she thinks about … firefighting and taking that damn test. She’s got two years before she can even try it.” Buffy bit her bottom lip and looked up at her husband, her Watcher … now her newly-Called daughter’s Watcher. “What are we gonna do, Spike? How are we gonna …” her voice trailed off, unable to finish the thought aloud: How are we gonna keep her safe?

“No worries, luv,” Spike assured her. “She’s got us, yeah? Won’t be sendin’ ‘er off to no bloody Hellmouth and some two-bit Watcher that don’t know their arse from a hole in the ground. Not gonna let anything ‘appen to our girl, Buffy. I bloody well promise ya that.”

Buffy blinked back tears and nodded against Spike’s shoulder. “They won’t be happy,” she pointed out unnecessarily.



“Life’s a bloody bitch,” Spike retorted. “She ain’t leavin’ this town. They can’t force ‘er to.”

“What if she wants to? It’s … there’s more than the Council to fight. I mean, it is a Calling and it sort of … calls you, whether you want it to or not,” Buffy confessed. “I mean, you have no idea how many times I said I was quitting, how many times I pretended I wasn’t the Slayer, tried to ignore it … how damn hard I tried not to be the Slayer, but it … it’s inside you and it’s really hard to fight.”

“Reckon our girl has another calling, pet. That firefighter bollocks ‘as been rambling ‘round her brain for-bloody-ever. Dunno where it came from, but it’s inside ‘er … deep inside. Could say she’s got a destiny t’ follow.”


“I guess…” Buffy agreed half-heartedly, chewing her lip.

“What did you want t’ be before you were Called, pet? Have your heart set on anything grand?” Spike wondered, jostling her a bit in his arms.

“Sure. Of course I did! I wanted to be cute and popular and I wanted Tyler to beg me to go to the dance with him and …” Buffy sighed in defeat. “I was destiny-free,” she admitted.

“We’ll ‘andle it, luv,” Spike assured her. “We’ll keep ‘er safe. I promise.”

~~*~~

Buffy blinked tears from her eyes as her heart constricted. “I’m sorry we couldn’t keep you safe, baby,” she whispered to the empty room.

Buffy pushed herself up from the rocking chair, swaying on her feet slightly and holding it stiffly as she fought to get her balance. After a few deep, rasping breaths, she ventured out of Summer’s room and made her way down the hall to the stairs. She stopped at the top and bit her bottom lip. If she fell down the stairs, Spike would have a holy conniption fit. Of course, if he knew she was walking around on her own, he’d do the same, so… what did she have to lose, really?

Buffy turned sideways and held to the banister tightly with both hands as she slowly lowered one foot down to the first step, stopped and regained her balance, and then lowered the other foot. It took forever to get down the stairs, but she made it without falling, though the effort took a lot out of her.

She made it to the couch and collapsed down onto the cushions, her breathing ragged and scratchy in her overworked lungs. Her hands began trembling again, the effort seemingly overpowering the medicine she’d just taken a short while ago. Well, she was obviously not going back upstairs to get more … she’d just have to live with it.

Buffy closed her eyes a moment and tried to summon up what was left of her Slayer strength to slow her racing heart and ease her trembling limbs, but there was just so little left, it barely made a difference. She was brought back from her effort by a soft click in the corner of the room, and when she opened her eyes again, she was bathed in soft, colorful lights from the Christmas tree. The lights were on a timer; she hadn’t realized it was getting so late. Spike and Summer would be back soon; Anne was working the late shift, she wouldn’t be in until the early hours of the morning.

Buffy took a deep breath and pushed herself up to her feet, leaning heavily on the couch and the coffee table, then the armchair and finally the wall to make her way over to the tree in the corner of the room near the fireplace. She reached out and touched the very first ornament they’d ever had, the one Spike had gotten her for their very first Christmas in this house.

It was an elaborately decorated, three layer wedding cake with the year of their marriage, 2001, adorning the topmost layer. On the bottom of the delicate, porcelain cake Spike had used a red paint-pen and drawn a heart. Inside the heart he’d written their names: Spike, Buffy, Joan.



Buffy turned the ornament over in her shaking hand, looking at the now-worn and faded writing on the bottom with their names in it. She touched her trembling fingers to the letters, smiling sadly. Perhaps she should’ve rebuilt Joan … for Spike, if no other reason. Then he could have someone like himself, someone who wouldn’t have aged; someone for him to be with when Buffy was gone. She blinked back tears and released the ornament, letting it hang again in its normal place, front and center, on their tree. It was much too late for regrets or second-thoughts now.



Buffy’s eyes wandered over the plethora of ornaments on the tree. Every year they’d added more. Some were hand-made, some purchased, commemorating some special event that had happened that year. There were some with the twins’ hand-prints on them from their first Christmas, there were several that India had made for them: silhouettes of each of them painted on fragile glass ornaments. There was a fire helmet marking the year Jade had joined the fire department, and a medallion for when she’d made Lieutenant. There were miniature diplomas and graduation caps for graduations from high school and college for Will, Jade, and Meag; a round, porcelain ornament declaring Will ‘Officially Overeducated’ to commemorate his PhD in Literature and Philosophy, booties and baby rattles for each of the grandchildren, and great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren and great-great-great and their last great to the power of four grandchild: Summer.

Buffy let herself slide down the wall to sit beneath the glittering tree, so full of memories. She had to smile as she recalled each one being added, telling the story of their lives. The first few years their tree had looked kind of pathetic, but Spike had been right to do it this way. Each item held so much emotion, so much meaning. It didn’t look like one of those beautiful, color-coordinated trees you see in some homes and store windows. It looked messy and cobbled together and disorganized. It looked like home. It looked like family, and love, and friends. It looked like their life.

Buffy briefly wondered how having such a jumble of mixed-up, random moments in time all thrown together in one small space didn’t cause some sort of rip in the time-space continuum. The thought brought a soft laugh up through her melancholy, and she touched a finger to a TARDIS ornament, which had been added when Will had decided to write his doctorial thesis on ‘Doctor Who: Corporeal Configurations of the Heroic and the Monstrous.’



“You keeping it all from collapsing into one big time-warp thingy, Doctor?” Buffy asked, tapping on the miniature, blue police box.

Buffy looked up when the back door opened and she heard Spike and Summer come into the kitchen.

“Ice cream now, Poppi?” Summer pleaded, the pout on her face reflected in her words.

“Gotta check on yer Nana, then we’ll all have ice cream,” Spike answered.

It was times like these that Buffy really missed her strength and agility. She wanted desperately to jump up and surprise Spike when he came through the door from the kitchen to the living room, make him jump back and curse, and then grab her and punish her with a frantic kiss and …

Buffy sighed. “I’m right here,” she called out in a shaky voice. “Let’s have the ice cream in here, by the tree,” she suggested.

“What the bloody hell, Slayer!?” Spike demanded, stepping into the living room, which was dark save the soft, glowing lights of the tree.



“I’m fine,” Buffy defended, waving him off when he tried to reach down and pick her up off the floor. “I just want to sit here and eat ice cream ...” she explained, giving him a pleading look.

Spike pursed his lips, hiding a scowl borne of worry, but nodded his agreement as he stood back up.

“Nana!” Summer exclaimed as she launched herself at Buffy.

Buffy caught the girl in her arms, but the effort drove the wind from her lungs and knocked her onto her back on the floor.

“OI!” Spike chastised as he reached for the child to pull her off Buffy, but Buffy’s arms were already around the small girl, holding her tight as she buried her face in the child’s long, chestnut curls.

“Summer, baby,” Buffy wheezed out, holding her close. “I have a secret. Do you want to hear?”

Summer’s eyes went wide as she pushed back to look at her nana. “Uh-huh! What’s the secret?”

Buffy gave her a small smile and whispered, “I love you.”

“That’s not a secret!” Summer exclaimed, shaking her head from side to side.

“It’s not?” Buffy questioned with mock solemnity.

“Nooooooo,” the girl drawled.

“Oh … well … how about this? I happen to know that there’s an extra present for you that you didn’t open on Christmas.”

Summer’s blue eyes grew as wide as saucers, her mouth opening into a silent ‘O’ as she drew in an excited breath.

“I bet Poppi could go get it for me…” Buffy suggested, looking up at Spike.

“You sure, pet?” Spike asked quietly.



Buffy gave him a small smile and nodded, making Spike’s stomach churn and his heart twist. He swallowed, but gave her a reassuring nod before turning and heading upstairs.

Buffy had been saving a ‘special’ gift for when Summer was older. Spike blinked back tears as he took the stairs two at a time. The fact that she wanted to give it to the girl now only confirmed the dread that Spike had been feeling in his heart of late. Buffy didn’t think she’d be around for Summer to be ‘older’. He was losing her. This life they’d built was coming to a close, and he was powerless to stop it.

He knew this day would come, of course, but that didn’t mean he was prepared for it. He’d never be ready to face this world without Buffy. She could live a thousand years, a million, and it would still be too soon to lose her.

Spike retrieved the small, faded velvet jewelry case from Buffy’s larger jewelry cabinet with a heavy heart. He dried his tears on the sleeve of his t-shirt and took several deep, un-needed breaths to try and calm down. She didn’t need him acting like a weak, heartbroken ponce. She needed him to be strong, and he would. To the end of the world, for her, he’d be strong. When the world ended, when she was gone, then all bets were off.

Back downstairs, Spike found Buffy sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, Summer snuggled on her lap. Despite the obvious discomfort his Slayer was in with the child atop her, it was clear that was exactly where Buffy wanted the girl to be.

Spike squatted back on his heels, handing the small box to Buffy, before sliding down to sit next to her on the floor. Summer squirmed in Buffy’s lap, excitedly awaiting the reveal of the ‘forgotten’ Christmas gift. Spike couldn’t help but smile as he watched them, two generations of Summers girls – for Summer was undoubtedly a ‘Summers girl’ with her bright eyes, sharp wit, and perfected pout.

In the twinkling light of the Christmas tree, Buffy held the small, faded jewelry box in front of the excited child in her lap. “This…” Buffy began, not yet opening the box, “…belonged to your great, great, great aunt Jade … I think … I think that’s the right number of ‘greats’…?

“I’m not great with ‘greats’,” Buffy joked, looking at Spike questioningly and he nodded, giving Buffy a reassuring smile.

“Her brother gave it to her on her eighteenth birthday. He was your … great, great, great grandfather.”

“They live in the ground,” Summer supplied, nodding sagely. “We go visit them and bring them flowers, and sometimes we light candles for them so they can see, cos it gets dark there at night.

“She was a hero, just like my daddy,” the girl continued, knowingly.

Buffy nodded, swallowing back her emotions. Her hands trembled as she held the small box, and her arms suddenly felt very heavy. She lowered them, resting her elbows on Summer’s little legs, still holding the box out in front of the girl.

“That’s right, sweetie. Your daddy loved you so much. You know he didn’t want to leave you, but …”

“But the families in Africa needed someone to protect them from the bad men. It was his job … he had to go fight the bad men,” Summer filled in with the long-told story she’d heard many times. “He rescued the families, but there wasn’t room in the helicopter … Daddy stayed behind so the other people could get out, and the bad men caught him. He lives in the ground now too.”

Buffy nodded again, tears welling in her eyes. “Your daddy loved you very much, sweetie. You never knew Will and Jade, but they would’ve loved you too, just like your mommy and we do.”

Buffy opened the faded, velvet box to reveal a locket in the shape of a heart that was adorned with a pink firefighter’s helmet.



Summer drew in a gasp of breath as the present was revealed, reaching her little fingers out to touch it. “My favorite color!” she gushed, touching the heavy locket.

Buffy smiled and took in a deep, rasping breath before removing the locket from the small box. Setting the box down, Buffy fumbled with the clasp on the locket, but her weak, shaking fingers were no match for the small catch that held the locket closed.

Frustration welled in her eyes as she looked to Spike for help. She hated not being able to do anything for herself … even a little thing like this was beyond her ability.

Spike took the necklace from her hand and nimbly unhooked the fastener that kept it closed, allowing the locket to open and reveal photos of Jade and Will on their eighteenth birthdays.

Buffy gave Spike a grateful smile and took the necklace back from him to hold up for Summer. “These are our children – mine and Poppi’s – your great, great, great grand … relatives.”

“She looks like Mommy!” Summer declared, pointing to the picture of Jade.

“She does … tons,” Buffy agreed. “And you, too. Except you got Poppi’s eyes and Jade had mine.

“Our babies were conceived in magic … which, I know you don’t know what that means …” Buffy realized. “It means … they were made with magic, but all that’s important to know is: there was magic inside them, and that magic is inside you, too. I want you to keep this locket safe, and whenever you’re feeling sad or scared, you open it up and look at them and remember: You are made of magic. You can do anything. You can be anything you want to be, because there’s magic inside you.”

Summer’s eyes grew wide as she turned her face to Buffy. “There is?? Where is it? Can I see it?”

Buffy shook her head. “Nope. You can only feel it … right here,” Buffy explained, pressing her trembling hand containing the locket against the child’s chest. “It’s part of your soul, deep down inside. It makes you strong and brave. So, if anything ever happens, if you get scared and you need courage, you just remember what’s inside you, okay?”

Summer nodded seriously as Buffy lifted the chain and locket up and slipped it over the child’s head. “This will help you always remember how special you are.”

Summer lifted the locket up and, after fumbling with the catch a moment, managed to open it again and look at the old photographs. “Were they really made with magic … like, for real?” she asked, her voice awestruck, her blue eyes wide with wonder.

“Yeah, they really were,” Buffy assured her, looking over the girl’s shoulder at the photographs, a sad smile on her face. “And that makes you made of magic, too.”

Buffy looked up and met Spike’s shimmering eyes, and in that moment she knew that he knew. She could feel it now … feel his frustration, fear, and despair, and she could see it in his eyes.

Buffy reached her thin, trembling hand out and touched his cheek gently and he leaned into her touch, covering her fragile hand with his. “I love you,” she whispered, her green eyes delving into his.

“I love you too, Nana!” Summer replied happily as she closed the locket and admired the pink helmet on the front. “Thank you for my magic!”

Buffy swallowed back her emotions and cleared her throat, dropping her hand from Spike’s face. “You’re welcome, sweetie. Never forget what I told you.”

“I won’t! Can we have ice cream now?” the girl asked, unaware of any silent communication between the adults.

Buffy laughed a raspy chuckle and nodded. “Did you get my Double Decadent Walnut Fudge?”

“Yep! And Poppi got me Chocolate Fudge Brownie!”

“He did? Well, isn’t he the sweetest?” Buffy replied, giving Spike a genuine smile.

“Uh-huh …” Summer agreed. “And he got Mommy some too and he got Karamel Sutra for himself!”

“He did, huh? Well … isn’t he the naughty Poppi?”

Summer shot a puzzled look at Buffy, twisting her lips and furrowing her brow in confusion. “He paid for it … I made sure,” she assured her great-whatever grandmother.

“You’re a good girl,” Buffy laughed, patting a hand down on the girl’s leg. “Why don’t you go get some spoons and bring ours in here?”

Summer jumped up and hurried back into the kitchen, leaving Buffy and Spike alone.

“I love you too, Slayer,” Spike replied, albeit belatedly, as he leaned over and touched his lips to hers.



Buffy sighed sadly and leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around her frail shoulders protectively.

“But if ya ever pull another stupid stunt like comin’ down them soddin’ stairs on yer own again, I’ll bloody well kill ya,” he added, only half-joking.

Buffy smiled up at him and leaned her tired body against his, letting her head rest on his shoulder. “Deal,” she agreed.

“Karamel Sutra, huh?” she asked coyly, changing the subject, her voice raspy and ragged.

Spike shrugged his shoulder beneath her head. “Sounded … tasty,” he defended.

Buffy laughed lightly and shook her head. “You and your … taste fetish. You’re incorrigible!”

“Don’t remember you complainin’ ‘bout it the other night,” Spike purred as he shifted and dropped his mouth to suckle at his scar on her neck.

“Popp-eeeee!” Summer groaned, coming back in with the pints of ice cream and spoons.

Buffy laughed. “Busted,” she teased as Spike pulled back from her neck.

“Guilty,” he agreed, touching his lips to hers in a soft kiss as Summer let out an exasperated sigh behind him.

Buffy’s trembling hand touched his cheek again as he pulled back; their eyes and the bond between their hearts communicating more than their words ever could.

Tears sprang to Spike’s eyes and he shook his head, trying to banish the knowledge that seemed to seep into his very bones. He knew this day would come, but it had always been ‘someday’ … some future time that was intangible and unknown. But now, as he looked into his wife’s emerald eyes, into her heart, he knew that ‘someday’ had arrived. His heart ached and twisted in his chest as a feeling of helpless, hopeless despair crept over him, chilling him to the bone.



Buffy brushed the tears from his cheeks with her thin, shaking fingers and gave him her best smile. “The ice cream’s melting. Life’s too short to eat melted ice cream.”

Spike nodded and cleared his throat, blinking back his emotions. “Life’s just too bloody short.”

**~**

Spike stopped short as he entered their bedroom later that evening, his dead heart lurching painfully in his chest. “Slayer!” he cried, hurrying to her side as she lay motionless, seeming lifeless and silent in their bed.

He’d gotten her settled and then hurriedly done the same with Summer, but the girl simply wouldn’t be hurried through bath time or story time or tucking in and goodnight kisses. He hadn’t intended to be from Buffy’s side that long, but there had been no rushing the girl.

Buffy’s eyes blinked open as Spike got to her side and he fell to his knees next to the bed, relief flooding over him. He took her frail hand in his and brought it to his lips kissing her once-deadly knuckles gently.

“Thank bloody God,” he murmured against her fingers, sighing in relief. He concentrated hard and finally heard her heart pounding softly and slowly … much too slowly, much too softly.

“Hold me, baby,” Buffy requested, her voice rough with fatigue.

Spike nodded as he released her hand and went around to slide into the bed next to her. Buffy suppressed the moan of pain when he shifted her into his arms, but Spike could feel her wince, feel her pain through their claim, and he grimaced as he settled her in his arms.

“Sorry, pet … so bloody sorry,” he whispered, touching his lips to the side of her head, breathing in the scent of her. That was one thing that never really changed: the scent of his Slayer. Through all the medicines and all the years, the perfume of ‘Buffy’ was still there, always. Sweet, spicy, and sharp, with a hint of acidic tartness under it all.

“Okay … it’s … okay,” Buffy rasped back, taking deep, ragged breaths to try and dispel the pain as she settled into his arms.

They sat there in silence for a long time, words unnecessary. They both knew what was happening; they both knew the stage was growing darker by the moment. It wasn’t like Buffy had imagined it would be. She thought it would be sudden and dramatic; one moment the light would be on, bright and glowing, and the next it would be pitch black. But it didn’t work that way at all. It was dimming slowly, like candles being snuffed out one by one.

Silent tears misted Spike’s gaze as he held his wife, his mate, his lover, his Slayer, his best friend, his heart, his whole life, in his arms. She was leaving him. Not of her own choice, but still, she was leaving, and there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do about it … …. or was there?

“Buffy …” Spike began, but she touched a finger to his lips interrupting him.

“No,” Buffy whispered, breaking into his thoughts. “I’m sorry.”



Spike’s whole body convulsed in pain at her words and a sob erupted from somewhere deep inside him. He felt his heart crumble into dust in his chest. He was at once angry with himself for thinking it, indignant at her for rebuffing him, and shattered … simply shattered with the devastating realization that washed over him. There was no more time. There were no more tomorrows. There were no more chances. His world was ending right here in his arms and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

“Buffy … please …” he begged, his throat constricting with pain the likes of which he’d never felt before.

Buffy shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry … but … I can’t … you know I can’t.”

Spike held her tighter, burying his face in the crook of her neck as sobs wracked his body. He knew she was right, of course. He’d agreed with her on it whole-heartedly before … but that was before ‘someday’ had arrived. It was before, back when his heart wasn’t splintering, before his world was ending, it was before he’d felt the darkness closing in on her.

“Spike, you know I’m right. It won’t be me … you know that,” Buffy pressed, using every ounce of energy she had left to make her plea. “I don’t want to leave … God, I never want to leave you … but … I can’t stay. I’m trying but … it’s coming, I can feel it. I’m sorry, Spike. I’m so sorry … so sorry.”

Spike shook his head, his face still buried against her neck, but couldn’t answer past the sobs that continued to shake his whole body as he held her in his arms.

“I love you. I love you so much, baby. I … Spike … I’m sorry,” she continued as she turned her head slowly toward him. Spike raised his face up to hers so their foreheads were pressed together, his eyes clamped closed against the unbearable pain.

“I love you, Buffy. Please, pet … please fight. You’re the bloody Slayer … you’re strong, please don’t leave me. Please …” he begged finally, tears streaming down his face and mixing with hers.

“I’m trying … I’m just … losing,” Buffy replied, reaching a shaking hand up to touch his wet cheek. “I love you. Never forget. I love you so much. I swear I’ll find you again … I swear, Spike. My soul will find you, I promise. Nothing will keep me away from you. I love you…”

“Buffy … please …” Spike cried, pulling back to look into her shimmering, green eyes.

“Tell me you love me…”

“I love you … you know I love you. You’re my bloody heart, my world. Please, pet…”

“Tell me you’ll find me again…”

Spike drew in several deep, rapid, rasping breaths, trying to ease his sobs as he nodded. “I’ll find ya. The bloody devil himself couldn’t keep me from you. I promise … I’ll find ya if I gotta search the whole bloody universe.”

Buffy nodded as her tears dripped from her chin in rivers of sorrow. A sad smile came to her lips as she looked into his shimmering, bluer-than-blue eyes. Eyes that had saved her so many times before; eyes that she wanted to drown in, to never leave, to see forever. Eyes that couldn’t save her this time … eyes that she never wanted to forget.

“Then this isn’t goodbye … right? Isn’t that a song ... an old song? How does it go? Sing for me, baby …”

Spike blinked the tears from his eyes, but it was useless, they just keep streaming out as if they had a mind of their own. He cleared his throat as he looked into her eyes. Those eyes that had mesmerized him from the first, so full of life and fire, like sparkling emeralds. But the spark was dimming … the fire dying even as he watched. His heart folded in on itself, pain radiating out through his whole body. He couldn’t think … couldn’t do anything but feel, feel her leaving … feel her dying in his arms.

He couldn’t bear it … but how could he not? He wanted to run away … run and hide … find a place where there was no pain. Find a place where his heart wasn’t smashed to bits, torn and bloodied with deep gashes of anguish. But even if such a place existed, he’d never leave her. Never.

“b35; This isn't …” he began to sing, his voice breaking. Spike cleared his throat as he sniffed back his tears and drew in a deep breath, a breath filled with Buffy … the essence of his Slayer.

“b35; This isn’t goodbye, even as I watch you leave,” he began again in a rough, gravely, emotion-filled voice. Where the words came from, he had no idea. He could barely think past the unbearable anguish that boiled in his heart.

But, wherever they came from, the words made her smile! He could feel her heart brighten like a warm sun coming to life inside her, and hope bloomed in his chest. It wasn’t the end after all!! It would be alright!! If he could just sing for her, it would be alright. She’d be fine … everything would be fine! He just needed to keep singing! She was stronger, he could feel it! He could see her eyes brightening … this wasn’t the end! He could fix it! He could! He could do it! He’d just keep singing…

 “b35; This isn't goodbye. I swear I won't cry, even as tears fill my eyes, I swear I won't cry… Any other girl, I'd let you walk away. Any other girl, I'm sure I'd be ok…”

Buffy’s fingertips caressed his tear-stained cheek and she felt the candles flare and brighten inside her. A surge of power lightened her whole being for a moment, making her feel better than she had in years. But then, one by one, the candles flickered and guttered and died. Darkness closed in on her, little by little … one glowing candle at a time.

 “b35;Tell me what makes a man, wanna give you all his heart, smile when you're around, and cry when you're apart…”




As Spike sang, Buffy’s features slowly grew lax until the last spark in her eyes seemed to be doused with her tears. Her eyes fluttered momentarily and finally closed as her whole body relaxed completely in Spike’s arms. Her hand fell from his cheek, coming to rest limply on his shoulder. Her pain gone. Her trembling limbs stilled for the first time in years. Her ragged breathing silent. Her tired heart slowing further and finally stilling in her chest. Her Slayer blood cooling in her veins.

“b35;What makes her so right? Is it the sound of her laugh? That look in her eyes? When do you decide, she is the dream that you seek, that … force … in your … l-life?”

Spike choked on the words as his tears came harder. He dipped his head down, touching his lips to hers one last time. His Slayer was gone. Buffy was gone. His lover. His friend. His life. Gone. Over. Extinguished.

His heart, only moments before feeling hopeful, was suddenly cast into utter darkness. He had plunged, it seemed, from the highest mountain to the deepest, darkest ravine in a space of a heartbeat … Buffy’s heartbeat, Buffy’s last heartbeat. His sobs returned, shaking his entire body with painful convulsions of misery-soaked anguish. His whole being felt black and empty, completely consumed with hopeless despair … utter desolation.

He hugged his love’s limp and lifeless body to him and began to rock her as his sobs continued in earnest. “No, no … please, Slayer … please, God … no! Please! I’ll do anything! Please come back to me! Please!” he screamed his plea, his prayer, into the silent room. “Buffy … please … don’t leave me. Please …”

His prayers fell on deaf ears.

**~**

Continued ...
Chapter End Notes:
Thank you for reading and extra special thanks to all of you who take time to leave me notes! I love them so much!
What Makes a Man, Part 2 by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
This is the second half of this chapter, both posted on the same day. Be sure you've read the first half first. :)
A few days later, back to the current day…



Spike dropped down to his knees atop his wife’s grave facing her headstone. The cold, damp snow crunched under his weight and chilled his legs, but he barely noticed. He carefully laid the remaining bouquet, a dozen dusty-pink roses, at the base of the large, marble marker, positioning them ‘just so’ for her in the shallow snow.

When he had them perfect, he reached into the pocket of his duster and pulled out a pint of ‘Double Decadent Walnut Fudge’ ice cream along with a spoon. He set the ice cream down next to the flowers and pressed the spoon through the lid and down into the frozen treat.

“Knew ya couldn’t go more than a week without it, pet,” he murmured into the cold, quiet night.

A sad smile came to his lips as he looked up at the marker and began tracing her name with his fingertips, as if he could somehow touch her just one last time.

He traced each letter carefully, slowly, watching his fingers move over the cold, grey stone as if watching them caress her soft, beautiful skin. The inscription announced her resting place to the world: ‘Buffy Summers Pratt’. Beneath that was the year of her birth and a blank area for the stone-mason to carve in the year of her death: 2108. Spike traced the ‘1981’ slowly and deliberately, and then slid his hand down to the words beneath it: ‘Spirit Indestructible’.

Spike shook his head slowly as tears again welled in his eyes, the movement of his hand faltering on the cold stone. “Not so indestructible, I reckon…” he murmured to the stone as salty tears spilled from his shimmering eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

Spike leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the hard stone and draping his arms over it as a sob wracked his body. “Buffy … miss you so much, pet. So bloody empty inside. Did as ya asked, pet. I let ya go, but comin’ t’ look for you, I am … can’t stay ‘ere without ya, luv.

“Can’t do it, Buffy … it’s just too bloody cold and dark … right ‘ere,” he told her, pressing a fist against his unbeating heart as the tears froze on his cheeks. “Never felt anythin’ like it before … gotta find ya. Gotta make this stop. Gonna be there soon, pet. Be there t’ find ya.”

Spike seemed to melt into a pile of black leather and denim, curling into a ball atop his mate’s grave. He shivered uncontrollably, and wrapped his duster around himself tighter as he pulled his knees into a fetal position in the snow. But it did little good, the cold was coming from inside, not out. He couldn’t stop the tears that leaked from his eyes and froze onto his skin, nor could he stop the sobs that shook his thin frame. He hadn’t eaten since that night; it hadn’t even occurred to him to eat.

He was dead. He was worse than dead, he was empty. He’d never felt such all-consuming emptiness before. Never.

Buffy had always said it was his heart that set him apart from other vampires, but his heart was gone now. There was nothing left inside him; just utter blackness, desolation, despair, an empty void where his heart used to be. Buffy had taken it with her, as he knew she would. She, after all, had always been his heart, even before he’d met her, even before she’d been born. It had always been her he’d been seeking: the Slayer that held his heart.

Spike closed his eyes as he wrapped up into an even tighter ball. Trying to make himself as small as possible on the cold, hard ground. The snow began to fall again, drifting down from the now-black sky and dusting him in a layer of white. He made no move to rise or take shelter; only the sobs wracking his body gave any hint that he was something other than an unburied corpse in the cemetery.

The snow would end soon; the storm would pass in the night. The morning would dawn crisp and bright. The sun would bathe Austin in glowing, golden rays, melting the snow, warming the day. And he would wait for it. He would welcome those golden rays because they reminded him of her. Her golden hair, her bright smile, her warm heart. It was fitting that the sun would send him on his way to find her again, for she had always been his own personal sunshine. He’d basked in her glow for decades. He didn’t know how to live now without it and he had no desire to learn.

“Walk through hell an’ back t’ find ya, pet,” Spike murmured to the snow-covered ground. “Promise, Buffy … I bloody well promise that I’ll find ya, if I gotta kill the devil ‘imself for the Powers t’ let me in. I’m comin’, Buffy … I’m comin’.”

**~**

“Poppi!!” little Summer exclaimed excitedly, throwing herself on the snow-covered vampire and wrapping her little arms around him. “Mommy said you’d be here with Nana and you are!” she declared sounding more than a little surprised that her mom had been right.

Spike jerked and jumped, suddenly awakened from his exhausted sleep beneath the snow. He’d never intended on waking again. He’d dreamt of Buffy … he’d found her … or she’d found him. He could still see her, they were in a cemetery and she was walking towards him, her face determined, her stride purposeful, set on reaching him. He’d just looked up and seen her, just started moving towards her when …

“Bloody hell, platelet!” Spike exclaimed, sitting up and pushing the child off him, perhaps a bit rougher than strictly necessary. “Can’t a bloke ‘ave some soddin’ peace in this godforsaken world?!”

Summer fell onto her butt in the snow, her excited smile quickly fading to confused tears.

“Summer! Are you okay?” the girl’s mother, Anne, questioned worriedly as she came up behind the child and bent to pick her daughter up.

But the child was having none of it. She twisted from her mother’s grip, standing up and moving away, her little arms crossed firmly over her chest as she tried to hide her hurt feelings.

Anne let her go and turned flashing green eyes on her great, great grandfather. “Was that really necessary?” she chastised. “She’s five, Poppi! Five!”



Spike, still sitting on the ground, scowled up at her angrily. “Didn’t ‘urt her!” he defended. “Shouldn’t be sneaking up on a bloke like that! What the bloody hell are ya doin’ here? Shouldn’t ya be sleeping, all warm an’ toasty in your beds?”

Anne pursed her lips and returned his scowl. “Yeah, we should, but for some stupid reason Nana thought you’d be here and thought we should come see about you.”

Nana?! Buffy!? You … talked to Buffy?” Spike gasped out, his eyes wide with wonder and hope. Had Buffy come back? Had the Powers sent her back to him? Was she home, waiting for him right now?!



Spike jumped to his feet and grabbed Anne by the shoulders. “Where is she?! Is she alright?” he demanded.

“Oh … no, Poppi,” Anne cajoled, shaking her head sadly. “No, I’m sorry … it’s … she left me a letter,” she explained, holding up a folded paper to him.

Spike looked at the paper dumbly, her words not registering right away. He had a picture of Buffy well and whole, waiting for him in their house. His love, his mate, waiting with open arms to welcome him home; waiting to shower him in her warmth; waiting to erase this emptiness inside him, to fill him with her love again.

Anne lifted the paper and unfolded it. “It says you’d be here on the morning after her funeral, and she wanted me to give you this,” she continued softly, lifting an envelope up for him to see.

Spike released the hold he had on Anne’s upper arms and took the envelope from her hand slowly. Still not really comprehending, not wanting to comprehend her words, he lifted the paper to his nose and inhaled. Buffy.

Spike’s eyes fluttered closed as a thousand memories flooded through him. Buffy. The fragrance drifted around him in the cold, crisp air and evoked a flood of emotions deep inside him. He could feel her arms around him, hear her heartbeat, get lost in the green of her eyes, see her bottom lip coming out in a pout, hear her voice calling his name, feel her soft hair flowing over his skin. Buffy.



Spike let himself get lost in the feelings, in the sight and sound and smell of her, breathing her in. Buffy. After several long moments, he slowly opened his eyes. It wasn’t Buffy. She wasn’t here. Her arms were not around him. Her eyes were not delving into his, her golden hair was not begging to be touched, her bottom lip was not waiting for him to nibble on it … her heart was not beating.

Spike took in a long, deep, unneeded breath through his mouth, clearing the vision of his mate from his mind. Carefully, he opened the envelope, moving away from Anne to open the letter inside and read it.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My dearest Spike,

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that I left you. God, I would’ve done anything in the world to have stayed, my baby. And I know what you’re thinking now, but you know that wouldn’t have worked, I wouldn’t have stayed me without my soul. I’m so sorry. Know that I love you with all my heart and I promise I will find you again one day. I’ll never stop until I do, this I promise with my very soul … it’s why I needed it.

I have to ask one more thing of you now. Please don’t hate me for this, I know what I’m asking isn’t fair to you, it isn’t reasonable. I know you’ve done more than any man should have to do in a thousand lifetimes, but I have to ask you to do one more thing for me.

Stay.

Stay for Summer. Spike, you’re the only one I trust. If she’s Called, you’re the only one that I know will protect her. I wish I could do it myself; I had planned on it, but … life, death had other plans. Please, Spike, I can’t bear the thought of her being a Slayer without you at her side. She’s all we have left of Will and Jade, all that’s left of our lives, our love.

I know it skipped Anne, I know it might not happen at all, but with our family tree, I’m afraid it will. I’m so afraid for her, Spike. Please … stay. Show her what it means to be a Slayer. Show her what it means to be a Pratt, a Summers. Anne tries so hard, but she needs help, she’s all alone now. She needs you. They both need you.

This one last thing I ask of you, my mate. Don’t hate me. Please, don’t hate me. I love you so much; more than I could ever say. You’re more than I deserve, I know that. I know I ask too much of you. I also know you’re the only one in heaven or on Earth that I can count on to keep her safe.

Please do this one last thing for me, William. Stay.

All my love is yours. My heart, my soul, they’re yours. I swear I’ll find you. Never doubt that we’ll be together again, my tender-hearted demon. This, I swear.

With all my heart, my soul, and my love,

~Buffy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




Tears flooded from Spike’s eyes as he read the letter again and again, willing the words to change, but they never did.

Stay.

Did she have any fucking idea what she was asking?!?! Any idea at all?! How could she not know what she was asking of him? How could she not know how hollow and empty he was inside? How filled with misery. How inky black his heart was. How much he needed her. How much he wanted to … die, to dust, to leave this godforsaken realm and find her.

How could she not KNOW?!

Spike dropped to his knees, hitting the cold ground hard. He still held the letter in front of him with both hands, staring at it but not seeing it, as his vision blurred with more tears.

“Poppi?” a small voice questioned tentatively. “Are you alright?”

Spike slowly raised his shimmering eyes up to meet the worried eyes of his young great-times-four granddaughter, and his own blue eyes looked back at him.

He shook his head slowly, almost absently. No … he wasn’t alright. No. No…

“Nana says ice cream and hugs fix everything,” Summer told him as she stepped forward and wrapped her small arms around his neck.

A sob shook Spike’s body as he leaned into the youngster’s embrace, dropping his head to her shoulder as his tears came harder.

“Please don’t cry, Poppi. It’ll be okay, I have magic inside, you can have some ... and there’s ice cream at home…” she assured him solemnly.

Still holding Buffy’s letter in one hand, Spike wrapped his arms around the girl and hugged her to him tightly as he cried, his dark heart taking some comfort from her innocence and sincerity.  He felt more warmth encircle him and realized that Anne had wrapped her arms around them both.

“W-we m-miss her too,” she stammered through her own tears. “I know … I know it’s not the same, but we love you. Please don’t go. Please don’t leave us. I don’t think Summer could bear it … I don’t think I could. Please, Poppi.”

Spike was surrounded in warmth by the two generations of grandchildren, their thudding hearts ringing in his ears, their salty tears mingling in the cold, still air with the fragrance of Buffy’s letter. What was he supposed to do? He felt incapable of staying, of enduring this frigid, black emptiness that chilled his very bones, but how could he not? He had to find Buffy … somehow, he didn’t know how, but he had been prepared to find a way, to do whatever it took to get to her, fight anyone or anything, but now … How could he go now?



Spike slumped heavily against Summer and Anne as he sobbed; his shattered heart laying in pieces in the inky darkness that filled him. But slowly a small glow began to shine down on those jagged shards as Summer and Anne hugged him and cried with him in the snow atop Buffy’s grave. It wasn’t enough to put his Humpty-Dumpty heart back together again, but it was something. It was enough. It had to be enough. Buffy wanted him to stay. He would stay.

Forever love’s bitch.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear  Westlife, What Makes a Man (This Isn’t Goodbye)  on YouTube  }}

This isn't goodbye, even as I watch you leave, this isn't goodbye
I swear I won't cry, even as tears fill my eyes, I swear I won't cry

Any other girl, I'd let you walk away
Any other girl, I'm sure I'd be ok

Tell me what makes a man
Wanna give you all his heart
Smile when you're around
And cry when you're apart
If you know what makes a man
Wanna love you the way I do
Girl you gotta let me know
So I can get over you

What makes her so right?
Is it the sound of her laugh?
That look in her eyes
When do you decide?
She is the dream that you seek
That force in your life

When you apologize, no matter who was wrong
When you get on your knees if that would bring her home

Tell me what makes a man
Wanna give you all his heart
Smile when you're around
And cry when you're apart
If you know what makes a man
Wanna love you the way I do
Girl you gotta let me know

So that I can get over you

Other girls will come along, they always do
But what's the point when all I ever want is you, tell me

Tell me what makes a man
Wanna give you all his heart
Smile when you're around
And cry when you're apart
If you know what makes a man
Wanna love you the way I do
Girl you gotta let me know..... (let me know)
Girl you gotta let me know..... (wooo)
So I can get over you
Chapter End Notes:
THANK YOU all again for your patience! I know i hate waiting to stories for updates, and I'm so sorry about it! I hope the next chapter(s) won't take as long to get to you. xo
Spirit Indestructible by Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to email me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to T.P.P and DarkHeart for helping me sort out this chapter and, as always to Paganbaby for betaing, suggestions, and feedback. All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.

Laughing Spuffy manip by Paganbaby. Check out her awesome stuff at: http://paganbabymcsmutty.tumblr.com/
Two decades later…

Spike brushed away the dead leaves that had gathered at the base of the headstone and settled the bouquet of dusty-pink roses and the pint of ‘Double Decadent Walnut Fudge’ ice cream down in their stead. As he did every week, he pressed his palm over Buffy’s name and closed his eyes, remembering. Visions of their life flashed behind his lids … good times and bad, laughter and tears, love-making and heart-rending arguments, births and deaths.



Sometimes he’d remember something that had been completely forgotten only a moment before, and he wondered where the memory had come from. Convinced that she’d sent the memory to him, he’d reach out with all his senses, trying to draw her to him, trying to touch her, trying to feel her golden warmth light his dark heart … but, it never worked.

Spike sighed as he opened his eyes and slowly drew his hand across the cold stone that was all he had left of his wife.

“Did as ya asked, pet,” he whispered to the marble. “Summer’s all grown now … not a Slayer. Married, she is. Decent enough bloke, I reckon, for a Yank.

“Can’t wait another day, Buffy. Been twenty years ... feels like two hundred. Comin’ for ya now .. comin’ to find ya, pet … like I promised.”

Spike pulled a bottle of whiskey from the pocket of his duster and sat down on the cold, hard ground, his back leaning against the tombstone, his legs sprawled open in front of him. The winter had been cold, as they all seemed to be, but there was no snow yet this year. Still, the ground was frozen, and the dead grass and leaves crunched beneath him as he settled into a well-worn spot on the backside of the headstone.

He opened the whiskey and took a long swallow from the bottle. With Buffy gone, it was the only thing that could bring any warmth to his bones, if not to his heart. With each passing year, it seemed to take more and more to make a dent in the frigid darkness inside him, but that was about to change. He was done. His obligation fulfilled. Summer was fine … more than fine, happily married, starting a new life. Anne had also remarried, and seemed happy.

Spike had made arrangements to transfer the house to Summer and her husband; the rest of his assets he'd put into trusts, dividing it all between Summer and Anne. He’d long ago stopped working for the Council, but the money they’d paid him through the years, with the help of Anya’s investing advice back in the day, had netted them a tidy sum. Summer and Anne would both have a comfortable nest-egg if they didn’t go crazy with it.

It was all set … there was nothing left to do now but drink himself into a stupor and wait for the sunrise.

**~**

The Slayer stood on the sidewalk in front of the oldest house on the quiet, tree-lined street in Austin. Nearly all the other houses on the street had been either updated into more modern styles or simply knocked down and rebuilt with all the modern conveniences. But not this one. This one looked like something from the mid-nineteen hundreds, if she had to guess. It was like stepping back in time. She liked it. It had style.

She took a deep breath and practiced her introduction again. “Hi, my name’s … duh! As if they wouldn’t already know what your name is! Ummm … Hi, we’ve never met, but I’m looking for someone who used to live here … ugh … that sounds lame.”

She sighed and started again, “Okay, let’s see … Hi, I know it’s kinda late, but I was hoping you might have some information for me about the people that used to live here … like a hundred years ago…”

The Slayer rolled her eyes and shook her head. “As if,” she moaned, frowning. “Well, standing here like a dead glockenspiel ain’t gonna get you any answers.” She didn’t actually know what a glockenspiel was, but she liked the word. It was one of the few words her Watcher said that she’d actually liked and remembered over the last few years.

She took a deep breath and headed up the walkway to the well-kept cottage … or was it a bungalow or … a Craftsman? She could never remember just what to call these old houses that actually had personality, unlike the sterile boxes that most people lived in these days. On the front porch she searched for the automated camera, retina scan, and intercom system to use to announce and identify herself, but couldn’t find anything that looked remotely like one.



Her frown deepened, unsure just what to do. “What did people do back in the 1950s?” she pondered aloud. History had never been her strongest subject … but then neither had math, English, French … chemistry had been a complete disaster with the whole school having to be evacuated … but only that one time. Gym … gym had been her best subject.

She sighed again as she racked her brain for a solution, then finally remembered her grandmother telling her about doorbells. “Doorbell … doorbell, if you were a doorbell, where would you be?” she pondered, looking at the door. It looked like a door – a really old door – no bells, no whistles. Then she noticed the button to the left of the door.

“Ha! Found ya!” she celebrated, enthusiastically pressing her finger down on the round button hard … perhaps a little too hard.

She heard a chiming sound come from inside the house, then something ‘popped’ and sizzled, like a wire shorting out. She quickly pulled her hand away from the button and clasped them behind her back innocently. Great way to start out – slay their antique, probably irreplaceable, doorbell.

When the door opened, she was greeted by an attractive young woman she guessed to be a few years older than she, with a thick mane of chestnut curls and vibrant blue eyes.

“Hi,” the Slayer began, faltering a moment as she tried to remember which of her introductions she’d decided to use. Finally, she mingled parts of all of them into one and went with, “I’m sorry to bother you. I know it’s mega-late. I was hoping to find someone who might know something about the family that used to live here. The Pratts?”

Summer’s brows furrowed deeply as she looked the woman over, confusion blanketing her features, her throat closing, voice suddenly gone.

When the woman who opened the door didn’t speak, the Slayer continued, “I know it’s been a long time since they were here, but, the thing is, my family kind of has a connection to them … to Jade … Jade Pratt?

“Actually, you could say she’s the reason I’m here ... of course, she is the reason I’m here here, like here on your porch – which is super-cute, by the way –  but I mean, she’s the reason I’m here … at all. See, she was a firefighter near the turn of the century and, well, she died saving my great-something grandmother and now I’m sort of on a quest.

“My Watcherrrrr … ummmm … see, I’ve had some … well … stuff going on and my friend suggested that maybe it would help to sort of … do some questing … kinda like … research, but, I don’t do research, so he didn’t say ‘research’. I think he thought that ‘quest’ sounded more like ‘Yay! Quest!’ instead of ‘Boo! Research!’ ya know? And now I’m rambling and you think I’m a crazy person and, really, I’m not crazy … much …”

The Slayer stopped talking, shaking her head slightly to clear her rambling thoughts. The first impression she was making wasn’t the one she’d hoped for. The woman in the door looked like she was about to bolt, or faint, or at the very least, slam the door in her face.

“Hi,” the Slayer began anew, smiling her most friendly, non-crazy smile and extending her right hand out toward the woman who looked like she’d seen a ghost. “My name is…”

Buffy,” Summer interjected before the Slayer could finish. “Nana Buffy…”

**~**



Spike swallowed the last of the whiskey down, relishing the burn from his throat to his belly. He should’ve brought more … sunrise was still too far off to spend the next hours cold and still nearly sober. He pushed himself to his feet stiffly and patted a hand down atop Buffy’s headstone.

“Back in a mo, pet,” he assured it as he dug in his pocket to make sure he had enough money for another fifth, at least. There was an all-night liquor store not far away; he’d made this trek many times. A cold gust of wind kicked up leaves around him, chilling him to the bone and making him pull his duster tighter around his body. He quickly decided that he’d need at least two fifths to make it through this night as he headed for the cemetery gates.

**~**

“Ummm … no, just Buffy … not ‘Nana’,” the Slayer replied to the stunned woman in the door, her extended right hand being utterly ignored. “How did you know…?”

“You … you’re … Buffy … my Nana … Buffy Pratt.”



Nooooo … I’m no one’s Nana,” the Slayer insisted, dropping her hand. “Unless you count the kittens that my friend Isis’ cat had in my closet. I still say that makes me no more than a great-aunt, but Isis said I was their Nana since they were born on top of my favorite sweater. What do you think? Don’t you think great-aunt for that, ruined sweater aside?”

Summer’s brows drew together tighter as the woman in front of her talked. Her Nana had been old, much, much older than this woman, but there were plenty of pictures around of a young Nana Buffy. Poppi had never put any of them away … it was like he was waiting for her to come back and pick up where they’d left off. And now … she had.

The Slayer’s eyes went wide as what Summer said sunk in. “Wait! You’re saying you’re actually related to the Pratts!? You … know something about Jade? And … this Nana Buffy … I was named after Jade’s mother … Oh my God … you … you knew her?!?”

Summer’s hand lifted up and touched the locket around her neck, the one Nana had given her the very day she’d died two decades before. The one that contained the magic … the courage, the strength of Jade and Will. She’d never seen any actual magic, no miracles … not until this very moment.



“Ummmm … maybe you should come in,” Summer invited, stepping back and opening the door wider.

The Slayer could barely contain her excitement. This was so much more than she’d ever hoped for! It was a thousand times more than she’d expected to find. She’d imagined blank looks and shrugs from the current owners of house that had been Jade’s home nearly three-quarters of a century ago.

As she stepped over the threshold of the historic home, she was bombarded with images, sounds, and emotions. Caught off-guard by the sudden assault of emotions, scents, sounds, and images, she gasped in surprise. Her eyes clamped shut as she fell into the vision, unable to stop it from invading her entire being. She saw a blond man lifting her up and carrying her across this very threshold and mustard yellow, threadbare, matted-down shag carpet. The musty smell of a house long left empty assailed her nostrils along with the rich aroma of leather from the man’s coat.



Then she heard the man talking, his deep voice jubilant and loving, “Mrs. Pratt, allow me the honor of welcoming you to your new home.” Then she was kissing him and warmth bloomed in the Slayer’s heart … she knew what it was even though she’d never felt it outside her visions: love. Unconditional, undying love. “Welcome home, Buffy.”

Her head spinning with the strength of the vision, Buffy reached for the nearest thing to steady herself, which happened to be Summer. The brunette wrapped an arm around the younger woman, “Are you alright? Sit down … here…” she suggested, concerned, leading Buffy to the nearest chair.

“I’m okay … just … got … little … light-headed,” Buffy excused as she dropped into the chair heavily. She pressed her hand against her eyes to try and assemble her thoughts and get her head to stop spinning. She’d had dreams and visions since being Called, but they’d gotten worse since the death of her mother a few months ago. Since then they always seemed to revolve around that same blond man with an English accent – a man she was sure she’d never met. She would’ve remembered him – most definitely.

“I’ll get you some water,” Summer suggested, heading for the kitchen before Buffy could object.

In the kitchen, Summer touched her ear and whispered ‘call Poppi’. In an instant, Spike’s voice came through the small communications device in her ear, “Not in the mood for bollocks just now. If it’s important, leave a message. If it’s not, why the bloody hell are ya in my soddin’ ear?”

“Poppi!!!” Summer gushed in a hushed whisper. “Where are you? Come home! There’s someone here you need to see. Hurry! Seriously! Hurry!”

Summer tapped her ear again to end the call and filled a glass of water from the filtered-water dispenser. She then hurried back to the living room with it to make sure the woman out there did not scamper off before Spike got home.

When Summer got back in the living room, her guest was holding one of the framed photographs from the end-table and staring at it in disbelief.

“Here you go,” the brunette offered, extending the glass out to the Slayer.

Buffy looked up at the other woman, her face ashen, her heart in her throat. “W-w-who … is this?” she asked, ignoring the water as she turned the picture around so Summer could see it.



The brunette cleared her throat nervously and sat the water down on the coffee table. “Ummm … that’s my Nana and Poppi … Buffy and Spike Pratt … when they were younger … errr … young.”

Buffy turned the photo back around, staring at it numbly. “She looks like … me.”

“Ummm … yeah, a little … there’s some resemblance … maybe … around the eyes … and … mouth … and … nose, chin … hair … but ... ummm … just a little,” Summer stammered.

“How … is that possible?” Buffy questioned, more to herself than Summer.

“Well, they say everyone has a doppelganger right?”

Buffy lifted her eyes up to stare at the other woman. “Who is ‘they’?”

Summer twisted her mouth up and scrunched her nose. “The they that … says stuff?” she suggested meekly, shrugging.

“And you say this man is…?” Buffy asked pointing to Spike.

“My Poppi, Buffy’s husband, Jade’s dad: Spike. He … should be home any time. You can meet him. I’m sure he’d really like to meet you.”

“I think I’d really like to meet him too,” Buffy murmured to herself before her brain started functioning again. “But, how’s that possible? He must be like … uber-old …”

“Oh, yeah, really old … very much with the oldness,” Summer supplied nodding knowingly. “Our family has really good genes … it’s a thing.”



Buffy shook her head. Math had never been her strong suit, but that seemed a bit of a stretch even with good genes. She decided to let it drop, though, not wanting to insult her hostess. She really wanted to meet this man … this man who had been haunting her dreams and visions.

Buffy had had no idea who he was until that moment. She thought that he was somehow related to Jade, to the Pratts, because many of the visions with him included fire of some sort. The legend of Jade Pratt, of how she’d given her life to save her ancestor, Nathalie Decker, from the fire at the apartment building here in Austin had been told at every family gathering for as long as Buffy could remember.  

The dreams and visions had been coming more and more frequently over the last few weeks, but they had started not long after her mother had died a few months ago. They’d become stronger, more and more distracting, and even debilitating as the weeks went on. Finally, when they had become a real threat to her well-being, her Watcher had suggested this ‘quest’ for answers.

So far, all she had were more questions.

**~**

Spike sauntered back from the liquor store, taking the long way around the park-like cemetery. There was still a good while before dawn and the walk was a familiar one; one he and Buffy had taken many times over the years. He had one fifth of whiskey in his duster pocket, and another was beginning to warm his gullet and belly a bit more with each swig from the bottle.

He suddenly felt a bit dizzy and light-headed, and had to lean on the cemetery fence to catch his balance. Pins and needles prickled his skin, shooting down his spine like lightning bolts. He hadn’t felt a Slayer in decades, but he recognized the feeling immediately. Spike brought up his demon to counter the power of the warning; he hadn’t felt anything this strong since…

“Buffy.”



Spike’s head shot up. His amber eyes were suddenly wide and alert as he scanned the area, both inside and outside the cemetery boundary, but he saw nothing, no one. He turned in a full circle, but still didn’t see or hear or even smell anyone nearby.

“Lost your bloody mind, you ‘ave,” he chastised himself as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to get the sensation to abate. “Off your gourd…” he grumbled to himself, shaking his demon off, even so he began walking a bit more briskly toward the cemetery gates.

**~**

Buffy knelt in front of the headstone, her heart in her throat, her name on the cold, hard granite in front of her. Her head spun as she stared at the name: ‘Buffy Summers Pratt’. How was that possible? Buffy Summers was her name.

When Spike hadn't called back or shown up, Summer had suggested coming here to look for him, but the graveyard had been empty. The Slayer looked up at the great-whatever granddaughter of her namesake with wide eyes. “What … what was her … given name … full … name? Do you know?”

Summer bit her bottom lip and tried to remember, but all she’d ever known her by was ‘Nana’ or at most ‘Nana Buffy’. She knew that she’d been named in honor of ‘Summers’, but beyond that, she wasn’t really sure. “Poppi would know,” she told the Slayer, shaking her head. “I’ll call him again,” she suggested, taking a step back and tapping on her ear to make the connection.

Buffy nodded as Summer took a few steps away to make the call, then she turned her gaze back to the granite, looking at the dates. ‘1981 – 2108’. Even with her less-than-stellar math skills she knew that just wasn’t normal … in fact, it was pretty impossible.

Her fingers were drawn to the words beneath the dates: ‘Spirit Indestructible’. As she traced the letters, she was suddenly inundated with emotions – too many to even separate into anything that made sense. Joy, sadness, rage, elation, agony, heartbreak, awe, shame, anger, fear, pride, remorse, rejection, hope, amazement, love, hate … there seemed no end to the rollercoaster of emotions bombarding her.

Buffy’s eyes clamped shut. She gasped in a sharp breath of cold air and leaned heavily on the headstone as visions began flooding into her mind to go with the emotions. They flashed like lightning, short, quick glimpses of the blond man – Spike, she now knew – and her. Or was it her? She’d always thought it was her with him, but now … maybe it wasn’t her at all, maybe it was his wife, her long-dead doppelganger.

But it felt like her. She could feel the emotions that went with each vision. She felt the joy when their children were born, the heartbreak when they died. She felt the utter lonely despair, the knife twist in her gut, when he shouted at her to ‘Get the fuck out’ of his life. She felt the pure joyous love when he slid the wedding band on her finger. She felt her whole body flush with lust the likes of which she’d never experienced in her life when he slid his hardness into her, his blue eyes locked on hers, his lips whispering words of love.

Buffy collapsed onto her back next to the headstone, completely overwhelmed with the ‘surround-senses’ quality of the visions. Though the visions had gotten overwhelming recently, they’d never before been this bad. She writhed on the ground, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to get it all to stop, but her efforts were in vain.



She could feel, smell, hear, see, and touch it all as if she were fully experiencing each one right then. The visions continued bombarding her with too many emotions, quick flashes of faces, and glimpses of scenes that seemed at once familiar and foreign to her. One tableau after another burst like brilliant lightning behind her closed lids, filling her mind, her entire body, with sensations she was unprepared to cope with or control.

Suddenly, a warning burned like wildfire down her spine. Buffy had never felt such a strong vampire before in all her years as a Slayer. She forced her eyes open and tried to push up to her feet, fumbling in her coat pocket for her stake. She tried to yell at the girl to run … to get out of here, but she couldn’t get any sound to come from her throat.

The Slayer’s hand finally closed around her stake as she pushed up to her feet; her legs wobbly, her vision spinning. She’d no sooner pulled the sharp bit of wood from her coat pocket than she stumbled and fell backwards hard, cracking the back of her head on the granite of her namesake’s grave marker. The world, already swirling around her, began to spin out of control. Her conscious mind, utterly inundated with the visions, and now concussed as well, shut down, unable to cope with the unending flood of sensory overload. Still clutching her stake tightly, she slid down the headstone, her body going limp on the cold, hard ground as the world went black.

**~**

Spike hurried his steps even faster when he saw Summer in the Pratt family plot. The tingling down his spine had not abated at all, if anything it had gotten stronger. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that … Bloody hell!! Had Summer been Called? So late? She was twenty-five for fuck’s sake! He tossed the empty bottle of whiskey down, breaking into a jog as a thousand thoughts and worries bombarded him.

“Poppi! I’ve been trying to call you! Why don’t you put your com in!?” Summer chastised as Spike approached at a dead run.

So focused was he on Summer, his mind racing, thinking that she had been Called, that he didn’t notice the other woman, now on her back on the ground next to his wife’s headstone.



“What the bloody hell happened?” he demanded, rushing up to her and grabbing her by the upper arms, his eyes wide with worry and confusion.

“If you’d put your com in…”

“Sod that! What’s going—” Spike suddenly stopped as it became clear that the Slayer-warning was not coming the woman standing in front of him, but from behind him.

He spun around, releasing Summer’s arms and took two long strides around his wife’s headstone.

“I’ve been trying to tell you! It’s…”

“Buffy!”

Spike dropped to his knees next to the Slayer, his mind spinning, his undead heart jumping and lurching in his chest.

“Buffy! Buffy!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with surprise, excitement, and confusion. “How …? When..? How…?” he stammered, lifting her limp form gently onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her.

Spike dropped his face to her neck, holding her to him and a million emotions raced through him as her scent engulfed him. Her pulse raced in her veins, her heart pounded strongly in her chest. Her body was warm and vibrant, her hair shone like spun gold, her skin was once again soft and smooth, her body lithe and supple.  It was Buffy! From her scent to the beating of her heart to the feel of her skin and the silkiness of her hair, it was Buffy.

“Buffy, Buffy, God, Buffy …” he murmured against her neck, tears bursting forth from his eyes as he began to rock her gently on the cold ground. “How … Buffy, how did ya find me? How did ya get back? Buffy … Buffy … wake up, pet. Please … don’t leave me again,” he begged through his tears, unsure just what was wrong with her. “Please, Buffy … come back t’ me. Please, pet…”

“She was fine a minute ago. If you’d check your com once in a while…” Summer chastised again as she stepped up near Spike. “Poppi … she’s not … not Nana Buffy,” the girl informed him gently, squatting down and laying a hand on Spike’s shoulder.

“Poppi? Did you hear me? She’s not Nana. She doesn’t know us … she’s … she came looking for information about Jade and … I guess one of the people Jade saved is her … ancestor of some sort. Poppi? Are you listening?” Summer asked.

“It’s Buffy,” Spike disagreed, lifting his face up to look at Summer, his cheeks stained with tears. “It’s Buffy …”



Summer shook her head. “No…”

“IT’S BUFFY!” Spike insisted angrily, his face morphing briefly into his vampire visage. “Now use that bloody bug in yer ear to get some help ‘ere!”

Summer jumped back, unaccustomed to seeing his demon or being yelled at so vehemently. “Okay … fine … you’ll see,” she grumbled, stepping away from the angry vampire.

“I’ll call for help … I’ll go wait by the gates for them,” she told him as she began striding away angrily. “If you’d wear your damn com once in a while…” she continued muttering as she tapped her ear to make the call for emergency service.

But Spike wasn’t listening anymore. He’d buried his face back against the Slayer’s neck, holding her in his arms gently. “Buffy, please, pet. Please be alright …”

Suddenly, the Slayer in his arms gasped and her body jerked as her mind rebooted. The warning burning down her spine thrust her beleaguered consciousness back into action as her survival instinct kicked in.

Spike pulled back, his eyes wide and glistening. “Buffy! Slayer! Please … talk to me, luv! Buffy … please,” he begged hopefully.

Buffy’s eyes blinked open and Spike thought his heart would explode with joy. His whole body trembled; every cell in him seemed to have suddenly come to life. Buffy was here! She was back!

“Buffy, luv—” he began but stopped short, drawing in a deep gasp of unneeded air as the Slayer’s stake pressed against his chest.

Buffy’s fingers turned white as they gripped the wooden stake. There was a war waging inside her between her instincts and her heart, with her tangled, swirling mind caught between the two.

The Slayer instinct had only one agenda: kill the vampire. And there was no doubt this thing holding her captive was a vampire, a very old, very powerful vampire. But, another part of her, the part that was looking into his glistening blue eyes, felt differently about it. To her heart he was the man that had been haunting her dreams for months. The man that made her feel things she’d never before felt. Made her laugh, made her ache with desire, made her cry with joy, made her heart sing. He made her want things she’d never dared to dream of since being Called: love and family.

She could’ve staked him already and would’ve, if the Slayer had had its way, but her heart was holding her back. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what was going on, what the right course of action was. She’d never faced such a dilemma before – her heart and instincts had always been in sync. Kill the vampires. Kill the demons. Save the world. It was what she did and she did it very well … until now.

“W-who … are you?” she stammered out, her mind pointing out to her Slayer instinct that this vampire could’ve killed her by now if he’d wanted to.

“Buffy … luv,” Spike spoke calmly, careful not to lean in to the stake that was pressed firmly against his chest, directly over his heart. “It’s me … Spike.”

“Spike,” Buffy repeated. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Spike swallowed hard, never taking his eyes off hers, still holding her gently in his arms on the ground. “Reckon so, ya married me … had m’ babies … we might’ve saved the world a time or three.”



Buffy shook her head. “Not me…”

“Bollocks! Was you. Never forget ya, luv … never forget one bloody thing about ya,” Spike insisted.

Buffy narrowed her eyes up at him. “What’s my name?”

“Buffy—“

“My full, given name?” she clarified.

“Elizabeth Anne Summers Pratt,” Spike answered immediately, careful not to breathe too deeply and press the stake into his flesh.

Something flashed behind Buffy’s eyes. Surprise? Astonishment? Spike couldn’t quite tell.

“Not Pratt … I’m … just …” she stammered.

“Yer m’ wife. Forever. We promised forever, pet. We promised to find each other again and you ‘ave. You’re ‘ere … don’t know how, but ya came back t’ me,” Spike interrupted her, his voice thick with emotion. “God, Buffy … how?”

Buffy couldn’t stop the tears that welled in her eyes, but she couldn’t figure out why they were there. Something about the sound of his voice – so heartfelt and earnest – or maybe it was the thought of someone promising her ‘forever’ that brought them up. No one had ever promised her forever … she doubted anyone ever would. To a Slayer 'forever' could be over in the blink of an eye, a flash of fangs – how could she let anyone promise her 'forever' knowing that? She couldn't ... she never had, she'd never let anyone get close enough to want to.

“Not … me,” she croaked out, shaking her head and trying to blink away her tears.

“You…” Spike insisted as he slowly leaned forward. The stake pressed harder into his flesh, tearing this shirt and breaking the skin. He paused only momentarily. “If yer gonna stake me, then do it now, pet. I’ll still find ya again. Made a promise to a lady, didn’t I?”

Buffy felt the battle inside her raging: her heart pulling the stake back as he leaned forward while the Slayer fought to press it deep into the vampire’s heart. Her mind spun, unsure what side to take. Her grip on the stake slipped, then retightened … then loosened again as the war churned inside her.

“I love you, Buffy,” Spike murmured huskily as he continued to lean in. The stake pushed a bit deeper, cracking his rib, drawing a gasp of pain, but he didn’t stop. “I’ll love you forever.”



Suddenly, the pressure waned, the stake slipped slightly in her grip as her heart rejoiced at his words. She knew they weren’t for her – they were for some other Buffy – but she couldn’t stop her heart from gathering them up like warm, fuzzy kittens. Then her grip tightened again, the stake once again pressing dangerously over Spike’s heart, as the Slayer inside her screamed that he was going to rip her throat out if he got any closer.

“We’ve danced this dance before, pet,” Spike whispered, leaning in further, his lips now only a breath away from hers.

“You could never stake me … not then, not now,” he reminded her. “Dance with me, Buffy,” he invited silkily as his lips touched down onto hers softly.

The stake slipped from her grip, falling uselessly to the ground as his lips covered hers. The taste of him, the feel of him, the scent … it spun her already swirling head. As his tongue pressed between her lips she felt something inside her mind snap, like a dam bursting, and the visions she’d been having the last few months suddenly felt like a trickle compared to tsunami that flooded into her.

**~**

Twenty years ago ...

Watching from heaven on the day of her funeral, Buffy’s heart broke as she watched Spike read her letter asking him to stay for Summer’s sake. She’d been afraid to ask him in person, knowing that she’d see his heart break just as she was now. She couldn't bear to see the pain in his eyes ... not in person and not like this.

She sniffed back her tears and dried her eyes as she turned away from the viewing screen and faced her ‘handler’.



“Send me back. Now!” she demanded of Whistler, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

“Sorry, that’s not in my power…”

Buffy advanced on him and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, lifting him off the floor and slamming him against the sterile white wall of the antechamber where she’d been waiting for ‘processing in’. “Then get me someone who has some power, you little weasel! NOW!” she ground out through clenched teeth, releasing him and tossing him toward the door of the room.

Whistler choked and stumbled, catching his balance against the door. “They aren’t gonna like it…” he warned her.

“You must be confusing me with someone who cares!” Buffy spit back. “Just do it!”

“Okay, it’s your skin ... or soul,” Whistler muttered as he opened the door. “You have visitors, by the way,” he added as he stepped outside the small waiting room, leaving the door open.

Buffy was suddenly engulfed in a giant group hug which included her mother, her children and grandchildren, as well as Giles, Joan and India, Willow and Tara, and Xander and Anya.

When she was released, Buffy turned around within the circle of her friends and family, hugging each one in turn. “Oh my God, Mom! Giles! Jade! Will! Meag! … Joan!! How!?” Buffy asked, stopping at her doppelganger.



Joan smiled widely as she explained, “I was granted a modicum of your soul each time I saved your life, which was a moderately frequent occurrence if you recall. I am not certain how you have managed to remain upright and breathing for so many years since my heroic demise. Spike has apparently become more adept at keeping you from harm.

“In addition, I succeeded in expelling many threats to the safety of innocents from our dimension, qualifying me as a Champion and a Slayer honoris causa.” Joan’s Colgate-smile widened even further. “They had no choice but allow me entry into this higher dimension given my undeniably impressive credentials.”

Buffy laughed and hugged her twin again, squeezing her tightly. “I’m so glad you’re here with India. I was hoping you were.”

After Buffy had made her way around the group, hugging everyone in turn, she stopped in front of her mom. “I-I’m sorry, but I can’t stay … I have to go back. I have to get back to Spike,” she announced determinedly.

Joyce nodded and laid her hand against Buffy’s cheek, a soft, sad smile curving her lips. “I know, sweetie. We’ll help you … whatever you need.” Joyce looked around the filled-to-nearly-overflowing room. “They can’t fight us all.”



**~**

Lilah sighed and leaned back in her comfortable, leather chair as she looked around at the people filling her lavishly-appointed office.  

“You really want to go back?” she asked the Slayer at the front of the group.

“Yes! Immediately! And I want to be me … not some other person. I want to be Buffy Summers … Elizabeth Anne Summers. I want to look like me … young me, think like me, talk like me. I want my old memories, I want to be a Slayer, and I want to be immortal, just like Spike. Send me back and we’ll fight evil ‘til the end of time.” Buffy paused and looked at the woman suspiciously. “Which maybe isn’t top priority with you … how is it that you’re even here?”

Lilah rolled her eyes and began pulling papers out of a desk drawer. “Even the PTB need qualified legal advice,” she explained, laying the papers out in front of Buffy.



“Sign these …” the lawyer instructed. “In blood,” she added when Buffy reached for a pen.

“What do they say?” Buffy wondered, trying to peruse them quickly.

Lilah handed Buffy a dagger as she explained, “They say you’ll go back as you, that your old memories will be inside you, that you’ll be a Slayer, and immortal. It’s a standard reincarnation agreement, adjusted to fit your parameters.”

Buffy took the dagger from the attorney. “How long after I sign do I go?”

“It’s immediate,” Lilah explained.

Buffy sighed in relief and nodded. She could get right back to Spike … he’d only have been alone for maybe a week or so.

“Okay,” the Slayer agreed, turning to face her supporters. “I love all you guys so much … but … I have to be with Spike.”

“We know, honey,” her mother spoke for the group that had helped her fight through the PTB’s red tape to get here. “We love you, but we understand.”

Buffy hugged her mom again, squeezing her tight. “Thank you for everything, Mom. For Dawn's soul and giving us Jade and Will … showing me the good in Spike ... showing me his heart and … just everything.”



Joyce hugged her daughter back, stroking her long, blonde hair and nodded. “Be happy, baby. That’s all I want for you … be happy.”

Buffy wiped the tears from her eyes as she pulled back from the hug. “I will be … with Spike I will be.”

The Slayer turned back toward Lilah’s desk, quickly swiped the blade across the palm of her hand, and slapped her hand down on top of the stack of papers, soaking them through with her blood.

**~**



Back in the cemetery, in Spike’s arms, his lips pressing against hers, tears welled in Buffy’s eyes. They had tricked her. They didn’t just send her back as she’d been, right at that moment to be with Spike. She’d been reincarnated … starting out life all over again. He’d been alone for twenty years! Pining for his soul-mate, his equal, his partner, his lover, his best friend, his spouse.

And so had she. The only difference was she hadn't known what was missing, why she felt so alone, not until now.

Bastards!

All her memories from her previous incarnation as Buffy Summers had been inside her, as Lilah had promised, but they had been locked away, hidden from her conscious mind. She could only assume that the death of her mother in this life in such a similar manner as she’d lost Joyce, had opened a crack in the wall that held those memories locked away from her.  Kissing Spike had opened the flood-gates, completely demolishing the wall between her two incarnations as ‘Buffy Summers’.

She blinked back her tears and swallowed her anger. She was here now. Spike was here … they were finally together. She wouldn’t waste another moment … not a single millisecond thinking about anything else.

In the next moment, her arms wrapped around Spike’s neck and she deepened the kiss, devouring his lips and tongue like a starving woman would devour a sweet, succulent fruit. Spike drew her to him tighter, holding her with all his strength, savoring the feel of her body in his arms, her taste on his lips, her passion flowing into him like life itself.

“Spike … Spike, baby … God, Spike …” she gasped, breaking the kiss a moment to breathe before pushing him over onto his back and pinning him down with her body.



“Buffy …” Spike began, but was cut off when her lips crashed against his again, her hips straddling his, her hands roaming over his body, beneath his shirt to feel his hard muscles and silky skin.

When her hand hit the wound from the stake, she gasped and pulled back, her eyes wide as something dawned on her. “Oh my God! I could’ve staked you, you stupid vampire!”

“Buffy?!” Spike questioned, looking up at her with wide-eyed wonder.

“Well, duh! You better not be out here snogging someone else on my grave!” she threatened.

“Buffy! You’re back! You know me? You remember?” Spike jabbered, pushing up to a sitting position beneath her.

Buffy’s features softened and she smiled at him, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek. “Yeah … Spike … I remember.”



“How…?” Spike asked, leaning into her touch. God, he’d missed her touch. Missed her eyes, her voice, her warmth, her laugh, the way she saw the world, the way she made him feel alive, as if he hadn’t died all those years ago.

“Let’s just say the PTB are no match for a bunch of Summers and Pratts … plus Joan and India, the Scoobies, and a grumpy old Watcher,” Buffy revealed. “I’m back, Spike … and I’m back to stay. Immortal … like you. I won’t leave you again … ever. Never leave you again, Spike. Never.”

Buffy leaned forward, touching her lips to his with a gentle sigh. It had been so long … too long. But that was over now, her loneliness was over now … so was Spike’s; she was home in his arms where she belonged.

She looked over at her headstone, then back into the joyful eyes of her husband.

“You’re stuck with me forever, Spike. You made my spirit indestructible.”




**~** The End **~**


{{  Click here to hear  Nelly Furtado - Spirit Indestructible on YouTube  }}

Through my one square foot window I see outside
I have chains on my feet, but not in my mind
I'll be dancing on till I see the sun outside
Don't know how long it will be
Can't stop me

I have a spirit indestructible
A heart that loving was made for
A body that's a miracle

I have a spirit indestructible
A heart that was made pure
Unbreakable and that's for sure
Unshakeable, so give me more

Through my tired eyes I say it's up for rain
With the medications, I erased my pains
There's a rhythm blowing through everything
And the melody is never ending

I have a spirit indestructible
A heart that loving was made for
A body that's a miracle

I have a spirit indestructible
A heart that was made pure
Unbreakable and that's for sure
Unshakeable, so give me more

I'm loving me, I'm loving me
Take you away, take you away
You'll never break, you'll never break

I'm loving me, I'm loving me
Take you away, take you away
I'll never break, you'll never break

I have a spirit indestructible
A heart that loving was made for
A body that's a miracle

I have a spirit indestructible
A heart that was made pure
Unbreakable and that's for sure
Unshakeable, so give me more
Chapter End Notes:
Thank you all for sticking with me through the rough patch I had with my muse at the end of this story! I do promise to go back to working on Unexpected now, but can't promise when there will be more to post, but I have not forgotten them! I truly appreciate all your support and kind notes. I hope you've enjoyed this ride and look forward to many more wild, Spuffy rides with you all in the future!


This story archived at http://https://spikeluver.com/SpuffyRealm/viewstory.php?sid=37283