“Dawn!” she yelled from the front door. Buffy looked into the living room and then into the kitchen only to find them empty. Unnerved by the silence, she turned back toward the foot of the stairs and yelled up to the second floor. “Dawn!”

“I’m here Buffy,” Dawn calmly replied. Buffy heard her sister’s response before she appeared at the top of the stairs. She was cradling her left arm.

Buffy exhaled with relief. Trying to mimic her sister’s calm but unable to keep the whine from her voice, she asked, “What were you thinking last night?”

“When?” Dawn replied with a slight smirk. “When I saved your life or when I said you should grow up?”

Buffy rolled her eyes at the first comment and couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at the second.

“Dawn, you shouldn’t be taking those kinds of risks anymore." In a whisper, she added, "You don’t need to.” The words sounded stale to Buffy’s ears because they were. She sang this tune every week.

“I could say the same for you, Buffy. There are still other Slayers. They haven’t all died out yet.”

Buffy refused to flinch at that. “Well maybe they haven’t all died because I do take risks.”

“And the same could be said for me, Buffy.” Dawn had her smug face on now.

Well, two could have smug-face. “And what would Xander say?” This was the second verse to Buffy's favourite tune.

Dawn sighed to settle her rising irritation. “Buffy, Xander is taking the same risks. Okay, not so much. But more to the point, he respects me enough to let me make my own choices. Unlike you, there’s only one woman in all the world with the power to open dimensional doors.“

Buffy raised an eyebrow at that.

“Fine, maybe Willow can do it too, but not without stinky herbs and nosebleeds. And not as often or as easily as I can.”

Buffy wasn’t convinced.

“Its what I do, Buffy. It’s what I am. It’s how I’ve been able to make a difference for goodness sakes. You know this.” Dawn was being remarkably patient with her sister today.

“And Jesse and Joycie?”

“Broken record, much? Buffy, they’re not kids anymore. They’re old enough to have kids, and they’re as committed to the fight as anyone.”

Buffy wasn’t going to win this argument. She never did, because she knew Dawn was right. But she insisted on arguing the point anyway. She knew Dawn had a purpose better than anyone. Dawn was older than any Slayer, if you counted her existence before she was made human. And the only point of her existence had been to unlock dimensional doors. The blood flows, the gates will open. The gates will close when it flows no more. It was only by accident, three years after Sunnydale was destroyed, that they had discovered Dawn didn’t have to die for the blood to stop flowing. It was only then that Dawn realized her power, her potential.

But Buffy had a purpose too. Dawn had been made human for her to protect, and that mission hadn’t ended with Glory’s death. There would always be a homesick Hell God who could use Dawn if it knew what and where she was. So as far as Buffy was concerned, the less Dawn advertised her ability, the better.

Although, there was no denying how useful Dawn had been over the years. Not every demon was so easily killed; but plenty of demons could be banished to another dimension if Dawn bled at the right time and place and was protected by Slayers while doing it. So Dawn had devoted herself to discovering the site and seasons of activity of portals around the world and would travel the globe to be of service to Slayers, while keeping a home base in L.A. This had required her further developing her talent for ancient and demon languages, a talent passed down to her children — both now seasoned scholars for the new Watcher’s Council in London. Understanding and developing the Key had become a family affair.

Of course, Xander wasn't really all that keen on understanding how to utilize the Key. Even in high school, he had been less interested in the fight than he had been in supporting and protecting his friends. Joining the fight had been the means to do that. So researching portals and occasionally shadowing Dawn in the field was his way of protecting his wife. The problem was, Dawn didn’t always go into the field with Xander and a cadre of Slayers. At fifty-seven, she was still as impulsive as a teenager at times.

The other problem was, of course, that at fifty-seven, Dawn was no longer as quick. There had been plenty of narrow escapes over the years, and injuries to show for it. Last night was no exception. Dawn had got word from Joycie that Buffy was on the hunt for a particularly vicious Dragvlok demon that had left a trail of bodies from Vegas to Bakersfield. She'd known Buffy would attempt to cut him down before he made it to L.A. because he would make a beeline for the Slayers there. And it was far too convenient for Buffy to take him down herself, since she lived between Bakersfield and L.A. He’d be passing by her very doorstep. The Dragvlok should have known that, but then, they weren’t particularly thoughtful, nor were they at all fearful of Slayers. At least seven Slayers in California alone had been killed by a Dragvlok.

So Dawn had been hot on her sister’s trail. Joycie had told Buffy of the Dragvlok’s whereabouts, and had told her mother about Buffy’s plans. Of course, she had assumed her mum would take back-up. In the end, Buffy did what she did best. Dawn’s sudden appearance behind the Dragvlok distracted the demon as he had Buffy momentarily pinned to a tree and she regained the advantage after he took a swipe at Dawn. She beheaded the Dragvlok with her trusted scythe. Then she hacked him into seven pieces for every Slayer he had murdered.

Buffy had never been uncertain of victory. The Key hadn’t really been needed, and wouldn’t have been much help anyway. There wasn’t a dimensional portal for 10 miles. So there had been no point in Dawn getting slashed by his claws.

It wasn’t a serious injury thankfully, just a wake-up call that Dawn was still placing herself in unnecessary danger. Buffy had silently patched her sister up at her place and would have driven Dawn home had Dawn not insisted she was fine to drive herself.

Still, there was no winning the argument with her sister, so Buffy accepted defeat and changed the subject to now more important matters.

“How’s the arm Dawnie?” she enquired with sisterly concern.

“It hurts,” she said simply. “But wounds always do. It’ll heal Buffy… with time.” She spoke the last words with some sadness. They both knew that time didn’t just heal wounds. It inflicted them, too. Dawn understood why she and Buffy were destined to continue this argument for the rest of her natural life.

Buffy didn’t want to lose her.

The Slayer looked upon her sister with a mixture of deep admiration and love before ascending the stairs. She took in her long brown locks, greying more every day. She was as lovely and graceful a middle-aged woman as she had been a girl, but with a preternatural composure borne from surviving countless wars and not a few apocalypses. There was a light in her eyes too — nurtured by the love of two amazing children and the devotion of one of the best men Buffy had ever known. Dawn was full of love. Buffy could not have been happier for her sister. She had gotten the life Buffy had always wanted for her.

Buffy gave Dawn one of her trademark suffocating embraces. There were no tears to hold back, though. They had all been shed years ago.

“Any plans for the day?” Buffy asked her sister with sudden cheerfulness.

“Packing. I promised Joycie and Jesse that I wouldn’t miss my flight again, so I figured I’d pack during the day, freeing me up for any unforseen action tonight before the flight tomorrow morning.”

“There will be no unforseen action, Dawnie, that the Slayers in town can’t handle.”

“Yeah, yeah. So did you drive all the way down here hoping for a last-minute sisters' shopping trip or were you just checking up on me?” Slaying had never quite killed the shopping bug in Buffy, though her purchases had become decidedly more practical.

“Just checking up. Also, spring sales are over.”

“Buffy I don’t think machetes are ever on sale,” Dawn teased.

“True. But I could use a pair of fashionable but steel point boots. Like I said, just checking up. It’s only an hour’s drive anyway. What else is there to do during the day? No demons to slay,” she shrugged. “And I couldn’t sleep, anyway, for worry about you.”

“You’re becoming more vampiric in your sleep habits every year you know,” Dawn warned.

“Grr. Arrgh.” Buffy scrunched up her face in her best bumpy impression.

“Funny.”

“Yeah well, a Council salary will do that to you. Daytime is for shopping and sleeping,” she said chirpily.

“Don’t forget sunbathing” Dawn added. “For someone who’s spent the last five years back in California, you’re awfully pale Buffy.”

“Hey!”

“Just saying. Why don’t you head to the beach for a nap while there’s still a bit of sun?”

Dawn wasn’t sure why she made the suggestion. Buffy hadn’t been to the beach since Jesse and Joycie were little and the family would take trips back to California from London. She had taken enthusiastically to the Aunty role when the kids were young, and she was full of life then — more focused on family than ever before. The Slayer had taken a bit of a backseat to Aunty Buffy in those days.

But after the kids were grown, there had been nothing to keep the Slayer from taking over Buffy’s life. Especially when the other Slayers started dying off too quickly and new ones didn’t emerge to replace them. Buffy’s mission came into sharper focus then. She was losing her Slayer family — a family she had birthed when she tasked Willow with awakening them all. The blood of every dead Slayer was on her hands now. If she didn’t stem the slaughter, she’d find herself alone. Alone with the burden of protecting the world. Alone with the weight of her guilt. Alone with a soul bathed in blood. So at some point Buffy stopped being a Slayer.

She became a hunter.

In the best shape of her life, Buffy was stronger, more flexible and twice as fast. She had spent twenty-five years in Europe training Slayers in London, and the challenge of besting hundreds of girls time and again had honed her skills. Every trick a new Slayer threw at her, Buffy adopted, until there was no Slayer who could handle her repertoire of moves. And every time Buffy went into the field, she fought alone. If there was a free Slayer in battle, she sent her to help her sisters. So after forty years of training with Slayers and battling with demons, Buffy had ascended to a level of skill no other Slayer could reach.

After London, Buffy had spent ten years travelling the world to support and teach the Slayers who had refused to go to London. Not all of them wanted to use their power, and there were plenty outside of Europe who were too proud to accept instruction from a California blond named Buffy. They didn’t know their history. So she did the best she could and always left the door open for them to seek help from the Council when needed. After a decade roaming the world, Buffy had been desperate to replant roots, and so when Dawn and Xander had decided to leave London for the warmer weather of L.A. in their later years, she decided to follow.

But L.A. really wasn’t her scene. Been there, done that, thanks for the memories. Also, it was Angel’s town. So she moved an hour north to a sleepy Sunnydale-esque town of law-abiding citizens who remained blissfully oblivious to the devils that walked among them. There were plenty of demons to kill in Santa Lucia and plenty to hunt in nearby Bakersfield and L.A.

She was efficient in her work these days: fish’ em out, cut’ em down. No time for quips and batting around her toys before the kill. She couldn’t kill enough in a night. The more she hunted, the fewer the other Slayers had to. Like a lioness, she killed to protect her cubs. These days, she was always on the hunt.

And hunters didn’t sunbathe.

“Maybe another day” she lied. “The beach will still be there.” There was a moment of awkward silence between the pair. Taking a deep breath she decided, “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to pack for London, then. Just let me run to the bathroom and I’ll be out of your fine but greying hair.”

“Hey!”

Buffy couldn’t help but giggle. Dawn was still an easy target sometimes. The women shared a small smile before Buffy took her sister’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead like the mother she had never quite been. “Take care of yourself Dawnie. Give my love to the rug rats.”

“You could come you know,” Dawnie added.

“I know, but the Slayers in London have the Council and the Coven. Someone needs to back up the California girls. This isn’t a good time to leave them alone. There’ll be more Dragvloks coming to L.A. soon if Angel’s sources are right.”

“Alright. Well, let yourself out. I’ll be burrowed in my closet for the next hour.”

“I love you Dawn. Be careful.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to get a blood clot in my leg on the flight over.” Buffy narrowed her eyes at that. Dawn could be such a smart ass. Dawn giggled, “I meant, right back at ya.” The younger sister turned towards her bedroom and the arduous task of packing for a month away. She was looking forward to seeing the kids again. Xander had headed out two days earlier to catch Willow before she headed to Scotland for a week. He had telephoned that morning to tell her there was some exciting news. She was hoping that meant wedding bells for Joycie and the other Watcher she’d been dating for years.

Buffy headed to the bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she caught her reflection in the oversized mirror over the sink. She supposed she should cut her hair soon. It was almost to her waist, a little heavy when it was down, and it tended to bounce when she… deciding not to finish that thought, she faced the mirror head on. She rarely looked in the mirror at home, but there was no avoiding it in Dawn’s bathroom. She noticed she had gotten curvier in the last few years on an American diet, but she was pleased to see that she was mainly muscle, lean and limber. She took in her face next. Huh. She was pale, she realized. How had she not noticed? Bending closer to the mirror, she inspected her face from different angles. She really wasn’t the sun-kissed girl of her youth anymore, with skin so pale.

But in forty years, time had changed little else.


* * *

[Three weeks earlier]

“Toohey’s Old, mate, and make it quick.”

“G’day to you too, mate,” the demon bartender countered with annoyance.

Spike was in no mood for pleasantries. He was hurting in all the wrong places, and not in a good way. Yeah he was still the Slayer of Slayers, but one Slayer at a time for fucks sake. Not even ol’ Bat Face in his prime could have taken on a pack of seven Slayers. Hell, not even the poncy Immortal could have survived what Spike just had. He was the luckiest vamp on the planet for surviving that ambush, and he was pretty sure a broken rib had ruptured his spleen.

“Bloody hell” he groaned as he tipped the bottle to his busted lip and felt a stabbing pain in his side. Immortality could be a real bitch sometimes. Unrelenting debilitating pain sure as hell hadn’t been in the bloody brochure.

It was his own fault, he knew. The Council of Wankers didn’t know he’d survived the Hellmouth, let alone L.A.; and even if they had, ol’ Rupes would’ve been too happy to rectify the situation. Well, the Watcher is dead now, he considered with mixed feelings. He wouldn’t have told the Slayers anything good about Spike, that he knew. No doubt the prat had given Willow and the Slayers credit for the Hellmouth closing. Fair enough. They had all done their part. Anyway, who was he to demand gratitude? He had more blood on his hands than the First. Hell, the First didn’t even have hands. Come to think of it, neither did Spike once. Thanks to a Slayer.

It was bloody inconvenient being a White Hat when everyone assumed he was still a Big Bad just because he had fangs. Everywhere he went — Chile, Turkey, Botswana, Nepal, you name it — he’d have to contend with a Slayer. Make that packs of Slayers. He was a better demon fighter when he let out his own, but the Slayers would just see two monsters in a tussle — not a White Hat doing their bloody job.

Angel could have given the Slayers a heads up he supposed, but not without giving away Spike’s identity. And there was that. Spike wasn’t sure why he was so set on keeping his identity a secret all these years. Demons still knew who he was, of course, but they didn’t give him much trouble, or at least no more trouble than he could handle. But the Slayers would be off his back if he outed himself.

But there was Buffy.

She’d be around sixty now, he thought. Bloody hell, that was a hard thing to comprehend. Buffy old. She wasn’t supposed to live to see thirty. No other Slayer had. But he knew she was alive. The Poof would have told him otherwise. Plus, he had heard her name thrown around in more than one demon bar over the years — the name she would never relinquish that is: The Slayer. He’d hear something to the effect of The Slayer sicked her bitches after me from time to time. She must have settled nicely into the general role, he thought. No doubt she fought the good fight for a while before she settled down. She had always wanted a normal life, after all.

So he figured the Slayer to have long been domesticated - a loving wife and mother — hell, a yummy grandmum by now — healthy, happy… and finished. She would’ve filled-out nicely, but she’d still be fit he reckoned. A glorious matriarch to a world of Slayers.

She didn’t need to know about him, he insisted. What would he be to her after all these years? Nothing more than a semi-fond memory from a forgotten time. Or worse, a painful reminder of one of her darkest periods — not her hero come home. Not the knight in shining leather whose hand she held as the Hellmouth crumbled around them. Fuck that was a beautiful moment. Spike turned over his right hand and traced the scar in his palm that time wouldn’t fade.

So he knew why he could never tell her. After all this time, he was no longer to her what he had been — whatever that was. She hadn’t loved him, he knew. But she had cared enough to say as much as he started to burn. That was something. Hell that was everything — the most he ever had in his unlife anyway.

She shouldn’t have mattered so much to him anymore. Forty years should have lessened the hurt, dampened the love. But that’s the funny thing about time when you’re immortal. Forty years is nothing. It’s like, because the body doesn’t age, the heart doesn’t either. Or the mind. Spike could remember with perfect clarity the first time he and Buffy had kissed when they weren’t under a spell, just as clearly as he could remember the pain he felt when he saw her kiss Angel after the night Spike held her in his arms. He could remember the smell of her sweat, the sounds she made when he touched her, the expression on her face when she came, the way she glowed when she was happy, the fact that he had never made her glow.

And then there was the sad and beautiful fact that she was surely no longer what she had been: his fierce and fearless warrior-goddess with a damaging right hook. She would have handed over the reins to the bitty Slayers years ago. That was a good thing, he supposed. She deserved to rest, should’ve rested long ago. But fuck had he loved to watch her dance.

She’d still be a goddess though - he was sure - just a greying, domestic one. William would have adored growing old with her. She’d be elegant, but strong, like his own mum had been. Maybe even wise. And still one hell of a woman.

But he wasn’t William. He was Spike. Still young. Still undead. Were he to face her now, she’d just see a freakish reminder of how different they were, how little he belonged in her world. How wrongly he fit. Stop it, he chided himself. Thoughts of Buffy only set him to brooding, and the world didn’t need another brooding bastard.

“Another Toohey’s mate.” He was nowhere close to being drunk yet. Maybe he should order a bottle of Jack, he thought. Didn’t seem right to him though, drinking Tennessee whiskey in Sydney. When in Rome and all that rot. They had some half decent beers in Oz he would admit, better than the Yanks made, but not as good as home. Seemed proper to drink a local schooner. Just have to drink a case of ‘em. Good thing the last demon he killed had some dosh to nick.

Come to think about it, good thing the Slayers weren’t too tough either. He had barely survived his battles with Xin Rong and Nikki Wood. Seven Slayers should have killed him on superior numbers alone. The skill wasn’t there though, or the ferocity. Spike reckoned their travelling in packs made them soft — too reliant on superhuman back-up and too inexperienced in going all out — fist and fangs — in a battle to survive. That’s how Buffy had gotten too good to beat. Sure she had the Scoobies in an apocalypse, but she sent Angel to hell on her own. She bested Spike in the harsh light of day.

Their numbers were dwindling fast too, the Slayers, especially the further you got from London. Used to be you couldn’t walk two blocks without sniffing out a Slayer. Plenty of them seemed rogue too, or at least not yet under the thumb of the Council of Wankers. Too many, too dispersed, he supposed. That meant they weren’t trained in centuries-old fighting techniques and demonology and whatnot. Some of the chits seemed to think a stake could kill anything. Well a stake can kill a new-born Slayer too. They learned that much. Sad, really. None of those girls had to die if they hadn’t been called. They could have been tucked warm in their beds every night, not out trolling cemeteries. But then, who knows how many people they had saved because they had been called. No use questioning the state of things now, he supposed. It was giving him a headache, anyway.

He had to get out of Oz, he decided; and not just because it was no fun finding dead Slayers on every corner, and even less fun getting beat down by packs of ‘em he could’ve easily bested in smaller numbers. It was too bloody sunny Down Under. The locals were always boasting about having the highest number of sunny days per year or some such thing. Sunshine and no subways. It was inconvenient as hell for a vamp accustomed to getting around by day. And anyway, it had been a month since he’d slaughtered that pair of Dragvloks he’d been hunting. Time to move on.

He just needed a place to go.

Spike supposed he could always check in with the Poof. He usually rang Spike when he had a job in some far corner of the world that needed a tough bastard with nothing to lose. Hence the Dragvloks, who had been picking off Slayers like sausage on pizza ever since an army of them had blown up the Dragvlok homeland in Vancouver. They were vicious by nature and bloody tough to kill, especially for a Slayer, now that the Dragvloks wanted vengeance.

Spike hated to ring the Poof though. It looked too needy. He preferred Angel ring him because he was needy. He supposed he could always drop into L.A. on some pretence of passing through, and ever-so-subtly see what kind of action the Poof knew about. Angel would be shocked to see him, and none too pleased. Spike hadn’t stepped foot in California since the battle with the Black Thorn when everything went to shit. He had just started to fit in with a group again when they all got slaughtered. Even Big Blue. Only Spike and Angel had survived the bloodbath, and barely. And while they had come to tolerate each other at Wolfram and Hart, and had developed something of a working relationship, it was never going to hold up with just the two of them. They weren’t friends for fucks sake. They were just the only survivors of the destruction of what Angel had built for himself there. That’s probably why Angel seemed to want Spike to stay out of L.A. Ol’ Spike had become a painful reminder to everyone.

So Spike had left California — the place of some very spectacular kickings of his ass. The place where he had lost the few friends he had managed to make in a century. The place where he had once meant something to a woman who had long since moved on and grown old. He wondered where she was now.

Fuck it. He was bored, and killing random demons was fun, but unfulfilling. He preferred a mission, the tougher the better. And the Saviour of Slayers had a noble ring to it. So he’d get the heads up from the Poof on where the Dragvloks were hunting Slayers now and derive a small bit of pleasure from shocking Gramps.

Spike dropped a twenty on the bar, pocketed his smokes, and headed to the back door.

After forty years, Spike was headed back to L.A.

Christ, the world was slow to change sometimes. L.A. didn’t look all that different from the last time Spike was there. The cars were electric and a bit more space-age, and there was plenty more steel and glass than brick and mortar. But the changes were all superficial. People never changed

Look at him.

He looked the same, obviously, though he had ditched the bleach. Sixty years of bleaching his hair had finally gotten tiresome, and it had gotten too bloody hard to do it in the farthest corners of the world. His hair was now a natural dirty blond. Still slicked back though. He had standards.

And black never went out of style. Whatever the country, he could always find a town that sold black jeans and T-shirts, or at least some variation on the theme. He had had to mix things up a bit with a few Army style black sweaters and cargo pants, but his look was still there since he wore them nice and fitted. He had ditched the Doc Martins long ago for a pair of R.M. Williams retrofitted with steel points and serrated blades at the back. They were much better suited for his kind of work these days. He had slimmed down a bit, too, since the last time he was in L.A. - not to the scrawny ponce he had been as a fledge - but back to his fighting best. Brawling with demons the world over and fending off clueless Slayers would do that.

He was well and recovered from his tussle with the Aussie Slayers. After buying four Sydney butcher shops out of pigs' blood, he was well prepared for the journey by cargo ship across the Pacific. Drinking cold blood from an Eski for weeks hadn't been a picnic, but it had got the job done. He'd paid the ship's captain plenty of dosh to let him wander aboard freely, so there'd always been blokes to beat at poker over a pint, and a few of the lads had told some half decent stories. The real struggle had come when he had been alone on the top deck, hypnotised by the undulations of the water. His mental discipline would weaken, and he would inevitably think about the last time he had been in California. It wasn't L.A. he had thought about though.

After three weeks on that bloody ship, Spike reckoned he had relived every meaningful moment he could remember of his time in Sunnyhell. The memories had bubbled forth like a body at sea that refused to sink. The problem wasn't that the memories were bad - though most of them were. The memories just forced to the surface feelings for her that wouldn't bloody die - no matter how deeply he tried to bury them.

It had taken his death at Drusilla's fangs to reveal his infantile infatuation with Cecily for what it was; and it had taken more than a century for him to accept that his blind, unrequited devotion to Drusilla hadn't been what the poets had praised. No, he had learned about real love when he had died in the Hellmouth - a man made sacrificial burnt offering to the Powers that Be - merely for the life and the world of one girl.

When their hands and eyes had come together at his last moments, and she had whispered the sweetest lie ever told; real, honest-to-God, unadulterated love was born of the most self-less kind - effacing all previous incarnations his love had taken for her.

When Spike had been cheated of a hero's farewell, and had materialized out of the amulet, his love for her had returned too, but with some older, childish elements. But it had fully matured - he believed - when he had resolved to let her go. She had never belonged in the dark with him. And more importantly, she had never wanted the dark. Never wanted him.

Still, Spike had only been able to let her go, by refusing to let her in. At his most vulnerable moments, when his thoughts would turn to her, he would drink, brawl or shag them away. And when his chest would feel too tight, or when an ache would settle over his breast, he would refuse to give it meaning, consider its source, or acknowledge its significance. Whenever Angel discussed her, he would stay silent on the subject, or allow himself only the one question.

So the heartache was bearable, as long as Spike kept her out of his mind, and he had showed excellent discipline in that regard ninety percent of the time. At least, until the trip back to L.A. Three weeks of cold pigs' blood had healed fresh wounds, but his memories had reopened old ones.

When his ship had finally docked in L.A., Spike had been desperate to leave the memories at sea, floating on those cold undulating waves. As always, he hadn't been so lucky. Bitter scenes from the past stubbornly stayed with him, weighing him down like a shroud.

So once in the city, Spike headed to the first demon bar he could find - reckoning he deserved the good stuff, He had picked the right joint too, because more than one demon there could tell him where the Poof lived. He was infamous in that town. First he was Angelus, former Scourge of Europe; then Angel of the tortured soul; then Angelus again, and back again; then the head of Wolfram & Hart; and then the vamp with the balls to take them on, in a backstreet alley. Most demons figured him for dead after that. And yet here is again, risen from the ashes, blah, blah, blah. The bloke changed allegiances so much, demons couldn’t keep up. So they mostly just kept away from him. As much as Spike would love to do the same, he was feeling aimless and wanted intel on the next Dragvlok requiring his funeral services. So after a few days sleep at a Hotel Six, he headed towards Angel’s place just as dusk was settling.

He reached the neighborhood after nightfall and stood across the street from the house to size up the place. He hadn’t figured Angel would keep a three-storey house, but he supposed it was more private than a high-rise apartment with nosy neighbours, and it probably had a basement. It reminded him a bit of the old mansion on Crawford Street in Sunnydale, only brighter and stucco. He guessed Angel didn’t mind recalling that chapter in history. Well it had been more a low point for Spike on the humiliation scale than Angel, though Angelus had him beat on the evil meter then. Evil or shame, take your bloody pick. He thought about that one. Watching Angelus fuck the love of your life while you’re stuck in a wheelchair waiting for Drusilla to feed you a puppy? Ugh. Spike would take evil any bloody day.

Crossing the street in long strides, he was about to barge in, when the Poof ruined his plan by opening the door, and his stupid mouth:

“Spike?"

Spike raised an eyebrow in reply.

"Spike," he repeated blankly.

"You said that already, mate." Angel looked like a fish choking for air... like an angel fish. He stifled a chuckle.

"What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too Gramps. I’d ask you to invite me in, but you’re a dead son of a bitch, so move over and let me through.” Angel didn’t move for a good ten seconds, before he let him into the foyer.

“So what's going on? Why are you back in L.A.?”

Was it really that big a deal to the tosser? Curious. But Spike wasn’t about to let Angel know that. “Why not? It’s been forty years for christsakes. Any bad memories are buried, mate."

"Right," Angel replied, almost to himself. "So, how long are you here for then?”

Spike didn't give a toss if Angel liked him or not, but after everything Spike had done, he thought he deserved more respect than this. The bastard hadn't even let him past the foyer, let alone offered him a drink.

“Relax, mate. Just passing through. Was in Oz hunting those Dragvloks, wasn’t I? And fending off packs of thankless Slayers I might add. Figured I'd head to Vegas for a bit of poker and R&R. Last time I checked, you had to pass through California to get to Vegas.”

“So you, what, thought you’d just swing by to say hello?”

Pathetic. Angel was never very good at snark. He’d been in America too long. Spike stayed silent for a moment as he thought about how to respond. He needed two different pieces of information from the Poof now: the latest intel on the Dragvloks, and the reason Angel didn't want him in L.A.

“Actually, I thought I’d swing by Clem’s and say hello. Apparently he’s been in L.A. since Sunnydale. Heard a bloke at a bar mention him and was gonna look him up, but I heard another bloke mention you, and figured I give you the skinny on Oz while I was here.” Nice one, Spike.

“And the skinny is what? You killed the Dragvloks? Good for you. Knew you could do it. Wouldn’t have sent you after them otherwise. Thanks for the personal telegram. Look, if that’s all, Spike, I’m heading out soon.” Angel left the foyer at that and started wandering around his bare living room as if there were things to collect before he went about his imaginary business.

“Actually, mate, the skinny is on the Slayers.” Angel looked back at that. “These young chits are soft. Uncertain. Untrained. Yet strangely overconfident,” he mused. "They’re sitting ducks out there. It was the same in Singapore as in Oz. Tel Aviv. Capetown. I hate to admit it, mate, but the Council of Wankers is slippin’ now that ol’ Rupes is out of print. These birds won’t last long.”

“You sound concerned, Spike,” Angel deadpanned.

“Fuck you, mate. Last time I checked, I've been the one gettin' his fangs dirty out in the world, killing demons, protecting humans. My hat is whiter than yours, you tosser." And having to admit that still made Spike cringe, but after forty-odd years, there was no denying which side he was on. "Do I have to remind you, you prick, who volunteered first for your daft idea to take on the Black Thorn?”

Bugger. He had already regretted the words before he’d finished saying them. He loved to get a dig in at Angel whenever he could, but those were Angel's best mates that had died, and Spike had grown a soft spot for the lot of 'em, even Blue. He could see he had wounded the prat. “Sorry. Forget I said that.”

Avoiding the guilt-ridden eyes of his grandsire, he took an unneeded breath. “Look, yeah, I am concerned. The Slayer population looks to be shrinking fast, and I’m not getting a sense the dead ones are being replaced. I don’t know how this thing works now. I’m not in the loop, am I? And I know it was working alright when there was only one bird, but the world has gotten used to thousands of ‘em and they’re droppin’ like bullet shells. Just thought you should know how things are lookin’ outside your Hollywood bubble. Get on the digital whatnot and let the New Scoobs know what’s up, cause they’re losing the war out there. If I were still the Big Bad, I’d have bagged a hundred Slayers by now. There’s bloody fledges out there that can boast about baggin’ two Slayers now for christsakes. It’s pathetic!”

Spike waited a full minute for a response from Angel. Something was going on behind that massive forehead of his. Wheels were turning, with little rats on them. The Poof wasn't even looking at him anymore.

“Alright, Spike."

"Alright, what?"

"I’ve got news on the Dragvloks.”

”Yeah?” That was easy. Task number one complete.

“Yeah.” Angel swallowed slowly. “Word is, they’re headed to L.A.... to take out the Slayers here."

"L.A.? Then what were those two I bagged doing Down Under? Visting the bloody Opera House?"

"I'm not sure. They dispersed pretty widely after the Slayers destroyed their habitat. But my sources tell me they're being called back. Apparently Gozen, the oldest and most powerful among them, wants vengeance against the Slayers responsible, and most of them live right here."

“Another L.A. showdown then. Sounds interesting. Where are the Dragvloks regrouping, then?”

Again, Spike found himself waiting for Angel to reply. Must be the rats again.

“Doesn’t matter. We need to be able to handle them when they get here. Bu- ... but the Council’s Slayers will try to cut them off before they reach L.A. We’re the second front.”

"Hell yeah, we are. Second and last, mate.”

So apparently Angel was okay with Spike in L.A. after all. Task number two was scratched off then. Maybe it was just the way he'd thought and Angel saw him as just a painful reminder of the past - but one that Angel would tolerate now that he was here - espcially with the Dragvloks coming. Hmm... And maybe Spike would meet a nice vampiress who would forgo her wicked ways for him and they'd run a pig farm in Idaho. Nope, the Poof was still hiding something. He just needed a bit of time to work it out.

"So who's coordinating this showdown then?" Spike asked with a trained nonchalance.

"Coordinating?"

"Yeah, you know. Who'd the Council appoint as the brains of this operation? Someone senior I imagine. One of the Golden Girls, no doubt." Spike was wearing his best poker face, but they both knew he had a lousy hand.

"Golden Girls?" Angel questioned.

"You know who I mean, mate. The Witch, the Whelp..." He swallowed unconsciously. "And the Slayer. They the puppet masters, then, for this showdown?"

"Willow's aware of the situation, but she's leaving it in the hands of the L.A. Slayers."

Angel's poker face had improved. Fuck. Fine, then. He wouldn't give the pillock the satisfaction of hearing him ask about Buffy any further. The prick thought that gave him some kind of power over Spike - as if Spike couldn't find out about her on his own if he wanted to.

"Gotta say," Spike responded. "I thought Red was brighter than that - leaving the Slayers to fend for themselves - and more compassionate too. You reckon the power is getting to her head?"

"Spike, Willow's been in control of the magic for a long time."

Condescending prick. "Not that power, mate. The more mundane, but equally destructive one - taking over the Council of Wankers from Rupes."

"I don't know, Spike," Angel replied in a sigh.

"Well, maybe she needs her friends to set her straight. Back in the day, they always had her back. No matter how much damage she caused with the magic -"

"Just ask, Spike..." Angel interrupted, as if exasperated.

Fuck. He had just told himself he wasn't gonna do it. He was a masochist - of the most pathetic kind - asking after a fucking grand mum. He sighed deeply, feeling suddenly exhausted.

Head down, eyes askance, he relented: "Is she happy?" His voice was hoarser than he had expected.

Angel landed a heavy paw on his shoulder, like a hammer to a stubborn nail. There was nothing comforting about it. A small smile played at the corners of Angel's mouth. "She's Buffy. What do you think?"

This time, the answer didn't satisfy.

“So, do you need a place to stay?” Angel added, disrupting his thoughts.

“Huh?” Spike was pulled from his funk by a growing confusion.

“There’s plenty of space in the house if you want a room.” This was downright bizarre. And starting to piss him off.

“Don’t be a stupid git. I don’t fancy listenin’ to you sing in the shower everyday, let alone seein’ your mug first thing when I wake up. I'd rather sleep in a fucking greenhouse. Pillock. You know, this ain’t the naughties, mate. It’s the bleeding forties. Again. I’ve got resources now, legally obtained too.”

“Yeah? And what —“

“None of your damn business." Nothing like a little anger to give his mood a lift. "I’m at a hotel at the moment, but if I’m gonna be in town for a while, I’ll get a place. You know my number. Ring me with the when’s and where’s when you know 'em. Until then, you do your thing, I’ll do mine.” Spike turned to leave, but Angel grabbed his arm before he could take a step.

“Wait. You should know that the Slayers have got a warehouse southeast of here, on Trimmold Street. It’s better you look elsewhere for a place. They’re trigger happy with a crossbow these days after losing so many, and they don’t know you.”

Spike considered that. Why the prat suddenly gave a fuck about his unlife, he didn't know; but he really didn’t fancy another ambush from the very chits he was there to protect. Angel was makin’ a bit of sense, there.

“Actually, your best bet is my neighbourhood. Mine is the only one they don’t patrol because I’m here.”

Ah, so the ponce wants to keep tabs on me? That works two ways, though.

“Yeah, alright. Sounds like a plan.”

“Just let me contact a demon I know with some rental properties and —“

“Christ, mate, were you always this much of a control freak? I’m not a fledge anymore, Angelus. Spike’s all grown up now. I got this.” And with that, Spike was gone.

Storming out of the house and down the street, Spike cursed at himself for his lapse. "Forty fucking years of discipline and I go fishin' for information - giving the prick power he never deserved!"

Digging into his pants pocket for his Winnie Blues, Spike stopped midstride to light his fag before taking a deep, long drag. He held the smoke in his lungs for several steps in the hopes that it would burn out the ache that had settled in his chest.

"Fuck", he exhaled.

There were some things time didn't change.

A week and a half had gone by and Buffy was no closer to discovering the whereabouts of the missing girls. Worse than that, two others had gone missing. That made five now. She didn’t need the blood of more girls on her hands.

She had gone to both of the night clubs in town, alternating between the two of them every night, hoping to catch the kidnapper in action. It was surprising to find vampires there most nights, since they'd become a rare breed in Santa Lucia since her arrival. They were far too easy for her to sense and just as easy to dust. The town had been crawling with them when she'd first arrived. These days, they barely survived long enough to feed, let alone turn anyone. The only vampires she'd discovered in the last two years had been out-of-towners passing through to L.A. or Vegas.

From what she'd gathered, the vampires currently in town were all from L.A. Every night discover a few and slay them with ease, only to find more the following night. It was easy work, and in some ways pleasantly reminiscent of Sunnydale, when her world had revolved around fashionable clothes, slaying, and hanging out at the Bronze. But her trips down memory lane were getting her no closer to discovering the demon that might have kidnapped the girls.

Propping her chin up with one hand, she absently tapped her fingers on the kitchen island with the other. She'd barely touched her club sandwich and her Coke was starting to lose it's fizz, when she was startled out of her daze by the telephone. Walking over to her coat on the kitchen wall hook, she dug through her pocket for her cell.

"Hello?"

"Buff!" Xander exclaimed. "Lady of Buffonia, how's it hanging? Uh, actually, I guess it's all hangin' pretty good in your case, what with the lack of ageing and drooping and-"

"Xander!" Dawn scolded in the background.

"What? I... It was just a..."

"Hey Xan," Buffy giggled. In forty years, two things hadn't changed: Buffy's body and Xander's foot-in-mouth disease. "How are the kids?"

"Adult-shaped, strangely. And also good." Away from the phone, Xander shouted, "Dawnie, can I share?" Returning to Buffy, "Well it's my news as much as Dawn's so I w-"

"Buffy?" Dawn interrupted. "Oh my god, guess what? No! Don't guess, because I want to tell you. Joycie and Simon are getting married!"

"Oh my gosh, Dawnie, that's fabulous!"

"I know. Finally!"

"When did he propose?"

"Just today, and in classic Watcher-fashion."

"What, did he turn all Mr. Collins and give some long-winded explanation about the mutual benefits of matrimony or something?"

"No, much better than that. He wrote the proposal in Sumerian on a piece of parchment and slipped it in a book she'd been translating."

"Wow."

"Romantic, no?"

"Very, very. So where is she? Put her on!" All thoughts of missing girls had fled Buffy's mind.

"She's out partying with the girls - an early 'hen's night' or a 'prelude to it' - something like that. She said she'd call you in the morning but gave us the go ahead to tell you tonight."

Buffy willed away the water building in her eyes and smiled brightly into space. "So, when's the wedding?"

"Some time in August, when it'll be as sunny and warm as possible in London. So, that gives us only four months to plan."

"Okay. So, how can I help? I want to be a part of this, Dawnie." Buffy was suddenly feeling a million miles away from what mattered.

"I can email you the various choices of things - you know, color schemes, bridesmaid dresses, menus and stuff. We're here for another few weeks now to help plan, but then we'll both be out of the loop after that. She doesn't want me hovering too long. The most important things you can do otherwise though, are to find a killer dress, and prevent any and all apocalypses from interfering on the day."

"Gee, there's a big load of responsibility to just drop in my lap," Buffy replied with laughter.

"Eh, you'll live."

"Funny, in a very not kind of way." But Buffy hadn't stopped smiling.

"So, I hate to shift topic to less joyful matters, but have you had any trouble lately with more Dragvloks or other Big Bads?"

It was sweet how Dawn never stopped being concerned, even though she knew Buffy was hard to kill.

"Nope on the Dragvloks. Just a mystery baddie in Santa Lucia." In a guilt-ridden tone, she added, "...and five missing girls".

"Hm."

"Oh! And vamps," Buffy remembered. "A steady stream of them have poured into town recently. Easy kills, though."

"Sounds related."

"Does it? Hm... I suppose it does when I say it like that. See? That's why I miss you. So, what, you think I should question the vamps?"

"Duh."

Buffy rolled her eyes, which was pointless without an audience. She was an idiot sometimes. Of course she should question the vamps.

"Alright. I'll do that. Pity I don't have a Willy."

"A what?" Dawn asked with a giggle.

"Dawn! A Willy, as in Willy the Snitch from Sunnydale! Remember? I could've beaten up a Willy for information."

"Yeah, because beating up humans is better than beating up vamps."

"Yikes, you make it sound so unseemly. Willy was a bad guy, you know."

"Of sorts. Anyway, the other kind of willy isn't bad..." Dawn joked.

"Sure, until it shrinks, wrinkles and starts dribbling when the guy turns seventy."

"Ugh!" Dawn laughed. "I won't tell Xander you said that. He lives in fear of that day."

"He shouldn't." Quieter, she added, "You'll still love him."

"Buffy, I know I said it then, but I'm sorry things didn't work out with Angel."

"Oh, I'm not. I'm just sorry that I thought they would one day."

Dawn remained quiet, as if waiting for Buffy to elaborate.

Buffy leaned against the kitchen wall. "You know, I spent all of high school and a good bit after pining for him, which was fine. First love and all that. But it's not like I spent any of the years after that thinking about him much. There was Slayer stuff to worry about. But... I did sort of keep him in my heart as an option, you know?"

"Yeah."

"But we barely spoke over the years, except when we needed intel from him to help the L.A. Slayers. And then, Willow usually dealt with him. Or Andrew. The U.S. was never my territory - well, since Sunnydale."

"The battlefield's gotten a lot bigger since Sunnydale."

"Yeah. And there's a lot more players." Buffy smiled slightly. "It's funny, really, thinking back. He used to be the go-to-guy back in the old days - or at least, the pop-up-out-of-nowhere with news of impending doom guy. Remember? Then he was CEO of Evil Lawyers, Incorporated, before he crawled out of the rubble of that disaster."

"Well, I think it's better for his never-ending redemption that he's a bit player now, Buffy. It's good for his ego too."

"Maybe... But, yeah, so when I came back to L.A., thinking I'd be a bit player too for a while, and -"

"Buffy, you're hardly that."

"You know what I mean. So when I came back and he was here... and I was alone... and we were both still young - so to speak - after all these years... And... I don't know. I guess I was just hoping that the love was as strong as it had felt when I was fifteen."

"And it wasn't."

"I guess everything that happens when you're fifteen feels monumental."

"Uh, talking to the Key here. I think what happened to me at fifteen was monumental."

"Well okay, I'll give you that," Buffy smiled. "Anyway, Angel and I gave it the old college try."

"You dropped out of college, Buffy."

"Exactly. Three months was enough."

"Of college?"

"Of Angel," Buffy deadpanned.

"Ouch."

"No ouchies here," Buffy laughed. "But yeah, I don't know if he's over it."

"Buffy, it's been like five years."

"Yeah, well, I guess that's nothing when you're immortal."

"True. Spike had loved Drusilla for over a century."

Several seconds passed.

"Buffy?"

"Yeah... Um... I'm here," she muttered weakly. "Sorry. I guess I hadn't heard his name spoken for... well, years. You surprised me, is all."

"Sorry."

Buffy regained her composure. "Don't be silly. I'm sorry we haven't spoken of him more. He died a hero, Dawnie. He died for us."

"No, Buffy. He died for you. But yeah, he died a hero, too."

Several seconds passed again.

"Buffy?"

"Yeah, still here." In a brighter voice, she added, "Hey, you guys get some sleep. It's late. Tell Joycie I'll expect a call from her tomorrow."

"Aye, aye, Sergeant Summers."

"Don't call me that."

"Sonny does," Dawn taunted.

Buffy wasn't biting. "Bye, Dawnie. I love you."

"Love you, too."

"And congratulations to you and Xander."

"Right back at ya. She's yours too, you know."

"Yeah." But she wasn't, really.

* * *

Dawn's call had left her mildly unsettled, but helped her refocus her energy towards finding the missing girls. She finished her sandwich with a newfound hunger, opted for a more practical outfit over clubbing clothes, and threw her weapons sack over her shoulder before locking the door behind her.

The streets of Santa Lucia were eerily quiet. It was still fairly early in the evening, so the more oblivious residents in town had not yet ventured out to visit its clubs and cafes, or to take perilous moonlit walks through its parks. That meant very little bait. Buffy would have to rely on her Slayer sense to detect any vampires in the area. Vamps were more likely to kill the girls than kidnap them, but Dawn was probably right about a connection.


She headed to Lakeview Cemetery, Santa Lucia’s most beautiful, where most residents preferred to bury their dead. It had a natural lake at its centre that attracted all manner of wildlife - rendering it a place of serenity and beauty at any time of day, and a popular place to spend hours in contemplation. She figured it as likely a place as any to find the latest vamps in town before the clubs opened.

She didn’t have to wait long before she sensed a group of vampires headed her way.

There were five of them walking towards her general direction. Dressed in silk shirts and pleated slacks, they looked like they were already ready for a suckfest at the Loft, the more upscale of the two clubs. Buffy barely needed her Slayer sense to detect them. A waft of five different colognes hit her nose the next moment and she had to fight the overwhelming urge to sneeze.

Laying the scythe down silently, she reached for her stakes. She never left home these days without three: one at her back and one in each boot. At her left hip she kept her bowie knife — a sweet piece of weaponry she had picked up in Tasmania years ago.

“Hold up, fellas,” said a black-haired one, as he lifted his right hand. He was the suavest-looking of the bunch, tall with broad shoulders and a large jaw. Buffy thought about cracking it.

“What’s up Marco?” Asked a stout brunette.

“I smell an appetizer,” Marco replied, his lips forming a lopsided grin.

“And I can hear its little heart beat too,” giggled a sandy-haired one.

Already bored with their pathetic attempts at stoking fear, Buffy decided to skip the pleasantries and bring on the pain. As she stepped out from behind a tree to face the pack, two stakes were already leaving each hand and piercing the hearts of the chattier sidekicks.

Shocked by the attack and distracted by the dust of their friends, the two that had been silent were too slow to react. Recovering her scythe from the ground, Buffy rushed into attack, beheading one and staking the other with the pointy end of the scythe in one swoop.

That left Marco, who immediately shifted into game face with a roar. He came at her with two hands as if to grab her, but Buffy countered by flinging his arms aside to deliver a head butt that rendered him momentarily dazed. She followed it with a right hook to his jaw and couldn’t help the glee she felt when she heard it crack. After pummeling his middle for a few punches, she drove the heel of her boot into his kneecap, which pitched him face forward into the dirt. Kicking him over so she that could see his face, she decided now was a good time to talk.

“Hey Marco. I’m Buffy.” There was no amusement in her voice.

“Buf -?”

“Shut up.” The name obviously scared him, which was kind of stupid, since he had already gotten his ass kicked. “It’s my turn to talk. It’ll be your turn when I’ve asked my questions. Got it?”

He nodded.

“Good. Where were you headed?”

“The Loft,” he spit out.

“Figured as much. More importantly, where were you coming from?”

Marco paused before answering. “L.A.”

That earned him a devastating punch into the solar plexus.

“Try again.”

"I’m telling the truth, you bitch!”

Buffy pressed the heel of her boot into his face, which threatened to break his nose, before he groaned under the pain.

“Okay, okay! Hillside! We were staying in Hillside!” She didn’t let up on her boot. After all, this was working for her.

“That’s a big neighbourhood, Marco.”

“Please!” He managed to get out, but to no avail. Buffy could feel the bones of his nose about to yield.

“Alright, alright! Fuller Street!” She let up a bit on his face.

“Interesting.” There was an abandoned house she was curious about on Fuller Street. She couldn’t believe her luck.

Marco tried to reclaim the advantage before she made him say more. Reaching out swiftly, he yanked her other foot out from under her, causing her to join him in the dirt. Buffy countered instantly with a kick to his spleen, before she whipped her knife out of it's holster and drove it deep into his heart.

“Agh!” He was coughing up blood now.

She sighed. She was hardly surprised he’d try something; but it was pretty stupid of him. He was going to die. He had to know it. This way he was just making it more painful.

She continued her interrogation.

“Where abouts on Fuller Street Marco? Actually, scratch that. Enough twenty questions. Just give me an address, a genus, a species and numbers. And don’t leave out the victims. This might end better for you if you spill everything now.”

She watched as he considered his options, before deciding he had none. “Lumbricai” he relented. “Lumbricai species. There’s only one of them, though. I don’t know the genus!”

Stifling a smile, Buffy pressed him for more. “Okay. One Lumbricai. Check. Care to tell me what the hell that is?”

“Worm demon” he sputtered. “Human-demon hybrid. They invade human hosts and extend from the human skull to feed on other humans.”

Buffy was suddenly assaulted by a disturbing memory. It couldn’t be.

“Uh…these lumber cry -"

"Lumbricai."

"Whatever. They don’t, like... spew saliva that paralyzes you, do they?”

Marco nodded a yes.

“Whoa.” It was the penis lady from the Doublemeat. Or a cousin anyway. How weird was that? Buffy refocused. “You’re forgetting something Marco. Address? Victims?”

“Yeah. She’s got five girls in that abandoned house on Fuller Street. You know, the red house with the boarded windows. They’re okay though! Just paralyzed. They’re not for her to eat, I swear! They’re hosts for her young, and the young haven’t hatched yet!”

“Ew!” Buffy scrunched up her face at the thought. “When do they hatch then?” She drove the knife in deeper for good measure.

“Agh! Day after tomorrow. She’s got eight young, and we were hired to get her three more. The previous vamps she hired got dusted. We were gonna get paid big time to deliver her the final three.”

Buffy had heard enough. The creep had been kidnapping girls to deliver to a penis monster who wanted to impregnate them. The conversation was over. She ripped the knife out of the vampire’s heart and replaced it with a stake.

Dusting off her hands and collecting her weapons, Buffy headed home. This called for a Ripley moment.

She was gonna need more supplies.

A week and a half had gone by and Spike was nicely settled in a furnished basement apartment in Angel’s neighbourhood, as far from the Poof as possible. The place was nothing like his last flat in L.A. It was spacious for one, with an open rectangular plan, polished concrete floors, and smooth, white walls. At one end, there were sliding dividers of frosted glass to close off the bedroom, and a frosted glass-enclosed wet room in the corner. At the other end, a stainless steel kitchen which remained untouched, save for the fridge and one copper pot he used for warming blood. The central living space was furnished with a sofa of burnt-orange suede and two similar chairs in midnight blue - all facing a sleek, black Comptel 5, the latest digital home efficiency and recreation interface.

On the walls hung twelve large trompe l'oeil paintings - each depicting a window with the view of the neighbourhood one would see from its position, had the window been real. Viewed in succession, each represented a different time of day from sunrise to sunset.

They were Spike's favourite part of the flat.

He hadn't spent much time in the flat, though. With the Slayers staying out of Angel’s neighbourhood, Spike had free rein of the area without interference - except from Angel of course, who would ring every couple of days to check in. He’d had a brawl or two with demons that didn’t serve humans on the menu, and several battles to the death with ones that did. There was plenty of A neg and Jack on tap at a local demon bar, and spicy Buffalo wings at a joint not two blocks from his house. He'd also found a decent poker game by the end of his first week, and had made a small fortune in cash and Siamese - enough to lease a bike for the month.

You’d think a bloke would be happy and at peace with a set-up so sweet, but he wasn't. Wherever the city, whatever the set-up, he could never get rid of a gnawing sensation in his gut. Like a homeless man's hunger.

A feeling of emptiness.

He was fighting the good fight, silently protecting the citizens of the world, so it wasn’t as if he felt useless. His life had a sort of meaning. And he didn’t need credit from humans for saving their sorry arses every night, either. That was Angel’s kink.

He just didn’t want to be alone any longer.

The last few decades had easily been the loneliest of his existence. Spike had never been the brooding, loner type. As a man, he'd always had his mum. As a vampire for over a century, he'd had his Black Beauty to worship despite her insanity... and infidelity. When she'd left him in Brazil, he'd been lost in every possible way, so he'd gone back to the last place where he hadn’t been alone: Sunnydale.

Only a man so thoroughly emptied and rudderless would have stayed in that piece of shite town, allowing himself to be abused by the Whelp and scolded like a child by the Watcher on a regular basis. He was a Master Vamp, for christsakes. And then he'd fallen for the Slayer, and there'd been no going anywhere if she wasn’t going too. ‘Until death do us part’ anyway.

But even after he'd come back through the amulet, he'd had a gang — not his own gang exactly — but people he might have one day called mates.

Spike wasn’t ashamed to admit that he wanted friendship and love. He was ashamed that after two centuries of existence, he had never managed to get either.

It baffled him that Angel was so respected and liked. He was a royal bastard, had a truly sadistic demon, and even with a soul, was a self-righteous pillock. But he'd been given the respect of the Scoobies from day one, and had earned it back after torturing the Watcher, killing his bird and trying to murder them all. He'd gotten the respect and loyalty of the L.A. crew, even after he'd gone evil and back again. He had Dru’s undying devotion. He'd had Darla’s love even after he'd killed the bitch for Buffy. He had the trust of the L.A. Slayers now.

And Angel had Buffy.

Her heart anyway. No human git she might have married would have replaced Angel in her heart, just like no demon chit he may have shagged had replaced Buffy in his.

Spike had bedded quite a few women over the years. He might be dead, but his dick wasn’t. He usually preferred vamps over humans because he could let his demon out. Get a little rough. Have a bit of blood play. No one got hurt, and he wasn't tempted to drink deep.

But vamp women were cold. He didn’t burn when he touched them. Couldn’t hear the rush of their blood flowing to their cunnies. Couldn’t hear their heartbeats pounding in his ears as he pounded them into the ground.

Couldn't let them live if he caught them feeding afterwards.

Buffy had ruined him.

Spike thought on his situation for all of ten minutes before he decided that there was nothing about his mood that getting pissed wouldn’t fix. He was getting a bit stir crazy in his neighbourhood though, so he decided to find a decent pub in Venice Beach. Grabbing his latest duster, Spike left the apartment and jumped on his bike.

Parking his bike by the boardwalk, he wandered the surrounding streets for a while to get a feel for the place again. L.A. seemed to get pissed early, cause there were a hell of a lot of birds out in miniskirts, barely balancing on their pumps. He spotted one girl being dragged willingly into an alley by a bloke paler than he was, which was saying something. Bloody hell. A White Hat’s work was never done.

Following lazily behind the two, Spike entered the blind-ended alley about twenty feet behind them. The vamp had the girl pressed into a brick wall and was doing the sniff and nibble along her neck. He smiled sadly to himself. He had always liked the sniff and nibble.

“Mind if I join the party, mate?” Spike smirked.

“Fuck off you pervert!” The vamp shot back.

“Um, yeah! Oh my gosh. This is a private moment!” The girl added.

“Death always is,” Spike countered with growing irritation.

“Wha-?”

Before she could finish the word, the vamp was in game face and lunging towards her neck.

“Ahh! Hel-!”

Spike didn’t let her finish that word either. With dizzying speed, he grabbed the vamp by the neck and flung him across the narrow alley into the opposite wall - watching him slump to the ground like a sack of garbage.

He looked back at the whimpering chit. “Sober up and go home,” he chastised her. “And don’t follow blokes into dark alleys, you nit. No, on second thought, do whatever the hell you want, but at least know what you’re in for.”

The girl wasted no time in running away, leaving one broken pump behind.

Spike leisurely walked to where the vampire was rallying himself for a fight and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. It was so much funnier when the bloke actually thought he had a chance. Depressing, really, when he knew he didn’t.

Letting out his demon, Spike waited for the vamp to charge him, before tripping the vamp as he lunged, sending him flying to hit the first wall again.

“This is like vamp ping pong!” He cackled.

Enraged, the vamp approached more slowly this time, growling for good measure, and threw a right hook at Spike’s cheek. Spike wasn’t sure how much faster he had gotten over the years, but he marveled at the swing. It looked to be in slow motion. Cupping the vamp's fist with his left, he countered with the right heel of his palm, crushing the vamp’s nasal bones into the base of his brain. It may not kill a vamp, but it would render him bloody stupid for the rest of his life. The vamp screamed in pain, clutching the sides of his head with both hands.

“Sorry mate, let me do that for you.” Spike clutched the sides of the vamp’s head with both hands and twisted until he was dust.

Wiping his hands clean of dust and still in game face, Spike turned to find two Slayers blocking the exit to the alley. Bloody hell. Sometimes his unlife really sucked.

“Ladies, this really isn’t a good time for me,” he said wearily. There was no point in getting rid of his bumpies now that they’d seen them, but he shifted to his human face anyway.

"Well, we could always come back and stake you later, vampire, but we've got dinner reservations at nine."

So the red-headed one had a bit of spunk. Turning to the brunette, the red-head whispered, "Carla, I’ll take him head-on. You approach a second later from his blind side.”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” He was too dismayed to laugh at their stupidity. “You do realize that vamps have superior hearing?”

The girls looked to each other, clearly embarrassed by their error.

Shaking his head and scratching at his temple, Spike thought about how best to get rid of the girls without hurting one of them.

“Alright. Carla, Ginger there had an alright plan. You can go with it, and get your arses handed to you, or you can show me your arses as you walk away now. Cause really, I'm not in the mood to hurt you at the moment. I don’t kill girls anymore, ladies. As a matter of fact, I don’t kill humans.”

“You think we’re stupid or something?” The red-head asked.

“Well, yeah.”

“Sal, something tells me we shouldn't mess with this one right now," Carla whispered, despite knowing Spike could hear. "Not without back-up, anyway."

“Are you kidding me, Carla? He’s one vamp! There’s two of us! Sonny would laugh at us for a month!”

“Alright, hold on there, Ginger. Carla’s right, and I’m betting Carla’s been a Slayer a bit longer than you, and will still be one when you’re in a bloody box, cause she's not nearly as dense."

The red-head looked at Carla then, as if considering the truth of his words.

Less irritated, Spike continued: "Look, you're Slayers. You’re not invincible. Just because you have a destiny or whatever, doesn’t mean you’re destined to win every fight." Pausing for effect, he continued in a quieter voice: "You’re gonna die ladies, and it’s not gonna happen because you’re weak. It’s gonna happen because you’re arrogant on the wrong bloody day.”

The girls looked at each other for several moments.

Spike sighed. "For the last bloody time, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not gonna hurt anybody — uh, any human body that is. I’m just out for a stroll and a drink."

Still no response from the two. Balls. Did he really have to go there?

"Fine. You don’t believe me? Ask Angel, then.”

“Angel?” Carla repeated.

“Yeah, you know ‘em, I’m sure. Everybody does." Media whore.

Carla nodded that they did.

“Yeah, well, we’re friends." That made him wince. "Uh, more like frenemies. Point being, we’re on the same side, which means I’m on yours.”

The girls relaxed their fighting stances and lowered their stakes, but didn't move from blocking the alley exit.

“Well ladies, it's been fun - considering nobody's ruptured a spleen - but I’ve got places to be. You’ve seen my face. Go ask Angel about me. If I’m lying, well, I’ll be around. Find me and we’ll dance. Maybe I’ll teach you a few moves.” Too impatient to wait for them to make up their minds, Spike walked straight towards them - eyes looking beyond them, shoulders and arms relaxed.

He was pleased to see them part to let him through.


* * *

Spike was on his fourth bourbon at a demon pub in Venice Beach, wondering if Angel would out him to the Slayers and what that would mean for his unlife, when he caught a conversation between two vamps at the end of the bar.

“Twenty G, man. For each girl you get. Unbelievable.”

“I don't get it. What’s so hard about snatching a girl?”

“I know! I guess the other vamps sent there weren’t up to it. Somethin’ about a Slayer being there.”

“Just one bitch?” the second asked. “Hell, L.A. is crawlin’ with them.”

“I know, right. But I’m hoping Marco and the fellas see the pointy end of a stick tonight, so me and Johnny can have a go. We could head to Santa Lucia tomorrow night, hit the local clubs, snatch three girls, drop 'em off at the house, get paid, and head to Vegas, baby!”

“Three girls. Man, that’s sixty thousand. Maybe you could cut me in. You could use the back-up if there’s a pretty tough Slayer there.”

“True. Twenty G is better than a stake. You’re in. Let’s just hope we’re needed. She only needs three more girls, and if Marco got the job done, no pay day.”

Spike had heard enough. That was the great thing about vamps — embarrassing too. They were the most indiscreet demons on the planet. So some demon woman was paying vamps to snatch girls. Might be for the sex trade. Ritual sacrifice, perhaps, but that typically called for just one. Whatever the fuck her plan was, it ended tonight.

Spike couldn’t remember ever having been to Santa Lucia. It was one of those sleepy towns not worth going to, but in between two that were, so you may have passed through it and forgot it just as quick. It was only about an hour’s drive north. If he left the bar now, he could be there in forty minutes at the speed he rode. Then he'd kill the demon bitch, steal the cash, save the girls, and head to Vegas, baby. A night in Vegas for some poker and R&R wasn’t a bad plan after all. Only one, lonely Slayer? He'd manage her like a hand job - eyes closed and one-fisted. He’d be back in L.A. the next night. A little mission of his own making was just what Spike needed to take his mind off waiting for the Dragvloks to make their move.

Maybe it would take his mind off how lonely he was too.

Take his mind off of her.

"Okay. First, penis lady. She's easy. The scythe will do."

Buffy stood in the middle of her basement, hands on her hips, scanning her weapons collection for the right tools to take out Santa Lucia's latest Big Bad.

"Penis lady eggs? Hmm..." She needed something to burn them. What did Ripley use in Aliens to torch the eggs? Was it a flame thrower? Did flame throwers exist yet? Wait, maybe a flame thrower is the guy at the circus....

"Okay, no flame thrower. Maybe something to blow them up. Why don't I have grenades?"

'Because you're a purist Buffy', she thought to herself. But that wasn't exactly true. There'd been quite a few Big Bads requiring military firepower.

"Stupid Council. Where are they when you need them? They've got grenades..." she pouted.

Maybe she could use hairspray and a lighter like they did in the movies. But wouldn’t her hand catch fire? Unconsciously, she rubbed her scarred left palm against the side of her thigh.

"Okay, hairspray it is. Egg problem solved." Buffy left the basement, deciding her scythe, a lighter and a can of Super Stiff hairspray would do for weaponry. She headed to the kitchen next, going straight for her junk drawer.

The drawer was so full that it never fully closed. She opened it roughly, causing various odds and ends to spill out onto the floor. "Yikes. Why do I have so many packets of duck sauce?" Searching through the contents of the drawer, she inadvertently spilled out more.

"Rubber bands... batteries. Are these old or new? Argh... comb... candle... Ooh, matches!... No, Buffy... microwave instructions... screwdriver... stake... cookie cutter... lipstick... Ha! One lighter!" Pocketing the lighter and closing the junk drawer easily now that half its contents were on the floor, she headed to her bedroom closet for the right outfit.

"Okay, I need spit protection..." She pushed aside each item that wouldn't do. "What I need is a wet suit. Why didn't I take up diving?"

She finally settled on a pair of tight black leather pants and her fitted black leather jacket. "A tank top will have to do for underneath." Grabbing a tight white tank, she threw the items on her bed and proceeded to change.

"Okay, now comes the tricky part. Head gear. Hm..." Buffy stood in her room turning in circles, as if the perfect protective headgear against paralyzing saliva would reveal itself.

Ooh!" Racing back to her closet, she got on her hands and knees to reach the back corner and pulled out a black motorcycle helmet. She gave it a winning smile. "Thanks Angel." Buffy hadn't really needed the protection when she used to ride with Angel, but 'The law is the law' he'd always said.

Head to toe in leather, with her helmet under her arm, Buffy grabbed a can of Super Stiff from the bathroom on her way to her backyard.

"Alright, let's test this out." She decided to wear her helmet in case things went horribly wrong, and she wound up torching her too-long locks. Well, that'd be one way to get a haircut.

Pulling the lighter out of her pocket, she held the flame in her right hand, as far from her face as possible. Hair spray in her left hand, she sprayed a small amount out towards the flame, causing a short burst of fire.

"Wow. It really works!"

Trying again with more pressure, she managed to sustain a stream of fire without doing her hand any damage.

Awesome.

Satisfied with her homemade flame thrower, she now had to consider the matter of squeezing five girls into her Mini.

Eh, they'd work it out.

Buffy locked the back door as she returned inside, threw her hairspray and helmet in her bag with the scythe, and went back into the darkening night to do battle.

"Hairspray to the rescue!"

Bad joke, Buffy.


* * *

"Welcome home, sir."

Spike slammed the front door closed. "Shut it, Kit."

"Shut what, sir? The front door has already closed. And my name is not Kit, sir. It is C.H.E.R.I., for Comptel Home Efficiency and Recreation Interface, Model 5.0."

"D'accord. Ferme la bouche, ma cherie."

"Very well, sir."

Spike would've hit the road for Santa Lucia from the pub, but he'd figured a weapon might come in handy, so had back-pedaled home. Opening the sliding dividers to his bedroom, he went straight to the trunk at the foot of his bed, lifting the lid to his small armory.

"Pretty tricky carrying a sword on the bike without being noticed..."

Opting for a long blade that he could hide under his coat, he pushed aside his sword and grabbed the knife and holster.

"This should do."

He changed into a tight, black army sweater and cargo pants for the mission - not because he cared about the weather further north, but because it seemed more appropriate for the task. He also packed a small bag with a T-shirt and jeans for Vegas, in case he got bloody.

Fitting the holstered blade around his waist, he pulled his duster back on, threw his bag over his shoulder, and turned to leave.

"Good bye, sir," C.H.E.R.I. announced as he opened the front door.

"Shut it, Kit."

And C.H.E.R.I. shut the front door behind him.


* * *

Buffy threw her bag into the front passenger seat and opted to leave the car roof down in case the Mini proved too tight a squeeze for the girls. Since the eggs weren't due to hatch until tomorrow, she decided not to risk speeding. It was only a ten minute drive to Hillside, plus another few minutes to find a fairly discreet parking spot behind the Fuller Street house.

Driving slowly down River Street, Buffy spotted a parking space two houses down from the back of the house. Eyeing her surroundings from the car, she noticed an old man outside with his dog - though she wasn't sure who was walking who - and a gang banger hopping into his Beemer. She waited until the BMW had disappeared and the old man had turned the corner. Returning her gaze to the house, she saw that the windows in the back were all boarded up with no light peeking through. It didn't mean that suspicious eyes weren't peering through the cracks though.

There was no way to be stealthy in the burbs, so she grabbed her bag, shut the car door quietly, and walked to the back of the house as if she did it every day. Listening at the back door, she could hear nothing. Walking to one of the downstairs windows, she could see through a crack in the boards that the room was empty and dark. She checked the second downstairs window as well. No luck. If there were girls inside, they'd be upstairs, then.

Buffy turned the handle to the back door. Locked. Biting her bottom lip at the noise she was about to make, she subtly leaned her left shoulder against the door while scanning the street for onlookers, before forcing the door ajar. On peeking her head through the doorway, the stench of urine, feces and something disgustingly alien hit her nose, and she fought the urge to throw up her club sandwich. She must have digested it already, because in the end, all she could do was dry heave. Quickly, she dug into her bag for her scythe and helmet - slamming the helmet on her head and pulling the visor down over her face.

In no mood to stop and smell the shit, she searched the downstairs rooms efficiently, finding them equally filthy, and showing no signs of recent use. Walking to the front of the house, she noticed the stairs, and decided the only place to go was up.

The old wooden stairs didn't creak so much as groan under her weight. She winced, knowing that the penis lady was sure to have heard her. At least the girls wouldn't be in any danger, though. The demon needed them. But Buffy fully expected to be attacked the moment she hit the top stair.

To her surprise, the hallway on the second floor was equally abandoned. There were five doors on the floor, all closed.

"Okay. One by one," she mouthed silently.

Turning to her right, she approached the first door. She turned the knob, opening the door slowly, and edged over to peek through the crack. Closet. Leaving it open so as not make more noise, she checked the second door in a similar fashion.

Bedroom. Empty. Filthy. Check.

Third room: Ew! Bathroom. Disgusting. And alarmingly, not the primary source of the smell of shit.

Okay, that left two doors. Taking a deep breath and regretting it instantly because of the stench still coming through her helmet, Buffy slowly opened the fourth door. She caught the sight of a dirty bare foot even before she had fully eased it open.

"Oh my god." There was no point in being quiet now.

Five girls lay on the ground - their arms and feet shackled to the floor. The stench was coming from them, as they lay in their own excrement - their faces covered in what little vomit could escape the tape across their mouths. Scanning their forms for injuries, she was relieved to find them all fully-dressed, with no visible bite marks.

The vamps had only kidnapped them.

All but one of them appeared to be unconscious. On seeing Buffy enter the room, the only conscious girl began thrasing against her chains, eyes wide and pleading, her voice a series of broken and muffled cries. Clearly, the demon had been unable to keep them paralyzed forever.

Lifting up the visor of her helmet, Buffy reached to pull the tape from the girl's mouth before thinking better of it and stopping herself. The girl might start screaming about what had happened to her, and Buffy still had to check the fifth door.

The girl saw Buffy backing away and began thrashing even more.

"Quiet! Please!" Buffy whispered. "I promise you. I'm coming back." Buffy pointed in the direction of the fifth door, and the girl settled before nodding with understanding.

Turning to exit, Buffy lowered the visor on her helmet again. With her back to the wall, she edged closer to the fifth door - her scythe out in front of her, bag over her left shoulder. All the girls now accounted for, she opted for a dramatic entrance and kicked the door open, sending it flying off it's hinges.

"Whoa."

Here was the source of the alien stench.

The penis lady was no where to be seen. Instead, eight slimy pod thingies that came up to her knees were scattered haphazardly about the small room - one nestled on the bed, as if it were just put down for a nap. They were purplish-black in color, and covered in what looked like corded blue veins.

"Ugh."

Dropping her bag between two pods, she hastily fished out her hair spray, then dug into her pocket for her lighter.

"Wait. Free the girls, first. Then cook the eggs," she mumbled. Leaving her bag in the room, Buffy raced back to the fourth room with her scythe.

All of the girls were conscious now - no doubt awoken by the girl who'd seen Buffy - and looking wide-eyed at their rescuer.

Buffy figured the girls would want the tape removed from their mouths first, but she didn't want to answer a dozen questions while she was working. Lifting her visor to see better, she knelt down to the pair of feet nearest her, and inspected a shackle for the weakest point in it's short chain. She wouldn't have trusted anyone but herself to use the blade of the scythe to cut chains so close to the ankle. Backing up slightly, she lifted the scythe while focusing her eyes on the spot she'd chosen, and began to lower the blade.

"Mm Mm! Mm Mm!"

Buffy stopped mid-swing, turning disbelieving eyes to the owner of the shackled feet.

Clearly, the girl didn't trust Buffy's accuracy.

"Okay. Listen. You can trust me here, or you can stay here. I trust me. You should too."

The girl seemed to think for a second before nodding.

Refocusing her eyes on her chosen spot, Buffy could feel five sets of eyes on her, as she brought the blade down swiftly - freeing one ankle of it's shackle. More than one girl sighed in relief.

She made quick work of all the shackles, leaving the girls to remove the tape from their own mouths. To her surprise, no one said anything beyond "Thank you", as they let the tears flow freely and rubbed at their wrists and ankles.

Freeing the last girl from her shackles, Buffy stood up - the girls following with some difficulty after being in shackles for so long. "Okay, my car is outside. It's the black Mini with the top down, on River Street, just behind the house, two houses down. The doors are unlocked. I can take you guys to the hospital or home, whichever you need; but I've got to take care of the penis pods first."

The girls remained standing, blinking dumbly at her, as if confused.

"Okay, let's try this again. I'm here to rescue you. You're going to be okay, but only if you get out of here now. Leave the house as fast as you can and wait for me in the car. Here are the keys." Buffy placed them in the hand of the girl who had first seen her. "You can lock the doors, turn on the AC, whatever. If things look dicey, or if you see anything suspicious and feel unsafe, then leave me here and drive yourselves to the hospital. I can pick up the car later. Just leave the keys at the ER reception desk or something."

Buffy turned to leave the room, but then turned back. "I'd rather you wait for me, though. I won't be long."

She left the room at that, and heard the girls shuffling behind her.

After watching them clumsily descend the stairs on weakened legs, she waited until she heard them leave the house before going back to the fifth room.

"Ugh." It just didn't stop being gross. She grabbed her Super Stiff from the top of the bag, pulled her lighter out of her pocket, and lowered the visor on her helmet. The penis pod on the bed was the furthest from the door, and would set a good flame on the sheets, so she torched that one first. She was half expecting a baby penis to pop out screeching, and was relieved that the Sci Fi movies weren't entirely right.

Smoke was rapidly filling the room, and if she didn't act quickly, she'd probably faint from smoke inhalation. Spraying the top of each pod enough to catch them on fire, she rushed to close the door behind her and tried to set the door aflame too.

Quickly, she raced down the stairs, through to the kitchen, out the back door, and on to River Street to where she had parked the car.

The Mini was gone.

"Hell Rider. No. Ghost Rider. No. Blaze of... Bugger."

Parked on the outskirts of town, Spike was struggling to find an original name for his bike while he finished his fag. The eighty mile trip to Santa Lucia was supposed to have taken an hour. He'd guessed he could do it forty minutes. He'd done it in thirty.

"We'll sort it out, baby." He stroked the bike. "If I keep you." Crushing his cigarette under his boot, he restarted the engine and drove into town under the speed limit.

As he cruised down Main Street, Spike was shaken by how old fashioned the town looked. "Bloody Sunnydale reborn." There wasn't much town to the place. The sign on the outskirts from L.A. had said 'Population 120,000' but it must've been mainly in suburban sprawl. It shouldn't take much effort to sniff out the demon bitch then, if she was set up in town.

Following the general direction of pedestrian activity, Spike ended up outside a club called 'The Basement'. He slowed the bike to a stop at the curb - just at the end of a line of kids waiting to get in. A sweet, curly-haired bird at the end of the line - barely eighteen he reckoned - was batting her eyelashes at him.

"Evening, ducks."

"Hi," she giggled.

"This the hot ticket in town, then?"

"If you're cool. Only trust-fund losers go to the Loft."

"I see. Well I haven't got a trust fund, love. Matter of fact..." Fuck it, he'd give it a go. "I was lookin' to make a bit of dosh while in town, and was wondering where the... uh... seedier part of town might be."

"Oh... Um... I don't know, Mister. Look, I don't want any trouble." The girl turned around toward the front of the line, looking everywhere but at him.

"Relax, love. I'm not lookin' to take you with me," he spoke to her back. "Like I said, just wondering where the low-lifes collect. The kind of blokes not good enough for a treasure like you."

She seemed to soften a little from the flattery, because she turned back around, though she wouldn't raise her eyes to him. "Um... Hillside I guess. It's got some pretty rundown parts. Gangs. Drugs. Abandoned houses and stuff. Low-lifes."

"Thanks, pet." Spike gave her a wink. Leaving his bike to walk to the front of the line, he approached the club's doorman - an overbuilt but well-dressed ponce who would no doubt pass for 'cool' in that town.

Spike approached the man and stared him down, head cocked to the side, his face a picture of menace.

The doorman shifted from one foot to the other, glancing up to meet Spike's eyes for only a second at a time, before looking away again.

"Uh, can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah, you can. Do I look like I'm used to waitin' at the back of a line of fuckin' teenagers?"

The door man swallowed, eyed the line of kids, and nodded. "Go on through."

"Not without my girls, mate." Spike pointed a thumb towards the end of the line.

"Yeah, alright."

Smirking, Spike walked back to the curly-haired girl. "Fancy skipping the queue, love?"

She looked at him like he was a rock star then.

"Can Sarah and Lesley come, too?"

Giving a nod in reply, Spike offered his arm to the curly-haired girl which she took shyly before waving to her friends to follow. As the group walked to the front of the club, Spike stared down every boy in line who showed his displeasure.

Once inside the club, he released the girl's arm. "Have fun, ladies."

"Hey, do you wanna maybe dance or something?" the girl asked, beginning to show a trace of confidence.

"Thanks, but I'm just here to have a look around. Think I'll head to Hillside like you suggested. Maybe you could point me in the right direction."

"Yeah, sure. Just stay on Main Street until Franklin, make a right on Franklin, and then... uh... I think it's about five minutes or so before you turn left on..."

"Sunset," the girl's friend added.

"Yeah, Sunset. That'll take you into the general area. The worse streets are River and Fuller."

"You're a peach, love." Spike turned to walk away.

"See ya!" the girl shouted at his back. "Hey, and thanks!" Giggling, the girl grabbed her friends and headed to the dance floor.

Spotting a free corner in the single-level club, Spike claimed it to get a good view of the crowd. He was only in town to find the demon, but he figured he might as well see if the vamps were in the club so that he could tail them. The crowd looked pretty innocent though - no one too pale, clearly on the prowl, or badly dressed in outdated clothes. Satisfied that the club was vamp-free, he left the place the way he'd come in.

"Cheers, mate," he called over his shoulder, as he passed the doorman on his way out. Back on his bike, Spike headed down Main Street for Franklin.


* * *

"Well, I guess the house catching fire counted as 'things looking dicey'."

Buffy was trying not to fault the girls for leaving her at the house, as she cut through Lakeview Cemetery on her way to the hospital. "They better have left the car at Memorial, though," she grumbled. She was walking at a leisurely pace through the cemetery's north side - her hair down, helmet on her right hip and bag over her left shoulder. There was no real rush now that the girls were out of danger.

She was feeling pretty pleased with herself for having gotten to the girls in time; and in frying the eggs, it was unlikely the penis lady would be kidnapping anyone else. Buffy still had to find her though, and the trail was now cold. With her demon hidden, she could be any old lady.

"Hmm... Maybe I should try the Meat Hut. They might all like fast food..."

"No. Stupid Buffy," she muttered. She grumpily kicked up a thick patch of grass.


* * *

Spike hadn't needed directions to the house in the end. Once he'd gone down Franklin looking for the next turn, he noticed a thick plume of black smoke in the sky to his left and heard a fire engine coming from some distance behind him. Eager to suss out the situation before the authorities got there, he sped up in the direction of the fire.

He found himself on River Street, outside the back of a red, dilapidated two-storey house. The stench from the place was overwhelming to his sensitive nose, and smelled decidedly un-human.

"Dude, that place reeks!"

Turning quickly to his left, Spike eyed a skinny, blond bloke with a pathetic attempt at dreadlocks, staring up at the burning house - his tattooed hand covering his face.

"Yeah it does. Any idea what happened here, mate?"

"Newsflash, dude. Someone torched the place! Hope none of the shorties were in there."

"Shorties?"

"Yeah. Somethin' weird's been goin' on over there the past couple of weeks, man. I've seen dudes taking their ladies in there for a little... You know," he chuckled, elbowing Spike in the side. "But I've never seen the shorties come out until tonight. Saw a bunch of 'em run out the back and drive off in a Mini. Sweet ride, too."

"Uh huh. See anyone else, then?"

"Nope."

"Right." Bugger. The local Slayer must've beaten him to the prize. No doubt the stench was the demon bitch getting barbecued. "Fuck."

On second thought, maybe the ride hadn't been a total waste. It was possible the vamps had delivered the girls and gotten paid before the Slayer had arrived. Wouldn't hurt to see if he could find them and fleece 'em. If he didn't, he could still head to Vegas. He had his own dosh, after all. It was just more fun losing another bloke's money.

"So how do I get to the other club in town, then, Shaggy? What's it called? The Loft?" Maybe the vamps were feeding there on their way out of town.

"The Loft? Dude, that's for trust-"

"-fund losers, I know. Just tell me how to get there, mate."

"Well, you could take Franklin to Main, then turn left on Market, but that's the long way. With the bike, it'd be quicker to cut through Lakeview straight to Market."

"Lakeview?"

"Cemetery. It's the big one in the center of town, dude. You can't miss it! That's what's behind all those trees lining the main roads in town. Sounds creepy, but it's not. There's a lake in the center, benches and stuff, and some sweet, hidden spots to uh... partake of nature's bounty, if you know what I'm sayin." Again with the elbow. One more time and Spike was gonna have to elbow him back.

"Right. Sounds like a plan, then. Cheers, mate."

"No worries. But hey, you sure you wouldn't rather head back to my place?"

Spike gave him a glare that could cut bone.

"Dude! Chill out! I just meant we could hang! I've got some stuff, is all. We could party, bro." Shaggy bared a bottom row of filmy, brown teeth, and an upper row of cheap gold.

Unconsciously, Spike swiped his bottom teeth with his tongue, as if the film had somehow settled on his own. "Tempting, but, no. Thanks anyway, mate."

He'd give Santa Lucia one thing: The folks here sure were helpful. Hearing the sirens rapidly approaching, Spike started his bike and sped off in the direction of Lakeview.


* * *

Buffy could never resist stopping by the lake when she patrolled the cemetery. Tonight was no different. The Mini wasn't going anywhere - assuming the girls had actually dropped it off at Memorial.

Skipping the benches, Buffy dropped her bag in the grass along the lake's edge and sat on her knees so she could run her fingers through the water. The wind had picked up and the lake was forming gentle ripples, splashing as the water met land. Sitting at the lake always saddened her, but it was a comforting sort of melancholy, if there was such a thing. The kind that made her feel human. Alive and vulnerable.

As her gaze travelled over the surface of the lake to its opposite end, a figure in black caught her eye amongst the headstones beyond. She would normally ignore the residents who came to visit the lake at night, but the figure was hovering near a crypt nowhere near the lake. Something wasn't right.

Sighing, she collected her bag and started walking towards the figure. Once she was past the lake entirely and had entered the east graveyard, the figure started moving away from her. He was headed towards the North Gate, the one she had entered from Hillside, but avoiding the lake, in a roundabout way. Quickening her pace, she widened her path to get a better view of his face and was startled when the face came into view.

It was a woman. An older woman in fact. Her hair was grey and cropped short, her face pinched. She was slim and dressed in slacks and a black trench coat, which she held tightly closed with gnarled hands.

She was moving furtively and she was walking towards Hillside.

Do the math Buffy. What's an older woman doing trolling the graveyard at night, hanging out at crypts and headed towards the bad side of town? One plus one plus one equals penis lady.

Jackpot.

Buffy couldn't believe her luck tonight. Slowing down to give the woman a false sense of security, she dug out her helmet and secured it one-handed. Slipping her hand back into her bag, she gripped the handle of the scythe but left it covered. She quickened her pace then, to catch up with her mark.

"Goin' home to your rotten little eggs, lumber-cry?"

The woman stopped abruptly but didn't turn around.

Buffy took that as a yes. Letting her bag fall from around her arm, she brought the scythe forward, holding it firmly in both hands. "Come on, Tootise. Let's see your penis!"


* * *

Cruising down Franklin Street, Spike found the North Gate entrance to Lakeview Cemetery with ease. He noticed the signs for the bike lane inside and reckoned that didn't apply to motorbikes. Not that he cared. He'd stick to the lane though, figuring that would keep him on the straightest path through and around the lake. He had to admit the place had a beauty about it that was spoiled a bit by the noise of his bike. Slowing down to a quieter speed, he'd barely penetrated the park when the wind carried a scent to his nose.

Spike stopped the bike.

Widening his nostrils, he inhaled deeply.

He stopped the engine.

Ten seconds passed.

He couldn't move. Refused to breathe.

Sod it. He couldn't last any longer and inhaled deeply again.

Time could fade a lot of things for a vampire, but never a scent.

Never hers.

As certain as his nose seemed to be that it was her, his brain refused to believe that it could be. Not here. Not now.

It just couldn't be.

What the hell did he do now? He really didn't know.

His body had other ideas.

He wasn't even aware of getting off his bike. Like a ship with shredded sail, he let himself be pulled by the wind that carried her scent, back to its source. He couldn't stop breathing her in now. The further he walked, the more she filled his head, until every other sense was dulled to nothing. His eyes began to water, and it became impossible to swallow the growing lump in his throat.

Barely aware of himself, Spike found himself at the beginning of the eastern graveyard.

"Oh god."

She was old. He knew she would be, of course. But seeing her. Watery eyes may have blurred his vision, but his nose never lied. It was her. Silver haired. Forlorn. Clutching her oversized coat across her chest to ward off the winds...

"Oh god, no."

Someone was behind her.

A figure in leather. Some biker chick with an axe. What the bleeding hell?

The only thing more devastating than seeing her again, was seeing what would happen if he didn't run.

Spike ran like a hound from Hell.

With a speed he didn't know he had, he was flying - barely touching the ground in long leaps to save his girl.

He didn't care where the axe landed when he dove to tackle the biker bitch.

"Oof!" he heard the bitch say, as they collided, sending them both on their backs.

"Run!" he yelled to his girl, lifting his head off the ground. God, he hoped she could still run like a Slayer.

She started to flee towards the North Gate, and he was relieved to see her able to get to a decent speed. Still on his back, he felt himself quickly for injuries - surprised to find that the axe had missed him.

"What the hell?"

Wait. That voice...

Spike whipped his head to the left towards his girl's attacker. She was barely five feet away. Her helmet had flown off in the tackle, and she was sitting up, straight-legged, a curtain of gold hanging over her face, down to her waist. Pulling her hair behind her ear, she looked over to him.

And hazel eyes met blue.

Silence.

Spike closed his eyes. It was a slow, deliberate manoeuvre.

Quicker than intended, he opened them again.

He swallowed. She was still there. All leather and light.

He blinked again.

Bloody hell.

He was dead. No. He was insane. No, not insane. Hallucinating. Right. This was a fleeting hallucination brought on by the shock of seeing his girl again, grown old. Wishful thinking. A mirage. This was a-

"-joke?"

What? Had she said something? Oh god, what had she said?

Swallowing again, he managed the barest beginning of a word: a subtle sucking in of the cheeks.

"Wha-?"

"This isn't funny." Her lips were trembling. They were the only part of her that moved. Wet strokes of pink on white canvas.

"In fact, it's the opposite of funny."

What is? What the hell was going on?

"You're going to die in two minutes..."

Right. Not dead, then. Just hallucinating.

".... But if you don't show me your real face right now, I'll make it hurt more than you will ever hurt in hell."

The wind started to pick up her hair as she spoke, making it flare about her face like some medieval crown.

It was the most glorious thing he'd ever seen.

He managed the whisper of a word in response, this time. More a breath really. A question in a sigh.

"Buffy?"

The kick came out of nowhere - landing with so violent a force that it brought out his demon as it sent him rolling face first into a headstone.

Whipping his head back to her with a growl, he pushed himself to his feet with a newfound energy fueled by confusion.

"That's not your real face either, you bastard."

She was stalking him - hair swirling wildly about her pale face now, her weapon a natural extension of her arm. Her weapon... Not an axe. A scythe.

Bloody hell. Not a dream.

He whimpered - his demon melting away. His voice was coming back to him. Hesitant, but there. "Buffy?"

He ducked - missing the swing of her blade by a hair, as it cut the wind above his head with a hiss.

He muttered quickly, before she'd strike again. "Buffy, love, I don't understand-"

The wooden point of the scythe just scraped past his chest as he twisted to the side away from her thrust.

"Stop saying my name!"

"Bu-... Slayer, please!" He pushed his arms out in front of him, begging her to stop.

Dropping the scythe, she flung his arms wide to head butt him, but he knew that move and countered quickly with the same - before grabbing her face one-handed and shoving her roughly to the ground.

"Slayer, listen to me, for fuck's sake!" He was starting to feel like himself again.

It was her.

God knows how it was her - so young and gorgeous - but, bloody hell, it was. And it wasn't just his nose that told him now. Every sense of his was awake to the reality of her.

She was lying on her back, propped up on her elbows and staring up at him - a snarl on her face, eyes narrowed and hateful. An avenging angel, she was.

God, how he'd missed her.

Rushing towards her, he bent down on one knee to try to talk to her again.

He caught her foot - just before it would've rammed into his chest. This only gave her the leverage to kick him in the chin, sending him flying onto his back, as she back-flipped to a stand.

She wasn't going to listen.

He was on his feet in a second and they started to circle each other. Eyes locked. Guards up.

He couldn't help it. Couldn't stop it for anything.

Every muscle in his face relaxed into a smile. A wide, toothy, unguarded, goofy smile.

When she jabbed, he weaved.

He threw a left hook. She ducked.

Spike laughed out loud.

Sod it. He'd explain himself later. Didn't matter. She was there. They were together. And on that night, at that moment, she was his.

All he wanted to do now was dance.

He started bouncing on his toes. "Tick tock, love. Wasn't I supposed to be dead by now?"

"Shut up!"

Buffy faked a left jab before delivering a lethal right punch to his sternum that sent him stumbling backward, struggling to stay on his feet.

Fuck. He didn't remember her punches landing that hard.

He croaked through the pain: "Nice one, love".

"Don't you dare call me that!" She looked unsettled, so her next move was slower, and he easily dodged another right hook.

Grinning widely, he teased, "Why, you've got a patent on it or somethin'?"

She tried a sideways kick to his chin next, but barely nicked it with her boot as he caught her foot and drove his elbow into the side of her knee.

"Agh!" He'd made it hurt just enough to slow her down - sending her retreating a few steps, favoring her left leg. Grasping the opportunity, he advanced and sent a left hook to her cheek, following quickly with a roundhouse kick to the right one.

Staggering slightly from the assault, Buffy looked him dead in the eyes and ground through clenched teeth, "What the hell are you?"

"I'm your match, pet," he replied with a grin. He just couldn't stop smiling.

She tried a left hook. He blocked it.

He sent an uppercut to her jaw and she bent back to evade it.

She dropped low to sweep his legs, but he jumped and landed a mid-air kick to her mouth - splitting her bottom lip.

Bugger. Now all he could think about was tasting it.

"Uh!" He hadn't been prepared for the blow to his gut. Coughing through the ache, he quietly scolded himself: 'Focus, mate'.

They started circling each other again.

"You're an idiot," she spat.

"You think you're the first person to tell me that, pet? Come to think of it, you think that's even the first time you've told me that?" He was chuckling at the insult and never stopped bouncing on his toes.

"Stop the act!" She shouted furiously, still circling and looking for her opportunity to strike. "It's not working. You picked the wrong glamour, or whatever it is you've done to look like him. He's been dead for decades, brainiac. You should've picked a vampire I've actually dated in the last ten years."

Spike stopped bouncing.

His gut twisted and clenched.

He could taste the bile rising in his throat.

Angel.

The bastard knew. He'd known the whole fucking time.

Worse. He'd been with her.

Spike's face sank, his shoulders and arms dropped.

Shutting his eyes from the truth, he wasn't prepared for the onslaught that followed. Punch after punch with dizzying speed hit his temples. Left and then right. Left and then right. Left and then right. Left and then right...

He was losing count of how many.

Left and then right. Left and then right...

If he didn't stop her attack soon, he'd be out cold at any moment...

Left and then right...

And the dance would be over.

Left and then right. Left and then right...

Forcing open his eyes, he saw her left fist shift direction and head straight for his nose. He knew that punch well, and had no desire to revisit the pain.

Mustering his focus, he caught her fist with his right hand and grabbed her wrist with his left, mercilessly forcing them in opposite directions.

"Agh!" She screamed in pain.

He forced harder.

"No!"

Slowly, Buffy's fist began to uncurl from the pain, as Spike relaxed the hand that covered it. As both fists uncurled fully, their palms accidentally came together.

Scarred palm to scarred palm.

And both gasped.

Widened eyes drifted towards where their hands were joined, before clashing again.

Bloody hell.

He could feel it. The missing... the piece. That fit.

Her hand. Moulded to his.

He'd never considered the pattern his scar had formed. He could feel the softer but toughened flesh of her hand pressing into every scarred rivet and valley of his palm.

He folded his fingers over her hand and squeezed. His whole body seemed to warm when she did the same.

"Oh, god," she whispered. "Spike?"

He smiled with his eyes.

"Hello, cutie."

Buffy released his hand suddenly - as if it burned her - and backed away.

"What is this?" She asked, her breaths shallow and rapid. She looked away then, her eyes never settling anywhere, as she brought a hand to her mouth. "I don't... This... This can't..."

Half a minute must have passed before she looked up, dropping her hand. "How?"

He kept the smile in his eyes. "You know how it is, love. Hard to get a good night's death around here."

"That's not an answer."

He paused to consider his words. "Through the amulet. Had more power than we realized, I guess."

She looked down again, as if to process this new information, before returning her gaze to him.

"When?"

Bugger. He couldn't lie. "About three months..."

She nodded with downcast eyes.

"... after we closed the Hellmouth."

Buffy's head shot up and her eyes grew two-fold. She said nothing. Just stared into his eyes, as if searching for something.

Forever seemed to past before she spoke again.

"Oh."

Okay. That was unexpected. Or, maybe not. He sighed. He should've expected it. She was shocked at first, sure. Made sense. But in the end...

She didn't care all that much.

After forty years, Buffy really hadn't changed. Hell, neither had he.

He was still a fool.

Gone was the smile in his eyes. "Right, then. Your turn."

"What?"

He spoke gently. "Buffy, you're supposed to be old, love."

"I am old. I'm six-"

"Bu-"

"Yeah, I know what you meant." She sighed. "I guess it's just one of those things, Spike."

"That's not an answer, pet."

"How about another question instead?" She countered. "Like, what are you doing here?"

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Here, in my town."

"Funny, I thought it was called Santa Lucia."

"Spike."

He shrugged. "Hunting a demon that was snatching girls."

"The penis lady?!"

"Uh..."

"The demon that was paying vamps to kidnap girls?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

Buffy folded her arms and cocked her head to the side. "Then why the hell did you just help her get away?"

Balls.

He really was an idiot.

Looking askance at her, he started rubbing the back of his head. "I uh... sorta thought she was you, pet."

"Ow!"

She'd socked him in the nose, of course.

"Bloody hell, woman! I was trying to save your life!"

"You bonehead! I don't look anything like her!"

"You were supposed to be a bloody grandmum by now!" Suddenly considering his own words, Spike inhaled sharply. "Are you?"

"Am I what, Spike?" She spat.

Shyly, he answered. "A grandmum... a mum." In a barely audible voice, he added, "A wife."

Her face turned stony as she looked at him. "None of the above." She turned on her heel then, and began searching the grass.

Spike didn't know how to feel about her answer. Sad for her, but...

Picking up her scythe and helmet from the ground, Buffy shoved them into her bag. With her back to him, she spoke again. "Where are you staying?" Her tone was businesslike.

"Uh, nowhere, pet," he replied to her back. "Just got here, really. Was gonna head to Vegas for the night after I'd... saved the day." He ducked his head in embarrassment, though she couldn't see.

She let out a small chuckle. Turning to face him again, she looked sombre. "How's your chest?"

"Huh?"

"I heard it crack."

He smiled. "That'd be cause you cracked it, love." He wasn't ashamed to admit she could do damage.

"Sorry," she said flatly.

That made him blink. It had been a while, but he was pretty sure she’d never uttered that word to him before. It did more for his wounds than a bag of blood could ever do - even if he couldn't detect any sympathy in her voice.

"No worries, pet. Sorry about the lip. And the..." He swallowed, remembering the moment they'd just shared. "... wrist."

Seconds passed.

"I'm not sorry about the nose, though."

"I know, love," he said with a small smile. "I know."

She threw her bag over her shoulder then, but didn't move to go. She was searching his eyes again.

He didn't know what to think about that.

"Well... I guess you've got things under control here. Don't need me mucking things up again, do you?" He tried to laugh through the question, but his joke fell flat. His heart wasn’t in it. He was still feeling defeated, and not because of the fight.

Reluctantly, he started backing up to leave, but lacked the will to turn his eyes away. It had been too long since he'd seen her face.

"Wait."

He stopped immediately.

"Your chest. You should rest. Heal."

He tilted his head to the side, wondering where she was going with this. "I've been hurt worse, Slayer. They'll take care of me in Vegas. They've got all sorts of services, you know. Performed by very capable-"

"No."

She looked away then. "You can stay with me."

Right. First his eyes, and now his ears were deceiving him. She hadn't been even remotely happy to see him alive - or, undead - after all these years, but was inviting him back to her house now?

She couldn’t want this.

"I can manage on my own, pet. Have for centuries, you know. Don't want to put you out."

She still wouldn't look him in the eyes. "It's no trouble, Spike, really. We could both use a good night's sleep to mend."

He noticed then that she was still favoring her left leg and using her uninjured hand to hold her bag.

"And anyway, I've got a spare room." She was the first to turn away in the end, taking two steps before stopping and turning her head ever so slightly to the side. "I mean... If you want it."

In all the bleeding world he wanted nothing else.

"Sure," he replied nonchalantly.

He met her in three cautious steps but gave her a generous berth. The two started walking towards the South Gate - both focused on the trees in front of them.

It took all the power he possessed to suppress his smile.

They’d only been walking a few minutes.

"Wait." Spike said, stopping abruptly.

Buffy turned questioning eyes to him, and Spike couldn’t help but notice how the moonlight reflected there…and on the tip of her nose…and on her bruised mouth…and down her-

"Spike?"

"What?"

"No. That was my question. Why are we stopping?"

"Oh. Uh…I've got a bike, love." He pointed a thumb behind him. "Just inside the gate, back a ways."

"Wait..." he added with a growing smile... "You've got a helmet in your bag. When did you start using motorized transport, pet? What've you got? A little scooter or somethin'?" He was grinning widely at the thought of Buffy zipping about in a little EuroScoot, but stopped when he realized how hot it was, too.

"No scooter. Just a helmet."

"Okay."

"Long story."

"I've got time, Slayer. And by the look of things, so do you."

"Yeah well, there's a time and a place for everything. Right now, it's time to find my car."

"You have a car?!"

"It's a Mini," she smiled proudly. It was the first time he'd seen her smile that night. "My little two-door tramp. She's gone off with the girls I just rescued from your girlfriend -"

"Oi!"

"Run, penis lady, run!" Buffy mimicked. Smile number two.

"Give me a little credit for wanting to save your arse, pet. Even if I'd thought it was old and unfit." He winked.

She glared. "Fine. Credit dispensed." Her smile vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, though. "Anyway, I'm hoping the girls left the car at the hospital. I need to head there to find out."

"Well, let's get the bike and ride there. I can follow you to the house after."

She captured his eyes for a moment. "Alright." Turning around, the two headed back to the North Gate at a comfortable pace given their injuries.

Spike started chuckling as they walked.

"What's so funny?" she asked, looking at him askance.

He kept his eyes straight ahead. "You, driving a car."

"I'm an excellent driver!"

"Uh huh."

"I am, damn it!"

"Prove it, then."

"What?"

Spike stopped again - causing her to overstep him and have to turn around.

"You can drive us to the hospital." He sucked in his cheeks to mask his grin.

Buffy blinked. "Fine. Sure. I can do that. It's just a bike. It's not like it's a fighter jet or something. No biggie."

That made him suck in his cheeks harder. Spike picked up the pace towards the North Gate, Buffy close on his heels. They let the noises of the night take over the conversation from there, but arrived at the bike quickly.

"Oh."

Buffy was looking at the bike like it was a fighter jet.

"It's not electronic, pet," he explained, stifling a chuckle. "It's a Bonneville."

"A who?"

"A classic. They don't make 'em like this anymore, love. Doesn't do the driving for you. You're in control." Raising an eyebrow, he added, "Think you can handle that?"

"Being in control? What do you think?"

"Alright, then." He smiled. "Take us away." Pulling the keys from his pocket, he extended his hand to her, palm up. Snatching the keys with one hand, she shoved her bag at him with the other. She hadn't taken the helmet out, which was kind of curious.

After securing the bag to the back of the bike, Spike threw his left leg over the seat and settled back far on the cushion to give her space.

Imitating his actions, Buffy settled into the space in front of him.

"Here, let me." Spike slid up against her back, and slipped his right leg under hers.

"What-"

"Just letting up the kickstand, love. Sparing your injured knee a little." He retracted his leg reluctantly and subtly readjusted his pants. "You can take it from here. You'll need to kick-start it, though. You know how t-"

"I've got it." Buffy scanned the various parts at the front of the bike.

"No, that there is the clutch, love," he explained, pointing to it with a finger. Behind her, he could smile freely, but he still had to struggle to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"I knew that."

"Just checking."

"Alright." She took a deep breath and exhaled. "Here we go."

Buffy successfully kick-started the engine on her first try. "Ooh!"

Guess it surprised her as much as it did him - though he knew she’d get the hang of it in the end.

"Hold on!" She shouted over her shoulder.

Yes.

God, yes.

Cautiously, Spike brought his hands forward to rest loosely at her hips - eyes trained on her to detect any tension it might elicit. She seemed to be prepared for it, though, because she stayed relaxed.

"Bloody hell!"

Spike gripped her hips more firmly as she threatened to throw him off the bike when she sped away.

"Sorry!" But she didn't sound it.

Buffy whizzed down the bike lane that followed the cemetery's tree-lined borders - long, fragrant locks flying wildly in his face. He wondered if she had skipped the helmet for that purpose - to try to annoy him. Shutting his eyes, he buried his face in her hair.

"Christ!" She'd made too sharp a turn at the cemetery's northeast corner and would've thrown him off the bike again had he not wrapped his arms around her middle.

He was a genius. A sick, evil genius.

With his arms enclosing her waist, his chest pressed against her back, and his face nestled in her hair, he let her warmth and scent envelop him. Thankfully, she had the habit of driving in spurts - accelerating and decelerating as she struggled with the gears. It gave him the perfect excuse to stay that way.

With his senses of touch and smell overwhelmed, and the hum of the bike dampening all other noise, Spike let himself fall into an almost dissociative fugue…Time passed unknown to him. Gone were the memories, the insecurities, and the loneliness. Gone was Spike. There was no William the Bloody. No Slayer or Savior of Slayers. No fool.

There was just warmth. And the floral scent of her shampoo. And the soft strength of her tummy.

"Spike."

And comfort.

"Spike."

And belonging.

"Spike."

And love.

"Spike!"

"Guaah!" Startled, he released her waist reflexively.

Buffy twisted around to see him. "Jeez! Did you fall asleep?" The bike had stopped, but the motor was still running.

He blinked rapidly in an effort to regain his focus. "Uh, yeah. Sorry, pet." He thought quickly. "Didn't have a good day's sleep is all."

Her brow furrowed in what looked like concern, but he couldn't be sure. "Well, sounds like you really need to rest after all." She signaled with her head to the building ahead. "We're here. Memorial. Keep your eyes peeled for my Mini."

"Oh," he sighed. "That didn't take long." He winced inwardly at the disappointment in his voice.

"It's Santa Lucia. What did you expect?" Looking ahead, Buffy scanned the parking lot. "Let's circle the lot to get a bird's eye view."

"A bird's eye view would be from above, pet."

"You know what I mean."

As she turned into the parking lot entrance, she started a loop around the perimeter and scanned every row as she passed it.

From behind her, Spike just stared at Buffy. He was in no hurry to find her car.

"Found it!"

Bollocks.

The car was parked in front of the ER entrance. Slowing to a stop beside it, Buffy cut the engine and inspected the car while still on the bike.

"The girls must have gotten scared, because they've put the top back on."

"Well, looks alright to me, pet. Though I'm surprised you went for basic black. They don't make 'em in pink?"

"They do, but I'm practical girl these days. Black is discreet." Buffy dismounted and turned to face him. "Speaking of discreet, I noticed you've gone for a less neon shade of blond now. Is that your natural hair color?"

"Is that yours?"

"Shut up." Pouting, she turned on her heels and headed to the ER doors.

"Where are you goin'?" He spoke at her back.

"Keys. I told them to leave them inside," she replied without turning around.

"It's a hospital, love - not a valet service!" He shouted, but she had already shut the ER door behind her.

Spike sat back on the bike and started thinking about his current situation. It was bloody unreal, is what it was. Not three hours ago he was nursing a drink in a bar in Venice Beach trying to escape the memory of a girl that was lost to him a lifetime ago. And now he was spending the night at her place. And she hadn't aged a day since he'd seen her last. And most insane of all —forty years hadn't weakened one bit, his want for her.

He sighed.

Christ, he wished he could make the want go away.

Angel must have been foaming at the mouth to get her back when he'd found out she wasn't ageing. And he'd gotten her too. But he couldn't keep her, could he? He was pretty sure she’d spoken of him in the past tense. Maybe she’d spent enough time with the arrogant prick to realize he wasn't worth a second go. The prat was never gonna be able to sell himself as a hero to the real thing.

At least he hoped so.

Spike turned his head to the ER doors to see Buffy hustling back, still with a bit of a limp in her step.

"Everything alright, Slayer?"

"Yup," she replied, showing him the keys. "The receptionist was a bit pushy, though. She kept trying to get me to talk to the cops about the incident."

"Cops?"

"They're in there with the girls apparently. I didn't see them and I didn't want to." Buffy pressed the unlock button on her keychain and opened the driver's door.

"Bloody hell!" Spike covered his nose with the sleeve of his duster.

Buffy quickly turned away - a hand over her mouth - while kicking the door shut with her foot.

"Slayer, your car smells like shit."

Buffy sent him a death stare.

"Sorry," he added, hands raised in surrender. "Guess that's obvious."

"So what do I do now? I'm not driving home in this!" Buffy threw her head back as if she were imploring heaven to help her, before returning her gaze to him. "I don't suppose you-"

"No."

"You don't even know wha-"

"Forget it, Slayer. You really hate me that much?"

She looked stunned by the question and her response was quiet. "What?"

He sighed. "Do you know how sensitive a vampire's nose is?"

She didn't answer him.

"If I can smell human fear, for christsakes, what do you think your shit mobile smells like to me?"

Buffy looked away. "Sorry."

He blinked.

Bloody hell. Twice in one night. That made twice in history now.

She was still quiet. "So what now?"

"Well..." Spike eyed the car." I reckon all Queenie needs is a good airing out for a day before she's safe enough to drive to a car wash, or for us to wash."

"Who?"

"Oh, just named her Queenie for you."

"Um, why?"

"Cause it suits."

"Um, how?"

"You know, Buffy's Mini. So, Bitty Buffy - BB for short. Like B.B. King. Only all cars are birds, so Queen. But she's still not THE queen, is she? That'd be you, ducks.” He winked. “So, Queenie."

Buffy furrowed her brow at his explanation, then pushed out her bottom lip. "I like 'Joan'."

"Yeah, well, you're not the sharpest knife in the drawer." That earned him a gentle back-handed smack on the shoulder. “And anyway, that’s your name, too,” he added with a knowing smile. "Come on. Let's just roll down all the windows, take the top down and leave it until tomorrow night."

Buffy shifted her eyes from Spike to the Mini and back. "Yeah, okay. Good plan."

As Spike moved to get off the bike and see to the windows, she put a hand to his chest. It was gentle, but enough to make him freeze.

"No. I'll do it," she said simply.

But there was nothing simple about the way it made him feel.

Obliging her, Spike restarted the bike and rolled it in reverse to get clear of the Mini while she let it breathe.

Holding her breath, Buffy ducked her head in the car to turn the ignition - avoiding the soiled driver's seat. With the press of a few buttons, she lowered the windows and roof, and was quick to escape the car and get back to the bike.

"You drive, pet."

"Again?"

"You know the way," he shrugged.

"Oh, right. Okay." Buffy remounted the bike in front of him as he scooted back just enough to give her room. "Hold on."

Like taking candy from a baby.

Spike did as he was told. He just hoped her house was at the farthest reach of town.


* * *

The ride took five minutes.

Buffy eased the bike into the driveway of a small, one-storey cottage and cut the engine.

"Don't see why you need a car in a two-bit town like this Slayer. You never used to mind walking."

"The Mini is for trips out of town, Spike - L.A. mainly, but wherever I'm needed that I can drive to." Dismounting, she continued. "It's also handy for search and rescue, like tonight."

Spike dismounted too. "Go to L.A. often then?" He wasn't fishing. Really, he wasn't.

"Once a month, to help the Slayers there, and... whenever I feel like seeing Dawn."

He inhaled sharply. "Niblet?"

"I'm not sure that nickname qualifies anymore, Spike. She's taller than you, and looks a lot older than you, too."

"Right." He paused to consider Dawn with some seriousness. "You know, there's a reason vamps don't have relationships with humans."

"Yeah. The same reason I don't have relationships with my Diet Coke."

"Funny," but Spike wasn't smiling. "It's because they grow old. Change when you don't.” He paused. “Die." In a lighter tone, he added, "Also, what you said."

Caught it.

He was sure he'd just made the left corner of her mouth go up a little.

The two walked up the path to the front door. Buffy unlocked it and eased it open, but didn't step through. She turned to him instead. This time, she let both corners of her mouth lift a little.

"Heroes first."

Spike tensed his jaw.

He wished she couldn’t do that — dig into his chest and fondle his heart with two little words like fingers. She was also confusing the hell out of him.

Slowly, he walked over the threshold, avoiding her eyes, and stopped in the foyer. He tried to take everything in as if it were his only chance to do so. As if it would give him the answers to the million and one questions he had about her.

He heard her lock the door behind them. “No need to loiter in the foyer, Spike. There are actually other rooms.”

He turned to look at her in the dark. “Right.”

“Do you want a drink? Sorry, I don’t have blood - or whiskey for that matter. I don’t have many guests. And the one’s I get prefer beer or wine.”

“I’d never say no to either of those, love. Well - except when there’s blood or whiskey.”

“Okay. Um, well… let’s go to the kitchen then. Oh. Um… maybe you want a tour first?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah! Let’s do a tour!” Buffy had taken to rubbing her injured wrist since she’d entered the house and hadn’t met his eyes for more than a second at a time. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was nervous. But he knew better.

He walked into the main living area while Buffy fiddled with what looked like an old C.H.E.S.S. keypad on the wall. All the lights came on suddenly, and Spike squinted to adjust.

“So this is the living room and dining room,” she said, as she walked into the room to stand beside him.

“Uh huh.” Not one minute ago he’d wanted to absorb his surroundings. Now all he could do was look at her. It was the first time he’d seen her in anything but moonlight. He’d thought she looked gorgeous before - a light in the dark. He wasn’t prepared for what she looked like now, in the light.

Her hair was longer than he’d ever seen it. Dirty blond - like his - falling in waves almost to her waist. After the ride on the bike, it had a windswept wildness about it that made him want to tousle it further.

She wasn’t sun-kissed anymore. Her skin was pale, but smooth, giving her a more ethereal look. And it was blemished only by the burgeoning bruises he‘d put there.

He suddenly felt like a monster for having bruised her face.

Buffy caught him staring and started moving. “Uh, this way is the basement. You’ll like this.”

Spike followed her at some distance to the basement door. The leather left little to the imagination, and he had to force his eyes away from her ass to appreciate the rest. She’d always been fit, but she’d filled out beautifully.

As they descended the stairs, the lights came on to reveal a pretty impressive weapons collection against the far wall.

“Very nice, love. Beats the sorry trunk of weapons I’ve got in L.A.”

Buffy whipped her head around to him.

“You live in L.A.?”

“No,” he said quickly. He wasn’t sure why he’d felt cornered. “I mean… yeah.”

“Which is it?” She looked angry suddenly.

He exhaled just to settle himself. “Yeah. I guess I do now. But I haven’t really lived anywhere for years, pet. Been movin’ around a lot… But that’s where I’ve been the last week or so. So, I rented a place. You’d like it.”

“Let me guess, ‘quite posh’?”

“Got it in one.”

She nodded, before looking up suddenly. “Oh my god. Angel!”

He couldn’t help but flinch at her mentioning his name. Now he was angry.

“We should tell him — oh, unless you’ve already done it. Does he know you’re alive yet?”

Spike’s face turned cold.

“Of course, pet. He’s always known.”

Buffy froze. She couldn’t have moved if she’d thought to — which didn’t matter — because her brain was as paralyzed as her legs. Her eyes were large and unblinking, but she couldn’t see anything in front of her.

She came back to herself within seconds and felt altogether differently. Hot. Sick. Restless. Her heart was beating like a frightened bird’s, and she was suffocating at the bottom of a thousand thoughts. Her eyes were blinking mechanically now, but all she could see was red.

“That’s enough touring, I think.” Her voice was deeper than normal, and quivered slightly. “The rest of the house is pretty standard. Bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom, backyard. Help yourself to whatever beer you can find.”

“Buffy-“

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“Love-“

“I’ve been knee deep in penis eggs, suffocated by the smoke of a burning house, beat up — though in all fairness I started that fight, and head deep in a shitty car — literally. I’m taking a shower.”

She didn’t flee. With a breeziness that betrayed none of the storm inside her, Buffy stepped past Spike, ascended the stairs, and walked to her bedroom, quietly closing the door behind her.

After peeling off her clothes and slipping into her robe, she grabbed her cell phone from the top of her dresser and headed straight to her bathroom. The bathroom had doors to each of the bedrooms. She locked them both. After switching on the radio to full volume, she turned the shower on to run cold.

“London,” she spoke harshly into her phone. The line rang five times, and with every ring, Buffy’s feelings condensed further into a simmering rage.

“Hello?” A sleepy voice answered.

“Willow, it’s me.”

“Buffy? I can hardly hear you… Are you at a club or something?”

“I’m at home. That’s the radio. And I’m not turning it down.”

“Okay. Well… what’s up? It’s pretty late. Have you forgotten your time zones already?”

“Tell me you didn't know about Spike.” It was an order, not a plea.

“What?... Oh, no. Did he bite Xander again? Cause I told Andrew he needs to keep him on the leash when-“

“What are you talking about?” Buffy didn’t hide the irritation on top of her fury.

“Andrew's dog.”

“Andrew has a dog named Spike?!” She was getting more irritated by the second.

“Oh, yeah. He got him a year ago, so I guess you wouldn't have seen him. He's a little blond labradoodle, and soooo adorable. He found him wandering the streets of London wreaking havoc on the populace and decided it was his duty to redeem him. It's very cute… Wait, who did you mean?”

“The other Spike, Willow.”

“The delivery guy from Thai-rrific?”

“No, Willow. The other one.” Buffy couldn’t believe her own patience.

“Oh. Huh? Wait. You mean… Spike-Spike? Like, William the Bloody, Spike?”

Buffy rolled her eyes in disdain. “Tell me you didn't know he was alive, Willow.”

“Oh my goddess! He's come back human?!”

“No!” Buffy dropped the arm holding her phone to lean both hands against the sink. One deep breath was all she needed to compose herself again. “He's alive. As in undead. As in not dust. As in HERE.”

“Whoa. I didn't know Buffy, I swear. Also, I didn't do it, if that wasn't clear.”

Silence.

“You really didn’t know?”

“Buffy, of course not! Why would I keep something like that from you?”

Buffy didn’t answer.

“You know, I’d say this was unbelievable - Spike coming back - but… it’s not, really. I mean. We’ve certainly got experience with this sort of thing. Angel came back from Hell too.”

“Who said Spike was in hell?!”

“Nobody! Or, okay, I did, but-“

“Well he wasn’t!” She hadn’t meant to raise her voice, so she was careful to lower it to below the radio volume again. “He died a HERO, Willow. He saved the WORLD.”

“Okay. I know, and I’m grateful for that, Buffy. Really. I’m just saying that he also wasn’t the first vampire to come back from… wherever, you know?”

Somehow, defending Spike had settled her a bit, and the knowledge that Willow really hadn’t known, cooled her fury. “Yeah, maybe he’s not the first. But Angel reappeared after a few months, not forty years.”

“True. So when did Spike come back exactly?”

“Oh, right. That’s the best part,” she responded with sarcasm. “He reappeared tonight, but he actually came back about three months after we closed the Hellmouth.”

“In Cleveland?”

“Sunnydale.”

“What?! Wait. That means he’s been alive — er, undead — this whole time?”

“Yup.”

“Three months, you said?”

“Yup.”

“Like Angel,” she said pensively. “He was only gone three months, too. Huh. Like you too actually — although, okay — that wasn’t entirely unplanned. Still… interesting. I should look into that. “

“Is that really the most interesting part of this story?!” Back came the rage.

“Oh. I guess not. But Buffy, sorry, I’m confused. Are you just shocked or are you upset? Or are you just mad? And at who exactly? I think, mad. You sound mad.”

“This isn’t about being upset or mad! It’s about confusion! And… and betrayal! And being duped! And… secrets and lies! And ex-boyfriends laughing at me behind my back while they take me around on motorcycles and get me into bed!”

“Huh?”

“Maybe I’m mad at Angel. No, scratch that. Maybe I hate Angel.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, did I Ieave out that little tidbit? Angel knew all along! To quote Spike, ‘He’s always known.’ And still he wooed me and… and seduced me… and told me that we’d be together forever! And all the while he knew Spike was alive.”

“Maybe it wasn’t Angel’s secret to tell, Buffy.”

“Stop making sense!” Buffy covered her face with her free hand, as she leaned against the sink. Her voice fell to a pained whisper. “He didn’t tell me, Willow. He told Angel, who he hates, but he didn’t tell me. Why didn't he tell me? Does he resent me? Was I so horrible to him? Does he blame me for leaving him to burn in the Hellmouth? Did he want to forget me?

“Well… what would you have done if you’d known he was alive, Buffy?”

“What?”

“I mean… would you still have dated Angel?”

“That’s not the point.”

“No. You’re wrong. That’s entirely the point. It’s the Mount Fuji of points. And the fact that you can’t answer the question, is probably why he never told you.”

Buffy felt her insides curl up.

“You were everything to him, Buffy. Everything. The way Tara was everything to me.” Willow sighed wearily. “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t compare Spike with Tara. Sorry, but there’s no comparison. But I do compare him with me.”

“How?” She whimpered.

“He loved you, like I loved Tara. He was greedy and obsessive and self-destructive and manipulative. And he hurt you, like I hurt her. But he loved you, in the only way he knew how.” Willow paused. “I get that now. And… I kinda think he learned to be better at it that last year in Sunnydale. Like I did. Only I didn’t learn to love her better until she was gone.”

Thinking of Tara always affected Buffy. “I still miss her, Willow.”

“Don’t change the subject. Back to Mount Fuji.”

Buffy smiled sadly. Sometimes Willow could be amazingly selfless. Sometimes.

“So, can you really blame Spike for not telling you he was back? I mean, when you’re not even sure that you would’ve done anything about it?”

“That’s not-“ Buffy sighed. “It’s-“ She sighed again. “That was a lifetime ago, Willow. I can’t say what I would’ve done. There was a lot going on after Sunnydale collapsed. We had so much work to do. We still do. There wasn’t time to explore feelings.”

“Is there time now?”

“That’s just it! Too much time has passed! He obviously doesn’t care anymore. How could he? He hasn’t known me for decades, and he didn’t want to!” Buffy could feel a major pout coming on. “Why didn’t he want to?” She whined.

“Buffy, seriously. Why do you keep asking me these questions?”

“Because I don’t want answers from him that I won't like! You’re my friend. You can give me better answers. Like… like maybe he had amnesia and was living the life of a horror novelist or something, and… and only got his memories back last week. Or… or, maybe he was kidnapped by an underground fighting ring to be a demon gladiator! Ooh! Or maybe he got sucked into that alternate universe where you were a skanky vampire. Or… maybe he was living in the world without shrimp. Oh! Maybe he came back human after all, but then got vamped again and lost his soul, so he didn't want anyone to know.”

“Buffy…”

“Just tell me something like that.”

“Where is he now, Buffy?” Willow was beginning to sound exasperated.

“I don’t know. In the house somewhere.”

“Your house?!”

“Yeah.”

“He’s staying with you?!”

“Yeah, well...”

“So, he found you! Well, there ya go! He did come after you. Better late than never, right?”

“No, Willow. He didn’t find me. He didn’t even know I lived here. He came to hunt the penis lady and we ran into each other.”

“Oh. Wait… who?”

“Our apple-pie-loving demon from the Doublemeat in Sunnydale. Or a cousin, anyway.”

“Ew!”

“Yeah, and she’s still at large. Uh, no pun intended.”

“Again, ew. Okay, so he didn’t come looking for you. But that’s even better. The two of you found each other. So, he’s staying?”

“Just until he heals. We had a fight. Like, with each other.”

“Buffy, why-“

“Long story. He’s staying for the moment.”

“Well, that makes this telephone call even more ridiculous.”

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not. But I forgive you. Go talk to him, Buffy. I hate to pull the age card, but really, you’re too old for this shit.”

“Willow!”

“My mother’s gone, so no, I don’t kiss her with this mouth. And there are occasions — rare ones, mind you — where a potty mouth is in order. This is one such occasion.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“So… how are things at the Council?”

“Uh uh. We’re not having a debriefing now. It’s the middle of the night and you pulled me out of a deep sleep in the arms of a much prettier housemate than Spike. Warmer too.”

Buffy smiled. “Alright. Tell Amelia I said hello - you know, when she wakes up.”

“Will do. We can chat about work tomorrow. You can update me on the Dragvloks then, and I can give you the latest global reports — if you’re interested."

“I’m on a semi-sabbatical thingie, Willow. I’m not retired. Of course I’m interested.”

“Right. Okay. Good night Buffy.”

“Good night.”

“And good luck.”

“Yeah.”

* * *

Buffy hung up the phone with a deep sigh - suddenly noticing the radio for the first time since she’d called Willow. They were playing some horrible oldies song, and she moved to turn it off, but stopped herself. It would look too obvious. Best keep it on while she finished in the bathroom.

Turning the water to as hot as she could stand, she stepped into the shower to wash away the worst parts of the night. She must have been in the shower for over an hour, because the water turned cool after she’d finished conditioning her hair. Shivering through the cold as she rinsed out her conditioner, she jumped out quickly afterwards and slipped back into her robe. The last thing she wanted to do was blow dry her hair, because it took forever to dry, but she wasn’t about to let Spike see her with flat, stringy locks. After blowing and brushing her hair to a healthy sheen, she dabbed a bit of lip gloss on her lips and cheeks to keep that just-showered look.

“Spike?” She checked his bedroom first after unlocking the entrance from the bathroom. She noticed a small black bag on the bed she hadn’t seen before. It must have been on the bike.

Her living room was empty as well, and she was about to check the basement again, when she smelled cigarette smoke coming from the back porch.

She found him on her swinging chair eating a peach with one hand, and holding a glass of Shiraz in the other. A cigarette butt was still burning stubbornly in a makeshift ashtray at his feet.

“That’s not an ashtray.”

He didn’t turn to look at her. Just kept his eyes on her peach trees. “I’ll wash it, Slayer.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He bit into his peach, and the sound drew her eyes away from his cigarette butt to his cheek bones… and to his jaw… and to his Adam’s apple as it moved when he swallowed. Spike always had a way of making everything he did with his mouth seem sinful.

“Good peach?”

“The best. Cause it’s not from a store. You know where it came from. Picked it yourself.”

“Good wine?”

“No.”

“Sorry.”

“I never thought I’d say this, Slayer, but that’s enough apologies for one night.”

This wasn’t going well. She thought about asking him if she could join him on the swing, but then remembered that it was her house and her stupid swing, so she took the empty space on the other side. He had stopped the swing once she’d sat down next to him, so she pushed off with her bare feet and got them swinging again.

“I see you found your room.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that. It’s a cozy room. Cozy house, too. A bit lonely, though, for only one person. Got friends in town?”

“No.”

Neither spoke for several minutes. Their eyes on the trees, they took turns restarting the swing. Finishing his peach, Spike threw the soggy pit into the bushes at the far end of the yard.

“Three months after we sunk Sunnydale, I appeared in Angel’s office at Wolfram and Hart. “

She turned to him suddenly - surprised by his confession. He was going to tell her. Had he heard her talking?

“Apparently, Angel had received a package with the amulet inside, and I materialized out of it. I was confused as all hell. And all I did was ask for you.”

Buffy felt her chest tighten. She opened her mouth to reply, but her voice caught in her throat. It was a good thing, perhaps. She didn’t want him to stop talking. He was speaking in a matter of fact way, so it was difficult to get a sense of what he was feeling. It didn’t help that he wouldn’t look at her. His eyes stayed focused on the trees.

“I wasn’t corporeal though. Couldn’t pick up a phone or anything. And I was trapped inside the Wolfram and Hart building for a while. Fred, the sweet Southern thing Angel was lucky to call a friend, she was the only one that cared. Tried to help me.”

Buffy felt a twinge of discomfort in her gut, but quickly pushed it away. She kept her eyes on him. He kept his eyes straight ahead. Why wouldn’t he look at her?

“In the end, I was made corporeal again and could leave the building. But there were things happening there. Or at least, I thought there were things I could do there. And Angel wanting me gone was reason enough to stay.“

He paused then, giving her the perfect opening to speak, but she was still wary. She wanted to hear more.

“Heard you went to Rome. Moved on. Had a Slayer army to deal with. Ended up actually going to Rome with Angel to do some business, and heard about you and the Immortal.”

Buffy’s eyes widened.

“Spike I-“

“Let me finish, Slayer. You’ll get your turn.”

Reluctantly, she closed her mouth.

“Saw you dancing in a club with the ponce. Was gonna go talk to you. But business got in the way again. And anyway, Andrew told us you were happy with the bastard, with your life, so there wasn’t much point disrupting it.”

“That’s enough.” She was going to murder Andrew. Slaughter him like a squealing pig.

He turned to her finally, his face a mask.

“I wasn’t in Rome, Spike.”

She saw his eyes widen slightly at that.

“I’ve had covers. Doppelgangers or whatever. Wait, are those evil? They weren’t evil. They were slayers. Girls who volunteered to impersonate me in a few cities around the world. It was a stupid safety measure. No, it was a selfish safety measure. Those girls were slayers, so they were always at risk; but they weren’t ready for the kind of risk that being me involved.”

“So that wasn’t you in Rome?” He still seemed skeptical.

“Well, I’ve been to Rome; but not immediately after Sunnydale. I was in Scotland. Another slayer was in Rome. She was dating the Immortal for information, or at least that had been the plan. Andrew was instructed to tell everyone it was me. It’s possible that he didn’t trust you, if you were with Angel then. We weren’t sure about Angel’s allegiances until after his battle with the Black Thorn.”

“So you never dated the Immortal.” It wasn’t a question. He said it as if he were telling himself a truth. His jaw was tensed again and he looked murderous. He must’ve been thinking about slaughtering Andrew, too.

“I can’t believe you ever thought I would date someone like him, Spike. You of all people were supposed to know me better than that.”

He looked at her sternly. “What I knew and what I saw and heard didn’t add up, Slayer.”

“Well then, I can’t believe you were fooled by an impersonator,” she countered.

“There’s that word again. Fool,” he spat.

“Did I say it before?”

“My mistake.” He was back to staring at the trees. Was he angry with her?

“You were telling a story, Spike. I’m listening,” she said gently.

He sighed and took a sip from the wine that had remained untouched since she’d come outside. “So we went back to L.A. — both deciding to leave you be — and handled business there. Angel took on the Black Thorn. I fought with his crew. And the only two to make it out alive were the ones who were already dead.”

Buffy shut her eyes with the realization of Angel’s lie. “Angel told us he was the only survivor.”

“Well…” He swallowed. “I had already told Angel not to tell anyone I was back. Told Andrew as much too. As much as I hate to defend either of them now, there it is.”

Buffy wasn’t impressed. Angel wasn’t excused. And Andrew was bacon.

“So what happened afterwards?”

Spike finished his wine in one gulp before pouring another glass. “I left L.A. for good. Left California, the U.S. It would take too bloody long to recount the last forty years in one night, Buffy. I did my thing. Traveled everywhere. Fought demons. Helped the slayers out when I found them — though they never wanted the help, and usually tried to kill me. The White Hat stuff I did for free; but I found other ways to use my skills for profit.”

Buffy furrowed her brow and was about to ask how, when he pre-empted her.

“Relax, Slayer. Nothing sinister. Did some mediator work. Handy knowing Fyarl, you know. Did some bounty hunter work for the more harmless demons. Mercenary work, too. Even worked as a bodyguard, for demons and humans alike. But that was usually very temporary. Boring, but lucrative. Actually protected a slayer in Jordan for a good year. That was my longest bodyguard gig.”

“Really? Who?”

“You wouldn’t know her, love. The Council had contacted her family, but they sent the wankers packing. Didn’t want their little girl going off to some far off, godless place to do unladylike things. Wanted their girl to become a woman. Marry. But the local demons had gotten a sniff of her when she’d first shown her power. Got a taste of her, too. So the family hired guards, but all of the humans they’d hired got themselves killed. So… they decided to fight evil with evil.”

“What happened to her?”

“She left home without me one night.”

Buffy sighed.

“It was my fault. I should have trained her, should have let her fight. But that wasn’t what I’d been paid to do.”

“Spike, I’m so-“

“We had that conversation already, love. Anyway, that was my last gig as a protector. I stuck to hunting and killing after that. And saved up enough dosh to make some savvy investments.”

“What-“

“Another story for another day, pet.”

“So what brought you back to L.A. after all this time?”

“The Dragvloks.”

‘”Really?!”

“I killed a couple in Sydney that were hunting slayers. Easy pickings too, those slayers. That’s a bit of a worry. I’ve seen way too many slayers taken down of late. Figured I’d see what gramps had heard about their movements lately.”

“Angel.” Buffy lowered her head, still reeling from the betrayal. “So, you’ve been in contact with him over the years.”

“Only when necessary. Usually when he’d heard of a job that needed done. But he only gave me jobs outside the States.”

She looked up suddenly. “Did he ever mention me?”

Spike paused. “Rarely. And he never said much.” He looked away before he continued. “And I didn’t ask much either.”

Buffy wasn’t prepared for the nausea that overtook her. But she didn’t let it show on her face. She swallowed. Maybe she was hungry.

“Hungry?”

He turned his head to her, a questioning look on his face.

“I mean… do you feel like a bit of human food? A snack? I usually eat a little something after patrol.”

“I could eat a little something. What’ve you got?”

“I’ll go see. Just sit tight. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Buffy hastened to the kitchen to get some fresh air - which was weird, since she’d been outside - but she needed to breathe. She couldn’t make sense of her insides, and her brain was overwhelmed with the night’s revelations. Unable to focus on finding a proper snack, she grabbed an unopened bag of Cheetos and an extra wine glass. Taking three slow breaths, she managed to calm her stomach a little, before heading back outside.

“I’ve got cheesy goodness. Fresh Cheetos.”

“Bit of an oxymoron, innit, love?”

“Nope. They’re kinda like a symbol of my life. Long-lasting, but still fresh.”

“That would make a nice segue into your story, pet.”

Buffy met his eyes and smiled slightly, as she sat back down and opened the bag.

“First, nourishment.” She offered him the bag, and he dug his hand more than half way down to get some.

“Nothing but air in here. What a rip-off.”

“Yeah. But it makes the few you get all the more sweet. Or, salty, I guess.”

Spike stuffed the whole handful in his mouth and spoke after one chew. “Spill.”

Buffy frowned disapprovingly at his eating habits, but she didn’t really care. “Spike, like you said, way too much has happened over the years for me to know where to start or what to include.”

“That’s not what I’m asking about Slayer, and you know it,” he mumbled, his mouth still full of Cheetos. Swallowing the last of it, he continued. “I know what you’ve been up to. Training Slayers. Preventing apocalypses. Saving the world twenty times over since I did it. The hero thing. Just tell me why you don’t look old enough to drink.”

She paused, looking him square in the eyes. “I’ll give you one guess.”

He looked at her closely for a moment, before opening his mouth slightly. “Willow.”

“Isn’t it always?” Buffy suddenly felt very tired.

Spike shook his head as if disappointed. “So what’d she do?”

It was Buffy’s turn to stare at the trees. “She’d already done it, Spike. The resurrection spell.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Yeah. Turns out, she had the power, but didn’t understand how to use it properly.”

“Sounds familiar. So the spell went wrong?”

“No. That’s just it. The spell went as planned. She just picked the wrong spell.”

Spike waited for her to explain further, so she shifted her eyes back to him.

“Look, I still don’t understand magic very well, but Willow did a lot of research after we realized I was the only one of us that wasn’t getting wrinkly around the edges. She went over the spell a hundred times - gave me a copy of it too. I memorized it years ago.”

“So let’s hear it. Never did know what went down that night.”

Buffy exhaled. “Alright. It goes: 'Osiris, keeper of the gate, maker of all fate, hear us. Before time, and after, before knowing and nothing, accept our offering. Know our prayer.'"

“Okay.”

“And then Willow said, Osiris. Here lies the warrior of the people. Let her cross over. Osiris, let her cross over."

“Still not getting it, Slayer.”

“Do you know who Osiris was?”

“Sure. Egyptian Lord of the Dead. Of the Underworld.”

“Right. But he wasn’t just the Lord of the Dead. He was sometimes called the King of the Living. According to our sources, the ancient Egyptians considered the blessed dead “the living ones,” so he was King of the Blessed Dead, too. And…” She took another deep breath. “… He was said to be, and I quote, ‘permanently benign and youthful’. The Egyptians believed that the Kings of Egypt that associated with Osiris would gain eternal life after death through magic.”

“So… because she called on the permanently youthful Osiris…”

“She unknowingly asked him to grant me eternal life after death, and I was brought back in his image. In other words, forever young.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Yeah. And it seems the wording she chose reinforced the request. She declared me ‘the warrior of the people’. As in, the official and only. We think those words implied that I needed to remain in this realm for as long as the people required a warrior.”

“An immortal slayer.”

“A slayer without a retirement plan.”

Spike took a large gulp of his wine before setting it down and pouring her a glass. She took it gratefully.

“So what does Red have to say for herself?”

Buffy slumped in her seat, letting her head roll towards him. “She thinks I should be more grateful, but she doesn’t say as much. She’s told me that I’ve been blessed. Despite the fact that I have to watch everyone I love in the world age and die, she thinks I’ve been given a gift.”

“Bollocks.”

“And I’m not sure she thinks I deserve it.”

Spike looked at her intensely. “No one in the bleeding world could be more deserving, Buffy. You must know that.”

“Tell that to Willow. Actually, don’t. She’s bitter enough as it is, though she hides it well.”

“That bi-…” He swallowed the word. “Sorry, pet, but she does more harm than good with magic. I don’t know that the world needs all these chits dying left and right anyway. You were doin’ an alright job on your own.”

“Maybe. But I was barely making a dent. I prevented some apocalypses, sure. But the world needs all the good guys it can get.” Exhaling, she continued. “Anyway, Willow’s magic has been restrained.”

“How?”

“Like you said, Spike. Another story for another day. And not a pretty one. Suffice it to say, she’s had to rely a lot more on that enormous frontal lobe of hers. Hence, taking over the Council from Giles.”

“I heard about him, love. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. But no need to apologize. You didn’t do it… I did.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Do you know how he died?”

“No. Angel was never big with the details.”

“It was a vampire that got him in the end. A vampire I didn’t stop in time.”

“Buffy-“

“Do you know what he said when he died?”

He didn’t answer.

“He said, ‘It’s rather poetic… in a maudlin sort of way.’”

Spike furrowed his brow. “That’s it?”

“No,” she sighed. “He said more. It wasn’t quick.” She winced at the memory of how slowly Giles had died. “He said all the right things to me. He was loving and supportive and empowering - like he’d always been at the best of times. It was probably our greatest moment together.”

“He was like a father to you.”

“He was. He really was. With all the love and disillusionment and disappointment and forgiveness that involves. It took me a long time to forgive him for betraying you.”

He turned his head away from her then.

“He acknowledged your sacrifice in the end, you know. It was only then, that I really started to forgive him. But we were never close again. Not like high school.”

Spike turned back to her. “I never wanted to come between you and the Watcher, love.”

“I know. That’s what made you better than him that last year. He didn’t see it. I did.”

Spike blinked at her. Then he grabbed the bag of Cheetos from her hand.

“Stop hoggin’ ‘em Slayer.”

“I wasn’t-“

“Stop tellin’ lies, you greedy bint.” He shoved his hand in the bag noisily and threw a handful into his mouth. The only sound in the night was his crunch.

Buffy couldn’t help but chuckle. She sat there watching him chew and swallow until his Adam’s apple stopped bobbing, before she spoke.

“So… think we should kill Andrew?”

Spike smiled with his eyes. “Tell you what… you snap his neck. Then let me drink.”

“Done,” she giggled, before snatching the bag of Cheetos back.

She was smiling at him. Like she was happy. Happy to be with him. The moonlight was dancing in her hair again, and the soft honey light from the house was painting highlights on her face. But it was her smile that made her glow.

He had to get away from her.

Ever since he’d digested the fact that she’d never been with the Immortal, he’d been silently mourning the opportunity missed – quietly regretting the wasted buckets of salt he’d spilled over her betrayal. He had thought she’d been betraying herself as much as him. Dating the Immortal went against every value she’d claimed to have had. The values she’d always used to tear him down. The values she’d once worn like armor around her heart to keep him out.

But she’d never betrayed them after all.

Only now did he realize that a part of him had stayed angry with her – hated her even –for having treated his sacrifice so flippantly by dancing into bed with the world’s most unrepentant whore. But she’d never even known the bastard. And now, that small amount of hate he’d been carrying in his heart, like a knot in a muscle, came slowly undone. And after the bliss of relief came the lingering ache. And after the lingering ache came the love. More love. Bloody hell. He’d thought he loved her enough already.

Now, looking at her – smiling and glowing – all he could think about was her robe… and untying it’s knot with one pull of her belt… and burying his face in her breasts while wrapping his arms ‘round her middle. Downing his wine had done sod all to dampen his yearning for her, and if he didn’t get away from her soon, he was gonna get another punch in the nose. Her scent was strong on the breeze, despite the shower. It hung in the air around his head, scrambling his brain and intensifying his feelings. And it was mingled with… peaches of all things. No doubt some body wash she’d used in the shower to-

Stop it, Spike thought to himself. Don’t think about Buffy wet. Don’t even look at her. He turned his head away from her and tensed his jaw. Why the bleeding fuck had she come out in a robe, anyway? It wasn’t fancy – not silk or anything. Just a plain cotton thing, pale green like her eyes. But it was thin. And it had the horrible habit of clinging to her frame, reminding him all too well of what it barely concealed – what he’d memorized in his mind’s eye, anyway. And where the robe didn’t cling, it fell open for him – revealing a sliver of her collarbone or a window of thigh, taut and smooth.

He couldn’t stand it anymore. Couldn’t endure being around her in that fucking robe, with her hair, and her scent, and her giggles, and her smile, and her calling him a hero, and her saying he’d been a better man than the Watcher that last year in Sunnydale.

She seemed oblivious to his torment of course – happily munching on her Cheetos, sucking on her little cheesy fingers. At least when they’d been talking, he’d been able to focus on something else – get lost in the past. A half-naked, freshly scrubbed Slayer who had never betrayed him, could be pushed aside. For a moment, anyway. But he’d told his story, or as much as he felt like sharing that night. And she’d told hers. There was nothing left to distract him from wanting her now.

“Think I’ll have a shower, love.” Spike stopped the swing with his boot and stood up – refusing to look at her.

“Oh. Um, okay.”

“Had a long day.” Walking to the doorway, he turned his head towards her slightly. “Got in a fight with a bleeding slayer that can’t be killed. Wouldn’t mind letting some hot water run over my muscles.”

“Of course. Don’t let me keep you.” Her voice was flat. She looked down for a moment, before looking up at him again. “Oh. Um, there may not be much hot water, though.”

He turned around to face her fully, wearing a scowl.

“Oops.”

He wished her guilty face wasn’t so adorable. His scowl faded. It hadn’t been sincere, anyway.

“I’ll manage, pet. Not like I get cold, exactly. Just like the heat.”

“Um, it should be lukewarm at least. Or… actually, it’s probably been long enough for it to start to get hot again. I think,” she added sheepishly.

“Any soap of the less fruity variety?”

“Uh, yeah. There’s probably some plain white soap under the sink. I use the cheap stuff to wash away the more excessive blood and guts. Help yourself.”

“Cheers.”

Spike walked silently to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. Leaning his head against the back of the door, he shut his eyes and exhaled heavily. How the hell was he supposed to stay with her now and resist the urge to gather her into his arms?

Slumping onto the edge of the bed, he let himself sulk for a minute, before pulling off his sweater and T-shirt and unbuckling his pants. After kicking off his boots, he peeled off his socks and stood to let his pants drop around his feet.

Suddenly, being naked only made him want her more. She was practically naked in the next room – nothing but a door and a scrap of green cotton between them. Not even human blood from the source running down his throat could compare to being tangled in her hot limbs and hair.

With a newfound urgency, Spike hastened to the bathroom and kicked the door closed behind him. Grabbing a bar of soap from under the sink, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on full blast. It was cold at first, but he didn’t care. Hands against the wall, he lowered his head under the jet to let the water soak his hair and stream down his face.

Slowly, the water began to warm, and Spike tilted his head back, inviting the water to rain upon his sore and bruised chest. Once the water turned hot, he turned his back to the spray to let it massage his neck, shoulders and back. For several minutes he let the hot water caress him from behind, but his mind soon drifted back towards the evening’s revelations.

Buffy had never been with the Immortal. That fact and its ramifications were still sinking in. Shaking his head in awe of the truth, he started the business of washing away the lies with the grime. Opting to skip her fruity shampoo, he used the soap to wash his hair, face and neck.

She’d been in Scotland leading an army of girls, not moving on with some greasy tosser. Sighing, he turned to face the water and ducked his head back under to rinse clean his hair. He started washing his arms next, then his back, before moving to his chest.

“Fuck,” he let out with a wince. His chest was still tender from her boot and hurt like hell when he stroked it. Moving down to safer ground, he began rubbing circles of suds into his stomach, before it clinched at a thought…

If she hadn’t been with the Immortal, then who? Surely there’d been men over the years. Men other than Angel. He sighed again. Angel. Had she only been with him recently? Was it over? Would things have been different had she known Spike was alive? Spike knew he was a fool, but he didn’t fool himself when it came to Buffy anymore. He knew he would never replace Angel in her heart, but knowing Buffy like he did, he was pretty sure she would’ve felt too guilty to sleep with Angel while Spike lived. Especially after that last year in Sunnydale, when they’d been… close.

Spike hissed as his hand brushed his cock. Looking down, he was startled to find it hard – bobbing slightly, as if begging to be rubbed next. He was mortified now – unsure of how long his own body had been betraying him. He wanted her, of course. He was overwhelmed with want for her.

But that wasn’t what he wanted.

Had she meant what she’d said in the Hellmouth? Could any part of her still mean it? And why the fuck did it still have to matter so goddamn much?

Spike pressed his bent head into the shower wall in frustration, eyes shut and arms limp at his sides. God help him, he loved her. Still. More, maybe. He couldn’t ignore the object of his feelings any longer – not when she was smiling and swinging on the other side of the door. A sob escaped his lips, sudden and pitiful, and he opened his eyes with an irrational fear that she might have heard.

He pretended it was only the shower water that had wet his cheeks.

Standing suddenly to his full height, he exhaled sharply, then turned the water to ice cold. He finished his shower with a military efficiency – skipping certain parts – and hurried to his bedroom to dress quickly.

He refused to spend a moment longer than needed in hiding, mourning what could have been or regretting what had been. Not when the object of his longing was in the next bloody room, waiting for his company. So after one more unneeded breath, Spike left his room to face his gi-

… to face Buffy again with dignity.

“I see you’ve grown some ovaries in the last forty years.”

Surprised by her voice, Spike stopped. He found her sitting on the living room sofa. The TV was on, but the volume was down.

“Huh?” He started walking again towards her.

“You take longer in the shower than I do, and you don’t even sweat. Or poo.”

Spike screwed up his face.

“Sorry. That was gross.”

That made him grin. That, and the picture she painted snuggled on the sofa. She’d changed out of her robe into another cotton number. She was wearing a pair of thin, fitted pajamas – baby blue this time – with her feet dug deep under a sofa cushion. She’d brought the wine into the house and was sipping it leisurely.

“Anything good on?”

“Ooh, yeah. Mansquito!” Buffy’s face lit up with excitement as she repositioned herself against the arm of the sofa.

“Who?” Spike walked further into the room, eyeing the space beside her.

“It’s a classic.“

“Right. Like Barry Lyndon or 2001.”

“Is that the John Cusack one where the tsunami destroys the world?”

“Not even close, pet.”

“Oh.” He loved it when she pouted through her embarrassment. But he didn’t like making her feel stupid – mainly because she wasn’t.

“Well, if you think it’s a classic, love, let’s see it then.”

She gave him a blinding smile, then patted the cushion beside her. “You’ll love it. It’s about this guy – part man, part mosquito.”

“Gathered that much.” He sat down on the cushion beside her, her painted toes just inches away from his thigh.

Buffy poured him a glass of wine. “I love it because it seems so far-fetched, but it’s not, you know?”

Spike gave her a skeptical look as he sipped his drink.

“It’s not! You weren’t in Sunnydale for Mrs. French. Or, actually, the thing that pretended to be Mrs. French. She was a hot substitute teacher by day, and a virgin-eating mantis by night.”

“She ate virgins?”

“Just boy ones. She tried to eat Xander.”

Spike choked on his wine.

“Oops. Xander would kill me if he knew I told you that. But,” she shrugged. “Whatever. That was high school. He’ll get over it. It’s not like he’s that guy anymore. He’s married with kids for goodness sakes.”

“Yeah? What twit did the Whelp sucker into marrying him?”

Buffy frowned. “Dawn.”

Spike spat out his wine in a spray and stood up. “Take that back,” he warned.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Sit down, Spike. It’s a little late to be playing protective big brother now, and not just because she’s 57. You didn’t just hide from me all these years, you know. You ignored Dawn, too.”

That made him sit down slowly and lower his head. He paused before speaking, his voice deep and low. “Didn’t think she’d want to see me, Slayer. We weren’t exactly on the best of terms last time we saw each other.”

“Maybe not,” she said seriously. “But you don’t give up on the people that matter. You think Dawn and me were always on the best of terms? No. But she’s my sister. So I kept trying.”

Spike sighed. “Guess I thought she didn’t need me pestering her. I was there for her when you couldn’t be… that summer you… But when she had you again, she didn’t need me.”

“Yeah well, I’m not enough.” Buffy paused. “For anyone.”

Spike looked up sharply. What the hell had she meant by that? He didn’t have the guts to ask, though. “I wasn’t hiding from you, love.”

“Right.”

“It’s not like I was ducking around corners or slipping into caves, Buffy. It’s a big bad world out there, with too many vampires and slayers to count now. I wasn’t avoiding you. I just didn’t broadcast that I was back like it was breaking news. You’re the one who’d made the headlines, going global. You had bigger things to worry about. A bloody army to lead.”

Buffy sighed.

He thought it best to change the subject. “So, Mansquito. A classic tale of realism.”

She gave him a small smile. “Yeah. And it echoes so much, you know? A man taken over by the instincts of his insect. Ooh! By his insect reflection!”

Spike furrowed his brow.

“Bad joke I guess, even now. Anyway, yeah, it’s totally realistic. Consider Xander. Again. He was possessed by a hyena once. Hmm. But he didn’t actually change form or anything. He just got very mean and horny. Maybe that’s not the best example.” She took another sip of her wine and swallowed quickly to speak again.

“It’s like you!” She exclaimed with wide eyes.

“Huh?”

“Mansquito! Part man, part mosquito. You know, with the blood suckage. You’re Mansquito!”

Spike growled.

Buffy started cackling. Her wine threatened to spill, as she let her head fall back on the sofa.

“You’re cut off, Slayer.” He tried to grab her glass but she pulled it out of his reach.

“I so am not.” She was still giggling. “I can hold my liquor a lot better these days, thank you very much.” She settled down. “Okay, no more jokes or trips down memory lane. Movie is on now. Can’t miss the beginning.”

“No. That’d be a shame.”

She pushed him back into the sofa by his shoulder. “Just sit back and relax,” she said with a smile. “You’re supposed to be recuperating.”

“Yeah, but-“

“Shh! It’s started,” she whispered.

Spike rolled his eyes and turned to face the screen.

The two watched the movie in companionable silence, their only conversation the occasional outburst from Spike about how lame Mansquito was being or how daft some victim had been before he got what was coming to him. Buffy would agree with a giggle of delight, then shush him quickly. Thirty minutes into the movie, they had finished the first bottle of wine and Spike had fished out a second from the kitchen. Before the end of the movie, they’d finished the second bottle as well.

“Well that was just, dumb.” The credits had started to roll and Spike was staring at the screen in disbelief at where he found himself: a two-hundred year-old vampire having just watched the full ninety-two minutes of a movie called Mansquito, with a sixty-year old vampire slayer named Buffy.

Speaking of which, she hadn’t answered him. He turned to look at her and felt his heart melt. She was still sitting with bent knees, toes dug under his seat cushion, but her head was lolled to the side, mouth parted slightly, and eyelids closed and twitching.

“Buffy,” he whispered. A little snore escaped her lips that made him smile sadly. It was a bloody crime her being so cute.

Spike sat back and stared at Buffy as she slept. She was such an odd creature his… girl. A wonder, really. She had the face of a child, but the eyes of a woman who’d seen more death and bloodshed than most vampires. She had the tiniest frame underneath those cotton pajamas, but it was the most powerful weapon he’d ever come across. And she had the biggest bleeding heart, despite the fact that all her friends had betrayed her at some point in time. None more than Willow, who had torn her away from a heavenly rest just to fight their battles again, and who had carelessly cursed her to fight those battles for eternity. Now Buffy’s eyes would never stop seeing bloodshed and death. That strong but delicate body would never know rest again. And the most forgiving of hearts would ache long after every loved one had faded away.

It wasn’t fair.

Spike stared at her more intensely with a new resolve. If he was sure of anything now, it was this: that he loved this woman with everything he had. That he loved her more than he wanted her. That it was like coming home just being near her. That it would be heaven for him just to help her. If he could lessen her burden even the slightest bit... If he could make her smile or laugh for even a few moments… If he could give her even brief periods of rest… he’d consider his unlife worth something.

“Here lies the warrior of the people,” he whispered in admiration.

Buffy murmured in her sleep. He wouldn’t torture himself by carrying her to bed, so he spoke loudly. “Buffy.”

He got a murmur in reply.

“Buffy,” he spoke louder.

“Huh?” Her eyes were still closed, but she seemed to be waking up grumpily.

“Chop, chop Slayer. Time for beddy-bye.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes with a frown.

“Movie’s over, pet.”

“Really? Did I miss the end?”

“Don’t you know what happens?”

“Yeah, but, still. Did you see the whole thing, though?”

“Yeah. I had the displeasure.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“No. But I had fun, anyway.”

That made her smile. “Okay. Bedtime.” Buffy stretched her arms above her head and yawned widely like a cat after a nap. Standing up, she went to grab the wine glasses when he stopped her with a hand to her arm.

“I’ll take care of this Slayer. Not really my normal bedtime yet. I may stay up a bit.”

“Thanks.” She looked down at him and their eyes met. She seemed to want to speak, but several seconds passed before she did. “Good night, Spike.”

Staring back at her, he replied softly. “Good night, love.”

Slowly, she shuffled away. When Spike heard her close the door to her bedroom, he shifted to her side of the couch. It was warm and smelled of sleepy Slayer and he nestled himself into the corner while the warmth remained. He wasn’t even remotely sleepy, but he knew he had to go to bed soon. He didn’t want to sleep through a single moment he had with her. He had no idea what would happen tomorrow.

His wounds would heal overnight, even without any blood to drink; so there’d be no technical reason to stay beyond sunset. The thought of leaving her pained his throat and eyes, but he wouldn’t cry. He wasn’t a complete ponce. But in his defense, only Buffy could make a two-hundred-year-old demon cry.


* * *

On the outskirts of Santa Lucia, a lone woman sat on a park bench. One gnarled hand clutched her coat closed across her breasts. With her head bent low, her short, silver hair hung limply over her eyes. She let the tears flow freely, as she moaned and wailed through her grief. She’d barely even touched the apple-pie held loosely in her lap.

By three a.m., Spike had finished exploring every nook and cranny of the house. Through the few pictures and knick-knacks that adorned the place, he’d tried to imagine whom she’d become, how she’d changed. But the house told few stories. The pictures of Dawn were a shock, with her grey hair and laugh lines, but she was every bit as lovely as he knew she’d be. And the kids looked like decent enough people, though they favored the Whelp.

There were no other photos in the house though. None of the Watcher. None of Red. None of the other Slayers. Any pictures of Joyce would have been buried in Sunnydale, he supposed. Sad, that. There were several paintings and sculptures though, which looked to be from various cities around the world she must have visited. And plenty of weapons, of course – not just in the basement, but stashed all over the place. It was a charming house he had to admit. But it felt empty.

From his window seat in the living room, Spike gazed out at the dark suburban street. He still wasn’t tired, but he didn’t want to lose a single moment with her, so he reluctantly got up and retreated to his room. After pulling down the shade, he threw a blanket over the window for good measure, then peeled off his clothes and climbed into bed. He was disappointed that the sheets smelled so little of her, but her scent still lingered in his nose from the rest of the house. Closing his eyes, it wasn’t long before he slipped into a light but peaceful sleep.


* * *

Meanwhile in L.A...

Gina had been kicking stones through Watts for three hours. “This shit is pointless, Pip,” she grumbled into her wrist piece.

Pipa’s disembodied voice was sharp and dissonant in the air. “I know. Torrance is sleepy too.”

“The Ellens seein’ any action?”

“Of course. Venice Beach is never quiet. I was glad for the swap before, but now…”

“I know, right? We could be home watching Animal Cops.”

“So did you dust anything tonight?”

“Nope. Haven’t dusted or beheaded a damn thing in two days. Somethin’ ain’t right, Pip.”

“What do you mean? You think it means something?”

“Hell yeah. When was the last time things were this quiet?”

“Hmm…” She paused. “Oh.”

“Well?”

Pipa let out a whine. “The September attack.”

“Exactly.”

“Great.”

“Chill out, Pip. We’ll be ready when the Dragvloks make their move.”

“Yeah but-”

“Uh oh, fellas! What we got up in here?!”

Gina turned around sharply to find five guys in colors walking towards her – gats at the ready on their hips. In the front of the pack was an overbuilt fuck in a tank top, arms covered in tatts. She figured him for the leader since he’d spoken up.

“Gina, who’s that?” Pipa whispered from her wrist.

“Just some homeboys, girl. Gotta go. Holla.”

“Be care-“

Gina cut the line.

“Wassup, fellas? Y’all in the wrong part of town wearin’ them colors. Better watch out.” Gina subtly checked behind her to make sure she wasn’t cornered. There was no one behind her, which was something. But she knew she couldn’t outrun a bullet.

“Bitch, wha’d you say?”

Shit. He angered easily. “Calm down, homeboy. I’m just lookin’ out for you. The brothas around here don’t play. I know this is border territory with Westmont, but barely. Nobody wants blood, do they?”

The lead fuck gave her a grin, saccharine and sly. “Blood? Nah. That ain’t what we want, is it fellas?”

The fellas all thought that was funny.

“Nah, shortie,” he continued. “Ain’t nobody lookin’ for blood tonight.” The lead fuck tilted his head to the side then, and passed an exaggerated gaze up and down her six-foot frame. “A bit o’ pussy might taste alright though.”

“Hell yeah!” she heard amidst the hoots and cackles that followed.

But Gina had heard worse. She kept her face looking bored. “Well, then. You know where the hookers hang, playa’. Turn your ass around and head south. I’ve got business to handle, and you ain’t it.”

“You motha fuckin’ bitch!” The lead fuck stormed straight towards Gina to backhand her with his nine, but she’d caught his forearm with two hands, snapped it into a ‘V’ and caught the gun from his limp hand before he’d even registered the pain.

“Agh!” He screamed, as he slumped to the ground.

The next moment, four guns faced one.

“Kill that bitch!” The lead fuck cried at her feet.

“Hold up!” Gina stepped out of his reach and a walked a few steps forward towards the pack. “Cause I can take out two o’ you motha fuckas before you even think about dropping my ass!”

“Bitch, there ain’t no way in hell you gettin’ outta here alive!” Another snarled. Second-fuck-in-command, she guessed. Walking towards her, he didn’t stop until their straps were barrel to barrel.

Fuck. This wasn’t how she was supposed to go.

“Look-“

“Shut up, bitch! Nobody fucks wit’ us in this neighborhood!”

Gina heard the sound of a dozen gats readied then.

And smiled.

“Nuh uh. Nobody fucks wit’ Gina in this neighborhood, punk-ass.”

Second-fuck shut his eyes in recognition, though he kept his heater in her face. That made Gina relax enough to look over his shoulder. More than a dozen of the brothas from Watts were locked and loaded behind the smaller pack from Westmont.

But the Westmont pack didn’t move, and four guns kept Gina in their sights.

Second-fuck opened his eyes again with a new resolve. “Gina, is it?” he yelled in her face, but for the benefit of the Watts crew behind him. He was breathing heavily but kept his face a mask. “Well… Gina’s getting’ a bullet in the fuckin’ brain if y’all don’t step the fuck down!”

He was probably just scared enough to do it; and Gina suddenly found herself actually thinking about killing another human being. Just to live. At least… until his eyes grew twice their normal size in terror, and he slowly lowered his gun. He wasn’t looking at her anymore.

He was looking behind her.

He mouthed more than whispered: “What the fuck?!”

Whatever was behind her, Gina knew it was something only she could handle. That’s why the Watts boys always had her back: because she had theirs. They knew there were some things their bullets couldn’t kill. And when that shit showed up, there was only one real badass around.

Second-fuck started backing up – ignoring Gina and the strap she still had pointed at his face. The rest of the Westmont pack started backing up as well, until both gangs stood together in a clump - mouths open, eyes wide, guns forgotten in their hands.

Lowering her piece, Gina looked down to the lead fuck whose arm she’d broken. She flipped the gun in the air – catching it by the barrel – and gave it back. Grabbing the gun with his uninjured hand, he scurried to join the rest of the homeboys several feet behind her.

“Slayer.”

Gina took a settling breath and finally turned around to see the face that could stop a dozen gangsters. She swallowed. With more courage than she felt, she replied. “Yeah, that’d be me. Do I know you?”

She wasn’t prepared for the backhanded swipe that sent her flying back into the arms of the Westmont pack.

“The Dragvloks will know vengeance tonight, Slayer.”

For a moment, Gina saw nothing but black, before the throbbing in her face woke her up to the urgency of the situation. Dazed and choking on her own blood, she pulled herself out of their arms and stood tall. “I could use some help here, fellas.”

No one answered her.

With a press of a button on her wrist, Gina made a distress call to every Slayer in the immediate vicinity. “I’ve got reinforcements comin’, but I’m gonna need a distraction to get a head start on this bastard so I can meet up with my girls. Just give me some bullet cover. He doesn’t want you, so there’s nothin’ to fear… unless you get in his way.”

“Fuck that! Ain’t shootin’ at the brotha gettin’ in his motha fuckin’ way?!”

Second-fuck really was a punk-ass. “Just shoot and run.” She looked him square in the eyes then. “Trust me.”

They were all silent, but she knew they did.

“On three,” she added. “One…”

Every man raised his weapon high in the direction of the beast.

“Two…”

The Dragvlok – seemingly unperturbed by their plans – started advancing.

“Three!”

The demon roared as a barrage of bullets pelted his leathery hide. They wouldn’t kill him, but they were enough to make him pause and shield his eyes while Gina made a run for it – the brothas doing the same, but scattering in every direction.

‘”Pip!” Gina was running west – as fast she ever had – and not daring to look behind her.

“I’m on my way, Gina! What is it? A Dragvlok?!”

“What the fuck do you think?! Yeah! Where are you?!”

“In a taxi headed north towards Watts. I’ve got your position. I see you’re on the move down Century Boulevard. I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?!” Gina spat out the blood that had pooled in her mouth.

“This is L.A.! Just keep some distance between the two of you. Dragvloks aren’t so fast on the run. Just quick with the swipes. Where is he?”

Looking back for the first time, Gina saw him trailing about twenty yards behind her.

“He’s behind me Pip… but I’ve got some yards on him,” she panted.

“Just keep running until I get to you!”

“Yeah.”

“And don’t die!”

Gina rolled her eyes as she kept running west. A few minutes later, her wrist was talking again.

“Gina, I’ve got your position.” The disembodied voice was calm and confident.

“Sonny? Where are you?”

“Reseda was dead, so I was in Crenshaw, but I’ve got a bike, so I’m almost at Morningside Park. I’ll see you in five.”

“Where’d you get a bike?”

“Reseda.”

Gina didn’t have the energy to ask. Checking behind her again, she was dismayed to see the Dragvlok gaining ground. She was sprinting as fast as her legs could take her, but the muscles in her thighs were starting to cramp – making her seize up and stumble unexpectedly.

“I’m fit ladies… but I ain’t that fit!” Gina yelled at her wrist breathlessly. “Sooner or later…” She took in two big gulps of air, making her choke again on her own blood. “I’mma have to turn around and fight.”

“Gina, no! Just wait for us!” That was Pip.

“Gina! Is it a Dragvlok?!” Carla.

“Yeah!” Gina let out in an exhale. “Get your asses over here!”

“We’ll be there in twenty!”

Gina rolled her eyes again. Fuckin’ L.A. was too damn big.

She kept running due west through Westmont, the Dragvlok’s low-pitched growl rumbling in her chest.

“Slayer!”

At least they weren’t verbose.

She was starting to seriously fatigue, and her lungs were burning from the effort. Looking back again to check his position, Gina swallowed her fear when she found him not ten yards behind her.

She wasn’t sure how much longer she’d been running before she faintly heard the purr of a motorcycle engine in the distance.

“That you, Sonny?”

“Yeah, I’m a few minutes north of you on Crenshaw Boulevard. Meet me in Hollywood Park. By the lakes.”

“Got it.” With a destination in mind and almost in sight, Gina found her second wind and picked up her pace.

“Hollywood Park, Pip!”

“Gotcha. Hollywood Park, cabbie. And quick!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gina heard him mutter.

Gina had never been happier to see anyone than she was to see Sonny – all sixty-three inches of her. Not only did she look ready to brawl, but she was packing some serious steel on her back.

Sonny stopped the bike abruptly by the smaller of the lakes and Gina reached her in under a minute. Hands on her knees, Gina let herself breathe.

“How many?” Sonny asked calmly.

“Just one. But he’s got a vicious backhand” she added, as she wiped the blood from her nose with her sleeve.

“Here.” Sonny had dismounted and pulled a short axe from her back, thrusting it in Gina’s hands. “You’ve got a longer reach. I get the long sword.”

“Fine with me.” Gina took two more gulps of air before her breathing started to slow. “Anything is better than a knife and stake.”

The two stood tall and positioned themselves side-by-side. There was nothing left to do but watch the Dragvlok rapidly approaching.

“You remember their weak spots?” Sonny asked coolly.

“Yeah. Eyes, neck and ankles. If you can reach ‘em.”

“Right. I say you go high, I go low.” Sonny’s eyes never left their mark.

“Alright, then.”

“Slayers!”

“Ready?” Sonny raised her long sword in front of her. She looked fearless, but Gina knew better.

“No. But let’s do this anyway.” Gina raised her axe to the side.

The Dragvlok ran straight towards them. They were expecting him to swipe with his talons immediately, so Gina jumped high and Sonny crouched low; but the Dragvlok surprised them both by jumping high and kicking out violently – landing a vicious blow to Sonny’s head, and a sickening kick to Gina’s middle. Both girls landed on their backs some distance away.

Stunned from the blow to her head, Sonny was too slow to recover. The Dragvlok snatched her ankle in his talon and dragged her further away from Gina to begin stripping her into pieces.

“Agh!”

He’d made a good start on her chest before the sound of Sonny’s torment shook Gina out of her nausea and pulled her up from the ground. As the demon’s talon descended to take another swipe at Sonny’s breasts, Gina’s axe flew up to slice off the demon’s arm.

The demon roared as the axe buried itself in the thickened hide of his forearm. Lashing out at frightening speed with his free arm, he cut three deep scores into Gina’s right shoulder – sending her scurrying back in pain without her axe.

Fueled by adrenaline and a desperate will to live, Sonny took advantage of the momentary reprieve to roll over and run to her bike. Ignoring the lancing pain in her chest, she started the bike and headed straight towards Gina.

“Gina, let’s go!”

Gina hastily threw herself on to the back of the moving bike, but the Dragvlok was swift enough to score her back before the bike had carried her beyond the reach of his talon.

Shifting gears, Sonny ripped up the turf as she made a sharp turn to exit the park – leaving the Dragvlok behind in a cloud of dirt and exhaust.

“Gina! What’s happened? You’re on the move!”

Gina’s shoulder felt like it was on fire, and her back was starting to burn. She could barely breathe from the pain. “Leaving the park with Sonny, Pip,” she managed with effort. “Gonna try to lose him…” She grimaced as the wind blew across her shredded flesh. “… head home.”

“Gotcha. See you there. Cabbie, head southeast. Trimmold Street!”

“Gina? Where-?”

“Home, Sal,” she breathed. “If we can lose the fuck.”

“We?”

“Sonny’s here.” Gina was starting to feel sick.

“Oh. Good. You alright?”

Her breathing was getting laboured now. “Gotta get home.”

Silence. “Okay, see you there.”

Sonny was driving ninety miles an hour – far too fast for the Dragvlok to match, so Gina started feeling safe enough to relax. But after only a few minutes, the bike started to slow.

“How you doin’ Sonny?” Gina asked worriedly.

Sonny didn’t answer. And the bike started to swerve as Sonny’s head began to drop.

“Sonny!”

Losing speed, the bike wobbled widely before tipping over to the side – throwing Gina off her seat and pinning Sonny underneath. With a new burst of adrenaline, Gina recovered quickly – pushing the bike off the wounded Slayer and standing it upright.

“Sonny! We gotta go, girl! We gotta go!”

Sonny laid still on the road.

Gina looked down at her unmoving form. “Sonny!” Gina shook her violently.

“Wake up, Sonny, for fuck’s sake!’

“Can’t,” she whimpered.

“Sonny!” She shook her harder still.

No answer.

Gritting her teeth through the pain in her shoulder, Gina pulled Sonny to a standing position and threw the girl’s arms over her uninjured side, before dragging her on to the bike behind her.

“Just hold on Sonny! I’ll get us home!”

Gina winced in agony as Sonny slumped against her shredded back, but forced her eyes open to drive. Restarting the engine, Gina thought only of getting home. So focused on the road ahead of her, she never noticed the red eyes glowing ever brighter in the rearview mirror.


* * *


Spike woke with a low growl to the intoxicating smell of blood. Slipping into game face, he shot up in bed, scanning the room quickly for the source. And then he heard it.

Buffy. Singing? And making a racket in the kitchen.

As eager to see her as he was to follow his nose, he pulled on his jeans – forgoing a shirt – and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Stopping abruptly in the doorway at the sight of her, he leaned against its jam to admire the view.

He wasn’t sure of the time since all the shades were drawn, but she was already showered and dressed, in a pair of dark, fitted jeans and an off-the-shoulder T-shirt, deep red. Her hair was swept up in a messy pony tail that still reached her mid-back and her cheek bore only the slightest trace that he had marred it the night before.

She was humming happily – not singing – as she stood over a steaming pot of what, he was stunned to conclude, was his breakfast.

“Morning, pet.”

“Gah!” Startled, Buffy twisted towards him with a jump.

“Sorry.”

“You startled me…” she replied with a smile. Her eyes scanned the length of his body before she quickly turned back to her pot.

“You used to be more alert than that, Slayer.”

“No. I used to live with dozens of screeching girls, so I was never surprised when people snuck up on me. I’m not used to hearing anyone else in this house though.”

“Forgot I was here already?”

She frowned at him, lifting the pot from the stove and showing it to him. “What do you think?”

He lowered his head, raising his eyes to her shyly. “Me thinks the lady’s made me a bit o’ tucker.”

“Huh?”

“Breakfast. That’s for me, right?”

“No. I always have ox blood and Wheetabix in the morning.”

Spike felt his chest tighten. “You bought Wheetabix?”

“Yup.”

“And ox?”

“Double yup.” She smiled widely at him. “More too.” Putting down the pot, she dashed to the refrigerator and showed him a whole shelf in the fridge stacked with blood, plus the freezer with three times as much. “There’s ox, pig, deer, cow, and…” She pulled out a smaller bag from the freezer. “Get this. Wolf!”

Spike went numb, his mouth slack. That was a week’s worth of blood.

“You don’t like wolf?” she asked worriedly.

He swallowed and spoke cautiously. “Uh… who’s gonna drink all that, Slayer? You havin’ your vamp buddies over for a poker party or somethin’?”

“Funny. No… I just… Well, it was on sale, for one.” She threw the wolf blood back into the freezer and returned to her pot on the stove. “They don’t sell much blood at the butchers in Santa Lucia, since I keep the town vamp-free, so I got this from Bakersfield. But I’ve been thinning the herd there too, so they were happy to get rid of the stuff before it went bad.”

“You drove to Bakersfield this morning?!”

She looked back at him briefly before returning to stirring his breakfast. “Oh. Um, yeah. I mean, how else were you gonna eat? And anyway… I didn’t know what you drank these days. I remember you always hating pig’s blood, so I figured I’d get a variety to see what you liked.” She started stirring more wildly – unwittingly splashing blood onto the stove. “I was just trying to heat this up to 98.6… but it’s tricky keeping it at that temperature for very long… and I wasn’t sure if you’d be up… but then I figured there was so much that I could just practice with this one, and-”

“Buffy.”

“… if I ended up burning it, I could just micro-“

“Buffy.”

She stopped stirring.

What could he say?

“Thank you,” he said weakly, his voice cracking.

She’d burnt the ox blood and it smelt god-awful, but no one had ever done anything like this for him. He didn’t know what it meant. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he cared. It felt so bloody good just being thought of.

She looked at him then, with warmth in her eyes. “Hungry?”

“I could eat an ox, love.”

She grinned widely. “One ox coming up!” Buffy moved to take the pot off the stove and gasped.

“What?”

“The thermometer says 120 degrees! Oh… phooey! This is no good!” He could hear the pout in her voice, though he couldn’t see the lip.

“It’s alright, love.” He couldn’t help but smile as he walked over to her.

“No. No, it’s not.” Buffy quickly turned off the burner and dumped the blood down the drain. “Let’s start over.”

Spike sighed again. He wasn’t sure he could handle her being this nice. Or this adorable.

He moved to stand beside her, but she kept her eyes on the drain. “Tell you what, pet. I’ll make another pot of blood and you make yourself something to eat.”

She looked at him them. “I’ve already eaten, Spike. It’s three o’clock.”

“Oh.”

Fuck. He’d missed half the day with her.

“Yeah, you slept a while.”

He sighed. “So… what else did you do today?” Grabbing the pot from her, he started washing it out so that he could start over. Buffy took the cue and took a seat at the island.

“Lots, actually. Had breakfast. Then drove the bike to the car wash in town and arranged for the guys there to pick up Queenie at the hospital. They’re gonna wash her inside and out and deliver her here when she’s ready.”

“Nice. How much did that cost you?” Spike grabbed two bags of ox blood from the fridge, tore them open with his teeth, and started heating them up on the stove.

“Um, lots, actually. But whatever. Better than us cleaning her. Anyhoo, after that was arranged, I drove to Bakersfield to get the blood, and then stopped off at a few stores to get some Wheetabix and other stuff.”

“What other stuff?” he asked with a studied indifference.

“You’ll see.”

He stopped stirring his pot but kept his back to her. “Yeah? When?” Maybe she’d let on how long she was expecting him to stay.

“After you pay me back for all the blood and goodies.”

“Yeah? How?” He lifted his pot off the stove to keep it from overcooking while he waited for an answer.

She answered shyly. “Spar with me after you eat?”

Spike furrowed his brow and turned to face her. “You wanna spar? We just bashed each other up less than twenty-four hours ago. Thought we were supposed to be recuperating?”

“We are. We did. Anyway, that was a fight. This is training. You got me one too many times last night, and I wanna see what else you’ve got. Steal whatever moves you’ve picked up.” She didn’t seem at all ashamed to admit as much. “No one’s gotten that many hits in for a long time.”

Spike smirked arrogantly to hide his happiness. He was gonna float away, he felt so light.

He had to find out how long she wanted him to stay. He went back to his pot before he spoke. “I suppose Vegas can wait. Can’t hit the road until sundown anyway. We’ve got plenty of time to spar. Wouldn’t mind learning a few of your new moves too, love.”

Silence.

He was too nervous to look back.

A minute must have passed – the only sound, the scraping of his spoon.

Finally, she spoke. “What about the penis lady?”

He looked back at her in confusion.

Her face was blank. “You came here to kill her.”

He nodded.

“And you helped her escape instead.”

He nodded again, but slowly this time and unconsciously, as if trying to process her real meaning.

“Yeah… guess I do have a job to finish…” he said tentatively, looking at her askance.

She didn’t reply.

“So… you offerin’ food and lodging til I do?”

Her face came alive again. “At a price.”

He studied her. “Sparring.”

She smiled.

He paused to consider – not his answer, of course – but her.

“Done.” Spike finished heating his breakfast, poured half of it into the mug she’d put out for him, and leaned against the stove to drink. Buffy looked at him, expectantly.

“Well?”

“Tastes like ox.”

“Spike.”

He stifled a smile. “It’s good, pet. Fresh. And better than pig.”

And again she was smiling at him. “Good. Drink up. How’s your chest?”

“Fine. I could spar now. How’s the knee? You heal any faster with that immortality of yours?”

“Sadly, no. But I healed fast enough before. The knee is almost good as new.”

Finishing the mug, Spike poured himself the rest from the pot. “So how do we go about finding the old lady then?”

“Argh. I don’t know. She may have skipped town. But if I was a mother, and someone had just fried all my kids, I’d be looking for vengeance. Outside of the usual patrols and ass-kickings for information, we may just have to wait to see who shows up dead.”

Spike raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“I know. It’s not the kindest thing to do. But we need to be realistic here.”

Spike looked at her more closely. “You’ve changed.”

“I’ve aged, Spike.” Buffy clasped her hands in front of her and looked down. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of people die because I couldn’t save them in time. Many of them Slayers who would’ve never died if Willow and I hadn’t woken them up in the first place. I could crawl under a rock and pity myself. Or I could delude myself into thinking that I can be everywhere, in the nick of time, to save everyone. Or…” She looked up then. “I could just do my best. And never stop trying.”

Spike just stared at her with admiration in his eyes.

She met his gaze. “You know, someone once told me, that that’s what he admired most about me.”

He looked at her questioningly.

“How I try.”

Bloody hell. It was too much. He couldn’t...

So he drank his ox instead.

She watched him intently as he sipped his drink, and the moment soon became too overwhelming for him, so he downed the rest of his breakfast in two gulps and started cleaning up the mess.

“Meet me in the basement in five, pet. Just gonna clean up here and splash some water over my face.”

“Cool,” she replied lightheartedly. “I’ll go change.”

And she was off.

Alone in the kitchen with his thoughts, Spike busied himself with the blood-splattered stove. He was painfully confused. What the hell had happened to his unlife? How had he ended up here? Everything he wanted was in front of him: Buffy. All to himself. In a cozy little house. Beautiful. Smiling. Kind. And young. Forever, young. Like him.

But not his.

He wished he understood her. If only she hadn’t been such a bitch to him back in Sunnydale and so aloof that last year, he’d be able to make some sense of her behavior now. He didn’t know what to make of the thirty-one flavours of blood from Bakersfield, and the Wheetabix, and the hospitality, and the smiles and giggles, and the insistence that he stay. Was this just friendliness? Is that what old mates did? Is this how she treated Xander? Was Spike just a Scooby to her now?

Was that enough?

‘Of course it’s enough, you selfish prick’, he thought to himself. He’d promised her as much last night while he’d watched her sleep. He could be that for her. They could be friends. It felt bloody wonderful being friends. And he could have her friendship forever if he played his cards right. He didn’t have to be alone anymore. There could always be her.

She just wouldn’t be his.

Spike exhaled forcefully.

He still couldn’t believe she’d bought him wolf’s blood.

After finishing in the kitchen, Spike made a quick trip to the bathroom to wash his face and rinse his mouth. He felt ten times better for breakfast, and could feel his cracked bones mending all the faster. Walking through the house to the basement, he couldn’t help but notice that every shade had been drawn. There was nowhere in the house he couldn’t go.

He heard her pounding the bag before he saw her.

“Ready?” she asked as she saw him descend the stairs.

“Are you, pet?”

Los Angeles, 3:15 pm

“Ow!”

“Sorry!” Pipa peeled away the bandage from Gina’s back more gently.

“It’s alright, Pip. Just get it over with.” Gina was in bed, lying topless on her stomach with her arms under her chin, while Pipa sat beside her, tending to the smaller of her wounds.

“How’s it lookin’ back there?”

“Um… well it’s not as bad as your shoulder. How badly does it hurt?”

“Didn’t you just hear me say ‘Ow’?”

“Yeah, but ‘Ow’ is for stubbed toes, too. Does it hurt more than a stubbed toe?”

Gina looked over her shoulder and scowled. Pipa smiled sheepishly.

“Okay. I’ll finish redressing this one, and then I’ll get you some more stuff for the pain. What we really need, though, are antibiotics.”

Pipa looked to the other wounded Slayer currently sleeping in her bed. “We should have taken you both to the hospital, you know.”

Gina cast her eyes at Sonny, sleeping peacefully on her back – her torso wrapped snuggly in white crepe. The afternoon rays were sneaking past the curtain into the darkened room and throwing beams of gold on to her form. She had the look of an ancient Christian martyr at that moment - bound up as she was in white linen.

“You know Sonny.”

“And I know you. Since when do you follow Sonny?”

“I’m not following her lead here, Pip. I just agree with her on this one. We need to stay together, and we don’t need doctors asking questions about how we got slashed and why we heal so damn fast.”

“Yeah well, you’re not healing that fast.”

Gina pressed her face into the blankets. Her voice was muffled when she spoke. “So how bad is Sonny?”

“Worse. He’s ripped her chest to shreds. She would have died if you hadn’t stopped him.”

Gina turned her head towards Pipa again. “Stop him? Pip, I didn’t do shit but cower like a bitch when he a got a swipe in! If it weren’t for Sonny getting to the bike, we’d both be dead.”

Pipa gave her an admonishing look. “Then who got Sonny home?”

“Whatever.” Gina turned her face away.

“Hands off the bastinada!”

Both girls turned their heads toward the door at the sound of Stevie’s angry voice in the hallway.

“Who’s all here?” Gina asked.

“Pretty much everybody. After we got you two put to bed last night, we rallied the rest of the L.A. Slayers. It’s a full house.”

“You know, some of those independents don’t get on well with others.”

“I know. But they’re loyal when it counts. Anyway, most of us were up by noon, but a few of them had a late night. They must be getting up-”

A knock at the door interrupted her.

Not wanting to wake Sonny, Pipa crept to the door and opened it a crack.

“What’s up?” she whispered into the opening.

“Pipa, open the door. We need to talk.” Carla didn’t wait for an answer or permission, and caused Pipa to stumble back as she pushed herself into the room – Sally, Rachel, Maria, and Stevie behind her.

“Who threw the slumber party?”

All the residents of Slayer Central turned their gazes towards the weak and hoarse voice of the just wakening Slayer.

“Sonny!”

“Yeah, Gina. We’ve met before.”

“How are y-?”

“What hap-“

“How big was the Drag-“

“Are you badly hu-?”

“Where’s Buff-?”

“Enough!” Pipa quieted the room with uncharacteristic forcefulness. “Guys, they’re both badly injured. How about we not attack them with questions.”

After a moments pause, Carla spoke again. “How badly are they hurt?”

Pipa looked to Gina, then to Sonny. “Pretty badly. And they’re not healing fast enough.”

“Put it this way,” Sonny croaked. “I couldn’t fight right now if I wanted to.” She winced as she shifted slightly. “And I don’t want to.”

“This is bad,” Rachel whined.

“You really have a talent for speaking the fuckin’ obvious, Rachel.”

“Shut up, Stevie,” Gina chided.

Stevie turned around in a huff and took a position against the wall. She always reminded Gina of a two-year-old when she did that, with her frizzy brown curls and her petulant pout.

“Well it is bad,” Maria muttered. She plopped down next to Pipa on the edge of the bed. “If that Dragvlok was the first of many, then we’ll need every Slayer here fit and ready for war.”

“Yeah, and Sonny and Gina are the best fighters,” Rachel injected.

“Says who? Who’s out patrolling Venice Beach every night? Me and Sal. No offense ladies. You’ve got grit, I’ll give you that, but-“

“Classy, Carla. Real classy.” Gina frowned at Carla before she burrowed her face in her blankets again. She wasn’t really offended, because Carla wasn’t wrong. The Dragvlok had owned her last night, and she’d almost gotten Sonny killed.

“I’m just say-“

“Focus, people.” Pipa commanded. “Look… Maria is right. We need every Slayer fit and ready for battle. So… we need help.”

“Angel?” Sally offered.

That got Gina’s head up again. “What the fuck for?”

“Well, we need all the good guys we can get, right?”

“I meant medical help,” Pipa explained.

“Clem,” Sonny let out on a breath. “Call Clem.”

All the Slayers looked at Pipa, who nodded. “Good idea.”

“I don’t know,” Rachel argued. “It’s been a while since we’ve used his guy. Think he’ll still help?”

“You really know how to bring the pessimis-“

“For fuck’s sake, Stevie!”

“I don’t see why not,” Pipa assured. “We’ve always paid him well. And we haven’t killed any of his kind since the last time he helped.” Eyes widening suddenly, Pipa scanned the faces in the darkened room. “Have we?”

No one spoke up.

“So that’s a ‘no’. Okay, we’ve got a plan. I’ll call Clem and see if he can contact the Caretaker. And then I’ll call Buffy.”

“What the fuck for?” Sonny mimicked. “She’s not a doctor.”

Pipa frowned. “Sonny, Buffy should know what’s happened. They’ll be more coming, and we’ll need her. She’s the reinforcements, remember?”

“Well, they’re not here yet,” Sonny countered. “Plus, they still need to find out where we are.”

“It’s hardly a secret,” Stevie retorted.

Sonny ignored her. “And the last time I checked, The Immortal One wasn’t a doctor – just a Slayer who never has to worry about getting her ass shredded into hamburger.”

“She’s been hurt too, Sonny,” Gina insisted. “She’s been dead for fuck’s sake.”

“Uh huh.”

“She should know, Sonny,” Pipa gently insisted. “But I’ll call Clem first.”

Grabbing her phone from the desk, Pipa slipped out of the room to make the call.

“I’m calling Angel,” Carla declared, as she left the room too – Sally following not far behind.

“Whatever.” Gina didn’t feel like fighting her.

“So who’s downstairs?” Sonny asked.

“The Indies,” Gina replied.

“All of them?”

“Apparently.”

“Great. That’s just what we need.”

“It kinda is, Sonny.” Gina twisted her head back to Rachel. “What are they doin’ down there anyway, makin’ all that noise?”

Stevie answered instead. “Pissing me off.”

Rachel cast sympathetic eyes at Stevie before turning to Gina. “They’re online in the computer room… raiding the fridge… trying out weapons…”

“Like I said.”

The next moment, Pipa rushed back into the room, slightly breathless. “He’ll come.”

“The Caretaker?”

“Yup.” Pipa smiled at Gina. “Clem said the Caretaker could use the cash, because he lost a ton at poker the other night, and now owes Clem two litters. Clem is getting him to come over now.”

Sonny sighed. “Thank god. I feel like shit.”

“You and me both, sister.”

“Why do we always have to go through Clem anyway?”

“Because we’re Slayers, Stevie. If you were a demon, would you want a bunch of demon killers with your number on speed dial? I mean, really. Would you ever feel safe refusing them when they called?”

Stevie shrugged.

Carla returned the next moment.

“Angel’s coming.”

“For what?” Gina really didn’t get why they wanted to involve the tortured prick.

“To help. Assess. See what he can do.”

“What did he say?” Sonny asked.

“Not much. Just asked about last night. How many there were. What the Dragvlok said about the others. He’ll be over in half an hour, cause he’s got to go underground.”

Gina rolled her eyes. “Pip, give me the damn phone. I’m calling Buffy.”


* * *


Santa Lucia, 3:45 pm

Buffy’s phone lay buzzing on her bedroom dresser, before finally going to voice mail for the third time.

“Unh!”

Spike stuck his tongue behind his teeth. “Hurt. Didn’t it love?”

“You wish.” Buffy was smiling as she panted through the pain in her side. The two had been sparring full-on for half an hour and were starting to slow down. Languidly, they started circling each other again.

Spike threw a left hook, and she ducked it to deliver a body shot.

“Fuck!”

“Stop relying on your left, Spike.”

“I’m n-.”

“You are. I can see that punch coming the moment you step with your left.”

“That’s cause you know I’m left-handed, you bossy bint,” he let out through gritted teeth.

“No. It’s because you’re broadcasting that you are.”

Buffy jabbed with her right, but Spike bent back to evade it, then quickly pushed out his right heel to kick her dead in the chest.

“Mmph!”

Buffy flew backwards into the side wall, sliding down on her butt with a thump.

That was her move he’d used. She looked up at him with a sour expression. “That was better.”

“You think you’re teaching me here, pet?”

She shrugged, still seated on the ground. “Someone’s got to.”

Spike dropped his mouth open, half smiling. “Yeah? How many Dragvloks have you bagged, Slayer?”

“Twelve,” she deadpanned. “And if you count the ones I killed when we torched their homestead or whatever… I don’t know… maybe twenty.”

Spike shut his mouth.

“And how many have you killed, Spike?”

“That’s not the point.”

Buffy laughed.

“It’s not! I didn’t just kill the assholes, Slayer.” He was standing over her now, hands on his hips. “I hunted ‘em. Saved more than half a dozen of your chosen chits in the process, too.”

“Who asked you to do that?”

“Huh?”

“Why were you hunting them?”

“What do you m-”

Buffy blinked at him.

He blinked back. “Because… Because they were killing Slayers, pet.” The corners of his mouth started curving into a smile. “I’m the Saviour of Slayers, love. Haven’t you heard?”

Buffy’s eyes widened slightly and her lips pursed as if to keep her from laughing. “The who?”

He ducked his head.

“Wow. That’s… spectacularly lame.”

Spike tensed his jaw as he turned his back on her, taking two steps away.

“But also sweet,” she added.

He stopped. But didn’t turn back.

“And… noble,” she finished in earnest.

He turned to face her again, but slowly. She was smiling at him shyly, and he couldn’t help but respond in kind. That seemed to conclude their sparring session, so Spike met her in three strides and extended his hand to help her up.

The honking of a car horn outside stopped her from taking it.

“That for you?”

“I don’t know.” Standing up on her own, Buffy patted the dust from her pants and walked towards the stairs. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Taking the stairs by twos, she yelled down to him over the banister: “When I come back, I have to show you a few weapons. You won’t believe what I picked up in Kabul!”

Spike bit his bottom lip to keep from grinning as he watched her disappear. Sparring with her had been just what he’d needed. A few of her moves were new, sure, but he knew how to dance with her. Knew the rhythm. Knew when to take the lead. And he never had to hold back. She was the Buffy he remembered when they sparred. Focused. Fast. Brutal. But playful too. But when they weren’t dancing…

Spike sighed. This older Buffy… He thought about it for a moment before settling on an answer. There was a hunger about her that he didn’t recognize. For… life, maybe? Experience? Or maybe just a hunger for, more. And it was like a force drawing him in.

But there was a calm about her too. A paradoxical inner quiet. She seemed more comfortable now in her own skin, and with her choices. She seemed… well… like a grown-up, he supposed. Add to that, this new generosity she displayed where he was concerned, and she was almost too fuckin’ close to his idea of perfection. In the old days, he could always rely on her emotional distance and close-mindedness to keep his adoration in check. To a point, anyway. But forty years seemed to have humbled her and left her more… open.

He was doomed.

But he was also nosy.

She’d said she had no friends in town, so he wondered who could be keeping her. No point wondering when he could find out, so he went upstairs.

The sun was still high in the sky, so he’d have to carefully peek from behind the curtain. Kneeling on the window seat in the living room, he tipped his head to the side to peer with one eye outside towards the driveway.

Queenie was back. Behind her was a white van with the words ‘Pimped and Hosed’ painted on the side. Stupid name for a car wash, he thought. He bent his head a bit further to find Buffy. There she was. Talking to the-

“Huh.”

Shaggy.

“Small world,” he muttered to himself. Well, small town, anyway. No doubt he was trying to seduce her back to his place before he’d relinquish the keys.

“Good luck, meth mouth,” he grumbled. Spike had seen enough, so he pulled his head back and sat down in the bay window to wait.

He was suddenly feeling nervous about the day. He figured they’d patrol for the demon woman, but that wouldn’t be until after sundown. They still had hours to… What? Talk? He wasn’t sure if they’d ever really talked. There’d been brief interludes of confessions shared, he supposed, but not many. There’d always been some dire threat looming around the corner. Or the Whelp. Or she’d realize that they were about to have a real conversation and flee.

The prospect of time alone with her to do nothing but talk… well, it filled him with equal parts ecstasy and dread. He’d always wanted her to look beyond the monster, to try to see the real him, but-

A memory suddenly assaulted him.

“All I ask is that... is that you try to see me.“


“I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William.”

And another.

“Say it’s true. Say I do want to. It would never be you. You’re be-“

Spike squeezed his eyes shut to will the memories away. Those were different times, he assured himself. Two lifetimes ago. He wasn’t that human prat anymore. He wasn’t even the soulless dick he used to be. He was… Well, he didn’t know what he was.

He just didn’t want to be a fool.

Spike slumped in his seat and let his head fall back against the curtain.

“Fuck!”

He heard the sound of broken glass at the same moment he was hit in the chest by a beam of sunlight.

“What the hell?!”

Scurrying away from the window on the floor, he scanned the darkened living room. The curtain over the backyard window was slightly parted down the middle, but the light no longer pierced the room. Beneath it, broken glass littered the floor. Someone had thrown something inside, and by the smell of things, it was starting to burn…

Standing to his full height he spotted the growing flames by the front door.

Buffy.

“Spike!”

Racing back to the front window, he peeked through and found Shaggy gone, and Buffy looking for a way to get inside past the growing blaze at the front door. Giving up, she sprinted around the side of the house.

Fuck.

Whoever threw the burning – whatever it was – was probably still in the backyard.

Racing to the backyard window, he quickly secured the curtain down the middle before peeking through the side…

Bugger.

Four Dragvloks were approaching the back door, as a fifth was jumping out of the back of a-

Bloody hell.

The ‘Pimped and Hosed’ van. Fuckin’ Shaggy. He should have known.

The fire was starting to spread and Spike now had too many things to consider.

“Prioritize, mate,” he muttered to himself. “Weapons.” Racing down the basement stairs, he grabbed the scythe, an axe, and the most beautiful piece of craftsmanship he’d ever seen in a Samurai sword.

Sprinting back upstairs, he was surprised to find the living room already filling quickly with smoke and the fire spreading along the full side of the front of the house. The fire would have to wait. Buffy first.

“Bloody sunlight,” he grumbled.

Peeking through the curtain again, he saw the Dragvloks blocking the back door. So that was the plan. They must have wanted to bring the fight to the back of the house, away from prying eyes.

He couldn’t see Buffy from his angle. She must have noticed them too, and was planning her attack from the side of the-

“Spike!”

“Guh!”

Startled, Spike twisted away from the window to find Buffy running towards him, a towel over her mouth.

“How-“

“Kitchen window. I need weap-”

“Here.” Spike handed her the scythe, having dropped the sword and the axe on the ground. “Buffy, I’m sorry pet. I can’t-“

“I know. Don’t worry about that.” She had to stop talking to cough. She couldn’t stay in the smoke much longer. “We’ve still got the advantage though.”

“How?“

“They don’t know you’re in here. I’ll draw a few into the house for you to handle, then head back out through the kitchen window. I’ll take the ones left in the yard.”

Spike nodded. “Divide and conquer.”

She tried to reply through a fit of coughing. “Exactly.”

“Hurry, Slayer. Before you pass out.”

Buffy stepped away to call the Dragvloks inside and was stopped by a hand on her arm.

“Be careful, pet. Please.”

“Spike, I’m immortal. What’s the worse that could happen?” She’d covered her mouth with the towel again, but he knew she was smiling.

He furrowed his brow. “Get it done, then.”

“Just stay away from the door. The sunlight will come in.”

Spike took a few steps back and grabbed the sword from the floor.

”Wait.” Buffy turned back to him again. “Do you know their weaknesses?”

Spike cocked his head to the side and glared.

“Right, of course you do.” With that, Buffy swung the back door wide open. Scythe in hand, she was eerily calm when she spoke. “So which one of you jerks set my house on fire?”

“Slayer!”

The first Dragvlok raced in, and was immediately felled by Spike crouching low beneath the ray of sunlight to cut off his feet at the ankles. After he’d chopped off the demon’s head with similar ease, Spike let out a cackle.

“Think I’ve just found my new favourite weapon, pet!”

But when he looked up, Buffy was gone.

A second Dragvlok stepped into the narrow entryway and snarled. Spike went to drop him like his brother, but the demon knew the plan and jumped above the swinging sword. Shouting a few words in his language, he was joined by a third, leaving Spike with two Dragvloks to handle. Any other day he wouldn’t be concerned about the numbers, but visibility was getting poorer as the room filled with smoke, Buffy was alone with two Dragvloks of her own, and there was that pesky problem of his being flammable as the fire spread closer to the back of the house. At least he didn’t need to breathe.

Spike shook his head into game face with a roar and dodged several swipes from the pair. He wouldn’t be able to go for the ankles again. Too obvious. This was one of those rare times that he wished he was taller.

The Dragvloks advanced at once and tried to force him into the flames, but he quickly cleared the space between them with his sword, and spun several steps beyond them.

“Fuck!”

He’d spun right into the sunlight.

Stepping back, he was only a few feet away from the kitchen. As the fire had yet to reach it, he took the fight there.

Since the Dragvloks couldn’t advance together through the hallway, Spike had only one pair of talons to dodge. The first Dragvlok took a swipe at his face – but Spike swiftly bent back while swinging his sword – sending one claw flying in the air.

“Ha!”

The demon roared in anger or pain – he didn’t give a fuck which – and swiped mindlessly with his remaining talons. Dodging and blocking the Dragvlok’s strikes, Spike failed to escape one swipe across his neck.

He had to end this quickly. There was still the other Dragvlok to kill before he could help Buffy. With the demon’s next strike, Spike dropped low and swept the Dragvlok’s legs out from under him, then made quick work of slicing through both his knees. The demon screeched as it sat up to attack – giving Spike the perfect angle to slice through his neck.

Of course, that only made the other Dragvlok angrier. Anxious to get to his girl, Spike raced to the kitchen counter and started hurling things at the Dragvloks head, forcing the overgrown oaf to block his face with his arms. The blender… the toaster… the cutting board… the sugar jar… the food processor… Jesus Christ, she had a lot of appliances, he thought. After throwing the oversized bread-maker at his head, Spike leaped on to the kitchen island and with two centuries of speed and precision, sent the demon’s head flying into the fruit bowl.

“Fuck. There go the peaches, you ninny.”

Hopping off the island, Spike perked up his ears to ascertain where Buffy had taken the fight. He couldn’t hear any Dragvloks growling or any of her sexy grunts, so he ran back towards the living room where a wall of fire stood blocking his way.

Bollocks.

“Think, mate, think.” There was no way out of the kitchen but through the window. Into the sun. “Dust by fire or dust by sunlight. Take your bloody pick.”

Eyeing the decapitated corpses of the Dragvloks, Spike opted for fire. “Okay, which one of you is lighter…” Spike looked back and forth between the two before rolling his eyes at himself. “Idiot.” With his new favourite toy, Spike gleefully hacked off the arms and legs of the demon nearest the exit and hauled up his torso as a shield. If he could just make it to the bedroom, he could get a blanket and –

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The next moment Spike saw Queenie crashing through the back porch door, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the house.

“Get in!” Buffy had throw open the passenger door, so he’d only have to pass through the sunlight for a second. Shielding his right side from the sun with the corpse, he extended the Samurai sword to her first.

“Spike!”

“It’s a bloody thing of beauty, Slayer!”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy grabbed the sword’s handle and slid it on to the back seat, while Spike dropped the corpse and dived in to the front. The next thing he knew he was shrouded in darkness.

She’d gotten a blanket for him.

“Where’d you get-?”

“The bedroom. After I killed my two, I crawled through my bedroom window, hoping you were fighting there, away from the fire.”

Spike felt Queenie reverse and speed off.

“When I didn’t find you in the bedrooms… well… I was hoping you were holding your own in the kitchen.”

He couldn’t see her from under the blanket, so he had no idea how she was doing.

“Are you hurt, love?”

“Not really.”

“Does that mean ‘yes’?”

She didn’t answer. “What about you?”

“Just some scratches, pet. I’ll be alright.” He paused. “Though… I don’t suppose you’ve got any blood in-”

“Ow!” Spike rubbed his temple from under the blanket. “What the hell did you do that for?!”

“You were in the kitchen, you idiot! I was too busy rushing to the get-away car so I could save you from dusting!”

“Okay, okay. Fair enough.” Spike grinned widely under his blanket. “Thanks, love.”

“Yeah.”

“That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Kinda. Except the part where my house was on fire.”

Bugger. “Right. Sorry about that, love. Really, I am.”

She didn’t answer.

“We headed to L.A. then?”

“As fast as Queenie can take us. I just hope the Dragvloks were planning to kill me off first.”


* * *

As Buffy’s single-storey cottage slowly went up in flames, her cell phone lay buzzing on her dresser, before going to voice mail for the fourth time.

Los Angeles, 3:45 pm

“Hey sis, this is Gina. We need you in L.A. – pretty much yesterday. A Dragvlok got the drop on us in Watts last night and tore Sonny up bad. I’m not feelin’ crash hot my damn self. We’ve rounded up the Indies and they’re here at Central with us now. Pip’s called the Caretaker to sort us out, too. Call me when you get this, and get here as soon as you can. Love ya.”

Gina handed the phone back to Pipa. “It ain’t like her Pip, not to answer at this time of day. She’d just be swinging on that porch of hers, eatin’ peaches.”

“I wouldn’t worry yet.”

Gina raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“I know. I’m more of a worrier than you are, but not when it comes to Buffy. She’ll get the message and get back to us as soon as she can. And then she’ll show up just when we need her most.”

“Ugh,” Sonny groaned. “Spare us the hero worship.”

“Knock it off, Sonny,” Gina chided.

“So what now?” Rachel asked, still perched on the edge of Gina’s bed.

“Well, I guess we-“

A knock on the door interrupted Pipa’s reply. Carla, standing closest to the door, swung it open.

“Angel!”

“Hi Carla.” Angel nodded at Carla and walked further into the darkened room to stand in the center of the small group of girls. He let his eyes roam over Sonny and then Gina.

“Cover me up, Pip,” Gina grumbled. Gina wasn’t bashful, but she didn’t like giving the old pervert a free peep show.

Pipa quickly pulled the bed sheet up over Gina’s bare shoulders.

No one said anything for several moments, before Angel broke the silence. “So how badly are they hurt?”

Gina rolled her eyes and looked away. She knew Pipa would explain.

“We’re getting the Caretaker in,” Pipa replied.

“And the Dragvlok from last night?”

Sonny spoke up this time. “We lost him west of Hollywood Park, I think. I passed out soon after we escaped, so I’m not sure where we left him exactly.”

“Right.” Angel paused. “So did he give you any idea about the others? Their plans?”

At that, Gina whipped her head back around. “Yeah, Angelus. He told us their exact numbers, gathering point, and fuckin’ timetable for slaughtering us.”

“Gina…” Pipa admonished.

“Could you please not call me Angelus, Gina?”

“I don’t know. Could you please call me Miss Watkins, Angelus?”

He was sucking his teeth now, clearly annoyed. “Just tell me exactly what he said, Gina.”

“He said what they always fuckin’ say.” Gina offered up her best impression of a demon voice then, as she extended her arms out to make claws: “‘Slayer!’”

Sonny chuckled. “That was pretty good, Gina.”

Gina smirked.

“Nothing else?”

Persistent prick.

“Yeah. He said ‘The Dragvloks will know vengeance tonight’. Happy?”

“He said ‘tonight’?” Angel pressed.

“Yeah.”

“Why? Do you think that means something, Angel?” Pipa, true to form.

“Yeah… It means whatever they’re planning, they’re planning it now.”

The already hushed room went as still as night.

Angel was the first to speak again, of course. “We need help. Bu-”

“What about your friend?” Carla interrupted.

“What?” Pipa asked, looking to Carla. Angel turned questioning eyes to Carla too.

Sal chimed in. “Oh yeah. We ran into a vamp the other night in Venice Beach. Blond. All dressed in black. Deep voice. Cheek bones to die-”

Carla looked at Sal with alarm.

Sal shrugged. “For a guy.”

Gina looked to Angel, who had suddenly tensed – his attention focused entirely on Carla and Sal now.

“When did you see him?” he pressed.

“The other night,” Carla replied.

“Who?” Pipa questioned, looking around the room in confusion.

Angel replied in a barely audible voice, as if reluctantly. “Spike.”

“What?” Gina knew that name well – she and Pipa both.

The two had read all about Spike and Angelus in the old and more recent Watchers’ Diaries. Buffy’s Watcher had made Spike sound like a right pain-in-the-ass, but a badass too. A real rebel. He’d changed himself. His life. His ways. Broke away from the pack. Refused to be what was expected of him. Cut himself new out of a fresh piece of cloth. He was a constant surprise, that vamp. Not like Angelus, predictable as your fuckin’ period. But Spike… he’d intrigued her from page one.

Gina cast suspicious eyes on Angel. “Angelus, you used to run with a cat named Spike back in the day.”

Angel turned his head slightly in Gina’s direction, but didn’t reply, while Pipa’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh! William the Bloody! He’s the one who closed the Sunnydale Hellmouth years ago.”

“I thought the Last Potentials did that,” Rachel injected, with a pout.

“Huh.”

“What?” Sally asked Gina.

“He’s supposed to be dead,” Gina remarked, almost to herself.

“Yeah, well, so is Buffy,” Sonny grumbled.

That silenced the room again.

“Okay… “ Carla chimed to diffuse the tension. “So Angel, what’s this Spike’s deal? Can he help?”

Angel ignored the question. “What did he say to you, Carla?”

“Um, not much. Just that he was on our side, and that he was a friend of yours – of sorts. He is on our side, right?”

“Wait. I’m lost.” Stevie interrupted. “So… who’s Spike?”

“Pathetic,” Gina muttered. Most of the Slayers hadn’t bothered with the Diaries. “Pip, you tell ‘em. I’m beat. I’mma lay here and wait for my shaman.”

Pipa addressed the room, switching into her trademark lecture mode. “He’s a vampire. One of the former Scourge of Europe, a group of four vampires that Angel led in the 1800s. The other two were their girlfriends.”

Gina watched Angel as his eyes scanned the faces in the room. Pipa started fumbling with the ends of her T-shirt when she met his gaze, but continued. “Anyway, Spike got his soul, like Angel, only he fought for it somehow.”

“Ladies, I really-“

“He went to Africa, Pip,” Gina added, cutting Angel off.

“Right,” Pipa continued. “So…” Pipa evaded Angel’s gaze while twisting her T-shirt into a knot. “… It wasn’t a curse.”

Angel’s hands started clenching at his sides.

To her credit, Pipa pressed on. “Anyway, he ended up fighting with Buffy back in Sunnydale. Then he died closing the Hellmouth there.”

“So… how is he alive now?” Maria questioned.

“Who knows,” Stevie replied with disinterest. “Can he help or what?”

All eyes turned to Angel then.

Again, he ignored the question. “So what did you tell him, Carla?”

“About what?”

“Did you mention Buffy?”

“Uh… no.”

“Did he?”

Carla furrowed her brow. “No. Like I said, he just told us he was on our side.”

Gina was suddenly finding the conversation very interesting. She remembered the Diaries mentioning that Spike had fallen for Buffy. Just like Angelus had. They’d had a thing for a while apparently, all hot and heavy, before Spike had supposedly dusted. So now Angel was looking for Spike, and they were lookin’ for Buffy. Gina couldn’t help but smile to herself. Her money was on the brotha being in Santa Lucia.

“We need Buffy,” Angel insisted. “I’ll call her.”

“Already did, Angelus,“ Gina replied. “No answer. I left a message.”

Angel gave her a passing glance in irritation. “I’ll try again.”


* * *

Queenie was racing at one hundred miles an hour on the back road to L.A.

“Slayer, your car is the size of a bloody bread box.” Spike was still curled up under a blanket in the front seat.

“Then push the seat back.”

Spike did just that, which enabled him to twist into a seated position and stretch his legs under the blanket.

“Better?”

“Like first class, pet.”

She ignored him.

“So, we there yet?”

“Spike…”

“Just asking how much time we’ve got.”

“We’ve got twenty minutes, maybe less at this speed.”

“Maybe we should ring the Slayerettes then. Give ‘em a heads up.”

“Shit!”

“What?”

“My phone. Argh! It’s in the house. I don’t suppose you have one?”

Bugger. “I do, pet. But it’s in my duster. I don’t suppose you grabbed my leather on your way out?”

“Great,” she grumbled.

“It’ll be alright, Slayer. We’ll be there in no time.”

“Okay, Buffy,” she said to herself. “Just relax. Angel’s there. If they’re in trouble… Angel’s there.”

Spike was glad Buffy couldn’t see his face as it contorted in fury.


* * *

“She didn’t answer?” Pipa asked worriedly.

“I couldn’t even get voicemail.” Angel frowned. “Strange.”

“Oh god,” Maria whined. “You don’t think-“

Yet another knock on the door interrupted them.

Betty, one of the Indies, stepped in. “Guys, there’s this weird-lookin’ little dude out here to see you. He looks like a Raisinet with legs, only one of those white chocolate ones. Lisa and Vicki were gonna kill ‘em before he insisted he’d been sent here to help.”

“Oh!” Pipa rushed to the door. “He’s-“

Looking beyond Betty and down the hall, Pipa spotted the Caretaker with his cane, hobbling slowly towards the door.

“Hello, Sir! Thank you so much for coming so quickly! Please. Please, come in.” Pipa put a hand on Betty’s side to nudge her into the room and out of the way, as the Caretaker plodded in on tiny legs.

Betty wasn’t wrong. The Caretaker did look a bit shriveled and pale. His skin was a sickly white color – rendered all the more deathly against his messy mop of black hair. He was barely three feet when he stood up straight, which he rarely did. He mostly walked hunched low over his treasured cane – a piece of smooth and polished bone from god-knows-what. His eyes were red today, but they never seemed to stay one color. And he was wearing the same little black robe he always wore, with a belt made of hair.

“What’s up, Precious,” Gina greeted him with a smile. “Been a while.”

“Miss Watkins.” The Caretaker bowed his head deeply. He never smiled, but he was always polite. “A pleasure as always.”

“Thanks for coming, Doc,” Sonny muttered weakly.

The Caretaker turned slowly to look at Sonny and bowed. “Miss Colletti.” Turning back to the group, the Caretaker seemed to catch Angel’s eye. After pausing for a moment, he nodded slightly – Angel responding in kind.

His eyes still on Angel, the Caretaker spoke again, but directed his words to Pipa.

“Perhaps Miss Frederiksson will permit me to care for these young ladies in private. I work best alone, as you know.”

“Oh.” Pipa shifted her eyes back and forth between the two demons. “Of course. Um… girls… Angel… let’s convene downstairs, yeah? The Indies should know what’s going on.”

The girls started shuffling out of the room, leaving Pipa and Angel behind.

“Angel?” Pipa whispered.

Slowly turning his eyes away from the visitor, Angel followed Pipa out of the room and closed the door behind him.

“Alone at last,” the demon said without humor.

“What have you got for us this time, Doc? Essence of dog’s balls?”

“Not quite, Miss Colletti. You’re in luck today.” The Caretaker, who did everything painfully slowly, pulled his backpack off his shoulders and laid it on the floor between their beds. “As you know, the better pastes for healing are those that include elements of the method of injury.”

“So what, you’ve got a Dragvlok talon in that sack?” Gina questioned.

“Miss Watkins is very clever. The talon has been crushed into a powder. It will be mixed with a variety of things, among which is the best ingredient for healing a Slayer.”

“Which is?” Gina hadn’t heard this before.

“Why, essence of Slayer, of course.”

“What?!” Sonny’s head came off her pillow, making her wince from the pain.

“As I said, you are quite fortunate that I managed to acquire several vials of Slayer blood on my last trip to Asia.”

Gina turned widened eyes to Sonny.

“Please, ladies. Do not trouble yourselves. This was most innocently acquired. Not all of your sisterhood are of means; nor are they all affiliated with the Council and thereby provided for. Some of your kind are quite willing to sell something so valuable to others, and of so little consequence to themselves as a half pint of blood.”

Gina felt her heart racing and her stomach turn at the thought.

“I assure you, Miss Watkins, that I have proper documentation attesting to its being legally obtained. Signatures and the like. If you insist, just give me a moment, and I can refer to my ledger…”

“Forget it, Precious.”

Gina felt Sonny’s eyes boring two holes into her head.

Gina swallowed. “We trust you. And the fact of the matter is, we need y- … I mean… We could use your services right now. And no offense, Precious, but at the speed you go, it’ll take forever for you to pull out your damn ledger and show us your signatures. Just do what you do best.”

Gina looked to her sister then. “But take care of Sonny first.”

Sonny blinked at Gina once, before looking away. She’d obviously decided to go forward with the plan. It wasn’t like her to be quiet if she didn’t agree.

Nodding deeply to Gina, the Caretaker knelt down by his backpack and painstakingly proceeded to empty it of the necessary ingredients. The room was still for some time as he prepared his paste – the only sound his whisperings in the lisp-heavy language of his species and the scraping of his spoon.

After stirring his mixture for some time, the Caretaker threw a dash of green powder into his bowl, making its contents smoke. The room filled quickly with the foulest odor Gina had smelled since – well, since the last time the Caretaker had come and made a paste.

The Caretaker turned his head toward Sonny. “If Miss Colletti will permit me, I must remove the bandages from her chest.”

Sonny hesitated before answering. “Sure, Doc.” Sonny wasn’t the bashful type either, and certainly not when it came to a shriveled, little shaman; but she still looked wary. For her part, Gina watched with some trepidation as the Caretaker cut through Sonny’s bandages with his tiny, wrinkled hands. She hadn’t really gotten a good look at what the Dragvlok had done to her.

The Caretaker slowly peeled away all the layers of crepe to expose her breasts. What little Gina could see in the dark, from her angle in her bed, made something crack inside her.

“Fix her, Precious,” she whispered plaintively, restraining a sob.

“Of course, Miss Watkins. Of course.”

* * *

“How much long-“

“Ten minutes to L.A., Spike,” she spoke tersely. “Another ten minutes to Slayer Central.”

Spike clenched his jaw. Well, this was bloody brilliant. She’s the one hankering for her honey to save the bloody day after Spike had just slaughtered three – count ‘em – three Dragvloks that were itching to slice her up. And she’s annoyed at him now? For what? Asking about their bloody whereabouts cause he’s stuck under a sodden blanket? What the hell was the Poof supposed to do in the middle of the bloody day?

Typical.

And he was right fuckin’ tired of typical.

“Oh!”

Spike felt the car swerve and slow to a stop – sending him sliding forward feet first.

“Bloody hell, woman! What now?” His foul mood just got fouler.

“My wrist-thingie!”

Spike sighed dramatically. “Your what now?” He really hated being stuck under a blanket while trying to talk to her. He felt like an idiot child.

“The L.A. Slayers have these wrist-thingies. Communication devices. They’ve got limited range though. Pipa gave me one to use for when I’m in L.A. patrolling with them. It’s in my Slayer bag in the trunk.”

“Well there ya go,” he sad flatly.

Spike heard her exit the car and rummage through the contents of the trunk.

“Yes!” he heard her exclaim.

The next moment, Buffy was back in the car.

“Okay, now I just need to remember how this thing works. Or, learn how it works, that is. I’ve never actually used it…”

Spike rolled his eyes from under his blanket. “Give it here, Slayer. I’ll call your mates.”

Buffy pushed her hand under the blanket unexpectedly and found his – her fingers curling over his palm. Spike looked down at her hand under the blanket and froze. Slowly, Buffy tilted his palm upwards and placed the watch inside, before lazily dragging her fingers away and out of sight. Spike exhaled quietly and shut his eyes. It had only taken one touch from her to chase his anger away.

Shaken from sentimentality by the sound of the engine restarting, Spike looked to the device in his hand.

“So, I think there are individual Slayers you can contact with that thing. They’re programmed in there. Or you can call all of them at once. But I really don’t want to alarm everyone right away, so just call Pipa. Although… she does get alarmed easily… but… Yeah. No. Call Pipa. She’s organized. And she usually knows what’s going on. She’s like, the Willow of the group. Only, you know... innocent.”

Spike had already worked the thing out midway into her ramblings, and had found Pipa’s name. He thought about asking what she meant about Willow, but he already knew that was a conversation for another day.

“Alright, Slayer. I’ve got Pipa’s number here.”

“Good. Give her a call and tell her we’re on our way and that I’m ten minutes outside of the city limits.”

Spike pressed the relevant buttons to call Pipa.

“Out of range, Slayer.”

“Damn it.”

* * *

“This room is well and truly funky, girl.”

That got Sonny laughing freely, her bare chest covered in paste, heaving with each breath. She waited until her laughter had died down to speak. “Yeah, Gina, but are you in pain anymore?”

“Nope.” Gina was grinning widely. It was such a weight off her shoulders seeing Sonny smiling and whole. Gina turned to the Caretaker packing up his things. “So, Precious, how long do we have to keep this funky paste on anyway?”

“Ah, that is the genius of this particular remedy, Miss Watkins. The paste will dissolve into the skin and disseminate into the air when its power is no longer required.”

“And how long is that, Doc?”

“Well it will vary with the depth of one’s wounds, Miss Colletti. Your wounds are deeper than those of Miss Watkins.” The Caretaker put a twisted finger to his lip. “But I imagine it should take no longer than fifteen minutes for the worst of your wounds.”

“Shit. You’re good, shaman.”

“Thank you, Miss Watkins. I’m always happy to be of service.” The Caretaker pulled on his backpack with seemingly great effort and addressed the girls once more. “If there is nothing else I may do for you ladies, please excuse me. I must see Miss Frederiksson about the matter of payment.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Thanks, Precious.”

“You are very welcome.” With that, the tiny demon bowed deeply and turned to leave. As he approached the door, he extended a shriveled white arm to the door handle, only to slowly retract it when he discovered he could not reach. Bowing his head, he muttered, “Forgive me, ladies, but-“

Gina was up and out of the bed the next moment and opening the door. That gave the shaman a great view from below of her ample chest – the envy of half the Slayers in the house. If he dug it, she was fine with that. He’d hooked them up, after all.

But the Caretaker kept his eyes on the door.

“You are very kind, Miss Watkins. Until next time.” And with that, the Caretaker trudged slowly down the hall.

Gina closed the door behind him and turned back towards her sister, now happy and rapidly healing. “Precious is awesome, girl, don’t get me wrong. But he’s also the ugliest motha fucker I have ever seen in my entire life!”

Sonny’s laughter reached new heights of hysteria then, as Gina just looked on smiling.


* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Sonny and Gina left the sick room to join the other Slayers downstairs. The Independents were scattered about, with only Betty sitting with the residents of Slayer Central on the sofas in the central common room. Angel stood off to the side, leaning against a pillar.

Pipa watched them descend the stairs until they’d seated themselves on the arms of the nearest sofa “Wow. You guys look great!”

Several ‘yeahs’ and ‘wows’ followed from the other Slayers in the room.

“Precious works wonders, girls.” Gina finished with a wink.

“Yeah, I guess s-“

Pipa looked down at her wrist.

“Who’s trying to call me? Everybody’s here…”

“Is it Buffy?” Maria asked anxiously.

“I can’t tell. The signal’s too weak. Wait…”


* * *

“Okay, we’re in L.A. now, Spike. The signal should be better. Give it another try.”

“I’ve been trying the whole bloody time, Slayer.”

“Well, try a-“

“Buffy!” Pipa’s disembodied voice rang sharply in the confines of the car.

Spike raised the wrist piece to his lips. “Even better, pet.”

“Who-”

“Spike?!”

That was Angel’s voice in the background. Oh this was brilliant, Spike thought, as his face lit up with glee.

“Afternoon, Gramps.”

But it was Pipa who responded. “So you’re Spike? William the Bloody?”

“Just ’Spike’, ducks.”

“Wow. Um…” Spike smirked at the sound of her giggles. “I know you – um – I mean… I’ve read about you.”

“What, in ol’ Rupe’s scribbles?”

“You mean the Diaries? Yeah. You’re like… a legend.”

Spike grinned ear-to-ear, as he leaned back and got more comfortable in his seat. The next moment he was flinching at the sound of something crashing in the background.

“Bloody hell. What’s all that racket then?”

“Um, Angel is kicking things, for some reason.”

Spike bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Oi! Gramps!” he shouted into the piece. “Save your tootsies for the baddies, yeah? Or, better yet, leave the bastards for the Slayer and me to handle. We just bagged five of ‘em at her place.”

“Ow!” he heard Pipa shout. “Stop it, Angel! I’m…” He heard her grunt then. “I’m talking here!”

Angel could be easily heard in the background. “Just give me-“

“Stop it! I’ve got Slayer business to discuss!”

A new voice came through. “Angelus, if you don’t get your fuckin’ hands off of her…”

Whoa. Whoever that one was, gave even Spike the chills. She sounded like a real badass, that one. He liked her instantly.

“Oi. What’s that tosser doin’ to you, Longstock?”

“Nothing now,” Pipa assured. “So what was that? You said that you guys killed five?!”

“Just now. They torched the Slayer’s house. Assholes. We think they’re headed to you birds next.”

“Where’s Buffy?”

“She’s drivin’ the bread box.”

“Hi Pipa!” Buffy shouted.

“Jesus Christ, Slayer! I’ve got sensitive ear drums, you know!”

“Then give me the thingie!”

Spike stifled a giggle and whispered into the wrist piece. “What’s that Slayer? What do you want me to give you?”

“Spike!”

“Ow!”

Spike slipped the wrist piece out from under the blanket, where Buffy’s hand quickly snatched it away.

“Pipa?” Buffy asked breathlessly.

“Buffy! Hi! Are you hurt?”

“No. We’re fine. How are you guys?”

“Well…”

“Pipa?”

“Gina and Sonny got attacked by a Dragvlok in Hollywood Park last night.”

“Shit.”

“No! It’s okay. Well, now it is, anyway. The Caretaker’s come and gone and Gina and Sonny look good to go now.”

“You called the Caretaker?”

“Well, I called Clem. But yeah, he called the Caretaker.”

Spike shouted into the dark of his blanket. “Clem? My Clem?”

“Yes, Spike. Your Clem,” Buffy said with exasperation.

“Spike’s dating Clem?!” Pipa screeched.

“Bloody hell, no!”

Buffy let herself laugh for the first time since they’d left her house in flames.

“So… Spike’s not dating Clem?”

“No.” Buffy giggled a bit more, before calming herself quickly. “Okay. So what happened to the Dragvlok? Did they kill him?”

“Um… not exactly. They were badly injured, so… they escaped.”

“Pipa, that’s fine. That was smart. You don’t fight when the demon has the advantage. The girls were right to get home and regroup.”

“Okay.”

“So did the Dragvlok say anything to them before they escaped?”

“No. Just some cliché about vengeance being theirs or something.”

Buffy sighed. “Okay. Look. I think it’s safe to say the Dragvloks are here and ready for war. We still have a few hours before sundown, but the Dragvloks that attacked me did so in broad daylight. So tell all the Slayers to sit tight at Slayer Central where it’s safe until Spike and I get there. And don’t worry. We’ve got a powerful ally on our side now in him.”

Spike heard another crash coming through the wrist piece.

“Oi! Longstock! Tell Gramps to-”

“Oh god.” Pipa moaned. “That wasn’t Angel.”

“Pipa?” Buffy asked.

Silence.

“Pipa!”

“Pipa, answer me!”

“They’re here, Buffy!” Pipa screeched. “There are fires everywhere! Buffy, I’m sorry. I… I have to go!”

“Shit!”

“Don’t you panic too, Slayer!”

“Spike!”

“Buffy, we’re almost there, love. How many Slayers have you got at headquarters?”

“Uh…”

“Slayer!”

“Twenty.” He could hear her heart beating frantically in her chest. “Eight that live at Trimmold Street and a dozen that live around the city. But they should all be there now.”

“That’s a hell of a lot of Slayers, pet.”

She didn’t answer him. He hated that he couldn’t see her face.

“And the Dragvloks? How many of them are left, and out for blood?”

“Uh…”

“Think, Buffy.”

He heard her exhale to settle herself. “Less than thirty.”

“No worries, then. You and me just cut down five of ‘em. Add to the Slayerettes, you, me…” Spike paused. “… and Angel-”

“You’re saying we’ll be alright.”

“Of course we will.”

Spike could hear her heart beat slow down, but her voice still wavered when she spoke. “Spike, two of my best Slayers couldn’t handle one Dragvlok last night.”

Spike resisted a sigh. She had a bloody good point there. “Yeah, well… maybe they had a bad night, love. And anyway, we can take down a handful a piece, you and me.”

She didn’t answer him.

“We’re gonna win, Buffy.”

“I know,” she declared solemnly.

“Then wh-“

“But at what cost…” It wasn’t really a question.


* * * *

“Guys!” Pipa shouted over her shoulder. “We need blankets to smother these fires!”

Maria, Rachel and Stevie raced upstairs to their sleeping quarters while Gina, Pipa and Sonny continued hauling a large area rug to smother the fire at the front door.

Pipa looked at the Slayers who had formed two water trains to other fires. “Betty. Sally. How’s it going?”

Betty gave her a thumbs up with one hand, as she covered a cough with the other. Betty was at the front of a line of Indies who were hauling water from the kitchen into the southeast corner of the large room. Sally and Carla were coordinating a second water train to the fire in the centre of the room.

Sally was less positive. “Whose idea was it to pick such flammable furniture?!”

“Shit, Pip.” Gina looked on with dismay as the front entrance fire lit the area rug into flames. “We just gave it kindling.”

“We need a third water train, ladies!” Sonny bellowed behind her.

The next moment, several of the Indies returned from the weapons room – Lisa leading the group – with swords, axes and cross bows.

“What the hell are you doin'?” Lisa yelled towards the Pipa and the others at the front door.

“Tryin’ to save our motha fuckin’ house!” Gina exclaimed. “Care to help?!”

“There’s no time for that!” Lisa challenged. “We know who’s out there, and sooner or later, we’re gonna to have to go out there and fight them!”

Sonny turned to face Lisa. “You think we’re afraid to do that?!”

Lisa raised an eyebrow and leaned her arms on the handle of her sword. “Wasn’t that you lying on your back, whimpering, not an hour ago?”

“Lisa, you are so god damn lucky there’s a war on right now,” Gina answered, her voice low.

The Indie rolled her eyes and raised an arm up in dismay. “We’re wasting time in here! This smoke will kill us before the fire does! We need to be out there ending this!”

“You idiot!” Sonny spat. “Don’t you realize that’s what they want us to do?”

“Exactly!” Pipa added. “Like Buffy always says. You don’t fight when the demon has the advantage. You fight on your own terms!”

Lisa didn’t look convinced. Gina was gonna have to spell the shit out for her. “Lisa-“ Gina paused to cough through the thickening smoke. “If we draw them into the warehouse, then we’ve got the advan-“

Gina looked up to find Angel suddenly leaping down impressively from the top floor.

Every Slayer in the room stopped their efforts and looked to him. He was eerily calm when he spoke. “There are twenty-odd Dragvloks surrounding the building.”

“Oh my god!”

“No!”

“How many?!”

“Shit!”

“What the hell are we supposed to do?!”

“Quiet!” Pipa shouted across the room. “Angel, what else did you see?”

“I only got a peek through the upstairs windows. Most of them are at the rear of the building, by the back entrance, waiting for you to flee. Only four are guarding the front entrance, in case you manage to get past the fire there.”

“So the front is our way out,” Gina declared, eyeing Lisa with disdain. “We kill the ones at the front, and we can attack the others from behind.” Gina stopped to cough and to pull the neck of her shirt over her mouth. “That way we can sandwich the fuckers between Slayers on the outside and Slayers on the inside.”

Then we need this front entrance fire out now,” Sonny insisted.

The next moment, Maria, Stevie and Rachel were sprinting back downstairs with their arms full of blankets.

“Here!” Maria exclaimed.

“Betty! Vicki! Bring some water over here so we can wet these blankets!” Pipa ordered.

The Indies rushed over with buckets and began soaking the blankets before helping the others throw them over the blaze that was blocking their exit.

“We’ll get more!” Maria shouted behind her, as she dragged Rachel back upstairs.

“Everyone else, keep working on the other fires!” Pipa commanded.

“I’ll get more weapons,” Angel said to no one in particular, as he turned to head for the weapons room.

“What about Buffy, Pip?”

“Oh God, Gina. We should tell her we’re surrounded.”

“Yeah, but not just that. If she and Spike took down five on their own, they could probably do some damage to the Dragvloks out front.”

Pipa’s face brightened immediately. “I’ll call her back now.”


* * * *


“Hate to be a pest, Slayer, but how far-“

“Buffy?”

“Pipa!” Buffy responded with relief. “Thank god! What’s going on?”

Pipa’s voice was calmer this time, but no les urgent. “There are more than twenty Dragvloks surrounding the building – four blocking the front door and the rest at the back. They’ve torched the front entrance to force us out through the back.”

“That’s exactly what they did at my house!”

“And it didn’t work, love,” Spike countered.

Buffy exhaled forcefully. “Spike’s right. We beat them once. We’ll do it again. So what’s the plan, Pipa?”

Pipa’s coughing pierced the quiet of the car. “We’re gonna try to put out the fires to draw them in – or, at least try to put out the front door fire, so we can kill the few guards there and attack from behind.”

“Good plan. Where do you want us?”

“Definitely the front,” she managed between coughs. “If you can take out the guards there, then we’ve got an easier way out and can attack at full strength.”

“We’re on it. We’ll be there any minute.”

“Gotta go, Buffy.”

“Wait!” Spike shouted from under cover.

“What?” Buffy asked anxiously.

“Tell her to call the fire department.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it, Slayer.”

“Pipa, Spike says to call the fire department.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it.”

“Okay. Gotta go!”

“I can see the smoke in the distance, Spike.”

“We’re there?”

“Just about.”

“Go slow, Slayer. Don’t make it obvious we’re headed there.”

“Spike, the warehouse is in the worst part of town. The neighbourhood is practically abandoned. There aren’t a lot of cars driving by to blend in with!”

“Where’s the sun, Slayer?”

“Still high.”

“Bollocks.”

“Spike, I see them! We’re only two blocks away. Pipa was right. There’s only four out front. We can take them easily.”

“Pet, how-“

“You, me and Queenie, Spike.” He could hear a touch of playfulness in her voice.

“You gonna run them over with the bread box?”

“She’s tougher than she looks.”

“She’s not the only one, pet.” Spike couldn’t help but smile. “Just buckle up.”

“Already buckled. Okay, so here’s the plan. I’ll drive right past the warehouse as if I’m not going there, and then make a sharp turn left – you know, like 180 degrees – on to the pavement. And then we’ll mow the bastards down like bowling pins!”

“You don’t mow bowling pins, pet.”

“You know what I mean!”

Spike felt Queenie slow to an inconspicuous speed, before suddenly turning left, going over a hump and speeding up with a screech of her tires.

THUMP!

“Fuck!” Spike was flying head first towards the dashboard.

“Spike, you’re supposed to be wearing a seat-“

THUMP! THUMP!

“Bloody hell!”

“That’s three!” Buffy shouted with glee. “Shit! The fourth one is trying to run! We gotta get him before he warns the others!”

Spike felt Queenie make a sharp turn right.

THUMP!

“Yes!”

“We got ‘em?” Spike gritted out, as he settled back into his seat, rubbing his head.

“Yup. For the moment, anyway. They’re dazed, but not dead. I’m swinging back to the front entrance. You get out of the car and get your ass into the warehouse, and I’ll finish these four.”

Spike heard the car door open and stuck an arm out from under his blanket to stop her.

“Ssss!” He withdrew his arm instantly when he felt it burn.

“What’s wrong?” He heard her grab a weapon from the back seat.

“Be careful, love.”

Buffy paused. “I will.” She paused again. “If you will.”

God, he wished he could see her. “Buffy, I-“

“Oof!”

“Buffy!’”

The cardinal sounds of a good brawl could be heard outside then, as Buffy was no doubt battling all four.

Spike hated that he could do nothing about it.


* * * *


Maria came running down the stairs with more blankets, Rachel close behind her.

“She’s here! Guys! Buffy’s here!”

“Where?” Gina asked.

“Out front! She just ran over four Dragvloks with her car!”

“Are they dead?” Pipa asked doubtfully before another coughing fit attacked her.

“No. She’s taking on three of them now as we speak. No sign of Spike, but the sun’s out.”

“She needs help then,” Gina muffled through her shirt. “I’m going out there.” Turning to find a weapon, she was stopped by a hand on her arm.

“So am I,” Sonny said simply. The girls exchanged a knowing look.

“Lisa!” Gina shouted. “Weapons!”

“What? But what about-“

“Buffy’s all alone out there,” Gina replied. “She needs our help. You can lead the attack from behind once we get rid of the bastards out front.”

Lisa nodded, begrudgingly, then grabbed two swords from the pile on the floor and handed them to Sonny and Gina. “We need to put out more of this fire then, so the two of you can get out.”

“We’re on it!” Rachel replied as she and Maria started wetting more blankets.

After a few minutes of concerted effort, the blaze at the front door had separated into smaller fires on either side of the door, giving them a slim opening to flee.

“Here.” Pipa handed a wet blanket to Gina. “Cover yourselves with this on your way out.”

Gina and Sonny hovered together under the wet blanket.

“Ready, sis?” Gina whispered.

“No. But let’s do this anyway,” Sonny replied with a wink.

Swords at the ready, the girls charged outside under cover.


* * * *


“Buffy!”

Spike jerked at the sound of someone joining the fight outside. Risking a quick peek out from under his blanket, he saw that two Slayerettes had come to help – an older brunette, no bigger than Buffy, and a young black girl even taller than Nikki Wood. Huh. If they had made it out, then he could make it in.

Carefully grabbing his new favourite sword from the back seat, he slipped out of the car and made a dash for the doorway, running straight through the flames and screaming, “Bloody hell!” the whole way.

Once he’d cleared the fire, he threw off the smoking blanket and started stomping on it’s burning ends. When he looked up, more than a dozen young girls were staring up at him.

Spike couldn’t help but smirk. “Hello, cuties.”

“What the hell?”

“Who are you?”

“What’s going on?”

“Oh my god! You’re Spike?”

Spike turned to the blond with the Pixie cut. “Pipa, I take it.”

“Yeah, nice-“

“Spike.”

Angel.

Spike clenched his jaw and kept his back to his Grandsire. “Don’t have time for you, Peaches.” Spike took a deep settling breath full of smoke just to maintain his composure. “But sooner than later, we’re gonna have a conversation.”

“Spike-“

“Angel, whatever it is, not now!” Pipa exclaimed.

“Who is this guy?!” Lisa demanded.

“He’s Spike,” Pipa blurted, as she retuned to her efforts at putting out the fire. “He’s a friend of Buffy’s and… um… a vampire.” Turning around completely, she added, “But a good one! I mean… he’s got a soul, too.”

“Another one?!”

“We covered this earlier, Lisa,” Stevie injected with exaggerated boredom. “You know, while you and the other Indies were busy raiding our fridge. Can we move on now, people?!”

Seeing all the Slayerettes struggling and coughing through their efforts, Spike rushed to what was now the largest fire in the centre of the room.

“Carla, right?” he asked the brunette.

“Yeah,” she replied with a smile, as if flattered that he remembered.

“And Ginger.”

“Sally,” the redhead corrected.

Spike winked and put one hand on Sally’s shoulder and the other around the bucket handle in her hand. “Cover your mouth with something wet, pet, and just keep the water coming. Make two lines of Slayerettes to keep me busy.”

Not waiting for an answer, Spike turned to throw the water at the base of the fire and quickly extended his hand back for another pale.

“Come one, ladies! This isn’t a spectator sport!”

“We’re on it!”

With two shorter lines of Slayers handing Spike buckets, the largest blaze shrunk rapidly. Pausing to assess the rest of the room, Spike spied that Angel had adopted a similar role in the southeast corner. Shaking his head in contempt, Spike looked then to Pipa and her lot.

“Lookin’ good over there, Longstock!” he shouted with a smile.

Pipa smiled widely. “Thanks!”

After a few minutes, the front door blaze was almost history, while both of the other fires were well under control.

“Alright, ladies,” Spike bellowed as he dumped another bucket on the blaze. “Once these fires are out, let’s get these windows open so you can breathe properly. Then we can bring the fight inside.”

“Who made you boss?” Lisa grumbled from the front door fire.

Spike looked at her with amusement. “I’m just the one who won’t die from smoke inhalation, pet. You have a better idea?”

“Yeah, we go out there and fight, instead of hiding in the house like a bunch of girls!”

Spike just shook his head and went back to his work. He was too old to be put off by a puffed-up teenager.

“Fire’s out at the front door!” Pipa exclaimed. “Lisa, if you’re so desperate to get out there, you can go check on Gina and Sonny now. But don’t engage the Dragvloks in the back until we’ve coordinated our attacks.”

Lisa wasted no time in grabbing an axe from the weapons pile. “Anybody woman enough to come with me?”

Two other girls followed Lisa in grabbing something pointy and heading for the door.

Spike threw a bucket of water onto the fire and stood up. “Be careful out there,” he yelled to Lisa in earnest.

“Always am, vampire,” she countered without looking back.


* * * *

Spike focused his efforts on putting out the fire in front of him. The sooner he’d seen to the fires inside, the sooner they could draw the Dragvloks into the warehouse and away from Buffy. As he turned to grab another pail, he eyed a bunch of crossbows in a pile of weapons on the floor.

“So who’s the archer in the family, ladies?”

“Huh?” Pipa had joined him at the front lines of the central fire, throwing buckets of water at its base.

“The Dragvloks have only a few weak spots. The neck- “

“The ankles and the eyes. We know.” Pipa finished. “Why?”

“If any of you birds are a decent shot, you could take out a few from the windows.”

Pipa’s eyes widened. “Of course!”

“Then get your ass to a window, Longstock.”

“Rachel, Sally, Tori!”

All three girls stopped their efforts to look at Pipa.

“Grab a crossbow and head to the back windows! Wait for our signal to start shooting!”

Leaving their fire stations, the girls wasted no time in following orders.

As Spike watched one of the girls leaving the southeast corner, he met Angel’s eyes – both vampires stopping their respective water trains for a staring contest. Spike refused to be the first to look away – until a coughing fit from Pipa startled him back to his work.

“Let’s finish this, kiddies!”

Several minutes later, both fires were out, leaving nothing but smoke hanging heavily in the room.

“Windows!” Pipa shouted across the room. Several of the Indies raced to stand on each other’s shoulders to reach the multitude of high, tinted windows in the main room. The late afternoon light came beaming in, but well above their heads.

The next moment Buffy, the brunette, the black Slayer and Lisa’s crew came running back into the warehouse through the main door.

“Buffy.“ Her name escaped his lips in a whisper of relief, as his eyes fell on her smudged and bloodied face.

She stopped in her tracks at the sound of his voice and met his eyes with a smile. Such a simple acknowledgement – but in a room full of people, in a moment of crisis – momentarily stunned him.

Angel was at her side the next moment.

“Are you alright?” the Poof asked with concern.

Buffy glanced his way with a nod, her smile gone, before turning towards the girls in the room. “Good job in here, guys.”

“The Dragvloks?” Pipa inquired.

“Nothin’ but body parts out front, Pip,” the black Slayer boasted. “Thanks to Buffy, mainly,” she added, looking back at Buffy with admiration.

“Are you alright, Gina? Sonny?”

“We’re alright, Pipa,” the brunette – Sonny – replied breathlessly.

“So what’s the plan, Slayer?” Spike questioned.

Buffy looked at him again before assessing the group in the room. “The sun will be going down soon, but until then, I need you and Angel inside.”

Spike nodded his understanding and kept his eyes on his girl.

“I need most of you to follow me out front for a surprise attack from behind. We’ll try to force them inside through the bottleneck of the back door. A few of you stay here and work with Spike and Angel as the Dragvloks are forced inside.”

“What about the archers?” Pipa asked.

Buffy gave a questioningly look.

Spike explained. “We stationed a few of the girls at the windows, thinking they could target the weak spots with the cross bows.”

Buffy looked surprise. “Good idea.”

Again, it wasn’t much, but…

“Okay, Slayers!” Buffy shouted. “Get your weapons – the sharper the better. Swords, axes, knives, whatever. And follow me!”

Emptying the floor of most of its weapons, the majority of the Slayers followed Buffy to the front door. Carla and three others stayed behind.

“Slayer,” he called out to her with apprehension.

Buffy stopped in the doorway and looked back to him.

“I will if you will,” she promised, before striding into the dying sun.

Swallowing his fear for her safety – as irrational as it was – Spike turned and searched the floor for his sword.

“You never asked, you know,” he heard his grandsire challenge. There was no remorse in his voice.

Still bent on one knee, Spike kept his eyes on the sword in his hand.

“That’s the funny thing about immortals, Peaches.” Spike spat out the name. “You can’t keep a secret from them forever.”

Spike could hear the tosser start to fume.

“You’re the-”

“Fellas!” a Slayer shouted, interrupting Angel. “Whatever this is, we don’t have time for it!”

Spike stood up instantly and started walking towards the back of the warehouse.

“Archers! Get your asses in gear!”

“Shoot?” he heard Ginger yell back.

“Now or never, ducks!”


* * * *

“One down!’

“Make that two!”

“Three, baby!”

“Nice work, archers,” Spike offered, as he rushed to hand Ginger another arrow. Carla and the other Slayers who had stayed behind, were taking turns handing off arrows to the other two, and collecting more arrows from the weapons room. “Make sure you get ‘em through the neck to keep ‘em down!”

“Oh no…” one of the archers whined.

“What?” Spike couldn’t see the Dragvloks at all, crouched so low away from the windows.

“They’re coming!” Another shouted.

“Wait!” Ginger.

“What the bloody hell is happenin’ up there?!” he groused in frustration. The back windows were low and uncovered, so there wasn’t way to look through them without getting burnt.

“Buffy and the rest are attacking!” Ginger exclaimed. “The Dragvloks are turning around to face them!”

“Shoot the hell out ‘em then!”

The archers let their shots fly at breakneck speed, and by the count of their hollers and cheers, he reckoned they’d weakened quite a few of ‘em in no time.

“Uh oh…”

“What-”

“I think we made them angry...”

“They’re comin’ to us?” Spike pressed.

“Time for you and Angel to earn your reps, vampire.”

Spike looked up to Carla and nodded. “About bloody time, pet. Ang-”

Spike looked back to find Angel standing over him, looking glum. Jesus Christ, the vamp could brood - in any situation. He was armed, though, which was all Spike cared about at the moment.

“Everybody got somethin’ pointy?” Spike shouted, still staring at his grandsire.

“Yeah!”

Spike turned back to the Slayers to find Carla and the others arming the archers with axes and swords.

“Get ready,” Spike warned. Gripping his sword with two hands, he stepped to position himself closest to the back door, only to find his sword clashing with Angel’s.

The two glared.

As Spike took one step to get ahead of his grandsire, Angel took two.

Spike looked up at Angel with annoyance. “Whatever,” he muttered, taking several steps back. There were bigger battles to fight at the moment.

BOOM!

“Fuck!”

Spike had just cleared the iron door as it came flying off its hinges to land on Angel – letting both sunlight and the first of the Dragvloks come pouring in.

With six Slayers and one vamp standing, the Dragvlok didn’t have a chance. Both feet, both hands, and one feral looking head went rolling in five different directions – the corpse adding weight to the load on Angel’s back.

The next moment, so many Dragvloks came barrelling in, that Spike quickly lost count of their number. As he drew several further into the warehouse, he suddenly found himself surrounded by three Dragvloks in the main room – a larger fighting arena than Buffy’s house had allowed.

Lucky for him, the last few decades of demon fighting had served him well. He had more confidence in his strength, his speed and his creativity than he’d ever had before. He didn’t know if he’d win this fight, but he knew that he could. Add to his experience, two years of hunting Dragvloks in particular, plus his success that morning, and he knew more about their instincts than they knew about his own. Compelled to forget the battles raging around him, Spike let out his demon with a roar and started swinging.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been fighting the three, but it had seemed like one long, but fluid dance of dodges, swings and sweeps. He gave himself only a moment to admire his handiwork, before stepping over the corpses to check on the girls.

Carla, Ginger and another Slayer were battling two assholes in a corner, and the other Slayers had joined together in the opposite corner to battle three. From the sound of things, Angel was elsewhere in the building battling his own demons, of whatever sort.

Looking to even the playing field without interfering, Spike raced to retrieve a crossbow and arrows from the back of the warehouse and sprinted back to the fighting arena. Archery wasn’t exactly his forte, but he was at too close a range to fuck up and kill a Slayer. Standing some meters away from the group of girls fighting three Dragvloks, he sent an arrow through the neck of the most vicious-looking of the demons they’d encircled – killing him instantly, but attracting the attention of the demons left standing.

Both Dragvloks barrelled through the group of Slayers to reach him, freeing all three girls to help the other Slayers.

Spike cackled with excitement as he retrieved his sword from the floor. “Six down, you ugly bastards! Now get your arses over here and boost my record!”

It was getting almost too easy for him now, downing the fuckers, especially with the brilliant piece of artistry he called his favourite weapon now. A bloody nose, a busted lip and a few superficial cuts later, and he’d downed his seventh and eighth Dragvlok of the day.

“Yeah!”

“Take that, you jerk!”

Looking to the sound of the girls’ cheers, Spike was pleased to see that the six of them had sliced the remaining two Dragvloks into more pieces than he could count.

“Nice w-“

A deafening crack of thunder interrupted him, followed by the sound of rain falling like bullets on the warehouse roof.

Spike couldn’t believe his bloody ears. “Now it rains!” But then he realized that the storm had snuffed out the afternoon light that had previously shone through the windows.

“Oi! Sun’s gone ladies!” Spike was still in game face and grinning maniacally at the freedom the darkened sky now offered. “Time to join the real party!”

All six Slayers, glowing from their own victory, grinned back at him, and Spike couldn’t remember having ever experienced anything like it. Suddenly, the prospect of losing even one of those girls that day was more than he could stand.

“Be careful, sweets,” he warned, as he led them out towards the back in long strides. “Stick together, and don’t try to be fucking heroes!”

“What, like you?” Carla teased.

Spike looked over his shoulder and gave her a wink.

Approaching the back entrance, he could barely see through the downpour beyond the doorframe.

“Where’s Angel?” one of the girls asked.

Spike perked up his ears and looked around. “Don’t know. He may be out-“

“Watch out!”

Spike ducked quickly as a Dragvlok rushed in from outside and swiped viciously above his head.

“No!”

Whipping around, Spike choked on the air in his throat when he saw Carla’s throat laid open, pouring her life out in spurts.

With a mindless roar, he threw himself on the Dragvlok’s back – driving the beast away from the girls and ripping open its neck with his teeth. Ignoring the talons digging into his sides, Spike tore away at the demon’s flesh with abandon, leaving its head only attached by the spine.

Spitting the foul-tasting blood from his mouth, he howled as he pulled the talons from his sides. He was startled the next moment to find himself being pulled off the corpse.

“Spike, are you alright?”

Spike blinked at the girls standing beside him. Casting his eyes to the floor, his shoulders sank at the sight, and his demon melted away. Oblivious to everyone around her, Ginger sat wailing in a pool of blood – Carla’s lifeless body cradled tightly in her arms.

Turning away from her, Spike barely recognized his own voice when he spoke. “Let’s get outside.”

“What about Sal-“

“Leave her,” Spike ordered. “She’s seen enough.”

Grabbing his sword, Spike stormed out of the warehouse into the rain feeling murderous. But he wasn’t prepared for the sight.

“Oh god.”

It was a massacre.

The street was a graveyard for monsters and little girls. Demon heads and hands floated away on bloodied streams of rainwater to collect at sewer drains. Shredded girls lay strewn atop one another or lying haphazardly under their enemies.

Spike turned his head away from the scene, and shut his eyes in regret. But he opened them just as quickly.

“Buffy.”

Spike scanned the scene in a panic. There were battles still raging. The visibility was poor with the rain falling so heavily, but he could see Angel battling two Dragvloks near him... Pipa, Gina and a third girl were battling two demons at the end of the street… Sonny battling a Dragvlok on her own…

Spike gasped.

And Buffy.

Farthest away from the warehouse, the Slayer stood alone battling five – uh, make that four – Dragvloks now. And while he couldn’t see her face in the torrential downpour, he could see her fury in every kick and swing. There was an almost frightening vengeance in her strikes – the likes of which even the Dragvloks couldn’t match. She was moving murder at that moment. A bloody vision of menace and power.

“No!”

She was down. Spike tensed before he –

“Agh!”

Twisting around towards the source of the scream, Spike eyed Sonny falling clumsily into a pool of blood.

Conflicted but for a moment, Spike turned to help the young Slayer…

“Sonny!”

… but Gina was leaving her group to help Sonny, and Spike’s Slayers were running to help both groups.

Buffy.

Frantically, Spike scanned the scene again in search of her, spotting her some distance away and fighting three Dragvloks now. With a new urgency he started to run toward her-

“Pipa!”

… and stopped in his tracks at the painful cries of more than one girl behind him.

Growling in frustration, Spike raced towards their cries to find the girls tiring as they encircled two Dragvloks. On the ground between the demons lay Pipa, coughing and panting for her life.

With a terrifying roar, Spike parted the circle and attacked the nearest of the two demons – freeing the bastard of his feet to send him on his knees, before driving the point of the sword through the demon’s eye. Leaving the girls to finish the job, Spike hastily pulled Pipa up over his shoulder with one hand and rushed her back into the relative safety of the warehouse.

Spike was hardly surprised to find Sally where he’d left her – still crying over the corpse she held lovingly in her arms.

She looked up to him and gasped at the sight in his arms.

“Please not Pipa too,” she cried softly.

“She’s alive, love,” Spike spoke quietly. “I need you to help her.”

Sally blinked at him as if confused, before looking down at Carla’s body. Carefully – reverently even – she laid Carla down and extended her arms to take Pipa.

“I’ll take care of her,” she stated with a new strength in her voice. She looked back up to him to speak again. “Just help the others?”

The unmistakeable trust in her eyes made him pause.

Nodding, Spike turned to re-enter the fray. He’d just reached the doorway when-

“What’s that?” Sally questioned.

The sound of a siren broke through the cacophony of rain and clashing swords, growing louder every second.

Spike finally let himself sigh. “Fire trucks, love. Game over.”

“But there’s no fire anymore!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Spike ran back into the rain to find the girls soaked and confused, as their enemies fled hastily down the street. Angel stood off to the side looking equally lost. And Buffy…

“Fuck.”

He couldn‘t find her.

“Where is she?!” he demanded to anyone and everyone who could hear him.

“She ran after them, that way!” Sonny shouted breathlessly – pointing a finger down the street.

Spike ran as if her life depended on it, because he honestly wasn’t sure that it didn’t. She wasn’t aging, sure, but he’d never met a creature from any dimension that could survive a beheading. Oh god. The thought alone made his whole body revolt.

Spike had sprinted one block when he sighted her another block and a half away.

She was standing alone in the rain with her scythe limp in her hand – her back to him, and her head bent down.

“Buffy!” he shouted as he continued to run.

She turned her head towards his voice… then turned her body, letting her scythe scrape noisily along the asphalt.

And then she bowed her head again…

“Buffy!”

And dropped her scythe…

“Buffy!”

And started to fall…

“I’ve got you, baby! I’ve got you!”

Spike had caught her just before she’d hit the ground – putting an arm under her knees to swing her up and against his chest. Reluctant to loosen his grip, he awkwardly retrieved her scythe before turning to hurriedly lead them back.

“Talk to me, Slayer,” he demanded quietly. But her eyes were closed, and she was silent. He didn’t need his eyes to know that she was haemorrhaging. The scent of her blood was intoxicating.

“Oh god, Buffy, please,” he whimpered, as he quickened his pace.

“Buffy!”

Spike looked up to find what few remained of the Slayers huddled together in the rain.

“How is she?”

“Is she dead?”

“Everybody’s dead!”

“Is she awake?”

“She can’t die!”

“Why not? Lisa’s dead! Betty’s dead!”

“Is she hurt?”

“What do you think?”

“Someone call an ambulance!’

“Buffy,” Spike whispered pleadingly into her ear.

“Where are the fire trucks?! We heard them coming!”

“There’s no fire anymore!”

“Buffy,” he pleaded again. He barely registered the chatter around him.

“They probably saw the bodies out front and fled…”

“This is horrible!”

“What do we do?”

“Spike.”

Suddenly Angel stood towering over him.

“How is she?” Angel demanded.

Spike blinked as he pulled her more tightly against his chest, too overwhelmed to say anything.

Angel took a step towards him. Spike took a step back.

As Angel reached out his hand to touch her, Spike answered with growl, low and soft.

“Spike, I need to check her out!”

As Angel reached out again to snatch her body from his arms, Spike vamped out with a roar – thrusting his foot into Angel’s gut and sending him flying into the mess of weary Slayers.

Gina approached him next.

“Spike. Listen man.” Tentatively, she extended one hand out towards Buffy. “We need-“

He growled softly again and turned his back to her.

He heard Gina sigh. “Spike, I know you care-”

“Give her to me, Spike.”

The voice brooked no argument, but was gentle.

Spike froze.

And familiar.

As he turned around slowly, every Slayer spoke at once.

“Oh my god!”

“What are you doing here?”

“When did you get here?”

“How did you know?”

Bloody hell.

Long, brown locks clung to the wet and weathered cheeks of a woman several inches taller than him. Her eyes were round and blue and open – just like he remembered – though encircled with lines. She was old. No. Grown-up. And beautiful.

His demon melted away – leaving his face blank, his mouth slack.

Slowly, the man behind her came in to view, as he walked purposefully towards Spike. Thick, salt and pepper hair framed a middle-aged face with… one eye.

Spike felt as if he’d entered an alternate universe.

Dawn stepped forward to stand behind her husband’s shoulder.

Spike didn’t move.

Shifting his eyes back and forth between the older couple, he felt his chest go slowly cold as Xander lifted the bleeding Slayer out of his arms.

Dawn looked deep into his eyes when she spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Turning towards the girls, she continued. “I’m sorry you didn’t have more help tonight,” she said solemnly. “I’m sorry that so many have been lost here. I knew all of you, some more than others. But I mourn everyone who’s died today. I have help from the Council coming to collect the dead...” She took a moment to look at a Dragvlok head at her feet. “… and to clean up the rest. Someone to see to the wounded, too. And guards to watch over the doors tonight since they’ve been compromised.”

Someone spoke up. “But how did you-“

“That hardy matters at the moment. Right now… I need to get Buffy home.” With that, Dawn started walking towards a blue SUV parked some ways down the street – Xander turning slowly to follow several steps behind her, the Slayer in his arms. The girls – every one of them the picture of misery – began bringing the wounded indoors, until only Spike and Angel remained standing dumbly in the rain.

Spike looked on longingly at the Slayer’s feet as they dangled in the air – the only part of her in view as Xander carried her away.

And then abruptly, her feet stopped moving.

“Hey, Blondie. You comin’ or what?”

Spike blinked as he stared at Xander’s back.

The next moment, her dangling feet began moving again.

And without thought, so were Spike’s, to catch up with her.

She was young again. Well, younger anyway.

~ ~ ~

So that's it, huh? I remember the drill. One slayer dies, the next one's called. I wonder who she is. Will you train her? Or will they send someone else?

Buffy, I-

Does it say how he's gonna kill me? Do you think it'll hurt? Were you even gonna tell me?

I was hoping I wouldn't have to, that there was some way around it. I-

Well you can find someone else to stop The Master from taking over.

I'm not sure that anyone else can. All the signs indicate-

The signs? Read me the signs! Tell me my fortune! You're so useful – sitting here with all of your books! You're really a lot of help!

I don't suppose I am.

*I know this is hard.*

What do you know about this? You're never gonna die!

Buffy, if the Master rises...

I don't care! Giles, I'm sixteen years old. I don't wanna die.

~ ~ ~

“She’s still unconscious.”

Buffy could hear her sister whispering as if she were standing right beside her, and yet she seemed so far away. A lifetime away.

~ ~ ~

I believe that's called growing up.

Then I'd like to stop, okay?

I know the feeling.

Does it ever get easy?

You mean life?

Yeah. Does it get easy?

What do you want me to say?

Lie to me.

Yes, it's terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true. The bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after.

~ ~ ~

“Liar.”

“She does, Xander. When she’s actually asleep. But she’s not sleeping, is she?”

“She looks like she’s sleeping. I mean, her eyes are doing that twitchy thing.”

“Well we know she dreams… wherever she goes.”

“But are those dreams? I thought it was more like a ‘Hey, Buff! This is Your Life!’ montage.

“You’re right. I guess they’re not really dreams.”

~ ~ ~

Open your eyes, Mom. What do you think has been going on for the past two years? The fights, the weird occurrences. How many times have you washed blood out of my clothing, and you still haven't figured it out?

Well, it stops now!

No, it doesn't stop! It never stops! Do you think I chose to be like this? Do you have any idea how lonely it is? How dangerous? I would love to be upstairs watching TV or gossiping about boys or – god – even studying! But I have to save the world. Again.

~ ~ ~

“No. He wanted to stay there a while. To check on ‘his girls’ as he called them.”

“I hadn’t realized he’d been back long enough to claim anyone as ‘his girl’.”

“Jealous?”

“Xander, don’t be stupid.”

“Do I have a choice in that? Dawn, you know that no one could replace you and Buff in his cold, dead heart.”

“Now who’s jealous?”

“Of the formerly evil undead? Not me. I’ve got one Summers woman as my wife and the mother of my offspring – two not-uncool and very well adjusted humans, I might add. And I’ve got the other as a sister. I’m like, head of the Summers clan. The patriarch! Anyway, my place is secure. His? Not so much. He’s been on the outside for the last forty years. Actually, I guess he’s always been on the outside.”

~ ~ ~

We're not good friends. Most of us never found the time to get to know you, but that doesn't mean we haven't noticed you. We don't talk about it much, but it's no secret that Sunnydale High isn't really like other high schools. A lot of weird stuff happens here. But whenever there was a problem or something creepy happened, you seemed to show up and stop it. Most of the people here have been saved by you, or helped by you at one time or another. We're proud to say that the Class of '99 has the lowest mortality rate of any graduating class in Sunnydale history. And we know at least part of that is because of you. So the senior class offers its thanks, and gives you this. It's from all of us, and it has written here, ‘Buffy Summers, Class Protector.’

~ ~ ~

“She’ll be hungry. Did you get cheese?”

“Of course. Just call me the Cheese Man. Ooh! Maybe she’s dreaming about the Cheese Man.”

“Who?”

“Oh yeah. That was before your time. Or, uh… technically before it. I guess you were there. But I don’t remember us telling you about the dream.”

“Buffy has a lot of dreams.”

“No. This was a Scooby dream, after we defeated Adam. Only we each dreamed something different. Well, mostly. The First Slayer was hunting all of us in our dreams. And then there was this weird guy with cheese.”

~ ~ ~

I know you. You're the first Slayer.

This is a form. I am the guide.

I have a few questions, about being the Slayer. What about... love?

You think you're losing your ability to love.

I didn't say that.

You're afraid that being the Slayer means losing your humanity.

Does it?

You are full of love. You love with all of your soul. It's brighter than the fire. Blinding. That's why you pull away from it.

I'm full of love? I'm not losing it?

Only if you reject it. Love is pain, and the Slayer forges strength from pain. Love. Give. Forgive. Risk the pain. It is your nature. Love will bring you to your gift.

I'm sorry. I'm confused. I'm full of love and... love will lead me to my gift?

Yes.

I'm getting a gift? Or, do you mean that I have a gift to give to someone else?

Death is your gift.

Death...

Is your gift.

~ ~ ~

“She’ll want some sugary goodness, too, Xander.”

“We haven’t been away that long. We’ve still got some ice cream sandwiches in the freezer.”

“You know how hungry she gets after these… episodes.”

“You make them sound like nervous breakdowns.”

“Well, I don’t really know what to call them, other than scary.”

“They’re resurrections. Or, maybe reboots. You know, like BuffyBot.”

“Xander!”

“Ow!”

“We really don’t know what they are.”

~ ~ ~

There is so much I have to teach you. Your history, your power, what your body is capable of.


I don't need to know.

You long to. And you will have eternity to discover yourself. All those years fighting us –
your power so near to our own. And you've never once wanted to know what it is that we fight for? Never even a taste?


If I drink that…

You must be near death to become one of us. And that comes only when you plead for it.

I'm not hungry.

No. Your craving goes deeper than that. You think you know... what you are... what's to come. You haven't even begun.

~ ~ ~

“I’m surprised he’s stayed away this long, Xander. He wouldn’t leave her side before. And the sun will be up soon.”

“He’ll be back. If I’m sure of anything, I’m sure of that. Who knows why he stayed away as long as he did, all these years. Gotta say though, I didn’t think Spike had it in him, the self-control. Not where Buffy was concerned anyway. I mean, the guy didn’t even leave Sunnydale after we defeated Glory... after Buffy died.“

~ ~ ~

Death is your art. You make it with your hands, day after day. That final gasp. That look of peace. Part of you is desperate to know: ‘What's it like? Where does it lead you?’ And now you see, that's the secret. Not the punch you didn't throw, or the kicks you didn't land. Every Slayer... has a death wish. Even you. The only reason you've lasted as long as you have, is you've got ties to the world: your mum, your brat kid sister, the Scoobies. They all tie you here, but you're just putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later, you're gonna want it. And the second – the second that happens – you know I'll be there.

~ ~ ~

“So how many times is this now? I’ve lost count.”

“Xander, I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I just know it still shocks me, this process. Her life. What Willow has done. It’ll never end for her, will it?”

~ ~ ~

I know this hurts, bad. But 
Will, if you let loose with the 
magicks now, it will never end.

Promise?

You don't want that.

Why not?

Because you’ll lose everything. Your
 friends, your self. You let this 
control you and the world goes
 away. That's not... Willow,
 there's so much to-

Please! This is your pitch?
 You hate it here as much as I do. 
I'm just more honest about it.

That's not true.

You're trying to sell me on the
 world. The one where you lie to 
your friends when you're not 
trying to kill them, and you screw
 a vampire just to feel, and insane 
asylums are the comfy alternative. This world? Buffy, it's me. I
know you were happier in the 
ground, hanging with the worms.
 The only time you were ever at 
peace in your whole life is when 
you were dead. Until I brought you back.... So here we are.

Are we really gonna do this?

Come on! This is a huge deal for
 me! Six years as a sideman, and
 now I get to be the Slayer.

A killer isn't a Slayer. Being a 
Slayer means something you can't 
conceive of.

Oh, Buffy. You really need to
 have every square inch of your ass
 kicked.

Then show me what you’ve got. And
 I'll show you what a Slayer is.

~ ~ ~

“Do you think he’s still in love with her?”

“Dawnie, he just took on an army of Dragvloks for her.”

“Yeah, but after staying away for forty years, doing god knows what…”

“You mean, who knows what.”

“He’s missed a lot of battles, Xander, and against even fiercer enemies than the Dragvloks. The Spike I knew would have been there for her. But then I guess I didn’t know him very well that last year in Sunnydale…. He obviously still cares about her though. Respects her. Wants her alive and healthy. But…”

~ ~ ~

You listen to me. I've been alive a bit longer than you, and dead a lot longer than that. I've seen things you couldn't imagine. And done things I prefer you didn't. Don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I follow my blood, which doesn't exactly rush in the direction of my brain. So I make a lot of mistakes, a lot of wrong bloody calls. A hundred-plus years, and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of: You. Look at me. I'm not asking you for anything. When I say I love you, it's not because I want you, or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are. What you do. How you try. I've seen your kindness, and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're a hell of a woman. You're the One, Buffy.

~ ~ ~

“Dawn, if not Buffy, then who? Drusilla?”

“I don’t know. There are other Slayers now. And you know he’s always had a thing for Slayers. A couple of them have even looked like her over the years. She’s not the only cute girl with super powers anymore.”

~ ~ ~

So here's the part where you make a choice. What if you could have that power now? In every generation, one Slayer is born, because a bunch of men who died thousands of years ago made up that rule. So I say we change the rule. I say my power, should be our power. From now on, every girl in the world who might be a Slayer, will be a Slayer. Every girl who could have the power, will have the power – can stand up, will stand up. Slayers. Every one of us. Make your choice. Are you ready to be strong?

~ ~ ~

“Buffy?”

“Is she waking up?”

“Xander, her face was moving.”

“Buffy!”

“Don’t shout at her! You’ll startle her.”

“Look! Did you see that? Her hand twitched. She is waking up. I love this part.”

~ ~ ~

I love you.

~ ~ ~

“There!”

~ ~ ~

No you don’t.

~ ~ ~

“See? She grimaced, Dawnie.”

“I saw it.”

“She looks constipated.”

“Xander…”

“Buff-“

“Shh!”

“What?”

“Just let her come back peacefully, Xander. Gosh, you’re so impatient.”

“But it’s so exciting. I mean, come on. There’s something cool in the creepiness of it all.”

“Too bad Spike isn’t here.”

“Uhn…” A groggy moan escaped her dry and bloodied lips.

“B-“

“Zip it, Xander.”

“Uhn…”

Buffy felt like she was neck deep in mud – her limbs too sluggish to lift against the weight of her blankets.

“What….”

“Shh. It’s alright, Buffy. You’re alright. Just let yourself wake up slowly.”

“Mom?”

She could hear her mother sighing. Why was she sighing?

“No, Buffy. Mom’s not here. It’s just me, Dawn. Well, Xander and me. Let yourself wake up, Buffy. And then I’ll tell you everything.”

Her eyelids felt like they were weighted down, as she struggled for several moments to open her eyes.

“Hey there, Buff.”

Buffy blinked several times, slowly and deliberately, as if to wake up the muscles of her eyelids. She saw Xander, aged and distinguished, a black patch over one eye. Blinking again as if to register him, she shifted her eyes towards her sister, looking uncannily like Aunt Arlene.

“Where-?”

“You’re at my house in L.A., Buffy,” Dawn answered gently. “It’s 2043.”

Buffy furrowed her brow.

“The Dragvloks attacked Slayer Central yesterday. You were hurt. Xander and I brought you home.”

She blinked once. Then her eyes widened in alarm.

“Spike!” she whispered urgently.

Dawn shifted nervous-looking eyes to Xander. “Uh, he’s gone-“

Buffy shot up in bed – wincing from the pain.

“Buffy, stop! It’s alright!” Dawn pressed a palm to Buffy’s chest to push her down. “You need to take it-“

Buffy started dragging her legs over the edge of bed.

“Buffy, please! I only meant he’s not here right now! He’ll be back!”

Buffy stopped.

Dawn let out a sigh. “He was here, Buffy. For hours. Watching over you. Xander drove him back to Slayer Central to get your car, and to check on the others.”

“Also, he refused to wear my clothes – which, frankly, I didn’t mind. So he was gonna go home and wash up – which, honestly, he really needed to do. Oh, and uh… welcome back, Buff,” he finished with a goofy smile.

“The others,” she croaked weakly, still sitting up in bed. The pain had eased, and she was already feeling stronger.

“Yeah,” Dawn replied quietly as she lowered her eyes.

Buffy swallowed the fear that began to crawl up her throat. “How many?” she asked tentatively.

Dawn exhaled softly. “Twelve.”

“We lost eight Slayers?!”

Dawn’s face sank deeper into a frown. “No, Buffy. Twelve died. Only eight survived.”

Buffy felt her stomach turn, and was suddenly more exhausted than she’d felt after the battle. Looking sideways, at nothing in particular, she let her head fall back onto her pillow.

“I’m sorry, Buffy.” She could hear the sadness in her sister’s voice. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“Who survived?” she asked flatly.

She heard Dawn sigh again. “Uh…Sonny, Gina, Rachel…Tori, Stevie-“

Buffy turned to her sister with alarm. “Pipa?”

“Yeah, Buffy. Pipa survived, too,” Dawn reassured her. “But she’s injured. Mel survived as well. And… Sally.”

Buffy felt her chest constrict. “But not Carla.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. And not Maria.”

Buffy shut her eyes.

“Hungry?”

That jarred her eyes back open.

“Sorry, Buff,” Xander added sheepishly. “That needed a segue.”

Buffy just stared at him.

“Uh, I bought some stuff – knowing how hungry you get after…” Xander swallowed. “Hey, gotta love the twenty-four hour Wal-Mart. In the final apocalypse, it’ll be the only thing left standing,” he joked half-heartedly.

“Xander, why don’t you go make something,” Dawn pressed lightly. “Pancakes or something. We’ll have a sunrise breakfast when Spike gets back. Then we can all crash and sleep the morning away.”

“Just call me Aunt Jemima,” he quipped, getting blank faces in response.

“Or not… Yeah. Um… I’ll uh… go make pancakes,” he finished under his breath, stumbling slightly on his way out the door.

The sisters indulged in a moment of silence, before Dawn settled herself into bed – Buffy mustering the strength to make space for Dawn beside her. They lay quietly on their backs for some time – hands clasped over their stomachs, eyes blinking absently.

* * * *

It was strange to be standing at his front door again. He’d only been gone one night, and yet it felt like a lifetime ago.

Spike leaned his forehead against the door. “Open up, Kit.”

“Have you lost your key, sir?”

“Yeah. So open up.”

“Your password, please, sir.”

Spike sighed. Every inch of him was exhausted. “1-6-3-0.”

“Welcome home, sir.” And with a click, the door unlocked and swung open.

As desperate as he was to rest, Spike mustered the energy to do otherwise. He needed a shower as much as he needed some blood, but food had to come first, or he’d never make it back to her. Kicking the door shut behind him, he walked straight to the kitchen and grabbed four bags of blood from the fridge. He poured two bags into a pot to heat up and drank the other two cold – just to take the edge off the pain of his wounds, and the fatigue in his limbs. It tasted foul, of course, and he couldn’t help but think back to yesterday’s breakfast at Buffy’s. That would go down in history as one of his best from a bag. Had that really been less than twenty-four hours ago? Had she only been back in his life for two days?

The only thing more shocking than that fact, was how much texture she seemed to have brought to his unlife already. Everything seemed more… real.

Once the blood had warmed and thinned, Spike poured it into a mug and downed it in gulps. He stood at the stove until he’d emptied the pot of every bone-mending drop. With an unexpected burp, he threw the pot into the sink, and hurried to his bedroom for a fresh set of clothes.

A knock on the door stopped him mid-step.

“Spike!”

Bloody hell.

“You have a visitor, sir.”

“I’m dead, Kit, not deaf.”

“His temperature is seventy degrees Fahrenheit, sir. That is the equivalent of twenty-one degrees Celsius. Snap shot materializing on screen.”

Spike rolled his eyes in annoyance. He didn’t need to see the wanker’s face on the Comptel screen.

“Let him in, Kit. This won’t take long.”

As the door swung open, Angel walked in like the head of some funereal march.

“Peaches,” he greeted him dully, his face unmoving.

“Willy,” Angel replied in kind.

Spike refused to flinch at the insult. “Make it quick, Angel, cause I haven’t got much time.”

“You’re going back to her,” he accused.

Spike’s jaw tensed unconsciously. “She has a name, you tosser. A face too. And wouldn’t you know… after forty years, not one wrinkle. Funny that.”

“You never asked, Spike.”

Spike chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, cause that’s the kind of thing one would ask, isn’t it?”

Angel stepped forward confidently, until he was inches away from Spike’s face. “You could have found out yourself. It’s not like I’ve been hiding her.”

“No. You just hid the truth, you son of a bitch,” he spat, enjoying the sight of his spittle hitting its mark.

“Like you hid the truth from her? Hypocrite.”

Spike blinked. He didn’t have a comeback to that.

“You know, staying away from her was the only selfless thing you’ve ever done, William. She was happy.”

“What, with you?!” Arrogant prick. “And how long did that last exactly?”

Angel’s face turned stony. “We took a break.”

Spike laughed out loud. “A break?!”

It was Angel’s turn to blink. “She needs to find herself, Spike.”

Spike’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “What?”

“She’s immortal now, you idiot. But still human. There’s no one like her.”

“Your point?”

“She needs to come to terms with that. Figure out who she is.”

Spike shook his head in amazement. “So what? You think she needs to do that alone?”

“I think she needs space, Spike,” he gritted out.

Spike considered his grandsire carefully. “I see. So that’s what happened then? You gave her some space?”

Angel didn’t respond.

“You know, the Buffy I knew always knew who she was. She may not have liked herself at times – hell, I didn’t even like her at times – but she knew herself. She had her periods of self-doubt, sure – usually when things hit rock bottom. But she wasn’t some lost and aimless schoolgirl without a clue, mate. She always had a core of steel. An unshakeable self-reliance. If the Slayer could count on anyone, it was herself. And she knew that.”

“Maybe,” Angel acknowledged begrudgingly. “But the Buffy you knew wasn’t immortal, Spike. Or she hadn’t realized it yet. She didn’t have to face the prospect of watching her loved ones grow old and die.”

“She lost Joyce, you ninny.” Thoughtless wanker.

That made Angel pause, but only briefly. “The point is, she doesn’t need you drooling down her neck right now.”

He could see Angel was getting agitated, so he kept a calm facade.

“Uh huh. So uh… when exactly did you and the Slayer take this break?”

He didn’t answer.

Spike put a hand to his ear. “When was that?”

Angel narrowed his eyes. “A few years ago.”

“Yeah? How many is a few?” Spike asked casually.

Angel flinched slightly. “Almost five.”

Spike laughed out loud again. “And you think, what? That she needs another five years to sort herself out?”

“She needs as much time as she needs, Spike. You can’t rush these things.”

Spike nodded in mock understanding. “I see. Then why exactly did I get an invite to stay at her place, mate?”

That hit Angel like a Troll hammer, and Spike wished he could relive the moment again, every day. But Angel recovered quickly. “She’s lonely, Spike,” he replied nonchalantly. “Obviously.”

“Lonely.”

“Yeah.… You’re a distraction.”

“A distraction,” he echoed.

“A reminder… of who she was, back in Sunnydale. When she was young. And mortal.”

Spike wasn’t impressed.

But Angel pressed on. “You remind her of who she was, Spike. I remind her of what she is now, and of the future that lies ahead of her. Don’t you see? I’ll be in that future, when all the rest have gone. She can’t handle that right now.”

Spike couldn’t believe his ears. The git was delusional. “You’re the one losing his grip, mate.”

“Spike, you need to-“

“Sod off, Peaches,” he said tiredly. “I gave you enough time. I need a shower.” Spike turned his back to his grandsire and headed back towards his bedroom.

“Spike, the last thing Buffy needs right now, is to wake up to you dragging her back into the past, complicating things.”

Spike stopped and stalked back to Angel, hands on his hips. “You know what? I must have killed a dozen Dragvloks tonight, mate. A dozen. More than you bagged I’m sure. We lost a lot of girls tonight, yeah. But I’m pretty sure I made things a hell of lot simpler killing off half of the fucking enemy!”

Angel just shook his head in disgust.

Spike exhaled dramatically. “Look, I may not be what Buffy needs in a man. But I have my uses. I can be there for her, without shagging her.”

Spike tilted his head to the side as he reconsidered his grandsire. “See… that’s the difference between you and me, isn’t it? You left her once, because you couldn’t stand by her if you couldn’t stick it to her. It was always about what you wanted, Angelus, not what she needed.”

Angel was fuming now.

“So she’s immortal now. Forced to live forever on this sodden rock of misery and pain. And yeah, she’s gonna see Death take her kid sis, the Scoobies, and every Slayerette she brought forth. And one day, she really will be all alone – one girl in all the fuckin’ world.”

Spike swallowed his own sadness at the thought.

“Except she won’t. Because for as long as she needs a hand, or a shoulder, or a pair of fangs to do damage, I’ll be there. So I suggest you start dealing with that fact now, mate.”

“Spike-“

“Now get the fuck out of my house before I sick Kit on you,” he snarled.

Angel scanned the room warily, as if looking for this unknown threat. Flashing Spike one last look of displeasure, Angel turned on his heel to storm away. He flung the door open roughly, but stopped before stepping out.

“She doesn’t love you, Spike.”

Spike lowered his head and closed his eyes to the truth. “Tell me something I don’t know.”


* * * *

“So spill,” Buffy blurted unexpectedly.

“Huh?”

“How is it that you’re here, and not in London?”

“Oh. You didn’t answer your phone.”

“Huh?”

“Willow called me. After she hung up with you the other night. She told me about Spike, that he was back. Or, back in our lives at least. She said you’d run into him by accident in Santa Lucia and that you were furious.”

“I wasn’t furious,” she countered angrily.

“Uh huh. Anyway, I called you right away, of course. And you didn’t answer. So I took the red-eye back, and my amazingly devoted husband got up out of bed, got packed, and came with.”

“I don’t get it. What was the hurry?”

“Well I wanted to see Spike, before he ran away again. Or, before you chased him away.”

“Dawn!” Buffy turned to her sister, affronted.

But Dawn didn’t seem chastened. “And I wanted to see you. To make sure you were okay… Are you? Okay?”

Buffy looked back at the ceiling. “Well I was, before the Dragvloks came to L.A., and before my house burnt down.”

“Buffy, that’s not what I meant. And anyway, your house didn’t burn down.”

Buffy turned hopeful eyes toward her sister. “What?”

“I called you a second time from the airport, and again when we landed. You never answered. So when we got back to town, we drove straight to Santa Lucia to check up on you. The house was trashed and burnt out, sure, but most of it was still standing. Your neighbor said that the fire trucks had come and gone.”

“Mrs. Partridge?”

“Yeah.”

“Busy body,” Buffy grumbled.

“The police were still there though – you know, dusting things with tiny brushes and putting stuff into little plastic baggies.”

“What about the corpses?”

“Gone. I only knew they’d been there because there was a Dragvlok hand sticking out from under the refrigerator. The police hadn’t noticed it yet, so I sort of kicked it further back.” Dawn screwed up her face in disgust. “That’s gonna rot. Sorry.”

“Meh. It’ll blend in with the rotting food and blood in the fridge. So then you came back here?”

“Not to the house, no. We figured if the Dragvloks had come for you, then they’d come for the L.A. Slayers, too. So we drove straight to Slayer Central from there. But not before I convinced the cops to let me grab a few things from the house.”

“Like what?”

“Pictures mainly. The ones of you and the kids on your dresser. The one from my wedding. I snuck your Bowie knife out, too. Oh, and Spike’s duster.”

Buffy gasped. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“I think you’ve officially made his day.”

“You always were an idiot, Buffy,” Dawn deadpanned.

“Hey!”

Dawn smirked. “I think you’ll have officially made his day, Buffy – resurrecting and all.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

“So how was it this time?”

“Death?”

“Let’s call it rebooting.”

“I don’t know.”

“Did I have a cameo?”

“Huh?”

“In your montage. When your life flashed before your eyes. Which parts did you see this time?”

Buffy lay quietly for a moment, reflecting back.

“You now how it is. I don’t remember the details, really. Just fleeting images and feelings. I was young though. We were in Sunnydale this time. Just Sunnydale, actually.”

“That makes sense.”

“Why?”

“Because of Spike. You only knew him there, and suddenly he’s back. His reappearance was bound to take you back to that time.”

“I guess.”

“And now we’ve come full circle back to the matter at hand.”

Buffy took a deep, settling breath. “Spike,” she said softly.

“Uh huh. So?”

“So what? You spoke to Willow. He’s been around this whole time. Somewhere. Everywhere. Anywhere but here. Doing his thing. Fighting evil. Saving Slayers, apparently. Being a hero.”

“That’s amazing though, no? He’s been devoting his existence to serving others, and without the benefit of getting credit from you. That’s a pretty remarkable transformation, if you ask me.”

Buffy stayed silent.

“Buffy?”

“Yeah. It is. He’s a hero, like I said.”

“So are you gonna tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“How you feel?”

Buffy frowned at her sister, before returning her gaze to the ceiling. “What do I feel? How do you know if I don’t?” Buffy exhaled noisily. “I don’t live my life that way anymore, Dawn. I don’t waste time reflecting on feelings. It doesn’t matter what anybody feels. What matters is what they do. Words are meaningless.”

“No they’re not.”

“Dawn, when was the last time you doubted my love for you?”

“Buffy, I haven’t doubted your love for ages. Since I was teenager.”

“Exactly. You know why?”

“You’re gonna tell me anyway.”

“Because when you were a teenager, I would insist to you and to myself, that you were the most important person in my life. But I didn’t treat you that way.”

Dawn stayed quiet.

“We never really got along until I stopped claiming that I loved you, and started showing you that I did. Words are useless, Dawn. No one believes them. And you know what? They shouldn’t. You have to look at what people do.”

“Sure, but-“

“So let’s look at what Spike did. He burned in the Hellmouth, but came back. And instead of finding us, he moved on with his life.”

“Buffy-“

“He was never going to see me again, you know. It was a freak accident our running into each other.”

“Or fate.”

“Please. There’s no fate, Dawn. I was fated to be killed by the Master.”

“You were.”

“Only kinda. Point is, there’s no fate. You can always get around these things. Even death and taxes. I got around both.”

The two lay silent again for several moments.

Dawn broke the silence. “So what now?”

“Well… he was only in Santa Lucia to kill the Penis Lady, and he was only in L.A. to hunt the Dragvloks. So… I don’t know.”

“Do you want him to stay?”

“What does it matter what I want? Everything just gets stripped away.”

“Buffy-“

“I could use those pancakes now, I think.”

Dawn sighed.

The sudden screech of tires outside startled both women out of solemnity. Turning their heads towards the window, they noticed dawn about to break through the black of the sky.

A knock on the door turned their eyes away, and Xander poked his head past the door.

“Uncle Rory’s back.”

“Your Uncle Rory is dead, Xander.”

“I meant Blondie, hon.”

“Oh. He doesn’t look remotely like your Uncle Rory.”

“Uh no… but… you know. He’s like that old relative that you haven’t seen for ages. And you know what? You were pretty okay with that. But then, it’s kinda neat seeing him again, cause it brings back old times – not necessarily pleasant times, mind you. But he does remind you of when you were young.” Xander finished with a shrug. “Anyway, your Mini looks like it’s seen better days, Buff.”

“I need a shower.” Buffy sat up abruptly and started peeling off her blood-caked clothes.

“Whoa.” Xander turned his eyes away quickly. “I, uh… I’ll just make sure Uncle Rory doesn’t catch fire on his way in.” Xander sniffed the air. “Darn! I think my pancakes are burning.” Xander slammed the door closed as he fled.

Still weak and aching, Buffy struggled to get out of her pants. “I must look like Carrie at the prom right now. I don’t suppose you brought any of my clothes from the house?”

“No, but Joycie still has stuff in the closet that you can use. You’re both short.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at her sister. “We’re the normal ones, Dawn. You’re the giant.”

“Funny. You should do stand up.”

“Look, can you just keep him busy while I clean up?” she asked breathlessly.

“Buffy, it’s not like there’s a risk he’ll get impatient and leave.”

“Just go play nice!”

“When am I not nice?”

“Uh, you weren’t exactly nice to him that last year in Sunnydale.”

Dawn crossed her arms and scowled. “Buffy, that isn’t fair.”

Naked and dirty, Buffy let her arms drop to her sides with an exaggerated sigh. “I know you were trying to do right by me then. So do right by me now, too, and go play nice.”

Dawn turned away in a sulk and muttered grumpily under her breath. “I don’t have to play at it, Buffy. I’m actually happy to see him.”

And with that, Buffy finally acknowledged to herself, that so was she.

“Gina, are you asleep?”

“I was, Pip.”

The girls were sharing Gina’s bed, having given Pipa’s to the only surviving Indies, Tori and Mel. There was room enough at the warehouse for the visitors to have their own quarters, but the smoke hung thickly in all but a few bedrooms upstairs.

“Sorry.”

Gina uncurled from her fetal position to lie on her back. “It’s alright. I’ve just been dozin’ on and off anyway.” She turned her head to look at Pipa in the dark. “What’s up? You alright?”

“Yeah.” Pipa was lying on her back too, looking down towards her feet.

“Your wounds?”

“They’re okay. I mean – ow – but they’re okay.”

“You thinkin’ about Carla and Maria?”

“And Sally.”

Gina sighed and looked up to the ceiling. “Sal.”

“I can’t imagine how she’s going to feel when she wakes up.”

“I’m guessing not much different than she felt tonight. She cried herself to sleep, you know.”

“I know.” Pipa covered her face with both hands. “I can’t believe we lost them, Gina.” Her voice was strained.

Gina didn’t answer.

The room was quiet again, save for the occasional sniffle from Pipa punctuating the silence. After several minutes, her sniffles stopped. “How long do you think the Council will be here?”

“Don’t know. The cleanup is done, the funeral home folk have come and gone, so I guess they’ll just stay here to guard the place until it’s secure again.”

The Council grunts had been scarily efficient in their work – clearing the place in record time of all trace of otherworldly creatures. The Slayers had helped carry their own dead out of the rain and into the burnt out common room, and had stayed with the bodies until they’d been taken away. The rain had been just as efficient – washing the blood of their sisters down the sewer drains. To a passerby, Slayer Central would look like little more than an abandoned building with fire damage. Only the goons in black that were stationed at the front and back of the building gave any indication of the place being occupied.

“Oh my god, Buffy!” Pipa exclaimed, looking wide-eyed at Gina. “Do you think she’s awake yet?”

“Well I am now,” Mel snapped from the other side of the bedroom.

Pipa looked over towards the girls in her bed. “Oh gosh. Sorry, Mel.”

“What time is it?” Tori mumbled groggily.

“It’s five a.m.,” Mel replied.

“Why are we awake already? Is something wrong?”

“Everything is wrong,” Mel muttered bitterly.

Gina exhaled noisily.

“What the hell is that supposed to me mean, Gina?”

“What the hell is what supposed to mean, Mel? Can’t a girl breathe?”

“No, Gina. A girl can’t breathe,” she countered angrily. “Twelve of them can’t, as a matter of fact. And most of them were my friends.”

Gina sat up in bed to look over at Mel. “You think they didn’t matter to me?”

Mel sat up too. “I think you lost two friends, and we lost all but two of ours. And for what? If you guys hadn’t summoned us here, we wouldn’t have lost anyone.”

Pipa gasped. That got her sitting up too with a wince. “Mel! There’s no ‘your friends’ and ‘our friends’! There’s just us! We all help each other! And we would have done the same for you!”

“We wouldn’t have needed you to, Pipa! I wasn’t even in on that Dragvlok homestead attack. That was mostly your crew – before you lost half of them, that is, over the last two years.”

“Lisa was in on that attack too,” Gina argued.

“So you’re saying she deserved to die?!”

“Jesus Christ, Mel! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What the hell do you think is wrong with me, Gina?! Everybody is fucking dead!”

“Please!” Tori pleaded, hands covering her ears. “This is too much!”

“Mel, please!” Pipa echoed. “For goodness sake, we’re all devastated by this! Please, let’s not lash out at each other! We—”

“Agh!” Pipa grabbed her wounded side and groaned.

“Shit! Pip, lay back down,” Gina insisted. “You can’t move like that yet.” With one arm behind Pipa’s back, Gina lowered the girl slowly into a supine position. “Better?”

Pipa nodded, before taking a few slow, deep breaths that seemed to settle the pain.

Gina cast an annoyed glance Mel’s way, before returning her attention to Pipa. “We should’ve got Precious back in, Pip. He would’ve sorted you out.”

“No,” Pipa moaned. She took another slow breath. “I doubt he would’ve come with the Council crawling all over the place. And Dawn had already sent for the doctor.”

“That doctor was useless,” Mel grumbled. She seemed to have calmed down a bit after Pipa’s cry of pain.

“Not entirely,” Pipa acknowledged. “I mean… we’ve got proper stitches and bandages, antibiotics, painkillers.”

“Precious doesn’t need any of that stuff, though,” Gina insisted. “A bit of funky paste, and you would’ve been all set.”

“Well, he’s not Council-affiliated, Gina.”

“He’s Buffy-affiliated,” Mel argued.

“No, he’s actually Clem-affiliated,” Pipa corrected.

“But Clem is Buffy-affiliated, Pip.”

“Too many degrees of separation, I guess,” Tori chimed in.

“But Spike knows Clem too, right?” Gina questioned. “Maybe he could get Precious to make something for us off-site, then Spike could slip it in.”

“Yeah, you’d love for Spike to slip it in, wouldn’t you Gina?” Tori accused.

“What? I—”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Tori teased.

“I’m not! I don’t—”

“He is a major hotty,” Tori admitted.

“And he’s Buffy’s,” Gina insisted. “And it ain’t like that. He’s cool, that’s all. Look what he did for us tonight.”

“Yeah, he saved my life out there,” Pipa admitted quietly.

“And mine,“ Tori conceded. “He was amazing in here last night, you know – what with the fire and then the Dragvloks storming the place. He was taking on three at a time and winning easily.”

“And then he came back here to check on us,” Gina rejoined. “He actually left Buffy’s side just to make sure we were alright.”

“Well you should’ve seen how protective he was with all of us during the fight,” Tori continued. “And how he vamped out on that Dragvlok who… took Carla,” she finished sadly.

The room fell silent for several moments after that.

“He’s too short,” Mel blurted suddenly, breaking the silence. “And skinny. Angel’s hotter.”

All three Slayers turned disbelieving eyes towards Mel. But Gina had the last word.

“Loser.”

* * * *

Buffy wasn’t squeamish by nature, but that didn’t mean she was looking forward to seeing what was under her bandages. Most of her body bore small gashes and lacerations that had already closed and begun to pinken. Clearly, no one had bothered to undress her last night to tend to such superficial wounds. But someone had tightly bound her torso under her shirt, and the bandages were almost soaked through with blood.

Standing naked before the bathroom mirror, she resisted her vain streak. So what she was scarred? In a few days time, she would simply have a dozen more white lines to add to the growing matrix on her skin. It was only natural – maybe the only natural thing about her anymore.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy slowly began to unwrap the crepe around her middle. She could feel that there were a few injuries underneath – at least one to her lower back and two to her abdomen. All of them still hurt, but the pain was tolerable. Peeling the last inches of the bandage away, she inspected the worst of the wounds – a long deep gash on the right side of her abdomen, wrapping around to the back. It wasn’t two wounds, after all. The gash was far too deep to have closed fully in so short a time, but it would close in another twenty-fours. At least Dragvlok talons were sharp. The wound had smooth edges, and would leave only a linear scar. To the left of her belly button she had a stab wound – a small but deep hole still oozing blood. It would also close in a day.

Buffy looked at herself in the mirror one last time. Her hair was a tangled mess caked with blood, and her face, a canvas of already yellowing bruises with a smear of angry purple under one eye. A cut across her bottom lip had scabbed but still hurt when she attempted a smile. Resigned to the state she was in, Buffy turned away from the mirror to wash up.

The shower was a mix of comfort and pain. The hot water was a balm to her muscles and it was mentally satisfying to clean away the grime, but the warm jet stung her open wounds and every closed cut still fragile enough to be felt. A bath would have been more soothing with her injuries, but she was far too filthy for that. And anyway, she didn’t have much time. There were… pancakes waiting, after all.

Washing her hair had been the most pleasurable aspect of the shower, but she refused to indulge herself for long, and opted for only a two-minute conditioning treatment. Once clean, she hastily dried herself – being careful with her middle – and rewrapped her torso with the fresh crepe and tape that Dawn had no doubt set out for her.

Too tired and pained to blow-dry her hair, she combed it back into a smooth, low ponytail and left it loose to dry on its own. Without any make-up to improve her appearance, she decided to try a beauty tip she’d read about in a magazine once, and put a touch of Vaseline on her lashes and lips. The effect was impressive she had to admit, given what little she’d done. She didn’t look half-bad for a dead woman.

“Okay,” she let out in a sigh. “I need clothes…” Returning to Joycie’s bedroom, she was relieved to find that Dawn had laid out a pair of her own underwear and socks for Buffy. It was a bit ick, wearing someone else’s undergarments – even your sisters – but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And at least Dawn wasn’t a member of the middle-aged bloomers set. Scanning what little remained in the closet, Buffy became frustrated by the frilliness of the offerings. Dress… skirt… dress… blouse… Joycie was a real girl’s girl, and Buffy hadn’t worn a dress since Dawn’s wedding. The colors were all wrong too – bright blues, yellows and pinks – the kind of stuff Buffy used to wear when she was in high school. Frustrated with her choices, she could feel a good pout coming on.

Remembering the dresser, Buffy decided to investigate what casual items might’ve been left there, and was relieved to find a pair of navy blue slacks and a fitted tee. The slacks, made of linen, hugged her nicely at the hips, but were an inch too long. The top – a soft, cotton in rose – hugged her small frame well, accentuated her breasts, and dutifully hid all her scars. Pleased with her finds, Buffy slipped on her own shoes, took one last deep breath, and forced herself to walk slowly, as she descended the stairs.

“I’ll just go—”

Shit. That was Spike. Was he leaving?

“Relax, Blondie. She’ll be down any minute.”

“Or not,” she heard Dawn comment from the dining room. “She can take a while in the shower on a good day.”

“Yeah, and she was pretty gross.”

“Fatigued, Xander.”

“Yeah, that too.”

“Look, I’ll just—”

Buffy hastened to the doorway of the dining room.

“Buffy!”

She loved how he said her name. And he so rarely said it.

He was standing away from the breakfast table, as if preparing to leave, and he looked… well, he looked good. He had his own share of bruises and cuts, but he looked flawless in fresh, fitted black, with his hair slicked back and straight. Had he always looked this good? Maybe it was his hair color. He was less Billy Idol now. More James Dean.

“Were you leaving?” she asked anxiously.

“What? No, pet. No. I was just…” He ducked his head. “I was going to check on you.”

She fought back a smile. “Oh.”

“Buff! Look at you!”

“Hey Xander.” She gave him a smile. “It’s good to see you.”

Her eyes drifted back to Spike, who hadn’t moved since she’d walked in. He was looking at her like she was a ghost, which was fair enough. An awkward silence fell over the room.

“Uh… take a seat, love.” Spike pulled out the chair nearest him with a scrape of the floorboards, before tentatively walking towards her. “You must be knackered.”

“Not really. I was out for a while.”

He reached out a hand towards her elbow, but wouldn’t touch it – instead letting it hover under her arm as he walked with her to her chair. Did he think she was fragile?

Taking a seat, she let him push her chair towards the table. It was kind of funny, his manners. But when she thought about it, Spike did always have a touch of chivalry about him, when it came to women. He was a product of the nineteenth century after all.

He took the seat opposite her at the table, Xander and Dawn on either side of her.

“How are you?” he asked quietly.

She shrugged. “Better, I guess.”

“Well!” Xander interjected. “Now that we’re all here, as man of the house, I officially declare this breakfast served! Eat up people. There’s flapjacks, bacon and hash browns.”

The room became noisier as Xander and Dawn began filling their plates. But for reasons she didn’t bother exploring, she and Spike didn’t move, trapped as they were in each other’s gaze.

“I’m starting to feel nostalgic here, Dawnie.” Buffy finally looked away to Xander, who was chewing happily on a flapjack. “It’s kind of like having the kids back at home, no?”

Dawn gave him a funny look. Spike gave him a scowl.

“I’m older than the lot of you put together, mate.”

“Uh, try again, Blondie. My wife is a mystical key. Technically, she’s older than dirt!”

“Xander!”

“What?”

Buffy giggled. “You always did like older women, Xander.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean? I never told you about my Scooby dream!”

“Huh?”

“Um, I think she was talking about Anya, honey,” Dawn clarified, looking suspicious.

“Oh, right.”

Busted. Though Buffy wasn’t really sure what he was busted for.

“Yeah, I guess Anya was pretty old, too,” he mused. “And hey, there’s also Umpala. The Mayan mummy girl. Let’s not forget her.”

“Her name was Ampata, Xander,” Buffy corrected.

“Oh, right.” Xander furrowed his brow. “Am-pa-ta,” he mouthed to himself.

“And I think she was Incan,” Buffy added.

Xander frowned. “What’s the difference?”

Buffy shrugged.

“Stupid Yanks,” Spike muttered.

“Hey! I know the difference,” Dawn whined.

“Didn’t mean you, Nibblet,” Spike assured her with a smile.

“Hey! I’m not stupid either,” Buffy complained with a pout.

“Didn’t really mean you either, pet,” he added with a wink.

“Hey!” Xander exclaimed.

Buffy couldn’t help but giggle at the two men returning to form. Feeling better than she had when she’d woken up, she piled her plate high with pancakes and bacon. As she reached across the table for the syrup too quickly, she cried out unexpectedly from the pain.

“Buffy!”

Spike was standing and at her side the next moment.

“It’s alright,” she said breathlessly. “Really, I’m fine.”

Spike was kneeling beside her and scanning her body. “I don’t understand, pet. What’s wrong?”

Buffy paused to breathe through the pain. “I’ve just got a few injuries that are slower to heal. You know how it is.”

“What? No, pet. I really don’t.” Spike twisted his head towards Dawn. “What the hell is this? What exactly happened to her last night?”

The room fell silent for several moments.

“Have a seat, Spike,” Dawn answered gently. “And we’ll explain things.”

Spike blinked at Dawn with alarm, but after scanning Buffy’s body once more, did as she asked. His eyes never left Buffy’s face, until Dawn started speaking.

“It’s really not that complicated,” Dawn began, her eyes on Buffy as well.

Both blonds stayed silent.

“Buffy can be wounded, just like before. And she heals more quickly than others do, just like before. The only difference is that a normally fatal wound won’t kill her. Or – maybe it does, actually, for a while anyway. But she comes back. Then… I guess the wound just takes longer to heal.”

Buffy shifted her eyes towards Spike, eager to see his reaction. But he’d lowered his head so that his face was hidden.

“So that’s our Buff,” Xander chimed in, a little too chirpily. “Indestructible. Like the Judge! No weapon forged can destroy her,” he finished, throwing a loving smile her way.

“Except maybe a rocket launcher,” Buffy added flatly.

Spike kept his head down. “Willow has a lot to answer for,” he declared, his voice low and menacing.

“Whoa. Hold on there, Blondie. Willow didn’t mean to do this.”

Spike chuckled bitterly. “She never does, does she? But she does it anyway.”

Buffy suddenly felt the tension in the room grow ten-fold.

“That’s not fair, Spike,” Xander chastised. But after exhaling heavily, he seemed to grow reflective and somber. “We all did it,” he acknowledged. “We all wanted to bring her back.” Xander met Buffy’s eyes then and seemed to apologize yet again. He’d spent the last forty years apologizing with his eyes. Or – eye, rather.

But Spike wouldn’t relent. “Willow should’ve known better,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “That bi—”

“Watch it, Spike!”

Oh God. Now Xander was angry.

“You know, I didn’t see you complaining when you were boinking Buffy!”

Dawn gasped.

Buffy suddenly felt naked, like a pinned insect on display.

“Xander!” Dawn scolded.

Buffy was too mortified to speak. Her eyes on the table, she caught Spike squeezing the fork from his place setting. Looking up to his face, she saw murder in his eyes, and they were dead set on Xander.

Oh God. Things were about to get seriously out of hand.

“Spike,” she spoke softly.

No answer.

“Spike,” she spoke more forcefully.

Seemingly startled, Spike looked to her immediately, as if hearing her for the first time.

She sighed quietly. “Spike, that was a long time ago. You were there. We went through all this. And we got past it.”

He blinked.

“We just didn’t realize what Will— … what the spell had actually done until later.”

But Spike hadn’t unclenched the fork in his hand.

She tried again. “Spike, it’s no secret that I wasn’t happy to come back at first. But in the end, I was glad to be back with my friends, with Dawn. Because of that spell, I was able to see Dawn get married.” She looked over to Xander. “And to one of my best friends. I also got to become an aunt, Spike. I’ve got an amazing niece and nephew who I couldn’t love more if they were my own kids.”

Spike’s face seemed to soften.

Buffy continued more quietly. “And you and I would’ve never been… friends, if they hadn’t brought me back.”

Spike swallowed.

“And that would’ve been a shame.”

Slowly, he unfurled his hand.

“I’m sorry, Buff,” Xander interrupted, sounding plaintive.

“I know.” She knew her brother-in-law better than almost anyone, so she always knew where his heart was, no matter where he put his foot. “Tell you what. Hand me the syrup, then all is forgiven,” she added playfully.

“A bottle of syrup for the Judge!”

“Xander,” Dawn warned.

“It’s kinda funny,” Buffy said with a shrug. Pouring an ample amount of syrup over her pancakes and bacon, she’d just raised her fork to her mouth when she noticed Spike wasn’t eating.

“Oh. Spike.” Buffy looked to Dawn anxiously. “Don’t we have anything for him?”

“Ate at home, love. And brought some back,” he assured her quietly. Tipping his coffee cup forward, he revealed a thick, red liquid rather than coffee.

“Oh.” She gave him a small smile. “Good.”

”But I’ll take some pancakes, too,” he replied with a wink, but his heart wasn’t in it. He still seemed upset to her. Grabbing a flapjack from the tray, he rolled it on his plate, dipped it in his mug and took an absentminded bite.

“Okay, that was gross.” Xander, of course.

But Buffy seemed to think otherwise. She found herself distracted by his mouth again – the way his lips stayed tightly sealed as he chewed… the way the muscles of his jaw would clench… his Adam’s Apple again – bobbing as he swallowed… the way he slowly sucked the blood off of his thumb…

“So how were things at Slayer Central, Spike?” Dawn asked suddenly.

That snapped Buffy out of her daze.

Spike frowned. “Depressing, Nibblet. To be honest.”

“How’s Pipa?” Buffy asked eagerly.

“She’s on the mend, pet. Gina’s sortin’ her out. She’s a tough one, that girl. Reminds me of you a little. The heart. The grit.”

Something flipped in Buffy’s gut and her throat went dry. Silently, she chastised herself for being jealous of a seventeen-year old.

“And the Council?” Dawn asked.

“Gone, except for the guards. But the place was neat and tidy for the most part. You wouldn’t know there’d been any bloodshed on that block.”

“Gotta love the Council and their cleaners,” Xander piped up. “They use more Harvey Keitel types than Tarantino.”

“Yeah. The doc had come and gone too. I wasn’t needed there, really, so I headed home.”

“And where’s home?” Dawn asked.

“Got a basement apartment across town. But a posh one. Polished concrete floors, fresh paint, nice art work, state of the art appliances. Plus a Comptel 5.”

Xander choked on his bacon. “You’ve got a Comptel 5?”

Spike smirked at him.

“Dawnie!”

“Yes, honey?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Yes, honey. And no, honey. We’re not getting one.”

Xander slumped in his chair and crossed his arms in a sulk. Turning to Spike, he seemed to glare at him with envy. “Alright, I give. How’s the voice recognition?”

“State of the art. Knows my voice, no matter how I change it.”

Xander pursed his lips in annoyance and narrowed his eyes. “Got any games?”

“Zombie Revenge, Mob Wars, Space Assassins.”

“Dawnie!”

“Xander,” Dawn scolded. “You’re about thirty years too old for computer games.”

“Spike’s had a bicentennial!”

“Xander, forgetting the software, the installation alone would cost more than Joycie’s wedding. Which is more important?”

Spike wasn’t hiding his amusement. “Haven’t had a chance to use the home defense technology though. But I almost sicced the system on the Poof today.”

That made Buffy blink. Angel. Had they fought?

“Honey,” Xander whined. “Please?”

But Dawn wouldn’t budge. “So tell us about your life, Spike. Where have you been?”

“All over, Nibblet. You name it.”

“Azerbaijan?”

“Uh… no. Got me there. Was in Sydney for a while though, before I came to L.A.”

“Ah,” Xander chimed in, seeming a little less grumpy with the change of subject. “Australia. Land of the Dingo and the Dundee!”

“You’re stuck in the 80’s again, sweetie,” Dawn teased.

“Home of the shrimp on the barbie!”

“Prawn,” Spike corrected.

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” Spike shook his head. “Anyway, I ran into a mess of Slayerettes there, of course.” Looking to Buffy, he continued conspiratorially. “Gotta say, Slayer. They weren’t lookin’ too tough, those girls. I don’t mean to boast—”

“Sure you do,” Xander interrupted.

Spike ignored him. “But they wouldn’t have survived a few battles without my help.”

Buffy turned serious. “You mean they were weak, or unskilled?”

“Both, love.”

Buffy sighed and looked to Dawn.

Dawn gave her a nod before turning to Spike. “What do you know about the Slayer line, Spike?”

“Don’t know a thing about how things work now. Haven’t been in the loop, have I?”

“Whose fault is that?” Buffy blurted.

Oops. Three pair of eyes were on her suddenly. She hadn’t meant for it to sound so accusatory. Spike looked surprised, and a little confused.

Dawn cleared her throat. “Well we don’t entirely understand how it works now. We just know what we’ve seen. And what we’ve tested.”

“And?”

“They’re getting weaker,” Buffy offered.

Spike furrowed his brow.

Dawn continued. “Willow’s been the main one researching this – you know – since it’s all about power transference and supernatural forces.”

Spike looked wary.

But Dawn didn’t notice. “We’ve got a theory now that there’s always been a finite amount of power in the Slayer line. We don’t think it was all embodied in the one girl though, when there was just the one Slayer. We think the power was spread amongst the Potentials as well, but in much smaller amounts. Maybe some of the power was also embedded in the scythe, and yet more power in reserve or something. We’re not sure.”

Dawn paused to look over at Buffy. “Anyway, when Willow used the scythe to awaken all the Potentials, the power was disseminated amongst hundreds of girls. Only the girls who reach fifteen gain their maximum power – the younger ones growing into it as they age. So… we think the power is sort of spread thin now, with girls attaining less power than in previous generations.”

Spike looked thoughtful for a moment before he spoke.

“But something’s not adding up there, Nibblet. These girls are dropping off like twigs. Once they die, doesn’t their power return to the source or whatever, for future Slayers?”

Buffy and Dawn exchanged knowing glances.

Dawn’s face turned grave. “It was never natural, Spike – this dissemination of the power to so many in one generation. The original spell was very specific. We think the essence of the demon that created the first Slayer wants to return to only one girl.”

“So…”

“Buffy gets the power when they die.”

Spike’s mouth fell open like a broken mailbox.

And Dawn carried on. “There was no clear line after Faith died, since there’d been so many Slayers made at once. So we think the power naturally settled on the last of the definitive Chosen Ones.”

Buffy scrutinized his face. He was stunned, to say the least.

“You’re saying she’s getting stronger?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Dawn stated simply. “But it’s not like it’s additive. She doesn’t have the strength of a hundred Slayers or anything. That’s where our math and our knowledge get fuzzy. We don’t know where the rest of the power is going. But we do know that it’s not going to other girls. The Slayers are weaker in every generation. The power they attain at fifteen is less. And eventually, after the girls die off… Well, we think there won’t be multiple Slayers anymore. Just Potentials again, and just one Slayer.”

“Buffy.” Spike concluded.

Dawn nodded.

“But she’s immortal. If she doesn’t die, then—”

“She’ll be the last and only Slayer,” Dawn acknowledged, her eyes downcast. “Forever.”

Buffy had been quiet and patient with Dawn’s explanation, but she didn’t think she could stand to hear any more. It was enough to have to live with the reality of her life. She didn’t need to hear it being described so tragically.

“So yeah,” Dawn added quietly. “Willow’s been going crazy trying to figure out where the rest of the power is going.”

“Speaking of crazy,” Xander injected with typical dissonance. “How’s Drusilla?”

Silence.

Buffy would have been grateful to Xander for changing the subject, if he’d changed it to anything else.

“Still nuts,” Spike answered curtly.

“Yeah, but—”

“Haven’t seen her in years, mate.”

Spike didn’t seem to favor the subject anymore than she did. And she liked his answer, she had to admit. But she was eager to change the subject again.

“So there’s still the matter of the Dragvloks.”

“Ugh. I really hate those guys,” Xander grumbled.

Spike shot Xander a glare, before taking up the subject with Buffy. “How many do you reckon got away, pet?”

“I’m not sure. I remember chasing three of them down the street behind the warehouse. But there were a few more ahead of them that had started to flee once they’d heard the fire trucks. Good call by the way, having Pipa call the fire department.”

“Too little, too late, love.”

“No, Spike. I’d say just enough, just in time. We could have lost more girls than we did.”

“But I don’t get it,” Xander interrupted. “Big bad, talon-wielding demons. Afraid of the hose jockeys? What’s the big deal?”

“It’s not the hose they’re afraid of, you ninny. It’s being outed,” Spike explained. “The demon world’s got no interest in being known by humans that they’re not about to eat. Look at the Initiative. No demon wants that happening on a grander scale.”

“Huh.”

“Well, they’ve got bigger things to fear now,” Buffy vowed angrily.

“And on that note, I think I’ll start clearing the table,” Dawn announced. As she started to pile up the dirty plates, Spike stood up to help her and swayed slightly on his feet.

“Spike?” Buffy asked anxiously.

“I’m alright, love. Just knackered.”

“Spike.”

“Sun’s out, Buffy. It’s bedtime for me. That’s all.”

“Then go to bed,” she insisted.

Spike frowned at her, but didn’t budge.

“Xander and I need to get to bed too, Spike. We haven’t slept since London.”

“Oh God. Of course, Dawnie. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be silly, Buffy. We’re fine.”

“No.” Buffy stood up. “Leave the dishes, Dawn. I’ll clear the table. You two go to bed.”

“Buffy, I’m not leaving you with the dishes after—”

“Okay, okay. Fine. We’ll all do them later, then. But you guys get to bed.”

Dawn sighed and gave Buffy that charming maternal look she started sporting after Dawn had became a mother. “Aright then. Xander?”

Xander grabbed a cold pancake from the plate, swiped it in syrup and stuffed it in his mouth. “Coming, hon. See you in the afternoon, Buff.” Walking over to her, he gave her a tight hug. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks, Xan.”

Dawn smoothed Buffy’s hair back with her hand. “Good night, Buffy.”

“Night, Dawnie.”

The couple left the table then, arm-in-arm, and ambled slowly up the stairs.

Spike and Buffy were left standing across the table from each other, and the silence stretched between them.

“So uh, just point me to the basement, love.”

Buffy frowned. “Don’t be silly, Spike. You can have Jesse’s room. Come on.” Buffy started walking towards the stairs, Spike one step behind her.

“You’re really not tired, pet?” They were lumbering up the stairs rather slowly.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But I‘ve had enough dreams for one night.” Buffy quickened her pace at the top landing and reached Jesse’s room ahead of him. “Wait here.”

The morning sun had pierced the darkness of the room, so Buffy hastily drew the shades tightly closed.

“You can come in now.”

Spike walked in slowly, a scowl marring his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Willow,” he uttered darkly. “She did this to you, Buffy.”

Buffy lowered her head. “I know.”

“How the hell can you forgive her?”

Buffy sighed. “How can I not?”

Spike screwed up his face in confusion.

“It wasn’t a malicious act, Spike. And we covered this. She gave me the chance to see Dawn grow up. To see my family expand.”

Spike clenched his jaw. “Why was her power bound, Buffy?” His tone was demanding.

Buffy suddenly felt very tired again. There was no avoiding it now, so she answered him matter-of-factly.

“She tried to steal my immortality, Spike.”

Spike’s eyes grew two-fold. He almost looked… afraid.

“Bloody hell, Buffy.”

“It didn’t work,” she tried to reassure him. “Obviously. I’d had a protection spell placed on me years ago, after a warlock in Brazil had tried to control me. The Council’s coven had cast the spell to protect me from magic.” Buffy paused. “Willow didn’t know.”

Spike shut his eyes and shook his head. “Jesus Christ. What would have happened to you if the spell had worked?”

Buffy sighed. “Willow says I would have gone back to being mortal. That it wouldn’t have harmed me or anything.”

Spike let out a chuckle, brief and resentful. It disconcerted her.

“Anyway, Willow’s spell backfired. It actually weakened her for some time, enabling the Coven to bind her power. So now she’s brainy, reliable Willow again.”

Spike looked up sharply. “You’re saying you still trust her?!”

Buffy shrugged slowly. “She’s my oldest friend. And she’s a wonderful, loving and generous person ninety-nine percent of the time. It’s only when she thinks her power is threatened that she forgets herself.”

“I’d say binding her power constitutes a big, bloody threat, love.”

Buffy considered his point for a moment. “Maybe. But her power is bound, Spike. And anyway, she has a different kind of power now. She’s Head of the Council. She’s responsible for a world full of Slayers, a multinational organization, hundreds of watchers—”

“All of whom will become rapidly irrelevant when you’re the only Slayer left standing, and having grown more powerful with every Slayer that dies.”

“I could use a change of subject now I think.”

“Buffy—”

“We need to focus on the Dragvloks, Spike.”

“I’m more concerned about you, love.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m feeling better every minute.”

“I’m not talking about your wounds, Buffy.”

“Then what are you talking about?” She was getting angry, and she wasn’t sure why.

“How do you feel about all of this, love?” he asked earnestly. “… this life that’s been thrust upon you?”

Buffy felt her chest tighten, but kept her face a mask. “It doesn’t matter what I feel, Spike. All that matters is what is, and what I do about it.

Spike sighed wearily.

“Alright then, Buffy. So what do we do now?”

“There’s still a half dozen Dragvloks out there somewhere, celebrating our misery. We do what we were made to do, Spike.”

Spike tilted his head in a question.

“We hunt.”

It took him a few moments to orient himself when he opened his eyes. He’d been accustomed to moving around quite a bit over the years, but this was the third bed in which he’d slept in as many days since he’d arrived in California. He was in the son’s bed, but the room reeked of Harris, which brought forth memories of some truly shitty times in his unlife – living in the Whelps basement feeling suicidal. Living in the Whelp’s apartment when he’d been controlled by the First. His staying at the Harris place much longer couldn’t bode well for him.

He could tell dusk had come and gone. He could feel it in his bones. And despite having slept in Harris’ house, it must have been a damn good sleep, because his body felt as good as new as he lay on his back, stretching and flexing his limbs. He was well recovered from the battle the night before. He hoped she was too.

As he lay in bed, he pondered what Buffy’s future would hold. Her life wouldn’t be much different from a vampire’s. She’d never grow old and frail, but she would bleed and would always know pain. Sooner or later, she’d have to fall off the grid. She’d never be able to explain to the human world why she remained so young, so she’d end up withdrawing from human society. In the end, she’d be alone: the only fate worse than death.

Bad shit always did happen to good people, he concluded. And the worst shit, to the best of them. But then again, bad shit always happened to him too.

“Fuck. I guess bad shit just happens,” he muttered bitterly.

“Spike?”

Startled by the door, Spike shot up in bed, the sheet falling to his waist.

“Niblet?”

Dawn walked into the room looking rested and beautiful, an easy smile on her face.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, love.” She was looking at him intently, and he was suddenly conscious – even self-conscious – of his nudity. Grabbing a spare pillow, he hastily put it over his lap.

“Relax, Spike. I know you’re old enough to have – like, great grandchildren older than my great grandparents or something, but you don’t look much older than Jesse’s friends, and I wouldn’t be freaked about seeing them naked.”

Spike raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

She shrugged. “We can’t help but judge people by their appearances.”

From Harris, the sentiment wound have offended him, but from Dawn… Well, he couldn’t help but be amused by how she viewed him now. Humans could be so literal-minded, so lacking in imagination.

“Well, you’ve grown into a beautiful woman, Niblet. Life must have been good to you.”

“It has been. Very good. I’ve had everything Mom could have ever wanted for me. I just wish…”

Spike tilted his head in a question.

“I just wish I could say the same for Buffy.”

He dropped his head and sighed. “Has it been so hard for her?”

Dawn shrugged. “It’s difficult to say. She’s not really one to complain anymore. She was such a whiner when she was a teenager, you know – always complaining to Mom or Giles about having to do one thing or another – not without reason, of course, but still.”

Spike narrowed his eyes in displeasure.

“Okay, fine. I was a whiner too. Anyway… Buffy would let you know when she thought life was unfair back then. She doesn’t anymore.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

A comfortable silence settled between them before Dawn spoke again.

“So why did you stay away?”

He looked her in the eyes then, and was surprised to find no condemnation there. Just curiosity. But he didn’t know how to answer her, so he shrugged.

“I can understand why you would have stayed away from me. I mean… I wasn’t very good to you that last year in Sunnydale.”

Spike furrowed his brow.

Moving to perch on the edge of the bed, she looked at him directly. “You know, I think the worst thing I’ve ever done to Buffy was to banish her from our house that year.”

Forty years may have passed, but the memory of that betrayal had stayed with him. He’d never forget how Buffy had felt that night when he’d found her… or when he’d held her.

“We were all afraid then, Spike. No, more like terrified. No one wanted to die, and we all thought we could somehow escape death if she was gone. That made absolutely no sense whatsoever when you think about it.”

He couldn’t disagree with that.

“She was the only one willing to die then, which is tragically ironic now, since...” She looked away then briefly.

“I was overwhelmed with guilt after she’d left that night, you know. I’d felt like I’d chosen everyone else in the world over her, and after she’d risked everyone else in the world to save me from Glory.” Her face looked pained. “And after she’d left, I was suddenly more afraid for her, than I’d been for myself.”

He was getting confused – unsure of where the conversation was heading.

“Until you came back.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You made me feel so ashamed.”

“Dawn-“

She waved a hand to stop him.

“But you also made me feel better about what I’d done. You have no idea how relieved I was to know that you would go to her. I was still worried for her, but I knew she wouldn’t be alone.”

He swallowed. “I’ll always have her back, Niblet.”

“I know. Maybe that’s why you stayed away. You were there for her when she needed you most, when she had no one else. But you stayed away when you knew she would be alright.”

That wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have, so he shifted focus. “She never blamed you, Niblet, at least not that I remember. And I’ve never blamed you for giving me the cold shoulder after what I had done to her. Your reaction to me was natural – for fuck’s sake it was moral. And it came from a place of love for your sis.”

“Yeah, but-“

“And despite not wanting to have anything to do with me, you weren’t unkind to me.”

Dawn gave him a disbelieving look.

“Okay, maybe a little at first.” He smirked slightly. “But you let me be there for her. You didn’t try to control her life like the others did. You didn’t try to bloody kill me,” he finished jokingly.

Dawn chuckled lightly. “Well, I’m sorry, Spike.”

“Niblet, you don’t-“

“Maybe not. But I am sorry. And… It’s really good to see you again.”

Spike lowered his head and nodded shyly.

“Ooh!” Her eyes widened suddenly with excitement. “I’ve got a present for you! I completely forgot.”

Spike eyed her warily. “A present, huh?”

She nodded eagerly. “I’ll be right back,” she added with a giggle, before dashing out of the room like she was fifteen again.

When she reappeared in his bedroom, she had her hands behind her back.

“Close your eyes.”

He couldn’t suppress a chuckle at her behavior. Sod it. He’d play along. It wasn’t every year he got a present.

“Okay, open them.”

Opening his eyes, Spike looked at an empty-handed Dawn, before looking down at the foot of his bed.

“Bloody hell, Niblet. That looks just like-“

“Because it is. I rescued it from Buffy’s house.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. You’re lucky you’d hung it on the bathroom door, and not in the foyer, or it would have been toast. Or…” She scrunched up her face. “Whatever burnt leather would be.”

Mindful of the pillow on his lap, Spike reached out carefully for the coat. It was his coat, good as new – or, not singed at least. Bringing it to his nose, it had the distinct smell of smoke now, but that hardly mattered. Digging into the inside pockets, he found a pack of cigarettes, his phone and the key to his flat. Bloody hell. His day was looking up. He let an unguarded smile spread across his face.

“Thanks, love. Thought I’d lost her.”

“It’s a she?”

“Anything that matters always is.”

She smiled at him warmly, and then turned to leave. “I think I’ll let you get decent now. There’s blood and food in the kitchen.”

“Dawn.”

She turned back to him.

“Its good to see you too,” he offered quietly.

“See? Was that so hard?”

He looked at her questioningly.

“You should tell Buffy the same.” And with a smug turn of her face, she was gone.


* * * * *

Once he was dressed, Spike headed downstairs to find Buffy, and found her sleeping on the living room sofa. She was lying precariously on the couch – all four limbs dangling lazily over the edge. She’d let her hair out since that morning, so it fell down over her face like a waterfall and pooled on the floor. The TV was on, but at low volume, and in the darkened room, it’s flickering glare cast harsh, unsettling light onto her face. She couldn’t be comfortable.

Silently, Spike crept to the TV to shut it off. A few steps shy of the remote, the floorboards squeaked noisily under his feet and she was –

THUMP

“Uhn!”

…on the floor.

Oops. He couldn’t help it. It may have been the worst thing to do to her at such a god-awful time, but he erupted into laughter.

Pushing up with her arms and lifting her head from the floor, Buffy threw stakes at his face with her eyes.

“Is something funny?”

But Spike was laughing too hard to reply. Hands on his knees, he bent over and laughed harder at the look on her face.

“Fuck!”

The next moment his legs were flying out from under him, and he was crashing head first onto the floor.

And it was her turn to laugh.

He was only annoyed for a second, before the sound of her delight warmed his insides.

“Not fair, love,” he said with a chuckle, as he propped himself up on his elbows. “I didn’t dump you off the couch. You dumped yourself.”

“Yeah, well nothing’s fair in love and war, Spike,” she teased.

Spike tensed.

And which one is this? he asked her, but only in his mind. His lips were forming a different response. “Your landing aside, I see someone’s woken up on the right side of the sofa.” He was flipping to a stand the next second. “It’s nice to see your spirits improved.”

Buffy frowned, as if suddenly self-conscious about her happiness.

“Not a good sleep then?”

She shrugged. “I hadn’t really meant to go to sleep. Didn’t feel like dreaming, so I figured I’d watch-“

“Demon Hordes?” Spike had tilted his head to look behind her at the screen.

“It’s a-“

“Classic, I’m sure. Sounds like a good way to avoid nightmares too – you know – if you’re insane.”

“Or a Slayer who hangs out with a vampire. I’m not exactly afraid of demon hordes, Spike. And it wasn’t nightmares I was hoping to avoid – more like memories. I tend to relive moments from my life when I come back.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “Weird.”

“Yeah. And my dreams can get a bit too real for a few days after that. It’s like I get stuck in some real time and place from my past. It can be pretty freaky. I don’t always know where I am when I wake up.”

Spike raised his scarred brow. “Do you know where you are now?”

“With you in the room?” She smiled at him then, which gave him an odd sort of feeling, because he wasn’t quite sure what she’d meant.

“So how are you feeling?”

Buffy stretched her arms above her head as she stood on her toes then cracked her neck with a snap. “Good. Sore in the middle still, but strong.” Her eyes widened suddenly and a shadow seemed to cross her face.

“It’s not your fault if you’re getting stronger from their deaths, love.”

Her face turned stony. “I know that.”

Bugger. He was a real mood killer. He needed to lighten things up again. “So Niblet saw me naked.”

“What?!”

Spike chuckled. “Calm down, Slayer. She’s a grown-up.”

Buffy advanced on him.

“And that came out wrong,” he replied in a rush, as he took a step back, still smiling. “She came into my room when I’d just woken up, and you know how I sleep in-“

“Spike.”

“Sorry. There’s a point here, I swear,” he assured her with a chuckle.

“So get to it.”

“She didn’t see anything, pet. But I was a bit… well, bashful about her being in there.”

She just blinked at him, arms tensed at her sides.

“Uh… Anyway, she told me to relax because seeing me naked would be about as interesting to her as seeing one of her kid’s friends that way.”

Buffy relaxed her stance.

“It’s funny, that’s all – Niblet looking at me like I’m a kid.”

It was a small smile, but it was there.

He tilted his head to the side. “Does she look at you that way too?”

She seemed to think about it for a second then shrugged. “Sometimes. But I look like I did when she was fifteen, so I still wear the face of her big sister, you know? I don’t think she and Xander really think about themselves as being old until they look in the mirror. But at other times… I guess when she’s conscious of her age or when she thinks I’m being childish, she thinks I haven’t grown up because I don’t look middle-aged.”

“There’s a whole fucking world of middle-aged-looking children out there, love. Exhibit A is your brother-in-law.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “It doesn’t bother me so much when Dawn does it. I think it’s more difficult for them. I mean, they’re doing what they’re supposed to be doing as the years go by – getting wrinkles, jobs, kids, retirement plans. I’m the one not … but I can’t see anything wrong with me not looking like the self I’ve always known, you know? When I look in the mirror at whatever age, I always recognize myself, so nothing looks strange. But when they look at me sometimes, I think I seem-”

“Out of place.”

She looked away.

“Sounds lonely, love.”

She looked back to him suddenly, a frown marring her face. “We should head to Slayer Central soon and check on everyone.”

He didn’t answer – too distracted as he was by her choice of words. Were they a ‘we’ now? Had they become a team? A dynamic duo? Was this to be the new state of things? Did this mean she wanted him to stay? Could it really have been that easy to reintegrate into her life? Had he spent the last forty years without her for no reason? Did-

“Today will be hard for them, Spike.”

’Focus, mate’, he thought to himself.

“They’ve lost Slayers before, but… Well, they haven’t been losing them for as long as I have. It’s still new. I mean… it’s still hard.”

He could hear the sadness in her voice, could see it in her eyes. But it didn’t seem to overwhelm her. “Alright, pet. Ready when you are.”

“I need to eat something first.”

“Dawn said there was food and blood in the kitchen.”

“Perfect. Um, the first part, I mean.”

“Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it, pet.”

“Nah. Think I’ll knock it now, thanks.” Buffy started to walk towards the kitchen, but then stopped and turned around.

“I wonder what my kitchen looks like.”

Bugger. He’d almost forgotten how much she’d lost even before the battle in L.A. “You had a great, little house there, Slayer.”

“Had? You think I’m going to stay with my sister for much longer? At my age? Oh no. We’re fixing it up, Spike. Just as soon as we handle the Dragvloks.” And with that, Buffy resumed her march to the kitchen, leaving Spike to wonder who the bloody hell she meant by ‘we’.

~ ~ ~

She’s lonely, Spike. Obviously.

Lonely.

Yeah.… You’re a distraction.

A distraction.

A reminder… of who she was, back in Sunnydale. When she was young. And mortal. I remind her of what she is now, and of the future that lies ahead of her. Don’t you see? She can’t handle that right now…

~ ~ ~

Maybe the wanker wasn’t so delusional – about some things anyway. So she was lonely. It’s not like he wasn’t lonely too. Nothing wrong with that. Everybody was. That was reason enough to want someone else in your life. And he’d promised himself that he’d be there for her, for as long as she needed him, in whatever way she did. If she needed a distraction, he could be that.

Of course, if she were any other woman, he wouldn’t be that. Hell, if she were a mortal Buffy, he wouldn’t be that for her. He’d refused to settle for crumbs from her years ago. That had been part of the reason he’d never told her he’d come back. He’d regained a bit of dignity after burning from the bloody inside out, and he knew he’d never get from her what he wanted. And he’d wanted all of her then. Sod it. He was done lying to himself. He wanted all of her still. But the world had already asked too much of her. He wouldn’t ask for more.

No matter how badly he wanted it.

“Hey, Buff!”

The Whelp was in the kitchen. Spike wasn’t in the mood for his stupidity, but he knew he could use a bit of blood, so decided to join them.

“Hey, Xan. Did you guys sleep well?” he heard Buffy say.

“Yeah, like the dead.”

Spike entered the kitchen just in time to see the Whelp smack his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Someone please cure me of my foot-in-mouth disease.”

“It’s alright, Xander.” Buffy gave him a pat on the chest and returned to the counter where she’d started making a sandwich.

“Evening, Harris.”

Xander jumped at the sound of his voice. “Jesus, Spike. Why can’t you make more noise when you enter a room, like normal people do? You know, drag your feet or lumber or something.”

Spike bit back a retort and remembered his manners. “Thanks for the room, Harris. I needed the sleep.”

“Oh.” The Whelp looked surprise by his gratitude. “No worries. Mi casa es… um, mi casa, actually. You’ve got your own. But these were unusual circumstances, so-”

“Spike, there’s blood here,” Buffy interrupted.

“Cheers, pet.” Eager to end the conversation, Spike went to prepare himself a mug as Buffy set to devouring her sandwich at the counter.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” Xander asked cheerfully.

“Back to Slayer Central, first,” Buffy replied through a mouthful. “I want to check on the girls.”

“Of course.”

“Then it’s recon for the Dragvloks.”

“So soon?”

“No time like the present, Xander.”

Xander sighed, seemingly resigned. “Alright, Buff. Anything I can do?”

“Yeah, actually. We need to get Slayer Central fixed up. I don’t know how much the Council will do-“

“What’s this about the Council?” Dawn entered the room and wrapped an arm around Xander’s waist.

“Buff was just saying that Slayer Central needs a handyman.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, I only got the Council involved for the cleanup. You know how independent the L.A. girls are. I figured they’d rather see the Council leave sooner than later. We’ll pay for repairs, of course, once they find someone local to repair the damage.”

“Think you could draw on those old contractor skills, Xander? You know, find us a renovator or something?”

“No problemo. One actually comes to mind. I’ll ring the guys I was going to get to renovate our place for the Comptel 5 installation. Hey! Maybe if I give them the warehouse business, they’ll give us a discount, Dawnie, and we could-“

“Keep dreaming, honey.”

Deflated, Xander grabbed a slice of roast beef and began chewing despondently.

Rolling her eyes with amusement, Buffy finished the last bite of her sandwich. “Ready, Spike?”

Quickly, he downed the last bit of blood in his mug. “After you, Slayer.” He smiled at Dawn. “Thanks, Niblet.”

“Any time.”

“Have you got the keys?” Buffy asked, as they walked to the front door.

“That’s not all I’ve got.” Spike hustled to the foot of the stairs where he’d left his coat thrown over the banister. Meeting Buffy in the foyer, he slid his duster on like an old skin.

Buffy smiled at him. ‘Yeah, Dawn told me earlier. I can’t believe it survived. That can’t be your old one, though. Surely it burned in the Hellmouth.”

“Try again. It’s my third. I’ve had this one for about thirty years – which is longer than I had the first one.”

“Looks good. Actually, it looks better than the old one.”

“It does. Feels better too. And it means something. Got this one when I was free. Free of Angel. Free of Drusilla. Free of the chip. Free of the hold my demon had over me.” Spike paused as his mind drifted back to Nikki Wood. “Plus I reckon I’ve saved ten times the number of Slayers in this coat than I’ve ever hurt.”

“Spike-“

“Don’t get me wrong. I never felt guilty about wearing the old coat. I was proud. I was a vampire. She was a Slayer. We had our parts to play. She would have killed me and never looked back. But… “

“Yeah?”

“Well, this one means more now.”

She didn’t reply – just looked at him pensively.

“Also, it’s Italian,” he added glibly. “Softer leather, broader shoulders. And did you see the stitching?” He extended a sleeve for her inspection.

“Very nice, Spike,” she acknowledged with a smirk.

“Let’s get out of here, pet, before Harris has something else to say.”

Grabbing the scythe, his new sword, and a sweet-looking bowie knife from the foyer corner, the two walked outside to the Mini. He hadn’t realized he’d parked it so haphazardly – half in the driveway and half on the grass.

“Sorry Queenie looks like shit again, Slayer, but that’s mostly your fault.”

“Hey!”

“You’re the one who was mowing down Dragvloks like bowling pins.”

“Oh yeah,” she said with a pout.

“How about I drive?”

“Fine by me.”

The two rode in companionable silence for several minutes as Spike drove without regard for the speed limits and traffic signs. He was surprised she didn’t complain. When he’d steal a glance her way after a particularly gross violation of traffic law, she’d look more amused than anything.

“So what happened with Angel?” she asked unexpectedly.

Bollocks. Did they have to have this conversation?

“Nothing new, Slayer.”

“Were you fighting over me?”

He looked at her askance. “Over you?”

“About me, I mean,” she corrected hurriedly. “If Angel came to see you, I’m guessing he told you to stay away from me.”

Spike didn’t answer.

“But it looks like you’re going to ignore that advice…”

Bugger. This wasn’t a conversation he knew how to have – mainly, because he didn’t know the bloody rules. He didn’t know what she was trying to say, let alone what she wanted to hear. So he stayed quiet.

“Spike,“ she stated with force.

So he relented. “Angel hasn’t been the boss of me since I was a fledge, Slayer. And he’s never been the boss of you. I could give a fuck what advice he has for me. If you want me gone-“

“Spike-“

“I’m gone. Just say the word.”

“And if I want you to stay?”

He paused. “Then I’m here, Buffy.”

Silence.

“For how long?” Her tone was flat and dispassionate.

He kept his eyes on the road. “For as long as you need me, I guess. I’ve been hunting demons and saving Slayers for years now. I can do it here, just as easily as anywhere else.”

Silence.

“Right.”


* * * *

They made it to Slayer Central in very little time at the speed he drove, and they’d spent most of that time lost in their own thoughts.

The Council goons were still stationed at the front entrance looking dutifully intimidating – for humans, anyway – and the inside lights were on and glowing through the windows.

Nodding at the Slayer as she and Spike approached the entrance, the two guards silently parted to let them through.

“Buffy!” Pipa yelled from the upstairs hallway.

“Hey, Pipa.” Her happiness to see the young girl walking around was obvious.

“Hold on, I’ll get the others.” Pipa disappeared down the upstairs hallway, but with noticeable difficulty, and reappeared a minute later with Gina, Sonny, and the other two.

“Buffy!” Gina shouted. The girls descended the stairs to greet her – Sonny and Pipa the slowest to move.

“How ya doin’, sis?” Gina asked, before smiling at Spike. “’W’sup, bro?”

Spike nodded.

“I’m fine,” Buffy replied. “You know me. More importantly, how are all of you?”

“Sonny and I were the most badly wounded,” Pipa acknowledged, as she finally made it to the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m fine,” Sonny insisted with irritation. But she’d already seated herself on the edge of a burnt and busted armchair.

“And the rest of you? Stevie? Rachel?”

“We’re alright,” Rachel replied.

“Where are the others? Dawn said there were… eight.”

The girls exchanged knowing glances, before Pipa spoke up.

“Mel, Tori and Sally went out.”

“Out?”

“To find the Dragvloks,” Pipa admitted guiltily.

“What? Why? What were they thinking?”

“What do you think they were thinking?” Sonny challenged. “Sal lost Carla last night and Mel and Tori lost all of their crew.”

“Sonny, there’s no ‘their crew’ and-“

“Spare me, Pipa, please,” Sonny remarked wearily.

“Okay.” Buffy injected. “Where did they go?”

“We – don’t – know.”

“Watch it,” Spike warned Sonny.

“Excuse me? Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”

“Well for one, I’m your fucking elder, you stupid bint, and I could make you do whatever the fuck I wanted. But I don’t care what you do, so long as you show Buffy the respect she deserves.”

“Spike,” Buffy said with mild admonishment.

“Yeah,” he quickly replied, his eyes never leaving the young Slayer.

“Step away. She’s been through enough.”

Sonny scrunched up her face in disgust. “I don’t need your pity, Summers. And I sure as hell don’t want it.”

“Sonny, I don’t-“

“Whatever.” Sonny hobbled away towards the kitchen.

“What the hell is her problem?” Spike asked.

“Buffy,” Gina replied simply. “She doesn’t like her.”

“Gathered that much, pet. The question is why.”

“Long story,” Pipa replied nervously. “So, Buffy… what happens now?”

Buffy scanned the faces of the girls in the room. “You all should rest. Recover. There are only a half dozen Dragvloks out there, and if Spike and I can find them and take them down, then this nightmare is over. You guys just focus on yourselves and on rebuilding your home.”

“You want us to sit on our asses why you go hunt those bastards alone?” Stevie questioned with disbelief.

“That sounds like a good plan to me,” Rachel mumbled.

“Because it is,” Buffy insisted. “Stevie, there’ll be other battles for you to fight. There always are. The best thing you can do now is to stay together and heal. Xander is getting someone in to fix up the place and – you know, refortify it. Then we can send the Council guys home. In the meantime, you get a break from all the bloodshed to just… be girls for a change.”

“Be girls?” Stevie echoed.

“Okay, young women,” Buffy corrected.

“And what about protecting the city?”

“Spike and I can handle L.A. for a few days, Stevie. My house was torched too, so I’ll be in town for a while.”

“I don’t know, sis. We haven’t stopped slaying since we were called,” Gina argued. “There’s no vacation from this gig.”

“Well there should be. Or at least, with so many Slayers in the world now, there can be. We lost too many last night. We don’t have to risk more so soon. We’ve got Spike here to help now.”

“Okay,” Pipa replied. “We can do this, guys. We can lay low. Regroup. Focus on the family.”

“Jesus Christ, Pipa–“

“So we’re decided,” Buffy declared interrupting Stevie. “You’ll leave the city and the Dragvloks to Spike and me. Is there anything else you guys need?”

“Precious would be nice,” Gina offered.

“Who?”

“She means The Caretaker, Buffy,” Pipa explained. “For me and Sonny. But I told her he probably wouldn’t come again so soon, and especially not with the Council’s men here. We’re okay, though, really. We’re healing. We’ve had the Council doctor in.”

Buffy shifted her eyes from one girl to the other. “Are you sure?”

Gina sighed. “It’s your body, Pip. But you don’t have to hurt like this.”

“We’re sure,” Pipa replied.

“Okay. Well, I’ve got my wrist thingie if you guys need me. I don’t have my phone anymore-“

“I’ve got one, love.” Spike pulled his cell phone from his duster pocket. “We can ring them to check in later.”

Buffy nodded, and then moved to embrace Pipa. “I’m sorry Pipa, but I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“Thanks, Buffy.”

One by one, Buffy hugged each girl, Gina last. “Take care of them, Gina,” she whispered in her ear.

“You know I will.”

Nodding to the group, Spike turned to leave with Buffy one step behind him.

“Hey, Spike,” Gina shouted as they stepped out the door.

Spike stopped and turned around to face her.

“Love the coat,” she commented with a smile.

Pause.

Spike blinked.

“Thanks.”

* * * *

It took him a moment to shake off the sense of déjà vu.

“They look to be holding up alright, pet.”

They were back in the car but Spike hadn’t started the engine.

“I guess, all things considered. But it’s not them I’m worried about.”

“You’re thinking about Sally and the others.”

Buffy bent her head back against the seat.

“They’re Slayers, pet. You can’t keep them out of harm’s way. It’s where they belong.”

“But they’re grieving, Spike. And they may be injured too.”

“And you never fought that way.”

“They’re not me.”

“No, they’re not. And they’re not your charges either. They’re girls with minds and wills of their own, Slayer. All you can do is back them up – to the extent that they’ll let you anyway.”

“Should we find them?” she asked with uncertainty.

“No. We should find the assholes that want to kill them. Then you don’t have to worry at all. And I know just where to start.”

* * * *

They were standing outside a nondescript, windowless building with a cast iron door. Only the green neon sign reading ‘Lilith’s’ gave any indication that the place was a business.

“Anybody know you around here, Slayer?”

“Not really. I’m not the only petite blond with superpowers anymore. And I don’t spend that much time in L.A.”

“Good.”

“Spike, we better not be here to play kitten poker.”

“Relax, Slayer. We’ll just have a drink at the bar, keep our ears open, and maybe strike up a conversation with a drunk idiot or two.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Sure. It’s my local pub. They serve a great A neg and Jack.”

“A neg? As in human blood?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“I don’t wear knickers.”

“Since when?”

“Spike. I mean I wear– Wait. We were talking about you drinking human blood.”

“It’s legit, Slayer. A business like this couldn’t kill for its blood for very long without getting caught. There’s no end to the supply of blood donors strapped for cash.”

“People are selling their blood to this place?”

“Why not? They used to sell it to the Red Cross back in the day. Do you know how many homeless there are in this city?”

“No.”

“Well… neither do I. But they used to outnumber the population of Sunnydale, pet. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement. So relax.”

Spike pounded on the door three times and waited.

No one answered.

“Maybe they’re closed, Spike.”

Spike glared at her.

“Spike they’re not-“

Slowly, the door swung open.

He smirked. “After you, pet.”

“Wait. Is this our only exit? There are no windows, Spike. I-“

“Slayer, you’re immortal for Christ’s sake. And I don’t mean immortal like a vampire, cause I can dust. You’re also stronger than just about anything that would walk into this joint. And most importantly…” The corners of his mouth turned up slowly. “You’re with me.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “And?”

“And if anybody asks, I’ll just say you’re dinner.”

“Oh. So this is a dinner date?”

Spike chuckled. “Not bad, Slayer. Love that you can joke about it.”

Buffy frowned. “I’ve got a great sense of humor. That’s not new.”

“Maybe not. But it’s definitely more… liberal.”

“Whatever. Let’s get inside.”

The bar was well lit for a demon bar, but with a sickly green light that made the scarlet walls look the color of old, dried blood. There were less than a dozen demons in the place, representing just as many species, and they were scattered about – on bar stools, at tables and in dark corners. The mood was surprisingly lively though, and there was plenty of chatter over the music. That is, until Spike and Buffy walked through the door. Within seconds, every set of eyes in the place had the newcomers in their sights.

Correction: had Buffy in their sights.

Bugger.

Spike slipped his fingers through Buffy’s hair and gripped the back of her head forcefully. He hoped she knew to play along. He wasn’t remotely afraid for their safety, but he knew the only way to get intel from this crowd, was to blend in quick.

Turning to walk towards the bar, he tried to drag Buffy behind him by the back of her head. He got as far as one step before she resisted.

“What-“

Vamping out with a growl, Spike had her pinned against the wall at inhuman speed - his fangs scraping at her neck without breaking the skin. She tensed instantly, but didn’t resist. Pressing her hard into the wall with his body, he dragged his tongue from the base of her neck to the angle of her jaw. He could hear her heart pounding in her chest as he licked her – could feel the pulse of her artery against his lips.

He was hard in an instant.

From the angle of her jaw, he dragged his tongue to her ear and growled low.

She whimpered.

And he was lost.

Grabbing her roughly by the arms, he shoved her hard against the wall. Golden eyes travelled down to her mouth, pink and open, as if inviting him in.

She licked her lips.

Fuck. Bloody, blistering fuck. What the fuck had happened? Was she just playing along? How far was she willing to go? Could he take what he wanted?

Sod it. He gripped her harder and thrust her roughly to his chest. Shifting back into his human face, he lowered his mouth to–

“You gonna a buy a drink, vampire, or what? This ain’t BYO!”

Bloody hell.

Spike clenched his jaw and exhaled through his nose. Avoiding her eyes, he relaxed his grip and let her go. As he turned to face the bartender, he thought about all the possible ways he could make him suffer for the interruption. But he had a role to play.

“Jack. Straight. Just give me the whole fuckin’ bottle, mate.”

The barkeep nodded, then grabbed a bottle and slid it down the bar top into Spike’s waiting hand. For some reason, he was terrified to look back at her, so he slumped into a stool and took a drink from the bottle.

“Save your dinner for after you’re gone, vampire. Nobody’s cleaning up your mess here.”

Spike just glared at the demon with annoyance.

She took the stool next to him and knocked on the counter to get the barman’s attention. She was promptly ignored.

“Um, excuse me. I’d like a drink, please.”

The bartender exchanged a glance with a few demons further down the bar and the group of them burst out laughing.

“She’d like a drink!” he echoed between chuckles.

The whole bar seemed to relax again after that, and the noise of lively chatter picked up again.

Mustering the nerve to look at her again, Spike turned his head to her slightly.

“Zip it, ducks. Let a bloke enjoy a drink in peace. You just sit there looking delicious. Got it?”

She looked murderous, but managed a smile. “Got it, hon.”

Spike slouched against the back of the wooden stool, legs spread wide, and sipped his bottle. His face was a mask, but his mind was on permanent replay of the kiss that hadn’t happened. He’d finished a third of his bottle before the Slod demon two stools away struck up a conversation.

“Cute whore. How did you do it? Thrall?”

Spike swallowed his fury at the prick and replied with practiced nonchalance.

“Don’t need thrall. She’s a regular snack, not a kill.”

The Slod leaned forward and appeared to inspect her neck.

“That’d be too obvious, mate,” Spike added.

The Slod narrowed his eyes.

“Put it this way. I eat her where she wants, then I eat her where I want.” He pressed his tongue behind his teeth and grinned.

The Slod leaned back and laughed heartily. “They’ll let you do anything if you do that for them, won’t they?”

“Pretty much, mate. Pretty much.”

Et voila. Spike had found his first idiot. It was easy enough with Slods. Like vampires, they looked largely human, so they shared that burden. It was a benefit in human society, certainly, but it made them less popular amongst their own. Of course, the fact that Slods were known for collecting rare organs like vampire hearts no doubt made Spike an even more attractive conversation partner.

“I’ve seen you here before, vampire.”

“Have you?”

“You’re rather hard to forget. You look like a human movie star.”

Spike smirked. “I live nearby.”

“Do you? You must be a man of means. I’ve got a shit hole on Riker’s Street.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “That near Trimmold Street?”

“The same neighborhood, yes, but two streets over. You must have heard about what happened there then, since you mentioned it.”

“Heard a bunch of Dragvloks had a party. Made streamers out of some Slayers.”

That sent the demon laughing again. “Nice way to put it, vampire. I like that. But I don’t know how accurate that is. Those little cunts got their licks in too.”

“No pun intended,” Spike deadpanned.

“Right,” he replied with a chuckle. “You’re a funny one, vampire.”

“Name’s Bill.”

“Billy the Kid?”

“Sure. Why not.”

“That suits you. With those looks and all.”

“You hittin’ on me, mate? Cause I don’t shag Slods anymore. They have a habit of breaking my heart.”

The Slod almost fell off his stool laughing at that one.

“Oh Bill, you are a funny one! Don’t worry about me. I’m not interested in vampires anymore either. I hit the jackpot with that Dragvlok attack though.”

“Yeah? Didn’t know Dragvlok hearts were valuable.”

“Oh yes. Certain shamans in the area will pay top dollar for them. That’s where looking human comes in handy. I gathered a few hearts and talons last night. But that wasn’t the prize.”

Spike swallowed the bile that threatened to rise up his throat.

The Slod spoke up so that the whole room could hear. “I’ve procured myself a Slayer tongue!”

The entire bar erupted into hoots, howls and cheers.

Spike threw his right arm over the back of his stool and quickly placed a hand on Buffy’s thigh. He could feel the tension under his fingers.

“You’re full of shit, mate.”

“You don’t believe me, Bill?”

“How’d you get past the Slayers?”

“Easy. The place was over-run with humans after the Dragvloks fled. I slipped in and sliced a tongue off one of the Slayers furthest from the rest. I couldn’t risk taking anything more obvious. But nobody bothers to look inside a dead girl’s mouth,” he confided with glee.

He could feel the muscles in her thigh flex and squeezed hard.

“Good on ya, mate. I haven’t had the taste of Slayer in an age.”

That sent the Slod chuckling again at the pun. “They’re easy pickings these days, Bill. They don’t make a Slayer like they used to.”

“So you reckon the Dragvloks will try and finish off the rest?”

“Hm. I don’t know, but I hope not.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, there was barely half a dozen fleeing the scene last night. You know there used to be a hundred Dragvloks in this realm, but the Slayers have brought them to the edge of extinction. Those few last night may have been the only ones left and I’d hate to see them lose any more of their number.”

“Poor buggers.”

“Indeed. They’ve probably killed enough Slayers to satisfy their revenge for the moment. If I were a Dragvlok, I’d be focused on breeding now to regrow the population.”

The muscles under his fingers were taut as bowstrings. Spike knew he had to get her out of there before things got bloody.

“Well, speaking of breeding…”

The Slod giggled mischievously.

“Enjoy your snack, Bill.”

Spike nodded, took another swig of Jack, and slipped the bottle into his pocket. After paying his tab, he grabbed the back of Buffy’s neck without meeting her eyes, and bustled her out of the bar.

Closing the bar door behind him, he reluctantly turned to face her.

“Ow!”

He hadn’t expected a punch in the nose. He knew she’d be angry, but he thought the Slod would get the brunt of it.

“Slayer, I-“

“I get what you were doing, Spike,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

“Then why–“

“To remind you who you’re dealing with.”

“You think I’d forget?”

“Well it’s been a while.”

“Buffy-“

“I want his head, Spike. And I want it now.”

“I know, Slayer. And you’ll get it. But not here. Not now. There’s no need to blow our cover at this place. We know where the bastard lives. Also, he’s been useful. We may be able to use him again before we gut him.”

He could almost feel the anger rolling off of her shoulders. God, she was beautiful.

“Look, Buffy. The Dragvloks may not be so easy to find at this stage if they’ve gone underground. And I don’t know who else would know more about their whereabouts than the fucking organ poacher who actually saw what went down.”

She seemed to be calming down and considering things. “Wait. That jerk mentioned something about shamans paying top dollar for demon parts.”

“And?”

“And we know a shaman. We were just talking about him at Central. They call him the Caretaker. Maybe he knows something.”

“Bit of a stretch, pet, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s the only lead we have if we want to wipe the Dragvloks off the face of the earth.”

Spike tilted his head to the side. “Do we want to do that?”

“Huh?”

“Hunting demons, killing them. Yeah. Fun all around. But exterminating an entire species? Don’t know. Just seems wrong some how. Final, you know?”

She just stared at him. Blinking.

“Yeah, I know. I’m not exactly an expert on ethics.”

“No.”

He looked away. That shouldn’t have offended him, but it did.

“No, Spike. I mean you’re wrong.”

He met her eyes again.

“Your opinion is just as valid as mine. Maybe more. You’ve lived a lot longer, and you’ve seen enough evil and enough good to know the difference.”

“I’ve done enough evil, you mean.”

“Whatever. You have a soul now. You have a conscience. And the truth is, yeah. It does seem wrong when you put it like that. Who are we to exterminate a species? But this species wants to exterminate Slayers, so I have a job to do.”

“Alright.”

Buffy sighed wearily. “It’s all shades of grey, Spike. I realized that a long time ago. Most actions have good consequences to one group and bad consequences to another. In the end, we’re just picking sides.”

Spike looked at her longingly. “Well, I guess I’m on yours.”

She smiled shyly. “So we find the Caretaker.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Feel like visiting an old friend?”