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Buffy couldn't understand how this had happened. Just eight hours ago, she'd been dancing on a cloud of air. Doing something Angel had convinced her she couldn't do. Couldn't have, because she was the Slayer, set apart from the world. Different. Alone.

Yet she wasn't. Not anymore. He'd convinced her that the Prince of her youth, her forever love, wasn't. He'd been a magician when he'd pulled a happy ending from the tatters of what should have been a tragedy. And he'd done it all himself. While she'd been busy mending bones and muscles after Drusilla's attack, somehow he'd put together the perfect fairy tale ending for her. Completely out of thin air, suddenly there were trombones and roses, champagne and star light. And he'd done it without complaint.

The others had quietly pulled her aside, cautioning her to watch for the crash they were sure would come. It seems that this happy ending had been all that had been fueling him. Buffy knew Spike had seen some horrible things. And, once her wounds had begun to heal she wanted to be there for him, to help him sort through all the traumatic things they both knew he'd experienced in that old distillery. But, he never made any mention of them, preferring just to focus on her recovery.

And as she watched the police, and the coroner's van, drive away with another teenage, "Jane Doe" to analyze and catalog, she saw the façade he'd spent months, even years, building crumble away as if it had never been.

It was as if she were back in that little chapel in Sunnydale. He sounded broken. And, it broke her heart.

"...There's no reason for it, Buffy. None. She shouldn't be dead. Why is she dead?" his eyes were looking to her for the answer, and she had none to give. When no answer came he continued pacing as if he'd never stopped to address her at all. He was pacing and mumbling to himself, and looking at his hands as if they were some new part of his anatomy. The scene reminded Buffy of something straight out of a Shakespearian tragedy, "There should be blood," he said, looking at his hands and then down at where the dead girl had been, "There should be blood," he nodded to himself, "She's dead. But, there's no blood," his eyes never left his hands, "It's here. It should be here," he turned his palms over slowly, examining them in the light of the streetlamps, "There's so much of it."

"Miss, is he all right?" the officer asked, "Does he need an ambulance?"

"No, Officer, he just needs a minute. We're not really used to seeing young people just keel over like that. He just needs a few minutes, and then I'm sure he'll be fine."

The officer was skeptical, "Well, if you're sure he'll be all right."

"Yes, I'm sure, Officer. Thank you." She turned to Spike and tried to sound calming to his obviously frayed nerves, but she didn't know if she could accomplish such a feat of acting when seeing him like this brought her tears so close to the surface, "William, go back to the car," she pleaded with her voice, "Remember your allergy? You don't want to have another attack. I'll finish telling the policeman everything I remember," his eyes were wide and frightened as he looked at her, "Then we'll start our honeymoon. We'll be out of here before you know it," Buffy gave him a slight hug and he held her as if he was afraid she'd slip through his fingers, "Go back to the car," she hoped she wouldn't dissolve into tears and cause him more stress, "Please?"

For an instant, he seemed not to recognize her. Looking at her as if she were a curiously beautiful butterfly he'd only just discovered, he nodded, turned on his heel and walked stiffly toward the sanctuary the big, classic car offered him.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief as she watched the door close, encasing Spike in the darkness that was his safety. Turning to the officer, she asked, "What do you want to know?"
*********************

In the cool darkness of the car the nightmares came flooding back. The images came too fast for him to process them. Each one pummeled him until he couldn't defend himself anymore. He was just too tired. Six months of this. He thought immersing himself in the fairy tale would help him to beat it. But, he was wrong, he realized that, now.

There were things that went through his head when he went to sleep, and sometimes when he was awake, that he could never tell Buffy about. Buffy. Perhaps he'd been wrong about who Drusilla's last victim had been. Maybe it wasn't Buffy at all. Maybe, it was he.

He pulled his knees up against his chest, suddenly not caring what a sad picture he must have seemed, a full-grown man cowering in the corner, and tried to make himself as small as he possibly could. If he made himself small enough then maybe the nightmares wouldn't know he was there. If he were small enough, maybe he could escape them. He'd tried it once before, in another time and place. But, that time and place was closed off now, and he couldn't go back, no matter how much he might want to.

It hadn't worked anyway. The nightmares still found you, no matter how hard you tried to outrun them they still found you. He understood that. And so did Angelus.
************************

He'd been patrolling when he noticed their car. Theirs. Yes, they were together now, he knew that. Who didn't? It was all over the West Coast inside a week. It was unheard of. It was an, ironically, unholy alliance. A Slayer and a vampire were to marry? Impossible. It was against every rule, written or not, that there was. It just was not done. He'd tried to spare Buffy from that. He'd tried to give her a normal life. And he'd tried to make Spike see reason and let her go so that she could have the normal life he knew neither of them could give her.

But Spike was never one to be reasonable.

As Angel watched the coroner's van pull silently away, he decided to follow. Spike had been right for once. There was no physical reason, that he could detect, for that girl to be dead. From his rooftop vantage point, Angel could see that this runaway's death had Spike quite visibly undone. Even Buffy was having a difficult time settling him. He had a bad feeling about this. Spike had done many things, but he didn't spook easily. For that reason alone, Angel was going to find out what had caused her death.
*****************************

Buffy ducked into the car. She found Spike curled up in the corner of the back seat. His back was pressed against the doorframe and his head was resting on his knees. The posture reminded her so much of his time in the Sunnydale High School basement that it sent quivers down her spine, "Spike, are you all right?"

He looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time in years, instead of mere moments ago, "Buffy?"

"Yeah," she smiled, "Buffy Anne Summers at your...I mean," her eyes twinkled at him as she tried on her new moniker, "Mrs. William Alistair Dustin, at your service, sir," she giggled, "You never told me you had a goofy name like Alistair."

The look on his face had proven her right. When in doubt, distract.

"Goofy? My name's goofy?" he huffed, "Where as, 'Buffy' is a classic that's been around for generations! Queens and noblewomen the world over have been called Buffy!" he shook his head a little, giving her a smile, "Love, that's not your actual name," he winced, "is it?"

She pouted, "What, you don't like my name?"

"I love your name, Pet," he assured, "It's just that 'Buffy' used to be a nickname, of sorts, for Elisabeth. Is your Christian name, Elisabeth?"

"Yeah, but I like Buffy better."

"So do I, Love," he grinned, some of his pains forgotten when he looked into her face, "I'm really sorry about losing myself back there."

She waved him off, "No problem! If you can't wig out a little in front of your wife... Besides, if you got out of control, I'd just kick your ass."

He nodded and smiled at her, grateful for the bit of normalcy she offered him, "You would at that, Pet."

"Damn right I would," she touched the hand that bore the ring that matched hers, "Now, what do you say we start our honeymoon?"
*********************

Angel walked into the police station, appearing frantic, "I need to report a missing person."

The officer at the desk didn't even bother to glance up, "Name, age and physical description?"

"Lorraine Angelus. She's seventeen," he said, wringing his hands, "She ran away a week ago. Her mother and I have been so worried about her. I wonder officer, have you seen her?"

"I won't know that until you tell me what she looks like."

"She's just a little over five feet tall and has maple colored hair and brown eyes. Oh, and she has a very distinctive birthmark on her left cheek. It's a kind of purplish color. It looks like a bird."

That description caused Officer Theodore Brown to look up at the frantic man giving the report. Just as he came on shift this evening there was a coroner's report that crossed his desk about a "Jane Doe" matching this exact description, "Are you this person's father?" he asked.

"Yes," Angel lied.

Theo's heart sank. He hated this part of the job, "I see. Sir, come with me, please."
******************************************

Buffy's mind suddenly went blank. There was no room in her head for rational thought. Not when he was touching her like that.

His hands. His hands were doing things, and touching her in places she'd never been touched before, by anyone. Not even him. Somehow, he'd managed to find places she didn't know existed. And it wasn't just his hands that were taking her to new heights. He was doing things to her that she didn't even think were possible for the average human to endure. It was a good thing for the both of them that she wasn't the average human.

"Oh, God, Spike," she moaned, thrilling at how her body felt.

"Like that, Pet?" he purred against her skin, "You taste so good. You're ambrosia."

"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked, when she had regained the rational thought needed to construct a simple thought.

His eyes were dark and shining with lust, and love for her, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes, I would," she said, lazily, "So we can go there. And, do that again."

Spike smirked at her, "Why travel so far, when you have everything you need close at hand?"

"I do, you know," she paused at his quizzical look, "Have everything I need," she coaxed him up for a kiss, "Right here."

Spike nuzzled into the crook of her neck, clearly overcome with emotion, " I love you, Buffy. I just... love you. You know I would never hurt you, don't you?"

"Not unless I asked you to," she said, slyly.

She could see from the look on his face that he wasn't in a teasing mood, and she sobered quickly, "I know," when he tried to avoid her eyes, she asked, "Where did that come from?"

He was suddenly stuttering and unsure. He sat up in the bed, his back to her, "I don't know, exactly," his eyes were bright, "It's just that..." he looked at his hands again, touching the ring he wore, a bit timidly, "these hands have done so much. Too much, you don't even know..."

Buffy sat up and held his hands in hers, looking down at the place where they were joined now, "I know what it is you've done. But, we're together now. From here on out, we go through things like a team. Together," she pushed his face toward her so that she could see his eyes; "You're my partner now. You're more than that now," she said, remembering the words etched into both of their wedding bands, "You're me."
*****************

As Angel searched through the girl's personal effects, he discovered a small silver band, tarnished with age. He could tell that this piece of jewelry was a prized possession, the metal made soft from constantly being near the skin. On the inside of the band, Angel could just make out an inscription, "W.E. are one."





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