Probably the saddest thing about being immortal is it takes a few months in hell to make you realize what you’re missing in your life.

No, wait, that’s just me.

Angel had the grand idea to take down Wolfram & Hart – all right, so it was a pretty good plan – by taking out their highest connections to our lowly earth and, once we accomplished this – me with flying colors, I might add – the bloody firm dropped us, along with all of Los Angeles, into a hell dimension.

It wasn’t easy going. More monsters than people, to start. And my closest company was none other than Angel Jr. and Illyria. Not that I mind the girl-god-psycho, but… well, she’s not company I’d keep normally. I mean, really, hate to admit it, but she probably wouldn’t be part of the crew if she wasn’t shacked up in Fred’s body.

And Fred is dead. It was – still is – all quite depressing.

Of course, it wasn’t all bad. There was this nice monthlong span where I was holed up in a really posh mansion surrounded by a harem of warrior girls all Hugh Hefner-style. Even had me a pair of those red Satin lounge clothes. Richest I’d ever felt in all of my unlife. Also got laid a fair bit. Not that I’m bragging.

Oh, bloody hell, I had a harem! You’re damned right I’m bragging!

And talking to myself.

But all that – all that – and I still couldn’t get her off my mind.

Buffy.

I want to say only girl I ever loved, but that’s not true. I loved three. First knew I existed, but wished I didn’t. Second loved me, I suppose, as best she could. When she wasn’t sleepin’ with other vamps. Or demons. Or bein’ fickle in general. And I loved both those women with all I had to give.

But I know I loved Buffy most, because when she wanted more than I could give – hell, not even wanted, just deserved – I set out to give her that, too.

It’s how I ended up with a soul. And I’m not one to change for anyone.

Hell, I liked being evil before she showed up. Back in the day it was my bloody pride and joy to be the Big Bad. Now ever since I met her, s’bad enough I can’t let an innocent plea for help go unheard. I had to be a champion, too.

Twice.

I saved the whole bloody world twice, and I can’t even pick up a phone to tell the woman I love that – Hey, not quite as dusted as you thought I was.

Only time I even tried to talk to her was ‘cos I was jealous that she might end up with that ponce, Angel, or that even bigger ponce, the Immortal.

But after all this, I know I have to talk to her.

I have two hours ‘til I have to be at the airport. Someone who owes me one hooked me up with a glamour that’ll fool an airport scanner and anyone who checks on the box I’m shipping myself in. Very dignified, being cargo. Never tried it, but I have this urge to get there faster than a boat will take me. Not that I’ve ever been the picture of patience.

I should be all ready. Well, besides the whole not having a bloody clue what I’m going to say. But still, showered. Hair freshly bleached, slicked back. Instead I’m staring at my closet havin’ a bloody wardrobe crisis. I’m still pissed that all my old clothes are gone. I never bothered to get anything besides the old black-on-black with a duster since I’ve been revived.

Of course, I never thought much about what the bloody hell I’d wear if I ever decided to get off my arse and try to get my girl back!

WHAM!

The wall gives and crackles all nice and spider-web-y as I put my fist through it. I hiss. Thankfully, upon pullin’ it out I see my knuckles didn’t get all crackly to match. Think they’d two-for-one the self-control with the soul, but they didn’t. Still have to struggle with that.

I put on my black jeans with my black shirt, then my black boots and my black duster. Because nothing says I love you like the coat that says I’ve killed your predecessors! Right. Why am I complaining, though, when the only time I’ve ever dressed to actually impress the girl, she completely blew me off.

Right. Fuck the dressing up. I tried the khakis and she told me to get lost. Made me spill my beer, too.

And besides, if she ever fell in love with me, it had to be one of the times when I was wearing the coat.

If she ever fell in love with me. Which is, of course, the big question. Because she said it, but I didn’t believe it. I didn’t then because it was moot. I was to take a permanent dirt nap. Really, all I wanted was her to love the memory of me then. That was enough. The man who comforted her, supported her, fought for her, died for everyone. And I thought, if I left that alone, if she had those last days, untouched, and looked back on them fondly, that someday they really would carve a place in her heart for me.

I told a few people that I didn’t tell Buffy I was alive again because I wanted her to remember me goin’ out in a blaze of glory. The truth is, I’m terrified that her even seein’ me for one minute is going to shatter the only little bit of love she ever had for me.

‘Cos I’m not a hero. I just love a scrap, and happen to end up at the most important places at the most inopportune times wearing the most unfashionable amulets.

Horn beeps outside. Ride’s here. This is going to be one long trip. And I’m going the fast way.


ROME: Nightfall, the next day


I’m glad my palms can’t sweat, because I’d be a bloody mess. I imagine how cold and wet my hand would have been, back when I was human. Back when I was William.

As I ball my dead, dry hand and knock on her apartment door, I wonder if she’ll ever call me William again. She only has a handful of times, and I remember each one. I hate to admit it, especially because she usually only uses it to insult me or break my heart, but I like it when she calls me that. Wish she would’ve when we were bein’ intimate. If we were ever really bein’ inti—

Door opens, and for a moment she’s all warmth – rosy blush, carmine lips, shower of golden hair cascading down her shoulders, which, by the way, are covered by a tightly cropped white button-down top. That’s ‘til she realizes it’s me, and her lids open so wide I can see the whole of her entrancing green eyes. I hate to say it, but the word effulgent come to mind.

I’m not ready. And I’m shaking, least my hands are. Does she know? Could make fists, stop the shaking. She’s just staring at my face. My eyes’re probly wide as hers, only I’m scared. I hook my thumbs into my front belt loops, try to look confident. She never takes her eyes off my face.

My hands are still shaking, and I can dimly hear the change in my pockets jingle because of it. Seems louder ‘cos of the silence. I swallow – or try to. Takes me a minute. Her jaw picks up a bit, lips twitch, bit o’ sound comes out. She’s trying for a who or a how, one of those H-soundin’ words.

I finally swallow, then sputter mine out first. “H-Hi.”

Pat on the back for Spike for speaking first. Until everything I’d decided upon and practiced melted away in a blinding haze. I didn’t think she’d be staring at me so.

Her breathing is shallower than mine, and I don’t even need the air.

“Sp-Spike?” It’s a hushed whisper, reminds me she’s actually in front of me, that I’m really here. Alive again. Nearly a year back and one-and-half words from her makes me feel alive again.

“Yeah.” Bollocks. Say more than that. “Yeah, Buffy, it’s me.”

“You died.” She tilts her head, looks empty. She’s got that gloss on her eyes like the waterworks will turn on. She blinks them back in a second, turning to one of her old friends: Anger.

Her voice has that familiar tremble and waver as she scowls. “This is a sick joke.”

“No joke, love,” I raise my arms in truce. “I’m real.”

“Prove it,” she orders.

“What, you mean like with the something only you and I would know?” She doesn’t respond, only continues glaring. Of course that’s what she means, you git. I rack my brain a bit.

“First time you willingly kissed me was after we faced that singing demon.” Her expression doesn’t change. That was weak, Spike. Dig deeper. I think of the million little reactions I illicited from her in our months of love-making, then realize there are at least two other blokes who probly know the same reactions. I frown at that. I break eye contact, look at the floor like it can tell me something. I wish I actually did have names for some of those things we did, because I’m sure only she and I know about those.

Her knuckles are a bit white as she clutches her door knob. She could slam it in my face at any time, I realize. Should have realized this wouldn’t be easy.

Lightbulb.

“When we first started… seeing each other, you wanted me to vamp out when we shagged, and I, of course, agreed, because I thought it went with that whole vampires turn you on thing you have going.” I sigh, because I don’t know if this one will work. Only I know this one. “But it didn’t turn you on, it disgusted you, and I knew it after the first time. I realized you wanted me to do it because it reminded you that I didn’t have a soul. Made you feel better about using me.”

She buckles. I can’t tell from her expression – girl has a face of stone when she wants to – but the door moves a bit, and I realize she’s lost some of the strength in her grip.

“But I didn’t want you to look at it that way, because I loved you. So I told you that putting my game face on was too dangerous, because it made me want to bite you more, chip or no chip. And you agreed. Only I lied. I always want to bite you, because I’m a vampire, and nothing could have made me hurt you.” I probably ruin the moment because I can’t hold back a lecherous smile. I look away, mumble the last bit. “At least, not in any way you didn’t enjoy and approve of.”

I swallow back the sick smile right quick when I see the pain in her eyes. I know it’s because of the moment, of me being alive, but it still makes think of what I—

She touches my cheek.

Warm little pads on my room-temperature face. Her thumb touches my lip. I press into it a bit, but don’t kiss. She’s got that classic seein’ a ghost look going on. Don’t want to scare her.

“How?”

“Maybe inside, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says absently, turning away through the door. I move to follow, and crunch my nose against a nice invisible wall. “Ow.”

Andrew’s not staying here anymore. I hold my nose and wait for an invite. She tries to look surprised, but I know it was another test. Can’t blame the bird for bein’ skeptical.

And scared. She sounds scared as she makes her way to her kitchenette and fills a glass of water. “Come in.”

I start explaining even as I make my way to the couch. “It was that amulet. Kept me inside it after it burned me up.”

I hear the glass shatter in the sink.

“You… you were buried under all that?!” her voice cracks, goes a pitch higher.

“No.” I try to yell it, but I can’t form it.

Like a line of dominoes falling, her words spill, “Iknew Ishouldhave gonebackafter everythingsettled, butwith allthesunlight—“

“No!” I find it, cut her off. “No. You… you couldn’t’ve known, and someone planned it that way. They mailed me to Angel a few months after—“

“A few months?” Her quiet words sound like sonic booms.

Oh, bollocks. Didn’t mean to say that… “Yeah, a few months.”

“You… you’ve been back how long?” She’s more panicked than mad yet. I wonder if that’ll last.

“Now, you have to understand, when I first came back, I was a ghost… or something. I couldn’t pick up a phone to call you if I wanted to. And I was bound to that bloody office – I couldn’t leave Los Angeles – and I tried.”

“And you just became cor- corp-”

“Corporeal,” I finished for her.

“Corporeal,” she parroted thankfully. “You can finally touch things again, so you came?”

“Yeah!” I declare with a grin. A great, big, fake grin. I shake my head, slump onto her couch, wring my hands. “No.”

I don’t look at her as she fills two new glasses. She hands me one and joins me on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” I choke on the words. Not a sad choke, just an ashamed one. “I’ve been real a few months now.”

And now the anger. “And you didn’t tell me?!” She slams the glass onto her coffeetable, and I’m amazed it doesn’t break as water skips across the clear surface and onto the carpet. “You’ve been around for months and you didn’t—“

“I was scared!” I snap.

Every word I can possibly say jumbles into a string of white noise in my head. I don’t know how long it stays like that until she asks:

“Scared?”

Painful, ugly honesty becomes my decoder ring. “We left off in a bit of an odd place. I was happy when you said you loved me – really happy, joyously bloody happy – but I also figured that it was given the situation.”

It’s just me and the water glass now. I can’t get this out if I acknowledge she’s in the room. “I’m too smart to count on it meaning anything… But I’m also really dim, and so I can’t give up this hope that it does… you know, mean something.”

When I finally look up, the little crease between her eyebrows tells me she’s more confused than I am. So I just talk more. “I knew…” and I add one of those sad chokes “I knew if I actually… I actually saw you, I might have to admit to myself that you’re never going to love me again. I finally figured it was time to face up and start livin’ with it if you didn’t.”

She covers my hand with hers, and I realize that bein’ twice dead has made me more pasty than usual. She’s got these vibrant, shimmery purple nails on.

“Spike,” I almost jump, hearing her say it again. “I missed you.” She says it like she’s in a confessional, and I realize she still hasn’t breathed a word of any feelings she’s had to anyone. If there are any feelings.

“Yeah, but that’s not…”

“Love.” She finishes it for me. Hurts my empty chest to hear her say it.

“Yeah. It’s not.”

“I know.”

I take a swig of water and wonder if I can whip up a clean good-bye and exit before by bloody eyes start leaking.

Then she throws me a curve. “I haven’t thought about it much.”

I cock an eyebrow, put my glass down. “Come again?”

“It’s just shocking, seeing you like this,” she explains, talking with wide gestures that elaborate on her nerves. “I mean, you didn’t get sucked into a demon dimension. You weren’t chopped into little parts that could be reassembled. You didn’t run off or disappear!”

The gestures grew too big, and she had to jump up and pace to make room for them. “You were dusted! You’re a vampire and you were standing in a big beam of sunshine that was dusting thousands of much more powerful vampires, and you were dusted!”

Her voice grew scratchy and louder with each sentence. “And even if… even IF you did survive the overdose of mystically-enhanced sunbeams, the entire cave and school above you collapsed, leaving no cover from the actual, normal sunlight, either! Vampires don’t come back from that!”

I stand and clamp my hand around her flailing wrist. “Buffy!” Bird’s near hysterical and stiff as a board. I move my hands to support her shoulders as she sniffles.

She wipes her snot with her hand, and the wide-eyed waterworks begin, pouring tears down her face. Her words become a bit more even, but remain just as intense. “I know what I felt then. And I know what I felt in those last days. And I know what you did for me, how you’re always there for me. And I really did want you to come back with us instead of die there…”

“But?” I add quietly, waiting to hear that she’s with someone else, having a few candidates in mind.

“But you were gone,” she sobs, locking her arms onto mine, firmly caressing my elbows, of all things. “And I couldn’t think about it. And now that you’re back, I don’t know how to feel, because I don’t know how it’s going to be. But I did miss you, I do. It feels weird to say, because you’re here, but I do.”

If I were bloody Frosty she’d have melted my chest right now. I’m numb with swelling, because in all the practices in my head, nothing came out like that. Even my optimistic runs just had an I love you.

Somehow, this feels better, and I smile.

“It’s going to to be like this: I stick around, and I support you, and you have plenty of time to figure out how you feel about me.” I squeeze her shoulders, circle my thumbs around the nub of bone at the top.

She giggles, looks at my belt buckle, looks up at me. Giggles again, rubs her eye, brushes her hair with those long purple nails. “I must look like a spaz,” she half-sobs, half-laughs.

“You look beautiful,” I correct her.

Ace for me, it’s one of those warm, show-stopping lines that grab her attention and lock us in a moment of happiness. But the smiles fade as we – both with uncertainty – move in for a kiss. It’s light, hot, weightless, like a drag from a cigarette, only sweeter. She kisses me harder, wraps her powerful slayer arms around my back, and that’s all the redemption I need, even if I do end up in hell.

I lose my hand in her tresses and lock my arm around her back, resisting the urge to grab her ass instead. I told myself if I ever got the chance again, I’d show her the gentler side to loving Spike. Which is funny because there wasn’t one ‘til she came along. She presses me, though, snaking her arm under my coat and digging those nails into the back of my jeans. My whole leg tenses and I hiss.

I pull my tongue out of her mouth and she gasps. I explain, “I was going to try to be gen—“

CRACK!

Harsh smack fills my left ear as she belts me one, hard, all slayer-strength, against the side of my face. I’m suddenly holdin’ the bloody couch cushions for balance instead of her back.

Pushing myself up towards her, I ask, quite vehemently, “WHAT THE BLOODY—?“

CRACK!

Another fist.

“Buffy?” I hold my face this time as I face her.

CRACK!

There’s four little subsequent cracks this time as she mashes my hand against my face, popping all my knuckles at once. I exhale sharply, hesitate a second, and realize she’s waiting for me to get up.

I do, fast, and catch her fist this time. “I SAID I WAS TRY—“

It’s more of a smack this time. Bitch backhands me, and I go blind with rage.

I snarl. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY!”

CRACK!

She punches me with her free hand before I’m all the way up, and I narrowly gain some footing instead of going through the glass coffee table. I’m vamped, and angry, and want more than anything to pounce and tear her throat out.

And even if I could do that to her, it doesn’t matter, because as fast as I am whipping back up to face her, she’s faster, and has her small mouth locked onto my fangy maw in an instant. Throws an iceburg into my boiling blood.

I pull back. “What?” I can’t stop myself from touching her face, wondering if that was really her a second ago, hitting me again like, well, like we used to all the time.

She runs her thin fingers through my stiff hair comfortingly. Only time she’s ever, ever done that was when my chip was making me hemorrhage. This time, though, feels more warm-loving and less poor-puppy. Feels amazing.

“You’re not a monster,” she says suddenly.

“What the bloody?” And I’m absolutely dumbfounded all the moreso because I’m vamped.

“I’m not disgusted by you, Spike. I sort of was back then, but… that was complicated.” She keeps caressing me, and I swear it’s making electricity accent every word she utters. “I didn’t want you to think that I’m denying what you are. I mean, you have a soul, and that’s beautiful, but I…”

A dumb grin plasters itself on my face, and I’m officially overstimulated with happiness. I know she’s hesitating because she’s stuck somewhere between the word like and love, and doesn’t know what word to use.

It takes her a while, and she must read the knowing in my face, because she settles on “… accept everything that you are.”

My brain goes against my bodies’ cries and stops her hand, interlocks our fingers. “I am a monster,” I correct. “I’m very much a monster. I wanted to rip your throat out a second ago.”

“But you wouldn’t have,” she counters. And she’s right.

“I know. But I wanted to.”

“You’d never hurt me.” She states it smugly, free hand on her hip, as an unwavering fact.

“But I want to, love. I want to bite you,” I’m stern, saying each word slowly. I need her to understand.

She still flits it away. “You won’t hurt me, never really.”

“But I want to. I’ll always want to.”

She kisses me softly on the corner of my lip, in that calming way that only she can. When she pulls back, her shirt’s mostly unbuttoned, and I realize we’re going so much further than I’d ever dreamed imaginable. ‘Course, I never dreamed big about this meeting. I’m not one to get my hopes up.

I drop my duster and lose my game face in one swift motion. Then get a good grip on her love handles – if such a fit girl really has such a thing – and pull her hips against mine, press against them, kiss her neck and lose myself in the scent of her.

“Spike…” It sounds like some distant white noise and I pay no attention, save to let it stoke my growing lust as I nip her ear.

“Spike!”

I pause, and she’s at a loss as I look up, inches from her face, her arms immobile being tangled in mine.

I want to say she’s happy, but she’s not smiling. It’s more serious than that, but it’s warmer. “I meant you could bite me.”

Any breath just leaves my dead body. “Wuh?”

“Just not on the neck.” She smiles. “Hurts my slayer cred.”

I’m struck helpless. I feel naked, and not in the good way. “I was trying to be gentle today,” I finally explain, realizing that it was the first time I’d managed to get that phrase out tonight.

She lets out a quick, short huff of laughter through her nose, her lips pressed tight against each other in a long grin. “What? Like we’re not a real couple unless the sex is gentle?”

This feels like a trick. “Well… yeah.”

She hesitates, and I can’t tell why until the first word comes out of her mouth. “William,” it sounds so long for three syllables I swear someone is screwing with time just for me. She must have realized I glossed over, because she gifts me again.

“William, I like what we have. I like sex with you because it is intense, and sometimes has controlled violence.” I seize up a little at that word, I haven’t really liked it since…

“Spike.” Sharper, quicker, she pulls me out of where she knows my head was going. “You didn’t have a soul. I know you did your best to be good back then, and I know you still get confused with how you feel now. But I was scared back then because I thought you could lose control. I know the kind of man you are now. I know you won’t hurt me, but I don’t want that to take away our heat.”

The blood in my brain swims as fast as the blood in my cock. My thoughts are everywhere. She called me a man. I realize for certain Dawn can’t be home. She wants me to still be forceful, and I don’t know if I can do that. But most of all…

Buffy wants me to bite her. I look at her neck, and she sees my confusion, because last time I was this close to her, I had to stare with envy at the two sets of teeth marks there.

“Willow removed them,” she said, reading my eyes. “Scars are important and all, but I didn’t want to have to think…”

“And me?”

“Maybe something will happen, and one day I’ll get your scars removed, too. But for now, I’d just like if everyone didn’t see them.”

Lady will never have to tell me twice. I unhook her bra with a quick, one-handed snap, and I’m vamped before it finishes clicking. I gently pull off her shirt and support before flinging them to the couch.

Then I claim her right breast, sinking my top set of canines in two inches above her nipple. I’m being a gentleman, really, won’t even be able to see it when the lady wears a bikini. And I am being gentle, I only push top fangs in, no other teeth, though it’s hard not to while I suck. I yank her onto my lap as I fall to sitting on the couch.

Her blood burns in all the right ways, and though it’s impossible, I know it’s impossible, I swear it runs straight down my throat and into my cock. It’s horrible, it’s still horrible, but slayer blood – anything that tastes this powerful – is an aphrodisiac. I tease her nipple with my tongue, only thing that takes my mind off the sucking, which I stop because I have to. Wound’s not deep, and I want to be violent, but I can feel my newly acquired soul giving me that sense of evenness to not run with it. Buffy moans, gets her fingers caught in my hair, and I just lap the blood as it runs over her pert cleavage.

She tries to straddle me, but I don’t let her, just to be frustrating. She gets a little violent herself, trying to find leverage as I hold both her legs under my arm. With my other hand, I run my black fingernails up her spine with a gentleness and ease that probably makes her sick, given how she’s struggling so against my other arm. She quivers, but the moment that I take my mouth from her breast to laugh, she pulls free and shoves me.

In retrospect, she was probably trying to get me to lay down on the couch, but her misfire sends me backwards off the couch, puts my shoulder through her glass coffeetable. Before I hit floor, I pull her down with me by the wrist with a loud laugh, careful to make sure her hand doesn’t hit any glass. But the shards are buried in my shoulder, and some in my neck.

There’s an instant where her eyes grow huge, when she sees me bleedin’ and thinks maybe she really hurt me this time, but I’m laughin’ too hard, and I move right on to the next course, bracing one of her arms on the shard-free side of me, the other safely on my chest before I crane my neck for a long, tongue-filled kiss. All the while, I hook my thumbs in her trousers – and knickers – as I ready myself for a plunge.

So much for being gentle.