Chapter 4


Buffy lay on her side, her head propped on her hand, watching Spike sleep. She was thinking. She’d never done so much thinking as she’d done these last couple of months, ever since Buffy2 had come and turned everything upside down.

That stupid dream of being normal that Angel had encouraged. Spike was right. She wasn’t normal and was never going to be and she had always felt a freak because of that. But Spike had redefined that for her. ‘Special,’ said Spike. ‘The light,’ said Spike. Angel, always walking away, accepting the status quo, putting together his art of stasis, his art of death. Spike, always diving right in, fighting to make things the way he wanted with nothing but hope and fists and fangs, creating his art of living.

Vampire. Dead man walking. The unliving. Yeah, right. Soul or no soul, he was life.

She laid her hand affectionately over his unbeating heart. His chest was motionless under her palm; it seemed that he didn’t breathe when he was asleep or out cold. Those were the only times she had seen him ever looking dead. The rest of the time he was too full of dynamic energy to ever look anything but furiously alive.

They had worn each other out in the end. She grinned. There was a limit to even Slayer and vamp stamina. But he had proved what Buffy2 had said, that no one normal would ever satisfy a Slayer.

His chest moved under her hand. His eyelids flickered, then he woke, stretching contentedly, then looked up. His eyes widened as he saw her looking down at him. Wariness flashed into them and his eyelids tensed a little.

Braced for pain. Something the other Buffy must have done to him.

“Good morning,” she said and bent and kissed him.

His mouth answered her; she felt it soften and begin to smile.

“That was,” she said, “the best night of my life.”

His eyes had gone intensely blue and that helpless look of awe and disbelief was back in them. He reached up and touched her face delicately.

“You were with me,” he said wonderingly.

“Yes, of course.”

“There’s no of course about it.”

She thought about that. It said a lot about the way the other Buffy had been.

“What was it like...before?”

His lips tightened. “Painful. To be that close to her and not have her. To have, but not. To be all alone while you’re holding her.”

She took his face in her hands and kissed him. “Not gonna be like that this time. Told you. I’m not her.”

His arms tightened about her.

She ran her hand caressingly over his shoulder, then down across his chest and the ripped muscles of his stomach, felt him shiver with pleasure under her touch.

“Nice. Only saw your back that day after you went and got plastered at Willy’s. Even that was really a turn on. Damn nearly jumped your bones right then.”

He laughed under his breath. “Wish you had, pet.”

She grinned at him. “You were out cold and it would have been rape.”

He grinned back. “No objections to being raped by you.”

“Yes, you do,” she said softly. “You do have objections. Or why would what she did to you have hurt you so badly?”

She saw the sudden widening of his eyes.

“Yeah,” she said.

His lips compressed faintly. “It’s not rape when it’s willing.”

“Maybe not in physical fact, but in intent.”

“I was a monster.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Was then. No soul.”

“No. Soul has nothing to do with it. She wanted you to be a monster. She was punishing herself for being thrown out of Heaven, for wanting to die and go back, for not wanting to live. Like those people who cut themselves with razor blades. You were only the instrument. She was in love with pain.”

He jerked, his lips parting on a sudden intake of breath.

“She said you were, didn’t she?” She nodded at the betraying flicker in his eyes. “Everything inverted. She wanted you to be death, but you were life. She wanted you to kill her. But you made her feel life, feel alive. You wouldn’t let her give up on living and she couldn’t forgive you for that.”

“How do you know all this?” he said on a shaken breath. “She never did. How do you?”

“She’s me. That’s how I would react. And I can read between the lines in that binder. You’re not a monster, Spike. Not to this Buffy.”

He pulled her down to him, his cheekbone against hers and his face in her hair to hide the fact that he was close to tears. It was what he had wanted, that she see him not as a monster, but as a man. His heart hurt him, because she had also seen more than he had seen himself.

He had resented the way his Buffy had treated him. The three months of their involvement had been an emotional rape. He had cooperated, but it had flayed him, left him raw and bleeding, had driven him at last to attempt that actual rape. He had taken the guilt for that, for all of it really, onto his shoulders, being what he was, the monster.

Now here was Buffy saying he was not. Something eased in him, iron bands that had been around his heart. They hurt him as they loosened, the constriction had been so much a part of him. But the pain was welcome, like the pain that came when a frozen limb was warmed and sensation slowly returned.

She had given him...absolution.

He had no illusions that she would stay with him. This what they had right now was transitory, ephemeral. She didn’t love him and all of this was just an interval existing outside of time. Sooner or later, the rug was going to be pulled out from under him. He wasn’t going to take anything for granted, was going to live moment by moment, asking for no more than she was willing to give. But this gift she had just given him would never leave him, was a radiance that would light his way forever.

He wondered whether she would tell the Scoobies about them, didn’t care as long as she came to him every night, as long as they kept making love in this so different, so caring way. In the other dimension, he had kept pushing her to tell them, even threatening sometimes to tell them himself. But he wouldn’t actually have humiliated her that way, hadn’t until after she had dumped him and Xander had pushed him into it, insulting Anya like that, bullying him as Xander always did when he was chipped and unable to fight back. He had flung it like a blow at both their faces then, angry that the two of them should have used him and Anya the way they had and then blame them for that one instance of comfort sex they had both needed.

No, this time he didn’t mind staying in the shadows. He had only wanted Buffy to tell the Scoobies about them because for her to do so would have meant she cared about him. Here she did care for him and that was all he had ever wanted.

When she and the Scoobies went to the Bronze Saturday night, he let her go alone. Louth, the boss man of the Hadraden demons, had given him a job that suited him, enforcer for Louth’s extensive gambling operations. Buffy just nodded when he said Louth needed to see him, her indifferent expression telling him nothing. But he was pretty sure she must be relieved that the Scoobies wouldn’t see them together.

Business didn’t take long, just a request to convince a demon not to welsh on his particular debts. The demon paid up after only a little physical encouragement and Spike found himself at a loose end again.

Of course he went to the Bronze. Not to join her; just to watch her. He couldn’t keep away, though he knew he should. He leaned on the railing of the Bronze’s upper balcony, sipping at his drink and resting his gaze with pleasure on her vivacious face as she laughed and joked with her friends. Down in the middle of the noise and the lights and the gaiety this time, not withdrawing to the shadows.

‘You try to be with them...’ he had said once to her, ‘but you always end up in the dark...with me.’

He hadn’t led her into that darkness, only pointed out—truthfully—that she kept on ending up there. He had never wanted to take her out of the light, drag her down, only wanted her to be with him.

‘That’s not your world,’ he had said. And it hadn’t been at that time, with Buffy fighting life, fighting living.

It was her world now and he was glad to see it. It was where she belonged, not in the shadows with him.

Her head had come up and she was looking around. He realized that she was picking up his vamp signature and drew hurriedly backwards, away from the railing. Time to go. This time, he didn’t mind leaving alone, knowing that when the evening was over she wouldn’t be going back to the dorm, she would be coming to his crypt.

He finished his drink, set the glass on a side table and turned towards the stairs.

And found himself with Buffy right in front of him.

“What are you doing, hiding up here?” she asked.

“Just watching you. You look like you’re having fun.”

“Am. Should have come joined us.”

“Ah, well, Scoobs wouldn’t have liked that, pet. Didn’t want to cause trouble.”

“You won’t. But this is nice too.” She backed him up against one of the metal supports of the balcony and set her hands on the railing on either side of his hips, leaned full against him. “Very nice.”

His arms went helplessly around her, pulling her tightly to him. “Oh, yeah.”

Her hands left the railing and slid under his duster, wrapping about his waist. They kissed slowly, sensuously, again and again.

“This evening is really looking up,” she murmured, locking her arms in the small of his back.

He hadn’t braced his stomach muscles for it and it took the breath right out of him. Good thing vamps didn’t need to breathe. He cradled her face in his hands, suddenly very happy, stroking the waves of her hair back from her face.

“Scoobs might see.”

“So?” She turned her head a little and sucked his thumb into her mouth, swirling her tongue about it. “Whoa. Direct line from your thumb to your cock, huh?”

Mentally at least. With her tongue swirling about his thumb like that, all he could think of was how it would feel swirling around his cock. His dick had gone hard in an instant in his jeans.

“Oh, I like that,” she purred and rubbed herself against him.

“You have no mercy, Slayer.”

They were both laughing softly, kissed and kissed again, mouths greedy. His hands slid down her thighs, then he sighed.

“Much as I love those leather pants on you, I really wish you had worn a skirt.”

“Don’t know how I could have made such a mistake.” Her foot slid up the back of his calf and she bit his lower lip. Then she glanced around. “Damn.”

Footsteps were coming up the stairs. They broke apart reluctantly.

“Scoobs will be looking for you. I’d better...”

“Oh, come and have a drink and dance.” She caught his hand and pulled him towards the stairs.

“Uh, Buffy...”

The Scoobs looked at him warily as Buffy dragged him over to where they were sitting.

“Hey, guys, look who’s here.” She picked up a half-full glass of coke, drank, then handed it to him. “Finish that, then you can get the next one.”

He sipped and his brows rose. “There’s rum in that coke. You getting adventurous, Slayer?”

“We did suggest beer,” said Anya, “but she doesn’t like it.”

Buffy grimaced. “They should pour it back into the horse. Come and dance, Spike.”

He set down the glass and followed her, glancing back over his shoulder at the Scoobies as he did so. To his astonishment, they weren’t freaking, just looked resigned.

“Not again,” he heard Xander mutter. Willow and Anya both hit his shoulder reprovingly. Tara was smiling quietly to herself.

“How come they’re not upset?” he asked in bewilderment once they were on the dance floor. It was a slow dance. Buffy had her arms up around his neck and was leaning intimately against him, their bodies rubbing sensuously together. The Scoobies should have been going rabid.

“Guess they got used to it with the other Buffy and Spike. Told you they’d changed.”

“You’re...making our relationship public?”

“What, you ashamed of me or something?” she teased and tiptoed to kiss him. “They’ll deal.”

He didn’t know whether he could. He was caught somewhere between shock and incredulous delight.

“I’m a vamp.”

“So’s Angel. They got used to that. Why not you? At least there won’t be any repercussions from this relationship. You’re not gonna lose your soul and suddenly turn into Spikelus. Even Mom and Dawn like you. They never really liked Angel.”

He grinned. “Yeah, they’ve got taste.” Then it hit him. “Dawn?”

“My kid sister.” She looked up at him in surprise. “You did meet Dawn in the other dimension, didn’t you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She hadn’t had a sister a few days ago. It seemed that the monks had finally gotten around to sending over the Key. And everybody’s memories had been rearranged.

Except for him. Maybe because he was from the other dimension and Glory was dead there, so he was able to retain his knowledge of Glory and Ben and Dawn. The Hellgod, her alter ego and the Key. Dawn’s arrival meant that Glory must be here as well or would be arriving soon.

His Buffy had died to defeat Glory. And that had led to all the rest of it—the resurrection and her being torn out of Heaven, and that long cycle of loathing and self-destruction, and in the end the First Evil and the final battle. Had to stop all of that from happening.

There was only one way.

He broke into the hospital offices at three in the morning and hacked into their computer. Sure enough, Ben’s name was on the roll of newly hired interns, listed on evening shift on their roster. Spike did a quick check for his address. There was none, only a note on the file that he was looking for one and would advise, but in the meantime there was a cell phone number at which he could be reached. Ben would certainly continue to forget to advise the hospital of where he was staying. He wouldn’t want to risk them finding out that he was Glory. But Spike knew where the penthouse that her minions had arranged for Glory was located.

A Hellgod like Glory could not be killed. But Glory’s vulnerability was Ben, who was human and could be killed. Kill Ben and one killed Glory.

The soul of course was trying to tell him that it was wrong to kill a human. But what was one more death added to the ocean of blood already on his hands? He shrugged that off indifferently. Ben’s alter ego was Glory and Glory was the Beast, a Hellgod raging to return and rule the hell dimension she had been cast out of and not caring that all the universes would bleed into each other when she opened the gate, all turn into one vast hell dimension.

Sure, it was a shame about Ben who probably didn’t deserve to die and had committed no crime. But the wanker knew what Glory intended and was still going along with her instead of fighting her as he should. As far as Spike was concerned, that made him fair game.

What bothered him was that Buffy might not see that Ben’s death was necessary, might see only that Spike had killed again. He could lose her, lose everything he had right now. She would look at him in horror again, see the vamp that he had never ceased to be, see the monster.

His gut wrenched.

But he had no choice. There was no other way. Ben had to die or she would. Whatever it cost him, he would make sure she survived. Even if she never spoke to him again, she would be alive and the resurrection, the First, all those horrific consequences, would not happen.

It was too late to do anything about Ben tonight. His shift would be over and he was probably back at the penthouse as Glory again. There was no hurry. He had plenty of time. Tomorrow he’d start stalking Ben, waiting for the moment when he would be alone and open to attack.

He went quietly home to his crypt. Buffy was there. Even in pitch darkness, his vamp sight could pick up her form curled warm and supple in the middle of his bed. He watched her for a little while, his insides melting with pleasure. She would never have been waiting for him like this in his dimension, never come to him like this, so willing and welcoming. Maybe never would again once he had killed Ben.

He tried to be as quiet as he could while taking his clothes off, but her Slayer senses warned her of his presence and she woke.

“Where were you?” she asked sleepily, reaching out to switch on the lamp beside the bed.

“Had a job to do,” he shrugged, which was the truth though it misled her into thinking that the job was something Louth had requested.

She reached out to him as he got into bed, her arms coming around his neck and pulling him down to her.

“What’s wrong? You’re all tense.”

“Nothing.” He stroked the golden tumble of her hair back from her face. She was drowsy and warm, her eyes smiling as she looked up at him and her mouth soft. “You’re beautiful.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Her hands slid along his shoulders, caressing him.

He closed his eyes, drowning in the feel of her body yielding against his. “Can’t believe you’re here. After all those times we tried to kill each other...”

“And somehow never did.” Her lips brushed along his collarbone, lingered in the hollow of his throat.

“Couldn’t. Wanted you right from the beginning.”

“Can’t say the same. Knew you were hot, but you were my enemy. And you kept saying you were going to kill me. Couldn’t think of you that way. Wasn’t acceptable.”

“Vamp. No soul. Yeah.”

“But I wonder how many of our battles were a kind of twisted version of sex between us.”

“Was for me,” he murmured. “Always got a hard on whenever we fought.”

She laughed, but there was a strip of color across her cheekbones. “Me too.”

“Yeah?” he said, delighted.

“Well, fighting gets me horny and you’re the best fighter around.” She bit his shoulder and he purred. “It was Willow’s spell though that made me realize you turn me on.”

“The will-be-done one?” He grinned. “That started me thinking too.”

“Yeah, well, I kept trying not to think about it. And kept thinking about it. Hated you for that, but kept wanting it. Wouldn’t admit it, but I wanted you. The things the other Buffy said just allowed what was already there to come out. ”

“Buffy...” He kissed her desperately hard.

Her fingertips stroked his face lightly and she frowned at him when he finally lifted his head.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again and he knew she had seen the shadow in his eyes.

“Don’t want to lose this,” he said on a little, painful breath.

“Neither do I,” she said quietly. “So we won’t.”

He hoped so.

She pushed him onto his back, leaned over him, smiling, shaking her head so that the her hair swept back and forth like silk across his chest and throat. The feel of that light, teasing touch, the languorous, heavy-lidded look in her eyes, made him harden. She laughed, then slid downwards to bite him just under his navel, her hair sweeping down him to pool over his groin.

“Oh, Christ!” The way that felt!

“Like this too. That vee-cut.” Her fingers slid down the two shallow furrows from his hip bones to the flat plane just above his cock, lingered there rubbing back and forth when he caught his breath. “There was this study asking women which area of a guy they found sexiest—um, leaving out the obvious,” she corrected, smiling, when he grinned and started to speak, “and eighty-seven percent said the vee-cut.”

“Just when I thought you didn’t read.” He hissed involuntarily in pleasure at the breath of her laughter on that flat plane.

“Well, you know. Fashion mags at the hairdresser’s have the weirdest bits of info in them,” she grinned, then blew a raspberry into his navel.

His back arched in surprise and amusement. It was so silly and sweet that his heart hurt him. The other Buffy had never played with him like this. It had always been raw sex and violence. Not that he didn’t enjoy that from either Buffy. He liked raw. But this, with the warmth and the teasing, was treasured.

“Come up here,” he growled, reaching down to pull her upwards.

“Nope.” Her arms fastened about his hips, keeping her in place. “Not done yet.”

He surrendered himself to her mouth moving across his torso, the feel of her sliding upon and over him, memorizing every second as sensation turned time fluid and elastic, endless, until nothing existed but her.

“Getting to you,” she purred as he surged against her, painfully erect.

“Was that in doubt? Oh, Jesus!”

His cock had slid between her breasts as she twisted around him. She looked down and grinned, then bent to lick the pre-cum off it, tongue delving into the little slit at its head.

“Almost there, huh?”

“That does it!” He yanked her upwards and onto her back as she laughed. “Can’t take any more.”

“And you said I was a wuss when I said that.”

But she was as breathless and gasping as he was, legs coming up to lock about his hips, body arching to his as he rammed into her. Both of them out of control, which he never was with anyone but her, unable to keep himself from powering into her, driving them both into that brutal, galvanic frenzy while trying desperately to hold back, to prolong it. Almost impossible as that was, seeing her head go back like that and her throat arch, seeing her mouth contort into a snarl just as he was snarling, feeling her nails claw down his back and her sheath clench with Slayer strength upon him every time he withdrew for the next pistoning stroke.

Even lost in sensation as he was, half-blind and his brain frying, it was her pleasure that gave him the real feeling of triumph, knowing that he was giving that to her, that no one else had made her feel, would make her feel like this. He heard her scream and his brain blanked as he came shatteringly hard and her sheath milked him, wrung him right out.

He dropped his face into her hair as she held him fast, her arms tight about his neck. Angel was her first and so she would never forget him, but:

“You’ll remember me too,” he muttered, holding her fiercely close.


TBC