XXV

”No, you have to stay.”

”You've got another demon fighter now.”

”That's not why I need you here.”

”Is that right? Why's that then?”

”Cause I'm not ready for you to not be here.”

He squeezed tighter.

For a moment, Spike thought it was 2003. Before the battle with the First. Before he’d burned in the Hellmouth. Before he’d spent the last forty years wandering the world alone.

For a moment, he was back in bed with her. Getting lost in her eyes while he held her. Watching her sleep. And at her invitation.

”Could you stay here? Will you just hold me?”

But something told him this wasn’t 2003. A few things, in fact.

He was naked for one. Well, not quite. He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of thin silk pants under the sheets. He’d been fully clothed in jeans and a T-shirt the last time he’d held her.

And then there was her, in his arms.

He could feel the heat of her thigh draped over his own. The fingers of his right hand were buried in warm, thick locks, and the strength of her back through thin cotton was palpable under his palm. The smallest sliver of bare stomach rubbed against his, tickling him with every subtle shift in her sleep. And he could feel her mouth, blowing hot, moist air across his chest.

He didn’t deserve this.

”You risked everything to be a better man.”

”Buffy–“

”And you can be. You are. You may not see it, but I do. I do. I believe in you, Spike.”

He opened his eyes and looked down, and the reality of 2043 came flooding back.

They’d spent half the night on his sofa, tangled in each other’s arms, suspended in a lazy, never-ending kiss. Their lips had barely parted between breaths and laughs and nonsensical mutterings. It was only when she’d yawned into his mouth in the early hours of the morning that he’d picked her up and carried her to bed. The kiss only ended when she’d fallen asleep, her head slowly falling down to rest under his chin. And then he’d held her in quiet disbelief.

He’d spent hours reflecting on the time they’d spent together since their reunion, and he still didn’t quite understand what had happened inside her. She’d thought he was dead for decades, so her feelings couldn’t have grown during his absence. Had she felt this way since Sunnydale? Had it been the First that had distracted her? The Watcher and her friends? Or had she finally let herself feel more now, in her loneliness?

He knew it wasn’t just loneliness though. The way she’d looked at him last night, kissed him. Breathed him in. He shuddered at the thought. He’d never felt so desired.

Only her groans of discomfort at some point in the night had pulled him out of his musings long enough to dare undress them both. He’d managed to wake her long enough to help him pull her shirt over her head and peel off her pants. His hands had trembled as he worked, and he’d been strangely cautious about touching her skin. She’d managed to pull out her bra from under her top before she fell back asleep. He’d been loath to let her go, so had made quick work of changing into something more comfortable himself. When he’d finally crawled back into bed, the first contact of her skin threatened to undo him. Squeezing her tightly against his body, he shut his eyes, and as he finally drifted into sleep, an unguarded smile spread over his face – the likes of which he hadn’t worn since he was a boy.

Now fully awake, he pondered what her awakening would bring. His experience told him that she’d bolt for the door after giving him – at best, some sorry excuse about Dawn, and at worst, a punch in the nose. The Buffy he’d gone to bed with in the past had never been the one he’d wake up to. He knew things would be different this time, but he hadn’t the imagination or the courage to consider how.

And then she moaned. He tensed instantly, preparing for her reaction. Lifting his head off the pillow, he watched tentatively as she slowly disentangled herself to stretch her limbs, eyes closed, like a cat after a midday nap. Unexpectedly, she let all four limbs collapse back over him before she looked up and smiled.

“Hey there, handsome.”

His eyes widened imperceptibly and he struggled to find his voice.

“Anybody home in there?” She was knocking on his head.

He blinked. “Morning, love.”

She smiled again. “That’s better.”

Bloody hell. On the tip of his tongue was a thousand thank you’s to the gods of heaven and as many fuck you’s to the hoards of hell, for having her wake up this way.

He opened his mouth to speak…

And an almost demonic gurgling pierced the silence.

“Oops.” She wore the most adorable face of embarrassment.

He chuckled. “Hungry, love?”

She scratched her head, which only shifted his attention to the gorgeous mane of tangled locks falling over his chest. “Guess I am.”

“We should see to that, then.”

“Your hair’s gone curly.”

Self-consciously, he put a hand to his hair.

“Stop,” she giggled, as she grabbed his wrist to pull it down. “I like your bed head.”

He pursed his lips in displeasure, which only seemed to amuse her more.

“It’s like the vulnerable you, you know? The ‘you’ that only I get to see, before you don your armor of hair gel and go out into the big bad world.”

He suppressed a shiver at the possessiveness in her words. “Only you.”

She smiled shyly.

Fuck. Had he said that out loud?

“I prefer it straight though,” she admitted apologetically with a shrug. “I’m used to it, I guess.”

He just stared. This way of waking up was too new. He really had no idea what else to say.

Another demonic gurgle pierced the silence, giving him focus.

“Right then, food for the missus.” His eyes widened comically. “I mean the–“

She laughed out loud. “Relax, Spike. I’ve been called worse.”

He sighed internally.

“So what have you got to eat?”

He smirked.

She pouted. “Blood sucks.”

That made him laugh out loud.

“But you’ve got Weetabix at least. Right?”

“No milk though, pet. Sorry.”

She growled at him briefly, and if it wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, he didn’t know what was. Every cell in his body screamed for him to grab her. He was seconds away from doing just that, when she hopped out of bed.

“Okay. Weetabix it’ll have to be.”

“Wait.”

There was something else he’d planned to say, but the sight of her in nothing but a white tank and panties muddled his thoughts.

“What?”

He licked his lips.

“Earth to Spike.”

“What? Oh. Um, you could order some stuff online, pet. There’s a grocery store a few blocks down that’ll deliver.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Kit will sort you out.”

“Good morning, sir.”

Spike grinned. “Foutre, c'est mieux que de bien, cherie.”

“Okay… Am I gonna have to slay the computer bitch?”

“Oi!”

“Oh my god, Spike, you’re insane!”

He shrugged. “I just want my girls to get along.”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy turned on her heels and walked away, leaving Spike to admire how the tips of her hair swayed just above her–

“Food, Sir?”

“Sodding hell, Kit.”

“Sir?”

Spike let his head fall back on the pillow. “Yeah, food, pet. From that place on South Street.”

“Searching database. Yes, sir. What would you like to order?”

“Oh. Right. Um... What do you reckon? Bacon and eggs? Peanut butter and jelly?”

“If you wish, sir.”

“I’m asking you, you ninnie. What do humans eat now a’days anyway?”

“Sir, I–“

“Just do a search of the most popular things, and get a couple of each. And get her some toiletries too. Sweet smelling stuff. Shampoos and lotions and things.”

“Yes, sir. And what–“

“Cheetos. She likes Cheetos, Kit. Get Cheetos.”

“For breakfast?” Buffy injected from the doorway.

Spike looked up. “Or, not. Wasn’t sure what you wanted, pet.”

“A few dishes and utensils would be good. All you’ve got are cups and spoons.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly need a rolling pin to heat blood. If I’d known you’d be around, I’d have robbed the local housewares store.”

She pursed her lips. “Robbed?”

“Metaphorically speaking.”

She giggled, and he basked in every positive feeling that emanated from her smile. As his eyes travelled from her face, to the sliver of stomach he could see, and on to thighs perfectly toned from a hundred battles, he marveled at his reversal of fortune.

“You’re really here.”

She blushed. “I was thinking the same thing.” And then her face fell. “Especially yesterday.”

“Buffy?”

She sighed dejectedly, before idly hooking her thumbs under the sides of her panties and twisting the cotton around them, causing the fabric to drop an inch and stretch taut against her–

“Spike–”

“What? I–”

“Something’s happened.”

Fuck. Whatever it was better not take this away from him.

She walked back to bed and climbed into his arms. The sigh of contentment that escaped him was audible. He stroked her hair.

“Buffy, love, what–?”

“I went home yesterday.”

“Yeah, I know. To check on the house, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I take it you didn’t like what you found. What? Burnt to the ground?”

She shook her head. “Most of the house was still standing, but it was pretty torched, yeah. Benji saved a lot of my stuff though.”

“Benji?”

“He’s the kid next door. We’re friends. He knows about Slayers and vampires.”

Spike stroked her hair again in place of a reply.

“He’d been getting things from the house for me and storing them in his garage. He was worried that someone would start raiding the place otherwise. He’d even kept watch over the house.”

Stilling his hand, he waited for her to continue.

“Someone did come to the house apparently. The same someone who’d dropped Queenie off at the house. The same someone who’d transported the Dragvloks to the house.”

He tipped her head up by her chin. “You mean Shaggy?”

“Huh?”

Spike clenched his jaw. “Blond dreadlocks, gold teeth up top, rotten on the bottom?”

She nodded.

“Wanker!” he cursed under his breath. “Who the hell is that prat, anyway?”

“Well that’s where the story gets decidedly depressing.”

Buffy sat up and nestled into his side, her knees on his lap. “I went to the car wash where he worked and managed to track him down to a house on River Street. “

“And? Did you find him and beat him stupid?”

“No. I found a wig. And a pair of fake gold teeth.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Huh. What else?”

“A trapdoor in the bedroom closet, leading to an underground lair.”

He fell quiet.

“There were computers. Black-ops looking equipment. And photographs of me on the wall. Surveillance photos. Lots of them.

He balled his fists. “Buffy, I swear to god, I’ll rip that bastard to shreds with–“

“There’s more.”

He shut his eyes.

She sighed. “It would be easier just to show you.” Climbing out of bed, she walked back into the main room towards the far end of the sofa. From his vantage point, he could see her retrieve an object from the inside of her coat.

Once she’d climbed back in bed, she placed a nondescript computer tablet in his lap.

He looked at her questioningly.

“Swipe the screen.”

With his thumb, he stroked the screen and a message appeared.

Welcome to the complete Library of the Watcher’s Council. Restricted material. Enter passcode to access.

Silence.

After a few seconds, the message disappeared and the screen went dark.

He swiped the screen again.

Welcome to the complete Library of the Watcher’s Council. Restricted material. Enter passcode to access.

He stared at the words until they disappeared a second time.

“Spike?”

“She’s a dead woman.”

“Spike–”

“There gonna be finding her body parts for days after I’m done.”

“Spike, we don’t know –“

“The hell we don’t!” He looked up finally, and the sadness in her eyes broke through his growing fury.

He shook his head. “Buffy, love, she has to be stopped.”

Buffy turned her head away, so he grabbed it with two hands and made her face him.

“This has gone on long enough,” he whispered. “You need to let me end her.”

She gasped, and was on her feet the next instant.

“Listen to you! You want a license to kill now? To kill my friends?”

She was angry. Good. So he was he. He stood up too.

“Don’t need a license, pet. That bitch is dead already. She’s obviously dead inside, and I’m intent on finishing the job.”

“Over my dead–“

“But that’s just it, isn’t? You can’t die! And who the hell do we have to thank for that? Red hasn’t been a friend to you since high school! Since her days of fuzzy, pink sweaters and wonky love spells! And even then she was wreaking havoc!”

“What do you know? You’ve been gone for forty years!”

He paused, but he wasn’t moved. “You know I’m right, Buffy.”

“No, Spike. I don’t know that.” Sighing, she rubbed her head wearily, before continuing in a calmer voice. “I thought like you did, Spike. I did. She was the first person I thought of when I saw that stupid tablet. But there’ve been rogue Watchers over the years, Spike. There’ve been rogue Slayers, too. And getting one of these libraries is as easy as stealing it from a Watcher. We don’t even know if this Shaggy guy has the passcode.”

He considered that for a moment. “Do you have the passcode?”

She blinked. “Um… yeah. Why?”

“Is there a way of activating that thing and tracing when it was last used?”

Her eyes widened. “Yeah. Give it back.”

Handing it back, Spike watched as she entered in the passcode and started moving her fingers across the screen. She frowned.

“Buffy?”

She handed the tablet back. So he read. “’Last used: four days, twelve hours, and seventeen minutes ago. Last title accessed: Spoken Dragvlokian – Intermediate Level. Mastering Your Clicks and Gutturals.’”

“I’d say he has the passcode, Spike.”

He was about to hurl the bloody machine through the glass wall, when Buffy caught his arm.

“That still doesn’t mean Willow’s behind this.”

He let out a sound of disbelief.

“There’s still the possibility of a rogue watcher,” she insisted.

“Keep telling yourself that, pet, and you really will find yourself dead. Permanently this time. Cause if anyone can do it, Red can. She’ll find a way to take your power.”

Buffy gave him an exasperated look. “Spike, I know you think I’m an idiot for giving her the benefit of the doubt, but I’m not. I’m fully aware of what Willow is capable of, just like I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of.”

“What the–? You’re comparing me with her now?!”

“Why not? You’re ready to dismember her for god’s sake!”

“To protect you!”

“Yeah, and the things Willow has done over the years, she’s done to protect herself and the people she loves! How is that any different?”

“There’s a world of difference, Buffy! Your life is infinitely more important than hers!”

“No. It’s not.” She turned her back on him.

“Deny that all you want, Slayer, but you’ll never convince me that anyone in this sorry excuse of a world is your equal.”

Silence.

It stretched for some time before she turned around to face him again.

She looked into his eyes, like she’d done so many years ago as he burned. “I’m so glad you’re here, Spike.”

He swallowed. “So… I can kill her?”

She glared. “Spike, if I ever get undeniable evidence that Willow is trying to hurt me or anyone I love, I’ll handle her myself. Be sure of that. But until that time, I choose to have more faith in her than even she has in herself.”

“Hm. Then for the sake of that beautiful arse of yours, I choose to question her every move, and won’t apologize for whatever I might do if I see her again in the flesh.”

She bit back a smile. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Settle a fight with an easy quip about my behind?”

He grinned. “Were we fighting?”

“Well, we were shouting.”

“Yeah. About how much you matter to this world. And about how we’re never gonna let anyone take you away from me.”

She dipped her head. “I knew you’d make me feel better about all of this. I knew you’d help.” She looked up at him then, looking suddenly amused. “In your way.”

He tipped his head to the side and smiled.


* * * * *

“Xander, enough pancakes.”

“Hon!” he garbled through a mouthful. “Then why’d you make so many?”

Dawn shrugged as she bit off a piece of bacon. “I thought Buffy might show.”

“Nah. If she didn’t stay in Santa Lucia, she’d be with Uncle Rory.”

“How do you know?”

“I might’ve pushed him in the right direction last night.”

“Wow. You’ve really done a 180 where he’s concerned.”

Xander shrugged. “People can change. And I mean Spike here, hon, not me. He doesn’t suck so much anymore. That’s all. And I mean that literally. Get it?”

Dawn smirked. “Got it. So Spike’s the one that’s changed. Like your future son-in-law, who you used to hate.”

“Exactly. Simon doesn’t suck any more either.”

“Good. Then you’ll understand his wanting a priest for the wedding ceremony.”

“What? No way. Not on my peso!”

“Xander–“

“Dawnie, I’d like to keep my other eye, if you don’t mind. One eye-gouging, misogynistic Southern preacher was enough.”

“Xander, the priest is English. And you’re a loon.“

“Yeah, but you love me anyway.”


* * * * *

“So what now?” He was still smiling at her.

She loved how he smiled at her. Also, the abs. She loved the abs. And the chest. And the hips barely holding up his–

“Buffy?”

“Huh?”

“What do we do now? About Shaggy?”

She blew out a breath. “I don’t know. Nothing. We think on things for a while. You know, renumerate.“

He wrinkled his forehead. “You mean ruminate?”

“Yeah. By the looks of his lair, he’s been watching for a while. There were pictures from last year on his wall.”

“Yeah, but that bastard’s been doing more than watching, Buffy. The Dragvloks may have had their own agenda, but he was party to it.”

She frowned. “I know. But they’re scattered now, and he may not have expected that. I think we have a little more time to plan our next move now that we’re free of a Big Bad.”

“Uh, not exactly, love.”

She loved when he called her that. And she kinda wished he didn’t call his computer the same thing. Focus, Buffy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it seems our friend the Slod is out for my pretty little arse now. Or more precisely, my tongue. He sicced a pack of M’Fashniks on me last night.”

“Hm. I had a feeling that would come back to bite you in the end.” She giggled at her own pun.

Spike threw his arms into the air. “You– You were all with the ‘squee’ and the jumping up and down when I brought home the tongue and let that bastard live!”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, it was cool. And much deserved. But I could have told you he’d come back. They always come back in the end. Duh.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. God, she loved that too. It made her feel naughty, but in a fun way.

“Yeah, well, then you’d better watch out for your demon bird back home, ducks.”

“Who? The Penis Lady?”

”If you insist.”

“Darn. Good point.” She crunched up her face. “Ugh. Bad pun.”

He chuckled. Yay Buffy, with the funny.

“Well, I’ve met the Penis Lady’s cousin in Sunnydale before, and she wasn’t that tough. Just gotta dodge the paralyzing spit and then it’s just your run-of-the-mill circumcision.”

He grimaced. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Nope. We can get dressed and eat instead. Why don’t you feed your inner demon while I shower, and then maybe my food will be back when I’m done.”

“You don’t need a shower, love. I like your smell.”

“Smell? I have smell? See, this is where this relationship is ridiculously unbalanced.”

He laughed. “Buffy–“

“Nuh – uh. I’m taking a shower.” She didn’t wait for his reply.


* * * * *

“Up and at ‘em, Colletti.”

Sonny groaned and covered her head with her pillow.

“That means, rise and shine, bitch.”

“Fuck off, Gina.”

“Nope. It’s 4:30 pm. You weren’t out that late. Get your ass outta bed already.”

Sonny flipped over in bed and sat up. “Don’t you have a handyman to flirt with? I can hear his fucking hammering downstairs.”

Gina held her position in the doorway, arms crossed. “What’s wrong with you? You still upset about Max?”

Sonny flopped back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. “No.”

“What? Is it An–“

“Jesus, Gina! Yes! If you must know, it is.”

“He’s an asshole, Sonny.”

Silence.

Damn.

Gina did feel for the girl, so she went for a gentler approach. “What happened?”

“He dumped me.”

Shit.

“Well… that’s one way to put it.”

Sonny looked at her in annoyance. “Yeah? What’s another way?”

“He liberated your ass.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I’ll bite. From what, Gina?”

“From his tired conversation. From his lame jokes. From his self-righteous preachin’. From his meaty face. From his–“

“I get it, Gina. Thanks.”

“I’m just sayin’, Sonny. You’re too damn cool for that poser.”

Sonny exhaled wearily. “Maybe you’re right. That seems to be the general consensus.”

“Yeah?”

“Spike said as much last night.”

Gina smiled. “See. I knew there was a reason I liked the brotha.”

“Hm. She always gets the good ones, doesn’t she?”

“Sonny, give her–“

“… a break. Yeah, yeah.”

“So you gonna get out of bed or what?”

“What for? Your boyfriend is still hammering downstairs. The Dragvloks are gone. Everybody is still in mourning cause half of us are dead.”

“Yeah, but we ain’t, Sonny.”

“Go find your handyman, Gina. I’ll get up in my own time.”

Gina sighed. “You don’t get it, do you, Sonny?”

She didn’t reply.

“Men are like stakes, girl. You lose one, you grab another. Sometimes they’re handy. Sometimes they ain’t. But at the end of the day, what gets the job done… the reason you survive…”

Sonny looked at her.

“Is you.”

She was listening now.

“We don’t need ‘em, sis.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “They’re just extras.”

Sonny chuckled bitterly.

“Can I get an ‘Amen’?”

“Amen, Gina. Amen.”


* * * * *

Buffy hated wearing the same clothes again after a shower, but she’d taken all her new clothes back to Dawn’s. And then there was the problem of no mirrors in Spike’s place. Arghh. Grabbing his comb and the smallest amount of hair gel, she resigned herself to a sleek plaited ponytail down the back, then finished the look off with a bit of lip gloss to her mouth and cheeks.

She found him in the kitchen, still shirtless, unpacking a mountain of groceries.

“Wow. That was quick.”

He looked up and stared for a moment. “Thank, Kit.”

He didn’t smile. Did she look bad?

“I don’t have any fresh clothes. And you don’t have a mirror.”

He frowned. “You look gorgeous, pet.”

She blushed, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“So what have we got to eat?” She walked over to him in the kitchen to inspect.

“Wasn’t sure what you wanted, so…” He waived a hand over his purchases.

He’d bought out the whole grocery store. Fruits, vegetables, cereals, juices, snacks, meats, breads, soups, everything.

“We’ve got enough here for an apocalypse, Spike.”

“Well seeing as they tend to happen every year…”

They shared a laugh.

“Tell you what, pet. You dig in, and I’ll get dressed.”

“Um. Okay. Then what?”

He blinked. “Oh. Don’t know. What do you want to do?”

The truth? She didn’t care, as long as she was with him. “How about the beach?”

He raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. “The sun’s almost down. And I haven’t been to the beach in ages – especially not at night. It’ll be fun. We can do the tourist thing, walk along the surf, maybe slay something as we go.”

He just stared.

Damn it. Was that a stupid idea? Did he want to do something else? Did he want alone time? This was too new. She was going too fast.

“Or if you–“

“That sounds like fun, Buffy.”

She suppressed a shiver. She loved it when he said her name, deep and low.

“Eat up.” Grabbing the back of her head, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead, before heading back to the bedroom.

She watched him from behind until he disappeared behind the glass screen and only then let herself exhale fully. Strange. She’d travelled to countless cities, fought in more battles than she cared to remember, and against insurmountable odds. She’d met a thousand men, more than a few worth knowing. She’d aged forty years. And despite all of that, this thing with Spike…

Well… it felt like an altogether new adventure. Thrilling and uncertain.

She bit into a peach, and closed her eyes in delight.

“Thanks, Kit.”