Chapter One

“Slayer?”

“Spike?”

“What did you do?” Spike’s tone was hard, scornful.

“What did I do?” Buffy crossed her arms across her chest and glared.

“Shoulda known it was you when I woke up,” Spike said, “something like this. Reeks of you and your soldier boy. S’not enough that he and his band of merry men stuck that chip in my brain, now you have to go and dump me in the middle of nowhere?”

“Spike, what are you talking about? I haven’t done anything, and neither has Riley.” Buffy paused, and looked around. She and Spike were standing in the middle of a small field, lined on all sides by a snarl of thorned bushes and trees with pointy branches. “If anything, I should be asking you what’s going on.”

“I don’t have a bloody clue, Slayer!” Spike started to pace, leather coat flapping behind him. “Went to sleep in my crypt, woke up here. And that’s all I know, swear it.”

Buffy frowned. Spike wasn’t a very good liar, she’d heard him bluffing on more than one occasion and it was always easy to tell when he wasn’t telling the truth. Right now, it sounded like he was.

“Well, where are we?” She looked around again, eyes travelling the length and breadth of the field, looking for something – anything – to clue her in on their whereabouts.

“Another dimension, I’d wager,” Spike said, and nodded towards the sky. “Sun’s up, and I’m not on fire. Good an indication as any.”

“Great,” Buffy sighed, and sat down on the grass, which was far too green to be natural. “So what do we do?”

Spike eased himself onto the ground next to her, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his forearms on the tops of his legs. “Well don’t look at me!”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Of all the people to get trapped in another dimension with, it had to be you.”

“Yeah, well don’t think I’m any happier about it than you are.” Spike reached into his pockets and cursed when he found nothing but an empty pack of cigarettes.

“Those things will kill you anyway.”

“I’m not even going to bother to answer that one, Slayer.”

“You know, whoever it is that’s put us here has provided lots of nice, pointy bits of tree,” Buffy said. “But not one weapon. How about that.”

Spike slipped into game face and stuck his tongue out. “Don’t need a weapon.”

“Cute,” Buffy said. “But I thought weapons made you feel all manly?”

“So sweet of you to remember all the little things I’ve said,” Spike smirked. “’Course, I am a pretty interesting bloke, so s’only natural.”

“The only interesting thing about you, Spike, is the pile of dust that’ll be left after I’m done staking you.”

“Ooh,” Spike mocked. “Sassy. All words and no action though, eh, Slayer?”

“I hate you.”

“Feeling’s more than mutual, pet.”

“Silence!”

Both Buffy and Spike jumped, and looked around to see where the voice had come from. In the corner of the field, the tangle of trees and thorns parted, and two hooded and cloaked figures walked slowly towards them.

“Did the trees just move?” Spike asked.

“We said be quiet! You will obey us, evil minion of the devil!”

Spike snorted, but said nothing more, and looked towards the two men expectantly. “Well? Where are we?”

“All in good time,” the shortest figure spoke, and then indicated his companion. “This is Gavriel, and I am Natan. We are masters of this realm.”

Buffy was getting impatient. “That’s very nice, but it doesn’t explain why you’ve got us trapped here.”

She took a step towards Gavriel and Natan, fists clenched and intending to throw a punch or two. As she neared the men, the air around her became thicker, like tar, until she met a complete resistance when standing in front of them.

“You cannot do us harm,” Natan said, his voice commanding. He waved a hand and a stone table with four chairs appeared. “Please, take a seat.”

Buffy and Spike sat down, shooting wary glances at each other and at the two men. Neither had any idea of what was going on, but it seemed like their hosts were about to make with the big reveal, so for now, they’d listen.

“Gettin’ bored now,” Spike said, and drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Got that explanation for us, chaps?”

“Indeed,” Gavriel nodded. Buffy peered into the folds of his hood, but he was either wearing a mask or had no face. She shuddered, and hoped it was the former.

Natan waved his hand once more, and a patch of air above the table rippled and swelled, distorting into the shape of a window. Through the window, Buffy could see into a dark, dank room where two figures were huddled together against a wall. “You recognise these people?”

“Oh god, Xander and Willow!” Buffy stood up, and tried to seize one of the men – Natan, Gavriel, she didn’t know – by the neck. But she was met once more by the strange resistance of the air, and she sat down, frustrated.

“Mmm, yes, your friends.” Gavriel’s voice was bored, disinterested.

“What have you done to them?”

“Oh, they’re just sleeping. And now: the interesting bit! You must undertake a quest… a game, of sorts, in order to rescue your friends.”

“They’re not my friends,” Spike muttered. “In fact, I hate the lot of ‘em. So I can leave now, yeah?”

“Of course not,” Gavriel laughed. “For what is a game without a little competition? You, my friend, will race against the Slayer in the hopes of beating her to the finish line.”

“Why would I want to do that? Did you not just hear me? I hate the bleedin’ Scoobies.”

“Which is why your reward will be different,” Natan put in. “Something that you desire…”

Spike sat up, and started to look a little more interested. “What would that be, then?”

“If you win, we will remove the behavioural modification chip that is implanted in your brain.”

“What?” Buffy shouted. “You can’t do that!”

“We can, and will,” Natan’s voice was smug. Buffy wanted to hit him. “But only if he crosses the finish line first. If you win, then his chip will remain where it is.”

“And if he wins, what happens to Xander and Willow?” Buffy felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. She wanted nothing more than to be back home, snug and warm in bed with her boyfriend. No, scratch that. She wanted nothing more than to pummel these two idiots and then be back in her nice, comfy bed.

“Should you lose, they too will remain where they are.”

Buffy stared. “So it’s Spike’s chip or my friends?”

“Correct.”

“That’s stupid!” Buffy glanced at Spike. His face was blank except for a tiny crinkle at the corner of his mouth, where it was lifted slightly in the beginnings of a smirk. She had no doubt that he would do anything to get rid of his chip, even if it meant that Xander and Willow had to die.

“Those are the rules,” Natan said. “Now, do you wish to partake in this challenge?”

“What happens if we say no?” Buffy asked.

“Then you will all die.”

“Don’t know about you, Slayer,” Spike said. “But if that’s the only alternative and they’re offerin’ to take out my chip, I’m in.”

“Spike.” Buffy turned to look at the vampire, and gripped his arm, her eyes wide. “Please.”

They both knew what she was asking him. Spike shrugged her hand off, and shook his head. “No can do. I’m in this for myself.”

Buffy turned back to look at Natan and Gavriel, her mouth set in a thin line.

“Explain exactly how this quest thing works, then.” If Spike wasn’t going to co-operate, then she would have to do what she did best.

Win.

-TBC-

Chapter Two

As soon as Gavriel and Natan had declared the game begun, the field and everything in it had dissolved away, leaving Buffy standing in a long, stone corridor.

“Spike?” she said, tentatively. There was no answer, and her Slayer senses were telling her that she was alone. Her mind was racing with the list of rules that the two gamemasters had kindly – she rolled her eyes – provided them with.

First one to find the finish line and cross it would win. No food is provided, everything must be foraged. Nothing is what it seems except for the times when it’s exactly that. No killing your opponent. And absolutely, positively, definitely no working together. Buffy was pretty sure that they wouldn’t have to worry about that one being broken.

Gavriel and Natan had also given both of them a dial on a long, silver chain. There were two hands on the dial: one in red, and the other blue, representing herself and Spike. The hands would move depending on their progress in the game.

Both hands were currently pointing towards the twelve o’ clock position, and Buffy wondered if Spike had thrown himself into the challenge or if he was taking stock like she was.

Buffy shook her head, and moved towards the wooden door at the end of the corridor. She took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

Here we go.

***

When the field dissolved around him, taking the Slayer and the two pompous wankers with it, Spike was feeling pretty cheerful.

Here he was, in an alternate dimension where he could stand in the sun without being burned, play a silly game and get the chip out of his head. He was happy as Larry, and absolutely convinced he’d be able to beat the Slayer.

She might have brawn, but she’d never been one for the brains. ‘Least, that’s the impression he’d always had of her. Whereas he – well, William had been a pathetic ponce – but he’d had a university education and now over a hundred years of life experience. Spike knew he could handle whatever Gavin and Nerdo threw his way and beat the Slayer to the prize.

And what a prize! Getting the chip removed had been his obsession from the moment he’d discovered its existence, and now all he had to do was race Buffy to the finish line? Easy!

He checked the dial on the chain around his neck, and grinned when he saw that Buffy’s blue hand hadn’t moved an inch. Not that he could afford to dilly-dally for too long, of course.

Spike looked around, bemused when he saw that he was in a dark stone corridor, flickering sconces on the walls and a heavy wooden door at one end. Seemed like the two gamemasters had been taking their inspiration from Dungeons and Dragons, circa 1983.

Spike sauntered along the corridor, slipping into his vampire face along the way to help him see better in the half-light. He pushed open the door, and when he saw what was waiting for him, he smirked.

***

Buffy was starting to wonder if Gavriel and Natan had been lying all along, and this wasn’t a quest, it was some sort of sick prank. She had walked through the door, only to find herself in another long corridor, with another door at the very end.

She’d gone through the second door, and had been faced with the same thing all over again: another long corridor, another wooden door, almost identical to the previous. There were two very small differences: this new corridor was ever-so-slightly darker, and the new door was much smaller.

Now she stood in front of the newest door, gazing at it.

“Please don’t lead to another creepy hallway,” she muttered as she lifted the latch and turned the handle. “Damn it!”

Once again: an identical passageway, slightly darker, and with a considerably smaller door at the end. Buffy groaned. “Is this a test in patience? 'Cos I gotta tell ya, mine’s wearing thin right about now!”

Buffy wasn’t tall, not by a long shot, but she had to bend almost double to fit through. She felt like crying when she saw what lay ahead. “I feel like Alice in Wonderland. I just hope this one doesn’t lead to a sea of my own tears.”

It didn’t, but there was yet another hallway, and another door, this one so small that she had to wriggle ungraciously through it on her stomach. She stood up, and broke into a wide smile of relief when she found herself not in yet another passageway, but a dimly lit room.

There was a lone torch in a sconce on the wall next to her head, and in the flickering light, she could make out two tall, shadowy figures standing next to each other against the back wall. “Hello?”

“Welcome.” The voice was low and gravelly, and sent a shiver down Buffy’s spine.

“You are challenged with the task of making a decision,” said the other, as both figures took one step to the right, revealing that they had been standing in front of identical doors.

“Not more doors!”

“You must decide through which of these doors you will pass,” the first spoke again. “One will lead you on your way; the other will take you back to the beginning of the game. But the passage back will be more difficult second time around, and yet more dangerous and challenging on your third.”

“When questioned, one of us will answer only lies.”

“And when questioned, one of us will tell only truths.”

“You may ask one question, and one question alone. Make sure it is a wise one.”

Buffy stared at the two men, shoulders slumping slightly as she closed her eyes. Her mind was already beginning to spin, and she hadn’t even started to think about what question she would ask.

She pouted. “Great. Brain stuff. I was never good at that.”

***

The man had pounced on him almost as soon as he’d walked through the door. Spike had ducked, whirling out of the way, worried that his opponent was human and would set the chip off if he retaliated.

When the man’s face began to morph and shift into that of an animal – a dog or a wolf, Spike wasn’t sure – Spike grinned around his fangs and threw himself into the fight, relishing the punches he landed on the hybrid’s body.

The shapeshifter was a good fighter, returning Spike’s thrusts and parries with kicks and blows that shook him to the core. It had been a long time since Spike had been able to fight someone this skilled. In fact, the last time had been when he’d had the Gem of Amarra and had been fighting the Slayer, almost a year ago, now.

Spike missed the days when he and Buffy had fought. He might hate the bint, but he could appreciate a good fighter, and she was one of the best. Not as good as he was, ‘course.

With that thought, he swept his leg around, catching the shapeshifter behind the knees and knocking him to the ground.

Spike dropped to his knees, straddling the half-man, half-animal across its chest, and seized its head. He gave it a sharp twist, and with a satisfying crack, its neck broke and it died instantly.

“Well that was piss-easy,” Spike said, sneering.

The far wall of the chamber began to slide sideways, and Spike guessed that was his way out.

He looked down at the corpse, considering. Seemed a shame to let good blood go to waste. The bloke was a demon, but a hybrid: his blood would be mostly human. And who knew when he’d get his next meal.

Decided, Spike dropped to his knees beside the shapeshifter and brought it close to his mouth. He sunk his fangs into its neck, and began to drink.

***

Buffy felt like banging her head against the stone of the wall. Trapped in this room, which was becoming hotter and stuffier by the moment, she had no idea of how much time had passed. It felt like forever, her mind going round and round in circles trying to work out the riddle.

And all the while, the two guards had remained as still as statues, not saying anything, barely even breathing. They stared, though. She could feel the two sets of tiny, beady eyes boring into the back of her head - having turned to escape their gaze much earlier - and it was unnerving.

Buffy tried to organise her thoughts, and take it from the beginning.

“Okay. One of them can only tell the truth, and one of them can only tell lies. I get one question. But I don’t know which of them tells lies and which of them tells the truth. So I can’t just up and ask one of them if the door they’re guarding is the way out, because I don’t know if they’re the liar or not.” She closed her eyes and sighed. This was the same conclusion she had come to over and over, and she was just getting more and more confused. There was a logical answer, she knew it. It probably wasn’t even that difficult. But damned if she could work out what it was!

“Where’s Giles when you need him?” Buffy voiced the rhetorical question to the room, then immediately clapped her hands across her mouth. “That wasn’t my question!

Neither of the guards moved, and Buffy sighed in relief. She shot a wary glance at the dial around her neck. She hadn’t looked at it yet, too afraid that she would see Spike’s red hand far ahead of her blue one, and that would just frustrate her more.

She looked at it now, and sure enough: Spike’s indicator had moved around the face of the dial, and was now lined up with the five past the hour position.

“Great. Stupid vampire.” She dropped the dial back around her neck, and stared at both doors, hoping that the answer would pop into her mind. “Think, Buffy, think. You can do this.”

“Wait. If I asked one of the guards to point to the way out, I wouldn’t know if they were lying or telling the truth. But if I asked him which door the other guard would point to for the way out, and then took the opposite one…” She trailed off. “Cos, he would then be the liar? Or not? Is that right?”

She rubbed her eyes, fighting the onset of a headache. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Buffy stood up, and addressed her question to the guard on the right. “Which door would the other guard point to, if I asked him which was the way out?”

The guard’s face remained expressionless, but he lifted a robed arm and indicated the door behind him. Buffy let out a breath.

“Okay. So… I’m going to take the other one.”

The guards said nothing, so she stepped forwards, trying to feel confident in her choice. She lifted the latch, and turned the handle, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t find herself back at the beginning of the game.

When she saw the green grass and bright sunshine that lay beyond the door, she felt like sobbing in happiness.

Instead, she stepped through the door, without a second glance back towards the guards.

-TBC-

Chapter Three

Exhaustion was beginning to set in. Buffy didn’t know how long she had been walking, but it felt like forever. When she had left the room with the two guards, she had been relieved – happy, even – to be on her way.

The meadow she had stepped out into had been pleasant, the sun at just the right warmth and a nice breeze in the air. She’d been able to see quite far into the distance, and it appeared to be more of the same: picturesque fields and blue skies with little groves of trees, their leaves creating a dappled shade on the ground.

There had been a stony path, and Buffy had decided that was probably the way to go. Now, who-knew-how-many hours later, the picture-book landscape had turned foul. The sun was beating down relentlessly, and Buffy had come across neither food nor water.

The gamemasters had said that they would have to forage for food, but if there was nothing to forage, what good was that? She was sweaty, tired, hungry and getting desperate for a drink, but all she could see for miles ahead was the path winding endlessly into the horizon.

Buffy had taken to obsessively checking the dial. Her hand was now lined up with Spike’s, both of them hovering between the five-past and ten-past positions.

She found herself wondering what he was doing, whether he had had to solve a stupid riddle and was now trekking across the alternate dimension, or if his tasks were something different.

Buffy hoped that whatever he was up to, he was having as much fun as she was. Of course, fun in the sense that it’s not.

Boredom – that was another thing. God, was she ever fed up of only having herself for company! Buffy felt so starved for someone to talk to, that she would even have put up with Spike and his sarcastic comments.

She laughed out loud at her thoughts, and once she started, she found she couldn’t stop. This place was going to drive her insane, she knew it.

***

It was dark outside when Spike stepped through the gap in the wall. A clear, crisp night where every star was visible in the sky – not that any of them in this alternate dimension were familiar to him.

Spike was feeling pretty chuffed with himself. He’d defeated his opponent easily, filled himself up with the wanker’s blood – and the human part of the shapeshifter had made it the sweetest meal he’d had in months – and so far, it seemed like all he had to do next was take a stroll through the countryside.

He felt invigorated, and even seeing that the Slayer’s blue hand had caught him up was not enough to dampen his spirits. Spike walked along casually for a few miles, but his veins were racing with the borrowed blood and he decided to sprint for the next few. With a loping run, he ate up the miles, though what he was headed towards, he didn’t know.

After some time, he slowed down to a walk, noting the lightening of the sky in the east, and the innate vampire sense that told him dawn was near. He grinned, not tired in the least, and knowing that he could withstand the sun in this dimension, continued walking.

He knew something was wrong when he felt his skin begin to tingle, and then he stared in horror as his hands began to blister and burn. Spike glanced up at the sky, and saw that the sun was rising, hanging low and heavy and red on the horizon.

Smoke started to rise from his flesh, and he yelled in pain, looking around frantically for shelter. He slid his hands up into the sleeves of his duster, and then pulled it up over his head, trying to protect his face from the sun.

What the bleeding hell was going on? Yesterday, the sun hadn’t harmed him at all. He had been able to bask in it, enjoy it even.

“Not fair of you to change the bloody rules!” he shouted to the sky, as he ran for a grove of trees in the distance.

The trees were small, insubstantial saplings, and provided very little shade. One gust of wind – and well, he’d be dust in the breeze. He could see nothing in the immediate area that he could use to shelter for the day, just more groups of trees.

Spike crouched down against the trunk of the tree with the biggest canopy of leaves, and shrugged off his coat. He curled up as small as he possibly could, and then draped the coat around himself. He’d never been more thankful for the duster as he had in that moment.

The chain with the dial at the end had pooled in his lap, its bright face staring up at him. His indicator was still level with the Slayer’s, but he knew that she could very well overtake him whilst he was incapacitated. Spike turned the dial over, not wanting to look at it any more, and laid his head on his knees.

He’d just have to wait the day out. Be patient. He snorted.

Never been any good at that.

***

He’d slept, must have, because he jolted towards consciousness so suddenly it made him jump. Spike raised his head cautiously, peering out from between a crack in the leather. It was dark.

Spike stood up, shaking out his coat and stretching his stiff muscles. Hadn’t been a particularly comfy resting place, but he’d slept in worse. The unfamiliar pattern of stars smattered the sky, and tonight, there was a bright moon.

As he stood, he felt a sharp pain in his chest, a tightening across the skin that lay above his unbeating heart. He took a couple of deep breaths, confused by the prickling in his lungs.

Spike shook his head, refusing to dwell on it, instead hurrying back towards the path that hopefully led to the finish line and his freedom from the chip. Spike wondered how much mileage he had lost to the Slayer whilst napping the day away, but when he checked, he was surprised to see that her hand on the dial had not advanced any further than his.

“Well, well. Looks like the Slayer’s been having some troubles of her own.”

Slightly appeased, he set off. He hadn’t been walking for more than an hour, all the while ignoring the oddly-human aches and pains in his chest, when he felt his vampire sense tingling, signalling the sunrise.

“What the…”

He couldn’t have slept the clock around, could he? No, surely not.

He was about to make another mad dash towards the trees, when he realised that the sun had fully risen, and he wasn’t on fire.

“Fucking idiots!” he growled. “Messin’ with me like that!”

He had a feeling that things weren’t going to be as simple as he’d first thought.

***

Buffy knew she had to be hallucinating when she saw the settlement up ahead. It wouldn’t surprise her, she felt lightheaded and dizzy with the lack of food and water. But the image of the small town was an enticing one, and she sped up her pace, just a little.

The buildings were candy-coloured and the town was chocolate-box quaint. When she stepped onto the main street, she felt something strange pass through her, a shudder that began at her toes and worked its way up to her head. She shook it off, desperate to find something to drink.

The door to the nearest house was open, and Buffy hurried towards it, going in and quickly finding the kitchen. She fell upon the sink and gulped down several mouthfuls of water, relishing the icy coldness.

When her thirst was quenched, she opened the refrigerator, finding ham and lettuce and a tomato. There was bread on the counter, and Buffy quickly put together a sandwich, which she wolfed down in no time at all.

Fed and watered, the tiredness she had been keeping at bay crept over her once more, and she went into the living room, lay down on the couch, and fell asleep.

Buffy was awoken some time later by the sound of a key jiggling in the lock of the front door. She sat up, and stretched, and then felt that same strange charge pulse through her body. She looked towards the door, and smiled when she saw Spike walk through, arms loaded with groceries.

“Hey pet. I’m home.”

***

Chapter Four

6:03 a.m.

Buffy came awake suddenly, not sure what had woken her. She groaned, her eyes feeling grimy with sleep, and rolled over to look at the bedside clock. Six in the morning was far too early for anyone to be up, let alone someone who had a warm, sleepy husband to snuggle up to.

Buffy leaned her head against his shoulder, nuzzling the skin there and kissing him lightly.

“Morning,” his voice was groggy, not fully alert. “What time is it?”

“Just after six,” Buffy ran her foot up his leg, the fine hairs there tickling her pleasantly. “Too early, I know, but something woke me. Something…” Buffy frowned, sure that she was forgetting to do something, but not knowing what. She shook her head, putting it out of her mind. All she wanted to think about at that moment was how sexy her husband looked first thing in the morning.

***

9:25 a.m.

“Damn, damn, damn.” Buffy glared at the red light, mentally imploring it to change. She was already over an hour late for work, and she just knew her boss wouldn’t accept ‘morning sex with husband’ as a valid excuse.

The light changed to green, and she pressed down on the accelerator, determined not to be any later than she already was.

When she finally arrived at work, Buffy was in a foul mood. It had seemed like every set of traffic lights was against her, and the traffic as she'd neared the town centre had been unbelievable. Little Waterton wasn't a particularly large place, but it seemed like everyone and his dog had been out in force, all determined to keep her from getting to work at a reasonable time. Buffy pulled into the car park and swerved angrily into an empty space, the brakes squealing as she came to a stop. She got out of the car, and slammed the door shut - and the window shattered.

"What? No!" She kicked the side of the car, putting a huge dent in the blue paint. "Seriously? I didn't even kick that hard! Argh!"

Suffice to say, her day wasn't going well.

***

11:33 a. m.

Finally ensconced in her tiny cubicle, the reports she had to work through piled high to her right, and her ancient piece-of-crap computer to her left, Buffy let herself relax. Her boss, an evil weasel of a man named Simms, had yelled at her for a good ten minutes about punctuality and presentation. Was it her fault that in her frustration over ruining her car, she hadn't been looking where she was walking and splashed across a deep puddle? And she still didn't understand how slamming the door had caused the window to shatter, or how her gentle tap of a kick had put the huge dent in the side.

Buffy logged onto the computer and shuffled the stack of papers into a tidy pile. She peered around, hoping that Simms wasn't anywhere near, then laid her head on her arms, and fell asleep.

***

She was dreaming, she knew it. The strange sort of dreaming where you are completely aware that it’s not real, but it feels so much like reality that you can’t quite work out what is truth and what is a lie.

He had her husband’s face. His sharp, angular features, clear blue eyes and full, pouty lips. The hair was the same: bleached a bright white and slicked back neatly. He wasn’t dressed at all like William; the man in her dream wore all black: tight jeans and an even tighter t-shirt. Billowing around his legs were the tails of a long, leather coat.

He was standing in an alley, watching the door of what looked to be a club. His eyebrows were raised, and his lips were pulled into a cruel smirk.

There was a sudden crash, and Buffy saw herself – a young, perky-looking version of herself – stride out into the alley, shoving a man in front of her. She watched with amazement and a little bit of horror as her younger self threw kicks and punches at the man – and was there something wrong with his face? To the side were two teenagers: a brunette boy and a redheaded girl.

When she saw the two teens, Buffy felt a pang of something shoot through her, and even though she was in a dream, she knew there was something important about them. But she couldn’t quite work out who they were or how she recognised them. It was frustrating.

As she watched, her younger self grabbed a sharpened piece of wood from the boy, and stabbed the man she’d been fighting in the chest, and he exploded into dust. Buffy gaped as the sound of slow, somehow sarcastic clapping emanated from where William stood.

“Nice work, love.” His voice was the same as her husband’s, the deep, measured tones of an English accent.

“Who are you?”

“You’ll find out on Saturday.”

“What happens on Saturday?”

“I kill you.”

***

1:13 p.m.

"No!"

Buffy shot awake, the last part of her dream resonating in her mind. It had all seemed so real, so intense. What happens on Saturday? I kill you. Hearing those words… dream or not, it had shaken her. She shuddered, and picked up the phone, struck by an odd need to call her husband, to make sure that he was okay. That the dream had been just that - a dream.

The dialling tone rang out. No answer. Buffy hung up, and dialled again. No reply. She frowned, and checked her watch. Just gone one p.m. He should be there, sitting in the study, working on his book. That, or lounging around the living room, catching up on the latest episode of Passions – all in the name of research, of course.

Buffy set the phone back in its cradle, and tapped her fingers on the desk, wondering what to do. Of course, he could have gone out, but there was that niggling sense of something being not quite right, and it was sending prickles of unease down her spine.

The ringing of the phone made her jump, and she smiled, sure that this would be William.

“Hey, sweetie.”

There was a pause, then, “Hello? Is this Mrs. Summers?”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Buffy bit her lip. “I thought it was my husband calling.”

“Ah. Mrs. Summers, my name is Bill Greenwood; I’m a nurse at Little Waterton General. Your husband-”

“Oh, God! Is he all right?”

“He’s in no immediate danger. Mr. Summers was admitted earlier today with breathing difficulties and burns to the face and hands. And he’s exhibiting some other - rather odd – symptoms.”

“What symptoms?”

“I think it would be best if you came down to the hospital before I explain any further, Mrs. Summers.”

“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

***

2:05 p.m.

Buffy brushed the hair back off William’s forehead, careful not to touch the burned skin on his face. He shifted slightly, and Buffy snatched her hand away, not wanting to hurt him.

“Buffy?”

“Hey.” She smiled. “How do you feel?”

William sat up, struggling a little, then smirked half-heartedly. “Like hell.”

“What happened? The doctor tried to explain, but…”

William shrugged. “Not really sure. I fell asleep on the sofa, dreamed a bit, next thing I know, I’m waking up and my hands and face are on fire, and I can hardly breathe. Bloody weird, it was.”

“On fire?” Buffy frowned, a sudden flash of William looking sick and pasty, cowering under a smoking blanket crossing her mind. She shook her head, and the image disappeared.

“Yeah. Doc can’t explain it.”

Buffy frowned again, but said nothing, simply grasping her husband’s hand in her own.

***

5:34 p.m.

The doctors had finally discharged William, and now they were in her car, driving home.

“What happened here, then?” William asked, gesturing at the shattered window.

“I slammed the door, like normal, and it just happened.” Buffy shrugged. “It was really strange.”

“Seems like a lot of odd things have happened to us today,” William frowned. “Keep remembering parts of that bloody dream, too.”

Buffy shuddered as she pulled into the drive of their house, remembering her own dream. She switched off the car engine, and they sat in silence.

“What happens on Saturday?”

“I kill you.”

“I dreamed of killing you.”

“What?” Buffy was jolted from her memory by William’s words. “What did you say?”

William shook his head, then winced. The movement had agitated his burns. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“No! You said… you dreamed of killing me.” Buffy hadn’t been able to shake the sense that something was wrong all day, and she was determined to find out what was going on.

“I… I was a monster,” William began. “Not human. And we were fighting. I had some sort of… ring. A magic ring, was taunting you with it. Then you took it off me, and I started to burn… that’s when I woke up,” he chuckled wryly. “On fire.”

Buffy stared ahead, eyes unfocused as she took in William’s words. Something about what he was saying seemed familiar… if she concentrated, she could almost see the scene unfolding in her mind.

“The gem of Amarra.”

“How did you know that?” William’s voice was sharp.

Buffy frowned. “I don’t…”

Images flashed behind her eyes, of William, always wearing the long leather coat, smirking evilly. Of herself, kicking and punching her way through cemeteries. The redheaded girl and brunette boy from her dream, and an older man with glasses, nearly always by her side.

Buffy opened her eyes when she felt the steering wheel crack under her hands. She had been gripping it too tightly.

She looked towards William, and saw that his skin was reddening again, thin wisps of smoke rising from his hands and face. His eyes were wide as he stared at her, one hand held against his chest.

“Buffy-” he reached out and grasped her hand. “My heart- something’s wrong-”

Buffy scrambled to undo her seatbelt, fumbling in her purse for her cell phone. Her finger hovered over the nine, but before she could press it, everything went black.

***

Buffy blinked, and sat up. It was dark, and she appeared to be sitting on the ground. She stood up, brushing the dirt from her jeans, wondering what was going on.

She felt him before she saw him, tell-tale vampire tingles tickling the back of her neck. When he stepped into her view, Buffy gasped, frozen, as memories of the day assaulted her. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground.

“Spike. What did you do?”

TBC

Chapter Five

Buffy huddled deeper into her nest of blankets, her teeth chattering from the chill. She had been staring disconsolately at the shiny face of the dial around her neck for some time, her blue hand perfectly in line with Spike’s red one.

Both pointers had moved ever-so-slightly around the dial, and Buffy could only conclude that the day in Little Waterton had been part of the game, one of the challenges. A challenge that had left her feeling empty, abused and violated.

She sighed, and squeezed her eyes shut; wishing she could just click her heels together and be back home, with no memory of what had happened between her and Spike.

Spike. He had stormed off not long after they had come round from whatever magic the gamemasters had used on them, apparently unwilling to put up with the insults and accusations Buffy had thrown at him.

She had been caught in the moment, forgetting that it had probably been Gavriel and Natan who had orchestrated the whole thing. She had taken one look at Spike, and seen red, punching him in the nose without a second thought.

Looking back, Buffy realised that Spike had looked as bewildered and lost as she had, underneath his customary smirk and sneer. After her first punch connected with his nose, he had blocked her second and third attempts, before turning in a swirl of black leather and running off into the dark, a muttered, “We’re in the same bloody boat here!” echoing behind him.

Buffy’s eyes blurred, and she laid her head on her knees, not making any attempt to brush them away. She didn’t even know why she was crying, she was the Slayer, for god’s sake! A silly thing like this shouldn’t bring her to tears.

But she felt violated. Dirty. It was a repeat of Willow’s will-be-done spell, only a thousand times worse. Under the influence of Willow’s magic, she and Spike had been engaged, in love and unable to keep their hands off each other.

This, though… they had been married. Husband and wife, and everything that entailed. Buffy’s face burned as she remembered the events of the morning. Sex. Sex with Spike. The gamemasters had forced her into a situation where she’d willingly slept with Spike, and she felt disgusted with herself.

On one level, she knew that it was not her fault – and she could grudgingly admit that it wasn’t Spike’s fault either. But another, less rational part of her, felt that she should have realised what was going on sooner, that Spike should have known.

It shouldn’t have happened. She hadn’t wanted it to happen. But it had, and now she didn’t know how to feel. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Not only the sex, though that occupied a large part of her thoughts, but the rest of it. The happy, suburban marriage. The run-of-the-mill job, the perfect little house and family-sized car. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had felt like a normal woman, with no responsibilities beyond avoiding her boss and remembering which groceries to buy.

Buffy sighed. There was a small part of her that still longed for that kind of life, and it pained her to know that it would probably never happen. She was the Slayer, and they were always destined to be alone.

She looked around once more at the shabby walls of the lean-to she’d found earlier, conveniently near to where she’d woken-up from the distorted reality of Little Waterton. There had been a bowl of water, and a small loaf of bread next to a pile of ratty blankets, but she had ignored them, not giving into the hunger or thirst that was gnawing at her stomach.

Buffy huddled deeper into the blankets, and pulled her knees into her chest. A few moments later, she had fallen into an uncomfortable slumber.

***

There was something watching her. Buffy had awoken a few minutes earlier, and when she had sensed the presence of something else nearby, kept her eyes firmly closed.

She took a couple of deep breaths, and then used her Slayer senses to try and get a bearing on who – or what – was in the lean-to with her.

It was a few feet to her right, perfectly still and emitting no sound. It didn’t feel particularly demony, there was no tingle at the back of her neck like when a vampire was close, nor the odd gut-wrench she was used to feeling whenever something otherworldly approached.

But there was definitely something there.

Buffy took a few more moments to mentally catalogue all of the resources she had on hand. Bowl of water? Check. Stale loaf of bread? Check. Anything that would actually be useful? A big fat zilch.

She supposed, at a stretch, she could use the metal bowl to cause some damage, or pull a loose piece of wood from the walls of the lean-to, but if she opened her eyes to a slavering beast, the makeshift weapons wouldn’t last long at all.

No matter, they would have to do. She made a mental note of where each potential weapon was: metal bowl to her right, rotting plank to her left, and opened her eyes.

“Oh!” Buffy scrambled to her feet, eyes wide as she took in the last thing she had expected to see. “It’s you!”

***

Spike knew something was wrong when he woke up in his Sunnydale crypt, and not the little hut he’d hunkered down in the morning before.

He jumped down from the sarcophagus, and looked around. Everything seemed normal, as it had been before: ratty old armchair, black and white television and old-fashioned fridge. Even the dust and cobwebs that lined every surface were the same.

Spike shrugged, taking it in his stride. Perhaps the Watcher had found a way to free them from the other dimension. He sauntered to the fridge, and took out a packet of blood, grimacing in distaste at the sight of it congealing slightly at the sides. He had just taken one long pull of the red liquid, when the door to his crypt slammed open, and in strode the Slayer.

“Your Watcher get us back then, Slayer?”

Buffy glared at him, then took a stake from her back pocket. “I’m done.”

“What’s that?”

“You took advantage of me.” Buffy’s voice was calm. She walked towards him, stake held out in front of her, steps steady.

Spike frowned. “We took advantage of each other, if I recall. Not my bloody fault.”

“I should have done this years ago.” Buffy lifted the stake, and moved even closer.

Spike could tell that she was deadly serious, more so than she had ever been when trying to kill him. And at that moment, he was done, too.

“You know what? Do it. Bloody just do it.”

Buffy lowered the stake slightly, confusion entering her eyes. “What?”

“End… my… torment. Seeing you, every day, everywhere I go,” Spike chuckled, wryly. “I get tornadoed off to the land of bloody Oz and you’re there. Take me out of a world… that has you in it! Just kill me!”

At the end of his impassioned speech, Spike tore his shirt off, giving her clear access to his heart.

They stared at each other for a few moments of charged silence, and then Spike grabbed Buffy by the shoulders, drawing her close to him, pressing the front of her body against his, and he kissed her.

The kiss sent tingles up his spine, and he pulled her even closer, his hands wandering up and down her back, into her hair.

“Spike… I want you.”

Spike nuzzled her neck, taking in the sweet-smell of her hair. “Buffy, I love you. God, I love you so much.”

***

Spike jolted awake with a gasp, eyes wide as the dream replayed itself before his eyes. He looked around frantically, seeing the bare wooden walls of the little hut he’d found the night before. He was still in the other dimension, still in the game. It had been a dream.

“Oh, God, no.” Buffy, I love you. God, I love you so much. “Please, no.”

TBC

Chapter Six

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“If I ask you why, you’ll say something lame about needing a date to the prom, right?” Buffy stepped forward, and put her arm around the man’s neck, locking him into a chokehold. “So, I’m just gonna do this. Now talk. Why are you here?”

“Arghhle-”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Can you not speak?” The man wriggled, trying to break free, and Buffy sighed. “Fine. But if I let you go, you’re going to tell me exactly what’s going on here.” Buffy pulled her arm back, and the man took several steps away from her, rubbing his neck. “And if you don’t explain, well… you know—” She raised her eyebrow.

“Ribcage. Hat. Got it.”

“Start talking.”

***

Buffy tucked her knees up under her chin, and stared at her visitor with narrowed eyes. To say she had been shocked when she’d opened her eyes to find Whistler—the small, ratty messenger from the Powers That Be—standing in front of her, was an understatement.

She’d been expecting some sort of challenge, the next stage of this ridiculous game she was playing, and honestly—she’d have welcomed it. Not one part of the game so far had played to her strengths, and she felt that a good, long fight was well overdue.

No such luck. Although the small tussle she’d engaged him in had helped, a little.

Whistler started pacing up and down in front of her, explaining that he had been sent by the Powers to give her a metaphorical kick up the behind. “So, the long and short of it is: keep going and don’t give up.”

“That’s it?” Buffy sighed. “That’s all you’ve got for me? I don’t understand why your bosses can’t just snap their fingers and send me home.”

Whistler shrugged. “You and the vampire locked yourselves into the game when you agreed to play. The window of opportunity for the Powers to get you out of here passed a long time ago. There’s nothing they can do, even if they wanted to.”

“That sucks.” Buffy pouted.

“Besides, they think it’ll be good for you,” Whistler added. “Learning experience and all that.”

“If you say so,” Buffy said, and sent Whistler a dubious look. “Can you tell me a couple of things, though?”

Whistler nodded. “I can try.”

“Are Willow and Xander really in danger? It’s been in the back of my mind that Gavriel and Natan might have tricked us, but I couldn’t take the chance.”

“They’re locked up, yeah,” Whistler said. “Not in any immediate danger, but the gamemasters won’t hesitate to hurt them or have them killed if you lose the game.”

Buffy paled, and sat up a little straighter. “Tell me how I can save them.”

“You want to know how, kid?” Whistler crouched down, his eyes meeting Buffy’s. “Get your ass into gear and stop messing around.”

Buffy laughed, a wry, slightly hysterical laugh. She shook her head. “You think I’m not trying? I haven’t stopped trying since I got here.”

“You’re the Slayer.” Whistler stood up, and started to pace up and down the tiny shack once more, wagging his finger at her every so often. “You need to stop wallowing in self-pity, stop complaining about the vampire and do something about him!”

At this, Buffy smiled faintly. “So, I get to stake him? Wow, is this some kind of running theme with me, or what? Sleep with a guy and run him through with something sharp and pointy when the Powers That Be ask me to?”

Whistler stopped pacing, and sat down on the dusty floor next to Buffy. “We don’t want you to kill him. We want you to work with him.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You’re not gonna make it if you try to play this game alone. You need him.”

“Like I need a hole in my head, sure!” Buffy jumped up, her mind whirling. She couldn’t process this, couldn’t focus on anything, her head still messed up from the events of the last twenty-four hours. “I can do this on my own!”

“Right, ‘cos you’ve done so well so far,” Whistler goaded. “Look at you. Hiding, crying in a shed, when you should be halfway to the finish line. You’re the Slayer. It’s time you started acting like it.”

Buffy shook her head, mouthing wordlessly. The last thing she wanted to do was to see Spike, let alone work with him, not after what had happened between them. Not after she’d played the doting Stepford wife. Not when her feelings about the whole thing were still so muddled. “But… the gamemasters. They said we couldn’t work together.”

“When have you ever played by the rules? Besides. They’re not so scary.” Whistler shrugged, and winked. “You’ve defeated them before, you can do it again.”

“What?” Buffy’s head shot up, her mind fixing on the last thing Whistler had said. “I’ve fought them before? Yeah, okay, robes and hoods, kind of a theme with the evil guys, but I think I’d remember being sucked into a life-size game of Dungeons and Dragons.”

Whistler grinned. “I didn’t say you’d done this before. Just that you’ve dealt with your puppet masters in the past.”

Buffy felt her patience wearing thin. Why couldn’t the Powers be more specific with their cryptic messages? “So, who are they?”

“I can’t say.”

“Typical.” Buffy rolled her eyes.

“So.” Whistler rubbed his hands together, and moved towards the door. “You need to find your vampire and get yourselves to the finish line.”

“He’s not my vampire!” Buffy replied, her tone indignant. “He’s not my anything.”

“It’s a figure of speech, kid. Focus on the big picture, okay?”

“I guess.” She followed him out of the lean-to, shivering in the early-morning breeze that hit her as she stepped outside. “I still think I could win this on my own.”

Whistler turned, his gaze hard and his mouth set in a grim line, no longer all smiles and joviality. “Listen. You must work with Spike. The gamemasters are still dangerous, and your friends are in big trouble. Got it?”

Buffy nodded.

“Good. Now, I’m allowed to tell you three more things.” Whistler held up three fingers, to make sure he got the point across. “One: the gamemasters are dangerous, but they’re stupid. Predictable. Two: don’t eat any more food that you haven’t killed, caught or picked yourself. Three: follow your heart.”

“Follow my heart?” Buffy repeated. “And you said the gamemasters were predictable?”

Whistler shrugged. “Just doing my job, kid.”

“Right, okay. I get it.” She looked up to the lightening sky, and then down to the dial around her neck. Her pointer was still in line with Spike’s. “Any idea where he is?”

Whistler nodded his head towards a tall hill and a chalk path. “Up there. Cowshed.”

“Ew.” Buffy wrinkled her nose. “So, is he going to be getting a visit from the ghost of apocalypses past, too?”

“’Course not. We’re the PTB, we only help the good guys.”

“Could you get any more ambiguous?” Buffy sighed. “Okay, so, no visit from the Fairy Godfather for Spike. How am I going to convince him to work with me?”

“Oh,” Whistler smirked, backing away, his body starting to fade around the edges. “I don’t think you’ll have to do much convincing at all.”

-TBC-

Chapter Seven

Buffy wondered why Spike’s predatory senses hadn’t kicked in. She was standing not three feet away from him, a small frown on her face as she considered Whistler’s last words to her. She didn’t want to be doing this; she’d much rather be making her way to the finish line on her own. For whatever reason, the Powers That Be seemed to think that she needed Spike, however, and she was too weary to question them.

Spike was sprawled out on the floor of the cowshed, his long leather coat the only mattress between his body and the compacted earth of the ground.

She couldn’t bring herself to wake him. Lying there, curled up in sleep, he looked as peaceful and harmless as she’d ever seen him, and it disconcerted her. Made her think of the alternate reality they’d just escaped from, when he had been her gentle—and occasionally wicked—husband.

He stirred, rolling onto his back, the hem of his shirt rising so that she could see the play of muscles across his stomach. She looked away.

Enough of this. Whistler had as good as called her a coward, and that was not what she was. She was the Slayer, and had faced worse than a neutered vampire. For reasons still unfathomable, the Powers that Be thought she needed Spike in order to win the game and save her friends, so she’d just have to buckle down and get on with it. Put aside the girl in her who’d just had her mind jumbled by the alternate universe.

Bending down, she placed her hand on his shoulder, trying not to notice the cool temperature of his skin as she shook him awake.

It took a while—apparently the dead slept like, well, the dead—but he eventually awoke, sitting up and scrambling backwards from her touch like it burned.

“Spike.” Not sure how to go about this, where to start after the whole faux-marriage fiasco, she sat back on her heels and regarded him with a steady gaze.

He looked flustered and slightly panicked, his eyes darting every which way as though trying to locate the nearest exit. Not Spike-like at all.

“Spike?” She waved a hand in front of his face. “You with me?”

He shook himself, gaze becoming clear and his usual sneer was now firmly in place. “Yeah, I’m here. Got no place else to be, do I?”

“Whatever.” Buffy rolled her eyes, not welcoming the return of Snarky-Spike. “Look, I’ve been thinking. We both want to get out of here, without the whole dying horribly thing, so I think we should… you know, work together.”

“Together?” Spike echoed. “Are you off your nut? Those wanker gamemasters are likely to smite us down without a thought, Pet.”

“I’m the Slayer,” Buffy replied. “Since when do I do what other people tell me?”

Spike snorted, and muttered an agreement.

“Besides,” she continued, “you just said it yourself. The gamemasters. They’re watching us, so we may as well make it interesting for them.”

“Not sure I followed you round that bend, Slayer,” Spike said. “And you’re forgetting one very important thing.”

Buffy folded her arms across her chest and raised her eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I hate you.” His words lacked their usual venom. Running a hand through his hair, which was already dishevelled into springy curls, he stood up. “Not to mention the big old elephant in the room.”

“Huh?” Buffy glanced around quickly, not sure if he meant an actual elephant. In this place, she didn’t doubt it could be possible.

“You know,” Spike said, voice going low as he took a step closer, his eyes fixed on her face. “Playin’ happy families back there?”

Buffy felt her cheeks begin to burn, and turned away. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“What if I do?” Spike shouted. “You weren’t the only one there, Love. You weren’t the only one who was taken advantage of, you know!”

“Oh yeah,” Buffy scoffed. “Like it was such a hardship for you. Sleeping with the Slayer. I’m sure you’ll brag about it to all your demony friends when we get back to Sunnydale.”

“You think I liked being taken over by Stepford Spike? Not having any control over my actions?” He took a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right; maybe we shouldn’t talk about it. Just know that you aren’t the only one who’s angry and embarrassed about it, all right?”

Buffy nodded, shocked by his tirade. He sounded sincere, but she couldn’t quite understand why. Surely sleeping with her was the ultimate coup for someone like him? She sighed, shaking her head. Perhaps it would be best to let it lie, for now.

“Okay, whatever you say.” She moved towards the exit. “Are you coming?”

“Still want me to tag along?” Spike said, sounding surprised.

“Well, yeah,” Buffy replied. “I don’t like you, but I was going stir-crazy, only having myself for company, before the whole alternate reality thing. Besides, you’re handy in a fight. Might be useful.”

Spike eyed her knowingly. “You keep telling yourself that, Slayer.”

“What?”

“Got me in your system now, don’t you?” He smirked, voice teasing. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?” Buffy asked, alternately confused and bemused by his mocking tone. “You’re not making any sense.”

Spike grinned at her, before looking down at the dial around his neck. “Oh, what’s that? Time to go!” He strode towards the doorway, peering outside. “Getting dark—good. Not takin' any more chances with Mr. Sunshine.”

Buffy stared after him, frustrated with his sudden change in mood. She didn’t think she’d ever understand him, and—as she followed him out the cowshed—she wondered why she all of a sudden wanted to.

***

They’d been walking for over an hour, following a chalk track through the landscape that wended its way towards a series of steep hills in the distance. Buffy had taken the lead, all her talk of wanting him along for the company seemingly forgotten as she strode ahead.

Not that he minded. View was nice, her perky little Slayer bottom almost hypnotising him as she walked, her hair bouncing along behind her.

Of course, the sight of the Slayer’s behind could only distract him from his thoughts for so long, and he didn’t particularly want to dwell on those.

Buffy, I love you. God, I love you so much.

It wasn’t possible. He hated the girl—always had, always would. And yet…

Spike scuffed at the ground, kicking a pebble, wishing that he could shut his brain off for a little while. He didn’t want to think about the dream, nor the events that had preceded it.

Playing the doting husband, being content with that boring, suburban life—looking back, it was his idea of hell. But when he’d known no better, when he’d been playing the role of William Summers, husband to Buffy... he had never been happier.

Memories flooded his mind, of waking up with her, sleepy and warm as she snuggled deeper into his arms. Her kisses had begun so sweet, but became frenzied and hurried as they surged together, hips meeting in an ancient dance. How it had felt to be inside her, the sensations so intense that his skin tingled now in remembrance. And then to come to, and realise that it had all been a lie, that his body and mind had been manipulated and used by the gamemasters—he hated it.

Hated them for making him feel that way, for making him realise that he had the warm and fuzzies for the Slayer of all people.

He glared at the back of her head, trying to recall all the reasons he had for disliking her: she was the Slayer, killer of his kind. She’d shagged his grandsire, great poofter that he was, and there had to be something wrong with her if she’d thought that a good idea. Not to mention that her current beau was one of the wankers who’d put the chip in his head.

All perfectly good grounds for hatred, and yet, as he watched her walk ahead, he couldn’t make a single one of them matter.

-TBC-