Thanks to Melissa for her patience and her wonderful help!!!

CHAPTER 25

Buffy stepped out of the portal with her heart in one hand. Broken into thousand of pieces as slivers of a smashed mirror reflecting only one thing. The betrayed, woeful and aghast expression in William’s eyes. Something she wasn’t going to forget even after crawling on her knees after Spike’s duster as he walked away. She was so sure of that… So sure he was going to spit her face as soon as she appeared to save him… Such certainty had frozen her on that alley while the man she had carried from the past gazed at her, waiting for some words. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t move. She had that man, his damned Chest and his damned sceptre and everything seemed to be as void as a black hole. Opened in her guts to suck any thread of energy she might have left.

“Miss…” The shaking hand that touched the tight velvet sleeve of her dress made her shivered. “I think we should go somewhere else?” His eyes were fixed on some spot above her shoulder.

Buffy could have sworn her knees screeched when she turned round just to see the long opened lines of bright light that scampered along the dirty walls. Fingers and claws came out from them as dead hands trying to open a crack in a tomb. Staggering, she started to walk without saying anything. The man followed her as an obedient dog.



Four surprised faces stood in Buffy’s living room gazing at the two sleeping shapes in the room. Giles fought the nasty thought of throwing the vampire, who was dangling from his shoulder, to the floor. He had lied to him! Lied in such thing as Willow’s…

“She is back!? And he brought her here!?” Cordelia’s voice, a blend of fear and relief, stopped his killing thoughts. “What if she is still evil?”

Evil? Giles was petrified. So he had been right about that odd spark he had seen in her eyes. What had happened in this place? Where had he been? He felt as if he had travelled to a different dimension. Everything was just as it should be. Faces, furniture, houses and demons but a little distorted. As images were when he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Faded contours of well-known pictures. Spike’s whimper forced him to move. To use his best harsh tone just to order Xander to help him upstairs where they both tossed him on Buffy’s bed before running to Willow’s side.

“How did you do it?” Giles heard Cordelia ask for the third time.

“Are you human now? Or are you going to change to a werewolf in any minute? I really want to know ‘cause…” Anya kept on while Cordelia tried her best to hush her up.

Giles sat on the other armchair and his legs seemed to deflate like a balloon. So tired he was… How could that be possible if he had only spent hours in that warehouse? Hours… It couldn’t be… He was about to ask the date when Willow opened her eyes. Two confused green ponds that spun around the living room, stopping on his face.

“Giles…” One word and a waterfall of tears that flooded her eyes and her pale cheeks making the gashes there sparkled with a washed reddish gleam. “How?”

“You know him?” There was that stupid question again. Maybe the crash had made Xander’s head thump heavily against the steering wheel. But the stunned look in his eyes reflected a similar one in all the other’s faces, giving him the certainty that he had shown up in a different world. “Who is he?”

“What?” Willow’s forehead wrinkled as she struggled to sit straight on the couch. The dark mark the red flake had left on it was black as a hole. As if she had been shot. “Buffy’s Watcher…”

“So you’re that Watcher?” Xander studied him from head to foot. “I really thought Buffy was… well, a little… you know… at first. He looks more than a Watcher that that stuffed shirt Mr. Prissy, don’t you think?” He looked at Cordelia. “Well, a little old for you maybe but…” He stopped when the brunette’s eyes filled with tears. Such a bad timing he had sometimes… “So, if you are here… that means that your relative is saved! So Buffy has won! So… why can’t we remember you? And why are those horrible lights still out there?” He pointed at the closed window.

“Perhaps, if you could be more explicit… I could answer one of your questions?” Giles offered with a weak voice. “And maybe, you could answer some of mine…” His head ached as if the jaws of a big vice were squeezing it. He smiled gratefully when Oz appeared with a glass of water and two aspirins.



Buffy stood on the pavement, gawking at Xander’s car as if she had never seen it before. A stupid glint of hope burnt for a few seconds in her heart, warming it up as a dying flame. She climbed the steps of the porch and lunged into the house when the sound of agitated voices reached her ears. Standing there in the hall, her heart throbbing against her ribs with a lunatic pulse, she didn’t know whether to cry, shout or laugh. Everybody was there. Everybody! Her friends, Willow, Giles and… She stepped backwards when a bunch of excited and happy friends struggled among each other to be the first one to hug her. Her stiffened body was squeezed with glee while her eyes, dry and sore, kept on piercing the living room. Something was breaking down inside her. She could listen to the pieces falling inside her guts with a painful and resounding thump. Not even the happiness of having Giles back could erase the choking feeling in her throat. So not crawling then. No begging on her knees with her eyes popped out of her face as he walked away. The last image of him she was going to keep was going to be that of hate and shock.

“So look at you! You’re a real lady for a change!” Cordelia stated as she scrutinized the deep crimson outfit with a little envy. “The cutting is excellent! You can see that only by… What have I said?” She looked at Xander, as he could be able to explain the sudden burst of tears of his friend.

Buffy walked into the living room gasping for air. “Spike…” She tried to shout but the words entangled in her tongue along with the sobs. Coughing desperately, she tried again. A bitten whisper followed by an agonized plea.

“Oh, Buffy! I’m so sorry!” Willow had followed her friend feeling sick. She knew that moment was going to come and guilt had been burning in her spirit since the first hug. How was she going to explain? How was she going to tell her…? “He’s upstairs, Buffy…” Giles’s words made her whirled around. She didn’t even notice when Buffy pushed her aside just to clamber up the stairs, stepping on the beautiful dress. Oz hugged her when she began to blubber with her green eyes still fixed on the Watcher’s face.



Her hands seized the doorframes. White knuckles and nails leaving half-moon marks on the wood. Her heartbeat was not only in her chest but also in every corner of her body. In her ears, leaving her almost deaf. In her mouth, throbbing on her tongue, against her palate, making her teeth rattled. In her head, filling her up with a dizzy sensation. In her stomach, revolting her guts enough to make her puke on the carpet. As in the alley, she couldn’t move. Only stare in shock at the skinny shape of him lying on the bedspread. Pale and bruised, white and covered in cuts and gashes. A big moonstone tainted with red. As if he had spent all those weeks locked up inside a dungeon crowded with lions.

She stumbled when she took a step inside the room. A coat was on the carpet. Grey. Giles’s coat. They hadn’t even taken two seconds to throw a blanket on him… Only a coat which had been hurled carelessly. A renewed sob constricted her throat as she walked into the bathroom coming back with a wet towel. Buffy washed his skin with extreme care. As if she could break him if she pressed the cloth a little further. Finally, she took a blanket out of the closet and pulled it up his body. Two slits of blue stared at her when she raised her head.

Words ran away from her mind. It wasn’t that she couldn’t speak. Words just vanished leaving a completely empty canvas. His eyes grew bigger and he snarled at her as soon as she tried to kiss him.

“It’s me… You’re okay now.” She pinned his hand to the mattress. So easy it was that a pang of deeper sadness hit her heart. “Everything is going to be fine, Spike.” Her tears rolled down his cheeks. “I’m here. I’ve saved you. I’ve saved you.” She wanted to cradle him in her arms and never let him go. But there was a more urgent thing to do. Her hand reached the drawer of her bedside table and fumbled blindly inside. Finding a safety pin she did as she had done that awful night of her arrival to the past. A tiny cut and her blood flowing on his lips while her entire body shivered as he sank his fangs on the small gash. Images of the very first time he had bitten her enfolded her as a searing tide. A well-known warmth spread hastily along her skin. Her forehead leant on his hair and when he lapped at the wounds a strangled moan filled her veins with an unexpected orgasm that left her panting and trembling even after he finally fell asleep again.


Buffy closed the front door of her house leaning against it to find some support for her exhausted body. She had never talked so much in her life. Never had been that painful either. To describe everything that had happened in that distant London had been excruciating. Knowing what had happened in her hometown had been even more disturbing. So there was no soul to save… There was no such easy thing as snapping the sceptre in two and get rid of the next apocalypse. She still didn’t understand how it was possible for a simple object to make a copy of itself only by being used once. But, apparently, that was the case. She needed a hot shower. Needed something to eat. Needed to hack away that dress of her skin which only brought aching memories. She crashed on the sofa and her limbs refused to react. Daylight came through the windows with a dirty, opaque gleam. Eleven in the morning. How many hours had she been on her feet? Last time she had slept was between his… Don’t think of it! Don’t, please. Close your eyes for a while. Find some strength to climb those stairs to slide under the shower. She fell asleep as soon as her head touched one of the cushions of the sofa.


Six forty. Buffy blinked several times to focus the clock again. She had spent the whole day dozing on that couch as she had been dead. Her bones screeched like rusty hinges when she went upstairs. Spike was still sleeping… Better. She could have time for a well-deserved shower before the night meeting at Giles’s house. Good idea that of his. Taking his relative with him. She wouldn’t have known what to do with an ancient copy of Giles asking questions the whole day. She was about to look for some clothes when she remembered Spike’s coat still wrapped inside her weapon chest. Taking it out she checked for any damage. Spotless. She sighed with relief leaving it folded on one corner of the bed. The hated dress was thrown sloppily on one chair before she slipped under the shower. Strange how a simple piece of fabric could summon such different feelings. That blue silk one… she had treasured it as her most precious gift. This one, being even more beautiful and luxurious, made her feel sick and torn apart. She wished she had kept the blue one… At least she still had the necklace… Wrapped in a white towel she stepped out of the bathroom and froze at the threshold of her room. The bed was empty. She tried hard not to panic. Maybe he was downstairs getting something to… No sight of his duster, though. Panic attacked her again as she put on the first thing she had at hand, a blue mini skirt and one of the sweaters that had wrapped his coat minutes before. Underwear… as she ran through the house and out to the streets she realized she had forgotten such tiny detail.


Spike marched at full pelt along the cemetery, chewing on the flummoxed riot of his emotions. First thing he had seen when he was awaked by the tapping sound of the shower over the bathroom tiles was that crimson dress. It had slapped his face with every new memory her trip to the past had added to his brain. Yes, she had succeeded. In what, he wasn’t quite sure but he bet it had something to do with stopping that fucking grandsire of his. What that had to do with going back in time, he had no clue. He should have stayed just to ask. But he had felt as broken as in that damned night at the Opera House when it had been obvious he had been used again. At that moment he didn’t even know who she was. It had been unbearable. Now he knew it was beyond that. It was searing. It filled his guts with a revolting rage. And yet, he couldn’t fully blame her. She had saved him. Not in that time but… That wasn’t true. He had saved himself. Had escaped crawling, hatching and bleeding. He wondered if those doors from hell opened just because she had done something… Wasn’t important. Couldn’t be… And she had fed him. Again. He could feel her inside his guts as if her skin were attached to his own. Damned woman! That kind of thoughts would only lead him to some sort of forgiveness he wasn’t prepared to deliver. In no way he was going to forgive her… She had not only used him but had also slept with him. Me. No. Not me. That worthless newly vamp who was nothing but a buggering idiot. Idiot enough to grieve over a human, over his already dead heart. Enough to let his great loony family turn every night that followed into a bleeding nightmare.

“Spike!!!” Buffy screamed her lungs out of her body. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Far away from you!” He replied standing behind a tombstone as if it were a trench.

So she had been right. He was going to run away from her as from a festering disease. Still, she had to try… “Why?”

“Why? WHY?” His roaring laughter was like a blow to her stomach. “You know what happened after you left that night? The things that…” He shook his head. “I let that fucking bastard turn me into a monster! ‘Cause of you! How could you do such a thing to me?”

She had expected that. But she had expected some understanding as well. “I had to save you!”

“AND FOR THAT YOU HAD TO SLEEP WITH HIM?” Spike took two long steps towards her. His fists clenched and unclenched as if he was about to hit her in any second.

He was pissed only for that? Buffy squared her shoulders. “HE WAS YOU!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW YOU!”

“BUT I DID KNOW YOU!” Her throat was a rasp. “I missed you. Can’t you understand that? I missed you so much…” She stepped closer but he stumbled backwards. Buffy could only looked at him with pain sketched all over her face. “Okay. Maybe I was a whore. Maybe I deserve to be punished. Come on… Hit me.” She swayed her fingers as an open invitation.

Spike inhaled deeply. His nostrils flared and her scent punched his nose. “Don’t tempt me, love…”

His fury had something contagious. Otherwise, how could she explain the building anger in her blood? “Vent that rage on me! Come on! Do it! Punish me!” He stood there, glaring at her, as another marble statue with a strange throbbing vein pulsating wildly in his neck. So extreme situations took extreme measures… Buffy hit his nose with all her strength.

“What the fuck…?” He hissed, cupping his face with both hands before lunging against her.

She ducked in time to avoid his punch. He passed by her as a bull charging a bullfighter’s red flag. That only kindled his rage even more. He turned round with an angry growl, his fist connecting directly with her jaw. Astounded, she reeled from the next blow. How dare he? Yes, she had told him ‘hit me’ but that didn’t mean it had to be that hard. A full spinning wheel kick and his body bounced against the tombstone.

“And I really thought you’re being honest…”

His wry smirk stirred the blood in her veins. God, she had missed him! He was so sexy when he was mad! Wait a minute… Was he implying she was a liar? A snap kick erased that sensual smile of his lips.

Springing at her with a roar, he wrapped her in his arms sending her to the floor. His elbow jabbed her ribs, making her gasp for air. She kneed his crotch and shoved him aside, rolling back to get to her feet. Her hands grabbed the edge of the black marble gravestone just to help herself when he hit her waist and knelt behind her, his whole body pressing hers against the cold stone. One of his hands tugged her hair, pushing her cheek flat against the marble.

“Punish me, Spike… Hit me, Spike…” There wasn’t a thread of fun in his hoarse voice. “Another excellent bloody performance, Slayer. You should win a soddin’ Oscar…” His other hand dived under her mini skirt. “Tired of long skirts, pet?” He froze for a second when he didn’t find the barrier of underwear. “Or looking for this? I know how you like playing around…”

Of course she was looking for this! What did he think? That she really was dying for him to beat her? In no way she was going to say that aloud, though. A little encouragement would do. She certainly knew how to do that… In spite of his uncouth words… After all, she knew that under that buttoned duster was nothing but his glorious naked flesh. She slightly swayed her hips against the front of his coat.

Spike blinked furiously trying in vain to grip his anger. The scent of her arousal was like waves of fresh water cleansing his fuming heart. He wasn’t going to let her do that. His rage was fair. Truly fair. No matter how much he desperately needed her. No matter how much he had craved to have her in his arms again. No matter how many days he had spent in that cage only with her image etched in his mind. He was going to punish her. She had asked for it. He was going to comply. His fingers sank inside her and he should have known better. Her warmth was like white heat, a blazing sun whittling down his flesh.

Buffy arched her back and her hands seized tighter the headstone. Whoever was lying under the earth will have to forgive this, her woolly thoughts pleaded when his hand released her hair to unbutton the duster. She didn’t wait for his demanding knees to push her legs apart. A rapturous moan escaped from her throat when he rammed into her with a ravening grunt. His movements were fast and bruising. She didn’t care. If this was his punishment she was going to take it all night long. Her hips matched each one of his deep thrusts as her ears filled with the smacking sound their flesh made. A ravishing music that set off her first shattering orgasm. Her fingers glided along the marble, not longer able to clutch it. His strong grip kept her in place.

This was wrong. So wrong… Spike panted like a chased prey, desperately wielding his last threats of self-control. This wasn’t what he had planned. What was the use in punishing somebody if you were the one who took the rap? Her whole body was almost limp against his and she had had the great idea to hold herself from his neck, pulling him closer to the crazy pulse of her major vein. Still buried inside her, he disentangled her grasp and shifted on his knees forcing her face to the grass. His big hand held her there for a moment, watching how she clutched fistfuls of dirt and wet grass, feeling the demanding push of her hips, hearing the heaving breath that ran away from her lips in white smoke rings. Bollocks, she knew how to vanquish his rage, his evilness, leaving him bare and exposed to the only feeling his idiotic heart had for her. Where was his anger now? The groan rumbling in his chest wasn’t for her but for him. There it was. Redirected to his own being, making him resume an angry pace. His eyes shut for a second and then they riveted on the maddening gliding of his cock. In and out, in and out at a brisk pace. Slowly, swaying in circling movements he forced her hips to match by digging his fingers in her tender, sleek flesh.

This was real castigation. Not being able to watch his face, not being able to feel his hands on her entire body. They didn’t move from the same spot on her hips and that only thing was driving her mad. She wanted his lips, his tongue, his mouth nibbling and teasing her breasts. She needed his roguish, whispered words in her ears pushing her hastily to a magnificent brink. Her fingers ached to touch him. Enough of being meek and mild… She pulled herself up on her knees, turning her head around a little just to face him. Her hand seized the nape of his neck, bringing his face closer, her tongue darting out to fight his. Her other hand forced his to dive under her dirty sweater, whimpering loudly when he cupped one of her moulds, twisting and pinching her aching nipple. Her neck twitched for being forced in such a way. Her head tilted to a side in a silent plea. She closed her eyes waiting for the welcomed pain. When he finally complied all she could see was a sky studded with twinkling stars. Behind her shut eyelids. Sprinkling all over her skin to transform her in a new shape. A bright and splendid new moon to enfold him. To love him. To keep him for all the eternity under her beams.

Her blood… Her damned enthralling blood… He was a dry desert under a powerful rain. It swirled on his tongue, on his teeth, on his throat, searching for his heart, for his guts, for his raging cock were it explode in million of drops shoving him into a thunderous orgasm. Forgotten were the rage and the resentment. Love had taken over every corner of his mind. And what had he expected after all? Was he deranged enough to think that he was going to be able to walk away from her? And go where exactly? To a place sad enough to bury himself for good waiting for a merciful sun ray to dust him? This place was so much better… Feeling the crazy beat of her heart against his forearm, licking the drops of sweat that glided along her neck in spite of the cold of the night. Feeling her warmth spreading all over his skin, listening to her unspoken words. Only for something as stupid as being jealous of himself. He would have done the same. He would have shagged her blindly if he had known that could be the last chance he would have to hold her in his arms.

“I love you…” She whispered in a soft voice and those three words held such power in them that they carved his heart as if she had etched them with a knife on the trunk of a tree. Her muffled sob drew out one of his own. He cradled her in his arms, rocking gently until he finally helped her to her feet. He didn’t say a word when he turned her around to face her. Just kissed her. A long, profound and imploring kiss. “I’m sorry…”

“Shhhh, love. Please, don’t. I’m a bloody pillock, that’s all.” His thumbs mopped the tears from her cheeks. They shone like diamonds under the moonlight.

“But… what you said… about the monster…” She sobbed and the guilt she had felt in that small room came back as a knocking punch. “It’s my fault… I knew…”

“No, love. You did what you’d to do and it’s okay. ‘Sides, I was a monster even before you arrived there…” He suddenly remembered that scrawny kid at the railroad tracks. Had given him his name. Had given him his trademark weapon.

“That’s not true. You… you protected me… and I was only a human… And you didn’t bite me that night…”

Spike squinted his eyes. That had sounded like a complaint. “I wanted to, pet. Guess I didn’t have enough time…” He hugged her tightly, licking the wounds in her neck. “But if that bothers you I can bite you now.”

“Again?” She tittered in his ear, her nails raking the soft skin on his back. “Well… I’m all muddy and Giles is waiting…”

“Mmm… I need clothes…” He nibbled her earlobe, squeezing her butt. “Unless you want me to go there butt-naked…”

Buffy pulled back and tried her best to look angry. The moon lighted his flesh with a white bluish gleam. The coat only intensified it, casing him in a black sheath. Silver and ebony like a shining shadow. His perfection only for her eyes to feast on. She felt a new sob climbing to her throat as a sudden thought attacked her guts like the claws of an eagle. Faith… Her hands… Her eyes… She swallowed the bubbling questions, chewed the jealousy that whipped her ribs with vicious lashes. Her eyes were green beams drilling his stomach. Fixed there without a blink. Fixed on the healing scars on his chest. Sank in lethal thoughts as she stared at his nails, the black polish on them faded, leaving only flaked tiny spots. She raised her head. His eyes seemed a little washed without the black eyeliner. Still intense, though. They always had that special and powerful way of setting her on fire.

“Let’s have a bath, pet.” Spike purred in her ear, fully aware of the turmoil in her heart. It wasn’t the time to tell the tale. If he ever told her. He knew how to bury things in their precise compartments. Without a key to unlock the paddocks. She didn’t need to know. Those memories were his to keep. As the first stone on which he would start to build his vengeance. “My place for some clothes and then Giles’s bathtub. Let’s freak them out a bit. We deserve a decent spot of fun…”

tbc...