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--


Summer 2004

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She leaned forward.

“Spill,” the redhead commanded with a grin.

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

“What’s life with Spike like?”

Buffy thought for a second or two.

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

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

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

Willow smiled tolerantly.

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

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

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

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

Buffy glared again.

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

Willow fought a laugh and rolled her eyes again.

--

Autumn 2004

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buffy turned and looked at him.

“Why?” She asked.

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

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

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

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

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

The conversation lulled.

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

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

“Sometimes.”

His eyes slid away again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Oh, definitely glued*, she thought.

--

Winter 2004

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

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

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

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

He thought as he watched her move.

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

--

Spring 2004

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ducky. You?” Anya said flippantly.

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

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

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

“Me too,” Anya said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Said something about what?”

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

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

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

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

Xander hesitated, looking unsure.

“Oh,” Anya said very quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he breathed, barely audible.

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

Anya turned quietly to leave.

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

Anya stopped.

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

“Don’t. Anya. God, please don’t.”

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

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

“Of what?”

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

“What if you don’t?”

Xander looked at Anya, who had stopped crying.

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

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

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

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

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





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