Out of the Grey

Chapter One

The lines on the map blurred together under her stare. Red and blue and green squiggles, they criss-crossed the picture in a way that made little sense. A giant yellow arrow pointed helpfully to where all the lines conglomerated, the words ‘You Are Here’ in blocky, black letters.

Buffy put her finger against the arrow and closed her eyes. She let her hand drift across the plastic casing of the map, not knowing—and she wouldn’t care, anyway—about the stares and jeers she was attracting from the passing crowd.

She stopped the movement of her hand and opened her eyes, blinking under the brightness of the harsh, artificial lights. Her finger had traced a path south-west, coming to rest near the bottom of the map.

All right, then. She tapped her finger against the plastic, and nodded to herself. Glancing once more at the ‘You Are Here’ arrow that pointed to London Euston, she set off in the direction of the ticket offices, thinking to herself that she wouldn’t be ‘here’ for much longer.

***

The train pulled into Axminster Station at a quarter to four. Buffy’s phone had been pinging all the way from London—missed calls and frantic text messages from her friends and Dawn.

Where are you? Buffy, where did you go? Why d’you leave? BUFFY WHERE ARE YOU?

She hadn’t sent a reply.

Stepping off the train, she let herself be caught up in the flow of the crowd towing her towards the exit.

Her small bag, packed with only the barest of essentials, swung at her side. The queue at the taxi rank was a short one, and whilst she waited for a cab, she tried to clear her mind. Make it go blank of all thoughts.

It was difficult. Along with all the doubts clamouring around in her brain—What are you doing? Why here? Why leave your friends and sister just when they’ll need your help with the new slayers?—were thoughts of Sunnydale, of Sp—him—and she didn’t want to think of any of it at all.

Much more preferable to have a clear mind, a blank canvas for this trip to paint upon. She needed the time to herself after being part of a group for so long, being the leader.

She had no doubt that it was selfish, to take off mere hours after arriving in England, and only days after the battle. But right now, she didn’t care. She needed some Buffy-time.

A taxi pulled up and she mumbled her destination to the driver, liking the way the strange words rolled off her tongue. “Lyme Regis, please.”

She didn’t know what had drawn her hand to that point on the map; if it had been fate or chance or nothing of the sort. It didn’t really matter. She just wanted somewhere away, somewhere quiet. And the name of the place felt right, somehow, and trusting her feelings seemed important.

God knew she should have done more of that in the past.

The cabbie let her out at what he called the Cobb, a long harbour wall that stretched out into the sea.

She paid him, passing over a handful of the unfamiliar notes Giles had presented her with upon their arrival in London. The driver accepted the cash with a smile and nod of thanks before driving off, leaving her standing in front of a shuttered bucket-and-spade shop, staring out at the ocean and the setting sun.

***

The Rose and Crown looked a welcoming sort of place, the outside so charmingly British that Buffy felt like she’d stepped into a period drama. Inside, the pub was dark and cosy, offering an array of delicious-sounding meals and—best of all—rooms to rent.

She paid for one night’s stay and ordered the steak and ale pie, feeling it would do a disservice to the country she was in to go for the more-tempting cheeseburger.

She ate her meal in her room, not wanting to partake in the hustle and bustle of the bar. She could still hear the hum of voices from below, and the occasional clink of glasses, but it was a comforting buzz, something to focus her mind on.

After she’d eaten, she slipped out of her clothes and stood shivering in the middle of the room. The night had turned chilly, a cold breeze coming in through the open window. The inn overlooked the sea, and the constant sound of the waves crashing on the shore, rising and falling on the beach, was a pleasant one.

Buffy slid into the bed naked, realising for the first time that she hadn’t packed any nightclothes. The soft cotton sheets felt far too much like a familiar caress when she turned off the light and allowed the sound of the ocean to lull her to sleep.

***

She settled into his embrace, his arms giving her the peace that she had craved for so long. She could feel herself trembling, the stress of the last few days catching up to her—the fight with Caleb at the vineyard, the arguments with her friends and family that had resulted in her being kicked out of her house.

The lightest touch to her arm made her shiver and she closed her eyes, her head on his chest, strong and solid beneath her even though no heart beat within it. Soon, she succumbed to sleep and when she woke, he was the one who was under the spell of slumber.

His words from the night before had given her the strength to get up, go out and be a hero. Leaving the abandoned house was difficult—she would give anything to be able to go back and lie in his arms forever. But it was not to be.

The walk to the school seemed to go on forever and she knew as she started walking that she was going in the wrong direction. She needed to be back at the vineyard; that was where Caleb would be.

Buffy went up the steps to the school, and then she was suddenly in the Hellmouth, rocks crumbling and Turok-Han burning up. She saw Spike, bathed in a column of light, his hand clasped with hers and flames licking their skin. Her breath caught in her throat, as she marvelled at the strange beauty of the scene.

She let out a wordless cry when she watched him start to burn, tears filling her eyes. The light consumed him and he started to fall to dust, but before he disappeared completely, the dream changed.

The orangey glow of the Hellmouth fire transformed into the reddish light of a portal, and she found herself back in the mansion on Crawford Street, standing in front of a wide-eyed Angel. She lifted the sword and slammed it through his chest, pain searing at her insides.

“Buffy—”

The voice wasn’t Angel’s, and the figure being sucked into hell was no longer the brunet vampire. It was Spike, reaching out for her as the portal pulled him in. And then he was gone.

Buffy sat up, startled from the dream, her heart pounding and tears pricking her eyes, bile rising in her throat. She stood up, clutching the corner of the bedside table for stability as she swallowed back the sourness in her mouth.

She didn’t have to wonder what the dream meant.

She had killed Spike by giving him the amulet, as surely as she’d killed Angel with the sword.

It had been her fault.

***

Packing up her meagre belongings took hardly any time at all, and—once she was done—she gave the room a final glance before leaving.

It was warm and sunny outside, almost disappointing in a way; Buffy had always been told by the various Brits in her life that England was constantly gloomy.

She remembered Spike in particular talking about it, saying how good it often was—murky and overcast enough for a vampire to go about in the daytime.

No so at present. She stepped out onto the beach, knowing as she did so that she really should be looking for somewhere more permanent to stay, but unable to resist the pull of the sea.

Early-bird holidaymakers were already setting up camp, laying out towels and beach mats, sun-umbrellas and windbreakers. She ignored them and slipped off her shoes, her feet sinking immediately into the soft sand.

It was nice. And despite the hum of activity—the screech of someone dipping their toes into the cold water; the delighted yell of a child as a sandcastle turned out perfectly—it was peaceful.

Buffy liked it. Something about the place just felt... right.

She walked a little way along the beach until she was away from the Whitsunners and the sandy cove, and onto the stony, shingled part of the beach.

Tall sandstone cliffs sheltered her from the wind, and that far up the beach there was only herself and a lone dog walker for company.

She sat down on one of the sea-smoothed rocks, and rifled through her bag until she found her cellphone. Switching it on caused a cacophony of beeping; jarring, as though telling her that she was a bad person for not letting her friends and Dawn know where she’d gone.

She remembered their anger and upset the last time she’d done a disappearing act—after killing her other boyfriend—and felt guilty.

The phone rang.

“Buffy?” It was Dawn. “Buffy, where are you?”

“I’m fine, Dawn.”

“Buffy?” Giles had taken the phone. “Good God, we’ve been so worried!”

That annoyed her. “Giles, I’m a big Slayer now. Perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“Yes, I know. But after everything—are you all right? Where are you?”

“I’m fine. And I’m not telling you. You’ll just come and drag me back.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I need some time alone. Please.”

Buffy switched the phone to her other ear, gazing along the shore as she did so. Something wasn’t right; there was something wrong with the air…

“Buffy? Buffy!” Willow now, but Buffy barely heard her. The shimmer in the air coalesced into something solid.

Something man-shaped, wearing a black leather coat.

Spike.

-TBC-

Out of the Grey

Chapter Two

Later, she put it down to a hallucination. What else could it have been?

At first, she had been so stunned, so shocked to see Spike there, that she forgot all reason. Reason told her that he couldn’t really have been standing there—he was dead. And if he wasn’t dead, he sure as hell was a vampire, and wouldn’t be able to stand out in the sun without burning up.

She dropped her phone, ignoring the tinny, “Buffy, Buffy?” from the speakers and moved towards him, staring unblinkingly.

He stared back.

“Spike—”

And then—a sound. A seagull crying in the distance, the call harsh and loud amongst the peace of the day. It startled her, made her blink.

When she opened her eyes, Spike was gone.

Perhaps she’d passed out for a few seconds, for the next thing she knew, a dog was barking in her ear and an elderly man was looking down at her.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

She shook her head, but answered in the affirmative, all the while wondering how things could ever be all right again.

Stirring her coffee absentmindedly, Buffy stared out of the café window at the passing crowds on the street outside. It had clouded over when she’d left the beach, the sky turning a milky-grey colour, and the change in atmosphere reflected her current state of mind.

Doubts had started to overcome her on the way up from the beach. Had she really seen Spike? She knew that she’d blacked out for a few moments; perhaps it had been a flash of a dream. She even started to wonder if it was the First back to haunt her, but dismissed this almost immediately. If it had been the incorporeal demon, surely it would have taken the opportunity to taunt her?

The day wore on, the dreariness soon reverting back to the bright sunshine of the morning, and Buffy watched in amusement from her window-seat in the café as people seemingly poured from various doorways and eateries, heading back to the beach to make the most of the good weather.

There was a leaflet stand near her table, pamphlets advertising all manner of attractions—Lyme Regis Marine Aquarium, The Philpot Museum, Dinosaurland Fossil Museum—but the one that caught her eye was a flyer for holiday apartments to rent.

Reaching for the leaflet, she leaned across the table and as she sat back down, knocked her empty coffee cup to the floor. It shattered, and every head in the crowded room turned to look at her. Buffy blushed, jumping up out of her seat to try and gather the pieces back together, but was soon interrupted by a waitress who shooed her out of the way.

The mess was cleared up and Buffy straightened up to pay her bill, embarrassed over the whole incident. She made her way to the counter; leaflet for the holiday apartments still clutched in her hand, and asked how much she owed—including the cost of the broken coffee cup.

“Oh, never mind that, dear.” The woman shook her head and took the money Buffy handed her, before gesturing towards the pamphlet she still held. “Looking to stay awhile? Lovely weather we’re having.”

“Oh—” Buffy looked down at the leaflet. “Yeah, I need to find somewhere to stay.”

The woman smiled and put on the glasses that hung from a chain around her neck. She reached for the booklet and picked up the pen that lay next to the till, flicking through the pages for a few moments. “Here we are.” She circled something. “The Garden Flat: best kept secret in the bay. You’ll be hard pressed to find something better this time of year. Half term, all the kiddies off from school, you know.”

Buffy thanked her and said goodbye, stepping out into the street and wishing for a pair of sunglasses. Shading her eyes from the sun, she looked at the page that had been helpfully circled, the pictures showing a large white house and a spectacular view of the bay.

Since leaving her friends and family in London, she had done nothing but allow herself to be swept along by whatever came her way. She was a piece of flotsam floating on the tide, being buffeted from one place to the next.

Her childish method of trailing her hand along the map had decided her destination. The Rose & Crown pub had been the first she’d seen on stepping out of the taxi. The café had caught her eye simply because the décor reminded her a little of the Espresso Pump.

Everything she had done since leaving Sunnydale up to this point had been based on split-second decisions, little meetings of chance that had required no thought at all.

And coming here had let her see Spike again, just for a moment. No matter that it had been a hallucination—had it?—in that precise second, she had been glad of the glimpse.

So now that she had been pointed in the direction of somewhere to stay—the ‘best kept secret in the bay’—well, it was just one more mark on the map, one more brush stroke on the canvas of this trip, and she knew it was where she had to go next.

***

There was something very Not Right about the whole trip, Buffy decided. Shortly after checking in at The Garden Flat—for the woman in the café had been right, the holiday apartment was vacant—Buffy had unpacked her few belongings, washed her face and then felt the immediate compulsion to return to the town centre.

It was as though something—or someone—was guiding her, divining her actions. Part of her felt that she should be worried, but something else told her to go with it. See where this journey took her.

The walk back into town was a quick one, the coastal path quiet until she found herself suddenly overlooking the ocean from the top of a steep incline that led across a grassy slope. The shrieks of holidaymakers enjoying the day filled her ears.

The High Street was slightly quieter, only the hum of cars heading down to the waterside car parks disturbing the afternoon.

Buffy window-shopped, peering through the glass of various stores—a dress shop with old-fashioned designs displayed on creepy mannequins; a tourist shop selling postcards and shells and various other seaside merchandise—and momentarily contemplated sending a card to Dawn. But no, that would let them all know where she was, and she still wanted to be alone. Something told her that she needed to be there on her own. In the end, she bought one for herself, a scenic shot of the beach at sunset.

At the bakery she paused, enticed by the scent of fresh bread and the sight of the pastries in the window. A quick stop inside and she had some food to take back to the apartment for dinner.

A few doors down was a dinosaur-and-fossil shop and the bright glint of gemstone-jewellery in the display drew Buffy in. A bell above the door jangled as she entered and she allowed herself a moment of nostalgia for all the times she’d done the same thing and heard the same noise at the Magic Box.

The inside of the shop was dark and quiet, the shelves lined with fossil displays and wooden baskets filled with gemstones.

There was a man—the owner, presumably—behind the counter and she could see him rocking on the balls of his feet in anticipation of a sale.

In the end, Buffy selected a Rose Quartz necklace for herself, the placard telling her that it was the January birthstone. For Dawn, she picked up a pair of Lace Agate earrings, knowing that the pale blue of the stone would suit her sister well.

As she paid for her purchases, Buffy heard the low beat of a familiar song, though she couldn’t quite place where she knew it from.

The shopkeeper must have noticed her expression—the way she had her head cocked to one side as though concentrating on something—for, when he handed her a paper bag with the jewellery in, he nodded towards a doorway hidden by a beaded curtain. “My son,” he said, “owns the record shop next door. You can always hear some song or other coming through.”

“Oh,” Buffy replied. “Do you know what it is?” As she spoke, the drumbeat of the introduction morphed into lyrics and she suddenly realised why she knew it. I wanna be sedated… Do you like the Ramones? It was a Spike song.

“I really couldn’t say,” the shopkeeper said, answering her question. He stood and drew back the beaded curtain. “Go on through. Jack—that’s my son—should be able to help you.”

Buffy nodded her thanks and walked through, compelled this time not by the strange force that had directed her movements since arriving in Lyme Regis, but by a sudden need to hear more of that song.

The lyrics accompanied her through the doorway, the refrain of twenty-four, twenty-four hours to go sounding more than a little ominous.

Apart from her, the shop was empty—everyone else presumably enjoying themselves at the beach. Seated behind the counter was a young man. He had short dark hair and was flipping through a magazine. Buffy took a couple of steps further into the shop, and the man glanced up at the sound of her footsteps before looking back down at his magazine.

Buffy frowned, then grinned when the man looked up at her again; he seemed to do a double-take. He stood up and came out from behind the counter, tripping over the leg of his stool as he did so.

“Hi,” Buffy said, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you trip.”

“My fault. Completely my fault. Er—did you need something?”

“I was in the fossil shop.” Buffy indicated to the doorway behind her. “Heard uh… the Romans playing and, well… came through.”

“Oh.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Sorry. It’s just that, er—we don’t get many um, people like you in here. And I think you mean the Ramones.”

“People like me?”

“Yes. Girls—women! Or, er... Americans.”

Buffy couldn’t hold back a grin. “I could go, if you like?”

“No! It’s just—” He frowned and took a deep breath, and Buffy could almost see him giving himself a mental pep-talk. She tried not to giggle. “Right, I’m starting again. Hello, I’m Jack. How may I help you?”

“I’m Buffy,” she replied. “And it’s like I said, really. I heard—that song.” She shrugged, trying to put the memories the song had brought up aside. “I wanted to listen to it.”

“Ah.” Jack paused, bit his lip and looked down at the ground. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Ramones fan. Although, you did get the name wrong. So perhaps—?”

Buffy frowned, not sure she wanted to continue the conversation that Jack was so clearly inviting. She could tell from his nervousness and body language that he found her attractive. Perhaps he was building up to asking her out. And right now? So not what she wanted.

“I knew someone who liked their music,” she said, simplifying things down to a single sentence.

Something of her thoughts must have shown in her face, because Jack simply nodded before taking a step backwards.

An uncomfortable silence descended, broken only by the sound of money being put in the cash register in the shop next door. Buffy moved to look at the CDs on the shelves, idly flipping through them, not looking for anything in particular. She could hear Jack moving closer, his steps slow, until he came to a stop just behind her.

“Um, Buffy, if I’ve said something to upset you, I apologise.”

She started to turn around, wanting to reassure him that he hadn’t done anything of the sort, but as she did so her bag caught on the corner of the shelf, toppling some disks to the floor.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Buffy said, crouching down to pick them up. “What is up with me today?” She picked up the first of the plastic cases, her heart leaping into her throat when she saw the cover art—Billy Idol’s bleached hair and punk eyeliner bringing Spike once again to the forefront of her mind.

Reaching for the other fallen disk, her heart took a U-turn and dove back down into her chest, pounding so hard she thought her ribs would crack.

She stared at the cover, the words Ramones and I Wanna Be Sedated blurring together as she looked at them for too long.

Buffy had felt that something had been guiding her actions, causing her to make choices she might not have otherwise made, and that feeling had been cemented even more by the hallucination on the beach. In the back of her mind there had been a seed of doubt, but now—

Now, she was sure.

Something was going on—something to do with Spike.

And she wouldn’t be able to rest until she found out what.

-TBC-

Out of the Grey

Chapter Three

After the third listen, Buffy decided that she didn’t even particularly like the song. It was too harsh, too coarse—not her kind of music at all. Still, she had bought the disk from Jack and brought it back to the apartment, grateful to find a CD player in one of the cupboards.

Now she lay on the bed, the music playing in the living room. She didn’t even know why she was clinging so hard to this—this tiny bit of memory from a moment when she hadn’t even really liked Spike.

But it was the only piece of music she had to associate with him—apart from the whole musical demon deal, her traitorous mind reminded—and it made her feel close to him.

With a sigh, she sat up and moved into the front room, switching the stereo off. The silence felt too heavy, too oppressive, and she couldn’t bear it. With a glance at the postcard she’d bought when in town, now tacked to the wall above the stereo, she walked towards the bedroom, shedding her clothes as she went. Once there, Buffy slid into bed and closed her eyes.

***

At first, the touches were soft, feather-light brushes of fingertips on her face.

She stirred, rousing towards consciousness, but not wanting to wake up. In her dream, Spike was holding on to her tightly and she returned the embrace just as fiercely. This time, she wouldn’t let go.

But the caresses became more insistent, a whisper of a kiss here, skin-on-skin there.

Buffy shifted in her sleep, her dream changing, the hands holding her becoming the hands stroking her cheek, her chin, her neck.

Her eyes fluttered, consciousness forcing itself upon her until she blinked, her eyelashes sticky with sleep.

The soft touches to her face stopped and the air felt heavy with expectation. Buffy couldn’t hold back a gasp when she saw the figure half-sitting, half-lying on the bed next to her. “Spike?” Her eyes filled with tears. She had to still be dreaming, then.

“Shh, love.” He cupped her face and brushed away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Don’t cry.”

“I don’t—” She broke off, confusion overcoming her. “Are you here?”

He nodded.

“This is a dream.” She reached out for him, her hand coming to settle on his shoulder. He felt real enough.

“Not a dream. Don’t know what it is. What I am. Just know that I needed to be here with you. Needed to see you—”

“Shh,” Buffy said, placing a finger on his lips and ignoring his protests. “I want to pretend. Just want to look at you…” She did; her fingers mapping and memorising every feature, drinking in his eyes, and nose, and mouth as if she were dying of thirst.

A small smile danced across his lips, as though he was amused by her antics.

When she’d finished, she smiled back before leaning over and kissing him softly. “This is a good dream,” she said. “All the others—” Her eyes closed and she shook her head, not wanting to think of them. “Nevermind.”

“Buffy, love. It’s not a dream, I’m real.” He paused. “Or as real as I can be, anyway.”

“No more talking,” she replied, dismissing what he’d said, not wanting to entertain the possibility that he really might be there. “More pretending.”

Spike began to protest, but before he could say anything, Buffy leaned forward once more and kissed him, taking advantage of his open mouth and slipping her tongue between his lips. She had never kissed him like this before. In the past, their kisses had been hard and angry, manifestations of pure lust and passion. This was slow and languorous, soft and gentle. She liked it—and couldn’t help but wish that she had given him a chance to kiss her like this when he’d been alive. This, now, was just a fantasy and whilst she could pretend, it wasn’t the same.

Spike was talking, soft murmurs against her mouth. “Don’t need to pretend, pet. I’m here.”

She shifted, moving herself until she was lying flush against him, one leg hooked over his and her hands up around his shoulders as she feathered light touches across his neck.

Buffy could feel him hard against her thigh and for a moment she was confused—never before had a dream felt this real. He moaned and, with his mouth still pressed to hers, she felt it within her as though she had been the one making the noise. Perhaps she had, she didn’t know. It was all too much. Too many feelings, every inch of her skin sensitised, her heart beating so quickly it felt like it would burst from her chest.

“Spike.” She sat up, only then realising that she wasn’t wearing any clothes. A hot flush spread across her skin as he stared at her appreciatively and, detachedly, Buffy found this strange. She shouldn’t be embarrassed in a dream.

A beat—and then she grasped the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up and over his shoulders and dropping it to the floor. His pants were next, and soon he was gloriously naked, lying beneath her. Buffy’s eyes roamed across his body, noting that it was no different from the last time she’d seen him like this—that night before the final battle when they’d put the past behind them and made love in the basement of her house.

Of course he’s no different, she thought, he’s a dream; you’re constructing him from memory.

“Spike,” she repeated, bringing his hands to rest at her waist and pressing herself more firmly against him. She was wet and his hardness against her heat made her shudder. “Spike.” Raising her hips, she took him inside, eyes closing and tears gathering behind her lids as she slid down his length.

“Buffy.” His voice was reverent and it just made her cry harder. “How could I touch you like this if I were a dream?” One of his hands moved from her waist to twitch a strand of hair back from her face and, on its descent back down her body, she pressed a kiss to his palm.

They rocked together, small, gentle movements at first that built in momentum as heat coiled where they were joined. Buffy let out tiny, gasping breaths, emotion choking her as she climbed higher and higher until her orgasm washed over her, wave after wave of pleasure spreading through her body.

Her climax triggered Spike’s own and he shuddered beneath her, his hands almost bruising as they grasped her waist. Buffy collapsed on top of him, her sweat-slicked body enjoying the coolness of his skin.

Spike wrapped his arms around her and Buffy smiled against his chest. She raised her face to kiss him and, for the first time since the dream began, she looked directly into his eyes. They were as blue as they’d ever been, and filled with such emotion that it made her tremble.

The feeling she saw there was nothing she could ever have made up or imagined in a thousand years.

Her glance fell on his right hand, still resting at her waist. Thin, silvery-red scars criss-crossed the skin. She had a matching set on her left hand. She sat up, skin prickling with realisation. “Spike?”

-TBC-

Chapter Four



“Spike?”



“Yeah. It’s me, love.” He shifted backwards on the bed, a guarded look on his face and wrapped his arms around Buffy, pulling her with him. She didn’t resist.



“What? How—” She broke off, confused. “I thought this was a dream.”



“Tried to tell you,” Spike said, smiling fondly. “Never were one for listening, though, were you?”



“Shut up,” she replied playfully, then sobered when she remembered the impossibility of him being there. “What are you doing here? How— Why?” Frustrated, she stopped and looked at him imploringly.



“I think I’m a ghost,” he said and shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. Buffy could see by the twist of his mouth that it was nothing but a front. “Know that I’m here, but I’m not really here. Can see. Can feel. Can touch, even. But I’m not real.”



“I don’t understand.” Buffy sat up a little in his embrace, lacing her hand in his, their matching scars pressed together. It no longer occurred to her to think that it wasn’t Spike. Not now, when she realised she was fully awake—when she knew that her mind wouldn’t make up the scar on his hand. She wanted so badly to believe he was there with her.



“I don’t bloody understand, either,” Spike replied. “I burned, didn’t I? Thought that’d be it, final death an’ all. Go to whatever special hell they reserve for us vamps.”



Buffy bit back a gasp, suddenly reminded of her dream the other night and not wanting to think of Spike in hell. “You weren’t—?”



“No, love.” He clutched her hand a little tighter. “Dunno where I was. Somewhere blank. Grey. I didn’t have a body, was just kind of… there. Right boring, it was. Then I started to see things, found that if I concentrated real hard on someone, I could see what they were doing. I saw you. You were on a plane, sitting next to Dawn, holding her hand. She was crying.”



“I remember,” Buffy said. “We’d been… we were talking about you. She was upset, because she never got to make things right with you, before—”



“Yeah.” Spike frowned. “Wish I hadn’t been such a bleeding idiot and just talked to her.”



“You’ll be able to, now,” Buffy said. With her head tucked into the crook of his neck, she missed the sudden look of sadness on Spike’s face.



“Right. That faded, after a while. Seeing you on the plane, I mean. But I wanted to see you again. So I brought you here.”



“Why here?” Buffy wondered why he had picked Lyme Regis, of all places. “And how?”



“I don’t know, really.” Spike shrugged. “Just knew—something told me that if I wanted to see you again, I had to get you here. Got no clue how, maybe I just wanted it bad enough.” He wiggled his fingers and grinned. “Ghostly powers and all that rot.”



She smiled. “So it really was you on the beach earlier? I thought I was seeing things.”



“Yep. Had to concentrate really hard to make myself visible, and I was only there for a couple of seconds.”



“How are you here now, then?”



“I don’t really know how all this ghost bollocks works,” Spike said, “but in the music shop, earlier, you accepted that it might be me trying to contact you.” He shrugged. “Seems that was all it took for me to be able to come through properly.”



“Oh.” With a sudden shiver, Buffy realised that she hadn’t asked the most important question. “Are you staying?”



Spike looked away, and she knew she had her answer. Jumping up from the bed, she wrapped the sheet around herself and started to rummage through her bag, looking for her cellphone. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I’m gonna call Giles and Willow, they’ll know what to do. Figure out why you’ve gone all Casper and how we can fix it.”



She got as far as dialling the first two digits when his hand closed over hers and took the phone away. “Buffy.”



Her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t say it.”



His arms came around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She pressed her face against his chest and tried not to cry. “I’m sorry.” He stroked her hair. “I don’t know how long I have. But I do know that this is only temporary. I’ve been granted a—a reprieve. For whatever reason, someone up there—” he glanced upwards— “has decided to let us have some more time. But I can’t stay.”



Buffy was full out crying now, tears falling freely and wetting the skin of his chest. “I wish you would.”



Spike didn’t say anything, but drew her back towards the bed until they were lying down once more. He pulled the covers up and stroked the hair back off her face, brushing away the tears from her cheeks. “We’ve got some time.”



Buffy tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’d better make the most of it, then.”



***



She shot awake suddenly the next morning, roused from her sleep by the horrible sense that Spike was gone. Looking to the bed beside her, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that he was still there. He was asleep, and, abstractly, Buffy found that strange—he said he was some kind of ghost, but if that were the case, would he be able to sleep, and so peacefully?



A glance to the bedside clock told her that it was the afternoon already. She bit her lip. She didn’t know how much time she would have with Spike, and they had already wasted half a day.



She reached out and gently shook his shoulder. “Spike?” He shifted and mumbled in his sleep, also very un-ghost-like. Buffy itched to get her phone to call Giles and demand he make with the research.



Watching Spike come awake was a novelty. Every time that she’d fallen asleep in his embrace before now, she had either left before he woke or he’d already been awake by the time she was up. He twitched, eyelids fluttering, before he finally opened his eyes, blinking at the light.



It was then that Buffy realised the room was bathed in sunlight, and he wasn’t burning up. He had been out in the sun on the beach the previous day, too. “Good morning,” she said, deciding to forget about all the weirdness and just try to enjoy being with him for however long they had together.



“Hey, love.” Spike stretched, and glanced out the window. He gave her a look. “Don’t know about ‘good morning’. Looks like it’s the afternoon, to me.”



“Yeah,” Buffy replied and looked down at the quilt, suddenly, inexplicably, embarrassed. “We slept the morning away.”



A peculiar silence fell across the room and Buffy didn’t like it. This was Spike; she shouldn’t feel uncomfortable with him, especially with what they had shared in the days before the battle. She looked across at him and saw the same hesitance on his face that she felt on hers. The quiet was broken when a loud growl emanated from her stomach. Cheeks burning, she pressed a hand to it, mortified.



“Hungry, pet?”



Buffy nodded. “I haven’t eaten anything since a cake at lunchtime yesterday,” she said.



“Well, we’d better fix that, then.” Spike said, getting up from the bed and pulling on his clothes. He smiled at her; a genuine smile that she rarely saw, not a smirk or evil grin, and she found herself smiling back. The discomfort gone, she quickly dressed and followed him out to the dining room.



“So, what’ve we got to eat?” Spike poked around the empty kitchen cupboards, his voice echoing as he looked in the bare fridge.



“Um, pretty much nothing,” Buffy said. “I picked up some bread and pastries yesterday, but that’s about it.” She frowned. “Can you even eat, anyway? Do you need blood? Being all ghosty?”



“Dunno.” Spike shrugged, rifling through the bakery bag that Buffy had handed him and taking out a pasty. “Guess we’ll find out.” He took a bite, made a face and set the pasty on the table.



“No good?”



He shook his head. “Didn’t taste of anything. You go ahead, though.” He pushed away from where he’d been leaning against the counter and moved towards the front door, not saying anything as he went outside.



Buffy stared after him unhappily, hunger forgotten. She followed him out to find him perched on the stone wall that surrounded the house. He was fiddling with a leaf, clearly wishing he had a cigarette, and staring out towards the sea.



“Spike?” He didn’t answer, even when Buffy set herself on the wall next to him and slipped her hand in his. They sat for a while in silence, the only noise the chirping of birds and the far-off sound of waves on the beach.



“I don’t know what to do,” he said, eventually. “Being in that place, that grey blankness, I just knew that I wanted to see you again. Thought it’d be easy, once I knew how to get through… but being here without really being here—knowing that I can’t stay with you…” He clutched at his chest where his heart should have been beating. “It hurts. Didn’t hit me till I tried eating that bloody oggin. I’m not real. Never will be.” He stood up, and kicked at the wall. “I shoulda just left it alone. Left you alone.” He kicked out at the wall again before looking up at Buffy imploringly. “I couldn’t help myself. Never been able to help myself when it comes to you, pet.”



“I wanted you here, Spike. With me. It’s all right.” Buffy said, wanting nothing more than to reassure him that he was wrong, that she was happy he was here.



“It’s not!” Spike said, whirling around and glaring at her. “I was being selfish, only thinking of myself.”



“Well if you get to be selfish, then so do I!” Buffy jumped down off the wall, coming to stand in front of him. “I’m glad you’re here. Back from the dead. And d’you know how selfish that makes me feel? I’ve done the whole resurrection thing and I know how not-fun it is! But I can’t help but be happy you’re here. So stop it.”



Spike started to speak, but she interrupted. “Shut up! You’re a ghost. You’re not here for long. Okay. But you’re here, for whatever reason. Can’t we just be thankful that you are, and forget about all the rest? For now?”



Spike nodded wordlessly, and opened his arms to her.



“Good.” Buffy stepped into the hug, pressing herself as close to him as she could get. “That’s good.”



-TBC-

Chapter Five

It was later, while they were walking on the beach, that Buffy realised what neither of them had said yet.

I love you.

As soon as that realisation hit her, she couldn’t help but wonder why it hadn’t been said—by either of them. She felt it. Had felt it for some time, back in Sunnydale, even if she hadn’t told him until it had almost been too late.

And that was the crux of the matter. She had told him; said those words—I love you—words she didn’t throw around willy-nilly, and he had all but rejected them. Thanked her, and told her that she didn’t.

Now, when she had the perfect opportunity to say the words again—and again, and again—she was hesitant. She didn’t want him to reject her.

He hadn’t told her he loved her, either, and she didn’t know why. He certainly acted like he did, their lovemaking of the night before telling her how he felt in ways stronger than words. But Spike had never been one to shy away from declarations of love, and Buffy found his silence strange.

Buffy glanced at him, and he smiled back at her, squeezing her hand just a little tighter. She squeezed, too, and tried to stop thinking.

She knew he wasn’t back for good, knew that she should tell him before it was too late, but she couldn’t make the words come. She tried and they got stuck in her throat, choking her.

Avoidance, thy name is Buffy.

She was torn from her silent musings when Spike started to pull her towards the sea. “Fancy a paddle, pet?” he asked, an eager smile on his face.

“You, the big bad vampire, want to go for a paddle in the sea?” Buffy replied, amused.

“Well, yeah. Why not?”

Buffy shrugged. “I just never pictured you ever doing anything like that.”

“Not been able to go outside during the day like this for over a century. Never wanted to, either,” he said. “Can't blame a vamp for wanting to have some fun when he has the chance.”

“Not exactly what most vampires would consider fun.” Buffy arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, I'm not most vampires, am I?” He stopped, a peculiar look crossing his face. “If I’m even a vampire still, anyway. I'm out in the sun, all soulful, can't drink any blood. Can't even go into game face.”

“Have you tried?”

“Yeah. Couldn't do it.” He sighed, and Buffy put her arms around him. “I’m a bloody pathetic excuse for a vampire-ghost.” He hung his head.

“Well, I still love you anyway,” Buffy replied, freezing when she realised what she had said, and the casual way she'd said it. She glanced at Spike, who had stilled at her words.

Neither of them spoke for several long moments, until... “Buffy?” He said her name with such hope in his voice that Buffy knew she couldn’t play the avoiding game any longer. “You mean that?” He let out a huff of breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“Yeah, I did. I do.” She looked up at him, wanting to see his face when she told him again. “I mean it. I meant it before, in the Hellmouth. Kinda hurt that you didn’t believe me.” She touched her lips to his neck and spoke against the softness of his skin, the words whispered. “I love you.”

A shudder ran through Spike and she clutched him tighter, wondering what he was thinking. She drew back, her gaze steady as she looked at him.

“God, Buffy,” he said, eventually. “I love you, too.”

She smiled. “And that’s the proper response, you big dummy. Not ‘No you don’t, but thanks for saying it’!” Her imitation of his English accent was so terrible that when he started laughing, she joined in.

“Never do that again, pet,” he said, smiling.

“What?” Buffy replied. “Tell you I love you?”

He pulled her roughly against him. “Oh, no. You can tell me that whenever, wherever.”

“All right, then. I love you.” She kissed him lightly, the mood turning sombre once more when she hesitated over her next words. “Why do you believe me now, when you didn’t before?”

Buffy felt him tense before he looked away. She grasped his chin and turned his face back to hers. “It’s barely been a week since Sunnydale collapsed, Spike. Why didn’t you believe me then?”

“Guess I was scared,” he said, voice hoarse. “Has it only been a week? Felt longer. Had a lot of time to think… time I didn’t have when the bloody Hellmouth was collapsing all around us. I didn’t want to believe you, you see? Didn’t want to have that golden carrot dangled in front of me when I knew I was gonna die.”

“It wasn’t the best timing in the world,” Buffy admitted. “But—will you believe me if I said I didn’t realise I loved you until that moment? I knew I felt... things for you before. I knew that I cared about you.” Frowning, she turned in his arms to look at the sea, calm and flat, and reflecting the evening sun in a dazzling display. “I guess I was scared, too. I still am, Spike. You’re not staying.”

“Shh.” Spike followed her gaze across the shore. “Try not to think about it. You know I’d stay if I could.”

“I know.”

Neither of them spoke, or moved, for several long minutes. Spike had slipped his arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. Buffy tilted her head back, leaning against his chest. The sun had just started to set and the tranquillity of the moment was palpable.

It had been a long time since she had felt this content, this peaceful, and she liked it.

Yet, in the back of her mind—and despite Spike’s request that she not dwell on it—she couldn’t help but think of how this was just temporary and could be over in the blink of an eye.

***

“Ahh, get off!” Buffy’s shrieks were piercing as she slapped his hands away. Looking down, she sighed when she saw the sandy handprints Spike had left on the front of her t-shirt. “Really mature, Spike.”

“What?” He widened his eyes innocently, moving forwards to cup her breasts once more. “Couldn’t help myself, pet.”

“You could have waited till we’d gotten clean,” Buffy replied. “I only have, like, one other shirt with me.”

“Sorry, love. But hey, I have no objections if you don’t wear any clothes from now on.”

He looked so pleased with himself, she couldn’t help but smile. She grabbed his right hand and tried to pull him away from the sea. “Come on, let’s go clean up.”

Spike pouted. “I wanna stay.”

“It’s late, and you’ve made me all yucky,” Buffy replied. She was surprised at how much fun she’d had that evening, playing in the sand and sea with him. She felt light, free, like a child again. Spike was like she’d never seen him before, his usual playful teasing mixed in with pure delight at the simplest things: finding a perfectly smoothed seashell, spotting a tiny crab moving sideways in the sand. He seemed like a completely different person to the vampire she’d known back in Sunnydale.

Spike’s exaggerated sigh broke her from her thoughts and she tried to pull him towards the apartment again. She shivered, the chill of the night suddenly hitting her, now that the sun had gone. “Cold?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Come on, let’s go back.” Walking a little way ahead of him, she turned back, eyebrow raised. “I’ll make it worth your while. Hot shower, wet Buffy…”

She didn’t think she’d ever seen him move as fast.

***

Chapter Six

The short walk back to the apartment was filled with quick kisses and longer touches. Buffy didn't mind the sand Spike left on her skin anymore, too preoccupied with how he was making her feel.

The little lane leading up to the flat was dark, no sounds other than the wind rustling the leaves on the bushes. Buffy fumbled in her pocket for the key, so intent on the task that she didn't immediately see the dark shape on the doorstep. The sharp jerk of Spike's head and the stiffening of his body clued her in, and she looked up to see someone sitting on the stone steps leading up to the door.

The figure stood, and moved closer. Squinting, she could make out that it was a man, and her heart began to pound with the possibilities. Giles? Xander? Angel?

But, no. The shape was too tall to be Giles or Xander, too slender to be Angel. She really hoped that it wasn’t a demon. Pulling her cellphone from her pocket, she flipped it open, the backlight illuminating the front path.

She let out a sigh of relief when she saw who it was, all thoughts of interfering friends and nefarious demons gone from her mind. The stiffness in Spike's body remained, however.

“Jack,” she exclaimed, wondering what the record-shop owner could possibly want and how he knew where to find her. “What are you doing here?”

“Er, yes. Sorry to disturb you. I was worried, you see.” He moved a little closer, wringing his hands nervously.

“Worried?” Buffy asked, folding her arms over her chest when she noticed Jack's gaze drift to the sandy handprints on her boobs.

“Yes. I was at the pub and everyone was talking about the strange blonde girl on the beach this afternoon. Said she'd been talking to herself and acting most peculiarly. Once I realised it was you, I knew I had to come and see if you were all right.”

At this, Spike finally spoke. “She was talking to me, not herself. Pillock.”

“Yeah.” Buffy nodded. “Spike’s right. I was talking to him. Spike, this is Jack. Jack, Spike.”

“I'm sorry,” Jack said, “but there’s no one else here. Who is Spike? Buffy, are you sure you're okay?”

A sickening feeling filled her stomach when she realised that Jack couldn’t see Spike. Another reminder that, though he was here for the moment, Spike wasn’t real and wouldn’t be staying. She felt him tense behind her, perhaps in readiness to run, and she reached her hand backwards, resting it comfortingly on his arm.

Jack was still peering at her curiously, the expression on his face concerned. Buffy wasn’t quite sure what to say, having just introduced him to—from Jack’s perspective—thin air.

“Buffy?”

“I’m fine.” She shook her head. “I was joking. Pretending to talk to someone? Haha, you know, making with the funny.”

“Right,” Jack said, and Buffy could see that she didn’t have him convinced. “Well… that was really all I came by for. So if you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll be off. Oh—I did want to tell you about the regatta in town tomorrow.”

Buffy nodded, her patience wearing a little thin. She had turned to look at Spike and the expression on his face was closed; he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Regatta?”

“Yeah,” Jack replied. “Lots going on, competitions, games, a carnival. It’s fun. You should come and join in.”

“Oh.” She felt Spike’s hand tighten on hers and saw him narrow his eyes.

“Will I see you there?”

“Maybe.” Her response was noncommittal.

Perhaps sensing that was all he would get out of her, Jack nodded and started to walk down the path. “All right, I’ll keep an eye out. Um, have a good evening.” If he’d had a hat to tip at her, Buffy thought he would have done just that.

As soon as he was safely out of earshot, she turned back to Spike, relieved. “That was uncomfortable,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. He didn’t reply, not even when she brushed a loose curl of hair back from his forehead. “Spike?”

“Let’s get in.” He took the keys from her and moved to open the door. “Bloody wanker’s ruined our evening.”

She followed him in, shedding her sandy shoes at the doormat and wanting nothing more than to rewind an hour, back to when they’d been having fun on the beach. In the living room, she found Spike sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands cupping his chin.

He stood, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, when she entered the room. “I don’t like that prat.”

“What?” Whatever Buffy had been expecting him to say, that wasn’t it. “Jack? What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s a bleeding idiot, is what’s wrong.” Spike snorted. “He had his smarmy eyes all over you, an’ he as good as asked you out on a date when I was standing right there!”

Buffy bit her lip and approached him cautiously; taking him by the hand and leading him back over to the couch, unsure of how she was supposed to react. On the one hand, she wanted to laugh at what he’d said; he knew that Jack hadn’t been able to see him. On the other, she wanted to cry, hating the reminder of Spike’s ghostliness.

She couldn't help herself, however, and a small giggle escaped despite her efforts to keep it in.

Spike glared at her. “Think it's funny, do you, Slayer?”

“Sorry,” she said. “But—are you jealous? And did you see his face when I introduced you? Musta thought I was crazy.”

“Not jealous,” Spike grumbled, then smiled himself, the slayer’s laughter infectious. “And you are crazy.” His next words were spoken fondly; there was no malice in them. “Daft bint.”

“Yep, that's me. Crazy old Buffy. Give me a couple of cats and I'll be good to go. Seriously, though, are you okay?”

He sobered. “Yeah. Was just a shock to realise that you’re the only one who can see me. Spent the whole afternoon feeling like I was normal, and then—” He snorted. “Who am I kidding?” Spike shook his head and laughed, wryly. “Go off, have fun with Jack. It’s what you deserve, isn’t it? Normal boy.”

“Don't start with the self-sacrificing crap,” Buffy warned. “Normal’s not for me, okay?”

“But, love…” His words were plaintive and Buffy couldn't figure him out. One moment he was telling her how much he wanted to be with her, so much so that he’d pulled himself out of the grey for her, the next—he wanted her to return to normality. She could only think that he knew his time was short and he wanted to spare her the pain. Well, too late. It’d hurt either way, when he left.

“I'd rather spend whatever time you've got left with you than a thousand lifetimes with anyone else. You know that.”

“But I can feel it, Buffy. A tug, inside me. Here.” He clutched at his chest. “Only been here with you for a day and it already wants me back.”

“What does?” she asked, heart in her throat.

“Whatever was stopping me from being not-dead before I came here.” He stood up and moved towards the window, staring out at the darkness. “That void... The nothingness. The grey.”

Buffy shivered, not sure if the drop in temperature was her imagination or reality.

“Something’s pulling me back. I can resist it for now, I think. S'long as you stay with me. Like my anchor, see? Not gonna let the tide take me yet.” His voice was cracking, his gaze unfocussed as he stared out of the window.

Not much scared her, but this did. She was reminded of the Spike she had known immediately post-soul, when he had turned up in Sunnydale with an added dose of crazy. She approached him carefully and grasped him on the shoulder. He jumped, and turned to her with wide eyes.

“What... what happened?”

“You went somewhere,” Buffy replied, cautiously. “But it's ok. You're back now.”

He shook himself, before stepping into the circle of her arms. “I don't know how long I can hold on.” His words were whispered, pained in the quiet of the room.

Buffy lay her head on his shoulder and tried to relax in his embrace. “You said it yourself: try to forget, put it out of your mind. Hey, we could go to this carnival tomorrow, sounds like fun.” She tried hard to sound cheerful, despite the worry gnawing on her insides.

Spike frowned. “I dunno, pet. I'm still gonna seem invisible to everyone else. You'll look like an idiot talking to yourself all day.”

“I don't care. They can think I'm insane old Bertha in the attic for all I care. Just as long as I’m with you.”

He kissed her tenderly, telling her without words what he thought of her reply. “Thank you.”

She kissed him once more, taking him by the hand and pulling him away from the window. She wrinkled her nose when she saw the sandy-imprint Spike had left on the white of the sofa, as they walked past. “If they charge me for soiling the furniture, you are so paying.”

“I’m a ghost, love,” Spike replied, quirking his eyebrow. “Not so much with the disposable cash.”

“Whatever.” Buffy smiled and tugged him towards the bathroom. “Now, how about that shower?”

-TBC-

Chapter Seven

As they walked into town the following day, Buffy watched him. She wasn’t used to seeing him in the daylight, and observing the sun glint off his bright hair, or the way it cast shadows across the harsh planes of his face, was strange.

He knew she was watching him. She could tell by the small quirk of his lips, the tiny sidelong glances he sent her. Hit with a sudden giddiness over the fact that he was there with her, she twirled around and spun into his arms. She kissed him lightly and then whirled away, giggling.

Spike stared after her with an amused look on his face. “What was that for?”

“Just because.” She shrugged before running ahead, laughing. “Last one to the end of the path is a rotten vampire!”

***

The sounds of the regatta could be heard long before they reached the central part of the town. Cries of laughter, muffled microphone commentary and the zany, electrical noises of fairground rides all carried themselves on the wind across the bay.

Despite her reassurances to the contrary the night before, Buffy couldn't help but be slightly apprehensive about what the townsfolk would think to her apparently talking to thin air. People could be nosy, and she imagined she would get several queries about her state of mind over the afternoon.

As if reading her mind, Spike suddenly spoke. “Everything okay?”

She nodded and smiled, knowing that revealing her thoughts would only make Spike want to return to the flat. She wanted to spend the day with him, like a normal couple, despite the fact they were anything but.

The beach and esplanade were full of people, the sea awash with colourful flags flying on all manner of sailing boats. Little stalls had been set up along the length of the Cobb, and there was so much going on that Buffy didn't know where to start. She turned to ask Spike, but stopped when she saw the speculative look on his face.

“Spike?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “Yeah... it's just—got the strange sense I've been here before. Can't think, though...” he frowned, eyes scanning the crowds on the beach, the boats in the bay, and the road leading up to the town centre. He looked up past the esplanade and across the grassy slope that led to the botanical gardens. Something—a shadow—passed across his face and then his features lit up with a grin. He grabbed Buffy's hand and set off, pulling her along behind him. “Come on!”

“Where are we going?” Buffy asked, laughing, as they ran up the hillside path.

“I remembered!” He shouted. “Know why I recognise the place.”

Buffy didn't reply, too busy trying not to bump into people to say anything and knowing that Spike would explain when they stopped. They weaved in and out of the crowds on the paths until he pulled her through a gap in the hedge and around a corner. The sounds of the beach immediately dulled. There was no path here, just a worn track in the grass, and Spike paused for a moment, looking both ways before deciding to turn right.

There were fewer people up there. A group of teenage girls were sitting in a circle, magazines spread out across their knees and music-players plugged into their ears. They sent her mocking looks as she ran past, before turning back to each other to giggle and gossip. Buffy rolled her eyes despite knowing that she’d have done the same thing at their age.

Spike finally came to a stop at the end of the grassy pathway, where it met the alleyway that led back to the town centre. From where they were, Buffy could still see the sea if she stood on tip-toes and peered over the hedge, and the gaggle of girls with their music-players were but a speck in the distance.

“Why did you bring me here?” Buffy asked, turning to look at Spike, who still had a wide grin on his face. She was glad that the melancholy of the night before had left him. He nodded towards the tree that shaded them, a tall, rotund evergreen that stretched high into the sky.

“For that,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Come on, we’re not quite there yet.”

He took her around towards the back of the tree, swiping aside some of the springier lower branches. Ducking down, he disappeared through the leaves, pulling her with him. It was the most peculiar tree Buffy had ever seen: the trunk rose straight and tall from the ground, wide, solid branches snaking out from the centre. There were no leaves on the inner branches, only the outer, creating a shield from the outside world.

“How did you know this was here?” Buffy asked, as she took in her surroundings. It was cool inside the tree, away from the midday sun. She moved towards the trunk, running her hand along the lowest of the branches. The bark was smooth under her skin, perhaps worn down by persons past.

“Suddenly recognised the place,” Spike replied as he sat down on the branch, one leg on either side. “I’ve been here before, when I was a kid.”

“You have?” Buffy raised an eyebrow, lifting her leg up and over the branch so she sat opposite him.

“Yeah. Maybe it’s why I subconsciously brought you here? Someplace familiar.” He shrugged. “It was a popular place to holiday for the Victorian toffs. Mother would bring me to visit her aunt—bloody old witch she was. Aunt Tilda, I mean. Not mum.” His eyes went slightly unfocussed as he lost himself in memory. “We’d come by train and stay for two weeks in the summer. Used to go off by myself so as I didn’t have to be oohed and ahhed over by all of Aunt Tilda’s callers.”

Buffy listened, fascinated and somewhat amused by the glimpse into William’s childhood. Spike’s childhood. She had always thought that the vampire was separated from the man, the person who had owned the body the demon took over. And perhaps that was true for the soulless creatures she’d fought night after night in Sunnydale. But not for Spike.

“And this tree?” Buffy prompted, when he fell silent.

“I found it by accident,” he replied. “Was running away from the neighbour’s dog and suddenly found myself in here. I thought I’d stepped into another world. I’d come in here and pretend I was a heroic prince and this was my castle.” He snorted. “I was a pitiful wanker as a kid, you know. Makin’ up all sorts of stories and epic poems about fighting monsters and kissing beautiful princesses.”

“All children do that,” Buffy said. “I used to pretend to slay dragons with a sword made from coat hangers.” She paused, considering. “Guess my make-believe kinda came true, huh?”

He chuckled and looked at her fondly. “Yeah, it did.”

“Yours, too.” Buffy bit her lip and leaned a little closer. “You closed the Hellmouth. I’d say that was pretty heroic.”

“Yeah.” He grimaced. “William’d be right proud of me, sure.”

“Hey,” Buffy said. “He would. You are a hero, Spike. You saved the world.”

“Nah, you lot did the saving; I just did the clean-up.” He leaned back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.

“I don’t think we’d have gotten out of there if it wasn’t for what you did,” Buffy replied.

“What I did? I didn’t do a bleedin’ thing!” Spike opened his eyes and glared at her. “Wore that stupid amulet and just stood there.”

“You did more than that,” she said. “You knew it was killing you and you stayed, to make sure that we all got away safely.” She reached across and put her hand on his knee. “That was heroic.”

“Didn’t stick though, did it? Death. How heroic can it have been when I dragged myself out a few days later?”

“You’re being stupid,” Buffy said. “I’m the Slayer, I’m always right.”

“Oh you are, are you?”

“Yes.” She raised her head, nose in the air. “What I say goes. And I say you were a hero, so there. William’s make-believe came true.” She leaned forward and kissed him lightly. “And look, you get to kiss the beautiful princess, too.” She pressed her lips to his once more and felt his mouth curl into a smile at her words. “Now, tell me more about little William. I bet you were a cutie.”

“Was not cute.” Spike grumbled.

“You so were, weren’t you? All big blue eyes and blonde hair. Am I right?”

He rolled his eyes. “Always are, aren’t you?”

Buffy grinned.

***

They spent the afternoon talking and sharing kisses. Buffy found that with Spike seated with his back to the trunk, she could comfortably sit between his legs and lean against his chest. There was something magical about the tree, she decided. Spike had said that, as a child, he’d found it like stepping into another world, and she agreed.

It was quiet and still. None of the sounds from the regatta and the busy beach reached them there, and it was cool underneath the canopy of leaves. Spike told her more about his time in Dorset as a child and life in general growing up in the Victorian era, and she in turn described her childhood vacations to Disneyland.

She started to say that perhaps one day they would have to visit the theme park together, but remembered just in time that he likely wouldn’t be around for much longer and stopped herself. No point in upsetting them both. She was finding it harder and harder not to go against his wishes and call her friends to see if they could help him stay.

Neither of them wore a watch and Buffy had left her cellphone back at the apartment, so it was only when the temperature suddenly dropped that they realised it had got late. Spike had slid down a little so that he was almost lying across the wide branch, and Buffy lay tucked into his chest. “Mmm, I don’t wanna move,” she said, breathing in the clean scent of his shirt and abstractly wondering why a ghost would smell of fresh laundry.

“Me either, love, but you’re getting goose-pimply.” He ran a hand over her arm and she shivered. “Besides, this tree doesn’t make the most comfortable of beds.”

Buffy sat up and stretched her arms above her head, wincing in satisfaction when her joints popped. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and jumped down, off the branch. She turned to Spike and cupped his face in her hands. “Thank you for today.”

“For what?”

“For bringing me here. For letting me in… For talking to me. For trusting me enough to tell me about your past. Just—thank you.”

Spike opened his mouth to speak, but stopped and bit his lip. In the end, he simply nodded. “You’re welcome.”

A whistle and a loud bang interrupted anything more they had to say and they both hurried outside to see the sky explode in a maelstrom of colour. “Oh,” Buffy breathed. “Fireworks.”

Several more rockets launched from a floating platform out in the bay, sending bright sparks up into the atmosphere. Slipping her arm around Spike’s waist, Buffy leaned her head on his shoulder and together they watched the sky burn.

-TBC-

Chapter Eight

On the way back to the apartment, they stopped at one of the food stalls on the esplanade, where Buffy purchased a sandwich and a bottle of water. The carnival was still in full swing, people with pints in hand lining the streets outside the pubs and spilling out onto the beach.

A stage had been set up and a band was playing, the music lending the festivities a jovial air. Couples and groups of friends danced in the small area that had been roped off in front of the stage, and Buffy eyed them speculatively.

Throwing the last of her sandwich in a nearby bin, she turned to Spike and smiled. “Want to dance?”

“Oh, you know I do, Slayer,” Spike replied, raising an eyebrow. He followed her lead onto the makeshift dance floor and pulled her against him, his arms slipping around her waist.

“No,” she said, turning in his arms and pressing her back to his front. “Like this. It’ll look less strange.”

She began to sway to the rhythm, with sensuous little movements against him, knowing that this position would look more natural to an onlooker, who would see her dancing alone. Closing her eyes, she lost herself in the low beat of the music, wishing she could stay in the moment forever.

Knowing she couldn’t, she concentrated on imprinting it in her mind instead, memorising every little detail: the whisper of the waves on the beach in the distance, the tang of mulled cider and roasting meat on the air, and the feel of Spike at her back as he moved his hands up and down her sides and pressed his hips against her.

Spike ran his tongue along the shell of her ear. “Let’s go back,” he whispered, and his words sent a shiver down her spine. Nodding, she slipped from his arms and led the way back towards the apartment.

***

The sun shining on her face roused her from sleep the following morning and she stretched, the ache in her muscles from the previous night’s activities a pleasing one. She rolled over in the bed, expecting to see Spike lying next to her. He wasn’t there. She sat up, covers clutched to her chest and heart pounding.

“Spike?”

Slipping from the bed, she wrapped the sheet around herself and went out into the living room, quickly realising that he wasn’t there either, or in the kitchen or bathroom. She felt sick as she went back into the bedroom and dressed, wondering if this was it, if Spike had gone for good.

The day outside was another gorgeous one, a crisp blue sky with the bright early sunshine burning off the last of the morning’s chill, but she barely noticed it. “Spike!” She circled the perimeter of the house, finding no sign of the missing vampire. She thought about heading down to the beach, but decided it would be futile. There was no point. He’d said, the day before, that he felt he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. That he needed her to be his anchor, to keep him grounded. Perhaps whatever tenuous hold she’d had on him had lessened whilst she was asleep.

She sank to the ground, uncaring that the grass was still wet with dew, feeling her mouth twist up as she tried not to cry.

A dog barked in the distance, a fly buzzed near her ear, and somebody was singing. She looked up, confused as the ba-da-ba-ba-ing came ever closer, and her jaw dropped when she saw Spike saunter into the garden, a shopping bag in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

She jumped up and leapt into his arms, the shopping bag and paper falling to the ground when he grabbed her shoulders to keep his balance. “Buffy?”

“I thought you’d gone!” She squeezed him tight and then released him, stepping back and glaring at him angrily. “Where did you go?”

He gestured to the items on the grass. “To get a few things from the shop. Food and such. You’ve not been eating properly.”

Clenching her fists, she took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. “And you couldn’t leave a note? Didn’t you think that I might get worried when I couldn’t find you? I thought that it—the greyness, whatever—had taken you back.”

“I’m sorry, love.” He tried to pull her back into his embrace, but she shook him off, still angry. “It’s still early. I thought I’d be back before you woke up.”

“Yeah, well, you were wrong.” She sighed, but finally allowed him to gather her in a hug before quietly admitting, “I was scared.”

“It’s gonna happen sometime.” Spike’s voice was no more than a whisper.

“I know.”

They stayed that way for several moments more, until Buffy felt her heartbeat calm, then turned to go back into the apartment. Spike stopped to pick up the plastic bag and the newspaper.

“How did you manage to go shopping, anyway?” she asked.

“Didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Spike said, suddenly defensive.

“Not saying you did,” Buffy replied. “But, you know, must have been hard, having come down with a case of the invisibles.”

“I can still pick stuff up, move things around.” Spike shrugged. “Don’t ask me how, when only you can see me. Not Mulder or Scully, here. Anyway, went in early when the shop’d be empty, got my bits and pieces and left the money on the counter. Easy.”

Buffy smiled to herself when she unpacked the bag to find all her favourite foods in it. “You’re all kinds of clever today. Especially because you brought me chocolate cake. Expensive chocolate cake. My hero!”

Spike chuckled. “Only the best for my girl.”

“You know I am, right?” Buffy bit her lip, remembering another, not-so-pleasant time, when he had called her his girl. “Your girl.”

He looked away and turned to the groceries on the kitchen counter. “Let’s get all this put away.”

Buffy laid her hand on his shoulder. “Spike? I didn’t mean—we don’t have to talk about that.”

He finished putting away the carton of milk before turning to face her. “It’s not that,” he said, waving his hand. “That’s in the past, we put all that... badness behind us last year, I thought.”

Buffy closed her eyes and tried not to remember all she had done to him and the things he had done to her. “Right. So what’s with the frownies?”

He shrugged. “You’re my girl for now, but I’ll be gone soon. I hate knowing that when I’ve finally got you, I can’t have you.”

“Oh.” Buffy sighed and sat down at the kitchen table, her fingers twisting in the material of her shirt. “Look, I want to call Giles and tell him… see if he and Willow can help.”

“No.” He threw a box of biscuits into the back of a cupboard.

“Why not?” She stood up, fists clenched at her sides.

“Because there’s no point!” Spike slammed the cupboard door shut. “There’s nothing they can do.”

“We haven’t even tried!”

“Leave it, okay?” He came to stand in front of her, jaw clenched and the tendons in his throat standing out.

“Spi—”

“I said, leave it!”

They stood in a tense-filled silence for a few moments before all the anger seemed to seep out of him and he turned away, fingers pressed to his temples, pain etched across his face.

***

After breakfast—which was a quiet, strained affair during which Buffy ate and Spike looked on—Spike complained of a headache and went to lie down in the bedroom.

Buffy hated the strained atmosphere that had come between them, but didn't know how to fix it. She went into the bedroom to find Spike lying on the bed, flat on his back. When she entered the room, he turned his head away from her and closed his eyes.

Sighing, she climbed onto the bed and curled up next to him. He said nothing and didn't move, but the tension in his body relaxed a little and she knew the argument was over. Even if nothing had truly been resolved.

They lay together for a while, Buffy listening to the birdsong outside until she was sure he was asleep. When she knew he was, she gently rolled out of the bed and padded towards the door, picking up her cellphone as she did so.

The front door shut behind her more loudly than she'd thought it would and she winced, waiting a few moments before deciding that it hadn't awoken him.

She hated this, going behind his back, directly against his wishes, but she knew that she was right. And after the utter bliss of the last few days, she wasn't ready to let go. Oh, she wasn't stupid. She knew that it wouldn't always be like this, if he found a way to stay.

Something about this seaside town was magical, giving the last few days an out-of-time feeling. Real life would be silly squabbles over dirty dishes, not idyllic walks on the beach.

But it didn’t matter. They would be together, and she wanted that so badly.

Dialling Giles’s number, she hit the call button and waited.

***

“Hello?” Buffy had been expecting her watcher to answer, so when she found herself speaking to Dawn, it was a surprise and she almost hung up. A sudden rush of guilt stayed her hand when she realised that she hadn’t contacted her sister since that first morning on the beach.

“Hey, Dawnie.”

“Buffy!” Her sister sounded two-parts excited and one-part anxious. “I’ve been so worried! I wanted Willow to do a locator spell, but Giles wouldn’t let her. Where are you?”

“I—” Buffy wasn’t sure what to say. Did she tell Dawn that Spike was back? Get her hopes up only to dash them when she revealed he came with an expiration date? She settled for telling half of the truth. “I’m by the ocean.”

“What?” She sounded angry. “You left us to go to the beach? Buffy, our world just collapsed. Literally. I needed you, and you took off without a thought! You could have at least told us.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Buffy replied. “I can’t explain right now. I’m sorry for not telling you.” She paused, glancing back towards the house, hoping that Spike was still asleep. “Is Giles there?”

“No.” Buffy could hear the sulk in her sister’s voice. “Don’t think you’re off the hook, missy. There’s gonna be full-on brattiness when I see you next.”

“I look forward to it.” Buffy smiled. “But I really need to speak to Giles.”

“I told you, he’s not here. Willow found some more new slayers in Scotland and they went to fetch them. They’ll be back by tomorrow morning.”

“They left you alone?”

“No, geez. Xander and all the other slayers are here.” Dawn fell silent for a moment, before continuing, quietly. “It’s not like you care, anyway.”

“I care.” Buffy felt a heavy weight begin to build in her chest, the guilt creeping up again.

“Then you should be here,” Dawn argued, tone petulant. “When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t plan to stay this long.”

“You are coming back, right?” This was whispered, Dawn’s voice barely audible over the phone.

“Yes! How could you think I wouldn’t?” Buffy switched the phone to her other ear and sat down heavily on the stone step in front of the door. The sun was warm on her face, the pleasantness of the day a direct contrast to the seriousness of the conversation—her apparent failings as a sister, a slayer, a friend. She knew that nothing she could say, except the truth, would convince Dawn that she had a good reason for leaving so soon after the apocalypse, and for staying away.

She sighed. “Dawn, I swear I’ll explain everything when I get back. And I am coming back, I just don’t know when. But I really do need to talk to Willow or Giles. It’s important.”

After a few moments, Dawn replied. “Life or death important?”

Buffy hesitated, thinking of Spike asleep inside the apartment, knowing that, even at that moment, he could be losing himself to the nothingness that wanted to take him. “Yes.”

Perhaps Dawn sensed that she was serious, because she didn’t offer any further protest or argument. “Okay. As soon as they’re back, I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks, Dawnie.”

They said their goodbyes and Buffy hung up, setting the phone down on the step beside her. The sudden creaking of the front door made her jump and she stood up, hand pressed to her pounding heart, trying not to let anything show on her face. “Spike!”

“What are you doing out here?” He looked tired still, eyes bleary and hair adorably tousled from sleep. “I heard you talking.”

“Nothing.” Her eyes flickered involuntarily towards her cellphone and she cringed when she saw Spike make the connection. His jaw set and he narrowed his gaze.

“You called them.”

“I didn’t,” she replied, but the words sounded false even to her own ears. “Fine. I did. I called because I want them to help find a way for you to stay.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to apologise for that.”

“Yeah? Well you bloody well should!”

Buffy took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Why? What is so wrong with me wanting to help you? I thought I could accept it, accept that you were only here for a few days, but that feels too much like giving up to me, and I don’t give up. Ever.”

“It’s pointless.” Spike shouted, throwing his arms up in the air and pacing down the front path.

She shook her head and mouthed wordlessly, trying to talk past the lump building in her throat. “Who are you? Don’t you want to stay? Is that it? The Spike I knew wouldn’t give up. He would fight this. For me. For us.” She pushed past him and out into the lane, running towards the beach and leaving him standing open mouthed behind her, before he too set off at a run.

Catching up with her as she rounded the corner to a secluded cove, he grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.

“Leave me alone.” She shrugged his hand away, turning her back on him.

“Buffy, love, it’s not that I don’t want to stay. I do. You just don’t understand.”

“Then tell me!” Her eyes blazed angrily. “Explain to me why you won’t let Giles and Willow help.”

He said nothing, just stared at her with anger, and pain, and confusion in his gaze. She had a few moments to wonder if he was going to reply, before he fisted the material of her shirt in his hand and pulled her towards him.

His mouth crashed to hers with such force that it almost hurt, teeth clashing and lips bruising.

Buffy moaned into the kiss, all thoughts of anything else but Spike leaving her as she lost herself in his touch.

-TBC-

Chapter Nine

Several moments later, Buffy broke the kiss for air, gasping as she stared at Spike. “Weren’t we arguing just now?”

It took Spike some time to process her words, but when he did, he grinned. “Yeah, but this is more fun.” He leaned in for another kiss, his hands sliding around to cup her bottom.

Buffy pushed him away. “No. We need to talk this out.”

He sighed and released her, turning away and running his hands through his hair. “Can’t you just trust me?”

“I trust you,” Buffy replied, slowly. “But you’re being completely irrational about not wanting help from the others. You know something that you’re not saying. Why won’t you tell me?”

He looked back at her, anguish in his eyes, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Why do I ever do anything, Buffy? For you.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“I can’t tell you everything,” he said, taking her hand and leading her over to a large rock. They sat down, fingers still interlaced. “I don’t know everything. Can’t bloody remember… been trying not to. Just wanted to enjoy my time here with you, you know?”

Buffy nodded, squeezing his hand in encouragement. “Go on.”

“I… lied about what happened to me after I—after I died. Told you where I was. That blankness, that… grey, sitting and wanting to get back to you. That’s true. But there was something—” He paused, searching for the words. “No, someone else there. I can’t remember who. Or what. They spoke to me, read my mind or something, asked me what I wanted most.” He smiled, raising a hand to tuck a strand of Buffy’s hair behind her ear. “And I got it.”

Neither spoke for several moments, though Buffy felt more certain than ever that she should ask Giles and Willow for help. If there was a demon of some kind involved, perhaps wherever it was that Spike had been—wherever he was being pulled back to—was simply another dimension. “I’m mad that you lied about where you were, Spike, but I still don’t understand why we can’t get help with this. We’ve dealt with dimension-hoppers before; sorting this out should be a cinch for Willow.”

“She can’t do it, pet.” He gripped her hand so tight, she thought that his fingertips would bruise her. “I was selfish… I just wanted to see you again, even if it meant…” He broke off, his teeth gritting in frustration. “This is too bloody hard!”

“Spike—” Buffy placed her hand on his cheek, stroking his skin, brushing the pad of her thumb across his lips. “Just tell me.”

“The thing—demon or whatever—said I could come back to you, have a little more time with you. Made a deal, yeah? Always knew I was going back there. But if I tried to stay, if I tried to get help… then he’d make it a two-for-one kind of offer.” He swallowed, hard. “The grey’d take you, too.”

Her hand fell away from his face, hanging at her side. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, love. I just—couldn’t help myself. Selfish, like I said.”

“No,” Buffy replied, softly. “I understand why you did it. And I understand now why we can’t ask Willow and Giles to do something. But… what did you do, Spike?”

“What?” Spike frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t make sense that this demon would give you the chance to come back, to see me again, and want nothing in return. They always want something. What did you do?”

“I—” Spike faltered, frowning as he realised for the first time that he didn't remember the demon asking for anything in return. “I don’t know. Oh, God, it’s going to want something.” He looked to Buffy, stricken. “What if—?”

“No what ifs,” Buffy said, firmly. “It’s done. I’m the Slayer, I can handle whatever comes my way.” She ignored the little niggling voice inside her that told her she would have trouble handling Spike’s eventual departure.

He leaned his forehead against her shoulder and Buffy’s resolve began to crumble when she felt his tears soaking through the material of her shirt. “I’m so sorry, love. I should have just left you alone.” He stood up and walked a little way down the beach. “Everything I touch turns to ash.”

Buffy came up behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and holding him tight. “Not me.” She kissed the back of his neck. “Never me.”

“I’ve hurt you so much. And I keep on doing it, even from beyond the grave.” He laughed, the sound bitter even to his own ears.

Buffy bit her lip, knowing that there was nothing she could say that would help. She got it now; she knew that she couldn’t get help from her friends. And who knew how long Spike had left with her? Her heart ached as she thought of what he might have exchanged in order to have this time with her, but like she’d said, it was done. She couldn’t dwell on it.

Instead, she turned him in her arms, following his earlier lead and distracting him with a kiss. Spike responded readily, perhaps as eager as Buffy herself to prolong the denial, to forget about everything and just lose themselves in each other.

The kiss turned urgent, and she slid her hands up his chest, pushing his coat off his shoulders and letting it drop to the ground. His shirt followed, and Buffy marvelled at the smooth expanse of his skin, glowing in the early afternoon sunshine.

Pulling away for a moment, she glanced quickly around, thankful that her accommodation had a private beach, a quiet cove with no one else in sight but them. The sea was flat and calm, the sunlight glittering on the surface, lending their surroundings a magical air.

“Buffy?” Spike’s voice broke her from her thoughts and she turned back to him, smiling when she saw that he had spread his duster out on the sand, and was now sitting on it. She heard the question in his voice: asking whether she really wanted to do this now—when they had been through the emotional wringer—and here, out in the open.

She answered by pulling her clothes off, dropping them into a pile at her feet, until she was dressed in nothing but a smile. The light breeze coming in off the sea picked up strands of her hair, tossing them about freely. It caressed her skin and tightened her nipples, and the illicitness of doing this—on the beach, sheltered only by tall cliffs and large rocks—sent tingles and bolts of heat to her core.

Spike lifted his arm, to loop his fingers around her wrist and pull her down to kneel beside him. She quickly divested him of his pants, and threw them aside without a care as he drew her against his body, kissing his way down her neck and across her chest.

When he took a nipple into his mouth, Buffy gasped, arching her back and closing her eyes. Spike sat up suddenly, dislodging her from his lap, and she laughed, lightly biting him on the nose when he rolled over to settle on top of her with a sigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Sun shinin’ through your hair like that, skin all alight.”

Buffy let her legs fall open, raising her hips against his hardness and he entered her in one smooth stroke. “You’re not—oh!—not so bad yourself.”

“Love you, Buffy.” He started to move. “Tell me… tell me you do, too.”

“I love you.” Her heart felt too big, too filled with emotion, and it choked her even as she met Spike’s thrusts, spiralling closer and closer to completion. “Don’t go. Please, don’t go.”

Spike buried his head in the crook of her neck, unable to speak,

The noon sun beat down on his back and the sea was a silent voyeur to their lovemaking.

***

Some time later, Buffy jolted awake by the creeping tide tickling her feet. She sat up, shivering. The sun was hidden by a thick covering of cloud, and the wind had picked up.

This time there wasn’t a sudden jolt to her heart. No swift realisation, no sickening dread. She just knew. From the way the air felt different now that he was no longer there, to the strange silence; even at his quietest, Spike radiated energy.

Standing, she began to gather her clothes, allowing herself a small smile when she saw that his were still there too. She picked up his shirt, the well-worn softness a comfort when she drew it to her face, and his scent on the fabric brought tears to her eyes.

She swallowed them down before slipping the shirt over her head. She pulled on her underwear, then her pants, her movements mechanical. Finally, she put on Spike’s coat—that silly, heavy, battered old coat—and wrapped it tight around her body.

She slid her hands into the pockets to stop them from shaking, and her fingers closed around something soft. Withdrawing her hand, she saw that it was one of her hair-ties, a nondescript piece of red ribbon, and it was only when she saw it, saw that he’d kept something so silly, that she finally let herself cry.

-TBC-

Chapter Ten

The first thing Spike noticed was the dark. Not grey, anymore. Black. Suffocating. He tried to stand, but his legs were shaking, and it was at that moment, he realised he was naked.

But of course you are, his brain chastised. You fell asleep naked, with... His thoughts trailed off as the thought of her caused a terrible pain to build up in his chest.

He tried to stand again, managing it this time, though it was a struggle. Looking at his surroundings, he thought that the place hadn't changed much since the first time: it just seemed darker, now. Perhaps that was a reflection of his state of mind.

He waited, not having anything better to do. Tried walking around, but the space was so small and he kept hitting some kind of buffer, something that felt... fuzzy. Keeping him in.

He knew that the demon would turn up soon to complete the transaction. He still couldn't remember what he'd bargained away, but he knew it had to be something.

He was right, of course. The demon arrived sometime later—he wasn't sure how much time had passed; it seemed to move differently here—but arrive it did, in a showy swirl of white smoke and flashing lights.

Spike felt slightly at a disadvantage being without clothes, but he stood as tall as he could and faced the demon head-on, sneer on his face. The demon was short and squat and it was dressed, rather typically, in a long cloak with billowing hood. “Here you are then,” Spike said, wanting to get it over with.

“Yes.” Its voice echoed around the nothingness, though it had no mouth on its pale, fleshy face. No eyes, either.

“Well?” Spike prompted. “What do I owe you?”

“You don’t remember?” Though phrased as a question, there was no inflection in the demon’s voice; it remained on the same monotonous level.

“Wouldn’t be asking if I did, would I?”

“Hmm.” The demon approached, a sickly-sweet smell filling Spike’s nostrils when it stopped in front of him. It reached out a pallid hand and pressed its palm to Spike’s head. He shivered at the sticky feel of the skin, but before he could say anything, his head filled with images, like a film reel playing in his mind.

***

He saw himself, fully dressed, standing in the grey nothingness. He still wore the amulet around his neck, though its centre was cracked through. Spike watched as his past-self looked around, trying to work out where he was.

He saw himself sitting, thinking, and knew that those were the times he had seen into Buffy and Dawn’s life... seen them on the aeroplane, seen them crying.

Then, finally, the demon came. With the same level of pomp and circumstance with which it had arrived just moments before, it came to a stop before past-Spike, featureless face twisted in a mockery of a grin.

“What do you want?” The demon said, its voice weak.

“Where am I? What’s going on?” As Spike watched the conversation, he began to remember what had happened, and a sickening sense of dread filled him.

“That is not relevant,” the demon replied. “What do you wish for? What is it you want above all else?”

Spike saw his past self close his eyes, and knew that he had been thinking of Buffy, of being with her. “I want…”

“Yes?” The demon sounded eager, its voice stronger.

“Her.”

“The Slayer?” Its voice was gleeful now.

“Yes,” past-Spike replied. “Buffy. Just want to know she’ll be okay.”

“What if I could send you back to her?” the demon asked, rubbing the long fingers of its hands together. “What if I could give you a second chance?”

“Why would you do that?” Past-Spike asked, casting suspicious eyes over the demon. “What’s in it for you?”

“Oh, a trifle,” the demon replied, reaching out a hand to the amulet around Spike’s neck. “Just that pretty trinket of yours.”

“Just this?” Past-Spike took hold of the amulet, wincing at the sharp shock it sent through his palm, the odd stinging sensation it sent to his heart. “Oh.”

“Yessss,” the demon hissed. “Now you understand.”

“Why? Can’t be worth much, my soul.”

“No? The soul won fairly in an act of love by what was once a vicious, bloodthirsty vampire? The soul that cleansed a Hellmouth? Why, the only thing sweeter would be the soul of a Slayer.” The demon shivered in delight. “Oh, your soul will be satisfying indeed.”

“So, what? I give you my soul and you send me back to my Slayer?” He snorted. “She won’t want me without it.”

The demon paused, considering, head cocked. “I could send you back with the soul. It would only be temporary. You wouldn’t exist fully in that reality, and only she would be able to see you.” It paused again, then nodded. “Yes, I could do that. It will be difficult. Require lots of concentration. But I can do it.”

“And when my time is up…”

“You will return here. Your body will go to whatever hell vampires like yourself earn as their final resting place, and I shall feast on the soul of a Champion.”

Spike watched while his past-self thought it over, knowing as he did so that he would make the same decision a thousand times over if it meant he got to see Buffy once more.

“What if I say no? What then?”

“Then you will remain here, in this grey nothingness for all eternity.” The demon chuckled.

“Right then,” past-Spike said. “Hell’s a small price to pay for what you’re offering.”

“Good,” the demon replied, voice filled with jubilation. It reached out a hand to the amulet. “Give me that, then sit. Think of her, think of a place. Concentrate, and you will be with her in no time at all…”

“Wait.” Past-Spike held up a hand. “I want a guarantee. You’ll do nothing to her, understand?”

“As long as she does not try to keep you with her, I promise not to touch the girl. Otherwise—” the demon shrugged “—she comes back with you.”

Past-Spike nodded and took the amulet off, handing it to the demon without a word.

***

The vision ended, and Spike came back to himself with a jolt.

“Now you see,” the demon said, reaching into the pocket of its robe and pulling out the amulet. It glistened in the darkness, the golden light within pulsing outwards towards Spike, almost as if it were trying to reconnect with him. “Was it worth it, then? For the price you’re going to pay, to see her?”

“Yes.” Spike’s answer was without hesitation. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“Shame yours doesn’t beat,” the demon said. “That was your only chance. And now, it is time for you to move on. I have things to do, souls to devour.” It raised a hand and Spike felt something begin to push on him, forcing him away. “Shoo.”

The last thing Spike saw was the demon bringing the amulet to its lips, the golden light of Spike’s soul swirling towards the thing’s mouth.

***

There was no point, Buffy thought, in rushing back to her friends. They would just ask questions that she wasn't ready to answer; make her think of things she didn't want to think of.

It was dark, now, and she had returned to the apartment in a daze, Spike’s long leather coat whipping her ankles with every step. She sat in the living room, lights off, shivering in the dark. She was too numb to do anything more, her feelings still too raw for her to examine them more closely.

Eventually, she stood, and moved into the bedroom. The bed was still mussed from last night’s—God, had it only been last night?—activities, and Spike’s scent lingered in the room. She lay down on the bed, still clothed in his t-shirt and coat, but it was a long time before she fell into a fitful sleep.

***

It was late morning when she woke up, the sun shining through the thin curtains. Buffy sat up, blinking her bleary eyes as she tried to work out what had awoken her. A noise—a frantic knocking at the front door.

She scrambled out of bed, the absurd thought that Spike might be back once more adding speed to her movements as she strode through the small living room.

Buffy opened the door to reveal Giles, Dawn and Willow standing on the front step, with Jack a few paces behind them. She could only conclude that he had shown them the way to the apartment.

Too exhausted and emotionally drained to tell her friends that they should have waited for her phone-call, like she’d asked, Buffy opened the door wider to let them in. Besides, now that they were here, she was glad. Just their presence had a small impact on how she was feeling.

She heard Giles say something to Jack, who nodded and took off down the garden path without a word.

Dawn was watching her with wide eyes. “Buffy?”

“I’m okay, Dawnie,” she replied, and allowed her younger sister to lead her over to the couch.

Dawn plucked at the leather sleeve of the coat she was still wearing and frowned. “This is Spike’s coat.” It was not a question.

Nodding, Buffy allowed the last of her walls to crumble down, and the events of the last few days spilled from her lips, from that first sighting of Spike on the beach to his disappearance back into the grey the night before.

Willow and Giles listened, shock and scepticism on their faces, but even they couldn’t deny the physical evidence of Spike’s coat and shirt.

“This is most extraordinary,” Giles commented, removing his glasses and cleaning the lenses on the bottom of his jacket. “And he made a deal with a demon, you say?”

“Yeah.” Buffy nodded. “But he couldn’t remember what the demon wanted in exchange. I’m so worried…”

Dawn put her hand over her sister’s. “He’ll be okay. It’s Spike; he can handle one little demon.”

“You didn’t see him, Dawnie,” Buffy replied. “He was so… defeated. So resigned to what he’d agreed to, whatever it was.”

“Ooh. Ooh!” Willow bounced in her seat, waving her hand in the air. “I can try and trace him. From what he described to you—the grey, the nothingness—it sounds like he was in a kind of holding dimension. Demons hire them out for shady transactions… kind of like little pocket dimensions in between all the physical ones, so no laws apply. This demon… it must have sensed an opportunity when Spike died. Pulled him in. You have his coat, and it’s been in the grey dimension with him, so I could try to find out where it is—”

“—and Spike might still be there, the demon might not have got to him yet!” Dawn finished. “We could get him out!”

Giles held out a wary hand. “Let’s not get our hopes up,” he said. “We don’t know if this will work.”

“But it might.” Buffy’s eyes were shining with the very first glimmer of hope. “It might.”

***

Willow had to travel to the nearby town of Swanage to find a magic shop that had all the supplies she needed to work the dimension-locating spell. It was a long drive and by the time Giles had hired a car to take them there and back again, and the journey had been made, night was closing in.

Nevertheless, Willow said she would attempt the spell straight away; the longer they left it, the less chance there would be of finding Spike in the grey.

Giles helped to set up the twenty white pillar candles in a circle around the witch, whilst Dawn placed little bunches of herbs at four points in the room. Buffy watched the proceedings with an anxious eye, trying not to let herself get too excited. It might not work.

“Buffy?” Willow stood in front of her, hand outstretched. “I need Spike’s coat.”

“Oh, right.” Buffy nodded, and shrugged the duster from her shoulders—the first time she had done so since putting it on the night before. She felt a little nervous about handing it over to Willow, who had a history of spells going awry. Still, if that was the only way…

Placing the coat in the centre of the circle, Willow sat herself down next to it and closed her eyes. She was silent for several long moments and then she smiled.

“Oh! I see it, I think. Lots of grey.”

“What about Spike?” Dawn asked. “Can you see him?”

“Give me a sec,” Willow replied. “It’s kinda misty. Oh!”

“Oh?” Buffy bit her lip. “What oh?”

“I see him!” Willow smiled. “It looks like he’s unconscious…” Her cheeks coloured slightly. “And kinda naked. And can I just say—wow.”

“Willow?” Buffy’s voice held a warning. “Less ogling, more spell casting? Can you see a demon there, too?”

“Can’t see or sense a demon.” Willow said, her eyes snapping open as she let herself drop forward. “Now we know where Spike is, we should try to get him out before the demon does arrive. Should be easy enough.” She stood and sprinkled a circle of sand around the outside of the candles.

“I hate to be the voice of caution,” Giles put in, suddenly.

“Oh come on, Giles.” Buffy interrupted him, her mood suddenly buoyant. “You love being the voice of caution.”

“Be that as it may,” he replied, “surely interfering now would invalidate the deal Spike made with the demon? And that would put you in danger, Buffy.”

“I don’t care.” Buffy lifted her head and looked her watcher in the eye. “If the demon decides to take me, I’ll slay it.”

Giles sighed. “Very well. I can see I’m not going to be able to change your mind.”

“No.” Buffy held his gaze for a moment longer, before turning back to Willow. “Think you can get him out?”

“Absolutely! Just gimme a moment to get centered.” She sat down again, placed her hands in her lap, and closed her eyes.

The others looked on anxiously as the minutes ticked by and still Willow sat there, eyes closed and back rigid. Eventually, she slumped sideways, the movement breaking the circle of candles. Dawn hurried to help the witch stand up.

“Did it work?” Willow asked. She looked around the room, obviously expecting to see Spike. “That should have worked. I felt it work. He… he wasn’t in the grey, anymore.”

“It didn’t,” Buffy replied, dully. “He’s not here.”

“I’m sorry.” Willow’s face fell. “Buffy, I swear, that should have worked.”

“I know.” Buffy tried to smile at her friend. “I’m tired now.” Picking up the leather duster from the floor, she retreated into the bedroom without another word.

***
The rain pounded heavily on the stone, turning it slippery. Dangerous. Buffy didn’t care; her steps were sure as she wound her way along the wall.

It was mid-morning and usually at this time the beach and seafront would have been busy. There would have been yachts and sailing boats launched out onto the waves, and children swimming in the ocean.

Today, she was the only one around. The boats moored in the harbour were sheltered somewhat by the wall of the Cobb, ropes clinking against their masts. In the otherwise silent bay, the sound was eerie.

Buffy reached the end of the long wall and stood at its head, staring out to sea. The waves were rough and white-tipped, churning against the sides of the Cobb and sending splashes of sea-spray over the top of the wall.

Three days. Three days since Willow had attempted to bring Spike back from the pocket dimension the demon had him held in. Three days since that had failed.

Her friend had tried again the morning after, but had discovered with dismay that Spike was no longer there, in the grey. It had been too late.

Buffy was leaving later that day, heading back to London with Dawn and her friends.

She wanted to stay for a little longer. Reality and duty intruded, however, and she knew she had to go with them. This, standing on the harbour wall, was her way of saying goodbye. Goodbye to the town and goodbye to Spike. Everywhere she looked she could see reminders of him and the time they spent together. Over there: the place where they had danced. Around the curve of the coastline: the sheltered cove on the beach where they had made love. In the distance: the top of the tree where they had shared childhood memories and watched the sky explode with colour.

She stared out at the sea as it bubbled and boiled under the stormy sky, Spike’s coat beating at her ankles.

So many of her memories of Spike were tied to Sunnydale, a place that no longer existed, somewhere she would never be able to visit again. Here, they had had but a few days with each other, but it was still here, the town was still standing—somewhere she could come to in the future. He would like that, she thought.

Pulling the red ribbon Spike had stolen from the coat’s pocket, she raised her arm, and let the hair-tie flutter in the wind. She let it go and watched it take flight over the waves, disappearing into the stormy sky. When she spoke, her words were whispered.

“Goodbye, Spike.”

Buffy turned, fighting the tears that threatened to overspill. She wouldn’t cry anymore. Head down against the battering wind, she started to walk back along the Cobb.

Cries of her name from the shore barely reached her over the sounds of the sea, but she eventually heard them. Looking up, she gasped, one hand covering her mouth, the other going to her heart.

Dawn, Giles and Willow stood on the esplanade, waving, smiling, and calling her name... and running towards her, grin on his face, was Spike.

“What—?” Her head was spinning and she felt her legs weaken, and suddenly Spike was there, his arms around her, holding her up. She kissed him once, twice, frantically, her breath coming in short, sharp spurts from the shock of it all.

“The witch’s spell worked,” Spike said, when they finally pulled apart. “In the nick of time, too. Bloody demon was about to steal my soul and send me to hell when she pulled me out of there.” He smiled, wryly. “Still hasn’t learned, Willow. You resurrect someone, they’re gonna wake up where they died.”

“The Hellmouth.” Buffy whispered, unable to take her eyes off his face or remove her hands from his grasp.

“Yeah. Took me a while to get back here,” Spike said. “Went to Angel for help—and wasn’t that a barrel of laughs? He put me on a plane after some prodding and poking from his science bird, and a lot of brooding. Got here as soon as I could after that.”

“I can’t believe it,” she whispered, a tremulous smile breaking out across her face.

Spike lifted her hand and kissed her palm, before placing it across his chest. “How about this?” he said.

Buffy’s eyes widened as she felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand. “You’re human.”

“Not quite.” Spike shook his head. “Got some demon in me, still. Or so said Fred—the scientist. But I am alive. Somehow.”

“This is a dream.”

“Feels like one, doesn’t it?” Spike pulled her into a hug, and buried his face in her hair. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” she replied, noticing for the first time the warmth of his body as it cradled hers.

“Come on,” he said, pulling away. “Your friends are waiting.”

Buffy nodded and slipped her hand into his, and together they walked out of the grey.

***

Epilogue

“Think we should head back to the apartment?” Buffy asked half-heartedly, hoping he would say no. She was too comfortable to move.

“Nah,” Spike replied, shifting slightly beneath her weight so he could reach the punnet of strawberries. He plucked one from the box and held it over his wife’s lips. “They’ll tire themselves out soon enough.”

Reaching up so she could capture the plump fruit between her lips, Buffy nodded. “What game is it, now?”

“D’you even have to ask?” Spike leaned down and kissed the uneaten half of her strawberry away from her mouth.

“Hey, that was mine,” she exclaimed, then sighed. “Vampires and Slayers, then?”

“Yep.”

“We’re a bad influence,” Buffy said, sitting up and peering towards the tall evergreen tree where their children were playing. Emily had a twig in her hand and was using it to pretend to stake her brother.

“We’ve done all right,” he mused. “They’re good kids.”

Buffy winced when she saw Jamie bite at Emily’s leg. “I think you spoke too soon.”

High above them, the sun was pleasantly warm, and they settled back on the picnic blanket, the only sounds disturbing the peace being the distant crash of waves on the beach and the high-pitched yells of their children playing.

THE END