This was definitely not a slayer dream.

Spike had experienced another one of those a few days before. Slayer dreams were more mysterious, full of cryptic symbolism and the kind of dizzying unpredictability that made his fangs itch. There was an ambience to them that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else, and upon waking, they left a sense of import behind. The last one had been full of flowers, white streamers, and a circle of faceless bridesmaids chanting a supplication to D’Hoffryn.

Well, that had certainly kept everyone vigilant for gatecrashers at Xander and Anya’s wedding yesterday. Not too hard when one of the groomsmen was a vampire, two of the bridesmaids were witches, and another was the slayer. It was funny, finding the former Mr. Stewart Burns trying to slip through in an aged Xander suit had ended up being a surprising boon.

As it turned out, the dream had actually been foretelling D’Hoffryn’s wedding present. After exchanging their vows, Xander had been a little dumbfounded when he watched the blue-skinned, horned demon hang a new power center around his wife’s throat, no strings attached. Anyanka had been thrilled, and truth be told, Xander had taken to the idea with a great deal more aplomb than anyone had expected. Meaning, of course, that he only gaped like a fish for the first hour or so. Only time would tell how that lead zeppelin would fly over. Spike, for one, couldn’t have been happier for the once former, now current vengeance demon.

Maybe they weren’t getting any better at interpreting the slayer dreams, but Spike was fairly confident he could identify them.

And this was definitely not a slayer dream.

This was a scene from the past.

A gravelly voice drew Spike’s attention. “Why do you look so uncomfortable, son of mine? I had believed this would be a welcome haven for you.” Mictlantechutli was leaning against a stone outcrop that young William had discovered while on vacation in the Lake District with his mother. The stone was smooth from the actions of wind and water, with many dips and nooks worn into comfortable seats. It overlooked, surprise – surprise, a lake, which was framed on all sides by trees, leaves burnished in the oranges and reds of fall. The spot had special significance to him, and he had returned many times during his life.

William had written his first poem here.

After he had been turned, Spike had never come back.

Looking around the calming beauty of the scene, he couldn’t for the unlife of him remember why.

“I…” he cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’ll do.”

The god smiled and gestured towards one of the broader, flatter sections of weathered limestone. He took his own seat, movements strangely fluid and sure for so aged a body. Spike joined him on the ledge.

“So,” the vampire looked at Mictlantechutli out of the corner of his eye, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” The question wasn’t as sarcastic at it would have once been. Spike hadn’t seen the god in pushing two months.

Two pottery cups, smooth and glazed a glossy black, appeared in the god’s hands. They both held a steaming, dark liquid that gave off an odd, strong smell. He handed one to Spike. “I believe that I promised you xocolatl.”

Spike looked at it doubtfully. He gingerly took a sip, and almost choked on the bitter liquid. It wasn’t bad, kind of like weirdly spiced, incredibly strong coffee, just not at all what he was expecting. He set the cup down next to him.

Mictlantechutli’s aged eyes crinkled with amusement. “I am told that it is an acquired taste, perhaps made more palatable by its other effects.”

“Which are?” asked the nonplussed vampire.

“It is believed to be a particularly effective aphrodisiac.” The god’s words were bland, but the amusement was there in his flat, green eyes when Spike eyed the cup again. After all, he vividly remembered where his real body was resting, away from this dream, or visitation, or whatever it was. Mictlantechutli took a sip of his own drink. “What news of the Hellmouth? I have been rather… distracted of late.”

“Yeah?” Spike snorted. “And how is Elaine?” he asked archly.

The god grimaced, lining his aged face even further. “She gave me indigestion.”

The vampire’s mouth hung open for a moment before deciding that vengeance aside, he really didn’t want the details. “Nothin’ much rumbling of late,” he admitted. “Anyanka’s rejoined the ranks of the not quite human.”

“Not surprising. Though I am willing to bet that her recent experiences as a mortal will temper her… enthusiasm.” Mictlantechutli nodded to himself.

“Rupes finally sent that letter to the coroner, but we’d torched the bodies pretty decently. The eggheads down at the morgue couldn’t tell much about them.” Spike snorted to himself in amusement and took another sip of the xocolatl. The second taste wasn’t half as bad as the first. “I’ll give Red that, she can sure hack a treat. She and Glinda put some kind of binding spell on the Morelocks’ graves before they flew back to Merry Old. Won’t be seein’ any more of that lot any time soon.”

The god only nodded. His silence prompted the vampire to continue. “The watcher claims he can’t remember anything, but I think he’s holdin’ out on us. Gets real sour when the subject comes up. And he keeps lettin’ stuff slip.” He took a third sip. The xocolatl wasn’t half bad if you just let it kill off the first round of taste buds. “Don’t really blame him, ‘s gotta be embarrassing as hell.”

During the lull in the conversation, Mictlantechutli’s eyes glazed slightly and he tilted his head to the side as if listening to a voice only he could hear. He held the pose, eerie and motionless for a long moment. Spike paused in his narration to watch the god with a healthy combination of curiosity and wariness. When Mictlantechutli finally opened his eyes, he looked at the vampire with an oddly cheerful look on his face. “Tell my little sister congratulations.”

That caught Spike off guard. “Oi! How did you know about that?”

Mictlantechutli tapped a finger against the side of his temple. “My brother and I can always hear our little brothers and sisters. They were our earthbound messengers since time immemorial.” He smiled sadly. “Some things should not end, even if their worship does.”

It was a side of the god that hadn’t really occurred to Spike. Mictlantechutli wasn’t just some strange fairy godmother to stray vampires. He had been feared and worshipped for hundreds of years before the first European set foot in the Americas. He was a god, for God’s sake.

“Do you miss it?”

Even though the vampire was playing fast and loose with his pronouns, the god seemed to understand with perfect clarity. “Not the sacrifices. Well,” he amended with a flash of sharp, white teeth, “Not all of the sacrifices. People are entertaining, even when they are flinging hearts on ceremonial pyres. I ask you, what would I want with a charred human heart?”

Spike grimaced to himself when the thought that Drusilla had preferred hers fresh came to mind unbidden.

“See?” The god continued as if the vampire’s words had been spoken aloud. “Nothing. Idiotic practice. My brother worked hard to convince them to stop, little good it did.” He waved a gnarled hand dismissively. “Bygones. I believe we were discussing my little sister. She and I agree, the Child of Life should get one. More xocolatl?”

The conversation was fast leaving Spike in the dust. “I thought you didn’t know what had been going on in Sunnyhell?” he asked with irritation.

“No, I was merely attempting to make polite conversation.”

That only earned a flat, irritated glare.

Mictlantechutli was unperturbed. “Yes, well. Enough of that. I believe our company is here.”

“What?” Spike looked around, and saw a woman walking towards them. She was hazy at first, translucent and ghostly. As she neared, the wispy form solidified into a familiar face. “Joyce?” His voice was disbelieving.

Her smile warm was motherly, even though her face was unlined and young. “Hello, Spike.” She sat down next to him, letting her bare feet hang over the side of the rock ledge. She smoothed her yellow sundress over her legs and gave the god a pointed look.

Mictlantechutli stood up and brushed off his long, green robes with an amused sigh. “I will leave you now, but I will be around, son of mine.”

“Yeah, uh, see you… around.” Spike didn’t turn, even when the god started laughing behind his back, a sound that soon faded into the sound of the wind in the trees. “It’s good to see you, mum.”

“I was a bit cryptic the last time we talked, wasn’t I?” When Spike just snorted, she smiled as well. “Those dreams really do a number on us.”

“How are you even here? And who’s ‘us?’” he asked, truly confused.

“Oh, I’ve been earning some favors from friends in high places.” She swung her feet slowly in the air. He had never seen her look so young. “But I really think that we should get to the important questions.”

Spike raised his cup to his mouth again. Nope, he had been kidding himself. It still tasted like crap. “What questions would those be?” He took a swig anyway.

She tilted her head at him, eyes still young and sparkling with good humor, but there was a thread of steel there too. “What are your intentions towards my daughter?”

*****

Spike woke in a cold sweat. No… a warm sweat. No…

“Damn it,” he whispered, careful not to wake his bed partner. He had xocolatl all over his chest. “Very funny, mum.”

He quietly slipped out of bed and spread the sheets smooth behind him. He could sense the daylight above. If he hurried, he could get clean before she woke.

The water felt colder than usual. He rinsed off the soapy lather as fast as he could, scrubbing the burnt coffee and spice cabinet smell off of himself. Clean, thoroughly awake, and wrapped in a towel, he padded back down the tunnel and into the crypt’s sleeping area.

Spike had tossed the torn remains of his tuxedo in the floor in search of a presentable pair of pants when the first groan came from under the sheets on his bed. He glanced over, impish grin substituting for his usual smirk. “Mornin’ love.”

That earned another, louder groan. One perfectly manicured hand appeared long enough to drag the sheets over the last hint of blonde hair. “Come back to bed,” Buffy mumbled, face buried in pillows.

Spike’s smile turned wicked. “As you wish.” He drawled before launching himself at the bed, towel forgotten.

Buffy squealed, grabbing at the blankets, but her heart didn’t appear to be in it. Before long he had a very awake, very naked slayer curled up in his lap. She squeaked indignantly when he pulled her hair aside and started nibbling at the base of her throat.

“Spike, stop it!” she squealed, but her slaps were half-hearted at best and she was giggling so much that her words were garbled.

“Sorry,” he mumbled against her neck, “there’s just this spot.” Blunt teeth sank into the corded muscles of her shoulder, just hard enough to elicit a surprised gasp. He kissed the mark to take away the sting, then looked up and glared at her with mock-annoyance.

“What?” she asked, pouting.

“This,” Spike held up a lock of her hair, letting it slide through his hand to fall in one perfect barrel curl. “S’not natural.” There was something incredibly frustrating about the fact that he could reduce that monstrosity of a bridesmaid’s dress into its component parts, but nothing he did, and he had done a lot, could muss her hair.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t’a given me that mirror for my birthday,” she teased, nestling further against him. Delicate fingers traced the webwork of faint scars that covered his chest and arms. Spike pressed a kiss against the offendingly perfect hair before tucking her head beneath his chin.

There were a lot of times, like this one, when Spike thought that maybe he had never awakened after killing Maclin, and that his body was lying in withering stasis somewhere, dreaming away. Buffy was more relaxed, dare he say more happy, than she had been since her resurrection. Even with their rough patches, Spike was completely enthralled by the open, playful passion she had brought into his unlife. She had ensnared him, body and absent soul, so thoroughly that it seemed impossible that this wasn’t a dream. Then again, he seriously doubted his subconscious mind’s ability to come up with the ridiculous events of the last few months. Even he wasn’t that insane.

“Speakin’ of which,” Spike grabbed her hand from where it was dipping lower and threatening to kill all rational thought, “I’ve got something for you.” He kissed her captured fingertips.

She squirmed around to look him directly in the eye. “Ooh, what?”

She smelled good enough to eat, a fact that he fully planned to capitalize on very soon, but first things first. It had taken some effort to get a night to themselves, with even Meret agreeing to stay behind with Dawn, and Spike wasn’t about to muck up this window of opportunity. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious.

“What kind of stupid question is that?” Buffy slipped her hands free and scowled fiercely, stiffening in his arms.

Spike winced, but this was important. “Do you?”

Firm fingers forced his face down to hers. The kiss was searing. “Of course I trust you, you, you, idiot.” She kissed him again, just a quick peck on the cheek. “Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

At his torn look, he knew he needed to get up but he didn’t want to move, Buffy rolled her eyes and slid out of the circle of his arms.

Spike stood up and walked to his dresser. He and Meret had taken over one of the lower drawers for this very purpose. He had to toss aside some of the battered remains of Buffy’s green dress to get to it, but he soon had his surprise in hand.

Buffy sat up, pulling the topmost sheet with her. Her eyes opened wide and she gasped when she saw what he was holding.

An egg, swirled in shades of green. Meret’s egg.

He sat on the edge of the bed, cradling the little orb in his hands. Buffy reached out and ran a careful finger across the shell. She jerked back when its leathery surface gave way slightly under her touch.

“It’ll toughen up soon enough. Meret’s been eyein’ the ‘Bit and Glinda for the other two.” He smiled ruefully at Buffy’s disbelieving expression. “’S why she’s been hidin’ out here for the last little bit. Pro’bly worried about her figure or some such rot.”

And there it was.

And Buffy wasn’t talking.

“Didn’t think this’d happen for a few more months…” Spike trailed off. It hadn’t even occurred to him until that moment that telepathy and trust issues aside, she might not want a coatl of her own. He had gone through enough stress of his own with worrying about Meret, but not once had he ever wished that she hadn’t come into his unlife.

He was about to start panicking in earnest when Buffy wrapped her arms around his waist. “What should I name her?” she whispered, as if worried about disturbing the baby coatl inside of the egg.

Spike relaxed with a relieved smile. “Dunno. Got a while yet to figure that out.” When he offered her the egg again, Buffy took it in her hands. After a second, her face split into a wide, delighted smile.

Cradling it in her right hand, she scooted herself to the edge of the bed. Her eyes lit on his mangled tuxedo, thrown across a battered wooden chair. There was that lower lip again. “You looked good in that suit,” she said while carefully winding the sheet, one handed, around herself.

“Yeah, you gonna like it as much when you’re coverin’ the security deposit?”

“I’ll cover yours if you cover mine,” she said lightly, rising and sashaying towards his pile of clothes.

Spike grimaced, but fair was fair, and they had both had a hand or two in the garments’ destruction.

Buffy fished his shirt out of the mess and arranged it on the top of the dresser in a kind of nest. The egg made its way safely into the circle of starched cotton. She fussed over it until she was finally satisfied. Then, without any warning past a playful flash of hazel eyes, Spike suddenly found himself with an armful of enthusiastic slayer.

That was all the evidence he needed to know how she felt about his and Meret’s little surprise, even though the whispered words of love against his neck were certainly a nice bonus.

With three more scaled menaces on the way, unlife was undoubtedly going to get even more interesting for the vampire. He didn’t care. One way or the other, this was definitely marking the beginning of a beautiful… something.

Words failed him.

After all, English got to be pretty difficult when she insisted on doing that with her mouth.


A/N Here endeth the story. Yes, I am planning on revisiting this 'verse before you guys stone me to death. Huge thanks to my betas, Schehrezade and Pamp3rs, and to all of the people who have been reading and reviewing!