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Author's Chapter Notes:
As always, to my wonderful, terrific and talented betas xyellowroset, beanbeans, and Holly.
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It was strange how things could change so quickly—this day, for instance. It had been miserably hot throughout the day as the sweltering sun beat down from a clear blue sky, without so much as a wisp of cloud to offer solace from the heat. Then came night fall; the darkness bringing with it a chill that set into the bones and rattled the teeth.

Buffy's mood was as changeable as the day had been. When Spike had walked away, into the woods, she'd been seething with anger. She'd hurried through her bath, using the remaining lukewarm water to rinse her hair and to wash the grit and grime from her skin. But the joy of finally feeling clean was weakened by the still churning emotions after her fight with Spike.

Now, sitting in the wagon, damp hair and soaking wet chemise and petticoat doing little to ward off the cold dark night, Buffy was rethinking her actions. Loath as she was to admit it, she knew she'd reacted irrationally to his kiss. Their kiss, she corrected herself. As much as she'd like to deny it, she'd been as active a participant as he'd been.

But in her defense, she reasoned that he had simply taken her by surprise. One minute she was relishing clean, hot water on her skin and the feel Spike's fingers massaging her scalp. Before she could even register what she was doing, she'd found herself leaning back into the feel of his strong chest supporting her and the movement of his fingers along her temples, relaxing into his embrace.

She realized now that at the time she'd felt safe, possibly for the first time since they'd been transported here. And it had been such a pleasure to escape from the tension and frustration—to allow her whirling mind to ease away from the troubles of trying to find their way out of this time, trying to survive. She remembered feeling her knees give way, feeling lightheaded and free. And then, suddenly, there were his arms, turning her and pulling her against him, his lips meeting hers.

It had felt good. More than good, it had felt right. Like she was where she belonged, where she needed to be. Letting him hold her, touch her, kiss her, making everything better in such a delicious way. Even now, the memory of his mouth on her neck, his hands pulling her close, made her shiver. She could blame it on the damp clothes, the chill of the night air, but she knew she'd be lying to herself.

Just like she'd lied to him.

Buffy peeked out the back of the wagon, her eyes scanning the dark outlines of the trees. Glancing up at the sliver of moon that hung in the sky, she worried about how long Spike had been gone. She glanced at her wrist and frowned in frustration at old habits and the wristwatch that she'd forgotten to put on the day they were transported. It was on her dresser, more than a hundred forty years in the future.

The sky was pitch black, so it was probably closer to midnight than to dawn. Still, Spike had been gone too long, and even though the thought of rehashing what had happened between was the last thing Buffy wanted to do, she couldn't push down the empty, lonely feeling at his absence.

Vulnerability. She hated feeling this way; had always hated it. It's why she'd always fought to be the one in control, the one leading the way. She'd been taught early on that leaning on someone, needing them, was the quickest way to heartache. Oh, other people always talked a good game, making promises, swearing they'd be there when you needed them, but when things got tough, they were always long gone. She'd learned that lesson as a child, from a father whose promises were as fragile as the message notes they were written on.

Angel had reinforced the lesson when he'd walked away from her. She knew in her heart that he'd made the right decision, for both of them. They would never have been able to make it work, for so many reasons. But it still felt like she was being discarded, abandoned. So she'd pulled the shattered remnants of her heart and ego around her like a shield and had plowed on through life, vowing to never again let someone close enough to hurt her, make her weak.

Wasn't that the stumbling block between her and Riley; the cause of all their recent arguments? She wouldn't let him be the strong one—wouldn't lean on him. She couldn't get him to understand that it wasn't about him. It wasn't about worrying about him, or taking care of him. It was about taking care of herself, of her heart. She just couldn't let down her guard with him or risk opening her heart only to once again be hurt, to be left behind.

But here, now, Buffy was beginning to realize that the armor she'd cloaked herself in wasn't protecting her, it was dragging her down. She shivered again, remembering the thrill of Spike's touch, the jolt of electricity that ran through her when his body was close hers, his hands roaming her body. She hadn't felt passion like that in . . . well, a long time. She hadn't allowed herself to let go and simply feel.

Yes, it frightened her that it was Spike that was calling this out in her, but the fear was nothing compared to the realization of how much she missed feeling this way—the overwhelming exhilaration of being swept away, of opening up and showing the tender parts of her soul and trusting that they would be safe and protected.

She wasn't sure why she was willing to risk this now . . . here. And with Spike. They were in danger; they may never find their way home. But for the first time in a long time, she wasn't the strong one. And it wasn't within her control to change that. Spike was the one that fit in here, he was the one that seemed to know what do and say to help them find their way through.

And Spike was human here. Had a soul. Certainly that had something to do with her softening feelings toward him. It was only logical that his newfound humanity would make her feel differently about him. She didn't let herself ponder too long why Riley's humanity just left her feeling defensive and isolated.

Easier to deal with the here and now, than to borrow trouble from a future to which she may never return. Right now she had to make things right with Spike. The only way to do that was to open up to him and talk through whatever was going on between them. It wasn't going to be easy, but she knew she owed it to him. And to herself.

The soft crunch of boots on the dirt outside of the wagon caused Buffy to sit up from where she'd curled on her mattress. Realizing that her wet camisole left nothing to the imagination, she pulled the blanket more securely around her and then waited for him.

He climbed through the opening of the wagon, coming up short as he caught sight of her. From the look on his face, it was obvious that he'd hoped she would be asleep.

"Hi," she ventured softly, her eyes imploring him, even in the darkness, to accept her apology without her having to actually use the words. She'd been a jerk, but she was still hoping to come out of this without having to grovel too much.

He looked away from her, moving to the opposite side of the wagon. He furtively glanced in her direction again, before turning his back and stripping off his duster.

Buffy took in a deep breath. "I was beginning to worry."

"No need for that," he said, his voice muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head, not bothering to unbutton it. "Can take care of myself, Slayer."

His use of her official title caused Buffy's heart to skip a beat. "I know you can. I was just—"

"Look," he said, glancing over his shoulder at her. "You were right. I was wrong." He turned to face her, his eyes studying hers for a moment before gazing down at his boots. "Said so before, didn't I?"

Buffy blinked and opened her mouth to object, but he turned from her, sinking down to his knees on the pile of blankets that made up his bed. "Thought some more on it while I was out. You and I, Slayer, we need to keep things straight between us if we're gonna get home. We gotta work together, yeah, while we're here. But we both know that once we're home it'll be back to every vamp and Slayer for himself. Just the way it is. The way it's supposed to be. You don’t want to be havin' another vampire in your life, and I sure as hell don't want to be worryin' about your ass."

He turned back to her, his hands going to his belt buckle, the steel in his eyes visible even in the murky darkness of wagon. "When we get back, my number one goal will be what it's always been—get this bloody chip out and get back to what I do best." He whipped his belt out of its jean loops, the snapping of the leather causing Buffy to recoil from him, her eyes wide. "Killin' Slayers."

Buffy felt the rush of breath leave her as his cold eyes bore into her. "Is that so?" She whispered, almost too softly to hear.

"Yeah," Spike said, his voice softening a bit. "Just like you'll go back to doin' what you do best. Slayin' vampires. What you was made for, yeah?"

Buffy couldn't stop her lower lip from trembling, or her eyes filling with tears. She only hoped the darkness would cover her emotion. "Yeah, Spike, that's what I was made for. Thanks for reminding me."

She watched as his shoulders slumped a bit, his head tilting as he tried to see her face more clearly despite the lack of light. She covered her weakness, turning her back to him, pretending to be absorbed in straightening the bedding on her mattress.

She hadn't heard him move, but suddenly she felt his hand, tentative, on her shoulder. She held still a moment, fighting with whether to take the crumbs he was offering, but instead she pulled away from his touch. She wasn't about to take his pity.

"So, when should we be close to Plattsville? Maybe the next day or so?" Her voice was hoarse, and she cleared her throat. "We can get inside the mystery of that coin and maybe get ourselves home. Back to what both want."

She could feel his hand, still hovering near her shoulder and she tensed her body for another touch of his fingertips. She held her breath, willing him to move away. Pity or no, she wasn't sure she could turn from him again—and yet she knew she'd never forgive herself that weakness. When she felt him move back to his own bedding, she let out a trembling sigh.

His voice was gruff but not harsh when he spoke at last. "Thanks for reminding me." She could hear him rummaging with his bedding. "Now where the bloody hell . . ."

Buffy looked over at Spike, watching as he frantically searched the pockets of his duster, until at last he stopped, tossing the cost violently to the floor. He took the remaining bedding and stood, shaking it and then tossing it just as vehemently. Reaching for the oil lamp, he lit it and repeated his search of both the coat and the bedding, as well as the floor around him.

"What?" Buffy shook her head, shrugging in confusion at this new annoyance, wishing she could just go to bed and sleep this hideous day away.

Spike, his eyebrows drawn together, leveled a look at her. "The fuckin' coin is gone."

"What?" Buffy barked, jumping up to stand beside him. "What do you mean it's gone?"

"Just what I said, Buffy. It's gone." He picked up the coat, again rummaging through its pockets. "Was storin' it in this inside pocket for safe keepin'. At night I've been putting it under the flour keg here. When you mentioned the bloody coin, it reminded me that I hadn' put it away for the night."

"Did you check the floor, the blankets, maybe it fell out when you took the coat off."

"Did you not just see me do that? No, it's not here."

Buffy glanced around the wagon in frustration. "Where could it have gone? Could it have fallen out of your coat?"

The ex-vampire shook his head. "Not likely. This inside pocket is deep and has a flap." He flipped the coat over, showing her the pocket. "It's why I chose to keep it there. On my person. It's not like . . . wait."

"Wait," Buffy raised a brow. "Wait for what."

Spike's tongue came out, running along his lower lip, as he appeared to ponder the floor boards of the wagon. "Know it was there this morning." He glanced at Buffy quickly, then down again. "There was only one time when this coat was off me today."

"When was that?" Buffy asked, noticing that Spike was studiously avoiding her gaze, his teeth gnawing almost nervously on his bottom lip. A weight formed in the pit of her stomach as she watched him fidget.

After a long moment, he let out a sigh and looked her in the eye. "When I was off helping Shay with the Cooper's back axel. Took the coat off when we went to lift the carriage."

Buffy nodded, urging Spike to continue. "Where did you leave it?"

Spike's eyes shifted again, down to the coat he still held in his hands, then back to her. Buffy's heart clenched in fear at the look on his face. "Had someone hold it for me. Just for a minute."

Buffy's eyes narrowed, the fear now moving into up into her throat, making her chest tight. She looked down at the duster and slowly back at Spike. "And who was that, Spike. Who did you have hold the coat?"

"Katie."


To Be Continued





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