Fated by dreamweaver

Chapter #1 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 A hundred and forty-seven days. That’s how long it had taken her to resurrect. So maybe, just maybe, that would be the magic number and he would resurrect. Today. The hundred and forty-eight day. She sat on the edge of the crater, looking out over the vast, vast hole in the ground—the hole that had swallowed up the entire town of Sunnydale. She had resurrected in her grave. But Spike didn’t have a grave. The whole crater could be considered a grave, she supposed. She dropped her head on her knees and shook. Oh, God, she shouldn’t have left him. She should have done something, anything, torn that amulet over his head, ripped him out of there before he died. Why hadn’t she? Why had she just frozen, just gone unthinkingly along with whatever was happening? Because it had all come at her too fast? Because she hadn’t had time to think, to process; because she had just reacted to whatever was going on? So many things she should have done, could have done. 'I love you.' 'No, you don’t, but thanks for saying it.' Of course he hadn’t believed her. A sop for a dying man, that’s what he thought she was giving him. Why hadn’t she told him the night before? She hadn’t even thought of it. It was something for after, once the crisis was over and they were able to get back to their usual lives, or unlife as the case may be. She had never really thought that either of them would die. She had thought always, defiantly, that they would survive. That he would survive. Because he always did. Because he was always there, even when she did not want him to be, even when she tried with all her might to drive him away. But he was gone. He had died. And it was all her fault. If she had only not given him that amulet, if she had only let Angel wear it, if she had... So many ifs. And they changed nothing. Did nothing to alleviate her overwhelming guilt. Nothing to help the unendurable loss. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. They itched from wanting to cry. But she didn’t allow herself to cry. She didn’t have the right to cry. This was all her fault. Crying would supposedly ease the pain. And she didn’t deserve to have anything ease the pain. The guilt was hers. She wore it like a hair shirt, day after day. But she hadn’t stopped wanting to cry since the day he died. Oh, she kept it hidden from the others, from Dawn and Giles and Willow and Xander, from all the Potentials who were now Slayers. She went through the day with her eyes wide and too dry and painful because of it; she kept all the pain and grief hidden during the day, while she trained the new Slayers and tried to get on with her new life in Rome. But the nights...the nights were agony. Dawn suspected, she thought. Dawn hadn’t objected, not in the least, when Buffy had suddenly announced that she was going to pay a visit to Sunnydale. Dawn had even said she would cover for her if Giles called from England. Dawn knew. The others didn’t. They were just happy that the First was defeated. They didn’t count the cost. They wouldn’t anyway because it was Spike. They didn’t even really give him credit for what he had done, for the sacrifice that he had made. He wasn’t a person to them. So what if demons perished, even if it was Spike and Anya. She remembered Wood—he’d never be Robin to her again—she remembered Wood saying, "It was the amulet that did it. It wouldn’t have mattered who was wearing it." But it had mattered, because it was Spike’s soul powering it. Because it was Spike. If that fool Wood was wearing it, nothing would have happened. She was seriously beginning to doubt that anything would have happened if Angel had been wearing it. It was the goodness in Spike that had powered it, his passion, his self-sacrifice. It was only the rigid control she had acquired these days that had kept her from ripping Wood’s head off. She had just risen and walked out of the room. Faith had followed her; Faith had known what a stupid thing that had been to say. "B, I’m sorry. He doesn’t mean it. It’s just his foot in the mouth syndrome." It’s the fact that he hated Spike. She looked back at Faith, gritting her teeth together. "Keep him away from me, Faith. I don’t want to see him. Ever again." Faith nodded. "We’re going to Cleveland." That was good. She’d never have to see him again. She’d never go to Cleveland. There were other Slayers now to take care of Hellmouths. No, she just had to train Slayers and help organize Giles’ new Council and get on with her life. Yeah, right. Get on with it. With all of them harassing her to be happy and to see how wonderful things were now and to move on. So she smiled and smiled through clenched teeth and went on with her life. Even though she didn’t want to. Even though she really wanted to be in that crater with him. Going through the motions. Two years ago, when Willow had pulled her out of heaven, she had gone through the motions. But it had been easier then because she hadn’t felt anything. This time, she hadn’t lost the capacity to feel. She felt. She couldn’t stop feeling. And it was agony. The pain and the loss and the guilt. At the same time, she didn’t want to stop feeling. Because to stop feeling would mean to lose Spike. To lose all the memories of him, the way he looked when he said he loved her, the sound of his voice, the taste of him, the feel of him on her, in her. She couldn’t lose that, whatever it cost her. She wondered whether he had felt this way, back when she was the one who had died, whether he had remembered and ached and wept. From the little Dawn had been able to express about that summer, she suspected that he had. It served her right, for being such a fool as to cast him away. For being such a coward. She deserved the pain. She rocked on the edge of the crater, hugging her knees. The afternoon sun burned down on her and the wind blew the dust of Sunnydale into her face and everything was silent, silent, as the dead were silent, and nothing moved. But she would wait until the day was over, and the night. And tomorrow morning, when the sun came up and all hope was gone...tomorrow morning she would leave. Drag herself back to Rome and go on going through the motions of...not living. A hundred and forty-seven days. Oh, God, please let that be the magic number. Please let him come back, the way she had come back. The cell phone she had left on the seat of her car warbled. Almost, she didn’t rise to get it. But the only one she had given this cell phone’s number to was Dawn and it must be something important. Dawn had become uncommonly tactful and sensitive these days and would know not to interrupt her today of all days unless it was something essential. She got up slowly and sat down in the passenger seat of the car, leaning back wearily as she picked up the phone. "Yes?" "Buffy?" an unknown female’s voice said tentatively. "Yes." "I...I...Dawn gave me this number...I don’t know if you’ll remember me, but I’m Fred...Winifred Burkle? I work with Angel...I..." "Fred. Yes. Willow told me. How can I help you?" "Oh, no, it’s not me. I...I might be able to help you." "I don’t understand." "Um...it’s about Spike." "Spike!" Buffy jerked bolt upright. "What about Spike?" "I don’t know if you care about Spike, but..." "I care about Spike!" "Oh, I was sure you did." The tentative voice warmed and grew more confident. "Fred, what about Spike?" "Are you sitting down?" The voice became concerned. "Because you really should be sitting down for this..." "Fred!" "Um...um...I guess I better just say this flat out. Buffy, Spike’s back." "What?" Her heart stopped. "Spike’s come back." Her heart started beating again in heavy, stuttering, agonizing thumps in her chest. "Fred, just...just give me a minute." She had forgotten how to breathe. She leaned her forehead against the dashboard, the phone still at her ear and her free hand fisted against her breastbone, trying to hold back the painful thudding of her heart, trying not to just plain pass out. "Take as long as you want, Buffy," Fred was saying sympathetically. "I know it’s a shock. I’ll wait." She pressed her head against her knees, rocking back and forth, her breath coming in gasps. She had come to the crater in the desperate hope that a miracle would happen, but she hadn’t really believed that it would. "Fred, I’m back," she said into the phone, finally getting control of herself. Her voice was blurry through lips numb with shock. "You did say Spike’s alive?" "I knew you’d care," Fred said fiercely. "I knew it. I knew Angel was wrong." "Angel knows?" "Yes. Spike turned up in his office. Angel got a package in the mail and it was the amulet, you know the one, and then there was this smoke and wind and stuff and it all turned into Spike." "When...when did this happen?" A hundred and forty-seven days...Yesterday or today. "About five months ago." "What?" "About five months ago. Nineteen days after the Hellmouth collapsed, to be exact." "And he didn’t tell me?" All these months suffering. All these agonizing months. "I’m going to kill him!" "Oh, no, no, wait, Buffy! It’s not Spike’s fault..." "He couldn’t have picked up a phone?" She was grinding her teeth together in a fury. "No, he couldn’t. He was a ghost." "Come again?" "Well, not really a ghost. Incorporeal. He couldn’t touch anything. It took all his willpower just to stay on our plane." "Fred, you’re not making any sense." "Um...It’s kind of hard to explain. Will you...will you stay calm and not get upset and...and just listen?" Buffy drew a deep, shuddering breath. Spike was back, Spike was back, that was all that really mattered. "I’ll try." "See, his essence was tied to the amulet. I guess it must have happened when he burned up down there in the Hellmouth. And the amulet was Wolfram and Hart’s property. Angel told him you were in Rome and he tried to get to you. He really tried, Buffy. But every time he got to the edge of Los Angeles, he was just yanked back to where the amulet was. He couldn’t leave L.A." "He could have had one of you phone me and tell me he was back," Buffy said bitterly. "Yes, well...Angel said you had moved on and you were doing fine without him and that he’d just upset your life if..." "I’m beginning to get the picture," Buffy said through gritted teeth. Angel. She had told Angel that Spike was in her heart. But Angel hadn’t wanted to know what that meant. Angel, as always, knew better that she did what she needed. Angel wanted her to have a normal life. She was beginning to believe that the real truth was that Angel didn’t want anyone to have her if he couldn’t. "Spike..." Fred’s voice trembled a little bit. "Spike just accepted it. I mean, he did his usual backtalk thing, all cocky and snarky, you know, but one could see that behind it he believed what Angel was saying was true." He would. He would believe that. She had never let him have even the slightest hope that it could be otherwise. That she could care for him. Love him. "You sound as if you care about that, Fred." She was glad to hear that someone cared about Spike. None of the Scoobies ever had, except Dawn who had ended up rejecting him this last year, and perhaps Tara who was gone. "I do. Not in the lovey-dovey way, you understand. I love...well, someone else. But I really care about him, Buffy. He’s a good person. He really is." "He is." "It was so sad. He was so sad. It was not only that he couldn’t touch anything and was fighting to stay out of Hell and struggling to stay on this plane. He was just so sad. You know?" "I’m beginning to." And Angel around all the time, rubbing it in, reinforcing his insecurity. "Oh, he kept covering it up with the snark and the wisecracks, the way he does. But I could see it. And when he got solid..." "He’s solid now?" Buffy exclaimed in delight. "Yes, just a little while back. He got this box in the mail and when he opened it, there was this flash and then he was corporeal again. But then the phone’s started ringing off their hooks and people started going crazy and there was this Shanshu prophecy about two souled vampires and..." "What? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Spike’s back. That’s all that matters." "Yes." She could hear the smile in Fred’s voice. "I knew you’d want to know." "I want to see him. Is he at Wolfram and Hart right now?" "He went and got his own little place. He doesn’t like Wolfram and Hart. Doesn’t trust them." "Can’t blame him." Spike always had the right instincts. "He’ll be sleeping until dark. You know vamps and daytime, creature of the night and all that." "Yes, I do," said Buffy, smiling. "Anyway, here’s the address." Buffy copied it down hurriedly onto the back of a map from the glove compartment. It would only take an hour or two to get to L.A. He wouldn’t have the chance to leave the apartment before she could get there. "Fred, thank you so much for calling. I can’t tell you how much it means to me." "I knew you’d care. That’s why I called. He was so down when he got back from Rome, I knew I had to do something." "He was in Rome?" Buffy’s eyes widened. And he hadn’t tried to see her. "Yeah, he and Angel went there to pick up this demon head, long story, doesn’t matter. I know that he meant to try to see you. He tracked you down to a bar or something, and you were dancing with the Immortal and, well..." The Immortal! Buffy banged her head against the dashboard. One of those times when she was trying to move on, just as all of the Scoobies were trying to push her into doing. Another disappointment that had been: a perfectly pleasant man, but full of himself and so dull and boring when compared to Spike. It had never gotten past some light conversation and a little dancing. "There was nothing between us. But, of course, Spike thought I’d moved on, just as Angel had been telling him. So he never even tried to talk to me." "That’s right. But when he came back, he was so sad..." Fred swallowed hard. "That’s why I called you. If there was even a chance...Well, I thought you should have the opportunity to decide for yourself. That’s the way I would feel about it." "Fred, I’ll never be able to repay you for that." "You do care then," said Fred with satisfaction. Buffy choked up. "I love him." "Oh, I’m so glad!" "I thought you were a friend of Angel’s," Buffy said, smiling at the delight in Fred’s voice. "I am. But Spike...He’s earned this." He had. It took her an hour to get to L.A., breaking the speed limit all the way. Another twenty minutes to find the building Spike was presently residing in and another five, dithering in its lobby, tidying her hair and brushing the dust off her clothes. It was an old, rather run-down building, but clean for all that. She went down linoleum covered stairs that smelled only of antiseptic cleaner and age, then hesitated in front of his door before drawing a deep breath and ringing the doorbell. There was no answer. She wondered whether he had gone out, even though it was day. Daylight had never stopped Spike from getting around; somewhere, there would be an entrance to the sewers and, failing that, there was always the smoking blanket option. She was fully prepared to sit down for a siege in front of his door. She rang the doorbell again and this time the door was yanked open. "Yeah, what is it?" Spike demanded, then broke off, his lips parting in a gasp of pure shock. He had clearly been sleeping: bed-head, bare feet, no shirt, black denim jeans that had only just now been hastily pulled on, judging by the open top-button and the dangling belt ends. He looked... delicious. "Buffy!" he breathed, almost without sound. He was truly there. He existed. She had to put a hand against the doorjamb to keep herself upright, otherwise her legs would have buckled and she would have fallen. "I...Could I come in?" He jerked his head once in assent, unable to speak, then stepped back and sideways to allow her entrance, almost falling over his feet. She stepped in and walked a few paces forward so that he could close the door behind her. Her gaze swept in bemusement around the little apartment: livingroom, small kitchen area, small bedroom with an unmade single bed. It had clearly come furnished, the furniture clean but old and plain and generic, everything neat except for a T-shirt discarded on the couch and a couple of empty beer bottles sitting on the kitchen table. The whole place was spartan, near sterile, with nothing in it to show that it was his. None of the rugs, rich hangings, candles, books, that had made his crypt so cozy and uniquely his. It was as if he didn’t care. A place in which to exist, but not to live. Going through the motions. Just as she was. She turned and looked at him. He was leaning back against the closed door, as if his legs couldn’t support him, staring at her as if nothing else existed in the world. She knew just how he felt. Now that she was looking at him, she could see nothing else either, just that beloved figure she had thought she would never see again. His face filled her entire vision: the white-blonde hair, the hard planes and angles, the sharp scimitars of his high cheekbones, the straight nose with its arrogant nostrils, the hard line of his jaw and the beautiful line of his mouth with its lips faintly compressed with tension, the brilliant gas-flame-blue of his eyes, staring at her in wonder. Spike. Spike. Here. In front of her. Real. "How..." He swallowed and began again, his voice rough and unsteady. "How did you know...?" "Fred." "Fr..." His voice died again. She was shaking. "May I touch you?" He shuddered visibly. "Anything. Anything. You know that." She put out her hand and flattened it on his breast bone, feeling him hard and solid and concrete beneath her hand. "You’re real," she whispered. "Oh, God, you’re real." Her legs gave way. He caught her as she started to fall. She found herself lying against him, his arms iron bands around her waist, holding her up, the length of his body against her, carven chest and hard stomach and narrow hips and long legs, all solid and real, real, against her. Her arms went around his neck, clinging to him so tightly she would have choked off his breath if it wasn’t that he didn’t need to breathe. Then she was crying, helpless, desperate sobs that came from the bottom of her soul. "Oh, God, Buffy. Don’t cry." But she couldn’t stop. A hundred and forty-seven days worth of tears came pouring out of her, all the tears she hadn’t allowed herself to shed. She clung to him helplessly, shaking and sobbing, choking from the intensity of her weeping. "Buffy, don’t. Don’t, pet. You’ll make yourself sick." "Can’t...stop." "Buffy..." He scooped her up suddenly. She found herself swept up into his arms and carried over to the couch. He put her gently down on it, then would have moved away. But she wouldn’t let him. She clung to him until he settled down beside her, holding her while she wept into the curve of his shoulder. "All these tears. For me?" he murmured in wonder. "I didn’t think you’d ever cry for me." "You stupid...stupid...vampire. You...you...you moron! I’ve been wanting to cry for you for a hundred and forty-seven days." "A hun..." "Every day since you closed the Hellmouth and burned up." She was hiccuping now as her tears slackened off, wiping at her face with one hand while her other still held him fiercely close. "I counted. Just as you counted, that summer when I was gone." He wiped at her face himself, thumb stroking under her eyes. Then, without thinking, he lifted his thumb to his mouth and licked her tears from his skin as if they were precious. She realized that they were, to him. "I grieved for you, you idiot. Every day. Every day that you were gone." He was looking at her in blank amazement, his eyes squinting a little as if he were staring into a blinding light. "I’m not...I’m not worth grieving for," he whispered. "Yes, you are. You are." She swiped at her face once again and he looked around helplessly for a tissue or a towel, found none, then snatched up the T-shirt lying on the end of the couch and handed it to her. She wiped her face dry with it and drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh, God, I must look terrible." "You look...beautiful. So beautiful." His hand brushed her hair, her face, delicately, tentatively, as if he still believed he had no right to touch her. "No. Don’t," she said, catching him back as he started to draw away. "Stay. Stay with me." He trembled a little against her, then eased back beside her on the couch, bending over her because her arm around his neck still held his face close to hers. She could see the wonder and disbelief in his eyes, feel his breath shake against her mouth. And, oh God, the feel of him—the cool flesh, the silken skin, the crispness of the hair at the back of his neck. And the scent of him, that particular, unique scent of Spike. "You’re here," she whispered. She couldn’t stop touching him, stroking his face over and over again, from temple to chin, brushing her fingertips over his eyelids, his mouth, the hollow of his cheek. "You’re alive." "Sorry," he said, a flash of the old snark. "Still dead." "Undead, then. I thought you were gone forever. I thought I’d killed you. And it was all my fault." "No." "I gave you the amulet. And it burned you up." "That’s what I was there for. That was my purpose. To stop the Turok-Han. To close the Hellmouth." "But not to die. Not to die." "Ah, well," he said, untroubled. "That was the price, wasn’t it? There’s always a price." And he had paid it without question. So that she wouldn’t have to. She held him fiercely close, wondering how she could have lived without this profound, unconditional love. "That price was too high. Even the Powers That Be knew it. That’s why they sent you back. Because I couldn’t live without you." "You’re living," he said with satisfaction. "That’s why I sent you out of there." "So one of us is living?" "Yes." "But it wasn’t living, Spike. Not without you. It was just going on, day after day. Not caring. Just existing. Going through the motions." His eyes widened. "You too?" She nodded. "I love you, Spike." He stared at her, shaking his head. "No, you d..." She slapped a hand over his mouth, silencing him. "If you say that again, I’ll hit you." He pulled her hand away from his mouth. "Buffy..." "Listen to me, you stupid vampire. William. Will. I love you." She said it with all her heart, all her force, all her conviction, so that even he, stubbornly blind as he insisted on being, couldn’t fail to hear her. He was shaking against her. She could feel the deep tremors racking him. "Buffy, don’t say that if you don’t mean it. I couldn’t bear...I couldn’t bear it if..." "I love you," she repeated and kissed him. He made this wordless, agonized sound in his throat and kissed her back, painfully hard, over and over again, his mouth devouring hers. And, oh, the taste of him, the feel of him, the long slides of that sinful, knowledgeable tongue of his against hers. She had never known anyone who kissed like Spike, so intensely, so passionately, his mouth so eloquent with everything that he was feeling. He kissed with his whole body and now his whole soul, so focused on this one all-consuming action that the whole world spun away and there was nothing left but them. ‘I’m drowning in you, Summers,’ he had said once, and now she knew what he meant, because she was drowning in him, his taste, his feel, his scent, the sensations he was waking in her. God, how could she have thrown this away before? Why had she? How could she have been so stupid? No soul? It was Angel who couldn’t love her without a soul, Angel who couldn’t control his demon. Spike had loved her before he ever had a soul, had loved her so much that he went against his very nature to get that soul. Even Spike’s demon had loved her. Soul or no soul, chip or no chip, Spike loved her. Completely. Unconditionally. Enough to die for her. Enough to sacrifice himself for her without asking for anything back at all. Oh, she understood now. She had gone through the pain and grief and loss now, and seen what she had thrown away, and come out the other side with an understanding of what it was to love and to love truly. She had her second chance now. She was not going to waste it. She had grown up, truly grown up now, cookies baked and all. And she knew exactly what she wanted. He was kissing her and kissing her, his hands moving over her hair, her face, lighting delicately on her skin in drifting, achingly gentle touches. Touches which never moved below her collarbone, as if he still had no right to her body. She took his hand and drew it down to her breast and pressed it there. He groaned aloud. "Buffy..." "Make love to me, Spike. Let me make love to you." His eyes flared wide with love and adoration, the flame-blue of his irises darkening as the pupils dilated. "Buffy, are you sure?" "More than sure. I love you, Spike." She tore her tank top over her head and tossed it away. She hadn’t dressed for seduction: the bra she was wearing was just a plain sports bra with a front clasp. She ripped that open and flung the bra away, then was knocked flat on her back on the couch as he threw himself upon her. "Buffy, I love you. God, I love you so much. I..." His mouth closed on her breast, sucking on her nipple, and her whole body arched up to him and she cried out in a white-hot ecstasy she had never felt before. It had never been this intense before, not even that first time when they had taken each other in that abandoned house and demolished it around them, so caught up in each other that they had fallen through the floor and never noticed it until they had seen the hole in the new ceiling above them. Now, maybe because of his soul, maybe because she had learned what it is to love, the intensity of what they were feeling was like a forest-fire, blazing and all-consuming. "Need you in me," she gasped. "Need you in me now." They were both past the point of foreplay. She was aching for him, dying for him. And he—she could feel him shuddering against her, rock-hard in his jeans. The couch was narrow, too narrow for their desires. He shoved the coffee table away, forgetting his vampire strength. It shot across the room and fell on its side against the wall. Then they were down on the floor and he was unbuttoning her jeans and she was unbuttoning his. Her sandals were already gone, she didn’t know when. His thumbs hooked into her jeans on either side and he pulled. Jeans and her thong both came off in one smooth movement, then he moved away for a moment to shove his own jeans down and kick them off. A second later, he was braced on his arms above her and she felt the length of his naked body sliding over the length of hers, chest and stomach and hips pressing to hers. He made an odd sort of movement, a kind of side to side wriggle of his hips, settling himself between her thighs, making himself comfortable. He always did that. It caught at her throat, that familiar nestling movement of his; her heart swelled so much with love that she thought it was going to burst. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, her body arching up hard against his. "Love," she said and felt the racking shudder that went through him at the endearment. He had always called her pet names: pet, luv, baby, kitten. She had never done so before. His face, tense with passion, softened abruptly, became so helpless and vulnerable with love that she could have wept. "Oh, luv," he said. "Oh, luv. I love you so much." "Please," she said. The pressure in her was building to the point that it was almost painful as he rubbed his body between her legs. "Oh, please." "God, you’re so wet," he said exultantly. "You’re so wet for me." "Need you. God, Spike, please. Can’t wait. Need you in me now." "Bless you," he said sincerely, the old Spike showing through for one wicked, laughing moment. "Can’t wait either." And he thrust into her in one hard, smooth stroke, pushing all the way in and then just that little bit further. She cried out in ecstasy and he gasped as she clenched around him. He stilled for a moment, letting her get used to him. She saw his eyes above her, full of awe and wonder behind half-dropped eyelids heavy with passion. "Like coming home," he muttered, so low that she hardly heard him, but she knew exactly what he meant. It was so right, so perfect, to have him in her; nothing could be as right as this. "Yes," she murmured. "God, you’re so big. I’d forgotten how big you are." He laughed involuntarily, a strangled, delighted sound in his throat, male and flattered. But he was big. He filled her, stretched her to the utmost. It was exactly the perfect fit; nothing could have been better. He was perfect for her. No one, not Angel or Parker or Riley, had ever been as perfect for her as Spike. "And you’re so tight," he groaned. "You’re always so tight. It’s always like the first time with you." He had started to move now, pulling out of her and thrusting back in again hard, groaning in helpless rapture at the resistance of the tight Slayer muscles of her sheath. She thrust back, finding his rhythm and moving with it, clenching upon him. They were both trying to hold off coming, wanting this to last. But they had been without each other too long, wanted this too much. She writhed under him, her body arching to his, her hands running all over him, nails raking down his shoulders, his back, drawing blood. "Ah, yes," he gasped. "God, yes!" Their hips were slamming together now as he pistoned into her, rammed into her with all his strength. She heard the little grunts of effort he made at every stroke and her eyes fluttered open and shut in ecstasy, seeing him above her in brief flashes of dazed sight: his head flung back, his eyes closed, the cords of his neck standing out, the muscle in his cheek jumping as his jaw clenched, and his lips parted and gasping with pleasure. "Oh, God, I’m gonna...Oh, God, Spike!" "Come for me then. Come, baby." His forehead dropped against hers. He watched her as she came, her whole body convulsing in an orgasm so shattering she thought she would fly into a million pieces. She came back to herself just as his hit. His body seized up and his cock pulsed within her and she thought that nothing was more beautiful than his face when he came, his eyes squeezed shut in a pleasure that bordered on pain and his lips parted on a groan of breath that rasped harshly from his throat. He collapsed upon her, his breath shuddering against her throat. Vamps weren’t supposed to breathe, but Spike as usual defied convention. She loved it that any excess of emotion or passion would make him gasp and struggle for breath. They held each other through the aftershocks. She twisted her head to kiss his eyelids and the crease between his brows, and felt him smile against her throat. "Am I too heavy?" he murmured. "You know you’re not. You know I love it. Stay in me, stay on me. I love your weight. I want all your weight." He turned his head a little, rubbing the side of his face against hers, kissing the corner of her jaw, just under her ear. "I could dust right now," he murmured. "Wouldn’t mind a bit. Tasted heaven today. Couldn’t ask for more." "You’ll have more. You’ll have as much as I can give you, for as long as you want." "Forever." "Forever," she promised and felt a sudden wetness against her cheekbone. "Spike?" He raised his head and looked down at her. There were tears in his eyes. "Sorry," he said. "Sorry. It’s just...I’m just...absolutely happy." "Love you," she said and kissed him again and again. "Love you so much." "Oh, Buffy." She ran her hands up and down his back, delighting in the flex and swell of hard muscle under her palms, caught the firm globes of his flat ass, pulling him deeper into her. He was still partially erect. "God, I love the way you feel. You feel so wonderful." He grinned a little and surged into her, not really thrusting, just push and relax, push and relax with his hips. "Mutual." "Mmm." She felt him start to harden and swell inside her. "Gotta love that vamp refractory period." He gave her that trademark cocky smirk and lift of his scarred eyebrow. "Gotta love that Slayer stamina." She moaned as he bent and twisted to suck at her right breast, his hands kneading her flesh and his hips starting to deepen their thrust. "Spike?" "Mmm?" "Oh, God." Her body arched involuntarily under his. "Spike?" "Kinda busy here, Slayer." "Would you mind very much..." "What, luv? Anything you want, you know that." "Claiming me?" He froze and his head came up in shock. "What?" "I want you to claim me." "Buffy. Buffy." He shook his head as if he were trying to unscramble his brain. "Do you know what that means? Do you have any idea?" "Yes. I looked it up while you were gone. It means we’d be linked. You’d be mine and I’d be yours. Forever." "But you’re a Slayer. Have you thought what the others, the Scoobies, Giles, would say if you were linked to a vampire?" "I don’t care what they say. I’m tired of giving up my happiness to their ideas of what is right and what is wrong. I’m not the only Slayer anymore, just one among many. I can do what I want and I want you. We’re right, we’re right together, whatever they say. We complete each other and I’m a better Slayer with you by my side. So they can deal. And if they can’t, well, we’re not stuck at a Hellmouth any longer. We can go wherever we like, do whatever we like. There are demons everywhere. We could be rogue demon-hunters like Wesley used to be, can’t we?" He gave a choked laugh. "We certainly could. Oh, God, I love you, Buffy Summers!" "And I love you. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?" "Yeah. Yeah," he said softly. He had a look on his face—exalted was the only word for it. Pure joy. "Buffy, are you sure? If we do this, there is no going back. The bond can only be broken by death. And the death of one usually means the death of the other, out of sheer grief from the cutting of the bond." "I promised myself this. That if you...if you ever came back, we’d always be together. Don’t you want it?" "God, yes!" He kissed her bruisingly hard. "I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole unlife. If you’re sure..." He shook his head again in disbelief. "If you’re sure..." "I’m sure," she said gravely and kissed him back as hard. "Right then." "How do we do it?" "Gonna make love to you and then, when you come, I’ll bite you. That way it shouldn’t hurt. I’ll claim you and you have to agree. All you have to do is say yes." "That’s all?" He nodded. "It’s simple, but irrevocable. Only, that’s just a partial claim. One-sided. It can be challenged..." "By someone like Angel." His mouth twisted wryly. "Exactly. If you want to make it an unbreakable claim, you bite me back and claim me." "Easy." He nodded. "It’s the consent that counts." She was smiling widely. "Right. Let’s do it." He had lost some of his tumescence while they were talking. But now he was rock-hard within her, his excitement and happiness vivid in his face and in the blue-flame eyes which were incandescent with joy. Now that the urgency of their first encounter was gone, they were able to stretch this out. It was slow as honey, almost decadent in its leisurely sweetness, sensual and voluptuous, mouths and hands and bodies slipping and sliding over damp, shivering flesh, the slow deep drive of his cock pushing in as far as it would go and then just that little bit farther, hitting every sweet spot in her body on every stroke. "Oh, God," she gasped, head arching back helplessly as he drove her closer and closer to the edge. "I never knew it could be like this!" It had always been hard and violent before. She had never let it be like this, slow and sweet and loving. "I knew it could. I knew." He looked down at her, his eyes dazed and smiling. "Come for me now." And she did, tumbling helplessly over the edge. Then heard the small, grating sound of bones shifting, and looked up and saw that he was in gameface. He bent, his fangs nearing her neck, and every Slayer instinct in her body shouted Vampire! and demanded that she thrust him away. She pushed those instincts down and his fangs slid smoothly into her neck. She had thought that it would hurt. It had hurt agonizingly when Angel bit her. But Spike’s bite was smooth as silk. She hardly felt it through the thunderbolt of her intense orgasm. Then, when he sucked at her blood, she felt another orgasm crash across the first, a wave of unbelievable rapture, her whole body responding to the double penetration of his cock and his fangs. OhmiGod, ohmiGod! she thought, her brain whiting out. I think I’m gonna die out of pure pleasure. He only drew a couple of mouthfuls, then licked the wound closed and whispered, "Mine." She heard him dimly through the shuddering euphoria of her body. "Yes. Yours," she purred, then bit as hard as she could at the base of his neck until she drew blood. She sucked on the wound as he had, tasting his blood coppery on her tongue, and said firmly, "Mine." "Yours," he gasped and came, hard. "Always yours." She could almost feel the click, as of something locking into place between them. There was a feeling of utter rightness, like jigsaw puzzle pieces interlocking, two halves of one whole fitting together that should never have been apart. "Mmm," she purred, quivering through the aftershocks. "That feels, that feels..." She had no words for how good it felt. "Yeah." They were both just limp, boneless with pleasure. "I should move," he groaned after a while. "Too heavy..." She made a little sound of protest as he withdrew from her. He pulled her with him as he slipped to one side, so that they ended up lying face to face, their arms around each other. "That was...incredible," she murmured. "Oh, yeahhh," he breathed, a long sound of utter contentment, his forehead against hers and his eyes closed. "I’ve never felt anything like that before. I thought my bones would melt." "Yeah. Don’t think I’ve ever come so hard before. Thought my balls would turn inside out." She began to giggle helplessly. "Way to go with the romantic imagery." He grinned. "Sexy, though." Oddly enough, it was. He opened his eyes and all the romance was there in the love and the tenderness and the adoration with which he was looking at her. She found herself thinking back to that morning after, in that demolished house. Then too, he had said the unromantic thing, I knew, I knew the only thing better than killing a Slayer is fucking one. And she had been so angry. But what he had been trying to convey was how much pleasure she had given him; it had just come out wrong. And if she had looked into his eyes that day, she would have seen what she was seeing now—the love and the tenderness and the delight in her. If she had looked and seen and laughed with him the way she did now, things might not have gone so badly wrong. Now she knew what he was feeling, she could feel it in him, the love and the pure joy and the happiness. Wait. "I can feel you," she said in surprise. "I can feel what you’re feeling." "Mm." "Is that normal?" "Empathetic connection. Yeah." It was more than that. She could feel him in her bones, in the very cells of her body—the sense of his presence, his personality, the essence of Spike. She drew away a little. That sense still remained. He was smiling faintly. "You could be on the other side of the planet and you would still feel me. We’d feel each other. That’s what it means to be linked. After a while, we might even be able to talk to each other in our heads. Happens sometimes." She snuggled back into his arms. "I like it. This thing between us, it feels so right. The two of us, all our pieces just fit exactly together." She frowned a little, considering. "If it was some other vampire, would I feel the same?" "Don’t think so. Love is part of the claim. Has to come before the claim." He looked at her curiously. "Would you have said yes if Angel had tried to claim you?" "No." Something in her rejected the idea flatly, even with a little shiver of distaste. She thought back to when she had first fallen in love with Angel. Would she have accepted a claim then? Somehow she thought not. Giles and the Scoobies would have thrown a fit and she had cared about things like that then. Spike was grinning from ear to ear when she looked back at him. "You felt that." "The big no. Yeah, I felt it. Bloody marvelous." "Darn. Now you’re gonna get this terrible swelled head." "Oh, yeah." She could feel his happiness through the claim. "What about Drusilla?" "What about her?" "Did you ever want to claim her?" "She belonged to Angel. I knew that. Never asked." "Did you want to?" "I suppose. Wanted someone." He lifted his head suddenly. "You’re jealous! I can feel it." "Definite drawbacks to this claim thing," she muttered. "Now you know what I feel about Angel." He flopped onto his back, arms and legs spread wide. "She’s jealous," he told the ceiling, grinning in pure delight. "Of me." She laughed down at him. "Yeah, I suppose I am." His eyes narrowed suddenly. "Hey! What about that Immortal git?" "Never slept with him." "Ah." He smiled at the ceiling. "Good." "So full of himself. Ego much?" She sneered. "Can’t figure out why all those women keep falling for him. He’s way too much in love with himself to even see them." "Better and better," he purred at the ceiling. She laughed at the shit-eating grin on his face. "You always turned me on, you know. Even when I was in love with Angel. I remember the first time I saw you, stepping out of the shadows, clapping your hands at my killing that vamp. I thought, ‘God, he’s hot!’ And then you said you were going to kill me." "Way to destroy the mood, huh? Knew I turned you on. Every time we fought, knew you were aroused. Vamp senses. Could smell it." "Eww!" "Hey, look at me. Supposed to be in love with Dru, first time I saw you, dancing at the Bronze, Christ, I got such a hard-on...Had a hard-on every time we fought, shit, every time I even looked at you. Christ, I never had a chance against you." She kissed him softly. "Yours now." He sobered suddenly and looked up at her bending over him. His eyes were intense. "This is the best day of my entire existence. You know that, don’t you?" She kissed him deeply. "Yes. Mine too. Will you come with me to Rome?" "Yes," he said immediately. "Didn’t even take a second to think about it." "Don’t have to. Wherever you are is where I want to be. Want to say goodbye to Fred, though. Couple of other people too." "At Wolfram and Hart?" He nodded. "We’ll go there after sunset." "Couple more hours till then," he said, with a vampire’s infallible knowledge of where the sun was, even from inside a basement apartment with no windows. The scarred eyebrow rose provocatively. "However will we occupy the time?" She ran her hands over his body and felt him shiver at her touch, bent down and licked the flat coin of his nipple, pushing the soft nub inward with her tongue. It hardened and she bit down on it softly. "I’ve got a few ideas." He grinned. "Like where you’re going with this, pet." "Thought you would." Her hands and her mouth moved over him, finding all the places that would make him writhe and moan. She knew him intimately, knew exactly where to touch to give him the most pleasure. But his hands and mouth were sliding over her also and he was a past master at sex play, vampire with over a hundred years of experience behind him. "Oh, God." She arched involuntarily. He smiled. "Let’s see how many times I can make you scream before sunset." She hit his shoulder with her clenched fist. "You can be such a smug bastard." "And you love it. Let me show you something." He bent and licked the claim mark on her neck. A shock of electricity and heat flashed through her. "Whoa! What was that?" "The claim." He bit down gently on the mark with his blunt human teeth and she just about fell apart with the lightning bolt of pure pleasure that shot through her. "Oh, my God!" "Gets better when I use my fangs." "Like before, when we made the claim?" "Mm." "God, I may not survive this." She twisted suddenly and bit his neck over the mark that she had left. His whole body jolted against hers and he hissed. "Well, all right. Works on you too." She rubbed the bite mark gently to take away any sting and was surprised when his eyes glazed over. "Ooo, this has possibilities." "Let’s explore them." TBC

Chapter #2 - Chapter 2

By sunset, Buffy was a limp rag. "No more exploring. I can’t move." He leaned over her, grinning smugly. If anything, he seemed even more energized than when they had started. "We should leave something for tomorrow," he agreed. "How many times did I make you scream?" "I lost count." She gave him an exasperated glare. "Look at you. You’re like that miserable Energizer bunny. Don’t your batteries ever run down?" "Not when they’re getting recharged every time. Your blood," he explained at her puzzled glance. "One, the blood of a Slayer is a powerful aphrodisiac. Two, the blood of a Slayer is just plain powerful. I won’t need to feed for days. ‘M just humming with energy right now. Could maybe take on every demon in the Hellmouth all at once and lick ‘em hands down." "Lord, just how much did you take?" "Just a couple of sips every time we made love. A little less than two-thirds of a cup, all told, most of that when we first initiated the claim." "Is that all?" She was amazed. "It really must be powerful." "Is. That’s why every vamp existing wants a taste of it." "And it’s all yours. Straight from the tap." He stroked the strands of her hair back from her face, his eyes serious. "Don’t have to take it if you don’t want me to. Tell me not to and I won’t." She shook her head and cuddled into him. "I want you to." He only bit her when she started to come and the sensation was incredible, intensifying her orgasm to the point of near unbearable rapture, just as those few sips of her blood intensified his. "Is it always this way when a vamp drinks from you? If so, I think I can understand Riley a little better." "The claim makes it way more intense. The other is just a pale shadow of it." "I like this claim thing," she purred. "So many good things about it." He grinned. "Oh, yeah." She stretched luxuriously. They had finally made it to the bed. Even though it was only a single and they had to lie tightly curled up against each other, it was still better than the floor. When she stretched, her whole body rubbed sensuously along the length of his. He purred. "Mmm. Do that again, luv." She did and he buried his face between her breasts and sighed contentedly. She kissed the top of his bright head. "My bones have turned into wet noodles. Help me up." He burrowed deeper. "Why?" "I want to take a shower before we go to Wolfram and Hart." "Don’t have to. We could..." "Why do I think I know how that sentence is going to end?" She pushed away from him, giving him a wicked, sideways glance as she did so. "You need a shower too." His tongue curled behind his teeth. "We could save water if..." "Just what I was thinking." He started to laugh. "What’s happened to all your inhibitions, Slayer?" "You did. C’mon." In the bathroom, she went straight to the mirror to inspect her neck. With all the times that he had bitten her, it should have looked like a pin cushion. To her surprise, there were just two neat puncture marks. He had bitten her every time exactly in the same place, sliding skillfully into the claim mark. "Are all vamps this careful?" "Angel wasn’t," he said contemptuously. That was true. Angel had left a torn, ragged mark when he had bitten her. Mind you, he had been off his head at the time. "Where..?" The scar of Angel’s bite was gone. She realized with amusement that Spike had bitten her with surgical precision right over Angel’s mark, obliterating it. "Claim takes precedence." He looked a little embarrassed, then brightened as he felt her delight and amusement across the claim bond. "Guess you don’t mind, huh?" "Not a bit." She watched him turn on the shower, adjusting it carefully to the temperature that she preferred. "No bath gels or fancy shampoos, pet," he said ruefully. "Just soap and a generic shampoo." "For color-treated hair?" she teased and he grinned at her. "Of course. You realize, Slayer, I’m not gonna stop bleaching my hair, even for you." "Wouldn’t have it otherwise." She stepped into the tub and leaned against him, smiling, as he drew the shower curtain closed. "I like it bleached. It’s you." "Good." He tipped shampoo into his palm and started lathering her hair. She closed her eyes at the feel of his fingertips moving across her scalp. "Gonna take my time. Apartment buildings never run out of hot water. We could take hours." "Hey, I’ll get all pruny." "So? There are compensations." "Yeah?" She pulled his head down and lathered his hair. "What kind?" He ducked his head under the spray to rinse off, then picked up the soap. "Let me show you." "I like the compensations," she purred as his hands and the bar of soap ran over every inch of her. He turned her to lean back against him as he soaped her breasts and her belly and between her legs, his hands sliding over her, sensuous and teasing. Her head fell back against his shoulder. Between the heat of the water and the heat that his touch was generating in her, her whole body was turning limp and languorous, her bones liquefying. "Ohh, I’m gonna melt and disappear down the drain." "Won’t let you." His open mouth ran down the side of her neck, then along the curve of her throat to suck at the hollow at its base. "Mmm." She shivered, then turned in his arms. "My turn. Gimme that bar." She soaped him down with as much care as he had taken with her, her hands running over his chest and washboard abs and strong thighs and back, slightly hampered by the fact that he kissed her mouth every chance that he got. "Stop that," she protested, giggling. "Why?" "Because I want to do you properly." "Oh, you’re doing me proper, pet," he purred and she laughed. Her hands slid between his legs and he caught his breath as she played with his balls. "If you keep that up, luv, this will all be over too soon." "We’ll just have to start over again then, won’t we?" Her hand slid up and down his hard shaft. He groaned, then gave a breathless chuckle and stopped her. "And you were the one who was all worn out." "What can I say? There’s something about you." "Do something to you, do I?" "Oh," she sighed. "A lot of somethings." "Can do more. Gimme that bar back." They traded the bar back and forth, laughing and purring and playing with each other until they were both thoroughly washed. "This is so much fun," she realized, as they turned and twisted each other to rinse off. "I was so stupid. I never let it be fun. Never even knew it could be fun." He smiled up at her from where he was down on one knee, rinsing off her calves. "Fun’s just starting, pet. My new mission. Making sure you have fun. Never allowed yourself that before, have you?" "No," she sighed. "Always duty. The Chosen One. Blah, blah, blah." She frowned portentously. "Everything must be Serious." "Not any longer." He kissed his way up her inner thigh, his open mouth sucking on the sensitive flesh. She shivered and leaned weakly back against the tiles. "Like you said, you’re not the only Chosen One now. From now on, we’re gonna enjoy ourselves." "Like we did all afternoon? Ohhh..." Fangs had joined the lips and tongue sucking their way up the inside of her thigh. The light, sharp pinpricks of his fangs in her flesh were somehow intensely erotic. "Mm-hm. But not just for a few hours. Twenty-four hours a day." She’d never survive it, she thought dimly; he’d gone and found a whole new way to kill Slayers: death by ecstasy. "Put your leg over my shoulder, luv." "Like that? Why?...Spike!" His lips and tongue had found her clit, were sucking and flicking on it. Her legs nearly buckled and her hips bucked involuntarily. She looked down, gasping, and saw him looking up at her smugly, his eyes dancing with laughter as he worked on her. "Brace yourself, luv." "You’re evil..." "You don’t know the half of it." Two fingers slid into her, pumping slowly, searching for, then finding that one spot of sensitive tissue inside her. "Oh, God!" Between his mouth on her clit and his fingers working her G-spot, she just about came apart. He caught her as she folded down on top of him, raised her up with him as he came back to his feet, leaned against her, laughing, as she fell back against the tiles, her arms around his neck the only thing that kept her from becoming a boneless heap on the bottom of the tub. "Spike, Spike..." She held him tight, whispering his name over and over again. His eyes were soft with pleasure at her pleasure and he was smiling with immense satisfaction, his tongue smugly curled behind his teeth. "Oh, but you..." "Care to remedy that?" "Oh God, oh God, I’m gonna die," she moaned weakly as he lifted her and slid smoothly into her. But her legs lifted to wrap around him and her ankles locked in the small of his back to hold him to her. "Ohhh, the way you feel..." He made her feel so full. He made her feel complete. They moved together gently, sweetly, two halves of one whole. They were both so sensitized by now that every touch, every rock of their hips was an agonizing rapture; anything harder would have tipped over into pain. Mouths locked and hips locked, they surged against each other until the crisis rolled over them like a tsunami. She felt him pulse within her; stars filled the blackness behind her closed eyelids; they were one being, body and soul, never to be parted. "Love you," he whispered into the curve of her shoulder. "Love you so much." "Love you too. So much. Don’t ever leave me." "Won’t. Can’t. You own me. You always have." "And you own me. I’m yours." "Mine," he said wonderingly and she felt his awe and disbelief across their link. It still wasn’t completely real to him. "It’s going to take some time for me to get used to that. I’ve wanted it for so long." "Can’t you feel it? Over the bond?" "I can feel it. I just can’t believe it. Give me a few decades." She laughed and held him tight. "I’ll give you forever. How’s that?" He kissed her hard. "Barely enough." "It wasn’t you that caused the problem," she said as he turned the water off and reached for a towel. "You know that, don’t you? It was me. I was an emotional coward." He gave her an incredulous look. "You a coward, Slayer? Not possible." "Was." She leaned against him as he dried her off. "Running scared. Think about it. Four guys, three good, one bad. The three good ones all turned bad. And the bad one, that was the one who turned good. How weird is that?" He was smiling, amused. "So I’m good now, am I?" "Saved the world, didn’t you?" "That was for you." "And the Scoobies. And the Potentials. And how many other people?" He didn’t seem to know where to look. If he hadn’t been a vamp, she was sure that he would have been blushing. "I’m no hero, luv." "No, you’re a Champion." She kissed him softly as they moved back into the bedroom. "But leaving that aside, you were the right one for me. Except I couldn’t believe it. I was always fighting it, fighting you. I never let myself just be with you." "You with me now, pet?" "Oh, yes, love. Oh, yes. All the way." "All I ever wanted," he sighed, sinking down on the edge of the bed and drawing her to stand between his knees, his arms linked loosely about her waist. "And I never stopped wanting you. Even when I was being all Denial-girl the most, I could never stop myself from wanting you. That’s what made me be such a bitch. Kept trying and trying, but could never make myself stop wanting you." "Felt that," he said very quietly. "Wasn’t enough for either of us though. Not the way we’re made. I’d have lived with it if that was all you could give me. I’d take anything you want to give me. Didn’t matter if it was fists or kisses. But...but I wanted more. I wanted..." "To be loved." "Yes." He leaned his forehead between her breasts, his face pressed to her stomach and his arms wrapped tight around her. "Wanted to be loved back the way I loved. Never was. Poor Dru. She never could. She wanted to, but she didn’t have the capacity. She was fixated on Angelus. He’d made her so, twisted her around, broke her before she was even turned. She never had a chance, poor sorry little bint." She wrapped her arms around his head. How long had he lived? Twenty-eight years before he was turned, then a hundred and twenty-three years as a vampire—and all that time wanting to be loved and never being loved. Her heart ached for him. "She saw it, you know," she said slowly. "Saw what I wouldn’t let myself see. Your capacity to love. You just throw yourself into everything. Nothing held back, just headlong into everything. And that’s the way you love. She was a seer. She saw it in you, saw that it would survive the turning, that you’d keep it even when you became a vampire. That’s why she chose you. Her knight." He looked up at her with a crooked smile. "Yours now." "Mine now," she nodded. She cupped his face in her hands, kissed his eyes and then his mouth over and over again. "My Champion. Mine." "Till I’m dust." He was drawing her down onto the bed again. "Oh, no. Oh, no. No more. I can’t even stand," she groaned. "If we keep this up, you’re gonna kill me." He laughed at her even as he let her go. "What’s happened to that vaunted Slayer stamina?" "Haven’t I been demonstrating that all afternoon?" Suddenly she got this series of intense, erotic images about what they had been doing all afternoon. They weren’t her thoughts. They were his. He was thinking about it and she was feeling it across the bond. Her stomach tightened and she suddenly had this vivid sensory memory of how he felt within her—thick and hard, filling her, stretching her. Her thighs clenched involuntarily. "God, Slayer!" He caught her back against him. "If you want us to leave this apartment, you’d better stop coming across that sexy." That last had been her memory, not his. She let out a shuddering little breath. "You started it." "I did? I did," he realized. "Don’t do that when we’re in public, for heaven’s sake. I won’t be able to answer for myself." He was grinning. "Oh, this has potential." "Spi-ike," she said warningly. "Behave." "Yes, Slayer," he said demurely, but she could feel the mischief-making possibilities just fizzing in him. She could feel it, just as she could feel him when they were making love. The claim intensified everything. She could feel her own sensations, but she could also feel his; and she could feel him feeling her. It was like two mirrors set to reflect each other: the image flashed back and forth. Only with the claim, it intensified at every pass, until it became well nigh unendurable. "This claim thing is going to kill me," she muttered and he laughed at her. "Clothes, clothes. Where are my clothes?" "All over the livingroom." He pulled on his jeans and collected them for her while she toweled off her hair in lieu of the blow-dryer he did not possess. "Oh, Lord!" she exclaimed once she had her clothes on and glanced into the bathroom mirror to check her hair. "What?" "This tank top. It does nothing to hide the claim mark." "Do you want to hide it?" He sounded a little hurt. "No, not at all." He relaxed as he felt the sincerity of that statement over the link. "It’s just that it’s so very visible." "Oh. Just leave your hair down. Won’t be so obvious that way." He sifted her hair through his fingers. "Besides, I like your hair down, Goldilocks." She smiled at him. "Know you do." He always had. *** When they got to Wolfram and Hart, Buffy balked, staring up at the towering glass and steel structure. "Good God." "Yeah," Spike growled, unimpressed. "Tank top and jeans don’t really cut it." "Hey, Slayer. Don’t let it intimidate you. You can take this place down to rubble with one hand tied behind your back." "Nothing like chutzpah, huh?" "My motto." It was. She looked at him, all cocky and smirking, with his bleached blond hair and the black duster swirling around him. That brash, defiant, in-your-face attitude of his had always driven her mad. He had lost it during that fragile time after he had regained his soul and she had missed it. He hadn’t been Spike without it. She was over-the-top delighted to see it back in spades. She flung her arms around him and hugged him. He hugged her back. "What brought that on, Slayer? Not that I don’t like it." "Chutzpah. Yours. I love it." "Good. You’re gonna see a lot of it." In the lobby, he stopped short. She lifted a brow at him. "Forgot. Don’t know if Fred’s left for the day. If she has, we’ll go over to her place. Let me just have the desk call up." When he came back, he was smiling. "Everyone’s there except Angel. He’s off on a mission somewhere." "I can do without Angel," she shrugged indifferently and Spike grinned. "That’s what I like to hear." He caught her hand. "Come on." The more she saw of Wolfram and Hart, the more it troubled her. The place reeked of wealth and power and corruption. "I can’t believe Angel bought into this," she muttered and Spike slanted her an understanding glance. "Sold out for a decorative office and some fancy cars, huh? ‘S more than that, though. He’s made some sort of devil’s bargain with them. Won’t say what. Won’t discuss it at all." "Typical." "Yeah. The rest of them, they think they can change things from the belly of the beast. Doesn’t work that way. It’ll change them. But they won’t listen to me." "Good intentions..." "Road to hell, luv. Fred’s in her lab. This way." Fred turned out to be a tall, slender, gawky young girl with long brown hair and luminous eyes. She took one look at Spike and Buffy holding hands tightly, and broke out in a wide, infectious smile. "The two of you look so happy! I’m so glad!" Spike went straight up to her, caught her up in a tight hug and whirled her around in a wide circle. She squeaked as her feet left the floor, then hugged him back, laughing. "Thank you," he said seriously when he put her down again. "Fred, thank you." "Thank you from me too," said Buffy, hugging her as well. Fred blushed vividly. "I didn’t do anything. Just made a phone call, that’s all." "That phone call meant everything to us," Buffy said quietly and Fred flushed again. "You went against Angel for me," said Spike. "Won’t forget that, luv." Fred shook her head. "It wasn’t a choice between you and Angel. It was just...doing what was right." "Won’t get you into trouble, will it?" Spike asked worriedly. "With Angel? No way." "The wanker holds grudges." "C’mon, Spike, it’s Angel. He might get upset, but it won’t be with me. It’ll be with you. I’m kinda glad he’s not here right now, otherwise we’d have a scene. But he’s not going to take it out on me." "No. With you, he’d just go away some place and brood," Buffy muttered under her breath. Fred giggled involuntarily and Spike gave Buffy a delighted glance. "Got his number now, have you?" Buffy gave him a look and disdained to answer. "What are you going to do now?" Fred asked. "Well, that’s why we’re here, luv. Came to say goodbye. Gonna go to Rome with Buffy." "Rome," sighed Fred wistfully. "Come and visit," said Buffy immediately. "Any time." "Oh, I’d love to." "Do." "Bring Percy," said Spike and Fred blushed so hotly that her whole face went red. Buffy gave Spike a puzzled look and he gave her a bland one back. "You see too much," Fred said, trying to hide her face. "He always did," Buffy muttered. "Look, Tex," said Spike seriously. "You can tell me if I’m out of line here, but I could give you a little advice. Out of personal experience, seeing as how I’ve been the same kind of prat as he is." "Oh?" said Buffy with interest. Fred was just staring at him with a panicked expression on her face. "Gotta make the first move, luv. The guy’s crazy mad about you, but he’s too scared to show it, maybe because of that business with Gunn, maybe because he just doesn’t have the guts." "Ah," said Buffy. "I see the parallels." Fred gave her a wild-eyed look. "Did you...?" Buffy grinned. "Oh, yeah. Had to jump his bones." "Works," murmured Spike. Fred waved a hand helplessly. "I...I..." "Think about it." Spike rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "‘Nother thing. You might consider getting out of Wolfram and Hart." "Spike..." "Might consider getting him out of it too. I dunno. I’m getting a bad feeling here." "He’s usually right when he says things like that," Buffy said softly. "He’s got an instinct for that sort of thing." "I...I’ll think about it." "Do that. Right then. Gunn in?" He turned in a swirl of black leather and caught Buffy’s hand. "In his office." Fred tagged along as he headed out of the lab doors at his usual tempestuous pace, dragging Buffy along with him. A few minutes later, he was barging unannounced into Gunn’s office. "Charlie boy!" Left in the corridor, Buffy and Fred grinned at each other. "I never want to see him when he’s high," Buffy said wryly, "if this is what’s normal for him." "He is high," said Fred, smiling. "He’s high on you. It’s really good to see him so happy!" "Thanks for caring, Fred." "Hard not to. He cares, so much. Though he’d probably gut me for saying so." Buffy grinned. "Know what you mean." A boyish-looking guy in a lab coat turned up at Fred’s side, with a clipboard of notes he wanted her to review. While she was dealing with that, Spike came flying out of Gunn’s office. "Back in a sec, luv," he said to Buffy and dived into another office. "Percy!" Curiosity piqued, Buffy edged closer to that office’s door. She wanted to see who Percy was. It turned out to be Wesley—a much better-looking Wesley than the one she had known, at once grimmer and more relaxed, the stiff, inept, prim and proper Watcher gone. There was a sense of quiet competence to him now, a maturity and compassion that hadn’t been there before; he was solidly reliable now. Somewhere in the last few years, Wesley had found himself. She looked from him to Fred, oblivious as she concentrated on lab notes. Well now. Buffy started to grin. They would make a cute couple. "Well, good luck in Rome," Wes was saying. "I’m sure you and Buffy will be very happy." "So am I. And while we’re on that subject," Spike said, scarred eyebrow rising and a cocky smirk provokingly dawning, "you might consider asking Fred out to dinner. I have it on good authority she wants you to." Wes looked as if he had been punched hard, right in the gut. He just stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I...I..." "And, Wes?" Spike’s face went suddenly absolutely serious. "Get her out of this place. It’s not good for her. I mean that." He swirled around and came heading back to Buffy. Their hands clasped smoothly as he reached her. Over his shoulder, she saw Wesley dazedly following after. "Only a couple of minutes longer, luv," Spike said and waved to a green demon with an appalling taste in clothes, who was just coming down the stairs. Buffy tensed automatically. "Now, now, pet. Stand down. Can’t kill all the demons on the premises. Place is just crawling with them. This one at least is harmless." "Embarrassing as it is to admit, I am," the green demon sighed. "My name’s Lorne and who might you be, scrumptious?" "Buffy." Lorne’s eyes widened. "Angel’s Buffy?" "My Buffy!" snarled Spike. "Sorry. Just meant he talks about you all the time." Lorne’s gaze noted their clasped hands. "Ah. Getting the picture, sweetcakes. Does Angel know?" Spike smirked. "Not yet." "Give me some time to get to safe minimum distance before you tell him." "He’ll probably find out after the fact. We’re heading for Rome. Just came to say goodbye." "Well, I for one will miss you. Wanna sing for me?" "What?" interjected Buffy, bewildered. "He can read people’s auras and futures when they sing," Spike explained. "You’re kidding." Spike was grinning. "Wanna have a go?" "I can’t sing!" "Sure you can." "Doesn’t have to be a whole song," Lorne interjected. "Even a phrase will do." "Come on, luv. I died, so many years ago..." His eyes softened as Buffy started to smile. "But you can make me feel..." Buffy’s voice melded with his. "This thing is real. And you can make me feel..." Spike’s eyes widened. "Those aren’t the words, luv." She stroked his face very lightly with her fingertips. "They are now." "Ah, true love." Lorne sighed dramatically and with relish. "The two of you are going to be very, very happy. Trust me." The elevator doors opened. "Buffy!" Angel exclaimed in astonishment. "Um...after a few speedbumps," amended Lorne and hastily backed into Wesley’s office, slanting the door half-closed so that it partially protected him. "That’s torn it," muttered Wesley. "I was hoping you two would be gone before he came back." Angel ignored them both. He was staring at Buffy’s neck. "You bit her! You son of a bitch! You bit her!" He was across the lobby with vampire speed and had ripped Spike away from Buffy before she could even react. "Angel!" she gasped in protest. Angel hadn’t taken Spike by surprise though. Spike had been expecting it from the minute the elevator doors opened. He hit Angel with all his force, a solid blow straight from the shoulder, with the full weight of his body behind it. Angel sailed across the lobby and crashed into the reception desk, some fifteen feet away. "Whoa!" said Buffy, impressed. Spike raised his brows at her. "Slayer blood. Told you." Angel raised himself onto an elbow, snarling and in gameface. "You drank from her?" "Yes, he drank from me, Angel. He claimed me. I understand it’s customary." "You let him claim you?" He staggered to his feet, still in gameface, then paused and sniffed the air disbelievingly. "My God, I can smell him all over you. It’s disgusting!" "Oh, really?" Buffy’s voice was icy. "Yes, you can smell him all over me. We love each other. We made love. What is disgusting is you sniffing at me like that." "You can’t love him!" "Why not? Oh, let me guess. He’s a vampire. What are you, Angel?" "This is not about me, Buffy!" "Isn’t it? I’m not allowed to love anyone but you, is that it? You’ve moved on, but I can’t? I’ve heard about Dog-girl, you see." "Nina," Spike murmured. "Thank you." "That’s different," Angel protested. He had lost the gameface and was giving her the puppy-dog eyes which had worked on her when she was in her teens, but which she now found profoundly irritating. "That’s just..." "Just sex? Gee, Nina would be so glad to hear that." "I want you to have a normal life!" Angel yelled at her. "News flash, Angel. I’m not normal. I’ll never be normal. I’m the Slayer. My life consists of vampires and demons and hellgods and Powers That Be. You want? What about what I want?" She smiled at Spike. "I want Spike." Spike gave her a deliriously happy look and reached for her. Their hands met. "No!" Angel roared. He had flashed back into gameface. "You don’t know what you’re doing! I won’t let you ruin your life! Don’t you understand—the claim gives him power over you. But not if he’s dead," he snarled. "I challenge the claim!" He flung himself on Spike. Buffy whipped around just before he reached them and hit him with all her strength. He crashed back against the reception desk. "Good one, pet," said Spike, judging the distance with an appreciative eye. "I think you got a couple of feet on me." "He meant to kill you, didn’t he?" Buffy marveled. "Him or me. That’s what it would have amounted to. I wasn’t about to go down without a fight. And I’d have won. Beat him a while back just over some sodding cup. This time it’s you. That’s some incentive, that is. Oh, yeah, I’d have won. You stupid wanker," he said to Angel. He stepped forward and dragged down the neck of his T-shirt, exposing the human bite mark at the base of his neck. "It’s an unbreakable claim. I claimed her and she claimed me. We’re mated. Linked. Nothing can change that." Angel just stared, holding his jaw. "I think you’ve rendered him speechless," Buffy remarked. "Oh, you did that. I think you’ve broken his jaw, pet." "That means no interruptions. Excellent. Because I have something to say and this time you’re going to hear me, Angel." She stepped forward until she was standing right in front of Angel, then looked him right in the eye. "You’re a bully, Angel, and you’re a coward." Angel made a wild gesture of negation and appeal. "Yes, you are, Angel. You ran out on me. Things got hard and you ran. I’d have stayed with you forever, even if we couldn’t sleep together. But we couldn’t have sex and you ran. All the other stuff, all the ‘love’ didn’t matter." "It was all about getting your rocks off, poofter, wasn’t it?" Spike growled. "Could have given her a happy any time without losing your soul, couldn’t you? That’s what I’d have done." "Shut up, Spike," said Buffy, but she was smiling. Spike shrugged in acquiescence and subsided, grinning, having made his point. "Spike would have found a way around the curse, at least looked for a solution. You didn’t. You just took off. But you weren’t satisfied with that. You still had to run my life. All this business about a normal life, about the soul. All that crap. And I bought into it. Riley, Parker, all that misery, because of you. And Spike who never let me down, who was always there, who loved me and fought at my side and endured torture for me and got a soul for me and died for me, Spike had to fight for something he never should have been asked to fight for. I’d have allowed myself to love him years ago if it wasn’t for all that shit you brainwashed me into." She kicked the reception desk hard, denting it, not far from Angel’s head. He flinched. "And then when I finally realized how much I loved him, you...I told you he was in my heart, but you didn’t want to admit that. He came back and you didn’t tell me. You kept him from telling me himself. You told him I’d moved on when I hadn’t. You put me through one hundred and forty-seven days of pure misery that could have been avoided with one phone call. And now, when we’re finally together, you want to take him away again." She bent down and spoke right in his face. "Not going to happen. We’re mated. Suck it up and deal. You hurt him in the least little way, I’ll come back and stake you, Angel. That’s not a threat. That’s a promise." She straightened up again. "Right then." She held out a hand to Spike. "We’re off to Rome, dear heart. Coming?" Spike had his head flung back and his eyes half-closed in pure bliss. He opened his eyes and smiled at the ceiling. "This is the best day," he informed the ceiling. He reached towards Buffy. Their hands met and clasped tightly. "Yeah, I’m coming, luv. Anywhere you want." Fred had run ahead and was holding the elevator for them. As he came level with her, Spike caught the back of her head in his free hand and kissed her hard. "Owe you. Big time." "Whoo!" Fred fought for breath and Buffy grinned at her. "Whoa, mama. I get where you’re coming from, Buffy." "And he’s all mine." "Yours always, pet," Spike affirmed. He swept Buffy off the floor and up into his arms, unable to resist the dramatic flourish. Buffy laughed as he carried her into the elevator, turned, then bent and kissed her hard and thoroughly. The temperature in the elevator went up so visibly that the onlookers thought they could see steam coming out of it. Then the doors slowly closed upon the sight, like the curtains at the final act of a play. Fred sighed deeply in satisfaction. "So romantic." She ignored the glare that Angel was giving her and marched straight up to Wesley. "Wes?" "Yes?" said Wesley, somewhat startled. "I want you to take me to dinner tonight." Wesley was floored. "I’d l-l-love to." Fred beamed, grabbed the lapels of his jacket, pulled him forward and kissed him hard. Wesley’s knees nearly folded, then he recovered himself and kissed her back. Thoroughly. "Works," she said, gratified, when their lips finally parted. "Wh-what does?" "Jumping your bones," she grinned. Lorne was bending over Angel, holding out a hand. "Come on, Angelcakes. Let’s get you patched up." Angel slapped the outstretched hand away, clambered to his feet and stamped into his office. A moment later the door slammed and they heard the click of the lock. "Gee, grouchy much?" Lorne remarked. "Guess we know what he’ll be doing for the next several days." "Weeks," said Wes. "Months," murmured Fred. In chorus. "Brooding." The End