--


Summer 2003

Dawn and Spike stared at the sky from the back porch of the Summers’ house. Spike had a small smile on his face as he took another drag of his cigarette.

Dawn glanced at Spike and gave a small laugh.

He looked at her.

“What is it, bit?”

“You are so Buffy’s puppy.”

Spike chuckled and grinned as he threw the cigarette to the ground.

“So she’s my bitch, then?”

Dawn giggled and Spike sighed contentedly.

“She makes me...want to write poetry, tell you the truth. But you know my skills in that area.”

Dawn shook her head in sympathy. “Don’t remind me.”

There was a beat where the cicadas held the microphone before Dawn interrupted them saying,

“Ever tried free verse?”

Spike looked at her thoughtfully, his blue eyes glinting.

/She dances with dust in moonlight,
this timid, powerful warrior.
She splashes white fire into my cold heart
when all I can offer her is a bouquet of bent backed tulips
and the silence of the clock./


--


Autumn 2003

Like most fledglings, Buffy had instinctually fought with her demonic facial features forward, and often slipped into her second face at times of high emotion. Normally, after a few years, a fledgling develops enough strength to combat decently without his/her added demon strength but since Buffy had had the advantage of her Slayer strength before she died, she rose to the level of a Master after a few short months.

In the graveyards, Spike coaxed Buffy to learn to become utterly content about her otherworldliness. He trained her as a Watcher would have. But Giles had recently left for England (not on a sour note mind you--there had been many fond goodbyes and tears and presents and the whole Bon Voyage party) because he knew he could no longer give Buffy the training she needed. He could train her light side--and had, very well, for the last few years--but the training of her demon, Giles left that up to her Sire.


--


Winter 2003

April smiled as she looked out the kitchen window, which was uncovered for once, at the Summer’s backyard.

“They still out there?” Dawn said, entering the room with her empty glass and crumb-y plate.

“Yep. It’s understandable, of course, that vampires would enjoy a cloudy day. Although standing around in the backyard does not seem to be very productive.”

Dawn nodded in agreement as she slid her plate and glass into the sink.

“Well, California’s not renowned for English weather. That’s the ‘Sunny’ in Sunnydale,” Dawn quipped off-handedly.

Just then, Buffy bounced in excitedly through the back door.

“Spike and I are going to walk downtown! During the day! Bye!”

April and Dawn watched as Buffy bounced outside again and grabbed Spike by the hand. Then they both darted off with identically huge smiles on their faces.

The android and the former Key looked at each other before simultaneously rolling their eyes.


--


Spring 2003

“Give them back!” Buffy ordered as she made a grab for them again. Spike hopped backwards, out of her reach, laughing.

She scowled, but since she was clad only in a blank tank-top and her underwear, she didn’t look nearly as threatening as she was hoping to. Spike, who was in his jeans and nothing else, just started laughing again.

She leapt toward him but he was quicker, dodging around her and hurriedly scrambling up the ladder one-handed.

Buffy growled in exasperation.

*Why, oh why, don’t I have extra clothes at his crypt?* She thought as she started up the ladder.

She didn’t give him a chance, launching herself at him before he noticed her head appear in the open trapdoor.

Scuffling ensued and the two vampires wrestled, Buffy attempting to get a hold of her pants, which Spike had commandeered and was doing a good job of holding onto.

Finally, Spike managed to roll backwards, removing him from Buffy’s line of fire. Buffy looked up from her place on the ground at the jeans that were still hostage.

Spike’s eyes went a little glassy as the sight in front of him began sparking arousal, and not just in him. They could smell each other getting worked up but neither was going to do anything about it until the other gave up. Which, by the looks of it, wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Buffy stood up slowly, breathing erratic, unneeded breaths that were making Spike harder by the minute.

“I want my pants.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Putting an extra burst of supernatural strength into this attempt, Buffy took him by surprise and took him down. She pinned him to the floor, a hand on each of his shoulders. She was crouched over him, most of her body weight on her knees on either side of him, preventing most contact with his body save the iron grip on his shoulders.

“Give me my jeans,” she said slowly, leaning towards him.

“Don’t really see the point. They’ll be off you again in no time.”

Before she could answer with a witty retort, he had let go of her pants and jolted her hands so that they slipped off of him and onto the floor by his head. Then he quickly leaned up and captured her lips with hers.

*This never gets old* was Buffy’s last coherent thought as her knees slid more apart and sank downwards, her body melting into his.

“Told you,” Spike panted between kisses as he tugged on her panties.

“Shut up and give me /your/ pants,” Buffy giggled as she reached for the button of his jeans.

--


Summer 2004

Willow jumped, nearly choking on her mocha drink, at the sound of a metal trash bin clonking over. She squinted down the alley as a small, dark figure prowled near the crash.

“Don’t worry. It’s just a cat,” Buffy said.

Willow turned to find her friend’s eyes returning to their hazel state from their gold.

“Sorry, my eyes are daylight issue only,” Willow said sheepishly through sips of her iced coffee.

The three of them continued down the road to the Bronze. *I wonder if Buffy knows that she walks like Spike*, Willow thought, watching the two vampires unconsciously link hands as their steps worked in symmetry with the other’s.

Entering the Bronze, Buffy quickly spotted the table at which Xander and Anya were sitting. The wedding was coming up soon but the exhausted, soon-to-be-weds agreed to take this one night off of planning.

An hour later, Xander and Anya were swinging it out on the dance floor, but that wasn’t Willow’s focus. After being shoved off his seat by Buffy, Spike reluctantly played gentleman and went to get the two girls drink refills. Willow noted the long line at the bar and jumped at the chance for girl talk.

She leaned forward.

“Spill,” the redhead commanded with a grin.

“About what?” Buffy asked, a small smile betraying her innocent act.

“What’s life with Spike like?”

Buffy thought for a second or two.

“Spike is...He's...the cutest, sweetest, nicest, greatest, sexiest, most romantic, most insensitive jerk I've ever met.”

Willow let out an incredulous laugh at Buffy’s heated statement.

“I mean...sometimes he’s almost the perfect guy. And other times he’s...not almost the perfect guy. I never know to love him or hate him ‘cause everything he does is so good/bad mixy.”

Willow smiled tolerantly.

“Talking ‘bout me and my hot, tight little body?” Spike said with a smirk as he sat down, placing the three drinks he was carrying onto the tabletop. Willow giggled.

“Shut your mouth, Spike,” Buffy said with a toying glare.

“Shut it for me, Slayer,” he shot back, a sparkle in his eye.

Buffy’s head did a quick tilt as if to say, ‘Okay, your funeral’ before throwing out a punch aimed at her lover’s face. Spike blocked it, simultaneously catching her wrist in an iron grasp.

Buffy glared again.

Willow rolled her eyes in good-natured exasperation. When she looked back again at the couple seated across from her, they were now kissing, Buffy’s wrist still in Spike’s grip.

Willow fought a laugh and rolled her eyes again.

--

Autumn 2004

Buffy grumbled in silent gloom as she trudged through the cemetery. The recent thunderstorms had made the usually well-kept graveyards of Sunnydale irritatingly soggy and muddy. Buffy’s shoes squelched as she patrolled, keeping an eye out for her Mate.

Hearing a noise, she turned suddenly. Unfortunately she had forgotten about the soggy ground and instead of spinning into a fighting stance, she found herself flat on her back on the squishy grass.

Buffy groaned in embarrassment more than pain. When her eyes opened, she was met with her amused Sire standing over her.

She took his outstretched hand and he pulled her to her feet.

Two fledgling vampires and an axe-wielding Hornet Demon later, the two vampires sat on the lid of an outdoor stone sarcophagus. She absentmindedly played with the axe she had taken as her spoil of war; he absentmindedly played with her hair.

“I just realised that I never really had a funeral. I wasn’t traditionally buried. I guess that’s sorta metaphoric-y. Like I never really died. Which is good I guess. It would be too wiggy having to see my gravestone,” Buffy babbled.

“Oh, Dru buried me for fun,” Spike commented off-handedly.

Buffy turned and looked at him.

“Why?” She asked.

“Dunno. Bint’s always had a yen for vampire birth rituals.”

They were silent for a moment, Spike’s hands running through her hair rhythmically.

“You know...I honestly thought they would do it. I /know/ they were happy. They were supposed to be my light at the end of the tunnel.” Buffy paused. “I guess they were a train. But they just waited so long to actually go through with it and then...poof, no wedding.”

“Gotta say...I hadn’t seen that coming. Think the demon girl’ll come back?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. We’ve grown a lot closer since I got all dead.”

The conversation lulled.

“Ever wish I could give you that? A wedding with two hearts joined for infinity, great pelting showers of rice and so forth?”

Buffy turned, her tresses slipping out of Spike’s pale fingers, as she turned to look him fully in the face. His eyes didn’t meet hers so she reached out and tilted his chin up until they did.

“Sometimes.”

His eyes slid away again.

“But,” Buffy continued. “Then I think, what are weddings for? They’re just a really fancy way of gluing two people together for eternity.”

At this point, his eyes had drifted up to gaze into hers again.

“I’m glued. You already gave me eternity.” Buffy smiled when she saw some of the vulnerability in Spike’s eyes dissipate.

His hand reached up to wrap around her hand under his chin. He took her hand and lovingly pressed a kiss into its back, before using it to draw her closer to him.

Buffy sank into the kiss, feeling her bones melt with every sweep of his tongue. She could taste him, not just physically. She could taste his love for her, his fear of losing her, and she hoped he could feel those same emotions radiating off of her.

“I love you so much,” he said softly, hoarsely when they pulled back for a second.

*Oh, definitely glued*, she thought.

--

Winter 2004

Her clothing didn’t leave much to the imagination. Not that Spike needed his imagination to get her naked.

He watched her appreciatively, his tongue between his teeth, as she fought, her body moving with an electricity that plugged straight into his libido.

After years of caring for the fragile-minded, doll-like Drusilla, Spike now had vibrant Buffy by his side. For eternity if he could manage it.

He had always been Drusilla’s childe, Drusilla’s lover; when she left it had toppled his world. He lost the only constant in his unlife. But eventually, gradually, he learned to survive. And although he enjoyed becoming his own person he missed having a significant other. So he reached in blindly and picked up Harmony for company, though he had always considered her temporary. He wanted somebody to spend eternity with; thought he had found that someone in his Sire. But now he knew...

He thought as he watched her move.

He knew that his 100 years with a barely-there Drusilla would be nothing compared to the next 100 years with Buffy.

--

Spring 2004

Xander walked into his apartment, praying to whichever god or goddess liked Willow that she would recover from her magical overdose with help from that coven in England. And from Tara of course. Tara, though deeply shaken, had agreed to help her lover. Xander had just gotten back from dropping the two witches off at the airport.

Xander knew he needed to talk to Buffy. About Spike. He was trying to think how he could phrase what he was trying to say without sounding hostile. He didn’t want Buffy mad at him.

But he was concerned. What happens when Spike’s chip stops working? Xander doubted that the vampire would be quite so cuddly then. And the chip was bound to stop working sometime. The government probably hadn’t offered Spike a life-long guarantee.

But Xander knew that Buffy held a lot of sway over her boyfriend. She could probably get him to not kill. But how much sway did Spike hold over Buffy?

A knock on the door knocked Xander out of his train of thought.

Opening it, he found himself face to face with the one person he was hoping to see, and the last person he’d expected to see.

“Anya. Oh my god,” he breathed. A rush of emotions swept through him. Guilt, of course, love, relief--the Closed sign on the Magic Box had given Xander a chill.

He reached toward her but she backed away, twisting her hands nervously

“How are you?” Xander began, lowering his hand.

“Ducky. You?” Anya said flippantly.

“Ahn,” he sighed. “Please. Let me, uh, explain.”

Anya watched him nervously while her hands still fidgeted. Xander took this as a go-ahead.

“I know there's nothing that I can say or do to make up for what I did. I can't. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I'm like, ‘oh god, is this my life? Was that me?’”

“Me too,” Anya said softly.

“But you gotta believe me, please. I want to make up for it. I want to take away the hurt. I love you so much.”

Anya looked touched and her anger seemed to fade away a bit.

“I...I may have practiced that a couple times in front of the mirror,” Xander said with an embarrassed smile.

“I just...don't understand what happened,” Anya confessed.

“I do. I'm an idiot. All I had to do was say something earlier. I could have spared you from that...that nightmare.”

Anya looked surprised, then hurt. She frowned, backed away a few steps and folded her arms.

“Said something about what?”

“No, no! I mean, you know, if I were, like, more...self-aware. Because, with the whole idiot thing,” Xander said, attempting to back pedal.

“If you had been more self-aware, you would have what?” Anya said angrily to an alarmed Xander. “Been able to stop the wedding?”

“No no, it's not like that, that's not what...” Xander sighed, frustrated sigh. “Okay, see, I didn't practice this part.”

”Do you still want to get married?” Anya asked directly and firmly.

Xander hesitated, looking unsure.

“Oh,” Anya said very quietly.

“Ahn, it's a very complicated question.”

“No, actually, it's really not. It's kind of an either-or deal. Do you want to get married?” Anya said a little desperately; her voice cracked a little and her eyes were tearing up.

“Someday, yes, very much. When we're ready,” Xander said to a very hurt Anya. “I don't want you to take this as a bad thing. It's good. I love you, I love you so much, I'm just trying to be honest with you.”

“Yes, honesty /now/. Congratulations, Xander, on being honest /now/. I wonder what the medal will say. It’s not this easy...I’m pregnant.”

The world around Xander seemed to come to a screeching halt. He paled slightly and his eyes widened.

“What?” he breathed, barely audible.

“D’hoffryn offered me my necklace back...and I turned that down because I thought that maybe...maybe I could still have a life with you,” Anya said. Her eyes looked horribly hopeful for a second before dropping to the floor. “I guess not,” she whispered, her heart in pieces.

Anya turned quietly to leave.

“What? Wait. Anya. I...where are you going?”

Anya stopped.

“I can see it in your eyes. You don’t want my child.” Anya choked out, losing the fight against her tears. “I’ll come back when you think you’re ready to grow up a little, Xander.”

“Don’t. Anya. God, please don’t.”

“I can’t do this! I can’t stay here with you looking at me like I’ve ruined your life.”

“It’s not you!” Xander yelled, cutting off Anya’s sobs. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Me. Raising this kid. What if I screw it up? What if he hates me? What if I turn into my dad?”

“What if you don’t?”

Xander looked at Anya, who had stopped crying.

“If you don’t want to be your father, then /don’t/ be your father. The only person who can change you is you.” Her voice was stronger now. “And...and what if this is good? What if we don’t screw it up? What if he’s an amazing kid who loves us and we love him?”

Xander looked at her. He wasn’t sure he had ever loved Anya as much as he did right now.

“I don’t want to leave,” Anya whispered, looking down.

“Good, ‘cause I’m not letting you go.”

Anya looked up into Xander’s smiling face and his open arms, and fell into them, crying with relief.

Author’s Note: I warped time some.

--

End of Summer 2005

Spike’s duster hung loose on Buffy’s shoulders. Two months ago he’d left that as a promise that he’d return. He’d kissed her goodbye and left to get his soul.

He didn’t need his soul to be good. Why couldn’t Willow simply curse him as she had Buffy? What if he got hurt in Africa and she was too far away to help? Buffy had argued until her sobs prevented her from speaking. He’d let her cry wet, noisy tears against his neck and he held her close, but told her he had to go. He had to earn his soul; he had to earn her.

An unearthly hiss pulled Buffy out of her thoughts and at present she found Dawn looking up at an eight foot tall demon, clutching her sword tightly.

“H-how do these things die?”

“Giles gave me a thingy of mercury to throw at it,” Buffy said. The demon swiped and Dawn ducked.

Buffy hurled the glass vial at the centre of the demon’s back and it shattered against his scales. He howled in agony as the mercury formed little balls and ran down his skin, seemingly burning away anything it came into contact with.

The Summers sisters watched as the demon glared at the pair and then sank dead to the ground.

“Well. That was dramatic,” Dawn said, lowering her sword. “Now what?”

“Now we scavenge.”

Dawn raised her eyebrows as Buffy pulled the elaborate dagger out of the dead demon’s hand.

“You were so channelling Spike right there.”

Buffy smiled as she inspected her new toy.

“Think he’ll be back soon?” Dawn said with the same smile.

“Oh, he better be.”

“Someone’s undersexed.”

“Dawn!”

“Like you weren’t thinking the exact same thing.”

Dawn skipped ahead of Buffy as they reached the rusted entrance gates to the cemetery.

Wait. Buffy stopped mid-stride and let her eyes unfocus as she reached out with her other senses. A warm feeling uncurled in her stomach as his presence became closer on her radar. He was home.

--

Autumn 2005

Spike had known he loved Buffy and now his soul let him understand the hows and whys to loving her, and it let him love her with all he could be.

Living on the edge of Hell with an electronic gadget in place of a soul wouldn’t do forever. And they had forever.

Buffy was lounging on her living room couch, doing her best to keep her freshly-painted crimson fingernails from coming into contact with anything. Spike was carefully finishing his right hand, the nail polished brush dripping black from its hold in his left hand.

“Drip!”

Before Spike could roll his eyes at Buffy for her concern over the state of the coffee table, a very angry robot stormed into the room.

“I want to be treated with respect and equality. I dislike having to hang around the house all day because when I’m done cleaning and cooking there is not much for me to do besides watch television. I enjoy channels two, four, and seven for soap operas during the day and channel seventy-one for the Fishing and Hunting channel. I’ve gotten off topic. I want to participate in the outside world therefore I’m going to gain legalized employment. So there!”

Nodding with finality, April then turned on her heel and left the house. Spike’s black nail-polish brush dripped again. The two vampires stared in the direction of the front door.

“Did she say the Fishing and Hunting channel?” Buffy asked, bemused.

--

Winter 2005

Leaving her mate to rest and heal after an incident involved with their defeating of a possessed carnival, Buffy decided it was the perfect opportunity for a girls-night.

She and Willow gathered nail polish and cookie dough and movies and settled down in sleeping bags in front of the TV in the Summers’ living room after bidding Dawn goodnight.

Willow and Buffy envy each other sometimes. Buffy looks at her best friend and knows that Willow’s young face will wrinkle and age someday. Buffy knows her friend’s body will reflect a lifetime of joys and sorrows while hers will remain as unchanged as a statue, not acknowledging the occasional crack.

Willow and Buffy envy each other sometimes. Willow knows it’s shallow of her to wish for an immortal face but it’s difficult to resist. Once in a while, after perfecting her enviable red hair and minimal amount of make-up, she’ll look at herself in the mirror and smile. She likes looking pretty, as any girl does, and wonders if her inner beauty could ever be enough.

There have been many girl-nights spent together figuring out which combinations of snack foods will stay in one’s stomach, and that bright lipsticks wouldn’t work on Buffy because they made her look paler than necessary.

Willow and Buffy envy each other sometimes.

--

Spring 2005

Dawn’s graduation was no less memorable than her sister’s, though it was far less eventful. Dawn finished high school with a flourish a week before the evil demon vibes drove out all the townspeople.

Energy was rippling from the dark and light sides. Anyone who wasn’t fighting in this war--demon and human alike--had listened to gut instinct and fled. Instinct was right. During the battle the good side took the fight straight into the Hellmouth and won in the end, but not without losses. Buffy’s leg had taken a smashing. April would need a new right arm constructed. Xander had lost an eye. Anya would have those scars across her front for life. Giles had lost his glasses at some point. But they were alive

Under a clouded net of stars, Buffy looked over the crater that was Sunnydale from her lover’s strong arms with a smile of satisfaction. They could leave. They could finally leave.

Hours later, right before the sunrise, the bedraggled mini-forces of good stumbled into the Wolfram and Hart lobby.

Angel appeared and with the efficiency of his new CEO position, set a medical crew into action. The others were whisked towards the company’s hospital wing. Spike followed, Buffy’s legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her piggyback.

“What the happened to you?” Angel asked, directing his question at Buffy.

“Got my leg broken,” Buffy said with a small laugh. “I get through the entire battle and on the way out I trip over a boulder.”

--


Summer 2006

“Demons, vampires, end of the world--none of that freaks me out. But this...”

Buffy laughed humourlessly as she tucked her hair behind her ears. Spike raised an eyebrow at her from his position on his motorcycle. Buffy turned and glanced at the charming yet affordable restaurant.

“Pretend to breathe deeply. Maybe that’ll help.”

Spike pulled Buffy toward him and kissed her half on the cheek, half on the mouth.

“Good luck, ducks,” he said and sped off into the warm night under the waning moon.

He was already at the table.

“Hi Dad.”

The amount of awkward pauses that gathered between the drinks and the dessert was enough to make Buffy want to pull her hair out and at one point she even excused herself to go to the bathroom. She’d spent five minutes just wandering around since her bladder was technically out of commission and she had no reflection on which to check her make-up.

When she came out again, Buffy was determined to prevent anymore silences. Unfortunately this meant babbling.

“So...my friends, Willow and Tara, they decided to settle in England for now because they’re doing this...workshop for Wiccans. And, and, oh! A few weeks ago my friend Xander married his girlfriend Anya in the middle of the night after she gave birth to son. They got married right in the hospital. They’re doing all right. And...Dawn’s at University. She’s majoring in languages and knows four or five almost fluently. She’s really got a knack for it.”

Hank Summers nodded his head to show he was listening. He had never been as close with his youngest daughter.

“That’s...good,” he finally said. “How are you doing?”

“Really well. Well, there are some issues with my job but when aren’t there?”

Hank smiled lukewarmly and the waitress dropped off the check.

Suddenly Spike swept in and made a beeline for his mate.

“Move it, luv. Trouble’s abounding.”

Buffy stood up.

“Sorry Dad. Thanks for dinner.”

Catching the look Spike was getting from her father Buffy concealed a smile and added:

“Oh, this is Spike. He’s my psycho ex-murderer boyfriend and I love him very much.”

“Cheers,” Spike said offhandedly and pulled Buffy’s arm.

Hank watched incredulously from the restaurant’s front window as his eldest daughter rode away laughing on the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle.

--

Autumn 2006

Buffy sat in the passenger seat of the black Pathfinder, recalling the confrontation a few nights ago. She and Spike had split from Wolfram & Hart without a word.

Their new apartment was in a quiet building with windows that didn't get direct sunlight; there was a sewer entrance for daytime travel; water, electricity, heating—all the basics; there was even a Korean market on the corner that was open all night. It wasn’t very posh but it quickly became home.

Angel had pulled strings to get Faith out of prison. Even though she didn’t work for the evil law firm Buffy volunteered to be the retrieval team.

Buffy glanced down at her buzzing and ringing cell phone and --Spike-- flashed across the screen. She smiled and listened as he told her that Doyle had had another vision and that he was going out.

--

Later Autumn 2006

“If you want to save the world, we've got the resources to help you do it,” Wesley told the two vampires.

Spike lounged in a comfy chair with a beer in his hand while Buffy leaned against the kitchen doorjamb with her arms crossed and her eyes suspicious.

“No offence, Mr. Vader, but we've got no itch to join the evil empire,” said Buffy.

“It's different. You know it. We've changed things,” Gunn said from Wesley’s side.

“Look...” Spike said with a sigh. “I told Angel, and I'll tell you. A place like that doesn't change...not from the inside. Not from the out. You sign on there, it changes you. Puts things in your head. Spins your compass needle around ‘til you can't cross the street without tripping the proverbial old lady and stepping on her glasses. And it's not like I wasn't there, gents, like I wasn't watching you. The Slayer and I’ve basically been haunting the damn place all summer. Remember?”

He took a swig of beer and Buffy tried to keep from smiling at the overuse of metaphor her mate had crammed into one sentence.

“Things aren't that cut-and-dried, Spike. We're making a difference. We're just...playing by a new set of rules,” Gunn continued.

“So what? You want us to...obtain suitcases, put on suits, come play with you?” Buffy said sardonically.

“Something like that,” Wesley said.

“I can't believe Angel would sign off on that. Unless... he doesn't know you're here, does he?”

Spike scoffed and Buffy smirked.

“Hedging our bets, are we, boys?”

“That's not how it is,” Gunn insisted again.

Spike crossed his arms and said:

“And the compass needle keeps spinning. And the world gets murkier and murkier.”

As Wesley was walking down the hallway after being kicked out of the vampires’ apartment, he suddenly realized the rationale behind the Powers That Be allowing for not one, not two, but three souled vampires. The Shanshu Prophesy was never supposed to come to pass.

Wesley’s stride faltered for a minute as his epiphany sank in. He wondered if he should tell Angel; tell him that the reward he’d worked for for so long was a deceiving motivational tool for the champion of the Powers That Be.

“Wes, you coming?”

Wesley caught up with Gunn.

No. No he wouldn’t tell Angel. Or the others. Why take away the donkey’s carrot when they all were so so close to the vegetable patch?

--

Spring 2006

Although Doyle proved to be an elaborate counterfeit, Buffy was glad that they were allowed to stay in their apartment.

She tried to distract herself with irrelevant thoughts but she kept coming back to the fact that it was the night before the apocalyptic battle...again. Why? Why? Why? Would her entire existence be nothing but dodging the end of the world over and over?

Buffy lay on the bed staring forlornly at the ceiling. Spike kicked off his boots and climbed next to her.

She looked at him and he pulled her close, her scent filling his nostrils. She looked up and watched with hooded lids as his body changed to demon mode.

He emitted a soft, sex-drenched growl and nuzzled her neck. She tilted her head to allow them both better access. When Spike bit her, her legs turned to jelly and electric shocks vibrated down her spine to between her legs. She let her vampire visage melt onto her features, twisted her hand into his hair, and pierced her lover’s neck with her teeth.

Each let the ecstasy of their mate’s blood run down to warm their hearts.

Spike’s arms were wrapped around her, holding her tight as he retracted his fangs from her throat. He lovingly licked the wound closed and shuddered as he felt Buffy do the same.

The day was spent slowly amidst sex and caresses and sleep but it still slid away too fast.

Buffy lay curled into her mate, naked on the bed. Spike held her close, deftly stroking her hair.

Her eyes, glassy with sleep, glanced toward the window.

“Sun’s setting,” she said quietly.

They dressed without a word and before opening the door to the most-likely-doomed outside world, Spike gave Buffy a smile.

A smile that would have made Elvis jealous. A smile that said I love you and I want to rip your clothes off. A smile that said, We’re going to live happily ever after. He believed it. She believed it.

She smiled back.

They were going to make it.