~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spike tossed and turned for a while, the hard wood beneath his duster obviously affording him little comfort. Buffy listened as his breathing began to even out, and before too long she heard the soft snores that heralded his slumber.
Slowly, she rolled over onto her other side, keeping alert to any sign that her movements might have awakened the sleeping vampire.
Ex-vampire.
It was hard for her to think of Spike as anything but the deadly foe she had come to know and loath. Granted these last weeks and months since their victory over Adam had shown him to be useful—but he would never be a trusted ally. He worked for money, blood, and cigarettes—not to save the world, or make it a better place. Not out of the goodness of his heart, but to fill his own pockets, his own needs.
But now that heart was beating.
Spike was human now, and that fact threw a cosmic monkey wrench into Buffy’s orderly view of her fellow time traveler. Spike equals the evil undead. Did a beating heart and active respiratory system really change anything? If either of them wanted to get out of this mystery and back to Sunnydale in one piece, Buffy knew they were going to have to work together. She’d just have to hope that this new found humanity made him just a little bit less of a peroxided pain in her ass.
The object of her musing mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep, and Buffy glanced quickly at this face to see if he’d awoken. He was, thankfully, still asleep, stretched on his stomach, his cheek resting on the rumpled flannel shirt that was now his pillow. One of his arms was stretched out towards her; his fingertips nearly touching the feather tick.
There was no black fingernail polish. No heavy rings graced his fingers. Just pale skin, stretched taut over bone and muscle. Buffy’s eyes wandered along the muscles of his forearms, up to the cut of his bicep. He had strong arms for man as slender as he was.
To be fair, she had to admit Spike was in excellent shape. It was probably the only thing that had kept him dust resistant in their battles against each other. Her gazed moved from his arms, across his shoulders, to the smooth, long muscles of his back as they tapered gently to an elegantly slender waist. The hollow of the small of his back dipped into shadow as it disappeared into the loosened waist-band of his jeans.
This is not good. Lying here contemplating Spike’s jeans and … well, what’s beneath them. She heaved a sigh and rolled onto her back, looking up into the pitch darkness of the wagon cover. Within two minutes she’d figured out that she was just keyed up. Lots of nervous energy and no where to expend it. It had been over week since she’d had a good slay; and longer than that since she’d had quality time with her boyfriend. His job hunt was not going well, and their relationship wasn’t fairing much better. So, here she was, all hyped up and no one to kill … or fuck.
Buffy’s eyes drifted over to Spike’s sleeping form once more. Nibbling at her bottom lip she wondered, not for the first time, where Riley was when she could really use him?
Realizing that no good would come from her current train of thought, Buffy decided to derail it. She slipped silently from the coarse mattress and tiptoed to the entrance of the wagon. Peering cautiously out into the moonlit night, she was greeted with the sight of dying campfires and the sound of the snores of some of her slumbering fellow wagon train passengers. Everyone seemed tucked in for the night, and it didn’t appear that they had anyone walking guard around the perimeter of the campsite.
Gingerly, Buffy hopped from the wagon, landing on the balls of her feet and crouching low. She slowly stood and began creeping around the side of the wagon. She stumbled once before pulling her long skirts up and out of her way, then turned towards the perimeter of the campsite and once again glanced around her.
No time like the present for a little reconnaissance work.
It was the quietness that woke him. Even sleeping in his crypt, there was the constant drone of noise that told you that you lived in a city. The purr of car engines, an occasional too-loud radio and heated conversations. There was always, in the background, ambient noise of some sort or another.
Here there was silence.
Spike had fallen asleep quickly and woke to a deep in the gut, something just wasn’t right feeling. Peering through the murky darkness of the wagon to the feather tick, he found the cause of his concern.
Buffy was gone.
It didn’t take Buffy long to skirt the perimeter of the encampment. She wasn’t sure about the normal size of a wagon train, but this one seemed small. It consisted of a dozen or so wagons and the oxen that pulled them, along with several cows and assorted other livestock. Most of the other travelers appeared to sleep within their wagons, as she and Spike had been doing, but a few slumbered outside on bunk rolls placed close to the fires that had now died down to softly glowing embers.
Buffy was about to turn back towards her wagon when she heard a muffled sound the small copse of trees off to the right of the encampment. Glancing up, she saw that the moon now hung low in the purple streaked sky. Daybreak was fast approaching, and she had a feeling that wagon train travel warranted rising with the sun. Her step quickened as she moved towards the noise that had drawn her attention.
It didn’t take her long to find the source. Although to be truthful, the source actually found her; his voice startling her.
“You won’t find answers out here.”
She approached the man cautiously. He was old, sitting upon the ground, leaning against an even older oak tree.
“I’m sorry,” Buffy offered, “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just heard—”
“You have not disturbed me. I was just gathering myself for the day, which is about to begin its journey.” His voice was deep and warm and when he looked up at her it was with worn, grey eyes. “You are on a journey as well.”
Buffy nodded. “Yes, my … my husband in I are traveling—”
“He is not as he was. This man of yours.”
“Wait, he’s not my—” Buffy’s eyes widened. “What?”
“He used to take life and blood; now he will give them.” The man nodded to himself, satisfied he’d made himself clear. Rising to his feet he approached Buffy. “I dreamed of you both last night. A fierce warrior with a true heart.”
“Who are you?” Buffy whispered, looking up into his eyes.
He smiled, the lines around his eyes deepening. “I am many people. I am Shamala. I am shaman. I am a guide.”
“Like a spirit guide?” Buffy asked, her eyebrows lifting in surprise.
“No, little one,” the older man laughed, “A train guide. Although in our own way, we are all spirit guides.”
“I’m actually not feeling the spirit guide thing right now,” Buffy allowed herself to smile at the old man. For the first time since beginning this adventure, she felt, somehow, safe. The smile fled her face just as quickly when she saw the countenance of the old man change—his eyes closing, his brow wrinkling.
“She who slays is used to forging her own way, not searching out the hidden paths of fate.” He suddenly reached out to grasp her hand. “There are many changes to be dealt with, many -choices will have to be made. Eneeapah.”
His words and touch shocked her, and Buffy recoiled from him, stumbling in her haste and falling to her knees before him. Her breath came harsh and heavy as she felt the worn, calloused flesh of his fingers brush against her temple, moving through her hair. She looked up at him through the tangle of her hair and stilled.
“The dream was dark, but not so dark that you and your man cannot find your way. But first you must—”
A flash of movement caught the corner of her eye and she turned her head slightly to watch as a lithe figure leapt out of the darkness, a pale fist flashing out to meet the dark skinned jaw of the old man. The sickening, sharp thud of bone on bone sounded and the old man went down in a heap in front of her.
Before she could even figure out exactly what had just happened a pair of strong hands were hauling her to her feet and she was pulled against an equally strong chest. Protective arms wrapped around her, one hand splayed against the small of her back, the other around her neck, gently pushing her head onto the aforementioned chest.
“Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he? Christ, Buffy, talk to me.”
She felt the growling vibrations beneath her cheek as Spike tried to catch his breath. “Let me go, you idiot,” she mumbled against the flannel of his shirt.
Spike pulled back enough to look down into her face, or at least as much of her face as he could see through the tousled hair. “What?”
Buffy pulled the rest of the way out of his arms and took a few steps back from him. Pushing her hair from her face, she quickly knelt beside the fallen man and checked his pulse.
“He’s out cold,” she muttered, then turned burning green eyes to Spike. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“Can’t believe I did what?” Spike howled incredulously. “Saved your sweet little arse is what I did.”
“It didn’t need to be saved . . . I didn’t need to be saved!” Buffy stood and approached him, stopping when she was toe to toe, nose to nose with the fuming ex-vampire.
“You know, you are one stone, cold bitch. No matter what the time period. Bloody Hell! I woke up and you weren’t in the wagon. I come lookin’ for you and find you with this guy and he’s got you on your knees, his hands all over you.”
“His hands were not all over me,” Buffy huffed. “He was—”
“He was what?” Spike growled, jamming his fists into the pockets of his jacket. It seemed a safe place for them at the moment.
Buffy hesitated, frowning. She turned from Spike and walked over and looked down at the old man. “I’m not sure what he was doing. But,” she added quickly as Spike’s mouth opened to speak. “He wasn’t hurting me. I think he was channeling something or reading my aura. He’s a shaman.”
“Fuck.” Spike dropped back another step and gaped at the man on the ground. “He’s not a bloody Chumash, is he?”
“I don’t think so.” They both glanced down to the crotch of Spike’s jeans, then quickly back up at each other. “He’s employed by whoever organized this wagon train. He’s a guide. He’s also some sort of medicine man. A shaman. Spike, it was weird. He knew things.”
“What do you mean he knew things?” His irritation had fought back into first place. “What did he know?”
“Us. Me. Who I am. Who you are. More importantly what you are … or used to be.”
“Slow down, Slayer—”
“See, right there, he called me the Slayer. Well, ‘She Who Slays,’ but close enough. Spike, he knows that we’re not who everyone thinks we are. He said he had a dream about us.”
“A dream?” Spike narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing. “What else does he know? What else did he say?”
“I think he knows more, but there was this sudden unconsciousness that happened when your fist impacted with his jaw.”
Spike grimaced sheepishly and dug the toe of his boot into the ground. “Cut me a bit o’ a break, Buffy. My eyesight isn’t what it once was, at least not at night and to me, it looked like he was manhandlin’ you.”
“If that were the case—and I want to stress here, it wasn’t—but if it was, I can take care of myself, Spike.”
“Not like you used to … Slayer.” He arched an eyebrow at her. He watched as she frowned, but didn’t disagree with him. “But I promise to try an’ suss out the situation a bit further next time, before dashin’ in to save the day.”
Buffy took a deep breath and forced herself to remember that they were both working their way through a complicated maze. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful that he was willing to throw himself into danger to protect her. It was more than odd and, she guessed, something she’d have to find a way to get used to. She reminded herself again, things were not what they once where, and they were going to have to work together to get themselves home.
“Well,” she offered hesitantly. “As dashing goes, it was petty impressive. Just, yeah, next time make sure I’m actually in danger.”
“Will do.” Spike gave her a curt nod, then looked over at the aging shaman as he began to moan and move around a bit. “Now what?”
Buffy followed his line of vision. “Well, it’s almost morning. I say we give the doctor a call.”
To Be Continued