Notes: Some dialogue lifted from Checkpoint.

Disclaimer: Not mine, all Joss.

And the Dream Will Set You Free
Chapter Nine

*****
“Wait a minute, let me get this straight.” Xander held up the hand attached to his un-broken arm. “You went to England, to Research Central and you didn’t find out anything about Glory?” He sagged back in his chair, his expression one of amazement and utter skepticism.  “Are you serious?”

Giles pulled his glasses off and gestured aimlessly with them.  “W-w-well,” he stuttered.  “Th-that is… I-I-I… well, yes.”  He sighed.

“Who are you and what have you done with Giles?”

Around the table, several other faces reflected Xander’s disbelief.

From behind her, Tara heard a soft giggle, and was hard pressed to keep her lips from twisting into a grin.  I can’t say as I blame you for laughing, Buffy, she thought wryly.  It is pretty funny.

She was sitting nearest the ladder up into the forbidden section.  Buffy had claimed the ladder as her seat tonight, though she knew it had become Spike’s accustomed place.  She’d just grinned and neener-ed at Spike when he went to sit.  Instead he was leaning against the ladder in a way that seemed precariously close to tipping it over.

The giggle turned into a quickly smothered eep!  Tara put one hand over her mouth to hide the smile that this time just wouldn’t be denied, even as the others started talking again.  She found it difficult to concentrate on what Giles and the others were saying in front of her, because she really wanted to listen to what Buffy and Spike were saying behind her.  “Hey, stop that!” she heard Buffy whisper. “Don’t poke me!”

“That’s for stealin’ my seat, Slayer,” Spike muttered, then – oh my God, Tara thought, feeling her eyes grow wide and round in shock, is he… chuckling?  “Don’t blame you for laughin’, though.  Was right funny.”

“You saw?”  Buffy giggled again.  “All mouth hanging open… He looked like… like a fish out of water!”

“Believe the term you’re lookin’ for is gobsmacked, pet.”

“That’s not a word!”

Spike snorted.  “And you’d know that how?”

Buffy didn’t reply aloud, which Tara had to assume meant that she’d either rolled her eyes or stuck out her tongue at him again, and she kind of wished she dared turn around and take a peek as to which it was.

She knew that the others had noticed the sudden friendship between the Slayer and the vampire – mostly because of the way Xander had bitched about it before the troll.  Of course, after the troll, he hadn’t said much of anything, though she wasn’t quite sure if that was because Spike had helped save his life or because of something else.

While the others had noticed the changes, they were at something of a loss to explain them.  Having seen the same changes, Tara chose to believe the simplest explanation.  Buffy wants to be his friend, she thought.  Otherwise, it would never have happened.  The whispering behind her started up again, and she really had to work hard to keep her face still.  It wouldn’t do to have the others realize that she was listening to Buffy and Spike’s verbal sparring rather than to the discussion in front of her.

So, if Buffy wants to be his friend… what happened? That was where she kept coming up against a brick wall.  She couldn’t be sure what had changed so drastically between them.  I mean, just a few months ago, Buffy would have staked him for any tiny excuse.  Now…I don’t think she’d kill him even if she thought it would save the world.

She was jolted from her thoughts by the strident ring of the telephone.  Excusing himself, Giles hurried to the counter to answer it.

Tara had just started to re-examine her surprising last thought regarding Buffy and Spike when the tenor of Giles’ voice changed dramatically.  The sudden chill drew everyone’s attention; even Buffy and Spike fell silent.  “No.  Of course.  No. Quite. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone.  “Pillock!”

“Giles?  What’s going on?  You’ve gone all one-wordy on us, and that’s just not like you.”  Buffy’s teasing, however, was tinged with distress, and Tara swung around in her seat, just to look at the Slayer.  Buffy had straightened as much as her seat on the ladder would allow, and there was something in her face that Tara had never seen before.

Okay, she thought, feeling her own worry rise up in response.  That really can’t be good…

Giles frowned.  “That was the Council.  They-they’ve uncovered some information on Glory…”

Xander, Anya and Willow immediately started talking, and from behind her she heard a number of variations of “That’s great!”

Buffy brightened and Tara watched her hand make an abortive motion toward Spike, as if she were about to grab his arm where it rested near her leg, and suddenly stopped herself.  “They have? They are?” Then she seemed to notice Giles wasn’t as pleased by the news as she was, and her own excitement dimmed.  “Okay, this is of the good, isn’t it?  We get info, you decipher, I slay.  So why aren’t you in the tweedy equivalent of transports of Watchery joy?”

It was at that point that Giles removed his glasses and started cleaning the lenses.  “Because they’re coming here to deliver it in person.”

Buffy stared, her mouth gaping open slightly.  “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Giles replied, and Tara wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him sound so… drained.  “I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Bloody hell.”

Silence fell, and it was the kind of silence that always made Tara itch between her shoulder blades.  They had all been expecting the words – well, she thought, at least I was – but certainly no one had thought Buffy would be the one to say them.

Even Spike was looking at Buffy in amazement, though it slowly morphed into a smug little grin.

Xander was the one who managed to close his mouth first, only to open it again. “Okay, Buff… I can’t be the only one thinking this, but when Captain Peroxide’s favorite curse words come out of your mouth? You’ve been hanging around him way too much.”

The witch frowned slightly.  It was the first time Xander had done more than mutter about Spike’s increased presence since Olaf had come and gone.

Spike leveled a glare across the table.  “They’re bloody good curse words.  Nothin’ wrong with ‘em.”

“Yeah,” Xander shot back, “if you’re old, British and undead.  Which the Buffster is not.”

“Giles…” Buffy slid down off the ladder, and her pleading tone stopped the brewing argument.  “Why is the Council coming? They can’t come here!  Tell them not to come here!”

“But… it’s okay, isn’t it?” Tara asked softly, confused as to why Buffy was so frightened of the Council.  “I mean… other Watchers, that’s just like other Giles-es, right?”

“Only if Giles wanted me dead,” Buffy replied bitterly.  “They tried to kill me two years ago with that stupid ritual, and they tried to kill me last year when I was stuck in Faith’s body… I really can’t handle them trying to kill me again right now.”

Before anyone could react to her quiet statement, she grabbed her jacket.  “I’m thinking it’s time for patrol.”  The bell over the door chimed her exit.

Slowly, Spike pushed himself away from the ladder, and for the first time in a long time, Tara was struck with the knowledge that, if he hadn’t been restrained by the chip, he could have been very dangerous.  Anger radiated from him, and he fixed Giles with a look that spoke volumes.  “An’ here I thought the Watchers and the vampires were on different sides,” he drawled.

He slammed the door so hard that the windows rattled.

The rest of them were left staring at the table, avoiding each others’ gazes.

As the bell rang itself to a stop, Tara was still looking at the door.  Huh, she thought, and her mouth curled up a little on one side in a tiny half-smile, despite what had just happened.  I guess Buffy isn’t the only one who wants to be friends…

***
Buffy was in a foul mood.

After the day she’d had, and the bombshell Giles had dropped the previous night, she figured she had the right.  She was actually kind of glad that Spike wasn’t around, because she didn’t want to take her anger out on him.  And what’s strange about that is that it doesn’t feel strange anymore to feel that way, she thought, even as she sought out evil to pummel.

She didn’t even have to go too far to find pummel-worthy evil. 

“I’ll… give… you… history…” Every word was punctuated with a blow on the hapless fledgling that had crossed her path.  The fledge, stunned by the quickness of each strike, just took it, staggering with each punch and kick.

Each punch was a release, each vicious kick was one she imagined falling on her narrow-minded history professor, until he begged for mercy.

“Some of us are here to learn, Professor!” she sneered.   A series of kicks sent the fledgling stumbling backward to trip over a short, squat headstone.  His arms pinwheeled comically as he tried to maintain his balance.  That final bit of embarrassment was what she’d been waiting for.  She leapt forward, forcing him down and shoving her stake into him so hard that it embedded itself in the ground as he disintegrated.

For a moment, she just knelt on the ground, panting a little, her breath coming out as little puffs of steam in the cool night air.  God, she thought, that felt good… but not quite good enough.  With a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh, she yanked the stake from the ground and pushed herself to her feet again, body taut, studying the graveyard for her next victim.  She could feel the tinglies, so she knew there was a vampire nearby… and then she recognized them.  She turned around, staring directly at the big mausoleum right behind her.  Oh, yeah…

“Come on out, Spike, I know you’re there.”

After a moment, the vampire in question stepped out of the shadows by the crypt where he’d been watching.  She could feel a smile curling her lips, and at the very sight of him, she just relaxed, the tension rolling away from her shoulders.  “Hey.”

It was just good to see him, despite her earlier fear of taking out her frustrations on him.

“Slayer.” He arched one eyebrow and nodded at the dirt-covered stake she held.  “Rough day at the office?”

She glanced down at the stake, blushed when she saw the dirt still clinging to it, and started to brush it off.  “I guess you could say that,” she muttered.  Then she eyed him speculatively.

The intensity of her look made his hands twitch toward his pockets.  “What?”

“What would you say if I told you that evidence pointed toward Rasputin being a vampire? Or, well, maybe some other kind of demon, but probably a vampire?”

For a second or so, he looked startled, then he gave her a slow-dawning smirk.  “I’d say you’ve been doin’ some studyin’.” 

She grinned triumphantly, and almost gave in to the urge to pump her fist in the air.  “Ha! I was right!” she crowed.  “Take that, Professor Roberts!”

He cocked his head to one side.  “You get that in your college classes? Didn’t think the profs were that forward-thinkin’.”

The amazement in his tone toned down her elation a little bit.  “Actually, no… my history professor kinda has it in for me.”  She kicked at a tussock of grass.  “I was trying to… well, okay, not show him up, exactly, but I wanted to point out that there may have been a different way to look at some of the things he was lecturing about.  And he just mocked me.” Suddenly scowling again, she huffed and gripped her stake a little tighter in her fist.  “There was serious mock-age going on.”

“Just mockin’?” Spike shook his head, grinning.  “You’re a lucky girl, then – back in my day you’d have gotten a cane ‘cross your hand as well as the public humiliation.”

She blinked, more than a little shocked.  “Even though I was right?”

“Doesn’t much matter, pet.  Prof doesn’t like bein’ questioned, ‘specially on his home turf like that.”

“But I was right!”

“Bein’ proved right means someone’s bein’ proved wrong, love,” Spike replied, and... oh.  That gentle tone – she’d heard it before, a couple of times, and this time it made her insides just kind of quiver, like that particular way he had of saying her name.

And she wasn’t giving in because of that tone of voice.  Nope.  Not happening.  Not even if it made her anger just go poof.

“I guess,” she said, more than a little grudgingly.  She shuffled her feet nervously, feeling her face turn red, and tried desperately to think of something else to say.  “It’s not wrong to want a little payback, though, after what he said. Oh!  Maybe I could bribe Wills into hacking into his computer and planting some kind of virus.”  She glanced over at him, just in time to see the wicked flash of his grin.  “Or gremlins.  Couldn’t I?”

His smirk widened a little.  “I s’pose you could at that.”

“Stupid Sunnydale-blind, demon-oblivious professors,” she muttered, though there was little ill-humor behind the words now.

“Speakin’ of wankers who’ve got it in for you…” Spike tilted his head, inviting her to accompany him, and started to saunter slowly away, further into the cemetery.  Immediately, Buffy fell into step beside him, matching him stride for stride.  “Any word on when the Watcher’s ex-bosses are showin’ up?”

Buffy stuck out her bottom lip in a pout.  “No… but I’m definitely thinking today-ish, just because the rest of my day sucked so bad.”

“Anythin’ in particular you want me to tell ‘em? Or maybe not tell them?  Aside from the Nibblet, of course.”

She stopped short in shock.  Spike carried on for a pace or two before realizing he’d left her behind.  He turned to study her, that eyebrow arching again in question.

She swallowed down the sudden dread that had washed over her at his question.  “I… I don’t…”  For some reason, the very thought of Spike meeting with the Watchers – possibly with Quentin Travers himself – made her insides twist until she felt like she was in real physical agony.  Because, hey, what do Watchers do to vampires? the Slayer part of her brain remarked in a self-righteous tone.  Do the words ‘natural enemies’ ring any bells?

And on the heels of that thought, her way-overactive Buffy brain gave her a quick and painful vision of Spike’s crypt… empty except for a pile of dust.  It sent another sharp pang of fear through her.  Oh, my God… they’ll try to dust him…

Even weeks ago, the thought of Spike-as-dust had been wigsome.  Now, she could barely imagine it without feeling cold and nauseous, and the need to touch him – just to make sure he was still there – was almost overwhelming.

“Slayer?  Buffy?”

His deep voice saying her name snapped her out of her trance, if not entirely out of her panic.  She raised her eyes to look at him, and discovered that he was frowning at her slightly.

“You all right, pet?”

“Yeah.” She forced the answer, even though all right was in a separate zip code.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  I guess I just didn’t think…”

“They’d want to talk with a vampire.” His scowl deepened.

“No,” she said, enunciating the word clearly.  “I didn’t think they’d find out about you.  I don’t really want them to...”

He didn’t relax an inch.  “Vamp of some renown, pet, if I do say so myself.  They’re gonna wanna keep tabs on yours truly, even if I am...”

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt,” she interrupted softly, and gave in to the blinding need to touch him.  Instant reassurance, she thought, her hand on his forearm, and her fingers stroked unconsciously over the soft leather of his sleeve briefly before she pulled away again.

That reached him; he started, then lowered his gaze as if embarrassed and rubbed the back of his neck.  “Yeah, well… doesn’t matter.  One of your mates will slip up, or your Watcher will feel duty-bound to tell all, and they’ll be knockin’ at my door.”  He shrugged. “I guess I can manage bein’ civil to the wankers.  S’pose that’ll be enough to keep me un-dusty?”

“Truthful might help, too,” she said, though her grin was a little weak

He pouted at her.  “Truthful and civil? You’re asking a lot of a vamp, Slayer.”  He heaved an overly-dramatic sigh.  “Not sure I can handle both at once… but I’ll try”

Relief settled over her like a cloak.  “Like you could manage to be not-annoying for more than a couple minutes at a time,” she replied, relieved to be back on more familiar ground.

He gave her one of his trademark guaranteed-to-irritate-or-your-money-back smirks, and pulled out a cigarette.  “All part of my charm, love.”

***
Dawn had heard Buffy come home, but had just ignored her.  Between the mountains of homework her evil teachers assigned – I mean, I’m sure that Miss Welch is some kind of demon, but will my sister slay her for me? Noooo! Of course not! – and Buffy being ultra-cranky because of her remedial Slayer exam or whatever, she’d been avoiding her sister as much as possible.

Then she heard Buffy talking to someone whose voice she didn’t recognize, not that that really meant anything.  But it was the tone of Buffy’s voice that really grabbed her attention.  It was more than just the being snappy that she’d had going on the past couple of days; it was more like…

When she actually remembered the last time she’d heard Buffy sound like that, a chill ran down her spine.  It had been during that horrible time with Angelus, when she hadn’t been able to kill him, even though he’d been in the house and had drawn pictures of all of them while they were sleeping.  It was the I’m talking big because I can’t hurt you yet, even though you deserve it voice.

Who is she talking to?  Slowly, almost against her will, Dawn got up from her seat, leaving her books and papers in disarray.  I need to see…

Now she could hear the other voice.  It was a woman, and suddenly she put two and two together.  It must be the one who beat up Buffy and Spike that time, she thought, and her steps quickened.

As soon as she appeared in the doorway to the living room, she saw Buffy’s eyes widen.  But Dawn ignored the warning, the get out now that Buffy tried to silently convey.  Just want to know… But the growing anger in her sister’s face and the knowledge that she’d have to deal with über-bitchy-Buffy afterwards finally got through.  With an eye-roll and a nearly silent huff, she started to leave, without having gotten more than a step or two into the room.

“Hey, kid.”

Her heart started to beat a little faster.  Oh, my God, she thought, even as she turned back around, I was never even where she could see me!  How’d she know I was there?

“Come on over here,” the woman said, and Dawn knew it wasn’t a request.  She stepped around until they could see each other.

Her first thought was Oh, man, how could Buffy get beat up by such a skank?  It looks like she tried to give herself a perm in the dark.  And why is she holding the fire poker?

“Leave her alone!” Buffy ordered.  It sounded like she was grinding her teeth. 

“What’s your name, cutie?” the woman asked, giving her a smile that was way too sweet to be real.

She crossed her arms, trying to channel as much of bitchy-Buffy as she could.  “Dawn,” she replied, using her most put-upon teenage-angst expression.

“Dawn?” The woman pulled a sad face.  “Did you know your sister took my key, Dawnie?  And now she won’t give it back!”

“She doesn’t know anything!” Buffy said, and oh, wow, she sounded really desperate now.

Dawn huffed again and glared at her sister, their uninvited guest forgotten.  “I know stuff!”

“Yeah, I just bet you do,” the woman said and the way she said it was just… way too Angelus-like, all ingratiating.  “So how about it, Dawn?  Tell me where my key is.”

“Upstairs, Dawn,” Buffy commanded, her tone icy.  “Now.”

And suddenly, she just couldn’t take it anymore.  “You’re always talking about stuff I shouldn’t hear,” she fired back.  “I’m gonna figure it out, you know!”  But the skank was giving her the creeps in a major way.  She stormed away just to save face, stomping up the stairs as if she were trying to put holes in each riser, and even slammed her bedroom door for good measure.

A few minutes later, she was curled up on her bed sulking when the door opened softly behind her.  Her mother laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.  “Get up, Dawn,” she said.

Dawn rolled over at the way her mother’s voice shook.  “Mom?  What’s wrong?”

Her mother was wearing her now-habitual scarf, and her face was fearful.  Oh, no, Dawn thought, suddenly afraid, is the tumor back? Is she gonna die? “Mom?”

“Grab your homework, sweetie,” was all Mom would say.  “We’re going on a little trip.”

***
It felt to Spike as if he’d only just gotten to sleep when the light woke him up again.

The Council of Wankers had come to call... during the day, of course.  Not that he’d been asleep when they’d arrived; far from it.  As is bloody par for the course these days, he thought irritably.

And he hadn’t been wondering why he’d felt so… warm inside last night when the Slayer had said that she didn’t want him to get hurt.

No different from before, when she called me her friend, he’d reasoned.  No need to dwell on the matter anymore.  We’re friends, yeah? Friends don’t want to see each other get hurt.

No, what he’d really been thinking about was the Slayer’s statement that the Council had tried to off her not once, but twice in the not so distant past.  That, and the outrage that had filled him when she’d said it.

He had only just started to contemplate that – again – when the Wankers had shown up.  There were two blokes he could have taken in a heartbeat despite the cross and crossbow they held, if he hadn’t had the chip, and they “protected” a prissy, stake-up-the-arse bint with a clipboard.

He’d gritted his teeth and attempted civility, just as he’d told the Slayer he would.  Little effort was made to return it, however, and it finally dawned on him about halfway through the interrogation what the problem was.

They were afraid of him. 

It came as something of a surprise.  He’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to inspire fear in someone.

Either none of the Slayer’s little friends had spilled on his fangless status or they hadn’t been believed.  Knowin’ Harris, though, Spike thought, eyeing the Watchers, I’d wager on the latter.

Despite his retort to the Slayer the night before, he almost hadn’t expected the Watchers to know that he was the real William the Bloody, so bloody well caged was he.  But no, they knew just who and what he was.  They had a supposed expert with them, after all. 

The knowledge that the Watcher girl had thought enough of him and his exploits to write a thesis on him… well.  It was easy after that to turn on the charm.  The Watcher girl simpered at him a little, but didn’t give up the goods on how Buffy was scoring.

Once they’d left, he’d been tired enough to just roll himself into a blanket and sleep, and managed to escape having to think about what the Slayer was making him feel now.

Unfortunately, however, when the door was open wide enough, it let in the late afternoon sunlight, and illuminated the crypt all the way to the back.  The light made his skin heat in instant warning.  With a shout, he flung himself out of the deadly ray of sunshine and into a shadow, and just barely managed not to get tangled in his blanket as he did.

The Slayer was standing right next to his makeshift bed.  Her face was tight with strain, and she was biting her lip.

The blind panic stopped, but an even deeper concern set in.  “Slayer?  What’re you doing here?” He tossed the blanket to one side and swung around to face her, rubbing a hand over his face to wake up.

“I’m really sorry to wake you up, Spike,” she said softly.  “But…”

At that moment, a scuffling noise by his door alerted him that there was someone else there.  Shaking off the remnants of sleep, he rubbed his eyes and glanced over.

The Slayer’s mum and the Nibblet stood huddled by the entrance, looking upset and petulant respectively.

He arched one eyebrow as he looked back at the Slayer.  “Didn’t think you’d want to bring a family outing here, pet,” he said, and smirked, hoping to cajole her into giving him a grin.

But his stab at humor didn’t even make her smile.  She just kept staring at him, her eyes big and wide in her face, and for a second, he couldn’t help but think that she would start crying.

Then she took a deep breath.  “Glory was at my house a little while ago,” she whispered.  “She was looking for me to tell her where the Key is.”

Spike frowned heavily.  “You all right?  She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

Buffy managed a tiny smile.  “No, I’m fine.  She was all threats and no action.”  The smile disappeared quickly.  “But the fact that she was at my house… telling me that something I loved would die bloody…”

“Yeah.”  He shot another quick look at the Slayer’s family.  “You want me to look after ‘em for a while?”

She nodded.  “Please.  I’ve got to see if I passed my Slayerness exams so they’ll give us the info on her.”  Her expression hardened. “She was at my house, threatening my family, and it is way past time to make her deceased.”

“All right then.”  He pushed himself off the sarcophagus and strode to the front of the crypt.  “Come on in, ladies.  Not set up for guests at the moment, so I hope you don’t mind…”

The Slayer exchanged a few words with her mum, then turned to him again, her expression open and almost pleading.   She took hold of his arm, drew him up the steps to the door, and her hand was very warm against his skin.  “Everything that I care about most in the world is right here in this crypt, Spike,” she murmured, looking up at him and her eyes seemed to beg him to understand what she couldn’t say.

He nodded.  “I won’t let you down, love,” he replied just as quietly, sneaking a look over his shoulder as her mum told the Nibblet to start her homework.

When he faced her again, her smile was a little shaky, but it was real.  “I know you won’t.”  She tightened her grip on his arm slightly, then released him and was gone.

As he closed the door after her, he reflected that this was the proof of the words she’d thrown at Finn those weeks ago, even more so than when they’d started their strange partnership.  If she didn’t really trust him, she never would have brought her mum and sis for him to protect in her stead. Warmth filled him again.

Feels bloody good.

Having the Watchers’ fear so fresh in his mind, and comparing that to having the Slayer’s respect and trust… surprisingly enough, there was no contest.

***
Stumbling back to Spike’s crypt in the dark, Buffy was still reeling.

A god.  She’s a god.  Glory is a god.  How am I supposed to take on a god?

She hadn’t shared the information with her mother yet; she wasn’t sure she even wanted her to know.  As it was, she didn’t want to leave her and Dawn alone for too long.  Like… ever again.

But first, she had to tell Spike.  She hadn’t been able to when she picked up Dawn and her mother, mostly because there was no way that she wanted Dawn to know about that.  So she’d told him she’d be back in a little while, and now she was traveling through Restfield in the dark, blindly following the path that she’d come to know so well in the past few months.

She didn’t remember arriving or entering, but when she snapped back to herself, she was inside the crypt, and Spike had that sense of arrested motion around him that said louder than words that she’d interrupted him mid-pace.  “Slayer?”  He strode toward her and gently tugged her down the steps, into the faux coziness of the candlelit interior.  “You’re in a right state, love.  Here, sit down before you fall over.”

He led her to his chair, and she didn’t so much sit down as collapse into it.  For a moment, she stared at Spike, who was watching her with no small anticipation, until suddenly she couldn’t bear it any longer and dropped his gaze.

God, he trusted me, and now…

“Come on, pet, can’t be as bad as all that.”

She made a rough noise that couldn’t ever be considered a laugh.  “Yes, it can.”  Her eyes flicked back up to his face and away again.

Even without looking at him, she could tell he was frowning.  “Don’t even try to tell me that you didn’t pass the Wankers’ review.”

She shook her head, still staring at the cement floor, watching the flickering shadows that the candles cast.  “I don’t know about actual pass-age… but I still made them tell me.”

“So… dyin’ of suspense here.  Well, figuratively speakin’, anyway.  What kind of demon is she?”

Moment of truth, Buffy.  She took a deep breath and met his eyes again.  “Glory’s… she’s not a demon, Spike.”

The look he shot her in return plainly said he didn’t believe her.  And just when did it become not-wigsome to be able to read Spike-expression so well? she wondered distantly.

“Bollocks,” he grunted.  “’Less you don’t recall, pet, I was able to get in a few good licks on her that time, and it didn’t even make the chip spark.  She ain’t human.”

She shook her head again.  “She’s not human… and she’s not a demon.”

“Doesn’t leave a whole lotta ground, Slayer.”  He was really scowling at her now, almost like he was itching for a fight.

“She’s…” Buffy returned to studying the crypt floor.  This is it.  Gonna lose my partner now.  Say “goodbye, Spike.”  “She’s a god.”

There was a long beat of silence.  “You’re kiddin’,” he said, his voice flat.

“No, I’m really not.”

It was a very long time before the absolute quiet was broken by the click and snap of his lighter.  When she glanced up again, he was leaning against the nearest column, taking a deep drag off his cigarette and running his other hand shakily through his hair.  Slowly, he exhaled the lungful of smoke and looked at her as if considering the hell she’d made of his life.  She couldn’t stand it; it felt just like her heart was breaking.

“Right, then.  So how do we beat her?”

She just gaped at him.  “Say huh?”

“Gotta have a weak spot somewhere… the Wankers remember to give you that bit of info?”

“She’s a hell god, Spike!” Buffy cried, jumping out of his chair.  “I’m pretty sure a hell god doesn’t have a… a chilly heel you can just jab and boom, she falls over dead!”

“Achilles’ heel, pet, and everyone’s got one.  Even a god.”

“How can you be so sure?” she demanded, and her voice cracked a little.  “I don’t know that!  I don’t… I can’t…” And she found herself embarrassingly close to breaking down.  “I can’t fight her,” she finished.  “I may be the Slayer, but even I can’t take on a hell god.”

“Just gonna give up on kid sis then?” Spike blew out another stream of smoke and gave her a look that was nothing but disdain.  “Let this hell god do just as she bloody well pleases, includin’ whatever she wants the Nibblet for?

“No!” She gave him her strongest, angriest glower for even thinking that.

His expression softened.  “See? You got something to fight for, an’ you’re ready to protect that, no matter what.  Seems to me that you’re gonna take her on anyway.  No sense givin’ up just because you know what she is now.”

His words gave her pause.  Was that what I was doing? she wondered.  I thought… I was just so overwhelmed knowing what she was…

Spike nodded when she stayed silent.  “Seen you do a lot of things I didn’t think you could, pet,” he said quietly.  “Learned it the hard way…you just do what you’ve got to do to come out on top.  An’ you’ll come out on top this time, too.  Just a harder fight than what you’re used to.”

You, she thought, and her blood went cold.  He keeps saying you, not we. She thought she’d been prepared for him to back out before, to not be by her side, but really, she hadn’t, not if the way her insides were curling up were any indication.  “What about…” She bit her tongue, angry that she’d let herself say even that much.  What about you, Spike?  “Never mind,” she muttered, tearing her gaze away from him and blinking away the tears that were trying to form.

“What about me, pet, is that it?” His tone had cooled a little.

Blushing, she nodded reluctantly.

He huffed and stubbed out the cigarette against the concrete column.  “Thought you trusted me,” he said, and Buffy’s blush heated even further as she caught the hurt in his voice.

Before she even knew what she was doing, she reached out and grabbed his hand.  “I do trust you,” she said lowly, looking into his eyes again, trying to make him hear the sincerity in every word.  “I do.  But Spike… it’s all right.  I mean, I know you didn’t sign on to fight a hell god.”

He sighed.  “No, I didn’t.”  But then he looked her right in the eye, and his gaze was fierce and bright, luminous in the glow of the candles.  “But I told you I wasn’t gonna let you down, Buffy, an’ I meant it.  Doesn’t matter if she’s a demon or a god or even a god of demons.  Told you I’d help protect Dawn, and I don’t back down on my word.  Ever.  ‘Sides.”  He gave her his familiar smirk.  “Be one hell of a fight, won’t it?”

Stunned.  That’s the word for it, Buffy thought, unable to look away from him this time, caught by the intensity of his eyes.  She clenched his hand tightly, just short of causing pain.  The words fought her – nothing new there, either – as if they didn’t want to be said.  “Yeah.  Yeah, it will,” she replied thickly, her throat closing.  She couldn’t even get out the I know that she so wanted to say.

Emotion had surged up and curled around her, choking her with its very strength, as it always seemed to, and stole her voice away, just when she needed it.  Vaguely, because everything was somehow very far away compared to Spike’s eyes, she wondered why it didn’t hurt, why there was no fear.  She wasn’t afraid, and somehow, she had thought she would be.

Because she had just finished falling.