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The steady rhythm was comforting to him. The signs of life in this tiny room washed over him like gentle waves. The reverberation that sounded in his chest and ears was the sweetest sound Spike had ever heard. His girls were here, he was home and he was going to fight to stay. He was wanted. He was loved. Everything he could ever want was right here, in the tiny pocket universe of two girls. One whom he loved until the end of the world, the other, he'd loved beyond her death, and his. If he was dreaming he never wanted to wake up. If he was delirious, he didn't want the cure. He was home. And, he was never leaving again. He'd move heaven and earth to keep this. No one was taking it from him, again.

"Spike," Dawn's gentle voice, "wake up."

His eyes stayed shut, his arms enfolding a sleeping Slayer, "Bit, there'd better be another apocalypse, and if there is, tell Beelzebub I'm off the roster of Champions for the time being. Tell him I'll catch him on the next go, yeah?"

"It's okay," she whispered, careful not to disturb Buffy, "I just wanted to tell you that Willow and I are leaving. She set up a protection grid around the whole building, so, no one is getting in here that you don't want to get in. Angel said something about a Holland Manners. No one's getting in here without letting all of Los Angeles know it."

Spike's eyes stayed closed, "Dru?" he questioned.

"The gang knows what she looks like. And, just in case, Riley is just outside the door."

"Solider Boy rode to my rescue," Spike was more than a little shocked at that little tidbit of information, "Well then, I must be delirious."

Dawn giggled, "Glad you're here, Spike. I love you. See you tonight," she said as she shut the door.

Spike listened carefully, straining to hear his Little Bit until the last tympan of her heart faded into the white noise, and his private little duet became a solo performance.

Yes, he was home, and he wasn't going anywhere.
**********************

Drusilla knew that the time was coming. Miss Edith had told her that she would have to fight for what she had lost. That the nasty little sprite that flittered about William's heart was not going to give him up without a fight. Drusilla knew she could do it; turnabout was in the cards. William had faced the mouth of Hell, and Death herself, to see his ripe plum blossom again. She would face her, too.

Drusilla just needed one more piece to fall into place, then all the stars would align, and her treasure would be lost no more, and would be hers again, now and forever.
*********************

Her breathing became shallow, and slightly faster than it had been for the last two hours. His Slayer was waking up.

"Buffy," Spike said, in a singsong voice, "Don't dwell in dreamland too much longer. If you do, I just might have to kiss you until your head is spinning," Spike smiled at the contented sigh that escaped, as she burrowed deeper into his neck, "What was that, Pet? Didn't quite make that out."

Buffy sighed, "Do I have to? I like this dream. I don't want to wake up. This dream is so much nicer than the others."

Instinctively, Spike wrapped his hand around the back of Buffy's head, pulling her in closer, doing what little he could, now, to protect her. He was surprised to find that the words were having trouble getting past his suddenly pitifully small throat, "It's all right now. That's all over and done. Don't you worry."

Buffy came to full awareness when she heard the tight, raspy quality of his voice; it was obvious that the blood Angel had given him had not helped as much as she had hoped it would. Buffy slid away from his embrace, as gently as she could, and looked at his face. His eyes and face were shining with moisture. Spike had been crying, and from the looks of it, this wasn't the first time. "Spike," Buffy asked, unsure of what to do, "are you hurt?" Buffy began searching him for anything, any small wound she might have missed. She didn't want to add to his suffering. Buffy tried to place her hand on his face to wipe away the tears, but that seemed to hurt him even more. His chest started heaving as uncontrolled sobbing took him over. Alarmed, Buffy jumped out of the bed as if it were on fire, and asked, desperately trying to keep her own fears in check, "Spike, what is it?"

Spike shook his head, weakly, against the pillow, trying to compose himself, "No, Buffy," he choked, "it's not you. It's just, it finally hit me."

Buffy's face and body relaxed a little as she, slowly, came back to his side, "What did, Spike?" she asked as she gently wiped away the tears that had drifted back, on the pillow, away with her thumb. Buffy felt a ping of joy, as she felt Spike lean into her touch ever so slightly.

"That you're real," Spike whispered, "That this isn't a dream."

"Nope," Buffy smiled, wanting to press tiny kisses of love and reassurance into his skin, until the reality of her became a part of him, "You've got the real thing, right here," she kissed his cheek, "one hundred percent pure Buffy Summers," she leaned up on her elbow and stretched up to kiss the tip of his nose, "Live, and in, very," a little touch on his lips, and Buffy felt him shudder, "very bright Technicolor." Buffy peppered his face with kisses, vowing, silently with each one, that she would do whatever she had to do to prove to him that she did love him, and that he was not dreaming, and that her love would be the one thing he could rely on, now and forever.

Spike stopped resisting, and gave in. He let himself fall over the edge of what he knew, and let her ridiculously small, but incredibly strong arms hold him, safely, in their loving embrace. And, even though his body felt like molten lead, the nerves exploding in fire with every movement, he didn't care; he had to hold her. He reached up to the crown of her head, and slid his fingers through the rays of sunshine that she wore. The softness of her hair, the softness of her, made him whimper with the joy of having her again, and he gently held her to him.

Buffy felt the small tug, and fell, softly, with him. This wasn't the desperate, cruel, painful touch she'd always required of him before, this wasn't a touch that she intended to punish herself, or Spike, with. This touch, these kisses, was a promise. And, she realized, he was promising too. With each kiss, he was promising that he would be hers, forever.

Buffy never wanted to stop kissing him, but, suddenly, she felt lightheaded. At first, she thought it was a pleasant sensation, sort of a side effect of having Spike again, after so long a period of withdrawal. Love like this was better than any drug Buffy had ever read about, certainly better than anything she could ever dream up. But, no, this wasn't love that was making her giddy; it was lack of oxygen. What a way to go, she thought, as she reluctantly pulled away for air.

Spike sighed at the loss of contact, and giggled a little, slightly drunken from her kisses, and the way she made him feel, "Told you, Pet, I'd kiss you senseless."

"I love you, Spike," Buffy said, breathlessly, "I've never felt this alive, Spike, ever. I don't think I've ever felt this much love," Buffy looked at his face, and yes, there were burns, yes, he looked like he hadn't fed in a couple of years, and yes, she grinned, he was bald as a billiard ball, his hair hadn't grown in yet, I suppose that will come when Drusilla gets here, but, the glint in his eye, the tilt of his head as he was looking at her like she'd gone crazy, was all Spike. He was here, and he loved her. She knew that. Buffy continued, remembering another time and place, "You're the one, Spike. Now, and forever, I'll love you," Buffy kissed him again, and hoped that he knew how much she loved him.

As Buffy kissed him with all her heart, he knew that she meant what she said. She loved him. He was loved, now, and forever.





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