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Author’s Note: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed this story. It meant so much to me and really kept me going. It’s been fun. Thanks again.


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Three days. It had been three days since Buffy returned home in the evening with her hand in Spike’s, assuring everyone that she was not dead. Three days ago she was met with the knowing smiles of Dawn, Willow, and even April.

Lying on her side, wide awake in her bed, Buffy’s half-awake mind remembered those last few days in a content, dream-like trance. Her eyes blinked open and then she felt a cool finger stroke the length of her spine. She shivered slightly and unconsciously rolled over into Spike’s arms. He gave a lop-sided grin as his arm skimmed up her legs to settle on her hip.

“Didn’t know you were awake, pet.”

She smiled sleepily.

“What...is that?”

“What?”

“That back tingly thingy.”

“‘S an old sire’s trick. The first thing Darla ever showed me while I was fledge.”

Buffy frowned.

“You slept with Darla?”

“Nah. Came home too close to dawn one night, Angelus was already asleep but she wasn’t.”

She slid her arms around him so her fingers could graze his back and let her head fall to rest on his shoulder.

“So that’s why I’m in your arms every morning,” she said playfully. “And here I thought it was love.”

Spike’s hand came up to grasp her chin, tilting her face toward his.

“It is,” he said quietly and serious before capturing her mouth with his own. The kiss began with a mix of tenderness and love but passion and lust soon became the main focus point. Eyes closed, his lips still locked with hers, Spike tugged the sheet down their bodies.

Buffy giggled and pulled back a minute to catch her lover’s eyes.

“God. I missed this,” she said before leaning forward to steal another kiss her leg brushing up against his side in an invitation. Not that he needed it.

Spike smiled into her mouth. He would never get used to having a writhing, wriggly Buffy in his arms.

The paths they’d taken to reach this state of joy—their contented purrs rolling around their bedroom walls—had been riddled with obstacles but in the end their inner demons knew their mates. Throughout this unlife-altering ordeal, not once did Buffy’s mind flicker to Angel.


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Lorne turned a shimmering crystal that sprayed a rainbow of colors in his hand as he held it out to Fred.

“I would have been here sooner, but I had to stop and get it enchanted. Cedrian Crystals don't actually come that way,” Lorne said as Fred took it eagerly.

“Will it work?” Gunn asked.

“It should. Cedrian crystals are said to contain millennia of stored mystical energy and it's about the size of a "D" battery.”

Cordelia and the Groosalug walked in. Cordelia threw her purse on the table before her eye was drawn to the contraption on the desk.

“That's gorgeous,” she said, moving closer.

“And priceless,” Fred added.

“Though in this instance priceless meaning 'without price' as in free. A six-horned Lach-Nie owed me a favor. Don't ask,” Lorne said, rolling his eyes.

Cordy pointed at the contraption on the desk in front of Fred: "I meant that."

“Oh. Standard issue army surplus Geiger counter,” Fred said as though she merely mentioning a new pen.

“We picked it up at a yard sale,” Gunn said.

“Shiny,” Cordy commented.

“What is its purpose?” the Groosalug inquired

“We're gonna use it to see if scary monsters came through the portal,” Gunn explained

“Anything that came out of Quor-toth should have left behind a kind of para-plasmic radioactivity. Of course, I'm working of the principal that everything in nature seeks a relaxed and stable state,” Fred babbled.

“I know I do,” Lorne commented off-handedly.

“Hey. So, how is he?” Cordelia said, turning to Gunn.

Gunn looked towards the stairs. “Well, still being all mature.”

“Really. Where?”

“Upstairs.”

Cordelia swapped between sighing in exasperation, chewing her bottom lip, and glancing up at the ceiling.

“I'm gonna go talk to him,” Cordelia said, her mind made up.

Groo watched Cordy as she walked towards the stairs. He let out a sigh, feeling as though her heart was walking away from his too.

Cordelia’s heels clicked as she walked down the dark hallway toward Angel’s room. She knocked quietly before sticking her head in. Angel was sitting in a comfortably-upholstered armchair. Cordelia had no idea where to start a conversation so she tried for neutral ground.

“Hey...I guess Fred is working on a way to determine if anything else came out of the portal.”

Angel didn’t look up; his gaze remained steady on the pad of drawing paper on his lap.

“That's good.”

Cordelia stared at the picture under his quickly skimming pencil.

“So, maybe if we're very, very lucky, later today we'll be able to kill something. You'd like that, wouldn't...”

Cordelia’s focus wavered as her gaze was drawn to the floor, where multitudes of drawings were littered haphazardly about. Some were crumpled, some were unwrinkled. “...you?” Her eyes darted from picture to picture.

Spike with Drusilla.
Spike with his demon forth, snarling.
Buffy.
Buffy grinning.
Spike smirking.
Buffy sleeping.
Buffy with Spike.
Buffy and Spike laughing, holding each other.
Buffy in her demon visage, looking dangerous.
Buffy and Spike kissing, his hand in her hair.
Spike with his fangs in Buffy’s neck with her delight clearly expressed on her face.

“Sure,” he said disinterestedly.

Cordelia blinked, coming out of the reverie the numerous drawings had concocted.

“Okay. Well, I just wanted to check in and let you know that I was on the clock and tell you that you're doing the right thing. With Connor. But...”

Angel’s hand stopped moving but he didn’t look up.

“This isn’t really the best way to get over Buffy. You could release tension like you normally do...y’know, fighting the good fight?”

After a beat, Cordelia turned to leave. She unconsciously felt her heart break a little when he didn’t stop her. After she closed the door, Angel looked at his completed drawing before tearing it out, crumpling it up, and tossing it over his shoulder.

The picture of Spike kissing Buffy with his demon visage in place fell quietly to the floor.





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