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Buffy sat on her bed twiddling her thumbs, waiting patiently (or trying to, anyway) for Spike to appear.

"Where are you?" she asked. "I need to see you."

While she waited, Buffy took the opportunity to look through Spike's journal. She still felt funny reading someone else's private thoughts, but he told her it was alright. Her curiosity about finding out who he was outweighed the ambivalence about intruding.

The thick leather-bound journal covered the last several years of his life in varying detail. William Randall Giles had been a sensitive, studious young man, who loved to read and write poetry and short stories. The other boys had picked on him a lot, he didn't have many friends. His mother died when he was 10, leaving his father Rupert to raise him. Rupert had been a good man, but a bit of a workaholic. William spent most of his time alone. He raved about his cousin, Darla, though. She was an angel to him, always kind and loving, more of a friend and confidant than merely a relation. She never judged him and made sure to make him feel important and loved. It was plain from his writings that he loved her more than anyone else. There were only a few entries after he came to live with her in June of 1978. Apparently, he was too distracted to keep up with it during that time. The last entry, July 1st, had him promising himself to try and make it a point to get back to journaling.

When William was 14, he met Cecily Adams. A young woman whose father was a high-powered attorney. There were a few love poems written to Cecily (obviously never sent) written in the book. Buffy could only make out a word or two here and there as the poems had been scribbled over in an almost vicious fashion. When she read further, she understood why. Cecily had brutally rebuffed William when he told her that he was in love with her. She didn't let the poor guy down easily either. Cecily had told him that he was 'beneath her', that his attentions made her sick and caused her embarrassment. On the pages that followed, young William poured his heart out; all the depression, grief and humiliation he felt were laid out on the pages. Buffy's heart went out to him.

She also read about the girl in his dreams, her. Buffy was taken aback by the descriptions of herself. He really did dream about her.

She read the entry from his 16th birthday; he had a highly erotic dream about her that night. Dream Girl had come to him at night, approaching his bed with her usual kind smile. Then she had slowly stripped for him while he laid in bed, watching her every move, afraid and excited at the same time. The dreams had never gone this far before. She climbed into bed with him and proceeded to make him a man (in his dreams anyway). He'd never had sex before, but his descriptions of the feelings and what he experienced seemed dead-on. Buffy felt a strange sense of pride that she (kind of) had been his first, just as her Dream Man (Spike) had been hers.

Early 1978 was when William made himself over into Spike. He was tired of always being the butt of jokes and letting people get over on him. He changed his image and let his inner-bad boy out. Spike attended youth dance clubs and started getting into punk rock. He was still too thoughtful and sensitive to truly live the lifestyle, but he had fun hanging out with people worlds apart from his usual crowd.

That day Buffy also opened up the trunk. There wasn't much inside: more clothes, some things that he'd kept belonging to his mother, some of the poems and stories that he'd written (Buffy wanted to read those), some photos of family and friends (photos of a young, smiling, dark-haired Spike with a man who must have been his father), etc. There was also a large stack of Playboys, including a copy of the very first issue with Marilyn Monroe. It was encased in plastic to preserve it. Buffy shook her head and smiled. He was a Marilyn fan, eh? If Spike didn't mind, maybe Xander would like to keep the magazines.

A half hour passed. Buffy was just about to give up for the night, when she felt the tingling sensation. Her skin prickled pleasantly, a shiver of arousal shook her body.

"Spike?"

Spike formed near the bed. He looked even more opaque than before. Buffy had to look closely to see through him.

"Hello, Buffy," he greeted her with a smile.

"Spike, I'm so happy that you're here! I was about to give up on you again." Buffy patted the bed next to her.

Spike moved and sat down near her. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment.

"I read your journal. I'm sorry you had such a hard life."

Spike smirked. "It's okay. That's all over and done with now. It's not like I was abused or had alcoholic parents or anything. I was just a giant git."

"I thought you sounded very cute, I would have talked to you. And I went through the trunk a little too..."

Spike raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

She giggled, "I found your dirty magazines."

"Hey, they're not dirty," Spike protested with a smile. "A woman's body is a work of art."

"I agree. I'm not coming down on you or anything for having them. I'd be worried if you didn't have some kind of porn. Would you mind if I gave them to Xander, even the Marilyn issue?"

"Mmm, Marilyn," Spike sighed dreamily, then shook it off. "Um, no. You can give them to Xander if you'd like. I don't mind."

"I...read about me. I mean, the girl in your dreams." She blushed.

"You were right the first time, luv. It was you."

They glanced at each other like shy teenagers. Buffy wanted to talk more about the wet dreams, but there was the other dream that needed discussing.

"I have to talk to you about something else," Buffy said.

"Alright".

"Last night, after you left...I had a dream."

"Was it a bad dream?"

"No...it wasn't bad. It was just strange."

"What happened?" Spike couldn't resist touching her knee.

Buffy's skin was set ablaze by his cold touch. She burned for him. She took a breath to steady herself and push back her need for his body. It was important that she tell him the details of the dream before they could...relax.

"I dreamed I was in the past. I saw the house when it was all fixed up. I saw your cousin and you. You were moving in with her. And I knew the date somehow. It was June 2, 1978."

Spike's eyes widened. He looked away from her, trying to figure out what was going on. That was the date he had moved in. How could she know that?

"Spike? Is that the way it happened?"

"Yes...you saw it happen in the dream?" he asked with concern.

"Yeah, you two were all happy and bantering. You were telling her about how you changed your appearance since the last time you saw her, at Christmas. She was so pretty... She seemed nice."

"She was," Spike agreed and his jaw twitched. "Why would you dream about that?"

"I don't know. It was weird. I was in the dream but I couldn't talk to you or touch you. I could only listen and follow you around."

Spike was afraid. He was afraid that that dream was only the first in a series, culminating with that terrible night.

"It's okay, Spike," Buffy said, seeing his nervousness. "I'm not freaked out by it anymore. It was probably because I looked at your journal."

He nodded. The journal was most likely the reason, but he had a bad feeling. "Just tell me if you have another one like it, okay?"

Spike didn't want to frighten her unnecessarily by telling her his fears. It would be horrific if Buffy had to witness the whole sordid, bloody tale.

"Okay," she agreed. After a few moments, she looked up at him through her lashes. "Do you think...I can touch you tonight? I want to..."

"We can...give it a go. I'm not sure if I can get -- solid -- enough for very long..." he said, desperately wanting to be able to do it.

"Please. I'd like to try," Buffy said. “You’ve made me feel so good, I want to touch you, too.”

Spike stood up and faced her, then made his clothes dissolve off his body again.

"That is so cool..." Buffy smiled as her eyes roamed over his magnificent body. "You're so beautiful."

She noted that part of him seemed to be getting pretty ‘solid’. Her smile broadened. She studied his body with an artist’s eye, exploring every line, sharp curve and plane with her eyes, committing all of it to memory.

He ducked his head shyly. The way she was looking at him, every inch of him, was making him feel self-conscious. Buffy's tongue darted out to lick her lips as she locked gazes with him and slipped out of her yummy sushi pajamas.

"Can I touch you now?" she asked, her hand already starting toward him.

Spike nodded, then concentrated, harder than ever, on becoming as flesh. He wouldn't be able to maintain this state for very long. Hopefully it would be long enough.

They both sighed dreamily when Buffy's fingertips came into contact with his chest. She pushed gently against him. He wasn't totally firm but she could definitely work with this. As long as she didn't try to grip him too strongly.

Spike closed his eyes. This was the first time in 25 years that he'd felt the touch of another person. The heat from her fingers spread through his whole body.

Buffy kneeled on the bed and got closer to him, moving her hands gently up and down his chest and stomach. Her fingers skimmed the surface of his torso, touching him in veneration. Her passion grew by leaps and bounds.

"B-Buffy...I don't know how long I can keep this up for. I might disappear without warning...I hope that doesn't happen," Spike moaned as her hands slid over his hips and her lips touched the center of his chest.

"We'd better get started right away then..." Buffy said, taking his cock in her hand and stroking up and down.

It felt cool to the touch, throbbing and twitching in her hand. She lifted it up and out of the way, leaning in to kiss then lick at his scrotum.

Spike gasped and tilted his head back in pleasure. Buffy continued licking and sucking lightly on his balls, then slid her tongue up the underside of his shaft. She kept her movements and touches light, which was difficult considering how she wanted to ravish him.

Spike's fingers whispered through her blonde hair. She watched him while she laved his glans with her tongue. Her pussy ached at the blissful, enraptured expression he wore. She sucked and licked the head stronger, harder, her hand stroked the base in a twisting motion. It was like devouring a ghostly popsicle -- a delicious ghostly popsicle.

"Buffy--So good--Ahhh!" Spike's hips rocked slightly. He looked down at her. "Do...you want to try...having sex?" he panted.

Buffy released his organ from her mouth and hands. Never taking her eyes from his, she crawled backwards on the bed to the center, then laid on her back. Spike crawled onto the bed to her. He hovered above her and settled his body over hers. Her legs spread wide, opening herself to him.

Spike smiled, bending his head down to kiss her tenderly as he moved himself into position.

"I love you," Buffy said breathily as their lips brushed against each other.

Spike felt tears springing to his eyes. He never thought to hope that she would feel the same way about him. "Buffy...I love you too...so bloody much. I always have...I always will."

They crushed (with as much pressure as they could) their mouths together as he guided himself into her opening. He had been concerned that it wouldn't work, but it was working just fine. He put most of his energy into making his cock hard and solid for her.

They moaned as his cool staff sunk into her sweltering heat. They expected to hear the hiss of steam at the contrast in temperature. The only sounds were their sighs of feeling complete for the first time.

Buffy's hands slid up his arms to his neck, touching him like she would skim her hands along the surface of the water in the pond. She could feel him inside of and surrounding her totally. Never before had she known such peace and bliss. This was how she wanted to feel forever.

Spike slowly began moving inside of her, whispering his love and devotion in her ear.

"Yes--Spike--Yessss!" Buffy moaned.

He kissed the side of her face as he pumped into her gently. Buffy turned her face to recapture his lips, forgetting soft caresses for a moment, her lips passed into his before she remembered and pulled back. Her hands went into his hair, feeling its silky softness.

"Harder--Spike!" Buffy felt the orgasm building in her loins. "Ohhhh!"

Spike squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on being inside of her and the unimaginable pleasure it brought. His hips moved faster. He felt an impending orgasm around the bend. He wondered what would happen? Would he cum? And if he did, would it be liquid or ghost cum? Only one way to find out...

They kept up the pace for several minutes until it was too much.

"Ohhh--Ohhh Spike!" Buffy groaned, rolling her hips. "Ahhhh--GOD--OH YES!" Her body began to shake, her hands roamed over the muscles of his back, her eyelids flapped.

"Buffy!" Spike grunted, feeling himself hurdling over the edge with her.

Buffy felt him spasming inside of her pussy, but she didn't feel the gush of warmth (or coolness, in his case) of his spunk. Still, it was the most exquisite feeling she'd ever had.

After their tremors began to subside, Spike lifted his head and smiled down on her, warming her like the heat of a thousand suns. Her fingers softly touched his face, tracing the lines of his cheekbones lovingly. He placed a gentle kiss to her lips.

"I love you, Buffy," he whispered.

"I love you, too." Her eyes slid closed.

Buffy opened her eyes again when she felt the slight weight of his body begin to lighten even more. He was becoming more transparent. She felt profound sadness that he'd have to leave her again.

"Sorry, luv," Spike apologized, still on top of her. "I'd never leave you again if I had a choice."

"I know." Buffy gave him a watery smile. "Please come back to me...as soon you can."

"I will." He leaned in and kissed her once more, then he was gone.

Buffy made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a sob as she slid her naked body under the sheet. She'd felt his cock inside of her right up until the second he disappeared, leaving her suddenly bereft. She was deliriously happy that they'd consummated their love. But they had a ton of obstacles in their way to happiness, the main one being his non-living, non-corporeal state. She touched two fingers to her lips. She could still feel the tingles from his kiss lingering.

Why did he have to be a ghost? Why did God do this to her? She was a good person, she never hurt anyone or kicked puppies. Why couldn't she be with the man she loved? Spike surely hadn't deserved his fate either. No one deserved to be stabbed to death. Why couldn't he be a flesh and blood human again?

Her thoughts slowed as sleep claimed her, and she began to dream...


Buffy was in the mansion's past again.

June 7th, 1978

The dining room table was set with three places. Darla and a man came in.

The man was tall with shoulder-length brown feathered hair and a high forehead. He had a smug, self-satisfied look on his face.

"So where's this cousin I've been hearing so much about?" he asked.

"He should be down soon," Darla said, sitting down at the head of the table.

"Darla, when can I move in, babe? I practically live here anyway, why not make it official?"

"Angel...I--"

"Evenin'," Spike said, strolling into the dining room.

"Hello, Spike." Darla brightened.

Spike went to her and bent down, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Angel's eyes narrowed slightly.

"This that Angel bloke?" Spike asked, looking over the brunette. "Nice hair, mate," Spike snickered.

"I hope for your sake, Darla, that you don't let Spike here talk to your high society friends like that," Angel said, staring Spike down.

"Boys, please." Darla wrung her hands. "Let's play nice, okay? Angel, this is my cousin Spike. Spike this is --"

"I'm her boyfriend," Angel finished.

Spike smiled tightly. "How nice."

Buffy wondered why the two men took an instant dislike to each other.

Spike took his seat. "So, what's on the menu, cuz?"

"Oh, you’ll love it! Tonight we're having --"

"We're having duck a l’orange," Angel finished her sentence again. "Lucy does a terrific job on that recipe."

"Would it kill you to let Darla finish her own bloody sentences, mate?" Spike asked, looking at Angel with steely eyes.

He didn’t like how dominating this man seemed to be towards Darla. Spike was getting a bad vibe from him.

"Listen, mate, I don't have --" Angel started getting red in the face.

"Angel! Spike! Please! Don't argue. I want you two to get along," Darla said anxiously. “Please make an effort, okay?”

Spike saw how distraught she was and swallowed his dislike of her boyfriend. He sat back and nodded.

"Sorry, Dar. Guess I'm just a bit cranky from hunger." He gave her an easy smile and put his hand over hers, squeezing it lightly.

Darla smiled back, breathing a little easier.

Angel's eyes narrowed suspiciously again. He didn't like another man touching his woman. Even if it was her cousin...





Buffy woke up. She blinked, processing the fact that she was back in reality. It was still the middle of the night.

She turned over on her other side to face the window, wishing Spike were here with her, holding her.

'What does it mean? Why am I seeing what happened back then? Am I supposed to do something with the information? I didn't read anything like that last dream in the journal... That Angel guy seems like trouble...'

Exhaustion caused her eyes to drift shut again. Another dream was queued up in her mind and ready to go...


Buffy was in the kitchen this time.

June 10, 1978

"Geez! I just had a dream, isn't one a night enough? Okay, now what?" Buffy said, wondering what the next chapter in this story would entail.

It was frustrating not being able to interact with Spike or anyone else. Buffy preferred taking action to sitting back and observing. But she had no choice where these dreams were concerned.

A tall, distinguished-looking man with salt and pepper hair was searching through the cabinets. A young boy, who appeared to be in his early teens, was sitting at the table engrossed in a book.

Spike entered and went to the refrigerator, getting a can of Tab. Buffy sighed at how delicious he looked wearing his ripped jeans and a tight blue t-shirt. His hair was all pointy.

"Hey, Ethan," Spike greeted the butler and took a sip from the can.

Ethan smiled. "Good afternoon, Spike. Sleep well?"

Spike nodded and ran a hand through his messy hair.

“I’m afraid you missed lunch, but I could fix you something if you’d like,” Ethan said.

Spike shook his head. “Nah, I'm good, mate." He looked at the young man, whose nose was buried in a book. "Who's the kid?" Spike asked.

"Oh, this is my nephew, Percy. He's going to be spending some time with us here. I'm looking after him for my brother," Ethan said. "Percy? Percy, I'm speaking to you."

The boy tore his eyes away from his book and looked at his uncle.

"What is it, Uncle?"

"Honestly, Percy, it's polite to respond to someone when they're speaking to you."

"Sorry, Uncle." Percy looked down, properly chastised.

"This is Spike. He's Miss Darla's cousin. He's from England as well."

Percy regarded Spike curiously. "You're Miss Darla's cousin?"

"Yeah."

"Why do you look like a street person then?" Percy asked innocently.

Buffy giggled. The kid was certainly honest and forthright.

"Percy! What sort of thing is that to say? I'm sorry, Spike... Percy's social graces need improvement." Ethan was embarrassed by his nephew's candor -- even if he did agree with his assessment.

Spike laughed, "Hey, it's all right. I do look unrefined. I like you, kid."

"I'm not a kid. I'm 14. You can't be much older than that yourself," Percy said haughtily.

Spike walked over to him. "Sorry, my mistake, mate. What are you readin' there?"

"It's a book about Jackson Pollock. Do you know his work?" Percy asked, expecting a 'no'.

Buffy walked over and looked over Percy's shoulder at the book. She admired Pollock's work, too.

"Yeah, some pretty revolutionary stuff," Spike nodded, looking at the book. "His paintings have an almost...physical kind of energy, don't they?"

Buffy looked at Spike, surprised but pleased. "You know about art? I didn't know that."

Percy's face lit up. "Yes! I always thought so. It reflected his own turbulent personality."

Percy was pleasantly surprised that Spike seemed to have a brain. The punk rock exterior had fooled him into thinking that Spike was all style and no substance. Maybe he would have someone to talk to during the summer besides his Uncle Ethan after all. Miss Darla was too pretty to talk to. Every time he tried to talk to her his face turned beet red.

Spike smiled at the younger man. Percy reminded Spike of himself at that age. Only instead of poetry and writing, it appeared that Percy's passion was art. Percy was small for his age, his hair was blonde, unruly and slightly curly, a pair of glasses were perched on his nose. Spike had to do a double-take when he first got a good look at the kid. They could have been brothers.

"Well put," Spike patted him on the back.

Spike resolved to make friends with the tow-headed kid. He remembered how much he wanted friends or just someone to talk to when he was younger.

"I was going to go up to my room and listen to some tunes. You wanna come?" Spike tried to live up to the bad-ass image he wanted to project, but dammit, he was a big softie when it came right down to it.

Percy just looked at him for a moment, as if he were trying to comprehend that someone wanted to spend time with him. Spike knew the feeling.

"Aww, that's so nice of you, Spike," Buffy said, smiling at his kindness.

"Yes...that would be...cool." Percy smiled.

Buffy followed Percy and Spike to his bedroom.

They sat on the floor while Spike got out his cardboard box full of albums and tapes. Percy dug into it enthusiastically, 'Oooh'ing and 'Aaah'ing at Spike's collection.

Spike put on his Blue Oyster Cult album and leaned back against the bed, nodding his head to the beat.

"Spike?" Percy asked.

"Yeah?"

"Why...are you being nice to me?"

"Cause I want to. You got a problem with that?" Spike smirked.

"No. I'm just surprised. I mean, look at you. You're cool. Why would you want to hang out with me?"

Spike sighed. "I didn't always look like this. I bet you're usually shy and keep to yourself, right?"

Percy shrugged noncommittally and started digging in the box again.

"And I bet someone like you, with your delicate bone structure, smaller frame and superior language skills, gets picked on and knocked about a lot."

"Are you going to arrive at anything resembling a point anytime soon? Or are you just trying to make me feel like shit?" Percy asked, the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile.

Spike laughed boisterously, wiping tears from his eyes. Buffy laughed too.

"You've got a pair on you, Percy. Okay, my point is that I was just like you. I know what it's like to want to be included in things, just to have someone talk to you like you're a real person, an' not something that they scraped off their shoe. I thought it'd be nice to get to know you, you seem like a good bloke."

Percy smiled. "Thanks.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder what Uncle Ethan would do if I bleached my hair like yours..."

Spike laughed again, "Right after he killed me, you mean?"

Spike and Percy laughed.

Buffy's laughs dried up at the mention of killing. It was going to happen one of these times. She was going to be forced to see it in living color whether she liked it or not. She didn't think she'd be able to handle it. She was terrified.





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