Summary: Set in Season Six, As You Were. An old flame returns to Sunnydale and Buffy is forced to make the hard decisions. Will she have the strength to listen to her heart instead of the voices that have taken over her life? Can a person be taught how to love by the very demon that supposedly couldn't? And is the risk of love worth the risk of hurt?
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The characters of BtVS and Angel belong to Joss Whedon. Thanks to his generosity, I play with them as much as I can.
Beta: Many thanks to the most wonderful Holly in the world.


She awoke with a gasp.

Shaking fingers clutched at her sheets as Buffy raised her eyes to the ceiling, her vision blurred by tears and comforted by darkness. There was too much sensation, too much battering at her to do its will. Too much of knowing that the dream that shuttled her to wakefulness was couched more in reality than desire. Reminded her of things she’d much rather forget.

Like Riley coming back and introducing her to his wife.

While that in itself didn’t really make her world collapse like he might have hoped it would, it was humiliating that her big introduction was Spike! That the vampire he’d accused her once of being much more along her line of interests was now the one that shared her personal space in the extreme.

The feeling of humiliation was much stronger than the one of jealousy. She’d liked Sam, in a really non-confrontational way. But for all Riley’s claims of love for her, he’d married super-fast, proving once again that the Buffy-love was conditional and that she never really had it. It was never really hers, no matter who she was with.

Spike loved her.

She’d cannonballed into his crypt the previous night, desperate to feel that important to someone. As important as Sam obviously was to Riley. She’d craved to hear those words spill from his lips and to see the awe he could never hold back from his expression as he implored her to see his sincerity. At that moment, she’d do anything for love. Even use the one creature that’d done what he could to save her—to love her and keep her safe. The one being who she’d trusted with every secret and every tear, every second of melancholy that had threatened to rip her limb from limb until she returned broken and splintered to her big, fat revolving door home in the sky.

She’d used him, allowed him the only chance to affirm his love for her while he made her body sing with his sweet love-making. He’d treasured her, whispered his gratitude across her skin and while every single word had slashed at her flesh, it had warmed a small section of her heart. And it had been enough. She’d had the words, and it touched her.

But she’d used him.

Suddenly she didn’t want to do that anymore. The look on his face when she’d entered his crypt, interrupted his reading, had struck some deep hidden need she’d banished the last time love had been denied her and suddenly the possibility of having it in her hands was a lot more than a craving. It was a reality and despite feeling so cold and empty inside, she wished she could have wept for its relief. And perhaps she would have, had it been anyone but Spike.

The expression on Riley’s face when he walked in on her, lying naked and revelling in the cool touch of Spike’s skin against hers, was something she was sure she’d never forget as long as she lived. She’d been ashamed, but she wasn’t exactly certain why. At first she’d put it down to being caught. Months had gone by of compulsive fucking and not one of the Scoobies had caught on to her secret activities, yet one night back in Sunnydale and Riley had caught her red-handed. Or red-assed. Had she wanted him too?

The correlation between his last great act before fleeing Sunnydale was too close to ignore. He’d found solace in vamp whores; it wasn’t something he’d ever apologised for. Not really. He’d made excuses; he’d said that he’d felt compelled to do it when she shut off her heart to him and never allowed him to get close. When he’d realised she’d never love him.

Was there a connection there to why she was now Spike’s fuck-bunny?

Riley had got something from being with them. He’d felt useful, needed, cherished in a way that Buffy had never made him feel. It made her feel nauseous to realise that those were the exact things that Spike made her feel. Was that the flavour of Sunnydale? That you didn’t know your niche in the world and a vamp was the fast track in finding one?

No, she couldn’t believe that. There was more to what she had with Spike than anything Riley could ever have had with those…women. A long association, for one. She’d known Spike for years whereas Riley had probably known…them…for only days. She…trusted Spike. Trusted Spike with her sister, with the Hellmouth and her friends. She trusted him with her secrets, and apparently her body, and not once had he bitten her. Not once had she asked him to.

Those vamp whores had made Riley weak while being with Spike made her strong. When she was flailing with her life, Spike was solace and he always took the pain away. His love banished her pain to a place where it didn’t matter anymore—until she left his side.

Last night she’d been miserable. Riley had been alive, married, happy, fighting demons with a partner—someone who could relate to him in every way imaginable, even the secret ones the rest of the world couldn’t know about. Riley had had all that and Buffy wanted it too. Only now did she realise she’d had that for years. Spike had been her shadow when fighting, when living for longer than she cared for, and in too many ways he was her partner. In strength, in and out of bed, in parenting her sister, she’d denied it for too long but he was there, natural and effective where she’d been floundering in her ignorance. He was there no matter what she did. He hadn’t left yet.

Could she depend on him to never leave her?

Buffy didn’t have to dig far to realise the answer was a clanging and resounding yes. Spike was a stayer, a promise-keeper. He was loyal to a fault and his love, an aberration for a demon of his kind, was all consuming and devoted. He’d shown her last night with the softness of his voice and the care in his touch.

No, she didn’t want to use him anymore. It wasn’t right, not now that Riley knew. Things had to change before the rest clued in and ruined everything. It was time to face up to the life she’d been returned to and become the person she was, not the carbon-copy that destroyed romance and shredded hearts as a matter of course.

It was time she faced Spike.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He was huddled amongst the rubble of what was once his bedroom and Buffy felt her stomach clench at the complete lack of accusation on his face. He forgave her so much when he should be punching her in the face for destroying his possessions. His expression was so open to her, vulnerable and trusting and Buffy felt sick for what she had to do.

He looked at her expectantly and the words dried up in her throat. God, why wasn’t he acting evil like she’d always accused him of? Why did he have to look like his absentee heart would be slashed to ribbons if she uttered the words she’d been determined to say?

The ones she couldn’t.

She’d run every argument for breaking up with Spike through her head on the trip over. She’d dressed self-consciously, knowing that whatever she wore would be remembered as the thing that had hidden the body he’d never have again. But underlying her determination to end the torment was the desire to look pretty for him. She’d never gone to him with intention in her heart—never once dressed for an occasion with him. Now that it was coming to an end, she wanted to make the effort just once, to show both of them that he wasn’t just a tool to while away her pain.

Seeing the fear spark in his eyes now simply added to her own, and it made Buffy think. Spike was afraid of losing her, and as much as she worried about her friends finding out, of losing herself in the ambiguous world that Spike lived in, hurting him caused her far more pain than she’d ever anticipated.

“I’m not here to bust your chops about your stupid scheme. It’s what you do.” It was what he did, and curiosity burned within her to find out why he’d done this. The episode seemed twisted and strange and it was far too coincidental with Riley’s return when Spike had played nice all winter. As many times as she’d accused him of evil, playing poker for kittens had really been the extent of it from what she’d been able to tell. And how was that a bad for a creature used to causing the worst kind of mayhem and painting every town he walked in red?

“I needed the money.” His look was one of desperation as he took a step closer, causing Buffy to suck in a deep, painful breath as she contemplated the situation they were in.

“You did it for me, didn’t you?” Her eyes widened as his head tipped to the side, a speculative look searching her for the understanding he almost believed she had.

“I do everything for you, Buffy. You know I do. Ask me to walk off the bleeding edge of the world and you know I’d hurry to do it—just for you.”

The tears stung as they gathered in her eyes and Buffy sniffled, her lip wobbling as she finally realised what she’d done. What kind of animal she’d been to take from this man who wanted everything for her and took so very little in return.

“I’m using you,” she admitted through an aching throat and a progressively runny nose. All along her walk that phrase had been on repeat. She had been using him, but did that mean she cared nothing for the monster who’d kept her from finding death each night she thought she’d walked the cemeteries alone?

Standing on the edge of his ruined home, Buffy tried hard to think of the positive things about Spike for once. Too often she concentrated on his faults, and now she finally wondered why she had to constantly remind herself he was evil. There was no doubting he was a vampire—he had no shame in displaying his demon whenever the situation called for it. But even when the raw violence of his alter-ego walked in her presence did he do his best by her. The best that he was capable of. She could recognise the moments where pride altered the outcome, and instead of infuriating her as usual, this time it made her smile.

Spike had saved Dawn. He’d fought against Glory because he loved a woman and her sister more than he was supposed to. A vampire renowned for killing slayers was in love with one and suffered no humiliation with the admission. A vampire who’d basically lost everything that had ever meant anything to him could still look her in the eye and profess love as deep as the ocean.

No wonder she found him overwhelming.

Yes, she’d been using him, but she’d been denying him for a reason she’d never even considered before. It was on the edge of her tongue to admit that she couldn’t love him when she stopped, and considered her phrasing. She couldn’t love him, it was true. She’d fought doing that very thing every step of the way, and yet who could resist when the only way she could lose her way in the world was by leaving his side?

Why couldn’t she love him? Was she so righteous that she could reject real love whenever it was offered to her?

Buffy laughed, the shock of it chipping a little more of the ice away that she’d been immersed in for too long.

Spike hadn’t said anything to her statement, content to watch as she wandered around trails of thought until her eyes flicked back to his and she took a deep breath.

“I don’t belong in the dark, Spike.” She was ever aware that the upstairs was bathed with full sunlight and that it made her happy to be in that world, and yet she didn’t quite believe Spike belonged in the true dark anymore, either.

He contemplated her intently, a small frown curving his lips downward. “No, sweetheart. That you don’t.”

Suddenly all the thoughts that had barraged her earlier in relation to Riley and what he’d seen, the fears of what he thought of her, left. Left as though they mattered so little that she could easily shrug them off. And what filled her vision was Spike, looking less powerful and cocky than he usually did as he battled with emotions she could only imagine.

Did he love her as much as she’d loved Angel? Would the sight of her back make him quake and want to die like Angel’s leaving had crushed all the life in her? The pain of that moment was something that would never leave her, and for the first time during this perverse relationship, Buffy allowed her heart to be open. She didn’t want to break Spike like that. And then she knew.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t love Spike. It was that she couldn’t love anyone. Hadn’t she learnt that with Riley? As hard as she’d tried, the emotions would never break through the way they had with Angel. He’d killed every part inside her that made her connect with a man on any level but the physical. That wasn’t Spike’s fault, and maybe now that she was aware of it, she could change.

She couldn’t let Spike do evil. It was just something that had to be established early on. If he loved her, then he’d want to be the kind of man her conscience could live with, and just because he could hurt her now and didn’t, it wasn’t enough to prove to her that he had the desire or the ability to change.

Words flowed into her consciousness and Buffy stopped, trying to grab at them and make sense of a past she’d tried to ignore. Once he’d told her that he had changed—and of course he had. Was it because he wanted to, or because the chip in his head made it impossible to do anything else?

It was too much thinking for Buffy and she was finding that a headache was taking the place of her indecision. She wasn’t so confused now, but she was anxious about her decision. What if it all blew up in her face the second Spike’s chip failed? What if she learned to love him too late, and when her heart was invested, he did what they all did and abandoned her?

Since when was she a coward? Buffy shrugged off the rising negativity and took that crucial step toward him—the one that would wipe away that terrified expression on his face probably brought on with the fear that she was ending this thing between them. She didn’t want it to end. The only time things made sense was when she was in his arms, and even though separating from him might have the effect of clearing her head and making her life less complicated, it wouldn’t hand her the chance she was seeking. The one that only Spike could help her with.

A shaking hand was raised and Buffy placed her palm against his cheek, feeling the electrical charge shoot up her arm as it always did when their flesh collided. How could such an attraction be wrong when the cold, insipid touch of Riley had never made her feel anything close to this good?

You couldn’t help who you loved, and maybe, if there was a chance it could be Spike, everything would be okay. They deserved to try, didn’t they? She deserved to live a little, and fall in love. And if the first step was melting in the arms of the man who loved her, could she really argue? She didn’t want to. She liked touching him, kissing him, being held by him. If she had the capacity to give to another, then she wanted to try first with Spike.

“Can…” Still, being determined didn’t make the words suddenly come easy. “Can you help me learn…how to love? Maybe…maybe I can love you.”

She knew he could see how hopeful she looked and concentrated on the look of awe that made his eyes clear and sparkle. God, he was beautiful and it seemed so incredibly unfair that the Powers would bring a creature like this into her orbit, give him the power to care for her—to save her from herself and her enemies—and not allow him to be hers. He’d declared it so and for once, Buffy was going to trust in that.

“Buffy,” he breathed, looking all the more a man who was about to collapse to his knees in relief. He bent forward, his lips barely touching hers as hesitant hands reached out to hold her. Buffy slid her palm down his face and let it rest over his chest, the place he claimed his heart to be resting silent against her touch. But still there was something—a solid wall of muscle and flesh and bone that shielded a weakness Buffy was determined to protect.

“I love you, Slayer.” His lips were smooth and plush against hers and Buffy nodded into the kiss, every part of her happy that this ended not in her walking away, but in a possibility of true happiness.

“I know, Spike,” she replied, her voice husky and emotional. “I know.”

His lips broke away as if forced, but then he seized her in his embrace and she could feel how much he shuddered against her.

“Do you mean this, Buffy? No more popping old Spike in the nose for trying to do right by you and the Bit? No more ignoring the good between us or turning your back on me as soon as your mates enter the picture?” He talked tough, but Buffy could see how much it cost Spike to show her how vulnerable he was with wanting her. How much this chance to be with her meant to him.

“It depends, Spike,” she conceded. “How many more suvolte eggs will you ‘hold for a friend?’ How much more will you try and manipulate my feelings by flaunting the way my body reacts to you?” She was shaking and she could hardly understand why. This ball was in Spike’s court and she could only hope that he would grasp this opportunity with both hands and hang on tight enough for the both of them, because suddenly, she wanted it almost as much as he did.

He answered her with an indistinct sob and the burial of his face in her hair. “I’m a demon, pet. Might be we both have a lot to learn.” His body shook against hers and Buffy hugged him hard.

She waited until he raised his face from her neck, sharing a watery and tentative smile with him. “Then…I guess all that’s left is…we start. Now. This is our beginning. ‘Kay?”

He nodded.

Chapter Two

“No more sex.”

Spike stared at her like she’d suddenly declared that Glory was never defeated and they’d have to go back out and do it all again. Then he leered in that way that always cracked her resolve and resulted in the two of them rolling around the floor like two desperate dogs that couldn’t let go of each other.

She refused to let it work this time.

“I mean it, Spike.” She didn’t dare pout; her current foundation was still so shaky that the whole crypt could end up crumbling around her ears if she made even one tiny little step wrong. Trying to find the strength to resist any more of his usually successful seduction techniques, Buffy finally looked up to find a very sheepish Spike, his hands in his jeans pockets and barely able to look her in the eye.

“’S where we went wrong, yeah?”

Yeah, that’s where they went wrong. Buffy could remember it all so clearly, the powerful urge to share her waking moments with Spike, talking, joking, getting drunk. Even the silence had been important and she’d cherished it, though she’d struggled to keep him in that part of her life that didn’t quite mesh with her friends. On the outskirts where she could easily ignore the fact she’d shared secrets with him and invited him into her life in preference of pretending t she was the same girl she’d always been for her friends.

And kicking Spike to the curb was an easy habit to fall into. No amount of awestruck, amazed looks as she descended staircases alive could stop her from the knee-jerk reaction when things started to get too complicated. When he started getting too close.

Still, this decision to go forward rather than cutting off what they’d had at the knees felt exhilarating, despite the incineration and debris of his lower level where they now stood. It should have been symbolic for the relationship, but instead, Buffy felt the unfamiliar phoenix rise up from the ashes, fluff up its newly formed feathers, and give her hope.

“’S okay, we were more than just sex,” Spike agreed warily, even though his voice was husky in that way that made her weak at the knees. Already Buffy regretted setting down that condition, not having the first clue what they should actually do to embark properly on this mission.

“Yeah. We really were.” It brought the blossom of a smile to her lips and Buffy felt freer by realising the fact. They’d had fun with each other before she’d been stupid and kissed him. Before Spike found out he could hurt her. That the chip didn’t recognise her as the girl he’d known before she’d died.

She couldn’t blame him for going crazy with that news. If she’d been around her natural enemy for two years with her hands effectively tied behind her back, her first action might well have been to lash out. He’d been frustrated with her—and really, who wasn’t these days? He was frustrated, but he’d had more invested in her than anyone else did. Everyone else pretty much ignored her in case she was in one of those moods and would bring down anyone who dared to engage her. Spike had saved her life, had been the keeper of her secrets, had been there every single time her friends had let her down—and she didn’t underestimate the cost of that revelation. She’d kissed him and then run away like a frightened rabbit. He loved her and as a creature accustomed to using evil to gain what it desired, he’d done what he needed to get a reaction from her.

Fighting had always stirred her up.

Spike sighed into her hair and a delicious tingle speared down her spine. He hadn’t let her go and it felt good to be in his arms. She loved the sensation of his leather coat against her cheek; it felt like home to her now, and as such, Buffy rested her face against his chest. She may have vetoed the sex for now—and she was seriously contemplating kicking herself all the way home over that really ill-thought out plan—but there was no way on this green earth that she was giving up these arms. Bands of steel, so sexy with the muscles and the flesh and the…muscles, and Buffy almost moaned at how good it felt to still have access to this.

“Right then,” started Spike, eager to get the motivational talk underway. “We can do this, yeah? Start the ball rolling all over again, but without the fun stuff at the end.” He frowned, wondering how long he could keep his hands off, especially when she was making love to his coat while he was still in it and just as receptive as always to her shape and smell.

“Maybe…maybe some fun stuff is required,” she suggested in an almost panicked, squeaky voice. “You’ve always got to have the fun. Fun is…of the frolic and fun making?” Okay, so that didn’t quite work, but were they looking for miracles? Buffy snuggled deeper into her vampire’s embrace and closed her eyes. This was so much easier than it had looked. All those months she’d watched his arms and lamented how empty they always appeared. It was totally her fault, she knew. But knowing it and doing something about it when you were too terrified to breathe were two completely different things.

“Right. So we slot some fun into the schedule,” Spike suggested hesitantly; Buffy could feel his frown as it settled into her hair. “But not too much fun, right? Can’t risk getting carried away again and blowing this all to hell.”

She couldn’t help it. There were moments when Spike was so clueless and cute that there was no other option but to giggle. Oh yeah, this could actually be lots of fun—without the physical, sweaty fun they needed to avoid at all costs.

The carefree sound was so foreign in the crypt that the shocked silence that followed it very soon became uncomfortable, and awkwardly, Buffy untangled herself and pulled away. She felt like crying at the panicked look on Spike’s face, but distance seemed necessary while they tried to put some kind of limits on this arrangement.

Still, they needed an arrangement to begin with and Buffy felt a long forgotten tingle of anticipation warm her insides. It felt a little like the time she’d spent waiting for that first date with Riley to kick in and the giggly nervousness of then was threatening to engulf her now. How had she gone from dread and determination to break up with Spike and banish him from her life— once and for all—to working up to an actual date with him?

The way he was looking at her proved it didn’t matter. Despite her behaviour toward him, this time she hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Now that they’d settled on a new altered course, she was insanely pleased there was no heartbreak in sight.

“Why don’t we start this out easy—with something we both know and can relate to?” Spike suggested hopefully.

Buffy blinked and the image of the two of them, sitting on a blanket in the middle of the local cemetery sipping on wine and blood while flirting with each other, seemed totally ridiculous.

“Huh?” She waited through Spike’s mini-explosive temper episode and then smiled as he turned to her, his eyes imploring her to agree and not leave him standing and looking the fool.

“A date, princess. I think we should stick to the familiar.” And then the doubt that was going to take some solid work to banish clouded his features and he asked her uncertainly, “Unless you’d prefer something different? Flowers, movie, dancing?”

Buffy felt her throat close up and her heart threaten to thump its way out of her chest at that one, simple word. Date. That’s what it all boils down to, people! she thought to herself almost hysterically. Taking this to a new level—giving it a fresh beginning and room to grow meant so many things, but the one she hadn’t really considered was that it meant actually trying to date. It meant going public with what they were doing, with all their hopes and plans and possibly all the ‘I-told-you-so‘ failures her friends would be especially quick to point out when it all blew up in her face.

Buffy paused, thinking heavy thoughts as she looked at the evidence of the last thing that had blown up in her face. There was the potential for so much badness here and it scared her to death. But then the doleful expression on Spike’s face registered and she felt like kicking herself. How could she make the offer of a handful of Buffy crumbs only to brush them out of his hand the next second?

Taking a breath so deep it hurt her diaphragm, Buffy slowly looked back up and met his eyes, stark terror making her appear skittish and deer-like.

“A-a familiar date is good. Absolutely. No need for flowers. Um, patrol?”

Spike hit her with an obscenely knowing smirk and Buffy felt her blood pressure drop into her shoes. “Patrol, sweetness? If that’s the case, we’ve been datin’ for years. At the very least, wear a pretty dress for me?”

She gulped. She could do that. She wanted to do that, and if that wasn’t a sign that the world was ending, nothing was. She could easily remember times when she’d patrolled in cute skirts, just hoping that Angel would happen by and admire her taut legs and maybe be enticed to come a little closer. But to want to do that for Spike implied so many things she’d been denying like crazy to herself, the first being that she wanted to be attractive to him. Where had the days gone when she’d not cared a bit about what he thought of her?

It didn’t take much to think of the day when things between them had truly changed. She was almost ashamed to admit that it had come before the obvious admiration-inspiring event when he’d showed the depths of his loyalty to her and her family by facing certain death in saving Dawn’s identity from a bitter hellgod. It hadn’t been on finding out he’d continued to protect her sister and friends even though she’d surpassed any level of awareness of the deed. It wasn’t even as romantic as the day they’d spent betrothed, in love, and gushy with their happiness. The shame came from the flutter that had started in her belly and quickly spread throughout her body the night they’d hid deep in the bowels of the hellmouth after the attack on Tara; it was avidly ignored as she’d raced across town to save Willow from a likely slaughtering. The moment he’d admitted he’d do something foolhardy—dangerous even—in the name of love. While Spike and foolhardy walked identical paths, it did her heart good to know that someone—even if it was a someone she’d not had the courage to even consider with a piece of her heart—thought that highly of her that they would sacrifice their life to revenge her.

Not that the sexy wounds that had covered him from head to toe hadn’t left her a little breathless and off kilter. There was just no way she’d have admitted to herself in the middle of a fight for all their lives that he did something to her blood that no soulless vampire ever should—that no other man, normal or otherwise, ever had. Furthering this honesty trick she had going with herself, it was the violence of his conviction that had truly moved her, and Buffy realised now that she’d been seeing that on a fairly continual basis since she’d allowed him responsibility within their little demon-fighting army.

So, yeah, she’d wear a dress, even though it made the butterflies in her belly do the snoopy dance and her vaginal muscles clench with promise. Buffy licked her lips, suddenly eager for this monumentally tradition-breaking date to commence. There was really only one question remaining.

“What colour?”

Chapter Three

Something was up with Buffy.

Dawn watched her sister, wigged by the eerie little smile that had plopped down on her lips sometime before the slayer had walked in the front door, and hadn’t yet left. Buffy didn’t do happy and that smile was making all kinds of promises that Dawn just couldn’t handle. It had to be the bot—except the bot was destroyed way beyond repair and as much as Willow thought she was the wielder of miracles, one consisting of wires and fake skin were far beyond her grasp.

“Um, Buffy? Did something happen? Like…did you get fired again?”

Buffy spun in a circle, her arms outstretched and a euphoric giggle bursting from her lips. “Better, Dawnie. We’re going shopping.”

Okay, so now she was positive that a pod had taken over and the real Buffy was nowhere to be found. They didn’t shop—not anymore. Shopping required a certain amount of the moula in reserve and that was something sorely missing from their current lifestyle. Not that she blamed Buffy for that. Not really. But it didn’t make it any less difficult resigning herself to being poor and missing out on all the things that the other kids that had parents got all too easily and frequently.

“We? Am I getting something too?” Dawn’s insecure voice broke through Buffy’s celebratory dance and the smile slipped. “Figured.” She crossed her arms across her chest, an automatic defence against the strain of disappointment.

“Oh Dawn. I’m so sorry. That was really insensitive.” Buffy hurried to hug her sister, rushing into promises of things that Dawn suspected she didn’t have a hope of keeping. The teen flushed guiltily. Buffy had been happy for all of three minutes and as usual, she’d managed to bring her sister back down to the very pits of the depression she’d been wallowing in since her return to the living.

“It’s no big,” she protested, and as the water in Buffy’s eyes slowly dispersed, she realised how true it was. It didn’t matter what had suddenly made Buffy so happy and enthusiastic to be part of the living world again. She could surrender a new shade of lipstick or a new pair of shoes just this once. “You should totally buy yourself something pretty. It’s been forever since you did. Just…next time it’s my turn. Deal?”

Buffy was so relieved she shook. Dawn glanced at her sister and worried how something so small could make the blonde so pitifully grateful.

“Absolutely,” Buffy agreed, dragging Dawn into another back-breaking hug. “We’ll make a plan for it tomorrow, start saving and everything.”

Several minutes passed where they clung to each other, neither ready to get back into the rut of the every day—except, shopping had been promised, and even when it wasn’t for her, Dawn was so into any shopping experience that was on offer.

Pulling herself away, she got down to the nitty-gritty immediately. “So, what’s the mission? New brand of yoghurt? A black pen? Oh, I know, one of those intellectual type books that Willow’s always talking about?” And at Buffy’s mortified look, “Sexy lingerie?” The blush that consumed the slayer’s face told its own story and Dawn felt a Spike-worthy smirk spread across her lips. “You are so owing me a story, Miss Secretive. Where’s the studly that inspired this little outing?”

Buffy battered a weak hand at Dawn’s shoulder, pushing the girl back half a step before Dawn hit her with her own stronger shove. Buffy tripped back and fell on the stairs, giggling with such a light heart that Dawn’s eyes misted. “Can’t afford the underwear, Dawn. But I need a dress. A pretty dress. Something blue.”

The dreamy expression that followed the words had Dawn gaping at her sister. Buffy wanted to impress a guy? Whoo boy, that’d been a long time coming, but it was a good sign, right? It meant that she was starting to accept where she was—or more importantly, where she wasn’t—and was maybe going to try and live again. Still, it was more than a mystery. They’d only just got rid of Riley and his conveniently swift replacement bride—where the hell had Buffy gone to meet someone new?

“Something blue is something we can do,” she agreed, looking incomprehensibly at Buffy as she burst into a fit of giggles.

“Something blue is something we can do,” the blonde repeated with a cracked voice, the laughter filling the foyer like it hadn’t for far too long.

Dawn slapped a hand on her hip and glared at Buffy. No one made fun of her and got away with it. “I thought we had shopping to do? Maybe you’d rather sit there and laugh yourself to death and I’ll go spend this hidden stash on new Backstreet Boys CDs?”

Buffy was up the stairs, changed out of her perfectly acceptable outfit into another, and they were out the door, smiles and jokes mandatory to the expedition.

Barely a minute into their walk, Dawn turned and gave her sister a speculative look.

“So, who’s the lucky guy?”

Buffy turned a brighter shade of tomato and mumbled "Spike" before she took off at a slayer-speed run, leaving a gob-smacked Dawn in her non-vampire dust. The teen stared after her for a minute before a brighter-than-bright smile broke out on her face.

“About dang time!” Dawn shouted after the disappearing blonde and raced off to catch her.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She couldn’t believe how nervous she was.

She’d at least doubled the amount of time she’d taken to prepare for her first date with Riley, her fingers shaking through every part of her toilette. Her hair was freshly washed, her face perfectly made up, and her dress was new, short and divine. Electric blue, Buffy had no trouble visualising how well she’d match Spike’s eyes. What she wasn’t picturing so clearly was how she was going to manage patrol in such a skimpy, seductive outfit. He said to dress up, and after some of the stunts she’d pulled in their top secret relationship, she thought she owed him something special. Or as special as her budget would allow. Luck had been completely on her side for once when she’d spied the dress on a discount rack. It was the perfect colour, the perfect price and had the perfect cling to her shape. She just knew Spike’s eyes were gonna pop.

His arrival wasn’t kept as quiet as he might have liked. Buffy’s skin tingled and her body was on alert the second she sensed a vampire, and through sheer force of will, she determined it was Spike. There was no actual allowance for fledglings tonight—even though it was theoretically a patrol date. Nothing else factored into her thinking—not the newly risen undead, not friends and certainly not any hints of a looming apocalypse. For the first time Buffy could remember since her doomed relationship with Angel, she was fully focused on one thing; on one man.

And in moves typical to Spike, he trod on a twig and the crack that broke through the night made her feel weak in the knees. He moved closer behind her, Buffy squeezing her eyes closed in heart-rocketing anticipation. His breath disturbed the hair by her ear and she shivered as he leaned even closer, pausing just long enough to make her want to scream that waiting was a mistake, pivot on the spot and throw her arms around him.

But then his gravely, hushed words calmed her, tickled her curiosity and then inflamed her again to the point of desperately wishing she could throw caution to the wind and jump his bones.

“Sleeping, dreaming, all true hearts gleaming,
settling on a starry night sky.
Hopes and wishes tucked up in kisses,
no longer does the lonely girl cry.
Of beauty and grace, and pleasure on her face,
her body taut enough to fly.
Coming together, and sharing real love forever,
breathing awe, shades of Heaven in her eyes.”

Buffy held her breath and immediately felt woozy. She didn’t need to turn; in seconds Spike stood in front of her, his expression vulnerable as he searched her for something she’d never believed she could give.

“That was beautiful.” For once she wasn’t just opening up and letting meaningless words tumble from her mouth. This moment meant a lot to Spike; she’d known that from the very moment his eyes had lit up when the second chance had been offered. And when Spike wanted something as badly as Buffy now realised he truly wanted her, his usual bravado took a beating.

“Was just something that popped into the old noggin’. Seeing you here, in the moonlight…looking particularly lovely in that smashing dress…how could a vamp resist?”

It was the tone of his voice that did it. The perfect Spike-trying-to-be-aloof voice that made her senses thrum and her heart beat its need to be in his arms. A knowing smile spread across her lips and Buffy couldn’t resist the impulse to do mischief. “I’m worthy of poetry now?” The glint of fun slipped from her eyes as Spike stared at her, obviously shocked.

“Pet, there’d be many women out there far less deserving than you.” And then he ducked his head, suddenly shy at the further exposure of his Williamness and Buffy felt her heart swell, infused with unfamiliar warmth.

Feeling bold, she stepped forward and slipped her hand into his. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at him, captivated not for the first time by the look of awe he freely showered her with. It took a moment to remember how to breathe, and then another how to talk, and then she was asking him what he had in store for them for the night. As he regaled about the perfect picnic spot and gently nudged her in the direction, Buffy desperately tried to act calm when all she really wanted to do was stop him, run her fingers through his hair and let him make love to her mouth.

They didn’t walk far, passing no more than five headstones before they made it to a red picnic rug spread out under the arching branches of an oak tree. Spike actually had a basket and, while Buffy felt apprehensive about what nature of goodies he had stashed away in there, the wine glasses were a reassuring touch. There was absolutely no getting rid of this giddy smile that had taken over her lips now. Spike was being romantic, and as unexpected as it was, Buffy loved every second of it. She loved how nervous he was to show her how much this thing between them meant to him. She was suddenly grateful for that more reasonable voice that had shouted in her ear about the injustice she’d be delivering if she’d dumped him and turned her back on the possibility of them for good.

Without a word, Spike led her to the blanket, waited for her to sit and look comfortable before he turned abruptly and punched the vamp that had been trying to sneak up behind him, knocking him flat and momentarily stunned. Buffy jumped, having blocked out all creatures of the night but Spike and so being unprepared for the attack. There was no joy in Spike’s usual mode of dispatching death to his kin. One lightning fast jab of his stake and the vamp was history, leaving Spike to fall to his knees on the blanket and finally open the basket.

It was laden with food: chicken, fruit, sandwiches and some kind of pie. Buffy’s mouth watered and she completely dismissed that evil goody-two-shoes voice that wanted to demand where he got the money for all of it. Tonight it didn’t matter. If he could bend this far out of character, then Buffy could allow him to cling to a little bit of evil, too.

Eating wasn’t a problem. Nor was the drinking of beverages when Spike poured the cooled, fresh white wine into a glass and handed it to her. What apparently was difficult was the talking part and Buffy realised how rarely she’d allowed that to happen between them recently. She had no clue where to begin, what was a safe topic and what was inevitably not. Should she talk about patrolling or Dawn, his failed stint as ‘The Doctor?’ Nerves had never really been a factor in any of her dealings with Spike. She’d felt fear once or twice in the early days, and terror in the more recent ones when she realised she’d pitched herself into a spiral of despair and no matter how hard she kicked, neither she nor Spike could get her out of it.

Riley had managed what Spike and the Scoobs had failed to do all year, and all it had apparently taken was an impulsive marriage to the perfect woman that wasn’t her. Mrs Finn was strong, tall, mission-oriented, army regulation perfect for Riley and Buffy couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that she’d missed him in the final seconds before he’d left. Sam was the walking embodiment of what letting Riley Finn go had meant. His life and his health—no longer an extension of some skanky vamp-ho’s fangs, or the boyfriend of an apathetic slayer.

So, unable to choose a topic that would sustain the peace they were currently sharing, rather than chancing one that would blow it completely, the couple remained quiet, and strangely it was a shared moment of silent comfort.

For one whole minute, and then the cracks began to ripple through their stillness, disrupting their security, tearing them both from composed normalcy and into a dark rip of uncertainty.

“This is bollocks, Buffy.” Spike leapt to his feet and started pacing, glancing back at her and grimacing at how beautiful she looked, his heart splintering at how much effort she actually took for him. She was peppy and looked happy, yet underneath there was so much that had been swept under the surface and Spike didn’t know how to deal with that. He knew what he wanted to do—tear the dress from breast to hem and devour her in the mind-numbingly satisfying manner he’d grown accustomed.

But that would be wrong. He thought that was wrong. He was sure Buffy would see that as wrong. And he was trying so hard to not be wrong. To not dowrong.

“What are you doing here?” Tilting his head, he peered down on her, the night showing her off to advantage under the vampire’s moon and making him lose his focus to the throb of lust taking over his body. “What are you really doing here, Buffy?”

“Wh-what?” The façade slipped and Spike had another glimpse of the broken girl that had been unwillingly returned to him—to them all. It hurt, but it fuelled him with hope that all was not lost and even if he had to push on with this dating and hands-off thing, it wouldn’t be forever. He’d have her back eventually—if he could wait long enough. He’d show her how much he loved her and how they belonged together. It wasn’t an option to fail. Oh sure, he’d live if she kicked him to the curb—again—but it wasn’t his choice. It wasn’t what he wanted. Or what he believed she needed.

Slowly Buffy stood, her gaze looking skittish and unsure, bordering on terrified. The quiver in her voice beckoned of the wounded, insecure warrior as she tried hard to look him in the eye as she sought the truth. “I-I thought we were…seeing if this could work? Do you not want to?”

The possibility of his withdrawal of interest was obviously spooking her and Spike rushed forward to reassure her, not that he could have held back if he’d tried. His hands closed around her upper arms and he held her firmly. “Of course I want to,” he said, his smile gentle and warm. “’S jus’…bloody confusing, is what it is.”

“Oh.” Air whooshed past her lips in obvious relief and her body relaxed, hands covering her face as she tried to stop herself from shaking. “That…was actually kind of disturbing.” Hesitantly raising her eyes, Spike could see a matching vulnerability and wondered what he’d done to deserve her.

He ignored the fact that he knew he didn’t, but determined he was going to have her just the same.

“What say we sit back down on the rug and try out some of the nosh I scrounged up?” His look was hopeful and her smile of the watery kind as she took his lead and made herself comfortable again on the ground.

Tentative conversation indicated just how nervous they both were, and Spike violently held back his passion for her in favour of not having his face kicked in and eating her dust as she flounced off all aflutter. It was hard. They both felt the strain but persisted until just being with each other was exhausting.

“Want to patrol?” Spike asked at last.

Buffy scrambled to her feet, her eyes glittering with enthusiasm. “I thought you’d never ask.” To hell with her dress. Spike would appreciate it more for seeing it flying up around her face with a snap kick anyway. “Last one to kill a demon is a rotten egg,” she bellowed before speeding off into the night, a smirking Spike at her heels.

The promise of Buffy and violence—life just didn’t get any better than this.

Chapter Four

Spike awoke with a smile curling his lips. Muscles popped satisfyingly as he stretched like a cat, sweeping a hand casually across his chest and abs. He was alone, and while the knowledge lent him pause and made the wakeful happiness slip a little, the belief he was making headway had it zooming back up there in no time. He wanted to sing, get up and do his nudie dance of joy, but he was the Big Bad again—or as much of one he could be with slivers of Initiative technology still keeping him tame and leashed on the mouth of Hell—and Big Bads didn’t shake their goodies on the side of good fortune, or not when every bloke and his dog could come crashing unannounced into his home.

Though sleeping alone, spending the night celibate with Buffy had cranked out emotions in him he’d never known he could muster. She was soft and good, and as easily as he thought he could read her, she always ended up surprising him.

The picnic idea had been an over-romanticised, ill thought out manoeuvre that was only just saved in the nick of time with the lure of nightly violence. He should have guessed that any semblance of a normal date would be too much for either of them. He wasn’t normal, and the few times Buffy had treated him like the man he sometimes thought himself to be, it didn’t actually make him one. Pity. He liked that look of approval in her eyes, even if it came but rarely. And as normal as he wasn’t, Buffy was even less so but with the added complication of being at least human enough to give the ruse a passing shot.

The girl never handled failure well. Internalised the pain until she was punishing the few who could bear to be singed by her erratic light.

He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever give the ideal up or if it would be one of those lasting impression things, that Angel’s parting words would always be with her.

She’d looked stunning last night. He’d stared at her with an emotion hardly mustered by him in over a century. Appreciation for her efforts had blindsided him. He’d not been expecting her to make such a deep impression—not when she’d made so many on him during the past year. Still, she’d dressed up…for him! She’d groomed herself for a date with him and Spike was still reeling—despite the grin he couldn’t wipe from his face. Never before had someone given him the chances Buffy was trying so hard to freely hand to him—no ties.

Pity it was all so bleeding problematic.

Somewhere along the way what he’d wanted from her and what he’d accepted had become all twisted. Not that he didn’t revel in being twisted. He was a vamp and he’d always strive for the chaos of the thing before anything else. Always want to hold the broken in his hands and try to mould it into the most comfortable wearing coat. No matter how much he’d given to Buffy, the intensity of what she’d given back had been an overload for his system.

He had a horrifying prediction that this softer, more agreeable Buffy was going to kick his lovely existence in the teeth. Alter the playing field even further so he was left with a world that he barely recognised anymore—not that it was much of a stretch from what he had now. Everyday was a minefield to him—would he get through the night without a newly broken nose, an undamaged crypt, a night of glorious, sadistic sex?

His girl kept him on his toes, and while that made him happy for the most part, he couldn’t help but think he should be burdened with nerves now that she was trying to take them to a level of respectability. Acceptance.

It was something her crowd had never given him and despite her professions that she was going to tell them the truth about her secret lover—the truth about her time with him—Spike seriously doubted it would reward them with little more than an earful of pain for the trouble.

With a grimace, he rolled off his cold sarcophagus and shook out his bedraggled and singed blanket. It was all he had left since the lower level had been baptised with fire and demon guts. Not that he was complaining. Well, not loudly at any rate. He should have known he’d end up buggered with that plan, one way or another. He was poking the Slayer within feet of a dangerous breed of demon. He’d been bloody stupid to not expect that to blow up spectacularly in his face.

It galled him that he had to pull on the shirt he’d worn the day before. He was a vamp who took pride in his appearance and losing his whole bleeding wardrobe in one upsweep of Captain bloody Wanker really pissed him off. And if he up and swiped an armful of black tees from the local, he’d have the Slayer breathing down his neck—and not in a way designed to get him hot and heavy.

Not that a thought of the Slayer breathing on his neck did anything but have him jut out hard and aching. He’d had many absences from Dru’s lean body in the many years he’d escorted her around the globe, but very rarely had it caused so much blistering pain to have his cock deemed off limits to certain zones. To not be able to sink deep within Buffy’s scorching depths almost felt like death. And not the kind of death he’d been enjoying for the past century. This was the kind that made him not want to face another new day. So he was superficial. He was evil for God’s sake!

He was being melodramatic. She’d offered him the kind of relationship he’d only ever dreamed about, if he had the courage and the will to try and earn it. Bloody hard to wait for the thing he’d been awarded so freely just days ago. Bloody hard—but worth it. If he couldn’t have her in the dark—and he was under no illusions that she’d meant to dump him from her life for good after his home’s rapist choppered off to parts unknown to Spike—he’d have her any way she’d offer. If it meant keeping his hands to himself for a time, he could do it.

As much as he’d always wanted Buffy, this almost truly having her felt more than a little surreal. The possibility of being her lover—and recognised as such by all that daily criticised her choices—seemed outside Spike’s natural abilities of comprehension. He’d seen some wondrous things in his time, but a soulless vampire dating a slayer had to rise above every single one of them. Still, if he didn’t wrap his head around the reality of it soon, he’d fuck it up and lose her for good, and that would never do.

Right, well tonight seemed the perfect opportunity to test out her resolve—and her word. He’d heard a few rumblings around The Magic Box that tonight was to be for ‘dancing and making with the fun,’ and Spike planned to be right where his girl would be. By her side, ready to see if she’d admit to all of them that he was truly her boyfriend.

As lame as that sounded.

As bloody brilliant as that sounded.

His coat settled over his shoulders and Spike stretched and cracked his neck, indulging in the usual routine of rehearsing his most menacing moves to help reassure him he hadn’t completely lost his touch. It was more like going through the motions now—hard to feel confident in his Big Badness when he couldn’t frighten a fly anymore, and he was just as useless. The leather was more than a prop, though. Just like silicon tits made some women more confident in their allure, Spike allowed the coat to soothe him into the rebellious, evil persona that had become as familiar as his skin.

That Buffy had succumbed in no small part to that side of him proved that he’d not been far from the point he’d shared with the Iowa idiot all along: girl liked a bit of monster in her man. That it was Spike’s monster was all the better.

With a new spring in his step, Spike strutted across town, snarling occasionally at the weak and revelling in their startled squeaks and trails of fear as they ran. It was a small thrill, but thrill it did, and it made him feel a little less whipped than he knew he really was.

The Bronze fairly pumped with blood, excitement and sweat harnessed by a hundred horny and clueless patrons. And Buffy was in there, still within the influence of her oblivious mates while he waited and worried about how far he should push her to deliver what she’d promised. How much he should forgive her when she didn’t.

He swung the door open, stepped through, paused, and surveyed the darker interior for a glimpse of his golden girl. She wasn’t too hard to find. Even if he could sense her with his age old slayer-radar, he’d have seen her immediately just from the strength of her smile. Buffy nursed a coke in a cup between her palms and she giggled and talked animatedly; in short, a Buffy that had been absent from this place for at least a year. A quick glance placed them all except Nibblet—she must have got her way and was planted firmly within the bosom of Janice’s family home as soon as night fell so that big sis could have a night off from responsibility.

She needed it. Hell, as much as the gits she hung out with cheesed him off, they did too. Wasn’t easy keeping on top of an active Hellmouth and despite himself, Spike found himself swelling with admiration for the whole bunch of them. He’d helped them this last summer, even though his reasons for doing so confused him. There were the obvious ones of course—keeping the world safe, keeping Dawn safe, keeping Buffy’s mates safe. But then there was the insidious one that kept perking up in his conscience and never allowed him to sleep. He did it for Buffy—plain and simple. And he did it for himself. No matter where she was, he was convinced she could see him, and if she could see him, he wanted her to be proud of him. To trust him to take care of those she’d left behind.

If she’d seen, she’d forgotten the second she’d plummeted to earth and ended up locked in a wooden box too many feet below the surface. Spike shook off that thought quickly. Every misguided recollection or thought of Buffy digging herself out of her grave was enough to spiral him into despair. As much as reason told him that Buffy’s trauma was completely laid at the witch’s door, it never stood up against the guilt that it was really his fault she’d died in the first place.

No one at the table seemed aware of his entrance—not even Buffy—and that bugged him unreasonably. She should be able to feel him—just like he could feel her when she was anywhere near. It was disappointing to not see her face before he strutted up to the table, spying an empty chair and drawing it in closer to her and the table.

As soon as he sat down there was silence. It was an insulting hush and Spike wasn’t stupid enough to imagine it meant anything but the pure disdain the majority at the table held for him. Well, presumably not Buffy, and hopefully not Tara, though that bird was twistier than most. He was undecided about the ex-demon that obviously needed her brain refunded with hanging with the wanker on the stool beside her, but for now he’d add her into the Switzerland category. All right, so that made half the table. Harris and Red were looking at him with shock and subtle revulsion, and he was sure they thought he’d done it just to piss them off. They were only half wrong, because as much as he loved Buffy, that reaction was always just neat.

“Evenin’ all,” he drawled, searching his pockets for his packet of cancer sticks and smirking in satisfaction at the shared expressions of horror around the gathering. Buffy’s face matched those of her friends and he felt a shard of irritation pierce his throat. It wasn’t tears. No fucking way was he going to let her contrary nature make him weak in front of this pack of wolves.

“I strongly object to your smoking. I have newly human lungs and letting them get cancer from second hand smoke is the very last thing I will allow them to do. Put it out now,” Anya demanded, her frown etching deeper lines into her face the longer he ignored her. In a fit of pique, she stood on the stool’s wrung, leaned over the table and plucked it from his lips, throwing it into Xander’s fruity looking cocktail, despite the brunette’s panicked attempt at diverting her to a napkin.

“Oi! That was bloody uncalled for!” He fumed at the girl and then felt the hard, pointy toe of a boot connect with his leg and struggled to reign in the demon that wanted to bite their heads off, possibly starting with the feisty blond who still hadn’t said a word about his presence.

“Besides,” Willow said as she barged into the conversation, her eyes glittering with suspicion and dislike. “You can’t smoke in here. So there.”

Spike let his gaze roll leisurely around the club, making it obvious to the power-hungry redhead that no such sign betrayed itself on the club’s walls and that he knew she was talking out her arse and the end result wasn’t pretty. “You the new management then, pet? ‘Cause if you are, I’ve got a bone to pick with you. How about bringing the flowering onion back to the sodding menu? Only thing worth scarfing, it was!”

Willow looked very unattractive with her lips thinned in anger and her body turning away from him. The attitude was relatively unexpected for Spike and he looked at Buffy to try and get some explanation for the Wiccan’s animosity. The Slayer shrugged, showing that she was as much in the dark as Spike often was. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, knowing he’d unwittingly pissed off a witch capable of awakening the dead. Still, she could only dust him once—he hoped.

“Why the hell are you here, Fang Breath? Did it look like we were lonely?” Xander glared at him and not for the first time Spike wondered why the boy didn’t just let some of the anger out before he earned himself a heart attack.

“Whelp, you always look lonesome. Probably on account of all the girlies wanting to run as soon as you open your bigoted mouth.” The end of the sentence came out on a tempered growl, Spike’s bumpies rippling below the surface of his face. Buffy clasped his hand beneath the table and it was enough acknowledgement to stop him losing control and causing himself a powerful headache in front of a crowd. For that second that the molten heat of his demon violence flashed behind his eyes, he was grateful to her.

“Spike’s here to…for…” Buffy looked wide-eyed at her friends and then blanched at the expectation on Spike’s face. She was making the difficult impossible by denying the words to even form in her head and Spike felt himself stand, prepare to take that first definitive step away from the table and her when she grabbed his hand—out in plain view—and hopped off her stool to stand beside him. Her eyes pleaded with him and Spike was torn between being patient and pissed. “Spike, wanna dance?” She tugged him away from the group and into the throng of energetic bodies getting their Friday night groove down and funky, and all it did was confuse him more.

The second she was in his arms, she buried her face in his neck, her warm breath rapid and terrified against him. “I’m so sorry, Spike. I will tell them. I promise.” She looked so miserable when she looked up, and the tears blurring her eyes were enough to tell him how sincere she was. The girl was just scared and he should know that better than anybody. He knew her better than her watcher or her friends combined, so he could cut her some slack.

Buffy curled her hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged him down, bestowing on him the first kiss since she’d decided to give them a chance. His blood flared at her proximity, at her taste and he could feel every cell of his body reacting to her closeness. This was a dream—one so unnaturally coming true and for the moment he didn’t care that she hadn’t told them all. He’d put her on the spot and it hadn’t panned out—but maybe it had earned him the result he’d wanted.

A glance through the crowd saw a table full of gaping Scoobies and Spike felt a shudder rip through his body. Buffy made him feel like he was the Prince with his Princess and he couldn’t help but fear when this fairytale would end, but in the mean time, “Wouldn’t worry about it, luv. They’ll get it soon enough.”

And he went back to caressing her plump lips.

Chapter Five


“I can’t do this right now,” cried Willow miserably and she bolted up the stairs, leaving a stunned Tara and Buffy staring at nothing but thin air.

“I guess Willow doesn’t approve.” Buffy looked dejectedly at the only understanding friend she’d had in the long, desperate months that had made her Spike’s lover. Abstractedly she’d known that her friends weren’t going to go backwards in their attitude to Spike, and finding out she was dating him had catapulted her into an explosive situation she’d have preferred to avoid until at least her next death. Still, knowing and accepting were two different things. Tara’s belief in her—her total lack of judgment on who Buffy loved and why—had given the Slayer a false sense of security where this relationship was concerned. The girl had been ready to welcome Spike to the group, convinced that Buffy couldn’t possibly have a wild fling with an evil monster if she didn’t at least love him a little.

Tara was so much wiser than anyone gave her credit!

Buffy had never been the type of girl to just throw herself at a man for the pure experience of sex. There had always existed hope to get her through, and while Angel had almost obliterated that hope by turning into the most evil incarnation of himself, and Parker had shown her that she needed to be much more careful in her trust of men, and Riley had proven above all that passion did need to be an underlying element to a relationship, she’d never entered into a relationship believing it had nothing to flesh it out and make it more than sex.

Being with Spike hadn’t changed that trend; she’d just ignored the signs that told her she felt more.

“Willow’s conflicted right now,” Tara told her, crossing her arms and looking at Buffy nervously.

“You mean selfish, don’t you?” Buffy hated that resentment in her voice and was immediately sorry for letting her cattiness out to play when she witnessed another of Tara’s regular flinches. “I’m sorry.” She led Tara into the living room, herself just falling into the couch and hoping the cushions caught her. “I can’t help feeling a little like Willow feels this is her year for the big attention and she’s not handling it well that we aren’t all falling at her feet and begging her to make our lives better.”

Tara smiled that knowing, crooked half-smile and Buffy released some of her guilt. Tara wasn’t blind and she knew better than anyone how manipulative Willow had become. She was tentative in allowing the redhead back into her heart, cautious in stepping back to Willow’s side.

“She’s struggling. Power is a difficult thing to control when you aren’t used to having any, and…when you were gone…I think she had too much of it. Even G-Giles allowed her to organise everything. A-and without a slayer, all we had was the Buffybot and magic.”

Buffy looked at her newest best friend and squinted a little, trying to unravel the deeper message in the words. “So in other words, you’re saying that while everyone else grieved, Willow took control and now doesn’t want to give it back?”

Tara blushed, but she also shook her head and Buffy breathed deeply. She wasn’t being fair. She knew that, but the commotion Willow had caused at the Bronze after seeing the Slayer kiss another vampire had gone beyond the realms of acceptable. Buffy needed to act; she just didn’t know how.

When the blonde finally pulled herself out of her wallowing, it was to find Tara smiling brightly at her. It gave her some of the confidence back that she’d thought lost for good when Spike had been screamed at and punched by a witch out of control. It had been shocking and frightening and even now Buffy couldn’t believe it had really happened. But on the upside, she and Spike were now outed—and in the biggest surprise of all, Xander hadn’t said a thing. Her long-time male friend had looked at her nonplussed and then turned back to some internal debate he’d been involved in for the majority of the night.

But now Tara was smiling and Buffy couldn’t wipe away the answering grin that came with the relief that the biggest secret she’d ever carried was finally out in the open. And it felt good.

“So, congratulations,” Tara giggled, her eyes glittering playfully. “You are happy now, right? You look happy.”

“You mean I look less miserable,” Buffy teased.

“No,” Tara refuted softly. “I mean you look happy.”

Finally the tears came and Buffy collapsed into the comforting embrace of the one friend who’d truly known her pain. “I’m so scared, Tara. What if trusting him is the wrong thing to do? What if he really can’t stop being evil, even for love? What if I can’t ever love him?”

Her confidant of the past few months stared at Buffy so hard that the Slayer felt wounds opening up and weep. She knew what the gentle Wiccan was going to say and she knew that she didn’t really need the words. The moment had arrived where she was being forced out of her safety fallback position of denial.

“Is that what’s really upsetting you, Buffy?”

Being forced to face the real issue that was worrying her dragged up a boatload of pain and it slammed hard into Buffy and she gasped. It was too late to stop herself falling for Spike. Love was already spilling from her heart. But would she have to kill him one day? Dating Riley had been easy, because no matter what went wrong, no matter how much he hurt her with his actions or beliefs, she would never be faced with the necessity of killing him—because he was human. The Slayer didn’t kill humans.

Could she kill Spike?

It had seemed impossible: no matter how many chances he gave her before the chip, or how many times he’d pissed her off after it. The number of times he’d been there for her or her family, fighting by her side and taking a beating just for being near her had always been enough, more recently, for her to stay any final, brutal blow that would make him a problem to her psyche no longer.

But if he had to make her choose between him and the world, she had no doubts how it would go down. It was so easy. The balance depended not on love, but on the state of the heart—did it pound with life or was it lying still within the animated corpse that elicited the emotion from her?

Killing Angel had almost broken her, and back then they’d shared a too innocent, not-yet-matured kind of love. What she felt for Spike seemed so much beyond that—it seemed wise and old and powerful in its very existence. It was deeper love—it had had time to grow, learn, and mature, and it had caught her irrevocably and now held her in a place she had no desire to escape from.

A slow, relieved smile teased the corner of her lips and Buffy finally saw how very understanding Tara was. She saw things that could take others years to work out; all Buffy had to do was have faith. And why not, when everyone else had at one point or another? She pouted at that skank-inspired thought that flitted through her brain and then shut the door on that badness hopefully for good.

“You can’t predict what will happen in the future, Buffy. Maybe Spike isn’t the one that will fall short of your expectations. It’s possible you might fail him instead.” As Buffy raised a dubious eyebrow, “Or, you know, he could go evil again…” she suggested warily, and then rushed on with, “But I really don’t think so.”

The Slayer nodded her head. She understood the risks and still she believed in Spike. Or as much as she could given the circumstances. She didn’t think he would hurt any of them should his chip stop functioning, but that didn’t save the rest of the populace. She knew how hard it was to give something up you considered elemental to your existence. Like herself—if she had to give up chocolate for good it would be totally touch and go. Pretty much impossible, in fact.

“You know what?” Buffy waited for that raised brow of amused scepticism and then rushed in with her plan. “I’m not going to worry about it. Right now, I have to give it a chance. I mean, what if Giles and the Council are all wrong with the vampire psychology—or maybe Spike is just the one they could never pigeonhole, no matter how hard they might try? It’s not like he’s fit into any other mould that I’ve known of. Spike is Spike and maybe that’s enough for me to try.” Suddenly she felt terrified, the tears teasing her with their presence once again as she appealed to Tara. “Oh God, what if it’s wrong? What if this is all a giant mistake?”

Compelled to her feet, Buffy started pacing, her eyes large and shimmering like diamonds as Tara sat and watched the complexity that Buffy created in which to live her life.

“Buffy, everyone thinks that way when they first start a relationship. No one can know if it will be a mistake, and many women have been murdered by unlikely partners because of that inability to be psychic. Not that I think Spike will murder you. But what I’m saying is, relax. Breathe. Have fun and let Spike love you. And really, really love him. You never know, maybe this is your miracle.”

Tara smiled shyly and Buffy realised how undervalued the girl was in her circle of friends. She had so much to offer them than just as the girlfriend of one of the inner circle. On impulse, Buffy launched herself forward and hugged Tara tight. “No matter what happens between you and Willow, you know we’ll always be here for you too, right?”

Pulling back, she was reassured to see the grateful smile and the blonde witch’s nod. Then, just as quietly, she bid goodnight and left the house, pausing at the stairs for a brief concerned glance up the staircase before heading out into the night.

The silence of the house was welcome and for the first time, Buffy saw it as something other than the opposite of Hell. She’d only been comforted recently by the absence of noise when in contrast to the harsh, sanction obliterating noise that followed just about everyone everywhere.

Willow was disturbingly quiet upstairs and Buffy was hesitant to make her way up to bed. She didn’t want to pass her best friend in the hall, or walk into her when she left the bathroom. She wanted to ignore Willow and her irrational over-the-top response to Spike until she’d had some sleep to bolster her spirits.

She’d never expected her revelation to be received with hugs and well wishes, but truthfully, Willow was the last one she’d thought would wig. And to the extent she had? That was a shock that still had Buffy reeling.

That thought started bouncing around in her head again, despite Tara’s calm support. Was trying to date and have something deeper with Spike wrong? Was his love as dysfunctional as she’d accused all along? Or was he capable of strong emotion like he’d long pleaded with her to believe? Willow believed those and more, accusing Buffy of losing her mind when they’d resurrected her—of losing her perspective. Of letting evil dwell too keenly between her legs.

Self-respect had Buffy sitting up straighter, and as soon as she allowed it, courage flowed through her and made her strong. She’d made this decision to allow Spike to show her how he could love her, and she’d already lost her heart to him—even if he didn’t know it. It didn’t matter what Willow thought—or Giles, or Xander, or anyone else who wanted to jump in and give their two cent’s worth. Her life, her decision. She really wished they’d get that memo and get on with screwing up their own lives before they did hers any more damage than they had already.

As for Willow, so much for the solidarity they’d shared over Riley’s reappearance and exit. Friendship for Willow these days was all about being conditional, and Buffy didn’t have the energy for it right now. All of that was reserved for Spike.

As sleep beckoned her, Buffy curled up on her couch and allowed herself to drift back to earlier in the night when she’d been in Spike’s arms on the dance floor, feeling the solid support of his embrace as he held her and the magic of that soft kiss.

A smile spread over her lips as Buffy finally figured it out. She wasn’t wrong for giving this a chance. For the first time since she was brought back to life, she was doing something right.

Chapter Six

It wasn’t that his invite had been lost in the mail, Spike told himself sarcastically. Even if his crypt had an actual address, he doubted they’d have honoured him with a postage stamp. Bloody bastard had just assumed he wouldn’t want to attend the glorious nuptials, despite having been the one to keep his neck in tact all summer. Since Spike and Buffy had come out into the open, he was buggered if he’d be left out. Even if he didn’t really care about him one way or another.

He cared about Buffy, though. And Harris was Buffy’s friend. And truly, it didn’t gall him at all that he’d noticed the distraction of the brunette that had steadily developed into full blown fright. It should have satisfied that deep-seated barometer of evilness inside Spike that the git was in way over his head. It should have…but it didn’t. Instead all he felt was worried, mainly that the groom-to-be was about to make the worst decision of his life and perhaps destroy a decent woman in the process.

Spike nursed his pilsener and kept to the shadows. Last thing he needed was for Harris to turn his beefy head and find himself under vamp surveillance. But as luck would have it, the lumberjack turned and caught Spike mid gulp-and-stare and instead of prancing over and attempting to lay it to him between the eyes, he nodded dejectedly and continued on his own liquid path of self-destruction.

It didn’t pique Spike’s relief at self-preservation more than it did his interest, and figuring he’d might as well go for broke, he stood, picked up his bottled beer and stalked his way to Harris’s lonely table. Pulling out a chair, he sprawled on it and stared intently at the one human he still had good dreams about killing.

“And what has the lonely carpenter so glum?” he began, figuring that stirring the hostility would get them both off this shaky ground neither of them had counted on.

Xander looked at him, his eyes troubled and nearly dead before he replied bitterly, “Nothing you’d understand, Fang Face.”

“Is that right?” Spike prodded, his voice filled with mock derision. Something about Xander and his lacklustre attempt at a putdown sparked Spike’s curiosity and he peered a little deeper at the glorified bricklayer. “Why don’t you try me? Not like I don’t have a century’s worth of observation at my disposal.”

Xander took his time acknowledging the remark, took longer to decide that though it was Spike seated opposite him rather than one of his friends, it didn’t seem to matter worth a damn. In fact, maybe having the vampire barge in on his lonely night was a godsend. He could unload and not worry about the massive pilings of guilt his friends would bang him on the head with. Not that the revelation itself felt any less crippling, particularly once it was out on the air and no longer bottled up in his own brain.

“I don’t think I want to marry Anya.”

The lack of a sarcastic jibe at his expense from the vampire who’d received more than his fair share from Xander’s own tongue, made the youngest male member of the Scooby gang itch. Feeling his skin tighten—almost as if a twitchy Willow were punishing him for something she didn’t even know—Xander stared intently at Spike with his breath held until it hurt.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, Xander breaking out in a fine sweat, ready to be blasted for the fool he knew he was. And then a closer look revealed Spike to be in shock and it was an expression the human had never seen on him before. With things already off-balance and confusion muddling his brain, Xander tensed, ready to run again from the fears that had been plaguing him for months. Ready to run from Spike—and if that image didn’t beat all. Running from a chipped vampire it would kill him to admit to still being afraid of.

“Don’t want to marry Demon Girl?” Spike questioned slowly. “Or just don’t want to get married?”

Two excellent questions and no matter how long Xander had allowed them both to tumble around in his head, he was no closer to working the truth out. Nor had beer made the dilemma any clearer, though perhaps that was exactly what it should have done.

He felt himself shaking even as he shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to show how little it really meant—that he wasn’t really serious—but then the forced laugh died in his throat as he truly looked at Spike and was stabbed by the most piercing stare of his experience. He felt scanned, dug into so deep that every false promise and hateful trick had been uncovered. What did Spike see when he peered so deeply into his soul? Or was it that Spike couldn’t sense its existence, being without that coveted prize himself? Was Xander deficient just like he’d been suspecting?

Swallowing hard, his gaze clashed once again with the table and he grabbed his brown bottle, threw back the remnants of his beverage and tried not to burp. It slipped past his lips despite his concerted efforts and Xander fought not to blush like a boy trying to impress his girl.

“I’ll take it by that manly belch that you either can’t be arsed giving me a reply, or you just don’t know the answer.” The vampire’s gaze narrowed as he took in the number of empty beer bottles scattered across the table’s surface, his lips tightening in annoyance. “Or maybe you can’t bloody see straight anymore and didn’t actually hear the question.”

“Asss riveting as it always is to talk to you,” Xander slurred unhappily, “I’ve got more important things to think about.” He was lost once again in the thousand-mile stare and he tried desperately hard not to blink. The smirk on Spike’s face distracted him, though, and he found himself groaning loudly at the failure.

“Yeah? What’s that then?” Spike prompted, his ass firmly wedged in his chair and his own beer taking precedence on the crowded table.

“Like…like,” the brunette tried defiantly until resignation hit him in the chest and he felt like buckling under Spike’s knowing stare. “Like trying to get out of a wedding without Anya killing me?”

Spike almost sighed in relief, feeling like he’d narrowly escaped falling far from his element and never regaining his feet again. But then something stalled his natural reaction of wanting to rub it in the git’s face and he stopped to think what Buffy would think when she found out he’d been right there while her mate had his little drunken meltdown. And then he pictured the ex-demon crying at being humiliated in front of everyone she knew and suddenly the situation didn’t seem so funny anymore.

“So we’re back to the original question. Which is it? You don’t love the girl? Or you’re just too young to be tied down to someone? Not that I can blame you for that last. Never could work out why you humans were always in a rush to hitch yourselves to someone else when…” His brow furrowed. “Hmmm, all right, I guess you don’t have loads of time. Definitely not an eternity to spend with someone getting on your nerves, betraying you every time you’re broken back is turned, dumping you for a preferred shag with oozing secretions adding to the experience. Why marry a perfectly good girl who loves you—not that I can work out the how or why of it—when you’ve got all of nothing to look forward to?”

Xander watched as Spike chugged back some more of his beer, a self-satisfied smirk lifting the corners of his mouth. He had sudden images of that mouth puckered and plastered to Buffy’s—those memories were far too recent for his liking—and he shuddered.

“Okay, what just happened here? Was that your demented way of telling me I’d be making a mistake by not marrying Ahn?” He waited, not buoyed with confidence when Spike seemingly choked on his mouthful and then glared as he swiped the runaway liquid from his lips.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant. Of course I did.” The affirmation was filled with enough intent—and Xander was feeling the effects of too much alcohol in his system—that he happily took the vampire’s word for it. Having someone care about what had occupied the greater part of his life for the past months was somehow freeing and Xander settled in to unload all his insecurities. He was suddenly unreasonably confident that Spike might actually help him put it all into perspective and he could reach that final decision that he’d been grappling with for too long.

“It’s not like I had a great role model for this kind of thing.” He didn’t need to add anything as Spike’s knowing nod seemed to confirm how much he’d really seen those days he’d been tied up in Xander’s living space.

Spike relaxed back in his chair and waved his hand in the air for a refill, miserably resigned to seeing this out. He had a suspicion that Buffy had no clue how much her friend was struggling with this commitment the silly twit had set into motion in a second of panic, and he felt he owed it to her to try and sort it all out—even if that put him in the thick of their little maladjusted group.

“Look, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in a century, it’s that everyone makes mistakes. There’s no crystal ball that points it all out, tells you if you’re going to be a fuck up as a husband and father, or whether you’re going to be the new mayor. Nothing is a sure thing and if you back out of this now because you’re afraid of being the kind of husband your father is, then you’re a bigger berk than I gave you credit.”

Spike wasn’t surprised to see the tears in the boy’s eyes. But he was annoyed by it. He sighed exasperatedly, “Look, do you love her?”

Xander flinched, acting dumb in order to buy some time. “What?”

Spike growled before slamming his hands down on the table, making the bottle collection skip across the surface, and leaned forward into Xander’s face. “It’s not bleeding rocket science. Do you love the girl or not?”

He felt so uncertain that a clear answer wouldn’t form in his head. Making a motion between a nod and a negative shake of his head, Xander gave up and let his head fall forward until he was banging it on the table.

“Okay, obviously that’s extended your brain tissue too far. How about something a little less easy? Are you going to be happy when you’ve jilted her on the day that’s meant to be the happiest of her life and she’s so damaged by it she decides to take D’Hoffryn up on his offer to return to her vengeance days and she curses you to suffer boils on your cock for the rest of your natural life?”

Spike sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, his expression nothing but smug as the reality of it ticked over in Harris’s brain.

“So…what you’re saying is…if I cancel this wedding because I’m terrified I’ll hurt Ahn by being a shitty husband and a father from hell, she’s going to go back to being a Vengeance demon and make my life a misery?” Xander hated it, but what Spike said had the ring of truth. He didn’t have any trouble at all visualising a destroyed Anya collapsing into the comforting arms of her former boss and becoming once again the thing that he and his friends killed.

Could he live with that?

Could he live with being the reason Anya turned her back on humanity, embracing evil again because of the broken heart he gave her? One motivated purely by fear rather than certainty?

Spike rolled his eyes, clasped his fingers together and flexed, glorying in the crack of his knuckles and Harris’s flinch at the sound. “You really are being an idiot tonight, aren’t you? The whole point of marriage—and why is an undead creature of the night the one who has to thump this into that thick head of yours?—is to make sure you spend the rest of your appallingly short existence with the one person you can’t get through life without. Now, as nauseating as it is to see you with your little sex bunny, anyone with eyes can see you’re devoted to her. A bit abrupt and intolerant of her perhaps, but we all have our faults.”

The speech ended and Xander found himself concentrating harder on what Spike had said than he had on anything he was meant to listen to at school. He did love Anya. He’d loved her with everything he had and when their lives—hell, their world—had been threatened by Glory, it had terrified him to know they could die and she wouldn’t know how much he loved her. He loved her enough to propose, and now he was a man wearing the responsibility of his impetuous haste.

He loved her, and if he backed out on her now, he’d lose her for good. Was going through with the wedding so bad if the consequence of turning his back losing her was completely? Losing her forever?

Even as his mind was gelling on the revelation, Spike was asking him something else and he felt a glimmer of resentment that the one he’d often thought as nothing more than a pest, had known him well enough to be sure his attitude could be turned around, bounding onto the next topic with barely a concern for capturing the affirmation of the first.

“What?”

“Bloody hell, Harris. You need to cut back. Booze is eating your brain. I said, where’s your mates? This is a bleeding lonely send off.”

“Ahh,” Xander said, nodding in belated understanding. The fact of it was, all his buddies had been eager to treat him to a debauched time out on his last night of singledom, but he’d balked at the finality of it. Now he was regretting that decision, though for the first time in history he had to admit that spending time with Spike wasn’t so bad. Particularly if the choice had been to spend his last, lonely night as a free man completely alone. Relief flooded through him and with a wide grin, he vowed to make his night one he’d hopefully remember. “Wanna play some pool?”

And that was something Spike never refused.

Chapter Seven


Having the sense kicked into him by Spike had done little to still the panic swirling in his bowels on the morning of his wedding. Now, as Xander stood fiddling with his cummerbund in the dressing room mirror, he expelled a rush of breath and tried to tamp down the desperate urge to flee. I love Anya, I love Anya, I love Anya, I love Anya. The repetitive refrain was failing to get the message across and he couldn’t help but wonder how he could courageously go fight demons alongside Buffy on a regular basis but not go through with the ceremony that would tie his life to his lover—his girlfriend he’d been in love with so much during the previous year’s apocalypse to never want to let her go.

Just a few steps and he’d see her beautiful face beaming happiness at him, and still he was praying so hard that he wouldn’t chicken out that he almost peed his pants. His skin aching with the effort to keep his body still, his face tired and slack from terror, Xander tried to ignore the steadily growing frivolity outside his dressing room door. He tried to blot out the sound of his father’s drunken raised voice with persistent images of himself in untold years to come knocking back more than a few beers while his wife looked on in disappointment.

That’s what it always came down to. His actions always leading to disappointment—disapproval. For years now he’d turned himself into Buffy’s unneeded demon-fighting sidekick and he’d filled the job well. Buckling down to the act of living a married life would shake up the dynamics of the group so much that the realisation of how much he didn’t want that caused bile to rise in his throat. He would be swapping his very small hero cape and that glint of gratitude in Buffy’s eyes for an uncertain future with a woman who could one day see him as little more than a nuisance—a man fighting with a boy’s dreams of grandeur. He’d owe it to Anya to stop masquerading as one of the demon-killing squad and be the serious thing of husband—that thing his father hadn’t found enough balance to do with success. What chance did he have when his previous life wasn’t just as a glorified bricklayer, but a slightly weakened and often wounded soldier for the side of good? Yeah, what hope did he have of making marriage an actual success?

“Xan, you okay? You’re looking a bit pale. I could whip you up a magical tonic that’ll put you to rights straight away,” the apparently-peppy best man offered, her giddy smile trying too hard to mask how wrong everything in her world was.

The brunette cringed through his best friend’s intentions and moved subtly away from her. Willow had become a little bit creepy with her constant magical fix-it strategies and he had to see Tara’s point that maybe the redhead was overdoing it.

“Put your bloody hocus-pocus away, Witch. All the boy needs is some fresh air,” Spike announced with an unpleasant curl to his lip as he strode through the door. The vampire glared at Willow and Xander was shocked at the glint of malevolence she shot back at the blond before appraising him like a leech and finding him wanting. If he hadn’t been bodily dragged from her presence he might have found some words to beg her to chill out, but as it happened, Spike manoeuvred him out of the building and positioned him against the wall in the direct cloud of smoke as he commenced puffing on an already lit cigarette, polluting Xander’s supposedly essential and not-so-fresh air.

“You’re killing yourself, you know?”

The groom blinked, suddenly not certain whose mouth the words had tumbled from, but he didn’t remember his own mouth opening and thus assumed it had been Spike, despite the obvious killing-factor of his cancer sticks—for others if not for himself.

“You know, right now I actually wish I could. Death would be preferable to the possibility that I’m making the worst mistake of my life.” Xander slumped against the brick wall, eying the entrance and struggling against the urge to turn his back on it and run till he couldn’t breathe anymore. There was a gentle drizzle falling and he couldn’t help but compare it to his mood. Darkened sky, a Sunnydale shower not heavy enough to be a deluge but not light enough to minimise damage to those caught under it. Yeah, maybe he was provoking the weather now with his doom and gloom outlook on his future.

“You’re the biggest bloody pillock I’ve ever had the misfortune to waste my breath talking to. Life is chock full of mistakes and disasters. Know what else it’s full of? Love and laughter, being trusted by another human being and putting a smile on their face when you’ve been thoughtful. Making love when the rest of the world is making war. You spend too long sitting here spinning your heels about turning into your lush of a father and you’ll never take the leap with anyone, and in the process you could lose the only girl who has a chance at getting you. That bint understands you.” Spike threw the butt into nearby bushes and leaned forward, his eyes glinting with purpose as he tried once again to drill the importance of this decision into this boy that thought he was a man. “She understands what you do and why you do it. She encourages you, helps keep you focused and bloody hell, she helps keep you alive. You can’t be Buffy’s little hanger on all your life. Inflate your balls and get in there, show her you’re not full of chicken shit like you’ve half convinced me you are, and give that woman your life. She deserves it. Besides, you’re pissing me off, and when you piss me off, Buffy and I fight. Come too far for you to ruin what promises to be a good day.”

Xander stood before the huffing vampire with his mouth hanging open and his raging butterflies miraculously sedated. Without thinking of appearances—without considering his usual deep-seated need to keep Spike beneath his size eleven shoe—he threw his arms around the slim vampire and dispensed a burly man-hug. “I so owe you my first born—as long as you promise not to eat him.” And then he was off, a burning desire to get through the formalities of this nightmare day so he could get to the wedding night and claim all the kinky husbandly rights Anya had been tempting him with for months.

Spike grinned, relief and pride pumping through him like hot liquid silk. Success should always be this smooth. This achievement would have to give Buffy a bit of security about him now. He could have done what his demon had whispered in his ear; he could have taunted Harris and pointed out how very likely he was to not only turn into his father, but be a mile worse with all his extended knowledge about the Hellmouth and its inhabitants. He could have destroyed two of the Scooby crew without batting an eyelid, but he didn’t. Because Buffy would have been devastated and he was trying to prove that he was good for her.

That he didn’t need a poofy soul to do the right thing.

Standing tall with a satisfied smirk firmly curving his lips, he re-entered the building and took his seat for the show. Buffy had been glowing when he’d met up with her earlier. She might really hate Anya’s choice in dress, and maybe the ex-demon had hoped it would detract attention from her attendants and focus it all on her, but Buffy shone bright as the star she truly was. She looked happy and he wasn’t denying the skerrick of the wanker in him being certain he’d contributed just a little to that.

The music boomed around the room and Spike looked at the end of the aisle, smiling as his goddess came into view. Everyone else barely rated a glance and he was ecstatic to see Buffy’s eyes focused on him with a soft blush tinging her cheeks. Her smile took his breath away and for once he didn’t even notice that he wasn’t breathing. There was nothing for him in this moment but Buffy, and he’d ensured he had this by kicking Harris in the arse. Not that the boy didn’t need it on occasion, but the ending of this day could have been very different and Spike was more than glad that all the pillock had required was to be pointed in the right direction.

With a bit of luck, Buffy would be so happy and full of the romanticism of the day that he might get a little more than a goodnight kiss.

Not that he’d push her for more, but a bloke lived in hope, and only for so long before his balls turned blue.

He’d done a good thing today. Now he only had to wait for the payoff.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Would you two morons get your act together? They’ll be down here soon. Look, he’s kissing the bride.”

Andrew sighed whimsically. “That’s so romantic.”

Warren rolled his eyes and wondered not for the first time what he was thinking to engage these two in a super-villain outfit when they had such a conscience about everything.

“You know, Buffy really hasn’t been bad to any of us. Do you really think this is necessary?” Jonathan flinched as Warren treated him with the Death Glare.

“We want to take over the Hellmouth. The Hellmouth belongs to the Slayer. Just how far are we going to get with her breathing down our necks and foiling our every plan?” he hissed, veins popping in his neck as he ground his teeth together.

“Okay, okay. Just checking.” A nervous glance passed between Jonathan and Andrew and they donned the special gloves they’d developed for this moment. Warren returned to spying through the conveniently located window while Andrew accidentally got his foot caught in the bush he was strategically crouched behind with Jonathan and knocked the bag of their special enemy-neutralising-if-it-doesn’t-kill-her-first confetti from his partner in crime’s hands. It fell open and was suddenly drenched by the build-up of rain resting on the bush’s leaves.

“Way to go, idiot,” Warren chastised, quickly picking it up and shoving it back into the shorter one’s hands.

“I can’t help it,” Andrew whined, his long black raincoat getting snagged on a particularly gnarly branch. He tilted sideways and just stopped himself going face first into the prickly foliage by elbowing Jonathan in the ribs.

“Ouch!” Shorty yelped, his subsequent glare lacking many of the points that made Warren’s worthy of capital letters.

“Cut the crap. Shhh. They’re coming. Remember, cover the Slayer with it. Then the Hellmouth will be ours.” The evil smile consumed his face and the other two lackeys shivered. Still, they obediently kept watch and shrunk back, bags open as the bridal party walked out of one venue into the next, running from one hiding spot to inside the building to take refuge behind a potted palm just in time as Buffy came down at the back of the procession.

Rice rained down on the bride from everyone she passed—except for the something indescribable some of the demons where throwing—and she squealed in excitement, clutching her new husband’s arm as they walked through the parted friends, family, demons and other. Andrew sighed wistfully again before being kicked by a storming Warren as he positioned himself behind them.

Buffy was finally in front of them and though strange-looking in their high-necked, floor length black raincoats, Buffy didn’t even notice as they almost dumped two sackfuls of mini explosive confetti all over her head and dress. She smiled good-naturedly even though it landed in soggy clumps, quickly passing on so that she was out of their reach. The three darted back outside, running crouched like demented chickens.

Once again hidden—and safely out of her reach—Andrew took out the remote from one of his pockets under the coat and whistled at the complex gadgetry. He was lost for a second until Jonathan yelped as some of the guests fell through the door to the outside so they could light up and prepare for whatever fireworks were in store. Andrew snickered. ‘Little do they know,’ he thought unpleasantly, his finger poised over the button that was about to blow Buffy Summers to smithereens and make him a power to be reckoned with.

Spike crept up behind Buffy, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and the little blond winced, wavering for longer than a second about detonating the confetti. His shoulders slumped in misery, for destroying such a fine specimen of evilness could only be a bad thing, but Warren thumped him on the back so he tipped forward again and almost lost hold of the remote.

“Press the freaking button, numb nuts. This is perfect. Ignite the vampire and they’ve got nothing to fight us with.” Warren bounced on his toes just waiting for the big ball of slayer-extinguishing flames, staring through the glass door so he wouldn’t miss one second of his mastermind glory.

Jonathan nodded sadly then hung his head. He didn’t want to see the destruction of a girl who’d been responsible for keeping him alive throughout the years.

Andrew pressed the button and then held his breath. The expectation died with a confused furrow between his eyes as Buffy yelped and Spike leapt back from her a foot—but there were no flames, no sparks, no fire. No neutralised Buffy.

No, what there was was an irately pissed off vampire and an equally furious slayer staring straight at them.

Warren grabbed a collar in each hand and hauled them out of the bushes, the three of them running from a likely smack down as fast as their legs could carry them.

Good thing they’d parked the van close. They tumbled in and revved the motor, speeding off with a violent squeal of tires and a fear too strong to look behind them to see if they were being chased down until they’d careened around a corner. All three breathed deeply in relief as their specialised monitoring devices revealed no persistent pursuers.

Warren twisted from his post as getaway driver and pinned them both with furious looks, his eyes almost sparking with fury. “You two are the most pathetic screw-ups.” He seemed too steamed for more words and the startling blaring horn of an oncoming car had him swerving wildly to avoid it and then concentrating on the road. Andrew and Jonathan shrunk back in their seats, worried about Warren but in a depth inside they didn’t want to admit they had, secretly grateful that their scheme failed and Buffy was still alive.

Until tomorrow.

Chapter Eight

It felt beyond strange to have Spike at her side—sitting right next to her—at the reception. After a frantic ten minutes trying to get the unintentional frizz out of her hair and stop the shocks from running through her body, they’d settled down for food. The event had been thoughtfully catered to suit every demon and human present, as Buffy soon discovered when Spike was served up an extra large rare steak with a side order of blood in a glittering gold-edged goblet. It was nice that Anya had considered the dietary needs of all her demonic guests. What wasn’t so nice was Buffy being stuck between a blood-slurping freak vamp and some other demon that seemed to be squealing orgasmically every time something resembling entrails and eyeballs passed her lips.

With a violent shudder, Buffy picked up her own knife and fork and eyed her beautifully presented chicken dish. The shrimp entrée had been delicious and this promised to melt on her tongue—particularly by virtue of the fact that the majority of food to turn to gastronomic brilliance in her house lately was the Doublemeat Medley. Still, she was very close to being turned off her food, so with a determined shake and a stiffening of her spine, Buffy closed her eyes to the revulsions taking place on either side of her and consumed her dish.

“Mmmmm.” She moaned in unexpected pleasure as the first bite exploded on her tongue. “Oh God,” she exclaimed while quickly cutting and preparing the next forkful. “This is divine.” She couldn’t help but declare it amongst the satisfaction she felt to be sitting with friends—and vampire boyfriend—not to mention probable mortal enemies, and celebrating the new life her Xander-shaped husband friend had embarked on.

Buffy felt suddenly wistful. Long ago she’d dealt with the likelihood that she’d never experience a day such as this of her own—deluded daydreams about Angel nuptials notwithstanding. And she really had dealt, almost welcoming the crippling pain that spelled out impending loneliness. It had dimmed more recently though, and not because she now had a boyfriend that wasn’t so breakable. Death had made her very much invulnerable to the threat of loneliness. Her year had so far been consumed with the passive desire to be free again from this world, free from the tangles of humanity and friendships that kept her amidst situations and celebrations that meant so little in the grand scheme of things.

Today she felt differently.

No, that wasn’t quite right. It had been happening gradually since she’d allowed that little ‘yes’ to pass her lips and give Spike the genuine crumb he’d been hankering so long for. But while she’d been drifting forward into something of a relationship with what she would allow herself to admit was excitement, it was today that filled her life again with an enthusiasm for the future. Today that showed her what a future could mean to someone like her—if she gave it a chance.

It was too early to consider that Spike would feature in her long-term future, though she had no doubt he’d be the pinup of something—if not as her life partner than as a resurrected pain-in-her-ass. The possibility that things might end up very differently to what she had here right now was suddenly nauseating. Spike had been her brick since she’d came back—even before if she was honest—and it hurt to think that in some unforseen future, he was somewhere other than at her side. Buffy believed with all her heart that if he was ever banished from her life it would be because of her own hand. Spike didn’t leave but she was seriously good at pushing away. It was what she was trying to stop herself from doing now, but the future was always so fluid with possibilities that who knew what would be the face of her tomorrow?

He sat beside her now, making merry with her friends because of her—for her—and she appreciated it and convinced herself he was having at least a small amount of fun. Even if it was just the free alcohol that Xander’s family had already located and almost annihilated with the fierceness of a hoard of shulack demons.

“Wanna dance?”

The husky request made her gulp and Buffy looked up to find Spike watching her, his gaze burning intently as he held out his hand in expectation. He stood before she’d placed her cool palm into his secure grasp and he almost tugged her free of the table, clasping her tight in his embrace and kissing her a quick peck on the lips before pulling her out onto the dance floor. She’d apparently daydreamed through the bridal waltz and Buffy blinked as Xander and Anya spun madly by with a wave and a chuckle, wedding dress brushing her own electrifyingly tragic dress against her ankles.

Spike hugged her close as other couples swirled merrily around them, burying his nose in her neck and nibbling softly on her skin. “You look beautiful, Buffy. You’ve got a glow—”

The Slayer snorted indelicately, covering her mouth swiftly with her hand. “You think I need to be scanned by one of those things to measure how radioactive I am?”

There was no holding back the grin as Spike grasped how happy Buffy was in this moment to be alive. “Nah, this shade of puke just looks smashing on you is all.”

She gave him a half-hearted jab to the bicep then snuggled back into his arms, marvelling how apparently easy a thing it was now that she’d taken that step out of the dark closet and switched on the light to her friends and resident cuddly monster.

Spike hummed to her coiffed hair for a bit and then he squeezed her a little tighter than was comfortable and Buffy knew—without specialised mind reading talents or psycho-Dru déjà vu—exactly what Spike was thinking about.

“Those wankers got bloody close this time, Buffy. We have to do something about them before someone gets hurt.” His voice was gruff with a need to not just deal with them but wipe them off the face of the planet, and while Buffy could understand his fear at losing her again, she couldn’t let this bloodthirstiness get too strong. If it did they’d be back to the demon that had stalked her through the first years of their ‘dance.’

“We will do something about them. Let me talk to Willow and Tara about it tomorrow, ‘k?” Buffy was so tired of dealing with the supernatural phenomena that was her destiny—even if it should have shrivelled up and cancelled out the second she’d passed. Whoever heard of sacred destinies being resurrected along with reluctant slayers, anyway? That was something she should be really sore about. Not only was it unfair that she’d had to surrender her final resting place due to her friend’s desire to not let her go, but she had to take up exactly where she’d left off but with a change in her nemeses: three apparent college-dropout brats were so not worthy of her slayage efforts.

“Buffy, those bastards just tried to kill you! That mush was meant to explode all over you.”

Buffy hissed in irritation. “Yeah, but the confetti was wet. They may appear dangerous, Spike, but they always screw it up.”

He drew away from her, an unrecognisable ferocity lending a dangerous light to the glaring blue of his eyes. “Sounds bloody identical to Red. You gonna wait until she really hurts someone too? Was Dawn not enough?”

Buffy recoiled as if struck by a snake. Without even trying she could imagine the fangs descending and Spike darting in for the bite, so eager to do damage to someone—something—that he was refusing to see reason.

“Willow is better now. You know she’s been working really hard to get better.”

The leer that was her answer held every single one of those malicious intentions that was Spike from the early days. “You’re off your tree if you think the witch is reformed. She’s a pressure-cooker ready to explode and it might do you and your little mates good to realise that before you’re all caught in her path of destruction.”

Some niggling sense of dread told Buffy that Spike was right, but now wasn’t the time to force her into admitting it. She wanted to dance—she wanted to rejoice for her friend’s nuptials and she wanted to bury her head as far in the proverbial sand as she was able before she could no longer breathe.

“Spike, insulting me or my friends isn’t the way to stay on my good side.” It had been spoken reasonably without threat and yet Spike’s every touch recoiled from her and Buffy immediately felt the rush of chill progress through her limbs until her fingertips were numb and icy.

In an uncharacteristic move, Spike clamped his lips together and refused to utter a word that would likely catapult them into a sparring match of old. Buffy wasn’t dressed for it and he was in no hurry for the gang to find out the little pearl of information that he could hurt Buffy if he so chose. He wasn’t so stupid to realise the bunch of them would decide he’d manipulated her into being with him through some violent means.

The hurt reflected in his eyes and the rigidity of his body was enough to get his message across, though, and Buffy wasn’t surprised when he turned his back and stalked from her back to their table. Not surprised, but disappointed.

Before she had the chance to leave the floor of swirling enthusiastic dancers, Xander had captured her up into the haven of his arms and set to twirling her around and around until they were both laughing giddily.

“Oh Buffster, you’ve caught yourself one hell of a mystery with that vampire,” Xander said without a trace of sarcasm and not a small dose of admiration.

Not that Buffy disagreed, she just didn’t know which part of Spike wasn’t a mystery and was just realising the depths of the difficulty in getting to know him in a similar way she’d thought she’d known Angel.

“No kidding.”

Xander was beaming, so happy on his special day that there remained no sign of the storm he’d weathered just to get here. “You don’t know it—and for God’s sake, don’t ever tell Anya—but we owe this wedding totally to Spike. If he hadn’t kicked my ass I’d be running down Main Street in the rain howling like a girly man.” As if that image didn’t conjure the most surprising thoughts, Xander’s nod and friendly wave to a watching Spike nearly undid her.

“You’re telling me that you were going to leave Anya at the altar and Spike stopped you? How did we not know this?” Buffy didn’t know if she should be proud of Spike despite the very big slap she wanted to give him for dragging the Willow issue into a happy day, or crabby that he picked up on the groom’s turmoil when his closest friends had completely missed it.

The brief look of worry than ran across Xander’s face encouraged her to just drop it and so Buffy dismissed it as a thing not worthy of dragging up. It held the potential to hurt too many of those she cared about to expose Xander for the almost-coward he’d been when they should be dancing and celebrating the union of two good friends.

So, she smiled. A firm hug and a kiss on the cheek was offered and all was forgiven, leaving Buffy to wonder how she could do that so consistently with her friends but never with Spike. Surprise kicked her in the gut as she realised the truth of that and she frantically sought him out at their table, finding him still watching her with a softening in his expression.

He was right. Willow wasn’t cured or healed or whatever recovering magic-a-holics became when they gave up craving the juice. The redhead had been shamed into giving up a power she’d loved to exploit, adored having a talent for. It was no surprise that she valued her supernatural gift more than her academic ones as it was the nature of the world that geeks—whether dealing with a much improved wardrobe and lesbian girlfriends or not—were not the ones that ruled the world. Geeks were meek, leaving the drive to take control of the spinning earth to the ones with the real power. With magic, Willow had that power and to assume she could give it up at the snap of Buffy’s fingers—or Dawn’s arm—was foolish.

Yeah, Spike was right. The Trio was dangerous—in intent if not in deed. And Willow was no fluffy kitten either.

One day, someone was going to get seriously hurt, and acknowledging she’d taken great leaps in the last few weeks, Buffy realised she didn’t want it to be her.

Chapter Nine


Willow seethed, black-coiling hatred setting like hardened cement inside her.

“You’re off your tree if you think the witch is reformed.”

She had half a mind to show Spike how fast a non-reformed witch could turn him into a pile of dust. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t be shown up by a monster—not when she’d lose everything that meant anything to her in the process.

They hadn’t known she was so close when they’d started talking about Warren and his merry band of nerds. It had been a mistake really, just a moment where she’d wanted to ask Buffy about the clumpy-looking confetti the Slayer had worn into the reception lounge. While fury whipped through her veins at the audacity of the three extremely incompetent human would-be enemies at disrupting Xander’s wedding and possibly returning Buffy to the grave, she’d been just as jarred by Spike’s vicious accusations. Just what the hell made him think he had any right to open his mouth and cast dispersions against her?

What made him think he knew her at all?

A mixture of shame and animosity kept the redhead off-balance as she struggled to regain a measure of calmness. Vengeance spells whipped through mind with a fury to be cast and it was all she could do to hold back the nearly desperate urge to let loose. She had no idea how this level of hatred for Spike had developed and only peripherally did she realise that it might be more than a little out of character. For years she’d wavered between being fearful and just annoyed that he was still around them, but never had she reacted so violently toward his presence before. Seeing him with Buffy and noticing how receptive her friend had been to his touch had set off something spectacular in her system and the forcibly dormant magic rumbled to a furious roar for its will to be done. For its power to be noticed.

She couldn’t explain it and for a brief moment she questioned herself why she even needed to. Buffy obviously was still having readjustment issues and had allowed herself to be manipulated by a masterly, skilled vampire. Tolerating Spike had been much easier when he was aware of his place in their group, but now he’d dared to seduce Buffy and it had the powerful witch incensed.

She was supposed to be cooling it with magic, and even though she was trying harder to live without it than she believed necessary, little things slipped out. Like offering a calming tonic to Xander when it looked like he was going to run out the door rather than walk down the aisle. Automatic offers to help relieve pain and stress were second nature to her and while it wasn’t doing her any favours, Willow was thoroughly of the opinion that the reaction it had received was well above excessive. Sure, if Tara had heard it she’d be in a world of trouble now, and Willow probably would have had to grovel half the night for the sensitive witch not to leave.

And now this.

The temper boiling within her made Willow pause. It really bugged her that no one had any faith in her. Buffy might have argued with Spike that Willow had the recovery thing in the bag, but the redhead had still seen the uncertainty in the Slayer’s eyes. Buffy didn’t know if she could trust her, her best friend, and that really hurt.

In a weak second of reason, Willow could see that maybe Buffy had little choice. Her own reaction to the two super beings kissing had been particularly violent and rather than endear her to the vampire, it had exposed her intolerant reaction to the relationship. And with the Slayer newly dating the chipped monster, Buffy’s loyalties would have felt divided in the extreme.

Willow’s emotional attack would have been a surprise, that’s for sure. It wasn’t exactly something she’d planned or expected herself to do. But meek, weak Willow was no more and maybe it was a good thing she’d lost control and people started seeing her for the threat she really was. Or not so much a threat as a force to be reckoned with—someone no longer to be trodden on, pushed to the side or ignored.

She’d lost control.

It was the thing hiding in the shadows that she didn’t want to acknowledge. Didn’t want to admit to herself, let alone others. All summer she’d been nothing but control and it made her feel queasy that since the big thing had been achieved—since they had Buffy back alive and well—Willow, the all-powerful witch, was losing it.

It wasn’t a good feeling once she’d allowed the thought to take hold. Losing control was one thing, but having it witnessed and then receiving exacting punishments for her lapse was humiliating and thoroughly unfair.

And then there was Spike. Having her friends see her fall so far from grace was something she’d never wanted, but having Spike there with a front row seat while she overdosed on Rack’s gift…that was too much for the formerly mousy redhead to take.

So she was back to seething, and while she hated how it made her feel, Willow was unable to think of a way to calm herself down. Hate for the vampire that had muscled in on her turf surged powerfully until all Willow could see was his smirk as he laughed at her. He’d known about Rack—knew how powerful and dark the magic user was—and he’d led Buffy straight to her least impressive moment. It was just bad luck that Dawn managed to get hurt as well.

What was she going to do about Spike?

Willow wanted to dust him once and for all, and she knew doing it would be a breeze. The only thing that was saving him was that Tara would probably never return to her if she found out. And Buffy; somehow Willow didn’t think Buffy would ever forgive her, even if it was finally exposed that Spike had managed to thrall or coerce her into something she didn’t really want. And that was intolerable.

Wringing her hands miserably, Willow admitted that she didn’t have the power she’d had earlier in the summer. Not anymore. While the magic would zap easily from her fingertips, her support and cheering squad had re-shaped into a suspicious and do-gooder bunch of friends. Judging by Xander’s acceptance of Spike at the wedding, Willow was positive that her opinion would now be in the minority. Unfortunately, Spike was safe—at least for now.

Willow flopped on her bed and pouted. It was warm and she wanted her window open, but her raised hand lingered in the air as the required words died on her lips. She’d made a promise to give up magic, to prove to Tara and Buffy that she didn’t need it. That she was capable of being herself without it.

Problem was, she didn’t like the side of herself that was weak. She didn’t like that she was on probation while Spike wheedled his way between Buffy’s legs and became a bona-fide member of the group that had always determinedly kept him out.

Well, it was all on Buffy’s head. She’d see, sooner or later, that dating Spike was a mistake. Willow completely failed to see what the Slayer saw in him. Sure, he was good-looking in a creepy, axe-murderer kind of way, and he was good in a bind, not to mention a rather skilled Dawn-sitter. But he was still a vampire, and totally soulless and no matter what he did for Buffy now, he’d still rip her throat out later.

Willow didn’t believe that it was Buffy that needed to worry just yet, though. The witch sat up and her body shook, nerves finally reacting and making her freeze. It wasn’t that Buffy had finally fallen for his sappy love story that had Willow wigged; it was the fact that the demon still vibrated with evil and he recognised in her what none of her friends had. Yes, Tara had glimpsed something—a lapse—and started with her predictable warnings that too much magic was a bad thing—a disrespectful thing—but she hadn’t guessed at the swirling secrets and shadows that had begun to blight Willow’s parasitic soul. The magic she’d wielded on her own was reaching an end to its boundaries and Willow wanted so much more. Amy had led her into a world she’d never dreamed of, though she likely should have, given where she lived, but even being fed by Rack had seemed like a waning high.

For now what he’d offered had been heady and illuminating; something Willow had been forbidden to touch ever again. This moment she felt strong, able to turn her head from his lure and the desire to be powerful—the most powerful—but for how long could she sustain this lacklustre, ordinary existence?

It was uncertain and yet now Spike was breathing down her neck, waiting quietly to pounce the very second she failed. Willow was beyond questioning the when. The very depths of her were already calling for the rush that a burst of borrowed magic gave and no amount of wanting Tara to forgive her would hold the craving back. For now she could silent her talent. For now she could convince herself and everyone around her that giving up was a piece of cake and maybe Tara would once again cradle her head against her breast, stroking her hair and making her feel like she was the most important girl in all the world.

For now, she could succeed.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Buffy was so tired.

She should have guessed—had she not been busy the past few months ignoring every sign of life around her—that with the amount of planning Anya had put into her monumental day, fun and frivolity would last late into the night. Buffy felt like she’d crawled home, her senses more switched on for demon intruders than her eyes, which were pried open with nothing but determination and could only be relied upon for seeing. But then her slayer abilities seemed dulled after being in the vicinity of such a large range of demons for so much of the night and she was rather content to let it slide in favour of recalling the tingling hours spent swaying in Spike’s arms on the dance floor. He’d propped her up almost stubbornly as they’d shuffled back to her house, neither of them in any hurry to rush away from the other’s company.

Once she was finally poised on her porch steps, brandishing the key that would allow her entry to the final leg of her trek to much needed rest, her blood started pumping like a steam engine through her veins, waking her up faster than a bucket of ice water would have done.

Spike stood a couple steps below and stared at her, a dreamy smile on his lips and a hand causally in his pocket. He looked so happy, so content and Buffy knew without a doubt that she’d stop breathing unless he entered her house and spent the night beside her. Nothing more, just his presence on her pillow and his hand at her waist.

“There’s still the no sex rule,” Buffy reminded, taking his hand and tugging him gently toward the door.

Spike tilted his head and studied her, confusion giving way to that little cocky smile she’d convinced herself she hated but secretly found incredibly sexy and suggestive.

“Not my restraint you’ll need to be worried about then, is it,” the vampire taunted and Buffy flushed bright red. There was no point in arguing when she knew he was likely right. Resistance had always been futile from the first moment she’d given in to him in the dilapidated old house. As the floor had disintegrated beneath them, so had every one of her defences against the way he’d made her body sing.

There was no explaining the differences between this time and that. She’d been angry, fed up and bitter at the world she’d been cruelly returned to and taking it out on Spike had seemed like the most natural thing to do. He’d roused her passion so furiously and taken every one of her barbs that she’d almost believed he deserved it. Whether that coupling had been a curse for him or a reward, Buffy was still left wondering. But now it was different, and hopefully she’d be able to sleep with his arms surrounding her and they’d both recognise the new playing field for the superior experience it would be.

Spike followed her up the stairs to her room. Both paused for barely a second outside Willow’s door, hearing the redhead ranting and arguing quietly with herself and realising now was a really bad time for her to find them together. Moving on, Buffy led Spike into her room and then shut the door behind them, locking it and hoping that her luck would hold out and Willow was still doing the no-magic thing.

Nerves clashed together and Buffy broke out into a chilled sweat. She couldn’t believe they’d reached this moment. All that time she’d been intimate with Spike and never once had she allowed the possibility of him lying at her side in her own bed. This was real. God, so real, and now that it was happening she couldn’t breathe properly.

She desperately wanted to feel his tender touch on her skin, but would it be cruel to offer a taste when she was sure that going further would be a mistake? Could she even trust her own desires to stay under control?

Trust.

By giving herself and Spike this chance, she had to trust him. She had to trust in the depth of his feelings or she was going to drive herself crazy second guessing every move either of them made. This should be natural. They’d spent enough time with each other for her to know that she did enjoy his company. It had never been all about the sex; if she’d been open to it all along, they could have come a long way, They could have had caring between them as well as mind-blowing sex. They could have had love.

Buffy inhaled deeply at the realisation and felt like slapping herself for all the useless, lost time.

In the blink of that second, Buffy knew that her hands-off rule was doing nothing but driving them both out of their minds. She wasn’t going to say anything, content to see what Spike would make of it, but she didn’t even turn away from him as she casually stripped off her shocking bridesmaids dress and donned her sleep shorts and top. Spike’s eyes bugged and she smiled, but then lethargy overwhelmed her and Buffy climbed into her bed, pulling back the covers and inviting Spike to crawl under.

Boots and coat were kicked off and dumped over a chair and then Spike almost tore his black dress shirt from his torso. He stepped to the bed in his jeans and Buffy raised a brow. She knew how he slept—even when she wasn’t around to reap the benefit. With a confident leer, Spike slowly unzipped and shed his jeans, standing proudly erect before finally climbing in and settling at Buffy’s side. His arm fell around her shoulders and Buffy wasted no time snuggling in deep, revelling in the cool flesh against her forearm and the lure of male hardness just a little lower.

“Goodnight, Spike,” she whispered sleepily, kissing his abs before finally giving in to sleep.

Spike sighed, and then smiled. It was all in the small steps and if he wasn’t mistaken, Buffy was almost ready to take a leap.

Chapter Ten

Buffy woke happy. She could feel the heat of the sun trying to break through her curtains and the weight of her boyfriend’s arm resting across her waist. She had Spike at her back, his fingers lovingly sweeping across the sensitive flesh of her belly as his nose nuzzled through her hair and his lips skimmed her neck. Buffy shivered and allowed herself to be overwhelmed with love. It was so easy now, admitting it in her head. However, she had no doubts that admitting it to Spike would be another thing altogether.

“’Morning, sleepyhead,” he all but growled below her ear and Buffy couldn’t help but giggle happily even as her body betrayed how aroused his rough voice made her.

In answer, the Slayer wiggled against Spike’s body, her hand staying his at her belly and linking her fingers with his as she arched and stretched against him. Eyes closed, Buffy wondered if this was the moment. If she could choose right now to put all her fears for the future behind her and trust Spike with her declaration. Before she could make up her mind she heard Willow leaving her room across the hall. In fact, everyone in the street would have heard Willow’s leaving her room as the redhead slammed it forcefully before stomping down the stairs.

“Red’s in a good mood then,” Spike muttered darkly and Buffy felt the beginnings of the usual Sunnydale gloom filter into her day. The moment for grand declarations had passed and Buffy, desperate to cling to a little happiness, turned and kissed Spike intently. Her lips found his easily as her arms wound around his neck, her mouth opening and celebrating the intimacy of his tongue. This closeness was new—something she’d never before allowed. She’d probably subconsciously known all along there was no hope of denying her real feelings for Spike if she’d ever truly succumbed to this particular pleasure during their more sexually violent phase.

She never thought she’d ever be grateful to Riley for catching her naked with her vampire lover, but she totally was. It was a turning point that should have broken them, but had instead made them stronger.

Buffy moaned in blissful satisfaction, letting her body mould effortlessly into Spike’s. The slam of the front door interrupted their interlude and Buffy sighed, pulling away from Spike’s lips to find his shining blue eyes burning with understanding.

“I’m sorry I wouldn’t listen to you about Willow,” she whispered, her heart obviously breaking at the realisation that his words the previous night had more than a grain of truth to them. Her best friend wasn’t cured and by all indications so far, Willow was objecting strongly to being magically gagged. Buffy wasn’t so naïve that she didn’t recognise a witch about to explode when she heard one slamming through her house.

“I’m worried about you,” Spike confided. And Buffy could see his concern as plain as day. “And I’m worried about the Niblett. Witch doesn’t care who she hurts when she’s in the thick of it and she’s arrogant enough these days to think she knows better than everyone else. I’d rather none of us were around when she’s ready to blow.”
The seriousness of Spike’s tone made Buffy’s stomach sink in dread. There really was no choice but to do something about Willow before the unthinkable happened. Alcoholics and drug addicts hit rock bottom before they were willing to get help, and even then many of them were unable to stay on the wagon. Willow was trying to do it without the benefit of Betty Ford Clinics or AA meetings. How stupid were they really to think she could give up such a powerful addiction at the snap of their fingers? Without help—without support and understanding for what she was going through?

“I’ll call Giles,” Buffy promised, eager to see the subject drop and the sparkle of fun return to Spike’s eyes. She buried her face in his chest and wiggled further into his embrace, wanting nothing more than to lose herself in the sensation of love and contentment she’d surprisingly found in a vampire’s arms. “Maybe he’ll know what we should do about her.”


“If he tells you he doesn’t the git’s bloody lying his arse off. I know all about his Ripper days. He should know more than anyone what would be the best road to take.” The sudden harshness faded as quickly as it had sprung up and Spike growled low, his chest vibrating and making Buffy moan as she curled her arms around his back, squeezing the vampire closer to her body and regretting completely the decision to keep all her clothes on. “Anyway,” Spike said, his thoughts diverted by Buffy’s clever distraction techniques. In one smooth move he crushed his girl against his chest and claimed her lips in a drugging kiss. “Enough about Red…” And he proceeded to show Buffy how riveting other topics could be when they were treated right.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Willow had never felt this drained, and considering she wasn’t putting out any magical energy whatsoever, that was quite a feat. Walking the length and breadth of Sunnydale to try and tame her rage was exhausting, but it seemed to have done the trick, even if it left her wandering the streets at night. She should have been worried about this, being as defenceless as pre-magic Willow once again, but for some reason the newly non-witch could barely summon up the energy to care.

Feeling a tremor run through her body at the unexplainable apathy, Willow wrapped her arms around herself and gave in to a bout of the shivers. Not one of her friends had appreciated the sacrifice she’d made. Not one of them understood the pain her body was in constantly for having something so elemental to her being ripped away. She hated them for that—hated Spike the most because it gave her a focus besides her own friends. People that she’d supported with everything she was through each of their meltdowns, but when she’d needed them, all she’d received were ultimatums. And their backs.

About to slip into a fugue of self pity spurned on by bitter resentment, Willow almost lost her footing when the familiar deep voice of the hated vampire sounded abruptly into the night. A quick assessment had Willow realising Buffy wasn’t with him and so she hid, hoping and praying that this might be some kind of karma or gift—allowing her to see the real Spike to which the Slayer seemed so oblivious.

Spike was meeting with two demons—their red skin looked blistered and painful in the dim light of the street lamp but their too round eyes glowed a really astounding shade of purple. They were pleading.

“Please, Spike,” the shorter one implored, his voice high-pitched and desperate. “You’ve got to keep the Slayer away from the ritual.” A quick, conspiring look between the demons had Willow straining a little closer, eager to hear Spike’s response. Some agreement was reached through the silent communication and Willow held her breath impatiently. “We’ll pay you,” the other one offered in a frantic burst.

The lure of a reward for keeping Buffy out of the demon’s way seemed to pique Spike’s interest and he tilted his head to the side in consideration. “Just how much you offerin’?” he demanded, completely oblivious to the wide, malicious grin that had taken over Willow’s face.

Excited twitter erupted between the two demons and they clasped hands before facing Spike again. “How about a quarter of the profits from the first harvest?”

Willow didn’t mistake the surprised widening of Spike’s eyes and knew she was onto something big the second a confident grin split his face.

“I think you blokes have got yourselves a deal. Chuck in a bottle of Jack and some of those spicy chicken wings from the Bronze and look forward to a slayerless ritual,” Spike smirked, pure pleasure at the transaction obvious in the way he rubbed his hands together and pushed away from the wall he’d been slouching against.

Without even one second’s consideration the consequences of colluding with Demons, Spike had launched himself at the demon most likely perceived as the leader and shook hands on the deal. Willow shook with anger and turned away abruptly, the evidence of Spike’s betrayal making her feel slightly sick despite her excitement at being able to expose him to Buffy as the lying, cheating bloodsucker she’d always known he was.

Now she just had to get back home without becoming some other evil’s nighttimes’ snack.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

As much as Buffy felt her heart sink to her toes, she couldn’t help but be bitter at Willow’s obvious glee at having the whole crowd assembled for her explosive announcement. Anya and Xander had called in on the way back from the airport—announcing in great satisfaction that the honeymoon had consisted of little more than copious amounts of invigorating marital sex—while Tara had been by to see Dawn and Buffy on one of her generous, selfless visits.

Disappointed silence had answered Willow’s stirring account. Deep down each one of them had a desire to disbelieve Spike of such a lapse now that he’d managed to get everything he’d said he ever wanted in Buffy at his side. However, the past had a way of rearing it’s ugly head.

Buffy fell onto the couch and stared at the carpet. She struggled to let her heart tell her the truth—she wanted to believe he was innocent and the fact that Willow was the one with the news made that a little easier than she’d expected, but the memory of Spike’s stint as The Doctor was still a too fresh memory.

“I know the bloodsucker is evil and all, but I really thought he was bleaching his hat as well as his hair these days,” Xander muttered, his shoulders slumped as he looked around trying to find just one face in the crowd that wasn’t quite ready to throw in the towel on the vampire.

Unsurprisingly, he found it in Dawn. The teen’s face was scrunched up in anger as she rounded piercing, all-knowing eyes on the out-of-favour witch. Just as her mouth opened and she was about to blast Willow right out of the house, the front door swung open and the subject of their discontent swaggered into the living room.

“Evenin’ all,” Spike drawled, almost swinging with feline grace into an armchair before surveying the glum and shocked expressions around the room with his own faltering smile.

“And a happy nightfall to you too, blood breath,” Xander greeted, though the grimace on his face as he failingly attempted to warn Spike of the rising storm belied any such good wishes.

“Buffy!” Dawn exploded, her arms crossed and her foot tapping a furious beat into the floor. “I think it’s time Willow either goes to bed or leaves the house, because I for one will not be held accountable for what I might do in the heat of the moment.”

Buffy raised tired eyes, exhaustion and the beginnings of a headache making her body collapse back in her chair.

“Willow is just trying to protect us, Dawnie. However, I’m not going to take what she’s told us at face value without an explanation from Spike first. I think I at least owe him that after the whole blowing up of his crypt incident. But for my sanity, please tell me it’s not an evil ritual to do with demon eggs,” she begged, turning to pin Spike with an alert and desperate gaze.

“What’s that?” Spike asked, a cute quirk to his brow showing his current confusion.

“The ritual you’ve agreed to keep Buffy from—so your demon friends can have a fine old time of hatching whatever evil they want without Buffy knowing a thing about it.” Willow stood back and smirked at the vampire, confident that Buffy would kick his ass all the way to his crypt and none of them would have to see him interfering in Buffy’s life ever again.

“You mean the fertility ritual?” Spike asked, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. And then the proverbial penny dropped and his lips thinned, dark eyes swivelling to the over-confident witch.

Growling in anger, a flash of gold turned his expression feral for just a moment and no one in the room could mistake his impulse for turning his demon on the witch. His control was a relief, but as the story unfolded, it wasn’t just Xander that wondered how Spike was able to restrain himself from lashing out at those that tried to keep him apart from Buffy.

“What bollocks are you trying to spread, Witch? That I’m out doing evil behind the Slayer’s back? That I’m untrustworthy and gonna kill her in her sleep?” His dislike for the redhead he’d once admired hung heavily in the silent room.

“Spike,” Buffy said softly, successfully getting Spike to redirect his focus to her. “Tell me the bits Willow doesn’t know. Please?”

He sighed, the fight dissipating on the first hint of Buffy giving him a reasonable chance to explain himself.

“It’s corn,” he said, his voice roughened with renewed amusement.

“I knew it!” Xander exclaimed, the newly married bricklayer coming to life, finger pointing directly at Spike. “Spike’s abetting the ritualised slaughter of evil corn.” His face creased in confusion for a moment before his finger started to waggle back and forth, not knowing who or what to focus on now that his statement had succeeded in confusing him. “No, wait, why would they slaughter evil corn when they are, in turn, evil themselves?” Xander retracted his hand and scratched his chin. “Nope. I’ve got nothing.”

Buffy snorted before turning back to Spike and forcing herself to take this seriously. “So, you were planning to keep this corn ritual from me? How evil is it likely to get?”

Spike leaned back and appeared to be resting, his lids dropping to half mast as he looked Buffy over and set her body temperature through the roof. “If you call a bollocks ritual to make Sunnyhell’s soil fertile enough to supply half the continent with their corn evil, then pretty damn evil.”

A quiet giggle tinkled past Tara’s lips before she could prevent it, and almost guiltily she threw an apologetic smile at her ex-girlfriend, it turning to a concerned frown at Willow’s seething hatred.

“So the world consumes killer corn now? Man, we are so doomed.” Xander shook his head and collapsed against the wall behind him, shoulders slumped in gastronomic misery.

Buffy was unable to hide the relief she felt that Spike wasn’t corrupting his new and improved self and was just glad she didn’t have to worry about Willow’s accusations. Tired from the struggle of it all, she sighed. “I thought we’d agreed on the ‘no more favours for the evil demons’ thing?” The gentle reprimand was meaningless as amusement passed from Buffy’s expression to each of her friends in the room—except Willow.

“I can’t believe this. If this thing was so…so…non-evil then why are they paying Spike money to keep Buffy away from it? He must be lying,” Willow refuted, shaking with fury.

“Will’s has a point,” Xander admitted reluctantly, becoming more uncomfortable standing between his best friends as they divided even further. Over Spike. If not for the major good deed that resulted in the firm presence of his wedding ring on his finger and not in the trash, Xander would have felt duty bound to jump Willow’s train until it crashed and burned. Unfortunately, he couldn’t deny there was more to Spike than any of them had given him credit. The handyman felt he owed it to show the vamp some sign of loyalty, but it wasn’t as easy as it looked.

All turned to Spike, but he only had eyes for Buffy. There was no shadow of deceit as he pleaded his case. “Every demon in this place is terrified of you, pet. These blokes aren’t evil—just looking out for their clan and earning their way. Plenty of demons do it, Buffy. I was going to tell them they were safe but then they offered up the cash. Bloody generous offer too. Thought it might help ease things for a bit.” Head bowed like a naughty boy, Spike waited for the blow. The silence stretched and his heart clenched in pain, expecting the worst and wondering when it was he’d learn not to be such a stupid wanker that screwed everything up.

Buffy sniffled and he looked up, releasing a raspy breath at the soft look of love on her face. Her lips teased in a smile, her eyes shimmering with tears of gratitude, and then she hugged him and the tension eased from his body.

“Thank you,” the Slayer whispered in his ear.

Nobody noticed as Willow slipped quietly out the front door.