Dreams Do Show Thee To Me by SpikesDeb

Chapter #1 - Chapter 1

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee to me” Sonnett XLIII – William Shakespeare Chapter 1 Buffy leaned over the tiny balcony, watching the busy to-ing and fro-ing of the lunchtime pedestrians rushing about their business. She sighed, her chin resting on her hand, wishing she had somewhere to go in a rush. Truth was, she was bored beyond boredom. For a girl who’d spent her formative years in service to the world, to find herself free of all responsibility was old after about a month. She’d tried to be a ‘lady who lunched’, and a lady who ‘dinnered’ and ‘suppered’, but there was only so much variety that pasta offered. The gelato scored big time, though… Of course, the fact that she was bored had no impact on Dawn or Andrew, who were both quite happily carving a new life for themselves. Dawn had college, and Armando – despite Buffy’s initial objections to the ardent attentions he paid her sister - and the two of them seemed to find things to amuse themselves with until the wee small hours of the morning. Andrew, too, was gainfully employed in a little comic book shop hidden in plain sight around the back of the Vatican, and it seemed that he always had after hours work from which he came home flushed and strangely reticent, and sometimes missing socks. Only Buffy spent much time in the tiny apartment, with its very fashionable address but slightly less fashionable rent charge. Giles sent a payment to her account every month to defray most of the cost, Andrew chipping in what he didn’t spend on Italian fragrance and Italian tailoring, but Dawn was still a drain on the Summers’ resources with her ever-growing limbs. Buffy was convinced her sister was an Amazon in disguise, Dawn’s five feet ten frame towering over her petite slayerness. Dawn loved it, of course and never left off teasing her about her lack of height. Lately, though, Buffy had been thinking of leaving Rome, maybe travelling a little, visiting Xander in Africa, or perhaps joining Willow on her spot-a-slayer tour of Europe. In her dimmest hours, she even considered volunteering to help Giles in the Watcher’s Council. It had to be very dim… With a quick glance at her Gucci watch, a birthday gift from Andrew that she didn’t even think of refusing, Buffy decided it was time she got moving to at least stock up the fridge before Dawn descended on her and was forced to suck ice cubes. The tiny produce market would be in full flow now, and during her sojourn in Italy, Buffy had surprised herself and everybody else by becoming quite the cordon bleu chef. No more placing the cereal packet by the milk for breakfast; no – now Buffy baked bread rolls and made her own jam with a secret ingredient that she wouldn’t divulge to anyone, and her coffee was a revelation. A quick stroll through the market provided dinner, one of Buffy’s regular purveyors pressing her to purchase a piquant sauce that would enhance the lean chicken pieces to accompany her gnocchi. A couple of bottles of rich, red wine and she was done, heading home overloaded with ingredients that would provide fine fare for the evening’s repast. It was almost a pity that she had no appetite herself and had dropped weight slowly but surely since the hellmouth was closed. Closed. Closed by-- but no, she couldn't think of that. Buffy was deep into steaming and chopping when the phone rang, interrupting the wistful operatic aria that she was trying to emulate without success. She wiped her hands on her jeans, ruefully thinking that she really should invest in an apron, and dug the phone out from the couch cushions. “Hello?” “Buffy. How are you? It’s Giles…ahm…are you free to talk?” “Hi Giles, I’m fine, and free, me? Oh yes, I have acres of free space and time in which to gambol and frolic. How are you?” “Fine, fine. And you?” Buffy rolled her eyes and nestled the phone in the crook of her neck as she walked back to the kitchen to check on her potato dumplings. “I’m great Giles. Are you okay? You seem kinda weird, more so than usual.” “Oh, I’m fine. And you…oh…yes. Fine…you said.” Buffy waited for the next round of 'fines', but there was only a crackly silence on the line. She stirred her sauce, and still nothing. Sighing, she prodded Giles verbally, strangely excited; he only got this monosyllabic around an apocalypse and right now she’d welcome one, if only for the workout. “Earth to Giles? Hello?” A crash and an “oh lord” signalled that she’d gotten through to him, and it sounded as though he was fumbling with the phone, his voice breathy as he answered. “Ah, yes. Sorry. Ahm…Buffy. Are you well?” “Giles, we could go on like this all afternoon. I’m fine, Dawn’s fine, Andrew’s fine, you’re fine. Or at least, you say you are. Call me Buffy the Seer, but I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me.” “What! Me? No, nothing. There’s nothing to tell, nothing.” Buffy gripped the phone and pressed it to her ear, perturbed now. “Well, that settles it. There is something to tell – you’ve never been any good at the poker face. So…spill. Do I need to sharpen my scythe thingy? Is there a monster?” On the other end of the phone, Giles gasped, sending Buffy into freefall panic. “Giles? Is there a monster?” Her voice was higher, her dumplings forgotten in their salted water. His response confused her, enough that she had to sit down and really concentrate. “Not as such, no. Look – I can’t talk about this over the phone. Can I tempt you to come to England?” Buffy was reaching for her passport before she could formulate a reply. A trip to England? Hell yes, bring it on. She tried to stay calm and collected, but ended up sounding completely girly. “England? Really? When? What shall I bring? Do I need …what are they…Wellington boots? Spike always…” Buffy swallowed, Spike’s spectre popping up and almost stopping her heart as it always did. She was so busy trying to cope with the memories that gripped her, she failed to notice Giles’ reaction. “Spike? No, no Spike, not at all. Nothing to do with Spike. Completely Spike free. Ahem…so…you’ll come?” Buffy had calmed enough to reply. “If you’re sure you need me…” She could hear the smile in Giles’ voice as he made the arrangements, told her that he’d book the flight and arrange for a trainee Watcher to collect her from the airport, advised her that she’d better get used to fawning because she was a legend to most members of the Council. By the time she’d said goodbye and put down the phone, Buffy was giggly and totally unconcerned that she’d let her gnocchi boil dry, thereby rendering the piquant sauce useless. Ah, for once, they could slum it with ordered in pizza. Dawn would probably be delighted. + + + + “Good job, Watcher.” The drawl was unmistakable. “Very suave. Bet you just can’t move for birds falling at your feet with your line in patter.” Giles pushed his glasses further up onto his nose and snapped at the very present reminder that there had been a survivor in the final battle with Wolfram and Hart. “I’d like to see you do better, Spike. I still don’t know why I couldn’t just hand you the phone. You’re the one who wanted to know how she was. Exactly why are we carrying out this charade, please remind me?” Spike rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck and sinking down into the burgundy leather chair in front of Giles’ desk, swinging his legs up so that his dirty Docs rested on a pristine file on the edge of the mahogany monster. “Told you, it’s ordained. Gotta get the slayer here so’s I can break it to her gentle that I’m undusty.” “Ordained by whom, Spike? I have yet to see evidence that your continued existence is the result of any mystical convergence. It’s more likely to be the mischief of Puck in my opinion.” “Oh, ha bloody ha. You wound me, Rupes. Here I am, laying my life down – don’t interrupt – twice, for you lot and this is the thanks I get? D’you see any other heroes around here? No, thought not. So, pipe down and be a good chap and let me do what I need to.” There was an awkward silence, broken only by the sound of Giles dragging the file from beneath Spike’s heels and locking it away in the drawer. The watcher’s leather chair creaked as he settled himself in it. The two sat in silence for a while, the long case clock ticking away the awkward seconds, until finally Giles gave up. “Okay, Spike. You win. You obviously have some sort of a plan, so I’m prepared to let you get on with it. But it’s to help Buffy, yes? And you’ll let me in on it, so far as you’re able?” Spike squirmed beneath Giles’ penetrative gaze. Truth was, he didn’t have a clue what was going to happen, only that Buffy would be here, nearby, and he could see her. It had been so long since he’d seen her…His plan, such as it was, ended there. He’d considered going to Rome, bursting into Buffy’s apartment and kissing her senseless, but instead followed his sudden yearning for home, needing to centre himself, mourn a little himself for his friends lost in the final battle in LA before moving on. He felt very alone and losing his comrades had finally made his mind up for him. He didn't care if she kicked him to the kerb: he had to know. But telling Giles it was purely a get-to-Buffy plan would surely earn him a staking at best; no, the way to the paternal watcher's heart and to gain his help, would be to make it seem as if Buffy needed him for some future purpose. Pity he hadn't actually managed to lay his hands on a manuscript that said that, cryptically or otherwise. He decided to bluff it out, see how far he could push Giles before he cracked. “Yeah, right. Suppose we are on the same side.” Giles rolled his eyes in acknowledgement. “It’s like this; Buffy thinks I’m buried in the Hellmouth so it’s gonna be a bit of a shock to see me walking about in living colour, right? So, I need to take it slow, give the girl a chance to get used to having me back. Once she’s over the shock and I’ve spent time with her, say…a year or two…I’ll let you in on the master plan.” Giles nodded until his mind caught up with Spike’s words, his mouth opening to protest. “Only kidding, mate. Give us a couple of days and we’ll be back to swapping spit, only this time no hiding away. And then I'll fill you in. The girl needs me, Rupert. You said so yourself.” Giles spluttered, his face reddening. “I certainly did not! Whatever gave you that idea? Are you deluded?” Spike grinned, enjoying baiting the watcher. “Did you or did you not say, ‘n I’m paraphrasing here, Buffy’s been miserable since the hellmouth imploded, mourning for yours truly? That she’s lost without me, lacks direction?” Giles’ brow creased as he tried to recall his exact words, and couldn’t. He remembered Spike asking him how Buffy was, but he was distracted as he answered, Spike’s arrival causing him no uncertain amount of shock and panic. No matter, he was sure he hadn’t meant to give Spike the impression that Buffy was mooning after him. Although, to be fair to the vampire, she really was. They’d all noticed, but it had taken a while. As one by one the Scoobies moved on with their lives, Buffy clung to the few personal items she’d managed to save as they escaped from Sunnydale, revering them almost. Dawn reported that she had what looked like a shrine in her bedroom, the central feature of which was a skull-ring and a tattered journal, a scrap of black leather always lying on Buffy’s pillow. They’d failed to deal with it then and somehow it just became accepted that Buffy had this ‘thing’ for Spike. There was nothing she could do about it, him being incinerated and gone, so they all just figured she’d mourn and get over it. But, according to Dawn, the shrine was still there and despite Buffy receiving several invites to dinner with many a dark Italian suitor, she always refused politely and smiled a sad little smile, her thoughts obviously far away. Giles turned his gaze on the smug vampire waiting for a reply at the far side of his desk. The truth was that Spike turning up had really floored him; he’d heard rumours that there was at least one survivor after the Wolfram and Hart battle, but they couldn’t be verified, and to be honest, he hadn’t tried too hard to do so. If it was Angel, that would complicate matters even more with Buffy, he already knew that Cordelia had passed away before the battle and he assumed that if it was Wesley, he would have been in touch. The others he hadn’t known other than by reputation, and the fact that it could be Spike hadn’t really crossed his mind. He was only just getting used to the fact that Spike had survived the apocalypse in Sunnydale anyway, thanks to Andrew’s complete lack of discretion, and was trying to decide whether or not to tell Buffy when news came of the final conflagration. He’d been flooded with relief then that he hadn’t told her, because he doubted she’d have coped very well with news of the vampire's second sacrifice. Andrew had been under pain of death not to divulge Spike’s visit to Rome to Buffy and Dawn, and amazingly, seemed to have kept his own counsel other than a whispered report to his mentor. “Gone dumb, Rupes? I sometimes have this effect on women, but it’s a first for me with a crusty old watcher. Still, a pleasure’s a pleasure wherever you take it.” This was just such good fun; Spike decided that he’d like to stick around a little while whatever happened, see how far Rupert Giles could be pushed before Ripper escaped. Would do no harm to practice dance steps, even with the wrong partner… Giles blushed, fumbled with his glasses, and managed to knock a pot of pens onto the floor, ducking down to retrieve them. By the time he straightened up, he was able to reply. “Very droll. To answer your questions, Spike, I admit that Buffy isn’t herself, and yes, she does miss you – and others – who perished. But if I were you, I wouldn’t expect a 'Gone with the Wind reunion'. It’s been a while, and it’s not as if you two were ever really together.” Spike grimaced at Giles’ blunt assessment of his relationship with Buffy. The watcher was wrong. After that last night together, Spike knew that, but it still started him doubting. He spoke harshly, kicking the chair backwards across the polished wooden floor with a scrape as he rose and leaned over the desk, menacingly. “We’ll see. I have ways of making myself irresistible, and I don’t think I’ll have to try hard to do that with Buffy. She’s my girl, watcher – get used to it.” With a growl, Spike spun on his heels and stalked out, his duster whipping around his legs with an audible snap. Giles calmed his racing heart, wondering just exactly what he’d got himself into, and reached for the phone to make the arrangements for Buffy’s arrival. tbc...

Chapter #2 - Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO Dawn had pouted at first, when Buffy told her she was going to England, but when Andrew casually mentioned that it would mean the apartment would be empty for a lot of the time, Dawn perked right up. Buffy tried hard not to think about what would be going on with her away, and after all, Dawn was almost an adult now. In the end, Dawn and Andrew saw her off at the airport, both begging for some mementoes when she returned. Andrew particularly requested some Twinings breakfast tea – loose leaf, not bags – and smiled enigmatically when Buffy accused him of being a mini-Giles in the making. She supposed he could be worse. And now she was at Heathrow, scanning the crowds for her escort. Even before she could see the sign, she knew exactly which member of the throng in arrivals was her driver. He was wearing tweed, for a start, and nervously adjusting his glasses on his aquiline nose. What was it about young watchers-to-be that they all wanted to be Giles? And where did they get their suits? He showed no sign of recognising her – and why should he? – so Buffy moved to stand in front of him, dragging her luggage easily and shoving her overly large sunglasses back on her head to nestle in her hair. “Hey – looking for me?’” Vincent Castle blinked at the young blonde standing in front of him. He’d been a nervous wreck when Mr Giles had summoned him and asked him to be responsible for escorting a slayer… the Slayer … to the Council headquarters, but this petite young thing wasn’t what he’d expected. He thought she’d be taller… and he was gawping at her like a prize idiot… “Miss… Miss Summers? Buffy Summers?” At Buffy’s nod, he continued. “I’m Vincent Castle, Mr Giles sent me to escort you. May I?” Buffy distractedly handed him the enormous case she was dragging with one hand, Vincent’s arm jerking downwards as he failed to cope with the weight of Buffy’s light packing. He tried to drag it, sweat beading his brow, but getting nowhere, so it was with relief and no small amount of embarrassment that he let go of the handle and let Buffy take it from him. She hefted it as if it weighed nothing and waited for him to lead the way. An anonymous dark grey car waited for them in the car park, the driver – not in tweed, surprisingly – stashing her luggage in the trunk… the boot Buffy reminded herself… and moving off swiftly into heavy traffic. Buffy had no idea where the headquarters was in relation to the airport but she settled back against the seat and gazed excitedly out of the window. She’d only been to England once before and that was just after the demise of Sunnydale, so she had very little memory of it. She had been too busy thinking about Spike; and once again he was at the forefront of her mind as she watched the buildings whizzing past the window. Had they been there when he was a young boy? Had he seen them? Had he lived near here? She was driving herself crazy so was glad of the distraction when her chaperone started making small talk, asking about her journey. It didn’t take long to make it to the Council building, and Giles was waiting for her on the doorstep earning him a disapproving tut or two from the few remaining older members of the Council who weren’t used to open displays of affection. Ignoring them, Giles wrapped Buffy in a bearhug and she collapsed against him hugging him back with bruising pressure. “So good to see you, Buffy. How was your journey? Are you hungry? I can have some tea and scones brought up. Yes? Good.” With a nod, this seemed to be arranged and Buffy smiled to herself as they made their way along the dark corridor with its deep red walls. People bowed their heads respectfully as they passed by, muttering “good afternoon, Mr Giles” and “pleasant day, Mr Giles”, and Buffy couldn’t resist a sly dig at her companion. Falsetto style, she teased him, “oh, Mr Giles, you’re my idol! Please notice me, Mr Giles.” She giggled as he tried to look stern, his lips twitching in a smile that he struggled to suppress. “I see you’re still a handful, Buffy. But I admit, you do have a point. It takes some getting used to and I have tried to discourage the stuffiness that is rather prevalent within these walls. In fact, I hear murmurs that some of the old school Watchers that have returned from retirement since the unfortunate decimation of the Council are accusing me of being too American. Can you believe it?” Buffy laughed, a tinkling sound that echoed off the walls. “No, to be honest I can’t, but I suppose you can’t have hung out with us for that long without picking up some bad habits.” They’d reached a large, polished oak door and Giles swung it open to reveal a quiet sanctuary that suited him perfectly; there were his beloved books arranged on shelving that lined all four walls, his desk, empty and neat save for a few papers squared up in the centre, a discreetly small telephone and a green glass-shaded reading lamp. No computer, of course. Giles moved ahead of her, removing his jacket and placing it carefully on a coat-hanger inside a small closet in the corner of the room; Buffy took a turn around the shelves, feeling more and more at home as she recognised some of the texts from the school library proudly taking their place alongside more ancient tomes. He'd obviously been careful to remove the books at some stage and ship them back to England, no doubt to his great relief; Giles went pale when he saw a creased corner, so the thought of his beloved books burning in hellfire would have probably sent him into spasms. Buffy giggled at her musings, earning her an inquisitive look that she took as invitation to give Giles another hug. She hadn't realised just how much she'd missed him. When the tea and scones had been delivered, Giles motioned to Buffy to take a seat, pushing the tray towards her and pouring the steaming liquid into two delicate china teacups with matching saucers. Buffy gripped hers uneasily, the wafer thin china making her nervous. As she sipped the tea, liberally dosed with sugar, much to Giles’ amusement, she struggled to contain her curiosity, finally setting the teacup down with a disturbing rattle. “I give up, what’s the big emergency?” Giles drew in a ragged breath, really unsure what to tell her. After the spat with Spike, the vampire had come to see him bearing gifts – a particularly fine single malt and two heavy, crystal glasses – and the two of them had come to an uneasy truce. Giles would not reveal Spike’s existence to Buffy and would merely advise her that some mystical forces had required her attendance, until Spike felt it the right time to show himself. In return, Spike was to detail the final year at Wolfram and Hart in exquisite detail, allowing Giles the luxury of unfettered questioning whenever he chose. Only when the watcher decided that the record was complete would the bargain be over. Unfortunately, due to the fact that by the time the agreement was reached, so was the bottom of the bottle, the exact details of what Giles was to say to Buffy to explain her visit hadn’t been discussed. He panicked. “There’s a demon. An… an apocalypse. Here.” Buffy nodded, leaning forward to steeple her hands and resting her chin on them. “Great… that’s just… great. So, I’ll slay, no big. I’ll still have time to shop before I head home, right?” “Ahem… yes… that would be… fine. Slay, then shop. Every girl’s dream.” Giles giggled, stifling the sound with a hand over his mouth. He’d rarely been this nervous, even in the face of the fiercest opponent. Buffy tilted her head and pouted. “You could’ve just told me this on the phone, you know. I could’ve brought my best axe if I’d known I’d be on a slayfest. I’ve barely brought any weapons at all, just the one suitcase, and they’re all teeny ones due to the customs gorillas. Can I borrow some of yours?” Giles nodded, and jumped when his phone rang, almost knocking it over in his haste to answer it and stop Buffy’s inquisition. “Yes, Rupert Giles.” His eyes widened as he recognised the drawling, disrespectful voice that assaulted his ears. “Watcher, you’d better be good or I’ll gut you like a fish.” On the other end of the phone, Spike paused to gather himself, excited beyond measure that Buffy was only about twenty feet away from him, separated only by a flimsy wall. He couldn’t help himself. “How is she? What does she look like? Did she mention me?” Giles darted a glance at Buffy who was now leaning back in her chair and playing with a strand of hair, sighing with boredom. “No, that’s fine. I quite understand, yes. Oh, fine, fine… same as always. Not as of yet, no… but I’m sure that will come. I have to go now, thanks for calling.” Spike’s snarling and threats were lost as Giles replaced the receiver and got to his feet. “I think the best thing, Buffy, is to get you settled into your room and then I’ll have someone take you on the tour. There’s no immediate danger from the demon that I’m aware of, so relax, unpack, familiarise yourself with the house. I’ve booked us a dinner at a little restaurant nearby so I’ll call for you at eight; nothing formal but perhaps a little less denim would be in order. Is that agreeable?” Buffy stood too, eager to get out of her grime-stained clothes. “Yeah, sure. I’ll scrub up, don’t worry. I can do sophisticated when I need to.” Giles smiled and reached for the phone again, summoning a young man to escort Buffy to her room and see to her luggage, and asking him to organise a short tour of the facilities. After a brief hug, Buffy left; Giles sagged back into his chair and removed his glasses. It took less than a minute before the connecting door to the next office burst open and Spike sauntered through, trying to regain his swagger. As he got to the chair that Buffy had sat in he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his knees buckling as he caught her scent. Still the same, musky and unique. Buffy Summers, Slayer. His eyes grew damp as he ran his fingers over the arm of the chair, Giles’ ‘ahem’ jolting him from his musing. “Good enough, Watcher. You did alright. You’ll take care of her tonight, yeah? ‘kay, then I’m off, out to hunt, feel like a bit of physical exertion if you get me. Catch you later.” With a quick salute, Spike was off, leaving Giles to contemplate the pickle in which he found himself. + + + + Buffy pleaded jet lag as soon as dinner was finished and they headed back to headquarters where Buffy took her leave and went to bed in her well-appointed room at the top of the house. She crashed almost immediately, luggage ignored, barely making it into her jammies before sleep took her. As soon as her eyes closed, Spike knew; having found no relief in stalking demons, he’d spent the hours she’d been gone going through her room, sniffing her clothes, his fingers lingering over the silken smalls packed haphazardly Buffy style in her cases. He’d waited for her to return hiding in the shadows opposite her door, and she’d been too tired to sense him when she trudged up the stairs. He pressed his face and hand against the door to her room, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of her even breathing and her strong heartbeat. He’d missed that rhythm, the thud-thud, thud-thud that gave him the semblance of life. Without her he walked, he talked, he laughed, he cried – but he didn’t live. Silently, he turned the knob on her door and sidled through the slight gap. She’d left the bedside lamp on, the soft light shining on her golden hair as it fanned out on the pillow, strands of it clinging to her cheek. He ached to reach out and touch her but it would be too soon; tonight he would just watch and marvel, share the night with her and watch over her. That would be enough for now. He needed to gather his thoughts and strength so as not to blubber like a tosser the minute she saw him. In her sleep, Buffy snuffled and smiled, stretching out and kicking off the covers to reveal silken pyjamas clinging to toned flesh. Her arms stretched above her head exposing her midriff and the belly button that Spike had spent snatched moments in the past licking and nibbling when he could get her to linger beyond the shagging. She always giggled when he did that, so he had done it often, loving the sound of her happiness, albeit that it was usually a short interlude in the day-to-day duties of a slayer. Her eyes fluttered as she fell deeper into sleep and she murmured, indistinctly. “Spike… just there… mmmmm, harder…” Spike’s eyes opened wide in surprise and he leant over her to see if she was awake and messing with him. Of course, he realised immediately that that was a stupid thought, because if Buffy knew he was there she’d be slapping him about and removing his body parts, not playing mind games with him. He was under no illusion that there would be a hell of a lot of explaining needed. No, her breathing was still even; she must be dreaming. Being so close to her was tempting him beyond bearing, and despite his earlier oath to simply watch over her - he being a vamp of little restraint - he couldn’t help but softly stroke her hair and lift the golden strands to slip between his fingers. He could smell her unique scent and he was salivating at the thought of tasting her skin once more. Still standing, he lowered his head to scant inches away from her and moved along her supine form from her head downwards, inhaling deeply as he followed her outline, keeping that bare few inches between them the whole way. When he’d soaked in her scent, he moved back up, stopping at the golden oasis of her tummy. He dipped his head quickly and swept his tongue across her flesh, freezing when she giggled and scrunched herself up, relaxing again when she turned on her side and sighed her contentment. He moved to the other side of the bed so that he could see her face and settled himself on the floor to watch her. Maybe while he was here he could figure out exactly what he was going to do now. While she slept, Buffy dreamed vividly, feeling cool fingers stroke her hair, icy breath sweep her skin. She curled up on herself, giggling, as a tongue laved at her abdomen, her dream self swiping at the owner of the tongue, grabbing at him. /Spike! Not fair – you know that tickles! Come here right now and fix it…I mean it, vampire…/ Her legs jerked as she wriggled in her sleep, kicking the sheets off the bed completely to pool on the floor. Spike shuffled round so that he sat with his back against the bed, facing away from her and concentrating on breathing in time with her rhythm, wanting to experience all that she did, needing to exist in the same space she did. If he looked at her for any longer all his restraint would fly right out the window, and he had things he needed to say to her, even if she didn’t hear them. He started to speak, softly but clearly, and sleeping Buffy heard every word and processed it in her dream. ‘No you don’t but thanks for sayin’ it’. Didn’t mean it, love. Just had to say that to get you to leave, couldn’t have you crushed beneath the rubble, had to get you out. You needed to see to the Niblet, and the Scoobies – stupid sods though they are. They don’t really see you, never have. They see your strength, yeah, your power. Might even see a glimpse of your heart from time to time. But they don’t see your weaknesses, your needs and your desperation. Left all that to me, then kicked me away so’s I wouldn’t make ‘em feel guilty. But I told you I’d never leave you and I never break my promise, love, you should know that.’ Buffy mumbled, her arms now hugging herself. “Never leave me, Spike. Promise me…” Spike wiped away the stray tear that had filtered through his lashes and made its way down his pale cheek. He longed to kiss her awake and see her eyes shining, but now that he was so close, he was filled with self-doubt. Poets always wrote about the dream of love, so perfect with no flaws. What if Buffy had fallen in love with her rose-coloured spectacles vision of him, and the reality of his existence didn’t make the grade? He needed to know more before he revealed himself, make sure that that little seed of hope that was burning and growing inside him at what he’d witnessed tonight was flourishing for the right reasons. Buffy murmured his name once more and smiled, ending up hugging the pillow and spread eagle on the bed, drawing forth a soppy grin from Spike as he got up from the floor and dropped a final kiss on her hair. He couldn't count the times he'd spied on her sleeping that way in her old bedroom on Revello Drive. Quietly, he opened the door, closing it softly behind him, whispering while keeping his eyes on her as long as he could. “Goodnight, love. See you tomorrow…” Buffy murmured back, “Goodnight, Spike. Love you…” TBC

Chapter #3 - Chapter 3

DREAMS DO SHOW THEE TO ME CHAPTER 3 The next morning, Giles was astonished to find Buffy tucking into breakfast in the senior Watchers’ dining room, demolishing a full English and calling for more toast and marmalade. From what Dawn had been saying, and certainly in accord with the evidence of his own eyes, Buffy hadn’t been eating properly for months, probably not since leaving Sunnydale – but right now she seemed set to empty the kitchen of food. She spotted him, beckoning him over with her mouth full, licking her fingers and reaching for more. “Giles! This is awesome! Why didn’t you ever give me this stuff?” Giles smiled and took a seat across from her, opening out his newspaper and signalling for a pot of tea to the waitress staring agog at the young girl and her second empty plate. “I think, Buffy, that you told me once that all English food was bland and tasteless? And that mushy peas sounded like the work of the devil?” Buffy grinned and pounced on the new rack of toast that had just been delivered. “Yeah, well – if I knew what mushy peas were I’d be willing to give them a go now. You’ve been holding out on me.” “Glad to see you’re eating, Buffy. Dawn tells me you’ve been skipping meals.” He peered at Buffy over his spectacles in his best schoolteacher fashion, but Buffy flipped him off. “Nah, not really. Well…sometimes, but I’m busy, you know? I forget … but I do love cooking now – you should see me in the kitchen. And I have my own ricer.” They both smiled as they remembered the altercation one Thanksgiving when Buffy forced Giles to host it. Her smile faltered, and Giles guessed she was recalling a petulant Spike tied to a dining chair and peppered with arrows. He chose that moment to try a little delving. “Buffy.” He waited until she looked at him, a piece of toast dangling from her fingers, forgotten. “It’s alright to grieve for him. I can’t say we saw eye to eye on everything…no, not on anything to be honest…but I do believe – reluctantly – that he loved you. I’d be the first to dissuade you from having a relationship with a vampire, but I will admit that I think I misjudged Spike. For whatever motivation, noble or selfish, he died to save the world. And he’d do it again, for you, Buffy. That means something.” Buffy reached across and gripped his hand. It meant a lot to her that Giles was speaking out about Spike, helped to heal the rift that had never quite righted itself from the assassination attempt Giles had made with Wood. “Thank you,” she murmured. Giles’ tea arrived, disrupting the moment, and Buffy munched her toast in silence as Giles read his paper and sipped his tea. It was nice and domestic, and Buffy relaxed, feeling more at home than she had for such a long time. And she’d had such a wonderful dream… “I dreamed about him.” Her words were low and Giles looked up slowly from his newspaper, letting her know that he was listening. “He was there, in my room, talking to me, stroking my hair, kissing me. He made me giggle… he’s … he was always able to do that. I miss the giggling.” Even that caused a pang of more anguish as she'd taken great pains to hide her pleasure from her friends. Now, she really didn't know why, her smile lingering as she remembered the way he used to laugh with her. Giles smiled. It was nice to see her happy. And he had the distinct feeling that the dream had been a lot more realistic than Buffy imagined. What on earth was Spike playing at? “Maybe it’s because I’m in England, you know? Near to where he’s from. Do you know where he’s from, Giles? The Council, I mean? I never thought about it before, but while I’m here…” “NO! No… we’re not sure.” He did know quite well, but he was certain that Spike wouldn’t want Buffy nosing around his past life. “Ahm… maybe there’ll be something… I’ll… I’ll look things up… in… in my books.” Buffy tilted her head in perfect imitation of her dream lover. “You alright, Giles? You look spooked - and it’s no big, just wondered. Look, I’m gonna go hang my stuff up finally, and grab a shower. What’s the plan for today, so’s I can pick out the best outfit? Don’t wanna let you down.” “Oh! Well…I hadn’t really thought. Erm…yes. Yes! The Slayer School – I think you could put in an appearance, give the girls something to look forward to. Faith really does work them hard, you know, although she’s actually in France at the moment as Willow is having some difficulty with the latest slayer to be recruited.” Buffy was disappointed. Strange as it felt, she’d been looking forward to seeing Faith, catching up, comparing moves. “Oh, right. I just thought...no big. Never mind, maybe they’ll be back before I have to leave. Or I could go join them once I’ve slayed the beastie. You’re gonna give me some more to go on about that, right?” Giles panicked again, knocking over his teacup and flooding his newspaper. “Yes, yes… of course. Later… I have a meeting right now. In fact, if you’ll be alright? I’ll have someone fetch you in about an hour, if that’s acceptable?” “Yeah, gives me plenty of time to pick the outfit to stun the slayers with, and matching boots. I’ll be fine, catch you later. Oh! And I should call Dawn. But I can never figure out the time thingy, or the code – little bit of help?” Giles left her with instructions and reassurances about the time in Rome and scuttled off before she could ask any more questions for him to avoid. + + + + The door to Giles’ office slammed almost before he was through it. “Took your time, Rupes. What did she say? Did she mention me?” Giles ignored the vampire pacing in front of his desk, taking his time to settle himself down and arrange his papers before speaking. “You do realise, Spike, that you sound like a teenager with a crush?” Spike shot Giles a venomous glare, dragging a chair out and collapsing into it, his feet once again coming to rest on the polished surface of the expensive, mahogany desk. “Piss off.” “Nice.” There was silence, punctuated only by Spike’s fingers drumming out his internal beat on the arm of the chair. His truculent voice broke the stalemate. “So? You gonna answer my question, or what?” Giles considered lying, but decided against it. Avoiding Spike’s eyes, he replied. “Yes, Spike – she did mention you. Do a little visiting last night did you?” Spike smirked. “Yeah, what of it? Had to see her.” Giles was taken aback by the blazing blue of the vampire’s eyes, the intensity and vulnerability barely hidden by the brash façade that Spike habitually wore. He knew enough about Spike’s background to know that in life William had been a very gentle soul, reputedly a ‘mother’s boy’. The Council had quite detailed records, in fact, of his history and his education. A Classics scholar, gifted at Latin and Ancient History, but somewhat lacking in the necessary talent to become the poet he aspired to be. It was quite chilling to think that such a gentle, poetic soul should become one of the Aurelius clan’s most vicious killers. Still, sitting here with Spike now, cheekbones tight beneath his pallid skin as he ground his teeth, Giles could see more of the poet than the vampire. He issued himself a stern warning to remember that Spike was unpredictable and no longer leashed by the chip. With a shiver of fear, Giles asked the question that raced to his tongue. “Ahem… I just wondered… for… for the record, you know… ahem… your soul. Did it survive the hellmouth?” Spike smirked and rolled his tongue around his slowly lengthening fangs, inhaling with theatrical flamboyance and licking his lips with a smack. He paused just long enough to hear Giles’ heartbeat race then took pity, crashing the chair legs down on the wooden floor with a thunk and swinging down his boots from the desk. “Course it did, you dick. What? D’ya think I’ve come here to off the Slayer and your sorry arse?” It was clear from Giles’ shaking hand as he adjusted his tie that that was precisely what had been going through his mind and Spike got some satisfaction from it, momentarily. He was still the Big Bad… “No, Watcher. Come to get my girl back, haven’t I? She needs me, you know it. Even more convinced of it after last night. I’d say she yearns for me but I’d sound like that poofter Drac. But she does, just the same.” Satisfied, if a little shaken, Giles asked Spike the same question he’d asked twenty four hours or so earlier, not really expecting a different answer but pressing on regardless. “Do you have a plan you’d like to share with me? A snippet, even, will do. I only ask because I have a very boisterous Slayer expecting to see off a demon and I don’t have a demon to give her. I can only hold her so long, Spike. Oh, and she’s asking questions about your human past… I could just point her in the direction of the Council archives…” Spike stood up, bending forward over the desk. “You wouldn’t! You lousy bastard. Thought I was the evil one.” Giles stared Spike right in the eyes, unflinching, drawing a snort from the vampire. “You bloody well would, you tosser.” Giles continued to stare the vampire down, waiting for a response to his question. “Well? What's it to be, Spike? Are you going to share your plan and this mysterious prophecy or does the Slayer get 'This is Your Life, William---'” “Stop right there! You're sick, you know that watcher, but you win – for now.” Spike started pacing, trying to think, but coming up empty. “Oh bugger it. Don't have a soddin' plan, and there's no prophecy. Just need to see her and I'm a bloody wuss and can't get up the courage. So, I'm taking it slow until I find my balls, and that's the truth. Happy now?” Giles was flabbergasted, speechless. He'd truly believed the vampire when he'd turned up full of bluster and spouting off about a destiny and the Slayer. He couldn't believe he'd been so taken in. Maybe he'd wanted to be... “I must say, Spike, this is most disappointing. I really don't know what to say to you. No prophecy? So this is purely a mechanism for getting Buffy within your sick reach?” Spike felt as if he was back in his father's study receiving a dressing down for missing chapel. He shrugged. “'m not sick. Love the girl, don't I? Just... I didn't know how else to get near enough to her so that she'd listen before kicking me in the head. And just 'cause you don't know about one, doesn't mean there isn't a prophecy... right? Could be one...” Spike mumbled the last bit, hands in his pockets, toeing the ground with a shiny Doc like a recalcitrant schoolboy. Giles opened his mouth to shoot Spike down, but stopped before the first roar came out. He recalled the look in Buffy's eyes when she'd spoken of her dream, of Spike. He had the sickening feeling that Spike could be right about a prophecy or fate, call it what you will, even if it had been nothing but a ploy. He was caught in the rush of the future bursting like a dam, and he could do nothing else but go with the flow. Or be crushed. “Well, I suggest”, Giles blustered, “that you simply get this farce over and done with, allow Buffy to make up her own mind what she does to you.” Spike hung his head, bravado deserting him. That was the thing; what would Buffy do to him. Apart from rip out his unbeating heart and keep it captive – but oh, she'd done that already, many years ago... “Yeah. Suppose I'd best let the lady decide; I've got nothing else, watcher.” As the vampire slumped off, and recalling Buffy's shining eyes when speaking of him earlier, Giles got the distinct feeling that despite his misgivings, Spike had much more than he realised. + + + + Buffy's face was aching with the smile she'd kept on it all day. She was bruised from all the grabbing she'd tried to sidestep but failed, and her hand was bent into a permanent claw where she'd signed autographs, if you could believe it. Giles was beaming behind her as she backed out of the enormous room that served as the training centre for the ever increasing number of slayers taught at the Council's school. “Drink”, Buffy muttered. “Large drink, very strong, right now.” Giles chuckled. He'd often felt that way after dealing with Buffy on her own in the past, so he experienced a certain amount of glee at her discomfort at being faced with a horde of young, eager, hero-worshipping slayers. “Come on, Buffy. I know just the place.” Buffy gulped down a large white wine, and nodded when Giles offered another. “Get a bottle!” she shouted after him as he made his way to the bar in the 'Mucky Duck' pub opposite the Council building. As Giles slid back into his seat and handed Buffy the chilled bottle of Pinot Noir, she started to relax. “How do you deal with all that ... energy?” she asked. “I swear, I was never that eager.” Rupert Giles snorted, the scotch he was savouring burning his throat as it fought its way down. “Buffy,” he chuckled, “you were like sunlight harnessed, and just as dangerous. Still are, I'll wager. No, I'd rather face a whole roomful of those girls than you at your most... slayerest, if you'll excuse my lack of proper grammar. I shudder at the thought of going through your school years again.” “Was I that bad?” “Truthfully? You were quite a handful... but I wouldn't swap you.” The two sipped their drinks, musing over times past. It was pleasant to sit in silence, shared memories warming them. When Buffy's head dipped, her knuckles white where she gripped the stem of the wine glass, Giles shifted over to her side and put an arm around her shoulder, drawing her to lean against him. He itched to tell her it would be alright, that she didn't need to mourn any more – but something prevented him doing so. It wasn't his secret to spill... “Home?” he questioned softly when her grip on the glass relaxed a little. At her nod, Giles got to his feet and helped her on with her coat, leading the way back to the Council building. Neither of them noticed the pale figure watching them from a shadowed doorway, his eyes glowing with the hope that maybe – just maybe – the Slayer and the vampire would have a fairytale ending. TBC

Chapter #4 - Chapter 4

DREAMS DO SHOW THEE TO ME CHAPTER 4 A/N : Just one more chapter after this one; hope you enjoy. I'll be the one hiding in the corner so nobody stakes me...Thanks to Kat for making it make sense! After picking listlessly at her dinner, Buffy excused herself early and escaped to the solitary safety of her room. She had a magazine to flick through, but couldn't get interested in it and decided she'd just snuggle down and see if she could chase that feeling she'd had earlier in the day after a delicious dream. Her neck was prickling, her skin felt over-sensitised, as if there was something hovering on the edge of her senses, ephemeral and not to be grasped at or it would disappear. It was strangely comforting, although not conducive to a restful – and dream-filled – sleep. Eventually, she dozed off, rolling over fitfully in her sleep and chattering away to herself. As he had the night before, Spike slipped silently into her room and watched the Slayer as she lay curled into a ball, hugging the pillow with her hair fanned out across her face. He almost groaned aloud as he noted the sheet that draped her body and tangled between her legs revealed that she had gone to bed naked. He shuffled forward, helpless to stop himself, his eyes glued to the curve of her back and the soft skin at the base of her spine. One rounded buttock peeked from beneath the rumpled cover, and it took great effort of will for him not to reach out and caress her flesh. As it was, he had to steady himself against the wall when Buffy shuffled round on the mattress, lying splayed out on her back, her arms thrown up around her head and her breasts high and taut with pebbled nipples begging for the sweep of his tongue. When he heard her murmur his name and smile, he sank to his knees at the side of the bed and swept his gaze over her much-missed features. He'd rarely seen her like this, so relaxed; when they'd shared a bed, or a sarcophogus, they'd done everything but sleep, and on the odd occasion she'd closed her eyes Spike hadn't dared look at her for too long for fear that she'd suddenly open her eyes and kick him for daring to do so. No, he'd kept his looks of adoration for long distances only. It was a rare pleasure to see her like this. He risked touching her fingers, softly, reverently – and almost fell over when her grip tightened and he was caught. He truly thought the game was up, expecting to see her glinting hazel eyes when he lifted his head to look at her face; but no – her eyes were closed and there was a soft smile on her lips, lips that parted as he watched and soundlessly mouthed his name. Without thinking, his free hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb gently sweeping across her cheekbone as he bent to kiss her. Buffy writhed on the bed, kicking the covers off completely and arching her back as their tongues met and tangled, her arm coming up to grab Spike and hold him close as he fell across her body. He froze; he hadn't intended to do the big reveal tonight, wasn't ready, didn't know what to say – but Buffy must surely be aware of him. Hell, her body was... The way she was moving beneath him, though, he couldn't tear himself away, not if his very existence depended upon it. He ghosted his free hand down her side, delighting in the soft flesh that moved beneath his fingers; Buffy let go of his other hand and wrapped both arms around him, her fingers twisting and pulling at his hair as she devoured his mouth in a bruising kiss. Her leg wrapped around his hip, rubbing her groin against his denim-clad bulge and soaking the heavy cloth. Her breathy moan as she arched into him, pulse rocketing, eyes rolling as she panted his name, was too much for his self-restraint and he bit down on his lip to stop the roar that wanted out as he came like a piss-poor virgin in his pants. Spike cursed under his breath as Buffy stretched and wriggled beneath him, springing to his feet to let her free and watching anxiously until she curled up into a ball and her breathing settled to an even rhythm. She had a smile on her face. And so she bloody well should have, Spike thought as he checked out his sodden jeans with a rueful grin. Maybe he should just wake her now, lay it all out on the table and let her do what she would. Maybe she wouldn't kick him in the head, and maybe he was just being a total nancy-boy. One more night. One more night of watching her and smelling her, listening to her murmuring in her sleep, and he'd sacrifice himself to whatever fate the Slayer had in store for him. He sat in the shadows and gazed at her until the sun started to tinge the ink dark night with grey, reluctantly slipping out of the door and almost floating to the room Giles had allocated for him to get some rest himself. + + + + Buffy couldn't wipe the smile from her face when she awoke, flushing hotly as she pried apart her sticky thighs and remembered the dream she'd had. How she'd arched up into Spike's cool, athletic form, clinging to him like a bitch in heat until she came, hard. All of her body was limp and languid, satiated, every kink and knot smoothed out. It had been a good move coming to England, despite the fact she still didn't know the specifics behind her latest mission. No doubt Giles would tell her soon enough, and in the meantime there was shopping and that delicious full English breakfast that she'd had yesterday, and that was calling to her now as the aroma crept up the stairs from the dining room. And then there were the dreams. In Italy, she'd had a few nights when she'd woken panting and wet, but mostly she woke screaming, her arms reaching out to hug a ghost while tears tracked down her cheeks. Two nights she'd slept here in the land of her vampire, and both nights had been a balm for her troubled soul. She contemplated a permanent move to England, buoyant with a good night's sleep and for the first time in a long time, hope for the future. After a good stretch, she swung her legs out of bed and headed for the shower, washing quickly and pulling on some sweats so that she wouldn't have to wait any longer for the scrumptious food she was craving. Her feet stopped of their own accord as she passed a door along the corridor; she'd taken a wrong turning and instead of finding the stairs, she'd found a shady landing with heavy, wooden doors along its length. She had an overwhelming urge to break down the door she was gazing at, an instinct that something was behind it, but she couldn't make sense of it. She rested her cheek against the cool wood, splaying her right hand out by the side of her face and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. On the other side of the door, Spike mirrored her position, mouthing her name in wonder. “Buffy...” It was too low for her to hear, and before long he heard her footsteps as she turned around and headed the right way to the stairs. + + + + Giles was late to breakfast, having slept badly, his nerves shredded with the weight of the secret he was carrying. He would have it out with Spike later, he'd decided, end this farce here and now no matter what the vampire had in mind. It just wasn't fair to let Buffy suffer any more. And besides, he really couldn't keep downing scotch just to get some sleep... “Morning! You look terrible!” Buffy blurted out before she could stop herself. Giles had dark circles beneath his eyes and was yawning even as he sipped his tea. “Charmed, I'm sure,” he replied. “And you look simply radiant! I think England suits you, Buffy.” It was true; even thought it had only been two days, she looked like a different woman. Her sallow skin was tinged with pink and her eyes were sparkling. It was delightful to see her coming alive again. Buffy giggled as she speared a mushroom. “I had a dream again.” Giles didn't miss her blush as it spread up her neck to her face. “It was good; I'm... good.” She dazzled him with a beaming smile and he bit his lip to stop a sob of happiness. He was responsible for her, no matter that she no longer needed a watcher. It wasn't his duty to look out for her, it was his privilege. He smiled. “That's wonderful, Buffy. I'm so glad.” Notch up another plus point for the vampire, he decided. In fact, right there and then, he made a decision. Bugger the Council, bugger the opinions of anybody else – Rupert Giles was coming out of the dark ages and embracing the age of the soulful vampire. He was officially – and he swallowed hard as he admitted it to himself – on Spike's side. Awash with his newly-found camaraderie for the snoozing undead two floors above them, Giles relaxed and became chatty with Buffy, almost forgetting himself twice as he was about to mention Spike in the present tense. Thankfully, she didn't notice, absorbed as she was in the new pleasure of fried bread. “So, can I maybe just hang out with the girls today? Without the pressure of being 'The Chosen One' now they've all done looking me up and down, I guess we could train or something.” “Oh, that would be an excellent idea, Buffy. I'm sure they miss the cut and thrust that Faith usually instils into their training sessions. In fact, you go and get ready and I'll inform Lara straight away.” Buffy sat and finished her tea, another Brit thing she was getting more than used to, and contemplated the changes that had occurred in the short time she'd been here. Eating, for one thing, and sleeping, waking with a smile on her face. Yes; she was definitely going to speak to Giles and suggest she made it a permanent move. + + + + Buffy returned to her room sweaty and aching after her work-out. Faith was doing a good job with the girls, one of them had caught her with a killer blow to the cheek, a spin-kick that was going to mark for a day or two. Buffy had given her the nod, warrior to warrior, and had resisted the urge to go full out with a Slayer demonstration. She felt oddly proud of the group even though she didn't know most of their names yet. Maybe when Faith got back the two old hands could run a tag-team master class. And again with the Spike thoughts. She remembered the time when Angel came to Sunnydale, right before the apocalypse – the worst one ever, in her mind – and Spike had acted all jealous in the basement. She'd suggested putting the two vampires in a room, letting them duke it out. It made her smile, until the loss hit her again. It was worse now, too. Angel was gone. She no longer loved him like she had, but the thought of him being forever out of her life --- well, it hurt. Giles had finally told her what had happened to Angel and his gang in LA, although she felt he was sparing her from the complete details. He'd glossed over the final battle and had been uncharacteristically reticent when she'd asked what had happened to those fighting with Angel. It wasn't as if she knew any of them anyway other than Cordelia and Wesley, not really. Her memories were only those that belonged to other people but that had been passed along to her over the years. “Rest in peace,” she murmured for fallen warriors, shrugging off her clothes and stepping into the shower. The warm water sluiced over her skin, easing the tiredness of bunched muscles and bringing a sigh of contentment to her lips as she lathered, rinsed and repeated. And yet again a wave of Spike thoughts came to her as the scent of her shampoo recalled his soft words, the last night they'd cuddled on the cot in the basement, one arm wrapped around her middle holding her tight, the other lifting and sifting her hair through his cool fingers. His voice rumbled against her as he soothed her with words and strokes until she slept. 'Always loved your smell, love, nothing else like it. This hair, soft and silky...' 'Thought you said it was stupid hair?' 'Nah.' A low chuckle. 'I was stupid, should've just told you how I felt. Maybe you wouldn't 've chopped it off then.' 'Oh, I so would – shorter probably.' A pause. 'So, you knew why I did that, huh?' 'Know everything about you, love. I drown in you, remember. Smell like sunshine, you do, warm and clean and I could've cried when you sheared your mane.' A wicked grin that she felt on the back of her neck. 'Like I said – I like the way it bounces around when you...' 'Pig.' 'Yeah, but I love you like a man.' Silence; shared silence and comfort. And love. “Okay, Buffy Summers,” she sniffled under the cooling water, “enough with the weeping and lamenting. Consider yourself lucky you had that last night.” Spike, in his room down the corridor, shifted in his sleep, his brow furrowed , murmuring his love to an empty room as a single tear tracked down his cheek to fall on the pillow as he dreamed of Buffy being ripped from his arms leaving only her fragrance of lily and jasmine behind. + + + + Buffy excused herself early from her dinner with Giles and some of the less stuffy watchers who had finally worn her down with their obsequious invites. It hadn't been too bad, at least until a young and eager she-Giles cleared her throat nervously and asked Buffy what she knew about William the Bloody. Giles, bless him, had deflected the question, but the damage was done; she was back to full on missage. Her downcast eyes and monosyllabic responses alarmed Giles to such an extent that he was relieved when Buffy pleaded tiredness and left. He watched her go, her slumped shoulders and bowed head cutting him to the quick, knowing as he did that he could relieve her anguish in seconds if not for his promise to the vampire. He would give Spike tonight to put her out of her misery, or all bets were off. Spike may have changed, but Buffy was his priority, and he couldn't see her hurting any longer. Buffy bypassed the lounge area where she was going to go and select a book, the laughter and chatter putting her off. Alone time, that's what she was seeking. Alone time, self-recrimination and dreams. She trudged up the stairs knowing full well that while her dreams so far in England had been pleasant, tonight's would probably revert to form and she'd wake up screaming in the small hours of the morning, eyes swollen shut from tears. And still she'd rather have that than no dreams at all, because at least she felt close to him that way. A quick wash and brush of her teeth and she was tucked up in bed, but wide awake. She folded her hands on top of the coverlet and sighed, screwing up her eyes. It wasn't working. She was about to get up and go in search of a milky drink or something when she felt a warmth suffuse her body and she snuggled down and closed her eyes again. Delicious; she felt heavy and sleepy, and very happy. It was the last thing she expected, but she wasn't going to turn it away or second guess it. With a smile on her lips, Buffy nodded off. In the corridor, Spike leaned back against Buffy's door, wearing a smug grin. His girl had been agitated and sad, he'd felt her distress as she climbed the stairs and was waiting at his door for her to come by. He was almost sure that she'd head straight for him, able to sense him as he lurked behind the heavy oak. But she'd ducked inside her own room and prepared for bed, the pall of her mood hanging heavy about her. That was his fault. He could fix that. Last night, the night before, when he'd watched her grown calm and content in his presence, he’d convinced himself that everything would be alright. She'd be happy to see him and all would be forgiven. His lack of contact, the fact that he'd made Giles lie to her – well, he was hoping that she'd overlook that in the flush of happiness he'd try to instill in her. Time spent with the Fang Gang in LA hadn't been wasted, and Wes had shown him a trick or two, mostly showy stuff to amuse the crowd. One thing was the ability to project emotions on the susceptible. And as far as Spike went, Buffy was as susceptible as they came. So, he'd flooded her with feelings of warmth and safety, enabling her to sleep – and hopefully wake with enough good vibes that she'd kiss him not kill him. + + + + Buffy was drifting in a haze of warmth; she was dreaming of a sun-kissed beach, the warm rays bathing her skin. She felt relaxed and happy, stretching out her limbs and arching her back as she reached above her head. Only one thing was missing... In her sleep, Buffy's lips curved and mouthed his name, her hands seeking the touch of his cool flesh. Spike stood at the side of the bed and watched her, marvelling at the blissful look on her face as she spoke his name. Without conscious thought he reached out and cupped her cheek, Buffy turning towards his cool palm and sighing happily. Right. He'd seen enough. Everything she was doing, unconsciously and therefore presumably when her real feelings were in control, was telling him that she cared for him. He should trust his instincts. Spike shrugged off his duster, smiling at the moue and the disappointed clucks coming from his slayer as he moved away from her. His toed-off boots clunked noisily, his shirt and jeans kicked across the floor in haste. Before he could change his mind, he lifted back the covers and slid in beside Buffy's warm body. She turned to him immediately, plastering herself to his side with a sigh of contentment and throwing her leg across his hips. Spike wrapped her tight in his arms, beyond caring what happened now. Hell, if he combusted in the next ten seconds it would have been worth it. But given the satisfied mumbling coming from his companion and the way she was trying to get even closer to him, he mused that he may just last the night. Unless she burned him with the heat of her flesh. Minutes passed with them just lying there, Spike matching Buffy's breathing as he always had on those few precious nights when she'd allowed him to hold her while she slept. His eyes were fluttering closed, despite the fact that he'd spent the day dozing, as the sheer rightness of where he was and what he was doing permeated his body and soul. He was utterly content. His eyes jerked open as Buffy's teeth scraped across his pectoral muscle where she lay on his chest, and her warm hand snaked its way down his stomach to clutch at his cock as it lay quite happily in repose on his thigh. That all went out the window as she suckled on his flesh and caressed his growing erection, Spike grinding his teeth to stop from groaning out loud. The woman would definitely be the death of him. Here he was, happy with hearts and flowers and twined limbs, and didn't the bloody slayer – and now his body – have other ideas? Ideas that may just have the bed dropping through the ceiling and entertaining the gathered watchers in the rooms below? Buffy grew bolder, moving her hips so that she was almost straddling him and thankfully for Spike's self-control she let go of his swollen dick and ran her hand up his side to twine in the curls at the nape of his neck. Relief was short-lived, however, as Buffy started to grind her groin against his hip and his hands, of their own volition, moved to grip her ass and drag her fully on top of him. He closed his eyes in fear, certain that when he opened them he'd be facing one pissed-off slayer and dancing with the devil before he could explain. All he saw above him when he opened one eye was an angel, her blonde hair cascading down her back as she threw back her head, the soft light from the bedside lamp illuminating it with a halo. Her eyes were closed, her lips wet from the tongue that kept sliding out to accompany the soft whimpers she was making as she moved slowly, her hands splayed out on his chest to steady herself. She was rubbing herself up against his groin, his cock sliding along her wet slit, but tantalisingly never penetrating her. Spike's fingers were digging into her butt hard as he tried to move her to where he wanted her, but Buffy was in charge, continuing to rock against him and pant. He was captivated by watching her face, the way she nibbled on her bottom lip, gripping it between her teeth then letting go to moan. When she sat back and cupped one breast with her eager hand, fingers tweaking and rolling her nipple to hardness, Spike was the one to whimper. He moved his hand to caress the curve of her back, his other moving to seek out her clit. Slowly, he ran one digit along her pussy lips, gratified when she stopped rocking momentarily and bucked towards the source of the new sensations coursing through her body. Emboldened by the fact that she still seemed to be deep in sleep, he slid one, then two fingers inside her tight channel, rubbing her sensitive clit with his thumb. Buffy started panting heavily, pulling hard at her nipple with one hand while the other gripped Spike's hip, nails digging deep, almost hard enough to draw blood. It was exquisite torture to him, his cock jutting stiffly from the dark curls at its base, aching to be surrounded in her familiar heat. But seeing her get pleasure from his touch was almost as good. Her channel tightened against his fingers, her gasps coming rhythmically until she grunted his name and fell forwards to claim his mouth, kissing him hungrily. Spike lifted her so that he could thrust up into her slickness, unable to wait any longer to feel her heat around his cock. He groaned into her mouth, biting down on her lip. He was on sensory overload and really didn't care any more whether she woke or not. This was the end of the lie; when Buffy opened her eyes, he'd be there, for better or for worse. TBC....

Chapter #5 - Chapter 5

DREAMS DO SHOW THEE TO ME CHAPTER 5 A/N : Well, here's the final chapter. Hope you enjoy; thanks so much for the wonderful feedback I've had for this story. You all totally rock. _______________________________________________ Buffy snuffled, rubbing at her nose sleepily as her eyes blinked open. She wiped drool from the corner of her mouth, grateful for the cool pillow she was lying on. It wasn't very pillow-like though; where it should be soft and squishy it was hard and muscled... Muscled? She sat up and tried to focus in the half-light of dawn, groping for the switch on the bedside lamp. The soft glow of the bulb illuminated the other occupant of her bed, his hair mussed, eyes hooded, cheekbones thrown into sharp relief... “Spike?” Buffy whispered, suddenly dizzy, her extremities tingling and cold as the blood rushed from them. Her head buzzed, her throat was dry and she blinked hard. If this was another dream, it was a damn good one – the hand that rested on the spectre of Spike's pale chest could feel every contour beneath it. “Mornin', love,” he rumbled, folding his arms behind his head and fixing her with a hopeful stare. He was seriously nervous now that it came to the showdown. Belatedly, he remembered that Buffy was not a morning person and wondered whether it would have been better not to be at her mercy while she was still dealing with coming awake. Too late now... Buffy gasped in a breath, realising that she'd not been breathing – hence the dizziness – and jumped out of bed, hand to her mouth. “Spike ?” she queried again, her voice trembling along with her limbs. Spike pushed himself off the bed slowly and walked around to stand in front of her. She looked as if she was about to hightail it out of there, so he tried not to spook her further. Her eyes were wide and her skin where he softly gripped her upper arms was clammy. She was in shock. When Buffy whimpered and tears tracked down her cheeks, Spike grabbed her close and crushed her in his arms, whispering garbled nonsense. “Buffy, love, I'm here – never gonna leave you again. I love you so much. Stupid, that’s what I am. You feel so good, love.” Buffy cried against his chest, clinging to him with slayer strength and all but cracking his ribs. Spike hissed against the pain but didn't move; he figured it was nothing less than he deserved. Why he'd ever thought he was doing the right thing by not coming to find her, he really couldn't say. Holding her close to his unbeating heart made him feel whole for the first time since he'd come back from the Hellmouth. His own tears ran down his cheeks to mingle with Buffy's as they dripped to his chest. Eventually, Buffy stopped sobbing and straightened up, her face still buried in his chest. He struggled to hear her soft voice as she spoke without raising her head. “Is it really you? I'm not dreaming?” Gently, he lifted her head with a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him. He gulped hard, lost in her eyes for a moment, unable to speak. She was so beautiful... “Yeah. It's me. I'm here. God, love...” His voice faltered as the culmination of all his plans came to a head. “I've missed you so much. And yeah, I know, there's gonna have to be a Spanish Inquisition, but ...I just need to look at you right now.” Buffy shook her head slowly, and Spike clenched his jaw. He hadn't expected it to be easy, so he shouldn't be surprised that she'd want to rip him a new one. He was dumbstruck when she spoke. “Need more than looking, Spike. Can you kiss me? Prove to me that you're real? I've done enough thinking and wondering, and you bet I'm gonna need to hear the full story – but right now, I'd rather be kissing you.” Spike needed no further urging, his lips brushing softly against hers, tentative now that she was awake and fully aware of him. Buffy set the pace, gripping his shoulders fiercely before her hands cupped his face, stroking his skin and tangling in his hair. She moaned against him, his lips parting as she swept her tongue along his lips and forced entry into his mouth. He was more than happy to meet her halfway, the kiss becoming frantic as they both tried to get closer, get more of each other. His hands roamed her body, moulding her to him and for the first time since they woke, it seemed they both became conscious – at the same time – of the fact that they were naked. Very aware... Spike walked backwards to the bed, Buffy hopping on one leg as she wrapped the other around his hip. They fell in a tangled heap as the bed hit the back of Spike's knee, Buffy splayed across his body and scrambling up to sit astride him, relinquishing his lips reluctantly. She was panting, her eyes smouldering as she greedily drank in the sight of him. Big thoughts tried to intrude, but Buffy pushed them away. They could wait. Her horny, needy body couldn't. “God, I've missed this,” she moaned as she fell forward, her lips leaving a wet trail down from his lips and along his neck. She nipped him playfully, delighting in the growl and the tightening of Spike's fingers where they gripped her shoulder. Teeth and vampires, always a winning combination in Buffy's experience, not that she'd had that much experience... but she was going to remedy that. Buffy moved lower, licking and sucking at the hard muscled flesh on Spike's chest, grinning against him as she darted out her tongue to swirl around a suddenly hard nipple. She wriggled against him, the vampire letting out a strangled whimper as he began to lose control. Her breath was stirring the curls at his groin and Spike fisted his hands in the bed covers to stop himself from moving. Although the demon was demanding a battle for supremacy, he was content to leave Buffy in charge, so long as she got her hot little mouth busy soon. Buffy blew softly on Spike's erection, a curtain of golden hair hiding her from his burning eyes. Smiling at her own naughtiness, she grabbed her tresses in one hand and very deliberately swung it out of her face so that she could watch his reaction. She licked her lips then opened her mouth wide to slide down his cock while she pumped it with her other hand. Spike bucked beneath her, growling as his eyes flicked from blue to amber and back again, his fangs lengthening to cut his own lip as he tried to stifle the inhuman roar that threatened to tear from his throat. As Buffy felt him stiffen, she let his cock go with a soft pop, crawling up his body to slide down his length before he could protest at the loss of her heat. She moved slowly at first, rocking against him, her fingers moving along his chest, touching as much of him as she could. Spike was fully vamped now, but Buffy found that she wasn't repulsed in the slightest, far from it. The sight of him licking his fangs with a tongue reddened by his own blood sent her pulse rocketing and she fell forward to crush her lips to his. The prick of pain when his fangs sliced her flesh lasted only moments as she slipped her tongue inside his mouth, sucking hungrily as the taste of him flooded her senses. Spike tried hard to think of anything other than the taste of their blood mingling in his mouth. He was about to explode and needed to calm a little, rolling them both so that Buffy was beneath him on the bed, looking up at him with hungry eyes when he drew back to watch her. She surprised him by tracing her fingers over his ridged brow and fangs, never dropping her gaze. He knew what she was doing; she was telling him without words that she wanted all of him. It was having the opposite effect to what he intended, him being in control, as he clearly wasn't. He might have been on top, but Buffy was in charge ---- as always. All finesse deserted him when Buffy arched her back and bared her throat, tracing her fingers down along her pulse-point and across the swell of her breast. It was a clear invitation, and one he didn't intend to refuse. In all the time they'd been intimate, he'd had barely a lick of her blood; there'd been the odd clash of teeth and lip, a ripped tongue here, a bust lip there – but if he discounted the time he was possessed by the First and swept his tongue over her gashed arm, this would be the only time he'd done it with her knowledge. Buffy moaned; what was taking him so long? Could she be any clearer with her invitation? “Spike ----” It was a plea. Spike answered it. His cock swelled inside her as his fangs punctured her pliant flesh. His senses were taking in every iota of information they could, a jumble of feelings and tastes, while being at the same time clear and concise. His head was spinning as he suckled at her throat, her blood hot in his mouth as he gulped it down, lamenting the loss of her precious fluid as he felt some of it run past his lips. Buffy moaned at the double penetration, wondering why the sensation of the blood that escaped his tongue and ran down her chest in a cooling rivulet was quickening her pulse and making her buck towards him. She'd thought that nothing could eclipse that first time when they'd literally brought the house down. She was wrong. The past year, the loss and the pain, the regret and the guilt for not treating him right when he'd done everything he could to make her whole – it was all disappearing as he reclaimed her body and soul. She'd told him she wasn't ready for him not to be there, she recalled, and it seemed a lifetime ago. She knew now that she'd never be ready. Just to make sure he didn't leave, Buffy wrapped him tighter with her arms and legs, her body aligned perfectly with his as he thrust into her with agonisingly slow strokes. Buffy's eyes widened as she felt her orgasm build slowly and powerfully; Spike withdrew his fangs and lapped at her flesh to seal the wound, each lick of his tongue tingling along her nerve-endings. His golden gaze focused on her to the exclusion of everything else and in the arms of the demon she should abhor, Buffy found perfect peace and completion, nipping at his lips hungrily as her body shuddered in synchronisation with his own. Panting, exhausted, satiated, Buffy murmured into Spike's shoulder as he rested against her and stroked her hair. His weight upon her was reassuringly heavy but not smothering. Just right. She told him so in ragged phrases interspersed with kisses. Spike could barely move. He'd never expected Buffy to want all of him, hadn't dared hope that. But from the way she'd reacted to his bite and from the words she was muttering almost unintelligibly against his skin while running her hands up and down his back, it seemed that she did. He swallowed down a sob. Typical of the soppy poet to want out now... Reluctantly, Buffy wriggled, trying to stop the pins and needles spreading from her butt down her legs. She didn't want to move and lose the moment, but her body had other ideas. Spike slid off her to lie beside her, resting on a bent elbow as he gazed down at her. He realised he was still in game-face and willed the change back to human guise. Deep blue eyes held hers captive, his fingers seeking out hers to twine with them and pull their clasped hands towards his lips so that he could kiss her knuckles. Lots needed to be said, and nothing at all. So, for a while, they lay there simply looking and touching. The sharp rapping on the door startled them both, Giles' worried voice carrying clearly. “Buffy? Are you alright? When you didn't appear for breakfast I----” Spike's soft chuckle rumbled through his chest and he whispered, “wanna see a Watcher go all Rambo?” Buffy giggled and nodded, having no idea what he meant but willing to do anything he suggested right now. “Oi! Rupes! Keep it down would ya? Been a busy night, and I've only had a little snack ----” Giles barged through the door, eyes wild as he sought out the slayer, clearly expecting a drained corpse or worse. He pursed his lips and swept off his glasses in irritation as Buffy and Spike clutched at each other and roared with laughter. Eventually, Giles cleared his throat. “Very amusing, I'm sure. And now that my pulse has returned to normal and I'm not in danger of heart failure, I'll leave you two to...ahem...get dressed.” It appeared that his brain had finally caught up with his eyes and he backed out, flushed with embarrassment. As he began to drag the door closed, Buffy called after him. “Giles, I'm...I'll talk to you soon, once I find out what's going on. What is going on?” She turned to Spike and tilted her head, and Giles backed out with a smug smirk and wink at the squirming vampire. He wished him good luck in explaining his continued absence and his seemingly miraculous return from hell. In the hallway, Giles took a moment to lean against the wall and wipe at his damp eyes. He didn't doubt that there would be a bumpy road ahead for the young woman he thought of as his own daughter, and the annoying yet charismatic vampire that clearly adored her. But hearing the tinkling laughter that had greeted his storming of Buffy's bedroom and seeing the way she moulded herself to the creature at her side, he knew it would be a road she'd want to travel. And he'd walk beside her and help her if it got rough. Hell, he'd help the vampire too. Spike had achieved the impossible, it seemed, bringing Buffy back from the oblivion she'd been heading for, altering his own previously resolute belief in the inability of demons to love. Shaking his head as he walked away from the raised voices emanating from Buffy's room, he muttered at the change in himself, all caused by the determination of a vampire and his undying love for the Slayer. The Council would spontaneously combust when they got word of this. “The earth is doomed...” THE END