It was the nightmare Spike could never stop having. He was stranded in a shiny bright world with blazing suns. It was so hot he had to wipe the sweat from his skin in layers. Lying on his back, naked in the grass, he watched a flock of blue birds soar across the sky.

But then another wave of heat tore through the valley and he rolled onto his side, covering his eyes with his hands. He needed to shield them from the sun.

After a while, he sat up and saw a row of trees on the edge of the horizon. Tall and leafy, they stretched across the landscape as far as the hills. And there were hills rising against the sky like crystal green castles bathed in sunlight.

Spike struggled to his knees and took a deep breath.

The air smelled like water, fresh, clear and sparkling. A river was nearby—and something more.

Buffy. She was standing on a precipice looking down on the water, her body, like the hills, stunning in sunlight and shadow.

Spike rose to his feet. She was only a short distance away. He could reach her if he tried.

But how was this bloody possible?

Here, there was no clean water and nothing grew. Birds were extinct and the sun hadn't shone in seventy years. And he couldn’t lay in the sun. He was a vampire.

Then he was running, trying to reach her. But when he stood at the edge of the precipice, his skin was cold and wet, and the sun had disappeared.

Spike was shivering so hard he couldn’t move.

Then he understood.

It wasn’t Buffy. It couldn’t be her. Was never her. Because. Like the rest of the world, she no longer existed.

###

Spike steered his vintage Jeep Cherokee to a halt in front of Club Zero and stepped out, cursing. It was noon and the rain was falling from the sky in buckets. Like always. Sighing, he shut his eyes and lifted his chin, letting the water soak his face.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned. The rain stung, its acid burning his skin. But he kept his head tilted up. He’d wipe off his face once he got inside. He needed to stand in the rain and feel the pain. It would help him remember his dream.

Or was it a nightmare.

It hadn’t felt like one. More like wishful thinking. But how sad and lonely was that? Here it was 2082, and he was still hanging onto ancient dreams and long-dead memories. Bloody Fool. There was no sun here, no birds, and no grass. LA was a wasteland, a sodding wet bog, cold and gray and lifeless. Well, except for a handful of humans who clung onto their existence like mad dogs with a bone. Vampires, on the other hand, were like mice in a cornfield. Everywhere.

Spike hugged the leather duster around his waist, checked both ways and hurried across the street. Navigating over the demolished road, he easily leaped over the pools of mud and chunks of concrete that littered Wilshire Blvd.

He stopped at the bottom of a staircase and nodded to the vampire emerging from the shadows. A broad-shouldered giant, he gestured to Spike, inviting him to make his way up the stairs.

Spike covered the steps three at a time until he reached the top of the landing. Then he waited patiently as the vampire disconnected the security device and opened the back door to Club Zero’s second floor balcony. Spike edged by the vampire and gave him as friendly a greeting as he could manage, and then walked into the Club.

Inside, Spike let the familiar feeling sweep over him. The place reminded him of The Bronze. Same set of stairs leading to a balcony overlooking the dance floor. Same stage directly across from the main entrance, and an alcove beneath the staircase near a long wooden bar.

But the crowd wasn’t the same. The lean, ragged faces of the dead and the dying filled Club Zero, as it did every afternoon and every night. It was a lust club, a place where vampires and humans could lose their minds for a few hours every day.

Spike stood at the banister of the balcony overlooking the dance floor thinking about how much the world had changed since the last apocalypse in 2012. There was little to distinguish the humans from the vampires now. They all lived in a world without sunshine or fresh water, just a steady downpour of poison rain and gray days and black moonless nights. Even the darkest skin was ashen. And everyone was hungry. Ravenously so.

But Spike hadn’t come to Club Zero to analyze its customers or to reminisce about days long gone. He was looking for a girl.

Spike wiped the remaining water from his face as he spotted an empty seat at the bar on the opposite side of the dance floor. He headed for it.

"Long time no see, Spike,” said Geronimo Jones, the lone bartender and sole owner of Club Zero. A small-boned, elegantly coiffed Japanese human, he liked vampires, liked having them for customers and loved having them in other ways more intimate.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think this wasn't a friendly visit." Geronimo had a knack for picking up on moods and must have sensed that Spike’s motives for being at Club Zero weren’t recreational.

"You wouldn't be here to shut down an old friend's club. Right, Detective?" He reached beneath the bar and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Nope. Never bust a friend." Spike didn’t flinch at the word Detective. He’d never thought he’d end up a gumshoe, but after Wolfram and Hart was permanently shut down, he had to find something to do, and detective work was in his blood. Angel’s calling and all that rot. So he’d taken a job with the Culver City Police Department.

He took a swig of the Jack Daniels Geronimo had poured and choked back a cough. The shit wasn’t a month old. Just brown fermented rainwater dumped in a plastic bottle labeled to look like the original stuff. Geronimo must have hoped Spike had forgotten Jack’s real burn. Spike hadn't, but decided not to mention it. "Don't seem to be many new faces here tonight," he remarked.

"Hardly any new faces in all of LA, Spike."

“Yeah, I guess that’s right.”

"Should I keep the Jack handy?" Geronimo held the bottle over Spike’s glass.

"No, I'm good."

"You got that right." Geronimo craned forward, his eyes on Spike’s fitted pants. "And that pretty ass of yours is always good to see."

"Relax, Geronimo," Spike said, accustomed to the bartender’s advances. "Not in the mood for you this afternoon. Need something new." Spike had given in to Geronimo’s flirtations once or twice before, but today he was working.

Geronimo sighed. "A man can always hope." Looking disappointed, he turned and headed toward the other end of the bar. Then abruptly he swung back and faced Spike, using the bottle of Jack as a pointer. "Check out the fresh eye candy,” he said.

Standing in the middle of a group of humans and vampires was a new face. A girl, or young woman, long blonde hair, still dripping from the rain. About five feet two inches tall, wearing all black. A super-short shiny skirt, thick dark tights, thigh-high black plastic boots and a black waist-length jacket that looked like leather.

Spike titled his head to the side. "Drop the bottle Geronimo. No need to be obvious."

"If I swung that way, I'd fuck her." Geronimo raised an eyebrow. "She’s pretty."

Spike swallowed. "Yeah, she’s okay."

"Looks like your type."

"You have no understanding of my type, mate.”

Geronimo grunted. "She’s a vampire."

Spike cleared his throat. He hadn’t sensed that. Too busy lost in a memory. "That’s a bloody shame."

Geronimo winked. “Maybe she’s the one you’re looking for?”

“Yeah, the chosen one,” Spike muttered. “Except she’s a vampire now.”

At that moment the girl looked at him from across the bar. He nodded and gave her one of his sexy grins. She responded in kind, excused herself from the group and headed in his direction.

"Pour me another drink," Spike instructed Geronimo. He gulped it down while keeping an eye on her, and the way her pants clung to her shapely, lithe body. And the way the nipples of her perky breasts pushed delicately through the white blouse beneath her jacket. All of her was familiar. Too damn familiar.

Bloody hell. If he could breathe, he would have passed out.

to be continued...

Heat, hot, flames, wind. Screaming. Lots of screaming. Buffy stood in front of him, begging him. Pleading. He ran, as quickly as he could. Making his way to the edge of the cliff, one step away from oblivion. "Spike!" It was Buffy calling him. He turned and ran toward the sound of her voice, but she was gone. There was nothing left, but the sun.

###

"Funny running into you here.” This Buffy's voice was lighter, less strained than he remembered from that last year, those last days.

"Who are you?” Spike wasn’t buying it, he couldn’t, not if he wanted to remain sane. This girl, this Buffy look-a-like, insulted the Slayer's memory. She was a vampire.

Still, Spike felt his mouth hanging open. She had the same hair, the same oval eyes and shiny lips. She even did that nervous fidgety motion with her hands. He turned away, pretending to be interested in what was happening on the dance floor. Maybe he was dreaming with his eyes wide open. That could be it. That had to be it. Shit. Dreaming was going to turn him into a bloody lunatic.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, tapping his shoulder. “You seem distracted. Should I leave? Were you looking for someone else?”

He faced her. “I’m looking for a girl,” he managed to get out.

“I’m a girl,” she smiled. “Well, technically I’m 80 years old, but I was twenty-six when I got turned. So young woman works.” She glanced at the empty seat next to him. "Can I join you?"

"I thought you already had." He gestured for her to sit down. "You do know this is not your friendly neighborhood bar. Vampires come here to drink human blood from the source and humans are here because they like that."

“I know what a Lust Club is.” She touched the collar of his shirt lightly, pretending to straighten it. "Blood straight from the body, instead of a cup."

“Well, since I haven’t seen you before I thought you were new in town.”

She licked her lips. “Yeah, I’m new, but I’ve been around, New York, DC, Cleveland.” Playfulness floated in her eyes and Spike felt his stomach drop.

“Why are you here?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

“I hear you’re not the type of vampire to indulge in what a Lust Club has to offer,” she said. “You only like rat’s blood.”

‘How do you know what I like, pet?”

“I’ve asked around.”

He looked at her sideways. “Why would you ask about me?"

Hands steady, she slipped out of her jacket and opened the collar of her blouse. She held the edges apart, exposing her juggler.

“What are you doing?” Spike asked.

“Making you an offer,” she responded. “Don’t you want a taste.”

“You just said it, I don’t drink blood directly from a body, any body, human or vampire.”

“I think I can change your mind.” She had a guileless smile on her face.

“What makes you think that?”

“I can smell your arousal.” She giggled softly. “So are you sure you’re not thirsty?" she insisted.

"You should be careful,” Spike said, unable to stop his leg from shaking. "I don't like playing games."

"You don't know what games I'm willing to play."

"I'll give you that, pet.”

She sat there, super cool, gaze hard, holding her collar open. The scent of her arousal joined his and filled the space between them.

He wanted to grab her. Take her. But his fangs were digging a hole into the sides of his mouth.

She titled her head. "So it’s true, you don’t suck blood from vampires or humans?” She shook her head. “Amazing. These days lust clubs are the only place where vamps and humans can legally exchange blood and explore their sexual desires. What’s your problem? Are you a eunuch?”

“No, I’m not a eunuch,” Spike said. Now he really wanted to bite her.

His usual feelings about biting and blood had suddenly evaporated. This girl was taunting him. Not only with her looks, but with her mouth. He moved swiftly to her, and buried his fangs in her neck before he could change his mind.

As his fangs sunk into her cool flesh, she stiffened and made a noise, a grunt or a moan, or both, he didn't care. Her blood was in his mouth and her hands were on his hips holding him to her.

Spike deepened the bite as his body molded against hers. As he sucked, his arms tightened around her waist. Then his hands slipped down to cup her ass. He paused, his erection wedged against her stomach.

"I want you," she whispered. "I want you to understand…"

Spike withdrew his fangs from her neck and licked the wound, lapping at the drops of blood flowing from it. "Understand what?"

"That I'm a good cop and will make you a good partner," she said earnestly.

Spike stepped back. "You've got to be kidding."

She covered the wound on his neck with her hand. "I’m serious.” She extended her other hand. “My name is Buffy Summers, Lieutenant, and I’m your new partner."

"What?" He wiped his mouth and rubbed his hands over his eyes, as if awakening from yet another dream. Had she actually said her name was Buffy? Buffy Summers?

"We were scheduled to meet at the precinct later this evening, after nightfall." She closed the front of her blouse. "But I thought why wait for a formal introduction. Heard you’d never had a partner before and I wanted to meet you outside of work, show you I can be whatever I need to be to work with you."

"You're out of your mind."

"Could be." She closed her eyes for a second as if gathering strength from some secret reserve. "I know we'll make a good team.”

"Not likely." Spike didn’t quite know how to feel. This girl’s idea of getting to know a new partner sucked. "This wasn't a smart move…looking to make points by letting me bite your ass."

"I didn't mean it that way…and you bit my neck." She pulled on her jacket.

Spike grabbed her by the collar and pulled her roughly to him. "Get out of here before I forget I'm a civilized vamp."

"Okay,” she said, unfastening his fingers and heading toward the exit. "I'll see you at work then."

"I said get out."

With a backhanded wave, she walked out of the Club.

"What in the bloody hell was that?" Spike plopped down on the bar stool.

Geronimo held out a fresh tumbler filled with Jack. "Some tasty looking shit, Spike. That girl was bold."

Spike stared at the path Vampire Buffy had taken to exit Club Zero. Now he had to believe his dream was a nightmare, and a harbinger of things to come. But that awareness only made him feel worse. After so many decades, a vampire that looked exactly like Buffy, and who had maneuvered her way into becoming his partner was too far of a stretch of coincidence. There was something demonic going on.

"Maybe you should give her a chance," Geronimo was saying.

"You're wrong, Geronimo." Spike raised his glass and drained it. "I don't have to give her a fucking thing."

to be continued...