Author’s Note: Thanks as always to my beta, Kar and to Liliaeth for the challenge! Thank you as well to everyone's who is reading. Feedback is very much appreciated.



Chapter Four

When he could see again, he was looking up into Willow's eyes. She shuddered and sparked a few times before stumbling back against Giles's shoulder. The watcher just sighed and carefully lowered the redhead into an armchair.

"I realize you needed to get us a message, Spike, but was it really necessary to mutilate one of my favorite volumes?"

Spike shrugged, or tried to shrug. "Had to be sure you'd see it."

Giles heaved a mighty sigh. "You dog-eared the page, Spike. That crease will never--"

"Clever," Buffy blurted, cutting her watcher off.

He looked her over, but he couldn't tell much from her expression. Knowing the drill, he wandered out on the porch for a smoke while the slayer gave her watcher a sort of mission report. Likely they'd want to hear his own, but things were swimming around in his head. Had he done for her on the 10th or the 12th, and that trip to the mage with Dru to purge the sunshine from his veins... was that why he didn't remember Buffy? Finally the watcher and witch went trotting past, giving him sidelong glances and lukewarm good-byes as they went.

Inside the smell of burnt reptile hung heavy in the air. No mystery then, why they'd done the spell in their apartment instead of the offices at the school. He waited on the couch for her to descend the staircase. When she did there was a duffel flung over her shoulder.

"The book. How did you know?"

"Don't exactly print them off at Random House. Pass those guides down and copy like monks. He's mentioned often enough that he's Crowley's copy."

She nodded. "Smart. You're really smart, Spike. When you want to be." But her smile didn't reach her eyes. “Do you remember me, from then?”

He tried to recall anything of her from then, but she wasn’t there in his past. “No.”

“Time travel,” she sighed.

"So you're going then?" he asked quietly.

She gave him a sad little frown. "I don't blame you, Spike. I really can't."

He nodded. "Don't blame you either, pet, if that's why you're scampering off," he told her, even though he knew that wasn't it. Few things hurt like disappointing the slayer. No matter how he'd changed, part of him was still a beast, a beast that wanted to survive. He felt the weight of those thirty years of killing every day. He'd feel it doubly now.

But she knew all that. He could tell in the way she looked at him. "It's not that," she assured him. "I just need a little time. I'll be back in a few days." She looked away. “I tried, you know. I wasn’t sure if I should tell you and I don’t know why you don’t remember.”

“I know, pet. I saw you in the window.”

Her brows knitted. “No, I mean… never mind. It doesn’t matter.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here,” she told him. She kissed him lightly on the mouth.


Spike gripped her shoulders and deepened the kiss. She let him, but her posture remained firm. His fierce little warrior; that he'd ever wanted her death the way he'd lusted for Nikki Wood's... He did everything he could think of to make up for it. Trained the little ones, fought with her, even helped the whelp, the witch, and the watcher when called on to do so. If called upon, he would let himself burn again. But he wasn't a hero. There were some things he couldn't give up.

Buffy was a hero. He drew back. "Pet. This going away, it's not some way of punishing yourself, is it?" Of course, he realized, now she was carrying the guilt for those thirty years too.

She stroked his cheek. "I'll be back in a few days," was all she said.

--The End--

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Or is it?