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“What day is it kitten?”

“Hmmmm, I think its Thursday but it could be Monday” came the chipper reply and Spike smiled, pulling the naked form of his mate closer to him. He loved feeding off her heat and her passion, almost as much as he loved feeding off her blood.

He nuzzled the tender marks along her neck, each one a symbol, each one with something important to say.

This is my mate.
This is my slayer.
This is my girl.
This is my salvation.

She cooed and nuzzled back, the sensations of his tongue laving at her wounds sending a ridiculously pleasant chill down her back and she shivered in response.

She went to stretch her back but stopped moving at the low growl rumbling in Spikes throat.

“Not done yet” he explained, and continued to bathe her newest marks.

She giggled and eyed him, “Has anyone ever told you that vampires are just big cats?”

He growled again.

“No seriously. You guys have that whole weird night eye vision thing going on, you purr, you hunt people like their nothing but mice…and let’s be honest, I saw you eyeing my ball of yarn the other night.”

“Fuck Buffy” Spike laughed, “The only reason I eyed that thing is because I know for a fact not a single one of the Summers women ever knitted, nor will they ever. I was just trying to suss out why the fuck you had it.”

Buffy giggled, “Dawn stole it, it was the only thing I didn’t make her return…I thought the embarrassment might kill her.”

Spike smiled, “What the hell am I gonna’ do with you birds?”

“Make us supper tonight?” Buffy asked with a pout on her face.

“That’s one option yeah…”

“And the other?”

“Have you for supper” he answered and nipped at her neck.
“If you have me for supper you’ll ruin dessert.”

He groaned, “Please don’t tell me what I think you’re telling me kitten”

“Yup” she replied, popping the P. “You broke my vagina, it needs to mend.”

“But you have slayer healing and what not” he tried to plead.

“slayer healing does not an invincible vagina make.”

“Stop saying vagina, it’s crude” Spike chided.

“Oh I’m soooo sorry, I almost forgot about your Victorian upbringing, does cunny sound better then? And don’t look at me like your shocked buddy, there’s only so many times you can use a word before I clue in to its meaning.”

“Alright, I’ll make you dinner…as long as you promise to be in top shape for later tonight.”

“I’ll do my best captain.”

Spike raised a brow, “I like that, remember to call me that later.”

She laughed and dislodged herself from the bed, “I’m going to shower, you mind calling Dawn to tell her to be home for 6:30?”

“Not a problem pet, off with you then. Do you mind if I use the shower in the guest room then? I’m not exactly sure it could be called hygienic to prepare food in the state I’m in.”

Buffy nodded and with a quick kiss to the lips she was off and Spike was dialing his nibblets number.

After a quick conversation with the youngest Summers Spike rushed into the shower, he didn’t have much time if he wanted supper to be on the table by the time Dawn walked through the door.

He hummed to himself as he washed, not remembering a single time ever coming this close to heaven. He was mated, he was well loved and he was wanted. He could die tomorrow and not regret a single thing except leaving her behind. He knew he would die protecting her.


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Spike put his head down and sighed, there was only weeks left to tell of and he was feeling the age that wasn’t supposed to affect him seeping into his long dead bones.

He was alone save his memories and while memories could help you go on they weren’t enough to go on in themselves. He missed her. He missed all of them but the loss of her was finally starting to catch up. Sometimes he could lose himself to his scribbles, almost forgetting that it was his hand writing down events passed, time’s not quite forgotten. But they would be, one day. And he knew that he did not want to be there when that day finally came and the world forgot about its heroes, HIS heroes. His girl. He’d been so absorbed in the memories that he had actually found himself anxious to see what happened next, lost in them and the pull they had on him. Had he been human his mind would have lulled him into endless sleep with the lure of the images that his skilled hand put onto paper everyday, but he was not. And he had a story to finish.

He knew that the end of the book signified the end of him. Knew that when the last page was written that too would be his last day. He found himself dreading it. Not the sunrise, or the inevitable breeze he would be swept up by, but dreaded the end of her story. It didn’t seem right, that someone so good, someone that did so much good, would have to eventually be put to rest. Even if she lived on paper, it didn’t seem right.

He stood up to stretch his limbs and walked over to the window, looking out at the late night fog that rolled over the streets. It reminded him of her. It touched everything. Some people find it beautiful, others eerie. It’s always mysterious, always gives a chill to passers by. He saw a young man walking through it and wanted to yell out, to stop him from marring it’s perfection. He wanted to seep into the fog and drift with it, wherever it was it was going.

He took a deep breathe and smiled, listening to the fog and the voices it carried with it. Blocking out all of them except for hers. Sometimes he would hear her in the breeze, other times in the waves, mostly in his dreams. But tonight she was in the fog, a gentle reminder.

“I know kitten, it’s almost done…almost done now.”





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