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West of the Moon, East of the Sun by KnifeEdge
 
Chapter 1: Summer, Nights, Dreams
 
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Author's Notes: Story takes place almost immediately following the season 4 finale "Restless" and goes AU from there. Glory and Dawn (and any other related characters: Ben, the monks, etc.) do not exist in this universe.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I’m making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Beta'd by Phuriedae

Banner art by Phuriedae









Part I: West of the Moon

Chapter 1
Summer, Nights, Dreams



"I keep having the strangest dream," I tell Willow a few days later while we're sitting outside the Espresso Pump, waiting for her girlfriend. Someday, maybe, I'll be able to think about Tara without thinking of her as Willow's girlfriend. I'm still coming to terms, I guess.

It's a gorgeous day: all blue sky and warmness. A slight breeze ruffles Willow's short red hair and cools the back of my neck. With the sun all shiny and bright it's hard to think about the things that go bump in the night here in Sunnydale. Maybe that's why it's so easy for the people in this town to ignore the weirdness that lives (or unlives) right under their noses. Sometimes I wish I had that luxury. Unfortunately, the bumpy things tend to follow me no matter where I go; when I'm asleep I dream about them, when I'm awake I think about them.

Still it's a beautiful day and we're going to the mall later. It's the perfect time to not dwell in Slayer land. And yet...

I don't know why I'm bringing the dream up now, but I should probably talk to someone about it, and the smartest someone I know is Willow. She of the I-helped-save-the-world-a-few-weeks-ago-and-still-got-A's-on-all-my-finals might be able to help me figure this out.

"Oh?" she asks, looking up from her cup of coffee with interest. Her eyes do that thing where they get all big and curious. "There... there weren't any cheese guys in it? Or... you know... crazy old Slayers out for revenge?"

I laugh. "No," I say. "Not like that. It's... um... it's like I fall asleep and then wake up somewhere else, in a different bed. And the room is really, really dark--can't see your hand in front of your face dark. And kind of cold. Then I start feeling the tinglies, and I know that there's a vampire in the room. I feel it get closer, and then it crawls onto the bed with me... only the bed is way huge so it's too far away to touch. Then it goes to sleep. And eventually I do, too. It's been the same dream, sort of, every night for the last few days."

"That's... a little creepy," Willow says, pulling a face. "Does it say anything?"

"No. Sometimes it sighs, though. Oh! And sometimes it takes it longer to get in the bed; usually if I'm really wigged out or threatening it." Which, yeah, I've done pretty much every night. Not that the vampire has done anything threatening or anything, but the suspense really gets to me.

"Huh," she says, frowning in thought.

After a minute I voice the last bit of information, the revelation I had that morning after waking up. "The thing is... the thing is... it... feels familiar."

"The dream?"

"No... the vampire. Like it's a vampire I should know. It's sort of muffled, though."

"Maybe it's Angel?" she says looking a little hopeful.

Which should make me happy, only for some reason it really doesn't. I don't know if that's because my last few encounters with Angel have been of the less than stellar or if it's because if it is Angel then why doesn't he say anything? Or try to touch me or reassure me?

"I don't know," I say. "Wouldn't I know, if it was?"

"Well... it's not like you have a lot of repeat experience with too many vamps," she says. "I guess it could be Spike."

We both make a face then. Really don't like that idea. "No," I say finally. "If it were Spike, he'd try to kill me. Even with the chip. Or he'd say something. There's no way Spike could ever be that quiet."

"Harmony?" Willow suggests, fingering the scar on her neck where the vapid vamp got in a lucky bite last year.

"No, I get a male vibe off of it, and Harmony makes Spike look like a mime. She's even worse about not shutting up. Also... ewwwwww. Way icky."

"That rules out Drusilla, too, I guess."

"Also with the ewwww and add a side of wiggy. Spike might like to sleep with crazy vamp hos but I doubt I'd be dreaming about something like that." One Drusilla related Slayer dream was quite enough, thanks. I can't think of a single reason why I would ever want to spend more time with the Queen of the Demented than I already have.
We rack our brains--and what's with that phrase anyway? 'Rack your brain' Why would putting your brain on a rack help with the thinking?--but can't come up with any other vampires that are still around that I'd recognize on re-acquaintance.

"Maybe it's one I've already dusted," I suggest finally. "You know...haunting me?"

That seems too far fetched for either of us to believe.

"Maybe," Willow says. "Or maybe it's just dream weirdness."

Maybes seem to be all we can come up with, so eventually we drop it. It's just a dream, after all. In the bright light of the sunny day outside it hardly seems that important. Then Willow perks up at the sight of Tara coming down the sidewalk, and my freaky dreams are all but forgotten.

Shopping, after all, is way more important. Summer is here, and that means warmer nights, new slaying outfits and new Bronzing outfits, a studly mom-approved boyfriend to dress up for, no studying and fewer demons for a few months. Something about the heat makes the demon population too lethargic for world ending plans or something.

Summer is always worth looking forward to.

***


By July the dreams have become almost as routine as patrol. I don't bother threatening or talking to the vampire anymore since he never says anything; we just share a tense moment, then go to sleep.

Riley went back to Iowa to visit his family at the end of June. I hadn't really thought about his family much, before, but he talks about them like they're really close. Still, it was sort of sweet how reluctant he was to leave. I had to promise him like fifty times that I'd be careful on patrol, and if any Big Bads pop up that I'd call him immediately. He didn't seem to get that June through August are dead here in Sunnydale. Figuratively speaking, of course. And even if they weren't? I've totally got it covered.

With him gone I get to be fifth-wheel Buffy on Bronze nights again, but at least I don't have to sit out some of the faster songs. I love Riley, but on the dance floor he's a total doof. It's really kinda cute the way he flails around.

In a way, it's sort of a relief having him gone. Not that I want him gone, but it's pretty wigsome to be falling asleep in Riley's arms one minute only to find myself waking up alone in the big dream bed the next.

For some reason, I haven't told Riley about the dreams. If I did, I think he'd be more concerned about them than I am.

I haven't told Giles yet, either. Or brought it up with Willow again. Mostly for the same reason. They're just dreams, really. And it's not like I'm getting the Heads up! Evil on the way! vibe off of them.

By the end of July, the vampire and I just barely acknowledge each other's presence. It's a blip before regular dreaming kicks in, and mostly I ignore it.

Mostly.

***


Summer passes like a dream. Long hot days spent shopping or at the beach with the gang. Nights at the Bronze. Warm cemetery patrols. The shorter nights mean fewer vamps are active, and the demons are slow and far between. The army came in a few weeks back and cleared out the Initiative and helped clean up some of the straggling demons that had escaped.

Or most of them, anyway.

I run into Spike now and then. He's been renovating a crypt over in Restfield and I catch him sometimes hauling rubble out and dumping it in open graves or over near the woods. We usually trade barbs and threats, then head our separate ways. Every now and then he hits me up for cash in exchange for often pointless information.

Mostly he sticks to being lurky and avoidy, which is fine with me. I think he's probably still worried about what happened back in May, when he tried his little Yoko Ono crap on me and my friends. I just let him worry. It's sort of fun watching Spike tiptoe around on eggshells, which is pretty much impossible for him. Big ugly boots aside, it's usually his mouth that ends up tripping him up; kinda appropriate, considering that he's a vampire.

I could confront him about the whole Adam thing, I suppose, but really? We should have expected him to play double-agent from the beginning. He's evil, so of course he's going to, you know, BE evil. Him being all helpful guy should have been the first clue that he was up to no good.

Xander keeps asking why I haven't dusted him yet.

He's harmless, I usually reply without thinking about it too much. As long as we're on our guard with him, there's no real danger there. Besides it's too hot to think about staking Spike. So not worth the effort.

I come home from patrolling every night tired, and still sticky with sweat, the dust of another vamp or two clinging to my skin. It's getting close to August, and I feel like I'm counting down the last few days of freedom. Riley will be home at the beginning of the month, and then we'll all be gearing up for the fall semester before you know it. And inevitably some new Big Bad will rear its ugly head and then I'll probably have to spend the next nine months getting ready to save the world.

Again.

***


"How are things with Riley?" Willow asks me a couple of weeks before the semester starts. It's late and I'm walking her home before patrolling. We'd spent most of the day at the mall, looking at stuff for our new dorm rooms.

"Good!" I say. Because they are. The things, I mean, with Riley. Really. I hadn't known before how good it could be to have a normal boyfriend. Especially one I don't have to hide my Slayer side from. Willow gives me a look that makes me feel like a bug under a microscope. "It's nice, having him back. We're going driving this weekend."

"Driving?" Now Willow looks alarmed.

"I know. I've warned him: cars and Buffy are non-mixy. But he's got it in his head that I just haven't had a good experience or something. It's kind of cute, if tragically misguided."

"Promise me you won't get behind the wheel unless you're nowhere near civilization. Or trees... or... big rocks... or..." she trails off, probably thinking about all the very breakable things in this world. I know I keep thinking about them.

"Promise," I tell her. "Besides, it's not like he can force me."

"Who's forcing you?" Spike says, stepping from behind a tree with a leer plastered across his face. "Would think any bloke stupid enough to force the Slayer would have been staked already."

"Nobody's forcing anybody," I say, rolling my eyes. Really, could he be any more of a pig? "But if you're volunteering for stake-age, step right on up." Spike just sticks his hands in the pockets of his ugly leather duster and leans one shoulder against the tree beside him.

"Now, now, Slayer. Harmless, remember?" The way he's lurking just this side of the shadows, his eyes predatory and gleaming in the streetlight makes him look anything but harmless. My vampire tinglies don't seem to care about his chip, either. They always wig in his presence, although I'd never tell him that.

"What do you want, Spike?" I ask. Not that I really care.

"To be standing over your broken and bleedin' corpse, of course," he says, tonguing his teeth in a way that is really obscene. "But I'd settle for some dosh. Runnin' low on blood and I doubt you'd feature me nicking some from the hospital."

"Ewww," says Willow and I can't help but agree.

"You have information for me, you get money. No info, no dough," I remind him.

"Quid pro quo, Clarice?" he smirks.

"Huh?"

"Hey, that was kinda rhyme-y," Willow says, grinning a little.

Spike shoots her a weird look. On a human I might say it was embarrassment. On Spike it's closer to murderous irritation. "Look," I tell him. "You know the deal. Now, do you have something, or do I need to threaten you to get you to leave?"

He growls, which always sends an odd little shiver down my spine. It's a weird reminder that his human face isn't his real one--which I sometimes forget. Another thing on my Never Tell Spike List.

"Guess I'm off to the hospital then," he says, starting to melt back into the shadows. "Be seeing you, Slayer. Hope your conscience lets you sleep tonight. You can comfort it by remindin' it that you make evil work for a living and all that do-gooder rot. Meantime, I'm cravin' some AB positive."

"That's blackmail, Spike," I say, trying not to growl myself. Where exactly does he get off questioning my morals?

"Yeah, well, evil, pet. So you buying me a drink or what?"

I fish a ten out of my pocket and toss it at his feet, not willing to take the chance that he really will head for the hospital. He scowls down at it. "Cheap bitch."

"Beggars can't be choosers, Spike. That's enough to get you through 'till Friday. Gives you time to find me some useful information." His eyes flash yellow, but he scoops the money up faster than I can follow. It disappears into the pocket of his duster.

"Thanks a heap, Slayer," he says without gratitude. "You're a peach." Then he's gone.

"Well," says Willow. "That went...well."

Because so many things with Spike so often do.

I stay out a little later that night than usual, and come home only when I've done every graveyard, plus the hospital. I dust twelve vamps that night, but none of them have bleached blond hair and an irritating smirk.

***


Maybe it was Spike's words about my conscience, or maybe it was the semi-lame driving date with Riley that weekend, but as August rolls into September it starts to be harder to sleep at night. I crawl into bed and lay there for awhile, staring at the wall or the ceiling. Some nights I get back up and head for the graveyard, working off my insomnia by staking another vamp or three.

It's not that patrolling with Riley isn't fun, although he's usually kind of military about it. It's just... there's something about being out at night, when everything is quiet, slipping through the shadows, hunting vamps. I don't know how to put it into words, really. It satisfies the Slayer in me, somehow. I find myself drawing out the fights, toying with them, sometimes, just to make it last longer.

Eventually tired, I go back to bed and drift off only to wake back up in that cold room with the huge bed and strangely silent vampire who shares it with me.

My sleeplessness translates there, too. The Slayer part of me is intensely aware of my invisible dream vamp, and from the moment I find myself there to the moment I finally manage to fall asleep, I feel like I'm fine tuning that awareness, somehow.

I wait rigidly until the vamp approaches the bed. Despite his silence (I long ago decided that it had to be a he, even though I have absolutely no proof) I imagine that I can read his mood through some combination of the movements I can hear, how long it takes him to crawl onto the bed, and the tingles that are still somewhat muffled in this dream world. Some nights I can tell he's staring at me hungrily. His movements are quieter then, more predatory, and he slides into the bed like silk. There's a weird intensity in the room on those nights that leaves it difficult as hell for me to sleep. Other nights he seems irritated or annoyed. He sighs or makes a soft little hmmmph sound and flops carelessly onto the mattress.

Sometimes, however, I get the feeling he's curious. Studying me in the darkness. He sits on the edge of the mattress for the longest time, and when he lays down, I always feel like he's facing me, watching me until I fall asleep.

None of this does wonders for my beauty rest. Riley, thankfully, never seems to notice my extracurricular patrols, and if my weird dreams make me toss and turn at all he never comments on that either. In a way I'm glad. I don't want to have to try to explain all of this. Really not so great at being explainy-girl and I'm not sure how I'd tell him, or Giles, about any of it without them having a massive freak out or thinking there was something wrong with me.

There's nothing wrong with me, except normal Slayer weirdness--which isn't exactly something that I can change, is it? So I hunt vamps at night, and then dream about them; neither of those things is really that unusual.

Things might have gone on like this forever, except, as is usual, something happens.

A vampire, of course. Because my life is all about vampires storming in and shaking things up.

Only this time it's different.

It's not everyday that a Slayer gets to stake Dracula.






 
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