Chapter 1

Buffy wriggled in the heavy oak chair. The journal on the table before her was unused and pristine. She’d made her decision on what she wanted to do but, in all conscience, the slayer in her demanded that she made some sort of record, just in case. Just in case it all went horribly wrong.

Finally getting the words sorted in her head, Buffy put pen to paper and started to leave the information that would help to point Giles in the right direction, just in case.

21 June 2003

Dear Giles

If you’re reading this it’s probably because I am about to make a huge mistake. No surprises there. Are you rubbing your glasses yet? Sorry, it’s just that I’m a little nervous. But I’m excited too, and you’re going to think I’m mad. So I’m putting down as much as I can about what’s happened and, really, you’re not going to believe it. Here goes.

Ever since I arrived at the cottage – oh, and thank you for giving me the time here, it’s been just what I needed and hoped for – I’ve been having slayer dreams. Not an apocalypse, ‘cos I woulda told you – sorry, thinking about spelling is taking too long and I’m tired. The dreams were all the same. I’d see the figure of a man about to be run over by a car, just a silhouette in the headlights. Sometimes I’d get there in time and push him out of the way and other times I’d watch him get hit and… Well, not pretty ‘cos he would get thrown into the air and skewered on a branch. The dreams always stopped there. So, no apocalypse.

I couldn’t sleep last night and decided to take a walk to the village. That’s when it happened. He was there and the car was coming. I got to him in time but, and this is the bit you’re not gonna believe, it was Spike. Not my Spike. I know that he’s gone. That’s why…

Buffy paused and rubbed at the tears that had started to track their way down her cheeks. She hadn’t told Giles why she wanted to take up his offer of a quiet place to stay in the English countryside. He thought it was because she was at a loose end during the summer, what with Dawn taking off backpacking around Europe with a bunch of her college friends. It wasn’t exactly the truth.

***

Three weeks earlier…

The coach trip from London had been pleasant enough. Buffy had found herself squashed up against the window when a large, red-faced, elderly man wheezed into the seat next to her on the crowded vehicle. Prepared to find his company tedious, she’d been relieved when he’d merely bid her a polite good morning before losing himself in a tattered Agatha Christie paperback, leaving her free to gaze out at the passing buildings that eventually gave way to the rolling green of the English countryside.

Try as she might, Buffy found little to cheer her as pretty enclosed fields with flocks of sheep and lambs passed before her eyes. It was all she could do to hold on to her emotions long enough to finish the journey; not the one that had started at Victoria Coach Station, the one that had started with the destruction of the hellmouth in Sunnydale. Ever since she’d been told the truth ten days ago, Buffy had exercised the tightest control she’d ever placed on her emotions, and that was saying something. Her initial instinct had been to rant and rave at those that had the audacity to call themselves her friends, something she still might give herself the satisfaction of doing, but not now, not yet. With seeming indifference, Buffy had listened without overt reaction when they’d inadvertently let the proverbial cat out of the bag. Their relief at her lack of response seemed to encourage them to pat themselves on the back and bask in the knowledge that they’d ‘done the right thing’. That’s when Buffy had asked if Giles knew of somewhere quiet that she could go to on a small vacation, somewhere peaceful and secluded. The destination she was now travelling towards. But inside her head the same words still played over and over on an unending loop. Spike’s dead. He came back. He didn’t tell me. They didn’t tell me. Spike’s dead. Spike’s gone.

On leaving the coach at Taunton – which involved an awkward clamber over the now slumbering passenger beside her - she was met by Mrs Cardew, the widow of an ex-Watcher and current caretaker of the cottage that Giles had insisted she borrow for as long as she wanted. The pleated skirt and twin set that the fifty-something woman wore made Buffy smile; it was just so stereotypically English countryside. The welcome she received was warm and sincere.

“Buffy?” Mrs Cardew asked with a smile. “Rupert described you but forgot to say what a pretty lass you are.” She laughed merrily as Buffy felt a blush creep over her face. “Typical of him, really. Always with the facts and never with the obvious. Let’s get your bags and we’ll be off. Only about a half hour drive but I need to show you the ins and outs of the cottage before I leave you in peace and quiet.”

Buffy’s two bags were soon safely stowed in the back of the old Land Rover that Mrs Cardew - or Rose as she insisted that Buffy call her - was soon driving out of the town. Within minutes they were off the main roads and twisting and turning their way down narrow single track lanes. Now and then a cottage or a farm would appear, but the high hedges and banks stopped Buffy from seeing much of the area. Rose kept up a steady stream of informative chatter, not at all put out by the virtual silence of her passenger. They were on their way to the village of Huish Mallet on the edge of the Somerset Levels. Rolling her eyes, Buffy admitted to herself that she was unlikely to pronounce that correctly. ‘Butcher the bleeding English language you do, pet.’ She could almost hear him.

Steepes Cottage was just outside the village and had been recently renovated by the Watcher’s Council who owned the property. According to Rose, it had been about time that some attention had been paid to what, in her opinion, was a wasted asset; it hadn’t been used properly for years and it was nice that Buffy was going to be living there for a while.

The village consisted of about a hundred and twenty dwellings with a village pub and grocery store cum post office. It was pretty. There was a village green with a duck pond, behind which the Norman style church, with attached graveyard, looked benignly over to the pub on the opposite side of the green. All the buildings looked old and were made predominantly of a warm, yellowish coloured stone. The few vehicles that were parked alongside the road were all 4x4’s and looked to be working vehicles from the amount of mud and age. Rose deftly drove along the windy road through the village and turned through a gateway onto a tree lined drive.

Buffy was surprised to learn that she would be able to access the internet from the cottage – “It’s got one of them computer things, not that I understand them!” – and that getting a signal for her cell, er, mobile phone would require her to climb to the top of Burrow Hill. “That’s up the track from the back of the property, you can’t miss it.”

As the cottage came into sight, Buffy became interested in something other than her own depressing thoughts for the first time in days. It was…quaint. She would have called it a house on two floors. The afternoon light turned the Ham Hill stone golden and was reflected back from the leaded windows.

Honeysuckle draped itself around the lintel above the solid wood door that just begged to be opened, so inviting did it look.

Rose pulled up on the gravelled area in front, leaving the Land Rover and crossing to the door whilst rummaging in her handbag for the key. Grabbing her luggage from the back seat, Buffy caught up with her as the door was opened and Rose stood back to allow Buffy to enter. She stepped over the threshold into a flagstone hallway that stretched to the back of the cottage, broken only by the oak stairs leading to the upper floor. Double doors to the left led into a light and sunny room tastefully furnished with leather chesterfields and wooden cabinets, the feature being the stone fireplace with a tasteful landscape hanging above it in pride of place. Various other pictures adorned the white walls at intervals around the room and exposed beams broke up the ceiling into rectangles of white. The windows at the front and rear of the room were framed by heavy burgundy brocade drapes, currently held back with tasselled ties. Buffy spun around trying to take it all in, catching sight of Rose’s grinning face where she stood in the doorway.

“It’s grand, isn’t it?” Rose beamed. “Such a shame that it hasn’t been used for so long – especially considering all the work that’s been put in to renovate it and put some modern amenities in.” She gestured for Buffy to follow her to the other side of the hallway and through another set of double doors. “This has been made a lot more comfy now that the kitchen has been updated.”

It was cosy. To the rear was a kitchen area with oak units and, ‘oh bliss’, a microwave. An Aga took up pride of place against the wall and Buffy promised herself to get thorough instructions before she attempted to use it – not that she had ever been much for the cooking gig, so it might not come to that. More oak units divided the kitchen from the rest of the room which, again, was dominated by a stone fireplace. A wooden table with four chairs, a comfy couch, an oak dresser and a - ‘Thank God!’ – television, took up most of the remaining room. Again, heavy curtains framed the front windows, this time a green brocade, whilst the window in the kitchen had both a blind and crisp cotton check curtains framing it.

“There’s all you should need for the first few days in the fridge. Rupert let me know the sort of things you like so I took the liberty of stocking up for you.” Rose was almost laughing at the expression on Buffy’s face by now. “Just to the right of the fireplace there’s a cupboard what has one of them laptop things in it. You’ll find the socket for it over there too. There’s a phone there, if you want to plug it in, and out the back door from the kitchen you’ll find the washing machine and freezer. The extension was just built earlier this year and I reckon it’ll prove very handy.”

“Rose, I don’t know what to say.” Buffy wasn’t joking. She hadn’t expected to be housed in such fine style and could hardly believe that the place wasn’t used more often. It didn’t seem right somehow that she would be enjoying such comfort in her misery, as if being here would in some way diminish her feelings. “It’s beautiful.”

Rose sighed. “That it is, Buffy. And you be telling Rupert that it’s not right for such a fine place to be left without a bit of company more often. Come on, I’ll take you to your bedroom now. I think you’ll be just as pleased with that.”

She was. The bedroom under the eaves was huge. The four poster bed would have looked more in keeping in an old mansion or a honeymoon suite. Its curtained sides matched the burgundy curtains that hung at the windows both ends of the long room. An enormous wardrobe and two oak chests of drawers provided more than enough room for the few clothes that Buffy had brought with her. The wooden floor was covered by several deep piled rugs and fresh flowers sat in a vase on a small table to the side of the bed.

Another fireplace – just can’t have enough of them – and an elegant but strange looking sofa together with a few other items of furniture and decoration made the room resemble something out of a book. Buffy was finding it hard to not to let her spirits rise. Rose was turning her attention to the bathroom on the other side of the landing.

As she followed Rose into the pristine white tiled room it occurred to Buffy that the Council knew of more ways to spend money - other than passing it on to the slayers that might benefit from a bit of financial help during their lifetimes. What she couldn’t have done with the cash that had obviously been used to make this bright room into a lavishly appointed place to bathe. A huge roll back bath stood on clawed feet before the window while a huge walk in shower, complete with body jets, was set in the corner. One wall was fitted with bathroom cupboards, a large mirror and two set in basins. The overwhelming white was broken here and there with burgundy; towels, bath mats and the odd tile reflected the rich colour.

Rose was studying her and seemed to be reading her thoughts. “Before the renovations there was a tin tub that used to be used in front of the fire downstairs, but I must admit that even I was surprised at how much they spent in this particular room.”

“I just can’t understand why they aren’t using the cottage all the time, Rose.” Buffy spoke the truth. “Like you said, it should have someone here to appreciate it all. What a waste. But, hey, I fully intend to enjoy it.”

Rose nodded, content with the reaction she was getting from the young American woman. The second bedroom, next to the bathroom, was about half the size of Buffy’s and held a sturdy oak framed double bed and matching furniture, but was no less expensively decorated. Buffy followed Rose back down the stairs and was mildly surprised when the woman moved to a door situated under the stairs. Thinking that it would be opened to reveal a cupboard, she was intrigued to see Rose switching on a light and moving down stone steps. On joining the woman at the bottom, Buffy could see why the cottage had been used by watchers in the past.

The cellar was enormous. Stone columns held up the ceiling at intervals. In the farthest corner stood a barred cell, chains attached to rings solidly embedded into the rough stone walls. Outside the cell a cabinet displayed items that would not have been out of place in a medieval dungeon, bits and pieces that looked like they were made for torture. Buffy didn’t know if it was the chill air but an involuntary shudder shook her body.

“It’s been many years since this was used by the Council. A lot has been cleared out but they insisted that the cell and, well, some objects, were brought up to scratch, just in case of further need. I doubt you’ll be spending any time down here, Buffy, but it’s as well you know it’s here. I can imagine you exploring and wondering what on earth they’d been up to in the past.” Rose laughed, as if she’d made a joke.

‘Really, not so much. I think I can imagine pretty well what used to go on down here.’ Thoughts of previous watchers confining or torturing some vampire, or demon, were all too easy to visualise. Buffy missed her guide’s next words.

“… a cup of tea and I can show you where the utilities are. Not to worry about remembering everything though. I took the liberty of making up a little pack with instructions for everything and if you get into any difficulties you can always call me or my son, Benjy. Same goes if you want a lift into the town at any time – the bus service is not as good as it used to be.”
Buffy let herself be led up into the living room cum kitchen again and settled in for more information from the ever helpful Rose.

Hours later, and feeling pleasantly weary, the Slayer settled into the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in. It seemed as if her eyes had barely shut when the dream started.

***

She woke with a start, knowing instinctively that there was danger. Hastily, Buffy threw on a set of grey sweats and trainers, shoving two stakes into the waistband and running from the cottage into the blackness of the night. She hurtled down the drive, giving no thought to the consequences of missing her footing as her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. The sound of an engine and flickering beams of light alerted her to the approach of a vehicle along the lane from the village; she ran faster.

Buffy was almost at the gates of the drive when the lights swung onto the lane in front of her, picking out a figure kneeling in the road, slumped and unmoving. Forcing her legs to find more speed she threw herself out into the lane and grabbed at hunched shoulders. They rolled violently together away from the speeding car and onto the narrow grass verge on the other side of the lane. Darkness rushed in once more.

***

Joyce had to be content with that. She’d done all she could to remedy the mess that the Powers – and Angel – had made of her daughter’s future, her destiny. The Powers had been defensive and insisted that they had done all they could to guide the morose souled vampire but that his stubbornness had foiled them at every turn. Not that Buffy and Spike were without fault either, but the arrogance of Angel had been the biggest factor in the disaster that Joyce was trying to set back to rights in the only way she could, by standing up for Buffy.

The Powers had intended that Angel would wear the amulet to help Buffy push back the First Evil. In doing so they would have thwarted Wolfram and Hart’s plans to make him their tool by bringing about the Shanshu prophecy. Thus leaving Buffy and Spike to move forward together and fulfil their own destiny. But no, despite guidance, Angel had decided he knew best and let himself be easily persuaded to give it up. He had given away his grown son, Connor, when the Powers knew he would be instrumental in any fight against the Senior Partners. He’d allowed himself to become embroiled within the diabolical law firm and led his faithful team to doom. And, at the last, he’d allowed his personal considerations to twist his, and others, fate time and again.

Now the Spike from this reality was gone. The second souled vampire had left without the knowledge of his Slayer’s love for him. The love that would destroy her in time, thereby robbing Buffy of her own intended path to happiness and everlasting contentment.
Looking through other realities with Joyce, they carefully whittled down their options until one stood out from the others. This Spike was not a master vampire and his path so far had been somewhat different. And he was about to be dust.


A/N: Okay. Our lovely Spike is gone - long, live Spike! I hope you like. There are seven chapters to this - with a prequel and sequel in the planning stage. The fic is complete and will be available as soon as the interest is there. I have been known to post two chapters a day (of this) with the right incentive. More tomorrow whatever you think. But I do hope you like and tell me (or don't and explain - but please don't scream at me as I only meant to entertain). Thank you kind readers (and hopefully reviewers too). BFN.

This beautiful darling was created by the multi-talented beanbeans. I bows and salutes you, friend.


Chapter 2

It had all started so well. Spike had tracked down the Chinese slayer to the small temple; not an easy task in the chaos and confusion being wrought throughout the city by the rebellious Boxers. Numerous fires lit up the night and the air was thick with the stench of gunpowder, smoke and blood. The vampire was thankful, for once, that he did not need to drag the polluted particles into his lungs to survive. Trotting into the comparative quiet of the temple, he’d wasted no time in throwing off the long coat that would be sure to hinder him in the coming contest, glad that he’d had the forethought to leave the collar from his shirt. Now was not the time to worry overmuch about the correctness of his dress.

The Slayer had emerged from behind one of the pillars supporting the elaborate temple roof and he’d barely been able to contain his glee as they entered into the intricate steps of the dance macabre together. Power radiated from the small girl, the Chosen One, as she flowed from one stylised position to another with speed and grace, attacking in a flurry of choppy blows and lightning kicks.

Spike gave as good as he got, parrying and punching with devastating force and precision. Much as he enjoyed the violence, there was a deeper purpose to this deadly contest between slayer and vampire. If he could only defeat this young girl he would be able to drag his unlife from the hell on earth it had been since the damnable night he’d been turned by a mad vampire. ‘Why did the insane bint pick me? Couldn’t she see that my life was bad enough as it was without forcing this existence on me?’

The Slayer elegantly retreated as his angry thoughts leant more strength to his blows, grabbing a fine bladed sword before changing to the offensive. Spike laughed through his fangs; he’d spent the last twenty years avoiding this weapon in Angelus’s capable hands and wasn’t about to be caught out by this little snip of a girl. A flickering movement of her dainty wrist cut across his face and caught the brow above his left eye, sending blood down to impair his vision. An involuntary growl erupting from his throat. He dodged, ducked and weaved to evade the sharp metal that came at him at an alarming pace, looking for the opening that would allow him to remove the sword from her tight grasp. If only the explosion from the ongoing riot outside had happened a moment later he would have succeeded. But time was not his friend tonight.

The force of the blast caused him to lose his delicate balance, throwing him onto the very thing he had been striving to elude, the sharp edge cutting deeply into his side as he hissed in pain. Before he could recover, the Slayer was darting around him, adding more and more slashing wounds to his arms and chest. One forceful stroke to his back had him stumbling clumsily to his knees. Spike knew he was done, that he’d lost. The method was not of his choosing, but at least he would still be escaping the hell that was constantly forced upon him at the hands of Angelus and Darla. Now he would be going to another hell for eternity.

His head was pulled back by a vicious yank on his bound hair. He glanced into the eyes of the triumphantly grinning Slayer as her sword whipped down towards his bared and straining neck. There was a flash of blinding light, then a moment of darkness. The unblinking and impossibly bright eyes of a growling devil cut through the surrounding black and relentlessly bore down upon him. Without the strength to move, Spike struggled to keep from collapsing completely as his fate leapt towards him.

***

Buffy yawned and stretched languorously in the monstrously large bed. Apart from the dreams that visited her every night, she couldn’t recall ever having slept so well in her life. Every morning she felt refreshed and rejuvenated, which just made the guilt that much harder to bear. She didn’t think she deserved to feel so good when her goal in coming to this oasis of peace had been to mourn the loss of Spike and face, once and for all, the mistakes she had made throughout the years they had known one another.

Every day Buffy had added her thoughts and emotions to her extremely private journal, one that had been kept locked away from Dawn’s ever prying eyes since she’d started it shortly after the collapse of Sunnydale. It wasn’t easy, being honest and leaving that comfortable place she’d escaped to so often, dwelling in the land of Egypt. Hindsight was a painful experience, on more than one level. The temptation to shove blame towards her friends for her actions sat like a little devil on her shoulder. But as she was the one who had given them that power to influence her, she was also the one who had to stare that weakness in the face and, hopefully, learn from it. Too late by far to change anything that had already happened, to bring back the one she had hurt most. The one person she had destroyed in all the ways that mattered long before he was dust. After three weeks of hard soul searching - and how much she hated any thoughts about souls and their value right now - Buffy knew that Spike’s decision not to contact her after his return to the world could be laid firmly at her feet. So well had she conditioned the vampire. The shame of her behaviour would be something she would carry with her to the grave.

Leaving the bedroom, Buffy hurried through her morning routine in the sumptuous bathroom before throwing on a pair of blue cotton shorts and a plain white tee shirt. Since arriving at the beginning of June, the weather had continued bright and sunny. Not as much warmth as she was accustomed to but, after all, this wasn’t California. According to the locals who frequented the Lamb and Firkin In - where Buffy could be found enjoying a bar meal several evenings a wee - the cricket season was normally accompanied by frequent bouts of rain, even in summer.

They’d made her feel so welcome in the village, somehow proud to have their very own Yank visiting their corner of the country. Rose popped by every few days to see if she needed anything, giving her a lift into Taunton twice to go shopping and once over to Glastonbury. That had been fascinating; so full of history and myth that she’d almost wished that Giles were with her to act as a walking encyclopaedia. Almost, but not quite.

Days were spent thinking. There were tears; every day there were tears. Buffy was honest enough with herself to know that not all of them were for Spike. A good percentage of them were for her. Little pity parties that made her feel ashamed, but calmer once over. For a while. Until the next day.

Unexpectedly, Buffy had discovered an urge to tackle the overgrown garden to the side of the cottage. There was something soothing in the physical labour and a pleasure in freeing struggling flowers and shrubs from choking weeds. Stings and scratches adorned her hands and arms now, a discomfort she believed only fitting in her repentant state. That was her morning routine now. Rise, dress and attack the garden, uncovering beauty as her mind picked through the layers of ugliness in her memory. Her ugliness.

Afternoons were for sitting in the shade of the small orchard that framed the back boundary. After a light lunch, Buffy would take her journal and a soda and just sit below one of the apple trees, writing as the lazily circling buzzards cried in melancholy above her.

Every evening without fail she would stroll into the village, often to grab a meal in the pub, a British institution she was really enjoying. The landlord teased her about the way she was slowly working her way through the menu, with diversions to the daily special now and then. Surprisingly, she hadn’t turned on the television nearly as much as she normally would. Predictably a large number of books resided in the formal drawing room, ranging from texts on demons and vampires to old volumes of English literature and poems. Buffy avoided reading anything to do with vampires after picking up one well-fingered tome and finding a reference to William the Bloody, the pain too raw to contemplate further perusal. Poems were another no-go. Conan Doyle and Daphne Du Maurier were definitely worth her attention though.

Buffy had patrolled, too. Not that she expected to come across anything demony, but the peace of wandering around the well-tended graveyard and finding her way along unlit lanes with a stake tucked into the waistband of her light cotton pants, gave her a feeling of rightness. For the first time in her life, Buffy felt the freedom of being content with her own company.

She had no one here to answer to, except herself. And she was ruthless in her questioning, sparing nothing to look long and hard at her failings and flaws. Turning them over and over to inspect from numerous angles. Owning up to the imperfection of immaturity and stubbornness, admitting the not-so-nice aspects of her character. Always striving to find a path that would enable her to balance the intricate pieces of herself, good and bad, light and dark, so that she would be what she needed to be. A better person. The one that he deserved. Not beneath him any more.

Finally understanding that, whilst it was futile to keep wishing she’d been more like this - or hadn’t said that - in the past which held her too late acknowledged beloved, she owed it to him, and herself, to be a better person from now on until the end of her days. Be that day tomorrow or years from now. Buffy knew she would always regret what had not been; she knew there would be more tears and self-recrimination, but she had Spike to thank for showing her that anyone could change, if they wanted it badly enough. And she did, she wanted it very badly. It would be her tribute to a man who, in the final judgement, was so much more than the sum of his many and diverse parts.

Shaking her head, Buffy left the cottage and frowned as she noticed the change in the weather. The light breeze that had played through the bright days she’d enjoyed in Somerset so far had died, leaving a stillness in the suddenly heavy air. It was warmer too, with thickening cloud hiding the sun and draining the bright colour of the emerging garden. ‘Now, isn’t that typical? Just as I start to feel better the weather changes for the worse. Balance, huh?’ Smiling slightly to herself, Buffy gathered her collection of gardening implements from the small shed behind the cottage and resumed her pruning and clearing, straightening now and again to fetch water for drooping blooms, softly touching and admiring their perfection and beauty. Before long she was unconsciously humming to herself, totally absorbed in her labour of love.

***

True to the early morning indications, the weather had steadily become more and more oppressive during the day. By evening it was impossible to move without breaking out in an uncomfortable sweat and, if breathing had not been a necessity, Buffy would have gladly given it a miss. The clouds had steadily banked as the day progressed, becoming dark and threatening. Sapped of energy, she had given her usual visit to the village a miss. The slayer made a sandwich instead, it being all that she felt the inclination to eat in place of her normal hearty meal. For the first time since her arrival in the little village of Huish Mallet - ‘Hush Mullet’ – a sense of restlessness made her fidgety. She felt distracted and on edge, thinking for the first time in days of her sister and friends.

Twice she’d made the climb to the top of Burrow Hill to use her cell and let them know she was alright and that the vacation here was just what she’d needed. Despite Giles’ request, she’d carefully refused to plug in the available phone still sitting in the cupboard; she’d come here to get away from them as much as to put her feelings in order and was not about to become the victim of a ringing phone when they decided they wanted to interrupt her. In this, she was determined to be selfish; it was about Spike and her, no one else was allowed to break in to distract her; her interaction with others would be, with the exception of the pleasant interludes with Rose, at her behest.

A low rumble of thunder in the distance was chased away as a sudden breeze moved the air, a prelude to the coming storm. It was getting late now, almost midnight, but the coolness was too tempting and the cottage too warm for Buffy to leave the open doorway. From her spot she could just see the flickering of lightning above the trees, still miles away and busily playing elsewhere.

Out of nowhere came an urge to leave the confines of the cottage and take a walk to the village before the storm struck in full force. The ionising air made the hair on her arms and neck stand on end as, shivering slightly, Buffy pulled on a thin cotton jacket and automatically stuffed a stake into the pocket before closing the door behind her and setting out almost blindly down the drive. She hadn’t gone far before she stopped, a feeling of déjà vu hitting her forcefully. Unthinking, giving herself over to her instincts, Buffy began to run as fast as she could down the dangerously dark drive, her speed foolhardy in her blindness. It was happening.

***

The devil was almost upon him. Its speed was truly diabolical, the sound unearthly in its hellish strangeness. In seconds he would be starting his eternity of torment, and Spike trembled in anticipation of the pain that was to be his lot, from now until forever. Without warning his body was tumbling through the air, hands seizing his shoulders in a vicelike grip and tearing him away from the roaring demon. Another body tangled with his as they landed in an entwined heap that left him gasping in a mixture of pain and relief.

Growing in intensity, the cooling breeze of earlier was replaced by urgent gusts as the storm gathered more momentum. Buffy pulled herself free of the dead weight that half lay over her legs, struggling to see the features of the… vampire?


A/N: Feedback extremely welcome. Depending on response there will be more later or tomorrow. Thank you.

This beautiful darling was created by the multi-talented beanbeans. I bows and salutes you, friend.


Chapter 3

Lightning split the sky, breaking the darkness enough for Buffy to see the face of the monster she now held pinned to the grass verge. It was in its human face and, for a moment, looked almost familiar. Hair fell over the left side of its face where blood still flowed from what looked to be a cut on its eyebrow. The eyes, the sharp cheekbones reminded her too much of another vampire. ‘Get a grip, Buffy. Stop with the wishful thinking. Spike is gone.’

Shifting a hand to pull the stake from her jacket pocket brought to her notice the blood coating her palm. Glancing down, Buffy could just make out the dark patches that liberally marred the clothes …the clothes that were all of the strange. Not to mention the smell. A cocktail of odours that reminded her of fireworks and fires, mixed in with a heavy dose of sickly sweet blood.

His groan was lost in a deafening crash as thunder erupted above, making him wince as the burning pain in his back was joined by the agony lancing his sensitive ears. He wanted nothing more than to clap his hands over them to block out the continuing crescendo, twisting his head so that at least one ear was protected by the ground beneath him.

Buffy jumped at the sudden noise and swallowed convulsively as lightning once again burst forth from the ground, nearer now - too near. In the momentary illumination she saw that he’d turned his head, his eyes screwed tight in pain. ‘Damn, but he looks so much like…’

“Spike.”

The stake she’d fumbled for from her pocket hovered uncertainly above his chest. Apart from the turn of his head, he hadn’t moved - or tried to - since she’d torn him from the road and the inevitable squishing that had been on the cards if that speeding car had hit him. Her tinglies made no secret of his vampire status but his acquiescence and lack of demon face made her hesitant to finish him. ‘Why would I have all those dreams about one vamp? Hardly the Big Bad here. What made me want to save him if I’m only gonna dust him?’

As the rain chose that moment to descend from the heavens with stinging force, Buffy also made a choice. Rising to her feet she grabbed one of the vampire’s wrists and hauled him upright, catching him as he immediately started to fall back to the ground. Another too close for comfort fork of lightning disclosed pain-filled eyes locked on hers. Rain washed the blood from his face even as it plastered his long hair flat against his skull. An urge to push his hair away and caress his cheeks was firmly repressed as Buffy gripped him firmly about the waist and turned into, hopefully, the direction of the drive.

It seemed to take forever to get back to the cottage. The tree lined drive had transformed into an alien environment in the throes of nature’s buffeting. Rain still lashed from every which way, coming from all directions as the capricious wind twisted continuously. Twigs and branches seemed to hurl themselves from the trees as the two soaked beings struggled to keep their feet in the shifting gravel turned stream.

Spike did all he could to help the Slayer. It appeared that his hell was to take the form of constant torture from a demonic slayer. His pain addled mind supposed it was apt at that. If this tempest was a harbinger of things to come, he would surely need what little strength he had left to endure even the lightest dose of the torment that was coming his way. ‘Please don’t let me cry like a baby. Let me be a man.’ He feared that too soon he would prove Angelus right, would prove himself to be a worthless creature and a coward to boot.

Buffy bumped into the cottage, literally. Totally blinded by the rain that had soaked through her thin summer clothes - clothes that now chaffed with every step as they clung coldly to her trembling body - she’d been trying to find the welcoming light in the darkness. It took only a moment to understand that the electricity must have been knocked out by the storm. ‘And the good just keeps on coming.’

Fumbling along the wall until she found the door, Buffy opened it with numb fingers and stumbled through, letting her burden slip gently to the floor. In the intermittent light provided by the storm she made her way into the kitchen and rummaged in one of the drawers to find candles, matches and a torch. Grabbing a tea towel, she swiped at her face and hands roughly, drying just enough to let her focus on finding the candle holders. “Damn, where did Rose say they were kept?”

Slamming her way through a couple of cupboards, Buffy emerged triumphant with a handful of old-fashioned pewter candle holders before proceeding to stuff the thick candles onto the small spikes in the centre and use the matches to light them. The noise of the storm was slightly muffled inside the thick stone walls of the cottage but still loud enough to make it hard to hear oneself think. Just as well then that Buffy intended to let her instincts lead her right now. Time for thought later. Taking one of the candles and the torch, she returned to the hallway and the vampire that had toppled in her absence to sprawl gracelessly on the flag floor. The flickering light from the candle allowed her to see the puddling blood that seemed to be escaping, primarily, from a deep wound on his back that stretched from his right shoulder down to his left hip. ‘Shit. No wonder he hasn’t put up a fight.’.

Placing the candle holder on the floor, Buffy turned him as gently as she could, vaguely surprised when his eyes fluttered open to meet hers.

“Slayer.” Almost a whisper, which she strained to catch.

So, he knew what she was. Not all vampires did; memories of stupid fledglings in Sunnydale’s many cemeteries stood testimony to that.

“Vampire,” Buffy replied, unable to quite stop the small smile on her lips. “Your name?” She held her breath in silent expectation, in hope.

“Aren’t you s’posed to be torturing this information out of me?” If possible, he slumped even further. Buffy quirked an eyebrow at him, not realising the vision she made in the dancing candlelight.

Her hair hung in dripping tangles to frame one of the most beautiful faces he had ever seen. The dim light prevented him from seeing the colour of her eyes; nonetheless they were gorgeous, and so very alive. He tried to keep his gaze from straying further down her body, knowing already that it was compact and strong from his intimacy with it as they battled their way to this stone building. But he couldn’t stop himself from one quick glance at the clinging material that only just concealed her perfect breasts, peaked nipples easily visible through the thin damp cloth.

His silent inspection had not gone without her notice. Buffy was somewhat amused, even as she was surprised by his mention of torture.

“Do you want me to?” she asked, curious. It was getting more and more difficult to keep her hands from touching him, so much did he look like her Spike. She silently damned the noise from the storm which interfered too much to let her discern his accent.

“’S’not a matter of what I want, it’s what happens in Hell. Eternity of torture and all that, now I’m dust.” Despite his best efforts the loss of blood - and his multitude of injuries - were making his struggle to keep conscious desperately hard. He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, nor could he hold back the groan when her strong hands shook him.

“Your name.” Not a request anymore, a demand.

Before his awareness abandoned him completely, he gave the Slayer what she wanted. “Spike.”

Darkness swallowed him once more.

***

There were many who took one look at Buffy Summers and dismissed her as a blonde bimbo. It was an impression that she sometimes courted. The truth was that she was pretty intelligent but intellectually lazy, what with the slaying gig and all. Not tonight, though. Tonight she put her grey matter through its paces. For a nanosecond she was tempted to call Giles, so ingrained was her response to anything out of the ordinary. Find weird, call Watcher. But that was dismissed almost before the thought had formed. No way was she going to involve the Council of Watchers.

This Spike was not her Spike. Duh. His mention of being dust and hell gave her clues, as did his clothing and the pretty disgusting smell that had not been entirely washed away by the rain. If she were to make an uneducated guess, because she was pretty much uneducated girl, Buffy would put forward the premise that he had failed in his attempt to kill his first slayer. So, he might not be the Slayer of Slayers then. If that were true, neither would he be a master vampire.

He was, however, bleeding and unconscious. Biting her lower lip in an effort to direct her thoughts along more practical paths, Buffy haphazardly linked together random facts and reluctantly left the vampire to see if she had scored a bullseye. ‘Too much with the darts playing down the pub.’

Leaving the candle beside his unmoving form, Buffy made her way back into the kitchen and picked up another before going through the door and into the extension at the rear. The utility area held a washing machine and a freezer. Not being one for cooking, Buffy had not touched the freezer since her arrival. But wouldn’t watchers want to have a ready supply of blood handy for vampires? Maybe frozen? She hoped that they would. If not she would have to be the donator. Lifting the lid of the chest freezer she peered inside, moving trays about until she reached the lowest level. “Bullseye.”

About twenty packs of frozen blood were stacked neatly at the bottom. Buffy leaned in and pulled out half a dozen to take with her. The thaw from lack of power hadn’t set in yet. Now she had to decide how she was going to prepare them with no electricity, the microwave being out of the equation. It looked as though she would have to face a daunting challenge – using the Aga. Back in the kitchen she put three pouches into the fridge, wanting to keep them cool until she was ready for them, before pulling out the instructions that Rose had left for her. More lip chewing ensued as she muddled her way through until she managed to light it. Tearing through the plastic, she emptied the remaining frozen blood into a large pot and placed it on top of the stove. She offered a silent prayer that her non-existent culinary skills would not prevent her from providing sustenance for Spike.

“What next? First aid kit.” Buffy found that saying things out loud helped her to concentrate. The first aid kit was in the bathroom and was one of the most comprehensive she had ever seen. If she took Spike up there she could kill two birds with one stone; clean him and tend to his wounds. So far she had only been away from him for five minutes; it felt like hours.

Taking three of the remaining candle holders, Buffy glanced once at Spike’s unmoving body before taking her main source of light and placing them at intervals leading up to the bathroom before hurrying back to the hallway and gathering him gently into her arms. Even with Slayer strength it wasn’t the easiest of tasks; she was getting tired herself and longed to get out of the cold damp clothing that stuck uncomfortably to her body. In minutes she had him laying on the tiled bathroom floor, surrounded by candles and with first aid kit at the ready.

It was difficult not to get distracted by looking at him, studying him for the similarities and the differences. Take away the hair and his face appeared almost the same, only the scar that had always marred his otherwise perfect brows was now a fresh wound. The hair, though, was a mile away from the peroxide pest she’d loved too late. As it started to dry it was turning into floppy curls, light brown or dark blond as far as she could tell, and longer at the back where it was tied in a dark red band. Pulling her attention back before she lost herself in contemplation, Buffy found a pair of scissors to cut away the dated clothes, snipping carefully until she had stripped his shirt from the top part of his body.

“Damn, she cut you up pretty good, my Spike,” Buffy unconsciously murmured as she worked, cleaning out the myriad wounds on his chest and arms. She applied ointment and steri-strips as required, and they were required a lot. Before tackling the large wound on his back, Buffy dashed downstairs to check on the progress of the blood. She gave a heartfelt sigh of relief to see that, so far, she hadn’t managed to jinx Spike’s next meal. On impulse, she took one of the wooden chairs back to the bathroom with her.

The wound on his back was bad. The slash was deep, exposing muscle and, in places, bone. Buffy muttered to herself constantly as she dabbed further inside his body than she ever wanted to again. It would need to be sutured. The little book contained in the first aid kit held instructions, which she faithfully followed to the letter as her sometimes trembling hand made with the little knots the length of his back.. By the time she had finished, Buffy was exhausted and cold. Carefully wrapping Spike in one of the plentiful burgundy towels, she staggered down the stairs once more and caught the blood just before it started to boil. Pulling out two large thermos flasks, she quickly rinsed them under cold water before emptying the contents of the pot into them. Pushing her hair away from her face, Buffy trudged once more up to the bathroom.

Bright eyes fixed upon her. Spike was with the living, unliving, again. She knelt beside him and carefully poured some blood into a mug before propping him up and bringing it to his lips. “Drink, Spike.”

She was stunned when he turned his head away without touching it. It didn’t take a brain surgeon, thankfully, to know he had to feed. And, after all her hard work, she was not too pleased to see her best ever cooking effort dismissed. “What’s wrong with it? Too hot?”

“Human.” As if that explained everything.

It was some unearthly hour of the morning and Buffy was both cold and tired. The ongoing storm was starting to give her a headache and a vampire was refusing to drink human blood. Life was back to the strange that was normal for her.

“You’re a vampire, right?” Buffy used her most patient voice. And received a small nod for her trouble.

“You feed on humans.” She felt him stiffen before he turned to regard her with piercing eyes.

“Not me.”

Buffy digested this slowly. Spike, who did not feed on humans. ‘Now, I wasn’t expecting that!’

“What do you feed on then?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral. Giles would be fascinated, if only he knew.

The smallest of shrugs before he spoke again. “Pig’s blood, usually.”

Curiouser and curiouser. “By choice?”

A nod. Nothing more.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any pig’s blood. I can probably get some tomorrow, but you need to feed now. It’ll help you to heal.” Buffy shuddered as the chill from her wet clothes seemed to spread to the marrow of her bones. Nothing in her previous experience could have prepared her for his next words.

“You’re a devil slayer and I’m yours to torment. But you’ll have to force that blood down my throat before I’ll drink it willingly.” The vampire closed his eyes and waited, sure that strong hands would be forcing him to do just that.

Buffy was stunned, again. So definitely not her Spike. She needed time to think and she couldn’t do that until she felt warm again. Pouring the blood back into the flask and sealing it, she laid the unusual vampire back down and turned to the faucets of the bath. The oil-fired heating should be exempt from the vagaries of the storm, and even if they were, there should still be plenty of hot water left in the tank. Adjusting the temperature, she turned the lever that secured the plug and watched as the tub quickly filled with warm water.

Unable to resist any longer, Buffy stroked the hair from Spike’s face and let her fingers softly trace the outline of his jaw. His eyes flew open again to fix upon her, wary and vulnerable with a side order of pain. “I may not be a saint, but I’m hardly a devil. Just want to make you better, stupid vampire.” Sighing heavily, Buffy turned to stop the flow of water into the tub. “I need to get warm before I catch a damned cold. Turn your eyes away if you’re going to get offended.”

Without waiting for his decision, she started to strip from the sodden clothes that were chilling her body. Once, a lifetime ago, she would have been embarrassed to exhibit her body so openly to the eyes of her other Spike. But somewhere along the line of the meaning of life, she’d realised that she was giving nothing of herself away, and anyhow, her body wasn’t so bad that she needed to be ashamed of it. With a grateful sigh, Buffy stepped into the bath and lowered her shivering body into the welcome warmth. Smiling slightly she asked, “Did you peek?”

A hesitation, before a whisper; “Yes.”

Buffy chuckled, turning her head to look at the vampire on the floor, surrounded by flickering candles. “Were you offended?”

Spike blinked slowly but held her gaze. “You’re beautiful.”

Her smile reached from her mouth to her eyes. “Thank you, Spike. You’re not so bad yourself.” Grinning when he turned his head away. “This isn’t hell, you know. I’d tell you so much right now, but I’m just too tired. I wish you’d drink. The blood was all donated and no one died in its collection.” A pause. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

Silence. Spike turned to look at her again before whispering, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” Buffy could see the pain in his eyes and mentally kicked herself. “I want you to trust me, but I know I’m going to have to earn it. If you can, please drink.” ‘Otherwise I might just have to buy a pig and drag it back here for you.’

Spike’s hunger fought with his deep rooted abhorrence for hurting humans. This beautiful creature who had rescued him from the devil might be nothing but a temptress, but he was almost more than half in love with her. Her voice and kindness called to something within him that he’d closely guarded for so long. Hesitantly, he reached for one of the flasks and, with shaking hands, poured out a small measure of blood. Grimacing, he swallowed it down before pouring another, and another, until both flasks were empty. He could not deny the healing effects that were already taking place within his damaged body.

The sound of draining water alerted him to the slayer stepping from the bath. A towel hid most of her gorgeous body from view, and he contented himself with admiring her ankles and shoulders before she dropped the towel and threw a robe around her. It was the first time he’d ever seen a completely naked woman in the flesh. It took his unneeded breath away.

Buffy had cheered inside when he’d started to drink. His wounds needed more than pig’s blood if they were to heal quickly. There was only one more thing she wanted to do before falling into bed; wash the blood and stink from his hair.

Dipping down to kneel beside him, Buffy let him know as much. “I want to wash the smell from your hair before we go to bed. Will you let me?”

At the mention of ‘we’ and ‘bed’, Spike couldn’t prevent the reaction of his cock. The recently consumed blood had replaced all that he had lost, and more. The pain from his back was lessening by the minute. He estimated that he would be completely healed in less than an hour. It was an unexpected benefit from a normal diet of pig’s blood; human blood was just that much more effective. Spike nodded at the Slayer and tentatively pulled himself to his feet.

Buffy picked up a couple of the candle holders and placed them on either side of one of the basins. Filling it with warm water, she turned to the silent vampire then stopped abruptly. Turning back, she stared into the mirror. ‘Oh my God. He has a reflection.’

Before she could say anything a cool finger gently pressed against her mouth.

“Tomorrow, yeah?” His eyes pleaded with her to agree.

Swallowing, Buffy nodded. The finger disappeared as he used both hands to release his hair from the band at the nape of his neck. Soft curls fell about his face down to his shoulders. ‘You are so beautiful, Spike. So beautiful, my love.’

A wave of her hand prompted the vampire to lower his head into the basin. He almost purred as warm water was poured over his head before a sweet smelling concoction was gently massaged into his scalp by the slayer’s strong hands. More water rinsed the suds from his hair and the basin was emptied before being refilled. Something else was gently caressed into his hair, and now he couldn’t stop the purr from resonating through the room in competition with the storm outside. Once rinsed, a soft towel was wrapped around his head as her hands lightly rubbed away most of the moisture before pulling away.

Opening his eyes he looked down into hers and found them studying him intently, tears forming and giving in to the pull of gravity as they fell down her cheeks. Unthinkingly he raised a thumb and brushed them tenderly from her face. Whatever happened tomorrow, one thing wouldn’t change. He loved her. This beautiful, compassionate slayer had his heart in her hands.

With a tremulous smile Buffy caught hold of his hand. “Come to bed, Spike.”

He followed her. Anywhere she went, he would follow.


A/N: Feedback welcome. I hope this entertained. More soon.

This beautiful darling was created by the multi-talented beanbeans. I bows and salutes you, friend.


Chapter Four

Buffy slipped into her lavender satin pyjamas, glancing over her shoulder to watch as the new vampire in her life set about lighting the matching oil lamps on the other side of the room. He’d gently taken the candle when she’d started to fiddle uncertainly with the shade of one. Relieved at not having to suss out how to work them, Buffy had taken the opportunity given by Spike’s distraction to change, now taking up her brush to work on the mayhem the storm had wrought to her hair. The bonus being that it gave him time to undress and get into bed without any of those awkward hidden glances. And that just made her eyes peer into the mirror before her, catching a reflected glimpse of the smooth lines of his damaged back as he removed his trousers…

Dragging her gaze away, Buffy continued attacking her knotted hair and trying to ignore the reaction of her body at the sight of his pale, marred skin. There was no denying her response to the familiar form, just as there was no denying that, despite the overall sameness of his appearance, he was not the vampire she’d once known. That didn’t stop the feelings that were coursing through her; attraction and want, like and tenderness.

Right now, Buffy was certain of one thing and one thing only. For whatever reason he’d come into her life she was determined that he would stay there, preferably with her by his side. God help anyone, or anything, that tried to harm her vampire. Her vampire with a reflection. Her vampire who did not drink human blood by choice. There was no history between the two of them, except for the happenings of this strange, mystical night. Opportunity was banging at Buffy’s door and she was not about to make the same mistakes; not if there was one iota of a chance at a happy ever after. Not just for her but also for the displaced vampire that had fallen into her lap. Those dreams had been a warning of his coming. Saving him from a possible death had been her choice. Everything, anything, was possible from now on in.

Buffy wasn’t the only one making with the thinking. As Spike stripped from his damp trousers and gave his body a quick wipe down with the towel - absently avoiding the cuts that were still healing - he thought about the strangeness that had led him here. No longer did he believe himself to be in hell; he couldn’t be, not with the kind, golden girl sitting not so far away. When he had set out to kill the Chinese Slayer earlier in the evening, what seemed another lifetime ago, his only ambition had been to escape from the hell of his existence once and for all. And if he had to kill that slayer to achieve it, then that was just the way it was.

Spike hadn’t lied when he’d told Buffy that he didn’t drink human blood, but that didn’t mean that he hadn’t killed humans. Mostly it had been for self-defence when Angelus had led the family into a scrape. Sometimes it had been to survive Angelus’s wrath. Either way, he had killed. And, though it didn’t weigh over heavily on his conscience, there were some regrets. But he did not kill them daily, and never for food.

Sighing gratefully, Spike settled himself into the welcoming comfort of the bed, his eyes drawn like magnets to the shimmering curtain of spun gold that Buffy had created from tawny tangles. His cock was reacting to the sight and smell of her with predictability, yearning towards something it had not yet experienced and especially eager that there was a tiny possibility that it just might happen with her.

Spike was under no illusions; and even if he had been, the callous words of others, during both his life and unlife, would have stripped them away. From his time as a callow youth, when his awareness of the opposite sex had manifested itself into a bodily embarrassment, young William had irrevocably linked his adolescent desires to love. The sort of great epic love that he had consumed so fervently in a veritable mountain of books, preferably in the form of his beloved poetry. He’d even tried to write himself and had been mortified to find that another desire was to remain unfulfilled, having little, if any, talent. Why then had this beauty invited him into her bed?

Earlier Buffy had held a stake above him, moments from the kill. Something had stayed her hand and he hoped the next day would provide answers. His nose and eyes told him that she felt some kind of attraction towards him. If only he had the energy, and the knowledge, he would pursue the matter further. But, as she approached the bed and slipped under the covers, the exertions of the night took their toll, his eyes closed and Morpheus claimed him.

Buffy smiled to herself. Although she could admit to wanting something more from her miracle vampire, she owed it to him to be honest from the start. Hell, she owed it to herself as well. If there were to be any chance of anything between them, she had to tell him the whys and the wherefores of her actions tonight. And he needed to clue her in on the how of his appearance in the now abating storm.

Unable to resist a last touch, Buffy wriggled across the great divide and softly tangled her fingers in his fascinating curls. A sigh of contentment and sleep washed over her.

***

Willow barged into Giles’ study before he had time to answer the sudden knock on the door. It was almost three in the morning and her dishevelled appearance screamed of sleep disturbed when taking into account the mis-buttoned dressing gown and bed hair.

“Giles,” Willow gasped, catching her breath from the dash downstairs and along corridors. “I’ve just had a call from the coven. They’ve been trying to get hold of you.”

Rupert had the grace to look sheepish, remembering switching off the ring to his phone in order to allow undisturbed research. “Ah, well, that would be - ”

“There’s been a temporal disturbance,” she continued, cutting him off mid sentence. She was too buoyed up with excitement to wait for him to finish. “Here, in England, a few hours ago.”

“Good Lord.” Rupert straightened in his chair, carrying out a selection of familiar nervous habits - to Willow’s amusement. “Have they any idea of the location?”

“They sure do. Not to pinpoint, just the general area. Oh, and it could be just outside because that thing they do - ” This time it was his turn to cut off Willow as she became a babbling flipperty gibbet.

“Quite. And if you would be kind enough to share with me the details, I might be able to research any local phenomena or other relevant information,” Rupert’s abrupt words were belied by the fond tone.

“Oh. Right. Details.” Willow tossed him a bashful grin. “In the South West, within a thirty mile radius of Taunton.”

It was only when Willow said the words out loud that she remembered why Taunton sounded so familiar. Staring into Giles’s suddenly wide eyes, she knew that he had made the connection as well. Buffy.

“Oh,” whispered Willow. “You don’t think that it might just be a coincidence? What with being near where Buffy is and all?”

Sighing heavily, Rupert strenuously restrained himself from further nervous fidgeting. “That, Willow, would be a miracle I’m not willing to put money on.” He paused, thinking furiously and grabbing onto the first idea that came into his head. “How would you like to take a break and visit Buffy?”

All memory of her friend’s explicit desire for alone time disappeared in Willow’s instant excitement at the thought of seeing Buffy again, and some more of the English countryside as well. Her hard work for the Council entitled her to a little girl time with her best friend and she wasn’t about to pass up on this golden opportunity.

“When can I go? Buffy is gonna be so excited to see me! Will you call her? Oh, no. She hasn’t plugged in the phone. How will you let her know?” Already Willow was mentally packing her bags.

Rupert smiled a little grimly. He hadn’t forgotten Buffy’s request for solitude, and his frequent reports from Rose about her state of being were most promising, indicating a more relaxed and interactive girl than the one who’d left. She had been alone there for three weeks and surely, despite his ulterior motives, she would be pleased to have a visit from one of her dearest friends about now. Willow would be able to provide her with magical backup if something demonic had passed through the temporal disturbance; although there was always the possibility that it was nothing to be concerned about, anything related to Buffy normally spelled trouble.

“I’ll contact Rose Cadrew. She looks after the cottage when it’s not in use. I’ll arrange for her to pick you up from the station when you arrive. Would this afternoon be too soon for you to travel, or we could make it tomorrow?” Rupert’s amusement returned at the quick shake of Willow’s head.

“I can’t wait to see her again, Giles. Make it this afternoon, but late if you can. I need some more Willow sleep if I’m gonna be fit for a late night catch up with Buffy.” Her mind had already turned to all the best friend fun that they could have, in between looking into the temporal disturbance, that is. She bade Giles goodnight and left his study in search of sleep, listing clothes to pack instead of counting sheep.

Rupert pulled out a handful of books and commenced his search for possible answers, making a mental note to contact Rose as soon as the hour became in the least bit reasonable.

***

Rose had been up for an hour or so tidying the debris caused by the storm to her garden when the ringing phone heralded a call from Rupert. In his usual semi-abrupt manner he asked that she pay a visit to Buffy, which she’d already planned to do as most of the village had lost power at some time during the storm and she doubted the cottage would be an exception. Her interest was piqued when Rupert insisted that she report straight back to him if she found any evidence of anything out of the ordinary. She knew better than to ask questions and readily agreed to contact him if she noticed any signs of something that might be deemed suspicious. Grabbing her car keys, Rose decided there was no time like the present to do a little investigating on the Council’s behalf.

The road through the village had already been cleared but she had to leave the Land Rover at the entrance of the drive leading up to Steepes Cottage; branches torn down in the fury of last night’s storm littered the way, making it almost impassable. Making a note to herself to send up some help to clear it later, she quietly entered the cottage, not wanting to disturb Buffy as it appeared she was sleeping in later than usual this morning if the drawn curtains were anything to go by. One step into the hallway she stopped.

Bloody smears marred the previously pristine walls, pools of crimson spread over the flag stones. Rose’s heart started thumping violently in her chest as she stuffed a fist into her mouth, stifling the shriek trying to escape. Timidly, she moved further in, avoiding the mess and peering into the room to the right, eyes drawn to the chaos of the kitchen. Burnt out candles cluttered the work surface and a pot with drying blood staining its side rested beside them. Cautiously moving into the kitchen, she opened the swing lid to the waste bin and noted the empty plastic pouches. As quietly as possible, Rose retraced her steps and slipped away, intent on reaching a phone and contacting Rupert. Whatever had happened during the night, she was not foolhardy enough to investigate by herself; if nothing else, having been married to a Watcher had taught her that.

***

Vampire hearing noted the almost silent snick as the door to the cottage closed, dragging Spike away from a dream that he was more than reluctant to abandon. A gloriously naked Buffy had been welcoming his amorous attentions, praising his flawless technique and limitless stamina as she writhed sensuously beneath him. His eyes flashed open, followed by a groan as several facts fought for awareness. Spike focussed on the pleasant facts first.

Snuggled within his arms, head on his shoulder, leg thrown over his and arm circling his waist, was a warm and satin clad Slayer. Her soft breath blew gentle wafts of air across his nipple, causing it to harden almost unbearably. Spike would have thought himself in heaven if it wasn’t for the not-so-pleasant facts.

It had become immediately apparent that his wonderful fantasy had evoked a bodily response, one which would not have bothered him too much if he had been sleeping in his usual solitude. But in his current position, entwined with the one he had dreamt of satisfying so ardently, Spike succumbed to the familiar wash of humiliation. Like a spotty adolescent he had had a wet dream. His cold spendings liberally coated his stomach and, he feared, Buffy’s arm. Gritting his teeth, Spike refused to allow the tears of self-pity to form. His mess, he had to clean it up – and preferably before Buffy was subjected to his disgusting filth.

Carefully, and reluctantly, Spike removed Buffy’s arm from around his waist and encouraged her supine body to roll over and away from him. She obediently responded to his guidance, sighing as she settled again after turning away. Sparing a moment to admire the line of her back and covered buttocks, Spike slid silently from the bed and padded to the bathroom, hands preventing any of his cum from falling to the floor.

Last night he had not paid overmuch attention to his surroundings; the pain from his injuries and his topsy turvy emotions in the presence of the entrancing Slayer had driven other considerations from his mind. Now, the vampire took the time to look at the scene before him illuminated with diffused light seeping through a blind over the only window. Most of the room’s appointments were, naturally, familiar to him – although not in a style he had seen before. Spike had thought himself in hell and, though he understood that that was not the case, he didn’t think he was in a world that he would be able to survive in without help; too many differences in just one room.

Remembering his objective with a grimace, Spike crossed to the sink and turned on one of the oddly styled taps before using a dampened face cloth to clean away all signs of his embarrassment. That just left Buffy to consider. Looking up, he stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. Loosely tangled light brown curls fell about his pale, sharp boned face. His blue eyes showed too much, the bane of his life and unlife both. Right now, worry and mortification vied for prominence.

“Nancy,” he muttered to himself. Glancing around he located the ribbon that had secured his unruly and despised hair last night. With practiced fingers, he swiftly captured reluctant locks and restrained them in a semi-semblance of tidiness; there were always one or two curls that fell from his high forehead, refusing to be captured and tamed. Sighing, Spike thoroughly rinsed the face cloth before turning the tap off and crossing back to the room that held the unexpected, but already deeply seated, object of his affections. He was relieved to note that Buffy had not stirred again and, with delicacy, he hoped to complete his task without bringing her to wakefulness.

Buffy had been dreaming. Nothing new there. She had been dreaming about Spike. Again, so not of the new. But to dream of Spike with curling brown hair instead of slicked back and platinum…that was new. And strangely comfortable. This vampire had never felt pain from her fists or her words. He didn’t look at her with hurt mixing with the adoration in his eyes. His smile was open and shy, not hidden behind a smirk or leer. His touch was gentle and tentative, unsure and oddly innocent. He was, and yet was not, her Spike. Buffy felt that they were both her Spike, one old and one new. One gone, but never to be forgotten. One newly arrived, making all things possible…if only she opened her heart and put into practice all the lessons she had so recently learnt. And she wanted to reach out and take her second chance, one she never dreamt of having, with both hands, never letting go whatever her friends and sister said or thought. ‘He’s mine. Spike is mine. I am his. Always.’

A smile curved her lips as she woke, a feeling of dampness on her arm. Opening her eyes, Buffy found herself face to face with the man of her dreams. The look of alarm in his eyes made her smile deepen. “Morning, Spike.”

“Morning, Buffy.” The sound of his soft voice, like a little boy caught in an act that would bring him punishment almost, but not quite, worried her.

“Anything wrong?” She yawned delicately, stretching slightly to welcome the new day.

An engaging grin slowly blossomed on the vampire’s lips. “Not a thing. Not a single thing, love.”

A/N: Feedback welcome. This fic has just been nominated in the Fang Fetish Awards. My first nomination so I am chuffed to nuts.

This beautiful darling was created by the multi-talented beanbeans. I bows and salutes you, friend.


Chapter Five

Willow had woken from a broken sleep just before midday. Grinning happily to herself, she bounced down to the communal mess hall and scrounged some brunch from the chefs, not being able to face a British lunch so soon after waking. Calorie filled, she skipped back to her room and, thanks to her mental packing activity in the early hours of the morning, selected items in quick succession to stuff into her bag. She was going to see Buffy again after what seemed forever. Since Buffy had left over three weeks ago for her private vacation – and, if Willow was honest with herself, that still rankled a little – she’d awarded herself several best friend brownie points for tolerance and patience. Now she was gong to reap her reward, a little vacation of her own with her favourite Slayer. Even a sudden flicker of unwelcome memory appertaining to her last lover, the uber arrogant Kennedy, failed to make the thought of the word ‘Slayer’ mean anything but the, to her, best and original. Buffy.

Cramming the last of her can’t-go-without-it belongings into her bag, the Wiccan tripped lightly down the stairs and made her way to Giles’ study. Her tap on the door was answered as she entered the room.

Rupert was knackered. He hadn’t slept in over thirty hours and, at his time in life, that was unusual unless another almost apocalypse was rearing its ugly head. Once he’d sent Willow on her way to Somerset he fully intended to grab a few hours sleep before being on call for the flurry of information he fully expected to be winging his way. In the last few hours he had been anything but idle.

Rose’s near hysterical ramblings had alerted him to the fact that all was not well in Huish Mallet. With decisiveness, he had arranged for a wet ops team, fully equipped for any eventuality, to depart for the West Country. A team of four experienced operatives were, even now, approaching their destination in a black Council owned Range Rover. Rose would meet and escort them to accommodations in a neighbouring village; he would rather that the immediate locals were not privy to the presence of his team before any need for action was confirmed. That’s where Rupert would be relying on Willow.

“Hi, Giles,” Willow’s smiling glance took in the rumpled state of his clothes, the messed hair confirming her suspicions that the Watcher hadn’t yet rested. “I’m good to go. Anything new from the coven?”

Gesturing Willow to take a seat, Rupert briefly wondered if he were doing the right thing in allowing Willow to become involved in what might turn out to be a messy situation. Dismissing his doubts, he launched into an update of the facts as he understood them. “Yes, well, several things have come to light since, er, since you left.” Rupert knew his glasses definitely didn’t need cleaning. Damn. “The coven has managed to narrow the focus of last night’s event. Our suspicions have been confirmed, Willow. Whatever happened occurred in the vicinity of Huish Mallet.”

Willow’s face paled slightly, though whether from excitement at being given the opportunity to study the phenomenon more closely in the field or anxiety was difficult to deduce. Rupert continued, trying to keep the sequence factual. “Rose, Mrs Cadrew, entered Steepes Cottage at my behest to observe if anything out of the ordinary had occurred. The poor woman was somewhat alarmed to find blood on the walls and what appears to be evidence of heated blood in the kitchen.” At Willow’s shocked gasp he allowed a grim smile to grace his lips as he hurried to reassure the young redhead. “Buffy is unharmed, Willow. She’s been to Taunton on some shopping expedition today.”

Mention of Buffy being sighted up and about in daylight had done much to quell many of Rupert’s fears when Rose had called to inform him, not too long after her first communication. Knowing that Buffy was alive and hadn’t been turned brought a wave of relief, quickly followed by various unwelcome thoughts. ‘Why had Buffy not been in contact about the night’s happenings? Why would there be blood splattered in the cottage when it was not hers? What was she hiding?’ Unwelcome memories of other occasions when Buffy had hidden information from him made Rupert face the possibility that once again, without the guidance of her friends or himself, Buffy was acting unwisely. Sighing heavily at his onerous burden of care, he returned to briefing Willow.

“I’ll arrange for a taxi to pick you up from Taunton and take you to the cottage. Normally I would have asked Rose to collect you but…she’s busy at the moment.” Earning the stipend she received from the Council. “Willow, be extremely cautious until you discover what, if anything, Buffy knows about the temporal disturbance. Try to discover the reason for blood being seen in the hallway. If you weren’t a powerful witch I would hesitate…”

“Giles, it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Buffy will be fine. We’ll get to the bottom of this mystery and I’m sure you’ll have all the answers you need soon.” None of Giles’ words could dim the anticipation she felt at getting to see Buffy again. It would be just like old times, a mini Scooby get together with possible evil afoot to be vanquished. She and Buffy would find, fight, win and have lots of quality time as well. Of this, Willow was determined – she’d even packed her resolve face on the off chance she might need it.

“You have a fully charged mobile phone with you?” Willow nodded in answer to his question. “Good. If you are unable to use the phone in the cottage you’ll need to access the hill - ” Rupert passed an envelope to her, “behind the cottage. Full directions and a map are in there. I cannot stress strongly enough that I will expect you to contact me no later than midnight, Willow. If I don’t hear from you by then I will be forced to assume that you are in danger and take alternative measures.”

Sometimes Giles was just so cute, especially when he got that anxious look on his face. Willow wished he would understand that she was more than capable of taking care of herself now. “Sure thing, Giles. Go, take care, call before midnight. Got it.”

Feeling that there was a chance he was being mocked, Rupert smiled uncertainly as he rose. “Well, good. I’ll drop you off at the station then.”

***

The Slayer had been busy. Waking to find the new Spike so close to her had caused more than a little fluttering of her heart. He’d wrapped himself in a very becoming burgundy robe but Buffy was only too aware that he had no other clothing protecting his nakedness. Still, she had managed to see a little more of his chest and back when steri-strips had been removed from healed wounds, and sutures carefully cut and tweezed out of his well-muscled back. It was hard but she was trying to ignore the little shivers he made involuntarily whenever she touched him. The healing power he exhibited was truly amazing, even better than her own. This Spike would be sporting more scars than just the one that dissected his brow.

In a companionable silence they had settled into a rhythm as the clutter and mess from last night was tidied and cleaned. In less than an hour all evidence had disappeared, the cottage set to rights once more. Buffy couldn’t stop herself from glancing at him every few minutes, enjoying the look of surprise on his face as he took in the strange – to him – gadgets. With the electrical supply still dead, Buffy made do with a slice of bread and honey with juice for breakfast, not entirely surprised when the vampire joined her after refusing an offer of blood. Every time he caught her watching him he smiled, once almost tilting his head in an identical fashion to… Spike. They needed to talk. But other things took priority, like getting the electricity back up and running before everything in the fridge and freezer spoiled. Like getting clothes and pig’s blood for Spike. Like putting it off. ‘Damn! Get a grip, Buffy. Be brave with the emotions for once.’

“Is something wrong, Buffy?” This time the tilt was so there, and the questioning look in his eyes almost took her breath away; they were identical.

Stalling for time to regain control of her flustered feelings, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “Apart from the reflection, which is pretty strange, anything else that’s different? I mean, what about sunlight?”

A soft chuckle she was already beginning to associate with this vampire made her smile. “Good guess. I have a little more tolerance than most. Depends on how bright the sun is. On a day like today,” he nodded towards the kitchen window where the diffused sunlight streamed through, indicating a return to the bright days Buffy had enjoyed before yesterday, “I could be safe for a minute, possibly two. On overcast days I might be able to get away with five minutes, if I was lucky. Haven’t had too much cause to put it to the test.”

Buffy filed away the titbit of information showing yet another dissimilarity between this vampire and any other she had ever known. Later she’d ask him if all this was usual wherever he came from, but right now she had to make a start on her errands before the day disappeared in his company. Right now he was trying to hide a yawn and Buffy took the cue to prod him back up to bed.

“I have to go out for a few hours and you need more rest.” She didn’t miss the quick look of alarm that flashed across his face at the mention of her leaving. “Have to get you some clothes and try to find some blood that you’ll drink.”

The look of dismay her words evoked almost made her laugh out loud. “My being here is causing you problems, and expense. I’ll…I’ll leave at nightfall if it would be better for you, Buffy.”

Images of this Spike tromping around the countryside wearing nothing but a burgundy robe were definitely cause for amusement. Thinking of him lost and alone in a strange world, not wanting to be a burden to her or a drain on her resources, had Buffy blinking back tears. And making a possibly rash decision.

Grabbing his cool hand she led him back upstairs to the bedroom before dropping it to open a drawer and remove two books. Her journals. The good and the bad, her thoughts and her dreams, the written essence of Buffy and the Slayer. About to be placed in the hands of a total stranger with the face and mannerisms of a lost love.

Handing them to him, Buffy answered the unspoken question in his blue eyes. “Get some more rest. If I’m not back when you wake well…these are my private journals. They’ll explain a lot of stuff about me: my life, slaying, the vampires I’ve known. Everything. Not a pretty story. We’ll talk later.” She turned to leave but was halted by a hand on her shoulder that gently urged her back to face him.

“Buffy, I can’t read these. They’re private.” Everything in Spike rose up against such an invasion of her privacy. He hadn’t even known her for twenty-four hours and although he knew without doubt how he felt about her, how deep his feelings for her went, he had been hopefully anticipating getting to know her over a period of time; taking this shortcut did not feel honourable nor right.

Her hand found its own way to his cheek, softly caressing down to his jaw before dropping away. “Your choice, Spike. I’m just not so good with the explanations sometimes, and there’s already so much you need to learn about this world. Things that are gonna make your eyes pop. Get some rest. I’ll see you later.” This time she ran lightly from the room; moments later he heard the front door close behind her as she left the cottage.

***

It was mid afternoon when Buffy trudged up the drive, shaded from the pleasant warmth of the sun. Rose had seemed surprised to see Buffy when she’d knocked at her door that morning. It was the first time the woman had ever appeared flustered, a fact she quickly explained away by the extra work that the previous night’s tempest had caused her. Before Buffy could ask, Rose launched into a speech indicating that she would send someone up to clear the drive as soon as possible and to reset the electricity supply box. A frown itched to appear on Buffy’s brow; how had Rose known about the state of the drive and the power? She mentally shrugged it away, justifying it by the obvious state of the village.

At Buffy’s request for a lift into town, Rose was compelled to decline as she was otherwise occupied. The irregular bus service was bound to be even more unreliable today, for the same reason that everything was out of kilter, and Buffy ended up taking Rose’s offer to call a taxi. It was probably better that way. A strained cup of tea - in more ways than one - and twenty minutes later she waved Rose goodbye.

Taunton seemed quieter than usual for which Buffy was grateful. She quickly lost herself in the pleasure of shopping, somehow more pleasurable because it was not for her but for Spike. The only clothing she chose in black were socks and underwear, everything else was full of colour: dark blue denim jeans, tee shirts of every shade from white through red to deep blue; a dark tan leather jacket as well as a denim waist length one; shirts of red, blue and white; two pairs of boots, one soft suede and another sturdier pair, but not Doc Martens. On impulse she chose a silver watch and a heavy silver chain. Not necessities but something she thought he would take pleasure in.

In the drugstore she grabbed toiletries and, with extreme reluctance, a pair of hair scissors. She loved his hair; it was the outward definition of this new Spike in her life. But she didn’t feel that he would weather the crass mockery of today’s society as well as the older, more confident Spike who was now lost to her. Buffy knew she would do everything she could to spare him from any hurt, in any form. Suddenly she felt impatient to be back with him. Only two more things to get and she’d be on her way to the taxi rank.

A charity shop provided the large, worn leather bag that easily housed all her purchases at a price that made her smile. Having everything stuffed inside made it easier to move; no more multiple bags banging into her legs. On a back street she found an old-fashioned butcher who raised an eyebrow at her request for pig’s blood but was able to supply her with several quarts in insulated containers. Sighing with relief, Buffy made her way back to a place she now thought of as home.

***

He had tried to sleep. Strange and familiar sounds interrupted; livestock from neighbouring fields and a growling noise he recognised from the devil of the previous night. It seemed that there were many of them and that daylight did not deter them in the slightest. After dozing for a while, he gave up and left the soft comfort of a bed that felt lonely without Buffy in it. The journals called to him but he stifled it and slipped on the robe before going downstairs.

Something called to his memory, a feeling of familiarity about the cottage that he couldn’t quite place. When he entered the formal drawing room, a room he hadn’t seen before, a recollection from his childhood hit him hard.

He might have been seven, maybe eight, and his sister was unwell. Mama had sent him to stay in the country with his Uncle Arthur, a dedicated bachelor who was seldom mentioned in the house. William had travelled alone to Taunton on the steam locomotive, excited to be considered old enough to be trusted to make the journey by himself. It had been a grand adventure and he had been delighted with the freedom his uncle afforded him. Days were spent with the other lads from the village, fishing in the streams and re-enacting Wellington’s battles. It had been one of the few times he had felt accepted.

One night his Uncle Arthur had shown him a hiding place where a great treasure resided. His uncle had made him swear an oath to keep it secret until his death. How solemn William had been as he’d sworn upon a bible not to tell a living soul. Four years later he heard mama mention that Uncle Arthur had been killed, apparently by some vicious beast, origins unknown. Try as he might, mama had not taken his tales of a splendid treasure seriously, eventually becoming annoyed at his insistence that Uncle Arthur had left something for them. He later found that the cottage had been sold to his uncle’s employers in London. Gradually he had forgotten with the passing of time. Now he was sure he looked upon the self same fireplace and that he was in fact in his uncle’s cottage; much changed from his memories but the same nevertheless.

Reaching into the recesses of his memory as William, Spike muttered under his breath as he counted bricks from the top of the hearth and from left to right. With anticipation he pulled one brick loose and put his hand inside the opening, smiling in triumph when his hand pulled out a small worn leather drawstring pouch. Carefully replacing the brick, Spike moved into the kitchen to wash the soot and dust from his hand before opening the pouch and pouring the contents onto the counter. Even in the dimmed light fire sparked from the twenty or so diamonds. They ranged in size to one as big as his thumbnail to pea size. All gave off a gleam of quality, the cut and polish impeccable. Spike grinned to himself; now he had something to offer Buffy.

The sound of footsteps on the gravel outside induced Spike to quickly take to the stairs. Although he hoped it would be Buffy, none of the prickling sensation he associated with her presence manifested itself. He listened as the front door opened and a heavy tread echoed through the cottage; something clicked and then whoever it was left.

Relaxing, Spike’s eyes fell on the journals once more. They tempted him and he was weak. With trembling hands he opened the top one and started to read.

***

The smile on Buffy’s face grew as she approached the cottage and opened the door. She’d been gone for longer than expected and was impatient to be reunited with the resident vampire. Entering the informal room on the right, she dropped the leather bag and took the insulated blood to the fridge, sighing with relief when it proved to be back up and running.

Bounding up the stairs, she entered the bedroom. A tear stained face looked up at her entrance.

“I’m not him. I’m not the one you loved.”

A/N: I hope that this entertained. You would make me very happy if you have time to review.

This beautiful darling was created by the multi-talented beanbeans. I bows and salutes you, friend.

A/N: Thank you to all those who have been kind enough to read and review. I really do appreciate it. Hope the next chapter entertains.

This little fic gained my first nomination for an award at the Fang Fetish Awards and is also nominated at Blood Ties Awards. I am chuffed and thrilled to pieces.


Chapter 6

Making himself comfortable against the pillows, Spike opened the older of the two journals and soon found himself lost in the thoughts and activities of a fifteen year old American girl. The year of the first entry, the year nineteen ninety-six, stunned the vampire. ‘Not what I expected.’ Equal amounts of unease and excitement filled him but he refused to let it distract from his reading. He wanted, needed to know more about her, the golden Slayer.

He’d wondered about her somewhat strange accent and was pleased to see that his guess that she originated from the ex-colony was correct. Buffy’s handwriting lacked the disciplined strokes of his own and some of the terms she used were beyond his comprehension; many mental notes were made to ask her for explanations on her return. ‘What the hell is a ‘boy band’? A group of young ruffians? Why would she be ‘drooling’ over such as them? And shaking her booty? Does she demand some of the ruffians ill-gotten gains?’ Shaking his head slightly in confusion, Spike skipped passed oblique passages dealing with school life, and paused to read more thoroughly when the first mention of being Chosen and the discovery that vampires were real occurred.

Mention of Merrick, her Watcher, and her earlier forays into slaying drew a fond smile to his lips. The vampire realised that a journal such as this would be worth its weight in gold to any demon intent on taking the Slayer down; the information contained within its covers detailed training and lore – much that he considered to be mistaken – as well as the fears of a young girl. The amount of duplicity she needed to indulge in to cover her calling from her family made his undead heart ache for Buffy. Why did it all have to be so hard for her?

Merrick’s death, the school fire and her parents parting far from amicably obviously wounded her deeply. Moving to a new town had torn her away from friends that now eyed her askance but left a hole in her life. Spike smiled as he read about the growing friendships with Xander and Willow – ‘Such strange names they have now. Perhaps ‘Spike’ will not be such an oddity’ – nodding approvingly when a new Watcher, a fellow countryman and librarian no less, made himself known to the Slayer.

Before long Spike felt the indulgent smile freeze before rapidly disappearing. ‘Angel. Angelus!’ There was no one to see his face change or hear the growl emitting from his throat. Amber eyes angrily read in growing disbelief as he skimmed over the cramped lines that had been hurriedly added by a tired Buffy, normally before sleep or after attending school, homework, slaying and some sort of meeting place oddly named ‘The Bronze’. Mention of hyenas and praying mantis barely registered as he looked for all mention of…there it was.

Buffy’s description fit Angelus, almost. Tall, dark and only seen at night fit well; the sad brown eyes did not fit with his own recollections, not a bit. But then Spike became caught up in the discovery that Angel was, in fact, a vampire. Having spent the night in her room. ‘What sort of mad world is this? This is not how it should be. It’s all wrong.’ With ever growing confusion and concern he read on.

Angel having a soul shocked him to his core. In his time it had been his somewhat Sire, Drusilla, that had been cursed by gypsies, sent over the edge of her frail stability and meeting the next sunrise. This read like an abhorrent fairytale, all twisted and distorted. ‘Is this what Buffy meant for me to learn? Or is there more that will confound me?’ As it turned out, even his poet’s imagination would have been unable to create the events that shaped and brought Buffy to where she was now, here in a dwelling that he had inhabited briefly as a child.

Spike was halfway through the second journal when Buffy returned. Try as he might, and he did try hard, he couldn’t put away his tears and battered emotions, though whether they were directed towards himself, his other self, or the grief-ridden Slayer, he really couldn’t tell. The pain of loss for something he had never experienced, a woman’s love, cut through the vampire. Judged against the Spike that had now gone from this world, he knew he would be found wanting on all fronts. A big part of him wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all, some faceless interfering sod sending him to a place where his heart had chosen Buffy, when hers was already given to dust; even if that dust had once borne the same name and body.

Where he had anticipated gladness at her return, Spike – ‘I don’t even want to be called that anymore. Nor William. I’ve lost myself to a ghost!’ – wanted nothing more than to flee her presence, give himself time to control his feelings and at least act like a man. Too soon she was there and he lifted his head to gaze at her. The smile on her lips and in her eyes faltered and died.

“I’m not him. I’m not the one you loved.” The heartbroken vampire took what comfort he could when his voice held firm.

***

What to say to that? ‘I wish I knew. So wish that for once I could have the words, say the right ones, take away your pain.’

Moving closer to the bed, Buffy reached out a hand and spoke, “Spike -”

“No!” The vampire pulled back from her approach, angry despair glaring at her from his tear drenched blue eyes. “I am not, nor ever will be, the Spike you describe so well in - ” his hands waved at the journals on the bed, “these pages. I’m not a master vampire, I haven’t saved the world and will not be going to gain a soul for you.” He held back on the fact that he still had his; he did not feel like sharing his secrets, even though she had bared everything to him. The pain and concern in her glance nearly undid him but he dismissed it as he threw his last inadequacy at her. “And I shall not be able to satisfy your carnal desires, either.”

Looking her squarely in the eyes Spike spat out, like a challenge, “I understand that this is normally the point where you beat me up.”

Regret for his words and their delivery hit him instantaneously. Buffy’s raised heartbeat and the sudden paleness to her sun-flushed face, the way she caught her trembling lower lip between her teeth and squared her shoulders as if expecting a blow had him more ashamed than he would have believed possible. “Buffy - ”

Buffy raised a hand to stop him from tearing her into any more pieces. “I’ll be right back, Sp… I have some clothes for you.” Running from the room she held onto her own tears until she reached the lower floor. ‘Will I never stop crying?’

Unbidden memories of the other Spike’s words, about crying a river of salt sprang into her mind. It hadn’t sunk in at the time, how much pain he was in. But she’d had long enough to contemplate it now, suffer her own pain over him. Buffy was amazed at how quickly this other Spike had engaged her feelings, put salve on the wound of her sorrow. More astonishing still was the absence of guilt, or betrayal. She was scared that if she paused too long to examine this then a list of reasons to keep distant would present themselves. They had before… and look how well that had turned out?

The vampire in the room above was right; he wasn’t the other Spike. But he had so many of the same attributes that it was difficult not to acknowledge them. Both lashed out verbally with cutting accuracy when they hurt inside. It would have to be up to her to pour oil on the troubled water, make the one here now understand that she would do her utmost to be whatever he needed. And whilst she’d sort of hoped that in time it would be more than friendship, well, if he didn’t want to satisfy her ‘carnal desires’, she could live with that – she hoped she could live with that.

Roughly brushing the pooling moisture from her eyes, Buffy grabbed the leather bag and slowly made her way back up the stairs. Moving into the spare bedroom she dropped the bag and pulled the curtains across; shutting out the afternoon light before tapping on her bedroom door, waiting for the vampire within to open it.

Spike had been pacing furiously, damning himself for his outrageously hurtful words to one who had shown him nothing but good, nothing but kindness. His jealously and misery seemed to have taken away every whit of good sense that he’d ever possessed. ‘How does anyone forgive words such as mine? Why would she even want to? Oh, Buffy, I am so sorry, love.’

His mortification was complete when the Slayer tapped on the door, waiting for his permission to enter her room. The feet that had been full of energy moments before seemed now to be made of lead as he moved to open the door. Buffy glanced briefly up at him as she waved a hand in the direction of a room on the other side of the landing.

“Clothes are in there. I…um…they should fit. I’ll go back tomorrow if I need to change anything.” Her voice ended in a whisper as the words became strangled in her throat.

Spike couldn’t keep his feelings in anymore, didn’t want to leave his distasteful outburst to stain the… something that was there already between them. His regretful habit of opening his mouth and showing his emotions too clearly could destroy it before he would be given an opportunity to court her, to make her see him. Really see him. And care for him because he was who he was, and not another. Taking his courage in both hands, Spike set out to mend anything he may have broken between them. To offer himself for her judgement.

“I’m in this world on your grace and favour, Buffy.” His eyes tried to impress his sincerity and candour into her being, let her know the truth of his words, understand so that there could be no doubt of his honesty – if only she would look at him. “By all rights you should have ended me last night. Now I understand why you didn’t. It’s because of him. Because you loved him, and he loved you. Because you grieve his passing. If not for him I believe I would not be here now. I wish I had been him, Buffy. I wish I could pretend I am him. I am afraid you will be disappointed if you think I am and…I could not deceive you so. So, if that is the only thing that has been responsible for your restraint and hospitality so far, that my face bears a similarity to his, that a small part of our history seems to have been shared, do not let that stay your hand. ”

Green tear-filled eyes locked onto his, unblinking until her lashes dropped and swept a soft fall of tears down her cheeks. Buffy could not deny what the vampire said, but it was not the whole truth. Glancing back up into his earnest blue gaze, Buffy supplied him with some truth of her own.

“I dreamt about you. Not…Spike who died here. You.” Encouraged by the look of confused interest appearing on his face Buffy pushed on. “Every night, every single night - since I’ve come to this place to remember him and, you’re right, to grieve and to think…of my mistakes - every single night I’ve dreamt of you. I’ve been here for over three weeks and it was you I saw every night. Nearly everything that happened last night was exactly as I’ve seen it in all my slayer dreams.” Suddenly, everything seemed clear to her. She saw, with the utmost clarity exactly what she had been gifted; undoubtedly, he was a gift. And, as with all gifts, it was up to Buffy to choose what to do with it. Not only her. This Spike had been given a gift too, of further life when he’d been sent here instead of meeting a certain end to his existence.

Buffy wanted to spill out her revelations to the nervous vampire before her; she wanted to babble them out in a style more befitting Willow at her most enthusiastic. Wanting to gain a few minutes to put her newly found convictions into words that would be comprehensible to both of them, she gestured again to the other bedroom, starting to smile and keeping her eyes on his.

“I think I may understand, I think I know what this is all about,” Buffy was almost stuttering as she fought to contain the rising excitement. “But you need to get dressed first, and I need something to drink.”

Spike followed her numbly, but with a growing optimism. Something had sparked to life in Buffy’s eyes and for some reason it gave him hope, hope that she saw him. Him. Not the one he was in some way replacing on this plane. He’d believed that by being frank with her all chance to stay near his slayer had vanished. He’d fully expected to be staked or, if she wished to be cruel, to be sent away to fend for himself. To be alone, to be a stranger in – ‘well, not precisely a strange land’ – a strange world.

Buffy, his goddess, had now pulled him back from the depths he’d allowed himself to sink into as he’d raced through her journals. Spike had not been able to contain the feeling, almost betrayal that overcame him as he realised that the dream he’d entertained that maybe, just maybe, he might someday mean something to her was beyond his aspiration. It had evaporated when he’d learnt of those who’d gone before. What could he ever come to mean to her when he had to compete with those she had given herself to, body and heart, during this life of hers in which he played no part until now? Now he desperately wanted to believe that she had given him something, a crumb, anything.

Tugging open the bag she’d dumped earlier, Buffy pulled out a pair of dark blue jeans, a white tee shirt, socks and boxers, and suede boots before laying them out on the bed. “I’m hoping they’re gonna fit. We can always get some more tomorrow.”

That was all it took for Spike to release the breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding. Tomorrow. He’d never known it to sound so glorious before. Linked to the other wonderful word - we. Added together, we plus tomorrow gave Spike more than enough for now.

Unable to stop herself, Buffy grabbed his hand as she rummaged a carrier full of toiletries out of the leather bag before gently tugging the vampire into the bathroom.

“Okay, here’s a clean towel, and this knob turns on the water.” Buffy put actions to words as she leaned into the shower cubicle and turned the water on. “And the other way for off. This one controls the temperature. See, turn towards the red for hotter and blue for colder.”

Several bottles were lined up on a rounded shelf and Buffy pointed to each in turn. “To wash your body with, shampoo for your hair, and conditioner to put in after you’ve rinsed the first time. Don’t forget to rinse it out after a little while.” A comb and a brush were placed by the sinks.

“Shout out if you have problems, okay?” She looked up to see him studying her in that way so reminiscent, so like the other. Buffy almost expected him to drop down on his knees and profess his love for her. The smile hadn’t left her face since it had hit her, the answer, and now it only deepened into a grin as an answering smile slowly spread across the face of the bewildered vampire. “See you downstairs in a little while. This time we really will talk.”

He watched until the door closed softly behind Buffy, listening as her feet trod down the stairs and almost faded away. Slipping the robe off and hanging it behind the door, Spike crossed to the mirror and once again studied his reflection. As he stripped the ribbon from his hair, releasing curls to float about his head, there was not a thing to stop the grin gaining ground on his lips. Moving to the shower, the vampire followed all given instructions as he adjusted the temperature of the spray and washed his old world from his skin and hair, and prepared to embrace the new world he was determined to become a part of.

***

The slayer dreams, how could she have forgotten so quickly how they all ended differently? In every one there was an element of chance and of choice, so much so that when last night happened and she felt it all come together, she’d already chosen. She’d already determined to prevent whoever it was from being thrown into that tree, that very wooden tree with the branches and the nasty splinters. When she saved him and found he was a vampire, curiosity and resemblance gained him a reprieve. But it was his absence of attack, his acceptance of everything that she did that had softened her reactions to him, made her want to save him as much as the familiarity of his face.

This vampire was young in his unlife and not weighed down by the memories and actions of over a century. He hadn’t been the consort of Drusilla, hadn’t killed a slayer, and didn’t feed on human blood. And she had a chance to get to know him, be his friend, show him her world and maybe, just maybe, treasure to the fullest the gift she had been given. The lessons of one Spike would not be squandered, Buffy knew she had learnt and was eager to put her newfound certainty to the test.

Filling up the kettle with water and setting it to boil, Buffy wandered into the formal drawing room. She’d left a new journal, an unused and recently purchased journal on the writing table there, thinking she would soon be needing fresh pages for her thoughts. Truly, she doubted that she needed to do this, but the Slayer in her demanded that she made some sort of record, just in case. Just in case it all went horribly wrong. ‘I won’t let it. This is one gift I’m gonna cherish above all others.’

Sorting the words in her head, Buffy put pen to paper and started to leave the information that would help to point Giles in the right direction, just in case. ‘Giles is never gonna see this. This time it’s going to be the right time. I just feel it. Goodbye, Spike. I’ll never ever forget you. Never stop praying to the – whatever – that you’re in a good place. Never stop being thankful for having known you, for having loved you. I am so, so sorry that it was too late. Silly, I sorta want to ask for your blessing. Which is all sorts of weird! I don’t love him, not yet. But there’s something there. The same sorta feeling I used to have about you, that I used to stomp on… deny. Does it make sense that if I hadn’t known you, hadn’t loved you, he would be dust now? Probably about as much sense as knowing that you were the one to teach me about love, what it really means. Without you I would never have been capable of loving again. Be happy, wherever you are. You so deserve that, to be happy, to be loved.’ Sniffling, Buffy wrote on.


21 June 2003

Dear Giles…

***

Willow decided half way through Taunton Station that she had packed too much. The temptation to use her powers to lighten the load tempted her, until she thought of what Tara would have said to that! Smiling reflectively, the young redhead tried to work on her ‘Hi, Buffy. Surprise!’ speech. It was only now she’d arrived that she was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of appearing unannounced like this. She wasn’t so sure now that Buffy would welcome her with open arms and fall into a girly catch up session filled with laughter and junk food.

Settling back in the rear of the taxi Giles had arranged to meet her, Willow lost herself at the vision made by the green countryside shining in an extraordinary golden light; everything was in sharp relief as the sun gave a last blast of sunny goodness before taking its leave until the next day.

Giles instructions to her played in her mind. With a hopeful shrug, Willow resigned herself to fate and continued to look at the view.

It was a most unfortunate thing that the cell phone coverage in many parts of Somerset was somewhat …sketchy. Willow would not have been anywhere near as relaxed if she had been able to pick up her messages – not that she’d remembered to try yet.

If she had known then what Giles knew – well, things may have gone a little differently.


A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope it entertained and welcome feedback. Only one more chapter to go.

This beautiful darling was created by the multi-talented beanbeans. I bows and salutes you, friend.

A/N: Thank you to those who have been kind enough to read and review. Very appreciated, I assure you.

I hope you enjoy the final chapter.


Chapter Seven

It had been Giles’ fervent desire to catch a few hours rest before settling in to wait for Willow’s report sometime late evening. Rupert should have known that his wishes appeared to hold little weight with the Powers.

The call from the coven had been the first of many disturbances that increased the aching headache which seemed to have made itself at home behind his eyes. After listening in growing agitation to the news offered by the leader of the coven, after questioning the credentials of the source, he had replaced the phone to slump back into his chair. Giles thought it not beyond the realms of possibility that he had made a mistake, a big mistake.

A seer within the coven had been gifted with a prophetic vision. Her reputation was impeccable; at seventy-five she had experienced only four other visions, all of which came to pass with unerring accuracy. Why was Rupert not surprised that this one involved Buffy? Why did he not have to stretch belief when informed that it also involved a souled vampire, ‘becoming the champion intended in place of the one who should not be gone’? What did it mean that ‘danger to the Slayer and Champion will come from within’?

One thing he had accepted without question was the statement that the Slayer and Champion, together, would prove to be the most formidable pair ever to take up the fight against evil – if they did not succumb to the ‘danger’.

Messages flew over the airwaves and searched for Willow’s cell phone to no avail. They sat impatiently in voicemail and waited to be retrieved, their urgency not influencing the physics involved – reception in the West Country was appalling.

Still pondering whether it would serve to send another delegation to rural Somerset, Rupert was rudely interrupted by an overly excited Andrew bursting into his study and babbling hysterically. It was enough to drive a Watcher to drink, but that small comfort would have to be delayed until he had unravelled the mystery of the danger to Buffy, and yet another vampire in her life. When the young Watcher In Training had calmed sufficiently to impart his news, he glowed in the burst of praise from his sometime mentor.

It never ceased to amaze Rupert that such seemingly small actions could tip the balance. Really, it did not pay to simply pour over cold facts when people’s emotions were involved; who could ever predict what the driving force of love – or hate – would achieve? One day he needed to accept that lesson; it wasn’t as if it had never been apparent to him before.

Kennedy. Indirectly, but still Kennedy. In the aftermath of her emotionally charged break up with Willow, the veteran of the Hellmouth battle had run home to daddy and poured out her own skewed version of everything that was wrong with… well, everyone and everything by the sounds of it. Her lack of loyalty could be overlooked perhaps, but the reaction of her wealthy and influential father was about to pre-empt a possible disaster.

The new Council had settled into an outward semblance of commitment to a common cause, but underneath politics simmered as power plays were made. It hadn’t taken much for Kennedy’s papa to gain ears and eyes within it with liberal spreading of whatever his minions sought; power, money, resources… revenge. Anxious to see his traumatised daughter happy once more, he had leapt on the opportunity offered to bring down the Vampire-Layer – he could not bring himself to utter her stupid name – and her gang of cronies. When daddy learned of the team being despatched in secrecy for a possible mop up of the demon variety, he wasted no time in having their orders from Giles subtly altered. The demon could be taken out – or brought back to the Council for examination, he really didn’t care – but the slut of a slayer who had failed to see the full worth of his girl, who had risked the world on numerous occasions because of her lust for the undead…she would be removed. Daddy thought this possibly harsh, but extremely fair.

Dawson, the leader of the team, had his own scores to settle with the long lived Slayer. She’d caused problems for nearly every member of wet ops, earning himself and several others reprimands just for carrying out their jobs with enthusiasm. It never occurred to Dawson that he was actually a sadistic son of a bitch who took far too much pleasure from his assignments. The temptation to get the ultimate payback, with the added bonus of some fringe benefits before the coup de grace, would have been enough to make him do the task for nothing. The fact that it was sanctioned by several prominent members of the Council was just the cherry on top – and the bonus didn’t hurt either. Getting one over on the pompous Giles would be a bit of all right too.

Rupert blessed Andrew’s long ears and his normally reprehensible habit of listening in to others’ conversation; the more people whispered, the harder the boy snooped. Chance, or fate, had placed him in a position to access a diabolical session of congratulation and plotting between some of the more traditionalist, and less ethical, Council members. The knowledge they had divulged could only have come from this room, which Rupert belatedly recalled he had not warded for some time.

It was with some surprise that Rupert discovered Buffy to be the focus of the plot, her demise its aim. No clear explanations had been gained by Andrew’s timely eavesdropping, just enough to know that Buffy was in danger. Which would mean that Willow and if present, the souled vampire, were also in the line of fire.

Adrenalin coursed through Rupert’s veins, lending him energy as he felt Ripper coming out for a cameo appearance. There was nothing like a bit of chaos for making him feel young again, giving him something he could really get his teeth into. Reaching for the phone, Ripper formulated the best course of action to take as colourful curses pushed through clenched teeth.

***

Late afternoon and early evening had passed by faster than Concorde – which could be heard nightly as a boom sounded to shatter the peace of the countryside. Buffy and Spike had been sitting and talking. Talking and looking. Looking and, now and then, touching each other. Casual, intimate touches on the hand or knee, or arm. Connecting and communicating. Learning and liking. Smiling and laughing.

Spike had been gratified at the look on Buffy’s face when he had ventured downstairs to join her. The clothes he had on felt strange but comfortable and the approval he felt from Buffy gave him the confidence to smirk a little at her. Her answering grin had been all it took to break the slight tension and they were off. Off onto a path of exploration and understanding.

The Slayer had pouted slightly on seeing Spike’s curling locks contained in bondage once more, but the damp tendrils falling from his forehead gave her enough of a glimpse for now. She’d fixed some food for herself and warmed pig’s blood for him, tea for them both. When she’d presented her convictions to him he had listened intently, considering each word and the importance behind it, before voicing his agreement with her assessment. With trepidation, Spike gave her the two truths he felt she more than deserved from him.

Buffy was so entranced by the shyness and hesitancy of Spike, the way his eyes held her own beguilingly, that she barely registered his words at first. Only when he waited for her reaction did she press rewind and feel her mouth drop open to form a bemused ‘o’.

“You have your soul?” she squeaked, her vocal cords still recovering from the shock. “How? Why? Were you cursed? What happened?”

The vampire laughed, amused at her response and promised he would explain all, but that that would entail a whole bundle of further explanations about the differences in the world he had left behind. “Not a curse.” It was all he would add for now, because there was one more thing he needed to tell her. Before he lost his nerve.

Seeing Spike hesitate, seeing him squeeze his eyes shut as if steeling himself to disclose some dreaded secret, Buffy took one of his hands in both of hers in silent support. When his blue gaze found hers, she caught her breath at the haunted look he fixed upon her. “Buffy… this is hard.” Spike swallowed before ploughing ahead. “I’m a virgin.” His head dropped, not wanting to see contempt or amusement flit across her lovely face, not wanting to see anything lost from what he already had. ‘If she didn’t think I was a nancy boy before, she will now.’

She’d never considered this, never thought that such a vital part of the other Spike would be missing in this way; a hundred plus years of sensual knowledge no longer there. If…when things got to that stage between them she would be his first. Buffy shivered at the memory of her own first taste of sex with Angel. Looking back it almost seemed unreal that she could have given him herself; hindsight truly was twenty-twenty on the vision stakes. Coming back to the vampire beside her, she could almost feel him shrinking into himself, placing small barriers against the ridicule he appeared to expect. ‘Why is it such a big thing for a girl to be pure as the driven snow but a thing of shame for a man?’

“I hope it will be special for you, when you do - ” Buffy’s voice trailed off as he raised his head and regarded her with those beautiful, speaking eyes. Some things were so the same. Buffy’s heart felt as if it were breaking all over again… and being rebuilt piece by piece to a slightly different design. Unable to hold back any longer, she leaned towards him, towards his slightly open mouth. “I’m going to kiss you, okay?”

As her soft lips met his, as his eyes shut and he lost himself to the feel of her mouth softly touching his, the intoxicating scent of her arousal chased the exhilarating sensation that flowed through his heart, his soul, his body… no one had ever wanted him before. She hadn’t said it but vampires knew. They knew when the scent told them the truth. He smelt her openness to giving him all he desired, her body and her heart. Vampires knew these things. They just had problems believing them. For now he savoured her warmth and taste as her lips softly but firmly danced with his. Too soon it ended.

Her sudden desire to go further, to just take from him, was banished with determination. Buffy thought this could be evidence of her very own demon; how her lust, once awakened, would fight to be satiated. The Slayer part of her could well be responsible, she didn’t know. Perhaps in the future there would be a right time to let loose her own restrained beast but for now she was, in the words of the song, ‘gonna try a little tenderness’. And if just one chaste kiss had this response from her, Buffy hoped that tenderness would find its own reward sooner rather than later.

The vampire fought his instinct to grab hold of Buffy and try that kiss again, and again, until… Opening his eyes his soul relished the look on her face, sure it was a reflection of his own. In synchronisation they sighed almost regretfully, and then smiled at each other with identical shyness. When her hand found its way to his cheek, a habit of hers he was beginning to enjoy thoroughly, Spike turned his head to drop a soft kiss on the steady pulse of her wrist. Her instant response, a shiver and raised pumping of her blood, caused him to grin with pleasure. His ego had never been so pandered to and he hoped this was a forerunner of things to come.

“Okay, mister. Better start your lessons on what’s the what in the twenty-first century.” Buffy reluctantly pulled away from him and crossed to that modern oracle, the television.

***

As the taxi started up the drive to the cottage, Willow’s previous optimism had returned. She had once again convinced herself that her actions were in complete balance with what would be expected of a best friend; go rescue Buffy from possible bad decisions and a monster thrown out of a temporal distortion. She was confident that any objections Buffy could possibly have at her sudden appearance would soon be put aside when she appreciated the back up Willow could provide in the current situation. A quick call to Giles should pacify the Watcher – then they could get in some fun. Simple.
.
***

His mind hurt. Spike knew he was not unintelligent, his education was second to none but this… It was beyond his imagination – and he had a good one of those as well.

Horseless carriages – cars – raced and roared their way across highways that had not existed in his time. Man had reached the moon and walked upon it. Moving pictures with accompanying sound waited to be accessed in houses everywhere, no matter the class one belonged to. Women had the vote in most of the world and their mode of dress… if he hadn’t appreciated that it was deemed normal to show so much flesh he would have whimpered in shock. Not an unpleasant shock but… It was difficult to be articulate at a time like this.

So much information to process. Aircraft that would fly, fly to anywhere in the world in mere hours. Food from countries whose names he did not recognise available in large buildings, supermarkets, for all to enjoy. Objects called computers that found data on anything you asked of it. Talking to others using various forms of telephone. And he would have to learn all this, be able to function surrounded by strangeness. The more he learnt the more he offered prayers of gratitude that Buffy was there to help him, to steer him through the mayhem and noise. And the language! English was just not the same – it would take him forever to learn all the slang and ‘pop culture references’. It stunned him, it scared him, and it excited him.

Ever since she’d turned on the television, Buffy had been amused at the changing expressions that flitted over the vampire’s very expressive face. She kept up a gentle commentary on whatever was being presented to him on the screen, watching as his attention flicked between her and the box. Buffy used the remote control to switch through the small number of channels offered, pausing when something of interest was being shown, moving on when advertisements popped up; though these seemed to interest him as much as anything else. The last channel found an old movie, just the sort of thing she used to watch with her mom, ‘Gentlemen Prefer Blondes’. Buffy paused for a nostalgic moment as Marilyn Monroe purred huskily that ‘Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend’ as she moved in sultry sensuality to the music.

Almost with shame, Spike’s cock reacted to the sight of the blonde siren that now entertained him in something called a movie. It took him a second to focus on the words of the song she was warbling to before cursing himself for forgetting all about his earlier find. Leaping from the sofa he had sped upstairs and back again in moments, the small leather pouch offered to Buffy. His brief version of the childhood events that had led him to search within the fireplace produced the anticipated gasps from Buffy. When she tipped the sparkling stones onto the table her eyes nearly popped from her head.

“Wow,” Buffy murmured, enamoured by the pretty lights thrown out be the beautifully cut gems. She only pulled her enthralled gaze away when Spike started to chuckle beside her. “What?”

“It’s true then, diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” Spike couldn’t hold back his amusement at the reaction to the precious stones.

“Not at all,” Buffy started indignantly before smiling winningly at the vampire. “I was kinda hoping you might be.”

And there they were again, looking at each other with… The sound of a car and crunching gravel had both looking towards the obscured window. Without words the diamonds were scooped back into the pouch and thrust into Spike’s hands. In silent communication, Spike took himself back up the stairs and poised, ready to give Buffy his support if anything unwelcome were about to descend upon her.

Buffy frantically looked about for anything that would give away signs that a vampire was currently in residence. Satisfied, she ran nervous hands over her white blouse and cotton trousers, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before moving to the front door. She opened it on the first knock, her jaw dropping to discover Willow on the other side and a taxi moving off.

“Surprise!” Willow fought to keep her perky grin in place at the evidence that ‘surprise’ might easily be better described as ‘shock’. And a not pleasant one at that. The grin became a pout. “Thought you might be a bit happier to see me, Buffy.”

“Willow,” Buffy managed, just, in the best welcome she could produce. “What are you doing here?” She moved aside to let the redhead enter, automatically reaching to help her with her luggage. ‘Silly question, Buffy. Looks like she’s come to visit – for a while if the size of this bag is anything to go by.’

“Well, you know… been busy and Giles thought I could do with a break. And what with not seeing you for so long - and oh, yeah – then there was that temporal disturbance last night somewhere round here that Giles wants us to research. Did you notice that – the temporal disturbance?” Willow had wandered into the drawing room, eyes flickering about and taking note of all the goodies the Council had spent their money on here. Nice pad and she’d enjoy hanging out in such a cool place. Flopping onto one of the leather sofas, Willow noticed that Buffy was still standing in the doorway, eyes glazed. “The temporal disturbance? Notice any nasties? Had to do some slaying on your vacation? Buffy?”

“What?” Buffy was the first to admit that her multi-tasking skills had become a mite rusty over the last few months. Her shock at finding Willow on her doorstep had rapidly, too rapidly been overtaken by the shock of the Council’s knowledge of the ‘temporal disturbance’ that had occurred last night. ‘At least I know the proper name for it now. And that the Council is oh-so-surprisingly after whoever came through it. So not gonna happen!’ With an effort, Buffy dragged her attention back to Willow who was regarding her in some amusement, and some concern. “Sorry, Willow. Just so surprised to see you. How long are you staying?”

“Oh, thought we’d do the investigating and slaying for the boys back in London – then get some us time in. You can show me the sights and we can have some fun. Like the good old days. It’s what best friends do, right?” Willow wondered if she’d need to hint in order to get some refreshment. Her parched throat put paid to that idea, not wanting to wait for Buffy to get a clue. “Anything to drink around here?” popped out of her mouth, Willow leaning back in comfortable satisfaction as Buffy became more animated.

“Of course, sorry. Tea?” Buffy barely waited for the affirmative before dropping Willow’s bag and flying to get the kettle on its mission to boil. Grabbing the bag again, she dashed up the stairs and almost knocked Spike flying, only just catching his arms in time to steady them both. She tugged him into the smaller bedroom and let Willow’s bag fall to the floor.

“One of my friends, Willow, works for the Council - “Her whispered explanation was halted as a cool finger pressed gently to her lips; she resisted the temptation to find out its flavour with her tongue.

“Vampire, love. Heard everything. You did mention her a lot in your journals so I know who, and what, she is.” Spike’s voice matched Buffy’s in volume.

“Okay. You need to move all your stuff back into the other bedroom, make it look like you haven’t been in here. Oh, and the same for the bathroom. Gotta go.” Buffy took the opportunity to press a quick kiss to his mouth before leaping back down the stairs as quietly as she could and making tea for two. She left a smiling vampire in her wake, hastening to carry out her instructions.

When Buffy carried the tray containing all the tea making paraphernalia expected in England into the drawing room, setting it onto a rather nice coffee table, it barely registered that Willow had taken to browsing the room. It didn’t click that her friend was now putting back in place the journal Buffy had started to write in earlier. Not until Willow spoke.

Trying to keep all traces of hurt and accusation from her voice, yet apparently failing miserably, Willow turned to stare at the Slayer who was occupied with pouring tea into pretty china tea cups with matching saucers. “Well, the investigating part didn’t take as long as I thought it would. Guess you’ve been too busy - ” Unpleasant insinuation lay on the word, “with Spike to bother letting us know what happened.” The old deer caught in the headlights look on Buffy’s face was enough to give Willow a savage feeling of satisfaction. ‘Yeah, caught you out, missy! When I think of how worried Giles and I were and all the time you just had to phone and let us know. I s’pose you’ve been too busy doing the horizontal tango with this temporally disturbed Spike.’

Many would recognise the sudden tightening of face muscles, the minute thrust out of her chin and squaring of shoulders that indicated a slayer preparing to face off against an opponent. Willow should have been familiar enough with it to read the signs but her annoyance at being kept out of the loop - on ‘things that have happened in the last twenty-four hours in the life of Buffy’ - fed a possessive streak she would never admit to having.

“You came here to spy on me?” Buffy’s now narrowed eyes fixed on Willow suspiciously. “Jeez, Willow, if you and Giles had been so worried about this temporary thing you could have called Rose, got her to pass on a message. I would have - ”

“It was Rose who let us know that something was up, what with all the blood. The redhead watched as that piece of information scored a hit on her friend. “She came here early and found blood on the walls, the floor and in a pot. Giles and I were just worried that something had got you or was trying to trick you. We care about you, Buffy. All you had to do was call and –

“And what?” Buffy had recovered from the news that Rose had come into the cottage earlier and stumbled over what must have come as quite a shock to the woman. ‘Poor Rose. Okay, that explains her being a bit off this morning, and not in a position to deliver messages.’ “Willow, this happened last night. I’ve been a bit busy, okay? The blood was his, not mine, so there was a bit of repair work to do. And, strangely enough, we were both a bit tired after all the excitement. I’ve been getting clothes from town and just getting to know him. Excuse me if I didn’t think about letting the Council know. Especially after the spectacular silence from you all about Spike being back before, about him being—” Some strong swallowing choked back the tears that threatened, tears of anger and betrayal that she had not yet forgiven her friends for.

“We were just trying to protect you, Buffy. That’s all we ever do. You get yourself into these situations with vampires and it’s up to your friends to help you out.” Willow believed every word she spoke. “We saw how you mourned after Sunnydale. If he had been in contact with you once he got back fine. But he didn’t and we didn’t want to see you hurt again.”

“Did it never occur to you that for once it was up to me to make the first move? I could have gone to him. Slayer here, not exactly unable to move.” Buffy didn’t want to go into this with Willow; she didn’t feel that her friend deserved to know all the ins and outs of her emotions. And why was it okay for them to withhold information of the life changing kind, and not alright for her to have a few hours with knowledge they just might be interested in knowing?

“I don’t see why you’re getting so upset about it. It’s not as if you loved him or something.” Even Willow couldn’t miss the stricken look on Buffy’s face. “You didn’t, did you? You never said a word.” Buffy would have told her, told her best friend.

The tears had forced their way out and now made a stinging trail down Buffy’s face. “I did say a word. I told him, just before… He didn’t believe me.”

“Oh, so now you just pick up with a vampire that popped out from who knows where? We have to take him back to the Council and do research, tests and –

“There is no way the Council is touching Spike! He’s no threat to anyone and I won’t let you do tests – what sort of tests? And who is this ‘we’? ‘Cos you can’t seriously think that I’m gonna help you out here.” Buffy was getting a bad feeling about this. Having Willow turn up and interrupt her bonding with Spike was bad enough. Having the Council want to interfere was something to be very wary of. Arguing with Willow was starting to give her a headache. Buffy absently rubbed her temples; Giles would have empathised. Tea making had long been abandoned.

“Come on, Buffy. We both work for the Council. Surely you can see that something this unusual needs to be studied. I’m sure they’ll let you see him now and then.” A faint growling sound caused both heads to turn towards the door.

Spike stood there, tension evident in the way he held himself, ready to move into action should the need arise. Buffy was beside him in a moment, quickly finding his hand and squeezing it in reassurance. Willow stared at the couple, finally letting the obvious sink in. Buffy wanted Spike, and Spike - any Spike it appeared – wanted Buffy. It would have taken someone with a whole lot less intelligence than Willow possessed to mistake the way they looked at each other. If Dawn had been present she’d be making with the yakking noises. Giles was not going to be too happy about this development. Which finally reminded her.

“Yikes! I’ve got to go call Giles. There’s a team standing by to come to the rescue if he doesn’t hear from me before midnight. I’ll, er - ” One look at the absorbed pair persuaded her that a little walk would do her good and give a welcome stretch to her legs, and let the embryo lovebirds have a few minutes to themselves. “I’ll just go for a stroll up the hill before it gets dark, tell Giles the cavalry won’t be needed.”

Buffy dragged her eyes away, breaking her silent communion with Spike. “There’s a team around? What sort of team? Don’t tell me it’s a wet ops team.” At Willow’s somewhat sheepish nod Buffy let out a huff of annoyance. “And the fun just keeps on coming. Just what are you going to tell Giles, Willow? I warn you now, you’ll have to use your magic if you think for one moment that I’m letting you take Spike to the Council. And if you do I’ll never forgive you.” The determination that shone in Buffy’s green eyes left Willow in no doubt of the sincerity of her words.

“She won’t, love.” Spike had almost felt the moment the redheaded witch let go of her anger and listened to Buffy. He also knew, through the tear splashed pages of the journals he’d been privy to that Buffy loved her friend dearly, even if she’d been a little too ready to accept Willow’s opinion as gospel in the past. It would hurt Buffy terribly to break irrevocably from her imperfect friend, and something he wanted to help avoid. “Willow is your friend. Not perfect, mind.” Spike grinned at the look of indignation thrown his way by said witch before continuing, “but she is your friend. I hope she always will be.” The look he directed towards Willow held a hint of challenge, asking her to stand on the side of the Slayer, whether she approved of her decision or not. It had been a long time since Willow had left any sort of challenge unanswered.

Finding a lop-sided grin twist her lips without volition, Willow wondered if all versions of Spike everywhere held that bit of charm, that direct honesty and dry humour, and decided that knowing just two of them would be more than enough for her. Buffy too, by the look of things.

“Nice to meet you, Spike. Maybe we can get to know each other too?” Willow giggled at the look of surprise from both Spike and Buffy. “Hey, never too old to learn! I can be all open-minded girl and I’m not blind – well, not always.”

In a moment Willow was being hugged for the first time in what seemed forever by her friend. When they broke apart from each other, both openly weeping now, a hesitant Spike hovered nervously behind Buffy. Grinning through her blurred vision Willow thrust out her hand towards the vampire, finding it coolly but firmly grasped for a few seconds. Swiping the tears from her eyes, Willow gave a little shrug. “Okay, guys. I’ll just take that walk and get Giles to get rid of that team and feed him a line that there’s nothing here to see. Give you some time. But you will need to talk to him, Buffy. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Buffy reluctantly agreed. “But not now. It’s too soon. And you’re gonna have your work cut out convincing me that Spike being anywhere near the Council could be a good thing.”

With that Willow was content. “That is so a discussion that can wait until tomorrow. How long do you think it will take me to get a signal for my cell?”

“About five minutes or so. Come on, I’ll show you the path.” Buffy was buzzing. As she escorted Willow out of the cottage and pointed her in the right direction her whole body felt energised, her mind and heart gliding upwards. She couldn’t remember ever having felt this way before, not once in her life. In less than a day so much had changed and she, Buffy Summers, had gained more gifts than she felt she could possibly deserve. Spike first and foremost; he was going to find it mighty hard to get rid of her – not that she thought he wanted to. ‘I’ve only go to look at him. Eyes that are so the window to his soul. And I love it that it wouldn’t have actually mattered if he hadn’t had it, the soul. Soul, schmoul.’

Entering the cottage, Buffy had started frowning. Something was niggling at her, warning her that something wasn’t quite right. Her instincts were starting to give her that sense of danger, a feeling she had learnt the hard way never to ignore. Spike was there, head tilted to one side and a questioning gaze directed her way.

“Trouble?” Spike hadn’t needed to ask. Whatever his Slayer was feeling was creeping over him too. The atmosphere of reconciliation had vaporised to be replaced by a sense of almost imminent peril. Inside his normally recumbent demon stirred in anticipation of conflict; it also wanted a chance to wrap its senses fully around Buffy, inhale and taste her, see if she could like him too.

Buffy had started to chew on her lower lip, nodding before moving into action. “We leave. Just need a couple of minutes to get our stuff together and then we’re out of here. Something about that wet ops team is getting me all wiggy. They’re more than a little gung ho and I don’t have that much faith in the Council being able to control them. Would be just like them to ignore… Damn! Giles might not be able to reach them!”

They were in the bedroom by now, Spike her silent shadow, taking bags from her and automatically clearing drawers containing wispy clothes he would have liked to have studied further, into its depths. Buffy had the other bag and was pulling clothing from hangars, throwing them in haphazardly as she hurried. Journals were tucked into the side pocket, toiletries and cosmetics wedged in beside shoes and boots. When it looked as though her tugging was about to break the zip - as she struggled to close the overfull holdall - a cool, steady hand halted her. In moments, Spike had repacked some of the items into one of the other bags, closed all zips and they were on their way downstairs.

Buffy had just dropped her burden to grab the pig’s blood from the fridge when Spike started growling softly. His demon was to the fore and startled the Slayer with its magnificent ferocity. Golden eyes fixed upon her almost mockingly, daring her to reject him, asking her to accept him as she had the man. No thought was needed as Buffy placed a careful kiss on his lips, avoiding the impressive fangs. “Trouble?”

“About to arrive, love.” Spike’s voice was slightly distorted but undeniably his.

Wood screamed as the front door splintered and collapsed inwards under a strong blow. The Slayer and vampire poised to meet the attack, both wearing anticipatory grins.

Then everything was a blur as trouble burst through the damaged opening.

***

Willow ran as fast as she could down the path in the gloom of twilight. All the way she muttered prayers, asking the goddess that she be in time, imploring her to keep Buffy… and Spike, safe.

Her cell had started to indicate messages waiting for her as she reached the crest of the hill. Listening to the first one brought a smile to her face, so she was unprepared for the news that Giles disclosed to her. Conspiracy and mutiny in the Council. Orders to kill Buffy. Kennedy’s dad? Andrew on his way with a hand picked team of Watchers. Willow had lost the signal as she started to run down the hill again, gathering momentum with every leaping stride.

Swinging round the side of the cottage, Willow grasped her aching side as she took note of the Range Rover, just visible as twilight fell into night, parked halfway down the drive. And the cottage door hanging off its hinges. No sound came from inside. Cautiously, magic at the ready, the witch made her way inside

***

“Well, that was an anticlimax!” Buffy pouted at the pile of unconscious, black-clad men cluttering the hallway. She’d only managed to take one out in the time that a laughing and evilly grinning vampire had knocked out the other three with some seriously interesting moves. The Slayer anticipated some training bouts coming up in the near future. She’d almost forgotten that he could hurt humans and had been thankful to see that, although he clearly relished the violence, he also had immaculate control. Even now he was bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, blue eyes alive with mischief.

Spike shrugged apologetically, unable to keep from smirking. “Can’t help that, love. Was a bit of fun, that’s all. Guess we were both wrong about the trouble, eh?”

It started as a giggle but had grown to a deeply amused laugh by the time Willow coughed to make her presence felt. Spike grinned at Buffy and nodded once, letting her know that he had sensed Willow’s presence and hadn’t been taken unawares by her friend’s return.

“Guys, you weren’t wrong. There’s trouble.” Willow, having gained their full attention brought them up to date with latest developments.

A short discussion later and they had all agreed. Time to leave. The Council had kindly provided them with transport that could be put to use, for a short while at least. By the time Willow had found her bag and started lugging it from the house, Buffy had packed away the blood in its insulated sleeve and stowed it away safely. The barely used journal that she had meant for Giles was packed away too; no point in leaving valuable information lying around for the council. It was bad enough that the cell downstairs now contained four unconscious employees of said council. Rose would no doubt let them out soon, or Andrew – if he could find the key which now resided under the mattress of one of the beds.

Buffy silently thanked the cottage that had been such a big part in healing her. Another gift, one for which she would be forever thankful.

The sound of the car being started snapped her out of her reverie and directed her to where Spike stood nervously beside the open back door of the vehicle. ‘My most precious gift. Can’t wait to unwrap you properly!’

Spike took the bag from her and settled it with the others. Seeing these contraptions on the moving pictures was one thing, standing near one and being expected to enter it was something a whole lot more daunting. He watched as Buffy sprung up into the back gracefully, bracing himself to follow her.

Seeing his hesitation, Buffy smiled and leaned towards him. “Take my hand.”

The vampire, with hope that it was more than her hand that she offered, took firm hold of her warmth and leapt up beside her, fumbling the door closed behind him.

Willow let off the brake and took to the roads, getting as much distance between them and another gathering storm as she could. Glancing into the rear view mirror she had an unexpected shock. The fact that the pair of them were entwined in each others arms - exchanging kisses that had passed the hello stage and were seeking entrance to the getting to know you level – was not a surprise to the witch. The fact she could see both of them was.

“Oh, my. Definitely not in Kansas anymore, buddy.” Grinning happily, Willow the getaway driver reached a decent road and put the pedal to the metal, taking her friends to their next destination. Giving them time, the most precious gift of all.

THE END – for now.

A/N: Well, that’s it. A little fic for Schehrezade’s birthday. I do hope you have enjoyed and been entertained. As you can see, there are lots of threads that will be passing over to the sequel, lots of unanswered questions.

Thank you for the reviews – they do mean a lot and I relish each and every one. Good-bye – for now. Hugs, y’all!