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Ch. 1: Sun Gun
“I don’t get it.”
“We’ve covered this. We need the Slayer out of the way. Can’t seem to kill her, so we’re just gonna remove the obstacle until we’ve seized power. Then she can come back … or not.”
“I still don’t get it. What makes you think she won’t just come back angry and on the warpath? I’ve seen Buffy angry. You wouldn’t want to make her angry.”
“Levinson, you man-boy! This is the plan. Are you in or not?”
“Yeah, Levinson.”
“Shut up, Andrew.” Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “I’m in.”
***
Buffy brushed the dust off her jeans, feeling them droop on her hips from the motion. Since she’d been back, she kept forgetting to eat. And since money was tight, that seemed like more of a bonus than a cause for concern. But if she lost her pants and ended up mooning Restfield? Not ideal.
“Did I miss the action, then, Slayer?”
Especially given the inhabitants of Restfield, and their annoying tendency to show up whenever she least expected.
“Good-night, Spike.”
“So that’s it? You’ve dispatched all the baddies to their graves?”
“Not quite. Care to line up and let me finish the job?”
“I’m not so bad anymore, Slayer. If I were, I’d ‘ve met the business end of your stake some time ago.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
He arched an eyebrow suggestively, and Buffy fought back her blush. Lately her feelings towards the vampire were the strangest mix of affection and pure lust, but all jumbled up with her familiar sense of irritation.
“So I heard a rumor, ‘bout some tinker demon selling his wares in an alley downtown. Thought we ought to check it out.”
“What? They give Amway licenses to the undead now?”
“Don’t think they’re peddling vitamins and home cleaning products. More like charmed objects.”
“So?”
“I’m not talking a lucky rabbit’s foot, Slayer. I’m talking a … a … cursed banana peel that could … trip someone really important and make them fall.”
“Huh?”
“Okay, bad example. But I think we should check it out.”
Buffy frowned. For all his outcast status, Spike still had a way of hearing about things that never reached her ears. Still, if she tried to shut down every demon’s cottage industry, she’d be working double overtime. “If he isn’t slaughtering the innocent and selling their entrails, it isn’t my problem.”
“Your call, Slayer. Just thought you’d like to know.”
***
“I think we’re a little outta place here, guys.”
“Duh!” Jonathan shot a scathing look at Andrew.
“Don’t make me turn this evil scheme around, boys. Now just look for something that will get the Slayer out of our hair and be prepared to bid strategically.” Warren headed towards the first table, leaving Andrew and Jonathan staring at a table of full of jars.
“Is that what I think it is floating in that jar?”
“Bidding starts at $600,” said a scaly demon holding a clipboard.
“Maybe that’s not quite what we need. But thanks. For the information.” Jonathan hastily guided Andrew towards another table. “We’re gonna be squashed like bugs by a meaty demon paw before we manage to buy anything.”
“Hey, turn that frown upside down. How about over here?”
The table wasn’t attracting much attention.
“Who pays $1,000 for suntan lotion?”
“Not suntan lotion – it looks like bronzer. For that sun-kissed look without the harmful UV rays.”
Jonathan shot Andrew a look.
“Well, I like to keep up with these things.”
A female demon with a killer bod and an unfortunately hirsute face and piggy little nose sidled up to the boys. “It isn’t what you think,” she said, in sing-songy English.
“So it’s not the Clinique counter on steroids?”
“Maybe, Blondie. These products actually do what the bottle implies.”
“So anti-aging cream …”
“Reduces the average age of the user by 20% or 10 years, whichever is less, with each application, with a maximum regression of 75% of the creature’s normal lifespan.”
“We could make Buffy a little kid. A two year-old Slayer wouldn’t be much trouble.”
“You haven’t been around my nieces, Andrew.”
“Oh. Well, maybe this one.” He picked up an attractive bottle in shades of lemon yellow. “Instant Sun. What does this one do?”
“This one is particularly clever,” Miss Hairy explained. “A single spritz and the user is transported to an island paradise.”
“Permanently?”
“Hey, Warren. Andrew was just checking out this one-way ticket to Club Med. In a bottle.”
“Did you say one-way?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s perfect. How much to buy it outright?”
“Outright?” The demon hesitated. “The bidding is starting at $1200.”
“We’ll give you $3,000.”
“Sold.”
***
The world might end, but dishes seemed infinite. Sweeping mysterious crumbs from the kitchen floor never ceased. And laundry? Laundry went on forever and ever, amen.
Buffy knew that she should be pushing Dawn to do more, and Willow, too. Tara was a huge help, but the other girls were more mess-makers than cleaner-uppers. It was wearing on her. She knew it didn’t have to look like Mom was still on the job, but somehow … she just hated to admit that she couldn’t do it all.
With the last dish put away and the counter sparkling, she dropped down on a kitchen stool with an abandoned issue of a magazine. “Courtney Cash’s island retreat … must be nice.” And it was nice, Buffy couldn’t help but notice, as she flipped past pictures of the actress cavorting in the surf with her puppy and sipping a cup of tea on her patio overlooking the sea.
The article carefully mentioned where readers could go to buy the same throw pillows or votive candles or margarita glasses featured in the article. What was missing was a roadmap for making this your actual, real life.
With a sigh, Buffy closed the magazine and headed up to bed.
***
Outside of Revello, the Trio watched as the last of the lights – finally! – went out in the house.
“Okay, now or never, J-man.”
“How do you know they haven’t cursed the windows?” he asked.
“We checked that already.” Andrew gestured to the laptop he balanced on his knees. “There’s nothing there except the remains of a few old spells.”
“Come on, Jonathan. You’re the smallest and the lightest and if we pull down the roof tiles, you better believe we’ll have some ‘splainin to do.”
“Fine.” Dressed in head-to-toe black, Jonathan stepped out of the shadows and prepared to scale the wall of 1630 Revello Drive.
***
Spike was restless. Nothing new in that, he thought, heading out for a contemplative cigarette and maybe a spot of violence with an equally sleepless adversary.
‘Course, not many adversaries clustered near his tree in front of the Slayer’s house. Still, probably worth stopping by and making sure that the house was still standing.
And so his feet headed that way, even as his brain tried to steer him in some less controversial direction.
***
“Did you do it?”
“Yeah. It’s right in with her stuff … between some mascara and something called Hope in a Jar.”
“Good work, Levinson.”
“Yeah,” Warren added. “She probably uses that Hope crap every day.”
***
A van rolled down Revello with its lights out. Something about that troubled Spike, and he stopped to watch it roll by.
Was it the little boys again, up to no good?
With another pull on his cigarette, he doubled his pace and took up his familiar post.
Chip or no, if those creeps had messed with Buffy, he’d tear them limb from limb.
***
An hour later, Spike was convinced that they’d done no harm. At least not immediate harm requiring violence.
Damn.
He slumped back against the tree. Nearly sun-up and time for a lie down.
And then the light switch turned on in the hall bath, and he decided to wait just a few more minutes.
***
Buffy studied her face in the mirror.
She hadn’t slept much last night, but that wasn’t really the problem. An honest assessment revealed that she hadn’t slept much in days, weeks. Since she’d been back.
And spending all those weeks dead? It would mess with any girl’s complexion.
Her hand reached for her new-but-already-nearly-empty container of Hope in a Jar, but then paused.
“Instant Sun,” she read the label. Had she bought this on her initial yay-not-dead, but-not-yet-aware-that-I’m-broke shopping spree? Or was it in that freebie bag from the new Sephora’s grand opening event last week? Or Willow, or Dawn left it …
The label drew her in. “A revolutionary new formula will deliver that perfect shade of sun-kissed glow. All natural and odor-free. This immersion will create the appearance of a fresh vacation glow. Suitable for all skin types.”
“Immersion? Shouldn’t that be emulsion?” she mumbled, even as she looked for an inconspicuous place to test the product. Extending her arm, she chose a spot, aimed and spritzed.
And poof! She disappeared.
***
Spike had watched her silhouette - her delicious, familiar silhouette – ponytail in place, as she stood at the bathroom counter. He imagined Buffy standing there in Technicolor, imagined being there beside her, or maybe in bed waiting for her to come back to him … yeah, that was it.
And then she was gone.
Damn. She’d be crossing the lawn any second now, demanding to know what he was doing mooning about her house minutes from sunrise.
And she’d be right. With a sigh, he peeled himself from his spot and headed back to his crypt.
“We’ve covered this. We need the Slayer out of the way. Can’t seem to kill her, so we’re just gonna remove the obstacle until we’ve seized power. Then she can come back … or not.”
“I still don’t get it. What makes you think she won’t just come back angry and on the warpath? I’ve seen Buffy angry. You wouldn’t want to make her angry.”
“Levinson, you man-boy! This is the plan. Are you in or not?”
“Yeah, Levinson.”
“Shut up, Andrew.” Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “I’m in.”
***
Buffy brushed the dust off her jeans, feeling them droop on her hips from the motion. Since she’d been back, she kept forgetting to eat. And since money was tight, that seemed like more of a bonus than a cause for concern. But if she lost her pants and ended up mooning Restfield? Not ideal.
“Did I miss the action, then, Slayer?”
Especially given the inhabitants of Restfield, and their annoying tendency to show up whenever she least expected.
“Good-night, Spike.”
“So that’s it? You’ve dispatched all the baddies to their graves?”
“Not quite. Care to line up and let me finish the job?”
“I’m not so bad anymore, Slayer. If I were, I’d ‘ve met the business end of your stake some time ago.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
He arched an eyebrow suggestively, and Buffy fought back her blush. Lately her feelings towards the vampire were the strangest mix of affection and pure lust, but all jumbled up with her familiar sense of irritation.
“So I heard a rumor, ‘bout some tinker demon selling his wares in an alley downtown. Thought we ought to check it out.”
“What? They give Amway licenses to the undead now?”
“Don’t think they’re peddling vitamins and home cleaning products. More like charmed objects.”
“So?”
“I’m not talking a lucky rabbit’s foot, Slayer. I’m talking a … a … cursed banana peel that could … trip someone really important and make them fall.”
“Huh?”
“Okay, bad example. But I think we should check it out.”
Buffy frowned. For all his outcast status, Spike still had a way of hearing about things that never reached her ears. Still, if she tried to shut down every demon’s cottage industry, she’d be working double overtime. “If he isn’t slaughtering the innocent and selling their entrails, it isn’t my problem.”
“Your call, Slayer. Just thought you’d like to know.”
***
“I think we’re a little outta place here, guys.”
“Duh!” Jonathan shot a scathing look at Andrew.
“Don’t make me turn this evil scheme around, boys. Now just look for something that will get the Slayer out of our hair and be prepared to bid strategically.” Warren headed towards the first table, leaving Andrew and Jonathan staring at a table of full of jars.
“Is that what I think it is floating in that jar?”
“Bidding starts at $600,” said a scaly demon holding a clipboard.
“Maybe that’s not quite what we need. But thanks. For the information.” Jonathan hastily guided Andrew towards another table. “We’re gonna be squashed like bugs by a meaty demon paw before we manage to buy anything.”
“Hey, turn that frown upside down. How about over here?”
The table wasn’t attracting much attention.
“Who pays $1,000 for suntan lotion?”
“Not suntan lotion – it looks like bronzer. For that sun-kissed look without the harmful UV rays.”
Jonathan shot Andrew a look.
“Well, I like to keep up with these things.”
A female demon with a killer bod and an unfortunately hirsute face and piggy little nose sidled up to the boys. “It isn’t what you think,” she said, in sing-songy English.
“So it’s not the Clinique counter on steroids?”
“Maybe, Blondie. These products actually do what the bottle implies.”
“So anti-aging cream …”
“Reduces the average age of the user by 20% or 10 years, whichever is less, with each application, with a maximum regression of 75% of the creature’s normal lifespan.”
“We could make Buffy a little kid. A two year-old Slayer wouldn’t be much trouble.”
“You haven’t been around my nieces, Andrew.”
“Oh. Well, maybe this one.” He picked up an attractive bottle in shades of lemon yellow. “Instant Sun. What does this one do?”
“This one is particularly clever,” Miss Hairy explained. “A single spritz and the user is transported to an island paradise.”
“Permanently?”
“Hey, Warren. Andrew was just checking out this one-way ticket to Club Med. In a bottle.”
“Did you say one-way?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s perfect. How much to buy it outright?”
“Outright?” The demon hesitated. “The bidding is starting at $1200.”
“We’ll give you $3,000.”
“Sold.”
***
The world might end, but dishes seemed infinite. Sweeping mysterious crumbs from the kitchen floor never ceased. And laundry? Laundry went on forever and ever, amen.
Buffy knew that she should be pushing Dawn to do more, and Willow, too. Tara was a huge help, but the other girls were more mess-makers than cleaner-uppers. It was wearing on her. She knew it didn’t have to look like Mom was still on the job, but somehow … she just hated to admit that she couldn’t do it all.
With the last dish put away and the counter sparkling, she dropped down on a kitchen stool with an abandoned issue of a magazine. “Courtney Cash’s island retreat … must be nice.” And it was nice, Buffy couldn’t help but notice, as she flipped past pictures of the actress cavorting in the surf with her puppy and sipping a cup of tea on her patio overlooking the sea.
The article carefully mentioned where readers could go to buy the same throw pillows or votive candles or margarita glasses featured in the article. What was missing was a roadmap for making this your actual, real life.
With a sigh, Buffy closed the magazine and headed up to bed.
***
Outside of Revello, the Trio watched as the last of the lights – finally! – went out in the house.
“Okay, now or never, J-man.”
“How do you know they haven’t cursed the windows?” he asked.
“We checked that already.” Andrew gestured to the laptop he balanced on his knees. “There’s nothing there except the remains of a few old spells.”
“Come on, Jonathan. You’re the smallest and the lightest and if we pull down the roof tiles, you better believe we’ll have some ‘splainin to do.”
“Fine.” Dressed in head-to-toe black, Jonathan stepped out of the shadows and prepared to scale the wall of 1630 Revello Drive.
***
Spike was restless. Nothing new in that, he thought, heading out for a contemplative cigarette and maybe a spot of violence with an equally sleepless adversary.
‘Course, not many adversaries clustered near his tree in front of the Slayer’s house. Still, probably worth stopping by and making sure that the house was still standing.
And so his feet headed that way, even as his brain tried to steer him in some less controversial direction.
***
“Did you do it?”
“Yeah. It’s right in with her stuff … between some mascara and something called Hope in a Jar.”
“Good work, Levinson.”
“Yeah,” Warren added. “She probably uses that Hope crap every day.”
***
A van rolled down Revello with its lights out. Something about that troubled Spike, and he stopped to watch it roll by.
Was it the little boys again, up to no good?
With another pull on his cigarette, he doubled his pace and took up his familiar post.
Chip or no, if those creeps had messed with Buffy, he’d tear them limb from limb.
***
An hour later, Spike was convinced that they’d done no harm. At least not immediate harm requiring violence.
Damn.
He slumped back against the tree. Nearly sun-up and time for a lie down.
And then the light switch turned on in the hall bath, and he decided to wait just a few more minutes.
***
Buffy studied her face in the mirror.
She hadn’t slept much last night, but that wasn’t really the problem. An honest assessment revealed that she hadn’t slept much in days, weeks. Since she’d been back.
And spending all those weeks dead? It would mess with any girl’s complexion.
Her hand reached for her new-but-already-nearly-empty container of Hope in a Jar, but then paused.
“Instant Sun,” she read the label. Had she bought this on her initial yay-not-dead, but-not-yet-aware-that-I’m-broke shopping spree? Or was it in that freebie bag from the new Sephora’s grand opening event last week? Or Willow, or Dawn left it …
The label drew her in. “A revolutionary new formula will deliver that perfect shade of sun-kissed glow. All natural and odor-free. This immersion will create the appearance of a fresh vacation glow. Suitable for all skin types.”
“Immersion? Shouldn’t that be emulsion?” she mumbled, even as she looked for an inconspicuous place to test the product. Extending her arm, she chose a spot, aimed and spritzed.
And poof! She disappeared.
***
Spike had watched her silhouette - her delicious, familiar silhouette – ponytail in place, as she stood at the bathroom counter. He imagined Buffy standing there in Technicolor, imagined being there beside her, or maybe in bed waiting for her to come back to him … yeah, that was it.
And then she was gone.
Damn. She’d be crossing the lawn any second now, demanding to know what he was doing mooning about her house minutes from sunrise.
And she’d be right. With a sigh, he peeled himself from his spot and headed back to his crypt.
Ch. 2: Potion Commotion
“Okay, so they meant immersion.” Buffy stood, wiping sand from her knees. She’d hit the beach with a thud, and the churning spiral that delivered her from the land of white tile to the land of sun and surf? Serious turbulence. She was queasy, but since her stomach was empty, she just held still for a minute and waited for it to pass.
The beach was deserted, but then it was about the same time it’d been in Sunnydale. The sun was rising, the sky growing streaky with color.
Birds cried, and the surf lapped on to the shore. Was this the California coast? She waded forward, still wearing her tank top and pajama bottoms, and stuck a cautious toe in the water.
Bathtub warm.
“Okay, not the Pacific, then.”
There were no lights in the distance, either, from ships and lighthouses. And as far as the eye could see, she couldn’t spot a pier or a condominium. Definitely not Southern California.
Then where?
She turned slowly.
Funny little crooked trees stood farther from the water’s edge, bending like something out of Dr. Seuss. Farther back sat huge rock formations, rugged and rough.
And then, just visible at the edge of the sands, a beige house with dark red roof tiles.
“Wherever I am, they must have a phone.” She set off to trudge across the beach to civilization.
***
Buffy would kill her if she knew that she’d left the bathroom light on all night. Dawn breathed a sigh of relief, seeing no sign of her sister. Buffy’s bed had been slept in, though, so she must be around somewhere.
Dawn slipped into the shower and steeled herself for another exciting day of junior high.
***
“Hey. Did you see Buffy?”
“Morning, Dawnie.” Willow looked up from her cornflakes and chemistry textbook. “No. Maybe she went running?”
“That would be good. I mean … she hasn’t done that since …”
“See? Everything’s getting all better and back to normal. By Sunnydale standards.”
“Yeah.” Dawn tried to smile, but couldn’t quite force her mouth into shape.
Tara rushed into the kitchen, fastening her sash as she walked. “Hey, Dawnie. You want a ride to sch-school?”
“Thanks, yeah.”
Dawn grabbed her backpack and followed the girls out of the house. “Should we lock up?”
“Wh-where’s Buffy?”
“She went for an early morning run,” Willow explained.
“Oh – do you think she remembered her k-key?”
“Let’s leave the kitchen door open, just in case.”
The girls hurried to Tara’s Camry without another thought for the Slayer.
***
The gate to the little house was unlatched.
“Hello?”
She stepped onto the terra cotta tiles of the patio, admiring the swimming pool and covered dining area. “A good place for a cup of tea,” she murmured, before she went back to calling out. “Hello? I’m … um … I’m lost and hoped that you might have a telephone? Umm … Hola, maybe? Hi?”
Nothing.
She knocked on the glass doors. “Hello?”
Feeling just a little desperate, Buffy backed up and stood on one of the short walls surrounding the patio. More trees. More rocks. But not another house as far as she could see.
She returned to knocking, and after a minute, tried the door.
It slid open.
*As if it had been waiting for her* Despite the warmth, Buffy shivered.
“Hi? I’m lost – my name is Buffy. Buffy Summers. And I’m not sure where I am, so I just wanted to maybe get some directions or use a telephone. Hello?”
Crossing the tile floor into the kitchen, she listened carefully. No doubt about it, she was alone in the house.
There wasn’t a telephone in sight.
Feeling like Goldilocks, Buffy started opening cabinets. Maybe there would be a phone tucked on a shelf, or at least a telephone book or a take-out menu, anything to tell her where she was.
Nothing in the first cabinet, but lots of Oreos. Her favorite. And some of those Odwalla bars, one of the few get-your-nutrition-in-bar-form snacks that Buffy didn’t mind. Special K, she liked that, too … as she glanced through the cabinets, she couldn’t help notice that everything was her favorite. Even somewhat unusual things, like whole wheat fusilli and ginger soy salad dressing.
“That’s strange,” she murmured, opening the refrigerator and finding her favorite brand of yogurt, Horizon skim and an assortment of greens and interesting fruit, plus a container of Juicy Juice apple juice, her secret vice when paired with Oreos, but not the kind of thing that usually went with the rest of the provisions.
When she swung open the freezer and found it stocked with Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food and veggie sausages, she knew that something was off.
With an impatient whirl, she left the kitchen, heading up a small staircase to the second floor. In the bathroom she found her favorite beauty products, plus tons that she couldn’t possibly afford but had been sampling at make-up counters for years.
And in the bedroom’s huge walk-in closet, she found herself confronted with a wardrobe that was doubtless designed expressly for her, from workout gear to strappy little sandals.
“How totally weird,” she said, then broke into a huge smile.
***
An hour later, Buffy was lounging on the couch in the living room, eating her way through a container of Phish food and watching a re-run of Pretty in Pink. The television didn’t seem to get any actual channels, just endless loops of movies that Buffy adored and didn’t mind watching over and over.
She knew that it was time for the Slayer to rise up, to start hatching a plan of escape, or at least of discovery. But the sun told her it wasn’t much more than noon in Sunnydale, meaning that everyone was at school or work and otherwise occupied, including the demons that wouldn’t stir for hours.
As Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy kissed and the credits rolled, Buffy briefly considered going into hero mode.
Maybe in another hour.
No reason she shouldn’t experience that delicious swimming pool while she had some down time.
***
Spike just had this feeling.
Usually he’d be fast asleep and dreaming of Buffy by now. But instead, he dreamt of dark blue vans and girly potions and endless white sand beaches. It was a mixed-up mess of images, but he had the feeling that it meant something.
Danger.
And not for him so much, no. But danger for Buffy.
With a sigh, he swung his legs out of bed and reached for his jeans.
There was no helping it. He’d have to dash through the sewers to Revello, and risk finding a locked door and becoming vampire flambé.
***
He was in luck.
As he slammed the kitchen door behind him, Spike extended his senses.
Empty.
“Hello?”
A few dirty dishes in the sink, a stray folder that Bit was probably missing right about now … but nothing suspicious.
He folded his army blanket and tucked it on a barstool before edging into the rest of the house. “Uh … ‘lo? It’s me … Spike. Came by to … well, had a feeling …”
Nothing.
And then he spotted Buffy’s house keys, hanging from a hook in the corridor, along with her favorite handbag of the moment. She didn’t carry that kind of thing too often, true, leastways not after dark when she’d need her mitts free for fighting. But where would she be in the daylight without a wallet and lipstick?
As he bounded upstairs, something drew him into the bathroom. She had too many clothes for him to guess if anything was missing, and he’d be staked for sure if he got caught nosing through her lacy underthings again.
The bottle called to him, struck him as out-of-place immediately. The girls had their counter space neatly divided; Buffy’s to the left and Dawn’s to the right. Dawn’s gear was tossed about, caps missing and products drying out. But the Slayer kept her bottles lined up like neat little soldiers.
And so he reached out for the one left out on the counter, top missing and out of place. All of a sudden it hit him – this was the last place he’d watched Buffy’s silhouette. He’d thought that he hadn’t noticed her leave the bathroom, but what if … his brain couldn’t quite touch the thought.
“Instant Sun,” he read. Idly, he pressed down on the bottle top and the product dusted his hand.
And with a pop, he felt himself carried from Revello Drive all the way to an entirely different place.
***
He hit the sand with a thud and found himself gasping for breath, lungs burning.
Burning.
“Ahhhhhhieieeeiiieeeeee,” he screamed, before realizing that, despite having landed smack in the middle of a barren beach in the heat of day, he was perfectly intact. Not a char mark anywhere.
“Ohhhhkaaaaay then. What is this place?” His mind worked feverishly. An alternate dimension? Spike had little patience for all the talk of other worlds and times – couldn’t stand to listen to the Watcher blather on about such possibilities. ‘Course he knew the Hellmouth was pretty much the front door out of their world to all sorts of other places, but that wasn’t really important, as long as whatever wormed its way out could be put down swiftly and with much prejudice by his fists and fangs.
But more importantly, he had a pretty good idea that Buffy was stuck here somewhere.
Squinting against the unfamiliar sun, he spotted the house and, more importantly, the faintest trail of smaller footprints heading that way.
“Right then.” He pointed his feet towards the bungalow.
***
Willow got back first, and didn’t think much of Buffy’s absence.
Dawn came back thirty minutes later and ignored Buffy’s absence and Willow’s presence.
Then Tara returned, went into the kitchen to start dinner and wondered aloud why there was still no sign of Buffy, but Spike’s army blanket was here?
With a wide-eyed glance at her girlfriend, Willow reached for her cell phone and hit 2-talk. “Xander? Hey, it’s Willow. Have you talked to Buffy at all today? Me neither. Um … yeah, I do live with her. I’m in the house right now. Look, it might be nothing, but could you come over? Sure, sure … bring Anya. Okay. And pizza? That would be great. See you in fifteen minutes.”
***
He was still flinching against the light, but it was pretty clear the rays weren’t going to dust him. Spike decided that if the sun hadn’t fried him by the time he’d made it all the way to the gate, the rules must say that vampires weren’t tiki torches in this dimension.
Forcing himself to square his shoulders and put on a brave front, he stole up to the wall surrounding the courtyard and peered in.
Sure enough, there was Buffy, floating on a chaise lounge with a diet coke and a magazine, wearing nothing but a tiny red bikini, sunglasses and nail polish and looking like she’d never had a care in the world.
***
“So you didn’t see her this morning?”
“No Xan,” Willow repeated, “but like I said, that’s not that unusual. If she’s had a late slay night, y’know, she sometimes sleeps in ‘til ten. And then, before she died, remember how she used to get up early and run?”
“She did?”
“Yeah. Tried to go with her once, freshman year. Big mistake. Huge.”
“Oh.”
“So, anyhow, this morning we figured she was jogging. And then she wasn’t home when we all got back and then …”
“I f-found this.” Tara handed over the blanket. “It belongs to Sp-Spike.”
“Damn it. He took her. I know he took her. We should’ve dusted him when we had the chance.”
“I d-don’t know, Xander.”
“Spike wouldn’t do that,” Dawn insisted.
“Yeah, well, not without a fight,” Anya added. “And nothing’s out of place here.”
“You don’t think she ran away again?”
“No, Dawnie. Buffy would never … I mean, she wouldn’t do that to you.”
“But she did.”
“Well, yeah, but …”
“That summer was awful. Mom was so angry. And worried. And she’d cry at night, when she thought I couldn’t hear.”
“I d-don’t think she ran away,” Tara interrupted. “She wasn’t … she was getting better. At least a little. I could tell.”
“So then where is she?” Xander demanded. “Come on. We’ve got evidence of Spike who, speaking of past histories, has clobbered Buffy and chained her up before. Which, of course, she escaped just fine,” he added hastily after Dawn gasped.
“Well, let’s see if any of her stuff is gone, then. Buffy wouldn’t go off without mascara and a few cute tops.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Anya, that’s a great idea.”
“Thank you, Willow.”
They headed upstairs, Dawn and the witches checking her closet, Xander and Anya in the bathroom.
“Ummm … everybody? I think I have an answer.”
***
“What do you mean cursed beauty products?”
Anya looked at her fiancé impatiently. “This is Sunnydale. You’ve had cursed lots of other things, right?”
The group shrugged and nodded.
“Okay, look at this.” Anya flipped the bottle over. “Manufactured by Unfug Industries. Would any company voluntarily name themselves Unfug? Doesn’t it violate every rule of branding?”
“Well, okay, but I don’t see how that means that a little bottle of self-tanner is responsible for Buffy going missing.”
“Look it up on the internet, Willow.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” Xander nodded as Willow reached for her iBook.
“Okay … Instant Sun Unfug Industries.” Willow paused. “Nothing. That doesn’t make any sense. Spell Unfug.”
“U-N-F-U-G,” Anya read.
“It’s a German word. It means mischief. Wait … I’ll look it up in the Council’s demon directory … oh boy-o. Anya, I think you might be right.”
“Of course I’m right. Now what can we do about it?”
The beach was deserted, but then it was about the same time it’d been in Sunnydale. The sun was rising, the sky growing streaky with color.
Birds cried, and the surf lapped on to the shore. Was this the California coast? She waded forward, still wearing her tank top and pajama bottoms, and stuck a cautious toe in the water.
Bathtub warm.
“Okay, not the Pacific, then.”
There were no lights in the distance, either, from ships and lighthouses. And as far as the eye could see, she couldn’t spot a pier or a condominium. Definitely not Southern California.
Then where?
She turned slowly.
Funny little crooked trees stood farther from the water’s edge, bending like something out of Dr. Seuss. Farther back sat huge rock formations, rugged and rough.
And then, just visible at the edge of the sands, a beige house with dark red roof tiles.
“Wherever I am, they must have a phone.” She set off to trudge across the beach to civilization.
***
Buffy would kill her if she knew that she’d left the bathroom light on all night. Dawn breathed a sigh of relief, seeing no sign of her sister. Buffy’s bed had been slept in, though, so she must be around somewhere.
Dawn slipped into the shower and steeled herself for another exciting day of junior high.
***
“Hey. Did you see Buffy?”
“Morning, Dawnie.” Willow looked up from her cornflakes and chemistry textbook. “No. Maybe she went running?”
“That would be good. I mean … she hasn’t done that since …”
“See? Everything’s getting all better and back to normal. By Sunnydale standards.”
“Yeah.” Dawn tried to smile, but couldn’t quite force her mouth into shape.
Tara rushed into the kitchen, fastening her sash as she walked. “Hey, Dawnie. You want a ride to sch-school?”
“Thanks, yeah.”
Dawn grabbed her backpack and followed the girls out of the house. “Should we lock up?”
“Wh-where’s Buffy?”
“She went for an early morning run,” Willow explained.
“Oh – do you think she remembered her k-key?”
“Let’s leave the kitchen door open, just in case.”
The girls hurried to Tara’s Camry without another thought for the Slayer.
***
The gate to the little house was unlatched.
“Hello?”
She stepped onto the terra cotta tiles of the patio, admiring the swimming pool and covered dining area. “A good place for a cup of tea,” she murmured, before she went back to calling out. “Hello? I’m … um … I’m lost and hoped that you might have a telephone? Umm … Hola, maybe? Hi?”
Nothing.
She knocked on the glass doors. “Hello?”
Feeling just a little desperate, Buffy backed up and stood on one of the short walls surrounding the patio. More trees. More rocks. But not another house as far as she could see.
She returned to knocking, and after a minute, tried the door.
It slid open.
*As if it had been waiting for her* Despite the warmth, Buffy shivered.
“Hi? I’m lost – my name is Buffy. Buffy Summers. And I’m not sure where I am, so I just wanted to maybe get some directions or use a telephone. Hello?”
Crossing the tile floor into the kitchen, she listened carefully. No doubt about it, she was alone in the house.
There wasn’t a telephone in sight.
Feeling like Goldilocks, Buffy started opening cabinets. Maybe there would be a phone tucked on a shelf, or at least a telephone book or a take-out menu, anything to tell her where she was.
Nothing in the first cabinet, but lots of Oreos. Her favorite. And some of those Odwalla bars, one of the few get-your-nutrition-in-bar-form snacks that Buffy didn’t mind. Special K, she liked that, too … as she glanced through the cabinets, she couldn’t help notice that everything was her favorite. Even somewhat unusual things, like whole wheat fusilli and ginger soy salad dressing.
“That’s strange,” she murmured, opening the refrigerator and finding her favorite brand of yogurt, Horizon skim and an assortment of greens and interesting fruit, plus a container of Juicy Juice apple juice, her secret vice when paired with Oreos, but not the kind of thing that usually went with the rest of the provisions.
When she swung open the freezer and found it stocked with Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food and veggie sausages, she knew that something was off.
With an impatient whirl, she left the kitchen, heading up a small staircase to the second floor. In the bathroom she found her favorite beauty products, plus tons that she couldn’t possibly afford but had been sampling at make-up counters for years.
And in the bedroom’s huge walk-in closet, she found herself confronted with a wardrobe that was doubtless designed expressly for her, from workout gear to strappy little sandals.
“How totally weird,” she said, then broke into a huge smile.
***
An hour later, Buffy was lounging on the couch in the living room, eating her way through a container of Phish food and watching a re-run of Pretty in Pink. The television didn’t seem to get any actual channels, just endless loops of movies that Buffy adored and didn’t mind watching over and over.
She knew that it was time for the Slayer to rise up, to start hatching a plan of escape, or at least of discovery. But the sun told her it wasn’t much more than noon in Sunnydale, meaning that everyone was at school or work and otherwise occupied, including the demons that wouldn’t stir for hours.
As Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy kissed and the credits rolled, Buffy briefly considered going into hero mode.
Maybe in another hour.
No reason she shouldn’t experience that delicious swimming pool while she had some down time.
***
Spike just had this feeling.
Usually he’d be fast asleep and dreaming of Buffy by now. But instead, he dreamt of dark blue vans and girly potions and endless white sand beaches. It was a mixed-up mess of images, but he had the feeling that it meant something.
Danger.
And not for him so much, no. But danger for Buffy.
With a sigh, he swung his legs out of bed and reached for his jeans.
There was no helping it. He’d have to dash through the sewers to Revello, and risk finding a locked door and becoming vampire flambé.
***
He was in luck.
As he slammed the kitchen door behind him, Spike extended his senses.
Empty.
“Hello?”
A few dirty dishes in the sink, a stray folder that Bit was probably missing right about now … but nothing suspicious.
He folded his army blanket and tucked it on a barstool before edging into the rest of the house. “Uh … ‘lo? It’s me … Spike. Came by to … well, had a feeling …”
Nothing.
And then he spotted Buffy’s house keys, hanging from a hook in the corridor, along with her favorite handbag of the moment. She didn’t carry that kind of thing too often, true, leastways not after dark when she’d need her mitts free for fighting. But where would she be in the daylight without a wallet and lipstick?
As he bounded upstairs, something drew him into the bathroom. She had too many clothes for him to guess if anything was missing, and he’d be staked for sure if he got caught nosing through her lacy underthings again.
The bottle called to him, struck him as out-of-place immediately. The girls had their counter space neatly divided; Buffy’s to the left and Dawn’s to the right. Dawn’s gear was tossed about, caps missing and products drying out. But the Slayer kept her bottles lined up like neat little soldiers.
And so he reached out for the one left out on the counter, top missing and out of place. All of a sudden it hit him – this was the last place he’d watched Buffy’s silhouette. He’d thought that he hadn’t noticed her leave the bathroom, but what if … his brain couldn’t quite touch the thought.
“Instant Sun,” he read. Idly, he pressed down on the bottle top and the product dusted his hand.
And with a pop, he felt himself carried from Revello Drive all the way to an entirely different place.
***
He hit the sand with a thud and found himself gasping for breath, lungs burning.
Burning.
“Ahhhhhhieieeeiiieeeeee,” he screamed, before realizing that, despite having landed smack in the middle of a barren beach in the heat of day, he was perfectly intact. Not a char mark anywhere.
“Ohhhhkaaaaay then. What is this place?” His mind worked feverishly. An alternate dimension? Spike had little patience for all the talk of other worlds and times – couldn’t stand to listen to the Watcher blather on about such possibilities. ‘Course he knew the Hellmouth was pretty much the front door out of their world to all sorts of other places, but that wasn’t really important, as long as whatever wormed its way out could be put down swiftly and with much prejudice by his fists and fangs.
But more importantly, he had a pretty good idea that Buffy was stuck here somewhere.
Squinting against the unfamiliar sun, he spotted the house and, more importantly, the faintest trail of smaller footprints heading that way.
“Right then.” He pointed his feet towards the bungalow.
***
Willow got back first, and didn’t think much of Buffy’s absence.
Dawn came back thirty minutes later and ignored Buffy’s absence and Willow’s presence.
Then Tara returned, went into the kitchen to start dinner and wondered aloud why there was still no sign of Buffy, but Spike’s army blanket was here?
With a wide-eyed glance at her girlfriend, Willow reached for her cell phone and hit 2-talk. “Xander? Hey, it’s Willow. Have you talked to Buffy at all today? Me neither. Um … yeah, I do live with her. I’m in the house right now. Look, it might be nothing, but could you come over? Sure, sure … bring Anya. Okay. And pizza? That would be great. See you in fifteen minutes.”
***
He was still flinching against the light, but it was pretty clear the rays weren’t going to dust him. Spike decided that if the sun hadn’t fried him by the time he’d made it all the way to the gate, the rules must say that vampires weren’t tiki torches in this dimension.
Forcing himself to square his shoulders and put on a brave front, he stole up to the wall surrounding the courtyard and peered in.
Sure enough, there was Buffy, floating on a chaise lounge with a diet coke and a magazine, wearing nothing but a tiny red bikini, sunglasses and nail polish and looking like she’d never had a care in the world.
***
“So you didn’t see her this morning?”
“No Xan,” Willow repeated, “but like I said, that’s not that unusual. If she’s had a late slay night, y’know, she sometimes sleeps in ‘til ten. And then, before she died, remember how she used to get up early and run?”
“She did?”
“Yeah. Tried to go with her once, freshman year. Big mistake. Huge.”
“Oh.”
“So, anyhow, this morning we figured she was jogging. And then she wasn’t home when we all got back and then …”
“I f-found this.” Tara handed over the blanket. “It belongs to Sp-Spike.”
“Damn it. He took her. I know he took her. We should’ve dusted him when we had the chance.”
“I d-don’t know, Xander.”
“Spike wouldn’t do that,” Dawn insisted.
“Yeah, well, not without a fight,” Anya added. “And nothing’s out of place here.”
“You don’t think she ran away again?”
“No, Dawnie. Buffy would never … I mean, she wouldn’t do that to you.”
“But she did.”
“Well, yeah, but …”
“That summer was awful. Mom was so angry. And worried. And she’d cry at night, when she thought I couldn’t hear.”
“I d-don’t think she ran away,” Tara interrupted. “She wasn’t … she was getting better. At least a little. I could tell.”
“So then where is she?” Xander demanded. “Come on. We’ve got evidence of Spike who, speaking of past histories, has clobbered Buffy and chained her up before. Which, of course, she escaped just fine,” he added hastily after Dawn gasped.
“Well, let’s see if any of her stuff is gone, then. Buffy wouldn’t go off without mascara and a few cute tops.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Anya, that’s a great idea.”
“Thank you, Willow.”
They headed upstairs, Dawn and the witches checking her closet, Xander and Anya in the bathroom.
“Ummm … everybody? I think I have an answer.”
***
“What do you mean cursed beauty products?”
Anya looked at her fiancé impatiently. “This is Sunnydale. You’ve had cursed lots of other things, right?”
The group shrugged and nodded.
“Okay, look at this.” Anya flipped the bottle over. “Manufactured by Unfug Industries. Would any company voluntarily name themselves Unfug? Doesn’t it violate every rule of branding?”
“Well, okay, but I don’t see how that means that a little bottle of self-tanner is responsible for Buffy going missing.”
“Look it up on the internet, Willow.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” Xander nodded as Willow reached for her iBook.
“Okay … Instant Sun Unfug Industries.” Willow paused. “Nothing. That doesn’t make any sense. Spell Unfug.”
“U-N-F-U-G,” Anya read.
“It’s a German word. It means mischief. Wait … I’ll look it up in the Council’s demon directory … oh boy-o. Anya, I think you might be right.”
“Of course I’m right. Now what can we do about it?”
Ch. 3: Paradise Device
He didn’t know how to begin.
She saved him the trouble by looking up and, in her surprise, flipping over and tumbling into the pool.
“Spike!” she sputtered. “What are you doing here?”
“Might ask the same of you, pet. Or maybe it’s your habit to make yourself at home in a parallel universe.”
Buffy pushed out of the pool and grabbed a towel. “I’m not making myself at home. I’m just …”
Spike cocked an eyebrow.
“Whatever. You haven’t answered my question.”
“Figure I made the same mistake as you, kitten.”
“Tried to get a tan?”
“Well, not exactly. Spritzed on that cursed potion you had in your bath.”
“And you’re here?”
“Apparently so.”
“How come you’re not …” Buffy extended a fingertip to gently touch his hand “… y’know, all lit up like a bonfire?”
The smallest touch from her and he was gulping for air.
And that’s when it hit him.
“Well, thing is, I think there’s something a little off about this parallelogram.” He guided her palm to his chest and pressed it against his heart.
Buffy’s eyes went wide. “How?”
“Dunno.”
“Is it permanent?”
“Seein’ as how I just figured it out two seconds ago, I can’t rightly say.”
“Oh.” She dropped her hand. Buffy wasn’t crazy to find her island paradise invaded by her former nemesis, but he’d shown up with a pulse and without a sun allergy.
He was the first thing to show up in the dimension that hadn’t been exactly what she’d ordered … well, if she’d been ordering. Which she wasn’t.
Right?
***
“Okay, so here’s what we know about the Unfugs so far,” Willow summarized. “One, they’re big with the magicks. Two, they’re the merchant princes of the demon world. Three, they’ve set up shop in Sunnydale recently and have made a mint peddling all sorts of gear. That covers it, right?”
Xander nodded. “Still doesn’t explain how the bottle made it to Buffy’s countertop.”
“Xander’s right,” Anya agreed. “But I don’t know that it matters. The thing is to figure out how to get her back.”
“Them back,” Dawn added. “Spike has to be with her.”
“Dawnie, we don’t know that,” Willow patiently replied.
“It d-does make sense. After all, nobody’s seen him. And his blanket …”
“Fine, then. We need to get them out. The Unfug spells are referenced in this text, but they’re mostly about creating the charmed objects.”
“Well, that’s a good first step,” Anya brightened up. “Of course! We need to charm a … maybe a surfboard, or a tiki torch or a beach towel …”
“Um, Ahn? Sweetheart?”
“Well, there are lots of alternate realities, but they aren’t infinite.”
“They’re not?”
“No. At least, not exactly. So all we have to do is figure out how to chuck a telephone into Buffy’s dimension and at least we can talk.”
“You mean her cell phone? Will she get service?” Dawn asked.
“Not a phone exactly. A magick phone,” she looked pointedly at the witches. “Something that wouldn’t be out of place on a beach. That we can use to communicate.”
“Oooh – wait a sec!” Dawn rushed from the living room, thundering up the stairs, pausing for a minute and then thumping back down again, proudly brandishing a conch shell. “From our trip with dad, to Hawaii. I wanted to find one on the beach, but when all I found were the regular bitsy shells, he bought this one in the gift shop.”
“Okay,” Willow said, reaching for the super-sized shell and turning it over in her hands. “This could work.”
***
“So you figure you’ll just take a break, then?” Spike followed her into the house, nearly tripping on her as she stopped cold. “What?”
“The house … it’s different.”
And it was different. Buffy had cleaned up her ice cream, but she certainly hadn’t moved in a kick ass stereo system with a tower of CDs.
“It’s a bootleg of a Buzzcocks show … and the Sex Pistols’ first U.S. radio interview … this is fan-bloody-tastic!”
“This wasn’t here.”
“It’s here now.” He headed for the stereo.
“I’m gonna check out the rest of the house.” Buffy fled as music assaulted her eardrums from the living room.
Sure enough, the kitchen had all sorts of other things in it, Weetabix and tea bags and steaks. Not Buffy-friendly food.
But the real shock was the second floor. It took her a few minutes to realize that not only was the bedroom now fitted out for two, the bedroom was actually bigger. A whole second closet was added, filled with clothing that was Spike-like. Or maybe Spike-lite, because there was a little bit of color and things like swim trunks and sandals that she couldn’t quite imagine Sunnydale Spike being caught dead in.
“And that’s a whole ‘nother level of weirdness,” she mumbled as she checked out the bathroom. Yup, bigger here, too, with a whole extra two shelves of guy-specific stuff. Razors – did vampires shave? – plus guy-specific shampoo and, of course, hair gel.
By the time she made her way back down to the main level, she wasn’t surprised to find Spike tearing through a bag of jalapeno potato chips, flopped out on the couch, listening to something noisy on the stereo.
“What’s that you were saying about getting out of here?”
Spike looked up. “You’re right, pet.”
“No, I’m not. I mean … maybe in theory … can you turn that off?”
Spike reached for the remote and turned it down. “Will that do?”
“I guess. Anyhow, I don’t know what we could do.”
“Look for clues.”
“Like that blue dog on television?”
He shrugged and popped another chip in his mouth. “There’s always a door out of a demon dimension.”
“But what would tell us how to find it?”
“That’s the rub, innit it?”
“I’ve been gone a day now.”
“Your mates ‘ll notice, yeah?”
“I’m sure they’re working on it.”
“Probably be yanked out of here and back into Sunny D before you can say sand and surf.”
“Sand and surf!” Buffy bit back a giggle.
“Or maybe we have a little more time than that.”
“So, Spike … ever been trapped on an island paradise with your mortal enemy before?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Me neither.”
Okay, so she was all but saying what he was thinking. “How ‘bout we do this place up right, pet? Grill something tasty for dinner, frolic in the surf, maybe watch some telly and pig out on whatever materializes in the cupboards?”
Buffy frowned. It was wrong, right? She should be doing research or looking for something to beat up. Only there wasn’t a library in sight, and her friendly neighborhood demon was standing in full sunlight. She slowly broke into a smile, an ear-to-ear grin that called on muscles she hadn’t recently used. “Okay. Let’s make the best of it.”
“Too right we will.”
***
“How are we so sure he didn’t kill her?” Xander whispered, after glancing to make sure that Dawn wasn’t listening.
“Hey, I don’t like Spike any better than you, but for starters, no body.”
“Great. Then he turned her.”
Willow rolled her eyes. “Listen, weird things have been happening lately. Right? And not weird like, Sunnydale freak-fest, but weird like … weird.”
“Oh, that clears it up.”
“No, I mean … I think that right now, it makes sense that something happened that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Willow …”
“I promise. If we find one shred of evidence that Spike’s done anything wrong, I’ll be the first to go after him, okay?”
“If they are trapped somewhere together, I just hope he’s behaving himself.”
Willow frowned, but settled for returning to her spellbook. The sooner she figured out how to talk to Buffy, the better she’d feel.
***
They’d had the kind of day that Buffy had stopped dreaming of a long time ago … back before Riley left, really.
There had been the obligatory and somewhat awkward walk on the beach, but with every step it got easier and easier to forget that he was Spike, the Evil Undead. By sunset, she couldn’t help but think of him as just a guy. Maybe not the guy she’d imagine for a romantic walk in the surf, but lately when she tried to picture her perfect date she kept coming up with Jude Law.
Okay, so Spike wasn’t Jude. But since when had she had a thing for British accents anyhow?
Later Spike had grilled steaks and veggies, which were surprisingly good. They’d downed a bottle of wine and devoured an apple tart that turned up in the refrigerator at just the right time, sitting outside watching the night sky.
“It’s like the stars turn on, one by one, with a switch,” Spike mused.
Buffy glanced at him. He was miles away, even though he was right here on the patio, feet up on the railing.
“They’ve moved, y’know. Shifted, just a bit, since I was a boy. So gradually, it’s almost impossible to recognize. But if you know what you’re looking for, the patterns just pop out.”
“I’ve never been much for stargazing. Unless you count Us Weekly.”
“’S relaxing. To see there’s something bigger than us and our petty little problems.”
“Like being stuck in this alternate dimension?”
Spike turned to face her. “Don’t think ‘ts so bad now, pet.”
She gulped and stood too quickly. “Well, I think I’ll turn in. Big day tomorrow.”
“Right. Tomorrow we repair the SS Minnow and set sail.”
Buffy smiled and turned to head up, Spike on her heels.
Only when she entered the bedroom did she realize the problem.
There was still only one bed.
***
Willow finished chanting and Tara gave one last wave of incense for good measure.
“That should do it,” Willow whispered, and on cue, the conch shell disappeared.
“He – he wouldn’t hurt her, Willow.”
“Maybe not. But we don’t have any idea what kind of world they’re in. It could be a hell dimension.”
Tara grimaced. This was the same argument from the summertime. “Or it could be paradise.”
***
“So what do we do?” Buffy stared at the big bed. Despite her mental pleas, the house had failed to spawn a second bedroom or even a second bed. In fact, she’d been rather desperately imagining a sleeping bag for the past few minutes and that hadn’t shown up in any of the closets, either.
Now Spike was upstairs and staring at their king-sized problem.
“Listen, this is a big bed. And I’ll bet if you walk your pretty little self over to that closet, there will be a generous pile of downy pillows.”
Buffy frowned, but decided that she’d just fling open the doors and prove how uncooperative the house was being on this front.
Instead, she flung open the doors and found an avalanche of pillows coming her way. She tossed a few towards Spike, and he set about dividing the bed in half.
“That’ll do, I think. Your virtue will be safe.”
“Thank you.”
Buffy crawled into her half of the bed and burrowed under the covers. Sleep wouldn’t come, though. It wasn’t just that she was in an unfamiliar and potentially dangerous place, no. Buffy couldn’t help but wonder … if the dimension gave residents everything they wanted, exactly when they wanted it, why would there be only one bed?
***
Xander turned to Anya, staring at her not-quite-sleeping face in their too-small bed.
“Ahn? Sweetie?”
“Yeah?”
“So have you ever been to these alternate dimensions?”
“Personally? No. But I’ve had postcards.”
“So what are they like?”
“Most are them are fine, just different. Some are nice. Are you worried about her?”
“Always. And no, ‘cause hey, Slayer.”
Anya frowed, sitting up. “Or maybe not.”
“What do you mean … not the Slayer?”
“Maybe not. If we were to poof! into an alternate dimension right now we would still be us, but we might not be … well …”
Xander waited, trying not to show his impatience.
“Remember the spell with Jonathan? Buffy was still Buffy – but because the conditions were different, she was changed.”
“But that doesn’t mean she won’t be okay, right?”
“It doesn’t mean anything. Different is just different.”
“So if Spike is with her, she can defend herself?”
Anya fell silent, thinking again.
“Ahn?”
“Sorry, sweetie. It’s just … you have to understand that Spike might be different, too.”
She saved him the trouble by looking up and, in her surprise, flipping over and tumbling into the pool.
“Spike!” she sputtered. “What are you doing here?”
“Might ask the same of you, pet. Or maybe it’s your habit to make yourself at home in a parallel universe.”
Buffy pushed out of the pool and grabbed a towel. “I’m not making myself at home. I’m just …”
Spike cocked an eyebrow.
“Whatever. You haven’t answered my question.”
“Figure I made the same mistake as you, kitten.”
“Tried to get a tan?”
“Well, not exactly. Spritzed on that cursed potion you had in your bath.”
“And you’re here?”
“Apparently so.”
“How come you’re not …” Buffy extended a fingertip to gently touch his hand “… y’know, all lit up like a bonfire?”
The smallest touch from her and he was gulping for air.
And that’s when it hit him.
“Well, thing is, I think there’s something a little off about this parallelogram.” He guided her palm to his chest and pressed it against his heart.
Buffy’s eyes went wide. “How?”
“Dunno.”
“Is it permanent?”
“Seein’ as how I just figured it out two seconds ago, I can’t rightly say.”
“Oh.” She dropped her hand. Buffy wasn’t crazy to find her island paradise invaded by her former nemesis, but he’d shown up with a pulse and without a sun allergy.
He was the first thing to show up in the dimension that hadn’t been exactly what she’d ordered … well, if she’d been ordering. Which she wasn’t.
Right?
***
“Okay, so here’s what we know about the Unfugs so far,” Willow summarized. “One, they’re big with the magicks. Two, they’re the merchant princes of the demon world. Three, they’ve set up shop in Sunnydale recently and have made a mint peddling all sorts of gear. That covers it, right?”
Xander nodded. “Still doesn’t explain how the bottle made it to Buffy’s countertop.”
“Xander’s right,” Anya agreed. “But I don’t know that it matters. The thing is to figure out how to get her back.”
“Them back,” Dawn added. “Spike has to be with her.”
“Dawnie, we don’t know that,” Willow patiently replied.
“It d-does make sense. After all, nobody’s seen him. And his blanket …”
“Fine, then. We need to get them out. The Unfug spells are referenced in this text, but they’re mostly about creating the charmed objects.”
“Well, that’s a good first step,” Anya brightened up. “Of course! We need to charm a … maybe a surfboard, or a tiki torch or a beach towel …”
“Um, Ahn? Sweetheart?”
“Well, there are lots of alternate realities, but they aren’t infinite.”
“They’re not?”
“No. At least, not exactly. So all we have to do is figure out how to chuck a telephone into Buffy’s dimension and at least we can talk.”
“You mean her cell phone? Will she get service?” Dawn asked.
“Not a phone exactly. A magick phone,” she looked pointedly at the witches. “Something that wouldn’t be out of place on a beach. That we can use to communicate.”
“Oooh – wait a sec!” Dawn rushed from the living room, thundering up the stairs, pausing for a minute and then thumping back down again, proudly brandishing a conch shell. “From our trip with dad, to Hawaii. I wanted to find one on the beach, but when all I found were the regular bitsy shells, he bought this one in the gift shop.”
“Okay,” Willow said, reaching for the super-sized shell and turning it over in her hands. “This could work.”
***
“So you figure you’ll just take a break, then?” Spike followed her into the house, nearly tripping on her as she stopped cold. “What?”
“The house … it’s different.”
And it was different. Buffy had cleaned up her ice cream, but she certainly hadn’t moved in a kick ass stereo system with a tower of CDs.
“It’s a bootleg of a Buzzcocks show … and the Sex Pistols’ first U.S. radio interview … this is fan-bloody-tastic!”
“This wasn’t here.”
“It’s here now.” He headed for the stereo.
“I’m gonna check out the rest of the house.” Buffy fled as music assaulted her eardrums from the living room.
Sure enough, the kitchen had all sorts of other things in it, Weetabix and tea bags and steaks. Not Buffy-friendly food.
But the real shock was the second floor. It took her a few minutes to realize that not only was the bedroom now fitted out for two, the bedroom was actually bigger. A whole second closet was added, filled with clothing that was Spike-like. Or maybe Spike-lite, because there was a little bit of color and things like swim trunks and sandals that she couldn’t quite imagine Sunnydale Spike being caught dead in.
“And that’s a whole ‘nother level of weirdness,” she mumbled as she checked out the bathroom. Yup, bigger here, too, with a whole extra two shelves of guy-specific stuff. Razors – did vampires shave? – plus guy-specific shampoo and, of course, hair gel.
By the time she made her way back down to the main level, she wasn’t surprised to find Spike tearing through a bag of jalapeno potato chips, flopped out on the couch, listening to something noisy on the stereo.
“What’s that you were saying about getting out of here?”
Spike looked up. “You’re right, pet.”
“No, I’m not. I mean … maybe in theory … can you turn that off?”
Spike reached for the remote and turned it down. “Will that do?”
“I guess. Anyhow, I don’t know what we could do.”
“Look for clues.”
“Like that blue dog on television?”
He shrugged and popped another chip in his mouth. “There’s always a door out of a demon dimension.”
“But what would tell us how to find it?”
“That’s the rub, innit it?”
“I’ve been gone a day now.”
“Your mates ‘ll notice, yeah?”
“I’m sure they’re working on it.”
“Probably be yanked out of here and back into Sunny D before you can say sand and surf.”
“Sand and surf!” Buffy bit back a giggle.
“Or maybe we have a little more time than that.”
“So, Spike … ever been trapped on an island paradise with your mortal enemy before?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Me neither.”
Okay, so she was all but saying what he was thinking. “How ‘bout we do this place up right, pet? Grill something tasty for dinner, frolic in the surf, maybe watch some telly and pig out on whatever materializes in the cupboards?”
Buffy frowned. It was wrong, right? She should be doing research or looking for something to beat up. Only there wasn’t a library in sight, and her friendly neighborhood demon was standing in full sunlight. She slowly broke into a smile, an ear-to-ear grin that called on muscles she hadn’t recently used. “Okay. Let’s make the best of it.”
“Too right we will.”
***
“How are we so sure he didn’t kill her?” Xander whispered, after glancing to make sure that Dawn wasn’t listening.
“Hey, I don’t like Spike any better than you, but for starters, no body.”
“Great. Then he turned her.”
Willow rolled her eyes. “Listen, weird things have been happening lately. Right? And not weird like, Sunnydale freak-fest, but weird like … weird.”
“Oh, that clears it up.”
“No, I mean … I think that right now, it makes sense that something happened that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Willow …”
“I promise. If we find one shred of evidence that Spike’s done anything wrong, I’ll be the first to go after him, okay?”
“If they are trapped somewhere together, I just hope he’s behaving himself.”
Willow frowned, but settled for returning to her spellbook. The sooner she figured out how to talk to Buffy, the better she’d feel.
***
They’d had the kind of day that Buffy had stopped dreaming of a long time ago … back before Riley left, really.
There had been the obligatory and somewhat awkward walk on the beach, but with every step it got easier and easier to forget that he was Spike, the Evil Undead. By sunset, she couldn’t help but think of him as just a guy. Maybe not the guy she’d imagine for a romantic walk in the surf, but lately when she tried to picture her perfect date she kept coming up with Jude Law.
Okay, so Spike wasn’t Jude. But since when had she had a thing for British accents anyhow?
Later Spike had grilled steaks and veggies, which were surprisingly good. They’d downed a bottle of wine and devoured an apple tart that turned up in the refrigerator at just the right time, sitting outside watching the night sky.
“It’s like the stars turn on, one by one, with a switch,” Spike mused.
Buffy glanced at him. He was miles away, even though he was right here on the patio, feet up on the railing.
“They’ve moved, y’know. Shifted, just a bit, since I was a boy. So gradually, it’s almost impossible to recognize. But if you know what you’re looking for, the patterns just pop out.”
“I’ve never been much for stargazing. Unless you count Us Weekly.”
“’S relaxing. To see there’s something bigger than us and our petty little problems.”
“Like being stuck in this alternate dimension?”
Spike turned to face her. “Don’t think ‘ts so bad now, pet.”
She gulped and stood too quickly. “Well, I think I’ll turn in. Big day tomorrow.”
“Right. Tomorrow we repair the SS Minnow and set sail.”
Buffy smiled and turned to head up, Spike on her heels.
Only when she entered the bedroom did she realize the problem.
There was still only one bed.
***
Willow finished chanting and Tara gave one last wave of incense for good measure.
“That should do it,” Willow whispered, and on cue, the conch shell disappeared.
“He – he wouldn’t hurt her, Willow.”
“Maybe not. But we don’t have any idea what kind of world they’re in. It could be a hell dimension.”
Tara grimaced. This was the same argument from the summertime. “Or it could be paradise.”
***
“So what do we do?” Buffy stared at the big bed. Despite her mental pleas, the house had failed to spawn a second bedroom or even a second bed. In fact, she’d been rather desperately imagining a sleeping bag for the past few minutes and that hadn’t shown up in any of the closets, either.
Now Spike was upstairs and staring at their king-sized problem.
“Listen, this is a big bed. And I’ll bet if you walk your pretty little self over to that closet, there will be a generous pile of downy pillows.”
Buffy frowned, but decided that she’d just fling open the doors and prove how uncooperative the house was being on this front.
Instead, she flung open the doors and found an avalanche of pillows coming her way. She tossed a few towards Spike, and he set about dividing the bed in half.
“That’ll do, I think. Your virtue will be safe.”
“Thank you.”
Buffy crawled into her half of the bed and burrowed under the covers. Sleep wouldn’t come, though. It wasn’t just that she was in an unfamiliar and potentially dangerous place, no. Buffy couldn’t help but wonder … if the dimension gave residents everything they wanted, exactly when they wanted it, why would there be only one bed?
***
Xander turned to Anya, staring at her not-quite-sleeping face in their too-small bed.
“Ahn? Sweetie?”
“Yeah?”
“So have you ever been to these alternate dimensions?”
“Personally? No. But I’ve had postcards.”
“So what are they like?”
“Most are them are fine, just different. Some are nice. Are you worried about her?”
“Always. And no, ‘cause hey, Slayer.”
Anya frowed, sitting up. “Or maybe not.”
“What do you mean … not the Slayer?”
“Maybe not. If we were to poof! into an alternate dimension right now we would still be us, but we might not be … well …”
Xander waited, trying not to show his impatience.
“Remember the spell with Jonathan? Buffy was still Buffy – but because the conditions were different, she was changed.”
“But that doesn’t mean she won’t be okay, right?”
“It doesn’t mean anything. Different is just different.”
“So if Spike is with her, she can defend herself?”
Anya fell silent, thinking again.
“Ahn?”
“Sorry, sweetie. It’s just … you have to understand that Spike might be different, too.”
Ch. 4: Sweet Retreat
Buffy woke up first.
The pillow barrier was still mostly intact, but Spike had grabbed for the one separating their faces and hugged it to his chest.
She found herself staring at his sleeping face – the planes of his cheekbones, his tousled curls and those sensual lips – and reluctantly admitted that he was a beautiful man. Not her type, exactly. Nope, she liked the big, brawny ones, the ones that towered over her. And, hey, awake Spike had other negative qualities.
She had seen mostly his good side yesterday. They’d had a blast with the walking and the cooking and the stargazing.
He shifted slightly in his sleep, and Buffy found herself gazing longingly at his mouth. Those kisses, from the spell all those months back … he had been a good kisser. I wonder what else he’s good at? she wondered idly. Bad Buffy! she corrected herself, shocked to admit that she’d be staring lustily at the enemy.
With a head-clearing shake, she slipped out of the bed.
***
As her weight left the mattress, Spike stirred. He’d slept like the dead, only definitely not the dead. He’d slept like a normal pulse-having guy after a spectacular evening. Even if it did end with him being sentenced to eight hours in Fort Goosedown.
He could hear the Slayer downstairs, sliding open the back door and heading across the patio. So if he needed to take care of his early morning raging hard-on, now was the time …
And then it hit him that he could walk on the beach in the early morning sun.
Without a second thought, Spike was out of bed and moving for his closet.
***
“Morning,” he jogged towards her. “Beautiful day, innit?”
Buffy tossed a piece of sea glass in her bucket and whirled to face him. “Hey.”
“Sleep well?”
“Yeah, I did. And to wake up to this? This is just amazing.”
The small part of her that screamed Danger, Buffy Summers! at his presence was quieting with each passing minute. Especially as they stood in the early morning sunshine.
How could a guy bring you any pain when he splashed into the water like that, not even stopping to take off his sandals, wading in all the way to his shins? A guy like that … he had to be good, at least for right now.
“Watch out for the …” Spike sputtered as the water rushed over him, sending him falling onto his ass. “… wave.”
“Thanks, Slayer.”
“No problem,” she giggled, as he dusted wet sand off his calves. His extremely muscular calves. With a start, Buffy turned her eyes to sand at his feet. “Hey, that’s a granddaddy of a seashell.”
“Maybe you can sell it by the seashore.”
“Give it here before the tide washes it away.”
Spike picked up the conch. “Can’t say I’m much of a beachcomber, pet, but this looks a little store-bought.”
“There isn’t a store anywhere on this island. Unless you’ve been imagining things again. Oooh, maybe I should imagine a mall, with an Armani Exchange and …”
“Just take the shell.”
As Buffy took it from his hand, she heard a funny little patch of feedback, like the PA system at Sunnydale High crackling to life.
“Buffy? Buffy? Can you hear me?”
Buffy frowned at Spike, but put the shell up to her ear.
“Buffy, if you can hear me, this is Willow. We think you’re trapped in a demon dimension, but don’t worry, Buf, we’re working on getting you out. Buffy? Buffy?”
“I hear you, Wil. I’m here. I’m alright. And, um, I’m with Sp-”
“Hey!” He cut her off with a look.
“Ummm … yeah, I’m okay. So, ummm … no rush. I mean, I want to come home, but don’t, like, stay up all night working on it.”
“Buffy? Buffy? Can you hear me?” Willow's message repeated.
Buffy frowned at the shell.
“Pet, I think she’s yelling into nothingness.”
“Why would she do that?”
“She doesn’t know that you can hear her. My guess is they were trying for a telephone, but ended up with more of a megaphone.”
“Oh. So … they’re looking for me.”
“And apparently having some success with the finding.”
Buffy briefly considered pitching the shell back into the churning waves. Not that she intended to stay here forever, no. But Willow had managed to yank her out of eternal rest, so a little bitty paradise dimension shouldn’t pose much of a challenge.
With a sigh, she reached for her pail and carefully deposited the shell-not-shell inside. If this was going to end soon – and really, how could this last? – she’d better enjoy whatever carefree time she had left.
“So, Spike, can you swim?”
***
Spike was certain that the shell would spell the end of Vacation Buffy and herald the arrival of her evil twin, Business Buffy. BB would certainly not approve of taking nights off to dine with men who went sans pulse in more familiar surroundings. But to his shock and delight, the Vacation version of his girl had remained firmly in charge, turned to him with a megawatt smile and asked if he could swim.
As it happened, he couldn’t. So instead they raced in the water, tossed around a football that appeared at just the right moment and laughed together as Spike took a few more truly spectacular spills.
Buffy was just picking him up from one of his more dramatic tumbles, when he saw it out of the corner of his eye. “Think our hosts have been anticipating our wishes again, pet.”
She glanced backwards. Sure enough, where the beach had been empty, there now stood a small pavilion with a thatched roof, two curving wooden loungers piled with pillows, and a table holding a picnic basket.
“Lunch would be good now. Race ya?”
***
Under her lounger, Buffy found a tote bag. Wouldn’t be more complete if she’d packed it herself. “Hmmm … SPF 16. Do you think alternate sun burns?”
Spike was digging through his bag, too. “I’m guessing it wouldn’t be here if we didn’t need it.”
Buffy uncapped her bottle and went about the process of rubbing it into her arms and then legs.
Spike waited. Would be only a matter of minutes before …
“Umm … Spike? Would you, y’know, maybe, do my back?”
“My pleasure. One condition, pet?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ll have to return the favor.”
“Oh. Okay.” She tossed him the bottle and flopped onto her belly.
Spike’s hands trembled as he approached her form. She’d closed her eyes, pillowing her head on her folded arms. So trusting, so beautiful, so strong.
Buffy opened one impatient eye. “Before the sun sets would be good, Spike.”
“Sorry, pet. Just, umm … reading the label to make sure this stuff won’t deposit us in the Arctic.”
Seeing nothing suspect on the label, he squeezed the bottle. Too much suntan lotion spilled into his hands. Okay, well, that meant he’d have to cover more than just her shoulder blades. With slow, deliberate strokes, he massaged the lotion into her skin, starting at her shoulders and working his way down, around the tie of her bikini top, sticking to neutral parts that could be safely considered non-erogenous zones.
“Wait.” Buffy reached behind her to untie her top.
Damn. When it came to Buffy, everything was an erogenous zone.
Obediently, he traveled back to cover the parts of her back missed. As he relaxed into his task, he could feel her unwinding, too. “You’ve got a knot right here, pet.”
“Yeah … ummm … that feels good.”
He was already hard. That little sigh took him from merely uncomfortable to Rock-of-Gibraltar-painful.
“A little lower?”
His hands followed her directions, but stopped an inch above her bikini bottoms.
“Don’t miss there. Don’t wanna be stripey.”
Her bikini bottoms were small-ish, and getting the suntan lotion on every bit of flesh likely to be exposed? That wasn’t the easiest charge, not if you were trying to remain a veneer of polite indifference. To say nothing of trying not to spill right into your swim trunks. With a deep and necessary breath, Spike continued.
“Thanks.” She finally released him, long minutes later. “My turn. With all the time you haven’t spent in the sun, it’s a wonder we aren’t already starring in The Adventures of Beach Girl and Lobster Boy.”
Spike dove for his lounger, eager for her ministrations, but especially nervous to hide his erection.
“See, this is a smart island. You have SPF 40. ‘Course you probably need more like SPF 400, but I guess the island knows what it’s doing.”
Buffy expertly poured a dab of lotion into her palms, then gently started at his neck.
“What’s your real hair color?”
“What’s yours?”
“Blonde.” She toyed with the strands at the nape of his neck. “And I asked first.”
“Fine. Blonde, too.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Been a long time since I wore it out, pet. Same’s true of you, I wager.”
Her hands slowed, and Spike gulped for air. In retrospect, stretching out on your stomach while a girl you desperately want massages your back? Not the best choice if you’re looking to not embarass yourself.
And then her hands disappeared entirely, and Spike felt cold. “Hey …”
“Not stopping. Just shifting.” Buffy stood and straddled him, knees poised on either side of his hips. Her inner thighs rubbed against his swim trunks, but she balanced herself so none of her weight rested on his back.
As she resumed her caresses, Spike’s eyes rolled up into their sockets with the effort of not coming.
Long minutes later, she stepped aside. Spike stayed right where he was, stomach to the cushion, eyes closed.
“Something wrong, Spike?”
Did he hear what he thought he heard in her voice? Girl wasn’t a virgin. She must know what all of that – straddling – would do to a man. He opened an eye and couldn’t read her face. “Just not used to ... oxygen.”
“Oxygen?”
“Yeah. And, uh, the smell of coconuts.”
“Ohhhkaaaay.”
She’d stretched back out on her lounger, leaving Spike wondering if he’d just missed a huge opening.
***
Buffy tried to control her inner hotron.
It might look like she was flipping through last month’s copy of Style magazine.
But mostly she was trying to figure out how she could fling wide the barn doors and get nothin’ in response. And wondering if boy vampires were so much more highly sexed than regular guys. Was it possible Spike wasn’t attracted to her in his heartbeat-having form?
Anyway, this was good. Because she’d clearly gotten carried away with the Wicked Games motif here. All that sun and crashing waves and perfect blue clouds and seagulls crying. Did she really think it was a good idea to just get it on here in the middle of this place?
If she was honest with herself, part of her did.
***
“Might go up to the cottage. Shower off some of this sand,” he said, once her nose was buried in a fashion mag.
“Okay.” She didn’t look up.
Which was the only thing, really, that let Spike make it back to the house without blushing.
Under a skin-singe hot shower, he grabbed hold of his cock and pumped, imagining being back on the lounger with Buffy straddling him. Only he was facing her this time, looking into her eyes as she rode him, her inner walls clenching around him until he couldn’t take any more.
With a gasp of pleasure, Spike fell back against the cool white tile of the shower stall.
Maybe now he’d get through a few more hours in her presence without losing his sanity. Or worse, just throwing her to the ground and ravaging her.
He could feel his cock stir again at that thought. “No, no, no.” He forced himself to calm down and stepped out to towel off.
And came face to face with Buffy.
The pillow barrier was still mostly intact, but Spike had grabbed for the one separating their faces and hugged it to his chest.
She found herself staring at his sleeping face – the planes of his cheekbones, his tousled curls and those sensual lips – and reluctantly admitted that he was a beautiful man. Not her type, exactly. Nope, she liked the big, brawny ones, the ones that towered over her. And, hey, awake Spike had other negative qualities.
She had seen mostly his good side yesterday. They’d had a blast with the walking and the cooking and the stargazing.
He shifted slightly in his sleep, and Buffy found herself gazing longingly at his mouth. Those kisses, from the spell all those months back … he had been a good kisser. I wonder what else he’s good at? she wondered idly. Bad Buffy! she corrected herself, shocked to admit that she’d be staring lustily at the enemy.
With a head-clearing shake, she slipped out of the bed.
***
As her weight left the mattress, Spike stirred. He’d slept like the dead, only definitely not the dead. He’d slept like a normal pulse-having guy after a spectacular evening. Even if it did end with him being sentenced to eight hours in Fort Goosedown.
He could hear the Slayer downstairs, sliding open the back door and heading across the patio. So if he needed to take care of his early morning raging hard-on, now was the time …
And then it hit him that he could walk on the beach in the early morning sun.
Without a second thought, Spike was out of bed and moving for his closet.
***
“Morning,” he jogged towards her. “Beautiful day, innit?”
Buffy tossed a piece of sea glass in her bucket and whirled to face him. “Hey.”
“Sleep well?”
“Yeah, I did. And to wake up to this? This is just amazing.”
The small part of her that screamed Danger, Buffy Summers! at his presence was quieting with each passing minute. Especially as they stood in the early morning sunshine.
How could a guy bring you any pain when he splashed into the water like that, not even stopping to take off his sandals, wading in all the way to his shins? A guy like that … he had to be good, at least for right now.
“Watch out for the …” Spike sputtered as the water rushed over him, sending him falling onto his ass. “… wave.”
“Thanks, Slayer.”
“No problem,” she giggled, as he dusted wet sand off his calves. His extremely muscular calves. With a start, Buffy turned her eyes to sand at his feet. “Hey, that’s a granddaddy of a seashell.”
“Maybe you can sell it by the seashore.”
“Give it here before the tide washes it away.”
Spike picked up the conch. “Can’t say I’m much of a beachcomber, pet, but this looks a little store-bought.”
“There isn’t a store anywhere on this island. Unless you’ve been imagining things again. Oooh, maybe I should imagine a mall, with an Armani Exchange and …”
“Just take the shell.”
As Buffy took it from his hand, she heard a funny little patch of feedback, like the PA system at Sunnydale High crackling to life.
“Buffy? Buffy? Can you hear me?”
Buffy frowned at Spike, but put the shell up to her ear.
“Buffy, if you can hear me, this is Willow. We think you’re trapped in a demon dimension, but don’t worry, Buf, we’re working on getting you out. Buffy? Buffy?”
“I hear you, Wil. I’m here. I’m alright. And, um, I’m with Sp-”
“Hey!” He cut her off with a look.
“Ummm … yeah, I’m okay. So, ummm … no rush. I mean, I want to come home, but don’t, like, stay up all night working on it.”
“Buffy? Buffy? Can you hear me?” Willow's message repeated.
Buffy frowned at the shell.
“Pet, I think she’s yelling into nothingness.”
“Why would she do that?”
“She doesn’t know that you can hear her. My guess is they were trying for a telephone, but ended up with more of a megaphone.”
“Oh. So … they’re looking for me.”
“And apparently having some success with the finding.”
Buffy briefly considered pitching the shell back into the churning waves. Not that she intended to stay here forever, no. But Willow had managed to yank her out of eternal rest, so a little bitty paradise dimension shouldn’t pose much of a challenge.
With a sigh, she reached for her pail and carefully deposited the shell-not-shell inside. If this was going to end soon – and really, how could this last? – she’d better enjoy whatever carefree time she had left.
“So, Spike, can you swim?”
***
Spike was certain that the shell would spell the end of Vacation Buffy and herald the arrival of her evil twin, Business Buffy. BB would certainly not approve of taking nights off to dine with men who went sans pulse in more familiar surroundings. But to his shock and delight, the Vacation version of his girl had remained firmly in charge, turned to him with a megawatt smile and asked if he could swim.
As it happened, he couldn’t. So instead they raced in the water, tossed around a football that appeared at just the right moment and laughed together as Spike took a few more truly spectacular spills.
Buffy was just picking him up from one of his more dramatic tumbles, when he saw it out of the corner of his eye. “Think our hosts have been anticipating our wishes again, pet.”
She glanced backwards. Sure enough, where the beach had been empty, there now stood a small pavilion with a thatched roof, two curving wooden loungers piled with pillows, and a table holding a picnic basket.
“Lunch would be good now. Race ya?”
***
Under her lounger, Buffy found a tote bag. Wouldn’t be more complete if she’d packed it herself. “Hmmm … SPF 16. Do you think alternate sun burns?”
Spike was digging through his bag, too. “I’m guessing it wouldn’t be here if we didn’t need it.”
Buffy uncapped her bottle and went about the process of rubbing it into her arms and then legs.
Spike waited. Would be only a matter of minutes before …
“Umm … Spike? Would you, y’know, maybe, do my back?”
“My pleasure. One condition, pet?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ll have to return the favor.”
“Oh. Okay.” She tossed him the bottle and flopped onto her belly.
Spike’s hands trembled as he approached her form. She’d closed her eyes, pillowing her head on her folded arms. So trusting, so beautiful, so strong.
Buffy opened one impatient eye. “Before the sun sets would be good, Spike.”
“Sorry, pet. Just, umm … reading the label to make sure this stuff won’t deposit us in the Arctic.”
Seeing nothing suspect on the label, he squeezed the bottle. Too much suntan lotion spilled into his hands. Okay, well, that meant he’d have to cover more than just her shoulder blades. With slow, deliberate strokes, he massaged the lotion into her skin, starting at her shoulders and working his way down, around the tie of her bikini top, sticking to neutral parts that could be safely considered non-erogenous zones.
“Wait.” Buffy reached behind her to untie her top.
Damn. When it came to Buffy, everything was an erogenous zone.
Obediently, he traveled back to cover the parts of her back missed. As he relaxed into his task, he could feel her unwinding, too. “You’ve got a knot right here, pet.”
“Yeah … ummm … that feels good.”
He was already hard. That little sigh took him from merely uncomfortable to Rock-of-Gibraltar-painful.
“A little lower?”
His hands followed her directions, but stopped an inch above her bikini bottoms.
“Don’t miss there. Don’t wanna be stripey.”
Her bikini bottoms were small-ish, and getting the suntan lotion on every bit of flesh likely to be exposed? That wasn’t the easiest charge, not if you were trying to remain a veneer of polite indifference. To say nothing of trying not to spill right into your swim trunks. With a deep and necessary breath, Spike continued.
“Thanks.” She finally released him, long minutes later. “My turn. With all the time you haven’t spent in the sun, it’s a wonder we aren’t already starring in The Adventures of Beach Girl and Lobster Boy.”
Spike dove for his lounger, eager for her ministrations, but especially nervous to hide his erection.
“See, this is a smart island. You have SPF 40. ‘Course you probably need more like SPF 400, but I guess the island knows what it’s doing.”
Buffy expertly poured a dab of lotion into her palms, then gently started at his neck.
“What’s your real hair color?”
“What’s yours?”
“Blonde.” She toyed with the strands at the nape of his neck. “And I asked first.”
“Fine. Blonde, too.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Been a long time since I wore it out, pet. Same’s true of you, I wager.”
Her hands slowed, and Spike gulped for air. In retrospect, stretching out on your stomach while a girl you desperately want massages your back? Not the best choice if you’re looking to not embarass yourself.
And then her hands disappeared entirely, and Spike felt cold. “Hey …”
“Not stopping. Just shifting.” Buffy stood and straddled him, knees poised on either side of his hips. Her inner thighs rubbed against his swim trunks, but she balanced herself so none of her weight rested on his back.
As she resumed her caresses, Spike’s eyes rolled up into their sockets with the effort of not coming.
Long minutes later, she stepped aside. Spike stayed right where he was, stomach to the cushion, eyes closed.
“Something wrong, Spike?”
Did he hear what he thought he heard in her voice? Girl wasn’t a virgin. She must know what all of that – straddling – would do to a man. He opened an eye and couldn’t read her face. “Just not used to ... oxygen.”
“Oxygen?”
“Yeah. And, uh, the smell of coconuts.”
“Ohhhkaaaay.”
She’d stretched back out on her lounger, leaving Spike wondering if he’d just missed a huge opening.
***
Buffy tried to control her inner hotron.
It might look like she was flipping through last month’s copy of Style magazine.
But mostly she was trying to figure out how she could fling wide the barn doors and get nothin’ in response. And wondering if boy vampires were so much more highly sexed than regular guys. Was it possible Spike wasn’t attracted to her in his heartbeat-having form?
Anyway, this was good. Because she’d clearly gotten carried away with the Wicked Games motif here. All that sun and crashing waves and perfect blue clouds and seagulls crying. Did she really think it was a good idea to just get it on here in the middle of this place?
If she was honest with herself, part of her did.
***
“Might go up to the cottage. Shower off some of this sand,” he said, once her nose was buried in a fashion mag.
“Okay.” She didn’t look up.
Which was the only thing, really, that let Spike make it back to the house without blushing.
Under a skin-singe hot shower, he grabbed hold of his cock and pumped, imagining being back on the lounger with Buffy straddling him. Only he was facing her this time, looking into her eyes as she rode him, her inner walls clenching around him until he couldn’t take any more.
With a gasp of pleasure, Spike fell back against the cool white tile of the shower stall.
Maybe now he’d get through a few more hours in her presence without losing his sanity. Or worse, just throwing her to the ground and ravaging her.
He could feel his cock stir again at that thought. “No, no, no.” He forced himself to calm down and stepped out to towel off.
And came face to face with Buffy.
Ch. 5: New View
Anya dialed the fifteenth number on the list. “Hi, Jelixka? Anyanka! Yeah, yeah … it’s true. Trapped, in a meat suit. Yup, human form … not so bad … really, thanks, but your sympathies aren’t necessary … why am I calling? Oh yeah … so I’m running this business now, a magic shop … wanted to get in touch with some of the Unfugs …”
She listened as her demon pal reminisced about Unfug products that had fueled an extra wacky weekend back in Arashmaharr.
“Yeah, Jel. Good times … so do you know how … you do? Great.”
Anya carefully wrote down the information.
“What’s that, Jel? Be careful of the … oh, they do? Unstable. So what happens if … they collapse, over time? How much time … no one knows for sure? Depends on the spell … okay, well, um, thanks … yeah, we’ll get together real soon.”
With a shudder, she picked up the phone and dialed from memory. “Willow? I’ve got a lead on how to find the Unfugs, only there’s something else we need to research.”
***
“Did you wish for a blue sky?”
“Right now I’m wishing for a towel.” Spike scowled back at Buffy’s accusing glare, focused squarely on his neck and above. “And we’ve had blue skies ever since we landed.”
“Not blue blue,” Buffy huffed, handing over a towel and averting her eyes. “Blue blue.”
“Oh, that clears it up ever so.”
“Just come see!” Buffy yanked on his arm and dragged him, dripping wet and barely towel clad, to the picture windows of the bedroom suite.
“Vivid.”
The skies had darkened, from postcard-perfect blue to something deeper.
“Don’t you think it might be … I dunno … bad? Like a storm or a quake or another really bad natural disaster thingie?”
“Pet, I’ve scarcely seen daylight in over a century. And that was mostly in England, which isn’t exactly a tropical paradise. So, first, can’t rightly say that this is so strange. And, second, in the context of other strange things, the sky coming over peacock blue is the least of it.” Spike glanced at Buffy’s hand, still gripping his wrist above his pulse point.
Buffy dropped his wrist, as if she’d just realized that she’d dragged an all-but-naked Spike into the bedroom and was still clutching him, inches away from the bed.
Their bed.
“Listen, Buffy … we don’t know a thing ‘bout how this place works, yeah? Maybe one of us had a stray thought and presto, sky gets bluer. Don’t think there’s likely to be a terrific storm in a place like this, and if there were one, we’d just wish ourselves an ark.”
With a sigh, Buffy stepped away from the window. “Yeah. I guess I’m just waiting for the bad. It’s been so long since anything’s gone right, I figure there’s some cosmic rule in place. Buffy’s Law: If a demonic incident can ruin your real world bliss, a demonic incident will ruin your real world bliss.”
Spike cocked an eyebrow at her choice of words, but didn’t press her. And Buffy was too busy staring at the sky to notice his expression.
“Maybe this is just a spectacular sunset. I’m sorry I wigged.”
“No apology required, luv.”
“Thanks. I’m gonna go see if I can find something for dinner. Are you coming downstairs?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah,” Spike answered, hoping that he sounded casual and relaxed.
***
Buffy gripped the granite countertop and tried to still her racing heart.
She’d been careful to not look at Spike there when she went to fetch him from the shower. And that had been necessary. Unavoidable, even. What if the sky really had been a harbinger of doom?
Now that everything looked like it was okay, she was trying to quiet the part of her mind that had been screaming Look! Look! Look! the whole time.
She’d won, of course. She’d managed to keep things mostly platonic with Spike this afternoon, right?
“Ahem,” her inner voice cleared its throat.
“Okay, so maybe not platonic … but nothing happened,” she mumbled. In the distant back of her brain a memory of a voice bubbled to the surface. “Want. Take. Have.”
“What’s that, pet?” Spike padded into the kitchen on bare feet, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his hair combed back.
Yum, Buffy thought. But she managed to answer, “oh … just um … just saying that I wasn’t sure what we should be having. For dinner.”
“Think maybe there’s such a thing as a restaurant in these parts?”
“Oooh … if there was one, there would be crème brulee for dessert.”
“Well, then, let’s go search out your crème brulee.”
***
“Anything?” Anya ushered the last customers from the Magic Box, locking the door before turning back to the research table.
Willow frowned at her iBook. “Well, your friend was right. The alternate dimension spells can be really unstable. But exactly how unstable has to do with tons of variables. Like any spell, really.”
“Okay, so if there’s an alternaquake, what? Buffy just pops back home?” Xander asked.
Anya bit her lip, and Willow’s frown deepened.
“If that’s not it, would one of you two like to explain it to the non-magically inclined?” Xander looked from one grimacing face to another. “Hello?”
Anya sighed. “If the dimension collapses, there’s a chance that Buffy could be stuck there forever. In a sort of non-place specific wasteland. Some vengeance demons use them for, y'know, vengeance.”
“Well, that’s not so bad. If Anya could pop someone there, we can get Buffy back. I’m sure there’s a spell I could research …”
“Oh, I don’t know anyone who ever got anyone back out. Not in my 1200 years or so … maybe before. Or since.”
Xander reached for a bag of salt & vinegar chips. “Alright. So this still doesn’t change anything, right? We’ve got to get Buffy out of wherever she is, and we’ve got to do it fast.”
***
Spike had wondered in idle moments about whether or not the island would see fit to grant his every wish. The killer CD collection, the pantry stuffed-to-burst, the glorious sun and so on … hard to not like all those things, especially since he hadn’t spent much time topside in recent years, much less in digs so private and posh. But top of his letter to Saint Nick, were he to pen one, would still be Buffy’s affections. Freely given.
And thing was, as Buffy walked by his side, all decked out in a skimpy halter dress and strappy heels, he couldn’t be quite certain that it was all Buffy in the driver’s seat. She was acting like they were on a date, chatting idly about this and that and speculating on whether they’d find a restaurant and how they’d know when they found one.
It was, he couldn’t help but think, as if they were lovers on vacation in a foreign country where neither of them spoke the language.
Her hand brushed against his for the dozenth time since they’d set out. “Oooh, Spike … do you think that might be it?”
“Let’s check it out.”
***
As they stepped into the pavilion, Buffy felt herself relax. It wasn’t exactly T.G.I.Friday’s, but she recognized the look of the place. This was a restaurant, and she knew how to behave while seated across the table from a guy for dinner. Even if it was a Spike-guy.
Buffy was used to being in control of how she felt about boys. Tyler and Scott and Riley, well … everyone except Angel, really. They were available or they weren’t, they were suitable or they weren’t.
If she looked back on the most wig-worthy spells over the years, two stood out: her botched seduction of Xander and the engagement spell to Spike. Sure, hearing voices had been freaky and those nightmares? Really dreadful. But there was something about being in control of your own romantic destiny that seemed essential.
As they took their seats and picked up menus listing their favorite things, Spike smiled. “The island strikes again.”
At his words, music poured from the air, quiet but insistent in the background, the lyrics Spanish and the rhythms exotic.
“So how do you figure we order?” Spike asked.
Buffy considered his question for a minute. “I’m going to start with the layered spinach salad.”
“And I’ll have the gazpacho.”
The air shimmered between them, and their starters appeared.
“How ‘bout a bottle of something red?”
With another shimmer, Spike’s request was filled, along with two wine glasses.
“Spike, I don’t drink.”
“More for me then,” he replied as he filled her glass.
***
Xander pushed open the door to the Magic Box, carrying in two pizzas and a carrier tray of drinks.
“What took so long?”
“Some cowboy attacked an armored truck. Traffic's all snarled.”
“Vampires?”
“No, hon … the drivers were alive. Still are. The robbers just made off with over $25,000 in quarters.”
“They’d do better to steal large bills.”
“Well … yeah.”
Willow looked up from her research. “Why did the truck have $25,000 in quarters?”
“It was delivering to the video arcade.” Xander helped himself to a slice. “Wil, you have idea face. What’s up?”
***
After she’d choked down her first glass of wine, Buffy was surprised to discover that she’d acquired a taste. She’d had Spike conjure up another bottle.
And another.
“Easy, pet. Don’t know that we can wish away hangovers.”
Buffy shot him a look, and he refilled her glass.
The remains of her crème brulee and his chocolate cake were mid-table. He didn’t want to stand, didn’t want to break this spell, this night of having a date with the Slayer, as if they were just two normal people trapped on a desert isle with only phantom wish-granters to fulfill their every whim.
“We should head back,” she said quietly.
And there it was, he thought, the magic words that would end the spell and send him back to the divided bed and another night of unfulfilled desires. “If you say so, pet.”
“I do say so … can we walk on the beach?”
“Don’t know that we have another choice.”
“Good!”
“Slayer, are you tipsy?”
“No. No. Why would I be tipsy?” She hiccoughed.
“No reason.” He swallowed a smile and extended his arm, which she took without hesitation. Okay, he thought maybe we’re not ending this night quite yet.
She listened as her demon pal reminisced about Unfug products that had fueled an extra wacky weekend back in Arashmaharr.
“Yeah, Jel. Good times … so do you know how … you do? Great.”
Anya carefully wrote down the information.
“What’s that, Jel? Be careful of the … oh, they do? Unstable. So what happens if … they collapse, over time? How much time … no one knows for sure? Depends on the spell … okay, well, um, thanks … yeah, we’ll get together real soon.”
With a shudder, she picked up the phone and dialed from memory. “Willow? I’ve got a lead on how to find the Unfugs, only there’s something else we need to research.”
***
“Did you wish for a blue sky?”
“Right now I’m wishing for a towel.” Spike scowled back at Buffy’s accusing glare, focused squarely on his neck and above. “And we’ve had blue skies ever since we landed.”
“Not blue blue,” Buffy huffed, handing over a towel and averting her eyes. “Blue blue.”
“Oh, that clears it up ever so.”
“Just come see!” Buffy yanked on his arm and dragged him, dripping wet and barely towel clad, to the picture windows of the bedroom suite.
“Vivid.”
The skies had darkened, from postcard-perfect blue to something deeper.
“Don’t you think it might be … I dunno … bad? Like a storm or a quake or another really bad natural disaster thingie?”
“Pet, I’ve scarcely seen daylight in over a century. And that was mostly in England, which isn’t exactly a tropical paradise. So, first, can’t rightly say that this is so strange. And, second, in the context of other strange things, the sky coming over peacock blue is the least of it.” Spike glanced at Buffy’s hand, still gripping his wrist above his pulse point.
Buffy dropped his wrist, as if she’d just realized that she’d dragged an all-but-naked Spike into the bedroom and was still clutching him, inches away from the bed.
Their bed.
“Listen, Buffy … we don’t know a thing ‘bout how this place works, yeah? Maybe one of us had a stray thought and presto, sky gets bluer. Don’t think there’s likely to be a terrific storm in a place like this, and if there were one, we’d just wish ourselves an ark.”
With a sigh, Buffy stepped away from the window. “Yeah. I guess I’m just waiting for the bad. It’s been so long since anything’s gone right, I figure there’s some cosmic rule in place. Buffy’s Law: If a demonic incident can ruin your real world bliss, a demonic incident will ruin your real world bliss.”
Spike cocked an eyebrow at her choice of words, but didn’t press her. And Buffy was too busy staring at the sky to notice his expression.
“Maybe this is just a spectacular sunset. I’m sorry I wigged.”
“No apology required, luv.”
“Thanks. I’m gonna go see if I can find something for dinner. Are you coming downstairs?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah,” Spike answered, hoping that he sounded casual and relaxed.
***
Buffy gripped the granite countertop and tried to still her racing heart.
She’d been careful to not look at Spike there when she went to fetch him from the shower. And that had been necessary. Unavoidable, even. What if the sky really had been a harbinger of doom?
Now that everything looked like it was okay, she was trying to quiet the part of her mind that had been screaming Look! Look! Look! the whole time.
She’d won, of course. She’d managed to keep things mostly platonic with Spike this afternoon, right?
“Ahem,” her inner voice cleared its throat.
“Okay, so maybe not platonic … but nothing happened,” she mumbled. In the distant back of her brain a memory of a voice bubbled to the surface. “Want. Take. Have.”
“What’s that, pet?” Spike padded into the kitchen on bare feet, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his hair combed back.
Yum, Buffy thought. But she managed to answer, “oh … just um … just saying that I wasn’t sure what we should be having. For dinner.”
“Think maybe there’s such a thing as a restaurant in these parts?”
“Oooh … if there was one, there would be crème brulee for dessert.”
“Well, then, let’s go search out your crème brulee.”
***
“Anything?” Anya ushered the last customers from the Magic Box, locking the door before turning back to the research table.
Willow frowned at her iBook. “Well, your friend was right. The alternate dimension spells can be really unstable. But exactly how unstable has to do with tons of variables. Like any spell, really.”
“Okay, so if there’s an alternaquake, what? Buffy just pops back home?” Xander asked.
Anya bit her lip, and Willow’s frown deepened.
“If that’s not it, would one of you two like to explain it to the non-magically inclined?” Xander looked from one grimacing face to another. “Hello?”
Anya sighed. “If the dimension collapses, there’s a chance that Buffy could be stuck there forever. In a sort of non-place specific wasteland. Some vengeance demons use them for, y'know, vengeance.”
“Well, that’s not so bad. If Anya could pop someone there, we can get Buffy back. I’m sure there’s a spell I could research …”
“Oh, I don’t know anyone who ever got anyone back out. Not in my 1200 years or so … maybe before. Or since.”
Xander reached for a bag of salt & vinegar chips. “Alright. So this still doesn’t change anything, right? We’ve got to get Buffy out of wherever she is, and we’ve got to do it fast.”
***
Spike had wondered in idle moments about whether or not the island would see fit to grant his every wish. The killer CD collection, the pantry stuffed-to-burst, the glorious sun and so on … hard to not like all those things, especially since he hadn’t spent much time topside in recent years, much less in digs so private and posh. But top of his letter to Saint Nick, were he to pen one, would still be Buffy’s affections. Freely given.
And thing was, as Buffy walked by his side, all decked out in a skimpy halter dress and strappy heels, he couldn’t be quite certain that it was all Buffy in the driver’s seat. She was acting like they were on a date, chatting idly about this and that and speculating on whether they’d find a restaurant and how they’d know when they found one.
It was, he couldn’t help but think, as if they were lovers on vacation in a foreign country where neither of them spoke the language.
Her hand brushed against his for the dozenth time since they’d set out. “Oooh, Spike … do you think that might be it?”
“Let’s check it out.”
***
As they stepped into the pavilion, Buffy felt herself relax. It wasn’t exactly T.G.I.Friday’s, but she recognized the look of the place. This was a restaurant, and she knew how to behave while seated across the table from a guy for dinner. Even if it was a Spike-guy.
Buffy was used to being in control of how she felt about boys. Tyler and Scott and Riley, well … everyone except Angel, really. They were available or they weren’t, they were suitable or they weren’t.
If she looked back on the most wig-worthy spells over the years, two stood out: her botched seduction of Xander and the engagement spell to Spike. Sure, hearing voices had been freaky and those nightmares? Really dreadful. But there was something about being in control of your own romantic destiny that seemed essential.
As they took their seats and picked up menus listing their favorite things, Spike smiled. “The island strikes again.”
At his words, music poured from the air, quiet but insistent in the background, the lyrics Spanish and the rhythms exotic.
“So how do you figure we order?” Spike asked.
Buffy considered his question for a minute. “I’m going to start with the layered spinach salad.”
“And I’ll have the gazpacho.”
The air shimmered between them, and their starters appeared.
“How ‘bout a bottle of something red?”
With another shimmer, Spike’s request was filled, along with two wine glasses.
“Spike, I don’t drink.”
“More for me then,” he replied as he filled her glass.
***
Xander pushed open the door to the Magic Box, carrying in two pizzas and a carrier tray of drinks.
“What took so long?”
“Some cowboy attacked an armored truck. Traffic's all snarled.”
“Vampires?”
“No, hon … the drivers were alive. Still are. The robbers just made off with over $25,000 in quarters.”
“They’d do better to steal large bills.”
“Well … yeah.”
Willow looked up from her research. “Why did the truck have $25,000 in quarters?”
“It was delivering to the video arcade.” Xander helped himself to a slice. “Wil, you have idea face. What’s up?”
***
After she’d choked down her first glass of wine, Buffy was surprised to discover that she’d acquired a taste. She’d had Spike conjure up another bottle.
And another.
“Easy, pet. Don’t know that we can wish away hangovers.”
Buffy shot him a look, and he refilled her glass.
The remains of her crème brulee and his chocolate cake were mid-table. He didn’t want to stand, didn’t want to break this spell, this night of having a date with the Slayer, as if they were just two normal people trapped on a desert isle with only phantom wish-granters to fulfill their every whim.
“We should head back,” she said quietly.
And there it was, he thought, the magic words that would end the spell and send him back to the divided bed and another night of unfulfilled desires. “If you say so, pet.”
“I do say so … can we walk on the beach?”
“Don’t know that we have another choice.”
“Good!”
“Slayer, are you tipsy?”
“No. No. Why would I be tipsy?” She hiccoughed.
“No reason.” He swallowed a smile and extended his arm, which she took without hesitation. Okay, he thought maybe we’re not ending this night quite yet.
Ch. 6: Higher Fire
Buffy might’ve insisted that she wasn’t drunk, but they both knew she’d gone over her limit.
“Steady, pet.”
“It’s these um … sands.”
“Sands?”
“Too lumpy. Wait,” she ordered, bending over to de-shoe herself, showing quite a bit of thigh in the process.
“Oh, yeah, you can hold your liquor, Slayer.” He bit back a laugh.
“What?” They resumed their slow progress down the beach.
“You all but went arse-over-teakettle taking off your footwear, s’all.”
“Arse over huh? And I’m the one with the C in English.”
“Shame you couldn’t take American instead. I’ve no doubt you’d have been head of the class.”
“See, Spike … this is your problem.”
“What? My command of the mother tongue?”
Tongue. There it was, curling between his teeth, retreating for one of his big-fat-cat-gorged-on-canaries smiles.
Buffy had a retort, something cutting. It was just there, at the far corner of her brain, if she could only … no, it was gone.
Maybe she had downed one too many glasses of the red. Her companion was swimming – not literally swimming in the ocean, but before her eyes, swaying and drifting. She knew it was him, because her feet were rooted firmly in the sand, her toes digging in deeper. If she could just get in down to her ankles, she was sure everything would be fine.
“Hold still, Spike!”
“Yeah. Am.”
“I’m … I’m sorry the blue sky. And the … naked. Ness.”
“Okay, right, apology accepted, pet. How ‘bout we head back to the house?”
“Yeah, the house. The bed. The shower. I really, really didn’t mean it. I just got surprised-ed when the sky was blue. Bluer than blue, y’know?”
“Right. We covered that.”
“Didn’t expect to find you naked. Well, except that … maybe I did expect to find you naked.”
It was Spike’s turn to freeze. He didn’t want an intoxicated Slayer falling all over him only to regret it in the morning. Then again, he knew she’d been sober as a judge when she’d walked in on him earlier.
“Catch me if you can!” With a spring, Buffy’s feet were out of the sand trenches, and she took off down the water’s edge with an ungainly, sprawling run.
“Buffy, wait!”
She turned back and stuck her tongue out at him. “Can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man! Slayer! Whatever! I’m fast!”
“Buffy, the house is the other way!”
She didn’t hear him.
“Damn and blast!” Spike ran after her.
***
Now I know this alternate reality is really fucking with my head, Spike thought, as a giggly Slayer let him catch her.
And then he felt sand underneath his legs, as he tumbled to the beach with her.
“You tripped me!”
“Did not!”
“Did so!”
“I think you were just drinking too much of the veeee-noooo!”
Spike snorted.
“Now who’s drunk on veeee-noooo?” She laughed again, loving her joke.
“Buffy, stop that!” She was twisting her legs up in his, her feet vining around his calves.
“What?”
“You know bloody well what you’re doing!” With a little kick and a roll, he pulled away from her.
And into the surf.
“Damn, damn, damn!”
She was giggling again, but unless this film was being shot in kinemacolor, she was also looking a bit off-shade.
“You’ll thank me for this,” scrambling to his feet, he gathered up his companion and prepared to carry her back towards the cottage.
“Put me down!” She kicked her feet, flailing in the night air.
“No.”
“At least get my shoes?”
Her pout was overdone, but with a reluctant sigh, Spike awkwardly bent down again and grabbed the sandals.
“Happy?”
“Yes, thank you.”
And with that, she settled into his arms.
“You’re going the wrong way.”
“No, I’m going the right way.”
“Uh-uh.” Buffy shifted and forced him to stop. “See?”
Sure enough, the cottage was behind them, and not terribly far at all.
“Must be a loop.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“What?” But with that, she’d fallen asleep.
***
“Xander, wake up,” Anya’s voice broke into his dreams.
“Whuh – whuh – is it time to make the doughnuts?”
“No. It’s 3 a.m., Xan,” Willow said.
“Actually, I think that is when they report to Donut Heaven to make the doughnuts.”
“It’s a commercial, Anya,” Willow explained.
“Oh, well, excuuuuse me.”
Xander came fully awake at the familiar sound of his girlfriend and best friend’s squabbling. “Great. As good as waking up to the sound of birds chirping.”
“Sorry, Xan. I just …”
“What time is it?”
“A little after 3.”
“And you’re both still up. And on what pot of coffee?”
Willow and Anya fidgeted with their mugs.
“But we’ve got something,” Willow insisted
“It better be good.”
“It is!” Anya added, apologetically. “We don’t think it’s a demon that’s after Buffy after all. I mean – the Unfugs are for real and all, but it looks like they might’ve been paid off by humans.”
“Humans? Like people humans? Why?”
Willow turned her screen around. “Look – see all these chat room entries? BobaFett94086 was pretty keen to learn about the Unfugs.”
“94086? That’s Sunnydale’s zip code.”
“Right. So I put on my hacker hat and traced BobaFett94086 to the Espresso Pump.”
“One of the baristas wants Buffy out of the way?”
Anya rolled her eyes. “No, honey. Someone was using the Espresso Pump’s network to send the messages undetected.”
“Yeah, or hacking into their system.”
“Kinda like you’re doing now, Wil?”
“Yeah,” she agreed brightly.
Anya leaned toward the screen to read some of the text. “Wow.”
“Is that a good wow or a bad wow? Wil?”
Anya squinted at the screen. “That’s a wow, they didn’t bother to make their trail all that hard to follow, did they?”
“Nope. Looks like BobaFett94086 is Mrs. Marian Mears of 131 Hampton Lane.”
“Mrs. Marian Mears? That doesn’t sound like a demon-dealing Star Wars freak to me.”
“Any chance she has a demon-dealing Star Wars freak son?”
“There’s a second phone line registered to Warren Mears. Hey – that’s the guy with the ‘bot.”
“What would he want with Buffy?”
“He doesn’t want her,” Anya huffed. “He wants her out of the way. Willow, read some of those messages.”
“Can anyone tell me how to find Unfugs or secondary reseller for Unfug alt-re products?”
“Okay. So they did this on purpose … oh. No. That’s too lame. They did this so they could knock off the truck delivering quarters to the video arcade?”
“It tracks with the demon bank robber when Buffy was in there the other week. And all that freaky stuff on her Groundhog Day.”
“Guess so. Alright, then. So what do we do about it?”
“We track down Warren and find out what he knows about the Unfug that sold him the Instant Sun.”
“Now?”
With a glance, Anya and Willow were in agreement. “Now.”
***
The house was close.
Spike tried to work through it in his mind. Was it possible the island was one big circle? Wait, make that a small circle? It had seemed bigger, but then he wasn’t used to measuring by daylight. And he’d spent most of his recent years in cities and towns, so reckoning distance across a flat expanse of nuthin’ wasn’t his specialty.
“Wait,” Buffy murmured, wriggling in his arms until she was sliding to her feet, stopping them both.
“Didn’t know you were awake.”
“I was dreaming.”
“So I see.”
“Don’t you just love nighttime on the beach?”
Spike thought back to a particularly delicious night in Texas, snacking on spring breakers. “Yeah. ‘Spose I do. But shouldn’t we be tucking you into bed?”
“Not yet.” With a smile, she reached into her bag and pulled out a box of sparklers. “Give me your lighter.”
“Don’t think I have …” but to his surprise, a Zippo was tucked into his front right pocket. “I stand corrected.”
She handed him one, then took her own and touched the flame to ignite. “Do yours!”
“Rather not, pet. Dangerous things. Sparky and such.”
“You’re not all flammable now.”
With a start, he realized that he could pick up the sparkler and twirl it around like a third rate beauty pageant contestant.
He could, but he was not so inclined.
Tossing the stick to the sands, he sighed as Buffy lit her second and drew a big initial B in the night.
“Spoil sport.”
He frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Here we are, marooned together, and I can’t help but think that we shouldn’t be getting so cozy.”
“Why not?”
“What with my official status as persona non grata back in SunnyD, figure I might get the wrong idea if we keep on this way.”
Buffy hauled off and smacked him across the face, dropping her sparkler into the sand.
“OW!” Spike rubbed his jaw. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
She raised her hand, but Spike caught her wrist before she could fire.
“What the bleedin’ hell? One second you’re actin’ like I’m supposed to give you my fraternity pin and the next you’re imitating Mike Tyson!”
“I could ask you the same thing! You’re all big with the puppy dog eyes in Sunnydale, but here, when we could actually do something about it, no. No, here, you’re a throwback to an earlier era, and you can’t so much as touch me without a written permission slip from a parent or legal guardian. We’re not gonna be here long, Spike, and when we get back- ”
“-when we get back, you’ll go back to treating me like I’m something caked on the bottom of your boot, and I’ll be just Jim Dandy with that plan. Is that what you’re thinkin’?”
“I … no … um … I mean …”
“I think that’s exactly what you’re thinkin’. That this little vacation is your big chance to abdicate responsibility and you might as well go all the way. Maybe we can wish up some illicit drugs while we’re at it. Ever dropped acid, Slayer? Yeah, didn’t think so. What else? Let’s see if I can conjure up a car for you to hotwire or a can of spray paint so you can graffiti your name all over the fenceposts.”
“Spike, stop.”
“No, I don’t think I will. If you’ve cast me in the role of inappropriate dalliance, I think I’m going to go ahead and be inappropriate. Wildly so.”
Her feet were solidly placed on the sand, and a second earlier it had felt like they were rooted there. But something in his eyes challenged her, and without a thought, Buffy launched herself at him, drawing his head down and meeting his lips with hers.
It was Spike who broke the kiss, and only for a second. With a growl, he pulled her back against his mouth, running his tongue over her teeth and nibbling her bottom lip.
As she fitted herself to his length, her arms coasting down his biceps, Buffy had a fleeting thought: this would be better with a bonfire. And blankets. So as her body hit the ground, she felt a soft blanket under her instead of just coarse sand and the warmth of a bonfire licking at her skin.
The appearance of accoutrements startled Spike, but not as much as the feeling of her responsive body underneath his.
“You’re sure …”
She shoved him to the side. “I wasn’t …”
“Oh.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t. Not with you. Not if you were the last -”
He quirked an eyebrow at her and bit back a laugh.
“Oh, never mind!” Protests forgotten, she was back on top of him, kissing with an intensity that surpassed his wildest longings.
Little clothing separated them – the hem of Buffy’s little sundress was already hiked up to her hips, and she was pressing against him, just her panties and his cargo shorts between them. He’d gone hard as an iron bar the second she’d rolled on top and he fought for control, forcing himself to push her no farther.
With a frustrated sigh, Buffy found herself pulling at his t-shirt. “Spiiiiike … don’t you want me?”
“I … yeah, I do. Just want to make sure you want me back.”
“Duh!” She pulled his t-shirt over his head and when he surfaced, she was grinning at him, one of her thousand-megawatt-Buffy smiles.
“Then I’m yours, love.” He dipped his head back to hers and concentrated on kissing, forcing himself to slow the pace.
She broke away for air.
“Let’s take this off, then?” She nodded and Spike gently lifted the dress over her head.
The site of her, bra-less, in nothing but red satin panties, almost broke him. “Funny,” she said with a glance, “I thought those were beige.”
He barked out a laugh, wondering exactly how much the island was driving, and at the same time realizing he was too far gone to stop. His mouth found first one nipple, then the next, teasing, sucking and nipping, forcing her hips to arch against him.
There was no doubt he was in charge, but she was far from passive, her hands ghosting up his arms to his shoulders, pulling his mouth back to hers, before dipping lower to unfasten the button on his cargo shorts and work them down his hips.
She’d nearly stripped him when Spike dipped a long finger into her heated core. “Ooooh …”
“Like that?”
“Ummm …”
“Want more?”
A little nod encouraged him, and he slipped a second digit inside. His mouth fastened on hers, kissing hungrily, but never breaking the steady rhythmic thrusting of his fingers.
She broke away with a rough whisper. “More!”
Spike stilled. Was this his Slayer?
And then her hand wrapped around his cock, and again he didn’t care.
With half a thrust, he’d meant to bury himself inside, but she was tight, tighter than he imagined. Slowing to shallow strokes, he penetrated her inch by inch. “Feels okay, pet?”
“Ummm …” She rolled her head back, eyes closed. “Harder.”
He was powerless to do anything but respond, quickening his thrusts as she forcefully met his hips with her own.
“I can’t … wait, luv.” He shifted positions, buying time to prevent his body from betraying him, catching his breath with deep gulps. “Why don’t you drive?”
By the firelight, he could see her eyes glinting. “Thought you’d never ask.” She straddled him, positioning her knees with care, stretching her arms until she hovered above him, her nipples scraping his chest with every gyration, her clit grinding against him.
“My wanton girl! Someone taught you how to take your pleasure after all, or did you figure that out on your own?”
Even in the night, he could tell she blushed.
And a flood of wet told him that she liked it.
“That’s right, Buffy, love. Ride me. Harder.”
She responded.
“This is your secret misery, innit? All that moping, all could be cured with a good fuck, couldn’t it? Trouble is, your job makes it tough to meet a fella.”
Her pace was quickening, and her hands dragged back to his chest, palms planted, nails digging like half moon marks into his skin. Her hair hung down in curtains, obscuring her face.
“That’s right, pet. Ride me. I won’t tell.”
With a moan that bordered on a howl, Buffy came, her walls crushing him, bringing Spike over the edge, too, before he could get control.
“I won’t tell,” he repeated as she collapsed on top of him, wondering what he’d just promised.
“Steady, pet.”
“It’s these um … sands.”
“Sands?”
“Too lumpy. Wait,” she ordered, bending over to de-shoe herself, showing quite a bit of thigh in the process.
“Oh, yeah, you can hold your liquor, Slayer.” He bit back a laugh.
“What?” They resumed their slow progress down the beach.
“You all but went arse-over-teakettle taking off your footwear, s’all.”
“Arse over huh? And I’m the one with the C in English.”
“Shame you couldn’t take American instead. I’ve no doubt you’d have been head of the class.”
“See, Spike … this is your problem.”
“What? My command of the mother tongue?”
Tongue. There it was, curling between his teeth, retreating for one of his big-fat-cat-gorged-on-canaries smiles.
Buffy had a retort, something cutting. It was just there, at the far corner of her brain, if she could only … no, it was gone.
Maybe she had downed one too many glasses of the red. Her companion was swimming – not literally swimming in the ocean, but before her eyes, swaying and drifting. She knew it was him, because her feet were rooted firmly in the sand, her toes digging in deeper. If she could just get in down to her ankles, she was sure everything would be fine.
“Hold still, Spike!”
“Yeah. Am.”
“I’m … I’m sorry the blue sky. And the … naked. Ness.”
“Okay, right, apology accepted, pet. How ‘bout we head back to the house?”
“Yeah, the house. The bed. The shower. I really, really didn’t mean it. I just got surprised-ed when the sky was blue. Bluer than blue, y’know?”
“Right. We covered that.”
“Didn’t expect to find you naked. Well, except that … maybe I did expect to find you naked.”
It was Spike’s turn to freeze. He didn’t want an intoxicated Slayer falling all over him only to regret it in the morning. Then again, he knew she’d been sober as a judge when she’d walked in on him earlier.
“Catch me if you can!” With a spring, Buffy’s feet were out of the sand trenches, and she took off down the water’s edge with an ungainly, sprawling run.
“Buffy, wait!”
She turned back and stuck her tongue out at him. “Can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man! Slayer! Whatever! I’m fast!”
“Buffy, the house is the other way!”
She didn’t hear him.
“Damn and blast!” Spike ran after her.
***
Now I know this alternate reality is really fucking with my head, Spike thought, as a giggly Slayer let him catch her.
And then he felt sand underneath his legs, as he tumbled to the beach with her.
“You tripped me!”
“Did not!”
“Did so!”
“I think you were just drinking too much of the veeee-noooo!”
Spike snorted.
“Now who’s drunk on veeee-noooo?” She laughed again, loving her joke.
“Buffy, stop that!” She was twisting her legs up in his, her feet vining around his calves.
“What?”
“You know bloody well what you’re doing!” With a little kick and a roll, he pulled away from her.
And into the surf.
“Damn, damn, damn!”
She was giggling again, but unless this film was being shot in kinemacolor, she was also looking a bit off-shade.
“You’ll thank me for this,” scrambling to his feet, he gathered up his companion and prepared to carry her back towards the cottage.
“Put me down!” She kicked her feet, flailing in the night air.
“No.”
“At least get my shoes?”
Her pout was overdone, but with a reluctant sigh, Spike awkwardly bent down again and grabbed the sandals.
“Happy?”
“Yes, thank you.”
And with that, she settled into his arms.
“You’re going the wrong way.”
“No, I’m going the right way.”
“Uh-uh.” Buffy shifted and forced him to stop. “See?”
Sure enough, the cottage was behind them, and not terribly far at all.
“Must be a loop.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“What?” But with that, she’d fallen asleep.
***
“Xander, wake up,” Anya’s voice broke into his dreams.
“Whuh – whuh – is it time to make the doughnuts?”
“No. It’s 3 a.m., Xan,” Willow said.
“Actually, I think that is when they report to Donut Heaven to make the doughnuts.”
“It’s a commercial, Anya,” Willow explained.
“Oh, well, excuuuuse me.”
Xander came fully awake at the familiar sound of his girlfriend and best friend’s squabbling. “Great. As good as waking up to the sound of birds chirping.”
“Sorry, Xan. I just …”
“What time is it?”
“A little after 3.”
“And you’re both still up. And on what pot of coffee?”
Willow and Anya fidgeted with their mugs.
“But we’ve got something,” Willow insisted
“It better be good.”
“It is!” Anya added, apologetically. “We don’t think it’s a demon that’s after Buffy after all. I mean – the Unfugs are for real and all, but it looks like they might’ve been paid off by humans.”
“Humans? Like people humans? Why?”
Willow turned her screen around. “Look – see all these chat room entries? BobaFett94086 was pretty keen to learn about the Unfugs.”
“94086? That’s Sunnydale’s zip code.”
“Right. So I put on my hacker hat and traced BobaFett94086 to the Espresso Pump.”
“One of the baristas wants Buffy out of the way?”
Anya rolled her eyes. “No, honey. Someone was using the Espresso Pump’s network to send the messages undetected.”
“Yeah, or hacking into their system.”
“Kinda like you’re doing now, Wil?”
“Yeah,” she agreed brightly.
Anya leaned toward the screen to read some of the text. “Wow.”
“Is that a good wow or a bad wow? Wil?”
Anya squinted at the screen. “That’s a wow, they didn’t bother to make their trail all that hard to follow, did they?”
“Nope. Looks like BobaFett94086 is Mrs. Marian Mears of 131 Hampton Lane.”
“Mrs. Marian Mears? That doesn’t sound like a demon-dealing Star Wars freak to me.”
“Any chance she has a demon-dealing Star Wars freak son?”
“There’s a second phone line registered to Warren Mears. Hey – that’s the guy with the ‘bot.”
“What would he want with Buffy?”
“He doesn’t want her,” Anya huffed. “He wants her out of the way. Willow, read some of those messages.”
“Can anyone tell me how to find Unfugs or secondary reseller for Unfug alt-re products?”
“Okay. So they did this on purpose … oh. No. That’s too lame. They did this so they could knock off the truck delivering quarters to the video arcade?”
“It tracks with the demon bank robber when Buffy was in there the other week. And all that freaky stuff on her Groundhog Day.”
“Guess so. Alright, then. So what do we do about it?”
“We track down Warren and find out what he knows about the Unfug that sold him the Instant Sun.”
“Now?”
With a glance, Anya and Willow were in agreement. “Now.”
***
The house was close.
Spike tried to work through it in his mind. Was it possible the island was one big circle? Wait, make that a small circle? It had seemed bigger, but then he wasn’t used to measuring by daylight. And he’d spent most of his recent years in cities and towns, so reckoning distance across a flat expanse of nuthin’ wasn’t his specialty.
“Wait,” Buffy murmured, wriggling in his arms until she was sliding to her feet, stopping them both.
“Didn’t know you were awake.”
“I was dreaming.”
“So I see.”
“Don’t you just love nighttime on the beach?”
Spike thought back to a particularly delicious night in Texas, snacking on spring breakers. “Yeah. ‘Spose I do. But shouldn’t we be tucking you into bed?”
“Not yet.” With a smile, she reached into her bag and pulled out a box of sparklers. “Give me your lighter.”
“Don’t think I have …” but to his surprise, a Zippo was tucked into his front right pocket. “I stand corrected.”
She handed him one, then took her own and touched the flame to ignite. “Do yours!”
“Rather not, pet. Dangerous things. Sparky and such.”
“You’re not all flammable now.”
With a start, he realized that he could pick up the sparkler and twirl it around like a third rate beauty pageant contestant.
He could, but he was not so inclined.
Tossing the stick to the sands, he sighed as Buffy lit her second and drew a big initial B in the night.
“Spoil sport.”
He frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Here we are, marooned together, and I can’t help but think that we shouldn’t be getting so cozy.”
“Why not?”
“What with my official status as persona non grata back in SunnyD, figure I might get the wrong idea if we keep on this way.”
Buffy hauled off and smacked him across the face, dropping her sparkler into the sand.
“OW!” Spike rubbed his jaw. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
She raised her hand, but Spike caught her wrist before she could fire.
“What the bleedin’ hell? One second you’re actin’ like I’m supposed to give you my fraternity pin and the next you’re imitating Mike Tyson!”
“I could ask you the same thing! You’re all big with the puppy dog eyes in Sunnydale, but here, when we could actually do something about it, no. No, here, you’re a throwback to an earlier era, and you can’t so much as touch me without a written permission slip from a parent or legal guardian. We’re not gonna be here long, Spike, and when we get back- ”
“-when we get back, you’ll go back to treating me like I’m something caked on the bottom of your boot, and I’ll be just Jim Dandy with that plan. Is that what you’re thinkin’?”
“I … no … um … I mean …”
“I think that’s exactly what you’re thinkin’. That this little vacation is your big chance to abdicate responsibility and you might as well go all the way. Maybe we can wish up some illicit drugs while we’re at it. Ever dropped acid, Slayer? Yeah, didn’t think so. What else? Let’s see if I can conjure up a car for you to hotwire or a can of spray paint so you can graffiti your name all over the fenceposts.”
“Spike, stop.”
“No, I don’t think I will. If you’ve cast me in the role of inappropriate dalliance, I think I’m going to go ahead and be inappropriate. Wildly so.”
Her feet were solidly placed on the sand, and a second earlier it had felt like they were rooted there. But something in his eyes challenged her, and without a thought, Buffy launched herself at him, drawing his head down and meeting his lips with hers.
It was Spike who broke the kiss, and only for a second. With a growl, he pulled her back against his mouth, running his tongue over her teeth and nibbling her bottom lip.
As she fitted herself to his length, her arms coasting down his biceps, Buffy had a fleeting thought: this would be better with a bonfire. And blankets. So as her body hit the ground, she felt a soft blanket under her instead of just coarse sand and the warmth of a bonfire licking at her skin.
The appearance of accoutrements startled Spike, but not as much as the feeling of her responsive body underneath his.
“You’re sure …”
She shoved him to the side. “I wasn’t …”
“Oh.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t. Not with you. Not if you were the last -”
He quirked an eyebrow at her and bit back a laugh.
“Oh, never mind!” Protests forgotten, she was back on top of him, kissing with an intensity that surpassed his wildest longings.
Little clothing separated them – the hem of Buffy’s little sundress was already hiked up to her hips, and she was pressing against him, just her panties and his cargo shorts between them. He’d gone hard as an iron bar the second she’d rolled on top and he fought for control, forcing himself to push her no farther.
With a frustrated sigh, Buffy found herself pulling at his t-shirt. “Spiiiiike … don’t you want me?”
“I … yeah, I do. Just want to make sure you want me back.”
“Duh!” She pulled his t-shirt over his head and when he surfaced, she was grinning at him, one of her thousand-megawatt-Buffy smiles.
“Then I’m yours, love.” He dipped his head back to hers and concentrated on kissing, forcing himself to slow the pace.
She broke away for air.
“Let’s take this off, then?” She nodded and Spike gently lifted the dress over her head.
The site of her, bra-less, in nothing but red satin panties, almost broke him. “Funny,” she said with a glance, “I thought those were beige.”
He barked out a laugh, wondering exactly how much the island was driving, and at the same time realizing he was too far gone to stop. His mouth found first one nipple, then the next, teasing, sucking and nipping, forcing her hips to arch against him.
There was no doubt he was in charge, but she was far from passive, her hands ghosting up his arms to his shoulders, pulling his mouth back to hers, before dipping lower to unfasten the button on his cargo shorts and work them down his hips.
She’d nearly stripped him when Spike dipped a long finger into her heated core. “Ooooh …”
“Like that?”
“Ummm …”
“Want more?”
A little nod encouraged him, and he slipped a second digit inside. His mouth fastened on hers, kissing hungrily, but never breaking the steady rhythmic thrusting of his fingers.
She broke away with a rough whisper. “More!”
Spike stilled. Was this his Slayer?
And then her hand wrapped around his cock, and again he didn’t care.
With half a thrust, he’d meant to bury himself inside, but she was tight, tighter than he imagined. Slowing to shallow strokes, he penetrated her inch by inch. “Feels okay, pet?”
“Ummm …” She rolled her head back, eyes closed. “Harder.”
He was powerless to do anything but respond, quickening his thrusts as she forcefully met his hips with her own.
“I can’t … wait, luv.” He shifted positions, buying time to prevent his body from betraying him, catching his breath with deep gulps. “Why don’t you drive?”
By the firelight, he could see her eyes glinting. “Thought you’d never ask.” She straddled him, positioning her knees with care, stretching her arms until she hovered above him, her nipples scraping his chest with every gyration, her clit grinding against him.
“My wanton girl! Someone taught you how to take your pleasure after all, or did you figure that out on your own?”
Even in the night, he could tell she blushed.
And a flood of wet told him that she liked it.
“That’s right, Buffy, love. Ride me. Harder.”
She responded.
“This is your secret misery, innit? All that moping, all could be cured with a good fuck, couldn’t it? Trouble is, your job makes it tough to meet a fella.”
Her pace was quickening, and her hands dragged back to his chest, palms planted, nails digging like half moon marks into his skin. Her hair hung down in curtains, obscuring her face.
“That’s right, pet. Ride me. I won’t tell.”
With a moan that bordered on a howl, Buffy came, her walls crushing him, bringing Spike over the edge, too, before he could get control.
“I won’t tell,” he repeated as she collapsed on top of him, wondering what he’d just promised.
Ch. 7: Then Again
And so you could feel regret on an island paradise, Spike found himself musing as he woke up in the guttering firelight, before dawn and, more importantly, before Buffy, the next morning.
She’d snuggled up into his arms, tucked against his chest, her head pillowed against his heartbeat.
He cataloged his sins. First, as sexual encounters went, it had not been earth shattering. They hadn’t been so deliriously drunk that it became a blur, nor had they been sober. Second, and worse, he hadn’t exactly been in control. Sex had happened to him, as much as he’d been orchestrating their caresses.
For all the countless hours he’d spent fantasizing about making love to the Slayer, when it came down to the act, he’d just went along with the currents, like any regular Joe.
So for the Night Before, he gave himself a C. Maybe a C minus.
But what about this morning?
Truth told, it was a bit of surprise to feel regret sneaking up on him, like some chump standing in divorce court realizing he should’ve brought th’ missus flowers now and again, that they should’ve given it another try, ‘least for the sake of the tots.
And really, until she pried open her lids, he was just making up the consequences, wasn’t he?
With a sigh, he relaxed into the pile of blankets and pulled her closer.
***
They’d trailed him to the Video Barn. He donned a navy blue vest sporting a “Warren” nametag and bright plastic clownfish pin reading “Pre-Order Finding Nemo today.
“If I had to wear that to work, I’d be knocking off armored trucks, too.”
“Shh, Xander.”
It was early in the morning, but Video Barn was a 24-hour establishment, and with Sunnydalers’ preference for the morning hours, they were doing a brisk business by 6 a.m.
Warren yawned.
“So, what’s the plan, ladies?”
Anya and Willow exchanged a glance.
“There’s no plan?”
“Not exactly …”
“No, no, Willow. We have a plan. I go talk to him.”
“That’s not a plan, Ahn.”
“Sure it is,” she replied. Without a backwards glance, Anya opened the car door and marched into the Video Barn.
***
Buffy woke as the first light streaked across the morning sky. She didn’t want to be awake. She was warm, and snuggled closer into the comfortable arms that circled her body.
A hazy memory startled her. She was sprawled across the torso of her mortal enemy. Spike. The evil undead.
Except that the steady thump, thump, thump gave the lie to that protest. To say nothing of the sun spilling across their bodies.
She murmured and pulled in closer, her hand skating across his chest, and then lower.
“Mornin’ love.”
Buffy purred, listening to his familiar, butterscotch voice. “Good morning.”
“So you’re not … you’re okay?”
With a wriggle, Buffy flipped over to straddle him. “Never better.”
“Oh.”
“Except that I don’t have any clothes.”
“Oh, well … see …”
“I’m just kidding.”
“So you remember?”
“’Course. Do you?”
“Do I?”
“Maybe I should refresh your memory.” She slipped down his body, pausing to flick her tongue against his left nipple, drawing little circles inside his thigh with her fingers before reaching up to guide his cock into her mouth.
Buffy had read that it was really hot if you kept eye contact while you gave a blow job. Not that she was Queen of the BJ or anything. Nope. In fact, this was the first time she’d remembered that Cosmo 13 Bedroom Secrets To Set Your Sheets Afire tip.
She wished she had lip gloss.
And then she realized, with a grimace, that Cosmo never said anything about blowjobs on the beach, probably because of the sand factor.
“Everything okay, pet?”
“Ummm …” Buffy tried to discretely wipe the sand from her tongue, but in a second she’d given up and pulled a face. “Water!”
A bottle appeared in her hand, and she took a deep mouthful, swished and spit.
When she looked down at Spike, he’d gone half limp and was staring at her with part disappointment and part shame.
“Oh – sand.”
“Sand?”
“Sand in my mouth. From your, um – in my mouth.”
“Oh. Well. Okay. That makes sense.” His cock twitched, reassured.
“Do you wanna maybe …”
“Yeah.” He leapt to his feet, extended his hand to help her up, and they quickly headed for home.
***
“Can I help you?” Warren approached Anya’s figure from the back.
She turned and pinned him against the video rack with a stare, the make-up she’d hastily applied. “Can you ever.”
“Do I know you?”
“Maybe. I’m Anyanka.”
“Anyanka?”
“Vengeance demon.”
“Vengeance …”
“Demon.”
“What … what did I … I mean, I didn’t … Wait. You’re Xander Harris’ girlfriend.”
Anya’s compsure flickered for a second. “Yes. But that’s my private life. I’m on the clock now.”
“Well, I didn’t venge anything.”
“No. But one of your little Unfug friends did. Help me find the Unfug, and you’re home free.” She grabbed his Nemo pin and pulled.
“I don’t … I don’t know any Unfugs.”
“We can do this the hard way or the hard way, Warren.”
“I …”
“Talk or the fish gets it.”
“What?”
“The fish, geek boy.” Her eyes scanned the room. “Or that big ol’ cardboard Luke Skywalker? I’ll blow him to bits.”
“You can’t. That’s an original cut-out from the first ever video release of Star Wars in …”
Anya smirked.
“Fine. I have a name – Ber’Lethe. And a hotmail account.”
“I’ll take it.”
He hastily scribbled down the information, then held it back for a minute. “Once I give you this, what are you going to do?”
“Me? Nothing.” Anya grabbed the paper from his hand, then headed for the door. “But the Slayer when we get her back? No promises there.”
***
They’d made it back to the shower.
He was restrained.
“Come ‘ere,” he’d coaxed, drawing her close to wash her back with bath gel spilled liberally on a poufy sponge.
Her back, and then her front.
Every inch of her skin had been kissed, and her nipples were hard little points. She’d never balanced on the edge like this before, never been so aroused without her lover acting on it. But Spike was weaving this spell, this trance. She’d had good sex before, knew how to have an orgasm. Craved that release, even, enough to try it by herself at home. But this intensity of lust was brand new.
Hadn’t even known it was on the market.
Now Spike was washing her off, directing the shower jets in all sorts of delicious, muscle-soothing ways. But she was still strung like a bow.
With no alternative assault, Buffy pitched herself into his arms, capturing his mouth for a kiss, ignoring the shower spray drenching them both as she pushed him into the tile.
They’d broken apart to breathe, and he’d moaned.
“I think - ” she’d started.
“Don’t think,” he countered.
“The bed, Spike. The bed.”
With a glance he confirmed that the bed was still there – not bigger or closer or bluer – and guided her to it.
***
“This is pretty interesting,” Anya nodded, looking around the abandoned warehouse. “Kind of like Antiques Roadshow.”
“More like Antiques Freakshow,” Xander scoffed.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, um, I’m here to purchase some alt-re products. Actually, I’m hoping to commission a special alt-re experience. For me and my – lover.”
The scaly green demon quirked his single eyebrow and sniffed.
“You’re human.”
“So?”
“We don’t-”
“Yes, you do. I was told to ask for Ber’Lethe.”
“Ber’Lethe.”
“A friend recommended …” Anya paused, realizing Ber’Lethe’s gender was a mystery. “A friend recommended Ber’Lethe.”
“Stay right here.”
***
She slipped down his body, still damp from the shower, pausing to push her wet hair away from her face. Slowly, Buffy wrapped her lips around his throbbing cock, and never breaking eye contact, began to suck.
“Slllaaayer …”
Her tongue dipped out and circled the head. “Don’t call me that.” With a downward glance, she returned her mouth to his skin.
Involuntarily, his hips thrust up to meet her, forcing more of his cock in her mouth than she’d have taken on her own.
She didn’t recoil, just stilled and adjusted, taking a little more with her next thrust and slowly quickening her pace.
“Buffy!”
Her tongue found his most sensitive spot and hit the thick vein on every stroke. His breath caught in this throat, and all of a sudden he understood how intoxicating it could be to make love in human form.
“Buffy, Buffy, Buffy … I can’t stop … can’t stop … don’t stop …” And with a strangled cry, he spilled into her mouth.
***
Willow rooted around in the stockroom, silently counting out the seconds, hoping that Anya and Xander could cause enough of a distraction. She needed the right spell book to have a chance of rescuing Buffy.
Fortunately, the workspace was organized, and while it didn’t exactly follow that they’d manufacture and vend under one roof, they’d reasoned that if Unfug spells were unstable, chances are that they’d be mixing them up on the spot.
A crash sounded in the showroom, and Willow realized her time was up. She grabbed three huge volumes and shimmied back out the window they’d pried open.
The answer had to be here. She couldn’t let Buffy down again.
She’d snuggled up into his arms, tucked against his chest, her head pillowed against his heartbeat.
He cataloged his sins. First, as sexual encounters went, it had not been earth shattering. They hadn’t been so deliriously drunk that it became a blur, nor had they been sober. Second, and worse, he hadn’t exactly been in control. Sex had happened to him, as much as he’d been orchestrating their caresses.
For all the countless hours he’d spent fantasizing about making love to the Slayer, when it came down to the act, he’d just went along with the currents, like any regular Joe.
So for the Night Before, he gave himself a C. Maybe a C minus.
But what about this morning?
Truth told, it was a bit of surprise to feel regret sneaking up on him, like some chump standing in divorce court realizing he should’ve brought th’ missus flowers now and again, that they should’ve given it another try, ‘least for the sake of the tots.
And really, until she pried open her lids, he was just making up the consequences, wasn’t he?
With a sigh, he relaxed into the pile of blankets and pulled her closer.
***
They’d trailed him to the Video Barn. He donned a navy blue vest sporting a “Warren” nametag and bright plastic clownfish pin reading “Pre-Order Finding Nemo today.
“If I had to wear that to work, I’d be knocking off armored trucks, too.”
“Shh, Xander.”
It was early in the morning, but Video Barn was a 24-hour establishment, and with Sunnydalers’ preference for the morning hours, they were doing a brisk business by 6 a.m.
Warren yawned.
“So, what’s the plan, ladies?”
Anya and Willow exchanged a glance.
“There’s no plan?”
“Not exactly …”
“No, no, Willow. We have a plan. I go talk to him.”
“That’s not a plan, Ahn.”
“Sure it is,” she replied. Without a backwards glance, Anya opened the car door and marched into the Video Barn.
***
Buffy woke as the first light streaked across the morning sky. She didn’t want to be awake. She was warm, and snuggled closer into the comfortable arms that circled her body.
A hazy memory startled her. She was sprawled across the torso of her mortal enemy. Spike. The evil undead.
Except that the steady thump, thump, thump gave the lie to that protest. To say nothing of the sun spilling across their bodies.
She murmured and pulled in closer, her hand skating across his chest, and then lower.
“Mornin’ love.”
Buffy purred, listening to his familiar, butterscotch voice. “Good morning.”
“So you’re not … you’re okay?”
With a wriggle, Buffy flipped over to straddle him. “Never better.”
“Oh.”
“Except that I don’t have any clothes.”
“Oh, well … see …”
“I’m just kidding.”
“So you remember?”
“’Course. Do you?”
“Do I?”
“Maybe I should refresh your memory.” She slipped down his body, pausing to flick her tongue against his left nipple, drawing little circles inside his thigh with her fingers before reaching up to guide his cock into her mouth.
Buffy had read that it was really hot if you kept eye contact while you gave a blow job. Not that she was Queen of the BJ or anything. Nope. In fact, this was the first time she’d remembered that Cosmo 13 Bedroom Secrets To Set Your Sheets Afire tip.
She wished she had lip gloss.
And then she realized, with a grimace, that Cosmo never said anything about blowjobs on the beach, probably because of the sand factor.
“Everything okay, pet?”
“Ummm …” Buffy tried to discretely wipe the sand from her tongue, but in a second she’d given up and pulled a face. “Water!”
A bottle appeared in her hand, and she took a deep mouthful, swished and spit.
When she looked down at Spike, he’d gone half limp and was staring at her with part disappointment and part shame.
“Oh – sand.”
“Sand?”
“Sand in my mouth. From your, um – in my mouth.”
“Oh. Well. Okay. That makes sense.” His cock twitched, reassured.
“Do you wanna maybe …”
“Yeah.” He leapt to his feet, extended his hand to help her up, and they quickly headed for home.
***
“Can I help you?” Warren approached Anya’s figure from the back.
She turned and pinned him against the video rack with a stare, the make-up she’d hastily applied. “Can you ever.”
“Do I know you?”
“Maybe. I’m Anyanka.”
“Anyanka?”
“Vengeance demon.”
“Vengeance …”
“Demon.”
“What … what did I … I mean, I didn’t … Wait. You’re Xander Harris’ girlfriend.”
Anya’s compsure flickered for a second. “Yes. But that’s my private life. I’m on the clock now.”
“Well, I didn’t venge anything.”
“No. But one of your little Unfug friends did. Help me find the Unfug, and you’re home free.” She grabbed his Nemo pin and pulled.
“I don’t … I don’t know any Unfugs.”
“We can do this the hard way or the hard way, Warren.”
“I …”
“Talk or the fish gets it.”
“What?”
“The fish, geek boy.” Her eyes scanned the room. “Or that big ol’ cardboard Luke Skywalker? I’ll blow him to bits.”
“You can’t. That’s an original cut-out from the first ever video release of Star Wars in …”
Anya smirked.
“Fine. I have a name – Ber’Lethe. And a hotmail account.”
“I’ll take it.”
He hastily scribbled down the information, then held it back for a minute. “Once I give you this, what are you going to do?”
“Me? Nothing.” Anya grabbed the paper from his hand, then headed for the door. “But the Slayer when we get her back? No promises there.”
***
They’d made it back to the shower.
He was restrained.
“Come ‘ere,” he’d coaxed, drawing her close to wash her back with bath gel spilled liberally on a poufy sponge.
Her back, and then her front.
Every inch of her skin had been kissed, and her nipples were hard little points. She’d never balanced on the edge like this before, never been so aroused without her lover acting on it. But Spike was weaving this spell, this trance. She’d had good sex before, knew how to have an orgasm. Craved that release, even, enough to try it by herself at home. But this intensity of lust was brand new.
Hadn’t even known it was on the market.
Now Spike was washing her off, directing the shower jets in all sorts of delicious, muscle-soothing ways. But she was still strung like a bow.
With no alternative assault, Buffy pitched herself into his arms, capturing his mouth for a kiss, ignoring the shower spray drenching them both as she pushed him into the tile.
They’d broken apart to breathe, and he’d moaned.
“I think - ” she’d started.
“Don’t think,” he countered.
“The bed, Spike. The bed.”
With a glance he confirmed that the bed was still there – not bigger or closer or bluer – and guided her to it.
***
“This is pretty interesting,” Anya nodded, looking around the abandoned warehouse. “Kind of like Antiques Roadshow.”
“More like Antiques Freakshow,” Xander scoffed.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, um, I’m here to purchase some alt-re products. Actually, I’m hoping to commission a special alt-re experience. For me and my – lover.”
The scaly green demon quirked his single eyebrow and sniffed.
“You’re human.”
“So?”
“We don’t-”
“Yes, you do. I was told to ask for Ber’Lethe.”
“Ber’Lethe.”
“A friend recommended …” Anya paused, realizing Ber’Lethe’s gender was a mystery. “A friend recommended Ber’Lethe.”
“Stay right here.”
***
She slipped down his body, still damp from the shower, pausing to push her wet hair away from her face. Slowly, Buffy wrapped her lips around his throbbing cock, and never breaking eye contact, began to suck.
“Slllaaayer …”
Her tongue dipped out and circled the head. “Don’t call me that.” With a downward glance, she returned her mouth to his skin.
Involuntarily, his hips thrust up to meet her, forcing more of his cock in her mouth than she’d have taken on her own.
She didn’t recoil, just stilled and adjusted, taking a little more with her next thrust and slowly quickening her pace.
“Buffy!”
Her tongue found his most sensitive spot and hit the thick vein on every stroke. His breath caught in this throat, and all of a sudden he understood how intoxicating it could be to make love in human form.
“Buffy, Buffy, Buffy … I can’t stop … can’t stop … don’t stop …” And with a strangled cry, he spilled into her mouth.
***
Willow rooted around in the stockroom, silently counting out the seconds, hoping that Anya and Xander could cause enough of a distraction. She needed the right spell book to have a chance of rescuing Buffy.
Fortunately, the workspace was organized, and while it didn’t exactly follow that they’d manufacture and vend under one roof, they’d reasoned that if Unfug spells were unstable, chances are that they’d be mixing them up on the spot.
A crash sounded in the showroom, and Willow realized her time was up. She grabbed three huge volumes and shimmied back out the window they’d pried open.
The answer had to be here. She couldn’t let Buffy down again.
Ch. 8: Lust Gust
Buffy was dozing after the third - or was it the fourth? - time. Spike lost count, and wished for a cigarette. As he eased himself out of bed, moving to the windows to light up, he mentally went back through his list.
The night before on the beach, yeah.
Then the shower, but nothing really happened in the shower.
Her bloody marvelous blowjob. Once he’d recovered from babbling incoherently, he’d returned the favor and reduced her to jelly. Then, rock hard again, he’d thrust into her from a position she’d clearly never imagined, sending her into laughter and, then, an orgasm that must’ve nearly ripped her in two. Then she’d flipped him onto his back and surprised him with a wild, galloping pace. One, two, three … and then he stopped counting.
He’d finally done her right.
Girl was a tiger; he’d expected that. But she was playful, too, and he hadn’t guessed she’d be so joyous and kind. Truth told, he’d imagined she’d be the bossy, demanding sort – all about her and what she would or would not deign to do. Instead, there’d been none of that, and he was more in her thrall than ever.
The sun had inched up in the sky. Must be almost noon, he thought, scanning the horizon as Buffy stirred in the bed.
“Whatcha doin’, Spike?”
“Just takin’ in the bright, bright, bright sunshiny day, luv.”
She was quiet for a minute.
“So you’re not looking for more signs that our little island paradise is about to go kerplewey?”
“Um …”
“Come back to bed.”
“No. You come here.” With a flick of his wrist, the cigarette vanished, and he pushed open the doors to the balcony.
“Did the balcony got bigger?” Buffy wondered as she followed him outside, wrapping a sheet around her frame, toga-style.
“Believe it did, pet.” Spike gestured towards a chaise lounge, piled high with pillows.
“Oh. I get it.”
“That’s the idea.” Spike smirked and reached for her hand, guiding her towards the lounge. “Never made love in the sun before.”
“Me, neither. Well, not out in the open.”
“C’mere …” he murmured, drawing her to him, her sheet falling away as she straddled him.
He stroked her, fingers running from under the curve of her breast to the swell of her hip and back again. “Are you sore?”
Buffy shifted, responding to his touch and the feeling of his hardening shaft against her inner thigh. “I – um, no – I …” she stuttered out, blushing.
“Shhh, pet. Nothing to be all flustered out. Just don’ wanna hurt you, is all.”
“You won’t hurt me.” She met his eyes. “You won’t. I’m sure of it.”
It was Spike’s turn to catch his breath as she took his cock in her hand and guided him inside. He gasped, then met her eyes. “So the question must be if you’ll hurt me?”
With a mischevious smile, she fell down close to him, crushing her weight against his chest. “I don’t know, lover. Would you like me to?”
***
Anya and Xander hadn’t gotten far with Ber’Lethe.
She had a piggy little face and way too much hair, perched atop a curvy figure. Anya repeated the song and dance about searching out stock for the Magic Box, but unlike her old demon colleagues, Ber’Lethe seemed cautious.
“We don’t traffic with humans.”
“Ever? I mean, even in Sunnydale? There’s a lot of money to be made denying reality.”
“Just ask the bartenders at the Bronze,” Xander added.
“Look, you seem like a straight shooter, Anyanka, but you know as well as anyone here that messing around with humans is troublesome. The money would have to be real good.”
“How good?”
“A couple thousand. And that’s just for a basic get-a-way for two. Wouldn’t last more than a week.”
“I might have some buyers … maybe even willing to pay $10,000 for that kind of escape. Y’know, what with the post-9/11 hassles at airport security, it could be a real money maker.”
Xander sensed Anya warming up to their cover story.
“Of course, we’d need to make sure there wasn’t any danger. And that we could get them back,” he added, before Anya could go to contract with the demon.
“I see.” Ber’Lethe frowned. “This is one of the reasons we don’t traffic with humans. Safety,” she hissed, “I despair of guaranteeing safety for weak little mice.”
“Well …” Anya’s mind worked feverishly, “let’s say we only sold them to real risk-takers. Maybe we even make the danger part of it, so y’know, people who scale Mount Everest and shoot the rapids in wherever, and base jump and heliski … bet they’d be into this. And the idea that they might not get back, that’s even better. For them.”
“But they could get back, right? This isn’t a one way ticket?”
Both women scowled at Xander.
“Well, yes, they could return. There are two ways. If I shape the dimension, then the simplest is that the visitors desire their sojourn to conclude before the dimension collapses. But it takes a strong-willed person to do so. I create bewitching environments.”
“I’m sure you do,” Anya agreed. “Any chance we could take a tour some-”
“Wait, so you’re telling me that all Buffy has to do is click her ruby slippers three times and say ‘There’s no place like home?’”
The women scowled in unison again.
“You have a friend in one of my dimensions, don’t you?”
“Well, we do, but that’s what made us think it would be such a good business …”
“Quiet,” the demon ordered.
Anya opened her mouth to reply, but then thought the better of it.
“I don’t reveal the secrets of my dimensions to any but the purchasers.”
“But the second way out?”
“That’s a trade secret.” Ber’Lethe turned on her heel and stalked off.
“Can you at least tell us how long she has?”
The demon paused. “A few days. Maybe less if she’s not alone.”
***
Spike was snoring on the chaise, and Buffy had conjured up a strawberry smoothie from her favorite place in LA. She’d gone inside long enough to throw on shorts and a tank, and she’d covered Spike’s decadently nude and sprawling form with a blanket. Other than that, they’d barely left the terrace all day. Now she’d curled up on the floorboards to watch the night fall, a night that she could appreciate for its beauty instead of its menace.
So this, she thought to herself, was good sex. And this is what they meant by being good in bed. Technical skill plus selflessness and an ability to sense her needs before she knew them herself. Oh, and a willingness to admit that he was working at it. She’d worried about it, ever since Angel, even though she’d come to understand that his scathing comments were about him and his need to hurt her. But now it all made sense, and lots of other things made sense, too. Right now, risking something for good sex seemed reasonable, while before she’d always shrugged off lurid tales of sexual scandal as pure foolishness.
Tonight, in the night air on this island, she found herself imagining that Spike was a … maybe a prince? No, he’d never be a prince. If he knew she was imagining him like that, he’d dismiss a prince as a poncey something-or-other, probably. So Spike was a rock star, an actor … maybe a poet? An artist. Spike was a famous artist, and she was his lover, his muse. That suited them. And he was running away from a crazy wife in an institution that he couldn’t divorce and that, because her family was socially prominent, he couldn’t cheat on in public and so here they were, on a very private island paradise, hoping that the paparazzi didn’t find out.
Wow, all that and she’d only ever read the Cliff Notes on Jane Eyre.
She sipped on her smoothie. She didn’t love Spike. In fact, the idea of loving anyone felt awkward on her shoulders right now. But in the past few days – and certainly in the past few hours – she couldn’t say that she didn’t like him. She’d had more fun with him than she’d ever had with Riley or Angel and, yeah, sure there was the Initiative and the Master and the Mayor and a string of baddies stretching back years now. But it wasn’t like any of those things had stopped when Spike was in the picture.
With a little satisfied nod, Buffy decided that she’d fixed her problem. She and Spike were friends, and if that was a little unusual, well, that was okay.
Friends. And should she be torn out of this lovely place just like she’d been ripped out of heaven, then at least she’d have Spike’s friendship, and all of the attendant benefits, as consolation.
***
They re-grouped in the Magic Box. Tara had called and warned that Dawn was anxious, and was past believing any of her excuses. After a tense few minutes, they’d agreed that Tara’s skills were needed too urgently to keep her at home with Dawn, and now five sets of jangled nerves were assembled around the table.
“So what are we looking for?” Tara asked, trying to sound calm.
“Well, from what Anya and Xander found out, there’s two ways that Buffy can get home.”
“There’s the Wizard of Oz way …” Xander explained.
“… and then there’s the way that we’re going to find,” Willow concluded.
“The Wizard of Oz way?” Dawn scanned their faces. “So you mean that if Buffy wants to come home, she can? Figures. Big surprise that she’s happier trapped in another dimension than here with me.”
“No, sweetie.” Willow leaned towards the girl. “Xander’s oversimplifying it, and anyhow, Buffy doesn’t know to wish herself back. Remember, Dorothy doesn’t know that she can wish herself back until Glinda tells her at the end? And so this is like that, only without the munchkins and the flying monkeys.”
“So far,” Anya added.
***
She didn’t know how long he’d been watching her.
Buffy had wished up tiki torches and a celebrity gossip magazine, and then her favorite UC Sunnydale sweatshirt and a warm fleece throw.
She felt his eyes on her a few seconds before he scooped her up and carried her back inside to their bed.
“Hey … I was reading!”
“Oh, and - ” he glanced back at the magazine “ – Brad Pitt is more important than me?”
“Well, no,” she pouted until his mouth found hers and he kissed her lips back into a small smile.
He dropped her on the bed and Buffy hit the mattress with an “oof!”
“Nice.”
“If some people didn’t go around scooping up other people …”
“You complaining?”
“Depends on what you’re gonna do with me now.”
He crawled up her body. “What am I going to do with you? That’s a very good question.” He glanced down at her tank top and shorts. “For starters … close your eyes.”
She did, and felt a strange sensation.
“Open them.”
It took her a few seconds to realize that he’d wished her into decadent lingerie – a lacy black bra and panties, with a garter belt and silk stockings, topped off with towering stiletto heels.
“Ooooh …” She lifted a leg, flexing her foot and admiring the new gear. “Pretty.”
“That doesn’t begin to describe you, pet.”
“I’m talking about the lingerie, Spike.” She nudged him with her foot.
“Ah, ah, ah …” He caught her ankle, and kneeling between her legs, began to kiss and stroke every inch of her silk-clad calf and thigh, working his way up the left before turning his ministrations to the right. By the time he’d settled between the juncture of her thighs, Buffy was sighing and stretching, ready for more.
As she sunk back into oblivion, Buffy couldn’t help but be very pleased that she’d decided to be friends.
***
Willow read over her notes, glancing from face to face. “Okay, here’s what we’ve got. We can adapt a basic locator spell to find her whereabouts, but ripping open a portal is going to take some doing. When she was de – I mean, the other time she had her body to … well, there’s nothing to anchor her this time.”
“Right,” Dawn snorted, loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough to ignore.
“So we have to create an artificial anchor, something to draw her back and help her find her way.”
Dawn snorted again. “And what? We just leave Spike there?”
“Dawnie, we don’t know that Spike is with Buffy.”
“Okay, maybe. But seriously, guys, where else is he?”
“Well, if he’s with her, I guess he can come back through the portal, too,” Willow lied.
Dawn looked doubtful, but said nothing.
“Okay, let’s get to work on the locator spell.”
The night before on the beach, yeah.
Then the shower, but nothing really happened in the shower.
Her bloody marvelous blowjob. Once he’d recovered from babbling incoherently, he’d returned the favor and reduced her to jelly. Then, rock hard again, he’d thrust into her from a position she’d clearly never imagined, sending her into laughter and, then, an orgasm that must’ve nearly ripped her in two. Then she’d flipped him onto his back and surprised him with a wild, galloping pace. One, two, three … and then he stopped counting.
He’d finally done her right.
Girl was a tiger; he’d expected that. But she was playful, too, and he hadn’t guessed she’d be so joyous and kind. Truth told, he’d imagined she’d be the bossy, demanding sort – all about her and what she would or would not deign to do. Instead, there’d been none of that, and he was more in her thrall than ever.
The sun had inched up in the sky. Must be almost noon, he thought, scanning the horizon as Buffy stirred in the bed.
“Whatcha doin’, Spike?”
“Just takin’ in the bright, bright, bright sunshiny day, luv.”
She was quiet for a minute.
“So you’re not looking for more signs that our little island paradise is about to go kerplewey?”
“Um …”
“Come back to bed.”
“No. You come here.” With a flick of his wrist, the cigarette vanished, and he pushed open the doors to the balcony.
“Did the balcony got bigger?” Buffy wondered as she followed him outside, wrapping a sheet around her frame, toga-style.
“Believe it did, pet.” Spike gestured towards a chaise lounge, piled high with pillows.
“Oh. I get it.”
“That’s the idea.” Spike smirked and reached for her hand, guiding her towards the lounge. “Never made love in the sun before.”
“Me, neither. Well, not out in the open.”
“C’mere …” he murmured, drawing her to him, her sheet falling away as she straddled him.
He stroked her, fingers running from under the curve of her breast to the swell of her hip and back again. “Are you sore?”
Buffy shifted, responding to his touch and the feeling of his hardening shaft against her inner thigh. “I – um, no – I …” she stuttered out, blushing.
“Shhh, pet. Nothing to be all flustered out. Just don’ wanna hurt you, is all.”
“You won’t hurt me.” She met his eyes. “You won’t. I’m sure of it.”
It was Spike’s turn to catch his breath as she took his cock in her hand and guided him inside. He gasped, then met her eyes. “So the question must be if you’ll hurt me?”
With a mischevious smile, she fell down close to him, crushing her weight against his chest. “I don’t know, lover. Would you like me to?”
***
Anya and Xander hadn’t gotten far with Ber’Lethe.
She had a piggy little face and way too much hair, perched atop a curvy figure. Anya repeated the song and dance about searching out stock for the Magic Box, but unlike her old demon colleagues, Ber’Lethe seemed cautious.
“We don’t traffic with humans.”
“Ever? I mean, even in Sunnydale? There’s a lot of money to be made denying reality.”
“Just ask the bartenders at the Bronze,” Xander added.
“Look, you seem like a straight shooter, Anyanka, but you know as well as anyone here that messing around with humans is troublesome. The money would have to be real good.”
“How good?”
“A couple thousand. And that’s just for a basic get-a-way for two. Wouldn’t last more than a week.”
“I might have some buyers … maybe even willing to pay $10,000 for that kind of escape. Y’know, what with the post-9/11 hassles at airport security, it could be a real money maker.”
Xander sensed Anya warming up to their cover story.
“Of course, we’d need to make sure there wasn’t any danger. And that we could get them back,” he added, before Anya could go to contract with the demon.
“I see.” Ber’Lethe frowned. “This is one of the reasons we don’t traffic with humans. Safety,” she hissed, “I despair of guaranteeing safety for weak little mice.”
“Well …” Anya’s mind worked feverishly, “let’s say we only sold them to real risk-takers. Maybe we even make the danger part of it, so y’know, people who scale Mount Everest and shoot the rapids in wherever, and base jump and heliski … bet they’d be into this. And the idea that they might not get back, that’s even better. For them.”
“But they could get back, right? This isn’t a one way ticket?”
Both women scowled at Xander.
“Well, yes, they could return. There are two ways. If I shape the dimension, then the simplest is that the visitors desire their sojourn to conclude before the dimension collapses. But it takes a strong-willed person to do so. I create bewitching environments.”
“I’m sure you do,” Anya agreed. “Any chance we could take a tour some-”
“Wait, so you’re telling me that all Buffy has to do is click her ruby slippers three times and say ‘There’s no place like home?’”
The women scowled in unison again.
“You have a friend in one of my dimensions, don’t you?”
“Well, we do, but that’s what made us think it would be such a good business …”
“Quiet,” the demon ordered.
Anya opened her mouth to reply, but then thought the better of it.
“I don’t reveal the secrets of my dimensions to any but the purchasers.”
“But the second way out?”
“That’s a trade secret.” Ber’Lethe turned on her heel and stalked off.
“Can you at least tell us how long she has?”
The demon paused. “A few days. Maybe less if she’s not alone.”
***
Spike was snoring on the chaise, and Buffy had conjured up a strawberry smoothie from her favorite place in LA. She’d gone inside long enough to throw on shorts and a tank, and she’d covered Spike’s decadently nude and sprawling form with a blanket. Other than that, they’d barely left the terrace all day. Now she’d curled up on the floorboards to watch the night fall, a night that she could appreciate for its beauty instead of its menace.
So this, she thought to herself, was good sex. And this is what they meant by being good in bed. Technical skill plus selflessness and an ability to sense her needs before she knew them herself. Oh, and a willingness to admit that he was working at it. She’d worried about it, ever since Angel, even though she’d come to understand that his scathing comments were about him and his need to hurt her. But now it all made sense, and lots of other things made sense, too. Right now, risking something for good sex seemed reasonable, while before she’d always shrugged off lurid tales of sexual scandal as pure foolishness.
Tonight, in the night air on this island, she found herself imagining that Spike was a … maybe a prince? No, he’d never be a prince. If he knew she was imagining him like that, he’d dismiss a prince as a poncey something-or-other, probably. So Spike was a rock star, an actor … maybe a poet? An artist. Spike was a famous artist, and she was his lover, his muse. That suited them. And he was running away from a crazy wife in an institution that he couldn’t divorce and that, because her family was socially prominent, he couldn’t cheat on in public and so here they were, on a very private island paradise, hoping that the paparazzi didn’t find out.
Wow, all that and she’d only ever read the Cliff Notes on Jane Eyre.
She sipped on her smoothie. She didn’t love Spike. In fact, the idea of loving anyone felt awkward on her shoulders right now. But in the past few days – and certainly in the past few hours – she couldn’t say that she didn’t like him. She’d had more fun with him than she’d ever had with Riley or Angel and, yeah, sure there was the Initiative and the Master and the Mayor and a string of baddies stretching back years now. But it wasn’t like any of those things had stopped when Spike was in the picture.
With a little satisfied nod, Buffy decided that she’d fixed her problem. She and Spike were friends, and if that was a little unusual, well, that was okay.
Friends. And should she be torn out of this lovely place just like she’d been ripped out of heaven, then at least she’d have Spike’s friendship, and all of the attendant benefits, as consolation.
***
They re-grouped in the Magic Box. Tara had called and warned that Dawn was anxious, and was past believing any of her excuses. After a tense few minutes, they’d agreed that Tara’s skills were needed too urgently to keep her at home with Dawn, and now five sets of jangled nerves were assembled around the table.
“So what are we looking for?” Tara asked, trying to sound calm.
“Well, from what Anya and Xander found out, there’s two ways that Buffy can get home.”
“There’s the Wizard of Oz way …” Xander explained.
“… and then there’s the way that we’re going to find,” Willow concluded.
“The Wizard of Oz way?” Dawn scanned their faces. “So you mean that if Buffy wants to come home, she can? Figures. Big surprise that she’s happier trapped in another dimension than here with me.”
“No, sweetie.” Willow leaned towards the girl. “Xander’s oversimplifying it, and anyhow, Buffy doesn’t know to wish herself back. Remember, Dorothy doesn’t know that she can wish herself back until Glinda tells her at the end? And so this is like that, only without the munchkins and the flying monkeys.”
“So far,” Anya added.
***
She didn’t know how long he’d been watching her.
Buffy had wished up tiki torches and a celebrity gossip magazine, and then her favorite UC Sunnydale sweatshirt and a warm fleece throw.
She felt his eyes on her a few seconds before he scooped her up and carried her back inside to their bed.
“Hey … I was reading!”
“Oh, and - ” he glanced back at the magazine “ – Brad Pitt is more important than me?”
“Well, no,” she pouted until his mouth found hers and he kissed her lips back into a small smile.
He dropped her on the bed and Buffy hit the mattress with an “oof!”
“Nice.”
“If some people didn’t go around scooping up other people …”
“You complaining?”
“Depends on what you’re gonna do with me now.”
He crawled up her body. “What am I going to do with you? That’s a very good question.” He glanced down at her tank top and shorts. “For starters … close your eyes.”
She did, and felt a strange sensation.
“Open them.”
It took her a few seconds to realize that he’d wished her into decadent lingerie – a lacy black bra and panties, with a garter belt and silk stockings, topped off with towering stiletto heels.
“Ooooh …” She lifted a leg, flexing her foot and admiring the new gear. “Pretty.”
“That doesn’t begin to describe you, pet.”
“I’m talking about the lingerie, Spike.” She nudged him with her foot.
“Ah, ah, ah …” He caught her ankle, and kneeling between her legs, began to kiss and stroke every inch of her silk-clad calf and thigh, working his way up the left before turning his ministrations to the right. By the time he’d settled between the juncture of her thighs, Buffy was sighing and stretching, ready for more.
As she sunk back into oblivion, Buffy couldn’t help but be very pleased that she’d decided to be friends.
***
Willow read over her notes, glancing from face to face. “Okay, here’s what we’ve got. We can adapt a basic locator spell to find her whereabouts, but ripping open a portal is going to take some doing. When she was de – I mean, the other time she had her body to … well, there’s nothing to anchor her this time.”
“Right,” Dawn snorted, loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough to ignore.
“So we have to create an artificial anchor, something to draw her back and help her find her way.”
Dawn snorted again. “And what? We just leave Spike there?”
“Dawnie, we don’t know that Spike is with Buffy.”
“Okay, maybe. But seriously, guys, where else is he?”
“Well, if he’s with her, I guess he can come back through the portal, too,” Willow lied.
Dawn looked doubtful, but said nothing.
“Okay, let’s get to work on the locator spell.”
Ch. 9: Dimension Suspension
She’d wished for waffles, specifically buttermilk waffles from the Pancake House in Santa Monica. And she’d wished for freshly squeezed orange juice, but with all of the pulp strained out. While she’d been wishing for those things, he stirred.
“Mind on somethin’, pet?”
“Just ordering breakfast.”
“Hmmm … good idea.” He focused on a pot of tea, and sausages.
The tray shimmered into existence on Buffy’s lap, with both of their meals laid out complete with flowers.
She pronged a forkful of waffle. “Now this is bliss. Do you think I could wish for calorie-free waffles?”
Spike quirked an eyebrow. “Dunno, luv. From where I stand, you could use a few more pounds on that frame of yours. Startin’ to look like an anorexic starlet these days.”
“What?”
“Jus’ sayin.”
“That I’m too skinny? You can never be too rich or too skinny.”
“Thin, pet. The quip is ‘too rich or too thin.’”
“Exactly.” She speared another bite of waffle, drenched it in triple-berry syrup and shoved it in her mouth.
“Look, you burn how many of those calories on a patrol? Just marchin’ the length and breadth of Sunnyhell? And then factoring in the odd fight with a baddie?”
“Maybe a couple kajillion.” She rolled her eyes.
“So if you don’t eat, ducks, you’re going to start reminding me of a scarecrow.”
She shrugged, and reached for the tea bag. “Darjeeling?”
“Comes from India. All the rage when I was a lad.”
She snorted.
“What? You think you lot invented trends?”
Buffy tried for an English accent. “Nothing like a cup of tea to relax after a hard day in the killing fields? Guv’nor?”
“First, never, ever, ever try to mimic my accent again,” he said with a bemused smile. “And so what do you care what I quaff, as long as its not the blood of innocents?”
She bit back a giggle. “Fancy a cuppa, guv’nor?”
“Alright, Eliza Doolittle.” Spike wished the tray to the floor, and a second later pounced. “Let’s teach you to mock the Queen’s English!” He reached for her ribs, tickling mercilessly.
Buffy kicked and flailed underneath him, but mostly managed to tangle her limbs in the Egyptian cotton sheets. “Spike! Stop! You’re evil!”
“Now that’s better. Hearin’ your familiar, dulcet tones.”
“I’m not dull,” she protested.
“No, not at all,” he teased back. Her hair was everywhere, falling across her face and tangled in knots; cheeks flushed. She looked delectable, but something put the breaks on his libido.
She looked young, incredibly young, and in a strange way, all of a sudden reminded him of Dawn.
Instead of continuing his assault, Spike relaxed back into the pillows and reached for his cup of tea.
“Hey!” Buffy rolled over on to her side, pushing her hair back and frowning at her companion. “Why you’d stop? You were all pounce-y and wriggly and now you’re bringing the grimace.”
“Not a grimace. Just a serious thought.”
“Those were confiscated at customs.”
“Maybe so, pet.” He frowned and she sat up, draping a sheet over her breasts like they do in movies. “Maybe so. But I can’t rightly figure – we’ve been here three days? Four? Lot can happen in 96 hours.”
Buffy’s expression turned serious. “You think we should go back.”
He sighed and met her eyes.
“Time might not be the same here as there.” Buffy swallowed, knowing her excuse was lame. “It might only be a few hours, back … home.”
“True enough. Or, ‘course, we could’ve been here weeks. Years, even, I’ve heard of that.”
Buffy nodded, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Izitme?” she blurted out in a husky whisper.
“What’s that?”
“Is it … me?”
“Buffy! No! No, oh God … I … no. It isn’t you, not you at all. This place is, well, it’s paradise. Thinkin’ of going back, and givin’ all this up? It breaks my heart in two. I jus’ … I just know that even if, right now, you’re not gung ho ‘bout headin’ back, there might be a time. And if we can’t get back, then, I don’t want to feel like the one who kept you locked up here.”
She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. “Okay.”
“Okay, you believe that I don’t secretly find you repulsive?” Spike watched her face closely, and thought he saw the tiniest traces of a smile playing around her lips. “Or okay, we try to figure out how to get back?”
The smile emerged, not a full-on Buffy smile, but a gentle upturning of her lips. “Both, Spike,” she murmured, pulling him in for a kiss. “Both.”
***
Dawn woke up as the morning light broke through the windows. No one had pulled the drapes last night – more evidence that Buffy was very much not here, she noticed, as she rolled over on the couch.
Willow was right where she’d been when Dawn closed her eyes for just a few minutes a couple of hours ago – cross legged on the floor, working through the complexities of the locator spell and opening a portal.
The front door swung open. “I found something that might work,” Tara said as she handed a small jar to Willow. “I had a little bit of agrimony left from our last disinvite spell.”
Willow nodded and took the herbs from Tara. “I’m not sure if it’ll be strong enough on its own.”
“I know, so I stopped and got some coriander, too.” She handed over a plastic container.
“FoodMart brand herbs, nothing finer,” Willow muttered, twisting the red cap to sprinkle the herb liberally. “Ready to give this a whirl?”
As the witches joined hands and chanted, Dawn watched the symbols in between them shimmer.
***
Buffy’s body was still tingling from their latest round of sexual exploits when Spike’s wicked smile had turned wistful. Before she knew it, he was running out onto beach like a crazy man, telling Buffy that he wanted one last swim before they got serious about getting back.
She’d followed, wishing up a lounge chair on the beach, not too far from where Spike splashed in the water. Only after she’d turned over onto her belly, did it hit her.
Leaving the island meant leaving a demon-free paradise, one where she had far less responsibility than the average 20-something; but for Spike, the end of their vacation would mean never walking in the sun again.
Angel had waxed poetic about sunrises and high noon on a summer’s day and all of that, so she knew that some vampires longed for daylight. She might’ve assumed that Spike, what with his happy-to-be-vamped routine, wouldn’t feel that way, but the past few days had completely put that illusion to bed. He loved the sun, and was giving it up because it was – what? The right thing to do?
Buffy grimaced, and pushed all serious thoughts from her head, focusing instead of the feel of sunlight on her back. They’d decided to give themselves until dark to look for a solution, which meant she had ten hours – maybe less – of irresponsible bliss. With a contented sigh, she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.
Cold water dripping on her back woke her up. She flipped over to find Spike staring down at her, looking spooked.
“Think we might need to move our timetable forward a bit, love.”
“Why?”
She followed his eyes to his knees, and then lower. A huge gash dripped blood from his left calf.
***
Willow flopped back into the sofa cushions, frustrated.
“It’s working. I know it’s working.”
“Maybe we’re just not close enough,” Tara suggested. “Maybe Buffy’s nearby, but not near enough to see it.”
“Or, maybe she’s perfectly happy right where she is and is just ignoring the giant sign saying ‘This Way Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Crappy Existence’” Anya suggested.
“Ahn,” Xander started.
“No, Xan,” she sneered. “Listen, don’t you think it’s even a teeny bit possible that she’s happy wherever she is? Willow, you convinced us that Buffy was stuffed in a hell dimension, but she hasn’t acted like someone oh-so-glad to be out of eternal torment and fire and whatever.”
“Which doesn’t change the fact that the dimension isn’t stable,” Willow pursed her lips.
“Well, right,” Anya admitted.
“She’s not wrong, Willow. If Buffy doesn’t want to come back, we aren’t strong enough to pull her through the portal. She’ll have to step through. And we’re wasting our energy holding it open if she’s not nearby.”
“Alright, so what do we do?”
Tara frowned. “Maybe try to talk to her again?”
“That worked so well the last time.”
Tara was silent for a minute. “So what if we tried to talk to Spike?”
***
In the end, Dawn had come up with the answer.
Tara’s sentence had marked the moment that everyone – finally – acknowledged that Spike must be with Buffy. And while the Slayer could go days without watching television as long as there was a shopping mall nearby, Dawn insisted that Spike’s paradise would certainly include a telly.
While they acknowledged her point, they also resisted speculating how a vampire would survive on a sun-kissed island.
Instead, Dawn agreed that they could charm the sole television set at Revello Drive. Xander refused to offer up his brand new HDTV-ready set, but promised that if something went amiss, Dawn could come over and watch MTV at their place.
***
“What was it?”
“Dunno. Giant snapping turtle crossed with a shark’s mouth or somethin’.”
“So does this mean …”
“Right now it means I need to get a band-aid.”
She wished, and he wished, but nothing happened.
With a shrug, Spike started limping towards the house, trailing blood across the white sand.
“Here, stay on the patio,” Buffy insisted, pulling a chair over, “I’ll see if there’s a kit in the bathroom.”
She must’ve conjured it up previously, because gauze and tape and all matter of medicinal supplies were stowed in a large white plastic box under the sink. Buffy was back on the patio in a matter of seconds.
“Hold still,” she ordered, pouring antiseptic over the wound.
“Tssss! Burns!”
“Shhh … it’ll be alright.” She went to work wrapping the cut, trying not to look at the jagged tear. “I think you need stitches, Spike.”
“Well, then, one more reason to get back to reality, right?” He tried to stand, but staggered instead.
“Got the woozies?”
“Huh?”
“It’s the blood loss. Let me find you some juice.”
She scurried into the kitchen, returning with sugar cookies and o.j. and a feeling of total dread. They would have to find a way out if the beach was taking big bites out of them. She wasn’t certain how much of her slayer strength – or Spike’s supernatural abilities – had come through with them.
“Here. This should help.”
He ate obediently, trying not to meet Buffy’s anxious eyes.
“Did you leave the telly on, pet?”
“What? No.” She listened. “Willow?”
***
“Guys, hurry. Listen to this!”
Jonathan turned up the volume as the three boys clustered around the computer monitor. “This is the spycam in the Magic Box!”
“I don’t see what the big deal is, anyway. I was a demon, Xander. I killed lots of people. Spike was a vampire. He killed lots of people. It’s the same, right?”
“Yes, but now you’re a people, and so I’d like to think you’re on our side. Except that you keep standing up for Dead Man Walking.”
Anya shrugged. “It isn’t about sides. It’s about accepting the obvious.”
“The obvious?”
“Never mind, honey. Let’s just get them back. We’re running out of time.”
“Ber’lethe said we’d probably have a week.”
“Not if there are two people there.”
“I don’t see why we can’t just leave Spike there.”
“Look, just help me get the stuff Willow wanted and we can argue about this after, okay?”
“Now that’s something to look forward to.”
Jonathan dimmed the volume. “That’s from just a few minutes ago.”
“So? They said they’re going to try to get the Slayer back. Not that they did.”
“Yeah, but Warren, Willow brought Buffy back from the dead. I don’t think some little alternate dimension is going to be a major hurdle.”
“So what? You want to what? Flee Sunnydale? Tails between our legs?”
“They’ve talked to the demon chippie,” Andrew said, his face clouding over. “He said Ber’Lethe. If they’ve talked to Ber’Lethe …”
“Maybe we could use a little change of scenery,” Warren agreed.
***
“Buffy, we’re trying to open a portal. We want to help you get back,” said Willow, her face taking up most of the screen.
“What’s this, then? Wicca TV, all spells, all the time?”
“Shut up, Spike. Willow, where? Where can we find the portal?”
The ground beneath them rumbled, and Buffy and Spike exchanged worried glances.
Willow’s image continued. “We don’t think the dimension can hold much longer.”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” Spike scoffed, steadying himself on the couch.
“We’re going to try opening it again in an hour. That’s – well, that’s 4:00 p.m. here. I can’t tell you exactly where to be … but we’re going to try to send up a flare, like magic sparks or something. We’ll hold it open as long as we can.”
The shaking intensified, and the television tumbled to the tile floor and shattered.
“I guess that’s our ticket, then.”
The ground stilled. “Should we pack?”
“What? You want to take souvenirs?”
“I was thinking supplies, Spike.”
He shrugged, but gathered up the contents of the First Aid kit and snapped it shut while Buffy ran upstairs to grab a duffle bag.
***
“What do you take to find an inter-dimensional portal?” Buffy scanned the closet. She decided to change into running sneakers and stretchy capri yoga pants, plus a hoodie, just in case it got colder. She grabbed stuff for Spike, too, then glanced in the bathroom.
“Why not?” she said, sweeping a bunch of the pricier cosmetics into her duffle.
“Let’s go!” she called, thundering down the stairs.
“Where, precisely, pet?”
“To the portal. Duh.”
“There’s not exactly a road sign out there, Slayer,” he said quietly. “Assuming they’re on our time, which it seems like, then we don’t have a prayer of finding it for 45 more minutes. And if they really have found us, there’s no sense running. Portal’s as like to open in the middle of the living room as anywhere.”
“Oh.” She flopped down next to him, dejected. “So what do we do for 45 minutes?”
Without another word, his lips met hers.
***
She’d ended up astride his lap, her sensible yoga pants flung across the room.
“It’s ten minutes ‘til four, love.”
“Yeah.”
“Best put our pants on, yeah?”
She nodded, sliding off his softening erection.
“Just gonna use the loo, then we’ll have a look about, alright?”
Buffy nodded, standing to rearrange her own clothes. She’d dressed and hefted her lumpy duffle bag over her shoulder by the time Spike returned.
“What’s with the tote, pet?”
“Just a few … things.”
He smiled.
“What?”
“What makes you think cursed products from a demon dimension will survive the trip?”
“They’re not cursed. They’re … Philosophy. And Stilla. Besides, don’t you take the fancy little bottles of conditioner and bars of soap from hotels? Mom always did.”
“Been a while since I’ve been on a business trip of that sort, I ‘spose. Want to go have a look around outside?”
With a nod, and a defiant swing of her bag, they stepped outside and scanned the horizon.
Nothing.
And then the earth shook again. With a pop, the house behind them disappeared, and they were standing on sand that stretched for miles.
Despite the heat, Buffy shivered.
“Stick together, yeah?”
“Yeah.” They fell into step, heading east in silence.
Buffy scanned the skies determinedly, but her mind wandered. Could she really be friends with Spike back in Sunnydale? It had seemed like a convenient description of their angst-free relationship on the island, but back home? If she were honest, it wasn’t just the social part that bothered her – she could see that maybe, just maybe, she should’ve been nicer to him pre-Portal. But it was the other part. Could she really keep having earth-shattering sex with Spike once she was back in Sunnydale with Willow and Xander and Dawn and – well, and ordinary life?
What did regular girls do? You go away with a guy for a weekend, right? She saw that on television. And then you get back and then what? Bridget Jones caught Daniel cheating on her. That wouldn’t happen – she figured – with Spike. She searched the corners of her brain for other examples of how couples ended up after weekend interludes.
She really ought to say something to Spike, she figured. And she was just practicing the lines, imagining the words. Spike, these past few days have been really great, but can we not say anything when we get back to Sunnydale? At least, not right away. I just don’t know how I feel, and I want to get back and make sure everyone knows we’re okay and then maybe think about this and then …
“Up ahead!” Spike called, and grabbed her hand. “See that?”
She nodded, one word forming on her lips. “Home,” came out as a half-whisper, barely loud enough for Spike to hear.
Showers of green sparks formed an archway above a swirl of green and blue light, shimmering but stable.
Tears of relief flooded Buffy’s eyes, and she lunged forward. “Let’s go!”
And then the earth shook again, and the palm trees and sand started to disappear with a pop. Buffy struggled to breathe, and barely jumped back in time as a long, jagged crack split the ground in front of her. The sky came alive with roars, as the peaceful shore birds turned into prehistoric flying beasts, their mouths snapping to display ragged rows of teeth.
“Slayer!” Spike screamed, tugging on her arm and dragging her around to where the spilt was just a tiny crack.
They leapt across, the portal seeming to retreat as they ran closer.
With a last burst of energy, the pair bounced up against the swirling light. The air crackled, and Buffy felt like she was being shoved through Jell-O.
And then, “You’re home! Oh, thank God, you’re home!” Dawn flung herself at her sister, then at Spike, who was too busy leaping behind the chair to notice.
“Draw the drapes! What? Trying to sizzle me to a crisp?”
Anya gave Xander a warning look and he settled for piling into the big Buffy hug that Dawn and Willow already formed.
“Are y-you okay?” Tara crawled next to Spike. “The curtains are closed now.”
He nodded, and stood, flexing his injured calf muscle as he stood, and noticing what he’d sensed as soon as he crossed.
His heartbeat was gone.
***
“I don’t see why we have to go to Mexico,” Andrew whined. “And in a VW bus.”
“Shut up, little man,” Jonathan barked. “If you hadn’t messed up that protection spell, we wouldn’t be high-tailing it out of town in anything.”
Warren gripped the wheel tighter. “Look, it was this or Greyhound. How should I know that the First National Bank of Dilliner only keeps a couple of thousand around in cash?”
“We don’t even know if they’ll be able to get Buffy back,” Andrew added, pouting.
“And I say again, they got her back from the dead.”
“Listen, let’s just get the heck outta Dodge and see what happens. I mean, supervillains always have a secret hideaway.” Warren turned away from the wheel to look at his friends. “A few days in the sun never hurt anyone, right?”
“I think that’s how we got into this mess in the first place,” Jonathan muttered.
***
He’d hid out until nightfall, skulking in the basement. Tara had re-dressed his wound, then headed back up to join the impromptu celebration. She’d said he’d be welcome, but he just gave her a sad smile and mumbled something about needing his rest.
He hadn't slept a wink, of course.
When he’d finally braved the upstairs, it was quiet. “Slayer must be slaying, and all’s right with the world,” he murmured, stepping onto the front porch.
Only to find Buffy, curled up on the porch swing, looking out over Revello Drive fondly.
“Sorry – didn’t mean to – just thought I’d bugger off now that it’s dark again.”
She nodded, not sure what to say.
“Listen, I know that the last few days were pretty, um, intense.”
“Yeah.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“But, um, if you want to, well … talk … about it.” He sat gingerly next to her, the porch swing rocking with his weight.
She looked up, meeting his eyes and smiling shyly. “I’m not sure I know what to say.”
And then her lips were on his, arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer, into an awkward embrace.
Minutes passed, and Buffy slowly became aware that someone was looking at them. Not someone – some ones.
She chewed her lower lip, seeing Xander frozen in place with his stack of pizzas and Willow wide-eyed and nearly dropping her bottle of diet soda. Behind them, Anya and Dawn exchanged mischevious little grins.
The front door opened and Tara peered out. “That was fast, guys.” She blinked. “Why are you all standing there?”
Buffy met Tara’s eyes guiltily.
“Ummm … okay, see, I can explain.”
AN: I know, I know ... kind of a cliffhanger way to end a story. The sequel is in the works, but it will probably be a few weeks until I'm ready to start posting. Thanks so much for reading & reviewing all the way along!
“Mind on somethin’, pet?”
“Just ordering breakfast.”
“Hmmm … good idea.” He focused on a pot of tea, and sausages.
The tray shimmered into existence on Buffy’s lap, with both of their meals laid out complete with flowers.
She pronged a forkful of waffle. “Now this is bliss. Do you think I could wish for calorie-free waffles?”
Spike quirked an eyebrow. “Dunno, luv. From where I stand, you could use a few more pounds on that frame of yours. Startin’ to look like an anorexic starlet these days.”
“What?”
“Jus’ sayin.”
“That I’m too skinny? You can never be too rich or too skinny.”
“Thin, pet. The quip is ‘too rich or too thin.’”
“Exactly.” She speared another bite of waffle, drenched it in triple-berry syrup and shoved it in her mouth.
“Look, you burn how many of those calories on a patrol? Just marchin’ the length and breadth of Sunnyhell? And then factoring in the odd fight with a baddie?”
“Maybe a couple kajillion.” She rolled her eyes.
“So if you don’t eat, ducks, you’re going to start reminding me of a scarecrow.”
She shrugged, and reached for the tea bag. “Darjeeling?”
“Comes from India. All the rage when I was a lad.”
She snorted.
“What? You think you lot invented trends?”
Buffy tried for an English accent. “Nothing like a cup of tea to relax after a hard day in the killing fields? Guv’nor?”
“First, never, ever, ever try to mimic my accent again,” he said with a bemused smile. “And so what do you care what I quaff, as long as its not the blood of innocents?”
She bit back a giggle. “Fancy a cuppa, guv’nor?”
“Alright, Eliza Doolittle.” Spike wished the tray to the floor, and a second later pounced. “Let’s teach you to mock the Queen’s English!” He reached for her ribs, tickling mercilessly.
Buffy kicked and flailed underneath him, but mostly managed to tangle her limbs in the Egyptian cotton sheets. “Spike! Stop! You’re evil!”
“Now that’s better. Hearin’ your familiar, dulcet tones.”
“I’m not dull,” she protested.
“No, not at all,” he teased back. Her hair was everywhere, falling across her face and tangled in knots; cheeks flushed. She looked delectable, but something put the breaks on his libido.
She looked young, incredibly young, and in a strange way, all of a sudden reminded him of Dawn.
Instead of continuing his assault, Spike relaxed back into the pillows and reached for his cup of tea.
“Hey!” Buffy rolled over on to her side, pushing her hair back and frowning at her companion. “Why you’d stop? You were all pounce-y and wriggly and now you’re bringing the grimace.”
“Not a grimace. Just a serious thought.”
“Those were confiscated at customs.”
“Maybe so, pet.” He frowned and she sat up, draping a sheet over her breasts like they do in movies. “Maybe so. But I can’t rightly figure – we’ve been here three days? Four? Lot can happen in 96 hours.”
Buffy’s expression turned serious. “You think we should go back.”
He sighed and met her eyes.
“Time might not be the same here as there.” Buffy swallowed, knowing her excuse was lame. “It might only be a few hours, back … home.”
“True enough. Or, ‘course, we could’ve been here weeks. Years, even, I’ve heard of that.”
Buffy nodded, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Izitme?” she blurted out in a husky whisper.
“What’s that?”
“Is it … me?”
“Buffy! No! No, oh God … I … no. It isn’t you, not you at all. This place is, well, it’s paradise. Thinkin’ of going back, and givin’ all this up? It breaks my heart in two. I jus’ … I just know that even if, right now, you’re not gung ho ‘bout headin’ back, there might be a time. And if we can’t get back, then, I don’t want to feel like the one who kept you locked up here.”
She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. “Okay.”
“Okay, you believe that I don’t secretly find you repulsive?” Spike watched her face closely, and thought he saw the tiniest traces of a smile playing around her lips. “Or okay, we try to figure out how to get back?”
The smile emerged, not a full-on Buffy smile, but a gentle upturning of her lips. “Both, Spike,” she murmured, pulling him in for a kiss. “Both.”
***
Dawn woke up as the morning light broke through the windows. No one had pulled the drapes last night – more evidence that Buffy was very much not here, she noticed, as she rolled over on the couch.
Willow was right where she’d been when Dawn closed her eyes for just a few minutes a couple of hours ago – cross legged on the floor, working through the complexities of the locator spell and opening a portal.
The front door swung open. “I found something that might work,” Tara said as she handed a small jar to Willow. “I had a little bit of agrimony left from our last disinvite spell.”
Willow nodded and took the herbs from Tara. “I’m not sure if it’ll be strong enough on its own.”
“I know, so I stopped and got some coriander, too.” She handed over a plastic container.
“FoodMart brand herbs, nothing finer,” Willow muttered, twisting the red cap to sprinkle the herb liberally. “Ready to give this a whirl?”
As the witches joined hands and chanted, Dawn watched the symbols in between them shimmer.
***
Buffy’s body was still tingling from their latest round of sexual exploits when Spike’s wicked smile had turned wistful. Before she knew it, he was running out onto beach like a crazy man, telling Buffy that he wanted one last swim before they got serious about getting back.
She’d followed, wishing up a lounge chair on the beach, not too far from where Spike splashed in the water. Only after she’d turned over onto her belly, did it hit her.
Leaving the island meant leaving a demon-free paradise, one where she had far less responsibility than the average 20-something; but for Spike, the end of their vacation would mean never walking in the sun again.
Angel had waxed poetic about sunrises and high noon on a summer’s day and all of that, so she knew that some vampires longed for daylight. She might’ve assumed that Spike, what with his happy-to-be-vamped routine, wouldn’t feel that way, but the past few days had completely put that illusion to bed. He loved the sun, and was giving it up because it was – what? The right thing to do?
Buffy grimaced, and pushed all serious thoughts from her head, focusing instead of the feel of sunlight on her back. They’d decided to give themselves until dark to look for a solution, which meant she had ten hours – maybe less – of irresponsible bliss. With a contented sigh, she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.
Cold water dripping on her back woke her up. She flipped over to find Spike staring down at her, looking spooked.
“Think we might need to move our timetable forward a bit, love.”
“Why?”
She followed his eyes to his knees, and then lower. A huge gash dripped blood from his left calf.
***
Willow flopped back into the sofa cushions, frustrated.
“It’s working. I know it’s working.”
“Maybe we’re just not close enough,” Tara suggested. “Maybe Buffy’s nearby, but not near enough to see it.”
“Or, maybe she’s perfectly happy right where she is and is just ignoring the giant sign saying ‘This Way Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Crappy Existence’” Anya suggested.
“Ahn,” Xander started.
“No, Xan,” she sneered. “Listen, don’t you think it’s even a teeny bit possible that she’s happy wherever she is? Willow, you convinced us that Buffy was stuffed in a hell dimension, but she hasn’t acted like someone oh-so-glad to be out of eternal torment and fire and whatever.”
“Which doesn’t change the fact that the dimension isn’t stable,” Willow pursed her lips.
“Well, right,” Anya admitted.
“She’s not wrong, Willow. If Buffy doesn’t want to come back, we aren’t strong enough to pull her through the portal. She’ll have to step through. And we’re wasting our energy holding it open if she’s not nearby.”
“Alright, so what do we do?”
Tara frowned. “Maybe try to talk to her again?”
“That worked so well the last time.”
Tara was silent for a minute. “So what if we tried to talk to Spike?”
***
In the end, Dawn had come up with the answer.
Tara’s sentence had marked the moment that everyone – finally – acknowledged that Spike must be with Buffy. And while the Slayer could go days without watching television as long as there was a shopping mall nearby, Dawn insisted that Spike’s paradise would certainly include a telly.
While they acknowledged her point, they also resisted speculating how a vampire would survive on a sun-kissed island.
Instead, Dawn agreed that they could charm the sole television set at Revello Drive. Xander refused to offer up his brand new HDTV-ready set, but promised that if something went amiss, Dawn could come over and watch MTV at their place.
***
“What was it?”
“Dunno. Giant snapping turtle crossed with a shark’s mouth or somethin’.”
“So does this mean …”
“Right now it means I need to get a band-aid.”
She wished, and he wished, but nothing happened.
With a shrug, Spike started limping towards the house, trailing blood across the white sand.
“Here, stay on the patio,” Buffy insisted, pulling a chair over, “I’ll see if there’s a kit in the bathroom.”
She must’ve conjured it up previously, because gauze and tape and all matter of medicinal supplies were stowed in a large white plastic box under the sink. Buffy was back on the patio in a matter of seconds.
“Hold still,” she ordered, pouring antiseptic over the wound.
“Tssss! Burns!”
“Shhh … it’ll be alright.” She went to work wrapping the cut, trying not to look at the jagged tear. “I think you need stitches, Spike.”
“Well, then, one more reason to get back to reality, right?” He tried to stand, but staggered instead.
“Got the woozies?”
“Huh?”
“It’s the blood loss. Let me find you some juice.”
She scurried into the kitchen, returning with sugar cookies and o.j. and a feeling of total dread. They would have to find a way out if the beach was taking big bites out of them. She wasn’t certain how much of her slayer strength – or Spike’s supernatural abilities – had come through with them.
“Here. This should help.”
He ate obediently, trying not to meet Buffy’s anxious eyes.
“Did you leave the telly on, pet?”
“What? No.” She listened. “Willow?”
***
“Guys, hurry. Listen to this!”
Jonathan turned up the volume as the three boys clustered around the computer monitor. “This is the spycam in the Magic Box!”
“I don’t see what the big deal is, anyway. I was a demon, Xander. I killed lots of people. Spike was a vampire. He killed lots of people. It’s the same, right?”
“Yes, but now you’re a people, and so I’d like to think you’re on our side. Except that you keep standing up for Dead Man Walking.”
Anya shrugged. “It isn’t about sides. It’s about accepting the obvious.”
“The obvious?”
“Never mind, honey. Let’s just get them back. We’re running out of time.”
“Ber’lethe said we’d probably have a week.”
“Not if there are two people there.”
“I don’t see why we can’t just leave Spike there.”
“Look, just help me get the stuff Willow wanted and we can argue about this after, okay?”
“Now that’s something to look forward to.”
Jonathan dimmed the volume. “That’s from just a few minutes ago.”
“So? They said they’re going to try to get the Slayer back. Not that they did.”
“Yeah, but Warren, Willow brought Buffy back from the dead. I don’t think some little alternate dimension is going to be a major hurdle.”
“So what? You want to what? Flee Sunnydale? Tails between our legs?”
“They’ve talked to the demon chippie,” Andrew said, his face clouding over. “He said Ber’Lethe. If they’ve talked to Ber’Lethe …”
“Maybe we could use a little change of scenery,” Warren agreed.
***
“Buffy, we’re trying to open a portal. We want to help you get back,” said Willow, her face taking up most of the screen.
“What’s this, then? Wicca TV, all spells, all the time?”
“Shut up, Spike. Willow, where? Where can we find the portal?”
The ground beneath them rumbled, and Buffy and Spike exchanged worried glances.
Willow’s image continued. “We don’t think the dimension can hold much longer.”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” Spike scoffed, steadying himself on the couch.
“We’re going to try opening it again in an hour. That’s – well, that’s 4:00 p.m. here. I can’t tell you exactly where to be … but we’re going to try to send up a flare, like magic sparks or something. We’ll hold it open as long as we can.”
The shaking intensified, and the television tumbled to the tile floor and shattered.
“I guess that’s our ticket, then.”
The ground stilled. “Should we pack?”
“What? You want to take souvenirs?”
“I was thinking supplies, Spike.”
He shrugged, but gathered up the contents of the First Aid kit and snapped it shut while Buffy ran upstairs to grab a duffle bag.
***
“What do you take to find an inter-dimensional portal?” Buffy scanned the closet. She decided to change into running sneakers and stretchy capri yoga pants, plus a hoodie, just in case it got colder. She grabbed stuff for Spike, too, then glanced in the bathroom.
“Why not?” she said, sweeping a bunch of the pricier cosmetics into her duffle.
“Let’s go!” she called, thundering down the stairs.
“Where, precisely, pet?”
“To the portal. Duh.”
“There’s not exactly a road sign out there, Slayer,” he said quietly. “Assuming they’re on our time, which it seems like, then we don’t have a prayer of finding it for 45 more minutes. And if they really have found us, there’s no sense running. Portal’s as like to open in the middle of the living room as anywhere.”
“Oh.” She flopped down next to him, dejected. “So what do we do for 45 minutes?”
Without another word, his lips met hers.
***
She’d ended up astride his lap, her sensible yoga pants flung across the room.
“It’s ten minutes ‘til four, love.”
“Yeah.”
“Best put our pants on, yeah?”
She nodded, sliding off his softening erection.
“Just gonna use the loo, then we’ll have a look about, alright?”
Buffy nodded, standing to rearrange her own clothes. She’d dressed and hefted her lumpy duffle bag over her shoulder by the time Spike returned.
“What’s with the tote, pet?”
“Just a few … things.”
He smiled.
“What?”
“What makes you think cursed products from a demon dimension will survive the trip?”
“They’re not cursed. They’re … Philosophy. And Stilla. Besides, don’t you take the fancy little bottles of conditioner and bars of soap from hotels? Mom always did.”
“Been a while since I’ve been on a business trip of that sort, I ‘spose. Want to go have a look around outside?”
With a nod, and a defiant swing of her bag, they stepped outside and scanned the horizon.
Nothing.
And then the earth shook again. With a pop, the house behind them disappeared, and they were standing on sand that stretched for miles.
Despite the heat, Buffy shivered.
“Stick together, yeah?”
“Yeah.” They fell into step, heading east in silence.
Buffy scanned the skies determinedly, but her mind wandered. Could she really be friends with Spike back in Sunnydale? It had seemed like a convenient description of their angst-free relationship on the island, but back home? If she were honest, it wasn’t just the social part that bothered her – she could see that maybe, just maybe, she should’ve been nicer to him pre-Portal. But it was the other part. Could she really keep having earth-shattering sex with Spike once she was back in Sunnydale with Willow and Xander and Dawn and – well, and ordinary life?
What did regular girls do? You go away with a guy for a weekend, right? She saw that on television. And then you get back and then what? Bridget Jones caught Daniel cheating on her. That wouldn’t happen – she figured – with Spike. She searched the corners of her brain for other examples of how couples ended up after weekend interludes.
She really ought to say something to Spike, she figured. And she was just practicing the lines, imagining the words. Spike, these past few days have been really great, but can we not say anything when we get back to Sunnydale? At least, not right away. I just don’t know how I feel, and I want to get back and make sure everyone knows we’re okay and then maybe think about this and then …
“Up ahead!” Spike called, and grabbed her hand. “See that?”
She nodded, one word forming on her lips. “Home,” came out as a half-whisper, barely loud enough for Spike to hear.
Showers of green sparks formed an archway above a swirl of green and blue light, shimmering but stable.
Tears of relief flooded Buffy’s eyes, and she lunged forward. “Let’s go!”
And then the earth shook again, and the palm trees and sand started to disappear with a pop. Buffy struggled to breathe, and barely jumped back in time as a long, jagged crack split the ground in front of her. The sky came alive with roars, as the peaceful shore birds turned into prehistoric flying beasts, their mouths snapping to display ragged rows of teeth.
“Slayer!” Spike screamed, tugging on her arm and dragging her around to where the spilt was just a tiny crack.
They leapt across, the portal seeming to retreat as they ran closer.
With a last burst of energy, the pair bounced up against the swirling light. The air crackled, and Buffy felt like she was being shoved through Jell-O.
And then, “You’re home! Oh, thank God, you’re home!” Dawn flung herself at her sister, then at Spike, who was too busy leaping behind the chair to notice.
“Draw the drapes! What? Trying to sizzle me to a crisp?”
Anya gave Xander a warning look and he settled for piling into the big Buffy hug that Dawn and Willow already formed.
“Are y-you okay?” Tara crawled next to Spike. “The curtains are closed now.”
He nodded, and stood, flexing his injured calf muscle as he stood, and noticing what he’d sensed as soon as he crossed.
His heartbeat was gone.
***
“I don’t see why we have to go to Mexico,” Andrew whined. “And in a VW bus.”
“Shut up, little man,” Jonathan barked. “If you hadn’t messed up that protection spell, we wouldn’t be high-tailing it out of town in anything.”
Warren gripped the wheel tighter. “Look, it was this or Greyhound. How should I know that the First National Bank of Dilliner only keeps a couple of thousand around in cash?”
“We don’t even know if they’ll be able to get Buffy back,” Andrew added, pouting.
“And I say again, they got her back from the dead.”
“Listen, let’s just get the heck outta Dodge and see what happens. I mean, supervillains always have a secret hideaway.” Warren turned away from the wheel to look at his friends. “A few days in the sun never hurt anyone, right?”
“I think that’s how we got into this mess in the first place,” Jonathan muttered.
***
He’d hid out until nightfall, skulking in the basement. Tara had re-dressed his wound, then headed back up to join the impromptu celebration. She’d said he’d be welcome, but he just gave her a sad smile and mumbled something about needing his rest.
He hadn't slept a wink, of course.
When he’d finally braved the upstairs, it was quiet. “Slayer must be slaying, and all’s right with the world,” he murmured, stepping onto the front porch.
Only to find Buffy, curled up on the porch swing, looking out over Revello Drive fondly.
“Sorry – didn’t mean to – just thought I’d bugger off now that it’s dark again.”
She nodded, not sure what to say.
“Listen, I know that the last few days were pretty, um, intense.”
“Yeah.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“But, um, if you want to, well … talk … about it.” He sat gingerly next to her, the porch swing rocking with his weight.
She looked up, meeting his eyes and smiling shyly. “I’m not sure I know what to say.”
And then her lips were on his, arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer, into an awkward embrace.
Minutes passed, and Buffy slowly became aware that someone was looking at them. Not someone – some ones.
She chewed her lower lip, seeing Xander frozen in place with his stack of pizzas and Willow wide-eyed and nearly dropping her bottle of diet soda. Behind them, Anya and Dawn exchanged mischevious little grins.
The front door opened and Tara peered out. “That was fast, guys.” She blinked. “Why are you all standing there?”
Buffy met Tara’s eyes guiltily.
“Ummm … okay, see, I can explain.”
AN: I know, I know ... kind of a cliffhanger way to end a story. The sequel is in the works, but it will probably be a few weeks until I'm ready to start posting. Thanks so much for reading & reviewing all the way along!
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