“Buffy!”

Buffy’s head snapped toward the direction of Spike’s pained cry, immediately alarmed by the desperate tone in his voice, a tone she had never heard him use. He was brave, rarely giving in to pain or fear.

A champion.

So to hear him cry out in such an urgent manner had Buffy fearing the worst.

“Spike!” She cried, terrified for him as she saw a brilliant orange light shoot from the amulet, Spike caught in its radiance as it single-handedly dusted every Turok-Han in the Hellmouth and the earth began to rumble ominously, growing increasingly violent.

She heard Faith’s orders echo, clear and commanding, “Everybody out now!”

But at the sight of Spike’s condition Buffy’s heart skipped, her stomach clenched, and she dashed to Spike’s side in haste, Faith’s demand falling on deaf ears. Buffy watched helplessly while Spike trembled from a pain the growing power of the amulet bestowed upon him.

It was then that she knew. She could see it in his eyes, could feel it in her soul. Spike was going to die. The man who had stuck by her though thick and thin, who believed in her even when she found it hard to believe in herself, who had been through hell and back to become worthy of her love, who now stood before her drenched in light, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.

But as she reached for his hand, trying to interlace her fingers through his, she gasped in horror as it crumbled to dust before her eyes; skin, muscle, and bone disintegrating under her touch.

Her friend. Her love.

Reduced to a pile of ashes.



It was the same dream Buffy had been having since that fateful day. She saw their last moments together over and over again in her dreams, the fire dancing before her eyes. It always ended the same way: hands torn apart, watching him melt away, seeing his skin slowly fade to ashes that scattered throughout the Hellmouth.

Spike would have wanted her to be happy. She knew that. And she was, for the most part. But still, she wondered where he was now, if he was really lost forever as her eyes had led her to believe.

Her years as a slayer taught her to believe the unbelievable, that's for sure.

The moment that bus pulled away from the gargantuan crater formerly known as Sunnydale, Buffy lost it. It was then reality had sunk in and the tears started flowing. True, there was a lot to be happy about. But she had suffered great loss too, just as the slayer was always doomed to do. She cried for her mother, her home, the girls that had fallen in the battle.

And for Spike.

Of course, she did stop crying eventually, but never the hurting. Not completely.

Buffy loved her friends and family, loved her new-found freedom from the slayer burden, loved the whole new world of opportunities opened to her as a result. In all, life was good, pleasant and peaceful, surrounded by loved ones, not much to complain about.

But she still felt like some nameless piece of her was missing. There were times when she’d be laughing with her friends, enjoying a night on the town, when she could momentarily forget that piece altogether. But often, the second she’d arrive home and slide under the covers, the familiar ache would return in a flash, hitting her like a steel weight.

Even though Buffy had been dating the Immortal, who her meddlesome friends had set her up with in an attempt to help her move on and forget.

But it wasn't that easy.

Buffy felt happier when she was with the Immortal. She had a good time with him, at least. He didn't yell at her, didn't get frustrated with her, didn't try to throw a punch at her. In fact, they rarely even disagreed about anything.

He was almost TOO stable for a hundred plus year old hunk.

But she was never in love with him.

Which is why she had broken things off just two days prior. She told him she still wanted to be friends, that she enjoyed his company, but that he deserved someone who could reciprocate his feelings. Buffy knew it was probably one of the top ten most frequently used "It's not you, it's me" breakup lines. But she didn't care.

She still found herself yearning for more, something deep down in her gut told her she couldn’t move on in another relationship just yet. She sensed something, could feel something coming. A mere whisper of a thought in the back of her mind that refused to cease, despite her best efforts.

Her friends would think it was a pipe dream, an unhealthy hope and obsession, so she kept it to herself. For now, at least.

Buffy wandered outside to the balcony, leaning against the railing as she hugged her robe tighter around her body. Every night she looked up to the sky, gazing at the stars bright against the darkness of night, and wondered if somewhere at that very moment, by some miracle, Spike was doing the exact same thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stars twinkled brightly in the sky. Spike sat on the steps, moonlight glistening in his platinum hair as he took a drag of his cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke, watched as it swirled and dissipated in the breeze. He tilted his head, observing the sparkling orbs as he watched them glimmer, bright and serene.

Drusilla had always loved the stars. She pretended to see them even when she was indoors, during the daytime. For years after she left him for the chaos demon, Spike used to do this exact thing, pining for her as he gazed at the stars and wallowed in his own misery.

But as he looked up to the stars now, Drusilla wasn’t even a fleeting thought in his mind. The cool breeze seemed to beckon to him, a faint whisper, repeating over and over again the one thing he felt would never cease to preoccupy his mind so readily.

Buffy.

The woman he loved, who would have his unbeating heart until the end of time.

And within the next three days, he was going to see her again.

He had made the decision to go to her after the battle with the senior partners. He knew she was with the Immortal now, living in Rome, and he didn’t expect to start a relationship with her, still didn’t feel worthy of that. She had moved on, and she was happy. He was glad for her, hoping she would be radiant when he saw her, glowing.

Effulgent.

Part of him still wanted to back out of going, so he could still be remembered as the hero Buffy wanted him to be. And besides, especially after going out in a blaze of glory, he didn’t want to just show up in her life now only to complicate things.

Another nagging thought refused to cease tormenting Spike’s mind. Did Buffy really love him?

He had wanted to believe her when she told him in the Hellmouth, saw that she was willing to stay there with him despite the crumbling walls that threatened to crush her at any moment. But he started having doubts during his time at Wolfram and Hart.

Was what Andrew said true? Was she actually in love with him? He needed to find out for sure, though part of him was still terrified to discover the truth.

But after he almost died in that gruesome battle just three weeks ago, he felt he owed it to her to tell her everything, to give their relationship at least some closure before it was too late. Plus, Spike also had the highly undesirable task of bearing bad news, horrible news that twisted his insides when he thought of the pain Buffy would feel upon hearing it.

Angel was dead. He had been slain in the battle.

Damned fire breathing dragon was what got him. Spike shuddered as he recalled the vision of his grand-sire set aflame, dying before his eyes. Even while he was burning, Angel managed to deliver the coup-de-grace, sinking his sword into the dragon’s throat just before he dissolved into ashes.

Spike felt he owed Buffy more than a phone call to tell her something of this magnitude. He wanted to make sure she knew Angel died a hero, brave and valiant as he went down fighting, never ceasing in his efforts. Spike mourned the loss of his grand-sire. Granted, the great poof had been a bloody thorn in his side most of the time, and he often resented him for that. But he still respected him, knew that deep down he was a good, noble man, though a royal pain in the ass.

Spike shifted his position to ground out the cigarette stub beneath his boot, his black duster rustling against the steps as he fidgeted. He silently cursed the senior partners as he thought of all the damage they had done.

‘I hope the whole lot of ‘em are rotting in Hell for what they did, the whole damned bunch.’ He thought bitterly.

Spike suddenly realized the sun was beginning to make its presence known, light slowly creeping into the sky as dawn approached. He stood, spun on his heel and walked inside to escape the sun’s rays, thinking of the journey ahead of him.

‘Well Goldilocks’, he thought wistfully, ‘Hope you’re open for visitors.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Next Day

“Dawn!”

No answer.

“Daaawwn!”

Still nothing. Buffy stamped her foot impatiently.

“Dawn, if you don’t get your lazy butt down here right this second I swear I’ll- I’ll . . . . .I’ll do something you really won’t like. A lot.”

‘Wow, way to sound threatening, Buffy’ she silently berated herself.

“Fine, fine, I’ll be right there!” Came the groggy response.

“Well, why don’t you ‘Be right here’ a little faster, ha? You overslept and you have to be to school in 30 minutes, so unless you feel like going in your pj's I suggest you get up right now.”

There was no answer, only a loud thud followed by much shuffling and banging overhead. Buffy smiled to herself as she pictured her sister scurrying about her room, frantically emptying drawers and pulling everything out of her closet in a desperate attempt to find the perfect outfit in less than 10 minutes. It wasn’t too long ago Buffy had been a teenager herself, so she remembered what it was like. Dawn was 17 now, a junior in high school. Buffy shuddered at the thought of being in high school again. Those weren’t exactly the greatest years of her life.

Dawn finally emerged down the stairs exactly 20 minutes later, wearing a fairly short black skirt and a soft blue sweater, her shiny brown hair down around her shoulders, grazing her waist.

“Oooh, you look nice. I’m sure Diego will just love it.” Buffy teased.

Dawn blushed as she thought of her new crush, and punched her sister in the arm. “Dork,” She muttered, rolling her eyes.

Buffy gave a mock-innocent grin. “What, Diego’s cute! What with that adorable accent, and that cute smile he always flashes your way, and . . . .”

“Stop!” Dawn protested, turning beat red. She grabbed her bag off the table and headed to the door.

“Fine, then. Oh, and you better hurry. You only have 10 minutes to get there. Have fun!”

“Sure, whatever.”

Dawn paused to give her sister a hug before starting on her merry way.

They were lucky enough to live very close to the school, so Dawn usually walked there every day.

Buffy realized she had to get a move-on herself, as she had to go to work soon. She had gotten a job with the council, which was pretty ironic considering her inherent distrust of them in the past. But since the battle with the First, everything was different. Though the agents of the First had successfully weakened the council, killing most of its members and destroying all of their research, they had regrouped, calling members from all over the world to come to their aid. Giles, being the remaining member with the most experience, was put in charge, and thus the council was reestablished. Buffy’s job was to train the new potentials, monitor their abilities and report their progress to the council. Potentials had to endure what Buffy thought of as half boot camp, half school. They were put through the ringer physically, and tested on their fighting skills. Based on Buffy’s reports, the most skilled potentials were allowed to “graduate” and move on to more extensive training, and out of Buffy’s control, while the others had to stay until they passed as well. Buffy sympathized with them when they became frustrated and she tried not to be too hard on them, though sometimes she had no choice.

Buffy went to make herself some tea, and she had just poured the water into the kettle when she heard a knock on her door. She set the kettle on the stove and frowned, glancing at the clock over the kitchen doorway.

‘Wonder who that could be? Little early for visitors.’

And she certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. Nevertheless, she padded over to the door and paused to glance through the peephole. Immediately recognizing the person at the other side of the door, she swung it open to stare at the rather fatigued looking face of Andrew.

“Andrew, hi!” Buffy said, but hesitated before giving him a hug as she recognized the weariness in his features. His clothes were rumpled and messy, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. “Woah, you look like you haven’t slept in days! Is something wrong?”

She hadn’t seen him since he moved a few months back. He had lived with her and Dawn for a while until he had the chance to get back on his feet, to establish a living. Right after he moved from the apartment, Buffy and Dawn got word of their father’s death, and he had left them some money to go buy and actual house. Neither girls took it that hard, since he had never been a part of their lives, but since he was their father they still felt some grieving was in order.

But last she heard Andrew was doing great, starting his own business, so she wondered why he was in such a sad-looking state now. Worry plagued her thoughts as she speculated what could possibly be wrong.

“Uh, Buffy.” Andrew finally spoke, “Can I come in?”

Buffy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “Um, yes. Yeah, sure. Why don’t we go talk in the living room?”

Buffy stepped aside and Andrew nodded, brushing past her to move towards the living room. Buffy frowned, closed the door behind him, and followed him into the room where he carefully sat on her leather couch, shifting uncomfortably as he played with the sleeve of his jacket.

“You, uh, want anything to eat? Something to drink?” Buffy offered.

“No, thanks.”

“Andrew . . . . .”

“Buffy,” he interrupted, “There’s something I never told you that maybe I should have, but I- um . . . . There’s- there’s something I think you should know.”

Buffy gulped, a lump in her throat and her stomach practically doing anxious back flips. She really didn’t like the tone in his voice.

“Andrew, what . . . . .?”

“I’ve got some news, Buffy. Big news. You, uh, might wanna sit down for this.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sp-Spike?” Buffy repeated once Andrew finished his rather lengthy story, her face sheet-white. “Survived?”

Andrew sighed. “Buffy, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But he made me promise not to- he said he’d take care of it. I assumed he’d tell you, I never meant to keep it from you.”

Buffy didn’t respond, her eyes wide and unexpressive as she struggled to register this information. So he didn’t die in the Hellmouth after all. He was alive.

Her vision became blurred with unshed tears, her emotions beginning to overtake her.

Andrew continued, oblivious to her tears. “When he and Angel stopped by that week right before I moved, I thought that-“

“What!” Buffy cried, jumping up from the couch as her sorrow quickly faded. She could feel her face turning red as her anger raised her blood pressure off the charts. “Angel and Spike were here? They came here, to Rome, and no one told me?!”

She furiously paced the room, but stopped abruptly so as to catch Andrew in her death-glare, hoping it would scare the truth out of him.

“Y-yes,” He stammered, “They came because they heard about the Immortal. They were worried because . . . . . .I guess they have some kind of history with him, some issues with him or something, and they didn’t trust him. They thought he had you under some sort of love spell. So I told them nope, no spells going on here, and assured them you were perfectly fine. So, they left.”

“Oh no,” Buffy murmured, “So Spike thought I knew he was alive, and that I’d moved on . . . . Oh no.” She repeated, putting an exasperated hand to her forehead.

“But, but . . . . .Why didn’t Spike tell me he was alive? Why didn’t Angel? Why would he do such a stupid thing? Didn’t he know how much I missed him, didn’t he care?” Buffy began to sputter, her anger and frustration near the boiling point as she ranted, “Oh, when I get my hands on him I’m gonna strangle him! Or, no, wait, strangling can't kill a vamp, I'll just stake him a few times! Where is he? For that matter, where’s Angel? The two of them are so gonna get it for keeping this from me, and when I find them I’ll-“

“Buffy!” She finally realized Andrew had been calling her name. “But that’s just it, that’s what I came to tell you. You’re not gonna find them, you can’t.”

“What do you mean, I’m not going to find them?”

Andrew’s eyes filled with tears and he hung his head, dreading what he was about to say.

“You’re not going to find them, because they’re both dead.”

The words hit her harder than Olaf’s troll hammer.

“Dead?” She squeaked, barely audible. Her knees buckled and she sank into the chair. “Both . . . .dead . . . . how?” She felt dizzy, nauseous. It was as though someone had driven a knife in her gut and was now twisting it for all they were worth. Andrew looked upon her with sympathy, Knowing that the news hadn't exactly been easy for him to take in either.

“Angel," He continued, "He went against the senior partners at Wolfram and Hart. I, uh . . . . happen to know an - insider there who told me all this." Andrew momentarily averted his eyes, but not quickly enough to hide an unreadable flicker of emotion in his eyes as he said those words. It was only for a split second, but Buffy noticed it nonetheless. But she merely decided to shrug it off in light of the extenuating circumstances as Andrew again continued speaking,

"But anyway, the senior partners were evil, corrupt, and they did horrible things. Unspeakable things. Angel wanted to put a stop to it, and he tried to convince them he was on their side, so he could stop things from the inside. But they found him out- discovered the truth. Spike supported Angel, fought alongside him, and they were able to successfully defeat the senior partners, but not without a price.”

Andrew gulped as he paused to take a breath, his voice wavering slightly, “So, as punishment, the partners raised an army against them, an army of the worst kind. Dragons, monsters, thousands of them . . . . .” His voice cracked, “And there were no survivors.”

He looked up at Buffy to see how she was taking the news, knowing it wouldn’t be easy for her, as it wasn’t for him.

Buffy was again out of her seat in a flash, waving her arms around wildly as she paced the room and attempted to grasp the situation and absorb all that Andrew had just revealed.

“Angel, Spike, dead? But, they can’t be . . . . . No, it’s not right!" She declared. "Spike- he... I’ve only just found out he was alive!” She shook her head emphatically, trying desperately to convince herself it wasn't real, and failing miserably. Andrew walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder to try and calm her down, his touch jarring her back into reality.

“Buffy, I’m so sorry.” He said.

With that Buffy put her head in her hands and sank to the floor, eyes wide, shoulders heaving under the strain of her disbelief. It was an overwhelming feeling of shock and sadness bound together.

It wasn't fair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Bloody hell!”

Spike growled furiously, rubbing his head where a lump seemed to be forming.

He shot a murderous glare at the empty suitcase that had fallen on his head when he tried to get it down from the top shelf of the closet.

“Soddin’ luggage.” He muttered.

He walked to his bedroom and began emptying his dresser, shoving his clothes haphazardly into the suitcase. He didn’t have many belongings, so everything easily fit into the modest suitcase and one small black duffel bag. He zipped the bags with a sigh when he finished packing, and began searching his apartment to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

When he was satisfied nothing important would be left behind, he glanced at his watch and realized he’d have to get moving as he needed to be at the airport in a little over an hour.

He couldn’t fly during the day, unless he felt like spontaneously combusting, and he felt he was over his whole 'turning to dust' phase. Since the flight from LA to Italy was so long, he would be forced to make a pit stop so he could take two different flights and avoid traveling while the sun was up.

Spike pulled on his boots and shrugged into his leather duster, shoved a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and grabbed his bags off the bed. Then he took once last look at his apartment before heading out the door.

‘Well, this is it,’ He thought, ‘Rome, here I come.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy didn’t know what day it was, didn’t know how long her sorrow had kept her confined to her bedroom, hidden under the covers. She hadn't showered or brushed her teeth. She knew she probably smelled and looked like ten nights in a bar. But she didn't care.

She knew it was the weekend now, and that Dawn would be spending the night over at her friend’s house.

Dawn had asked her what was wrong, obviously concerned for her older sister’s well being, but Buffy assured her she’d be fine, that she just needed a little time, and then she’d explain everything to her. She’d only spoken to Andrew briefly since he told her the devastating news, and she recalled that he was supposed to stop by sometime today, though she didn’t know exactly when.

So she was left alone to wallow in her misery, only getting up to shower and go to the bathroom, food the farthest thing from her mind.

Two men she had loved were dead.

One who she’d already thought was dead only to find out he’d been alive the whole time, immediately followed by the revelation that he had died again. It was all just too much to take, the emotions completely overwhelming and brutal, like a punch to the gut. Only a simple punch didn’t hurt nearly this badly, or linger so long.

She loved Angel, and a part of her always would. He was her first love, the man she’d lost her virginity to, and he’d always have a piece of her heart. But it took his returning to Sunnydale right before the battle with the First to realize she was no longer in love with him. They had gone down separate paths in life, had grown apart, had moved on. And it was at that moment when she realized with gut certainty he was no longer the one she wanted in her life.

So why had it taken her so long to finally realize that Spike was the one she wanted?

'Because you were afraid of being hurt again, of opening your heart only to have it trampled on. Because you have issues,' She inwardly reminded herself. And she cursed her fear. Cursed her stupid cookie analogy. It had been a weakness that kept her from admitting her true feelings for Spike until it was too late.

Buffy didn’t even know what time of day it was, and it made no difference. Everything seemed to bleed together, and time seemed to be a foreign concept as Buffy’s thoughts tormented her incessantly, plaguing her mind with a myriad of “what ifs” and “why’s”.

What might have been.

Just as Buffy felt herself nodding off again, she heard a knock on the door.

She opened one eye and groaned.

‘Why does Andrew have to show up at the most inopportune times,’ She thought bitterly, praying he had no more bad news to reveal. She couldn't take it.

She reluctantly dragged herself out of bed, absentmindedly smoothed down her hair and dried her eyes on her sleeve, and shuffled to the door.

“You know Andrew,” She said as she opened the door, “I really hope you don’t have anymore news, because I really don’t think I could handle it right-“

She immediately stopped, the last word caught in her throat, when she saw that the person on the other side of the door wasn’t Andrew. She tried to remember to breath as she took in the sight before her.

“Hello, luv.”

But it couldn’t be. He had died! Twice! It couldn’t be who she thought it was standing in her doorway. But there was no mistaking that voice, that accent, or the platinum hair and chiseled cheekbones, the sparkling blue eyes and black leather duster.

Buffy stood in shock, gaping, frozen in place.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Pet?”

“C-come in,” Buffy stammered, startled by her own voice that seemed to float disembodied in the air.

This just couldn’t be happening. It had to be a dream, an illusion.

“Spike?” She whispered incredulously, convinced her eyes were deceiving her as she continued to stare at him, “Are you real?”

She couldn't remember what happened next, because the room faded to black.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy’s eyes slowly flickered open, adjusting to the darkness as she struggled to recall where she was. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in her surroundings as the moonlight streamed through the window, casting eerie shadows on the walls. She could vaguely make out the outline of the dresser against the far wall, and she realized she was in her own room. But there was something in the back of her mind, an unsettling feeling. Something wasn’t quite right, something was different: she could feel it, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

She tried to remember exactly how or when she had come to be in her room. Her mind frantically grasped at the events of her day as she pulled herself to a sitting position in bed.

'Let’s see' She recounted in her mind, 'I cried, talked to Dawn, showered, cried again, slept, waited for Andrew to arrive, went to sleep again, Spike showed up at my door . . . . .'

Now where did that come from?

It was then Buffy remembered. Her eyes went wide as she pictured him standing in her door, her inviting him in, the world fading to black around her.

But now he wasn’t in the room with her. Where was he?

Buffy’s thoughts grew increasingly frantic as she jumped out of bed and dashed down the stairs, taking two at a time as graceful and soundlessly as a cat.

'Ohgodohgodohgodohdgodoh-'

As Buffy emerged in her living room she stopped short and drew in a sharp breath. Her prayers had been answered because suddenly there he was, fast asleep on her leather couch. He looked peaceful, almost angelic as the moonlight glistened in his platinum hair, accenting the shadows of his defined cheekbones, his long eyelashes twitching slightly.

His lean body, all clad in his characteristic black, was sprawled out casually across the couch, one leg hanging slightly off the edge. His black boots were strewn off to the side, his duster draped across the back of the couch. She was close enough to catch a whiff of that familiar and oh-so-welcome smell of leather, smoke, and some slightly spicy cologne.

'Spike smell.' Buffy thought fondly.

'Oh God, he’s really here!'

As Buffy’s mind struggled to register these thoughts, her body unconsciously crept closer to him, not wanting to wake him but desperate to prove to herself that this was really happening. It just seemed to surreal.

She knelt in front of the couch and noticed his body stiffen slightly. He could sense someone in the room, though he still caught somewhere in the stages between sleep and consciousness. Buffy paused to admire him. God, he was still just as gorgeous as she remembered, those wonderfully full lips, fabulous bone structure, every perfect contour. Buffy opened her mouth to speak but her voice refused to cooperate, coming out as a barely audible squeak. She let out a breath and tried once more.

“Spike” . . . . She whispered simply, softly.

His eyes instantly flew open, taking a mere second to adjust before locking his gaze with Buffy’s. And there she was, staring into the eyes of the man she thought she had lost forever, those gorgeous, sparkling, expressive blue eyes that could convey so much with one glance. Emerald eyes stared into blue for a long while before either spoke.

It was Buffy who broke the silence.

“Spike,” Again just barely above a whisper. “Are you really here?”

“I’m really here, pet.” Spike’s voice was husky, still thick with sleep, soothing and just as sexy as Buffy remembered.

She reached out a small hand to gently touch his face, feeling soft skin, lightly caressing every available inch of flesh on his face, trying to prove to herself that he was really there. She reacquainted herself with every contour, every plane, traced the scar above his brow, just one of his sexy imperfections that made him unique, made him Spike. Spike watched with fascination as her eyes drank him in, looking far away and dreamy. He closed his eyes and shivered slightly under her gentle touch. Her small fingers danced across his face, leaving a trail of warmth that sent tingles up and down his spine.

Buffy withdrew her hand, finally satisfied, and Spike’s eyes fluttered open. He was really there, she could feel him, touch him, smell him. She clamped a hand to her mouth as she let out a small sound of wonder, trying to choke back the tears constricting her throat. “Oh, God," was all she could muster. She felt such a myriad of emotions that she couldn't even cry. Tears pooled in her eyes and she simply gasped, almost dry heaving as her shoulders spasmed as though a violent case of hiccups, and she couldn't catch her breath. Spike sat up, instantly concerned but unsure of what to do. He opted to lift an awkward hand and stroke her golden hair, almost as a pet.

“I’m-I’m ok,” Buffy quietly assured him, using her sleeve to dab her eyes as she got a hold of herself. She began talking quickly, almost as though she was afraid he would disappear before she could finish. “Spike, it’s just, how did you - Why didn’t you . . . . I thought you were gone - and then I found out . . . . .Andrew told me- you were alive- but then you were dead again, and I- I just wanted . . .” She sputtered incoherently.

“Hey” Spike interrupted softly. He reached out a hand toward her face, then thought better of it and let his arm drop before he could touch her. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about this in the morning. I’ll tell you everything, I promise. But right now you need to rest. You look like Hell, Slayer.” He smirked at her.

“Gee, thanks,” Buffy mumbled, a watery, half-hearted smile playing on her lips. She shook her head. "I still can't believe I passed out. I don't think I've done that in... well, ever."

"Sank like a stone," Spike said, grinning.

Buffy shrugged. "Yeah, well, been kinda weak lately. Guess I've gotten wimpy since quitting the slayer gig."

She brushed a hand through her hair and stood slowly, reluctant to leave the room. She was about to walk back up the stairs when she spun around, once again meeting his gaze.

“Spike?” Her voice was heavy with emotion.

“Yeah, pet?”

She drew in a breath. “So, you’ll be here tomorrow? You’re not going anywhere, right? Please promise me you won’t disappear.” Her voice cracked slightly, growing lower as she bowed her head. “Because I don’t think I could handle it if you were gone again. God, if this were all just another dream, or hallucination, or something... I just don’t think..." She bit her lip, unable to finish the sentence as she waited for a response.

Spike stared at her, slightly taken aback and swallowing hard, not knowing what to make of what she had just said. Had she really missed him that much? Did she love him?

“Buffy, look at me luv.”

And she did.

“I promise you that this is real. It’s not a dream. I’ll be here tomorrow, and we’ll say everything we’ve been wanting to say to each other. I’m not going anywhere, I swear, or else you have my permission to put a stake in my heart.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that one.” Then Buffy smiled fully, the first genuine smile in months.

But before leaving the room, she suddenly remembered she had reason to be angry with him, "And by the way, you're an asshole." She said as an afterthought.

Spike did a double take, eyebrow raised.

"I'm a what?"

"You heard me," Buffy said. "And you better believe I'm gonna kick your ass tomorrow for not telling me you were alive in the first place." Spike didn't know how to respond. At first he was about to laugh, thinking she was joking, but one look in her eyes told him she was dead serious.

Buffy yawned. "But I'm too tired tonight." She continued, "Mostly because I've been staying up crying over you, you . . .shirty, bleached . . . vampire asshole!" Spike was now thoroughly amused, a smirk playing on his lips.

In an urge to wipe that smug look off his face, Buffy picked up the nearest thing she could find, which happened to be one of her boots lying carelessly on the floor, and threw it at him as hard as she could, hitting him square in the chest. Spike stumbled back a few steps, completely stunned.

"Buggerin' hell, slayer! That bloody well hurt!" He exclaimed, rubbing his throbbing chest in indignation. Buffy gave a small, satisfactory smile.

"You deserved it, and you know it." She stated matter of factly. "And don't think you're off the hook yet," Spike raised his head to look at her, and she met his gaze with fire in her eyes, "We haven't even begun to dance . . . . William." And with those words, she spun on her heel and disappeared up the stars, leaving a somewhat flabbergasted Spike in her wake.

Ever so slowly, a grin appeared on his handsome face, growing wider with each passing second.

"Well," He thought aloud, "My girl certainly hasn't lost that fire of hers. No doubt about that."

Anticipating what the next day would bring, Spike flopped back down on the couch and settled in for the remainder of the night, the grin never leaving his face.

‘Blood…

There was blood everywhere, dripping, dripping, trickling down. The walls were covered with the splattered mess, the white paint marred with a violent red stain that screamed of an unthinkable past horror.

But suddenly the tainted walls began to shake, starting to vibrate at a slow tremble before the earth began to quake from its very core. The movement was relentless. There was nowhere to go. She was trapped, inside a nameless room covered in blood, powerless to do anything but kneel and pray the earth wouldn’t swallow her whole.

But it did.

The ground opened, a large gash in the floor that appeared right beneath her and before she knew what was happening, she was falling, her stomach up in her throat as she fell for what felt like miles before she came to a sudden halt inside the blackest darkness she had ever seen. Had she landed? Was she in Hell? She seemed to float amidst a shroud of darkness, the air thick and heavy and choking the breath from her lungs. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t talk, couldn’t move.

But what was that?

Her tired eyes focused on a little light in the darkness, a golden speck of hope amidst the terror threatening to consume her. The light moved closer. Slowly, steadily, it grew brighter, gaining intensity as the warmth from the luminescent orb washed over her face. And suddenly, she understood. It was trying to show her something. Images playing inside the little light, projected before her as though she were watching old family videos on a movie reel. There were images from her life, rushing before her eyes, starting from birth and not ceasing or slowing until she was inside the cave. Slayers, she could see them now, hundreds, maybe thousands, everywhere in the world, newly given the power. She could see herself inside the cave, fighting against an army of the undead. And then, there he was, in all his glory, sheer white and black, a contradiction in every sense. There was fire, and terror. She saw the walls crumbling, and she ran to him, faster than she had ever run in her life.

But as she looked into his eyes, she realized something was wrong. This wasn’t how she remembered it, because those intense blue eyes were no longer blue, but an eerie shade of amber. They glowed with their own fire, his face contorted and blood dripping from the mouth that seemed forever twisted into an evil smile.

She gasped as his cold hand closed around her neck, cutting off her air as well as her scream. Her eyes widened and began to roll back in her head. His grip was so tight that he lifted her off the ground with one hand, her feet dangling helplessly as she was brought to eye level with him. And just as she felt about ready to keel over from lack of oxygen, she saw his face begin to melt away.

He was turning to ash.

The hand around her neck dissolved into dust and she fell to the ground soundly, gasping for breath. But as she lay on the ground, she felt a sharp pain that radiated from her stomach and nearly blinded her with the sheer agony, and that was when she remembered.

The Turok Han. She had been run through with a sword, and she was dying.

And as she lay there, having accepted her fate, she felt the raindrops begin to fall upon her face. She closed her eyes and let it wash over her as the slow trickle steadily became a downpour. It pelted her broken body.

The girl watched this image that played before her with amazement as she remained caught in the darkness, eyes transfixed on what the light had shown to her. But now, it was finished, and then the light was gone. It had simply clicked off, almost like flicking a light switch. And now the only thing left was pure darkness.

But even the darkness spat her out.

It let her out of its grasp and she was falling again into an unknown abyss.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling…’

“Buffy!”

Someone was shaking her awake. The fog in her mind began to clear, slowly.

“Buffy, wake up!”

Her eyes flew open on command, and suddenly she was greeted by the most welcome pair of blue eyes she had ever seen, glazed over with concern for her.

Sitting upright, she threw her arms around him, sobbing. She clung to him like he was her only lifeline, her hands clutching at his back so tightly it would have crushed any normal human being.

But Spike wasn’t normal.

He returned her desperate embrace, rubbing small circles on her back as he whispered soothing words into her ear.

“Shhh, it’s ok.” A hand trailed upwards to her golden hair, stroking her comfortingly. His cheek, cool to the touch, was gently pressed against hers.

“Hush, luv,” He whispered. And suddenly, her entire body stiffened as she felt his lips grazing the curve of her neck. His tongue lightly tasting the smooth flesh, and he could practically smell the life-giving blood pumping wildly just beneath the surface. Buffy sucked in a breath as he placed a gentle, moist kiss on her exposed neck, and her eyes slowly fluttered shut.

“It’ll all be over soon.”

But before Buffy had a chance to ask him what he meant, her eyes widened in shock and she cried out as she felt two sharp fangs piercing the base of her neck. He tore into her fiercely, and the initial pain spread through her body like wildfire.

Spike, stop!” Tears sprang to her eyes, stinging them. But he ignored her, holding her to him like a vice and preventing her escape as he continued to take long, greedy pulls from her neck.

“Please.” She pleaded again, but her voice came out weak and raspy, and she tried with all her might to push him away. But he wouldn’t budge. And her efforts grew weaker by the second as he fed off her because, despite her protests, the pain began to fade into a dull burn that soon dissolved into something akin to pleasure. A tingling sensation coursed through her veins, quickly moving throughout her body. Her fingernails dug into his back.

He was draining her, sucking out her life force hungrily and she knew with gut certainty that he wouldn’t stop until she was completely dry. She clutched at his shoulders, using him as her only anchor to this conscious reality. The room around her seemed to bleed together in front of her eyes, so she closed them.

She could still hear him sucking lavishly from her, pulling and swallowing. And as she felt herself begin to grow dizzier, her mind let out a final warning cry.

“Spike.” It was a final plea, but her voice was barely audible now. She was growing too weak, and she realized, she didn’t care. Suddenly, all that mattered was that he didn’t stop. Even if that meant her death.

Her limbs felt like lead weights and she let them fall to her sides, completely limp and increasingly numb.

And then, everything went black.....




“Wake up, Buffy!” Spike was leaning over her, grasping her upper arms as he tried to shake her from the throes of her nightmare.

Suddenly, she jolted forward.

And inadvertently slammed her head into his in the process.

Yep, this was definitely the real world.

“Bloody hell!”

“Ow!”

They simultaneously cried out in pain, both rubbing their foreheads. Yet, despite the throbbing pain in her skull and the strange dream, she couldn’t help but chuckle at the current situation. And Spike looked at her with confusion until he realized she was laughing at the ridiculousness of the scenario. Their eyes met, and they shared an amused moment.

Spike was the first to break the silence.

“I heard you scream, so I came in here to see what happened, ‘n you wouldn’t wake up,” He explained. His gaze wavered slightly, and his words were softly spoken. “You scared me,” He said quietly.

Buffy sighed. “I’ve been doing a lot of scaring these days,” She shook her head, “Mostly myself.”

They fell into silence again, until Spike looked at her with furrowed brows. Buffy felt his cool fingers close around her wrist, and he gently pulled her hand away from her forehead where she had been rubbing the sore spot. He narrowed his eyes, as though examining her.

“You’ll have a nice knot there,” He said after a minute, giving a resolute nod. “I’ll go get you some ice.”

“What about you?” Buffy asked, indicating the red spot that stood out on his pale skin where she'd bumped him.

“I’m immortal,” He said, “I’ll live.”

Standing up, he began to move away from her but she stopped him, grabbing his hand before he could leave. Spike turned again, glancing briefly at their joined hands, her little one warm against his larger one, and then he looked up at her with questioning eyes,

“Spike, forget the ice,” Buffy told him, “I’ll be fine,” She tugged on his hand gently until he was sitting next to her again on the edge of the bed. He was so close to her, their bodies mere inches apart and only their hands touching. Spike remained silent as he looked at Buffy expectantly, her emerald eyes glistening as she began to speak.

“I think it’s time we talk.”

Buffy looked at him expectantly, and Spike abruptly averted his gaze. Neither knew exactly how to begin after all those months of leading entirely separate lives.

Secret lives, almost… at least from each other.

Clearing her throat and looking downward, Buffy studied their joined hands as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world. Spike wasn’t a large man, but he still had all the right proportions to make Buffy feel petite in comparison. His hands, for example, dwarfed her own. Long, slender yet large-knuckled fingers wrapped around hers delicately, his skin cool and smooth. She let her thumb absentmindedly trace small patterns over the tiny blue veins that ran just beneath the surface. Veins she knew didn’t pump any blood, and that hadn’t for well over a hundred years.

Spike felt her gentle caress and stiffened slightly. He never knew how to take things when it came to Buffy, as she hadn’t exactly been straightforward with her feelings in the past, her emotions often conflicting with her actions. The slayer was guarded. Always had been, and probably always would be, to some extent.

But then again, so was Spike. Especially when it came to Buffy.

After all those years, and their long and complicated past together, somehow breaking the ice was still an issue.

Shifting uncomfortably, Spike knew one of them had to make a move sooner or later.

‘Why not sooner?’

But just as he opened his mouth to speak, Buffy took the words right out of his mouth.

“I guess I’ll start.”

The intense crystal blue of his eyes were suddenly piercing through hers, and Buffy clamped her mouth shut as she returned his gaze, still trying to gauge the range of emotions she saw on his face.

She could tell he was conflicted. And so was she.

Her words hung heavily in the air between them, and silence once again enveloped them. Sighing, Buffy gently extracted her hand from his, staring down as she folded both her hands in her lap.

‘God, this is almost unbearable.’

‘Just say something, you wanker.’

“Spike…”

“Buffy, I…”

Their simultaneous responses earned a nervous chuckle from both.

“Go on, stage is yours,” Spike offered politely, waving his hand to encourage her to continue.

Buffy nodded, quickly making a decision as she realized it was probably best to get it all in the open right away.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were alive?”

‘Now there’s the question of the century.’

Buffy’s bluntness caught Spike slightly off guard. It wasn’t often the slayer got right down to the point like that, but here she was, giving him a glare hardened with accusations. Spike could practically smell the accusations waiting to spill from her lips. She couldn’t understand his reasoning, could she? She wouldn’t.

Spike sighed, debating how exactly he should go about answering that question. There were a thousand different ways to respond, maybe a million. But, when it came down to it, there was really only one honest explanation…

“I was scared.”

Now it was his turn to be blunt.

Buffy looked taken aback slightly. She blinked, tilting her head.

“Of what?”

And suddenly, the conversation sounded strangely reminiscent of another they’d had just two nights before the battle with the first evil. And that night, they had been completely honest with each other, saying how they truly felt. Though the problem was, they hadn’t been honest with themselves.

They’d both been guarded, afraid, letting their own insecurities get in the way once again.

Spike remembered the way the candlelight had danced across her face while she told him that their night together meant something to her.

Now, her eyes glowed with the same fire. And conflict.

Spike shook his head.

“’M not sure, really.” He shrugged. “Guess part of it was because I had a purpose there, at Wolfram and Hart. Angel couldn’t do it himself. The Nancy boy needed me.”

Buffy winced as she heard Angel’s name. It still stung, but she quickly shrugged it off as she turned her attention to the man before her.

“So that explains why you didn’t drop in for a visit, but not why you neglected to tell me you didn’t actually burn up in the Hellmouth. So, I’m waiting. Splainy.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“It’s not that simple, pet.”

He patted his jean pocket in a vain attempt to locate his cigarettes, because Lord knows he needed one then now then ever. Though he inwardly cursed when he remembered his smokes were in his duster pocket, which just so happened to be downstairs.

“Sod it,” He mumbled. Looking up, he caught Buffy’s gaze and sucked in an unnecessary breath. It was time for the truth.

“I wanted you to remember me the way I was. Going out in a blaze of glory, dying a noble death and all that rot. I’d done all that, to save the world…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “For you.”

She didn’t answer, but continued to stare at him solemnly, lost in thought. So, he continued.

“I didn’t want to just show up on your doorstep... I guess I thought it would take away that meaning, the memory you had of me being a hero. Or at least, trying to be one….”

Buffy couldn’t bite her tongue any longer.

“So in other words, you were being selfish.”

Spike looked at her incredulously.

' Here I’ve worn my bleedin’ heart on my sleeve and she shugs it off again, like it’s nothing…’

But he quickly calmed himself. She had reason to be upset with him. He’d been expecting as much.

“Yeah, I s’pose I was being a little selfish…”

“A LITTLE selfish?!” Buffy jumped up from the bed suddenly, standing before him as her anger rose to new levels. How could he have let her go all those months thinking he was dead, and merely shrug it off as “being a little selfish”?

“So, so what? You thought you could just play the martyr and let me suffer here, thinking you were dead all this time?” She shook her head, violently. “God, I can’t even begin to tell you what warped logic that is.”

Warped?

Suddenly, Spike was on the defensive. He’d come too far during his time at Wolfram and Hart to back down from a confrontation now, not even from Buffy.

“You know what, Summers?” She recognized that he was putting his guard up, too. The cocky voice, the snarky comments, it all seemed too familiar. He stood up, curling his tongue behind his teeth and towering over her as he leered down at her “I did visit you once, and you were too tied up with your honey to even give a bleedin’ piss.”

“Don’t start with this, Spike,” But there was challenge in her eyes as she spoke to him. “You know what? I didn’t even know you were alive until yesterday. Until Andrew told me. I didn’t even get to hear it from you." She raised her chin defiantly. "So don’t you dare throw that in my face."

Spike raked a hand through his platinum hair in frustration.

“I’m sorry, Buffy, alright?” He threw his arms up in the air. “Really I am. I was a fucking coward, a ponce, a ninny.” He paused, weighing his options.

“But to be honest, I didn’t think you’d even care.”

That was a lie. He knew she had cared. To some extent, he’d always known. But, damn it, he wanted to get a reaction from her.

Buffy’s mouth fell open in shock. Her chest heaved.

“How could you even think that?”

Spike snorted.

“I‘m not too far off, am I, luv?” He stressed the word intentionally, stepping closer to her, their faces now mere inches apart. “For missing me so much, it didn’t take you long to spread your legs for that Immortal wanker, now did it?”

A loud crack rang out in the room as she slapped him, right across his cheek. Not with slayer strength, but with enough force to attempt to knock some sense into him.

Spike clenched his jaw, realizing he’d once again managed to royally fuck things up by blurting out another foot-in-mouth comment.

‘You should have just quit while you were ahead, mate,’ He mentally scolded himself.

‘But that’s just the thing, you never were.’

He hadn’t seen her in over a year. They were both confused, conflicted, battling emotions and trying to get to the bottom of things.

But as Buffy looked up at him with tears glistening, Spike immediately felt regretful. He saw it then, in her eyes, the answer he needed but she was too afraid to say, and he was partially too afraid to hear. And at this point, Spike was running on pure impulse, because he didn’t know what else to do. So, he did the most impulsive thing he could.

He kissed her.

Grabbed her by the upper arms, he smashed his mouth to hers, and Buffy squeaked in surprise. She struggled at first, weakly pushing against his chest to make him stop, but realizing she didn’t want him to. Her vain attempts quickly dwindled as she fully gave into the kiss, realizing how much she’d been craving this moment, practically tasting it in her sleep. It had been far too long.


Wrapping her arms around his neck, she drew him closer to her, needing to feel him as close as humanly possible. Her fingers crept upward, and he shuddered as they twined in his silky hair, tickling the back of his neck. She breathed deeply, inhaling his masculine scent.

His tongue gently coaxed her lips open, and she granted him entrance without hesitation, letting her tongue glide against his. It felt right, so very right. And Buffy was so lost in him that she didn’t even realize when he slowly backed her up towards the wall until her back was suddenly pinned against it, and the hard lines of his body pressing against her. And then another type of hardness prodded her stomach, and she gasped.


Suddenly, reality came crashing back.

They couldn’t do this, she realized, because this would only lead to sex. And then they’d be doomed to use sex as an excuse every time they wanted to avoid talking. She didn’t want them to have sex under these circumstances, to use sex as a crutch like they had before. She just couldn’t let that happen.

As his lips left her mouth and trailed downwards, lightly grazing the smooth flesh of her neck, Buffy finally forced herself to put a stop to this. She gently pushed against him.

“We-we can’t.”

Spike merely nodded his understanding, releasing her from his grasp and stepping aside so she could leave.

“Buffy?” He said, almost as an afterthought.

“What?”

She paused, but didn’t turn to face him.

He took a hesitant step closer. “Did you mean it?” Finally, the question was there, perhaps the main thing he’d come here for, to get some validation, some closure, a crumb….

“You mean, when I said I loved you?”

She turned around, her eyes full of sorrow, and she bit her lip, nodding very slowly.

“I meant it.”

And there it was. Spike felt his heart leap into his throat. After all that time, he finally had his answer.

It had been real, after all.

“But now?”

Her lower lip trembled, but she didn't answer.

How could they feel the way they did for each other, and yet, every time, let their emotions, their own stupid insecurities somehow muck it up? Yet again. After all that time apart, it was like they were still caught in a loop, somewhere between wanting to start a relationship and actually starting one.

When would they get it together? Could they ever?

And as Buffy left the room, leaving Spike alone with his thoughts, he realized he might never know.

Spike tossed and turned. Then turned and tossed again.

Though, try as he may, sleep stubbornly refused to come. Maybe it was because vampires were supposed to sleep during the day, and not at night. But his biological clock was a bit loopy at present anyway, thanks to the extenuating circumstances at hand. Plus, he couldn't help but replay his conversation with Buffy over and over again, letting it fester in the back of his mind.

Soddin' couch,' he thought to himself as he turned over yet again in a vain attempt to get more comfortable. 'Don't think I'll ever be able to turn my bleedin' head again.'

Letting out a small groan of frustration, he rubbed his neck where the cramped muscles were starting to throb in protest.

'Bugger it. Who am I kidding, I can't sleep,' He thought bitterly.

He'd spent most the night thinking about what Buffy had said, and what exactly it all meant...for him, for their future...

Assuming they even had one.

Buffy had always run a bit hot and cold, especially when it came to their relationship. She was like the little angel on his shoulder... no, more like the little devil, whispering in his ear, constantly taunting him, reminding him of everything he always wanted and could never have. How could he have been so stupid to assume things were different? Was he foolish to ever think they could be?

Standing abruptly, he yanked his duster off the floor and slid his arms into the sleeves, barging outside to fulfill his unrelenting craving for a smoke. He fished for his trusty silver lighter in the back pocket of his jeans before taking a seat on the front porch steps. Lighting up quickly, he let out a stiff puff of smoke, the cigarette embers smoldering in the darkness.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, his entire body tensed slightly when he realized he was no longer alone.

He sensed her before he even heard her, the aroma of her sweet perfume filling his nostrils.

Buffy.

"You too, huh?"

Spike snuffed out his cigarette on the step next to him.

"Can't sleep." He explained, shrugging casually.

"Kinda figured." She stepped forward, taking a seat next to him on the porch step. "Me neither."

Spike didn't answer. He felt her eyes on him, waiting for him to say something, anything. But he didn't know what to say, and in some ways he hated how she was currently playing it off like nothing happened between them.

'Ball's in your court, slayer.'

As if reading his mind, Buffy began to speak.

"I've been thinking..."

"First mistake," Spike interjected. It was meant to be a joke, but came out sounding a bit harsher than he intended.

Silence enveloped them again, briefly, until he suddenly heard her let out a loud sigh, then...

"I'm sorry."

Well, he hadn't been expecting that.

He looked at her curiously, tilting his head slightly to one side. She looked down at her lap, and for the first time, he noticed that she was wringing her hands together, one of her nervous habits.

"Are you, now?" Raising an eyebrow, he awaited her response.

Lifting her head, she met his gaze, and one look in her eyes told Spike that her words were sincere.

"It might not mean much, but I am sorry. About everything."

And that was all that needed to be said, for the time being. They'd made amends, but now came the really tricky part... the TALK.

After sitting together for several long moments in a fairly uncomfortable silence, Spike couldn't contain himself any longer.

"What exactly is this, between us?" He gestured with his hand, indicating the two of them. Turning his body so he could directly face her on the steps, he dropped his hands in exasperation. "What do you want, Buffy?"

She swallowed, hard, took in a deep breath.

"When have you ever known me able to give a definitive answer to that?" Shaking her head, she worked her bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling furiously. "I think that's always been my issue."

'The day you suss out what you do want, there'll probably be a parade. 76 bloody trombones.'

That statement couldn't have rang truer, it seemed.

Spike snorted. "Bit of an understatement, luv."

Ignoring him, Buffy continued.

"There are a few things I do know..." She stared straight ahead, out into the night. Gathering her courage, she looked at Spike from the corner of her eye before continuing.

It was truth time.

"I know that I missed you. And when you died, a piece of me went with you... I know that you, being here, makes me happy." She drew in a shaky breath and, looking upward, caught Spike's gaze. He was surprised to see the tears that glistened there, pooling in the emerald depths.

"And I know," She whispered, "That I want you in my life." A tear welled up, spilled over, making a salty trail that glistened against her skin in the pale moonlight. Her voice was so small now, so feeble, that Spike barely even heard her last comment.

"Well, that's something." He replied softly, having to physically restrain himself from taking her in his arms, stroking her hair, telling her everything would be alright. Despite the sorrow in her voice, there was something else there that Spike couldn't quite place, something he could tell she was still holding back, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, they sat side by side in silence, much like they used to, even before Spike got his soul back.

Then, upon noticing the first faint hint of light peeking over the horizon, Spike stood up quickly.

"Sun's coming up," He explained, "Better hit the hay before I fit in an ashtray."

Buffy nodded her understanding, and he offered his hand which she accepted, allowing him to pull her to her feet next to him. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand from his, going inside the house ahead of him.

"Dawn'll be back soon," Buffy commented, wrapping her arms around her waist. "That is, assuming she didn't pull another round robin on me. And sooo not wanting to deal right now if she did." Spike chuckled slightly at this, remembering when the nibblet snuck out on Halloween night, giving her big sis quite a scare.

"Anyway," Buffy continued, following Spike into the living room, "I think we're gonna have a lot of explaining to do... to everyone... And, we still have some..."

"Unfinished business?" Spike finished for her.

Buffy nodded curtly. "Yeah."

As Spike shed his duster and sat on the couch, leaning forward to slip his boots off, Buffy realized his intention. Taking a hesitant step forward, she cleared her throat.

"Spike, you don't have to sleep on the couch."

Spike snapped his head upward, surprised.

"It, uh, can't be comfortable," She amended.

Smiling politely, Spike leaned his elbows against his knees and clasped his hands in front of him, holding her gaze.

"'ve slept on worse," He reminded her.

"I know, but... you shouldn't have to, now..." Buffy towed with the collar of her shirt as she spoke. "You could use Dawn's room for now," She suggested.

"Right... I don't think Bit would appreciate coming home to find a supposedly toasted Big Bad in her bed."

Knowing he was right, Buffy realized there was only one other option...

"Then stay in my room."

His eyes widened slightly.

"Couch is fine, Buffy. Really."

But even as he said this, Buffy could see his discomfort as he rubbed at the strained muscles in the back of his neck. She crossed her arms tighter and arched an eyebrow as if to say "yeah, right".

"Alright, so I have a bit of a crink, but..."

"Spike... I'd feel better if you did..."

Seeing the genuine concern and sincerity in her eyes, Spike stood without further argument and followed her into her room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as he watched her move about the space.

Pausing to make sure the curtains were drawn so as not to let any sunlight in the room, Buffy turned to leave.

"Buffy?"

She turned. "I have some things to do..."

"Bollocks," Spike mumbled. "You've got to be just as knackered as I am. You haven't slept all night."

She realized he was right. First, he'd shown up at her doorstep. Then, she had that strange nightmare, and upon being jolted awake, they'd fought. Yet it was only now that she realized she'd gotten virtually no sleep during the whole impossibly long night, and now the sun was coming up. Spike was supposed to sleep during the day, but she wasn't, and she was quickly feeling the effects of not sleeping. Her dry eyes burned, and she was sure there must be dark circles marring her face. She let out a wide yawn.

"I need to get you some blood... from the butcher shop." She explained softly as the yawn subsided.

Again, Spike shook his head. "Doubt the butcher shop's open at this hour. 'Sides, I'm fine right now, Buffy. You need to rest..."

As she still hesitated to move, Spike sighed and poised to stand.

"Look, I can just..." But he trailed off as he felt her hand lightly touch his shoulder.

"No, stay."

No more words were spoken as he scooted backwards on the bed, waiting for her to climb in beside him. Hesitating for only the briefest of moments, she knelt on the bed before letting her head rest on the pillow next to him. They laid supine for several long minutes, both side by side but not touching and stiff as a board, neither quite sure of what to do. It was awkward, uncomfortable... It didn't feel right.

Quickly making up her mind, Buffy turned on her side, sliding her body close enough to pillow her head against his chest, letting her hand come to rest against his flat stomach. Spike responded immediately, his arm wrapping around her shoulders, and he had to bite his lip to keep from letting out a sigh of relief at her closeness. Smiling to herself, Buffy let her eyes close, blotting out everything in the world around her except for the feel of being in Spike's arms again.

'And tomorrow's a brand new day...'

Within seconds, they were both fast asleep.

Dawn let herself in the house, pulling the door shut behind her.

"Buffy, I'm home!"

No answer.

Frowning, she dropped her over night bag on the floor and crept into the living room, letting out a wide yawn. She really hadn't gotten much sleep. In high school, "staying over at someone's house" usually translated into "partying all night long." Which in this case proved to be no exception.

Dawn went into the living room, and suddenly, she froze as she passed the sofa, her eyes locking on a very familiar object.

A black leather duster.

Her eyes widened slightly. It couldn't be, could it?

She approached the object, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch it, as though it might burn her.

It certainly felt real.

Dawn backed up quickly and raced up the stairs, she paused outside her sister's room, listening for any indication that something was amiss. "Buffy?" She called, though her voice came out small and weak.
Hearing nothing, Dawn cautiously pushed open the door, and gasped at the sight before her.

Buffy was asleep on her bed... in Spike's arms.

Spike, who was supposed to be dead.

Dawn swallowed hard, backing up slightly and accidentally tripping over something on the floor that she had no time to identify as the loud noise she inadvertently made jolted the two cozy bodies awake. Buffy sat up straight, rubbing her eyes to fend off grogginess. She squinted and knitted her eyebrows together in confusion as she took in a very confused Dawn who still stood in place, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"B-Buffy?" Dawn pressed her back against the wall, unable to tear her eyes away from Spike who was now sitting up slowly on the bed next to Buffy.

"Hello, Bit..." He tried lamely, his voice slightly hoarse and still thick with sleep.
But Dawn just continued to gawk in shock. Finally finding her voice, she opened her mouth to speak.

"I-It's the First, right?" She looked at Buffy. "He's not real, he can't be."

Quickly gaining her sense, Buffy briefly looked at Spike before jumping off the bed and rushing over to her sister. Grasping her gently by the shoulders, she attempted to calm her.

“Dawnie, no,” Buffy said soothingly. “It’s… he didn’t die like we thought.” She paused, frowning. “Or, he did, actually, but he came back and showed up here and you know what? It’s a really long story. One I think will be better told when your jaw isn’t sweeping the floor.”

Realizing her mouth was still hanging wide open, Dawn snapped it shut, shaking her head to gain some clarity.

“Oh, sorry,” She apologized. “It’s just, I, wow….” Her voice trailed off, and as Spike stood from the bed, walking slowly across the room to join Buffy, Dawn jumped and backed out the door.

“I, uh, have to go unpack my bag.” She squeaked. Though even as she said this, she found it hard to move.

“Dawn….”

Forcing a tight smile on her face, Dawn shifted her gaze to Buffy.

“Right. Going now.” With that, she spun around and exited the room hurriedly.

Buffy sighed and clasped her hands in front of her as she watched her sister scurry down the hallway and disappear into her room.

“Well, that went swimmingly.”

Buffy jumped at the sound of Spike’s voice directly behind her, realizing he’d managed to sneak up on her while she’d been lost in thought.

“Sorry pet, didn’t mean to scare you.” Buffy smiled politely, shaking her head.

“No, it’s just…” Meeting his eyes, she saw sympathy and understanding in them. “Dawn’s just shocked, and confused,” She explained.

“Expected as much.”

“She just needs some time to absorb things,” Buffy continued, “Then we’ll explain away.” Suddenly catching the time on the clock that hung on the wall over Spike’s shoulder, her eyes widened.

“It’s almost 1? I haven’t slept in this late since… Well, never.” She shook her head. “Wow, that’s really pathetic. Three years removed and now I’m turning into a college kid.” Suddenly realizing just how close Spike was standing, Buffy felt her body temperature rise slightly. Still, his effect on her never ceased to amaze. Her eyes remained lock on his black clad chest as she spoke.

“You must be hungry,” She said, resolutely. “I’ll make a run to the butcher shop.”

“Buffy?” Spike’s voice halted her as she turned to leave. His cool fingers caught her lightly by the elbow, feeling like a gentle caress against the heat of her skin.

“Yeah?”

He smiled kindly at her. “Thanks.”

Raising her head, Buffy met his gaze again, seeing those startling blue, expressive eyes, and for a moment she was lost. His fingers lingered on her arm, and she was in no rush to pull away. Silently, she returned the smile, raising a hand to the side of his face and letting her thumb gently caress away the traces of her anger, where she’d slapped him that night. Eyes twinkling, he leaned into her touch, enjoying the feel of her warmth that seem to bleed through into his soul

‘Still has me by the short hairs, she does.’

Unable to resist, she tilted her head upward and brushed her lips across his, letting her eyes flutter shut as she felt Spike respond. His lips parted slightly, fingers leaving her elbow to trail up her arm, leaving goose bumps in their wake. Her own hand still lingered on his cheek, her other hand merely resting against his abdomen, feeling taut muscles flex slightly underneath her touch. After a moment, Buffy broke off the kiss before it could escalate into anything more, taking a step back out of Spike’s reach.

“I better get going. You sit tight, ok? I’m gonna check on Dawn before I leave, make sure she’s not spazzing.” Spike nodded, watching as Buffy left the room.

However, she didn’t make it two steps when she was overcome with a blinding pain, starting in her stomach and shooting bolts of agony that radiated throughout her body and throbbed in her skull. Clutching at her stomach, she doubled over. The pain wouldn’t go away. In fact, it seemed to intensify with each passing second. Taking sharp, ragged breaths, Buffy squinted in confusion as she felt a strange moisture on her hands. Raising them cautiously for her inspection, she gasped as she saw that they were covered in red.

Blood. Her blood.

Looking down for the first time, she saw the wound in her stomach, staining her shirt with blood, dripping slowly onto the floor and pooling at her feet.

It was the same wound the Uber Vamp had given her when he’d run her through with a sword, in the Hellmouth, during the battle with the First Evil.

The wound that had almost killed her.

The pain became unbearable, and Buffy suddenly felt too weak to stand, catching herself against the wall before she could collapse onto the floor. Yet the gaping wound in her stomach paled in comparison to the sudden chaos that flooded her head. Raising her arms, she threaded her fingers through her hair, trying to massage away the agony. Vaguely, she was aware that someone was behind her, asking her if she was alright. But it seemed as though whoever it was were a million miles away. She couldn’t quite decipher the words, as though she were under water and her ears weren’t quite working right.

“My head,” She moaned.

The voices. There are voices.

“Voices…” She whispered, feeling exactly like that time in high school when she’d been able to read people’s thoughts. She couldn’t distinguish one voice from the next, whether they were male or female, human or demon. But they all sounded distressed, calling out to her.

”Help me”

Buffy closed her eyes tightly, trying to shut them out.

”Buffy”

Her eyes flew open. She recognized that voice.

”Buffy, help!”

“Dawn.”

Buffy pushed off from the wall, suffering a sudden wave of vertigo as she tried to maneuver herself down the hall that now seemed to go on for an eternity. She needed to get to Dawn. She’d heard her sister’s plea for help in her mind.

Feeling along the wall for support, Buffy finally reached Dawn’s room, kicking the door open so fiercely it sent splinters of wood flying in all different directions.

“Dawn!”

“Jeez, train wreck, much?!” Dawn jumped, staring at Buffy like she had two heads. “You know, most people at least knock before going all postal on the door!”

“Sorry.” Relieved that Dawn was ok but still suffering with a migraine, Buffy leaned her back against the wall and closed her eyes tight.

“Are you ok, Buffy? You don’t look so good.”

Buffy nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger to fight the splitting headache that still lingered.

“Yeah, just a headache.”

“Don’t worry,” Dawn soothed, her voice dripping sweetness. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Buffy snapped her head upwards, staring at her sister in shock. Those words, she’d heard them before.

They were the words Spike had said to her in her dream.

’Don’t worry, luv. It’ll all be over soon.’

“What did you say?”

Dawn narrowed her eyes slightly, examining her sister’s strange behavior.

“I said you should take some Tylenol or something.”

“Oh.”

Buffy stood upright on wobbly legs, trying to calm herself and her escalated heartbeat.

“I, uh, need to go to the bathroom.”

Excusing herself quickly, she ran to the bathroom as fast as she could while feeling like her limbs were made of jello. She turned on the faucet, bending over the sink and splashing cold water on her face. Grabbing the guest towel, she dabbed at the droplets, pausing to take in her appearance in the mirror. Hair sticking out in all directions, sticking to her damp forehead, eyes bloodshot…

’God, I’m a mess,’ She thought. ‘What the Hell is going on here?’

Something wasn’t right…. She could feel it.

Then, as if on cue, the hairs on her arms stood on end, and a shiver coursed through her tired body.

She stared at her reflection, her muscles tense. She couldn’t see him. He was a vampire, so he had no reflection.

But she could feel him.

“Spike…”

“Hush,” He commanded softly, and she obeyed without further question.

He crept up behind her, aligning his body with hers and pressing himself against her back
His breath on the back of her neck, and he brushed her hair aside, kissing her there, which caused a sudden flood of moisture between her legs, the pain in her skull melting into a sharp pleasure that sent sparks straight into her womb.

His hands snaked around her waist, fingers looping into the waistband of her pants and pushing them down, and Buffy was too weak to protest as the material collected around her ankles. She heard the metallic cling of Spike’s zipper, and suddenly she felt the hard tip of his cock prodding her moist folds, seeking her entrance. Finding his target, he gave one firm thrust of his hips, sliding easily inside of her slick heat until he could push no further.

Buffy felt him, embedded so deep, stretching her, filling her. She was drunk with it, with him, with the sheer pleasure.

She raised her arm to grasp his neck, turning her head to capture his lips, but he avoided her mouth entirely. Instead, he twined his fingers through her golden hair and tugged, exposing her neck to him as he continued to move inside of her. Gasping as his lips caressed the side of her throat, she grabbed onto the sink in front of her with both hands, steadying herself. Buffy answered his every thrust, pushing back against him eagerly until his pace became almost violent, like a wild animal, growling and groaning. He pounded into her fiercely while his lips continued to suck at her neck, letting his tongue dart out to taste the sweet flesh. Tears suddenly blurred her vision. The pain, the ecstasy, the confusion… it was all too much. And suddenly, Buffy felt as though she were about to explode.

“Spike,” She gasped, her knuckles turning white from the painful grip she had on the sink.

That was the only word she managed to choke out before she felt two sharp fangs savagely tear into her throat, taking deep pulls of her blood. Buffy cried out, and as he reached in front of her, pinching her clit between his fingers, she was lost, riding out the waves of an intense orgasm. Slowly, she opened her eyes as the sensation began to subside, watching in the mirror as Spike extracted his fangs from her neck, licking his blood stained lips and savoring the taste of her. She watched as he stared back at her intensely in the mirror, his yellow eyes fading back to their normal blue, and….

Wait a minute, something was wrong.

Spike was a vampire. She shouldn’t be able to see him in the mirror.

Feeling something was amiss, Buffy’s eyes drifted to take in her own appearance, and she let out a gasp of horror at the sight.

Yellow eyes, deep ridges in the forehead, razor sharp fangs dripping blood… she had become a vampire, a demon. Her reflection slowly faded in the mirror until all she could see was Spike, who still remained buried deep inside of her. But she couldn’t see herself anymore.

Gone, she was gone, dead. A demon.

She jumped as Spike’s breath tickled her ear, and he began to whisper, something akin to a cryptic poem or chant.

”When darkness falls, death will prevail.
Your will shall guide you through these darkest days.
Come hither, maiden, lift your veil.
That which is overthrown demands restoration.
It screams inside and never sleeps.
Blood awaits for those that seek redemption.
Consumes and burns as the shadow weeps.”

“Feeling better, pet?”

Startled, Buffy’s eyes flew open as she took in her new surroundings. Her mind desperately tried to grasp what had just happened. Had it all just been another dream?

Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Buffy realized she was lying on the couch, on her back while Spike held an ice pack to her throbbing forehead. She groaned. The pain… Now she remembered. Squinting, she glanced at the clock on the wall, and did a double take. 2:15? That couldn’t be right. It hadn’t even been 1:00 when Dawn came home. Yet somehow, she had no recollection of the fact that an entire hour had passed. Sitting upright abruptly, she glanced at Spike, who looked upon her with concern and confusion. Then, she glanced down at her stomach to find no blood, no gaping wound. Feeling her face, she felt she lumpies, no fangs, just normal human features.

“Buffy?” She looked at him, her eyes desperate.

“Spike, I don’t know what’s happening,” He blinked at her as she continued. “Somehow I lost an hour. Last thing I remember it wasn’t even 1:00, then whoosh!” She made a wide gesture, “I don’t even remember. What happened?”

“Well,” He began, “The Bit found me with big sis, was rendered completely speechless for a record breaking 90 seconds and locked herself in her room. Then…” he paused, thinking. “You went to check on her and bloody near collapsed, complaining about a headache… so, I brought you here and sent Dawn to the butcher shop in your place.”

“Oh.” Buffy frowned. “I remember up to the part with the headache. But after that it’s all just… blurry.” She shook her head. “There’s something strange happening here. And whatever it is… I think it’s definitely of the supernatural type,” She explained.

“I know.”

Buffy looked at him, surprised. “You know?”

“I’ve no soddin’ clue what it is, but I felt it. I’ve sensed it, in little tidbits ever since I came here.” He sighed. “Something’s brewing.”

Buffy pulled her lip between her teeth, nibbling absentmindedly as she contemplated his words.

“I think it’s time we talk to Giles.”

From the kitchen, Spike and Dawn could hear bits of Buffy's conversation as she spoke to Giles.

"Yes, dreams. You know, like those freaky-times-ten slayer dreams I used to have?.... They've been getting worse, too... I don't know, Giles. I think this seems like a pretty good reason to start with the spazzing... I'm not spazzing!... No, I didn't. I said it might be a good reason to spaz, not that I was actually... Ok, how about we get back to the hot topic of the moment here? Evil nightmares, for instance, and riddles... Well, not riddles exactly. It sounded almost like a, like a prophesy of some kind. That'd been written by a drunken poet... It said something about darkness falling..." They heard a pause followed by some crinkling, "Uh huh, here. I wrote it down, figured you'd need to know the whole thing verbatim to do your book stuff... Yes, you taught me well, oh wise watcher. Can I read the evil prophesy now?... K, it said, 'When darkness falls, death will prevail...'"

"So, what's your deal?"

Spike looked up at the source of the unexpected question, surprised. Since Dawn had come home, those had been the first words she'd spoken to him. Now, she sat across from him at the kitchen table, arms folded across her chest as she looked at him with an expression of slight indignation and expectancy.

Spike sighed, placing his mug of pig's blood cautiously on the table in front of him.

"What do you want to know, bit?"

Dawn raised an eyebrow.

"You, with the showing up, and the whole not being dead thing."

Spike nodded his understanding. "Hell of a lot to explain..."

"How about starting with why you didn't tell anyone you were alive."

Spike sighed loudly, bristling slightly at her forewardness. However, Dawn pushed on, unphased by
his reaction.

"Buffy missed you, you know," Spike stared down at the contents of his mug, uncharacteristically quiet as he contemplated all he was being told.

"She'd try to act all normal and big-sisterly, but... I could tell she was hurting," Dawn continued. Her expression softened slightly and she lowered her eyes, unfolding her arms only to clasp her hands together on the table, staring down at them. "I hated you," She stated softly. "I hated you for hurting Buffy." Picking at her nails absentimindedly, she fidgeted, as she was finally getting to say everything she'd been wanting to say to him.

"There was a time when I looked up to you, too... You just seemed so cool, like you had all the answers, and sometimes," She paused again, a look of slight guilt clouding her features. "Sometimes, I even thought you were better than Buffy."

She shook her head in disbelief.

"You took care of me, when Buffy was gone. You were there when she wasn't, and, I thought you were above certain things. So when you..." She couldn't finish that statement. "After that, I hated you even more. I resented that you made me trust you, only to prove me completely wrong."

"I resented you for shattering my dumb little adolescent image of you being this hero. Because really, I was just a stupid teenager. I still am, in some ways." Letting out a long breath, she continued.

"It took me a long time to accept that you'd changed, that you were a different person... You screwed up. I mean, majorly, royally screwed up. But, you knew it, and you tried to fix it. I understand that now, and I forgive you. I mean, you did die saving the world and all, and, um, I guess what I'm trying to say is... Buffy wasn't the only one who missed you."

As Dawn finished her speech, Spike couldn't help but feel touched by her honesty.

'You really are turning into a ponce...'

Then, a second, more disturbing thought entered his mind.

'Bloody hell, you're contemplating again. You're not only a ponce, now you're also turning into Sir Broods-a-lot himself.'

Shaking his head to clear it, Spike met Dawn's gaze and offered her a kind smile, opting to keep his answer short and sweet.

"Thanks, lil bit."

Dawn nodded, giving a tight smile in return.

"Spike?" She said after a moment. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a 'little' bit anymore. Haven't been for a while now. I mean, hello, almost legal adult here." She gestured to herself with a slight wave of her hand, trying to emphasize her point.

"Sorry, nickname's a habit now, platelet. Can't bloody help that." His eyes had a slightly teasing glint in them as he spoke.

Dawn stood from the table slowly. "Fine," She said, pushing her chair in, and pausing for a moment before she responded, "I guess I can live with that."

Buffy entered the room just as Dawn left, stopping next to Spike where he remained seated at the table, downing the remainder of pig's blood before it got cold.

"So, what'd old Rupes have to say?" He inquired after finishing the contents of his mug.

Buffy sat across from him, taking the seat Dawn had just abandoned.

"He's on his way," She responded.

"So, has he got any clue what's going on with all the ghostly mojo?"

Buffy shook her head.

"Not yet. He has to go into hyper librarian mode first, do some research."

"Buffy?"

"Yeah?" Her response was almost too quick.

'Well, someone's jumpy...'

"What's on your mind, pet?" Spike tilted his head slightly, bending downward to try to catch her gaze
that seemed permanently transfixed by something on the table. "Buffy?"

She sighed, meeting his eyes hesitantly.

"You were in those dreams too, Spike... I mean, it looked like you, but it wasn't you. At least, I don't think so. Because you, or whatever it was tried to drain me, to kill me, like-."

"Like pre-soul Spike."

"No, like pre-chipped Spike. Except even worse, more sinister... When I first met you, when you tried to kill me, I never feared you like this. Like it was something..."

"More evil?"

"More powerful," She added.

"Something like the First?"

Buffy shrugged. "I don't know." She rubbed her forehead in exhasperation. "God, I don't know what to think."

Reaching across the table for her hand, he covered it with his own.

"We'll figure it out, Buffy."

"How can you be so sure?"

But as Spike moved his thumb along the back of her hand, his eyes suddenly lit up with awe when he felt something he hadn't noticed before. Letting his gaze drop, he traced the slightly raised skin, small white-ish pink lines that had faded and were hardly noticeable
anymore to the naked eye, but very distinguishable to the touch.

His mind flashed back to their final moments together in the Hellmouth, the amulet turning his soul into a pure, brilliant energy, Buffy entwining her small hand with his, only for their joined hands to burst into flame as the walls crumbled around them.

'Hurt like soddin' hell, too'

His own scars from the fire had faded, supernatural healing powers making it almost impossible for any physical wound to leave lasting marks. Especially after being recorporealized through the power of a mystical amulet.

Finding his voice again, Spike looked up at Buffy, whose own expression remained unreadable as she waited for him to speak.

"Because you always do," He whispered.

*****

Later that night, Buffy found herself nestled in Spike's arms yet again. And in those moments, she felt comfortable and content.

Well, as comfortable and content as she could be with all the new worries flooding her mind.

She'd been to hell and back, died twice, faced countless battles, slayed demons with superhuman strength as part of her life's calling. Yet somehow, being in Spike's arms made her feel safer, as though he were her shield from the world, if only for a moment. It felt good to have her main source of support back, the one who always had her back.

It made her feel safe... and loved.

They lay spooned together on her bed, her back aligned snugly with his chest. She wore pajama bottoms and a thin blue camisole, him jeans and nothing else, allowing her to feel the hard, smooth muscular lines of his bare chest pressing against her. His arm was strewn over her waist, fingers splayed across her stomach as he held her close.

Buffy absentmindedly ran her fingers over his hand, her jumbled thoughts making it hard for her to find rest.

The dreams, the time loss, the uncanny feelings of foreboding... There was just too much for it to all be mere coincidence, and Buffy could only hope that Giles would bring the answers when he arrived.

"Mmm, Buffy..."

Buffy was torn from her thoughts as she heard Spike let out a soft moan behind her, followed by a barely audible gasp.

Buffy tensed slightly.

Wait, was he?...

Upon suddenly feeling a telltale hardness prodding her backside, her suspicions were confirmed.

'Ok, there's no mistaking that'

Spike was having a dream about her. And from the feel of it, most definitely a naughty one.

"Buffy..." Shuddering as he nuzzled her neck, she closed her eyes, unsure of what to do.

But as he slipped his hand under the waistband of her pants, she realized that stopping him was the farthest thing from her mind.

"Love you, Buffy. My Buffy..."

His fingers suddenly dipped inside her warm center, already damp with her arousal, brushing against her swollen clit and making Buffy bite down on her lip, hard, to keep from crying out.

She was so close. He'd barely even touched her, and she was already almost at her edge.

As his hand continued its sweet torture, movements lazy and slow as he fondled her in his sleep, a soft mewl escaped her throat. Swallowing hard against another cry of pleasure, she felt the pressure building inside of her rapidly, like hot steam ready to burst as the steady rhythm of his fingers was quickly stroking her to completion.

'Oh, God, just a little more...'

But even as she thought this, her climax washed over her with those final strokes of his fingers, and she was sent spiraling over that edge. The orgasm came fast and hard, leaving just as quickly as it had come.

As her body came down and the fog cleared from her mind, she realized his hand had never ceased its movements. She twitched, the feel of his fingers tirelessly rubbing her already sensitized clit almost painful.

She turned in his arms, effectively halting his movements and sensing that he was in the process of waking as his eyelids fluttered. Leaning closer, she whispered his name.

"Spike.."

Upon hearing her voice, his eyes flew open, instantly locking with hers. Confusion was apparent in his blue depths as he instantly smelled their mutual arousal, noticing the fact that his hand was jammed halfway down her pants quickly thereafter. His eyes widened slightly. He must've...

"I'm sorry," He mumbled, realizing what he had done as he pulled his hand away, turning onto his back in order to give himself some distance.

"Don't be," She responded softly, to which he shook his head, sitting upright on the bed.

"I need a smoke," was all he said before standing and making haste for the door.

Buffy let him leave, lying still on the bed and forcing herself not to chase after him as she instinctively knew he needed his space. There were always certain boundaries, always had been and always would be, that were understood by both.

Everyone needs to be alone sometimes, just as everyone needs to be loved. Which was something
Buffy knew perhaps better than anyone else.

Countless minutes later, Buffy heard the door shut, the poignant smell of smoke filling her nostrils as she felt him slide into bed beside her once again. Hearing him sigh, Buffy decided to tell him what she felt.

"You didn't take advantage, if that's what you're thinking," She assured him. "I could've stopped you if I wanted to, you know."

Her statement was met with a long silence, until finally...

"I'm sorry." Buffy turned to face him.

"I told you, you don't have to be..." But she trailed off, as one look in his eyes told her he wasn't just talking about tonight. Offering him a soft smile, she turned on her other side again, pulling his arm over her to encourage a response as she scooted backwards and resumed their earlier position. After a brief moment, she felt his grip on her tighten, and he reveled in the gift of her warmth, of having her so close.

"I know," Was the last thing she said before sleep overtook them both.

When the door bell sounded, Spike was the one to answer. Swinging the door open cautiously, he stood back and stared into the face of the retired watcher.

"Spike," Giles said simply, stepping across the threshold and into the room.
Spike nodded his greeting, eyeing him warily.

"Giles."

Then, after taking it upon himself to close the door behind him, Giles stepped forward, raised an arm, and with a quick hand he flicked Spike on the forehead with a load "Thwack!" as his finger connected with flesh.

Spike growled in protest. "What the buggering hell was that for!"

Quirking an eyebrow, Giles peered at Spike through his glasses. "Just wanted to be sure."

Scowling, Spike stepped aside as Giles brushed past him. "Sure of what? That vampires can feel pain?"

"That you're corporeal."

Spike snorted. "Satisfied?"

"Quite."

"Well, good."

Giles removed his glasses, taking a moment to clean the smudged lenses on the bottom of his shirt. "Lucky I didn't tackle you," He mumbled under his breath. Spike took a threatening step closer.

"Come again, mate?"

"Wow, can you feel the love in this room."

Both men, now practically toe to toe, snapped their heads in the direction of the unexpected voice to see Buffy watching the two individuals facing off in her living room, her eyebrows raised and arms folded across her chest.

"Yes, that was sarcasm," Buffy sighed her irritation loudly, "I mean, I leave you two alone for five seconds, and hellooo to the tension. So, what now?"

"Apparently, Gramps here has his knickers in a twist," answered a smirking Spike.

"Ok you two, let's take it down a notch?" Though the statement was meant for both, she couldn't help but stare pointedly at Giles while she spoke.

"So, find anything worth while?" Buffy inquired after a moment, her gaze still fixed on Giles.

Just as she said this, the doorbell sounded as if on cue. Buffy looked at Giles with a frown, noticing his face showed no sign of surprise at the unexpected
interruption. He glanced quickly at his watch.

"Ah, yes. Right on time."

Moving toward the door at a quick pace, he swung it open, sporting a glare of impatience as he greeted the person waiting outside.

"Well, come in, then. Don't just stand there."

Reaching out the door, he grabbed the visitor by the arm and yanked, a protest of "Ow, hey!" heard as none other than Andrew appeared in the doorway, looking somewhat distressed.

Rubbing his arm, he threw Giles a sour look. "Hey, you told me to come here and I'm, like, on time and everything! Why'd you have to go all Darth Vader on me?" He whined. "What are you gonna do next? Strangle me with your invisible... mind powers?..."

But his voice trailed off, ending in a slight squeak as he saw who stood across the room from him. It was almost a comical sight, as Andrew's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, his jaw flapping open and closed like a fish. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, though it could've passed for something akin to "holy bat-mobiles." He shook his head, eyes still locked on Spike.
"It can't be. You're - you're dead!"

Spike shrugged, finding it difficult to hide his amusement as he stood with his arms folded. "Didn't stop me before, did it?"

If Andrew looked flustered before, it was nothing compared to the shade of tomato red his face turned when he heard Spike speak. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking rather like someone in a hurry to get to a bathroom.

"You - you don't have permission to speak, First slash Spike!..."

Andrew looked from Giles, to Buffy, then back again, looking very anxious as he waited for someone to disprove what he'd said.

Buffy rolled her eyes as she realized both men were trying to let Andrew sweat it out a little. Taking pity on him, she spoke up before he could say anything else.

"It's not the First, Andrew. It's really Spike."

"But, but it can't be. He told me-"

Three pairs of eyes bored holes into Andrew, who had apparently realized a moment too late that he'd probably said more than he should have.

"Who told you, Andrew?" Buffy's voice seemed to startle him, and he jumped a bit. He paused, clearly conflicted over something, before finally lowering his head
and answering in a hushed whisper.

"The Immortal"

Silence enveloped the room at his response, the only sound being Spike who let out a soft, chortled laugh.

"Figures," He muttered, though the comment was blatantly discarded as Buffy took a step toward Andrew.

"What did he tell you?" She asked, trying to make her tone as non-threatening as possible, though it was obvious her patience was beginning to grow thin ashis only response was a casual shrug. Andrew's head now hung so long his chin rested against his chest.

"Andrew," She tried again, taking another step closer. "Don't play games. I want details." She stopped directly in front of him, arms crossed as she awaited a response. "So tell me, right now, exactly what was said."

Another moment passed, and just as Buffy was about to open her mouth again to speak, Andrew lifted his head slowly. But as Buffy met his eyes, she let out a small gasp of surprise when she suddenly knew with gut certainty that the person she stared at wasn't Andrew anymore. Her feeling wasn't wrong, as both Giles and Spike seemed just as shocked as Buffy was, because the eyes staring back at them were wild looking and glowed a bright, menacing amber color. Though none of them had time to react as without warning,Andrew suddenly attacked, emitting a deep, animalistic growl and lunging at Buffy, pushing her aside so roughly she was knocked clear off her feet and landed with an "Ommph!" But Andrew didn't stop there. He charged, much like an angry bull, at full force across the room... and right at Spike.

He had no time to dodge, no time to prepare for an attack as Andrew moved with such unexpected speed and agility that Spike was on the ground before he even realized what had happened. And a split second later, he heard a cry of horror just as he felt a pointy wooden object piercing his chest, tearing through his yielding flesh like a knife through butter. Spike let out a howl of pain, suddenly aware that Buffy had pulled Andrew off of him, who was now slumped on the floor like a rag doll. Giles went to Andrew, grabbing him beneath the arms and dragging him into the kitchen as Buffy rushed to Spike's side and knelt beside him.

Bracing a hand on his stomach, she pulled the stake from his chest and threw it aside, her face glazing over with concern as he let out another groan of pain.

"Spike," She said, "Are you ok?"

"Mostly," He grumbled, allowing Buffy to help him into a sitting position. "That stings like a bleedin' bitch. But least I'm not dust, which is a plus." Noticing Buffy flinch as he said those words, he reached for her hand, which she grasped without hesitation.

"So then, he-"

"Missed?" Spike finished her sentence. "Yeah. 'S a good thing the boy's got lousy aim."
But despite Spike's efforts to make light of the situation, Buffy's face remained clouded over with worry, though the relief she felt over Andrew having missed was just as hard to mask.

"Spike," She whispered, taking a moment to compose herself before she continued. "I've never seen anyone move that fast. I mean, he just charged at you. And his eyes..." Pausing, she worked her bottom lip between her teeth as she contemplated. "That wasn't Andrew. Because Andrew would have missed. Whatever was controlling him, or possessing him... I think it was meant to miss. Like maybe this was some sort of message."

Spike pursed his lips. "Why am I always the bleedin' message?" He stood slowly, dull bursts of pain spreading throughout his chest as he leaned on Buffy, who guided him over to the couch. After Spike was comfortably seated on the couch, Buffy left the room, reappearing a minute later with a bowl of water, a towel, and some bandages. Helping him pull his shirt over his head, she then began tending to him, soundlessly cleaning away the dried blood before gently whiping the area clean with the unused portion of the towl and applying a large white bandage. Then, she dropped the soiled towel in the bowl and set it at her feet for the time being, turning to look at Spike as he started to speak.

"Well, least this explains why Andrew was acting so bloody wierd when me 'n Angel came here before," He said, and Buffy frowned.

"'Wierd' like how?"

Spike thought for a minute.

"Wierd like... normal," He chuckled, "A bit... suave, actually. Didn't know the little ponce had it in him." Buffy sucked in a deep breath, looking down at her lap as she once again lost herself to her thoughts.

"So, who d'ya think's driving the wheel this time? Any thoughts?" The only thing that told Spike she'd even heard his question was a barely noticeable shake of her blond head. Several long moments of silence followed until Buffy finally spoke.

"I just can't believe I didn't realize something was off with Andrew," She said softly. "How did I not notice?"

Unable to resist a little jealous jab, Spike's next comment nearly had him putting his own foot in his mouth. "S'pose you were too caught up with your honey to notice."

"He's not my honey," She answered quickly, a scowl on her face.

"Alright, your love, then."

"Spike-" Clearly irritated, Buffy spun to face him, ready to chew him out but stopped when she saw the vulnerable look in his eyes. She sighed, suddenly feeling an inexplicable need to reassure him.

"I never loved him. Not like..." She looked away, "That." She was shocked to realize she'd just almost said "not like I love you"

Spike seemed to visibly relax a bit at her words. "Oh. Well, good to know."

Spike pulled the black t-shirt (which now sported a rather sizeable hole through which the white bandage could be clearly seen) back on over his head.

"So, what do you reckon is his involvement with this whole thing anyway?"

"I don't know. It was like, something deep down never really let me trust him completely. I don't know why, but, at least now I'm glad I broke up with him." Spike tried, though not very well, to hide his
surprise (and excitement) over her last statement. Though Buffy didn't notice. "My streak continues," she mumbled, more to herself than anyone else. "I really know how to pick'em, don't I."

Spike tried to let the comment roll off him as he quickly lit a cigarette to soothe his frazzled nerves. "Sorry to say, luv, but I don't think you were the one doing the picking this time around."

Buffy shot him a look, drawing her eyebrows together in confusion. "Huh?"

Taking a long, appreciative drag, Spike let out a stream of smoke, careful not to blow it in Buffy's face. "The Immortal picked you, pet, not the other way around. Seems he probably wowed your friends first, maybe worked some sort of mystical mojo. Whatever the case, he came to you for a reason. So he put the boy under a thrall, had him do his bidding." Spike snuffed out his cigarette. "Almost poetic, in'nit? Soddin' brilliant," He mumbled. "Slimier 'n a chaos demon's antlers, that guy. Unfortunately for us, he does have his wits about him." His voice trailed off, but Buffy swore she heard him mumble something along the lines of "Believe me, I know", under his breath.

"We don't know that yet," Buffy said.

"What more proof do you need? We know someone was controlling Andrew. Funny, the Immortal just so happened to have told him something that damn near spooked him out of his wits when he saw me. How soddin' convenient."

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything." She protested, weakly. "It could be completely unrelated."

Spike snorted at this, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Yeah, right."

"Look, Spike, I know you have something against him, ok? I have no idea what happened between you two, but I do know him too. And I think I would've known if he was evil. I'm not that far removed from the slayer gig you know, and my spidey sense wasn't exactly tingling around him."

Biting his tongue to keep from commenting on the "tingling" bit, Spike shrugged instead.

"Don't need to defend him, luv." He said. "No use getting all bent out of shape over it."

As he poised to light another cigarette, Buffy yanked it from his hand, tossing it into the bowl at her feet, and spike cast an irritated glare her way.

"I don't want this house smelling like an ashtray," She stated shortly, quickly getting to her feet.

"I need some air," she said, getting up to walk outside.

Clenching his jaw for a moment as he collected himself, Spike stood and followed her, quickly closing the distance between them before she could go out the door and halting her by grasping her gently by the wrist.

"Sorry, luv. Didn't mean to upset you," He said sincerely.

When Buffy didn't answer him, Spike's initial reaction was to be slightly irritated, until he realized something.

She was crying.

Spike silently scolded himself.
'Great job, you git, now you've made her all weepy'

"Buffy," He said as she turned to face him, not even bothering to hide the tears spilling down her cheeks. Though, she never had to hide from Spike. "Look, I-"

"No, it's just..." She sucked in a shaky breath, having stopped crying, though her face remained damp from the tears. "I thought I was past all this, you know? I just thought, after..." She swallowed hard,
"That things could be normal, and now..." Her voice trailed off. Forcing a weak smile on her face, she shook her head. "I'm being stupid, and selfish, I know..."

But he just shook his head, offering his sympathy and as she looked up at him, staring into a sea of blue she realized she needed him then, needed something to hold onto. Next thing Spike knew, he had an arm full of Buffy, much to his surprise. Wrapping his arms around her, he returned the embrace, and she rested her head against his shoulder, allowing her eyes to close for a brief moment as she soaked in his strength.

Just then, Giles entered the living room, clearing his throat when he saw the two blondes embracing, completely oblivious to his presence.

Quickly, they pulled apart and Buffy dried her eyes before turning to face him so he wouldn't know she'd been crying. "How's Andrew?" She asked.

Giles looked at her. "He's incapacitated at the moment. Seems he doesn't recall what he did."

"So, then. Cutting to the chase, exactly what the Hell was that all about?"

"It seems something was controlling Andrew."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we kind of picked up on that part, chief. Tell us something we don't know."

Ignoring him, Giles continued. "There's quite a lot going on here," He said. "and a hell of a lot to explain."

"And what about my bizarro dreams?" Buffy asked.

I'm still looking into all that." Giles took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose before he turned his attention back to Buffy. "I think it best we all lay low for the time being. It seems we're all in a bit of danger."

Giles was once again furiously cleaning his glasses while Buffy and Spike looked on. Buffy was seated on the couch with arms folded tightly across her chest, while Spike sat next to her on the arm of the couch, observing Giles' manic pacing with a hint of amusement despite the multitude of worries at hand.

"You know," Buffy spoke up, "One of these days you're gonna rub a hole right through those things, and then where would you be? Because, blind Giles? Not very helpful."

Spike let out a barely audible chuckle at this, and Buffy shot him a brief but knowing glance from the corner of her eye, recalling the time when Willow had cast a spell that inadvertantly rendered Giles completely blind and made Buffy and Spike think they were newly-weds-to-be, back when they still wanted to kill each other.

Not sure whether Giles was blatantly ignoring her or simply hadn't heard the comment, Buffy opened her mouth to speak again, only to be silenced as Giles held up his hand, placing his now spotless glass back on the bridge of his nose. "It's as I feared," He said cryptically, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening as though he'd just had some sort of epiphany. "I had it on good authority that someone among us was being controlled, and I figured Andrew was the most likely candidate since he seemed to know the most about what had happened at Wolfram and Hart. Furthermore, who better than Andrew to get himself into big bloody trouble?"

"How did you know someone was being controlled?"

Giles looked at Buffy, as though remembering for the first time that he wasn't alone in the room, pausing to shove a hand inside his trouser pocket and pulling a folded sheet of paper. "This clued me in," He said, holding the paper out for Buffy to examine. Eyebrows raised, she grasp the white paper, unfolding it while Spike peered over her shoulder. "Oh, handy," She said dryly as she saw what was on the note. There were letters that appeared to be cut out of newspapers, forming only the words 'Someone among you is being controlled.'

"How depressingly unoriginal," Spike muttered.

"Well, at least we know whoever did this probably lacks a computer and has no imagination whatsoever," Buffy said as she stood and handed the paper back to Giles.


"I found it on my doorstep just before I left to come here," Giles explained, "and I think the message is quite clear. Someone was trying to warn us."

"So, any thoughts on who said mystery person might be?" Inquired Buffy, to which Giles shook his head, the wrinkles on his forehead growing ever deeper as he concentrated.

Letting out a brief sigh, Spike raised a hand, looking slightly perturbed. "Not to interrupt. Because while that's very sweet of them to help and all, right now I'm a bit more concerned with finding out the identity of the thing that's trying to kill us."

Giles nodded, glancing at Buffy. "I have to admit, Spike is right."

"I am? Well, color me surprised."

"Though unfortunately I haven't a clue yet as to who, or what, that might be." Giles had stopped pacing now, taking a seat in a nearby chair and resting an elbow on his knee so he could prop up his head on one hand.

"Well, how about Buffy's ex flame, Mr. Mysterious?" Spike knew without looking at her that Buffy was glaring daggers at him as he said this, he could practically feel her eyes burning a hole into the side of his head, though he ignored it and pressed on.

Giles lifted his eyebrows. "The Immortal? No, he's not an option."

"And why the hell not?"

Raising his head from his hand, Giles gave Spike a look of utter impatience. "Because, he's one of our strongest allies. He's worked along side the council for years."

"Right, and that means a lot, since the bleedin' council's always been so well known for its reliability," Spike challenged, the sarcasm all but dripping from his voice.

"Spike!" Buffy's voice was stern as she shot him a look that told him to back off, before turning to face Giles once again and speaking calmly. "He's right."

Spike lifted a scarred eyebrow. "And the surprises keep coming."

"We can't rule out anyone at this point," Buffy continued. "We need to figure out who's doing this, and why. And if there's any connection with those dreams I've been having."

"Ah, yes, those dreams. There is one thing I found out." Giles pulled a large manilla envelope from the table beside him, obviously carrying the contents of whatever research he'd managed to accomplish. "If there's one thing I've learned in my years as a watcher, it's that a slayer's dreams are almost always prophetic."

"Yay me," Buffy said wryly, though despite the mock enthusiasm in her tone, Spike could tell Giles' words had made her somewhat nervous, as she had begun to absentmindedly clench and unclench her hands into small fists.

"There's a lot more I need to tell you." Giles reached inside the envelope, pulled out a laminated sheet of paper and handed it to Buffy.

'When darkness falls, death will prevail.
Your will shall guide you through these darkest days.
Come hither, maiden, lift your veil.
That which is overthrown demands restoration.
It screams inside and never sleeps.
Blood awaits for those that seek redemption.
Consumes and burns as the shadow weeps.'

Buffy nodded, recognizing the words on the paper. "My dream."

Standing, Giles walked over to Buffy and clamped a hand on her shoulder. "Sendesku"

"Bless you," Buffy said without missing a beat.

"No, no. It's a prophecy, Buffy."

Smiling sheepishly, Buffy lowered the paper in front of her. "Oh." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "Goody."

Buffy had now rejoined Spike on the couch, absentmindedly toying with the hem of his duster while she spoke. "So then, this san-desk-you, what's it about?"

"Sendesku," Giles corrected. "It's still a bit of a mystery, as far as prophecies go. To this day, its origins are still unknown, but it is believed to be rather old. In fact, some even suggest it was forged during a time when the ancients still walked the earth."

"Ancient what?" Buffy looked perplexed.

"The most ancient race of demons."

"Illyria," Spike said under his breath.

"What?"

"Illyria," He said again, louder this time. "She's one of them, one of those geriatric demon people. She was released from her sarcophagus at Wolfram and Hart, big conspiracy and all... You think maybe her being unleashed again set this prophecy riff raff in motion?"

Giles sighed. "It's possible. But we don't know nearly enough about the origins of the prophecy to make any assumptions yet." He paused, "However, there is something else, something I've been fearing these past couple days." He sighed again, loudly, before continuing in a rather dark and cryptic voice. "The battle between good and evil has always existed, though as we know, there is a constant need for balance. When Buffy was brought back from the dead, the scales were tipped, and thus the First was released, in a retaliation of sorts. So, what if there have been other upsets in the balance, enough to start a whole other chain of events that would tip the scales in such a way that, sooner or later, another evil would arise? I mean, we can't be sure... but what with Willow's spell awakening slayers around the world, Spike being brought back from the... well, from the undead. This Illyria being unearthed.... All of it doesn't seem to be the natural order of things, does it?"

Giles paused again, as though another light bulb had gone off in his head, and he turned to face Spike. "Spike, how exactly did you manage to survive that battle? From what I've heard there were hundreds, maybe thousands of countless demons, and yet you managed to escape unscathed. How is that possible?"

Spike looked perplexed, shifting slightly uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm, uh, not sure, exactly."

Buffy too had now turned to face him, looking as baffled as ever. "What do you mean, you're not sure?"

"It's a bit... fuzzy. I'm fighting and suddenly there's all these big nasties closing in on me, I'm on the ground, then everything got... well, fuzzy.

"You said that already."

"Oh, right. Well, time got all wonky, and then-"

Buffy grabbed him by the forearm, looking increasingly distressed as he continued with his story. "Wait, so time
went out of whack? Like what happened to me the other day?"

Spike thought for a minute, mentally slapping himself for not thinking about this strange coincidence earlier. But he realized that for the past several weeks following the battle, he'd been too caught up in thinking about Buffy and trying not to recall the horrible occurences at Wolfram and Hart that he'd neglected a few important details. "I reckon so," He said evenly, "Then, suddenly, I looked up and the lot of 'em were..." He stopped suddenly, as if a fog had lifted and he'd only just remembered a vital detail. He swallowed hard, knitting his eyebrows together and speaking slowly. "Retreating."

"Retreating?" Buffy looked to Giles, noticing his expression of confusion and anxiety matched her own.

Taking off his glasses for the umpteenth time that night, Giles whiped the beads of perspiration from his brow.
"So then you're saying they were running away," He said after a moment.

"Well thank you, Captain Obvious." But Giles was too caught up in this revelation to even cast a scowl Spike's way. Buffy could practically see the gears churning in his head as he struggled to put two and two together.

"I just find it hard to believe that an entire army would turn and run like a bunch of sissies from, no offense, you."

Spike smirked at him. "Thanks ever so"

"I mean, you're only one against an army of thousands..."

"I wasn't the only one left standing. Illyria... she was there, too. She survived."

Giles had begun pacing the room again as he spoke in an increasingly impatient tone. "Do you know where this Illyria is now?" He inquired. Spike shrugged.

"Haven't the foggiest," He replied, "Haven't heard a peep from her since the battle."

"Alright, well, something must have called the army off then, or possibly they were scared off... What if, what if-"

"Giles enough with the what if's before you pop a blood vessel. Yeesh, you're here for what, an hour, and we're already talking about the next apocalypse!" Buffy was on her feet again, slightly flushed. It was obvious she had heard some things she didn't want to be hearing.

"It's quite necessary to discuss all the possibilities, Buffy. You know as well as I-"

"Ok, well, what about the other parts of my dreams?" She interrupted, hands on her slender hips. "The parts where I'm, you know, dead? And what about the part where time goes all wonky?"

"I've told you Buffy, I'm still looking into it. Right now, however, I think finding out as much as we can about the prophecy and its origins is most important. We need to find out exactly what it means, which may take some time. Very few records exist of the Sendesku, and tracking them down won't be easy."

"Is anything?"

Giles directed a tight-lipped smile in Buffy's direction, as if to say, 'I know what you mean.'

"I think first we ought to figure out who's been controlling Andrew, and why whatever it was had him attack you, Spike."

"Why don't we just go ask the boy?" Spike jerked his thumb toward the kitchen, indicating Andrew.

Giles, having retaken his previous seat, shook his head. "He's in no state to talk right now. He's so dazed at the moment I doubt he could even name one Star Wars character if I asked him. So we'll have to do without him for the time being. We can't have any more distractions-"

Just then, as if on cue, the doorbell rang, cutting off Giles mid-sentence.

"Oh, for God's sake," He muttered in irritation as Buffy made her way over to the door, swinging it open to reveal two very familiar faces.

"Hey, Buff!"

Buffy smiled warmly at the visitors. "Wills, Xand!" She greeted in return, watching as they peered over her shoulder, taking in the sight of a red-faced Giles and smirking Spike with wide eyed astonishment.

"Right," Buffy chuckled uncomfortably as both their gazes remained glued on Spike, who was now standing just a few steps behind Buffy.

"There's a lot to explain... Giles!" She motioned for him to come closer, shoving him toward the gaping duo. "Giles, won't you explain to Willow and Xander here what's going on before their eyes pop out of their heads? Since you're so much better at explaining and you know more about all of it anyway... Thanks, you're the best!" She flashed him an innocent smile, brushing past him before he had a chance to protest.

"Come with me," She pleaded quietly as she passed Spike, tugging his hand and leaving him no choice but to follow her out the back door. Not that he would've said no, anyway.

"Sorry," She said when they were safely out the door and out of earshot. "Things were just getting..." She let out a soft sigh, tilting her head slightly upward to breathe in the cool night air. "I just needed a breather..."

"Preachin to the choir, luv."

"Yeah..." Her voice was soft as she offered a tight-lipped, though appreciative smile, grateful to be understood without words. Though her smile faded as her eyes came to rest on the white bandage on his chest, still clearly visible through the gaping hole in his shirt. Taking a step closer, she reached out and lightly fingered the bandage, noticing several small spots where his blood had soaked through the material. Pulling her hand back when he winced slightly, she looked at him apologetically.

"Sorry," She said. "Is it... Is it getting better?"

"Almost healed, I reckon." That was a lie. It still stung like a bitch under even the gentlest touch, as the stake had gone in fairly deep. Though, Spike figured that with his super-human healing, the wound would probably have completely disappeared within the next couple hours.

Buffy bit at her lip, struggling to find words. "I was worried, when Andrew..." She gulped, "I thought that... It looked like he hit the, the-"

"Heart?" Spike supplied, and Buffy nodded. "I thought so too, at first. But apparently the boy missed, so cheers to that."

"Spike, I-"

"'M fine." He said, leaning his back against the closed door.

Shaking her head, Buffy leaned against the wall next to him, hugging her arms tightly around her body. "Maybe now, but... What if something goes after you again? Or, or Giles, or-"

"You?"

Buffy shrugged. "It could be any one of us next, it's just a matter of time. And all we have are a bunch of hyped up theories, nothing solid... I'm just-"

"'M worried too." He looked at her, and somehow the understanding that shone from the depths of his cerulean eyes served to soothe something inside her, yet again. "But worrying never solved anything. Only thing it does is drive you up a soddin' wall. Best just try to keep your head clear, take things as they come. Rupes'll figure it out, someone will," He paused, adding, "I bloody well hope," under his breath, though loud enough for Buffy to hear. Looking downward, Buffy realized they'd unconsciously locked hands sometime while Spike was talking, their fingers laced together tightly.

Side by side, they stood, staring out into the night sky. Both dreaded what new revelations the next day would bring, but felt slightly comforted nonetheless, knowing that, if nothing else, they had each other.

Buffy nearly jumped when a loud crashing noise from inside indicated it was time to get back to reality. Turning her head to look at Spike, she noticed his mild exasperation mirrored her own. He lifted a scarred brow and pursed his lips, rolling his eyes slightly, and Buffy offered a tight smile in return before pulling the door open and entering the house with Spike on her heels.

She hadn’t taken two steps inside when she gasped at the sight before her.

Andrew remained tied to the chair where Giles had placed him, but now his face was flushed and covered in sweat, hands clenching the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white. His body shook uncontrollably, eyes rolled up in his head so that only the whites were visible. It was almost painful to watch.

Willow stood hunched over Andrew’s quivering form, muttering some sort of incantation in a harsh sounding language that Buffy couldn’t decipher, and was almost afraid to. Her mouth opened and she was ready to object to whatever was going on until Andrew’s stilled suddenly, his head lolling to the side, and Willow turned to face Buffy with apology in her eyes.

“He was still being controlled,” She explained calmly, “He needed to be de-bugged, so to speak. I-I was able to do a counter-spell that keeps third-party parties from setting up shop in his head.”

Nibbling on her lip with renewed vehemence, Buffy bobbed her head slowly. “That’s good, Wills. It’s a start.” The redhead nodded solemnly.

“And sorry I ran out on you guys.” Buffy took a step forward, offering an apologetic look to both Xander and Willow, “I just needed a bit of a breather.”

“We hear ya, Buffster,” Xander said, adjusting the eye patch over his left socket, where Caleb had wreaked havoc those long months ago. He rubbed his hands together as though trying to warm them up. “Plus, we can see you’ve had your hands full with the Walking Undead situation,” He added, gesturing openly at Spike.

Spike scowled. “Glad to see you too, whelp.”

“Hey man,” Xander shot back, “I never said I wasn’t glad to see you’re not in a dustbin somewhere, but it just takes some getting used to. This stuff isn’t exactly your every day occurrence.”

“Yeah, but can anything we deal with be considered an ‘everyday occurrence’?” Buffy piped in, “I mean, by normal, non-slayer standards?”

“Touche,” Xander responded.

“Yeah,” Willow agreed before focusing her attention on Spike. “It’s good that you’re all… solid. Er, non dusty.” She corrected, smiling weakly. “But we have to figure out what all this means…Giles filled us in on everything, and-and we had a bunch of stuff to tell him, too… Or, at least, I did.”

“Willow,” Giles interrupted, “Why don’t you tell Buffy everything you’ve already told me.”

Nodding, Willow looked at Buffy. “You, uh, might want to get comfy for this. There’s a lot to tell.”

Buffy and Spike followed her into the living room, Xander and Giles staying behind an extra minute to make sure Andrew had completely calmed down, before joining them. Waiting as they situated themselves, Buffy and Spike settling on the couch, Xander and Giles in two dining room chairs, Willow began to speak.

“I was with this coven in Brazil, and they told me a lot. It’s why I’ve been going back and forth so much…” She looked away guiltily.

Buffy frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me about all this?”

Because I wanted to be sure Buffy. I didn’t want to make you all paranoid… But once everything started making sense, once I was absolutely, positively sure, I came here right away. There’s still holes, but…” She shifted uncomfortably.

“Anyway, they sensed a big dark energy, and I think it was when the senior partners summoned that demon army. There’s definitely a lot of dark energy suckage involved with something like that. So after they sensed this energy, they started doing some research, and once they found out all they could, they… they wanted me to tell you. They thought that you should know.”

“Hey, guy with the eye patch has a question.” They all turned to look at Xander, and he pouted. “How come you didn’t tell ME?”

Willow smiled apologetically. “Sorry, Xand. I wanted to tell you, but I was sworn to secrecy, top secret. You know the drill, Mr. Military Man. Think like, like Sergeant Rock, right?”

Xander shifted his feet. “Right. Sergeant rock,” He mumbled, and Willow continued.

“K, so, this is gonna be one of those ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ kind of things…”

“Oh, just get on with it,” Giles said impatiently.

“Fine Mr. Bossy,” Willow scoffed. “Illyria, the ancient demon, was important to her race.” Spike’s ears instantly seemed to perk up at the mention of Illyria, and Willow had his undivided attention. “She was like a queen, a leader. So her tomb was placed under special guard and she could only be released under special circumstances, during a period of intense instability between the balance of good and evil. And unfortunately, I think my spell awakening slayers all over the world qualifies as a pretty hefty balance shaker.”

“It always comes back to bite me in the ass,” Buffy mumbled. Willow shifted anxiously, but continued, red-faced. “But her race’s kingdom, when they were defeated, was sent to an alternate dimension along with the spirits of the other ancients. Illyria wanted to resurrect it again, and the circle knew that she was the only one that could do this. They want this to happen, they want the dimensions to be opened again and for the ancients to roam the earth, because the descendents and senior partners of wolfram and hart were once a part of that race.”

Spike cleared his throat. “If I can interrupt a sec… Blue, she gave us a hell of a time at first, true. But she seemed to start likin’ it here enough. The bird even started feeling… human emotions.”

“She only started to cope with being here because she thought that there wasn’t any way for her to resurrect her kingdom,” Responded Willow, rather shortly. “The senior partners were stumped too, for a little while. They didn’t think that Illyria being resurrected wasn’t the only thing that needed to be done, but they found it out soon enough. Illyria needs a key to open the dimensions, like Glory did with Dawn. And once it’s put into use, not only will all dimensions once again be opened, but every single ancient in every sarcophagus will rise, and will take over the earth once again. And that’s what the sendesku is about, this has all been prophesied. That’s why it was forged so long ago. As, as a way to protect the existence of the ancients, like a security blanket... Er, one that says they would rule the earth once again.”

Spike interrupted again, raising an arm slightly and extending his pointer finger in the air as though waiting to be called on. “Color me confused, but there’s something I’m not getting here… I understand the senior partners trying to off me n’ Angel, but why would they send the army after Illyria too, if she’s the one they need?”

“Well, I’m guessing that the demon army knew that Illyria was a demon…” Realizing how redundant that sounded, Willow shook her head and tried again. “I, I mean, they probably sent the army specifically after you and Angel to eliminate the threat, knowing they wouldn’t attack Illyria because she’s one of their kind, only more… advanced. Kinda like being higher on the food chain in the demon world… But what the senior partners didn’t expect was that, with being queen of the most ancient race of demons, the army would also listen to her orders, she has that power. And she told them to retreat.”

Spike pursed his lips as something seemed to click in his head. “Well that could explain the loopy time and all. Blue had this ability to slow time with the flick of her wrist.”

Willow laced her fingers together in front of her body, squeezing her hands together anxiously. “You could be right…” She agreed, “Illyria is getting kinda used to the ways of the world, and the senior partners are starting to get sorta antsy. They have her in their custody now, and it won’t take long for them to make her remember who she is, and why she needs to resurrect her kingdom.”

Willow looked around the room. “That’s all I know so far. And I’m not really sure how the Immortal is involved yet, but there is a way we could find out…”

Buffy raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “And what would that be exactly?”

“Well, you might not like it,” Willow began cautiously, biting her lip, “But Giles told me that Andrew was being controlled. I-I can probably get inside his head. If the Immortal was in his head, then so are some of his memories… Or, like echoes of memories. They’ll begin to fade soon if we don’t act now.”

After a brief pause, Buffy shrugged. “Well, you’re the Wicca, Wills. We have no other choice right now.”

Since there were no other options and the situation was becoming increasingly complicated and life threatening, all of them soundlessly marched into the kitchen without further hesitation, Buffy in the lead with Willow close behind. Buffy stopped directly in front of Andrew, arms crossed, and stared down at him.

“Sorry, Andrew, looks like we havta set up shop again in your head.”

“You-you’re gonna go inside my head again? My head isn’t Disneyland, you know!” Andrew looked positively terrified.

“Relax, Andrew,” Willow put a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense under her touch. Flinching, he squeezed his eyes shut briefly as she tried to reassure him. “We just have to try to get a bit of information.”

“Fr-from who? I don’t know anything.”

“You might know more than you think you do… besides, we want the information from the person that’s controlling you.”

“Oh…”

Willow turned to look at Buffy, and Andrew squirmed.

“Alright, I’m going to need a little time alone with him.” Buffy hesitated, unsure. “Trust me, Buffy. I just need concentration, like I did when I needed to get in your head that one time, after Glory took Dawn, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

Willow patted Buffy on the shoulder. “You know I’ve been clean of dark magic for a while now. You have to trust me on this.” After a long while, Buffy finally nodded, motioning for Spike to join her, Giles and Xander in the living room.

“And remember, don’t worry,” Willow said to their backs, “Everything will be fine.”

“Famous last words,” Spike muttered.

“Hey, I heard that!”

Buffy chuckled slightly, unable to help herself. But then her smile faded as the four of them waited anxiously, discussing things a bit as Willow went about her business in the kitchen with Andrew.

Spike, Buffy, and Xander sat on the couch, with Buffy in the middle, stiff as a board and hands clasped tightly in her lap, watching Giles pace the room. Spike could sense her tension.

Giles removed his glasses and cleaned them before turning and walking to the opposite end of the room, doing this over and over again, and Spike thought he’d get dizzy if he kept watching. Then, Giles began to periodically purse his lips and blow air behind them until they flapped open, the air making a soft pop as it passed from his mouth.

’Enough to drive a bloke up a bloody wall, he keeps at it,’ Spike thought.

Xander seemed unable to stop fidgeting, either crossing and uncrossing his legs or playing with his eye patch, sometimes leaning to Buffy and making muffled comments about what he thought was going on in the kitchen, to which Buffy would give short, distracted answers.

Spike studied Buffy’s profile as she stared straight ahead for several long moments, completely unmoving and hardly even blinking. Spike recognized that stare, it was how she’d often looked those long months after being brought back from the dead. Spike frowned.

“Buffy?” He whispered, “Are you alright?” Buffy seemed to snap back to reality at that, shaking her head as though to banish whatever negative thoughts lurked there as she turned to look at Spike.

“Yes,” She responded, then let out a sigh. “Well, no, actually, not really. It’s just all this heavy stuff going on… kind of messes with your head… Well, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“I could really use one of those stress ball thingies,” Buffy mumbled with a shake of her head. Then her gaze dropped and a small smile tugged at her lips. “Gimme your hand.”

Spike lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“Gimmes your hand,” She repeated. With a look of slight curiosity on his face, Spike complied, and Buffy took the offered hand in her lap and held it between both her own, giving him a firm squeeze. “Well, not a stress ball, but close enough.”

“Thanks ever so,” Spike said with a hint of a smile behind his eyes. “Just do me a favor ‘n don’t get too worked up, I fancy all the bones in my hand intact,” He teased.

Then the room once again lapsed into silence, and Buffy shifted slightly to curl a leg under her so she could get more comfortable, making her lean slightly into Spike, who noticed that her hands seemed clammy. If Xander or Giles noticed how cozy the two of them looked, then they were making a good show of acting disinterested.

No noise came from the kitchen short of a bit of low muffled speech every here and there, indecipherable to those in the living room, but other than that it almost seemed eerily quiet.

Finally, after what was maybe only a half hour but felt more like days, Willow emerged, looking slightly drained. Buffy instantly jumped up, striding to where Willow stood with an expectant and anxious look on her face.

“Well, things were starting to get a little foggy, but I think the main point was pretty clear….” She cleared her throat. “The Immortal…”

“Lemme guess,” Buffy interjected, “It’s like glory on repeat-o-vision, and he’s after a key… Or, maybe he’s like Dawn and I’m supposed to protect him?”

“No Buffy, he’s not a key, or a god.” She swallowed hard. “He’s the Key Maker.”

“The WHAT?”

“Key maker, one who makes keys,” She clarified. “He’s been around since forever… since the time before TIME, practically, if that makes any sense. He’s the one that made Dawn in her original key form, when she was just that blob of green energy… But since Glory was defeated, he hasn’t had another purpose to make another key until recently, so his key making skills were kinda rusty... Oh, but he’s not evil per se – just amoral. If someone asks him to make a key, he makes it, whether it’s for Big Bads or… or Big Goods.” Willow frowned. “Well, so far, it’s only been for the baddies,” Shaking her head to clear it, she briefly turned her attention to Spike. “The Senior partners were trying their hardest to distract you and Angel, to keep you away at all costs. And when you came to Italy, Andrew was being controlled by the Immortal, to ensure that you wouldn’t run into Buffy and intervene in some way, cuz that would be bad...” She shrugged, “Well, bad for them, not you… Anyway, if you found out the truth and killed the Immortal, or, or put him off in some way, then the whole thing would be off. He’s the only one that has the power to maker the key they need.”

“So how does the immortal go about making this handy multi-dimension skeleton key thing-a-ma-jig?” Xander asked.

Willow paused. “Well, first he needs to study the original key, the one he made first.”

“Dawn,” Buffy supplied resolutely, features stone set and serious. Willow nodded.

“It’s why he needed to get close to you, Buffy. So he could get close to Dawn. I-I’m sorry we didn’t realize that when we set you two up… we had no idea. I mean, the guy just seemed so, so cool. We didn’t know.”

“It’s ok,” Buffy said, “None of us did.” She frowned. “But wait, I’m confused. Dawn’s not a key anymore.”

”See, that’s where it gets tricky…” Willow looked anxiously at Giles.

“Well,” Giles interrupted, clearing his throat. “I think I can explain. Technically speaking, her existence is still based on her being a key. She was born solely for that purpose, and not by normal means. She’s a human being, but she is still a key. Just, not a key that opens anything anymore, like one that has lost all its teeth.”

“But what if – if this whole thing is set into motion, if the key is made and put into use, is there any way to stop the whole shenanigan?” Xander quipped.

“What about Buffy’s dreams? What about her flashing back to the hellmouth in her dreams?” Added Giles almost simultaneously, and Buffy’s eyes widened slightly.

“And-and what about Angel?...” She inquired. With the sudden onslaught of questions, the usually even tempered redhead let out a groan of annoyance.

”Jeez, I’m not a mystical encyclopedia people!” She declared, raising her voice in that oh-so-Willowy way that told them all she was deadly serious and frustrated and yet made it seem as though she were completely incapable of properly flapping anyone’s ears back. “All that stuff is still unclear,” She continued, calmer this time. “But I’m looking into it… I’m, I’m doing the best I can, and I think maybe we all should.”


”Yes,” Giles added, “We’re lucky to know as much as we do now. If we want to find out more, we’re going to have to do some serious digging… and searching.” He turned to look at Buffy, lifting an inquiring brow. “Are you up for it?”

Buffy sighed. ”Aren’t I always?”

TBC...